Technology techschmology

I really like the idea of self-service checkouts. Not for huge loads of groceries perhaps, but for small baskets and getting lunch and so on I think they’re a really good idea. When they’re not such a good idea is when, for whatever reason, they don’t work properly.

I was in M&S today. I picked up about half a dozen items; drink, sandwich, crisps, a paper, and then headed for the checkout. Seeing there was a queue and wanting to break the mould that English people are for some reason attracted to standing in lines, I veered away to the empty self-service checkout.

Firstly, I was accosted by the M&S employee handling the machines. “This is stupid” I thought, “it’s ‘self-service’ – what is the point if I have to have a conversation with an employee anyway? Aren’t these machines supposed to save time?” I’d been starving hungry for the previous half an hour (evidently Crunchy Nut Cornflakes do NOT keep hunger locked up til lunch) and my temper was short. I was curt with her and having explained in clipped syllables that I understood that I had to pay by card rather than cash, she buggered off and left me to my business. I blipped through my sandwich and so forth. Unfortunately when it got to my copy of The Guardian it asked me to enter the cost, and then informed me to wait for assistance.

How complicated can it possibly be to type in the cost of a paper when the cost is written on said paper? Obviously, I had to be confirmed by the employee to make sure I wasn’t trying to buy it for 10p (which, in retrospect, was a lot more than it was worth), and this meant that the woman I had already been rude to had to come back over and help, and as a result talked to me as though I was mentally challenged. I probably deserved it for being so surly, for strutting in there with my “I can work this simple piece of technology” attitude and then being foiled by a system that doesn’t even know how much it’s newspapers are worth.

Anyway, I’m not doing that again. I could do without short, ugly old women getting one up on me, particularly when my blood-sugar level has sunk into the red. Still considering the fact that I paid nearly £3 for a sandwich, you’d have thought that Marks could meet expectations by creating a self-checkout that actually saves time, rather than wasting it. Another time, in another shop with an equally useless, I recall the machine informing me there was an "unexpected item in bagging area". How unexpected could an item in the bagging area possibly be? It's not like someone had just whipped their cock out.

Just another example of how simplifying the system has overcomplicated it yet again. I despair.

Seeing is Believing

Standing on the station platform this morning, along with myself and a rag-tag collection of tired misfits, was a soldier. I cannot be more specific than this, other than to say that he appeared to be in some kind of TA uniform. He was young though. Maybe a trainee. With the number of airfields and bases dotted about the county, seeing someone in uniform isn’t that much of a surprise.

There’s something about men in uniform, isn’t there? Not that I wanted to be whisked away in some mighty army machine, but there’s something kind of impressive about any person who’s willing to risk their own life and safety in the pursuit of the protection of others. Unknown others in fact – doctors, politicians, criminals, bank clerks – everyone. To protect everyone without prejudice seems like a pretty noble goal. Firemen, policemen, even doctors all command this same kind of respect the moment they don their uniform, whether it be a white coat and stethoscope, or army fatigues. It got me thinking about how important appearance is; how particular colours and garments cause us to react in different ways. For example, men in lab coats always make me feel a little nervous. Doctors wear them as they pour over charts, tutting over what could be wrong with you. Scientists wear them as they concoct dangerous chemical mixes. Men in police uniform seem to silently demand that you move out of their way and let them through. Whether it’s the people or the uniform I’m not sure, but there’s something surly about their demeanour that somehow always draws out of me a mild feeling of resentment. “Somebody” I think “has given these people too much authority.”

Even a suit can command respect. My father wore a suit to work every day for years, and to me he was an assertive and powerful man. I’ve always thought men look better in a suit and tie, though whether that’s some kind of weird Freudian thing, I don’t know. It’s important to never underestimate the importance of appearance. In fact if anything I probably worry about it too much. I don’t sit around and agonise about what skirt to wear for hours, but I do go into shops, look at clothes and think “What would people think of me if I wore this?” I see giant logos like “Bench” written on stuff. I’ve got no objection to a clothing line with that name, but is it the kind of thing I want printed on my backside the way they like to make their jogging pants? Furthermore, if I started wearing jogging pants, wouldn’t I look a bit on the chavvie side? Am I comfortable with that; is that an image I’d want to uphold?

Buying clothes has become, it would seem, an increasingly difficult activity. I like clothes with little or no logo, bold, cold colours, and other than that… what? Do I even have a “look”? I don’t think I do. I’m not a thesp, not a goth, not a chav, a gamer, a rocker, or a preppie looking idiot, I’m just… non-descript, which I’m not convinced is any better. We dress ourselves in a certain way because we like to feel that it expresses our character, but how much of an individual can any of us be when we’re all shopping in the same places, reading the same magazines and choosing one of a pre-determined set of looks created by someone else over the last 100 years or more?

I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.

Jury’s still out.

Massacre

It's been a weekend of new things. Here are my thoughts.

1) Left 4 Dead

New computer game of the survival horror variety, only for once the developers have really given some thought to the cooperative element of the game. Essentially, Louis, Francis, Bill and Zoey have to shoot their way through 4 campaigns of zombie murderage in order to achieve their final objective, which is always to answer a radio and finally get rescued by whoever is in the local area who hasn't been infected by the zombie... ness.

I admit I feel a mite disappointed by the lack of backstory. There's been a zombie apocalypse, but other than that we have no details whatsoever. I rather liked the development of plots such as Resident Evil where you spent the whole thing wandering around getting eaten alive by giant everything. I liked the fact that there was actually some reason why it was all happening. The zombies are called "the infected" which implies some kind of bio experiment gone wrong, but other than that Valve give their players no idea of what's gone wrong. Having a plot discovery element might have given them a bit more character development. It's a bit sad, because in the commentary they talk a lot about the development of the 4 central characters, and therefore it seems sad that by the end you know so very little about them aside from the half a paragraph they are awarded in the gaming manual. Valve apparently worked hard to make them likeable and believable. Hardly seems much point when they are all capable of exactly the same skills, same weapons capabilities, so they're all essentially the same person.

Gameplay-wise, it's a strong game. The zombies are well drawn, and it's always fun to see that if you shoot them in the arm, then the arm itself frequently gets blown off and flies across the floor. The range of special zombies keeps the game interesting, because being attacked constantly by the horde would get a bit samey and easy otherwise. Having said that, we are only playing on normal difficulty setting right now, and I still frequently get incapacitated. The music is good, lighting good, sounds good - everything you'd expect from a Valve game. I'm satisfied, pleased even, but it would have been nice to be overwhelmed or impressed to boot.

2) Mass Effect

I played through this over the last week and a half and finally finished it as the ultimate Paragon - ie, extremely good and well-behaved. It's definitely the easiest way to play. If you play as a Renegade, it seems hard to get the right options in conversations to allow you to intimidate people. If you're rude to them all the time, or knock them out, or insult their mums, you'll often be ignored or rebutted, which is a pain in the ass. Much easier to be lovely about everything and just charm the pants off everyone.

Though I really enjoyed the plot of Mass Effect and was initially very happy with the game, over an extended period of time, I found it repetitive and too easy. I appreciate that playing it on more difficult modes might have been sensible, fair play, but I do wonder what the real value in having Easy, Normal, Hardcore, Insane etc. What's wrong with having Easy, Normal and Hard? If I remember rightly, DMC even had one after that - Dante Must Die mode or something. Maybe Easy mode should just be made harder? In any case, if this weren't a big enough objection, you do spend an inordinate amount of time roaming around on alien worlds that all look very much the same. Rocky, usually windy, and usually red, brown or icy in colour. They didn't give enough thought to each planet, and hence exploring them is even more tedious than watching soap opera omnibuses. Omnibi. Whatever.

If you ignore the side quests entirely, not only do you miss out on a shedload of weapons and money, but the game is massively shorter in length. There are only 5 or 6 main missions, and none are very long, particularly on your second playthrough, which you will have to endure if you want most of the game's achievements. I had originally planned to play through as a full Renegade, but am thinking the better of it. Games really need to get more inventive with their achievements, rather than just having a bunch of completion bonuses. Yawn.

3) Gears of War 2

Haven't played this, but witnessed it at RK's house. Impression was that it's very much more of the same, so if you liked GoW1, you'll enjoy this offering. What it doesn't do is offer MORE, which is sad.

4) Goldfinger

It was inevitable that sooner or later I would have to confess my ignorance when it comes to Bond films. I admit both to loathing them as well as to only have seen about 2 and a half of the wretched things, and I tend to forget which. Goldeneye, Die Another Day and Casino Royale have all definitely been viewed, and the occasional scene from others. The whole thing just never appealed to me on any level. Pierce Brosnan was a smug and irritating Bond, I was never convinced that 007 as a character was a convincing spy, in fact I still believe that if such a person were to truly exist, he'd probably be dead within a month just for being a pretentious prat, who no doubt get shot by someone, be it his own side or someone else's. His mysogyny didn't help matters in my eyes, and while the gadgets and explosions were fun, I suppose, they appealed only to a very basic action movie appreciation that has always been more deeply fulfilled by proper gritty action as seen in Bruce Willis movies like Die Hard.

I found I quite liked Goldfinger, which I suppose isn't saying much. 60s Bond, as opposed to being cheesy was that enjoyable kind of old, where we accept that the effects aren't as good because it was made years ago. Bond is acceptably pervy because men were allowed to be in those days and nobody so much as batted an eyelid. Maybe my biggest problem with Bond is that he just never changes. Though his sad chauvanistic behaviour was acceptable when Connery donned the suit all those years ago, it just doesn't fit or add up in noughties Britain. If anyone actually behaved that way the majority of girls would reject his smug, slimy attitude. After all, we have better things to do these days than make an arrogant turd in a sharp suit feel even more self-satisfied.

Anyway, that aside, the villain Goldfinger was unconvincing, and bits of the plot were too contrived, such as having one gangster cubed in a car crusher for no good reason other than to have a bit of excitment as Bond tried to get his message out. The random slaughter of a group of gangsters after Goldfinger had just spent 15 minutes of the plot explaining his cunning plan to them seemed a waste of time. Still, as said, it was fun to watch in an old, cheesy movie kind of way. Like it's fun to watch an episode of The Avengers simply because the plot lines were always so utterly absurd.

5) Mallrats

Oh dear. I really wonder sometimes whether I should go on watching Kevin Smith movies as so many of them are entirely awful. The acting in this one - albeit an early one - was flaky at best, with memorable performances from Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith himself only. Unsurprisingly someone dropped in a 90210 joke because Shannen Doherty is in it, and generally most of the plot was just pointless filler with gags that generally flopped.

6) Zach and Miri Make A Porno

Thought I'd mention this alongside as it's another Kevin Smith. I saw it for my birthday, and generally I laughed quite a lot, though again the plot only hung together well enough in order to be predictable. What saved it was a genuinely likeable cast, Zack who was also famously in Knocked Up was good, though the part seemed too similar to ones he's played in the past. Jason Mewes again was a pleasure to watch, and it was nice to see he could be someone else on film than Jay. It was fun, but not really a patch on Dogma, my personal Kevin Smith favourite.

7) Bowling for Columbine

I had a feeliing that this one would be an extended documentary where Michael Moore tore apart the US people and government, and lo and behold it was. What was most frustrating about this tedious piece of television is that Moore doesn't actually answer his own question, despite the hours of research that must have gone into making it. Essentially he's just another critic who points out the flaws in everything without saying how to fix it, making him just as bad and ignorant as everyone else. Admittedly Charlton Heston needs a kick in the privates for being a insensitive jack-ass, but tragically I don't think he's going to change his way because a chubby geezer with a picture of a little girl turns up on his doorstep. Also, heston is not singularly responsible for gun crime, and I imagine commits extremely little of it.

My better half and I sat down to watch this after a conversation we had in the pub where I argued that guns were a menace and I'd like to un-invent them. We discussed that without guns surely there'd be swords and other weapons, but still think that having studied the WW1, machine guns and automatic weapons played an enormous role in the massacre of soldier's lives. It's never been so easy to take a life as it is in modern day America.

Everyone's a critic

I think I pointed out the other day that anyone who can lift a pen or use a keyboard thinks they're a critic. The sad fact is that exceedingly few of us are really informed enough to make judgments about the never-ending supply if new media and culture being thrown at our faces. Personally, I really loathe critics. Partly because I almost do subscribe to the view that one opinion can be as valuable as any other - even if for no other reason than it tells us about what a segment of society may be thinking. I just can't get into the idea that I need someone else to tell me whether something's good or not. No critic writes a column explaining why something's valuable or clever, instead they sit down and tell us whether it's "good" or not, which is the part I have a problem with.

I much prefer to be presented with the information about something and then allowed to develop my own opinions. Just because I haven't spent my whole life watching movies and talking about them (which by the way scarcely seems like the kind of activity that would make you qualified to do anything) doesn't mean that I, as a viewer of movies, cannot sit down and say "I like that" or vice versa.

And the sad thing is that all critics seem to come from the same background. You can guarantee that anything coming out of The Guardian, The Telegraph or any other smarty pants paper with a features editor who no doubt graduated Oxford with a first and has nobby friends who like to have wine and cheese parties is going to be written by an academic who will only know what the film brings to them personally. I imagine they're waiting for their mighty brain to be warped by the next big thing, and unsurprisingly everything in between is going to be a disappointment. Papers like The Sun are full of crap, judgmental bullshit aimed at people who like boobs and see it as a necessary part of their morning schedule.

I mean, what's with that? seriously? Yes, boobs are harmless (I'm aware of that, I happen to have a pair of my own) but that doesn't mean they need to be pasted all over page three with half paragraph about some doe-eyed dopey looking bitch with an inane grin plastered to her face. Anyway, I digress.

I guess basically I probably wouldn't know a good film if it smacked me in the face. The Dark Knight was too long, Ironman had a crap ending battle, Zach and Miri had good gags, but the plot didn't hang together. I don't see that many movies, but nothing I've seen this year has impressed me much. Mamma Mia was pointless, with weak vocal performances in places and is just not a very good musical, Sex and the City was just plain crap. I guess I've named there a selection of movies from this year, and whether the critics liked them or not, I didn't like any of them. I'm even beginning to get used to how films that DON'T end happily end. It's that bad. I want someone to bring on a film that isn't so bloody formulaic, because I am so tired of guessing what's going to happen before we're even an hour in.

I don't pretend to know anything about anything, but I do know what I like, and throughout my life I've never met anyone who would change the things that they truly like just because somebody else didn't like it, so why do we employ critics at all? So somebody can ruin things for us before we even give it a fair chance to impress us? Nothing's crap til I say it is, God damn it.

Fair? This is television

While I may not be a big fan of the X Factor, I can occasionally sit down and watch the odd episode without wanting to curl up in a cringing little ball beneath the sofa. Admittedly that isn't during the opening episodes, where the untalented and unsuspecting members of the general public are shoved through like cattle and poked and prodded then rejected by the showbiz elite. Seriously, I just can't watch it. Firstly I don't understand how some of these people are under the delusion that they're good, or who it was that told them that going in for the competition was a good idea. Others are just so ugly that there's no way they could seriously win, and then there are the ones that just aren't quite good enough, and those are the ones that are hardest to watch. The judges sit there and umm and arr about the starry eyed hopeful for 10 minutes, then put it down to a vote after listening to whatever dreadful sob story they've got, just to make it all the more painful to watch. "Oh no!" we think, "evil Simon Cowell has crushed the dreams of another poor kid". Sad fact is that Simon is almost always right. Admittedly I don't think he picks the nicest ways of telling people so. Dropping the bombshell that they're the worst person he's seen all day seems to border on the sadistically cruel, but I suppose if you're going to have your dreams crushed it may as well be completely, and with the finality of the Monty Python boot.

Anyway, I didn't start this to chastise Simon Cowell, I actually decided to write this just to comment briefly on the Laura White vs Ruth Lorenzo controversy. I hadn't really been keeping up with the show, so I went on to YouTube and looked up their performances, and have just a few things to say.

Firstly, the voting on The X Factor doesn't always give a clear picture of how good the performers are. Instead of voting for their favourite performance (which I imagine is what you're supposed to do) voters will frequently call in to place their vote for the person they least want to go out. And this isn't always their favourite. Most voters assume that their favourite will receive enough votes from their fans to keep them in the competition. This seems like a logical explanation for why someone who seemed to have so many fans ended up in the bottom two. Because other people were too keen on trying to keep Daniel Evans (or "Deadwife" as my better half calls him) in the competition. We also witnessed it this week when the public voted to save Diana Vickers, who let's face it, performed like crap. Yes, she was ill, but it was still crap, and though you can give her props for trying, if the show were about effort and sportsmanship, it would not produce performers who were actually, you know, good.

I was more or less horrified to find out The X Factor had done Mariah Carey week. Not because I don't like Mariah, but as a long-term admirer of her work and a rather amateur singer, I know that her songs are really hard to sing. Unless you're Mariah Carey, or somebody of her calibre. Alexandra was distinctly flat on the high notes of "Without You", though JLS faired very well in their performance of "One Sweet Day", which was altogether much better than their bizarre Beatles medley that they did this week. Ruth's performance was week, and she fumbled for the correct notes at times. Laura's performance of "Endless Love" seemed strong, if she did over-bake it a bit on the high notes in the second half. It must have been a surprise therefore that she ended up in the bottom two, but whereas the papers I read heaped the fault on Louis Walsh for his criticism and said that he had removed her from the competition as she was too big a threat, I have to disagree. Whereas Laura's final performance of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" showed a lack of spirit, and some quesionable tuning in places, Ruth really let rip with "Knocking on Heaven's Door" and revealed some pretty awesome rocky vocals. Even as they stood there before the panel, you could see in Laura's face that she knew she was going out. The fight in her was just gone. On top of that, though Louis placed the final vote, Simon and Danni had already voted to keep Ruth instead of Laura, with only Cheryl placing her vote for Laura as she was her contender. Simon, bearing the other unbiased vote, must have seen, as Louis rather accurately pointed out, that Ruth had more fight in her, and had performed better when it was needed.

Having said all of this, I still think that this year's performers are all lack lustre compared to my favourite X Factor winners. Let's face it, the show has coughed up some terriby boring people over it's seasons. Leon Jackson's a good example, with only Will Young and Leona Lewis really making any headway into the charts. I liked those two; they were note perfect every week and could sing everything you threw at them. Leona's performance on this week's X Factor was really good, and frankly there just isn't anyone of that kind of calibre amongst this year's finalists.

I find it a worrying fact that following Mariah Carey and Leona Lewis, Britney is going to be on the next X Factor. Fair enough, she's a star, but are we really saying that she has vocals comparable to Mariah and Leona? And will the contestants have to sing Britney songs? Somehow I'm not quite convinced that Eoghan belting his way through "Oops I did it again" is quite what I had in mind for a Saturday night.

At least it will be entertaining.

Degrees of Desperation

It was only with the additional persuasion of sitting down and reading Chris Owen's facebook post that I finally decided to write this long-overdue blog. I finished university in July, and have to admit that I was initially in no major rush to find work. I was pleased with myself, though undeservedly I knew. To have done so little work and yet still achieved a degree that would supposedly impress employers was surely an achievement in itself. I therefore felt a bittersweet sense of accomplishment as I received my certificate then boarded a train for Suffolk.

Upon arrival, my better half and I decided that seeing as he was working in a local town, it would make the most sense for me to work there also. Having agreed this strategy I dispersed my CV amongst the local job agencies in the hope that something - anything really - would come up.

After a month it was becoming uncomfortably obvious that this was not going to be as easy as I had anticipated. I had been fooled by my own arrogance into believing that my 3 year degree in English actually had some value in the world, and I was just beginning to come around to the conclusion that maybe, actually, it wasn't. Employers didn't want fresh graduates out of university with barely a day's worth of real work experience. They wanted people with 1-2 full years of experience in "a similar role", despite only offering a £15,000 salary. They wanted Quark and Adobe and half a dozen other programs that I've never even had access to. They wanted a full drivers license.

The worst part is that these aren't even good jobs. These aren't jobs that anyone who had better options would take, they are jobs so mundane that not stringing yourself up in the stationary cupboard at the end of week one is considered an achievement. The people who work there are more stupid than you are, and are only more senior and more wealthy than you are because they dropped out earlier so they have those extra years of experience.

It's unbelievable that I could have reached the ripe old age of 25 and still not feel as though I am qualified to do anything. If someone had asked me when I was 15 what I would be doing in 10 years times, first of all I would have said "I can hardly imagine that far ahead" and then I might have hazarded a guess that I would have achieved 3 basic goals. 1) Have a job, 2) Have a house, 3) Get married. I have achieved none of these things, which makes turning 25 the most painful birthday I have experienced in some time.

Nobody told me that English was a waste of time, though with hindsight I look back and realise that it was obvious. People will tell you all sorts of things to get you into the university system. "Just do a subject you love" they'll say, "It's a great experience" and so forth. Now, I'm not saying I didn't enjoy university, but I spent a LOT of money over the course of the last 7 (yes, 7) years. To get to the end of it with a Bachelors that essentially only tells employers that I read some books and wrote about them is thoroughly depressing. Worst still is the fact that everybody these days thinks they're a critic, everyone supposedly has a meaningful opinion about everything, and everyone (I am told) has a book inside them. Okay, so if deep down we're all writers and getting a qualification that tells people you can read isn't necessarily a good use of time and money, then WHY do these degrees exist at all? Or is it just for the sensationally rich, and somebody neglected to tell me that unless I had been born into money, humanities was a fat waste of time?

Just make a comparison; Law, for example. Yes you read a lot of books, learn things, write about them. It's just another essay subject, right? No, because not only do you read things, you are trained to enter a profession. Same with Psychology. A subject like maths is almost always welcome, because having maths is like having a badge that says "I am smarter than everyone else, because I understand how numbers work". It's elitest is what it is. Sciences, likewise, are a sign that you're the brightest and best, but humanities? No. No, because EVERYONE can read a book, and because we're all entitled to our opinions, EVERYONE can write an essay. We should all have an English degree by dint of the fact that we're all English, surely?

What started out as a reasoned debate has turned into a rant, maybe because I'm so angry and disappointed. I'm angry because the economy has decided to fall apart just when I needed it to hang together, and it hasn't done that for years, and it quite simply isn't fair. The government is throwing tax payers' money at greedy bankers in order to fix a problem that they caused, and according to people I've spoken to, apparently this is the only thing to be done, which just makes me want to throw an enormous bitch fit. Fat, greedy bastards with six figure salaries are walking away from this back to their sports cars and their holiday villas in foreign climes until it all "blows over" whereas I have to return to my parents' house to weather out the storm and feel like a worthless sponger, while job agencies tell me unhelpful things like "employers will like it less if you have big gaps in your CV" while simultaneously being incapable of finding even the most basic work.

Pink elephants and other make-believe creatures

I'm not really a Richard Dawkins fan. Of course I'm in favour of freedom of expression, but there's something about Dawkins that bothers me. His insistence upon there being NO God, which is something he can't prove, and now his budding belief that believing in fairies and folktales is causing stunted emotional development in children.

What brings this loathsome grinch of a character to my forethoughts is the recent pasting of signs on the side of double decker buses. "There is probably no God" we are told, as we woefully heave our carcasses into the workplace for another 8 hour grind, "So stop worrying and enjoy your life".

At no point in my life have I ever worried because of the thought that there is or may be a God. In fact I think a large number of people get a good deal of confidence and support from the notion that someone up there may be looking out for them. That when everything in their life goes wrong it's because there is some greater plan. That when someone dies they don't just disappear into nothingness. What's worse is the implication that belief in a higher power stops people from enjoying their life. How exactly? Because they need to behave? Because they need to love their neighbour and honour their partner and not steal or kill? With the exception of some extreme examples, what harm is it doing exactly that people might believe in God? If the whole world suddenly became atheists would that solve all of its problems? Of course not, we'd still be fighting about oil and money and past wars.

On a very basic level it seems cruel. It seems like telling small children that there's no Santa Claus. Isn't it a more enjoyable notion to believe that a jolly chap in a red suit pops down the chimney every year to bring presents to kids than to believe that for no reason at all we give presents. I mean, Christmas in the Richard Dawkins house must be a hoot. No birth of Jesus, no Santa Claus, and let's not forget the fact that there is no God, so there's certainly no reason to feel guilt if you can't be bothered to get up off your ass and visit your relatives or buy them gifts.

Worst case scenario, a belief in God makes us feel guilt and worry and shame when we do something wrong, and I can't help but think that that might be a good thing. Maybe if we can't bring ourselves to relate to other human beings it's healthy to fear some kind of higher power, otherwise we'd probably have no morals at all.

With Christmas coming up in less than 2 months, I'm genuinely looking forward to it. I look forward to the presents, the cheesy music, the carols played in town centres and the fact that for once in the course of the year people have to think about someone other than themselves. Of course a cynical person could say that companies merely use the Christmas season to make as much money as possible, but that should not detract in any way from the pleasure of buying something for someone else and enjoying their reaction when receiving it, or getting presents yourself and receiving that remarkable gift that you always wanted but never knew you did. Then there's food and rubbish tv and board games and drinks and games. And family. Most importantly there's family and friends who you've probably not seen in months.

If you do believe in God then buses with this kind of shit on the side are nothing short of insulting. The Christians have come under so much shit lately I'm starting to feel sorry for them. It's not like they'd be able to fund buses with the words "Our God is best" on the side, or tell Muslims they're worshipping the wrong God. There'd be public outcry, and quite rightly so, so why Dawkins and his brigade of Bible burners should be allowed to spew this anti-religious junk all over London is a mystery.

If you don't believe in God, then surely you can't see the point in all this, unless you are truly annoyed by people believing in God, in which case, let's be honest, you are an intolerant twat. Going around saying "there is no God" to you would be like going around saying "there are no pink elephants" or "there are no Starbucks on Mars". You already know they don't exist, ergo it doesn't need to be stated.

If, like so many people, you don't really know whether you believe in God or not, but you still pray when your life starts falling apart, or cursing him when you're caught in rushhour traffic, then I would guess you don't see the harm in believing in God. After all, surely someone other than you must be to blame when you show up to an interview in a brand new suit then throw chicken salad down the front. You've got someone to thank when you miraculously survive some terrible accident. You've got someone to thank for everything around you that's precious, because sometimes dumb luck just doesn't feel like enough.

God plays a far bigger influence than most of us think. Not the active force of God's fingers playing chess with his little human pieces, but humankind's belief in God is what makes him a powerful figure. The Bible isn't just a collection of random commands, it's actually got some good rules to live your life by. It's got tenets in it that make it easier to wake up in the morning and look in the mirror. It's got the power to turn people's lives around as much as it has the power to destroy them; so anyone going around ignorantly expressing the notion that God doesn't exist, just because they've lost the ability to believe certainly doesn't have the right to make other people feel guilty for believing.

A new Brand of silliness...

It seems as though this business with Brand and Ross has all gotten a little out of hand. I confess to being one of the few remaining in the country who view Jonathon Ross as a treasure instead of a liability. Maybe that's just because my parents have subjected me to too many hours of his radio show, but as far as I'm aware he's done enough hours of reasonably entertaining service to the media to mean that he shouldn't be cast out of good society for a few good natured jokes.

I mean, what Ross and Brand did seems rather akin to what Graham Norton's been doing for years. I recall Mr. Norton when David Tennant was a guest on his show, and them calling up a poor-unsuspecting gay gentleman after Norton advertised "The Doctor" on the personal ads page of a gay magazine. They sent a couple of rude and pointless texts, along with a picture of David with Jo Brand in the background. As far as I was concerned, celebrities leaving cringe-making messages on the answer-machines of the general public in the name of laughs was a perfectly reasonable practise. What we're essentially saying is that there is a new rule when the person receiving these messages happens to be an old, rich celebrity himself. Or rather, just an old geezer with absolutely no sense of humour.

I mean, he can't have missed the fact that his charming granddaughter defines herself as a "Satanic Slut" on her MySpace page and parades around as a member of a burlesque dancetroupe, having suggestive pictures taken of her wielding riding crops and with serious nipple-action on show. No, of course her life choices doesn't give Ross or Brand the right to call up her grandfather and make lewd comments, but it does, unfortunately, make him and his family the subject of discussion, and no doubt at times ridicule.

What this story really proves is that really is one rule for the rich and powerful and another rule for everybody else. It's all well and good to mock people as long as they have no power to get back at you, but the moment you piss off the wrong person apparently your job is on the line. I hope the BBC hold strong in keeping Jonathon Ross on air, because God knows he seems to be the only person left in the country who still has a comedic bone in his body.

First comes love, then comes marriage, and then... uh oh.

Disclaimer: Given the public nature of this blog I am going to commence it with a warning that it discusses issues that some may find insulting to their moral or social code of life. I do not write to inform others of what their opinions should be, only to discuss and clarify my own thoughts on the subject. Any offence given is unintentional on this delicate topic.



Abortion is always one of those tricky topics to blog about. It's simply the kind of subject where people are so easily polarised in their opinions (pro-choice / pro-life) that nobody considers what the best choice for human life really is.

Since it's been brought up in the news with the new embryology bill, I may as well post some thoughts here. I think it's fair to say that I don't fall neatly into either category. Both sides have very powerful and persuasive arguments - if you believe in the sanctity of every human life, then no matter what the argument you're never going to approve of abortion, and no amount of sanctity of the human body is going to change your mind. If you believe that a woman's body is her own, and she has the right to eject anything from her body that is likely to effect her health and future happiness then no amount of ugly pictures of aborted foetuses is going to change your mind.

Personally I can't really discuss abortion without bringing up the subject of contraception as I feel the two are inextricably linked. After all, if the contraception is effective - and generally it is - then abortion would not be necessary in a large number of cases.

So why does contraception fail? I think the first and most popular excuse for failure is simply not using contraception at all. Why some people decide to take a dangerous chance in creating human life by not using contraception is a real mystery to me. What are common excuses? Alcohol? Passion? None of these are good enough excuses for the production of a new baby. Call it a foetus, a mistake, a collection of cells, whatever you want, but however you slice it that's a life you've just created. You can justify it's destruction, certainly, I'm not saying there aren't ways of explaining away the need to destroy life, but when there are ways of preventing it's conception, then why not use them? If you don't use them then you are directly responsible if a child is conceived, and directly responsible for it's abortion. And the destruction of human life, for any reason, is murder. So I understand the pro-life argument. I feel like there should be consequences for irresponsible action, and the government's desire to make abortion even easier to maintain, I feel, may well encourage the use of abortion as a form of contraception, instead of using it in "worst case scenarios" such as rape.

Having said that, as I just said I am in favour of the practice of abortion in cases where pregnancy was unavoidable. I am in favour of abortion in cases where the child will be born with an illness that will damage it's future happiness; Down's, Spina Bifida and so on. The increasing pressure on the government to change euphanasia laws seems to suggest that people living with illnesses that are causing the deterioration of their mind or body do not wish to live through life suffering. Why anyone would choose to knowingly allow their child to be born with such a condition is cruel and unusual. I am also in favour of abortion in cases where the birth of the child will result in the death or suffering of the mother. I do not believe in the exchange of one life for another.

I think the problem is that we already take abortion far too lightly. Parents will storm the Headteacher's office demanding that their innocent little ones should not be hearing about sexual education, and that their scouts shouldn't be given contraception, and yet statistics show that the UK has an enormous underage pregnancy problem. Like it or not, our children are going to hear about sex, whether it's from their brothers and sisters, or classmates, or the television. And as soon as they hear that it's enjoyable, and a part of adulthood, as soon as they get those natural pubescent sexual urges, they're going to want to experiment. You can't "protect" them from sex when it's going to be coming at them from all directions, so you may as well make sure that learning about intercourse comes with a healthy dosage of learning about contraceptive methods, even if that does mean equipping 13 or 14 year olds with a rubber or two.

I suppose fundamentally as a young sexually active woman I just can't understand why it isn't possible to remain not-pregnant until such a time as one might want to conceive. I don't consider myself overly careful, I only use one method of contraception at any one time. I read the instructions on my pill packets, I use extra condoms whenever I'm on antibiotics, I do all the sensible things without going overboard, and unsurprising I've reached the ripe old age of almost 25 without getting pregnant. I believe that given the fact that contraception is FREE on the NHS that this should be possible for anyone from all walks of life. THEREFORE the abortion rate should not be rising, it shouldn't NEED to be made easier to get an abortion. What we need to do is start examining the way sexual education is taught in schools and promote the use of contraception even to those we feel are too young to be using it.

And, in the words of Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."

You Moss-t be joking...

I am always horrified to see another monument to Kate Moss. She is, without doubt, one of the most overrated figures in pop culture.

I may as well start by saying that I don’t think supermodels are meaningful. I’ve actually seen programmes on TV dedicated to their influence on modern life, fashion, women. Yes, they’ve had an influence. They’ve turned a nation of reasonably healthy, happy teenage girls into a pack of neurotic crazies. It’s like saying that a person who has a body composed of skin and bones; who has done nothing more significant than parading up and down a runway in clothing that literally needs to be draped over their skeletal, emaciated bodies must therefore have something meaningful to say.

You’d hope, wouldn’t you, that that would be true, but it just isn’t. These women are at the forefront of the debate about body image, and instead of making regular appearances to talk about the severe negative implications of the work they do, they instead are snapped and pasted all over the tabloids with “mysterious white powder” poking out of each nostril, a fag in hand, and clearly off their face on the thimble-full of booze it takes them to get wasted. These are, without question, some of the worst role-models that exist, and no one epitomises that image more in my mind than the ridiculous, comical Kate Moss.

And she is, without question, an enormous joke, surely? I keep waiting for some day time TV presenter to pop out from behind a lawn chair and declare that it’s all a hilarious jape. Either that or possibly there is something very wrong with my eyes and when I look at that chavvie moron I see something different from everyone else. I’m not going to push my luck and say Kate Moss is ugly, but she is generic. She has generic, lanky mousy coloured hair, which I never understood, because you’d think someone with that much money would be able to afford a decent stylist for her nights out. If she wasn’t a nasty, common piece of baggage at least I’d think – “hey great, maybe she’s overrated, but at least she’s spreading a good message” – but no. Instead she’s hanging around with losers like Pete Docherty and other ugly twats, and making famously irresponsible comments about staying thin. “Rexy” I think she called it, which for anyone who doesn’t know, is a combination of the words “anorexic” and “sexy”. Real classy, Moss.

So once again some idiot has gone and made another monument to this waste of space, who already takes up too much with her starving little frame, let alone the added space she takes up having a statue of her decidedly average features in Madame Tussauds.

I guess more than Moss herself it’s the notion of supermodel as a kind of celebrity. I can’t figure out why anybody cares about the opinions of walking clothes horses, particularly when they’re so amazingly bad. It’s like Paris Hilton; these people aren’t celebrities; they’ve never done anything to deserve fame or money, and they’ll be out as soon as the next “correct bone structure” comes along. Well, we can only hope, anyway.

Let’s pray the same is true for Moss. After all, if it’s a joke, it’s getting old. Sorry, I meant SHE’S getting old. Get off my TV you wrinkly, manky old cretin.

TV Times

The ending of the seventh season of Scrubs was a massive load of arse on toast. Having still not managed to secure myself a job, I've been watching hours and hours of television, including seasons 2-7 of Scrubs, which generally I've approved of. Okay, so it's formulaic to the point of nausea, but the show's got enough comedy and randomness in it to get me through the schmaltzy emotional bits where we all go home a little bit wiser and kinder to our fellow man. Like so many other series, Scrubs suffered at the hands of the writer's strike, but die-hard fans of the show would surely have been crushed to receive a measly 11 episodes, the last two of which were played in the wrong order. JD and Elliot's relationships were all naturally all over the place owing to the fact that the show's makers are blatantly going to try some messy reassembly of their relationship, despite the fact that they decided seasons ago that it was not going to work. I have to say it's a device in American television that's starting to bore me. Carrie and Big, Mulder and Scully, Ross and Rachel – all of these poor bastards seemed destined for each other despite the fact that the only thing they have in common is the capacity to make each other miserable. Well, maybe not Mulder and Scully. I actually quite liked those two.

Anyway, so I've been watching masses of TV and some of it's good, and some of it's merely okay. None of it's that bad. I'm always impressed that American TV is so often much better quality than British TV in that they've actually got something worth watching on every night of the week. I saw the first episode of "Fringe" the other night, which was gripping if nothing else. It's got enough in common with The X Files to make it good. I'm just hoping it stays on that side of the line and doesn't stray into Ghost Whisperer territory where things get too weird. I always quite liked the framework to the X Files and the way it dealt with cases on a fairly impersonal level. The moment you start bringing demons and other peculiar "underworld beings" you're getting into dodgy space.

Having said that, I've been watching "True Blood" with Dan and it's really good. At least, I like it, but then I'm quite into that vampiric lore stuff, what with having seen Hellsing, read the manga, and watched so much Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's definitely better than Buffy; more gritty, and the theme tune is this really cool blues track that I keep getting stuck in my noggin for hours on end. The only problem I really have with it is Sookie Stackhouse's breasts. I mean, what is up with those bad boys? Fair enough that Anna Paquin isn't overwhelmingly well-endowed, but whoever's on wardrobe duty on that show needs a slap upside the head so her chest doesn't end up halfway up her nasal passage by the time we're halfway through the series. If they wanted Sookie to be voluptuous, they should simply have chosen a curvier actress. There's nothing wrong with Anna's shape, I just can't help but cringe when she's slipped into these overly padded bras. Her boobs don't look bigger, they just look... odd.

I'm enjoying the most recent season of House. That and Grey's Anatomy are filling the hospital drama slot that Scrubs has inhabited the last month or so. Oh, and the new season of ER. It's strange that ER has gone on as long as it has, I remember watching it years ago when George Clooney was still in it. Greg died, which was depressing, and I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling a bit weepy. Given that I'm trying to watch television to improve my mood, I might avoid ER in the future if it continues to be depressing!

Walking in a Woolly Wonderland

My inner child died just a little bit when I realised I wanted one of these. Now admittedly I am going to end up looking like an old granny if my clothing taste keeps up this way, but that's a risk I'm prepared to take as long as my girlish flesh can be cushioned by this woolly piece of sweetness. I had a feel when I was in Debenhams in Ipswich, and it was wonderfully soft and amazingly not itchy like so many winter woollies turn out to be.

Problem is it does kind of scream grandma, or "first time mother still trying to hide her after-birthing paunch". Also it's one of those horrendously pretentious garments where you're likely to spend 50% of your time throwing the loose part over your left shoulder with your right hand. But it's only £25 and if you think about the amount of money I could theoretically save on heating by wearing this bad boy, I could theoretically be rolling in it by New Years'.

This will require more thought. And more colours. Not a big fan of beige.

When Genius Becomes Madness

Not at all impressed with this new "Genius" function on iTunes. After waiting about 20 minutes for it to set itself up, I gave it a trial run by playing a few songs on my playlist. Not only does it not update when my playlist moves from song to song, but when the Backstreet Boys came on (yes, I am a 24 year old woman who still frequently plays BSB AND knows all the words to 'Everybody' – get over it) iTunes had the bizarre notion to suggest... O Town.

Now, some of you will remember a reality TV show from the early days of reality TV called Making the Band. Think of it as the American version of Pop Band – the show that predated Pop Idol, and The X Factor. If you remember all this then hopefully you'll also remember one of the most God awful pieces of hilarity that ever hit the Top 10, which was a song named "Liquid Dreams", which was, unfortunately, exactly as bad in content as it sounds.

Let me give you an excerpt.

Now this hot girl, she's not your average girl
She's a morpharotic dream from a magazine
And she's so fine designed to blow your mind
She's a dominatrix supermodel beauty queen

I dream about a girl who's a mix of Destiny's Child
Just a little touch Madonna's wild style
With Janet Jackson's smile, throw in a body like Jennifers'
You've got the star of my liquid dream

Let's skip the fact that this song is pretty insulting to the average woman who, let's face it, doesn't like being broken down into a selection of body parts donated by various models, actresses and TV personalities, and go straight to the really gross part, which is the fact that this is a song about WET DREAMS. Someone please explain to me WHO thought that writing this was a good idea? Firstly, songs that talk about sex in anything other than extremely vague euphemisms are always tasteless and not at all provocative, a good example of this being "Insatiable" by Darren Hayes, which was actually quite good owing to being as non-specific as possible. Songs like "I Want to Sex You Up" and that decidedly bizarre "I want to fuck you like an animal" song by Nine Inch Nails are just tasteless and vulgar.

Anyway, I digress. Songs about wet dreams are gross. The band last about 2 years in which they had about 3 hit singles. They were all ugly and didn't dance that well.

Genius? Bollocks, I say.

Just... no.

Now as much as I like to think of myself as a 21st Century woman with a desire for all things equal 'twixt the sexes, I have to say that male sex toys may in fact be the most tasteless things in existance.

I wish there was some nice way of putting it, but there just isn't. Given that they have the tasteful nickname of "wank sleeves", it's hardly a surprise that even the sound of it makes me wrinkle up my nose.

It's all a bit tragic really because I don't consider myself to be against sex toys for ladies since I was introduced to them a few years ago. If someone said to me, "but doesn't it make you feel guilty, it is another penis after all?" I'd just laugh and say, God NO. A dildo is nothing like a penis; it doesn't feel the same, masturbation is nothing like sex, and no matter how overactive your imagination may be, it's nigh on impossible to use a dildo and somehow believe a full red blooded male is fixing those leaky pipes.

And yet for some reason, looking at those dreadful plastic sleeves, the weird things that look like torches, and all that other junk, I just think it's all kind of sick. Is that just because when a man puts his cock INSIDE you, it's a different situation from having something PUT inside you? I guess I would take my boyfriend wanting something that felt like someone else's vagina quite badly, particularly if I was actually there. Mr. Sex of Todger Talk - this bizarre sex blog I read because Google suggested it to me for some reason - comments that these "toys", or masturbatory aids, or whatever you want to call them can be used during sex play, but I cannot see the benefit. If I wanted a hand job from my boyfriend, I would be understandably disappointed if he whipped out a plastic bobbly sheath that was meant to be more stimulating. I can't help but think the feel of good old human flesh on human flesh is becoming sadly underrated if manufacturers think this is the way forward.

Of course I'm not answering here what might appear to be the gaping issue; the omnipresent dual-standards issue. I don't really know how to explain other that to say that I think men poking their penises in little plastic sheaths to get their jollies is "yicky". Then again, maybe women using latex knobs to get theirs is equally vulgar. Then again, it sometimes feels like if you're NOT one of these modern ladies who keeps something vibratable in her sock drawer, then you're not making the most of the freedom fought for so long and hard by our foremothers.

Let's, on this occasion, chalk it up in the column marked "Personal Choice". From a personal perspective though? Wank sleeves is a big, big no.

J.