Explainin' The Cosmos

THIS BLOG AM NO MORE!

2011-01-12T22:23:00.004Z

HA! Not really.

The blog continues over at http://xcos.wordpress.com

StoryTime! Tim Stantion and the Spooky Christmas Ghost, by Tony Went.

2010-12-14T16:47:00.002Z

An Explainin' The Cosmos treat for you today, as I give over the blog to 15 year old Tony Went, who is bound to become one of the countries top novellists.

Take it away, Tony!

Tim Stantion and the Spooky Christmas Ghost.

A short story by Tony Went.

For me Mum.

"Rub it!!! Rub it!!! Rub it now! Rub rub rub!"

Tim was always the victim of the practical jokes in his office. From the "kick me" signs on the back of his jacket, to having his hands stapled to the windowsill, wherever there was the opportunity for cheap laughs at someones expense, at Myerson's International he always seemed to be that someone.

Today, however, was to be the day he was going to

defeat his tormentors. "No!" he said. "I will NOT rub it".

"Rubbity-wubbity-shiney-shine" came the response. "Stop saying that! It doesn't even MEAN anything..." the clearly exasperated office clerk blubbed before being cut off with the nonsensical "rub-a-bub-a-dub". No, for Tim Stantion, there was only one way to stop this childish behaviour in the warehouse of a major shipping firm. He was going to have to punch his boss in the face. "All due respect, Sir, but I will not rub that Palletizer.". He then took a swing, and Bill Portett, the aging man-child with the ginger curls, went down quicker than a whole shipment of potatoes. Problem was, he didn't get up.

It wasn't long before Tim, not the quickest lad in the world, realised that he'd killed his boss. He reasoned that the blood from the nose, where he had so millimetre-perfectly twatted his line manager, was consistent with the injury he had inflicted out of months of torment. The blood from his ears and the corner of his mouth, however, suggested t

hat he was at the very first stage of decomposition.

"For fucks sake, Stantion", he thought, "why didn't you just go through the Grievence route with HR???". Bizarrely, as he was thinking this, Bennett had just turned up at the scene, and said the exact same words at the exact same time. This created a bizarre stereo effect in Tim's head, just like that mad Flaming Lips album that you need 22 CD players for. "ARGH" he shouted. "I've just killed a man, Ollie! A great man!"

Ollie Bennett and Tim both looked

down at the dead fat ginger. What was Tim going to do? The thoughts were racing through his mind so fast that he didn't know what language he was thinking in. He sat down, took a deep breath, and turned to his buddy. "Ollie, it was the rubbing stuff again. I've had two weeks of this. Two weeks of 'rub it! hahaha ooobiedooobiedubrub!' and I just couldn't take another minute! Do you think that I could get manslaughter for this?"

Ollie shook his head. "I'm afraid there's not a jury in the land who'll believe you. Bill was a well respected man in the community, and it's only you who have been making the allegations of bullying, torment, and his alleged mental instability". Tim knew that Ollie was right. Bill Portett was one sly dog. He would always ensure that the coast was clear before inflicting mental anguish on his subordinate. The way things stood, he could only see two possible outcomes - murder, or if the history of bullying were made clear to a jury, pre-meditated murder.

"Tim, you know I'm going to have to call the police, don't you?"

Tim nodded, silently.

The call was over in a matter of seconds. Resigned to his fate, Tim went over to the pallet truck, and started swearing at it. "Stoopid cocking cock, this is all your fault. Pallet truck? Twat-Mallet FUCK more like". Ollie found this a little unsettling, as he had walked in on Tim right as he took the swing, and missed the pre-amble. "H

e wanted me to rub this Palletizer, Ollie. Why would a sane man ask me to do that, Ollie? What would it have achieved, Ollie?"

As the post-bossicide rantings of a killer got more and more frantic, Tim started to rub the truck in the way his late boss encouraged, before turning to the considerably more Smurf-like Mr Portett. "See, I'm fucking rubbing it now! LOOK! RUB-A-DUB-A-FLUB, you dead..." as Ollie physicially restrained his, by now psychotic, colleague and common criminal.

"Don't stop, I was enjoying that!"

Tim and Ollie froze, then looked at each other, with both their chins hanging loose underneath their teeth. "Did the pallet truck... no, it..."

"SURE DID BOYS!"

Now, as common as it is for victims of psychotic episodes to experience hallucinations, it's also extremely rare for two people, one of whom is ostensibly level headed, to share the same hallucination.

"I'm not sure how you're doing this, and it's a very clever trick, but whoever this is, stop it now!" screamed Ollie, fearing for his own sanity. "COME ON, WHO IS THIS???"

Tim, by contrast, was hunched on the floor, tears streaming down his face, nervously rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. Mr Portett was beginning to smell a bit.

"I'm Trucky da Twuck..." said Trucky, the pallet truck, "...how's it goin'?". Ollie still could not believe his eyes and ears or nose. Trucky made no sense. Why would a pallet truck, famous for being a way of transporting goods on wooden planks round a warehouse in Grays, Essex, be able to speak? And given where it was, why was it speaking in a decidedly dodgy Brooklyn accent? Most importantly, why did he have a moustache?

"Listen kid, da Feds will be here any minute, I ain't got time to explain. Get your moping chum up off dat floor and lets hit the road!"

Ollie didn't need a second invite. He picked up the blubbering wreck of a paperclip counter, slung him over his shoulder, jumped on the legs of the now anthropomorphic piece of warehouse equiptment, and they made good their escape, smashing through the wall of the compound, over a small patch of grass, and onto the road.

"Buhh, ga buh err, ahh, where what are you we going?" mumbled Tim, who found that travelling at 30 miles an hour on a magic industrial skateboard was bringing him back to reality. "Hi, I'm Twucky, and we're on da run from da fuzz!" came the cheery reply. "I know a good little place we can lay low for a while, till the heats off. Only problem is, it's the other side of the river. We're gonna have to navigate the Dartford Bridge. Anybody got any quarters?"

Meanwhile, back in Myerson's warehouse, the police had arrived. A couple of forensics are at the body, taking DNA swabs and whatnot, whilst PC Terry MacDonald is studying the CCTV with the head janitor. "Unfortunately", Boris said, "we can't make heads or tails of this ourselves. As you can see here, Bill... the deceased is knocked on his arse by Tim Stantion, one of his team. Can't make out what's being said, you can see here that the gentleman on the floor has completely stopped moving, and then the assailant goes over to the pallet truck. As you can see, the video cuts out then."

"So," PC Terry MacDonald interjects, "are you suggesting here that the assailant, filled with rage, picked up the pallet truck and threw it at the video camera, to blank out his escape?"

"No, officer, not at all." Boris turns off the light, grabs his handy janitorial torch, and points it at his face. "What I am suggesting is that, as soon as Bill took his final breath, his spirit entered the netherworld. He was a bad man, used to put thumbtacks in Tim's tea." PC MacDonald scribbles this down on his notepad, and looks at his fresh brew with great suspicion.

"However, due to the spirit world being full to the brim with malevolent demons looking for a way out, and given our prime location by Junction 5 on the M25, it seems that at the very moment his soul left our realm, a gateway was opened and a spirit came over in his place."

PC MacDonald nods. "I'll be honest, I've worked for the Essex Police for over 20 years, and I've never heard such utter..."

"It's true. The moon is in Atlantis. Everyone knows that this is when the forces of evil are at their strongest.". PC MacDonald tries to interrupt, but Boris the Janitor is in full flow. "...and besides, we may not have much time!"

"Time?"

"DO YOU NOT SEE? Tim, the accused, and the young chap who witnessed the murder, are in GRAVE DANGER. The process is not yet complete! First, the demon possesses a non-animal being, usually something metallic, like a shelf, or a palletizer. Secondly, the demon needs to stun, but not kill his prey. Thirdly, to transfer his soul from the non-animal to the animal, both need to be in contact with water. Souls work like electricity, see?"

PC MacDonald took off his helmet, and scratched his head. "This is all mumbo-jumbo to me, but it's a better theory than what we've got. How exactly do you know so much about this?"

"I'm a Christian Electrician", replied Boris.

"Slow down" said Ollie, "you're gonna get us killed!"

But Trucky wasn't listening. "We gotta make it to Crayford!" he shouted. The pallet truck was going at over 70 miles an hour, and was attracting the attention of the local traffic officials, not to mention the television cameras and local media. Above them, a London Tonight cameraman hangs out the side of an ITN helicopter, whilst a journalist proclaims that machines are taking over as was predicted by the Mayans.

"Oh my God!" shouted Tim, seemingly recovered from his earlier bad mood, "it's the Police!".

Sure enough, the Police had arrived on scene, and had blocked off the Dartford Crossings. Moments earlier, PC MacDonald had radioed for back up and in doing so passed on the information told to him by Boris the janitor. As it turned out, the High Commisioner of the force was an occultist in his spare time, and had confirmed the words of the janitor. Between them, they had figured out that the Dartford Bridge was central to the demon's plans.

"GET OFF THE MAGIC SKATEBOARD" the policeman blocking the toll-booth shouted. "YOU ARE IN GRAVE DANGER". Ollie agreed broadly with the sentiments, but Tim did not wish to see his young pink arse abused in Wormwood Scrubs.

"Never! You'll not take me alive, copper!" said the formerly law-abiding, nominally nice-but-dim-now-criminal-pencil-sharpener-operator. Ollie, sensing that his time had come, elbowed Tim in the face, thus knocking him out. With only seconds to spare before the demon crashed into a line of police cars, Ollie jumped off into the grass verge with Tim safely carried over his shoulder. Their souls were safe.

Trucky went head first into the line of police grade Vauxhall Astras, and sliced them in two. Cockily, he turned his head round in order to "flip 'em off", however, the unknown demon inside Trucky either forgot that when you turn the head of a pallet truck, you change its direction. Moments after ramping onto the bridge, Trucky crashed through the wall, crashing into the Thames below. The demon soul inhabited a fish, and the pallet truck himself sunk to the bottom. The Ministry of Defence issued a D-Notice, which is why you have not heard this story told... until now!

THE END.

Epilogue:

As much as we all want to kill our boss, it's a bad idea. It just means more hassle for you in the long run, and that means more paperwork for others. Think of the others.

What Tim Stantion should have done was speak to his bosses boss. That way, he could have nipped this all in the bud a long time ago. Failing that, you can always speak to your lovely Human Resources department - a number should be in your employee handbook. If you work for an agency, you should speak to someone there, even though most of the time this is about as much use as stapling your testicles to a lampshade.

Also, this story took place on Christmas Day. Hence the title. Durr.

On prisoners being allowed the vote - my rough thoughts.

2010-11-02T16:57:00.002Z

Hello gang. Now, I've become remarkably self-conscious about this blog, and the fact that, quite often, I can go on-and-on-and-on without really getting to the matter at hand. This stops here. In a simple, straight-to-the-point statement, this blogpost is why I'm glad prisoners will soon be able to vote.

According to the front page of today's Telegraph, the Coalition government are preparing themselves to enable legislation to allow prisoners to vote, in line with EU law.

Good.

I appreciate that the Coalition will make apologies and that Europe will inevitably get the blame in the press, like it usually does. Much like a schoolchild's excuse for not doing their homework, you can just see the Prime Minister saying “Sorry Miss, the EEC ate it”.

Whoever is to blame, however, doesn't stop it being a good idea. Ever since the right to vote was established, the franchise to vote has been limited. If one looks at the parliaments of the world, at various times we've seen people excluded the vote for various reasons. The young (well, under 35), on account that they were seen to be too immature. Women, on account that they were seen to be irrational. The poor, on account that they didn't count. Black people, in certain regimes, on account that they were black. These are just examples, and the list isn't exhaustive.

Prisoners, though? Well, they bring it on themselves, don't they? And how dare I insult your collective intelligence, dear readers, by comparing criminals and thieves with the illegitimately dispossessed groups I mentioned in the last paragraph? Let me explain.

First of all, prisoners are just like you or me, perhaps a lot closer to you or me than we'd like to admit. There's good and there's bad in all of us, and what separates us from them is that we exhibit sufficient self-control not to do bad things that will end us up in prison. However, we, as a society, have a way of punishing people who do bad things, and one such way is locking them up in a big building with like minded hoodlums for a relatively arbitrary period of time. Just to stamp the message home a bit, we tell them that because of their wrong-doing, they are no longer allowed to vote.

For me, the “locking-up” aspect is really the key aspect of the punishment. By keeping an inmate inside the confines of a prison means that, effectively, when all's said and done, their own life is out of their hands. Want to go to the shop and buy some fags? Tough. Want to watch the latest movie in three brain-blowing dimensions? Tough. You're in a cell, with a book and a radio if you're lucky. (For what it's worth, I take reports that cells have Sky TV and Playstations with a bottle of salt). And you're going to be doing this day, after day, after day, after day, after day. Without respite. Hungry? Want a microwaved burger? Tough. You're in jail. Or lucky you, depending on your view of Rustler's. You get one hour a day of freedom. Use it wisely, but you still can't go over the road to that awesome smelling kebab shop.

Not allowing prisoners to vote, however, don't seem all that just. If you consider that prison is a place for bad people to go and atone for their crimes, not allowing them the vote just seems like a bit of spite added on for good measure; society putting the boot in just to make itself feel a little better.

It also seems to be completely ridiculous that it's prisoners, as opposed to criminals, who lose the vote. Someone in jail for fraud, for instance, can't vote, but someone who has 240 hours of community service for nicking the lead off the church roof can. Seems a little perverse, that. No, scratch that, it seems massively insane – why should one crime against society be punishable with the withdrawal of the franchise, and another one not? While I'm at it, bearing in mind that the Justice Secretary says that shorter and non-custodial sentences are the way forward, is it not inconsistent that the same crime 20 years ago would have seen you struck off the voting register now allows you the freedom to visit the kebab shop, choose from a selection of cigarettes, and vote in an election?

Furthermore, think of reform. Prisons serve as a place that seek to reform characters who, shall I say, don't think of themselves as citizens in a society, but as individuals doing their own thing, to the detriment of society. Would we not be in a better place if, instead of banning them from voting, we actively encouraged prisoners to vote and engage with civic society in prison (well, prepare them for civic duty, rights and responsibilities upon release)? And let's not just look at reforming prisoners – prisons from time to time need reforming as well. Not so long ago, the practise of “slopping out” was banned in Scottish prisons. For the uninitiated, slopping out means shitting and pissing in a bucket, and chucking it out once a day. This medieval practise was rightly stopped – prison is there to reform, not to torture. However, it wasn't stopped at the ballot box – it was stopped when an ex-con went to his solicitors, and won a civil action, and subsequently thousands of pounds. If prisoners had their say, at an election, it may not stop future legal action against the Prison Service, but it'll be a step in the right direction.

Last point, human rights. Again, like the EU, the tabloids will bang on about the human rights of criminals. Voting, for me, is not a human right. In fact, truth be told, I'm a little suspicious of the notion of human rights – I genuinely don't know how I got them, and why the monkey didn't.

That's not to say we shouldn't let prisoners vote – whilst it is a liberty afforded to them, I do think that in a civilised society, it's a right that can, and should, be afforded to them, because while I'm in the kebab shop, and their in their cell over the road, wishing that they could be eating some of my lovely lovely lamb-grease, they may not be angels, but they may have something to offer society from within their barred confine.

If they wish to express that at the ballot box, then all power to them.

Oh, and just a Columbo-style “Just one more thing...”; remember how I said that we've all got good and bad inside us? A bit of moral introspection here. We've all done things we're not proud of, and we're all capable of doing even worse. Think about the worst thing you could do. Would that automatically disbar you from voting? And should it?

Selling out

2010-09-27T17:30:00.001+01:00

OK. I admit it. I'm a massive sell out. I've abandoned my long term principles, and gone over to the dark side for my own, grubby short term gain. I fully accept the criticism that I'm bound to get from all quarters, but please remember, I don't care.

That's right kids, I bought a Nokia phone. First one ever.

What's that you say? You don't... care? Fair enough. It's a fairly average purchase for a punter to make; they're one of the most popular brands of mobile telephone, relatively easy-to-use, feature packed, and relatively inexpensive. It's not the sort of thing a rational person would worry about, yet, as I was punching in the numbers on the Chip-and-PIN reader, a small part of me died. My 18 year old self was absolutely fucking furious with my 28 year old self.

You see, ten years ago, I really hated the things. Back then, you could just about do three things with a mobile phone – call people, text people, and almost surf the internet via “WAP”. Nokias, as far as I could tell, did the first two no better or worse than any other phone on the market, and didn't do the third well at all. Yet, bizarrely, the things were ubiquitous. Every man, his dog, and their uncle had one. Turns out I was wrong when I said you could just about do three things with a mobile phone, the Nokias of the day had a fourth function – to annoy the living fuck out of me. “Look at my high score on Snake” they would bray, just before cycling through a series of 1980s TV themes that sounded like the background music off a Geocities web-page. If I may be blunt, these were not my phones of choice. Having gone through a selection of decent, low budget phones in the early part of the decade, I decided that there was no point in getting a Nokia phone ever, so I decided that I would never, ever buy one, no matter the circumstances. Not even if it was the only way to stop a particularly brutal phone shop assistant to stop poking me in the eye.

In the end, the reason I ended my self-imposed ban on popular Finnish electronic devices was far less contrived. My old phone died, and the Nokia E63 was available from the shop for a reasonable price, and had a reasonable feature set. It makes calls, sends texts, emails, does the interweb far better than its predecessor, and loads more. In fact, the only thing that put me off was the brand, and that pledge I had made as a kid. No Nokias. Was I really going to pass up a relatively cheap, decent, solid phone just because of some irrational hatred I harboured 10 years ago? No, though I won't pretend it was easy either.

I mentioned, briefly, the themes of “selling-out” and “betraying principles” earlier on, because over the last few months, these accusations have been put to me for entirely different reasons; that as a supporter of the Liberal Democrats at the election, and as a continued supporter of the Liberal Democrats now, that somehow the party has sold out either “all” or “most” of its principles by joining a coalition government with the Conservatives. Upon further questioning, it seems that what people mean by “principle” is, in fact, policy. A principle, I would posit, is a guide, a rule of thumb, something which shapes policies, not defines them. So, as a man I know quite well at work asked me, “well, what about that VAT rise, eh?”. He then referred to the poster showing the Tories VAT bombshell. I replied that this was a matter of policy, not principle. The overriding principle of the Liberal Democrat involvement in the coalition government, I explained, is to ensure stable governance throughout this period of economic uncertainty, and to ensure that the poorest are protected. This is why, over the course of this Parliament, the coalition are seeking to raise the personal tax allowance to £10k per person, taking nearly a million people out of tax altogether.

I then turned the tables on him and asked, seeing as he mentioned principles (plural), what else he thought the Lib Dems had sold out on. Immigration, I was told, though in practice again, the temporary cap on migrants could be seen as a victory, not a “selling out”, for the Lib Dems. “What about civil liberties?” I asked. Probably shouldn't have, as all I got back was a tirade on how cutting back on CCTV cameras will lead to the end of civilised society. “Point is,” I tried to argue, “that this is a principle guiding coalition policy that is still in place. Like fairness, like reforming politics for the better, making it more open”.

Then it struck me. The only “principle” he was taking about was the principle of not joining the Conservatives in government. I mean, that's where the conversation kept heading. “Tories” and “ConDems” that. I realised that this was a fight I could not win, so I sat back, put my Nokia headphones in, and started listening to some music. “This phone really isn't bad at all”, I thought to myself. In many ways, it's a shame I didn't get one before, but it's better late than never. Once I'd looked past the branding and my inherent distrust of the thing, I found it worked quite well. Not only that, but by putting reason and logic above base instinct, I actually moved on.

I grew up.

When is a poll tax not a poll tax?

2010-09-10T13:25:00.005+01:00

I was stunned yesterday when the talk in the office turned to the subject of a new Poll tax being brought in, up here in Scotland. "Not again?" I thought. "Surely after last time, with the riots, with the wide-spread unpopularity, with it's inherent unfairness, SURELY the UK Coalition Government wouldn't be so naive as to reintroduce one? SURELY the SNP administration at Holyrood would have something to say about that?"

But then I remembered that the paper with the story that you can see to the right of this text was the Daily Record.

Nothing against the Daily Record, I might add, they're a fine newspaper, they've got a decent, witty telly critic on a Thursday in Paul English, and Hugh Keevin's Hotline on a Tuesday is a hilarious compilation of paranoid Old Firm fans moaning about something or other, with a caustic running commentary from the aforementioned Shugster.

Self-admittedly a cheerleader for the Labour party, the Record rightly have no fear when it comes to reporting stories that could be damaging to the Coalition Conservative and Liberal Democrat government. Nor, it seems, do they have any shame.

You see, despite the fairly obvious headline "THE NEW POLL TAX", along with a photo of the "old" Poll Tax riots, if you read the accompanying opinion piece by Campbell Christie (former general secretary of the Scottish TUC), you'll see that it's both not "new" nor a "poll" tax.

What Campbell Christie is objecting to here, in fact, is a Scottish Income Tax, as proposed by the Calman Commission into devolving more powers, rights and responsibilities to Holyrood.

The proposal in itself is a very, very simple one. The basic rate tax a Scottish taxpayer pays to Westminster goes down by ten pence. Westminster, in return, cuts Scotland's block grant. Holyrood will then tax you at a separate rate of income tax in order to make up the difference.

Whether this is the best, most effective way of giving Scotland greater fiscal autonomy is certainly open to question. Some may even question whether Calman is really necessary. However, one thing this ain't is a poll tax.

The poll tax, for those of you young enough not to remember it, was a flat charge on everyone over the age of 18 in Great Britain, though there were discounts for certain groups such as the unemployed, and the precise amount charged varied from local authority to local authority. The poll tax did not take in to consideration ability to pay, it took in to consideration ability to breathe.

In his article, Mr Christie states:

"WE all remember the poll tax and how Scotland was selected for special punishment by the Tory government of Margaret Thatcher.

Well, now the Tories are at it again. The coalition in London are cooking up a new tax just for Scotland - comparable to the hated poll tax in its unfairness.

The reason it was so despised was that everyone paid the same, whether they lived in a tiny council house or a castle.

I led the opposition to it, as general secretary of the Scottish Trades Union Congress. I thought I would never see its like again.

...This autumn, the Government will bring forward legislation based on the Calman Commission report to give Scotland the power to vary the rate of income tax.

It will impose what is called a "flat tax" on the people of Scotland - a tax that is the same for everyone regardless of income and which is commonly associated with extreme right-wing political movements.

Supporters insist it will allow a Scottish government to make their own public spending decisions and finance any increase by raising income tax.

But under the proposals, the low paid cleaner will pay the same as the rich banker."

What to make of that, then? Well, firstly, he's being incredibly disingenuous here. He mentions the phrase "pay/paid the same" twice here, firstly with reference to the abolished poll tax, and secondly in reference to Calman. The two are not the same. In the first situation, the castle dweller and the council house dweller both paid exactly the same, to the penny. In the latter, the cleaner and the rich banker will NOT pay anywhere near the same. They will pay the same proportion of taxable income, of which the rich banker, we assume, will have tons more of. However, a swift look at the headline, the photo, and the rhetoric there would give your average Daily Record reader some taxing nightmares.

Of course, one reason why the Poll Tax is particularly resented north of the Border is because it was the first part of Great Britain to have it imposed, and it didn't help matters that the people perceived to be doing the imposing were down in the south of England, a good 400 odd miles away from Edinburgh.

If this new Scottish Income Tax was to be anything like the Poll Tax, if it was going to cause the kind of outrage that the photo above implies, this one would need to be imposed as well, right?

Well, the bad news is that nothing here is going to be imposed, apart from the Bill bringing it into law (assuming it gets through Parliament). In fact, this will only give Holyrood the power to adjust the tax. It's possible, though I grant you unlikely, that Holyrood may use its new powers to LESSEN the tax burden on Scots.

Just a thought - what's the opposite of tax? Rebate, I would guess. I wonder if anyone down in Atlantic Quay would be willing to use the headline "THE NEW POLL REBATE" if cleaners and bankers alike MADE money from this?

However, the biggest cheek of this piece in my mind is the part where Mr Christie says "The coalition in London are cooking up a new tax just for Scotland" - again, giving the impression that this is all down to the wicked Tories, and their new pals, the Liberal Collaborators. I mean, it's not 100% incorrect, the Tories and Lib Dems in Scotland do both support Calman, to varying degrees. Other parties in Scotland also support the Calman Commission, like, umm, the Labour Party.

To give Daily Record readers their due, however, they will have seen through that line. Record readers have fantastic memories, I'm told, and will no doubt remember this article from November last year, when the then Labour Secretary of State for Scotland, Jim Murphy MP, proposed giving Scotland greater fiscal autonomy from Westminster.

It also rather throws out the idea that this is a newly cooked up idea, doesn't it?

What really pisses me off is the imagery, to be honest. "Us Scots never forget" is a line I've heard from a whole load of folk up here, most commonly in reference to the Thatcher days. Fair enough. To link something completely unrelated to Thatcher's era using the most tenuous logic in order to give it a bad name is just really, bloody lazy.

On a roll (and a coffee)

2010-09-08T17:44:00.003+01:00

I know a guy called George. “So what?”, I imagine you're shouting at your computer screens. Well, he's an awfully nice chap, always has a nice word to say about everyone, yet our paths tend not to cross all that often these days. He's doing this, and I'm doing that. You know how it is. I think we're buddies on Facebook, though I will admit I've not checked. “Get on with it”, I imagine you're now shouting at your computer screens. If you're still reading, that is.

The reason I mention George is that he has the most wonderful way of starting a conversation. “Lesbians, eh?” was one of his opening gambits, to which I always replied with a flat, borderline-Aspergers “Yes.”. His way of finding out how things were with the world from another's perspective was to turn to you and say “So, the ECONOMY, eh?”, a line which would see a giggle, some tongue in cheek tutting and a nod, and then an exchange of pleasantries.

Should I bump into George at some point in the near future, and that very question was posed, I would not giggle. There would be no faux-tutting. Pleasantries would follow, but only after a good long rant. “The economy?” I would say, raising an eyebrow, with my voice noticeably getting louder, “THE ECONOMY???”. I would stop myself from descending into a Hulk-style rage, breathe a little, then continue. “The economy's FUCKED, George. We've built our society on a house of cards, too little manufacturing, too many people working as 'Customer Service Executives' and 'Numeracy Consultants'. The banks lent to the wrong people, but it wasn't their fault, it was the Governments fault for...” and this would go on until George asked me about lesbians.

However, it is a dire situation out there, what with the cost of living going up, and the chances of higher paid work going down, but let's face it: we're all ultimately complicit in what happens in our society, in how our society is shaped, by what we do and don't do. We all have a part to play. I am a great believer that we can all help turn society around for the better, provided we have a cup of coffee and a bacon buttie first thing in the morning. Given the state of the nations finances, the cheaper the grub, the better.

Selflessly, I have been to five different eateries to compare the deals on offer, and to review them for the nation's economic benefit. I considered it my DUTY, frankly, as an overweight patriot to our once great nation. There were some stipulations, however. Firstly, you have to get AT LEAST bacon in a roll, or between two slices of bread. If the deal offers bacon + something else at no extra charge, I will take it. Secondly, the deals must cost, at the very most, £2. Two pounds and a penny is too much in the age of austerity. With those the ground rules, this is how I got on:

Firstly, I went to Subway.

Their deal is that you can get any breakfast sub, and a regular coffee, for £2 before 11am. I went for the Bacon, Sausage and Egg sub. I had never had a breakfast out of Subway before, so I had no idea what to expect, apart from that they'd probably chuck some cheese on it, toast it, and then shove on some lettuce and tomato and some nondescript sauce. I was half right, as no cheese was forthcoming. “Would you like any salad?”, the gentleman behind the counter asked me. “Why not?” I replied, noticing that his hands were in the lettuce tray expectantly, as if it was normal for people to get this in their breakfast roll. The bacon, sausages and egg, incidentally, were all precooked and microwaved, the egg having been turned into an omelette.

Must say, it didn't look all that appetising. It wasn't. As much as we all need our five a day, there's a time and a place. I went back a few days later, in the interests of fairness, and just got a bacon roll and coffee, with ketchup. Much better, though eating it out of a Subway 6 inch roll just didn't feel all that right, first thing in the morning. The coffee, I must admit, was pretty good. The machine is customer facing, next to the soft drinks machine, meaning I pushed the buttons myself. I may, or may not, have cheekily added a double espresso shot to my coffee. This feature, regrettably, may not be available at your local Subway outlet.

Also, just to declare a potential conflict of interest, I have “previous” with this branch of Subway, in that they once microwaved my doughnut. Why would you microwave a doughnut? You are reading this right, by the way. They seriously grabbed a doughnut from the display, microwaved it without asking, and then serving it in a steaming paper bag. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that the breakfast deal, whilst it wasn't great, might be better in other stores. Just saying, like. Subway: 6/10

Next, I went to Wetherspoons.

They offer two sizes of breakfast meal, the small being £1.49 for a bacon roll and a small coffee, £1.79 gets you a large coffee. Vegetarians! You too can enjoy this meal, simply for opting for the veggie sausages instead, and the deal's on till 12 noon. I went for the large coffee and bacon roll, and it was fairly pleasant. Don't get me wrong, it was dead weird being in the pub on my lunchbreak at just before noon – most punters were having more liquid lunches than I, and I must admit I was rather jealous. However, I was doing this for the greater good, and the coffee was in good nick. As with the well known beer and burger deal, the breakfast deal comes in two parts; you get the coffee there and then, and you get your food delivered to your table. “What table number are you at?” the young lady asked. I was still half awake. “bfasfvat oooone” I replied. I had no idea. I imagine she was used to it, being a pub; I expect she gets a similar response when the night-time guys order a curry after a few Stellas.

The coffee was probably the best out of all I tried, if I'm honest. Very nice indeed, full of flavour, nice aroma, not too milky. The roll came a few minutes later, and was good. Two bits of back bacon in a roll, sadly without butter, or sauce. Wetherspoons being what it is, I had to find the condiments table myself to get some mustard and brown sauce, but it's not really a biggie in the grand scheme of things. Quite nice, especially for the price, only major drawback that I can think of is that there was no takeaway option. Wetherspoons: 8/10

Just for the purposes of clarity, I did NOT do all this on the same day. Maybe, by way of a challenge, I'll do the lot the same day. Some kind of coffee and bacon blowout. Go the same way Elvis did, if Elvis was from Wolverhampton.

Next stop was Gregg's. I guess their deal is certainly the best value of the lot, that's for sure. £1.99 gets you any breakfast roll you like, and any hot drink, so long as you go in before 11.30 of a morning. So, a large coffee and a bacon and sausage roll? £1.99. So I did. “Would you like links or square sausage?” the bloke behind the counter asked. Just to explain, the square sausage is a breakfast meat particular to Scotland. It's a bit like a spicy pork burger, I guess. I would say delicacy, but that'd be pushing it. Anyway, I went with it.

The guy grabbed a relatively large bread roll from the counter, opened it, buttered it, grabbed a couple of tongs, and dipped them into the kebab-style trays next to the soup cauldron. He put the bacon in, then the sausage, then liberally covered it in HP sauce. It was amazing. I counted no less than FOUR pieces of back bacon, the sausage was fantastic, and the thing weighed a ton before it was eaten. I certainly got my moneys worth, as it could easily have fed a small family.

As for the coffee, well, it was quite nice. Same machine as the one Subway used, nothing remarkable, but infinitely better than the previous time I'd had a coffee out of Gregg's, when they had used Nescafe instant. Certainly the best value, and taste wise, pretty decent. Gregg's: 9/10

Baguette Express were my next port of call. The shop I visited seemed initially reluctant to do me their £1.49 bacon roll and coffee deal, on the grounds that it was at 3 in the afternoon, and the lady was convinced that the deal stopped at noon. In fact, the deal was on until 6pm, though I wouldn't have argued had I have known what was coming. Firstly, the shop was a halal one; meaning the only bacon they did was turkey rashers cured in a way to make it taste like pork bacon. On a plus point, this was almost certainly better for me than the alternative, and turkey bacon isn't all that bad. Besides, some of their other branches do regular bacon, so I can hardly take them to town for that. They used a crispy morning roll (again, possibly unique to Scotland, very nice), and with brown sauce added it was alright, though I only got two rashers.

The coffee, however, was pretty poor. It was brown water that came from a tap of some sort, topped up with milk. It tasted like a watered down cup of Maxwell House. Not great. However, plus points for being the only place I looked at to offer this deal after breakfast time, if anything it'll be ideal for student or unemployed stereotypes, the exact same people who need to pull their fingers out and get the economy moving (he says, tongue firmly in cheek): Baguette Express: 4/10

Lastly, I went to Yate's. That's right, Yate's. The pub. It seems their recent financial woes have forced them to consolidate their outlets, and focus on attracting a different clientèle through their doors. Fair play to them, Yate's in my mind is synonymous with arseholes dressed in stupid outfits on a Saturday night being drunk, loud, and obnoxious. Like many other pubs, sure, but Yate's stood out as being one of the main offenders. However, I did feel it would be wrong to leave them out, especially as I'd been to a Wetherspoons the week before. The deal was pretty much the same as the Wetherspoons “small” deal – bacon buttie and a coffee for £1.49, till noon. What differed here is that the coffee was MASSIVE. For the sake of reference, if you are reading this on a netbook, the coffee was bigger than the screen you're reading this on. Quite impressive. The bacon buttie was the only sandwich I got out of the five places I tried, and it was nice with it. Two thick slices of brown bread, sadly only two rashers of back bacon, but it was filling and non unpleasant.

Again, like Wetherspoons, the table number business reared it's ugly head. This time, I said “err, umm, by the window”, and the food got to me, albeit 10 minutes after I'd ordered it. In fairness, they were busy. Glasgow had just been invaded by Geordies for the day because of football and some had headed into Yate's en masse, so it's fair to assume I'd have got quicker service any other day. Benefit of the doubt: Yate's: 7/10.

So, there we have it. Britain's best coffee and roll deal is Gregg's, though none were that bad that I'd never darken their doorsteps ever again. It is cruicial to point out that you can get buy even cheaper if you shop around; I'm reliably informed that if its a can of energy drink and a Cornish pasty you're after, you can get it out of Sainsburys for about a quid any time their open. What I have done, people, is offered my body in the name of gastronomic research, hoping that it will provide the necessary monetary stimulus to get the country moving forward again, and that I had absolutely no fun carrying out this research whatsoever. Absolutely none. On that note, I'm hungry. And poor. I'm off to the Bank of England to see if they'll do me a pizza for under a fiver.

Trainspotters A-Go Go!

2010-08-31T16:56:00.003+01:00

Look at the photo below. I want you to study it carefully, noting every last detail, and I want you to try to guess what the mystery object in the picture is. Go!

No, it's not a trick question. The big green, blue and yellow thing. What could it possibly be? Ok, so it's a vehicle of some sort, and it's being guided by some rails. It's about as long as three average suburban living room sofas (possibly four), and it looks like it could be opened with a fairly substantial can opener. Also, note how the vehicle has the destination electronically plastered above the drivers window in a big, bus-like fashion. Also, note how few seats there are. You might have to squint, but there are only about, I dunno, 7 seats on these bad boys. So, it's make your mind up time. What do YOU think THIS is?

Now, if you said “tram”, sorry! It's not a tram. If you said “monorail”, you're an idiot. Look! Two rails. Monorails doesn't allow for two rails, hence the mono. If you said “something out of Thunderbirds”... a point for ingenuity, but you're wrong.

The correct answer, in case you didn't guess, is “train”. This is a train. Yes, a train. Admittedly, it looks nothing like the sort of train most of us would see or use on our daily business, but it is nonetheless a vehicle operating on the National Rail network (seriously), operates a daily passenger service, and it even has it's own British Railways classification (it's a Class 139, since you ask). But where on earth would such a tiny, odd looking train run? Simple – on Britain's tiniest railway line – in Stourbridge.

Stourbridge, once a proud industrial town in its own right, now for all intents and purposes a suburb of Birmingham, has a station on the Birmingham to Kidderminster line. By all accounts, it doesn't run through the centre of the town, but it's not exactly much of a trek either. However, the powers that be decided that the station was sufficiently far from the town centre as to be a burden on travellers, so they decided to build a connecting branch line. Stourbridge Town and Stourbridge Junction are, according to Google Maps, about ¾ mile apart from each other. These are the only stops on the line, yet it takes three minutes to travel. Should you wish to do the journey, a ride on this fantastic contraption can be yours for only 80 pence, with an off peak return costing a network standard 10 pence more. Bargain.

What's more, these trains are the FUTURE, or so we're told. By using flywheel energy storage, they conserve energy which would otherwise be lost whilst braking, and then re-use it to power the vehicle. Remember Formula 1's “KERS” system, where stored brake energy could be used to help pass high speed motorcars at 200 kph? It's a bit like that, only it helps to get Brummies to the shops a wee bit quicker, and is environmentally friendly. The manufacturers, Parry People Movers, reckon these save 80% diesel consumption versus regular trains.

Problem is, though, future or not, these trains at present don't travel very far, or very fast. Whilst the technology could no doubt be adapted for regular trains providing some carbon dioxide reduction, we most likely won't be seeing these little railbuses anywhere else for some time. Which is a shame. I wouldn't mind them being introduced where I live, if only so I can commute to work in something that looks like it came out of Thunderbird 2.

Twitter, innit.

2010-07-20T16:58:00.004+01:00

Twitter, as I keep having to explain to friends and family, is quite a useful little tool if you think about it. When one tweets, one is essentially sending an open SMS-style message to the entire world, so if you've got something to say, in less than 140 characters, and many people who you think will want to read it, then Twitter's for you. If that's not your bag, if you want a web based contact book; a cartoony version of Microsoft Outlook that stores messages, embarrasing photos that you'd hoped had long been destroyed, and fucking Farmville, then Facebook's probably a better bet.

It is one of these things which works better in theory than it does practise. Whilst a lot of people do use Twitter for the power of good, and send messages containing useful information or considered pearls of wisdom, others abuse the privilege and use Twitter to say what's on their mind at that precise moment in time, with little or no mental filtering, all the bloody time (step forward, @willmill82), but hey! Nothing's perfect. It's not the technology at fault here kids, it's the bloody users. In an absurd way, you could draw an analogy to the old saying “Guns don't kill people, people kill people”, only I think that's slightly unfair on Twitter. Say what you like, but they're not rabid right wing nutters with shotguns on Twitter, for the most part.

One thing that Twitter does particularly well, and particularly frequently, is turn into a massive melting pot of moral outrage, Daily Mail reader style, albeit usually against the Daily Mail or topics the Daily Mail would consider appropriate. Usually, it's a joy to behold – the masses rising up against bigotry, nastiness, and unfairness, all in under 140 characters. Remember Jan Moir's now infamous article about Stephen Gately's untimely death, which suggested that his sexuality and inferred lifestyle were it's cause? Twitter outrage, followed by climbdown. Remember the Trafigura scandal, where a super-injunction stopped the press reporting allegations of illegal dumping in Africa? Twitter to the rescue – within minutes the story had leaked and spread all over the network, and within days the injunction had been lifted. BBC 6 Music was arguably saved by public outcry over it's planned closure, mostly off of Twitter users.

Problem is, while often the causes are noble, these campaigns are always reactionary. No-one ever organises these things in advance. No-one on Twitter thinks to themselves “right, 24th August is going to be 'Protest Against Ghosts Day'”, for instance, then actively organises a day of tweets frowning upon spooky paranormal beings. Being reactionary, sometimes the reaction may well be an over-reaction. Yesterday (that's Monday if you're reading this as a Facebook note) a #proudofBBC hashtag campaign started because of suggestions that the license fee might, not will, might be lowered – leading to complaints that the BBC is in critical danger and will collapse, to accusations that the license fee being cut will lead to the BBC's independence being compromised, without explaining exactly how these unlikely eventualities would manifest themselves.

Even more bizarrely, Keith Chegwin, off of the telly, found himself in bother after it was noticed that he was nicking other peoples jokes without crediting their creators. Aside from the fact it seems to have taken everyone else months to notice he does this, the reaction was totally disproportionate to the original offence. By all accounts, Cheggers ought to apologise to the people who read his tweets, and to Milton Jones, whose joke was nicked, but the amount of tweets on the subject (thousands), and strength of feeling (@apprenticerhys tweeted simply “Keith Chegwin, what a cunt”, for instance) seem amazingly disproportionate, especially when you consider that 1) he's not the first person to nick someone else's joke, and he won't be the last, 2) he's not even a sodding comedian, and 3) maybe, just maybe, he didn't nick the joke in question, maybe he came up with it himself, only Milton Jones had beaten him to the punch. You never know, stranger things and all that...

This all said, what's done is done. You cannot un-see a tweet, though they can be deleted. What worries me is where it will all end. With great power comes great responsibility, and Twitter's siege mentality works great when it's for a worthy and just cause. When it's not, it risks becoming a forum for people to spout off their rage at whatever target happens to pass by, regardless of whether that target really deserves it or not. And all in under 140 characters!

The new scepticism

2010-07-11T12:16:00.003+01:00

Why is it that whenever someone says they are suffering from suicidal thoughts, that the doctors are the first people to be mentioned? Why is it never friends or family, or church ministers, or the Samaritans? Or anyone else for that matter?

Do we really live in a society that blindly believes that all the answers lie in a one-stop medical shop, or in a pill?

For me, that's as dangerous as putting all your faith in a homeopathist, a quack, or a faith healer.

Experimental Psychotherapy

2010-06-12T11:09:00.000+01:00

Dear Tony,

You may remember that in 2004, I had to leave your employment at Wheaton's Plastics due to a stress related illness. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the company, and I thank you for the help that you and others gave me through that difficult time.

As part of my recovery, my doctor has put me on a course of alternative therapy called the de Havilalaand Method, which is precisely my reason for writing to you today. Founded by the famed psychoanalyst Roger de Havilalaand, he held the belief that all mental maladies are caused by the subconscious replaying bad memories over and over in our mind, looking for closure to episodes where one party may have been too overbearing, or not had enough of a say in a discussion. De Havilalaand's solution is to write to people who we feel we've wronged, or been wronged by, to prompt the synaptic wiring in our heads to accept the past, and to move into the present.

Tony, I would first like to apologise for the incident on the 23^rd of May, 2003, where after having a minor argument about the rights and wrongs of the UK's entry into the single European currency, if you recall, I kicked you hard in the groin. Repeatedly. I know now that what I did was an over-reaction, and I hope that you will feel vindicated by the Euros subsequent failure to stand up to the pressures of the global financial crisis. I am also grateful that you chose to leave the matter and not to pursue disciplinary action, and that you understood my actions had been affected by lunchtime drinking.

However, there were times when I was in your employment when I thought you were perhaps a little unreasonable. Again, I never said at the time, but under de Havilalaand's method I must tell you this now, to help me “let go”. Do you recall that time, I believe it was around about July that year, where you paid two trained actors to dress up as policemen, knock on my door, and tell me that my parents had died tragically skiing in Aviemore? At the time, I said I thought it was a funny joke. Tony, that was not a funny joke. It was an awful thing to do. What was worse was when you told me that they were adoptive parents, so they “didn't really matter”, and that you and Julie were my real parents, but you gave me up at birth because of the recessive ginger gene? I must tell you that the ordeal has left me with a massive mental scar, but I do understand that afternoon drinking did play a part in your actions.

I drew the line, Tony, at the production line incident in January 2004, just before we parted company, where you smashed me around the face with a cricket bat, collected the 5 miscellaneous front and middle teeth that came out, and used them for moulds for making “Goth necklaces”. Whilst I was glad that you sorted me out on the company dental plan, I think that both you and I know that you overstepped the mark that afternoon, and for six years I've been waiting for an apology. One word, Tony, one word. The “s” word, Tony. And 50% of the profits of Goth necklaces, which I believe are the number one selling toy in Sevenoaks in the 14-17 year old teen goth demographic. I appreciate that the incident may well have been aggravated by my calling you a “cunt” moments before, and we of course both had been drinking that lunchtime.

The beauty of the de Havilalaand method is that you get a right of reply to apologise for your wrongs, and to bring me to task for mine. Please find enclosed a stamped addressed envelope, along with my address. Should you wish to phone or email, my credentials are also attached, underneath the razorblades, the rat poison and the vial of badger-TB infected blood. I apologise for their inclusion, but I had a couple of whiskies whilst writing this to you. You mad old fucker. Hope you die.

Yours sincerely,

Roger Tressle

Minicos - In defense of David Laws

2010-05-29T10:44:00.003+01:00

(This post is a response to this story in the Telegraph)

David Laws, the Chief Secretary to the Treasury, is the latest to fall foul of the public's distaste for politicians claiming expenses from us, the taxpayer. According to the Telegraph, Mr Laws claimed in the region of £40,000 from the taxpayer in second home allowance in order to pay for his partners property.

Now, in ordinary circumstances, this would be out of order. Partners often treat dual incomes as one, and pay both into a joint bank account. Mr Laws and his partner did not. Ergo, Mr Laws did not make a financial gain from the situation, and was claiming a second home allowance in the same manner as other MPs - i.e. it was in the rules at the time.

It has also been revealed that Mr Laws has been living with his partner for a longer time than they have been in a relationship - i.e. that the domestic arrangement began as two men living together as flatmates, which is quite common. It beggars belief that because they entered a personal relationship after co-habiting as flatmates, whilst retaining financial independence of each other, that somehow the arrangement of financing the rent should suddenly change - and the more I think about it, the more bizarre it seems. The insinuation I'm picking up here is, it's ok to fund a shared flat from the public purse, so long as you don't share a bedroom. If you will pardon the vulgarity, that would be a very expensive shag.

No, I don't think he should resign. If anything, by paying back the money that he claimed he has not only understood the public mood on this issue, but also that he is willing to act quickly in the public interest, and right now, the public interest is making sure that the deficit is tackled. Laws, along with Cable and Osborne, are the right people for the job.

On granting those accused of rape anonymity.

2010-05-24T16:59:00.002+01:00

I recall, many moons ago, seeing an up and coming stand up comedian performing in the West end of Glasgow. “I was walking by a demonstration”, he said, “so I asked what they were demonstrating against.” Apparently, the lady with the megaphone replied “Rape”, leading the comic to question “...but come on, nobody surely advocates rape?” Indeed, it's not the sort of thing one would actively encourage. If anything, most people would be steadfastly against the promotion of rape, suggesting that this demonstration (if it ever happened) was merely preaching to the converted, but very loudly. In the interests of completeness, the demonstrator replied “Rapists.”.

Skip forward to 2010, and the new Government are supposedly looking to introduce anonymity at rape trials for the accused as well as the accusers.

Good.

It really should go without saying that the accusers ought to retain their anonymity. Fact is, without it a lot of people would not go to court. Sadly, there are some men and women (thankfully decreasing in number) who believe that victims of rape “ask for it”, be it through the clothes they wear, the way they act, and so on. Asking to be raped is, frankly, counter-intuitive. That would be consent, one would have thought.

However, is it really right that the accused, whether found innocent or guilty, can be named and shamed? I wouldn't have thought so. I don't agree with the idea that, by ensuring equality in the courtroom, the rights of the accused somehow automatically trump those accusing. I don't buy the argument that, by granting anonymity, you're somehow letting a rapist away with it, back onto the streets, to attack again. By making it equally anonymous, yet allowing media scrutiny, we can concentrate on the case, the testimony, and a balanced argument from all sides that a jury can reach a fair, reliable verdict.

It's often mentioned that the UK has a shamefully low ratio of prosecutions to convictions. This may well be true. There probably are people who are guilty of rape who are found innocent, or in Scotland “not proven”. However, this is where the real dilemma lies – in Britain, we are presumed innocent until proven guilty. Rape, sadly, is difficult to prove – you have to prove that a) sexual intercourse happened and b) that it wasn't consensual. In many cases, with sex being mostly a private affair, you're unlikely to get witnesses to corroborate either the defendant or the accusers versions of events.

There should be a better way of conducting rape trials whilst keeping them fair, and keeping the presumption of innocence until guilt is proven. I do not have an answer as to what you could do – maybe allow stronger cross-examination in court, for instance, or maybe pressure the accused for an admission through showing them the effects that rape has on their victims, their families, and other survivors in graphic detail. I'm no expert, but the one thing we CANNOT do is gerrymander the crime statistics in an authoritarian manner until one day, we're happy with the results. Where does that leave us? What if the results were a lot nearer the prosecution/conviction ratio for most other crimes, yet serious miscarriages of justice were still happening? Would we have a better off judicial system for it? I doubt it.

Also, please note how I've broadly referred to the accusers in potential rape trials as accusers, not victims. It is unhelpful, in my view, to presuppose the verdict in such cases. However, to go back to the comedian I mentioned at the beginning, I do not wish to leave anyone with the impression that I am unsympathetic to the victims of rape. I cannot begin to imagine the horrors of being raped, nor would I wish my worst enemies to be subjected to that ordeal. However, just like the comedian, it seems ludicrous to think that by holding views contrary to the well-meaning but outspoken baying mob, that I am somehow complicit in trying to get a rapist to walk the streets a free person.

(This is broadly a response to http://tiny.cc/9ru6n, incidentally. It's not a subject that I feel particularly comfortable writing about, or seeing on the news, however I do feel sufficiently strongly that I felt a response was necessary.)

A nice thought on electoral reform...

2010-05-17T16:34:00.003+01:00

I’ve just read an article in yesterday’s Sunday Herald by Muriel Grey. I don’t usually bother with a Sunday paper but the bloke in the shop this morning was giving them away – so much for sale or return. Nope, he’d bought them, he was getting rid of them the only way he knew how.

Anyway, this article by Muriel Grey was bemoaning the rise of the moaning voter, who despite taking their time to perform their bi-decadent civic duty at the polling booth, were unhappy with the outcome of their votes.

Votes, just to clarify, not the outcome. I’d like to think we take losing in a less-than-graceful fashion in this country, but we accept the result; if we find ourselves voting for a losing party, we might mumble our misgivings into a lonely pint while no-ones listening, groan to like minded confidantes, or make a Facebook group whinging about it, but fortunately that’s the bulk of it, if there’s a majority government formed.

As we’ve seen this week, when there’s not an overall majority formed, and coalition government is formed, suddenly we start to scrutinise the way we voted, and come to some bizarre conclusions. “But I voted for the Lib Dems to keep the Tories out!” is a common cry on teh intarwebs. No, you didn't, hypothetical intarweb person. You voted for a Liberal Democrat candidate in the constituency where you live, and that's it. If anything can be inferred from this polling booth action, it is that you would prefer at least one more Lib Dem MP in the Commons, and it's likely that you want a Lib Dem government, right? I mean, if you wanted five more years of Labour, you'd vote for that, no? Want a Tory government, vote Tory, I'd have thought.

Getting back to Muriel Grey's Sunday Herald column (which is on-line here, and well worth a read), she makes an excellent point: that “...people are reacting to this election as if casting a vote is like ordering up a purchase, as if a mark on a ballot paper buys you your own tailor-made, bespoke society”. It's as if the X in the relevant box just won't cut it any more, and needs to buck up its ideas, sprout some legs, and get its arse in gear. That's when it hit me. The best idea of all time (if I say so myself) when it comes to voting reform. How do we put across both our vote and our intention in that vote? How do we make it clear that despite voting SNP at this election, I'm quite keen on saving the Union, I just think their the best of a bad bunch? How would one make it obvious to a returning officer that I'm voting Green because I don't really get what they're about, but hey! They ain't the Tories?

Very simply, we need to use betting slips.

Now, I'm not advocating any particular brand, but I will say that Hill's have the most writing space. For the uninitiated, a betting slip is like a small bit of headed paper, where you get to write whatever bollocks you like, yet mystically the cashier knows exactly what you meant. For instance, “£5 if it wins, but it might come second, and its not got a jockey, and it's a small horse, and I think it's at Crayford in a minute” magically turns into Dog No. 5 at the 5.00 at Crayford. Just think what you could achieve with betting slips in elections?

“I'm voting Lib Dem even though I'm a Labour supporter because I don't want those bastard Tories getting back in, even though I could vote Labour, I shalln't because I liked what Nick Clegg said on the telly debate, and if I'm honest, I really don't know if I should be voting at all because it's all a bit over-rated” - that would go down as a vote for the Liberal Democrats with a 2^nd preference for Labour under STV or AV. Simple.

I know what you're thinking though – it would take ages to sort through all the votes. Well, yes, but then I can't be the only person who thinks it downright horrendous that they're all counted on the same night. I mean, how accurate can a count be if it only takes 45 minutes in Sunderland? Hey, if it takes a longer time to count the votes, at least they'll be counted properly. Besides, if you hire bookmakers assistants to do the job on counting night, it might well take a lot less time than you might think!

A Pizza The Action

2010-05-14T16:18:00.002+01:00

IMPORTANT: This article works best if you read it with the internal voice of Peter Sissons.

Having been introduced to Britain in the 1960s at the height of “Swinging Britain”, and popularised by TVs “Teenage Hero Killer Turtles” in 2003, the pizza is one of the countries most popular dishes.

It's easy to see why; they are relatively cheap, with pizzas often being sold on eBay for as little as £40; they are versatile – you can put almost any topping you like on the cheese and tomato base, like anchovies, jam or even ghosts; and they are healthy, covering the major food groups of bread, fat and cheese. However, following on from my recent experiment to see how drunk and mashup I could get off Morrison's Value Bitter, I have been asked to share with you my experience of creating a pizza on a budget. So here we are. I have lost the receipts, and the recipe involved some stuff out of the fridge, but assuming that one whole pizza will feed a grown man, then this recipe works out at about 96.42 pence per head.

THE BASE.

The trickiest part of ordering a pizza off of a so-called “takeaway” is the choice of base. Traditionally, you'd have a choice of the big two – thin and crispy, like a doughy pancake, or “deep pan”, which was like a doughy muffin, but a flattened doughy muffin. The good news is, with my recipe, the dough is exactly the same, you just have to use it differently according to taste. If you want one of those fancy crusts with cheese and herb sauce in it, or a dip in the base, tough, I don't know how to make them.

Firstly, you will need to get yourself 300 grams of flour. Wheat flour works best, but I've heard rumours that flour from the tears of hippo virgins work just as well, so it will depend on what's in your cupboard. Add a cup of water, a teaspoon of oil, and some yeast. You can get yeast from a Marmite shop. Mix it all together into a bowl until it forms a slimy ball of dough, and then fry it a little bit in a pan. This is to help the kneading process by basically frightening the gluten into doing what it's told. Wait until the dough has cooled down, and then start punching it. This helps get air into the doughs “blood stream”, creating a finer flavour. Punch it until the dough cannot take any more, and leave it to rest for about 20 minutes, under a warm tea towel. The dough should be a solid, yet mailable, mixture of crispy fried bits and doughy gloop. That's fine and normal.

Now, for thin and crispy pizzas, you'll ideally want to roll out the dough so that before cooking, it's about half a metre wide, and 4 mm thick, so that it roughly resembles the dinner plate it will be sitting on. For deep pan pizzas, simply roll the dough so that it is about 4mm wide, and half a meter thick, much like a plate being viewed from the side, whilst standing up.

Importantly, the art of a good pizza is to use fresh dough. Whilst you may have used stale dough in the past, please remember that it is potentially deadly, bad for you, and it doesn't taste as good. However, the above steps can be avoided if, and only if, you are in a hurry.

THE TOPPINGS.

Having rolled out your dough into the desired shape and colour, now is the time to top your pizza. Now, there are no hard and fast rules to what to put on your pizzas as I briefly mentioned at the beginning, earlier, however some combinations are nicer than others. Below, you will find some of my own personal favourites, and some which I am told are popular at the local pizzeria.

MARGHERITA: Simply Cheese And Tomato.

HAWAIIAN: Ham and Pineapple

GARDEN CENTRE: Olives, Mushrooms, Peppers and Fertiliser

SHINY JIM'S MEAT FEAST: Bacon, Bacon, Beef, Sausages and Beef, topped with Chicken and Bacon.

GORDON BROWN'S TAX RELIEF: Mushrooms, Pineapple, Fiscal Stability, Ham, FTSE 100

A TASTE OF SICILY: Fancy Italian Hams, Portobella Mushrooms.

A TASTE OF SYDENHAM: Syrup.

FARMHOUSE CHICKEN: Chicken, Sweetcorn, Hay, Eggs,

DIDN'T KNOW WHAT I WANTED OUT OF SAINSBURY'S: Pasta, Beans, Tiramasu, Reggae Reggae Sauce, Chips, Another Pizza, Coke.

ALCOHOLICS DELIGHT (over 18s only): Bourbon, Vodka, Gin, Beer, Cider.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN TOPPING: _______, _______, _______, _______, ________ (press Ctrl+P to print, or if you are careful, write it in on your screen with a pen)

Of course, this list isn't exhaustive – I don't pretend to be an expert on pizzas, but I'm certainly entitled to a few personal favourites. If I've missed out one which you're particularly keen on, why not leave a comment and tell us what your favourite pizza is?

Minicos: The Leader's Debate and that

2010-04-19T16:40:00.000+01:00

Oh my stupid head. I've got words in my head that need to leave and get on this tiny netbook screen in front of me, but it ain't happening. Writer's block, I think it's called. Others might call it incessant chatter behind me. One of the guys I work with is telling another guy I work with about how him and his missus go to the Bingo, and buy coffee tables. I want to remove his mouth with a shotgun. Moving on...

I was going to write a little something about the Leader's debate that was on ITV (or STV or UTV depending on location) last week, but I am struggling. For one thing, the fall out from it has been discussed at great length by everybody over the weekend. Yes, Nick Clegg won, quite convincingly, as the polls and pundits are saying. Yes, David Cameron had a little bit of a nightmare. If anything, he looked as if he worried too much about his image, which went on to... ruin his image. You know how it is when you're playing pool, and you think really hard about the shot, and then you miss by a mile? That, but on telly. Yes, Gordon Brown was there. I'm told. I can't remember anything he said.

But you know what? I got stuck on a really minor, twatty detail. And I KNOW it's small and twatty. In fact, it's not even small and twatty, it's not even that big, but it is a pet hate. The show was titled the "First Leader's Debate", yet there were no mentions of the second or third ones. It was if they didn't exist. Any particular reason? Because they're not on ITV. This phenomenon is not exclusive to political debates, I might add. During the football World Cup, for instance, where the games are split between the BBC and ITV, we the viewer know that games are on both sides, yet each broadcaster maintains a bizarre pretense that they are the only channel around, and that as far as you the viewer are concerned, the games on the other side don't exist. If it wasn't so fucking bizarre, it would be insulting to the intelligence.

Yes, I appriciate there is an argument that TV channels by and large don't want to actively drive audiences to their competitors. Usually, they don't. I can understand why the BBC, for instance, don't have a continutity announcer telling the viewers over the credits of Eastenders that Coronation Street is about to start, and that they should immediately switch over to ITV. This is because these programs are relatively passive things - you either watch them regularly through enjoyment or habit or because there's nothing else to do. Events such as the leader's debate and the World Cup are special events that fall outside punters regular viewing habits, and as such, people are more likely to be watching them with interest than just as a result of channel hopping. It therefore stands to reason, surely, that if ITV were to have said "Oh, by the way, the next one's half an hour earlier, and it's on Sky News next week", they weren't going to have lost viewers - those who wanted to watch it would have done anyway (and would have been thankful to ITV for saving them spending time looking it up). Instead, by pretending that they're the only game in town makes me suspect that I'm going to enjoy the Sky and BBC presentations a little bit more. Unless, of course, they employ the same idea, and deny that the ITV one ever happened. In that instance, I'm chucking the laptop through the telly.

Politics, dear boy. Politics.

2010-04-11T10:46:00.005+01:00

Now here's a funny one. I know (well, I'm 95% certain) who I'm going to vote for, but I genuinely don't know who I want to win the general election.

Regular readers (both of you) will of course remember that back in January, I blogged some "reverse-pledges" - i.e. policies I would *like* to see implemented, with the promise that I would vote for the party that bought them in. Little did I realise, a week into an election campaign, that the Conservatives would be that party!

Just by way of a recap, the ideas I thought would change Britain for the better were the introduction of a state-run Employment Agency, taking people off Job Seekers and placing them with temporary jobs until they could find full time employment; a "Right to Sell" your house to a housing association to create housing stock (and mixed income communities) whilst KEEPING "Right to Buy", and the idea of the state not running communities, but actively encouraging communities to run themselves. A kind of less paranoid, positive Neighbourhood Watch, if you will. Scores on these doors; Lab 0, Lib 0, Con 1.

Not withstanding all of the above, I am not going to vote Conservative at this election. Simple reason being where I live, they don't have a snowballs chance of winning. The Lib Dems, however, are only notionally about 4,000 behind the sitting Labour MP. I think I might vote them.

Why? Civil Liberties. I do not like the fact that, under the current government, suspects can be detained for up to 42 days on suspicion alone. I do not like the idea of a national ID and central database. I do not like the idea that the DNA of the innocent can be held by the state. I do not like the idea of trials in England and Wales taking place without a jury. I do not like the fact that, according to this list here the vast majority of MPs who voted against personal freedoms were Labour, and the vast majority of Conservative and Lib Dem MPs did not.

I also don't like this story here in the Sunday Times today. Long and the short of it is that a quarter of a million people, on a CENTRAL DATABASE, got a letter from the Labour party telling them how the Tories will be bad for cancer patients.
Two initial thoughts and an afterthought: Firstly, the use of sensitive medical data for electioneering purposes is bad. With the ID card/database and DNA database debates, we were reassured that all private data held would be secure and subject to checks and balances to ensure that the data wouldn't be misused, and that it would be held securely. Whilst, in this instance, this data is unlikely to have come from health boards (more likely private research), the fact remains that the data was appropriated for marketing reasons, which really doesn't sit well with me.
Secondly, the sad reality for a lot of sufferers is that their disease will be terminal, and in a small number of cases those sent the mailshot will have recently passed away, leaving some upsetting mail for recently bereaved spouses and loved ones. Now, call me a cynic, but this is not the sort of thing you want to be doing during a general election campaign. Most political spinners and operators know this. The question is, was this genuine naivety by the campaigners, or was it a calculated risk? By calculated risk I mean "likely to get more people to vote Labour despite fucking a lot of people off". Who can say?

Back to that "funny thing" I mentioned earlier. I will be voting Lib Dem, but I really don't know who I want to win. In my mind, the chances of the Lib Dems forming a government outright are slim to none, The chances of the Tories forming a government are quite high, but then I do worry about the level of control the traditional wing of the party would have. I guess my preferred option in this election would be a Con/Lib coalition. Problem is, I can't see many Lib Dems voting for it. Which is a shame, especially given the closeness between the parties on civil liberties.

EDIT: Oh yeah, forgot to mention the Digital Economy Bill. Having a phone line ain't a crime, Labour.

MiniCos – Putting the “Super” into Supermarket

2010-03-15T16:29:00.003Z

For the benefit of giving this blog unnecessary gravitas, please read the following sentence using a news reporters voice in your head:

“For millions of Britons it is the sting in the tail of everyday shopping. The loyalty card question.”

See? That was fun, weren't it? Now see if you can re-read that sentence, this time as read by Manuel from Fawlty Towers, Margaret Thatcher, or Kris Akabusi.

If top scientists (like the one off the Nintendo DS, for instance) are to be believed, the exercise above will have done three things. By using your imagination, you'll have stimulated your pre-frontal cortex in your brain, thus making you clever. Secondly, in the case of Kris Akabusi, you're likely to have slipped in the word “AWOOOOGA!”, even if only at a deep, subconscious level, somewhere in the sentence. Lastly, you'll have worked out what I mean by “loyalty card question”.

Don't get me wrong. I fully appreciate that the guys on the checkouts have to ask if you've got a Clubcard, a Nectar Card or a whoever card upon pain of a massive bollocking, and I appreciate that there are people out there who genuinely have forgotten whether or not they have a loyalty card, but it still gets rather frustrating when you say “No.” over and over again, especially when it's the same guy who's asking, and you've known him for years.

That, and lets face facts here, saying “No.” over and over again shows a complete lack of imagination, which is exactly the sort of thing that would get you into Dr Kawashima's bad books.

Here are my top 10 alternatives to saying No, with practical advise for using them in bold italics.

Q) DO YOU HAVE A LOYALTY CARD, SIR/MADAM?

Ten possible answers:

Yes. If you have a loyalty card
Yes, and there's NOTHING YOU CAN DO. If you have a loyalty card, and a disposition towards megalomania
That's none of your business, “Jonny”. If suspicious of the assistants true identity
Ich habe mein Nektarkart verlosen. If an Austrian tourist whose forgotten their loyalty card
Wouldn't you like to know? If flirting (emphasis on “you”), or you're from Balamory
Shouldn't you be catching real criminals, like murderers and rapists? If you've mistakenly confused the till assistant for a traffic warden
No, but can I interest you in my business card? If you're one of these cretins who believes that every waking moment is a business networking opportunity
Yes I do, but I forgot it, is there any way I can get the points added if I ring a special number or if I come in next week? Cos if I don't get these points I'm doing my shopping at Asdas from now on etc. If you are the daft brush I invariably get stuck behind in Partick Sainsbury's every bloody Saturday morning
No I don't, but I'd really bloody love one. If you don't have a loyalty card but do have a tendency for sarcasm
I do actually, however given the situation I would advise less of the small talk, and more of the handing over of the cigarettes and cash. If committing an armed robbery of a supermarket till, Raffles the Gentleman Thief stylee

If you can think of any other outstanding rebukes to inane supermarket questions, why not add it via the comments?

Next time on Explainin' The Cosmos – What to do when you say you don't need a hand to pack, and the checkout lady starts crying!

The Value Booze Challenge (Or "Do We Need Minimum Alcohol Pricing"?)

2010-03-07T18:01:00.002Z

In Scotland, the minority SNP government at Holyrood want to bring in minimum alcohol pricing. A noble idea; proponents of the scheme say it will save the NHS millions in (not) treating alcohol related injuries and illnesses, and the police will be freed to deal with more pressing issues than Glasgow city centre on a Saturday night.
Opponents, however, claim that any such move may be illegal (in effect, state sponsored prize fixing), and it would hit manafacturers and responsible drinkers the hardest.

My two main concerns, upon finding that one could walk into any major supermarket and buy a four pack of lager for as little as 90 pence, were a) is it any good, and b) is it potent?
So I decided to try it for myself - quick trip to Morrisons with two quid in my pocket, and this is what I got (plus change).

Four cans of Morrison's Value Lager (90p for the lot) and four cans of Bitter, slightly dearer at 99p. Both the lager and the bitter are 2.0% ABV, and the cans are 440ml, meaning the cans contain in total about 7 units of alcohol. Some press reports say the SNP plan to set a minimum price of 40p per unit, meaning this lot would be nearly 50% more expensive if minimum pricing were bought in.

At time of writing, I'm just about to finish the first can of lager. What you will read from here on in is a diary, I suppose, of how drunk (or not) I get off cheap weak drink.

Can 1. Approx 18.00

Not bad. The first one was a little bit warm, but that's always the way with beer of any strength, innit? My flatmate swears by putting the first one in the freezer, but I dunno about that. Besides, that would have meant moving the fish and the peas, and by the time I'm done, I can't guarantee I'd be able to put it all back together again. Cheers to jackster69 and themasterbrewer for words of encouragement on twitter!

Can 2. 18.32

Ooh that's a lot better. Nice and chilled. The brilliant thing about most lagers that you get in cans is that being super chilled, you can't taste how good or bad it is, but it goes down a dream. This lager, in fairness, doesn't taste all that bad given that it's two percent. Carling made a big thing a while back about their (then) new beer which is three times the price in the supermarket, yet not noticably different. Ellie on facebook asks "how's the beer?" (I say "party in my mouth..."), while Sam taunts me with a pint of Spitfire in Selhurst's Two Brewers over twitter. My entire booze tonight costs me less than one pint there. HA! I respond with "I have some Fullers for later in the firdge!" - surely the alcohol can't be affecting me that quickly?

Can 3. 18.55

Ooh. Feeling it a bit. Maybe I should slow down a bit. Sam's been in touch on Twitter asking if the Fuller's (a bottle of their IPA, Bengal Lancer, by the way), affects the experiment. This is science, kids. Don't worry, this blogpost will be done by the time I start on the hard stuff, in fact I'll probably leave them for another night. Just put the bitter in the fridge. All gone quiet on twitter and facebook, so I'll need to make my own entertainment here. Hmm... could put on a DVD. The Long Good Friday is staring me in the face. Best avoid it, mind, in case the alcohol makes me think that somehow, I'm in the movie, and that stabbing Charlie out of Casualty in the neck with a broken bottle is a good idea. You know, three cans in and I haven't felt the need to run to the toilet yet. Given the relatively low alcohol content, perhaps this is inevitable. Though Ross (flatmate) did say he was going for a shower in a bit... oh God... please Ross, make it quick. In other news, Peter on Facebook suggests that I should have gone for Sherry.

Can 4. 19.25

Well, I feel fantastic. I'm reminded of a story that a tabloid ran back in the day, where they got George Best to try alcopops. Now, I never "got" (by that, I mean "understood the appeal of") alcopops. If you're wanting a vodka and orange, and you're in the pub, why not order a vodka and orange? That said, they were quite popular in the Wetherspoons up Orpington High Street. 99p for a bottle of Hooch in 2000, and quite potent for little old me. I say little. I was massive. Ooh, this is beginning to hit home a bit, and yet it's only the equivalent of a pint and a bit in the pub, alcohol wise. Are they sure it's only 2%? Ellie on facebook chat says "I recently won the lottery and spent it on David Bowies back catalogue"... and I believed her for a split second! The gullibility factor is definitely increasing. If you're a spammer looking for me to help you win back your country, nows the time to do it.

Can 5. 20.05

On to the bitter now, it's 2.0% like the lager, and it tastes... a bit like a lager. A more heavily hopped one, but that's it. Averaging one can of weak beer every half hour, and feeling a little bit tipsy. Shall watch a film (or part of) with these cans. Its either that or Wikipedia. Speaking of wikipedia, I discovered just there that Sir Paul Judge, the backer/financier of the Jury Team (who John Smeaton stood for in Glasgow NE not so long ago), is standing in my home constituency on account that he's from down the road from where I grew up? Yeah, not going through wikipedia any further in this state is probably wise.

Can 6. 20.40

Well over the quid spent mark now, and I'm beginning to get hungry. Hmm. Well, it's only about right that value booze should be accompanied by a value meal. The only problem with this is that I didn't think to buy any dinner. Ahh well, there's plenty of stuff in the freezer/cupboards, plus a couple of mushrooms in the fridge. Wonder what I'll make with that?

Can 7. 21.25

Bit of an anticlimax, I'm afraid. You know how one reaches their level of drunkenness? Well, that's just happened to me. 7 cans in and I'm beginning to feel quite lucid again. The film I watched, incidentally, was Moon, as directed by David Bowie's son, Duncan. £7 on play.com, boys and girls, well worth it. Despite what essentially has been seven cans worth of homeopathic ale, I feel strangely reticent about trying an eighth. Here goes nothing...

Can 8. 21.55

Now isn't this the oddest thing? Beginning to feel tipsy again. Just as I had thought I had reached the point of no return, here I go again. The only thing that has surprised me thus far is quite how tipsy I felt after the first four cans, and at no stage have I felt particularly drunk. Of course, I understand that the drunk is, generally speaking, the least qualified to comment on their own level of inhibriation. However, in this instance it's the first time, possibly ever, that I can TYPE after eight cans of anything other than Vimto.

Going back to the original point, I have at this time (22.33, Sunday night) consumed 7 units or so of alcohol in over four hours, without anything to eat. I won't pretend for a second that it hasn't affected me, indeed much to my surprise it's made me merrier than I had thought possible, but at the same time I've not reached a level of drunkenness that has affected my mood, nor (touch wood) my health.

Which brings me on to this article. Ignoring the story in the main about Brewdog brewing very strong, or very weak beers (neither of which I have tried, but their Punk IPA is amazing), the author hits a very good point about dropping duty on weaker beers, thus making them cheaper (and more desirable) to drinkers. If we are to use the price mechanism to penalise the heavy, dangerous drinkers, it seems perverse not to reward the low, sensible "session" drinkers. Whilst a minimum pricing strategy may make the headlines, it won't change anything. If a determined drinkers going to spend a £3.50 on a bottle of strong cider, only to find it's now £5, I suspect the determined drinker may go for a still £5 bottle of wine, and drink it twice as fast to have the same effect. Meanwhile, I've just spent £1.89 on cheap, average booze. Time for bed.

PS. I reserve the right to correct drunken prose at a future date :-)

6 Music: Open e-mail to the Strategic Review Consultation

2010-03-02T16:24:00.003Z

To: srconsultation@bbc.co.uk

Subject: Strategic Consultation – Digital Radio closure

“I don't need to tell you things are bad, we all know things are bad”. Thus spake Howard Beale, the scary mental protagonist in the film Network, and how true he was. Fast forward a few decades, we've seen the near figurative collapse of the banking system, numerous wars, the literal collapse of the World Trade Centre complex in New York, and Millwall reached the UEFA Cup. If this were the Daily Mail, boys and girls, we'd be saying the lunatics have taken over the asylum – since January 1^st 2000, the world has become a far odder place.

The BBC, more than anyone, know “things are bad”. Faced with the prospect of a Conservative government in a couple of months time, coupled with the challenging economic climate, the BBC need to both cut its budget, and show that it is willing to be innovative and brave in its cutbacks.

Truth be told, the BBC probably is too big. It is currently, in your correspondents humble opinion, jack of all trades, and master of quite a few. This dominance is understandably pissing off its competitors, yet, by the same token, the BBC do frequently turn out a load of license-funded wank, if you'll pardon my French.

The news today that Mark Thompson, Director General of the BBC, is looking to shut BBC 6 Music and BBC Asian Network, as part of some much needed cuts, is particularly unwelcome. I'll not admit that 6 Music is perfect (and I'll not comment on Asian Network, as I've listened to that station for literally seconds in total), but it's cheap. Reports are that it costs just £6million to run per year, which is supposedly £300,000 LESS than it costs Radio 1 to employ a breakfast DJ.

I would hereby like to suggest alternative, more appropriate BBC cuts, and I hope you will forward these suggestions to Mr Thompson himself.

Firstly, one thing you can get rid of is Snog, Marry, Avoid on BBC Three. I've no idea how it much to make, but hiring an ex-Atomic Kitten can't be cheap (I'm told that Katona cost Iceland millions, and Jenny Frost is infinitely more talented), and the program is a crock of shit. I can honestly say I've not learned a single thing from it, though I blame own failures with women squarely at this programs door. Save money and do me a massive favour!

Secondly, there is no point to Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps. It's dreadful. I walked into the living room to stunned silence one night, expecting to hear about the death of a relative or bad news of that scale. Nope, it was due to Ralf Little and Will Mellor* having a hilarous conversation in a pub! HO HO HO! Imagine that!

*Well, be fair to Mellor/Little, I mean their characters, not them. Nothing against them personally. Please let them live.

Third thing you can get rid of is the entire output of BBC Radio 3. I don't have the figures, I'll admit, but I'd wager 50 Scottish pence that it costs twice what Classic FM costs, and gets half the listeners. Even if my figures are way off the mark, there are those saying that 6 Music should go to give its commercial rivals a square go. It doesn't have any, unlike Radio 3.

Fourth thing I'd like to suggest merging Match of the Day and the Football League Show to create a three hour spectacular of a Saturday evening. I call it “Lineker and Claridge's Three Hour Footie Funfest”. Not only will you save money on not employing Alan Hansen, Alan Shearer, or Lizzie Greenwood-Hughes (I think that's her name), you'd cut costs by sharing the studio, and delight your audiences by unleashing Stevie C's insight to Premier League fans for the first time. You could save further money by merging TOTP 2 with MOTD2, where Adrian Chiles introduces highlights of Wigan vs Bolton to the sound of Mud, Sparks, and rare archive footage of Wings.

Last money saving suggestion I have (for now) is about your news output. Why do you need so many journalists? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the BBCs diverse ways of getting the news beamed from your organisation into my head in a million different ways, but do you really need a different person reporting the same bit of news for BBC News, BBC Newsbeat, BBC Radio, BBC Local Radio, and BBC Online to name but a few? Especially after that bird on the BBC News Channel said to Lord Foulkes that she was on £90k a year or something near that figure.

Naturally I don't expect you to take the above advice literally. I'm told that the “Two Pints” support lobby are a vicious bunch, who have said any threats to cancel their favourite sitcom will be met with “very grave measures” - which may explain why it has been recommissioned so many, many times. I would, however, please ask that you take into account that given the total budget of the BBC, the sterling work that the guys at 6 Music (and, doubtless, Asian Network) do, and the fact that the combined budgets of the two stations are a drop in the fucking ocean, that you might consider the possibility that the answer to your problems may lie elsewhere.

Yours,

Will.

Overheard in Glasgow...

2010-02-27T11:41:00.002Z

True story.

"Came in the other day, didn't have any baccy"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah".

"Managed to get some off Tim. Wanna know what I gave him in return?"

"Go on then"

"A tin of sardines."

"Sardines?"

"Yeah, apparently they're nice on toast. Bit too oily for me but."

"Why did you give him the sardines?"

"Don't like 'em."

"Why did you buy the sardines?"

"Found 'em. I was in Lidl, see"

"Yeah. Lidls in town was it?"

"That's the one. I was packing my shopping, and I saw a bag that had been left"

"And the sardines were in the bag, were they?"

"Yeah, must've been about five or six cans. This bloke must have loved his sardines."

The two old men sip their drinks.

"Not just sardines, but there was some oxtail soup as well, and a 4 pack of Stella. Loads of stuff, Jaffa Cakes, shampoo, easily a tenners worth".

"Reckon he forgot to take the bag?

"Reckon he was a shoplifter"

"Why would a shoplifter leave a bag behind?"

"Security guard must've spotted him. Must've dumped the bag, and legged it"

"So you took the bag then?"

*chuckles* "Yeah!"

The two old men sip their pints.

"Fucking awful, that Stella"

"Yeah. Not even worth nicking".

This Bus Don't Stop Here No More...

2010-02-24T16:43:00.003Z

On Explainin' The Cosmos, I like to write about anything and everything, as you may know. Between you and I, the only real rules I stick to are:

It must be informative, or entertaining, but preferably a 60/40 split, and
It must hold my limited attention span long enough for me to write more than, ooh, a couple of paragraphs before I shout “NNANRRHFG!” and throw the netbook half way across the room.

One exception to this rule is deaths. I don't like writing about deaths at all. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with dying, and some of my best friends are dead. It just feels a little... out of line. Death, after all, is fairly final. Regardless of your thoughts on the afterlife (if that's your cup of spiritual tea), death for us mere mortals is a one way ticket.

I'd like to think that some posts I make on this blog can help people improve their lives, in a roundabout, read-between-the-lines-and-do-the-exact-opposite kind of way, yet there is nothing in the world of the deceased that can offer such hope, only dread, and a feeling of a lack of direction between now and the inscribing of your tombstone.

That all said, boys and girls, GOOD NEWS!!! This is a blogpost about DEATH! YAY!

Though not the death of a person, I might add.

This is far more important.

This is about the death of a BUS COMPANY.

McKindless were the rebel transport operator of choice in Glasgow and neighbouring Lanarkshire towns. In Glasgow, the majority of buses are run by First Group, as are the trains (First Scotrail), leaving them with a healthy monopoly over the cities transport links. And, in fairness, they do an alright job. The buses are reasonably new, many with state of the art info-tellys, the buses usually turn up on time (give or take a minute), and the buses are usually clean in the morning. At £1.35 for a single into town, it's not the cheapest bus service out there, but it's still reasonable compared with cities of similar sizes.

McKindless, on the other hand, were nothing of the sort. The buses were old, half the size of their competitors, turned up when they felt like it (or so it seemed), and were only slightly cheaper (at the time of their demise last Friday, they only wanted £1.25 for the same journey). That's why I loved them so, and why it was such a joy travelling on them.

I have no proof to back up this claim, but I suspect that First bus drivers are trained to show no emotion, or at least I HOPE it's training. “Just put your foot down, drive, watch out for pedestrians, and print out tickets” is how I imagine that particular induction meeting ended. Any warmth or gratitude shown to a driver on the 62 of the morning is not just ignored; you wonder if it's even registered sometimes. I can see how it can be beneficial to a company to have drivers with the personality of a toaster; it can to some seem “professional” and shows that these guys and girls are “committed to their job”. It also gives the service a uniform experience, much like all Domino's Pizzas taste like a Dominos and not a Pizza Hut, you definitely know when you're on the First bus.

By marked contrast, every McKindless driver I ever came across was INSANE (in a nice, not questioning their sanity way). The guy who usually drove the bus to work was a nice lad. He never bothered asking me where I was going, or how much the fare was, we just smiled at each other, I tossed my money in the coin bucket, and he printed out a ticket. Occasionally, when I was more compus mentus of the morning, I'd chat away to him, mindlessly mocking the “do not talk to the driver whilst he is driving” sign. Happy days.

Of course, talking to the driver whilst the vehicle is in motion isn't to be encouraged, kids. Especially not if the bus you're on is making more noise than you, and the kid with music-playing mobile phone combined. I must admit, the buses that McKindless used were excellent when they first came out. I should know, I remember the fleet being used by Metrobus in south-east London a good ten years earlier. A lick of paint can't fool me. Despite the age of the vehicles being apparent on the outside, you wouldn't have guessed from the inside. The buses hadn't got slower with time,if anything, they'd got faster! Though the casual cynic might suggest it's the maniac driver doing his best to finish his shift early putting his foot down, and just making it through the amber light with nanoseconds to spare, a feat that left adult passengers stunned, and children crying.

Not all the drivers were cuckoo in a good way, mind. There is a blind guy who occasionally gets on the bus, and one feckless driver decided he would help the blind man to his seat, by shouting directions. Remember the hit 80s childrens show, Knightmare? It was like that, but on a bus. From the 80s.

There was also the bloke in the afternoon, who I'm guessing had not been told about the Health and Safety (Scotland) Act 2005, because he would often stop his bus, on St. Vincent St, for a fag at about 4.15. He never left his chair or opened a window.

But the passengers didn't mind all these things, because it's what gave the service character, something which the modern world is massively lacking in at the moment (and don't you dare call me “Grandad”, I'm 27 AND I got I.D.ed in Tescos last week). First are the market leaders because they are predictable, bland, and safe. I can see exactly why people admire those qualities in a bus company; no-one wants to die on their way to work in a speeding alloy box. But yet thats exactly why I would, even if it meant waiting for the little green bus on the horizon, and (hoping my boss isn't reading this) even if it meant being late for the third time in the week, the overall package was a joy.

McKindless Bus ceased trading at 1900 on the 19^th of February, 2010. They only had given a few hours notice to the local passenger transport executive, SPT, of their going out of business. Sadly, facts are few and far between as to why they were wound up so quickly – and my heart goes out to all the guys suddenly made redundant last Friday night. However, as one door closes another one opens, as the eternal optimists say – hopefully some budding entrepreneur will see the gap that's now opened in the Glasgow transport market, and start a new bus company, because it would be a shame if the only guys in town were First Bus, and it would be a tragedy if these drivers weren't let loose on the roads again, if only to keep us all in check.

Sorry SNP, Plaid, Kernow, Yorkshire Peoples Front...

2010-02-13T11:47:00.006Z

WARNING! THE FOLLOWING BLOGPOST CONTAINS VIEWS ON POLITICS. IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED OR BORED, GO AWAY.

How do! I've got a confession to make. I'm really looking forward to these leaders debates in the run up to the General Election later this year for, oh so many reasons, but the greatest single one is that I want to see very idea of leaders debates fall on its arse, and for it to never happen again.

As much as I see the interest in Cameron looking like a smug git, Brown looking like he hasn't got a clue, and Clegg being entirely ignored by Dimbleby live on the national telly, I am a great believer in the idea that we, in the UK, vote for political parties, not political leaders, come election time. I have no great wish to see the leaders "personalities" on my telly screen, I'm more worried about what they'll do when they get elected/re-elected. Dave went to Eton? Fantastic. Don't care. Will I have more disposable income? Gordon's only got one eye? Superb. So long as the schools and hospitals improve, he can have as many eyes as he likes.

This all said, the leaders debates have been pencilled in, and as soon as that election gets called, no doubt the BBC, ITV and Sky will all be quick off the blocks in letting us know when their particular debate will be on, no doubt plugging it more frequently than the Christmas Doctor Who AND the X-Factor final put together.

Now, I'm far from being the only person who's upset with the upcoming debates. Word is that Alex Salmond, leader of the Scottish National Party, wants to be in the debate as well, and because he's not been invited, he's rather hacked off. Some press reports went so far as to suggest he was looking to ban the broadcast in Scotland (something the SNP have been successful with before).

For the reasons I've mentioned before, taking into account that I live in Scotland, I would be delighted if they were. That said, I don't believe Salmond should be invited to the debate, for these two very important reasons:

1) He's not standing for re-election to (Westminster's) Parliament at the upcoming election, and
2) Even if he was, the mere fact that the SNP are only fielding 59 candidates, his party cannot control a majority in the House of Commons. He would not be Prime Minister, even in the event of a coalition with a larger party seeing the SNP enter government*.

Of course, I take on board critisism from SNP supporters. In Scotland, electorally speaking, the SNP are the largest party in terms of votes at the last Scottish elections, and it would appear that they deserve representation more than Cameron or Clegg, who get comparitively little of the vote north of the Border. However, this does not equate a divine right for him to argue the toss to viewers in Cardiff, Nuneaton or St Ives.

Whilst it is only fair that the SNP (as a party) are given their fair share of airtime in Scotland in terms of appearences in Party Political Broadcasts and other media, they should not expect a seat at a debate between the UK party leaders because they are NOT a UK party.

Mini-Cos: Ba ba ba ba baaa

2010-02-02T21:16:00.002Z

I'm lovin' it.

That's right, I'm loving "it".

It, if you remember, is what we called sex when we were between the ages of roughly 7 to 12. (Age spread may differ depending on location, social class, and dirtyness of young mind).

So McDonald's slogan basically means, to a young'un, I'm loving sex.

Hang on...

No, of course it doesn't. That's absurd. Scratch all of the above from your mind. It's McDonald's. There's no way they could possibly mean that. They sell burgers and chips, not filth and bukkake.

That said, McDonald's also did THIS ADVERT (thanks, Sky News) where they claim that a "Bob", in monetary value, is the equivalent of a pound, poond, quid, spondoolick, or 100 pence. They are wrong. A "bob" is a shilling, 5 new pence, 12 old pence, or a twentieth of a British EuroDollar. In essence, they got the meaning of the word WRONG.

And if they got that word wrong, how do we know they haven't got other words or phrases wrong as well?

"Ba ba ba ba baaa, I'm lovin' it" just got that little bit more sinister from where I'm sitting.

OldJoke/NewPolitik

2010-01-24T10:34:00.007Z

It's occured to me of late that this blog is straying massively from it's reason d'etre: To inform and educate. "No biggy, no-one reads this anyway" says my inner critic, but it is a big deal. I've allowed myself to worry about trivial things. This needs to end.

So, without further ado, here's a latter day question I would like to solve:

Have you ever seen Stevie Wonder's Wife?

Chances are, like the old joke goes, you probably haven't. In fact, unless you're a massive Stevie Wonder fan (AKA a "Golden Wonder"), you probably don't even know her NAME.

Well, it's Kai Milla Morris. According to Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia which anyone can edit, which has a 100% track record on the truth.

Furthermore, a Google Image Search (or GIS for short) comes up with this cracking picture (Copyright WireImages, as it says on the photo. Which I nicked). Isn't she lovely? Yeah.

Next week on Explainin' The Cosmos, has anyone seen Ray Charles' iPod dock? Well, you gotta update these things for the naughties... or the tensies, even.

Now that I've got that bee out of my bonnet, we turn to more serious issues. Namely, that here in the United Kingdom, we have a general election in what looks like 3 and a bit months time*, and I have no idea who to vote for. Those of you who know me from such places as the pub will already know that over the last ten years or so I've gone from being a fully paid up member of the Conservative Party to becoming a wooly, small "l" liberal, via brief spells in the Labour and Lib Dem societies at university. Not only that, but I voted SNP at the last Holyrood elections. In short, if political parties were countries, my passport would be full of stamps, and really small to boot.

The thing is, my views on key issues haven't really changed all that much over the years, but the views of the major parties have. When I was in the Tories, it was because I believed in free market solutions for social problems, a "helping hand" not a "hand out", as it were. Problem was, the "helping hand" often wasn't very helpful.

Similarly, when I was a Labour student, it was because I agreed with their modern approach to law and order, that criminals should, in a fair society, be given a chance to redeem themselves, and that prevention was the best cure for re-offending. Now, it seems Labours best idea for crime prevention is issuing us all with a glorified NUS card, lumping all on a massive database, and tell us all it's for our own good.

As for the Lib Dems, well, I agreed with their position on Europe, I agreed largely with the need for a penny extra tax to improve education, and I was impressed with Charles Kennedy's uncanny ability to set the Westminster agenda despite being miles behind the other two parties. I also enjoyed Thursday night karaoke. However, such was my loyalty to Kennedy, when he went, it was only a matter of time before I did, and that leaves me where I am now.

So there's the problem, I've got a head full of liberal ideas, and no obvious franchise to deploy them. With all three (well, four including the SNP) parties making a pitch for the centreist vote, who am I to choose from?

Well, rather than wait for them to pitch their ideas to me, this is me pitching my ideas to them. Brown, Clegg, Cameron, Salmond, to you I make this cast iron guarantee: Below are my big three ideas. I will vote for the party who brings in the most of these ideas as policy, or at the very least takes these ideas into consideration when formulating policy.

1) The National Employment Agency

Due to the uncertain economic future, many companies are holding off employing people on permanent contracts. Employment agencies are putting companies off hiring temps due to the largish agency fees. Unbelievably, in this day and age JobCentre Plus does everything EXCEPT act as a state run agency. If they were to hire temps and send them out to companies, the state would need to hire more people to run this new side of the enterprise, companies would save money on recruitment, and many JSA claimants would be better off temping. And if a temporary contract runs out? Back to JSA, with little fuss. Everyone wins.

2) Right To Buy/Right To Sell

This ones a doddle. We have legislation for those in Social Housing to buy their homes. We aren't building enough new social housing stock. People are having their houses repossessed. Simple answer? Allow the local authorities and housing associations to have first refusal on repossessions where the defaulting party has a mortgage with a majority state-owned bank (Lloyds/RBS/Northern Rock). That way, the defaulter needn't become homeless, more social stock becomes available (in different areas with different social/economic mixes), and UK plc finally puts the state-run banks to some good use.

3) Community Engagement

More and more people are living single lives. More and more people are feeling alienated from their communities. Thatcherism bought us selfishness and greed, Blairism bought us the client state. Neither did us any favours. We need to relearn to rely on each other and to respect each other. I have no ideas how this could be encouraged, but something needs to happen. Quickly. That's the real moral fibre of Britain breaking down.

So there we are. Politicians, it's over to you.

*EDIT: Cabinet Minister Bob Ainsworth seems to think that the General Election will be on 6th May

Tellyhead... Back So Soon?

2010-01-17T11:12:00.004Z

Tellyhead: We need the BBC.

I've just read this rather good blog post on the BBC. Most interesting perhaps is the first paragraph, that the BBC is too big, and needs cutting down to size.

This blog disagrees. The BBC is the standard to which commercial television and radio should aspire to reach, and whilst it can be argued that the BBC have an unfair advantage in being funded by a compulsory levy for anyone who owns "a device capable of receiving live television broadcasts", by no means is this a BAD thing. If anything, it encourages innovation. And you know what, if it wasn't for the economic downturn, it would have worked (but more on that later).

This isn't to say that the BBC is perfect. There are plenty of TV and Radio shows that make one wonder "What. The. Fuck?", and there are some articles on the BBC website where the interest value is, at best, questionable. The question I would like to ask is, how bad would the media in the UK be if it wasn't around?

First of all, I point to the BBC's new-media presence. According to Alexa, the interwebs hit counter of choice, the BBC is the UK's most read news web site, and 5th most read after Google (twice), Facebook and YouTube. Whilst I accept it's going to be difficult for it's commercial news rivals to ever catch them, I note that The Guardian and The Telegraph aren't too far behind, easily in the Top 20. It's also of note that these two sites are the two most similar to Auntie Beeb in terms of layout and content, not to mention the fact that they are updated throughout the day, rather than just reprinting an electronic version of that mornings print edition. Whether or not the BBC copied from their commercial rivals or not is a moot point here - without the BBC's online presence, I would posit that the newspapers websites would be a shadow of their current selves.

The same thing can be said with radio as well, to a degree. Once upon a time, the BBC had its arse kicked by its rivals in the commercial, and before that, pirate radio sectors. The modern day success of Radio 1, for instance, could be credited to the existence of Radio Caroline, Capital FM et al, which forced the station to drop its rather bland output and aging DJs in favour of radio that was (gasp) relavent to is target audience. These days, it's the other way round. Take Absolute Radio (formerly Virgin) as an example - the commercial, AOR rival to Radio 2. The BBC hire presenters such as Dermot O'Leary and Russell Brand to appeal to younger listeners, and start playing a bit more new music than they used to. Absolute hire Iain Lee, Frank Skinner and Dave Gorman, and play noticably more new music than they did under the Virgin name. Coincidence?

Similarly, an ambitious project was launched by Channel 4 in 2007, the publicly-owned-yet-privately-funded television station, to take on the BBC Radio dynasty with it's "Channel 4 Radio" project. By winning the auction for a new set of UK wide Digital Radio stations, C4 were to take on Radios 1, 4 and 6music with their own rivals, whilst giving space for Talk Radio and Sky News to take on 5 Live, along with some other stations. Sadly, due to the economic downturn and it's effect on advertising revenue, these plans were never realised. What is indisputable, however, is that without the BBCs current monopoly on these stations, this radical plan never would have happened. Hopefully, when the conditions are right, Channel 4 or someone else will give it another go.

Leaving the biggest part of what the BBC do till last; Television. Much like radio, I would argue that the BBC, far from being innovators, have been playing catchup over the last few years. Whilst the Beeb were first out of the blocks in the Digital TV era by launching supplementary channels before its terrestrial rivals, Sky have indisputably lead the way. First network to launch a rolling news channel? Sky. First network to introduce red-button interactivity? Sky. That red-button BBC programme with Gabby Logan giving you up to the minute scores? Sorry, Jeff Stelling and mates have been doing that now for over 10 years. On Sky. First network to run a dedicated Arts channel? Sorry BBC 4, Sky again.
However, let's leave the firsts and last out of this for a second. What the BBC have achieved, and it is no mean feat, is to have bought all of these innovations to the masses. Don't get me wrong, if I was James Murdoch I would be rightly peeved at this state-sponsored technology grab, however it does leave Sky in the position whereby they do continually need to push forward and offer new things - which in the end will be good for the punter, i.e. us.

One thing the BBC have bought us, and which has undoubtedly changed the face of television, is the BBC iPlayer. I won't say too much about it as I'm sure you the reader will be fairly well versed in how it works, but this innovation not only means that I can catch up with Eastenders whenever I want, because it's forced it's rivals into the same market, it means I can watch The Bill whenever I like, or Father Ted, for instance. And just to think, if the BBC wasn't around, would we have this luxury? Maybe, maybe not.

The more observant amoungst you will have noticed that a large part of the above is conjecture, but there is an important point to take home. Yes, the BBC is a behemoth, yes, the BBC is jack of all trades, master of some, but most importantly, the BBC is an organisation whos very existance is beneficial to the media industry at large. The BBC and it's commercial rivals are like Tom and Jerry - they may hate each other, but they complement each other and it would be hard to imagine a world where you had one without the other. Suggestions are that the next Government may look to slash the license fee. Clearly we are in an economic situation where money needs to be saved - I would suggest savings can, and must, come from elsewhere. Cutting the BBCs budget would be short-sighted and wrong. What is clear, however, is that public service broadcasters like ITV, C4 and Five are in need of more funding to compete. Their challenge is to find it from advertising under existing rules. A tricky task I'll admit, but not an impossible one.

TellyHead Jan 2010

2010-01-16T12:14:00.004Z

Same great occasional column, less shit name.

The Persuasionists, BBC 2, Wednesdays at 2200

Never before in all my years of watching telly have I seen a program which has caused so many people to abandon the idiot box, switch on their PCs and take to web forums, facebook and twitter in united disgust. Normal, everyday people who usually wouldn't think about registering their displeasure semi-anonymously on the internet suddenly raced to their twitter accounts to post such utter gems as this, this and this particularly harsh one. As we type, there isn't a "I BET I CAN FIND 1,000,000 PEOPLE WHO WANT TO HANG DRAW AND QUARTER THE WRITERS OF THE PERSUASIONISTS" facebook group, but it's surely only a matter of time.

It is with such strength of feeling that I set out the case for the defence. Having watched the first episode on Thursday morning on the BBC iPlayer, I was aware of some negative reaction from the previous nights screening, yet having prepared myself for something worse than cancer, I was pleasantly surprised that a) it wasn't actually all *that* bad, and b) it's got potential for future episodes, and dare I say it, *possibly future series*.

You see, what I got from the first episode of the Persuasionists is exactly the same feeling I got from the first episode of the Mighty Boosh, and even the first episode of Blackadder - work in progress. It was basically a pilot that, due to a scheduling error, seemed to work its way into the main series, and it showed.

The characters were portrayed as being so one-dimensional, it's like the telly was shouting "This is why it's funny? Geddit? HE'S A COCK-ER-NEE! HO HO HO!" in your face, just as a drunken Glaswegian tells you "you'll be alright roond here, pal" an inch from your face on a Saturday night in town.

Furthermore, I got the impression that I had seen some of the characters before in a different lifetime. For fans of Iain Lee's radio show, you'll no doubt notice that his character, Billy, is very similar to his on-air radio persona, smart, self-assured and cynical, albeit without the crackpots who ring in; Clive, the boss played by Jarred Christmas, is very similar to Bob Fossil from the Mighty Boosh, except he's Australian, and instead of dancing to 10CC in a sketch, he's singing Midnight Oil; and Keaton, the ker-ay-zee European guy, well, I'm fairly sure that was just Mr Bean.

This aside, there were some genuine funny moments in the show. It may be puerile, and it was certainly very silly, but "I've had your Mum" jokes will always draw a smile, even if you feel ashamed and slightly dirty about yourself after. Ditto slapstick, and what better form of slapstick can there be than Adam Buxton taking a Lakeland metal bread-bin full in the face? Answer me that, haters.

The inescapable fact about the Persuasionists, as far as I'm concerned, is that it's trying to be a traditional sitcom, and like Lab Rats, Big Top, and My Fucking Family have shown, the traditional sitcom isn't the king of comedy it once was. As viewers, we've become accustomed to shows without canned laughter, and the humour to be incidental, rather than a funny line here or there. If we keep this in mind, and watch The Persuasionists knowing that what we see is what we'll get, it doesn't seem so bad at all.

If, and I've a sneaky suspicion it will work out this way, the characters can get a bit more depth, possibly a little bit of a back story thrown their way by the scriptwriters, the show will get better over the next few weeks. If the plots remain roughly the same, the show will be consigned to the dustbin of comedy alongside Meet the Magoons and My Hero. All I know is that I'm willing to give it another chance next week. 6/10

EXCOS MAKES DA HITS: A Christmas Special, we're backing the 'boys!

2009-12-12T14:13:00.000Z

Let's make one thing perfectly clear. Call it a “declaration of interests” if you will, but I flipping HATE Killing In The Name Of by Rage Against the Machine. It's an average angry pop song, and one which just happened to be played over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. Twice. And it could be worse, it could be Mr Fucking Brightside.

That out of the way, let me explain why I just said that. Over the last week or so, the usual social networks, Twitter, Facebook, Livejournal (probably, if it's still going) etc. have been ablaze with the campaign to get the aforementioned song to number 1 at Christmas this year, on the premise that it's either that, or X-Factor. A battle between good and evil, right and wrong. Nothing else can possibly get to number one, they claim, so buy KITNO to stop the X-Factor. It's kinda like those election leaflets you get shoved through your letterbox, saying “LABOUR CAN'T WIN HERE!!!!!11 BETTER VOTE US OR THE TORIES WILL WIN!!!!12331”, it's not necessarily true, but it is highly likely, and just to make it really really really likely, we'll hound you with capital letters, exclamation marks, and numbers.

In fairness, the good folk organising the campaign to get Rage Against The Machine have the right idea, but have had a massive irony fail. Consider the following:
What better a “Machine” to “rage” against than Simon Cowell's pop manufacturing telly program, the X Factor? Even better than that, the hook in the song, the powerful line “Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me”; that's got to be about Cowell too, surely? If you think about it, we'd all be slavishly following a trend by buying the X Factor song, so why not stick two fingers up at the “Evil Empire” by collectively buying this catchy number, all because some website told us to?

That's right kids, you're fucked, and you did what you were told.

In what would appear to be a stunning bit of hypocrisy from Explainin' The Cosmos, Lewisham's fifth best expatriated peddler of nonsense, I would like every single one of you to go, next week, at any point between Sunday the 13th and Saturday the 20th, to Amazon, iTunes, Napster, Play.com or 7digital (not to mention any other fine online purveyor of digital downloads that I may have forgotten) and download “The Whole of the Moon” by the Waterboys.

Why? Because it's ace. No other reason. It's a good tune. No hidden agenda, I'm not making any money out of this, I don't have any affiliation to the band, and at time of writing, I can't even remember the lead singers name, though he might have been from Dundee. Oh yeah, it'll cost you 79p maximum (or you're paying too much). That's a genius tune for less than the cost of a vote for the X-Factor, and it'll be better for your soul than the angsty shouty nonsense.

Also, whether you buy it or not is up to you. I'm not trying to sell the idea particularly, but it would be nice if it happened. I would appreciate it if you did buy it, but no pressure.
What I would ask (and I do so with a heavy heart) is that you please link to this article, just to get this silly idea of mine off the ground. And hey, if you want to do your own post, blog, facebook group or whatever, be my guest!

I've said my piece, now I'm off to the pub.

XCOS goes-a-jobhunting.

2009-11-21T15:01:00.003Z

Well, I'm honoured. An e-mail has just come in from a guy named Mike, who would like to share his Curriculum Vitae with readers of xcos.eu, the UK's least read blog.

Mike writes; "Dear Will (that's me), no doubt you will be worried about your future career prospects at this time of economic uncertainty, so to help you and your readers out, please find enclosed my CV as a template for future careers success."

Now, I don't really know what he meant by that, but I'm happy to oblige him. Please find below Mike France's CV, and hopefully you'll be able to take some hints and tips from the layout, or whatever. I've had to take out the names of the companies Mike worked for, just to make sure no-one contacts those companies to say that he's shoved his CV online. Apart from that, it's word for word as I received it. Enjoy. Oh yeah, I left his e-mail address in just incase you wanted to send him any pointers on his CV, Explainin' The Cosmos is a two way street.

Mike France MA(Hons)

Personal Details

Address: Redacted

Home Tel: Redacted

Email: himynamesstereomike@googlemail.com

Introduction

I am a Philosophy & Politics graduate, slowly but surely, going mental. I don't have any professional qualifications, but have a whole load of experience working in crappy, dead-end jobs. You could say that I'm the eternal optimist, forever applying for different menial jobs in the hope that one day, some mentalist will see the potential in me that others, and myself, have not. Oh yeah, and pay me handsomely for it. My motto in the workplace is “do as little work as possible, for as much money as possible”. You, potential employer, may be sickened by that sentence, but at least I'm being fucking honest about it. And if you look at what you do in your job, don't you try and do the same? Don't you? EH? Delegating duties to temps and taking three hour long lunches, with Toby Ainsworth from Accounts? Yeah, you know.

Career History

October 2008 to Present

Professional Trolley Pusher, Company Name Redacted for Legal Reasons

Having left previous employment under, well, a storm cloud would be putting it mildly, I have been temping for minimum wage at (Deleted, Legal Reasons) for the last year. The job is mainly a manual one, though I do need to use Microsoft Office when my boss is away and I'm doing his job. For minimum wage. That's right, if my boss is off sick at (High Street name, big company, can't say, legal issues), and I have to organise the whole stationary distribution business off my own back, I get renumerated to the tune of five pounds fucking eighty an hour. In fairness, I do very little when I am in the office, so I suppose it evens itself out. There is no natural sunlight in my office, which in turn plays havoc with my movements. Vitamin D, doctor says. This is no exaggeration people. Well bunged up down there. I need the sun more than David Dickinson and Toyah Wilcox. I guess I've gone off track here a bit, this is what I do at work;

I push a trolley around. Sometimes, the trolley has supplies on it. Other times, it doesn't.
I won an award for being the best guy to push a trolley around in 2009. Go team France!
I don't have control of a budget, but I really should. Imagine, all the stationary supplies I could buy!
I nearly got sacked for punching the Regional Sales Manager, but after she came around, I told her that there was no way I could have punched her in the face, a bit like that time where Father Ted got away with kicking Bishop Brennan up the arse. This clearly shows that I have good negotiating skills.
During quieter periods of the day, I like to make myself look important, and help boost the companies image, by wandering about the various floors of the building wearing a mask with the face of the CEO on it, thus frightening the office workers into doing some fucking work and not looking at Facebook all the fucking time. Employing me could literally save your company millions of pounds by enhancing manpower.

June 2008 to September 2008

Recruitment Assistant, Company Name Redacted for Legal Reasons

On a temporary week to week contract, I was working for this company during a time of internal restructuring, which was so piss-poorly managed, they literally took on at least 20 different temps during my time there to help clear a backlog which needn't have been there in the first place. Please refer to below for my key responsibilities, but I just want to make clear the reason why I left this company. Note to [Name Redacted, Legal Reasons], the phrase “Manager breathing down my neck” is just that. It's a phrase. It's actually deeply unpleasant when you, on several occasions, crept up behind me and actually did it. Though if you were a woman, and slightly younger, it might have given me a thrill, I dunno.

Data Entry: We received the regions application forms, entered them onto an in-house system, photocopied the forms, and stamped the copies with a big rubber stamp saying “File Copy”. This means I have tolerance to inane bureaucracy skills.
Reference chasing. Oh God, what a lot of fun that was. Would you believe most of these guys references mysteriously had left the company? I'd ring up God knows however many people in the course of a working day, only to be told they didn't exist. Furthermore, when I tried explaining to my manager why the references were not forthcoming, it was suddenly my fault, and that I wasn't working hard enough. Not only that, but my offer to write the fucking things was treated with derision. This is clearly an example of unappreciated problem solving skills.
Updating the website: Using a proprietary system that makes my iPod's notepad application look like the most advanced authoring tool of all time, I was expected to submit all new job vacancies with the company to the website on a Thursday afternoon, to go live on the Friday. It would have helped, perhaps, if the other inane tasks given to me by Captain Neck Breather, such as moving filing cabinets, running to the shop to buy him fags, and envelope stuffing had been done by other people. That way, things might have got done.
Front Desk Duty: I got put on the reception desk because I was, and I quote, a “disruptive influence” on other people around me. That's right. It was somehow my fault that the overweight, middle aged women in the [redacted, legal reasons] team came over to talk to me about Big Brother, and yet me telling them that I wasn't interested in the slightest made me the disruptive one. Work that one out. Evidently, I need to work on anger management issues.

September 2005 – June 2008

Call Centre Operative, Company Name Redacted for Legal Reasons.

First full time job I had out of University. Relatively straight forward, I put on a headset, and the computer I was sitting at randomly called people who I had to sell TAT to. Probably the most unpleasant thing I've ever done, because it was selling the unsellable. In fairness, the management at the place were reasonable human beings, but they too had a job to do, which was to verbally prod you with a shitty stick until you had reached your target. Passed over for promotion several times, and swiftly transferred internally to [Department Redacted, Legal Reasons] in 2007 to be part of a customer service team. There, the management weren't reasonable human beings (bar a couple of really decent blokes), and so after 6 months or so, I began to make my displeasure known. I eventually got the sack after falling out with nearly every manager in the building, That, and the series of bizarre letters I sent to HR saying that unless things changed, I was bringing in my Great Dane, Tarbuck, to maul them.

Sales: Had to persistently badger people into taking out products they weren't bothered by in the slightest. Naturally, human nature kicked in and repeated rejection meant that I didn't badger the poor sods all that hard in the end, which meant I got a bollocking from upstairs. Whilst it shows an unwillingness to blindly follow the rules laid down by them above (which, we are told, is “professionalism”), it does show a lot of common sense on my part, not to mention the ability to bring about change by offering alternative strategies to them upstairs.

Qualifications

2007: SQA in Customer Service. Almost. I had to complete this with the help of my managers, who weren't in the slightest fucking bit interested.

Education

2005: MA Hons (2:1) REDACTED
2001: A Levels: Computing, Economics, Politics, and A-S Maths - REDACTED
1998: GCSEs: Lots and Lots and Lots of the fuckers

Interests

Smoking, Drinking.

References

On request.

Ing-er-land, Ing-er-land, we're the famous Old Firm and we're going to Ing-er-land (OVER XCOS.EUs DEAD BODY)

2009-11-16T17:59:00.003Z

Whilst I fully accept that I may be typing this through rose tinted specs, it seems to me that newspapers just ain't what they used to be. Physically, most of the decent ones seem to have shrunk, and quality wise the red tops have done the impossible and moved so far downmarket that you're more likely to find the truth behind current events in a Jesus leaflet or on the back of a tin of soup.

What especially riles me, is the advent of the non-news story. Again, rose-tinted specs, but I've been seeing more and more of these recently.

Lily Allen said WHAT? On Twitter? That's not news.

David Cameron rides a bike? So what?

Crisps contain saturated fat? Do they? Do they really? You'd have thought someone would have said.

And so on.

But worse than non-news stories, dear reader, are the non-sports stories. Sports writers, and more importantly editors, are keen to get the football pages filled, even when there is no football news to report on. This is especially problematic during the pre-season, but traditionally hacks have been able to keep interest up by reporting on the football merry-go-round, or at the very least speculating on possible transfers.

As sports reporting has taken on a new dimension in the last few years, with a football clubs bank balance being more important than how good they actually are; this non-sports story has evolved from speculating about players, to speculating about finances, and where so-and-so club will get money to buy players from.

Taking it to it's logical conclusion, and when (and only when) there is nothing else to fucking talk about, we tend to get two non-stories which seem to get an airing once or twice a year, namely,

a) In England, the lower league teams need more money to compete, so they'll breakaway and form a Phoenix league, and

b) In Scotland, the Old Firm teams need more money to compete, so they'll breakaway and join the English Premier League/Atlantic League/Justice League Unlimited etc.

Just to quickly acknowledge and refute non-story a) – it won't happen. The FA Premier League happened because there was a premium market for the best product. Nobody wants to pay top dollar for the second best. ITV Digital tried that, they went bust. Even more amazingly, Setanta bought the rights to Blue Square Premier (the fifth best English league), and they went bust.

Turkeys don't vote for Christmas (though there is an argument for extending the franchise to poultry), and it's clearly not in the interests at the moment for smaller English clubs to start a breakaway league that will, more than likely, lead to financial ruin, as well as the cold shoulder from the football authorities.

As for non-story b) – The Old Firm moving to England/Atlantis/The Moon – well, this appears in papers so often that you'd be forgiven for thinking it had actually happened, and that Glasgow is now the capital of Moonbase Alpha. It is never going to happen, and the only people who believe that it will are deluded crazy mentalists. I am, of course, referring to those Celtic and Rangers fans who believe that the sun shines out of Parkhead/Ibrox, and that their teams are the best in the world, and that if only they had a tiny little bit more money to spend, they'd be able to sign the worlds best players, and so on. It is to you, Mr and Mrs Fruitcake, that I say this:

IT. AIN'T. HAPPENING.

And just for my own personal amusement, I'm going to refute some reasons why I don't think the Old Firm should join specifically the FA Premier League, though these reasons may also apply to any other mooted league.

First of all, let's look at the money issue. Yes, it's a well known fact that the FA Premier League has a TV deal with BSkyB and ESPN worth over a billion quid for 3 seasons worth. Thats £1,000,000,000 between a maximum of 26 different clubs (allowing for promotion/relegation) over three years. Even after your usual deductions for peoples salaries, football in the community and what not, that's still an insane prize fund, and only an idiot wouldn't want part of that pie.

Indeed, if we compare that to the £1-2million that the SPL champions receive in prize money, coupled with the fact that both teams could possibly compete week in week out with teams from the FAPL, it looks downright unfair. In truth, it probably is. However, that's how football has evolved. The teams from over there play in a league with teams from over there. Same with teams from over there. They play over there. Different rules, standards, TV deals and levels of prize money. Sorry, but that's how it happens.

Besides, having more money doesn't necessarily imply success, we should remember. There's nothing to stop either Celtic or Rangers winning £36mill for hypothetically finishing in mid table, only for the club to spend it on three Tore Andre Flos. Furthermore, look at the teams that have been relegated from the Premier League in the megabucks era: Leeds, Norwich, Charlton, Southampton, Leicester City, Crystal Palace – a lot of fucking good the FAPL money did for them!

Now, by way of segue to the next logical point of discussion, here's a conversation with an Old Firm fan I'd just had inside my own head:

Shh!!!! Witbacarf?

What's that? Say it again?

Cff.

One more time?

Carff

Stop mumbling at the back, spit it out

CARDIFF, FUCKING CARDIFF, YA WEE ANGLISH BASTAT

Ah yes, the Welsh argument. Namely that if Welsh teams can play in the English, the Old Firm should be able to as well. In fact, surely it's downright discrimination? Well, err no.

Fact is that Cardiff, Swansea, Wrexham, not to mention Newport County, Colwyn Bay and Merthyr Tyddfil, have been playing in the English pyramid system since time immemorial, and are what I would call legacy teams. By that, I mean that each of the six clubs mentioned above all accepted invites to play in various leagues within the English pyramid, which have subsequently not been revoked up to this present day. By no means is their presence uncontroversial – there are fans of English teams up and down the country who would rather see them play in the Welsh league, but that's not likely to happen in the near to medium future.

Or, to give another example, it's like Berwick Rangers accepting an invite from the Scottish Football League, and ignoring the English league. Or Gretna accepting an invite from the English league, only to revoke it when they became rich, and head north to the Scottish leagues. Gretna, of course, one of the few teams who have proved that you can change the country in which you play football. Wonder how they're getting on?

Psst. Big man.

Yerrrs?

Wit aboot tha' fans?

Good question. In fact, I'll come clean at this point. The other week, whilst watching Unirea vs Rangers in a Glasgow pub with a drinking partner who shall remain nameless, the suggestion was put to me that the Old Firm should be given a place in the FAPL on account that they have loads of fans. In other words, the suggestion here is the bigger your fan base, the better, more important, fantastic your team are. Now, please bear in mind that we had been drinking some 7% perry for some time before and during the match, but he was totally serious. Completely straight faced, and seemingly unaware that it was an argument that a 5 year old would be embarrassed by in a playground. His justification for his position was, however, top drawer, I'll give him that.

“So”, I said, “you think that the Old Firm should be in the English Premier League as they have more fans than some of the teams currently there?”

“How many fans do Millwall have in Australia?” came the reply. Anyone familiar with TV animation South Park may remember the Chewbacca Defence in the episode Chef Aid. This was better.

“Err, not sure how that's relevant, what with Australia being the other side of the world”

“So you admit then that Rangers have more fans than Millwall?” It's like chatting to Roger fucking Irrelevant.

“What I'm asking”, I said with a mixture of despair and intrigue, “is why you think that the number of fans of a football team from one country, living in another country, should affect the ability of that team to play in the league of yet another country?”

“Millwall have no fans in the Empire, so that's why they're in League Two [he meant One]” At this point I am both stifling laughter and watching out for any sharp objects.

I replied “Fine, if that makes sense to you, then whatever. Both you and I know it ain't going to happen”.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the point of this post. There is no way the Old Firm are going to join the FA Premier League, and very little chance of them joining a lower English division. This isn't to say, however, that this story won't run and run, because despite the fact it's a nothing story, it continues to generate revenue every time it's wheeled out by the Scottish (and occasionally English) press. People buy the papers on the strength of idle speculation like this.

Perhaps it's time the Old Firm woke up, smelled the coffee, and decided it would be a better endeavour to strengthen their own league than to covet the treasures of another? Just a thought.

Explainin' The Cosmos goes super serial

2009-10-20T16:51:00.002+01:00

Word up manfolks/girls.

XCOS (that's this site here) is officially the UK's 15th best blog devoted to hit-and-miss "humourous" articles. However, occasionally I get the urge to write something serious. Today, I did such a thing, so please enjoy what is written below. Comments appreciated, especially if you disagree.

“No platform” is the problem, not the answer.

Reverse psychology is one of modern life's greatest discoveries. Imagine, if it were possible, you could tell a Victorian parent with an unbearable scamp of a child that the best way to get the child to behave would to tell him to misbehave, and they'd look at you as if you'd just escaped the Royal Bethlam. Yet it seems to hold true, often when we find people telling us not to do something, we find ourselves doing that thing we were not to, just to stick a proverbial finger up at those bossing us about. Politics is no different, and I fear that the BNPs recent (limited) successes, coupled with the forthcoming appearance on Question Time by their leader, Nick Griffin, represents a lamentable victory for a strategy designed to defeat them – the “No Platform” policy of stopping, or trying to stop, the BNPs members from speaking in public, as advocated by many leftist and centrist groups. Here's why.

Firstly, “No Platform” seems to have two dual agendas; the first being to stop the propagation of far-right hate, which in itself is unquestionably honourable; the second agenda seems to be a way of “defining the opposition” (to borrow a quote from Gordon Brown) – where the “No Platformers” define who and what the BNP are, and what they stand for. This is a dangerous game to play.

Consider the following hypothetical conversation:

No Platformer: “I see that Nick Griffin's going on the telly. He should be stopped.”
Joe Public: “Why's that then?”
No Platformer: “Because he's a racist, bigoted man, and his party are Holocaust deniers, and wish to see ordinary British folk like us“sent-back” to their ancestors place of birth.”

So far, the No Platformer is entirely in the right, in terms of what he is saying and his intentions. And, indeed, if he gets the following reply;

Joe Public: “Fair do's. I do not wish to know anything about the BNP, they sound like a nasty lot.”

Then mission accomplished. However, it is problematic for the “No Platformer” is if the reply is thus;

Joe Public: “I cannot blindly accept that, please provide me with proof that the BNP are all the things you allege.”

In fact this is where “No Platform” falls short. Any possible reply to that request would put the “No Platformer” in a bad light, and thus the antagonists in a comparatively good one.

Should the “No Platformer” provide evidence to back himself, he then finds himself providing the source material he was trying to suppress. He has failed.
Should the “No Platformer” refuse to provide evidence to back himself, “Joe Public” may decide to do his own research and find the source material the “No Platformer” was trying to suppress. Fail again.
Should the “No Platformer” provide evidence to back himself, only to show that he has been exaggerating the case against (albeit with the best of intentions), not only would this be a failure, but a damaging one at that. Reverse psychology see – if you exaggerate your adversary, you may find that you become an unwitting cheerleader for your adversary if your claims are found to have been embellished.

The fundamental problem with the “No Platform” position is that it is unnecessarily paternalistic, insofar that it attempts to stop us from hearing or seeing the BNPs views “for our own good”. This, I feel, is a rather glib indictment on society, and tantamount to suggesting that the public are too stupid to reject the BNPs hideous policies. While there could (and should) be an argument for keeping the BNP from indoctrinating the young by keeping them out of schools and colleges, I'm afraid the same cannot be said for a grown-up society.

Most importantly, I feel that the most effective way to tackle the BNP is to face them head on – after all, its not just claims about the BNP that can be shown to be exaggerated or false – the BNPs own claims can, and must be. I am under no doubt whatsoever that the claims that Nick Griffin and co. would not stand up to scrutiny, so why not allow the opportunity to happen? What's more, allow as many people as possible to see the car-crash happen. Nick Griffin on Question Time is a mixed blessing – a large television audience is expected for Thursday, however a lot hinges on the quality of the panellists. I hope Baroness Warsi, for instance, has a real square go, but unless her and the other panellists land fair punches at the appropriate times, it may prove to be a wasted opportunity.

Last point – if you remain to be convinced by any of the above, just remember the legacy of the “No Platform” policy: 2 MEPs. 1 MLA. 58 local councillors. To those who believe in this action, I would urge you reconsider, before any MPs are added to that list.

My kidneys hurt when I burp

2009-10-10T20:23:00.004+01:00

Earlier today, Adam bought to my attention an article on Twitter etiquette, namely "what not to talk about on Twitter". Some of it was fairly accurate, namely not tweeting about a conference that you're at, or commenting about photos at Dailybooth.com, but it was mostly pish.

The one thing I took most offence at was the top suggestion, that you do not tweet about what you are eating. Food is a universal subject that most people have an interest in, on account that we all do it, and it's always good to get advice on what's good to eat, and what should be avoided on pain of death (metaphorically speaking, of course, though perhaps literally if the item of food in question is toxic or makes you suicidal). In fact, I was so taken aback by this ludicrous suggestion that I decided to relay the making of my dinner tonight on Twitter purely to prove a point, and here's how it went:

Millinship's Mighty Macaroni

You know what kids? Tonight I'm going to cook my tea live on twitter, just because I've been told not to http://bit.ly/1Uv9Dm "lol plz RT"
willmill82 Oct 10 11:54 am

Hello. Tonights tweets will be educational and hopefully nutritional. Tonight, I will be tweeting on how to make *edible* macaroni cheese.
willmill82 Oct 10 6:29 pm

Why not join me? I'm starting at 7pm BST, that's plenty of time to get down to the shops unless you live in the middle of fucking nowhere
willmill82 Oct 10 6:30 pm

righto, starting at 7 for real but you might want to grab a beer now, and also stick the kettle on. #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 6:55 pm

the beers not for cooking with by the way. I'm doing this tonight in honour of keith floyd and macho man randy savage #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 6:58 pm

We're off. First of all, boil up some pasta. Do this now. Doesn't matter what type, I'm using cheap tubes out of a supermarket #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:02 pm

Would usually start the sauce at the same time, but I cant cook 2 things, drink and type simultaneously. I don't have that power #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:06 pm

the more observant will have noticed I didn't say how much pasta. let's make this clear, I don't do measures, as they are lame #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:09 pm

christ this pastas shit. Best using bertolli or something #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:15 pm

pasta done. Now the sauce - melt some butter in a pan, gradually add the same amount of flour and mash up - await further info #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:20 pm

oh yeah, do that on a low heat, otherwise you're fucked #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:26 pm

now, still on a low heat, add milk slowly whilst constantly stirring it. do this till the sauce is quite thin #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:31 pm

when you've done that, finely chop a leek and put enough in to make the sauce greeny #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:33 pm

add the leeks and stir in, still on the low heat. leave for a while, grab some good quality ham, and chop #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:37 pm

if you're a veggie then you can substitute ham for croutons or magic beans #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:39 pm

now add chilli seeds! DO IT DOIT NOW #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:45 pm

oh yeah the cheese bit. Now add cheese. I'm using wensledale and chedder, and italian grated shite in a tuube #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:46 pm

turn the heat up NOW so that the sauce thickens whilst the cheese melts #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:49 pm

last bit - add mustard, pepper and the pasta that you cooked earlier. Then eat. THATS IT I'M DONE #maccheese
willmill82 Oct 10 7:53 pm

And that, ladies and gents, is how you make Macaroni Cheese. Admittedly Twitter isn't the ideal medium in which to give a cookery lesson, but then this was more about proving a point than anything else. Oh yeah, and it was bloody nice too.

(EDIT: Oh yeah, the real time exchanges, plus comments, are archived here if you fancy a look)

Wesley Willis vs Frank Sidebottom

2009-10-04T20:06:00.002+01:00

Regular readers may have noticed that my lottery stunt from last time failed massively. One ball out of six. However, if you think about it, the odds of me getting one ball out of forty-nine with 6 chances are approximately 1 in 1.52 (I hope, otherwise that C in AS Maths was a waste), so the statistical probability was that I was going to get no numbers at all right, so I've beaten the system.

It did get me thinking though, and whilst commiserating yet another £1 gambling loss, I came up with a great idea for a sitcom. Please don't let the pre-amble put you off - I know everytime I hear someone say "I've got a great idea for a sitcom", they invariably follow it up with a pile of toss - but my idea is truly wonderful, and it's called "The Richest Guy In Ellesmere Port".

The back story is this - it's 2009 in Ellesmere Port on the Wirral. Lifelong Tranmere Rovers fan Stan Boon has just been laid off by Vauxhall as part of the General Motors (Europe) fall out. But Stan's not going to let that get him down, oh no. He's pushing 50, he fears ageism in an ever-younger society, so he decides to blow his windfall payment in the local bookie. Down to his last quid, Stan put a quid on the lottery using the minutes in which goals in Tranmeres game were scored, and has a win. Stan checks back on previous weeks reports, and finds that it's no coincidence - each Tranmere match report has at least 3 numbers that come up the Tuesday after.

This rags-to-riches sitcom will show Stan Boon rise from his hard luck, and see him in unusual adventures across the Wirral as he collects his weekly tenner (occasionally 60 quid) and lords it over his neighbours as... The Richest Guy In Ellesmere Port.

Now, you will almost certainly have read that and considered it a waste of time.

If so, I apologise.

However, it is far funnier an idea than BBC Three have had in ever, so hey! If you're a BBC commissioning type, get your people to talk to my people at will@xcos.eu. You may also be interested in "How to donkey-punch an invisible man" and "Indoor! Market! Kidney! Swap!", a cartoon that I'm hoping will be voiced entirely by Justin-Lee Collins.

dezzabrown - update + plea

2009-09-14T17:51:00.002+01:00

If you were reading this blog late last night and don't have the memory of a goldfish, or if you're reading this blog now and know how to scroll down, you'll know that 20 or so hours ago I predicted next Wednesdays lottery balls using what I believe to be Derren Browns winning lottery system. Anyhow, Dave at work told me he's going to run with them numbers on Wednesday. I also am going to run with them numbers.

I also read that, because the lottery was won on Saturday, the jackpot's only £2.4 odd million, so when the numbers come out right (it's a good system) me and Dave will be millionaires.

However, according to economic theory, in projected real terms £1.2 million, in years to come, will be enough to buy a Mars Bar and a box of cheapy cheap fags. Imagine how bad it would be if the jackpot was split 3 or even 4 ways? I couldn't even get Somerfield "Makes Sense" Cider for that sort of money. Guys, I don't want to die a poor tramp, so help a chum out and do not play Wednesdays all important numbers, that can be found in the previous post.

Many Thanks.

Derren Brown, how he actually factually dunnit with the balls, no word of a lie

2009-09-13T18:58:00.006+01:00

Friends, Romans, Country Fans,

(please excuse me, whilst working this all out I had a few drinks, yeah?)

Like me, you'll no doubt have been flabbergasted by Derren Brown's latest telly trick where he "predicted" the correct lottery numbers for the main draw on the Ninth of September, 2009. However, like me, you'll no doubt be less than convinced by his explanations on the Friday night.

The first explanation he offered, that he predicted the outcome by taking the averages of peoples subliminal guesses, is clearly bogus. Whilst the average of people guesses for the weight of a cake is entirely plausible, the average of peoples guesses at the nights lottery numbers is stretching it a bit.

The second explanation, albeit offered jokingly, was that he fixed the machine. Again, utter rot. Channel 4 could not afford to pull such a stunt, because of the damage to their reputation if found out, and more pressingly because of their current bank balance. They showed the same program on five different channels people. There is no way in hell they could afford to rig the machine, because it would have cost them money, and all the money was clearly spent on that elaborate knife-footing mousey exercise that crucially had nothing to do with the lottery.

However, before I reveal exclusively on this blog how Derren dunnit, it would be remiss of me not to look at the leading internet counter idea, which is detailed here (or at least was, it's down at time of writing). This well written and utterly convincing argument, in a nutshell, is that Derren used computer gadgetry and IT skills to make the telly hide a stagehand who put the correct numbers into place, whilst hidden from the viewing public. Indeed, the "smoking gun" was that the final ball, number 39, was slightly higher than the others, despite being at the same level when the balls had their backs, as it were, to the cameras.

Whilst scientifically speaking that may seem plausible, what you have to remember here is, what if a Schroedinger's Cat happened? Now, I'm not an expert on quantum physics, God only knows I wish I were, but I do know this - things can move randomly when you're not watching them, and that's a fundamental law that holds the universe together. Let's face it, everyone was watching Derren's reactions at the time, so who's to say it didn't just quark up a few notches? Unless someone is willing to take the time and effort to debunk that theory, and do so using red and blue arrows as is required in physics, I think we can safely say that no camera trickery was involved.

So how did he do it?

Very simply. He used the oldest trick in the book, one which has been able time and time again to correctly predict at least 3 numbers since the dawn of lottery time, back in 1994. Birthdays. That's right, everyone in the country knows someone who has a mum, or an aunt, or a drug dealer who has won at least a tenner using this method. Given that Derren Brown is a known illusionist and quite clever with it, it is not beyond all possible reason that he is clever enough to be able to get 5 out of the 6 balls, which is what he was going for. But wait! I hear you cry, what's so special about 2, 11, 23, 28, 35 and 39 that he knew they'd come out? Well, luckily I have a ball-by-ball run down, with my own theory of why they were destined to come out.

TWO.

The number two represents, according to Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia which I've just edited, the birthdate of American singer Roger Miller, who is perhaps most famous for singing that song off Walt Disney's Robin Hood, what was sampled by the Hamster Dance lot back in the day. Now, if you watched the Friday show, you'll have seen not one but TWO (that's the number in question) instances where mice (which are basically dwarf hamsters) were involved.

ELEVEN.

The number eleven is derived from the birthday of none other than Adrienne Barbeau, star of TV's "The Cannonball Run". Also in the film, notably, were Dom DeLuise, Burt Reynolds, Jackie Chan, Sammy Davis Jr., Dean Martin, The Pet Shop Boys (uncredited) and Mr James Bond himself, James Bond. Cruicially, there's a bit where Burt Reynolds stops his helicopter so that DeLuise can get out and buy some beer from a small grocers, the sort of place where you would buy a lottery ticket. He didn't, and maybe that's why he didn't win the race.

TWENTY-THREE.

Twenty-three is a mythical number, numerology fans will no doubt recognise it as being the number that crops up again and again throughout time in between 22 and 24. Twenty-three is also the famous birthday of Jodie Marsh, who is perhaps better known as "Not-Jordan". Other people who aren't Jordan are Eric Sykes, Floella Benjamin, and Gordon Kennedy, formerly of "Absolutly" and the first regular co-host of "The National Lottery Live". Cynics, sneer away if you will, call it "tenuous at best", but I bet you can't think of any National Lottery presenters who are Jordan. Not even Ben Shephard.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ahh yes, there's that good old juvenile prank where you ask someone "How many months have twenty-eight days?", and you get the answer "One" which prompts you to snigger, "No, they all have 28 days" before you and the "Punk'd" one roll about on the floor laughing. One such person who would definately not fall for this trick is British telly legend Chris Barrie, who was born on this day. Barrie was famously in Red Dwarf as holgram Rimmer, and also in The Brittas Empire, where he was married to that bird out of Green Wing, who incidentally was frozen in time for ten years, which is why she was off the telly all that time. Gordon Kennedy (I mentioned him in the last paragraph, fact fans) was once in Red Dwarf as an android sent to replace the bloke off of Scrapheap Challenge. Rimmer also went back in time to give the LOTTERY RESULTS to his FORMER SELF, only for Lister to nick his idea and become rich. By LOTTERY RESULTS, I mean BUBBLE WRAP. COLOURED RED. Poetic license, yeah?

THIRTY-FIVE

Nobody was born on the thirty-fifth, because it's not a proper date. However, some older people were born back when 35 was a year, and not a calendar date. Professional Yorkshireman Michael Parkinson was one such person, and not only did he host a program on the SAME CHANNEL as the lottery draw, he even did so on the SAME EVENING, sometimes (if the football was on) WITHIN MINUTES OF THE DRAW BEING MADE.

THIRTY-NINE.

In 1939 war was beginning. Luckily, English World Cup Winner George Cohen was also born in that year. What gets weird, right, is that England have only won the World Cup once. 50 million people, or approx 83% of people in the UK, to which Derren Browns programme was broadcast, live in England, and so can identify with George Cohen "on some level or other". Now, what's interesting is if we focus on Scotland, immediately to the north of England on a map or a GPS, and look at the 10% (approx) of the UKs population who live there. If you were to ask the hypothetical question "Were you pleased with England's World Cup win in 1966, and are you especially proud of how often the media repeat this amazing fact, about England winning the World Cup in 1966, which they did, and you didn't. Ever.", the chances of someone saying "yes", mathematically speaking, are 1 in 13,983,816, EXACTLY THE SAME CHANCE OF WINNING THE LOTTERY.

So there we have it. It wasn't an invisible inkjet printer from out of space, it wasn't magical balls, and it certainly wasn't a clever camera trick. No, it all came down to knowing what balls were going to come out, on the right day, and it's all thanks to the birthday balls. I also know that a lot of you will not be convinced by this, so I urge you to do what I'm about to do, and place a pound on these bad boys come Wednesday night.

5 (Birthday of Stan Ridgeway, "Camouflage" legend)
12 (Jay out of Jay and the Silent Bobs, Jason Mewes)
17 (James Corden, the only overweight West Ham fan not on the pitch at Upton Park when they played Millwall)
24 (Marvin the Martian, cartoon character, made debut)
29 (Chris Broad. You know Stuart Broad out of the England Cricket Team? His dad, or something)
44 (Michael Fish happened)

BELIEVE.

Telly-Tastic.

2009-08-26T17:46:00.002+01:00

According to Sky News, the BBC, the papers and half of twitter, Channel 4 have announced at long last that Big Brother, the "social experiment"-cum-gallery-of-imbeciles that keeps on going, is to end next year with series 11, and a celebrity version in January or whenever it's usually on. No, I'm not kidding haters, here's your proof from their own website (though the next story down was "Microsoft remove black man from photo" which is probably more interesting/funny than this pish).

I'm sure most of us have good reasons for wanting to see the back of Big Brother - after all the viewing figures over the last few series show that viewers have been deserting the program quicker than Usain Bolt dashing to the toilet after a curry. For some, the format has gone stale. Back in the first series, no-one knew exactly what to expect from it, and a 24 hour live stream of people incarcerated in what was essentially a happy prison seemed an appealing alternative to the mainstream light entertainment programs; yet come series 10, we know the program so well we can take a guess as to the make up of contestants for the next series (my guess: approximately 25% transgendered, 31% moody and sullen, 5% wacky, 43% sexually charged, 10% suicidal, 25% light-hearted, 50% self promotion, and the all important 100% skull-crushingly tedious).

And Channel 4 agree. According to head of programming Julian Bellamy talking to Sky News, Channel 4 needs to be "championing the new", and that "[C4] are going to put their money where their mouth is and find the next generation of brilliant new ideas". Channel 4 News have helpfully suggested a long running comedy-drama take it's place, and God only knows they're overdue a bit of genius such as Spaced (watch free in the UK kids), but given that BB currently has a show every night, not to mention spin-offs past and present such as Little Brother and Big Mouth, you're looking at a lot of airspace to fill in a years time.

Bearing in mind Channel 4's history of being innovative and, let's face it, commissioning the sort of stuff that no-one else would, I thought I'd throw my oar in and offer a few ideas for some prime-time gold:

First of all, I give you Frank Sidebottom's Fantastic Facebook Fight. Hosted by the eponymous 80's legend, and possibly sponsored by the eponymous social networking site, it literally does what it says on it's alliterative tin. Frank Sidebottom and Little Frank (with a referee cardboard body) officiate over punch ups that started on Facebook. Think Jerry Springer or Jeremy Kyle, except with a man with a papier mache head, and a casio keyboard, goading 20 somethings who drove 300-fucking-miles to gatecrash a 14 year olds birthday party into beating the living daylights out of a random audience member. It'd be awesome.

Secondly, C4 haven't been lucky enough to get a decent (prime time) quiz show thrown their way in some time (Deal or No Deal at the weekends excepted) - so take this quizual seed in your ear and let it grow upside your head: Timmy Tombola. Starring a robot loosely based on Timmy Mallett from the 80s but for legal reasons baring no likeness whatsoever, and utilising the red button, contestants at home and in the studio face off against each other in an attempt to win anything from a tin of Spaghetti Hoops to £500 sterlings, simply by throwing a ring at a peg, either physically or virtually. In a twist on the traditional quiz shows, the winners will be given a chance to swap their winnings for a chance at the super hoop, the prize being the right to stay alive, and return next week (possibly at gun-point) to challenge a new set of idiots.

As a government owned corporation, Channel 4 mustn't forget their public service remit. This is why, should they wish to promote to prime time a nature programme, I offer them this: Frog or Toad? Set in a studio twice the size of Wem-ber-leee stadium, a panel of experts explain to us at home exactly what the difference is between the two, and how best to avoid them in the wild. Every week, they will look at a different amphibian, and then nail it to the wall underneath one of two giant posters, one saying "R.I.P. Frog" and the other "Bad Luck Toad". At the end of the series, what will by then be considered "installations" will be put on eBay with no reserve.

Or how about something proper well different? Something which defies categorisation? Channel 4, I give you... Teletext Live! Now, I will be the first to admit that I have basically nicked the idea off of BBC2 in the early mornings, where they show you a selection of CEEFAX pages, accompanied by lounge music, presumably to taunt people like me who don't have Ceefax. However, only a tit would think such a thing could work come 9 o'clock on a Friday evening, so there would need to be changes. Obviously, the liftmuzak would need to go, and replaced with contempory hits from the Arctic Monkeys and the Pulp. Furthermore, rather than feature news stories on repeat loop, why not look at some of the more fun features of teletext, like Planet Sound, or Turner the Worm, or Bamboozle to name but three. Finally, and this is where the BBC messed up and Channel 4 could make a real killing here, how about instead of having words on the screen, they have people? Actors, presenters, whatever you want to call them. Because staring at words hurts, man. It really does.

OK, so those ideas by my own standards are fairly lame, but it does show one thing; good ideas are hard to come by, and maybe, just maybe, that's why Big Brother's been on telly for so long - nothing better has come along.

As a post-script, whilst I'm fairly sure none of the above will ever be commissioned, stranger things have happened, so will@xcos.eu if you're a telly commissioner drunk or stupid enough to talk. As it happens, as I was typing the quiz show, I actually genuinely came up with a blinder of a quiz show format which I'll need to develop a bit more, and I'll shove that up here at a later date.

Will's Wild And Wacky World Of Television

2009-08-09T18:53:00.004+01:00

(An occasional series where I blog about stuff I saw on telly 'n' shine.)

The Football League Show - BBC One, Saturdays after 11ish, also on iPlayer and the red doobry.

Yay! The footer's back. It seems like only 2 and a half months ago I was at Wembley Stadium cheering on the two teams I support (Millwall and Shrewsbury Town, cheers for asking) to utter abysmal and abject failure in their respective play-off finals. Dejected and down, I thought about packing it all in, and finding a new sport to follow. I briefly thought about throwing my lot in with that French game, petanque, until I remembered that it would be more fun attempting to connect my ears together with a seven inch rusty nail, using a cute little puppy as a makeshift hammer. Nope, once football's got you, I'm afraid there is no known cure.

There are, however, ways you can minimise the pain. The evasive action I took was to move approximately 420 miles north of Millwall's ground, The Den, to minimise the practicality of getting to matches, and to minimise the amount of media coverage I could recieve. Yes, moving to Scotland for any lower league football fan is very much on a par with nicotine patches, a soccer-methadone if you will. You still get the initial "hit", but your exposure is strictly limited to Jeff Stelling on Soccer Saturday and the internet, the latter of course being mainly conjecture and speculation, so nothing there to really worry about. There was an added bonus in that the networked Football League show, "The Championship", wasn't shown in Scotland, so us football exiles saved ourselves from the utter tedium of sitting through Plymouth v Derby, Watford v Barnsley and similar tripe waiting for all 15 seconds of coverage of that weekends exciting Millwall v Huddersfield match.

Well guess what kids and grown ups?

That's all changed.

As of last night (and all this week via the interweb), the BBC are bringing us an hour-and-a-bit long program dedicated to all the teams outside the top-flight, and what's more, they're showing it in Scotland as well! Hurrah! Nothing like a bit of cultural imperialism, that's what I say. No such coverage of the lower leagues up here; if you're lucky you'll get a live match on BBC Alba every now and then, but the commentary's in Gaelic, a language relatively few speak, especially in the central belt where the majority of lower league teams are based. No highlights packages exist ever since STV decided they couldn't be bothered, yet an Elgin City fan could, if he so chose, to tune into BBC One on a Saturday night and see how Yeovil Town got on. It is, as Bernard Manning famously said, a fooking dizzgrace.

Anyhoo, what of the show itself? The title sequence is about as far removed from it's sister show, Match of the Day, as can possibly be imagined. Rather than a montage of nicely edited clips of fast paced football to the memorable MotD theme, the Football League Show instead focuses on fans dressed in matchday clobber, dicking about and kicking some balls, to the tune of... actually, I have no idea. It's instantly forgettable. It creates the idea that somehow, whilst fans of Premier League teams are well adjusted, supporters of lower league clubs are somehow mentally deficiant, possibly emotionally stunted clowns who like dancing around and waving frantically. There's a word of warning for you, fans of West Brom, Boro and Newcastle - on account of your recent relegation to the Championship, you're all now cretins. Bad luck.

Onto the show itself, we are seemlessly segued from the titles to the man with the unenvious task of holding it all together, Manish Bhasin. Promoted from daytimes "Football Focus" show, it seems he should have no trouble handling the links and keeping the show ticking over. And, to be fair, the format of the show is not his fault. However, and this is no exaggeration, my jaw dropped literally over nine thousand feet when he told the viewers that "they could get in touch with the show" and passed over to Lizzie Greenwood-Hughes, who did exactly that. That's right, if you have an opinion on the days games, your e-mail or text message could be read out! Fantastic! Not only can fans of lower league football dick about in front of a camera, they can also dick about on the e-mail and texts and tell they world exactly how they feel the days game went, in one snappy soundbite. Why stop there? Why not set up a twitter account and have blathering fans tweet in their critical analysis of the days action in 140 characters or less? Furthermore, Ms Greenwood-Hughes seemed a little too happy to be doing it, manically grinning whilst asking Norwich City fans to text in their thoughts on a game, it turns out, they lost 7-1.

Moving on to the actual games themselves, and Sir Steve Claridge and Ian "Olly" Holloway were introduced as the pundits. Declaration of interests: Stevie Claridge is one of the best strikers I have ever seen wear a Millwall shirt, and he does a fairly decent column in the Guardian focusing on up-and-coming players. He is an immensely articulate man, and always has a good word to say about the subject at hand. Today, therefore, I'm willing to put down as a bad day at the office. When questioned about the up and coming season, he said that the season had the potential "to be interesting", as League 2 has Sven, League 1 has some big clubs and the Championship, well, "only three teams won their opening day fixures". I'm sorry to disagree with your optimism here Steve, but if we consider that if out of 12 opening fixtures, 3 resulted in a polarised result and 9 didn't, then if anything, going by this weekend, the Championship season has the potential to be skull-crushingly mundane. That said, for the sake of football I hope you're right. Ian Holloway provided some slightly more critical analysis of teams, for instance he threw his oar in on the subject of the ongoing crisis at Newcastle, suggesting that they should get their house in order. Nothing like getting your mind games in early, as Blackpool host Newcastle in the league in a months time.

As for the highlights themselves, well, nothing special. 5 minutes or so for your main matches, and the goals/key moments from all the other games, so similar to the old Football League Extra they used to show on ITV in the late 90s. The in-game commentary teams are pretty much what you'd expect to hear on Match of the Day, and what's more, they sound genuinely interested in the game in front of them, and the voiceovers on the goals pretty much the same as it's ITV predecessor - step forward Dave Beckett, the ITV man now doing his stuff for the Beeb.

Fans of light entertainment won't be disappointed with this show either - along side those wonderful e-mails is a Mr Mark Clemmit, whose contribution to the show was to visit Meadow Lane and the new Cardiff City Stadium, and to give us some valuable insight into the big news of the weekend. From those interviews, I found out that Notts County may or may not have invented the offside rule, and that Peter Ridsdale has a Chairmans lounge that he doesn't use. All very well for a programme like Football Focus, or dare I say it BBC Regional News, but on a serious programme?

And there in, dear reader, may lie the problem. It is, in all but name, Football Focus, but instead of providing a lighthearted preview of the days matches, it's reviewing them in a manner which might not be entirely appropriate. If MotD is a top-drawer football highlights programme, and MotD2 it's slightly more rebellious teenage bastard son, then one can only presume that the this is MotD2's younger brother, insanely jealous of all the attention big bro gets. However, rather than try to copy him, the Football League show has taken different bits from different formats, and gotten a little bit confused in the process. Despite all of the above, we can't change the fact that the BBC have the rights to show these games, and we must also consider that the BBC have every right to change and tinker about with it until it becomes comfortable viewing. It is, also worth mentioning that this is all my opinion, and I'd be the first to say well done if the BBC stick with the format and it all clicks after a few weeks. One things for sure though, unless they give Millwall more airtime, the nail and the puppy will be bought back into play.

Web 9.0 – what the internet of tomorrow should offer.

2009-07-26T09:52:00.002+01:00

Before I start this update properly, I ought to tell you now that whilst this is clearly a flight of fancy, and in no way a prediction of how future technology will unfold, you can bet your bottom Euro that I will do everything in my limited power to make this future a reality.

The internet, as those of you who've used it for longer than a week will know, is an ever evolving medium. Back when it first took off, not as a mainstream concern but as a curiosity for computing enthusiasts and Scandinavian funk-masters, the web consisted purely of text characters, consisting of A-Z, 0-9, the usual punctuation marks and some odd characters, for instance ┳╠▒◔♻♣♜♚➋➼to name but a few. Although the web did initially allow for different colours to be used, along with fancy ASCII blocks, it was basically just a tarted up version of teletext. Nope, teletext was probably quicker. And definitely cheaper – remember dial-up induced phone bills? Ouch.

Luckily, from a tiny acorn a mighty oak will grow, and in this metaphor, the acorn is the text-based stodge I mentioned then. Around about 1994-ish, this basic form of content sharing was given a boost when the first popular browsers hit the market – namely IE3 and Netscape 3. Not only did they offer a nicer visual experience to the home computer user by offering more colours than before, images that could be embedded in a text article (y'know, like in a newspaper), but they also allowed for background music to be embedded. Y'know, I once visited a website that had a MIDI file of Phil Collins' “Against All Odds” playing in the background, it made me so angry that I punched a hamster in its kidney. With the introduction of universal content platforms such as Java, Flash et. al. it soon became possible to play games on the internet, and some multi-player. I once got grannied on Yahoo! Pool , as a result I got quite angry and lobbed a grenade at a cat. Indeed, as the internet was getting more and more advanced, I seemed to be getting both angrier and more complicated in my animal abuse methods. We've now reached the stage where it's common practise to have video clips on websites, and flash adverts that take over the whole screen, and you really don't want to know what I do to horses whenever I see a flash advert. But what of the future? What's left to be done? As the title cleverly suggests, this blog post is about what the internet should offer in the medium to long term. I am of no doubt that a lot of what I suggest will not be feasible, let alone possible, but should that stop any self-respecting scientist from trying? Should it balls.

The web should be more seamlessly integrated with mother nature
Long Term

Now, as far as this pundit (hello) is concerned, recent developments in making the internet more accessible are to be welcomed. We can now get the internet on mobile phones, we can get laptops that can be hidden under a folded up copy of the Metro, and one can get free Wi-Fi internet at the pub, supermarket, even on the bus. However, it is just a start, and with devices getting smarter, wi-fi getting stronger and more devices getting some sort of online connection, I would speculate that in the very long term, possibly about 100 years from now, the water we drink, the air we breathe, and the fields in which our grandchildren will gaily dance will all be online. Somehow. I'm not really sure on the specifics but I'm fairly sure water conducts electricity, and I know that you can transmit internet wirelessly, and the fields could be an internet of sorts... obviously the specifics need working on a bit, but I'm convinced that the basic premise is a goer. Besides, I saw an episode of the New Adventures of Superman where they done this. That, and above all else I really want a future where any act of gross stupidity or misfortune is instantly rewarded by an 80ft floating ghostly cat in the sky, playing a tune on a keyboard.

Get Paid To Surf

Short Medium Term

You will have to forgive me a bit of reminiscing here, but I remember a by-gone era when companies would pay you money for surfing the web. It was easy money, all you needed to do was spend literally hours and hours glued to a screen attached to a bit of wire that cost 4p a minute, and after a couple of months doing this you'd get a cheque through the post for about a fiver. More, they say, if you encouraged friends and family to sign up. Oh yeah, and you had to have a window with adverts open, or occasionally click on a link, or fill out a survey, or sell your soul. Thems were the days. Sadly, in the case of the ad-sponsored programs (such as All-Advantage), their demise was swift, presumably because they were paying more money to people using their software than they were receiving from advertisers.

Moreover, I believe that these business models failed simply because they required people to go out of their way to do something they wouldn't otherwise do – filling out a survey takes time, and watching adverts is... a bit weird, truth be told. What if there was a way of obtaining revenue from folk who were doing what they do anyway?

Naturally, ones first reaction to a proposition like that would be a confused one. Surely, if you're doing anything that involves using the fruits of someone else's labour, you should be paying them, right? True enough. But what about when the fruits of your labour are used without remuneration? Comments left on websites, photos uploaded to social networks, etc. often have a financial value to them – why cant the authors/creators benefit from this? Fucking hell, I've gone all serious. It's probably worth mentioning that I haven't the foggiest how this would happen, and who on earth would be silly enough to pump money into a venture like this, but you never know – will@xcos.eu if you have more money than sense, yet more business acumen than I do...

Make it a bit more like telly:

NOW!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I propose that the interwebs best and worst features are that anyone can use it – in fact an old adage about monkeys, typewriters and infinity springs to mind. Because the internet is ultimately created entirely by its users, it means that all manner of things, both wild, wonderful and completely inane, can be found. Go on, try it. I'll wager that out there in the world wild web are such diverse things as Tom Hingley from the Inspiral Carpets being eaten by the French, and Captain Beefheart playing cricket with a shoe, and possibly some obscenities too. The reason such things (probably) exist on the internet is because there is no filter; no censor who has the power to force idiots off the internet for posting cats that look a bit like Dale Winton. In many ways, I should be grateful there is no internet censor, as I'd most likely be one of the first to be banned. Possibly shot, I don't know how lucky I'll get. Anyway, my point is that the internet should be made more like telly – in that we should have a choice of a few pages to visit, and that's it. lMum gets to watch a webpage a bit like The One Show, and for Dad, GardenersWorld.com. The kids should be forced into only being able to go on CBBC's website, or possibly Habbo Hotel. Oh yeah, and while I'm at it, only one computer per household please. Squabbling over which website to look at can only strengthen the modern family, man. As an aside, I don't want to be Draconian over this. I still would encourage freedom of discussion and debate on message boards, newsgroups etc. However, for the safety of the internet as a whole, I really do think that people who disagree with my point of view should be beaten up. Not hospitalised, or anything serious, just roughed up a little. Maybe a little kneecapping, who can say.

Anyway, that's just my 2ps worth. For legal reasons I am required to let you all know that I don't routinely get angry and cause animals harm, not do I espouse fascist views, nor do I condone violence towards people with differing views. Often. Until next time!

minicosmos: concept album number 1

2009-07-11T22:03:00.007+01:00

The idea behind this never-to-be-released album is simple, all tracks are named after unfortunate videos that YouTube have seen fit to plug me at the end of an unrelated clip I had just been watching. Here's the tracklisting:

1) Rubens Barrichello's Horrific Crash - Imola 1994

A jaunty little number with bossanova undertones

2) Hitler Gets Swine Flu

Poignant, almost Mogwai-esque instrumential.

3) Fox News Anchor has a Freudian Slip

A classic pop number, think Gina G in Eurovision.

4) ANJ and Gorby save Hot Girls from Stalin Zombies

Spoken word.

5) Pot... Kettle... Racist?

Obviously not racist, but will need some heavy heavy guitar in there to drive the point home!

And as all good concept albums go, all of the above tracks are about 12 minutes long, which means no more room for any more tunes. That, and I ran out of amusing youtube links. For reasons I forget (this draft was saved, like, a week ago or something) I couldn't be bothered to link any of the original videos, but I assure you, they're real. Google them if you don't believe me. I reckon the one with Rubens Barrichello might be worth avoiding, mind.

Oh yeah, and this place has a new address for your bookmarks - it's http://www.xcos.eu. Snappy huh? Only cost me just over a quid for the year, which is blazin' and totally cheap. Am also checking out easypeasy on the netbook for the first time since Windows started to annoy me (I mean, how could the system possibly be low on virtual memory when I have gigs of the stuff?). That's why this post happened. That's why. Next time, when I actually have something other than bizarre youtube recommendations to share and a slightly better premise, the blog post will be better, dig?

Till whenever that happens kids,

xcos.eu.

In praise of Partick

2009-06-27T17:00:00.001+01:00

Whilst searching this morning for the traditional Saturday breakfast (the Jumbo Cornish Pasty), one couldn’t help but notice that the streets were alive with a certain buzz. The kids I walked by were full of schools-out cheer, the dogs seemed randier than usual and the lamp-posts certainly weren’t complaining. In Mansfield Park, recently redeveloped from being a concrete football pitch into a landscaped square with basketball court, a marquee had been erected with a bunch of people playing the bongo drums, and a rather jolly looking man with a megaphone shouting the wonderfully odd slogan “There are no donkeys any more, swine flu”.

But what was the cause? Whilst the weather is usually a factor in public joy, today is nothing special. Quite warm, but overcast and quite humid. Muggy, or clammy if you will. Sports results often bring communities together, but with the football season being out, Wimbledon being unremarkable and the people of Partick being ambivalent to cricket (despite having a massive ground), I’m willing to discount sport for those very reasons. No, the reason the denizens of Partick were happy today was because… they always are. That’s right, Partick is happy central. Come rain or shine, win or lose, Deal or No Deal, the people of G11 are a curiously upbeat bunch. Even the junkies who are found dead in their stairwells, dead through drugs, die with a happy smile on their face, happy that they were THERE. And, presumably, smacked up on cannabaloids. What makes the people of Partick so happy? I’ll tell you why!

1) The Partick Pie

Coming back from Morrison’s where I found the Jumbo Cornish Pasty (I got two for £1.50) I bumped into Gregor, former banking colleague and former manager of the Whistler’s Mother public house, who enquired as to where I had procured the pastry dishes. “Morrison’s” said I, “two for one pou…” “Should have gone to the Pantry, son” jumped in Gregor, before disappearing like a flipping magician. And he’s right – only reason I had gone to Morrison’s is because Greggs had a queue and are rubbish.
The Pantry, for those who are unfamiliar, are a bakery at the southern end of Byres Road, and purveyors of the Partick Pie, possibly the best thing known to mankind. From the outside, it looks like any other scotch pie, with the flimsy casing and the hole in the top. However, peer through that hole and possibly take a bite, and enter another world of culinary delight. Prime steak, but remarkably soft on the teeth, almost as if the baker had chewed it prior to cooking it, and a gravy so divine it must have been created by a mad bovine scientist. And they’re cheap, a Partick plus if ever there was one. Indeed, the only way these things could be more genius would be if Heston Blumental were to make one out of ice cream and rice paper.

2) The Cricket Ground

OK, so I mentioned that the denizens of Partick are hardly cricket crazy, but yet they have a massive cricket ground. Makes little sense, but then there is one fact about said ground that anyone in Partick worth their salt knows, that the worlds first international football match was played there, on the 30th of November 1872 between Scotland and England. Yes Sir, Partick has football history! It’s only fair that I mention in passing the local team, Partick Thistle, who no-one in Partick supports.

3) The Farmers Market

Ok, not really in Partick anymore – because they redeveloped the old Mansfield Park, and gave it nice things like artificial mounds and, umm, grass, but luckily only a couple of blocks away up at Dowanhill Primary School. A great little place to go of a every-other-Saturday, with stallholders from all over Scotland providing everything from Ostrich burgers to wild Scotch Raspberries to some rather nice beer indeed. Only problem with it is the Green Party’s answer to Mr Shouty, who lambasts anyone who walks by without signing his clipboard. Actually, in fairness to the Greens, I can’t be sure if he is anything to do with them but someone told me once that’s who he was with – apologies if necessary. That said, I did see him chase a man round the park once for buying veal. And I did see him chase a man round the park once for selling veal. Happy days.

4) Stewartville St

I have no idea what goes on in Stewartville St. There is a building called the Annexe, which I presume is some kind of youth club. I hope it is. Every time I walk past, I can’t help but imagine what japes they get up to. It’s what can only be described as a Scottish version of Byker Grove happening in my head. Ha ha, McNoddy man, gerroff us like. Otherwise, it’s a fairly ordinary street. That, and the name reminds me of Sackville St in Manchester, made famous by the Inspiral Carpets as being a known red-light district. No prozzies in Partick, fact. Plenty of freebies mind. Partick 1 Manchester 0. McPJ mon, I cannae see!

5) Escape Routes

Welcome to Partick – nobody ever leaves (to borrow a phrase off the League of Gentlemen). WRONG. In fact, it’s well easy to leave Partick if you want to, because we have amongst other things, a subway/railway station which has at peak times a train every 4 minutes on both subway lines AND east/west on the national rail. Busiest non-terminus in Scotland, I’m reliably informed by those mad sorcerers at Wikipedia. Plus there are buses every few minutes, taxis, and I’m fairly sure I saw one of those rickshaw guys the other week on Dumbarton Road, but it was a sunny day and my eyes were bleeding, so it may have just been a cyclist towing a car. Speaking of buses, the driver on the 7.45 number 9 to Paisley is a genius, as he doesn’t like people who mumble. Should you ever have the opportunity, I recommend putting a handful of change into the on-board fare bucket, saying the name of a non-existent destination under your breath, stand back and watch the fireworks.

Of course, this is just one mans opinion, and opinions are ever shifting. Since I’ve started to write this, ooh, about an hour ago, whilst flicking between various news channels to find out the latest on Michael Jackson (still dead seems to be the general consensus), I can’t help but notice that the buzz on the street has quietened down a bit. Looking out the window, there appears to be an argument in progress over the road, something to do with the shopping bags. We even had the landlady come round to moan about a bike which isn’t ours that’s chained to a lamp post that isn’t hers. Maybe not everyone in Partick is happy after all, but it doesn’t stop it being a lovely place to live. Till next time!

Explaining The Cosmos: NOT a substitute for reading textbooks

2009-06-15T17:39:00.002+01:00

The Lunch Business.

Lots of people write blogs. This is an established FACT. Not a fact, but a FACT. Y’see, FACTs are like facts except the emphasis isn’t on the truth of the matter, but the sheer force with which the point is hammered home, even if it turns out to be false. Here is an example for you to chew on: All unmarried men are batchelors. Fact. All unmarried men are weird loser stalkers who pose a medium-high threat to women with an inflated opinion of their own attractiveness. FACT. You see the distinction? As I said, lots of people write blogs, and that is a FACT, because whilst there are a lot of blogs out there (fact), a lot of them rely on stuff that they nick from elsewhere. As such, let me make it clear that this blog here only uses 100% fresh ingredients, all wholemeal and natural. Unlike a certain lunchtime meal provider. Oh yes, lot’s of people write blogs all right. Some of them even mention where they work. This is insane, stupid and wrong, you can get fired for talking about your work. Good thing, then, I’m talking about somewhere else. FACT.

So the lunchplace, then. Last week, I was persuaded by a flyer we’d got to pop in on the Wednesday to get a portion of the Lamb Dopiaza. Y’see, I love the Lamb Dopiaza. FACT. FACT, because I didn’t like this one. The irritating thing is that there wasn’t just the one thing that I could point to and say “It would be nice if it weren’t for that”, there wasn’t a single thing right about it. Not one thing. In fact, they could have given me a chocolate pudding, called it a Lamb Dopiaza and I would have been less offended. Here are the reasons why:

1) The price.

In these days of recession, a credit crunch and a general need for thriftiness, the place mentioned on this flyer would be the ideal place to go. After all, it’s cheaper than the high street, or so it seems? LOLNO. Nearly four pounds for…

2) The portion.

FUCK ALL. That’s right, £3.95 for next to fuck all. I don’t know whether it was because I asked for it in a tray to take away, but it literally was a half full medium chips box, with 80% rice and twenty percent “curry”.
Oh yeah, and a half cooked naan which looked ill. It looked like it had life, intelligence, and hated the sludge it was sitting on. It looked like it was dying of disappointment. It may well have been a small mirror, made of dough. That’s right…

3) The meal/snack/food/thing

What was served to me was not Dopiaza. Nope, it was more like a lamb stew with some exotic gravy poured on top of it. In fact, that’s exactly what it was. The previous week, I had noticed that this eatery were doing Chicken Jalfrezi as their curry of the week, and was surprised to see them selling fajitas without the tortillas. Upon interrogation, I discovered that the fajita chicken was in fact the curry, but “without the sauce”. Now, I realise that in most cafes the quality of the grub is meant to be questionable, as is the great British tradition. However, when the cafe in question passes itself off as a “restaurant”, it is undoubtedly a kick in the balls. With a hammer.

4) Bartering (or lack thereof)

Having seen what was dumped into a paper carton, I desperately tried to remember what I had been taught about Scots contract law. Was the curry fit for purpose? No, but I was in a rush. Was it as advertised? Sort of. It met the minimum requirements of what an idiot would call a curry. Was it in a satisfactory condition? Take a wild guess. So I did the only reasonable thing a short-changed punter would, and asked for a little bit more, in the phrase of the rhetorical question “Is that it?” OK, diplomacy not my strong point there, and the lady behind the servery wasn’t the sort of woman you’d mess with; she was short and Glaswegian. Bite worse than bark. This in mind, I went to pay for my food. The gentleman on the tills is a funny lad, dead talkative when he wants to be, and dead morose on other days. Today was a morose day - possibly on account of earlier complaints about food standards, I dunno. So he asks me what I have in my box, I explain it’s half a portion of Lamb Dopiaza. Rather than look puzzled or intrigued, rather than ask questions about this new portion I had myself been introduced to, he put it through as a whole portion of curry. Before I handed over the funds, I explained my misgivings at being charged full price for an insultingly short measure. No effect. Not only that, but he refused to give me details of whom to complain to, however he did in fairness point me in the direction of the suggestion box.

Short and to the point, I’m sure you’ll agree.

I wish I could say that all of the above was true but hey, that just wouldn’t be a fact. Whilst it’s fair to say I was incredibly angry at the piss-poor food and service, I feel it’s unjust to leave you with the impression that this is a typical day in the da hood. No siree, I wouldn’t be so stupid to go somewhere I didn’t like just to be nasty - and usually the foods alright. Occasionally, I get the pizza which is nice, and sometimes the soup which in fairness is fantastic. In fact, it may even be a complement that I’ve gone to such lengths to highlight what was a one off. That, and I’ve taken great care, well, some effort to omit the name and location of the place. Legal reasons, y’see. The internet is a wonderful place but by god I don’t want to be sued again. I fear litigation more than the Belgians, and that says something. Peace out, and remember, don’t be a loser like your humble narrator, get a Pot Noodle for lunch. They’re cheap but they’re good.

The Most Wonderful Job In The World

2009-05-30T10:02:00.000+01:00

Ever wondered how people get the really cool jobs in life?

You know what I mean. You're sitting there at your desk, your in-tray is piled full of e-mails, invoices that need paying (or at the very least, shuffling) and "memos" that need "actioning". Actioning, by the way, isn't a real word. It's office-speak for "doing". Well done corporate Britain, you've managed to make a verb that literally means "to verb", but I digress.

The mundane nature of office jobs and the human instinct to make life interesting inevitably leads to the imagination kicking into overdrive at about, ooh, five past nine in the morning, and one tends to think about what they'd rather be doing, preferably for cold, hard cash. A quick glance round the office and you see the mailroom guy gleefully wandering about the office, handing people their post with a smile on his face that says "ho ho, thank fuck it's not me who has to read, let alone deal with that". Then, a quick glance out of the window at the cleaners having a fag outside suddenly reminds you that cleaning excrement from ceramic bowls is immeasurably more pleasant than talking to Iqbal, the area manager about the next quarters sales targets. It's about ten past nine when you resolve to get out of this place, and get yourself a better job.

For me, the best job that anyone could ever give me would be to be the guy who does the live updates for the sport reports on news websites. You know the ones, and if you don't, here's the archived BBC report from the Champions League final on Wednesday past. But how does one apply for such a job? At about ten to ten that morning, I started daydreaming, and in that brief 5 minute spell before Andy in accounts came over to ask me whether Heather in marketing would ever return his amorous advances (how should I know? I'm not Heather in marketing, you tit), this is how I imagined my interview for a similar job...

Interview for Interactive Sports Reporter
Times and Post New Media Dept, Edinburgh, 1500 BST 5th May 2009

1430 BST: Hello everyone! It's a lovely sunny day in Edinburgh, Princes Street is packed with shoppers, and I believe we saw Arthurs Seat as the train pulled into Waverley station. Marvellous. Here today I am one of three people to be interviewed for the role of Interactive Sports Reporter for the Times and Post's website. I gather I will be mainly covering Hearts games if successful. Fingers crossed!

1433 BST: Those other losers don't stand a chance. Keep telling myself that. It's a jungle out there Millinship, a flipping jungle. Just walking up to the interview venue, a modern-era glass building affair just off Newington Road. Wow!

1434 BST: Argh! Pre-interview nerves are really kicking in, and there's a nice little bar over the road. Should I pop in for some dutch courage? Your views are welcome via text and the red button.

1440 BST: Decided against the whisky and am now sitting in the reception area in the Times and Post building. Lovely. Receptionist listening to Monster by The Automatic. I wonder if she has a PRS license?

1447 BST: The Line Up

Big Boss Man: Anthony Morgan, head of New Media
Second Panellist: Piers McPartlin, head of Interactive Content
Gormless Third Nodding Head: Sally Cadbury, Deputy Interactoriser.

I wonder if my £50 M&S suit will cut it at this level? It's squeaky bum time off the Newington Road...

1449 BST: TXT in from me Mum. "We're all thinking of you and hope it goes well!" Aww. Don't forget you can text in with well wishes, if you know my phone number.

1455 BST: Need to go to the toilet. Again. No sign of the big three. Receptionist smiling awkwardly. She knows I've got the fear, or pre-match nerves if you will. Argh!

1456 BST: Is that the boardroom door opening? Is it? IS IT??? It's not too late to go home is it? I don't want to be an internet type any more. I want my old job back with the council. Waaa.

1457 BST: COMMENT RECIEVED from previous interviewee. "Best of luck pal" he said with remarkable sincerity. I want to hate him but I can't. Gosh!

1458 BST: Slightly ahead of schedule, I am led to the boardroom by Mr Morgan. Mr! One has to be formal in these kind of situations.

1459 BST: TXT recieved. I think it was a text. My pocket vibrated. I hope it was my phone. What else could it have been? Can't read it as of yet, as all my attention is aimed at the interview panel. It's now baby!

1500 BST: The offer of a glass of water has been accepted. McPartlin and Cadbury introduce themselves, and we're underway with... a history of the newspaper. Fucking hell.

1503 BST: What attracted me to this post? Would they appreiciate my honesty if I said "the salary"? Think I've building good rapport with the head honcho.

1504 BST: I admire the panels patience in awaiting my reply to the previous question. Morgan and McPartlin are smiling eagerly. Cadbury's a leather-faced bitch. Go on, scowl some more.

1504 BST: "The opportunity to enrich the lives of internet-based Hearts fans both here in the Capital and further afield". Why on earth did I say that? Christ on a bike. More water. Leather face is watching me pour the water. Wow!

1505 BST: Do I have much experience within New Media? Hmm. Does ringing up internet talk radio shows and shouting the word "bumhole" count?

1506 BST: TXT. In fact, this text is vibrating longer than a usual text. It's a phone call! Wonderful. McPartlin asks if I would like to answer that. I smile nervously, and literally punch the bejesus out of my left pocket whilst keeping eye contact with the panel. May need to buy a new phone later. "No", I say. "Well, a bit. I'm involved with this internet radio start-up..."

1506 BST: Leather face would like to know more about what I do at this internet radio station. Nuts. Turns out she used to work for one. I, quick as a flash, tell her that I am a freelance contributer. I think she knows what that means. Her face gets more leathery.

1508 BST: What would I do differently to "the established websites" in this role? Oh come on, it's not like any other media outlet covers Hearts. I'd cover them full stop, that's different enough surely? And how come theres no more water? And why does leather face get a cup of tea? Wheres my tea?

1509 BST: Employment history. Bollocks. Three years of working in a call centre and the couple of months I spent working in the factory. I embellish my degrees value at this point. And mention that I've always loved the Hearts. "Millwall of the north", I tell them. TXT. Shut up phone.

1510 BST: Phew! That was a close one. Nearly let my answer to that question end but then I remembered that I did that puerile nonsense in the QM magazine for a few months, thus giving me l33t journalistic skills. I get the impression leather face is warming to me!

1513 BST: I've just turned this mother eff round! Mr Morgan and Ms Cadbury asked if I have an other life experiences to add to support my application, so I mentioned facebook, myspace and livejournal. Positive looks from Mr Morgan there, I think I'm in with half a chance here! He clearly has no idea.

1514 BST: That said, McPartlin is on the floor, roffling.

1515 BST: I confirm that I have no holidays booked. What a stupid question. None of their business, frankly.

1517 BST: Aha! The tables have turned have they? I get to ask the questions! It's like I'm Pac-Man, and I've just swallowed a massive pill. I ask them, if I'm successful, what style to they want it in? Po-faced? Wacky? Wild and Wacky? The rather straight answer is "informative, yet informal". Nice. I could do that.

1519 BST: And it's all over at the Times and Post. I thank the panel for seeing me, and I'm escorted to reception. Speaking of being escorted, are those PRS agents I see escorting the receptionist to prison for not having a license? Ho ho!

1524 BST: Time for a post interview scotch. Turns out my phone is still alive, but the case is now split. Turns out the texts were from my Dad, and it says if I mess up this job interview I'm out of the will. Gah! Phone call was from work, presumably wondering where I was. Edinburgh! I was in Edinburgh! Right, I'll have another scotch, and head to Waverley for the train back to Glasgow. Thank you all for reading! Well, I say reading, I am aware that this is basically my stream of consciousness, which can't be read. Come to think of it, that whole thing never made sense as a concept. Oh well, it's done now, never mind!

Ahem.

At least, that's how I'd like to think those thoughts of interviews go. In the meantime, I will have to console myself that whilst my job may not be the best in the world (it's really not), at least the bills get paid. That, and that bird on the first floor in investments has a really nice arse. Nice sexist comment there to end the post. That's the 21st Century for you. OK I'M GONE.

An Infotainment Scam

2009-05-29T18:18:00.001+01:00

The news, I have recently discovered, means different things to different people. To some, the news is a) an annoying big brother to sports, the tedious 20 minutes or so of bombs and guns in some far flung former Empire outpost before you get to find out what John Terry’s favourite colour is, whilst to others news provides b) a nice contrast to soap operas that allows you to compare the reality of the world with whatever morbid toss is happening in Albert Square, and invariably leads to the question “Who would win in a fight between Phil Mitchell and John Pienaar”?

There is, of course, a more hardcore view of news, and luckily it’s the view I espouse, which is c), that NEWS IS BLUDDY GRATE AND IT’S THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD. That’s right kids, get off the drugs, put down your Playstation Wiis and your condoms and turn on the BBC News channel because whatever is happening on there right now is bound to be way more exciting than what’s happening in your life, and possibly funnier. Unless it’s the weather.

At the moment, I am employed by a company to do very little, which is ace and top. During the quiet spells in the office, when I’m not fannying about on the well wicked web, I like to read the news and discuss it with my boss. It makes us look clever. No, scratch that, it makes us look sexy, cool and clever. Most recently, we have been tackling the subject that’s been dominating the headlines, and that’s the tricky issue of MPs expenses. For those of you in categories a and b as defined earlier, here’s a metaphor that nicely sums it all up, so put on your imagination caps and strain that brain with the following:

The time is 7am in the morning. The MPs are collectively a 14 year old spotty teenager who is still laid in bed, but must get up and go to school soon. We, the electorate, are the MPs mother, who has rather nicely bought the young scamp a cup of tea. Unbeknownst to mummy (that’s us), little Timmy (the 646 Members of Parliament) is doing what all 14 year old boys do, and with increasingly squinty eyes says to his mum that he will be out in a minute. Concerned with the grunting, Mum grows restless, opens the door anyway and the mucky mess (pardon) is exposed.

That’s right, I’m inferring that this scandal is akin to self-gratification. Well, it is. Sorry to have planted a sordid seed (pardon) in your head but there we are. What’s more, I can just about justify it.
First of all, youths are increasing told not to feel guilty about the act of onanism. “It’s natural!” the sex education teachers cry. Well, compare that to what the honourable members (pardon) have been saying; “It was in the rules at the time”, “we haven’t done anything wrong”, “urgh urgh urgh urrgh arrrggghh” (I made up the last one, in fairness)

Secondly, MPs have done their utmost to stop us finding out about it. Actually, that’s not fair, *some* MPs have done their utmost. However, even now the most recent revelations are coming (pardon) to light as the result of a leak (pardon) to the press, as opposed to some act of conscience from a parliamentarian. Or, to keep in line with the metaphor, Timmy was washing his own sheets.

Lastly, and most succinctly, even though we didn’t have any real evidence to suggest their expenses (or penises) were being fiddled, come on, we all suspected it didn’t we? It can’t come as any great surprise to a loving mother/cynical voter that this was all bound to happen one day, can it?

Ahem.

Now, to move this info nugget above the belt as it were for a moment, the great trouble I’m having as a category c) Newsaholic, is the way that even though they’re as bad as one another, you’ve still got some MPs who are suggesting otherwise. Take the instance of the MP who had claimed over a thousand pounds for a telly. His view was essentially that it was ok because it was a telly, and most manure or a moat. What he failed to grasp is that it’s still a lot of money for a telly. To put it in perspective, my telly cost me £20 when I was skint from the local BHF charity shop, but then I wouldn’t necessarily want elected representatives being dragged down to my level of poverty. No, if I had my way MPs would have to have to be capped on what they spend on audio/visual equipment, and have their expenses claims put before a scrutiny panel comprised of journalists from “What Hi-Fi?” magazine and the bloke with the missing tooth out of Richer Sounds.
That’s not, of course, to say that we should let the moat man off either. Frankly, it would only be fair if his expenses were similarly scrutinised by a bunch of mediaeval battle reconstruction actors, and if his expenses are fine, he gets to marry the King’s buxom daughter, and if they are “unreasonable in the court of public opinion” then it’s a week in the Iron Maiden. To end on a somewhat serious note, the punishment *must* fit the crime. If an MP stands down at the next election great, but the pension they’ll get will more than make up for the shame that they’re facing right now.
And before anyone says it, I would quite happily say that some MPs who have received negative press probably ought not to have done, and to the MPs who are not involved with this scandal at all should be applauded, as the temptation must have been great.

Last thing I’ll say on the matter - love ‘em or hate ‘em, at least by claiming money off the taxpayer and spending feckloads the MPs were stimulating the economy and creating wealth! Every cloud…

Going into business

2009-04-26T14:23:00.000+01:00

Live from my netbook, it's Explainin' the Cosmos, an occasional series where I try to explain why things are the way they are, even if the facts aren't necessarily on my side. This week, I look at Franchises. Word of warning - I'm also watching the F1 so apologies if I lose my train of thought.

Franchises. At their very simplest, a franchise is a bloke in a pub wearing a Man United shirt. He doesn't actually play for Man United, has probably never been to Manchester, and may come across as a bit of a tit, but you can instantly recognise him as a Man U fan by his attire. Similarly, no two Man U shirt-wearing dickwads are the same. Some will be easier to punch in the mouth than others. However, the question facing any sane person is this: Why bother? Why wear a shirt that will make you stand out like a particularly plummy sore thumb, when you could just blend in with the crowd and (gasp!) be judged on your character instead? OOH! Button leads Hamilton second! This won't last long!

Over to the world of business, and I offer Subway as an example to explain my convoluted football shirt metaphor; Why are small companies going arse over tit to get a Subway franchise when, if anything, it might be cheaper to run an independent sandwich shop?

1) The brand.

Let's face it, we live in a society which is dominated by branding. Not only are we, as humans, attracted to colourful pictures and logos in the same way that bees are attracted to pwetty fwowers, but being rational beings, we somehow equate these images with high quality, and as such buy the products on offer. I guess this is the key to franchising that attracts the small businessman - for a low low cost you can make your little business look like a bigger fish in a small pond.

2) The equiptment. Button's still winning by the way, Hamilton is P4! The sucker.

But hold on! I hear you say. Surely running a franchise must be like, well expensive on account that you'd have to buy a whole load of junk just to compete? Not so. As any franchise owner will testify, by signing up to a certain brand, once the initial outlay is made you are literally bombarded with all sorts of stuff in order to operate, either outright on a cheap deal or more likely on a rental deal. For instance, by buying a Subway franchise you get a bread machine for the baking of bread. If you're a Spar store, you get all those promotional signs for free! Amazing!

3) You don't need to be that good.

That's right. The greatest thing about running a franchise, and cynically speaking the only reason for many, is that by operating under the banner of a big successful company, you don't really need to do all that much. Because you sell a product which, by its very nature, is the same as you'd get from a fellow franchisee, and because you don't have to worry about the cost all that much (see 2), the thing will run itself. Don't get me wrong, I'm fairly sure that there will be quality controls in place, and that franchises can be revoked. I'd be surprised if Dominos (sake of argument) would tolerate one of their franchisees selling a pizza that tasted like a Papa Johns, but provided they ran to the detailed instructions sent to them by head office, they're sorted! I like how the Toyotas started the race in pole and second, but now they've dropped back. The car in front's a Toyota MY ARSE.

It is with that in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that I offer a proposal. With a strong brand, free equiptment, a solid product and a general sense that you don't have to do anything, I offer you a chance to join my latest project, TITS UK. The brand of course is based upon Tits, which as we know everyone likes: men and lesbians for sexual reasons, starving babies for nutritional reasons, kids for drawing them on photos purposes, you would have to agree that Tits is a winner, or a cretin.
The product that we do? It's an internet related venture. Everyone associates the internet with them, hey, some might say that's why it was founded. Experience? Who needs experience when you have tits? Vettels on a two stop strategy, what a fool.

So to sum up, sign up to TITS UK and you'll basically get a million quid or something. Sure, there are still some minor details to sort out, such as business plans and what to do, but aside from those nominal details I think I'm onto a winner! Hey, with the profit I'll make, I may even have enough money to buy a Manchester United shirt and wear it to the pub!

Ooh dear poor Kubica. Johnathan Legard is flipping TEDIOUS by the way.

Drivel Genesis

2009-04-11T14:22:00.000+01:00

Hello Boys and Girls.

Let me cast your minds back to 1991; the UK was recovering from a particularly harsh winter, the most popular boys name in the country was Thomas and Leeds United were, under Howard Wilkinson's management, the best team in England.

You may also remember, if you were around my age, that children all across the country were invited to send in their pictures to magazines such as "Lookin" and television programmes such as Hart Beat. Now, the incentives to do so were wild and varied - some would offer you and your family a week in Butlin's at Skegness as a reward for the best picture of a flattened hedgehog, whereas others would offer five whole pounds for the best aquatic montage made from quality street wrappers. However, there was always one clause these media outlets would always insist on, and here are my top 5 reasons why your creations could not be returned (not even with an S.A.E.)

The ceremonial burning

Remember, the license fee hasn't always been £140-odd a year. No, back in the early nineties the BBC had less than £100 per year per household to live on, which may account for why programs such as Big Break look incredibly dated. Crucially, with energy bills being astronomical, the only way Going Live could afford to keep Schofield and Greene warm was to burn all correspondence sent to them, and pump the resulting heat around Studio 7.

Ghosts/Safety Reasons

It was because of ghosts. As we all know, ghosts are nocturnal creatures, which means that they are allergic to daytime, and ghosts are also vengeful creatures, taking their revenge upon those who they can prove are out and about during the day. With that in mind, is it really a good idea to have a picture of a cat lying around a sub-editors office, with the name and address of poor seven year old Jemima Rigsby from Nuneaton scrawled on the back? NO! As such, for safety reasons, all correspondence must be destroyed.

The old Dodgy Postmen Blackmail scam.

Yep, posties. Can't trust 'em. That 24 DVD box set off eBay, that new debit card and the ultra rare St Etienne Daho CD, all victims to Her Majesty's deliverymen. And when they're not nicking your stuff, or boldly standing at your door handing you a card telling you that you are not in, they're blackmailing you into the bargain.
Should an original photo of an orang-utan in the local zoo make it's way back to you with covering letter from the Beano, and should the postman read it, he will then realise that you, a 26 year old, have entered a competition for the under 11s. He will then blackmail you for trying to defraud little Timmy, the rightful winner, of his brand new Nintendo DSi. Let me ask you, was it really worth it? EH? Just so you could play GTA Chinatown Wars on a SLIGHTLY BIGGER SCREEN? Fucks sake.

Editing reasons.

Cynics might say the reason photos and pictures cannot be returned due to the fact they are cut out and put on printing plates, or mounted on card. Can't rule it out, I spose. Back then they didn't have the same technology as we do now. So it's possible. Unlikely, but possible.

A lack of stamps.

The BBC never send stuff back because they don't have stamps, and no, even though TVC is over the road from White City Spar, no they can't be bothered. Why should they? Similarly, Channel 5's Milkshake have better things to be doing than running to the post office when they only get a half hour lunchbreak and the post office queues are horrendous.

So there we have it. Remember, times have moved on, and if you send a picture to a local paper these days, it'll probably be via e-mail so everyone's a winner. However, there are still organisations in 2009 who may hang on to your post, so please be careful when sending stuff through the post. And remember, the best way to remain covered is to take a copy. How about the next time you send something in the post, you take a photo of it? That way, if your post is kept, burned, stabbed or whatever, at least you'll have a 35mm facsimile to keep you company.