All entries for November 2006
November 25, 2006
Writing about web page http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/teams/c/coventry_city/6184342.stm
Anyone see this? Obviously the result was fairly good for Cov, but the best bit is they arrived at QPR by Tube after their bus got stuck in traffic. The quote of the article must be manager Micky Adams’ gem:
We bought 23 single tickets at Hanger Lane station and our unsung hero was Jay Tabb, who knew we had to change at Hammersmith to go to Shepherd’s Bush. I feel a bit sorry for him as well, as I did not even put him in the team.
This ended a good run by QPR and shows that clearly the best preparation for a football match is to inhale large amounts of stinky fumes in a tunnel filled with people, rats, pigeons and chips. A lesson learned.
Is it really too much to ask for an answer, simple and undiluted, placed in your hand, no cost, just once in this life?
My gut says “yes”, answers don’t come to you, you chase them, and if you are lucky you catch them. Then they squirm and piss on your shoe before escaping and running riot around a major shopping precinct which thn gets you banned from the precinct. And then you can’t buy anything so you go on ebay and someone on there is selling answers, and you’ve not learnt anything so you buy one and it never arrives. Damn Royal Mail, even though you’ve worked there and know how hard it is and what a miracle it is that they don’t lose more letters.
It was finding passports in the post which amused me most. The government could never sell the idea of ID cards if people realised how often passports come out of their envelopes and mingle with the Christmas mail, and ebay bought answers. Which will, like their wild brethren, piss on your shoes.
What would Charles I of England do?
Nothing useful then…
I think I’ve been studying history for too long.
November 21, 2006
Warwick Boar column which I described the editor as “One true anecdote from a friend, two classic American bands, and one joke about computer scientists.” A computer scientist who may or may not have been the one referenced texted me on the day of publication! Nice work Mike…
We all love a good stereotype, don’t we? There’s nothing more entertaining than sitting in your lectures imagining all your international (and northern) friends engaged in hilariously stereotypical activities. It makes up for a reality in which that French guy who lives on your corridor is never ever going wear a stripy shirt, beret, and onions, a combination infinitely more amusing than that slightly faded Ramones teeshirt he insists on wearing to every Union event. Especially the ones which don’t play The Ramones. Most of the time the nearest thing you will get to any stereotypes is the Irish and Russian students stumbling around drunk and incoherent. Sadly you probably won’t notice as you too will be incoherent and drunk as well. It’s called Top B.
We’re all smart enough to know that stereotypes can be fun if everyone within range is aware that they are just stereotypes. If anything those of us who defy certain stereotypes find it amusing to debunk them – in my case I love nothing better than revealing to people that despite being a diehard member of a top sporting club at this university, and a Score regular, I am in fact teetotal. In this I am pleased to be joined by those other magnificent impossibilities, the female engineer, the computer science student who has a girlfriend, and the English student who has risen at 9am.
Things are not always as they seem. To celebrate LGBTU Awareness Week I’ve even exhumed the memory of pioneering 1980s alt rock trio Hüsker Dü. As the band rose to fame rumours began to circulate that one of the members was gay. Most who heard the rumours took one look at the band and concluded it was bassist Greg Norton with his large, Freddy Mercury-like, moustache, and culinary tendencies. As it turned out he was the only straight member of the band, his two hetero looking bandmates were the source of the rumours (though they were not a couple as later rumours insisted).
Whilst the news that gays don’t conform to easily identified stereotypes may come as bad news to homophobes all over the country (now how can they gaybash without accidentally getting a straight person?) for everyone else it’s more a matter of common sense. After all, if the French don’t want to be pigeon holed by should anyone else? Why should the French get all the freedom? Eh?
So as communication spreads the sheer unrelenting normality of all folks across the internet we should take time to remember that people just aren’t as exciting as they might seem. It’s hard to find someone to truly ridicule when you can see they’re not so different (cue soppy music) hence why stereotypes must be invented and unrealistic fantasies hatched. Take my friend Kat. One of Kat’s internet quirks is going into lesbian chatrooms and playing havoc with one of the groups most commonly found in such chatrooms – men. A man in a lesbian chatroom is apparently really easy to spot, he’s the one with the unconvincing profile picture (almost always just stolen from a random porn site) who keeps asking questions to which real lesbians already know the answers . They’re also the ones most desperate for one-on-one chats, probably of a gynaecological nature. Kat’s role in all this is to approach the men and set them up for these chats… with other men. It’s for the best really. They’d only be disappointed when it turns out all the hot, real life lesbians want to talk about is how to convince their friend on their corridor not to wear that damn Ramones teeshirt for the sixth night running.
November 20, 2006
A Warwick Boar column which was commended by several people for the inventive use of swearing. See children, swearing is big and it is clever!
When I younger I went on several trips to the wonderful Granada Studios tour in Manchester. Here you could literally walk down Coronation Street, or go in one of those simulator rides which made it look like you were in Star Wars, fighting the Death Star. But, in what might be a tragic reflection of my own character, the most memorable bit for me was when we went into the mock up of the House of Commons and had a debate. I may only have been aged in single figures, but it was fun, it was exciting, it was reassuring as it seemed not to matter that I was growing up, adults still stood around being obnoxious to each other too.
The unfortunate reality was once again reinforced for me this week. More than a decade and a half of disillusionment has passed, and yet it still seemed really rather crushing that Parliament is not a fun place to have spectacular, and important, arguments. When Michael Martin, the House speaker, intervened to slap down David Cameron for asking who would succeed Tony Blair, I felt shortchanged. Of course I would like to hear Blair’s answer. But I want more from my House of Commons (yes, it is mine, I voted last time around and I’ve paid a small amount of tax in my life). I want excitement. I want tension. I want an end to those goddam stupid rules about ‘unparliamentary language’.
There are rules about what MPs can and cannot say to each other in the House. I can see the merit in some of these rules. I am in favour of the one which bans MPs from calling each other liars. If that wasn’t in place they would spend all their time calling each other liars, leaving no room for any other kind of interaction, until eventually their brains would cease higher functions leaving only a human shell accusing all in its path of lying. No, to save their intellects we must at the very least force them to think of other ways of saying what us civilians are allowed to say without any fear – many of our elected representatives have their pants on fire – with my personal favourite being Winston Churchill’s peerless “terminological inexactitude”.
But almost all insults are banned. Actual examples such as “git”, “traitor” and “rat” have been tried over the years, and all have been slapped down by the speaker. It robs us of the opportunity to see and hear some really interesting verbal punch ups, especially when it seems quite apparent that such insults are being traded behind the scenes. Imagine how much the permitted use of “twat” would enliven an early day motion about ASBOs. Revel, if you will, in the Hansard records of a full on, no word too rude, bout between John Reid and George Galloway. Bearing in mind that everyone loves hearing posh people swear, the Tories should be big exponents of the removal of these limitations as they would instantly find themselves getting voted in as the electorate races to fill parliament with amusingly upper crust types shouting “bugger” at the oiks on the other side of the floor.
And in case there are any killjoys who say that this would drag politics down I have this to say. At least this plan would be above board and honest. At least all concerned would know that it was personal, and that calling, say, Charles Clarke a “goat faced puffed up crock o’shite” is purely based on not liking him. The alternative is to be witnessed in America where insults and lies are dressed up as campaign adverts and broadcast uncritically to millions. It’s hard to fight back when a counter advertising campaign can cost millions and be broadcast too long after the initial insult to prevent it having impact. At least in a rude parliament the public will see both sides of the argument instantly… even if both sides are, apparently, “twats”.
November 18, 2006
A Halloween special column for the Warwick Boar. Apparently this was good because it’s a little bit political as well as being topical (or was on 31st October anyway). However I personally think everything I write is a little bit political, and indeed everything I say, which is why I am such boring company.
Look, I know most people reading this are students and therefore will not hesitate to dress up in stupid/crazy/revealing outfits at a moment’s notice, but has it ever occurred to any of you that Halloween is a little bit suspicious? Or are you too busy trying to work out how to turn a sheet into a ghost costume without going through the hideous social faux pas of looking like a member of the Ku Klux Klan?
Halloween is one of those old pagan festivals which got appropriated by the Christians in an attempt to win over the Northern Europeans. In the Christian sense it’s not even the main event anyway, that’s reserved for the 1st November, All Saint’s Day when people praise God for giving us such hits as ‘Never Ever’, ‘Pure Shores’ and that Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ cover which no one will admit to liking even though it’s as good as the original. Halloween’s recent rise in popularity is largely seen as Britain following America where it’s a much bigger event, probably because they don’t have Bonfire Night and thus need another excuse to harass innocent neighbourhoods in early autumn (Thanksgiving just doesn’t cut it).
What doesn’t seem to get commented on much is that Halloween is also seen as one big opportunity by the government. Take, for instance, the increasing propaganda from every angle to reduce the amount of excessive central heating which goes on in houses. In this modern era when some houses are requiring an area of rainforest the size of Wales daily to heat their house to its preferred ambient temperature of ‘Dubai in mid-August’, Halloween provides a chance to find out who these wasters are. Crack government teams dressed as vaguely racist looking ghosts roam the streets egging houses at random. If the egg reaches its target and instantly starts frying then the crack ghost team reports back to the council who can then authorise hundreds of door-to-door double glazing salesmen to descend on the heat freaks until they get the message and insulate their houses properly. Or they’ll tax them more. Whichever works.
There’s also the recent appearance of somewhat grotesque masks which bear a resemblance to Tony Blair, almost certainly the work of disaffected Gordon Brown supporters. You can see the extent of their disillusionment with the Blairite dream from the sheer hideousness of the masks. In years to come a Blair mask will be the must have scary item, overtaking even the current most scary masks, the Scream mask, the gratuitously realistic zombie mask, and mask of Simon Cowell (trousers not included). The ruling party has long used the relative hideousness of the prime ministerial Halloween mask as a measure of unpopularity more reliable than newspaper polls, and this year it’s been reported that the Blair visage is up there with Thatcher 1989, the year in which the Iron Lady’s mask came with a free model of the eviscerated corpse of a working class person. Clearly next year will see a new Prime Minister’s mask.
The tactics of Halloween have long been apparent in political canvassing. Large numbers of children dressed up are hard to turn away without a thought (unless you’re a student) so the aspiring MP now canvases with a small army of youthful looking minions in their wake, with an older ‘parent’ figure at the back. The victim becomes confused and usually assumes it’s just some mildly satirical children, only realising what’s really going on when they start asking about local services, not begging for sweeties. Take my advice, treat these canvassers like children at Halloween, just leave a bowl of parma violets outside the door and turn all the lights in the house off until they pass. Just don’t blame me when James Plaskitt MP starts throwing eggs.
November 17, 2006
It’s amazing what you learn when you listen to people. It’s just a shame some people don’t listen. Here’s another Warwick Boar column which has no real moral or point.
Here’s a short brain teaser to test your Russell Group worthy brain – what piece of legislation do our very own campus security credit as the biggest single factor in reducing crime on campus in the last few years? Surprisingly it’s not the anti-terrorism laws being used to incarcerate the residents of Old Rootes in Belmarsh, nor is it the Human Rights Act (1998) forcing the inhabitants of Coventry to recognise students as actual human being rather than annoying primates in scarves and Converse. No, apparently it’s the recent laws which allow for the crushing of cars which are being driven without insurance or other essential documentation.
These are the sort of cars which see the speedometer sign on University Road and decide to get the high score. And they’re the sort most likely to be involved in the university’s most common crime, the drive-by yelling of “twat!” at some sensitive English student who has a 2500 word essay due tomorrow which they have not started, and who are now too traumatised to even think about ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’. It’s also the sort of car where your laptop ends up when you leave your ground floor bedroom window open in full view of the local kleptomaniacs.
It’s a clever little rule which appears to be the result of someone noticing that those who commit crimes like stealing ipods and upsetting the sensitive arts students, are also likely to be committing other crimes. Also it’s hard to commit a decent crime when you live far away from the university and don’t have a car. If the students are failing to get to their 9am lectures for the lack of decent buses, then it’s somewhat unlikely that the thieves are going to make that arduous journey themselves. And it’s more effective than blanket bans on hoodies, a measure which would result in a large number of students here walking around, lost and scared, unable to identify other members of their tribes… I mean, societies or clubs… no, I mean tribes, and we all know that.
But this sort of joined up thinking, a sort of holistic approach I guess, is so often effective and attractive. Rather than, say, simply throwing everyone between 15 and 34 in jail or letting David Cameron hug them, why not think about the reasons they are causing crime in the first place . Anyone who comes from any of the thousands of soulless commuter towns and bland suburbs which litter this country, can tell you that building Barratt homes all over local football pitches will breed more drug taking and petty crime amongst the young. In my case if it wasn’t for the fact we had frogs in our backgarden to torment I would probably be writing this article for the Styal Women’s Prison newsletter whilst on remand for murder. Maybe.
When the Lord Chief Justice stuck his neck out this week and queried the future, and in his view most likely negative, perception of our current prison system he was shot down by the tabloids. But he may well be proved right. If jail really is the best antidote to crime why do people repeat offend, and why bother with any schemes to try and help young people who are at risk? Obviously we can’t hope to keep everyone in the country entertained or out of trouble all the time. But if we can work out why or how people are causing trouble in the first place then we might be along the right route. Then it will only be the buses aiming for the high score on the speedometer.
November 16, 2006
Writing about web page http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/teams/c/chelsea/6153658.stm
So Manchester United tried to sign a talented young player whose name is some combination of the words “Jon”, “Mikel” and “Obi”, and failed when he mysteriously decides he wants to play for Chelsea instead. Everyone at Man Utd cries “Foul play!” and Chelsea just wave money (£12m) at them knowing that Mikel Obi Jon won’t play for Man Utd when his head has been so successfully turned. The papers talk darkly of underhand tactics though chances are there weren’t any by Chelsea, merely them being opportunist (annoying but let’s not kid ourselves that other clubs don’t do it), and Obi Jon Mikel comes across as a bit of a mercenary, albeit a talented one.
Obi Mikel Jon’s stats for the season:
Mniutes on pitch 89
Substitute appearences 4
Sendings off from starts 1
And now he’s apparently in the doghouse with Mourinho after showing a “poor attitude” in training.
scha‧den‧freu‧de /ˈʃɑdnˌfrɔɪdə/ [shahd-n-froi-duh]
satisfaction or pleasure felt at someone else’s misfortune.
[Origin: 1890–95; < G, equiv. to Schaden harm + Freude joy]
Best £12m we’ve earned in years.
November 15, 2006
I’ve now got my own column in the Warwick Boar which is clearly a
terrible great acceptable idea by the editorial team. This was the first column and I’ll stick some more of the older ones up over the next day or so… Warning They get better, but not by much!
As anyone desperate to make it in advertising can tell you, a snappy sound bite is like a small chunky nugget of gold. Condensing the message into a handy phrase that even the most distracted commuter can absorb is a precise and somewhat hit-and-miss art. Thus the wannabe Saatchis must surely take little pleasure in those who accidentally come to define an era with their phrases. Let’s face it, even classics like “You’ve been Tangoed” cannot compare to “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”.
That Neil Armstrong’s words, famously, don’t quite make sense is just a part of their charm. Here he was, in the most historic position imaginable and he messed up a little. Around the world people feel relief that even the highly trained explorer heading for immortal fame was still human enough to fluff his lines. It also resonated well within the context of the times. The power of human endeavour. Another famous phrase remembered from the 1960s is “To boldly go where no one has gone before”. It was a decade which stuck its head in the clouds and those lines reflect this.
It’s the case with other decades. From the 1940s, a time of united defiance of evil forces, we recall Churchill’s speech asking the nation to “fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds… we shall never surrender”. Less well remembered is Churchill’s exchange with Lady Nancy Astor, who informed him that “Winston, if you were my husband, I’d poison your tea”. Churchill’s riposte was brilliant. “Nancy, if I were your husband, I’d drink it.” Funny, but it doesn’t really sit as comfortably in the memory banks of people who see Churchill as the belligerent but heroic leader.
However since the 1970s (“I am not a crook”, “Use the force, Luke”) the nuggets have become a bit dispiriting. More than a few people will recoil in horror at the thought of yuppies smarming “Greed is good” at each other across nouvelle cuisine and slap bass heavy background music (ick). And there’s the 1990s howl of “Vindaloo, na na!” which could, at a push, be a sign of multiculturalism and integration… or not. Probably not. Let’s not even bother with New Labour’s claim that “Things can only get better” as all they’ve managed is to stand perfectly still, good moves forward like the minimum wage crapped on by the fallout from the Iraq War. Plus nicking your catchphrase from a cheesy gurn of a record was never going to be a solid foundation for immortality.
So the 2000s, eh? Still a few years left but at the moment we could be looking at a curious run in for the title. In there with the best is “Not in my name”. Simple, eloquent and, for many people, an accurate representation of how they feel in these times of disenchantment with pretty much every form of authority. Interestingly it could be argued that “Not in my name” is simply the middle class version of one of its main contenders. So altogether now – “Am I bovered?”
November 09, 2006
Now, I’m not normally one to sing the praises of Everton. It’s nothing consciously personal, although my mum supports Liverpool so it could be my way of expressing empathy with her views on football as a compromise considering I am never ever going to agree with her about Manchester United (her = hate, me = love, Southend = oops). I’ll admit, I did once sit in the freezing cold environment of Vale Park one cold cold night and cheer on Port Vale as they knocked Everton out of the FA Cup. That was the year they were last the holders of the FA Cup. That was fun.
But in general I have nothing against Everton.
In fact this year I am quite pleased with the Toffees for this reason:
This is Mikel Arteta, their somewhat unsung (by non-Toffees) midfielder. At the start of the season I was the only person in the UWWFC’s fantasy football challenge league to put him in my team. Now three of my colleagues have followed suit. He is a little point scoring machine.
Thank you Mikel Arteta. You made me look like a wise manager.
November 05, 2006
Writing about web page http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/coventry_warwickshire/6116650.stm
Coventry City Council have managed to set up a roundabout on the A444 where there are signs banning left turns at every single turn off. This meant that there was no way of leaving the roundabout without breaking the law. The signs are curerntly being covered until they can be removed. Cov once again has shown itself to be a model city, showing a bold and inventive way forward in the planning and execution of cities. This method is commonly known as the ‘we have no bloody respect for any road users’ method and involves designing the place in such a way that it is impossible to pass your driving test within the city limits as you clearly cannot drive around the place without breaking the law.
Anyone who has ever driven on the ringroad can tell you how accurate this assessment is.
It kind of makes me think of Alanis Morrisette’s ditty ‘Ironic’, or rather the bit where comedian Ed Byrne deconstructs it, reaching the line “A traffic jam when you’re already late” and saying.
“There’s nothing ironic about being stuck in a traffic jam when you’re late for something. Unless you’re a town planner. If you were a town planner and you were on your way to a seminar of town planners at which you were giving a talk on how you solved the problem of traffic congestion in your area, couldn’t get to it because you were stuck in a traffic jam, that’d be well ironic.” Ed Byrne.
Yup. Welcome to Coventry. Twinned with M.C. Escher’s imagination.