Here endeth the lesson

The problem with feeling good is that it may be hard to recognise.
Where did your template come from? Good compared to what exactly?
You may need to feel bad to remember what good is.
That's life. Ups and downs.
Flux.
But all ups and all downs make people weary and dissatisfied at some point. It's one of the prices of humanity for all but the luckiest or dullest of people.
Yet flux allows the human spirit to influence outcomes.
You can choose your universe.
Flux allows you to spread your wings should you choose to express the freedom others have bought for you.
You may feel life should be more. You should be better appreciated. You haven't acheived your potential.
It might make you say, have an affair or bet on a horse to inject some flux , some excitement, ignoring the consequences. You might do something else of equal fun and self-destructiveness.
Go ahead. Enjoy. But own the consequeces like a badge of honour or a licence to kill.
Then ask yourself, am I feeling good now?
When you have done that, come back and read these final sentences.

Because next, it's time to evolve. To know yourself well enough that you know the answer to how you will feel before doing acting.
That's probably what they call emotional maturity.
It frees up more time for reading and watching 24.

Performance Notes

Comedians, when wearing a comedy moustache, don't forget to place it slightly wonky and have one half of it fail to stick.
Look slightly embarrassed as if you are thinking of sacking the props girl, struggle to restick repeatedly and wait for hilarity to ensue.

Ode to Mealtime

I don't want to know what my dinner has eaten
Be it milk-fed veal or corn-fed chicken.
I don't want to eat what they taste their food with.
So it's no tongue for me, it's theirs for the licking.

I don't want to know if they have nasty habits.
Or if they don't care for carrots or if they're at it like rabbits.
They may have been unselfish: no anger, no me-time.
Just as long as they are ready in time for my teatime.

I don't want to know if they walked on air
After a glass of champagne or an anniversaire.
As long as they weren't die-hard vegetarian.
Or walked with a lead. Or were born by Caesarean.

I don't wish to know if they lived for walkies
Or if chasing a ball was their favourite hobby.
It's just I know what I like, and given the choice
I'd prefer not to saute Greyfriar's Bobby.

I'll lose not a wink if I miss their birthday,
So if they have a name, please try to resist
Furnishing all that personal info.
I don't put turkeys on my Christmas card list.

I don't need to know their talents and facets
Whether leading hands or supporting players
My dinner's personality isn't one of its assets,
It's nothing to me to have so many layers.**

**(But if they've won awards, I don't wish to be hasty.
It might be a prize for being very tasty! )

The unique animal instincts granted to only a few
Won't affect me, they'll still go in the stew.
There's no reason to think this should be a democracy
Unless it improves the taste of hypocrisy.

I don't need to know the look on their faces
If they were terribly loving, if they had airs and graces.
If they wrote a great novel or started a charity
Do I have to remind you it's not about parity?

The barbequed starter is just for the few who'd
Better not smoke unless they've been skewered.
But as for the main course, it won't bother me
As long as they weren't on 'Last Chance to See'.

They may have been heroes
They may have been sinners
They may have been lovers
They may have been winners
But I'm hungry now.
And it's been a long day.
I don't want a relationship.
With my dinners.

Original sins

I’m going to write a movie.
It’s about a doctor.
Whose called out of retirement.
To make one .... last..... diagnosis.
What do you think?

(He can have a quirky autistic sidekick if you like)

Errors of the past

Diagnostic coding has it's place but if you are forced to label everyone who comes through the door there are going to be tricky times. Most patients of primary care (family medicine) do not have a clear diagnosis. Or don't have one... yet.
I went through a phase many years ago of coding (with the nearest most relevant code) those people I could find nothing wrong with as "Fit".
Waking in a cold sweat a few years later as my subconscious reviewed this process in a less than timely way, I realized that a "fit" is of course a "seizure, perhaps due to epilepsy.
So for those inconvenienced by my coding on their medical records say during application for an HGV licence or trying to get into the army, well, as we used to say at school:
Soz!

Playground philosophy

I was accused of being an idealist today.
To be honest, that's not particularly uncommon.
But I am occasionally accused of being a cynic.
That's not particularly uncommon either and I rather enjoy my ambiguous status.
But while I regularly bathe in both these labels, which one is true?
In the words of Harry Hill, there's only one way to find out!

I rarely accuse others of these things.
What use is it? Is it helpful? Do people appreciate the insight? Generally, no. They are just labels. They are useful for dismissing people's outlook on life if you are the sort of person who likes the way that feels, regardless of their perhaps hard-won credibility.
It's a playground thing, subtle bullying, one-upmanship, points-scoring bullshit. "Well that's just because you're...[fill in the adjective]". "You smell". "No, you smell". Unarguable.
It's just done in a more sly, more adult, more subtley sophisticated manner.
Don't get me wrong, it's NOT sophisticated but it may fool the casual observer.
It's still playground stuff. It reminds me of being asked my a fellow pupil who was flicking through a biology book whether or not I had a "scotrum" at school.
It sounded nasty so I denied it (even if he had not mispronounced scrotum I may still have said no) but my denial was followed by mild hilarity as I denied the existence of my genital bag.
So what's going on? How can you be an idealist and a cynic?
Suffice to say, it's possible. It's possible just by saying, rather obviously, that these qualities apply to different areas or life.
But was the label that well thought out?
I don't think so.
But surely this is a useful exercise, no?
Well, I'll tell you.
It only says something about your accuser .
It really does not say anything much about you.
You've been here before. That sign post up ahead... the destination ... is "it's not you, it's them". However sophisticated their name calling becomes, it's a thin veil and, unless humorous in delivery which would vindicate it, then it's vapid and pointless.
So they can stick that in their pipes and smoke it.

Pillocks.

Office Protocol

When you work in an office, there may periodically be times of what can only be referred to as chat.
Granted, it is not to be encouraged but nevertheless these precious moments of lucidity will occur. Even prisoners get 15 minutes in the yard or a soft job in the library.
However what you need to know is that there is an unwritten protocol to these episodes.
For example, when someone brings up the economic crisis in a gentle way ripped from the headlines such as, oh I don't know, that Borders the book chain is going out of business and closing all its UK branches, a suitable response is NOT to exclaim...
"Oh no, where are all the lesbians going to go?"

Tune in again next week for more office-related advice.
You'll know more when I do.

School Discipline

I hate to get on my high horse but I am strong proponent of the policy of 'Education, Education, Education'.
I believe the government has invested a great deal into this policy but still, every time I visit the Internet, the outrageous number of Naughty Schoolgirls that greets me beggars belief.
They bounce on to my screen with what can only be viewed as minimal searching.

Not only are they very naughty, but they seem to want me to punish them.
Me!!
Like I don't have other things to do.
And as if that isn't enough, they expect me to pay for the privilege.
It's no wonder we need an election.

Irritations that antihistamines don't touch

Can we just release all the never-seen-before Beatles memorabilia and be done with it once and for all?

 

Please!

 

 

And while I'm on one, you know that movie 'The Man Without A Face' with Mel Gibson.

Well, he had a face.

Granted there was some mild scarring on one side of his cheek. But the other half of his face was pure Mel Gibson.

 

I don't see the problem.

Is this the worst rhyme of all time?

Goosey goosey GANDER,
Whither shall I WANDER?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady's CHAMBER.

Jesus H!

Penguin Tornado (n) – the sharp suck that is given immediately after biting into a biscuit that reduces the chance of crumbs falling onto tables, shirts etc and increases the chances of them landing in your gob.

 

Comms difficulties

Have you ever had one of those days when even your spellcheck has no idea what you're talking about ?

If you want to get a..head

I saw a chap running for the Metro today. He was dressed like a City gent. As he had missed the doors, he decided to deprive us of the satisfaction of pulling away with him still on the platform. (This is always a lovely moment that makes my day, the enjoyment being generally proportional to the amount of effort made to try to catch the train).
He stuck out his brolly and the door trapped it long enough to wrangle the doors and force them open. As he joined us, he beamed his (not quite enough) embarrassment from the top of his pinstriped suit. But although he got in, his satchel (I know, satchel!) was trapped.
He was a young guy so either the pinstripe-satchel combo was an affectation or he was posh. Anyway it is not important for the tale, so I'd ask you to overlook it.
It was jammed sufficiently tightly for the doors not to open. Away he struggled. The doors-closing buzzer had long since silenced. Anticipation of velocity was in the air. As a casual observer I was hungry for blood. (I had forgotten my sandwiches).
Down the years I have seen a few trapped customers in the Metro and even forced the doors for a couple. It is tougher in London where the doors close more angrily and with more impatient power. That's where I saw the best such episode last year.
A guy was struggling to get off the Tube. I cannot recall why he was late to alight (you don't get a lot of opportunity to use that word so indulge me). I think it was just a tardy decision.
He got off but just as the perfect moment, his hat blew off in the rush and landed on the floor of the carriage as he arrived on the platform just ahead of the closing doors. Off went the train with his headgear. Nothing to be done.
OK, it wasn't the end of the Wrath of Khan but surely an equally helpless moment. Nothing could be done but watch through the glass as his hat took the Tube to Heathrow. (And no, it did not belong to Bono).
Back at the Newcastle Metro, eventually the driver noticed the gaoled satchel and pressed the satchel-release button. The door briefly opened and off we went, but not before the Geordie driver came over the tannoy with a timely, "That was clever wasn't it?".

Stocking fillas

You know those "Best father in the world mugs"?
Or the plates identifying the "best mother in the world"?
Why it is that when it comes to the printing run, why is it .. that they make more than one?
Is that for everyone who is wrong? So they can buy one too?
I admit the potential market is big for the goods but there needs to be an answer to all these disingenuous mugs.
So I have designed a new range of goods with new phrases: "For the best Dad in the world from someone with questionable judgement" and I also have a range of bone china plates with "To the best Mum in the world given the limitations of my enquiries so far".
I haven’t sold many yet which is a bit worrying as I have a warehouse full.
But Christmas is coming, so get in early, don’t wait till the sales.
Please.

Water always wins

Two dramatic events unfolded this month so far
The anti-penultimate episode of David Tennant's Doctor. And the real life Lake District under attack from rain and flood.
Bridges destroyed, fatalities - three, a thousand bridges under structural review, shops and newsagents ruined apart from the top-shelf mags.
Water pushing over structures that have slept for hundreds of years never with such challenge.
Pushing, not relentlessly, a day or two is enough to destroy every business and jeopardise every bridge.
The Doctor said it best in Tennants' breathy tones.
Water is patient.
Water just waits.
It wears down the clifftops, the mountains, the whole of the world.
Water. Always. Wins.

Salt lake nitty gritty

When I was a kid I used to put my salt in a little pile by the side of the plate.
Now, I splash it all over.
When did that change?
When I throw it all over I can't really taste it.
But if I dab a chip in the pile.
Zing!!!
I'm going back to the old way.
Join me if your blood pressure can stand the excitement.

Doing your bit

Terry's annual telethon has started with him warning us that in these difficult financial times, it's the children that suffer most.
It's not of course.
It's the pubs.
So as it's Friday night, I'm heading out to do my bit.
Trouble is, it's always the same at this time of year, there's always some do-gooders coming round rattling those tins and buckets.
Tends to be a bit of a downer.

The best shave yet

No, I'm not growing a beard.
I am just waiting till next year when apparently they are going to come out with a razor that shaves ultimately close. Not just really close but much closer than any razor before it.
So I don't see any reason why I should tolerate the crap they've been selling us this year.
And last year.
And come to think of it, every other year before that.
No more!
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice. Well, I'm not going to be fooled again.
I am not going to make the same mistake I did when buying Vista.
Sit tight I say.
Wait for the final version.
I might buy some sandals and a tambourine while I'm waiting.

Goodbye, McCall

When you have a set of 1980s TV Principles like me, you have a clear sense of right and wrong.
You can keep it quiet or play the card like a Sword Of Justice and use it to mete out revenge, to protect the weak, to uphold morality.
You can do the right thing despite any cost and in spite of your own demons.
You can do it simply because it needs to be done.
This method serves you. Although like any, it has its price.
It should be in the curriculum.
Choosing to live through the agenda of others. Offering to help. Finding a way.
Playing a part in life, in lives.
If some of that teaching came from the well-engineered emotional triggers of TV, I think that's all for the good. That's just what schools try to do now isn't it? - engage cheap teaching with technology using CD ROMS and computer based learning packages.
But my teachers had charisma. Mine were heroes whose words you might want to quote as you look in the mirror, whose car you may want to drive and whose actions you wanted to emulate. Whose theme tune you tapped the furniture to and ringtoned 20 years later.
It's not a religion.
But it's not far off.
And Edward Woodward was one of my teachers.

I miss him.

Debts of War

Imagine the fear
And the noise and the smell
And the death of your hopes
As your best friend fell
The end of your dreams
And great expectations
Gone at the hands
Of evil nations.

Dying with the speed
Of a quick assignation
In mounds of character
Assassination
Feeding the dirt
With the youngest of men
All terror and telegram
And never again

Their dreams were enlisted
Our freedoms were won
They were tried, they were tested
In the barrel of a gun
Their lives snuffed out so
We are free from their fears
You do have our thanks,
Thanks through the years

Now drunk youths can choose
On which graves to urinate
These great freedoms granted
Are humanity's fate
So they kneel at the headstone
Just to spraycan the name
On a soldier's sacrifice -
Humanity's shame

Remember the evil
Of our European friends
Now we live in a time
Where apology is amends
For their hard-wired birthrights
To control and to slaughter
Your son, your father.
Your brother, your daughter

It was too close a contest
Of lions versus lice
It would have been different
Without such sacrifice
It might have been lost
This good versus rotten
And if it weren't for remembrance
We might have forgotten

Correctly seated

Why is crossing your legs so comfy?Such a simple action but breaking it down to its key parts, I just don't see why it should be.
No, by rights it shouldn't be.
Is this one of those things they usually get the University of Leicester to look into?
Yes that's it.

Or Aberystwyth.

It also works for beer.

Good news - they've identified the bit of brain that reminds you if you have a bit of tea left in your mug.
It is time-resistant, in the occipitofrontal lobe of the brain. It also has a direct connection with the indignation centre of the hypothalamus which is activated should there be a two second window in which the cup cannot be found.
It's the most specialised part of the ofice worker's brain.

Know your ABCs

You know that "A to Zinc" daily vitamin supplement they are always advertising?
Well, what vitamin begins with X?

Business Talk

Apparently zebra finches teach themselves their own langage in a few generations by imitating and improving a new version from a parent bird reared in a soundproofed cage with no point of birdsong reference to learn from.
By version/generation 3 or 4 they do a pretty good job implying language is genetic.
They imitiate and improve.
There 's a sneaky way of imitating the experiment using human volunteers.
And we know now there is a speech gene called Fox P2 ( I think). Break that and your gibberish.
But 'imitate and improve'.....I like that, you don't always have to be breathtakingly original
Imitate and Improve.
That's quite a good plan for a business.

Remembrance Sunday

Sometimes things drop into popular culture so far that you lose their perspective
You lose their sense. Like a word repeated over and over so it begins to sound silly.
Especially when something might be culturally senstive and you are British.
Which I is.
So when you meet a German, why exactly is it that WE can't mention the war again?
Why would that be? I just can't think of a reason. I can understand why they wouldn't mention it.
But WE didn't start it and WE won!
I don't get it.
Is it so we don't hurt anyone's feelings?
Wouldn't that be a terrible national shame?
Mention it today.
It's the least we owe.

Time Management

I am going to save you 3 hours a week, simply recite these phrases over and over again
"There' s no way you should be in the bottom two".
"I can't believe Simon chose you that song".
"Yous should be proud of worz" (slightly snarled and in a manly voice)

And if case you find yourself with time on your hands as a result, bear in mind Channel 5 are happy to fill it with a presumably highly intellectual challenge - Britain's Best Brain?
Who should be get to host such as high-brow affair? Bamber Gasgoigne? Richard Dawkins?
No, Of course not.
Why ask them when Zoe Ball and Jamie Theakston are available?

Maybe if it were Britain's Best Brain on a Stick.
Britain's Best Brain after 10 pints of lager.
Britain's Best Brain after an after-show party.
Britain Best Brain served with a nice chianti.
Maybe then.
But it's not.
It's just Britain's Best Brain!

Zoe Ball.
Jamie Theakston.

Help.

Check Your Calendar

Don't you think that Calendar Girls overpromises a bit.
It constantly tours the country with a rotating cast of various minor female celebrities who are clearly slightly tantalised by the naughtiness supposedly on offer. And obviously keen to cackle their way through the local post-show drinks.
Their tasteful nudity dresses the front on our theatre whats-ons. Including recently.. Dot Cotton - a gnarled woman in her mid-eighties.
Surely enough is enough.
But there a few younger bits flimsily strewn around.
Frankly there is someone for everybody.
Necrophiliacs are not the only ones catered for.
But of course it wont be 'as advertised'.
We are not going to see Letitia Dean spreadeagled, or touching her index finger to her lips while provocatively slightly looking behind her in a suitably dirty manner.
We are probably going to see very little of that.
Overpromising you see.
We are not going to see Lynda Bellingham bending over the dishwasher as though she's dropped a screwdriver behind the hot and cold entry points.
And we are probably not going to see the latest half-wit from I'm a Celebrity Jungle, trapping her fingers in the cutlery drawer forcing her to jump as her nipples instantaneous bounce up into a suitably gravity-defying position (are you listening Dot?).
In fact, if I may use a broader brush, in case of any domestic incidents, we are not going to see any at all of our oh-so-risque (insert ironic emoticon) volunteers go arse over tit.
If anything all we are going to see is a light comedic effort with a generous helping of angst and melodrama mixed in.
So when I go to the advertising standards authority, I just want to know.
Who's with me?

Medical Query

Do you think it's possible to get scurvy and Lyme disease at the same time?

Baring consideration

Nights are drawing in.
Weather girls says we are in for a cold night.
Got me thinking...
I wonder if David Jason's wife often wakes up to a touch of frost..

How Can I Help?

A couple of years ago I went to a show by Balls of Steel host Mark Dolan in Edinburgh.
By name, How Can I Help?
It was a fully improvised show,.
Audience participation was mandatory. You had to submit a written suggestion that you "genuinely" needed help with that he could turn into a show.
We were all left in no doubt that non-participation was not an option. After all there would have been no show without it.
He pulled out the cards one by one and proceeded to solve the problems.
It's a good philosophy. How Can I Help?
A GP does the same thing. So does a grocer.
But something like 97% of people walk out of GP appointment with all the answers they were looking for.
And they can come in with anything.
ANYTHING AT ALL.
That's impressive even to me. And I am on the dispensing end. Actually it's something to be proud of.
If only it were true. I think it is in the main.
My submitted problem, I might as well tell you, was a deep rooted one going back many years so I wrote on my card, "I can't gel".
Not in crowds you understand. I was referring to a difficulty adding a product to my hair although in fairness I only discovered such products fairly recently.
The solution?.
I got invited onto the stage (that wasn't part of the deal but you have to give the public what they want), shook Mark's hand, looked him in the sweaty face and note his highly gelled hair. It looked rather like he had used Clarified Butter For Men but I am sure he was worth it and I kept my mouth shut.
I was about to face the public vote.
The audience voted on whether or not I even needed to gel and 90% thought I looked perfect as I was without the gel. I can't remember if they used the word perfect but let's assume they did so we can all go home.
Problem
Solution.
Questions?
No?
Ohh... So what?
You cheeky beggar...well
Well the title of his show has lived with me. He has seeded me.
I think it may be the best philosophy for life we have. I suppose it's considerod 'old' now in terms of new age thinking but Be The Change is a strong message.
Be the change you want to see in the world.
So tomorrow, look for a problem in your world or someone else's around you. (It's not difficult, they are everywhere. If you have a very simple life pick up a free copy of Metro and start there).
Notice, direct your observation... in the words of Peabo Bryson... Somewhere Out There , breathe in deep and and ask yourself: How Can I Help?
I wonder where it will lead.
Good places I think.

Scary Times

If someone else tells me it's Hallowe'en today, I might engrave them.
Of course this is the working week. Monday to Friday. And I am in my first blushing exposure to it.
This is where Saturday is traditionally moved to Friday if it suits scheduling.
So tonight we have BBC1's celebrated 'The ONE Show' celebrating Hallowe'en - you might call it a 'special' if the programme qualified to be called special in any capacity.
So I have a shocking prediction for you.
Don't read it alone.
And this is it.
In 10 years time.
That's 2019.
I predict that BBC1 at 7pm will still be showing The ONE Show.
Wrap up warm.
Forget what I said.
Don't let it blight your life.
It might never happen.
And click here
Good luck.

Wanted:Statistics

There was one of them there twin documentaries on a few days ago.
I didn't see it.
But apparently it was remarkable. You know the sort of thing.
Identical twins turns out to have exactly the same skin creases. Same politics. Et cetera.
It's amazing how genetic we are.
But I've always been intrigued by those stories that usually involve one of them emigrating to Australia.
I think it only works if it's Australia.
You know the rest of the sort of tale.
One of them gets appendicitis and the other awakes bolt upright with a pain in his gut.
Actually judging by the subject matter of the rest of the film, it probably is appendicitis so that's not a very good example. Let's try again.
One of them emigrates to Australia. That bit's the same.
One of them falls of his bike, that's more like it, he falls off his bike and the other one gets a graze, no that's not right, feels the pain. That's it, he feels the pain at the same time.
What's going on there? These are the studies we need to do.
We need numbers.
We need statistics to support the phenomenon.
We need an objective eye.
In other words we need to record evidence.
So let's get down to it.

Don't delay.

Happy slap a twin today and stick in on FaceTube!

Your favourite things

Everything's subjective.
Your taste in toothpaste.
Modern art.
Corner baths.
The potential for humanity.
Warren Buffets' stock picks.
Everything.
So take Warren. He's one of the world's richest men. Why exactly?
Is his opinion dismissed by a sceptic with a "That's just your opinion" or "Well that's just subjective"?
Well no, because he's right. More often than he's wrong. He is 'subjective good'.

The same goes for Da Vinci, Picasso, Tony Hadley.
If someone tells you that's subjective, they are doing you down. I believe that is now abbreviated to dissing.
"That's just your opinion" they bleat: a phrase that is "That's subjective"-Lite!
They are still looking snootily look down their metaphorical noses at you. It is a deflationary policy and it is laser-targetted at your inner spirit.
It's rude, judgemental and outside the scope of useful debate.
Imagine hearing that phrase 3 times a minute on Question Time.
Boring. Pointless.
You may be offering a lifelong opinion based on deep valid personal experience. And "they" are valuing their own knee-jerk response to your information/proposal as if their opinion is of equal value.
Hugely arrogant. Ask Warren. Although he'd be too nice to point it out.
Better still, don't hang around with these people.
You don't want to surround yourself with Yes Men but there's a balance.
Justice says they should not get away with it. But don't resort to violence unless they do it twice.
Just Notice. Next time someone tells you what your opinion is , notice.
Their nanosecond of thought has crystallised their opinion and delivered their verdict.
If that's not arrogance I have no idea what is. But it is purely theirs.

Opinion is fast becoming a sin.
Strongly express it and you should be silenced.
And you thought racism was one of the last taboos. Think on. We have done that one to death.
It's great to be free.
So are you subjective right. Or subjective wrong?
Because all opinions are not equal.
I am sorry to tell you this but it's best you heard it from me.

Stay away from the 'that's just your opinion' folks in life.They feed like leeches.
Life becomes about whom you share a room with.
Pay attention to it.

And it was an hour earlier at the weekend but maybe the sun won't rise tomorrow.
Maybe the tide won't come in.
Get out there and rock the boat today.
Shake a few of these limp limpets off.

Fizzy Futures

Comedy is truth. But there is another interesting thing about it.
There is so much of it out there that barely any nuance of modern living has now been left unanalysed by our roving comedians. Barely any quirk of life has been left unploughed or overturned for a laugh of recognition.
Every domestic part of our existence is mapped to energise up the comedian/audience circuit.
And then every retro reference is exploited - every these tune we knew as a kid, every programme we loved.
Who hasn’t had the conversation of your favourite childhood sweets a thousand times? Who remembers Spangles? Yeah? So what? Who cares?
So once your current life is mined and your past life is tilled for referential nuggets, what then?
Well, then you don’t need to live there any more. You don’t need to linger to revisit those areas. And yes it’s a bit of a shame. But then you don’t need to wait a quarter of a century for a favourite tune you had been looking for when Google will give it to you in a quarter of a second.
So where does that leave us to live?
The future. We have to live in the future. At the risk of sounding like a political slogan, Forward Into Possibility. That is the inevitable sequel to the acts of our chucklemakers.
But we are going there anyway, so they are helping us face that future. It may not be as cosy and familiar as the past. Or the present. But it’s coming anyway. And faster than ever.
Realise it. Embrace it and you get the edge you need to survive, perhaps brilliantly.
Comedians are seers, historians, politicians, anarchists and diplomats. They tap into our brains and exploit our primal patterning. But it’s for our own good. It’s the most passive education you will find.
So as Microsoft’s tag line used to tease... Where are you going to go today?
Or tomorrow.
Have a Sherbet Dib-dab and think about it.

Lazy hacks

If I never read the phrase "scenery-chewing" in my TV guide again it will be too soon.
I think barely a week goes by when it is not slipped into one tired review or other.
And I always go.... Eh?
Does it just mean overacting? Well a quick search in my Egg-poaching advisor refers to it as hamming it up in a overdramatic way as if you were going to consume your surroundings, borne of the theatre and used over a century ago.
As an overused cliche, it is of course the reviewer who is over-reaching and hamming it up in a melodramatic fashion, peddling an old performance without flair or nuance.

I assume the irony is lost on them.

Dark Times

I am not here to bring back dark memories.
Far from it. But some things well, some things defy...
What I mean to say is that mysterious forces can play or rather conspire...
Look.
The point is..does anyone remember that peculiar part of the seventies maybe eighties when Grange Hill AND Give Us A Clue had the same theme tune?

Whaaat the bloody hell was all that about?

Poaching 1.02

Yesterday I poached an egg.

I can tell you are not impressed but it was my first time and I have been meaning to do it for about a year.
And a half.
So how did you do it?, I hear you cry.
Well pretty much like you might.
I Googled how to poach an egg. Obviously.
Various methods were tested and photographed by one plucky blogger.
And I followed his advice: to line a cup with cling film, drop the egg in, pick up the whole goldfish- in-a-bag affair squeezing the top closed and drop into boiling water for 2 minutes.
No mess. Perfect egg.
Any questions?


Today I'm poaching two eggs.

(I'm having quite a time)

Dubble trubble

Yesterday I broke a bottle at the supermarket checkout.
Yes I was the tragic idiot that held up, even vanished, the queue behind me. There followed sawdust which, to my mind, drew attention to the whole thing. After all, this wasn't a bottle of anthrax.
On the other hand the wet creeping evidence did nothing positive for my two pack of Andrex other than creating beer flavoured toilet paper. They say most genius inventions are accidental and the USP is evident but the market does not spring immediately to mind.
Then I insisted on paying for the damages by getting the cashier to scan the barcode on the fragments as it was clearly my fault. And he insisted on getting me another bottle in exchange, something I tried to avoid. After all with the length of time it was all taking we were starting to bond and I knew it would be hard to leave when the time came.
Then he told me in all his years of doing the job (he looked at least 19) I was the first person to offer to pay, making me a "very honest" person something he felt obliged to verbalise and proving once and for all that I am a great bloke.
True, it's a pity his ridiculous beard resembled a cyclist's chin strap as I might have found it easier to subscribe to his point of view. But this is 2009 and you get your endorsements where you can.
Come to think of it, the bottle only received the lightest of taps before breaking. Actually I don't think it was my fault.
No. It wasn't. That's right. I see it now.
How can I have been so blind?
I am a victim. Yes, that's what I am. I want a free gift voucher and I'm suing for damages. That's the real British way. well, maybe next time, it feels like a lot of effort and everyone was very sympathetic. They carried my heavy shopping right out to my mother and baby parking space without complaint as I strode ahead clearly in the lead.

The public witnesses around me seemed to appreciate how I tackled the situation. I can see how some might have interpreted the handclap as "slow" but I put it down to the chilly afternoon. Honestly their poor faces were almost purple.
So all parties were very efficient and professional. Yes, a lollipop would have been nice at the end of it all but they said they didn't have any.
In the spirit of coincidence almost exactly the same thing happened 20 seconds later at the till next to mine - there's probably a psychic fault line running through Shield's Road. I am going to call Derek Acorah. I am sure he can find something scary to film in the Hallowe'en aisle.

Meantime bring on the nomination for Morrison's Man of the Month.
Surely if can't be far away.

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Maths and Mechanics

Are some of your friends strong people, you think?
Do you know some you consider to be weaker? Weak even. Maybe because they don't agree with you. Maybe they are indecisive. Maybe they are wet lettuces. Simpletons.
But we know the weak can be strong in their most glorious times, perhaps the only times that matter. When hardship confronts or sickness strikes. A problem at work. A mortgage payment. An argument with the missus. A tsunami. Do you think there's a difference?
If you said yes then well, sorry. You cannot react proportionately to these things. ( I can. You can't).
Trust your weak side. Trust the weak. The world depends on them.
Believe in them as the rightful heir and advocate of the human spirit when the chips are no longer cheap and the world is moved to tears.
These weak people might be strong perhaps for the very reason they are considered weak - elements of compassion, generosity, a moral compass, a 6 inch ruler of kindness. A smile.
Too Channel 5 afternoon movie? Tough!
They might give of the things of priceless value. Their time maybe. Their bottomless selflessness. But these are elements that these wimps may consider duty, social debt. It's own reward? Ha!
The strong have a phrase for this : "being a loser". Synonyms. They wouldn't see the intersections. Venn was weak. Fun at parties. But weak.
I will cut to the punchline because maybe you are too strong or too weak to get it.
Here it is.
The strong are weak. And the weak are strong.
And it is a formula that works for everyone you know.
Or will ever know.
Think about it.
If you are strong enough, tell me I'm wrong. But then I'll know you are.. well, you get it by now.
They are only words of course, that conveniently divide the word into two neat parts. Whether or not I can use the word halves, only you can decide. Because it's your point of view we are talking about.
After all I don't agree with it.
There's hope for the weak, they are more than half way there. They have compassion and the ability to learn.
You'll need to work harder for the strong. They need the same stuff but you'll find it harder to get in.
Do it if you like them, they may be good value. Empathise. Help them. But protect yourself. Some you will need to excise from your life. If you need a formula, delete 2 from the number of dimensions to their personality. If you are left with zero or less, move on and don't waste all your energy. You'll need it for the long game.

Because come judgement day, they're just like the rest of us.

How do you see the Pope?

So the Pope is coming back to UK shores.
Not the nice one - it's the new fella probably coming to sell a bit of art. The ex-Hitler Youth not the ex-goalie.
And it's for the first time since 1982. I remember seeing JP2 on that visit having been shepherded into the Knavesmire pens.
I was near the back but he did a full drive past in his bulletproof papal car - the Pope mobile. On his several swings past my pen, I had to choose how to view him. With my unholily naked eyes or with my souvenir lensed cardboard tube which was my Papal viewing device. Its name... and I love this branding so much that I still have it.
What else? The Pope Scope!

Neologisms 4

Shocktut (n).
The mix of disbelief irritation, kneadiness and disappointment that results when the household cook (i.e. wife, mother) is cooking burgers and has to break the news that there are no buns left and you have to have it in bread

Joke

Q. How many Irishmen does it take to cross the road?

A. Three

Fringe Review - Jerry Sadowitz

Jerry Sadowitz hates everybody. Post-ironically of course. I have been watching Sadowitz at every opportunity for 22 years, twice last year at the Fringe. But I think last night was my final time at least for a while, because he hates me too. Not just because I was on the fifth row at Edinburgh worst's Fringe venue as all those who bought seats early rightly received his amusing ire. No, it is because he hates all his "fans". He started his show a woefully unprofessional 33 minutes late - the only show of my 3 weeks in Edinburgh that could not start on time, and that at ?24.50 a ticket. We all stood outside the Playhouse to slow hand claps and people all around leaving and threatening to leave. Maybe that explained the empty seats even at the front of the theatre. Jerry likes to think we hate him for his anarchy. No.. we love him for that. It's his unprofessionalism. The show? Decent new stand-up, some familiar tricks he used last year which belies his ability as one of Britains's greatest ever card magicians. Fair enough. He's safely sticking to what he knows works. But this review goes Further than that. Because safety and Sadowitz are ill-conceived bedfellows. Sometimes it seems Sadowitz does not really realise what he has.A rarely paralleled card magician and I for one whooped with delight when he reincarnated one of the greatest TV formats of recent decades in The People Versus Jerry Sadowitz last year live. But the run was cancelled half way through just as I was about to visit "The People versus" again - after all you can go and see improv every day and no-one is better than Sadowitz at this instant anger. I also stood (in the rain last year) to a fellow queue of slow hand claps and a wet angry audience with young theatre facilitators apologising for his lack of professionalism ("I'll speak to his agent" one girl said!) He was apparently whinging he was going to cancel the show unless more volunteers came forward. So much for working an audience and to put these student staff (who were excellent) in this position on at least one rainy midnight is pitiful. It was a lousy way to start an entertainment and I stupidly came back for more!! Everyone makes a mistake. But last night history repeated. He pats himself on the back for being "difficult" yet most of us in life have learned more sophisticated ways of dealing with life's pathways.New fans will occasionally find Sadowitz and enjoy him but he really needs a better agent. For me however it's thank you and goodnight.After all it's supposed to be be fun. I'll just share one one touching moment from last year for those who know the format of The People Versus. (MOTP comes on stage and makes a comment or question and Jerry buzzes them off when they get boring). Last year, a young man came on and said, "Jerry, you're QUITE a good magician. BUZZ. Lad gets up to leave. Jerry UNBUZZES him, gets up and pulls him back to continue what he said. This was a rare spark of humility that I have found incredibly touching ever since I saw it and it has lived with me. No-one who sits in his bedroom for a decade or 5 practising with a deck or cards could really fail to possess this but Jerry keeps it pretty well hidden and has never played and exploited these broader emotional connections with his audience. As a result the act does not evolve. Maybe he's missing a trick.

A Gentle Query

I’d like to rename some of the Folders in my Windows Explorer in Italics.
I know that makes me a little fastidious but does it make me a bad person?
Or is it the gesture I am currently directing toward Microsoft with my non-typing hand that does that?

If Abba were Plumbers

Lucky old Abba. Alphabetically guaranteed to be at the top of everybody's playlists.
If they were plumbers of course they would long since have been displaced by AAA Stopcocks.
If they were heating engineers they would have been burned by the Aardvark Heating Co.
If there were builders, Aaron's Construction would have toppled them.
But as legitimate artists of pop, they head the list.
Fitting.

A Little Night Music

Load your iPod and pick your Genre of music.
But pick the right one.
Don't make the mistake I did by listening to an afternoon of New Wave when you had tried to upload only New Age.
It will raise your ire more than your chill factor.
When you are looking forward to 40 minutes of growing your hair to some easy-listening, don't fidget when it comes to the genre selection and accidentally upload 5 albums of A Capella Acid Jazz.
And when you have found a cable that connects your iPod to your gramophone and you are sitting in the drawing room with a glass of port, lighting your pipe and awaiting a gentle murder, make sure you have set it to Chamber Music rather than Christian Gangsta Rap.

Believe me, it's an easy mistake to make.

Villains of NYC

Now I like Law and Order.
It's smart. It's slick.
Honestly, it's like looking in a mirror.
Their actors are good and their regulars have gravitas.
It's everything that Bones isn't, regardless of what the oracle Stephen Fry thinks.
But we must, MUST, have more bad-toothed villains.
I can bear a well moisturised villain having a gravelly sinister voice and a too well trimmed goatee. But when they have all been on the receiving end of a GoSmile treatment it all gets a bit hard to swallow. I understand they need to keep their options open for the song and dance gig or the vacuum cleaner ads but really... do all killers laser?
The British have traditionally done well as Hollywood villains.
It's time to accept that cliche and export many more of our unwhitened gap-toothed actors, the ones who seem not to even brush never mind floss never mind bleach.
We can start exporting everyone in Eastenders then bring back Tomorrow's World.
I can't be the only one to miss Michael Rodd.

Have Mercy

I had a dialogue today on email with a lady who was training as a nurse.As she was American she needed a nursing degree and was then going to get another degree to specialise.
That's the trouble with a land that still uses Fahrenheit. Always siding with two degrees when one will do.
I also tried to find a dermatologist today but the only thing that Juneau had was an Advanced Paramedical Estetician in an Advanced Skin Specialist Clinic.
Lord help us.
Paramedic botox.
I don't like to harp on about vocation and I have no objection to the beauty business but "paramedical?"....please...
And have we reached a world where everyone is "Advanced" by just going on a course?
Everyone is a specialist just by saying so?
In a world of experts, where are the foot soldiers?
In a world of paramedics where are those ambulance men who you want at your side in a tight spot.
Where is that nurse who roles her sleeves up and isn't seduced by having a stethoscope around her neck?
Not in Juneau Alaska. That's where.

"Sophistry" - a poem

The reflections of elephants
The pride of the lions
It’s a hundred baboons thinking of scratching

It’s mating, recreating
For a million days
It’s a billion eggs dreaming of hatching

It’s the fancy for food with no sauce or seasoning.
Just shoots and leaves
And species reasoning.

A tasty start to the day

Sometimes when you work in a multicultural outfit, communication and language are a delightful enigma.
Having just now had a discussion about dealing with the complexities of a controversial issue, I was told by an Italian colleague with the usual gestures.
"I don't know how you say in English but it eez a boiling potato".
"Well.. we say hot potato".
Cue more gesturing at the difficulty of the problems behind the problem as we lurch towards how we develop change.

"Don't worry", I said "I eat hot potatoes for breakfast".

The Lost Manuscript

I just came across these thoughts from a year ago just when I was thinking of doing a blog.
I was in Kusadasi (apparently) and it was also July 4th. (Did I mention it was a year ago?). I have done a quick tidy and present it for you in today’s blog time capsule...

Build it they said. And they will come.
OK. Nobody said that. At least not to me.
The challenge of writing a blog is one of writing hopefully entertaining prose but an exercise at least in truth. I could call it “You CAN Handle the Truth”. I like that. But my mission is not that messianic. Trifle’s aren’t messianic.
One of my current sins is I don't write enough. And I rather like it. Maybe if I practice I'll get good. My journey starts here. Join me and let’s see where we end up.

Recently I went to Galilee.
Do you know what the currency is in Israel? It ain’t dollars.
Israel is the land of the Miracles.
But no sign of Smokey Robinson.

I just avoided buying the “First Miracle” wine from the souvenir ship in Cana but it got me thinking. (I love a little commercial crassness so it was a joy to behold.) Anyway, why do we assume the water into wine involved red wine. Surely white would have been a more probable choice. Especially with fish. A nice Cab Sav maybe.
But if everybody agreed that they tasted wine when drinking the translucent liquid, what casual observer would dare doubt this miracle?.

Prior to this I had visited the site of every schoolboy’s favourite - the loaves and fishes miracle. None on sale unfortunately but various fish symbols were available should you have space on your rear bumper.

These were the miracles.
Jesus chose interestingly I think.
Like a magician might select.
For drama. For effect. For a standing ovation. For these things alone, the wine has to be red. Red wine IS drama. If you don’t think so, try spilling it on your best friend’s beige carpet then look at his wife’s face.

But why did he not select effects that everybody could be blown away by.
Like say, oh I don’t know...turning back time.
Why choose something so material so.... well...possible?

And if you do this material, never... NEVER repeat the trick.
Lazarus? The resurrection?
Life from death?
The same trick?
Well perhaps. But a different method. He was a pro after all. Nobody’s saying he wasn’t good.

This the exception known to magicians. Repeat the trick... but only if use a different method.
As a doctor I have difficulty with life from death. The brain cannot be rescued after 6 minutes of lack of oxygen - anoxia.
However should Lazarus be excommunicated from his church, a charismatic self-styled prophet can welcome him back to his new church. Effectively, allegorically, resurrecting him from the dead.
Obvious when you think of it.
The great think about the truth is it feels so right.
You CAN handle the truth. You know it when you hear it. But you don’t hear it so much nowadays. It tends to be conditional....flavoured like a quarter of midget gems where every tenth one is black and you don’t know if it going to be a moreish blackcurrant or fairly disgusting liquorice.

It does rather makes you wonder about the miracles that did not make the cut when the stories were written up.
There must be some: some less impressive ones, some that did not impress with a literal interpretation and stand the test of time.
Lean back in a comfy chair, tap a pencil on your front teeth and imagine a few.

Personally I would like to see that sundial go backwards.

Oh... and it's shekels by the way.

The melody of maladie

To perfect your communication is the lifelong pursuit of a holy grail.
The journey starts with the alphabet and ends with telepathy. But the tools we employ along the way are pretty basic.
When you apply this priority to the practice of medicine, the drama is intensified.
The subtleties are not just subtleties anymore. At the risk of appearing crass, they may be life and death.
Don't take my word of it, ask any over confident doctor. I can tell you. He won't know what you are talking about.
Especially when you colour it as follows.
Your self awareness of style, external perception and ultimately the frequency and low hum of the electromagnetic waves you give off must be tuned every minute if not every second to see the Matrix.
Or to have the picture on the stereogram pop into focus.
To find the centre of the maze.
To screenprint in technicolor directly onto an imaginary T-shirt made from background reading and experiential toil which has the word Diagnosis written where the ironing instructions should be.
Ahem.
And then because that's tricky, you have to make it effortless. Not just appear that way, but actually BE effortless. You don't want to stress yourself out.
Then that is who you are, whom you have chosen to become and then medicine is no longer something you just do.
You don't hear so much of it in these days of part timers and jobshare or in those who think a full working week lasts less than 40 hours but maybe that?s what it means when people use the overtired word vocation.
I'd like to think so.
Medicine is a lyrical journey with a catchy harmony and an increasingly contagious refrain.
You have to try to hear the themes through the cacophony.
And then you can to tune your own instrument to the melody of maladie.

Get a bit stupid today!

When you get to recognize that life itself is a juxtaposition of contradiction, a whirlpool of the opposing forces of cold fact and versions of interpretation.
It's daffodils in breezes. It's 8 wheeled juggernauts facing off. Shoots of cress on a conscious planet.
Paradigms of religion and ethics, love and vocation, exertion and television, a discordant mess of intrigue, growth, excitement and ill-thought out ideas.
When you scrawl your personal manual, the bit of your brain that you can permawrite a few lessons into, you realize that you can dip into it and set your sail to steer a clear seamonster-free course.
Of course until you realise that, every wind will be a shock. Every cloud a brand new problem each and everytime. A hurricane will be unfathomable. And when you catch a following tide you may attribute it to supernatural inventions of your deluded mind. Unless you are good at pattern recognition, then you can start to fake it.
But when you find and realise the locus of inscription, you can set your sail.
You can steer beyond the contradictions of science and belief, between longevity and fidelity, between hope and probability.
And you can climb your mast to your crow's nest of understanding and your extended analogy of weirdness.
And look out. Look out over the past and future, of tides to come and shores reinterpreted by selective memory and jaded experience.
But you can see.
You can sail with skill.
You can ride the waves. Hell, you might even choose to steer into a few choppy waters for a bit of fun when you know you can handle it.
You might have an affair.
You might buy a motorbike.
You might close your eyes to the inevitable shores ahead that that course leads to. And that you must eventually negotiate. Maybe you'll sail around a bit in a few circles before you do.
You might run a red light.
You might make some lousy decisions.
You might decide to get a bit stupid.
Or you might not.

What's the matter with me?

I took a long walk into town yesterday. It was familiar stuff. I had a few minor errands that I was half able to convert.
The market was busy but I have kind of seen all the stuff before.
I nearly bought a magazine but it was $15 -the price of a book - there's something funny going on with that industry. The lines are being blurred.
But I got some exercise. I bought a nasal hair clipper. (Well I am at that age. There's no use me denying it anymore).
And I did get a modicum of satisfaction by sticking an AA battery in it and having a bloody good root around.
But.
And it's a small but...
The only time I allowed myself to observe something new and laugh was an action of pure malice.
Well maybe that's too hard on myself.
I was in a slightly pedestrian pedestrian mode and only phoning in my performance as a foot-propelled tourist. And in that busy market I walked past a camera in my peripheral vision just as she pressed (I think the technical term is depressed but the 'de' seems redundant and she seemed quite happy about it) ...just as she pressed her shutter release button. Technical term. OK smart arse, it was just as she took the photo.
I could not help but laugh. To myself of course. (She looked oriental and may have known Karate or at least how to prepare a punishingly salty miso soup).
But it caused an acute internal giggle. Did it not make me want to turn and offer a deferrent British apology? No. Far from it. It made me want to seek out another photographer and get right in the middle of their photo too.
What a fantasic pastime.
Now admittedly in recent years I have hesitated less on pavements and sidewalks to allow the magic moment of shutter release. It seems less important now that cameras are digital and can hold 2048 pics or so and so I have allowed myself this little licence in recent times.
However I think on this occasion I heard a click and the satisfying whirr of a film being rolled. I imaging a lovely printout of a snap almost certainly heavily featuring a close up of my left ear in glorious 35mm.
Now a fine ear it is, but I am not sure her default selection of autofocus was suffcient to bring out all its macro charms.
The whirr sealed the success of the whole event and a naughty new hobby was born.

So long.

There's nothing good about a big day for celebrity death.

Michael Jackson's lifelong and palpable dislike for Farrah Fawcett took a cruel twist today when he tried to outshine her one last time.
I had tried, loaded like a catapult to buy a Jackson ticket for the historic London shows. Previously the urge was not so close to the surface so perhaps he had something that locked it in, made it hardwired.
Having failed, today's revelation of paramedic mediocrity was.... what can you say?
A shock? Or the only epitaph possible?
That UCLA hospital, so infamous for previous celebrity leaks took over 2 hours to confirm death on a body who was cold for 2 hours before arrival, well I guess they were waiting for the lawyers or the media department to pitch up before quitting.
Or the chief doctor whose book release we will keenly await.
The only thing I know for certain is that Neverland's legacy as a tourist attraction is confirmed and our morbid bloodlust for celebrity is fed once again.
Drink deep, friends. Drink from the well you dug.
Your conscience is your own. Personally I have never purchased an edition of Heat.

One suggestion where I reside is for us all to wear one glove at midnight and play Bille Jean.
But as a medic, the last time I wore only one glove, there was only once other person in the room and given a free choice one of us and probably two didn't really want to be there.
And although I played Earth Song in the background, very loudly, it didn't seem to soothe the pain. No the inner connection was very different.
And anyway I think two is too few for a vigil.

But Michael Jackson demise's could probably never have been cured by Anusol regardless of what you will read in the redtops.
He will be sorely missed, but not just by the many children.

There may be no other end for a man who lives his childhood as an adult and lives his adulthood as a child. I've never seen Benjamin Button so I don't really know.
Or maybe there was a way out.
With cosmetic surgery? I doubt it. Though I am sure all the doctors were paid well.
With a true friend who wasn't a leech? Well, he'd have to find one first and anyway, where's the profit in that.
Now it's starting to feel like a familiar refrain. Isn't it Britney? (I know she tunes in - you see that one follower?)
Either way somewhere along the line we lost him.
One of a kind. He won't be the last unique sacrifice.
But he may be the biggest for a good while. Some claim! A great boast for the worms.
So who were the folks who sowed the seeds of destruction and who really killed him.
Who really killed him?
The fans? I think not. That was pure love and in the end that was all he had, certainly not money.
Family? Ask them. Tune if to countless documentaries in the next 2 decades. Don't decide now. You 'll have plenty of primetime to make your mind up.
Maybe the medics who greedily prescribed him his opiates and disgraced the profession were just the final straw.
Maybe the photo of him intubated which I just saw on CNN a couple of hours after death was reported and clearly taken by a paramedic is acceptable reportage.
Maybe in your world friends, not mine.

Then maybe I live in Neverland.

Rules of the air

Another day another tragic Air crash.
And that's not code for British MPs buying the latest Nike trainers on expenses.

The problem with these French pilots is their wine drinking culture. One slip of the mind and they forget they are allowed only one glass of vin rouge 8 hours before take off, not 8 glasses one hour before take off washed down with a White Lightning.

Neologisms 3

Decentritation (n)
The presumably static (yet dynamic) force that annoyingly and at the last possible moment shifts the upper of the 2 pieces of paper that you have just painstakingly aligned as an overture to sellotaping them together.

Picture This

You are sitting on a beach in Aruba.
Chatting quietly.
The beaches are public so you have full rights of access.
You have just bought lunch at the Hyatt.

Security from the hotel comes and asks you to move a few yards to the left.
You ask why.
He asks you again.
You ask why.
He asks you again.
You ask why again and he says there has been a complaint.
You say who, what, why etc?
The man 2 yards behind security owns up. It appears we are in his view.
Now he is paying say 1000 dollars a night.
We are paying nothing.
We are not shouting, fornicating or playing music.
What do you do?
Fight? Flight?
What do you do?
You can't be moved.
He can't move you.
You get a growing feeling someone needs to be taught a lesson but at this stage you are not sure who.
What to do?
The security chap seems like a pleasant fellow in a tight spot.
Stalemate.
Nobody's moving and you are beginning to enjoy the scenario as a mild amusement. You can see this playing out in a million ways over the next 20 minutes.
Five minutes well spent now could make the hotel guest's blood pressure visible from a mile away.
He has tattoos too. He is not helping his cause of reason.
Security then asks.... How do you think we should resolve this?
Genius!
What a great question?
And bit of a stumper.
You might think, resolve what? But it is the perfect question reasonably put.
A masterclass in how to handle a situation!
Think. Well, I could move. Then everyone wins.
Everyone but me.
I would have moved for an idiot. What will he learn then?
What to do?
Fight. Flight?
Think.
How can everyone save face without the need for verbal or physical violence.
Hmmm...Think.
Take a moment.
Recap.
Nice security man just doing his job.
Idiot hotel guest.
Me minding my own business.
Friend to take care of.
What to do?
Think.
Fight.
Flight.
Fight.
Flight.
Decision.
I'll move the 2 yards.
(Then to the security guard). "For you". (Then pointing to the idiot). "Not for him".
Everybody wins.
Security is ecstatic, collecting beach towels for us etc.
I learn a poetic new strategy.
Security saves face and makes the show of support for their guest.
Everybody wins.
Except the guy who complained.
He goes to find his cigarettes.

Follow Your Dream... or the kid gets it

You know all this "follow your dream" crap.
Don't we get an awful lot of that rammed down our throats!
It barely leaves room for the foie gras.
And some of it is not as easy to swallow.
Do not get me wrong. I am a sucker for an eloquent quote that promises a few easy answers although I felt guilty yesterday using someone else's words when these are supposed to be mine.

Do we have the stats to make an informed decision?
Should you follow your dream at all costs ?
For every Oprah how many destitute failures are on the streets?
We only see the success stories of course - that is the way ths system is designed. Bury the errors.

You might be lucky but would you not be better off with a platitude such as "Make hay while the sun shines"? Or maybe you'd have more success with advice like "Don't max out your credit cards"

Maybe "follow your dream" needs an upgrade?
Maybe you should clear a couple of mortgage payments before following your dream.
Or maybe that's the point. You shouldn't!

I think the Manic Street Preachers came a little closer: Design Your Life.
The NLP guys come close too in referring to the mind: Choose Your State.

Hopefully it is not a crime against fate to stack the odds in your favour and add a dusting of practical sense to the meringue of life.

That's easy for you to say

This is a nice quote from Steve Jobs I stumbled into today.
"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life.
Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking.
Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice.
And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.
They somehow already know what you truly want to become.
Everything else is secondary."

Yes, I am ready to do all those things. I keep thinking I can do them where I am but it's tough to find the time. Other people's schedules block my self-discipline.

You can only follow your favourite project if your inner voice work ethic leaves go a little. (That's American for "let's go a little")
And some projects are projects of isolation. Fine if you are Sartre and subscribe to the Hell Is Other People principle. Not so fine if you think People Is Life.

Nevertheless, I think a little intensive project deliverance is coming soon to a me near you.
It might take an amnesty with my conscience and a holiday for my work ethic.
But if that's what it takes then them's the breaks.

And spills ....

Do we all want the same thing or do we all want different things.
I can never work it out. .

Some people like to dive - in sky or water - but I rather think that it is just looking at fish.
And I tend to prefer mine battered.

Some people like to bungee but that's just short lived terror, surely. And as hobbies and interests go, one that only last 20 second comes up well, a little short for me. Hardly something to take a pride in learning about or mastering. And yet when you ask people what they would like to do in their spare time....
As for trusting your life to the mathematics of a bleached haired shark-tooth wearing Australian well, I am afraid I am a broken record on that one.

Don't we want to appreciate things with a sense of excitement which is really... thrilling ...in a way that is challenging, all encompassing, both in the moment and yet connecting with the universe in some sort of sunday supplement metaphysical way.

Maybe it's video games - or is that phrase just showing my age. I am sure they are brilliant but their universe is pre-ordained, pre-discovered. Created by programming gods. You are discovering someone else's universe. A colourful journey perhaps and a fine privilege.
But thrilling?
Is it really thrilling?
Is it?

Maybe it's gambling or lust or sex.
Or dance .
Or knitting.
Or reading.
Or Coronation Street.

Maybe it's bikes. Or cars. Maybe you have diesel or kerosene running through your veins. There are certainly hard-wired engineers in the world who I think come close with their passions to the sort of excitement that I am struggling to define.

So the question to you is this.

What thrills you?

The question to me is totally different of course.

What thrills me?

Neologisms 2

A smip (n)
The bit of red water settled on top of the tomato ketchup that you have to shake into the rest of the bottle to avoid it dribbling on your chips.

A tooph (n)
The irritating feeling when you fail to notice the bit of red water settled on top of the tomato ketchup, fail to shake it off and have it dribble on your chips.

Superman 2

Is God the longest-running fictional character that has maintained a following for so long and yet not had a sequel?

Perspective

Ahh yes, I remember it well.
So it was not so long ago but when I first saw a stereogram I was, it is not unfair to say, stunned. And not a little impresssed with myself. For at least a day and maybe two.

I had seen them many times during the craze of the "Magic Eye" and seen the hieroglyphics in the local newspaper. I even cut them out and kept them for time.
But I never saw them.
I never saw what they were.
I didn't get it.
Maybe I thought I did.
But I didnt.
I didn't even know what the "it" was that I was supposed to get.
I stared but not for long enough.
I did not pay the attention it needed.
Maybe I did not care enough.
But when it came, when it came, it was glorious.
And when in a book about memory I saw a colour plate and visualised the subpicture, it stayed with me. The subtextual illusion.
I saw it. And it was a little miracle.
My Mum had seen one.
My Mum!!
And easily!!
But this was my first time.

Life is about understanding.
It's visual.
Sometimes the effort is worthwhile.
Even for the tiniest thing.
Even when like for me, it takes a decade.
Maybe there's a subtext or maybe you can just give it a go for yourself at www.eyetricks.com/3dstereo.htm.
I'll be rooting for you.
But I can't stop to chat.
I'm working on the Rubik Cube

Neologisms

I have thought of a new hobby.
Inventing new words.
These are my first attempts


Perplix (n).
A strange feeling when observing something incongruous giving a strange sensation in the stomach area while also making your head tilt imperceptibly to one side. Such as when observing a man clearly approaching a century of age in the high street wearing a designer Nike tracksuit.

Smutt (n).
A feeling of guilt that you get when you enter a shop holding your sunglasses and you wonder if the shop assistant is going to think you pinched them when you walk out again.

Pilth (n).
A flat feeling of indignation when shopping for personalised gifts such as key fobs, bookmarks and pens when you discover your name isn’t there.

Household chores

What is it with washing up liquid?
After years of conditioning I can live with the need for my plates to smell of Lemon. It it's good enough for my knickers it's good enough for my dinner set.
Although it's not even the nice lemon. It's the lemon scent that was patented by Kentucky Fried Chicken.
But I can live with that.
I didn't complain when they brought out a range in peach.
Peach!
I am bigger than that.
I don't think it's right but I had bought into the concept already so it was a leap I could make. I had been groomed by Procter and Gamble and ironically I felt a little dirty at this point.

 

But life goes on. And worse things have happened in the world than been unnaturally conditioned by a toothpaste manufacturer.
World War 2 and the cancelling of TJ Hooker spring immediately to mind.
But this is too much.
Today my washing up liquid features Oxygen.
Oxygen!
In what capacity?
What on earth does that mean?
It's not flavoured with oxygen.
It doesn't smell of oxygen. If anything it smells of washing up liquid.
The bubbles I assume are filled with air, not oxygen.

 

They are losing the plot.
I am just trying to clean my plates not resuscitate them.

The local economy

I don't mind supporting my local corner shop buuut....

59p for a Double Decker!!!

 

It didn't even come with a full tank!

The Final Cutdown

What's the best bit about having your haircut?

If you are a laydee of course I would imagine it's the pampering... someone trying to tune your ears into Radio 2 and claiming it's Indian massage when they should be reaching for their shears.

Or perhaps the glass of presumably slightly hair-filled house chardonnay that kick starts your experience by trying to blur your vision ready for when you sign the bill.

No.

Having your haircut is an inconvenience and to raise it to entertainment is an illusion.

But even I have a guilty pleasure on the day.

The best bit is, dear friends, is when you get home and wash your hair.

Because only you can get the bits out.

Only you.

My preference is to do this in the style I learned to wash my hair as a boy - head bent over into the sink.

If you do... you get the enormous pleasure of seeing all the bits that you are washing out.

Sometimes if you are light haired, you may have to satiate on the reflections of their filamentous shadows on the white base of the sink (so dump the avocado suite while you can).  And sometimes like today when you are blown dry by a nuclear powered dryer while the protagonist waxes and rages a little over-persistently about the Newcastle managerial situation, then there may be little fruit to bear.

 

But generally there's plenty to keep you satisfied and make the post-cut wash a hugely rewarding experience.

Looks at the bits.

Savour the moment.

Catharsis is an overused word but ....well it's the best bit.

 

 

 

Why Reading Matters

That was the name of a BBC4 programme I had circled for tonight and have just turned off. Endured 42 minutes in the hope it might say something interesting,

Had hoped it would kickstart my inertia about reading but it was a tired, derivative rehash of simplistic and now rather dated science-in-a-sentence which lacked direction and failed to tackle it's own intriguing title.

 

A posh voice from its haughty but dull presenter followed by lots and lots of brain scans with minimally teletastic doctors waxing on about the meaning of the scans (like they really know!) and what it means for us on the street. Then an interview with a man who had a stroke in an unusual place - Euston Novotel.

Then a few more coloured scans.

Glorious technicolour was enough to sell Thunderbirds but that had Supermarionation going for it.

These guys are just muppets who wannabe on TV and that's 42 minutes I won't get back.

Mmm...those grapes are sour.

A while back I entered a BBC Scotland script writing competition to finish a sitcom.

 

The prize was that the winning entry would be made into a pilot. They had a sketch of the clip to whet the appetite with Melvyn Hayes and Don Washington playing two old guys.
It was called the Old Guys.It had 2 old guys in it.
And I didn't win.
I did have the interesting experience of reading someone else's entry who I found was also entering and scriptwise we were both on very similar lines (which was discouraging) as the competition was to complete someone else's script.

 

And I will say this.
Both of our scripts were better than the winner, which they published on the website.
You'll have to believe me as it is long gone.

 

As it was a competition, you do not receive so much as a rejection postcard although I can tell you from experience they are not all they are cracked up to be.

 

I have just found the files of my script. Dated May and July 05! Best part of 4 years ago!!!
And the series started on Tv this week, bravely positioned on BBC1.
So the point is this.
It takes a while for these boys to knock these things up doesn't it?
It is totally recast as well with a familiar face from Only Fools and another painfully unfunny guy. I made it a heroic third of the way through the episode.

 

While I am on the subject do you want to hear an impression?
Yes?
Ahem. Here it is.
"You plonker, Rodney. Rodney, you're a plonker".
Shall I give you a moment?
Yes it's housewives favourite David Jason playing the much loved Derek 'Del Boy' Trotter out of the BBC classic... well you get the idea…

Is it Me?

I suppose very, very occasionally you might be able to say something of value as the Twitter phenomenon decrees.
Id est in 140 characters. Or less.
Let's give it a go.
"How can my soft, gentle T-shirt clothing tag slice away at the nape of my neck like a Stanley knife?"
I can't even be bothered to count. That must be 140 or thereabouts.
If Stephen Fry's twittering cannot grab me, I am afraid there is no hope for me and Twitter.
If I wanted to answer the same question – what are you doing now? repeatedly – then I'd adopt a 2 year old. Then another one for each calendar year.
It is a question I can answer in just 9 characters.
Including space and exclamation mark!

Casting nasturtiums at Twitter

13 years ago I thought of a joke.

Today I thought of a second joke.

Here it is.

What has Twitter got in common with the Lord of The Rings?

They both have a hundred and forty characters.

I thank you

Kindly Bog Off, Cyclops

Do you like free stuff?

Take care.

I have just been offered (by the viewing of my increasingly addictive junk mail), free… wait for it….laser eye surgery.

There are some things you don't want for free.

Piles, a summons, a poke in the eye, a slap in the belly with a wet fish, bread and bread sandwiches, plates of fresh air, blind mice.

I didn't even need to read the small print.

I assume there was a catch.

Probably Buy One Get One Free.

How to rule the world

Without being pedantic about it. The earth simply does not rotate to the rhythm of just a single beat. What you may feel it right for a single human is unlikely to be equally correct for double the number or maybe even triple.

Humanity is born, sure. And this may represent a human of means. But then along came two they got nothing but the jeans but they got… altogether... Different Strokes, they got….

Too late

When is it too late to be late?
If you are a recently deceased Mr X, for how long do you become the late Mr X?
Certainly historical figures don’t count. You don’t go around referring the late William the Conqueror.
Or the late Jesus. If that’s not too debatable.
Is it when you are talking to someone who may not know the guy’s dead? Are you giving him an extra piece of information with your sentence and half expecting an “Oooh I didn’t know he was dead” in response.
Or is this just polite convention?
Is it therefore impolite to omit?
And how long should you be late for?
A month is too short but is a decade too long?
Personally I hate people being late.
They never seem to apologise.

Stay Sharp

I have just sharpened a pencil.
I don't want a medal or anything but I have to admit to a guilty feeling of retro innocence.
Because sharpening a pencil makes you smile.
There was just too many school days.
So many pencils.
So many colours.
So much jealously over the teacher's wind-up sharpener - so excellent for making an elegant point.

If you want to connect with a skill you thought you'd lost or a part of your psyche you long thought atrophied, then take my advice.

Sharpen a pencil today.

Solidarity

Capitalists of the World - UNITE

Apostrophe's of the World - Unit'e

Exclamations of the World- Unite!!!

Ex-masochists of the World - Untie

Confused punctuators of the World - @

Betamax fans of the World - Unwind..

Texters of the World - Unite, LOL and insert smiley

No, I dont much like it either....but you get the idea

Problems with your Van Dyke

Is Murder really a Diagnosis?
That’s like saying Judgment: Syphilis. And I don’t see that show on daytime anytime soon.
Or Ruling: scabies. Well.. maybe that could fill a slot on Channel 5 quite nicely
Imagine Judge Judy: “The patients are real. The diseases are real. The diagnosis is final. This is her outpatient clinic. This is Dr Judy”. I don’t think so.
It hardly fits in with our touchy feely way of breaking the bad news nowadays.
Do you have the test results back yet doctor?
Yes …
Bad news….
You’re guilty!

Thanks fellas

Two very sad losses.
One of my heroes died yesterday – how long have I wanted a jacket from the Prisoner? How long has the remake been mooted?
Ian McKellen who I will be seeing in the theatre in a couple of month’s time has recently been filming the remake of the genre-creating series.
Peter Falk according to The Times (Online that is. Would not waste my hard-earned on that rag!) described Patrick McGoohan as "the most underrated, under-appreciated talent on the face of the globe”. Who am I to argue?
And then Khan himself. Of Star Trek’s greatest moment. A movie with the greatest death scene of all time. The villain who caused Spock’s death. Ricardo Montalban - the slightly sinister Mr Fantasy Isalnd himself - added such depth to one of the greatest baddies in movie history. Shakespearean quotes were abound (as usual for the genre) but it seems both appropriate and inappropriate to quote them again here.
Lustful performances both with good enough messages for life.
Look out for the plane and enjoy your fantasies
Be Seeing You Gentlemen.

Your miraculous body

People celebrate many aspects of the human body from its imperfect design to its resilience under pressure .
I offer a little example of its rich tapestry.
Maybe you have fumbled for the front door lock with your key in the premature British afternoon darkness. Or almost scratched your car missing the lock.

But as the you-to-door distance shortens, think how much more often you have raised your key and targeted the lock like a laser. A millimetre either way and your way is blocked but you hit it straight on. It slots in like an ATM card. No new scratch on the door.
A well-practiced talent. Unknown competence.
Your muscle memory has delivered you a small gift. Next time it happens notice it. But afterwards not before. You don’t want to put too much pressure on yourself.
After all you can’t earn a living from it.
But it is a small but cheery miracle.

Trust Me

In business a shady character might secretly might hope that anyone who temporarily stands in for him underperforms.
I would not think that of course.
I am talking about the rest of you.
Do you really want someone sitting in what you take to be your seat to be stupendously impressive or would you prefer someone to be.. oh I don’t know … let’s say mediocre, insipid, banal, boring, tedious, in love with the things that pop into his vapid mind.
Competent is OK. We don’t want the ship to go down. But maybe you want to be missed. Yes even you. Even you with the heart of stone. After all there are job losses everyday and maybe Mr Popularity is cheaper than you.
The way to service this tricky negotiation is to appoint someone devoid of flare, a tepid wit in a poorly heated room. A distraction presented as a vacuum filled with own-brand marshmallow. Making it not a vacuum anymore. You know what I mean.
That's why you should do what I do when you go on holiday and take a tip from Radio 2’s Steve Wright by always asking Richard Allinson to fill in for you.
I promise you, he'll tick all your boxes.

Legends

So Matt Smith is the new Doctor Who. Pretty big shoes to fill as they say. Maybe he will be a revelation. With the writing team behind him that they have, I would bet on it.
There was another legendary chap with the same name.
Matthew Smith was loved by a generation, some would say a generation of geeks. I have not played computer games in earnest since the days of Manic Miner on the Sinclair ZX Spectrum. Matthew Smith wrote it. It was a classic of programming compressed into the sort of tiny memory space that is no longer required as computers have grown. The playability and addictiveness and style of the game were mind-blowing.
The legend and mystery of Matthew Smith continued. Dark clues pointed to his possible whereabouts. And the internet allowed his reputation to thrive.
The pleasure he brought to many makes his reputation extremely well deserved.
Today you can still get the game to find out what all the fuss was about and play it on your phone.
Thank you Matthew.
And good luck Matt.

Lifescript

Everyone has a script.
If only doctors could use the same lines as oh ... let’s say judges on some Saturday night reality entertainment show.

What do you think of these weird spots, Doctor?
“Well...you’ve just made this surgery verrry interesting” (Rapturous applause from the waiting room)

Everyone tells me I am a difficult case, Doctor.
“Mrs Turnip, you’ve just blown this clinic apart” (Closest relatives hold up banners of support)

I have a terrible pain in my testicles, Doctor.
“I think we’ve just seen one of the final three”.

Will you prescribe me some antibiotics, Doctor?
Drum roll....two minute pause.....
“One hundred million percent yes”.

Go directly to Boots.

Flake - No fake

Today I had an ice cream. Fancied a 99. The ice cream man had his advert in his slidey window “You can’t fake a Flake” it said. As it turns out you can. His version was a wafer tube with a chocolate flavouring inside. So science proves that you can flake a Flake. But not well.
They didn’t have a Dalek or a Zoom either.
So I had a Twister.
It was a Swizz.

New Year Travel Advisory

The challenge of travel abroad holds many hurdles. A simple miscalculation can alter the whole experience. I hope you can enhance you ability to prepare for such trips with this simple advisory about the facts you really need to know before setting off any international or even simple domestic venture.

"The Facts About Bruges"

Train to Bruges
Chocolate city
Travelling alone
More’s the pity

Cobbled streets
Knee-destroying
Cyclist-friendly
Slightly annoying

Wintry chill
Bladder contracts
Should have gone before I set off
These are the facts