Ewan MacGregor on his epic 'Long Way Down' motorcycle journey through Africa was quoted as saying that one of the most refreshing things about these countries is that their lack of restrictive Health and Safety laws.
"The guy filling my petrol tank had a lit cigarette in his mouth!". Crazy eh? Well not really, considering it's not actually possible to light petrol with a cigarette. It's one of the big movie myths, and makes a complete mockery of legendary scenes like the one in The Usual Suspects, where a lit cigarette sparks the inferno at the beginning. Not possible I'm afraid.
The other thing that's really annoying in films and TV at the moment (did I tell you how anal I was?) is the sound effect they seem to attach to anyone smoking a fag. As they take a drag, you get this overly loud crackling sound of burning tobacco. It's barely audible in real life, but of course it's more 'atmospheric' to have it louder than a Space Shuttle lift-off.
Pedantic rant over.
Friday, 7 December 2007
Lou Reed....
...is overrated. Fact.
Walk On The Wild Side is his only 'well known' song. We've grown up with it and it has a groovy little shuffle and everything - but when you actually listen to it, it's rubbish. It really is. But Lou Reed isn't the only one.
Bob Dylan has had numerous songs covered by other artists, which sound great, but when you hear him perfom personally it's painful. He's like an old drunk at Christmas trying to remember a Pogues song. Oh, there's another one - Shane MacGowan. Totally incomprehensible, and surely not the 'talent' we are made out to believe.
Lenny Kravitz:
"I wish that I could fly,
Into the sky,
So very high,
Just like a dragonfly"
What?! I wrote that when I was 5 years old for God's sake. And this guy is a superstar?
I'm not saying there's a plethora of talent around these days, but I don't think we should worship artists from 'the good old days' just because it makes us 'cool'. It's like people who wear Che Guevara t-shirts - they generally know nothing about the man, but his image sets them apart into a certain 'tribe'. Tribe of twats.
Walk On The Wild Side is his only 'well known' song. We've grown up with it and it has a groovy little shuffle and everything - but when you actually listen to it, it's rubbish. It really is. But Lou Reed isn't the only one.
Bob Dylan has had numerous songs covered by other artists, which sound great, but when you hear him perfom personally it's painful. He's like an old drunk at Christmas trying to remember a Pogues song. Oh, there's another one - Shane MacGowan. Totally incomprehensible, and surely not the 'talent' we are made out to believe.
Lenny Kravitz:
"I wish that I could fly,
Into the sky,
So very high,
Just like a dragonfly"
What?! I wrote that when I was 5 years old for God's sake. And this guy is a superstar?
I'm not saying there's a plethora of talent around these days, but I don't think we should worship artists from 'the good old days' just because it makes us 'cool'. It's like people who wear Che Guevara t-shirts - they generally know nothing about the man, but his image sets them apart into a certain 'tribe'. Tribe of twats.
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Who's Your Daddy?
I've never understood the phrase "Who's your Daddy?". It's generally uttered in films to imply sexual prowess - but if you think about it, that's just wrong on every level.
Doing Your Bit
In the wake of England's failure to qualify for the European footie championships next year (don't worry, this isn't a footie rant), I thought I'd put another one of my pet hates to paper.
When the team plays appallingly, the manager has made the wrong selections etc etc, the whole country is, quite rightly, up in arms. We have a dig at the players, coaches, managers - anyone's a target. But what gets me is some bright spark will always say something along the lines of "Well, I'd like to see you do better!", or"It's not as easy as it looks you know".
Hmm - yes, but it's not my job is it? It's not the thing I do every day, and therefore should be pretty damn good at. Me, I work in Internet advertising - and I'm ok at it. I should be, I do it day in day out for 40 odd hours a week. If I wasn't good at it I'd have to ask myself why. I certainly wouldn't turn round to a customer and say "Well, it's all a bit tricky really - I'm doing better than you could in any case".
I remember a rant I had at a taxi driver once through wound-down windows. His driving was truly appalling, and I berated him thoroughly for being so poor at the thing he spends a third of his life doing - driving a car. Sadly he didn't seem to understand what the issue was and got rather angry. So did I. As we crawled along in slow moving motorway traffic, he decided he was going to follow me home. "Where are you going?" he shouted across at me. "Your mum's house!" I shouted back, before realising that the traffic could stop at any time and I'd be toast. Thankfully it didn't and I wasn't.
Back to sports - we see Lewis Hamilton completely fluff his last two F1 races when he had the world championship in his hands. Many people leapt to his defence - "It's incredibly tough keeping your focus, and very demanding physically" etc etc. Well - that's the whole point of F1 isn't it? You become better through years of tedious training to avoid the stupid mistakes that the rest of us monkeys would make.
No matter what you do, no matter how hard it is or how boring it is, you're the person doing it, not me. You'd be crap doing my job, and I'd be crap doing yours. As a customer, spectator, consumer and armchair pundit I have every right to expect others to take responsibility for what they do for a living, and I don't want excuses thank you very much.
When the team plays appallingly, the manager has made the wrong selections etc etc, the whole country is, quite rightly, up in arms. We have a dig at the players, coaches, managers - anyone's a target. But what gets me is some bright spark will always say something along the lines of "Well, I'd like to see you do better!", or"It's not as easy as it looks you know".
Hmm - yes, but it's not my job is it? It's not the thing I do every day, and therefore should be pretty damn good at. Me, I work in Internet advertising - and I'm ok at it. I should be, I do it day in day out for 40 odd hours a week. If I wasn't good at it I'd have to ask myself why. I certainly wouldn't turn round to a customer and say "Well, it's all a bit tricky really - I'm doing better than you could in any case".
I remember a rant I had at a taxi driver once through wound-down windows. His driving was truly appalling, and I berated him thoroughly for being so poor at the thing he spends a third of his life doing - driving a car. Sadly he didn't seem to understand what the issue was and got rather angry. So did I. As we crawled along in slow moving motorway traffic, he decided he was going to follow me home. "Where are you going?" he shouted across at me. "Your mum's house!" I shouted back, before realising that the traffic could stop at any time and I'd be toast. Thankfully it didn't and I wasn't.
Back to sports - we see Lewis Hamilton completely fluff his last two F1 races when he had the world championship in his hands. Many people leapt to his defence - "It's incredibly tough keeping your focus, and very demanding physically" etc etc. Well - that's the whole point of F1 isn't it? You become better through years of tedious training to avoid the stupid mistakes that the rest of us monkeys would make.
No matter what you do, no matter how hard it is or how boring it is, you're the person doing it, not me. You'd be crap doing my job, and I'd be crap doing yours. As a customer, spectator, consumer and armchair pundit I have every right to expect others to take responsibility for what they do for a living, and I don't want excuses thank you very much.
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
The Bank
Ok, just popped out to the cashpoint. I didn't put on a coat - it's freezing out there, but I didn't think I'd be too long, as it's just outside the office door, and there's normally only a couple of people in the queue. But I forgot my worst enemy -the non-believer.
The non-believer has just taken out £20 in cash, but doesn't quite believe it. So she has to get a little receipt out of the cashpoint to prove it. Even then she's astounded at the apparent complexity of what's happened, and stares at the piece of paper for an eternity before moving on. I'm surprised she doesn't ring the bank to confirm it, or ask for signed witness statements from the rest of us in the queue just to prove that she actually did just take out £20 - no more, no less.
So the result of her actions, and my incredible lack of short-term patience, is that I am in the cold for another 30 seconds cursing at her to hurry along.
The process she goes through, of course, stems from a mistrust of technology. But it's the same machine giving you the receipt as the one that just gave you the money! So you don't trust it one minute, and 30 seconds after producing a bit of paper as some sort of evidence it's completely reliable?
My dad suffers the same affliction with technology - although at 70 odd, he's perfectly entitled to. He firmly believes that if 'computers' didn't exist, he could call up British Gas, and some kindly lady would pick up within three rings, walk to the other end of the office and fetch his 'file'. He sent a letter once and actually asked a lady at one of these massive call centres if she had his letter in front of him. Never mind that the call centre was probably in India, and his letter had been preserved electronically and subsequently incinerated.
I try to explain to him that most mistakes - miss-spelling of his name, an incorrect bill - are actually human error, and that 'computers' actually make 99% of our life more efficient and bearable. But of course it falls on deaf ears (that's another story altogether - he's hard of hearing, and can't hear women with Scottish accents on the phone).
Anyway, I digress. We all know that banks are crooked, but it's a relatively safe place for your money. If you don't trust cashpoints, don't use them. Keep your money stuffed under a mattress and see what happens when the mice get in or the place goes up in smoke. That way I won't have to mutter obscenities at you in the queue.
The non-believer has just taken out £20 in cash, but doesn't quite believe it. So she has to get a little receipt out of the cashpoint to prove it. Even then she's astounded at the apparent complexity of what's happened, and stares at the piece of paper for an eternity before moving on. I'm surprised she doesn't ring the bank to confirm it, or ask for signed witness statements from the rest of us in the queue just to prove that she actually did just take out £20 - no more, no less.
So the result of her actions, and my incredible lack of short-term patience, is that I am in the cold for another 30 seconds cursing at her to hurry along.
The process she goes through, of course, stems from a mistrust of technology. But it's the same machine giving you the receipt as the one that just gave you the money! So you don't trust it one minute, and 30 seconds after producing a bit of paper as some sort of evidence it's completely reliable?
My dad suffers the same affliction with technology - although at 70 odd, he's perfectly entitled to. He firmly believes that if 'computers' didn't exist, he could call up British Gas, and some kindly lady would pick up within three rings, walk to the other end of the office and fetch his 'file'. He sent a letter once and actually asked a lady at one of these massive call centres if she had his letter in front of him. Never mind that the call centre was probably in India, and his letter had been preserved electronically and subsequently incinerated.
I try to explain to him that most mistakes - miss-spelling of his name, an incorrect bill - are actually human error, and that 'computers' actually make 99% of our life more efficient and bearable. But of course it falls on deaf ears (that's another story altogether - he's hard of hearing, and can't hear women with Scottish accents on the phone).
Anyway, I digress. We all know that banks are crooked, but it's a relatively safe place for your money. If you don't trust cashpoints, don't use them. Keep your money stuffed under a mattress and see what happens when the mice get in or the place goes up in smoke. That way I won't have to mutter obscenities at you in the queue.
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Show Me A Sign
Occasionally I see those cardboard signs on roundabouts advertising the time and location of Psychic Fairs.
I can't help thinking that the attendees should already have this information.
I can't help thinking that the attendees should already have this information.
The Challenge
Anyone who knows me will attest to that fact that I like useless bits of information. Most of it's pointless stuff, but it's there in my head nonetheless.
I can remember my parents's car registrations from day one (PKX913R, ALK133Y etc), Iknow that Hong Kong Phooey is actually Penry the mild mannered janitor, not Henry as most people assume (it's short for Penrod Pooch in case you doubt my pedantry). I know that Wellington is the most Southerly capital in the world, that DVD stands for Digital Versatile Disc (not Video of course), and the dog in The Fraggles was called Sprocket
I also notice things that others don't. I notice at work that on one side of the building the voice in the lift is female, and on the other side it is male. I notice that the scene in Terminator on the motorbike has far too many gear changes (most motorbikes have 5, and there seem to be closer to 10). I notice spelling miskates too (that's one right there, and if you didn't spot it then shame on you).
I remember things and I notice things - so what? Well, it's a bit of a curse actually. I love to pipe up in a discussion with a fact or two, or even a string of logic argument as to why something isn't how someone else thinks it is, because I know. Don't we all? The difference is that I actually care about some of these banal discussions, and people spot this as my weakness. Example - if I tell you one of the Wombles was called Bungo, you might look at me quizzically. After all, if you can't remember one called Bungo, then there probably wasn't one. I mean, really, who would remember something like that? So do you challenge it or accept it?
I was told the other day that a wasp isn't an animal - it's an insect. Now, where many people would roll over and say "Oh really, I never knew that", I have to fight to the bitter end to convince them of their utter wrongness. They of course fight back, but I'm always the one who get accused of being stubborn, never admitting I'm wrong, like a dog with a bone etc etc. And that's the part that gets me. Because it's a game of two sides.
It's a game of Challenge. I am a reasonable person, and therefore I won't even begin to engage in a pointless discussion unless I'm absolutely positive that I'm right - and I am at least 90% of the time in these cases. This being the case, people see it as a challenge to try and prove me wrong, outdo me. Anything to have the chance to say "Ha!! Loser!! You're wrong and I proved it!! Hey everybody! He's wrong - I got him real good!". Which, on occasion when it does happen, I think is a little unfair. I don't do this when the shoe is on the other foot, I simply accept my tiny victory with grace and a smug inner smile.
If I'm wrong, I'm wrong - fine, I will honestly hold my hands up and bow down to your greatness and knowledge. Just prove it to me with facts or logic. It's the only way my tiny brain works, and that's how I'm fighting the battle goddammit. Please don't enter into a pointless discussion with me for half an hour, and then say I'm the one who's stubborn, when you're the one who won't let it lie - and usually the one who is wrong. Well, 90% percent of the time anyway.
I can remember my parents's car registrations from day one (PKX913R, ALK133Y etc), Iknow that Hong Kong Phooey is actually Penry the mild mannered janitor, not Henry as most people assume (it's short for Penrod Pooch in case you doubt my pedantry). I know that Wellington is the most Southerly capital in the world, that DVD stands for Digital Versatile Disc (not Video of course), and the dog in The Fraggles was called Sprocket
I also notice things that others don't. I notice at work that on one side of the building the voice in the lift is female, and on the other side it is male. I notice that the scene in Terminator on the motorbike has far too many gear changes (most motorbikes have 5, and there seem to be closer to 10). I notice spelling miskates too (that's one right there, and if you didn't spot it then shame on you).
I remember things and I notice things - so what? Well, it's a bit of a curse actually. I love to pipe up in a discussion with a fact or two, or even a string of logic argument as to why something isn't how someone else thinks it is, because I know. Don't we all? The difference is that I actually care about some of these banal discussions, and people spot this as my weakness. Example - if I tell you one of the Wombles was called Bungo, you might look at me quizzically. After all, if you can't remember one called Bungo, then there probably wasn't one. I mean, really, who would remember something like that? So do you challenge it or accept it?
I was told the other day that a wasp isn't an animal - it's an insect. Now, where many people would roll over and say "Oh really, I never knew that", I have to fight to the bitter end to convince them of their utter wrongness. They of course fight back, but I'm always the one who get accused of being stubborn, never admitting I'm wrong, like a dog with a bone etc etc. And that's the part that gets me. Because it's a game of two sides.
It's a game of Challenge. I am a reasonable person, and therefore I won't even begin to engage in a pointless discussion unless I'm absolutely positive that I'm right - and I am at least 90% of the time in these cases. This being the case, people see it as a challenge to try and prove me wrong, outdo me. Anything to have the chance to say "Ha!! Loser!! You're wrong and I proved it!! Hey everybody! He's wrong - I got him real good!". Which, on occasion when it does happen, I think is a little unfair. I don't do this when the shoe is on the other foot, I simply accept my tiny victory with grace and a smug inner smile.
If I'm wrong, I'm wrong - fine, I will honestly hold my hands up and bow down to your greatness and knowledge. Just prove it to me with facts or logic. It's the only way my tiny brain works, and that's how I'm fighting the battle goddammit. Please don't enter into a pointless discussion with me for half an hour, and then say I'm the one who's stubborn, when you're the one who won't let it lie - and usually the one who is wrong. Well, 90% percent of the time anyway.
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Phone woes
I have a really flash mobile phone - bit like a Blackberry, but better looking and with more 'stuff' on it. Pretty much like a mini PC. Now, I wouldn't choose a phone like this, but work pay for it and that arrangement suits me fine.
The problem is - it's shit. Because it runs so much software it crashes all the time, and I'm a bit fed up with that. But my face lit up with amusement yesterday when I got the following error message:
"Your phone is currently switched off, would you like to turn it on?"
Now, I ain't fik or nuffink, but surely if my phone is providing me error messages, it must be switched on? What amuses me most is that at some point in the development of this phone, someone actually said "We need to provide an error message for when the phone is switched off and the user wants to switch it on. The phone will need to be ON when we display this message of course, but that shouldn't cause any confusion in the slightest".
Genius.
The problem is - it's shit. Because it runs so much software it crashes all the time, and I'm a bit fed up with that. But my face lit up with amusement yesterday when I got the following error message:
"Your phone is currently switched off, would you like to turn it on?"
Now, I ain't fik or nuffink, but surely if my phone is providing me error messages, it must be switched on? What amuses me most is that at some point in the development of this phone, someone actually said "We need to provide an error message for when the phone is switched off and the user wants to switch it on. The phone will need to be ON when we display this message of course, but that shouldn't cause any confusion in the slightest".
Genius.
Monday, 15 October 2007
Sax - on the beach?
I remember when I used to watch Top of The Pops I was younger - say early teens perhaps - that there were certain instruments that were clearly way cooler than others.
The clear loser of these in those days, as it is now, was the keyboard/guitar thing that was so popular amongst many a coiffured pop band. The undoubted winner, and the one we all wanted to play, was the saxophone.
Sax was on loads of records - obvious smash hits as Baker Street and The Heat Is On - but also countless lesser known top 40 hits. There was a smattering of sax everywhere, and to have a sax player on the Pops was the ultimate kudos for a band.
But what now? We don't seem to use sax players any more, so where have all the sax players gone? Ok, so there's still 'horn sections', but it's not the same thing (and many are synthesied anyway).
The solitary sax solo seems to have drifted into pop obscurity, and I'm not here to campaign to bring it back. Good riddance I'd say.
The clear loser of these in those days, as it is now, was the keyboard/guitar thing that was so popular amongst many a coiffured pop band. The undoubted winner, and the one we all wanted to play, was the saxophone.
Sax was on loads of records - obvious smash hits as Baker Street and The Heat Is On - but also countless lesser known top 40 hits. There was a smattering of sax everywhere, and to have a sax player on the Pops was the ultimate kudos for a band.
But what now? We don't seem to use sax players any more, so where have all the sax players gone? Ok, so there's still 'horn sections', but it's not the same thing (and many are synthesied anyway).
The solitary sax solo seems to have drifted into pop obscurity, and I'm not here to campaign to bring it back. Good riddance I'd say.
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
Just my imagination?
How many times have we reminisced about 'the old days', particularly with regards to the declining size of our confectionery?
Only this morning, someone in the office was passing round the Penguins, and the first thing I found myself saying was "Is it just my imagination, or are these smaller than they used to be?" Up until now I have been fairly convinced that seeing as my hands have grown considerably since the age of 12, that all our sweets only look smaller, when they are actually the same size. But today, I have had a sudden, unexplained u-turn and convinced myself otherwise.
So I'm here to tell you that Penguins, Mars Bars, Curly Wurly, Monster Munch and Wagon Wheels are definitely smaller than when we were younger - it's all a big conspiracy.
And what happened to Pacers?
Only this morning, someone in the office was passing round the Penguins, and the first thing I found myself saying was "Is it just my imagination, or are these smaller than they used to be?" Up until now I have been fairly convinced that seeing as my hands have grown considerably since the age of 12, that all our sweets only look smaller, when they are actually the same size. But today, I have had a sudden, unexplained u-turn and convinced myself otherwise.
So I'm here to tell you that Penguins, Mars Bars, Curly Wurly, Monster Munch and Wagon Wheels are definitely smaller than when we were younger - it's all a big conspiracy.
And what happened to Pacers?
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
Time Wasting
I saw an ad on the tube yesterday, for some kind of little portable electronic game device thing, something along these lines:
"Did you know that the average person spends THREE YEARS of their life commuting? What a waste! In that time you could be feeding, raising and competing with your own virtual puppy!"
Yes, because that a far more valuable use of three years of my life.
"Did you know that the average person spends THREE YEARS of their life commuting? What a waste! In that time you could be feeding, raising and competing with your own virtual puppy!"
Yes, because that a far more valuable use of three years of my life.
Horse in the City?
Sarah Jessica Parker - man in drag or a horse? I just don't get why everyone raves about how 'beautiful' she is. She's an absolute munter.
And with that kind of money you'd think she could afford to get that Rice Krispie removed from her chin.
And with that kind of money you'd think she could afford to get that Rice Krispie removed from her chin.
Monday, 17 September 2007
Endangered - so what?
I heard recently that not long after 9/11, Lee from boyband Blue said somethign along the lines of "So what if all those people died - elephants are getting slaughtered every day". Harsh, but fair or misguided sentimentalism?
Well firstly, let's look at the whole issue of spending millions of pounds saving endangered species - many of which we have never heard of. Would we even miss the ones we have heard of? I mean, I can't see that the world is a worse place for the lack of Dodos, Sabre-toothed tigers, or the Peruvian blue-tipped humming bird, in the same way we don't miss T-Rex or Diplodocus. What is the obsession here? Will the Cassowary go the same way as the Moa? Quite probably. Have you heard of either? Possibly not.
Apart from some animals having a very valid position in the food chain, it seems that the only other reason is that 'it would be a shame' if they became extinct. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not good enough for me.
Secondly, we have this guilt about being the dominating species on the planet, and not giving a damn about any other species. Do we really think that if bears could talk, fire guns and drive cars they'd have the survival of the human species at the top of their agenda? Somehow I think not.
Lastly, scientists admit that we don't even know how many different creatures there are on the planet, and we are discovering thousands of new ones every year. So what woud happen if they became extinct before we discovered them? Nothing much really. We'd never have missed them.
So, let's stop saving animals for sentimental reasons and start saving the ones that really matter. While we're at it, let's actively destroy the ones that have no reason at all to exist, but cause misery to millions of people. Wasps, mosquitos and snakes to name but a few.
Well firstly, let's look at the whole issue of spending millions of pounds saving endangered species - many of which we have never heard of. Would we even miss the ones we have heard of? I mean, I can't see that the world is a worse place for the lack of Dodos, Sabre-toothed tigers, or the Peruvian blue-tipped humming bird, in the same way we don't miss T-Rex or Diplodocus. What is the obsession here? Will the Cassowary go the same way as the Moa? Quite probably. Have you heard of either? Possibly not.
Apart from some animals having a very valid position in the food chain, it seems that the only other reason is that 'it would be a shame' if they became extinct. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not good enough for me.
Secondly, we have this guilt about being the dominating species on the planet, and not giving a damn about any other species. Do we really think that if bears could talk, fire guns and drive cars they'd have the survival of the human species at the top of their agenda? Somehow I think not.
Lastly, scientists admit that we don't even know how many different creatures there are on the planet, and we are discovering thousands of new ones every year. So what woud happen if they became extinct before we discovered them? Nothing much really. We'd never have missed them.
So, let's stop saving animals for sentimental reasons and start saving the ones that really matter. While we're at it, let's actively destroy the ones that have no reason at all to exist, but cause misery to millions of people. Wasps, mosquitos and snakes to name but a few.
Thursday, 6 September 2007
I Am Your Father Luke
Ok, so I was one of the people who put 'Jedi' down as my religion on the last census. Some guy sent an email round saying that if 10,000 people did it, then we'd have an official recognised religion on our hands. What actually happened is that, although tens of thousands of people did put Jedi down, we all got lumped under 'Other'.
That is simply not fair. We still smile smugly at ancient races worshipping the Moon, and believing thunder to be the anger of the Gods. But most, if not all, modern religions are based on books, stories, belief and hearsay too. So why can't I cite Star Wars as a religious text, and claim to belive in The Force? Let's be completely honest with ourselves here - it's no more fanciful than most religions today. We just need a leader - anyone?
That is simply not fair. We still smile smugly at ancient races worshipping the Moon, and believing thunder to be the anger of the Gods. But most, if not all, modern religions are based on books, stories, belief and hearsay too. So why can't I cite Star Wars as a religious text, and claim to belive in The Force? Let's be completely honest with ourselves here - it's no more fanciful than most religions today. We just need a leader - anyone?
Suicidal Tendencies?
Before you panic - don't. I live a very contented life, and suicide is the very last thing on my mind. It took me a hell of an effort to overcome my natural survival instinct and leap off a 50m platform witha bungy cord attached to my legs, so it's not something I have in my 5 year plan. I don't even have a 5 year plan actually.
What is weird though, is that very occasionally I get the urge. On the motorway, I am all too aware that a quick flick of the wheel could drive me head on into a concrete pillar - and a tiny part of me for a tiny fraction of a second wants to 'give it a go'. The same part of me that wants to take a running dive off a cliff, pull open the emergency door on the plane, jump in front of a train or see what it's like to plummet to earth from the top of a multi storey car park.
It's nothing to do with topping yourself, just something about the rush of adrenaline you'd get as the train slams into your head, or as the ground approaches at a hundred miles an hour. A mate of mine gets it too - are we weird or is this fairly common?
What is weird though, is that very occasionally I get the urge. On the motorway, I am all too aware that a quick flick of the wheel could drive me head on into a concrete pillar - and a tiny part of me for a tiny fraction of a second wants to 'give it a go'. The same part of me that wants to take a running dive off a cliff, pull open the emergency door on the plane, jump in front of a train or see what it's like to plummet to earth from the top of a multi storey car park.
It's nothing to do with topping yourself, just something about the rush of adrenaline you'd get as the train slams into your head, or as the ground approaches at a hundred miles an hour. A mate of mine gets it too - are we weird or is this fairly common?
Thursday, 16 August 2007
Follow Your Dream
We hear it all the time - the winner of Pop X Idol Factor in their first interview, after being asked what advice they would give any aspiring performers: "... if you stick with it you'll make it, you can be whatever you want to be, you can go all the way if you believe in yourself...etc". What utter tripe.
If you believe in any of this, I'm sorry to dash your hopes, but it's actually some of the most irresponsible advice you'll ever hear, and it just leaves poor old Simon Cowell to pick up the pieces by telling these people how bad they really are.
Ever noticed how it's never the failures who say 'follow your dream'? Well of course not. They would say "Don't waste 10 years of your life on a futile quest for fame when you haven't got a hope in hell due to the fact that you have no talent at all."
I was chatting to Trev from the band the other day - not a real chat of course, we only communicate through highly amusing and abusive emails - about how it all turned out ok for us in the end. We, like thousands of other bands, honestly believed we had what it took to 'make it'. Maybe we did, but there's more to it than that - stuff like who you know, right place right time and all the other cliches.
We spent a good few years of our early twenties working part time jobs to give us time for the band. Rehearsals and a couple of gigs every week, and saving money to get CDs recorded and pressed. Our highlight was being played on Steve Wright's breakfast show on Radio 1 - but of course nothing happened from there, and we drifted into full time jobs and, fortunately, the real world.
I'm just glad we never took that staple advice "Follow your dream - if you believe in yourself, then you'll definitely make it". It's no coincidence that this advice is doled out by those who have actually made it, and not by the thousands of forty-something has-beens who have wasted a good part of their life still trying to 'make it'. Sad as it sounds, I'm glad we got jobs/careers, as we can still enjoy the whole music thing, but enjoy a whole other life too.
I still believe we are a great band, but it's too much of a gamble now - we all make a reasonable living, and even if you 'make it', it's no guarantee of fame or fortune. I was listening to Chesney Hawkes on the radio the other day. That guy was such a legend with just one song - wonder what he's doing now. The bass player from the Boomtown Rats is a plumber, I know that much.
If you believe in any of this, I'm sorry to dash your hopes, but it's actually some of the most irresponsible advice you'll ever hear, and it just leaves poor old Simon Cowell to pick up the pieces by telling these people how bad they really are.
Ever noticed how it's never the failures who say 'follow your dream'? Well of course not. They would say "Don't waste 10 years of your life on a futile quest for fame when you haven't got a hope in hell due to the fact that you have no talent at all."
I was chatting to Trev from the band the other day - not a real chat of course, we only communicate through highly amusing and abusive emails - about how it all turned out ok for us in the end. We, like thousands of other bands, honestly believed we had what it took to 'make it'. Maybe we did, but there's more to it than that - stuff like who you know, right place right time and all the other cliches.
We spent a good few years of our early twenties working part time jobs to give us time for the band. Rehearsals and a couple of gigs every week, and saving money to get CDs recorded and pressed. Our highlight was being played on Steve Wright's breakfast show on Radio 1 - but of course nothing happened from there, and we drifted into full time jobs and, fortunately, the real world.
I'm just glad we never took that staple advice "Follow your dream - if you believe in yourself, then you'll definitely make it". It's no coincidence that this advice is doled out by those who have actually made it, and not by the thousands of forty-something has-beens who have wasted a good part of their life still trying to 'make it'. Sad as it sounds, I'm glad we got jobs/careers, as we can still enjoy the whole music thing, but enjoy a whole other life too.
I still believe we are a great band, but it's too much of a gamble now - we all make a reasonable living, and even if you 'make it', it's no guarantee of fame or fortune. I was listening to Chesney Hawkes on the radio the other day. That guy was such a legend with just one song - wonder what he's doing now. The bass player from the Boomtown Rats is a plumber, I know that much.
Thursday, 2 August 2007
The Race
Not just the title of one of the greatest one hit wonders of all time by Yello, but also a game played by thousands of commuters daily. A game of which none of us ever speak.
Now I'm not saying that, as a commuter, you've automatically been in The Race, but the chances are you've witnessed it without realising.
The rules are simple. The first rule of The Race is that no-one must ever acknowledge that they are in The Race. It's all done with a quick nudge here and there, and absolutely no eye contact.
Preparation starts on the platform - as the train pulls in, you know which carriage and which door on that carriage to get on the train to make sure you're in the optimum position at the other end of your journey. Seasoned pros have an exact spot on the platform on which they stand.
When the train pulls in at the other end is when the fun starts. Without running, and without letting on that you are in The Race, you must be the first one up the stairs/first one up the escalator/first one through the ticket barrier - you set your own rules.
Most are simply spectators, but for thousands of us, that small victory as you steam through the barriers, muttering "eat my dust bitch" under your breath is a great way to start/finish to your day.
Next time you get off a train - just watch. It's going all around us.
by Norbert Panhandle - Gold medalist in the 18.34 Baker Street to Croxley Challenge Cup.
Now I'm not saying that, as a commuter, you've automatically been in The Race, but the chances are you've witnessed it without realising.
The rules are simple. The first rule of The Race is that no-one must ever acknowledge that they are in The Race. It's all done with a quick nudge here and there, and absolutely no eye contact.
Preparation starts on the platform - as the train pulls in, you know which carriage and which door on that carriage to get on the train to make sure you're in the optimum position at the other end of your journey. Seasoned pros have an exact spot on the platform on which they stand.
When the train pulls in at the other end is when the fun starts. Without running, and without letting on that you are in The Race, you must be the first one up the stairs/first one up the escalator/first one through the ticket barrier - you set your own rules.
Most are simply spectators, but for thousands of us, that small victory as you steam through the barriers, muttering "eat my dust bitch" under your breath is a great way to start/finish to your day.
Next time you get off a train - just watch. It's going all around us.
by Norbert Panhandle - Gold medalist in the 18.34 Baker Street to Croxley Challenge Cup.
More Caffeine
I've had a pop at tea drinkers, but don't think you coffee addicts get off scot free.
Working in London, you get used to a lot of things which our more suburban/country cousins would think are just plain stupid. One in particular is the whole 'carry my coffee to work' thing.
It can start before they even get on the train - they stand on the platform with their plastic-lidded cardboard cup of tall-skinny-caramel-decaff-mocha-choca-latte, cradling it like a precious jewel. The same cup can last them the whole commute - train, tube and walk to the office - all the while holding it up like an Olympic torch, trying to avoid spills and getting in everyone's way, but all the time making sure to take a sip every 5 mins or so. Finally they arrive breathless in the office plonking it down on their desk. Surely by this time it is stone cold?
What I want to know is whether this is caffeine addiction or the the first signs of OCD? I can't think of any logical reason why you wouldn't just wait till you get into the office and have your cuppa there? Not only do you save yourself £3.50, but you then have two hands free to hold on to the handrail on the tube and read your Harry Potter book.
Working in London, you get used to a lot of things which our more suburban/country cousins would think are just plain stupid. One in particular is the whole 'carry my coffee to work' thing.
It can start before they even get on the train - they stand on the platform with their plastic-lidded cardboard cup of tall-skinny-caramel-decaff-mocha-choca-latte, cradling it like a precious jewel. The same cup can last them the whole commute - train, tube and walk to the office - all the while holding it up like an Olympic torch, trying to avoid spills and getting in everyone's way, but all the time making sure to take a sip every 5 mins or so. Finally they arrive breathless in the office plonking it down on their desk. Surely by this time it is stone cold?
What I want to know is whether this is caffeine addiction or the the first signs of OCD? I can't think of any logical reason why you wouldn't just wait till you get into the office and have your cuppa there? Not only do you save yourself £3.50, but you then have two hands free to hold on to the handrail on the tube and read your Harry Potter book.
Blowin in the wind
Leaf blowers -what is the point? Discuss.
I only ever see people using leaf blowers to blow leaves somewhere else - either to a place 10 yards in front of them, or just off to the side of the 'bit' they're doing. Surely this is just moving leaves around, and a bloody noisy way of doing it to boot? The next time the wind picks up - even just a whisper - and all the leaves you have moved come straight back.
Either sweep them up or blow them into a pile, and then sweep them up. I think we're just inventing machines for the sake of it.
I only ever see people using leaf blowers to blow leaves somewhere else - either to a place 10 yards in front of them, or just off to the side of the 'bit' they're doing. Surely this is just moving leaves around, and a bloody noisy way of doing it to boot? The next time the wind picks up - even just a whisper - and all the leaves you have moved come straight back.
Either sweep them up or blow them into a pile, and then sweep them up. I think we're just inventing machines for the sake of it.
Thursday, 14 June 2007
Rock n Roll
I just heard an ad on the radio for the latest Bon Jovi album, and I'm afraid I despair at what I heard. Now don't don't get me wrong, I'm not a closet Bon Jovi fan, but I can at least acknowledge that they were a 'rock' band in the true sense of the word. In the good old days rock bands were all about massive stadium gigs, drumstick twirling, a bit of leather, and maybe a few drugs thrown in here and there (ok, in the case of Bon Jovi maybe nothing much stronger than a bit of Night Nurse, but you get the picture).
Now I know that rock bands have changed in many ways, but my biggest issue is that the rock bands of old all seem to go one way. Soft.
One of my all time favourite bands is Queen, who started off in the 70s as a pretty far out rock band (on the verge of glam), and pushing the boundaries of taste and decency. Not that you'd know it from listening to their post 1986 releases - all soft pop, and many,many ballads.
The worst offender I know of has to be Cliff Richard. I jest not. I have an album called Rock n Roll Juvenile from the 60s, where he absolutely kicks arse. A bit of Jesus thrown in there, and a couple of slower tracks, but generally a great album nonetheless. Look at him now, and he's no better than Val Doonican on valium.
And then there's the issue of age. The Who singing about My Generation at the age of 60 odd is an irony missed on many people. Particularly those not even born when that track was released. And then the old favourites - the Rolling Stones. All the journos say they are better then ever - well in that case the sixties must have been more drug-fuelled than I originally thought. They are ok, but I can't help thinking we'd be better off if Jagger had been shot along with Lennon, just so the other Stones could get on with their lives with a bit of dignity.
Sad rocker has-beens - take a leaf out of Alex James's book. Retire young, buy a farm and make cheese. Everyone will remember the good old days instead of the tired old men.
Now I know that rock bands have changed in many ways, but my biggest issue is that the rock bands of old all seem to go one way. Soft.
One of my all time favourite bands is Queen, who started off in the 70s as a pretty far out rock band (on the verge of glam), and pushing the boundaries of taste and decency. Not that you'd know it from listening to their post 1986 releases - all soft pop, and many,many ballads.
The worst offender I know of has to be Cliff Richard. I jest not. I have an album called Rock n Roll Juvenile from the 60s, where he absolutely kicks arse. A bit of Jesus thrown in there, and a couple of slower tracks, but generally a great album nonetheless. Look at him now, and he's no better than Val Doonican on valium.
And then there's the issue of age. The Who singing about My Generation at the age of 60 odd is an irony missed on many people. Particularly those not even born when that track was released. And then the old favourites - the Rolling Stones. All the journos say they are better then ever - well in that case the sixties must have been more drug-fuelled than I originally thought. They are ok, but I can't help thinking we'd be better off if Jagger had been shot along with Lennon, just so the other Stones could get on with their lives with a bit of dignity.
Sad rocker has-beens - take a leaf out of Alex James's book. Retire young, buy a farm and make cheese. Everyone will remember the good old days instead of the tired old men.
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
TV nonsense
What happened to those little white dots in the top right hand corner of your TV screen just before a commercial break. I don't think I've seen them for years, or do they just appear on terrestrial TV now?
Something that made me chuckle the other day is watching a TV ad for a Sony Bravia TV - showing the superior colour and picture clarity I'll get if I nip down to Dixons and spend a thousand quid. Of course, the picture clarity and colour I was seeing was only as good as my current TV (duh), but I guess some people must fall for it.
They must be the same people who fall for the somewhat vague claim that the latest skin cream will "help reduce the appearance of fine lines". In the same way that politicians 'help' 'reduce' the 'appearance' of being utterly useless. You have to ask yourself why ads don't say "This cream will make you younger - fact." Because they can't, that's why.
Something that made me chuckle the other day is watching a TV ad for a Sony Bravia TV - showing the superior colour and picture clarity I'll get if I nip down to Dixons and spend a thousand quid. Of course, the picture clarity and colour I was seeing was only as good as my current TV (duh), but I guess some people must fall for it.
They must be the same people who fall for the somewhat vague claim that the latest skin cream will "help reduce the appearance of fine lines". In the same way that politicians 'help' 'reduce' the 'appearance' of being utterly useless. You have to ask yourself why ads don't say "This cream will make you younger - fact." Because they can't, that's why.
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
Only The Good Die Young
You 've seen the articles on the news or in the local paper. A tragic accident involving a much loved friend, the sudden death of a work colleague who was hard working and widely respected by his peers, the demise of a local man who did loads of work for charity.
It seems that everyone who dies was ultimately a high achiever or a generally nice person for one reason or another. Loved by friends and family, a good student, captain of the football team, adopted an orphan, built a hospital, swam the channel, saved Lois Lane from an earthquake - you get the picture.
Once, just once, I'd like to see an article in the Watford Observer about some guy popping his clogs and no-one giving a toss. 'John Smith died today in a bizarre wallpapering accident at his home in West Watford. An ambulance crew tried to revive him, but the sheer volume of wallpaper paste clogging his airway proved too repulsive. "In any case,"one paramedic said, "I didn't make that much of an effort as he was well known for being a cantankerous bastard who everyone despised, so I'm glad to see the back of him".
Mr Smith's wife added that he "....never did a day's work in his whole life, couldn't give a monkeys about anyone but himself, and soiled himself regularly. I hope he rots in hell."
Neighbours refused to comment. Except one, who shouted obscenities at his corpse from a first floor window.'
But it never happens like that does it? Do we have that much respect for the dead that we are incapable of saying anything bad about them, despite being complete bastards all their lives, or do bad people never die?
The weird thing is, despite being a complete cynic, I have personally never known anyone to die who I didn't actually like or who hadn't achieved something remarkable with their life, and I certainly don't know anyone I would wish death upon. Either I'm seeing that little bit of good in everyone, or I'm reading the wrong papers.
It seems that everyone who dies was ultimately a high achiever or a generally nice person for one reason or another. Loved by friends and family, a good student, captain of the football team, adopted an orphan, built a hospital, swam the channel, saved Lois Lane from an earthquake - you get the picture.
Once, just once, I'd like to see an article in the Watford Observer about some guy popping his clogs and no-one giving a toss. 'John Smith died today in a bizarre wallpapering accident at his home in West Watford. An ambulance crew tried to revive him, but the sheer volume of wallpaper paste clogging his airway proved too repulsive. "In any case,"one paramedic said, "I didn't make that much of an effort as he was well known for being a cantankerous bastard who everyone despised, so I'm glad to see the back of him".
Mr Smith's wife added that he "....never did a day's work in his whole life, couldn't give a monkeys about anyone but himself, and soiled himself regularly. I hope he rots in hell."
Neighbours refused to comment. Except one, who shouted obscenities at his corpse from a first floor window.'
But it never happens like that does it? Do we have that much respect for the dead that we are incapable of saying anything bad about them, despite being complete bastards all their lives, or do bad people never die?
The weird thing is, despite being a complete cynic, I have personally never known anyone to die who I didn't actually like or who hadn't achieved something remarkable with their life, and I certainly don't know anyone I would wish death upon. Either I'm seeing that little bit of good in everyone, or I'm reading the wrong papers.
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
Oooh, a nice cuppa....
Picture the scene. It's early afternoon on hot summer's day - mid to high twenties - and you're a bit parched. You might have been doing a bit of gardening, been on a bike ride or just been sitting on the patio sunning yourself. Either way, you're now hot and very thirsty. So what springs to mind as refreshement when you're hot? Why, a hot cup of tea of course. Fool.
People who drink hot drinks on hot days to refresh themselves are lacking in all common sense. "Oh, well it feels so refreshing, and by warming your insides it makes your body go cold on the outside and......" blah blah. Nonsense. You drink hot drinks in the winter to warm yourself up, so where's your theory now? Hmm? Hmmm? The only thing I know that can turn something warm into something cold is a fridge, and humans are not equipped with that sort of technology. And not for another twenty years or so I'd say.
It's just habit, like when you've had a hard day at work or you're bored and can't think of what to eat. You just go for tea as a comfort drink. It happens a lot on Eastenders:
Pauline: Ooh, it looks like Arthur's had some sort of gardening accident, and speared his nuts on a rusty nail while trying to knock one out in the shed on the allotment. I think he's also been having an affair with that 17yr old boy from up the road and has probably got him pregnant.
Ian Beale: Tell you what Auntie Pauline - I'll make a cup of tea, and everything will be alright.
Do yourself a favour, and get a pint of icy cold lemon squash or a refrigerated beer down you, and give your tea addiction a rest.
People who drink hot drinks on hot days to refresh themselves are lacking in all common sense. "Oh, well it feels so refreshing, and by warming your insides it makes your body go cold on the outside and......" blah blah. Nonsense. You drink hot drinks in the winter to warm yourself up, so where's your theory now? Hmm? Hmmm? The only thing I know that can turn something warm into something cold is a fridge, and humans are not equipped with that sort of technology. And not for another twenty years or so I'd say.
It's just habit, like when you've had a hard day at work or you're bored and can't think of what to eat. You just go for tea as a comfort drink. It happens a lot on Eastenders:
Pauline: Ooh, it looks like Arthur's had some sort of gardening accident, and speared his nuts on a rusty nail while trying to knock one out in the shed on the allotment. I think he's also been having an affair with that 17yr old boy from up the road and has probably got him pregnant.
Ian Beale: Tell you what Auntie Pauline - I'll make a cup of tea, and everything will be alright.
Do yourself a favour, and get a pint of icy cold lemon squash or a refrigerated beer down you, and give your tea addiction a rest.
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