Wrong Number

Well, I haven't got to my voicemail yet, but I'm pretty sure I don't need to. Having failed to turn off my phone yesterday, this morning it began shouting and ringing in the curious and offensive way that it does.

Hello?

"Can I speak to Sarah please?"

Oh.

It seems that Sarah has definitely given this caller (who is a gentleman) the number he dialled, so either he wrote it down wrong, or Sarah just does not wish to be bothered by this fellow and gave him an entirely faked-up number instead.

So I'm now pretty sure that my waiting voicemail must be a wrong number. Hmph.

Sorry folks, this is as exciting as my life gets... :-)

Torture

A few months ago I decided to step into the 1990s and buy a new mobile that could do all those new things that mobiles do these days - make noises, take photos, show pictures, that kind of stuff.

It's hard to imagine how we lived in the days that you could only use a mobile phone to make a telephone call - it seems like the dark ages. Why, back then, when a mobile rang it would make a discrete little beeping noise. Today, this multi-screen multi-camera machine virtually blasts out the windows, screaming "HELLLLLLO MOTOOOOO!!!" before furious techno music begins blaring out of the unit.

I hardly use mobiles at the best of times, so this evening I turned it on for the first time in a little while, and it informs me that I have voicemail! Someone left a message this morning. Dial 123 to hear your voicemail, it tells me.

I dial 123, to be told that I don't have enough credit. I must top up. So I try to top up. And it won't let me, because I only registered my credit card two days ago, and I must wait 7 days before I will be allowed to top up.

All the while, my voicemail is waiting. I cannot hear it. I wonder what it is, but I cannot find out. It is torture. There must be a way that I can convince this thing to let me hear my messages...

Ant's Busy Day

Achievements for the day:

12.30 Had lunch.

13.15 Finished lunch. Thought about several things.

14.15 Looked up from computer and wondered where the time had gone.

15.45 Decided to weigh and take photographs of some things to sell on eBay.

16.30 Had a lie down and listened to the radio.

17.00 Noticed how dark it is getting all of a sudden!

17.45 Listed one item on eBay, will get to the others at some future date.

18.00 I'm not entirely sure I can account for the next two hours. I must have been online.

20.00 Finally took a look inside the annoying carrier bag under the table which has been getting in my way as I walk past it for several years. Found several coins totalling over £5, and numerous old videotapes of limited but useful interest. Copied these to DVD to send to a work colleague who will probably not be interested.

21.30 Bumming around online, doing a few little work bits, and checking my finances. I have been paid!

22.10 Feeling pleased with myself, looking at the space where the carrier bag had been.

22.15 Considering whether to go to bed. It still feels like the day has not yet got started but yet the weekend is already at an end. Brush away slight morose feelings at how quickly the days seem to fly by now.

22.20 Posting this! Never did take my recycling down the road, though. Maybe tomorrow.

Up Before Lunchtime

Ah, Sunday. Finest of all weekdays. The whole day stretches before me, like an unexplored canvas. But that mixed metaphor aside, what a beautiful day. And even though it is 11.30 and the day hasn't really started for me yet, there is still much of the day left to fill.

The reason that I am up before lunchtime is thanks to the miracle of the bi-annual ritual of putting the clocks forward and back, much like the hokey cokey, every six months. Yesterday (well, this morning, technically) as I'm sure you know, the clocks went back an hour. As a result, this morning when I awoke from my slumber, a sleepy gaze at my clock revealed that it was not past mid-day, it was, in fact, 10.58am.

I am officially up before lunchtime. A good omen for a productive and useful day ahead. I have already found a bunch of old scripts in the cupboard which are right now going through my scanner, where they will be stored efficiently on my computer and the original paper will be sent to a farm in Wales for recycling. It's not a lot of extra space, and it doesn't contribute much to the overall tidiness (or not) but at least it's something. Perhaps later I will look at that carrier bag full of videotapes that has been in my way for the last few years. I might even put some things on eBay. What a day.

It's all thanks to the time change. What a difference an hour makes. We should put our clocks forward and back, much like some kind of disco move, more often. In fact this is inspiration which struck me the other day (thanks Sue) and so I already have a master plan for your consideration..

It is hereby proposed that: Ye grande state of Greate Britain hereby be doth oblig'd to put ye clokks forward and back (much like ye Grande Waltz) twice weekly. OK, enough with the Olde English, not quite sure why I started that. But my point, and I do have one, is this. Every Friday night, at about 7pm, I propose that we put the clocks BACK an hour. Suddenly it is 6pm again! Party on!

Of course you can't have the clocks going back every week without also putting them forward at some time. I have thought of this too. Clocks go FORWARD an hour on Monday afternoons at about.. oh, I should say 4pm. And suddenly everyone at work can go home early! Actually this might not be so good for anyone at school. OK, let's make it.. 2.30pm. Clocks go forward an hour every Monday at 2.30.

While I was at school that would have meant missing Computer Studies, which would have been a disaster, but perhaps a non-functional lesson such as Geography could be moved into that timeslot instead.

And having finished putting the world to rights, I see that it is nearly lunchtime. I'm going to have Sunday lunch, and enjoy it, and then set about more activities of grand import. I might even take my plastic bottles for recyling. Ah, what a day it will be..

Lock Me Away

I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. I only end up being a nuisance.

The problem is that I have nothing to say. I'm just not a particularly interesting person. One week is much like the other and so I rarely have anything particularly interesting to report.

All I tend to do is work, and when I'm not working, I'm usually doing nothing, thinking about how I really must try to tidy up, but never actually managing to do so. All of these things leave me with very little to actually say, and so when in conversation with someone, no matter how much I may enjoy their company, I just have this awful nagging feeling that.. well.. that I'm just being boring.

Combined with my sheer, utter phobia of hanging around for a moment longer than people want me there, it means that, unless some magical inspiration strikes me, a conversation ends up little more than "Hi! How are you?... Great!... Oh, I'm fine... No, nothing interesting really... [Panic] Well, must go! Goodbye!".

As well as being boring, it can't be much fun for whoever I'm talking to. So all in all, I start to get the feeling that I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. At best, I'm wasting their time. At worst, I'm annoying them or in some way just failing to have left them better than when I found them. Maybe the reverse. I worry that others might worry as much as I do and do the same kind of "Is it me?" questioning that I put myself through. It's presumptuous to think that anyone is quite as unbalanced as I am. But I'd hate to think that I was bad for people.

What causes the lack of inspiration? Why can't I lay out an off-the-cuff conversation piece for us all to dance around at a moment's notice? Well, I suppose having no life probably has a lot to do with it. Maybe I've just run out of material. Maybe it took me 34 years to have lived enough to be able to hold down a few months of occasional conversation with people, but once that's gone, I have no more.

Maybe it's the style of conversation. Maybe instant message is just too "instant", too demanding, something that requires too much from either side, but especially from my own when ideas are in short supply. I can't even imagine phoning someone for a chat, with no idea what we might talk about. I used to be good at that. Annoyingly so, I suspect. But not now.

Maybe it's because I won't spend time in chat rooms any more. Because on the one hand, chat rooms are fairly non-threatening places. There's no shame in two people being in a chat room and having nothing to say, they're just enjoying the common experience of the company of others. If you don't want to say anything - or can't think of anything to say - then that's fine, nobody expects it. And you can stay silent until someone in the room finally says something that you can pick up and run with. It's easier to be interesting (or at least pretend) when you've got 46 other people to feed off.

But I don't do chat rooms any more, and maybe that's removed still more of the common ground that I had with people who I would otherwise IM. With even less of a shared experience, and nothing interesting of my own to contribute, it's no wonder that I find myself with nothing to say.

I'm glad that I can psychoanalyse myself to this degree - I'm sure it's something that others would pay good money for - but the final analysis always leaves my darker, sadder side telling me that the only solution to this problem is simply not to try talking to people. "It's embarrassing you, it hurts you, and it's boring them, or worse... and you shouldn't let that happen." - and the temptation to run and hide, to lock myself away from other people entirely becomes so strong.

I keep another blog which I don't show other people, and only post to in my particularly low times, but I'm noticing that a lot of what I've said here is really not entirely new. Perhaps I've articulated it more clearly here, as opposed to the ridiculously amateur "blank verse" style which seemed to be all I could get out in previous funks.

It almost seems like such a silly thing to worry about - but at least I think I know why it's happening now. And I think that makes things better. I just hope other people forgive me for being a lunatic.

Halloweenie

Having neglected this blog for over 11 days now, I feel the urgent need to write something. Not because I have anything I wish to say, but purely because I have to say something so that my millions and millions of adoring fans do not think I have given up blogging, and turn off their computers to go and do something less boring instead.

(Looks around...) I'm sure that the millions will be here shortly. Anyway...

Well, how 'bout that Halloween, huh? What's that all about? Who's that for?

Many years ago, when I lived somewhere else, and somewhere else again before that, I was frequently disturbed on Halloween evenings by children knocking on the door demanding sweeties with menaces. I would either sit indoors with all the lights turned off, or on the rare occasions that I did open the door, offer some Safeway Savers chocolate biscuits. (Well, it pays to be frugal.)

Alas I'm not sure that anyone was ever very impressed with this, and it didn't really seem like I was getting into the spirit of the occasion. So since moving into my current home, I have made it a tradition to ensure that every October, I am ready with many sweeties and things, in the event that any wandering souls may be in need of their sugar fix on the busy Halloween evening.

So far - eight years and counting - I have never ever been troubled by any visitors at all. And thus, as November rolls around, I've ended up eating the sweeties by myself.

It's not much of a way for a grown-up to celebrate Halloween, but I guess it'll do. Of course if I was "the going-out sort" I'm sure that other grown-ups throw all kinds of parties on such a day - and who wouldn't enjoy an excuse to get dressed up for just such an occasion? Well, perhaps in another eight years or so.

In the meantime, it seems that Second Life is really getting into the Halloween spirit. There's a big party at Luskwood (where all the coolest cats hang out, literally) and even the place where I occasionally play Mahjong solitaire (I am SO old!) is all 'weened up. So perhaps this year I will "go out" online - for shy/scared/idle/lazy people like me, it beats leaving the house any day of the week.

If Tomorrow Never Comes

Not so long ago, I had a dream. Like most dreams, at the time you don't realise it's a dream, it all seems perfectly real.

Picture the scene - I'm in a doctor's office, getting the results of some complicated tests to discover just what the hell is wrong with me. But it's not good news, and in short it boils down to one sentence:

"You have six months to live."

Now I was dreaming, but those are powerful words in any setting. What's your first reaction? What is the single, instant, primeval urge that you have when you know that the clock is already counting down?

In my case, my reaction was "I've got to write the book." - I've got so much to do... six months just not long enough, but first and foremost.. I've got to write the book.

I wonder if that would be my reaction for real. I hope not to find out.

The dream made me rather thoughtful for much of the following day, but eventually its full effect evaporated with time. I was reminded about it today, by reading about an American Talk Radio host called Bob Lassiter. I'd never heard of him before, and the only reason that I heard of him today is because he died on Friday.

It's sad when people die. Understatement. And although I didn't even know of Bob until today, it turns out that for just over a year, Bob kept a blog. The word is that, despite, or perhaps because of, his celebrity, Bob was really quite a private person. It wasn't until February 14th this year that he spoke of the worst possible news that he'd received from his doctor that day. And while there may be nothing more morbid than reading the writings of a man who knows that he's going to die, I find his words to have the same kind of thought-provoking qualities, to be the same kind of wake up call, as my imaginary doctor's visit.

Bob said so much before signing off on September 19th, "to make the remainder of this journey in private." And I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of what he had to say. But his words on September 13th in particular gave me cause to pause, to reflect, and yes, to weep, for a man I never knew. Death is never a happy subject - understatement - but sometimes it is worth thinking about, to be reminded that in all our lives there is still so much more to do. It can be so easy to forget, and the realisation of how valuable each day is can so easily not be apparent until it's just too late.

There is so much more to do.

Losing My Damn Cool

I like to think that there's not much that gets me annoyed. OK, apart from the news, perhaps. But apart from that, generally speaking I try to not get stressed about too many things.

But I've noticed I seem to have an exception to that. And that exception is.. door to door salesmen.

Of course, they're "not actually here to sell you anything", they're "not here to change anything", they're usually "just checking that you've registered for your discount" on your gas, electricity, phone service, etc. And you see that's where it starts to go wrong.

Call me stupid - I kind of take exception to people arriving at my front door and lying straight to my face. "I'm not here to sell you anything" - yes you are. "I'm not here to change anything" - yes you are, you're trying to swap my gas/electricity/phone provider. "Just checking you've registered for your discount" - no you're not, because you're not from the company that I already pay.

That's how it started today, when a chap in a cheap pin stripe suit arrived at my door. He is from Talk Talk (owned by Carphone Warehouse, CEO Charles Dunstone, stage left.) "You do have a telephone, I take it?" - OK, not the best way to start proceedings. Having established that I do indeed have a BT phone line and not a cable one (because TalkTalk can't take over cable lines) he started off with his diligent checking to "make sure that I've registered for my discount." - strike one.

I shut him down. "I don't want to change, quite happy with what I've got, thanks."

He didn't take it for an answer. "I'm not here to change anything." - strike two. "I'm not here to change anything, BT won't let you change your phone company." - Interesting! Strike three.

"I've already got a cheap phone company, really not interested, honestly, thanks."

"BT won't let you change your phone company!" - He seemed hung up on this. This is where I made the number one mistake of being drawn into the conversation by even explaining how things worked, and that thanks very much, but I'm not interested.

Suddenly he's telling me that TalkTalk will pay me £1,000 if they're not the cheapest phone company. I'm fairly sure this isn't true, and I suggest to him that I bet he has no leaflets saying that.

"Don't carry no leaflets, mate." - Strike four. All salesmen say that. In fact so did the last salesman I had an almighty on-doorstep argument with. He was from Npower. I wouldn't recommend them either.

But eventually he looks in his folder and finds a laminate - "£1,000 if we're not cheaper than BT!". "Ah, cheaper than BT, not cheaper than anyone", I point out. He tuts and tries to suggest that his laminate must be out of date.

I re-iterate that I'm not interested. He's getting annoyed now, and tries some reverse psychology. "Well, you obviously don't qualify for these savings. You don't qualify." My mistake number two, because I'm not letting that one slip by. "What, you think you can turn me around like that, as if I'm going to say 'Oh no, I don't qualify! Please let me have your fabulous offer?'"

"You don't qualify! You obviously don't qualify." He's on the run but he is still annoying the hell out of me. Suddenly inspiration hits him. "I expect you're still paying for your broadband as well, then!"

I'm not quite quick enough to dismiss this one. "Yes!", I reply. At this point he actually starts laughing. I try reasoning with him. "Look, I don't mind you trying to sell me something, but take the hint - I'm NOT interested!"

"Well you don't qualify!"

"Then why are you wasting your time even talking to me? Get out of here."

"I'm just going. Are you really still paying for broadband? Ha ha ha ha.. You don't qualify."

"I'm glad you're leaving. And not nearly soon enough."

I read him the name off the front of his ID card, just to make sure I've got it right for when I complain. But he doesn't care, and you wouldn't expect him to, because he's just doing his job and while he hasn't made a sale, he's ticked all the correct boxes for conning people into swapping their phone service.

Meanwhile, I'm sufficiently furious that Charles Dunstone himself gets an email off me. Well, at least, his office does. But will they care either? Doubt it, somehow. After all, Charles himself is probably a little busy because in addition to owning Talk Talk, this week he just bought AOL UK.

…. aah, crap!

Modern-day note from October 2008: Of course now that AOL has, in accordance with prophecy, been totally and entirely turned to crap, and this blog is no longer hosted there, it doesn't seem like such a conflict of interest any more.

I Heard The News Today, Oh Boy

I despair at the criminal state of news reporting in this country. I'm quite sure that all news broadcasts are now officially "News For The Stupid." On TV, on radio, on the internet.. it's coming in through the walls - you can't avoid it.

I have nothing against the news. I do actually quite like knowing what's going on. The problem is that most news broadcasts today finish with me less informed than I was when I first tuned in. To say nothing of additionally annoyed.

I used to quite like Big Brother. Now that's not news, but my point, and I do have one, is this: In recent years Big Brother went to hell because the producers seemed to spend all their time trying to synthesise artificial "conflict" in the belief that this is what the viewers wanted. The depressing thing is that they may have actually been right - which raises a whole separate issue about the intelligence of the fellow people we're sharing the planet with - but more depressing still, the news is heading in exactly the same direction.

"Here's the news this morning, somebody has said something, and we're going to get a reaction from someone who will disagree. Mr Disagree, what are your thoughts? Great, now we've got a fight. Here is the news, somebody else has disagreed with what somebody said." - Assuming that somebody has actually said it and it's not one of these artificial "Later today, somebody IS GOING TO SAY.."-type stories that also pass for news in today's society.

And once you've got a fight going, why keep it to yourself? It used to be that the news was the news, and that was that. But no, not any more. Now all the news programmes are urging me to "have your say on our message boards", to "talk back" with my "reaction" to the day's news.

You know something, I don't WANT to know what other people think, I don't WANT to hear "reaction" from largely uninformed members of the public. I don't want this pompous "reflecting the opinions of everyday people" rubbish you see on the BBC. I want to hear some actual NEWS, perhaps written by a proper JOURNALIST or REPORTER, someone who can UNDERSTAND a story, maybe even RESEARCH it, and present it to me as a finished news report, an accurate and factual account of what has happened and what it means.

Won't somebody just tell me what's going on? Is this too much to ask? Am I just turning into a grumpy old man?

The horrifying thing about news is when you actually, personally, know something about the subject being reported on. And that's when you see the reporting of the subject is just so badly mistaken - or just flat-out wrong - that you're amazed something so WRONG is being broadcast to other people. And if that's what the reports about things you know about are like.. what about the other ones?

The worst kind of "news", if you can even call it that any more, is that which actually interferes with the natural course of events.

"Well, a controversial decision was handed down today by a Judge and Jury at a court somewhere, when someone was sentenced to go to jail but maybe not for long enough. The move has attracted criticism from the moronic, ignorant, and Daily Mail journalists, none of whom were actually in the court, heard any of the evidence, or know anything about the case, but still feel more qualified to pass judgement than those people who actually were. Why don't you have your say on our message boards. And the results of our "News Poll" show that 84% of you agree that the sentence should have been longer. Even though none of you were actually in the court, heard any of the evidence, or even know ONE DAMN THING about the case, apart from the misleading and emotive snippets which we could be bothered to report to you. And now some weather."

And it goes on and on and on for weeks, until some brainless politician announces a "crackdown" on "this sort of thing", or someone resigns, or just chucks themselves off a cliff in despair. If they're lucky there'll be more cases just like this one, so "the issue" can fill up hours of airtime for months at a stretch. "And some more people have been bitten by dogs today, a Government minister announced a crackdown, but some have said that it doesn't go far enough...."

No, actually today has changed my mind, the worst kind of news is the peddling of racism under the guise of "national debate".

"Our top story tonight, former politician Jack Backside said that people who have a different religion should not be allowed to express their beliefs. Other politicians agreed, saying that people who are different are deliberately not being the same and they should be. Minister Phil Dillo said that one person who was useful, but was different, should be sacked - like it's anything to do with him. Have your say on our message boards. The Department For Can't We All Just Get Along (Apart From Those Different People) said that "It's far better to debate the issues than sweep them under the carpet". In other news, British Airways has been condemned for not allowing its employees to express their religious beliefs. Politician Mr Peter Peter Peter said that this was obviously different, since the religion being inhibited was likely to be more popular with voters, and so he didn't suggest that anyone should lose their jobs for being different at all."

It's like this all over the world. We are all going to hell. It's just so thoroughly depressing.

Sell it, Scan It, or Throw It Away

I need more order in my life. See the picture? That's where I live, taken a few years ago. It's even worse now. I keep meaning to tidy up, but somehow I just never have the time.. I mean, I work all week, and by the weekend, when I do actually have a little free time.. well, I'm kind of knackered. And despite my best intentions, nothing gets done.

But this can't go on. While I'm sure it's nothing other than a sign of raw genius, too much clutter could easily be a problem - so things must change before I go the way of Mr. Trebus. A new policy is called for, and I have named that policy "Sell it, Scan It, or Throw It Away."

Under the new regime, all items which I live with will be ruthlessly scrutinised. Nearly everything I have is unusable since it's underneath, or between, other things. Hence, if I'm not using it right now, I probably don't need it. So, I must sell it (watch for my forthcoming garage sale on eBay), scan it (a great way to get rid of bulky paper documents), or throw it away (which may include 'giving it away' in the event that an item cannot be sold.)

My first thoughts are for technological ways to save space. I could copy all my CD-Rs to DVD-R. I could fit 13 CDs on a DVD. And if I could copy all my VHS tapes to DVD then that would save space too. However, that's what I told myself several years ago and I didn't really get very far into that project. And I'd probably want to keep the originals as well, just in case something happened to the copies, so that wouldn't save much space at all. No, I must not be distracted. Tapes and discs can be dealt with separately - my first priority must be boxes, and things, and stuff. Everything must go.

How do you think I'll do?

My Diet Is Not What It Should Be

I still like to think that I invented Blogging. Here's something I wrote back in September 1996:

Do you remember Jesse from 'The Fast Show" ? ... It made me think that I should take a bit of notice of what I was mostly eating, so today I made a careful mental note.

My eating for today goes something like this: One can of Lucozade, one Lion bar, A Whopper Jr. and fries. One bag of buttered toffee popcorn. Some toast with marmite. Chocolate ice cream. (Two bowls). And this talk of food is giving me a hankering for some ready salted crisps...

It has become apparent that my diet is not what it should be.

Still, that reminds me of that exciting yoghurt I came across in the supermarket the other day. It caught my eye because it was in a brown pot. Brown is not a colour I associate with yoghurt. Blue, perhaps, or a nice strawberry pink.. Even green or yellow. Any colour but brown, which would be the last on the list.

Still, this brown-potted yoghurt (I'm sure Alexei Sayle could do quite a routine about it) was a flavour I hadn't come across before. "Melon & Ginger".

Now I obviously don't get out enough, because Melon is not something I've ever sampled before. In search of new experiences, I purchased the yoghurt and some days later gave it a field test in the comfort of my own home.

And it was horrible! The Melon taste was really quite pleasant for the few fractions of a second that it lasted until Captain Ginger and his cavalry of brown horses kicked in. Eww!

One spoon was enough, and it was all over. I won't be adventurous like that again, certainly not with yoghurts anyway. Can I interest anyone in a second hand opened yoghurt, only one previous owner?

Things What I Wrote III: Shaken Down By Mobsters and Hoodlums

First written: 21st September 2004 (Two years and three weeks ago)

My credit card has been stolen by hoodlums! Not a face-to-face mugging or anything like that, but some kind of internet fraudster somewhere has somehow made off with my credit card number and is using it to try to buy things!

Needless to say this has not made me happy. Alarm bells started to ring when I got a phone call from a company who wanted to check some details on a huge computer that I'd ordered. Er.. no? But they had my name. They obviously had my phone number, on account of the fact that they had phoned me. And they were able to tell me the number on my credit card. I was unimpressed with this situation - nice of the company to phone me, though, and tip me off to the shakedown what was occuring in dimly lit rooms half way across the world.

A call to my credit card company connected me with a nice lady in a call centre in India. I relayed my sorry tale to her, and while at first placated by her suggestion that I do nothing and just wait for my next statement to come in the post, a few minutes later I phoned back and was more forceful. That's not how it's going to go down, see? We're going to go through my statement on the phone, right, and any fraudy transactions is going to be nailed right away, see? I could tell they were impressed by the way they started reading out my recent spending. Sainsburys, £54.15.. yes.. Sky Television, £19.50.. yes.. Amazon.co.uk, £12.85.. yes.. Napster, £9.99.. yep.. Bent Warehouse, America, $2000.. ye.. what? No! That wasn't me! I was not there. And where spending on my credit card is concerned, nothing goes down unless I'm involved. I am quite strict on that.

My credit card company promise that they will track down the mobsters who are misusing my card, and put them out of commission for good, see? At least I think they said that, they might have been trying to sell me travellers cheques again. I will phone them back tomorrow.

Ppl

There’s a famous song which goes “People… People who need people… Are the luckiest people… in the world.” I can’t remember what it’s called. But I wonder if its hypothesis is correct.

 

I’m not sure if “People who need people” are indeed lucky – speaking from the point of view of a staunch bachelor, anyway. Surely, needing other people is a hazardous and perilous situation.

 

Other people can be strange, curious, and unreliable. Is it lucky to need such a wandering force of nature? What happens if they’re busy? Suddenly, those “luckiest people in the world” are people who need something they don’t have. Is that a good thing? I’m not sure I can say – clearly the whole thing is outside my realm of experience.

 

Incidentally, while researching this important piece of writing, I found the following text on Wikipedia regarding the historical treatment of bachelors:

 

“At Sparta, citizens who remained unmarried after a certain age suffered various penalties. They were not allowed to witness the gymnastic exercises of the maidens; and during winter they were compelled to march naked round the market-place, singing a song composed against themselves and expressing the justice of their punishment.”

 

I can report that naked songwriting does not feature significantly in society’s treatment of today’s singletons, although the prohibition against perving on the gymnastic maidens still holds good today, and in fact hardly seems unreasonable.

 

But back to the people principle. There does indeed seem to be something about people that the luckiest people appear to need. I guess phenomenons like CuddleParty.com show that maybe today, people need people more than ever before.

 

What is it that those luckiest people seek from other people? Is it purely something that can be detected with the senses? Shape, texture, warmth? What do other people bring that you can’t bring to yourself? Warmth can be had from a hot water bottle. And the feel of your own body is almost certainly going to be much the same as anyone else’s.

 

And yet…

 

Maybe it is the unpredictability that makes it different. Perhaps the difference is the difference. After all, you can’t tickle yourself – it just doesn’t work. Why is it different when someone else does it – even when you’re expecting it? It just is.

 

I was about to say “I notice there isn’t a TickleParty.com”, but actually there is, and it’s one of those rude sites on the internet which has pictures of ladies showing their bottoms. I’m fairly sure that bachelors are not allowed to look at such things, so I will not do so.

 

So are people who need people really the luckiest people in the world? I’m not sure. I guess I can see the advantages, especially if you like being tickled. It all seemed so innocent when we were younger…

Things What I Wrote II: Last Christmas

Date: 7th December 2005

We had a 'secret santa' thing at 'the work lunch' today. For reasons I am at a loss to explain, my carefully selected present, a pack of 16 double A Energizer batteries, was greeted with much laughter from around the table and even from the recipient himself.

Owing to the secret nature of the event, I was of course unable to inform my colleagues of the excellent deal which I had obtained, in order to be able to supply said batteries in such impressive quantity. Nor was I able to respond to the allegations that such a gift was "cold", was "probably from someone with a sense of humour", and was "not even proper Duracells."

Now I could understand if the recipient was a woman - giving batteries to the fairer sex is obviously forbidden and just about the highest crime which a man could commit. But I thought that 'the man who has everything' would surely need many batteries to power it all. Alas, it seems that my useful present was not accepted in the spirit which I had intended.

Maybe next year I will be less generous.

The Power Of Deadlines

This blog has really re-awakened my interest in writing. I miss writing - really writing - for a living. There was a time in my life where every week I had to come up with the goods. 700 words about this.. 1500 words about that.. every month.. every week.. today. While I can now look back on most of what I wrote at that time and wonder how I ever got away with it, I still miss writing to deadlines.

My job still involves me in some writing - not nearly as much as it used to, though - and in today's modern world, there's not really a lot that stops anyone from writing anything they want to. Writing is, perhaps, less exclusive than it used to be. Time was when I could walk into any branch of WH Smiths, pick up a magazine, flick through the pages, and say "I wrote that, and there is my name." A brief opportunity for me to show off which I doubt will return, not unless I can wangle my name into the credits of a TV show any time soon, anyway.

That said, maybe the world of print is still ripe. This evening I picked up a copy of "thelondonpaper", which is one of the (two) free newspapers people try to stuff into your hands when you set foot into the nation's capital. It has an essentially unpaid column called "the columnist" (since capital letters are simply not the style any more) and each day the great residents of London vote as to whether that day's columnist should write for the paper again, or not. Want to be a columnist yourself? Just write 400 words and send it to this email address, thanks very much. So far I haven't seen anyone last more than a day.

It's been a long time since I had to write 400 words about something. Well, not strictly true, I was commissioned for a series of ten 500 word narratives not so long ago, but the final results were so horrendously embarrassing that neither I nor the commissioner ever mentioned them again - probably quite rightly so.

But as a diversion, I like the idea of writing something which might just appear in a "hard to reach" place again. Aside from reading "thelondonpaper" this evening, (since spaces are apparently not the style any more either) I spent much of the train journey back home wondering what I could write about. And it wouldn't matter if it didn't get printed because at least it would fill up the space in my blog, making me appear prolific and interesting.

Itwould be nice to have some deadlines again. Maybe I should hold myself to at least 400 words a day, for the blog or otherwise. I don't know if self-imposed deadlines work or not.. I'm pretty sure I'd stop within days. But maybe I'll give it a try. Maybe.

Light Reading

Scott Adams is best known as the maker of Dilbert, the cynical cartoon strip particularly popular with office workers and IT nerds like.. well.. me. But like any good genius, having achieved fame and fortune with Dilbert, Scott goes "No! Wait! I'm more than that", and suddenly he's writing weird books that nobody understands, without any cartoons in them at all.

I don't remember seeing it in any best-seller lists, but it seems that now the publishers of the book have started giving it away, in the hope that it might reach the right kind of people who'd really really like it.

I read it a while ago and was moderately amused, baffled, and bored in almost equal measure. But for free, it's very much worth reading. Scott's blog has millions of readers so I doubt he needs the publicity.. but if you might like it, take a read of God's Debris.

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I remember how I hated being left alone, and cried and cried and cried.

I remember watching The Muppet Show.

 

I remember reading the 1972 Beano annual.

 

I remember having a toy box.

 

I remember my grandad’s shed at the bottom of the garden.

 

I remember being scared of the dark.

 

I remember discovering how awful toothache was.

 

I remember the dentist that I didn’t like.

 

I remember the interesting toys available at that place called ‘school’.

 

I remember the thrill when our class swapped our Mr Men books with the next class.

 

I remember making things with glue and tinsel and shiny coloured paper.

 

I remember Lenny the Lion.

 

I remember little bottles of warm milk that we had to drink before morning break.

 

I remember being the tallest person in my class.

 

I remember trying to pass off my teddy as a brother.

 

I remember assembly.

 

I remember when I moved house, and left my friends behind.

 

I remember how long it took to make new ones again.

 

I remember how soon I forgot the old ones.

 

I remember when hometime meant work was over until the next day.

 

I remember deciding that someone was my girlfriend, and giving her a bag of sherbet lemons because she liked them.

 

I remember her liking me less.

 

I remember when they didn’t have breakfast television.

I remember the sweet shops I walked past every morning.

 

I remember what those other kids used to call me.

 

I remember when Wham! were quite new.

 

I remember when I didn’t really know how good Culture Club were.

 

I remember T-shirts about what ‘Frankie Says…’

 

I remember what it was like to want my own computer.

 

I remember how getting one took almost everything else from my life.

 

I remember typing with two fingers, and I was still faster than anyone else.

 

I remember six weeks holiday in the middle of the year.

 

I remember all that time I spent in hospital.

 

I remember that day I finally left school.

 

I remember having money of my own, and how it made me happy.

 

I remember how unhappy my first job made me.

 

I remember the single day I spent trying to sell newspapers.

 

I remember all that weight I lost, that one time.

 

I remember bacon sandwiches in the office, and when people seemed to appreciate me.

 

I remember being able to type with both hands.

 

I remember when I was young enough not to forget anything.