Music: Swell

Swell.
A newish thing.

Opinion: The War against Singles. (or, Am I allowed to be a citizen without stewing my D.N.A with some other 'loser'?)

It is over four months ago that I crossed this battle line, casually sauntering across an unmarked and unremarked 'no man's land' and not realising at the time that there was even a war taking place, let alone one that, without hyperbole, is more devastating than all of those depicted in the Star Wars Prequels combined... at least to me.

She crossed those lines with me, before returning promptly to our original position... except is was no longer 'our' position... she went with someone else in tow. I don't blame her frankly (#1).

On one 'front' the army is made up of lone, autonomous units... possibly bitter, and like as not, more hormonal and moody through lack of sexual release. On the other: families, networks and groups, backed by all governments, religions, culture, tradition and artworks ever....and I mean EVER (But most likely, still fairly hormonal through lack of sex)

Yep. On one side is the 'Couple'... the fundamental basis of the 'Traditional Family unit'. I am now on the other side. I am one of those 'single' types... (Don't worry, bitterness and sexual drought are not the focus of this ahem... 'discussion')

...and now, particularly with the 'run up to Christmas advertising binge' hammering the point with all the subtlety of George Lucas's Romantic dialogue, I realise that all culture everywhere really really hates single people. I mean it. Utterly. Hates us.

Now, I've been single before, obviously, to paraphrase that over-rated platitude fountain, Lady Gaga, we were 'Born that way'. Back then I didn't notice. I'd never known anything else, never been in a long relationship, never stepped onto that most exulted treadmill to 'House, kids, useful and productive member of economy'...

Previously I'd never had society Smile at me with motherly indulgence. I was permanently below the line of sight... at best a nagging irritation, unwilling to 'Be a winner at the game of life', which as MB so helpfully portrayed in their game, consisted of getting kids, a mortgage, a house and then dying after toiling for tedious year after tedious year.... but I was safely outside of this...

Then, suddenly, I wasn't.... I was in a relationship. I was one of the annointed ones. I was being advertised at... and I mean properly, not just by putting tits next to a soft drink and expecting me to make up some tenuous connection for myself. I started to fall into that role. I couldn't help it. Society made it inevitable.

Now I'm back on the other side.... and jeez, it really is a shock just how far society is willing to go solely to remind us that if we aren't paired up and planning on squirting our DNA into the gene pool, well, we might as well be a serial killing sex offender... who probably stuffs 'bath salts' up their bum... and... well whatever else that scares the family minded...

The strength of this intrinsic cultural loathing was laid bare to me while reading a fun little bloggers bun fight. This silly bout of 'bald men fighting over a comb' featured a wonderfully illustrative little spite-nugget. In a list of all the reasons Blogger B was a 'Weirdo' (#2), Blogger A stated, as their coup de grâce:
'Blogger B, who has never married...'

And that was enough. On that single statement hung innuendos ranging from 'being a bit of a loser' to suspect sexual preference... all the way up to paedophilia or being a nut case, dirty-mac, blade-licking kiddie-murderer

It is of course possible that Blogger B might well have eschewed marriage because he's constantly fucking multiple attractive people in marathon sessions of the kind of athletic sex that could put an eye out if performed without adequate training and simply hasn't had their mouth unoccupied for long enough to ask anyone... Maybe. But just by implying 'Single' his foe insinuates 'Loser'.

And common usage is on his side here.

Name me one film which features a strong, happily single character, but which at no point concerns itself with trying to staple them to another human being?

Go on... I'll wait.

Ok. There is *Insert name of sidekick to sassy female lead who drinks, smokes and has a 'good time' in rom com where the heroine frets about finding love with some bellend*

Congratulations if you named any one of the 400 films/characters that might fit the above statement. Now watch that film again and when the inevitable scene appears where the 'spunky sidekick chick' realises that she is living a 'hollow existence' and tells the unappealing lead that she 'envies her relationship', please feel free to hit yourself in the teeth. Perhaps with the corner of a table or something.

Ok. 'Guy movies'. Surely they aren't subject to this sort of production-line, faux-romanticism?

Obviously. This is polemnic, I don't mention contrary viewpoints, save where I can subtly undermine them with language.

Name a male lead who is happy to be single? OK. Now name one who isn't an irresponsible bed hopper that eventually 'realises' that she's 'the one he wanted all along'?

Ok. You've thought of one name... he was enjoying the single life and he never settled down... and he didn't have an introspective 'hollow life' moment.
...but wait a minute. That guy wasn't the lead was he? In fact I'm pretty sure the chracter you're thinking of was being portrayed throughout the whole movie as a total douche? ... and what was the evidence that we were given for his Stoma-douche status? Oh yeah it was his cavalier attitude to women and relationships and etc etc... (#3)

Even Testosterone crazed action movies usually feature at least one 'relationship scene' if only to show that the muscular, oiled lead with his shirt off isn't one of those 'gayists'. Oh and then her (near inevitable) death can be used as a plot point.

Rambo 3 features a particularly classic example. Being captured and tortured is obviously not quite 'personal' enough for the human bazooka, so he has to meet a 'simple peasant girl', fall in love with her and watch her die... all in under 5 minutes. Only then he can get get REALLY angry...

Of course the music world is so chock full of examples of this kind of 'single' loathing that it barely needs a mention. But here goes...

Most songs are about getting together in some way. Either for soaring emotional encounters that tilt the earth on it's axis, or for sleazy bump 'n' grinds that also tilt the earth... well less 'tilt' than rock back and forth.

But what about all the split up songs... where does the career of Adele fit in with all this? She's always banging on about being chucked?

Well exactly. 'Storytime Adele' is on a journey. It's pretty much the same one everytime, but then again, no blame there... this is such a popular narrative construction that it is endlessly applied. Seriously, see how many songs fit the dollowing structure.

She was in a relationship. Things are Good.
She Isn't in a relationship. Things are bad.
She is 'Getting strong' again. Things will be good again.

Yeah yeah... there's a lot if 'I don't need you to live my life and I'm stronger and blah blah blee blah'. The implication remains though, the relationship was the normality. Disequilibrium comes with the break up... and what is she getting strong for? Well, most likely it's to 'learn to love again'

Ok not all songs, movies, novels fit this exactly. But the vast majority of them do. When exceptions do occur, they usually entirely outside the 'conventional' narrative structure, used for artistic and subtle reasons.

So in order to see the worst offenders we have to go where art and subtlety are only used as weapons of conquest. Yes, as always the most blatant effects are in the world of advertising.

Don't get me wrong. Advertising hates couples too. They hate them plenty and bombard them constantly with reasons to split up... but that is a blog for another day. However, no matter how much Advertising despises couples, that is the mild distaste of a vicar in an old novel compared to the loathing it espouses for those worthless singles.

In adverts Single men are either useless losers, pining for the girl... or unrealistic cartoons clicking their fingers and the girl comes over. The girl is usually enticed by a teenagers jizz-scent concealer (Like Lynx) or their choice of pallid, taste free, Coffee-alike beverages (All Coffee manufacturers  ever)

Women are given a tiny bit more depth, but the types are the same. Single but pining until fulfilled by a man, possibly attracted by the smell of your shampoo and not the fact that you are model-level attractive (but unrealistically shy and bumbling) or Single and enjoying life, and only content to be fulfilled by 'a man' if the guy is good enough... in this case 'good enough' is denoted by having no shirt and prominent abs. Of course in adverts, that guy always turns up to grab up our sassy heroine.

Strangely the only advert that offers even a semblance of balance is one that has a direct, financial interest in converting singles to couples. It is a dating agency. It states that being single is amazing, but being in a couple can be more amazing... and that's as close as you'll ever get from the advertising world. A world that has only a few a seconds to grab you and can only deal in broad strokes.

However, it is for this reason that advertising is probably more indicitive of societies attitude to the uncoupled than even movies or music.

Society hates singles, because as yet we are not playing their game. It has to get us in line. Making Babies, being good, contributing. How does it do that? Well by exalting 'The Couple' until it is the only natural ambition for anyone not in one, oh and making the idea of being excluded so utterly unappealing as to be unthinkable. This it can only do by constant, relentless and exaggerated attack.

And now I am on that side.

The contrarian in me believes that I should stay here. Revelling in my solo state, flicking the Vs at society and couples alike. Maybe try and be like a single character in a movie, living a life of carefree abandon, but without the manufactured 'realisation' moment...

Yeah yeah... That's what I'd like to think...

Chances are though, as soon as there is a willing hand to grab I will take it in mine and we'll both run back across 'No Mans Land'

Back to society's 'Winning Team'

...and now that I've made it sound so utterly appealing... any takers?

#1 Yeah. To clarify: The 'societal pressure' bit is emphatically NOT the reason she is 'not-single' any more. I may be an omni-douche, but even I don't have quite enough douchery to attempt to piss on her new relationship. Besides which it would come off as the bitterness of a lonely, singleton... a.k.a 'Loser'... and he's alright to be honest.

#2 Both are weirdos... out and out fucking weirdos... obviously, but not due to marital status, but because they are bloggers

3# Porn is the obvious exception to this rule. But luckily, with the internet now parcelling that out in clips, tailored to your own personal seedy proclivities, hopefully that weird anachronism that is 'Porn Storylines' will go the way of the freakshow, an antiquated curio that seemed to be all the rage with those oddballs in the past.

Opinion: A job that definitely requires a penis (or, How to do a whole C of E blog without making a 'Bashing the Bishop' joke)

How many jobs can you think of where a Penis is a necessity to complete your task?

Sperm Donor perhaps?... although to be honest the testes are doing most of the actual 'heavy lifting' there...

Top Class Gigolo? Again... that equipment is handy, but not essential... just ask Young Miss Anne Summers, a young lady who owns a shop devoted to the noble idea 'Better Living through Technology'

Snow Signer? Yep... apparently you can 'Write your name in the snow' But since I haven't heard of this ANYWHERE save the punchlines of American Sitcoms I'm not sure it 'exists enough' to actually count... and either way the effect is easily recreated, substituting the penis for having instead: a funnel, a cavalier attitude to personal dignity and a lot time on your hands.

So... not many jobs that actually have external genitalia as a 'fundamental requirement'... in fact I would classify it as a 'scarcity'... or maybe a 'Don't be such an utterly absurd divoid McDumble-twat'

Now... You can debate endlessly about whether gender roles have a part to play in the employment world... and by that I specifically mean 'You'... because I know better than getting into a debate with partisans. They are dull people.

Obviously, by now, you all agree with my argument about cocks and their necessity 'In the work place'. How could you not... it was argued so well?

Anyway... A particular set of 'Cocks in the workplace' have decided that they only want 'Cocks in the workplace'... And that Work Place is... The Church of England...

To be fair Women are allowed to be priests. So that's all fine and dandy and good and 'equal'... as long as you aren't a priest with ambition to get 'ahead in the business'

Nope... at 'Footsoldier' level they love 'the skirts'... it's just that above that level they still love 'the skirts'... instead just using them to wrap 'the cocks'...
(please note: The use of the word 'cock' to denote the male gender IS going to continue... if the idea of male clergy and church leaders being referred to in this way bothers you... I'm delighted you have read this far... it's use is no reflection on whether or not they ARE a cock, just that certainly possess one)

Yeah, that progressive bastion of peace and love to all men, The Church of England have voted to deny women the chance of becoming a bishop.

Yes ladies... you can be a physicist seeking out and explaining the beautiful processes that make our wonderful universe actually work... but you can't be the boss of a bunch of people who have decided amongst themselves that it was done by 'Magic' and it's their job to tell absolutely everyone about it...

Some of you may see an undercurrent of religious cynicism in that previous paragraph, perhaps hiding between hilarious analogies and masterful use of language.

Yes.
I am an atheist. I can't deny it.

So why take an interest?

Why not just steal and reword the Bill Hicks joke: "Cool... now there are Priests of both sexes I don't listen to"
I could ramp up the Britishness perhaps: 'Crumbs... from here on in the clergy will contain two genders whose proclamations have no bearing on me, by crikey'
Nope. It's better the original way. 'Brevity is Wit'.... apparently.

So why do I care... and why would I tempt the ire of the tiresome type who thinks that hearing a couple of (admittedly outstanding) recordings makes them an expert on Bill Hicks, comedy and the entire universe by disagreeing?

Well. We're not in America. The 'Church of England' bit should have been a give away.... and although it seems to be a British tradition to pretend that we're intellectually/culturally superior to our Baseball inventing cousins*, this is utterly unravelled by the fact that they have a constitutional seperation of Church and State... and we don't...
So think on next time you make a 'Guns and Bible' type joke...

(*Don't think we patronise the Americans? You weren't on Twitter when Obama won and the site was a sick-making stream of people saying 'Well Done' from behind their computer in a country where David Cameron is Leader... yeah... they may be leading the world in many technologies and gave us Jazz and Blues and the concept of Pornography with Attractive people, but we still give them a pat on the head and a biscuit when they 'Get Democracy right')

So yes. 'Our' national church is not seperated from our state. In fact they are utterly bound together, not just in pressure groups or tax breaks. No. There are actual seats in The House of Lords, our second chamber of parliament, that are reserved only for Bishops.

Honestly. Sounds silly? Well... the whole thing is. We can't vote these people out. They influence our lawmaking. They debate complicated financial, ethical and scientific issues that effect all of our lives, regardless of whether we believe as they do.

Yeah.... so, The Church of England has an actual, honest-to-goodness say in the running of the actual country... not just on religious matters... on everything. And 'Everything' effects everyone... kind if goes without saying doesn't it...

And for some reason they seem to think that you simply can't do that without a penis and testicles hanging between your legs...

Thanks to them there remains, in 2012, areas of our political hierarchy that are utterly inaccessible to women... oh and anyone with a rational thought process as well of course... but that is a debate for a different day... and probably another person.

(Note: Sorry I have neglected this blog for a while. Been writing a new novel, doing a whole load of 'Real Life stuff' and beginning a new album for 2013, 'The World is Coming to get you'...

So look out for all that... )

Music: Catagelophobia and Troubled Skimp

I know it's been a while. But been very busy with new writing and some real life stuff.
Have a new thing and a new 'skimp'
Endure!

Music: Boxes

Album from 2008 - Boxes.

Included with 2 extra tracks that weren't available on original version.
Enjoy...

Opinion: UK politics goes 'Zany' (or, when a dullard claims to be 'crazy' can you section them under the mental health act?)

Everybody knows a certain type of person.
An approval junkie, so scared to appear 'ordinary' that they go out of their way to advertise any quirks, foibles, flaws or abilities that might lift them out of the 2D world and into the world of human types that you inhabit... (not me obviously, you.... I am made of text and wires... you are a fleshbag)

These specimens are usually dull enough that dullness becomes a genuine, physical danger for them.... if their dullness reaches a critical level, their heart will stop beating out of sheer despair... or perhaps to save those around them from a slow and tedious death...

Sadly the quirks, foibles, flaws and abilities they use to bolster themselves are usually every bit as dull as the actual personality they are struggling to obscure...


And always they announce these 'quirks' with ludicrously overblown adjectives, thus...


Oh My God... I watched Eastenders last night... So Random!
It's mental how many crisps I can eat. My cat had been laying in one position for an hour, it's insane!
...and the classic phrase, the one that sends shivers down the spine of every office worker and ensures that whichever face it emanates from is the one to be avoided at all costs, even if it means hiding in stationary cupboards or leaping from windows... The Winner is:
"I'm Crazy me..."

Now... I know 'interesting people' I also know 'Interesting people who crossed the line into full-blown mental illness'
These people never tell you they 'are crazy'
They don't have to... you'll see it in their eyes... and they'll deny they are crazy... even as they talk about the government plot to convince them that they were part of an experimental drugs program designed to make men experience pregnancy*
(*All true... well he believed it anyway)

This is actually rather an upsetting thing to see in the real world... and you can't believe that anyone would aspire to attain this kind of crippling condition, no matter how naive... Anyway...

Yesterday, I had a conversation with a colleague in which he insisted he is 'quite Random' and likes to 'keep things interesting'. What was the behaviour that triggered this pean to the joys of independent thinking? What does he do that is so goddamn unusual that it was worth starting a conversation with me when I was in a surly and unpleasant mood? (ie, in the morning)

Well... he has soup... sometimes.
He thinks that makes him 'Random'
He also thinks his soup is also 'Random'

Now glossing over his misuse of the word 'Random' for a minute I... in fact no... Let's not Gloss over it... let's turn the light on this ludicrous misappropriation in the hope that it causes it to wither and die forever.


Ok... Humans are actually very very very bad at random. We can't do it. It has no evolutionary function, so we didn't evolve it... and neither did any other species of anything. We are pattern seeking creatures, guided by a huge number of factors. If someone says: think of a random number, you say something you have chosen... if you have a soup it is because, for whatever reason you have chosen soup from a number of options.

Basically to be 'randomly' eating a 'random' soup he would have to have tripped over, face first into some unidentified liquid, into which some solid matter had gathered by chance, then eaten it and called it soup.


Now that would have been genuinely 'crazy' and the story would have been worth hearing... at least until I called in some appropriately trained medical professionals.


Conversely, hearing about how his girlfriend selected his soup, gave it to him and he ate it is not a worthwhile story. It is a dull story... and no amount of crazy, zany, madcap adjectives will alter that... all they will do is increase the ambient desperation in the room to an unbearable degree.

So, how can I strangle, batter and stuff this metaphoric outline into the conceptual hole in which I dwell, social media and politics and trends and blee blah blah blah...

Well... luckily, or not... the entire political establishment seem to currently be afflicted with a serious case of the "I'm crazy me"

After all... who is more of a desperate approval seeker than a politician?

Yesterday we had Alex Ross's Autotuned Viral of Clegg's apology.
It single handedly turned a stomach churning cringeathon video into a chirpy, affirming joy. The day prior to this the same apology was blasted as stagey, trite and ill-judged. After some ALX magic it was so universally loved that some tinfoil hat types started to say that Clegg had set up his own spoof in advance... which shows how little they understand this internet thing...

 To be fair to Clegg, he was quick to say that he found the whole thing funny, giving his blessing the thepoke to release the track as a charity single...

 Either way, it worked... and I imagine there are quite a few wonk-types looking up auto-tune software today...

Also today the story emerged that Andrew Mitchell had gone a bit Downton Abbey on some Police who wouldn't let him cycle out of a gate... he allegedly called them 'Fucking Plebs'. Lefties are painting him as an olde worlde baron, slapping at his peasant guardsman. Righties are just trying to confuse the language, saying he could have said anything... 'For King Pubs' perhaps...

Now... it was probably just a frustrated man, wanting people to let him through and not expressing himself with any eloquence... but in these internet heavy times, everything a politician does will be commented on and scrutinised endlessly...

I'm wondering how they might try and spin this one... a lot of his 'friends' are stating that the allegations are 'impossible' and 'he'd never say anything like that'... but perhaps these friends are misreading the political weather...

Perhaps they should accentuate his alleged class-based douchery, make him into a caricature tory-toff, a comedy figure... an out of touch anachronism, harmless codger who can say outrageous things that are 'just funny'... even if they are utter dick-words, like an elected version of Prince Phillip... or your racist, but still somehow charming, nan.

... and why not... after all, the public like, and in fact vote for, comedy villains over competent, but bland politicians every day, in all parts of the world.

 So where are our wonks and Spads getting the idea that this is how we want our politicants to be portrayed to us?

 Obviously, Boris is the motherlode for this trend... or at least that's how it comes across to the political peeps when they see him make a tit of himself, but surge in the polls... What they fail to see is that Boris actually 'is' like that, a huffing, puffing force of Tory nature who just happens to be lucky enough to live in a time where politicians are better thought of if they can hold their own on a panel show. There is no act there.

 Boris is not standing up saying 'I Am Crazy'... He doesn't need to... and with his personality it would seem at best an understatement... no, he is too breathless from hanging from Ziplines or splashing about in Rivers...

And that's what people want...
Or at least they appear to... on the internet, which is the fastest and most fickle of feedback mechanisms...

But when the politicants believe the 'net entirely at face value, they will doubtlessly attempt to recreate those moments on purpose... so we will get more of them, and being planned by dull, career politicos/meeja-types as opposed to hobbyists and geeks and pranksters they will get progressively less and less inventive and amusing...

Suddenly we wake up in a world where the whole political establishment starts wearing wacky ties, doing Youtube videos in silly jumpers, pretending to love our 'plebian' jokes about their 'downfall parody' and shrieking 'all your base are belong to us'... over and over... whilst autotuned... over a Rhianna backing track...

Thus, I will retire from blogging for ever, because parody will have officially been 'bully rammed' to death...

In fact, if that happened and the population didn't rise, as one, to renew that quaint old London tradition of decorating poles with the detached heads of deposed rulers, I would probably just retire from breathing altogether.

Opinion: Diamond encrusted uber-boobs the size of a Planet... no... 2 planets. (or, The Royal Tits have been Stolen.)

This morning the world has awoke to some epoch shattering news.
The Earth shook... Paradigms shifted so much that they twisted together like spaghetti...

All the omens came together at once... Today on the walk to work, I saw a Statue weeping blood, a pigeon sang a Rhianna song, water mysteriously fell from the sky in small droplets... you know... basically we're about a microsecond from armageddon...

The news is.
Kate Middleton has breasts.
Yes... that Royal... she has breasts.
Now calm down everyone... I know... I know.... shocking

So how has this news been 'leaked'... surely the 'establishment' would have suppressed such things... but apparently there was one... just one, courageous photographer... a pap... a gutter-dwelling gusset-snapper... who had the sheer courage to take pictures of these 'breasts', fight off the army of beefeater-ninjas who were guarding her and then escape the area like Jason Fucking Bourne running from an assassination, delivering them to the French magazine 'Closer' who have published them today...

Yep... another nekkid Royal has been caught on camera. This time though I doubt there will be all the worry about 'maturity', 'behaviour' or 'suitability'... this one is more straight forward, long lensing, twattery... the kind that would get the snapper locked up as a massive perve if the subject was one of us plebs... It's just a pity her brother in law wasn't there to throw himself, naked, atop her to shield her modesty... like he was doing with that other nekkid girl... apparently.

I haven't seen these pics... yet. But I guess her boobs are very much like 'boobs'... They don't encrust them with jewels when they become royals do they? Or emblazon them with a family crest, a tattoo of Prince Phillip's face?... They won't be lizard-y... I'm confident of that... Harry's zipper-free man-ass dispelled that myth forever...

They will be boobs. Breasts.

So... what is the public interest?
Obviously the salivating print press pack will be spending most of this morning scrambling to find some kind of justification for publishing them in the U.K, thus making money off what the internet would provide for free

Well, they can't use 'security'... which is their first 'go to' for Royal snaps, and is, at best a pretty tenuous peg on which to hang your press intrusion and even more so since they tried to crowbar it into Harrybumgate*.
(*Yeah... I know appending any news store with the word 'gate' instantly makes you a lazy bellend, but... but come on... Who doesn't want to type 'Bumgate'?)

Yeah... they were snapped on a 'Private' beach... and if the snapper had been a sniper with a missile launcher then blah blah blee blah... yep...
(A few people have pointed out that expecting a beach to be private enough that one of the most famous women in the world can reveal their breasts shows a sense of privilege and entitlement that would even dwarf Kelvin Mackenzie's hypocrisy and Wankstainery)

So... no... it ain't security... you could tell us that security is lax without nipple or ass shots... and the pictures probably compromise security even further...

So... what else?

Well, they can't really do a 'shouldn't they know better' or 'she should have more decorum' bit...

Yeah... maybe it's a little bit daft that she got caught out this way so soon after her brother in law, but daft is all it is... it's not like it was a live fuck show or anything... she wanted to sun herself... it isn't a drunken pool party with socialites. It's peeping Tom stuff... I imagine the snapper to be a real Mouth Breather... and he probably rummaged his pants before, during and after...

So... it ain't 'public interest'... no matter how much you try and dress it up... just isn't folks...

Nope, it's the 'interest of the public'... and the public are interested in tit... simple... we know that... pictures of the chestal areas if ladies are pretty much the scaffold that holds the entire internet together and yes...  there are also other, utterly HUGE industries solely devoted to providing such images...

and so... with plenty... (and I cannot emphasise this enough, so I will use capitals) PLENTY of pictures of mammalian glandage available... usually from people who have been paid, or volunteered... why the hell does anybody actually need to steal tits from anyone? Even Royals...

So... it turns out that, Believe it or not...Kate Middleton's breasts are actually less interesting than Harry's ass... ok... that sounds wrong... I mean the story of the pictures of Kate's breasts is less interesting than the Story of Harry's ass pics...

As so... since I haven't seen these Kate pics...I guess I have to now... it's public interest... it's research... it's... it's... it's...
*Rummage*
*Mouth breathe*
*Sink into the deepest pit of human despair*

Music: Troubled Skimp

A new piece of something... this is what I would call a 'Skimp'

Music: Spiders

This is the sort of thing I'm making at the moment...
It's a bit fierce...

Opinion. Yesterday was Reshuffle Day! The best day of the year (or, if you change the order of the cards does the hand score more?)

The bunting is up... I had my face painted in patriotic colours... and although I couldn't attend any of the many 'Reshuffle street Parties' that were taking place up and down the country, I am taking the day off on Friday to go into the city, perve on shops, and probably drink some cocktails somewhere along the line... maybe head to a parrot zoo... (no... really)

... and all for D-Cam... I do this in his honour...

Now, some people reading this might be wondering why the whole country are celebrating yesterday's 'Reshuffle' with an enthusiasm that makes the Olympic/Jubilee/Prince Harry's Balls parties look like a dull afternoon at that-oh-so-hip panini shop I don't go to because the owner turned into an utter hipster douche...

I know that's a fairly obscure reference, but I know at least one person should get it... and it may be the only thing they understand in this whole post... because they are a 'normal person' and thus recognise that the business of Goverment is to manage them, not to include them... not that they'll read it... and so will never see this direct message to them...
(Yeah it IS YOU... honestly... YOU... prove me wrong... send an unlikely text... saying something like... I don't know... 'You are well sexy' and I'll know you've read this...)
Sit... wait... check phone... weep...

So who here doesn't know what a reshuffle is?
Well... obviously it's supposed to be when Cabinet positions are exchaned/issued to the most suitable candidates to maximise the efficiency of Government... like substitutions in 'that football'... or it would be if you could change everyone at once and play people in any position you like regardless of what they're actually good at...

So what is a reshuffle in the 'real world'?

1) A chance to scapegoat some bellend...

A 'Scape goat' used to be literally that... a goat that was piled high with a heavy load symbolising the 'sins of the village'... this goat would be driven to wander the dessert... and it would die horribly, in great goaty agony... possibly cursing it's cruel owners with the last thoughts in it's goaty brain...

The sins will still have been done though... and those guilty will actually have suffered naught... unless of  course they have a particular emotional attachment to that goat... but still... it's the goat getting the bum deal here...

So... if you were say... a health secretary during a period of particularly unpopular NHS changes, and it was your job to implement and cheerlead reforms... reforms that, let's be honest, were issued to you by your 'masters'... you might think they would cut you some slack... but no... you will be mired in the last vestiges of controversy and sent out... possibly to a role that sounds a bit of 'placeholder' position, Like Minister for Sunny Days, or Minister for the Department of Procrastination whilst the younger bellend who dodged three sackings in 'Culture' gets to swan around your office and say he's fixing your mistakes...

So we lose 'Hate Magnet' Lansley... But don't worry... Jeremy Hunt, the new health secretary believes in the nonsense, woo-woo, witchcraft, BOLLOCKS called homeopathy... which is just a placebo... But, although it doesn't really do anything, it is cheap... so that should cut the budget... and since most people who need real medical care would die, waiting times would go down...

Hurrah for reshuffles

2) It's a vicious bunfight, the like of which the world never sees...

Who amongst you has seen two tramps in a skip, stopping mid-coitus to fight, 'red in tooth and claw' over possession of a can of special brew?
The skip is the media, the Tin of Brew is a juicy cabinet post and you dress the tramps up in expensive, cheap suits and turn the feral-o-meter up to eleven and you have the reshuffle experience...

Uniquely amongst careers, for a cabinet minister their promotion happens in the public eye, and is dependent on public approval... perhaps that is why when the possibility of my honest-to-goodness Twitter Follower* Grant Shapps was rumored to usurp comedy 'commoner' Baroness Warsi as Chair of the party he suddenly had a load of negative reports about his internet dealings dropped onto the internet...
* No, you cynics... Grant Shapps MP, despite the 'fake following allegations' is actually a big fan of my music and is the only person who can name tracklistings of all 4 of my scarcely available cds... he may not be following you with genuine intent... but he thinks I'm fecking ace...

Did someone manage a leak? Possibly... I hope so... I love the Thick of It and secretly hope that all politics is conducted exactly like that... Suspects are endless... people who support her, people who oppose the Tories and see that as long as she's in place they are fundamentally less electable and people who are just fans of nonsensical statements and would miss her outpourings on Newsnight...

Whatever... she went anyway.. to be given a special 'Senior' title that they made up just for her... which is a bit like being told that she's 'Mummy's Special Chairman'

... and my biggest fan, Grant Shapps , is now Chairman. Lucky me... I now have the ear of government...

Hurrah for reshuffles!

3) Unblocking the Idea U-Bend...

Imagine you had a plan... it was your plan and you loved it. But for some reason you told everyone you didn't want to do it... were not going to do it and would never do it... but of course you were still doing it...

Then, as you're sneaking your idea through, one person stood up and still insisted that you aren't... worse still... the person is the responsible cabinet minister... and even worse they look like they might actually do something to stop it... Well...you just 'reshuffle' them out of the way and put in someone who knows when to stand up for principle, and when they should just be faking it...

Yeah, that preceding paragraph looks like gibberish... it is... but it actually happened to the 'now ex' Transport secretary, who has just been shuffled off for stating her opposition to a new Heathrow runway... Which is the official policy of the government. This runway won't happen... but of course, it IS happening... she started to be 'perceived' as an obstacle... and now she's gone to a nothing job... What a coinkidink!

Oh and as a sidenote, this has given Blog Favourite BoJo a chance to score another point at D-Cam's expense... he doesn't want the runway, and he can say so... remember kids, if you're a democratically elected mayor you have no need to fear the Reshuffle Monster... otherwise... well... Boris Johnston would surely feature more in this post...

Hurrah for Reshuffles!

4) Things are changing... honestly...

This is the most crucial aspect as far as the public are concerned. The appearance that 'some' change is occurring.

Of course it isn't... Cameron is still there... he still has Osborne and Gove and the other 'architects' of policy... With Lansley and the NHS... they are just bringing in the PR guy to be the bullet-sponge after Lansley utterly failed to get anyone at all on side...

What are the benefits of the changes: A new Chairman? Transport Minister booted for being the wrong kind of Loyal... Ken Clarke, (in effect) put out to pasture? A new 'Equality' minister who is against Gay marriage?

It's like the bit of the Magic trick where you are shown a 'Fake shuffle'... but that's all it is... a show... the important cards are still safely tucked up the sleeve, ready to be deployed exactly as was intended from the start...

But at least we all get to pretend that something has happened... That's the main thing eh?

Opinion: Giving up subtlety... (or a massive chunk of context for a throwaway gag)

Today would have been Michael Jackson's Birthday... if he hadn't died that is.

I was an obsessed Jackson fan as a child. The first Vinyl I bought was 'his'... 2 actually, 'Legend' and 'Triumph'... oh and I know they were both 'Jacksons' albums, but I was about 5... I wasn't there for Tito or Jermaine... I was there for Michael... and I know my Jacksons...

I stuck with him until the 90s, before abandoning him... for musical reasons... He'd changed his management, production team and even lost Rod Templeton as a song writing collaborator. He was given formulaic pop to sing, songs that could have gone to anyone...

I never gave those allegations much credence, believing that if even if hormone based medication given in his teens* hadn't actually 'chemically castrated' him, it had certainly altered his sexual drives. So although I do believe some of the the things that were alleged were inappropriate, and in fact someone in his staff should have grown a pair and told him to 'fucking pack it in with the kids sleep overs and stuff' I don't think he was a nonce... just foolish and coddled... it wasn't sexual behaviour... just lonely... and sad...

(*There are two versions of the 'hormone' conspiracy theory... one states that he was given a particularly powerful Hormone receptor inhibitor treatment for teenage acne, the dosage being enough to distort his hormone system permanently... the second version states the same, except that it was given to him with the intention of blocking puberty to delay changes to his voice)
But I respect his legacy... (maybe not as much as Prince, with hindsite.... although back in the day I would have cut my tongue out before saying anything like that)

When he died I was at Glastonbury. Tributes gushed from stages and jokes flew from tent to tent... some were good... most were not.

I remember seeing a man walking that morning, just hours after the announcement was made, with a T-shirt saying: 'Jackson 4'... That is a good joke. It is the best joke about his death I witnessed and is, to this day, the only one that made me audibly laugh. Most aren't like this, they're shockingly lazy, often recycled and with a nasty malice at the core...

So... why have I started a Blog about subtlety and the internet with a HUGE discussion about Michael Jackson?

Well, today... I posted a Michael Jackson Joke on Twitter and then on my Facebook. Facebook is fine. It's mainly real people I know and any douche is being a douche on purpose. Twitter on the other hand...

Well... let's just say it 'polarised'. Some were shrieking at me about whether I should even make a joke about him, whilst others tagged onto my post with a stream of exactly the bullshit, lazy, regurgitated pap-gags I just mentioned... and what was my joke? What was the group of nasty words, grouped nastily together to cause such ire?

"Today we commemorate the birthday of a legend, the late, great Michael Jackson and remember his gift to the world... jokes about Michael Jackson"

And how I wish I'd had this post, ready in advance, to send to both, equally dogmatic, ends of the spectrum.... it is the context... the life support system that allows subtlety to breath...

It's a horrible thing to dissect a joke... a joke reacts the same way as a frog woukd... i.e... it dies. But I'll do a few snips and hopefully leave it well enough to hop away...
At heart it's a simple misdirection gag. You think the 'Gift to the world' will be 'Music' if you're a fan, some bollocks about kids or plastic surgery if you're not... but it isn't it's 'jokes'... you are surprised and hopefully you laugh. That's the simple bit... the 'face value' bit...

It's also a joke about jokes, particularly the kind of joke that it is itself...

Honestly. That sentence does make sense. It's a joke about viral style celebrity gags and how they can blot out a genuine legacy... be honest, after Jackson died how many texts did you get discussing whether 'Off the Wall' is better than 'Thriller'?* No... you got texts about kids or surgeons... maybe Chimps...

*Off the wall is better than Thriller... fact

So that is what that Joke is about... it's neither pro or anti Jackson to be honest... it's a joke about jokes... and it's subtle. Which is why nobody on Twitter got the point... The internet can only deal in binary oppositions... black hat/white hat... like an old western. So to some I was a dick because I was making a joke that happened to mention their idol... to others it seemed I was inviting them to link a crass, stolen, ill thought out, gag, to mine...

No... I wasn't... I wasn't even starting a debate...
It was just a joke.... a subtle joke.

But, when presented with the evidence, I reckon it's time for me to give up on subtlety... so...
Duuur Duurrr Duuurrr Sex offences against kids are automatically funny whether they happened or not duurrr durr durrr you made a joke about someone I like so you know nothing and are bad durrr durrrr durrr plastic surgery is, by it's nature, hilarious durrr durrr durr durrrrrrrrr....
Repeat ad nauseum...
Die inside...

Opinion: Only the best in Human Achievement... oh and Will-I-Am...

So... you're in charge of a mission to Mars... the furthest place our youthful species has intentionally left it's first, tentative  mark... (I say intentionally because we've flung plenty of Astro-rubbish and board-stiff cosmo-dogs out there whilst taking these baby steps... do you think anyone spent millions retrieving the corpses of all those monkey-pilots we sent up?)

A robot called 'curiosity' will trundle around, taking pictures, zapping stuff with a laser, tweeting cute updates and generally being a hipster version of R2D2 without the potential for that Hilarious 'whistling noise which might be mistaken for censored swearing' gag...

At some point it is decided that this cute little big-trak will send back some music... the first Mars to Earth musical broadcast ever... in fact the first interplanetary dj set ever... Nothing like this has happened in the history of the universe... It's a big deal...

So, the pressure is on... It has to be right. Lucky you have the entire back catalogue of musical achievement to pick from, from the greatest symphonies, to the most heart-breaking ballads, to the most intricate IDM , to the most experimental jazz, to the most inclusive pop...

Given that, would you choose Will-I-Am?
Would I fuck!

Now... anyone reading this might think that a whole blog is a hell of a length to go to just to regurgitate an old Will-I-Am gag that I've done on Twitter before... probably not just me either... it's a sitter... I mean... it's the first think I thought of when I saw him... Literally... Will-I-Am, Would I Fuck... then I laughed myself into a coma... and by 'laughed' I mean 'Wept' and by 'Coma' I mean into 'my third bag of Haribo that night'

I remember the second thing I thought was: He would be a fine representative for a small English village if they ever happen to have an Olympic torch relay...

Honestly...

Anyway... the first ever broadcast from Mars Fm will be that guy... Not Bowie, the British Bard of space travel, not a piece by Mozart or Hendrix or Bach.... not 'Pump up the Volume' or Radiohead or Stevie Wonder... or even George Clinton and Afrika Bambaataa who are probably the most appropriate, being almost certainly aliens themselves...

Nope... we get William... Bill... Boring Bill... one of the ones from 'that band where they do a sample, then sing over a beat, repeat until fade or mass suicide'... But Why?

At first I thought we must have intercepted a broadcast from another civilisation... having painstakingly decoded it we have decided it is threatening in nature and this is our riposte... an auditory declaration of war on these far off adversaries...

Well, maybe warning shot... we'd save the big gun, Cheryl Cole, for when things got really dodgy, whereupon she will be shot at the alien race in order to deliver Geordie, 'Non-racist'* fisticuffs and horrifically off key vocals until they surrender or voluntarily explode...
(*No no no you cynics... Cheryl Tweedy didn't hit the black cleaning lady because she was black, it was because she was a cleaning lady.. so... not racist... legally... just a horrible, horrible person)

Unfortunately, despite being bad, Willie Yam isn't even good enough at being bad to be bad enough to broadcast for this reason... he's too... too boring. Any Alien hearing him might well imagine it was the audio equivalent of wallpaper paste... it's there for a job, but there's no way you'd notice it on it's own...

So, why use a poster child for tedious mediocrity... a 'rapper' that would make the Wham Rap look edgy...

Well... I think we did intercept a signal from Aliens, it is threatening and so, instead of sending out anything that might provoke an invasion we've opted for something so dull that nobody in their other-worldly minds would ever think of coming here...

"Fuck... what's that sound... where's it coming from?"
"The red one... it's sending it to the Blue/Green one"
"fuck... are those planets at war or something"
"Doesn't look like it"
"They should be... just... just turn it off... even though I can't understand the language you can tell he just keeps saying the same things over and over with the same noises happening"
"Must be what they're into in that Galaxy"
"Well...fuck going there... if they like music that takes longer to listen to than to make... they can piss right off... oh and tell all the other advanced races, until this lot can tell the difference between 'music' and 'a job lot of expensive samples unimaginatively assembled behind 7 or 8 words' there's no point in making contact"
"we could.. you know... just blast the galaxy into atoms?"
"They are suffering enough already"

So... in conclusion three points.
1) Will-I-Am is the greatest hero the earth has ever seen and all are indebted to him for every breath they draw

2) Space Travel is fucking awesome, but shouldn't pander to silly trends... it's a fucking Robot... and it's broadcasting from the surface of FUCKING MARS... if someone thinks it needs Will-I-Am to get 'the kids' interested then both they and those kids can fuck off... (although I suspect this isn't even the case judging by the Global reaction, from all ages, to the death of Neil Armstrong)

and,
3) I can't wait for the politicians to come back from wanking about on their holidays so I can actually write about something interesting... well not interesting... nothing is more interestinger than space travel... but something where I don't need a science doctorate to write something coherent and instead resort to a demented wibble about shit pop stars to find an 'angle'
*sobs*
Come back Clegg... all is forgiven...

Opinion: The Not-So-Current Bum (Or, 'news' without the 'new')

Today, that bastion of inestimable print jornalism, The Sun decided to bravely print pictures of a naked Prince Harry, caught in the act of 'Having Fun' in a vegas Hotel Room...

Some quarters are up in arms about this... it's all: "Post-Leveson" and "Intrusion" and "Blee" and "Blah"
Others are ecstatic about this... it's all "Post-Leveson" and "Press Freedom" and "Blee" and "Blah"

Anyone insane enough to have read this blog before might expect me to take the side of one particular set of Blee Blahs on this, and they'd have a point... I've never been shy in stating that print press is a running sore, and quite a dangerous one, spewing feculent puss into the trusting eyes of it's readers, and permanently warping the way they see the world...

I've never entirely bought that whole, 'we just hold a mirror up to the world' schtick...and the phrase that I am most proud of, as a writer, is the description of newspapers as 'Wanky Opinion Comics'... so I would scarcely call myself 'unbiased'...

(oh and I know this Blog is all opinion... that's why I put it in the title line... I also know that it's more than a little bit 'wanky'... but I never claim moral authority, and the only thing I hold a mirror up to is my own ravaged visage and then only briefly, before dropping it and shrieking...)

Anyway... although I don't 'like' the Sun in general and don't think they should have 'dun' it, it isn't for the usual "Oooh, Tabloids are Icky" reasons... in fact it's quite sympathetic... and I'd like to offer them some tactical advice... but in a nod to narrative convention I shall leave that to the end, hopefully forming some sort of conclusion that will make you nod to yourself in the cafe, take a sip of your 'victory' coffee and tearfully think to yourself 'I Love new Media'

So, perhaps as word padding, here are some of the reasons against publishing the pictures that I don't agree with/care a row of buttons about.

1) Intrusion.
I think it's fair to say that the 'intrusion' ship has sailed... thoroughly... in fact this ship has sailed, arrived, docked, been decommisioned and replaced by an airline service. That airline service is called 'The Internet' and it was airdropping these pictures whilst it's rival was still loading up the 'Limes for Scurvy'

This isn't a tabloid buying gutter pics of gussets, or doorstopping some poor unfortunate caught up in a celebrity affair, or even showing an 'evil' picture of someone accused of an atrocity, but who may well be innocent.. No... this is someone, allowed into the inner sanctum, armed with one of those 'oh-so-rare' camera phones the kids have these days... whether they were 'leaked innocently' or not, it still has more in common with a misjudged Facebook Pic going viral than a guy dressing as a comedy arab billionaire for stings.

No, the intrusion was that douche who brought the camera, and then let then pics onto the internet.... the currant Bun simply doesn't have the readership to beat it...

2) Respect for the Royals.

This... well I couldn't care less about respecting them. That's the Sun's job... I have nothing against them particularly, for the most part I don't consider them at all, until the media force them down our throat or someone uses 'Royal Assent' to ease us into a war. I find them a vaguely amusing tradition, quaint little set dressing that looks good on the periphery of things like... say, the Olympic ceremony... or that Jubilee thing... imagine that without royals... just a bunch of soggy boats and Paul McCartney singing Hey Jude... to himself... that would just be upsetting

The Sun seems to veer wildly in it's opinion, from serf-like deference, usually when some Johnny Foreigner makes some small faux pas against the myriad inexplicable social rules that surround them, all the way through to disdain for minor royals who dare to prefer theatre to war... (which, with a Patriarch like Phillip is probably the braver decision)...  all this via a pervish voyeurism, particularly if they are lucky enough to have some fresh, human DNA stirred into them and are thus 'attractive'...

So... I respect them to a point... but not as far as worrying about these pics... He looks quite good in them, fairly 'fit' and clearly enjoying himself... he is also clearly 'not a Lizard'... sorry Icke, no zipper down his back... fair play to the girls as well... he's a catch... nobody really comes off badly... except the douche who brought the camera and let the public into a bit of private sexy horseplay. The Douche..

The Royals just come across as a bit more fun... and therefore put off their inevitable binning for a few more years.

3) Questions of Public 'Decency'
Don't make me laugh... The posed mock up that they'd already printed trumps that thoroughly. Wealthy socialites being candid snapped is one thing, getting a 21 year old female intern to get her kit off batters that in the indecent stakes...

If there's a bare 19 year old pontifacating on the day's most intellectual stories on the third page, then the naked man ass on the other pages will do little damage to the moral fibre of the readership... in fact it might strike some necessary balance...
So what is my problem with this move?

Well, this may sound strange, but I thought the adversary more worthy than this... It seems like the move of a weak king, dressed up as a show of strength...

Ok... it's being pitched as a two fingers to Leveson... people in the News Int camp are saying this is the newsman taking back the news from the judiciary... it's bold... it's brave... it's the press rising from the ashes...

But of course it isn't... if they'd published on Wednesday that might be true, but now... too late. You aren't the brave boy who swaggered past teacher early on the last day of school, you're the ninth... and you're muttering 'But he did it first sir' as you display this defiance...

This is so disappointing to me. I like the Sun to know how strong it is... simply because it still fucking is... it is stronger than a gossip blog, or some little website... but it lets then take the flack and then claim that it's leading the charge...

Now... for me, they should have just styled it out... tried taking the moral high ground... say it isn't news anymore... because it isn't... it was on Wednesday... and quite frankly, in the position that all Print Media is in, I wouldn't be trying to emphasise how much braver, faster and more plugged in the online media is...

No... I'd be leaving that sort of bobbins to the anarchic world of the blogger and empasising all the advantages of print... whatever they may be... I just know that it isn't speed or bravery...
If you're admitting that a nerd in their bedroom, in baggy pants with food stains, can best your media empire... well, you start to look like an endangered species, a big lumbering thing... close to death and wheezing...

...and print media isn't there...

Well... not quite yet.

Opinion: All hail our new I.H.S Overlords! (Or how to use Jingoism to get TeamGB behind your wacky idea)

Bloggers choice: Today I had two things to potentially write about on here...

1) a light fluff piece gently mocking the N.H.S 'brand' proposals... based around an image that I find amusing

B) A strongly researched and controversial polemic about providing assisted suicide facilities to the physically healthy, but mentally shattered... this would not be a light read. It would be uncomfortable and heavy, like receiving a mercury enema in a gravity well...
Luckily, number 1 wins... fluff rules the day, it's easier to be flippant than to bother with serious research in this humidity to be honest... but stick around for that other one... it will appear eventually... and it'll be a 'Laff Riot' akin to Leigh Francis doing all of his 'character' at you... in a locked room... forever.

So instead of that I bring you fluff... and Fluff that will only deal in boundless positivity...

...and that might be tricky, because I'm planning a fluff piece about changes to the N.H.S... A subject that usually gets all sides in the political spectrum frothing incoherently... much like the 'pro-life debate' for the U.S, it is as divisive as it is obvious who is in the right.

Today the idea was floated to make the N.H.S a global health brand... a provider to the  world, probably on  the back of that very subtle advert Danny Boyle snuck into that Olympic Shindig... with Brand N.H.S's stock being so high it is no surprise that the world is crying out for merchandise: Bieber fans are throwing away posters of their hero and instead putting up N.H.S issue, 'standardised patient assessment sheets' whilst Lady Gaga was seen wrapping herself in N.H.S issue surgical bandage and saying: "Healthcare... I am a snake... the snake is art and my little monsters are provided free at the point of delivery... woop... I have a new single you know"
A phrase which 'Pop Linguistic' experts theorise may 'have something to do with the N.H.S... perhaps'

But how do you sell this idea back home. You could use 'numbers'... blather a load of statistics: 'if we blah blah in overseas markets blee blah blah we could improve investment in Bibble bibble Blee Blah and...'

Of course everyone in Britain knows that any number issued by an authority figure is likely to be utter nonsense... so... you have to appeal to something foreign and strange... something new to the national psyche, in order to  get slip it under the conscious radar and sneak it around the layer of cynicism that makes up 80% of the national character.
 
You have to appeal to 'National Pride'

Before the Olympics, the only thing Britain was honestly proud of was our self-depracation. Now... well... if Bradley Wiggins had asked for a peasants revolt... well, let's just say Westminster would have a row of head on spikes, the country would be renamed 'Team GB' and we would have our first, for life, genuine 'God-King'... and he would be a cyclist...

...and it is in this spirit that the Government needs to market this latest N.H.S change if they want us to really 'go for it'...

This isn't the old N.H.S, sitting around and waiting for illness to come to it, this is Team G.B.N.H.S and its going to chase down bad health, regardless of which country it's skulking in, catch it and kick it's putrid face off, before planting a Union flag in the glistening raw head flesh and singing a rousing rendition of 'Hey ]ude'...

Eventually we'd have Giant Robot Hospitals roaming the world on arachnid-style legs, firing anti-retroviral drugs into mouths of grateful H.I.V sufferers who weep and wave the new flag of the I.H.S, a clenched fist, clutching a syringe, punching a virus in the throat... however that might look.
On the horizon, a great flotilla of giant 'destroyer class' hospitals would rule the waves, surrounding a territory before bombarding it with sexual health advice pamphlets, prescriptions and quality assured surgical implements.

The commandos of this elite I.H.S could invade sovereign nations, bringing healthy foods and forcing a regime of cardio exercise onto people who are, in all honesty, slightly less appreciative than the H.I.V sufferers were.
But still, under the flag of the Great British N.H.S (Brand) they would be welcomed around the world.

The job, to make you healthy, even if they have to fuck you up to do it...

In fact people would be so joyous and grateful that they would spontaneously throw money at this I.H.S, so it could do that most implausible of tasks of being free at the point of delivery whilst still, somehow providing funding for the coffers back home...

The People of the U.K would love this new, go getting, health service more than ever... We'd cheer it on like an Olympic boxer that had won a gold despite 'only getting into the sport a few years ago'... we too would start buying the Team G.B.N.H.S merchandise... the 'official' catheter, the repeat prescription, the essential medical procedure...

...and it would all be so exciting that we'd probably even never notice that it was no longer 'National' or 'Free'...

Harsh Sleep Deprived Opinion: Late Entry in The Bellend Olympics (or, Spelling the 'Cult' of personality with an 'N')

I am never at my best when tired.
It makes me snarling and irritable...
It makes me want to go into a field of sacred cows armed with frag grenades, a chainsaw, bleary eyes and a wonky grin

There is a fair chance that some people might be offended by what I do to to this particular Bovine... but A) I'm too tired to give a 'Flying one at a Rolling One' and B) This guy is an utter Douche... I  mean really... Pick your heroes with a bit more care and you won't have to read stuff like this..

You may notice a lack of swearing thus far... that is a conscious decision... if I were to allow myself that little luxury then this post would have just been a copy/paste of an online profanity dictionary, with a name at the end... and that name: Julian Assange

Who is wizened enough to remember the first time any allegations were brought against Michael Jackson? I do... I was a child... I loved Jacko... I thought it was outrageous that my idol should have to answer to anything... on the other side they hated Jacko, and they also didn't think he needed to 'answer' for anything... just be strung up as a sex offender.   

Now, with the benefit of Hindsite I imagine there must have been cooler heads, smart people who said: "Well these are serious allegations and they need a thorough and transparent hearing"

Yeah... those people would have existed, but I wouldn't have heard them... or heard them as 'enemies', because my stupid, cola-bottle addled, child's brain could only process information in Black and White.

3 Points about that.
A) Does that kind of thinking sound familiar to you?

2) I still don't think Jackson's behaviour had a sexual dimension, but getting into bed with other people's kids is weird, creepy and someone should have delivered a healthy slap early on and told him: "Not Ok!"

D) Aren't you glad I didn't go for the Black/White gag? Someone, somewhere would have enjoyed it... but I wouldn't... I'd feel like a twattish mid-90's Comedian... and if you think you might have preferred to read that kind of joke, please leave... now... not a joke... roll up your laptop or smartphone as best you can and insert it into your colon in whichever manner you find most comfortable and do one...

Ok... with all of that in mind I shall begin... and remember... On this one I'm actually one of the 'cool heads'... even if my delivery is akin to a rabid tramp swearing at a goose in recycling bin...

Ok... I will now put in a point by point polemnic about why Saint Jules of Assange is just being a douche these days.

1) What's the opposite of a Martyr?

Politically, I am on the side of Wikileaks. I believe they do important works and may have donated to them in the past... I say 'may' in case any recruitment agencies are reading this and are put off by the idea of me donating money to a whistleblowing database, in which case that is something I didn't do...

Unfortunately the Wikileaks team now seem to be mainly a sounding board for Assange. Fair enough if his allegations are related to free speech issues... like say... Bradley Manning... but they aren't... they are to do with gross misuse of what that great 'Poet of the Penis', Russell Brand might call a 'Dinkle'...

Whether the allegations are criminal or not I'll return to later. Whether they are worth mobilising the entire force of a large organisation like Wikileaks for I can answer now... No... don't be stupid... Every association with this tawdry little escapade makes the once mighty Wikileaks look less a people's channel for disseminating  important information and more a happy-clappy cult of Guru worship.

He is using the whole Wikileaks organisation as a shield and it infuriates me... If it's non hierarchical, you should treat all individuals based on merit... in which case Manning should be the centrefold, and Assange airbrushed out. If, however, Assange is the actual 'leader' he should act like one and answer the legal questions so as not to damage the organisation, not act like every attack on him is an attack on Wikileaks, free speech, Puppies, Kittens, Sugar, Spice and 'All things nice'

2) Being a douche isn't a crime?

This is without a doubt my favourite nonsense misreading of these allegations. The upshot goes: 'Sure... he said he'd wear a condom... but the cheeky scamp took it off... whatyagonnado?'

So people see it as a douche-move... not a crime...

Ok... first off... the initiation of sex is NOT when that Condom is most needed... The... ahem... 'climax' is where it does it's best work... where it earns it's kudos... taking it off halfway through means you really needn't have bothered in the first place... Unless there was something else going on...

Ok... so in Law, consent to sex is kind of a legal contract... it is binding and can be withdrawn or amended... importantly it can have 'conditions'... if the condition of consent includes wearing a condom, then that's what you do... all the way through...

Put it in this, equally romantic and erotic, perspective... if she was selling him a car on the condition that he stuck to an agreed payment plan, but he stopped paying and kept the car... that is theft isn't it? Likewise... if the allegations are true, it is rape.

Now, perhaps these charges are 'trumped up'... but I don't know because the victims can't have their day in court... remember, if it's true then actual rape victims are getting silenced because the perpetrator is figurehead for a free speech website... if not well, he can clear himself and really stick it to the Governments of the world... wonder why he's not doing that?

Oh... and I'm not even going to get into the utter bellendry of doing that to a woman who specifically asked him to 'wrap up'... They stretch you know Jules... and no matter how large your mighty mutant Martyr's member is It would not burst because of such confinement...

If you don't respect your partner enough to follow the conditions... you don't deserve the 'play'... no matter how much of a rock star freedom fighter you think you are...

3) This isn't a spy film douche...

Now, I know Wikileaks is a massive irritant to many Governments, and it has also provided those same Governments with information on other Governments who in turn got angry with Wikileaks... I'm sure there are many in the intelligence services who would love to see him go away forever...

But that doesn't mean that this is entirely a political escapade... the best evidence for which is Assange's recent behaviour. He seems to want to portray himself as the Anti James Bond... a government wrecking cross between Jason Bourne and Ernesto Guevara... but that isn't how he's acting... frankly he's acting like a teenage film douche...

Ok... track record... and for this exercise let's assume he's completely innocent.
He is accused of an offence in Sweden... scarcely a tin-pot dictatorship rife with kidnappings and the kind of debt that leads to overly dodgy deals... No, they're seen as fairly calm sorts, who are of course signed up to the same declarations as us, which prevent extradition where real harm is probable... those pesky human rights acts that the Daily Mail bleat about...

So, does he answer these high-profile allegations in the full glare, and by that toke, protection of the worlds Media? No... he legs it. Ending up in Britain... perhap's he's a secret Daily Mail reader and believes all their 'Soft Justice' rhetoric... What he isn't is a tactician... Britain has a much more favourable extradition process with the US than Sweden... Damn!

So he's now in a far worse position if ending up in The US is his real fear... but not if his real fear is ending up in Sweden and facing these charges... anyway... he appeals to the highest UK courts... all of which decide there is a case to answer... In Sweden... to which he shrieks: 'But I don't want to go to the U.S' and legs it to an Embassy... and then it gets really weird... I mean proper demented...

He runs to Ecuador for help. Ecuador who don't really have much sympathy for human rights causes. Ecuador, who admittedly don't have a strong extradition process with America, but also don't have any human rights protection in place if they did decide to bow to pressure.

I don't think it's unreasonable to say that Ecuador are, at best, accepting him as a political pawn, either to show defiance of the US, or... well maybe something more nefarious.... Put it this way, if it was me, I'd be worried that Ecuador might arrange an under the counter deal with the U.S... Their pockets are deep and anyone can use a little extra money... of course, that would only worry me if the U.S were my real concern... not Sweden...

Of course, if you're (hypothetically, of course) trying to stir up as much publicity as possible and avoid Sweden, those actions make perfect sense... if not they look like the plot to a rubbish spy movie...

4) Thinking you're the centre of the Universe is 'Anti-Copernican'*
(*A joke adapted from Prof Brian Cox being witty)

But didn't he offer to be questioned in Sweden if they assured he couldn't be extradited to the U.S... and also offered to be questioned by Swedes, under juristiction, in London?

Yes... and doesn't that appear reasonable?

Sort of, if you think you're the centre of the universe and that intricate international law is just a set of guidelines that can be abandoned for the convenience of one man. Sweden is legally bound by it's extradition process with the U.S... they cannot assure him of anything, because it may turn out he's done something. Under those circumstances they would be in breach of international law if they kept to that assurance.

Likewise the U.K is legally bound by it's commitment to Sweden... they simply cannot let him leave U.K soil. Also, allowing the questioning to take place here is in violation of both UK and Swedish Law... and while all this is going on, the UK remains bound by diplomatic agreement with Ecuador. It cannot use the loopholes available to get at him, no matter how much simpler that would be, because it would set a precedent... Law is complicated. You can't just mess them about all over the place, ignoring any consequencr, just because you are the almighty 'You'

Conclusion:

Yeah... I'm expecting abuse for this one, mainly from people who think that defending Assange and defending Free Speech are the same thing. But this is just my own, personal, sleep deprived opinion... That said... That he's a douche and he's using a noble organisation to shield himself from the consequence of his own douchey, egotistical actions...

Who can remember Sabu... the hacker who was compromised by intelligence services and ordered to undermine Anonymous? Well they want to  ask for their money back... he's an amateur compared to Assange... and it's outrageous. Now more than ever the world needs Wikileaks to be Wikileaks... Not a message board for a publicity-obsessed narcissist.

(P.S. There is really no need to call me a douche... I already know this... and am I in the Pay of the Lizard People? No... but I am welcome to most offers...)

Opinion: 2 Messy Break-ups at once...surely David Cameron is the unluckiest man who ever lived..

Now that the Olympics are well and truly over and the dust has settled, it's time to take a chilled, dispassionate look at all the winners and Losers... and for once it is utterly clear on this occasion who is who...

There’s something strangely perverse about feeling sorry for David Cameron. Never has a man appeared to be so designed for high office… presumably from conception onwards he was supposed to be 'the boss'... In fact this may have been one of the few occasions that the subject came up during the conception.
"I tell you what dear, if I hit the target with this little blighter, I'm sure our boy... and it will be a boy... will one day use his thoroughbred Genetics and inherited wealth to hold a fractional lead in a messy coalition Government"

Given that, my feeling pity for him must be roughly akin to a levied peasant in Egypt worrying about how the Sun God Ra is getting on with the other Gods.
But I do feel sorry for him. In fact I think he is currently the unluckiest man in the world...

... and here's why;

The Olympics, and lack of  political news have highlighted the fact that D-Cam appears to be going through all the trappings of a very messy break up… except in this case, he's in the impossible position of handling two ex’s at once. Two... and I can tell you that is the most unenviable position in the world.
Making it worse, neither are particularly subtle.. in fact, although very different, both are equally troublesome, publicity happy and keen to tell all of Dave's mates how he was "crap in bed and was scared to pathetic blubbing by the (utterly dreadful) Paranormal Activity films"

Well... Metaphorically speaking of course...

Nick Clegg has taken the route of the 'mopey fantasist' Ex... My personal favourite… He’s wailing about how it was 'That Bastard' who broke the rules of the relationship: "The bastard… *sniff* the utter utter bastard... but, we have to stay together for the children and... *sob*... and I still love him and you know… maybe If I lose that extra pound and *sniff* have my hair done he’ll still want me back… we can still make this partnership work... I know we can... *Massive theatrical breakdown*"

You can imagine Nick starting off the evening by getting ready to go out, putting on new shoes, spending a lot of his time making the new 'break up hair do' look ‘just so’, all whilst listening to inspiring power ballads.

But you can also imagine him ending that same evening having not gone anywhere. Eye make up running down the cheeks, looking at reception pictures of him and Dave in the ‘Rose Garden’ in happier days and instead of ‘I will survive’ he’s snivelling along to ‘The Winner Takes it all’ using an empty gin bottle as a microphone… But on the news.To the whole nation.

And then there’s Boris… The 'Other Ex'

He of course has gone completely the opposite way: genuine confidence, looking great, his new hairdo has worked a treat, and now the serious business of flirting with all of Dave’s old mates can begin.
Now when both of them turn up at the same party, like say, the Olympics, it's the Glamorous Bojo the crowd are all waiting for… nobody looks over at Dave at all, except with shifty, suspicious, sideways glances... and when Bojo finally silks in, all glittering smile and lush barnet, all the heads turn... even Dave's as he is briefly distracted from standing in the corner, trying to appear casual... and as if he still totally belongs there, whilst putting on his best 'Not at all bothered over here' face...

But all the onlookers know what he’s really doing there… You can imagine the conversation going something like:
Wealthy Tory Donor 1: "Oh god HE’s here.."
Wealthy Tory Donor 2: "Well I didn't invite him"
WTD1: "Nobody does these days.. I tell you he better not come over all jealous and make a scene..."
WTD2: "I know... he shows up everywhere... like a stalker..."
WTD1: "Well... I'm not standng for it... Look, if he even looks like he's going over there.. yeah... you just get between them… I reckon I’m going to go for the first dance tonight"

This is Boris being wooed by the city… (apparently)… the form this 'wooing' might take I dread to think. With our BoJo it could be almost anything. The upshot remains the same: some powerful people seem very keen that Boris should be the next Tory candidate to be Prime Minister.

How do we know this, well probably because a completely different group of powerful people have engineered a leak to make it look like the first group of powerful people want him in.. either way at least one group of powerful people genuinely think that their best interests are served with the Ex…
Poor D-Cam knows this… and even as he tries to show himself off at public events, being all 'over the relationship' and 'well casual' and 'proper virile'… he's still got that other ex in the background, snivelling: "No No No... We're together... you need me… we can be back how it was… the Coalition cannot fail..."

...and if you can't feel sorry for that predicament... well... you are either made of stone... or you're one of those ex's mentioned above... and if you are... and you're actually reading this... the message is simple:
"You go girlfriend..."

A Cheery wave to Potential Future Employers

Hello there.
There are many reasons you may be reading this. Perhaps you are a political 'slash fiction' obsessive and have Googled the phrase 'George Osborne Piss Bukkake'... terms which have brought people to this blog in the past, whereupon I cannot even begin to imagine the 'wilting' disappointment they experienced.

You may be a friend of mine, scanning my gibberings for 'cries for help' or other evidence of that cataclysmic breakdown that has been in the post for two decades. Don't worry, I am a 'Brinksman'... All the pleasure for me is derived from sailing close to the edge, giving every impression that I will fall at any moment, but, in reality I am never less than completely in control... The bouts of hysterical laughter/weeping/animal impressions are just theatrical tools I employ.

Maybe I tricked you into coming here, luring you from your preferred social network by attaching the link to a gag, or hashtag, that was just too damn enticing to pass up... In which case, sorry... the entries prior to this are much more entertaining... oh and can you click on the 'music links' dotted around this page... you don't even have to listen... you can mute them... I'll never ever know that*, but I will see the 'play' statistic one day and it will make me smile... think of it like charity... but free... and for someone who doesn't particularly deserve, or need it.
(*Unless of course you leave me a comment telling me... but at least I'd get a comment then... I keep hearing about a plague of 'Trolls'... they must be afeared of me)

You may even be a member of #TeamBozier...

Most likely you've got here through the 'Badly Drawn Roy' post... which still gets plenty of visitors every day. He seems to be doing ok, although I have had no further direct contact with him. I'm happy to have helped, although the people who contacted me about it seemed to massively over-estimate my involvement...

There is however a possibility that you are a recruiter, or an employer, who has Googled my name to see what that sewer of human behaviour, the internet, will vomit onto their desks when my name is uttered...

... and Luckily you've ended up here first, and not my 'George Osborne Many-Wee-Wonder-site'... (Which honestly doesn't exist... although it should... and if I had the erotic fiction skills I would make one... I mean, look how well 'Fifty Shades of Lame' is doing... now... 'Mild Squirm' fiction for girls... that's where the money is)

So hello to you... and whatever job you're searching me for, I can assure you I'll be very good at it... and of course much more hard-working than is apparent on  this Blog.

I am however puzzled as to what you hope this little search will achieve? Really... I'm not complaining... far be it from me to deride your procedures Potential Future Boss... that would be stupid... but, has nobody ever told you: Nobody is completely themselves on the internet... because that is what the internet is for.

Some of my friends who read this blog have asked me about this: Am I worried about what I write on here, bearing in mind that you... yes 'you' are actually now reading it... (Oooh... how 'Meta'... if you are a recruiter reading this blog, drop me a clever comment... and then give me that job... whatever it is)
...and the answer to that is: 'of course not'... it's a mildly snarky opinion, music, social media and politics blog, it could never have any bearing whatsoever on my ability to do any job... it's fluff...
So those same friends ask: Well... what about your portrayal of yourself as an acerbic misanthrope who lives entirely in the realms of social media and the internet...

Well... in that case I have to entrust in the intelligence of the reader (You... Yes, your intelligence... high pressure I know) I imagine if you are able to use a search engine, you will be able to understand the difference between the real world and the 'let's pretend' world.

I mean, I bet at least half of you immediately started shaking your head when you saw that I used that awful, tawdry 'A friend asked me' device a few moments ago in a vain attempt at keeping this meander-wagon steered in the right direction... Of course I've never been asked these questions... anyone who asked them would be insane, and incapable of any human interaction... let alone 'Friendship'. As soon as those questions left their non existent lips, I'd punch them in their non-existent face... except of course I wouldn't because 'they' don't exist... and the 'me' that types this is an internet persona...

All clear?

So the queation remains: What can you really learn about someone from the internet?
The Answer: Well... nothing really... nothing of any use in the actual material, fleshbag world... Why? because the internet allows, nay encourages all of us to lie and exaggerate...

Someone I know says on Facebook (complete with imagex flitered to resemble a Polaroid shot): 'OMG Had The Awesomest Breakfast Ever!'
They didn't... it was fry up... just an unremarkable fry up without black pudding... a fact which no 'trendy' filter can disguise

Someone else says 'Big night last night... proper dead now'
Well they aren't are they? There's no way to Tweet from beyond the grave... (or is there? see previous post... whether this idea interests you or not, it's simply funnier than this one)

The internet is no better a source of important recruitment information than a horoscope... or the graffiti on a toilet door... or the ravings of the woman behind the bottle bins at Tesco who insists I am Roy Orbison...

On the other hand, this you can trust implicitly oh wise, witty and attractive recruiter person...
I'll be bloody great at that job...
Whatever it is...
...oh and I like Black pudding on a fry up...
Don't judge me...

Internet startup: Inanity beyond death... How to continue to babble from beyond your, richly deserved, grave...

For those few people who have read this blog more than once (stalkers, sexual deviants lured in by odd search terms, blog favourite #TeamBozier and the like) I may come across as a 'Tron-Like' figure... a man made of  light and wires, who zips around and unreal social media universe on his lightcycle... or special effect 'line'... without a care in your dull, matter-based, human world...

But of course I do have a 'care' in that vile human world, with its 'smells', unusual impulses and personal stickiness and no matter how much I try to ignore it, it stubbornly refuses to stop existing... a great big lumpy, fleshy 'care' that needs to be tended and fuelled and generally maintained whilst reacting in all sorts of disturbing and unpleasant ways to various stimulation under the smug excuse of 'emotional response'

Yes I am talking about the skinsack that holds all the important bits together, my body... the envelope that contains the 'essential me' on it's tedious journey from birth to death, via a series of trips to chain coffee outlets and bouts of existential despair. There is no upgrade scheme for this piece of hardware incidentally... and the only people seriously looking into separating the useful parts from the meat bag are 'Astral Scientists' who seem to think the solution involves smoking weed and engaging in marathon staring sessions at patterns from old, failed cultures they pretend to understand... as opposed to my preferred solution which involves highly invasive and destructive surgery and a 70 foot tall mechanical body..

Yes, ALL of you internet people are, like me, attached to a load of biological processes in shoes... which will, like all inferior biological technology, clap out on you one day... it will die..completely.. and there is no way off stopping it, and there's no reboot... it will be gone, but the real you... the internet you, will just continue to exist, trapped in limbo without those fleshy sausages to press the buttons that allow it to be...

But it doesn't have to be this way...

And that's where my new start up business comes in... for a small cash cost and an incredibly dangerous operation we will attach sensors to all of your major organs. When these notoriously temperamental bio-components finally, and inevitably wear out, a signal will be sent to our HQ and one of two of our exclusive packages will be activated.

1) Basic 'Last words' package.
On our cheapest package, the exact moment you die, one of our operatives will seize control of all your social media profiles in order to process that final update... this can be a factual appraisal: Cause of Death*, time etc... a profound comment, either self composed or created with one of our crack team of greetings card inlay writers...

Of course, death doesn't have to be a downer. you could go for something 'lighter' like: "Dead now, LOL" or perhaps "All your grave are belong to me"

If you happen to have complicated legacy arrangements that involve pirates, traps or haunted houses you could use this service to give your grieving relatives that first, fun 'starter clue'... the limits are only your imagination... and of course the psychological frailty of your next of kin...

*Note, the 'factual appraisal' option is not recommended for all and we cannot be held responsible for any breakdowns and/or copycat suicide/murders resulting from your nearest and dearest reading that you have just ’passed on’ due to severe rectal trauma, dressed as a girl guide in the shopping precinct of Ipswich town centre...

2) Our premier service works in exactly the same way as the budget one, except... it won't stop! Instead, our highly advanced bank of computers will analyse your posting style based on criteria such as: Overall inanity, fondness for pictures of cats, misunderstanding of what the word 'troll' means in an internet context, weird belief in conspiracies... etc etc...

Then the magic happens...

After a curt announcement regarding the (not especially) 'sad' demise of your sagging protein vessel, your social media  accounts will continue 'as normal', but with our machines matching your posting frequency and style, but obviously surpassing your pitifully inadequate 'human' wit, wisdom, profundity and spelling... for ever... and ever... and... well you get the point...

Sounds good eh?

Now to ask Louise Mensch and Go #TeamBozier if they want in...
We will make this happen... for you...

Opinion: David Cameron... Not really a Lizard.. It was a trick!

Yesterday Nicola Adams made History by being the first British Olympic Boxing Champion in the Women's event.

It was an amazing display of athleticism and will. She is a sporting Legend

Everybody watched it. Everybody enjoyed.

David Cameron was watching it. He tweeted a picture on the official Number 10 Feed.

Bless him. Even if it wasn't staged... Well... It definitely looked that way... and it was. I mean... Did he set it on a Timer and prop it up behind the kettle? Nope.

Photoshop/Visual Humour  GOD Beau B'Dor  kicked it off. I won't put his here. Suffice to say they are amazing.... and they would make mine look the amateur hour quick and dirties they are... 

But, I thought, This could be fun. So... Presented below are my contributions to this fledgling meme:

 Dunno what the fuss is about... he looks totally natural here...

David Cameron watching something to remind him of happier times..

Come on.. That Picture was BEGGING for it... I mean... Look at it.

Now... I don't think Cameron is literally a Lizard man... That is far too tin foil hat, even for me... But Come on... it looks funny... he looks like a Lizard. Like in V... or in David Icke's head... so it went down ok, and yeah... a few people passed it around. I got R.T's and even a few utterly uncredited prints of it on 'News Blogs'...  Hence I record it here, under my name.... It's a joke... a silly joke.

But The picture below that. David Cameron watching Boris Floundering in a River... Well that one didn't go down as well.. in fact it sank with no trace... Pity really, because with the time he's having with Boris recently... well, I imagine he would greatly enjoy watching the great White-Maned Woolly Wonder bobbing off down a river... smiling at the thought that, this time, he might finally be gone forever...

Anti-Viral: Dumb-ass Nostalgia Posts... or 'Hit like if you also used to Put your face in a bucket of wasps, broken glass and Sulphuric Acid'

Hello...
Welcome to the first in an irregular series in which I, your splenetic and bilesome narrator, attempt to hook, land and gut the most nauseating memes that float past my beady eye...

First up... Those 'wasn't the time of MY childhood great' messages that Facebook vomits periodically into my timeline once or twice a week...

They are usually put there by people who haven't bothered reading them to the end... I don't blame them... Aside from a sentimentality that is so cloying that even a scouse Peter Kay fan might regard them as a 'bit too Mawkish', they then throw in a weird 'Daily Mail' style 'Cor Blimey that safety thing is a bit Silly isn't it?' attitude to further lose any touch with reality..

If you're on a social network, you will have seen a variation of this meme. They usually turn up with half a million 'likes' and a closing line that says something like:
'Share if you drank from the garden Hose and survived'
'Hit like if you went hungry for refusing your Mom's food'
'Hit like and share if you think that progress and increased wellbeing is shit and you would actually rather time go backwards to a fantasy, 'Lord of the Rings' when you could juggle chainsaws on a bike without a helmet down an unlit road with no phone or medicine without the PC brigade jumping on your back'*
(*well... that's the Subtext anyway)

That in mind I wrote this and sent it into the world...

"My Curfew was when it got dark, even though I had no idea what the word 'Curfew' meant and the fact that 'When it gets Dark' changes year round, meaning it was often grossly unfair and arbitrary. 

When it was time to come in I had to go immediately and if it was late I would worry my Mum, because there was no easily obtainable, portable, communication device that could have allayed her fears... and when we were chased by what used to be called a 'stranger' (statistically, a more common occurrence then than today) there was no way to get help other than screaming for it through a haze of tears and snot.

Infant mortality, abductions and violent crime were higher, but there was no liquid soap.. so that was better... right?

Oh and although you could get your mouth washed out with soap for being 'cheeky', you probably wouldn't for being Racist, Sexist or Homophobic, because that was the staple of 'Entertainment' shows and was thus Okey-Dokey-Fine. 

Yes, I rode a bike without a helmet, and the two times I crashed it it was dumb, blind luck that saved me from death and not well-made safety equipment.

Getting Dirty was ok, but due to the less advanced washing machines/detergents of the time, getting your clothes dirty was not... oh and incidents of filicide through 'Zealous Discipline' were also far far more common...

Click Like if You too have a deluded and vaguely sinister attachment to a period in history, insisting it is somehow 'better' just because it was when you were young!"

I'm guessing my half a million likes and shares are stuck in an internet pipe somewhere. I can wait...

Do I have a point or am I just being a sarky clever clogs?

Well...a little from column A, little from Column B...

I am a sarky clever clogs, but my point is... Things are getting better, both in this country and across the globe. Crime is going down, diseases have better survival rates, base level of poverty is nowhere near the level of even twenty years ago... that isn't to say there isn't more to be done, just that you can only do that by looking forward... the good things in the past are already being built on, that is what progress is....

Part of that progress is an increased awareness of the need for Safety controls for workers... Now, many will confuse this with spurious liitigation by ambulance chasing lawyers... but, like the much maligned 'Political Correctness' it is a neccesary framework to establish, even if (like any framework ever) it is sometimes used by unscrupulous dipshits for their own ends, unaware that they are ruining everything for everyone.

To summarise there was never an EU law stating you have to wear goggles to play conkers, just as nobody ever banned Christmas... but there were three maintanance men slowly roasted to death in a belt fed bread oven (over the course of an hour long  cycle) after the correct procedures were not followed in order 'to save Time'...

I remember my childhood... it was bloody ace...
And the past in general... fantastic...
But, If you don't think you are living in the best of all possible times, (excepting that which comes after), you are either: not looking at the evidence or allowing a nostalgia for your own youth to utterly cloud your judgement...