Ask the Man In The Street who played the original Frankenstein and he will most likely answer, “Boris Karloff.”
Unless he is a smartarse like me, in which case he will say, “Colin Clive – he played Henry Frankenstein – Boris played his un-named creation.”
But this truism is somewhat UNDERCUT by the fact that the sequel to “Frankenstein” was entitled “The Bride Of Frankenstein” – despite the fact that Henry was engaged to Elizabeth (later in the film, they were married) and Elsa Lanchester (the titular bride) was created for Boris’ monster.
Then, around the same time we have, “Well, here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into,” said many times to Stan Laurel, by Oliver Hardy, right? Except he never ACTUALLY said that; what he always said was, “…another NICE mess”.
But again this factoid is UNDERCUT by the fact that one of the boys’ early shorts was ENTITLED – “Another Fine Mess.”
This seems to be an American thing – another example is contained in the insane ramblings of their President, Donald Trump.
In his ubiquitous Tweets, he constantly calls the Democratic Party the “Do Nothing Dems”. Which is yet another LIE (about his fifteen thousandth, to date). In fact, they have passed about FIVE HUNDRED bills – all (apart a few “harmless” ones) of which have been KILLED by Trump’s Boy (actually, old man) Mitch McConnell (AKA The Turtle).
And it is a fair bet that if those bills HAD progressed beyond The Turtle’s DESK – America would be a better country today…
For a decade now, I have spread Xmas Cheer with a Seasonal Selection from my Collection.
You have heard comedic offerings from the likes of Bill Mitchell & Chris Sandford, Dora Bryan and Allan Sherman – more “traditional” works by the Springfields and others – plus more recently, I have taken to Rock ‘N’ Roll, in the form of (last year) Chuck Berry. And so this year I have pulled out all the stops – ELVIS!
The story that as a young man, Elvis spent an incognito night touring the West End with Tommy Steele is now well known. With Tommy’s bouffant hair flattened down under a bobble-hat and Elvis fresh from his military spell (his hair cut short and the black dye long gone, leaving it mousy) the two young men went unrecognised – even in the legendary “Two Eyes” Coffee Bar – then the HUB for British R ‘N’ R.
But less well known is that the following morning, the two turned up at Abbey Road, where (as had been previously SECRETLY arranged) Elvis cut a CHRISTMAS record with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra- “Santa Claus Is Back In Town” – but when “Colonel” Tom Parker heard of these shenanigans he blew a gasket. Long story short, the recording stayed buried for decades.
However, as is always the case with these things, accounts vary wildly – Prestwick Airport still has a plaque claiming in the Uke, ONLY IT ever saw Elvis – and others claim “Santa…” is just another number cobbled (“mashed up”) together, like the “remix” of “A Little Less Conversation” a few years earlier.
p.s. This may be my LAST seasonal selection – I’m nudging SEVENTY now and have developed Congestive Heart Failure (it’s like a slo-mo version of a Heart Attack) and about half of us peg OUT in Year One, half those who survive that succumb during Years Two to Five – and I’m due to move on during the following four years anyway.
About a year ago, I expended around four months of brain energy trying to fathom the mystery of where we end up after we DIE (being not so young as I used to be, I have a vested interest in the subject) and I succeeded in a few areas where brains superior to mine (like that Greek washing-up liquid, Plato) failed – due to my having existed NOW.
It largely began when I considered how the main character in the 1968 film “2001: A Space Odyssey” – Hal 9000 – had clearly demonstrated Machine Intelligence (AI) and arguably Consciousness – yet in the half-century since, while Science had located and DUPLICATED (in the form of computers, like the one you are reading THIS on) the LOWER functions of the human brain (operating system, programmes, memory, compression and so on) it had gotten NOWHERE with the UPPER functions (that intelligence and consciousness).
And while many things featured in the aforementioned film had not materialised, this was mostly due to lack of interest (and therefore, MONEY) from governments and commerce – whereas when it came to AI, those resources were NOT in short supply (many SALESMEN claim their products USE AI – but none have submitted them to the bodies offering BIG CASH PRIZES to those who can PROVE same).
Thus, in the absence of Science, I used its Poor Brother, Logic to theorise that Science’s failure to locate our upper brains – which from this point I will whimsically refer to as Souls – was because they were not IN our crania (plural of cranium) – but were somewhere I called the Exocontinuum (as a new word, it’ll do) and communicated with our lower brains using the Electro-Magnetic Spectrum.
I further theorised that because, ever since Marconi began tinkering around with his radio broadcasts, people were NOT running around with their hands clamped over their ears screaming, “MAKE IT STOP!!” – the signals were nothing like the SLEW of them that surround us today. In addition to radio, we have TV, comms and gawdnose what else, which now occupy VHF, UHF and a plethora of Microwaves – in addition to the old Long, Medium and Short wavebands (and VLF, used by subs).
But further than that I could not get. According to Science, when our hearts stop pumping oxygenated blood to our brains, our neurons cease firing, our synapses wither and our engrams decay – it’s like dropping a laptop into a bath of concentrated acid. I reasoned that our Souls would endure, now unshackled from our lower brains – but our identities would be GONE. And I further reasoned that said Souls would hook up with a NEW lower brain. Or maybe all of our Souls are one entity. Who knows? (WE probably never will).
Of course, NONE of this is provable. However today, I had a NEW thought which at least helps CONSOLIDATE my theory. Come with me to some MORE Weird Science – TELEPATHY.
Now we all use this power, to varying degrees, CONSTANTLY. When our brains are working at high power, they can exchange little bits of brain language – concepts, pictures, numbers, symbols and such-like. And this is as physical as farting – forget all that psychic crap.
But HOW? Well of course, the scientists have studied this too. And having found subjects who demonstrated telepathic abilities, they were all over the MEDIUM they were using. Thus, having theorised it had to be a part of the EMS, it wasn’t long before someone came up with the idea of employing a Faraday Cage to see if they could BLOCK it.
And sure enough, having put one subject inside the medal cage, with the other outside and a third person switching the cage’s power on and off at random, while a fourth monitored the results – it quickly became apparent that the subjects’ abilities were completely nullified by the energised screen. Telepathy unquestionably used the EMS.
However, all attempts to intercept the signals travelling between the subjects FAILED. Eventually, they gave up.
But this also shows why everyone isn’t running around screaming make it stop. The thing is, all broadcast signals (and tape-recorders) are MODULATED CARRIERS (un-modulated signals are shite – they just are, I don’t make the rules) and are thus effectively ENCODED. And clearly, the data travelling between our brains – and between our individual brains and our Souls (or THE Soul) – is encoded DIFFERENTLY.
It’s rather like trying to download your consciousness into a computer. You can try plugging a USB lead into your ear, but trust me – it won’t work.
Ultimately, whether my theory of our upper brains being Elsewhere is true or hogwash, it is a FACT that when it comes to us and the machines, no matter HOW DOPEY a human being is – they are still SPECIAL.
I recall my son’s first medical. The doctor was a twenty-something woman, who poked and prodded our lad for a couple of minutes and then, from behind, CLAPPED her hands loudly.
The three-month-old just sat there, unflinching.
The medic shifted uncomfortably and nervously announced that our son had impaired hearing.
Today, I was asked by someone who called themselves a “foreigner” – “Which media in the UK can provide more abundant contents and fair opinions; The BBC, The Guardian or The Sun?”
And I replied as follows…
Things today are NOT as they used to be.
Recently, BBC News had a problem with a perfectly reasonable comment by Naga Munchetty, answering a reasonable inquiry by her co-host.
And apparently ONE (clearly right wing) viewer COMPLAINED to Auntie about BIAS.
The problem highlighted an issue with news in general; you either report bald facts with NO “editorialising” – or allow presenters the freedom to add comments.
Now in the past, most media had a left or right wing bias – and readers/viewers were free to read/watch the “brand” that best expressed their view.
While the rest tried to stay bang in the middle and being seen as BLAND – struggled to attract said readers/viewers.
But with today’s stories on the insanity of Trump, the absurdities of Bozo and the disintegration of our Environment dominating the media, it is IMPOSSIBLE for ANYONE to avoid taking a SIDE.
So as a “foreigner” – if you want balance, you have picked the WRONG TIME in history to search for it!
Elsewhere in these ramblings I have mused on how Science has had FIFTY YEARS (since Hal 9000 showed us the potential future, courtesy of Arthur C. Clarke) to unravel the secrets of our Upper Brains – and whilst it has had no problem locating our Lower Brains and REPRODUCING them, in the form of COMPUTERS – it has singularly FAILED to make a DENT in duplicating their more elevated brethren.
But it occurs that said failing not only leads us to the conclusion that the Upper Brain is not in the cranium (see my pieces on the Soul and Afterlife – we borrow the former and there IS NO latter) it also demolishes the notion that we will EVER develop AI.
Now of course, there are many who claim they USE AI in their machines – but they are SALESMEN. Fact is, there are a number of large cash prizes awaiting anyone who can demonstrate TRUE AI – and all go unclaimed.
“Artificial Intelligence is whatever hasn’t been done yet.” Larry Tesler.
And this is GOOD THING – because while many celebrated Brains (even Hawking) have claimed the beginning of the start of AI will be the beginning of the END of US – and Science Fiction is filled with examples of same – it would appear that we are all SAFE from mechanical annihilation.
Just so long as AI CONTINUES to elude our Science…
This one really needs a PICTURE, but it happened long before EVERYONE had a camera-phone – back in the Seventies in fact.
It was evening, DARK and pissing with rain. I was driving into central London and the car in front was a Vauxhall Victor estate. This featured a BENCH SEAT in front and a LARGE back window.
Thus the occupants were clearly picked out in SILHOUETTE, by the oncoming headlights. There was a man driving, a woman in the passenger seat and in the middle was – GOOFY!!!
It took me a few moments to realise what I was looking at: the guy in the middle, with the big floppy ears – was a large DOG. Sitting on its haunches between them, their heads formed a perfect line.
Thus from their point of view, nothing was amiss. Only from MY perspective did the scene look like a surreal CARTOON!
“The question of who(m?) shall rule a country is far too important for it to be left to the people of that country” – MUST’VE been said by someone, sometime, someplace.
If not, I have just come up with an original quote – but I seriously doubt it.
Of course the problem is, the implementation of those sentiments inevitably leads to DICTATORSHIP.
It was Winston Churchill who opined, “Democracy is the worst form of government – except for all the rest” (actually he said, “Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time,” – but close enough).
The latest Trumposity (Trump atrocity?) reminded me of a comedic TV sketch from the Sixties. It was half a century ago and was only shown once, so you must excuse me if my memory of the details is a little…sketchy.
But as I recall it, it featured the singer Kenny Lynch. Born in London, England (and still working, at eighty-one) Kenny had Caribbean roots.
To impart background, the British system had WELCOMED immigration after WW2, but now Full Employment was looming (in part because the immigrants’ offsprings were now leaving school) the notion of PAYING immigrants to return “home” was being discussed (it came to nothing).
The sketch went something like this…
Interviewer, to black Man In The Street (Kenny): “If you were offered five hundred pounds (about ten grand in 2019 money) to go back where you came from, would you take it?”
Man In The Street: “Sure – I just live around the corner.”
Interviewer: “No, I mean where you ORIGINALLY came from.”
Man In The Street: “Okay – the hospital is only a ten-pence bus ride.”
Interviewer becomes exasperated… and I cannot remember the rest.
All good fun, fifty years ago – but who would have expected POTUS to actually REVIVE that business NOW?
The secret to succeeding in this life is – be NICE to people. It’s as simple (and easy) as that.
You will discover how CORRUPT and EVIL The System is as you go (that took a turn, didn’t it?) But its WEAK point is those who RUN it.
At the public end of the chain are ordinary folk like YOU. And they bear the entirety of the VITRIOL those at the top should be enduring.
So when someone comes along who is NICE to them – then asks if they can HELP them – their response is far more likely to be positive.
They have likely spent most of their time with the company or organisation being YELLED at. Told what a CRAP company or organisation they work for.
Take telephone helplines; if you remark on how nice their accent is (or something similar) – then tell them where you are and ask them where they are (it might well be India) – then say something encouraging about the place (“I’ve always wanted to go there,” – even if it’s a shithole) – you have made a FRIEND.
And once you have established that CONNECTION, instead of moaning about the shite their employer has put you through – tell it like a tragic STORY, where no-one is at fault – then ask them if they can help.
I used to be an Atheist – but now, I have seen the light.
At the age of nine (in 1961) I decided that Santa Claus, Fairies and Goblins were bogus. Therefore logically, so were God, Angels and Demons. But belief in these figures was clearly harmless, so I kept this realisation to myself.
And I retained that attitude for over FIFTY YEARS – until late 2015, the time of the Paris Attacks. After which came The Year Of Living Dangerously – when the San Bernadino barbarity, the Pulse nightclub carnage, the Nice Bastille Night atrocity and the Normandy church slaughter caused the British and American public to vote (albeit narrowly) for Brexit and Trump – out of FEAR.
It was THEN that I saw the light. And moved FORWARD from atheism – to ANTI-THEISM.
Religion Retards The Ascent Of Man.
It is NOT harmless. It drives repression, destruction, madness and DEATH – and has done so for THOUSANDS of years.
But sadly, it will likely be HUNDREDS MORE years before Mankind GROWS UP and takes responsibility for HIMSELF – instead of passing it to one of various deities he has invented.
Always assuming his existence on this Earth remains tenable for that long. No god will save him – it is up to HIM.
I am of an age where, upon viewing the image of little Angie Valeria – along with her father, Oscar – both face-down in the Rio Grande…
…I was immediately reminded of a similar image from 1972…
…that of Phan Thị Kim Phúc – more commonly known as “Napalm Girl” – who was more lucky. She survived.
Although it took over a year in hospital, during which time she endured about twenty procedures, the girl prospered and today aged fifty-six, she lives in Canada, where she is married with two children.
However, the point is that the PICTURE of her that BURNED itself into the public consciousness, as surely as the napalm had burned itself into her FLESH – was instrumental in removing any remaining conviction, even among the Washington hawks, that the Vietnam War was in any way a “noble” prospect.
It was a TURNING POINT.
And thus one wonders whether the same will prove true in the “war” currently being waged on America’s Southern Border.
Of course, Trump is blaming the Dems, Old Ma Clinton, Barry O, the Fake News Media and anyone else he can think of – but how much longer will his heehaw “base” FALL for that shit…?
I noted that Carlos Eugenio Irarrazaval resigned, just weeks after he made controversial comments about the lack of women in attendance at the Last Supper.
But surely, he’s forgetting the hottie sitting to the right (our left, in the Leonardo da Vinci painting) of Jesus of Nazareth, being chatted up by those dubious bearded characters.
Despite there being no shortage of young, eager-eyed hopefuls (at the time of typing, over TWENTY) vying for The Job, the current pollsters’ numbers One and Two are old Joe Biden and equally-old Bernie “feel the burn” Sanders. And elsewhere in these ramblings, this writer has mithered over their extreme senescence (old age).
But maybe he is WRONG (it has happened). The thing is, the average Western White Male pegs out at seventy-nine (and his sisters at eighty-two) and Joe and Bernie would both be all of that when they STARTED.
However, I have done a little research (so you don’t have to) and discovered that contemporary Poti live LONGER than us mortals.
Specifically, after Tricky Dick passed at eighty-one, Gerry Ford lasted for ninety-three years, as did Reagan (although he was Alzheimic for the last several) and Bush Senior made ninety-four, while Carter IS ninety-four – and still (again, at the time of typing) kicking arse and taking names.
So maybe this scribbler was being overly pessimistic about these old geezers…
Here’s a thought; in a number of countries, it is ILLEGAL to be a Holocaust Denier.
Denying the FACT the Holocaust took place is considered so offensive that you can go to JAIL just for giving voice to the idea.
But while the Holocaust killed seventeen million people more than seventy years ago, being a CLIMATE CHANGE Denier could result in the deaths of SEVEN THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED million people (the current World population) – plus a gazillion sentient animals – all of whom are alive right NOW.
So Trump comes out in favour of Vaccinations – should we praise him for this?
Well, before you break out the bunting, consider the following…
Number one; Trump was an avowed ANTI-vaxxer until news of the INEVITABLE outbreaks of diseases caused by those bozos – began to reach his a-brain.
And Number Two; does this one example of commonsense erase the (literal) THOUSANDS of things he has done, said and Tweeted? Remember grab ’em by the pussy, good people on both sides, kids in cages, tax breaks for millionaires and the TOWERING CATALOGUE of lies, sleaze and corruption this terrible human has infected America and the World with – no vaccination on EARTH can cure THAT.
Adolf Hitler cried when his dog died. Does that mean we should overlook the HOLOCAUST?
Every time I hear that pig-headed old bat Leggy May claim Brexit is The Will Of The People – I want to SLAP her.
Nearly THREE YEARS AGO, a misguided, disinformed British public voted thusly: Leave – 51.8%, Remain – 48.2%.
But since that dark day, things have radically CHANGED.
Firstly, nearly five percent of those voters have DIED – of OLD AGE – and been replaced by people who were too YOUNG to vote then. And it is no secret that most Leavers are OLD, while most Remainers are YOUNG.
Then there are the SLEW of dirty-dealings and barefaced LIES that have emerged, which were employed by Brexiteers, prior to the vote.
And finally, the catalogue of MONUMENTAL REVERSALS, that will SHRED Britain if she goes through with this abortion, have been disseminated to the voters – by those who actually know what they are talking about.
Thus it is hardly surprising that the CURRENT Brexit percentages stand at: Leave – 42%, Remain – 58%.
Originally hailing from Ipswich, I was bemused to hear the account of a screening of a Pepper Pig movie in its Empire multiplex that TRAUMATISED the kids when it was preceded by two trailers for HORROR films.
Now, I escaped Britain nearly twenty years ago and have not viewed a film in a cinema in decades. But back in my youth, I well recall the system that ensured this could never happen, which was that all films – AND TRAILERS – had to have a CERTIFICATE, which was clearly displayed in front of both.
The ratings were “U” (universal) “A” (kids with ADULTS) and “X” (adults ONLY) and since all censorship was draconian then, adult only meant 16 or over. So you might typically see, “this trailer is certified U – for a film certified X”.
Which made the certification of trailers INTERESTING.
Now obviously, production companies were eager to ensure trails for “X” movies were shown as widely as possible – f’rinstance, parents taking their small kids to see Mary Poppins might well be persuaded to return by themselves later, to view the current Hammer double-feature. But since “X” trails could NOT be shown in “U” programmes, the companies had to edit them accordingly.
So far so good. Only ONCE in many THOUSANDS of cinema visits did I ever see a SLIP-UP – an “A” trail was screened in a “U” programme – but apparently, no-one noticed.
However, there were a few ANOMALIES.
Like the LONG film which contained a FEW battle scenes. Being vaguely “historical” the film received a “U” certificate – thus its producers were dismayed when its trail came back with an “A” rating.
The censor explained that he was well aware he had awarded the full film a “U” – but pointed out that they had submitted a trail that had included all of the VIOLENCE – jam-pressed TOGETHER. Thus said trail was just an orgy of mayhem.
Another offering was similar – and with a similar result – but this time, it was not the level of violence that offended. It was the lack of CONTEXT. The villain’s evil acts were shown in the trail – but not his eventual COMEUPPANCE.
Finally in this treatise, one of aforementioned Hammer’s FILMS. A gothic-horror outing, it was plenty gothic – but not very horror. As a result, it was awarded an “A” certificate.
Understandably, Hammer FREAKED. Who the hell’s going to come and watch an “A” certificate Hammer horror? Not our problem, replied the censor. Therefore they had to go back, shoot a couple of additional VIOLENT scenes and re-submit their opus, to get that all-important “X” rating. True story.
Now let me open by saying I LIKE Joe Biden. As a neighbour or drinking buddy, he’d be fine – but as a PRESIDENT? NO.
Of late, his touchy-feely ways with the ladies have drawn ire from the #metoo and #timesup movements. However, his unsuitability as POTUS stretches beyond that.
First comes the fact that while Barry O was ALPHA – he is decidedly BETA.
A perfect example is the Osama Bin Liner hit: Joe advised Barry to hold back until the intel improved, but despite the fact that Seal Team Six (there ARE no one-through-five) had made a DEBACLE of Operation Eagle Claw, costing Jimmy Carter his second term – Barry WENT for it and WON his second.
Also, Veeps are famous for only being there to make POTUS look good. Think Pence, Quayle, Agnew – idiots all.
But the main problem I have with Biden is his AGE. Right now, he’s seventy-six. If he won, he’d be seventy-EIGHT when he began his first term – and EIGHTY-SIX when/if he finished his second.
Old geezers do NOT make good leaders. Think Mugabe, Reagan, Bolkiah – fine when they started, but SENILE by the end.
And after four disastrous years of Trump, America will need someone with youth and vigour to rebuild her. Biden is NOT that person.
So Mueller FINALLY finishes his work – but has to pass it to BARR. Trump’s BOY.
And Barr reduces it to a four (actually THREE) page “summary” – and joy is unconfined in the Trump camp, as it seemingly CLEARS him. But DOES it?
The first thing this reporter noted was the sentence which ran, “[T]he investigation did not establish that members of the Trump Campaign conspired or coordinated with the Russian government in its election interference activities” – and was then essentially REPEATED SEVERAL TIMES.
Just as Pfizer injects the word “medicine” many times into its patient information leaflet for Viagra. A substance that is NOT medicinal, rather a “lifestyle drug” (which are difficult to sell legitimately – mainly ending up on the Interweb, along with pills that make you hairier, hornier, smarter or invisible).
In both cases, the Bard reminds us about “protesting too much” – methinks.
Then there is Trump’s assertion that Mueller’s report “exonerates” him. Except that it actually does the OPPOSITE – “The Special Counsel states that ‘while this report does not conclude that the President committed a crime, it also does not exonerate him.'” (what was Barr THINKING, including THAT?)
And without pause for thought, Trump has decided to celebrate his glorious victory by destroying what is left of America’s health system. MAGA!
Of course, despite the seventeen REMAINING investigations that lie ahead, the Dems want the ENTIRE Mueller report released. And Trump – now drunk on power – is saying bring it ON. He actually WANTS it released.
For which another quote seems appropriate; be CAREFUL what you wish for…
Those who “follow” this site will know it is a COLUMN, not a “blog” (if anyone out there wants to know what I had for breakfast today, they are either deeply SAD or monumentally CREEPY – oh, all right; bacon, eggs and a fried slice).
However, today I propose to break with tradition and do a “personal” piece (not THAT personal). It concerns my connection speed and might JUST interest someone…
I first ventured onto the International Data Highway in 2008 for E-MAILING, when postal and text reliability had descended to an all-time low. But I soon discovered that over the previous few years, the Interweb had gotten INTERESTING, with a bunch of new services – YouTube, IMDb, Wiki, a few I’ll not mention and THIS service; WordPress.
And so I entered the fray. Long story short, I now have about three hundred MILLION hits on my YouTube channels and even around one-and-a-half million on my written stuff. Yay.
So how did I get here? Well – SLOWLY. At least, at FIRST.
I began with a laptop. BIG mistake – it only had one Gb of RAM and was a piece of crap. I endured it for YEARS – but now I have a GROWN UP computer with EIGHT Gb, a twenty-four inch monitor and decent sound. And I still use Windows 7 Ultimate (you can STICK Windows Ten).
But this piece is about my CONNECTION. My first link to the WWW was via a “dongle” – which is not a joke – but its SPEED was – 156kb. Yes – KILObytes. In essence, it was a tiny, dedicated mobile phone – barely better than a dial-up modem.
However after a year of this, I got a landline which moved me into megabyte country; around six to seven download and about point-seven up. It meant I could upload a dozen pieces to YouTube overnight – which was fine, given I could only CREATE that number of them a day anyway.
As for downloading, my computer could happily keep up with 480-line video – but I had to give it a slight head-start for hi-def.
Then about five years ago, my SP put in a new (still metal) cable which doubled my speeds – and allowed me to watch HD without waiting. Thus I now had about 12-14 Mb download, with some 1.2 Mb up. Cool.
So, being BUSY, I was not best pleased when the SP’s cable monkeys turned up yesterday to change my cable AGAIN. I had to endure the inconvenience, but the result was worth while. The new FIBRE-OPTIC setup has a speed of over TWO HUNDRED Mb – down AND UP.
Hit “HD” on a piece and instead of just riding comfortably ahead of you – it ZIPS to the end in a couple of seconds.
I gather Canadian Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, just fired his Principle Secretary (the fourteenth most powerful man in Canada – meh) one Gerald Butts.
I’d’ve fired him just for not being called Seymour.
In these days of INSANELY depressing news – an event to lighten the heart…
Some years ago, I installed a rat trap in a tree in my garden. It was designed to take ’em ALIVE – just a cage with a lure and a spring-loaded door.
I didn’t actually buy it for rats. Rather, a rogue SQUIRREL who had killed my lemon tree (I live in the tropics and used the lemons in my garden sauna) by chewing off its bark. And now, he had started on my mango trees.
Eventually, I caught the squirrel and repatriated him in a wood, a few miles away. It occurred that Mrs Squirrel and several baby squirrels might be left crying, “Where’s Papa?” – but decided I might be over-anthropomorphising (it’s a word – I promise) the situation.
But before then, I caught an actual RAT.
We stood, surveying each other – me outside the cage – him in it. His beady little eyes seemed to reflect on how humans viewed his species. After all, hadn’t his ancestors wiped out half the population of Europe a few centuries ago?
Well, actually NO. At first, the rats got the blame – then the fleas that infested the rats. But the current thinking is that the viruses that nailed so many were simply carried by traders from the Orient, as we Europeans carried our viruses to South America around the same time. Just scientific ignorance.
So, given I live in a concrete house with, at that time no animals or children in the garden, he posed no threat to ME.
Therefore I got a broom – and used the handle to pry open the cage door. He hesitated – then SHOT off up the tree. And we have never met again.
And what lesson have we learned from this? Just that kittens may be cute and rats less so – but we are all in this together, so let’s give each other a break.
After all, if reincarnation actually is a thing (it isn’t) next time – WE may be the rat!
Of late, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” (Forties) has attracted ire from the #MeToo crowd – and “Santa Baby” (Fifties) has been labelled mercenary. But I can beat those gentle ditties with a Sixties number by of all people – Sandie Shaw.
At that time, four women dominated the female solo artists British Pop scene – Dusty Springfield, Lulu, Cilla Black and the afore-mentioned Sandie.
She was discovered by then-pop idol and actor, Adam Faith and paired with singer, producer and composer Chris Andrews. And together they had a string of hits (bolstered by some Bacharach readings) culminating in the novelty Eurovision Song Contest-winning “Puppet On A String”.
She was the Girl Next Door (if you lived in Dagenham) who performed sweet songs, barefoot.
But a little-known piece that barely charted took a TURN. It was a ballad, sung in first-person, that described a girl being TERRORISED BY A STALKER.
With its “Psycho” strings and “Castle Thunder” sound effects, it screams CREEPY – and all set to a light Latin rhythm. It is called (So I Must) “Run”.
Today, someone asked me the question, ‘What has led people to start saying “honing” in on something, instead of “homing” in?’
I replied that it is the same thing that has people saying “should of” instead of “should have” (which they gleaned phonetically from the contraction “should’ve”) and printing “lose” (as in the opposite of “find”) when they clearly mean “loose” (as in the opposite of “tight”) – and vice-versa. In short, pure grammatical IGNORANCE.
However, I try not to be a NAZI over these and other grammatical shortcomings when they come from ordinary people – but I BLANCH every time I read these increasingly common errors in newspapers and the like, where the offenders are supposed to be EDUCATED!
Thing is, I spent twenty-five years not DARING to write creatively, as I did not have a degree in English. But these days, I have come to realize that so-called “professional writers” are less adept at the medium than I am – who merely scraped a pass in English “O” Level.
Auntie has certainly dug herself a hole and jumped in. Having roundly f*cked up “Top Gear” through PC and stupidity (although it was already dying on its arse) handing it to those bozos at Amazon…and utterly demolished “Doctor Who” thanks to more PC, horrible miscasting, Yank-appeasing and Chris Chibnall…and “Sherlock” will not return, despite them having green-lit another season…all she has left is “Luther”.
Another season of that will drop over the first four days of 2019, but if you cannot wait and need a LAUGH – see if you can track down the KOREAN adaptation. Oh, I kid you not. There is already a Russian version and America HAD green-lit a go – but it is currently stalled. However, I just saw the promo for 나쁜 형사 (literally, “Bad Detective”) and it looks HILARIOUS.
First, they describe him as a “psychopath” (a bit strong – ALICE is the psychopath, not Luther) and he is WHITE (well, Korean). In fact, the only thing their star has in common with Idris is the big hairy overcoat.
Which just leaves poor old Auntie with her comedy and topical-comedy TV and radio PANEL SHOWS.
…is traditionally considered to be Giacomo Casanova (see above portrait). But this piece is about the NUMBER – and Mr Newhouse only lists around one hundred and twenty in his autobiography. And even then, he had a reputation for exaggeration.
So what about harems? Well, western portrayals of these tend to be misleading. Most only contain a few dozen wives and concubines at best. Although there once was a Moroccan sultan called Moulay Ismaïl who assembled somewhere between five hundred and two thousand, then died aged somewhere between eighty and ninety.
This all happened during the seventeenth and eighteenth century, so precise records are sketchy. However, the number of children he fathered – eight hundred and sixty-seven – is believed to be accurate.
Then there is the possibility that an ancient king, baron or emperor might have gotten away with issuing an edict giving him first go at all the virgins in his kingdom, barony or empire. But the problem with this is that history is filled to overflowing with flamboyant figures – and if such a man existed, it seems certain we would have heard of him.
Yet SOMEONE must have the record.
There are bold claims for and by such diverse individuals as Charlie Sheen, Gene Simmons (ew) and Fidel Castro. And of course, there is always Warren Beatty.
It is unlikely Guinness would know (length, girth and cup-size are not the sort of records they list in “their” book). Indeed, it is probable the man himself does not know. And I say “does” rather than “did” – because there is a strong possibility this individual STILL WALKS (or at least, staggers) AMONG US.
I am speaking of your Pop/Rock Idols and their accessories – GROUPIES.
Following birth-pill and antibiotic availability (the mid-Sixties) and before the emergence of HIV and Music Management (the early Eighties; when companies began protecting their “properties” from their own excesses) these girls RULED.
While some people collect stamps, coins, bottle caps or “action figures” – groupies “collected” (bonked) said Idols.
Thus these randy young men could amass a phenomenal number of “conquests” if they managed to tour with one or more successful bands for all that time (do the maths: seventeen years at around three hundred girls a year equals more than FIVE thousand – although if said girls had “repeat customers” it is unlikely either would remember, so maybe a few less).
Therefore, since most of those Idols are now in their seventies, it is highly likely that The Man With The Greatest Number Of Sexual Partners In History is still around.
I wonder who he is?
It isn’t ME – I have only been inside one hundred and six women in my lifetime. One hundred and seven, if you include my mother. Let me rephrase that…
Of course, it is an impossibility. I am now sixty-six – and since “de-programming” a THINKING believer from a LIFE-TIME of evolved beliefs is likely to take more than HALF the time it took for them to ACQUIRE said beliefs – I am unlikely to live LONG enough. Door-step conversions are a NONSENSE.
The fact is, no matter how reasoned your contentions, ultimately you are wasting your time and theirs.
However, once you dispense with the myriad PRACTICAL arguments, two short and undeniably LOGICAL ones remain. And here they are…
One; there are several major religions, dozens of minor ones – and thousands of “fringe” examples. And that is not even taking into account INDIVIDUAL belief systems WITHIN all of those religions.
F’rinstance; if you take a hundred people who identify as, say, Catholic – and give them a questionnaire containing, say, twenty multiple-choice questions concerning fundamental beliefs, you would expect their answers to be IDENTICAL, right?
Like, “How do you interpret The Creation? (a) It happened precisely as described in Genesis – word for word. (b) I believe it happened roughly as described in Genesis – but given that The Bible was written two thousand years ago, by scholars whose experience and knowledge was limited to that time, I accept that the details may be more complex than described. (c) I believe in The Creation, but accept that the fanciful description in Genesis cannot be taken literally.”
NO WAY will every believer tick the same box. When you pick over the minutia of thinking people’s INDIVIDUAL belief systems thusly, they turn out to be as unique as their THUMB-PRINTS. Similar perhaps, but DIFFERENT.
And upon EXAMINING the differences between religions, they are revealed to be FUNDAMENTAL. A moderate cleric might say, “We all find God in our own way” – but that just does not CUT it. You cannot simply dismiss such MASSIVE variations with platitudes.
Furthermore, all followers of religions will insist that only theirs is “true” (some FORCEFULLY). But clearly, given their differences, they cannot ALL be true. Or even any two.
It is far simpler to realise that NONE of them are true – the whole lot having been made up by Man, to explain the World, life – and give believers the promise of an AFTERlife.
Okay, that was FAIRLY short. But if you want REALLY short, try this…
Two; a seven-word question any five-year-old can ask – but which even a theological GENIUS cannot answer: if God made Man – who made God?
All of the stuff in these columns is mine – except THIS…
The Lairy Gear Experiment (as told by a woman)
I had lunch with two of my unmarried friends. One is engaged, one is a mistress and I have been married for twenty-plus years. We were chatting about our relationships and decided to amaze our men by greeting them at the door wearing a black bra, stiletto heels and suchlike – with a mask over our eyes. We agreed to meet in a few days to compare notes. Here’s how it went… My engaged friend… “So when my boyfriend came over he found me with a black leather bodice, tall stilettos and a mask. He saw me and said, ‘You are the woman of my dreams – I love you.’ Then we made passionate love all night long.” The mistress… “Me too! I met my lover at his office and I was wearing a raincoat, under it only the black bra, heels and the mask over my eyes. When I opened the raincoat he was dumbstruck, started to tremble – and we had wild sex all night.” Then came time to share my story. “Well, when my husband came home I was wearing the black bra, black stockings, stilettos and a mask over my eyes. And he came in the door, saw me and said… “What’s for dinner, Zorro?”
As a man looking at sixty-five years (sadly, through the rear-view mirror) I have recently researched and mused on this – for several THOUSANDS of hours.
And one thing immediately became apparent; the passages, blind alleys and rabbit holes I was going down had been trod before – MANY times, over thousands of YEARS.
Could I REALLY work out something that had defeated wiser men for millennia?
Well, I did have one small advantage – these days, SCIENCE HAS ADVANCED.
Now given that Science is almost useless in this area – requiring DATA, of which there is zilch available – you could be forgiven for thinking this would avail me little. But actually, it enabled me to reject the FIRST bogus belief. Reincarnation.
I had reluctantly begun to accept the possibility that Reincarnation might be a thing, due to it explaining how PERSONALITY is displayed in high-functioning baby animals (puppies, kittens) that had clearly been subjected to identical conditioning and upbringing.
A scant month in, the inquisitive one, the bold one, the timid one, the drama queen, the affectionate one (take THAT one) all emerge.
I already knew that INSTINCT (fight or flight, avoidance of danger and suchlike) had been explained as “race memories” (nowadays known as “genetic memories”) acquired by Mankind through Evolution.
But it seemed that only “past lives” could account for those “hard-wired” personality traits. Until I discovered something that blew the ARSE off all that.
The Human Genome was finally “mapped” in 2003. However, this only spelled the BEGINNING of a project that will take DECADES; identifying what the many thousands of “base pairs” actually DO.
Initially, interest was concentrated on traits like people’s sex, sexual orientation, colour of eyes, skin and hair, size, shape and so on. Then inherited diseases, like porphyria, certain cancers, etc.
But very recently, no less than FIVE MAJOR PERSONALITY TRAITS have been discovered in these strands.
And this makes sense; a couple producing six kids who are all jocks – or nerds – or creatives – or traffic wardens – makes NO sense. DIVERSITY is the key to survival.
So bang went Reincarnation. And a good thing too. It is clearly BOLLOCKS, dependent as it is on dreams, visions and the hokey art of “regressive hypnosis”.
“I was Cleopatra’s handmaiden.” “Really? Say something in ancient Egyptian.” “Huh?” “Okay, what did she look like? Anything like Liz Taylor?”
You get the picture.
And Science – and just plain COMMONSENSE – quickly deal with Religion and Spiritualism as well.
Heaven and Hell are merely stories that were invented by religious leaders to keep “god-fearing” men on the straight and narrow, in the absence of effective policing. Living Under Their Own Recognisance. Or Carrot And Stick.
Taking the concept literally, it soon falls apart. The idea the entire human race can be divided into Good and Bad People (everyone considers themselves good, subjectively) like the players in a weekend golf tournament (“The Cut”) is farcical.
In fact, NOTHING about religion stands up to close scrutiny – just look at its HISTORY.
And Spiritualism fares no better. Becoming popular in the late Victorian Era, this con trick was practised by failed magicians who used magic and mentalist techniques, cold reading and early scientific technology (electricity and drugs) to part the rich, recently-bereaved from their money.
“For ten dollars, you can speak to George.” “Money is no object – I’ll give you a hundred dollars.” “Madam, for a hundred, you will speak to George – while I drink this glass of WATER.”
Again, you get the picture.
So what DID I learn from my research and musings? Well, a lot more than I expected.
However, at this point Science began to fail me. It is fine for answering questions that begin with “where”, “when”, “who”, “what” or “how” – but USELESS at ones that start with “why”.
And without that all-important data, it COLLAPSES. I needed something else.
Philosophy is just navel-gazing and theories.
But I realised that Science had a Poor Brother – LOGIC. Allied with Instinct, this might just shed more light on the subject. But I still needed as many FACTS as I could assemble.
And those came from an unexpected direction; the 1968 film, “2001: A Space Odyssey”.
The star of this epic is a computer named HAL 9000. Its writer, Arthur C. Clarke, had a grounding in Science and while his predictions all failed to come through, most were due to social and economic reasons – NOT SCIENCE.
F’rinstance, the myriad TV channels in Britain are COMMERCIAL. The BBC only have four – not twelve.
And the giant, revolving Space Hotel is merely an international shanty-town.
Then there is – or WAS – Bell and Pan Am.
But one item that had NO shortage of finance – or political, military and commercial will – was Artificial Intelligence which, while not directly referred to in the film, were clearly present in HAL 9000.
And Science has now had FIFTY YEARS to replicate Intelligence – or even FIND it, in the human brain – but so far, has dismally FAILED to do so.
So FORGET about it finding or replicating CONSCIOUSNESS.
Of course, companies talk about AI as if it EXISTED – the Roomba, Siri, et al. But they are SALESMEN. The Roomba has a computer which enables it to “map” a room and go to its charging point when its battery runs low – and Siri merely connects people to the Interweb via a speech recognition programme, a speech synthesiser and various computer protocols.
My CAT is more intelligent than Siri.
And various organisations have PRIZE MONEY awaiting anyone who proves they have achieved REAL Machine Intelligence. It goes unclaimed.
Thus I began to wonder WHY Science had failed in this endeavour – and so, using Logic, here is what I came up with…
I BELIEVE that while our operating system, programmes and memory (that which Science CAN duplicate in a computer) are firmly rooted in our Physical Brain – our Upper Brain, with its consciousness and intelligence, is ELSEWHERE.
So when our heart stops pumping oxygenated blood to our brain, causing our neurons to stop firing, our synapses to whither and our engrams to decay – and we DIE – the Upper Brain PREVAILS.
But WHERE?
Well, everything our Five Major Senses – and twenty-odd MINOR ones – plus our technology – can detect, I call the CONTINUUM. Which makes the location of our Upper Brain the EXO-CONTINUUM (or you can call it the Super-Cosmos, the Ultra-Universe – it matters not, these are just names).
The point is that when we peg out, our Upper Brain should live on – although probably without our MEMORIES of This Place (which is just as well. No-one wants to spend Eternity mithering about the things they should and should not have done Here) since they are contained in the engrams of our Physical Brain.
But what IS the Exo-continuum?
And hey, while we are at it – what is the Secret/Purpose/Meaning Of Life?
And what exactly IS TIME?
At this point, Logic joins Science in having NO ANSWERS.
And nor does anyone else. A person who has “crossed over” (to use a spiritualist expression – sorry) can NOT return here to tell us anything, since their VESSEL IS GONE; slowly decomposing or quickly burning up (I prefer the latter).
However, it is reasonable to presume that ALL the answers will become apparent when it is our turn to go. And there will be no angry deity waiting to judge us (Evolution answers most questions about the Continuum – so why not the Exo-Continuum too?)
But supposing I am WRONG (it could happen) and all that awaits us after death is darkness and silence?
This is where my last Original (to ME) Thought on this matter comes in. Logic and Science say – in the absence of contradictory data – that consciousness dies with our bodies. And that anything in addition to the Universe is illogical.
But then, is an Exo-Continuum any MORE illogical than the CONTINUUM? Surely THAT should be darkness and silence too. And yet – here we all are.
I am typing this and you are reading it – at a later point in time. This is real. So why not Another Place. Where we are now; tethered to our Physical Brain and body in this Continuum. And when that tether lets go, we return there. Aware.
My Instinct says the odds are favourable – but let us not hurry to reach the Next Place. First, we need to get everything we can from THIS Place. Learn all we can. Experience all we can. Achieve all we can.
That way, even if this IS All That There Is – our time here will have MEANT something.
I was recently asked for an easy and simple explanation of the differences between left- and right-wing politics and I answered thusly…
“It IS actually easy and simple; left-wing policies favour poor people and right-wing policies favour the rich.
“So given there are far more poor people than rich ones – and given most political systems are based on one person one vote – how do right-wing politicians ever get elected?
“That is ALSO easy and simple.
“The way they do it is to convince people they have CHANGED – like an abusive husband. And the voters – like an abused wife – BUY that.
“And like said abused wife, it is not long before they are sporting a metaphorical fat lip.
“But once elected, those right-wing politicians generally have a few years to rip the poor off, before having to face another election.
“And you can bet they will then quote the economy’s FIGURES, to try to give themselves another term.
“Except those figures will only show the market gains – not the rise in prices and unemployment that helped GENERATE them.
“You wanted easy and simple – that is IT.”
Of course, I could have merely stated that the difference is that left-wing politicians are 30% corrupt and 70% incompetent, whilst with right-wing politicians – the percentages are reversed…
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 now 87 and still officially working, more than FIFTY years later, he hardly looks any older than he did then.
So maybe, in the search for the secret of life – instead of messing about with gene machines and test-tubes, scientists should dissect RIP to find out WHY!
Misdirection; a major factor in most magic – while your attention is drawn to one thing, the real business is being done elsewhere. And it predates that; in the middle ages, carnivals featured an Amazing Dancing Bear – and as you watched the show, the owner’s cronies were working the crowd. Only later would you discover your wallet was missing.
And this is what Donald J. Trump is – a Dancing Bear.
Hard to imagine, he has been in power for less than eighteen months. But while this ineffable clown has fascinated the World, blundering through a different absurdity every WEEK, he and HIS cronies have already done enough damage to cripple The States. And unchecked, during the more than THIRTY months left in his term, that country – and by association, the rest of the World – are looking at a HELLSCAPE that will take those with hearts (if not balls) DECADES to undo.
In the past, stories like this have always ended with The Cavalry Riding Over The Hill (appropriately) just in the nick of time. But with Trump, all you have is Mueller and the Mid-term Elections. And when they eventually happen, Congress will still have to ACT to get rid of him – and replace him with Mike Ponce (another right-wing retard who will CONTINUE his policies – just less flamboyantly). And it will take a massive Democratic majority to achieve THAT.
Because when it comes to The Amazing Dancing Bear, the GOP alone will NEVER act. Each representative has witnessed the stream of political corpses in Trump’s wake and has no wish to join them. And despite the excesses, he and his Cartoon Cabinet has been more than effective in pushing the right-wing agenda.
Thus The PEOPLE will have to act; get out there and VOTE. Never mind if the Democratic candidate is a dummy – whatever they are, they are NOT REPUBLICAN.
But will it even happen? After all, America’s constant mass-shootings would stop overnight if The People abandoned pointless Thoughts And Prayers and BANNED private ownership of guns, as all other civilised countries have done (if they ever allowed them in the first place).
We can only hope that THIS time, the American People see SENSE – and RID the World of this Dancing Bear.
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!
Trump has always bitched about the size of his inauguration crowd – but has he tried GOOGLING himself? The result would encourage the King Of The Twats (sorry, Tweets) no end.
The Beatles’ John Lennon once remarked that his group was currently more famous than God. Well, these days the group gets 124 million results. God (see below) gets a LOT more.
Hitler and Elvis get around the same number – 118 and 147 respectively – while these days, Sinatra only gets around 41 (how quickly they forget).
However, this is where it gets interesting – while Obama produces a creditable 352 million results, Trump scores a whopping 849!!
Which means Trump has BLITZED the Beatles, Hitler, Elvis and Sinatra – AND his nemesis, Obama.
And while God gets an unassailable 1,800 – Jesus only gets 858.
What did “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 entire body (but with her face 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 clearly 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 for TWENTY years – building up a picture of a brittle, emaciated harridan – the writers eventually pushed the envelope SO far, no-one could EVER have been found to FILL the role!
In TrumpWorld, honesty, decency and empathy count for nothing. It’s all about Winning and Losing. And the WORST kind of losing is that which is VOLUNTARY – regardless of the reason. Two cases in point…
It was the middle of his run in “The Apprentice” – as usual, two teams were competing in a task – the winning team to be the one that raised the most cash. The result was close, but inevitably one team triumphed. The losing team was set to join Trump in The Boardroom, “where someone will get fired.”
Normally, the Team Leader would nominate two team members and the three would fight it out, after which Trump would make his decision.
But on this occasion, the Team Leader came in ALONE, declaring that no-one in his team had given any less than 100% – therefore he was falling on his sword.
Very noble – except Trump was LIVID. HIS style would have been to nominate ANY two random members and bust his arse trying to deflect blame to whoever showed weakness.
Thus his response was to let the Team Leader go (literally) and drag the rest of the team into The Boardroom and STILL fire someone – ANYONE – just to SPITE the Team Leader. No-one ever did THAT again.
Then several years later, Trump found himself in a Presidential Debate with Smug Hillary – at the end of which, a number of “voter’s questions” were asked, which the two had had no opportunity to prepare for.
And one was; throughout this campaign, you two have shown utter contempt for each other – so name a quality in your opponent that you actually ADMIRE.
After a chuckle from the audience, Old Ma Clinton went first. She totally DUCKED the question, saying she admired Trump’s CHILDREN.
(Had she SEEN them? Don Jr, Eric and Ivanka are EVIL, Tiffany is cute – but keeps as far from the Trump clan as possible – and Barron, a KID, seems to be wondering what the hell is going on).
Anyhoo, then Trump was up – and for once, he showed a moment of empathy. He said he admired that she was not a QUITTER. Throughout all of the madness, she had tenaciously carried on.
Although it seemed to go right over Hillary’s head – this was actually the highest REAL COMPLEMENT Trump could have conferred upon her. And this from a man who showers compliments around like confetti – until you piss him off.
Therefore, FORGET about TRUMP quitting – he’d rather kill himself.
No, this insane (hypomanic, with a side of NPD) juggernaut will blunder on as long as there is breath in his body.
So until there is actual PROOF of a link between HIM (not the minions who lie around him like ten-pins) and CRIMINAL wrongdoing, this crazy saga will continue…
Those who take reports of Near-Death Experience seriously are deluded.
I am an Atheist who believes in Science – however, I also believe in the SOUL.
The Soul is NOT solely a religious concept – religion HIJACKED it – just like they hijacked the Winter Solstice (Christmas) and various classics, for hymns. It is the Spiritual component of our brains. Thus, SCIENCE.
Not “KNOWN” Science. But when a new dinosaur skeleton is discovered, only then does it become Known – despite it having EXISTED for millions of years.
And NDE is a part of NEUROSCIENCE – which happily explains NDE as an illusion created by the PHYSICAL brain, when it believes itself in crisis.
Those who have experienced it detail consistent experiences – but this alone does not make them TRUE.
Nevertheless, this has not stopped religions claiming the white lights and tunnels reported were a premature view of Heaven.
Fact is, many people have been brought Back From The Brink – particularly these days, thanks to medical advances like adrenalin shots and resuscitation kits.
However, sometimes people just get better for no obvious reason. People have woken up in the MORGUE – “What place is THIS?” (vintage Basil Rathbone reference there).
During the last half-century much research has been done, trying to create intelligent COMPUTERS – Artificial Intelligence.
Unlike most of Arthur C Clarke’s predictions in his epic, “2001: A Space Odyssey” there are PRACTICAL commercial and “defence” applications for AI – thus no shortage of MONEY for those trying to develop it.
But in those fifty years, despite salespersons talking about AI as if it had been achieved, the truth is they are no closer to creating it than they were in 1968.
The scientists seeking it discovered they were on a TREADMILL. While technology continually moved forwards, their progress was ZERO.
The elusive quality we call intelligence could not be produced in computers – or found in our brains.
This is because our intelligence is in the SPIRITUAL dimension of our brains. As is our consciousness, self-awareness, psyche, essence – in short, the Soul.
Their mistake is understandable, since our Physical brains contain our operating system, memories and programmes – just like computers.
While our ESOTERIC abilities – emotion, personality, ego, the id, humour, art, music and suchlike – clearly dwell in BOTH, being responsive to drugs, yet arcane to Science.
And while we are In This Place, the whole act as ONE – but when our Physical brains finally succumb, our Spiritual brains will no longer be tethered to them and I believe we will find ourselves In Another Place.
The big question is – WHERE?
And the answer is – I do not know. Nor does anyone.
No-one has ever ACTUALLY visited the Other Place and returned to This One to tell the tale. Which is hardly surprising, since for them to have re-appeared back In This Place would have required a vessel. And their body was now DEAD.
Their heart had stopped – oxygenated blood had ceased flowing to their Physical brains – their neurons had quit firing – their synapses had withered – and their engrams had decayed. Tree stump.
But those who have experienced and described NDE – were still very much ALIVE. They may have had a BRUSH with death, but the Grim Reaper LOST them.
Another thing we do not know is how much of what was us In This Place will be DUPLICATED in the Other Place.
Logically, it should include the afore-mentioned personality and memories – or else we would spend eternity consisting solely of intelligence, cast into a void of sensory deprivation, with no clue about who, what or where we were.
An appalling prospect.
However there are plenty of far more cheery ones. I for one am looking forward to my Soul ending up in perpetual Paradise – or at least somewhere with a nice beach.
After all, having endured Trump, Brexit, kidney stones and Justin Bieber, I figure I’ve earned it.
ORIGINAL – it is not a remake, re-imagining, reboot – or sequel, prequel or whatever.
It has no comic-book characters, video-art, SFX and aside from one well-timed punch in the face, no action.
But what it does have is a PLOT, CHARACTERS – and J.K. Simmons.
And he has charisma, style, that voice and that FACE.
It is HE who drives this film.
An odd-couple piece, where a busy businessman who has lost contact with his daughter teams up with her dopey ex-boyfriend to try to locate her (Simmons is the businessman).
And so the mismatched pair spend the night cruising her haunts and friends…
Simple enough – and this would only be a time-passer, were it not for J.K.
At one point, a young girl describes him as “do-able” – a sentiment I can live with, given he is only two years younger than me and has the same hairstyle (none).
Plus, he is one HELL of an actor.
Of course, this indy movie has made no money at all – being ABOUT something – and one wonders how much longer such films will continue to be made.
…when QE2 (Her Majesty, Elizabeth The Second, By The Grace Of God, Of The United Kingdom Of Great Britain And Northern Ireland And Of Her Other Realms And Territories Queen, Head Of The Commonwealth, Defender Of The Faith) ascended the throne.
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.
How much would YOU give to see the Trumpster and Fatboy Kim (sorry, Norm) in that ring today?
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 it was a pity I was an atheist, or I could have looked skyward and said, “Take me now, oh Lord, for I have finally seen EVERYTHING.”
Later, I discovered that whilst rare, the vision I had seen was not unique. Around a hundred and fifty 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 that 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!
At the bottom, lies data. Memories – our own and “race” memories (instincts).
Animals and computers also have these.
Then there are systems. Thought processes. Use of tools, etc.
Again, we share these with animals and computers.
But next come moral values (“goodness”) tastes, artistic talent, emotions, etc.
Which is where we LOSE computers. AI – forget it.
But what of animals?
Well, at the TOP level we have consciousness – self-awareness – sentience – a SOUL, if you like.
And while computers are still out of the loop, many higher animals seem to possess some measure of this.
It is impossible to prove, since animals lack LANGUAGE skills. They also think differently from us. They ARE different.
But given those higher animals are equipped with the lower levels of thought – IF they also possess the TOP one – then it would seem to follow that they must have SOME degree of the ones in the middle – RIGHT?
After WW2, European electronics giant Philips decided to enter the record biz.
By that time, British recording giant EMI had SLIPPED as far as sound quality was concerned – their equipment being from the Thirties – so given Philips’ equipment was brand NEW, the newcomer managed to wrest the European distribution rights to American behemoth Columbia’s catalogue away from them.
This resulted in their enjoying a decade of ready-made, middle-of-the-road hits.
But as the contract’s end approached and Columbia made it known they intended releasing THEMSELVES when it did, Philips got off their arses and began trying to find TALENT.
Their best early signing was a folk trio called the Springfields. This comprised of Tom Springfield (Dion O’Brien) his sister Dusty (Mary) – and some other guy.
They had LOTS of hits around the turn of the Sixties, thus when they announced they were splitting up, a nation mourned.
But actually, it turned out to be a GOOD thing – Tom was a folk nut, while Dusty preferred SOUL.
And thus it was that Tom went off and discovered, then produced and wrote for an Australian folk group called the Seekers – who dominated the Sixties.
While Dusty hooked up with composer/producer/arranger Ivor Raymonde and between them, they gave Philips a series of belting soul hits that, along with numbers by failed US group the Walker Brothers (none of whom, like the Springfields, were actually named Walker) CARRIED Philips through the mid-Sixties.
Of course, all good things come to an end and like EMI, Decca and Pye, Philips lost the plot at the end of the Sixties (embarrassingly, they had to get EMI to press some copies of a one-off novelty smash called “Cinderella Rockefella” in 1968) and fizzled out during the Seventies.
But given the Season, here is a now-forgotten but at the time HUGELY successful Christmas hit from the Springfields. Come with me to 1961…
When the Kevin Spacey story broke, Netflix’s knee-jerk reaction was to DUMP season six of the U.S. “House Of Cards” – AND the movie, “Gore”.
The latter – a biopic of Gore Vidal (also a predominantly gay man) – was in post-production, meaning most of the money had been spent and it was nearly ready for release.
However, the former had only just started filming its final season – but Netflix had caught a BREAK.
Mirroring an earlier season-closer, season five had ended with F.U. on the OUTSIDE and C.U. in the Big Chair – and she had looked right down the camera and said, “MY turn!”
Thus many pointed out that the show could easily continue WITHOUT Spacey. And Netflix have now CONCEDED the point.
“House Of Cards” will RETURN – and even “Gore” may get released one day.
And so they should. Here’s the thing; while Spacey might have played the central character of the series, dumping the ENTIRE SHOW would have meant destroying an entity that provides work for a dozen other lead actors, a couple of dozen supporting actors, many more Background Artistes (extras) – plus a couple of HUNDRED people BEHIND the camera.
And while Spacey might have been naughty – they did NOTHING wrong.
Nor did the studio execs – who had millions invested in this project, at a time when Hollywood is STILL reeling from the effects of the ’08-9 Crash.
Plus millions of viewers, who had invested FIVE YEARS OF THEIR LIVES in the saga.
Imagine if the C.E.O. of G.M. were suddenly discovered to have a purple past – would millions of Chevys, Buicks and Caddies get recalled and CRUSHED? Of course not.
The offender would be put out to pasture – or stud – and a replacement found. Then business would carry on as usual.
Likewise, if an eighty-year-old woman suddenly announced Walt Disney had… …you get the picture. Snow White would be SAFE.
These days, seemingly half the men in showbiz look like being outed by the end of the year – but you cannot dump half THE BUSINESS as a result.
In any case, I know of ONE man who has a SLEW of accusers ranged against him – and HE still has a job.
First, an explanation of HMG for my foreign readers – and naïve Brits.
The UK is a ONE-PARTY state. It has two wings, Labour and Tory (left and right). And for the last century one of them has always been in power, with the other providing “opposition” – except IT NEVER DOES.
And thanks to a hundred years of GERRYMANDERING (? – Wiki it) this single party can and often does rule with little more than forty percent of the popular vote – while for a party to overturn its power would require SIXTY-odd percent.
Which is why, in living memory, the only two serious attempts to do so both ended in fiascos (the Gang Of Four in ’87 and Cleggy in ’00).
Thus HMG RULES – and seemingly will continue to do so for ANOTHER century.
But back in ’73, Ted The Teeth dragged Britain (without a referendum or any such nonsense) into what was then called The Common Market. Initially just a deal which would see easing of border restrictions regarding commerce, it soon merged Britain into the European Economic Community – then finally, the European Union.
And all the time, POWER LEECHED from Whitehall to the afore-mentioned seat of Europe – which, following the collapse of Communism, steadily grew larger.
Then came the Brexit Referendum.
Elsewhere in these ramblings, I have droned on about why the Leave Campaign succeeded. It is the same reason Trump is now US President.
FEAR – following a year of foreign terrorism which erroneously convinced the citizens that strengthening their borders would STOP it (Russia, Mercer, Farage, Bannon et al only INFLUENCED the votes – it was Paris, San Bernadino, Orlando, Nice and Saint-Étienne-du-Rouvray wot DONE it).
This is clear from the number of voters on both sides of The Pond who LIED to the pollsters over which way they were voting/had voted.
And now America has to wait until the Orange One gets NAILED by Robert Mueller (Sam The Eagle out of The Muppets) to LOSE him.
Or the Republican Party develops a SPINE and THROWS him out.
Or the US Congress invokes the 25th Amendment (he is hypomanic, with a side of narcissistic personality disorder – thus unfit for office).
Or him and Fatboy Kim start WW3 – in which case, Brexit will hardly MATTER.
But Britain is theoretically LUCKIER. All she has to do is look at the MONUMENTAL CATASTROPHE Brexit spells for her; the undoing of 43 years of trade deals, the re-imposition of the channel border, the decimated POUND and the myriad problems it will create for businesses, tourism and expat residents of Britain AND Europe.
Not to mention in the NEXT Scotland Referendum – they probably WILL leave us this time. Even LONDON has considered it.
So WHY OH WHY is HMG determined to push this nightmare THROUGH? And how come, despite his recent triumphs against Leggy May even CORBYN is insisting on it?
After all, HMG has no MANDATE – one point eight percent is hardly a significant majority. And there were enough dodgy dealings (the above-mentioned Russian interference, Mercer and his companies – and a bogus promise of 350 million quid a week to the NHS) in the lead-up to the vote to justify nulling the whole thing.
The reason can ONLY be POWER.
As described above, it is THAT which has been slowly devolving to Belgium – and Whitehall wants it BACK.
And they clearly do not care if Britain’s ordinary citizens get F**KED in the process…
“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” L.P. Hartley.
And this fact means that any attempt to lift the Saint from the period his books were written (’29-ish to ’63-ish) to the present, is doomed to failure.
But “The Saint” (2017 TVM). has a damn fine go at it. Indeed it owes more to the books than the various small and big screen outings that have peppered the years.
For a start, Simon’s on/off girlfriend (live-in; advanced for the time) from the early books – Patricia Holm – features strongly. And Rayt Marius appears (somewhat younger than the original character). While Fernack turns up and even Teal is referenced (but sadly, not seen).
Templer is played by stubbly-chinned Adam Rayner. Thus far, after a Shakespearian background, he has starred in the short-lived mini-seasoned “Tyrant” (from the same stable as “Homeland”) and featured in “Notorious” (another cancelled mini-season series).
Pat is played by the gorgeous Eliza Dushku. American, with Albanian, Danish, Irish, German and English roots, she has been around for a quarter-century (despite only being 36). She is currently dancing around the edge of “Bull” as his love-interest.
Also featured are Ian Ogilvy (now 64) who played the Saint in the Seventies reboot series. And Sir Roger Moore, who co-produced this effort and starred in (and occasionally directed) the classic Sixties series, has a tiny cameo; aged 86, this was fittingly his last film rôle.
The music is more than adequate – and includes the musical signature written by Charteris himself. And in a cheeky touch, the theme is also Templar’s ring tone!
The direction is fine and the editing tight. The swish international locations hide the modest budget. The action scenes are well performed – particularly by Eliza. And the dialogue occasionally crackles. So all in all, a worthy effort. Well worth a look if you are in an undemanding and naustalgic mood.
But what if you are not?
Well, the film does have its problems. Like the “goofs” – Simon fires around twenty bullets at a chopper from an automatic handgun without a reload – and if the gold bricks featured near the film’s start were real, they would weigh far more than they clearly do. And the whole enterprise is just a little lame.
But then, this was never intended as a feature film. It was made in 2013 as a TV pilot and when it (deservedly) failed to get picked up it languished for a couple of years, before having extra footage (filmed in Romania) added – to turn it into a TV movie.
However, these days TV movies are passé – and it was only when Sir Roger fell off the twig that the film finally emerged through various digital media.
According to Wiki, the film runs 116 minutes. But IMDb lists it at only 91 mins – and that is the version which is currently available free, on YouTube.
With English language, scope and stereo, the quality is quite good – so enjoy!
“Following the tragedy at [place-name of latest American mass shooting] this is not the time to discuss gun control.”
Oh, I disagree – I think it’s the PERFECT time.
Let’s begin with the fact that in some states, you can go into a diner openly TOOLED UP – but should you light a CIGARETTE after your meal, you’ll be treated like you just took a DUMP on the table.
And let us continue with the fact that, in America, organisations like ISIL and Al-Qaeda are understandably BANNED – yet the NRA continues unabated. Which is ironic, considering the number of Americans who have been killed by terrorists is DWARFED by the number who have been killed by…other Americans. And that includes “9/11” (11/9).
Then we can carry on with the fact that private gun-owners justify their ownership of these lethal weapons on the grounds that they need them for DEFENCE. This despite the fact that, even in America, home invasions are very RARE – and of those few who suffer one, even FEWER are able to reach their weapons. American criminals are not TOTALLY stupid – they’re fully aware they are living in the Land Of The Gun…I mean Free.
No, the fact is the handful of people killed in defence is miniscule compared with the COLLOSSAL number killed every year with legally-held guns in domestic incidents, road-rage attacks, neighbour disputes, accidents (including kids finding one and blowing little Jimmy away, thinking it was a toy) – never mind atrocities by nut-jobs like Stephen Paddock.
As Brits, we suffered TWO of these incidents; the first was in Hungerford, in 1987, the second in a SCHOOL in Dunblane, in 1996. That was ENOUGH – we BANNED private ownership of guns. And have had NO such incidents since.
Meanwhile in Australia, just two months after Dunblane, they too had a mass shooting in a place called Port Arthur. They took the same action as us – with the same result.
Elsewhere in these scribblings, I have theorised that everything we and our science can observe is in a box I call the Continuum. And given the illogicality of its existence (logically there should be NOTHING – darkness, silence – zip, zilch, nada) it follows that the existence of something OUTSIDE the box is ALSO illogical.
And yet, here we all ARE. It therefore follows that ANOTHER Continuum should exist. Right?
But what IS it? Well, given that science has an EXPLANATION for the “next world” that those who have gone through a “near-death experience” report; that it is merely an ILLUSION created by the brain when it is in crisis – and given that reincarnation is clearly bollocks (nothing like PROOF has ever been offered up for it) – it can be reasoned that we will not find out until after we DIE. Okay?
However, that does not stop us from THEORISING about it. Which is where “race memories” come in.
It is a FACT (we like those) that we are born with basic data “hard-wired” into our brains. Our INSTINCTS; fight or flight – fear of fire, spiders and snakes – suspicion of Nigerian princes – reproduction (or at least, sex) – need for food and water – and pure curiosity.
And Wiki claims that they are RACE MEMORIES. That, as a species, evolution has enabled us to pick up some basic survival techniques.
Which makes sense; after all, we have also evolved concepts like – expecting to live for about eighty years (which is going to give us MAJOR problems, if the scientists discover that “cure for ageing’ they are currently working on).
But supposing Wiki is WRONG? (It could happen).
Supposing those basic instincts were acquired during an EARLIER existence? One in which we were on a level with WILD DOGS? Where we experienced a lifestyle that imbued us with the afore-mentioned skills.
There is no reason we would REMEMBER that life – it would have been brutal and boring. But it offers a viable alternative explanation of where we got all that useful info from, doesn’t it?
And more importantly it suggests that if that first existence happened (and we KNOW THIS existence is happening – like I said, here we all ARE) we can extrapolate that a THIRD is in the offing (and after that, ANOTHER – ad infinitum).
That right after we take our last breath In This Place – and our brains begin their inevitable descent into MUSH – we will be reborn into the NEXT Continuum.
And this time, our brains will not only be hard-wired with the basic instincts gained from the LAST existence – they will be further enhanced with all the lessons learned in THIS one.
Thus the next world will be one DEVOID of the GREED AND STUPIDITY that has surrounded us, while cruising through this cursed place.
A happy prospect indeed.
However, unlike the pompous religious theoreticians, I merely offer this suggestion for your CONSIDERATION. You may have another one.
But I will close in stating two things. One; this life may be ALL that there is, or it may be a preparation for the next one – either way, you owe it to yourself to assimilate as much as you can from it. And two; we are all on this journey together and need all the help we can get – so don’t be an arsehole.
Which one of these arseholes is clinically crazier?
We know The Donald is bonkers – hypomanic, with a side of narcissistic personality disorder – from his many TV appearances, subsequent actions and Tweets.
And while Fatboy Kim is less well known, we can make an educated guess as to his mental state.
He has to have six matching microphones whenever he speaks – and when no mics are present, the little grinning men with flat hats and heads who surround him have to carry little notebooks and pencils to write his “sacred” words down.
Oh, and he had his uncle (and the man’s entire family) and half-brother killed. A real charmer, he.
So, at the risk of over-simplifying, what we have here is two spoiled brats – grown up.
The problem is, their TOYS are NUCLEAR – capable of KILLING MILLIONS OF GROWN-UPS (and their children).
Instead, what I would like to see is something like the video of Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s “Two Tribes” – where these two grotesque loons climb into a RING and DUKE IT OUT – thus hurting no-one other than THEMSELVES.
I’d pay money to see that.
Of course, some would call it an unfair contest – given Kim is literally half Trump’s age.
But then in Kim’s case, as Sir Michael Caine said as Jack Carter – “You’re a big man, but you’re in bad shape.”
If anyone asks my religion, I answer I am a Antitheist, Basic Buddhist, Darwinist, Humanist, Cosmicist, Continuumist.
They then wish they had not bothered.
But of course, this is a BELIEF system, not a religion.
I became an atheist around the age of nine, right after I worked out the truth about Santa Claus. And advanced to antitheism, shortly after the November 2015 Paris Attacks.
I was “converted” to BASIC Buddhism at nineteen. That is the PHILOSOPHY (even Sid never wanted it to turn into a religion).
I realised in my twenties that Darwin’s Theory Of Evolution answered many of my questions.
In my thirties, I heard about Humanism – and saw that it mirrored my own beliefs.
I “invented” Cosmicism in my forties – an understanding that only from without can you see ALL the angles. And despite the SpellChecker rejecting the word (but then, it also rejects “SpellChecker”) I recently discovered that it was ALREADY a word – and it meant exactly what I had intended. Thus I had invented something that already existed. Ho-hum.
And in my fifties, I came up with “Continuumism” – which did NOT exist. So here is what THAT is…
We live in a box. The box contains all that our five senses – and the twenty-odd more subtle senses that we do not even know we have, but which have been identified by scientists – can detect. And everything else science has proved exists in our cosmos.
Each of us occupies our miniscule bit of it for however long we survive – after which, we return to the matter from which we came (matter being something which cannot be created or destroyed).
Thus our bit of the box is infinitesimally TINY – indeed, even our huge planet is just one of (long, non-US) tens of trillions, which exist in the part of the Universe that current science can see.
But while science can answer most questions that begin with how, what, where, when or whom – it is not so great at those which start with WHY.
Which is where Continuumism comes in.
For the box IS The Continuum. And that which is OUTSIDE the box – is what Man has sought to discover, ever since he gained the power to think.
And inevitably, that is where religions come in. Man invented a SLEW of them, to give him a father figure (once he grew up and realised his parents were just mortals) and to answer the unanswerable questions (what is the purpose/secret/meaning of life?) Then – the biggy – an AFTERLIFE.
But all of them were – and sadly, still ARE – entirely products of his own imagination
Even the classic Near-Death Experience (white light, tunnel) has now been proven by science to be an illusion the brain creates when in crisis. It is physical – not spiritual.
So, Continuumism is the understanding that we – and all that we know – is in this box. And that any answer to those unanswerable questions – or prospect of that afterlife – lies OUTSIDE it.
Possibly even the answer to WHY.
But I seriously doubt any of us will experience the outside of this box until we expire.
However, there is ONE ray of hope; logically, once our brains die and its engrams and synapses turn to mush, there should only be eternal DARKNESS. Except the whole of EXISTENCE is illogical. Why IS there this universe? Should it not ALSO be darkness?
Yet it DOES exist. I am IN it, typing THIS. So in this case, logic counts for NOTHING.
And therefore, now in my sixties, I am adding a NEW (and probably final) part to my belief system – OPTIMIST!!
What IS it with Fatboy Kim (sorry, Norm) and MICROPHONES?
Whenever he gives a speech, he has a ROW of them (generally 6-8) in front of him.
Do North Korean mics have RELIABILITY issues?
If it is one for each network, have they never heard of MIXERS?
Or is he like one of those custom car nuts in the Seventies; buying a clapped-out old Cortina, then sticking half-a-dozen chrome pipes out the back, to kid those following that he has a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine under the bonnet – instead of the 1,300cc Ford four-pot that actually lay there?
Even TRUMP only needs ONE mic. And despite his constant FIDDLING with it, during the Presidential Debates, it always WORKS. Unfortunately.
And now the fate of the World lies in the tiny hands of these two clowns, with their extreme hair and obsession with damn MICROPHONES.
From the latest rankings, I see Singapore is in pole position. A hi-def movie can be downloaded there in about eighteen minutes. The only problem is…you have to live in Singapore.
While here in Thailand, it is a smidgin faster than the UK. That movie will take an hour in the Land Of Smiles, whilst in cold wet miserable over-regulated Rip-Off Broken Britain – it will complete two minutes later.
But don’t feel bad, limeys; if you lived in Yemen, it would take over two DAYS!
We have now had a week to recover from The Mooch’s absurdly short rule as White House Communications Director – so what have we learned?
Well, it is a widely-known fact that America’s VEEPS (vice-presidents) are only there to make their boss LOOK GOOD.
Examples include Spiro Agnew (Nixon) and Dan Quayle (Bush Snr) – men so stupid they could make ANYONE look good, in comparison.
Of course, with George Wan… sorry, WaLker Bush, the order was TOO tall – so they appointed Dick Cheney, to at least make him look HARMLESS.
However, all Trump has is Mike Pence – a man who fits the bill, believing that having an unchaperoned dinner with a lady is akin to having shagged her and that people who love members of their own sex should Pray Away The Gay.
But while he looks like an Armani mannequin – and clearly has the brain of one – so far, he has kept his DISTANCE from Trump, seemingly biding his time until it falls to him to take over whatever is left of America, once Trump collapses.
And so Trump needed another plan… how about bringing a DISTRACTION into the White House? A man even MORE blue-collar and CRASS than himself?
Enter Anthony Scaramucci.
But oh, oh, OH!!!
Within days of entering the arena, this former Wall Street wolf had PUBLICLY called Rinse Pubis a “f***ing paranoid schizophrenic” and suggested Steve Bannon BLOW himself – but in more graphic terms.
Now whilst THIS reporter might refer to Pubis as a mega-dweeb – and observe that Bannon looks like he sleeps in a dumpster – even HE would not go THAT far.
Thus, after a record-breakingly short time, The Donald had no choice but to let The Mooch go – rather like when The Baron croaks The Monster at the end of those ’30s Frankenstein movies (which would make Eric… Igor?)
But let us not feel TOO sorry for The Mooch; this arsehole made GAZILLIONS from his time on Wall Street. And even though his long-suffering second wife, Deidre (I kid you not) will likely glom a sizeable chunk of it when their divorce goes through – he is unlikely to ever have to worry where his next Ferrari is coming from.
One afternoon, the Reverend Michael Ripper went to take tea with the Very Reverend George Woodbridge. Woodbridge noticed his friend looked somewhat harassed and asked him why.
“I had to WALK here – my bicycle has disappeared.”
“Really? Do you think someone stole it?”
“I suppose.”
The two sipped their tea and after a minute, Woodbridge spoke.
“You might try this; on Sunday, give a sermon on the Ten Commandments. Then when you get to Number Eight, pause for emphasis, speak slowly and fix your eyes on the congregation – and see who blinks.”
Ripper thanked the man for his advice and they agreed to meet again the next week.
Thus the following Wednesday, they again sat down to tea.
“I see you CYCLED here this time – did my little ploy bear fruit?”
“Not exactly; I was psyching myself up for the Eighth Commandment, but when I reached the Seventh – I remembered where I LEFT it.”
[Retelling this classic story on the web has the advantage that the reader can – if necessary – easily LOOK UP the Ten Commandments!]
In its eagerness to rid itself of Trump, America seems to have overlooked what will FOLLOW.
Two words: Mike Pence.
Under the U.S. Constitution, it is HE who, along with Trump’s team of misbegotten, sycophantic losers (the ones he has not yet fired) will take over running The States.
Pence: a man who equates dining with a woman as having shagged her – and believes a dude who loves another dude should get down on his knees and (no, not that) “pray the gay away” – two sentiments an adult should have outgrown.
And what about the Cabinet he will inherit?
It includes Jeff Sessions: a man who resembles a leprechaun – and who wants to REVERSE the baby steps that have been taken towards legalising recreational drugs which, after FIFTY YEARS of the pointless War On Drugs, would finally free enough of America’s Injustice System up, to allow it to put REAL criminals behind bars.
And Rinse Pubis: a man who PERSONIFIES the word “dweeb” – and who criticised Trump constantly; until it became clear that he was the only Republican who could win 2016.
Plus Wilbur Ross: somewhere, a third-rate ventriloquist is missing a dummy.
Ben Carson: dozy, but dangerous – keep him away from sharp objects.
Betsy DeVos: a milf, but no-one likes her.
Rick “Oops” Perry.
And not forgetting the Prince Of Darkness, Steve Bannon: a man who looks like he sleeps in a dumpster – and who is somewhere to the right of Genghis Khan.
Also, remember that under the 22nd Amendment, if (against all odds) Trump lasts two years, Pence (who is only 58) could run for another TWO terms – meaning if the Democrats could not find anyone to beat him, America could be stuck with the berk until 2028!
So, having done a U-turn and determined to rip Britain OUT of Europe, you decided to silence your critics and firm up your position by holding a General Election. Your party was umpteen points in the lead – what could possibly go wrong?
Well, Jeremy Corbyn could begin a VIGOROUS campaign that would turn him from being one of Britain’s most hated politicians into someone viewed – particularly by the young – as its possible SAVIOUR, that’s what.
And even though the surge in his popularity wasn’t enough to give him victory, it managed to erode your comfortable lead into a minor DEFICIT.
This meant you needed HELP. But who could you turn to?
Not the Liberal Democrats for sure; only a few years ago, your former boss Cameron chewed Cleggy and his people up and shat them OUT. Tim Farron ain’t daft enough to go down THAT road.
And certainly not the Scottish National Party; Nic Sturgeon would not p*ss on you if you were on fire.
While Sinn Féin, Plaid Cymru and the Greens only have seven, four and one seat respectively – you’d have to rope in BOTH the former two parties to achieve a slim majority. Lotsa luck with THAT.
Which only leaves the DUP. WHO??
Yes, even I had barely heard of them. So I did some research.
It turns out DUP stands for Democratic Unionist Party. But in this case, the word “democratic” is like the word “socialist” was – with the NAZI party.
Yes, in both cases words that normally imply LEFT-wing sympathies were actually applied to EXTREME RIGHT-WING parties.
Face it, Leggy – the DUP are a bunch of primitive, barbaric retards who make your Tory wing of the British Party look like LIBERALS in comparison.
They don’t even have the same aspirations as you – and you’re getting into bed with THEM?
Okay, they’re the ONLY way you can stay in power – but GAWDELP us all now…
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!)
There is 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!)
The movies began in earnest around 1900 and TV, around 1950 (there had been experimental services in the Thirties, but following the Second World Argument, the boom in American consumerism gave birth to what we have today).
However, while Fifties movies were high-definition, colour, wide-screen, with 6-channel stereo – Fifties TV was NOT. It was low-definition, black and white, rounded, flickery and MONO.
But over the sixty years since, it has CAUGHT UP.
And while Fifties seventeen-inch tellies cost a month’s wages (being hand-wired in the West, one component at a time) today’s fifty-five inch flat-screens (made by machines, in the Orient) can be had for only a WEEK’S wages. And they are hi-definition, colour, wide-screen, with 6-channel stereo.
Oh yes, thanks to smart interface chips, a 1080-line TV picture is now sharper than VistaVision (the Fifties equivalent of 70mm). And a 2k picture likewise.
But what of the future?
Well, technology always moves forward, but in the case of TV – this is not necessarily a good thing.
You see, after the minor annoyance of the standards war between 16:9/1080-line (TV) and 2:1/2k (cinema and computers) they decided the Next Big Thing would be 2:1/4k. This would (universally) give FOUR times the definition (two times vertical and horizontal resolution).
Trouble is, it also requires four times the DATA-TRANSFER. Broadband is becoming OBESEband.
But the real problems come when VIEWING it…
In the cinema, colour 3D was available in the Fifties (Natural Vision; it used Polaroid lenses to separate the two images) and continues today. But while it works fine for a couple of hours, the parallax-versus-focus issue (and the need to wear glasses) would guarantee TV audiences would retire with HEADACHES every night, after watching SIX hours of it – which is why TV has ABANDONED 3D.
But it is EMBRACING 4k – which is a MISTAKE.
First, it is no great shakes in the CINEMA. You have to sit in the front three rows to appreciate the difference and (here’s one of Hollywood’s Dirty Little Secrets) the digital SFX are mostly done in 2k, with only the live characters shot in 4k. Thus with the actors representing the focal point, the audience does not notice the relatively low-res backgrounds.
It has to be that way – or the list of video artists in the end credits would be longer than the damn MOVIE. And the WAGE-bill…
And in the HOME, the situation worsens.
Here’s another secret; with 1080/2k, the optimum distance from viewer-eyeball to screen is twice the screen’s WIDTH (not the diagonal). So if you have a 55″ screen (the largest commonly-made size – bigger screens’ prices go up exponentially) that is EIGHT FEET. Which is fine.
But change that screen to a 4k and you would need to HALVE the distance to notice the difference. And the screen would appear twice as LARGE.
Picture the scene; a guy in a La-Z-Boy recliner, his feet UNDER the suspended screen, his eyes and head constantly twitching around. A SINGLE man, of course.
Oh, the viewing experience would be AMAZING. But he’d go to bed TIRED every night – with a POUNDING HEADACHE!
And the curved TV (which from eight feet away is also pointless) would have cost him the same as the recliner – both around a month’s wages.
Finally, consider the programme makers; in the Fifties and early Sixties, close-ups generally cropped faces an inch above the chin and just above the eyebrows. But then, when higher definition colour arrived, the actors’ faces looked like big, pink BLOBS – so cameramen BACKED OFF aways.
Now imagine 4k definition close-ups. NO actor will look good like THAT.
So here’s the thing; you can get a 55″ 1080/2k LED flat-screen, with 6-channel stereo system, for a week’s wages. Then you can sit eight feet across the room from it (with your LADY). And if you have perfect 20:10 vision (20:20 is what opticians try to palm you OFF with – along with the most expensive “designer” frames in the shop) you will be able to read 8-point print right off the screen.
These days, US cops tend to shoot first and ask questions later – and their State condones it. But I recall a time when there was such a thing as “response training”.
American trainee cops would be made to sit and watch a film, whilst in their hands 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 had 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 was and is the reality of living in a “gun society”. And that reality has now resulted in US citizens 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.
In America, 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 has finished writhing on the ground, the cop says, “Aw, it don’t hurt THAT much.”
Another routine US traffic pull. Two cops fire at the BACK of a fleeing suspect who tries to grab one of their guns. Silly of him, perhaps – he had panicked because he had drugs on him – but it shows he is UNARMED. He survives their bullets – and HE gets charged with attempted murder. And convicted.
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, US – and even British – citizens accept it.
So might YOU – until the next time you see that flashing blue light in your rear-view mirror…
As I type this, Leggy May has just delivered Britain’s suicide note to Europe and the Trumpster has completed his first disastrous two months in office. But how the hell did we reach this point?
Well, elsewhere in these scribblings, I have laid the blame squarely upon the Worst President America Has Ever Had (at least, in MY lifetime).
Mr George Wan… sorry, WaLker Bush. The Monkey.
For ’twas HE who decided to ignore the UN and everyone else and go finish off the job his pappy had had too much intelligence, class and wisdom to attempt – nail Saddam Hussein. Which resulted in total chaos, destabilising the entire Middle East (which was hardly stable to begin with) and led directly to the year of terrorist atrocities that drove the populations of America and Britain to make the monumental blunders they will now regret for years – perhaps decades.
America voted for Trump and Britain voted for Brexit.
Of course, there were a variety of other factors which lead to these decisions – but there is no doubt that FEAR of foreign terrorism (and the misbegotten belief that “strengthening borders” would combat it – misbegotten, because almost all of the terrorists were CITIZENS) carried the day, both times.
And in both cases, the results came as a complete surprise (nay, SHOCK) since the pollsters had made the mistake of BELIEVING the public they had polled.
However, while The Monkey may SEEM to be the root cause of our current woes, one can actually trace it back FURTHER – to an unlikely source.
Mr Ralph Nader.
What? The “Unsafe At Any Speed” guy? Sadly, yes.
The thing is, Ralph had dickered around with presidential runs for many years and in 2000, ran as the candidate for the Green Party. And with absolutely NO chance of winning, there is no doubt whatsoever that most of the votes he took from the two main contenders – Bush and Al Gore – came from the LATTER.
What happened then is well known; thanks to a handful of votes (just as with Trump and Brexit) and Bush family corruption, The Monkey managed to unceremoniously elbow his way past Gore into the White House where, thanks to the FEAR created by “9/11” – he would remain for two terms. During which time… see above.
So RALPH NADER – the guy who certainly saved thousands of lives by prodding the American “auto” industry into grudgingly introducing the safety features we now take for granted – is ultimately responsible for f***ing up both the US and the UK.
Since the Year Of Living Dangerously that preceded Britain and America’s headlong dash to disaster (Brexit and Trump) those two countries seem DOOMED.
But as usual, America is the one in less trouble. They can get RID of their Horrible Mistake by DIVORCING themselves from Agent Orange in a mere four years (if he LASTS that long) – whereas Britain is about to divorce ITSELF from EUROPE.
A blunder whose disastrous effects will echo down the decades LONG after this observer has been turned to ash (which may not be long, if Fatboy Kim manages to push the Trumpster far enough).
Over a thousand pieces in, I hereby take the so far UNIQUE step of reproducing another’s work.
Imagine this spoken with a Glasgow accent and you’ve GOT it. Over to Frankie…
Trump: a super-villain for a world without heroes.
America has gone from the Obama Years to the Trump Years, like going from the West Wing to a sitcom where the incidental music involves a tuba. I actually think Donald Trump is going to prove a lot of people wrong, but sadly not George Orwell, Margaret Atwood, or whoever wrote the Book of Revelation. It says a lot about the man that building a giant wall isn’t even in the top five most Game of Thrones things about him. Of course, presidents always enter office with something to prove, it’s just rarely their sanity.
You look into Trump’s eyes and you see the fear and confusion of a man who has just been told he’s got stage-four cervical cancer. He is a super-villain in a world without heroes, a man so obnoxious and unhappy that karma may see him reincarnated as himself. You kind of wish he’d get therapy, but at this stage it’s like hiring a window cleaner for a burning building. It’s still difficult to classify him exactly: he’s not a classic Nazi, but would burn books if his supporters knew how to read. Hillary Clinton was obviously the preferred establishment candidate, and whoever was on the rota for this election cycle at the Illuminati really dropped the ball, but Trump is still very much someone that the permanent powers have assessed they can work with.
One of his first acts as president was an executive order to ban federal money going to international groups that perform or provide information on abortions. Making it clear that he’ll only provide billion-dollar funding to terminate young lives overseas if some kind of US-made drone is involved. This bill stops funding for birth control in countries where religion and culture mean women have no access to alcohol. Think it through – have you any idea how hard it is inducing a miscarriage just by drinking tonic? Call me a cynic, but when male politicians defund reproductive health centres, I always wonder how many abortions they’ve funded themselves. Is this just revenge for some clinic in the 1980s rejecting their idea for a loyalty card scheme?
There’s probably business pressure behind this bill, too. Maybe American corporations are worried that fewer kids in the developing world means no one to do the detailed stitching on their clothing lines. I suppose everybody’s politics are shaped by the particular bubble they live in. Trump sees anti-choice arguments all the time; the only time he sees an argument for abortion is in a mirror.
Trump cares about the same things a member of noughties rap outfit G Unit cares about: women, money and vengeance. Yet, random though it seems, his fight with the judiciary could well be tactical. He will blame them for the next act of terrorism that occurs, then declare a state of emergency where everybody has to stay indoors while his tweets are read out over a Tannoy. I’m in an unusual position in that I don’t support Trump being invited to Britain, but I do hope he comes. Britain is divided at the moment and nothing unites us like hating Americans. Britain is good at mockery, and it will hopefully be a bit like when David Blaine came and sat in that plastic box. Of course, Farage has gone full Lord Haw-Haw, correctly gauging that history wasn’t going to judge him very kindly anyway, and that there might not be any. If the Queen ever has to shake Trump’s hand, she will put on so many gloves she’ll look like Mickey Mouse. I find it amusing that the same people who think it’s ridiculous for Mexico to be asked to pay for America’s wall think it’s fine for us to pay for Trident. To be fair, I managed to get my neighbour to build a wall and pay for it, and all it cost me was the price of a thong to sunbathe in.
My best guess at the great man’s next move is the hoisting of an enormous burning eye above Trump Tower. It’s a building for which the words tacky and gaudy somehow seem too jolly and frivolous. Close up, it looks like the memory stick where some giant alien sex-killer stores his worst atrocities, or a version of the black slab in 2001: A Space Odyssey, sent to restore our consciousness to the level of chimpanzees. Trapped inside, Melania Trump has a look that I’ve never seen before, the eyes of someone waiting with increasing impatience for Stockholm Syndrome to set in. The look of a woman frantically trying to unlearn English, appalled to find that this only makes her understand her husband more clearly. Perhaps women trapped in marriages with monsters resort to plastic surgery so that it becomes easier to leave a wax head in their bed while they work on their tunnel at night. Perhaps the manicures are to hide the endless digging. Perhaps it’s the secret of their figures. They’re not dieting, they’re eating those peanut butter and fried egg sandwiches Michael Phelps used to train on and spending their nights burrowing like a f**king gopher.
You have to say it’s surprising that, with so much to work with, the response from the Democratic establishment has been to suggest that Trump is a Russian spy. How could he possibly keep a secret? He almost never stops talking, seemingly delivering a live feed of his internal monologue, using national television appearances to ramble about murdering terrorists’ families and blurt out fantasies about torture. Admittedly, any expert psychologist will tell you that torture does work, but only if you first threaten them with bare electrical wires. I’m equally baffled that so much Democratic criticism focuses on his incompetence and instability. Competent, focused Nazis are absolutely the worst kind.
Equally, I don’t really understand commentators who say it’s vital not to normalise any of Trump’s actions. They have been normalised for eight years by Barack Obama while many of the same people looked the other way. Banks and corporations writing their own legislation; war by executive order; mass deportations; kill lists: it’s all now as normal and American as earthquakes caused by fracked gases being ignited by burning abortion clinics. Of course, there is a moral difference in whether such actions are performed by a Harvard-educated constitutional law professor or a gibbering moron, and the distinction goes in Trump’s favour. That’s not to say Trump won’t plumb profound new depths of awfulness, like the disbanding of the environmental protection agency set up by hippy, libtard snowflake Richard Nixon.
Obviously, the most important issue here is why America hasn’t done as well as in the past at capitalising on these horrors to create good music about the political turmoil. I mean, where is their Bob Dylan? Where are their anthems about drone warfare killing innocent civilians? Instead we’ve got Drake begging women via song to text him back after a fight at the Cheesecake Factory. Britain seems to be in an even deeper cultural torpor. Everything from Teen Vogue to young adult fiction has a more radical take than our press, and the Trump administration is satirised by American television with a venom that the British television industry, for its own government, does its best to avoid.
Trump is at war with Saturday Night Live. He thinks it’s horrible and yet he can’t stop watching. Pretty much the same as how the world feels about him. How can he expect to escape ridicule? Being on reality TV is the closest he ever got to reality. His children look like a teen movie about Wall Street vampires directed by Uday Hussein. He has cultivated a square face that’s the shade of a banned food colouring and the muscle tone of a coma patient. He looks like aliens came to Earth and made a human costume after seeing one commercial for a car dealership. Really, he seems like the sort of person that a competent leftwinger with a humane alternative offer should be able to beat at the next election. Sad, really, that the only way Bernie Sanders could return in 2020 is as a glass sliding about a ouija board.
During the campaign, Trump said he wanted to stop America from making foreign military interventions, possibly because he realised he would need the army for suppressing the domestic population. Yet someone so media-obsessed can’t help but realise that among all the gaffes and flak, his insane aggression towards China and Iran has escaped censure. The media and political establishment largely approve. They only fret that he doesn’t take the same planet-threatening posture with Russia. War sells papers, television advertising and arms. It makes politicians feel important. It provides nationalism with clear enemies to define itself against. Despite all the other failures this administration promises, the US might finally be on time for a world war.
So what do we do? I think, first of all, it’s worth noting that, under an authoritarian government, all protest will be vilified anyway. Even before Trump, people got very upset that quarterback Colin Kaepernick didn’t stand during the national anthem. You’d think that would fall under the list of White People Approved Forms of Protest, along with leaving a voicemail for your senator kindly asking them to stop shooting black people in the street. Personally, I think there’s limited value in moralising with, or fact-checking, regimes that don’t care about morals or facts.
In Britain we also have an increasingly authoritarian government. We send them petitions telling them that we don’t want them reading our emails, which they presumably already know from reading our emails. We face a brief political period that, unchecked, will bring at least irreversible climate change and, at worst, nuclear war.
Morally, I think you have to look at what you can do to change your own country first, as that’s the bit you have most influence on. This is complicated in Britain as we have a government that has undergone what is known in the business world as “regulatory capture” by corporate and financial interests, and is, broadly speaking, a vassal state of the US. What can we do practically to influence our own government that would truly affect the Trump administration? Well, in a country supposedly filled with restored national pride, we could not renew Trident and refuse to be his missile base. That kind of strategic loss would damage him deeply. No amount of likes or memes or petitions can achieve this. Really, if we want to survive as a species, it’s time for organised civil disobedience. It’s time to stop writing to your MP.
…and there it was. Done better than ever I could have. I hope it is WIDELY read in The States.
Miranda Hart? Are you Kidding? Why not Whoopi Goldberg?
No, the Doctor has to be a BLOKE – who is white, British and of average build (so forget Idris Elba too).
On the other hand, his age is VARIABLE. Peter Capaldi was – IS; he still has a season and Christmas special to go – an OLD geezer. In the show, he is the same age as the original Doctor, Bill Hartnell (who actually looked much older) and Jon Pertwee (whom he slightly resembles).
But the other post-reboot Doctors have all been youngish and I believe now is the time for such to return and thus nominate (for the SECOND time; see elsewhere in these observations) – BEN WHISHAW.
Yes, before Peter got the gig, I suggested Ben. Now don’t get me wrong; I also said if Capaldi minded his language, he should make an excellent Doctor – and as usual, I was right.
But if Peter must go (and next year, it WILL be about that time) who better to replace him than his co-star in The Hour. Said series was going well until the end of Season Two, when a CRAP finale killed the whole thing.
Its lead actor Dominic West then fled to America, leaving Capaldi and Whishaw looking for new work. Capaldi became the next Doctor and Whishaw, the next Q.
But THAT gig is at best only a week’s work every two or three years – and hardly career-defining.
Of course Ben is openly gay, but at around a thousand years old, the Doctor is ABOVE sex (I am only 64, but less involved than I once was) so that is not an issue. And his nerdy, gentle persona will contrast nicely with his predecessor.
So COME ON AUNTIE – THIS time, give Ben a chance. Otherwise he too will drift across the Pond – and then you will not be able to AFFORD him.
When I tell people Enid Blyton once wrote a book where Noddy got stripped naked and carjacked by a gang of Gollywogs, leaving him stumbling around nude in the forest – they refuse to believe me!
But it is TRUE. Back in 1951, with her fourth Noddy book – “Here Comes Noddy Again” – she did exactly that.
In these PC days, children are constantly coddled and patronised – but back in the Good Old Days, they were spared nothing. Not by Blyton.
Or Disney. Remember when the Seven Dwarves returned to the house and found Snow White apparently dead at the hands of the Evil Queen (having posed as an old woman, with that poisoned apple)? Did they check to see if Ms White was indeed dead? No – they rode off on their woodland creatures as a MOB.
Had the hysterically cackling old hag not been knocked off that mountain outcrop by that bolt of lightning, they would have RIPPED HER APART.
And even then, the grinning vultures follow her falling body…
Scary stuff. And so was Noddy’s misadventure in the Dark, Dark Wood.
It comes about half-way through the book where, after a load of mundane nonsense, the story takes a sudden TURN (one which, as a mini-cab driver in the Seventies, I can relate to).
We begin with what in comic-book parlance would be called the Splash Panel (or Page) – which comes at the start of the book…
…oh YEAH! Next, here is the front page…
…and we pick up the action at the beginning of chapter five…
…and they all lived happily ever after.
Of course, the book has now been out of print for decades. Although some while back, during one of the many PC-driven “cleaning up” exercises with Blyton’s books, they printed a version that replaced this…
…with this…
…tee-hee!
Meanwhile, the ORIGINAL fetches a pretty penny. You are unlikely to obtain a copy for less than three figures – if you can FIND it.
Like Baden-Powell’s “Scouting For Boys” – which no middle-aged gay man with a sense of humour can be without a vintage copy of on his book-shelf – it is now a CLASSIC.
The wombat is an Australian animal, something like a big guinea-pig. It does not fly.
Its Latin name gives us its Italian name – vombatidi.
Meanwhile, in Thunderball (1965) the villain’s boat is called the “Disco Volante” – a real hydrofoil, it had an added FX rear section that was jettisoned (and destroyed) in the finale. Its name translates into English as Flying Saucer.
And “The Curse Of The Flying Wombat” was a serialised sketch, featured in the seminal BBC radio series, “I’m Sorry I’ll Read That Again” – also in 1965.
While back in the Thirties, a concept car was designed and built called the Phantom Corsair. But it was more popularly known as the “Flying Wombat” and featured in a romantic comedy film (rather like the 1955 Lincoln Futura, which eventually became the ’60s TV Batmobile – see elsewhere in these ramblings).
Here IS the beast…
…not bad for 1938, eh? Powered by a whopping V8, too. Sadly, the owner/designer died before any more could be produced – but the original still exists, in a museum somewhere.
Anyhoo, if my premium bond ever comes up, my yacht will be named…
“The Vombatidi Volante” – and only YOU will understand why.
My being an anti-theist (“religion retards the ascent of man”) you might assume I say Bah Humbug to Christmas. Well, hold on there a minute…
You see, while I rail at the Christians’ HIJACKING of the Winter Solstice, because it was a joyous celebration that did not include them or their daft beliefs – that does not mean I am opposed to fun and frolics.
And the hijacking of CHRISTMAS by commercial interests (even modern Santa was invented by Coca-Cola, in the Thirties) – does not entirely dim my appreciation of this season either.
Even the Politically Correct arseholes who would BAN it, for fear of “offending” the tiny percentage of declared non-Christians in the West (try living in the Middle East and complaining about Ramadamadingdong) will not dishearten me.
No, I am old enough to remember a time before ALL that bullcrap; when the holiday was still officially the property of the Church. And as such, even in those days, most people knew that the 25th of December was actually the Turning Of The Year – not the Birth Of The Christ.
Therefore it was a MAGICAL time; when people smiled at strangers in the street, felt happy for no particular reason, bought each other gifts – and generally believed in the goodness of each other.
Yes my friend, it is THAT which we need to RECLAIM.
And as a New Year beckons – with Trump and Brexit sat squarely all over it – DO WE EVER NEED IT!!!
Hey, we’ve all seen that bit after a wedding where they assemble the bridesmaids and the bride tosses her bouquet out – and Whomsoever Catches It Shall Be The Next To Be Wed – right?
Well, how come they don’t do the same thing at funerals?
You assemble the oldest people – then take the wreath…
Following on from the piece below, it now looks like Trump’s Cabinet may contain every MASSIVE LOSER of whom Americans have said, “Well, at least HE/SHE will never achieve political power.” The following are under consideration…
Secretary Of State: Rudy “at least I didn’t hide in the toilet on 9/11” Giuliani.
Attorney General: Rudy again, Chris Christie. (Couldn’t they make him Secretary of PIES or something? The man has SUFFERED).
Secretary of the Interior: Sarah Palin. SERIOUSLY?
Secretary for Health and Human Services: Ben Carson (aw, come ON!) Rick “oops” Scott, Bobby Jindal (remember him? the Indian Alfred E. Neuman?) – and Mike Huckabee.
Secretary for Education: Carson again.
Ditto Homeland Security: Rudy YET again.
The list goes on. There is even talk of giving Oloroso Marigold a rôle (sure, while you’re doing that, why not make Gary Busey Secretary for Dentistry?)
Of course, this is only for FOUR YEARS, right? Trump could NEVER earn a SECOND term.
Yes, well that’s what they thought about The Monkey – George Wan… sorry, WaLker Bush. Then 9/11 happened and Americans were so sh*t-scared they would have voted an ACTUAL monkey into the Oval Office, provided he was a REPUBLICAN.
Maybe they’ll SHOOT him? All Americans have GUNS, right?
Except RWAs (Right-Wing Arseholes – US: Assholes) don’t get shot BY Liberals – it’s the OTHER WAY ROUND.
And Trump is now the second most guarded man in The States (did you see that WIRED guy behind Trump as he went through the crowd, following his Acceptance Speech? Hilarious).
Nope. America is F***ED.
But at least BRITAIN is still in with a chance. We can UNDO OUR Trump – simply NOT SIGN ARTICLE FIFTY.
A lot of people are worried about what Trump will do when he becomes POTUS.
But this observer believes they should be WAY more worried about the American CONGRESS than the Big Orange One.
A quick word about the UK government and its stateside sister; while both originate from the ancient Roman model, they feature one big difference.
In Britain, the Prime Minister is voted for by the ruling (majority) party’s Members of Parliament (the UK equivalent of America’s Representatives).
While in the States, the President is voted for SEPARATELY, by The People.
The effect of this is to make Britain’s PM its Supreme Leader. And provided their party has the majority of MPs, when they shout “jump” – their whips will ensure their MPs politely ask how high.
However across the pond, The Most Powerful Man (thus far) In The World heads a separate office, known as The Executive Branch.
Which means he may not necessarily belong to the majority party (or indeed, ANY party). Unthinkable, back in The Mother Of Parliaments.
And that is the situation Barry Obama has been in for most of the last eight years. A Democrat, he has had to kiss the arses (US: asses) of the Republican Representatives (and many of the Democratic ones too – America’s whips are not as vicious as their opposite numbers in Blighty) in order to get ANYTHING done.
Even then, his bills have mostly been castrated or at best, watered-down.
Meanwhile, the Representatives have fared little better – with Barry vetoing many of their bills in retaliation.
Farcical.
But now – enter Trump.
With a Republican President in charge of Republican majorities in BOTH Houses of Congress; Representatives and the Senate (America’s equivalent of Britain’s House of Lords – sort of) surely now, stuff will finally get DONE.
Well, yes. But the big question is – by WHOM?
Trump is NOT a politician. But he will soon become – at least, in theory – the chief of FIVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIVE people who ARE.
And they are all REPUBLICANS. With a SLEW of Right-Wing agendas to fill.
So I repeat; America should be FAR more concerned with what THOSE bastards are likely to do, once the Trumpster is safely ensconced in the Oval Office…
They lie to their enemies, their friends – even themselves.
And they have NO qualms about lying to POLLSTERS – as was recently demonstrated, during the Brexit fiasco.
The thing is, no-one wants to appear racist, petty or greedy – even to a complete stranger they will never meet again.
Case in point; back in Seventies Britain, Japanese cars acquired a wholly undeserved reputation for RELIABILITY. The truth was, they were no more reliable than the Fords, GMs and certainly the Leyland mass-produced cars of the time.
However, the devious Japanese marketers realised that when a British rep, service engineer, area manager or whomever is spending HOURS in his car, buzzing up and down motorways – having an FM stereo radio-cassette with four speakers instead of an AM radio with just ONE – and velour seats instead of plastic – plus heated seats, electric windows – you get the idea – becomes a BIG DEAL.
And so they put “L” model equipment in their entry-level models, “XL” in their “L”s, “GXL” in their “XL”s – again, you get the idea.
But when girls with clipboards at motor shows asked those reps, engineers et al WHY they preferred the rice-burner to the home-made products, they felt SILLY admitting it was the TOYS – so they all said the first thing that came into their heads that would make them LOOK GOOD.
And this is why the UK pollsters had NO IDEA that the British were scared sh*tless about foreign terrorism – and figured escaping Europe would help SAVE them from it; give them control of their borders.
Which, across The Pond, is exactly why many support TRUMP.
Of course, these poor deluded saps have not realised that most of the terrorists are CITIZENS, not aliens (“…the call came from INSIDE the house.”)
And NONE of them are going to admit to POLLSTERS that they FEAR “foreigners” – it might make them look RACIST. So they LIE.
In the case of the UK’s Leavers, they gave their reasons as financial – and some claimed they would vote (and to exit pollsters, HAD voted) REMAIN.
While RIGHT NOW, stateside, people who have every intention of voting for Trump are telling pollsters they will be placing their X next to Old Ma Clinton.
Wouldn’t YOU? Only an ARSEHOLE would admit to ANYONE that they will be voting for The Orange One.
And so Hillary has booked a barge loaded with fireworks to sit on the Hudson – then LET RIP on command, at some point after the closing of the polls.
Naturally, such displays do not happen spontaneously; they require a lot of organisation (and money) – and permission from the NY Mayor’s Office – so she HAD to set up the affair in advance.
But THIS reporter believes her actions will prove to be PREMATURE – not to mention deeply EMBARRASSING.
Because all across America, there are a whole BUNCH of people who, once again, are going to make fools of the pollsters – because they asked questions the public were NOT prepared to answer TRUTHFULLY.
This is BEYOND DOUBT. The only question LEFT is – HOW MANY POINTS are they worth?
Right now, Trump lags Hillary by five points. However, how many “INVISIBLE” points does he have?
I predict SIX.
And give you (I can’t believe I’m actually saying this) – PRESIDENT TRUMP.
You know, when they rent out a double-deck bus, they really should make a point of reminding the man who’s going to be driving it that it’s over FOURTEEN FEET TALL!
I got nuthin’ this week, so here’s a little piece I penned eight years ago that’s as true today…
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. 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, said governments, dislike, with the advice that, should they shoot back, it might be advisable to DUCK.
And these are the same governments who claim they only have a military force – which cost 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. Aliens?
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 minds, 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.
Yes, after thirteen years and with the first half of the alphabet done and dusted, Mr Stephen Fry has stepped down from the Qi Chair, to be replaced by Ms Sandi Toksvig.
Qi was first envisaged as a radio panel show, with its creator – writer-producer John Lloyd – in the Chair. However, this never happened and John hawked the show around the Beeb for a while, eventually getting a pilot booked with Michael Palin in the Chair and two teams – Cleverclogs and Dunderheads – featuring one regular panellist and one guest in each.
The Cleverclogs were to have been Fry and Kit Hesketh-Harvey, with Alan Davies and Bill Bailey as the Dunderheads.
But then something happened which turned out to be CRUCIAL to the programme’s success. At the last minute, Palin backed out and Lloyd moved Fry into the Chair and whisked Eddie Izzard in to replace him as a panellist.
And the reason this was crucial was that immediately, in that pilot, Alan Davies and Stephen Fry BONDED – establishing a relationship in which Fry was the classically-educated Teacher with Davies as the Class Clown/Unruly Schoolboy.
Which proved to be the driving force of the show.
And John Lloyd NEEDED the show to be a success. Back in the Seventies, as a BBC radio producer, he had been largely responsible for The News Quiz (of which, more later) The News Huddlines and many others – leading up to the radio version of Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, created by his friend and some-time flat-mate, Douglas Adams.
Then, when Hitchhiker’s transferred to TV, he had dominated the Eighties TV scene with shows like Not The Nine O’clock News, Spitting Image, the Blackadder series and Have I Got News For You.
This last was again to have featured Lloyd in the Chair – but that never happened either. One day, John!
Anyhoo, after two decades at the top, Lloyd’s star unaccountably SLIPPED during the Nineties – despite his earlier successes, he could NOT get anything MADE.
Thus Qi’s success was CRITICAL for him. And fortunately, he immediately saw the potential in Fry and Davies’ connection and DUMPED the idea of Cleverclogs and Dunderheads. The pilot was never aired (although it can be viewed on YouTube) but the show began shortly after, with Fry in the Chair, Davies heading up the team to Fry’s right – and guests occupying all three remaining positions.
And this “lop-sided” arrangement has continued ever since – a thirteen-year triumph which would likely not have happened, had Lloyd returned to the originally-intended format.
However, CHANGE is now upon us. Each series (season) of the show has (loosely) featured a LETTER. Thus the first series was called Series A – the next, Series B and so on (the American film and TV service IMDb can NOT get its collective head around that and insists on detailing the series as Seasons 1, 2 and so on!)
And with the last series/season having been “M” – the programme has essentially reached a half-way point. Thus it is that Stephen has decided it is now time to “move on” – one assumes amicably.
Enter Sandi Toksvig. She was a natural choice for the vacant Chair, having known Lloyd since their Cambridge Footlights days – and having Chaired The News Quiz (I told you) for nine years. Last year, she reluctantly left that Chair to pursue a part-time career in POLITICS; continuing to Chair a topical satirical quiz would clearly have been a MAJOR conflict of interests.
But with Qi, there is no such conflict. Therefore, it is the dream job. And she may well see it through to the END.
I mean, Stephen has helmed the show for thirteen years – and Sandi will probably only have to do eleven (X, Y and Z are bound to be truncated into one season). She will then be 69 – then again, Nic Parsons is still Chairing Just A Minute at NINETY-TWO (he and it will be celebrating their half-centenary together, late next year).
And as for Alan; he approached John, offering to stand down with Stephen, in order to give Sandi a “clean slate” – but John declined his offer; so Alan will remain, at least for now.
Which leaves us with a fairly rosy prospect; how Alan’s relationship with Sandi will pan out is anyone’s guess – but SHE SHOULD BE FINE. Nine years of Chairing The News Quiz and decades of experience on a myriad of other panel shows (including Qi itself) means she is hardly short on experience (albeshe in stature).
And while she may not QUITE be one of “Britain’s Treasures” (in any case, despite sounding like the young Margaret Rutherford – she was going for Celia Johnson – she originally hails from Denmark) she is nonetheless Qp – quite popular!
One last thing; Qi stands for Quite Interesting – and is obviously the reverse of IQ.
But it is also an Oriental word – qi – which literally means breath.
I am nothing if not topical! But if you are over 55, read on…
The Seventies was a CRAP decade if you were British, but at least you could rely on America’s TV ads to lighten your mood.
They were unintentionally HILARIOUS! And the leader in the field was undoubtedly Playtex.
While Brits enjoyed modern, sensual ads from companies like Berlie, American bra ads were still grounded in the FIFTIES.
And the clueless clods on Madison Avenue thought if they ran their ads dubbed from American into English, no-one would notice. Well, dummies – we all DID!
One suspects the RADA-trained British voiceover artists must have CRINGED as they delivered their dialogue. However, from the anonymity of the booth, they could just dream about what they would do with the MONEY.
Of course, while Playtex ruled ridiculous American ads, they were not alone. In fact, every now and again, Britain’s TV companies would run a compilation of the more absurd examples – and the TV audiences would HOWL with laughter.
One imagines that when they obtained clearances, they failed to describe the context in which the ads would be shown!
Footnote: this writer has watched FEW ads since the halcyon days of British Sixties TV. (American) “Mad” magazine ran a piece showing how you could “render totally impotent, insulting ads that cost millions to produce and air, with a device costing less than a buck.”
It was a box with a toggle switch and lead – which simply open-circuited the TV’s speaker. And while the piece may have been a joke – I BUILT one. I put a label on the side that read “idiot box” and used it for about ten years, until remote controls with a “mute” button came onto the scene.
Then VCRs became affordable (followed by HDDs) and I have not watched anything LIVE since – thus for the last 35 years, I have always SKIPPED ads completely.
Does ANYONE still sit there and watch those things?
“NYC Parks stands firmly against any unpermitted erection in city parks, no matter how small,” a parks department spokesperson said. I wonder how long it took him to compose THAT.
Of course, when The Donald sees it – THEM; there are FIVE – he will FREAK!
He already displayed his LACK of humour (particularly when HE is the recipient) in 2011, when Seth Meyers ripped him a new one at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.
I would NOT have wanted to be the one who broke the news about THIS to him…
We have all heard of “deforestation” – loss of trees. But here is one this scribbler only heard today and felt like sharing; “defenestration” – which is the act of falling (or being pushed) through a WINDOW.
Of course, “fenestra” is Latin for window, from which the French get their word fenêtre” (but then, you knew THAT, didn’t you?)
And thus, by extending it, we get My New Word.
Furthermore, by extending it even further, we can get auto-defenestration – which sounds so much cooler than jumping out of a window!
Thirteen years ago, on VT, this observer predicted The New LEDs would eventually replace all light-bulbs – and give us giant TV screens. And as usual, he was right.
But this is not about that. It is about the good old incandescent light-bulbs – a few of which were claimed to have lasted FOREVER. Well, for a number of decades anyway.
We all read those local newspaper reports on bulbs which granddads had installed in sheds before WW1 – and which had only now gone phut.
But those pieces were written by hack journalists who had no idea what they were talking about. However, having long ago earned a sheaf of City & Guilds electrical qualifications, THIS writer DOES know.
And the fact is – those accounts of ever-lasting lightbulbs were BOGUS.
You see, the way a bulb works is this; you take a thin wire (the filament) – install it in an envelope of glass, in which all of the air has been replaced by a gas which does not support combustion (burning) – then run current through it, which causes it to glow brightly. Simple.
However, while the filament may not immediately burn out, it does EVENTUALLY die through degradation.
But the time that will take can vary ENORMOUSLY. And it totally depends upon the BRIGHTNESS of the bulb – which in turn, depends on the ratio of voltage to filament.
What this means is that the DELICATE BALANCE which enables it to glow brightly enough to light – but also allows it to LAST a reasonable time – is only a FEW VOLTS.
Which is how “double-life” bulbs worked – their filaments were merely LONGER, meaning they burned DIMMER.
And the WIRE between your ring-main and an appliance also makes a DIFFERENCE.
Just like the bulb’s filament, it has RESISTANCE – which warms it up. And this uses POWER – which DROPS THE VOLTAGE.
Now assuming a standard lead – only a few feet long and with wire of an adequate SIZE – the voltage drop along its length will be MINIMAL.
But what you will ALWAYS find is that these so-called “everlasting” light-bulbs were at the end of a LONG lead!
Typically, the afore-mentioned garden sheds, plus remote stock-rooms in builders’ merchants’ yards, basements, cellars and the like.
Thus, while their light output – with nothing else to compare it with – seemed quite normal, they were actually running UNDER-VOLTAGE for all those decades.
And in so doing, merely gave the APPEARANCE of being extraordinary.
History is filled with individuals who have made a Big Difference – Hitler, Stalin, Attila The Hun. And to that number, one can now add Farage.
For if he had never been born, it is highly likely that the Remain vote in the Brexit referendum would have WON by a whisker.
And the ramifications, both in Britain and world-wide, of what has become the end result – will be huge.
Already, the pound and western stock markets have taken a major beating and the descent continues.
The reasons for this fiasco are many, but in the main it was clearly Farage feeding on Britons’ fear of immigrants – and terrorists.
The latter effect needed no help from Farage. Since “7/7” there have only been a few half-arsed attacks in the UK – but everyone is just WAITING.
Not a question of if, but when.
However, in Europe and Stateside the carnage has been constant – and the Orlando atrocity occurred only JUST before the Brexit vote. And even though it had ZIP to do with the issue, it HAD to have influenced the result.
And as for immigrants, either way, leaving Europe will not change much – indeed, if anything it will make things WORSE.
Also to blame are Britain’s damned POLLSTERS. Having been WRONG about the Tories’ election victory, they were WRONG about the Brexit result. Both in the lead-up to the referendum – and even the exit poll.
On the night, most Britons went to bed believing the Remains had won. Only when the next day dawned did they discover the horrible truth.
And yet, the pollsters CONTINUE to distort reality; they claim most Leavers’ main reason for wanting to quit Europe was The Economy – with Immigration only being of secondary importance.
Well of course, those polled WOULD say that. How many are happy to admit – even to THEMSELVES – that they might be a little bit RACIST?
This is similar to how, in the Seventies, Japanese cars got a reputation for reliability in the UK. The TRUTH was that polled reps SAID that – rather than admit they had been SEDUCED by the Japanese manufacturers’ cunning plan to put “L” class TOYS in their entry-level models, “XL” in their “L” ones, “GXL” in… …and so on.
Anyhow, this is not about cassette-radios and electric door-mirrors – it is about the DISASTER engineered by Nigel Farage.
And now the deed has been done, there seems to be little political will to reverse it.
It would be easy, too. Until “Article 50” is officially lodged, the proceedings do not even start. Brexit was only a public opinion gauger.
Thus all the next PM would need to say is – “I believe that the narrow margin in the recent referendum provides an insufficient mandate to justify the drastic step of…(etc.)” and then point out that since the Brexit result, it is clear that if the entire UK population were polled TODAY, the Remainers would WELL outnumber the Leavers.
And at the moment, that is looking like Theresa “Maggie” May – although given the recent polling debacles, one should not rule out Andrea “True” Leadsom.
Both are dopey god-botherers; but May also helped screw up my last replacement passport, costing me HUNDREDS of pounds – so I am not a fan of HER.
However, my personal issues aside, BOTH of these hags have declared they will drag Britain kicking and screaming OUT of Europe.
So that is that, then.
And now Farage himself has QUIT – his work complete.
I wonder how long it will be before the conspiracy theorists begin to ask whether that work was purely his OWN…
And throughout it, Stephen Colbert has run a comic feature called The Fallen (based on “The Hunger Games”) detailing the SLEW of runners in the 2016 Presidential Race (most of them Republicans) who did not make it.
They have been: Scott Walker (not the singer) Rick Santorum, Rick “Oops” Perry, George Pataki (not Sulu) Rand Paul, Bobby Jindal (looks like an Indian Alfred E. Neuman) Mike Huckabee, Lindsey Graham (seriously – her?) Jim Gilmore, Carly Fiorina, (she should be on the stage – it leaves in five minutes) John Kasich, Ben Carson (a dopey psycho) Jeb (or JEB!) Bush, Marco Rubio, Chris Christie (really?) Ted Cruz – and Bernie Sanders is now only hanging on by the skin of his teeth.
But to the dismay of many, Donald Trump is STILL GOING.
Then earlier this year, they lost five beloved celebs: David Bowie, Garry Shandling, Tom Mullica, Frank Sinatra Jr and Prince (the artist formerly known as Squiggle).
And woven throughout this period have been a SLEW of terrorist outrages: Brussels, Paris (twice) Orlando, Kotoko, Tripoli, Chattanooga, Copenhagen, Bangkok, Sana’a, Tunis, Garissa, Charleston, Kobanî, Saint-Quentin-Fallavier, Kuwait City, Kukawa, Khan Bani Saad, Kabul (twice in one month) Baghdad (constantly) Ankara, Sinai, Colorado Springs, San Bernadino, London, Mogadishu (often) Kandahar Airport, Kamishli, Baga, Istanbul (twice) Maiduguri, Garland and many, MANY others.
Of course, the African and Middle-Eastern incidents have been quickly forgotten, but Paris and the domestic ones have STUNG.
Then there are the plane crashes (America is a big country – so despite having to endure all SORTS of indignities, many Americans still have to FLY) which have included Germanwings 9525 (pilot suicide) TransAsia 235 (which provided the Interweb with a SPECTACULAR dashcam video) and EgyptAir 804 – the flight-recorder for which has now been recovered.
And finally, there has been the bemusement over Britain’s “Brexit” – and the apparent impending break-up of the UK and EU – which they call Europe.
But I’m BRITISH. Thus, my experience has been different – and MUCH WORSE.
For us, the 2016 US election run-up has proven to be merely HILARIOUS.
However, America’s five dead celebs were only the thin end of the wedge. Yes, we liked Garry Shandling, Frank Sinatra Jr and Tom Mullica too (although most of us thought Prince was a prat). But David Bowie was OURS. And during that two-month period, we also lost Keith Emerson, Paul Daniels, Alan Rickman, Lemmie, Sylvia Anderson, Terry Wogan, Ken Adam, Cliff Michelmore, Ed Stewart, Sir George Martin, Douglas Slocombe and Alan Haven.
Which was approximately one dead legend every FOUR DAYS.
While we are just WAITING for the next terrorist attack on Britain. It is not a question of if – merely WHEN.
And yes, OUR list of The Fallen is WAY bigger than America’s. The 2016 would-be poti (plural of POTUS?) Fallers were EXPECTED – and the Yanks only lost five celebs to our THIRTEEN (seventeen, including theirs).
It includes a SLEW of politicians. Following the 2015 General Election (the results of which the polling organisations proved SPECTACULARLY inept at predicting) ALL the leaders of the losing parties – Ed Miliband, Nick Clegg and Nigel Farage – up and RESIGNED (although Nigel later retracted).
Then we have the Fallers after Brexit (which AGAIN the pollsters SPECTACULARLY failed to predict). From hero to zero; Boris Johnson – GONE. British Prime Minister, David Cameron – GONE. Opposition Leader, Jeremy Corbyn – like his American eq, ALSO hanging on by the skin of his teeth. Nigel Farage – bloody LAUGHING [next day update: now HE has gone – AGAIN].
Plus Britain and Europe THEMSELVES – as INSTITUTIONS – falling apart before our very EYES.
And in addition to all of the above Fallers are another group, who are peculiar to Britain; a SLEW of showbiz celebs who have been indicted, or at least interviewed, by the British police (see “Operation Yewtree” and other, similar ops) concerning an assortment of historical SEX offences – many against children.
This group is mostly unknown to Americans; it began with Gary Glitter, then took in Jimmy Savile – after which it spread to Dave Lee Travis, Max Clifford, Rolf Harris, Freddie Starr, Jim Davidson, Paul Gambaccini, Stuart Hall, William Roache, Jimmy Tarbuck, Jonathan King and Cliff Richard.
However, in the interests of fairness (and my not wanting to be sued) it must be said that some have since been VINDICATED.
Then there are those from the POLITICAL world. Anthony Blunt, Leon Brittan, Sir Cyril Smith and a SLEW of other “knights” – now including Clement Freud.
Plus some bizarre stories concerning old Ted Heath and his “Morning Cloud” have emerged – however, those beggar belief.
But this is not ABOUT them – it is about US. We, the people – who expect there to be certain CONSTANTS when it comes to the World. AND the figures, organisations, places, institutions and values that inhabit it.
And when all of that FALLS, we begin to PANIC.
Which results in the rise of people like Farage and Trump.
So what of the future?
Well, for Baby-Boomers such as m’self, our heroes will continue to peg out – they are all at least in their seventies now. And clearly the SLEW of them we lost earlier this year was just a statistical glitch. After all, the Stones are still around (Blues bands never die) – and half of the Beatles too.
And one SUPPOSES that America WILL see sense – and put Old Ma Clinton into the White House in a few months time. With all of that Trump hoopla (and them having previously elected a BLACK man whose middle name is Hussein – TWICE) it is easy to lose sight of the fact that she will be the FIRST US FEMALE PRESIDENT EVER.
Also, there is a LOT of resistance to Britain leaving Europe (with Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and even LONDON all threatening to SEPARATE from England; they voted AGAINST Brexit) – so maybe it will not happen.
But even if it does, life will go on (albeit with a MASSIVE SLEW of political and social upheavals, complications – and the occasional total and utter clusterf**k).
The main problem will be terrorism. ISIL, Al-Qaeda, Al-Shabaab and Boko Haram are CONCEPTS more than organisations. And every country has its own nut-jobs who just LOOK for legitimacy for their insanity. Thus it is hard to see what more can be done to counteract THEM.
So all in all, we will CONTINUE to “live in interesting times” (Wiki it).
A dozen people in a commune can arrange their chairs in a circle and decide who does the washing up, where smoking will be permitted, etc. But translate that into a COUNTRY?
No. So you seek out a bunch of “experts” who promise to run your homeland – then vote for the ones who appear the least sleazy.
What you do NOT do is place that power DIRECTLY in the hands of The People. Why not? Because they are idiots.
The idea of running a Democratic country through a series of referenda has already been explored – in a film called “The Rise And Rise Of Michael Rimmer” – except THAT was a political SATIRE.
If you actually DID it, you would also have to allow the proles to vote on what to vote on. This would result in a state of primitive brutality the like of which has not been seen since the Middle Ages (public hangings for pædophiles, etc.)
Of course, in Britain referenda are RARELY held – and when they are, the outcome is always clear (as with the Alternative Vote system in 2011 – and the previous attempt to divorce Europe, in 1975).
So what went WRONG this time?
Normally the British people are like sheep, bleating about their lot in life to anyone who will listen – then they bow their heads and comply with their lords and masters.
However, on this occasion their fear of CHANGE was overridden by their fear of IMMIGRATION and – TERRORISM.
Let us look at immigration first. Since Full Employment ended in the early Seventies, the British have looked for someone to blame. And ignoring greedy businessmen who have utilised automation and outsourcing to maximise their profits, they have turned on the progeny of the immigrants Britain WELCOMED in the Fifties.
Yes, unemployment IS Britain’s number one problem; but the cause of it lies in the workforce SYSTEM Britain’s fat-cats and politicians have evolved – not with those who live within it.
Which brings us to terrorism. America caused this mess – then dragged all of its bitches into it. And now, both we and they are dealing with the fallout.
Naturally, the knee-jerk reaction is to block ENTRY to your country, for people of certain ethnic groups – Fortress Britain. In America, Trump trumpets this daily.
But the fact that both places are ALREADY RIDDLED with potential domestic terrorists guarantees failure of that concept (“they’re here… in the HOUSE…”)
The answers to these two issues are highly complex and pulling out of Europe does NOTHING to help.
Then there are the economic issues; these would fill a book – a BIG one – but my dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, so I will simply point out that nearly all of the INFORMED financial experts have declared that any advantages to Leaving would be utterly outweighed by the advantages of STAYING.
But it is too damn late now.
Britain has been suckered into making a decision that she should never have been allowed to make in the first place – and she has monumentally BLOWN it.
Today, most people are too young to remember a time when two European countries were at WAR. The idea is absurd.
But just seven years before I was born (today, say 2009) EVERY country in Europe was picking up its remains after nearly a DECADE of knocking the CRAP out of each other. And for centuries before that, they had continually been doing likewise.
Yet right now, it is SEVENTY YEARS since such madness occurred.
Now, I am not suggesting that a break-up of Europe will precipitate WAR – Europe has moved ON since those days. However, those past squabbles STILL remain uppermost in the British psyche – and in those of the other EU countries.
And it is this DISUNITY that is Europe’s WEAKNESS.
America is primitive in comparison, but despite its many divisions (Red State/Blue State, North/South, East Coast/West Coast – and many ethnic schisms) when its back is against the wall, its UNITY makes it STRONG.
Therefore, America must be PISSING itself right now.
If, back in 2003, Blair had told The Monkey (George Wan… sorry, WaLker Bush) to go screw himself and dedicated his administration to forging stronger ties with Europe – and even suggested that Russia be allowed into NATO, as an “associate member” (“keep your friends close – and your enemies closer”) – he would be a HERO today (instead of a massive ZERO).
But the man was a plonker – and since his day, the window of opportunity has been closing. And now with Brexit, it has slammed SHUT.
The EU was like most marriages – not great, but better than the alternative.
I suspect that if the referendum were re-run today, there would be a major shift to REMAIN (the post-Brexit value of the Pound alone ought to be worth a couple of percentage points). But as it stands, the die has been cast.
Over the coming years, every time the word Brexit pops up in British conversation, those present – will HANG their heads…
You will often hear UK oldsters like me banging on about how great the Sixties was.
“Yeah, we had racial prejudice and sexual harassment, but we was happy” – or how about “Pop Music’s been crap since the Beatles split up” – both of which are true.
However, you will hear little from most of us about the UPSIDE of life in THIS day and age – TECHNOLOGY and PRICE.
So right here and now, I aim to provide some BALANCE…
Take records; for the young, these were vinyl disks upon which Pop and other music was recorded – and they generally came in two sizes; the seven-inch ones (singles) which played for around four to six minutes and the twelve-inch ones (albums) that were good for forty to fifty.
But the catch was what you had to PART with for them. In today’s money, singles were about a TENNER each – while albums cost a staggering SIXTY POUNDS.
Seriously? Oh yeah. In 1960, the British record industry, dominated by just four companies, PRICE-FIXED – a fact they brazenly TRUMPETED, in print around the edges of their labels.
Thus ALL singles cost six shillings and eightpence – which is thirty-three pence, in new money. To adjust for inflation, add a zero and then nearly double – which the mathematically-minded will protest only makes FIVE pounds.
True again – but WAGES have DOUBLED in real terms, since 1960. So if you do the maths based on EARNINGS, the real figure emerges.
You see, in 1960, a mediocre British wage was ten pounds a week (in those days, people lived from week to week – only the rich thought about their salaries in terms of months or years) – which is two pounds a day – of which thirty-three pence is one-sixth. Still with me? Good.
Because today, that mediocre British wage is nearly TWENTY GRAND – which is four hundred quid a week – eighty quid a day. And a sixth of eighty is over thirteen.
Use the same formula for albums; thirty-three shillings and sixpence a pop – now one pound, sixty-seven pence – which was over three-quarters of a day’s pay then – and which translates to over sixty pounds now. Told you.
Whereas these days, you can download music off the Web for pennies – and often for free.
Then there are TVs. In 1960, they were made in Britain, hand-wired, one component at a time – and cost FIFTY pounds for a basic nineteen-inch model – which was over a MONTH’S WAGES. And a twenty-three-inch cabinet model cost twice THAT. Most people RENTED. Hell, before that, many people rented RADIOS.
However, these days most tellies are made in the Far East and can be yours for little more than a WEEK’S salary.
And look what you get for your money; back in 1960, it was a small, low-definition, rounded, black and white picture – with the sound coming out of a tiny speaker on the side – while today, five hundred quid will secure you a gigantic, high-definition, rectangular, colour picture (fifty-five-inch LED) with a one-hundred-and-fifty-watt, six-channel stereo audio system. That is CINEMA quality.
In 1960, your telly was the prime target for any burglar – today, they would not be arsed lugging the thing out of the door.
Or how about cars? Now, granted they have only dropped about fifty percent in price since 1960 – but again, look what you GET today.
In 1960, if you raised the bonnet, you would find a little engine, surrounded by six cubic feet of bugger all. Now, it will be stuffed with goodies; power steering, power brakes, electronic ignition, fuel injection and if you live somewhere hot – aircon.
And inside, you will find a pukka stereo, satellite navigation, power windows, heated seats, etc. In 1960, most of these toys would not even be on a ROLLS.
Plus of course, in 1960 the Interweb was just a DREAM. But now, thanks to Smart Watches and Skype – that Thunderbirds video-watch will soon be a REALITY.
SO… while you grumble about how society has nose-dived, the news is all bad – and those greedy, corrupt, smug-bastard politicians, bureaucraps and corporate execs have ruined our lives – once again, all true – consider also that which is RIGHT with the modern World.
While those unworthys are busy BURNING us – at least the tech-heroes are making life worth LIVING. I mean – it’s thanks to their tech that you’re reading THIS…
Only ad-men rival politicians, when it comes to being detached from reality.
Case in point; I saw a TV ad for the Subaru Forester. It showed an AWD SUV gaily bouncing over tree roots and ended with the slogan: Is There Anything You Can’t Do?
Well, I thought – play blues piano, speak Spanish, run a four-minute mile, become invisible, bonk a squirrel and sit through an episode of “The Bachelorette” for a start.
Then there was that name – Forester. The commercial featured the vehicle whizzing through trees – but supposing it had been coursing over sand dunes?
I imagined the scene at a cop-shop if a citizen came to report the disappearance of his Deserter. Plods ROFLing uncontrollably.
Of course, my witnessing this ridiculous ad only came about by accident; me having acquired my first VCR in 1981 – then several more, until HDDs became affordable a decade or so ago.
Thus during the last 35 years, the amount of TV ads I have had to sit through could be counted on the fingers of a clumsy saw-mill operator.
But this five-second-wonder was tacked onto the beginning of an “N.C.I.S.” ep.
Have you ever wondered why you have only heard the surname Connery where it relates to Sir Sean?
For the answer, we need to go back three generations to his great-grandfather, Daniel Connelly.
A descendent of the Irish politician and landowner William Conolly (1662-1729) the young Scot moved to the Orient to seek his fortune, finally settling in Shanghai.
But after having lived there happily for more than forty years, he finally decided to return to his native Scotland to see out the remainder of his life.
However, he soon discovered he missed people calling him Mr “Connerry” – and so had his name changed by deed poll.
Thus Sean was born Connery and the rest is history.
Not everything you read in this column is necessarily the truth…
…at least, for grown-up English-speakers. Let us examine the history…
All of my life – 63 years – they have been reading the last rights over the cinema. This was due to the advent of television.
However, the old medium stubbornly refused to die.
Initially, the film industry retaliated against the new medium by introducing new tech (including some that had been around for years, but which had not been widely used due to expense, given that at that time cinema had no rival) like multi-channel stereo, widescreen, high-definition, 3D – and greater use of colour.
But it soon discovered that even WITHOUT these new attractions, demand for its services were as strong as ever.
This was because TV was limited to small, black and white, low-definition images, mono sound – and moderate budgets.
And thus over the next six decades, cinema hardly progressed at all. Digital SFX and projection, steadicam and drone photography – that was about it.
On the other hand, TV grew from a small, flickery, rounded, 4:3, low-def, black and white picture – with audio emanating from one puny little five-inch speaker on the side – to a giant, smooth, rectangular, 16:9, hi-def, colour picture – with huge, six-channel stereo surround sound.
In short, telly has CAUGHT UP.
But the thing that has really nailed it is the PRICE. Back in the Fifties, those tiny TVs were hand-assembled, one component at a time – which meant that they cost over a month’s wages for the average buyer. So most people rented.
However, thanks to modern manufacturing tech they can now BUY a 55″ LED, with a 150W 6-channel sound system, for little more than a WEEK’S wages.
Small wonder that instead of sitting in a dark room surrounded by strangers, being bombarded by sound systems that usually have the volume way too loud on the outer channels, Western adults are now staying HOME – where their movie starts when THEY are ready (and can be paused while they take a leak, or get themselves some CHEAP food and/or beverages) and they can watch it in their PANTS. Or naked.
Furthermore, if something fruity happens on-screen, they can satisfy their stirrings with their companion, or if alone enjoy a selfie, either of which if done in the cinema are at best going to get them ejected – or at worst, land them in jail (just talk to Paul Reubens or Fred Willard).
Also, back in those Fifties, the only movies the cinema would allow TV companies to show were ten-year-old-plus programme fillers.
It wasn’t until the Seventies that they reduced the lag to three years and began leasing ALL movies, including classics.
And today, the lag is just ONE year for subscribers to HBO, Max, DiggerMovie, etc.
Reducing to NO lag at all with most movies, for subscribers to Netflix, Hula or other streaming services.
So why would ANYONE visit the cinema these days?
Well, for the answer to that, we need to divide the cinemagoers of the World into three groups…
Group One: the United States Of America. Just them.
Group Two: the United Kingdom Of Great Britain, Ireland, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. The non-US English-speaking World.
And Group Three: the Rest Of The World.
Let’s take them first; most of them are self-sufficient, so this piece doesn’t apply to them (but they won’t be reading this anyway, as it’s in English).
Italian movies have traditionally been made without live sound – then had Italian, German, French, Spanish or American dialogue added in post- for those countries.
With French movies being recorded live in French, leaving foreign countries to dub or subtitle them. Like with everything else, the French attitude being – “This film is French and if you don’t like it, you can kiss my French artichoke, monsewer.”
While China, India and Russia were and are easily big enough to support major film industries exclusively for their domestic cinemagoers (most of whom cannot afford big TVs anyway).
However, the same is certainly not true for Group Two; the English-speaking, non-US countries.
In the Fifties (once again) and early Sixties, Hollywood poured money into the old British film industry. And provided the Brits put a token Yank in their movies, they were quite happy to distribute them Stateside. But NO MORE.
Today, things have CHANGED. America has pulled up its drawbridge. Now that the Group Two grown-ups have forsaken the cinema, it only makes movies for its home audience. Therefore it is now almost impossible to get a British film distributed in America – and tragically, IN BRITAIN TOO.
This last is because Hollywood movies are widely PROMOTED (with some movie’s promotion budgets being more than their production costs) and like their American counterparts, British distributors also want bums on seats.
Of course, all of the above only applies to movies made for ADULTS. Most Western films are now made for KIDS – and are shown in shopping centre Cineplexes, where said adults dump them while they go shopping – or send them, when they want some Mummy And Daddy time.
Fact is these days, Group Two’s facilities are mainly used by Group One (Hollywood) as outsources. Britain does good miniatures, music and SFX, Canada’s post- facilities are peerless and New Zealand has spectacular landscapes. Whilst in Group Three, Eastern Europe are good at constructing large, fantastical sets – cheaply.
So while Britain’s Lottery Fund is still financing British movies made for adults, even they know that – like with their customers – it is money down the DRAIN.
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, in 2008).
Anyhoo, it turns out the old boy is STILL ALIVE! He is 86 now (and looks much the same as he did 40 years ago – meaning he looked like THIS in his FORTIES).
One suspects he would LIKE to be remembered for all of his “sterling work” in the Tory political arena of the Eighties, but to be realistic – his MAIN achievement will ALWAYS be that addition to the canon of COCKNEY RHYMING SLANG.
So I recall, many years ago, some Western “expert” declaring that oriental (and other places) “squattie” toilets were far better for the digestive tract and bowels than the traditional sit-down types – and urging us to get rid of our bourgeois bogs, in favour of these more “natural” ones.
However, more recently – now that I LIVE in The Orient – some LOCAL expert has declared the very OPPOSITE, exhorting the population to upgrade their “primitive” khazies to the “civilized” sit-down variety.
Now clearly both of these so-called experts cannot be right. Either one is entirely wrong – or it makes no damn difference, so BOTH are.
As it happens, I have two bathrooms with a squattie in one and a sit-down in the other – and prefer the sit-down model.
Right now, Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders are riding high.
It’s not really surprising, since they share two things; their names have somewhat unfortunate initials, but much more importantly – they are both ANGRY OLD MEN.
And you can see their APPEAL to an electorate, for whom they are facing off against the usual bunch of smugbastard, two-faced, devious, oily “professional” politicians.
This time, Old Ma Clinton, Bush III (not ANOTHER one) Rubio, Cruz and Crazy Carson (to date).
Of course, the two old geezers have diametrically opposed SOLUTIONS to America’s problems; as a right-wing arsehole, Trump wants to hammer immigrants – whilst self-confessed socialist Sanders (alliteration!) wants to hammer big corporations, bankers and other One-Percenters.
And it don’t take a genius to know which group NEEDS hammering.
But who could have seen this coming? Not Hillary, that’s for sure. Over the last few years, she must have rehearsed her inaugural speech a hundred times, then all of a sudden – it’s Always A Bridesmaid time again.
Even this observer cannot claim to have anticipated the “Network” effect, although like Trump and Sanders, he’s actually OLD enough to GET that venerable reference; “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.” (Peter Finch as Howard Beale – it won him a posthumous Oscar®).
However, of the two, only Bernie would have any clue what to DO, once he reached the Oval Office.
And while the prospect of a 75-year-old socialist occupying the White House might seem unlikely – who’d have bet on a black guy with the middle name Hussein and a surname only one letter away from Osama?
So maybe Sanders and Corbyn doing a Reagan and Thatcher (ANOTHER ancient reference) ain’t such a pipe-dream as Your Humble Scribe first thought…
Most men figure they can out-bluff their wives. However, David is married to Victoria Coren (Mitchell) – a tournament-level poker player, with lifetime winnings in the seven figure bracket.
Her Majesty’s Government has received a petition demanding Trump be excluded from entering the UK, on the grounds his speeches have fomented hate. And given the number of signatories (560k) on it, HMG has been forced to ACT – they will be discussing the issue later this month.
But where does this leave them?
The problem is, Trump could JUST be the next POTUS (President Of The United States) and given Britain has been America’s Bitch for decades now, that would be supremely EMBARRASSING.
Even if HMG later rescinded the exclusion order, the fact that they had once okayed it would be a CONTINUED embarrassment, for as long as Trump held the position.
Therefore, this observer suspects they will use as many DELAYING TACTICS as possible!
Because over the next few weeks, Trump is going to have to get through Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina – three God-fearing states where some of Trump’s “losers” still have a “huuuuge” amount of support.
Thus while dozy nut-job Ben Carson may now be pretty much history, Ted Cruz and a whole SLEW of Right Wing Arseholes remain, busily snapping at the Donald’s heels.
So right now, HMG is PRAYING that one of them TOPPLES him!
A further thought…
Of course, the fact that there ARE so many RWAs in the running – Cruz, Rand Paul, Marco Rubio, “Jeb” Bush and at a pinch, Big Chris Christie – may work in Trump’s favour. The votes could be SPLIT, leaving him a clear winner.
But then, he will still only have the Republican NOMINATION. After that, he will have to see off Old Ma Clinton (sadly, Bernie “Feel The Bern” Sanders has NO chance of being nominated as the Democratic candidate – he is a SOCIALIST) before his ample posterior can occupy the Big Chair.
However at the moment, she is only polling JUST above Trump (“if the election were held tomorrow and you had to choose between Trump and Clinton…”) – and given the likelihood of further TERRORIST atrocities happening in America during the coming months…
A man’s suit comes in four parts; the trousers, the waistcoat, the jacket and the frock-coat. Let us deal with them in that order.
There are now many styles of trouser – but for the mature gent, you cannot beat the Forties style (repeated in the Eighties) of roomy parallels. These are best pleated at the top and turned up at the bottom. And while the younger gent looks fine with them belted, the mature gent just looks like an over-filled package. Far better to go with the traditional set of braces – preferably patterned, but not too loudly.
Furthermore, The Suit should be made with several pairs of matching trousers, since they wear much faster than the more EXPENSIVE jacket. Also, it may be advisable to have some of said trousers made in larger sizes, to anticipate the obvious.
In addition, underwear should ALWAYS be briefs. “Boxers” get tangled with trousers and going “commando” is unacceptable, even if one dry-cleans the suit after every wearing. Two words: visible drippage.
The waistcoat is optional, being best displayed jacketless. And the lining on the back should obviously match the inside lining of the jacket.
Which brings us to the most important item – that JACKET. Double-breasted models may look smart, but you will have to master the trick of fastening the inner, reversed button. Bit of a bugger, that. Simpler to stick to the single-breasted option.
The frock-coat is worn as a stylish option to the jacket and is identical, apart from the increased length. Depending on the material used, it may prove beneficial to have a series of tiny weights sewn into the bottom hem, to ensure it hangs correctly – and even flares slightly, upon turning. However, care must be taken to keep the weights light, unless the wearer enjoys bruised shins.
The cut should follow the example of the trousers. Slim for the young suit-wearer, large for the mature one. Lapels likewise.
And with both the jacket and frock-coat, a little padding of the shoulders will save on gymnasium subs.
It should go without saying that the jacket should NEVER be worn over JEANS. This is akin to a lady wearing an evening gown over a flak jacket.
Next comes the material. Many suits are worn like sandwich boards, whereas a good suit fits a man like a second skin – moving WITH him, rather than being moved BY him.
Thus a dark suit should be made of a soft, light, “wet-look” material – and a light suit (great for Summer and hot climates) works best with off-white linen. The latter will quickly become creased, affording the wearer that “casual” look.
And a few scuff-marks will merely add to that casualness. However, PURE white should be avoided like the plague. Aside from ONE mark ruining it, you will look like a BeeGee in the Seventies. And no-one wants THAT.
Of course, pastel colours are strictly for shirt-lifters, while green and brown are reserved for university dons.
Plus pinstripes, checks and houndsteeth are to be BURIED in (micro-patterns in the weave are okay – but a bit pricey).
In all, PLAIN materials are the order of the day with midnight blue, charcoal grey and black leading the way – and the above-mentioned off-white linen when and where appropriate.
And now a word on accessories. Provided The Suit works, roll-necks, shirts and ties (the latter secured by an anchored tie-pin, ending JUST around the waistband) need to be kept understated, so as not to overdo it. But the breast-pocket handkerchief should be unfolded – and allowed to FLOW from the pocket.
All of which covers The Suit itself, bringing us to the art of WEARING it.
Constantly tugging and tweaking your suit is a dead giveaway – it suggests to all that you mostly only wear it for COURT APPEARANCES. Ideally, you should FORGET you are wearing it. Like changing gear in a car, it should become second-nature to you.
Now, thus far this author is sure that all who understand that style outranks fashion by a country mile will have agreed with everything he has said. However, now he is about to go OFF the reservation…
BUTTONS. For over a century, it has been “fashionable” to leave the bottom button of a jacket – which should ALWAYS have TWO buttons – UNDONE.
This is said to have originated with HRH Edward VII, who was too FAT to button his bottom button – and everyone began to follow suit (so to speak) in deference to him.
Well, Eddy is LONG DEAD now – and therefore, it is HIGH time to BURY this stupid affectation along WITH him.
While a jacket should ALWAYS be unbuttoned when a gentleman SITS (Jimmy Fallon take note) – unless you are a shop-steward, you BUTTON it as you STAND.
Leaving it buttoned whilst seated makes it ride up and resemble a STRAIT-jacket.
And just securing the UPPER button when you stand RUINS The Suit. It spoils the line, whilst revealing the bottom of the tie and the waistband.
So join us, brethren – those who RESPECT The Suit. And if some wiseacre accuses you of bottom button inappropriateness (it’s a word) – just tap your nose and say, “Style, dear boy – not fashion.”
The problem with celebs Twatting is that many of them have lost sight of the POINT.
Here is the thing; while a lot of them nobly accede to requests to USE their celebrity to publicise “worthy causes” to their legion of Followers, they forget to intersperse those Twatts with ones containing their wit, wisdom, pith and moment – which is the reason people are Following them to begin with.
Thus their Twatter channels become like TV channels – with a stream of ADS and NO PROGRAMMES.
Now about twenty-eight months ago, Your Humble Scribe decided to become a Twatt, solely to increase traffic HERE – but to date has only amassed thirty-five Followers (and half of those are probably machine-generated) since he cannot be arsed to use tags and hashtags.
However, for that select group, his Twatter feed is PEPPERED with quotes, quirks, jokes, tips, mini-rants and all sorts – meaning that whilst he may only have set it up to promote these columns to callow YOOFS, at least they are never more than one plug away from some ENTERTAINMENT.
Like; “If you’re wearing crotchless cowboy pants with spurs – do not squat.”
And; “The hardest job in Britain? Being a waiter who has to perform the Heimlich Manœuvre on Eric Pickles.”
Or how about; “When love walks in the door, logic and commonsense jump out of the window.”
So – CELEBRITIES, TAKE NOTE!
And if you – yes, YOU – want to SEE it (and who knows – perhaps even BECOME yet another Follower) just hit… https://twitter.com/DoryStentorian
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 Withipoll. 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 Withipoll – well, I mean… With A Pole! But this got me thinking, where did the name Withipoll COME from? My encyclopaedia offered nothing, so I Googled it. And I was amazed to find a RAFT of stuff about Withipoll.
Which incredibly, included my old street, Withipoll 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 Withipoll (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.
My introduction to Stephen Colbert was a lot like my introduction to Alan Partridge; for the first couple of minutes I thought, “What an utter arse.”
However, after a couple more minutes listening to Alan Partridge, I GOT it – he was a CHARACTER.
My mistake was understandable (and echoed over Britain) as this was Steve Coogan’s FIRST airing of the character, back in 1991, on the BBC radio show “On The Hour”.
It would continue when the show transferred to TV, as “The Day Today” – then get several series, as a mock-chat-show-host – and recently, a movie.
These shows were all scripted lampoons of pompous media, created and written mainly by Chris Morris and Armando Iannucci (whom Americans will know from “Veep”) and others, plus (until they fell out with Coogan – confirmation required) Stewart Lee and Richard Herring – and featured the above, with Coogan, Rebecca Front and still others.
However, back in ’91, all of this was in the future – and I tuned into Alan’s segment of “On The Hour” while it was IN PROGRESS.
This is a problem with lampoons – come upon them accidentally and it is all too easy to think they are REAL!
And thus it was with Stephen Colbert’s bombastic, right-wing arsehole character on “The Colbert Report” (two silent “t”s).
Americans were familiar with the character from the days when it had featured as a “reporter” on “The Daily Show” – which had a similar style to “On The Hour” and “The Day Today” – but this time, presenting absurdist right-wing views to mock the real thing on Fox “News” and the like.
However, I had only been able to get “The Daily Show” from 2006 (the point in the canon where Jon Stewart nearly climaxed, when he had the opportunity to report on Dick Cheney’s “peppering” of an old fool, on a quail hunt) – and Colbert had moved over to his own show a year earlier.
But I could not get his “…Report” on my package, thus the only time I saw him was when Jon handed off to him. Thus my assumption was that Comedy Central had acquired a right-wing comic for BALANCE!
So I was less than optimistic when I heard that he would be taking over from Dave Letterman – who was then easily the best chat-show host on American late night TV.
But Stephen was at pains to emphasise (probably for the benefit of many others like me) that his previous character was just THAT – and would NOT be the one replacing the much-loved Dave. This time, he would be HIMSELF (or as near as any performer ever gets to it).
And after six weeks, he has now become the NEW best chat-show host on American late night TV.
Jimmy Fallon has been doing the same show – and scripted intros – for years now.
Jimmy Kimmel’s “snarky” persona – unlike Dave’s – is REAL.
James Corden is a bit too bubbly.
Seth (NOT a derivative of James) Meyers is pretty good – however, his audience sounds like they are on Mogadon.
But Stephen Colbert hit the ground running (although the premiere, due to a tech issue on the night, nearly did not air) and has maintained his pace.
For their part, CBS pulled out all the stops, building Stephen a massive new set and restoring the Ed Sullivan Theatre (sorry – “Theater”) to its former 1927 glory (including the stained glass dome – now with added hi-tech digital projections).
And while Jon Batiste is no Paul Shaffer, he is streets ahead of Fallon’s “Roots”.
Also, Colbert has a neat new title sequence, using tilt-shift photography (although the fine details can really only be appreciated in HD).
And like Dave before him, he has been given virtual carte blanche, format-wise. And he has chosen to mix comedy with politics – and more SERIOUS interviews.
While Seth Meyers has moved more towards politics during his tenure.
At the same time as which Fallon and Corden basically just make love to celebs.
Which leaves grown-up Americans without a hard-drive (you can get pills for that now) the option to catch Stephen on CBS – then switch to NBC, for Seth – while younger Yanks can switch the OTHER way, for Fallon and Corden.
And snarky types who want an early night can just hit ABC and go with Kimmel.
Simple.
Finally, a word about Mr Jon Stewart; this prince of a man – who is a producer of Colbert’s new show – is, like Dave Letterman, much missed. His generous spirit has seen so many of his “reporters” go on to greatness. In addition to Stephen Colbert taking over CBS Late Night, Larry Wilmore has acquired Colbert’s “…Report” slot, plus after helming “The Daily Show” while Jon was directing a movie, John Oliver has landed a weekly show on HBO – and Samantha Bee has a show on Turner. While the list of comic stars whose paths have crossed his legendary show cover half the American comedy industry (SNL covering the other half).
I do not have a finish for this piece, since by its nature it is open-ended – just like life.
But now the recent game of network TV musical chairs has ended, the young-viewer-demographic – and comparative youth of the current crop of late night TV hosts – means they will probably (barring disasters) endure for a while.
The term is “Intellectual Property” (although in the area of “designer goods” the word intellectual is obviously a SERIOUS misnomer).
That being said, whilst an artist’s work clearly needs protecting against theft, the copyright laws set up for that purpose have become a JOKE, highlighted by the recent court case involving “Happy Birthday To You” – a song written over a CENTURY ago.
Mildred Hill wrote the tune and Patty Hill the lyrics – except they ran “Good Morning To All” and were only adapted later. And there is reason to believe that even the tune may have been “borrowed” from the world of folk music.
Of course, The Hills have not been Alive for many decades now (did you see what I did there?) Nevertheless, this has not stopped Summy – then Chappell – and more recently Warner – from glomming two million bucks a year in royalties from this Victorian song.
And that is where artistic copyright falls off the rails. Naturally, an artist has the right to benefit from their work – but not for EVER. If I built someone a gazebo, I would only expect payment ONCE.
However, thanks to these outdated laws, money has to be paid for enjoying art – to people who have played NO part whatsoever in its CREATION.
Example; Laurel and Hardy are part of American History – but do not look for their work on YouTube. Anything of theirs that is uploaded is quickly torn down. But not by L & H – or even Hal Roach (who lived to 100, but even HE is now long gone).
No, the company that now owns their work is a GERMAN PROPERTY COMPANY (or it was, a few years back).
And THAT is the problem. As any right-wing arsehole will say, intellectual property is as tangible as a ton of coal, a Ferrari, or 500 copies of my book. And as such, it can find itself – like “Happy Birthday To You” – passing through any NUMBER of hands, NONE of whom had anything to do with its conception.
Which is where something COULD be done. Like, drastically SHORTENING the time before a piece becomes public domain. “Happy Birthday To You” WAS set to become public domain next year, in Europe (70 years after the death of its composer) but in America…
Thus a company could still buy an artistic property, but would be aware of its limited lifespan – say TEN years after its creation.
And that way, a composer could still make a mint out of a hit – and pass some or all of it on to their heirs, if they wished – but after a decade, the piece would become public domain. Then again, public domain might have to be re-defined as being for use WITHOUT PROFIT.
Another solution would be to limit the amount of involvement by companies not related to the pieces in question – in other words, this would force artists (and their descendants) to be RESPONSIBLE for their work, rather than them just unloading it onto some faceless corporation.
Whatever is done, it needs to be done SOON. THIS medium has made enforcement of artistic copyright almost impossible – with “examples” being made of unfortunate individuals by bullying corporate giants (the “mix-tapes” fiasco of a few years back).
Most people are reasonable and would PREFER to respect artists’ copyright – but they have little time for those faceless giants. So if Messrs Sony, Universal and Warner want public support – without which, they are now HELPLESS – they had better COME UP with something said public can LIVE with…
It is said that “the past is another country” – but they might well add “the future is another galaxy.” I.e., we all know they exist, but have no idea what they are like.
The problem with prediction is that mistakes are EXPONENTIAL. That is to say, once theorised, the errors then MULTIPLY.
Thus you can be fairly precise looking a few years ahead – but the further you go, the more out of wack you become.
Like, the 1936 film of HG Wells’ “The Shape Of Things To Come” begins reasonably accurately; WW2 (in Europe) kicks off in 1940, as opposed to late 1939.
However from that point on, it falls apart. The war continues to the SIXTIES, with giant bombers featuring several PROPS on each wing – in the mid-Thirties, the JET engine and RADAR were still on the drawing board.
And while “2001: A Space Odyssey” (1968) had Arthur C Clarke on board, it featured human hibernation and a giant space station, with a gravity wheel – neither of which have happened, 14 years later.
He never foresaw the US government’s disenchantment with space research, once they had beaten Russia to the Moon.
Plus little details like “BBC 12” – Auntie only has four channels today – and thanks largely to Lockerbie, Pan-Am went belly-up in 1991.
So be satisfied with the PRESENT – the future is utterly incalculable.
Unlike the various MOVIE awards, which take place during January and February (the “Awards Season”) whose qualifying period is the previous year, the Emmys® are presented in September, on the Sunday preceding the new TELEVISION year – which generally begins a couple of Mondays after Labor Day.
This is because the Autumn (US: “Fall”) Season is the most IMPORTANT of the year, having the highest RATINGS (it begins to get COLD outside).
Which explains why there is so much CRAP on TV in the SUMMER.
Anyhoo, with the DEATH of the movie industry, in terms of ADULT movies (“adult” meaning GROWN-UP – not porn) the last ten years have seen a mass MIGRATION of writers and other creatives – from movies to TV.
Thus it could well be argued that the Emmys® are now far more RELEVANT than the FORMER Kings Of Awards – the Oscars®.
This year, the ceremony will be hosted by SNL alumni, Andy Samberg – who should do fine.
So what are we likely to see on the twentieth of this month?
Well, this year has seen another slew of deserved Emmy®-winners, with HIGH-CONCEPT shows leading the race.
“Homeland” had a good fourth season – although its downbeat ending might have disappointed some.
“Elementary” – after three seasons, it is about time Emmy® recognised the efforts of Jonny Lee Miller, who has to work a LOT harder than Cumberbatch (24 eps a year, as opposed to Benny’s 2 or 3).
“24” went out with a BANG, featuring a 12-ep season in Britain that was at least as good as its 24-ep American counterparts.
“The Blacklist” – Alan Alda has already been promised a nod for his guest spot in Season Two – but is it not time Emmy® paid tribute to SPADER?
“House Of Cards” – this award-spattered version of the British classic has had two lots of Emmy® NODS thus far – but will they get CONVERTED, this time?
“Scorpion” is a newcomer with merit. It begins its second season the day after the Emmys® – but will it get recognition for its first?
“Forever” has been CANCELLED – but it is far from unknown for Emmys® to be presented to shows that have been dumped PREMATURELY. And while – like the afore-mentioned “Scorpion” – it was peppered with plot-holes, it showed a fair amount of promise.
“The Newsroom” – whilst this too is now over (COMPLETED – not cancelled) it has another nod for Jeff Daniels. But what about AARON SORKIN?? He WROTE all 25 eps of this masterpiece, yet while too being award-spattered, Emmy® has IGNORED him, ever since “West Wing” ended.
“Under The Dome” – arguably the HIGHEST of the high-concept shows (a hick town trapped inside a giant sandwich-cover) its three series have demonstrated the law of diminishing returns – but it still deserves props for EFFORT.
And “Limitless” promises much – from the boys who brought you “Scorpion” and a few years back, “Fringe”.
Whilst it goes without saying that ALL of the above shows should get WRITING nods (they cannot ALL win).
And there are plenty of STANDARD-concept shows that are deserving…
“Bones” should get a director nod for David Boreanaz, for helming last December’s “Hitchcock” ep.
The new “Hawaii Five-O” is solid entertainment. Likewise “Castle”, “NCIS” – and its new spinoff “NCIS: NO” is not too bad.
Also-new “The Mysteries Of Laura” is lifted out of the mundane by its spirited writing and the lively performance of its Jewish Princess lead, Debra Messing.
While yet-again-new “The Brink” is a bizarre mix of action and comedy.
Fact is, this is a Golden Age of US television drama. So I hope its flagship Emmy® does not FORGET that, going for “worthy” and “popular” shows, whilst IGNORING the ENTERTAINMENT FACTOR which the shows LEADING this period possess.
I will likely add an UPDATE to this piece, post-Emmy®…
…sadly (but predictably) they went with those worthy and popular shows. Well, at least Britain was highly visible in the COMEDY section earlier…
This writer has just watched Woody Allen’s latest (major) outing – on HBO Asia.
It was called “Magic In The Moonlight” and it was pleasing to see Allen had moved on from making movies where – him now being nearly eighty – a young guy would spout dialogue that made him look like he was doing a second-rate impression of him.
No, while written and directed by Allen, this starred Colin Firth – who could not imitate Allen if his life depended on it – but then, he was not called upon to do so.
Instead… well, your humble scribe is not about to spoil one of Woody’s best films for years by describing it any further. He will just recommend it and leave it at that.
This piece is about something else – the titular five percent.
The fact is, these days around fifty percent of all Hollywood films are bubblegum movies – most derived from comic-books – made exclusively for kids.
While another thirty percent are solely of interest to self-absorbed, paranoid drama queen Americans and do not resonate with ANYONE in what they term the “foreign” market.
And yet another fifteen percent are “worthy” films which studio execs know they will probably lose money on, but which they hope will garner enough Oscars™ to allow them to retain a little of their self-respect.
Which – for NOW – leaves just five percent of the their annual fare for GROWN-UPS.
Now “Magic In The Moonlight” is an Anglo-French production and features British actors with an American female star (Emma Stone – who is less than half Colin’s age – but then, this IS a Woody Allen movie) and so is not even a Hollywood production.
Nevertheless, films like it ARE still being made in Hollywood – but SPARINGLY, now that most of its talented writers have migrated to TV (or, like Woody, are geriatric).
A couple of years ago, there was thought to be hope; now that Baby-Boomers were retiring, maybe they would revive cinema-going – and movies – for mature people.
But predictably, the producers got it wrong. “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” is a good movie (now with a sequel). However Boomers do not want unlimited films of this kind. Casts of plucky oldsters merely serve to remind them that THEY are old.
Far better to feature actors with a little hair on them in dynamic, engaging rôles which entertain. Male Boomers can just about identify with fifty-somethings – and female Boomers, with forty-somethings. “That COULD be me…”
And the films do not have to be actioners, like the “Expendables” franchise – just films that are ABOUT something.
But it is too late now.
All of this historian’s life, TV technology has lagged FAR behind that of the cinema. In 1960, “Spartacus” was released in 70mm (wide-screen, high-definition colour) with big, 6-channel stereo sound. If it had been shown on TV in those days, it would have been on a 405-line (US; 525-line) 4:3-ratio, black-and-white, 5W mono, 19-inch CRT.
Whereas now, home-loving movie fans can watch it on a high-def 16:9, 250W Dolby 5.1 (6-channel stereo, but arranged differently) 70-inch flat-screen, all of which costs less than a couple of grand – and is thus within the financial reach of most Boomers.
Hell, even POOR Boomers can afford a 50-inch.
Furthermore, with an HDD, they can watch the movie when THEY want to, pause it to take a pee (it IS over 3 hours long) eat their own food (WAY cheaper than cinema snacks) sit in their underwear (NAKED if they wish) and talk, smoke and fart at will.
And if the restored bathtub scene turns them on… well, you get the point.
The thing is, these days the only point of schlepping to a cinema to see a movie is if you cannot WAIT to watch it on your TV a mere twelve months later – and the vast majority of grown-ups CAN.
But for movie-makers, TV – and even DVDs – will NOT pay for anything LIKE the budget of a theatrical movie.
“Magic In The Moonlight” was an anomaly. Costing just seventeen million bucks to make (they got a huge tax credit from the French, a lot of help from the rich locals on the Côte d’Azur and the cast were more than happy to work CHEAP on what might have been Woody’s last film; it was not and he is currently slated to do a TV series for Amazon) – it JUST scraped a profit.
But as a rule, a film needs to get into ALL the cineplexes in America to have a HOPE of paying for itself. Which is fine with KIDS’ movies. However, if a movie is made for grown-ups – while they stay at HOME to watch them, this will not happen.
All of which means that if YOU are a grown-up, you have now LOST… The Movies.
This time it is the word “Oriental” – particularly when applied to a PERSON.
Now I LIVE in the Orient – which simply means The East – although these days, it is generally understood to mean South East Asia.
But thanks to the foreign-political history of the United States Of America, the region is understandably wary of ANYTHING coming from THAT place.
Which is why the perfectly innocent word Oriental is now considered a pejorative, when spoken by a Yank.
However, unless one is a slave to that country, the word is still FINE if used by a Brit.
Which brings me to the word “Jap” – as in Japanese person.
Now I’M a Brit – which is merely short for a British person.
However, while Brit is PC – Jap most definitely is NOT. Why? It’s those damn Yanks again. This time, it goes back to WW2, when America was at WAR with Japan – and while the abbreviation was used for simple convenience, given the situation at the time it also inevitably contained VENOM.
And while that argument was settled seventy years ago, the word STILL REMAINS venomous. But again, this is really an AMERICAN thing – if a BRIT calls a Japanese person a Jap, it is usually just for that convenience of abbreviation.
Which brings us to the word Yank itself. This is currently defined as SOMETIMES pejorative – depending on context – and who’s using it.
But what of Brit? As stated above, the term is not currently considered offensive – nevertheless, I was recently surprised to discover that it USED to be.
The dictionary says; Brit: informal, formerly offensive – A British person.
Of course, ALL of these words – and many, far more offensive – are ultimately just words. Whether they are intended to offend depends on who is using them – and how.
In any case, TRUE racism is about FAR more than mere words. Check out the song, “Strange Fruit” at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strange_Fruit – and the Billie Holiday version on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Web007rzSOI
I’ve always LOVED that concept! And while I’m sure I’m not the first to dream it up, it was new to ME on a certain day, back around 1967.
I was about fourteen, in the “A” stream at Copleston High, when a temporary teacher decided to wind us all up – by presenting us with an unsolvable problem.
The premise was as follows: if you take two objects and divide the distance between them by half – then move them that much closer to one another – then divide THAT distance by half – rinse and repeat – will they ever make CONTACT? Yes or no?
Of course, it’s like the chicken and the egg – which came first? Neither answer works.
And likewise, the two objects. If you constantly HALVE their distance apart, they can never meet. But if they continue to CLOSE on each other – they MUST.
Eventually, I said, “I’ve GOT it.”
Seventy-two eyes swung in my direction.
“You have given us a problem in three dimensions – to which, since those objects are constantly moving towards each other – the answer MUST be YES.
“However, to QUALIFY that answer we must bring in the FOURTH dimension; TIME.
“The question then becomes not IF the two objects will meet – but WHEN.
“And the answer to THAT question is… INFINITY… PLUS ONE!!”
…At which point, the discussion swung to the concept of infinity.
Even the grains of sand on our planet have now been quantified (roughly, of course).
The only thing now – and indeed, back then – that is infinite (well… probably) is the universe – closely followed by a Bangkok long-duration traffic light – but that I won’t trouble you with.
Instead, I’ll pose a question of my own: is infinity plus one… SMALLER than infinity plus TWO?!
There is nothing “psychic” or “spiritual” about telepathy. It is as physical as farting and like farting – we all do it.
So how does it work? Simple. The human brain does not 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 – like radio.
Scientists have long known – and PROVEN – this. 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 the current on, the subjects LOST the ability.
Weird? Well, YOU do it all the time. Remember when you asked that stranger on the street for the time? They were deep in thought and you STARTLED them – thus when they looked at their watch, their brain was working in OVER-DRIVE and you heard the time pop into their brain BEFORE they spoke it.
Of course, the time is one thing; like playing cards, or Zener cards, which are designed especially for the purpose (square, circle, star, wavy lines and cross) it is a SHORT “message” – but what about sending people PAGES of info? Sadly, language has made us lazy and we have lost the ability. Perhaps savants could do it if they applied themselves to the task – and maybe some “mentalists” HAVE.
But it is 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.
Nope, it is just good old telepathy. And it explains a LOT of so-called “paranormal” phenomena. But that is another piece, another time. Right now, it is time for my breakfast. “Ham and eggs…ham and eggs…”
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if, during the ’60s, 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 2015, you couldn’t SMOKE in a BAR – I’d’ve LAUGHED at them. So how did this ridiculous situation come about?
Well, during the ’50s, 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 ’60s, 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 ’70s, people found OUT – or so they THOUGHT. First, the US government commissioned a research programme to establish the risks presented by Second-Hand Smoke. The scientists announced they 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…
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 ’80s, people were understandably treating tobacco smoke like NERVE-GAS.
And as the ’90s and “Oughts” progressed, smoking was progressively banned in ALL public places – even OUT OF 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 us examine the three seminal events described 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 what of Roy Castle? While it’s true that certain people CLAIMED he’d developed lung cancer as a result of his playing in smoky jazz-clubs – it actually 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 it’s known that just TWO YEARS of ceasing exposure to smoke – SLASHES the risks of health problems from it.
Plus, despite most people now having been brainwashed into thinking you can ONLY get lung cancer from smoking, it simply isn’t TRUE. Certainly, 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 the above FACTS, what REALLY promoted all of the Second-Hand Smoke hysteria? MONEY, that’s what.
Oh, pubs and clubs have taken a CANING over the smoking bans. A quarter of their customers smoke and few feel like standing around outside 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, many watering holes which were running on slim margins have gone UNDER.
And many governments make BILLIONS from the exorbitant TAXES they glom. If all Britain’s smokers suddenly STOPPED paying their THOUSAND-PERCENT cigarette taxes, their National Health system would COLLAPSE overnight.
So who’s making the money I spoke of earlier? Big Business, that’s who (aside from the tobacco companies). Any company or organisation owning vehicles – from cars to planes – and/or offices, shops, etc. 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 often 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 flashy 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 25% of their customers, you’re lucky if you have 0.05% 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 tube (Underground) train service at Kings Cross, instead of facing up to their monumental 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 and 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 so, considering the comfort of ALL their customers, wherever practical they provided FACILITIES for smokers. Cars, bars, offices, etc. ALL had “smoking areas”.
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!
The concept is so old, it pre-dates TV. The idea of a series of programmes set in the same time and place, with the same characters and situation, goes back to the earliest days of radio – nearly a CENTURY ago.
But are its days now numbered?
As with its elder-brother, stage drama, TV drama comes in three parts: Act One; the establishment of time, place, characters and situation – ending with the introduction of the person or factor which will provide the conflict required for drama to occur. Act Two; development. And Act Three; a resolution, involving redemption for the central character(s) while ideally, making a statement about the human condition in a way which is memorable.
Which is fine with one-off TV dramas. However, since with SERIES, the audience is assumed to already be FAMILIAR with the time, place, characters and situation – they can hit the ground running with the CONFLICT. This typically comes before the title sequence and is known in The Business as a Cold Open.
F’rinstance, an episode of “The Avengers” (the classic British ’60s TV series, not the comic book) begins with a close-up of a bloke sleeping peacefully in bed. He wakes, looks around him, begins screaming and screaming – and dies of a heart attack.
The camera then slowly zooms back and we see that his bed is not in a room – but on the Centre Spot at Wembley Stadium.
After the title sequence, Steed and Mrs Peel go on to discover that (the villain) has been killing prominent people by exposing them to their greatest FEARS. In the case of the sleeper, he was agoraphobic.
But here is the thing; whilst for the last nearly HUNDRED years, you had to wait a WEEK (or in the case of a mini-series, at least a DAY) for the next EPISODE – now, thanks to the likes of Netflix, you can binge-watch an entire SEASON in as long as it takes you to WATCH it (in my case, with “House Of Cards” S3 – about five days).
And with the restrictions forced on network TV being gradually UNDERMINED by the phenomenon of downloading, this practice will only increase.
But what effect will this HAVE on the long-established custom of TV series?
Obviously, in the short-term, NONE.
However, as time goes by, it could spell their DOOM and TV drama could revert to those one-offs – with series being but a MEMORY. Discuss.
Yeah, I know – Uncle Joe Biden for POTUS? Seriously?
Indulge me. First, let us look at his only real competition: Old Ma Clinton – sorry, Hillary – sorry again, Ms Clinton.
For this historian, she has at least two marks against her; there is the unpleasant allegation that early in her career as a lawyer, she knowingly got a child-rapist off, then LAUGHED about it. Years later, a recording of same was played to the victim and she was less than pleased. SHE may re-surface later…
Then there is her reaction to husband Bill’s dalliance with that chubby intern….
But surely, you cry, not JOE? The man is a doofus. Like, that overly-familiar gesture with Stephanie Carter (then again, George Wan… sorry WaLker Bush did the same thing to Angela Merkel) and other gaffes too numerous to mention. He is without doubt the American equivalent of the Duke Of Edinburgh.
Then there is that 1/0 smile of his – but what do you want? The man is a professional politician. It comes with the job. At least he does it better than most.
Also, as Veep, he advised Obama NOT to gamble on the Bin Liner hit. After what had happened to Jimmy Carter in similar circumstances, his reticence might have been prudent – but unless Barack pulls SOMETHING out of the bag during the next twenty or so months, the resulting success may be the ONLY thing he is remembered for.
Then again, while Biden and Hillary have BOTH been the “second choice” for POTUS, only Biden is seen as the kind of politician most people would like to have a drink with. Hillary? Brrrr.
However, BOTH of these people share another failing – their AGES.
Hillary would be sixty-nine (an unfortunate number, all things considered) if she took office in ’16 – and seventy-seven at the end of two terms.
While Biden, despite currently looking somewhat more sprightly than Hillary, would be nudging seventy-four – and be EIGHTY-TWO after two terms.
Meaning he could well DIE IN OFFICE – or at least, end up Alzheimic (it’s a word) like Reagan.
Of course, the Republicans have plenty of younger blood – but it runs through the bodies of REPUBLICANS. Although as Obama has amply demonstrated, these days, America’s unpatriotic, obstructive, self-important Congress will BLOCK ANYTHING a Democratic POTUS tries to push through.
Thus it could be said that whoever wins 2016, if it is ANY Democrat, the only REAL achievement they are likely to rack up – is keeping a Right-Wing Arsehole out of the Oval Office for another eight years…
I see that once more, poor old aspartame is taking a beating. Pepsi are phasing out this artificial sweetener in America because yet again, people are being convinced that it is a demon.
The thing is though, that along with monosodium glutamate (MSG) it is one of the most tested substances in the World – and time after time has been proven to be benign.
But this has not stopped various political and social groups from performing their own half-arsed tests on it and declaring it to be lethal – likewise, MSG.
And inevitably, while the junk-food giants’ researchers perform properly-done, exhaustive tests on these substances, who will most people believe?
Remember that story that if you left a human tooth in a glass of Coke, it would dissolve overnight? Utter bollocks – but people still accept it.
Coca-Cola themselves addressed the myth: “This is a popular urban legend – and totally untrue. Coca-Cola will not dissolve teeth or meat overnight. There is a small amount of edible acid present in many foods, including fruit juices and soft drinks such as Coca-Cola, but these foods are not acidic enough to harm your body tissues – in fact, your own natural stomach acid is more acidic.
“Any food or drink that contains sugars and starches, including calorific sparkling drinks, can play a role in the development of tooth decay. Also, any food or drink that is acidic has the potential to play a role in enamel erosion. Through good dental hygiene and other health practices, you can help reduce the risk of tooth decay and erosion. The best way to protect teeth is to brush them twice a day with a fluoride toothpaste.”
And of course, they were right. Nevertheless, over the last few years, both Coke and Pepsi have seen sales decline. But is the fear of aspartame really the reason?
In Britain (and presumably, the West in general) Pepsi and Coke sell for around two pounds (three bucks) a big bottle in supermarkets (and far more, elsewhere). Yet here in the Orient, those same supermarkets sell identical bottles for less than fifty pence (eighty cents).
Now, given that the production and bottling are hardly labour-intensive – and the local advertising is even more intensive – how is this price-difference justified? It appears that like Walls Magnums (classed as “indulgence” ice creams – and also much cheaper here) the main factor is – they charge what people will PAY.
So rather than pandering to the radical food-nazis – perhaps Pepsi et al would do better looking at their PRICE structuring…
What do Lettice Rowbotham, Emily West, Jackie Evancho and Susan Boyle have in common? All came SECOND on “…Got Talent” – against firsts who are FORGOTTEN today.
Lettice is a ditzy, jolly-hockey-sticks – probably savant – goddess, whose talents on the violin are staggering. And she did not even REVEAL she could sing as well, until the final.
Emily West looks like she stepped out of the Fifties – but is a diva who will rip your heart out if you let her.
Meanwhile, the main request then-ten-year-old Jackie Evancho received was to give impromptu bursts of song, so people could see she was not MIMING – the depth and power of her voice being seemingly impossible for one so young.
Her career thus far is staggering – and she is still only fifteen.
Finally comes Susan Boyle. Looking like a frumpy housewife, she blew the audience away, giving a mammoth reading of “I Dreamed…” from The Glums. Today, she is worth over twenty MILLION quid.
Diversity – the dance troupe who beat her – went on to switch the Christmas lights on, in Norwich.
It’s a funny thing about black and white; originally it was used for economy – then TV arrived and the film industry was forced to adopt colour – so then, with new tech and increased use, colour film got cheaper – while black and white, now being a niche market, got MORE EXPENSIVE than colour.
But then people realised black and white offered sharper images (only ONE layer) and more extreme contrast.
However, by now, most labs didn’t even DO it, meaning the only way to release black and white films was on COLOUR stock – which negated both advantages.
So now we have digital projection – resulting in the ability to change and project virtually ANY hue or ratio of image. And in 4K (better yet, 8K) sharpness is not an issue – but can it reproduce those startling, high-contrast images that black and white film offered?
Despite combing the Interweb, I am unable to find out. Nevertheless, it’d be a bold producer who would try it – the population at large now HATE black and white – ironically, thinking it is STILL CHEAP!
This marks the end of a two-hour journey for me. It began as I was in the shower (where I get some of my best ideas) when it suddenly occurred to me that highly religious America had been hornswoggled!
Surely, The Wizard Of Oz was a plea for HUMANISM?
So I checked out the film on both IMDb and Wiki and – NOTHING. Oh, there were theories it could be POLITICALLY allegorical – except they were mostly fallacious.
Then, being pretty familiar with the movie (as I’m assuming YOU are) and aware the book is now public domain, I began searching online for the bit where, in the movie, the wizard is unmasked as a charlatan – but then proceeds to deliver WAY more sense to the protagonists than you would normally expect from Hollywood.
Pure Humanism, in fact.
And I discovered that bit of the book is pretty close to the movie – almost word for word.
So why had no-one ELSE seen what I had?
Well, at that point, I GOOGLED “Wizard Of Oz Humanist” and discovered they HAD.
SEVERAL people. Just no-one who has contributed to IMDb or Wiki.
Ironically, in the past (as Wiki HAD reported) various Christian groups HAVE protested the movie – but they too missed the point completely.
All of which makes The Wizard Of Oz the cleverest “message” movie of all time!
One of Auntie BBC’s more annoying practices is squeezing every last drop out of her successes – particularly the comedy series.
How many have featured a Final Episode – only to get picked up again, the following year? Then again and again…
The old cow can obviously be very seductive when she wants to be – or coercive.
Either way, artists and writers have time and again been persuaded to forgo artistic integrity, in the interests of her ratings.
And thus it has been with Top Gear.
Although said programme has seen a lot of CHANGES since 1977. Thirty-eight years ago it was hosted by newsreader, Angela “Legs” Rippon – and would go on to feature guys like Willie Woollard who would bang on about how many cupholders the latest Ford Disappointment had.
Jeremy Clarkson joined the show in 1988, by which time the format had already changed significantly a number of times.
And it was he who, in 2002, relaunched the show.
It SHOULD have been renamed NEW Top Gear – however, it had a rival in Fifth Gear (where a number of its “serious” presenters had migrated) and MERCHANDISING under the Top Gear name – so the original moniker had to remain.
This turned out to be a millstone around Jeremy’s neck, since even after YEARS of the high-jinks Top Gear has become famous for, some viewers were still grumbling about the lack of serious features.
More worryingly, they were criticising the presenters’ antics – still categorising them as serious REPORTERS. Thus they were chastised for things conventional comedy performers would never have been.
Anyhoo, after numerous “controversies” – which on comedy shows would have passed unnoticed – the death knell was eventually sounded when Jeremy popped a junior producer.
BUT HOW MUCH LONGER WOULD TOP GEAR HAVE LASTED ANYWAY?
As with the matter of discretion (cover-ups) no-one seems to have addressed THIS issue either (see other pieces in these columns). But the fact is, this latest series had barely distinguished itself.
It kicked off with the now-infamous Patagonia Special.
However, in the kerfuffle produced by that blasted NUMBER-PLATE, no-one seems to have noticed that the intended climax would merely have been a game of “car football” – which they have done before. Meanwhile, the bulk of the piece merely trod – with far less interest – the territory the boys had already trod in Africa.
And the references to Butch Cassidy were lame too.
There then followed seven normal episodes where the only memorable happening was Hammond getting the front wheel of his bicycle caught in some tram tracks in St Pete’s – and getting propelled over the handlebars, onto the unforgiving street.
It had mini-cameras on board, which caught the action – but the best bit was the AUDIO. As the Hamster dragged his bruised body and broken techno-bike onto a convenient bit of grass, the noises he made sounded like he was being RAPED (close your eyes while listening to it – hilarious).
However, that was the only good bit in over seven hours of material. And it looked like the highlight of the last three eps would be a race between three supercars – if the manufacturers could get their ducks in a row in time.
So where does this leave us?
Well, Auntie’s stated intention is to assemble the already-filmed bits of the three remaining episodes into something transmittable – WITHOUT Jeremy’s presence. However, given the show is a THREE-man format, I would NOT like to be the editor given THAT job. I suspect that said editor will tell Auntie it is impossible.
Which leaves us with Top Gear 2016 – which Auntie has declared WILL HAPPEN.
Right now, Hammond and May’s contracts are coming up for renewal. And there is more than just Top Gear at stake for them. While the Hamster has done Richard Hammond’s Crash Course (and earlier, the Mythbusters rip-off, Brainiac) – Captain Slow has presented a whole slew of “sciencey” programmes, like his Man Lab.
Therefore, they do NOT want to piss off Auntie.
Meaning they will likely knuckle down and follow Auntie’s bidding; do next year’s Top Gear with a new third presenter – making it with just the two of them would be like Wise appearing without Morecambe.
And the chances of a Top Gear CLONE launching with all three are REMOTE. The cost would be gigantic and the technical backup hard to find. In any case, Auntie owns the format and would SUE if said clone approached the original.
But this will be a gigantic MISTAKE. Top Gear may currently have those FIGURES Auntie loves so much, but the format – in Britain – is FINISHED.
Back in 2009, the producer (the MAIN one, Andy Wilman – not the little prat who caused the “fracas”) said the show was “nearer the end than the beginning” – and that now, his job was “to land this plane with its dignity still intact” – which given it began in 2002 and it is now 2015, means that NOW IS THE TIME.
For some time now, this term has been applied – with some snobbery – to proper PAPER letters.
However, while personal communications are undoubtedly better served by the new electronic media, techies forget that there are still plenty of comms that HAVE to be done on HARD COPY.
Try transferring money or obtaining a replacement passport without it.
Therefore it is problematic that today, mail services are slowly going down the DUMPER.
In Broken Britain, the Royal Mail (est 1516) has predictably been falling apart, ever since they began “privatising” (commercialising) it.
And elsewhere, the story is the same.
These days only “tracked” mail is guaranteed to reach its destination. The question is – when? The tardiness of the services that carry it mean it can get tied up for WEEKS.
Airmail no longer ensures quick delivery.
While land post travels by a series of tramp steamers and donkey carts – meaning international mail sent that way tends to take MONTHS.
And “Prioritaire” helps not a jot.
The only QUICK system involves CARRIERS – but they cost a FORTUNE – and in areas where they are not represented, they often transfer the mail to local services anyway.
Either it has to be recognised that “snail mail” is still ESSENTIAL and must therefore be properly maintained – or banks, organisations and businesses are going to have to begin TRUSTING the security and integrity of electronic mail.
If neither of these things happen, life is just going to continue to get more difficult.
When will Auntie stop falling all over herself apologising to the politically-correct arseholes who treat “Top Gear” as their personal punchbag?
All of the past “incidents” have been nothing more than infantile attempts to test the elasticity of the legs of the afore-mentioned PCAs – who need to get a LIFE. There are more important issues out there.
Has Jeremy been accused of interfering with a schoolboy’s shorts, thirty-five years ago? No.
Has he been accused of serious dishonesty? No.
Did he hit or abuse a woman? No.
The charge is that he delivered a fourpenny one to a MALE producer. And because of this handbags episode, dozens of technicians’ jobs are on the line, the Beeb’s number one export is in doubt – and three hundred and fifty MILLION viewers are without their weekly fix of motoring mayhem.
F’crissakes just give the two GROWN MEN gloves, stick them in a ring and let them sort it out the old-fashioned way.
Although looking at the picture of the alleged producer – a young, fit man who might obliterate the old, doughy comic presenter – perhaps it might be wiser to FINE the multi-millionaire Clarkson a couple of hundred grand and give it to said producer.
Hell, for a couple of hundred grand, Jeremy could take a poke at ME…
Guffawing (there’s a word you don’t hear often these days) a bully strokes a small, bald man on the top of his pate and says, “Cor, this feels just like my wife’s arse!”
The small man momentarily looks puzzled, then stroking his own head, gives a smile of recognition and replies, “You’re right!”
Traditional churches are on the wane. After they grow up and their belief in fairies, goblins and Santa has faded, people increasingly find it harder to hang on to religion.
They realise science has far more and better answers – and that those promises of afterlives are bogus.
Which, given the number of lives that have been lost in the names of these worthless creeds over the centuries – and which continue to be lost today – is a GOOD thing.
However, there is a SECOND reason religions need to be banished to the realm of myth and superstition where they belong.
They try to tell you how to live your life.
What to eat.
What to drink.
When you can work.
How to dress.
What to watch and listen to.
Whether you can use contraception.
Even smoke.
In extreme examples, they try to persuade you to mutilate the genitals of your babies, deny your life-partner and risk your and their health by refusing medical treatment.
And ultimately, some even deny half the population their human rights – all the time filling their adherants with hate for anyone free from their syphilitic belief-system.
Is this what is meant by religious tolerance? Or religious freedom? I do not think so.
So I am starting a NEW religion. No repression, no restriction, no poisonous control.
I am calling it The Holy Church Of It’s Your Life – LIVE It.
Because here, the LIVE feed was also carried by TrueVision’s HD movie channel. And while both were TOUTED as being live, only the local channel actually WAS. The time stamp on the channels showed that the HBO feed was being DELAYED by just over a minute in order to allow HBO to CENSOR it, if necessary.
This has been done, intermittently, for decades (pre-digital, it used to be called “tape delay”). Broadcast delay allows removal of naughty words, wardrobe malfunctions and a host of other things which would be embarrassing if they made it to air.
Although British award recipients generally get around this by using British naughty words that Americans do not understand.
Anyhoo, during the PRE-Oscars, whilst a number of highly sexist interviews made it to air unbowdlerised, thanks to my RECORDING BOTH channels (my PVR can DO that) I discovered that a DISTURBING piece of censorship was present on HBO.
On at least TWO occasions during the Red Carpet section (naturally, I skipped over most of that crap – it would have extended the already three-and-a-half hour saga to an unacceptable SEVEN and a half hours – I would have HUNG myself before it was over) the presenters referred – with NO special emphasis whatsoever – to a MAN as being another man’s HUSBAND (host Neil Patrick Harris’s David Burtka – and Elton John’s David Furnish).
And while sexist cracks about heterosexual relationships were apparently deemed fine – these casual references to gay marriages were EXCISED.
I discovered this by hopping over to the local channel and re-running the bits where the audio had CUT (I primarily watched the HBO channel, since its audio and video quality were marginally better than the local one).
So why was HoBO being Hobophobic? Well, for once such crap could not be blamed on my adopted home, Thailand – their feed was unblemished.
However, in addition to the Land Of Smiles, HBO Asia is also shown in (alphabetical order) Bangladesh, Brunei, Cambodia, China, Hong Kong, India, Indonesia, Macau, Malaysia, Maldives, Mongolia, Myanmar, Nepal, Pakistan, Palau, Papua New Guinea, Philippines, Singapore, South Korea, Sri Lanka, Taiwan and Vietnam.
And I think we can ALL guess which of THOSE countries are retarded enough to have a conniption fit at the very SUGGESTION that A Man Might Lie With Another Man…
The game of Musical Chairs on US TV continues; you have doubtless heard by now that Jon Stewart isretiring from The Daily Show. Who the HELL will take over?
Not John Oliver. After his spell in the chair, he was courted for the one to be vacated by Craig Ferguson on The Late Late Show – which follows Dave Letterman’s (CBS’s) The Late Show (Craig now hosts Celebrity Name Game).
But then HBO gave him a shiny NEW, WEEKLY show (Last Week Tonight) that is currently doing well – its half-hour, once-a-week slot may get extended – and so Craig’s slot will be filled by James Corden (so to speak).
Of course, Jimmy Fallon has taken over Jay Leno’s gig on The Tonight Show – which has resulted in Seth Meyers filling his vacancy on (NBC’s) The Late Show – with Dave’s retiring leaving room for Stephen Colbert – who effectively left HIS show to Larry Wilmore, formerly of The Daily Show – which is where we came in.
DAMN, that’s a lot of seats swapping seats!
And all of this is bad news for those who will MISS Dave and Jon (it is said that many Americans get most of their NEWS from these two men). And even worse news for Comedy Central, with BOTH of their flagship series going down the dumper.
Only time will tell how all of the above shenanigans work out…
Kiefer and his father Donald have mirror-image careers. Donald, thanks to the reciprocal arrangement the actors’ unions of Canada and Britain had in the Sixties, began his on British TV, then graduated to films – while Kiefer began in films and graduated to TV.
And this is not unusual. As Kiefer himself says, the best WRITING these days is being done for television.
But a result of Donald working on British TV in the Sixties was that his son was BORN there – specifically, at St Mary’s Hospital, in Paddington, London.
Ah, St Mary’s – I recall it well; in 1969, I went to its Special Clinic in the basement, to get rid of my first dose of the clap (Kiefer was three, then). The place was ruled by a gay funster who relaxed the more nervous patients (not ME, I was cool) with jokes.
Opposite was a pub called the Fountains Abbey. Like St Mary’s, it was classic Gothic Victorian – and in 1977, I nearly COLLAPSED it. Allow me to explain; by now I was a DJ and ran a weekly Golden Oldie disco in the large music room upstairs.
And one night, as I was playing the Dave Clark Five’s “Glad All Over” I appealed to the audience (about a hundred people) to jump up and down in time to the drum beat.
“I’m feeling – WHOOMP, WHOOMP – glad all over…”
The whole floor bounced up and down alarmingly and I realised the phenomenon whereby marching soldiers are ordered to break step when they cross a bridge was coming into play. Further, I remembered the floor was only held up by skinny poles.
At this point, a sensible person would have faded the record out, made a lame excuse and put “McArthur Park” on. Instead, I yelled out, “AND AGAIN… let’s let the people downstairs know we’re HERE!!”
I figured if we all ended up across the road in St Mary’s A&E, at least ONE tabloid would HAVE to go with “Deejay brings the house down” – and I would be FAMOUS.
What an irresponsible dickhead I was.
But now I am 62. Today, Kiefer is WAY older than his Dad was back then. Indeed, his daughter, Sarah is almost as old. Currently the three form an acting dynasty – three generations – all working.
Meanwhile, St Mary’s (opened 1851) has been expanded, but the original part is still there – as is the Fountains Abbey (orig. est. 1823) – although it’s been smartened up a bit since my day.
According to its web-page, the place is stepped in tradition – I think they mean STEEPED. And apparently, they still hold functions upstairs.
I just hope the deejays avoid playing DC5 records…
Eric and Ernie made four films in all. “The Intelligence Men” in ’65, “That Riviera Touch” in ’66, “The Magnificent Two” in ’67 – and “Night Train To Murder” in ’83.
The first was the best, the second the most popular, the third the worst – and the late addition was really only a TV movie (Thames had promised them they could make movies, during their assault on Auntie which backfired horribly; she got a legal injunction to win back her half of the football league matches – and Eric DIED).
Aside from a missing shot near the start, where the Duke Of Edinburgh gives Eric’s traffic warden a two-finger salute, it appears to be complete.
The film has two interesting features; first – it’s the ONLY example of Ern singing without Eric messing it up. While there is visual comedy during the “Now That You’re Here” sequence – the title track only has graphics to distract from his rendition of it.
This is RARE; doubtless recalling how Martin & Lewis broke up in acrimony – in part because Dino sang and Jerry couldn’t – by mutual agreement, they decided to HIDE the fact that Ernie had one of the hundred best voices in Britain, since he was also half of the SINGLE best double act. A wise choice (did you see what I did there?)
The 45 single of both tracks was DECIMATED by clowning from Eric. But Ern got his revenge later, when Auntie persuaded them to extend their song-and-dance routines to full-on production numbers – which Ernie loved and Eric secretly HATED – he was all about the COMEDY.
The second interesting feature is Paul Stassino as the villain.
Six months earlier, he had played a henchman in “Thunderball” and thus gave his part credibility. A YEAR earlier, the same thing had happened when Gert Fröbe had followed his Auric Goldfinger rôle with a “Crazy Otto” rôle in “Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines” – except that before his startling turn as probably the greatest Bond villain of all time, Gert had been known in Europe AS a comedy actor, unlike Paul, who had almost ALWAYS played villains.
Paul only passed a couple of years ago, at 82 – which coincidentally, is the same age Suzanne Lloyd (the “That Riviera Touch” love interest) is NOW. Gert was German, Paul was Cypriot and Suzanne is Canadian. Title, song and score by Ron Goodwin.
During my lifetime (just) the only British Prime Minister worth a second look was Anthony Eden – and that was for less than two years, in the mid-Fifties.
Since then, they have been a dismal lot.
Furthermore, the current hopefuls for the next Parliament are no better.
Labour; a bloke who looks like a child molester, animated by Nick Park.
Auntie’s errant nephew is a comedian – we all know that. And he and his Top Gear chums love to tweak the noses of the Politically Correct.
There was the Mexican jape (a poke at vintage Mexican stereotypes).
Then came the remark about truck-drivers murdering prostitutes. This was a VERY old reference – to the pre-motorway (US: freeway) days when oft-married lorry drivers (as they were called then) would pick up “mysteries” (female hitch-hiking drifters) and sometimes things would get out of hand…
And more recently, there was the “slope” gag. Yet AGAIN, it was for oldsters – they probably figured only a few old Vietnam vets would get it.
But unfortunately, a publicity- (and money-) seeking actress (it has been reported) decided to get some mileage out of it and blew it up into a major thing.
However, Jeremy’s latest offering nearly got the whole team LYNCHED. The problem arose from the registration plate on the second-hand Porsche 928 he was driving around Patagonia, in South America.
H982 FKL.
While he was in Argentina, a few locals decided it referred to the 1982 (STILL over thirty years ago) Falklands War – which Britain had won – and they had LOST. And pretty soon, those few people become a MOB.
The Boys From The Beeb barely escaped with their lives.
Of course, as usual, Top Gear’s producer claimed it was a coincidence and there had been NO intention to offend. But surely, if that was the case – it ought to be pretty easy to PROVE.
The “H” prefix is correct for the model of car. It ran from 01/08/90 to 31/07/91 – and while the Porsche 928 debuted in 1978, it did not cease production until 1995.
And KL exists, too. It would have been issued in Maidstone, Kent.
Therefore, since deliberately obtaining a vehicle issued with such a plate would have been highly impractical, all the producers need to do is demonstrate that the plate is GENUINE – rather than it having been made up for the shoot.
In short, come up with the Porsche’s registration document.
They would have needed a genuine document to get the vehicle into South America in the first place. And while the car itself had to be abandoned there, Auntie must still have its paperwork SOMEWHERE.
If not, just track down the 928’s original owner – and failing that, challenge anyone to come up with ANOTHER vehicle that has that number, thus demonstrating that the plate used in Argentina was BOGUS.
The plate was only issued fourteen years ago – if it was attached to another car, said car OUGHT to still LIVE.
So come on Top Gear; if this was GENUINELY NOT another of your off-colour jokes, aimed at guys as old as you are – then PROVE IT!!
A quote from a certain British newspaper… “Both complainants admit to having initiated consensual sexual relations with Mr Assange. They do not complain of any physical injury. The first complainant did not make a complaint for six days (in which she hosted the respondent in her flat [actually her bed] and spoke in the warmest terms about him to her friends) until she discovered he had spent the night with the other complainant. The second complainant, too, failed to complain for several days until she found out about the first complainant: she claimed that after several acts of consensual sexual intercourse, she fell half asleep and thinks that he ejaculated without using a condom – a possibility about which she says they joked afterwards. Both complainants say they did not report him to the police for prosecution but only to require him to have an STD test. However, his Swedish lawyer has been shown evidence of their text messages which indicate that they were concerned to obtain money by going to a tabloid newspaper and were motivated by other matters including a desire for revenge.”
Well, at least if a REAL crime occurs in the neighbourhood of London’s Ecuadorean embassy – people know where they can find a couple of cops with nothing important to do.
Back at the beginning of the Eighties, in series like “Moonlighting” and “Hill Street Blues”, a major CHANGE took place in American TV drama series; the previously-disregarded writers became PRODUCERS – and began taking over the shows.
Suddenly, stories began developing (arcs) over a number of episodes – even whole seasons – something which had previously only happened in soaps.
Furthermore, if the writers got bored with even a MAJOR character (or the actor’s wage demands grew too big) – they were HISTORY. And recently, this has begun to happen a LOT more often. But it is the TECHNIQUE now being used which is what the piece you are reading is about.
The thing is, thanks to CGI, a while back it became possible to COMPREHENSIVELY WHACK an actor. I mean, they now casually step into the street and get clobbered by a BUS.
In the past, if you wanted to write out a character in this manner, you had to employ an expensive stunt team. The driver of a car would drive at a sedate speed down the street, while a heavily padded double for the actor would roll gracefully over the car’s bonnet, bounce off the windscreen as the driver braked – then roll back down the bonnet and land sprawled on the road, facing away from the camera.
HIGHLY unconvincing.
But now, thanks to Digital, the actor THEMSELF gets nailed – and by a vehicle they could not POSSIBLY avoid being KILLED by.
With modern tech, the trick is actually pretty simple – and CHEAP. It consists of digitally compositing three elements. (1) the actor walks into the street – then moves out of shot (2) with the camera still rolling, the bus, truck, trolley, train, whatever, drives over the spot – at SPEED – then (3) back in the studio, the “in-between” shot is recorded against a green-screen.
If the actor is fit, a harness is strapped to them – they then pose in the position they were in on that street shot (the director lines them up with the playback) – and when said director shouts “action” – three burly grips YANK said actor off their feet onto some mattresses, in the direction the vehicle would have knocked them.
A few takes for safety and there it is. The post-production SFX people then composite the three elements together on their computer and that character is dramatically and spectacularly REMOVED.
So, actors – if you want to remain in employment – LOOK BOTH WAYS BEFORE CROSSING!
If you are one of the handful of subscribers I have, you might have wondered if I had DIED. Well – not quite. However, things have been more than FRAUGHT, this last two months. And you might find the salutary story entertaining, informative – or even both.
When we are young, we are all told how Promotion will be an important part of our careers, giving us increased status and MONEY. However, we are NOT told the MAIN reason we will need it – which is to give us the CHANGE in our duties that will enable us to avoid a BREAKDOWN.
So, bearing all of THAT in mind, what is the secret of SIDE-STEPPING the ordeal?
The thing is, basically ALL companies and organisations are structured as Pyramids and while Robert Morse managed to make climbing from the bottom to the top look easy in the stage and film musical, “How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying” – the reality is a bit more daunting.
In the first place, with most companies and organisations, there is a distinct SPLIT in those pyramids, about half-way up. Like in the military, the top is filled with officers – while the bottom is occupied by “other ranks”.
Which means if you join as a Private – you will NOT end up as the Field Marshall. At best, you may rise to be a non-commissioned officer (like a Sergeant Major).
To end up as brass, you have to JOIN as brass (like an Officer Cadet).
And the same is true in the commercial sector. J Pierrepont Finch may have risen from Window Cleaner to Chairman Of The Board (and possibly on to POTUS) in HTSIBWRT – but in the real World, the COTB would have started no lower than middle management.
But to get ANY promotion, people are faced with that damned PYRAMID – which by dint of simple NUMBERS, guarantees MOST people remain where they ARE.
Let us go back to the blasted military: a Corporal will generally control around ten Privates – a Sergeant, about three Corporals – and a Sergeant Major, maybe five to ten Sergeants. Thus it can be seen immediately that any grunt seeking SM stripes will have to pass HUNDREDS of his peers to acquire them.
And it is the same all over; lots of Indians – far fewer Chiefs.
All of which means that to avoid that MELTDOWN after a decade or so, if you cannot go UP – you need to get OUT.
But how does a burned-out, un-promoted worker achieve a radical CHANGE in their career? If they are only experienced in one thing – they are only worth money DOING it. Plus no employer wants a MATURE person in a trainee job. They want an eager YOUNGSTER.
The fact is, given those NUMBERS – the MAJORITY of any nation’s workforce these days are SCREWED. Apart from the TINY percentage that are lucky enough to climb The Ladder – the rest either face a monumental spirit-busting CRACK-UP …or acute POVERTY (those financial wizards who just walk away – and become pig farmers).
However, there IS an ANSWER. And back in the Seventies, VOLVO came UP with it.
In those days, Ford, GM and the like would put their workers on The Line – doing the same TINY job over and over and over and… until they fell apart. Then they would transfer them to lower-earning piecework.
But Volvo – who made cars up to a quality, rather than down to a price – spent a little MONEY, training their workers to do LOTS of jobs. Then they would MOVE THEM AROUND regularly. This constant changing of jobs meant that said workers received the Change that Is As Good As A Rest.
The result was WAY less stressed-out workers – and better-made cars.
And THAT is the ONLY way to prevent WORK from becoming a RAT-RACE. Some day, automation will replace it and people will finally be able to ENJOY LIFE. But until then, employers need to DO something – like what Volvo did.
If not, things will get a whole lot WORSE, before they get any better.
One of the by-products of Political Correctness is that these days, when two people decide to get spliced, rather than just throw her surname down the dumper – they get hyphenated (settle down!)
However, despite the laudable motives behind this trend, it does present a SNAG.
Let us 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, they produce a son, John Smith-Jones (or John Jones-Smith) and he 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 Jack or Jane Beauchamp-Cholmondsley-Wildegoose-Fazackerley?
Surely now, SOME of those names are going to have to GO. But which? How do they decide? Flip a coin? Many times?
THIS IS ONLY for those who are UP TO DATE with this series. If you are watching it in syndication – SPOILERS AHEAD!
So, now that Brody has breathed his last, what next for this series? Well, going on the first two eps of Season Four, it will be fine.
Brody and Carrie were never going to end up in a rose-covered cottage, were they?
Even if they had, the series would have been over.
And as for Carrie settling down with the product of their union – well, she nearly DROWNED the brat in ep 2.
No, Carrie is an adrenalin junkie. She NEEDS all that strife.
And in terms of carrying the series, Claire Danes still has plenty of support. Rupert Friend is now to the fore (ANOTHER British actor playing an American) – how long will it be before THEY link up? Plus the reliable Mandy Patinkin has depth (so long as they do not let him SING). And even former “House Of Cards” co-star Corey Stoll popped in for the season-opener.
Further, Indian actor Suraj Sharma (who starred in the extraordinary “Life Of Pi”) is introduced as a non-terrorist Arab, who just wants to get on with his life.
But in THIS show, we can be sure he will not be allowed to.
All of those, plus a tortuous new plot involving swops of secrets and the usual skullduggery – and with our hard-pressed Carrie now running under the unwanted monicker of “The Drone Queen” – convinces this reviewer that “Homeland” Season Four will MORE than live up to the previous three.
And with “The Blacklist” as strong as ever – and the new “Scorpion” showing promise (if they can stop those annoying plot absurdities; like if planes’ computers went down, the pilots would just land their aircraft the old-fashioned way – and if you stood up in a Ferrari doing 200 mph, you would be blown over the boot – and this week’s bomb could CLEARLY have been disabled by just cutting all the wires to the detonators) – this Autumn promises to be another corker, US TV drama-wise.
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 does not have all day, so let us 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 would make dating WAY easier). Perhaps it is buried in a nugget in one of the areas of the brain scientists still know little about. Maybe it is networked throughout the organ. We do not 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 will 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 is not at least 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 is going to get the most responses? The humdrum guy, that is who. He is compatible with half the women on the PLANET, while Mensa-man will still be looking for HIS soul-mate when he is NINETY.
But let us forget those extremes and give compatibility odds of ten-to-one. However, since The Chemistry Of Love has squat 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 are in love – you are NOT. If you are, you will KNOW. It is like a man having to ask himself if the Thai girl he is dating is really a GIRL. If he needs to ask, she is NOT.
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 Rover – had SHATTERED.
But aside from this one somewhat corny case, if Love is not there within the first five minutes – it never will be. So if, within that first five minutes, you do not want to Get A Room – make your excuses and LEAVE. You still have another SEVEN HUNDRED AND FORTY NINE DATES TO GO!
Elsewhere in this column, I have waxed lyrically on the corruption of governments, re “vaping” – and the absurdity of offensive pictures on cigarette packets.
Not much has happened since my piece on vaping; governments continue to BAN it, while LYING about its comparative safety, being content to allow countless millions to continue to DIE from the effects of tobacco – provided they can continue to glom billions in TAX from it.
The only thing I can add is that if sanity comes from anywhere, it may well begin with nations whose governments do not rely on tobacco tax for their survival – like island states, whose main revenue comes from TOURISM.
If they legalised, regulated and actively PROMOTED vaping, it might actually SAVE them money – given the resultant drop in smoking-related health issues, among their indigenous populations.
Then, as the advance from smoking tobacco to vaping SPREAD – complete with the health benefits – governments dependent on tobacco tax would find it increasingly difficult to JUSTIFY banning it.
But government bullsh*t takes a while to dissipate – and finding alternate, HIDDEN ways of raising that much revenue would be difficult. Therefore I doubt if vaping will supplant traditional cigarettes World-wide, in what is left of MY lifetime.
However, you may rest assured that with the Interweb making purchasing easy, THIS author will certainly be trying e-fags in the near future.
Which brings me to the latest silliness on those offensive pictures on the packets; as I have mentioned before, the Thai government are more interested in being SEEN to act, than actually making a difference. And so in this spirit, they have just launched their latest crop of cigarette-pack pictures.
This time, they occupy nearly 90% of the pack-fronts, instead of the former 60%. And as before, they mostly show rotting bits of person (although ONE looks like a rejected extra from “The Walking Dead”).
But ALSO as before, a couple are unintentionally HILARIOUS. GONE now, is the lout puffing obviously-fake smoke in his baby’s face – and IN come THESE two…
Where the label that should be attached to his big toe has gone, I cannot say. But at least his skin is a nice, healthy colour. However, I have saved the BEST until last…
I gather this one has had people WETTING themselves laughing!!
Although having been a smoker for over forty years now – at sixty-two, I can confirm that Captain Cucumber (am I sharing too much?) is STILL as sturdy as EVER.
Incredibly, due to a musicians’ strike at the time, Dooley Wilson NEVER RECORDED IT. He didn’t play the piano in the film, either! A drummer and vocalist, his piano-playing was done by a pianist, just off-camera.
Because of the strike (which lasted for TWO YEARS, with some companies) Warner released an earlier version by another vocalist – and by the time it ended, the window was GONE.
Only when Woody Allen revived interest in “Casablanca” (and other Bogart movies) in his movie, “Play It Again, Sam” (1972) did interest in the number return.
Unfortunately, since Dooley had been dead for twenty years by then, the only thing that could be released was a single that compiled audio-clips from the movie.
So Dooley Wilson’s “As Time Goes By” remains the massive hit that NEVER WAS, covered by everyone – except the man who made it famous.
You may have noticed recently, how a number of long-running, popular American TV series have been winding up – and there are several more to follow. But these days, Final Episodes are CHANGING.
Of course, these series were LUCKY enough to GET one. While some are allowed to live out their natural life-span and end in a planned, dignified manner – others just get ignominiously CANCELLED.
But while series like “Friends”, “Frasier”, “Star Trek: Voyager”, “Monk” and “Fringe” for the most part tidied UP their storylines in their Final Episodes – more recent series like “How I Met Your Mother” and “Dexter” have not been so lucky.
And this is solely down to the WRITING.
A quick history lesson; Back In The Good Old Days – with the exception of soaps – series episodes followed the basic three-act rule. Each one had a beginning, middle and end – with a single story being told and resolved in just fifty minutes.
However, the turn of the Eighties brought CHANGE. Series like “Hill Street Blues” and the seminal “Moonlighting” were OWNED by the writers (they all became “producers”) and they decided to spread their creative wings.
No longer would episodes be self-contained and LIMITED. Now, storylines and characters would “arc” over a NUMBER of episodes – even whole seasons.
And suddenly, the old “well, nothing bad will happen to him/her – he’s/she’s a major character” tradition was SHATTERED. If a character was getting old – creatively-speaking – they were GONE.
Likewise, if a new character popped up whom the writers believed had possibilities, they might well get promoted to cast-regular.
All of which was problematic for networks showing these series in syndication – they now had to show them in the CORRECT ORDER.
But the programme-makers cared little for that – most of the income from TV series derives from the original home-country screenings.
And provided episodes WERE shown in the right order, viewers the World over were delighted. OUT went conventional, predictable TV fare – and IN came complex, fully-developed series where ANYTHING might happen; “The Blacklist”, “Homeland”, “Under The Dome”, “House Of Cards”, etc.
However, there is a CATCH. More history; “Von Ryan’s Express” was a Sixties pan-European WW2 movie, featuring Frank Sinatra. You may remember the ending; Von Ryan doesn’t make his train.
In the original draft, he DID – but Frank was having none of it. Given his character’s deeds in the story, he decided its ending as scripted was too “cute” and CHANGED it (he had the power to insist) – and so it was.
Earlier history; “Gilda” was a Forties film noir which REEKED of implied and actual sado-masochism. Despite that SONG in the middle (the CLIP that is always played) the rest of the movie is GRIM.
And thus it features an absurd “cop-out” ending that was obviously intended to get it past the CENSOR – but which nobody really BOUGHT.
Nevertheless, that dumb ending still DAMAGED the movie’s credibility – and had Sinatra not had his way, “Von Ryan’s Express” would have gone the same way.
And so it can be seen why writers now finally FREED from the conventions of one-hour-storytelling would INEVITABLY REJECT the convention of a Happy Hollywood Ending, when it came to COMPLETING these series.
Therefore, if we WANT series EPISODES that buck tradition, we have no choice but to accept the FINAL Episodes – that do LIKEWISE.
A tip from one who is THERE… by the time you have entered your Fourth Quarter (assuming you have been paying attention) you should have learned all you needed to, experienced all you wanted to – and achieved all you are ever likely to.
It was recorded – in STEREO – in 1963, with a small orchestra, for a Richard Williams animation that never happened. Richard (no relation to Kenneth) like most cartoonists, prefers to record the audio first, then match the animation to it.
But when the project foundered, Kenneth’s extraordinary reading of Nikolai Gogol’s 1835 short story, detailing as it does – in the first person – a man’s descent into schizoid paranoia, REMAINED.
I first encountered it twenty years ago, while driving alone very late at night, across a desolate Scottish moor. I turned on the stereo radio’s scanner and suddenly, a voice I immediately recognised filled the car.
The piece soon reached the part where Poprishchin COMPLETELY LOSES it and Kenneth’s insane cackling – with echo – FLEW around my head. It was a bizarre experience.
A while back, I tried to find it on the Interweb. It was available, but being twenty-eight minutes long, only as a “torrent” – and a right pain in the arse THEY are.
But eventually I managed to capture the work and as YouTube were by then allowing longer uploads – to save others the aggravation, I put it up into the Public Domain.
The caps in the title do not denote the IMPORTANCE of the word – rather, simply that it is an acronym (as the lower-case “s” should demonstrate).
It is a follow-on from the more famous, semi-acronymic (it’s a word) Yuppie – which, depending on which magazine you read back in the Eighties, either stood for Young, Upwardly-mobile Person – or Young Urban Professional.
That word begat DINKY – Double-Income, No Kids Yet – which in turn has now given us DINKER – Double-Income, No Kids, Early Retirement.
And this is a route which increasingly more Western couples are travelling.
Elsewhere in these scribblings, this writer has detailed the pros and cons of having kids. Pros: they do and say cute things and give you the chance to create and mould new lives. Cons: they push the woman’s mind (temporarily) and body (permanently) out of shape, wreck your sex and social lives – and (unless you are RICH) condemn you to eternal poverty (for THAT piece, click on https://morpheusatloppers.wordpress.com/2009/06/15/morpheus-on-a-life-without-children/).
But DINKER gives you an alternative to all of that.
Even two mediocre wages should, when added together, give you the ability to divert several grand a year into an offshore investment portfolio. Or a land-based pension account.
The first of these will give you about 6% per annum. The second, nearly as much – and usually tax-free (most governments look kindly upon “private” pensions).
With either of these, just a FEW grand a year will, with compound interest, amount to a MASSIVE sum in as little as twenty years.
And while your money may be tied up for that time, at least YOU can decide when you GET it. Right now, most governments are using bogus figures that ignore historical infant mortality rates to DELAY payment of government state pensions, trying to kid twenty-somethings that they will live to a hundred.
However, having your OWN pension, you CAN retire at fifty – with the government state pension kicking in later, to cover inflation.
Forget COMPANY pensions – companies mismanage them – or just go belly-up.
Some even find ways to fire employees just before their entitlement begins (it is not unknown for them to hire a PI as a security consultant – who then hires a prostitute to join the company as a temp – who in turn seduces the employee – then cries rape, allowing the company to fire the employee for sexual misconduct. It happens).
But with your money safely stashed away in a PRIVATE pension account – YOU can seduce the BOSS. Or just take a dump on his desk.
So it is your choice…
(1) Have kids and spend the rest of your life in poverty – hoping you will live long enough to REACH retirement.
(2) On your fiftieth birthday, tell the boss where to STICK his job – and jump on a plane to a low-economy island paradise.
This writer is well aware that many of his readers are AMERICAN, while he is British.
And while both Americans and Brits are well familiar with David Frost and Millicent Martin – the VERSIONS we got were highly dissimilar.
To Americans, David Frost was that guy who interviewed all those celebrities in the Seventies – then NIXON. And Millicent Martin was a Broadway musical star – and latterly, a recurring guest on “Frasier”.
But the BRITISH experience of these two was TOTALLY different…
David Frost (“Frostie” to us Brits) rose through academia via the Cambridge Footlights to head the early-Sixties satirical movement.
Beginning in Autumn ’62 and running for two seasons, “That Was The Week, That Was” (“TW3”) was the forerunner of all British satirical TV programmes that followed – TO THIS DAY.
But Frostie really wanted to be a PERFORMER. While his forté lay in interviewing politicians, he surrounded himself with comedy performers and tried to blend in.
Meanwhile, Millicent Martin (“Millie”) was a cute singer/actress who appeared on TW3, in films (Mike Caine nails her in the opening sequence of “Alfie” [’65] – you might recall those steamed-up car windows) – plus she did a lot of TV spots.
But these last proved to be her DOWNFALL; having recorded a large number of appearances on various variety shows over a period of several months – it was her ill fortune that they ALL aired within a few weeks of each other. People complained that every time you turned on your ruddy telly – there she was AGAIN!
And so she went to America – and the rest is history (at least, to American theatre-goers).
Anyhoo – to enable Americans to enjoy the EARLIER, BRITISH aspect of these two people, here are some links. First comes the TW3 RECORD…
Then some bits from a kine of its LAST episode (’63 – it was supposed to return in ’64, but was cancelled [to avoid “bias”] as it would have coincided with the run-up to an election – but it had ruffled SO many feathers, it was NEVER coming back. It was tried in America instead, but never caught on).
It includes a reprise of a BITING statement on America’s racial strife (and includes several “secondary” members of the Black And White Minstrels) – plus they SHRED the then-Home Secretary – then come a couple of sketches – and the CHAOTIC finale (watch it until the very END).
A few years later, a drug-addled con-man called Emil Savundra unwisely decided to take Frostie on, in what became known as Trial By Television. A very POLITE Frostie (he was LITERALLY the son of a preacher man) DEMOLISHED him – again, LIVE.
In two parts (YouTube’s existing system when this author uploaded it) this is yet ANOTHER example of cutting-edge British TV in the Sixties.
The Bösendorfer is the Rolls-Royce of pianos. Its detractors might argue it’s the Cadillac – but I love ’em.
Particularly the ones with the EXTRA NOTES.
The company has been making superb pianos for nearly two centuries (if you want to see a classic example, hit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szHPfZConWk) and the ones with those extra notes, for about half that time.
You see, standard pianos have eighty-eight notes (but then you didn’t need me to tell you that). However, Bösendorfer‘s Imperial model (known colloquially as “the 290”) has NINETY-SEVEN – a full eight octaves.
The extra notes are at the BOTTOM – and when played individually, sound awful. But when played as part of a chord – or in concert with other notes – they add DEPTH to the overall sound.
Furthermore, they resonate with the harmonics above, giving yet more balls to the sound.
But since players rely on the standard eighty-eight layout as a reference, the early models featured a removable or hinged flap, to cover the extra notes – while in later years, they were negative-coloured (the white notes were black and vice versa).
Which didn’t help Ray Charles or George Shearing.
Anyhow, this (admittedly somewhat nerdy) piece isn’t about either of those guys – it’s about Oscar Peterson and Count Basie.
Bösendorfer are quite happy to ship their pianos to concerts – and many virtuosos take advantage of that service. But Oscar always had his OWN.
And back in the Sixties, he was doing a LIVE television concert, upon which Count Basie was guesting.
So at the appointed time, Oscar introduced his guest – exchanged a little by-play – then went off into the wings while Bill sat down to play.
But the piano was Oscar’s Bösendorfer – in those days, one of the earlier ones with the removable flap – and Oscar had forgotten to REPLACE it.
Thus his AMAZEMENT when the great man began playing “misses” (wrong or bum notes, to you and me) was quickly replaced with HORROR when he realised WHY.
Now Bill was the sweetest, gentlest man you could ever have wished to meet – but Oscar gave him a LONG time to cool down after THAT one!
These days, if you ask a hundred people In The Street to name three Third World countries, they will all come up with ones like Burundi, Haiti and Somalia (if you LIVE in one of those countries, I am sorry – that you live in one of those countries).
On the other hand, ask another hundred to name three First World countries and most will name the likes of America, Japan – and any country in Western Europe.
But if you ask yet another hundred to name three SECOND World countries – they will generally look puzzled.
Although some smart-arses might pick countries like China, Thailand or Brazil; their thinking being that since First World countries are “developed” – and Third World countries are “undeveloped” – then Second World countries must be developING.
However, those smart-arses would be WRONG.
Originally, the term Third World country had nothing to DO with a country’s level of development – it was POLITICAL.
Back in the days of the Cold War, a system evolved where all of the countries in the World had to pick a side, between America (NATO: the First World) and Russia (the Communist Bloc: the Second World).
And those who shunned BOTH were termed – the Third World.
Of course, since America and Russia THEMSELVES effectively did the picking (AND changed their minds when it suited them) the countries passed over were inevitably the ones neither WANTED – which were invariably those without money, resources or geographical relevance.
But with the Cold War having long ago been WON by America (they CHEATED) those political alignments have now become fuzzy, anachronistic and largely irrelevant.
Thus the expression Third World country survives only as a damning indictment of those lands that civilisation forgot. I.e. – any rat-infested sh*t-hole of a country that is definitely NOT on your list of holiday destinations.
But reverting back to the TRUE meaning of the Third World, it is amusing to note that technically – it being determinedly neutral – SWITZERLAND is a Third World country.
Consider THAT – the next time you pay for a cup of coffee in Zürich…
When Giuseppe Verdi’s remains were driven through Milan to his final resting place, the crowd sang “The Chorus Of The Hebrew Slaves” – but when Maggie Thatcher was shlepped through London to hers, four thousand cops prevented THAT crowd from singing, “Ding, Dong, The Witch Is Dead!”
Well, first we need to consider the FINANCIAL dimension. Nowhere in the VAST field of governmental corruption, lies and bullsh*t will you find more HYPOCRISY than when they address the issue of CIGARETTES.
Whilst wagging their fingers at us and droning on about health and safety – they rip us off for LITERALLY up to ONE THOUSAND PERCENT TAX, for what is a HIGHLY ADDICTIVE HABIT.
The MAFIA is the only other organisation that comes CLOSE to this level of blatant EXTORTION.
But while there are ways AROUND this injustice, this writer has already DEALT with those elsewhere in these ramblings – so let us move on. THIS piece is about those ALTERNATIVES.
First and most obvious comes the PIPE. But it still requires TOBACCO – and as an Alternate Delivery System, it has NO advantages and plenty of disadvantages. Plus you look a PRAT with one stuck in your mouth – this is not the Fifties.
Although if you REALLY want to go back in time, there is always SNUFF. It is still widely available – you do not even have to find a tobacconist (when did you last see one of THOSE?) as it can easily be obtained online – and has many advantages.
It is CHEAP, comes in a myriad of flavours, is far healthier than smoking – and you can nip into any loo and partake. Okay, it is a bit DISGUSTING – but if you can get into it, it IS a viable alternative. And these days, it is getting POPULAR.
Next come nicotine patches and chewing gum.
Both of these systems are sold as aids to GIVING UP smoking – no company has ever promoted them as an ALTERNATIVE.
Nevertheless, it has to be MORE THAN A COINCIDENCE that the COST of these Alternate Delivery Systems is EXACTLY the same as tobacco, when you allow for the nicotine contents.
Government corruption meets corporate greed.
They HAVE to have gotten together on this – perhaps in Smoke-Filled Rooms?
Anyhoo – let us examine them as Alternate Delivery Systems. Nicotine patches ARE a much safer Delivery System than tobacco. They can also be worn in secret, therefore bypassing the draconian bullsh*t anti-smoking regulations that abound today. You can wear one whilst reading The Lesson, in Church.
They are not without their disadvantages however. You need to stick them on an area of your body that is HAIRLESS, or they inflame your hair roots. In this reporter’s case, that would be on the top of his HEAD.
Plus they cause the skin to pucker – like when you sit in a BATH too long – where the sponge containing the nicotine contacts it. This requires that you re-site it every day.
Also, while retaining the nicotine high – you STILL need to have the occasional cigarette to supplement it. This of course is FROWNED on, but when you do it – it feels like it USED to, before your system became inured to the substance.
And so, if HEALTH is your issue, rather than COST – nicotine patches are a viable alternative. So long as you choose the highest content one available, you will find you can go for HOURS without a smoke (useful if you work indoors or travel on public transport) and the five or six REAL fags you will need – will taste like HEAVEN.
Nicotine chewing gum tastes like shit and is utterly unrewarding. Moving on…
VAPING.
This is the word that has been adopted by its devotees. E-cigarettes are generally NOT promoted as aids to giving up smoking – but as an actual Alternate Delivery System.
And it has governments in a MUCK SWEAT.
Although the technology has been around since the early Sixties, it has only recently become practical due to advances in BATTERY TECHNOLOGY.
It has the advantage of being LIKE smoking – but with water vapour being produced, instead of smoke. Thus it is far less offensive to non-smokers and far healthier for the vaper.
Some forward-looking COMPANIES have already approved the practice, in their buildings – as it has no financial downside for them. And whilst most airlines do not permit it, the vapour does not set off the toilet smoke detectors – so natch.
But like syldenafil citrate (see elsewhere in these scribblings) governments have no clue how to DEAL with it. In the last couple of years, it has taken off like a ROCKET – 50,000 sold in 2008, 3,500,000 in 2012 and NO-ONE KNOWS, today – threatening to REPLACE conventional smoking. And since the kits come mostly from CHINA, many people obtain them ONLINE – thus CIRCUMVENTING GOVERNMENT TAXES.
And so, some governments have BANNED it, citing health risks. However, since all SERIOUS research into e-cigarettes has concluded that the complete OPPOSITE is the case, their argument lacks conviction. Rather, just more governmental corruption, lies and bullsh*t.
Here in Thailand, all cigarettes are made by a government monopoly. They are VERY cheap by western standards – but still carry a 100% TAX. Therefore (predictably) THIS government has joined the prohibitors.
However, with said government currently being occupied by far more important problems – and with China being fairly close – and with conventional cigarettes still costing plenty, by Thai standards (smuggling is RIFE) – and given the damage that conventional cigarettes do to small, Thai men – and with anti-smoking regulations having recently been introduced (as usual, they have COPIED western practices) – one wonders how long it will be before vaping seriously catches on HERE.
This author has not tried vaping yet – but with AGE fast catching up on him, he would be MORE than interested in a viable alternative to tobacco. He is way too old to GIVE UP the drug – so a practical alternative would be MORE than welcome for HIM.
Cigarette smokers have long become RESIGNED to the extortionate taxes they pay for enjoying their habit – and have even accepted the BIGOTRY, SEGREGATION and ABUSE dealt out to them on a daily basis (try that on a racial minority and there would be RIOTS). But vaping is a game-changer.
While governments have long relied on people’s addiction to tobacco to raise massive TAXES – and with e-cigarettes, sold on the Interweb, being able to cut them OUT of the loop – and with research calling them LIARS, when they claim the practice is dangerous – they are between a rock and a hard place.
Of course, commonsense would suggest that the move from cigarettes to vaping would likely be gradual – at least over a few years – thus governments would only need to shift the focus of taxation GRADUALLY, to compensate. But then, when did the words “governments” and “commonsense” ever go together?
It will be interesting to see how this plays out…
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Footnote: now that marijuana is slowly (and belatedly) beginning to be legalised, one wonders whether tetrahydrocannabinol (AKA: THC) – the active ingredient of hash – could be added to (or for non-smokers, replace) the nicotine in e-cigarettes’ liquids?
Of course, stoners already HAVE an alternative delivery system, in the form of “hash brownies” – but for traditionalists…
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Update: it has now come to the attention of this writer that a number of big tobacco companies have BOUGHT UP a number of e-cigarette manufacturers – which would appear to be a case of “if you can’t beat ’em – BUY ’em.” And that – as Mr Holmes might well have opined – is instructive.
For while governments vacillate, the public are moving ahead regardless.
And whether e-cigarettes are legal, illegal or a “grey area” in a particular country – online shopping has made the purchase of them easy EVERYWHERE. We are now living in a Global Village, where local “niggles” can be ignored.
Thus use of e-cigarettes is currently QUADRUPLING every year. Therefore, while e-cigarettes might only have made a tiny inroad into the smoking community right now – this exponential growth could CHANGE all that.
Of course, EVERYONE is familiar with the MOST famous: the 1964 Aston-Martin DB5 (with a few lethal modifications) from “Goldfinger” (and the pre-title sequence from “Thunderball”) – which looks like THIS…
But what of the SECOND? This article will attempt to settle the matter…
A strong contender would be another Sixties icon – the TV Batmobile. Incredibly, it began as a FIFTIES concept car, called the Lincoln Futura. Only one example was ever built and after featuring in a soppy rom-com, it ended up in the backyard of George Barris – a car customiser. When new, it had looked like this…
But after just a couple of weeks, George had turned it into THIS…
Pretty cool, huh?
But wait – there are OTHER candidates. Yet again, from the Sixties (sorry, but it’s my era) comes Lady Penelope’s “FAB 1” – which looks like THIS…
OH, yes. But my personal favourite HAS to be a car I have actually SEEN – and more importantly, HEARD. I am talking of John Dodd’s “The Beast”. Powered by a twenty-seven litre, supercharged V12 Rolls-Royce Merlin engine, it looks like THIS…
I encountered it in 1972. It was lunchtime and I was on foot, headed for Fleet Street for some reason – and as I passed the Law Courts, there it was. Parked right outside, surrounded by press. And just at that moment, a dejected-looking man strode out and spoke to the reporters – then he got into the car, fired it up and when a gap appeared in the traffic, ROARED off.
I had NEVER heard a noise like it.
And having listened in to his press conference, I had discovered the reason for his disgruntlement. It is a long story, which I will now tell you…
I will begin with the incident that sparked this forty-two-year-old memory. In a recent e-mail, my son happened to mention that he had been zapped by his Lister engine. I immediately e-mailed back, “WHAT? You’ve bought a LISTER??”
Now for those unfamiliar, I should mention that a modern 546-horsepower Lister looks like THIS…
…and costs a pretty penny. However – tragically, it turned out that my son’s Lister looked like THIS…
It is a 1.5-horsepower industrial engine, made by RA Lister – a company unrelated to the Lister Motor Company, who make the car shown above it.
In my response, I joked, “Well, if you ever put it in a car – don’t put ‘Lister’ on the radiator grill!”
Which brings me back to John Dodd and his Beast…
As you can see from the above picture of FAB 1, that car sports a Rolls-Royce radiator grill – aggressively tilted forward, to boot. And one suspects the only reason Gerry Anderson got permission to use it (something Jonathan Frakes FAILED to manage, when he made the MODERN Thunderbirds film) was that Aston had BLOWN THEIR chance of a ton of free publicity, when they got snotty about Eon prods using their DB5 – in what would turn out to be a LEGENDARY film.
However, when John put the engine that won WW2 (it powered the Hurricanes and Spitfires) in a glass-fibre-bodied sports car and plonked a Rolls-Royce grill on the front – RR immediately SUED. And John LOST. The car now sports a non-descript grill with “JD” on it.
Which is a damn shame, because it is a MAGNIFICENT vehicle.
I have seen Concorde take off in the rain.
And an Intercity 125 fly through a little station.
But back in ’72, when I saw John turn that key – and heard twenty-seven litres of supercharged V12 Merlin POWERING into life…
The car still exists and so does Mr Dodd. He has retired to Spain now – but still occasionally exhibits The Beast. He has even shopped in it (it turns heads). But he keeps those trips to a minimum, given it drinks a gallon of fuel every MINUTE.
Sadly, the only video of this stentorian automobile is a VERY EARLY “Top Gear” piece. It is deeply awful, but briefly shows MY encounter with it (outside that court) and you can JUST ABOUT hear (over the inane babble of the presenter) the most MAGNIFICENT noise I personally have EVER heard.
I would appeal to Top Gear to do a NEW feature on The Beast – before Jeremy finally pisses off so many people that Auntie HAS to give her errant nephew the BOOT.
People in the UK occasionally ask me why I chose to retire to Thailand.
Well, apart from the friendly people, gorgeous women, cigarettes that cost a TENTH of those back in Blighty and the fact it doesn’t drizzle with rain all day, EVERY day – I would point to the HOUSING here.
Whilst it’s true that in the outlying regions, some still live in boxes on stilts – I live in a high-ceilinged, three-bedroomed, split-level bungalow, with a large L-shaped living room, a kitchen, two full bathrooms, a verandah with a balustrade, a rear patio with a sauna, a roofed car-port and a large garden with three trees.
Throw in an infinity pool and in the UK, you’d pay two thousand pounds a week for all that. But here in The Land Of Smiles, I pay less than two thousand a YEAR – or about eighteen pounds a week.
In the UK, eighteen quid a week would get me a SHED, in GWENT.
The downside of committing your outpourings to the Interweb, as opposed to writing a book is – no MONEY.
However, it has its upside too. Like you don’t have to have a tree killed. And whereas with a book, once you send your œuvre to the printers that’s IT – with an online book, you can MODIFY it.
Of course, there is no practical way you can contact those who read the “before” version and inform them of your update to it – but at least NEW readers will benefit from your latest inspiration. Hooray.
And so it was that I recently added a chapter to “Love, Sex & Relationships… the whole damn thing online” (which is the expanded, updated version of my 1994 book, “Love, Sex & Relationships… the whole damn thing in a book” – no-one buys books anymore anyhow).
While age, race, creed, colour, politics and so on are – in combination – vital areas of compatibility, the most important overall is alpha-beta.
There are two kinds of people in this World – alphas and betas. Those who lead and those who are led. Those who zip through the traffic and those who ARE the traffic.
And in any relationship, one partner will generally lead – the other follow. This difference may be minimal or totally define the relationship.
It matters not WHO is the alpha – many relationships thrive where the woman wears the trousers (although in public, for appearance sake, she may pretend to be submissive) – but most unions feature this dynamic.
And when searching for The One, having found love – and enough of the above compatibilities to enable the relationship to prosper – you will HAVE to establish who is the BOSS.
Provided it is just ONE of you, everything will be fine. One alpha and one beta makes for equilibrium.
And while many would argue that a relationship between two betas is like a ship with a busted rudder – directionless – the truth is that this too has balance.
However, the relationship to avoid like the plague is the one between TWO ALPHAS.
A good example would be Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Both much-married, they married and divorced each other TWICE.
The reason was although Liz was clearly alpha and Dick beta, he could not abide being bossed about by her. His Welsh heritage – “where men are men and women are glad of it” – demanded he take the lead.
So before resigning yourself to a life of strife, step back and look at your alpha-beta status. You will not change the other – so make sure they are right, NOW.
Back in the Victorian age (1837-1901) most entertainment took place on a stage.
Rural folk got travelling shows, while townees could go to a venue.
The fare consisted of plays, opera, ballet, concerts and – VARIETY.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
A bill had ten to twenty acts, typically consisting of a dance troupe (NOT “crew”) a comedian, an “adagio” act, a juggler, a strong man, a mentalist and/or magician, singers, et al – all introduced by the MC (Master of Ceremonies: that is what MC actually MEANS). The last act was Top Of The Bill.
In America, this was called Burlesque – in Britain, Music Hall.
The venues varied widely in price and class – from DIVES where most people STOOD, with a bar along the side (and where the dancing-girls were generally RENTABLE) – to more elegant establishments.
And when the Old Queen died, Variety began dying too – although in the latter’s case, the process took far longer.
The first dagger in its chest was Cinema. In 1903, “The Great Train Robbery” was released and it took the magic lantern to a new level. The Movies having previously been merely a novelty, this film was the first that was recognisably NARRATIVE.
Soon the lesser Burlesques and Music Halls were switching to this new form of entertainment. And eventually, colour, sound, high-definition and 3D would elevate it to the mainstream form it is today.
Two decades later, Radio accelerated Variety’s demise – and a decade on, early Television spelled its doom.
However, live entertainment did not just give up.
The early days saw thousands of acts touring World-wide for DECADES. You started by auditioning for an impressario. If he liked you, you would start at the bottom of the bill. Then you would do a week at each of his chain of halls.
If that went well, you would get offers to do other chains. Then after your act had been seen all over the country, you would repeat the trick on foreign circuits (the old British Empire). And finally, you could tackle The New World.
And on the way, hopefully you would climb UP that bill.
By the time you had eventually circled the globe, YEARS had gone by. At which point, you could jump back onto the start and do it all again – perhaps now as the Top Of The Bill – to audiences who had never seen (or at least, forgotten) you.
And while, between the turn of the century and the early Sixties, Cinema, Radio and Television had gradually eroded the number of halls you could play in – there were still other opportunities to graft.
Dinner clubs, working men’s clubs, holiday camps, end-of-the-pier shows and cruise ships have kept Variety going to THIS DAY.
But it ain’t what it once was.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Television has always had talent shows. The early ones generally had a host – and a succession of hopefuls would do their stuff and either the studio or home audience would vote for their favourites.
But in the Seventies all that changed, thanks to two shows. In America, there was “The Gong Show” and in Britain, “New Faces”.
The Gong Show was created – and eventually hosted – by Chuck Barris. A panel of three judges would watch the series of acts and vote for the best – but the gimmick was that after thirty seconds, if they really HATED an act, they could hit a huge gong – and that would be that.
Said acts were a mixture of three types: potential stars, okay but unremarkable performers – and what were essentially JOKE acts.
Meanwhile, New Faces had no gong, but it too had a gimmick – “Mr Nasty”.
Here, the MC would introduce SERIOUS acts, whose performance would again be judged by a panel – this time FOUR. But while the first three would be celebs who would generally say encouraging things about the acts – the last would be a PRODUCER or suchlike. And he would NOT sugar-coat his opinion of the act.
The best of these was Mickie Most. A former failed Pop star (although he was big in South Africa) but then a highly successful record producer (The Animals, Herman’s Hermits, Suzi Quatro, Johnny Hates Jazz) he would tell it the way he saw it.
He would often get booed – but without HIM, the ratings would have dropped like the drawers of one of those dancing-girls mentioned above.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Simon Cowell – “Syco” (psycho) to his friends and “Sico” (sick-o) to his enemies – he has plenty of both – began as a judge on “Pop Idol” – a conventional talent show for singers. Modelling himself on the likes of the afore-mentioned Mickie Most, he eventually started his own series, a similar venture called “The X Factor”.
But his career REALLY took off when he mashed-up the formulae of New Faces (a panel of judges, featuring a Mr Nasty) AND The Gong Show (those three “X”s) to produce “Britain’s Got Talent”. As with The X Factor, the format was sold to dozens of countries and Syco is now richer than GOD.
“America’s Got Talent” is a massive success. The British version was slated to be first, but its host quit, delaying the launch – thus AGT became the first series to air.
You doubtless know all about it – or one of its other incarnations – so let us examine what you may NOT know…
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
First and most obvious is that unlike all of its rivals (and there are now MANY – it is comparatively cheap TV) it is not just another singing contest. Contestants from ANY of the showbiz disciplines are welcome – presenting the kinds of acts that might well have appeared on those Variety bills of yore.
And that is a blessing and a curse. Because while singers (who form nearly half the acts) can dip into their repertoire for each stage of the competition, other acts may not HAVE one. I.e., like those old-time Variety acts – they may only HAVE one act.
Anyhoo, the way America’s Got Talent works is this: they begin by holding open auditions at various venues around the USA. Some are only judged by the producers, several months before Howard, Howie, Mel and Heidi come on board.
The rest are recorded in theatres. These auditions are held in the afternoon – which means they can use ones which have a show running in the evening, provided it has simple props and scenery that can be packed away and rebuilt in time.
However, rather than have the contestants turn up in costume (using them as the audience) the show has a regular TV show audience, while the contestants prepare in a hall nearby. This costs extra, but is INVALUABLE, because it allows the researchers to construct the REAL show…
The thing is, the AGT format is about more than unearthing talent – it is about telling STORIES.
And these stories revolve around the acts themselves – All Of Human Life Is There.
Comedy (those Gong Show acts) and bravery are useful – but PATHOS rules. If an act has a dying mother – or it is that act’s “last shot” after a lifetime of hardship – the TV audience will become INVOLVED.
And so it is the job of those researchers to ferret out these stories (some are already known about, from the producers’ auditions). Then the many camera crews (they ARE crews) will do pocket bios of the acts, for use later. Skillfully put together as intros to the acts, they will ensure there is not a dry seat (sorry – eye) in the house.
After which, the show’s enormous crew (again, correct) of engineers, builders, chippies, voice and dance coaches and so on – will HONE and PRESENT those acts to their maximum potential.
The initial investment may not pay off (the act may fall apart when it hits the big venue) but once contestants are on their way through the series’ stages, the show’s crew will ramp up the presentations until they match anything Vegas or Broadway could create.
Of course, this being America, they sometimes overdo things…
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
They Bang On about that One Million Dollars – which is a SMOKESCREEN. If you read the small print, you will discover it is in the form of an ANNUITY, payable over a period of FORTY YEARS – which is just twenty-five grand a year.
That works out to less than you would earn as a supermarket shelf-filler. And forty years down the line, it would not pay your electricity bill.
Or you can take a “present value” lump sum. But that would be less than HALF that million – then, in America, you would have to pay TAX on it.
And if you are one of a TROUPE (or even crew) – as many of the performers are – individually, the money would be a PITTANCE.
Likewise for the production company. Half a million bucks is but a TINY percentage of the budget which last season, provided around TWENTY HOURS of TV.
Then there is Nick Cannon. I love the guy, but I wish he would stop shouting “make that noise…” Every time he does, I DO make a noise – a RUDE one. And then there is the SCRIPT he has to read.
It Bangs On about how THIS week things REALLY hot up. EVERY WEEK. It is a bit like those Sixties soap commercials which would Bang On about how much BETTER the latest version of their product was, than the last one. After SEVERAL of these better versions, you began to wonder what kind of SHITE the FIRST one was.
And finally, there is the LOSER component. This last season (S8) even during the FINAL, with the last six (which followed the REAL final, with the last twelve) – every time a competitor was eliminated from potential First Place, they were described as “going home” – like their dreams were shattered. Even Nick semi-apologised, saying he was just reading the autocue.
This is BULLSH*T!
We have already established that the One Million Dollars is bogus. The REAL prize is the TV EXPOSURE you get. And from that, contracts for REAL money.
Plus, if you get to that Top Twelve, FORGET about “going home” – while the winner WILL get a Vegas contract – as one of the Top Twelve, you will be right there WITH them. They might be Top Of The Bill – but you will be PART of that Bill.
And once the Vegas stint is over, the whole lot of you will hit a major TOUR, all across America.
Then there is the aftermath. Terry Fator was a mediocre vent act, but after winning an early series of AGT, he signed a five-year, one-HUNDRED-million-dollar deal, for a Vegas residency. ONE million? Pshaw!
And many other acts – a number of whom were not even winners – have seen their careers (and earnings) shoot up similarly.
So stop treating those who did not win like LOSERS, okay AGT?
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
But these faults aside, …Got Talent is now a juggernaut. Its influence reaches far beyond even those who appear on it, World-wide.
From Russia (where they NAILED the format) to Thailand (where as usual, they BLEW it) this phenomenon has brought Variety BACK. Granted it took TV to do it, but SETTLE for that. LIVE entertainment is where Showbiz is GOING.
Music has already forsaken the record industry – and now thanks to …Got Talent, the REST of Showbiz might just forsake TV…
One has to feel a bit sorry for Beyoncé’s parents (not TOO sorry; their daughter is worth over 200 million quid – SOME of which she must have given them). Having made up a monicker for her that rhymed with fiancée, they presumably hoped she would marry a songwriter who would immortalise her name with something like, “Today I met a girl named Beyoncé – One day I’ll make her my fiancée.”
So one can imagine their disappointment when she got engaged to a crapper – make that rapper – whose most famous hit was “I Got 99 Problems But A Bitch Ain’t One.”
If you are a Jerry Lewis fan, you have probably heard that this film – made in the Golden Year of 1967 – is the biggest pile of poop he ever made (although we have yet to see his “The Day The Clown Cried” and it is unlikely we will – at least, while Jerry lives). And that would be a fair description of this turkey.
However, it is still worth a look – for three reasons.
First and most important, he re-creates his Nerd character (Professor Julius Kelp) from “The Nutty Professor” – imagine a DVD of deleted scenes from THAT – you would pay money to see those, would you not? This is the next best thing.
Second comes an extended shot of the late Charlie Callas (no relation to Maria) doing his “manic twitch” routine – it is almost worth watching this abomination for that alone. This was Charlie’s ONLY film appearance and came about after they met on the Merv Griffin Show and he impressed Jerry so much, the latter promised to use him in his next project. Sadly, it turned out to be THIS.
Last is a bizarre, two-minute cameo from Harland Sanders – yes, the old cross-eyed “colonel” himself. Many people today are unaware that the character on the KFC logo was once actually a REAL PERSON and he makes a fleeting appearance in this dross.
Why? Well, perhaps HE was a fan of Jerry Lewis’ movies – although it is unfortunate that he chose THIS one to make his film debut in…
I eat too much, I drink too much, I weigh too much, I smoke too much, I bonk too much, I talk too much, I swear too much, I think too much, I AM too much.
…which on the face of it, is not much. I mean, for a start-off just LOOK at them. This is Bruce…
And this is Mike…
Sure, they are both in their sixties, compose, play guitar and sing on stage.
But while you can bet ALL of Mike’s fans have heard of Bruce, the number of Bruce’s fans who have heard of Mike can probably be counted on the fingers of a clumsy sawmill operator.
And yet they do have one other thing in common – the FOUR HOUR CONCERT.
I do not have to tell you the history of the man they call “The Boss” – but a few words about Mike might be instructive. He came from a background of Folk and eventually became a multi-instrumentalist, composer, author, poet, playwright, vocalist, stand-up comedian, traveller, broadcaster, filmmaker – you name it.
And for a decade or more, these two men anonymously beavered away on opposite sides of the Atlantic, learning their trades, each undoubtedly unaware of the other’s existence (Bruce is probably STILL unaware of Mike’s existence).
However, while their musical styles might have nothing in common, their performing styles DO.
Both men will keep going for as long as their audience wants to hear more (subject to the venue’s staff ALLOWING them to).
Bruce – along with his legendary East Street Band – is FAMOUS for performing four hour concerts. A fact he recently admitted to, on Fallon.
And I recall attending Mike Harding’s one-man-show (a one-nighter at the Dominion, Tottenham Court Road – a BIG West End theatre) where he was scheduled to do just ninety minutes, a half-hour interval, followed by an hour or so. Total two-and-a-half hours, which in itself is quite a marathon for one bloke.
But in the event, he returned from the interval after just twenty minutes – while the audience were still returning to their seats – and with the house-lights still up, said he was bored sitting in his dressing room and carried on with the gig.
The engineer dimmed the house-lights to half-level for the first ten minutes, then faded them out once the auditorium was full again.
The second half lasted TWO-AND-A-HALF hours, instead of the planned ONE. Sat alone in the middle of that BIG stage, Mike performed everything he KNEW.
So why bother – when “superstars” with decidedly LIMITED repertoires get paid a FORTUNE for doing a medley of their HIT, followed by a selection from their latest album and a couple of (planned) encores?
Because Bruce and Mike have spent DECADES developing their crafts and LOVE WHAT THEY DO. They are what showbusiness is all ABOUT.
Sounds like a mod retro group – but it actually merges (mashes) two points on the same subject.
One: the collective noun for a number of criminals is “gang” – while for a number of dancers, it is “troupe” – and for workmen it is “crew” – fine.
Except these days, the latter is being used for ALL of them – and others. This is DEVALUATION of the English language.
Likewise “cool” – which while originally meaning somewhere between cold and warm, became adopted in the late Forties to mean MELLOW.
This usage arose when, due to financial pressures, the big bands began splitting up into small jazz combos (Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, etc.)
This too was fine; but by the Eighties, Mellow had all but disappeared – and cool began to mean anything STYLISH.
But now, NOTHING is cool anymore – so THIS word has ALSO become devalued to mean anything that is… okay.
I first heard it about ten years ago, coined by one of Britain’s finest comic minds (a fact most Brits do not GET) – Jeremy Clarkson. About that time, he also dreamed up the word “footballist”.
I immediately understood. By deliberately “degrammatising” (if that’s not a word, it should be) these terms, he was showing his disinterest and disdain for them.
And I was in total agreement. Football is a pointless affair (LITERALLY – the perfect “result” is nil-nil) and in those days, most of the fun sites we now take for granted on the Internet (including THIS one) did not exist – or at least, were in their infancy.
(WordPress: 2003, Wikipedia: 2001, YouTube: 2005, Facebook: 2004, Twitter: 2006 – even Google didn’t really take off until 2004).
Thus when Clarkson first used the word, the Interweb was a waste of space. Its users were nerds and its content was mostly just corporate ads (the things you PASS BY, in magazines) plus trivia sites (like IMDb and Snopes) and jackass material.
But did Jeremy actually INVENT the word Interweb?
Well, my research ON this medium suggests – no. It appears a number of people may have coined it earlier (one source lists its origin as “disputed”).
But the word being in a sense OBVIOUS, its real originator is the person who first DISSEMINATED it. And given the world-wide millions who watch “Top Gear” – I think that determines its parentage.
In fact, another source I found backs that up. Collins: “Interweb – a facetious name for the internet, used to imply that the speaker has little understanding of or interest in the subject.”
And since Clarkson began primarily as a journalist, the knowledge that it is HE who is responsible for a word now being used by MILLIONS – should give him a warm feeling in his (ample) tummy.
So this guy boards a plane to find the seat next to his already occupied by a woman with a baby. But this is no ordinary baby. After a few minutes sitting in silence, the man feels compelled to say something. “Lady, I dunno how to say this – but that’s the UGLIEST baby I’ve ever seen.”
The woman explodes, “How… DARE you!” Then she stabs the call button above her with such ferocity that the man fears she might have broken her finger.
A stewardess comes down the aisle and the woman hisses, “WILL you seat this… MAN somewhere ELSE? He… OH!”
“Look sir, we don’t want any problems – there are some empty seats at the back – please follow me.”
The man shrugs and follows the stewardess.
Having re-seated the man, she returns to the distraught woman. “I’m sorry about that, madam. Let me get you a complimentary cognac for your trouble.”
The woman visibly relaxes.
“…And a free pillow for your neck.”
She smiles weakly.
“…And a banana for your chimpanzee.”
Thank you! My name’s Morpheus. Don’t forget to tip your waitress!
Once Upon A Time… there was a Lady. And tonight was her Big Night. A sumptuous charity ball. Simply EVERYONE would be there. She had been looking forward to it eagerly 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 of ze 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 had not 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 would have just laughed the whole thing off. But this lady had more pressing concerns.
A decade earlier, she had fallen in love with a man who treated her like a queen. Yes, he had a quick temper – but he was an Alpha Male. Rich, successful – he had given her three wonderful children.
But then things began to go awry. First, his company went belly-up. She did not understand why, but from the moment it happened, he had begun to change.
His drinking – which had always been frequent – became constant. Then there was the first time he had hit her. Oh, he had been FILLED with remorse then, swearing NEVER to do it again. Now, he did not even bother to apologise. Then he had started on the children.
And now he was on his way home. He had rung her from his usual watering hole, demanding that his dinner be ready when he got home. But knowing the bar he had been calling from was only five minutes away and having only just started cooking it, she knew she was in for another beating.
SHE had a problem.
But across the other side of the World was ANOTHER lady. And while she too would have loved to have had the problems of the first Lady – she would have happily settled for the problems of the second. In THAT case, she would have had five minutes to gather the kids and any essentials together and head for a Women’s Shelter.
However, this lady did not 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 had burst through a curtain of vines and fallen over a ridge.
And now she was hanging half-way down, while the roars from the pride of lions circling at the bottom assured her that when her fingers finally gave way – as they were about to – she would not have to worry about being injured on the pile of rocks directly below her.
She HAD a problem.
So what have we learned from this little anecdote? Well, the next time you figure YOU have a problem, step outside of yourself and consider objectively how big that problem REALLY IS.
At the beginning of the last century, the British had to get licences for EVERYTHING.
Want to catch a fish? Licence. Sell booze? Licence. Own a dog? Licence. Drive a car? Licence. Speak French in a high-pitched voice, while twerking to reggae? Licence.
Listen to the wireless? Licence. So when television began, they naturally issued them for those. And most of the money raised went to finance the BBC.
But when, in 1955, commercial television began, some people asked why they should have to pay for a licence if they only watched THAT – particularly since the BBC was run by communists and most of the talent were pædophiles.
(Although they only discovered the latter fact when “Operation Yewtree” began).
But their protests fell on deaf ears. Only if a television can NOT receive broadcasts through ANY medium (like it is connected solely to a DVD-player) is it exempt.
Portable tellies are fine, provided the viewer has a HOME licence (which also covers iPads and the like).
And enforcement is carried out by crews of guys with detection equipment.
A famous anecdote has it that a couple moved into a new house and while the man was unpacking, the woman nipped over to the post-office to buy a TV licence.
That evening she was going out. But just as she reached the front gate, she bumped into a detector guy. “We don’t seem to have a TV licence registered to this address,” he said.
“Oh, we just moved in today,” she answered, “I got a licence while my husband was busy – listen, I’m in a hurry – tell him it’s in a pink envelope on the mantlepiece.”
She then ran off, leaving detector guy to knock on the door. When it opened, he said, “Good evening sir – according to our detector van, you are currently watching BBC2 in your front room.”
The man looked flustered. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry sir,” added detector guy, “You’ll find the licence in a pink envelope on the mantlepiece.”
Be that as it may, the BBC often crow that Britain’s TV licencing system is UNIQUE, however this is far from true. While the New World’s TV is funded almost exclusively by advertising and subscription – many European, Asian (although so far, not here in Thailand) and African countries have TV funded at least in part by licences.
And they are not CHEAP. The current cost of a UK TV licence is GBP145.50 (over 200 US bucks) per year (you used to be able to buy the far cheaper black-and-white-only one, to dodge the detector guys’ lists – but they CLOSED that loop-hole years ago).
Then, given terrestrial analogue broadcasts there are a thing of the past – you have your service provider to pay.
Which is where things get interesting, now TV is amalgamating with the Interweb.
Connection to a giga-byte network generally costs over five hundred quid ($800) a year. And “smart” tellies are pretty pricey too (although thanks to competition, they get cheaper every year).
Then you have the cost of the programming, without which you are all dressed up with nowhere to go.
But there ARE alternatives. While buying programmes streamed via the internet is expensive, the mainstream networks are not dead YET. And service providers are forced to include them in their packages.
And much cheaper mega-byte networks are quite capable of streaming HD TV with few limitations.
Which is where services like ustvnow.com come in. They LIVE-stream the three major American networks (and a number of others) over the Interweb – mostly in HD – for FREE. All you have to do is tick (US: check) a box on their “sign up” page, stating you are an ex-pat Yank – and you can receive them ANYWHERE.
And for a few bucks, they will extend your package (nice) to include the high-end channels – and throw in a PVR facility (so you can watch programmes when YOU want) to boot.
Then there are YouTube, Dailymotion, Metacafe, Vimeo and others. These days, their uploaders make COMPLETE classic and recent TV and films available – for anyone with a computer and free downloader programme. Granted the quality is variable and the coverage a tad scattergun – but beggers cannot be choosers.
Thus all you need is a modern telly, six megabytes of broadband, a cheap computer, an external hard-drive or DVD-R and a modicum of technical knowledge (or a friend with same) to give you more good stuff than you could ever find time to WATCH – for not THAT much money.
And while a lead-lined room is the only option for avoiding that licence fee – if you shop at low-cost supermarkets and buy non-name-brand goods, at least you will not have to pay for the commercial networks’ programmes.
So do not FEAR the future – just find ways to work WITH it…
For instance, if I said that Victor Lewis-Smith did unnatural things with animals and/or children, he could SUE – unless it were TRUE – and I could PROVE it.
However, since I have no reason to believe – and certainly no PROOF – that Victor Lewis-Smith’s relationships with animals and/or children are anything other than PERFECTLY natural, I will refrain from making any such claim.
But calling him a prick is fine. Or an excrescence of humanity – that too is fine. I can even call him an arsehole – yes, that feels about right – because all three of these descriptions are merely an OPINION.
And thus far, The Law has NOT seen fit to intervene in people’s opinions.
So there you have it: Victor Lewis-Smith is a prick, an excrescence of humanity and (my personal favourite) an arsehole.
And his hair looks stupid too.
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SUPPLEMENTAL! I am once again “elevating” an exchange from Comments to the piece itself…
Posted by Mike Hunt on November 11, 2013 at 10:01 pm
He might not be able to sue you, but he may come and kick your ass!
Posted by Vincent on November 12, 2013 at 8:08 am
HAH! I seriously doubt that. Apart from the fact I could take the weasel with one hand tied behind my back – if he DID strike me, I could sue HIM.
Plus he doesn’t know where I live.
And even if he DID, I doubt he would travel several thousand miles to confront ME when, as I understand it, there are THOUSANDS of people MUCH CLOSER to him – who hold the same opinion of the prat as I do!
Posted by Mike Hunt on November 12, 2013 at 4:11 pm
You really don’t like him, do you?
Posted by Vincent on November 12, 2013 at 10:21 pm
What’s to like? He’s a dumpy middle-aged loser who thinks dreadlocks and shades make him look cool.
Further, I suspect he believes that being given a few two-minute slots on “Loose Ends” by the late Ned Sherrin gives him credibility as a satirist.
But what REALLY annoys me is the fact that he bought the rights to the name and logo of the long-defunct Associated-Rediffusion TV – just to take the piss out of it.
By taking the logo of this once-proud organisation and turning it into a cardboard toy, he apparently thinks this makes him a media-terrorist – when the truth is that he is a sad, bottom-feeding, lying, conning little shit.
It took me FIFTY YEARS of searching, before I managed to acquire this lovely piece from the squeeze-box maestro.
Why? Well, the projectionist at my local Saturday Morning Cinema Club must have liked the track – he played it every WEEK, in the breaks between the C.F.F. films, cartoons and “Look At Life” shorts.
He even told me what the record was – but as a seven-year-old British kid, in 1959, I didn’t own a record player. And by the time I did, the company that released the record in Blighty, Top Rank, had gone bust – and taken their back-catalogue with them.
So for DECADES, I checked record-collectors’ shops, junk shops, jumble sales – you name it – and ZIP.
But when, several years ago, I finally succumbed to the lure of the Interweb and purchased this computer – I was able to WIDEN my search. I eventually tracked a copy down to a shop in Wisconsin, USA.
But even THEN, the story was not over. Thanks to a sit-in at my local airport – Bangkok – the mail got piled up. LITERALLY. So much so, that a DVD someone sent me got BROKE – which is HARD TO DO!
Thus it was lucky that the posting of the record to me got DELAYED – thanks to American banks, who RIP PEOPLE OFF when it comes to changing foreign banknotes – which caused me to have to find some DOLLARS, before the shop would send it.
And so it’s THANKS to those greedy U.S. banks that I finally HAVE this disc IN ONE PIECE – which YOU can now listen to for FREE! Enjoy!
Well, to MAKE – anywhere from 30-50p (50-80c) a pack, depending on quality.
At the bottom end, you get a soft pack, filled with cigarettes containing so-so tobacco – and at the top end, shiny “crushproof” boxes with high-end tobacco.
But what you PAY will be higher – sometimes a hell of a LOT higher.
And, now that cigarette advertising is almost universally banned, most of that difference goes straight to the GOVERNMENT (you know, those people who tell you smoking is BAD for you).
However, the money they extort from you varies widely, from country to country.
Here in Thailand, I pay about 80p (a buck thirty) a pack, for a Thai mid-priced brand.
I COULD pay up to one pound fifty (two dollars forty) for a Western name-brand pack – but since they are made here under license and are much the same as the local ones, that would be a waste of money.
Although with an EDF (economic differential factor) of 5:1 compared to the cost of living in my old country – England – this equates to about four pounds (six dollars forty). Therefore even though they are, in real terms, half the price of those sold in England, that still leaves room for smuggling. So you can find “unofficial imports” from Laos selling in rural convenience stores (mom-and-pop shops) for as little as 20p (32c) a pack.
And around the Second and Third World, this story is repeated.
However in the West, cigarette prices STILL vary widely. When I lived in England, I used to make an annual pilgrimage to Portugal, where I could LEGALLY (for my own use, under the terms of the Single European Agreement) purchase 10,000 (a year’s supply, for me) locally-made smokes for a THIRD the cost of British ones.
AND I did not have to suffer the aggravation of Customs at Dover, who clamber all OVER day-trippers returning from booze-and-fag runs to Calais (where they are only slightly cheaper anyway).
In rip-off Britain, 20 fags currently cost a thumping SEVEN POUNDS FIFTY (twelve dollars even) a pack. This means that a single cigarette in the UK costs more than a WHOLE PACK, in Laos! But lest the British should think themselves alone in being thus abused, the story is actually WORSE elsewhere.
In America (where anti-smoking paranoia BEGAN) they pay seven pounds EIGHTY (twelve dollars fifty) a pack in New York – although predictably, the price drops to two pounds eighty-five (four dollars fifty-five) in VIRGINIA!
But it gets worse: in the Antipodes (Australia and New Zealand) cigarettes cost a stonking EIGHT pounds fifty (thirteen bucks sixty) a pack. Struth, mate!
However, my research (which stops WAY short of checking the 200-plus countries of the World) found that King Of The Cigarette Rip-off Countries was… Norway!
If the population of that country contains a significant percentage of smokers – they FINANCE the place. A pack of smokes in Norway will set you back a MASSIVE… NINE POUNDS SEVENTY (fifteen dollars fifty). Nearly A TENNER A PACK!
And all this from a product that costs between 30-50p (50-80c) to make, remember.
That is around TWO THOUSAND PERCENT TAX.
So if you want to get rich quick, forget about smuggling recreational DRUGS. Just buy a tramp steamer, chug up the Mekong to Laos, fill the hold with CIGARETTES…
There are five likely culprits. Five men, any one of whom was responsible for creating a little piece of music that I have been humming for FORTY-FIVE YEARS – despite never having had the record of it.
But in considering them, we need to examine the history behind the soundtrack of this extraordinary 1968 British film…
Although Dennis Wheatley is mostly famous for his novels on witchcraft and the like, he also wrote some cracking good yarns, including “Sixty Days To Live” (I can NOT believe no-one has ever filmed THAT) and “Uncharted Seas”.
Both of these – along with “The Devil Rides Out” – were written in the Thirties, when Michael Carreras was a young lad. And it was his dad, James who founded Hammer Films. Thus when Michael took over, it is hardly surprising that he chose to film both the latter books.
And while filming “Sixty Days To Live” would have bankrupted him, “Uncharted Seas” (filmed as “The Lost Continent”) was no cheapie either. Even though you can SENSE the grips pushing that harbour light past the Corita’s bridge in the opening sequence, its scope still ensured it cost a packet by Hammer’s standard.
So Michael had a lot of juice riding on it. Thus he wrote (under a pseudonym) produced and – when he fell out with Leslie Norman (Barry’s dad) – directed the film, leaving nothing to chance.
It boasted a stellar cast, headed by Eric Porter – then riding high on the success of “The Forsyte Saga” – with Hildegard Knef for the European market, Suzanna Leigh and Dana Gillespie for sex-appeal, Ben Carruthers for the American market (and the ladies) and the reliable Tony Beckley and Nigel Stock in support.
There was also Jimmy Hanley in his last movie and of course, Michael Ripper, without whom no Sixties Hammer movie was complete.
But once it was finished, he had a problem. Films like “She” and Hammer’s other Boys Own, Thirties-style action-adventure movies were fast becoming old hat – in 1967, fashions were changing DAILY.
So when Benjamin Frankel turned in a traditional score, Michael was not happy. He REJECTED it (which must have cost him a packet) and then approached Gerard Schurmann. He had used both Benjamin and Gerard (Ben and Gerry?) before, but seemed incapable of convincing either man to write him something MODERN.
To be fair to them, “The Lost Continent” was an old-style FILM. In fact only a few props – a paperback being read by Nigel Stock (of “Uncharted Seas”!) plus a record-player in Suzanna’s cabin and a couple of tractors in the hold – set the movie in the then-present.
Without them, it could easily have been set when the BOOK was written.
Anyhoo, Michael HAD to settle for Schurmann’s score – but he decided to sex it up with a few modern SONGS. For which he recruited the then-fashionable cool-jazz group, the Peddlers.
This turned out to be a smart move. Leader Roy Phillips gave him a great title song (after at least fifteen takes) enhanced by Schurmann’s orchestral backing – and a couple more numbers were featured, on Suzanna’s record player.
These were “A Boy In Love” which, later re-recorded with strings, appeared as an album-track – plus another sultry number which, to the best of my knowledge, has NEVER turned up on record.
In fact despite containing some TERRIFIC music – on its original release, the film FAILED to spawn a soundtrack album (probably thanks to the material’s tortuous pedigree).
Which brings us (and not a moment too soon) to “Eva’s Theme”.
Michael needed something to “bridge” the enormous GAP between Schurmann’s orchestral score and those three Peddlers numbers, in order to provide some semblance of HARMONY.
And so SOMEONE took a repeated signature from the main score and wrote a piece around it – then sat Howard Blake down at a Hammond (Roy Phillips’ weapon of choice) to play THREE versions of it.
After which, these new pieces were inserted into scenes where the film’s pace eased up – thus displacing Schurmann’s pieces. All of them involved Eva (pronounced “Ava” – as in Gardner – and played by Hildegard Knef).
The original titles of the subbed Schurmann cues remain, on the “retrospective” soundtrack album that was EVENTUALLY issued, in 2000. And the composer credit is given to – depending on which source you read – either Schurmann or Phillips.
But who ACTUALLY composed it? Let us consider them in turn…
Roy Phillips: a talented composer of smooth jazz – and a Hammond player. But if he composed it, why did he not PLAY it? Maybe it was those fifteen-plus takes of the title song.
Benjamin Frankel: we can surely eliminate HIM from the group. Having had HIS original score REJECTED – he must have been pretty pissed off.
Gerard Schurmann: well, he certainly composed the signature upon which the piece is BASED – but those few notes are a LONG way from the finished article Howard Blake played.
Howard Blake: more likely. In addition to being a respected keyboards session man, he had also written several film scores and TV pieces. He would later go on to write “Walking In The Air” (remember “The Snowman”? You are as old as me, then).
But we should not dismiss the musical director. As was often the case with Sixties Hammer films, that chore fell to Phillip Martell. And whilst he was generally MD or MS (supervisor) he was no slouch as a composer. When the commissioned composer had finished, he often added extra pieces of his own, uncredited.
Roy is still alive, semi-retired in New Zealand. Ben died in ’73 – Phil in ’93. Gerry is nearly ninety, but apparently still with us. While Howie DEFINITELY survives, at 74.
So if any of YOU guys know any of THESE guys – ASK them for me!
I only recently discovered the 2000 issue of “The Lost Continent” soundtrack and having always assumed that Roy had composed – or at least, PLAYED the Hammond instrumental theme, I now find myself with a PUZZLE. And at my time of life I want to SOLVE puzzles, not face MORE.
UPDATE!! It WAS Howard Blake! Here is a note from the gentleman… “I am Howard Blake (www.howardblake.com) and I have just been watching ‘The Lost Continent’ on Sky. I will try to explain the mystery of ‘Eva’s Theme’ in the film ‘Lost Continent’ since it is obviously worrying a number of people! In April 1967 Phil Martell, Hammer Horror music director, asked me if I could compose an ‘Eva theme’ for the film and also play and record it on Hammond organ (so that it would match up with the sound of The Peddlers). Gerard Shurmann had already completed the full orchestral score and I was asked to travel up to his home in Hampstead to meet him. Phil asked Gerard if he would agree to my selecting a few notes from his score from which I might build a theme. I selected the four opening notes (BCAB) and Gerard agreed to my doing this. I developed the rest of the piece from these first four notes and recorded 5 versions of the resultant piece at Olympic Sound Studios on my own M100 Hammond organ with Russ Stapleford on string bass on 23rd April 1967.”
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 limo-driver. After he had gone, I discovered that he had left his briefcase on the back seat. Knowing how government likes to “leak” ideas they need FEEDBACK on (if the feedback is SERIOUSLY negative, they then 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 is still better than a straight dictatorship – at least with Democracy, you can CHANGE the dictator periodically…
I hear that, in England, the titular piece has just been voted the best movie theme of all time.
Of course, had they known about the unofficial LYRIC, they might have voted for “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” instead.
You see, the (original and best) Star Wars movies were BRITISH. Only the lead actors and MONEY came from America. And we Brits are an irreverent lot. Thus, while the saga was being shot, you would often hear the crew singing said unofficial lyric…
There has been much discussion – and the sacking of some judges – associated with this notion of late. So ARE there “degrees” of rape?
Many who have BEEN raped would say no, there is just RAPE. But let us examine the issue DISPASSIONATELY.
In my treatise on love, sex and relationships, “Love, Sex & Relationships… the whole damn thing online” (see http://johnbellamy.wordpress.com/) I argue that rape is a crime of VIOLENCE – not sex. And I touch on the subject of “degree” by offering two extreme examples…
(1) A woman walks through a park in broad daylight and is pulled into some bushes by a man who places a knife to her throat and forces her to have sex with him.
(2) A prostitute accepts a cheque from a punter and when it bounces, says, “Oh shit, I’ve been raped again.”
The first example is obviously full on RAPE – the second is an old music-hall joke. But they demonstrate the POINT.
However, few rape cases are as clear-cut as these two. Many years ago, my mother was on jury duty and was supposed to decide whether a rape had occurred between two people who were NOT the sharpest tools in the box – and came to the conclusion that even THEY did not know.
There was no dispute that intercourse had taken place – but the circumstances were somewhat confused.
And given the results for the accused of a CONVICTION, the juror needs to be 100% CLEAR on what happened.
Which brings us to the curious case of Julian Assange.
According to Wikipedia – moving AWAY from the issues surrounding his deeds as an activist – the specific CRIMES he is accused of are…
Assange is accused of sexual misconduct with two women while in Sweden in August 2010.
The first woman, Miss A, had allowed Assange to stay at her flat while she was away. When Miss A returned she accused Assange of aggressively pursuing sex with her on 13 August, to which she reluctantly agreed.
She also accused Assange of not properly using a condom. Assange denies these accusations. Miss A put on a party for Assange the following day and continued to let him stay in her flat.
The second woman, Miss W, took Assange to her flat and had consensual sex with him using a condom. However Miss W accused Assange of having unprotected sex with her the next day, starting when she was half asleep. Assange again denies these accusation.
Miss W later contacted Miss A, compared stories and went to the police wanting Assange to have a STD test to which Assange did not initially agree.
On 20 August 2010, Swedish police began an investigation into allegations concerning Assange’s behaviour. Assange has described all the sexual encounters as consensual, and statements by the plaintiffs confirm that the encounters at least started as such.
Hmm.
Well, In My Day, if a woman had voluntarily entered a man’s flat (or she invited him into hers) and they were “unchaperoned” – ALL judges would have thrown any rape case OUT. They would have said she had “asked for it”.
But now, such a view would NOT fly in any but the most RETARDED countries of the World – and rightly so.
I myself have been received in probably HUNDREDS of women’s abodes – and they in mine – without any SUGGESTION of impropriety taking place (work colleagues, non-sexual encounters – even DATES that went nowhere). We have GROWN UP.
But Assange’s case is rather different. “Miss A” appears to have been INVOLVED with him, to say the least – and “Miss W” (why not “Miss B”?) was IN BED with him.
Now while it is fair to say that a woman who enters a man’s abode unchaperoned is NOT “asking for it” – if she enters his BED, what happens there is a whole different ball-game (so to speak). Talk of rape THEN – IS Political Correctness Gone Mad.
In fact, the whole Assange “rape” case fair REEKS of suspicion. And, given those OTHER issues, accusations of a “set-up” MUST be taken seriously.
Currently the man is still stuck in the Ecuadorian embassy, with a complement of Met coppers on duty outside ready to grab him, should he make a break for it.
They have been there now for nearly fifteen months, at a cost to the British taxpayer of around six million quid (how much are they PAYING those guys? That’s a hundred grand a WEEK).
Anyhoo, Keystone Kops and Banana Republic Asylum notwithstanding, the RAPE CASE is certainly farcical. In more sensible times, it would not have been permitted to do what it IS doing – CLOUD THE REAL ISSUE. Is Assange a legitimate whistle-blower? Or just a self-promoting mischief-maker?
Had THAT case been allowed to go to court – a fair, NEUTRAL court – then justice SHOULD have been done.
And those denizens of the law would be spending their time doing what they signed up for – solving CRIMES instead of hanging around Knightsbridge, BABY-SITTING.
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?
Recently, American tobacco companies managed to delay the process whereby US citizens will join others in having graphic pictures plastered over their cigarette packs. A victory for freedom (and corporate greed).
But ironically, America’s anti-smoking paranoia has already resulted in such images appearing on packs in several other countries – amongst them, the land of this writer’s domicilium, Thailand…
The top seven pictures are predictable – images of rotting bits of person and such-like, all caused (allegedly) by them having smoked cigarettes.
But the bottom three are bizarre. I have smoked for forty years – and if I smoked for another forty, I doubt I would ever have teeth like that.
Then there is the picture with the bowl – I think it relates to a Thai funeral ritual.
But the last one is the best – the lout blowing smoke over the baby. My first reaction (after I had stopped laughing) was that the reason it was obviously fake was to stop complaints being directed at the campaign’s organisers.
Although later, it occurred that I might simply have over-estimated the organisers’ intelligence – maybe it was just the best their FX department could manage.
Oh, and the 1600 is the number to ring if you want to listen to a message helping you to quit. Perhaps it is a Thai lady shouting abuse at you (although some people would pay good money for that).
Anyhoo, it got me thinking – why stop with cigarettes? Why not put pictures of morbidly obese children on fast-food containers? Or how about images of mangled pedestrians nailed to all new cars’ dashboards? The possibilities are endless.
But of one thing you can be sure; America will never put pictures of shattered corpses on gun and bullet boxes – that would be tasteless.
As my alter-ego has noted, we live in a World where the absurd is now commonplace.
For its first two-and-a-half years, “The Daily Show” was helmed by a guy called Craig Kilborn. Who? Precisely.
But in January 1999, Jon Stewart took over the big chair and has – aside from a handful of editions – been there ever since.
It almost never happened. He was number two on a shortlist of two, for the new late night talk show intended to follow the late night talk show (huh?) – “The Tonight Show” – number one being Conan O’Brien.
And you know how THAT went: Coco got the gig – hung on for a decade – then was promoted to The Tonight Show, where he crashed and burned.
But once in a while, Fate gets it right. Thankfully, Ronald Reagan did NOT play Rick Blaine in “Casablanca” – and Shirley Temple got passed over by the producers of “The Wizard Of Oz”.
And instead of becoming just another chat show host, Jon became the guy the smart people in America get most of their news from – the dummies get it from Fox.
You could call Jon the antiFox – and the World DESPERATELY needs one of those.
The alternatives are bimbos like…
And gays like…
(He’s STRAIGHT? Are you kidding? Where’s his wife and kids? He’s divorced, with no kids? Like I said…)
But now we are in trouble: Jon spent many years trying to break into the movie biz and is currently taking two months OFF The Daily Show, to direct – his chair being filled with the posterior of John Oliver.
Now as an ex-pat Brit myself, this should give me reason to cheer. However, while John is a fine writer and “correspondent” – he ain’t no Jon Stewart.
And we NEED our Daily dose of reality in the media world of bullshit. It won’t come from CNN – they are old and fat now. NBC are lame and the rest are dominated by the Right. While Fox is dominated by the CRAZY Right.
So for f***s sake Jon – come back SOON, y’hear?
UPDATE! Jon is now back – and John has a new weekly show – with which, I wish him well.
But the gay-looking guy above is now in the shit; he had the temerity to call Robin Williams a coward, for cashing in his chips. Obviously (and unfortunately) he has never considered the move. If he had, he would have realized that taking an early bath requires GUTS.
It is WAY less easy to off yourself than many people think. Even the method picked by Robin is tough, since few people know how to hang a person correctly.
Do it right and your death is quick.
Mr Williams did not – and as a result, asphyxiated himself.
I hear Illinois has just passed a law allowing people to carry concealed guns into bars (but I’ll bet they can’t SMOKE in them – that would be DANGEROUS).
And I understand this was on a weekend when over seventy people got shot – of whom a dozen died – in Chicago alone.
Planning a holiday in America? You might consider Afghanistan instead – I hear it’s lovely this time of year.
Season One has just had its finalé here in the Orient – and a second season has been green-lit. GOOD.
CBS originally planned to do a US version of the British show “Sherlock” – but it then occurred they could save money by doing their OWN update. Sherlock’s producer Sue Virtue watched closely, but to no avail – CBS took NOTHING from that also-excellent show (so she COULDN’T sue!)
Sherlock stars Benedict Cumberbatch, who had earlier WORKED with Elementary lead, Jonny Lee Miller in London – they had swopped rôles nightly, playing Victor Frankenstein and his monster, at the National – but back to Elementary…
The season-closer had Irene Adler and Moriarty turning out to be one and the same person. A great idea, but spoiled by the wooden performance of Natalie Dormer as Irene.
Jonny, as Holmes, gives excellent value. Hot on the heels of his success as a villain-of-the-season in the outstanding “Dexter”, his career in America seems now assured.
While Lucy Liu is surprisingly good as Watson.
But one can think of a DOZEN actresses who would have given a better reading of the sizzling lines Dormer’s character(s) had.
If Season Two of Elementary is to begat a third, the show needs to FORGET those characters – or at least find a way to REPLACE the execrable Dormer…
The title refers to my Art Deco channel on YouTube.
Unfortunately, that service recently decided to mess up all of our homepages for the SECOND time – in order to fit them onto iPhones and iPads and the like.
And so I have RESCUED the “about” write-up (and the background picture) for said page and placed it here, for YOUR entertainment – and will scatter links to it among the channel’s uploads, in case it disappears ENTIRELY.
So here goes: the original intro to Art Deco Chap read thusly…
Pop music and Dance music, as we know them, emerged in the period following WW1 and The Great American Plague – 1919.
They originated from the early Jazz of New Orleans and evolved into “Syncopated Music”.
For the first 20 years, the BANDS held sway. Pop and Dance had ARRIVED.
Broadly speaking, Pop (a term that did not actually emerge until the ’50s) was defined as music made mainly for listening to – but you could also dance to it. While Dance was music made for dancing to – but you could also listen to it.
The essential difference was – and continued to be – whether or not it had vocals.
Pop and Dance ruled, side-by-side, for 70 years. In 1990, Pop finally DIED, killed by the greedy record companies that fed off it. Dance moved in to fill the void with “Trance” music – but after another decade, it too fizzled out.
During those eighty years, little changed – f’rinstance: “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.”
A fine description of Trance music – except it actually comes from a record cover which, on the back, has instructions for the care of your WIND-UP GRAMOPHONE!
So did NOTHING change during the Twentieth Century? Well, one important thing did – technology.
Shellac gave way to vinyl – mono gave way to stereo – and analogue gave way to digital.
But the most important development came in 1927 – the invention of ELECTRONIC recording.
Before then, bands and orchestras had been forced to gather around a giant horn – not dissimilar to the one singers had to BELLOW through at live gigs.
And the resulting records sounded like they had been strained through a wet sock.
But now, vocalists could nuzzle up to a moving-coil mic and purr lovingly into it – and be heard all around the hall.
SOUND QUALITY had arrived – and for the first time, the recording industry came to be taken seriously.
Before ’27, gramophone records were a tinny-sounding gimmick – a novelty. But now, they became the medium through which Art Deco music could be enjoyed by millions.
And it was a Golden Era for Pop and Dance. The frenetic Charleston was giving way to the more accessible Fox-Trot. Dance halls were springing up everywhere. Most people met their future Life-Partners there.
But over the passing of time, this EXCITING music has largely been forgotten (most of those early swingers are now DEAD).
This channel seeks to CHANGE all that!
The uploader makes NO apologies for the audio-quality of the posts. While some of this material is available today, it is on CD – having first been “restored” – a process which usually throttles the very LIFE out of the music.
But THIS IS THE ORIGINAL SOUND.
During the inter-war period, there was little money around – and records were expensive. Thus, the material on them had to be made DESIRABLE. The bands couldn’t just phone it in.
Also, given the cheap cost of labour, there were a LOT of bands around.
So to be successful, arrangers and musicians had to give ONE HUNDRED AND TEN PERCENT!
And the music on this channel is the result of those efforts…
I have no idea what the URL will be to the new home page, so here is my favourite piece from the channel, to get you started…
Its end product is the destruction of minds, property and ultimately – life.
It uses a concept of misbegotten national pride to trick young, gullible people into “serving their country” – and if that fails, they try money.
And since all politicians salivate over their county’s military power, they make sure it has a bottomless pit of funding available, regardless of the cost to its taxpayers.
But they do not stop there – they also pervert scientists.
They ensure all new inventions are first evaluated for their “strategic” worth – then finance research into those which show promise.
So how can this vile force be curtailed? Simple. Have nothing to DO with it. Starve it of its human resources.
The politicians will always lavish it with funding. This cannot be stopped. However, ultimately it will always rely on people – and there lies its weakness.
Most developed countries’ governments do not DARE to introduce (or reintroduce) National Service.
Thus, if the scientists join the cause, The Military will be paralysed.
Right now, governments are looking to the day when science will make “boots on the ground” obsolete.
Whether this will ever happen is unknown. But if it does, it is certain the “developed” countries will achieve it first.
Which in turn will result in a continuation and escalation of the only weapon that “developing” countries have at their disposal – terrorism.
So unless the people AND egg-heads unite – the future is not bright.
The dust has barely settled on the “Late Night…” scene, after the debacle with Coco and Leno – when it has blown up AGAIN.
A couple of years ago, NBC were worried about losing young audiences to ABC’s Jimmy Kimmel, so they dropped Conan O’Brien from his spot down to Jay Leno’s Tonight Show.
Then, fearing Leno would go to a rival, they gave him a show preceding that slot, figuring it would save them a packet, being a lot cheaper than PrimeTime filmed drama.
Great. Except the new Leno show TANKED – which brought all sorts of crap down on them from the affiliates.
And so they swallowed their pride and put Leno back on the Tonight Show, giving Coco a big chunk of cash to just go away.
But now, much sooner than expected, they have announced Jimmy Fallon – who acquired Coco’s old slot – will take over the Tonight Show NEXT SPRING.
In a way, things have gone full circle. The Tonight Show’s heyday was ruled by a then-young Johnny Carson, who initially taped the show at 30 Rock, in New York – at the same studio (6B) Jimmy Fallon currently tapes at. Only later did the Tonight Show move to LA.
And next year, it will RETURN to 30 Rock, hosted by Fallon and exec produced by Lorne Michaels – Fallon’s old boss, from his SNL days. The two men remain personal friends.
Indeed, it appears that this transition will be more friendly all round than the MESS that occurred last time.
Jimmy and Jay seem to genuinely like each other, with Jay being happy enough to finally be moving on for good.
Of course, Jay is still number one, ratings-wise, so he can leave with his head held REASONABLY high (although Johnny QUIT of his own accord, after thirty years).
As for whether Jimmy can KEEP the Tonight Show at number one – that remains to be seen.
Jimmy Kimmel started his show on ABC while still young – as did Dave Letterman (albeit many years ago) on CBS – so one suspects NBC will be happy to give Fallon TIME to establish himself.
Here in Thailand, where this writer retired over a decade ago, the Late Night US chat shows have been screened erratically.
DiggerVision tried Kimmel for a while – then swapped him out for Letterman – then dumped Letterman in favour of cheap reality crap, most of it Digger’s.
Meanwhile, CNBC Asia has ALWAYS screened a selection of their Late Night shows at the weekend. Ten years ago, they ran two random Tonight Shows from the previous week – usually including Monday’s – then after a few years, extended it to all five.
And when Coco took over, they continued.
But after a few more years, without apology, explanation or even acknowledgement, they suddenly switched to Jimmy Fallon’s shows – again all five, but from Friday to Thursday, to give them more time to edit.
So what WE will get when Jimmy Fallon moves, heaven alone knows. At the moment, there has been no announcement as to what will happen to Jimmy’s current US slot.
There is ANOTHER show which follows Jimmy – Carson Daly – but from what this historian has seen of THAT, he FERVENTLY hopes CNBC follows Mister Fallon…
UPDATE! We now learn that fellow-SNL-er Seth Meyers will fill Jimmy’s seat – he’ll do!
There are well over a hundred recognised, NAMED phobias – with new ones being added all the time.
A common one is Agoraphobia: generally but erroneously thought of as being a fear of open spaces – like the guy in “The Avengers” who awakens one morning to find his bed has been placed on the centre spot at Wembley.
He looks around, begins screaming – then has a heart attack and dies. He is the first victim of a murderer who is using people’s fears to kill them.
Great TV – but utter hogwash. Agoraphobia literally translates as fear of the market place. In short, bustling crowds – not open spaces.
Then there is the fear of germs (popularly, Germophobia). Howie Mandel has that one – it is why he “fist-bumps” instead of shaking hands. Others will wash their hands dozens of times a day.
Marry a Germophobe and you will always have a clean house.
Of course, “Monica” in “Friends” was obsessively clean and tidy – but maddeningly controlling.
A wider variant is Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Recently, TV character “Monk” displayed this phenomenon. He could not walk beside a fence without touching all of the post tops.
And while he wore a neatly buttoned shirt, he did NOT wear a tie – a fact that was never referred to (the writers left that one for the viewers to appreciate).
OCD sufferers will say the same thing twenty times until they get it right. They will check the doors, windows, gas and electrical outlets several times before they can settle down for the night.
Gelotophobes fear being laughed at – no joke.
Plus there are people who fear the number 666 (Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobes).
And others who fear flying (Aviophobia). Or have Osmaphobia – a fear of FARTS.
There is even a fear of phobias (Phobophobia).
In short, just about every facet of daily life can provoke abnormal fear or anxiety and everybody HAS them – some of which they may not even be aware of.
They used to be called people’s “funny little ways” – and thus they ARE, unless they affect people’s ability to FUNCTION.
Howard Hughes developed CHRONIC OCD in his later years. Stories came out of the penthouse suites of the various luxury hotels where he shut himself away – that beggared belief.
It was said that his haircuts cost $1,000 – a lot of money in the Sixties (although of course, he could afford it) – since he insisted each hair be cut separately, to the exact same length.
And when he dropped a glass on the floor he walked barefoot on, he had the floor divided into a grid of one-inch squares, then had each examined for shards – with a microscope. It took DAYS.
But while Howard and others have been rendered DISFUNCTIONAL by these fears, most of us just carry on.
I once dropped a glass on my tiled living room floor – and inspected each tile with a torch. But it only took me half an hour and I found ALL the shards. No biggie.
I crush beverage cans before discarding them.
I peel the labels off plastic shower-gel and shampoo containers – to reveal their pure shape, unblemished by “busy” labels.
I keep LISTS. Do YOU? You’re OCD!!!
The bottom line is – while we ALL have these traits, very few people actually need medication. For the rest of us, they only become a problem if we LET them.
One thing we can never know about our life …is when it will END.
Of course, like the movie star George Sanders, we can choose to cash in our chips at a pre-determined point.
But while – like George – I am less than enamoured with the prospect of losing my powers and/or my marbles …I have no such plans.
I’ve worked and schemed HARD to retire at 50 – and now life is GOOD.
And anyway, I have RESPONSIBILITIES – like a WIFE (not to mention two dogs, a cat, several squirrels and a squadron of LBBs – all of whom depend upon ME).
In any case, since this is undoubtedly the only life I will ever GET, I OWE it to myself to keep on truckin’ – forever looking around the next bend.
After fifty-eight summers in this place, I have evolved a belief-system: Atheist-Buddhist-Darwinist-Humanist-Cosmicist-Continuumist – which convinces me that this is IT. There is NO “after-life”.
Thus I intend to leave my MARK in THIS life and since I do not, realistically, expect to ever become a famous movie star (or have a marble statue erected in my honour) these columns and my YouTube channels will have to suffice.
How long they will LAST – depends entirely upon FATE. Perhaps a new cleaner at WordPress and/or YouTube will pull the plug on the main-frame out, to connect up their hoover?
But while WordPress and YouTube DO survive, they will include these concepts and moments from my life – that gave me pause.
Now statistically I SHOULD have about twenty years LEFT in This Place, but I could conk out while writing thi
In My Day, when your television broke down, it made the NEWS.
If one of its huge wax-and-paper capacitors let go, it measured on the Richter Scale.
And when one of the massive carbon resistors gave up the ghost, you had to call in the fire brigade.
Plus if a transformer had a meltdown, it would issue acrid white smoke – the living room would be uninhabitable for days.
Owning a TV back then was akin to having a UXB in your house.
But when my telly’s power-supply board failed the other day, it just went “tick”.
The reason for this is micro-electronics. Except that since their introduction in the Seventies, they have now passed through nano-, pico-, femto-, atto- and zepto-electronics. Today, we have YOCTO-electronics.
This means if a circuit board (which now looks like reverse-engineered alien tech) develops a fault, you need a giant magnifying glass with a circular flo-tube – and tools capable of performing a rectal exam on a mosquito – just to work on it.
However, this electronic wizardry does have its compensation – PRICE.
My telly’s replacement cost me HALF what its predecessor cost, just five years ago.
And my other telly – a 42″ plasma I bought eight years ago – cost me the same as a modern SEVENTY-inch plasma.
That’s THREE TIMES the size – I’d need a bigger HOUSE.
Of course, it has always been thus. In the Thirties, you could buy TVs, fridges and vacuum cleaners – but they COST you an arm and a leg.
Even I do not go THAT far back, but I remember the Seventies, when VCRs first came out. THEY cost a fortune then – about three grand sterling. Even the blank tapes cost you a week’s wages.
Furthermore, what you got for your money was a thing that LITERALLY worked on string and baling wire. Plus springs, multi-terminal switches, solenoids – and a timer that was made for a COOKER. They were an electro-mechanical NIGHTMARE. You needed a resident engineer, just to keep them on their feet.
Not only that, but they had NO freeze-frame, slo-mo, swing-search – and they were low-fi mono and recorded just ONE programme.
Finally, if you DID decide to be the First On Your Block to own one, you had maybe one chance in five that within a year, you would still be able to buy TAPES for it.
Remember Philips VCR? Philips VCR-LP? Grundig SVR? Video 2000? 8mm?
Precisely.
Only if you had been lucky enough to purchase a VHS model (or at a pinch, a Sony Betamax) would it still be of any use, two years later.
Then again, when to buy one of THOSE? As the Eighties progressed to the Nineties, they acquired still-frame, multi-speed, swing-search, long-play, hi-fi, stereo and multi-channel, eight-event programming.
The perfect time to grab one was around 2000. By then, you could get one with all the bells and whistles for about a ton (a hundred pounds, sterling) and blank tapes had dropped to a pound each.
But then a few years later – DIGITAL arrived. Tivos, DVRs, PVRs and DVD-Rs made the VCR as redundant as a wind-up gramophone.
And it’s the same with today’s tellies. First came plasmas, then LCDs – now LEDs.
And while the screens have gotten bigger, the prices have gotten smaller.
But at SOME point, you have to decide to JUMP. If you wait for the technology and prices of these big tellies to stabilize – you will end up buying one just before 3D specs with built-in TV and Interweb function hit the market.
I understand the issue of James Eagan Holmes’ sanity is currently in question.
You remember him: he’s the guy who painted his hair orange, then loaded up with automatic weapons and went to a “Batman” premiere, where he opened up on the audience, killing a dozen and injuring seventy others.
Sorry the quality isn’t too good. It’s not one of mine. I HAVE the ad – but didn’t put it up, as this one was already there, so mine would’ve been hidden in “duplicates”.
However, I DID put up the MUSIC used in the ad – it is Alan Price’s “Changes” – which can be found here…
The City Of Chicago has just named its first Public Enemy Number One – since Al Capone.
His name is Joaquin Guzman – and he is a dollar billionaire (short, American version) drug dealer, currently hanging out somewhere in Mexico.
But back in the day (as Americans say) Capone had the legs chopped from beneath him when America legalised and regulated booze – his primary source of income.
The stage musical version of The Glums has been around since 1985, but only last year did the film version finally emerge – which is less than surprising.
The thing is, stage musicals generally take eight to ten years to graduate to film (to avoid damaging the theatrical box office). Like, “South Pacific” first hit the stage in 1949 – but the film version did not follow until 1958. Whilst “My Fair Lady” opened on stage in ’56 and on film in ’64.
However, since fashions did not move quickly in the period between the late Forties and early Sixties, this was not problematic.
But when “Hair” burst forth at the end of The Summer Of Love (1967) it marked a radical change in the genre. Very much a product of its time (hippies, nudity, funky music, free love, drugs, etc.) it was a laughable anachronism when the film version was finally released in 1979.
Actually, it did not so much get released as escape. And it lost millions.
And while “Phantom Of The Opera” was a huge success on stage in 1986, the film version – made EIGHTEEN years later – barely recovered its production costs.
The reasons were clear: the near-twenty-year delay meant that its original stars were simply too old for their roles. And while the initially-proposed leads Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway might have rescued the project, both were unavailable. In any case, by that time, public interest in Phantom had waned.
Thus it was that the filming of The Glums (or “Les Mis” as it is now affectionately known) while first proposed just three years after its stage debut with Alan Parker, then Bruce Beresford directing – and finally Cameron Mackintosh producing – the whole idea stalled.
It was not until Susan Boyle pushed it back into play by popularising the musical’s best song, “I Dreamed A Dream” – that The Glums movie finally got back on track.
The timing was now perfect, but it still needed to be done right. And it was.
In the old days, stage singers were often eschewed in film musicals in favour of more glamorous actors – their voices subsequently being dubbed. A classic example is the aforementioned My Fair Lady.
The original Broadway production starred a then-still-young Julie Andrews as Eliza Doolittle. But eight years later, when the movie was cast, she was controversially passed over for the more attractive Audrey Hepburn.
And whilst Audrey was a fair singer, she was – again, controversially – dubbed by Marni Nixon. And Jeremy Brett was dubbed by Bill “Don’t Call Me” Shirley. The only non-dubbed songs were those (mostly spoken) by Rex Harrison – his voice being too distinctive to dub.
In fact, since Rex’s performances constantly varied, they were pretty much FORCED to allow him to do everything live.
But as both Jeremy and Audrey had fairly standard voices, they found all of THEIR songs being delivered on screen by singers other than themselves (apart from the early “harsh” bits sung by Eliza).
This sacrilege was corrected much later, when The Lady was restored – along with Audrey’s original singing. But tragically, she died just a few months before the completion of the work – without ever seeing it.
However, this sort of nonsense was not allowed to mar the 2012 film production of The Glums. Like grand operas, everything in it is sung. And this production DID end up with Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway – both experienced singer/actors – and they were fabulous in it.
Which was just as well, since it was decided to take the bold step of making the film with LIVE SOUND.
Again, in the old days, the actors usually mimed to pre-recorded playbacks – or, as in the case of My Fair Lady, were recorded live, with the orchestra (and replacement singers, where required) added later, in post.
Even this last was tricky, since the actors had to keep the rhythm in their heads. But in The Glums, modern technology came through – with a piano track, fed to all the actors through radio-earpieces.
The result is a triumph. At the time of typing, the film and its participants have been showered with awards – and the production’s current net is triple its outlay.
Serious – and successful – film musicals have been thin on the ground for forty years now. But with Baby-Boomers retiring and the young eschewing* cinema, in favour of those little tablets they have now – perhaps The Glums is the vanguard of a REVIVAL.
*That’s twice I’ve used that word now – in this piece – and in this millennium!
These days, Republicans are utterly out of touch with reality.
This was evidenced by an ad they made for the last election. In it, they showed a clip of Barry Obama’s appearance on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon – “slow-jamming the news” – and asked, “Is this the man you want in the White House?”
The problem was, the only votors who said no were right-wing arseholes – and the GOP already HAD them. Everyone else said, “Yeah, he’s COOL!”
Thus, the Republicans succeeded in blowing a fortune on an ad for the DEMOCRATS. What we in England would call an “own goal” (where a player accidentally deflects the ball into their own goal – hilarious).
And it WORKED: America went on to realise that Willard “Mitt” Romney WAS one of the Wall Street robber barons who had wrecked their economy and thus it would not be in their best interests to have him in the Oval Office. Barry cruised it.
So where does this leave them now?
Barry could care less. He only has four years to try to fix some of the damage inflicted on America by The Monkey’s administration – and will have to fight Congress tooth and nail all the way (although he has finally said he will invoke Presidential Privilege if necessary).
While the Democrats are struggling to find a successor to the great man.
Of course, in Russia, faced with the same situation as America has – a president can only serve two successive terms – Putin essentially handed the reins to a token (his PM) for a term and has now returned for (probably) two more terms.
Cute, but America will not go for that – particularly since it would mean Uncle Joe Biden running the White House for four years.
Of course, there is always Old Ma Clinton: but besides her currently having health issues, America still appears to be reluctant to vote for a female POTUS – despite more than half her population being women and the USA being a matriarchy.
But at least the Democrats HAVE candidates – the GOP has NO-ONE.
John Boehner cannot even pronounce his own name properly (it’s BONER) and is a cry-baby.
Chris Christie looks like he should be running the Teamsters, not the country.
Bobby Jindal looks like he should be manning a computer helpline.
And Sarah Palin… seriously?
After 2008, it seems unlikely the GOP will consider an old geezer like John McCain.
The probable candidate will be one of the slick, young, handsome NEW guys – like Marco Rubio or Paul Ryan.
And if the Democrats do not want to see one of THOSE empty suits sitting in the Oval Office, they had better get their skates on.
Because while Barry Obama may have Four More Years – THEY only have TWO…
From the start, I should make it clear that I am an ex-pat Brit retired to Thailand and have VERY little interest in sport. So… bye-bye!
Hang on – it was not always thus. Back in the Sixties, I liked heavyweight boxing. I got what Clay/Ali was doing and was curious to see how anyone would beat his technique – which consisted of constantly backing up, with his guard down, inviting (or on occasion, taunting) his opponent to come and get him.
And oh, they tried. But he was QUICK – that head would bob and weave and blows rarely found their target. Eventually, the opponents – having put everything they had into their attempts to clean his clock – would tire. Then the Black Superman would move in…
As a boy, I had no idea what those sixteen-round bruisings (the last four often resembled the end of one of those Twenties “dancing” contests – which would be settled by those who could just remain STANDING) DID to those who fought them.
Sadly, Clay/Ali found out…
Then again, today’s fighters are more wily: a quick rise to the top – a couple of title defences – then OUT, before your eggs get scrambled. And they only go for TWELVE rounds.
For a while, I liked golf. But that was when you CARED who won…
Then, in the Seventies, I warmed to tennis. A simple, graceful, easy-to-understand game, with a simple yet effective scoring system.
Totally unlike football, where 0-0 is the ideal result from two and a half hours of running about – followed by the penalty-shootout. Why don’t they just do THAT?
Then there is cricket – whose scoring system is incomprehensible – unless it rains: in which case no matter how far ahead a team is – they up-stumps and call it a DRAW.
The only time tennis hit a problem was when the technology got out of hand.
When that happened with another sport I liked – F1 racing – the response was to progressively CASTRATE the thing. They cut the straights in twain with chicanes, banned skirts (“ground effect”) got rid of turbos, nailed BOARDS to the underneath of the cars, introduced petrol consumption limits (hardly in the spirit of RACING) then ruined the tyres with grooves, more grooves and reduced widths.
Of course, if today all of those limits were done away with, while the cars would do STAGGERING speeds, the drivers would BLACK OUT on the corners. And any that didn’t would be unlikely to survive ANY crash, given the speeds they would achieve.
The only way to avoid CARNAGE would be to RC all the cars (and position the crowds at least a mile back from the track).
However, with tennis, the solution to advancing tech was simple: lower the tension settings of the racquets and redesign the balls – make them heavier and fluffier.
The problem had been that the male, big-hitting baseline players had gotten to the point where nearly every shot was an ACE.
This got BORING and many fans began watching WOMEN’S games instead – there, you got RALLIES. And that would not DO – the women may have now been earning the same as the chaps (despite only having to play three sets instead of five) – but they were WOMEN, for chrissakes.
Anyhoo – the ball and racquet changes sorted the problem overnight. And now the Wimbers Number One court has a ROOF (does the audience sing the “Thunderbirds” theme, when it opens and closes? I don’t know – it hasn’t happened yet, while I’ve been watching).
But these days, having watched tennis for forty years, I find it bores me. There are only so many moves that can be made.
Likewise Snooker – which I have also watched for forty years.
And golf.
The problem with ALL of these games is that thanks to the money, everything is so damn SERIOUS these days – there are no CHARACTERS in sport anymore (apart from a few thugs).
MONEY – that’s what’s ruined sport.
A town’s football team used to be a bunch of local chaps having a bit of fun at the weekend – now it’s a bunch of guys, most of whom are not even ENGLISH, never mind local – “bought” for MILLIONS.
Most “supporters” of Man U have never been to Manchester, let alone seen a game there. Some have never even visited ENGLAND…
And a nasty side-effect of the MONEY – are the DRUGS.
It was bad enough when sportsmen and sportswomen WRECKED their bodies to be competitive (like, Russia’s gymnastic dancers were given treatments to delay their puberty – and had pregnancies “induced” then aborted to give them an “edge” – and their shot-putters had to have sex-tests to determine they were FEMALE) but when high-tech doping became the norm…
Has anyone EVER won a Tour De France on plain orange juice?
It has been suggested there should be TWO Olympic games: one with regular, “clean” athletes – and one with Frankensteinian, drugged-up FREAKS, who would turn in ridiculous but exciting results. Hmm.
Talking of the Olympics…
The original point of them was that countries would send their AMATEUR players to emulate the feats achieved at the original Greek games, which in turn had converted natural athletic analogues into a variety of sports – where spears became javelins, bushes became hurdles, rocks became shots and so on.
Thus running, jumping, fighting and hunting techniques became organised contests.
But today, we have synchronised drowning, beach volleyball and dressage.
Really? Well, I have two extra disciplines for the IOC’s consideration: human speed trials and Routemaster pole-vaulting…
The human speed trials would involve a single lane down the side of the field with a run up, a tape, a strip of open ground, another tape, then a run-down area.
The two tapes would be a precisely-measured distance apart – say, five metres – and they would be connected to a simple timer which would compute the speed from the time between the breaking of the first and second tapes.
It would require less computing power than your pocket calculator.
Then the speed would be instantly displayed in KPH and MPH (KPH would mean zip to Americans) – down to the thousandth of a second.
The only rules would concern footwear and the fact that runners would have to stay UPRIGHT from tape to tape (no diving for the second tape) and BREAST them (no touching with the hands or arms).
Twenty-eight MPH would currently be the target to aim for – although I’m sure Lance Armstrong could raise that to forty…
Finally, in this rambling: Routemaster pole-vaulting. The standard Routemaster (for American readers: the classic red London bus, pictured above) is fourteen feet six inches tall (-ish). This elevation was reached by pole in the late thirties.
But the object overcome was just a BAR – a Routemaster is eight feet wide. Therefore the height needed to CLEAR it would be somewhat higher.
However, it ought to be possible. The current World record is still held by a Russian (now Ukranian) – one Sergey Bubka. An apparently “clean” athlete, he dominated the sport during the Eighties and Nineties, with leaps consistently over twenty feet – an achievement equalled by NO other athlete.
But the top guys today regularly do over nineteen feet, which OUGHT to be enough to clear a Routemaster, right?
Everyone is familiar with Ennio’s work on Sergio Leone’s “spaghetti westerns” – but what few know is that these are but a tiny percentage of his output, during the Sixties and Seventies.
At his peak – before Hollywood took him under its wing – poor old Ennio was bashing out scores at the rate of one a FORTNIGHT. But virtually none of them were ever released outside of central Europe.
One such is his most popular piece that does not hail from the Leone canon; it is called “Metti Una Sera A Cena” – which freely translates as, “Imagine, One Evening At Dinner” – although back in ’69, when it was released, this passion play would probably have been called something raunchier in Britain and America (a device many distributors used in those days, when serving up a spicy European concoction).
It is a highly complex, multi-level piece, featuring the remarkable three-octave range of the woman who has been described as Morricone’s Muse – Edda Dell’Orso.
Click here to enjoy possibly the most beautiful piece of music that YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD.
Her: “Now that I’ve moved in with you, don’t you think we should get a new bed?”
Him: “Why? It’s still in good shape.”
Her: “Yes, but I keep thinking about all the old girlfriends you’ve made love with in it.”
Him: “Well, following that logic – maybe you should get a new vagina.”
Or how about…
Him: “But then we’d have to get rid of the sofa – the dining room table – the carpet – the washing machine – the kitchen sink – the bath – the toilet – oh, and the wardrobe.”
Imagine you are at Grand Central Station, in Manhattan.
You descend into the subway system and board a train. The doors close and after a gentle hissing sound, the train slides smoothly into the tunnel. The journey is soft and almost silent – you are barely aware you are moving.
A scant one hour later and the train slides into another station. And after another gentle hissing sound, you emerge onto the platform and take the escalator up to the main station.
It says “London, St Pancras”.
Hang on a yocto-second… New York to London in ONE HOUR???
Science fiction of course – but the technology to make it happen has been around for a CENTURY now. It is called MagLev trains and VacTrains.
You may vaguely have heard of trains that ride on magnets, but there is a lot more to it. So let us take a quick examination of the science behind all this…
Everyone has tried to push like poles of two magnets together – hard, isn’t it? The repulsion force is amazing. So duplicate that a thousand-fold and that is how the ride described above is so smooth.
Add to that the lack of friction and it can be seen how such a train could easily reach speeds of several hundred miles an hour. But New York to London in AN HOUR?
For that, you need to add MORE science.
Modern passenger jet aircraft fly seven miles up. The reason is up there, the air is much thinner – meaning drag is dramatically reduced, allowing the aircraft to fly at 550 miles per hour (if it tried that at two thousand feet, the WINGS would rip off).
And so VacTrains run in a tube that has almost all of the air pumped out. Despite the smooth profile of high-speed trains, air turbulence is STILL a major factor (not to mention the sonic boom, when you hit 750 MPH – then again at 1,500…) but remove that and speeds of several THOUSAND miles an hour become attainable.
The hiss you heard at the start and end of the journey was the air being released from the chambers at each end of the line – your carriage was pressurised to normal, just like the fuselage of that jet aircraft.
Apart from the speed and comfort – and safety – of these trains, there are some other differences between them and conventional ones. Like VacTrains will only go from one stop to the other – and in a straight line.
Thus once they have disgorged their passengers, they will carry on to a turntable, where they will be connected to the other line and return to pick up their next load.
And while the intercontinental trains run in tunnels, the international, inter-city and local ones will run on viaducts, thirty feet above the ground.
The local, short-hop ones will also have an energy-saving feature: a dip as the train exits the station – then it will level out – and rise again as it enters the next station.
This will give the trains stored energy as they accelerate – and allow them to recover that energy to slow down again. Most of the energy that ALL short-hop transport uses is burned off by the BRAKES.
Bangkok’s SkyTrain already USES this principle – although it runs on wheels, which scrub NOISILY as it corners.
And as for safety: the viaducts will keep the trains away from danger, with no need for level crossings or bridges.
While the short-hop trains will leave local roads clear for freight delivery, service workers and shoppers.
Furthermore, their lack of friction will mean FAR less wear-and-tear on the tracks and train undercarriages – saving maintenance costs and reducing risk of failure.
Japan has been running their fleets of “bullet trains” for FIFTY YEARS now, with only ONE minor derailment (during a major earthquake) and NO casualties – EVER.
And THEY have WHEELS. Wheels are a curse for trains. Apart from the energy- and speed-draining friction, they can fail at high speed. This happened a while back in Germany, with DISASTROUS results.
The rogue wheel was half-way along the train and caused it to break in two. The front of the train was fine – but the leading carriage of the rear section derailed, striking a bridge support and slewing across the track. Then the carriages behind piled into it.
Many died.
MagLev will ELIMINATE this risk.
And as for efficiency, only a small amount of power is required to “suspend” the train above the track. And once frictionless, induction motors will power it far more efficiently – and faster – than conventional motors do now.
So there it is: fast, efficient, safe train travel that will DEVOUR current trains – and even be WAY faster than JET AIRLINERS.
Well, where ARE they then?
Therein lies the rub. While costing FAR less to operate, power and maintain than today’s trains and planes – these trains would cost a FORTUNE to develop and build.
The tunnels alone would be CRIPPLINGLY expensive, being THOUSANDS of miles long.
So… a dumb, pie-in-the-sky idea, eh?
Well, not really. Because while these systems would indeed have been expensive to set up during the last century, by now they would have PAID for themselves – MANY times over.
While their alternatives have killed MILLIONS – not to mention starting wars over oil and destroying our environment.
And besides the HUMAN cost (how many kids have lost one or BOTH parents to car/bus/train crashes?) the FINANCIAL cost has been INCALCULABLE – but let us try anyway…
Cars and aircraft cost a fortune to design and build – and have a limited life-span.
They gobble up fuel which, green issues aside, is one of the World’s biggest expenses, allowing for exploration, recovery, refining and distribution.
Plus there is the cost (again, human AND financial) of those WARS that are fought over it. How much have the two Gulf Wars cost – so far?
And the pollution from it destroys the environment (after “9/11” – when air travel was suspended for a few days – the World’s skies got MEASURABLY brighter).
Then when they crash…
The huge cost of an air disaster is obvious. Umpteen millions for the passengers, possibly more people on the ground, the cleanup – and the aircraft itself. Then the physical reconstruction and endless inquiries. All of which makes it easy to overlook the cost of RTAs, which while cheaper – are FAR more frequent.
Let us examine one of THOSE.
After someone loses control of a car and wraps it around the scenery, a number of things routinely happen: firstly, the emergency services turn up. The trained staff, specialist vehicles and equipment cost a fortune.
And having tied up traffic for a time (which costs industry – time is money and a stuck truck has outgoings, but no income) the victim is schlepped off to hospital.
There, they are aided by more trained staff and specialist equipment.
If badly injured, their recovery may take weeks or months – during which time they will be off work – and sucking up yet MORE specialist staff and equipment.
And if the driver DIES, things get even worse. If the deceased had a FAMILY to support, they will now need financial support for YEARS. And whether that is paid for by The State or commercial insurance, the cost will still have to be borne by US, either through higher taxation or insurance premiums.
And we’re talking a SEVEN-FIGURE SUM, over fifteen years or so – PER PERSON.
Multiply that by MILLIONS and you arrive at a FANTASTIC sum.
At which point, the amount that it would have taken to develop MagLev trains and VacTrains seems kinda reasonable, doesn’t it?
But naturally, the same old Greed, Stupidity and Short-sightedness that BEDEVIL This Place have yet again conspired to prevent it.
We live in a World filled with politicians and businessmen whose only interest is how much f***ing MONEY they can make over the NEXT FEW YEARS.
Fact is, as a species we are capable of greatness – but while these excrescences CONTINUE to control our lives, we will stay firmly in the GUTTER.
What do the Île de Sable (English: Sandy Island) New Caledonia, plus Argleton, West Lancs and Goblu, Ohio all have in common?
Answer: they DON’T EXIST.
Don’t worry – they haven’t been beamed up by aliens. Fact is, they NEVER existed.
They are just three of many cartographical anomalies which are dotted all over the World. I myself LIVE in one. My town in Thailand is shown on Google Earth as being MILES away from where it actually is.
In that case, Google’s confusion was probably caused by the fact that the town bears the same name as its province – and some prat using a Thai map just plopped the arrow down in the middle of that.
In fact, it is thanks to Google Earth that many of these anomalies are finally being uncovered – by armchair explorers. And although the corporate giant has now removed Argleton from its maps, said explorers still maintain joke sites on the Interweb dedicated to the town’s fictitious features.
But while some anomalous islands and towns, plus streets and BENDS in streets are merely erroneous – others were put there DELIBERATELY.
They are called cartographer’s TRAPS.
You see, maps have COPYRIGHT, just like books. But where books detail fictitious events (or ACCOUNTS of real ones) maps detail bald REALITY. Thus to copy a map, one only needs to change the font on the place and street names and one can claim to have created it from scratch – the similarity being explained by both maps being of the same place.
However, throw in a couple of bogus features that are not likely to affect the map’s users – like a pin-prick island, miles away from the shipping lanes – or a dead-end country lane where there are just fields – and in court, you can NAIL any copyright thief who included them on THEIR map!
The thing is, map-making is a tricky business. The expense of sending people to every square metre of the region you are mapping is often WAY more than the return you will get for selling the maps.
And so you end up relying on explorer’s co-ordinates (in the case of early maps) and latterly, a combination of aerial photographs and satellite images, with information glommed from public records – and previous maps.
Thus an anomaly – whether deliberately created or erroneous – can be repeated for decades. Even centuries.
But NOW, thanks to Google Earth, these anomalies are finally being exposed.
In the case of “Sandy Island” (which is sited where the ocean is actually 1,500 metres deep) Google first paid for a satellite image of its southern end – then, realising it showed NOTHING except a few clouds over empty water, didn’t bother with the rest.
The current view shows a black, pixellated GASH where the island is supposed to be and clicking on “historical” (three years ago) reveals the earlier embarrassment. If you HAVE Google Earth, input: 19 13′ S 159 55′ E – and if not, install it. It’s free – and you can fly down Grand Canyon with it.
But since Google Earth is comprised of expensive satellite images and 70% of the surface of the planet is covered with WATER, they only use close-up pictures that SHOW something (even THEY are not about to waste money on a lot of clouds and the occasional wake from a ship) leaving the WET bits as a blue, wavy wallpaper.
And so they really need to wallpaper over that GASH.
Meanwhile, if YOU are studying a map and spot a nearby village you’re sure isn’t there – or notice your straight street has a KINK in it – you’ll now know WHY!
But actually, it does no such thing. The girls in it are obviously above the age of consent and all that appears to happen is that S’Jimmy tickles a girl (which he has freely admitted to doing) or at worst, pinches her bottom.
And this happened in 1976, before PC made bottom-pinching a capital offence (or a sackable one, if it occurred at an office party). In those days, it was called “goosing” and was worth a slap across the face at best.
It has been said the girl (who seems to be enjoying the experience anyway) reported the incident at the time and was told, “Oh, that’s just Jimmy messing about” – which was fair comment.
But now a raft of seemingly GENUINE complaints have been lodged, concerning the late DJ, this clip has become common currency. Furthermore, the girl has claimed he stuck his hand up her skirt.
However, a closer look at the clip reveals that S’Jimmy would have needed arms the length of an orangutan’s to have performed THAT feat.
Thus at least ONE claim against the man appears to be BOGUS. And while the weight and consistency of the other claims suggests that many are doubtless true – THIS particular claim makes one wonder HOW many?
UPDATE (7th December, 2012)
The TOTP girl has now come forward – and in the interests of BALANCE, here is HER version of events…
The intervening thirty-six years have not been kind to her – and neither have some commenters on her story – but her testimony is compelling.
However, the Beeb has MONEY (and as it now turns out, so does the late S’Jimmy’s estate) – therefore fortune-hunters will inevitably be seeking a piece.
But that fact in turn further clouds the issue. The woman in the above clip certainly SEEMS genuine. But others?
So where does all this leave us? Well, there is NO DOUBT that S’Jimmy WAS an arrogant, predatory pervert, who molested teenage girls at every opportunity.
He manoeuvred himself into situations where he could come into contact with as many as possible – including, most ominously, handicapped ones – and took advantage of the spirit of the times.
And when his “good deeds” were uncovered, he used those to bolster his position against any backlash that might occur from his MISdeeds.
But, from those now coming forward seeking a PAYOUT, the paymasters need to make sure the funds available go to those who were GENUINELY victimised by this sleazy bastard.
And then there are the REST. Right now, Stuart Hall and Max Clifford have joined Gary Glitter, Freddie Starr, Dave Lee Travis and a producer, Wilfred De’Ath as persons of interest in “Operation Yewtree”.
Where will it all end?
Certainly I for one would like to see the guilty punished. Not young, then-famous men who threw themselves into the Seventies, living the dream with nubile, willing teens – but those who took ADVANTAGE of the then-prevailing climate, to ATTACK KIDS.
I recall how difficult it was in those days to find anyone who would BELIEVE kids who spoke out. My OWN experience is detailed HERE…
But post-PC, while things have changed for the better – like other aspects of PC, some have gone TOO FAR. And it is all too easy now for some to take advantage of THAT. A willingness to hand out compensation to anyone with a good story.
And anyone wishing to DAMAGE a person only has to HINT that they have acted inappropriately with a child and the person discovers they are guilty until proven innocent – and even then, mud sticks.
The whole issue of sex crime is filled with confusion, lies, double-standards, double-dealing, bullsh*t and plain EVIL.
While the Law is inadequate in dealing with it. Mostly, it only makes things WORSE for the victim – and allows the unscrupulous to make victims of the innocent.
Some would say a kick in the nuts would solve many of the problems – but predatory perverts are too subtle for that. Most victims traditionally KNOW their abuser.
Abusers “groom” their victims. And, as in S’Jimmy’s case, some simply do their abusing in plain sight…
Candy are the Ford Motor Company of washing machines: “an old Ford never dies – some fool will always keep botching it back up.”
And thus it was with me. However, the other day, my Candy finally gave up the ghost.
But even her demise was a disappointment. I HAD hoped to take her outside, connect her to a long extension lead, put my bowling ball in her drum, switch her to fast spin and – standing well back – watch with glee as she hopped around the garden, before ripping herself to pieces.
But sadly, this spectacular send-off was denied me. The final item to conk out had been her motor control board, so – no spin.
Her replacement is Sam – Mr Sung to you (did you see what I did there?)
Despite winning the War Of Independence 229 years ago, Americans STILL appear to feel the need to BREAK AWAY from Britain.
They drive on the WRONG side of the road – they eat with their cutlery the wrong way round – their months and dates are backwards (“9/11” is actually “11/9”) – their language has as many different nouns as possible (along with usage) without totally abandoning English – they call Rugby… Football (and play it in outfits that make the players look like RoboCop) – their pints and gallons are smaller (as are their billions and trillions) while their shoe sizes are bigger (but that old story is UNtrue).
Plus, where Britain’s right-wing party’s colour (which they spell color) is blue and its left-wing party’s is red – America’s are REVERSED.
Furthermore, their buildings have no first floor – their electricity is 110V at 60 Hz, while everyone else’s is 220V at 50Hz – their TV standard is 525-line NTSC (Never Twice The Same Colour – again, they go with color) while everyone else has 625-line PAL/SECAM.
And despite every other country under the sun having speed limits in increments of ten (either MPH or KPH) – theirs have a FIVE on the end.
This last HAS to be the MOST absurd. I mean, one would think that nothing COULD be done to vary THOSE. But no – The U S of A decided to add a FIVE to them.
So while the rest of the World has signs reading 20, 30, 40, 50 and so on – America goes with 25, 35, 45, 55, etc.
They FINALLY just opened a road built for SPEED. It is a TOLL road in Texas. And despite being a mere forty miles long, it will cost people eight bucks (a fiver) just to travel on it.
However, with their primitive, inefficient cars (including Mustangs, like the one I pissed all over in Norfolk that time) having engines geared DOWN to meet petrol (which they wrongly call “gas”) consumption regulations, while still being able to burn rubber off the lights – many of their vehicles will strain to even REACH the permitted maximum on this new road.
Of course, the idea of a bunch of Pop stars nudging SEVENTY and touring AGAIN is PREPOSTEROUS – except The Stones were never a Pop band. They were and still are a BLUES band. And Blues artists play ’til they DROP.
Think Muddy Waters, Memphis Slim, John Lee Hooker, Alexis Korner, Albert King and (no relation) BB King (who is still going, at 87).
Just like fellow-bluesers Fats Domino, Little Richard and Chuck Berry (who like BB are ALSO still going, in their EIGHTIES) who got sucked into mainstream Rock ‘N’ Roll in the Fifties – The Stones got sucked into mainstream Pop in the Sixties.
But the truth is, The Stones are the World’s greatest living BLUES BAND and going by the history of their Blues forefathers – have at least another TEN YEARS TO GO!
The other day, I left a comment on a story about statistics on plane crashes. I decided that it, a reply and my return reply were worth immortalising in these columns. They ran thusly…
Vincent (morpheusatloppers)
11/10/2012 23:45
Statistically, your chances of dying in a plane are around the same as your winning the lottery (all six numbers). Of course this is cold comfort when, having just WON the lottery, you are sitting waiting for takeoff on your celebratory holiday!
>
Victoria
12/10/2012 12:12
But they do say that lightning never strikes twice…
Up until the end of the Victorian age, you were free to put whatever you wanted into your body, but during the first quarter of the twentieth century, all of that changed.
For a variety of reasons (most of which had little to do with individual health or safety) and using a variety of methods (some decidedly dubious) governments began BANNING most mind-altering substances. But it was not until Tricky Dick started his “War Against Drugs” that things got SERIOUS.
Of course, he should have known better: history showed that Prohibition simply did not WORK – in the 1920s, banning BOOZE had merely driven it underground and empowered organised crime.
But disregarding the obvious, Nixon went ahead and began a “war” that, unlike Prohibition – which only lasted a decade or so – has now raged for over FOUR decades. With no more sign of a positive result than the FIRST time.
However, SOME sense is now (finally) being seen – although for political reasons, progress is likely to happen with the speed of an arthritic snail.
It began with “medical marijuana” – and currently continues with three American states looking like they might unilaterally LEGALISE hash (although if they do, they will fall foul of America’s FEDS).
And in much of Europe, possession of small amounts of “certain substances” is barely bothered with, by their police – but they remain ILLEGAL.
So if the U.N., America and Europe DID suddenly acquire some gumption, what would be the outcome? Well, this is where the title of this piece comes in. Perversely, I will begin with…
CONS.
Anyone with a user friend, relative, or whose OWN life has been screwed up by drugs will understandably wail like a banshee that Legalising And Regulating drugs is a road to HELL. That drug use will increase exponentially and society will go straight down the dumper.
Except that eleven years ago, Portugal essentially decriminalised drugs – a half-way measure – and the number of addicts plummeted. The “stolen sweets” dimension?
Still others claim our roads are dangerous enough as it is – and that stoners will make them WORSE.
Except that drugs are covered by the same legislation as booze – and stoners drive WAY SLOWER than drunks.
And that is really that. Which brings us to…
PROS.
Where to START?
Okay, how about MONEY? Pound, dollar or euro for pound, dollar or euro, the cash amount required to deal with the fallout from Legalisation And Regulation is just a TINY percentage of the VAST amount spent on Prohibition.
In chronological order – the DEA, Navy, Army, Customs, Police, courts, prisons (and that is just in America) waste BILLIONS (short American or proper ones – take your pick) of pounds, dollars or euros (again, take your pick – either way, it’s a shit-load of money) every year on vain attempts to stem the tide – with NO significant effect.
Every time they bust a mule or dealer, they just create a job opportunity – which will be filled immediately. And when they intercept a large haul, the suppliers simply treat it as “shrinkage” and up the production – and if the supply On The Street DOES lessen, the price.
Then there is crime. World-wide, around half the people in jail are there for drug-related offences. In America, that’s one person in 137 – a World Record (ironic, in “The Land Of The Free”).
This has a number of adverse social effects that could be reversed by introducing L&R – and a moratorium on inmates whose only crime was using.
First, you would free up cops, so they could go out and solve REAL crime.
Plus the American courts would have time to PROSECUTE real criminals, instead of allowing them to plea-bargain their jail-time down – then see their sentences get reduced again, as an expedient to reduce the pressure on their overcrowded prisons.
Is it not absurd that otherwise law-abiding citizens get sent to jail and acquire a criminal record – for doing something that affects NO-ONE except themselves?
And in retarded countries, they face DEATH.
Finally in this section – the EFFECT of crime. How many people have returned to their homes or cars to find someone has done THOUSANDS in damage, to grab a piece of tech (TV, car-radio, computer) that they will only get a few quid, bucks or euros for, to finance their habit for another day?
Which brings us to economics. Drugs that cost a few hundred quid, bucks or euros at source cost hundreds of THOUSANDS by the time they reach The Street. And most of that money goes to the barons. Legally-produced drugs would cost a TINY FRACTION of the illegal ones, thus removing the need for the crimes that support it.
And while the illicit drugs’ CONSUMERS are mostly Westerners (44% American, 33% European – 80% in total) the products come from some VERY dodgy places (in North America: from Central and South America – and in Europe: mostly from Asia) which means that much of the profit ends up supporting TERRORISM (forget about “fake” branded goods).
Then what about the FARMERS? Yes – Westerners FORGET about THEM. Many are FORCED into the trade and risk DEATH. But L&R would restore that trade to legitimacy and their evil bosses would evaporate.
Finally in this section come the drug-producing countries themselves. Many assume they are HAPPY to be a part of it, but the massive profits go straight to the drug barons – the PEOPLE see little of it. All they see are thousands of their citizens gunned down by the warring cartels, politicians blown up because they tried to STOP the carnage – and a total absence of law, order or any effective government.
Then comes the environment. Environment? Yes – annually, the authorities crop-dust umpteen TONS of assorted poisons onto illegal crops (which are often just washed and end up on The Street, regardless – making users SICK). And as the farms are ruined, the growers push into the forest to carve out new ones.
And of course, there are the drugs themselves. Following L&R, the situation would change DRAMATICALLY.
First, there are a number of “nice” natural drugs which are far less harmful than the “hard” drugs currently available – like coca leaves, which locals chew to combat altitude sickness in the Andes and leaf marijuana, which can be smoked like herbal tobacco, rather than the concentrate, which has to be mixed with highly ADDICTIVE “normal” tobacco – never mind the “man-made” nasties like meth.
But the reason you rarely hear about them is that they take up lots of ROOM and are thus less profitable to the criminals than their harder brothers.
Also, given that drugs like the afore-mentioned marijuana and others like MDMA (“Ecstasy”) are less harmful than booze or nicotine, such substances would be available to regular people without the necessity for them to come within the orbits of drug “pushers” – who would like nothing more than to get them hooked on something stronger.
Furthermore, if drugs were L&R-ed, they would be manufactured and processed by legitimate companies, ensuring purity, hygiene and known strength – qualities sadly lacking in those knocked up in back-street “labs” and dirty huts in Third World countries.
Finally in this part comes IGNORANCE: it is inevitable that information about illegal drugs comes from untrained friends of users – and pushers. But once L&R came in, there would be a free flow of non-judgemental EDUCATED information, allowing everybody to KNOW what they were getting INTO.
Now (again perversely) let us look at the LOSERS in L&R…
Drug barons, commercial companies running prisons, American criminals – who could now be prosecuted PROPERLY, arms and military hardware manufacturers (the DEA, Navy, Army, Customs and Police use a LOT of their wares) dodgy banks that “launder” drug money, crooked politicians – the list is endless. But they all have one thing in common – they are SCUM.
So who would be the winners? Well, obviously the drug USERS. But the PRINCIPAL winners would be – OURSELVES.
Thousands of people would not DIE every year – some of whom just got caught in the crossfire. Everyone could get STONED when they wanted, without FEAR. Petty crime might not cease – but it would certainly REDUCE. As would our TAXES. And finance for terrorists would be pinched – we would all be SAFER.
And for those in developing countries, their existence would be TRANSFORMED. Life in many areas of Latin America resembles a war-zone, these days. No wonder those countries are BEHIND reform.
In summation, if L&R were made law – internationally – everyone in this World would be freer and RICHER. Now I’ll drink to THAT (or get stoned, whatever).
The time WILL eventually come – but for this writer, it will be too late. I’m SIXTY now. Statistically, my group are not even IN this fight. Most of us dabbled with hash in our youth – and a few other things. But now we’re too OLD for that shit.
However, even WE are affected by the situation that now exists. We can be blown up by terrorists. Robbed by desperate junkies. And we are ALL affected by the colossal amount of MONEY that our idiot governments WASTE on this nonsense.
Soon I will qualify for the state pension I paid decades of TAXES for. If L&R came in first, the amount I’d receive could be HIGHER. And THAT I would LIKE.
Ten years ago, in the weeks leading up to my ESCAPE from that cold, eternally-wet, miserable, overpriced country, I was forced to sell my car. It was a Skoda.
Now before you start laughing, let me say this was NOT an Estelle – but a Felicia estate, the first car made by Czechoslovakia’s Skoda after The Wall had tumbled and Volkswagen had taken over their design department. It cost about two-thirds the price of a comparable West European model – and was as solid as a rock.
But despite VW designing Skoda a J.D. Power Customer Satisfaction Survey-topping automobile which they were capable of building (not to mention supplying them with its electrics – Skoda Estelles had an unfortunate habit of catching FIRE) that NAME was still an anathema – resulting in a number of jokes.
My personal favourite was: what’s the difference between a sheep and a Skoda? You feel SLIGHTLY less embarrassed being seen getting out of the back of a Skoda. Ha ha.
But a more common joke was: how do you double the value of a Skoda? Fill the petrol tank. And it is THAT which I need you to remember…
You see, I had intended exporting my reliable chariot to my new home in the sun (Thailand) but some pencil-necked desk-jockey bureaucrat had recently put the kibosh on that notion – therefore, since I needed wheels right up to the time I arrived at Heathrow for the last time, I was required to obtain a street-legal CLONKER.
Thing was, I did NOT wish to have to sell my car at Heathrow – as the buyer would know he had me over a barrel. And so having a cheap, road-worthy replacement, I was able to take my time and get a more reasonable sum for my old ride, before my departure to sunnier climes.
The car I ended up with during those last hectic weeks was a Vauxhall Cavalier Mk III – altogether, not a bad car. In fact, the cost of bringing it up to scratch would only have been a few hundred pounds in England – and perhaps ONE hundred pounds in Thailand, where labour costs are considerably cheaper.
Which, since the car would have been worth a couple of GRAND sterling here, would have been economically viable. But back in Blighty – given the excesses of their MOT test and the cost of their labour – it was only worth what I paid for it…
SEVENTY-FIVE POUNDS.
Now I have ruminated on this disparity elsewhere in these columns, so I will cut straight to the reason I am revisiting the issue: today I heard the current price of petrol in England.
And I took the trouble to look up the fuel capacity of that Cavalier. It was 61 litres which, at £1.40 each, would mean that today it would cost EIGHTY-FIVE POUNDS to fill her up.
Which, assuming the price of their street-legal clonkers has only increased in line with inflation, means that today, in England – a full tank of petrol ACTUALLY CAN double the value of a car.
And that is RIDICULOUS.
[Footnote: in case you were wondering, I did NOT just abandon the Cavalier at Heathrow. A friend met me at the airport and I GAVE it to him.]
Not of READING, you understand (after all, you are reading THIS) rather, the classic MEDIUM.
We all remember bookshops – but how often do you SEE them now? Fact is, these days, mostly only big CHAIN bookstores survive. And even THEY cannot wait for the lead-up to Christmas each year.
Then, they get to shift all those TV and movie spin-off books – and the ubiquitous “Guinness Book Of Records” (which these days is just a plebby entertainment – not the definitive guide to SERIOUS accomplishments it once was).
However, sadly the small independent bookshop is fast disappearing. Some have added coffee-bars to try to drum up custom – but often, they end up adding a kitchen and DUMPING the books altogether.
While shop-owners put ads on the Interweb (which to some extent is the thing that killed books to BEGIN with) pleading for people with a thousand bucks and a van to come and take their stock AWAY – so they can fill said shop with something they can SELL.
These days, books can be divided into just three categories – educational books, that students are FORCED to buy – specialist books that sell in small numbers at the few surviving bookshops – and best-sellers that are written by one of just a couple of dozen authors.
But most of these last are NOT sold in bookshops. No, they are loaded onto small carousels, which occupy a few square feet of any shop that will take one – everything from newsagents to supermarkets.
Which is tragic. What happens to the thousands of good writers who have no more chance of becoming one of those two dozen best-selling authors than a young actor has of becoming the next Tom Cruise?
They are on THIS medium, that’s where. But unless they can get onto Kindle, they make NOTHING from their work.
Over a century ago, Jules Renard said, “Writing is the only profession where no-one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.”
How ironic that between then and today, the writing and reading of books grew into a mammoth industry – which has now all but petered OUT…
Of late, how many times have you heard a BUZZ on a movie or TV show and watched someone walk over to a table – or reach out of bed to a bedside cabinet – and pick up a mobile phone (US: cell)?
It’s NONSENSE!
If you are one of the seventeen people who do not possess one (I’ve seen HOMELESS PEOPLE with them) allow me to point out WHY.
Mobiles have RINGTONES. Often many – one for each of your friends. And said tones can be turned DOWN when necessary. Some models can even be programmed to ring softly during certain hours (like, from 22:00 to 07:00).
However if you are in a meeting, or at the theatre, or some other place where people’s phones going off would be frowned upon, you can set them on VIBRATE.
Then when you FEEL your mobile buzzing, you can either ignore it or surreptitiously take it out, see who’s calling and take the appropriate action (select “reject call”, text them that you are in a meeting or whatever and you will call them back whenever or excuse yourself and go outside to talk to them).
Simple. That’s what the vibrate function is FOR.
And while a vibrating mobile (which uses a LOT of power) will make SOME noise if left on a flat, hard surface – any ambient noise will cover it.
So are all of the characters who take their mobiles out and put them on a table or bedside cabinet and then forget to switch them from vibrate to ring – just STUPID??
Or is it just the DIRECTORS of the pieces they are appearing in?
In addition, the WRITERS are missing a golden opportunity here. Since these days, most mobiles allow you to record your own ringtones (and there are a gazillion websites who will SELL you one, if you’re too dumb or unimaginative to create your own) it would be INSTRUCTIVE about characters to specify in the script what that tone (and those they have selected for their friends) should be.
Then the sound editor could input the tone into the piece’s audio track.
So, not only is Hollywood making its characters look clueless – but they are missing a golden opportunity to exploit this technology artistically.
The other day, I put a piece with MY ringtone onto the Interweb. You are more than welcome to use it…
“You know how God is always shown in the movies as this regal old guy with a long white beard, sitting on some great throne, surrounded by clouds of dry ice? But I was thinking – what if he was just some regular guy, sitting on a swivel chair in a nondescript office in the Bronx – surrounded by different-coloured telephones?
“So let’s go over to that office right now and we can listen in to what he has to say…
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
“Hey Bart – I’ve been getting a LOT of static about this foreskin thing… …Yeah, well when I was talking to Abe, I was only joking when I said they’d grow BACK… …But you see, we’d been drinking this really heavy wine… …NO! It’s part of my grand design. When people are making love, it rolls back so the sensitive skin on the knob… …Yeah, that’s right – the little membrane makes it roll back, to protect it. You cut it off and the skin on the knob gets all thick and… …Well, stop cutting them OFF, okay? It’s a perfect bit of technology… …Have I got one? Of course – if man is made in my image, it automatically follows that… …What do you mean, what do I use it for? Well, it’s none of your damn business, but it happens there’s this cute angel up here and – hang on – I’m getting a call on the other line…
“Hey Benny, I was just about to call you – what’s with that Pope-mobile of yours? It makes you look like you’re selling ice cream. You look like a fool in the thing. Look, you live in Italy – why don’t you get Ferrari to knock up something? They’d do it for YOU… …Okay, well do SOMETHING. Meanwhile, I wanted to have a little talk with you about this birth-control thing – it’s driving the punters away.Where did you get the idea I was against it? Just ’cause YOU don’t wanna screw around… …Well, I didn’t say anything of the kind. Listen, celibacy was YOUR idea. None of the other Branches practise it and some of ’em practise some weird shit – hang on, the orange phone is ringing…
Electric cars have been around pretty much as long as the conventional internal combustion engine variety. But they have always lost out to their noisy, polluting brother – because of their slowness and limited range.
Thus for decades, the technology has been relegated to golf carts, fork-lift trucks – and joke-mobiles like the idiotic Sinclair C5. That will eventually change – but it will not be easy coming…
General Motors issued their EV1 back in ’96, as a response to pressure from The Government. But they only LEASED it – and when industry pressure managed to overcome the government pressure, they seized the cars back from their protesting customers and CRUSHED them.
And this has been a recurring theme. Car manufacturers’ noses are so far up the oil companies’ chuffs, they can tell what they had for breakfast. And California’s government is not unlike America’s – whose nice but impotent POTUS is hamstrung by Big Business.
The current situation is this…
Electric cars have always been limited by battery performance – big, heavy lead-acid affairs – but since the advent of NiMH batteries (like the one powering your mobile phone and the very computer you are reading THIS on) range, performance and top speed have all increased exponentially.
The Tesla will do over 200 miles on a charge, 0-60 MPH in under four seconds and is LIMITED to 125 MPH – how much faster do you need to go?
Twenty years ago, we were promised “alien technology” – the “Fuel Cell” would revolutionise road travel (and maybe electricity generation) in just a few years. We are still waiting.
Hydrogen cars promised CLEAN motoring – but the cost is prohibitive.
“Hybrids” are now all over America – but they still use an internal combustion engine.
Fact is, thanks to its eternal greed, arrogance and stupidity, Big Business is keeping us back in the Second Millennium – with billions of high-tech cars using low-tech means to propel us about.
And if we choke on their fuel’s by-products and get ensnarled in primitive nations’ wars to obtain it – what do they care?
But it does not have to BE this way.
With fast, efficient, comfortable trains to move us long distances and smooth, clean, cheap ELECTRIC cars to give us freedom on shorter runs – this World could be SO much BETTER.
Of course, these vehicles do not run on magic – the electricity to power them still has to be generated. But therein lies ANOTHER story of greed, arrogance and stupidity.
While nuclear, hydro, wave, wind and solar power all have their problems, coal is plentiful all over. And the traditional arduous and dangerous methods of obtaining it have long been superseded by open cast mining, which, with a little commonsense could be ramped up without spoiling the environment (dig a big hole – extract the coal – then fill said hole with refuse – and cover. It is not rocket science).
And while burning that coal still produces greenhouse gases – the quantity produced is a HELL of a lot less than that produced by billions of separate internal combustion engines.
But of course, Big Business is content to retain the status quo. Anything else would cost it MONEY. Which is what it is ALWAYS about.
And individual action is no good. It is pretty cheap to convert a second-hand car to run on NiMH batteries – but if you want to run it on public roads, you have to get it past the Construction And Use regs – which are dictated by The Government.
Nope – what is needed is for just ONE rich entrepreneur to start up a BIG factory making FAMILY cars in BULK, using the latest plug-in electric technology. Then start SELLING those cars – while making sure they cannot be bought out by f***ing GM.
The problem with Top 40 radio is there ain’t no Top 40 anymore! They have iTunes download charts – but that’s it.
The fact that Top Of The Pops was CANCELLED six years ago says it ALL. And the fact it was replaced by TOTP2 – a programme devoted to PAST hits.
Pop is DEAD – and it’s now OFFICIAL.
Thus Pop Radio has to follow suit – broadcast PAST gems.
Of course, the irony is that the record companies that KILLED Pop – using the CD as the murder weapon (allied to their short-sighted GREED) sold off their back-catalogues CHEAPLY.
So that nowadays, TRUE Pop (1920-90, plus Trance: 1990-2002) is virtually FREE.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: soon, iPhones, iPods, damn TOASTERS – ANYTHING that has chips and an LCD display – will contain ALL the Pop that ever was.
And this is fine. Modern groups and artists get their financial reward from their LIVE performances (impossible in the Sixties, with the amount of STUDIO PRODUCTION involved on the records).
Plus “personality” DJs run shows on the Interweb, for those who like a friendly voice sharing the music with them (like ME!)
All of this works fine – provided vintage music copyright owners LEAVE PEOPLE ALONE and do not harass those freely passing the music.
Richard Branson is the perfect example of this: he SOLD Virgin records, to give him the money he needed to defend himself from attacks by The World’s LEAST Favourite Airline – but is STILL in the business of LIVE music production, concerts and ticketing.
While the CEOs of the record companies look for alternative employment…
I believe it was Mr Hitchcock who opined that drama was real life with the boring bits cut out – but for once, the Master Of Suspense was WRONG (or just being glib – one of the two) – it is so much more.
Example: you just got fired, after your boss described your shortcomings in graphic detail and called you an ineffectual arsehole.And on the way home, you composed a comprehensive and highly literate response, detailing why you had done what you had done, what your strengths were – and why HE was the arsehole.
But had you been a character in a DRAMA, without pausing for breath you would have said those words RIGHT THERE AND THEN. Plus you would have been far more incisive and eloquent.
However, you would ONLY have been able to DO that – because a WRITER had spent half an hour COMPOSING your speech.And that is the DIFFERENCE between drama and real life.
Which is exemplified in HBO’s new series – “The Newsroom” – which just opened here in Thailand (only six weeks behind America).
Aaron “You can’t handle the truth!” Sorkin is an old hand at this stuff – “West Wing”, “Studio 60…” and a host of writer-driven movies have landed him a raft of awards and an intermittent coke habit.
And “The Newsroom” is his latest triumph. Being a cable show, season one is only ten eps – but it has (at the MOMENT) been green-lighted for a second – so here’s hoping.
Arthur Mullard’s real name was Mullord – a French name – but his upbringing was strictly cockney.
After a stint in the army, during which time he became the regimental boxing champ, he followed that career professionally for a while. However, twenty fights and a knockout which wiped his memory cut the career short.
Little is known about his life in the Forties, but after WW2, he drifted into the movie business, working as a stuntman – mostly doing fight scenes. His tough, lumbering, broken-nosed appearance and heavy cockney accent enabled him to rise from bit parts such as bouncers to comedy “heavies” in films such as the Peter Sellers vehicles, “Two Way Stretch” and “Wrong Arm Of The Law”.
By now, he had changed one letter of his surname – turning Mullord into Mullard. He reasoned this would be more acceptable to the British public, who were familiar with Mullard’s radio and TV valves.
Then, in the Seventies, he finally graduated from minor film roles to television sitcoms – also making a number of records. But his recording career came to an abrupt halt, following a disastrous live appearance on “Top Of The Pops” where he and Hylda Baker forgot the words to their novelty cover of “You’re The One That I Want” from the musical, “Grease”.
After that, his star waned and he returned to his humble roots in a council flat in Islington. He died there in 1995, aged 85.
But shortly after, events were to take a bizarre turn when his daughter Barbara went public with her account of years of sexual abuse suffered at the hands of her father – leading to the suicide of her mother.
I recall that, at the time, many felt the woman had MADE UP her claims, either for financial gain – or simply to attract attention. This was more comforting than the idea that the man whose film appearances they had enjoyed for so many years was in reality an incestuous monster.
However, I know BETTER. I lived near to Islington in the Seventies.
Now I should make it clear from the start that despite meeting many celebrities at that time (being in London and working in the West End, including as a chauffeur) I never met Arthur.
But back in those halcyon Seventies, I LIVED for four months with his sister-in-law – Christiane Mullord.
And while Christiane had only met him briefly and never spoke of him during our time together, it is the period BEFORE our relationship that is instructive…
I first encountered Christiane after my cat had had kittens. I had placed an advert, “kittens: free to good home” with my phone number, in a local vet’s waiting room and she called me up to warn me of bogus excrescences who picked up animals from such advertisements, to sell to labs, for vivisection. Apparently some of these scum even took their kids with them, as window dressing.
I replied that I had by now managed to place the kittens – and I was pretty sure all of the recipients were kosher, being friends of friends and suchlike.
But we got talking and the upshot was, finding we had music in common, I soon formed a relationship with her – and her partner, George.
I went around to their Guinness Trust flat in Islington a number of times, spending innocent evenings listening to records of theirs while they listened to ones I had bought with me.
But as time went by, I learned more about their relationship. It transpired George was in fact a LODGER in the flat and that her husband was Jeremy Mullord – Arthur Mullard’s younger brother – and he was “away a lot”.
Furthermore, their relationship was KNOWN to Jeremy – but for appearances, when he returned home, George would return to his room.
At this point, I will try to describe these people, beginning with Christiane’s husband, Jeremy…
Apparently, he fancied himself as an academic (and so had understandably retained his original surname) and the reason he was never around (I never met HIM either) was he was taking course after course at various universities (education was FREE in Britain in the Seventies).
But according to Christiane, he was less interested in qualifications than the young female students he could NAIL there. Basically, he was trying to re-live his youth.
He sounded like a total CREEP.
His marriage to Christiane had occurred while he was studying in Paris. She had been unfortunate enough to encounter him and was impressed by his apparent class. At that time, she knew nothing of his (in)famous brother.
Christiane was a sweetheart. At forty-seven, she was several years older than Jeremy, but her classic French look – high cheekbones, long hair and killer body – had made her irresistible to him. For a while.
But later, once settled in England, he had introduced her to George…
George was a REAL academic, whom Jeremy had met at some university. But his qualifications had only lead to a job as head librarian at an Islington library.
And when George needed a new place (for reasons I can only GUESS at) Jeremy invited him to come and stay with him and Christiane. Since they had no children (Christiane had hit “the change” early) they had a spare room in the poky little Islington walk-up.
The arrangement had suited all at first. George could “service” Christiane, leaving Jeremy to fill his boots at the university. But there was a problem, for Christiane – it turned out that George was a monumental PERVERT.
He would go “dogging” (and this before the term was even used) hanging around in parks where street prostitutes took their punters, he would pick up their discarded condoms, put them on and masturbate into them.
It is hard to understand why a person would take all of the risks of acquiring an STD – without at least having had the fun involved. But that was George.
He also had a glass eye which he would remove, to shock people. A real charmer.
But from his cultivated accent, education and poise, you would never have known what lay beneath.
Of course, our nights spent listening to music was his way of “grooming” (another term which did not exist then) me – then a young man in his early twenties.
Eventually, our relationship grew closer and when he heard I had a Polaroid camera (rare in those days) it was suggested that I could bring it with me next time, to take some “artistic” pictures of Christiane.
It was further suggested that afterwards, I might spend some TIME with Christiane, provided he could enjoy her in his room, immediately after (I did not know about his condom routine yet).
Now you have to remember I was young, free and single at that time – therefore the prospect appealed. Christiane was gorgeous and appeared to be willing, so why not?
However, when the night came, events here took a bizarre turn too. After a few relatively tame nudie snaps, George suggested Christiane go “split-beaver” – at which point, she burst into tears and ran from the room. I suddenly realised that Christiane was not on board for this at all.
George calmly remarked that she was a “silly cow” and said he would talk to her. He then disappeared for a few minutes, after which she returned to the room alone.
She lay down beside me and we talked. It soon became apparent what the REAL position was. At first, she had been excited by George. But then as the true nature of his depravity had revealed itself, she had become less enamoured of the situation.
And the only reason she had gone along with George’s suggestions was that it might lead to a sexual encounter with ME. But my sympathetic reaction at her distress – as opposed to George’s callous one – had awakened something else. She realised she had FEELINGS for me.
Thus we made love. And it was fantastic. But as we lay in the afterglow (something that she told me had never happened with George – once he had finished, he was as cold as yesterday’s mashed potatoes) we began to consider the ramifications of what was happening.
Eventually, she said she had better go and “service” him. She said she would return as soon as possible.
I lay there in contemplation – and realised that for the first time in my life, I felt like MURDERING a fellow human being (George, of course).
No doubt some would have DONE that – but being at least a borderline intellectual, I remained lying there, trying to analyse WHY.
By all of the conventions of the time, she was “George’s bird” (remember, this was the Seventies) and I had merely been lucky enough to sleep with her. So what RIGHT did I have to feel this way?
Well, after a while she came back – explaining she had just showered BIG TIME. So we made love again.
Eventually, I left. We kissed at the doorway. George was still in his room – I never saw him again.
To cut a long story short: the next day we talked over the phone – I came around while George was at work at the library – picked her and her stuff up – and we lived together for four months.
The huge gap in our ages ensured that our affair would not last – but we had a great four months and when it ended, amicably, I returned her to her flat.
George had been chucked OUT as his name was not on the rental agreement (in those days, rent was collected at the DOOR) and so she was alone.
I returned a week later. She told me she had started divorce proceedings against Jeremy for in effect, desertion – and that once she had settled back down, she would move on with her life. I knew she had several woman friends and would be okay.
After that, I never saw her again, either.
So there it is. I have changed some of the names in this account – although all of those involved may be DEAD by now. If not, they would be in their eighties. There is just ONE Christiane Mullord (her REAL name, back then) in the current UK phone book, but as she lives in Accrington, Lancashire – it is probably not HER.
In any case, this has been a chapter of my life that is in the distant PAST. Revisiting it now (other than in this reminiscence) would be pointless.
But life behind Islington’s closed doors in those far-off days can now be seen in a clearer light. And whilst Arthur Mullard MIGHT have lead a blameless life and his daughter’s story might be utter fiction – I somehow do not THINK so…
Well, not exactly. But before we examine TV’s future, let us take a look at its past…
When broadcast television started, thanks to “co-channel interference” the technology only supported a maximum of FOUR national networks.
Thus America had CBS, NBC and ABC (which were spun off from its radio networks) plus a few local sub-networks, serving sections of that country. Then Fox came along.
While Britain had BBC1, BBC2 and ITV – later adding Channel Four.
And so these networks began to fill the role that had previously been serviced by the film industry, which had provided an evening’s entertainment of around four hours duration, consisting of news, shorts, a cartoon, a serial, assorted ads and trails and two movies.
This was fine for TV, which could add UP-TO-DATE news – plus variety shows, game shows, panel shows, chat shows, etc.
Except it could not afford to make MOVIES (and understandably, Hollywood was not going to allow them to run THEIRS) so it made SERIES – “mini-movies” that used the same sets, actors and crew – and ran them, one episode a week.
And thus it was: through the Thirties, Forties, Fifties, Sixties and Seventies.
But then along came cable and satellite…
And thanks to THAT technology, suddenly fifty to a hundred channels became available.
But what to FILL them with? None of these channels could AFFORD to lay on thirty hours of new, expensive SERIES per week. In any case, that role was still filled by the big terrestrial networks.
So they began filling niches, by NARROWcasting – they SPECIALISED.
Thus you had several sports channels, a couple of news channels, shopping channels, cartoon channels, documentary channels, porn channels, music video channels, catwalk channels, reality channels, movie channels, financial channels – and channels that defied description.
But they all had one thing in common – they were CHEAP.
Channels with a live feed – like news, sport, financial, reality and shopping – were INHERENTLY cheap. While those with recorded programmes – like cartoons, music videos, movies, documentaries, porn and so on – were REPEATED. Usually on a carousel – and often, MANY times.
This last was essential anyway, since with so many channels, it was inevitable that programmes would CLASH. But it also helped to SELL the platforms: new punters would be impressed by the content – although less so, once they realised how few NEW programmes were added each month – but by then, they were COMMITTED to the new system.
But what of SERIES? Well, these were still network TV’s ace-in-the-hole. Cable and satellite could not compete with their COST – at first.
However, once the new channels started raking in the money, they WERE eventually able to start producing their own series – at which point, the major networks began to FREAK.
The slow drift AWAY from the majors was caused by a number of factors…
One: being on subscription, cable and satellite networks were effectively “invited” into people’s homes – thus they could undo a few buttons.
Two: they could run classic shows that had been obtained cheaply.
And more recently – three: the Interweb and its social networking now offers a more interactive form of entertainment.
Then along came the Global Financial Meltdown.
At this point, network execs had their OWN meltdown. They had just had to settle a writers’ strike and now their budgets would be FURTHER cut.
Which is why, during the last few years, series that might previously have run for years have been time-switched, fiddled about with and finally CANCELLED before they had a chance to show their potential.
And why those old studio backlots have been featured far more of late – filming on real streets costs MONEY.
Plus it is the reason you get ever MORE cheap, talent-free reality, lifestyle and chat shows these days.
But network television now RELIES on high-quality drama series and sitcoms, for its very SURVIVAL. A couple of years ago, NBC tried to replace some of it with the Jay Leno Show – variety and chat – with DISASTROUS results.
However, it has to be remembered that while TV began filling the role previously occupied by the movie business in the FIFTIES, cinema PROGRAMMES continued well into the SEVENTIES – before the multiplexes and “event” movies finally took over.
And similarly, while the major networks are currently feeling the pinch, for the MOMENT they too are STILL WITH US – and they still have SOME quality series.
But what is the FUTURE of series? Well, here is the NUB of this piece…
Undoubtedly, series are the HEART of television – a fact the cable and satellite companies are well aware of.
Thus they are quick to include a “series” channel in all of their packages.
These include those run by Digger, who learned in Britain in the Eighties, that by syndicating NEW shows as loss leaders – and padding out the rest of his schedules with cheaper, OLDER shows – he could make plenty wonga.
And here in Thailand, Digger has TWO channels which continue to use that principle today.
But the local platform – True – has its OWN series channel. It is called True Series – and does what it says on the tin. It runs mainly NEW prime series, most of which are syndicated from the USA – with a few from Britain and a couple from elsewhere.
Some programmes it “strips” (Monday to Friday, at the same time) but most are shown weekly. And when one series reaches the end of its season, it is generally replaced by one with a similar style – thus ensuring continuity for its audience demographic.
And this just COULD be The Future Of Television.
Think about it: despite the existence of the new TVs fitted for Interweb connection, the International Data Highway is not yet READY for television programmes to be sold directly to people for download.
And posting programmes to people on DISK, while possible, would be a NIGHTMARE of logistics – and it would be impossible to stop piracy.
In any case, such programmes are supposed to be watched weekly – or at least nightly – not run in a “marathon”.
Thus having cable and satellite channels DEVOTED to series would SEEM to be the way FORWARD, but there is ONE BIG PROBLEM for them – the major networks.
Because any series channel relies on those series being PRODUCED in the first place and while most of them are made by independent production companies – they still currently have to be FINANCED by the majors.
Furthermore, they rarely put up their panel shows or chat shows for syndication.
Thus the major networks would still appear to be in control. However, they too have One Big Problem – they are CONTROLLED. While cable and satellite companies can screen pretty much what they like, their terrestrial Big Brothers have LIMITATIONS imposed upon them.
This goes back to the beginnings of broadcast TV. In those days, network execs would have liked nothing MORE than to have been able to broadcast nothing but series and other entertainment shows. Those are the ones that get the RATINGS.
But governments would not allow that – and insisted broadcasters both entertain and INFORM.
Thus ALL networks (except Fox, who deliberately restrict their hours to avoid being CLASSED as a network) were forced to run news, documentary and sports, even though their cost-versus-ratings figures STUNK.
In America, the regulatory body was the FCC – in England, the ITA – and the BBC had their Royal Charter. Then inevitably, most other countries followed suit.
And this is the situation that exists today – but it is OUTDATED.
So here (finally) is the POINT of this monograph.
The Fact Is, we need BOTH the cable/satellite services AND those provided by the majors. But if this is to happen, CHANGE is needed…
These days, news, documentaries, sport and so on are MORE than adequately catered for on the cable and satellite channels which by now MOST PEOPLE HAVE (or very soon WILL have, as the terrestrial services are switched OFF).
Thus the time has now arrived to ALLOW the major networks to do what they are BEST at: provide high-quality, EXPENSIVE drama shows and sitcoms – plus panel shows and high-end, late-night chat shows.
And ONLY those – before said majors DIE and get REPLACED by those cable and satellite series channels.
Things change: so if television’s traditional high-quality programming is to survive, the major networks need to be FREED from the restrictions put on them by the respective authorities that govern their output.
Certainly the cable and satellite companies could make those programmes as well, but they lack the EXPERIENCE and RESOURCES to do panel shows and high-end chat shows – and their sheer NUMBER means they will ALWAYS have to restrict their drama and sitcom BUDGETS.
ONLY the likes of CBS, ABC, NBC, Fox TV (series) ITV and the BBC have the experience, resources and at the moment – the MONEY to give us the high-quality programmes we are used to.
But they need to be given the CHANCE to do so – EXCLUSIVE of other output. If NOT, they WILL die – and quality TV may become a thing of the past.
Not those you bet on – rather, Optical Disk Drives.
Remember the Eighties? Those halcyon days when you could receive four different channels on four different TVs – SIMULTANEOUSLY – with just one little aerial and a cheap TV amp?
And with a VCR, you could time-shift the programmes – and even keep and/or share them, on video-cassettes?
Of course, you still CAN – but those times are fast disappearing, thanks to recordable disks, Satellite/Cable TV and all that digital stuff.
And this piece concerns the latter – the means by which you do what you USED to do with your VCR.
These days, there are two methods of recording TV programmes – HDDs and ODDs – Hard Disk Drives and Optical Disk Drives.
Hard Disk Drives have been around since the Fifties – but only recently have they evolved to become the (relatively) cheap, compact, high-volume storage units they are today.
And since they work using much the same MAGNETIC principles employed by video- and audio-tape recorders – they are pretty much bomb-proof.
They do have their problems though – they do not take vibration well – and they HATE power cuts.
But provided you avoid those twin evils, your HDD will last a life-time. However, the same can NOT be said of ODDs.
Laserdiscs have also been around since the Fifties, but were overshadowed by video-tape, which had a major advantage over the discs – it could be RECORDED on. Then erased and RE-recorded on – MANY TIMES.
Thus when, after twenty years, Laserdiscs eventually made it to the domestic market, they were only popular amongst those who were both discerning – Laserdisc quality was only SLIGHTLY better than VCR quality – and could afford BOTH. Mainly, the Japanese.
They amassed LIBRARIES of the twelve-inch (almost) disks. But even THEY switched to the twelve-centimetre DVD, when that system emerged in 1995 – however, we are getting ahead of ourselves.
CDs had been launched in 1982 and thanks to greedy record companies who were content to just re-release “remastered” archive material – they eventually killed Pop Music.
But while CDs could play up to eighty minutes of audio, they could only manage about five minutes of video. Which meant that analogue video CD-Vs (which appeared in 1987) were great for Pop videos – but very little else.
So when, six years later, using digital technology, the VCD burst forth – it RULED. And even though the far superior DVD format was launched just two years later, the VCD format STILL rules in the Developing World.
Yes, here in Thailand almost twenty years later, the low-resolution VCD format lives ON, with movies (on TWO disks, with two-channel audio and no “extras”) – and in particular, with music disks servicing the huge “karaoke” market.
However, around the Developed World, the DVD is king. And in answer to the demands of HD TV, the Blu-ray system is currently in the process of usurping THAT.
But with the Laserdisc and all of the disk systems that came after, the fundamental problem was that you could not RECORD on them. However, around 1990, that slowly began to change.
First came “writeable” CDs. The machines that used them were initially expensive and somewhat hard to find. And it would be another seven years before writeable DVDs emerged – with rewriteables following, two years after that. And now, Blu-ray have them.
But all of these formats use OPTICAL means to facilitate the recording. Which is where the problem lies for those who like to keep and/or share recordings.
For while Hard Disk Drives will record and re-record indefinitely, Optical Disk Drives have an Achilles Heel – they use DIODES to “burn” the disks. Which WEAR OUT. QUICKLY. But AGAIN, we are getting ahead of ourselves.
Of course HDDs have a massive capacity, thus you can store MANY programmes on them – but sooner or later, you will have to ERASE some of them, to make space for NEW stuff.
You can buy EXTERNAL Hard Disk Drives – but as a method of storage, they are WAY more expensive than recordable disks.
Which leaves you with ODDs.
These days, video-recorders fall into three main types…
PVRs (Personal Video Recorders) like TiVo, contain only an HDD, connected to a satellite/cable decoder, which means you can programme it to store all of your favourite programmes – then watch them at your convenience.
You can also KEEP some programmes, but as stated above: the more you keep – the fewer NEW programmes you can record.
Then come DVRs (Digital Video Recorders). These only contain an ODD – usually with an RF tuner – and are essentially a replacement for (and work much the same as) VCRs, with rewriteable disks replacing the video-cassettes. But while the RF tuner is fine for RF broadcasts, they do NOT have satellite/cable decoders.
Finally come DVD-Rs (Digital Versatile Disk-Recorders). These contain an RF tuner, an HDD AND an ODD – thus are pretty expensive.
However, they will do nearly the LOT – store programmes, record programmes onto recordable or rewriteable disk – AND allow you to EDIT recordings stored on the HDD, before transferring them at high speed, DIRECT to the disks. Goody, goody.
But the drawbacks of DVD-Rs are the same as with DVRs.
While they will usually include RF tuners, they will NOT have satellite/cable decoders. Thus with both, they will require FEEDING. You cannot just select the programmes you want to record, then forget them. You can connect them to your satellite/cable decoder output – but you will have to constantly keep CHANGING CHANNEL for them.
Which will be unfortunate if you are working – or SLEEPING – at the required time.
So while PVRs are fine for recording and time-shifting programmes – as in the days of VCRs – if you want to keep and/or share those programmes, you will HAVE to get a DVR or DVD-R (and organise your LIFE around it).
Which brings us (finally) to that Achilles Heel they both possess – the ODD – and its DIODES.
While VCRs also had an Achilles Heel, in the form of their transports – they would nevertheless record many THOUSANDS of video-tapes before said transports fell apart. Not so the ODD.
Oh no. After recording just a few HUNDRED disks, their diodes begin to fade. At first, recorded disks will no longer play on older DVD players. Then newer DVD players. And finally, they will not even play on the DVR or DVD-R itself.
At which point, you have to REPLACE the diodes.
However, at this point you discover that ODD modules are like a lot of OTHER electronic devices, these days – they are SERVICE-PROOF.
You see, those diodes are MOULDED INTO the beam-emitter carriage (known in the trade as the Pick Up Head – or PUH). And REPLACING that carriage (which constitutes about HALF of the cost of the module anyway) would mean CAREFULLY disassembling and reassembling the ENTIRE module – for which an engineer would charge PLENTY.
Thus, you have to replace the WHOLE DAMN THING.
On computers, this is relatively easy – albeit a bit expensive (around $40). Undo one screw on the underside of the laptop (or on the back of the tower housing) and the module will slide out. Put in a new one and away you go.
But on DVRs and PVRs, it is less simple.
With DVRs, you are replacing half of the machine – thus it will often be cheaper to buy a whole new unit (if you can FIND one – due to their short life-span, few companies MAKE them anymore).
But with DVD-Rs, since they also contain an HDD, it IS worth doing – although it can be VERY expensive.
This reporter has a PVR and two DVD-Rs. The PVR outputs to one of them: usually the Sony – the Philips is crap, so he only uses it as a spare.
But in said Philips, the ODD is in the form of a module that can be changed relatively easily – however, Philips in Thailand charges an arm and both legs for them.
His Sony is far better, quality-wise – but its ODD is integrated into the structure of the whole mechanism – thus servicing HAS to be left to THEM. And when he recently did just that, the bill was around $150 – worth it, as a complete new unit would have cost him around FIVE hundred bucks.
This combination allows him to record up to two TV programmes at once. If he is recording just one, on the PVR, he can watch it live or on “chase-play” – and if it is on the DVD-R, likewise on that. However, if he is recording on both – he has to watch the programme on the DVD-R.
He can also edit and then transfer a TV recording to recordable disk (recording it onto the DVD-R first, if it was on the PVR). And he can transfer MUSIC from his audio systems onto the DVD-R – even mixing it with video from the PVR or his separate DVD player – then put THAT onto a recordable disk. Plus he can use material downloaded from the Interweb, using a disk recorded on his computer.
He can even (after transferring them to disc) play 78s on the 250-watt, six-channel Dolby ProLogic system in his living room. You should hear Stan Kenton’s 1946 recording of “Intermission Riff” through surround-sound and a SUBWOOFER!
But if you understood all of that, he probably explained it wrong.
So where does this leave us?
Well – while recordable disks are a lot cheaper than the old video-cassettes (although how long they will LAST is anybody’s guess – this historian has video-cassettes he recorded THIRTY YEARS ago, which play as well now as they did then) the frequent replacement costs of the means to record them makes them a lot less cheap than they at first appear.
The secret is to only use ODDs to BURN disks when absolutely ESSENTIAL – like, to transfer files or keep and/or share IMPORTANT TV programmes. While they will PLAY disks indefinitely, their ability to BURN disks is strictly LIMITED, in terms of numbers.
Of course, all of this suits The Industry nicely. For DECADES, the manufacturers of audio-visual material and the equipment it plays on have either been associated with each other – or been one and the same (like EMI and Sony).
So while they do not really mind people shifting their products around in TIME (as PVRs do) they do not really want people shifting it around in SPACE (like transferring them from an album to a CD – or off TV onto a DVD).
And they REALLY hate people DUPLICATING it, so their friends and relatives do not have to buy THEIR copies.
Thus audio-cassette recorders and later, VCRs were a constant THORN in their collective arses. And now they have to endure the massive bugbear of file-sharing on the Interweb.
And while their lawyers – aided by various authorities – toil against it, they know they are fighting a losing battle. The enemy (which would be US) is simply too big to effectively police. Therefore the best they can hope to do is remove our WEAPONRY, of which DVRs and DVD-Rs are two prime candidates.
As it is, DVD-Rs are only made in relatively small numbers – and DVRs barely at all. External HDDs are awkward to use and are expensive, so they do not fear those.
So the LAST thing they are likely to spend money on is improving the durability of devices that are specifically designed to do the very thing they want to STOP – us recording audio and video.
Therefore, if you want to DO that, you only have two choices – keep your old VCR going – or resign yourself to the prospect of having to REPLACE your ODDs every couple of years!
[Legal note: the writer of the above does not himself execute – or in this monograph, condone – the recording of copyright material.]
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, had one been able to do what THIS historian just did.
He can report that if you Google the Beatles today, you get around FORTY-FOUR MILLION references – not bad for a Pop band that broke up nearly forty years ago.
However, in a similar vein, if you Google Paris Hilton you get ONE HUNDRED and fifty-six million – and Obama (hallelujah) gets one THOUSAND, one hundred and fifty million. But God gets… one thousand, EIGHT hundred and ninetymillion.
YouTube began its service in 2005, as The People’s TV – but by the end of 2006, it had been bought by Google for over a thousand million quid. And since those early days, it has changed beyond recognition…
In the beginning, it mostly featured “jackass” videos – low resolution clips made by toy cameras and video-phones of young idiots jumping off garage rooves into bushes, to see if they could break a bone – which were viewed by those sad enough to watch such things.
But after a while, others began to see the possibilities of the new medium.
“Community” videos began to emerge. These were viewed by those who had made them – and a few of their friends and relatives.
Then new “pop” artists and groups began uploading their stuff – and spammed it for all they were worth.
And “news” clips started to pop up. With the New Technology being ignored by the “legitimate” news media (despite their invitations to submit clips, they almost never SHOWED them) those with footage of local happenings started to upload them to YouTube.
But the results were scattergun. Viewers had to know something had happened before they knew what to search for.
Then YouTube’s most important service started to appear – The Universal Archive.
Back in the Seventies, this historian first had the idea of a computer service that could compile every record ever recorded – from corporate archives and collector’s “needle drops” – for download by everyone.
He figured the clearance issues could be overcome and that by the New Millennium, this should be a reality.
As it turned out, he was not far off. It took a few years longer than he anticipated, but today The iTunes Store offers around thirty million audio and video clips covering everything from what passes as Pop these days – to TV shows.
But iTunes has its limitations. The first is that it does NOT have many of the more obscure records which collectors possess. The second, more important limitation is that many of its classic tracks have been “restored” and “enhanced” – which means their sound is FAR removed from that which the original pressings had.
Case in point: listen to Erroll Garner’s “One World Concert” on CD (even though the original producer was involved in the restoration, it is CRAP) – and then obtain a VINYL copy from Ebay.
Which is where YouTube’s Universal Archive is INVALUABLE – for the most part, it features collectors’ ORIGINAL issues.
It began slowly. At first, collectors merely uploaded a few examples from their collections as invitations for other collectors, in the hope they would file-share with them.
But as time went by, collectors began uploading ALL the gems from their audio and audio-visual collections for purely PHILANTHROPIC purposes. And gradually, the Universal Archive took shape.
However, this move sharply divided the holders of musical and video copyright.
Some saw the uploading of bits of their material as free advertisements for their products. Others even released material from their archives which they had bought in job-lots – but which they had thought there was no call for – and made a fortune from it.
Unfortunately, other corporations just FREAKED.
And so began a series of events which ranged from the scary to the downright comical (like YouTube’s “Copyright School” cartoon).
One was the appearance of “Content ID” – whereby copyright owners upload all of their material into a database which compares it with material being uploaded – and when a match is identified, gives the owner three choices.
They can either block the item Worldwide, before it even appears – or block it in selected countries (the ones they own the rights for) – or allow it to be shown, with ADVERTISEMENTS.
This created a dichotomy on YouTube. The company had “do not upload copyright material” emblazoned all over their upload page – whilst simultaneously labeling that same material on the Video Page with the artist’s NAME, advising the uploaders that everything was fine.
But while this wacky system protected uploaders from problems with some material, it did NOT protect them from everything. Corporations were still free to order items taken down – and when they did, YouTube would give the uploader a “strike” – and if they got three of those, their channel would DISAPPEAR.
It was like Russian Roulette.
Earlier, YouTube had come up with a similar system for items that conflicted with their “community guidelines” – which basically meant porn. If an uploader put up a piece with a flash of boob in it, all it took was for some pencil-necked prat to “flag” it and a moderator would view the item, delete it and issue a Community Guidelines strike.
Of course, to have viewed every item uploaded, YouTube would have needed several thousand moderators, working 24/7. And even when one views a flagged item, they only have seconds to decide what to do – with no chance to evaluate context.
And while YouTube does have an “adults only” facility – they rarely USE it.
But at least Community Guideline strikes were deleted after six months (although if an uploader got two, their access to the site was blocked for two weeks; meaning if they knew they had another “problematic” upload, they could not REACH it to delete it, for those two weeks – YouTube had not thought that one through).
However, no such arrangement existed for copyright strikes. Having received one of those, the uploader was STUCK with it. And if they got two – it was like a Sword Of Damocles, hanging over their site.
This was made worse by the fact that copyright material often changes hands – thus a piece they might have had up for YEARS was STILL at risk of being clobbered.
The system was – and continues to be – a nightmare for uploaders.
And it was – and is – totally UNFAIR for said uploaders. They spend years uploading material for the benefit of mankind – and the financial gain of YouTube – only to risk losing it all, every time some corporate puke decides to have a purge (or gets some bottom-feeder, like Britain’s “Web Sheriff” – a.k.a. Web Shite – to do it for them).
Recently, YouTube have stated that copyright strikes “may” now get deleted after six months, subject to no new strikes being received – but like everything else on YouTube, the system appears to be erratic at best.
Nevertheless, despite this chaos, YouTube’s Universal Archive now has most of the Twentieth Century’s finest music and TV clips on it – for the moment…
Because given the success of YouTube, it did not take long for modern corporations (who had actually recorded their material – as opposed to property companies, who had merely BOUGHT vintage stuff) to start uploading their clips themselves (or if they were not tech-savvy, have it uploaded by someone who was – like Vevo).
Thus today, many of the Pop videos on YouTube are there by arrangement with the owners. YouTube call this their Partnership Programme.
But this is where the story REALLY begins to go sour…
The thing is, YouTube were originally The People’s TV service. But now, they have gotten GREEDY.
A short while ago, they got rid of everyone’s customised home-pages, substituting people’s creativity with what many call the “Hitler-bunker” theme (ignoring The People’s protestations, YouTube appears to have done this to try to appeal to the social network crowd).
But YouTube still allow their “Partners” to customise THEIR home-pages.
And now they have 16:9 Hi-Def, they see video STREAMING as their future. They wannabe CBS. And NBC. Even Fox.
They see the new TVs with their TV/computer technology and want to be a big part of THAT as well.
However, they will have to WAIT. In the early days of the Interweb, data had to travel along phone lines. Thus the International Data Highway was more like a strip of two-lane black-top – a few thousand bytes of information every second.
Then along came Broadband – and the Highway became a dual carriageway – a few MILLION bytes per second.
But even THIS is inadequate for Hi-Def live video streaming and quick downloading of series, movies and suchlike.
Enter GIGAbyte broadband. A veritable SUPER-Highway – like, forty-eight lanes – THOUSANDS of millions of bytes.
But apart from in a few Western cities, it is not HERE yet.
However, YouTube do not seem to REALIZE that – and as result, they have been allowing the Universal Archive to fall into rack and ruin.
Half of their old systems are in a VERY poor state. But despite having MANY more staff than say, Wikipedia, they do not appear to be interested in effecting repairs.
Plus, every day, more and more items are taken down and channels deleted.
The fact is, YouTube has LOST ITS WAY. The original YouTubers REJECT their corporate arse-kissing and only watch The People’s channels. But they are largely impotent. As on Wall Street, the Big Boys ALWAYS get their own way.
And while alternative services like Dailymotion (which sounds like a medicine for constipation) and Metacafe exist, they have similar agendas to YouTube – and both get SIDE-LINED by GOOGLE (can YOU read that name without hearing the sound of marching jack-boots?) who of course, own YouTube…
We have seen all of this before. An organisation starts out with the best of intentions (those things the Road To Hell is paved with) but gets seduced by Big Business – then sells its soul for Big Bucks. YouTube is merely the latest example.
So where does that leave the ORIGINAL YouTube? Well, now being SERIOUSLY low-rent, with its systems falling apart – when they DO, that will probably be IT.
THIS uploader has about 1,650-odd uploads left – with still around 90,000 hits per day – and 35 million hits to date. And no-one knows HOW many of his pieces have been downloaded and shared (with his BLESSING).
But while his hit-total will probably pass fifty million by this year’s end – and perhaps the hundred million mark by the end of 2014 (if the World does NOT come to an end this December 21) – it is UNLIKELY to keep going indefinitely.
And when The People’s Universal Archive DOES finally wither and die, the young will no longer have any clue as to what REAL music is like – and the giant corporations with their plastic shite will have WON.
Thank goodness THIS reporter actually LIVED through those Golden Days…
One hundred years ago, the “unsinkable” Titanic took around fifteen hundred souls to Davy Jones’ Locker. Since that time, there have been many other maritime disasters, but none has captured the public’s imagination like the one that overtook Titanic. And the arguments over the CAUSE of the tragedy have raged ever since.
There has never been any shortage of information – in fact the saga has been DELUGED with it. Thus interested parties have a plethora of causes to choose from.
The hull plating and/or rivets. Were either or both substandard? It seems not – given we now know the iceberg did NOT carve a long slice through Titanic’s hull. It merely opened up a series of slits just above her keel. And since the mechanical riveter could not REACH down there, the rivets had to be driven in by HAND – and the riviters could not use steel, so had to do with cast iron, instead.
In any case her sister ship, Olympic, was virtually identical and lasted twenty-five years without incident.
It was that bloody great ICEBERG that the plating and rivets could not deal with.
The weather. This undoubtedly played a part. Titanic was steaming along at nearly full tilt when the crash occurred. And why not? The ocean was millpond smooth and visibility was infinite.
But this was deceptive. The fact was that the weather was FREAKISH. A massive high pressure zone was parked right on top of Titanic. And only recently has a factor emerged that was unknown by the two enquiries held at the time. Because of that zone, Titanic was surrounded by a cold water MIRAGE.
We are all familiar with the mirages that occur in HOT weather – where the light is refracted in such a way that the horizon becomes distorted. The ground reflects the sky. And on that fateful night, such a condition prevented Aldis lamp communication between Titanic and the nearby Californian.
It also prevented Titanic’s lookouts from seeing the iceberg until it was dangerously CLOSE. The mirage effectively CLOAKED it.
Which brings us naturally enough to – the lookouts. Fred and Reg. Two guys up in a crow’s nest.
Due to a cock-up (? – see later) at Southampton, their binoculars were locked in a cupboard. It is unlikely they would have improved the men’s ability to see the iceberg more clearly – but they would have SHADED the men’s EYES and prevented them tearing up. Which they must have done, given Titanic was chugging along at around twenty-five miles an hour, through ice-cold air.
Another factor was that had the sea NOT been millpond smooth, white wavelets would have lapped the iceberg’s edges, making it easier to see.
A common misconception was that Titanic’s haste was because her owners wanted her to break the crossing record and snatch the Blue Riband from Cunard. This was never true. Titanic was BIGGER than any Cunard ship – but could never hope to beat them on TIME.
Another misconception was that Titanic’s rudder was too SMALL. This too is bollocks – it was plenty big enough to serve the purpose for which it was designed. But more of that later.
The BIGGEST misconception concerns Titanic’s lifeboats. It has been said there were only enough for the first and second class passengers – and that the poor sods locked down in steerage were considered EXPENDABLE.
Nonsense! Even in 1912, this would not have passed muster. The truth is the plebs in steerage were segregated from the nobs upstairs because many had an assortment of DISEASES. When liners hit New York, the great unwashed were offloaded onto Ellis Island, where they would be deloused and checked, before being allowed to mix with Americans. Then the Beautiful People would disembark onto Manhattan.
And as for the lifeboats, they were never intended to take ALL of the passengers in one go. Titanic was built specifically for the North Atlantic run – a VERY busy sea-lane, at that time. In the event of a problem, the lifeboats were merely expected to FERRY the passengers to another ship, in relays.
But unfortunately, when Titanic bounced off that iceberg, there were no vessels within reach – except for the Californian.
Oh, the Californian. Her story is one of woe. She could EASILY have taken Titanic’s passengers off – at least, those for whom there was no room in the lifeboats. Her problem was COMMUNICATION.
Back on Titanic, the radio had acted up on the previous day. And her radio operator was desperately trying to clear a backlog of mostly trivial messages, destined for America. Thus when a poorly trained radio operator on the Californian called out his iceberg warning, Titanic’s operator was BLASTED by his signal, the ship being much closer than Newfoundland.
A simple limiter circuit could have counteracted the problem, but such did not exist in 1912 – which resulted in a sharp exchange between the two radio men – after which the operator on the Californian switched his set off and went to bed. Fifteen minutes later, Titanic’s radio operator had cause to wish he had been more civil.
In fact, the Californian so NEARLY saved the day. In addition to its officers trying to signal Titanic, one stopped off by their radio room, just as Titanic was going down, to check the traffic – but a clockwork device that enabled reception had run down. A fact the officer had no knowledge of. All he heard was silence.
There were many other factors that contributed to – or exacerbated – the tragedy.
Enough to fill a book. But since there are HUNDREDS already available, this writer has no wish to add to them.
No, the reason he is writing this monograph is because for twenty-odd years, he was a professional DRIVER (of every kind of vehicle, in every kind of weather, road and traffic conditions – including off-road – for nearly a million miles) and sees Titanic as just another vehicle.
It had engines and a steering wheel – so it was a vehicle.
And the first necessity for safe driving is VISIBILITY. It is no use ploughing through the night unless you can SEE as far as it will take you to STOP – or at least, swerve.
Thus Titanic should have had bloody great SEARCHLIGHTS mounted atop her front end. The technology existed in 1912 and there were no oncoming motorists to moan about being blinded.
And her lookouts should have had EYE PROTECTION against the weather. Simple goggles would have done. Or glasses like those Bono wears. Titanic DEPENDED on those two men in the crow’s nest – their eyes were HER eyes.
Plus the crow’s nest should have been near the TOP of the forward mast – not halfway up it.
Which brings us to the nub of the thing. The DRIVER of Titanic.
But this is not as simple as when this chronicler used to hurtle through the dark on two-lane country roads, dodging stags and suchlike, in Norfolk. No, Titanic had SEVERAL drivers.
Chief among them was her First Officer, Will Murdoch. After receiving the iceberg shout, he did two things. If had done just ONE, Jim Cameron would be millions of dollars poorer today. But sadly, after ordering the wheelman to give Titanic left full rudder (actually, RIGHT – in those days, ships’ wheels were configured as tillers) he telegraphed the engine room to throw her into REVERSE.
(The Californian had earlier done the same thing and narrowly AVOIDED an iceberg – after which, its captain decided to STOP for the night).
But again, this manoeuver was a lot less easy than doing a handbrake turn in a CAR. The rudder was HUGE and thus, powered by engines, it took a while to respond. And down in the hell that was Titanic’s engine room, the chief engineer had to respond to the three bells, then order the two main engines to be powered down – then back up, in reverse.
The result of all this was that Titanic only began her turn twenty-six seconds before she impacted with her nemesis. It was not enough.
And yet it COULD have been. Titanic had three screws (propellers). The outer two provided thrust – but had no rudders. However, she did not need them. All of her manoeuvering in the ports was done by tug-boats. Only the CENTRE propeller had a rudder (for minor course corrections) but here lay the problem.
The engine driving it was a TURBINE which derived its power from the other two engines. And it could only go FORWARD. Once the engines were thrown into reverse, the centre propellor simply STOPPED.
Now for those who have never driven a power boat, allow this scribbler to EXPLAIN something. The water passing the rudder only deflects the boat marginally. Most of the turning power is effected by the water being driven past the rudder by the PROP.
It squirts it SIDEWAYS.
If you want to impress people when driving a power boat, a good way is to WHIRL your boat sideways and drift it into the pier. And if you turn the wheel and THEN cut the engine, this can be achieved. However, if you cut the engine FIRST and THEN spin the wheel, you will crash headlong INTO the pier.
And look a right prat in the process.
Therefore, what Murdoch SHOULD have done was just shout left full rudder – and left all the engines RUNNING (although if he could have stopped just the left one WITHOUT reducing power to the MIDDLE one, so much the better – the stationary left screw would have provided DRAG).
Alternatively, if he had believed he could not turn Titanic in time, he could have left the wheel where it was and just ordered full reverse of the main engines. Titanic would still have hit the iceberg – head on – but only crumpled the first couple of compartments.
THAT she would have SURVIVED.
However it is easy to say that today, knowing what we know. Fact is, in 1912, no-one had ever had a ship sliced open by a glancing blow from an iceberg (or indeed, since) thus Captain Smith would have had some serious words to say to Murdoch, having been thrown off his bunk to find his brand new ship now had a flat snout.
Whereas had he ordered the turn WITHOUT reversing the engines, he could have JUSTIFIED that – for the reasons stated above.
Thus his best course of action would have been to ONLY hit left full rudder (and possibly, cut the left engine) hope Poseidon was in a good mood – and then if Titanic evaded the iceberg, slow the hell DOWN.
If Murdoch had just done THAT, all of the many circumstances that conspired to freeze and drown around fifteen hundred people – most of them poor immigrants who were just looking for a better life – would likely have counted for nought.
Titanic could have arrived at New York, with her passengers unaware of the disaster they had narrowly missed. Perhaps a few hours late – but they would have ARRIVED.
So it was Murdoch’s fault.
However, he had mitigating circumstances. As a highly experienced seaman, his seafaring skills – and initiative – were unparalleled. But on that night, his reasoning may have been compromised.
While Titanic was loading in Southampton, her staff was “reshuffled”. Whether this was at the behest of Captain Smith or the White Star Line is unclear. But the result was that Henry Wilde was drafted in from Olympic as Titanic’s Chief Officer.
This meant that Murdoch received a temporary DEMOTION to First Officer, while Charles Lightoller got busted from First down to Second Officer – and, like the end ball on a Newton’s Cradle, the vessel’s Second Officer, Davy Blair was bounced OUT.
Now at the time Titanic was approaching her destiny, Murdoch had had four days to assimilate this indignity – and to adjust his body-clock to his new roster.
But was he still ANGRY on that night? And/or TIRED, it being nearly midnight? As Chief Officer, he would probably have served on the DAY shift (Lightoller would have been on duty instead) and been tucked up in BED by that time.
It is well known that driving whilst annoyed and/or tired is NOT a good idea.
So it was STILL Murdoch’s fault.
But before closing this account, mention should be made of one last, curious happenstance.
Davy Blair may have had even MORE reason to feel humiliated by the reshuffle than Murdoch. One account has Captain Smith on the bridge, announcing their demotion to Murdoch and Lightoller – then telling Blair (in the other men’s presence) that he wished to have a private word with him.
No-one knows exactly what he said to Blair, but the upshot was that Blair was sent packing – literally. And while packing, he managed to “accidentally” pack the KEY to the cupboard that held the binoculars intended for the lookouts, Fred and Reg.
Did he do this in a fit of PIQUE?
Obviously, he would have known that an officer could easily have had an engineer break open the cupboard (but Titanic was a spanking NEW ship) or simply have sent up a pair from the bridge. Thus it never occurred to either of the enquiries to make a big deal about it.
But suppose the key “misplacement” incident WAS deliberate? Imagine how Blair would have felt, for the rest of his LIFE, knowing that not only had he escaped the tragedy – but might actually have CAUSED it?
Ouch.
The key still exists. It was last purchased – for ninety thousand GBPs – by a jewelry company in China. Some people claim to be able to receive “vibrations” from objects and artifacts, which reveal the thoughts of the people who have held it.
Perhaps one of THOSE people could tell us the truth…
In 1965, “Thunderball” came out – and changed film-making forever. It was filmed ABROAD.
Until then, even the James Bond franchise filmed almost everything at Pinewood. But after the opening scene of “Goldfinger” – where it was obvious that Sean had never been NEAR Miami’s famous Hotel Fontainebleau – it was decided to push the boat out. And thus was born the Bond Circus.
But of course, not all productions had that kind of budget. So given that in the Sixties, foreign travel was still considered “exotic” – small production companies needed something to give viewers the impression that series like “The Saint” were filmed all around the World.
Enter stock footage.
There was nothing NEW about this. Ever since film’s earliest days, stock footage had been used. The big studios recycled EVERYTHING – thus they all had a stock footage department, culled from previous productions, containing everything from The Cavalry riding over the hill to submarines breaking surface.
But foreign locations were favourite. Lew Grade sent a chap all over Europe with a 35mm camera – and he returned with stock shots of every major city (with instantly recognisable landmarks – Paris: the Eiffel Tower, Rome: The Coliseum, and so on) which were used as establishing shots on MOST of his shows.
The cameraman even filmed cars passing (from angles that obscured the driver) so that similar(ISH)-looking cars could be found back in England, filmed with Lew’s actors in them – and matched to the foreign footage.
Plus, Lew pushed a couple of MkII Jags and a Renault Dauphine over a cliff into a quarry and filmed them from many angles (including a shot from an old sacrificial camera, mounted inside one of the cars). The resulting footage was used MANY times.
In fact, the moment ANYONE got into a Dauphine or MkII Jag, in a Lew Grade series – you knew they were DOOMED! See “Morpheus on… Lew Grade” elsewhere in these chronicles. Or just hit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uISml4uZGo8
However today, the studio system is long gone. So film-makers have to resort to specialist companies to obtain stock footage. But this means they need to take extra CARE – have a DAMN GOOD LOOK at what they are getting.
Case in point: last year, an episode of the (contemporary) series “CHAOS” featured a stock shot of London Airport. But what the editor failed to note was it clearly showed the top of the tail of a PanAm plane – peeping over the top of a prominently-featured BOAC Jumbo!
For those too young to remember EITHER of these once-MAJOR airlines: PanAm collapsed in 1991 – and the BOAC name disappeared when that airline merged with BEA, to become The World’s Least Favourite Airline, British Airways – in 1974!
Elsewhere in these chronicles, I retold the tale of when I (a Brit) and a young German guy encountered a Cambodian – a dodgy “taxi” driver who tried to extort a large sum of money from us, for a one-mile drive.
Now, as a Child Of The Sixties, I have nothing against German people (although were I from the previous generation, I might feel differently – the Luftwaffe bombed a lot of our chip-shops) and the German was even younger than me, so he had no reason to dislike me (although again, had he been older – the RAF broke a lot of their china – and the city where it was made) and so we two EUROPEAN strangers improvised a Mutt And Jeff Routine (I played the Nice Guy) that would have gladdened the heart of any cop – and which resulted in a sharp drop in the level of said extortion.
Which story demonstrates that when two people who have no common bond find themselves up against a mutual enemy – they can quickly become the best of chums.
And so it was, in the case of Jeremy Clarkson, Piers Morgan and Omarosa.
First, some background…
Jeremy Clarkson is not exactly HATED – but his caustic comments on Top Gear have made him some enemies. Mostly those who do not appreciate that even HE does not believe half of what he says – since he is a COMEDIAN.
But Piers Morgan definitely IS roundly hated. He first came to prominence as the editor of a couple of British gutter-press “newspapers” – where his invasive style of reporting resulted in a number of unseemly affairs. Then he became the “bad guy” on the jury of Britain’s/America’s Got Talent. And today, he has a CNN interview show where his technique alternates between gushingly obsequious, with the likes of Oprah – to abrasive, with most everyone else.
He is seen as a rude, humourless nerk. Although he showed his jocular side on the American version of Celebrity Apprentice, when a country singer called Trace Adkins intimated Piers was gay (compared to Trace, an easy mistake to make – although Piers is actually married, with children). When he heard this on the CCTV, Piers stormed into The Boardroom – and kissed him on the cheek.
Then there is Omarosa (aka Oloroso). She too was on The Apprentice and in her first appearance, showed herself to be a repugnant, pretentious crone. But despite this (or perhaps, BECAUSE of it) she was invited back – to the Celebrity Apprentice – where she was billed as a “reality star” (which is of course a contradiction in terms).
And it was there that she encountered Piers.
But here’s the thing: Piers upset Jeremy by publishing pictures of him kissing his producer (a woman – but Jeremy was married) and this resulted in Jeremy giving Piers a knuckle sandwich. Piers claims he still bears a scar above his eyebrow.
And this in turn resulted in a LOT of people who were not fans of Jeremy – suddenly reappraising him.
Then Piers appeared on the same season of Celebrity Apprentice as Oloroso. She was her usual abhorrent self and a feud quickly developed between her and Piers.
But she made the mistake of underestimating him – and he CRUSHED her.
And by so doing, became a HERO in the eyes of people who, previously, would not have stopped to wee on him had he been on fire.
Thus, these three provide comprehensive proof of the verity of the title of this piece.
Someone may be detestable, but if they defeat someone even MORE so – they become a CHAMPION!
Back in 1969, I resided in a small hotel in an unfashionable area of Bloomsbury, London. Unfashionable it might have been, but it was HANDY – being only a fifteen-minute walk (or twenty-minute STAGGER) from the West End.
This made it invaluable, since it meant one could get wasted in Ronnie Scott’s club – then get back home without the necessity of finding out whether a black-cab driver’s travel plans fitted in with YOURS.
Also, it was close to where I WORKED. Thus early every morning, I would pass a FASHIONABLE area of Bloomsbury known as Cartwright Gardens. This was a crescent of Georgian terraced houses, which faced a semi-circular park.
And in this park lived a parliament of rooks. However, they did not exactly LIVE there – they just used it as a crash-pad. By which I mean that in the daytime, they went off and did whatever rooks DO in the daytime (look for food, mostly – I would imagine) only returning at night to roost.
However, here (finally) is where it gets interesting: for no reason I am aware of (I am not David Attenborough) they chose a DIFFERENT resting place, somewhere in the park, every night – perhaps they sought a CLEAN tree.
Now in ’69, the number of cars owned by the residents of this road were about equal to the amount of space in front of the houses. But late arrivals – or guests – had no option other than to leave their vehicles on the PARK side of the road.
And here was where it got tricky. The thing was, there were a FEW places where there were GAPS in the park’s trees – but MOST of that side of the road was UNDER their spreading boughs.
Thus anyone leaving their car there overnight was unwittingly engaging in a game of Russian Roulette.
Because if you picked the spot under the tree that the rooks had arbitrarily decided to spend the night in – your vehicle would receive a day’s processed rook-food, from the afore-mentioned parliament.
And in this case, the collective noun was appropriate – because the rooks numbered some SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY. And that’s a lot of poop.
So on this particular morning, it being Winter, the branches were BARE (as in the picture above) meaning the downwards trajectory of the rooks’ droppings were unobstructed by leaves.
And as I walked past, I saw the parliament were just waking up and beginning their day. But right underneath them – was a CAR.
Or rather, it HAD been.
To say the car had bird-poop on it would be a MASSIVE understatement. It would be better to describe the sight as a HUGE PILE OF BIRD POOP – with a car somewhere UNDERNEATH.
I mean, I could not have told you what MODEL the car was – let alone the COLOUR.
It is one of the sadnesses of my life that people were depending upon me to arrive at my place of work on time. If not, I would have been prepared to wait there ALL MORNING, if necessary – just to see the LOOK on the owner’s face as they came out of their house and surveyed the MESS that had once been their chariot.
Of course, it would be a MASSIVE coincidence if that person ended up reading this PIECE. But the laws of mathematical probability ensure that in each life – since MILLIONS of things happen to one – a FEW million-to-one coincidences WILL occur (I have had several, during my fifty-nine years In This Place).
Therefore, if YOU WERE the unfortunate owner of that defecation-on-wheels in Cartwright Gardens, forty-three-odd years ago – PLEASE leave a message in the comments!
Once Upon A Time, there was an American producer. And thanks to an excess of wine, women – and rich food – HIS time was UP. He found himself at The Gates Of Saint Peter…
“I’m sorry, you can’t come in here. You’ve spent your whole life exploiting and swinding people – and as for that CASTING COUCH of yours…”
“Aw, gimme a break – that was just BUSINESS.”
“Hmm. Well, all right – as you spent a number of years in Italy, making low-budget westerns and horror pictures, I’ll give you the option of going to Italian Hell.”
“What’s that like?”
“They stick you on top of a big fire and jab you with red hot pokers all day.”
“You call that a BREAK? What’s American Hell like?”
“Ah, THERE they stick you on top of a big fire and jab you with red hot pokers all day.”
“So how is Italian Hell any better?”
“Well, in Italian Hell the fire usually goes out, they lose the pokers…”
At least, according to the BBC, it is. In a recent online news article, they claimed the keyboard has extinguished the Art Of Writing. But Morpheus DISAGREES – and here is why…
This writer has always had problems with “joined-up” writing. Oh, he learned how to do it at school – but he soon discovered that his hand had trouble keeping up with his brain, resulting in him gradually writing faster and faster until even HE could not understand the scrawl that lay before him.
And so he began to write solely in capitals. And he is not alone.
Recently, he noted – in a list of hand-written comments on a TV programme – that many others do likewise. Whilst still others write in upper- and lower-case, but without joining the letters up.
However, this issue does not apply when one TYPES.
This author uses a very fast “hunt and peck” method for typing (having never learned the conventional two-handed method: if he had known how MUCH he would end up typing, he would have taught himself to do it properly from the start – but it is too late now) and can type as fast as he can write.
However, this monograph is about WRITING – IS it becoming a lost art? Well, good English certainly is – but that is another subject. This piece questions whether the simple business of writing a literate letter to someone is becoming obsolete, in this World of e-mailing, texting and gawdelpus – Twittering.
And the answer to that is – sure.
Now while that may sound at odds with the opening paragraph – it is not.
Certainly HAND-writing is a dying art. In fact, thanks to “snail mail” taking an eternity to arrive (if it ever does) the humble written letter is ALREADY dead – and this historian is happy to dance on its grave. Writing letters is a monumental pain in the arse. In order to maximise one – you end up having to rewrite it ENDLESS times.
But with a KEYBOARD, you can correct, refine and distil it – until it says EXACTLY what you want to say. So if anything, the keyboard has actually PERFECTED the Art Of Writing (you can even knock out a hard copy and POST it).
However – this is NOT the case with texting and Tweeting, where one has a LIMIT to the number of characters one can use (which has created a form of “new-speak” that has little to do with the English language).
It is only true with E-MAILING – where no such limits apply.
And just as with texting and Tweeting, once an e-mailer presses “send” – the message zips through the ether, arriving IMMEDIATELY (or as near as dammit) in the intended recipient’s computer’s in-box.
Moreover, with the New Generation of hand-held computers (iPhones, iPads and so on) coming within reach of most people’s pockets (both financially and literally) an increasing number of people do not even have to wait until that intended recipient reaches their home or workplace.
Therefore you cannot blame the new TECHNOLOGY for attempting to murder the Art Of Writing – just some of those who USE it. Particularly the YOUNG.
While texting and Tweeting are fine for KIDS – for fun – they are hardly a great training ground for PROPER interaction. One hates to sound like an old fart, but these two media are destroying the Art Of COMMUNICATION.
Texts were once a cheap alternative to phone calls, but today they are have largely become a substitute for TALKING (they should have been superseded by the “video chat” systems, but that would require conversational skills most young people LACK these days – and then there is that damned DELAY).
Meanwhile their younger brothers – Tweets – are just another means of “following” celebs (like the execrable “E!” channel).
And with an electronic “barrier” between people, some no longer feel the need to maintain the filter between their brains – and the verbiage they emit (see “Flamers And Trolls” – elsewhere in this column).
However, all is NOT lost.
This historian believes that texts and Tweets are merely a passing phase – like the Rubik’s Cube – and that with the advent of these pocket computers, letter writing COULD make a COMEBACK. Even for the young.
Because these tiny machines have everything that is needed to write ACTUAL LETTERS (and for free).
Thus if people permitted themselves the TIME to properly COMPOSE those letters, the keyboard would merely become a means of DOING so, without need of waiting eons for a REPLY.
And while some people do not yet POSSESS a pocket computer, nearly all have a HOME computer – and BOTH give access to Gmail, Hotmail, Yahoo et al. Sites which give you a writing panel, which comes with as many characters as you could possibly ever NEED.
Not to mention – with a quick click – a complete range of typefaces (fonts) and punctuation marks. Plus different type sizes, colours, “special characters” (like Ñ or €) and the means to “embolden” or italicise your words.
Stuff you CANNOT DO with a pen and paper.
And if your Englishes aint as good as wot mine are, they have the (USUALLY reliable) SpellChecker – some of which even correct GRAMMAR.
Plus, you can pepper your letters with text, pictures – even VIDEO. Either lifted from the Interweb or created by YOU.
So let us not declare the Art Of Writing to be dead, just yet – this chronicler is using it right NOW.
I am indebted to m’learned colleague, Cy (see “Sumpnado” – here on WP) for hooking me up with a series of articles – nay EXPOSURES – written by Matt Taibbi for Rolling Stone, a few months back.
Retired here to Thailand, one misses a lot. But even in the Land Of Smiles, one has not been able to totally avoid the effects of the monetary mêlée affecting The West, during the last four years.
Like, little did I know – while explaining to my Lady how our pile was SAFE, thanks to the post-1929 U.S. government’s installation of safeguards on its financial institutions – that even as I spoke, measures were being taken by Wall Street to REMOVE them.
I had told my Lady that no WAY would modern Americans queue for soup as they had in the Thirties. If the World’s (and thus, America’s) financial system collapsed – so would public order. The States would witness unrest of APOCALYPTICAL proportions. Thus her government had ensured it would never happen.
And to be fair, they HAD – until Wall Street began unravelling their efforts.
I had earlier discovered how crooked America’s banks were, when I had sent a trustworthy shop CASH for a classic record (having closed down my local “cyber account” due to my no longer needing it). I told them they could change my Thai money (Baht) for WELL over the amount needed to pay for the disc.
And that would have been TRUE – in BRITAIN.
However, having tried a FEW banks, the record shop-owner told me that in addition to the few percent transfer charges – ALL of the banks he had tried wanted “extra fees” that would have pushed their rate to around FIFTY percent.
I obtained and sent him U.S. dollars instead – and he sent me my Bahts and the record by return.
The delay actually BENEFITTED me, as the fifty-year-old 45 arrived intact – if he had sent it straight away, it would have been SMASHED. At that time, a sit-in protest at the airport had caused tons of mail to LITERALLY pile up – which had resulted in another disc bound for me, being cracked in HALF. Fortunately, THAT disc was an unimportant one – but it had been a DISK – specifically, a DVD! Ever tried to bust one of THOSE?! The vintage 45 would not have stood a chance.
Anyhoo – like I said, the effects of the fun and games on Wall Street HAVE affected me here.
That pile I spoke of is now worth only two-thirds of what it was. And the current Baht/GBP rate has knocked another third off THAT. Bringing my “worth” down to less than half of what it was.
But the LITTLE effects have been instructive.
Like FUEL.
The thing is, here – as in the U.S. – petrol pump prices fluctuate with the price of a barrel of oil (in Britain, they barely move – when oil goes up, HMG simply remove an equivalent amount from the punitive taxes they levy on it and compensate for THAT by reducing public services …or add another twenty pence to the equally-punitive taxes they levy on a packet of cigarettes …or both).
Thus, the first time I visited Thailand – in 1998 – a litre of car juice could be had for around 20p (30c). And when I moved here permanently – in ’02 – it had risen to around 40p (60c).
But these days, it stands at around 80p ($1.20). And a couple of years ago, it was higher than that.
The reason, I have now learned from Matt, was NOT due to supply/demand – but rather, to COMMODITY SPECULATION. Something that would have been illegal, before the deregulation.
And it had a bizarre side-effect, here.
As soon as fuel prices peaked, BIO-FUEL suddenly became economically viable – and Thailand quickly began converting to it. These days, PROPER petrol is only JUST beginning to make a comeback.
GOOD! – the eco-fascists (as m’colleague, Cy would call them) would say. Get RID of oil and go GREEN. Yeah – except that Green Petrol is INEFFICIENT and f**ks up the rubber seals in your car’s fuel system, unless you CHANGE them all.
I was LUCKY. A petrol station near me continued selling 91 octane PROPER petrol – with little cans of additive that effectively turn it into 95 octane – so my chariot still WORKS.
But there is a hidden cost.
A few months ago, Thailand suddenly experienced a shortage of COOKING oil. All supermarket shelves became DENUDED of it.
I was okay – cooking oil is one of a number of items I keep a surplus of, to save me from the incompetent restocking practices of local supermarkets. And by the time I was running out, a dribble of stock had started to reappear – and me and my Lady were fortunate to BE there when it arrived and GLOMMED enough bottles to carry us through until stocks had normalised.
(I heard some large local companies HELD ONTO stocks, to take advantage of the higher prices it would reach, before that normalisation – corruption is not limited to Wall Street).
However, while this shortage was only a minor inconvenience for ME – the practice of farmers growing crops that can be turned into more lucrative FUEL instead of FOOD, has caused HAVOC in Third World countries.
And all of this has been caused by Wall Street commodities speculators, providing fuel – for THEIR F**KING YACHTS.
In 1939, Glenn Miller released a record with a hole in it. Oh sure, ALL records had holes in them – but THIS one had a MUSICAL hole. The tune was “In The Mood” – and the band’s arrangement had a repeated verse that slowly ramped DOWN – then STOPPED, leaving a SILENT BAR – then it ROARED back in for a final verse.
And it was that silent bar that DID it. Keeping the rhythm in their heads, the audience knew EXACTLY when the band would jump back in. Thus, it was a kind of TRIBUTE to the audience’s sense of rhythm – a COMPLIMENT, if you will. Glenn did it – and people LOVED him for it.
Thirteen years later, the “hole” in the arrangement was used to magnificent effect in “The Glenn Miller Story” (’54). In the movie, the band are playing the number at an open air concert in England, when a “doodlebug” flies over. Its jet engine sputters to a stop and with its characteristic WHEEEE, it begins to fall…
The audience does what ALL people did when they heard that sound, during WW2 – they throw themselves under the nearest cover, hoping they are not Ground Zero.
Meanwhile, Jimmy Stewart and his boys have reached the diminuendo section of the piece.
And so: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-KABOOM! …DAH-DAH, DOOBY-DO-DO, DOOBY-DO-DO-DOOWAH…
The audience pick themselves up, realising THE BAND HAD PLAYED ON – RIGHT THROUGH the scare (the bomb had landed nearby – but not near enough for either the blast or debris to nail Glenn and his boys) and the audience erupts with wild applause.
So did the cinema audiences of the time: it was a moment of high emotion – there was not a dry seat in the house (a great STORY – but if it ACTUALLY HAPPENED, I’ll eat my own foot).
Perhaps the success of that dramatic interlude in The Glenn Miller Story influenced Bill Haley’s arrangement of “Rock Around The Clock” – it was recorded just as the movie opened. There’s no diminuendo in the number, but it does feature that HOLE.
A session drummer was responsible for the timing of the famous ending – it is said he messed UP the first take and the record that eventually sold over TWENTY-FIVE MILLION copies is in fact take TWO. Other sources say the balance between the band and Bill was out… We’ll never know.
But what we DO know is that it too contains a silent bar, before that famous crashing drum finale.
Of course, Rock Around The Clock was far from being an immediate hit. Its use in “Blackboard Jungle” a year AFTER its initial release (as the “B” side!) triggered its phenomenal rise – and the rest is Rock history.
And it would be another year (’56, now) before the device was used in another chart-topper. Except, despite it easily being the best thing Ray Gonif (sorry – CONNIFF) his chorus and orchestra ever did, “’S Wonderful” was never released as a single. He and his guys were ALBUM artists.
However, typically, the Baron Of Bland CHICKENED OUT. Rather than credit his audience with a sense of rhythm (!) he put a CRASH cymbal right in the middle of the silent bar! The bum.
It was left to Warren Covington, leading the late Tommy Dorsey’s band (Tommy had choked – literally – a couple of years earlier: a heavy meal followed by a sleeping pill had knocked him off at just 51) to revive the device two years later, in 1958.
“Tea For Two Cha-Cha” was a massive hit and featured a THREE-bar silence. This was stretching the public’s sense of rhythm to breaking point. And a number of DJs were fooled into starting to speak during it – then, if they hadn’t been quick enough with their fader, they got drowned out when the band came BACK IN!
But this foot-tapper was the LAST time the device was successfully used. Okay, it was invoked many times on Pop records of the Sixties and Seventies – but it only ever REALLY worked with SWING music. And THAT died out as a popular form in the late Fifties.
You can find ALL of the above music on YouTube – here’s Glenn Miller’s In The Mood, to get you started…
Recently, a number of bus accidents that have claimed the lives of young, middle-class backpackers have – thanks to their distraught middle-class parents – made the news back in the West. And so Western journalists have come here and done various PIECES on the phenomenon.
However, they do not LIVE here. But I DO – and so I decided it was time to reveal the TRUTH, from an INSIDER’S perspective.
First, let us deal with the NUMBER of fatalities. On paper, these look DIRE when compared to Western countries. But they include those involving MOTORCYCLES – the DEAD from which form MOST of the fatalities.
Fact is, you have to understand the Thai CULTURE of travel – to see what is REALLY going on.
Like, cars here often constitute a bigger investment to people than their HOUSES – and insurance, while mandatory, is utterly inadequate. Most people cannot afford the premiums charged by companies for PROPER insurance, so go with the minimal cover provided under the government’s mandatory scheme (I certainly do).
Thus car-owners drive CAREFULLY – knowing that if they have a prang, they are going to end up paying for the damage THEMSELVES – regardless of whose fault it was.
Also, in the West, strict vehicle-testing makes keeping an old car on the road very EXPENSIVE. Not so here – thus second-hand cars cost WAY more than they do back home. I drive a now-seventeen-year-old Mitsubishi Galant Ultima and while you could not GIVE it away in Britain – here, it is still worth TWO GRAND ($3,080).
Motorbikes on the other hand, are a NIGHTMARE – and there are MILLIONS of them.
Almost all are low-powered step-throughs that handle like rubbish – and are CHEAP to buy. Around GBP 800 ($1,250) – as opposed to cars which, while made here cheaply under license, are still expensive – GBP 10-20,000 (say, $15-30,000).
New, you could buy at least TEN of these comedy motorbikes for the price of just ONE entry-level version of the SMALLEST car you will find here.
And the road laws – and their enforcement – are very different here from the way things are done in the West. So while car drivers mostly drive a lot like their Western counterparts – but more SLOWLY and CAREFULLY – motorbike drivers drive like they are the only vehicles on the road.
Most have no IDEA how to USE roads. Without legal sanction, they consider the left-hand lane of a dual carriageway not to be part of the actual road and are quite happy to drive along it the WRONG way – without lights, at NIGHT – and with any NUMBER of passengers.
When they reach a crossroads, if they want to turn right (Thailand is a right-hand-drive country) they will slew across to the right curb, now driving AT the traffic – make the turn, hugging the curve – then slew BACK across the road to the left side again – usually without bothering to look behind them.
And the typical motorbike will have four people on it. Dad (sometimes with a helmet) will drive – his three-year-old will be sat on his lap – his wife will be clinging on behind him – and his six-year-old will be perched on the back, clinging on to Mum.
Kids as young as EIGHT drive these things – and girls sit SIDE-SADDLE on the back.
The result of this insanity is that the cops regularly stop bikes at “checkpoints” – but only on-the-spot-fine them for not wearing helmets. After which they are allowed to continue – still helmetless.
Bangkok is stricter about helmet wear – but elsewhere, no-one much cares.
All of which at least benefits ME. Back in Britain, cops spend most of their time pestering car-drivers – but here, they know the REAL problem is with motorbike drivers.
I once HIT a motorbike (HIS fault) in FRONT of a cop – and despite me being a foreigner, he knew it was the motorbike rider’s fault and was cool. He did not even ask to see my license (which was fortunate, since Thai licenses are difficult to obtain if you are foreign – and none of my assorted Western licenses are exactly kosher).
Anyhoo – it is a fact that most Thai people bear at least one scar. And if you ask them how they got it, the answer is invariably the same – motorbike accident.
I once SAW two of these excrescences meet at an urban crossroads with no markings to indicate who should STOP. Result: neither did – and seven youths ended up sprawled all over the road. Broken bones likely – but this time, no fatalities.
However, while accidents involving motorbikes hitting OTHER motorbikes generally only produce bumps, bruises, gashes, grazes and the occasional busted bone for their riders and passengers – those that pit motorbikes against cars, pickups, trucks and buses are the ones that produce all those deaths.
And every year, backpackers who hire these two-wheeled death-traps for TINY money join the statistics – particularly those who hail from left-hand-drive countries.
Holiday islands like Samui have shocking statistics. And since Thai crash-hats are SMALL – foreigners rarely wear them.
For several years, I was one such. But after a minor spill that occurred on SAND, at WALKING speed – which gave me a broken collar bone (which are NOT fun) – I eventually decided to spend the (major) extra wonga needed to hire JEEPS.
Which brings us back to FOUR-wheeled transport – and beyond. Road rage is FAR less common in this country than in the West – thanks again to the psychology of the people – and for the above-mentioned financial reasons, they generally take it EASY (although few wear seatbelts).
Thus in a car, belt up and you are RELATIVELY safe.
But few tourists can afford to hire them, so most opt for the variety of BUSES that ply their trade all over Thailand. These are HIGHLY variable, safety-wise. You see buses that are not fit to grace a SCRAPYARD carrying passengers here.
And while the “luxury” buses LOOK impressive – they are built locally, have NO safety features and their maintenance standards are low. In addition, while they may LOOK solid – their bodies’ construction is merely a mixture of wood, glass and aluminium. A truck will go right THROUGH one.
Then there are the many “minibuses” – I recall a young driver on Samui who drove like Ben Hur and every time he overtook on the two-lane concrete loop road, the knuckles of a female passenger in front of me quite LITERALLY turned white as they gripped the seat in front of her. Although I rather ENJOYED the trip – he was actually a highly efficient driver.
However, many are NOT. Furthermore, since they drive the SAME routes EVERY day, for LONG (unregulated) hours, they can get careless. Or fall ASLEEP (it is easily done in a hot, humid country and Thais have the ability to fall asleep ANYWHERE).
As a result – horrendous, fatal bus crashes are COMMON here.
The situation is not helped by the way Thai roads are constructed. As already stated, many consider the left lane of a motorway (dual carriageway) to be a sort of “no man’s land” where you can do anything you like.
But the thing I always hated when I drove (or was driven) along these wide, straight roads was U-TURNS.
In the West, to turn right on a motorway, you turn LEFT onto a slip-road which leads to a tunnel or elevated roadway that goes UNDER or OVER the road you just left – not here. And as in America, motorways do not have slow and fast lanes – all lanes are EQUAL and you can (usually) overtake on either side.
Thus traffic turning right ends up in a (short) slip-LANE in the MIDDLE of the motorway. You then have to filter into the traffic coming the other way – which is often THREE OR FOUR lanes-worth, ALL doing SEVENTY-ODD MPH (112 KPH).
Which is IMPOSSIBLE if you are driving a long, slow truck or bus.
Consequently, THIS is where many of the more SPECTACULAR bus crashes occur.
So – take the TRAIN, right?
Well, there is talk about replacing Thailand’s antiquated rail network with a high-speed network of elevated trains like China is currently building (which STILL have accidents) but given Thailand’s economic situation – it will likely REMAIN talk.
The reality is that Thailand’s state railway system is very CHEAP – but as a result, maintenance is almost non-existent.
There are frequent derailments – but most accidents happen at the many LEVEL CROSSINGS that cover this country. These are mostly out in the middle of nowhere and if the barriers (where the crossings even HAVE barriers) do not work properly, the results can be disastrous.
Another monograph in this column tells THAT story. It can be found – with a link to PICTURES – here…
So, in closing, what can I say about travel in Thailand? Well – it IS CHEAP. But you get what you PAY for. This is still a “developing” country and as such, has much to learn about safety.
But then, accidents happen EVERYWHERE – even in countries like Switzerland and Germany, where safety is a byword and regulation a way of life. Thailand is pretty much like everywhere else – shit happens. It is just different in nature – it’s THAI STYLE. So if you want to live in – or visit – this place, it is no use expecting it to be like home.
I have traveled and driven around this great country for over a decade now – and I’M still alive. But I WATCH OUT. I have EMBRACED the local style and as far as possible, make ALLOWANCES for its shortcomings.
And if you do THAT – I guess you are about as safe here as anywhere…
This is a quote from today’s BBC (online) News – “Wind speeds of up to 101 mph have been recorded in Shetland… …Forecasters issued an amber alert.” In order to ensure accuracy, I even cut and pasted the text.
WTF?????
What does it take for them to issue a RED alert? Does fire and brimstone have to rain from above???
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 Town 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!” shouted 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,” replied the bureaucrat, smiling, “They didn’t ask.”
This scribbler came LATE to the Interweb – it having been FORCED upon him, by a spell of extreme unreliability in the domains of “snail mail” and texting. He finally succumbed around three years ago.
Self-taught – with a little help from “Windows Vista For Dummies” – he is today somewhat short of being a “wizard” – but knows all he NEEDS to know about the science (I’m writing THIS, aren’t I?)
And thankfully, his experience of flamers and trolls has been minimal – thus far. However, he feels what he HAS learned might be of use to others also new to this medium. So here we go…
Flamers are those who, hidden behind the anonymity of an electronic medium, feel free to REMOVE the filter between their brains and their mouths and say ANYTHING they like.
We have all WANTED to tell our bosses that they are towering arseholes with small dicks – but it usually came out as “Yes sir, I’ll correct that right away, sir.”
Trolls, however, are FAR are more poisonous. They hide behind the obscurity of the Interweb and pour their vileness into the World with evil glee. Their racist, sexist, hateful bile is a cancer in the new medium.
So what do you DO about these excrescences?
Well, firstly, do not BE one. Never say anything to anyone electronically – that you would not be happy to say to a REASONABLE person, FACE TO FACE.
The fact that you are NOT face to face with them is NO excuse to allow the normal decencies of interpersonal communication to be dispensed with.
And as for “sensitive” issues, remember that while you might discuss the finer points of say, genetics or religion with a friend – the person at the other end of this medium might not be as intellectually gifted as you and your friend.
Secondly, do not ENGAGE a flamer or troll. You know what they say – “An intelligent person should never argue with an idiot, since observers might not be able to tell which is which.”
And this is TRUE: an intelligent person will NEVER be able to pull an idiot UP to their level – however, it is all too easy for an idiot to drag an intelligent person DOWN to theirs.
Also, it is unnecessary: all decent services (including THIS one) have the facility to BLOCK a flamer or troll. Once you see where their words are leading, STOP READING them – or their sick mind will pollute YOURS.
And remember, while most of these morons are COWARDS who would not say boo to a goose, if said goose was stood in front of them – a small minority of them are DANGEROUS. The sort of people who should have been drowned at birth.
You do NOT want to piss one of THEM off.
So forget about trying to teach them a lesson. Most lack the grey matter to REALISE they were just outwitted by a keener mind. Pearls before swine and all that.
This medium has plenty of people who are decent, honourable and just plain NICE. Life is too SHORT to waste your time on those cretins. Instead, cultivate people who USE this tool for COMMUNICATION.
I don’t always agree with what Jeremy says – but then oft times, neither does HE.
The thing is, most people miss the POINT with Clarkson. Because he comes from a journalistic background and appears on what USED to be a serious motoring magazine programme, they get in an awful tizzy every time he says something “inappropriate” – failing to realize he is a COMEDIAN.
And therein lies the dilemma. The BBC airs numerous satirical, topical and standup shows where comedians say FAR more “inappropriate” things than Jeremy would ever DARE to – and get away with it, because people recognise the comedians are merely being humourous and do not actually MEAN their words to be taken seriously.
But with Jeremy, people expect DISCIPLINE.
For those outside Britain who do not know WHAT I am talking about, some history…
“Top Gear” began in 1977, as a serious motoring magazine programme. Every week, William Woollard and a bunch of oxygen thieves would compare the merits of family saloons (“I found the ride of the new Cortina to be firmer than the previous model, but the cupholder…”) and visit motor shows and… I’m boring MYSELF just THINKING about it.
But then in ’88, Clarkson joined the crew. And soon, his forthright views and casual humour began to get noticed. Ratings soared – and the BBC had an idea.
They allowed the series to LAPSE for two-and-a-half years – but they were playing the Long Game. When it returned, it was totally revamped.
There was “The News” – where Jeremy would begin reading a press release about the latest Cortina (or its modern equivalent) and a few words in, start snoring, throw the report over his shoulder and begin talking about the latest $500,000 supercar.
Then they would cut to his test-drive of the beast – involving him belting around a test-track in it, on opposite-lock – and doing doughnuts across the stop line.
In those days, they still did SOME serious bits. Like…
But eventually, they abandoned ALL pretence at Top Gear EVER being a serious motoring magazine programme again. They began presenting it in an aircraft hanger-sized building, with a “Cool Wall” – upon which pictures of cars nominated as cool and not were displayed.
Then they invited guest stars – many “A” list – to take a turn around their (usually WET – this was in BRITAIN) test track in a family saloon. Tom Cruise held the lap record for a while.
And then there were the “challenges” – Clarkson and his two cohorts would be given a few grand to go out and buy three old bangers (US – klunkers) to pit against each other, in a series of “tests” – the vehicles would be made to SUFFER.,
By now, the ratings were SKY-HIGH. This was FUN.
Of course, the budget for the show became ENORMOUS. The actual road tests (for supercars only) were filmed with state-of-the-art technology – resulting in visual masterpieces that were less reports than pieces of ART. And their various Wacky Races covered the WORLD – even the Magnetic North Pole.
However, the BBC soon discovered they needed a special letters department just to answer the “I wish to complain in the STRONGEST terms…” rants from those who still thought Top Gear was a MOTORING show.
And the gutter newspapers joined in too: their journalists HATED Jeremy for doing what they would have LOVED to have done – speak their MINDS.
However, Auntie was not about to be railroaded into firing their cash-cow over a few complaints. They recognised Clarkson for being what he is – a brilliant and erudite COMEDIAN. And so they laugh off the brickbats and hope Jeremy can keep it UP.
The entertainment industry often refers to the technique as “mosaicking” – and the public usually call it “pixelating” – but the proper term is as above.
It refers to the practise of digitally obscuring PART of a picture, while leaving the main picture intact – and permitting the viewer to understand what is going on.
The technique involves breaking the affected part of the picture into blocks – then averaging the colour and brightness of the blocks – and reproducing that colour and brightness over the entire block.
It has only been possible since the advent of digital technology – before that, clumsy optical effects had been used.
The problem in the Orient, is that the technology is ABUSED.
In Japan, LEGAL porn uses it to obscure genitals. Laughable and utterly pointless. TASTEFUL porn?
And here in Thailand, it is used to obscure guns near heads, people smoking cigarettes – and nudity.
The problem is that the law which requires it – has not been thought THROUGH.
The thing is, the pixelization only occurs during the time-period where it becomes legally required – the lead-up and follow-through do not feature it.
Thus when someone is smoking, the cigarette is only pixelized when it comes into CONTACT with the smoker’s lips. And likewise, the gun only becomes pixelized when it comes into close proximity with the head. The articles are therefore IN CLEAR, before and after the pixelization.
All of which only serves to EMPHASISE the very things the law seeks to VEIL.
Which means that instead of REDUCING a child’s interest in the offending activities, the law actually INCREASES the interest – by drawing ATTENTION to them!
During the last forty years, Political Correctness has at least partially succeeded in eradicating racism, sexism, other isms – even smoking. So why can’t it be used to achieve World Peace?
Look, if a man starts up a bicycle factory, his company will have a useful end product, right? A simple machine which enables a person to sit down to walk.
But what is the end product of The Military? Death, destruction and young, addled brains, that’s what. And that’s ALL. They produce NOTHING of USE.
Gullible youths are CONNED into fighting old men’s wars for them by talk of Service To Country. However, most conflicts merely serve The Rich, in one way or another. It’s a gigantic, sick CON.
The Military is an IMMORAL organization. It sucks up US$1.6 TRILLION (Short Scale – billion, Long Scale) a YEAR. That’s $1,600,000,000,000. Think what all of that loot could do for the Third World – all the Live Aid projects combined only raised $150 million.
And that does not take into account the OTHER costs of The War. Rebuilding the infrastructure (all those bombed buildings, bridges, etc.) and the economies of the countries involved – both winners and losers – and the minds of those gullible youths when they return (sometimes) from the conflicts.
So why not make them POLITICALLY INCORRECT? The Military, The War – the whole thing. It’s all an attitude of mind.
Once The Peoples of the World lose the idea that The Dead are Glorious – and realize they’re just DEAD – and that only when The Enemy are actually goose-stepping down THEIR STREET, do they need to act…
As John Lennon said, War Is Over – If You Want It. Remember Christmas, World War One? The combatants climbed out of their trenches and started playing football. Peace nearly broke out THEN.
The Dirty Old Men who were running the conflict nearly SHAT themselves. And it can be done again. Just don’t JOIN The Military. Or, if you’ve already succumbed to The Con – don’t FIGHT.
Become a conscientious objector. Most countries won’t shoot you for it, these days. They rely on only a handful of squaddies seeing sense – and the other squaddies bullying them back into line. But if ALL the squaddies downed tools…
It’s as simple as that. The Warmongers rely on their propaganda to Con the proles into fighting their Wars for them – in fact, it can truly be said that the first action any Warring government has to win is the propaganda battle against its own people.
So don’t BUY it. Until The Enemy is at the gate, tell them to go f*** themselves. World Peace is in YOUR hands. You, The People, outnumber the Warmongers by millions to one. That’s your power – USE it.
World Peace is a doddle. It only needs The People to decide The Military and The War are Politically Incorrect – and refuse to play their bloody (literally) games.
T’other day I came across (make that HAPPENED across) a clip of Betty (a.k.a. Bettie) Page in “Teaserama” – on YouTube. And some kid had written a comment asking why she was wearing an “adult diaper” (nappy).
Now, I had the answer – but it would have taken me more than the space allotted by YouTube to write it. And anyway, Morphy was due a new piece, so I’m posting it here instead…
“Teaserama” was a 1955 film, which featured American Burlesque queens strutting their stuff. And it included the legend that is – or rather was (she passed away three years ago, aged 85) – Ms Page.
And in that film, Ms Page wears FRILLY KNICKERS.
The thing about frilly knix is the frills are supposed to act as heat-sinks (like the fins on a motorbike engine) – which is why tennis players wear them. They are supposed to keep you cool.
Whether this is true or not, I have no idea – having never worn them (and if I had, I wouldn’t tell YOU). But while they may keep the wearer cool – they make them LOOK HOT!
Case in point was Britain’s last Wimbledon singles winner – Ms Virginia Wade, in 1977 (we haven’t had a Men’s winner since Fred Perry, in the Thirties).
Although frilly knix were really a Fifties thing – Ms Wade wore them throughout her Wimbledon career. And many non-tennis fans tuned in just to watch her serve from the end where the cameras were located!
And while this writer is now well-stricken in years, they are really before even HIS time. Nevertheless, he must confess to his heart-rate going up just a BIT when Ginny walked out onto the Centre Court.
So, young people, if you see footage of Betty (Bettie) Page – or some of the many thousands of stills taken of her by Bunny Yeager (who, at 81, still lives) – remember: NO, she was NOT incontinent.
She was wearing FRILLY KNICKERS – ’cause they were HOT – and dammit, they STILL ARE!
In 1970, I saw Disney’s then-latest offering – “The Aristocats” – in a cinema. My initial reaction was that it was fine …except it seemed strangely RETRO. Like it had been made several years EARLIER.
You have to remember that in the Sixties, style and fashion moved QUICKLY. Even at Disney. It began with the 1960 film, “One Hundred And One Dalmatians” – which was Disney’s first to use a Xerox technique (forced upon them by the flop of “Sleeping Beauty” – it made animation CHEAPER) and continued throughout their Sixties and Seventies output.
But over time, I forgot about this anomaly …until the Eighties, when I saw, on TV, Chuck Jones’ only ever cartoon FEATURE – “Gay Purr-ee” – which had been released in 1962. And the FIRST thing that occurred to me was that it was similar to The Aristocats – very, VERY similar!
Then over time, that feeling also filtered down into my subconscious – until, in the Nineties, I saw an interview with Chuck Jones. And in it, he mentioned his short spell working at Disney. It turned out Warner had CLOSED their cartoon division for a couple of years, in the mid-Fifties – after which they had reopened it, hiring back Chuck and most of the original team.
But since Chuck needed to eat, he had joined Walt’s studio during that time – doing (uncredited) work on the above-mentioned Sleeping Beauty – after which he had left and returned to Warner. Okay – except in his interview, Chuck hinted that his relationship with Walt had NOT been an equitable one.
Now, all of the above is fact. And not wishing to be sued by The Mouse, let me state that the following is only CONJECTURE…
Supposing Chuck had wanted to STICK IT to Walt? Sleeping Beauty took eight years to make and was released in 1959. And Walt did not acquire One Hundred And One Dalmatians until ’57 – then made it during ’59 and ’60 – CHEAPLY.
So could the studio have been beginning production on The Aristocats at the same time? During Chuck’s time at the studio?? And could he have decided to make a CLONE of it – to EMBARRASS Walt???
The dates work. Gay Purr-ee was not released until ’62, but Chuck and his team had been making it for a WHILE. Indeed, Warner FIRED Chuck and his team because of it – killing off their own cartoon division – after which Chuck and said team went independent for several years, producing new Tom And Jerry cartoons, before finally being “bought back” by MGM.
So could Disney have SAT on The Aristocats for a decade? The film was “officially” made immediately after Walt’s death in ’66 – and finally released in ’70.
But suppose most of it HAD been made in the Fifties? Disney were in financial doo-doo by the late Fifties (hence the CHEAP Xerox technique employed by them, on One Hundred And One Dalmatians).
OFFICIALLY, blame was laid upon the failure of the costly Sleeping Beauty (it was made in 70mm stereo). But if, in addition, The Aristocats had been SHELVED, because Disney knew Chuck was rushing out HIS version…
Chuck has never spoken of it – but what if the Disney Company bought his SILENCE?
After all, Gay Purr-ee died on its arse – so by 1970, it is unlikely anyone would have drawn comparisons between it and The Aristocats. Which meant the only potential embarrassment could have come from Chuck.
But what if – for a LARGE consideration – he had signed a non-disclosure contract?
Once again, the above is only conjecture: Walt Disney was murdered by Kurt Russell (according to some sources: see Wiki) and got cryogenically frozen (according to other sources) in ’66 and Chuck has been gone for a decade now – so we will probably never know. But given the cut-throat nature of the cartoon business, it seems to me there is something FISHY here.
All I can say is if you can buy or rent Gay Purr-ee AND The Aristocats – do so. Then watch them one after the other – and DECIDE!
Americans have never embraced the concept that more can be LESS.
Thus, while Europe had nice little family-run circuses (circi?) with a single ring and perhaps a dozen performers – with everybody doubling roles – America had The Greatest Show On Earth – Ringling Bros And Barnham & Bailey Circus – a MONSTER circus, with THREE rings.
And therein lies the problem.
The intimacy of the small circus, where the audience watches the acts right in front of them – ONE AT A TIME – was DESTROYED by the three-ring format. How could anyone concentrate on three acts at a time? Even Marty Feldman could only have concentrated on TWO.
The apparent thinking was that with the main act in Centre Ring, the other two would “enhance” it. But no, they did not – they were just a DISTRACTION. Dumb.
And the idea that the scale was impressive belied the fact that said scale would also DWARF the PERFORMERS – the very people we had come to SEE.
It was the same with Saturday-morning TV fare. In Europe, this consisted of a series of items – a cartoon montage, a magazine-type show, an episode of an adventure series and usually, a children’s movie.
But cartoons were always the most popular item, so American Saturday-morning TV would feature nothing else – thus producing a generation of kids whose whole life experience was a series of zany DRAWINGS.
And thus it is today, with movies. In the Good Old Days, movies told STORIES – with, sometimes, a little visual artistry thrown in.
But once TV took over that role, movies became “EVENTS” – all movies had to be bigger, more expensive and state-of-the-art-effects-laden. Stories? Who cared?
And so these days, The Movies are just like that three-ring-circus – TOO DAMN MUCH. The senses are overloaded with noise, “MTV-edited” action and computer-generated imagery. Movies today are nothing more than gigantic VIDEO-GAMES.
Kid: “I got banned from the local swimming pool for peeing in it.”
His Dad: “That’s a bit strong – every kid pees in the pool.”
Kid: “Yeah – but I did it from the top diving board.”
I recalled this venerable joke while watching Adam Sandler’s movie, “Grown Ups” (2010).
Like you, I’ve often heard about the chemical which pool owners add to the water that turns urine bright blue (or red) but when this was SHOWN in said movie – it got me thinking…
And having thunk – I decided it was bollocks.
Think it through: the chemical would have to be DRINKABLE, or it would poison the water – the very thing it’s supposed to PREVENT.
And pee is not poisonous anyway. In fact, provided the pe-er is in normal health, urine is STERILE.
And even a good, long one in a pool – would only constitute around one part per BILLION, compared with the volume of water.
And pee is essentially composed of the same chemicals as SWEAT – how you gonna stop people SWEATING in a pool?
And even if the chemical WAS safe – and worked effectively – what THEN? Sure, you could eject the “offender” – but who would want to STAY in your pool? You’d have to drain, disinfect and refill it – which would take at least a DAY, never mind the COST.
And it would be pointless anyway. All public pools contain a constantly-monitored level of CHLORINE, which KILLS “impurities” like sweat, pee – even POOP.
I’ve always figured the Magic Chemical was a MYTH – told by pool-owners to kids, to try to at least cut down on the LEVEL of pee.
Yet another lie adults tell children, like: don’t do that – you’ll go blind, every time you pick your nose a fairy dies – and ice cream vans only play music when they’ve run out of ice cream.
But I still had to CHECK – and found several sites which confirmed what I had already surmised…
Despite being a Child Of The Sixties – I’ve never really LIKED ’em.
Thing is, they are WORK CLOTHES. But in those halcyon days of youth rebellion, they became the must-wear item.
However, they have really NEVER been ideal for casual wear. When new, they are STIFF and uncomfortable. In My Day, we used to try EVERYTHING to make them less so.
And for years, manufacturers have done likewise. Since wearing second-hand clothes creeps most people out, the companies have gone to great lengths to “distress” their NEW jeans.
One method is to SAND-BLAST them. Problem is, the Third World factories that make them have never HEARD of Health And Safety – resulting in workers’ respiratory systems getting clogged with fine SAND.
Then there were those stupid RIPS in the KNEES, a few years ago.
Of course, distressing jeans also shortens their LIVES – a fact appreciated by the companies that make them.
Indeed, these CON-ARTISTS have made a FORTUNE out of an article of clothing that costs less than ten Pounds (sixteen bucks) to make.
I even heard Levi had opened up shops on Fifth Avenue and Regent Street, called “Levi Strauss Fashions” or somesuch, selling jeans for over A HUNDRED QUID ($150). I thought it was a JOKE – but tragically, not.
Personally, I wore my last pair of jeans in the Seventies. Then for a while, I sported slacks – until finally, I STARTED the trend for wearing TRAINERS and TRACK-SUITS as DAYWEAR.
After a couple of years, the “Shell Suit” emerged and I switched to those. But after a while, they became DEEPLY unfashionable – so I reverted to track-suits. And the rest of the World followed me.
Jeans then became a JOKE – with companies selling “designer” versions, for absurd prices, to gullible morons. Then “penguin jeans” – with the crotch at knee-level. And finally jeans that didn’t even FIT – causing them to FALL DOWN.
Thus, myself and the SMART people sported track-suit bottoms, with tennis shirts and the like – covered with track-suit tops during the Winter.
Back in the Sixties, cotton was king – thus jeans and tee-shirts ruled. But these days, most people have realised that man-made fibres are WAY better at insulating you from the weather – in addition to being more comfortable and easier to wash.
Jeans are now for PLEBS (and Jay Leno-types).
However, having ESCAPED cold, wet, miserable, rip-off Britain – I live in a HOT, HUMID country. And thus, the advantages of man-made fibres are outweighed by the COOL ABSORBANCY of cotton (worn for ONE DAY ONLY of course).
But I STILL haven’t reverted to JEANS – WAY too heavy. No, here I wear Japanese-style loose trousers and tops. Kinda like Karate suits (see the pic at the bottom of this column).
Nevertheless, if I were still unfortunate enough to reside in Blighty, I would SWEAR by track-suits.
It has taken this film two years to turn up on Asian satellite TV – but I am glad it did. It is a great film (and reminds me why I am glad to have escaped Britain).
Beautifully composed and shot on a London estate (which was demolished shortly after) it tells the tale of Harry Brown (Mike Caine) – a pensioner who loses his wife to old age – and his best friend to the gang of thugs who “rule” the estate.
There are many such estates in Britain. The dregs of society live there, with high unemployment leading to high crime and illicit drug use. And with their low levels of intelligence and imagination, the drugs are their only escape.
The alienation the inhabitants feel often explodes into violence (as demonstrated during the recent riots) and this is the backdrop for the film.
With his wife dead, when Harry’s best friend is murdered he decides he has little to lose by going after those responsible. Thus the film becomes Britain’s latter-day answer to America’s “Death Wish” (the original film – not the wanky sequels).
And it is at least as good as that film. Caine threw himself into the role, it being close to (his original) home. He was quoted as saying it would be his last film – but he later said he was misquoted. This writer suspects what he actually said was if it TURNED OUT to be his last film, he would be satisfied.
And justifiably so. If it had been successful in The States, Caine would be looking at another OSCAR nod. But like “The Boat That Rocked” – it was too British.
And because of its failure to make it across The Pond, “Harry Brown” barely covered its costs (which were quite high – the riot scene alone was not cheap).
But we do not care: the film was made with British Lottery money – some of which, ironically, would have come from the desperate occupants of those estates…
So there it is. “Harry Brown” is not a date movie – it is visceral and bleak. And while Harry had had experience in Northern Ireland, he does NOT suddenly become a wrinkly action-man.
But the film LIVES. It is ABOUT something – which is all too rare these days.
And it even has an upbeat ending. So if it comes your way, check it out.
It’s a funny thing about showbiz. When I was a kid, I knew I was “different” (no jokes, please) and was SURE I would enter The Business when I grew up. But then the Real World intervened.
Fact is – nearly all of the people who DO enter showbiz do so after a firm grounding in a STAGE SCHOOL (like Italia Conti) – paid for by their rich parents, who figure their little girl/boy is “special”.
Of course, some of them ARE – and they are the ones who just MIGHT succeed.
Others STUMBLE into it (an Open Mike night – someone wants a specialist journalist for a show – or they achieve fame via a different route and then cross over).
But I did not do ANY of that. My parents were POOR and after I left school, I had to earn a LIVING.
At various times, I ALMOST blundered into it (I was a semi-pro DJ for a while, among other things) but it never quite happened.
The problem is – EVERYBODY thinks they can be a movie star or whatever – but only one in a THOUSAND has the GIFT. However, that still means there are some SIXTY THOUSAND-odd people in the UK – WITH that gift. Thus even if you DO have it – your chances of success are barely one in a hundred.
Okay, one in TEN – if your idea of success is working in local rep your whole life – with the occasional TV or movie bit-part to remind you of what COULD have been.
Plus, in addition to talent (where mine is LIMITED, to say the least) you need LUCK (again, limited) and ENORMOUS DEDICATION with NO FEAR OF REJECTION – which is where I fall WAY short.
So these days, my contribution to The Business is in the area of PROMOTION. As an unofficial “VJ” on YouTube, I am less of a performer (although I have done a FEW live bits there) than a modest SHOWMAN – promoting the talents of OTHERS.
To which end, having uploaded over 1,600 pieces, on 33 channels – I have so far gleaned OVER FIFTEEN MILLION HITS. SIXTY THOUSAND EVERY DAY, right now.
My reward is not financial (sadly!) but I achieve contact with friends of, relatives of – and occasionally the ACTUAL stars themselves, whose work I “promote” (Tom Mullica himself recently contacted me, after his piece went VIRAL, with nearly two MILLION hits to date) – and that is nice.
But even nicer is the public “fan-mail” I get. Tonight I answered just a PIECE of it – and communicated with people from Britain, America, Russia, Chile and Malta. And we spoke of things that were common to us both.
Furthermore, I linked one of my Fifties Rock ‘N’ Roll pieces on YouTube – which a 15-year-old had said showed him what REAL Pop was like – to my piece on The History Of Pop And Dance, on WordPress. Then I steered him to it.
I have already shamelessly linked relevent WordPress pieces to my top YouTube “earners”, in order to promote THEM!
Then – there IS always that WRITTEN work. As one of the top million or so non-fiction writers in the English language (!) my well-over-500 posts on WordPress, plus my book and short story (and a number of movie crits on IMDb) earn around one hundred hits a day (79,000 – thus far).
Okay – that IS pitifully tiny, compared to my A/V pieces (but like I always say – no-one READS anymore) – however, at least THOSE efforts are all MINE!
So there it is: fame – of a kind – at last! I am FAR too long in the tooth to consider entering The Business now – in any case, I am happily RETIRED to Thailand and have responsibilities here.
But having become a “columnist” and low-rent P.T. Barnham – I make a difference.
In the time it has taken YOU to read THIS, some FIFTY PEOPLE – from all around the World – have been entertained by something I uploaded into the Public Domain.
Mary O’Shaunessey looked down at her husband for what she knew would be the last time. Gerry was taking his last breaths In This Life.
As she, his dutiful wife, sat along with their six children and the local priest – Mary reflected on the two decades that had brought her to this point.
She had barely been out of Catholic school when she had first met Gerry – a man then in his late thirties. He had recently divorced his first wife, as she had not borne him any children.
But over the next decade, Mary had made up for that. She had popped out babies with monotonous regularity.
Five of them were bright and brawny, but Ronan had always been sickly. Thin and nervy, he was the runt of the litter – and not the sharpest tool in the box, either.
And she could see her husband’s eyes raking the children now, as he prepared to Meet His Maker.
Suddenly, gathering his remaining strength, he raised his head and called his wife over. She bent to catch his last words.
“Mary,” he croaked, “I have to know – it doesn’t matter now – is Ronan really MY child?”
“Of course he is,” Mary replied.
Satisfied, her husband relaxed, sank back onto the pillow – and with one last strained gasp, exited This Place.
The children got up, passed their father and filed out, leaving Mary alone with the priest. He ventured, “Sure, that was an unusual question to ask, about the boy.”
Mary nodded – and the priest left her alone with her husband.
Standing over him, she murmured,”It’s a good job you didn’t ask me about the other five – I’d have hated to lie in front of a priest.”
The series was reaching its end when this offering was made (although the writers and/or cast may not have KNOWN that).
As usual, our twitchy hero acts everyone off the screen – but is let down by a MAJOR faux pas from the writers.
The plot is a twist on the Munchausen Syndrome By Proxy which beggers belief, but is at least an ORIGINAL IDEA – which you will NOT see coming, I promise you.
However, the writers failed to do their RESEARCH. The devices that the emergency services have, which trigger traffic signals to go green in front of them, only override max times and computer instructions.
They DO NOT and CAN NOT override signals’ basic safety protocols.
If, as shown in this episode, they caused green conflicts (greens in both directions) or even instant changes (no ambers or intergreen times) the EMERGENCY vehicles would leave a series of COLLISIONS in their wakes.
(As you may have gathered, in an earlier life I was a traffic systems engineer).
However, that said, this episode is possibly the most exciting and UNUSUAL of the series. So if it comes your way, WATCH it – but don’t get worried the next time you are driving.
If someone T-bones you at a signal-controlled crossing – they will merely be DRUNK.
I don’t normally feature the work of others in my columns (except the odd quote or suggestion – which I attribute) but I felt this year’s Edinburgh Fringe funniest joke winners were so good – they deserved PRESERVATION. So here they are…
(1) Nick Helm: “I needed a password eight characters long – so I picked Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”
(2) Tim Vine: “Crime in multi-storey car-parks… that’s wrong, on so many levels.”
(3) Hannibal Buress: “People say ‘I’m taking it one day at a time.’ You know what? So is EVERYBODY. That’s how time WORKS.”
(4) Tim Key: “The Drive-Thru McDonalds was more expensive than I thought – once you’ve hired the car…”
(5) Matt Kirshen: “I was playing chess with my friend and he said, ‘Let’s make this interesting’ – so we stopped playing chess.”
(6) Sarah Millican: “My mother told me, ‘You don’t have to put anything in your mouth you don’t want to’ – then she made me eat broccoli – which felt like double standards.”
(7) Alan Sharp: “I was in a band which we called The Prevention – ’cause we hoped people would say we were better than The Cure.”
(8) Mark Watson: “Someone asked me recently: what would I rather give up – food or sex? Neither! I’m not falling for that one again… wife.”
(9) Andrew Lawrence: “I admire these phone hackers. I think they have a lot of patience. I can’t even be bothered to check my OWN voicemails.”
(10) DeAnne Smith: “My friend died doing what he loved… heroin.”
(Wooden Spoon) Paul Daniels: “I said to a fella, ‘Is there a B&Q in Henley?’ And he said, ‘No – there’s an H, two Es, an N, an L and a Y’.”
A big thank you to all of the above. May your work live on for ever. And may you try to do likewise. 🙂
As a child of the Sixties, I would have LOVED for the concept of Total Freedom to have WORKED. But sadly, it never COULD have. The reason? Economics.
My generation claimed “Property Is Theft” – but even THAT was an oxymoron. The truth (something my guys at least TRIED to find) was that the Californian Hippie culture, with its “Free Shops” (where barter ruled) was based on a LIE.
While heads could certainly live CHEAPLY, even they needed SOME money – and they got it as handouts from rich, middle-class residents who liked to think they were a PART of the “counter-culture”.
Thus, they were SUPPORTING the culture. Without their financial input, it would have died before it started.
But when Charles Manson and his “followers” wreaked their havoc on that fateful night – slaughtering among others the lovely Sharon Tate, pregnant wife of Roman Polanski – the party was abruptly OVER.
Despite the fact that neither the psychotic career-criminal Manson nor his people were in any true sense Hippies, they was automatically labeled as such, since they had adopted the hairstyle, garb and lifestyle of that time.
Which is ironic, given another popular saying of the era, “Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty”. At the time of his greatest crime – Manson was thirty-four.
This piece resides under one of my more esoteric titles – but all should become clear, should you care to READ it…
Last night I was watching the episode of “The Big Bang Theory”, where Raj and Sheldon get into a pissing contest over their office.
Sheldon was persuaded to allow Raj to move into his office if he bought his own desk. So Raj moved an antique desk the size of a small ocean liner into the office. Sheldon responded by unleashing a concoction of foul-smelling chemicals into said office – hydrogen sulphide (rotten eggs/fart gas) and ammonia (urine’s main aroma).
He came out of the room wearing a gas mask – but then Raj came out with no mask and said, “Dude, I grew up in CALCUTTA. Cows walk the streets – and until we moved to America, I didn’t know what a solid bowel-movement WAS!”
It occurred to me what great writing that was.
Chuck Lorre’s real surname is Levene. He makes no secret of it. One imagines he chose Lorre out of admiration for Peter Lorre – and shunned his inherited name to avoid the cliché of being yet another Jewish-American comedy writer. But I don’t know – you’d have to ask Chuck.
But right after watching “Big Bang”, I watched “Mental”. This is (arguably) a clone of “House” and was made by Fox TV (the “nice” Fox) in of all places, Colombia (as is evidenced by the dodgy sound and spartan design). However, it’s not bad – and they only made 13 episodes.
Anyhoo – the show was created and exec produced by Dan Levine and Deborah Joy LeVine.
And this has caused much confusion. One can only assume that Ms D.J. LeVine changed HER name, simply by putting the “V” in upper case – cleverly making it sound FRENCH, instead of Jewish. However, as far as I can discover, her collaborator (brother? husband? neither IMDb nor Wiki know) stayed with Levine.
But on one occasion, the compiler of the graphics for the show’s end credits put him down as LeVine on ONE credit and Levine on the other – and all other credits.
Meanwhile, on IMDb, he is listed as Levine – yet Wiki has him as LeVine.
What a MESS!
The problem is, Debbie has a more extensive CV (maybe she should wear a skirt) so Dan is currently in the position of someone who marries UP. Like if Lady Gaga got married and her husband wasn’t famous – people would call him LORD Gaga.
The last time I spoke of ethnic names, a troll called me a RACIST. However, trolls lack intellect – and even a frickin’ GENIUS would have trouble wading through the complexity of THIS piece. Oh yeah? What was racist – and WHY?! Good LUCK.
I recall a time when a certain British Sunday newspaper had a slow week and thus ran with a story about a married vicar who had had an affair with a parishioner.
It was not really a big deal. No choirboys were involved. The woman was an adult. It happened.
But the newspaper figured the piece would provide SOME entertainment for the plebs, as they waited for their Sunday lunches to appear.
On the Monday morning, the vicar was found hanging in the vestry.
The thing was, while the story was one the readers would have forgotten before they reached the Sports section – to the vicar, his LIFE just got SMASHED.
I wondered how long it would take before the gun nuts responded to the events in Scandinavia with their traditional cry – “This wouldn’t have happened if citizens were allowed to bear arms” – it was less than twelve hours.
Of course, as always, they ignore the obvious; the number of people who are no longer with us, thanks to events in Hungerford, Dunblane, Columbine and a dozen other now-infamous places are a tiny, TINY fraction of those who would no longer be with us – if every citizen were PACKING HEAT.
When I next go shopping, I know it’s POSSIBLE I may not return – but I’ll STILL feel a lot safer than I would if my little town was like DODGE CITY…
Hooray! After 496 posts – your humble scribe finally got his first comments from a TROLL!
Of course, he would not wish to burden you, his esteemed reader, with moronic, abusive rants. Thus he SCREENS all comments and sent these ones STRAIGHT to Delete Permanently – and BLOCKED their contributor’s IP.
However, this is not to say that he would fail to publish a comment just because he disagreed with it. Heaven forfend! Provided the comment were reasoned and civil, he would publish it immediately – along with his reaction to it.
But of course, Trolls do not know the MEANING of the words reasoned or civil. They lack the INTELLECT to reason – and the decency to be civil.
So which piece attracted the attention of his first Troll?
Surprisingly, it was the one which follows THIS piece. It was about pretentious names – specifically, common names which are misspelled or mispronounced to give them an “exotic” flavour.
But it stated that with this phenomenon, black Americans are the worst offenders. And it appeared to be THIS which stung the Troll into action.
Nevertheless, the Troll’s accusations of racism DID give this writer food for thought. Not that he thought his piece might have been unjust – but rather, that there was a whole ISSUE concerning racism today. An issue which he felt was worthy of sensible discussion.
It really all stems from the dreaded Political Correctness. PC was originally designed to eradicate racism, sexism and a whole bunch of other -isms.
Before PC, casual racism, sexism, ageism, etc., were daily currency. Mostly, it had less to do with outright hostility than simple ignorance.
People who were white, male, straight, etc. – did not realise the HURT they were inflicting on those who happened to be black, female, gay, etc. – by thoughtless comments and tasteless jokes.
Something had to be done. Enter PC.
But as is usually the case with these things – the pendulum swung too far. And pretty soon, no-one knew WHERE they were.
If a gentleman gave up his seat for a lady – she might SLAP him for being SEXIST.
And FORGET about calling a black youth “boy” – even if he WAS one.
While comedy shows became a MINEFIELD of confusion. Was it “okay” to laugh at THIS joke? Or THAT one? Was that sexist? Racist? Anti-gay? Anti-parrot?
What started out as a tool to right injustice quickly drove society into PARANOIA.
Of course, we have all had time to evaluate this Brave New World now. But there is still a lot of silliness out there. And nowhere is it more rampant than in the area of racism.
So what IS racism?
Well, to deny a person basic RIGHTS, based on the colour of their skin – or physical differences to YOUR race – is fundamentally WRONG. No question.
And to ATTACK someone for the same reason – whether physically or emotionally – is obviously ALSO wrong.
But what about having a little fun with a person’s STEREOTYPE? We ALL fall into a NUMBER of stereotypes – this columnist included – and RECOGNISING those characteristics is part of how we can COMMUNICATE WITH OTHERS. ACCEPT them – as DIFFERENT.
One of the most heinous sins of PC is its insistence we are all the SAME. Anyone who has LIVED can tell you we are NOT.
Sure, we are all entitled to the same RESPECT as human beings. And the same opportunities. And the same human rights.
But does that MAKE us the same? Of course not.
Post-PC, many people are still UPTIGHT. They stiffen at the word “black”.
Even a throwaway joke about the WELSH got Anne Robinson into trouble. Forget about her getting the SACK – some people wanted her JAILED.
Which is where this observer wants to get OFF the Crazy Bus.
RACISM is defined as: “The prejudice that members of one race are intrinsically superior to members of other races” and “Discriminatory or abusive behaviour towards members of another race.”
Nowhere in that does it say we cannot DISCUSS our DIFFERENCES.
“Intrinsically” means THROUGHOUT – that one is claiming one’s race to be TOTALLY superior to another. Individual aspects of behaviour do NOT constitute TOTAL superiority.
A Kenyan can generally run faster than an American – but Americans got a man onto the Moon. A Scot invented the pneumatic tyre – but a German invented the automobile that runs on them. We could go on.
The point is, all peoples have their strong points and weak ones. And all have their good and bad traits. Which is further complicated by the fact that a trait which one person may find attractive – might be abhorrent to another. And vice-versa.
Which brings us neatly back to the THRUST of this piece. People are DIFFERENT. And recognising that undeniable fact does not make you a RACIST – merely a REALIST.
“Discriminatory or abusive behaviour” – THAT is racism. Not an appreciation – or even a gentle ribbing of – our DIFFERENCES. They make us who we ARE.
So by all means check out the following piece – this author has left it word-for-word, the way it was written.
And if you ARE black – AND American – and even have a name that qualifies as PRETENTIOUS – leave a comment. Provided it is reasoned and civil – rest assured I will publish it in FULL.
They take mundane names and mispronounce them, thinking they will sound “exotic” – like Colin Powell, who likes his name to be mispronounced “coe-lyn” – or misspell them, often using apostrophes – like Sooz’n, for Susan.
Even more absurd are the names which are just made up.Will Smith married Jada Pinkett, whose name is a corruption of Jade. That was already bad enough (the name Jada – not their marriage – I am sure they are very happy together) but then they compounded the sin by naming one of their kids Jaden.
Jaden is a cute little boy – who is already showing promise as a child actor – but his first day in school must have been tough.
In My Day, it would have gone thusly:
“Hi. What’s your name?”
“Jaden.”
“Aiden?”
“No – Jaden. I was named after my mother.”
“Oh. Your mother’s name is Jade.”
“No. Jada.”
“BEAT HIM!!!”
Footnote: following on from the previous piece – for the benefit of any reader to whom it is not obvious, this was written as a COMEDIC piece. Observational in nature, it highlighted an anomaly common to a particular slice of our modern World’s society and contrasted it with attitudes prevalent in Sixties Britain – in SCHOOLS.
I recently saw a recording of Kenneth Williams’ one-man-show, in which he retold an episode which occurred when he was working for ENSA (Every Night Something Awful) in Malaya.
He and the chorus boys were rehearsing “We’re The Boys Of The Service” – when the Colonel stopped them and began ranting about how the whole thing was TOO CAMP.
He demanded they change the lyric to MEN of the service.
So of course, they then all sang, “We’re the MEN of the service…” – THREE TIMES more camply than before!
The punch-line of Ken’s story was that when the number finished, the Colonel harrumphed and said, “That was better.”
This reminded me of a similar incident, involving ANOTHER Ken – Kenneth G Armstrong, our manic depressive headmaster, at Copleston High. A boys school, boasting some 550 pupils.
Back in those days (the Sixties) most schools had a thing called “Morning Assembly” which consisted of a twenty minute “service” during which we would have to recite a couple of prayers, sing a hymn and endure a sermon – which in our case, was usually delivered by the afore-mentioned bi-polar headmaster.
After this routine, Ken would do “the notes” – which was a list of the “growing practises” in the school and a description of what would happen to any boy caught indulging in them.
Anyhoo, on this particular occasion, the hymn – it being close to Christmas – was “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks”. Wilfred, the arts master, lifted the lid of the piano, played the introduction and we began to sing.
However, we had only reached the end of the first line when Ken shouted, “STOP!”
Wilfred paused, his hands in mid-air – and we slithered to a discordant halt.
“I heard that!” said Ken. “Some boys were singing ‘While shepherds WASHED their SOCKS!’ – You will start again and this time, if I hear ONE BOY singing ‘washed their socks’ I will CANE the ENTIRE SCHOOL!”
He then nodded at Wilfred, who replayed the intro and 550 boys – in unison – sang “While shepherds washed their socks by night…”
I watched Ken’s face go through several shades of purple and steam begin to emanate from his ears. But he remained quiet until the hymn finished.
Then, as we stood expectantly, he harrumphed and said, “That was better.”
But being in the Third Year, I was positioned right in the middle of the boys and the first time we had sung the piece, I had not heard ANY boy singing “washed their socks” – in fact, I had never HEARD of this particular “twisted lyric” – however, I certainly heard 550 boys sing it the SECOND time!
So Ken undoubtedly heard it too – but, like the Colonel, he had painted himself into a CORNER and had no option but to LAMELY pretend to MISHEAR it.
And like us, he knew he could NEVER have caned the entire school. The logistics alone, of whacking 550 boys, would have been beyond him. But that would have been NOTHING compared to what the newspapers would have done to him, had he carried out his threat.
“HEADMASTER CANES 550 BOYS FOR SINGING: WHILE SHEPHERDS WASHED THEIR SOCKS!” They would have had a field day – and he would have been looking for a new job the day after!
Footnote: my friend, Little Alfie, was in my class and generally remembers these things differently from I – so if you check the “comments” to this piece, you may find an ALTERNATIVE version of these events!
By the Seventies, I had built up a record collection that weighed over a quarter of a ton (or tonne – they are much the same).
Today, thanks to (in chronological order) tape-recorders, VCRs and DVRs, I have increased that collection to more than HALF a ton (or tonne). It now includes audio- and video-tapes – and likewise disks.
But returning to the Seventies: in those days, I predicted that by 2000, there would be a giant computer which would have EVERY record EVER RECORDED on it – which, for a few pennies, would be accessible by all.
Well – I SORTA got that one right. Except the OLD records are on YouTube (apart from ones blocked by short-sighted record companies) for FREE – and the NEW ones are on iTunes.
However, last night I had a DREAM which I predict will – in time – ALSO come true.
At the moment, chips are still based on silicone – but around the corner are GRAPHENE chips. These are based on GRAPHITE – the stuff found in the middle of PENCILS (you remember those?)
And it is estimated that about two generations – perhaps three – in, those chips will finally hit ATOMIC level. We will be unable to go further.
But when we DO hit that level, it SHOULD be possible to store VAST amounts of audio on just a small bank of these chips.
So here is my prediction. I believe that once the copyright wrinkles have been ironed out – these chip-banks containing most of the music EVER RECORDED, in the Century Of Entertainment (see elsewhere in these ramblings) will be put into EVERY electronic audio-visual device made.
“AllMusic” modules (and if they call ’em that, I want royalties) will be part of all DVRs, televisions, music centres, amplifiers (no need for audio playing devices) car radios, portable radios – and of course, iPhones, iPads and whatever other toys they come up with.
You will simply select genres, artists and/or titles on the screen (or remote) and be able to listen to just about ANYTHING. It will all be right there, IN the device.
We have come a long way. In the Seventies, even THIS visionary could not imagine a device the size of a domino containing his quarter-ton (or tonne) of records!
“And on the eighth day, God created a score for what He had done…” Levitation, 6:9.
What do “The Third Man”, “Genevieve” and “The Conversation” have in common?
Well – aside from being classic movies – they all had a score created and played by one man, on one instrument.
In the same chronological order: Anton Karas on the zither, Larry Adler on the harmonica and David Shire on the piano.
Now I love great film scores as much as the next man – probably MORE so – and am enamoured of the greats: Barry, Goldsmith, Morricone et al.
But you have to take your hat off to the brave producers of these three MAJOR movies, where the phenomenon was NOT forced upon them by budgetary constraints.
They simply saw the possibilities offered by such elegant simplicity.
Can YOU imagine ANY of those three films with FULL ORCHESTRAL SCORES?
I thought not.
Footnote: it is amazing what you can get away with, when you offer quotes from The Bible. Even most devout Christians have never read it – save perhaps for the first few verses of Genesis and a few of the New Testament stories. Levitation? Really?! (It was a mash-up of Leviticus and Revelation – I will leave YOU to guess the significance of the chapter and verse numbers).
Iceland – of late, you have had two problems. One: your volcanoes keep filling the air with ash, preventing conventional aircraft from flying – and two: your economy has gone down the crapper.
The solution? AIRSHIPS. Now they are filled with helium, they do not blow up anymore. And while they’re a bit SLOW – they are virtually unaffected by ash.
Build some of these craft – then modify their engine’s air intakes to filter out the ash. Even if they DO clog up – at least they won’t fall out the sky like bricks.
I once heard a story about a young man who was propositioned by an old man on a long-distance train. It was not THAT sort of proposition, however. This one involved GAMBLING.
Despite having been warned by his mother about the dangers of gambling with strangers on trains, the young man listened.
The two men had a compartment to themselves, which had a small fold-down table positioned between them.
The old man removed his jacket and hat, rolled up his shirt sleeves and produced three two-inch discs. On one, there were two identical, plain crosses – one on each side. The second was blank on both sides. And the third was blank on one side, with a cross on the other.
He explained the methodology thusly. Each would take it in turn to place the three disks into the hat, give it a shake and hold it under the table – and then the OTHER would remove one disk, clench it in his fist and slap it down on the table. At which point, the first would have to guess whether the UNDERSIDE was blank, or had a cross on it.
The old man pointed out that since the other was drawing the counter, cheating would be impossible.
He further stipulated that either party could examine and re-examine the hat and/or the disks at any time – as many times as they liked.
The young man examined the counters carefully. Without doubt, the crosses WERE identical – precisely centred and PRINTED onto the counters. All were perfectly flat, with clean edges.
He then examined the hat, which proved to be mundane. He even checked the old man and determined he had no concealed mirrors or trick glasses – not even contact lenses.
At which point, the young man said okay then, what was the point? If the cross was on top, the disk could not be the double-blank – thus it had to be either the cross-blank or the double-cross. The odds were fifty-fifty.
And likewise, if the top was blank, it could not be the double-cross. Therefore it had to be either the cross-blank or the double-blank. Again, fifty-fifty.
Plus, the discs had the same number of crosses and blanks, evenly distributed on their faces. Yet again, fifty-fifty.
Precisely, said the old man. He went on to explain that since the train journey they were on was a long one, a fifty-fifty game would pass the time more quickly – without either of them being in danger of losing a significant amount of cash.
Having established that both parties had fifty pounds on them which they could afford to lose, they decided on that sum as a “ceiling”. And since their money was not in single pounds, they would keep score on a piece of paper, which would be placed on the table – in view of both at all times – and settle up when one of them reached the ceiling or they both reached their destination.
And so they began to play. At first, the game proceeded pretty much as the young man had expected, with neither man moving ahead. However, after a while, the old man’s fortunes appeared to improve.
The process was gradual – but slowly, the old man’s total began to approach the fifty pounds.
Despite the young man having examined the discs and hat a number of times – with no anomalies detected – the old man finally hit the agreed sum, a few miles before the journey’s end.
The young man paid up – and asked the old man for the secret. Their time together had been good-humoured, so the old man let him into the secret.
He pointed out the young man had been INCORRECT when he had determined the game to be fifty-fifty. He said that in fact it was two-thirds/one-third. The trick was in the NUMBER OF COUNTERS. There were THREE – not two.
Thus, if one bet on the hidden side being the same as the top side – one would be correct two times out of three. Therefore, if one said the hidden side was the SAME, MORE than fifty percent of the time – in the LONG TERM, one would have an EDGE.
Obviously, if one ALWAYS said the underside was the same as the top side, the other person would realize what was going on and COPY them – and therefore, while they might not understand the principle, they would neutralise the first person’s advantage.
The trick was to exploit the advantage enough to show a profit – without alerting the other player to the method used.
The young man considered fifty pounds to be a fair price for having learned an interesting ploy – and having an equally interesting anecdote to tell his friends.
Which brings us (and not a moment too soon) to Clever Idea Number One.
Bearing the above story in mind – I devised a System For Winning At Roulette.
Now, I HEAR you – roulette has been around for over two centuries and the grounds of the casinos of the World are littered with the corpses of those who thought THEY TOO had a system.
So what was MY system, I hear you ask, expectantly. Well, it was thus…
You attend a wheel and watch the play, writing down the numbers that come up on it. Few casinos mind this – they are keen to attract ANY punter, provided their “system” does not interfere with the game. In fact, some casinos will even PROVIDE you with the list of numbers that have come up during the last hour.
Either way, once all of the numbers have come up one time each – you examine your list and place a bet on the number that has not come up for the LONGEST time.
You play this number for each subsequent spin – the same amount of money each time – taking care to continue listing the numbers that come up. When your designated number DOES come up, you take your winnings and check your list to see which is NOW the number that has not come up for the longest time. Then you play THAT, until it comes up – and so on.
This means that you are continually playing the number which is the most “DUE”.
Now, casinos are out of my league – so I decided to run this one around the block to see if the wheels would fall off, using something I COULD afford. A douse – singular of dice. (I was just checking to see if you were still with me – the word is of course DIE – appropriately enough).
So what I did was this: I threw a good quality die into a box (with a flourish, to ensure it was a “good” throw) and noted the number that came up. I then repeated the action FIVE HUNDRED TIMES.
Using the same system described above, for roulette, I deducted a point for every wrong number – and awarded myself six points every time the right number came up.
I figured that five hundred throws ought to give me a fair average, with my “total” being only one – or at the most, two – percentage points off.
So you can imagine my surprise when – after having computed that total – I discovered I was almost TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT UP!!!
Resisting the temptation to smash my piggy bank and head for the Riviera, I determined to ask a smart friend I was meeting in the pub later – what his thoughts were.
After we had sat down in the pub, I told him BOTH of the above stories. He mused for a bit. You’re assuming a perfect wheel, he asked. Oh, yes, I replied. (I knew the underside of roulette wheels have grub screws to adjust the divisions between the numbers, to allow them to be calibrated to be as true as possible).
He mused a while longer and finally told me that it would not work. He pointed out the wheel has no memory. Even after a number has come up three times consecutively, the next spin STILL gives you the same odds it will come up again. Thirty-seven-to-one against (thirty-eight in America – The Mob were more greedy).
In fact, he said, if the wheel was NOT perfect, you would actually be betting AGAINST the odds, using my system.
I told him I’d already considered ALL of that. AND the fact that if it were really that simple – during the two hundred-plus years people have been playing the game, someone would already have THOUGHT of my idea.
But then I directed him to the result of my experiment with the die. Twenty-five percent, mate.
He replied that any worthwhile experiment HAD to be repeatable and advised me to do it AGAIN and see what happened. I figured a sample of five hundred ought to have been enough – but agreed to try it again, the next day. We then moved on to other matters.
And so it was that the following day I got out the die, the cardboard box and the notebook and pencil – and gave it ANOTHER five hundred goes. This time, the variation from the norm was AGAIN nearly twenty-five percent, except on THIS occasion I was twenty-five percent DOWN!!
DAMN!
I can only attribute the ENORMOUS variation – and the fact that it was UP the first time and DOWN the second – to bloody MURPHY. It had SEEMED like a Clever Idea…
And so, we finally arrive at Clever Idea Number Two.
This has NOTHING to do with the above – apart from the fact that it emerged from the same brain (mine). This time, it concerns aeroplane landing gears (a bit different from roulette systems, but stay with me).
It is no secret that a plane’s most hazardous moments are experienced on landing (particularly if it is in the Hudson). Aside from those CROSS-WINDS (see elsewhere, in these columns) the SHOCK when a number of STATIONARY wheels hit a concrete runway, below a four-hundred-tonne aircraft doing around one hundred and forty miles per hour – is MASSIVE.
Tyre blow-outs are common. In fact, when it happened to Concorde, pieces of rubber were known to rupture the wings’ fuel tanks. It is a wonder the fire and crash that ENDED Concorde’s career did not happen much earlier.
So what can be done to minimise this SHOCK to an aeroplane’s underparts?
Well – how about a row of half-cups, attached to the wheels?
Think ANEMOMETER.
With a row of large half-cups forming the outer face on each one of an aircraft’s wheels (or perhaps two, smaller ones – or a row of sloping slats) – if positioned correctly, when the gear was lowered they would cause the wheels to ROTATE in the direction of travel.
And once the optimum size had been established (through experimentation) the wheels would reach a speed that would almost be that of the groundspeed – ensuring that instead of them having to overcome that monumental INERTIA as they made contact with the ground, they would be rotating at the right speed to ensure a landing so soft, that no longer would little old ladies ask the trolley-dollies whether they had just landed – or been SHOT DOWN.
Bliss.
But like my roulette system, the concept is hardly rocket science – so why has no-one THOUGHT of it before? Aeroplanes have been around for over a century and some pretty wild ideas have been tried (many with fatal consequences).
As with the roulette thing, I have tried to think of snags. Obviously, aeroplanes’ landing gears present major DRAG – which is why they took the expensive and difficult step of making them RETRACTABLE. Thus, the half-cups or whatever would exacerbate that problem.
However, by simply dropping the gear more gradually and accounting for the drop in airspeed…
Then there is the speed of the wheels. But I would have thought that balancing the force exerted by the half-cups against the friction set up by the wheel’s axles (by designing the SIZE of the half-cups correctly) would allow the wheels to PEAK at the desired speed.
Plus any major amount of head-wind could be dealt with using some sort of governor – or simply by ensuring (again, by design) that the wheels’ speed was significantly LOWER than the groundspeed.
Indeed, even if the wheels were only rotating SLOWLY – surely this would still EASE the shock caused by the INERTIA of those STATIONARY wheels?
If anyone who has stumbled across this piece and read it this far has specialist knowledge (perhaps YOU are an aircraft designer – and I do not mean paper darts) I would be obliged if you would leave any information you possess as a “comment” on this piece.
I (and I am sure, others) would be fascinated to know if this Clever Idea HAS been tried – and if so, why it DID NOT WORK.
Clive Sinclair and Alan Sugar were born on opposite sides of the track.
Sinclair was a posh lad from Surrey – the son of an engineer.
While Sugar – a Jewish East End “wide boy” – was the son of a tailor.
Clive was a swot, who started selling little radio kits while still at school.
Sugar began by selling electrical goods out of the back of a £100 van.
But these very different men’s careers would eventually reach a point where similarities would occur – thanks to their realisation that the way forward was PERSONAL COMPUTERS.
However, there were a number of stages to go through before – and after – this epiphany.
Clive launched his infamous C5 – a recumbent tricycle, driven by a washing machine engine powered by a car battery.
It had two problems. One – its small size meant that on the road, trucks would run over it without even noticing. And two – battery technology in those days severely limited its range. It became a national joke – and a financial disaster.
Of course today, the Segway and Tesla Roadster have enjoyed major success – but Sinclair was not involved in either.
However, his ZX range of personal computers made him a fortune and financed his hobby – poker – a pastime in which he usually loses.
Meanwhile, Alan acquired an old warehouse in Hackney and entered the hi-fi market. Amstrad (an acronym of his name and “radio”) joined the field and quickly prospered.
And when he began making computers, his future was assured. He even took over Sinclair’s PC line.
This financed HIS hobby – football. He bought Tottenham Hotspur. However, this move proved as unsuccessful as Clive’s poker career. He eventually got out – and proclaimed the exercise, “a waste of my life.”
More successful was his attempt to emulate his U.S. counterpart – Donald Trump*. He starred – and continues to star – in the British version of “The Apprentice”.
Then came The Rewards. Clive got a knighthood. But Alan – who had made far more MONEY – became a Baron.
Which is where I come in – or rather, came in (and the title of this piece finally becomes relevant). I once MET and TALKED to Lord (then plain Mister) Sugar.
You see, back around 1972 I lived NEXT DOOR to that warehouse he had just taken over – and I wandered in, to see if he had any positions going (the old “handy-man” joke – I only live next door).
He didn’t – which is a shame – because in those days, I generally got fired after two or three months in a job. And it would be nice, today, to say – I’ve been fired by Alan Sugar.
* Talking of Trump – did you see SNL’s Seth Meyers RIP The Donald, at the White House Correspondents Dinner? I don’t think Trump has been that angry since his hairdresser committed suicide. If Seth turns up in the Potomac wearing concrete wellies – I for one will not be surprised! If you didn’t see it, hit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YGITlxfT6s – the best bit is twelve minutes in – watch it on 1080p, fullscreen. The post has garnered over a million hits in 48 hours. People are viewing just to see the STEAM coming out of Trumps EARS! Seth had better hope he DOESN’T become POTUS…
I only obtained my first computer three years ago. For decades, I had resisted the lure of the Interweb – but eventually succumbed, when other methods of communication (texting, snail mail – semaphore) became so unreliable that I was left with little choice.
But I soon discovered that this “new” medium had its advantages – one of which was, as a record collector, the ability to fill my “wish-list” of recordings that had evaded me – some for nigh on fifty years.
While I BOUGHT some recordings, I also soon discovered that YouTube was about more than just young idiots filming themselves in low-res, jumping off garage rooves to see if they could break a bone – and those dumb enough to want to watch them.
RECORD COLLECTORS had begun to upload the gems from their collections too. In some cases, the collectors would only upload snippets, to advertise themselves as buyers, sellers and/or file-sharers, but in most cases, they were simply philanthropic – uploading everything they had, for all to ENJOY.
Back in the Seventies, I had theorised that in the distant future – but probably before I was dead – there would exist a giant computer which would have EVERY record EVER recorded on it, that would enable people to download ANY record they wanted.
Of course, the reality is somewhat different. Various download PAY-services exist for MODERN records – but for VINTAGE stuff, there is only YouTube. And its use as a file-sharing medium for record collectors is TOTALLY unofficial.
After all sorts of too-ing and fro-ing, the “Big Four” companies who “own” most of the World’s music came to an agreement with YouTube. Their computers would LINK to YouTube and as a piece of their music was BEING UPLOADED, said computer would identify it – then issue a decree on what would happen to it, BEFORE it got posted.
Thus some pieces get blocked in some countries – some World-wide – but most are ALLOWED to be posted – with FREE ADVERTISEMENTS, for the companies concerned.
Which means posting copyright material is like Russian Roulette. Most pieces are allowed – some are restricted – while pieces owned by SMALL companies who COMPLAIN, can earn you COPYRIGHT STRIKES.
In addition, a quick flash of BOOB will get you a “community guidelines” strike – but San Francisco’s Metacafe and France’s Dailymotion (which sounds like a constipation medicine) are less tight-arsed, so I post grown-up material there.
And so it was that, about two years ago, I began “giving back” to the community of collectors, by uploading gems from MY record, tape and disk collection – I had already uploaded the best of my WRITINGS.
It started small – but then like Topsy, it GROWED. I now have nearly TWO THOUSAND posts up, if one includes my written pieces.
Over FOURTEEN HUNDRED pieces of music, movie clips, TV material and my restored photographs and “movie”. Plus another FIVE hundred-odd written pieces, many reworked from my output over the last seventeen years. And in addition to these columns (of which this is just ONE) there are my IMDb write-ups, self-help book and short story. THREE YEARS’ WORK – so far.
For security reasons (the words “basket” and “eggs” immediately spring to mind) the material occupies thirty-seven separate “channels”.
And these channels have become my LIFE. A chap’s life can be divided into four segments. 0-19: Childhood. 20-39: Young Adulthood. 40-59: Middle Age. And 60-79: Old Age (to which could be added 80-plus: FREAKISH Old Age). Thus it is that I am fast approaching the Fourth Quarter of my time in This Place.
Which, a few years ago, gave me cause for concern. What would happen to my almost 5,000 records, tapes and disks after I had LEFT This Place? For fifty years, I had been collecting and RECORDING The Extraordinary – pieces of genius from The Century Of Mass Entertainment.
In many cases, collections end up having the marketable items stripped from them – while the rest ends up in a SKIP. NOT a prospect I found acceptable. So what could I do, to JUSTIFY all of that work? I mean, in the early years, I USED the material I had gathered. Mostly for my own entertainment – although I also ran a discotheque for a while.
However – now having retired to Thailand, all of that is behind me. I rarely have TIME to play stuff from The Collection. Satellite TV – and assorted British A/V material sent on disks by my son – give me an unending supply of NEW stuff to watch and listen to.
Then along came YouTube.
At first, I uploaded a mere few gems, just to “pay back” those collectors whose generosity had enabled me to fill that wish-list. But then slowly I began to realise – here was an OPPORTUNITY. My fifty-year-collection of records, tapes and disks were just so much PLASTIC – but now I had a medium through which I could place the MATERIAL on them into the Public Domain.
Even if I COULD find someone to take on The Collection after I croaked, they would still only be ONE PERSON (and even if they were able to devote eight hours every DAY to the task – it would still take them over a YEAR to play the lot) whereas if I uploaded it onto the Information Superhighway, it could be accessed by the WORLD – a sort of Cosmic Library.
And so it was that I began The Project.
So far I have uploaded, into the ether, the best and rarest bits from my video-tapes, albums, 78s, 45s, 12″ 45s, DVDs, VCDs and CDs and am currently on the LAST phase – my audio-tapes. But my philanthropy has created a phenomenon I had not reckoned with.
I now have FANS.
The thing is, for the afore-mentioned security reasons, I could not upload all my material onto a single channel – I dare not even LIST all of the channels in one place. Thus only I KNOW where they all ARE. But put TOGETHER, the channels’ visitors and followers – number in the MILLIONS.
And every now and then, I go and check my “fan-mail” – and have discovered what it is like to be a minor celebrity. Of course, MAJOR celebs have PEOPLE to answer their fan-mail (the bit in “Hard Day’s Night” where the Beatles answer their own fan-mail was FICTION – NO-ONE could keep up with THAT amount of mail).
Most of it is just “adoration” – which I can now see gets a bit BORING after a while. However, where it gets INTERESTING is when someone tells you WHY something you uploaded means something SPECIAL to them. Like the two separate comments I got on an obscure failed TV pilot I uploaded in full, from two technicians (one on sound, the other on lighting) who, back in the Eighties, had worked on the show – but never actually SEEN it.
And this is why I cannot just IGNORE my mail. It is far more important than mere HITS. Some upload pieces of utter CRAP and, by giving them “sexy” titles, get MILLIONS of hits. But while the stream of abuse they get as comments (and the huge number of “dislikes”) may be TROPHIES to them – I do NOT need thousands of people telling me I am a PRAT.
Also, one has to break up the occasional SCRAP. By this, I mean delete trollish comments before they get out of hand. These can become something like those bar-room brawls you used to get in Westerns.
Example: you post a piece where some Americans died, attempting to further science. Next thing, someone posts a comment saying “served them right, for playing God”. Or pointing out that the MILLIONS who died in Vietnam…
Sometimes, quite innocuous comments can turn into WARS. The cowboy jogs another’s arm, spilling his beer – that guy takes a swing at the first guy, but misses, clouting another – and pretty soon half the stuntmen in Hollywood are demolishing the saloon, while the pianist in the corner rattles away like mad.
And it does not take long for a comment column to degenerate into something like that. Thus, POLICING is necessary.
But while the comments one receives are one’s main source of redemption, one cannot TOTALLY ignore those seductive HIT NUMBERS. Which brings me (and not a moment too soon) to “The Hall”.
Right now, my hits total for ALL my works (not including IMDb, who do not DO hits) is seven point eight MILLION. And with a current DAILY rate in excess of THIRTY-TWO THOUSAND, I am presently getting around TWELVE MILLION HITS A YEAR – and growing.
Now a while back, I established VISUAL ways of putting my hit statistics into PERSPECTIVE. Twelve million is more than the population of BELGIUM. While thirty-two thousand equals fourteen full houses at the London Palladium. And so on.
But more recently, ANOTHER picture emerged – The Hall.
The question had occurred: since I was reaching out to someone, somewhere in the World, every TWO POINT SEVEN SECONDS – how many people were viewing AT THE SAME TIME?
This was rather tricky to establish, given I had no statistics with which I could work out the AVERAGE LENGTH of my posts. So at this point, I had to get a bit creative. Inevitably, most of my more popular pieces are Pop videos – average length: three-and-a-quarter minutes.
Likewise, my records tend to average two to three minutes.
But I have a lot of TV pieces up – and they usually run from five to fifteen.
Plus I have SOME pieces that last up to an HOUR or more.
Then there are the WRITTEN pieces – THIS one is already pretty long.
And of course, there is always the question of how long people STAY with my pieces. YouTubers have notoriously short attention-spans!
In the end, I came up with a figure based solely upon my own GUT FEELING (having spent years uploading it all) on the matter – four-and-a-half minutes.
And if you divide that by the two point seven seconds, you get a conveniently ROUND figure – ONE HUNDRED. Hence – The Hall.
Somewhere in the Cosmos, I picture a church hall (which would be about the right size) and it is occupied by one hundred people, twenty-four-seven – my CONGREGATION, if you will. They each remain for the four-and-a-half minutes – then every two point seven seconds, someone gets up and leaves, passing someone at the doorway who is coming IN.
And since my hit numbers are constantly INCREASING, one day that hall might actually grow to the size of the afore-mentioned Palladium. But for now…
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 andgently 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).
When I left home, in 1969, with a five pound note, a bag of sandwiches and a change of underwear, to try my luck in the Big City, I ended up in a hotel in Bloomsbury – where the likes of Virginia Woolf and E.M. Forster had achieved greatness.
Sadly, by the time I got there, Woolf was dead and Forster had retired to Warwickshire. But there I was, in a decrepit double-room on the top floor of the Goodwood Hotel, Rathbone Place, London W.
I say hotel – in those days it was more of a boarding house, run by an alcoholic ex-boxer called Jack. He had knocked two town houses together and nailed a sign that just said “Goodwood” (he enjoyed a flutter on the gee-gees) to one of the front doors. It must have cost him all of six shillings.
After living there a year or so I had a conversation with Jack, where he said he had discovered the Secret Of Life. It involved a diet of gin – interspersed with tins of soup. We buried him a few weeks later.
At this point, a relative came into the picture and announced that he was turning the place into a REAL hotel and we all had to get out – or begin paying hotel rates for our accommodation. But to be fair, he gave us several MONTHS to find alternative living quarters (the “season” was still a long way off).
And so I moved to… well, actually this is now veering a long way from the TITLE of this piece. The fact is, the other day I decided to see what had become of the place in the intervening FORTY-TWO YEARS.
It turned out to STILL be called the Goodwood Hotel – but now, it boasted colour TV and hot and cold running chambermaids. What I believe is termed a “boutique hotel” (sic).
However, since I could not remember which street it was in – but knew my way there from Russell Square – I started my Google Earth search from that place.
And the first thing I noticed was someone had parked an airliner in it.
It took me all of one second to realize what had occurred.
Geostationary satellites balance the Earth’s gravitational pull against the centrifugal force of orbit to stay at the same location, relative to the ground. But at that extreme distance – around twenty-five thousand miles – they are much too far away to get high-resolution photographs of our planet.
Thus Low Earth Orbit satellites are used. Being less than a thousand miles up, these have to whiz around the Earth in order for the centrifugal force to balance the much GREATER gravitational pull of the planet.
But they are still way higher than aircraft. Also, when planes are flying over London, they are usually on their final approach – or being stacked – therefore their height is much less than the seven miles up they normally travel at. And they have generally slowed to far less than their cruising speed of 550 mph.
And so it was that while flying over Russell Square, a plane had just happened to be photographed by one of the satellites from which Google get their Google Earth pictures. Plus, the photo had been taken on high-speed film, making the aeroplane appear stationary.
Nevertheless – it was still weird seeing an airliner apparently PARKED in Russell Square.
I recall an incident, many years ago, when I was working as a service engineer and got a call from a British Army base. They had a low-level alert on – but as they knew me, they allowed me entry, with an escort.
The escort proved to be a little squaddie who looked about nineteen.
As we walked about the camp, we naturally enough talked. But after a few minutes, unbidden by ME – the subject turned to what this little prat would like to do to all GAYS he could encounter. It involved knives and BLOOD.
I murmured non-committal agreement.
It occurred to me it has been proven that most rabidly homophobic men are in fact GAY, but – due to peer pressure, religious beliefs, upbringing or whatever – are unable to come to terms with their sexual orientation and thus “over-compensate” by displaying MAJOR anti-gay tendencies.
However, given this little turd was ARMED, I decided it would be wise to keep this information to myself.
It also occurred to me that if Martial Law were ever declared, any street HE was patrolling had better not be occupied by any citizens who MINCED.
But the experience showed me how delicate the situation with sexual orientation in the military is.
And a lot has recently been made of the American “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” ruling.
If a person wants to protect their homeland – or just get a chance to shoot some wogs for Queen and country – no problem.
But why should they have to declare their sexuality?
I mean, they are there to strut around and obey orders like little robots – not PARTY.
According to Wiki, the law was originally brought in to allow gays to serve in the military, provided they did not openly ADMIT to being gay – since faggots were officially BARRED from the American services.
This is understandable, since only a fool would want to join up (they have recently banned SMOKING in the US military – apparently, second-hand smoke is DANGEROUS – more so than bullets).
And therefore, in the interests of keeping up the NUMBERS in The Most Powerful Force In The World – they are now looking to lower their standards.
…like YouTube, Metacafe, Dailymotion (sounds like constipation medicine) Internet Movie Database and – THIS illustrious service.
They all have two things in common – one: they are businesses that get their “stock” from the public (for FREE) and two: the AMOUNT of stock they receive exceeds by FAR – their ability to monitor it.
Which gives them a problem. YouTube do not want their service filled with PORN. IMDb do not want “user reviews” containing defamatory remarks about litigious celebrities. And WordPress do not want articles filled with racial hatred, paedophiles’ exploits – and bomb-making instructions.
But even an aircraft-hanger filled with “checkers” would be unable to read and/or watch all of the material uploaded, in real time – never mind what it would COST.
Thus all of these companies rely on their consumers to FLAG “inappropriate material” – then one of their little band of people scans the piece and has about two seconds to decide whether or not to PULL it – all of which results in some BIZARRE take-downs.
And only if the uploader COMPLAINS, does someone take a closer look, to evaluate context, etc.
Therefore, if YOU feel you have been hard-done-by, for goodness sake DO complain. With freedom comes responsibility – but provided you BEHAVED responsibly, any piece you uploaded that got pulled was PROBABLY flagged by a MORON – and the person who pulled it had NO time to examine it properly.
At the bottom of the screen of this computer, sits a calendar. And on it, the days run from Monday to Sunday. Fine.
However, when I FIRST became old enough to understand calendars – about fifty years ago – it was not such. They ran from Sunday to Saturday.
And when I pointed out to a grown-up that since Saturday and Sunday are known collectively as the weekend – that’s the week END – they answered, “Oh, Sunday is GOD’S day – so it has to come first.”
I was only about five at the time – but it still sounded fishy to me.
And when, at nine, I realised God was no more real than Santa Claus, fairies and goblins – I decided the system was NONSENSE.
So while many calendar manufacturers still stick to the “traditional” layout, it’s nice to see that computer programme designers – people of SCIENCE – are moving ON.
In Another Place (Sumpnado) I used the above word.
It is German and there is no known one-word equivalent in any other European language. In English, you would have to go with “serves-you-right” or Zen justice. But even those do not fully convey the visceral MEANING of the word.
One can only relate an example of it…
Many years ago, I was awakened – more than an hour before my alarm was due to go off – by a car-alarm doing the same thing. On and ON it went, thus totally negating its intended purpose.
For a while I lay pondering the reason we SAY an alarm goes off – when it obviously goes ON. Perhaps it is the same reason we say a building was blown UP.
Anyhay, I eventually bowed to the inevitable and got up. After a full HOUR of “parp-parp-parp-parp…” quietness suddenly returned to our suburban North London street. It was followed by “click-rurr-rurr-rurr… rur.” Then, “click-rurr-rur….” Then, “click… click…”
GOOD! I thought. The swine who ruined my sleep – whilst himself sleeping through the CAUSE – now has a flat battery. Justice.
But then he tried again. “Click-rurr-rurr-rurr-VEROOOOMM!” DAMN, I thought. Against all logic, his engine had started. I looked out of the window and frowned as I watched him drive off, down towards the main road.
At this point, I should set up what happened next. At that time, my journey to work involved a train – and to reach the station, I used a shortcut through some flats that led across the side-road next to mine.
And the turn into that road, from the main road, had a “no right turn” sign (since it was a bit near a blind hump-back bridge, which meant anyone going over said bridge too fast might plough into a turning car).
And since anyone ignoring the sign was easy meat for beat-cops, they would often lie in wait a hundred yards up the side-road, for offenders.
So, ten minutes after the guy who had started my day off BADLY had driven away – I set off for work.
And as I passed that next side-road – I saw him being NAILED by a cop.
So I’m watching this “Daily Show” ep from about three months ago – and they did a montage of sound bites from various news pukes, including two from Fox “News” bimbos.
One was from the fake blonde with the crazy eyes – the other, from an African-American I’d not seen before (I say African-American – she was barely 30% African – but I guess that’s as close as Fox “News” will EVER get to having an ACTUAL black presenter).
Anyhoo, the 30% African-American presenter said someone had been “u… incivil” – i.e., she had changed the word, mid way through the first syllable, from “uncivil” to “INcivil” – which made me laugh, since I was convinced NEITHER word existed.
But before nominating her for the Sarah Palin Award for playing fast and loose with the English language, I decided to check my facts. And whilst I’ve NEVER used EITHER word – it turns out that “civil” CAN be given a prefix to turn it into an antonym.
The word is “UNcivil”! If the bimbo had just GONE with her first thought, she would have been CORRECT – albeit by sheer, dumb LUCK!
The late, great British newsreader, Andrew Gardner, said it best – “If you suddenly come across something unfamiliar on your autocue, look the viewer straight in the eye and with all the authority you can muster… say the first thing that comes into your head.”
Words to live by. If the Fox “News” bimbo had DONE that – I would never have written this piece!
Footnote: the WordPress SpellChecker accepts “uncivil” and rejects “incivil” – ’nuff said.
The Catalogue for my five thousand records, tapes and disks has five names that occupy more space than any others. They are – in alphabetical order – Burt Bacharach, John Barry, Kenny Everett, Dudley Moore and Buddy Rich.
These five men have been a big part of my life for nearly fifty years now. Kenny, Dudley and Buddy are no longer with us. Burt was a force of nature in the Sixties, but like many who ruled that decade, he had a bad Seventies – and after a short flurry of activity in the early Eighties, has virtually retired.
But while John Barry too had a lean Seventies, he rose above it and continued to display greatness until yesterday, when at 77, he joined my other three late heroes.
A tough Yorkshireman, his evolution from a Fifties Pop singer, to the World’s foremost composer of film scores was rapid. In those Fifties, he composed and arranged most of the hits his John Barry Seven had – then, via advertising jingles and TV themes, he quickly rose to film music.
And on the way, he created innovations that influenced the entire musical industry.
Style – in spades. I could list his miriad achievements, awards, etc. But if you were not there you can never understand. I’ll just leave you with two examples of his genius…
The first is a tip. Rent, buy or if you possess it, play your own copy of the movie Goldfinger. But as you screen it, forget the dialogue and action – just listen to the score. It is Lesson One for any would-be film composer.
And the second is one of his later works – composed for himself, rather than a movie. It is called “The Beyondness Of Things” – and he created it on the idyllic island, outside New York, where he lived during his later years.
The accompanying video is one I created, on Phi-Phi Island in the Andaman Sea. The visuals are spectacular and beautiful – thus only one man’s music could do them justice.
As a kid in Sixties Britain, the only exposure I had to Ms Provine was “Don’t Bring Lulu” – played INCESSANTLY on “Uncle Mac” (a BBC radio show for kids) and her performance in “It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” – in which she played a surly, brittle housewife.
But when I put “Don’t Bring Lulu” onto one of my YouTube channels, I had a revelation. In “…Mad World” her vivacity only surfaces for a brief moment, when her brother passes a truck she is riding in and she leaps up and points at him, excitedly (totally out of her character).
However, “Don’t Bring Lulu” (the words to which BAFFLED eight-year-old me) turns out to have been far more typical of the Dorothy Provine AMERICA knew. It is a song that goes back to the Twenties (hence the strange lyrics) and was featured in a TV show called “The Roaring Twenties” which starred her.
And so far, “Don’t Bring Lulu” has had over 4,000 hits!
But on YouTube, it is linked to a SLEW of other material from the show. And watching it, I now GET IT. Dorothy Provine was a highly talented and utterly GORGEOUS woman! No WONDER America loved her. I am now SAD that this lovely creature was DENIED me, by British TV. BASTARDS!
This one really carries on from the below piece on the absurdity of a woman’s claims, following her encounter with a Mr D Duck – this time, the insanity is Health And Safety.
Apparently, a teacher in Wales has just been found guilty of a number of charges relating to his allowing two pupils to ride a SLEDGE. He barely managed to hang on to his JOB.
It seems he brought the Scandinavian high-tech sledge to school as part of a course on design and technology. But then it all went horribly WRONG.
He allowed them to RIDE the thing without “risk-assessing the activity – in writing” and with no “protective masks” (protection from WHAT?) or “protective headgear, knee or elbow pads” and so on and so on – nine charges in all – of which he was found guilty of four.
In My Day (the SIXTIES) we were allowed to turn a Morris Eight into a HOT-ROD and DRIVE it around the school FIELD, unsupervised. In fact, we took one of the teachers for a spin and he fell OFF (we forgot to tell him the passenger seat wasn’t secured). I rode it with my feet straddling the rear chassis, while holding on to the front seat-backs. I also drove the thing for a couple of laps. We were all fifteen and had never driven anything more than bicycles. Happy days.
But years later in the Eighties, when I visited the same teacher, he told me he had QUIT teaching and gone back into industry. Why? Health And Safety.
He was the Head of Engineering – and as such, taught “metalwork”. Now I studied this subject for four years and worked with assorted power tools, a FORGE and several LATHES.
When I first entered the Engineering Department, aged twelve, it occurred that this could be a dangerous place. And indeed it was. We were working with heavy machinery and red-hot metals.
However, during the next four years, neither I nor my classmates received so much as a SCRATCH.
Yet as early as the late Seventies, he told me that Health And Safety was making his job IMPOSSIBLE. And he pointed out that the new “molly-coddling” regulations would ensure future students would be sent out into the industrial workplace – completely UNPREPARED for the dangers that existed there.
Out here in Thailand, Health And Safety is just beginning to bite – but dangers are still all around. People ride comedy step-through motorbikes with little kids balanced on the TANK.
As for electrics (my speciality) – only recently have they begun fitting circuit breakers and EARTHS to houses. Mine was built in the mid-Nineties and features ONE FUSE for the WHOLE HOUSE. Not to protect ME – but to protect the rest of the street FROM me. All wiring is SURFACE (without conduit) – and the only earths are the ones I PUT IN.
And while in Britain, a full ashtray will get you an MOT fail – here, if the vehicle makes it into the MOT station under its own power…
HOWEVER – despite being surrounded by dangers, the Thais have fewer accidents than people back in Blighty. Why? Because, being AWARE of the dangers – THEY TAKE CARE.
All Mr Health And Safety manages to achieve, is to create a nation of people who are so cosseted – they float through life unaware they live in a DANGEROUS WORLD. And when shit happens – as it always does – they are totally unable to DEAL with it.
Let’s start the year (and decade) with something TRULY absurd.
ALLEGEDLY, while a 27-year-old woman (let’s call her April – since it’s her name) was visiting Disney’s Epcot, a guy in a Donald Duck outfit fondled her boob and said something lewd.
Now of course, a reasonable response would have been to have kicked Don in the nuts (which would have been easy, since he doesn’t wear trousers) – or to simply have complained to security – in which case the “cast member” (which Disney call their theme-park characters) would probably have gotten canned and ended up as a football mascot – or Ronald McDonald.
But NO. She is SUEING the Disney Company (whose equity and assets currently total nearly a hundred BILLION US dollars) claiming that – two-and-half-years on – she still suffers from… wait for it… “post-traumatic stress”, “flashbacks”, “cold sweats”, “acute anxiety”, “insomnia”, “muscle-contraction headaches”, “nausia”, “nightmares”, “digestive problems” and “other permanent injuries”.
Oh dear – you’ve gotta laugh, haven’t you? If THIS reporter got GROPED by Donald Duck – he’d settle for a pair of tickets to “Tron: Legacy”.
Whenever I am feeling down – all I need to give me a lift, is to recall an incident that occurred when I was about eight years old. I had walked to my Grandad’s house and, it being a cold afternoon, I REALLY needed a PEE.
So as I walked up his side passage, being screened from the road, I let one go against the fence. Now the fence was a standard vertical-overlapped-plank job – with the inevitable occasional KNOT-HOLE. And since there was one such near my stream, I redirected my aim towards it.
But what I had failed to take into account was that on the OTHER side of Grandad’s fence was his next door neighbour’s house. And the humourless crone’s kitchen window FACED said fence, across her driveway.
The next thing I knew was a head appearing over the fence – giving me a right ticking off for doing what I was doing! But all very forgettable, you could be forgiven for thinking.
However, what makes ME chortle – is what it must have LOOKED like, from her perspective.
The thing was, at eight years of age, I was SHORTER than the fence – therefore invisible from the other side. Thus it would have appeared that the FENCE was having a slash!
Maybe it’s just me – but the vision of what it must have LOOKED like from this woman’s point of view has me peeing MYSELF, every time I think of it!
I understand The Old Country has had a spot of SNOW recently (here in Thailand, it is currently 26 degrees – CENTIGRADE). This reminded me of an amusing occurrence I observed, many years ago, when I was taxiing in the better parts of North London (a PROPER car – not a black cab).
I was crawling down Hampstead Hill on sheet ICE, behind an old geezer in a Merc. He was trying to hold his car on the BRAKE when suddenly, PHYSICS took over and it began to slowly ROTATE – the whole still travelling in its original direction.
From the straight-ahead position of his front wheels and the continued presence of his brake lights, it could clearly be seen that he was hoping for a MIRACLE – whereby his car would magically RESUME its original direction and the tyres would regain their GRIP.
At this time, I was gently cadence-braking my Volvo (this was too far back in time for EITHER of our cars to have anti-lock brakes) in order not to JOIN him in his little thrill ride – which enabled me to stay right behind him and watch the comical expression on his face as he watched things going past across his windscreen, instead of by his side-windows.
But some people are just LUCKY. The road at this point was STRAIGHT – thus he slowly came to a halt, without HITTING anything. This was merely caused by his wheels (which now had all the directional control of table-legs) having big, fat, expensive TYRES on them – not any action HE was taking.
By now, I had cadence-braked to a halt and – there thankfully being no traffic BEHIND me – was able to sit and chortle at him, as he slowly did a fourteen-point turn, to reposition his vehicle in the direction of TRAVEL.
Eventually he managed it and began to move on down the hill once again – this time even MORE slowly.
And the moral to this tale? Do as I have always done – when you first obtain a vehicle you expect to spend some time in – find a wet, empty car-park and CHUCK your chariot ABOUT. This will teach you all you need to know about controlling skids, drifts and slides.
Do NOT wait until your car loses adhesion to find out how to CONTROL it. By then, it will be far too LATE!
In October, 1999, I wrote the following piece for a Mensa® publication – word for WORD, it went:
My predictions For The New Millennium Are…(1) Pamela Anderson will become the first woman President of the United States of America.(2) Taiwan will become a World Power.(3) Richard Branson will become the first man to set foot on Mars – and will then run tourist trips there.(4) Patrick Moore will host the Centenary Edition of ‘The Sky At Night’.(5) Sir Clive Sinclair will invent an A.I. computer which will successfully execute a hostile takeover of his own company.(6) A law will be passed making it illegal to smoke whilst driving.(7) Chris Evans will buy the Millennium Dome and turn it into a disco.(8) Prince William will marry Barbara Windsor – who will become Barbara Windsor – but commit adultery with Emma Bunton.(9) Global Warming will cause the oceans to rise to the point where Watford will become Hertfordshire’s premier coastal resort.(10) At least three of the above will ACTUALLY HAPPEN.
So where are we, eleven years on?
Well, Old Ma Clinton NEARLY made it to P.O.T.U.S. CHINA now dominates the World. And Branson IS about to start tourist trips into low Earth Orbit.
But it’s number SIX I want to discuss…
It occurred to me, back in the dying months of the Second Millennium, that Health & Safety-obsessed British bureaucrats might just realize that lighting a fag (or dropping it in your lap) whilst driving – is at least as distractive as using a mobile phone.
Thus to have included that activity, would have made some sense. However, the truth is just absurd.
In Britain, smoking was banned “in The Workplace” and obtusely, company cars were classed as extensions of The Workplace. Even if – as is usually the case – one’s workmates never rode in it.
And company cars are often FORCED upon employees – who now have to PAY for them, through the nose. Of course, they are yet another way – along with “private” (commercial) healthcare plans, pensions, dental, etc. – of keeping your employees under your THUMB.
So these days, it is possible for Police to see a man smoking while driving – run an I.D. on his vehicle – discover it is owned by a company – then pull him over and as he winds his window down, sniff and say, “Good afternoon, SIR – have we been SMOKING?”
(As opposed to the traditional DRINKING).
Naturally, it has nothing to do with health OR safety – as with most anti-smoking regulations, it is about MONEY. Today, companies buy or lease cars for short periods (3-12 months) and they are then sold off as Almost New.
And their value is LESS, when – as with offices and aeroplane cabins – the PLASTIC surfaces with which they are COVERED become SMOKED. No amount of “valeting” will remove all traces.
Thus, Big Business was DELIGHTED when Parliament passed this stupid law – which was hardly surprising, given they are one and the SAME.
So now, in addition to dealing with “money-boxes” (speed cameras) traffic “calming” measures and a myriad other abhorrences, whilst enduring their daily two-hour forced SLOG to and from work, in their company cars – the millions of those who are tobacco ADDICTS cannot even SMOKE in them.
Thank GAWD I’m retired.
Footnote: I know that word was distractING – but “distractive” OUGHT to be a word. Maybe next year, Sarah Palin will MAKE it one.
Elsewhere in these columns, I have explained WHY the Beatles were The Greatest: they had not one, not two, but THREE of the greatest dozen or so songwriters of the Twentieth Century in their number.
But how do you PROVE they were The Greatest? Simple.
When any artist or group have completed their Golden Era, their record company issues a “Greatest Hits” album. Thousands have been issued – but how many are truly deserving of that title?
Fact is, if you take a cold, hard look at them – you will discover that out of, say 14-18 tracks, only maybe 3-8 of them are GENUINE hits. Several more will be near-hits. And the rest will be FILLER.
Only a few hundred of these albums will contain nothing BUT hits.
But then, what of those artists whose record companies had the temerity to issue a DOUBLE album of their Greatest Hits? Same story. VERY FEW are the artists whose Greatest Hits DOUBLE albums contain ONLY genuine hits.
Elvis, Sinatra and at a pinch, the Beach Boys – that’s about IT.
Which brings us to the Fab Four. THEIR record company issued a companion set of TWO double albums of Greatest Hits. And all FIFTY-FOUR of the tracks included genuinely WERE.
THAT is what makes the Beatles The Greatest.
Furthermore, you could fill ANOTHER double album with the hits they GAVE AWAY to other artists and the ones they had as individual artists, post-Beatles.
There are many good arguments for other artists. Elvis had the same number of Number Ones as the Beatles (curiously, he beat them in the UK, but was beaten BY them in the US) and Sinatra did all right. But both those guys had their hits written FOR them.
And while the Stones are all pensioners now, they are still rockin’ and next year will tour once again, selling out stadium after stadium. And they DID compose most of their hits.
But great as the Stones are, they don’t have TWO DOUBLE ALBUMS of Greatest Hits to their name. NO-ONE does – apart from the Beatles.
And that is why THEY are The Greatest. I rest my case.
Footnote: for those too young to remember “albums”, I would refer you to the Beatles CD – “1”. It contains their Number One hit singles. All TWENTY-SEVEN of them.
“In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass…”
Thus it was in 1967. The job of firefighter was considered too tough for women. But things have changed. Now women find themselves on the front line of the Fire Service – facing the same dangers as the men. Therefore, to be called a fireMAN would be an insult. And so – “fireFIGHTER”. Fair enough.
Of course, women have been recruited into the Police Force (although they too prefer “service” these days) for decades – and while the term Policewomen was invented for them, they now prefer Police Officer. Again, fair enough.
Futhermore, you now have “chair-person” (or just “chair”) post/mail carrier, bartender, etc. Still fair enough.
But what of actors and actresses? Well, many actresses now prefer to be called actORS – which is where THIS writer draws the line.
“Best Actor In A Female Role” – gimme a BREAK!
The thing is: fireman, policeman and so on, were all jobs designated for MEN – there WERE NO feminine versions of their job titles. But despite the fact that actresses were once little better than prostitutes (in fact, many WERE) – that situation changed DECADES ago.
Today, actresses have equal status with actors. And while it is conventional for a GROUP of people who act to be called “actors” (although I don’t see a problem with “actors and actresses”) it really JARS to see an actress interviewed and hear her refer to herself as an actOR.
So far, actresses still have to endure being called an actRESS when they go up to collect an OSCAR – after eighty-odd years, A.M.P.A.S. are not about to change the tradition of issuing THEIR awards to “Best Actor” and “Best Actress” – but one suspects that when picking up one of THOSE, the women concerned do not care WHAT they are called. If I ever got one – they could call ME a prostitute.
However, S.A.G. have now removed gender from THEIR awards – so how long before A.M.P.A.S. bows to pressure?
Then there are standups. The women now demand to be called “comedians” instead of “comediennes” – again, BOLLOCKS.
My point is: when a job title only has a MALE version – and women now occupy the posts – it is entirely fair to find a new, gender-neutral term. And likewise, if there is BIAS against female workers in a particular industry.
But we are talking SHOWBUSINESS here. If a person creates a character to tell a story or tells a joke well – their gender matters NOT. Did their performance MOVE you? Did their joke make you laugh? If so, that person did their JOB. They are a PROFESSIONAL.
And IN The Profession – gender is EVERYTHING. Showbusiness is about PEOPLE. Characters. It is the Cult Of Personality. Remove gender from it and you DEVALUATE it.
So by all means remove gender from the mundane workaday jobs. But The Business is SACROSANCT – leave it ALONE.
Americans wonder why the World HATES them – well, the word “Hummer” followed by the word “limo” might be ONE clue. However, they might also look to the fact that the “Oxford American Dictionary” (the Oxford ENGLISH Dictionary should SUE) has just declared “refudiate” – their Word Of The Year.
Are they KIDDING???
The word does not EXIST. It was merely another one of legendary right-wing airhead Sarah Palin’s many BLOOPERS – she mistakenly mashed up the words “repudiate” and “refute”.
Thus, in addition to SLAUGHTERING the Queen’s English on a daily basis, America is now REWARDING IGNORANCE of it!!!
…The Fifth Of November. Except you appear to have FORGOTTEN it, Britain. Guy Fawkes Night? No?
Sadly, since you went all American, you have REPLACED this venerable celebration with Halloween (a festival YOU originally invented). This is where kids go knocking on strangers’ doors… …have you really thought that one THROUGH?
Of course, your GOVERNMENT is DELIGHTED you have stopped celebrating an event which applauds a terrorist’s attempt to blow up their Parliament (where is Guy Fawkes now – when you NEED him?)
But it is sad to see you playing their game…
Footnote: as you are passing this way anyhow, please check out the COMMENTS on this piece – they’re WAY better than the original piece itself!
A few weeks ago, the new British government (in the twin-forms of Pinky And Perky) AND the French government (in the diminutive form of Nicolas Sarkozy) decided to start chiseling its pensioners.
In the case of Britain, they announced they intended to raise the state retirement age from 65 to 66.
In France, from 60 to 62.
Leaving aside the fact that the French are allowed to retire five years EARLIER than the British, this means that instead of LOWERING the age – thereby reducing unemployment and giving school-leavers a chance – both are trying to RAISE it, to save MONEY.
But the REACTION to this THEFT (British people pay TAX to fund state pensions – and one assumes the French do too) has been noticeably DIFFERENT.
In France, the MOMENT the announcement was made, the population took to the STREETS.
Yet when the British government made ITS declaration, a short while earlier – NOTHING.
Not a PEEP from the British proles. Are they now SO beaten down, they cannot even raise their voices in protest, when their government announces it intends to RIP THEM OFF for about FIVE GRAND?
During those five fabulous days when he was in the cat-bird seat, he appeared to have a FUTURE – but then he blew it.
It was really all that man Brown’s fault. We don’t like Brown (SERIOUSLY obscure reference there). Having never been elected as Prime Minister by the British people, he was about as popular as a fart in a crowded lift.
Of course, if the Labour Party had put up Ed (not Balls – are you kidding?) BEFORE the election, things might have been rather different. David Cameron, Clegg and Miliband would have looked like brothers, rather than a grouchy old man and his sons – which was what the three eventual prime-ministerial prospects looked like.
And once the numbers came in, it was always INEVITABLE that Cleggy would marry Cameron. But now that he has (and I think we all know who the WOMAN is) where the HELL does he go from here?
Well, there are a number of scenarios – but few of them look good for Nick. Let us examine them…
(1) Cameron gets SHOT – and Cleggy becomes Prime Minister, vowing to hold HIS (for the moment, anyway) coalition party together and step up the fight in The War Against Terrorism (TWAT). Unlikely – given the level of security these days, thanks to nice-but-dim Blair’s misbegotten decision to follow Bush into Iraq.
(2) Cleggy actually WINS the referendum on the Alternative Vote system. Again, unlikely. During the last thirty years, Britain has had TWO decent chances to END the CORRUPT two-party system that it has had for eighty-odd years now – and both times, her electorate BLEW it.
Add to that the fact both Labour and the Torybastards will campaign against it and this writer will eat his FOOT if the referendum goes Cleggy’s way.
But assuming it doesn’t – we have three more scenarios.
(3) Having lost the referendum, Cleggy decides his position is untenable, RESIGNS and his other party members become gradually marginalised.
(4) Cleggy elects to HANG ON IN THERE. This gives CAMERON two options. (4a) He allows the coalition to remain in force – but with a somewhat subdued set of Lib-Dem members. Or – (4b) – if the polls look good for him, he calls a snap General Election and declares the coalition to be over.
Either way, Cleggy will be finished.
(5) This one is my personal favourite. Cleggy loses the referendum, but decides to stick around – however the numbers do NOT and NEVER look favourable for Cameron to hold another General Election – thus forcing him to keep his marriage to Clegg ALIVE (maybe they adopt some kids) for a further five years.
And then suppose, during those five LONG years, David and Nick actually end up BONDING? It may sound like a plot from a Hallmark TV movie, but could Cleggy actually ACHIEVE a change in British politics – by (as it were) the back door?
Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7pjP_XkK4U) “Rip It Up” and “Lucille” were all great classics from the golden age of Rock ‘N’ Roll – so surely they all made Number One, right? Sadly, no. In fact, not one of them rose higher than number SEVENTEEN. “Lucille” did not even make the Top Twenty.
A check of the US Fifties charts reveals that Pat Boone’s appalling COVER version of “Tutti Frutti” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFxTvffJqOg) actually did BETTER – but who remembers THAT today? (Ironically, Boone’s OWN classic – “Speedy Gonzales” – only made number six in the US and two in the UK, despite being enormously popular there).
The reason is not hard to find. Having just struggled through a WAR, American adults were in no mood to take crap from their KIDS. Ignoring the fact that men are genetically pre-programmed to go “walkabout” around age thirteen – and hit their sexual PEAK at fifteen – they demanded their kids remain VIRGINS until EIGHTEEN – and abstain from alcohol until they reached TWENTY-ONE (and in many states – they still DO).
And they wondered why their kids REBELLED.
Unable to bring themselves to look INWARDS when their progeny became “delinquent” – the parents blamed it all on Rock ‘N’ Roll.
Of course, the music was only a SYMPTOM of rebellion – not the cause. But since the major record companies and radio stations were owned by ADULTS – the music still got BANNED.
And the situation in Britain was little better. The BBC (where the news-readers wore evening dress to read the news – on RADIO) was also dominated by fogeys and only devoted a couple of hours a week to the phenomenon.
The BULK of the records which occupied BOTH Top Twentys through the Fifties was MIDDLE-OF-THE-ROAD.
But in the SIXTIES, “yoof” finally got recognised (they now had MONEY) and once America’s small radio stations – and Britain’s “pirate” stations – took off, Pop ruled the day.
So no more problems – right?
Well – not necessarily. Elvis’ 1964 movie title track, “Viva Las Vegas” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fuGCxQE14w – you can sing ALONG to that one – you’re welcome) never made the Top Twenty either.
Despite its inclusion on various compilation albums (and a recent airing in the film “The Boat That Rocked” [US title: “Pirate Radio”]) Lorraine Ellison’s 1966 rendering of “Stay With Me (Baby)” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tVwIfiO8q8) originally only reached number sixty-four.
And in the Seventies, the story continued. Remember The Ides Of March’s “Vehicle”? Possibly not – but I promise you will know it when you hear it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRu93TEcSl8). A classic, covered by every show-band that ever played – however in the UK, it only got to number thirty-one. Even in the US, it was kept off the number one spot by the appropriately-named The Guess Who. Who? Precisely.
Then came a number that can be guaranteed to be in every British All-Time Top One Hundred – Peter Skellern’s endearing ballad, “You’re A Lady” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpoRPej88ik) – but it only peaked at number three in the UK charts (although granted while other records stormed to the top – only to be forgotten the following week – “You’re A Lady” sold steadily for MONTHS).
And what of Eric Clapton’s “Layla”? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C74sjfGUQXo). The album originally flopped and it was not until two years later that the single was released – and THEN it was only a US number ten and UK seven.
But the undisputed KING of records that never made the prime slot but should have – was Ultravox’s 1981 hit, “Vienna” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W77LBPHQzl0&feature=related). This classic spent FOUR WEEKS as a UK number TWO. For the first week, thanks to John Lennon’s “Woman” – but infamously, for three further weeks it was denied its due by a ghastly novelty record called “Shaddap You Face” – the composer and performer of which received DEATH THREATS from Ultravox fans.
Joe Dolce has never lived it down.
Footnote: The Little Richard, Elvis karaoke and Clapton uploads above were posted by yours truly, but curiously the “You’re A Lady” clip was NOT – yet you will hear a piece of “Muppets” at the end that I used to play when I was a DJ. Great – or perhaps not so – minds?
Standard production cars are made to last in serviceable nick for about five years – then as old bangers, for another five. Five years after its introduction, the car’s manufacturer introduces a “face-lift” model and after another five years – its replacement. Fine.
But sadly, this sensible way of doing things has never been taken up by governments. Thus Britain’s once-shiny economy is now like a 20-year-old production car. Totally knackered, with HMG constantly patching and botching it up.
Elsewhere in these columns, I have droned on about how Western countries have sewed the seed of their own disaster by dropping their trade barriers, permitting “outsourcing” and automating everything they could.
There is nothing WRONG with these policies – the trade barriers were unfair to the emerging countries – outsourcing labour to the Third World which the West does not like doing makes sense – and the first person who placed a chunk of tree-trunk under a heavy load started a process that got Man on the Moon.
But they radically CHANGE things. And if Man fails to change WITH them, he is DOOMED.
It is no use governments pretending Full Employment can EVER again be a reality, without a DRASTIC shortening of the working day – or the working life.
In other words, governments need to ADDRESS the whole CONCEPT of work and reward. Employment, taxation and state pensions are interlaced and HAVE to be treated as a single issue.
The current situation will lead to (more) civil unrest and ultimately, the total breakdown of society. Patching and botching will NOT save the day.
A government’s first duty has ALWAYS been to raise taxes to pay for things the population cannot or will not pay for. Education. Health. Street-lighting. Even a far-right policy HAS to include this. And a far-left one REVELS in it.
In a perfect socialist society one would work for a state company, live in a state-owned house, drive a state-owned car, eat food made by state-owned factories… Yeah – dreadful. Very 1984.
Pure socialism does not work for a variety of reasons. It fails to reward (or even encourage) individual effort – which leads to technological torpor. And it tends to lead to a utilitarian society. No style. No flair. No joy. Grey. Yech.
On the other hand, pure Free Enterprise doesn’t work EITHER. We laughed when Communism collapsed in 1989 – but in 2008, FREE ENTERPRISE collapsed too. Well, almost.
Billions of Dollars, Pounds and Euros being pumped into it may have kept it from TOTAL collapse – for the moment – but if Western governments continue to bury their collective heads in the sand and do not begin to examine the TOTAL CONSTRUCT of our economic system, like the 20-year-old production car – its BLOODY WHEELS WILL FALL OFF.
Back in the Sixties, Lew Grade RULED British TV. Denied a franchise, he was nevertheless responsible for a SLEW of action series that formed the mainstay of what is now the classic period in UK television history.
His word was his bond – and he was shrewd. His studio made around three 26-episode series each year and financed others. Without Lew, there would have been no “Thunderbirds”, “The Saint”, “Randle & Hopkirk [Deceased]” or “The Prisoner” – in addition of dozens of others.
The money to make these shows – in 35mm film (colour from around ’63) – was derived from sales to AMERICA. But the talent was all British (with the occasional Canadian actor – Equity had an arrangement with Canada and Americans liked a familiar ACCENT).
And using colour film meant the shows could be sold ANYWHERE (although the channel that aired his shows in the UK did not GET colour until 1969 – so the home audience only saw them in black and white).
But even with foreign money, budgets were tiny – which meant the name of the game was ECONOMISE!
Sets, stock-footage and props were constantly recycled. The submarine set for one show cost a packet – so a sub was immediately worked into the plots of other shows.
Since clearance for pop music was expensive, Lew commissioned a pop song – and used it in several shows.
All of the shows had full scores – but while Edwin Astley provided lush, exciting main themes, the incidental music came from small groups, who recorded bits of music for every mood – which the music editor then cut and pasted into an infinite variety of combinations (the audience never realised they were hearing the same pieces over and over again).
Most of the shows featured “exotic” locations (in Sixties Britain, ANYWHERE outside the UK was exotic – air travel was still pricey then) but location filming abroad was out of the question. So Lew packed off a camera crew to get stock footage of as many foreign cities as he could afford.
Thus, most shows would begin with an establishing shot of Paris, Rio, Geneva, Hong Kong or wherever – with an obvious landmark – and the name of the city emblazoned across it. But everything else was shot in HERTFORDSHIRE (or neighbouring Bedfordshire).
Thirties Spanish-villa-style houses were borrowed for exteriors (a potted palm was always placed in the foreground, to add colour). And the studio back-lot became almost a second home to viewers (a foreign car or two, plus appropriate signs and props, would place it).
The studios themselves doubled for factories – even docks (a few crates with appropriate stencilling, a smoke canister or two and the occasional sound of a boat-horn put in by the sound editor in post, worked wonders). And the studio offices offered a RANGE of possibilities, both for interiors and exteriors.
And while the stars beavered away in the studios, the second units toiled outside. Doubles would keep their heads turned away from camera – and the panning shots of cars always tilted down to the wheel splashing through a little puddle as it passed the camera. Artistic – and it ensured the driver would not be seen in CLOSE-UP.
But my personal favourite ploy was Lew’s white Mark 2 Jag and red Renault Dauphine. Whenever a guy got into one, you knew he was in for a ROUGH TRIP.
The stunt guys ran them around the country roads for a bit – swerving from side to side – then catapulted them into a quarry. Shot from umpteen angles (the Jag even had an old, sacrificial camera mounted INSIDE – it got a great shot, before getting POUNDED) the two cars certainly earned the money Lew paid for them.
Of course, it is easy to poke fun at the way Lew’s people saved money – but without the ploys, Sixties Britain’s TV schedules would have been the poorer. These shows provided thousands of hours of excellent entertainment – not to mention work for most of Britain’s writers, directors, technicians and actors.
Now fifty-seven, Dave still had a face filled with peace and innocence – but his soul was filled with passion and he had lived a life filled with pith and moment. Dave had been around.
But a couple of years ago, Dave had decided to settle down and had met and married Faith. She knew nothing of his purple past and since she was somewhat straightarrow, he decided it might be wise to leave things that way.
Her life revolved around the church and as a pillar of the local Women’s Institute, she had often asked her husband to be a guest lecturer – but he had always claimed to be too busy.
That was until one time when she had to go and visit her mother. Dave knew she would be away for several days, so he volunteered to give that lecture she had been pestering him for.
On the day in question, Dave stood on the lectern and announced his subject to the assembled ladies. “Today I propose to give a talk on sexual technique,” he said.
He then gave a lecture that would have put The Kama Sutra and The Joy Of Sex in the shade. For two hours, he listed every trick he had learned in his young, debauched life.
His audience listened in rapt silence. When he finished, he wished them good luck – and good lovemaking. The applause went on for ever.
A few days later, Faith returned. The first thing she noticed was the smiles and curious looks she got from her Women’s Institute colleagues.
And so she asked her husband how his lecture had been received. He replied that it appeared to have gone well. Then she asked him what his subject had been.
Not keen to get into THAT, he thought for a second. Remembering their recent abortive attempt to take up yachting, he relied, “Oh I spoke about yachts and stuff.”
The next day, she bumped into a group of the WI women at Tesco. “Oh, that WAS an interesting lecture your husband gave,” cried one of the ladies. The others nodded eagerly.
“Hmm,” said Faith, “I’m surprised. He doesn’t really know much about it. In fact we’ve only done it twice. The first time, he threw up – and the second time, his hat blew off!”
The thing about a cartoon format is it is usually owned and jealously guarded by ONE cartoonist – normally by giving it a name. But the castaway cartoons were only a concept – and a surreal one at that – so EVERYONE did them.
I am talking of the Sixties and Seventies – when people used to READ (I get sixty thousand hits a day on my VISUAL uploads, but only eighty a day on my WRITTEN ramblings – not eighty THOUSAND – just EIGHTY). In those halcyon days, there were things called “newspapers” and “magazines” and single-panel cartoons would litter their pages, to add contrast to the print.
And the castaway scenario cropped up time and time again. It consisted of a bloke, sometimes two (it would only include a woman if the gag called for one) and there they stood, in raggedy clothes, with long, unkempt beard and hair, surrounded by ocean, the sun in a clear sky, with the ONE palm tree in the middle for visual effect – on an island about the size of a DOUBLE-BED.
I SAID it was SURREAL! I mean, where did the occupant(s) get WATER from? And aside from a fish or two – what would they EAT? And with only a single palm tree, it would be a toss-up whether they would die from exposure, sun-stroke, thirst or malnutrition. Either way, they would not last a week.
But this did not matter – Wile E Coyote would never survive a five-hundred-foot fall into a ravine, either. As previously stated, it was just a CONCEPT. A frame into which humour could be painted – an island the castaway(s) could have SURVIVED on would have required too much detail and been a distraction from the GAG.
I used to have HUNDREDS of these things in magazines – but a flooded celler KILLED them all, a few years ago. However, I have seen sites on the Interweb where vintage cartoons are displayed – so you should be able to find some somewhere.
From MEMORY, I still recall a few (and if a cartoon can stay with you for forty years, it must have been pretty good!) Even the great Don Martin, of “Mad” magazine, did some.
There was the one (which was a STRIP) where the bloke sees a crate floating towards him and risks a shark-attack to recover it. On opening it, he discovers it contains a HAMMOCK! (Remember, he only had the ONE TREE).
And what about the poor chap with FOUR trees which are now only STUMPS, because he has chopped them down to build a boat – but he has only managed to half-finish it, so now he is watering four TINY NEW trees…
The above were universal, needing no dialogue – but my all-time favourite is another single-panel one with TWO guys – and just one line of dialogue. From their standard raggedy clothes and long, unkempt beards and hair, it is obvious they have been on this pin-prick of an island for YEARS and one of them says – “I keep thinking it’s Thursday.”
In films, an actor or actress often has to AGE. At which point, in come the make-up and prosthetic artists – and they almost always get it totally WRONG.
What I mean is – if the career of the actor or actress manages to endure, when they actually REACH the age they were portraying all those years ago, they look NOTHING like their made-up self.
However Keir Dullea is an exception. You will remember how, at the end of “2001: A Space Odyssey” (1968) his character Bowman goes through several stages of ageing – finally emerging as a foetus (the “Star Child”).
Well, two stages earlier, he is portrayed as a man in his mid-seventies.
And right now (2010) he has REACHED that age – and, in his rare contemporary film appearances, he looks JUST like made-up self in “2001…”
…is, like The War On Drugs – entirely BOGUS. To find out why, we must examine its origin.
After WW2, America SHOULD have heavily reduced its military. But it LIKED being a Superpower, so decided instead to find an Evil Empire – to justify the expenditure on same to its citizens and the rest of the World.
And former ally Russia conveniently obliged, when it tried to get Japan to surrender – with terms – to THEM, instead of America. This pissed off The States no end, them having just fought said Japanese tooth and nail right across the Pacific – at great cost in men and hardware.
So for decades, the U.S. and the Soviets vied for supremacy in terms of the numbers of their bombs, tanks, aircraft and military technology. The problem for Russia was they had a political system that failed to reward individual effort.
Thus their technology steadily slipped back, while their expenditure climbed, to compensate. Therefore, when America announced its utterly absurd SDI (“Star Wars”) programme, the Soviets, who were blowing half their GNP on “defence” – as opposed to The States’ 25% – finally put their hands up and said, “We don’t want to PLAY anymore.”
Which left Uncle Sam with a PROBLEM. He needed that Evil Empire. Who could he nominate? China? No fear! She was big, nuclear – and was making megatons of cheap, plastic crap for America’s consumers. Africa? – don’t be silly.
No, The States decided the ARAB NATION would be ideal. It had most of the OIL they desperately needed – and ISRAEL. Given that half of Hollywood and Washington was Jewish – not to mention America was heavily Christian and Israel contained a large slice of The Holy Land – it was an easy sell.
Therefore, a War Against The Arabs would enable them to get a lock on the whole Middle East area. And since the primitive tribes therein were fragmented and disorganised, they would not be THAT hard to control – surely?
The 11th of September, 2001.
After “9/11” they realised they had SERIOUSLY underestimated the religious fanaticism that permeates the whole area. Furthermore, they discovered even THEIR military might was insufficient to calm the sh*tstorm they had stirred.
And so their spin-doctors came up with The War Against Terror. However, they soon discovered that the acronym – TWAT – was a rude word in Britain. So they quickly changed it to The War ON Terror.
The thinking was that while no-one would follow them into battle against The Arab Nation – if they called it a war against ALL TERRORISM, they could convince the rest of the World to JOIN them.
Britain – in the form of nice-but-naïve Tony Blair – fell for it. And until the Madrid Train Bombings occurred – so did Spain. Australia lent their support – but when THEY narrowly missed getting hit, they too cooled. Meanwhile, most other countries had more sense.
Which leaves us where we are today. Those countries which HAVE upset the Middle East find themselves with THREE OPTIONS…
One – do as America has done: introduce a “security” system that is an utter NIGHTMARE. Their paranoia has made World air travel intolerable. And it is a NONSENSE – you CANNOT have 100% security.
Imagine having to go through the sort of crap you have to endure before strapping on a plane these days – every time you entered ANY building or vehicle. Buses, boats, shops, clubs, pubs, cinemas, theatres – even churches and schools.
And even then, you are not safe. What about parks, plazas – ANY place where more than a dozen people gather? Plus, once inside – what about bullets and bombs? Following the LOGIC of security, every building would need to be turned into a FORTRESS. So…
How about option two? Neutralise the killers. Except you have MILLIONS of “suspects” – most of whom are benign – but will BECOME radical, if you start locking them up in places like Gitmo. And if you introduce a Shoot To Kill policy – then you are no better than the terrorists.
Which brings us around to option three. Americans like to BLAST their way out of trouble – but even the DUMBEST Yank has realised by now that that rational simply does not WORK.
So America, swallow your pride and TALK to the terrorists. Ask them what they WANT.
Granted most of their demands will be unacceptable – but at least you are now TALKING. Given time and sensible negotiation, compromises can be reached and ultimately, you will eradicate the REASONS for terrorism.
Of course, there will always be MAJOR arseholes who want everybody to live in ways that are totally unacceptable to any reasonable, thinking person. Those people you CANNOT reason with. But most of THEIR power comes from subverting the hearts and minds of MAINSTREAM people.
However, mainstream folk do not NEED the aggravation of living in constant FEAR – they just want to get on with their LIVES.
So by COMMUNICATING with those mainstream people – AND showing them some respect and tolerance – you will eventually DISEMPOWER the radical elements.
Then, once they are marginalised and isolated – you can DEAL with them. It’s THAT SIMPLE!
Specifically, regarding those small jewellers who have secure entrances – you know, with an intercom and entry button under the counter. How does THAT work?
I mean, if the bell rings and the shop assistant looks over at the door and sees three guys with striped jerseys, stocking-masks and sawn-off Purdeys standing there – they probably won’t buzz them in.
But supposing it’s a normal-looking guy in a suit? Buzz him in – and then he pulls out a Glock.
Or what if it’s a well-to-do-looking woman – and as soon as you buzz the door, three evil-looking blokes join her?
On the other hand, what if a black guy with tats and a reversed baseball cap is standing there? No? But he may just be a successful rapper who is looking for a gift for his bitch – I mean girlfriend.
How are you supposed to KNOW whether a customer is kosher?
Let’s face it – having cased a joint, any potential stick-up artist is going to make SURE they look kosher.
Yesterday, my evil twin Damien posted a piece CONDEMNING Cleggy for taking Cameron’s offer of a Coalition – with a referendum on the Alternative Vote system – claiming he only did so to secure the position of Deputy P.M.
And that since part of the deal was that the Tories would be free to campaign AGAINST it – as Labour surely would – he had NO chance of WINNING the referendum.
As a result of which, Cleggy might well find his one-year career as Deputy P.M. was OVER.
Damien said Cleggy should have gone with the Bill-By-Bill option, thus holding sway over the Tories – and being a pain in the arse of Cameron.
If Cleggy HAD gone for the independent, Bill-By-Bill option – forcing Cameron to take power with a MINORITY (it seems unlikely, given the numbers, that LABOUR would have attempted to carry on – even with a new leader) then he, Cameron, would STILL have been able to screw Cleggy.
All he would have had to do (and would surely have DONE) was put through a couple of harmless bills that Cleggy could hardly argue with – plus a couple he would definitely have voted AGAINST – then, when they failed, go BACK to the country, begging the electorate to give him the MANDATE to do his JOB.
And provided the bills he had got through – and the ones that had failed – were not too unpopular, he would likely have GOT that mandate. And Cleggy would have remained where he started – with NO power.
Furthermore, while in opposition, Cleggy could NEVER have got a bill for a referendum on the Alternative Vote system passed, since BOTH Cameron and Miliband (?) would have unified for once – to keep their corrupt two-party system intact.
Thus the ONLY chance Cleggy had, and has, was and is, the deal Cameron offered him – that bloody referendum which he will LOSE (Damien at least got THAT right).
After all – you never know – perhaps the British electorate WILL vote to overturn the corrupt two-party system they have had for almost NINETY YEARS and introduce the Alternative Vote system.
And perhaps Nick Griffin will collect the Humanitarian Award for 2012.
Prokofiev composed his First Piano Concerto when he was barely twenty – it’s a nice piece.
His Second, finished in 1913, is brilliant. Impossibly difficult to play, it features a “solo” that is MANIC. In fact, knowing some conductors would lose their place in the score – he utilised a ploy which is familiar to Big Band jazz musicians today. A distinctive figure designed to WAKE UP the orchestra and tell them, “This is where you leap back IN!”
But then, in 1914, came World War One. Its effect was BRUTAL on Russia – and coupled with the Revolution, caused death, destruction and misery on a monumental scale.
Had the still-young Sergei been a poet, he would have expressed his feelings in prose. But he was a COMPOSER – and used (some would say ABused) that medium instead. As the conflict raged around him, Prokofiev put all of the horror he felt at the atrocity that was ripping his country to pieces – down on music sheets.
Eventually, the hostilities ran their course and the composer left Russia to seek his fortune. His First Piano Concerto was an immediate success – although his Second (which was pretty avant-garde for its time) took a while to gain public acceptance.
But after it had, his publishers started pressing him for the Third he had promised them. This gave Sergei a problem.
It is said that a good novel tells you as much about the WRITER as it does their story’s characters. And this was certainly true of Prokofiev’s Third Piano Concerto. Sergei had put all of the hurt and angst he had felt – while witnessing the obscenity unfolding about him – into the piece.
He had never expected it to be PERFORMED. Aside from the fact that it was even more difficult to play than the Second – it stripped his soul BARE. He knew anyone listening to it who had any perception at all would immediately feel the emotions he had infused it with.
It is a monstrous piece – there is not a single happy note in it – and so he told his publisher he had LOST it.
However, this did not satisfy the publisher one bit. A composer does not LOSE a piano concerto – that would be like a boat-builder mislaying a BOAT. The publisher pressed Prokofiev. “You WROTE it – can you not remember how it GOES?”
Eventually, as the passage of time mellowed the memory of the fury that had generated the piece, Sergei produced the work. He even began to PLAY it in concert (at that time, he was one of the few people capable of DOING so).
Thus this terrible musical outpouring came into the public domain.
It has been described as the total abuse of a piano. But given the fact that music in its highest form is the expression of emotion, this is not quite fair. Certainly, music is normally used to express joy, sadness, melancholy – even humour – but there is no rule that says it cannot also express anger, frustration and OUTRAGE.
Which his Third Piano Concerto DOES, in spades. WAR – it’s all there.
In fact, any player who can HANDLE the piece (and few truly can) must beware of being sucked IN – and DOWN – by it.
Which is why you will rarely witness anyone REALLY GOING for it.
Oh sure, these days the musical conservatories are churning out HUNDREDS of clever buggers who can PLAY the work – hit all of the piece’s notes in the right order.
Some players can even maintain the SPEED required – although few can manage the speed AND STRENGTH needed.
And those few rarely allow themselves to ABSORB and PERFORM it. To do so requires the soloist – and the accompanying ORCHESTRA – to submit to emotions they would rather keep HIDDEN.
A rare exception was Michel Beroff and the Gewand Orchestra of Leipzig, in 1974. They TOTALLY went for it – and gave a good reading of the Second. Last I heard, the two recordings were still available on CD – however, they might have been “restored” (thus wringing all of the “live” feel out).
This is an extraordinary performance. Women rarely attempt the piece, given the physical STRENGTH and STAMINA required (look, I don’t want to sound sexist: but women drive off forward tees and only have to play three sets to win Wimbers – okay?)
The full three-movement work lasts around half an hour. And Cecile having now retired, you will rarely see anyone REALLY go for it. But if you do – and it reduces you to tears – don’t say I didn’t WARN you. Alright?
I understand that the latest Bangkok police “crackdown” – ordered by its bureaucrats – will be on tourists who feed Thailand’s wandering pachyderms.
These can be found – with their “mahouts” – in a number of popular tourist haunts. One even wanders past my house now and again (a sight which, even after having lived here for nearly a decade, I have never QUITE got used to).
And I have often paid their mahouts 100 baht (about £2/$3) for some bananas to feed these noble creatures (even though I have plenty of them in my own GARDEN – bananas, not elephants – keep up!) But sadly, no more. If caught, I now face a Police fine of 10,000 baht (about £200/$300).
At this point, I would have loved to have done a gag about a “trumped-up charge” and left it at that.
But tragically, it’s NOT funny. While the bureaucrats’ decision to heavily fine TOURISTS is obviously a monumentally STUPID one – which will do little to help Thailand’s already DESPERATE tourist industry, after SARS, Bird Flu, the Tsunami and recent Bangkok riots – there is actually a legitimate reason for it.
These leviathans should not BE on the street. Every time I see one of these poor beasts lumbering along a busy public road – often at night, with a little red light dangling from its tail – which would be funny were it not pathetic – I try not to imagine what would happen if one got HIT by one of the cars and trucks that go speeding past, inches from its flank.
And the suffering does not stop there. I understand that the life expectancy of these beasts is, statistically, only HALF that of one in the country. And not just because of elephant v traffic accidents – rather a myriad of other street-related dangers. Exhaust fumes, diseases and constant minor injuries from the many obstructions that fill the tiny side-streets.
Thus the crack-down IS justified. But while many mahouts are very poor – and elephants are expensive to maintain – and tourists are generally rich – it will likely make little difference. They’ll just employ lookouts.
And the bureaucrats setting the POLICE onto the mahouts (who now risk a 10,0oo baht fine AND six months in a Thai jail) AND Thailand’s much-needed tourists – are not HELPING the problem.
They claim they are going to put SIGNS up in tourist areas – as if signs are the solution to everything. The bureaucratic mind for you.
I would love to have an ending for this piece, but life does not always have neat endings. Crushing poverty and animal cruelty are problems where overnight solutions rarely offer themselves. I only pass on this information in the vain hope SOMEONE who reads it might be in a position to do something POSITIVE about it – something the Thai bureaucrats are signally UNABLE to do.
The expression “going postal” is well-known and relates to a series of high-profile shooting sprees by employees of the U.S. Postal Service – where they flipped out, obtained a gun (in many states of America, these can be obtained in six-packs from “Guns ‘R’ Us” – soon they will be able to obtain them at 7-11) and proceeded to blast away at their colleagues.
However, this activity is not limited to the postal service – in fact, the prevalence is higher in other industries – it is just that the Postal Service is considered innocuous and therefore, when their sorting offices became more like the OK Corral, it garnered attention.
So what DRIVES people to suddenly go ape-sh*t and take it out on their fellow man?
Well that is not hard to see. Our modern World is dominated by large, faceless corporations, self-serving bureaucrats and other organisations whose prime directive appears to be to find as many ways as they can to f*ck with us.
And how can you respond to this constant assault? “Call-centres”, that is how. Except most of those centres are merely peopled by poor shlubs like US – the REAL bastards are tucked away where only the likes of Michael Moore can find them – usually on the golf-course.
So, filled with fury and hatred acquired through YEARS of dealings with banks, employers, tax inspectors, teachers, cops and rude shop-assistants – every now and then, someone SNAPS and goes on the rampage. And it is people like YOU who face the result.
People debate over what makes a killer. But while MOST killers are morons who lack the grey matter to appreciate the enormity of taking a human life – or psychotics who lack the reason – the fact is, push ANYONE far enough and we ALL have the power within us. It is merely a question of having the right buttons pushed often enough.
And when someone DOES finally explode, our System is geared to dismiss them as nut-jobs – and we tut-tut and struggle on with our lives.
But while YOU may think you are only at risk of some OTHER guy blowing up – think again. Sure, you are a SANE person. Intelligent. A person of understanding and sensitivity. Except, so was Joe Stack – right up to the time he set fire to his house, then flew his Piper Dakota into his local Austin, Texas tax office, earlier this year.
The event being in America, at first everyone assumed the incident was another terrorist attack – in fact, even Wiki describes him, erroneously, as a terrorist – but then, a number of people read Joe’s “mission statement”.
In the past, suicide notes were rarely made public. But we live in The Age Of Information. Joe POSTED his note on the WEB.
And it made interesting reading. It showed the guy was NOT a loony. He was an intelligent, reasonable, hard-working man whose buttons had just been pushed one time too MANY.
He could have been ME – or YOU.
True, he was still dismissed by most as a head-case. But his gesture had its desired effect. Along with injuring a dozen people, he took OUT an Infernal Revenue Service manager – one Vernon Hunter. Whether Vern was a good guy in a bad job (such jobs quickly corrupt the best of us) or a right bastard, we will never know. But Joe had certainly sent him a MESSAGE.
Of course, incidents like the Stack one are rare. The excrescences who plague us with their poison mostly get AWAY with it. Backed by the System that corrupted them from the decent human beings they once were, they prevail.
And you and me – for the moment – are reduced to listening to piped music on another bloody call-centre line. But one day… ONE DAY…
I like a good wheeze as much as any other smoker – like, pushing a cucumber through the letter-box of an elderly spinster, then phoning her up and yelling, “The Martians are invading!” – or going into a Christian bookshop and asking if they have a copy of the Necronomicon.
Better yet – a copy of the Bible that includes the Gospel According To Judas Iscariot (they HATE that!)
But here is one I actually DID…
Back when I still lived in Asboland, I found myself walking down a side street, just off Southend’s main shopping area. And it was there I came across a new shop (actually, the shop had been there for centuries – it was the BUSINESS that was new).
It was called “Candles ‘R’ Us” (the ‘R’ was the correct way round – they obviously did not want to get sued by a certain chain of toy-stores) and did what it said on the tin. The premises contained candles of every conceivable shape, size and colour – except of course, ONE.
But I noticed it had a large sign in the window, claiming it stocked EVERY colour.
As I had a few moments, I decided to have a bit of a laugh. The shop was empty, save for a young, female assistant. I entered, smiled at her and asked for a dozen BLACK candles.
I had figured that was as far as it would go – she would laugh and tell me, “Okay, I’ll grant you we don’t stock THAT colour!” But she was YOUNG and did not GET it. I felt slightly guilty as she smiled, said certainly, then went off to search the boxes of candles, looking for the articles I had requested.
Finally she returned, looking crestfallen. “I’m sorry – I can’t find ANY black ones – I thought we had ALL the colours.” I was about to explain to her WHY she could not find them when she suddenly said, “Actually, I’m new here – the woman who owns the shop is at lunch – but she’ll be back in half an hour. Can you come back then?”
“Alright,” I replied, turning to leave. Then, unable to resist, I said, “Actually, I have some more shopping to do – Eye Of Newt and so on – I’ll pop back when I’ve finished, in a couple of hours. When she returns, can you tell her what I need? My name’s Mr Diablo.”
“Okay,” she replied, brightly. As I left – never to return – it occurred to me that I wished I could be a fly on the wall for THAT conversation!
I believe it is time to RECLAIM the Solstices – in particular, the Winter one.
As a now-thankfully-ex-resident of the UK, I got so BORED hearing Politically Correct bozos say “Happy Holidays” at CHRISTMAS. Of course, they had got it from America. Both of these CHRISTIAN countries like to consider themselves “multi-cultural” – so now seek to avoid “causing offence” to those who are NOT.
Well, as an ATHEIST – and proud of it – I can assure you “Happy Christmas” never offended ME. I knew that three-quarters of Blighty’s population had outgrown religion and that the greeting was merely a token of friendship.
But if Christmas HAS to go, why not substitute “Happy Solstice”? Given they are six months apart, it hardly seems necessary to specify which ONE.
I mean, Christmas is a crock anyway. Even if you BELIEVE in God, it is a fact that Jesus was born around March, several years after Year One. The early Christians merely HIJACKED December the 25th, to try to wean people off what they saw as a “pagan” ceremony.
Well now, I say it is time to get it BACK. As Christmas, December the 25th is a Day Of Good Cheer. People exchange gifts, eat lots of food, drink lots of booze and are generally NICE to each other.
What is wrong with THAT? Christ (just an expression, okay?) I wish it could be Christmas EVERY DAY (apart from the presents – my budget would not stretch to THAT).
M’point is – what you have here is a ready-made period of celebration. The TRUE Christmas Spirit has nothing to DO with Christianity. It is a HUMAN event – tied to a natural one – the Winter Solstice.
Now I’m as generous and public-spirited as the next man (if that man is a tight-arsed 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?
Barack O’Bama – after the Gulf OIL “spill” – “Beyond the risks inherent in drilling four miles beneath the surface of our Earth, our dependence on oil means that we will continue to send billions of dollars of our hard-earned wealth to other countries every month – including many in dangerous and unstable regions. In other words, our continued dependence on fossil fuels will jeopardise our national security. It will smother our planet – and continue to put our economy and our environment at risk.” All of which is true – this reporter has been saying as much for years.
But at the same time, the B.B.C. went with “Afghans Say U.S. Teams Found Huge Potential Mineral Wealth. A joint team from the Pentagon, U.S. Geological Service and U.S.A.I.D. has calculated Afghanistan’s mineral deposits are worth at least $900bn… …valuable deposits of LITHIUM… …used in batteries… …key to the future of the electric car.”
I have oft-declared that there are two kinds of driver in this World. Those who cut a graceful swathe through the traffic – and those who ARE the traffic. I am one of the former.
But there was one occasion when my driving skills entered the realm of the PARANORMAL.
Back in the Seventies, I lived in N.E. London. And for several months, I worked nights at a West End all-night multi-storey car park. I could tell you a number of bizarre stories about THAT – but this one concerns an experience I had while commuting TO it.
Every evening, around nine, I would ride my BSA motorbike along the same route, to Leicester Square. I had done it hundreds of times – so I could do it in my sleep. I just never thought I actually WOULD.
On this occasion, I had been busy, so had been up all day. But since there were a number of guys on duty until midnight, I figured I could get forty winks after I arrived – and forty more, during the night, after the clubs had chucked out.
But as I passed Mount Pleasant sorting office, it suddenly HIT me. I realised I had hit a wall – metaphorically speaking. I knew if I did not find somewhere to sleep for a few minutes – and quickly – I would FALL asleep where I was.
My mind raced through alternatives – there were hotels where I could walk in, sit in a chair in reception and gather the required few minutes sleep (I was dressed reasonably – so figured I would not be abused as a derelict).
But the hotels were nearly as far away as my destination – I would never make it. There was only one solution. The pavements were dry and at that time, quiet.
Extraordinary though it was, I would park up my bike and lay down for a few minutes and………………..
…the next thing I knew, I was approaching the Shaftesbury Theatre. And the last four minutes were MISSING. I had SLEEP-RIDDEN!!!
Since I was still moving – and after my impromptu nap, slightly refreshed – I continued on my way to work. But after our “rush” period was over and I was alone, I had time to consider what had just happened.
I had heard of sentries falling asleep standing up – and sleepwalkers performing simple, familiar tasks, like making a cuppa. But I had also heard of MOTORISTS who had nodded off at the wheel and woken up in HOSPITAL – or in The Next World – however, they did not have to retain their BALANCE.
And with what I knew about sleep, this all made sense. When asleep, the upper areas of our conciousness rest – but the lower areas continue. If they did not, we would stop BREATHING. Thus, being able to ride a motorbike along a frequently-traveled route while in the Land Of Nod ought to be JUST possible.
It HAD to be – I had DONE it.
But while keeping my balance and following a familiar route might be possible – sleepwalkers seemed to manage that okay – could I detect a red traffic-light, slow down, change gears, de-clutch, stop, put a foot down, note the green, balance the clutch against the accelerator and move off, changing up again?
NO WAY! Which meant I had just gone through SIX traffic lights – ASLEEP!!!
Over the next few weeks, I carried out a little survey, to determine what the odds were that all of the lights had been GREEN. And at the end, I worked out they had only been ONE IN SIX!
To be fair, two of the lights were pedestrian-only – but that only lowered the odds to one in four. Which means there is still a SEVENTY-FIVE PERCENT likelihood that I went zooming across a red light – like in a Keystone Kops movie – narrowly missing DEATH.
The Welsh language is an offshoot of the Celtic languages. The Celts were originally spread all over Europe, but due to their bad tempers, red hair, freckles and skin that burned if the sun even THOUGHT of shining, they eventually found themselves pushed back to Scotland, Ireland and Wales.
By the twentieth century, English now having become the dominant tongue in those countries, the Celtic languages had all but died out in Scotland and Ireland – the only remaining traces being reserved for place names – but in Wales, their version somehow remained.
However, it too would have expired, had it not been for one thing – the Welsh Nationalists. Like the Scottish Nationalists and Irish Republicans, they despised the English – whom they saw as oppressors.
Of course, devolution has now come to those countries. But around the turn of the Sixties, this would have been unthinkable – in particular, because OIL had been discovered off the Scottish coast.
And whilst Wales might not have been similarly blessed, no-one at Whitehall wanted to create a precedent. So the protests of the Welsh Nationalists were ignored. At which point, they decided to become MILITANT.
This militancy took the form of torching the country cottages of rich British industrialists and politicians. It came to a head when Walter Wall-Carpeting, the then-Minister of Welsh Affairs lost HIS home-from-home.
Furious, he ranted at the then-Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, “Now those bloody sheep-shaggers have set fire to MY cottage! I’d been using it to get away, with Sally.” “Your wife?” Harold murmured. “Don’t be ridiculous,” answered Walter.
Something had to be done. Most Welsh people had no desire to be separated from Britain, but Whitehall knew it had to throw SOME sort of bone to the rabid Welsh Nationalists. Finally, they came up with an idea.
Remembering that the Welsh had a nearly extinct and totally unintelligible language, it was decided to convert all of Wales’ road signs to dual language – English of course coming first. This would fool the Welsh into thinking they had their own National Identity.
It worked. The Ministry Of Transport had no problems with the idea, as they were busy putting the finishing touches to a new set of European road-signs that used PICTURES to warn of hazards, etc.
An outline of a sheep meant “Sheep Crossing”, a car falling off a jetty meant “Dock Ahead” – and a man apparently having trouble opening a golf umbrella meant “Road Works Ahead”. Headrooms and inclines only had NUMBERS – which were the same in Welsh as everywhere else.
However while Whitehall was happy, at local level the new dual-language signs were producing major headaches. Local signs – most of which had WRITING on them – were the responsibility of local councils. Many of which had no-one working there who knew any Welsh.
Thus they had to fall back on getting translations from local experts on the language – University professors and the like. And so it was with a recent case.
Producing official-looking signs is easier than it appears. All it takes is a sheet of aluminium coated with a white reflective covering, a set of black self-adhesive letters and numbers – and a jig which enables one to place the characters in an evenly spaced straight line.
The final touch is to laminate the sign with a sheet of plastic (in order to stop naughty boys peeling off the letters and rearranging them to spell rude words) and it is ready for putting up.
But it can go horribly wrong. A recent case in point was when Swansea council wanted to erect a sign near an ASDA supermarket which read: “No entry for heavy goods vehicles. Residential site only.” Simple enough – except no-one at the council’s office had enough Welsh to be able to handle the translation.
And so they duly e-mailed the local expert: “Please translate the following into Welsh – No entry for heavy goods vehicles. Residential site only.” And in due course, they got a reply. It read: “Nid wyf yn y swyddfa ar hyn o bryd. Anfonwch unrhyw waith i’w gyfieithu.”
Now what followed was not really Swansea council’s fault – it was down to their translator. He KNEW no-one at the council was fluent in Welsh – if they had been, they would not have required his services. Thus it was HIS fault for not replying in English.
Because after the department of signs had erected the sign, it began to get huge LAUGHS from those members of the public who WERE fluent in Welsh. This was due to the fact that while the upper, English half DID have “No entry to… [etc.]” and the lower, Welsh half had “Nid wyf yn… [etc.]” – only Welsh speakers knew what that lower half actually MEANT.
In English, it translated back as:”I am not in the office at the moment. Send any work to me to be translated.”
Whenever the Torybastards claw their way back into power, it is worth while organising a pool for how many days it will take them to start talking about their new plan to screw the PENSIONERS.
Last time, the plan was to means-test them – this time, they want to raise the retirement age. Last time, they were thwarted by the courts. This time – ?
Of course, any DECENT government would be trying to find a way to LOWER the age of retirement. Thanks to “out-sourcing” and automation, any concept of Full Employment in the UK went the way of the Dodo, some forty years ago.
But what are the REAL figures for unemployment? Well, by definition, they would have to include ALL people who are NOT working – but given half a chance, would LIKE to.
The current unemployment figure is 8%. The worst for three decades. But the current EMPLOYMENT rate is 72%. And of course, 72 plus 8 is 100.
HANG ON!!! No it is not – it’s EIGHTY! What happened to the other 20%? Well, that is what I meant by the TRUE figures.
You see, the 8% are those who REGISTER as unemployed, to get the paltry sum called “Job-seeker’s Allowance” – love that spin – not Unemployment Benefit, but JOB-SEEKER’S ALLOWANCE.
But let us not dwell on semantics. The point is, there are another TWENTY percent of the employable population who are NOT registering. Why?
Well, there are a number of reasons. Let us examine THOSE…
First come the “fringe” people. Those who do “fringe” jobs. Often for Third-World wages. In a First-World country.
Then come those over fifty who, knowing they do not have a rat’s chance in HELL of gaining employment – and knowing they cannot EXIST on “Job-seeker’s Allowance” – have managed to convince their GP they have a long-term disability, in order to qualify for SICKNESS Allowance.
Indeed, there are many GPs (particularly ELDERLY ones) who HELP these people – knowing that by doing so they are, in a way, fulfilling their duty under the Hippocratic Oath (like, their patients would soon become GENUINELY sick if they had to put up with the horrors visited on Britain’s unemployed by HMG).
Which is why the government employs other, DODGY doctors to “test” people on long-term disability, to try to force them OFF the system.
Next come women whose children have now reached the age where they can be trusted not to burn down the house.
Some are blessed with husbands earning a decent wage – and are thus content to continue being “homemakers”. Having no marketable skills, they are happy to cook, clean and garden – ensuring their husband will have a home-cooked meal when he returns to his nice, clean house, with its tidy, manicured garden.
And their husbands are fine with this, realizing that if their wife worked, THEY would have to share 50% of the cooking, cleaning and gardening duties – not a happy prospect.
But what of those women whose husbands do NOT earn a decent wage? Rather than waging a constant battle with an inadequate income, many would be more than happy to return to work – and SCREW the house and garden.
However, when they take into account the expense of a second car, meals out and never-ending takeaways for their kids – not to mention their house and garden will soon look like sh*t – and the fact that employers prefer YOUNG women (they work for less, look more attractive and are still EAGER) – plus their work-skills are fifteen years out of DATE…
Nevertheless, a fair proportion of those women would STILL take a job if it were available, rather than endure perpetual POVERTY – so those women should be added to the list as well. But since their husbands work – which means they would not qualify for benefit – they do not REGISTER.
There have been a number of “Family Tax/Credit” schemes designed to help working families on low wages – but they have never received enough finance to make them attractive.
Thus most of these women struggle on, doing home piece-work – if they can get it – again, for Third-World wages. But either way, as far as HMG is concerned, they are NOT unemployed.
And finally there are those at the BOTTOM of society. Those with no home, no income and no hope. They are the down-and-outs you pass quickly, as they stick their hands out for alms.
In La Belle France, begging is legally classed as a VOCATION, provided it is non-aggressive. I even heard of an English guy who lives, modestly, on the RIVIERA, thanks to this law and the Single European Act of 1993, which allows Europeans to work anywhere in Europe. Hah!
But in England, beggars are despised – and treated accordingly. And without an address, getting government benefit is DIFFICULT. Which is why, every year, untold numbers of them die of hypothermia.
So there are most of your invisible twenty percent of the unemployed: “fringe” people, “sick” people, women who would work if they COULD – and bums.
Therefore, the TRUE unemployment figure for the UK is TWENTY-EIGHT PERCENT – not EIGHT.
Nearly a THIRD of Britain’s workers – AREN’T. Which means that in every group of three people, two are BEAVERING away to support themselves – and said THIRD. Which is MADNESS, when most of those thirds WANT to work.
What is the solution? Well, it is not easy.
An obvious answer is to cut WORKING HOURS for the first two people – and EMPLOY the third. Except that because of the INSANE cost of company cars (which are often not actually NEEDED for a person’s job – but rather, are used by employers to “hold” their employees) and the similarly insane cost of employee INSURANCE, the only way a company can remain competitive is to employ as FEW people as possible – while encouraging them to work for as LONG as possible.
And the cost of living being what it is – those employees will TOLERATE the long hours, for the extra PAY.
So do not look to employers for an answer. They are trapped by the SYSTEM.
No, the only way to relieve unemployment is for GOVERNMENT to LOWER the age of retirement – which would require the RAISING of taxes to support it, so don’t look for THAT solution coming anytime soon from the TORYBASTARDS!
My name is Cauldwell Hall – and I am a left-brained man. The left hemisphere of the brain controls logical thought, while the right controls the more esoteric.
At school, my lack of artistic skills, coupled with a voracious appetite for calculation, soon lead to my being advised to take up accounting as a career.
This certainly seemed logical – the World will always need number crunchers – so I set my sights in that direction. But I had a year to wait before I could get into Eastcote University, so I elected to go and explore the World, before resigning myself to an academic, then office-bound life.
Thus eventually, at age 28, I found myself working for Spurrier’s, a firm of chartered accountants who were based in a large office block, in a small town called Oakdene.
And work I did. Assumed by my boss, Mr Rathbone, to be a nerd with no private life – it usually fell to me to come in on Saturdays, to round up the week’s inventories. I did not really mind, as he was right – I had no private life. And I could always use the extra money.
One of the small inconsistencies in my life was my love of Heavy Metal music, which I generally had blaring away on my MP3 player – paradoxically, it helped me to concentrate on the boring figures.
Which is why I never heard the fire alarm.
My first indication something was amiss, was the distinctive smell of burning carpet. Walking out into the corridor of the empty building, I returned quickly – having been beaten back by the flames.
I later learned that one of the installers working on the new central heating system had absent-mindedly left a blowlamp on – then gone for lunch with his work-mates.
But at that moment, all I knew was – I was in deep shit. Alone in an office on the seventh floor of a blazing building – and the nearest fire station was ten miles away in Colvestone. I went to the window and looked out. The sixty foot drop yawned at me.
Then I got a break. Just below the window-sill, I noticed three thick, plastic-covered power lines, anchored to the outside wall. They stretched across the road to our parent building where they terminated, just below the parapet of its flat roof.
I looked around the room – then I got a second break. Piled against the opposite wall were several radiators, left there by the installers – and a number of ten-metre lengths of copper pipe.
Sighing – as I knew what I must do to save my life – I walked over, grasped four of the pipes and returned to the window. Propping their ends on the window-sill, I took off my shoes, tied the laces together and slung them around my neck.
Then I heaved myself over and still grasping the sill, tested the strength of the wires by jumping up and down on them. They held.
And so, with my back to the sill for support, I pulled the bunch of pipes out of the window and ran them through my hands. With my hands in the middle of the bunch, I lowered them across in front of myself and steadied my nerves.
Finally, I gingerly placed my right forefoot on the wire in front of my left, putting most of the weight onto it, then swiveled my ankle until my hindfoot – heel – was resting gently on the wire. Then I focussed all of my attention on my objective – the other end of the wire.
Slowly, I steadied the bunch of pipes – then, when I was as ready as I would ever be, I began to move forward. Away from the safety of the window-sill.
Placing one foot carefully in front of the other, I began to pace along the wire. I was aware of a tingling sensation in my feet, which I put down to the current it was carrying. Then I heard the crash of a fender-bender in the street below.
I could also hear the shouts of the watchers under me. When I was about half-way across, I saw Rathbone come bursting out of the rooftop door in front of me. He seemed about to say something then thought better of it – figuring I needed all my concentration on the job in hand.
He was not wrong. While being aware of the melee in the street below – and peripherally, Rathbone – my concentration was fixed on the end of the wire, as I mentally pictured my feet curling around it.
Pace by pace, my goal crawled towards me. Time was suspended. The noise below soon became drowned out by the rushing of blood in my ears.
Pace – pace – pace…
Then suddenly, I was there. Slowly raising the bunch of pipes, I threw them over the parapet and grabbed it for dear life. Rathbone grasped my wrists and pulled me to safety – landing both of us, panting, onto the ground.
“How the hell did you do that?” he exclaimed.
“Buy me a beer and I’ll tell you,” I replied, putting my shoes back on.
– – – – – – – – – – –
We made our way down to the ground floor and out through the main entrance, then turned left and headed for the watering hole most of our employees used. Just then, the fire engines began to arrive and I cast a look up to the window I had made my escape from.
A huge bar of fire was shooting out of it.
Once inside the Roundwood Arms, I collapsed into the warmth of one of its leather chairs. After a bit, Rathbone returned with two pints of beer. I downed most of mine in one go.
“Okay,’ said Rathbone, “I’ve heard of people gaining superhuman strength in a pinch, but I’ve never heard of anyone doing what you just did.”
“It came from my gap year,” I said. And then I told him what I had done during it…
Realising I would not need personal transport for a few years, I had sold my old banger to a friend and with the money in my bank and a Visa card in my pocket, had taken off across Europe.
Paris, Berlin, Vienna – I had had a fine time in all of them. But I needed more, so I continued to head east – Eastern Europe had begun to open up to Westerners by then. Eventually, I arrived in a little Românian village called Codlea.
Its backdrop was the Carpathian Mountains – Dracula country, then. But it was a sweet place – and the circus was in town.
Having never actually seen a circus in the flesh, I attended. It was a wonderful experience, but the highlight came at the end. A gorgeous young girl in a satin catsuit came out and climbed up a long ladder – almost disappearing into the gloomy top of the tent. Then a spotlight picked her up and she began to walk back and forth along a tightrope.
She did not appear too confident, wobbling alarmingly as she picked her way along. Then suddenly – disaster! She appeared to slip and as she hurtled down towards the centre of the ring, the audience – including me – screamed.
But then her descent slowed. And slowed. And finally, she came to a graceful halt, just a few inches off the ground. At which point, she twisted, stood up and unclipped a harness she had on underneath her costume. It was attached to a black rope.
The crowd went mental. They had never seen anything like it.
That night, in my small hotel room, I lay awake for hours. I could not get her out of my mind – and not just because of her spectacular trick, either.
The next day, I returned to the circus. They were just finishing bringing down the big top, in preparation for heading to their next engagement. Then I saw her. I ran up to her and began burbling my appreciation of her tightrope skills.
Then I stopped, realising she would not have understood anything I had just said. But I was wrong. In pretty good English, she thanked me for my kudos, told me her name was Helga and invited me to take coffee with her.
It turned out that having toured Europe for years, the whole circus company were fluent in all the Romance languages. We talked for hours. I was fascinated by her. She was about my age, but a generation wiser.
She asked what I was doing so far from home and I explained to her about my gap year – and said I still had about seven months left. Then she asked if I had ever considered a career in the circus.
Well, long story short, I joined the company, sharing Helga’s caravan – and bed.
But the problem was, my left-brained-ness meant that my aptitude for show-biz was limited. I coughed and nearly died when I tried fire-eating. So they began training me on the tightrope. If I had mastered that, I would probably still be there – but while I found doing it with a balancing pole was quite easy, take that away and I was useless.
Eventually, the clowns saved me. They had a routine where they would take a “volunteer” from the audience and totally humiliate him. In street clothes, he would be thrown around and end up soaked and plastered with custard pies.
The guy they had used for the bit had quit a few months before and unable to find another willing victim, they had dropped the routine from their act. Now, they decided to revive it – with me.
And so every night, I was put through the mill by these amiable lunatics. It was okay at first – but eventually, I began to see why the last guy had quit.
But even that was not the limit of my discomfort. In the circus, everyone is expected to muck in. And the less status you have, the muckier the jobs you get given. My status as clown-fodder meant I got the muckiest. Shovelling animal clouts, etc.
As the end of my gap year approached, so did the feeling that despite Helga’s charms, the end of my circus career was approaching too.
Thus, after a tearful goodbye (my tears – Helga was fine) I headed back to a life of academia, followed by a nice safe, warm office – except I had not expected it to get THAT warm.
Rathbone looked at me for a long while. “So you remembered how to tightrope walk,” he said.
“Like riding a bike,” I replied. “It’s easy with a pole.”
Footnote: I do not usually DO fiction (and having read through the above, you can see why) but I had a little bet with myself that I could write a piece, working in EVERY ROAD-NAME where I had lived, during my life (except my current one – which is foreign – and twenty-one letters long).
I won my bet. In chronological order, they are Oakdene Road, Withipol Street, Roundwood Road, Cauldwell Hall Road, Rathbone Place, Colvestone Crescent, Spurriers, Eastcote Grove and Station Road (although granted, Withipol was a STRETCH – with a pole?)
Anyhoo, if you desire to wander through ANOTHER of my fictional ramblings (you must be weak in the head) check out “A Year To Remember”, in my bogroll – sorry, BLOGROLL – at the top right of this column.
Elsewhere in these ramblings this chronicler has droned on about how for the past forty years, while technology has gone forward in leaps and bounds, our quality of life has gone down the DUMPER. Political correctness, rules, more rules, restrictions, cut-backs, crack-downs, etc.
While science has been busy improving our lives, all measures involving social issues have made our existence more difficult. For every technical step forward, there has been a societal step backwards.
So what can be done? Well, don’t look to The Man At The Top to fix it.
The problem with being a National Leader is that it is far easier to f*** UP a country than it is to UNf*** it. And the reason is “executive power”.
Obviously, it is impossible to protect a country from an imminent THREAT, if its Number One has to push a motion through “due process”. By the time the pen-pushers have authorised your use of the military – the Other Side will already have them confined to barracks.
Thus, when The Monkey said, “Let’s bomb Iraq!” – America got dragged into another Vietnam. But when Barack Obama says, “Let’s have a National Health Service!” – he has to get the initiative past hundreds of hostile Senators and Representatives.
Hell, Obama is a smoker – but when he wants a puff, he has to go out into the GARDEN, like a naughty schoolboy. (If THIS reporter was in his shoes, he would put them up on his desk and light up in the OVAL OFFICE – and if anyone gave him grief, he would remind them that he is The Most Powerful Man On The Planet and if he wants a fag, he will goddamn well HAVE one!)
And it is no better in the U.K. While, unlike in America, the Prime Minister of Britain is at least guaranteed a MAJORITY in the Lower House – he still has to sell the Queen, the Upper House, appease his Back-Benchers (senior MPs who are not so easily bullied by the “Whips”) and convince his (theoretically) non-political Ministers.
And NEITHER Premier can make their desires a reality unless they can ALSO persuade various people at regional and local levels to comply (Governors, Councillors and the like) – particularly out in the sticks.
At least in the realm of Washington and Whitehall, The Elected Supremo can use SOME clout – “When you have ’em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow” – but provincial politicians have their own LOCAL agendas and are rarely impressed by the aspirations of their national Lords and Masters.
All of which is why measures that F*** UP our lives are constantly coming down the pike – while measures to IMPROVE them are seemingly IMPOSSIBLE to implement. Discuss…
As a Child Of The Sixties, I keep hearing how “Sixty is the new forty.”
And since, like all other Children Of The Sixties, I am now rapidly sliding from Middle Age into Old Age – the turning point of which IS sixty – I should feel encouraged by this dictum.
However, carrying the logic through means that in another twenty years, the dictum will then be…
First, forget about warning them of the HEALTH risks – when people are kids, they think themselves IMMORTAL. No, tell them the TRUTH; they are being RIPPED OFF.
Explain that a packet of fags only costs THIRTY PENCE to manufacture. Then, when they ask how come they cost SIX POUNDS to BUY – tell them THIS.
NOTHING is spent on advertising – fag ads have been illegal in the UK for years now. Thus after allowing for the normal manufacturers’ profit, ditto the retailers’ – plus shipping – a pack of fags OUGHT to cost no more than NINETY PENCE. That’s just FIFTEEN PERCENT of the money they have to part with.
Of the remaining EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT, some goes to the corporation, who manufacture their products in a way that makes them as ADDICTIVE as possible – while the rest goes straight to the GOVERNMENT.
Point out that at least the greedy corporations are HONEST in their greed. The government on the other hand, are the biggest HYPOCRITES on earth. While bringing in ever more laws to ensure that smokers are the ONE minority who are segregated and abused in a fashion which, if such treatment were visited on any OTHER minority, would have them rioting in the streets – the government appeals to people to QUIT. But if everyone actually DID that, Britain’s fast-dwindling economy would COLLAPSE OVERNIGHT. THAT’S hypocrisy.
Finally, you might mention the fact that while the RIP-OFF might seem a small price to pay NOW, to look COOL – when they become ADULTS (as they surely must) they will find that giving the government HALF their wages (assuming they can FIND a job) in cigarette tax will result in their WHOLE LIVES being financially BLIGHTED. FORGET about holidays – even having KIDS.
And if they come back with, “Oh, I’ll give UP by then,” get them to talk to those who HAVE. Ask how easy it was for THEM – and how much they would give to have a blow RIGHT NOW!
For the last decade or so, this writer has penned many pieces (some of them in THESE columns) on the prospect that we might be the FIRST generation for whom the holy grail of eternal life could move from the arena of myth and superstition into the realm of scientific ACTUALITY.
For years, he has theorised, mused and mithered on the political, practical, philosophical, sociological, economical, ecological – even PSYCHOlogical ramifications of the issue.
But of late, another aspect of the subject has impinged upon his conciousness. A JUSTIFICATION for having to endure yet MORE years of living in a World which, thanks to ever more rules, regulations, restrictions and repressions, is becoming increasingly untenable.
And he believes he has found one. Indeed, it is the very CAUSE of our having to consider this problem in the first place – TECHNOLOGY.
The thing is, while over the last three decades, the West has turned the quality of people’s lives into SH*T, technology has been beavering away, trying to develop ways to make our lives EASIER and more INTERESTING.
F’rinstance, a computer with the capabilities of the one which Your Humble Scribe is currently typing these ramblings on, would have cost a FORTUNE thirty years ago – and size-wise, it would have occupied most of this room. While SIXTY years ago, he would not have been permitted to OWN such a device – and if he had, it would have filled a CATHEDRAL.
Such are the benefits of technology. And if we are spared, things can only get better. Who can IMAGINE the toys that will be available in the future? Not sci-fi writers, for sure – they cannot see past the variables. Who could have foreseen integrated circuits, syldenafil citrate or Dolby ProLogic II, before they were announced?
Thus, while the WORLD is going to hell in a handcart, its technology reaches for the stars. And when they finally wheel THIS scribbler out for the last time, he will have seen all he ever WILL of those technological wonders.
Which is a PAIN. Kinda like pegging out half-way through an Agatha Christie book – one would at least like to take a peek at the last page…
This story really begins with the attack on Pearl Harbour (Harbor).
It seems incredible today, that a tiny country like Japan would even CONSIDER taking on the might of Uncle Sam – until you realize in 1941, both the military and population of America were considerably SMALLER than they are today.
Furthermore, most of that population was concentrated near the coasts and while the heartland was large, it was sparsely populated and strategically unimportant.
However, Japan was more concerned with neutralising the U.S. fleet so that its S.E. Asian campaign could continue, unimpeded by the interfering Americans, than taking over Washington – at least, for that moment.
As a Warrior Society, it had conquered large areas of S.E. Asia – and with its formidable navy, Japan considered itself unstoppable.
Whether Churchill – or even Roosevelt – actually KNEW Pearl was coming, is now a matter of speculation. But what is certain is that no-one foresaw the DESTRUCTION that would be visited on the U.S. fleet that day.
Indeed, if Yamamoto had pressed his advantage, the Battle For The Pacific (oxymoron?) might have ended with a Japanese victory. But Isoroku had caught the Americans with their trousers down – and CLOBBERED them, with little loss to his own forces – and he did not care to push his luck.
This fatal move resulted in America pulling her collective trousers back up and fighting tooth and nail, island by island – at enormous cost, in both men and machines – to drive the Japanese back to their homeland.
And when the cheeky Russians offered TERMS to Japan if she would surrender to THEM, Roosevelt understandably went BALLISTIC – and dropped a few mega-tons of persuasion onto the Japanese population.
But when hostilities ended, America felt guilty for having perpetrated this genocide and so began funding Japan’s industry, in order for her population to rebuild their country. Any industry – provided it was not likely to result in a rebirth of Japan’s military.
Thus Japan began manufacturing EVERYTHING. At first, the products were merely cheap knock-offs of standard American goods. “Made In Japan” was a JOKE in the Fifties.
But by the Seventies, the joke had soured.
The reasons were varied. The Japanese car industry got its boost in England when companies began allowing reps, engineers and the like to choose their company cars from lists. Each employee would be given the choice between a particular “level” of Ford, GM or Toyota.
Now these levels were CRITICAL for these men. Spending eight hours a day in their vehicles gave them a PASSION for the “toys” that came with them. And motorways soon became playgrounds for Ford Cortina GXL-driving reps who would wind their windows down and yell “Wanker!” at reps driving lowly Ford Cortina XLs.
But as Toyota’s workers were paid less than their British counterparts, Toyota could afford to “load” their entry-level model with the same toys Ford and GM’s “L” model had. And their “L” model with the same toys Ford and GM’s “XL” had. And… you get the picture.
Of course, the reps and engineers could hardly admit their choice of the rice-burner was driven by their desire for TOYS – so they claimed their preference favoured the Japanese cars’ RELIABILITY.
But the truth was the Japanese mass-production cars were built to the same quality as the British ones – LOW, where all parts were designed to be BARELY strong enough – but the lie guaranteed that sales rocketed among private buyers as well.
Meanwhile, in The States, the rocketing price of OIL was making Americans think. If they had REALLY thought, they would have realised their gas prices were STILL A FRACTION of those in many other countries – but as usual, they knew nothing of what went on outside America.
All they knew was pump prices were going up – and cars from Japan (where petrol has always cost a FORTUNE) achieved FOUR TIMES the mileage their gas-guzzlers got. And being small, they made better use of cabin space. Plus they had the same toys as American cars (Japan made sure of THAT).
Then there was Japan’s micro-electronics industry. The transistor and its smarter brother, the integrated circuit – or “chip” – were essentially invented and developed in America. But it was the Japanese who developed their use in TVs, radios and “music-centres”. Then in computers, mobile phones, etc., etc.
And once again, what started as a joke quickly became a mega-industry.
Ironically, with their cars and consumer electronics, the Japanese did WAY more damage to America than the entire Japanese fleet could EVER have achieved in ’41. Just ask any old person who has lived their life in Detroit.
By the Eighties, Japan was on a roll. Their big corporations had cleverly taken advantage of the Japanese “tribal culture” – replacing the traditional tribes with corporate ones. Japanese workers took pride in being “A Honda Man” – or Suzuki, Toyota, Nissan, Yamaha, JVC, Mitsubishi, Toshiba, Sony, Panasonic, Technics, etc., etc.
But all good things come to an end.
Slowly, the Japanese workers came to realise the boss who got down and did floor exercises with them every morning was making a sh*tload more money than THEY were. And so they began organising. Unions started. Wages went up. And soon, the Japanese giants began looking elsewhere for cheap labour.
“Outsourcing” is thought of in the West as new – but the Japanese pioneered that science too (did you see what I did there?) First in Hong Kong. Then when THEIR workers got organised – in Taiwan. Then Korea. Finally, they hit the newly opened-up China.
The result of this was for the first time, Japan had less than full employment – something previously unheard of. The Japanese workers were SHATTERED.
And worse was to come. The myth concerning Japanese reliability – always a tenuous one – began falling apart when it became known certain companies (court cases are pending, so I’ll avoid specificity) had sent goods out KNOWING they were defective.
It will be interesting to see how a current American court case plays out – given the kicking America’s industrial base has taken from the company involved.
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 even if 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-seven-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.
Opens with slow panning shot of Jay’s dressing-room, showing “The Jay Leno Show” artifacts – Jay is stepping into shower.
Cut to close-up of Jay showering – cut to floor of shower – a bar of soap is by Jay’s feet – he steps on the soap – cut back to close up – Jay disappears with a cry [insert foley: suggest several melons dropped into a bath, filled with two inches of water] – cut to close-up of Jay lying on floor, eyes closed.
Picture swirls – insert pre-edited montage: beginning with Jay lying in front of kids on last “The Tonight Show”, continuing with highlights from the seven months of “The Jay Leno Show” – sound of knocking on door – swirling image fades – Jay wakes up and shakes head.
Jay: “Wh-at?”
Muffled page’s voice: “Ten minutes, Mr Leno.”
Jay grabs a bath-robe, puts it on and staggers to door – opens door – page is standing there.
Jay: “To what – The Jay Leno Show?”
Page: “Well – we call it The Tonight Show – but whatever you say, Mr Leno.”
Page turns and leaves – Jay closes door and looks around him – the dressing room is now filled with “The Tonight Show” artifacts – Jay goes to closet and opens it [closet is filled with suit, shirt, tie and shoe sets – joined together like overalls] – Jay selects a set, climbs into it and zips the front up in one sweeping movement – cut to close-up and zoom back to show Jay in normal stage suit – another knock on door – Jay opens it.
Another Page: “Five minutes, Mr Leno.”
Jay nods – the page leaves – Jay turns and looks into dressing room once more – shakes head and makes for studio – run opening credits…
Hey listen – it worked for Bobby Ewing (but if they USE it, I want a writers credit!)
There’s an old joke that goes something like, “People say that at 55, I’m middle-aged. Rubbish! How many people do YOU know who are 110?”
But of course, there’s an ANSWER to that. There are three ages of ADULTHOOD – preceded by one of childhood.
And they are: 0-19… Childhood. 20-39…Young Adulthood. 40-59… Middle Age. And 60-79… Old Age. You can add 80 and up… FREAKISH Old Age – since the natural age to fall off the twig is 79 (okay, 82 if you’re a lady).
Which brings me to my point: what berk came up with 21 as being the age of majority? Alright, it’s now mainly been supplanted by 18 (except for booze in America) but still.
I mean, the two-hundred-plus countries on our planet have various ages of majority: most go with 18, others vary from 9 to 19, a handful (including my adopted country – Thailand) have 20 and a dozen or so still use 21. But surely, the ONLY age should be 20. It’s a round figure, it’s logical, it feels right (you’re no longer a teenager) and it fits right in with the third paragraph of this piece.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not proposing you can’t drink, smoke, make love, drive a car or take out a library book before that age. I’m just saying, if you want a legal age at which you become an adult, it should be 20.
Where did 21 come from? What prune thought THAT up? For decades, in The Land Of My Birth, England, this silly age of majority RULED. In fact, in that country, old-timers accused of some minor impropriety can STILL be heard to say, “So what? I’m over twenty-one.”
I don’t have an ending for this bit. Try as I might (and I HAVE – all across the Interweb) I cannot find ANY reason for this magic figure of 21 having been chosen as the age at which it was thought one became a major. Anyone???
As one of Britain’s two favourite comedians, during the period from the late Fifties to the early Eighties, Eric Morecombe rarely “died” on stage – in the parlance of those in The Business. But after years of trouble with a dicky heart, he almost did literally.
The occasion was the 28th of May, 1984. On this occasion, he was without his small friend (there’s no answer to that) appearing in a special show organised by Stan Stennet. At the end, he just WENT for it – improvising bits with the orchestra.
Finally, to thunderous applause, he walked off into the wings – collapsed and died.
This event occurred only 44 days after Britain’s other favourite comedian – Tommy Cooper – had died ON stage – in front of a TV audience of millions.
The occasion was a live, primetime TV broadcast from Her Majesty’s Theatre, London. For those who are young, Tommy was a be-fezzed, 76″ lumbering giant with an insane cackling laugh, who peppered a “magic act” – with some of the worst jokes ever written.
A member of the prestigious Magic Circle, he would always do ONE trick that worked – just to keep the audience on its toes – but the rest of his act was a train wreck. Nevertheless, it was LAUGHS that Tommy sought – and they were the last thing he would ever hear.
Tommy had a reputation for being mean – but this writer still believes the reason Tommy pressed a TEA-BAG into the hands of those who opened doors for him – with the words, “‘Ere you are – ‘ave a drink on me” – was for the LAUGHS.
Unlike many comics, Tommy was a riot OFF stage as well as on. And anyone with sense FRAMED those tea-bags – rather like the cheques written by Picasso, on the plain back of which he would draw a small picture – usually a bird – and then sign it. Few of the cheques were ever cashed.
Anyhoo, on that fateful night, Tommy strode onstage and began a bit where he would have produced large objects from a cape, fed to him from behind a large, thus heavy curtain.
A gorgeous showgirl walked on and gave him something (I don’t recall what – although I had the VCR running, I erased the tape as, knowing what had ACTUALLY happened, it creeped me out to watch it) and Tommy swayed – leaned against the heavy curtain and slid slowly down to a seated position.
Then the curtain was lifted and he was slowly dragged behind it. The last thing the audience saw of him was the soles of his enormous shoes. They laughed hysterically, thinking it was part of the act. After which, in the spirit of Showbiz, the show seamlessly continued. Only at its END, was his death announced.
Thus the very last thing Tommy had heard was the laughter he craved.
And an era was over. These two men had dominated British comedy for twenty-five years. They were giants (in Tommy’s case, literally. Although Eric was actually quite short – he was only known as “The Tall One” because Ernie was TINY).
After their demise, the face of British comedy would change forever. A whole new legion of comedians would emerge from the Comedy clubs – Stephen Fry, Hugh Lawrie, Dawn French, Jennifer Saunders, Harry Enfield, Rik Mayall, Ade Edmondson, Ben Elton, Julian Clary, Harry Hill, Paul Whitehouse, Charlie Higson and Rowan Atkinson, to name but thirteen.
And now, even THEY are classed as “veterans” by the latest wave of comedians. (SH*T! I’m getting OLD). If you want to see Eric and Tommy at work, check out “My YouTube” in the bogroll at the top right of this column. Their like will not be seen again.
America’s recent hysterical ranting AGAINST “socialised medicine” has bemused us Brits. Even words like “Nazi” have been bandied around. WHY? Let us examine the issue in depth.
The British have always been HORRIFIED by the system the USA traditionally uses to care for its citizens’ health – and with good reason. It is based on THE ABILITY TO PAY – not NEED.
This IMMORAL concept means that people’s health needs are determined by businessmen – whose number one concern is PROFIT for their company.
The Americans who object to socialised medicine claim they don’t want a BUREAUCRAT between them and their doctor – so they would rather have a profit-obsessed BUSINESSMAN instead? MADNESS!
At the end of the day, health-care has to be PAID for. And there are really only three alternatives. You pay for it directly. You pay a company, monthly. Or you pay for it with tax. That’s IT.
But the care you will receive with these three systems will vary RADICALLY. Let us look at the pros and cons of each – starting with…
Direct payment. On the face of it, this is the FAIREST system – you get exactly what you pay for. However, if your body decides to give you trouble, you can soon go BANKRUPT. Also, the system favours the RICH – since only they will be able to afford the more expensive medicines, treatments and procedures.
Payment to a company. This is the system most Americans are on. It enables them not only to SPREAD the cost of their health treatments – but enables poor people who require very EXPENSIVE treatments to get them. So great, then – RIGHT?
Not when you examine the pitfalls. First, most people’s health plan is tied to their employment. Big corporations get preferential rates (for bulk sales) and this enables them to add yet another method of controlling their employees to their list. A list that includes expense accounts, dental plans, company cars and private pensions. It’s like the “tied cottage” of old – quit your job and you lose EVERYTHING.
Health-care has NOTHING to do with employers – bring THEM into the loop and you KNOW you’re going to get SCREWED.
And what happens when you retire? Your last few years In This Place are statistically the most expensive, health-care-wise. Will you still be covered?
Then there’s the health-care company itself. It is a big CORPORATION – whose sworn duty is to DISALLOW as many claims as POSSIBLE. And they have many ways of doing this. Just read the small print – Experimental Procedures, Pre-Existing Conditions, etc.
Finally, what about those who work for small companies who cannot AFFORD health-care payments (having small numbers of employees, they don’t get the preferential rates) and worse still – the UNemployed (currently at least 10% of all Americans)?
Which brings us to – tax. The number one responsibility of any government of a civilised society (after GENUINE defence) is the collecting of taxes and the fair distribution of same, for “public services”.
These can be anything. In a decent society, they will at least include the things that people cannot pay for as they use them – education, health, sewage and street-lighting being obvious examples.
Whilst in a Communist state, they can include virtually EVERYTHING – from transport to housing.
But the more choice you remove from the people, the more TOTALITARIAN your government becomes. Plus your income tax will be ASTRONOMICAL – again, you get what you pay for.
However, health-care should ALWAYS be paid for by the GOVERNMENT and be available to ALL of its citizens (rich people can still pay for superior health-care if they choose).
There follows a couple of examples of why ONLY socialised medicine WORKS…
One: once upon a time, there were two men who both needed an expensive operation to save their LIVES. One was a poor but hard-working 37-year-old man. His health was good. He had a wife and two children – and ran a small business, employing one hundred people.
The other man was 74 years old. Rich, single and retired. His health had been battered by years of over-indulgence. His organs were shot and he would be lucky to see 77.
Under a commercial system, who would get the life-saving treatment? But under a state-run system…
Two: once upon a time, there was another poor, hard-working man. He too had a wife and two children – and worked as a locksmith. One day, the sight in his left eye disappeared. His doctor sent him to a specialist who told him there was a new experimental procedure which MIGHT save the eye.
It would entail micro-surgery and require several weeks in a hospital bed. The specialist mentioned it was a very EXPENSIVE operation – but only in passing, as they lived in a country with socialised medicine, thus the treatment would be free.
The man had the operation. His sight returned – but after two weeks, it disappeared again.
The specialist examined him and declared a SECOND operation still had a fair chance of success. The man had it – with the same result.
This time, the specialist declared that a third attempt had LITTLE chance of success. The man thanked him for trying and lived the rest of his life with – thankfully – ONE good eye.
And this story is TRUE – the man was my father.
But suppose he had lived in America? The treatment was experimental, so his insurance would not have covered it. And he could NEVER have afforded to pay for it. Imagine going through life WONDERING…
Or suppose he could JUST have afforded the FIRST treatment – by undergoing HARDSHIP? Or likewise, the second?
Of course, socialised medicine has its limitations. It can only be as good as the level of funding it receives. In Britain, the National Health Service began in 1947. But in those days, medical costs were LOW. The equipment now routinely used in the likes of “House” and “E.R.” was then the stuff of science fiction. Plus labour costs were much lower, too. And pills and potions.
If your organs failed, you were allowed to simply pass on. But now, using that battery of expensive machines, a CARROT can be kept alive for a hundred and fifty years.
Thus, COMMON-SENSE has to be used. Sure, we can perform medical miracles with EVERY citizen. But can we AFFORD to? No. Therefore, we MUST rely on bureaucrats to allocate resources FAIRLY. At least it’s better than leaving it up to some MONEY-GRUBBING CORPORATE EMPTY SUIT.
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!
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…
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 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 by 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.
They are not CROOKS – just OPPORTUNISTIC INCOMPETENTS.
Oh, and talking of incompetents – FORGET about AMAZON if you live OUTSIDE of The West. They are a TOTAL waste of time. Stick to Ebay – unlike crappy Amazon, most of their traders will ship ANYWHERE and they have much the same stuff that Amazon has. And NEW – not just used.
Forewarned is forearmed!
[Update: Using ONLY Ebay and PayPal (once I had paid more money into my Cyber-account to replace that being held, thanks to Channel Advisor and the company advertising something they had run out of) I finally RECEIVED the U.S. DVD of “The Private Life Of Sherlock Holmes” – it was WORTH the aggro.]
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.
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…
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.
Earlier in these chronicles, I tackled “The Secret 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!!!
So what IS the secret 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 secret of life, the theory goes that if there WAS an answer – we would be unable to UNDERSTAND it.
Later in these ramblings, I’ll tackle the PURPOSE of life…
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.
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!
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.
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.
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…
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…
Les (pron. “less”, not “lez” – his first name was Lester, not Leslie) Paul may not have invented Rock ‘N’ Roll, but he pretty much created everything that makes it possible.
In the Thirties, when electric guitars first arrived, he immersed himself in the technology – and spent the rest of his life developing it.
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 and beloved “Les Paul Gibson”.
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.
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 developed the theories that enabled others to do so. The damn thing would have evolved quite happily without him.
Mostpeople 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 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 – whilst always maintaining a dignified modesty – REVELLED in it. Every night was an ADVENTURE. He never rehearsed – he didn’t NEED to. He just DID it. It was 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 (and “Misty” is NOT on it).
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”). For a sample, hit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXWqmPdU9k4
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…
…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…
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…
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 great 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 STCF 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 piece 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 some day. And her having 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!
UPDATE!!
I wrote the above rambling piece three and a half years ago and more info is now available. It turns out (as a commenter pointed out) that it was her then-partner Peta who gave birth to Sandi’s children. So THAT mystery is solved.
Meanwhile, should Sandi stumble across this piece (unlikely, but you never know) I would like to wish her luck in her career and life. She has settled in nicely on “The News Quiz” – and I never miss an episode.
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 off 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…
UPDATE! As The World Turns …got CANCELLED! Which now leaves Bill as the UNDISPUTED LONGEST continually-serving actor in the same role in the WORLD.
He is 80 now, but if he can keep it up until December, 2014 – he will also pass Helen Wagner’s record: she had been in As The World Turns since its beginning in 1956 – but took a few years off. She then passed, in 2010.
However there is now ANOTHER long-serving Corry alumni – Philip Lowrie. HE started on Corry contemporaneously with Bill, but took FORTY-THREE years off – so does not really count.
But at least Philip does have another record (certified by Guinness): as a regular character in a TV programme – he has taken the longest BREAK in history!
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 had 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?” (In our town, that was where all the big knobs hung out).
“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, Gothic-Victorian houses – at number 79, Dave suddenly stopped. “Hey, 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, it 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, Portia?”
The woman turned and shouted back, “I think it’s the man who pooped in your tuba.”
(My name’s Morpheus – don’t forget to tip your waitress!)
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 LouellaParsons. Hedda was a failed actress, so was fêtedwith 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.
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…”
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.
The World According To Morpheus 