Growing old Disgracefully.

If you go walking in the country and particularly by the coast, you will notice that people you pass will shout a greeting at you in cheerful manner. It's generally something like 'morning' or 'fine day isn't it and they seem even more enthusiastic if they are accompanied by a dog.' I always shout a cheery reply with additional gusto just for the humour value. By contrast, in our towns and cities, people never speak to you except to say 'sorry' for a minor pedestrian related inconvenience. They don't really mean it and never look you in the eye. However I have noticed a worrying trend recently, older people have started to try and engage me in conversation for no particular reason.

You have probably noticed how young children gravitate towards each other at parties or other social gatherings. It's as if they seek a kindred spirit away from the scary, confusing and very boring world of grownups. It's a safety in numbers kind of thing. Children who don't know each other soon fall into playing together and become oblivious of the adult world around them. Older folk are the same, they tend to naturally band together as if they share an unspoken common ground.

Over the last year I have had a couple of instances where an older person has made a tentative approach by sidling up to me in Tesco or similar and trying to engage me in conversation as if they have found an ally and sympathetic ear. I am neither of the above. They must look at me and think 'he looks like a friendly, harmless old duffer who I can swap hospital stories with.' Clearly my dashing good looks and 'flirting with the devil' air need a revamp; I seem to be losing my effortless street cred. I am at the age where I would like to be considered a dashing older man in the mode of a George Clooney rather than an escapee from a care home.

There's nothing wrong with old folk they are wonderful people by and large and of course it's all relative, I just don't want to be one quite yet. I could try shaving off all my hair and tattooing my face but I feel that might be a bit extreme. One things for sure though, the first young whippersnapper who gets up to offer me a seat is likely to get a punch on the hooter.

Men from Mars, Women from Venus? -The Evidence.

I thought you mighty blog readers would be interested in an item I found in the popular scientific journal 'The Periodical'. Apparently, an Archdeacon Ridcully, a faculty member from an obscure but well respected university, has unearthed some ancient Babylonian papyrus which he claims shows proof that men and women are from different planets.

For example, why are women generally shorter than men? It's because the atmospheric pressure on Venus is 92 times heavier than on earth whilst on Mars  the pressure is only 0.6. This effectively kept female average heights down whilst allowing men to sprout like trees. The Babylonians believed this squashing effect is what leads to women swelling in the hips and buttock region in later years. Conversely, due to the rarified atmosphere on Mars males had to put on extra ballast in the stomach region to ensure they were safely grounded.

In terms of climate Venus is Isothermal meaning it has a constant surface temperature, day or night and throughout all the seasons. Being as it's close to the sun this means is hot all the time. This is highlighted as the reason why women have a very low tolerance to temperature changes and are often cold. Mars on the other hand has huge temperature changes due to its distance from the sun and its elliptical orbit. Hence males are impervious to changes in heat and explains their incredulous disbelief when women say they are cold all the time. This also explains why men are hairier than woman as they required additional covering to prevent heat loss. There is no rainfall whatsoever on Venus which is said to account for women's intolerance to precipitation of any kind.

Another interesting variation is caused by the different day lengths of the planets.  A Mars day is approximately the same length as an Earth day. However, Venus spins so slowly (approximately 6.5 kilometres per hour) that one day takes 243 earth days. This has caused confusion over night and day among the female species and causes them to fall asleep at random times such as watching a DVD or to get up ridiculously early in the morning.

Venus has a high sulphur content and clouds of sulphuric acid plague the surface. The Babylonians pointed towards this as the reason women from ancient times could be so scolding and acerbic. Sulphur has also been recently linked to memory which may explain why women can remember things long forgotten by their male counterparts. Another interesting and telling fact is that there seems to be an unusually high methane content on Mars. It's generally considered that men are much more flatulent than women so could this stand as evidence? Man's obsession with size has often been remarked on but this concern doesn't seem to afflict the female population. However, Mars is about half the size of Venus and It's suggested that this fact has caused feelings of inferiority leading to a need to compensate, it's possible.

Over the years since the Babylonians made their initial observations the differences between the sexes have become less marked. Hairy, flatulent women are not uncommon and neither are temperature intolerant men who whinge about the rain playing havoc with their hair. Archdeacon Ridcully's conclusion is that both races found themselves on Earth although it's not clear if it was via space travel or a divine hand. He believes that by lucky fortune they discovered their reproductive organs were compatible and a new race was born, much in the way of a labradoodle. It's surmised that both races left their parent planets to set up home on a much prettier and more pleasant planet where you could hang curtains without them being eaten by acid and chop down trees or hunt animals in a manly way.

The truth has been lost in the mists of time. Modern scientists would tell you that the Babylonian papyrus is bunkum and probably an elaborate forgery but they have failed to come up with an adequate answer to these mysteries. Is the Archdeacon onto something? I think so. 

Lyrical Philosophy.

We only have one car in our family. Dearly Beloved generally walks to work and I often cycle but use the car when the weather is bad so we don't really need a second. Also, I'm too tight to pay for one. It just so happened that last Friday Dearly Beloved need the car for a rare visit to a client so I had no option but to cycle. Unfortunately, it was the same day that the god of comeuppances was tallying my record sheet, found me to be in the red and saw an opportunity to redress the balance. As it got closer to my departure time, the sky clouded over and the wind started to blow. By the time I left it was blowing a gale and the sky had darkened to an ugly black. Halfway there the rain began. I was struggling up a hill against a vicious head wind with the rain coming down in torrents, I was metaphorically shaking my fist at the sky and roundly cursing all the gods when a line from an old song come into my head that made my smile. I pressed on with the cycle with the song in my head and within a short time the rain had stopped and I was arriving at work with the promise of a hot shower. 

The line from the song was 'I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining' from Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. It's one of those songs lyrics that have stuck with me over the years as being inherently true. Often when I find myself  becoming irrationally annoyed at something I have no control over the song pops into my head to remind me to stop whinging and get on with it.

 I have a few of these lyrical gems such as the brilliantly worded 'the worlds your oyster but your future's a clam' from 'When You're Young' by The Jam'. Weller is right, no sooner do you reach an age where the world opens up than the financial commitments and personal responsibilities start piling in. I have always loved the line 'Life is just a bowl of All-bran, you wake up every morning and it's there' from the Small Faces' Happy Days Toy Town. It wonderfully conveys the humdrum ordinariness of life.

Another lyric that sticks with me is from The Who's 'Won't Get Fooled Again:' 'meet the new boss, same as the old boss.'  It just seems to sum up the inevitability of things, a little hiccup and it's back to business as usual. Should you have been around in 1977 you may well have heard of the band X-Ray Spex and their excellent singer Poly Styrene (well, it was punk). Their album included the track 'I can't do anything' which perfectly captures that lack of confidence and anxiety that strikes everyone from time to time. That feeling that you're going to be found out for a fraud at any moment. 

These are a few that have stuck with me over the years and there are many more. I've no doubt that anyone reading this would have their own bank of lyrics that struck a chord (as it were). Well go on then, what's your favourite?

The Left has Left.

I have never been a fan of Russell Brand; he's one of those celebrities who are particularly annoying. Just recently he has been doing the rounds touting his new book promoting socialist ideologies and generally slagging of the status quo (not the band). According to him, the BBC and all the other institutions are complicit in keeping us under the thumb so they can herd us like cattle and milk us for all our money thereby making the rich richer. This is, of course, an old argument and one which is naive and simplistic. Mr Brand believes that there are alternative forms of government and social models (not Kate Moss) that would be fairer. Whilst considering this, it occurred to me that you can't actually vote for socialism.

You can't vote for socialism the same way that you can't vote for compassion or faith. It's something you practice or experience. The great socialist movements came about by people banding together for the good of all in kind of giant self- help group, usually in the face of great adversity. Nobody voted for them. The true socialist's are the 'do gooders', those people who give up their time to help others for no reward. They don't have any political representation and perhaps wouldn't consider themselves political activists but they are. They are plugging the holes left by the current system that relies on their goodwill and selflessness to prevent the 'needy' falling through the gaps. How many people who consider themselves socialist give up their time to go and work in a soup kitchen or hand over some of their wages to a credit co-operative so the socially deprived don't have to go to the banks? Some, but not all. Instead of pointing at those that 'have' and demanding they hand over the cash, they should be looking at those that have less to see how they can help them.

It's quite possible to have a fairer more even handed society but it's got nothing to do with politicians. MP's who claim to want a fairer society should give up their seats and spend their time and energy promoting food banks, credit co-operatives, bartering systems, community assistance programs and enabling the disabled. Voting Labour doesn't make you a socialist. It seems to me that people who vote for socialist parties (if you can find one) are perpetuating the system they claim to despise and ducking their social responsibility. 'I'll vote for you and you can change the world for me because I can't be bothered.' Re -distribution of wealth doesn't work. Giving people money isn't social justice it just enables them to buy a bigger telly so they can join in with the rest of the capitalists but with less work. They don't need more money; they need less dependence on money. 

If you buy an IPad, that's capitalism. If you use the same money to chip in and buy someone a wheelchair who then repays you by helping you out once a week, that's socialism. It's the basis of all major religions and you can't vote for them either, at least not in this country. If everyone who voted Labour applied their natural talents and turned their back on materialism to aid their fellow man, social inequality could be seriously improved within a very short time frame. Politics can't bring about serious social change on its own. It has to come from society itself. In the words of Elvis (yes, that Elvis) "a little less conversation and little more action"

I'm clearly no political scientist but it seems quite simple, if people didn't buy things they didn't need there would be no capitalists and the rich wouldn't get richer. If all the people turned their backs on materialism and turned to bartering for goods or services there is not a damn thing the government could do about it. If everyone went out of their way to help each other then everyone would benefit and everyone could contribute. Mr Brand says it's the institutions holding us back and keeping us down, the mysterious 'them' scaring us into compliance. I think not, it's that there is no serious desire to change, no-one wants to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty no matter how much they moan about it. They are quite happy to let the unseen army of the selfless struggle on whilst planning what extravagance they can invest in at Christmas and do their bit by voting labour and sticking a few quid in the charity pot. They like it just the way it is. They don't want to be reminded how ugly the world is and the establishment are happy to oblige. 

Please feel free to shoot me down in flames, the only way to test a theory is to try and knock it down. If you're still talking to me that is. 

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Seating Psychology.

Dearly Beloved and I went to the cinema last week to see 'Gone Girl and I'm due to go again in couple of weeks with my good buddy and all round excellent fellow Neil to see something a little more manly. I must confess to being quite fussy about where I sit. I like an aisle seat so I can get in and out easily and I'm not boxed in, somewhere near the front so I don't have to look over peoples head's and to the side away from the slurping, chomping and general chit chat of the great unwashed. I think where you choose to sit says a lot about yourself.  

For example, a gregarious party person would probably sit right in the middle surrounded by cohorts and hangers on. The same would apply to any military dictator or mafia boss. It is a well-known fact that anyone up to no good would be sitting right at the back. This is a hangover from school days where the trouble makers, the talkers and the slackers all sat at the back of the class room or bus on school trips. It's a rule of thumb that anyone at the back is up to something they shouldn't be. This also applies to newly dating couples whose interest is more in each other than the film. 

Any wannabe celebrity would no doubt sit right in front thereby making sure that as many people could see them as possible and gain maximum exposure. On the other hand, a genuine 'A lister' would be sitting to the side by the door trying not to be recognised, Unfortunately this would also mean that they are sitting amongst the folk with weak bladders and persons who have to pop out for a nacho refill halfway through the film. Shy people wouldn't sit in the middle of a row because they would have to ask people to move if they needed the loo. Anyone sitting about a third of the way up and bang in the middle is probably using an illegal recording device. You can always spot the people with anxiety issues; they will be the ones sitting next to the fire exit.

The management have started a seat booking system now at our local cinema which is particularly annoying as I don't know where I want to sit until I'm in there. I like to sit away from other people if possible. On last week's trip we sat in the front block which was empty until four teenagers came in and sat immediately behind us. had they not had to pre-book the seats they would probably have sat further away. I can see cases of Seat Rage occurring when people start arguing about what seats they ought to be in. I can't even see any reason for it unless it's a prelude to charging extra for aisle seats and more leg room. 

I've no doubt that most people don't give a fig where they sit, wouldn't give it a moment's thought and just plonk themselves down randomly. Although it's possibly not as random as they think on a sub-conscious level. What my seating preference says about me is that I don't like crowds and would rather have the place to myself. Perhaps what this also says about me is that I would be better off at home with a DVD and a bottle of wine. 

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Crumbling Cookies

Dearly Beloved and I had a great day yesterday. We woke early in the morning with the sun streaming in through the window and the birds singing in the trees outside. We had our usual light continental breakfast at the large kitchen table washed down with a pot of tea and then she went outside to feed the geese and ducks and tend to her small cattery cum rescue home. She doesn't really make any money out of it but she enjoys it. I took the dog for a walk across the fields and didn't see another soul, just me, Bruno and the day. When I came back I went to my office to do my mornings writing which went really well. I always find the view across the valley from my office so inspiring, I never tire of it.

I finally emerged from my office about eleven thirty to the smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen and feeling quite pleased with my excellent day's work. The postman had been and brought another royalty cheque, this one for £250,000.I thought back to the days when money used to be an issue and felt quietly relieved that those days had gone forever. I feel quite sorry for Dave our postman because we have a drive that's about a 1/4 of a mile long. It deters the most intrepid of double glazing salesmen or Seventh Day Adventists from bothering, and just in case they don't get the hint, There is a large and particularly ominous 'beware of the dogs' sign with a picture of a spectacularly evil looking beast. Of course Bruno wouldn't hurt a fly but they aren't to know that. We also bought one of those new phones that recognises sales calls, answers it and then pretends it's you while automatically switching to a premium number. In a good month BT owe me money. 

The lads came round in the afternoon so Dearly Beloved went shopping with her best friend. We messed about in my music studio and knocked out a few numbers, recorded some drums and put the finishing touches to last week's track. We don't take it too seriously and it's just a laugh but I must confess to being quietly proud of some of the tracks. Apparently ours sons rang yesterday and spoke to their mother. The middle ones over the moon as the Hot Tub company he started as just made its first Million. No doubt there will be some ribbing between him and the eldest as he made his first million a couple of years ago in IT. We were even graced with a rare call from our youngest in LA.  He says they have renewed his contract in the hit HBO TV series so at least Dearly Beloved will be able to see him on TV each week even if not in person. 

There are several restaurants round our way we go in the evenings when I'm not committed doing local gigs. Last night we went Italian with Dom, Sally, Rachel and Angus, We had a brilliant time and I don't think I have laughed so much for months, in fact I think someone put a complaint in as we were a bit loud but I expect Gio ( Giovani, the owner) would have given them short shrift. 

We were back home by ten and I took Bruno for his evening walk, I love that time of the night when it's quiet, just the stars for company and the fields seem to go on forever and you are the only person alive. Bruno and I went back home, I did my evening routine and went to bed. I fell asleep with the full moon shining in my window and the hoot of owls somewhere in the distance.

I woke up this morning in my own bed in my own house in the middle of a housing estate to overcast skies and pouring rain with the prospect of another day at work before me. None of the above is true and even if I had the money, that's not the way the world works. Unfortunately, that isn't the way the cookie of life crumbles.

The Y Factor

Dearly Beloved and I went to Great Yarmouth last week to see some relatives. For those of you that don't know Yarmouth, it's stuck in a time warp. Until recently you couldn't walk down the high street without being reminded that Elvis is still the king but I'm pleased to say they have shifted forward now to sometime in the mid 70's. The town is still home to many of those small street corner pubs with a separate public and lounge bars where the decor has changed little in the last 50 years and neither have the patrons and It was in one of these we saw our first pub band for many years.  

I say band, it was more of a rabble. I don't think I have ever seen such an odd mix of people. The bass player looked like an elderly accountant who had turned up after work, whipped his tie off and started playing. The female drummer with goth overtones was probably still at school and the singer was on the wrong side of 30 and dressed in the rock tradition complete with Axel Rose style bandana. The two guitarists were a study in themselves, the old and the new. One was of indeterminate age with an elegantly wasted style that would give Keith Richards a run for his money playing the classic sunburst Les Paul through a Marshall amp whilst the second ,much younger, was clearly from the newer thrash metal school with an Ibanez and an array of pedals. They may have looked a mismatched bunch but they could all play and they ripped through their set of old hits from the 60s, 70s, and early 80s with no problem.

It was one of those bands where the more you drank the better they got. The bar we were in was tiny and the 5 piece band took up half of the floor space with the audience crammed against the bar. The audience themselves were a motley crew of die hard rock fans and they loved every minute off it. The local character turned up in his wheel chair sporting a cap saying 'Rock God.' The band let him get up and warble his way badly through ' teenage kicks.' He forget the words and lost his place in the song but he had a good time regardless. Due to the noise and lack of clarity of the vocals you often couldn't tell what the song was until they got to the chorus but nobody cared. The young guitarist put a solo into 'You Really Got Me' which bore no resemblance to the original and would probably have made Ray Davies drop his guitar in shock. Was anyone fussed? Not a bit. Did they manage to make all the songs sound pretty much the same? Yes they did. Did anyone care? No.

None of the band would have made it through the opening stage of the X Factor because they don't have any of the requirement for being a modern pop star. They don't have the look, the attitude or the swagger although the talent seems optional. However they managed to entertain a room full of people who had an excellent night out and that, dear Simon, is what it should be all about.