Tuesday, December 20, 2005
"What did you do with the box?" She asked.
"Er... I put it in the bin," was my honest reply."With the packaging and all that stuff - kept the instructions and the warranty card, though."
"Did you shred the box?"
"Or tear it up or put it into a bag inside the bin?"
"Well, no - I just put folded it up and put it into the outside bin."
"Ooh, no," she said, "you need to make sure you shred it or tear it up. Otherwise the bin men will see the box, see that you've bought a new video, then they'll go down the pub and tell their friends, who'll break in and steal your new video."
I don't remember what I said to this at the time, though the series of events that she detailed certainly struck me as implausible (about as unlikely as the chain of coincidences in the Bruce Willis storyline in 'Pulp Fiction', if you ask me), and there was something about it that left a rather unpleasant taste in the mouth, though at the time I couldn't exactly say what it was.
Fast-forward many years, to the almost-now; I'm working late, and one of my colleagues who's already left for the night rings from a payphone to ask me to look and see if she's left her mobile on her desk. I go and look, and indeed she has, so I retrieve it and go back to the phone and tell her this.
"Can you lock it in your desk, please?" she asks. "I don't want it to get nicked by the cleaner or something." For the record, I did lock it in my desk, and phone and owner were reunited and all was right with the world, but...
Well, maybe it's because of reading Mr O'Farrell's book (see REVIEW posted earlier today) recently in which he does a very good job of poking fun (and occasionally kicking fun) at the snobbery and class-system-ism that still lingers in the UK, but it's only in recent times that I've come to realise how often these kinds of comments get made; the cleaners are invariably responsible for pilfering things, be they watches from school changing rooms or mobile phones from office desks, and the men who empty my dustbin are only doing so as an excuse to check out the wrappings of my recent purchases. I mean, it's obvious.
It's bad enough that people who do vital jobs get paid ridiculously poorly (teachers, trainee nurses, sewer workers, etc) without white people from comfortable middle-class backgrounds acting as if they're all would-be criminals just waiting for the first hint of a slight chance of an opportunity to barge their way into their safe suburban lifestyles and steal away their not-so-hard-earned material luxuries.
For crying out loud, talk about adding insult to penury.
Well, I only just found out that they make this - Spam Lite, with 25% less fat and salt than regular Spam.
I mean, obviously, if you're the kind of person who eats Spam, then you're bound to be rather particular about the nutritional value of your food.
The book is told from the perspective of Alice, a rather harassed suburban mother who's so concerned to make sure her daughter gets into an ultra-competitive school that she and her husband decide to take the entrance exam for her. Okay, so maybe that's a bit of a dodgy plot premise, but really it's all just a hook for some very astute satire of modern parenting - the general social background and the specifics, such as the unspoken competition between parents.
O'Farrell's writing style is very straightforward and likeable, and the book zips along well. I'm no judge of these things really, but I think he does a pretty good job of writing from a female point of view without any patronising or obvious stuff slipping in. Granted, there are little moments where an idea is expanded upon in the way a stand- up comedian might extrapolate, but as these are frequently funny, this is forgivable.
O'Farrell also does a pretty decent job of making Alice an essentially sympathetic character, which is no mean feat as she's often acting in a frankly unhinged or shameless fashion. In all honesty, as more of my friends have kids and I see them justifying their own neurotic behaviour by pretending it's actually out of concern for their children, I can see how the Alice character rings true (if that observation seems unkind, just ignore it - I'm just jealous, obviously, my biological clock's ticking and all that).
The book's currently out in hardback (once again, I say hurrah for my local library), but I'd imagine that it'll be out in paperback in a few months. Certainly worth a look if you want to read some light modern fiction, but want more of a satirical edge to it.
Monday, December 12, 2005
• Similarly, all men are playaz or losers. No exceptions.
• When arguing with your partner, ensure you make wild arm gestures and look disbelieving. This is particularly important if they're singing at you while you're disagreeing. For full effect the argument should take place in a public place. If arguing at home, be sure to smash mirrors and throw items made of glass, as they will smash in slow motion. Items holding liquids, such as glasses of water, are particularly effective, as they will soar slowly through the air, leaving the liquid in the air behind them like a 'plane's trail. For true emphasis, however, you should side-swipe a photograph of the two of you off a shelf or table - when it falls to the floor and the glass shatters, you will stare at the broken symbol of your love and share a rueful look as the chorus kicks in.
• Men: nothing woos a woman like getting your friends to stand behind you with their arms crossed, nodding while you sing a ballad explaining how you want to get freaky with her like no other girl you ever seen before.
• Women: you don't need to do anything to woo a man, except perhaps line up some of your friends and sing a song about how unworthy the man is to engage in carnal activity with you. This chasteness is best emphasised by dressing in a thong and standing with your pelvis tilted forwards
• At a club, the DJ knows what song to play merely by you nodding at him or making a specific hand gesture. Do this at any time, and he will play your chosen record.
• If you're a man and see a woman you find attractive, you should stare at her - look her up and down slowly and lick your lips. Women love that.
• On a date, move through large bodies of people slowly, nodding and waving occasionally. The people around know who you are, and the crowd will part accordingly.
• If you’re a gentleman of more sizable build, hide this fact by wearing a lot of gold jewellery and a loose-fitting baseball shirt. Women will flock to you, and dance up against you slowly.
• The battle of the sexes is best resolved through a danceoff. In the street. Ideally near a broken fire hydrant which is spraying water.
• At a club or party, make sure to avoid the object of your affection for as long as possible, stealing occasional glances across the room, or looking at them meaningfully over the rim of your glass of Cristal. Only approach and smile knowingly at each other as the song starts to fade.
• It's perfectly acceptable to attract a woman's interest by shouting as you drive past in a convertible filled with your friends. Since you're only driving at about two miles an hour, if she's taken with your method of approach, she can walk over to your car and lean in and talk to you, sticking out her bottom. After less than ten words exchanged, and only one uncertain look, she will agree to get into the car with you and come back to your crib.
• When walking down the street, entering a bar or club or any other location with your friends, always, ALWAYS make sure you walk abreast. Ideally in slow motion.
• Date clothing: men should be aware that anything bearing the name or logo of an international sportswear manufacturer is acceptable, preferably that of a firm reputed to employ child labour. For women, a bikini top, tight shorts and high heels will be suitable, no matter what the occasion. Don't worry, it never rains.
• There's no need to queue to get into clubs. The doorman will unclip the velvet rope to let you and your partner in, to the envious glances of the people left outside.
• Etiquette tip: real gentlemen ensure that, at all times, one hand is on their crotch.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
I hope I misheard.
2. In recent times, people seem strangely keen to use the word 'yourself' instead of the word 'you'. I'm guessing it's almost like a politeness thing, as the use of the second person singular can seem quite accusatory, but it's an odd thing, and I can do without it, really. Maybe yourself disagree.
3.I feel that Jeremy Clarkson and Brian Sewell share certain traits; both of them are men who have extremes of specialist knowledge in a particular field, but who have newspaper columns covering any old subject they fancy, despite the fact that their chosen approaches (Clarkson robust and manly in a teenage knee-jerk kind of way, Sewell artsy-farty in a chin-strokey BBC4 kind of way) don't entirely work when discussing issues such as immigration.
4. One of my favourite jokes:
Two men meet at a party.
First man : I'm writing a novel.
Second man: Really ? Neither am I.
5. Just arguing with myself in my head, and realising that point 3 above might smack of hypocrisy as the existence of my online stuff in itself suggests I see myself (not yourself - see 2, above) as some kind of expert on various matters. Such as the matter of whose opinions should be seen as valid ot not. Which is sort of true, but that's because I don't see why their opinions on subjects outside their area of expertise should be given the exposure they are as opposed to anyone else's. To which the voice in my head says 'ah well, Mr Clever, what's your area of expertise, then?' and to which I am forced to reply, after a pause, that it appears to be that of gainsaying my postulations, questioning my own ideas and motivations, and then admitting as much by writing up the internal dialogues, and what limited conclusions are reached as a result of this process.
And that, my friends, is not as easy as I make it sound.
I often feel that Jodie Foster ends up in films which aren't really worthy of her - as if, as for Denzel Washington, there just aren't enough decent scripts being offered as possible projects. And so ho-hum ones end up getting accepted for whatever reason.
Which brings me to Flightplan. A bit of an airborne version of Panic Room (mother and daughter are in peril in an enclosed environment), this really is a curate's egg of a film. The first third is interesting, with civil engineer Kyle Pratt (Foster) and her daughter boarding a flight from Berlin to the USA, with the coffin containing her recently-deceased husband in the hold. This section of the film is quite watchable, as there are various fades in and out as we see Pratt reeling from her husband's death, and there's a quite well-established sense of uncertainty as to exactly what's real.
Onboard the plane, things take a strange twist when the daughter vanishes while her mother's sleeping, and yet no-one on the plane seems to have seen her at all, with the evidence suggesting she was never on board. Pratt's frantic attempts to search the plane are met with increasing disbelief, including a frankly rather odd performance from an onboard therapist who tries to convince Pratt that she's delusional - I say it's odd because it looks like every therapy cliché you could possibly think of; glasses removed thoughtfully, calming voice, that kind of thing.
As you'll probably have guessed, it's all a huge plot (though writing this a day or two later, I forget exactly why they needed to abduct the daughter to go through with it), and the revelation that this is so moves us into the second bit of the film, with a frankly terrible gearchange; almost every scene up until this point has featured or revolved around Pratt, as she acts as our 'viewpoint character', but at this stage one of the other characters walks away from Pratt, the camera follows, and the music takes on a menacing tone. This, you know, is the film's baddie, and the way in which this is revealed is a real mis-step. As is the expository dialogue between the conspirators, which is often on the lines of "You know the plan, we've been through this a thousand times..." and then they tell each other things they already know, purely for the benefit of the audience's understanding.
And the third bit of the film is when Pratt realises what's going on, and starts to fight back; at least this is semi-foreshadowed in her allotted job, as she needs to know where she can run around and hide. This last portion of the film is really at odds with the slow opening sequences, as if the interesting direction has been jetissoned in favour of a more straightforward action film approach. Fine in itself, but it makes the film feel like a patchwork, which means the joins are going to be visible...
The performances are perfectly adequate - Foster does what she can with some thin material, and Sean Bean as the captain is pretty decent, though I'm increasingly thinking he and Sean Pertwee are one and the same person - but after the attention-holding opening section, the premise needs to be explained and resolved, and it all feels like an inevitable slide towards the end titles, with some chasing and explosions on the way, and one or two horribly cheesey lines en route. And I've mentioned the therapist bit, which really is misjudged.
Flightplan's the kind of film you could rent and think 'that was okay', or you might even catch it on TV, in which case you'll probably be drawn in by the opening third or so, and then stick around to see how it pays off as you've watched that far.But I can't really suggest you bother with a trip to the cinema to see it. I paid half price for my ticket, but I still felt vaguely ripped off, which probably gives you an idea of how lukewarm my reaction is.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
2. Despite the fanfare that accompanied its return to TV, no-one I know is watching Little Britain any more. Almost a shame, as I think the leads are very gifted comedy actors, but the scripts have become lazy and repetitive now to the extent that you can watch one episode and it's as if you've watched the whole series. Which is, of course, the danger with 'catchphrase comedy' or 'comedy characters'. As a non-watcher of the Catherine Tate show for just that reason, I wonder how long it'll be before the audience starts losing interest in the same way.
3. Since I seem to be discussing things entertainmental at the mo, I recommend Rebekka Bakken's CD 'Is that you?'. No of course you haven't heard of it, I'm a culture magpie whose eclecticity supply is never in danger of being cut off. Which is to say, she's not well-known, but if you want some late-night jazz-style music, it's spot on - for my money, the best track is 'Didn't I'.
4. The Conservative Party have elected David Cameron as their new leader. I think the degree of non-interest I have in this event is possibly the most interesting thing about it. It's like Teflon to my mind, no matter what angle I try to find to make my attention or concern adhere, it just slides right off.
5. Stephen Hawking has re-issued his bestselling book ' A Brief History of Time' in a new edition, supposedly easier to read (but no, I don't suppose we can get our money back if we bought the first edition). I didn't rate the book very highly in terms of readability, though I may be in a smallish percentage of people in that I've actually read it to the end. As presumptuous as it may be for li'l ol' me to disagree with the current holder of the Newton Chair at Cambridge, there was one bit which I thought Hawking was very wrong indeed about, and that related to the idea of the 'big crunch'.
Effectively this would be the opposite of the big bang, with everything in existence foldng back down to the single superdense point of time and space and matter that it came from (if you accept the big bang theory) - like a balloon deflating after being inflated. However, Hawking then does on to argue that if space effectively runs in reverse like this, then time will as well, with events happening in reverse, and the law of cause and effect as we understand it ceasing to work - you'd know the result of a horse race, he suggests, and then be able to bet on it.
Which sounds plausible, but for the fact that if the universe is running backwards and everything is undoing itself, this would also refer to the means by which we accumulate information - that is, the synapses and neural pathways of the brain creating the connections between subjects and events. So if everything is running backwards, your brain's connections would effectively be unravelling, and the information which Hawking's saying you could act on would be erased like a message wiped from a chalkboard.
I'd be interested to know if he's changed his stance on this side of things in recent times, but I don't intend on re-reading his book in its revised form, I have to say. If you read it, do feel free to let me know.
6. Whenever they refer to the ex-Prime Minister as 'Lady Thatcher' it makes me think of a depilatory product.
7. If Kurt Cobain hadn't killed himself, would the Foo Fighters exist ?
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Yes, that's right, I was out seeing live music last night - a school night, no less - while you were just sitting around at home. Envy me? Of course you do.
Anyway, full disclosure up front: Ian, the lead singer of Kyro, is a friend of mine, and an all-round good sort, but thankfully he - and the rest of the band - are very good indeed, so this review doesn't need to be overshadowed by that personal connection.
It's quite hard to categorise Kyro's style of music - it's rock with a pop aspect; the melodies are strong and almost feel somehow familiar (in the best way), and that reminded me at first listen of Teenage Fanclub, though the newer songs they played last night (Killer, You Say and Rockstar) had a harder rock edge to them, and put me more in mind of of the Foo Fighters. Which is definitely a good thing. Rockstar, in particular, has a number of really good guitar riffs which build up to a great rock-y climax.
They played about six songs in total, and the rest of the audience seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. Damned fine show.
If there's any justice, Kyro will get a goodly amount of success and recognition, as they're seriously talented and eminently listenable - in fact, you can hear for yourself by logging onto Napster, where tracks from 'The Kyro EP' are available to download. I think there's talk of them being available on iTunes soon (if they're not already) too. They also have a webpage at http://www.kyromusic.com/, where the pictures are of a far higher quality than the one hovering above and left of these words.
Summary: Kyro rock. Good stuff. Go listen.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
2. Oh, and in case you missed the vote, George Best is now revered as a saint amongst men. Sorry, no, too late for you to cast your vote, he's already joined the pantheon of people who everyone had mixed feelings about until their death. The process is technically referred to as Di-ification.
3. She doesn't like to take off her clothes unless I turn off the bedside lamp, she feels too naked and exposed: the unlightable bareness of being.
4. For those of you who were worrying how the HSBC farrago referred to in my entry of Sunday 27 November has panned out, HSBC have apologised for the inconvenience and offered to give me a £75 compensatory gesture. Which would be nice if there wasn't a debit last week on my account for £75 which I can't account for, followed by two credits of £75 from HSBC Card Services later the same day. It might be me forgetting that I've arranged a debit, but the two payments in from HSBC look rather damning, I'd say. It rather looks as if they made an unauthorised debit of my account instead of compensating me, then paid it back, and then paid me the compensation amount… but, er, wouldn't that be kind of illegal ? Can't wait to see what they say to my letter (posted today) asking just that question. Can anyone recommend a decent bank ? Maybe one that does those offset mortgage thingies I've heard about ? Let me know. No, seriously.
Not me, I hasten to add, and it mystifies me, as they usually lean forwards whilst urinating as if carefully aiming the saliva at the jet of urine. Are they contemptuous of their urine, and want to spit on it in disdain ? Or do they loathe the spit they've been carrying in their mouth up until this point so much they not only want to get it out of their mouth, and to immediately flush it away with urine as a symbol of how much they hate it ? I really don't know.
It's very odd, and it seems to be on the increase. As if standing next to another man urinating isn't fundamentally an odd enough situation, you're now quite likely to suddenly see them lean forward, as if trying to peer at their genitals whilst peeing, and then slowly let a bolus of spit drip from their mouth down into the whirlpool of widdle. Far from fun to be stood next to, and I can't imagine it's enormously enjoyable to do. Colour me puzzled.
And I won't get into the issue of those who, when they're done, are walkers and not washers… except to say that I've observed an inverse correlation between the position of a man in an organisation and the likelihood of him washing his hands after he's finished using the toilet. Which is something to always bear in mind when you're shaking hands with an MD or department head.
I very rarely just sit and see 'what's on', you see, as I invariably have a stack of films which I've bought but not yet seen. But at this moment in time, the only programmes I'm following are
· Lost (C4) - though it's beginning to lose my interest, as it feels as if the large cast dilutes the focus of the scripts, and there are plotlines which are going unresolved or as good as ignored for episodes on end. I'll probably give it until the end of this first series and then decide.
· Peep Show (C4) - one of the few-ish homegrown comedies on C4, this sitcom has managed to maintain a high standard even into series three
· Arrested Development (BBC2) - shunted round the schedules as much as Buffy or email@example.com and constantly under threat of cancellation by its originating network in the USA, this is possibly one of the finest sitcoms in recent years; superdense with jokes, its 20-minute episodes just fly past. Great scripts and cast. But series two has just finished on BBC2 (after being dropped from BBC4 mid-series without any explanation:classy), so this probably shouldn't be here.
And … er, that’s pretty much it. If I remember, I'll watch QI (BBC2) The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (More4), or Have I Got News For You (BBC1), but I'm not that fussed.
Two observations on the above:
Firstly, I abhor the idea of the licence fee being abolished and the BBC having to operate in some other fashion. Though I find huge slices of their output to be dross, the BBC does some things very well indeed - documentaries like 'The Power of Nightmares', or my favourite TV drama of all time 'The Singing Detective' are worth the yearly £120 alone - and so I wouldn't see the situation changed. Especially as much of the motivation seems to be political (whichever party's in power invariably hates the BBC) or commercial (the Murdoch press seems to resent the BBC's historical media advantage). And I think if you look at the minimal amount I watch you can easily see that if they did change to a pay-per-view system I'd be at a considerable financial advantage.
Secondly, notice the absence of ITV programmes on the list ? There's a reason for that - ITV's output is almost entirely bilge, and I'd rather re-read the Da Vinci Code than watch any of their endless soaps, humourless sitcoms, tatty gameshows or moronic reality or celebrity programmes (and don't get me started on their celebrity reality schedule-fillers). ITV seem to tailor their programmes to the lowest common denominator, and then make sure that it's patronising even to them. Take a look at the line-up of programmes on ITV on any given night, and see if you can find anything that isn't just an insult to the intelligence.
And if you find it, let me know, because it's painfully clear to me I'm really not watching as much TV as the average person, and I'd hate to be different from everyone else.
Given that winter's started to bite, and that my intelligence is notoriously high, I decided to spend last weekend diving near Portsmouth, on the South Coast of England. It was 6 degrees, for those of you who, unlike me, understand the numbers on thermometers. If the technical side of things work, there should be a picture of Horsea Island just next to these words - don't be fooled by the apparently placid look of the water, it was very cold and a lovely pea-green (perhaps that should be pee-green) colour, and you could see about ten feet at best. Lovely.
But the diving itself went pretty well, and the instructors and my fellow pupils were friendly types, perhaps partly because the shared experience of being so very cold so very much of the time brought out the James T Kirk spirit or something. At one point in the conversation, though, one of the divers referred to the Surface Support people (the folks who were staying on land and monitoring how long we'd been under, making sure we had enough remaining air, that kind of thing), saying they envied them. To which one of the Surface Supporters replied with something which sounds like an aphorism, though it was new on me: "Better to be in the water and wishing you were in the boat, than in the boat and wishing you were in the water".
A good point there, I think.
Oh, and I got to roll backwards out of a boat and into the water, like you see in films and TV. Which was, in itself, worth enduring the cold for.
All quite ripe and interesting ideas, but in all honesty it just didn't gel for me, and I gave up just over halfway through; the 'author' comes over as a pretty hopeless case, popping pills and drinking constantly whilst trying to cheat on his wife, and the sense of mounting danger as Ellis finds elements of his past and his writings stalking him is frankly lacking - often the narrative talks about a sense of dread which I, the reader, simply didn't share. The back cover (well, of the hardback anyway) displays a single statement that it all actually happened, but it rings as true as the similar paragraph at the start of Dan Brown's 'Da Vinci Code' - ie not at all.
If you want to read a story about an author being haunted by his own inventions, you could do much worse than read Stephen King's 'The Dark Half', which does this so much better. In all honesty, and working purely on memory, I think that the film 'Wes Craven's New Nightmare' deals with this idea better as well, and I didn't feel that film really hit all its targets.
On a more positive note, the author's comments about his own previous writings are interesting (even if they might be just as untrue as the rest of the book), and there's some good commentary on suburbia, with all the kids at the local school having various forms of therapy and popping Ritalin tablets as if they're Smarties. At least, I hope this aspect of it is satire, if it's an accurate depiction of life in the USA's suburban areas, that's far more frightening than anything else in the book.
So, I didn't care for it, and gave up on it (moderately rare for me with a book, but I realised I didn't care, and that the idea of reading something else was very appealing). You might well feel differently, but I'm glad this was a library copy.
Maybe I've just led a sheltered life, but that's not my experience of Christmas Parties at all - the work ones tend to be in pubs or restaurants, or in odd places where the environment's more a hindrance than a novelty (case in point: an aquarium where the dancing took place in the foyer, utterly fogging the glass doors with sweat-condensation; ah, how festively romantic), and the ones held by friends (or friends of friends) tend to be more relaxed ones where you can wear anything you want (reindeer sweaters for example), because well, you know, it's a party and it's about having fun and not conforming to a particular dress code.
I don't wanna sound cynical or anything, but is it possible that the clothes shop displays are kind of misleading, and intended to make people feel a need to buy into something which isn't really happening ?
The first time I saw the film Fight Club, I thought "meh" and wasn't too keen (I didn't really care for the 'twist'). Strangely, though, it stuck in my mind for a several weeks thereafter, and since then I've liked it more and more on each re-viewing, until I now think it's a very good, and possibly even an important film - and rather like 'Christie Malry's Own Double Entry' it's one I don't think would be made today.
Anyway, there's a scene in it where Brad Pitt and Edward Norton (using the actor's names for reasons which will be abundantly clear if you've watched the film) are walking down a street at night, using baseball bats to hit the bumpers of parked cars and set off their alarms. However, as they pass one car, Pitt stops Norton hitting it and says 'not this one'. Now, this line doesn't appear in either Chuck Palahniuk's original novel, or the screenplay for the film, and could well be a bit of stuff they came up with at the time… mind you, as we know in the film that Pitt knows which cars are likely to experience dangerous technical breakdowns, and that the cars in question are made by one of the major manufacturers, I can't help but wonder if it's reasonable to conclude that the suggestion is that the car might explode or similar if the bumper was hit with a baseball bat.
Maybe I'm looking for things that aren't there, it wouldn't be the first time… but if anyone can tell me what make of car it is, I'll try to make sure I don't buy one.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Dick was - to put it mildly - an interesting character, whose writings seem to have been a combination of science fiction speculation and exploration of his beliefs. To give an example, in his book Valis, he surmises that the Roman Empire never ended, that we're actually living in AD 70, and that all the information to the contrary is artificial and is being fed to us by an external agency. As I say, interesting chap, and you can certainly see the influence of this kind of thinking in films such as The Matrix.
Dick believed that the world as we know it is not 'real' - or, at least, not the ultimate reality. That we could step out of our everyday existence like a gamepiece taking a leap off the board, and see the true, and full extent of reality - or, as he felt happened to him in 1974, that information about the true nature of reality could reveal itself to us. Not dissimilar in its way to Huxley's comments about the doors of perception, the Gnostic and romantic ideas, and of course Plato's concept of Ideals - that there is, for example, an ideal perfect image of a triangle, and any kind of attempt on our part to draw a triangle is just a faint echo of that ideal. And there are medieval woodcuts which show people poking their heads beyond the clouds of earth, and seeing the great cogs and levers that make keep the universe in motion.
It's not a new idea, this one that if you could just peel away the accepted surroundings of reality like an actor tearing away the backdrop of a play, though interestingly it's been loosely connected with modern scientific theories, such as superstring theory, in that they both seem to agree on the idea of additional dimensions (in superstring theory, often over a dozen additional ones, a notion which really bends the brain) existing in parallel, if not the same space (if you want to see more about the way modern physics and older ideas can converge, you could do worse than read 'The Tao of Physics' by Fritjof Capra).
However, I often find myself vaguely disappointed by the idea that there's just the one reality lurking behind everything, that like Neo in the Matrix you could awake from the dream that you've believed to be real, and find yourself in the ultimate reality, whatever that may be. I find it more appealing to imagine that there may well be countless levels of reality lurking beyond the fringes of our perception, to be revealed slowly and steadily without end, like peeling at an infinite onion.
The form these infinite layers of reality might take is, of course, a sticky question, as is that of their origin, though I must admit I have a certain fondness for the idea that what we call fiction may in fact be a form of reality; that the fates visited upon fictional characters by their creators is not only reminiscent of the old idea that the gods play games with mortals, but is also in its way an echo of the manner in which our own demiurges manipulate our lives, as you or I might steer events in a game such as The Sims.
Scientists have, in some seriousness, put forward the idea that reality as we know it could be a simulation programmed by intelligences far beyond our understanding, and to my mind, that's not a million miles from the idea that we could be characters in a story or other form of entertainment. The physicist David Bohm suggested (I paraphrase) that life makes little sense to us because it's unfolding from a dimension beyond our comprehension. Which, again, I find resonant with the idea of existence as form of fiction (and vice versa), steered by unseen hands.
I suppose the idea that fiction has its own reality has its most obvious examples in fully-worked out and detailed fictional worlds such as Tolkien and Star Trek, but those stories which come without maps and technical schematics still have their roots in reality, as all stories are essentially born of 'what if..?' plus some extrapolation from life as we know it. Which suggests that all stories are effectively tales of worlds which developed differently from our own to greater or lesser extents... or, in other words, that they take place in parallel dimensions, where these things are as real as anything we hold to be real.
And of course the infinite number of stories that can be told links with the infinite nature of this situation as I like to imagine it (granted, it's often said that there are only seven stories in the world, and all tales are just variations on that, but I'd argue by analogy that there are only three states of matter - well, four if you count plasma - and that the variations on those are similarly limited only by our imaginations, and we don't seem close to running out of ideas for objects quite yet).
It's a moderately strange notion, I guess, that there's a parallel universe where Heathcliff stands brooding at the fireplace, and another where Wonder Woman's just leaving Paradise Island, and yet another where Iago's hiding a handkerchief (and so on ad infinitum), but I think it's a more cheerful one than the notion that my understanding of reality is actually everything there is. Philip K Dick talked, in one of his final interviews, about other levels of reality, and asked 'what if our world is their heaven?' which is a good point, and makes me wonder whether upon departure from this realm we might similarly find ourselves in a dimension different from our own, but which, when viewed from outside, appears to be a mere fiction. You might leave this reality and rise to one where Columbo is a real person, but that reality might be an imaginary story when viewed from another realm.
What happens if you live in a story, and don't know that's the case? What happens when the story ends?
And is there any reason why those questions are any different for you and I on this level of existence, compared to the Columbo-is-real-universe referred to above? Why is that?
*Apologies to Arthur C Clarke
Monday, November 28, 2005
One that I recall was ‘London Night Out’, which I seem to remember was on ITV on Wednesday nights. I’ve since heard it referred to as a variety show which was essentially built around the game show within it (Name That Tune), but regardless of whether or not that was the case, it did feature a – yes – variety of acts.
I remember they featured singers, the occasional comedian, and maybe some magicians now and then. The usual sort of thing. But one thing I distinctly recall is that frequently the revelation of the identity of the artist topping the bill came as a definite non-thrill to me. The dialogue chez myfolks would usually go something like this:
TV: And topping the bill tonight… Frankie Laine !
Parent: Frankie Laine.
Me: He’s not famous.
Other parent: Yes, he is. He’s been around for donkeys’ years.
Me: Well I’ve never heard of him.
Ah, the assurance of a 7-10 year old, convinced that if someone hasn’t strayed onto the radar of their awareness, it’s as if they don’t exist…
Anyway, all of this is a lengthy preamble before getting onto a more topical subject than TV shows of the late 1970s: the death of George Best.
As someone of a certain age with minimal-to-nil interest in football, the current hoo-hah about Best dying leaves me fairly unmoved; mainly, I think, because for as long as I can remember, George Best has been someone who USED to play football but was now more famous for drinking and generally living a bit of a laddish life (before that term had really been invented, or at least co-opted by marketing people). Whilst I’m led to believe that he was a very good player (albeit one who stopped pretty young), his talent never had any kind of impact on me as a spectator or supporter.
So his death strikes me with the same kind of impact as … well, the death of anyone else, really (you can insert your own Donne quote here): sad for the family and loved ones, but um well, that’s about all the emotional effect it has on me. Many other people died on Friday as well, but of course they didn’t get the same coverage, regardless of how much they’ll be missed and how much they enriched the lives of those they touched. Which is more than a little off, I think.
Though a part of me can’t help but wonder if some of the media get a certain amount of satisfaction – schadenfreude, as it were – from the events of Best’s life, as they tend to portray him as pretty much frittering away his talents, as they often claim about Peter Cook. And if you’re someone who doesn’t possess a natural ability to do something that impresses people, be it football or making people laugh or anything else, perhaps there is a certain (rather cold) comfort in recounting the unhappy or premature end of someone who had that ability in abundance.
Thankfully, though, that part of me’s outvoted by the part that’s optimistic about human nature.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
2. You work for HSBC, and have falsely suspended John's bank account despite his objections. John lodges a complaint, which is acknowledged, and an investigation commences. During this investigation, should you:
A) Send him a letter inviting him to upgrade his account to 'bank account plus' for an extra £12 a month?
B) Send him a letter telling him he's a valued and important customer, and that he's been pre-approved for a credit card?
C) Suspend his account once more without notifying him ?
D) All of the above, on consecutive days?
(The answer is D. I kid you not.)
3. I see that the DVD release of the comedy series 'Extras' is only available in one edition. I think this is a wise move as it prevents people having to go into shops and ask for 'the Extras DVD with the extra DVD with the DVD extras'.
4. Female circumcision is a vicious and abhorrent act of mutilation. A man having his penis cut off is a rich source of humour. Discuss why this is, using your own words as far as possible - extra points will be awarded for accurate use of the term 'socialisation', and reference to the work of Lorena Bobbit.
5. Will, I wonder, the location of the 2012 Olympic Village have any effect on the storylines in EastEnders ? I'd like to think so, though as anyone who lives in East London will tell you, the programme's not exactly realistic - leaving aside the fact that it's swarming with as many gangsters as a Scorsese film, the fact that Walford has its own tube station sets it pretty firmly in the fictional realm.
6. I gave up watching the film version of Popeye after an hour or so, during which time the Sailor Man hadn't eaten any spinach. In a similar fashion, I used to get annoyed with the Popeye cartoons, as he always seemed to wait until the last possible opportunity before opening the can of green stuff. But I'm beginning to wonder if what I actually disliked was the fact he was holding back, as this is perhaps the tendency I find most annoying in myself (a fiercely-contended contest, obviously). Carpe diem, oh my readers, lest you should mistakenly think there will always be another opportunity for spinach. Learn from my mistakes. Hell, somebody should.
7. For those of you of an anti-ID card way of thinking, you might like to bear in mind that UK Passports will increase in cost at the start of December, the rise helping to pay for biometric information being added to passports. This latter starts in Feb 2006, as I understand it. When's your passport due for renewal? Hmm?
8. I mentioned Doctor who earlier. If you'd said to me a decade ago that Doctor Who and a minor variation on Come Dancing would be the staples of BBC1's Saturday evening line-up, I ... well, I wouldn't have believed you, that's for sure.
9. Whatever happened to Deborah McKinlay ? She used to have a monthly column in Esquire in the mid-1990s, and she wrote four very funny books in as many years, but now I can't find any apparent trace of her still being an active writer. Which would be a shame, as she was very funny indeed. If you know otherwise, please let me know.
After the coach I was travelling on arrived back in London over 90mins late the other day, and I'd walked for a longish time because half the tube lines appeared to have been knocked out by a power failure, I found a working tube line and got almost-home. Then I got on a bus for the last mile or so, only for two cars, as if they'd been awaiting their cue, to crash into each other right in front of the bus, injuring no-one but blocking the road to oncoming traffic. So I had to walk the last bit too.
There's a song by Everything But The Girl (I think it's on the album 'Eden', and is called 'Soft Touch' but I could well be wrong, I don't have the tape to hand right now), where Ben Watt sings about various sad things, in an accumulating and escalating tale of woe. The first time I heard it, I actually laughed at the seemingly relentless waves of despondency - and that's kind of how I felt about this much-extended journey; it was actually getting so ridiculous, and the delays just kept coming from ever more unexpected angles, that I found it funny, and now I really can't look at it in a bad light (which is good - I firmly believe that a bad journey at the end of a good time is likely to cast a shadow over your memories of the whole event).
I'm sure that, psychologically speaking, this would be diagnosed as a combination of hysteria and false memory syndrome. Which is why I hope no psychologists read this. I won't go back there, I tell you.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Though I have some reservations about DC's thinking on the All Star line as an idea; granted, their competitors Marvel have had a lot of success with their 'Ultimate' line, taking exactly the same more-accessible approach with characters such as Spider-Man and the X-Men, but both these lines strike me as likely to have a broader appeal within the existing readership, rather than tackling the well-established problem of a dwindling number of new readers coming in. As I understand it, there's no notable push beyond the usual markets for these titles - getting them distributed in Wal-Mart or similar, for example - and so really we're looking at titles which may sell well, but predominantly within the limited Direct Sales market.
DC may well rush-release collected volumes of the All Star titles for bookshop distribution, but that's 'after the fact', effectively fragmenting the potential readership into those who'll actively seek out their comic shop to buy the monthly issues, and people who might come across the trade paperback in a bookshop. Whereas, if the comics were on newsstands across the country, I think it's fair to say more casual purchasers might take a chance on the comic, and that would actively expand the audience, which I'm led to believe is the intention behind the All Star and Ultimate lines alike.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
“I can’t take this, mate”, he said, holding up a pound coin. “It’s dodgy.”
I decided against taking issue with the meaning of ‘dodgy’ (though I assume he meant it was only borderline in legal tender, not that the minute he put it into the till it would start trying to sell pirate DVDs to the other coins), and instead showed him my hand, which held the other coins I had.
“Well, it’s the only one I’ve got,” I replied (this was true, I hadn’t been to the cashpoint). “We’ll have to forget it.”
I put the fruit down on the counter, and held out my hand so he could return the money to me, and as he did so he gave me a look of absolute revulsion, as if I’d just threatened to snog the corpse of his grandmother or something. Which seemed a bit unfair given that he was the one who’d made the fuss about the coin.
Maybe he was assuming that – because I was wearing my work clothes – I was some kind of moneybags, loaded with hard currency. Maybe he liked the mischievous twinkle in my eye and was using the coin thing as an excuse to prolong our interaction, with the hope that I’d hand him another coin and our hands might brush and some kind of spark would pass between us, and I’d change the habits of a lifetime and shack up with a man.
But I didn’t, and they didn’t, and it didn’t, so I left the shop – quite quickly, as it had been a faintly irritating exchange.
And also because I didn’t want to see him start to shed tears onto the fruit I’d left behind, and bemoan the fact that he was going to die alone, all for want of a pound coin.
An important lesson about customer care there, I think.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
It wasn’t the wry smile of a world-weary cynic smiling at the insight provided by an old-style religious parable which nonetheless retained a certain poignancy and simple honesty even in the modern world, it was – sorry to say – the sarcastic smile of someone shaking his head slightly at the cliché of the format; what the speaker did – a Vicar from Tunbridge Wells, I think he was – was take a topical event, and break it down into a simplified form, and then relate it to Jesus. You know the standard thing, I’m sure – “With all the ringtones available to download, many people – and especially young people - seem unsure which one to choose – the polyphonic or the real one. And, you know, in a lot of ways, that’s rather like choosing to follow God, isn’t it?”, that sort of spiel.
They’re harmless enough in their way, though by virtue of being on the radio I’m always reminded of Alistair Cooke’s ‘Letter from America’ in which he often seemed to take a rather circuitous route before getting to the point. A bomb goes off in the Middle East, and Cooke would talk about how he was fortunate enough to dine with JFK, before circling back to the original premise. Quite clever in its way, I guess, though for me the later years of Letter from America were rather blighted by the ever slower rate of speech on Cooke’s part, making the programme feel like it was 50% speech and 50% … er, breathing. A lesson in padding, however, which was to inform the format of a number of quiz shows in subsequent years *cough*millionaire*cough*weakest link*cough*.
But I digress. I thought about it a bit, and then realised that to some extent, the Vicar on the radio faced a pretty difficult situation – he had to try and get his message across quickly and succinctly, making his point as validly as he could. Also, as he was starting from the awkward position of knowing that most of his audience wouldn’t be particularly interested, he needed to draw on some element of current experience to make it resonate more readily. And he had to try to make sure that his message would linger in the mind long after he’d finished speaking, perhaps even affecting the way people thought or behaved in the days to come.
And you know, in a lot of ways, that’s rather like Jesus, isn’t it?
Monday, November 21, 2005
- I gather that the BBC have suggested that Natasha Kaplinsky should cut down on hosting entertainment programmes like ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ as they feel it undermines her credibility as a news presenter… but surely the reverse is equally true?
- I’ve written about a variety of things since starting this blog, attacking the democratic system as it currently stands, specific politicians, and other things, but the one topic which seems to have provoked most response from people was the reference to non-caucasian women in the previous ‘stray thoughts’ entry. Which arguably reveals much more about you lot than my posting did about me, wouldn’t you say ?
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
The following is a list of the music that provided my internal soundtrack to Tuesday - or at least, the ones I remembered to write down:
• Long-View : Electricity
• Not the Nine O'Clock News : There's A Man In Iran
• Robbie Williams : Radio (the opening line segueing into 'Let's Call the Whole Thing Off' - it does kinda work, try it)
• Soundtrack from The Singing Detective (I think it may be Al Jolson?): After You've Gone
• Enigma : That track they used on the Matrix trailer (I think it's from their second album)
• The Smiths: Please please please let me get what I want
• Greig (I think): That piano item used to such great effect in the Morecombe and Wise/Andrew Preview performance
• Madonna: Frozen
• Bowie: Suffragette City
• Thompson Twins : Hold Me Now
• Del Amitri : Surface of the Moon
None of the above were deliberately prompted in my mind, I hasten to add, and I listened to none of them prior to them appearing on Radio Myhead FM.
I offer no other commentary on this list. You may draw your own conclusions. I know I have.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Often, when this happens, fans will over-compensate, as if in an attempt to convince themselves, as well as everyone else, that they've backed the right horse after all. The recent Star Wars films provide more than a handful of examples of this, but you can see it in many other situations, where people ally themselves with something, even if it turns out to be different from their expectations. I know people who've watched soap operas for decades, or supported the same football team for the whole of their lives, despite the fact that the characters and the players have completely changed, as have those behind the scenes orchestrating the events. It's actually more true to say that people like the overall idea of Coronation Street or Aston Villa, than that they wholeheartedly endorse all of the specifics. Even the most diehard fan would be hard-pressed to sincerely make an argument supporting the weaker aspects of any of these examples, and it would be foolish to do so, suggesting that proper judgment faculties are suspended because you'll decided this is the thing for you.
And so to matters party political. I've never felt even remotely comfortable with the idea of selecting from a limited number of parties, as it seems horribly reductive to act as if all the aspects of people's beliefs can be effectively represented by the policies espoused by (let's be kind here) three parties in the UK. I've never felt like using the vote which people tell me is so very important to vote for a party who I'm not entirely certain represent my beliefs and ideas, and despite this having led me to never vote in an election of any sort, I feel the weight of responsibility that voting involves; if you voted for a certain party and they, oh to pick a random example, went to war in questionable circumstances, are you in some way implicated in that ? If you believe that your vote has the potential to matter - and by voting at all, I think you're implicitly saying that, or at least advocating the voting system as it currently stands - then I believe you are. The old Spider-Man line about power and responsibility applies here, I think.
People often tell me that if I don't vote, then I'm not entitled to comment adversely on political events, which is an interesting idea, as it suggests that women wouldn't have been entitled to have political opinions a century ago. Palpably nonsense, and the reason I draw that comparison is because I am actively disenfranchised from the voting process by one simple thing. I'll tell you what that is in a bit. In the meantime, please bear in mind that I respect that for other people, the right to vote, and the results, is a very serious matter, and I respect that to the extent that I've never spoiled my paper, as that would just slow down the counting process for those who do feel they have candidates they can vote for.
The decision for me not to vote in elections is actually a very simple one - there are NO political parties which accurately reflect my viewpoint. It's like going to a restaurant and finding there's nothing on the menu which you actively like or can stomach. Continuing the analogy, you should apparently shut up and order something anyway, even if you know it's not what you actually want. Of course, what you should really do in practice is to leave, making a complaint as you do so about the paucity of options available. You see where I'm going with this, right?
Interestingly, despite their love of market forces, the major political parties seem to see the declining voting figures as symptomatic of their messages not reaching the public; I disagree, I think the public are well and truly aware of the messages that the parties are sending, and they just don't like them. The steady decline in turnout at elections over the past few decades strikes me as unlikely to be a result of people not 'getting it' about the parties - I think a large number of them 'get the message', it's just that the message doesn't ring true for them or reflect their views in some way. I mention market forces a line or two ago, because if they were applied to the restaurant metaphor from earlier, the restaurant would probably have closed down. Unless there was a government bail-out, of course, which happens very rarely - steel and coal industries were allowed to dwindle, after all - though as it keeps them in jobs, it's pretty easy to imagine that there might be some kind of action taken.
In fact, over my lifetime, there have been moves to protect the 'voting restaurant'; it's harder for people to start their own parties now - the threshold above which their deposit is returned was increased in the 1980s, though of course it's not as if there's anything improper in existing parties deciding the conditions under which newcomers can operate; and in recent years, spoiled and invalid ballots are no longer counted in the total. I'll say that again, as it's an important point : spoiled and invalid ballots no longer form part of the total. This is known as 'Adjusted Turnout', and what it means in practice is that if 50% of all ballots cast in a ward were invalid, and 25% of all the votes went to the winning candidate, once the invalid votes had been removed from the overall total, the winning candidate's total would be referred to as 50% of all the votes (that is, 50% of the 50% which remain). This is, I think, a fairly worrying change to the electoral process as it stands, not only because the increase in postal voting in recent years is linked to an increase in invalid votes, but also because it creates an inaccurate picture of the degree of support which candidates and parties are actually receiving.
And this is where (as promised) I tell you about the thing which would solve the whole issue of voting for me, and which would also counteract the misleading effect of 'adjusted turnout' in terms of making the parties believe they have a greater mandate than they actually do, and it's a simple thing: a box on each ballot paper with 'None of the above' on it. This, to me, would be true democracy in action, not 'parliamentary democracy', which is an entirely different beast.
As well as allowing awkwards like me to have a bit of a say, the inclusion of the NOTA box would also mean that governments and parties would be made aware of the actual nature of the mandate that they have - or don't have. It may well be that a large number of the people who don't vote simply have no interest whatsoever in the process, but I think it's fair to say that had an NOTA box been present in the most recent UK General Election, the anecdotal evidence about people not truly wanting to vote Labour but not seeing any of the other parties as credible alternatives would have translated interestingly, and certainly wouldn't have given the impression that they had an active mandate.
There have been suggestions before the Electoral Commission that an NOTA box could be introduced as a means to put a brake on the slide in voter turnout, but these were rejected last year on the grounds that this would effectively be encouraging 'negative voting'. Which is an odd thing to say, as it appears to suggest that the purpose of the electoral system is not to ensure that the people have the greatest opportunity to have their views represented with the greatest possible accuracy, but instead to ... er, well, make the parties feel good about themselves or something like that? I'm not quite sure, but I certainly don't get the feeling that the interests of me and the electorate generally were paramount in this line of reasoning. It feels more like protecting the interests of political parties to me.
Which is a bit alarming when you consider how the Electoral Commission is funded, and what they exist to do... but you know, the same might well be said of governments.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The Darkness have a single out, so it must be getting close to Christmas. That sounds unkind, but let's be honest and admit that their combination of screechy vocals and early-era Queen musical stylings makes them, at best, a novelty act - one best experienced in short bursts and only occasionally, and what better time of year to enjoy such a thing than Christmas, when all manner of substandard music is traditionally treated indulgently? If I recall correctly, their previous Christmas single had a title that was a play on the phrase 'bell end', and wasn't number one. Hang on, was that the year that the 'Mad World' cover from Donnie Darko was number one at Christmas? Maybe there is some kind of meritocracy to the charts after all.
Anyway, perhaps it's just another symptom of the galloping cynicism that I mistake for sophistication, but even though the Darkness made me smile slightly the first time I saw one of their videos on TV, it was abundantly clear to me pretty much straight away that they weren't going to be troubling the chart compilers for long, and in this they join an apparently ever-growing number of groups or solo artists who seem designed to arrive on the scene with loads of fanfare, and then to go away again with equal speed.
A friend of mine, on first seeing R Kelly on TV, immediately said 'Oh, is this the latest bloke we're supposed to get all worked up about?', and this was true then as it is now about so many other acts - especially the ones who've sprung from talent shows (where the audience increasingly seems, as with the Eurovision Song Contest, to like the voting, but to care much less about the end result) - who appear and then vanish. These careers seem to be like those sped-up bits of footage of mushrooms you see on nature programmes, blooming and dying within a short time.
In my young days (you have to read that bit in a northern accent to get the full effect), even groups like T'Pau would have a single that did quite well, then another that went high in the charts, and then release an album and a few more singles. After a bit of touring and the like, they'd knock out another album a year or so later, and this would either consolidate some kind of popularity, or start the decline. Okay, it didn't always go this way, but nowadays the process appears to have accelerated alarmingly, with a drop off in publicity and apparent interest by the time the second single's come out. Where now, Eamon and Frankee? And so on.
To reach back two paragraphs to re-grasp and indeed pluck the mushroom image, the popular psychedelic advocate (no, I don't mean a trippy barrister) and writer Terrence McKenna once suggested that the purpose of the universe was for new things to be discovered, and that once everything that could possibly be known was known, the universe would simply cease to be. It's generally held that the rate of innovation and invention is accelerating, and whilst I wouldn't necessarily cite the above pop chart examples as evidence (though the idea that the output of the Darkness in some way accelerates the end of time as we know it does amuse me), it does look rather symptomatic of the general speeding-up of things McKenna and others have talked about; it can be seen in technology, as iPods get smaller and faster and computers double in capacity in a decreasing period of time. And I think this applies to the perception of entertainment (including pop music) as well - films are much-hyped on release then drop off the public radar within weeks, for example - and who knows, this voracious appetite for novelty may indeed be leading us unwittingly towards the end of time and space as McKenna predicted.
Interestingly, McKenna predicted that at the current rate of innovation and discovery, humankind would know everything there is to know, and thus existence as we know it would end, in 2012. Which, interestingly enough, is the same year as the ancient and yet hyper-accurate Mayan Calendar famously runs out. I think McKenna's prediction for the end of the world in 2012 was something like October 11, though as he died a few years ago, he didn't live to see it.
Which is a bit of a shame, because he would have found out if his theory was correct. Mind you, if it is, then it looks like London will get to host the Olympics, and then the end of the universe will mean we're all some tuneless bilge being the 2012 Christmas Number One, so as apocalyptic scenarios go, it could be a lot worse.
*Apologies to Walter B. Gibson
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Let me explain.
It’s my sincere belief that in order to fight for something as, say, those involved in World War II did, you have to have not only a sense of the sheer wrong-ness of your opponent, but also a sense that you’re fighting to preserve something good and right and proper. In the case of those who fought in WWII, that would be a feeling of fighting for a Britain of village greens, Vera Lynn songs, and other notions like that, which may (if we’re honest) have been slightly better than the reality; absence, the aphorism has it, makes the heart grow fonder, and I’m sure it also allows one to start to overplay the attributes of that which we’re away from.
The realities of life in the 1940s were, I think it’s safe to say, not perfect, even discounting the war aspect of things; food was hardly in today’s plentiful supply, and there was still crime in its various guises. But thinking of home in this way would hardly have motivated soldiers and others to give their all for something that was … well, not as great as it could be, really. So I suspect that the image of Britain that many of them held in their minds as they did what they had to do was a slightly polished on, like nostalgic for something that never was. I’m guessing that this was the case in psychological terms, but I think that the facts are there about the reality of Britain, the Britain they were all fighting for.
There’s a line from a song – I think it’s by Talking Heads – which goes something like ‘All the buildings and all the cars / Were once inside people’s heads’. And this is what I think is most remarkable about the people who fought in WWII – they had an idea of Britain, an idea that was better than the reality, more fair and just and caring, and then, after fighting for that idea, those of them who came home dragged the idea into reality: creating the National Health Service, public utilities and libraries, and making education available to all.
Just as WWII made humankind face its darkest and worst capabilities with places like Auschwitz, so the opposite can be seen in the creation of public services after the war; a recognition of how low our species can fall in certain circumstances and with a certain will, and a deliberate move in the opposite direction, to prevent that ever happening again. Built in England’s green and pleasant land, no less.
And these institutions endured, and a whole generation grew up with free access to education and health care, and other support mechanisms in place to catch them like a safety net. Like all nets, it didn’t catch everyone, but its intention was to do so. And this generation who grew up healthier and well-educated and with greater opportunities than their parents and grand-parents, whose predecessors had laboured and paid and spilled their blood to give them these opportunities? Well, they were so utterly grateful for their good fortune that they decide the right thing to do was to systematically dismantle the institutions their parents had worked to put in place, and to sell the component parts. Oh, and to effectively keep the money for themselves.
Examples are nice and easy to come by; successive governments have privatised utilities as if they were the sole owners and not temporary custodians, the current Prime Minister benefited from free University education but has implemented tuition fees for present-day students, and pensioners (very probably ones who went without as a result of the war) have to march on Parliament in protest at the low level of their pensions.
These are not events that should take place in the country that those who fell in the wars died for, and it is not what those who came home took the trouble to build. It’s a frankly repellent and ugly attitude of ingratitude, and the last thirty or so years have seen successive governments (which means Labour and Tories alike) asset-stripping the efforts and labours of those who went before them.
History suggests a limited amount of thought was given to the economic appropriateness of WWII, and indeed the creation of things like the NHS has been said to have almost bankrupted the UK after the war, but these things were done because they were felt to be right. It’s a terrible thing that the generation that was first to thrive after the war has also been the first one to decide that such moral and ethical considerations, and doing things because they’re right, should persistently take a poor second place to economic considerations.
This week, I understand the Prime Minister laid a wreath. It seems a bit rich to me that he does this on one day of the year, when his actions for the rest of the year suggest it would be more appropriate (to steal an image from Stewart Lee and Richard Herring) if he urinated on the cenotaph whilst blood-stained money rained down all around him.
These people dishonour those who died and those who lived alike; all of these people did so in fighting for a country they imagined, and latterly helped to make reality, and far more could be done to honour their memory than merely laying wreaths or remaining silent for two minutes. These people gave us more than we can ever truly understand, and they deserve far more recognition, and more respect, than for everything they strove for to be chipped away at, sacrificed in the name of economic necessity.
I can only hope that successive generations as systematically and contrarily remove all traces of the present mindset, burying the morally bereft political belief of ‘economics uber alles’ at the same time as they inter the politicians who’ve done so much to insult the memory of those who came before.
“Anyone who combats loneliness and amasses popularity through being constantly witty puts equally continuous pressure on themselves never to halt the performance. For years people had looked to [Cook] to cheer them up and make life bearable; never the other way round. The more he entertained people, the more exaggeratedly boring his own problems must have seemed, the less he must have wanted to burden people with his real thoughts and fears, the more afraid he became of intimacy.”
Probably the best, and most succinct, assessment of the realities of the ‘sad clown’ cliché one could ever hope for.
Friday, November 11, 2005
- There's a legal challenge underway at the moment to allow the parents of girls under 16 to be notified if their daughter is having an abortion. Maybe it's just me being harsh, but if your underage daughter is sexually active, pregnant and considering an abortion, I don't know just how much of a useful contribution you'll make if your daughter's decided she'd rather you weren't told. The evidence of parenting skills doesn't exactly suggest a useful level of input. I have a sinking feeling that it'd just lead to a lot of horrified parents shouting and berating their daughters, which I don't think would be entirely constructive...
- It occurs to me that the word 'hold' works staggeringly well with prepositions - hold in, hold out, hold up, hold down, hold off, hold on, and so forth. Offhand I can't think of another word which lends itself to prepositionising with such wanton abandon.
- I've been physically intimate with two non-Caucasian girls in my life (on separate occasions). They both asked me if this was the first time I'd done so, and it was good to be able to give different answers to the same question.
- Whenever I heard the theme to 'Futurama' it makes me think of 'Toxygene' by The Orb.
- A leaflet fell out of a magazine I was reading, inviting me to join 'Liberty'. I don't know which is more alarming about the state of the UK today - the fact that the 'National Council for Civil Liberties' has had to change their name to single word which sounds like a rallying cry against oppression, or that I feel a strong need to join.
- Good quote from Haneif Kureishi : "If you want something badly enough, you make arrangements. If you don't want it badly enough, you make excuses."
- Yesterday, I passed someone on the street who I used to be very good friends with, but we had a major disagreement and haven't spoken since (I won't bore you with the details). She saw me and there was a look of recognition and then something like annoyance. However, I believe I saw her first, so I think I succeeded in keeping my expression neutral while she was looking at me. Though I kind of hope I looked disdainful, as if I was a scientist or antiquarian looking at an item of very mild interest.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
In theory, a ventriloquist's act is a double act - there are, ostensibly, two players, and the voice-thrower is invariably the straight man, whilst the dummy provides the laughs.
It's pretty rare for a ventriloquism act to be a co-operative one like, say, the Two Ronnies, with one of them setting up gags and the other paying them off. Usually, the dummy pretty much hogs the limelight, leaving the human to look dismayed or effectively echo what the dummy's 'saying' ("You went into a pub?") in order to get to the punchline.
A lot of the time, the dummy appears to wreck the intended flow of the act, stopping a story from being told, or a song from being sung, or whatever. What it usually involves is the ventriloquist starting into some not-going-anywhere stuff about how they're "really happy to be here tonight ladies and gentlemen", only for the puppet to throw things off, or for the dummy to be directly asked "And what have you been up to this week, Charlie?" and thus everything goes off the rails, with hilarious consequences. Kind of like the way Eddie Large never let Sid Little sing his song at the end of the show. For twenty-odd years.
But the idea that the puppet is in some way diverting the act from its intended course is, when you look at it, a pretty weird one. Are we supposed to believe that the whole act is ad-libbed ? Or that it hasn't been in some way rehearsed ? That might be vaguely believable in the case of an act with two humans in it, with independent minds and a tendency to veer from the script, but we know that the puppet isn't real, and that the whole appearance of it all going horribly awry is a charade, because - er, well, I hope I don't have to point this out to you, but - the puppet isn't actually alive.
So what we have is a man or woman onstage doing an act with a prop, pretending that the prop is alive, that it can talk and form opinions and have a life when it's not mounted on the ventriloquist's arm, and act in accordance with those independent opinions and experiences to completely divert their double-act from its intended script, apparently in contravention of rehearsals of the same act - rehearsals in which it should have become readily apparent to the ventriloquist that the puppet is more of a liability than a partner.
And this is all the more bizarre when you consider that the puppet doesn't have any of those faculties at all, and so what we're basically watching is someone adopting a different voice and manipulating a prop to make it appear there's a conversation or argument going on. And that this apparent diversion from the intended act is, in fact, the act.
As I say, the more I think about it, the more confused I become. I don't know if the standard voice-throwing act I'm outlining above is horribly hackneyed and outdated, or in fact some borderline genius form of self-referential meta-comedy.
But I would be interested to know if there are higher diagnosed levels of medical conditions like Multiple Personality Disorder among ventriloquists.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
2. UK newspapers calling the police 'cops'. Use 'coppers' if you must. How about the word 'police', or in London 'Met' if you insist on abbreviating? But don't pretend to be writing about South Central when it's actually Lewisham.
3. Made-up nicknames: For example, 'Stormin' Norman Schwarzkopf, Rageh 'the Scud Stud' Omah, and Gwyneth 'Gwynnie' Paltrow. All names which are not used ANYWHERE outside the pages of the press. Stop wasting your time making these names up, and the readers' time in having to figure out who and what you're talking about.
4. Articles about scientific or medical advances which end with the statement that scientists or doctors 'expect it to be available within five to ten years'. It'll be news then, don't go boosting the company's share prices in the meantime. You promised me flying cars back in the 1970s, and I'm still waiting.
5. Using words or phrases which have no existence at all outside of the world of the press: examples would be
- love rat
- baby dash
- death plunge
7. Headlines which are borderline incomprehensible : these are often created from a string of nouns with no prepositions or verbs, such as 'Blair holiday cottage fury'. As with the example given, the non-sense of them often leaves them open to misinterpretation.*
8. Writing in a manner which means the reader has to speak journalism-ese instead of English: Sample translations would be as follows:
- (Event) drama - no-one died
- (Event) tragedy - someone died
- (Event) fury - we've found a rentaquote MP willing to say any old tripe so we can take an anti- viewpoint on this and pretend many people agree
9. Pretending scientific formulae can be applied to things which are obviously highly subjective: this is a recent-ish phenomenon, and usually takes the form of articles stating that a formula has been found for the perfect joke / scary film / romantic song / cup of tea. Utterly pointless both as a proposition and in execution, these articles invariably reveal their origins in the final lines when they state that the research was carried out on behalf of a company with a vague relation to the subject in question (often satellite TV channels or radio stations, it seems). Yes, these articles are badly rewritten press releases from firms - in other words, adverts masquerading as news. Classy.
10. Making up excuses to show pictures of women: Work for a tabloid and have some pictures of a soap opera cast member in her underwear, but no real reason to publish them? Simple! Just make up a story about her being in line to be the next Bond girl or to appear in Doctor Who, quoting 'insider sources'! But what if you work for a higher-browed paper, and still need to up the totty factor ? No worry! Just find a picture of Kate Winslet or Keira Knightley attending a premiere in an evening gown and write a paragraph about the state of the British Film Industry ! Or Joss Stone accompanied by a line or two about downloads or something like that. Voila ! Page space filled with a minimum of effort or intellect!
11. The fact that the phrase 'investigative journalism' should be tautological, but most definitely isn't at the present time.
12. Articles in the form of lists because it's easier to do and fills up space quickly.
*Why not play the Daily Mail Headline game ? It's easy, and fun for all the family. Simply see how many Daily Mail headlines can be sung to the tune of the song 'Camptown Races'. Examples on any given day might be 'Asylum Seeker in Benefit Fraud', or 'Police Chief fired over Internet Porn'.
How many can YOU find?
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
So, as tomorrow's 9/11 by the UK version of the calendar, and we've just had the celebrations to mark the 400th anniversary of Guy Fawkes' attempts to blow up the Houses of Parliament, I think the time is right to talk about terrorism (that's right, terrorISM. Not 'terror', as that's an emotion). If nothing else, it gives me an opportunity to upload the attached image, which is from a stamp series by Jimmy Cauty, former member of the popular beat combo the KLF. I can't decide whether the '5-11 anniversary stamp' is in appallingly bad taste, or an astute piece of satire. The truth, as ever, probably lies somewhere between those two extremes.
Anyway, terrorism. There's a lot of stuff to talk about here, and I'll get to other bits of it in other entries, I'm sure, but I'll start by asking a question which I don't think has been satisfactorily answered - if, indeed, it's been asked. And the question is this : where did all the terrorists suddenly come from ?
I ask this because to listen to government spokespeople (on both sides of the Atlantic), you'd get the idea that every third person you pass in the street is a member of a sleeper cell or in some way affiliated to Al-Qaeda. And you'd also get the impression that these terrorists, and the groups they're members of, simply materialised, fully-formed and fully-armed, at about 11:59pm on September 10th, 2001. Which surely can't be the case, can it ? I say 'surely' because the US government announced who they suspected had orchestrated the World Trade Centre attacks within a matter of hours, which is an incredible feat of detection given they were apparently starting with no leads and an entire planetful of suspects.
However, it's only since then that the US or UK governments have appeared to take any kind of measures in relation to terrorism. And what measures they are - detaining people without charge for undetermined periods of time (remember that old principle of 'innocent until proven guilty? Well, it no longer applies to you, apparently), shooting innocent people in London tube carriages because they were 'suspected bombers' (actually getting a positive identification would have been a start there, I think, though I'm no expert on these things; oh, and he was a 'suspected' bomber? I refer you to my previous parenthesis, unless of course we're now allowing extrajudicial executions in the UK. Maybe I missed that announcement), and now there's a bill before parliament in the UK to introduce ID cards for the general public (if you know me, you'll probably already know how I feel about that idea).
So, the governments really are doing - and being seen to be doing - an awful lot of stuff to combat terrorism... now. But what were they doing prior to September 2001 ? Well, if the situation is as dire as they're currently making it out to be, it seems that they weren't doing very much at all. It seems the government and the security services were pretty much letting terrorist cells form and grow, though of course the government was happy to take the money from the public, in the form of taxation, to fund... well, to fund doing nothing, which you might have thought wouldn't actually cost much at all, but apparently not if you look at the security services' budget records - or even your old payslips.
Then again, I'm probably being unkind there, by assuming that they were doing nothing - let's say they were doing something. In fact, let's assume they were doing all they possibly could, that the UK and US governments and security services were doing everything humanly possible to prevent the spread of terrorist elements prior to September 2001. Okay, let's be nice and assume that's the case. That's much nicer and far less cynical, isn't it ? Yes, it is... but if they were doing everything possible to stem the rise of terrorism at that time, then ... er, wouldn't that mean they didn't do a very good job? A downright poor job, given the number of people who died in 2001. So, they were either doing nothing, or were grossly incompetent. Neither of those possibilities is a reassuring one, of course, and do bear in mind that you were paying for it.
And that thousands ended up paying for it with their lives.
So where did the terrorists come from ? Well, if we deduce the facts from government statements and actions, it seems there were no violent agitators massing their forces to attack at the very heart of the UK and US prior to September 2001. None at all. Since then, however, we've faced an evil the likes of which has never been seen before. Apparently, it's an evil which simply appeared in the world just over four years ago, without any kind of precedent or warning, and though our governments have been doing all they can to combat this unforeseeable threat since the attacks on the World Trade Centre, before that time there was no reason to believe that anyone, anywhere, had the motive, means or opportunity to carry out terrorist attacks on Britain or the USA.
Actually, now I've thought it all through like that, it does seem pretty plausible. Really, I guess our government's doing a pretty decent job, given that they had to start from nothing to fight against a foe more dangerous, and more prevalent, than anything the world has ever known. I mean, unless the whole terrorist threat is one which they almost ignored and allowed to increase, and now they're overcompensating to the point of trying to instil unnecessary fear in the populace, but why would they want to do that ?
After all, in what way is it beneficial to a government to be able to keep tabs on members of the public, and arrest them or shoot them at will ? Okay, sure, it'll cut down on the number of people who might think or say or do things which are inconvenient or don't toe the party line, but let's face it, those people are pretty much terrorists anyway, aren't they ? Ideological terrorists, you might say, determined to think and say things which are just contrary and awkward, and which could well undermine our way of life.
These people who insist on having any old thought they fancy and saying anything they want are clearly the sort of people who are pretty much intent on destroying the freedom and liberty which we enjoy in the UK, and I think we have to applaud the government in taking a stand against them, by whatever means they judge to be necessary.
Monday, November 07, 2005
So I've been thinking about this a bit recently, perhaps sparked by the realisation that I've now lived in the capital for over a decade, and god help me, I absolutely love it. Why is that, I wonder?
Initially, I considered that it might be because I lived in the south of England until I was 10, and so living in the Midlands and the North, as I did pretty much constantly between the ages of 10 and 24, was something that I was trying to escape, with a sense of returning to the south as the place of my birth or something like that. Well, I dunno, it was just a thought, and for the first few years of living in Sheffield, people there were always keen to remind me I was effectively an outsider, so I thought it might be the reason. But no, I think I've twigged what it is.
Aside from the fact that London is somewhere there's almost always something to do (want to buy a book or CD at 10.30 at night ? No trouble), and has some great buildings and scenery (fancy a stroll along the South Bank at night, anyone?), and loads of art galleries and museums (including Sir John Soane's Museum, of course), the fact is this: London has been extremely good to me.
Before I got a job here, I'd been unemployed for about a year in Sheffield, and despite making genuine and concerted efforts to get a job, I was unable to get one, and that sense of beating my head against the wall was ultimately a pretty miserable experience. Since moving to London at the start of 1995, however, I haven't had a single day of unemployment, and I've changed jobs several times now (and incidentally, the send-to-reply rate when I've been applying for jobs in London has been considerably higher than in Sheffield; if I send out a CV or application form in the Smoke, more often than not I'll get a reply, even if it's a rejection. In Sheffield, I was lucky if I got one reply for every ten send-outs, which rather added to the disheartening nature of the search).
Living in London has led me to meet a startling number of genuinely remarkable people, and to have experiences which I would never have imagined having when I was in Sheffield; now, that may well be because my general situation in Sheffield in the early 1990s was such that doing those things seemed about as likely as ... well, as getting a job, actually, but the fact remains that here, in London, these things have happened for me. Or to me, depending on your point of view.
Granted, in an ever so slightly alternate dimension, there's a version of me that is feeling exactly the same about the life that alternate me is living in Bradford, Exeter, Carlisle, Lille, Kyoto or St Petersburg, but that's not the me of this dimension. And so, I have a kind of loyalty to London, on the basis that it's been good to me. Very good, in fact. Yes, I could have felt this way about anywhere in the world ... but I don't, I feel this way about London. Which is why I live here, and why I stay here, and why I enjoy living here.
And besides, as any of you who know me will understand, it is very handy indeed that the bookshops are open until so very late. Ah, the smell of a new book...