Morpheus on… Trance: The Pop Music Of The ’90s – The Naustalgia Of The ’10s

Pop music has always gone in cycles. Someone comes up with a New Sound – others jump onto the band-waggon – the new sound evolves – peaks – then goes into decline, with re-hashes. The process takes about ten years. It started in 1920 and ended in 1990.

Well – not quite. When the CD killed Pop (Pop was always SINGLE-based) a void was left. And it was filled by TRANCE.

Trance had started as “Ambient” – or “Chill-out” – music, in the early Nineties, for ravers and clubbers to “come down” to. But by the late Nineties, it had become ramped up into a musical dance form itself.

Pop and Dance had been going, side-by-side, from the beginning. Essentially, Pop was music for listening to – but it had a strong enough beat to dance to – while Dance was music for dancing to – but you could also listen to it. The main criterion was whether or not it had LYRICS. Which Trance mostly DID have – as opposed to its Dance-only brother – House.

And whilst Trance started as a specialist genre, commercial interests soon picked it up and stuck it on compilation CDs, for the mass-market. But that was over a decade ago. Like all Pop cycles, it had a limited life-span, going into re-hashes (chill-out mixes of the Anthems) and then petering out.

But SOON, it will enter the LAST phase ALL Pop goes through – the Naustalgia phase. You see, Pop is part of the culture of the YOUNG – these days, the 12-25-year-olds – but eventually the young grow UP and get married, have kids and settle down.

Then one day, they suddenly realise they are in their thirties and are no LONGER young. Thus they begin to yearn for the days – FIFTEEN YEARS AGO – when they WERE young. And the record companies KNOW that – it is one of the RULES – so they continually dust off EVERYTHING they own that is fifteen years old and RE-ISSUE it.

So given that the early Trance is about to hit that fifteen year mark – watch out for “The Greatest Trance Anthems Of All Time” – volumes 1,2,3,4, – until they RUN OUT of material. It’ll happen, trust me.

Or if you cannot wait – check out MY YouTube Trance channel. It is Number Five on my bogroll. Or just click on – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0AK7DaqOfo - for a sample. And do not forget to select HQ and fullscreen (the icon to the right of HQ – at the bottom left of the little screen) for the FULL experience. Enjoy!

Morpheus on… Opticians

I have 20-10 vision. So that’s only half as good as 20-20, right? WRONG! 20-20 is what opticians try and PALM YOU OFF with, before guiding you to their most expensive “designer” frames – the ones that cost them TWICE as much as their “budget” frames – nearly $20 – for which you’ll pay $200.

20-20 means you can see letters 20 millimeters high at 20 metres distant. They are usually two lines up from the bottom of the eye-chart and the optician will invariably have underlined them in red. With 20-10, the letters are only TEN millimeters high and they’ll usually be the BOTTOM line. But when you complain that you can’t read THAT one, the optician will say, “Oh, NO-ONE can manage THAT one.” He LIES. I CAN. So can MOST people - if they have the correct prescription.

Of course, the eye-chart won’t BE 20 metres away. At most it’ll be 5, reflected through a mirror to double the distance – the actual chart being half the correct size. And even if you CAN read the bottom line, don’t imagine you’ll automatically end up with 20-10 vision. You see, 10 metres is NOT infinity.

Then there’s astigmatism. No-one KNOWS how many people have this condition – because few opticians bother to test for it. I didn’t discover I had it for FIFTEEN YEARS. Astigmatism is where you see stronger in one plane than another. It produces a fuzzy area on that chart that looks like a sunrise. A semi-circle of lines – rather like half a bicycle wheel. The condition is easily corrected by a standard lens.

So what can you DO? Okay, one: ask to see the optician’s “budget” frames. If he demurs, remind him that opticians are ten-a-penny. And two: get him to test you for astigmatism – ask for it by name and accept nothing less than the “sunrise” chart and make sure you can see ALL the lines sharply. Finally, three: once you have his lens gadget on and can see the sunrise AND that bottom line clearly with BOTH eyes – take it out into the shop and covering each eye one at a time, ensure that you can read the small print on signs across the STREET.

Don’t be afraid to be a damn NUISANCE. Doing an eye-test is EASY and frames and lenses are CHEAP. In short, the job of optician is money – LOTS of it – for old rope. Which is why there are so MANY of them. You are STUCK with your eye-sight, every second of every day. Make the MOST of it.

One last thing: if your optician tells you to give a less-than-perfect prescription TIME - that your eyes will get USED to it – grasp him firmly by his dangly bits and ask him if it hurts. When he wheezes “Yes”, tell HIM to give it time, he’ll get used to it…

Morpheus on… “Channel Advisor”

I have just ordered a DVD from Ebay. It’s “The Private Life Of Sherlock Holmes” – the American version.

It may be in that country’s 525-line NTSC (Never Twice The Same Colour) standard at 60 Hertz, instead of the European (and Thai, where I now live) 625-line PAL standard at 50 Hertz – but my equipment can handle it and ONLY the U.S. version has the BONUS FEATURES – including some of the legendary “lost footage” – but that’s another – and probably far more interesting, but never mind – story.

And it took me THREE WEEKS. Huh? Well, I have ordered a number of similar items from Ebay during the last year – most from U.S. traders – and had no problems at all. Until three weeks ago.

It TOOK me that time to unravel the mess created by a ROGUE COMPANY. I’ll spare you the tortuous route I followed to obtain the following information, suffice to say that my mistake was to click on “buy it now”.

You see, the traders I tried to purchase this epic from – ALL claimed to SHIP TO THAILAND. But when I clicked on “buy it now”, I was DIVERTED to a service called “Channel Advisor” (THEIR misspelling). And when I filled out THEIR form, where it came to my address, I scrolled down the list of countries – to find Thailand was MISSING. Again – huh? Yes. So I put “THAILAND (IGNORE the following…)” and hit Hong Kong.

The next day, I received an e-mail (which later turned out to be a “standard” one).

It purported to have come from the U.S. trader and said that “under their stated terms”, they could not ship to Thailand. Yet again – huh? Well of course, that was just plain WRONG. But then I noticed it hadn’t actually originated from the TRADER – it had come from CHANNEL ADVISOR. Damn CHEEK! And as it later turned out, misrepresentational.

I then tried another trader and since it was attached to the first, had a similar experience. Then I tried a third, but THEY cancelled my order – because they were out of stock. Finally, I found a FOURTH trader, who connected me DIRECT to “PayPal” – who took my order, no problema.

But then, my curiosity piqued, I journeyed BACK to the two original traders and looked closer. And what I discovered was interesting. If I had scrolled WAY DOWN their sites, I would have found THEIR OWN “shipping” sections – which DID include Thailand. Hah! (Well, it’s different from huh).

So what have we learned? Well, if you are in a foreign country and you purchase something from Ebay – do NOT press “buy it now”. Instead, scroll DOWN the listing until you find the trader’s OWN shipping details – then go from THERE.

Provided you use PayPal for the transaction (any LEGITIMATE trader will accept them and PayPal will COVER you – at least for the price of the goods) you’re PROTECTED from dubiosity (I bet the Spellchecker’ll love THAT one!)

But speaking of dubiosity (it SHOULD be a word) does give one pause to wonder about the role of Ebay in all this. They claim that Channel Advisor is a “third party” outfit. I.e., not attached to Ebay or the trader – thus Ebay has no control over them. But they damn well SHOULD have.

I mean, here are traders with the capability to send goods ANYWHERE in the World and their customers are being SNATCHED by Channel Advisor – who doubtless CHARGE for their “service” – and – apparently without the knowledge of said traders – CANCEL any orders which THEY, Channel Advisor, are INCAPABLE of shipping to.

Thus Ebay needs to get RID of Channel Advisor, post-haste. They are RUINING their business, pissing off their customers and wrecking the relationships between said customers and the traders.

And one other thing. Whilst Channel Advisor eventually refunded my money – as did the company who were out of stock – the money from a refund turns out to take a LOT longer to RETURN to your “Cyber” ACCOUNT than it did to LEAVE it. This meant I had to BOOST the funds in said account to PAY the fourth trader.

Cyber-banking and online purchasing work fine when the systems do. But if a system falls over – like when a company cannot fulfill an order, because it ran out of stock (even though it was still ADVERTISING the item) – or was using a DODGY company like Channel Advisor – everything turns to sh*t!

Altogether, the farce created – at least initially – by the DUBIOUS Channel Advisor has caused me no END of aggro. Umpteen e-mails – and problems with my BANK. I only hope this piece gives others forewarning of the potential perils of Interweb shopping – particularly when it involves CHANNEL ADVISOR.

Oh, and FORGET about AMAZON if you live outside of The West – TOTAL waste of my time. Stick to Ebay – most of their traders will ship ANYWHERE and they have much the same stuff as Amazon does. And NEW – not just used.

Forewarned is forearmed!

Morpheus on… The Great Post Office Conspiracy

This author has discovered a conspiracy. It’s the damn Post Office. ALL of the Post Offices of the World. For decades, they’ve moaned about the minuscule prices they’re allowed to charge for standard letters. And now they’re DOING something about it.

They simply DUMP up to 50% of letters – and no-one knows where.

Which forces those who want their carefully wrapped and addressed letters and packets to ARRIVE - to send them REGISTERED. Or EMS-ed. Or any one of umpteen other services that are TRACKED – and cost a FORTUNE. This scribbler long ago got fed up and reluctantly succumbed to this blackmail – and out of several HUNDRED items sent and received this way, has never lost ONE.

But what of all the stuff that he is sent UN-registered? He never SEES half of it. And the tracking system doesn’t even WORK (ever tried to trace an item on the Interweb?) All registering does is get the Post Office to DO THEIR DAMN JOB.

Morpheus on… Grandpa’s Grave

I recall the time when me and m’Dad went to check out Grandpa’s final resting place. We wended our way across the graveyard to the site. Finally we arrived and discovered that time had had its effects. The headstone looked like the Leaning Tower Of Pisa and the surround was covered in weeds.

And so we went home to gather the means required to give the old boy’s last domicile a makeover. We assembled some ready-mix cement, a trowel and other items and since they were heavy, placed them in an old sack. We also selected a spade, which would be necessary to straighten the headstone – but it was too big to go in the sack.

Then we returned to the cemetery and I parked up in the car-park. As we walked across to the graveyard, I noticed we were getting some strange looks from the people there. Slowly the reason why began to dawn on me. WE knew that we were there to perform a mundane task – but from the bystanders point of view, we were just two men going into a graveyard. One with a sack. The other with a spade.

Two words immediately sprang to mind. Burke and Hare…

Morpheus on… Hollywood Credits

Huh?

I mean the lists of cast, crew and other details that precede and/or follow Hollywood’s TV and film productions. Thing is, in the Good Old Days, these told you who’d done what, where and occasionally, how.

But now, the whole exercise has been ruined by HOLLYWOOD POLITICS.

F’rinstance, TV. Nowadays, you get the stars’ names first. But unless they put ‘em BESIDE clips of the actors doing their stuff, you have NO idea who’s who. Then come the “guest stars”. AGAIN, you have no idea who was who, since most of THOSE people are merely FEATURED PLAYERS – only in their MINDS are they “stars”. In fact the irony is, only those who are spear-carriers actually get their name listed against the character they played in the show.

And to add insult to injury, those who ARE actually stars are listed in the titles like (example) “Hugh Jarce as ‘Butch McMuscles’”. SHIT! We KNOW who THEY are! (Of course, the inference is that the actor is doing a CAMEO – not SOILING themselves with a bit-part – and that some people will only be watching the show for a chance to SEE The Great Man/Woman).

Plus, all writers are now called “PRODUCERS”. Again, in The Good Old Days, you only had – or needed – ONE producer. Now you get a producer, another producer, two more producers, an executive producer, various co-executive producers, a supervising producer, a consulting producer, a line producer, a series producer and then an “executive in charge of production” – which is ANOTHER bloody producer! AAR-GH!!!

Then movies. In (yet again) The Good Old Days, only the thirty or so people who actually had CREATIVE INPUT in a movie were (quickly) listed. But now, thanks to presumably Union Requirements, EVERYBODY associated gets a name-check. Thus everyone from the unit caterer’s dish-washer to the honey-wagon driver gets a mention. About a THOUSAND people in all.

And since audiences don’t CARE to sit through SEVEN MINUTES of white print on a black background, as soon as the credits roll, they EXIT the theatre like it was on FIRE - stumbling over the die-hard film-fans like this writer who want to KNOW stuff, like where it was filmed and info about the music – which is ALWAYS at the END. AFTER the thousand people who were just doing a job of WORK – and have NO more right to a credit than the guy who bakes the bread you buy at the market.

Imagine buying a bottle of milk and finding credits on the bottle listing the milker, the delivery driver, the milking-machine manufacturer, the COW…

Even TITLES are now put BETWEEN the FILM and the CREDITS (which makes NO continuity sense) to satisfy those who just want to SEE the thing and don’t CARE who made it. But I DO! These people put their SOULS into the thing for p’raps upwards of a YEAR. And if a newcomer impressed, I need their name, so’s I can look out for it in something ELSE.

Then there are cartoons. Now this writer is a little long in the tooth for such stuff, but pities today’s YOUNG. (One MORE time) In The Good Old Days, actors who lent their voices to cartoons were ANONYMOUS to kids – listed as “with the talents of…” for the benefit of the Mums and Dads.

But now, those who do cartoon voice-overs are listed AS ITS STARS – thus DESTROYING the illusion for the kids. I mean, even KIDS know that what they’re watching is drawn on paper (or nowadays, more often crafted on a computer) but still do what we ALL do when watching a movie – suspend disbelief and imagine they’re watching real events.

Which is not EASY when you’ve been told a bunch of people you are FAMILIAR with are doing this character and that character. You spend the whole movie picturing the VOICE-OVER ARTISTS instead of the CHARACTERS they’re playing. Disney would TURN IN HIS GRAVE!

The thing is, all of the above annoyances have come about because of Hollywood’s OBSESSION with giving EVERYBODY who works there a CREDIT – which mostly only means ANYTHING to those in the INDUSTRY – while leaving their CUSTOMERS (the audience) GUESSING about who did what.

But what they fail to realize, is that by doing this, they KILL fandom. (One last time) In The Good Old Days, there were magazines DEVOTED to Hollywood. Everyone KNEW its stars. And the reason was – ONLY stars were featured in the titles and credits. And Hollywood made damn sure you KNEW who played who.

And by poncing around they way they currently are, they are KILLING the popularity of all but their biggest stars.

One last thing – given all of the above, isn’t it ABSURD how “talent” shows do the very OPPOSITE, when their wanabees shuffle on stage and mumble, “I’m gonna sing – (title of song) – BY – (artist who made it famous)”.

WHAT?? It should be (title of song) – by – (COMPOSER)!! How come THEY don’t sue? I would. Apparently composers’ unions aren’t as powerful as Hollywood’s.

Morpheus on… The Purpose Of Life

Elsewhere in these chronicles, I tackled “The Meaning Of Life”. I now propose to take a run at its PURPOSE.

“The Purpose Of Life”. There isn’t one. I thank you.

Oh, you want more. All right then. Well, in the Third World, the purpose of life is merely SURVIVAL. But if you live in the DEVELOPED World (and since you are reading these ramblings on a COMPUTER, we’ll take that as read) you should be lucky enough not to have to WORRY about THAT.

Which means you may feel there ought to be SOME justification for your EXISTENCE. Well, there ISN’T – so DEAL with it. You merely ARE. That’s IT.

But don’t feel too bad - it took me about half a century to work that out. Some clever buggers realise it sooner – while others never DO.

As we traverse this Vale Of Tears, if we are paying attention, we pick stuff up. This knowledge serves to enlighten us regarding the way the World and its occupants WORK. Which is essential, as we are only born with our INSTINCTS – and jumping on a woman in the supermarket is frowned on.

And so, armed with experience and understanding, our journey SHOULD be bearable. But what happens when we DIE? Answer – we take ALL that knowledge WITH us. Unless of course, we pass it on. Which is the purpose of fireside chats, self-help books – and scribblings like this article.

But of course, if we were “hard-wired” with all the knowledge, experience and understanding gained in a lifetime, life would be POINTLESS. It’s MAKING all those stupid mistakes and how we DEAL with the consequences of them that makes life interesting. So, is the gaining of knowledge, experience and understanding the purpose of life?

No. It’s just part of the appeal.

Then there’s the experience itself. The World’s a varied place – filled to the brim with fascinating stuff that is yours for the taking. From “Star Trek” to Shakespeare – there are great writings. From Sinatra to Trance – there are great sounds. From bungee-jumping to scuba-diving – there are great activities. From fish and chips to fois gras – there are great tastes. And from the Grand Canyon to the Trossachs – there are great places. But that isn’t it either.

Experience, like Fame, Wealth, Power and Achievement is merely ANOTHER part of what makes life interesting. But even Love, which is of FAR greater importance than The Five Imposters (I tackled those elsewhere) is not the PURPOSE of life.

Of course, many say that the purpose of life is to help others. Well, it’s certainly a better way to live than crapping all over everyone, but even THAT’S not the purpose.

How about changing the WORLD for the betterment of its occupants ? Now THERE’S a worthy purpose, right? Yeah, if you can manage it. Trouble is, even (hallelujah) Obama will have his work cut out with THAT one.

No, while any or ALL of the above may give YOU a purpose, none of it is carved in stone. What you do with your life is up to YOU. You get one shot and then you become dust. Get swallowed up into the Continuum.

You can choose to make the most of your life - or waste it. You can absorb the World and its occupants – or ignore it and them.  You can try to repair the World and its occupants – or just exploit it and them. But ultimately, unless you build a bomb big enough to DESTROY it and them – it and they will still be here long after you’re gone.

And the only trace of your having been here, will be the memories left with those who knew you – until they too become dust.

Then again, if you make a movie, a record or write something – even for worthy WordPress – you’ll leave SOMETHING. So THAT’S the purpose of life? To make your mark. Right? NO!

Weren’t you LISTENING? I TOLD you at the TOP of this piece – there IS NO purpose of life!!!

Morpheus on… The Meaning Of Life

So what IS the meaning of life? Someone once theorised it’s rather like the question, “When one sails off and falls off the edge of the World…where does one LAND?” A stupid question NOW, but a thousand years ago…

The thing is, any question is inevitably tied to its answer. I mean, if you ask Paris Hilton what colour a red bus is, you don’t expect her to say “Thursday”. Okay, bad example. But MOST people would answer with a COLOUR.

M’point is, we only know the falling off the edge of the World question IS stupid because we know the ANSWER. But back before Copernicus, the poser was reasonable and if you’d given the answer – no-one would have UNDERSTOOD it.

So relating that to the meaning of life, the theory goes that if there WAS an answer – we would be unable to UNDERSTAND it.

Elsewhere in these ramblings, I’ll tackle the PURPOSE of life, but I’m tired now.

Morpheus on… Democracy

When Westerners speak of Democracy, they do so in reverential terms. But what’s so GREAT about it? One man (or woman) one vote. But usually, that one vote is good for one of only TWO people or parties. The lesser of two weevils.

And it can go horribly wrong. Back in 2000, Ralph Nader ran for the U.S. Presidency as an independent. Now it was HIS democratic right to do so, even though he MUST have known he didn’t have a hope in hell and it would likely take votes from Al Gore – votes which turned out to be CRITICAL.

How ironic that those few votes resulted in eight years of The Monkey. Ironic, because as a campaigner for peoples’ safety, it is a reasonable assumption that Nader would have been FOR the Kyoto agreement – which, unlike George Wan…sorry, WaLker Bush, Gore would DEFINITELY have signed.

Anyhay, Democracy. The thing is, once a person or party is in – even if only a minority of the population actually VOTED for them – they pretty much have carte blanche. The only TRUE system of Democracy would be something like that portrayed in the movie “The Rise And Rise Of Michael Rimmer” – which was a comedy, but did include the inspiration for the following…

Every month, people would write in with propositions. Then, in an office somewhere, a group of civil servants would sift through the letters, converting them into bill concepts. Then, the top ten would be voted on by the population, in the form of a referendum. And whatever the people decided, the government would implement. Simple.

The propositions left over would carry over to the next month and join new bill concepts and again the top ten would… And so on.

There’s just one problem. By the end of the year, you’d have the death penalty re-instated for people whose car alarms go off all night - in fact, a system of justice that would drag society back to the Middle Ages.

And what about the REAL business of government? I once ran an M.P. to The House in my then role as a taxi-driver. After he’d gone, I discovered he’d left his briefcase on the back seat. Knowing how government likes to “leak” ideas they need FEEDBACK on (if it’s SERIOUSLY negative, they have deniability) I eagerly checked out the contents.

Farming quotas.

Most government business is BORING. And highly TECHNICAL. How many people know whether Britain should sell weapons to Mgaliland? How many have HEARD of Mgaliland? If YOU have, you’re a LIAR – I just made it up.

M’point is, the business of government is for SPECIALISTS. For the besuited tosspots who at least know something ABOUT it. And the idea that the oiks who slavishly put their little Xs in those little boxes every few years have ANY REAL CONTROL over these smugbastards is a complete FALLACY.

Of course, it’s still better than a dictatorship – at least you can CHANGE the dictator periodically…

Morpheus on… Offensive Humour

Is it POSSIBLE to tell a joke without pissing SOMEONE off? Well, yes – but only if you use ABSTRACT humour. F’rinstance, the great surreal comic, Steven Wright paints pictures of absurdity in our minds that depict events that could never happen to anybody (for an example of what I’m talking about, click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5ErMolRE8M&feature=channel – but not YET – I’m TALKING!)

But while Mr Wright’s humour is GENIUS, it is just ONE kind of humour – and it’d be a pretty poor pass if it was the ONLY one. We need diversity. At its best, humour explores the human experience, the human condition and addresses our fears.

But while the nature of what is funny has perplexed people since the days of court jesters, nowadays we have an ADDITIONAL wrinkle to worry about – bloody POLITICAL CORRECTNESS.

Now this writer would be the last to sanction humour that would attack people’s race, colour, age, sex or sexual preferences. That’s just cruel. But we are all different and that difference is something to be CELEBRATED – and humour can be a way to DO that.

But any humour that deals with REAL things is ALWAYS going to disturb SOMEONE. Example: “A man bought a new hat, but as he was walking along the road, a gust of wind blew it into a garden, where a dog leapt on it and ripped it to shreds. Just then, a second man came out of the house and the first man ran over to remonstrate with him. ‘Look at what your dog did to my new hat,’ he ranted, ‘What are you going to do about it?’ The man replied, ‘Well – nothing. Dogs will be dogs – and your hat blew into MY garden. Act of God, mate.’ ‘Oh, I see,’ said the first man, ‘That’s your attitude.’ ‘No,’ replied the second man, ‘It’s YOUR ‘at ‘e chewed!’”

Harmless enough, you might think – and even funny, if told by a professional. But somewhere in an audience of a few thousand, you can bet there’s SOMEONE who has recently had a dispute with a dog-owner that lead to VIOLENCE being visited on them. THAT guy WON’T laugh.

But what can you do? EVERY story a comedian tells will strike a nerve in someone.

Another thing. Sexist humour was endemic for decades. Women had to laugh at jokes that belittled them, or be considered “bad sports”. Then along came PC, feminism – and for a while, “reverse-sexist” jokes became popular. However, after a time they just became SEXIST – but directed against MEN. After a period of moratorium, these jokes should have bitten the dust too. Failing that – in the “post-ironic” period – BOTH types should have been allowed.

So where does this leave us? Well, thankfully, comedy is left alone by the censor, these days. The humour invented by Lenny Bruce is do-able almost anywhere. Nowadays, the AUDIENCE is your censor - and a skilled gag-smith can usually turn a gag that gets groans around anyway.

Therefore let us remember – humour is universal. It comes in many forms. So keep your mind OPEN to ALL its variations.

Oh, and for Americans – “humour” means “humor”.

Morpheus on… A Cautionary Tale

Once Upon A Time there lived a fruit farmer. For many years, he had grown strawberries – and every year, he employed casual labour to pick them. But in recent years, the adverse weather had driven those labourers to indoor jobs, making it progressively harder to find pickers.

And this year, with his strawberries now ripe and having had little response to his newspaper adverts, he was becoming desperate. So, with a crop far too large for him and his wife to pick, he decided his only remaining course of action was to join the growing movement towards “Pick Your Own” farming.

This was a last resort, as the public would always pick only the biggest and easiest-to-reach fruit, leaving the rest of it to rot. But as it was his only option and being a law-abiding citizen, the next morning he drove into town to seek permission from the Council to erect a sign.

Having queued for half an hour, he finally arrived at the Inquiries Desk and after explaining his business, was directed to the Town Planning Department. Another twenty minutes of queuing and he was re-directed to the Roadside Structures Department. Then another half an hour…

This went on until late that afternoon, when he finally found himself facing the correct bureaucrat. For the umpteenth time that day, he explained his problem and his intended solution.

“I’m sorry,” said the man, “Experience has shown that unofficial road-side signs are distracting to motorists. Also, the queues that form, block traffic. I’m afraid I cannot give you permission to erect your sign. Furthermore, having made this enquiry, you are now on record – which means should you go ahead and erect the sign, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

“But that’s outrageous!” replied the farmer. “There are a number of fruit farms on my road and several of them have such signs. Furthermore, I’ve seen similar signs dotted all over this county. How come they can do it and I can’t?”

“Simple, sir,” said the bureaucrat, smiling, “They didn’t ask.”

Morpheus on… British Trains

This author has already pointed out why many Brits are now EX-PAT Brits – and many others WISH they were. The constant rain. The absurd prices. The rules. The repression.

But here’s another one – the railway tracks are TOO CLOSE TOGETHER!

You’re sitting in your carriage, when suddenly – WHOOOOF!!! A train passes in the other direction and you nearly have a heart attack. And the reason is quite simply – it was TOO DAMN CLOSE.

The thing is, with a closure speed of 180 m.p.h., the shock wave set up is more than ANY amount of sound-deadening materials – including double-glazing – can deal with.

And it’s not the fact that modern trains are faster. The old steam expresses could go JUST as fast as today’s ones. The fault lies with the fact that British people think SMALL.

Many countries have WIDE strips of land for their trains to run on, so that the shock waves dissipate long before they hit trains on the neighbouring track.

No, the reason the Victorians only bought narrow strips of land for their choo-choos was they thought SMALL – and now, modern Brits are STUCK with the result.

Literally stuck, as those strips now have property – and bridges – surrounding them. To widen them would cost a fortune and as you may have heard, Britain is currently BROKE – which is ANOTHER good reason to leave!

Morpheus on… The Humourless

Some years back, British TV ran a number of “reality shows” that had no competitive element, no host (and no BUDGET). They were intended as “slice of life” pieces. I accidentally saw part of one, while I was waiting for a REAL programme to start.

I don’t recall the title (I’d be ashamed if I DID) but it concerned the goings-on at an airport (maybe it was called “Airport”) and featured a piece which gave me a salutary lesson.

It concerned a classical musician who gave a humourous answer to a dumb question, posed by an immigration official. The conversation went something like: “Where have you come from?” “Chicago.”  “What’s in the violin case?” “A machine gun.”

Stated baldly, it sounds either innocuous or worrisome – depending on the circumstances. But in this instance, they were benign. It was just a mild joke. The musician was a nice guy. Neatly turned out, with a disarming manner.

However, the reaction to his throwaway line (and this was BEFORE “9/11”) was INSANE. The official went APE-SH*T and the next thing, this poor dude found himself being GRILLED for HOURS, being BANNED FOR LIFE by the airline he had used – and was lucky he didn’t end up in the slammer.

And since the footage that showed all this had to have been green-lighted by the officials, they apparently thought it made them look GOOD, instead of like the paranoid, pencil-necked prats they were. Anyone with a heart and a BRAIN would have been left feeling SORRY for the guy.

It just goes to show ANOTHER reason I don’t fly any more. For the other, see http://corneliusatloppers.wordpress.com/2009/09/14/cornelius-on-cross-winds/ 

Morpheus on… Ill-gotten Gains

They say crime doesn’t pay. These days, that is becoming increasingly TRUE.

In My Day… if you wanted goods, you put on your striped jersey, your little black mask (or stocking, if you preferred) took your sack with “swag” painted on it and broke into a warehouse, shop or delivery van and nicked them.

Or if you wanted to eliminate the middle-man (the “fence” – who would grass you up, when pressured by the rozzers) you added a sawn-off Purdey to your equipment, found someone with cash, then made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. (Three paras and already I’ve given away my age about ten times).

But these days, all of that is nearly pointless. Let’s start with goods. In My Day, the prime target for most thieves was electrical goods. But thanks to Far East manufacturers, even giant plasma and LCD TVs are cheap today. And those that “fell off a lorry” don’t come with that all-important guarantee, so when they go wrong – forget it.

In any case, since all shops now have fully computerised tills, which are connected to their mainframe, which handles stock purchasing, warehousing, tax, etc. – if you try filtering stolen items into legitimate sales, it’ll stand out like a crocus on a cricket pitch.

Of course, you can always sell illicit goods in markets, or through “fringe” workers to factories, pub customers and the like – but it’s nickle-and-dime stuff and the fuzz are all over that. (Now I’m going American).

Even lowly shop-lifting is a mug’s game, thanks to modern hi-tech surveillance.

Then there’s CASH. Ah, money – what could possibly go wrong with the long green? Dosh? Folding stuff? Yeah, except no-one DEALS in it any more, other than drug-dealers, money-launderers and terrorists. Even BANKS don’t carry that much. Nowadays, it’s all plastic and electronic transactions.

But let’s assume you’ve FOUND and LIBERATED some. Great – now what? Well, In My Day, if you walked into a bank with an attache case full of  mazooma, they would invite you into the manager’s office and give you a whisky and a big cigar. They still do – but only to KEEP you there until the Law arrives.

Thing is, when the War On Drugs peaked in the Seventies and Eighties, banks got leaned on by governments to LEGITIMIZE cash. Then money-laundering and after 9/11, terrorism exacerbated the situation. Therefore nowadays, any amount over £1,000 has to be ACCOUNTED for. Gone are the days when money talked – now it has to EXPLAIN itself.

These days, many law enforcement agencies have the power to seize houses, cars, boats and other goodies from anybody who cannot PROVE their wealth came from legitimate sources. They don’t even need proof a crime has been committed. The target is guilty unless they can prove their innocence.

Okay, so if you can’t put your boodle in a bank – or show ostentatious wealth – what do you do? I mean, if you FOUND a suitcase with a million Pounds in twenties in it – say, from a “drop” that had gone wrong – how would you reap the benefits?

Well for a start, if you wanted to go abroad, you’d have to put it in with your luggage and trust the baggage handlers not to send it to the Moon. Put it in your carry-on and airport security would see it on the security X-ray and inform the bogies – who would confiscate it. You’d arrive at the Cayman Islands POTLESS.

But then what? Okay, you’re in a sunny country where they don’t ask questions and you have that million quid. So buy a safe and spend it a bit at a time? Hmm. Two problems. Number one – if your loot isn’t gaining interest, it’ll disappear faster than a tan in a British jail.

Think about it. If you’re twenty, your million quid will need to last you sixty years. That’s (calculator out) 16.66666666666 grand a year. Or 320 quid a week. Your tropical paradise won’t be so sunny on THAT kind of money.

And remember, that 320 a week has to pay for EVERYTHING. If you BUY a house, car, furniture and so on, the money left over will give you an even SMALLER weekly “allowance”.

Then there’s problem number two. In My Day, bank-notes stayed the same for DECADES – but no more. Now, thanks (again) to technology, counterfeiters are only a few MONTHS behind the manufactures of the genuine article.

Thus, to keep the percentage of funny money in circulation down to an acceptable level, all governments are forced to change their notes every FIVE YEARS – with little modifications every TWO. Which means that every few years, you will have to change ALL of YOUR money – or it’ll become worthless paper (cloth actually – bank-notes are made from a form of cloth. Moving on).

But since a million quid in twenties is (calculator again) FIFTY THOUSAND notes – and changing more than a few at a time would attract attention – that’s a hell of a lot of visits to shops. In fact if you do the maths, you’ll discover that if you spent all day, every day, buying small items from shops to get new dosh – there wouldn’t be enough hours IN the day.

And that’s assuming you stayed in the country the money came from, since foreign shops wouldn’t take it and even large holiday resorts have a limited number of “bureau de change” establishments. But if you DID stay in your own country – well, in England, sixteen grand a year is barely benefit level.

So what have we learned? Well, as stated at the top, these days crime certainly does NOT pay – if you’re an HONEST crook.

No, m’friend. These days, the only way to make crime pay is to be a DISHONEST one. Like Bernie Madoff. Oh sure, Bernie’s in a U.S. “correctional facility” – and after 150 years, he’ll certainly be corrected. But he got unlucky.

For every Bernie Madoff, there are a THOUSAND smugbastard businessmen who get AWAY with it. Who, every day, rob and cheat us all blind – and then collect awards for it. THEY have the secret.

I just wish I knew what it was…

Morpheus on… Driving On The Wrong Side

About 20 years ago, I was driving an Audi Quattro through Rome with four friends and we got pulled by the Caribinieri (makes your eyes water). When I asked what the problem was, I was informed my vehicle was overloaded. I pointed out that two in the front and three in the back was perfectly reasonable.

“No signori, quattro, quattro!” The cop yelled.

I was outraged and demanded to speak to his superior.

He told me his boss would come over and talk with me – once he’d finished booking two guys in a Fiat Uno…

(Thankyou! My name’s Morpheus – peace and love!)

Morpheus on… Writers And Readers

In My Day, if a person wanted to excrete their creativity in the form of the written word – apart from private letters, there were really only three outlets for them to choose from: newspapers, magazines and books.

The problem was – all three of these media were restricted to PROFESSIONALS. People with degrees in English and/or journalism who had dedicated their lives to becoming proficient in the science of WRITING.

And if a non-pro wanted to see themselves in print, the best they could hope for was that their letter would be picked from the thousands of submissions to a “readers letters” page. Or, of course, they could “vanity-publish”.

Thus would-be scribes who lacked the training, experience, ambition, talent or any combination of the above to BECOME pro-writers were doomed to consign their creative output to a DRAWER. But no more.

NOW, we have the Interweb. Anyone with a few hundred Pounds to spare can set themselves up with a personal computer, sign up with an outfit like WordPress and GO for it – but this new freedom comes at a price.

In short – These Days, More People Write Than READ.

An alarming statement – but could it be TRUE? Well, how many times have YOU read a piece you strongly disagreed with – then discovered it had a facility for feedback – so you wrote a rebuttal – but then realised your piece was one of hundreds - maybe thousands – and when you read them, it became obvious that most of the contributors had read the initial piece – but NONE of the subsequent COMMENTS?

And it’s the same all over the Web. Some wit once wrote, “Opinions are like arseholes – everyone has one.” And as one scans the unending outpouring of WORDS here, one begins to see the reality of the situation that now exists.

Gone is the cachet of being a pro. ANYONE can write today. And the scary part – particularly from the viewpoint of those pros – is some of those whose voices would NEVER have been heard without the Web – are actually rather GOOD.

This commentator came to creative writing late in life. I was in my early forties when by a fluke, I took over an ailing Mensa publication and began putting my stuff Out There. But it was the mid-Nineties and PCs were still the domain of techies and nerds. Thus my organ (if you’ll pardon the expression) was part of the popular media – I was a WRITER.

However, these days even the tramp in the gutter has a laptop under his vomit-stained raincoat. EVERYBODY’S at it. But if everyone is busy WRITING – who is doing the READING?

The general non-writing public? But now they have so much stuff to CHOOSE from – and there are only so many of them.

Other bloggers? But they’re too busy WRITING to READ!

The government? Well, sure. They’d be dumb NOT to. It’s the best way to keep their Finger On The Pulse of Joe Public.

But I don’t write for THEM. No-one DOES.

And while my ramblings have so far generated 60,000-plus hits, many of them might have been triggered by those who only read my first sentence, then moved on (these days, most people possess the attention-span of a goldfish).

Thus the daunting reality is that my words might actually have reached not MANY more than those written by people who wrote to “get it out of their system” – then chucked it all in that drawer.

But how many people do I WANT to reach? A million? Would that be any better than a thousand? Or ten? Or – Zen – how about ONE? Just ONE person who after reading my stuff, began to THINK – then went on to have a better life, as a result of absorbing the wisdom and experience I’ve tried to weave into these columns.

Maybe that’s the best ANY of us Bloggers can hope for…

Morpheus on… Les Paul

Les (pron. “less”, not “lez” – his first name was Lester, not Leslie) Paul may not have invented Rock ’N’ Roll, but he pretty much invented everything that makes it possible.

In the late Twenties, when electronics first arrived, he invented the guitar pickup – and spent the rest of his life developing it.

In the Forties, he evolved the electric guitar.

In 1952 (as it happens, the year of this writer’s birth) he managed to convince Gibson Guitars to start producing SOLID bodied guitars (he’d been playing his “log” long before) which, devoid of the extraneous vibrations produced by the soundbox on the conventional guitar, would give a purer sound. Enter the legendary “Les Paul Gibson Guitar”.

And during the late Forties and right through the Fifties, he developed multi-track recording – without which modern recording studios would not exist.

Initially, he used acetates, but as soon as open-reel tape machines arrived, he began adding extra heads – to develop reverb (without which, Elvis would have sounded “thin”) – and ganged eight machines together to produce records where he and his then-wife Mary Ford (she divorced him in the early Sixties – she had had enough of his itinerant life-style) would overdub.

This meant Les could play lead, rhythm and bass guitars “simultaneously”, while Mary could do the same, singing melody, counter-melody and descant.

They had TV and radio shows, Les composed and they had a string of hits right through the Fifties. If you can find them, check out “Mockingbird Hill”, “San Antonio Rose” and “Tiger Rag”. Fantastic.

In the Sixties, he went back to inventing, but in the Eighties, he was re-discovered and went on the college circuit – blowing away a whole new generation who could not believe the genius of this diminutive old geezer.

He passed away yesterday, aged 94.

R.I.P., Les.

Morpheus on… Erroll Garner

Erroll Garner was the greatest post-war jazz piano player – bar NONE.

This was the result of him having TWO extremely rare gifts. One – he was a genius. And two – he was an ambidexter. Let us examine these statements.

The term genius has been seriously devalued of late. Einstein was a genius. As were Isaac Newton and Leonardo DiCaprio. Sorry – Da Vinci.

Most people think of Einstein as the guy responsible for inventing the Atom Bomb – but no. He only developed the theories that enabled others to do so. The damn thing would have evolved quite happily without him.

Most people think of Isaac as the bloke who sat under an apple tree and an apple fell on his head, as a result of which he discovered concussion – but no. The man virtually INVENTED PHYSICS.

And most people think of Leonardo as the artist who painted a smug woman against a wonky backdrop – and a dinner attended by Jesus, his Lady and some of his mates – but no. He also invented the helicopter.

Okay, kidding aside, these men’s brains worked at an infinitely higher level than 99.99% of the human race – this writer included – and Erroll was one of them.

But what about his dexterity? Well, many people claim to be ambidextrous – but few truly ARE. MOST of the claimants are ACTUALLY LEFT-handed people who, as kids, were BULLIED by their teachers and/or parents into using their right hands.

Left-handed people were seen as being at a disadvantage in society – indeed, primitive societies even viewed them as CURSED – thus every time they began to use their left hand, they would be rapped across the knuckles by said parents/teachers.

This constant chastisement lead them to develop right-hand skills – but being naturally left-handed, they retained those skills also.

However, TRUE ambidexterity is very rare. It is essentially a SAVANT skill. When we are born, our brains’ two hemispheres are joined by countless threads, but many of these threads wither and die from lack of use as we develop.

But once in a blue moon, an individual grows up with most of the threads remaining intact. And they find themselves gifted with extraordinary abilities – many of which are only now being understood.

Some possess incredible mathematical skills. Others can play fifty games of chess simultaneously. Still more taste numbers, smell colours, etc.

And whilst many are assumed to be mentally ill, some go on to become legendary scientists, painters, or – as in the case of Erroll – musicians of astounding ability.

Whilst never being able to read music, Erroll composed hundreds of pieces – including the evergreen “Misty” – and quickly became the foremost jazz pianist of his time.

A typical Garner concert playbill had all of the usual entries (write-ups of his career, adverts, etc.) But when you arrived at the PROGRAMME for the evening – it would be BLANK.

Sometimes, there would be an explanation for the empty space. And whilst this reporter has never seen one, he believes it might as well have gone: “We have no idea what Mr Garner will play tonight. Even HE has no idea.”

So what happened at these concerts? Well, at the appointed hour, after his bass-player and drummer had taken the stage, this diminutive (he stood a mere five feet two – thus proving size isn’t everything) be-suited figure would emerge and take his seat on the piano stool, upon which several phone directories had been placed.

He would beam at the audience and begin playing. Incredible random musical sounds would fill the hall, while his accompanists would patiently wait. Then suddenly he would LAUNCH into a number. It would usually be a standard – or occasionally, one of his own pieces.

And the guys would simply JUMP IN.

They would follow him by INSTINCT – it was all they had. But what LUCKY bastards they were! It was a TRIP any musician would have sold their SOUL to take. They were witnessing sheer GENIUS.

So how did it all work? What was his SECRET? Well, Erroll was unique. Left-handed pianists (like Elton John) have a HEAVY left-hand – their style is based around chords – while “normal” right-handed players concentrate on the right hand – which plays the melody – leaving their left hands to just fill the chords.

But Garner had a heavy left AND right hand. However, his MAGIC came from the RELATIONSHIP between those two hands. The left would pound out a “drone” whilst the right hammered out his improvised melody. And then came the trick – he would mess with TIME.

He would constantly play either AHEAD OF or BEHIND the beat, bringing it back together only when necessary, to allow his audience to relate to what was going on.

Garner impressionists try to imitate this technique by simply going out of time at random – which is why they FAIL. Erroll was doing MUCH MORE than THAT. When HE did it, the “gap” between the beat and the melody formed a SEPARATE RHYTHM. It was like listening to TWO people playing – whose brains were CONNECTED.

Which is something NO other player has EVER managed to do. Even for Erroll, it was DIFFICULT (which is why his playing was always accompanied by his little grunts every time he got it right – which was every time).

It was a bit like “triphony” – which is where you take wires from the left and right outputs of a stereo amp and connect a speaker ACROSS them. This gives you a “third channel” – actually, it is merely the DIFFERENCE between the two, which on an old “ping-pong” stereo track means you can “dump” the vocalist, who is usually in the middle, giving you the backing track, in mono.

Some amps have a circuit that will do this for you, which is activated by a button marked “Karaoke” – singing to the ACTUAL backing track of a famous number is WAY better than doing it to one produced by a scratch band or worse still, some berk on a synthesizer.

And in Garner’s case, whilst his left hand played one rhythm pattern and his right played another – the relationship between the patterns created a THIRD. And THAT was what made him unique.

Erroll WAS a genius. He knew it – and REVELLED in it. Every night was an ADVENTURE. He never rehearsed – he didn’t NEED to. He just DID it. PURE improvisation!

But for those who were not there, that genius can only be appreciated through listening to his recordings, since he was taken from us in 1977, at the age of just 55. The most famous is of course, “Concert By The Sea” – but sadly, the original recording of it was of poor quality.

Much better is Garner at his PEAK – “One World Concert” was recorded at the Seattle World’s Fair in ‘63. Erroll totally KILLS – and the sound quality is much better than “Concert By The Sea”.

But avoid the recent CD re-issue – the original producer may have been involved with the re-master, but it’s CRAP. The sound quality is awful, some players “gap out” during the applause between tracks – and one of the best tracks is MISSING.

No, get the ORIGINAL VINYL ALBUM – there are currently a number of copies (some quite cheap) on Ebay as I type. It is the finest recording of the man’s very BEST work (and yes, it DOES include “Misty”).

And now that he’s gone, how long do we have to wait for ANOTHER Erroll Garner?

Well for what it’s worth, I did the maths. Although the parameters are vague (an ambidextrous genius who enjoys doing what he can do) allowing for multiple-odds reckoning, I have calculated that another Garner SHOULD emerge…

In about three hundred years.

Morpheus on… Well I Got Up This Morning…

…and I heard an ice-cream cart go past. It had a digital recording of an 8-bar tune (NOT a blues number) being played on one of those little Swiss musical mechanisms. You know the ones – they have a clockwork drum with pegs that twang the teeth of a spring-steel comb, to produce a 30-second tune. In My Day, they were put in cigarette boxes, jewelry boxes and the like.

Anyhoo, this lead me to musing on the ice-cream vans of my youth. The main two were Mr Whippy (whose S&M connotations were lost on a ten-year-old boy) which played “Greensleeves” (public domain) and Tonibell – who had their own custom tune. And all of these vehicles had one of these little acoustic Swiss music mechs – attached to an AMPLIFIER. You could hear them coming, three streets away.

All of which reminded me of one of the most ABSURD moments of my life.

It was back around ‘69 and I had a Very Important Appointment the next morning (a job interview) and not being a Morning Person, I was PARANOID that I would oversleep. The thing was, at that time in my life, I only had ONE alarm clock – and I was getting used to its alarm, thus could “tune it out”.

Now the clock in question was a (Swiss) MECHANICAL clock that for an alarm, had one of the above-mentioned music mechs, which played “Good Morning” from “Singin’ In The Rain”. And it was those ice-cream vans that gave me an idea…

Being a “handy” chap, I connected a microphone to the clock, plugged it into my large amplifier, placed a couple of pillows on top, to avoid feedback – and ramped up the volume. Trouble was – I hadn’t thought it through…

TICK!! TOCK!! TICK!! TOCK!! TICK!! TOCK!! TICK!! TOCK!! TICK!! TOCK…

Yes - it hadn’t occurred to me that the amp would ALSO amplify the damn CLOCK!

I figured I’d get used to it. I was WRONG! After four hours, I finally nodded off – from total EXHAUSTION rather than sleep – and just two hours later…

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!! – DING!!! DANG!!! DING!!! – DING!!!-DING!!!-DE!!!-DANG!!!-DANG!!!-DANG!!!…

IT SOUNDED LIKE THERE WAS A FREAKIN’ ICE-CREAM VAN IN MY BEDROOM!!!

I got – nay, SPRANG from my bed. Oh, I was AWAKE alright. As was everybody else in the BUILDING!! Not to mention half of freakin’ LONDON!!!

I didn’t even get the damn job…

Morpheus on… Sandi Toksvig

I feel another biography coming on…

The thing is, as a fifty-something, I resisted going online (or “on the air”, as I prefer to call it) for YEARS, since I figured the whole Interweb business was a huge, steaming pile of POO. But I eventually succumbed when the established forms of communication (the mail service – see elsewhere in these ramblings – and texting) began moving that way TOO.

And I discovered that while most of the gazillion bytes of stuff on it are indeed a huge (etc.) – possibly including MY scribblings – there is still much there that is useful. Like I’ve been able to FILL my Wish-List of obscure records, tapes and DVDs – some of which I’d been after for HALF A CENTURY.

Then there’s the info. You can look ANYTHING up on the web – just type in “Why do cats eat grass?” and you’ll get the answer. But like everything else on this system, you sometimes have to wade through a lot of garbage to find it.

One of the GIANT CONS is the number of services that promise to give you a Bio of someone – then when you check the site, it says “We don’t actually know sh*t about this person – would YOU like to write up a piece on them?” CHEEK! And stupid; if I KNEW about them, I wouldn’t be coming to YOU to find out, now would I?

Anyhoo, I have watched and listened to Sandi Toksvig for about twenty years now. She first appeared on (British) Channel Four in various shows, including “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” and a short-lived sitcom with rolly-polly American comedian, Mike McShane. Then she did a run as team captain in “Call My Bluff”, opposite the late Alan Coren.

At the same time and since, she has made appearances on many other comedy programmes, culminating in her present main gig – The Chair of “The News Quiz” – a popular topical radio panel show. And it was her appearances on this show that triggered my curiosity about Ms Toksvig’s private life.

She has made several references to her children – but at the same time, has dropped hints that she’s gay. Now of course, the one does not necessarily preclude the other – but nevertheless, I wanted ANSWERS. And of course, the Interweb GAVE me them. So for OTHER nosy people, here’s what I’ve gleaned…

Apparently Ms Toksvig was born fifty-one years ago, to a Danish couple (obviously) and her Dad was a foreign correspondent for Danish TV – which resulted in her moving around a lot. She seems to have spent most of her formative years in the U.S., but at fourteen, her family came to England where her (again, obvious) intelligence lead her into academia. I.e., she ended up at Hull Uni – then Cambridge.

And it was at that place, she fell in with a bad crowd – the legendary Cambridge Footlights artists - which have included Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Clive Anderson, Morwenna Banks, David Baddiel, Tony Slattery and pretty much the entire cast of “I’m Sorry I’ll Read That Again” and “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”). Her contemporaries included Hugh Lawrie and Stephen Fry. 

Furthermore, all traces of her American dialect disappeared, to be replaced with an accent that makes this diminutive Dane sound like the young Margaret Rutherford.

Okay, but what about those kids and her sexual orientation? Well, it transpires she came out fifteen years ago. At the time, she was supporting the Save The Children Fund – but they got snitty over her announcement regarding her sexuality and dumped her. However, after a demonstration by a lesbian action group, the S.T.C.F. backed down and apologised.

As for the kids – yes. She has three. Two girls – now aged nineteen and twenty-one – and a boy of fifteen. She appears to have had three serious relationships, the first of which produced the kids. Their father (by means of artificial insemination) was Christopher Lloyd-Pack. Little is known of him, apart from the fact that he works as a stage-manager.

He may be a son of the late, distinguished character-actor, Charles Lloyd-Pack, which in turn would make him the brother of Roger (“Trigger”) Lloyd-Pack – but this writer has found no evidence to support this (apart from the possibly-coincidental, unusual surname). But now we are straying from the subject.

Although this subject is just about finished anyway. Ms Toksvig is a hard-working professional comedienne, writer and performer whose life might well make interesting reading. Perhaps, as a writer herself, she may put it into book form someday. And having actually BEEN there, it will likely be a tad more comprehensive than THIS effort.

And if she does write it all up, this author will be sure to read it. In addition to having known some very interesting people and having been everywhere and done everything – she might deign to answer the one question I’ve been unable to, during my research…

As her current civil partner has taken her name – Toksvig – it seems likely that Ms Toksvig wears the trousers (literally and figuratively) in their relationship. But if that is so – how come it was SHE who gave BIRTH in her earlier union?

Of course, that’s really none of my – or your – damn business!

Morpheus on… William Roache

As a young boy, this scribe actually SAW Bill’s 1960 debut as Ken Barlow in “Coronation Street” (yes, I am that old) and whilst he grew out of watching soaps by his teens, he has noted that Mr Roache is STILL THERE.

In fact many people believe Bill is the World’s longest-serving actor in the same role – however, the truth is a bit more complicated.

A man called Don Hastings has played a doctor in a U.S. soap which started in ‘56, called “As The World Turns”. But unlike Bill, he was not there from episode one. He joined it – just two months before Bill began HIS run.

Plus two old biddies have been with As The World Turns for even longer. But as both had spells OFF the show – unlike Bill and Don, their runs cannot be classed as CONTINUOUS.

Moreover, As The World Turns is not itself even the World’s longest-running soap - THAT honour goes to “Guiding Light”, which – like this author – has been going since 1952. However, none of THAT show’s cast has done a run as long as those endured by Bill and Don.

Incidentally, despite holding the record for longest-running TV drama – with a previous 15 year spell on radio (72 years in total!) – CBS have now CANCELLED “Guiding Light” due to failing ratings. It will finally end, later this year.

Anyhoo, Bill has another distinction. Being a soap, As The World Turns runs in the AFTERNOON – not in PrimeTime, as Corry does. Ergo, Bill can still claim the record for PRIMETIME drama’s longest-serving actor in a continuous role.

But until one of these old geezers (Bill, at 77, is two years older than Don) falls of the twig, the argument will likely remain unsettled.

After all, it seems unlikely either of them will QUIT, having both now been in the job for nearly 50 years (Corry will celebrate its half-century late next year, while As The World Turns celebrated its own, some three years ago) – and Bill may have more reason than Don to keep going.

Back in the ’90s, a British trash-paper called the Sun, printed a piece claiming Bill was as BORING as his character on “The Street”. Incensed, Bill sued. The Sun offered £50 grand in compensation. On the advice of his lawyer, Bill took it on to court, where he won – £50 grand.

However, under British law, since this amount was already “in court”, he became liable not only for his own costs, but for those of the Sun’s expensive battery of lawyers as well. A total amount doubtless well in excess of fifty grand.

He then tried to sue his lawyer for giving him bad advice – but LOST (lawyers are not easy to sue, anywhere). A couple of years later, Bill was forced to declare himself BANKRUPT.

As for what his CURRENT finances look like, this writer has no idea – but it may well be that poor old Bill has NO OPTION but to keep Ken Barlow alive. At least, for as long as HE is.

Of course, both of these men have other strings to their bows. Apart from earlier being a singer, Don is also a writer – whilst Bill has his One Man Show and an autobiography.

But while Don’s second wife still lives – sadly, Bill LOST his second wife just last month. Whether THAT will be a factor in Bill’s decisions on his future remains to be seen - at the moment, he has pledged to carry on.

Despite exhaustive research, this writer can find no evidence that these two men with strangely similar – and bizarrely UNIQUE – life-stories have ever MET. It would be interesting to be a fly on the wall at THAT encounter. Two guys who have lived their entire lives as another person – seen by millions of other people.

But that which holds the main interest on both sides of The Pond – is which of these guys can carry off the Undisputed Crown as the World’s longest-reigning continuous-role actor. For THAT one, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see…

Morpheus on… The Golden Toilet

So I was walking down the road – nothing fancy, just one foot in front of the other – when I encountered Dave ambling slowly toward me, looking the worse for wear. “Where’s your hat, Dave?” I asked him (Dave had favoured hats ever since he discovered his hair was going AWOL – his current one was a black fedora – he figured it made him look like The Shadow).

“Gawd knows,” he croaked, “I had it on when I went out last night. But someone at ‘The Cricketers’ was having a birthday party – and I sort of got swept along. I ended up at some posh house… and the rest is a blur.”

“Okay,” I said, deciding he needed help, “Let’s retrace your steps. Did you go uphill, when you left the pub?”

“Yes,” he said, brightening slowly.

“All right. Now, you said the house was ‘posh’ – could it have been on Fonnereau Road?”

“Yeah, but that’s a long road. Hang on, it’s starting to come back now… There was ivy over the front door… and they had a gold toilet!”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“Yeah. It looked like it was gold-plated or something.”

“Well there you are,” I said. “All you have to do is go up Fonnereau Road, look for a house with ivy over the door, ask them if they have a gold-plated loo – and held a birthday party last night – and if so, do they have your hat. Simple.”

He looked glum, so I added, “I’ll tell you what, I’m going that way myself,” (I wasn’t, but I’d never seen a gold-plated khazi before and my curiosity was now piqued) “I’ll help you look.”

“Okay,” he said and off we went.

As we walked along the row of grand, Victorian houses, Dave suddenly stopped. “That’s IT,” he cried. Sure enough, the front door had a swath of ivy running over the top. “I don’t know…” he began.

“Oh, come on,” I said, “It’s a sunny day – your head is already beginning to peel.”

We strode up the front path and I knocked gently on the front door. After a while, the door slowly opened to reveal an attractive but equally hung-over young woman.

“Excuse me,” said Dave, hesitantly, ”But you wouldn’t happen to have a gold toilet, would you?”

Just then, a man’s voice shouted from deep within the house, “Who is it, Debbie?”

The woman turned and shouted back, “I think it’s the man who crapped in your tuba.”

(My name’s Morpheus – don’t forget to tip your waitress!)

Morpheus on… Film Critiques

Back in the Golden Age of Hollywood, the studios controlled ALL publicity regarding their business, resources and products. As a journalist, you played things their way – or you’d Never Work In This Town Again.

In other words, if you went off-message, you would never again be granted an interview, preview or ANYTHING that allowed you to WORK. You were frozen OUT.

In fact the only journalists who managed to make Hollywood moguls wet themselves were a couple of old crones named Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons. Hedda was a failed actress, so was fêted with cameos - but Louella was totally unbribable.

These two columnists wielded serious power, but even they knew their limits.

Then in ‘52 (coincidentally, this author’s birth year) along came Confidential Magazine. Originally intended to be an exposer of Mob activities, they decided Hollywood would be a safer target. So they began using the LITTLE people in The Business – waiters, hookers, grips, chauffeurs, etc. – to obtain the dirt on the BIG people.

Of course, they were constantly being sued. In an age when being gay got you LOCKED UP (with a bunch of blokes – did they think that through?) people like Rock Hudson and Liberace had no option. But with low costs and a high circulation, they prevailed – and were soon joined by other “scandal sheets”.

Thus, during the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties, it became open season on Hollywood. ANYONE could voice their opinions on the personalities AND products.

But film production budgets always include obscene amounts of money, which are earmarked for “publicity”. Thus, SUBTLE bribes – in the form of lavish junkets and other “perks” – were freely handed out to the more important columnists and TV film critics.

However, all of that was to CHANGE in THIS decade, with the boom in mobile-phone texting – and this media.

For years, blockbusters had prospered by “opening big” - which meant hyping the bejesus out of a movie, then releasing it EVERYWHERE over a holiday weekend, thus ensuring the all-important “word-of-mouth” could not take effect until the movie had done four days of business. By which time, many turkeys had managed to cover their costs.

But suddenly, those who had seen a movie on its opening day could become FILM-CRITICS. Within hours of a film’s first showing, people could Google the film – and view HUNDREDS of crits from “ordinary people”. Furthermore, people walking out of a cinema, having just viewed a turkey, would send simultaneous TEXTS all their friends, to WARN them. Power To The People!

And now we have Twitter. A World-wide Notice Board.

Its first victim appears to have been “Brüno”. Sasha Baron Cohen’s last outing, “Borat”, made a fortune all through its opening weekend – but while his latest effort did boffo business on the Friday, by Saturday the box-office had dropped SHARPLY. Thanks to adverse comments on Twitter.

However, before calling this a victory for free speech, let us step back for a minute. Say the people watching Brüno divided into three groups: 50% LOVED it, 30% liked it and 20% HATED it – for whatever reason. Which of those people would feel MOVED to send out Tweets?

I remember a number of (premium rate) telephone “polls” being conducted by a certain British publication, on all sorts of issues. But every now and then, they would ask, “If a General Election were held tomorrow, which party would you vote for?” And since the publication had a largely right-wing demographic, the results would be LAUGHABLY off from the TRUE figures, which were compiled by the legitimate polling organisations.

And therein lies the problem with this new “freedom”. When The People are allowed to shape available information, since it is impossible to know who those people ARE - one cannot know whether they represent the majority.

For decades, the “silent majority” have dictated things like censorship, whilst not representing the REAL majority at all.

Which is how it is with Tweets. Only those who feel STRONGLY about a film they have just seen are likely to bother expressing their views, while those who merely ENJOYED it - will simply head for the nearest McDonalds.

The thing is, at least PROFESSIONAL film critics know what they are DOING (to a degree) and will attempt to provide considered, BALANCED reviews. And with time, most people find critics who think the way THEY do – and know they can trust their evaluations.

So by all means read Tweets about current movies, etc. But then go and make up YOUR OWN mind.

Morpheus on… The Police In The Electronic Age

The fuzz don’t always understand technology.

F’rinstance, there was the time a police station received six identical faxes from another station. When asked why they had sent the same fax six times, they replied it was because the machine kept rejecting them. Further questioning revealed the officer who’d sent them thought the machine PHYSICALLY sent the document to the other machine – so when it came out, he assumed the device had “gorn wrong”.

It is hard to imagine what sort of brain reckoned a machine was capable of spindling up a piece of paper and then sending it down a phone line. However, astounding technical ignorance is not limited to the cops. Their adversaries aren’t too smart either.

Some officers at another cop-shop found themselves up against a suspect who was even more technically inept than they were. They told him they had a new LIE-DETECTOR, then placed a colander (the kitchen utensil that strains veg) on his head. The colander had a wire attached to it that ran to their copier, in which was a piece of paper with the words “HE’S LYING” printed on it.

Every time he answered a question, they solemnly pushed the “copy” button and of course, the machine spewed out a piece of paper with the words on it.

Eventually, the suspect CONFESSED!

One can only imagine the ribbing he took from his fellow inmates, once justice had taken its course. There he’d be, talking to another con, when suddenly the man would hold a plastic coffee cup to his ear and say, ”Hang on a minute, I’ve got a call coming in…”

Morpheus on… Miracles

The other day, I performed a miracle in Tesco (they have them here in Thailand – miracles AND Tescos).

I spotted a dead bluebottle (a large fly, if you’re not a Brit) on the ice, on the fresh fish counter. So I picked it up and placed it on the palm of my hand. Slowly moving my face towards it, I made some passes over it. My wife and a couple of shop assistants watched, transfixed, as it began to move around and as I raised my hand - FLEW off across the shop. Ta-daaah!

They might have been less amazed had they realised I’d just performed a classic magic trick. Flies are not too smart and if they land on ice, the cold fools them into thinking it is Winter and they go into hibernation - merely APPEARING to be deceased.

My “magic passes” over the tiny creature had less to do with its rejuvenation than the fact I had simply removed it from the cold, put it onto my warm hand and moved my face close enough for my warm breath to thaw it out!

Of course, I’d also released a disease-carrying creature into a FOOD store – but I figured that was a small price to pay for being able to create the impression I was a GOD.

Morpheus on… Rubber Wrist Straps

Now I’m as generous and public-spirited as the next man (if that man is a mean, miserable sod) but I draw the LINE at wearing those blasted coloured rubber bands to show support for something.

I had ENOUGH of those when I was a kid and they forced us to wear them on Sports Day, to show which team we belonged to.

I mean, what was wrong with those little coloured silk ribbons everyone used to have on their lapels?

Isn’t it enough that I’m showing generosity and public-spiritedness – without having to cut off my blood-flow as well?

Morpheus on… Time Travel

I do NOT propose to drone on about the paradoxes (paradices? Whatever) and chronoclasms inherent in the science. Oh all right – if I go back in time and kill my father before he meets my mother, I can’t EXIST to go back in time and… Or if I kill Hitler as a baby, WW2 won’t happen – unless his Mother steals a baby from a push-chair outside a shop and HE goes on to… (then I become part of a “causal loop”).

Indeed ANYTHING I do in the past, changes events that have HAPPENED – just BEING there displaces AIR. And future travel is only okay if I don’t RETURN. Knowledge from the future could change the present – and suppose I STOPPED future events from happening? The possibilities are endless.

Basically, PHYSICALLY appearing in the past and even SEEING into the future is fraught with problems (and impossible anyway, assuming time is linear). However, just SEEING into the PAST is harmless – it doesn’t alter the time-line and merely improves our knowledge of it. Like finding a fossil – or a lost episode of “Dr Who”. But here’s the THING – it’s something we do EVERY DAY.

Really? Of course. Just look at the Sun (but not for too long) and you’re seeing an event that took place eight minutes and twenty seconds ago. That’s how long light takes to travel here from it. Even as you gaze up at the Moon, you’re seeing it as it was, one-point-three-four-four seconds ago.

And when you talk to someone face to face (and this is why I’m troubling you with this) you are seeing them as they WERE – approximately two nano-seconds AGO. Okay, they won’t have AGED much in that time, but technically, you are reaching through TIME to talk to them.

Oh yes – and since sound only travels at one-eight hundred and ninety-two thousand, eight hundredth of the speed of light – their lips will be out of sync as well.

Morpheus on… The Rise And Rise Of DiggerVision

Of course, Rupert Murdoch’s rise in the world of “news” is well known. His acquisition and promotion of right-wing rags and subsequent development of their televisual equivalent – Fox News – is legendary. Producing heavily biased low-brow reporting which no intelligent person would linger over for longer than it takes to wonder how they get AWAY with it.

But less well known is his rise in ENTERTAINMENT television.

For that, we need to travel back to 1985. For it was then that he effectively took over Twentieth Century Fox – plus a slew of TV stations. The result was the first serious rival to the American Big Three – CBS, NBC and ABC.

However, progress was slow. He discovered starting a TV network from scratch was not easy. It would take years before the Fox Network (properly, the Fox Broadcasting Company) was a serious ratings-winner. And the method by which this was eventually achieved came from his BRITISH experience.

In 1989, Murdoch launched Sky broadcasting. It was one of two satellite broadcasting companies that won the U.K. franchise – the other being the ill-fated British Satellite Broadcasting. The latter soon encountered difficulties and was “merged” with Sky, to become British Sky Broadcasting. However, it was little more than a complete takeover. Murdoch now effectively ruled British satellite TV. DiggerVision had arrived.

But he soon discovered that beginning a British network from scratch would be no easier than it had been in America. At first, his minions combed the British majors’ trash, taking burned-out formats, second-rate and aged “personalities” and forming them into something that LOOKED like a TV service. But the British public were not impressed and only Murdoch’s “news” media profits prevented him from going BANKRUPT. He needed HELP and he got it – but from an unexpected quarter.

In those days, there were four major TV networks in Britain. The most popular was ITV – a conglomeration of “independent” (their networked primetime schedules were almost identical) stations, funded by advertising. Then the similarly-funded Channel Four – a Johnny-come-lately network who, after trying and failing to fill various niches in the market, discovered “alternative comedy”, cleaned it up and screened the results to a demographic that had been ignored for years - the 18-30s. And BBCs One and Two.

These last were funded by an obligatory license-fee. Beeb One was the popular channel, while Beeb Two, which had started back in ‘64, was more high-brow. And it was Beeb Two who unwittingly came to Murdoch’s rescue.

The thing was, a few years earlier, Beeb Two had bought the new Eighties Star Trek series, beginning with TNG, then DS9 and Voyager. Also, they had purchased other top American Fantasy/Sci-Fi shows. But the catch was they couldn’t show them in primetime, as the ratings these shows would have garnered would have killed their own, license-fee-funded high-brow series.

Which would have been seriously embarrassing for Auntie.

So they contracted to run them as off-peak fillers, two years BEHIND America. This enabled them to get them CHEAP. The cost of syndicated programmes decreases DRAMATICALLY as they AGE, thus you can reduce their price by contracting to HOLD them for a couple of years before transmission. And since the price also relates directly to the size of the expected audience, an off-peak slot brings it down further.

But Auntie encountered a SNAG. The main slot for these programmes followed a slot for LIVE CRICKET. And having a tradition of flexibility, if said cricket over-ran - Auntie would BUMP Star Trek. This proved to be her undoing – and the SAVING of Murdoch’s TV aspirations.

You see, for decades, ITV and the Beeb had always avoided showing the same imported shows, therefore Beeb Two had seen no reason to insist on EXCLUSIVITY for the shows they’d bought. And SOMEONE at DiggerVision decided to capitalise on this oversight.

During that summer, Beeb Two had bounced Star Trek OVER AND OVER AGAIN, due to the cricket over-runs. This had resulted in MILLIONS of Trekkies sitting waiting expectantly – while old men (and young men who were old-at-heart) wandered up and down a field occasionally throwing small, leather-covered balls around.

After twenty minutes of this farce - the cricket was only being watched by a relative HANDFUL of people – an announcer (they varied each week - this historian suspects they drew straws for the task) would apologise that Star Trek had been cancelled yet AGAIN. After a few weeks, you began to detect the EMBARRASSMENT in their voices.

So DiggerVision made a deal with the U.S. and began STRIPPING (running at the same time, Monday to Friday) – in PRIMETIME – ALL of the Star Trek and other series being abused by Auntie, beginning with the pilots, then running straight through.

Thus every time one of Auntie’s announcers cleared their throat and said, “We apologise…” – the next day, thousands of Trekkies would go out and buy one of Murdoch’s dishes.

And despite having to endure ADVERTS (Beeb Two was license-fee-funded, remember) the Trekkies were overjoyed. Particularly when the daily-shown episodes OVERTOOK those being (occasionally) shown weekly on the Beeb. They didn’t even mind watching the earlier episodes again – after all, during the Seventies the Beeb had screened the original series about SEVENTEEN times.

But what they didn’t realize (or chose to ignore) was the fact that these new shows were LOSS-LEADERS – items that cost an unseemly amount, but bring in the customers. DiggerVision trumpeted these shows, while putting OLD, CHEAP imports into their schedules as FILLERS.

Even The Trek had cost less than might have been thought, since the deal had included the EARLIER shows as well, bringing the AVERAGE price DOWN. And just DUMPING the shows they had previously run (the majors’ leftovers) had saved DiggerVision even MORE money.

The psychology behind this new practise was simple. Just as people will often buy an album for one great track, viewers were happy to shell out big money for just a few top shows. Suddenly, Sky TV had become the television equivalent of the Premiere League.

And it’s a practise that DiggerVision has continued to this very day. A glance at Fox’s U.S. schedule will show that while they have a SMALL number of primo programmes – House, Bones, Fringe, 24, etc. – in their TWO hour primetime, the rest of their slots are filled with CHEAP GARBAGE.

It’s the same here in S.E. Asia. In ‘93, Murdoch bought the then-fledgling Hong Kong-based Star TV and proceeded to fill its schedules with a NOSE- GAY of prime, NEW American series – whilst padding out the rest of the slots with OLD, CHEAP stuff.

At the moment, Star World is cheaply available to all – but how long will it be before Star goes the way of Sky? As soon as Sky had a fair-sized audience, Murdoch did a “re-package” – which meant all of its GOOD stuff suddenly cost a lot MORE. One is reminded of drug-pushers who virtually GIVE you their crap – but once you’re hooked, up goes the PRICE!

It’s all about packaging. For centuries, dealers in EVERYTHING have put their good stuff on display, while tying it to a load of rubbish. We buy, seduced by the goodies - but it’s not until we get the lot home that we realise we’ve been HAD.

Furthermore, we NEED those goodies. And as the Murdoch empire grows, so does its HOLD on said goodies. But what’s the alternative? Tragically, it appears to be Hobson’s Choice. Some years ago, I holidayed in Portugal. Their government had decided to keep DiggerVision OUT. But their home-grown programmes were CRAP (it isn’t easy to KILL the excitement of a franchise like Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? – yet they’d managed it).

Which meant that unless you could acquire some sort of “feed” from the U.K., there were NO British shows and your Hollywood programmes consisted of once-a-week showings of…

Greenacres.

Morpheus on… A Life Without Children

My associate, Corny, has already pointed out the pitfalls of having kids. They are hellish painful to deliver (like passing a bowling ball) push the woman’s mind and body out of shape (only their mind recovers) wreck your lives (forget about SEX) and are a MAJOR TRIAL to maintain. For the full piece, checkout “Cornelius on… Having Kids” on… http://corneliusatloppers.wordpress.com/

But Corny only mentions the FINANCIAL cost in passing. So let’s take another look at THAT.

Once upon a time, there was a young couple called Maude and Harold. They had met at a supermarket – Harold was a warehouseman (-person?) while Maude manned (womanned?) a checkout.

Separately, their mediocre wages barely covered their expenses, once they’d paid rent on their respective bedsits. So, realising two could live ALMOST as cheaply as one, they decided to get a flat together. And with their incomes and outgoings now combined, they found themselves relatively well off. For a few years, they PARTIED.

But in the fullness of time, having decided to “settle down”, they found a house for rent which was within their means. So they furnished it on HP and whatever they could find in local small-ads. Then Maude began squeezing out sprogs, while Harold volunteered for every second of overtime going at the supermarket, in order to supplement his meagre income.

The supermarket, in turn, was more than happy to accommodate Harold, since paying time-and-a-half to one man was far cheaper than hiring a second. Soon Harold was working eighty hours a week (he never SAW his kids) but it still wasn’t enough.

They had always figured on Maude giving up work for a few weeks while she was engaged in the task of helping maintain Britain’s population, after which she would get some “homework” until the kids went to school. But they soon discovered that this work was subject to the laws of Supply And Demand.

There were MILLIONS of people in their situation and – thanks to automation and “outsourcing” – millions MORE on welfare. Thus homework rarely paid more than fifty pence an hour. The simple fact was, forty hours of tedious work would net twenty Pounds. For many, this equalled SURVIVAL. And in order to stay competitive, companies could not afford to pay more.

But Maude and Harold figured things would improve once the kids started school, in a few years time (they had already discovered no nursery would look after toddlers for ten hours a day – this wasn’t Communist Russia). So they began opening credit-card accounts. They would pay the money back once Maude got a part-time job.

And when, finally, the last kid started school, Maude went looking. But she soon discovered no company was interested in hiring someone who had to leave at 3 pm AND would need thirteen weeks HOLIDAY a year.

Their credit-cards now maxed out, no finance company would give them another – they already owed nearly twenty grand. For years, Maude had bought scratch-cards, HOPING for the impossible, but now they couldn’t even afford those. Finally, they filed for bankruptcy.

Of course in ten years time, when her children have finally flown the nest, Maude will be able to return to the supermarket. Unfortunately, she will find they’ll want YOUNG girls who need less money, look pretty and can master the latest technology.

Once upon another time, there was a couple called Clyde and Bonnie. They had met as invoice clerks in an office. Again, individually their wages were mediocre, but put together – substantial.

Of course, since the office closed at 5 pm, there were NO opportunities for overtime. But as Clyde and Bonnie had both come from parents like Maude and Harold, they had NO intention of allowing history to repeat itself.

First, they ignored the ads for flats to rent, knowing they were RIP-OFFS. In Britain, flats commanded a disproportionate rent, compared to HOUSES. The knowledge DINKYs (Double-Income, No Kids Yet) preferred them and were MONIED, ensured rents were almost as high as for a three-bedroom semi.

But Clyde and Bonnie knew that just because a house had three bedrooms, didn’t mean you had to fill them with BEDS. Once they had moved in, Clyde kitted out the second bedroom as his study. He put his computer, books and records in it. And his jukebox.

Meanwhile, Bonnie bought a chest-freezer and put THAT in the smallest bedroom. This enabled them to buy food in bulk, whilst filling the rest of the room with non-perishable items – loo-rolls, etc. – also bought in bulk. The room saved them a FORTUNE.

And now every week, they invite their friends round to PARTY. Having chosen a semi where the entrance halls are adjacent, there are THREE walls between them and their neighbours. And thanks to double-glazing, what happens in their domicillus STAYS in their domicillus.

They watch premium satellite on their 52″ flat-screen, go on three foreign holidays a year and drive a second-hand Ferrari.

The moral of this story? Get a vasectomy – NOW!!!

Morpheus on… A/V Equipment “Fashion”

Elsewhere, I’ve remarked that style is for individualists, while fashion is for the gullible. And nowhere is this truer than with A/V equipment.

For decades, record-players, radios and televisions came in veneered wooden boxes of variable quality – or cases moulded from the ubiquitous Bakelite. But then in the Sixties, thanks to advances in plastics and the invention of chip-board, they started using plasticised fabric over this new, cheap substance.

But in the Seventies, a new phenonenon invaded the scene. It was called “brushed aluminium”. This held sway for a decade, until the manufacturers began introducing “planned obsolescence” (it had worked for the auto industry, so why not?)

First, in the early Eighties, they came up with matte black boxes. Then within a few years, they introduced “curvy” boxes (impractical, but let the sodding engineers worry about how to do it).

And just as that had become established, they went with silver again. But this time, it was “anodised”, to prevent those who still possessed brushed aluminium units from the Seventies feeling cool.

These days, the fad is SHINY black. Again, like with brushed/anodised silver, they don’t want those with old matte-black boxes to feel hip.

Of course, it’s all bullsh*t. And as with ALL fashion, the REALLY cool people IGNORE it and hold on to their A/V equipment until it conks out – no matter WHAT it LOOKS like.

(Incidentally, in my den, I have an old radiogram cabinet I use for a speaker housing. It featured in the movie ”Blithe Spirit” – which was made in 1945!)

Morpheus on… Sailing

So this rich bloke sees “Master And Commander” and decides to buy a sailing boat.

In due course, he has possession of a sixty-footer, a matching cap and a book entitled “How To Sail”.

But after ten minutes of reading about larboard and scuppers he realises he needs professional help and places an ad for two crewmen in “Yachting Monthly”.

So these two blokes answer his ad. They are two of the strangest men Rich Bloke has ever seen – one has ENORMOUS eyes – the other, GIGANTIC ears. He names them “The Owl” and “Dumbo”.

And since they are the only two to turn up, he decides to give them a go. It’s a calm, sunny day, with a slight breeze. They head slowly out to sea and pretty soon, the land has disappeared to be replaced by lots of nothing.

After scanning the empty horizon for a few hours, Rich Bloke gets bored. His two men appear to know what they’re doing, so he decides to go below and catch up on some reading. He instructs them to give him a shout if anything happens.

After a couple of hours, there’s a knock on his cabin door. It’s The Owl. “You said to call you if there was anything, Sir. There’s a boat off the starboard bow.”

They go up on deck and after being told where the starboard bow is, Rich Bloke scans the horizon. He sees nothing. “Where?” he asks. The Owl points to a minuscule speck on the horizon. Making a mental note to bring his binoculars next time, he says, “My Lord, you’ve got good eyes – what is it?”

“It’s a Russian trawler, Sir,” pipes up Dumbo.

“How can you tell?” asks Rich Bloke.

“I can hear ‘em talking.”

Morpheus on… David Carradine And Auto- Erotic Asphyxiation

This reporter once STAYED at the hotel where David breathed his last, two days ago.

The practise of Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation is not new. It began four hundred years ago, when people at public hangings noticed some men demonstrated sexual arousal – in the obvious way.

This lead to many experimenting with partial asphyxiation during sex rituals.

Of course, the technique is not without its dangers. Around 500 exponents DIE every year, in America alone. The most famous recent casualty is believed to have been rock star Michael Hutchence, of INXS.

And David was nothing if not an experimenter. The son of John Carradine, he changed his name from John Jnr to David to avoid confusion with his father who, when David began his career in the early Sixties, was still working.

His career really took off in the early Seventies as the hero of the successful TV series, “Kung Fu”. And while it seemed to many he would never shake off the inevitable identification with the role of “Glasshopper”, he nevertheless continued to work tirelessly in supporting roles, recently re-asserting himself in the “Kill Bill” movies and “Crank (2)”.

In fact there are currently half-a-dozen projects in post-, involving the actor.

But it was while filming “Kung Fu” that his interest in Eastern Studies was aroused. This lead to study of all kinds of mind-techniques – one of which was AEA. And sadly, in a town where ANYTHING can be had for a price, his exploration of the possibilities of the human experience came to an end.

Knowing the hotel concerned, this reporter has no doubt that others were involved with his misadventure – but they won’t be giving interviews…

Morpheus on… TV Show Titles

Have you noticed how US TV shows with one-word-titles are usually the best shows on TV?

Off the top of my head – and in alphabetical order – I would cite “Becker”, “Bones”, “Cheers”, “Columbo”, “Dexter”, “Dirrt”, “Frasier”, “Friends”, “Fringe”, “Futurama”, “House”, “Kojak”, “M.A.S.H.”, “Monk”, “Mythbusters” and “Taxi”.

Of course, it’s not a 100% rule – “Baretta”, “Baywatch”, “Dallas” and “Greenacres” being obvious examples.

Plus “E.R.”, “Hill St Blues”, “Lou Grant”, “Studio 60” and “West Wing” went with more than one word and they were no slouches.

And “Star Trek” begat shows with many words in their titles.

But as a GENERAL guide, if an American TV show goes with a one-word title – check it OUT!

Morpheus on… Yet Another Silly From Mr Health And Safety

Remember The Good Old Days, when you poured out your Wakey Flakes (if there actually IS a breakfast cereal of that name, this story has nothing to do with it) and a bit of plastic crap fell out with them?

My favourites were a series of little smiling “alien” chappies that came, in a variety of colours, with “Sugar Puffs”, circa 1962.

For no particular reason, their heads filled into their feet and their hands linked also. Thus you could make them into towers, daisy chains – hell, if you ate enough Puffs, you could make a waistcoat out of them.

They were particularly appealing, because as far as I knew, they weren’t part of any promotion – they just WERE.

Well, t’other day, I opened a box of Rice Krispies and another piece of plastic crap fell out. It was licensed by Disney – to advertise some mediocre product of theirs – and had been made in China.

Now you could be forgiven for thinking that little has changed in 50 years (apart from the fact that in ‘62, the plastic crap was labelled Hong-Kong) but there WAS a difference. Mr Health And Safety had been at work.

You’ll note that at the top of this piece, I said fell out WITH. In ‘62, that was true. But no longer.

At some point in the Seventies, despite there being NO reports of kids coming down with Yellow Fever (which doesn’t come from the Orient anyway) or getting little plastic aliens stuck in their throats, these bits of plastic crap began appearing wrapped in cellophane packets.

And now, it appears even THIS isn’t good enough for Mr H & S. This latest offering – still wrapped in cellophane – came not from INSIDE the pack of cerial, but rather from the gap BETWEEN the pack and the outer box.

Mr H & S needs to get a LIFE.

Morpheus on… Speed-Dating

Elsewhere in these ramblings, I’ve computed the odds on finding the most important thing this life has to offer – the perfect life-partner – from any single encounter, at one in seven hundred and fifty.

This was based on the The Chemistry Of Love - one in fifty - multiplied by the odds on it being mutual – two in three - multiplied again by the odds on the couple having enough compatibility to enable the relationship to prosper (compatibility having ZIP to do with said Chemistry).

Thus to be assured of finding the right person, one needs to encounter seven hundred and fifty potential life-partners. Try telling THAT to a dating agency!

However, some bright spark came up with a logical answer. “Speed-Dating”. It’s a cross between a convention and a Paul Jones.

For the benefit of people under EIGHTY, I should explain what a Paul Jones is – or rather, was. It was a dance-hall (where most unions started in days of yore) ice-breaker, popular in the Thirties and Forties, where the band would play a link-tune (usually a two-step like “Here We Go Gathering Nuts In May”) which would alternate with a series of one-minute dance tunes: a foxtrot, a waltz, a Charleston, etc.

When the link-tune was played, everyone had to leave their partners and quickly form two concentric circles – girls inside, facing outwards – boys outside, facing inwards. The two circles would then rotate in opposite directions, so when the link-tune ended, everyone would find themselves opposite a new partner.

The new couples would then dance to the next piece, until the next link-tune. How do I know this, when I wasn’t born until 1952? I know everything.

So with Speed-Dating, someone hires a hall, does some advertising and brings name-tags, scrap-pads, pencils and a bell. Easy (and lucrative).

Then tables are arranged – in a circle if the venue is big enough – with a chair on each side. Everyone gets a name-tag, scrap-pad and pencil. Then, every three minutes, the bell is rung and all of the destiny-dicers play musical chairs.

By the end of the evening, everybody has met everybody – for just three minutes. What happens next depends on the organisers. Some just leave it up to the people to swop phone numbers. But others tell everyone to write down their names, with the names of those they liked. Then at the end, the organisers place all of the pieces of paper in front of them – and try to work out who should get who.

Of course, this second method can be VERY dodgy. When the organisers pick the matches, there’s bound to be some loser NOBODY liked, which means they may have to match them with the person THEY liked – who will very likely be the hunk/babe half the HALL liked.

And while they’re busy playing God, they may well inadvertently stamp out the perfect match, while creating several nightmares – thus it’s probably best to just let the people swop numbers.

Plus there are other pitfalls – like the numbers of men and women must be the same, or they’ll have people left over (not a problem with the gay version).

Whichever, it’s still a good idea. I mean, seven hundred and fifty dates? Even if a person COULD arrange that number - anyone normal would be burned out after the first twenty. And the TIME it would take to do it at a SANE speed would exceed most people’s LIFE-TIMES – never mind the five (ten at the outside) years that society gives us to find our Soul-Mate.

But given 30, 40 encounters in ONE NIGHT - if one travelled around, at one Speed-Dating session a week, one could reach 750 in just SIX MONTHS.

Which just leaves the short time spent with each encounter. But that too is okay. The Chemistry Of Love happens IMMEDIATELY. Three minutes is all you NEED. It took me FIFTEEN YEARS of active searching, to find my perfect life-partner. But if Speed-Dating had been around then, I would have saved myself MUCH grief.

Instead, I wasted YEARS dating ALL the wrong people (granted I nailed over a hundred of them, but let’s GROW UP - notches on the bed-post are no substitute for Love).

Incidentally, when you DO meet someone at one of these dos, forget about comparing compatibilities. Try asking this question: A bedouin is riding a three-legged camel across the desert – how many legs do they have between them?

Obviously, the answer is five, but the way a person answers this question may reveal much about them in a very short space of time. Like…

(Brightly) “Five.” Smart, trusting, eager to please.

(Slowly) “Well, if it’s not a trick question, five.” Intelligent, but cautious.

“What sort of question is that?” Stroppy.

“Wot’s a bedooin?” A moron.

And so on. Of course, while you are discussing limb-numbers, all of the usual visual and telepathic signals can go back and forth unhindered by mundane crap like, “Wot’s your sign?”

I’m long OUT of “Dating Hell”, but if you’re not – check out the small-ads for Speed-Dating sessions and GO for it. Good luck!

Morpheus on… Round Cars vs Square Cars

Up until WW2, car shapes were functional. Granted, the Thirties had featured SOME exotic shapes, but they were reserved for the RICH. Plebmobiles were two-box affairs. Little box in front for the engine – big box at the back for the occupants. Throw in square doors and windows and you had a car.

But once the ’39-45 argument was settled, car companies began employing DESIGNERS. And ever since, despite all engineering innovations, every decade or so, cars have gone from ROUND to SQUARE – or back again.

Currently they’re square. Let me qualify that – thanks to the auto industry being forced to think FUEL ECONOMY, they’re actually ROUND – but with little creases to make them LOOK square.

And now they’re TALLER, as well. This helps handling not one jot – but it makes them easier to get in and out of (not that the manufacturers could care less about EITHER). However, as with the roundness, it also makes them more FUEL-EFFICIENT, since they present less wind-resistance.

But if the past sixty years is anything to go by, they’ll soon become round again. So why care? A car is a box on four wheels, right? (Sorry, Jeremy).

Well the fact is, EVERYONE HATES SQUARE CARS. I mean, which would YOU prefer? A Volvo or a Jag? Precisely. And while a new, square car might be flavour of the YEAR – once it gets old, it’ll NEVER be a CLASSIC. Think of the classics – NONE of them are SQUARE.

I drive a 15-year-old Mitsu Galant (with NO rear spoiler). It looks like a classic Jag. It’s COOL. And while the latest models gleam all around it, when THEY get old – MY CHARIOT WILL LOOK TEN TIMES BETTER!

Morpheus on… Sixteen And Two Thirds

Once upon a time, there was just one speed for records – 78 revolutions per minute (okay, during the first few years of recorded sound, some companies went with 80, but never mind).

Then in 1948, those tosspots at CBS came up with the long-player, a record that ran at 33¹⁄³ RPM. The following year, RCA (bada-bing, bada-boom) introduced the single. It ran at 45 RPM.

So for the next few decades, all domestic record players had four speeds. FOUR? Yes. Anyone who’s as old as THIS reporter will recall they had 78, 45, 33¹⁄³ - and 16²⁄³.

Now I know this fourth speed was for “talking books”, but despite my having nearly 3,000 records, comprising 78s, 45s and 33¹⁄³s in the conventional sizes – 7″, 10″ and 12″ – plus a variety of oddities, ranging from 3″ to 8″ – I don’t have ONE 16²⁄³ disc. Hell, I’ve never even SEEN one.

Of course, I’m lucky enough to be SIGHTED, so some would say I should be damn GLAD I haven’t encountered any. However, having waded through MILLIONS of discs, including test-records, library discs, slimdisks, give-aways, V-disks and what-have-you, during my 50-year search for the gems in my collection, I would still have expected to come across a FEW. But no.

In fact the only use I EVER had for 16²⁄³ was making “Pinky And Perky” records (in the US, “Alvin And The Chipmunks”) for my own amusement.

For those, you needed a two-speed tape recorder (all tape speeds are multiples of two) then using the low speed, you recorded yourself singing along to it – slurrrrrring your words – to an album track playing at 16²⁄³. Then you played the recording back at the high speed and while the music returned to its normal speed, YOU sounded like – a helium-voiced idiot (I was EASILY amused in those days).

Then again, nowadays you can just use one of those pitch synthesizers available at any branch of Radio Shack.

Anyhoo, the reason I’m troubling you with all of this, is that these words are read by MILLIONS of people (well, approaching 24,000, if my stats are to be believed) all over the World. And I figure SOMEONE out there MUST HAVE one of these 16²⁄³ RPM records. So if that person is YOU, please leave a comment on this piece. Thankyou!

[UPDATE! I have now learned the following...

Wikipedia: “16 2/3 RPM - This speed was used almost exclusively for spoken word content, in particular for the "talking books" used by the visually impaired. For this reason, the inclusion of a 16 2/3 speed setting on turntables was compulsory in some countries for many years, despite the records themselves being a rarity. Cassette tapes proved to be a far more popular format for such spoken content.”

So now we know! Of course, while 12" vinyl albums were introduced in '48, the audio-cassette had to wait another 15 years for its debut. Thus from '48 to '63, the only medium for domestic playing of talking books would have been those damn 16²⁄³ RPM records. However, if the above is to be believed, few were actually produced.

And it appears only (pre-PC!) regulation forced the inclusion of the speed on the players (the extra “shoulder” on the gear wheels would have cost the manufacturers ZIP). Still, it DID permit those with tape-recorders and an imagination to make utter prats of themselves!] 

Morpheus on… Genetics

The great Oscar Wilde was once button-holed at a party by a woman who, not realizing he was camp, suggested they get together and produce a child. She theorised it would benefit from her beauty and his brains. Oscar then pointed out this plan was flawed by the possibility the child might inherit HIS beauty and HER…

This oft-told tale leads me to another. Posh and Becks were being interviewed for a puff piece. When the hack asked how they had celebrated their wedding anniversary, Becks replied that they dined at a restaurant. When asked which one, he looked troubled and replied, “Er… Station.” “Waterloo?” suggested the word-smith. “No.” “Euston?” “No.” “Victoria?” “Yeah, that’s it. Victoria, what was the name of that restaurant?”

My point is that genetics play an important part in deciding WHO we will be. If nature had been kind, Oscar and the woman might have produced a perfect child - but when BOTH partners are as thick as two short planks, their product is unlikely to be a rocket scientist either. This is just FACT.

So when I read a chat-room strand which asked why Thai women and European men get on so well, and saw that the main assumption concerned MONEY, I felt constrained to put in my two penn’oth. I pointed out there are plenty of other poor countries with beautiful women and no welfare system, but that European males don’t flock THERE, looking for brides.

I opined the actual reason was down to GENETICS. I.e., the Thai nation are blessed and cursed with a surfeit of oestrogen, which is marvelous for the women – little body hair, small bones, smooth skin, lovely hair – but not so hot for the MEN – luxuriant hair and a flat tummy being poor compensation for a tendency towards effeminacy (hence the large number of trans-gender males - or “lady-boys” – in that country).

On the other hand, Europeans are prone to an excess of testosterone, leading to THEIR big-boned, flabby women having to shave their legs and pits every day, while their men are BUTCH. Thus, I stated, a union between a European man and a Thai woman is akin to putting a Triumph engine into a Norton Feather-bed frame to produce a “Triton” – a classic motorcycle.

I further pointed out this fortunate interracial mix is not unique. F’rinstance, Afro-Caribbean men mix well with white European women – although this has less to do with genetics than social conditioning. Afro-Caribbean boys are traditionally taught to be ASSERTIVE, while their sisters are raised to be chaste (and never caught). However, white European women are less repressed and many are fed up with wishy-washy “New Men” and prefer a partner with more CONFIDENCE.

Of course, both of the above examples are only STEREOTYPICAL. Individual people vary – some radically – from their group. But as a generalisation, it seemed not unreasonable.

So I figured these points ought to stimulate discussion, but all that happened was I began to be abused by some semi-literate P.C. arsehole called – let’s say, Harold. I responded by saying, “There are TWO ‘L’s in ‘troll’, you moron!” This resulted in some pencil-necked “moderator” DELETING all our posts as fast as we could enter them (like I needed help from HIM). Eventually, I tired of the site – but the experience taught me two important lessons.

One: the site in question often contains useful information, so it’s worth scanning occasionally - but not worth contributing to. But more importantly, two: P.C. paranoia has DEVASTATED the INTELLIGENT discussion of topics like genetics and racial stereotypes. Which is sad. I mean, provided you take one assumption as read, these subjects affect us all and SHOULD be open to people engaging in intelligent debate, without fear of being labeled a Nazi, “troll” or Frankenstein.

So what IS that assumption? Simple. All people are entitled to the same RESPECT as human beings. And while different groups of people may vary ENORMOUSLY in aspects such as race, creed, colour of skin and politics, tastes, habits, preferences, lifestyle and while TYPES of people vary in age, IQ, vocation, sex and sexual orientation, the basic fact remains we all have the same HUMAN RIGHTS.

But despite P.C. prats like “Harold” trying to convince us otherwise, people are not the SAME. Our genetic pre-dispositions, geographical locations and styles of upbringing define who we ARE. And this is not something to be FEARED, rather CELEBRATED. Think how BORING the World would be if we were all the damn same. Vive La Difference!

And an understanding of those differences enable us to COMMUNICATE with each other. And THAT helps prevent WARS. As far as the petty QUALITIES of groups and types are concerned, these have to be tolerated. After all, they are SUBJECTIVE. The qualities of a group that attract some individuals will inevitably repel others – and vice-versa.

Of course, while no-one IS “better” than anyone else, certain realities must be faced. Like, some people are more “worthy” than others. Doctors have to decide who will live and die every day, based on their worth to society. And some are just NICER. Who would YOU save from a fire? Your grouchy neighbour or his polite wife? These characteristics are fundamental.

However, when you FAVOUR – or worse, DEMONISE someone because of their RACE – THAT is where it comes off the rails. Racial hatred is born of ignorance. A primitive desire to beat the crap out of anyone perceived as different, in the interests of racial purity. But then, cavemen were unable to travel more than a few hundred miles from their place of birth. Whereas now, air-travel enables us to travel from anywhere to anywhere on the PLANET in a matter of HOURS – at worst, a few days.

But with this ability comes RESPONSIBILITY. Thanks to genetics, we will encounter people who are DIFFERENT from us. We have to understand and TOLERATE those differences. And burying our heads in the sand and declaring those differences don’t EXIST – is COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE.

So there it is. I welcome comments on this piece from thoughtful souls. And provided they are coherent and civilized, I will publish them – even if they are diametrically opposed to my stated views. It’s called Healthy Discussion. Let the Revolution start here…

Morpheus on… Argos – A Tale Of Redemption

Okay, this one is for under-35 Brits. Watching a couple of recent standup concerts from England made this historian realize there’s a whole generation in The Old Country who do not understand the concept of Argos – or its latter day imitators. You see, the success of Argos is the Commercial World’s biggest FLUKE.

For its origins, we need to travel back over a CENTURY, to Victorian America (now THERE’S an oxymoron if I ever heard one) for it was then and there that a device called the Trading Stamp made it’s debut.

These days, most people are aware of “loyalty cards” and the fact that they tie you to ONE shop or chain of shops. But trading stamps had no such limitation. ANY shop that displayed the logo of the stamp company issued them. Collect enough and you got STUFF for them.

And one of the first was a company called S & H Green Stamps. But we don’t care about them, so let’s travel forward to 1958. A British entrepreneur named Richard Tompkins was travelling across The States and observed this phenomenon – and since Britain was now beginning to recover from the financial constrictions of WW2, he decided the time was ripe to introduce the experience to its citizens.

He called his products Green Shield Stamps. The way they worked was he bought stuff, put it into a catalogue, then sent reps round to shops – ANY shops - who would buy the stamps, the books to stick them in and window stickers to advertise the fact they issued them. Then they undertook to GIVE the stamps away with their goods, while Green Shield undertook to redeem them.

For the shops, it represented a small drop in profits. But in exchange for increased turnover, it made good business sense. “Do you give stamps? No? I’ll go elsewhere.” Thus it was that before long, not wishing to be outdone by their competition, EVERYONE gave stamps. Food shops, petrol stations, tobacconists (remember them?) chemists, hookers, EVERYONE.

Even S & H Green Stamps belatedly hopped across The Pond and set up a rival concern. But since Dick had called HIS outfit GREEN Shield, they had to change their name. So in a blinding flash of inspiration, they renamed THEIR products (just for the British market) S & H PINK Stamps. The War Of The Colours was ON – but having established themselves first, Green won.

However, what goes up must come down. In the early Seventies, Britain suffered a major recession and companies were getting TIRED of issuing interminable stamps – and now that everybody gave them, the playing field was level, the advantage gone. But to KEEP it level, they had to dream up a worthwhile REPLACEMENT. Enter: loyalty cards. A bonus – AND a way of monitoring customers.

Which meant Green Shield’s bubble had burst. So Dick did what all business- men do when their business is falling apart. He went on holiday. To Greece, in fact. Specifically, to a city called – you guessed it – ARGOS. It was then that he had a Silly Idea.

The thing was, the major part of his business were the many hundreds of “Redemption Centres” where people would come with their books of stamps to swop them for the STUFF. But when setting up the concern, Dick had realised that giving people more of the same goods they had been buying to OBTAIN the stamps in the first place would seem like nothing more than a piffling DISCOUNT – which of course is what it was.

And so he’d come up with the idea of filling his redemption centres with little “luxuries”. Gifts to oneself – or others. Thus the redemption centres had become treasure troves of slightly luxurious GOODIES. The sorts of things one wouldn’t normally buy as everyday items. Dick had unintentionally cornered a market. The then-rare, but now-common, Gift Shop.

Also, the redemption centres were unlike normal shops. Since it was easier to warehouse goods and just display one of each item, he had come up with the idea of The Catalogue. You came in with your books, looked through one of the by-now ENORMOUS catalogues of Delights, selected your delight, filled in a little slip with its Number, took it to the counter where a school-leaver would shuffle off through The Doorway To A Place Of Enchantment to find it – and sit expectantly.

So Dick figured since he had cornered this market and peculiar style of shopping, why not just carry on with it, using CASH? Sure, he’d continue to honour the stamps, for as long as they kept coming – and even accept part-cash, part-stamps. They wouldn’t last long. One of the perks of his business was the amount of stamps that got lost or just thrown away by those who disliked the taste of the gum or couldn’t be arsed sticking them in the books (and another was that his redemption centres were shoplifter-proof).

Silly idea? Maybe. But it WORKED!

Having got used to the kind of goodies Dick purveyed and the odd way they were delivered to them, the customers kept on coming. All Dick had to do was change the sign over the door…

ARGOS

GREEN SHIELD REDEMPTION CENTRE

                                                                        …and teach the school-leavers how to make change. Simple. And thirty-five years on, Argos prevails.

So if YOU wondered how these big shops, with their eccentric wares and bizarre method of retailing came to be – wonder no longer. I’ve given you their history which I know to be true, because as an ex-Brit of fifty-five summers, I was THERE!

Morpheus on… Prequels

There are a number of types of movie this film-fan will travel miles to avoid.

The movie written by its director (or directed by its writer). The media of the moving image and the written word are QUITE different and require separate people for each if the result is to be intelligible.

The no-brainer actioner. Now I enjoy a good action movie as much as the next guy, but watching people just shooting guns at each other and driving cars very fast gets old LONG before the usual ninety minutes is up.

The effects movie. Again, this writer has no objections to CGI, when it moves the STORY along. But when it BECOMES the story… bor-ing.

The spin-off. Of course, ALL films derived from BOOKS could be classed as spin-offs, but then avoiding movies sourced from novels would mean missing half the movies ever MADE. No, I’m talking of films that come from video-games, TV shows and gawdelpus – theme park rides (okay, “Pirates Of The Caribbean” notwithstanding).

Then we have the dreaded REMAKE. Either of classic films or non-English language products. These will NEVER recapture the spirit of the originals.

Finally, we have the sequel. As with remakes, whatever originality the original had, MUST be lost when a re-run is attempted – and anyway, today’s audiences are ON to that con. So enter – the PREQUEL.

You can see where Hollywood’s collective heads were at. When a franchise starts creaking, you can revive it by switching the ageing – not to mention by now EXPENSIVE – stars for younger models. This will appeal to the core audience – YOUNG people. Not old farts like me.

Thus Hollywood decided prequels were the way forward – which is ironic if you think about it.

Mind you, there’s nothing NEW in this. Prequels have been around for thirty years – remember “Butch And Sundance – The Early Days”? But only since the success of no less than THREE prequels to the “Star Wars” trilogy of the same period, have they really caught on. And now EVERYBODY’S doing it.

This historian only has – or HAD – two franchises that for him (only every TWO YEARS) were unmissable. Bond and The Trek. And now BOTH have been infected, nay, EVISCERATED by prequelitis (which, naturally, the SpellChecker rejects – although tragically, it ACCEPTS prequel).

First Bond got re-started – but with the same actress playing “M” – which makes NO damn sense. And now even “Star Trek” has fallen prey to the disease. The latest offering has been directed by a kid – stars kids – and is made FOR kids.

Of course, it’s my fault. The people who buy the tickets are still young – but I got OLD.

Morpheus on… Another Doctor’s Story

This bloke began experiencing a burning sensation every time he had a pee, so he went to see his doctor. The doctor told him it was probably an STD. The man was outraged. “Oh don’t get in a dither,” the doctor said, “STDs don’t discriminate between princes and paupers. Fill this bottle.”

The man disappeared behind a screen, but after a minute or so, emerged. “I don’t need to go,” he said. “Never mind,” answered the doc, “take it home, do a squirt and bring it back tomorrow.”

Once home, the man finally did his specimen and replaced the cap. But as time passed, he started to fret about his doctor’s attitude. Then he noticed his cat heading for her litter tray. On an impulse, he followed the animal. As she squatted, he whipped the top off the specimen bottle and managed to catch a little of the animal’s urine.

Next, deciding to REALLY test the doctor, he went out to his garage, raised his car’s bonnet, withdrew the dipstick and dropped a few drips of its sump oil into the bottle. Then he replaced the cap and shook the bottle to mix its contents. The following day he returned to the surgery, handed it over and was told to return in a week for the test results.

The following week found him once more at his doctor’s, who said, “Well, the results have come in and I’m afraid you’ve got stage one Gonorrhoea. It’s not serious at this point. Pick up this prescription, finish the course, no sex or booze for three months, then come and see me for a final checkup.

The man looked glum and started to leave. Then the doctor turned and said, “Oh and by the way – your cat’s pregnant and your engine needs new rings.”

(My name’s Morpheus. I’m here all week).

Morpheus on… Another Silly Movie Cliche

It appears there’s a company making TV remote controls that sound like pump-action shotguns being cocked, every time they are used - and which are sold exclusively for use as props to movie production companies.

While you and I use those SILENT models, which consist of a rubber button-bank which is mounted onto the remote’s PCB. The only way you’ll get a sound out of THOSE is to STAMP on them.

Of course one assumes that, in reality, thirty-odd years ago some second-rate director instructed his Foley people to inject a click-click into the audio on his production, to let the audience KNOW that a TV remote had been activated, because it was crucial to the PLOT.

And when said Foley-man had pointed out to him that remotes hadn’t made a sound since the FIFTIES, he over-ruled him. Then, the erroneous precedent having been established, other second-rate directors simply reinforced it.

And it became yet another in a long line of movie sillys.

Like the hand-guns that sound like a missile-launcher – instead of a Chinese firecracker, which is what they REALLY sound like – and which fire ENDLESS bullets without a reload. And those dart-guns that knock a man down in a second – instead of the twenty minutes it would REALLY take.

And binoculars which give a view that looks like an “8” on its side. Unless you are boss-eyed, the view will be two circles, superimposed.

What about those security video and satellite stills where a vehicle is shown as a blob – then the hero asks the nerd to “enhance” the picture and it forms blocks which dissolve into a clear number-plate. Or even more absurdly – a TAX-DISK! The reality is, you cannot enhance what IS NOT THERE.

Or when the hero comes round (in seconds) after being knocked unconscious and the shot goes from a blur to clarity. Fine, except when the heroine looking down into his face is not looking INTO the camera (rarely, they got it RIGHT in “Goldfinger”). 

Then there are the phones that are always answered IMMEDIATELY. And computers that boot up likewise.

Plus safes that open with a single twist of the combination knob – and which only require a stethoscope if you don’t happen to have the combination. And the Yale lock that a tweak with two picks can open.

And have you noticed how in movies, people open car doors on the offside, or pull out, or walk across streets without any pretence of LOOKING? If you or I did that, we’d lose our doors/have an accident/get killed. Okay, we know they have the street under control while filming, but surely, in the interests of realism, could directors not instruct their actors to at least APPEAR to LOOK WHERE THEY’RE BLOODY GOING?

It all goes to show CRAP drama IS just real life with the boring bits missed out.

Morpheus on… Beauty Contests

Before we can probe the phenomenon of beauty contests, we must address the term – beauty “pageants”. This is one of those stupid PC inventions that attempt and dismally fail to dignify something deemed dubious (alliteration!)

Fact is, the entrants are still called contestants – not “pageantees” – so it’s a contest then.

But as soon as you start to treat it as such, you run into all sorts of problems.

Like, only fashion and photographic models and girls who are in the general beauty business enter them. They’ve been taught how to walk – or clump – about. So the contestants will only be the most beautiful PROFESSIONALS. The girl-next-door might be a BABE, but she wouldn’t get past the auditions.

And then how do you judge it? Award points for various “features”? I mean, Audrey Hepburn gave great FACE – but had a body like a hat-stand. Girls with big (real) boobs tend to have unspectacular kabooses. In short, few girls have it ALL.

Plus there’s the “cattle market” issue. For a PHYSICAL beauty contest to be judged ACCURATELY, the girls would have to be NAKED. Which would be fine on the Playboy Channel or the Naturist Channel – if such a thing existed – but on World-wide Primetime? I don’t think so.

Finally, there is the question of taste. It is a fact that Beauty IS In The Eye Of The Beholder – so the winner will inevitably be a generic, middle-of-the-road bimbo (or himbo) who will appeal to NO-ONE.

This latter issue is even more apposite when the contest is an international one. Tastes – and body-shapes – vary enormously from region to region. Thus it is IMPOSSIBLE to find a person whose face and physique will gratify ALL.

And if that international competition seeks to meld physical beauty with “inner” beauty, by having the contestants SPEAK – then non-English speakers are at an immediate disadvantage, having to work through interpreters. And those with unpopular views (see recently) will lose – even if they have the looks of Aphrodite (or David).

I could go on. But the reality is, once you begin trying to analyse and apply LOGIC to the concept of beauty contests, the whole thing UNRAVELS!

The only way to treat beauty contests is as what they ARE. A chance for professionals in the beauty trade to promote themselves in a spectacular PAGEANT. YES! We’ve come full circle. You see, there is nothing wrong with a beauty PAGEANT – provided you get rid of the damn CONTEST element.

As I think I’ve proved, to have winners and losers is ABSURD. In the past, people were happy to enjoy beauty contests for what they WERE – a superficial piece of NONSENSE. But these days, Society demands REALITY. And beauty contests DEFY reality.

But pageants are fine – a chance to just enjoy human beauty for the marvel that it is. And a chance for spotty little boys to have a good… time.

Morpheus on… The Great Train Crash

I’ll never forget the morning of March 22nd., 2006. It was the day that the Butterworth to Bangkok express hit a ten-ton grain truck on a level crossing. Being asleep, back in coach 13, all I suffered was a rude awakening. Others were not so lucky.

Having quickly dressed, I went to see what we’d hit. As I surveyed – and photographed – the tangled wreckage, it became readily apparent what had happened. The truck had come across the single rail-track from the left, dodging around the half-barriers, when its cab had been hit square-on by the locomotive.

The loco was on its side in a paddy-field, its undercarriage ripped away as it had ploughed over the truck’s cab. The emergency services were already removing the luckless train-driver from what remained of the front end. There was no hurry.

What little was left of the truck’s cab was receiving the same treatment, while the dead and dying were being freed from coach 1. It was obvious that my continued presence would not help matters, so I removed myself from the scene.

Early news reports regarding the cause of the disaster merely echoed my own first impression; it had been the truck-driver’s fault. But examining my photos later, it realised I might have been a bit hasty. I noticed something that, at the scene, had only grazed my subconscious and which, had I not spent five years with [a large electronics corporation] as a Road Traffic Systems Engineer, I would probably have missed entirely.

The half barriers were down and UNDAMAGED, but their control-box had been CRUMPLED by the back end of the truck, as it had been swept past, by the loco. This was clearly indicated by the marks in the grass, both on the photos and in my memory of the scene.

But this did not square with the reports I had read, which declared that the truck-driver had been stoned, drunk, asleep at the wheel – or just incredibly stupid.

The thing was, it had been 07:45 on a bright, clear morning. Nobody is incapable at that time. And whilst manoeuvring a fully-laden ten-tonner around two half-barriers – at SPEED according to one report – across a single rail-track, might not be impossible (I once drove trucks as well) it would hardly have been easy. And yet the barriers were unscathed.

Furthermore, wouldn’t a man responsible for his own life, that of his young passenger (the reports stated the occupants had been the truck’s owner and a younger man) his truck (his livelihood) never mind its load (representing perhaps six months’ work for a family - possibly his own) take the trouble to turn his head a few degrees, thus enabling him to look down a clear, straight track, where he would have observed several hundred tons of train heading straight for him?

It just didn’t add up. But another scenario DID. I believe that when the truck-driver approached the junction, the barriers were UP. And he did what ALL of us do when given an official all-clear - he carried on, trusting to LUCK. But on that March morning, his luck ran OUT. Along with that of the train-driver and several of the train’s passengers.

Then, as the truck was slammed into the barriers’ control-box, destroying it, the power was cut to the barriers, causing them to “safety-default” – simply drop down under their own weight.

For the fault to have happened, it would only have taken a minor glitch in the sensors, their wiring, or the control-box itself. The site was rural. The fault could have existed for some time without even being reported.

But I was alive and the dead were dead. So why was I troubled? Because I had this recurring vision of a widow weeping for her dead husband. Perhaps also for her eldest son (the other passenger?) For the stigma she and her remaining children would bear for LIFE; that her husband/their father had been a stoned/drunk/reckless fool who caused his own and several other deaths, plus injuries to some fifty others.

AND for the fact that now she and her children had no income (Thailand has no welfare system). The State Railway of Thailand would have been unlikely to entertain a compensation claim from her – from their point of view, her husband broke their train.

But was it REALLY his fault? If the crash had happened in The West, within months the autopsy results would have been submitted, along with the lab’s report on the remains of the barriers’ control-box (even a smashed circuit can reveal faults that occurred before its destruction) wiring and sensors. Blame would have been apportioned and recommendations made.

But this happened in Thailand. Public enquiries are VERY expensive. And this one might just have showed that the fault had lain with the barrier-system, which according to an SRT official I spoke with, were maintained by the SRT themselves. Which would have been EMBARRASSING.

So far as I was able to establish, NO inquiry took place. The SRT simply cleaned up the mess, repaired the line and went back to business.

Now while it is POSSIBLE the truck-driver was single (the passenger being his “longtime companion”) and pissed as a fart at seven forty-five in the morning, yet still able to negotiate a large, ageing truck around a half-barrier (at speed?) without even scratching it – I maintain that MY scenario HAS to be more LIKELY. Just on percentages.

Thus being doubtless the ONLY retired Road Traffic Systems Engineer on that train, I realised it fell to ME to DO something about this probable grave injustice. But as a Stranger living In A Strange Land, subtlety was needed. I LIVE here. And to those who issue visas, a concerned citizen is one step short of an activist – and an activist is one step short of a TERRORIST.

So I wrote a piece for a certain Bangkok-based English-language newspaper (the ABOVE piece, more or less) and tried to get them to publish it. And get their investigative journalists to follow it up. But nothing happened.

At first, they claimed to have LOST the piece. But when I pointed out I’d sent it registered – and they’d SIGNED for it – they eventually caved and printed it. Including the bit at the end which read, “…I call upon the [name of the newspaper], an organ I trust, to take it on and pursue the truth.”

Unfortunately, it transpired they TOO were Strangers In A Strange Land and hadn’t stayed in business throughout Thailand’s many political ups and downs by making themselves BUSY. All of their foreign news came off the wires, whilst local news reports were merely regurgitated press handouts. They didn’t HAVE investigative journalists.

So unless someone important saw my piece and ACTED on it – I doubt anything was ever done. But at least I can look at myself in the shaving mirror and say I TRIED.

Meanwhile, the next time YOU approach a level crossing – or indeed, just a regular road traffic-light – remember, they DON’T ALWAYS WORK. As a now-retired road traffic systems engineer, I can tell you that during five years in the job - in ENGLAND - I encountered THREE sets of lights that had “conflicting greens” (a green both ways). It HAPPENS.

In fact, my company once asked me to appear as an “expert witness” in a trial involving a fatal RTA (Road Traffic Accident) and state that a green conflict was impossible. I refused. When they asked why, I listed the ones I’d SEEN.

So I’m sorry if you’re a motorist and I’ve ruined your illusions. Of course, you CAN LEGALLY slow down to walking-speed every time you approach a green light, thus enabling you to establish that the traffic coming the other way HAS actually stopped – if you don’t mind the constant honking of angry motorists and the occasional dozy one rear-ending you.

But realistically, all you can ACTUALLY do is what the driver of that grain-truck probably did – having been given the official all-clear, plough on and hope for the best. After all, traffic-lights USUALLY work…

Morpheus on… The Trouble With Film Comedy

Back in the Seventies, there was a revival of interest in the films of the Marx Brothers. And I well remember how their new fans bemoaned the inclusion of “romantic sub-plots” – particularly in the later ones. I too thought the producers should have just let the boys loose.

Of course, I now know the truth. It’s been tried – but it doesn’t WORK. No matter HOW good a comedy film is, audience laughter begins to flag after an hour. In other words, great as the Brothers’ schtick was – the films would never have become the classics they are without the inclusion of PLOTS.

You’ll have noticed these days, the works of the Zuckers, Farrellys, et al, are NEVER more than seventy-five minutes long (if you exclude the five-minute credit sequences – and by the time THEY’RE over, the cinema is usually EMPTY) while films made by the likes of Nancy Meyers run TWO HOURS.

This is because Nancy’s films are comedy-DRAMAS. They have a STORY.

When “It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” premiered, being a mega-movie (a film intended to run in two halves, without a support feature) it ran two hours fifty minutes. However, the release version was trimmed by twenty minutes, most of which featured a sub-plot where Spencer Tracy’s “Capt Culpepper” conspires with Buster Keaton’s “Jimmy” to grab the loot and head South.

Plus, the original script had scenes that were never even filmed, that gave more insight into ALL the characters. But in the end, it was all DROPPED, leaving two and a half hours of wall-to-wall MAYHEM, the ONLY diversion being poor old Culpepper’s world falling apart. However, his reaction to that (running off with the loot) seems out of character, without the missing scene.

Nevertheless, it is a measure of the BRILLIANCE of this epic that even with- out the planned filling out of the characters, it stands today as probably the greatest comedy film ever made (next year, there’ll be a [shudder] sequel).

But Mad World apart, NO film featuring ONLY comedy can keep an audience rocking with laughter for more than eighty minutes – it’s just not possible.

Hence the REALITY of having to give the audience SOMETHING to keep their interest alive – even a lame romantic sub-plot.

All of which supports the old show-biz adage. Give the audience what they want – not what they THINK they want!

Morpheus on… Flying

It’s been a number of years now, since I heard of a machine that enabled a person to fly like a bird. It consisted of a light rig, suspended by wires – and a “virtuality” helmet. The flier would strap themselves in and don the helmet, which contained speakers and a 3-D view that covered the natural field of vision. The helmet and suspending wires were connected to a computer.

The flier would lie prone, with their arms outstretched. Then every time they moved, their movements would be picked up by the suspending wires and relayed to the computer, which would generate graphics to match the movements. These would be displayed inside the virtuality helmet.

Thus, jackknife and you would go down – arch your back and you would rise. Speed was controlled by the arms. Forward for slower, back for faster. The audio was merely white noise, which rose in intensity the faster you went – it was meant to represent the rush of air. But it was the VIDEO that made it. The computer had a memory bank of shapes – graphic representations of buildings, hills and trees.

Once you got the hang of it, the experience was like being in the flying sequences from the first Superman movie, Disney’s Peter Pan and David (the magician, not the Dickins character) Copperfield’s “Flying” routine, all rolled into one. The experience was so emotional, some came out of it CRYING (I can relate to that – watching Copperfield’s routine makes ME misty - it cuts deep at the heart of man’s desire for freedom).

But there was a catch (there always is). In racing video-games, the graphics are highly sophisticated – sometimes derived from photographs of the actual circuit itself – but the parameters laid down for the cars are limited. When going round Monaco, you can’t just turn off the course and head for Cannes.

However, since the flying machine gave you 360-degree freedom – you could go anywhere - its graphics were of necessity, far more basic.

BUT… NOW, we have GOOGLE EARTH!!!

When they MARRY these two technologies, I’ve got dibs on the first flight…

Morpheus on… The Age Of Consent

There are around two hundred countries on this planet and the laws governing when one may bonk - without risking JAIL - vary considerably.

In primitive countries, the law says you must be MARRIED – or TWENTY-FIVE (by which time, one supposes, they figure you’ve been “left on the shelf” - so what the hell).

In many American states, the age is eighteen – about three years AFTER a man’s sexual peak. Although, down South, one hears of old geezers marrying second-cousins of twelve. Apparently, down there, the church has more power than the cops.

In Europe, despite the eternal drive for uniformity, the age varies dramat- ically between countries. From twelve in Holland (which has Europe’s lowest rate of teen-pregnancy) to sixteen in Britain (which has its HIGHEST).

Here in Thailand, the age is the same as MOST countries – fifteen.

However it must be said that countries with low ages of consent often have additional legislation, to try to control middle-aged creepy guys (like this writer) from preying on young teens. Like “banded” systems, where under-eighteens can only have congress with OTHER under-eighteens.

In Britain, the age of consent was introduced in the Victorian age – to stop rich hoorays going from the West End of London to the East End (Jack The Ripper country) to nail KIDS (STDs were lethal and incurable in those days, so virgins – or those who’d only had a few partners – were at a premium).

Of course, the age of consent for GAY sex has always been a thorny subject. It is considered that a young person who is genetically programmed to be gay will not be traumatised by a straight encounter – whereas the other way round…

This is fair enough – since although most gays know they’re gay by the age of fourteen, many are still “questing” (trying to DISCOVER their orientation) well into their TWENTIES. They need to find their OWN solution – not be jumped on by an ageing whoopsy. Thus the age of consent for gays is often higher than for straights.

Of course in primitive countries, there IS NO age of consent for gay sex. The act is still illegal. According to Imadinnerjacket (or whatever his name is) Iran HAS no gays anyway (although it DOES have a lot of closets).

So where does this leave us? Well, I’M alright – I’ve always found girls less than nineteen to be sexually immature (90% of sex is in the brain) and thus unrewarding as an experience – plus I’ve been happily married to my Lady for nearly eight years now and we still feature most nights.

But the YOUNG today have more pressure than ever before. Right-wing morons try to sell them ABSTINENCE (tell me how THAT works out) while the media sells them SEX. In Eighties slasher movies, the kids who got it on were the first to lose their heads – and arms – and legs – and… But the kids knew they were only movies.

Today’s kids already have their WANDERLUST repressed by society’s need for them to get further educashun – which is why they rebel. So stifling their sex-drives as WELL, is sure to lead to trouble.

This writer lost HIS cherry at fourteen – but only as an exercise. Unfortunately, the experience was mediocre.

But to “wait for marriage” is disastrous. It’s unnatural and screws UP the experience when it finally DOES happen. Far better to wait for LOVE – or at least, someone with whom you have sexual chemistry. Then the First Time can be magical. And that First Time is the one that will define the act for you for years – perhaps decades – to come.

Therefore, to “regulate” when one may HAVE that experience is innately WRONG. Love – and sexual chemistry – is a rare thing and when it happens, one needs to be free to EXPLORE it. Which means the “banded” system makes a lot of sense – coupled with SOLID sex-education.

But whatever system a society employs – it needs to remember there are no simple answers. “Just Say No” – doesn’t MAKE it.

Morpheus on… The Invisible Ones

What do “Stan” in “Will And Grace”, “Carlton, Your Doorman” in “Rhoda” and the wives of “Norm”, “Niles” and “Capt Mainwaring” in “Cheers”, “Frasier” and “Dad’s Army”, respectively - have in common?

Of course, they were all sitcom characters who were oft’ referred to – but never SEEN.

Oh, you occasionally saw a body part – Stan’s hand as he copped a feel of his wife’s boob (quickly brushed aside) – Norm’s wife’s whole body (but her face was immediately covered by a cherry pie) – the back of Carlton’s head, in a taxi (it was shaped like that of “The Geek Of Chelmsford” – see elsewhere in these columns) – and Mrs Mainwaring’s “impression” in an upper bunk-bed (she was obviously of ample proportions). But that was all.

The character who is oft’ referred to but never seen is a GIFT for writers. They start with a blank canvas in the viewers’ minds - then slowly paint it in. Naturally the end picture will vary a little, according to each individual viewer’s imagination and experiences – but the basic image will be the same.

And the top prize MUST go to the writers of Frasier. Despite the previous success of “Cheers”, they had no way of knowing it would last another ELEVEN YEARS, thus with Maris being CONSTANTLY referenced - building a picture of a brittle, emaciated harridan – the writers ended up pushing the envelope SO far, no-one could ever have been found to FILL the role!

Morpheus on… A Doctor’s Story

So this little old lady went to see her doctor. “Doctor, I have this problem with wind. Actually, it’s not a BIG problem. It’s totally SILENT and luckily, it doesn’t SMELL at all. In fact, I’ve let several go while I’ve been talking to you and you probably didn’t even notice.”

The doctor replied, “I see – well, take these pills and make an appointment to see me next week.”

A week later, the little old lady returned and said, “Doctor, I don’t know what you gave me, but NOW my wind smells TERRIBLE.”

“Good,” the doctor said, “Now we’ve cleared up your SINUSES, we’ll see what we can do about your HEARING.”

(My name’s Morpheus. Don’t forget to tip your waitress!)

Morpheus on… Trance Music

I have always maintained that Trance uses the same basic rules for its construction as Charleston. And now I have proof.

Whilst going through my collection of Art Deco (late ’20s-early ’30s) record sleeves, I came across one, upon which was printed the following – “There is a fascination about well-played modern dance music. The melody is there, and an unfailing rhythm, but around them is woven a texture of quaint effects, so numerous and unexpected as to give one great respect for the clever people who think them all out.”

And on the reverse was a list of tips – for the care and maintenance of your WIND-UP GRAMOPHONE! I rest my case.

Morpheus on… Noel Harrison

Singer, actor. Son of Rex Harrison. Most famous as the guy who recorded Big Mike’s “Windmills Of Your Mind” - which was featured in the Steve McQueen/ Faye Dunaway vehicle, “The Thomas Crown Affair” – and for playing the sidekick in “The Girl From Uncle”.

Where is he now? I wondered this - so I Googled him. Over the last eight months or so, after I finally buckled and went online (or as I prefer to call it – “on the air”) I’ve Googled various people who were big in the Sixties, but have since fallen off the radar (Roy Philips of the Peddlers is now living happily in New Zealand, where he still does occasional gigs and releases the odd CD).

Noel turned out to have a website. It can be found at http://noelharrison.co.uk/

I recommend you to check it out. It’s not large, but interesting. Noel talks more sense than most and sounds like a really nice bloke. If I still lived in the Uke, I’d look him up, with a view to sharing a drink some time…

Morpheus on… “Hogzilla”

So I was watching this old programme on National Geographic. It opened with a picture showing a man standing beside the strung-up carcass of what appeared to be a gigantic wild boar. It was claimed the beast had measured twelve feet long and weighed a thousand pounds. He’d been dubbed “Hogzilla”.

The first thing that occurred to THIS observer was that if Hoggy really WAS twelve feet long, the guy standing beside it must have stood over eight feet tall himself. And the second thing was that these days, any putz with a computer and some high-end software could have digitally composited the photo in half an hour.

The same things occurred to the boys from Nat Geo.

Then there was the eyewitness report… “Well, ah wuz takin’ an early mornin’ walk an’ thur ‘e wuz. Jeez, ah sez, lookit’ size o’ that ol’ boy. So ah got ma betsy…”

We’ve all heard it before… “Well ah wuz dravin’ mah pickup, an’ sudd’nly thur wuz this brart lart an’ next thing ah knows ah wuz strapped ter this heah table an’ these l’il fellers wuz fiddlin’ with mah daingly bitz…”

These blokes owned a huntin’/shootin’/fishin’ ranch. They claimed the carcass wuz… sorry, WAS buried on their land. They took us and the Nat Geo guys out to a rough patch of ground, which had a hummock topped with rocks, upon which was a crude wooden cross, bearing the legend; “Hogzilla – 12ft – 1000 lbs – June, 2004.”

Okay, says N.G., can we dig it up? So I’m waiting for these good ‘ol boys to insist Hoggy should be allowed to R.I.P., when bugger me, they say - ”Sure.”

After much digging, it begins to look like there’s nothing there - so now I’m waiting for them to say, “Well I’ll be hornswoggled – some varmint done purloined him” (is my Hillbilly ANYTHING like right? I’m thinking Yosemite Sam) when suddenly – PAY-DIRT!

First, some hair – and it LOOKED like wild boar hair. A while later and the shape of a carcass could plainly be seen – but with no head. Uh-oh. But it turned out the boys hadn’t wanted to put all their eggs in one grave, so had interred the head elsewhere.

And sure enough, at another location a sack was dug up containing the partially decomposed head – with two ENORMOUS tusks. At this point, out came the N.G. tape-measure – eight feet.

The next step was to ship the whole thing to the lab and let modern science do what had NOT been possible at Piltdown. And a few genetic tests later, the conclusion was that Hogzilla was indeed one beast – about 80% wild boar and 20% domestic.

In other words – Hogzilla was REAL!!!

Okay, the dimensions had been topped up a little, but that’s traditional – ask any carney. But even at eight feet and seven hundred and fifty-odd pounds, Hogzilla was still around FOUR TIMES the size of a normal wild boar. When alive, he would have been a TERRIFYING sight.

The explanation given was that pigs’ll eat ANYTHING – and the good ol’ boys had been feeding the fish in their lake with high-protein fish food – they had a World record fish stuffed and mounted in their lodge that was twice the size of the average specimen. And it was theorised Hoggy had helped himself to some of this feed.

But even so, it was still a fantastic story. I mean, it had begun with all the classic signs of a SCAM – but then turned out to be GENUINE. Forget Bigfoot – this was the real deal. If you go down to the woods today…

Morpheus on… Ageing

I look 20 years younger than most of my contemporaries. Which is partly down to good GROOMING, but mainly down to – dumb LUCK. Fact is, NATURE is responsible for ageing.

F’rinstance, in the 1967 film “You’re A Big Boy Now”, Peter Kastner was playing a 19-year-old, while Rip Torn played his middle-aged Dad. However, Peter was in fact 24, while Rip was only 36 - just twelve years older.

But whilst Rip went on to enjoy a long successful career, Peter was barely heard from again. Why? Because Rip had those genes that virtually HALT ageing. Oh sure, he was aged UP for his role in “Big Boy” – but still working today, more than 40 years later, he hardly looks any older than he did then.

So maybe, instead of messing about with test-tubes, scientists should dissect RIP - to find out WHY!

Morpheus on… The Bris

Let’s apply some logic here. One presumes those of the Jewish faith believe that God created Man, right? And in his… sorry, His image, yes? And further, that God is perfect? So where do they get off “improving” His design?

And it’s not even an improvement ANYWAY. The nob, once stripped of its protective covering (which rolls BACK during intercourse and is kept in place by a flexible membrane) develops a thick, hard skin which drastically reduces sensitivity – and therefore, the enjoyment of sex. Even masturbation is affected adversely (not to mention MESSILY). The ORIGINAL design works FINE.

This writer’s research has failed to shed any light on this. According to Wiki, some PERSON, thousands of years ago, wrote a piece instructing followers to perform (or have performed) this mutilation on all eight-day-old male babies – a procedure which is impractical, even today, to reverse.

And it’s only our current obsession with P.C. (and Jewish pressure groups) that ensure Western society tolerates said mutilation (imagine if it didn’t exist and someone tried to introduce the practise NOW).

Now don’t get me wrong. Apart from this one niggle, Jewish people are among my personal favourites in the World. They have the best sense of humour and fun – showbiz would be a DESERT without them – and some of my best friends, etc.

And there are religions with FAR worse “traditions” than the Bris – you know who you are – it’s just that THIS is what I’m asking NOW. So whilst for me, it’s academic (thankfully, I HAVE my foreskin) I’d still love SOMEONE to give me the reasoning behind this practise. You don’t even have to register with WordPress. Just leave a “comment”.

And so long as it doesn’t accuse me of being a Nazi/ Jew-hater/”troll”/ anti-Semitic, moronic Gentile or whatever – I’ll PUBLISH it. Promise!

Morpheus on… Continents

According to Chambers, there are seven of these: Europe, Asia, Africa, North America, South America, Australia and Antarctica.

But it’s RUBBISH!

First, Europe and Asia. Any twit can see that they are only ONE land mass. Someone just drew a line on the map and designated them as two continents for POLITICAL reasons. This is the same kind of thinking that has lead to Britain calling Pakistanis, Indians and Bangladeshis (SOUTH Asians) just “Asians” while America reserves the same term for those from South-EAST Asia – despite the fact that actually, about half the population of the WORLD are, essentially, Asian. Including ME!

Then Africa. Apart from a small join at the top right (which, technically, disappeared when the Suez Canal was completed) it does SEEM to be a large, separate land-mass – except that the Mediterranean Sea is in reality a large inland lake, which was formed when the ocean burst through at Gibraltar. The Med has virtually no tidal rise and fall. Which means that ACTUALLY, Africa is part of Europe/Asia.

Next, we have North and South America. The New World. But apart from the Panama Canal, they TOO are joined. So what about the countries of Central America – which continent are THEY in?

(Incidentally, did you know that due to the Moon’s gravity, the Pacific is about 20 feet higher than the Atlantic? Or the other way round, I can’t remember which. Anyhay, if you blasted a wide enough trench between the two – one would empty into the other! Wouldn’t THAT make a great movie!)

Okay, but what about Australia? Sure, it’s a single land-mass – but really, it’s just a bloody big ISLAND.

Which brings us finally – and not a moment too soon – to Antarctica. This place crops up elsewhere in these ramblings. And as stated there, it is a continent without COUNTRIES – being only used for (allegedly) peaceful scientific research and penguin-hunting. (Not). And whilst it’s a pretty big place NOW – how big will it be when all of the ice has melted (in about five years, according to some people).

Are we actually in the process of REDUCING the number of continents?

Morpheus on… Foretelling The Future

It’s funny how the future RARELY turns out the way it’s predicted to.

The classic British 1936 movie, “Things To Come” got it ALL wrong. Like, they had WW2 lasting until 1965, with huge bombers that resembled Howard Hughes’ “Spruce Goose” – each powered by a dozen PROPELLERS (apparently the makers of the film were not familiar with the work of Frank Whittle, even though he’d designed the first practical jet engine several years earlier).

And even poor old Arthur C. Clark couldn’t have forseen that political INERTIA would scupper most of HIS predictions in “2001: A Space Oddity”.

But NO-ONE would have guessed in 1965, that these days – YOU CAN’T SMOKE IN A BAR…

Morpheus on… Movie “Out-Sourcing”

In the Good Old Days, movies were made at the dream factories in Hollywood. But not any more. It takes over a thousand people to make a blockbuster and while you can’t save much on the cost of release-prints (although digital projection will eventually help there) and publicity, you CAN save plenty on the production.

Provided you’re prepared to Go EAST, Young Man.

For in places like Prague and St Petersburg, skilled plasterers, chippies, painters etc., work CHEAP. And bits of these cities can be dressed up to look like almost ANYWHERE in the West. Just CG in the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the Empire State Building – whatever. And extras cost $5 a day.

In fact MANY movies wouldn’t get MADE today, were it not for these savings. If you’re making a FANTASY that requires 200-odd surreal sets, they all have to be constructed from SCRATCH. And in the West, that comes PRICEY. So much so, that said West has now priced itself out of the market.

But hard currency is welcomed in the East – and they require a lot LESS of it. So for a modest amount, you can realize the most fantastical sets imaginable – built to a standard that Hollywood couldn’t best at ANY price.

So next time you see a movie like “The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen” – or “Underworld” – and you notice all those funny names down amongst the end credits – be thankful. Without them, you’d never have SEEN that movie!

Morpheus on… When Right Is Wrong

There’s an old, English schoolboy joke that goes – “If the French all drive on the wrong side of the road, how come they don’t have ACCIDENTS all the time?” Of course, the truth is – there IS no right or wrong side. EITHER side is fine, provided everybody sticks to the SAME side.

But which side is BEST? Most countries drive on the right – but far from ALL. Britain, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Thailand and Malaysia are just some of those who chose the LEFT.

Sweden originally chose the left, but in order to fit in with Europe, changed to the right in the early Sixties. The change was made gradually. I’m kidding of course – the change was made overnight. They unbagged the new signs and traffic lights and bagged up the old ones.

But the thing is, these traditions have nothing to DO with cars. They pre-date the horseless carriage by centuries – in some cases, MILLENNIA. The reason most countries drive on the right is – the ROMANS.

Apparently, when chariots passed on the left, people (being mostly right-handed) got into sword fights and so a proclamation was passed… or maybe that’s just an urban myth. Either way, the Romans drove on the right – and the tradition spread.

However, for MODERN times, that tradition is WRONG. Car control layouts took some time to get standardised, but once they were, they ensured that the wheel would be in front of you, the pedals would be at your feet and the gear lever would be in the middle of the vehicle.

And it is that LAST fact that makes driving on the LEFT much, much BETTER.

You see, when driving on the left, the driver SITS on the RIGHT (if they didn’t, they couldn’t see past the vehicle in front – which is essential for safe overtaking). And this positions them with the gear lever on their LEFT. And THAT’S what’s important.

Think about it; most people are RIGHT-handed – thus possess more strength and accuracy in that hand. And when taking a hand OFF the steering wheel to change gear, they need that strength and accuracy to maintain MAXIMUM control with the hand which remains ON the wheel – while the simple act of changing gear should require a MINIMUM of strength and accuracy.

And the same is true for the BRAIN. Left hand – gears – subconscious (or SHOULD be – if you need to think CONSCIOUSLY about gear-changes, you shouldn’t BE driving). Right hand – steering – conscious.

Therefore, given that the majority of people are right handed, right-hand- drive is the only way to go. Left-handed people; if you want to drive – go and live in a left-hand-drive country!

(Of course, Americans – who HAVE to be different –  have ALWAYS been left-hand-drive. But then, their cars have always had automatic gearboxes and power steering - thus while driving, they only use their left hand to hold the damn ROOF on!)

Morpheus on… Higher Authorities

If you cling to the crutch of religion, there will ALWAYS be a Higher Authority. If NOT, there are only your parents. And when they die, an oppressive VOID opens in your inner being that can NEVER be filled.

Now you are on your OWN.

Morpheus on… TV Today

Remember how, back in the Seventies, experts warned that while the future might allow us to watch FIFTY channels instead of three, we couldn’t expect those fifty channels to be LIKE the three?

Well of course, they were RIGHT. There’s a LIMIT to how much MONEY people are prepared to spend on their viewing pleasure – and the amount of TALENT available to entertain us.

And put low budget and lack of talent together and what do you get? Crappy “lifestyle” programmes and “reality TV”, THAT’S what!

Then there are all of those “speciality” channels – giving us biographies, history, etc. But whilst they look attractive when you FIRST buy your dish – or cable link, or whatever – once you’ve SEEN the stuff on their “carousel”, you discover the amount of NEW programmes they put on every month, is no more than the number of programmes of that type that WOULD have popped up in a month, on your original THREE channels.

Then SPORT. There’s LOADS of THAT - except most of it is DRIVEL. Stuff that wouldn’t have MADE your original three channels.

And 24-hour news and financial channels – again, showing the same stuff over and over and OVER again.

Finally, stuff you’d NEVER have watched back in the old three-channel days. Shopping channels, makeover channels – even CATWALK channels!

And since most setups only allow you to decode ONE channel at a time, you NEED all the damn REPEATS these channels have, to enable you to see what you want. With terrestrial, you could split your RF signal into various TVs – and VCRs, for later viewing.

But do not be TOTALLY down-hearted. There is ONE saving grace. Tivos, PVRs, etc. Like VCRs, these machines will record one channel while you watch another. This, given all those repeats, allow you to build up a “library” of non-topical programmes, while watching the topical stuff, live.

It still requires PLANNING though, if you have four people in the house - all of whom inevitably want to watch something DIFFERENT. Which is where THIS writer CAME IN. In My Day, one could only afford ONE TV – and most of the evening was taken up ARGUING about which channel to watch.

In the Eighties, we had four TVs and two VCRs and happiness ruled. But NOW, we’ve come full circle. Thankgawd the kids have gone…

Morpheus on… Cops With Guns

These days, cops tend to shoot first and ask questions later – and The State condones it. But I recall a time when there was such a thing as “response training”.

The trainee cop would be made to sit and watch a film, whilst in their hand was a push-button. They were told they would witness a number of scenarios – all of which had happened for REAL – where they would have to make a decision on when – or if – to fire.

When they pushed the button, the film would freeze and it would be assumed they had hit their target (this was a test of JUDGEMENT, not accuracy) and killed them instantly. But if the “suspect” shot at THEM FIRST, it would be assumed that THEY were dead.

Your Humble Scribe has SEEN this film – and it was most instructive. By the time you’d got out the mandatory, “Police! Stop, or I fire!” – you were TOAST. There was a pram with a midget inside, a guy who walked casually around a tree as he was being hailed – then swung around firing, a cop in poor lighting conditions who was slow in identifying himself, a man who reached inside his coat for a sign announcing he was deaf and dumb…

This is the reality of living in a “gun society”. And that reality has now resulted in us living in an atmosphere of FEAR. These days, cops just blaze away in CASE.

In England, a suspect is chased onto a tube train and despite being subdued by four “officers” SITTING on him, they fire five rounds into him, because they fear he might be a terrorist with a “button”. He turns out to be a plumber.

Two cops TAZE (Tazers can KILL) a lone woman in a car, on a routine traffic pull, because she won’t jump out of it and throw herself in the mud at their feet. She was talking to her husband on her mobile phone. After she’s finished writhing on the ground, the cop says, “Aw, it don’t hurt THAT much.”

Another routine traffic pull. Two cops fire at the BACK of a fleeing suspect who tries to grab one of their guns. Silly of him, perhaps – but it shows he is UNARMED. He survives their bullets – and HE gets charged with attempted murder.

These last two cases were shown on TV – with the authorities’ APPROVAL. In My Day, they’d have WIPED the tapes, for fear of them being used as evidence of police brutality.

But TODAY, that brutality is State Sanctioned. And thanks to post-9/11 paranoia, we accept it. So might YOU – until the next time you see that flashing blue light in your rear-view mirror…

Morpheus on… Dirty Words

The words in question are “liberalism” and “socialism”.

Liberalism is a political system which is… well, liberal. Liberal being defined as free. It promotes freedom from oppression by the church, the “upper classes” and… government itself.

Socialism is a political system that promotes the idea of a society where all are created equal and should therefore benefit equally from society’s labours.

So what the hell is wrong with that?

Well, let’s look at the political systems of Britain and America. Britain has always had THREE political parties.

The Conservatives, or Tories. This is Britain’s right-wing party. Its legacy of greed, sleaze and corruption has decimated Britain.

The Labour Party. Which is the left-wing party. And whilst being well-meaning, its general incompetence has meant that it’s achieved little more than the Tories.

The Liberal Party. The Centre-ground. The Liberals – or Whigs – were a strong force in Britain until the early 1920s, when the Tories replaced them in popularity. Since then, they have existed as little more than a token party. Despite picking up “protest votes” mid-term, for the last ninety-odd years they have never seriously challenged the position of the other two parties.

Briefly, in the ’80s, they linked up with a new party called the Social Democrats. But despite picking up a significant percentage of the popular vote, ninety-odd years of boundary changes, created by Labour and the Tories, ensured they came a close SECOND in most regions - thus guaranteeing they would STAY powerless.

Therefore today, thanks to the Tories and the “New” Labour Party, Britain’s two-party system looks like remaining entrenched for ever.

But it is this “New” Labour Party that has made the word “socialism” a dirty word. Back in the day, Labour ESPOUSED Socialism, the party being a more moderate version of the Communist movement. But with the advent of Tony Blair, the party SPAT upon its former ideals, moved well to the RIGHT and declared Socialism to be a thing of the past.

Thus Britain now has two political parties – the Far Right (the Tories) and the Moderate Right (“New” Labour). Which brings it into line with…

America. She has only EVER had two parties. The Republicans – America’s right-wing party. And the Democrats. Who are theoretically America’s LEFT-WING party – except that America has never embraced ANY kind of left-wing ideals, thus like Britain’s “New” Labour, it is merely a moderate RIGHT-wing concern.

And it is America – “The (so-called) Land Of The Free” – who has demonised the word “liberal”.

So thanks a lot, Americans and “New” Labourites. Socialism and Liberalism were two lofty ideals until you two jokers came along – and DEBASED them.

Morpheus on… The Greatest Con Of All

I recall a movie made by an artist, back in the Sixties, that lasted eleven hours. It consisted of a single shot of The Empire State Building, at night. The only events which occurred were the lights going on and off.

But this was high drama, compared to the narrative of his next opus. It lasted another eight hours and again consisted of one shot. This time, it was of a sleeping man. The only excitement came when he turned over, snored or farted.

In fact, this second film turned out to be a TWO hour shot – repeated four times. The man responsible for these and other piss-takes (like a study of a soup-can) was of course – Andy Warhol.

I always thought him the greatest con-artist of all time. Then came “reality TV”…

Morpheus on… Dracula

I hear the medieval Transylvanian city of Sighisoara, home to the legendary Vlad The Impaler, now has a theme-park called “Dracula Land”.

Poor old Vlad must be spinning in his grave. Or at least he will when he returns to it – just before sun-up.

Morpheus on… The Miracle Of Flight

Haven’t you ever thought that perhaps we’ve become too blase about flying? I mean, when umpteen tons of metal lifts off the ground, it’s a triumph of science over logic.

So the next time you strap on an aeroplane, as it leaves the Surly Bonds Of Earth, yell out “YEEEE-HAAAAH!”

Morpheus on… The American Electorate

Forty years ago, America put two men on the Moon. And during the past decade, scientists have proven the multi-billion-year-old Universe’s gazillions of stars – have planets circling them. Which means there can no longer be ANY doubt that We Are Not Alone.

And yet today, two thousand years AFTER the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, if two men run for POTUS - one of whom claims belief in extra-terrestrial life - while the other claims the Earth was created in six days by an omnipotent, invisible super-being, a mere five thousand years ago – who will America elect?

The fact is, despite overwhelming scientific evidence to support ET’s existence, there are STILL MANY people who doggedly refuse to accept the IDEA of alien civilisations, whilst steadfastly hanging on to the Creation theory. But the tragedy is, unless the would-be Most Powerful Person On Earth PANDERS to them, his or her chances of  entering the White House are ZERO.

All of which means that any presidential hopeful has either to actually BELIEVE the primitive superstition, or LIE – which is not a good way to start a presidential career. And the American voter is faced with the choice of voting for EITHER a liar – or a fool.

Morpheus on… Sleep-Driving

There are two kinds of driver – those who cut a graceful swath THROUGH the traffic – and those who ARE the traffic. I’m one of the former.

However I recall a time, many years ago, when my driving skills entered the realms of the PARANORMAL.

I drove a motorbike through London – whilst ASLEEP.

Allow me to elucidate. The brain divides roughly into two parts – the Conscious and the Subconscious.

The Conscious is the part which governs active decision-making, while the Subconscious handles the mundane tasks – walking, breathing, farting, etc. And while the Subconscious just ploughs on, from birth to death (if it didn’t, we’d stop BREATHING) the Conscious requires SLEEP every now and then – or it just packs UP.

However, the DEPTH of sleep can vary. VERY deep sleep CAN result in people stopping breathing. We call this condition – death. Whereas in light sleep, people go walkabout, make cups of tea, attend the House Of Lords and do other jobs which can be handled by the Subconscious.

But not drive. Every year, people DIE from falling asleep at the wheels of cars. Cocooned in a warm, comfortable environment, they just nod off – with DISASTROUS results. But not so on a bike.

My experience took place in Seventies London. I was driving a route I’d driven HUNDREDS of times, from N.E. London to Soho. But having been up for over thirty hours, as I passed Mount Pleasant Post Office, it suddenly HIT me, “If I don’t sleep NOW, I’m going to FALL OFF this bike – ridiculous as it may look, I’m actually going to have to stop and lay down on the PAVEMENT for a few minutes.” (There were no restaurants, pubs or even stations in the area).

And that was the last thing I KNEW – until I awoke with a START, still riding my bike, passing the Shaftsbury Theatre (“Hair” was playing). Five minutes of my life was MISSING.

On later trips along the route I manged to work out that I had driven TWO MILES, through SIX SETS OF TRAFFIC LIGHTS – asleep. Furthermore, I discovered that the chances of ALL of them having been GREEN when I’d driven through them were only around ONE IN FIVE. A chilling thought.

I mean, whilst I’m prepared to believe a person can drive a bike along a familiar route using only their Subconscious brain (unlike in a car, you can’t just fall asleep – you have to keep your BALANCE) I CANNOT believe that I would have been able to detect a red light, change down, stop, put my foot down, detect a green light and drive off again. No WAY!

Therefore I must have just carried on along, oblivious to my surroundings, with a blank expression on my face - whizzing across junctions like the hero in those old Keystone Cops movies.

And whilst I’m grateful I lived to tell the tale, to this day – I SHALL NEVER KNOW HOW CLOSE I CAME.

Morpheus on… The Blonde’s Quiz

Q1) Entertainment: What is Britney Spears’ first name?

Q2) Cooking: What is the principle (main) ingredient of scrambled eggs?

Q3) Transport: How many carriageways are there on a dual carriageway? [you may look up the word "dual"]

Q4) Science: At what time of day does Noon occur?

Q5) General: What colour is a red bus?

Q6) Spelling: Spell LONDON.

Q7) Famous people: Which country is ruled by the Queen of England?

Q8) General: Explain Le Chatelier’s Principle Of Dynamic Equilibrium Forces OR write your name in block capitals.

There are a million of these. And if THIS doesn’t draw a comment or two…

Morpheus on… Obama

Much is expected of Obama. America and the World are in a mess and many see this man as the Second Coming. We hope he can sort it out.

But let’s travel ten years into the future. One cannot predict WHAT he will do during the next four or eight years. But whatever his legacy proves to be, it won’t have to be much to elevate him above his predecessors.

I mean, during MY lifetime, U.S. Presidents have hardly distinguished themselves, have they? Let us pause for a moment to consider what THEY are remembered for…

Kennedy:  shagged around, nearly started WW3 – then got shot.

Johnson:  ramped up the Vietnam War.

Nixon:  Watergate.

Ford:  fell over a lot.

Carter:  tried to extricate the Embassy Hostages. Result – fiasco.

Reagan:  senile dementia.

Bush 1:  Reagan Lite.

Clinton:  Monica Lewinsky.

Bush 2:  (see below)

If Obama can’t top THAT lot, he’s not the man we all HOPE he is.

Morpheus on… George Wan…sorry…WaLker Bush – Update!

We can say ONE good thing about George W. Bush.

Granted, he was the most unpopular U.S. president of all time – more so even than Tricky Dick Nixon.

Granted he couldn’t string six words together without fluffing two of them.

Granted he couldn’t find his way out of a room without the help of the Secret Service.

Granted he was known the World over as The Monkey – and looked and acted like one.

Granted he danced like your Dad.

Granted he’d elbowed his way unceremoniously into the Oval Office, pushing a much better man aside.

Granted he couldn’t run a COMPANY, far less a country.

Granted the previous administration had so little respect for him that they removed the “W” keys from all the computers and typewriters in the West Wing.

Granted he was Jeb Bush’s dumber brother who nobody rated (and Jeb was hardly the sharpest tool in the box).

Granted he managed to lose TWO wars, where a smarter man would have won the first and avoided the second.

And granted his connections with his country’s enemies made him the last man America should have had in the White House.

But as stated above, there is now, finally, one good thing we can say about him – he’s GONE.

Morpheus on… War Crimes

War Crimes? Humbug. War IS a crime.

And ploys like the Geneva Convention only serve to legitimise it. Is anybody REALLY naive enough to believe an all-out conflict can be waged in a “gentlemanly” manner, without sadism, rape, pillage, genocide and assorted atrocities taking place? Where only professional 18+ soldiers are involved and those captured will be treated well?

Get real. War is hell. It is fought between governments, winner take all. And how often do those on the winning side find themselves in front of a War Crimes Tribunal?

In this Third Millennium, it is absurd that nanny-state governments will on the one hand give Mr Health And Safety carte blanche to write rules restricting every factor of our lives – whilst on the other hand, stick guns in our hands, telling us to go out and shoot at people who’ve done US no harm, but who they – the government – dislike, with the advice that, should they shoot back, it might be advisable to DUCK.

And this is the same government which claims they only have a military force – which costs us BILLIONS – for DEFENCE. But if ALL the World’s military forces are only used for defence – WHO’S DOING THE ATTACKING? Someone must be.

The reality is that no matter how you dress it up, the military serves one purpose only. To kill and maim people. And destroy their homes, businesses and infrastructures. They are obscene organisations who perpetuate man’s primitive desire for blood. And no amount of sanitisation will disguise that fact.

Morpheus on… Telepathy

There is nothing “psychic” about telepathy. It is as physical as farting. And like farting – we all do it.

So how does it work? Simple. The human brain doesn’t think in word-bubbles (except in cartoons) it thinks in “brain-language” – concepts, pictures. And the WAY it processes that information is similar to the way a computer does it. Little electrical impulses. And when two brains are “in sync”, that info can TRAVEL from one brain to another.

It’s like radio. And scientists know this – they’ve PROVED it. Brain “waves” are part of the electromagnetic spectrum and act similarly. When they took two subjects who were practised at sending and receiving images and placed one in a cage through which they could pass a current, this SCREENED them (like an A.M radio when you go through a tunnel). Every time - unknown to the subjects - they turned on the current, they LOST the ability.

Weird? Well, YOU do it. Remember when you asked that stranger on the street for the time? He was deep in thought and you startled him – thus when he looked at his watch, his brain was working in OVER-DRIVE and you heard the time pop into his brain BEFORE he spoke it.

Of course, the time is one thing. Like playing cards – or those cards designed especially for the purpose – square, circle, star, wavy lines, etc. – it’s a SHORT “message”. But what about sending people PAGES of info? Sadly, language has made us lazy and we’ve lost the ability. Maybe savants could do it if they applied themselves to the task, but for general usage we must content ourselves with the basics.

But it’s more than a parlour trick. Telepathy helps us EVERY DAY. To assess people (“vibes”, “karma”) – particularly if they’re DANGEROUS. People explain it by saying, “I saw it in his eyes” – despite the eyes being NOTHING more than organs of sight. Or, “I read his body language” – yeah, right. Except only a trained psychologist can actually DO that.

No, it’s just good old telepathy. And it explains a LOT of so-called psychic phenomena. But that’s another piece, another time. Right now, it’s time for my breakfast. “Ham and eggs…ham and eggs…” I wonder if my Lady received that…

Morpheus on… Celsius

Anders Celsius was a berk.

For it was he who came up with the idea of using zero degrees and one hundred degrees as a scale and the temperatures of melting ice and boiling water as reference points. And then he BLEW it.

He decided zero would be the boiling water and one hundred, the melting ice.

It took later, more logical brains to realize that folks would better relate to a scale where the numbers went UP with the temperature.

America has never warmed to Centigrade (as I call it, Celsius having naused it) but it’s actually easier to relate to than Fahrenheit. 32 for freezing and 212 for boiling is NONSENSE.

Consider this…

Zero=freezing – the logic is undeniable.

Ten=cold. No snow, but a skinny-dip is out of the question.

Twenty=warm. Vigorous activity will produce sweat.

Thirty=hot. When Brits wish aircon was more fashionable in that country.

Forty=AARGH! The Sahara Desert, around lunchtime.

So there it is: Zero, ten, twenty, thirty, forty. Freezing, cold, warm, hot, AARGH! What’s complicated about that? My pleasure, America.

Morpheus on… Oxymorons

There follows a list of MY favourite oxymorons. For those who arnt proper edukated like what I am, an oxymoron is a contradiction in terms (you’ll see). Eleven of the following are mine (I leave you to guess WHICH) - the rest are public domain. Enjoy!

LINE DANCING

REALITY STAR

SCOTTISH CUISINE

RAP MUSICIAN

TEMPORARY ROAD WORKS

NOW THEN

GOOD GRIEF

CHRISTIAN SCIENTIST

AIRLINE FOOD

POLICE INTELLIGENCE

NEAR MISS

LEGALLY DRUNK

ALONE TOGETHER

DEBT CONTROL

ALMOST EXACTLY

GOVERNMENT ORGANISATION

AMERICAN CULTURE

SOFT ROCK

CHILD-PROOF

WORKING HOLIDAY

DISK JOCKEY

TAPED LIVE

TEMPORARY PRICE INCREASE

MILITARY INTELLIGENCE

SILENT SCREAM

BRITISH FASHION

PLASTIC GLASSES

TERRIBLY PLEASED

POLITICAL SCIENCE

PRETTY UGLY

FINANCIAL SECURITY

And if you enjoy lists, checkout “T-Shirt Legends” in “The World According To Damien” (my evil twin) on http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/ plus “My Favourite Quotes” and “Random Thoughts” in “The World According To Cornelius” (my Zen brother) on http://corneliusatloppers.wordpress.com/

Morpheus on… UFOs And LGMs

That’s Unidentified Flying Objects and Little Green (or more likely, Grey) Men.

Two of the most stupid questions ever asked are: – Do you believe in UFOs? and – Do you believe in alien civilizations? Let’s deal with the first first…

It’s not a question of BELIEVING in UFOs. UFOs are merely objects which are flying, whose identity is not immediately apparent. If you SEE one, it may be a plane, chopper, hot air balloon (full-size or toy – see my piece on the Paranormal) firework or flare, flock of birds, Frisbee, the planet Venus, ball lightning, an oddly-shaped cloud, an internal reflection in a camcorder’s lens array, a top-secret military aircraft or… an interplanetary space craft.

Yes, it COULD be ET on a visit – but it could also be ANY of the other, more mundane objects. And let’s face it – it probably IS. All of the above COULD be an alien spaceship. But realistically, unless you can see little guys with big heads waving from the windows, it’s a hell of a lot more likely to be one of the other things.

In fact, unless you can see CLOSE-UP DETAIL, you can figure it’s a dead CERTAINTY. And even if you CAN see detail, before you make a complete tit of yourself, consider those rascals in the military. The Blackbird was a fantastic SECRET aircraft which from the early Sixties, flew recon missions umpteen miles up, giving Uncle Sam unlimited visual access to every country on the globe.

And it only came off the secret list after THIRTY-ODD YEARS when it was made redundant by spy-satellites. But when it first flew, all those years ago, it looked and performed like something from another DIMENSION. So forty-five years on, who knows WHAT goodies they have up there NOW? One thing’s for sure – we won’t find out in OUR lifetimes.

Which brings us to daft question number two – alien civilizations. Again, it’s not a question of belief. Unless every star-gazer since Copernicus has been pulling our plonkers, this World is one of many, circling each other and/or our Sun. And our Sun is an unremarkable star - one of BILLIONS, about three-quarters of the way out, in an unremarkable galaxy – which in turn is an unremarkable example of BILLIONS of such galaxies, in the known Universe.

Thus, the chances of our star being the only one with planets – and our planet being the only one inhabited by intelligent beings – and us being the MOST intelligent in the Universe – were always going to be one in a gazillion gazillion.

But SEEING those planets was always going to be DIFFICULT. Imagine standing on a hill-top at night. In a field below, some three miles away, is a naked 100-watt lightbulb. Suspended by a thread, several feet to one side, is a pea. Now you’ll SEE the bulb as a faint twinkle – but the pea? The problem is whilst the bulb is POURING out light, the particles of light reflected from the pea will be so few, that by the time they’ve spread out three miles, they will have dissipated so much – your eye will have NOTHING to work with.

Of course NOW, we have developed instruments that CAN see some of the larger, closer planets, circling nearby stars – so at least THAT question has been answered for those who REFUSED to face the overwhelming statistical evidence that We Are Not Alone.

However, the fact that Thaals, Andorians and Gonadians are OUT there, does NOT mean they’ve been HERE. The thing is, no matter HOW technically advanced they are, interstellar travel may simply NOT BE PRACTICAL – due to the DISTANCES involved.

The Moon is literally in our backyard. A mere 250,000 miles away. If there was a road from the Earth to the Moon, a fast car would get you there in a few months. Indeed if THIS writer had driven all the miles he has driven in his life on said road, he’d be well on his way back now – for the SECOND time.

But here’s the problem. If you place your fists one foot apart and call your left fist the Earth and your right, the Moon – on that scale, the Sun would be right up the end of your street. And if you called your left fist the Earth and your right, the Sun – Pluto would be in the next town. And – and this is where things REALLY go awry – if you made your left fist the Sun and your right, Pluto – the nearest STAR would be ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD.

And as if THAT isn’t bad enough, given the enormous VARIETY of planets and the rarity of conditions suitable for sustaining Life As We Know It Jim, it appears that the chances of that star actually, currently, HAVING life you could shoot the breeze with – is about as likely as you winning the lottery three weeks running.

Thus to achieve First Contact in a reasonable time-frame would require a VERY quick spaceship. Which is where Einstein comes in. He theorised – and others have since proved him right – that as soon as you start approaching the speed of light – which you’d need to do – and THEN some –  all sorts of weird shit happens with TIME. Which would mean that unless you COULD develop “warp drive”, a trip to just ONE star would take you YEARS – and when you returned to Mother Earth, everybody you knew would be long dead.

Ah, I hear you say, but surely a technologically advanced species would have LICKED that little problem – and it is THEY who have been HERE. Well maybe, but even technology has its limits. When chips were first invented, they had just a few transistors. A couple of years later, they had hundreds. Then thousands and currently MILLIONS. Yes, but eventually you hit a WALL – in this case, ATOMIC LEVEL. Transistors CAN’T be made smaller than THAT.

And THAT is the problem facing ANY scientists in ANY civilisation. It may be that NO-ONE in the UNIVERSE has licked the problem.

It may be that the ONLY interstellar travellers are those in “life-boats” – craft designed by races on dying planets, intended to float across the vastness of space, until they approach a planet which is sending out radio-waves. Then their systems would wake them from hibernation (a technology WE still haven’t mastered) and they’d give us a call. Except the odds on them fetching up here and now are no better than the odds on finding the Class M planet mentioned above.

But what about First Contact through CHAT? Well of course, C.E.T.I. have been trying that for DECADES with no apparent success. Again, the problem is the DISTANCE. It is a MYTH that planets 46 light years away (around 276,000,000, 000,000 miles distant – over a BILLION times further off than the Moon) are currently watching Bill Hartnell step out of the T.A.R.D.I.S for the first time.

Our VHF and UHF transmissions suffer the same fate as the light emanating from that lightbulb I spoke of earlier. Within mere HOURS, the omni-directional particles leaving our planet would have dissipated to a level that would require a dish the size of the MOON to resolve. As for a World LIGHT YEARS away - FORGET it.

The only way C.E.T.I. will EVER hear ANYTHING is if an advanced alien civilisation locates US and fires off an e-mail (with a SERIOUSLY powerful DIRECTED signal) to the point our planet will BE at, when it arrives. Which is possible, but again – those damn ODDS.

Of course, it MAY be that advanced civilisations HAVE mastered interstellar travel and have BEEN HERE. But what would they do when they arrived? Land on the White House lawn? Unlikely. They would probably be more responsible and hold a “summit meeting” with our lords and masters – who would tell them to cool it.

Stay away, until our primitive societies have reached the point where having their belief-systems – like, that a few thousand years ago, the Earth was created by a super-being in a few days and is the centre of the Universe – or some such twaddle – yanked from under them, would NOT cause them to commit ritual suicide in their millions. Never mind what would happen to our stock-market.

And since the peoples of the Earth are unlikely to GROW UP in our lifetimes, it appears that even if Gort HAS made it here – WE will NEVER KNOW about it.

Morpheus on… Being Beaned By Falling Coconuts

One Fine, Balmy Afternoon… I found myself resting on the side of a little-used back-road on a tropical island. Slowly, the sound of the crickets merged with the buzz of an approaching engine. As my eyes strained to see through the blistering sunlight, I observed an oncoming motorbike, upon which were a man and a small child.

As was customary, the child was balanced on the tank, holding on to the middle of the handlebars. Indeed in those parts, it was not unusual to see entire FAMILIES on board the one machine. But this time, something wasn’t quite right. As the bike grew nearer, I observed that this man’s child was UGLY.

This child was SERIOUSLY ugly…this child was…a monkey. I was looking at A Man And His Monkey. The two waved as they passed and I waved back. It occurred to me that it was a pity I was an atheist. Otherwise I could have looked skyward and said, “Take me now, oh Lord, for I’ve finally seen EVERYTHING.”

Later, I discovered that whilst rare, the vision I had seen was not unique. Apparently 150 people a year are KILLED by falling coconuts – ten times the number killed by SHARKS (that figure is disputed by some – but then 78.3% of statistics are just made up anyway) – and posh resorts don’t like being SUED.

Therefore, they hire men to cut down ripe coconuts before they fall. The men USED to send their KIDS up the trees, but when it was discovered monkeys could be trained to fulfil the task, the practice of using the unfortunate kids was BANNED. Not only were monkeys deemed to be more expendable than kids – they have a much stronger GRIP and thus are far less likely to fall anyway.

And I know all this to be TRUE. Aside from witnessing the Man And His Monkey going to work, I can vouch for a monkey’s grip. I’ve had my screenwash jets removed by one and I couldn’t even do that with PLIERS.

And as for the coconuts… okay, first they’re not nuts, but seeds. And said seeds do NOT grow as they appear in markets – small, brown and hairy – they have a thick, protective husk. The entire package weighs in at about six pounds (2.5 Kg) and grows at the top of a tree which reaches some SEVENTY FEET (20 metres plus).

And when the husks turn from green to brown they drop with a “THUNKK!” that can be felt through one’s feet from 100 yards (OR metres) away. Now I can’t be arsed to work out the kinetic energy involved (2.5 ergs per second per second times 20, then take away the number you first thought of…) but I’m here to tell you if one landed on your head it would friggin’ HURT.

So if YOU see The Man And His Monkey, the next time you’re on holiday in a tropical paradise, you better hope YOUR resort employs him. If not, keep looking UP – and if you see a palm tree with big BROWN husks at the top – don’t sit UNDER it!

Morpheus on… Damien And Cornelius

Who???

Okay, while I ramble on about the injustices of life, Damien is my evil twin. He rants about life’s absurdities. Which makes Cornelius my dopey sidekick. Corny steps to the beat of a different drummer.

You’ll find them on http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/  and http://corneliusatloppers.wordpress.com/

Give ’em a go…

Morpheus on… Fashion

“Style is for individualists – fashion is for the GULLIBLE.”

So said…well, me actually. I mean, what sort of a prat is going to pay $100 and up for a pair of 5-pocket jeans that cost $10 to make? And walk like a penguin ’cause the current fashion insists the crotch be down around the KNEES?

Before that, it was the RIPS in the knees. And before that, STONE-washing. In fact ANYTHING to REDUCE THE LIFE of clothes that were designed to be hard-wearing WORK clothes.

Said it before and I’ll say it again – if in the Sixties, a time-traveller had told me that in 2008 (9 now) people would be going to work with JET-PACKS strapped to their backs, I’d have BELIEVED them, but if they had said smoking would be banned in BARS… And the same must be said for the existence of a shop called “Levi Strauss” on Fifth Avenue that sells their wares for over $100 a pop. Madness.

The same can be said for moronic kids who beat up other kids whose parents had the sense to buy $20 trainers for $20 – not $200. The name-brand ones are made by the same Third World kids as the non-name-brand ones. The only difference is the money the name-brand company spent on ADVERTISING.

It’s all bullsh*t anyway – a few years ago, “The Gap” tried to kid kids that KHAKI was “trendy” - then it was “little boy” V-neck jumpers – now all the kids are wearing tops with HOODS. In My Day, ANY of those items would have got you beaten up as a NERD.

Again, In My Day, more expensive meant better quality – but not anymore. Now, you get a famous golfer to spend a couple of hours poncing around on a golf course, doing a few trick-shots (they only show the ones he HIT) and pay him more money than the ENTIRE workforce, who make the product he’s advertising, earns in a YEAR.

It’s like the workers who pick the seeds (NOT beans) that are bought by a chain of name-brand coffee bars. Thanks to the advertising “surcharge”, if one of said workers made it to New York, it’d cost them two weeks wages to buy ONE CUP.

Then there’s “Designer Stubble”. We had that In My Day too. Except we called it Look At That Lazy Bastard Who Hasn’t Bothered To Shave For A Week.

And of course, designer CLOTHES. Apparently there really are people who STILL don’t know most of those impractical togs actually LOSE money – and that the only reason they’re made at all is to keep the BRAND-NAME profile up, which enables the companies to make the REAL money from accessories and perfumes – sorry, FRAGRANCES - that are sold to ordinary people, so they can delude themselves into thinking they’re “jet-setters” (even though the only time they board a jet is on their cramped package holiday to Benidorm) having shelled out $30 for their cheap bag or little bottle of pong.

Such designer clothes as ARE sold are mostly bought by sugar-daddies for spoilt Lolitas anyway. They’re the modern equivalent of The Fur Coat.

But change is in the air. The current financial crisis. And while it’s hurting a LOT of ordinary people, we must be thankful for one thing – it’ll hurt the con-artist designers most of ALL. Then maybe STYLE will make a welcome re-appearance.

Morpheus on… Love

Love is… the most powerful force on our planet. It comes in many forms – love of country, political ideals, relatives, life-partners, chocolate. And it manifests itself in many ways, from setting fire to oneself – to morbid obesity. But Your Humble Scribe doesn’t have all day, so let’s concentrate on life-partners.

When a male Australian aborigine reaches thirteen or so, he goes Walkabout. And in doing so, continues a tradition that goes back to “caveman days”. For what he is looking for – is a life-partner.

Which is where The Numbers come in. You see, everyone on this planet is born with a key, or code – a number – hard-wired into their brains. Where it is located, we know not (if we did, it’d make dating WAY easier). Perhaps it’s buried in a nugget in one of the areas of the brain scientists still know little about. Maybe it’s networked throughout the organ. We don’t know.

But it exists in all of us. And it is between one and approximately fifty – about the number of  the available women likely to be within walking distance of our aborigine. Thus this writer might be a Twenty-Seven and you might be a Forty-One. But when a Twenty-Seven meets ANOTHER Twenty-Seven, FIREWORKS go off. Everything about the other person is just RIGHT – the way they look, smell, move – EVERYTHING.

Which, whether he knows it or not, is what the aborigine is looking for. And after traipsing around the neighbouring tribes for a year or so, he’ll FIND it, settle down with it and produce lots of LITTLE aborigines.

If only ’twere that simple for those of us in developed countries. Problem is, we have another factor to consider – COMPATIBILITY. Age, race, creed, colour, politics, socio-economic background, IQ. Tastes in music, clothes and food. Hobbies, habits, life-style, goals and ambitions. All of which meant NOTHING to primitive man.

And since these considerations are of the modern age and have ZIP to do with The Chemistry Of Love, when it comes to The Numbers, they give us a major PROBLEM.

Let us examine those numbers. The odds against finding true love. Given that The Chemistry occurs only once in fifty or so Encounters  – and given Nature is not an exact science – a Twenty-Seven might meet a Twenty-Seven-A -  which is where ONE person feels The Chemistry, while the other feels nothing – which happens around one time in three – we can see that the odds against finding MUTUAL true love with An Encounter actually run out at around seventy-five to one.

Which brings us back to that devil of our modern age – compatibility. In order that a relationship may prosper, it is necessary for a DEGREE of compatibility to exist. The day-to-day business of living together will DESTROY love if there isn’t SOME overlap. So what are the odds on THAT?

Well, it depends on the individual. Example: “Single man. Mensan. Likes: Indonesian cuisine and sailing. Musical tastes: Zydeco and Belgian Trance. Hobbies: BASE-jumping and bog-snorkeling. Seeks similar.” Or “Single man. GSOH. Likes most music. Enjoys watching TV, visits to the cinema and walks on the beach. Seeks similar.”

Who’s going to get the most responses? The humdrum guy, that’s who. He’s compatible with half the women on the PLANET, while Mensa-man will still be looking for HIS soul-mate when he’s NINETY.

But let’s forget those extremes and give compatibility odds of ten-to-one. However since, as previously stated, The Chemistry Of Love has NOTHING to do with compatibility, the odds become a MULTIPLE. Seventy-five times ten. Which means SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY DATES to find a life-partner even APPROACHING perfection – which is why most people SETTLE for someone who is merely COMPATIBLE.

Which is a shame, for love of life-partner is by FAR the most IMPORTANT aspect of our lives. Most never find it and many of those who fail, divert their efforts towards The Five Impostors: Fame, Wealth, Power, Achievement and Experience.

But while these five diversions are great ADDITIONS to a life lived with the ideal life-partner – they are poor SUBSTITUTES for same. They quickly pall.

And when after years – perhaps DECADES of searching, you FIND that ideal life-partner, nothing else matters. You are richer than Bill Gates and have achieved more than Isaac Newton.

So how do you recognise The Chemistry when it hits? Well, number one – if you have to ASK yourself if you’re in love – you AREN’T. If you are, you’ll KNOW. It’s like a man having to ask himself if the Thai girl he’s dating is really a GIRL. If he needs to ask, she ISN’T.

Number two – the Chemistry Of Love is INSTANT. There IS only ”love at first sight”. Except in ONE instance – the Why Miss Jones I Never Realised Before, You’re Beautiful syndrome…

Mr Smith is promoted and finds himself with an office and Miss Jones – a secretary. She is not unattractive, but business-like, with stern glasses, a long skirt and hair tied up in a bun.  After a few casual invites to join him for lunch are politely declined, Mr Smith and Miss Jones settle down to a formal business relationship.

Then one day, Miss Jones is late. The previously punctual lady finally stumbles into the office apologising to Mr Smith for her lateness, explaining that she had found her long-time sole companion – a Great Dane – passed away this morning and that she had had to wait for the vet to come and remove his body from her flat.

She then walks across the office to begin work, but her vision blurred by tears, she trips over the carpet and sprawls across the floor. The impact catapults her glasses away, her hair falls loose and her long skirt rides up to reveal long, shapely legs.

Mr Smith immediately realises the depth of her distress and moves quickly to help her. As he does so, he cannot help taking in the shapely legs and the lush, auburn hair now framing the oval face. As he grasps her arm to help her up, he looks into eyes no longer hidden behind stern glasses – and Miss Jones looks up at him and sees the concern in HIS eyes. They freeze – and then Mr Smith utters those immortal words, “Why Miss Jones…”

So why is this melodrama an exception? Because Smith and Jones had ACTUALLY only just MET. Before, their stations had demanded they build a WALL between their natural instincts, which circumstances – the passing of Old Rover – had SHATTERED.

But aside from this one somewhat corny case, if Love ain’t there within the first five minutes – it never will be. So if, within that first five minutes, you don’t want to Get A Room – make your excuses and LEAVE. You still have another SEVEN HUNDRED AND FORTY NINE DATES TO GO!

Morpheus on… God Versus John Winston Lennon

Remember all the fuss that resulted when John observed that the Beatles were more popular than God? The remark was intended to point out the incredible power of the media at that time, rather than have a poke at God.

Nevertheless, whilst Britain mostly ignored the comment, America FREAKED – burning albums and the like – and giving the Fab Four’s concert security MAJOR headaches.

Now of course, the Interweb didn’t exist in those days so one can only speculate what the result would have been, if one had done what THIS historian just did.

He can report that if you Google the Beatles today, you get around SIXTY MILLION references - that’s more than the population of Great Britain – not bad for a band that broke up nearly forty years ago.

However, in a similar vein, if you Google Paris Hilton you get EIGHTY-FOUR million. And Obama (halleluyah) gets TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-ONE million. But God gets… FIVE HUNDRED AND TWO million.

This information is passed along without comment.

Morpheus on… US Airways Flight 1549

Well whodathunk the old Airbus A320 could double as a flying boat then? Thanks to the “ditch-switch” which m’colleague Cy, over at “mydigest. wordpress.com” assures me instantly blocks up the kite’s orifices, it floats! (Last I heard, it was passing the Statue Of Liberty).

I’ll bet that would have been good news for its passengers, in the plane’s early days. Those who’d heard sacked pilots wandering dazed, telling anyone who’d listen, “I pulled the stick back…but it went DOWN…”

But now they’ve ironed the bugs out of the fly-by-wire computers – and the backup computers – and those that backup (etc.) – there are literally THOUSANDS of those things in our skies. Nice to know it takes more than a few birds to knock ‘em OUT of the sky.

If it’s just a case of the engines getting clogged, while the plane becomes a GLIDER, it is still FLYABLE. Nice that the Hudson was nearby though – even if it WAS FREEZING.

In the past, like most people, I’ve always IGNORED the flight staff’s ROTE about “water landings” – figuring it was ROT. I mean, if a plane hits water at over 140 mph (any less and it has the aerodynamic qualities of a house-brick) it’ll break up, right? A date with Davy Jones’ Locker.

Which just goes to show all I know. Next time I’ll LISTEN.

I once had a VERY hairy landing at LHR in a MASSIVE storm (half of London was underwater) with a VICIOUS crosswind (thanks a lot for dumping the diagonal runways, Heathrow) and had a pilot I’d like to buy a DRINK.

The plane pendulated from side to side as we approached the ground. I knew the passengers were brown-trousered, but I was watching the FLIGHT ATTENDANTS. And when I saw THEY were tight-lipped, I KNEW we were in trouble.

I looked out of the window, waiting to see us burst out from the clouds. We never did. They stretched right down to the deck.

Then I saw concrete – just feet below us. The plane levelled out, waiting. As the bird swung right,  across Runway Ten Left,  it suddenly descended. The left wheel caught. As she swung back again, the right caught. At that split-second, the pilot SLAMMED on reverse-thrust, GLUEING the plane to terra-firma.

I and most of the other passengers broke the long silence with an ERUPTION of APPLAUSE. Now, applauding a soft landing is standard form in some countries – but in miserable England it’s UNHEARD of. The pilot HAD to know his skill had not gone unnoticed.

So while we may occasionally complain about ‘em – “Did we land, or were we SHOT down?” – let’s hear it for the guy (or these days, frequently girl) up front.

And the next time YOU strap on an aeroplane, just hope the dude (or dudess) in the left seat is the same one who brought down MY flight – or US Airways Flight 1549.

Morpheus on… The € (Euro)

When this historian finally ESCAPED the cold, eternally WET, over-priced, over-regulated MISERY of the United Kingdom of Great Britain some six years ago, he had thought that that was THAT. But NO.

Some years earlier, he’d had a try at writing a piece of fiction (and found that he wasn’t very good at it). It was a time-travel piece in which the hero meets a girl in the past – and ends up being his own grandfather.

At one point, while writing the piece, he needed a name for the then- proposed new European currency. At that time, a name which was a bit similar to an obsolete French denomination was being rejected – for that reason. And since at that time no alternative was being considered, he made UP the name “Euro”. Imagine his glee, when a year later, that very name was chosen!

But while every OTHER country in Europe adopted the “Euro”, Britain stood firm. The Great British Public did not WANT to lose their Great British Pound in favour of the Euro. And Tony Blair lacked the intestial fortitude to force it upon them.

This despite the fact the French were happy to fly in the face of hundreds of years of tradition and dump their franc in favour of the new currency. Likewise the Germans with their mark. The Irish with their punt. Etc.

Well, let’s hope the Brits are pleased with themselves. Two years ago, a British Pound (this keyboard doesn’t even HAVE the symbol) was worth one Euro FIFTY. A year ago, one Euro THIRTY-FOUR. While this very day, it stands at less than one Euro ZERO-FIVE. That’s €1.05. How long before it hits parity? Then sinks LOWER?

So why does this bother Your Humble Scribe, now that he’s escaped to the sun? Because all of his money is in POUNDS, that’s why.

Grrrrrr.

Morpheus on… Life’s Little Problems

Once Upon A Time… there was a Lady. And tonight was her Big Night. A sumptuous charity ball. Simply EVERYONE would be there. She’d been eagerly looking forward to it for weeks. But now, something had happened to upset her reverie.

Five minutes earlier, a friend had rung to warn her that her biggest social rival would be turning up in a gown IDENTICAL to the one her designer had assured her was UNIQUE. “Madame, I ‘ave destroyed all the drawings,” he had said, in his French accent that never QUITE made it.

Now distraught, she was running through all of her wardrobe. But there was nothing she hadn’t worn before. She had a PROBLEM.

Across the Other Side Of Town, there was another lady. She would have LOVED to have had the problems of our first Lady – when her “rival” had arrived, she’d have just laughed the whole thing off. But this lady had REAL trouble.

Several years earlier, she’d fallen in love with a man who treated her like a princess. Sure, he had a quick temper. But he was an Alpha Male. Rich, successful – and he’d given her three wonderful children. But then the trouble had started. First, his company went broke. She didn’t understand why, but from the moment it happened, he’d begun to change.

His drinking – which had always been frequent – became constant. Then there was the first time he’d hit her. Oh, he’d been VERY apologetic that first time, swearing NEVER to do it again. Now, he didn’t even bother to apologise. Then he’d started on her children.

Now, he was on his way home. He’d rung her from his usual watering hole, demanding that his dinner be ready when he got home. But knowing the bar he’d been calling from was only five minutes away, she knew she was in for another beating. SHE had a PROBLEM.

But across the other side of the World was ANOTHER lady. And not only would she have loved to have had the problems of the first Lady - she would have settled for the problems of the second. In THAT case, she would have had five minutes to gather the kids and any essentials and head for a Shelter.

However, this lady didn’t HAVE five minutes – or any realistic hope of rescue. An Adventuress, she had embarked on one adventure too many. While hacking her way through an especially dense bit of jungle, she’d burst through a curtain of vines and fallen over a ridge. Now she was hanging half-way down – and the roar of the pride of lions circling at the bottom assured her that when her fingers finally gave way – as they were about to – she’d not have to worry about being injured on the pile of rocks directly under her. SHE HAD a PROBLEM.

And what have we learned from this little anecdote? Well, that the next time you figure YOU have a problem, step outside of yourself and consider objectively how big that problem REALLY IS.

Are you the adventuress in peril?

The battered mother?

…Or just the posh bitch with the wrong frock?

Morpheus on… Douglas Hurd

Remember him? One of Margaret Thatcher’s top hench-persons. Writer, politician, idiot. The voice was Fozzie Bear with an English accent – and apparently he once USED that voice in a Cadbury’s Smash ad (according to Wiki).

Anyhoo, turns out the old boy’s still ALIVE! He’s about 78 now (he LOOKED that old 20 YEARS ago). And I’m sure he’d LIKE to be remembered for all of his sterling work in the Tory political arena of the ’80s, but let’s face it – his MAIN achievement will ALWAYS be that addition to the canon of RHYMING SLANG.

“Excuse me, I have to go and DROP A DOUGLAS.”

Morpheus on… Anti-Smoking: A Tale Of Paranoia – And Hypocrisy

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if, during the Sixties, a time-traveler from THIS period had told me that by now, we’d all be going to work with jet-packs strapped to our backs – I’d've BELIEVED them. But if they’d told me that in 2008, you couldn’t SMOKE in a BAR – I’d've LAUGHED at them. So how did this ridiculous situation come about?

Well, during the Fifties, apart from hospitals, libraries, art galleries, theatres, churches and fireworks factories, you could smoke ANYWHERE. Even people who were NON-SMOKERS kept a full cigarette-box, lighter and ashtray for VISITORS. Happy days.

But by the Sixties, the rumblings had begun. However, no-one took them SERIOUSLY. After all, James Bond, The Beatles and all the other COOL people still smoked – so how bad could it be?

Well, in the Seventies, people found OUT. First, the American government commissioned a research programme to establish the ACTUAL risks presented by Second-Hand Smoke. The scientists announced the risks had been found to be SIGNIFICANT.

Then the story concerning “The Boys” emerged. Richard Levinson and William Link were Hollywood’s TOP television writing team, responsible for Columbo and many other fine shows. They worked together for HOURS each day, in a small, ill-ventilated office. Link smoked like a chimney, FILLING the office with a FOG of smoke, while Levinson was a non-smoker.

And when Levinson DIED, from LUNG CANCER, his widow tried to SUE Link – who then wrote a TV movie about the events. Only in Hollywood could anyone show such LACK of taste.

Then popular British multi-instrumentalist, comedian and TV presenter, Roy Castle died – also from lung cancer. He too had never smoked, and his death was blamed on years of playing in smoky jazz-clubs. Roy was a nice guy and people were appalled.

So by the Eighties, people were understandably treating tobacco smoke like it was NERVE-GAS. And as the Nineties and - whatever THIS decade should be called - progressed, smoking was banned in ALL public places – even OUT-DOORS.

It became ACCEPTABLE to abuse and segregate smokers in a way which, had it been applied to BLACK people, would have sparked race-riots that would have made Watts look like a picnic. But given the DANGERS of Second-Hand Smoke, the public’s fears were justified, right?

Well…NO!!! THE PUBLIC WERE CONNED.

Let’s examine the three seminal events listed above. First, that “research programme”. Several years AFTER the findings were released, it was revealed that ALL of the tests had been BOTCHED and the results were BOGUS. There never WAS any significant risk from Second-Hand Smoke.

Doctors had been saying so for YEARS. If you think about it, when were you EVER in a smoky club where you couldn’t see one side from the other, due to SMOKE? And yet, if you blow a mouthful of smoke into a brandy-glass, the smoke will completely obscure the view through it. And while the club might be, say, a hundred feet from side to side – the brandy-glass will only be a few inches. Unscientific perhaps, but surely a fair indication of the difference between First- and Second-Hand Smoke.

Then there’s the sad tale of Levinson and Link. Except it NEVER HAPPENED!! It was just a STORY. Oh, Levinson died alright – from a HEART-ATTACK. And HE was the smoker! Link merely based the FICTIONAL CHARACTERS of his FICTIONAL TV MOVIE on his memories of how he and Levinson had worked together.

And then, Roy Castle. It’s true that certain people CLAIMED he’d developed lung cancer as a result of  his playing in smoky jazz-clubs – but it seems highly unlikely. By the time he contracted the disease, he was a TELEVISION PRESENTER - and hadn’t played in jazz-clubs for DECADES. And ALL doctors will tell you that just MONTHS of ceasing exposure to smoke reduces the risks from it to almost zero.

Plus, despite most people having now been brainwashed into thinking that you can ONLY get lung cancer from smoking, it simply isn’t TRUE. Oh sure, your CHANCES of contracting the disease as a smoker increase dramatically. But a non-smoker living alone on a desert island can still come down with it.

So given these FACTS, what REALLY promoted the Second-Hand Smoke hysteria? MONEY, that’s what.

Oh, pubs and clubs have taken a CANING over the smoking bans. Twenty-five percent of their customers smoke and few feel like standing around in the rain like naughty schoolboys, preferring to drink at HOME - where the booze is much cheaper and they can smoke NAKED if they choose. Thus, those watering holes which were running on slim margins have gone UNDER.

And some governments make MILLIONS from the exorbitant TAXES they glom. If Britain’s smokers all suddenly STOPPED paying their thousand-percent-plus cigarette taxes, their National Health system would COLLAPSE overnight.

So who’s making the money? The shops, businesses, offices and airlines, that’s who. And that’s where the hypocrisy comes in.

When Second-Hand Smoke first became an issue, the owners of buildings and vehicles LEAPT upon it. Realising that modern surfaces and equipment are mostly PLASTIC, these days – and that plastic absorbs smoke-stains like a SPONGE, making it look old before its time – they moved QUICKLY.

In The Old Days, redecorating meant merely the annual task of moving desks and filing cabinets out into the corridor for a day or two, slapping some green, cream or beige paint on the walls and opening the windows for a bit. But NOW, it meant STRIPPING an office of EVERYTHING and REPLACING it.

On the other hand, if in the name of “Heath And Safety” you could ban smoking (or have a referendum, knowing seventy-five percent of the staff would vote YOUR way) you could reduce that task from an ANNUAL event to a once-in-a-DECADE event. AND you’d save on fire insurance, air-conditioning and cleaning as well. Then if you could stretch the ban to your company cars by classing them as “work-places”, when you came to sell them they’d be worth more. Brilliant!

As for airlines, have you ever wondered why you feel so DOPEY after a long flight? And usually develop a VIRUS a few days after? It’s thanks to the smoking bans. In addition to the planes’ interior decors – plastic again – looking younger for longer, they’re also able to back off their air-circulating systems. Despite being pressurised, all aeroplanes still have the facility to slowly change cabin air. But with the outside air temperature being – at 35,000 feet – around minus fifty-five degrees (Centigrade OR Fahrenheit – at that temperature, the scales cross) it costs MONEY to HEAT it.

And when after TWELVE HOURS without a smoke you finally get OFF the damn thing and enter a terminal large enough to PARK one in, you have to search for the “smoking facility” – which more often than not, turns out to be a room the size of a garden shed. Thus despite representing twenty-five percent of their customers, you’re lucky if you have ZERO POINT five percent of their SPACE. Reason? It’s those cleaning, decorating, insurance and air-con expenses again.

Finally, a while back, when (then) London Transport had a deadly fire in their Underground train service at Kings Cross, instead of facing up to their shortcomings with cleaning and staff instruction, they blamed it on a dropped fag-end and banned smoking throughout their whole NETWORK - even the SURFACE sections. Thus OUT-DOOR platforms had bans also. Which obviously made NO difference to “Heath And Safety” – but again, it cut their cleaning bills. Plus the cost of redecorating their “smoking” carriages. And naturally, it didn’t take other train companies long to follow suit.

Of course, it is fair comment to say that many non-smokers find just the SMELL of cigarettes objectionable. And that has always been so. But back in The Good Old Days, companies recognised the problem. And being concerned about the comfort of ALL their customers, wherever practical they provided FACILITIES for smokers. Smoking areas, cars, bars, etc. But when they saw the chance to SAVE themselves all that trouble and EXPENSE – they TOOK it!

So there it is. It’s a CON, people. And thanks to BAD INFORMATION, YOU’VE ALLOWED THEM TO DO IT!

Morpheus on… Two Tribes

If you’re OLD like me, you’ll recall the Frankie Goes To Hollywood video of “Two Tribes”. For those unfamiliar with this masterpiece, it features an obvious President Of The United States mixing it up in a bare-knuckle ring with an obvious Russian Premier.

Now, for the next few weeks, The Monkey is still nominally America’s POTUS – and when he was in the army, he was a SLACKER. And let’s face it, Vlad is still Russia’s REAL power – and he’s ex-KGB.

Which would make THAT a match worth SEEING. Putin would KICK BUSH’S ARSE!!!

Morpheus on… Jay Leno… UPDATE!

A month ago, Your Humble Scribe posted the following in Another Place…

At the time of writing this, The Monkey has just ten weeks left in the Oval Office (although with a Democratic Senate and House Of Representatives, his only use now is to show Barack where the secret door to the Executive Bathroom is) which will sadden few people.

Also, Dead-eye Dick Cheney will pass into history as the only sitting VP to SHOOT someone for a couple of hundred years.

But a few weeks after, will spell the end of the line for Jay Leno on the Tonight Show – and this historian for one will mourn his passing. Okay, he’s not DYING – he’s RICH and will ALWAYS enjoy high paying gigs - but “Leno”, like “Carson” will slip from the vocabulary.

Conan O’ Brien is a good, competent host and I’m sure he’ll hold it together – but he’s no Leno. Even Leno was no Carson, but after fifteen years of clinging to his job by his fingernails – he never DARED to take a holiday – he’s just about PEAKED now.

And so NBC are CANNING him. They’ll – be – sor-ry. And so shall we…

WELL, READER – it appears they WERE SOR-RY!!!

But their response was to pull a blinder – and this writer has to take his hat off to what they’ve done! Yesterday, they announced they WOULD still be giving Conan O’Brien the Leno spot on The Tonight Show - but in September, they’ll be giving Leno a NEW SHOW…in PRIMETIME.

History: In My Day (the ’60s) America had three national networks – all of which had developed from RADIO networks – CBS (the Columbia Broadcasting System) NBC (National Broadcasting Company) and ABC (American Broad- casting Company). And in those days, CBS and NBC were about joint Number One, with ABC bringing up the rear.

But fortunes change. And now, CBS is about joint Number One with ABC, AND the upstart Fox - with the once great NBC bringing up the rear.

So what the Peacock Boys have done is VERY cute. Knowing they’re getting KILLED in Primetime – and the fact that Leno might WELL have been wooed by a rival (probably ABC) they have invented a NEW Primetime show – The Jay Leno Show (which will STILL be ahead of O’Brien, who says he likes to follow Leno – but he must be smarting a BIT!)

And this is TRIPLY cute, since (1) chat shows are CHEAP to mount – the guests are all SELLING stuff and only get $500 appearance money (2) Leno’s POPULAR and will HURT the rival networks’ drama ratings (3) chat shows are TOPICAL – meaning most people watch ‘em LIVE – not on VCRs, Tivos, PVRs., DVRs or DVD-Rs – which means advertisers will pay MORE for their slots, knowing audiences won’t fast-forward through their crap!

So, a coup by the chaps at 30 Rock! And a break for Leno, who during his fifteen years on The Tonight Show has had to endure a lotta crap. Good luck to him, I say!

Morpheus on… War Reminiscences

In the past, like most people, I’ve always made my excuses and left, whenever an old person has started, ” I remember back in the war…”

But it occurs to this scribbler that since the last argument ended some sixty-three years ago – and the only records that exist from the time are books, movies and censored newsreels – it might be time we started to LISTEN to these old geezers. I mean, they were THERE – and they won’t be HERE for much longer…

Morpheus on… Carats

Carat: a unit of weight, used for gemstones, equivalent to 200 milligrams.

Carat: a measure of purity of gold, pure gold being 24 carats.

What genius thought of THAT?

I mean, gold and gemstones being the two staple materials of the jewelery trade, wouldn’t you have thought they could have come up with a different name for ONE of them?

Morpheus on… Dates

Right now it’s 2008. Which is generally SPOKEN as “Two Thousand And Eight.” Right?

And yet if you ask The Man In The Street when modern history began, he’ll say “1066 - Battle Of Hastings.” And he’ll enunciate it as Ten-Sixty-Six. Then if you ask him when the Edwardian Era was, if he’s well-educated he’ll reply, “1901-10, mate.” Which will come out as Nineteen-O-One to Ten. Of course strictly speaking, he SHOULD have said Nineteen-ZERO-One to Ten - O is a LETTER – but now I’m being pedantic.

But do you see where I’m going with this? The thing is, this year SHOULD be spoken as Twenty-O-Eight (or strictly, Twenty-Zero-Eight).

But it isn’t. After the Millennium, when we called the year Two Thousand, we just carried ON – aided possibly by memories of “2001 A Space Odyssey” – Two Thousand And One, Two Thousand And Two, etc.

The last time this would have been an issue would have been in the year 1000. But since Britain was still in the Dark Ages, we’ve no way of knowing WHAT they called it.

So m’question is when, if ever, will we revert back to describing the year in couplets? In The Year 2525?

Morpheus on… The Death Of James Bond

Blofeld never caught him. 007 was finally nailed by that which catches us ALL – TIME.

This chronicler was a mere boy of ten when Dr No emerged and has since seen ‘em all, including the ‘54 TV movie of Casino Royale, the ‘67 romp of Casino Royale and the “remake” of Thunderball: Never Say Never Again. Plus he’s read all of Fleming’s Bond books. Thus he feels qualified to make the bold statement above.

The thing is, the Bond movies are essentially ACTIONERS – and they have always LEAD the field. But not anymore.

So what MAKES a Bond film so special that they have ruled the genre for over forty years?

Well, first and foremost – PACE. With Dr No, the franchise hit the ground RUNNING. Compared to other actioners of the period, Dr No was a breath of fresh air. And it was a pace that other actioners always sought to match – but never quite did.

However now, pace has been substituted by MTV-editing which fails to allow the viewer time to assimilate what’s going ON. Like in the Bourne movies: Identity, Supremacy and Ultimatum – or as I call ‘em: Bourne One, Two and Three (Born Free?). And now Quantum Of Solace tries to play CATCH-UP with those.

Then there were the famous “gadgets”. In the Sixties they were fantasy, but now all of Q’s PRACTICAL toys can be purchased from Radio Shack. And if you think your car really NEEDS a defibrillator in the glove box…

And the Ken Adam sets, with their trade-mark descending circle in the ceiling, which distorted perspective to make the sets appear bigger.

Plus the exotic locations. While other movies were content to film everything in the studio in front of second-unit plates, the “Bond Circus” toured the World. Again in the Sixties, most people had no IDEA what a country other than their own looked like.

Then there were the “of the moment” items. The Bell-Jump. The Millennium Dome. MI6’s shiny new HQ. And most people got their first look at a digital watch in a James Bond movie.

And the “Bond Song” generally used an artist who was “now”. At least the latest offering must have pleased Aha – they no longer hold the dubious distinction of having produced the crappiest Bond Song ever.

Then of course, there was the Bond Villain. Outwardly a cool dude, but inside was a megalomaniac bent on mischief on a global scale – the latest example is just a thug.

But what Bond was REALLY about was birds, booze and ciggies. However, thanks to American Paranoia, 007 has had to give up the fags and only gets to shag ONE sexy foreign bird per movie. Oh DEAR.

And to add insult to injury, the Bond strain has now fallen victim to Prequelitis - Hollywood’s obsession with movies set BEFORE the classics. Which in Bond’s case makes NO sense. I mean, Judi Dench was “M” during the Pierce Brosnan era, so how can she be M now? And given that EVERYONE has seen – on TV at least – SOME of the earlier outings, how can this “re-start” be credible?

Finally, despite having the most famous intro of any series EVER – the “gun-barrel” sequence – the makers decided to follow the annoying modern trend of putting the titles between the movie and the end credits – and placed said intro THERE. AAARGH!

So R.I.P., James. We enjoyed your style, your charm, your bad one-liners and envied you all those bodacious babes. But you overstayed your welcome. Now it’s time for audiences to be bedazzled by no-brain action movies filled with noisy stunt sequences (that are cut so quickly, they can only be appreciated by those on cocaine) – and not very much else.

Who is Morpheus?

Well, originally, he was the Greek god of sleep and dreams, but he is also a moniker I adopted when I began creative writing, back in 1994 (I started late in life).

My real name is unimportant – Mike Unimportant. I was born in England (rule Britannia!) attended Copleston High, got a few “O” levels, then went down to London and caught the tail-end of the Sixties. Then I got into jazz and DID inhale.

Later I settled down, got married, had a son (Hi, James!) studied electronics at Southend Tech and became a service engineer for the next ten years. Finally I decided the life portrayed in the TV ads was not for me and QUIT the rat race.

I travelled (Britain, Europe and the Far East) finally, at 50, RETIRING and settling down in S E Asia with wife number three, a semi-feral cat called Sophie and a dopey but affectionate dog called Jasper. I love all three.

I live in a big house with my own sauna, jukebox, 4,550 records, tapes and disks and a 47″ LCD TV with a 250W sound system.

I smoke, am a lapsed Mensan, a devout atheist, a leftish liberal and like Trance, Prokofiev and Art Deco music.

I work out every day, give to charity often and lie frequently (see?)

Actually, I’m out of shape, mean and… never mind, let’s carry on with this thing while I still have some readers left…

Morpheus on… The Elixir Of Life

Ever since Man began to think, he’s wondered if there was a way to cheat – or at least delay – DEATH. To radically slow down, arrest or even REVERSE the ageing process.

And thus have evolved myths, superstitions and the books of H. Rider Haggard, featuring Trees, Rivers and Fires Of Life. Countess Bathory had hundreds of virgins killed so she might bathe in their blood (it didn’t work – and they walled her up alive, for her crimes).

But after thousands of years of hocus-pocus, SCIENCE has finally emerged as the medium which threatens to make the dream a reality. Thus WE could be the first generation to actually ACHIEVE what for millennia has only been a FANTASY.

It’s all down to our having “unlocked the Human genome”. But therein lies the problem. Thanks to public ignorance (genetics= Frankenstein, Hitler, etc.) an exploitative media and knee-jerk politicians, it may be years or even DECADES before we move FORWARDS from that point.

But let’s assume all of these spoil-sports are bypassed. What are the ramifications of this new tech? Well of course, they are many. And MOST of them have been addressed. Issues like…

(1) Overpopulation and shortages of food and resources. Not necessarily a problem, provided people were prepared to re-think if, when and how many kids they were planning on having. And people would still die from diseases and accidents.

(2) Government interference with the new tech. Unlikely. Governments rarely look beyond the next five years – and during that time, little would actually change. Plus now that we have a Global economy, if one government banned research and use of the tech, it would simply re-locate.

(3) Jobs and pensions. Those WOULD have to change. People would need to have SEVERAL careers during their life-times. And automation would HAVE to be stepped up to a point where survival was no longer dependant on an INCOME.

(4) Given that the “cure” for ageing would probably be a VERY pricey procedure (it’d be unlikely to be a PILL) crimes against the rich would SKY-ROCKET. But then, would rejuvenation clinics accept clients with suitcases filled with blood-spattered cash? I think not.

And (5) Relationships. Would you (or your beloved) want to spend the next CENTURY – or maybe TWO – with the same life-partner? Sorry, this scribbler can NOT answer THAT one!

But one aspect of this issue has NOT been addressed. Would one WANT to live that long?

You may have heard the story of the young man who encounters a very, very old man. “How old ARE you?” “One hundred years old.” “Oh, I’d HATE to live THAT long.” “You wouldn’t say that if you were ninety-nine.” We cling on to life.

But as a fifty-six-year-old, who’s been everywhere, done everything and has a large collection of tee-shirts, this scribe has, statistically, about twenty- four years left in This Place – and that’s PLENTY.

Oh sure, if they came up with a tech that’d make this writer LOOK like a twenty-five-year-old, they’d have his full attention. “You know you’re looking old and tired – And have lived too many years – When hair stops growing on your head – And starts sprouting out your ears.” But he wouldn’t want to BE one.

You can’t go BACK. Everyone knows that. And there are limits to how LONG one wants to go FORWARD. So, listen Pfiser, Glaxo, et al, forget about giving me another century or two. Just fix it so that when I DO check out – I look like Daniel Craig.

Morpheus on… “Pro-Choice” vs “Pro-Life”

A 14-year-old virgin walks through a park, in broad daylight. Suddenly, she is grabbed by a drug-crazed gang of youths, dragged into bushes and repeatedly raped. A few weeks later, she finds that she is with child. This fact is made worse by the fact that the gang of youths were a different race and colour from her – they were white.

Across town, a young actress gets stoned at a party and seduces a boy in a spare bedroom. The following evening, she goes to take her pill – then discovers she forgot to take yesterday’s. She takes BOTH and hopes for the best. After a couple of weeks, she discovers her hopes were unfulfilled – she too is pregnant. Then her agent rings up and tells her that “breakthrough role” is HERS. Filming will begin in eight months.

So which of these girls “deserves” an abortion?

Pro-Lifers would say NEITHER. Life begins at conception – and to terminate either would be murder. After all, both girls have the option of giving up their baby for adoption.

While Pro-Choicers would say BOTH. For them, life begins when the baby draws its first breath. The virgin has suffered enough – without being reminded of the “incident” every time she sees her child. And as for the bimbo actress – it’s HER body.

Of course, PRACTICAL people would point out that the law HAS to allow both to terminate - if it didn’t, the actress would just go on a “skiing” holiday to Switzerland and quietly book into a private hospital – while the young girl would be forced to seek out a “back-street” abortionist – who could leave her sterile – or DEAD.

But throughout the discussion, NO-ONE would consider the MEDICS – whose Hippocratic Oath demands they “do no harm”. Performing abortions isn’t exactly what THEY signed up for, is it?

(Incidentally, my Evil Twin, Damien, has his own take on this one – which can be found at http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/)

Morpheus on… Withipol

There’s a famous American idea that if you take your first pet’s name and the name of the street where you grew up and put them together – you arrive at your Porn Star name. Well, that would make mine Percy Withipol. Which actually WORKS!

Percy was my budgie. But later, the name was used in a ’60s British comedy film about the World’s first penis transplant. Thus these day, Percy is a name chaps use for their “weapon” – along with Jasper, Mr Happy, Captain Cucumber, etc.

And Withipol – well, I mean… With A Pole! But this got me thinking, where did the name Withipol COME from? My encyclopaedia offered nothing, so I Googled it. And I was amazed to find a RAFT of stuff about Withipol.

Which incredibly, included my old street, Withipol Street, Ipswich, England. It’s only a 100-metre side-street, but there’s a map – and CAMRA (CAMpaign for Real Ale – old-style beer – “I’m going to a CAMRA meeting” – sounds better than “I’m going to the pub to get pissed with me mates”) lists a pub in it that closed over SEVENTY YEARS AGO. Surreal.

It turns out that Withipol (sometimes spelled Withipole – with an “e” on the end) is just an old English surname (goes back to Henry VIII’s time). I’m still no wiser as to where it CAME from.

But at least it gives me a funny Porn Star name!

Morpheus on… Incongruities

How come we say that an alarm went off…when it obviously went ON?

Is it for the same reason we say a building was blown UP?

Morpheus on… Hyphenated Names

One of the by-products of Political Correctness is that when two people decide to get spliced, rather than throw her surname down the dumper, they elect to get hyphenated (settle down!)

However, despite the laudable motives behind this trend, it does present a wee problem.

Let’s say Mr Smith meets Ms Jones. Okay, they become Mr & Ms Smith-Jones. Or perhaps Ms & Mr Jones-Smith. So far so good. But a generation along, their son, John Smith-Jones (or John Jones-Smith) meets a similarly-blessed girl – say, Mary Brown-Featherstonehaugh.

NOW what?

Do they become Mr & Ms Smith-Brown-Jones-Featherstonehaugh? And what happens when THEIR grown-up kid meets Jane Beauchamp-Cholmondsley-Wildegoose-Fazackerley?

Flip a coin? Several times?

Morpheus on… Pub Stories

One lunchtime, I met this chap in a pub who told me he’d just encountered the most amazing thing he’d ever seen in his life – a man who could tell the time by weighing his horse’s testicles.

This I had to see, so I hurried down to the market and found the old man he’d described, sat on a three-legged stool, next to a moth-eaten horse. Sitting down next to him, I casually asked him the time. Sure enough, the old boy placed his hands under the animals goods and gently lifting them said, “Tha’s nearly five and twenty past three.”

Surreptitiously checking my digital watch, I saw that it was indeed 15:23. “That’s amazing!” I said. “How can you tell the time so accurately by doing…that?”

“Oh easy,” he replied, “by doing…this…I can just see the town hall clock.”

(Da-da-da-daah…my name’s Morpheus. Don’t forget to tip your waitress).

Morpheus on… Those Magnificent Men And Their Flying Machines

I just read a piece in the news that said some bloke had strapped a jet-pack to his back and jumped the English Channel with it. Took ten minutes (that means he hit over 70 mph).

Surely this item belongs in the CARTOON section?

Morpheus on… George Wan… sorry…WaLker Bush

A while back, I recall a mayoral election taking place in Mexico, where a joke party calling itself The Banana (something) Party fielded a MONKEY as it’s candidate. It came THIRD. Now you may stop there, but it got Your Humble Scribe thinking…

First, what does that say about the seven candidates who polled LOWER than the primate? How sad are THEY?!

And second, America looks DOWN on Mexico – but at least the Mexicans’ monkey only came THIRD. America’s monkey came SECOND… and they put him in the OVAL OFFICE.

Morpheus on… “Stingers”

We’ve all seen ‘em. On those “cop-chase” programmes. Some looney is driving a stolen car at break-neck speed down the High Street, when up pops a cop and throws a bed o’ nails across the street. Trouble is, have they thought it through?

I mean before, said looney might have been driving through a “red mist” but at least he had a vehicle that was ROADWORTHY. No WAY is he going to STOP while it can maintain forward momentum. So NOW, not only is he piloting something he’s quite prepared to run OVER someone with – but running on RIMS, he’s more than likely to DO so.

And finally…

…this is me and my Lady