Recently in The wider world Category

As a species we are an utter failure.

Take a moment and look out your window. Get up from your chair, walk up stairs if you're in a basement, peer between the bars if you're in a jail, do what you must, but get a glimpse of the outside world. Just remember to come back and finish reading once you're done.

If you are reading this on the day I published it then chances are you just looked out on a glorious, sunny day without a cloud in the sky. But where are you now? Sat back in front of a computer, that's where.

Birds are singing, bees are buzzing, fish are swimming, all manner of creatures are going about their animal business, but not one of them is sitting in an office moving a little arrow around on a screen which makes their eyes hurt.

While aforementioned bees make honey, we voluntarily sit indoors creating systems for applying for passports online, choosing pictures to go with leaflets on safe lifting, making graphs about the volume of flat-bed trucks round international airports, or whatever it is we have convinced ourselves we need as a society.

We are self proclaimed 'kings of the world', but what are we doing with our reign? Creating a load of pointless systems and structures to keep everyone busy until they die.

I am well aware that if no one in the world turned up to work today there would be all sorts of horrible chaos, but if you didn't, just you, what would really happen? Would society collapse? Would the struggles of our ancestors be in vain? Would anything in fact be any different, except for the fact that you didn't spend a day of your short life sat at a computer waiting for the home-time bell to ring?

There are vital jobs in this world - doctors, farmers, power station operatives etc. But increasingly there are more and more jobs which contribute nothing to society - paparazzo, tax inspector, Ant and Dec and so on. How did we come to this?

I am in no way claiming to be above all this - as I type blue skies are nothing more than a tantalising glimpse through a window out the corner of my eye. But I intend to change this state of affairs.

You've only got one life and if it makes you happy feel free to spend it typing out spreadsheets and sending out jargon-filled emails. I for one am going to make hay while the sun shines.

If I told you I felt pheromonaly and spiritually compatible with you would you let me interlace our digits?

Or, in other words, if I told you I loved you would you let me hold your hand?

The beauty of the English language is that there are many ways you can express yourself and describe everything from a glorious sunset to a tiny atomic particle. The downside of this though is that you can use a lot of pointless words to say absolutely nothing.

The Local Government Association recently published a list of 200 words and phrases which councils should avoid using, as they are considered jargon.

Having trawled through my fair (and often unfair) share of unreadable council agendas I agree wholeheartedly with this list, but why stop at local authorities? With one great push we could remove objectionable phrases such as 'blue sky thinking' or 'thinking outside the box' from usage all together.

And while we're at it I've got a few more choice bits of our lexicon which I think myself and the other Word Police (all self-appointed) could crack down on. I'm not necessarily saying these words and phrases should be banned completely, just not used in ways that make you want to drop pianos on the orator:

Basically - Nobody who starts any statement or explanation with the word 'basically' ever goes on to actually say anything basic. This word normally precedes a long, incomprehensible rambling, which could so easily have been edited down to one succinct sentence.

Inappropriate - This word has been misappropriated so much it no longer holds any meaning. It is a favourite tactic among cowardly politicians to accuse people of being 'inappropriate' when said people are doing something they don't like - normally objecting to, or pointing out flaws in, their ideas. This tactic means the accuser doesn't have to explain what they don't like about the other's actions, and it saves them from having to address any issues which may have arisen as a result.

exciting - Jumping off waterfalls is exciting. Learning to fly a plane is exciting. Fighting a genetically engineered giraffe-eagle hybrid is exciting. Rolling out strategies, compiling spreadsheets or completing workstation safety assessments is not exciting, and it never will be, however much you repeat the word.

Needless to say - If something really is needless to say then you don't need to say it do you? Simple.

These are just a few of my suggestions for inclusion on the list. I haven't quite decided what punishment should be prescribed to misusers, but I imagine it would involve a dictionary and that bizarre eye-opening device from A Clockwork Orange.

Feel free to add your suggestions below and together we can create a better, more intolerant world.

Something terrifying is happening and nobody seems to have noticed.

All the signs are there - we're suffering a miserable recession, the IRA are killing people and Michael Jackson is preparing for a sold-out tour.

That's right, our worst fears have happened - we're back in the Eighties!

Somehow Great Britain has become stuck in a time loop and my fear is it will spread to the rest of the world.

Now, I know that the recession isn't limited to our own corner of the world, but imagine if this hideous Eighties epidemic were to spread as voraciously. We must all be on alert, from the global authorities to the man (or woman) on the street. As a public service I have decided to compile a list of early warning signs to keep an eye out for:

• A mass congregation of bricklayers in central Berlin.
• Any of the following being funny: Eddie Murphy, Steve Martin, Dan Ackroyd, Ben Elton, Chevy Chase (in fact if you spot Chevy Chase being funny at all something has probably gone terribly wrong).
• Balding drummers and Geordie guitar prats somehow being considered as the purveyors of cutting edge music.
• Pointless groups of islands in the middle of nowhere with a population of about four being described as 'strategically placed' by our government and the Sun.
• Extra-strength hair gel selling by the bucketload.
• The birth of a boy who, although outwardly appearing to be an awkward geek, of the ilk which could make a good web editor, may well be the new messiah.
• Thatcher standing firm atop a pile of exhausted pit workers holding a school milk bottle out of the reach of a thirsty toddler.
• Noel Edmonds and his buffoon pal Cheggers creating unwatchable television in a studio packed with baying morons.

Admittedly the last one has already happened (I would say check out Noel's HQ, but really please don't), so we may already be too late.

The problem is, now we have diagnosed the disease we have to find a cure. My suggestion - we force the Nineties to arrive early (or late, depending on how you look at it). So run out now, buy a hoody, a whistle and some baggy jeans, I'll call Shaun Ryder and I'll meet you all down the Hacienda. Mad for it!

Do you know where your kids are?

Sure, they could be at school, college, work, or, in my case, but a twinkle in someone's eye, but are you sure? What if they're indulging in a drugs-fuelled orgy, injecting heroin into their ears while writhing in a naked mass of teenage bodies, all being filmed to be posted on Youtube or Facebook?

This may sound unlikely, but that's only until you learn of the immoral activities of 'Generation Sex'. If you are unaware of this scourge on the face of society, let the Daily Mail educate you with this article, published today.

This is textbook Mail stuff - it reinforces the idea that society is something to be feared and we are collapsing into the last days of the Roman Empire. It also reinforces the idea that in 'The Good Old Days' (Copyright Daily Mail), when the world was black and white, kids sat quietly and pleasantly, amusing themselves with a cup and ball and never once even acknowledging they had genitals until they were adults with moustaches (including the women).

The problem is that even if Ms Lichtenstein does have some pertinent points they are buried in such sensationalist ramblings that any dissection instantly leads to their collapse. Glazing over such ridiculous digressions as the obligatory insertion of fear of paedophiles into the piece, it still seems that all we are left with is a lot of unanswered questions, without any real solution being offered, other than to "pull up our pants".

For a start, our esteemed author claims that the internet makes it easy to access sexually explicit material at the click of a button. But there are many parental filters out there which will not let little Johnny and his furtive imagination discover anything more offensive than a Tellytubby.

Then there's just the simple fact that teenagers are teenagers, and I can remember during my youth the excitement elicited when one of my classmates smuggled a pornographic magazine into the playground and displayed it proudly for all to see. Enquiring pubescent minds will find this sort of thing however hard you try to stop them (whether they know what to do with it afterwards is another thing - I remember at least a couple of worried looking spotty faces gazing with barely-hidden confusion at the centrefold in all her adult glory), so surely it is better to responsibly educate them on the facts of life, rather than trying to hide it like a dirty secret, leaving them (often literally) fumbling in the dark.

If Ms Lichtenstein is so worried about these debauched parties her daughter is apparently attending, why is she allowing her to go to them in the first place? She offers us a lot of examples of problems within today's modern society, but no solutions and she seems unwilling to lead by example. What I want to know is does she still allow her 13-year-old daughter on Facebook? Is she making an effort to keep her away from 'Skins parties'? And most importantly has she actually sat down and discussed this whole thing with her progeny? Now there's a video I'd be tempted to watch on Youtube.

Since when have beards been news?

I flicked on ITV news this morning only to be confronted by some unrecogniseable author telling the anchors that beards are pure vanity and Prince William shouldn't be allowed to grow one. Of course this chap didn't have a speck of hair on his tubby face, and I'm willing to bet that if he did decide to grow some facial foliage he would end up looking like a toddler who has got hold of a Biro and scribbled randomly across its chin.

I myself sport a beard which ranges from quite carefully tended and trimmed to, more often than not, fairly untamed and bushy. I do not see this as an act of vanity, if anything it is laziness which buys me five extra minutes in bed each morning, but since growing a beard I have been amazed by the number of people who have felt the need to pass comment on it.

Facial hair has become so naff in the eyes of the general public that people can actually raise money by letting their inner primate out. My friend recently participated in 'Movember', a charity event which originated in Australia, where men are sponsored to grow a moustache during the eleventh month. But if you think about it participants are actually receiving money for being lazier than usual, as they have a whole lip-worth of face which they no longer have to regularly shave.

It seems strange that something which is essentially a natural part of life can actually go so out of fashion, to the extent that people seem surprised if anyone under the age of about 40 grows some chin cover, and now the heir to the throne has decided to bin his Mach 3 it is actually making headlines.

What will outrage the media next? "Harry in hat-wearing scandal"? "Revealed: Camilla wears contact lenses!"? It's ridiculous that we are actually using time which is supposed to be for news to discuss whether it's a good idea for the little prince to experiment with five o'clock shadow.

I realise the irony of complaining about something not being newsworthy then dedicating a whole blog to it, but as a militant beard-wearer I thought someone had to speak up. I don't care if it is no longer the mode, facial hair now has the royal seal of approval and all I can say is leave beardies alone!

I love science, but I hate scientists.

I know this is a sweeping generalisation, but I spent four years of my life at Imperial College of Science, Medicine and Technology, surrounded by the analytic autistics, and I'm afraid it has tainted my views in a way that can't be remedied.

I was reminded of the reason I most dislike members of the scientific fraternity today when I read this article on the BBC news website.

Science is a beautiful thing, it contains incredible revelations, such as the fact that all known matter is made up of only 118 elements, and uncovers even greater mysteries, such as the double slit experiment, which shows that light can act like both a particle and a wave.

The problem is the people who tend to research science are, by definition, scientists. Now I'm sure there are a few good egg scientists out there who can empathise with people's feelings and recognise things outside their own work as being important. The problem is that in the academic world these people are probably not very good scientists.

Apart from a small group of my close friends (I know that I would say that, but remember that birds of a feather drink heavily together) almost everyone who I encountered at Imperial fell into the category of bad scientists.

These people are not malicious, or in any way stupid, but what they are is blind to humanity. They are the kind of people who could be talked into designing a bomb which could destroy the universe for the sake of the challenge, and then be suprised when someone actually builds it.

Everything in the world of scientists has to be rationalised - there is a theory that if you knew the position and direction of every particle in the universe you could map out the future. But where does that leave humanity and the concept of free will?

The above article angered me because it is part of this whole school of thinking that says love is nothing more than synapses flashing in our brain, predictable human behaviour, part of our internal programming to make sure we procreate and the species survives. Who is anyone to tell us that our ideas of romantic love are delusional? That there is no such thing as love at first site?

Why can't people be allowed to believe in magic, even if they are wrong? Why does everything have to be explained? Why shouldn't we hold out for someone we believe is perfect for us and who seems to be able to read our mind?

And the worst of it is that once again the good old media get the blame. This time for spreading an unachievable view of the romantic ideal.

But if you look at it I think it is the exact opposite - the media and advertising have been killing the idea of true love for ages. Open any fashion magazine and you will see airbrushed pictures of the beautiful folk wearing £1,000 dresses or cufflinks studded with diamonds, with vacuous unemotional looks in their eyes.

Television tells us we must all be on the property ladder and decorate our homes with IKEA cupboards and eggshell paint. No longer are relationships supposed to be about feelings, but instead financial security, desirable possessions and superficial looks.

Now I'm not saying it is wrong to chose this path, I'm just saying I wish modern life wasn't quite so accepting of it, with pre-nuptial agreements and online wedding gift lists.

Like a kind of emotional X-Files, I want to believe, I think there is one person out there for me and I'm not going to settle until I find that person. In the meantime I'm off to watch the Princess Bride, a film which features giants, miracle workers, true love and pirates, but no scientists...

I surrender.

I am emerging from behind my notepad, feebly waving a pair of white Y-fronts on a stick and keeping my hands where they can be seen (there's a joke here which can't be made on a family website).

I can no longer maintain my clearly outmoded idea that you need facts, sources or even a shred of the truth to publish stories. I have spoken in a previous post about my dislike of the fashionable "wicked whisper" style celebrity pieces in various national, and city-wide papers. But after reading this morning claims that a female celebrity has decided to dye her pubic hair white to resemble Santa's beard I have decided that there is no depths to which they will not sink, and if you can't beat them, join them.

I present therefore for your consideration my own series of insider gossip taken from my new column 3am Whispers from the Molehill:

• Which occasionally hat-wearing musician is not an individual, but actually one of identical sextuplets who are all linked by an extremely long umbilical cord? The singing six take it in turns to perform in the spotlight, with the cord wrapped in kitchen foil to look like a microphone lead, while the others wait in the wings sipping Vimto and eating Penguins.
• Which blonde bombshell has fallen in love with a performing bear? After meeting at the circus the petite princess has spent several nights in the paws of her new furry friend. However, she must hide her ursine love in case her betrothed Coco finds out and she causes the tears of a clown.



• Which trainer-sporting rapper has spent a sizable chunk of his new-found wealth on making an unusual addition to his crib? The hip hop homeboy was so concerned with showing off his bling he bought a shark tank to go in his living room wall. But, instead of housing a finned friend in the cavity, the uzi lover has had a tiger fitted with a scuba tank and has named his fishy feline Gaspy.



• Which children's television presenter doesn't take drugs? The kids' favourite spends absolutely no time partying until 4am in Soho bars, has no wild S&M romps with prostitutes and has never been papped with lumps of cocaine stuck in his nostril. Sources close to the star reveal he is considering spending Christmas at his mums.



• Which oxygen-breathing rocker is actually a wizard who created society as we know it? The fantastic front man lived with the dinosaurs until a spell went wrong and he killed them all, accidentally spawning modern man in the process. He's now working on a Christmas single after getting out of rehab.



• Which newspaper magnate is actually three separate monkeys in a cleverly designed human suit? The press proprietor will frequently relax after meetings by letting her inner chimps loose to cycle around boardrooms on unicycles or share a lovely cup of tea. Unfortunately when it comes to important decisions the crouching chimps and hidden monkeys have the combined business sense of, well, three chimpanzees.

Journalism is a lot more dangerous than people often imagine.

In the course of chasing a story it is fairly easy to get into a scrape, most often when you least expect it.

Only a few weeks into my career as a reporter I found myself rapidly attempting to talk my way out of a beating at the hands of an angry man who made guns for feature films. He was incensed that I should take an interest in a robbery which had happened at his warehouse, despite the fact the thieves had made off with a small arsenal of weapons.

But this was nothing compared to my last paper, the South London Press, where our crime reporter was threatened with an axe by the friends of a murdered teenager just for asking if they wanted to pay tribute.

The problem is, people want the news as it's happening, and the best way to bring that to our readers is either to talk directly to the people experiencing whatever is going on, or better still, have it happen to you.

A prime example of this is currently being displayed on our newsroom television (describing it with the word 'newsroom' always makes it sound far more dynamic than your common or garden television, though realistically if you've got a television in your garden it's probably pretty special. Or broken).

As I type a Sky News anchor is stood in a field in New Orleans attempting to be heard over the incoming hurricane and occasionally pointing at a puddle around the bottom of a telephone pole, with the purpose I can only assume of reminding us all that rain = puddles and big rain = big puddles, or flooding.

Now this news anchor looks like he's having no fun at all, with one hand desperately clasping onto his microphone and the other constantly readjusting his anorak hood in an attempt to keep a storm which is threatening to devastate a massive city from ruining his hair. But he must stick it out - not only is he reporting the news, but, more importantly, the news is happening to him.

As the storm thunders ever closer to the East American coast an interesting and bizarre competition is unveiling in front of the viewing public - namely who can stand out in it in front of a camera the longest.

Earlier today a female news anchor was talking about who was left in New Orleans after the mass evacuation and came out with the line: "The streets are empty apart from groups of militia and, er, journalists." As the last words came out her mouth you could see a brief flash of panic across her face as she realised just what they meant - the only people remaining are people who are trained to face death unquestioning and people such as herself who, when confronted by the grim reaper, would be likely to break a new land speed record (stopping only to ask the skeletal scyther to appear exclusively on her show next week).

But that is what the viewing public want, and if the BBC anchor is still stood up to his waist in corpse-ridden flood waters as alligators gnaw at his knees then why should Sky's correspondent be safely tucked up in a warm studio hiding from the excitement of the news? I'll tell you why - because we're not soldiers, nor are we modern-day King Canutes and in the end no story is worth dying for.

Much as it would entertain me to see certain on-the-scene reporters swept up in a Wizard of Oz-style hurricane I salute the first network to get out of town (as nearly all authorities and aid agencies have repeatedly advised), as that may well be the first example of intelligent and responsible reporting I have seen on television for a while.

It seems pathetic that while people in Zimbabwe are dying in a fight for proper democracy we are making a mockery of the concept in the UK.
This whole Haltemprice and Howden by-election debacle has been nothing more than showboating and using voters to score political points.
The ridiculous rush to sign up as an opponent of David Davies, which included Harrow's own Herbie Crossman, turned the whole thing into a circus reminiscent of the race for California governor, which saw a porn star and a midget taking on the terminator.
I don't believe the low turnout was the result of voter apathy - I hope it was a protest by constituents who were being used to score parliamentary points.
The problem is, if you disagree with Davies what are you supposed to do when you walk into the polling booth and you are confronted with a choice of 25 other candidates including a man dressed as Elvis and well-known political heavyweight Miss Great Britain? The answer seems obvious - walk back out again.
Even more disturbing is why these people decided to run in the first place, I find it difficult to believe they all felt so strongly on the 42 day detainment issue that they were compelled to flock to the area and stump up the £500 deposit just to make a point. Judging by some of the candidates this was a sickening grab for the straws of five minutes of fame by a bunch of desperate egotists who probably achieved their life goal by having the back of their head on tv for two seconds when the result was announced.
Considering some got as few as eight votes they would probably have been better off spending the £500 on a party in a nearby pub, this would at least double their popularity and everyone might actually have a half-decent time.
If elections are to become the new Big Brother (not the Orwellian one but the vomit-inducing Channel 4 idiotfest) then we may as well introduce text voting and routinely cut the budget on meals at the House of Commons when MPs fail to keep election pledges.
Actually that doesn't sound like too bad an idea, just as long as we don't end up with Ant and Dec manning the swingometer.