You get me?

I don't know about you, but if you ask me, to be perfectly honest with you, when all is said and done, with all things being equal, do you know what I mean? I mean, to be fair, at the end of the day, do you get what I'm saying? Innit? Yeah.

SATC

As far as I can make out, Sex And The City is a program about three prostitutes and their madam.

Blood from a Stone

The TV and Radio ads tell us to give blood, as there is a massive shortage of donors. Well, why not? Unless you don't don't particularly like needles, which is fine, then surely there's no reason not to give blood right? I'd generally disagree.

I have given blood several times, as I don't mind needles, and it makes me feel good about myself. The trouble is, they don't make it easy for you. I work in central London, so I'd love nothing more than to be able to pop out once a month at lunchtime and give a pint of blood. But it's near impossible to do that.

My nearest blood centre to work is only 10 mins walk away, but they are closed at lunchtime. Now call me daft, but aren't most people in central London there becasue they work there? And when do most people have the time to get out of the office? Exactly - lunchtime.

So,another time, I tried taking a late lunch, and popping in at around 3pm, only to be told that there was a one-and-a-half hour wait just to be seen. Plus at least half an hour to actually give blood. Sorry, but that's not how you process volunteers.

Finally, the exclusion list is outdated. You can't give blood if you are gay, or have ever had sex with a man. This is presumably because of the risk of HIV being present in the blood. But there are more heterosexuals with HIV than homosexuals - so where does the logic lie there?

Instead of spending millions on ad campaigns bemoaning the lack of of donors and how selfish we all are, I would propose that the National Blood Service take a long look at why people aren't donating. There is certainly no shortage of willing donors, just a shortage of their time.

Fun and Games

I have a very lively imagination - much like that of a 5 year old. I recently heard on the radio about a woman who used to play a game when she came out of the tube station on her way home. She'd pretend that there were zombies behind her, and she had to get home as quickly as possible before they caught up with her. My kind of game.

Not as crazy as it sounds. I was in Tesco the other day, and with a very small slip of the mind it's not hard to imagine all the shoppers as the living dead. They wander up and down the aisles bumping their trolleys into all and sundry, with no awareness of those around them, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, staring at the shelves presumably looking for a can of personality.

Try it next time you're in a shop full of utter morons - pretend you're the only sane one, and that you have to get out before the zombies realise that there are other people around them. Well, you've got to do something to make it bearable.

Apostrophe's

If you've noticed that the apostrophe in the title is incorrect, then you probably needn't read on.

I still can't stand it when people use apostrophes in plurals. Like the greengrocer who advertises "Strawberry's - 2 punnet's for a pound". Drives me mad. However, as anal as I am about grammar, I do accept that our language is dynamic, and I am therefore coming round to some of the blatantly wrong uses of the apostrophe becoming more acceptable.

The most common misuse for apostrophes is in abbreviations, such as "CD's". I am coming round to this, because although it looks awful, it's in such common use that it will become 'proper' English within the next 10 years certainly.

We forget that our language is not dictated or changed by books, but by how it is used in everyday life by the majority.

I will therefore also predict that the word 'espresso' will be superceded by 'expresso' within 10 years, simply because that is the more commonly used version (although completely incorrect).

Finally, I predict that the next generation will exclusively use 'pacific' instead of 'specific', as it's already commonplace among those under 25.

Sad, but change is unavoidable, so better to embrace it.

What Recession?

Again, my ignorance of economics will undoubtedly shine through here, but personally I can't much to whinge about with the recession.

- Mortgages are cheaper
- Fuel is cheaper
- Food is cheaper
- Cars (especially new ones) are being sold at massive discounts
- Woolies is practically giving everything away (ok, not much to get excited about there)

So if everything is cheaper, and as long as I keep my job and don't want to travel to Europe, then personally I think the recession is great!

Just one thing though. Does anyone really think the 2.5% VAT reduction will make me rush out and buy jumpers because they are 20p cheaper? Surely, this doesn't amount to economics - more common sense.

Ring the changes

How often do you use the phone? Three or four times a day? At least a few times a week. Definitely a few times a month.

Half the world's population have NEVER made or received a phone call. Fact.

Sleep tight

I'm always one to see the funny side of tragic situations. It's probably for my own protection, but it's a bit of a curse actually. In reality I fully appreciate that I have an easier life than most, and that I am very lucky indeed. However, I couldn't help but laugh out loud at one of those Horizon-type documentaries on telly the other day.

The program was about narcoleptics and dealing with narcolepsy (that's not the one where you cop off with dead people, but the one where you nod off without any warning). Now let me say this first - the program brought home to me that living with narcolepsy is a terrible thing in many ways. The sufferers fall asleep with no notice something like 30 or 40 times a day - this can be while eating, walking, shopping - anytime at all. They also suffer disturbed night-time sleep, so all in all it's pretty debilitating. For partners of sufferers, they often have difficultly believeing the true extent of the condition, and as their partner is asleep much of the time, they feel very much alone.

The program followed several sufferers with the condition, and culminated in them travelling to a conference in the US where they could meet other sufferers, which was great for them to learn more about how to live with the condition and how to treat it.

So - not very funny so far right? Right. Well, at this conference there were some very experienced doctors giving lectures on certain aspects of the condition. But I just couldn't stiffle a laugh when the camera panned from the doctor on stage giving the lecture, round to the audience who, of course, are all asleep. Oh the irony. Does that make me a bad person?

Tricky

I was in WHSmith the other day for the first time in about 5 years - I honestly can't remember why, and I'm sure I won't be back for another 5 years. Anyway, I spotted a copy if the Guinness Book of World Records on the shelf, and found a quick flick through its pages absolutely irresistible.

Now, I admire most record breakers. I will never run 100 metres in less than 20 seconds, never mind under 10 seconds. Come to think of it, I can't think of the last time I actually ran 100 metres at all. Records like that deserve recognition.

On the other hand, there are the 'record breakers' who take it upon themselves to complete some pointless task just for the sake of 'having a world record'. For the most part, there is no existing record for some of these achievements, presumably because no-one has been either dull or stupid enough to devote that much time to them.

In flicking through the book, the one that stood out for me was the record for the longest fingernails. Lee Redmond from the good ole USA has not cut her fingernails since 1979, and they have now grown to the near unbelievable length of 8.65m.

Now, it's clear to you and me that keeping them clean, stopping them from breaking and generally having a huge weight on your hands is not practical for everyday living - but this woman is clearly a nutjob (see pic), so we can sort of understand that she forsakes a normal life in order to get her name printed in a book.

But these inconveniences aren't the first things that sprung to my mind - and I'm sure you're thinking along the same lines as me. Yes, the very first thing I thought when looking at the picture was "How on earth does she wipe her arse?".

So, what makes you think you have the X factor?

X Factor contestant: Well, I lost my job, had my house repossessed, my dog died and I'm a recovering alcoholic with one leg shorter than the other.
X Factor Judge: Congratulations, you're through to the next round!

Dentist vs Hairdresser

A trip to the dentist is most people's worst nightmare. Not me. A trip to the hairdresser is far more stressful, and mainly for one particular reason - small talk.

"How's your day going sir?" "Doing anything at the weekend?" I can't believe they actually say this stuff, and all in the vain hope of a one pound tip. Not from me buster, I keep shtum and they tend to get the message very quickly. I have very little hair and it's not rocket science taking a bit off all over, so I'm certainly not going to tip them for it - particularly if they've faffed about making a five minute haircut last an eternity. No chit chat, just cut the hair and let me go please.

And what's with that holding up a mirror to show me the back of my head afterwards? True, I don't get to see the back of my head very often, so it's a bit of a novelty, but what am I supposed to say? "Yep, that's the back of my head. Thanks."

At least in the dentist chair your mouth is full of tools, and you are concentrating so much on the drill penetrating what feels like the center of your brain, that the last thing on anyone's mind is small talk. Luxury.

Jaw Dropping

Am I the only one who notices that Gordon Brown seems to dislocate his jaw at the end of every sentence? Next time he's on telly, watch carefully.

Interesting?

I love facts, and the more useless the better. A small sample:

There are only six surviving original William Shakespeare signatures. In every one of them he spells his name differently. And in none of them does he spell it 'Shakespeare', the most commonly used form we use today.

Rats and horses can't vomit.

Dolphins sleep half a brain at a time. They need to have some level of consciousness, as they actually have to think about breathing.

Thought for the day

The Beatles are dying in the wrong order.

Re: Brand

There's various signs you're getting old. Whether you tie bits of string round things like your dad used to, make a list of errands to do at the weekend, or prefer sitting down at gigs (or 'concerts' as you may be more likely to call them - and that's if you go at all.)

So, having turned 35 recently, I've been thinking that I'm getting old. Until this week when I was jolted back into my 20s for a few days. And it's all down to Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross.

If you've been living in a cave for the last week, here's what happened: Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross called up actor Andrew Sachs for a phone interview, and he didn't answer. So they left a message on his phone, during which they divulged that Brand had slept with his granddaughter.

The backlash against these two has been on the scale of the Janet Jackson 'nipplegate' incident in the States a few years back, which in hindsight everyone agrees was a gross overreaction. What we have seen in recent days is Brand being pushed out of his job, and Jonathan Ross suspended for 3 months. It's not that I particularly care about these two, but I am in utter disbelief about the way the country has reacted to this. Here's my tuppence worth:

1) Over 20,000 complaints have allegedly been recieved about the incident. More than 90% of these after the show was taken off the BBC site - in which case I'd argue that the vast majority haven't actually heard the broadcast. I am one of the few who actually listened to the show and, really, it wasn't that bad.

2) Georgina Baillie (the granddaughter in question), has got a lot of publicity for herself, and her troupe of 'burlesque' dancers. Why? Because she has signed up Max Clifford, and he has made sure that this issue has been blown out of all proportion to get maximum exposure for his client. And it's working.

3) Brand's assertion that he slept with Georgina Baillie has since been verified - by Georgina Baillie herself. So her grandad found out. So what? If you sleep with Russell Brand, the whole world's going to find out.

So here I am wondering whether the whole country has gone mad, and feeling like a teenager to whom nothing seems particularly offensive. I should be calling for these two to be sacked, along with others of 'my age'. Instead I find myself lamenting the slow erosion of the Great British Sense of Humour. What a shame.

Something Afoot

I would never dismiss an alternative therapy on lack of evidence. For instance, I'd be more than willing to try acupuncture if I thought it might help in any way. Hypnotherapy is based on scientific evidence that the power if suggestion can have a profound effect on the unconscious mind, so I'd give that a go for sure. Reflexology, however, is another matter.

I suffered with a bit of shoulder ache recently - most likely from hours sitting at a desk all day and using a mouse - and a reflexologist was offering sessions in a room downstairs at work. As open-minded as I am, I thought it would be worth a go.

Reflexology is supposed to work on the principle that each part of your foot relates to a part of your body - so your big toe is your kidney, the heel of your foot is your heart, and your little toe is your ear-lobe. Or something along those lines.

The session consisted of the reflexologist prodding parts of my foot fairly hard until she found a 'sensitive spot', asking me all the while:

"Does this hurt?"
"No"
"What about this?
"No"
"This?"
"No"

This went on for a few minutes until she pressed on a bit of my foot particularly hard. "Ooh, yes" I said, "that' bit's sensitive just there".

"Ah, well, that's your liver"
"Really?"
"Yes - do you drink a lot?"
"No"
"What about your kidneys - any problems there?"
"No"
"Heart?"
"No"
"Breathlessness?"
"No"
"Back pain?"
"No"
"Shoulder pain?"
"Well, yes a bit actually"
"Hmm, I thought so."

By process of elimination and sheer determination she finally got to my complaint - and it's probably something that 80% of office workers suffer from.

Personally I'm not convinced, but at least it was quite a nice foot massage.

Wanna Be A Rock Star

A dream shared by many - myself included - is to become a rock star/pop star. For the more genuine among us, this is borne from a desire to show off your talent in front of as many people as possible, and not necessarily about fame and money. To go even deeper, there's some sort of connection that forms between musicians when playing together - it doesn't happen every time, but when it does it's as close to spiritual as you can get.

And so, with this in mind, we see the meteoric rise of the X-Box games such as Guitar Hero and now Rock Band. Instead of a guitar with strings you have four buttons you have to press in time with the music, and this gives you the sound of the chords. Sounds fairly straightforward, but the more complex arrangements demand hours, days, even months of practice to achieve the legendary status of Guitar Hero.

So my question is this. Why don't these kids invest all that time in learning to play real instruments?

Believe it or not

It seems to me that people don't question enough. Some people go through life blindly believing what they are told from any figure of perceived authority - whether that be an MP, your parents, or even some bloke down the pub.

Here's an example. We are told that we can't use mobile phones in petrol stations. So, generally we try to avoid doing so. Nevermind that there has been never been any proven link between mobile phones and setting petrol alight. It just so happened that once, when a petrol station exploded, some guy happened to be on the phone. That's it. Not particularly scientific. In fact, 'Brainiacs' proved that you've more chance of blowing up a petrol station from the spark from a nylon tracksuit - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnl4bK_veg0 . Now that's science.

One of my favourites is this one: "Did you know that every night when you're asleep, an average of three spiders drink from your mouth?" My first reaction would be to try and justify it in my head and make my own judgement. But many people's reaction is to blindly accept it as the truth. I'm not kidding - people actually believe this stuff.

Now, religion's a bigger subject than I can hope to tackle here, but I have to mention the lamest justification of the existence of God I ever heard, which was on a TV programme about child evangelists:

Reporter: "Why do you believe in God?"
Child: "Because it says so in the Bible"
Reporter: "And why do you believe the Bible?"
Child: "Because it's the word of God"

Genius.

Not that I can blame a child for believing his parents of course, but the scary thing was that this was how the parents were justifying it to themselves, with no apparent understanding of the term 'circular argument'.

My final word on this would be to follow the wise words of the Buddha (whose existence I can neither confirm or deny I'm afraid): "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense."

Of course, some people have neither reason nor common sense, which explains why they sleep with gaffer tape over their mouths at night.

Crunchy Credit

So, we're in the middle of some sort of major financial crisis. Now, I won't pretend to know all the details, only that the papers are full of pictures of city traders looking very depressed after a hard day losing money. Two things :

1) You city boys have had it good for a while now, and while you won't be getting your £500k bonus this year, I'm sure you've been sensible enough to squirrel a bit away somewhere. Haven't you? What - spent it all on champagne, Porsches and laps dancers? Oh dear.

2) The pics in the papers show you all looking very sad, angry and slightly perplexed at what happened on the trading floor today. Surely when you got up this morning you knew it was going to be a really shit day. I mean really, really shitty. Even I could have told you that. More of that tomorrow I should think. Better take a sickie and take Chardonnay out in the Carrera.

You Can Do Better

I work for a large American company, who you will have heard of. Obviously, being based in England it's not as 'American' as it could be, so generally it doesn't make any difference. But occasionally you get a glimpse of what the full-on experience would be like. And lately one theme has got to me.

"What I'd like you all to do now is write on a piece of paper what you want to achieve. Then imagine you have already achieved that objective, and write down how you did it. Then put that piece of paper somewhere you can see it every day, so you never lose sight of how to achieve your objective"

When faced with this statement in a recent 'training' course, I was a bit stumped. I don't have a masterplan. I don't have a target salary. I don't want to be managing director by the time I'm forty.

Why is there the automatic assumption that we are not happy with our lot? Why do we always have to achieve more? Is it impossible to think that some of are actually happy the way things are, and content to sail through life on a wave of satisfaction? As smug as it sounds, I have a lovely wife, a nice house, good job with a reasonable salary, a baby on the way, good health and great family and friends. What else could I possibly ask for?

Sick

Isn't it funny that we like to be reminded of when we were sick?

For me it's Lucozade, the smell of Dettol, a towel on the pillow, Lemsip, Heinz tomato soup, toast with Marmite, toast soldiers with a boiled egg.

Any of these can instantly take me back to a day off school. All very comforting.

Tatty Tats

I used to work as a lifeguard in several swimming pools, and I'd recommend it to everyone thinking of having a visible tattoo. Firstly, you get to see how many people have the same tattoos, and therefore invalidating the quest for being 'different'. Secondly you get to see what they look like after 10 years or so. Not pretty I'm afraid.

The way I see tattoos are like scars you pay for, which is fine as long as you are sure you're going to feel the same about having Mickey Mouse on your arse in 10 years time as you do now. I have a few scars myself, just a few visible marks on my arms. The difference is that I got these through medical trials and got paid thousands of pounds to take ketamine. Result.

Don't get me wrong - some tattoos look great, they really do. But these would be my rules if any of my kids wanted one:

1) Don't get anything on your face/neck/hands. That job as a lawyer/newsreader/model won't be quite as easy to land.
2) Don't get something 'of the moment'. While Spongebob Squarepants may be fairly popular now, your grandchildren will wonder what that faded yellow stain is when you're in your sixties.
3) Don't get your boyfriend's name done on your lower back because a) he doesn't want to look at his own name while he's on the job, and b) neither does your next boyfriend
4) Be realistic. If you haven't got a great figure, a tat isn't going to change that.
5) Be careful with Chinese symbols. One guy had "At the end of the day this is an ugly boy" in Chinese on his arm for years before being told what it said.
5) Get something erasable - while a dragon over the whole of your back might be very artistic, it's also going to take a long time and a lot of money to laser it off if you change your mind.


And remember, we all change our minds.

As Ross from 'Friends' puts it - "Having a bad tattoo would be like having a bad haircut for the rest of your life".

Cash Points (again)

I'm just about 6ft tall. Not unusual in this day and age. I think the average is something like 5'10" for a bloke and 5'6" for a girl. So why are all the cashpoints in the country built for midgets?

I can understand a row of three cash-machines having one slightly lower one for wheelchair users - of course I have no problem with that. But why all three of them? Surely we're disciminating against anyone over 4 foot tall?

Pins

I don't buy new clothes that often. I generally can't be bothered to shop for the damn things, so much of my wardrobe is bought for me, which is fine.

However, it seems that on more than one occasion recently I have been in mortal danger from new clothes. You unwrap the cellophane from a shirt, or take the cardboard out of a polo-shirt, and slip it on. Ooooowwwww!

What sort of sadistic bastard puts those pins in the collars of shirts?

Slow Slow Slow

My computer can probably calculate more sums in five seconds than I could in a lifetime. My sat-nav sifts through a million roads in a few seconds to plan my route. Even a digital watch can out-think me a hundred times over. We're surrounded by amazing technology of lightning speed, quite literally. So why does everything seem so slow?

My phone takes over a minute to 'restart', and my PC about the same. I have something like 4GB on my internet pipe, but pages sometimes still take 10 seconds to download. After pressing 'play', my DVD player thinks for about 20 seconds about whether it can be bothered to do anything about it. The cashpoint takes a fraction of a second to register each digit of my pin number, to the point that if I put it in too quickly it fails to recognise it.

So what's happening? Incredibly, it feels as though we are out-thinking these machines that are supposed to be the key to getting everything done faster, but instead seem to hold us up at every step of the way.

Pirates Ahoy

Piracy. The bane of the music, film and software industries. They lose tens of millions of pounds/dollars a year in lost revenue due to people buying cheap duplicates of their products. But I have little sympathy.

First, in the 90s, the music industry stabbed itself in the foot by continuing to keep the price of CDs at a ridiculously inflated £15. Yes, we all know the cost of signing artists, recording albums and promoting records is high. But when your customers also know that the price of producing a CD with inlay etc is around 20 pence, they won't stand for it. Especially when you see how much record companies and artists make in profit. The record companies' arrogance was beyond belief.

So what happened? Well, companies like CD-Wow imported genuine CDs from Hong Kong for £9, and the market was forced to lower prices across the board. But it was too late. By then, users had got used to copying CDs, downloading them and CD sales had plummetted.

Then we look at the DVD industry. There was a time when you had to wait 6 months from when a film was out on DVD rental to when you could buy that same film on DVD. Is it any suprise that people were copying them when there was such huge demand?

Now this problem has been solved with simultaneous rental and buying releases for DVDs. But there's still a major issue. Firstly, let me explain that I'm not really into piracy - the quality isn't that great, you can get viruses on your PC and I can pretty much afford to buy/rent the DVDs I want. However, there's one thing which will turn my to piracy quicker than anything else - anything other than a film on my DVD.

I don't want trailers, I don't want copyright messages, and above all I don't want messages telling me not to buy pirate DVDs. Why are these messages there? I've just rented a genuine copy, so you're targeting the wrong person surely? At least let me skip through these messages, or I'll get myself a copy without them on. And the film company won't benefit from that at all.

D(isagreeable) F(urniture) S(ales)

DFS say they only have two sales a year. In that case they are absolute genuises at making it seem like only one sale that lasts a whole 12 months. Annoying.

On top of this, their lastest radio advert had the audacity to inform me that "Every sofa in our sale is reduced". Wow. What an amazing concept. You mean to say that all the sofas in the sale are discounted, instead of having sofas in the sale which are the same price as before?

As I said - genuises.

You can't put a price on life

Really? Can we justify a multi-million pound rescue operation for some posh chump who's decided to capsize himself in the middle of an ocean just south of nowhere? Or should we just donate the equivalent amount of money to a worthy charity in his memory?

Round of Applause

Applause. Sometimes I'm clapping and I look around at the people clapping with me and I wonder what the hell we're doing.

I mean, it's such an effort and it always seems to go on too long. Looking around at my fellow clappers, it seems that not that many people seem particularly happy about having to do it (apart from one or two smart arses who have to have the last or the loudest clap), and we're only doing it because social convention tells us it's the right thing to do.

Now don't get me wrong - I'll happily applaud or stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle loudly if I've seen something truly great. But if you ask yourself how often this happens, it's extremely rare. These days we clap when someone at work does a presentation, when we see a mediocre stage show or a crap band at our local pub. The Americans, gawd bless 'em, even applaud the pilot when a plane lands without bursting into flames. "Yey, we're all alive!"

Does the Captain hear this applause and turn to his co-pilot "Your hear that buddy? High five! Soak it up baby, yeah!! We landed the plane so well, they love us back there! Not like Jim the other day - smashed right into the terminal building and didn't even get a ripple of applause. Loser."

I doubt the Captain hears the applause over the roar of the jet engines on full reverse thrust. In the same way actors can't hear you applaud them when you're in the cinema. Think about it doofus - you're clapping at a projected image on a screen.

So, clapping unnecessarily is annoying for most of us. But for me there's something worse than that. When the show is over, we are all clapping - for what seems like forever. The cast are taking their bows, and we're still clapping. This is when some bright spark at the front decides that standing up and clapping is a much better way to show his appreciation. "Look at me everyone, I appreciate these outstanding performers more than you, and unless you all stand up with me then you're a bunch of socially inadequate cabbages". So we all stand up. And continue clapping until our hands bleed.

If you must clap, how about we limit any applause to five claps per person? Even better, I propose that we adopt the deaf community's way of showing appreciaton - they wave their hands in the air. At least we'd all look like we're enjoying ourselves.

Making Your Mind Up

I struggle to understand some people's decisions, but I think I'm fairly tolerant as long as what they do doesn't harm anyone. However, I'm having trouble getting my head round a recent event in the news - a pregnant man.

The background: a post-op transgender (woman to man) still has a womb and has become pregnant by artificial insemination.

Now, I can just about accept (although not quite understand) that someone might honestly believe that they have grown up in the wrong body. Whether this is mental or physical, I don't know and I wouldn't presume to judge. However, in this particular case I am stumped.

Let me get this straight. You're convinced you should be a man, so you've gone through the mental and physical trauma of changing your body to reflect this. Now you're technially a man - you look and sound like a man and you're finally in the body you feel comfortable with.

So what's the first thing you do as a man? Get pregnant of course - arguably the least masculine thing it's possible to do.

Jeez, make your mind up.

Football Fans

Arsenal (or any other club) Fan: New season starts in a few weeks
Chelsea (or any other club) Fan: Yeah, and your manager's shit.
Arsenal Fan: Well your manager's more shit, and some of your players are shit.
Chelsea Fan: Not only are your players shit, but they cost more than they should have. You was done.
Arsenal Fan: Yeah, but that tackle that one of your player's done was really shit. Should have got a red card.
Chelsea Fan: No way, he got the ball. And your goalie's shit.
Arsenal Fan: Ah, but isn't your manager being sacked? Because he's shit.
Chelsea Fan: No, but I know that one of your players is moving to different club. Cos your club's shit.
Arsenal Fan: I probably know more about football than you.
Chelsea Fan: I definitely know more about football than you. You're shit.
Arsenal Fan: I think I need a shit.
Chelsea Fan: Shit.

'Talk rapping'

Remember The Streets? Chances are you might do, as 5 years ago they (or rather he) was a big sensation - the most original talent out of whatever northern town was in favour at the time. With all the hype at the time I was going absolutely spare trying to convince his 'fans' that he was simply talking over music. "No, no," they used to tell me "He's really clever and that. His lyrics are really deep and he's so clever (innit)" Ok, set a drum beat going in your head, and say the following words over the top - don't sing or that would involve a tune.

"So when I looked at you standing there with your hoard,I was waiting in the queue looking at the board, Wondering whether to have a Burger or chips, Or what the shrapnel in my back pocket could afford, When I noticed out the corner of my eye, Looking toward my direction, Your eyes locked onto my course I couldn't concentrate on what I wanted to order, Which cost me my place in the queue I waited for YEAH , I'm not trying to pull you, Even though I would like toI think you are really fit, You're fit but my gosh don't you know it"

Genius huh? Now, can we all accept that simply having a conversation with yourself while a drum beat plays out in the background doesn't constitute talent. That goes for you too Kate Nash. Oh, and Lily Allen while I'm at it. Like The Streets, your days are numbered - make way for Rock And Roll!!! And pop music.

Cafes who don't want you to use their salt and pepper

If you don't want me to use salt and pepper in your cafe, I'd prefer you didn't put any out at all, instead of teasing me with a couple of sweaty salt and pepper shakers with grains of rice in to supposedly keep the contents free-flowing. Here's the news - the rice doesn't work, and I have to eat your bland, tasteless food without any hope of seasoning.

Colours

Burnt Orange? Surely burnt anything is black isn't it?

Why I don't like Ringo Starr - discuss

Actually, no discussion involved here. Here's the top 10:

1. He still gives the 'peace' symbol like he's stuck in some sixties time-warp.
2. He wears an earring.
3. Upon being asked why he was asked to join the Beatles, he replied "Because I am incredible musician". Well, let's look at the facts. Firstly, being a drummer myself, I would hesitate before calling any drummer a 'musician', and secondly - Yellow Submarine.
4. He has a beard.
5. He wears those sunglasses all the time. Like it's incredibly bright everywhere, or he's in perpetual recovery from some kind of disatrous laser eye-surgery.
5. Beard.
6. He's given himself a stage name based on what is quite possibly the weakest of the crisp family.
7. He just seems to be trying too hard to be liked, when clearly is isn't.
8. He has a beard..
9. And an earring.
10. I really don't like him.

Pretentious Pronunciations

You will have noticed this - at some point in the mid nineties, 'Porsche' became 'Porsch-a', and to keep up with Clarkson and the like, many of us started adopting what is is probably the correct pronunciation. If you are a German.

If you are British, however, the correct pronunciation of 'Paris' is not 'Par-ee' (the exception to this is being prefixing it with 'gay' in the happy sense of the word), and 'chorizo' is not 'choritho' (unless you have a genuine speech impediment, for which you are of course excused).

Instead of picking a few words at random to pronounce in a foreign language in some misguided attempt to make yourself sound cultured, either say the whole lot in your own language, or go the whole hog and make yourself sound like a complete nob: 'Ah, yez, ah am goin to Paree for ze wikend for to buy zum moules-frites and petits-filous.'

Le cock.

Diesel Drivers

For years diesel drivers have been sitting in their cars smugly looking down (or across) at petrol drivers for who, until very recently, the costs of running a car have been significantly higher. The cost of buying and servicing a diesel car has always been more than a petrol car, but the cheap fuel and higher mpg has always offset this extra cost. Not any more - the spiralling cost of diesel fuel and the increased fuel efficiency in petrol cars now means that while you lot drive round in your noisy, slow tractors, we petrol heads can cruise past you safe in the knowledge that the grin has been well and truly wiped from your face.

And hybrid drivers don't get off lightly either. It was recently shown (albeit on Top Gear, which is an increasingly self-indulgent and contrived programme these days) that driving a hybrid car at full pelt (which, admittedly, is not that fast), against a BMW M3 at the same speed, showed that the hybrid car was actually less fuel efficient. To quote a Jeremy Kyle chav on hearing that her 17 year old boyfriend's DNA test shows he is the father of her sixth child - "In your face!".

Inside job.

A phrase carelessly banded about is "It's what's on the inside that counts". Is it really though? The way a person acts is often excused by this phrase, as if it's ok to be a complete bastard to people as long as actually, deep down, you're not a complete bastard. But there's a balancing point where what you do defines who you are, no matter what you are actually thinking inside your head.

I'll use myself as an example. I am fairly self-aware, and therefore I know that to complete strangers (and even people I've known for a long time), I can come across as arrogant, rude, laddish, annoying, selfish and inconsiderate. In actual fact these attributes don't really define me - I think my wife might be more likely to describe me as caring, modest, considerate and generous, and - naturally - this is how I would prefer to view myself. However, the issue is that unless I display these characteristics day to day, you'd have no way of knowing that they are 'the real me'. If you see someone who is arrogant and laddish, that's the reality for you, and therefore those are the defining characteristics - not 'what's on the inside'.

Sometimes I don't think before I speak - or rather I do think before I speak, but because I'm not offended by what I am about to say, I don't see why others should be. An example: A few years back we were discussing our wedding plans with a friend, and said that we weren't planning on doing the whole 'first dance' thing, where the bride and groom do a slow dance with all the guests watching. The phrase I used was that 'it's like a car crash' - you can't help staring, and it's very uncomfortable for all involved. Of course our friend, along with 90% of married couples, had had the 'first dance' at her wedding, and took my comments as a personal attack to mean that her entire wedding was like a car crash. Was that really my message? Of course not. Did it cause offence? Absolutely.

On the other hand imagine the most cantankerous person in the world. Hating everybody and having no respect for himself or anyone else. But hey, if you met him in the street and he was nice as pie you'd go away with a very favourable impression of him.

Oscar Wilde said: ‘It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances.’ Barbara Cartland said: ‘I hate the type of boorish individual who, I am told, has hidden beneath such a rough surface a heart of gold. Quite frankly, I am a busy person and I have no time to dig’.

So it's perfectly clear to me that's it's most definitely not what's on the inside that counts, it's how people perceive you that makes the difference. You won't be thanked for what's going on inside your head. Instead, to quote the song at the end of Bugsy Malone "You're gonna be remembered for the things that you say and do".

Road To Nowhere

I'm not really into politics, but I love to stick my oar in with a good idea or two.

One thing that's bugged me in recent years is the traffic in the UK. Even as recently as ten years ago, I remember driving back up the M3 from one of my many Southampton gigs, and passing maybe three or four cars on the way back. Now it seems that the roads are busy at all times of the day - the country simply has too many people on the road.

The government's solution: charge more for motoring, build more roads, and tell people to take an overpriced public transport system. Brilliant.

My method would be to look at the cause. Too many cars. Why? Too many people driving. So why not tackle that instead? For starters, there are far too many drivers on the road who shouldn't be. You can still drive at 90 years old having taken your test more than 70 years ago (1938!) with nothing more than an eye examination. My dad is legally entitled to drive a truck. His test was taken during National Service, and involved driving a truck along a road into the nearest town. A Corporal turned the truck around for him, and my dad hopped back in the cab and drove back - that was it. Passed with flying colours. Even tests taken as recently as ten years ago bear little relation to today's driving conditions, and still today driving tests don't include motorway or night driving! Unbelievable.

So, policy number one - introduce compulsory driving tests every five years. If you're a good driver, you have nothing to fear. If you're a bad driver, you deserve to fail your test and get off the road.

So that's got rid of a good 10% or so of our drivers off the road. What next? Well, what about looking at why people are driving? I love nothing more than a spin round the country lanes on a Sunday afternoon, but that's my choice. Some people have to drive to work, so increasing prices won't have any effect on them at all.

Instead, what about offering companies tax incentives to get a certain percentage of their workforce working from home one day a week? My company offers this, and far from a loss in productivity, it boosts morale and people work harder with less distractions. In this age of technological wizardry, there are very few excuses for people driving to an office every day.

So there you have it - get bad drivers off the road, and get people to work from home. All sounds a bit simple really doesn't it?

Fuzz

Navel fuzz, belly-button fluff - whetever you want to call it. "Isn't it weird how it's always blue?" you hear the less imaginative and the dim-witted folk say.

Well, I would have thought that anyone with eyes and more than three brain cells could tell that it's not always blue, it's not the colour of your socks, and it doesn't depend on what day of the week it is.

Get over it.

I've got the power

In these eco-days of ours, with all sorts of trouble on the horizon for our planet, we're all trying to do our little bit for the environment. However, there's one thing I've never understood, and that's turning all the plug sockets off when you're not using them.

In my first year of college, I stayed in a family home and the whole family, far ahead of themselves ecologically, had what can only be described as an obsession with switching all the plug sockets to 'off' when they weren't being used.

Now, I'm not entirely stupid. I fully understand that that a TV on standby will use energy, as will a phone left on charge all night - the energy is clearly evident in the heat produced by both of these. I do have a limited grasp of Physics, and my understanding is that energy doesn't just go into thin air - it has to be transformed into something. Heat, light, sound, movement for instance.
My question is this - where is the energy going from a toaster left plugged into the mains? Surely that's not actually using energy, and there is therefore no reason to obsess about turning the switch off at the mains? Even more so for a plug socket with nothing plugged into it.

If all the sockets in my house are using energy by just being there, then surely I'm better off switching my whole house off when I leave for work in the morning?

How do you like yours?

How do you like your steak? Medium? Still bleeding? Or cooked to a crisp? Whichever way you like it is the correct way for you, and no-one can convince you otherwise. Well, I think so, but it seems not evryone agrees.

I was in a restaurant recently - it's a bit quirky and serves 'gamey' sort of stuff - and the ostrich on the menu caught my eye. I've had it once before and loved it, so was excited about having it again - well, as excited as one can be about dead bird on a plate.

When it came to ordering I asked for the ostrich, and asked for it to be done "medium well". After all, that's how I like my food. Cooked.

"I'm sorry sir," said the waiter, "but we only serve the ostrich medium rare."
"Ok," I said " please can you ask the chef to do mine medium well - that's how I like it"
"I'm afraid that's not possible, we only serve it medium rare".

And that's it - my dining experience ruined within minutes of sitting down. I'm sorry, but who are you or your chef to tell me how I should have my food? You're serving me and I'm paying for it godammit. Don't pretend that 'that's the way it should be cooked' because it should be cooked how I like it. It seems these days that chefs concentrate on food being prepared in a certain way, and that no other way is acceptable.

A couple of years back, I had these concerns when we sat down with the chef who was going to cook the food for our wedding. After all, he was a chef with 10 years experience at the Dorchester under his belt - he was bound to cook things 'the way they should be cooked'. How refreshing then, when he asked me how we should do the lamb. A bit sheepishly (pun intended), I replied that I actually like it fairly well done. "Excellent!" he said "I love my meat well done - that's how my mum used to do it, and that's the way I like it."

So there's my vindication right there. I used to have tomato ketchup sandwiches when I got in from school - in my opinion they're great, and if you've never tried one then you're really in no position to comment otherwise. I once knew a guy who used to love a plate of mashed potato with a tin of Heinz tomato soup poured over the top. Never tried it myself - but hey, whatever rocks his boat.

My point is - whatever you like/don't like, that's fine. But none of us should dictate what others' tastes 'should be' as defined by convention. Eat what you want, how you want it!

Morton's Fork

Something we've seen a lot of over the last decade is self-important smugness of voters. " I voted, therefore only I am allowed to have any opinion on the current government/London Mayor/local candidate*" *delete as applicable.

I cannot believe that intelligent people - and I count politicians among them - still think it's correct to say "If you didn't vote, then you have no right to complain". This is categorically wrong.

It's a situation known as Morton's Fork - where you have a limited number of options, all of which have a similar, undesirable outcome. If you ask me which of my hands I want chopped off, the answer would be neither. If you ask me which political party to vote for, the answer would be none of them. My abstention is my vote.

Terms and Conditions Apply

I listen to a fair bit of commercial radio - I think I'm too old to listen to ragga house on Radio 1, and I'm not quite ready to give up on new music altogether and listen to comedy on Radio 4 (although I very much look forward to this day in a funny sort of way).

So I listen to Virgin Radio, which seems to tick most of the boxes on my requirements list. However, as with any commercial radio station, you are bombarded with ads every 5 mins. Now, working in advertising myself, I can understand the need for this - I get to listen to good tunes and reasonable DJs for free. Nice.

Except it's gone too far. To make sure the message gets across, the same advertisements are repeated relentlessly until you can recite them all word for word. Even worse than this is that approximately 15 seconds of every 30 second advert tells me that 'terms and conditions apply, the offer is only available to residents of the UK, and your home is at risk if you do not keep up repayments on a mortgage or other loan secured on it'. Can't we just all assume that this is the case for every advert? It would save us all a lot of time and repetition. I nearly gave myself RSI just typing it out.

That was going to be my point, but radio advertising has reached new lows. My friendly DJ was the other day doing a little fill about his favourite films from the 80s, and even getting people to text in with theirs. Pretty lame, but a nice trip down memory lane nonetheless, and I was sucked in. He then started telling us about how films these days just aren't up to scratch for the most part, except the one he got out last night on DVD which was absolutely brilliant - Ratatouille or something. Oooh, I thought, that sounds good, must get that out.

Now bear in mind that this whole charade had been going on for about 20 mins, and I had formed some sort of trust in this guy's opinion. Then, and only then, does he come out with the clanger. That they just happen to be doing a promotion for this DVD, and the bond of trust was nothing but a scam. I felt violated. I thought we were friends. But no, I'm just another monkey punter. So now when they tell me their funny stories, I'm always waiting for the advertorial - it's always there.

Finally, I have to tell you about Magners Cider, who have really outdone themselves. For this Bank Holiday, they have bought up every single advertising slot on Virgin Radio, and are not playing any of the ads. This means we all get to listen to more music right? Well, you'd think so, wouldn't you? But what we get now is a non-commercial from Magners telling us that the Bank Holiday is commercial free. Genius. Here's a punch in the face to show you I'm not going to punch you in the face.

What's My Name Again?

There's one thing in particular that, for me, fuels an instant dislike of someone. A self-imposed nickname. Example:

"Hi, I'm Dobbo, nice to meet you."
"Excuse me? Gobbo?"
"Dobbo - my surname's Dobson, but everyone calls me Dobbo."

Well, not strictly true -people only call you Dobbo because you insist on introducing yourself as that, in an effort to make yourself sound more interesting. Most likely you're ashamed of being someone ordinary like Keith or Colin, and are well aware that your 'personality' is so weak that you need something to divert attention away from it.

The side effect of this is to impose non-names on other people. These days I can just about cope with being referred to as 'mate', but I cringe at 'pal', 'fella', 'big man', 'geezer' and especially 'son'. My parents probably thought long and hard about what name to give me - at least call me something derived from that, and not something a market trader would shout at me from across the street.

Spice Of Life

I'm here to tell you now that it is totally unnecessary to use any of the following in cooking:

- bay leaves
- cardimon pods
- cloves
- 'tea bags' full of spices

I hate nothing more that munching on a tasty bowl of curry and then - *bleurrrgh* - crunching into a cardimon pod and having my taste buds violated by such an intense burst of bitterness. And are you really telling me you can taste the difference between a stew with a solitary bay leaf in it, and one without? I seriously doubt it.

If you must use any of this rubbish, surely all of these are available in powder form - or is it just because that's how Jamie and Gordon do it? Hmm, thought so.

Strike Out

I'm always one to simplify things I don't understand, much to the frustration of the people involved in the issue at hand. However, I find the simplified version often makes a lot more sense. So please correct me if I'm wrong here.

I have an office job for which I don't have a 'union' representing me. If I don't like the way they treat me, my pay or any other aspect of my job I have two choices. Stay or leave.

Why then, do employees who are members of unions have a third option - strike? In my simplistic view of the world - you either put up or shut up. Vote with your feet - leave if you don't like it. Surely if you leave you are employable somewhere else, and if not, that's not your employer's fault is it? That's down to your career choice - and choice is something we all have.

The Bangles

I have an issue with - among many other songwriters - The Bangles. The crime here is sacrificing common sense for the sake of a rhyming lyric. See if you can spot the error:

"Just another manic Monday, wish it was Sunday, cos that's my funday."

Surely she'd better off wishing it was Friday night, then she'd have the whole of Saturday and Sunday to look forward to before her dreaded Monday? Of course not, because 'Friday night' doesn't rhyme with 'Monday' and 'funday'.

Blowin In The Wind

I saw a Jewish man on the train the other day, with his Kippah (skullcap) held on by a sort of hair clip. So how do bald Jewish men keep their skull caps on?

I Should Be So Lucky

Working in central London you tend to get accosted by all sorts of people - chuggers (from 'charity' and 'muggers') asking for your hard earned money, Eastern Europeans enticing you to lay £20 down in their version of three-card lucky lady, and occasionally gypsies.

These gypsy women (or at least women dressed as gypsies) hold out a piece of heather with the stalk wrapped in tinfoil and offer it to you, seemingly for free, as you walk past. "For luck", they say. How very kind, you think to yourself. However, if you are naiive enough to take a piece of 'lucky' heather, you are then asked to 'donate' some money - normally a couple of quid. To save the embarrassment of returning the heather to them, many people pay up.

My question is this: if the heather is so lucky, then why are these gypsies - who obviously have an abundance of the stuff - on the streets selling it to make a living? If I had a truck load of genuinely 'lucky' heather: a) I'd keep it all for myself, and b) I wouldn't have to sell it as I would have won the lottery several times over. Of course.

Automatic For The People

Saw a sign on a door the other day, and had to do a comedy double take.

"Automatic door. Push button to open."

??

Going Down

After a telling a lame gag or giving someone bad news, you might hear the expression "Well, that went down like a lead balloon", i.e. not very well. But surely a lead balloon, due to its weight, would go down better than most things, i.e. well.

It should be said after a nice meal or hearing the best gag of all time. But it isn't, and I'm confused as to why that is.

Big fat book

I was in a shop the other day and I noticed a bored teenager trailing round after his parents, holding this soft-back book. As I only caught a fleeting glance of it, I thought it was titled 'Lard Lass'.

Much better than the actual title I think you'll agree.

And the world goes round

Revolving doors. I have little enough time on this planet as it is - the last thing I want to be doing is pushing these things around, in and out of every building.

The manual ones are bad enough, but there's one at IKEA which is automatic. It allows about 20 people in each section, but stops when it catches up with the people, meaning we all have to shuffle along like sheep until it deems us well behaved enough to let us out.

Some chap recently had the idea that he could power all the lights in the reception area of his office building using the power generated from us revolving-door-pushers. At least that would provide some use for the bloody things.

A wee bit of etiquette

There's rules that men should follow in the gents' room, and not everyone adheres to them.

1. Assuming there are three urinals, and I am at the end one - you will not stand at the middle one.
2. Similarly, even if there is no-one in the gents', you will not use the middle urinal - this forces me to stand beside you when I come in.
3. The middle urinal is only to be used if the outer urinals are already in use.
4. You will not engage in any chit chat more than a cursory "Alright?" - even just a nod of the head is enough. Talking may commence only if both gentlemen are at the handwashing stage.
5. Especially as I'm just entering one of the traps - I don't want to stand on the threshold forcing a conversation about what you're doing at the weekend. Save that for your hairdresser.
6. Flush anything which needs flushing.

That's all for now.

Chip and Pin

Great thing, chip and pin. Just one gripe - it makes shop assistants think I'm stupid.

The thing is, I know how to work a chip and pin machine thingy. I know which way my card goes in, I know how to type in my pin number, and I know to when to take my card out. After all it's not difficult, and there's handy instructions on the little screen. Having said that, I'm still probably in the minority.

The problem is that the shop assistant sees those instructions on their screen a second before I do. So, just before I see the instruction to 'Insert Card' the shop assistant says "Insert your card", with a hint of impatience. A split second before I see 'Enter Pin', the shop assistant tells me to enter my pin. And not wanting to remove my card before the machine has finished with it, I wait for the screen to tell me to 'Remove Card', by which time of course, the shop assistant has already told me to remove it as if I was an imbecile just staring at the screen waiting for a doughnut to pop out.

Now, I understand that this, along with most of my rants, probably doesn't register on your radar. But I've just been to B&Q for the fourth weekend in a row and I just had to get it off my chest.

All I'm asking here is for one second to prove my technological superiority over the other 75% of the population. Is that too much to ask?

Just In Case

If I were an iPod designer I would be furious. Imagine - I've spent countless hours working on the perfect curves, the space-aged look, the miniature dimensions, the ideal materials. And what do you do? You stick it in a tacky rubber case. Grrrr.

Now, I know why you have a case for your iPod. Sure - it makes it bigger, bulkier, harder to operate and it looks awful. But hey, in three years' time when it finally gives up the ghost, at least it will be in pristine condition when you throw it in the bin.

You're the equivalent of the old lady who keeps the plastic covers on her sofa.

Cutty What?

So the Cutty Sark was set on fire and now 'needs' another £18 million spent on it. The original bill for restoration was a whopping £25million. Can we really not think of anything better to spend £43 million on?

Before I go on, I know all the usual counter arguments - it's our heritage, it brings in the tourists, it's a unique part of our history. Hmmm,...well, yes to an extent - but £43 million? When finished, the Cutty Sark will probably only be about 10% original - so why not just build a replica? Or why bother at all?

A few years ago I visited Angkor Wat in Cambodia - a huge network of temples nearly a thousand years old. They were, of course, 'restoring' some of them, the result being awkward brand new blocks of stone laid among the beautifully aged ones. It looked awful.

Conversely, the smaller temples in the jungle have had no such restoration, and there are trees and vines climbing all over and through them, pushing the stones out of place and slowly destroying these centuries-old monuments. These temples looked fantastic - hundreds of years of decay right before my eyes.

Ok, so these temples and the Cutty Sark will disappear for ever if we don't save them - but the cost of restoring them, and the ridiculously fake result of doing so, is proof that we should just leave them be.

I await the day that one of the rocks at Stonehenge finally falls over, and we rush in with a gleaming block of sandstone to replace it to 'preserve' it for future generations.

What Was I Thinking?

Ever had that mind slip where you say something out loud, and someone else is convinced you said something else? For example:

"I'm just taking the dog out for a walk"
"You mean the dog?"
"That's what I said - the dog"
"Nope, you said dishwasher. You said "I'm just taking the dishwasher out for a walk""

The weird thing for me is that both people are in absolutely no doubt about what was said - 100% positive what they heard/said. Nothing can convince either of them otherwise. And because of this total and complete certainty coupled with the lack of any suitable evidence, it often leads to major rows, with both sides fighting for their sanity.

How can the brain get it so wrong?

Dear Sir

Had to chuckle the other day. I love the letters page in the Metro (the free newspaper for commuters in major UK cities), and often write a crafty letter in just to get people's backs up - and that is something that's very easy to do on letters pages.

Contributions over the last week had people in a rage about the pronunciation of the letter 'h' (it's 'aitch', not 'haitch' in case you are one of the offenders). As amusing as I found all this, the best letter towards the end of the week went along the lines of:

"With response to all these people writing in about the pronunciation of the leter 'h' - have you all got nothing better to do than write in to the Metro about such pointless things?"

Oh, the irony.

Smile

At work the other day, we started discussing (again) how gullible the general public can be when it comes to crafty marketing campaigns on the telly, and even got onto the riveting subjectof razorblades - well you have to have a break sometimes don't you?

I'm certainly the most cynical person when it comes to TV ads. The shampoo ads always boast hair four times as shiny, three times as nourished and six times as strong - results from a survey of twelve women who all received a free sample for their time. Hmmm, not personally convinced that those results are reliable or significant.

So what about the latest razor with 4 blades (and one on the back for those 'hard to reach' areas). Well, I got a free sample through the post and it's the best razor I've ever used. I'm ashamed of myself. I have fallen for all the spiel, and I have been 'marketed to'.

Still, I fondly hark back to one of the greatest scams of all time. Remember a time when every ad for a toothbrush was extolling the benefits of having a bendy neck, so it could reach all the way to the back of your mouth. Are you kidding me? Touch your back teeth with your finger now - go on. It's about two inches maximum to my back teeth - and I hardly need an extra long neck on my toothbrush to get there.

If you have a bendy 'reach' toothbrush, you are either a sucker for lame ads or have a massive, deformed mouth. Not sure which I'd prefer.

Dreams vs Reality

Ever had one of those dreams when, upon waking, it takes several seconds to realise that you haven't actually gone to work naked, fallen off a bridge or failed your driving test for the 12th time? It's the best feeling in the world.

Well, mine sometimes go further than that. I've actually been sat at work one day, and had a sudden flashback from a vivid dream where I'd been going to work naked for weeks and no-one had said a thing. As I sat there (in the real world), I had to actually check myself to see a) if I was naked, and b) if everyone was looking at me wondering why I'd suddenly started wearing clothes again. That was a real headf*ck for about 20 seconds or so.

The flip side of this is where a memory comes into my head from years gone by - something I haven't remembered for, say, 20 years or so. The memory is so vivid it's like it actually happened, but so bizarre that it must be a dream - because I wouldn't have actually done that would I?

Ok - here's an example. I recently remembered a dream I had that I used to pick up chewing gum of the street and eat it. Except, the more I thought about it, it wasn't a dream - I actually did that. Gross, but true.

I have another memory about being 8 years old at primary school and weeing on the radiator in class at break time. Surely I wasn't that delinquent? Oh yes, I was.

There's a couple of other remnant memories frfom childhood which are so bad I'm still only 90% sure they are real. I think the other 10% is just wishful thinking though.

It's just terrifying that reality and dreams can become so blurred - maybe one day I will actually go to work naked, and just think I'm dreaming.

Sitzen Bleiben

I wasn't thick at school, just a bit mischievous, disinterested and a little bit lazy. Homework was something I simply didn't do, and a good proportion of my detentions were for not doing homework, or for being caught lying about why I hadn't done my homework.

Of course teachers just saw a young lad with average grades who mucks about a lot - a candidate for being held back.

So it was to my utmost amusement that I found my old German voacabulary book the other day. There was one - and only one - entry in it. Sitzen Bleiben - to stay down a year. I almost wish I had been kept back, just for the irony of it.