Blurred Vision

How should you calculate your life?

I would argue on the 'back of an envelope'.

The back of the envelope calculation involves inputting some data but
not all. How can you?
It involves some commitment to finding the answer but is not so
single-minded that you don't find yourself inventing certainty where
it doesn't exist.
It implies the need for certain skills... perhaps critical thinking and
literacy. And recognising that not everybody's opinion on the subject
is equal.
Scientific data is not equivalent to YouTube comments. It is better.
Are we allowed to use a word like better anymore? Isn't that "racist"?
Are we allowed to use a word like superior?
We are supposed to be standing on the shoulders of giants not putting
stones in their shoes.

So when you making your assessments, the "back of the envelope" is as
good a place to start as any.
It leads you to a logic that is fuzzy not fussy.

And you don't need to wait for the postman.
You can get one out of the bin.

Stretch

Admittedly I'm a new convert to the concept of the physical stretch.

You'll catch me at 6am most mornings running myself through a few mantras and following some yogi or other.

No, naughty! Not Yogi Bear on CBeebies. You!! Why I ought to....

No, stretching is a wider concept that.

Stress is a bad concept or a bad word. It has negative connotations. But everybody knows that you don't achieve anything unless you put yourself through some stress, some goal, some sort of test.

The road is a road because it has to be navigated. It takes effort.

But stress also means heart attacks, fractures, breakdown. Stress can fell bridges and kingdoms.

So why not refer to most of this concept in a positive way as Stretch.

When you are expanding your horizons it is Stretch that will let you reach out to them.

Stretch predates Reach.

So when you go for a run as I've just done (only for 12 minutes), you might be a lucky enough for that to 'clear your mind'. But for some of us, we have 12 minutes of "I wish this was over" to contend with. Apart from anything else this makes people like me better people than you for exercising and you need to be aware of that(!).

Far from the mind being cleared like a wave rushing over a beach, all that really shifts is what has most recently occupied the thoughts. That allows a bit of space for a new thought. (So it's not really cleared but a change is as good as a rest. Better probably).

My new thought during my run was Stretch.

So now after a 12 min run I have a 10 min blog to write. (That's if I get away with it being a blog. It could turn into another unwritten book). 

You must stress yourself in life. If a change is as good as a rest, that could even de-stress you. Or distress you. (See was an awful word it is).

So call it Stretch.

The nocebo effect (the negative placebo effect when negative expectations deliver themselves just because they're expected) is facilitated by Stress.

And alleviated by Stretch.

It's a good concept. 

It deserves propagation.

But then I think TJ Hooker should have had a sixth season.

So what do I know?

The Business End

Is it okay for a man to wear a bra?

Yes, of course it is, I hear you reply.

A red-blooded heterosexual man parading around his bedroom in nothing but his wife's undergarments is a healthy past time for any latent rugby player. I think we can all agree on that.

Now, I've just been for a swim.

Is it okay for a man to wear a bra in the swimming pool?

Not quite as straightforward is it?

First of all I thought it was a rather masculine woman that I was seeing through the one-way viewing glass provided to sitters of the wooden sauna bench. (I don't go to swim of course. I'm not an idiot).

But he had on those stupid square swimming shorts that Italians and Daniel Craig wear. They matched his black bra which when he turned round (for man he was) barely covered his nipples. The dirty tart, I thought. Eyes glued.

He'd do a couple of widths and then climb out. The bra would slip down and he'd pull it back up again.

As sauna viewing entertainment goes, it was some of the best. It was right up there with the transsexual man coming out of the female changing room, a habit I have dabbled with myself since purchasing a suitable one-piece from Asos.

The worst thing was that his bikini top was inappropriately small. or narrow. Not high from up to down I mean. I mean if you were his parent, you'd have called him in for a word and chastised him for wearing it before sending him out with a shiny shilling to order the biggest turkey he could find for Christmas.

The worster thing was he didn't feel self-conscious. A British person who doesn't have the wherewithal to feel even slightly embarrassed adjusting his bra in the shallow end, is not a form of countryman that I recognise. He might have been a Scot.

And then of course, I noticed the matching black wristwatch.

'Ahh', I thought, 'a cardiac monitor. 

What a prat!'

Hot Tip

When filling up your glass with a refreshing glass of soda water, possibly fresh from your new Sodastream, why not spice things up a little with a few drops of Angostura bitters? 

It adds a pleasing punch and you may even feel a tiny little bit more sophisticated doing that than using, say, Robinson's.

Don't however accidentally go for the Lea and Perrins Worcestershire sauce just because it's got a slightly similar bottle and you haven't got your contact lenses in.

Sauce for the chick

A useful tip for you if you find yourself eating on the road and need to drop into Aldi and buy their Chicken & Stuffing sandwich, (ruing the fact that they've run out of BLTs).

Keep some HP in the glove compartment.

You're welcome.

KitchenWhy

A watched kettle never boils. 

But a microwave doesn't mess around, does it?.

Why? 

Well, it's got a countdown timer for added tellytime tension and it's just generally more interesting to look at, what with all that turning and that.

Come on kettles! 

Do something interesting.

Praise The Lord

Last night I had a dream.

I had an ongoing quotation going through my head based on some sort of schoolboy-ish religion (isn't it all?).O It was something biblical like "and by my name will know me, for I am the Lord". Over and over in my head this fell, so much that it contributed to disturbing my sleep.

I know why it happened because I watched quite a scary episode of Doctor Who earlier on in the evening and there's not much room behind my sofa.

The Doctor is now an old man who is afraid of the dark. Just like me.

There was only one way this could play out.

It even made me linger later on in the day when I bumped into the God-fearing/praising free satellite channels in the high 600s full of horrendous all-American so-called pastors begging for money and exploiting poor communities with supposedly learned teachings.

If only they could step back and realise that what they are preaching makes no sense at all.

They talk of "walking in God's spirit", "allowing the holy spirit to enter you". 

I recognise these as individual words because I have come across them in other contexts but they have not been used in an order that makes coherent sense. That is the basic rule of communication. It is utter claptrap. And they can't see it.

They are blind. Blinded by greed for profit or status. At least I hope so, because if not, then it is a pure window of stupidity that prevents them from keeping schtum about their delusions.  The beautiful plasticity of the human brain twists and tones their message and then preaches to the vulnerable, spreading delusions otherwise worthy of being defined as mental illness. Incapacity is contagious.

They spend so many years twisting these ancient words into vantage points. Selecting, defying, culling, perverting and twisting what is an already unsound source material. Choosing the translation they want to purvey and then spouting this out. 

Spouting is a better word than preaching. I used preaching earlier correctly in a negative and judgemental sense but I am concerned that that didn't come across. I wasn't meaning to give them credit as teachers.

Their blinkers are well and truly on. They have no business claiming to be teachers. 

And they don't talk about truth. They wouldn't recognise truth if it punched them in the throat.

I think I misremembered my schoolboy quote  "And by my name will you know me, for I am the Lord". In fact I think I made it up.

But why not? The Bible so regularly misquotes itself that we should all join in. 

So let's see... the quote in my dream possibly had a bit of Pulp Fiction thrown in "And you will know I am the Lord when I make my vengeance upon you". [Samuel L Jackson quoting Ezekiel 25:17].

My memory of it is a little softer. I was just thinking that God was giving himself a name check.

But I do find some of the translations of Isaiah 52:6 (which seems to relate to my misquote) pretty comical.

From the New American Standard Bible 

"Therefore My people shall know My name; therefore in that day I am the one who is speaking, 'Here I am'."

Good for you mate!

Alternative endings include "Surely I am He who is speaking, behold Me", or "I am he that does speak: behold, it is I".

Now I rather like that as an opening gambit when walking into any room. Instead of muttering a casual hello, extend the arms and say, "Behold, it is I...."

It even has an echo of a 'Allo 'Allo with an elderly character constantly pausing, looking around and and adding ".... LeClerc"

I'm God, he seems to be saying.

Everybody knows my name.

But this is heaven, isn't it?

Not Cheers.

The King of Beers

Some years ago I entered a competition.

I intended my entry to entertain me for a while on a flight as I was flying to America.

But I completed my entry in 5 minutes on the connecting internal flight and posted it in Heathrow.

It was a competition based on the yellow piss liquid called Budweiser beer and I won the first prize which was an all expenses paid trip to Disneyland. Unfortunately I had just been there and the prize wasn't transferable so it was lost.

I told the story once or twice, but even to me it's always sounded a bit implausible. Surely the prize was one of those Reader's Digest prizes that weren't really real?

But it was. 

And I recently realised that I can prove it. 

Records, it turns out, are kept.

So the proof ...if you believe, of course, that this was my entry.

Which it was.

A joke, very nearly.

I've got a message for all similes out there.

What are you like!

Can't Care, Won't Care

You might think that people don't care.

Don't care about you.

It's not that, of course. The concept is just bigger than that. Bigger than you.

Caring isn't personal. It should be. But it frequently isn't.

The truth is people can't always care.

Care spaces are limited. You may have been trumped or relegated.

Or they don't care.

Ambivalence. Other priorities. Out of space. Full. Up.

You'll beat yourself up for your sorry lot anyway so go right ahead and get it out of the way. See what it changes.

It's not that people don't care - it's just that people aren't caring. 

Yet. 

You can make them of course...get close and it will follow. You'll boost your mantlepiece on your birthday. 

But what is the point of that? This is a force that should not be forced. Care is an offer not an obligation.

Care for what you will.

Care for who you will. Who you can. When you can.

Or don't.

And care for yourself first. It's what every life support course teaches above all. You are useless otherwise.

Offering care is not the same as bringing dependence.

But only take Route One at times when that is as far as your resources reach and only for the time that is so. 

Because unless you are homeless, limbless, destitute, addicted, you have more to offer. 

Care when other people can't. Or won't. Many outgrow it as their selfishness matures into who they will be in later life. Men in particular.

Take it outside. Take it for a stroll. 

Stretch.

Practice the skills you've let atrophy. In new ways unique to you.

And not because you have to.

Just because you give a damn.

Personal Best

It's the Great North Run today - never mind the millionth half-marathoner, it's about the personal challenge for the individual.

So it's going to be a very tense, challenging and sweaty day for me. 

I'm going to try to get through the traffic to IKEA.

Dark Loops

We live successfully as a species which kills animals for food. And we have particular animals that we eat. 

We prefer pig to horse. Cow to cat.

We even kill our own species - raising certain humans to be soldiers to fight and die for us.

We send people into peril. Particular people, cannon-fodder. As the fragrant, well-dressed generals push their toy soldiers forwards on the map. 

Some cultures raise warriors but nowadays the only Spartans left are CGI. Yesterday's tigers are now armies of cockroaches. No heroes and no heroics. Just cowards who present their senseless violence.

Cowards who kill their food halal. And behead human beings without the same courtesy.

Spartans don't kill halal.

We even grow particular sub-communities to sacrifice to the banks and the banking system.

We have a poor who don't choose and still are exploited so that the rich can get extra rich.

And we have people who choose to be in the system, to be the exploited. 

Some of these people in the pop culture wing we call celebrities. It seems to me like there's an entire sub breed of minor celebrities that have been raised for the cull. To be humiliated on television and endless mindless shows with identical formats.

The repeat offenders of reality television, the same names, over and over again so they are known as celebrities only by appearing on other reality programs that make them so. The system eating itself. A dystopian vision of senseless entertainment. Looped in a self-fulfilling prophecy.

It even cheapens the concept of celebrity. No Cary Grants. No Marilyn Monroes.

Just a brand of people bribed, conditioned and ultimately raised to be treated in a certain way.

This is a type of celebrity that is not so much Celebrity-lite.

As Celebrity Dark

Lock and Load

We are pattern machines. Cartridges can be slotted in and out.
Deliberation allows you change to one cartridge at a time in your own time.

But life is eight-track. It comes at you in ways that invite automatic, or hopefully semi-automatic, response.
Automatic is expert or incompetent. Beautifully in-control and totally out of it. Master or knee-jerk.
Semi-automatic is more measured, quick but steady.

When you are switching multiple cartridges for the first time, keep it ordered, keep your eye on the ball, put your weight on your lower ski.
Breathe.
Think.

And keep your powder dry.

Making Waves

People can change. But later in life I think it needs to be based on a
more conscious desire, correcting oneself in terms of exercise, eating
habits, attitude etc etc. And using the fact/hope that you know what
buttons to push to motivate yourself.

If it is not laid down in that way, more deliberately then when we are
children, then when it sets, it won't take.

If it doesn't take, the old habits will resurface, sooner or more
harmfully later, and be more destructive than before.

You can roll with the tide as a child.
But as adults, we are the wavemakers.

Blind As a Mouse

I just fulfilled a life-long ambition. Well maybe not ambition, but certainly a box that needed ticking.
No, actually ambition isn't too far from the mark.

It is something that is hidden in the psyche of every theatre-going boy in England.
An experience to be done once in your life. To be treasured and secreted.
During maybe a visit to the capital and an evening in of the most well loved establishments in the world.

I've just seen The Mousetrap.
But I didn't do it in the way I had always expected.
I hurried after work having gobbled down the quickest of teas and bought a half-price standby ticket and went to see it in the Gallery.
The time had simply come to tick the box.

And it was the right way to do it.

With the play on its 60th anniversary tour there was no need to go to London. Indeed I had visited London on occasions for courses etc and considered a few times forking out the £45 they wanted from me, but never quite brought myself to do it. Well, there's a lot of choice! And frankly I was worried it might be a bit crap.

When I was I think 11, I visited London with my Dad, pretty much the only trip we went on together.
I don't know how hard "we" tried to get tickets for The Mousetrap but we ended up with Murder at the Vicarage. Which I actually think was a superior play. And I remember being pretty high up then. High up in the gallery is very little imposition for single set plays such as this.
I can still remember lines from Murder at The Vicarage, despite never seeing it since. Mrs Marple had a recurring line of "When I was watering the lawn that afternoon...." or some such, which introduced her busybodying. It is not amusing. It's just interesting how memory
sticks over 30 plus years.

I may not have taken this option of rushing off tonight had not a TV comedian ruined the surprise ending from The Mousetrap on a television programme about 15 years ago. Instantly I knew the experience of going to London to see it would be soured. I've never been able to forget it so I've always known the ending. Irritatingly now I can never know if I would have guessed it, so I've been truly cheated by Paul Merton. I think I would have. I think so. Maybe.

I even remember during my schooldays being entranced to see that The Mousetrap play was available in book form, but while flicking through bookstores I forbade myself from ever looking at the ending.

But today this was it. Enough's enough.This was M-Day.
It's in town (for the second time) touring on its 60th anniversary. So I thought...let's just get this done.
Let's bring this baby home.

So I should give you a brief review. Well, it's rubbish really. But there's something about Agatha Christie, and being brought up on France's Durbridge thrillers at the local theatre, that you always
hope for more, but it is only the performances and the smell of the greasepaint that can elevate these two act wonders.

Time perhaps has not been kind to the play. But it doesn't really deserve it. The thing is really that it's nothing special. Iconically special. But not a special piece of writing. It's a box to be ticked.
If you help yourself to an interval gin and tonic, my advice is to have a double.

Personally, I'm glad to free up that part of my brain to something else.
But I still like that it exists is a charming piece of parlour theatre. Quintessentially you-know-what.

The world is a poorer place without The Mousetrap. The second half does liven up a little. It throws in a few plot theories... but nothing as imaginative as the sort of ideas that fans on an Internet forum would speculate. The world has moved on. Nowadays if you're a comedian you have got to come up with jokes that Twitter doesn't think of first.

Ultimately I wish The Mousetrap well.
But, friend, if you don't happen to get round to it.... really.... there's no need to worry.

Power of the Sun

Ring Ring Ring Ring

"Hello"

"Hello - is that Mr Smith"

"Yes - this is a sales call, isn't it?"

"No, it's not a sales call. It is a free no obligation quotation for solar power".

Give me strength...