The generally hilarious Charlie Brooker has formulated the perfect ‘generic news report’

I laughed and laughed.

I was sitting next to a Catholic priest on my last flight to the US and he said, “I think gay marriage is wrong because it is not mentioned in the bible.”

I replied, “You are flying.”

I’m reading an excellent history book at the moment: The Time Traveller's Guide to Medieval England. It is quite an unusual take on the history book genre in that it aims to explain what life was like for all the social strata of people living in the fourteenth century and how we, as modern people, would respond to life during that period. It covers everything from food to recreational activities, from the structure of towns to the effects of the great plague. It provides a lot of detail on aspects of life that most history books just would not contain. An example of this is the section on medieval humour, and I shall reproduce a medieval joke here:

Two merchants are having a chat and one of them says, “I’ve been married four times now, and each time my wife has hung herself from the oak tree in my garden.”

The second merchant replies, “Can I have a cutting from this noble tree?”

So you can tell medieval humour was not terribly sophisticated. The book is filled with fascinating details like this, and reading it gives a real sense of how the people and life was so different back then. Another example is the staggering misogyny in medieval England, no modern English woman would allow themselves to be treated as the distinctly inferior people that women were in the fourteenth century.

If you enjoy history and want a compelling and engaging book to read I can highly recommend this.

This video from the BBC’s comedy program ‘That Mitchell and Webb Look’ gives a good view of how advertising works.

I used to be an epidemiologist, I felt that pathogen/host interactions were the cutting edge of evolutionary biology and so totally fascinating. Then I went mad. However, I still retain the interest, especially when I read stories like this one about brain-eating zombie fungus. Diseases: they’ll get us in the end.

Some people think they won’t get us in the end if we take the right steps. The steps taken by these Jewish nut-jobs to avoid swine flu, which involved flying in an aircraft whilst praying and blowing horns, would probably be the funniest thing I’ve ever read if I wasn’t so appalled by the rancid stupidity of it. The quote "We are certain that, thanks to the prayer, the danger is already behind us," was particularly hilarious/deranged.

I read this with much hilarity. What next, swearing a lot makes your knob get bigger?

I thought this view of that git Gordon Brown (our illustrious leader) was hilarious. The line ‘Hugo, Hugo Chav-ez’ is what is known in Germany as an ‘ear worm’, in this house we refer to them as ‘audio viruses’, a little repetitive bit of a song that just infects your mind and you cannot shake it.

(Victor Stenger, suggested new slogan for atheist bus campaign)

I'm out of the bin, wehay!

more fail, owned and pwned pics and videos

Seven months ago I had a preliminary assessment for CBT for psychosis. I was screamingly bonkers at that time. They called me back today because I am now top of the waiting list for this therapy. I had to tell them I don't need it. By way of demonstrating the difference between then and now my score on the depression questionnaire has gone down from 69 (one below the maximum score) to 3. I am a much happier bunny these days. The chap I saw suggested I turn up for a few sessions, but I really don't see the point. Things are OK, and that is just great.

*That is Cognitive Behavioural Therapy not Cock and Ball Torture.

We are told that the British Humanist Association has raised money to put signs on buses in London saying there is no god. This is a good thing. Religious nutters get a free ride on this kind of thing all the time.

 

... chip! Hooray for crap jokes!

Just in case you'd missed it, today is international talk like a pirate-day. Aaarr, me hearties!

Long time reader may have been wondering why there have not been many pictures of late. The reason behind this is that I've been invited to a 'moustache party' tonight and I have spent the last four weeks allowing this monstrosity to congeal on my upper lip:

Since I've had my face lasered in the past there is not that much hair there and the moustache has big holes in it. Tomorrow morning it goes, and I will be so pleased to shave it off.

Here is what I looked like after a week of being denied a razor:

Do I have mange or what?

I was quite amused by this cartoon in this week's edition of the excellent periodical Private Eye:

I understand there are people out there who might think that Sharia Law isn't bigoted, but they are wrong.

One of the things about getting bigger is that it generally becomes easier to put clothes on. I remember having great difficulty putting jumpers on and knowing which shoe went on which foot when I was a smaller toddler. Well today I experienced all that again when I injured myself with a sock.

I suppose socks seem fairly innocuous, but the mere act of taking one off has resulted in me losing half a thumb nail. It hurts, I can assure you. I was taking my socks off before getting in the bath, balancing on one leg to take the sock off the other. As I stood there, a mono-pod, struggling with a particularly tight sock I felt my balance begin to go. I was sure I'd have time to get the sock off and put my foot to the floor. Then I toppled slowly over, sticking out my arm to break my fall. It did break my fall, but I ripped off half a thumb nail in the process. I prefer not to view myself as a moronic, rancid fool, but simply a toddler who cannot be trusted to deal with clothes by himself.

The excellent Charlie Brooker has commented on how he hates Macs (and their latest advertising campaign) in his column for the Guardian; it is terribly funny. Also quite funny is the contextual advertising at the side of the article. His program on BBC Four, Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe, is a lot of fun as well.

The weekly National Secular Society email included a link to an amusing cartoon. Here it is.

My mother purchased a pair of trousers for me. The way she described them on the telephone made them sound bloody awful, but now I see them I have to admit I am rather taken with them:

Yes, they are lurid red cords with ducks embroidered on them. Ho ho ho.

I really like red cords; they are effectively wine-trade uniform here in London and I do like to associate myself with wine. They have got me into trouble in the past, though. I was once travelling on a train through a deeply horrible part of London to the airport to go and visit a friend in Paris when a group of scum took offence at my red cords and smashed me over the head with a bottle of incredibly filthy sparkling wine. Blood was everywhere and I now have a very big scar on the back of my head. At least the dry cleaners managed to get the blood out of my tweed jacket.

The chap who wrote this lexicon of lefty jargon got suspended by his employer. Apparently people complained about such definitions like an Islamophobe as 'anyone who objects to their transport being blown up on the way to work' and legitimate grievances as 'why we're all to blame for deranged Islamists murdering people in the developed world'. I am a bit of a lefty myself, but I was amused.

Isn't this true of most blogs, including mine?

I get really bad insomnia, it is a real swine. Luckily, last night I managed almost a full night of sleep. This cheers me up no end.

This gives me a good excuse to re-use someone else's joke about insomnia. David Baddiel says that when he tells people he has insomnia they say, "Really? That is odd as I have no problems sleeping." He goes on to wonder if such people when encountering a blind person say, "You are blind? Really? That is odd as I have no problems seeing."

Insomnia is really difficult to deal with. When you are exhausted all of the time with an aching body and a splitting headache it is really hard to deal with all the other things I have to deal with. At least when I am awake in bed I have Butter to keep me soothed.

An ASBO is an Anti-Social Behaviour Order, the British government's way of locking people up without sending them to court.

Just a link, really, but it amused me. Here can be found the official god faq. I should point out that I am a proud member of the National Secular Society, so harass me not with your religious drivel.

Saturday night was Guy Fawkes night here in Blighty; the annual celebration of burning Catholics and saving Parliament from their incendiary intentions. The developers of the housing estate where I live put on a very impressive fireworks display, quite appropriate as this used to be the largest arms factory in Europe. I got a very good view from my balcony, but I am afraid to say taking pictures of it all appeared to be beyond my technical ability. I am only a toddler, what do you expect? Quite amazingly, given the large number of people who get hurt by fireworks each year on Guy Fawkes night, no one got hurt at this display.

... Is the word "Berk". This is used freely by young children, who must be unaware of the etymology of the word. It is from the Cockney rhyming slang construction "Berkshire hunt". I'll leave you to work out what that rhymes with, but it is not the kind of thing even big eight year olds (much more mature than a toddler like me) should be saying. I also quite like the etymology of "raspberry" as in to blow a raspberry. Another bit of rhyming slang: raspberry tart = fart.

Toddlers are well-known for their enjoyment of slimy, mushy sort of things, so it may be of little surprise that I really enjoyed my lunch today:

Three hundred grams of quite ripe Gorgonzola Dolce slapped a satisfied smile across my face, even though it required wiping the excess cheese from it in order to discern the smile^*. I'd have much preferred it on some decent bread rather than the pin board-esque rice cakes I am now obliged to eat. Standing in front of the supermarket's 'free from' shelf suggests they are so named either because they are 'free-from' flavour or because those who gleefully buy from them are 'free from' any form of likable character; and I am now tarred with the same brush as them.... Booohooooohoooooooooo....

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^*I do like cheese, it is one of those partially-spoiled foods that can provide so much pleasure. Sigmund Freud had a bit of a problem with cheese, we are told, some problem with the symbolism relating to his lactating mother in a rancid, solid form. Weirdo.

Three geezers find themselves sitting together at the start of a joke whilst travelling on a train; they are a vicar, a monk and a biologist. In order to pass the time until the joke finishes with a woeful inevitability they start playing cards and quickly move on to playing for the pitifully small amounts of cash they posses. Within moments the Peelers, of the British Transport-variety, arrive, they are all whisked off and unceremoniously dumped in front of the local magistrate. The magistrate puts down his glass of Sherry and says to the vicar, "You are charged with gambling in a public, unlicensed place; how do you plead?"

The vicar looks up to the sky and whispers, "Just one white lie, Lord, just one", before replying, "Not guilty, sir."

"Case dismissed," bellows the beak. He then turns to the monk and says, "You are charged with gambling in a public, unlicensed place; how do you plead?"

The monk looks up to the sky and whispers, "Just one white lie, Lord, just one", before saying, "Not guilty, sir."

"Case dismissed," bellows the beak and turns to the biologist. "You are charged with gambling in a public, unlicensed place..."

The biologist interrupts, "Who with?"

Protest songs, such a dreary form of mocking. Sometimes real solutions to real problems need to be provided. The deeply lovely Mr. Hugh Laurie and really rather lovely Mr. Stephen Fry provided us many years ago us with a protest song that provides clear and well-articulated solutions to all of the world's problems. A terribly low quality version can be heard by clicking here. If either of these two chaps would prefer I removed this ditty from my site then I would welcome a signed picture from either (or both) of them with an inscription to the effect of "Stop using our jokes in feeble attempts to have funny blog entries, you rancid toddler. Kisses, Stephen/Hugh" as an instruction in this regard.

Many, many and perhaps a slight number of apologies. I get utterly bored, tired and generally pissed off with blog entries that are simply a link to another site; riding off the back of someone else's wit is perilously Wilde-esque. So here we go with two links to basically the same site, those lovely people at http://www.moderntoss.com/. The thing that caught my eye as being 'fair comment' was this. Should it be that you, Mrs Trellis, are of a lunatic Christian bent then please feel free to assume that I, and Mr Moderntoss as well, will burn in the fires of the the hell that you have just decided on a whim exist. Not if you are a member of the Church of England, of course. This is because matters of faith in the CofE are finally down to the Privy Council here in Blighty and, although the Archbishops of York and Canterbury complained at the time, an Act of Parliament finally decided that you do not have to believe in hell to be a member of this sect of backward, contemptible mad people. Eight sentences. No, no, I am not going to claim many bonds with Nietzsche, but that cartoon did amuse me (nine sentences).

There was supposed to be some anecdote/revelation/tale of vague interest with this picture. Something about local breweries, the pleasure of summery afternoons, I cannot recall. Sadly, I got distracted. A minute or so before the 'warm-up' picture below was taken, just after a late lunch, a car alarm started hooting:

As the picture was about to be taken a voice from nearby screamed, "Shut that bloody racket up; some of us are trying to have a hangover!" You can understand my desire to instantly look and see at which residence this obviously top-flight neighbour dwells.

Aldous Huxley, author of 'The doors of perception' and 'Brave new world' made the very good point that:
A child-like man is not a man whose development has been arrested; on the contrary, he is a man who has given himself a chance of continuing to develop long after most adults have muffled themselves in the cocoon of middle-aged habit and convention.

I could not agree more. As evidence I present a picture of myself in the South of France on my last vaguely significant birthday (do not, under any circumstances, follow the link).

Now, as far as development of my child-like, indeed toddler-like, self goes we have a picture of me feeling particularly charged with dark power during my last dinner party but one:

As you can see, there has clearly been a lot of development. I now have a glass of wine to hold (whereas I'd drunk all of the wine before the top-most picture was taken). I also have a lovely, non-grime-themed teddy bear and underwear that hides my shame. If those are not several signs of increasing development, I may as well give up now.

Whilst in New York City I had the good fortune to visit Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel. This suited me very much as it is themed on the twin delights of well-mixed, well-presented, neurone-frying cocktails and large, childish murals. It is one of the best bars I have visited. Even if it is not as intimate, quiet and sedate as Duke's, I certainly left in a refreshed and relaxed state of mind.

As I have pointed out in the past, unconventionally-named locations charm me very much. So after leaving the bar and going for a restorative stroll I was charmed, not to mention highly amused, by the name of the plaza I found I had arrived at:

Place names can suggest many things about the history and nature of an area. I suppose in some ways this was quite suggestive.

Warning: Incoherent rant born of irritation follows.

Of all the feeble, despicable and utterly hate-worthy excuses for ineptitude, the phrase "I didn't think" must rank as first class in the 'piss-poor' league. In some cases it might be understandable: "Darling, did you remember to pop home during your lunch hour to wax the cat's eyebrows and smear the freezer with hydrofluoric acid?" "Oh... erm... Strangely, I didn't think of doing either of those." This seems fine. In general terms, it is not.

I suppose this comes down to an earlier rant about idleness; I didn't think therefore I expect you to think for me. Indeed, it may be possibly a suggestion of contempt for another human being, "Oh yes, collect your anti-amoebics from the pharmacy as you have dysentery and cannot move beyond ninety centimetres of the toilet... I didn't think."

Obviously, anyone who is liable to have encountered this obscure and barely-visited spume of incoherence is more than a tad likely to know something about computers and so will be well aware that in a frightening number of cases this drip-like excuse is connected with people who refuse to apply their brains to using them. There most of us who have surely experienced something akin to the following dialogue: "I've got this new word processor thingie and I just don't know how to save this file. Why are computers so difficult?" In a voice of reasonableness and utter calm the reply comes, "Do you see that menu marked 'File'? Choose 'Save' in that." A surprisingly surprised reply follows, "Oooohhh... I didn't think of that. Computers are so difficult." The key is to calmly leave the room and get a distance beyond which sound will not be heard before screaming.

The reason why this is really so bad is that people are wonderful, intelligent beings who are capable of incredible acts of brilliance. To say that you did not think not only demeans yourself but the great mass of humanity. Certainly, we all need guidance and help, particularly when we have yet to forge our own way in the world, but generally we are smart cookies.

If someone comes up to anyone in the street wearing a suit and a lapel-badge with the word 'Bank' on it and asked for their bank details 'to confirm bank security' and these details were given out they would quite rightly be mocked mercilessly for their moronic, rancid stupidity. Yet people who behave similarly stupidly online seem to think they have done nothing wrong and, in view of their idiocy, deserve huge piles of cash in compensation from their banks.

Clearly, this is because a lot of people harbour irrational, Luddite views. The positive spin on this would be to suggest that computers are technological/scientific things and so everything they say is true, just like what a doctor says, so when a random email asks you for every private detail you know and some you have forgotten it must instantly be obeyed. Possibly this is true with a very small section of humanity. This section of humanity is the same section who wonder where all the time machines are because they must exist as otherwise how could Star Trek be made, or; possibly that if they agree to spend half their monthly income for three years to get a handkerchief with some drivel from a religious text they claim to 'believe in' but have never actually read they will receive ever-lasting happiness. We shall gloss over the fact that most of even these people are still staggeringly clever, it is just that they have been indoctrinated not to think by their parents, religious leaders, teachers or politicians and have not realised the hideous crime that has been committed against them, and move onto the final phase of this perhaps worrying rant.

In far too many ways, people are willing to deny the power of their minds and bodies and show an appalling degree of recalcitrance when it comes to anything which they have arbitrarily decided is beneath them/far beyond their realm of comprehension. Computers are a prime example. Certainly they are complex and powerful things, but not quite so complex as when one had to type obscure, two character commands into a console or when terminal-based Emacs was considered anything other than a model of horribleness; hilariously easier than those dark days. There is simply a refusal to engage mind. This could similarly apply to the joke, "How many men does it take to repair a vacuum-cleaner?", "How should we know? We don't use them." We have all been exposed to a basic education and so most things are within our grasp. I have repaired vacuum cleaners, I have also repaired a car engine when a professor of physics was whimpering to call a break-down service when my only experience of engine-fiddling was watching my old dad change the oil by way of entertainment on a Sunday afternoon.

Certainly, if in that situation we were not several hundred miles away from the nearest other person or, indeed, if there was a skilled mechanic walking by who offered to help I would instantly and without question bow to superior knowledge and ability. It is great to watch a skilled person at work. Yet, whilst not everyone's opinion/ability is equally valid/equal in all situations, generally we are all vastly more clever than anything else on the planet¹. Knowing this and using that power is fun. If you don't think, you are missing out on some good times.

By way of apology for the above rancid, repetitive rant I offer a joke:
Two parrots were sitting on a perch and one of them said, "Do you smell fish?"²

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¹I recall a lecture at the end of an animal behaviour course in which the famous ethologist David McFarland was getting quite excited, clearly working up to his big point of the term, "The one thing you must, really must remember when analysing any form of animal behaviour is that", and he flicked up a slide and read the text out loud, "Animals are stupid". I recall relating this anecdote to some poor chap who said, "Well, humans are animals too so aren't humans stupid?" Being a polite person I replied, "You'll recall I said this was in an ethology not psychology course?", rather than, "Perhaps you are."

²If this should leave you floundering do make sure you read down to the definition marked perch²  after clicking the link above.

Thanks to my loyal reader (Mrs Trellis of North Wales, no doubt, if you have nasty Realplayer then hear her level of comment-ability here) I have now been caught by search engines. They are watching us all it seems. A couple of people this month have found me by searching for "nuk medic pro" and this is fine by me. One dear and as yet unknown person found me by typing the following text into Google, "can bottle feeding cause smelly sloppy nappies". To my eternal and agonising embarrassment, my blog appears third given those search terms. Infamy, infamy, they've all got it in-for-me! The real shame of this (apart from my personal shame, obviously) is that I just have not tackled that question here. Nor do I intend to.

I do not wish to seem churlish that people choose to visit this, my personal fountain of incoherent gibberish. However, when one thinks about what one would like to achieve with one's life, the goals one has, can many people honestly say that they would like to be known as the third best source of information about whether bottle feeding can cause smelly, sloppy nappies?

London is a completely brilliant place, assuming one can afford it, can tolerate filth and can accept utterly woeful public transport. An associate asks me every time our paths cross if there is a Tube strike in London, no doubt working on the premise that repetition is the finest form of humour.

The strikes are hilariously irritating, but not as irritating as the fact that in a very large, wealthy capital city, the mass-transit system stops running at midnight. I wonder if this has something to do with an out-moded puritan work-ethic; we cannot be out at night as we have to get to work/church by nine the following morning.

Now we have a ray of light, albeit it quite a derisory one. There is talk of running the tube an whole hour later on Friday and Saturday nights. "Big deal", you might be thinking. Well, sadly it is not even that, as in order to do this London Underground and their idle employees claim that in order to run the trains an hour later at night, they'll have to start working an hour later in the morning. The arrogant contempt this displays to those who employ them is astounding.

So, I was highly amused to hear a jolly good song about the Tube courtesy of these good people. You can play the song, or even buy their CD, via their website. There is a Flash version of the song, but who knows how long this link will work for. Some people may find the lyrics offensive, but then millions of people a day find travelling on the tube to be deeply offensive....