Lost Property.

Don't you hate it when you lose something? You spend time retracing your steps trying to find it, look in all the places it might be then look in all the places it couldn't possibly be. Once you have turned everything upside down you begin to suspect that a well-meaning but interfering person may have moved it for safe keeping so you'll never find it. Finally you begin to suspect foul play and run through the list of likely culprits in the manner of Miss Marple. Well I've done all these things but I can't find my sense of humour anywhere.

I'm not even sure about the last time I had it, I must have put it down somewhere or perhaps it fell out of my pocket. It's not as if you can pop to Tesco's and buy another one. I was thinking of borrowing someone else's but it wouldn't fit quite right. 

Humour is not a tangible thing but you certainly know when you've lost it. I become unreasonably annoyed at the smallest things. I take things personally that are not meant that way. I imagine that all the world's gods have my picture on their desk and they wake up every morning thinking ' how can we hassle old Stuka today in a kind of personal vendetta. Things that I should take in my stride become stumbling blocks and I worry about things I have no control of. The world becomes a place of pitfalls instead of opportunity.

I decided many years ago that life was too arbitrary to be taken too seriously. It can be turned to dust by random chance or a turn of fate so it doesn't pay to worry or fret, if you do then the jokes on you. If you can't laugh at yourself and the vagaries of life you're in trouble so I had better find my sense of humour quickly before I lose my marbles as well.

Home Sweet Home.

Dearly Beloved and I need to get a new front door. When we had the double glazing put in some time ago but didn't bother to get it changed as we thought the wood looked nicer than the UPVC. The problem is that during the winter the door swells and it sticks in the frame. We have a couple of methods for getting it open and it doesn't cause me any problems although it is a bit drafty. In fact it adds charm and character to the house; well, that's my excuse for not changing it so far. Whilst it doesn't cause me any issues you can tell that the various tradesmen, delivery drivers and visitors are all thinking 'why doesn't that twat get new door.'

Over the years I have had a handful of guitar lessons and one of my tutors lived in Barnet. The thing I remember most from visiting his house was not the knowledge he imparted or the inspiration he inflamed but the humongous spider that lived in his porch. It was a monstrous black thing that used to hang over his doorway and radiate malevolence, it hung suspended in the air as if intending to drop on your head as you crossed the threshold. Had it tried to live in my house it would have received the shortest possible shrift and would have been sent back to the pits of hell from whence it came. It didn't seem to bother tutor Tim though. Tutor Tim visited our previous house once and had the audacity to comment on some edging I had put round a worktop although admittedly it could be considered a little wonky. ' I couldn't live with that' he said,' I'm quite a perfectionist about such things.' I can't remember what my reply was although I was thinking, ' at least I don't have a bloody demon living in my porch.' 

Some things bother people more than others. I have a thing about locks on the bathroom myself although some people have a much more open door policy about their ablutions. I hate going to people's houses where they say 'oh don't worry about it, we just sing loudly.' My mother has a lock on her bathroom, the problem there is that the loo doesn't flush. I think I know what the problem is and have offered to fix it but she just fobs me off. 'Don't worry about it' she says, just leave it and I'll sort it out later, we'll get it fixed one day.' She says there is a knack to it but I can't work it and neither can anyone else I know. I couldn't live with it.

Some people live with things that others would deem beyond the pale. I'm not talking about cleanliness. I mean those quirks in everyone's house that you learn to live with, at least, until you get round to fixing it like my front door. I expect it's those little imperfections that make a house a home and although I am quite attached to our front door, I'm afraid its days are numbered.

Fiddling About.

I'm a haunted man. Many years ago I came across the Phrase 'Nero fiddled while Rome burned.' I can't remember if I heard it or read it but I took it to mean that the Emperor of Rome was playing his violin and lazing around, while the Empire collapsed around him. This is not actually what it means at all but that was the interpretation I put on it at the time and the phrase has remained in my subconscious as an ominous warning ever since.

It seems to be telling me that if I don't 'look to my laurels' I shall suffer dire but unknown consequences. A good analogy would be decorating your house with 
the finest furniture and fabrics while termites are undermining the foundations. Unfortunately pastimes like music and writing fall firmly into the fiddling category. They are fundamentally, when all is said and done and the fat lady has stopped singing, pointless. In the wider scope of things they do bring pleasure to millions, raise us above the animals and are the essence of culture but someone has to dig the drains to prevent the diseases so we don't all die horrible deaths and can live to enjoy the icing on the cake of life. 

It seems to me that writing and music are frivolous and time spent on them is somehow wasted. I should spend my time on more worthy projects such as DIY, car maintenance, overtime at work or devising a way to earn a second income. I feel that I have been dillying and dallying, day-dreaming and procrastinating rather than getting on with the job in hand. I should stop reading fiction and start reading politics, history and science; put away my CD's and tune into Radio Four. Maybe it's time to stand up, be counted and get political, I'm sure they do tea and biscuits at the meetings. I feel I should start getting involved with life itself rather than a shallow reflection of it. 

No doubt over the coming months I shall take life more seriously. I shall read more factual books which will introduce me to things to get unreasonably annoyed about. I shall become more political and rage at the establishment and shout at the telly. I will start doing more work around the house and become frustrated when it doesn't go as planned. I shall try to lose weight, get fit and give up drinking and then resent the time and effort it takes. Nero has a lot to answer for.

Bear Necessities.

After many years of stress and turmoil I have finally decided to make the ultimate life changing decision. I have spent an age feeling that something is not quite right, that I don't fit in; that I am somehow trapped in the wrong body. I am fundamentally flawed. I have at last decided to do something about it. I expect some of you will be shocked and saddened a few of you may have already guessed it and most of you won't understand but I'm going to do it anyway. I am going to become a bear.

After considerable thought and contemplation over the last five minutes, I have decided I would like to be either a brown or grizzly bear somewhere in North America or Canada. I wouldn't want to be a polar bear as it's bloody cold and there's nothing to look except snow and ice. I wouldn't fancy Eastern Europe or Northern Asia as those buggers have no respect for animals and I would probably find myself on someone's dinner plate. I thought about being a panda but they hardly ever get it on and I would get fed up with bamboo after a while. Bears are pretty much protected in North America, I would have to keep my head down during the hunting season but most of the time would be free and easy. 

Who wouldn't want to be a bear? No natural predators because no one messes with a bear, a nice cosy cave to sleep in. Nothing to do and a whole forest to amuse yourself in. You could have hours of fun frightening and stealing off the tourists. Bears are mainly vegetarian so you don't have to go chasing after your food like those dumb big cats and wolves. Although bears do go fishing just for a change in diet. You get to sleep all winter and eat as much as you can the rest of the year.

I already have the makings of a good bear, I'm stocky and prone to put on weight easily, I am placid and laid back unless riled with a tendency towards cute and cuddly. I am clearly in the wrong body, I'm just surprised it took me so long to realise it. No doubt there is a clinic in Switzerland or Russia that can perform the necessary operations and provide the correct hormones for the transformation. I just need to figure out a way to get the NHS to pay for it.




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Stop Press.

Sorry it's a bit late this week, I was having trouble forming a coherent thought.
I was going to write about freedom of the press which has been much in the news over the last week. Sometimes the words flow and other times I can't seem to get the words down to say what I want them to say. This has been one of those weeks.

I was going to make the point that the press set themselves up as guardians of free speech and tell us they are heroes of the modern age always ready to expose the wrongdoings of others to protect the public regardless of the consequences. They tell us they are the gatekeepers of democracy. This gives them the right to print anything they like and upset whoever they like regardless all under the get out clause of ' in the public interest.' What a load of old tosh. Sometimes they get it right such as Watergate and MP's expenses and possibly Profumo but even these are based around sleazy scandal which is excellent for selling newspapers. I would expect most 'wrongdoing' is too boring for them to bother to print. 

It's thanks to the press that older people are frightened witless by 'young hoodies'. That children can't go out to play because there are paedophiles hiding in every bush; or that a sex fiend is definitely going to break into your house and rape you in your bed. It's a fact that everyone on the social is a scrounger and that we are drowning in a sea of immigration. Just recently there has been a review of press regulation because of the shady and underhand way they go about getting their stories. What was the result? Self-regulation. It's like giving the inmates of Wormwood Scrubs the keys and saying ' you can look after yourselves now lads, just don't get up to any naughtiness.' All the papers have a particular bias and are quite happy to only give you half the story. The view from the hill is that the press are more villain then hero. 

That was going to be the gist of it. However I can't get it to work so I will have to think of something else. I expect it's because the subject is too big and too involved for my little blog. I'll try and do better next week, Sorry. 

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Inappropriate

I read in the paper the other day that Chris Rock, the American comedian and actor was giving up gigging the college circuit. He says that people are so easily offended these days that he can't tell a joke without upsetting someone. In fact they even take umbrage on the way to a punchline and he is fed up of all the flak. It's true, there seems to be militant activists for just about anything you can think of from eco-warriors to Fathers for Justice. Given this modern trend for avoiding anything controversial I was a little surprised at the content of the game I received for Christmas.

The premise is this, you play a westerner of Asian heritage who goes back to his homeland to fight for the guerrillas (terrorists) against an evil and corrupt regime; sound familiar? In order to successfully gun down those pesky government army types you need to upgrade your kit. You do this by slaughtering tigers, rhinos and other endangered species to skin and gut them. Any skins you don't use you can sell. There is a specific mission where you hunt and skin particularly rare animals for their furs and skins so a fashion designer can create his garments for a catwalk show. The designer character is absurdly camp and a typically gay stereotype, a little like an Asian Alan Carr. 

Far from being the good guys, one of the leaders of the guerrillas wants to overthrow the current leader in order to set up an international drug smuggling operation on an industrial scale. Drugs are featured all over the game and you can loot heroin wraps off the troops you kill and sell them on. I haven't come across any opium dens where you imbibe yourself as yet though.

So there you have it, a game to upset everyone. I'm not offended myself but I am slightly surprised by the risk taken by the game makers. Clearly they are not worried about having their offices firebombed by animal rights protesters or gay activists or even being censured by various governments for glorifying terrorism.  Mind you in the inappropriateness stakes this is small potatoes, for major league players just look up the Japanese cultural obsession known as 'lolicon'

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The Smell of Success.

So there we were, playing board games on Christmas day exactly as you are supposed to when I was a struck from nowhere by inspiration. It was one of those ideas that could make me incredibly rich. It's so good I'm even thinking of going on the apprentice so AMS can cough up the dough to fund it. The idea is a range of alternative aftershaves.

How about a scent for young teenage males that smells of booze and cigarettes. Instantly appear to be grown up and sophisticated by having the faint aura of smoke and alcohol about you. Paired with a leather jacket you will seem tough, macho and mysterious without having to actually smoke or drink. You will be able to be on top form while appearing to be moody, dangerous and slightly wasted, what girl could resist? Perfect for the inbetweeners generation.

There is a special offer on 'Essence of Choirboy' specially formulated for cons and scallywags. Ideal for those court appearances or when making a getaway from the scene of a crime. Surely, sporting a beatific countenance while smelling of old church pews and well-thumbed hymn books would waive the most hardened judge, jury or police officer in your favour. Of course you can't guarantee results but it certainly can't harm.

Then there is 'Eau du Corps' or body odour in a bottle. Created for those times when you have been skiving but want to give the impression you have been working like a Trojan.You could even add job specific smells such as engine oil, grass cuttings or furniture polish. The boss or significant other need never know you have been snoozing all afternoon and you might even blag yourself some extra brownie points.

It seems like a sure-fire success to me. Any suggestions? 


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