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