Life is other people.
But of course it's more complicated than that.
If you go with Sartre, Hell is other people.
Think about the challenge facing your general practitioner and glimpse this dilemma.
I do like a quote and I think it was Douglas Adams who spoke of doing six impossible things before breakfast.
In family medicine there are at least three impossible things for the GP to do:
1. Take responsibility for other people's decisions
2. Quantify uncertainty
3. Predict the future
4. Protect the innocent
5. Uphold the law
6. Serve the public trust.
Okay, so the last three belonged to Robocop. So putting aside his prime directives for a while, let's concentrate on the first three.
To take on any one of these some may consider to be madness, foolish vanity, gross stupidity or worse, an overeagerness to please.
To take on two of these things is carelessness (quotes are like buses, sometimes they come in threes).
Only a dreamer would take on all three.
Nevertheless.
This is the War.
Take your position.
And choose your weapons.
Thursday, 16 December 2010
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Monday, 8 November 2010
Keeping Fit
Diagnostic coding has its 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) don’t have a clear diagnosis. Or don’t have one yet.
I have gone 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 even due to epilepsy.
So for those inconvenienced by my coding say during an application for an HGV licence or trying to get into the army, well, as we used to say at school: Soz!
I have gone 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 even due to epilepsy.
So for those inconvenienced by my coding say during an application for an HGV licence or trying to get into the army, well, as we used to say at school: Soz!
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Raising an eyebrow
Have you ever even in a weak moment desired to use a semicolon?
If so, stop and think. Know when you are out of your depth.
To me it demonstrates a level of uncertainty - "Oh I'd like to end the sentence but I'm just not sure. Shall I? Shan't I?
(This is best said in your internal dialogue in a lily-livered voice).
Because if there is a camper punctuation, I'd like to hear about it.
And this is from a chap who is about to start going to work on an emoticon this winter.
Apparently they don't use much fuel.
If so, stop and think. Know when you are out of your depth.
To me it demonstrates a level of uncertainty - "Oh I'd like to end the sentence but I'm just not sure. Shall I? Shan't I?
(This is best said in your internal dialogue in a lily-livered voice).
Because if there is a camper punctuation, I'd like to hear about it.
And this is from a chap who is about to start going to work on an emoticon this winter.
Apparently they don't use much fuel.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Sixth sense of humour
I am not totally convinced that people value sense of humour in the way they advertise.
Let me explain.
How many times have we heard that people say they admire in others a sense of humour?
But what is it they admire? Perhaps a reflection of their own sense of humour? What if that is poorly developed?
Somebody who takes chances and pushes the envelope by adopting a personal style by definition produces a sense of humour that will not be such a mirror.
Indeed without surprise, humour is nothing. That's the point.
And this is a sense we are talking about, right?
This is not the sort of quality easily mimicked by relating someone else's joke, forwarding a text, duplicating a tweet, is it?
This is a sense.
A sense.
It's not sight or hearing. It's not taste or smell but it's certainly not a forwarded e-mail.
It has to be more than that.
But many people shy away from the dangerous potential of individuality. No two people share exactly the same sense of humour but if you admire it in others you must at least have that quality that means you are not frightened by new.
So I ask you again, is the trait you think you value in others really a sense of humour? It's okay if it isn't. I just want to be clear.
Do we all really share this so well-advertised common desire?
When you see a gang of hoodies gathering (in their hoods), do you think they are exchanging gentle observations on why a triple chocolate cookie does not contain three times as much chocolate as an ordinary chocolate chip cookie?
Do you think they're trading nuances in the delicate exercise of their personal sense of humour, their sixth sense?
Why not? It's free? Humour comes from the streets, from hardship. It is found at its best almost everywhere in Britain, apart from Liverpool.
Or do you think that the hoodies are taking drugs, preparing to fight and if they're laughing at all, laughing at the successful bullying of their next victim.
And this is my point.
The very people born into damage and propelling themselves into further destruction need this resource most of all.
A sense of humour failure is a phrase that was being bandied around in the recent past, but perhaps it should be a diagnosis. And one with a terrible prognosis.
Because without a maturing sense of humour, you cannot prosper.
Without a genuine delight in humour, you simply cannot survive this world. I don't mean survive it well. I mean survive at all.
The only way to avoid adversity dragging you down is, after a suitable period of grief, reflection or general adjustment to the potholes of life, is to laugh at it.
This isn't just a quality to display on a first date.
It's an evolving display of humanity's most primal instinct to survive and prosper.
Those to whom it does not come naturally should put away their Gavin and Stacey videos and give this some thought.
Let me explain.
How many times have we heard that people say they admire in others a sense of humour?
But what is it they admire? Perhaps a reflection of their own sense of humour? What if that is poorly developed?
Somebody who takes chances and pushes the envelope by adopting a personal style by definition produces a sense of humour that will not be such a mirror.
Indeed without surprise, humour is nothing. That's the point.
And this is a sense we are talking about, right?
This is not the sort of quality easily mimicked by relating someone else's joke, forwarding a text, duplicating a tweet, is it?
This is a sense.
A sense.
It's not sight or hearing. It's not taste or smell but it's certainly not a forwarded e-mail.
It has to be more than that.
But many people shy away from the dangerous potential of individuality. No two people share exactly the same sense of humour but if you admire it in others you must at least have that quality that means you are not frightened by new.
So I ask you again, is the trait you think you value in others really a sense of humour? It's okay if it isn't. I just want to be clear.
Do we all really share this so well-advertised common desire?
When you see a gang of hoodies gathering (in their hoods), do you think they are exchanging gentle observations on why a triple chocolate cookie does not contain three times as much chocolate as an ordinary chocolate chip cookie?
Do you think they're trading nuances in the delicate exercise of their personal sense of humour, their sixth sense?
Why not? It's free? Humour comes from the streets, from hardship. It is found at its best almost everywhere in Britain, apart from Liverpool.
Or do you think that the hoodies are taking drugs, preparing to fight and if they're laughing at all, laughing at the successful bullying of their next victim.
And this is my point.
The very people born into damage and propelling themselves into further destruction need this resource most of all.
A sense of humour failure is a phrase that was being bandied around in the recent past, but perhaps it should be a diagnosis. And one with a terrible prognosis.
Because without a maturing sense of humour, you cannot prosper.
Without a genuine delight in humour, you simply cannot survive this world. I don't mean survive it well. I mean survive at all.
The only way to avoid adversity dragging you down is, after a suitable period of grief, reflection or general adjustment to the potholes of life, is to laugh at it.
This isn't just a quality to display on a first date.
It's an evolving display of humanity's most primal instinct to survive and prosper.
Those to whom it does not come naturally should put away their Gavin and Stacey videos and give this some thought.
Monday, 25 October 2010
Tensely Tranced
thought the
right think
so you'll
do the
right thing,
extending the
right hand
dipped your
tippytoes in,
believe you're
a force
for someone
in hell,
tomorrow was
the day
you became
angel.
right think
so you'll
do the
right thing,
extending the
right hand
dipped your
tippytoes in,
believe you're
a force
for someone
in hell,
tomorrow was
the day
you became
angel.
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
BBC3 Etchings
Love means never having to say you are sorry.
Untrue of course. And I have seen Ali and Ryan close up. He for one knew that love sits at the bottom of a bottle of scotch.
Love actually means saying sorry is no discomfort but it is said in the hope that it will not be used against you. Hell, it might even mean you finally have your tea on the table at the correct time. That would be nice.
It’s a hope that is vain in 75% of marriages.
But Erich Segal betrayed the male gender.
Love may mean always having to say you are sorry, nowadays. And even pretending to mean it.
Today, on the Apprentice (UK .. for international readers) was the day improving Irish comic Dara O’ Brain came of age...
“8 years of medical training means that you should never have to run around Covent Garden shouting Look At My Muffins”
Medics of the world, please..... please have a crack at the day job.
Don’t go on The Apprentice.
Leave my guilty pleasures alone.
Untrue of course. And I have seen Ali and Ryan close up. He for one knew that love sits at the bottom of a bottle of scotch.
Love actually means saying sorry is no discomfort but it is said in the hope that it will not be used against you. Hell, it might even mean you finally have your tea on the table at the correct time. That would be nice.
It’s a hope that is vain in 75% of marriages.
But Erich Segal betrayed the male gender.
Love may mean always having to say you are sorry, nowadays. And even pretending to mean it.
Today, on the Apprentice (UK .. for international readers) was the day improving Irish comic Dara O’ Brain came of age...
“8 years of medical training means that you should never have to run around Covent Garden shouting Look At My Muffins”
Medics of the world, please..... please have a crack at the day job.
Don’t go on The Apprentice.
Leave my guilty pleasures alone.
Monday, 18 October 2010
Friday, 8 October 2010
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Written in the sun
I have a prediction for you.
In the next 15 years, Scientology will gather a massive new following. The bullying, unrepentant nature of the administrators of the so-called church will see to that. Once it is through this fledgeling stage, it has the potential to snowball. But how will it do it?
The secret lies in in the fact that it has been so clearly exposed as a corrupt, repellent organisation and yet it still exists, perhaps even thrives. If it weathers this storm, then it's hard to think of mountains that it can't climb. Because once it has enough pennies for all the administrators to be nice and rich, it will disown the hard sell that it makes to its infantry.
It will make a show of removing the “bad elements" that gave it this oh-so-unjustified negative publicity as its size will make it be able to use a softer approach for the masses.
It's softer new age message will sell. It will sell because of the pressures the world will face in the next 10 years. It will look very appealing and having shed the shackles of what it took to get there, it was eventually be able to wield unimaginable power.
The recent second Panorama exposé ended with what was supposed to be an indictment -- the final line referring to Scientology as a “cult”.
The naive insult of an older journalist. Cult uses to be a bad thing. Now it's fun. Cult isn't a dirty word any more.
I may see something wrong with Scientology, but I do not see anything wrong with cult. Star Trek is a cult. In my darker moments I suspect birdwatching is a cult.
Cult is geek-chic.
Cult is nerdy intelligence.
Some of the best paid people in London, New York, LA, Tokyo are paid to exploit the weaknesses in our psyche.
If Tom Cruise is your hero, you want to be a little more like him, don't you?
But give them power, true power and I begin to wonder what awaits us.
In the next 15 years, Scientology will gather a massive new following. The bullying, unrepentant nature of the administrators of the so-called church will see to that. Once it is through this fledgeling stage, it has the potential to snowball. But how will it do it?
The secret lies in in the fact that it has been so clearly exposed as a corrupt, repellent organisation and yet it still exists, perhaps even thrives. If it weathers this storm, then it's hard to think of mountains that it can't climb. Because once it has enough pennies for all the administrators to be nice and rich, it will disown the hard sell that it makes to its infantry.
It will make a show of removing the “bad elements" that gave it this oh-so-unjustified negative publicity as its size will make it be able to use a softer approach for the masses.
It's softer new age message will sell. It will sell because of the pressures the world will face in the next 10 years. It will look very appealing and having shed the shackles of what it took to get there, it was eventually be able to wield unimaginable power.
The recent second Panorama exposé ended with what was supposed to be an indictment -- the final line referring to Scientology as a “cult”.
The naive insult of an older journalist. Cult uses to be a bad thing. Now it's fun. Cult isn't a dirty word any more.
I may see something wrong with Scientology, but I do not see anything wrong with cult. Star Trek is a cult. In my darker moments I suspect birdwatching is a cult.
Cult is geek-chic.
Cult is nerdy intelligence.
To me the word cult lost its darker edge years ago so as an indictment of a dangerous movement the accusation is a weak punchline.
The simpler messages of Scientology will be a manna to the masses. Masses who are more than ready to replace traditional organised religions so tainted with hypocrisy and paedophilia. Who, in many cases have already wiped clean that part of their brain and replaced it with a little restless amateur atheism.
Millions of empty sheets of paper, a blank canvas waiting to be filled, waiting for a message.
Scientology will be ready to oblige with its bulging property portfolio and the tantalising mix of celebrity endorsement.
The simpler messages of Scientology will be a manna to the masses. Masses who are more than ready to replace traditional organised religions so tainted with hypocrisy and paedophilia. Who, in many cases have already wiped clean that part of their brain and replaced it with a little restless amateur atheism.
Millions of empty sheets of paper, a blank canvas waiting to be filled, waiting for a message.
Scientology will be ready to oblige with its bulging property portfolio and the tantalising mix of celebrity endorsement.
It will sell for the same reason people buy the Sun.
It will sell for the same reason people buy butter. And with every pattie, comes a bit more cash for the portfolio. Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves.
The only thing that will save us from this new and possibly hitherto undiscovered strength in mass common sense. But modern man is not skilled in this. Despite our super-sophistication.
The only thing that will save us from this new and possibly hitherto undiscovered strength in mass common sense. But modern man is not skilled in this. Despite our super-sophistication.
Some of the best paid people in London, New York, LA, Tokyo are paid to exploit the weaknesses in our psyche.
They are good at it.
They can push us to extraordinary beliefs.
Buying margarine because Carol Vorderman says so is one thing but putting your eyes under a laser because an Olympic rower says it is a good idea is another.
Buying margarine because Carol Vorderman says so is one thing but putting your eyes under a laser because an Olympic rower says it is a good idea is another.
If Tom Cruise is your hero, you want to be a little more like him, don't you?
That's what heroes are - role models.
Every year a list of the most powerful people in the world appears. Actors are among them. Actors!
A bit of fun at the movies is one thing.
A bit of fun at the movies is one thing.
But give them power, true power and I begin to wonder what awaits us.
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Cruet but kind
It's not often I give away one of my main dietary secrets but if you could have unlimited access to a tasty calorie-free food that is dirt cheap, wouldn't you eat more of it?
Of course you would!
A food that your body loves and yet will put nothing on your hips and is one of the cheapest things at Tesco?
That's right.
A delicious no-brainer?
Manna from Morrisons?
That's why I've been eating more salt.
What do you need with your fish and chips?
Salt!
With your Salt and Shake crisps?
Salt!
And shake.
Remember when people used to put them mountains of salt on the side of their plate instead of sprinkling it all over?
Who did that? Old people, that's who. People who lived to be old.
And how did they get old? With a lifelong commitment to delicious salt.
It's essential for every cell in your body and full of crystalline goodness.
Load up a few mounds of salt today. It's the ultimate convenience food.
Cut ready to be poured and licked directly from the palm of the hand.
And you'd be hard pressed to say that about vinegar!
Eat more salt!
(From the Salt Advisory Board)
Of course you would!
A food that your body loves and yet will put nothing on your hips and is one of the cheapest things at Tesco?
That's right.
A delicious no-brainer?
Manna from Morrisons?
That's why I've been eating more salt.
What do you need with your fish and chips?
Salt!
With your Salt and Shake crisps?
Salt!
And shake.
Remember when people used to put them mountains of salt on the side of their plate instead of sprinkling it all over?
Who did that? Old people, that's who. People who lived to be old.
And how did they get old? With a lifelong commitment to delicious salt.
It's essential for every cell in your body and full of crystalline goodness.
Load up a few mounds of salt today. It's the ultimate convenience food.
Cut ready to be poured and licked directly from the palm of the hand.
And you'd be hard pressed to say that about vinegar!
Eat more salt!
(From the Salt Advisory Board)
Friday, 17 September 2010
What is a poem?
A contraction of concern
An epithet of threat
A way of saying what you think
A pithy, verbal debt
Or written so it must be read
As code or playful cypher
The cloud of sunshine.
The ray of rain
That lovers give a life for
A surgical incision
Like you take a knife to cutlet
With simile or metaphor
In lilting rhyming couplet
An instruction from the teacher
When she gives you all the time
To write a little masterpiece
(You don’t have to make it rhyme)
A recipe of taste and thought
In a package of expedience
A distillation of all we know
That’s more than its ingredients
It’s everything we think, we feel
A wiki of the soul
It’s the cherry on the cake
Or added to life’s bowl.
A beating re-creation
That examines and inspects
The brio and allegro
Of drugs, rock, roll, and sex.
An eyebrow-lifting smile
In a mirror that reflects
A pulse in rallentando
Con heart.
Con soul.
Con text.
An epithet of threat
A way of saying what you think
A pithy, verbal debt
Or written so it must be read
As code or playful cypher
The cloud of sunshine.
The ray of rain
That lovers give a life for
A surgical incision
Like you take a knife to cutlet
With simile or metaphor
In lilting rhyming couplet
An instruction from the teacher
When she gives you all the time
To write a little masterpiece
(You don’t have to make it rhyme)
A recipe of taste and thought
In a package of expedience
A distillation of all we know
That’s more than its ingredients
It’s everything we think, we feel
A wiki of the soul
It’s the cherry on the cake
Or added to life’s bowl.
A beating re-creation
That examines and inspects
The brio and allegro
Of drugs, rock, roll, and sex.
An eyebrow-lifting smile
In a mirror that reflects
A pulse in rallentando
Con heart.
Con soul.
Con text.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Joke 3
I thought of my 3rd ever joke today ( I can't think of the other 2)
I have tested it on my work colleagues and they correclty assessed it as rubbish (and that when I performed the punchline with a brilliantly staid John Wayne impression, my itchy fingers dancing over my invisible holsters, and more than a measure of enthusiasm).
Here it comes:
Q. How did John Wayne come off heroine?
A. With Drawl
Thank you.
I have tested it on my work colleagues and they correclty assessed it as rubbish (and that when I performed the punchline with a brilliantly staid John Wayne impression, my itchy fingers dancing over my invisible holsters, and more than a measure of enthusiasm).
Here it comes:
Q. How did John Wayne come off heroine?
A. With Drawl
Thank you.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
The D is for Difficulty
The problem with going to DIY stores is you spend a lot of time ' visiting wood' which is nowhere near as much fun as it sounds.
I saw a self-assembly bird table today.
Honestly. I'd like to see them try!
It's hard enough with opposable thumbs.
I saw a self-assembly bird table today.
Honestly. I'd like to see them try!
It's hard enough with opposable thumbs.
Friday, 3 September 2010
Outsiderism and the Conventioneers
Outside is a good place to start.
And not a bad place to finish.
We all end up outside - sediment in a jar, just a too-light pile of ash and fireproof Levi's rivets.
Or under the sod. Inside a box I grant you, but I can see those worms getting in eventually and that's outside to me.
A metaphorical outside is the best perspective.
Ask the Undercover Boss. Ask the Secret Millionaire. Ask Watchdog.
It may be the only perspective worth having.
And when you roll with it, the extremes are more severe and the journey is more fun.
Riskier, yes.
Treacherous of course.
Villainy and danger await.
If you cannot stand the heat, get back inside the kitchen.
What are you outside from?
What are you without?
Well "convention" of course.
Outsiderism is an entrepreurial spirit. All progress depends on the unreasonable man (G.B. Shaw).
So be unreasonable. Do it with a twinkle. And some will "get it".
Call those people friends.
There is a concept of Outsider Art. I only know this from a Jarvis Cocker (template outsidist) documentary which hauled him round the US to look at outside artistic installations be they made of tin cans or sand dunes.
A little outsiderism is a good condition.
It gives your opinion voice and credibility and lessens the fear to act.
Outsiders are the best people there are.
You are outsider art.
And you are your own masterpiece.
And not a bad place to finish.
We all end up outside - sediment in a jar, just a too-light pile of ash and fireproof Levi's rivets.
Or under the sod. Inside a box I grant you, but I can see those worms getting in eventually and that's outside to me.
A metaphorical outside is the best perspective.
Ask the Undercover Boss. Ask the Secret Millionaire. Ask Watchdog.
It may be the only perspective worth having.
And when you roll with it, the extremes are more severe and the journey is more fun.
Riskier, yes.
Treacherous of course.
Villainy and danger await.
If you cannot stand the heat, get back inside the kitchen.
What are you outside from?
What are you without?
Well "convention" of course.
Outsiderism is an entrepreurial spirit. All progress depends on the unreasonable man (G.B. Shaw).
So be unreasonable. Do it with a twinkle. And some will "get it".
Call those people friends.
There is a concept of Outsider Art. I only know this from a Jarvis Cocker (template outsidist) documentary which hauled him round the US to look at outside artistic installations be they made of tin cans or sand dunes.
A little outsiderism is a good condition.
It gives your opinion voice and credibility and lessens the fear to act.
Outsiders are the best people there are.
You are outsider art.
And you are your own masterpiece.
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Smelling of Roses
Can't get those stubborn stains out of your cricketing whites?
Now there a new product from Pakistan.
New "Flood". For really built-in grime.
Have you suffered accusations that should be water off a duck's back?
Do your clothes smell of corruption?
Try new Flood!
Are your pockets lined with dirty cash?
Grubby from having your palms greased at work?
Did you wake up today and find you had betrayed 170 million of your country folk and that they want your guts for garters?
Well haven't we all!
Fortunately now there's new Flood!
Submerge yourself in new Flood and watch your problems disappear.
Your character will come up whiter than white.
Now there a new product from Pakistan.
New "Flood". For really built-in grime.
Have you suffered accusations that should be water off a duck's back?
Do your clothes smell of corruption?
Try new Flood!
Are your pockets lined with dirty cash?
Grubby from having your palms greased at work?
Did you wake up today and find you had betrayed 170 million of your country folk and that they want your guts for garters?
Well haven't we all!
Fortunately now there's new Flood!
Submerge yourself in new Flood and watch your problems disappear.
Your character will come up whiter than white.
Sunday, 29 August 2010
The Final Curtain
I used to tell a little tale about the first time I saw Last of the Summer Wine.
I was just a young lad, still old enough to roll on along the sides of our circular pouffe in a rhythmic aid to post-prandial digestion. I saw a program that was so utterly devoid of quality, humour, wit, writing, performance, that it made impossible any remnant of pleasure. For the time my life I needed immediately to understand what was on my screen and, if possible, why.
I hunted down the family TV Guide in order to discover the name of the programme, the sole intention being to facilitate myself never bumping into it again. This debacle turned out to be a much loved BBC television - The Last of the Summer Wine. Happily, I thought to myself, "Well thank God it's the last".
This true incident always amused me and over more than the quarter of a century in which my hopeful prophecy has turned out to be more wrong than I could have ever imagined, I have related it a number of times.
But tonight, it came true. It really was the last the very Last of the Summer Wine - the final episode.
The very last of these famously lovable characters careering around in their last tin bath
I'm not sure there was never anything particularly lovable about Compo, Clegg and Foggy. To me they all had slightly sinister overtones but as I watched the last 10 minutes of 31 years of the world's longest-running sitcom, I noticed the cast contained a parade of older actors - refugees from other well-loved sitcoms.
Add in some innocent slapstick, a bit of contrived plot-propelling claptrap and a grotesque laugh track and the formula was in place for... well, let's hope now, the final time.
And in fact, I noticed that they were just a bit lovable.
I was just a young lad, still old enough to roll on along the sides of our circular pouffe in a rhythmic aid to post-prandial digestion. I saw a program that was so utterly devoid of quality, humour, wit, writing, performance, that it made impossible any remnant of pleasure. For the time my life I needed immediately to understand what was on my screen and, if possible, why.
I hunted down the family TV Guide in order to discover the name of the programme, the sole intention being to facilitate myself never bumping into it again. This debacle turned out to be a much loved BBC television - The Last of the Summer Wine. Happily, I thought to myself, "Well thank God it's the last".
This true incident always amused me and over more than the quarter of a century in which my hopeful prophecy has turned out to be more wrong than I could have ever imagined, I have related it a number of times.
But tonight, it came true. It really was the last the very Last of the Summer Wine - the final episode.
The very last of these famously lovable characters careering around in their last tin bath
I'm not sure there was never anything particularly lovable about Compo, Clegg and Foggy. To me they all had slightly sinister overtones but as I watched the last 10 minutes of 31 years of the world's longest-running sitcom, I noticed the cast contained a parade of older actors - refugees from other well-loved sitcoms.
Add in some innocent slapstick, a bit of contrived plot-propelling claptrap and a grotesque laugh track and the formula was in place for... well, let's hope now, the final time.
And in fact, I noticed that they were just a bit lovable.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
You're the Radio
I'm the sleeper, you're the dream, I'm a drifter, you're the place I go.
I'm a song ...
I'm a song ...
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Blast from the Past
The problem with cleaning out your drawers is that you might discover old poetry.
Here is a classic from 14 years ago.
My Favourite Goal
My favourite goal
Was by Peter Beardsley
He hit it
Fiercely
And it didn't Peter out.
Oh dear!
Here is a classic from 14 years ago.
My Favourite Goal
My favourite goal
Was by Peter Beardsley
He hit it
Fiercely
And it didn't Peter out.
Oh dear!
Friday, 6 August 2010
Optometrical query
If you have your contact lenses in the wrong way round, does that focus your mind?
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
TV Doctrines
I feel like Dr Who
Very old and the last of my kind.
Fortunately it's time for a holiday.
I also feel like Dr When.
When is the right time to move and change.
And Dr How.
How to nurture nature and lubricate change.
Growth needs stimulation.
Roots need bigger planters.
Change needs space, a little Miracle Gro and broadband access.
Or else, your leaves turn brown, your soil turns to dust, your xylem chokes and you settle for dial-up.
Do we fill a position or a void?
Do you enhance something when you are there?
Would you leave a gap if you left? A real one - not just a "best of luck in the future" card.
Would you leave an arse groove in the sofa of life?
Does it matter?
Surely a smattering of mattering is a good thing.
Does. It. Need. To. Be. You?
Early interests in a young life may emerge in dazzling fictional worlds.
You may have started adventures in TV stepping into otherly worlds with a little Saturday night scifi. Why not? It pushes your boundaries with the humanity, colour, allegory and moral stimulation of a great teacher.
It is more than entertainment. Good TV changes people. We internalise those messages and plant and prune and tend as we grow. Or age.
Plant, prune and tend.
Keep pruning. Keep tending. Keep reminding ourselves to keep planting.
(Not in obvious procreative seminal ways. Use a hoe if you must, but I am talking about real spadework).
Still though, despite our best efforts or no effort at all perhaps, before we are pushing up daises, it seems we are destined less to find our answers in the treaties of the Neutral Zone than we are in Gardener's Question Time.
Very old and the last of my kind.
Fortunately it's time for a holiday.
I also feel like Dr When.
When is the right time to move and change.
And Dr How.
How to nurture nature and lubricate change.
Growth needs stimulation.
Roots need bigger planters.
Change needs space, a little Miracle Gro and broadband access.
Or else, your leaves turn brown, your soil turns to dust, your xylem chokes and you settle for dial-up.
Do we fill a position or a void?
Do you enhance something when you are there?
Would you leave a gap if you left? A real one - not just a "best of luck in the future" card.
Would you leave an arse groove in the sofa of life?
Does it matter?
Surely a smattering of mattering is a good thing.
Does. It. Need. To. Be. You?
Early interests in a young life may emerge in dazzling fictional worlds.
You may have started adventures in TV stepping into otherly worlds with a little Saturday night scifi. Why not? It pushes your boundaries with the humanity, colour, allegory and moral stimulation of a great teacher.
It is more than entertainment. Good TV changes people. We internalise those messages and plant and prune and tend as we grow. Or age.
Plant, prune and tend.
Keep pruning. Keep tending. Keep reminding ourselves to keep planting.
(Not in obvious procreative seminal ways. Use a hoe if you must, but I am talking about real spadework).
Still though, despite our best efforts or no effort at all perhaps, before we are pushing up daises, it seems we are destined less to find our answers in the treaties of the Neutral Zone than we are in Gardener's Question Time.
Friday, 30 July 2010
Warm Words
Another quote from our Far Eastern cousins who, when they are not busy whaling endangered species into extinction, have the sort of turn of (translated) phrase that makes me want to go straight to Blockbusters and rent Karate Kid 2.
"One kind word can warm three winter months," says a traditional proverb.
And yet, subscribing to this very principle, I complimented a young female on the Metro this morning on the feminine shape of her sweater.
It didn't seem to thaw her for a second never mind through the spring of 2011.
It is fair to say she was not impressed.
Neither was her boyfriend.
No problem I thought, so I tried to correct any misunderstanding by telling him he had a nice attitude.
Which didn't seem to help.
This compliment business...
It's more complicated than it looks.
"One kind word can warm three winter months," says a traditional proverb.
And yet, subscribing to this very principle, I complimented a young female on the Metro this morning on the feminine shape of her sweater.
It didn't seem to thaw her for a second never mind through the spring of 2011.
It is fair to say she was not impressed.
Neither was her boyfriend.
No problem I thought, so I tried to correct any misunderstanding by telling him he had a nice attitude.
Which didn't seem to help.
This compliment business...
It's more complicated than it looks.
Hari-Charicter
Today the government decided not to stop NHS funding for homeopathy and by doing so endorse it. And I have just stumbled across this quote.
"To see what is right, and not to do it, is a lack of courage or of principle." Confucius.
Well done, coalition goverment.
"To see what is right, and not to do it, is a lack of courage or of principle." Confucius.
Well done, coalition goverment.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Feta of Fate
At its cheesiest, life is a celebration.
But it's a short journey between being feted and being fetid.
But it's a short journey between being feted and being fetid.
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Press Play
Unfortunately growing up is sometimes to lose a sense of play.
Not me, you understand. Others.
It's a general observation based on the fact that I have not heard a colleague complain of a scraped knee for some moons now.
Instead of electrical impulses dancing around the excited mind, we try to force linear corridors between effort and gain. Artificals shortcuts towards a Picasso-esque portrait of happiness.
Is it fun growing up?
We tend to think not. But it should be.
We concentrate on the dark side of growing up - aging.
We should concentrate on the lighter side - the naughty freedom that you only see in children and some devilish pensioners and that we sometimes lose in between.
Now I have reached adulthood, I see that we can speak our mind, have enough sophistication to anticipate its impact and still hopefully have enough money in our pocket to help us get behind a few of the velvet ropes where the fun could really kick off.
But still a uneasy sense of unwon maturity can persist.
If the concrete lining your corridors has not yet hardened up so much that you risk it fracturing when challenged, then why not do just that?
Pick at the cracks.
Peel back the wallpaper - tear it a bit, draw on it.
Test those walls.
And play.
Risk.
Write a sweeping novel and distil it into a paragraph.
Write an opus and summarise it to a scale.
Build and grow.
Chunk up and down.
But concentrate, destroy, distil.
Be without ruth. Purify and edit life.
Learn to kill and self-harm.
Be your own guru.
Alternate tough with fluffy; and flip between the two so no-one knows what they are going to get.
When you meet folk who think life is a box of chocolates, drop in a liquorice allsort.
Be a devil.
Challenge. Yield.
Advance. Regress.
Build blocks.
Dance.
Reblock.
Unblock.
Unlock.
And play.
To play it safe is not to play at all.
Not me, you understand. Others.
It's a general observation based on the fact that I have not heard a colleague complain of a scraped knee for some moons now.
Instead of electrical impulses dancing around the excited mind, we try to force linear corridors between effort and gain. Artificals shortcuts towards a Picasso-esque portrait of happiness.
Is it fun growing up?
We tend to think not. But it should be.
We concentrate on the dark side of growing up - aging.
We should concentrate on the lighter side - the naughty freedom that you only see in children and some devilish pensioners and that we sometimes lose in between.
Now I have reached adulthood, I see that we can speak our mind, have enough sophistication to anticipate its impact and still hopefully have enough money in our pocket to help us get behind a few of the velvet ropes where the fun could really kick off.
But still a uneasy sense of unwon maturity can persist.
If the concrete lining your corridors has not yet hardened up so much that you risk it fracturing when challenged, then why not do just that?
Pick at the cracks.
Peel back the wallpaper - tear it a bit, draw on it.
Test those walls.
And play.
Risk.
Write a sweeping novel and distil it into a paragraph.
Write an opus and summarise it to a scale.
Build and grow.
Chunk up and down.
But concentrate, destroy, distil.
Be without ruth. Purify and edit life.
Learn to kill and self-harm.
Be your own guru.
Alternate tough with fluffy; and flip between the two so no-one knows what they are going to get.
When you meet folk who think life is a box of chocolates, drop in a liquorice allsort.
Be a devil.
Challenge. Yield.
Advance. Regress.
Build blocks.
Dance.
Reblock.
Unblock.
Unlock.
And play.
To play it safe is not to play at all.
Monday, 26 July 2010
A Grecian Subtext
"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." Aristotle.
A familiar quote used as the intro to our teaching session today.
I have never wanted to scream "Ridiculous!" at the top of my voice quite so much at a work meeting.
Somehow I just resisted this.
Relying on the subtler qualities of those around you is not a pastime for Monday mornings.
A familiar quote used as the intro to our teaching session today.
I have never wanted to scream "Ridiculous!" at the top of my voice quite so much at a work meeting.
Somehow I just resisted this.
Relying on the subtler qualities of those around you is not a pastime for Monday mornings.
Saturday, 24 July 2010
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Shards of life
Thirty minutes ago I lost my job.
The world you think you know evaporates.
Plans.
Courses.
Holidays.
A feeling of value.
An echo of the past came up and punched me in the face.
Something I rationalised.
Something I sorted.
Something I almost got past.
Something I tried to draw strength from. Like they say you should.
Something out of my control.
I imagine the feeling is the same as finding your husband or wife is having an affair.
Your first born shot in the front line. Forgive the analogy. I mean no disrespect.
A bus crash on a Columbian road or a holiday train falling off a steep cliff.
A terrible incident mercilessly exploding out of the blue.
An act of terror.
I can understand a little better about those at the damp end of the credit crunch.
Living on margins and falling off.
And a memory comes of an excellent BBC production some years back called Holding On.
Your attempts to hold on by wearing the right shoes, the broadest gait, the strongest foundations you can effect.
But trouble comes anyway.
The sinking feeling.
Searing regret.
Lost control.
Self-indulgent upset.
It comes anyway.
Five minutes ago I got my job back.
An administrative error.
A judgement I managed to talk my way out of.
What do I learn?
That a simple life is the best?
The more we complicate, the more one of these things could happen to you.
Keep your options open but close them down when you can.
More eggs, more baskets.
Open doors but slam a few shut occasionally.
It gets draughty otherwise.
You can go from a feeling of great riches, in reasonable health and humour to great poverty of circumstance and pain.
In an instant.
It's fragile, this world.
The world you think you know evaporates.
Plans.
Courses.
Holidays.
A feeling of value.
An echo of the past came up and punched me in the face.
Something I rationalised.
Something I sorted.
Something I almost got past.
Something I tried to draw strength from. Like they say you should.
Something out of my control.
I imagine the feeling is the same as finding your husband or wife is having an affair.
Your first born shot in the front line. Forgive the analogy. I mean no disrespect.
A bus crash on a Columbian road or a holiday train falling off a steep cliff.
A terrible incident mercilessly exploding out of the blue.
An act of terror.
I can understand a little better about those at the damp end of the credit crunch.
Living on margins and falling off.
And a memory comes of an excellent BBC production some years back called Holding On.
Your attempts to hold on by wearing the right shoes, the broadest gait, the strongest foundations you can effect.
But trouble comes anyway.
The sinking feeling.
Searing regret.
Lost control.
Self-indulgent upset.
It comes anyway.
Five minutes ago I got my job back.
An administrative error.
A judgement I managed to talk my way out of.
What do I learn?
That a simple life is the best?
The more we complicate, the more one of these things could happen to you.
Keep your options open but close them down when you can.
More eggs, more baskets.
Open doors but slam a few shut occasionally.
It gets draughty otherwise.
You can go from a feeling of great riches, in reasonable health and humour to great poverty of circumstance and pain.
In an instant.
It's fragile, this world.
Monday, 19 July 2010
White emulsion
You are the pilot of your life.
You may glide. You may buffet. You may rock.
You may roll. With the tide or a change of season.
Steer yourself through choppy waters or surrender the reins to a trusted aide to ride you to infinity and/or beyond.
Tilt your spaceship to the stars as you walk a road of broken shards touched with the captured spirits of a thousand Victorian mirrors.
And as you face life's crises as you, your agent, your PA, your husband of 60 years find pastures that don't involve you, you search your soul, paper over the cracks and soothe your bruised heart.
You're stuffed.
You've gambled your stability on red and it's come up black.
You've chopped down the trees that protected you and there's none to hide behind
So the point is this.....
Is it a crime?
Is it really such a terrible crime to mix your metaphors so flagrantly?
In fact is there any duller metaphor than a metaphor unmixed?
Why add colour to language if you only use a single pot of paint?
White emulsion.
You have my permission.
Mix your metaphors.
Or what's a metaphor for?
You may glide. You may buffet. You may rock.
You may roll. With the tide or a change of season.
Steer yourself through choppy waters or surrender the reins to a trusted aide to ride you to infinity and/or beyond.
Tilt your spaceship to the stars as you walk a road of broken shards touched with the captured spirits of a thousand Victorian mirrors.
And as you face life's crises as you, your agent, your PA, your husband of 60 years find pastures that don't involve you, you search your soul, paper over the cracks and soothe your bruised heart.
You're stuffed.
You've gambled your stability on red and it's come up black.
You've chopped down the trees that protected you and there's none to hide behind
So the point is this.....
Is it a crime?
Is it really such a terrible crime to mix your metaphors so flagrantly?
In fact is there any duller metaphor than a metaphor unmixed?
Why add colour to language if you only use a single pot of paint?
White emulsion.
You have my permission.
Mix your metaphors.
Or what's a metaphor for?
Sunday, 18 July 2010
The need for love-hate relationships
What's happened to Tom and Jerry?
Where are they now?
The BBC used to treat us to a dose or two once in a while, maybe Saturdays as a treat. Now you never seem to see it.
Have they locked it away on a kid's satellite channel next to Spongebob?
I hope not because it was my grandma's favourite programme.
Reward provided for one missing cat.
And his best friend.
Where are they now?
The BBC used to treat us to a dose or two once in a while, maybe Saturdays as a treat. Now you never seem to see it.
Have they locked it away on a kid's satellite channel next to Spongebob?
I hope not because it was my grandma's favourite programme.
Reward provided for one missing cat.
And his best friend.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Aspects of Passion
You have many roles. Do you know what they are?
Are you clear what you would like to spend your time doing?
This is life awareness - how you engage with all the aspects of life.
It is your chosen level of participation (and risk) in the potential of your own existence - how far you dip your toes in.
Got it? No? Once more then...
It is how much you tip your hat at the present and the future and take part in the decisions your life makes for you.
Are you an active equal partner with chance and predictability?
Do you use your vote - your right to choose?
Do you play your part?
And whether you do or don't (there are plenty who don't), are you happy with that?
Or should you revisit this once in a while?
I call this Life Presence.
It is a presence of mind - an engagement and recogniton of the matrix around you. An awareness of whether your auto-pilot is on or off.
I suppose others have called it the Power of Now (amongst other self help best-sellers). It is a little snappier than my moniker.
Maybe you only engage reluctantly, if your life depends on it.
Or do you make every turn as though your life depends on it - is that called "micromanaging" your own life.
Micromanaging is a "bad word", commonly used in insults in the workplace by people with limited ability to communicate, as it sounds a bit clever. Very HR.
The same concept might be called "passion".
Passion is a "good" word. Overused sadly, in these days of reality TV shows and popstar auditions but a glorious concept when you recognise it for real.
Passion is an activity not a hope.
Are you clear what you would like to spend your time doing?
This is life awareness - how you engage with all the aspects of life.
It is your chosen level of participation (and risk) in the potential of your own existence - how far you dip your toes in.
Got it? No? Once more then...
It is how much you tip your hat at the present and the future and take part in the decisions your life makes for you.
Are you an active equal partner with chance and predictability?
Do you use your vote - your right to choose?
Do you play your part?
And whether you do or don't (there are plenty who don't), are you happy with that?
Or should you revisit this once in a while?
I call this Life Presence.
It is a presence of mind - an engagement and recogniton of the matrix around you. An awareness of whether your auto-pilot is on or off.
I suppose others have called it the Power of Now (amongst other self help best-sellers). It is a little snappier than my moniker.
Maybe you only engage reluctantly, if your life depends on it.
Or do you make every turn as though your life depends on it - is that called "micromanaging" your own life.
Micromanaging is a "bad word", commonly used in insults in the workplace by people with limited ability to communicate, as it sounds a bit clever. Very HR.
The same concept might be called "passion".
Passion is a "good" word. Overused sadly, in these days of reality TV shows and popstar auditions but a glorious concept when you recognise it for real.
Passion is an activity not a hope.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Weather check
It's raining today. Middle of July.
Tsk!
What do you do when you are out in the rain?
You might walk under a tree in the rain for protection.
You might choose a strong oak or take your chances with a young flexible willow. It might depend on your preference for a sturdy support or something that yields to the wind of change. (Yes, you guessed it I am about to launch into another weak analogy about life and relationships. Buckle up).
You might seek out such protection. It would be natural. It might be the most important thing in the world to you. Although you may just be attracted to healthy bark that you hope and pray is no worse than its blight.
Either way you are sheltered. You will be dry for a time.
But.
When the weather changes and the sun comes out, when the atmosphere clears and the clouds have enough defined shape to earn themseves a latin label, then you may still be cowering under that tree.
Even when the leaves have gone and the protection is questionable at best.
Even when the rot sets in.
By then it may be the only place you feel safe. But by then it may be the only place the rain is still coming down. You think you have a support, a shield, a protector as the heavy drops strike you randomly. Instead you have an icy wet insult just when you least expect it. It's cold and apprehensive, scary and insecure.
Choose, check and maintain your support wisely.
Replace it when it is longer effective.
Screw and nail as required.
It's basic DIY for life.
Tsk!
What do you do when you are out in the rain?
You might walk under a tree in the rain for protection.
You might choose a strong oak or take your chances with a young flexible willow. It might depend on your preference for a sturdy support or something that yields to the wind of change. (Yes, you guessed it I am about to launch into another weak analogy about life and relationships. Buckle up).
You might seek out such protection. It would be natural. It might be the most important thing in the world to you. Although you may just be attracted to healthy bark that you hope and pray is no worse than its blight.
Either way you are sheltered. You will be dry for a time.
But.
When the weather changes and the sun comes out, when the atmosphere clears and the clouds have enough defined shape to earn themseves a latin label, then you may still be cowering under that tree.
Even when the leaves have gone and the protection is questionable at best.
Even when the rot sets in.
By then it may be the only place you feel safe. But by then it may be the only place the rain is still coming down. You think you have a support, a shield, a protector as the heavy drops strike you randomly. Instead you have an icy wet insult just when you least expect it. It's cold and apprehensive, scary and insecure.
Choose, check and maintain your support wisely.
Replace it when it is longer effective.
Screw and nail as required.
It's basic DIY for life.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Mysterious by their Absence: When Vicars Roamed
When did you last see a dog collar on the streets?
When did you last see a vicar doing his shopping?
You used to see them around a bit every now and again with their big plastic teeth and cups of tea.
Of the three professions - doctor, lawyer, church (I am ignoring recent additions to the claim. I think the Gateshead Sage is nice but I wouldn't call it one of the Seven Wonders) - I know GPs for example often don't wear ties anymore. But a vicar isn't just a job with a uniform, it's an identity, a true vocation. It's a lifestyle, a calling not an appointment. Can't you phone your vicar up in the middle of the night for some pastoral advice without going through Vicars Direct?
It's not a part time gig for 2 hours on Sunday morning plus evensong. They get a house and everything.
And I haven't heard of any serious vicar attacks that are keeping them so scared to leave the vestry.
There's something strange going on. I've probably said too much already.
They must be out there but they are incognito.
And while I am at it, where are the nuns?
I haven't seen once of those shuffling around the Metro Centre for ages.
When did you last see one on the bus, tube, taxi queue, at the Clinique counter?
What do they have under there - hoverboards?
No, they have all gone underground.
Some would say it is a warning of the Apocalypse.
I think they just wouldn't know how to get away from the charity muggers.
When did you last see a vicar doing his shopping?
You used to see them around a bit every now and again with their big plastic teeth and cups of tea.
Of the three professions - doctor, lawyer, church (I am ignoring recent additions to the claim. I think the Gateshead Sage is nice but I wouldn't call it one of the Seven Wonders) - I know GPs for example often don't wear ties anymore. But a vicar isn't just a job with a uniform, it's an identity, a true vocation. It's a lifestyle, a calling not an appointment. Can't you phone your vicar up in the middle of the night for some pastoral advice without going through Vicars Direct?
It's not a part time gig for 2 hours on Sunday morning plus evensong. They get a house and everything.
And I haven't heard of any serious vicar attacks that are keeping them so scared to leave the vestry.
There's something strange going on. I've probably said too much already.
They must be out there but they are incognito.
And while I am at it, where are the nuns?
I haven't seen once of those shuffling around the Metro Centre for ages.
When did you last see one on the bus, tube, taxi queue, at the Clinique counter?
What do they have under there - hoverboards?
No, they have all gone underground.
Some would say it is a warning of the Apocalypse.
I think they just wouldn't know how to get away from the charity muggers.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
Multiple Choice for Modern Life.
• Stay in your current relationship, for reasons of symmetry if nothing else.
• If you have any unused affection, reproduce. Don’t waste it on other parts of society.
• The ideal way to conceive is artificial insemination.
• Freeze your eggs before you are 40 to keep your options open and avoid getting fat at inconvenient times.
• Bottle feed babies to ensure breasts remain in optimum shape.
• Budget for your nanny.
• If circumstances dictate, advertise for a co-parent.
• Grieve for losses that are just an absence of gifts.
• Ask for a formal apology from anyone who expresses an opinion with which you disagree.
• Withdraw from all aspects of community other than online.
• Avoid being overqualified for future employment.
• If all else fails, sue
It’s a fine line between independence and dysfunctionality.
• If you have any unused affection, reproduce. Don’t waste it on other parts of society.
• The ideal way to conceive is artificial insemination.
• Freeze your eggs before you are 40 to keep your options open and avoid getting fat at inconvenient times.
• Bottle feed babies to ensure breasts remain in optimum shape.
• Budget for your nanny.
• If circumstances dictate, advertise for a co-parent.
• Grieve for losses that are just an absence of gifts.
• Ask for a formal apology from anyone who expresses an opinion with which you disagree.
• Withdraw from all aspects of community other than online.
• Avoid being overqualified for future employment.
• If all else fails, sue
It’s a fine line between independence and dysfunctionality.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Sunday, 27 June 2010
The Adventures of Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond
It is too unfair when we have a blistering afternoon of sport - Wimbledon, the European Formula1 Grand Prix and England v Germany in the World Cup.
And then...mercilessly, Channel 4 schedule Carry On Up The Khyber at exactly the same time.
And no, there is no Channel 4+1 (unless you count channel 5).
Why?
Why do they make us choose?
And then...mercilessly, Channel 4 schedule Carry On Up The Khyber at exactly the same time.
And no, there is no Channel 4+1 (unless you count channel 5).
Why?
Why do they make us choose?
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Friday, 25 June 2010
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Grammar
As we Americanize more of our spelling, does anyone know if I should spell defecation with an 'ae' or faecal with just an 'e'.
As if we don't get into enough of our own problems when writing down words like 'loose' instead of 'lose'.
It's so easy to get into sloppy habits.
As if we don't get into enough of our own problems when writing down words like 'loose' instead of 'lose'.
It's so easy to get into sloppy habits.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Pastures new
I am changing the name of the blog to The Humourless Fool, a wonderfully poetic juxtaposition of colourful imagery and the conflicted court jester.
I was torn for a while between that and King of the Losers but I think T.H.F just pinches it.
Thanks readers.
Monday, 14 June 2010
Saturday, 12 June 2010
Things that make steam come out of my ears
Anyone who checks out twice at the supermarket without rejoining the back of the queue.
Or, as happened to me recently, three times..
Or, as happened to me recently, three times..
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Cream of the crop
So when Patrick Stewart comments on James Cordon's belly and scruffy demeanour hosting an awards ceremony (called Glamour, ahem) the quickfire wit responds. "I can see you dying on stage right now". A death threat? A wish for his death? A threat to a fight an old man? Or most improbable of all, a joke?
Of course if someone was to die soon, apart from Cordon in his recent humiliatingly poor sketch show, it would likely be the fat, young comic. Or maybe he has never heard of John Candy, Chris Farley etc.
Is this the best this man can do? Stewart has more class in his little finger than Cordon could imagine after the most hallucinogenic of pies. Blame bulimia Cordon, that will at least be funny. And learn some respect for your elders and/or betters. In your case, that's just about everybody.
Patrick Stewart standing over Cordon's grave. That's funny. That goes in straight in the chapter labelled black comedy or irony. Perfectly legit. So Cordon signing of with "Get a taxi - the old man's going home", he couldn't stop himself. He might as well have said 'Get an ambulance'. With him leaning on the podium, you can see the actions of a school bully. I wonder how much pocket money he stole in those happy tuckshop years.
Stewart does not shrink of course. He can have him for breakfast. OK he is not the funniest guy but he as making a valid point.
Now given that this is going to be shown all over the world for years and follow them both particularly Cordon, could he not smell a publicity opportunity and force himself to come out of it with some dignity not just looking like a fat bully. Clearly not.
It is the same lack of insight that made him behave like that in the first place.
I'd like to think this was a brilliant publicity stunt for his appearance on the next episode of Doctor Who but alas, I think not.
Stewart as a serious actor already has a funnier back catologue than Cordon with outrageously brilliant and self-deprecating appearances in the cutting comedy edge that is Family Guy and of course Extras.
On the other hand of course, the award wasn't about either of them was it?
Of course if someone was to die soon, apart from Cordon in his recent humiliatingly poor sketch show, it would likely be the fat, young comic. Or maybe he has never heard of John Candy, Chris Farley etc.
Is this the best this man can do? Stewart has more class in his little finger than Cordon could imagine after the most hallucinogenic of pies. Blame bulimia Cordon, that will at least be funny. And learn some respect for your elders and/or betters. In your case, that's just about everybody.
Patrick Stewart standing over Cordon's grave. That's funny. That goes in straight in the chapter labelled black comedy or irony. Perfectly legit. So Cordon signing of with "Get a taxi - the old man's going home", he couldn't stop himself. He might as well have said 'Get an ambulance'. With him leaning on the podium, you can see the actions of a school bully. I wonder how much pocket money he stole in those happy tuckshop years.
Stewart does not shrink of course. He can have him for breakfast. OK he is not the funniest guy but he as making a valid point.
Now given that this is going to be shown all over the world for years and follow them both particularly Cordon, could he not smell a publicity opportunity and force himself to come out of it with some dignity not just looking like a fat bully. Clearly not.
It is the same lack of insight that made him behave like that in the first place.
I'd like to think this was a brilliant publicity stunt for his appearance on the next episode of Doctor Who but alas, I think not.
Stewart as a serious actor already has a funnier back catologue than Cordon with outrageously brilliant and self-deprecating appearances in the cutting comedy edge that is Family Guy and of course Extras.
On the other hand of course, the award wasn't about either of them was it?
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Tardi-X
Just thought of a new scifi series of sketches.
It's about a duo who investigate the paranormal - a guy and his hilarious gob-heavy sidekick who comes from Liverpool.
It's called Mulder and Scally.
Ten years too late.
Ten years too bloody late.
It's about a duo who investigate the paranormal - a guy and his hilarious gob-heavy sidekick who comes from Liverpool.
It's called Mulder and Scally.
Ten years too late.
Ten years too bloody late.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Stranger than fiction
“We’re injury lawyers for you”
“We’re real lawyers”, shouts the actor from The Bill.
“We will do our best for you.”
The only thing I want an actor from the Bill to do for me is catch villains played by otherwise out of work stereotypically cast actors between the hours of 9 and 10 once or twice a week.
We’re real lawyers indeed.
Perry Mason must be turning in his grave.
“We’re real lawyers”, shouts the actor from The Bill.
“We will do our best for you.”
The only thing I want an actor from the Bill to do for me is catch villains played by otherwise out of work stereotypically cast actors between the hours of 9 and 10 once or twice a week.
We’re real lawyers indeed.
Perry Mason must be turning in his grave.
Friday, 28 May 2010
Just the facts, Ma'am
Have you noticed as I have over the years the criticism that the Daily Mail gets?
As it used to be our family paper, this has long perplexed me. It has always seemed pretty fair and balanced with a smattering of interesting strong opinions from good writers as far as I can see.
Yet I have been taught by the liberal TV people that that makes me a communist or a raging Nazi like there is a difference.
Can it really be so vilified? Is it that bad? As I don’t get any daily paper never mind the poncy ones I have not felt fully qualified to comment.
Until today
Until I tested a new theory.
Maybe people hate it because it’s popular.
But is it? It is just one of many papers that I would have guessed sold well maybe roughly equally.
Right?
Wrong. Google the circulation figures and welcome the light.
After The Sun, the Daily Mail massively outsells the rest. Twice as many as its nearest rival and more than the Guardian, the Times, The Express and The Telegraph put together. And it has the best TV guide in a Saturday.
So rest your conscience, it is the popularity they hate.
Obvious when you have the stats.
As it used to be our family paper, this has long perplexed me. It has always seemed pretty fair and balanced with a smattering of interesting strong opinions from good writers as far as I can see.
Yet I have been taught by the liberal TV people that that makes me a communist or a raging Nazi like there is a difference.
Can it really be so vilified? Is it that bad? As I don’t get any daily paper never mind the poncy ones I have not felt fully qualified to comment.
Until today
Until I tested a new theory.
Maybe people hate it because it’s popular.
But is it? It is just one of many papers that I would have guessed sold well maybe roughly equally.
Right?
Wrong. Google the circulation figures and welcome the light.
After The Sun, the Daily Mail massively outsells the rest. Twice as many as its nearest rival and more than the Guardian, the Times, The Express and The Telegraph put together. And it has the best TV guide in a Saturday.
So rest your conscience, it is the popularity they hate.
Obvious when you have the stats.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
The Quotable Me: Attempt 2
Life's greatest mistake is thinking that other people have it easy, even the jammy bastards who actually do.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Three men walk into a bar
Me colleague tells me there are at least 3 different types of the Gaelic language spoken around our shores - in Wales for example and in Ireland, both of which are different to the Scottish version.
It's hard not to wonder if such an unholy trinity would communicate well through their uncommon language.
I would like to think that should this uncertain fraternity find themselves in the same room facing a peculiar dilemma, that despite at least a couple of failed solutions they could all have a bloody good laugh about it later.
It's hard not to wonder if such an unholy trinity would communicate well through their uncommon language.
I would like to think that should this uncertain fraternity find themselves in the same room facing a peculiar dilemma, that despite at least a couple of failed solutions they could all have a bloody good laugh about it later.
Friday, 21 May 2010
No More Doctors
I am reliably informed yesterday offered was an ‘encomium’. Nice word.
Now for today, pick a clinical problem and find out what happens if it goes unrecognized with my new nurse-practitioner problem sorter.
Pick a number between more than 10 and less than 100.
Now for today, pick a clinical problem and find out what happens if it goes unrecognized with my new nurse-practitioner problem sorter.
Pick a number between more than 10 and less than 100.
Now look up the first digit on my new symptom-sorter-instant-diagnosis-0-matic to identify a problem you may relate to.
To discover the inevitable consequences look up the second digit on the second list.
To discover the inevitable consequences look up the second digit on the second list.
(If you have a zero go to number 10).
A
1) I like to leave my TV on standby
2) I have a fondness for pork scratchings and out-of-date avocados
3) I like to sit in the hot sun
4) I very much enjoy the work of Jeremy Kyle
5) I often cross the road before the green man lights up
6) I tend to keep frustrations bottled up
7) I spend a great deal of time looking in the mirror
8) I often eat peanuts after midnight
9) I never miss Eurovision
10) I very much respect windsurfers
.. and I can reasonably expect that to ….
B
1) make my fingernails drop off
2) cause catastrophic diarrhoea.
3) make my underwear feel tight.
4) Increase the hairiness of my feet by 70 - 80%
5) create new job opportunities
6) anger those around me.
7) add on a good ten years.
8) give me the nails of an old Spaniard.
9) increase the chance of me going on a killing spree in years to come
10) make me a better person
For further details, please speak to your GP
A
1) I like to leave my TV on standby
2) I have a fondness for pork scratchings and out-of-date avocados
3) I like to sit in the hot sun
4) I very much enjoy the work of Jeremy Kyle
5) I often cross the road before the green man lights up
6) I tend to keep frustrations bottled up
7) I spend a great deal of time looking in the mirror
8) I often eat peanuts after midnight
9) I never miss Eurovision
10) I very much respect windsurfers
.. and I can reasonably expect that to ….
B
1) make my fingernails drop off
2) cause catastrophic diarrhoea.
3) make my underwear feel tight.
4) Increase the hairiness of my feet by 70 - 80%
5) create new job opportunities
6) anger those around me.
7) add on a good ten years.
8) give me the nails of an old Spaniard.
9) increase the chance of me going on a killing spree in years to come
10) make me a better person
For further details, please speak to your GP
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Press Verse
You need a little background. I work for an organisation that has just received a seal of recognition, renewal is every three years, our offices are named after Real Ales one of which is Waggle Dance, we never use the word 'patient' much to my irritation, there's a huge ongoing argument about the differences between accuracy and precision that has initiated a series of migraines in at least four of my colleagues, and finally a rival organisation failed to win similar accreditation...so when we were asked for a quote for the press, this was my suggestion.
Ready?... Let's go ......
The word on the street
Was a calm crepitation
First a whisper.
Then a fanfare.
Of Accreditation!
The powers that be
Thought us ‘very robust’
‘Believe what they say
They’re a source you can trust’.
‘They can help a mere mortal
Make important decisions’
‘They’re not much for accuracy
But they have laser precision’.
That's one of our stages
We can’t see them mentioned
And we’ve checked all your pages.
We said you mean ‘the people
who have a disease’ ?
They looked at us funny.
They didn’t seem pleased.
You really must do this
To improve your site.
We said ‘Forget it’
(We still got the kite).
It’s a mark of success
It’s an excuse for Sharon
To put on her dress.
It’s time for a booze-up.
We could put a band on.
And rename Waggle Dance
To Moet and Chandon.
So enjoy the clapping
Seal of approval
‘cos in three years time
We’re up for removal!
Well done to all
And my only suggestion
Is enjoy the success
And don't tell 'Map of Medicine'.
Monday, 17 May 2010
In Praise of the Great British Yawn - a 10-point plan
In case we lose the historical joy of a well-executed British yawn, let me recap the recommended ingredients.
1. Start crumpling your face to prepare your audience for what is to come.
2. Both arms should reach for the sky (which it turns out is just further away than you expect). A glimpse of the midriff as the string vest lifts wins extra points here.
3. As the mouth opens, start squinting the eyes. One is best, two if you feel you must.
4. If you feel comfortable enough to let out a Chewbacca-style moan at this point,all to the good.
5. Turn the fists inward and continue with a slow beating of the chest. This should occur an odd number of times - 3 is good, 5 is OK. Never 2 or 4.
6. Rest the final fist on the chest while you survey your audience for approval.
7. Execute the most inane beaming grin that you can muster.
Please note: The level of smug self-satisfaction you are shooting for here cannot be overestimated. The expression should say to anyone in close proximity "I have just solved Fermat's Last Theorem".
8. The whole procedure should take no longer than 12 seconds.
9. It is best performed in old clothes.
10. If for any reason you do not feel as though you have received the recognition you deserve then a slightly too loud, "That's better" will usually the job done.
Present Company Excepted
I went to see Randy Newman perform yesterday.
When were you last in the same room as someone of brilliance?
Sunday, 16 May 2010
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Being Western
Science is curiosity. But one person's curiosity is another person's dogma.
And when faced with the closed mind of a believer, who will you place your money on?
Maybe if we all thought about things then the world would be a dangerous place. Maybe that's why our big empty brains invented religion. To placate the tiring questions with a few easy answers.
What easy answers?
And why "easy" when so many struggle to swallow it? Have you ever heard anyone say "without doubt there is no faith".Ouch!" Maybe it isn't so easy to force yourself to believe and close off the more rational parts of your brain. What a shame.
Well the easy answer is that of the lazy scriptwriter.
Stuck with a problem to complete your teleplay? It is the same issue.
Humanity came up with the very answer that is the greatest criticism of scifi entertainment. Star Trek writers were chided with an Almighty amount of criticism for it down the years.
The plot device of the all powerful overlord.
We created an omnisomething-or-other creature with all the answers. (Mummy, can God see me when I am on the toilet?)
The ultimate plot device.
That is why it's an easy answer.
The rest is papyrus and centuries of padding. Interesting, yes. Old things are nice. Give them to the scientists. Put them in a museum. Don't believe in the highly improbable because of them.
Why would you think they were a a documentation of the supernatural? Come on! Can you even say it without a giggle?
WAKE UP!! Open your eyes. Get real. Face the painful reality the rest of us have to live in. It will make you a better person. Be embarrassed if have made this simple mistake for decades. You should be. But laugh it off quickly. And help others.
We are living in an age where my truth (say, science or mathematics) is only as good as your truth (say, Scientology and flower remedies). Is there any weaker argument than "Well that's just your opinion".I don't think so.
But in our new enlightened world, all opinions are equal of course. Whim wins. Rigour retreats.
It is an insult to reason. But at least science is big enough to take it on the chin so come and have a go if you think you are hard enough. Eventually the power of the argument will win you over. Quickly or by dripping erosion.
All opinions.Equal. 66 years ago some were said to be more equal than others. That simple truth is gone.
Patients are Doctors. Hell, nurses are doctors.
Astronomy is on the same bill as astrology.
Nuclear physics on the same bill as reflexology.
Physics the same bill as psychics.
All Equal.
God help us.
You could fight of course. Fight their belief. But do you really want to? And do you really know how? Is there really any way to win this soul?
And why bother?
Let them believe in fairies.
Let them think chiropractic is a profession.
Let them check out Deepak Chopra's website for an early bird discount.
If you do help them, well done you. It is a generous gift you give. Only perform this service for people you really like. And not even all of them.
Your best reward may only to be accused of being "western". And therefore wrong. Presumably.
Wrong is what you are when there are no rights, when you have your rights removed.
It doesn't matter that people died for your rights. Maybe you'll still be able to keep in touch if their name begins with a J or a G. Or an M.
When you have no rights, all you have left is wrongs.
And when faced with the closed mind of a believer, who will you place your money on?
Maybe if we all thought about things then the world would be a dangerous place. Maybe that's why our big empty brains invented religion. To placate the tiring questions with a few easy answers.
What easy answers?
And why "easy" when so many struggle to swallow it? Have you ever heard anyone say "without doubt there is no faith".Ouch!" Maybe it isn't so easy to force yourself to believe and close off the more rational parts of your brain. What a shame.
Well the easy answer is that of the lazy scriptwriter.
Stuck with a problem to complete your teleplay? It is the same issue.
Humanity came up with the very answer that is the greatest criticism of scifi entertainment. Star Trek writers were chided with an Almighty amount of criticism for it down the years.
The plot device of the all powerful overlord.
We created an omnisomething-or-other creature with all the answers. (Mummy, can God see me when I am on the toilet?)
The ultimate plot device.
That is why it's an easy answer.
The rest is papyrus and centuries of padding. Interesting, yes. Old things are nice. Give them to the scientists. Put them in a museum. Don't believe in the highly improbable because of them.
Why would you think they were a a documentation of the supernatural? Come on! Can you even say it without a giggle?
WAKE UP!! Open your eyes. Get real. Face the painful reality the rest of us have to live in. It will make you a better person. Be embarrassed if have made this simple mistake for decades. You should be. But laugh it off quickly. And help others.
We are living in an age where my truth (say, science or mathematics) is only as good as your truth (say, Scientology and flower remedies). Is there any weaker argument than "Well that's just your opinion".I don't think so.
But in our new enlightened world, all opinions are equal of course. Whim wins. Rigour retreats.
It is an insult to reason. But at least science is big enough to take it on the chin so come and have a go if you think you are hard enough. Eventually the power of the argument will win you over. Quickly or by dripping erosion.
All opinions.Equal. 66 years ago some were said to be more equal than others. That simple truth is gone.
Patients are Doctors. Hell, nurses are doctors.
Astronomy is on the same bill as astrology.
Nuclear physics on the same bill as reflexology.
Physics the same bill as psychics.
All Equal.
God help us.
You could fight of course. Fight their belief. But do you really want to? And do you really know how? Is there really any way to win this soul?
And why bother?
Let them believe in fairies.
Let them think chiropractic is a profession.
Let them check out Deepak Chopra's website for an early bird discount.
If you do help them, well done you. It is a generous gift you give. Only perform this service for people you really like. And not even all of them.
Your best reward may only to be accused of being "western". And therefore wrong. Presumably.
Wrong is what you are when there are no rights, when you have your rights removed.
It doesn't matter that people died for your rights. Maybe you'll still be able to keep in touch if their name begins with a J or a G. Or an M.
When you have no rights, all you have left is wrongs.
Sunday, 9 May 2010
The Greediest Meal of the Day
British titles are the aims of many professions.
Sport,entertainment, charitable services, etc.
But they need to be given at the right time.
Chris Hoy, is too young an Olympic cyclist to be a knight.
And if you doubt his maturity, take a look at the sponsorship he greedily devours.
To see him use his title to advertise breakfast cereal turns my stomach. Bran Flakes as recommended by "Sir Chris Hoy".
Maybe he should only accept such honours when he has finished greedily selling himself to Kellogs for pound notes.
Deals like this cast a dirty shadow over the highest of honours.
Sport,entertainment, charitable services, etc.
But they need to be given at the right time.
Chris Hoy, is too young an Olympic cyclist to be a knight.
And if you doubt his maturity, take a look at the sponsorship he greedily devours.
To see him use his title to advertise breakfast cereal turns my stomach. Bran Flakes as recommended by "Sir Chris Hoy".
Maybe he should only accept such honours when he has finished greedily selling himself to Kellogs for pound notes.
Deals like this cast a dirty shadow over the highest of honours.
Little Quote from the Prairie
I like a quote.
I know they promise easy answers and it's you that has to do the change, but there is no quicker way to remind you to look at your priorities.
And the things about quotes is they always seem to sound true. And very often complete.
I always liked the inspirational messages of Michael Landon's eighties TV series 'Highway to Heaven'. I can't think of a series that does anything like that nowadays. Landon's charm, charisma and hair helped. And the memory intensifies with the fact that he famously died too young from cancer.
Some quote-generating algorithm chose this for me today on iGoogle.
Take from it what you need.
"Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now!"
Michael Landon
US actor (1936 - 1991)
I know they promise easy answers and it's you that has to do the change, but there is no quicker way to remind you to look at your priorities.
And the things about quotes is they always seem to sound true. And very often complete.
I always liked the inspirational messages of Michael Landon's eighties TV series 'Highway to Heaven'. I can't think of a series that does anything like that nowadays. Landon's charm, charisma and hair helped. And the memory intensifies with the fact that he famously died too young from cancer.
Some quote-generating algorithm chose this for me today on iGoogle.
Take from it what you need.
"Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now!"
Michael Landon
US actor (1936 - 1991)
Friday, 7 May 2010
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Brain
Motor function 20 %
Sensory function 20%
Emotional function 20% (40% in women)
Imagination 20% (15% in women)
Part of brain that reminds you there's some tea left in your cup even if it's cold by now (25%)
Sensory function 20%
Emotional function 20% (40% in women)
Imagination 20% (15% in women)
Part of brain that reminds you there's some tea left in your cup even if it's cold by now (25%)
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Reviewing the situation
I have spent the last 20 years scowling at middle-aged men on the street making no secret of my disapproval nay disgust.
I admit to frequently hurling threatening abuse in their direction as they walked hand in hand with girls dressed in school uniform who frankly were young enough to be their daughters.
I am beginning to think I might have made a slight miscalculation.
I admit to frequently hurling threatening abuse in their direction as they walked hand in hand with girls dressed in school uniform who frankly were young enough to be their daughters.
I am beginning to think I might have made a slight miscalculation.
Monday, 3 May 2010
Get Back.
Everyone's reforming,
Even the bands that hate each other. Which is almost all of them.
Even the bands that hate each other. Which is almost all of them.
I see even Supertramp's touring this year. Logical I suppose. But can you think of a band that hasn't reformed? I can only think of one.
Chicago.
Except that Wikipedia says they never spilt up. Still, if they get that Karate Kid 3 singer back that'll be everyone fully reformed.
On a totally separate issue, I read today that, because they share common routes of transmission, Hepatitis C and Hepatitis B are are frequently seen in concert.
There's a reunion tour I won't be queuing up for.
On a totally separate issue, I read today that, because they share common routes of transmission, Hepatitis C and Hepatitis B are are frequently seen in concert.
There's a reunion tour I won't be queuing up for.
Sunday, 2 May 2010
TV Quick
Interesting new series coming up on the BBC3.
It's called "Informed Consent".
Each week the programme looks into the medicolegal aspects of modern day surgical techniques. In every episode of the 36 week series, host Richard Hammond undergoes unnecessary surgery without his consent.
Uber-tool Charlie Brooker provides cocky witless narration.
Well, I can dream can't I?
It's called "Informed Consent".
Each week the programme looks into the medicolegal aspects of modern day surgical techniques. In every episode of the 36 week series, host Richard Hammond undergoes unnecessary surgery without his consent.
Uber-tool Charlie Brooker provides cocky witless narration.
Well, I can dream can't I?
Saturday, 1 May 2010
That's no lie
20 years ago I discovered Emma. I think many must have down the years.
Emma – Emmaline. The Hot Chocolate song.
It’s unique riff bores into you. It builds a resonant timber framework inside you on which the rest of the song dances and builds.
The melody cuts like a bread knife. Not without shrapnel. It is a beautiful song that tilts at suicide and affects you like a safe addiction.
I had it on repeat for weeks. The vocals of the coolest man alive. Pop at its sharpest and most inviting. Loved it then and still do.
Yesterday, rerouting from a blind link on a non-Youtube video content based website, I rediscovered Emmaline. It was impossible to resist a spin. I could spare 3 minutes.
But she wasn’t my Emmaline.
It was a different song.
Another song by Errol. Also called Emmaline (That's no lie).
A discovery. But one that wasn’t on my Very Best of... and I bet it isn’t on yours either.
I missed Errol on his final tour last year. But I always smile at having seen his sparkly trousers shimmer in years gone by. I rank seeing him sing his (other) signature song as one of the finest things I have ever seen.
There can’t be two Emmalines.
And yet, there can.
She’s a girl of course. The irreplaceable star he supposedly saw on a magazine cover and tried to track down.
The story goes that he wrote to her modelling agency anonymously but alas no reply. Then he used his fame. (Why not? Michael Caine famously got his wife the same way). He contacted her agent and told him he would like to hire her for a music video and could she come for interview.
“But that's impossible Mr Brown, she committed suicide 4 days ago".
We are left with not one but two songs exposing the salty nerve endings of humanity with precision and beauty.
All women are irreplaceable of course. But how many can claim that?
Emma – Emmaline. The Hot Chocolate song.
It’s unique riff bores into you. It builds a resonant timber framework inside you on which the rest of the song dances and builds.
The melody cuts like a bread knife. Not without shrapnel. It is a beautiful song that tilts at suicide and affects you like a safe addiction.
I had it on repeat for weeks. The vocals of the coolest man alive. Pop at its sharpest and most inviting. Loved it then and still do.
Yesterday, rerouting from a blind link on a non-Youtube video content based website, I rediscovered Emmaline. It was impossible to resist a spin. I could spare 3 minutes.
But she wasn’t my Emmaline.
It was a different song.
Another song by Errol. Also called Emmaline (That's no lie).
A discovery. But one that wasn’t on my Very Best of... and I bet it isn’t on yours either.
I missed Errol on his final tour last year. But I always smile at having seen his sparkly trousers shimmer in years gone by. I rank seeing him sing his (other) signature song as one of the finest things I have ever seen.
There can’t be two Emmalines.
And yet, there can.
She’s a girl of course. The irreplaceable star he supposedly saw on a magazine cover and tried to track down.
The story goes that he wrote to her modelling agency anonymously but alas no reply. Then he used his fame. (Why not? Michael Caine famously got his wife the same way). He contacted her agent and told him he would like to hire her for a music video and could she come for interview.
“But that's impossible Mr Brown, she committed suicide 4 days ago".
We are left with not one but two songs exposing the salty nerve endings of humanity with precision and beauty.
All women are irreplaceable of course. But how many can claim that?
Thursday, 29 April 2010
Make a stand.
Finally war as been declared on PowerPoint - the word-spinning fantasy of a generation of managerial nitwits. And the scourge of their employees who are forced to make their presentations with it - the Powerpoint Rangers
It has taken a US Army general to remind us that not everything is bulletizable. Or bulletable as I might have said. (He is American after all). Too much tirme writing bullets and not enough time shooting them, implied the General.
I remember spurning Powerpoint during a presentation to all the Vice-Presidents in a previous international company I worked for.
The brief was to prepare a presentation in Powerpoint. Thinking then as I do now that there are better ways of getting a message over. That there were ways of communication before Microsoft gave us Powerpoint, I of course refused and gave the talk Cameron-style sans notes.
My department VP could not attend and then asked for everyone's Powerpoint presentation so he could review it (to see what we had said about him presumably). I rolled out my objections again for his entertainment.
So.
Dump powerpoint and spurn those who don't.
Raise an eyebrow when you see it.
Don't forgive the speaker.
The people who resort to this method of presentation alone should be in the audience not on the stage.
It has taken a US Army general to remind us that not everything is bulletizable. Or bulletable as I might have said. (He is American after all). Too much tirme writing bullets and not enough time shooting them, implied the General.
I remember spurning Powerpoint during a presentation to all the Vice-Presidents in a previous international company I worked for.
The brief was to prepare a presentation in Powerpoint. Thinking then as I do now that there are better ways of getting a message over. That there were ways of communication before Microsoft gave us Powerpoint, I of course refused and gave the talk Cameron-style sans notes.
My department VP could not attend and then asked for everyone's Powerpoint presentation so he could review it (to see what we had said about him presumably). I rolled out my objections again for his entertainment.
So.
Dump powerpoint and spurn those who don't.
Raise an eyebrow when you see it.
Don't forgive the speaker.
The people who resort to this method of presentation alone should be in the audience not on the stage.
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Old habits
There used to be two types of cheese triangle ( I am referring to pre-Laughing Cow years).
Dairylea (still going strong).
And the one we had, which has long since gone and whose name I can't remember but it was red and gold in colour.
I feel like it was called something like Golden Spread but that does not seem right.
Anyway, instead of unwrapping the triangle I wonder how many other people nibbled off the tip and squeezed the cheese through the tiniest hole they could.
Dairylea (still going strong).
And the one we had, which has long since gone and whose name I can't remember but it was red and gold in colour.
I feel like it was called something like Golden Spread but that does not seem right.
Anyway, instead of unwrapping the triangle I wonder how many other people nibbled off the tip and squeezed the cheese through the tiniest hole they could.
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Good general advice.
Should you ever find yourself writing a book on comical aspects of being a ship's doctor, you could do worse than the slightly-too-clever "Aqueous Humour" as a title.
Just a thought.
Just a thought.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Definitions No. 14
A frisson. (Noun).
A frisky connection. One more than a twosome and one less than a foursome.
A frisky connection. One more than a twosome and one less than a foursome.
Sunday, 25 April 2010
The Weekly Shop
I can tolerate a trip to the supermarket.
I can negogiate the challenges.
I can even live with the supermarkets who don't offer handbaskets even though they force me to buy only what I can carry.
I won't deny it's getting harder to find where I left my trolley in the larger supermarkets but I carry my confusion with great dignity and the casual observer would be none the wiser.
But don't ask me why....
Whenever I leave a supermarket or any other out of town shopping centre, when I get into my car, I do not want anyone else getting into their car next to my space and being about to drive off at the same time.
I find the chance of this happening accidentally remote. Yet clearly it isn't. It happens all the time.
I have lost count of the times I have written to Asda, Tesco etc to ask to them to make an announcement that odd and even numbered car park spaces check out separately in 15 minute
windows.
So all I ask is this.
When I am unpacking my trolley.
when I am turning the ignition.
When I am scrambling for my sunglasses.
That's my me time.
Kindly leave me alone.
I can negogiate the challenges.
I can even live with the supermarkets who don't offer handbaskets even though they force me to buy only what I can carry.
I won't deny it's getting harder to find where I left my trolley in the larger supermarkets but I carry my confusion with great dignity and the casual observer would be none the wiser.
But don't ask me why....
Whenever I leave a supermarket or any other out of town shopping centre, when I get into my car, I do not want anyone else getting into their car next to my space and being about to drive off at the same time.
I find the chance of this happening accidentally remote. Yet clearly it isn't. It happens all the time.
I have lost count of the times I have written to Asda, Tesco etc to ask to them to make an announcement that odd and even numbered car park spaces check out separately in 15 minute
windows.
So all I ask is this.
When I am unpacking my trolley.
when I am turning the ignition.
When I am scrambling for my sunglasses.
That's my me time.
Kindly leave me alone.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
Passing time
How do you follow something, say a passing interest or hobby. Or club.
Well nowadays you become a fan. Not really. But on Facetube.
The thing about an interest is that it should be part of still waters. It should be close to your heart.
It should be none of anyone else's business unless they share an interest in you or it.
Interests might be discovered in passing but they should preferably be unique enough to invite jealous mockery.
I remember a boy at school who won a speaking competition, talking about macrame. Which is knitting with big wool as I remember.
I took a beating talking about the Seven Wonders of the World which I had chosen with palpable reluctance after being press-ganged into doing something.
After my speech, I failed at the first question. How many of the seven wonders have you actually visited?, asked the teacher.
The bloody teacher! Never having been abroad this was difficult. Actually humiliating.
What a cow. Even to this day I can barely bring myself to regret going over, taking her in a headlock firmly enough to mask her ears and shouting, "How many have you seen? How many of the seven wonders of the bloody world have you seen? With your copious time off and rock star salary. ANSWER ME!"
In fairness she played her part well by flailing around and taking the rest of the term off.
I was held back of course and she started on a whatever brain-settling drug was popular at the time.
Lessons were well learned all round.
I learned not to respond to peer pressure.
I learned that verbal violence can be simply enhanced with a little bit of chest bumping and have famously beefed up to become a considerable physical threat.
And I found that by bringing this logic to bear I can save other young souls from the same treatment.
And that's where I have been ever since.
She's still on benzos.
Well nowadays you become a fan. Not really. But on Facetube.
The thing about an interest is that it should be part of still waters. It should be close to your heart.
It should be none of anyone else's business unless they share an interest in you or it.
Interests might be discovered in passing but they should preferably be unique enough to invite jealous mockery.
I remember a boy at school who won a speaking competition, talking about macrame. Which is knitting with big wool as I remember.
I took a beating talking about the Seven Wonders of the World which I had chosen with palpable reluctance after being press-ganged into doing something.
After my speech, I failed at the first question. How many of the seven wonders have you actually visited?, asked the teacher.
The bloody teacher! Never having been abroad this was difficult. Actually humiliating.
What a cow. Even to this day I can barely bring myself to regret going over, taking her in a headlock firmly enough to mask her ears and shouting, "How many have you seen? How many of the seven wonders of the bloody world have you seen? With your copious time off and rock star salary. ANSWER ME!"
In fairness she played her part well by flailing around and taking the rest of the term off.
I was held back of course and she started on a whatever brain-settling drug was popular at the time.
Lessons were well learned all round.
I learned not to respond to peer pressure.
I learned that verbal violence can be simply enhanced with a little bit of chest bumping and have famously beefed up to become a considerable physical threat.
And I found that by bringing this logic to bear I can save other young souls from the same treatment.
And that's where I have been ever since.
She's still on benzos.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
How old are you?
How old are you?
Don’t you love that question?
So brief, no hard to hide the truth without being a liar. A simple sword of truth that can wipes away hundreds of pounds of face polish?
How old are you?
Very hard to answer originally without at the very least appearing evasive.
So why not try this?
When someone asks you how old you are, you tell the truth (sorry) but prefix it with the word “only”?
Or “still only”
How old are you?
I’m only 41.
41?
Yeah, still only 41.
Not a lie (perhaps).
Not evasive.
And likely to immediately derail the conversation in the shortest time possible.
I love that idea. I think it might work its bewildering magic both in response to a social enquiry from a nosey sod or even at a professional interview.
You could go on to explain how this extraordinary state of affairs came to be
“How old are you?”
“I’m only 41 (I had a year off)”
Don’t you love that question?
So brief, no hard to hide the truth without being a liar. A simple sword of truth that can wipes away hundreds of pounds of face polish?
How old are you?
Very hard to answer originally without at the very least appearing evasive.
So why not try this?
When someone asks you how old you are, you tell the truth (sorry) but prefix it with the word “only”?
Or “still only”
How old are you?
I’m only 41.
41?
Yeah, still only 41.
Not a lie (perhaps).
Not evasive.
And likely to immediately derail the conversation in the shortest time possible.
I love that idea. I think it might work its bewildering magic both in response to a social enquiry from a nosey sod or even at a professional interview.
You could go on to explain how this extraordinary state of affairs came to be
“How old are you?”
“I’m only 41 (I had a year off)”
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Dunkirk Spirit
We are all making sacrifices for the national elections this year as we embrace a volatile part of our shared history.
It falls to us all to do our bit.
Basically, with Alan Sugar as the Business Czar (remember that?) the new series of The Apprentice can't start till it's over.
Hang in there.
It falls to us all to do our bit.
Basically, with Alan Sugar as the Business Czar (remember that?) the new series of The Apprentice can't start till it's over.
Hang in there.
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Post April Sixth Taxonomy
Terminology is important. I was recently asked if there a correct collective term for babies that are not yet taking solids and are still only receiving milk?
"Yes" I replied. "In Newcastle that would be bottle-fed".
"Yes" I replied. "In Newcastle that would be bottle-fed".
Saturday, 17 April 2010
The Cutting Edge
Great idea for a TV programme..
How about an irreverent look at the week's news..
With vampires!
How about an irreverent look at the week's news..
With vampires!
Friday, 16 April 2010
The Return of Sting
This week I have found not one but two huge bees in my living unit.
I would have liked to have relocated them with one of Mr Miyagi's chopsticks.
But the fact is they were huge.
So one I released. And one I lightly sauteed and put on a crumpet.
And that would have been the end of it until I overheard today a work colleagues (he wishes) with an identical experience. Although he preferred the nomenclature of pikelet .
The point is this.
The bees are back.
And they are bigger then ever.
I would have liked to have relocated them with one of Mr Miyagi's chopsticks.
But the fact is they were huge.
So one I released. And one I lightly sauteed and put on a crumpet.
And that would have been the end of it until I overheard today a work colleagues (he wishes) with an identical experience. Although he preferred the nomenclature of pikelet .
The point is this.
The bees are back.
And they are bigger then ever.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Don't make him angry
Today Richard Dawkins announced his plan to have the Pope arrested on his arrival to the UK in September due to his refusal to weed out Catholic-sponsored paedophilia.
Also for the first time in history all flights in and out of Britain were cancelled due to volcanic eruptions in Iceland.
The insurers don't compensate Acts of God!
Also for the first time in history all flights in and out of Britain were cancelled due to volcanic eruptions in Iceland.
The insurers don't compensate Acts of God!
Fighting the clock
'Time is up' say the invigilators
'It's time for your tea'. The ball game is over.
We are slaves to the clock.
We write songs that remind us we cannot turn back time.
We battle time and we always lose.
Always.
Is certain defeat the best we can do? Can't we regroup?
People talk of "relationships" with food, "love affairs" with locations.
What about our relationships with time?
This is the most doomed and star-crossed affair of all.
If we are fighters we need to change battle tactics.
If we are accepters, we can learn to love the defeat; make it feel like a win; make the fight a playful one through how we engage with the game , how we mix the ingredients of life.
'It's time for your tea'. The ball game is over.
We are slaves to the clock.
We write songs that remind us we cannot turn back time.
We battle time and we always lose.
Always.
Is certain defeat the best we can do? Can't we regroup?
People talk of "relationships" with food, "love affairs" with locations.
What about our relationships with time?
This is the most doomed and star-crossed affair of all.
If we are fighters we need to change battle tactics.
If we are accepters, we can learn to love the defeat; make it feel like a win; make the fight a playful one through how we engage with the game , how we mix the ingredients of life.
Take a trip down the world foods aisle. Spice things up a bit.
Some people have cosmetic answers to the universal problem. The likes of L'Oreal have entire departments devoted to fighting the ravages of time. They have turned it to a win - "Rules". By Revlon.
Even some medics have disgraced themselves by dipping a greedy toe into anti-aging medicine. (Look out for my new products - 10% off if you mention the Tangent)
The hands of time are lining up at the feet of crows.
When will people learn to love time? Other than physicists that is.
Think about it. When did anyone have a love affair with their alarm clock?
Time is a void that you fill. Time is an empty box which you can fill with external pressures alone. It needs inverting once in a while. It needs the silt to mix and settle again.
You might hate yourself for how you choose to fill your box but you are not thinking of time itself, you are thinking of the contents.
Time drives us relentlessly whether we look at it or not.
But we don't embrace it.
We curse it.
We fight it.
We don't own it.
We pay money to people to help us to manage it. We add their seminars to our overfull box.
But this management is just symptom control.
Why aren't we thinking a little deeper?
You don't treat a fracture with a band aid.
You don't treat cancer with Benylin. Or at least you shouldn't unless you are under the abuse of a registered homeopath.
We need to really sort out our relationship with time.
Where are the time counsellors?
Or do they travel around in big blue boxes with a Starsky and Hutch light on the top accompanied by a frustrated cellist.
We need to reclaim the driving seat?
We need to know how to fill our box?
When time marches on, we need to know when to march alongside.
And when to tip out the silt.
Some people have cosmetic answers to the universal problem. The likes of L'Oreal have entire departments devoted to fighting the ravages of time. They have turned it to a win - "Rules". By Revlon.
Even some medics have disgraced themselves by dipping a greedy toe into anti-aging medicine. (Look out for my new products - 10% off if you mention the Tangent)
The hands of time are lining up at the feet of crows.
When will people learn to love time? Other than physicists that is.
Think about it. When did anyone have a love affair with their alarm clock?
Time is a void that you fill. Time is an empty box which you can fill with external pressures alone. It needs inverting once in a while. It needs the silt to mix and settle again.
You might hate yourself for how you choose to fill your box but you are not thinking of time itself, you are thinking of the contents.
Time drives us relentlessly whether we look at it or not.
But we don't embrace it.
We curse it.
We fight it.
We don't own it.
We pay money to people to help us to manage it. We add their seminars to our overfull box.
But this management is just symptom control.
Why aren't we thinking a little deeper?
You don't treat a fracture with a band aid.
You don't treat cancer with Benylin. Or at least you shouldn't unless you are under the abuse of a registered homeopath.
We need to really sort out our relationship with time.
Where are the time counsellors?
Or do they travel around in big blue boxes with a Starsky and Hutch light on the top accompanied by a frustrated cellist.
We need to reclaim the driving seat?
We need to know how to fill our box?
When time marches on, we need to know when to march alongside.
And when to tip out the silt.
If you find out, let me know.
Humanity's greatest enemy isn't cancer.
Humanity's greatest enemy isn't cancer.
It isn't traffic.
Time is unseen and carries a mortality rate of 100%.
It's a battle of dimensions where even a brilliant hat-trick means certain defeat.
Three against one never wins in the fourth dimension.
Time doesn't play the odds.
Time is unseen and carries a mortality rate of 100%.
It's a battle of dimensions where even a brilliant hat-trick means certain defeat.
Three against one never wins in the fourth dimension.
Time doesn't play the odds.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Hard habits to break.
If you have a brother and find yourself at the meal table, do you still take the opportunity (when no-one else is looking) to show him the partly chewed food you have in your mouth?
Go on.
Admit it!
Go on.
Admit it!
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Self defeating analysis
Have you seen Russell Howard trailing his poor new show on BBC3?
His opener? His raison d'etre?
"People say the news isn't funny anymore"
Do they?
His opener? His raison d'etre?
"People say the news isn't funny anymore"
Do they?
Do they, Russell? (he usually pronounces it Rossell rather annoyingly)
Do people really say that?
He then gives an example of what we have been missing - a(n) hilarious headline - "Man survives fatal accident!"
Thank you. Thank you Rossell for being the comedy saviour you are.
Oh and those people you mention...Are these the same people who have never stumbled across 29 seasons of Have I Got News For You - BBC television's longest serving comedy hit?
Are these people who have missed Radio 4's The News Quiz which has probably run for around 40 years.
Did all these people miss 8 or 9 seasons of Mock the Week - a show YOU are on?
Who, I ask you, says the news isn't funny anymore?
I'll tell you.
It's the people who watch Russell Howard's Good News.
Do people really say that?
He then gives an example of what we have been missing - a(n) hilarious headline - "Man survives fatal accident!"
Thank you. Thank you Rossell for being the comedy saviour you are.
Oh and those people you mention...Are these the same people who have never stumbled across 29 seasons of Have I Got News For You - BBC television's longest serving comedy hit?
Are these people who have missed Radio 4's The News Quiz which has probably run for around 40 years.
Did all these people miss 8 or 9 seasons of Mock the Week - a show YOU are on?
Who, I ask you, says the news isn't funny anymore?
I'll tell you.
It's the people who watch Russell Howard's Good News.
Saturday, 20 March 2010
Amazon Hustle
I bought the Complete Works of Shakespeare from Amazon a few months ago.
Now every time I log in, they suggest other works by Shakespeare that I might enjoy.
I think that proves they ripped me off.
Now every time I log in, they suggest other works by Shakespeare that I might enjoy.
I think that proves they ripped me off.
Thursday, 18 March 2010
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
A first attempt at being quotable.
Aging is the process of changing youth, where you survive by your reactions, into maturity, where you survive by your experience.
Monday, 15 March 2010
The light at the end of the tunnel
I know that when you are in a tunnel that the light at the end might be the oncoming train.
But you might also be in a blind alley with a mirror reflecting the entrance.
But you might also be in a blind alley with a mirror reflecting the entrance.
Friday, 12 March 2010
I, Clairvoyant
I think I know how to increase my psychic powers. I have studied the people who offers these Evenings of Psychic Contact in local halls etc.
They are certain common threads - a single earring, a fake tan, the possibility of a surname that is a Christian name and many seem to be able to increase their powers by bleaching their hair.
Look out spirit world.
I'm booking into a day spa.
They are certain common threads - a single earring, a fake tan, the possibility of a surname that is a Christian name and many seem to be able to increase their powers by bleaching their hair.
Look out spirit world.
I'm booking into a day spa.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Memo for TV and Radio Presenters
When introducing someone who has an interest in something, please avoid referring to this interest as a "love affair".
Please bear in mind that this includes people who like Venice.
Oh, I forgot to mention, it's because it's annoying.
Please bear in mind that this includes people who like Venice.
Oh, I forgot to mention, it's because it's annoying.
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Message for Charley Boorman
Charley Boorman's clearly feels more interesting than the rest of us.
But just to let you know Charley, not only do I not care which way round you go, I don't much care if you get there or not.
And when you turn up at the local theatre whining about your tales of adventure (yawn), to me that's just another night that a touring tribute to Eurovision could have filled.
But just to let you know Charley, not only do I not care which way round you go, I don't much care if you get there or not.
And when you turn up at the local theatre whining about your tales of adventure (yawn), to me that's just another night that a touring tribute to Eurovision could have filled.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Fiiiiiiight!
Some people say that Autoglass repair.
Some say that Autoglass replace.
But which is it?
There's only one way to find out!
Some say that Autoglass replace.
But which is it?
There's only one way to find out!
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Dead Ends and Opportunities
I don’t know about you but I tend to find, in the wake of a tragedy, that my thoughts are in fact not with ‘the family at their difficult time’.
They tend to be ‘with’ or rather ‘about’ the victim.
‘With’ implies I know where in the afterlife the victim now is. I don’t want to go into that on a school day.
I have no idea where the victim’s thoughts are supposed to be located but I don’t see why that should be required.
You may think, sorry believe (that's like a superthink), that those thoughts should be located, located, located in heaven. But true believers would rather see the subject of yesterday’s blog who was gay as well as a presenter of property programmes, firmly in any version of Hell that has a spare seat. Whether or not you are still willing to allow him post-mortal “thoughts” at all is upto the vile mix of invented biases you call faith.
So, back to me.
My thoughts "at this difficult time" tend to be about the opportunities that ended up missing the final count, about the life they would have led. Mixed with a few guesses about the turning that led to the dead end.
And then my thoughts tend to lead back to myself. About how to avoid the same thing happening to me.
Easy in this case as I don't envisage being into auto-erotic asphyxiation any time soon, even though I have been filling up with unleaded for years. And no, that's not a euphemism.
And I think about how I can avoid the same thing happening to someone else I know or may come to know.
So how can your thoughts be with a family member that you not only have never met but also have no idea if they even exist?
What an insult.
That’s not to say a note of sympathy will not be appreciated and truly meant but, in general, I don’t know if people I don't know have a family. Do you?
I do know that when people bother to do a little research and ask me if I “have a family” that, in their mind, parents and siblings don’t count.
They actually mean 'Have you replicated?', 'Have you added to the number of souls on board Planet Earth?'
Maybe they want to swap nappy changing tips or share the school run but they don’t care about my family. That’s not the insight they are looking for.
Occasionally these guys shelve the hypocrisy and just come out with it “Do you have children?”.
They receive a negative response - there’s no reason they need to know about Tarquin and little Ebenezer.
This gives them all the reason they need to fill their chest cavity with air and deliver a resounding “Well you wouldn’t understand then”.
The subject material that led us here is somewhat secondary to the display of their chest feathers. It's as likely to be beer mat collecting as it is the Chilean earthquake.
I think we all know what a special type of half-wit these folks are.
All this leads me to suspect that other people may be like me.
I don’t think their thoughts are with these invisible families either.
And I don’t think yours are.
At this difficult time or otherwise.
And if they are, then for how long? A second, a minute, until Eastenders starts?
Where should those thoughts be? Maybe your own family? Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe that's the best use of the sometimes salacious journalism that delivers the information.
It's not good enough to feel a bit bad for a time. (Or just claim to have done so).
They tend to be ‘with’ or rather ‘about’ the victim.
‘With’ implies I know where in the afterlife the victim now is. I don’t want to go into that on a school day.
I have no idea where the victim’s thoughts are supposed to be located but I don’t see why that should be required.
You may think, sorry believe (that's like a superthink), that those thoughts should be located, located, located in heaven. But true believers would rather see the subject of yesterday’s blog who was gay as well as a presenter of property programmes, firmly in any version of Hell that has a spare seat. Whether or not you are still willing to allow him post-mortal “thoughts” at all is upto the vile mix of invented biases you call faith.
So, back to me.
My thoughts "at this difficult time" tend to be about the opportunities that ended up missing the final count, about the life they would have led. Mixed with a few guesses about the turning that led to the dead end.
And then my thoughts tend to lead back to myself. About how to avoid the same thing happening to me.
Easy in this case as I don't envisage being into auto-erotic asphyxiation any time soon, even though I have been filling up with unleaded for years. And no, that's not a euphemism.
And I think about how I can avoid the same thing happening to someone else I know or may come to know.
So how can your thoughts be with a family member that you not only have never met but also have no idea if they even exist?
What an insult.
That’s not to say a note of sympathy will not be appreciated and truly meant but, in general, I don’t know if people I don't know have a family. Do you?
I do know that when people bother to do a little research and ask me if I “have a family” that, in their mind, parents and siblings don’t count.
They actually mean 'Have you replicated?', 'Have you added to the number of souls on board Planet Earth?'
Maybe they want to swap nappy changing tips or share the school run but they don’t care about my family. That’s not the insight they are looking for.
Occasionally these guys shelve the hypocrisy and just come out with it “Do you have children?”.
They receive a negative response - there’s no reason they need to know about Tarquin and little Ebenezer.
This gives them all the reason they need to fill their chest cavity with air and deliver a resounding “Well you wouldn’t understand then”.
The subject material that led us here is somewhat secondary to the display of their chest feathers. It's as likely to be beer mat collecting as it is the Chilean earthquake.
I think we all know what a special type of half-wit these folks are.
All this leads me to suspect that other people may be like me.
I don’t think their thoughts are with these invisible families either.
And I don’t think yours are.
At this difficult time or otherwise.
And if they are, then for how long? A second, a minute, until Eastenders starts?
Where should those thoughts be? Maybe your own family? Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe that's the best use of the sometimes salacious journalism that delivers the information.
It's not good enough to feel a bit bad for a time. (Or just claim to have done so).
I bet some mass murderers have cried at Love Story but when it comes to emotions it’s the consistency of the congruity that needs a little work.
Use of a stock phrase is all well and good if it gets you through PMQs but this is important stuff.
Such a performance of empathy is right up there with “Keep in touch” as said by people who don’t bother themselves. It’s dumbed down to the level of a Christmas card by people who offer no other form of communication thoughout the year and who still cannot be bothered to take 5 or 10 of their precious seconds to write any personalisation of interest on the card they are about to post.
What are they thinking of? Well, themselves mainly. Or at the very least, nothing much at all.
These are all signs that people think of themselves first and very often only.
It may not be all bad. It’s part of our DNA.
At least we should be honest about it.
Use of a stock phrase is all well and good if it gets you through PMQs but this is important stuff.
Such a performance of empathy is right up there with “Keep in touch” as said by people who don’t bother themselves. It’s dumbed down to the level of a Christmas card by people who offer no other form of communication thoughout the year and who still cannot be bothered to take 5 or 10 of their precious seconds to write any personalisation of interest on the card they are about to post.
What are they thinking of? Well, themselves mainly. Or at the very least, nothing much at all.
These are all signs that people think of themselves first and very often only.
It may not be all bad. It’s part of our DNA.
At least we should be honest about it.
Monday, 1 March 2010
And finally...
... before I develop a repetitive theme.
I have maybe spent 50 hours watching Kristian Digby sell me the property dream.
He was funny, hugely entertaining, clearly intelligent, capable and yet.... today he is the "body of a man in his 30s found at an address in E15. Ambulance services attended and life was pronounced extinct".
We accept death in wartime.
But where is this war?
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Getting tough.
A couple of day ago, Walter Koenig's son.
Today, Marie Osmond's adopted son.
Two weeks ago, designer Alexander McQueen.
Dead by their own hands.
I know depression is an illness.
I know if you add booze and drugs to a vulnerable character you are asking for it.
But there is something else wrong here, isn't there?
I know whales beach themselves for reasons we don't understand. But we cannot blame the deaths of young men on electromagnetic short circuits in the earth's crust.
I know Black Widows kill their mate and I have seen enough nature programmes to know that dispensing a killer sting can be a mutually fatal type of justice or that an act of copulation may turn out to be an act of euthanasia.
But humans surely have the monopoly on these most pointless acts of self sacrifice.
Is it to do with fame, society, money?
Is it lack of fulfilment, purpose, giving, engaging?
Is there neglect from missed opportunities?
Accidental neglect and not total of course, but is there an aspect of it?
Surely we can agree, whatever it was they needed, they didn't get.
And anyone with entry level psychobabble know that things work best when we get what we need from life rather than what we (think we) want.
Surely we can agree that any couple you know has a different life when the front door closes to when you see them? Celebrity or no. Look at the domestic abuse or just the divorce figures if you want a concrete clue.
Is there something invisible to the outside world that was overlooked?
Maybe it was impossible to bridge that gap.
And maybe it wasn't.
Maybe there was something that could have been done. Not to make the underlying problem evaporate but to reclaim some level of stability.
It's hard to believe in something intangible. And I would guess that just as many people who have the brain aberration that make them believe in gods would find this too.
How can depression be an illness rather than a collection of events? It doesn't even show up on a CT scan so how can it really exist?
It does exist of course. We just might need a scanner a million times more sensitive.
Until then, we need to borrow a little blind faith from the puff-of-smoke-on-a-cloud brigade and drink in a little well-accepted medical knowledge.
Maybe entertainers are prone because they lower their resilience so regularly. Actors drop their shields for our entertainment and we accept their sacrifice whatever the cost.
How often do you hear them go on about applying the method of 'sense memory'? They practice identifying with their darkest times, so they can find them easily when the director says "Action".
If you are the wrong type of character, this is a recipe for disaster. But there is no psych evaluation for RADA. The very thing the army might reject may be the same thing that makes you the world's greatest actor.
You become what you rehearse so when you make yourself feel that way so regularly those feelings surface to a place of dangerous accessibility. And they can bleed through when you don't expect. They can appear when they are not useful and not just six times a week plus matinees.
Such free reign for your emotions may not be a good thing in ordinary life. Murder defences have rested on less. And it is likely that for the sensitive people we are talking about, suicide is a million times easier than murder.
Our survival is based on our filters. Cut them and we leak through.
And if your version of reality faces the "real" world outside without those filters in pretty good nick, your version will lose.
You will lose yourself.
The game's up.
You have to get tough to survive.
But you don't have to get tough with the vulnerable people. They are in a bad enough state already. You have to help them get tough. It is a totally different set of skills.
Maybe we can reset this vulnerability and upgrade their barriers. There is an entire discipline of cognitive therapy devoted to this, though doubtless they would phrase it differently.
I know depression is an illness.
But a prescription of antidepressants from a brief appointment does not absolve everyone around them from offering their own type of cure - in the words of Andrew Koenig's father "Extend a hand".
Together these improvised approaches may get lucky and cement a wall of sufficient resilience to block the demons when the powers of darkness rise.
Friday, 26 February 2010
Extend a hand
I watched Star Trek IV last week.
For the first time in 20 years. (I'd been saving it).
Although during that time I spent a good 6 months cosied up with the rather lovely soundtrack (on tape cassette), featuring an orchestra playing such riproaring such classics as 'Chekov's Run'.
The movie was a great ensemble piece for all the cast to do a bit - not just Spock, Bones and Kirk.
It was every bit as good as I remember.
A gift that was there in the bank ready for me when I wanted it.
And if you were part of that gift well, what a wonderful thing...
Thank you.
And I am so sorry.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
I hear you Google. What do you need me to do?
How long would it take to identify a clip used in an episode of Family Guy?
A soundbite from a movie saying "Don't you do it!" shouted at the top of a voice.
A movie I knew I had seen.
And enjoyed.
But not for oh.. let's say 20 years.
The answer to achieve this impossiblity? To reach that decades-old echo in my head.
Well, it was 3 seconds.
An Officer and a Gentleman.
When I saw the answer I could see Richard Gere's pain, anguish, sweat with the mud and rain in his face. And his hope externalised.
It was memorable because it was raw and pretty brilliant.
A base instant long-lasting connection made through a TV screen and unbroken 20 years later.
Then referenced from a cartoon. Clearly because it was equally memorable to its writers.
A soundbite from a movie saying "Don't you do it!" shouted at the top of a voice.
A movie I knew I had seen.
And enjoyed.
But not for oh.. let's say 20 years.
The answer to achieve this impossiblity? To reach that decades-old echo in my head.
Well, it was 3 seconds.
An Officer and a Gentleman.
When I saw the answer I could see Richard Gere's pain, anguish, sweat with the mud and rain in his face. And his hope externalised.
It was memorable because it was raw and pretty brilliant.
A base instant long-lasting connection made through a TV screen and unbroken 20 years later.
Then referenced from a cartoon. Clearly because it was equally memorable to its writers.
Fed back through the TV.
The connection then illuminated by Google. And the circle is complete.
That's modern life.
That's entertainment.
That's technological power beating with a human heart.
The connection then illuminated by Google. And the circle is complete.
That's modern life.
That's entertainment.
That's technological power beating with a human heart.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
A mistake anyone could make
I bought a car at the weekend.
I told the salesman I wanted something with "pulling power".
He sold me a breakdown vehicle.
Thank you very much.
I told the salesman I wanted something with "pulling power".
He sold me a breakdown vehicle.
Thank you very much.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
The Comfort Zone - a poem
Just outside Adventure Boulevard
Is a place to walk alone
It's a spit from boredom lane
And it's called the Comfort Zone.
Some have doubted its existence
Called the merry dance a tease
But with lame, steady persistence
Your journey that way leads.
It's down the rabbit’s burrow
And it's off the beaten track
It’s away from all the potholes
Hard to find your true way back.
It's a trip down easy street
It's a measure of success
A mysterious co-ordinate
Between this world and the next.
It’s a wormhole free of dirt and grime
A sterile wonderland
It’s flavour-free
Low calorie
With the soundbite of a mime.
It’s a test for the cartographers
It’s a visit to the beach
It’s a walk in the park
It’s an animal friend
You can’t let off the leash.
It’s handcuffs
Self-imposed restraint
It’s a pit of lost potential
It’s heroine
It’s crack cocaine
It’s a broken glass tangential.
It's how you frame ‘reality’
Your best version of the world
It’s the greedy need for total clarity
That borders on absurd.
It's a plumped-up cushion
And a padded cell
A summit of understanding
It's the closest thing
You’ll find to hell
It’s the stairs upto your landing.
It’s a warm hypnotic couch
With a pillow for your head
Where yearning finally takes its leave
And dreams are put to bed.
It's a box for your uncertainty
A bedrock for your soul
It's a forest filled with fear
It’s the save that stops the goal.
It's a chance to spread your wings
Opportunity in cognito
It’s a space for nice and pleasant things
Where ambition is finito.
It’s Sunday football
It’s shopping at home
It’s modern man’s atrocity
It’s ‘let’s have children’
Maybe they’ll have the guts
To reach escape velocity.
It's the dream of many mortals
But it's a beast with double head
A house of safety, warmth and love
With walls of gingerbread.
It's a positive, wonderful way to die
It's a million useless mantras
It's a warm and cosy place to lie
With a pea under the mattress.
Why not run the gauntlet
Through the gorse of life
Scratch yourself on depravity
Pick its locks
Push its pull
Escape its central gravity.
Reach outside its boundaries
Where banshees scream and wail
And hail and lightning fill the skies
And terror might prevail, or stay
Where atmosphere is constant
In this biogesic dome
In this paradise
This bubble
This terrible land
We call the Comfort Zone.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Definition of Hope
Definitions No 22
Hope (n): Filling up at the petrol station and stopping at a bay where your petrol tank is on the opposite side to the pump.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Door decorum
Huge aisles.
Every whim catered for.
Every thought anticipated.
Thousands of baskets and trolleys.
Tills as afar as the eye can see.
Expanses of car parks.
Everything you could want,
And delivery if you ask.
24 hours each an every day
But.
But.
They have the smallest doorways in Christendom.
There's no way in that isn't a way out.
You have to drop a shoulder to avoid the charity muggers and trolley wielding chavs.
Please Tesco's Asda and the rest. Broaden your entries. Widen your exits.
Let's have a little door decorum.
Monday, 15 February 2010
Look In!
There once was a magazine called Look In.
It wasn't a magazine about self-improvement. It was about TV.
And if this strikes any sort of chord it may be due to the irritatingly catchy theme tune during its relentless advertising campaigns.
But what does it mean to Look In?
Maybe it merits an introspective.
To 'look in' means to watch television.
At least in "our 'ouse".
And the reason I feel confident in that is not the crazy adverts but comes from my grandma and was the subject of much mimicry between me and, more particularly, my brother.
She would ask semi-frequently "Are you looking in?".
Meaning....are you going to watch some TV?
In its original form it may sound like a question from the existentialists?
Are you looking in? Are any of us really looking in? Etc etc.
A conundrum from the philosophers. A point of entry for the bloggers. One for Pamela Stephenson's Shrink Rap, maybe.
It's even a great subject for the nation's last religious nod - the Thought for the Day.
I can imagine some vicar, priest, rector, vector, whatever they are called asking his flock if at the end of a busy day if they should all perhaps "look in".
And then twittering something about where they should 'look in' : their soul maybe, their heart, their personal hurdles, ITV, whatever....
Maybe the vicar will look in.
He should.
Dawkins is on TV tonight.
It wasn't a magazine about self-improvement. It was about TV.
And if this strikes any sort of chord it may be due to the irritatingly catchy theme tune during its relentless advertising campaigns.
But what does it mean to Look In?
Maybe it merits an introspective.
To 'look in' means to watch television.
At least in "our 'ouse".
And the reason I feel confident in that is not the crazy adverts but comes from my grandma and was the subject of much mimicry between me and, more particularly, my brother.
She would ask semi-frequently "Are you looking in?".
Meaning....are you going to watch some TV?
In its original form it may sound like a question from the existentialists?
Are you looking in? Are any of us really looking in? Etc etc.
A conundrum from the philosophers. A point of entry for the bloggers. One for Pamela Stephenson's Shrink Rap, maybe.
It's even a great subject for the nation's last religious nod - the Thought for the Day.
I can imagine some vicar, priest, rector, vector, whatever they are called asking his flock if at the end of a busy day if they should all perhaps "look in".
And then twittering something about where they should 'look in' : their soul maybe, their heart, their personal hurdles, ITV, whatever....
Maybe the vicar will look in.
He should.
Dawkins is on TV tonight.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
The next big thing
It is nice to tie in a lyrical thought with a popular reference.
And so my next poem or song lyric is going to be entitled the Smile of Jeremy Kyle.
As well as its own sweet internal rhyme, I can think of a lots of motifs to go with this show of humanity - invisible, untried, a painful struggle, all of which lend themselves well to a brief work worthy of note.
And it should much easier than trying to rhyme anything with vicious, snarling, malevolent f***wit.
And so my next poem or song lyric is going to be entitled the Smile of Jeremy Kyle.
As well as its own sweet internal rhyme, I can think of a lots of motifs to go with this show of humanity - invisible, untried, a painful struggle, all of which lend themselves well to a brief work worthy of note.
And it should much easier than trying to rhyme anything with vicious, snarling, malevolent f***wit.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Harassment
I reckon if I slapped a fellow office worker on the bum, I could be accused of sexual harassment. Fair enough.
But..
If I asked a fellow office worker if it was OK if I slapped her on the bum, I bet I could also be accused of sexual harassment.
What on earth is going on with that ?
But..
If I asked a fellow office worker if it was OK if I slapped her on the bum, I bet I could also be accused of sexual harassment.
What on earth is going on with that ?
Remembering the Teasmade
Remember the Teasmade? If you still use one, I doff my flat cap to you.
But how about having a Flannelmade. Or for the US market, the FaceCloth Maid?
What about waking to a hot towel that you can rub into your face pretending each morning that you were already 2 hours into a long haul flight before tucking into a breakfast of Bombay Mix and Buck's Fizz (business class only)?
Would that help me get up on a morning? Can you rub the a.m. away?
Lord I hope so. I had to have the timed bedside microwave specially commissioned.
But how about having a Flannelmade. Or for the US market, the FaceCloth Maid?
What about waking to a hot towel that you can rub into your face pretending each morning that you were already 2 hours into a long haul flight before tucking into a breakfast of Bombay Mix and Buck's Fizz (business class only)?
Would that help me get up on a morning? Can you rub the a.m. away?
Lord I hope so. I had to have the timed bedside microwave specially commissioned.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Neologisms 5
Side-parting (n):
1) A hairstyle for American politicians and photographs from the 70s
2) The unfortunate occurrence when you are peeling a banana and the top is so tough that it fails to break when you bend it resulting in the side splitting and presenting a dilemma of how you should now access the nutritious food within.
Squeeb (n)
A unfortunate banana split (see above)
1) A hairstyle for American politicians and photographs from the 70s
2) The unfortunate occurrence when you are peeling a banana and the top is so tough that it fails to break when you bend it resulting in the side splitting and presenting a dilemma of how you should now access the nutritious food within.
Squeeb (n)
A unfortunate banana split (see above)
Sunday, 31 January 2010
Life Balance - a poem
What's in a word?
A nuance? A feeling?
An agenda for change?
A deep-rooted meaning?
Words are weapons
So choose them well
Save the big ones for showdowns
That send someone to hell
It's a licence you're born with
So you must bear the consequence
Of changing a meaning
With the wrong choice of consonant
It's crucial to choose
The right refinement or tweak
So don't say 'next Tuesday'
If you mean 'Tuesday week'
Life may find 'balance'
But you prefer to 'equilibrate'
You may find a 'grey'
You'd rather call 'slate'.
You may find a girl
That you love but you hate
Or believe that your future
Must in fact be called fate.
You may find your choices
Have made you hardbitten.
Or you may perform feelings
Like they'd been scriptwritten
And to be at your best
You choose not to advance
From what you've suppressed,
From your favorite trance.
These are cute little subtleties
On which to orate.
But they're kind of important
These shades of slate.
If you think that your talent
Is divine inspiration
Or used to love 'Enders
But now you're more Coronation
If you lived for your work
But your life was blunted
And been fired then claimed
That your head was hunted.
If you've been a blond strawberry
And not known you're a gin-ger.
You might think you're all that
And still be a min-ger.
Is a bet just a game
Or a risk that you hedge?
Is a perfect life balance
On a razor's edge?
The debt's just the same
To the principal lender
But it's how you choose your words
That displays your agenda
You might find what I found
And I don't want to go on
But I've just had a butchers
At Synonym.com
If you Google the source
The whole engine's in strife
There is no synonym
For what we choose to call 'life'
** For purposes of subvocalisation "gin-ger" is meant in the street sense with 2 'hard' 'g' s
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Be afraid. Not that afraid
We are living in chilling times.
Turn on the TV and there is disaster. Disaster with a dusting of miracles from wreckage. But disaster nevertheless.
Children today found silent and motionless in cars.Terror levels elevated.Peace treaties straining.
Do we lose something at these times? Or do we gain something? Gain something as we...become?
Well, I am afraid we lose something.
We lose perspective.
But we gain resilience.
We gain sensitisation but we lose sensitivity.
We gain a tough shell but the cracks don't superglue as well as they used to. We've tried it once too often and a complete remould is required. And that's going to cost.
At these times it takes something huge. Or perhaps something infinitesimal to put our worlds back on their illusory pedestals. So I have something for you.
I am going to give you nine words. Nine words that will give you back your perspective.
But they will challenge your resilience.
I am going to give you nine words that will force you to realign the darkness. That will give you a glimpse of how black the vortex can get so you can appreciate the light you're clinging onto.
Some of you will be changed by this and you should not read on.
For some of you, this will be a scream. For others it will be The Scream.
For some it will draw a line under what you thought was achievable in the world.
What you thought was right,fair, what you thought you "deserved".
Well, I am sorry. But you've already been misled and I take no responsibility for that.
Since when did anyone get what they deserve?
You deserve nothing.
So take your place in the resilient generation.
Or join the queue for cognitive therapy.
In yet another week that balanced terror with horror, many of us could see only one safe place.
But we are not celebrities and we are not in the house.
For us it's been another week that reported the gap between affluence and poverty, another week that has taken a step closer to the final division of humanity into those two separate species - the haves and the have-nots.
For those of you who absorb all these horrors, I offer nine words.
For those of you who shield yourself in cocoons, I offer nine words.
Nine words ripped from today's headlines.
"Michael McIntyre signs 'golden handcuffs' deal with the BBC".
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