ALBUM REVIEW – Winning Days by The Vines (Heavenly)

There’s nothing wrong with this album. That’s the first thing I noticed. There’s nothing wrong with it at all. It’s got nice artwork, it’s a nice length, and it’s well made. But that’s sort of the problem. It’s very heavily produced. It’s polished. It’s tight and tuneful, and in my mind’s eye I can just picture the hours and hours of work that've gone into making this as good as it is.
The whole thing seems a bit too board room friendly. I can imagine their agent saying “Look, guys. I know you want to be a rebellious rock outfit, but what we’re really looking for here is airplay."
And that’s what it’s going to get. In spades. Almost every single track has been so meticulously soft edged that even a hyperactive seven year old couldn’t hurt himself on them. It’s exactly the sort of playlist-friendly offering that has the foot tapping before you’ve even noticed. No doubt Vodafone will be queuing to buy the rights to Ride when they get tired of The Dandy Warhols. In fact, the album does remind me of The Dandy Warhols on more than one occasion. There are also shades of The Bluetones, and just about every other Post Britpop band from about six years ago.
Perhaps this is the heart of the problem. It’s dated music, but it’s not dated enough to be retro. It’s just a well made CD with no surprises.
But I still like it. There are some great moments, such as Sun Child, which would have felt right at home on a Beth Orton CD. (Hardly surprising considering she shares the same label.) And more ambient tracks like Amnesia which had me making comparisons to Pink Floyd.
Throughout the whole thirty-eight minutes, the distorted guitar solos and the sweetly harmonised vocals make for a satisfying experience. It’s just that the whole thing rarely lives up to the promise of what might have been if they’d only dared to crank it up a notch. I’ll stick to The Strokes for now.

Overall: Safe, Strong, Not too Long Score: 7

Buy it here.

Visit their excellent Flash website

Canned Laughter

I HAD ANOTHER great giggle after reading Mark Thomas' excellent article in New Statesman this week. As soon as I turned to the contents page, it screamed out at me: "Mark Thomas discovers Coca-Cola's Nazi links"
Sure enough, Mark's article was true to form. A real eye opener and so well written it made me want to give up. The crux of the matter is that while very visibly supporting the Good ol' US Army, the Cola company (In the form of Coca-Cola GmbH) was busy supporting the Nazi party by advertising in its magazines, sponsoring the 1936 Olympics and clinching deals to employ slave workers in German occupied territories.
Not only that, but, as Mark writes "When Coca-Cola GmbH could no longer get the syrup from America to make Coke, it invented a new drink specifically for the Nazi beverage market out of the ingredients available to it. That drink was Fanta. Yessiree," Mark says, "Fanta is the drink of Nazis!"
To celebrate this emerging bit of news, Mark had a look for any existing nazi-cola advertisements that could have been around at the time. Not surprisingly, the modern Coca-Cola company doesn't keep them in lobbies as handy postcards.
Which is why he decided to set up a little bit of an exhibition. The Coca-Cola Challenge was a free exhibition that waved two fingers at a corporate giant and promoted amateur artists at the same time. Naturally I just had to take a look!

The Nancy Victor Gallery is about as easy to find as WMD. Although I had the address written very clearly in my magazine, I couldn't help but wonder if the article hadn't been sexed up... But, on the fourth trip along Charlotte Street, I found it nestled down in a basement at the bottom of a set of narrow steps. I knew this was an independant activity, but I hadn't expected such a literal interpretation of an underground movement.
Anyway. it was a blast. Some of the entries were great food for thought, and some were simply hilarious. Pictures of Hitler standing with a bottle, emblazened with "Ein Coke, Ein Reich Ein Fuhrer" or "Ein Volk, Ein Drink, Nationalcolalitsen". There were pictures of Arian women feeding their babies Fanta in bottles and signs declaring Coca Cola "Proud Sponsors or the 1936 Berlin Olympics"
It was an hour well spent. And my one regret is that I hadn't heard about the exhibition in time to include an effort of my own.
Still, I signed the visitors book, ending with the words: "Now that I'm all fired up, I'm off for a nice cold glass of Sprite!"
The Independent has also covered the story, just in case you're still wondering what it's all about.
One last thought: Since the design for the VW Beetle was passed for use as a Staff Car for the Nazi Party, I look forward to seeing Mark giving Volkswagen the same treatment very soon.

Oil on the Water

I JUST GOT a spam email. It's very long and not well written, but here it is in its entirity, followed by my reply to the author.

Campaign to Reduce UK Petrol Prices - a rip-off at 80p + a litre.
We are going to hit close to 89p a litre by the summer. Want petrol prices to come down? We need to take some intelligent, united action. Philip Hollsworth offered this good idea and this makes MUCH MORE SENSE than the "don't buy petrol on a certain day" April or May! The oil companies just laughed at that because they knew we wouldn't continue to hurt ourselves by refusing to buy petrol. It was more of an inconvenience to us than it was a problem for them, BUT, whoever thought of this idea, has come up with a plan that can really work. Please read on and join in! Now that the oil companies and the OPEC nations have conditioned us to think that the cost of a litre is CHEAP at 77p - 80p, we need to take aggressive action to teach them that we, the BUYERS, control the marketplace not sellers. With the price of petrol going up more each day, we consumers need to take action. The only way we are going to see the price of petrol come down is if we hit someone in the pocket by not purchasing their petrol! And we can do that WITHOUT hurting ourselves. Here's the idea: For the rest of this year, DON'T purchase ANY petrol from the two biggest oil companies (which now are one), ESSO and BP. If they are not selling any petrol, they will be inclined to reduce their prices. If they reduce their prices, the other companies will have to follow suit. BP and Esso will also apply pressure to the government to reduce the tax on petrol. Because the government have a vested interest in seeing prices rise as the tax rises in line with petrol. But to have an impact, we need to reach literally millions of Esso and BP petrol buyers. It's really simple to do!! Now, don't whimp out on me at this point...keep reading and I'll explain how simple it is to reach millions of people!! I am sending this note to a lot of people. If each of you send it to at least ten more (30 x 10 = 300)... and those 300 send it to at least ten more (300 x 10 = 3,000) ... and so on, by the time the message reaches the sixth generation of people, we will have reached over THREE MILLION consumers! If those three million get excited and pass this on to ten friends each, then 30 million people will have been contacted! If it goes one level further, you guessed it... .. THREE HUNDRED MILLION PEOPLE!!! Again, all you have to do is send this to 10 people. That's all(and not buy at ESSO/BP). How long would all that take? If each of us sends this email out to ten more people within one day of receipt, all 300 MILLION people could conceivably be contacted within the next 8 days!!! I'll bet you didn't think you and I had that much potential did you! Acting together we can make a difference. If this makes sense to you, please pass this message on. PLEASE HOLD OUT UNTIL THEY LOWER THEIR PRICES TO THE 69p A LITRE RANGE Action: It's easy to make this happen. Just forward this email, and buy your petrol at Shell, Tesco, Sainsburys, Morrisons (75p) Jet etc. i.e. boycott BP and Esso. Ken Weston kenweston2002@yahoo.co.uk Mobile xxxxxxxxx



Anyway. My Reply...

Just a little bit of sanity:

1 - BP (British Petrolium - British) and Esso (Exxon - American) Are not representitive of OPEC exporters. At worst they are investors and re-sellers of common OPEC product. OPEC treaty countries are: Algeria, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Libya, Nigeria, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Venezuela

2 - The government charge close to 80 pence in the pound on fuel, but only spend a third of this on transport. If OPEC charged 75 pence per litre, then a litre of petrol would cost us about £3.75.

3 - If you really want to save money on fuel, share your car, organise school "walking busses", take a bus and slow down to 70MPH on the motorways.

4- The Association of British Drivers has a table you should look very carefully at. Showing where your money is going. http://www.abd.org.uk/taxtable.htm

5 - Researching this reply took me forty minutes with Google. Part of what makes this country great is that you get to say what you like. That doesn't mean you shouldn't check your facts before you fill 300,000,000 mail boxes with useless spam.

Norman’s Still Stormin!

I'VE JUST BEEN laughing out loud while walking along Marylebone Road. That’s not the way things are done in London at five to nine. I could get myself in a lot of trouble. But the problem was that I was listening to the Today Programme where the topic on offer was “What can we do about obesity?” More appropriately, John Humphries was asking what the government should do about the problem. Should they impose strict guidelines on what kind of foods schools can sell? Should they raise the tax on fatty foods? Or is this a mater entirely of individual responsibility? is the very act of suggesting that the government become involved in the weight of children yet another example of the Nanny State?
To solve this highly sensitive debate, the Conservative party sent along two of its most touchy-feely candidates. The first was Boris Johnson, who is always a great fountain of amusing ideas, but not quite as ideal a choice to discuss the complexities of health and fitness as, say, Sebastian Coe might have been.
What words of Wisdom did Uncle Boris have to offer? To quote him rather loosely: “I think the first thing we need to do is stop mincing our words. We need to get away from using delicate terms like ‘Obese’ and start calling these children ‘Fat’. Our schools are full of fat children and we need to address the issue for what it is.”
Okay. Nicely handled there, Boris. Good to see the party has got to the hub of such an important issue. Then the Tories bring out their big hitter. A chill ran down my spine as I heard the sound of mechanical breathing. I could almost hear the dramatic Darth-Vader music as a cloud crossed over the sun.
Norman Tebbit started calmly enough, announcing, predictably enough that this is all the fault of a decline in family values. Because more women have had the nerve to think they should be in work, they are spending less time cooking quality meals for their offspring.
And then he lets it all out. Again, I can’t remember his exact wording. But this is as close as makes no odds. “It’s all about a breakdown in values. MPs are voting this week to bring in Gay Marriages! Can you imagine what impact that’s going to have? Society has completely fallen apart. There are no more values. We’re awash with teenage pregnancies where nobody commits to anybody anymore. Here we are in the middle of an obesity epidemic and the government is trying its hardest to legitimise buggery!”
John Humphries took a deep breath and counted to three. A long time in radio terms. “Are you seriously saying.” He asked. “That obesity and homosexuality are linked?”
"Absolutely!" Norman shrilled, and off he went again.
The moral of this story is: Vote conservative.
(Unless you’re a big fat poof.)

Chocs Away!

I'LL BE THE first to admit that this is more than a bit hypocritical, but I got so cross about people getting up in arms about something that didn't matter I thought I'd post a comment to the
BLINK (BLack Information liNK) website. The issue revolves around Galaxy using "Eeny Meeny Miney Mo" in an advertising campaign, which is racist due to its N-word link.
To read the editorial commentry you would think Galxy had joined the Nazi Party.
Anyway. My comment to their discussion forum:

"The power of words. It’s scary, isn’t it? How so much offence can be caused by words, even when it’s not intended? This case highlights just how careful we all need to be. Just how easy it is to say the wrong thing. This fragile democracy of ours. This multi-cultural society, this sanctuary of free speech. Where groups band together to condemn and to demand that their collective voice be heard.

The people who will blithely turn blind eyes to child labour as long as they have nice new trainers. Groups who will happily buy Coca Cola and ignore the water depletion that the company causes in the third world. People who will happily buy tea and coffee that’s growm on farms where the workers get paid only in tokens. They will now boycott galaxy, because somebody has placed a convenient “racist” label on it.

Yes! Please boycott Galaxy, and Cadburys, and Terrys, and ANY other chocolate that isn’t fair trade. Get into Tesco and buy Divine. Get into the Co-Op and buy any of their fair trade brands. But do it for the right reasons. Do it because you feel that you have responsibilities as well as rights.

In a couple of weeks this issue will be forgotten. You can still make a difference by voting with your feet. At the end of the day, global poverty hurts more than any words ever could.

Home of the Grave

I was wondering about George Bush senior and his little trip to the Landmark Hotel. It made me think a lot about the American Mind set. How can the Americans not realise just how they get up the noses of the rest of the world so much? But then it’s just like the office fuckwit who won’t leave you alone because nobody else will talk to him. He simply has no concept of what an obscenely useless waste of oxygen he really is. He hasn’t got the social skills to recognise when your eyes glaze over. He hasn’t got the empathy to realise just how politely you’re trying to detach yourself from the vicelike soporific grip of his monologue. He hasn’t even got a sense of smell. Otherwise why wouldn’t he wash occasionally?
But look at him – he’s happy.
So it is with the inhabitants of the good old Ewe Ess. They bound out into the world with endless optimism in a completely guileless, but incomprehensibly obnoxious manner that puts the whole world’s back up faster than a tank-top wearing geek wanting to show you his Klingon phrasebook. Bush the elder travels to England to raise money for his son’s re-election and doesn’t even suspect that it might get up people’s noses a bit. Perhaps we should write a letter to Blue Peter and ask them if they can’t hold one or two ”Bring and Buy” sales on behalf of the Republican Party.
America’s main failure to relate to the real world comes in its inability to relate to more than one enemy at once. At first, it was the Injuns, then the Brits, then the Commies. But it was different back then. For all their faults, at least the Russians looked like people. They had fair skin, they wore clothes that would pass as normal. They appeared so deceptively similar to decent westerners that the threat seemed so much more insidious. America started seeing reds under every bed. Invasion of the Body Snatchers summed up the mood of the nation. Just who were the bad guys? And more importantly – who could you trust enough to ask?
The McCarthy Witch Hunts gave rise to a sense of national panic. If it was so difficult to spot a commie, how could a good capitalist prove his all American credentials? Nationalist intolerance created a most unusual by product in the form of a massive uptake in religion. How better to prove to the world that you’re not one of Them Commies than to tell everyone who’ll listen that you lurve Jeysuz with all yer heart? Pretty soon the whole continent was bathed in the glow of its neon crosses. The government, relentless in its goal to bring the kids up free of the spectre of the Morning Star started pushing the scripture, apple pie, mother, country and freedom more than science, logic, art and compassion. For at least fifty years, America has had such a collective submission of the thought process that it has created an intellectually sterile nation, anaesthetised by its own banality, incapable of empathy to others. A whole nation of Office Fuckwits, living on the profits of their grandparent’s hard work. And wondering why the hell nobody else likes them.

But then along come the Muslims, and all of a sudden it’s easier. Suddenly the enemy looks like an enemy should. We have WMD, we have 911, We have lots of bad things that are easy to spell and pronounce. Things we can really feel different to!

Look at them: They are a bunch of scripture pounding, power crazed, war-mongering, cold hearted religious fanatics with no compassion for the suffering they cause! Now let’s look at the Muslim extremists…

After 911 (Or to put it more correctly: 119) There was a tremendous back lash, when a large proportion of American citizens thought they could spot an enemy by measuring the length of his beard. Perfectly innocent Muslims suddenly found themselves having to fly the Stars and Stripes outside their windows just to show their neighbours that they loved apple pie too. Everybody had to do their part to prove that the enemy was someone else. Collectively, piece by piece, the differences between the people become eroded, as the survival instinct kicks in and, chameleon like, a whole nation attempts to blend in with itself.

Forget multiculturalism. Forget tolerance and understanding. The single most important thing that America has learned is that democracy is a battle cry – not a way of life.

Anyway. That’s the rant over with. Actually, the REAL story is that most Americans don’t seem to be too happy with the way things have gone either. Since I’m not one to let the truth get in the way of a good story, I thought I’d leave it until now to share the facts

A Blatant Lie

I SAY, I say, I say!
A funny thing happened to me on the way to work...
Ha! As if

Soundtrack for the Day

Heart Remains a child
Everything but the girl - Walking wounded


I dreamed about you again last night.
You never have the same face twice
but I always know it's you
and you're always looking better than you really do.
Than you really do.
And I walk around the whole next day
feeling like I've still got something to say.
But I don't know what it is
and I don't know how to reach you even if I did.
Even if I did.
Do I wanna hear that you forgive me?
Do I wanna hear you're no good without me?
Am I big enough to hear that you never even even think about me?
Why should you ever think about me?
And I thought that I'd outgrow this kind of thing.
Tell me aren't we supposed to mature or something?
I haven't found that yet
is this as grown-up as we ever get?
Maybe this is as good as it gets.
And years may go by
but I think the heart remains a child.
The mind may grow wise
but the heart just sulks and it whines and remains a child.
I think the heart remains a child.
Why don't you love me? Why don't you love me?


Next week - "Come to my party" By Keith Harris and Orville

Somebody's Dad

IT SEEMS THE demostrations were in aid of a visit by George Bush Senior. Evidently he was staying at the hotel for the night. What's it like to be popular?

Allow Me to Demonstrate

I PASSED THE biggest demonstration I've ever seen yesterday. It was on the other side of the street as I walked to the train Somebody was ranting into a loud hailer, letting the world know he wasn't happy. I've no idea what it was about. The banners were too far away, the speaker's noise drowned out by the traffic. Perhaps that's what he was protesting about.
What struck me most of all was the sheer volume of police that were there. They made up a wall of fluorescent yellow, linked arm in arm with their bright vests gleaming in the evening sun. A mass of red striped transit vans lined the street like a Dagenham storage lot. How much did this cost? And what were the police for? To protect me from the demonstrators, or to protect them from me?
It's started me thinking. There's a short story in this if I can just work it out. Watch this space...

Oops! Was that My Job?

JUST WHEN THINGS are going well I suddenly hit the self destruct button. I’ve handed in my notice and I’m suddenly looking at unemployment all over again. Oh well. Any vacancies out there for a frustrated journalist with a good grasp of multiplication tables?

Grin and Blair it

SO NOW WE are hearing the calls for Tony Blair to step down. He is being encouraged to do the “sensible thing” and leave number ten before he outstays his welcome. Time to make way for Gordon Brown. Time to take a back seat and bow out gracefully, rather than wait to be pushed.
A recent poll commissioned by the BBC has declared that the Labour Party has a far better chance of winning the next election without President Blair at the wheel. But to me this idea would seem about as plausible as The Bad Seeds without Nick Cave. Tony Blaire is New Labour. Like him or loathe him, the one thing that’s difficult to deny is that the man is bigger than the party ever was. He invented the whole concept. Spin and all. And now the party of reformed socialists and former leftist fringe members has outgrown him. The sheer massive force of Gordon Brown’s dynamic personality is unable to contain itself a moment longer. It’s time to make way for the sheer avalanche of wit, charisma and charm that will be unleashed on an unsuspecting public.
Or maybe not. President Blair says there’s too much to do. There is unfinished business in Iraq, and he simply can’t quit until it’s all sorted out. Nice to see that even after so long being one of the most important men in the world he hasn’t forgotten to tidy up after himself.
Our Prime Minister has suddenly taken on the aspect of a man in the middle of a bodged DIY job, frantic to prevent his wife from calling in a professional electrician. “Wait!” He begs, surrounded by a tangle of smoking wires and spitting fuses. “Just let me sort it out. We don’t need to look in Yellow Pages. Just let me remember where this red wire goes!”
Issues at home have taken a back seat. In fact, they have been left so far behind that domestic policy can now be find in “Left Luggage” at Paddington. Our DIY nightmare is now complete: Not only have we blown every fuse in the house, but we’ve also left the bath running for several days too.

Piers Pressure

DING DONG! The Witch is dead! Yes! Yes! YES!! How glad am I that Piers Morgan has been fired? I haven't been this happy since Luke Skywalker blew up the Death Star! So much so, that I felt moved enough to write a quick sound bite to Radio 4's "Any Answers" slot.

"A Basrah Soldier's view of Piers Morgan
As a former soldier who served in Basrah during the time the obviously faked photographs were alleged to have been taken, I can honestly say that this issue has troubled me more than any other in the last twelve months.
It is my considered opinion that Piers Morgan has done more damage to British Soldiers than Saddam Hussein ever managed, and his exposure as a cheat and a liar now leaves him with as much credibility as comical Ali.
What I would like to see now is a copy of the Mirror with a close up of Piers Morgan's face, boldy emblazened with the word "VILE".
I danced a jig when he was fired."

It was great to hear it being read out on air! i only hope it gave other people a giggle. But it does seem that just about everyone's got an opinion about it. While I was in town there were two old guys talking to each other and the conversation went something like this.

"They won't be selling many of them papers now, will they?"
"No. Not now that bloke's lost his job.. You know - the editor guy.. What was his name?"
"Piers?"
"Oh yeah. That's it. That Piers Brosnan bloke."

I agree. Totally. Screw you, Piers. I won't be buying the mirror any more, and I won't be watching your bloody Bond movies, either.

LIST OF ARTICLES

Pottery Corner - The Dodgy Poems

Pullman (20 July 2005)

Darwin was Right (26 July 2005)

Countryside and Lupe the Loop (27 July 2005)

Red Kite (07 September 2005)

Special K (06 October 2005)

Cloutie Well (07 October 2005)

Molly (28 October 2005)

Spike (25 November 2005)

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Funny (Supposedly)

On A Mission - Holmfirth receives missionaries (27 November 2004)

Protestors Lose Battle - Anti-electricity protests in Holmfirth (28 November 2004)

Peace Talks Stumble - Gerry Adams and his beard. (30 November 2004)

Ultimate Battle Ends in Shock - The end of the world declared (02 December 2004)

A Genuine Miracle - Selling bullshit. (04 December 2004)

KLOOOST Fury at Flying Dutchman - Plane lands in Holmfirth (07 December 2004)

Vicar's Daughter Struck by Wrath - Fireball consumes sinner (09 December 2004)

Local Boys Make Good - Holmfirth Buddhist Monks win competition (09 December 2004)


Brand Name Rip-Off - Cars are evil All of them. Almost as evil as women. (30 October 2005)


Agony - Help needed! (30 October 2005)

At it Like Dandy Lions - Working my way with the Lay-dees (02 November 2005)

Bo! - Death threats against Craig David (04 November 2005)

"Obsolete" Steve Austin Quits - The end of an era (09 November 2005)

Oh, and all of December was a scream. I'll catalogue it up later.

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Church and State

Don't Ring Us - Silver Ring Thing spreads to UK (24 June 2004)

The Rise of Piety - Witch Hunts in America, again. (24 November 2004)

Clowns to the Left of Me - Atheists stuck in the middle (25 November 2004)

Meeting with the Man - A play. When George W Bush met God. (26 November 2004)

How can you have faith in a theory... - Tackling Creationism (08 December 2004)

Black and White - Evidence that multiculturalism works (13 December 2004)

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Sceptical

The Truth is Supposedly Out There (Part 1) Taking on the nightmares (9 June 2004)

The Truth is Supposedly Out There (Part 2) Laying out the Stall (15 June 2004)

Both Barrels for Aukana Having a go at just about everyone (17 June 2004)

Smoke and Mirrors - Debunking Richard Sheldrake (October 31 2004)

When I Click My Fingers - Making light of Hypnosis (13 November 2004)

Holy Toast - A lot of money for a piece of bread (25 November 2004)

And You Thought Bovox Was Bullshit - Debunking left-spinning water (05 December 2004)

---

---

Before the Storm

THIS WEEK'S BIG news story (apart from the abuse of Iraqi prisoners) is the explosion of a plastics factory in Glasgow, which has killed eight people. The news media have shown their usual staple of live rubblecam pictures and interviewed every rescue worker half a dozen times. But so far, very little has been made of who’s fault it was.
By now, it seems pretty obvious that the explosion was caused by a gas leak, and next week’s news will no doubt focus on who we should blame and who can score the most political points from such a tragedy. No doubt Michael “I’ve got a band wagon and I’m going to jump on it” Howard will be calling for as many Labour Party resignations as he can muster. I can imagine him now…
“But surely, If the gas was being pumped into the factory, then as Energy Minister, he should have known that there was a leak. How could my right honourable friend possibly not know where the excess gas is escaping from when it’s his responsibility to account for the gas that this country so heavily relies on?”
Bet your bottom dollar. There’ll be no shortage of gas escaping before next week’s out.

Great Moments With The Family
Gary Rhodes is baking an apple pie, and he starts to grate an orange over the mixture.
“It’s a grater.” Carol says, reverently. She stares at the screen as if somebody has answered the riddle of the sphinx.
Les nods thoughtfully, weighing up the full implications of the matter. “You know.” He says, eventually. “I think it might even be a planer.”
The clock on the wall ticks, very slowly.

Ghost in the Machine

IT SEEMS THE church isn’t any more immune to geek culture than the rest of them. We have text voting, we have newspapers delivered to cell phones. Why not have an Online Church?

At first I was quite happy to let out a derisive snort. But once I’d cleaned the phlegm of contempt from the monitor, I did a bit of thinking. Perhaps it’s not such a bad idea?

No. It is. It’s a terrible idea. It qualifies alongside entering Gemini into the Eurovision song contest. In fact, in terms of bad ideas, it qualifies alongside Eurovision itself. But why? What makes it such a nightmare? If people can’t be bothered to go to church, then why not let the church come to them. It can’t worse than “Songs of Praise”, and at least the majority of the population don’t get forced to spend an evening with Dame Thora Hird.

There’s something about the “virtual” aspect that seems … Well, I was going to say “fitting”, but I’ll settle for “cute”. The whole issue of faith is that it is based on a belief in things that can’t be seen. Assurance in the immortal soul, Trust in divine intervention, etc. Is it pushing the boundaries too far to ask just one more tiny leap of faith? Is it any less meaningful than watching a telecast?

But then, I watch the congregation. The faithful, the curious, the tourist and the voyeur. They go about their prayer, clicking the relevant action button to “sit” or “kneel”. They type out sacred rhymes while the online minister’s avatar smiles benignly.

Click to kneel. Click to pray. Click to be cleansed of sin. Double click to escape purgatory. Treble click to go to heaven. Something tells me this just isn’t going to work.

Conversations with the BBC

HELLO,
MY NAME IS Sarah Brown and I work for BBC News Online. I read the extract from your essay on Iraq with interest and was wondering if you could send me some more material.
Could you also provide me with more detail about your time in Iraq - for example, were you there in a military or civilian capacity? Do you have any actual letters or emails you could send me?
If you could let me know as soon as possible that would be great.
Many thanks
Sarah


I was in Iraq for the duration of the 19 Mech Brigade deployment, which ran roughly from May to November last year.
My role was as the Brigade Geographic Sergeant, and I worked in the Headquarters at Basrah Palace, directly with the Chief of Staff and department heads.
I have two or three essays available, although I would need to be assured that nobody would be embarrassed by anything in these works being quoted out of context. For that end, can I ask that you agree to consult with me before publishing?
Kind regards,


Hi David,
Many thanks for getting back to me so promptly. Of course we would not publish anything you would not be happy with - may I ask if any of the work you have or will send to me has been published before? And did you send these essays to friends and family while you were based in Iraq?
Sarah


Sarah,
I've been published in a few army journals but I never sent them the Iraq stuff. Essay writing is a hobby that I've not taken seriously enough to get published yet,
The essays in question were sent to my partner and my dad.
I have enclosed the one I have with me as an attachment. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the others as we only have hard copy.
Have a nice weekend. I can be contacted by phone on xxxxxxx
Kind regards
David


Great - I'll have a read and get back to you as soon as possible.
Many thanks for emailing!
Sarah


Certainly. I don't think there's too much in there that will do much damage compared with the current nasty business. All I ask is that content is kept in context, and that I be informed when programme is due to air.
Would you like more?


Great - will let you know when it airs, the programme is tentatively scheduled for the weekend before the handover of power so probably third week of June but will keep you up to date - remind me if I forget!
I think what you have sent me will be sufficient, but if you have anything else - particularly of a specific incident you witnesses which seemed apt that would be good to have.
Thanks!
Sarah

Like - Get over it! (The End of Friends)

SO IT'S OFFICIALLY the last episode of Friends; the show that unleashed Starbucks coffee shops on the high street. The show’s been in my life for so long that it’s almost hard to remember what life was like before it. I’ve been a fan, I’ve been indifferent, I’ve laughed, cried and yawned my way through about half of the episodes before finally getting bored with it and wandering off to something new. When it all started I wanted in. The idealised, white toothed, tanned twenty somethings were the embodiment of what I wanted from life. I wanted to be popular. I wanted to be rich. More than that, I wanted to have beautiful friends and my own sofa in a real coffee shop. Not just a favourite plastic chair in the local greasy spoon. One of the sad facts about this show was that it went out on a Friday night. Anyone who had real friends had better things to do than be sat at home watching it.

When we got married, one of the first things we went shopping for was “a massive sofa like the one on Friends”. When we finally managed to drag, stretch and squeeze the damn thing through the door of our little house, we couldn’t help noticing that there was still something missing. Neither of us liked coffee and there was a distinct shortage of extrras milling around in the background to add ambience.

But it didn’t matter. We’d bought our way in to the lifestyle. All we had to do was sit back on the mammoth sized furniture and wait for our groovy and beautiful friends to join us. Eight years and one separation later we finally had to admit that it was never going to happen.
Somewhere along the line I got just as bored with the TV friends as I got with most of my real friends. How many of the mates that I hung around with back then still have my number today? Very few! So it’s only natural that I should drift away from Joey and Chandler too. It wasn’t long before I got irritated by Ross’ whining, or Rachel’s shallow minded selfishness. It wasn’t much after that that I realised that Joey was as sharp as a rubber mat and Monica was just plain unlikable. These people were far too much like real life.

But week after week, the same jokes, the same format. Again and again. Jokes we could see coming a mile away, being delivered with committee- vetted timing. Episodes churned out of the studios with all the originality and wit of a washing machine assembly plant.
At least on Big Brother you could vote somebody off.

But I’ll miss it, in a way. Even though I’ve not watched an episode in two years, I’ll still be tuning in with the masses to see the final curtain fall. And I’ll feel a small sense of loss. Not for the series, and not for the characters, but for the simple fact that I once believed that I could be that happy.

A Good Day for the Roses

A LITTLE BIT of sunshine... A little bit of rain... (A little bit like life) But as long as the roof doesn't leak, who cares? I can't believe they're going to knock this place down any day now. Such a loss.

The zombie cart this morning gave me a chance to sleep. I'd like to say I had a vivid dream complete with elephants, acrobats and dancing ladies without any clothes on, but unfortunately I closed my eyes for a moment at Reading and woke up in Paddington with a stiff neck and a collar full of drool. Perhaps it was mine.

Thought for the day

Hey, guess what? I used to be somebody

No matter. The BBC are asking for essays that have been written in Iraq. It would be such a shame to disappoint them. Time to pull up a sand-bag and start spinning those yarns ...

Best bit of the day (So far)

Karen's lunch time trip to Huddersfield Web Cam Total hoot!

Becoming "Them"

IT'S THE LAST thing I expected. Ever looked around and suddenly realised that you’ve taken so many turns that you don’t know where you are? How the hell did I get here? In my head I’m still the little boy who wets his pants and gets screamed at by deranged teachers in infant school. I’m not saying I wake up screaming and dreaming that Miss Rutherford is chasing me with a slipper, but I can't understand how I could be the same person; to come from THAT beginning and still make it here. The pieces of the jigsaw somehow don’t match the picture on the box.

Perhaps I've changed. Perhaps, as part of growing up, I've shed my old "self" like a snake sheds its skin. They say skin cells replace every seven years. What about the mind?

But I don't think so. I’m still “me”. I’ve just got a whole new set of principles that just don't conform to the stark black and white of youth. “When I said I would be a bachelor until I died, I simply assumed that I would not live until I were married.” Isn't that from Much ado about nothing? They say policemen look younger as we get older. They’re not the only ones.

So here I am. I've done Iraq, I've done Bosnia, and now I'm working in Westminster; part of the Establishment with a capital "E". Miss Rutherford would be turning in her grave. Rest easy, my dear. I’m sure there’s time for me to end up the miserable failure you always wanted me to be.

Today I'm Blogging

I HAVE NO idea why; no particular view to express. No real reason why I'd post a message to a remote server somewhere in (I assume) the West Coast of the USA for all the world to read - even though I know that this is never going to be read by anyone but myself.

So what's the point?

Well - Why not? I'm not hurting anyone. Maybe even somebody out there might enjoy this stuff if they happen upon it by accident. Then again... They will probably have stopped reading by now.

No matter. That's a post done. And it didn't cost me a penny.

First Post

Hello World...