Facts and Figures

Blood! (written 21 November 2006)

If you are going to be ill, vomiting blood over the reception desk of accident and emergency is a particularly spectacular way to do it.

I had set off to walk to the pub, had the mother and father of nosebleeds caused by high blood pressure, walked home, rang my friends to say I wasn’t going out. When they came round to see if I was all right, they rushed me to hospital.

While I was giving the receptionist my details, some of the blood that had been running down the back of my throat into my stomach decided to leave without warning. The receptionist stopped taking my details and told me to go to the triage nurse.

I was able to go home after the doctor had stuck some cotton wool sticks up my nose and left me to recover for a few hours. Fortunately my friends kept me company.

No violence, no drugs, blood everywhere. Rock ‘n roll.

*

Double Glazing.

When I had my house double-glazed, the company gave me a ten year guarantee.

No problems until I came back from Christmas and New Year holiday and found that one of my bedroom windows and the main living room window had water between the layers of glass. My windows were eleven years old.

The company went bankrupt several years ago, but they did know how to time a guarantee.

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Grammys 2005.

Ray Charles has won 8 Grammy Awards. How much of this success is due to his death in 2004, I don't know, but I have his double CD, "Ray Charles: Shades of Blues", which I bought while he was alive for £1, reduced from £2.99.

More importantly, Motorhead won a Grammy! Motorhead are highly accomplished entertainers and Lemmy is an inspiration to us all, well to some of us anyway.

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Televisions and Radios.

It seems obvious that a television should cost more than a radio. Not any more. Argos is now (December 2004) selling 15inch colour tellies for £50 and DAB radios for £100.

I'm not comparing like with like. The technology in the TV has been around for years and the DAB radio's is relatively new. But even so, a telly does so much more than a radio that such pricing just seems wrong.

I won't be buying a £100 radio, because I can receive an ample supply of radio from my television and freeview box.

Nor will I be buying a £2000 42inch plasma screen television until they have evolved into £50 42inch plasma screen televisions.

*

Dolphins.

Two items on television have made me wonder about dolphins. The first was a news item about a school of them which formed a tight, protective circle around some swimmers until a dangerous shark went away.

The second was a dolphin brain next to a human brain on a slab. The dolphin brain was actually bigger. If I was an alien with no knowledge of the shapes of dolphin and human heads, I would have struggled to say which type of brain had been on the Moon.

This led me to speculate that dolphins believe that their gods live on land, and that we are the gods' servants or messengers, and so should be protected. Perhaps when our science is even more advanced, we'll know.

*

Old Ladies Are Bad For Your Figure.

I've come up with a temporary excuse for becoming excessively drunk. About a month ago, my 80 year old mother sold her house a mile and a half from mine and moved to Muirkirk, where she was brought up, 150 miles away.

I used to go round for a meal about three times a week, but 150 miles is a bit too far.

Three meals a week might not sound much, but she used to give me soup, main course, pudding, biscuits, cake, nuts and even sweets. I generally just throw something into the frying pan or microwave and have a couple of slices of bread or some chips with it. No first course and a piece of fruit for pudding. No cakes or biscuits and certainly no sweets.

Trousers which were once tight round the waist are now loose and my stomach is almost flat.

My mate John, a double divorcee, has his 86 year old mother living with him. He says she makes quite a lot of their meals. John is overweight, verging on very overweight.

On Saturday night I matched John drink for drink. Dissolved in my reduced amount of body tissue, the alcohol had an increased effect on me. It made the difference between getting away with it and feeling unwell the following day. Very unwell.

So two tips: drink sensibly, and if you want to lose weight, don't let old ladies cook for you. And a bonus tip: I'm better at dishing out advice than setting a good example.

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2004 Olympics.

The rowing events took place at Skinnyass, to the delight of English-speaking immature minds everywhere.

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Word Count.

That wordcount.org is great fun. Be a number, not a free man. "Robert Muir" is "1307 19,503".

You can send rude messages to your friends, if you have any, such as "3497 69 32,180".

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Satire Lives?

Surfing Freeserve: One half of the screen: "Welcome to the BBC Parliament Service. BBC Parliament offers comprehensive coverage of all the parliaments and assemblies which govern the political life of the United Kingdom".

Other half of the screen: The Republican Party Convention in New York.

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Defacement.

All tattoos have the word "fool" woven into the design. All tongue studs and bits of metal designed to be inserted in inappropriate parts of the body carry the "fool" hallmark.

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Some Name.

"Now over to Mike Hunt," startled me when I heard a female announcer say it on the comedy programme, "Radio Active" on BBC7.

The yournotme site shows that there were 581 Michael Hunts in the 2001 census, and two Mike Hunts. Presumably these two appear courtesy of people who filled in their forms while intoxicated.

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Saint Willibald.

The saint with the most ridiculous name to modern ears is Saint Willibald (700-86). If you can, celebrate his feast day on 11 July by having a shave.

Making an Effort

Hit me! Hit me! Hit me! (writted 11 August 2006)

I had just finished karaoke singing, “Hit Me with your Rhythm Stick”, by Ian Dury and the Blockheads and was heading back to my seat, when a hard-looking young man called me over. I thought, “Soldier in civvies. Or criminal.”

“Can I hit you with this?” he asked.

He pulled up his trouser leg, took off his artificial leg and waved it at me. His real leg ended just below the knee.

I think he expected some sort of shocked or horrified reaction, but I just told him, “No. That is not a rhythm stick.” I go drinking in Blackpool, so I’m pretty unshockable

So far, after singing “Hit Me with your Rhythm Stick”, I’ve been threatened with an umbrella by a drunk woman, a pole by a drunk barmaid, and now an artificial leg.

I would sing, “What a Waste”, but that is not in the karaoke songbook.

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Things to do before you die (written 8 June 2006)

I entered a garden and a big, daft Labrador lumbered out of the house. It licked my leg just above the knee, with lots of tongue and even more saliva.

It then withdrew its head and looked up at me with a disgusted expression on its face. It was working its lips as if to get rid of the taste.

So, on the list of things to do before you die, “Disgust a Dog” gets a tick.

*

Scary Dairy.

I checked in at Stansted, went to the Gate 87 holding area, and waited. When almost everyone else stampeded towards the Gate, I went along with them. I showed the official my boarding pass.

“This is dairy,” she said.

I was completely baffled. What did she mean? Was she mad? Had the pressures of her job proved too much for her?

“Dairy!” she said.

This did not help.

"This is Dairy. You need to go and sit down.”

Then I twigged. What she meant to say was, “This is the flight for Derry. Go away with your boarding pass for the Blackpool flight, which boards from this Gate, but not yet. Fool.”

She was Irish, so she had an excuse for violating her vowels. I don’t know what my excuse was.

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Adventurous Spirit.

Every year, my cousin Bill climbs Cairn Table, a hill overlooking the village of Muirkirk, and brings in New Year at the top. At first he went up on his own, but last time he took his wife, two of his daughters, his daughter's boyfriend, and the son of one of our cousins.

The two young men went racing ahead, prompting everyone else to speed up, so they arrived at the top of the hill twenty-five minutes before midnight, and had to hang about up there. It was cold, wet and windy. One of Bill's daughters came back covered in mud after falling over and the boyfriend had to limp back after twisting his ankle.

I was in Muirkirk on holiday, so I could have tagged along, but decided that the best place to bring in the New Year is indoors.

Bill is blessed with a spirit of adventure which I do not possess. Instead of understanding it more as I get older, I understand it less.

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The Guest from Hell.

Over the years, I have adopted a "no present" policy, with very few exceptions.

Last Christmas, I visited my cousin, Bill, and stayed overnight, with about twenty other people. He and his wife, Fiona, gave me a box containing four expensive-looking miniature bottles of whisky. I tried to abandon it under my chair, but Fiona reminded me it was there and I had to put it in my luggage.

So I drank his beer, ate his food and slept in his daughter's bed. (His daughter was not in it. She was on the floor of her sisters' room.) I got drunk, showed off at charades, sat near the snacks and ate huge quantities of expensive nuts and other luxury food items, and nearly sang karaoke at them.

The only thing which makes me feel slightly less bad about the situation is that I do not drink whisky.

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Snowballs.

I went to Scotland and experienced a White Christmas. I was out in the snow quite a lot, bet never thought to throw a snowball at anyone. Nobody reminded me by throwing one at me. So this is what getting old is like.

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Bonfire Karaoke.

The combination of an unusually indulgent karaoke DJ, few customers and a midnight licence meant that I sang ten songs on Bonfire Night. Five was my previous maximum.

I chose a Bonfire Night theme, starting with "Great Balls of Fire", by Gerry Lee Lewis, "Fire", by Jimi Hendrix, "Fire and Rain", by James Taylor, "Burning Love", by Elvis Presley, "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes", by the Platters and "Smoke on the Water", by Deep Purple.

Then things became tricky. "Burning Down the House", by Talking Heads, "Boom Boom", by John Lee Hooker and "Bang Bang", by Cher were relevant, but "Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick"? As I told the karaoke DJ, every rocket has a stick attached to it. She had the cheek to call it a "tenuous link".

So I got away with ten songs, eight of which I had never sung in karaoke before. A bonus was a complete stranger telling me I was entertaining. Well, he grinned at me and repeatedly put up his thumbs, which is drunk for "I enjoyed that".

With all the singing and song selecting, I only had time to become tipsy.

*

In Defence of Karaoke.

I have met some odd people who sneer at karaoke.

Our ancestors used to sit round the fire and tell stories and sing to each other. Then electricity turned most of us into passive viewers and listeners. Karaoke has slightly reversed that trend.

You can find karaoke bars which are full of shouty, knuckle-dragging drunks, but a well run karaoke bar is an excellent night out.

Some singers are terrible and so tone deaf that they think everyone is clapping and cheering them because they are good. They sometimes turn up on the modern generation of talent shows, looking surprised.

A few are so good you would pay to see them, or full of surprises, like the bloke I saw recently who didn't sing, but played the harmonica instead.

Some can't really sing well, but get up anyway and have a laugh, like I do. I enjoy singing, watching the audience reaction and the occasional compliment afterwards. If people want to sneer at that, well, it's their loss.

*

Olympic Marathon.

Paula Radcliffe said she could not work out why she stopped running in the Olympic Marathon. She just ran too fast up too many hills for her body to cope. She turned out to be weaker in those conditions than the maniacs who were able to keep running.

In temperatures of 35C, my own body copes with sitting in the shade with a cold drink, and not much more than that.

The fact that Paula Radcliffe is mystified by her own exhaustion shows that people who run marathons are different to those of us who would much rather not.

And if I appear critical, I will add that I know who Paula Radcliffe is, but I assume she has absolutely no idea who I am.

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Pedantry.

The fashion for "giving 110%" seems to have passed away. When Kelly Holmes was interviewed before the Olympic 800 metres race, she promised to "give 100%", indicating that she is not a mathematical illiterate and that she deserves her gold medal.

Now, would everyone please stop saying, "at the end of the day". This habit has become so widespread and unconscious that when one of my friends said, "At the end of the day, I prefer a fried breakfast," and I replied, "That's supper," he didn't know what I was talking about.

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Artistic Impression.

Some of the Olympic "sports" involve marks for artistic impression.

Is this where you shuffle about on your knees and claim to be Toulouse Lautrec in a French accent? Or leap about, holding your ear, going "Ouch, ouch," in Dutch?

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Owimpics.

The Paralympics might not be an entirely good idea. If they can lead to fame and riches, some people might mutilate themselves to be eligible to take part.

Much better would be the Owimpics, a Games for people who are rubbish at sport. Nobody should be able to volunteer to take part, but should be forced to do it by authority figures.

I write as one who was always last to be picked for any team at school. This was because of my complete lack of enthusiasm. I did not care who won, and could not understand why anyone did. I was afraid the ball might break my glasses and, in the case of cricket, my head.

At football, I used to think of myself as a defender, but ran towards the opponent's goal when the ball came near ours.

At cricket, batting was a nightmare, but mercifully rare because after the first few games I was always eleventh man. They did not ask me to bowl or keep wicket, so I used to work out where the ball was least likely to travel and moved as far as I could in that direction without actually leaving the field.

I did not realise that running was supposed to hurt, so at the first hint of pain I either slowed down or, in the case of cross-country running, walked. I still managed to beat most of the fat kids, because I had a distance runner's build and a high motor instinct. I would run to and from school simply to save time, but could not see the point of hurting myself just to be faster than someone else.

So I would be right for the Owimpics and want nothing to do with them, which makes me even more right.

Okay, let's just forget the whole idea.

Criticism

Winter Olympics 2006 (written 17 February 2006)

The Women’s Snowboarding Downhill Slapstick was particularly amusing. Small boys were pleased that a Swiss called “Nobs” was taking part and older boys were disquieted that Himmler was there as well.

The final four races were great, with competitors falling about all over the place. The sure-fire gold medallist won silver by showing off with a trick near the finishing line. Instead of gliding to victory, she had to get to her feet and watch a rival speed past. There could have been two more, but they had fallen over further up the course.

Well, if they were not crazy, they could not be snowboarders.

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Panto Season Over (written 28 January 2006)

Cinderella has won Celebrity Big Brother, with Baron Hardup in second place, Buttons third, Principal Ordinary Boy fourth, Wicked Queen fifth and Daft American Bimbo sixth. The Giant, the Villain, the Good Fairy and the Ugly Sisters were eliminated before the final stage.

Big Brother combines the best of science documentary and pantomime. I have learned some anthropology and abnormal psychology from it, and been thoroughly entertained into the bargain.

I am looking forward to the summer season, and wondering what they can possibly do to top Celebrity Big Brother 2006.

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Celebrity Big Brother 2006 (written 9 January 2006)

The funniest thing on television at the moment is Celeb. B.B. It’s been on for several days, so let’s see if I can remember the eleven inmates without looking them up:

George Galloway, MP, admirer of Saddam Hussein.
Michael Barrymore. Anyone who is still doing Frank Spencer impressions has severe problems.
Chantelle, the joke non-celebrity.
Maggot out of Goldie Looking Chain, of whom I had heard because they are funny.
A singer from the Ordinary Boys, of whom I had never heard. I thought he was another joke non-celebrity.
A six foot eight basketball player, Dennis Rodman.
An actress from Baywatch. Tanya something?
Rula Lenska. Good actress. Should stop smoking.
Page 3 stunna, Jodie Marsh, I think.
That’s nine and I’m struggling now. Two more.
Pete Burns. My poem, “Looking Good” could have been written for him, though it wasn’t.
Number eleven’s escaped me. (Eventually, oh, yeah, Faria out of the F. A.)

The celebrities themselves decided that the non-celebrity, Chantelle, was ninth most famous of the eleven of them. But this was because while George Galloway, MP, was shouting and arguing that Michael Barrymore was more famous than the Americans, Maggot went and stood at number 11 and was joined by the Ordinary Boy at number 10. Both genuine gentlemen, particularly Maggot.

They set a fine example to George Galloway, MP, of which he was probably completely oblivious.

*

Big Brother 2005.

Final Night.

The desire for fame was prominent as the failed contestants took advantage of their last chance to be noticed. The Cockney geezer capered and grinned along the catwalk like a lunatic, the Turkish boy came as a Las Vegas showgirl, and the pretty girl with the teeth shouted something about her porn site.

I am glad that the very straightforward Anthony won the thing, but also glad that the vagaries of the game allowed the more intellectually gifted but socially inept Eugene to make off with half the prize money.

*

Moral imbecility.

The Victorians used to put some of their unmarried mothers into insane asylums because they suffered from moral imbecility.

I used to believe that it was a condition they had made up, until I saw the antics of Kinga in the Big Brother house. Her illicit affair with the red wine bottle can hardly be explained any other way.

First impressions.

When Anthony entered the Big Brother house, he was a prancing fool, showing off with what he thought were seventies dance moves. He then told his fellow inmates that the security man was booed for trying to move him on. It was Anthony who was being booed, but he was too vain to realise it. What an idiot.

Vain, ignorant and shallow just about summed him up. But after nearly three months in the madhouse, he has come through as an example to us all. When the Cockney geezer and the Italian bloke were squaring up to assault each other, it was Anthony who physically kept them apart. He has put up with the gay hairdresser’s obsessive stalking with good-natured tolerance, although driven to exasperation by the hairdresser’s antics. His expression of horror while he watched Kinga with the red wine bottle made me laugh out loud.

There are worse things in the world to be than vain, ignorant and shallow. To come through the mental trial that is Big Brother looking like a decent human being is an achievement indeed.

*

Modern Art.

Since the invention of photograpy, fine art has really gone down the toilet, a playground for preposterous poseurs.

Here's a literary equivalent of the works of the likes of Tracy Emin or Damien Hurst:

lampoon tanh differentiate non-technical tour epigram server tanka discord underbrush cold wave publicity
That will be a million pounds, please.

The scary thing is that the words were picked with an attempt at randomness, but the more I look at them, the more they start looking as if they mean something.

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Samuel Beckett.

I have just read that Max Wall had a special affinity for the plays of Samuel Beckett.

I must suffer from Samuel Beckett-blindness. His works appear to have no merit at all. I was once required to sit through two of his plays, one about an old man eating a banana, and another about an old woman being buried up to her neck. They were rubbish.

Some members of the audience were laughing, either because there was a joke going on which I didn't appreciate or they were mad.

Perhaps this is a mystery which will never be solved.

*

Chaplin and Wisdom.

Two comedians I can't see the point of: Charlie Chaplin and Norman Wisdom. Chaplin's Little Tramp was an arrogant, smarmy, vicious little git. Norman Wisdom is ingratiating.

"Don't Laugh at Me Cos I'm a Fool". Okay.

*

Franz Kafka.

Whe I was a student, I read "The Trial" and "The Castle" by Franz Kafka. These were supposed to be very deep, grim novels, so I was surprised to find parts of them very funny.

Years later, I heard some woman on a a BBC Radio 4 programme say that, according to witnesses, Kafka used to laugh while he was writing, and he thought his stuff was funny.

So I suppose I was right and the critics got it wrong?

*

Would I Lie to You?

Strange how tastes can change. When I first heard the song, "Would I Lie to You?" by Charles and Eddie, I could not stand to listen to it. After several years, I saw the joke.

The unsung reply is "Of course you would." I now enjoy the song, and smile when I hear it.

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Going Through Changes.

When Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In and The Prisoner were first broadcast, I thought they were great, very funny and very entertaining respectively. My parents thought they were nonsense. Now Laugh-In just looks stupid and The Prisoner is interesting, but not great. The later Prisoner episodes look particularly ludicrous.

Similarly to what happens to most people, I am turning into my dad.

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Olympic Closing Ceremony.

Athens could not produce a star of the magnitude of Sydney's Kylie Minogue, but it was good of the Greeks to let some of their old people have a go at singing.

*

Ally McBeal.

I watched the television programme, Ally McBeal, thinking it would be about a Scotsman and there might be beautiful Highland scenery, but discovered it was about an American skeleton.

Trivia

Grandeurs of Delusion. (written 15 January 2006)

In the pub, I told one of my chums that if, as a world-famous poet, I was invited to stay in the Celebrity Big Brother house, I would accept. Celebrities are granted privacy in the toilet and shower. They are paid a guaranteed £50,000 for a maximum three weeks work.

He said that I had “grandeurs of delusion”. I asked him if he meant “delusions of grandeur” and he said he did, but I like “grandeurs of delusion”.

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Sleep Singing. (written 17 November 2005)

People have been known to wake up crying or laughing, but this morning I woke up singing a song I had made up.

It went, “Love is doing far too much for far too few people. Sing it like you are a Beatle.”

Ah, the mysterious workings of the human subconscious.

*

Karaoke Hell.

Things can quickly go wrong when one goes to karaoke pubs, like the night I ate Mad Drunk Laura's food.

There was a huge buffet laid out in the pub. The karaoke d.j. announced, "There's free food over there. Everybody welcome. Eat it or it will go to waste."

So I helped myself to a chicken leg, sanwiches, small sausages, and so on. Later, the d.j. announced, "Laura is leaving. Everyone who is eating should buy her a drink." Uh-oh.

Not long after, Mad Drunk Laura came to our table and demanded we should each buy her a drink. My suggestion that I had sung for her and that should be enough was ignored. But we managed to fob her off with vague promises of a future drink.

Then when I was at the bar, waiting to buy a round, she came up and demanded the drink she felt was due to her.

"You ate my food. You have to buy me a drink." In the background, I could hear the d.j. regretting what she had said, but Mad Drunk Laura was not listening.

When I suggested to Laura that she should stop drinking because if she drank any more she would fall over, she turned quite nasty.

She put her arm round my shoulder and said, "Right, I'm annoyed now. I'm stopping here until you buy me a drink."

She was distracted when some other customers brought drinks over for her. Three double vodkas with blackcurrant and lemonade.

I escaped back to our table. My friends already had their coats on.

"We'll be all right when she moves away from the bar," I said. "She's got three drinks now."

"She's just knocked them all over," said one of my friends.

By the time I had my coat on, my friends were out of the door. I hurried after them.

"Time Warp" and "Tell Laura I Love Her" went unsung.

*

Dennis Dunaway, Marleen Gorris, Ron Vawter and I were all born on the same day in the same year.

Bass guitarist and vocalist, Dennis Dunaway, of Deadringer and the Billion Dollar Babies, has worked with Donovan and played on seversl Alice Cooper albums. What an excellent fellow.

Director, Marleen Gorris, has made some films in Dutch and "Mrs. Dalloway", which sounds vaguely familiar.

Actor, Ron Vawter, appeared in "Philadelphia", "Silence of the Lambs" and "sex, lies and videotape", all of which I have heard of. The reliability of the internet is indicated by two sites I checked, one of which gave his date of birth as 1949 and the other as 16 April 1994.

Ron Vawter is, unfortunately, deceased, which gives the four of us a 25% mortality rate so far. It is probably just as well that the sample is too small to be statistically significant.

*

Anti-Sweating League.

Clementine Black (1853-1922) was president of the Anti-Sweating League. On reading this, I had visions of Victorian ladies campaigning against strenuous excercise and the wearing of excessively warm clothes.

I was a bit disappointed to read on and discover that their campaign was against sweatshops.

*

Moral Superiority.

I share a birthday with John Milton, poet and puritan. We have a lot in common, then? Well, Milton's poetry is funnier than mine, and I'm not a puritan.

Whenever I am prompted to think about my moral character, I remember what I agreed to do with two bottle-blonde ladies I met in a nightclub not many years ago.

It was only the belated realisation that I was too drunk to be of much use for their purposes that prevented me leaving the premises with them.

So, unless they were planning to have their boyfriends beat me up and rob me, I got the worst of both worlds. No high jinks with my new friends and no moral superiority either.

Zhuangzi

I had a lucid dream this morning. I was aware of two existences, one of which was sensible and ordered, and one which was bizarre, surreal and irrational. Of course, I awoke to this one, the latter.

Yes, I certainly had a touch of Zhuangzi aabout me this morning. I still find it hard to credit that this is the real one.

A Conspiracy Against the Government

An MP is secretly recorded by the security services when he speaks to a prisoner. The prisoner is the target, not the MP, but the press and the Opposition start a huge fuss about the Labour Party creating a police state.

Some idiot civil servants lose some important data discs, as they do, and the press and the Opposition rant about Labour Party incompetence, as if a Minister is standing behind every civil servant, watching their every move.

There is a nasty element in the UK twisting and distorting all sorts of events to show the Government in a bad light.

The Opposition need to start putting forward sensible arguments and the press need to report real news, not a lot of nonsense.

It is a real shame that years of democratic government have created an anti-democratic press and anti-democratic politicians.

(All this was supposed to be in the same font, but the last sentence and this one have spontaneously changed. I will get the hang of this sort of thing eventually.)

Medical Breakthrough

Four mornings in a row, I was woken by my nose bleeding. Each time, I held my nose as I dressed and made ready to go to Accident and Emergency. Each time, it stopped before I needed to go.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, I decided to see if I could use Murphy’s Law to solve the problem. I went to my local sports shop and bought a swimmer’s nose clip. If Murphy’s Law failed to operate, I would be able to get dressed using both hands.

The following morning, there was no bleeding, and there has been none for several days since. Coincidence? I feel there is a rational reason for Murphy’s Law operating in this case, but I cannot quite grasp what it is.