That Joke Isn’t Funny Any More

Bloody Foreigner - coming here wanting to know what love is

I tried not to write any more blogs about Brexit, really I did.

I’m not one of those people who want to rerun the referendum or stage a military coup to overturn the result (although I do confess to saying that a few times on June 23). I have enough respect left for democracy to accept that the rules of the game whereby if your side loses, you accept the result and move on.

Hell, I even gave serious consideration to voting leave. When I heard the result, I will confess to a little frisson of excitement about what would come next – I’ve always had a soft spot for Schumpeter’s idea of creative destruction.

In fact, I now see – and I hope to god that the Americans take this lesson on board quickly –that more often than not, attempts at creative destruction just result in destruction.

In our case, of anything resembling the kind of liberal political values which have held British society together for the last 70 years and which people like me have taken for granted as defining the sort of country we live in. In the USA’s case, it could be “human life on earth itself” if that fucknugget Trump gets elected president – a proposition which still sounds like something JG Ballard would have not bothered writing a story about on account of it being too far-fetched.

Still, if we are all reduced to radioactive smears on the wall within the year, we would at least not have to witness any more parades of smirking wannabe fascists like this week’s Conservative Party conference.

No, I have gone along with Brexit. I was relatively pleased when Theresa May become prime minister, instead of Boris Johnson or any of the other maniacs left at the wheel of the clown car. I had assumed that the immigrant-baiting we’ve seen over the last couple of months was for show – to please the angry mob with promises of something, sometime, and to scare the European Commission into settling on better terms. That it was just more politician talk that would end up in nothing much.

Until this week. The last straw for me was the idea that businesses should have to report on foreigners they employ doing jobs that could be done by British people, floated by the home secretary, a person called Amber Rudd.

The scales fell from my eyes at that moment. This is really happening. They really want people to be hounded out of their jobs and their homes until they leave the country. People I had assumed were liberal-democratic politicians who would – when it counted – stand up for the values I had assumed we had in common, would genuinely rather see ethnic cleansing on our streets than put their fucking seats at risk.

The country voted, by a narrow margin, to leave the EU. It did not vote for some atavistic, blood and soil, Alf Garnett dreamworld. There must be people who voted leave who do not want what Brexit is turning out to be, who will speak out. Because to my eyes, “Brexit means Brexit” means “Brexit means fascism”.

Do not think for a moment that it couldn’t happen here. The opposition is giving up on parliamentarism in favour of a movement on the streets (and if you look at the form, Black on Red street action tends to work out badly for the lefties when things get serious). Supposedly liberal people are calling for democratic decisions to be voided and while others think that a 52-48 margin means that all discussion of what the leaders put forward is beyond the pale. 

It’s not just the Tories who are contributing to the Weimarisation of this country. We don't realise where we're heading, because we arrogantly believe that it could never happen here - because we're British. 

Are we that stupid and passive and short-sighted that we will sleepwalk into this AGAIN before the last veterans of the Second World War are in their graves?

Apparently, this is my 200th post. Happy anniversary to me. 

Welcome Back My Friends To The Shitshow That Never Ends...

A week certainly is a long time, in anti-politics just as much as in politics.

I wrote one version of this post last Wednesday and planned to publish it on Thursday or Friday. Then someone murdered an MP, allegedly shouting “Britain First” and then (on court record) giving his name as “death to traitors, freedom for Britain”.

Suddenly, the warnings I had jotted down that neither losing side would accept the result of Thursday’s referendum – such was the corrosion of commitment to democratic compromise and conspiratorialism the campaign had exposed – looked like truisms hardly worth stating.

Can the liver of British society filter out all this venom, or will it succumb to cirrhosis? Both sides have already got their respective Dolchstosslegendes to blame the stupid or “confused” voters or the establishment and the experts in its pockets ready, and are no doubt preparing their respective Werwolf Organisations to carry on stay-behind operations in future enemy territory.

If anything, the whole shitshow has demonstrated how thin the veneer of commitment to democratic and liberal values – when the chips are really down - is among large parts of the British public.

Well, to hell with you all:

• To hell with the Remainers who think that people who don’t agree with them are too thick to be allowed to vote.
• To hell with the Brexiters who are so irresponsible that they will cynically whip up a latent racism that their leaders (probably) don’t even believe in for votes
• AND to hell with the smirking abstainers, making their impotence a badge of honour, who would rather preserve their immaculate lack of responsibility for anything than have to make a serious choice.

A place for sanctimonious posturing, more like

It’s clear to me (now) that political apathy and the lack of difference between the parties are the only reasons we don’t have to endure this sort of theatre of hate every five years. I suppose Scotland gave us some hints of what would happen – where plenty of ultras are still denying the validity of the result two years on. We should do more to foster apathy and to lower the stakes in future.

But this time, the stakes are really high.

If you don’t stand up for what you have or what you want, then what you get is what you deserve.  

I have voted Remain for reasons relating to me and my family. You may disagree, and that’s your right. If you disagree, use what leverage you have to bring about your favoured outcome. I can respect people who vote Leave, even if they’re voting for reasons I think are bad reasons. I have no respect for people who stand by and dodge responsibility. So I will say it again:

If you don’t stand up for what you have or what you want, then what you get is what you deserve.  

I Decided To Vote Remain

I voted Remain, despite the referendum still being over a week away. “How is that possible?” I hear you ask.

Well, I have a standing postal vote – meaning that I get all my ballot papers a couple of weeks in advance and send them in, by means of an extremely complicated but nevertheless freepost envelope. 

I know that this offends some people’s sensibilities – did our forefathers fight and die so that I could avoid having to walk to a local primary school after work once every five years?

LOL his name is funny

Well, for anyone who holds postal voters in disdain, let me remind you that were it not for postal votes Austria would have a rebranded neo-Nazi as president. What’s more, it now has a man whose name sounds almost exactly like “bell end”, which I regard very much as a successful killing of two birds with one stone.

I genuinely agonised over the decision, and weirdly it was my own previous blog that convinced me more than anything. Yes, I am THAT GOOD.

The process of sorting my thoughts out to a point where I was roughly satisfied enough with them to put them in front of you, dear readers, showed me that I had to choose between the two options that are ACTUALLY in front of me, not the options I might like.

Firstly, as someone who runs a business, it is in my interests to avoid economic instability. If companies stop investing or start leaving the UK, me and my employees and shareholders will suffer. End of. The UK might be able to negotiate trade deals with the EU and the rest of the world, but in the meantime, the businesses that I trade with will have stopped spending money while they wait and see what happens.

That is a totally pragmatic argument, based on economic self-interest. GDP statistics and headline figures are irrelevant to me. You might disagree.

Secondly, for me, the Brexit campaign has squandered whatever merit its arguments might have had by pandering to and stoking anti-immigrant racism. You can’t vote for Brexit without implicitly supporting that agenda, because a vote for Brexit will lead to people coming to power who draw whatever legitimacy they have from THAT impulse.

A clean and noble Brexit option is not on the table – in THIS referendum, the one that is ACTUALLY HAPPENING, leaving the EU is inextricably entwined with social authoritarianism and nativism. 

That is, with the first steps on the road to fascism. Before you lose your minds, let me clarify: a vote for Brexit is not a vote for fascism. BUT it's a vote which makes it more likely and predictably so. 

Because when the UK is out of the EU and finds that it still can’t stop large scale legal or illegal immigration, what then? The inevitable next step will be to turn on people who are already here. And where will that lead? 

I live in Bradford, by the way, before anyone says I don't know what the effects of native and immigrant communities refusing to communicate are really like. 

So that is a “values” argument – about the sort of country I want to live in. I am sad that Brexit has ended up meaning what it does. But it does. I don’t want to be complicit in handing power to people who will make everything worse. I am not voting for THAT.

The alternative

The EU may be shit, but the alternative is even shitter. 

I’m voting for the status quo because the alternative will almost certainly make life horrible. If that’s just a vote “against” Iain Duncan Smithism and not a vote “for” anything, well I accept the charge of week-on-week inconsistency.

That’s what I think. If you think I’m wrong, that’s fine. I don’t think you’re stupid or malicious because you disagree with me - and I'm sorry if I called anyone who isn't one a fascist. I hope we can still be friends afterwards.

Just one more of these EU referendum posts to come next week and then that’s it!

Whoever Wins We Lose

That was the strapline for 2004’s “AVP: Alien vs Predator” - a showdown between two hideous, misanthropic powers in which ordinary people like you and I feature only as collateral damage. Does that sound familiar?

Yes, it's another post about the EU referendum. 

Given the choice between having a living embryo implanted in me which would eventually gnaw its way out of my chest and being hunted for sport, I would probably have to come down in support of the Predator.

But when it comes to voting for Brexit or Bremain, it’s not quite such a clear-cut choice. Our ballot papers arrived yesterday and - having just last week urged all of you to vote FOR something rather than AGAINST - I don’t know what I’m going to do. Brabstention is not an option, but Brapathy and Brisgust are exerting a lot of Brinertia on me.

Why it’s hard to vote Brexit

At the risk of offending my bien-pensant friends who suffer no such atavistic urges, there’s a part of me that wants to vote Brexit. It’s roughly the same part that made me an insufferable teenage wannabe Marxist windbag, an insufferable “punker than thou” music snob and various other species of insufferable arse over the years.

It’s that “anti” attitude which makes one’s default position one of opposition to/distaste for whatever exists in favour of an alternative that doesn’t. 

“Some men just want to watch the world burn”, said butler Alfred in The Dark Knight (a film about a man who dresses up as a bat to fight a man who dresses up as a clown). I’m not sure if that’s quite Roger of Sicily, but I certainly am one of those people who is attracted by a desire to see the look on a lot of people’s faces the day after a “Leave” vote.

But then I think about Boris Johnson’s face and Nigel Farage’s face… And I think, as much as I would like to treat “the issues” completely separately from “the personalities”, it’s these awful people who would be the power in the land come June 23rd.

And as well as believing in leaving the EU (debatable in Boris Johnson’s case), most of these people also hold a lot of other opinions I strongly disagree with. Intellectual, libertarian Brexiteers like Douglas Carswell have disappeared, so that voting in favour of leaving the EU cannot be separated from voting in favour of a whole lot of nativist, racist, social-authoritarian, revanchist “back to the Empire” idiocy. 

We do not have the option of voting for one without voting for the other. Some people are happy with that, but I’m not.

The downside of the Singaporean model

A case could be made for a post-EU Britain reviving itself economically and culturally once the dead hand of Brussels was cast off - although the only version I’ve seen to date is a suggestion that we follow the example of Lee Kuan Yew’s Singapore, which is hardly a great model for liberals and democrats.

However, the forces that would take power in the event of a Brexit vote have no idea of how they would achieve that. If they do, they’re keeping it quiet, because I can only assume that it would be to subject the UK to the sort of neo-Thatcherite deregulatory shock therapy the former Eastern Bloc underwent after 1989.

The Brexit camps encompass a lot of different positions, but it’s the entitled, right wing, economic know-nothings who would be in power in Brexit wins. That’s the problem. And that's why I have trouble voting for them.

Why it’s hard to vote Bremain

“I'll forgive and forget, If you say you'll never go. 'Cos its true what they say - It's better the devil you know” said Kylie Miongue in her 1990 number 2 hit, “Better The Devil You Know”.

If taken literally, that is surely one of the most pessimistic and retrograde messages ever committed to CD, vinyl and cassette. Yet it is the sum total of the Remain camp’s argument: everything will be worse if you seek change. You are powerless to improve your lot in life, so surrender to your fate.

Thanks a lot Kylie.

Let me make one thing clear: I love the many different cultures and peoples of Europe. I feel a shared sense of pride in our cultural and economic achievements and a shared sense of shame and humility in the face of our crimes and tragedies. It’s obvious that in a globalised world, some things are better done at a supranational level. I love the German language, French wine, Spanish holidays, Scandinavian crime dramas, Greek philosophy, Balkan brass bands, full English breakfasts, Italian coffee, Slovenian avant-garde industrial music, Swiss AND Belgian chocolate and more. I think I am as far from a Little Englander as it’s possible to be. A real union of Europe would be a magnificent thing. 

But the European Union we actually have is a rotten, corporatist, undemocratic mess. Surely the negativity of the Remain campaign reflects the fact that when you consider the EU on its own merits - as opposed to the spirit it is intended to (but does not) embody or the merits of others it ascribes to itself (eg lack of European war) - it's pretty hard to get enthusiastic about. 

Within the EU, the idea that every political problem has a technocratic solution has metastatized into a self-congratulatory, anti-pluralist “because we say so”, embodied in Jean-Claude Juncker’s warning that “deserters will not be welcomed back” in the event of a Brexit vote.

If the technocrats were competent you might have more sympathy, but they’re not. The story of Greece is just the most glaring example - allowed into the Euro on data everyone knew was false to prove a political point, now reduced to penury for the sake of international bondholders. And that’s what happens to non-deserters...

Europe will continue to exist and Britain will continue to be a part of Europe whether the UK is in the EU or not. Whether the EU survives much longer with or without the UK is another question entirely. 

So endorsing our continued participation in this arrogant shambles is something I find it hard to put my vote towards. 

There you have it: that’s my dilemma. If I follow my own advice and vote FOR one side rather than AGAINST the other, I am unavoidably voting FOR something I find repulsive. 

Not as repulsive as John Hurt’s gruesome demise in Alien, but not far off. 

It’s Nerf or Nothing

I’m not a pacifist. I think that violence is the only answer to certain questions. Like the interwar writer and peace campaigner Storm Jameson said about the Nazis, I accept that some things are worth killing for.

But that doesn’t mean that I approve of or like militarism and the glamorisation of violence that we – and especially our kids – seem to be subjected to. Violence is an evil that is occasionally necessary.

As a general rule, Elvira and I have discouraged our boys from having toy guns. Not entirely out of explicit principle – I still remember my boyhood friend in the 1980s who was kicked out of the Woodcraft Folk for drawing a picture of a cannon, which seems to be a matter of putting the cart before the horse – but at least partly because we don’t want them to develop a casual attitude towards the prospect of killing others.

Because that’s what an awful lot of what boys get exposed to through child-oriented media seems to promote. Most of the cartoons that they choose to watch and the video games they choose to play involve fighting of some sort.

Also speaks like a 1930s gangster - WHY?

OK, you expect stuff like that in things like Ben 10 but when the bloody Care Bears are apparently referencing the Vietnam War (or rather films about the Vietnam War) by shouting “fire in the hold” and “incoming!” there’s surely some cultural mutation that’s gone a bit wrong.

Alright, little kids are not likely to get the references (and when did “referencing” things become clever in itself anyway?) but why make the reference to war or war films other than to consciously or unconsciously normalise and make attractive the idea of war?

I grew up as a little militarist through no direct fault of my parents but just by exposure to a pro-violence culture. I thought the Falklands War was the coolest thing ever, primarily because we (Britain) won. In pretty much any scenario, to me and my friends, the baddies were the Germans – despite the Second World War having ended more than 30 years before we were born.

What scientists look like

The hangover from these assumptions are still present today. Watch any cartoon. If there’s a mad or evil scientist in it, he will have a German accent. And he may well be wearing a monocle, which is a cliché that was outdated even by 1939.

Thankfully, we are little more careful today than to casually demonise other races and nationalities to our children. An Afghanistan or Iraq-based version of “Battle Comic” is unimaginable.

Nevertheless, kids are still fed the idea that there is such a thing as cannon-fodder which can be “destroyed” (note the regular use of phrases about “destroying” someone in cartoons as a blatant euphemism for “killing” them) without consequence. It’s just that today it’s robots or aliens or something else non-human that’s been placed outside our moral community, not Japs or Krauts.

To be honest, I think it would do more good to children to show one of these “destroyed” aliens screaming in pain, shitting itself and crying out for its mother than sanitising death to the point where they’re indifferent to it. But instead, we just see the fallen body flash and then disappear – if we even think about it at all. This indifference was parodied to great effect in the first Austin Powers movie, where we saw the henchman’s wife finding out he’d been killed.  

This all brings me on to Nerf guns. Our kids got some of these for Xmas. I wish they hadn’t. Now, if the people who got them are reading this – in no way am I having a go at you about this. Guns are appropriate and popular presents for boys. That’s just the world we live in, whether we like it or not. They were always going to end up with toy guns, it was just a matter of when. The kids loved them and I’m not going to deny that even I enjoyed playing with them.

It looked like this

I had toy guns when I was a young ‘un, ranging from cowboy revolvers to replica M16s. I particularly remember my own Mauser automatic pistol – which, being German, was inherently an evil weapon.

Apart from spud guns though, I don’t think they fired anything. Nerf guns fire sponge darts with a soft plastic tip. They use what appears to be the same mechanism as used by air guns (I stand to be corrected if that’s wrong – it’s not like I do any research here...). They propel those darts with a surprising amount of force. If you got shot with one, it would sting a bit.

Now I’m sure Nerf and other “airsoft” stuff is safe enough to comply with legal standards and that you’d really have to be doing something stupid in order to have somebody’s eye out with one. You can certainly throw a ball, or a toy car, or a rocking horse at someone’s head and do them just as much if not more harm as you can by shooting them with a Nerf gun.

But have you seen the adverts for Nerf stuff? They feature paramilitarised American teenagers – old enough to impress kiddies and young enough to frighten the grown-ups – romping around, Call of Duty-style, discharging blasts from their rapid-fire, multi-barrelled plastic guns, and then proclaiming in a voice laced with menace that “it’s Nerf or nothing”.

If this was taking place in real life, they would – of course – be shooting at each other, or unwilling nerds. But that can’t be shown on TV. And nobody is likely to get very excited about shooting tin cans any more.

So do you know how they’ve got round that problem? Bloody zombies.

Yes, Nerf “zombie strike” weapons are for shooting zombies: kids today’s Germans.

Zombies offer the advantage of having the precise same anatomy as a human being whilst it is nevertheless unambiguously ok to shoot them because they’re evil or because it’s self-defence or something. This is a Nerf machete. Only for killing zombies, obviously.

In no way does this desensitive kids to violence...

And so Nerf takes us over the line from cartoon violence into real world violence where we go around pointing guns at human-shaped objects that we understand to be incapable of suffering and/or deserving of death. And when we pull the trigger, we don’t just get a feeble “rat a tat” noise like we used to – we launch something that behaves very much like a bullet. 

The Horn

​If your car does not have a properly functioning horn, it will fail its MOT.

I find this rather surprising, insofar as the only function a car horn has is to declare to the listening world that the driver sounding it is a wanker.

Let us consider the full range of situations in which any driver in the UK has ever used their horn:

Situation 1
Intended meaning: “You just behaved in a way which caused me a slight inconvenience and/or to caused me to turn my steering wheel/slow down when I didn’t want to – I am unreasonably angry about that”
Meaning actually conveyed: “I am a wanker”

Situation 2
Intended meaning: “Someone is breaking into my car. Hopefully this noise will scare them off rather than encourage others to join in”
Meaning actually conveyed: “I am a wanker”

Situation 3
Intended meaning: “The traffic lights have changed and you have not noticed it as quickly as me”
Meaning actually conveyed: “I am a wanker”

Situation 4
Intended meaning: “I recognise you! Hello! Oh dear, you have had a heart attack”
Meaning actually conveyed: “I am a wanker”

Situation 5
Intended meaning: "Get out of the way pigeon - no, THAT pigeon, not all of you in a 500 metre radius"
Meaning actually conveyed: "I am a wanker"

Situation 6
Intended meaning: “I am sitting outside your house. Come out, because I am not coming to the door”
Meaning actually conveyed: “I am a wanker. And also a taxi driver”

Is This The Most Awful Drink Ever?

This is Fernet Branca. You may recognise the label, having seen it in a dusty corner of a bar’s back shelf, among that plethora of liqueurs you’ve never seen anybody buy or drink but which nevertheless seem perennially to be stocked “just in case”.

I have, of late, being trying these concoctions wherever I can. This started off with my and Elvira’s 2011 trip to Prague, where I discovered Becherovka – which is right now my favourite drink in the universe (I am also, I think, the only British Campari drinker aged under 70).

So, I embarked upon a voyage of discovery into what the Teutons call “Kräuterlikör” and the Latins call “Amaro” – spirit-based liqueurs flavoured with herbs of an essentially bitter nature.

The first thing I discovered is that this is not a conventional British thing to drink or express an appetite for. The only such thing you are likely to come across in your local boozer is Jägermeister – and the only reasons I can see for its unique position is:

• Jägermeister’s (relatively) colossal advertising spending; and
• The Jägerbomb – which adds Red Bull to the equation, so as to combine ridiculous amounts of alcohol, sugar AND caffeine in a single gulp.

Indeed, I was recently on a works drinks evening, when some poor drunken subordinate suggested a round of Jägerbombs. As the boss-in-attendance, everyone was very keen that I should be included in this round – but I insisted that – as a parent – I would not drink Red Bull in the evening. I have to sleep, you know, and I observe a strict regimen of uppers in the morning and downers in the evening.

So I asked, to the bemusement of the barman and my colleagues, for my Jäger neat. And then we all necked everything in our glasses, so that nobody really tasted anything.

On another works occasion, I was told I was the only person my colleagues had ever seen to sip Jägermeister from a shot glass. They probably concluded that this is because I am a huge ponce who thinks he’s “oooh so continental” but is in fact just odd.

Anyway, I went from Jägermeister to Becherovka to Unicum to Kuemmerling to Rammazotti, eventually pitching up at Fernet Branca. Where I came to a grinding halt.

After a few mouthfuls I poured a big glass of it into a potted plant. The plant did not immediately wilt in an amusing manner, but it probably did not do it any good.

Now, whilst drinking these other drinks I have frequently been told by others that they are disgusting and that how I can possibly stomach them is incomprehensible.

That is how I felt about Fernet Branca – which is apparently popular in some parts of the world. The article linked to here describes is as tasting like “black licorice-flavored Listerine".

Certainly, my immediate thoughts were of oral hygiene:

• Firstly, because it tastes like toothpaste and generates the same burning sensation and unwillingness to swallow as mouthwash
• Secondly, because my panicked brain declared “oh my god what the hell have you just put in your mouth?”

Now, I know that everybody hates their first beer, their first cigarette, their first whisky, their first Becherovka – and some people then persist and come to acquire the taste by bloody-minded perseverence in the face of their body’s strenuous objections.

But this was different.

When I tasted this I assumed a joke was being played on me. Perhaps that bottle has lain there, untouched, since before the First World War and it has, in fact, gone very badly off.

Later, when I read the article I linked to earlier, I realised to my stark amazement that IT IS SUPPOSED TO TASTE LIKE THAT.

I presume it has an eagle on the logo because Fernet Branca tastes like the semi-digested carrion this noble bird regurgitates to feed its young. 

I thought I could drink anything. I was so wrong and felt suitably abashed. Everybody has a limit, and I found something that is WAAAAAY beyond mine. It was a lesson – and not one I shall quickly forget.

By the way, I must add that I would NEVER normally throw away a drink, even if I believed it to be disgusting and over a hundred years old. Fortunately, we were on an all-inclusive package holiday at the time – so I made an exception, poured the Fernet Branca into the poor, unsuspecting plant and washed the foul taste away with a free pint of Disaronno. 

A Thought Experiment for Dog Owners

In 2014, the human race will be enslaved by aliens. They start landing on earth in January; by February, it’s clear that they’re not interested in talking to us but want the planet for their own.

By the end of June, what’s left of mankind is totally subjugated and is living effectively as domestic animals in the homes of our ten-foot tall insect overlords.

Suppose then, that you are one of these survivors and that you are being taken out for a walk by your “owner”. Coming down the street towards you is another gigantic bipedal crustacean accompanied by a man on lead.

What is your natural inclination at this point? You want to greet, speak with, possibly even sniff the anus of your species-mate – right? You’re a prisoner of a being you don’t understand and you see a fellow human. Of course you’re interested.

But when you try to sidle over to communicate, you are yanked back immediately and hustled on down the street by the firm grip of three chitinous space-tentacles.

Dog owners (you see now where the anus-sniffing reference came from? Well, actually I suppose the title gave it away somewhat...). Dog owners: your dog is interested in other dogs. Just deal with it. 

They're not interested in other dogs because they perceive their lives as some kind of post-apocalyptic servitude (although some might –who knows what they think?). No – because they are dogs and the most interesting thing to a dog, is another dog.

It never ceases to amaze me how many dog owners – at the sight of another dog – dash to render their own dog as immobile as possible or to drag it along as though there was no other dog there at all.

What are you afraid of? A bit of jumping around? A bit of ass-sniffing? That they might be conspiring to overthrow us?

The number of people who live near me who (i) own a dog and must therefore be credited with some degree of insight into dog psychology and (ii) who nevertheless view the presence of ANY OTHER DOG as presenting a threat level equivalent to a gang of drug-crazed African child soldiers is truly astonishing.

Dogs are not people. They interact differently from people. Sometimes that involves growling, play-fighting and other forms of behaviour – including bum smelling - we would rightly be unpleasantly surprised at were they to occur between two humans meeting for the first time.

Dog owners: let your dog be a dog this new year. Remember, the boot might be on the other foot one day.

Russell Brand has my vote

You may have noticed Russell Brand being in the news a bit this week: not for his shagging or drug exploits or even for offending the delicate, but for saying that he doesn’t vote.

That derives from this, an article he wrote for the New Statesman – which he was guest editing this week.

Quite what it means to get a celebrity to “guest edit” a magazine, I don’t really know. How many crap contributions were spiked by Russell Brand? Did he give the advertising department a hard time for a lack of renewals? I suppose we’ll never know.

Anyway, over the course of 4,500 words, Russell Brand (celebrities are always to be referred to by their full names – that’s in the ODHSNM style guide. The editor would have a fit if I didn’t follow it) says this:

I don’t vote because to me it seems like a tacit act of compliance; I know, I know my grandparents fought in two world wars (and one World Cup) so that I’d have the right to vote. Well, they were conned. As far as I’m concerned there is nothing to vote for. I feel it is a far more potent political act to completely renounce the current paradigm than to participate in even the most trivial and tokenistic manner, by obediently X-ing a little box.

He also says:

Apathy is a rational reaction to a system that no longer represents, hears or addresses the vast majority of people. A system that is apathetic, in fact, to the needs of the people it was designed to serve.

This has caused an eruption of ruffled pomposity from the political and media establishment this week – whose response to Russell Brand’s unauthorised trespass into their exclusive domain has been akin to the expression on the face of a wood pigeon that has just fallen out of a tree.

It is best summed up by the tired spectacle of that sneering symbol of everything that is loathsome and exclusive about the establishment, Jeremy Paxman, calling him a “trivial man” on Newsnight – followed by columnist after columnist commenting on this and then on each other’s comments, like a dog eating its own shit, sicking it up, and then eating it again.  

The argument appears to be that Russell Brand is not entitled to express an opinion on politics because he chooses not to vote, despite having a reasoned explanation as to why this is. Maybe Russell Brand's explanation can shed some light on why millions of other people don't vote - or is that an impossibility because he's a Hollywood celebrity? I'd suggest that he has more in common with those non-voters than anyone playing the Westminster game. 

Russell Brand is a witty man who expresses himself well, while also annoying people and being a monstrous show-off. Who else was like that? Socrates was a lot like that. You could argue that Jesus was a lot like that.

CLEARLY I AM NOT COMPARING RUSSELL BRAND TO JESUS OR SOCRATES. Come on, this isn’t the Daily Telegraph comments section.

You don’t have to agree with his point of view (Russell Brand even points out later in the article – YES, I DID read it all – that he acknowledges that apathy also comes from laziness and the inability to care about distant things) but he deserves a hearing. That’s what’s different between today and back then. 

Equally ridiculous looking

Russell Brand may not be the best person to explode the political/media/business cabal, but so what if what he says resonates with people? Paxman trivialises himself once again by playing the man not the ball. His persona and schtick is just as absurd as Russell Brand's. 

Plus, this is not a new point of view. Here’s HG Wells, 100 years ago talking about Parliament.

So far representative government has not had even the beginnings of a fair trial. So far we have not had representative government, but only a devastating caricature. 

Politicians are: 

Not really the elected representatives of the people; they are the products of a ridiculous method of election; they are the illegitimate children of the party system and the ballot-box 

Criticising the electoral system, HG Wells (the celebrity, not the conference centre) says 

The system lies, in fact, wholly open to the control of political organisations, calls out, indeed, for the control of political organisations, and has in every country produced what is so evidently demanded. The political organisations to-day rule us unchallenged. Save as they speak for us, the people are dumb. 

Echoing Russell Brand, HG Wells goes on: 

Elections of the prevalent pattern, which were intended and are still supposed by simple-minded people to give every voter participation in government, do as a matter of fact effect nothing of the sort. They give him an exasperating fragment of choice between the agents of two party organisations, over neither of which he has any intelligible control. 

Last quote, I promise: 

Our governments in the more civilised parts of the world to-day are only in theory and sentiment democratic. In reality they are democracies so eviscerated by the disease of bad electoral methods that they are mere cloaks for the parasitic oligarchies that have grown up within their form and substance. 

Perhaps HG Wells was a “trivial man” too. He did, after all, write science fiction novels, thought bicycles were the future of warfare and was a prominent “useful idiot” for Lenin.  

Oops - now we can't take him seriously on anything

Perhaps I am a trivial man too. Almost certainly I am. 

And I'd much rather be one than the sort of creature a Paxman takes seriously. 

My point is simply that there has been a tradition of dissatisfaction with the (still) prevailing political orthodoxy that goes is more than a hundred years old. That critique is not new, nor is it something that establishment has a right to reject out of hand because a “celebrity” is putting it forward. 

You shouldn’t have to be nothing but “serious” to be taken seriously. Politics is not the sole domain of people who have never thought about or done anything other than politics. 

The meaning of “democracy” is not exhausted by the Westminster farce and the media wankers who tell you what you can think about it. Russell Brand has reached his own conclusions – so can you. It's as much ours as it is theirs. 

Top Five Pointless Conventions

Lots of things we take for granted in everyday life do not serve any reasonable purpose. Today, ODHSNM considers some of the most egregious.

Encore

So you’re watching a band. They’ve been on for a while and they haven’t played their most popular songs.

What’s this? They’re walking off the stage? But...but...NO! You must return! We, the audience, demand it!

What is the point of an encore? Everyone knows you’re going to do it. Band - you are not spontaneously responding to the audience. You’ve got a LIGHT SHOW sorted out for this bit, FFS.

Audience – you could all sit there in total silence and they’d still come back out and play the same three songs they intended to play all along. They're not going to waste that light show. 

Perhaps once an encore was a spontaneous response to audience demand. Now – like most of the grammar of pop music - it’s a ridiculous bit of play-acting nobody can remember why they do. Just don’t bother. 

Outside Broadcast

Suppose there has been some big news event, with a political element to it. Cue TV reports beginning:

“I am standing here outside Number 10 Downing Street...”

WHY? That is the last place on earth where anything relating to this news event is likely to happen. Nor are we convinced by the presence of a TV crew there that you are somehow at the heart of what is going on. You read a press release (or whatever) and drove the crew over there, the same as everyone else!

Why is it considered necessary to put a man in a coat in front of a well-known monument or some building that has a bearing on the story in question? Do you think we can’t grasp the idea of “politics” without a picture of the Houses of Parliament?

The 9 to 5

OK, not everybody works those particular hours, but the vast majority of us do. This is incredibly inefficient and detrimental to our collective well-being.

Rush hour, peak time fares, lunchtime queues, “all our operators are busy at the moment” – these are all side-effects of the idea that we all trying to do the same things at the same times.

Couldn’t we all stagger our working hours to avoid getting in each other’s way?

Yours sincerely

 Perhaps this valediction is in irreversible decline with letter-writing heading for extinction, but I for one will not miss it.

Firstly, at 37 years of age, I still struggle to spell it. Secondly, the whole sincerely/faithfully thing is a tiresome pinhead for pedantic angels to dance on.

But thirdly and most important, what the hell does it mean? In what sense am I claiming to be “yours”?

“I remain, Sir, your obedient servant”...? Is that what it’s derived from? If so, that’s not really how I want to sign off a letter. Because I don’t.

Parliament

Ha ha! A pun on the word “convention”.

But seriously, in what way is (i) the ability to get selected by a party machine as a candidate and (ii) the ability to make lawyerly speeches in the big green debating club in any sense correlated with (iii) having ideas about social and economic organisation that are likely to do any good and (iv) being competent to implement them?

It may have been suitable for a 19^th century Britain run by gentlemen for gentlemen, but it looks pretty preposterous today. 

PLEASE BE ADVISED - The convention that the photo and the text should be in some way related has been bypassed - this is a picture of a pelican put through Glitche.

A Conspiracy against the Laity

This is what George Bernard Shaw calls “the professions” – those self interested cabals dedicated to keeping their respective shops closed, in the name of keeping standards up.

Of course, a free market would imply that any fool can set himself up as a doctor and charge whatever he can convince others into paying, whether he has any medical training or not – with the principle of “caveat emptor” putting responsibility onto the customer to be happy that the person removing their appendix knows what they are doing.

This is one of the reasons why a completely unrestricted free market is hard to defend. I do not particularly object to doctors having to adhere to some sort of common standards.

What I do take exception to – as I have said before – is the privileges accorded to the legal profession.

And remember boys and girls, the word “privilege” comes from the Latin for “private law”, meaning an arrangement to the advantage of particular individuals which is not available to everyone – which is in conflict with a key principle of legal theory, vis equality before the law.

My business’ landlord and I recently agreed to renew our lease, literally by just changing all the dates on the old lease. We want to stay. He wants us to stay. Simple.

OH BUT WAIT.

For some reason, I have to go and get a solicitor to administer an oath under the Statutory Declarations Act 1835 in order for the paperwork to be legit.

The derivation of THAT word points to the circularity going on here: only if a solicitor (or other Commissioner for Oaths) has made me read out a line of text in front of him and signed the paperwork, would my landlord or I be able to engage other lawyers to sort out any disagreement we might have in the future.

What if we all just...stopped?

I have often thought that if everyone stopped believing in financial markets, they’d disappear. If we all stopped allowing the legal profession to take on the role of authorising everything we do, made the law our servant rather than the other way round and took responsibility for ourselves, wouldn’t they vanish too?

Makes you proud to be British

Hot on the heels of the “racist vans” telling illegal immigrants to go home, our government has today deployed troops of paramilitaries at transport hubs across the country to round up anyone non-white.

The SS-wannabes in question are the UK Border Agency, not – please take note – the police.

And they do not have the authority to do what they are doing by law. 

You should read this, which cites, chapter and verse, what the powers of immigration officers are and makes it very clear that racial profiling just anybody they don’t like the look of on the streets ain’t one of them.

Yes, illegal immigrants should not be in the country, and yes, action to deter illegal immigration is necessary. But this is state terrorism, unsanctioned by law.

A lot of people think this sort of shit is ok because they don’t like illegal immigrants. It’s not – and I remind you of the words of Martin Niemöller:

First they came for the communists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the socialists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Catholic.
Then they came for me,
and there was no one left to speak for me.

The photo came from here.

As a Symbol, I Can Be Incorruptible, Everlasting

Dinner dinner dinner dinner: The Batman

Elvira and I watched The Dark Knight Rises last weekend. If you know us, you’ll know that our having gone to the cinema to see it when it first came out was a big deal – we don’t get out much.

And these films today are so bloody long that you need to watch them twice to make sense of them.

The conclusion was that we liked it more second time around than first – not least as (i) knowing the plot twist helps you look out for the signs and (ii) we had braced ourselves so as not to start laughing every time Bane speaks.

Two things will I say about the Blu-Ray experience:

• Just take me to the main menu. Do not FORCE me to watch trailers by telling me it’s “forbidden” to skip through them. Forbidden by whom?
• Special features you have to download? Piss off. Why do you think I’m still watching discs at all?

Re the above: Lovefilm – sort it out. Because I will ditch your punk ass and go to Netflix just like I ditched Blockbuster for you. 

Anyway, it started me thinking...which is always a bad sign in any piece of entertainment media.

In these films (I won’t call them movies because this is ENGLAND NOT AMERICA) the Batman could be anyone.

I say “the Batman” rather than “Batman” not to show my complicity in the idea put across by these films that featuring a man who dresses up as a bat is not inherently ridiculous. No – I say it because "Batman" cannot be anyone: he is, of course, Adam West.

So, the Batman could be anyone because he’s a symbol of something rather than an individual. Which means that the boy from Third Rock from the Sun can be him in the next one.

It occurred to me that this is an idea that our politicians need to adopt. Because every time a political idea gets out and achieves some sort of popular support, the media tears apart the politician at the forefront of that idea’s movement on the basis of his or her human frailties.

So the theory goes – and let it not be said that ODHSNM is unbalanced politically (psychologically is another matter) – UKIP’s ideas are implicitly invalidated by the “colourful” lives of their candidates, or the idea that Amazon and Google ought to be some sort of tax is invalidated by the MPs quizzing them taking perfectly legal and rational measures to minimise their own liabilities. 

This being the internet, we might as well see that through to the Reductio Ad Hitlerum and declare that vegetarianism was to blame for the Holocaust.

My point is that the failings of the person putting across an idea do not necessarily condemn the idea itself. 

So politicians – put on a mask, and become a symbol of your cause instead of a mere mortal! 

Just like the criminals of Gotham City can’t kill a symbol, an idea can’t be caught avoiding tax, molesting children or strangling prostitutes.

POST SCRIPT: This is my 150th post - please help me to celebrate by sending me money or booze. Preferably money. No vouchers. 

People who Smell

One of the worst things about summer – with the obvious exception of hayfever – is that hot weather makes people sweaty.

And a proportion of those people who are sweaty (many of whom can, in fairness, be identified on sight) really start to smell bad.

Now, many of these people will actually be smelly all year round. But in the same way that if you make a bottle of horrible wine cold enough, you can’t taste how bad it is – the usual cold weather has the merciful effect of keeping their stench down to a level where only intimate contact would uncover it.

I realise that at a time when the global economy is in a coma and many parts of the world are exploding in protest, complaining about the body odour of others probably marks me out as a rather trivial person.

Well to that all I can say is, if you want to carry on gathering in the streets and getting battered by the police, be my guest. After all, hundreds of years of experience of it having absolutely no effect whatsoever on power notwithstanding, this might just be the time that waving a placard and being hit on the head achieves something momentous.

Water canon: not always a bad thing

I have nothing to say about these global protestors at the moment unless they smell. Which some of them probably do, while others don’t.

This is not a complaint about homeless people – who have an excuse. 

Water is widely available here in the UK. Soap, deodorant and other means of preventing your carcass from giving other people migraines are inexpensive. Using them is a matter of basic human politeness, the same as not cuffing passers-by around the back of the head.

Can you not tell that you smell like a bin bag full of decomposing vegetables on a hot summer’s afternoon? Do you like it?

If ever I get onto a train with broken air conditioning, I can be assured that the hulking, wall-eyed, polyester-clad, adult virgin staggering down the aisle is going to sit next to me. And he’s going to smell like he’s been wearing the same clothes for a year and has a leaky catheter about his person. And it’s going to get hotter and hotter.

The Bhagavad-gītā tells us “we are not these bodies”.

I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know we are responsible for these bodies. 

Space Raiders

I have never bought a pack of Space Raiders, nor do I know anyone who has. I am nevertheless very familiar with the image to the left.

Which led me to wonder – or “got me to thinking” I might say, if this was “Sex and the City” and not “Oh Dear. How Sad. Never Mind.” – why are there empty packets of this low-price, corn snack in my back garden?

And outside Tancred’s nursery?

And – in fact – every damn place I ever look, why is there a discarded pack of Space Raiders?

They say that in London, you are never more than 6 feet away from a rat. I’m not sure if this is true. It would probably be true if you substituted “a rat” for “a dickhead”.

Well, I would hypothesise that between you and the rat – or dickhead – there is at least one screwed-up, indestructible, radioactive-smelling bag with a picture of an alien on the front of it, which the rat (dickhead) is avoiding.

They’re everywhere. I can feel those over-sized, black, almond-shaped eyes on the back of my neck right now.

I have two theories about this.

The first is sociological.

• Premise 1: Space Raiders are the crisp of preference for the sorts of people who throw empty crisp bags on the floor.
• Premise 2: Space Raiders are cheap.

You may be wondering how, unless I handle these empty crisp bags – which is, to me, only marginally less revolting a prospect than handling discarded underwear – I know this.

Well, I did actually Google Space Raiders this morning. That’s the problem with the internet. You come up with all these ideas about what things might be and why they might be, then you Google it and you find out the truth (or something like the truth).

It is the death of the imagination and of memory, when you can just find out the reasons for something or what something you half-remember was really like with a few keystrokes.

Marcel Proust would have had literally nothing to do with his life if he’d lived in the internet age. He could have just Googled “Madeleine smell” and got four million results.

Anyway, I disgress. I learned from the Space Raiders Wikipedia page that they are:

“A British cheap snack food, intended to fill the same niche market as crisps”

Which seems to the untrained eye an unnecessarily cautious description.

So Space Raiders are cheap and are eaten by people who drop litter. You do not see anywhere near as many discarded packs of, say, Waitrose Hand Cooked Sea Salt crisps.

Get to the point: Space Raiders are prole feed. They are eaten by people for whom a tracksuit is formalwear and whose bin is the great outdoors.

Malevolent little eyes...

OK, that’s theory number one. Coherent? Well-reasoned? Yes, but theory number two is MUCH more ambitious.

Space Raiders packs are not the abandoned containers for low-cost crisp-style corn snacks AT ALL.

They are in fact an invasive species of fungus or algae with astonishing powers of mimicry.

Stay with me. Let’s assess the evidence (you will by now be familiar with what I call "evidence"):

• No one I know or who you know has ever eaten any.
• No one knows how they got where they are.
• No one is willing to touch or remove them to find out once and for all if they are what they appear to be.

I believe that back in the 1980s Space Raiders were a real brand of crisps, featuring cartoon intergalactic pirates and shit like that. Natural selection has favoured members of this invasive species which encourages people to leave it alone – and so they have grown gradually to resemble the most unpleasant kinds of litter, re cheese-stink plastic bags.

They’re an algal bloom, spring from the contaminated earth like a red tide. That alien face is the plant world’s crude attempt to replicate the appearance of a Monster Munch monster – and it has succeeded to the degree that no one wants to look closer as soon as they have established what they think they’re looking at.

Do not touch, or it may release its spores in your face

I find it astonishing that mainstream science has not recognised this. We are all in terrible danger. Space Raiders are coming.