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.

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.

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.

Definitions No. 14

A frisson. (Noun).
A frisky connection. One more than a twosome and one less than a foursome.

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.

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.

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)”

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.

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".

The Cutting Edge

Great idea for a TV programme..
How about an irreverent look at the week's news..
With vampires!

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.

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!

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.

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.

If you find out, let me know.

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.

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!