I wrote this blog post a few years ago about my ability to laugh at inappropriate times:
It's an embarrassing thing to do. But throughout my life, although thankfully not on every occasion, I have sometimes managed to laugh at really bad news. I don't know when it's going to happen and I have no control over it. It just happens. Likewise I will also say inappropriate things on odd occasions. Words will come out of my mouth that either I wouldn't dream of saying ever or would never dream of saying in the particular situation that I find myself in at that time. Often this sort of thing happens at social gatherings. I think because I'm never comfortable in largish social groups its some kind of reaction to the situation in which I find myself. It's probably a nerves thing. The trouble is I will say something that is out of place...
For the Batek people of the Malaysian peninsula rainforest, laughter can be dangerous. Within the system of taboos of these egalitarian hunter-gatherers, laughing in certain situations can cause storms, illness or even death. And yet sometimes, Batek people – like anyone else – laugh when they know they shouldn’t. In fact, laughter can be especially pleasurable when it’s forbidden.
What kind of weirdo adds sugar when making cheese scones? Sugar?
Well The Cornish Bakery think it’s acceptable.
A little while ago we had a couple of cheese scones from The Cornish Bakery in Southwold. We didn’t eat them in Southwold but ‘ate’ them later at home in Norwich. I say ate but in reality very little was consumed. On first biting into them you could tell that they had an awful lot of sugar in them. They would have been very sweet even for sweet scones. But high sugar content with cheese just tasted vile. Utterly vile. My partner took one bite and said ‘they’ve got sugar in them’ and being a diabetic didn’t eat any more. I got a bit further. I don’t like to waste food so ate several bites but in the end I just had to give up. It was hardly practical to take them back to the shop so I complained via Twitter. Apart from gleaning that they do actually have sugar in their recipe, a brief apology and them asking for my email address I have heard no more. No offer to refund our money. Very poor customer service.
I’ve consulted several recipes to make sure it is not me that’s out of step, but none of them suggest putting sugar in them. No wonder we have a problem with obesity, type two diabetes and other sugar related problems when companies do this sort of thing.
It's an embarrassing thing to do. But throughout my life, although thankfully not on every occasion, I have sometimes managed to laugh at really bad news. I don't know when it's going to happen and I have no control over it. It just happens. Likewise I will also say inappropriate things on odd occasions. Words will come out of my mouth that either I wouldn't dream of saying ever or would never dream of saying in the particular situation that I find myself in at that time. Often this sort of thing happens at social gatherings. I think because I'm never comfortable in largish social groups its some kind of reaction to the situation in which I find myself. It's probably a nerves thing. The trouble is I will say something that is out of place, realise my error, and then rather than just shut up completely I will then in some vain way attempt to explain my faux pas by saying further ridiculous stuff. Language is my downfall.
Now I'm sure I'm not alone in this. There's probably a name for it. There's a name for all conditions these days it would seem. In the cold light of day one can sort of understand it. Well I can. Unfortunately my affliction doesn't stop there. In these days of the interweb and social media I find myself doing similar online. It happens mostly in the situation when you are either live chatting or very nearly live chatting. I will type something inappropriate or out of character and will have pressed the send button before I have realised what I have done. Then I panic! I forget the old adage when you're in a hole stop digging and just carry on making matters worse. After that I retreat, licking my wounds and wondering how it happened. Eventually of course I get over myself and the pain starts to subside and I will forget about it until the next time. Brains are funny old things.
Hopefully people that know me realise that I try very hard to be kind, considerate and quite shy. Perhaps they have never even noticed this foible or just put it down to strange idiosyncrasy. Perhaps it's just me that notices. I know not.
A few years ago someone I know asked me if I considered myself English or British. Without hesitation I answered neither, I'm European I said. And that's how I have felt for a long time and still feel now.
As you can imagine I feel angry, sad and generally bemused by the incredulity of the referendum result. I've calmed down now so I won't be quite as insulting as I have been in recent days on social media. In fact I had to initiate a self-imposed ban on social media to stop myself from being mega insulting to so many people. I've come to terms now with the result and feel that those who voted for out will mostly be the ones that suffer because of it and because of that don't feel quite so bad.
The only good thing to come out of this is the possible breakup of the United Kingdom. As much as I find nationalism distasteful I do wish the Scots the best of luck with their future in Europe. I have no doubt that this time they will gain their independence and remain in Europe. I also think that an independent Scotland could prosper because of England's idiotic decision to leave the EU. Industry will flock to north of the border because of what the English plebs have decided.
My biggest concern is for the poor people of Northern Ireland. They have been shat on big time and result of this referendum could well reignite the violence that was so successfully subdued in the 90s. I hope they can find a way through but fear that unless a united Ireland is achieved somehow shit will happen again. If only the loyalists could see that England doesn't give a bugger about them.
This referendum has brought out the nastiest of the nasty in some people, particularly white obese racists from Essex and Lincolnshire, but not exclusively.
I shall continue to be blunt and try to shock the idiots back to sort of decency but I doubt my efforts will have much effect.
As much as I like the writing of George Orwell I fear Aldous Huxley has won out. Time will tell.
I’m not against collectives per se. Collectives based on progressive ideas can be a force for good. The concept of international socialism is a laudable cause. But when collectivism manifests itself as nationalism and/or patriotism then we need to worry. Being proud of where you are born, a land mass, a line drawn in the sand is the territory of the half-wit. Why should you want to identify with the people that live in your vicinity just because they live in your vicinity? Life should be all about toleration and celebrating diversity and not about being in one homogenous tribe.
Down the centuries so many barbaric acts have been committed in the name of England, or more accurately the English elite that lord over us, that effectively as a ‘nation’ we all have blood on our hands.
The New Years Eve celebrations are as meaningless as the Christmas ones the week before. It’s all very arbitrary. People make resolutions that they rarely keep. Companies like Weight Watchers and Fitness First (other weight-loss and gymnasium companies are available) scoop up lashings of money from well intentioned punters who really haven’t thought things through. People sign up and part with their hard-earned cash expecting to lose weight and get fit by proxy; it ain't that simple. It turns out to be as much of a sham as the celebrations themselves.
So much of modern life is built on smoke and mirrors. Often just for the benefit of our masters. Distractions for the masses allow them to continue to rule and exploit.
And don’t criticise me for being an old stick in the mud and defend something that you feel to be traditional, because tradition is a very moveable feast. Until 1751 the New Year started on 25th March. Cope with that one traditional knob heads!
Passionate is the new awesome. It’s one of those words. Words that superficial people use when they want to put some emphasis into their justifying their existence, their mediocre lives. People claim to be passionate about nebulous stuff, like customer service, vintage wedding jewellery, contemporary dance or cupcakes (whatever the fuck they are). It’s all bollocks really!
The only thing that most people do with anything approaching passion is consume!
This afternoon whilst wandering around my local supermarket, acquiring a few essentials (these things are relative you understand) I returned to my thoughts about happiness and what it might be. I looked around at my fellow shoppers. I may well have been deceived by my perception and it is hard to tell a person’s state of mind by the way they look but the vast majority of my fellow shoppers gave out the distinct vibe of being unhappy with their lot; every man woman and child-thing. Obviously supermarket shopping is not a love of many at the best of times but this time of the year it is most definitely shite in the experience department; more joyless than normal.
This time of year!
Convention, imposed upon us by the ruling classes and then reinforced by the blinkered and brain-washed masses, dictates that as part of the Christmas ‘celebrations’ we must embark on a frenzy, nay orgy of consumption. Consumption designed to rapidly reduce our bank balances and life expectancy simultaneously. And why? What is it all for?* How many people ever really question the whole process and how absolutely unnecessary it actually is?
So many people get stressed and upset over Christmas. It causes friction between loved ones and rarely does it live up to the false expectations that are built upon the myth that is Christmas. So why do so many people persist with it? I can only assume it is perpetuated by peer pressure with people not having the courage to put their heads above the parapet and say, ‘this is all nonsense!’ We don’t have to gorge ourselves and get into debt over some giant commercial confidence trick. Set yourself free. Be happy.
Part of being happy is about to freeing yourself from the restrictive and nonsensical social norm that the sheep want to immerse themselves in. Dare to be different. The world wouldn’t end if you didn’t celebrate Christmas in fact the world would be a better place.
It’s possible that I’ve made a very big mistake. I think I may have come very close to getting a new job. A job with more money doing what I know best. Doing what I can sort of do with my eyes closed. I have decided against it!
Am I mental?
Possibly!
I’ve done purchasing type jobs for over thirty years and quite frankly I’ve had enough. I think I’d rather stack shelves in a supermarket than carry on in supply chain solutions. Virtually all my life I’ve played it safe. Safe is no longer an option. Not enough of us take the risky option I fear. Sometimes we have to take risks. Sometimes it’s the only way to get what we want!
When I’m finally made redundant (sometime early in the New Year) I’m going to head north. Well north-ish. I’m no longer a young man so going west is out of the question.
I lack personal confidence and have low self-esteem. If I ever reveal this to people who don’t know me that well they find it hard to believe. I’m also a very shy person. Plus I have the added handicap of blushing profusely and often for no reason. Occasionally I will blush for other people; in other words when others are in a situation that calls for blushing and they fail to do so I will blush for them. I’m a proxy blusher. I also worry a lot. I could worry for England. Olympic gold standard me.
People I meet don’t always recognise this picture of me, but then all they see is the exterior. I am like the proverbial duck. On the face of it I’m the serene gliding on the water. They never notice the feet below furiously paddling to keep going.
I’ve never been good with rejection, even though I’ve had my fair share of it. And the past few weeks have been quite a shock to the system. My confidence has been dented big-time. Strangely my reaction to rejection or tragedy is often different to many people. I give the appearance of reacting in an opposite way to being upset. I appear on the surface to be happy or devil-may-care but it’s a defence mechanism. I have been known to laugh at bad news. Its not that I find it funny, I just can’t help myself. I also have a tendency to say stuff that I don’t always mean. Verbiage is broadcast before brain is engaged. I then regret what I’ve said and want to crawl away and hide under a stone. Enter ‘the cringe’. Throughout my life I’ve said some spectacular foot in mouth things.
I once heard Desmond Morris say that people who blush are survivors. Blushing is a survival technique dating back to the very beginnings of our evolution. I buy that. It makes sense to me. I’ve survived pretty well so far.
So my strategy is to surround myself with a hard shell to protect this soft nut inside. My fear is that if I weaken I go under; we’ll call it ‘stiff upper lip’ syndrome.
I am the walnut, goo goo goo joob
please note: It's important to read the next post as well
Flag waving and patriotism is the territory of evil manipulators, the gullible and the lazy of mind (those that can only think in black and white); all very worrying really. And, whilst I have no wish to make light of xenophobia, it never fails to amuse me when these lower life forms use the ‘English’ flag. The cross of St George is held up as something that epitomises pure ‘Englishness’; a badge of honour for patriotic Neanderthals.
Of course we know what bollocks it all is, and that it’s funny for so many reasons, but one very good reason why the joke is on the English nationalists is because St George (if he really existed) was from the far east and probably never came anywhere near to these islands. How English is that?
It would appear that St George came from around the Turkey/Lebanon/Syria/Palestine area:
I try not to be affected or influenced unduly by advertising but sometimes I can’t help it. And last night I gave into such temptation. I was swayed by two adverts. The first was an advert for Sky television and the second was for Greene King IPA.
Now before advertising executives get all horny about the fact that their powers of persuasion are absolute I will burst their bubble. First of all I have to say that I wouldn’t give Murdoch the pickings of my nose so I sure as hell am not going to any of his products or services. In fact I couldn’t actually tell you anything about the Sky advert apart from it is for Sky and has some great background music. Now I am a fan of Greene King IPA and I don’t need an advert to tell me how good it is but I do like the advert. The Greene King ad starts with a cask bearing the place of it and my creation, Bury St Edmunds. It’s a well made ad. It features a pub. I don’t know if it’s real or fictitious but it feels as if it should be in Bury and it feels as if I’ve been in it. The ad features some slightly odd if not mildly menacing characters and that coupled with the haunting background music make for a visual masterpiece.
I’m never likely to be famous and quite frankly I have no desire to be so. I write this blog mainly for my own amazement and for anyone that happens to come across it. It’s nice when others read it but I see that as a bonus and not something I work very hard to encourage. So if I ever have the misfortune to become famous please be warned. I will not be signing autographs.
We have this strange class of people in this country, mainly driven by cheap ’n’ nasty television and the tabloids, which are famous for being famous. The celebrity is a curious and pointless phenomenon; talentless and yet famous. Pawns in a lucrative latter-day freak show. In my adult life I’ve never asked for anyone autograph and it is something that I don’t think I’ll ever do. I’ve been to concerts where at the end or in the interval the performer will be at the ‘product’ stall signing cds books etc. I’ve even made purchases on odd occasions. But I’ve never ever been tempted to have them signed. I’m not big on hero worship and can never see the point of an autograph. What does it do?
I suppose my unswerving belief that we are all equal kicks in and yes certain people might be very talented, artistic and/or clever having interesting things to say, sing or display but it doesn’t put them above the rest. We are all mere humans; flesh, blood and brains. No more, no less. I don’t acknowledge pedestals. It is why I can never see the point of awards or honours, and why I’m a republican. We are of equal value.
Confession corner
I own an unsolicited photo of The Smiths, signed by Morrissey. I wrote to him in the early days of The Smiths, no idea why. He wrote back and enclosed the photo. I hang on to it. Again I don’t know why. Perhaps I should shred it.
I was amazed to see this link, entitled “How to sell unwanted presents” on Yahoo finance. The article epitomises one of the aspects that has encouraged me to hate Christmas. “Christmas comes but once a year, and when it comes it frequently brings with it a load of tat that you wouldn't be seen dead with. Here's how to off-load it.” That statement sums up the sheer pointless stupidity of it all. Christmas is fuelled by ignorance, greed and ungratefulness. It is not magical it is just a facade. Christmas is a lie!
In need of a breath of fresh air I wandered out on Boxing Day afternoon. We live close-ish to the Riverside shopping area in Norwich and all was quiet as I walked across Morrison’s empty car park, but I was surprised to see much activity as a bunch of shops on the far side hove into view. I hadn’t realised just how many shops open on Boxing Day. It would seem that even though many people had overspent at Christmas they were still keen to part with hard earned dosh or dosh yet to be earned. There was hustle and bustle in the clothes, electrical, household and hobby shops. People even had need for things at a pound. I was truly amazed. What is wrong with people?
I have only ever seen shopping as a banal chore. How anyone can derive pleasure from it is beyond me. I do have this feeling that the sort of people that see shopping as recreation also watch soaps and reality programmes on the telly, will see celebrities and the monarchy as something to be interested in and be hoodwinked by every fad and fashion that the media dictates; sheep!
I suppose one can dismiss such behaviour as shiny bead syndrome; people are hypnotised by what is put in front of them and fed to them. Whilst not really understanding it by interpreting it like that I can sort of accept it and leave it at that. As I walked by the open shops I noticed that there was a hotdog stand on the footpath, and not only that there were between six and eight people queuing for hotdogs. That perplexed me totally. No doubt after the excesses of the previous day why on earth would anyone what a hotdog whilst out shopping, and why would anyone queue for such a pointless comestible?
Just imagine how even more exciting life would have been if we’d have had the internet in 1977. Punk with all its associated culture and spin offs would have found it a lot easier and cheaper to get its message heard. The fanzine, that important artery of communication between artiste and curious fan would have made the genre so much more accessible if it had been online. I suppose purists would dismiss this fantasy, alleging that it would have far removed punk from what it was, a disparate anarchic underground diy movement. Of course it is all pointless speculation really, but something to mull over in my dotage.
You wouldn’t catch me watching East Enders, Coronation Street, Casualty or any of the other mindless drivel that falls into the genre known as ‘soap opera’. I suppose if people like it then good luck to them. I’m not into censorship, so if there is a market for such low brow entertainment so be it. Everybody knows that soap operas are crap; nobody really pretends that they are anything else. So, why then is there such earnestness and snobbery over The Archers?
Just because the Archers are on Radio 4 it doesn’t mean that it has any value and it is no reason to treat it with any reverence. So why is it that people who consider themselves to be intelligent ‘thinking’ people follow it avidly?
It is shite. It is boring. Wake up world. It’s a bloody ‘soap opera’ for goodness sake!
This story about a poor old French lady stuck in the lavatory for three weeks amused me. It wasn’t the poor woman’s plight, although I have to be honest and say that I was drawn by the ‘Lady Stuck In Lavatory’ link headline on Yahoo. What really amused me was the last little paragraph in the story. Read it now. Do you think they formed a committee and passed a resolution about dialling 999 or whatever the French equivalent is?
