Friday 19 January 2024
Monday 6 November 2023
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS? . . . HO! HO! HO!
Lately, I’ve
found myself wondering, what if. . . .What if, archaeologists one day discover
the remains of a fourth Wiseman who didn’t quite make it to Bethlehem? What if,
perhaps having consumed too much wine and then having found himself separated
from the other three (who went on to become famous), he followed the wrong star
east and the donkey on which he was riding, stumbled over a cliff?
Or what if,
global recession forces Santa to close his factories at the north pole and
shift production to China adding thousands of unemployed Elf migrants to our
already over-stretched social housing lists and having to claim benefits. Mr
Rumplestiltskin, with his ability to weave straw into gold would no doubt be
inundated with job offers in today’s economic climate, but who would employ an
Elf that can only build toys?
Unsure whether
I can enjoy Christmas anymore, these are the genre of ‘…and finally…’ news
reports I would rather listen to, than the more familiar ‘how many more
shopping days left’ news reports we will soon start hearing on our radios and
televisions.
Because, as
usual, even before I've even consumed a mince pie or strung a silver bauble
from my tree, the January sales will have already started with TV commercials
seducing the masses into parting from their cash faster than a pick-pocket
extracts cash from a victim in London’s Oxford Street.
During the next
few weeks we will give liberty to consumption and greed as consumerism reaches
new levels of depravity and children write ‘must have’ wish lists totalling
more than I paid for my first car, despatching them no doubt by email or text
message.
Is it any
wonder then, that our inordinate appetite to satiate Christmas expectations
leave so many of us in debt and utterly miserable. Children, become slaves to
trepidation at the thought of saving enough pocket money in order to buy
pleasing gifts while grown-ups implement creative accounting strategies to
stockpile enough food and beer to sustain an average family for six months in a
nuclear bunker.
What if then,
if we could teach ourselves and our children to understand a little more about
some of the traditions surrounding this midwinter festival, and less about
consumerism, we may all then learn to be content in the absence of procurement
and be thankful for what we already have.
The magic of
Christmas that I grew up with has long since past. The traditional twelve days
of Christmas, in better days - a duration of modest celebration, has been
replaced by a chip and pin extravaganza while seasons greetings are now
delivered to me by text message leaving my mantelpiece bare. (Note: If you
can’t be bothered or just don’t like buying cards, then try picking up the
phone and speaking)
We may well
muse that when Pope Julius Ist declared in the fourth century that Christ's
official birthday would be held on the 25th of December, he didn't envisaged
the festivities being whitewashed by commerce with such wrath, sixteen hundred
years later.
I remember my
joy as a child one Christmas morning unwrapping a magic set, a Slinky and a
chocolate selection box. Nowadays, failed lazy broods stomp their feet and
demand overpriced brain deprivation technology of any nature, just so long as
it plugs into the back of a television set.
Never shall I
spawn a child so repellent, preferring to tutor healthy activities far removed
from the mire of a plasma screen.
I admire other
world cultures and their ability to embrace contentment through modest
expectation, unlike this wretched country where people are judged according to what
gadgetry they possess and where contentment is a commodity to be purchased.
What if then,
Santa, whose iconic image is more prevailing than Che Guevara’s and symbolic of
modern consumerism and greed, is killed off in an arranged freak accident?
Christmas could then be re-invented in a traditional vein with children in
their formative years including my own, being raised on minimum expectations
and with the ability to be content in the absence of overpriced, brain dumbing
and pointless consumer goods . . . have a good Christmas!
Sunday 5 November 2023
Tuesday 10 October 2023
Saturday 7 October 2023
Sunday 1 October 2023
Sunday 3 September 2023
Tuesday 23 February 2021
Tuesday 13 August 2019
LUCKY STRIKE
Quite some time ago I was seen being interviewed on Sky News because I’d just made a bet with high
street bookmaker William Hill claiming that I would be struck by lightning
before I ever won the lottery. They accepted my bet and if this ever happens and I survive,
I’ll collect ten grand.
Yet despite recent heavy thunder
storms I never even came close. However, I recon if I was to come
back in my next life as a cow, it would be a completely different ball game. I'll
wager that if you select any cow at random from any field then the odds
are it could tell you a story, or knew a cow that could, about a cow
friend or a relative from a different herd, that was killed by lightning.
Any dairy farmer will tell you
the same thing that it would not be considered strange or unusual in
any way, if, following a heavy thunderstorm, a head-count revealed a cow deficit.
With almost constant life-long exposure to the elements, overall
body mass surface area and their not so clever concept of safety in numbers by
everyone bunching together under the same tree, it only requires a single
bolt of lightning to wipe out any number of cows in a single strike,
leaving the farmer presumably to just write them off as spoiled goods like a
shop-keeper might do if he came across a packet of broken biscuits during an
audit.
No chance then of my bet
being accepted had I been a cow and presumably I suppose I’d be wasting my
time shopping around for a long term life cover plan with benefits. Because
even if I did tick all the right boxes to most of the questions put
to me by the insurance underwriter – when it got to the one where he said ‘when
grazing, where would you usually go to seek refuge and shelter during an
unexpected thunderstorm? If I replied ‘under a tree’, I think he’ll just make his excuses and leave.
Further questions would
inevitably raise issues pertaining to the high methane content that cows
are known to produce with implications directly related to an incident reported
last year in the UK when a coach full of foreign tourists supposedly witnessed
a cow suddenly burst into flames and explode.
I hope that any of you who read
this, won't misinterpret my ramblings and presume that I have some kind of
twisted issue with cows, because in actual fact I empathise and have a great
fondness with cows believing them to be underrated and misunderstood.
I just can’t help it when every
time the meteorological office issue a warning forecasting heavy rain and
thunder, there's always a tiny-weeny bit of me that wishes I could
become a cow just for a few hours, because I genuinely believe it would
improve my chance of being struck with a bolt of lightning and winning the ten thousand pounds.
The only bit that scares is not being able to change back into me again and remaining as a
cow for the rest of my life.
Collecting my winnings and enjoying
the money of course, is wholly dependent on whether or not I become one of
the two thousand or so people who are killed globally by lightning each year.
This necessitates my coming into contact with lightning for an astonishingly
and inconceivable brief duration, just short enough for me
to sustain no more than superficial burns with standard
blistering and scattered areas of melted body hair - but not long enough that
the soles on my shoes start smoking.
It’s estimated that the Earth’s
surface is struck by lightning around 100 times a second or over 8 million
times each day, so the actual real odds of anyone of us getting struck is
around 1 in 600,000. Compare this to the absurd odds of winning the lottery
jackpot at 1 in 14,000,000 and you can maybe understand my reasoning but also
understand quite clearly why William Hill limited my bet to no more than £10 at
1000 to 1. It took William Hill a several days to consider the
mathematical probabilities before getting back to me and accepting my proposal.
This subject does naturally pop up
during conversation now and again creating some interest and the response is
always usually the same starting with perhaps disbelief and then amusement,
generally then followed by a few wise cracks or silly remarks with implications
that I’m probably some kind of crank. But more commonly what
people always end up asking is what made me bother to go ahead and proceed to
actually make the bet when the general rule is that a daft idea is by its very
nature destined to go no further.
I remember I got exactly the same
reaction when I once painted the entire exterior of my house in tangerine
orange colour paint and people called me barmy. Then again when a newspaper
printed a letter I had wrote condemning the high expectations of today’s youth
and suggesting that Santa Clause be killed off in a freak accident . . . I was
labelled then by some readers as a complete crackpot and so you can imagine the
response from my customers when I had a pub in London some years ago and I woke
up one morning and discovered a crop circle shaven into the back of my head . .
. so there’s no point wasting more time going into the specifics of every other
time I’ve been labelled a fruit-cake and the reasons why, because it would just
simply take me too long.
But I do wonder how it's possible
that there can be so many people out there apparently devoid of any sense of
fun whatsoever and are so quick to label others as complete idiots or
completely off their rockers?
Are people for some unknown reason
losing their primary sense of fun, imagination and recklessness that they
surely must have had and used during their childhood, leaving their lives as
bland and as colourless as the magnolia coloured paint throughout their homes?
I recall when you could look into
the minds of others and see all the colours of an English summer garden but so
very often today all you find is an empty backyard with perhaps if you’re very
lucky, a hanging basket. Those memorable moments when just the exchange of a
few simple words with a complete stranger during an unexpected fleeting
encounter could leave you almost invigorated and in an odd sort of way feeling
rather good about yourself, have become somewhat infrequent.
That same magical and colourful
imagination that once accompanied me throughout my childhood remains pretty
much in-tact and is used probably on a daily basis operating safety from inside
a somewhere deep inside my head. It
is probably my favourite place to go and spend time, a retreat, often serene
and very unique with no boundaries and where nonsense is manufactured
and foolish ideas are stored. A place where cows can relax
and where colours never fade.
Saturday 27 April 2019
THY SHALT NOT GET CAUGHT COMMITTING ADULTERY
Alexandre Dumas 1803-1870
I was still reeling from the shock of seeing a bearded, middle
aged man, wearing a T-shirt that read, 'I eat pussy like fat kids eat cake',
when I was informed by a customer that odd noises could be heard coming from
inside the ladies toilets.
A couple aged in their late 20's and in a state of undress, were
having sex in one of the cubicles. So, after pressing my ear against the door
for a short while, I waited until their rhythmic thrusting reached a crescendo
then banged hard on the door telling them to stop what they were doing and
kindly leave the premises.
Now normally, this kind of conduct isn't too uncommon in some of
pubs, particularly at weekends, but what made this particular incident require
more than the usual suspension of disbelief, was because while the man made a
rather embarrassed and hasty exit from the pub, the woman walked brazenly back
into the bar area and calmly sat down . . . next to her husband.
Now at the time, I felt sorry for him because he looked a decent
sort of chap, and it occurred to me that the last thing he needed right now was
to be humiliated in a pub full of drunken people, so on this occasion, I
decided not to pursue the matter any further. However my conscience later
nagged me for not telling him what his wife had been up to.
But let's be honest, it can only be a matter of time before her
appetite for impromptu sex romps with strangers betrays her, if it hasn’t
already, and when it does, I hope the poor bloke finds out discreetly as a
result of his own subtle suspicions, rather than seeing dodgy photos of his
wife on facebook or reading another man’s crude exposé along with his wife’s
mobile number scrawled on the toilet wall at his place of work.
And so whether or not the husband found out exactly what
happened that day, I'm afraid I cannot tell you because I don’t know and
anyway, it makes no difference to the point I am trying to make, so let me cut
straight to the chase.
The fact is, in these modern times, while love still embodies
loyalty, commitment and red roses, Lust on the other hand is interested only in
satisfying it’s own deviant urges and habitually achieves this rather
skillfully by guile.
Infidelity has become the scourge of modern society driven by a
tsunami of cultural change drowning us in the sexualization of young girls,
inappropriate subliminal allusions and erotic imagery, all peddled so
methodically by the mass media - specifically the medium of television, that
now accounts for having the biggest influence on our lives in the entire western
world, second only to religion.
In all my years working in the hospitality sector either as a
pub landlord and more recently as a doorman, I have encountered extra marital
sex on such an astonishing and unbelievable scale that I have sadly come to feel
and with good reason too, that the probability of absolute true loyalty and
dependability existing in any relationship, surely is about as likely as a
giraffe balloon sculpture winning next years Turner Prize.
We’re told that the most common reasons for infidelity given by
straying spouses are sexual frustration, curiosity, boredom and revenge, with
the third person usually turning out to be either a friend, associate or
somebody we know.
Personally, I suspect that for every one person careless enough
to be caught cheating behind a partners back, there are probably another five
or so interactions carrying on who's participants are simply far too cunning
and devious ever to be found out.
Such is the power of lust that precedes an affair and the immeasurable
devastation generated by exposure, the absolute genius and brilliance of
subterfuge employed in the pursuit of deceiving a loved one, is unparalleled to
that of a close up magician who with unfailing sangfroid can deal a royal flush
from a shuffled deck of cards.
Our pair bonding ritual used to take place over a period of
weeks or even months when genuine courtship was about respect, chivalry and
doorstep kisses. But today, a man and a woman who have never before set
eyes on each other can strike up a conversation during happy hour and by the
time last orders have been called, their brief courtship has already been
consummated over a stack of rattling beer crates in the back yard with a
post-coital cigarette smoked together out on the front pavement. It gives a
totally new meaning to the term speed dating. Personally I prefer to stick to conventions and pursue a brief courtship first.
Unfortunately however, it's human nature to want more than one
sexual partner, especially after so many years of living together. It's a
survival trait in all of us allowing us to replace either the hunter-gatherer
or the child bearer, lost by a sudden death. It's this default genetic program
that helps sustain the ongoing survival of our species.
In fact Stamford University did a study which showed physical
chemistry has a shelf life today of just nineteen months showing that society
forces 'happily ever after' on us when biologically we're programmed to cope
with multiple partners. You can't fight nature.
And if you read Professor Jared Diamond's book, Why is Sex Fun?
It explains the link between promiscuity, natural selection and concealed
ovulation. He teaches us how evolutionary forces have shaped our sexuality
and how concealed ovulation and sexual receptivity in women today, make
possible our unique combination of marriage, co-parenting and adulterous
temptation. Albeit, we are a long way from perfection but then isn’t that
precisely what evolution is all about?
It has been said that the advance of civilization has not so
much moulded modern sexual behaviour, as that modern sexual behaviour has
moulded the shape of civilization.
Anthropologists suggest that recreational sex is supposed to be
the glue that bonds a couple together while they cooperate in raising children,
but as we all know even the strongest glue weakens under too much pressure.
When you consider that the 2010 mid year statistics for
PaternityLab.co.uk revealed that 1 in 3 DNA tests carried out by them proved
negative. In other words - 34.55% of men tested (those who had reason to) were
found not to be the biological father. Perhaps then it's only logical that
paternity home kits have finally become available to buy over the counter in
Boots.
To put things into perspective then, let’s get one thing
straight - we are not robots that can be controlled by encoded robotic
programming. We are flesh, blood and bone human beings, created by a miracle of
nature and graced with feelings and emotions that determine our very own unique
and exclusive psyche, ultimately administered and maintained by the awesome
power of our brains.
Inside each of our brains there are 100 billion neuron cells
that are responsible for sending out signals and, each one of these 100
billion cells connect independently to another 25 thousand cells, constantly
processing information in ever changing relationships. And with all these cells
working together, our brains have so far evolved with the capability of making
more connections than there are atoms in the entire universe.
Because of this, each and every one of us is unique among all
the people who have ever lived on earth. In fact scientists propose that we
each have a virtually limitless array of complex emotions that dictate what
someone feels at any given time, depending on the thinking experience and
memory of the individual. And for this reason alone, no two people can ever be
‘made for each other’ as we like to believe.
Our unique minds are so extraordinarily unpredictable,
unexplored and mysteriously deep. To understand exactly how it functions and
controls each and every thing we do, would be like claiming to comprehend and
understand every single thing there is to know about our entire solar system.
I’m not saying that every person in a relationship has been
cheated on. That would be a ridiculous statement to make! I’m merely saying
that no matter how strong sexual relations are between a couple in a
relationship, if other aspects of mutual interest and compatibility that binds
two people together are put in jeopardy then on average, most relationships
will not sustain much longer than about two years at the most without one or
the other falling out of love through boredom, frustration, curiosity or revenge.
Even the mightiest monumental architectural structure can be
bought down by subsidence that starts with a tiny crack.
When a link in the chain of love that joins two people together,
becomes weakened by say, too much time apart, a failure in communication or
maybe just another volatile domestic argument, then consider the following;
when you take into consideration the complexities of the emotional switchboard
inside our brain, that part of us that controls our fear, love, pain, hate,
anger, elation, greed, envy, shame and lust, to name just a few, and then
interact these emotions with other powerful forces such as anger, memory,
temptation, curiosity, jealousy and motivation etc. All that’s needed then are
some powerful external influences such as alcohol, drugs, companionship,
pheromones and sexual imagery. Then just stand back and see what happens.
I reckon that even way back in the Jurassic period, cohabiting
cave-couples got bored with each other and on occasions, played away from home.
With no recreational activities to partake in other than drawing animal doodles
on cave walls and with conversation limited to nothing but endless meaningless
grunts, presumably then, sex was the only other way of passing time with your
partner and understandably became rather dull and repetitive.
So please forgive me for being presumptuous, in my closing
paragraph, but I can't help wondering how many hard working cave-men returned
home from hunting unexpectedly early one day, due to say - an injury sustained
after wrestling with a mammoth, only to walk in and find their women having sex
with the good looking neanderthal who lives in the cave down the road?
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