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[04 Nov 2005|05:41pm] |
Me & a friend were talking about those moments in your past which are so evocative & poignant you can hardly bear to think about them without a tear coming to your eye & knots twisting your stomach. You know, those formative memories when you first realise not everything in the world is how it seems. In both of our cases this meant the first moment when a parent[s] revealed themselves to be less than the omnipotent hero you thought them to be.
Take this 100%-genuine-or-your-money-back example:
It is August & a boy, just past his seventh birthday, is being taken to the football by his father. It is the first time he has gone to the football & he is excited, though there is surely also a little trepidation in his young face for this day seems to be invested with an almost mystical symbolism.
By 2pm all the preparations are complete. The flask of tea is packed, the boy is all dressed in his black duffle coat up & father & son are ready to depart. The boy's mother enters the room, full of pride but also concern for her son, for he is the apple of her eye. The following exchange takes place:
Father: "We'll be off now, Mother. Back by six for tea."
Mother: "Okay, I'll have the tea ready. Are you ready to go, Boy?"
Boy: "Yes mummy."
Mother: You be good for your Dad now. Oh, & Father buy him an ice cream or something will you.
Father: "What! They don't sell ice creams at the football, woman!" *Roars with laughter*
Mother: Oooh! Well, I don't know do I!" *turns a deep crimson colour*
Boy: "..." *looks up at mother with sad, confused eyes*
Aw, bless. Mums are great. Now excuse me while I go & have a private "moment".
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| Here, where men sit and hear each other groan |
[15 Sep 2005|07:18pm] |
I had a dream last night where I was explaining to someone how to do multiplication. However I was using a method I don't usually employ. You see, normally I rely on my memory, recalling the multiplication tables I'd learnt rote - "3 times 3 is 9. 3 times 4 is 12. ad infinitum" - but in the dream I was explaining to some random person that if they can't get a handle on the tremendous feat of memory required to do this, they should break the calculation down into manageable chucks. For example: "If you can't remember 7 times 6 then do it this way: 5 times 6 is 30. Easy. And 2 times 6 is 12. 30 + 12 is 42. Et voila!" Then John Wayne rode in on a horse. What on earth is my subconscious trying to tell me?
It's probably trying to tell me that my mind is full of fluff & nonsense & perhaps it would be a good idea to try & rid myself of some of it. It probably has a point. This is best illustrated by that fact that I'm currently finding it difficult to control the seemingly-endless fountain of trivial spouting from my mouth. Example: the other day I was in a pretty important meeting at work when, apropos of nothing, I volunteered the highly useful observation, "Aren't grizzly bears brilliant!" At least the puzzled silence that greeted this was quite relaxing.
Anyway, I've found it difficult to find the time or inclination to write anything in the least coherent on this here diary-thing. Some of the things I would write about were this to change, could well be:
- My wonderful idea to have a network of "cycle tubes" across London. These would be elevated above the road system, for use by cyclists only & would see air pumped at a reasonable velocity behind the cyclist to increase their velocity/ease the effort required for cycling. Believe me it could revolutionise the world of transport. I'm going to draw diagrams & graphs & everything. Just you wait & see.
- My plan to start a private detective agency (this idea has a longer gestation period than the African elephant).
- My annoyance at the fact that Ticketmaster refuse to take me off their mailing list. In fact, each time I attempt to extricate myself from their clutches it makes it worse. My increasingly irate requests/demands are met with nothing but mocking emails such as today's "Don't Miss DAVID GRAY!".
- The depressing desire of the the press to "football-ise" the perfect game of cricket.
- Seeing Press Gang's Dexter Fletcher on the Tube again the other day. No high falutin taxis for him.
- Sweden
- The fact that Franz Ferdinand's new single is utter rubbish.
Maybe I'll get around to it.
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| Everything is great in Leeds |
[01 Aug 2005|11:20pm] |
I went to Leeds recently, for a stag do. Leeds did what it liked, and what it liked was violence.
I swear I saw more fights in one night than I've seen in the last couple of years in London. I mean, I know living in Yorkshire is grim, but should it really inspire one twenty-something male to beat another over the head with a traffic cone?
Apart from extreme acts of violence, anyone who is considering replicating my night out in Leeds, may be interested in attending the Baja Beach nightclub; it's guaranteed to be an experience. But don't just take my word for it; as we're living in the new technological age, even nightclubs in Leeds have their own websites (I may be exaggerating, it's more of a "listing". Regardless, it's here) which I recommend to the fan of Orwell, notable as it is for a modern version of doublespeak. For example, the information: "This clubs adheres to a strict 'party music' policy with tunes that you can boogie all night to" what it really means is "Tiffany, Debbie Gibson & Meatloaf will all be played at some point in the evening". But I urge those of you who may not be totally besotted with non-stop party music not to steer clear too soon, for this music policy isn't quite so totalitarian. No, while I was there I was treated to some modern chart sounds. Yes, there were three Kaiser Chiefs discs spun during the evening, each one enhanced by numerous pauses, during which the DJ would shout over the PA "Leeds' finest - the Kaiser....CHIEFS!". Oh, and there was a guest appearance from Big Brother's Sam. She "performed" a lap dance on some poor unfortunate plucked from the dance floor, seemingly against his will.
It wasn't all dancing the evening away in young people's nightclubs though. Oh no. Depressingly predictably there was a stripper. "Did she turn up dressed as a policewoman?" I hear you cry. Of course she did! Ah yes, you could write the script in your sleep. Or you could if your somnambulant Shakespearean efforts resulted in a frighteningly tall blonde woman turning up in a grim Firkin pub, taking all her clothes off & then doing some twisted version of the splits on my friend's lap. "She was a big lass", said the old timer who manoeuvred his seat as close to the action as allowed without incurring a restraining order. "That was pretty tame - you can't get away with very much in a city centre pub, I'd have done more if we were somewhere else", said the very naked lady after the event. "_____", said I.
Such glamour. We also went to the horse races. I've never been the horse races before & I will hopefully never go again. 1-2 minutes of galloping, some mild cheering for the fortunate few punters, followed by a lot of waiting around. Highly boring really.
The wedding is in two weeks time. I'm going to buy the bride & groom a nice big saucepan.
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[18 Jul 2005|05:57pm] |
So I spent a large chunk of the day's time avoiding work & instead entering as many competitions as I could find to win Ashes tickets. The sheer futility of the exercise is almost enough to make me weep (the answer to the Guardian's competition is 87.33 by the way - if you win, can I have one please? Thanks).
Oh, there's always eBay of course... £820 for the 1st day at Lords! It's not fair. I hate eBay & I hate all you swines who beat me in the rush for tickets just so you could flog them on the interweb. Oh, it seems I shall have the opportunity to exorcise the memory of Shane Warne jigging with fat glee post-Headingly.
Well, at least I won't have to put up with Dermot Reeve on C4's coverage this summer (incidentally, my friend was once called a 'cnut' by the aforementioned Mr Reeve in a Sheffield chippy).
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| Smoke lingers round your fingers |
[07 Jul 2005|06:42pm] |
Did someone say ideology was dead? Tell that to the poor souls ripped limb from limb just because they picked the wrong tube or bus this morning. My thoughts are with them.
Some people hate our values so much they're willing to kill because of it. We should stop pretending otherwise. Rather than woolly calls to accept others' beliefs without question, it seems to me we need to challenge unscientific, wrong-headed nonsense. This isn't a call to exclude, nor is it a desire for homogeneity - diversity & difference is wondrous - but it is a call for intellectual rigour; to protect Enlightenment values which have done so much for us. Dangerous nonsense is dangerous nonsense, no matter how many people believe in it.
I'm glad we have Ken Livingstone at moments like this:
Livingstone: This was not a terrorist attack against the mighty & powerful, it was not aimed at presidents or PMs, it was aimed at ordinary working class Londoners, black & white, Muslim & Christian, Hindu & Jew, young & old - an indiscriminate attempt to slaughter irrespective of any consideration for age, religion whatever - that isn't an ideology, it isn't even a perverted faith, it is just indiscriminate attempt at mass murder .. we know what the objective is: they seek to divide Londoners, they seek to turn Londoners against one another - I said to IOC this city is London is greatest in world because everybody lives side-by-side in harmony & will not be divided by this cowardly attack, they will stand together in solidarity around those injured & bereaved & that is why I'm proud to be the mayor of that city .. I wish to speak through you directly to those who came to London today to take life: I know you personally do not fear to give your own life in exchange for taking others, it is why you are so dangerous, but I know you do fear you will fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society - & I can show you why you will fail: in the days following, look at our airports, seaports & our railway stations & even after your cowardly attack you'll see people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London, to become Londoners & to fulfil their dreams & potential - they choose to come to London, as so many came before, because they come to be free, they come to live the life they choose, to feed themselves - they flee you because you tell them how they shld live, they don't want that, & nothing you will do, no matter how many you kill, will stop that flight to our cities, where freedom is strong & where people can live in harmony with one another - whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.
Touching and impressive - almost note perfect in tone, I thought.
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[04 Jul 2005|06:52pm] |
"Pink Floyd's album sales soared by 1,343% after their comeback appearance at London's Live 8 concert"
Surely the most nauseating part of the whole Make Poverty History thang (and there are a few to choose from) is that advert where the celebrities like Brad Pitt and Cameron Diaz click every few seconds laying it on thick for the proles. Tell you what, surely you've all got enough money to live a life of wanton abandon until the end of time, so perhaps you could donate every single penny of your earnings to charity from now on. And this applies to you Pink Floyd. If it really is a selfless gesture, donate the profits. You don't need them. Alternatively, you could buy another diamond* house after your inevitable reunion tour, launched on the back of Live8.
Then of course there's Geldof telling people not to criticise George Bush. Do us a favour Bob: fuck off.
I also believe Elton John made some comment about "revolution", which I would have thought was unwise, considering he's surely spunked away the GDP of a small African nation on flowers alone during his time. And he looks a bit like Louix XIV.
*How silly of me - they won't of course buy a diamond house. That would result in something actually from Africa appearing as a result of Live8, as opposed to shunted down in the Eden Project where it won't offend the viewers.</font>
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| We are the world |
[17 Jun 2005|05:21pm] |
I wonder about the Make Poverty History campaign, really I do. The bandwagon is a-rolling, Geldof is berating all & sundry in his usual foul-mouthed way (Didn't anyone ever tell him that if you swear too often it loses dramatic impact?), the Daily Mirror have claimed the moral high ground & have even dropped a page or two of Big Brother coverage to print more insincere crap & we've all gone touchy feely again, this time about, "those poor Africans fellows"*. So far so motherhood & apple pie . Yet there's a huge elephant** in the room, which many of the protestors are ignoring: their prescription may not actually cure the patient.
I don't particularly want to get into a long-winded analysis of why I'm uneasy about MPH's aims & solutions - primarily a tacit acceptance of the World Bank's agenda - rather I'm uncomfortable with the ridiculously high expectation levels being built around it. The hyperbole seems to have created an atmosphere of feverish unreality meaning anything less than elimination of Third World poverty in an afternoon will be viewed as a failure. Just pop on the TV to watch Coldplay, all along absently playing with your oh-so-chic & minimalist MPH band ("Darling, you must get one - the poor are so this season!"), & hey-presto, no more corrupt Third World governments, no more desertification of Africa, no more...etc...& still time to take like Tarquin to playgroup.
Yet it's not going to work like that, is it? The "problem" of Africa is not not a discrete issue that can somehow be solved if only we shout just a little louder at that evil Mr Bush, which will go away if only we all send another text message to try & win tickets to Live 8 (although I would donate a hefty sum if it meant I could guarantee avoiding a reunion of the post-Barrett Pink Floyd). No, Africa as a problem requires big solutions, solutions that (possibly, depending on your point of view) can't ever be solved without major reform of institutions - in both the Third and First Worlds.
I'm not trying to argue MPH, Live 8, protestors at Gleneagles, Tony Blair & Gordon Brown "crusading" on Africa are bad things. But there is a risk our expectations are being unduly raised. Politics is a difficult business; an important business. The fear is "the Africa issue" will, once the G8 is over - & when inevitably poverty hasn't been eliminated - simply become the latest issue to fall victim to the disillusionment infecting all public life. People no longer have an appetite for reality. If something is difficult, it is spurned & swiftly forgotten as people realise it can't be solved over night.
You could argue that MPH will have been a worthwhile campaign if even one extra person becomes enthused as a result. But is it worth it if in the process we do further harm to our civic culture, disillusioning many others by effectively lying to them about politics, pretending things are simpler than they are? We need politics - it can make a difference. Ideas can make a difference. The world isn't lost but fundamental changes require shifts of ideology, not wearing wrist bands & tinkering within existing structures. People need to believe major change is possible. MPH simply offers us the same old tired solutions wrapped up in a shiny new media-friendly package.
* Copyright, woman on the London Underground, Jubilee line 16/6/05
**African, obviously (Are they the ones with the small ears?)
The ever-excellent Martin Kettle is very enlightening on this subject: click here
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| Dry rot |
[17 May 2005|07:34pm] |
Do you know what makes for a relaxing day? No? Well, neither do I. I do know one thing that doesn't make for a relaxing day, and that's coming home to find two workmen, standing proudly amid a pile of rubble having put two whacking great holes in your ceiling.
Lookie:
And:
Just wonderful.
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[16 May 2005|09:14am] |
Whilst walking the mean streets of north-west London over the weekend I happened upon a man burning a fridge. Yes, that’s right, a fridge. You know the sort: about 5’ tall, white. This one had a freezer section too.
There he was, this denizen of the world of flame, hero of the flammable, standing in his front garden, young son by his side, stick for prodding said inferno in hand, overseeing a pile of what is technically known as “crap”, blazing away, topped by a large white fridge freezer. As the sharper citizen may guess would be the case, the fridge wasn’t burning very well, being made, as is the way with fridges, of metal. It was however spewing out a rather thick & lustrous black smoke, in the process perfuming the air with chemical stink.
After a day of intensive mathematical calculations I can confirm that this is the single most environmentally-unfriendly act ever perpetrated upon the much maligned Mother Earth. Further investigation suggests the only way this scenario could have been worsened would be if the gentleman in question had decided to use parakeets & pandas as kindling.
People, eh, what are they like?
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| Imitating cooks is nine-tenths of a rolling stone |
[20 Mar 2005|05:43pm] |
Idlewild's "Warnings/Promises" is surely the culmination of their let's-stop-all-that-shouting-and-be-REM-only-when-REM-were-brilliant-as-opposed-to-all-right period. To those who doubt this, I give you "I understand it" (especially the end bit) which certain is "Disturbance at the Heron House". I thank you, and I claim my £5.
This isn't intended as a criticism, by the way, I think it's a wonderful record. In fact I'm all for being influenced by copying good things. I couldn't not be really, for I once bought a hat for no reason other than Springsteen once wore one like it (there are other occasions but they're mostly too embarrassing for me to face just now). In my mind the purchase of The Bruce Hat, as I like to call it, should have meant it was just a short hop to riding motorbikes in New Jersey with a flaxen haired maiden called Sandy/Candy/Tandy all the while sticking it to The Man simply by turning up to the factory each day to earn an honest bread. Sadly, this flower of a dream has yet to bloom. Perhaps I just don't wear enough denim.
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| This was a petty political broadcast... |
[15 Mar 2005|07:29am] |
Cardinal tells Catholics to reject Labour over abortion
Obviously I, being a good democrat, believe Cardinal Cormac Murphy O'Connor has the right to say what ever he wants to his flock, but I also have the right to say that he & his religious fundamentalist wankstains should keep their bigoted noses out of other people's business & should stick to their quaint little rituals such as eating bits of bread & being dangerously morbid in those drafty big buildings rather than trying to impose their dangerous illogical guff on others.
*phones fire brigade to ask them if they can lend one of those extra big ladders so he can get down off dangerously high horse*
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| don't touch me, I'm not sick |
[15 Mar 2005|07:13am] |
I was planning on writing about hats, as hats are something I feel very strongly about, but my planned - & obviously amusing entry - has flown from my skull, & this time not because I'm rapidly approaching senility. No, it was shocked out of my mind. Shocked as in the unexpected, one method of curing hiccups & all that shocked, as opposed to the please-no-Governor-Schwarzenegger-I-don't-want-old-Sparky shocked (although I'm pretty certain that would be equally as effective).
Anyway, to get the the point - such as it is, but don't hold your breath for anything exciting - I was walking down the road this afternoon. It was a busy road, it was daylight (for the scene is set around 3pm), minding my own business, "enjoying" the area which is known in London as "Euston". It all sounds very boring & run-of-the-mill, which is probably because it was. Or at least it was until a group of what can only be described as "school children", approximately 30-strong, turned the corner & headed towards me. None of this would have been at all noteable were it not for the fact that one, slightly plump, short girl, aged around 13 decided, as she crossed my path, to stick out a palm & stroke/rub my face. All of this occured without her or her friends saying a word, nor did she break stride.
What the hell is that about? I can't imagine being in a place where such actions seem like a good idea. I'd simply have to conclude that kids have no respect & should be thrown into a particularly dank hole forever were it not for the fact that I think people who make such sweeping statements should probably also end up in holes (& I don't like holes).
I didn't do anything about this either, despite the fact that it irritated me greatly, but then (as has been pointed out to me) there is probably not a good reaction to such. I suppose I could have punched her, but I don't really do punching people & I'd probably have ended up in trouble with the law (& with good reason). No, instead I did what I always do with such things: think about them at great depth, develop a sense of righteous indignation & conclude that I shall soon be the only sane person left in this fine city.
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[27 Feb 2005|10:22pm] |
People are generally not nice. And, as if this weren't depressing enough, I'm sure people are getting less nice every day. Society is generally as knackered as a wanking monkey, we all know that, and as it collapses around our ears people are acting in an increasingly disgusting manner - each day brings new & ever more surprising proof of this. But it's not all bad news, for this phenomenon does give us things to talk about (or more accurately, it gives me things to note down in this here thing). Examples:
1. Man in pub asks to buy a bag of crisps from barmaid. Barmaid charges him 50p. He informs her the price is, "fucking extortionate". Nevertheless, he purchases said crisps (I think they were ready salted flavour, just for the record). Man goes away, eats mouthful of crisps, turns up nose. Goes back to bar to ask for "a better bag of crisps - these are disgusting dirt crisps". Barmaid informs him that they only have the one brand of crisps. She looks somewhat surprised by this turn of events, but offers him her sympathies. Man swears like a tourette's sufferer at a Sting concert, throws crisps in barmaid's face, leaves pub. Nice.
2. Man buys ticket for one of London's stupid bendy buses with their ludicrous "buy a ticket for your journey before you embark" system which, combined with a lack of bus conductors, provides a dreamland for fare-dodgers. Man is looked at as though he is insane for buying a ticket when all the other passengers refuse to pay for their travel. Mayor is forced to put up cost of bus tickets again. Everyone moans. Still people don't pay. Rich idiots buy more 4x4 things to drive Cressidia to playgroup.
3. Woman is sitting on the Tube. It is a packed carriage with many people travelling to places. Pack of teenage girls (or is it a "gaggle", or perhaps a "coven"?), approximately 6-strong, begin to throw bits of newspaper at her. Woman asks them to stop. She looks very upset & is obviously distressed. Nobody does anything. One man speaks up to tell the girls to cut it out. Girls laugh & start throwing newspaper at him. Man sighs.
4. Man moans about everything he's seen that day & how the world is going to pot. Inconsequential happenings cause disproportionate ire. He begins to resemble his dad/grandad/Michael Howard. People start to avoid him. This is probably a wise decision on their part. Man goes for lie down in darkened room.
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| Politics is not a dirty word |
[20 Dec 2004|07:26pm] |
Everybody thinks Britain's railways are clapped out. Hard to argue with that. But certain things are improving. Take for example South Eastern Trains which, according to the latest Strategic Rail Authority figures, improved punctuality from 78% to 83.4% in the three months to September, in the process outperforming the other operators in the south east. This is notable mainly because SET are unique, & not only because they're getting better. They're unique because they're state-owned, having been created & run by the public sector from the ashes of the not-at-all-late-&-lamented Connex. So here we have a concrete example of what happens when you replace a firm whose job was to squeeze maximum profits (hello Connex!) with one who're concentrating on improving services (ah, we love you SET!). But you wouldn't have heard very much about this because the Government (yes, that's right the Labour government) don't want to trumpet their success. Why? Because they want to reprivatise it! Oh, don't we live in a wonderful word of politics?
Politicians lie about the railways. They say renationalisation isn't an option, that's it's not possible. This is a lie. Every sensible person knows it's a lie. Yes, it would be expensive. But aren't we allowed to debate this issue - doesn't the fact that the public knows it would be expensive but still support the move count for nothing? And what about politicians telling the truth & explaining how it could be done more cheaply? For instance: Government could simply commandeer the railways, paying nothing to the operating companies (who it could be argued have been screwing us for long enough so shouldn't complain if the same happens to them). Or we could buy them back for minimal compensation. It could be done - that's what Governments can do, should they choose to use their imagination or even, heaven forbid, consider imaginative policy decisions to contemporary difficulties. Granted, it would be a significant ideological shift from this Government (with wider economic consequences) but that's not the point. The point is that it could be done, yet we never hear about such options; politicians purposefully narrow the debate until they reduce the pursuit of politics to the level of the technocrat - it seems the age of the "idea" is dead. It's all so depressing. And in the case of rail it's all so that the Chancellor can keep the large expense of running the network off the public sector balance sheet. Now you could argue that this is a perfectly valid policy decision, but is it ever made explicit? Does the Government ever say, "Well we could renationalise the railways but we've made a policy decision not to as we believe in the small State?" Of course they bloody don't. Instead they lie & pretend it's "impossible".
Now it seems that Charles Clarke has caught the mood. Today he made a bid for "most disgraceful act of intellectual gerrymandering 2004" when, while defending the ID card proposals, he said that the measures were actually, "Fundamentally civil libertarian". This is a fucking disgraceful lie. Charles Clarke knows it's a lie - he's not an unintelligent man, he knows what libertarianism is. How can he say such a thing with a straight face?! Just because you say it doesn't make it TRUE. There are plenty of arguments you could make in support of an ID card scheme, but there's nothing "libertarian" about it and to twist language & concept in such a manner is fundamentally dishonest. Remember, this is the man who, while Labour Party Chairman, would regularly appear on media outlets appealing for a "mature standard of political discourse" with policies debated honestly on their merits.
The politics of ideas is a beautiful, noble thing, but all we get from modern politicians is persiflage & filth - most of them wouldn't know an "idea" if it offered to fiddle their expenses for them.
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[19 Nov 2004|02:56pm] |
I wrote a letter to Kingsmill - you know, the people who make bread - complaining about their advert in which "Elvis" moves to Scotland & establishes the "King's Mill" bakery which becomes a famous brand of loaf. It's the usual advertising crap (by which I mean it's cretinous, flippant, lying shite) but for some reason it drove me to letter-writing. I can't really recall what I wrote-as it was written in approximately one minute, before the mind-numbing ITV programme fired up again-but it was angry. My, was it angry. I think I closed with the line "Advertising is no sort of career for a grown up". Anyway, they wrote back:
Dear Mr 200bars
Thank you very much for taking the time to write with your comments about our new advertising campaign, & we are sorry to hear that you do not enjoy our new adverts.
If this idea or the adverts themselves cause any offence then we send our apologies, but this was not our intention. Our intention was to create enjoyable & light hearted adverts that people talk about & that increase awareness of the Kingsmill brand & make people aware of our new products.
Before being broadcast, 'The King' adverts were reviewed & approved by the Broadcasting Advertising Clearance Centre & our own legal team.
However I have passed your letter on to our Marketing Department, as I know how much they value customers opinions.
Yours sincerely....yadda-yadda-yadda
Now, glossing over the fact that I am sure the Marketing Department don't welcome my opinion one little bit, some things come to mind:
-It would be easy to become one of those people who writes to strangers, railing against the inequities of the modern world, all of which have been designed to irritate me personally. I can see how this would be most fun.
-How unfortunate must you be to have to work in a Marketing Department that not only has to advertise bread, "making it exciting" (it's BREAD for God's sake - it ain't meant to be exciting!), but has to politely deal with moronic, sarcastic comments from time-wasters like me, all the while pretending that you're taking it seriously when you probably want to fire off the most insulting riposte ever to darken the halls of The Royal Mail? Lesson: Stay in school kids.
-I am aware of the irony of talking about these adverts, which is exactly what they want to achieve. I don't care.
-I really will do anything if it displaces the activities I should be getting on with, for instance-& picking one completely out of the blue-writing an essay that's due for submission in three days.
-I'm right that advertising really isn't any sort of career for a grown up.
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[28 Oct 2004|05:18pm] |
In other health news, tomorrow is apparently the world's first psoriasis awareness day. Not that I don't appreciate the seriousness of the condition but surely a whole day is a little excessive. There's not that many days in the year, surely we can't afford a whole one devoted to such a condition. Although I guess sufferers could be shunned in the kissing stakes. Then again, there's already a 'Social lepers' day': a.k.a. St David's Day. (boom!tish!boom!.......thankyouverymuch...).
Ahem. Anyyyyyway. My point was that not everything can have it's own day. With so many issues competing for attention, surely it would be better to divide the year up into chunks of time better reflecting the seriousness of the each. Such as 'John Peel memorial day', 'Foreskin caught in your zip suppertime', 'Please can I have another piece of pie half-hour', or 'Michael Howard is definitely not a wanker nanosecond'.
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[28 Oct 2004|05:07pm] |
There was some flippant, nonsense in the paper the other day about a person's "real" age. Apparently researchers say it's not what it looks like it's what you can do with it that counts. Meaning it doesn't matter if you look about 45, because what really counts is mental sharpness, flexibility, the ability to hold a ruler above your head during an episode of Neighbours without getting a sore arm or having to empty your bladder. Something like than anyway.
Seems these researchers have come up with a whole raft of tests to separate the svelte, fit things from the coffin dodgers among us (they never explain why though - perhaps eugenics is making a comeback. Probably in Sweden.) & now they think they're something special & probably want us to lick their bulging boffin heads in thanks. Problem is, I could have told them this ages ago. And I don't need any fancy tests, because I have my own. Yes, it's all about crossing the road. Crossing the road is the perfect test of your faculties.
- Those idiots who stand at the edge of the pavement anxiously waiting for a stretch of road as empty as a Nicholas Soames's doggy-bag before they'll cross = OLD.
- Lithe young thing perfectly able to judge the oncoming traffic = YOUNG.
- Person unable to figure out that once the "WAIT" sign on a pedestrian crossing is lit you don't have to keep pressing it = OLD.
- Someone happy to cross into the middle of the road & wait for a moment as a car passes inches by them before continuing their journey whilst humming 'Superfly' = YOUNG.
I got run over by a motorbike once you know.
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| And that new Manics' song is crap too |
[21 Sep 2004|03:30am] |
I have never understood Tom Waits. To me he seems like nothing other than a drunk, obnoxious bum with breathing difficulties mumbling about chaffinches. Alright, it’s unlikely to be chaffinches, but it may as well be for all the sense it makes to me. What’s the point?
In other news: I dislike big wheels. In fact I hate them. I wouldn’t normally class this as news, but I revealed this to someone earlier in the day only to be treated like a special class of mentally ill person who should be locked up in a very secure facility post-haste. Apparently my total indifference* to taking a trip on the London Eye means I am ‘missing out’, should question my beliefs & probably deserve to go to prison.
*Perhaps I mean “fear” rather than “indifference”, but the two are similar enough. In a way.
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| We've been away but the world is still stupid |
[09 Sep 2004|07:54pm] |
I'm aware of a gentleman who, when a smart alec child, once told a maths teacher that he didn't intend, or need, to do his homework as "You don't need maths to be a priest - I'm joining The Church". All very amusing, but it's nonsense, isn't it? Surely even the most menial of tasks require some level of numeracy, let alone the clergy. "Lo! Repent your sins for here come the FOUR horsemen of the apocalypse! ..Oh, hang on a minute, is it four, or is that three?" Then there's the sins: seven of them (the deadly ones anyway). And the gospels.
This reminds me of the Piraha, a tribe who live in the Amazon, who have no words at all for number & only have three words to count: one, two, many. Even more bafflingly they're spelt almost identically - the difference is in the inflection - while their "one" can mean "roughly one", & "two" can mean "not many". Now this is stupid. I'm all for cultural diversity & lingustic quirks but WHAT THE HELL? Even in the jungle you'd surely need a better system that this. For example:
"Bring me some monkeys."
"OK."
-time passes-
"Here you go: some monkeys."
"There aren't enough here to feed the dinner party I'm expecting. I was going to make 'Monkey surprise'. Go & get me some monkeys."
"OK"
& on. & on.
Then of course there's:
"Run, there's roughly one tigers coming to eat us!"
"Oh, seeing as it's roughly one we should be OK, I think I'll stay right he.. [urk]"
Stupid tribe. They need to get themselves a proper system.
It's like chopsticks. Now the Chinese are a wonderful people who've enriched society with many, many inventions, ideas, etc (without their knowledge & skill there'd be no fireworks for kids down my road to throw at elderly ladies), but why the hell have they continued to eat with two sticks? Especially when they like rice. How difficult is it to invent the spoon? Or the fork? These two seem very simple to me. I just can't understand how they let this slip them by.
My flatmate has a theory, but it's too stupid, concerning as it does the Japanese & the fact that they (according to him) didn't use the wheel "widely" until the industrial revolution. Which is just a lie. I can believe a lot of things, but I can't believe that the Japanese existed without a wheel for thousands of years. I'm not buying that one.
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