Recently in Miscellaneous ramblings Category

I quite like commuting.

Before you start thinking that I have a weird thing about standing for hours on a platform watching train after train be cancelled, or being rammed into an out-dated train carriage and forced to stand with my face in the armpit of a man who smells like he spent the previous evening wrestling weasels on the floor of an illegal moonshine still, let me clarify.

The good point of commuting is the little bookends it offers at the beginning and end of each working day, a moment to get your head together and read, in the company of a multitude of bizarre passengers who you can surreptitiously peer at over the pages of the terribly intellectual book you're holding open in an attempt to make the less weird ones believe you are clever and interesting.

This morning however, a surprise awaited me upon boarding my train. I was in search of commuting gold - a completely empty four-seat section, you know, the kind where two seats face two others and if you get there first you can lay claim to the best leg room.

As I walked up the carriage my path was blocked by another man, clearly on the same hunt, and we pushed forward to the very front of the train, where we had to make do with opposite sides of the same booth.

I think my brain must have just registered the man as just another tired commuter in a suit and I looked up with only mild interest when he started fiddling with a device that I assume was a portable DVD player.

It was then that it struck me - this was no ordinary Jo Schmo commuter, but a chap I had known at school, who had even been in the same tutor group as me. He seemed deeply engrossed in the screen of his DVD device with a pair of blue earphones embedded in his ears and, as I confirmed with myself that this was definitely the chap who had tripped in a gravel-lined car park while on a school trip only to have us squirt the ensuing wound on his arm clean with a barrage from the barrels of our newly-acquired Supersoakers, I realised the full gravity of the situation.

The problem was an unusual one which I have only encountered a couple of times in the last few years - how do you instantly convert a relationship from school life to adulthood?

Now this chaps surname was Bettesworth, but as a result of the imaginative and humourous nature of odious Lynx-wearing, acned youths he was known as 'Betty'. At school there is always a complex social ladder, with the most popular at the top surrounded by the usual swarm of sycophants a couple of rungs below. Bettesworth, I think it is fair to say, occupied the lower rung of this ladder, along with the likes of Stinkey Sturmey and Chilly Chilvers.

Now looking back on it there was no reason for this - Bettesworth (even now I have the instinct to type 'Betty') was one of the nicest people you could even meet, but of course that is often reason enough for teenagers.

It is at this point that I could quite easily rewrite history and say that I gallantly braved the scorn of my contemporaries and stood up for Bettesworth when the spotlight was turned upon him by the crueler of my year. But truth be told I laughed along with the others. I was only one rung above him, having climbed from the bottom of the social ladder between middle school and secondary and, as is one of the unfortunate truths of life governed by the very laws of gravity itself, faeces falls down.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't steal his lunch money or push him down a well, and we got on pretty well. But sometimes you can be just as cruel purely by joining the pack in casually referring to someone every day as Betty, even if you have convinced yourself it is a light-hearted joke in which he shares.

So there it is, that was school and that is how it probably is for all generations, but now here I was today, sat on a train opposite 'Betty', both of us on our way to work in adult jobs, wearing adult clothes and living in an adult world.

A few months back Bettesworth added me as a friend on Facebook and I happily accepted, but now he was right there in front of me the actual prospect of having to engage in conversation seemed a lot less appealing.

Everyone knows those awful conversations with people you had never expected to see again.

"Soooo, how are you? What have you being doing these past ten years? Hasn't the weather suddenly changed?"

Then it would all descend into the depressing world of grown-up conversation, talking about credit crunches and mortgages and other things that make me want to pull my tongue out through my eyes. All it would take is one accidental look of acknowledgment and we would be riding the awkward train to destination 'we really must meet up for a drink some time.'

Then I realised something - he wasn't just naturally engrossed in his DVD player, he actually hadn't looked up from it at all in the last ten minutes. If a party of ninjas had chased a raptor onto the train Bettesworth would not have known about it until he was run through with a katana. He was pretending not to have seen me!

So there it was, we were going to be terribly British about the whole thing - both pretending we could not see a man sat facing us less than a metre away for an entire 40 minute train journey (this became particularly difficult when at one stage I picked up the strains of 'It's Raining Men' spilling out of his tinny earphones, best case scenario - being used ironically to soundtrack a comedy movie).

In the end it worked and I got off at Clapham Junction to seek out a more packed train where I could take refuge in the enclave of a stranger's armpit.

I'm sure there's a lesson here somewhere, but if there is I didn't spot it. Then again we don't have to learn from everything that happens do we?

I literally could not be more annoyed.

Or could I?

I'm sat at my desk, pondering the many misuses of the English language which I encounter every day and silently fuming. So I am pretty annoyed, but what if someone shoved a jar of wasps over my head, beat it with a wooden spoon and made me interview Noel Edmonds using only the question "So why are you so successful?" That would definitely increase my levels of irritation, proving my opening statement to be a falsehood and showing up one of the greatest everyday language misuses which grate against my very soul.

As journalists we are supposed to be smiths of words and, as I referred to in an earlier blog post, accuracy is everything. This is not limited solely to spelling and punctuation but to meaning, which holds an even more important role in conveying stories.

Unfortunately this respect for the official definition of words in the great English lexicon does not seem to be shared by all who indulge in the parlance of our times. A good example of this was spotted by one of our young hacks, David, while watching an 800m Olympic swimming race on television. Apparently as the aquatic foreswimmer gained a healthy lead the commentator was heard to say: "She is literally miles out in front." Really? In the 800m?

So there it is, a common everyday misuse which, if I had been born into my rightful place in society as one of your classic lightning-bolt hurling deities, would see half the population getting a ruddy good smiting. But why stop there? Here are some other common language abuses which would have me reaching for the electrodes:

Pacifically - e.g. "I was pacifically told by the doctor I have an IQ of 45." Hear this world: PACIFICALLY IS NOT A WORD. Specifically, yes, pacifically, no. I won't even accept it to mean 'in the style of an ocean.'

Decimate - e.g. "New York's twin towers were decimated by the September 11 attacks." If they had been then 99 of their 110 floors would still be standing and there would probably be one less terrible Oliver Stone film in the world. This is because decimated means to destroy one tenth of, not completely obliterate as it is so often used to convey.

Innit - e.g. "I went to Lidl to get some gingerbread for me nan innit?" Where do you even start with this one? Okay, firstly it's isn't it, two words, three syllables. But secondly, and most importantly of all, you can't turn a phrase into a question just by adding 'innit' to the end, however much your mates, who have all skipped English class to go smoke crack behind the Humvee shed, agree with you.

Boxercise - e.g. "I can't finish this Pina Colada or I will be too drunk for my boxercise class." Boxing is a word. Exercise is a word. Boxing exercise could conceivably be the name of a fitness class. Boxercise is not a word, it's not even a real thing, it's callanetics while wearing big red gloves so you look like an epileptic clown as far as I can tell.

Right, that's enough vitriol for me for the day, I'm literally going to fly as I have to get to my boxercise class, pacifically at the gym which was built after the cinema was decimated by a fire innit?

I am a goat.
I can't help it, like a twelfth of the world's population I have no choice in the matter. I could have been a mighty lion, a scuttling crab, or even a set of scales (I'm not really sure how that one works), but because I was born in January I am forever destined to be a bleating Capricorn.
It is a source of utter bewilderment for me that in these modern days of science (as the Victorians used to say) there still exist people who take horoscopes seriously and think that the time of the year they popped into this world dictates whether they will have a 'successful day for relationships on Wednesday'.
It was with great displeasure therefore that upon picking up a copy of a certain commuter free paper (I'm not sure why journalists are always this coy about naming other publications, it's not as if people are unaware the Metro exists) I was greeted by the following prediction for my day:

"Today is a quiet and steady day for you, good for getting lots of mundane work out of the way. Not the most exciting of days, but, hey, we can't all live in a soap opera."

I mean really! If you're the kind of fantasist who looks to these columns to tell you how your pathetic life may be improved the least the writer could do is provide a little escapism - your classic 'tall dark stranger' or the like.
With this in mind I have stared deep into the tea leaves, surfed my ouija board, consulted Uranus and compiled my own 100 per cent guaranteed accurate horroscope (events in your life may differ from those predicted, but we can't all be perfect):

Cancer

My God, look at yourself man/woman! You're dressed like a Victorian detective and there's a dead butler in your pantry. Jupiter's presence in the Caramac System and the Sweeney's presence in your house foretell a long trip abroad.
Lucky typeface: Wingdings.

Leo

You will become stuck in a time loop today. You will become stuck in a time loop today. You will become stuck in a time loop today. You will become stuck in a time loop today (now start reading at the beginning again, for this bad joke to get worse).
Lucky sea creature: Narwhal.

Virgo

The tiger you locked in your bathroom last night is only getting angrier as its hunger grows. That door is not going to hold much longer and besides, little Ginny really needs the toilet. It's time to face your problems like a man/very masculine woman.
Unlucky cause of death: Mauling

Libra

Storm clouds gather as you reopen old rivalries, just don't start anything you're not prepared to finish. Pick a window - you're leaving.
Lucky initials: T K.

Scorpio

Don't leave the house. No, really don't go out, not even to pop down the shops. I've seen what will happen if you do and it's horrible, you don't even want to know. I mean it, it's really nasty. I was sick, and not a little bit - it had me awake all night in a cold sweat.
Lucky TV show: Jeremy Kyle.

Sagittarius

It is a little known fact that absolutely no one is born between November 23 - December 21, so no Sagittariuses (Sagittarii?) exist. Therefore there's no point me writing this as no one will read this. Ho hum.
Lucky car: Seriously, just move on and read your own sign.

Capricorn

You will start an ill-fated parody of star signs which, although it may appear fun to begin with, will eventually drag on and on and you will run out of ideas about halfway through. On the plus side check your desk draw - you left some biscuits in there last Friday and you've forgotten about them.
Lucky assailants: astrologers armed with bricks.

Aquarius

This is the dawning of your age (sorry!). Today is a good day to ask out that colleague you fancy. They'll say no but you might as well get it over with.
Lucky drink: A pint of gin.

Pisces

Honestly, how many of these signs are there? I don't know, er, you'll find a million quid and become queen of Siberia. It's guaranteed to happen so get spending now (a one way tickey to Siberia would be a good start).
Lucky time: Four hours ahead.

Aries

You will meet a man, or a woman, or a bear, who you will like, or dislike, or be ambivalent towards. You will marry this person, or have a pleasant conversation, or be eaten by the bear. This will be a good day, or a rubbish one, or quite good with the occasional low. On the other hand you might not meet anyone, you may just stay in.
Lucky colour: The rainbow.

Taurus

Try not to panic, it's difficult being the Prime Minister. Just because no one likes you and you're losing popularity hand over fist that's no reason to stop telling yourself that you deserve to be where you are. Why not try that 10p tax thing again? That was a lark.
Lucky by-election: The signs aren't good.

Gemini

Thank ye gods, at the end at last! Don't look at me like that - just do what you like. You're your own human being, it doesn't matter what I write here your day will be exactly the same. Start taking responsibility for your own actions and maybe you wouldn't be so miserable - star signs are made up, why not believe in something real?
Lucky stuff: Rabbits foot, four-leaved clover, St Christopher's medallion and bag of ducks' eyes.

I read a story this morning which claimed the English language is approaching it's millionth word.
I may well be able to take our great lexicon one closer to this landmark as I am in desperately trying to describe my current condition.
The word I am looking for should encompass a feeling which begins at sheepishness, charges through embarrassment and smashes headlong into the gates of shame.
I think something like supermechafrankensheepish might capture it somewhat, or maybe sheepasaurish.
The reason for my head-hung state of being is that I am currently typing this on a screen which looks like it has lost a fight with an angry metallic wasp.
Whilst going about my business cheerily this weekend I managed to skip merrily into the internet cable, dragging my laptop screaming from its desk and causing time to cease for an eternity as it plunged to the floor.
The result is a horribly cracked screen with a dark electric spider covering half of it and its spindly flickering legs obscuring my view.
This would not be so bad if the laptop wasn't brand spanking new, belonged to our currently cash-strapped company and was uninsured. I fear the whole incident is making me about as popular as Gordon Brown.
Maybe that's the word I need - Brownish. It certainly seems to fit. Anyone got any other suggestions?

The human body is a pathetic thing. At least mine is.
I've been off work ill for the last three days as some invisible fiend has been piping foul catarrh into every orifice in my head before wrapping it in hot foil so it bakes like an over-stuffed potato.
Did this sort of stuff happen in prehistoric times? Surely early cavemen couldn't rely on their cavemates to nip down to the Spar and pick up some Lucozade and a tub of Ben and Jerrys?
I couldn't even handle sitting on a chair in front of my computer in my weakened state and I can't imagine having to hunt woolly mammoths across the frozen plains or tussle with Raquel Welch (okay I could probably muster the strength for the latter, but it might seriously hinder my recuperation).
This all makes me feel rather lucky to be a 21st Century man (formerly 20th Century boy), as I feel in the days of natural selection I would have been ambushed by a hungry sabre toothed tiger while I lay in a fever on my cave floor watching Jeremy Kyle.
I'm not sure if there's much of a point to all this, except for me to maybe indulge in a bit of traditional whingeing about my sickness, but I'm back now and keen to get the website updated, so on with the show...

Right now your home could be in danger.
I'm not referring to the dreaded credit crunch or market crash, but a much more sinister evil lurking in your kitchen.
This seemingly innocuous device has the power to turn a piece of bread into a raging inferno which could consume your house and all your possessions (except that asbestos donkey your uncle Nigel bought back from Spain which you have to keep out of reach of the kids).
That's right, I'm talking about toasters, the hidden menace waiting to turn our suburbs into a hellish apocalyptic blaze.
Many of you may not be aware of the dangers this seemingly harmless invention poses to humanity, and I myself was blissfully ignorant until just a few hours ago.
That was until our office manager received a reply to a naive request from editorial to invite this lurking monster into our kitchen.
Our HR bods were quick to inform her that toasters are a "fire hazard" and therefore not allowed.
If only more people realised the danger they are putting themselves and their loved ones in purely for the sake of a bit of burnt bread, and maybe the occasional crumpet.
So I have decided to spread the word - get home now, run if you have to, tear your toaster from its plug and throw it down the nearest well or convenient chasm, for if you don't you never know when it might strike.
In fact why stop at toasters? I'm proposing removing our kitchen sink as it poses a "drowning hazard" and all our office pens are going right out the window to remove possible "poking in the eye hazards".
If people don't look out for these things for us we will never survive in this terrifying world.

Monday morning, there's nothing quite like it is there?
All the happy chatting faces who were on the train home on Friday, planning meals with loved ones or drinks with friends are now sat sullen and silent, their minds already in the office, their bodies complaining about being rudely awakened by the alarm clock.
I am probably at this stage supposed to claim that my love for my job is such that I don't suffer the Monday morning misery, and don't get me wrong I do enjoy my job and am proud of my work, but I also enjoy weekends, walks in the country, lie-ins, rollercoasters, Pimms in the park, buying CDs, going on holiday and generally not having any responsibilities. So having all these lovely possibilities rudely interrupted by the arrival of the working week is rarely top of my wishlist.
This morning however, there was an extra sting in the tail as I arrived in the office only to dscover we had no internet or email working at all. As web editor this put me at somewhat of a disadvantage in getting my work done.
But it was not just me who suffered, the whole newsroom virtually ground to a halt without its digital tools. Nearly every phone conversation reporters were having feaured the phrase: "I'm sorry, our emails aren't working at the moment, I can't see that."
It is amazing how reliant we have become on the internet and how helpless you can feel if it is taken away. It seems difficult now to imagine a world without it and many people don't even know where to start when looking for information without a computer in front of them.
I'm all for the digital age (not suprising considering my job) but I still think we have to be careful that the web doesn't become our lives, rather than an exciting and useful tool.
Thankfully we're all back up now (otherwise you couldn't be reading this obviously), but it makes you wonder what would happen if the internet went down forever. Sounds like the plot for a good B-movie, any budding writers out there can have that one for free.