I Hate This Place 3

Why are people so gobsmackingly, jaw-droppingly STUPID?

(Picture Stupid in big blocky letters on a hilltop. Actually, this kind of links into one of my more enjoyable fantasies where I creep up into the Hollywood Hills and replace the "Hollywood" sign with one saying "Stupid Fools").

But I mean it. This place seems to attract stupid people in the way that manure attracts flies or Daisy Beckham attracts accusations of having an affair.

Some stupid people do seem to have excuses however.

For example, there were a group of people today gabbing away at the crossing over the Mall. Now this is a particularly lethal crossing as it's only ever crossed by Taxi Drivers or Police Cars, both of which are more dangerous even than George Bush when he realises there's a country in the Middle East that he hasn't invaded yet. But these people were gabbing and wandering out into the middle of the road, carrying on their conversation without looking at the twenty tonnes of screaming death about to mow them down. But they, at least, had a decent excuse - they were foreigners. And we all know London was not built for foreigners - that's why we've got all the dark alleys where people can be mugged in.

Then there was the girl who barged past a group of people ahead of me on the exit to the Bakerloo line at Charing Cross. She got on the escalator, and for all her haste, stopped in her tracks. She wasn't going to walk up, oh no! So everyone else gets on the escalator, and no-one walks up, so this girl is still at the front. Having spent most of the journey up inspecting her nails, she gets to the top, and walks up to in front of the one working exit gate. She then stops, and begins rummaging in her bag for her ticket. Now, I'm not joking when I say she spent about a minute doing this, yet would not let anyone else past her through the gate. So there was a nice little queue of people with their tickets waiting to get past her. I mean, how stupid is this child? It's not as if you don't expect there to be barriers at the exit to the Bakerloo line. But no, apparently, her nails were more important than planning ahead, and if she was going to wait, then she'd be damned if anyone else could usurp her position at the front of the queue.

But even this prime example of stupidity had an excuse. She was a bint.

Then there are the people who phone in on Radio programmes. "Any Answers" on Saturday featured a woman complaining that we have "The Most Authoritarian Government Ever!!!!!" WHAT A STUPID COW!!!! She sounded like she was phoning while her butler held the telephone for her, and her maid brought her a fine mint tea especially imported from one of her numerous islands. If we had an Authoritarian government, she wouldn't be ringing in to complain, because she wouldn't be allowed to. Authoritarian Governments do not allow criticism of themselves by anyone. Then there was this useless waste of breath of a man, interviewed about fox-hunting, who said "I had no interest in hunting until they started trying to ban it. Then I went out and joined a hunt. Cos you know, if they're trying to ban it, it's got to be good." WANKER!!!!

This leads me on to all this moaning about a Nanny State. It's pathetic. Go to Hungary. Or Russia. See exactly what a Nanny State was. We have numerous liberties. Our journalists can still abuse everyone from the Prime Minister down - that's a pretty permissive society. People can still go out for a pie, pints and a punch up on the weekend- If I was this country's Nanny I wouldn't allow that! So what if the Government wants to ban smoking and stop people being lardy - I don't give a shit! If I want to smoke something, I'll go outside! And I think that quite a large portion of our population could do with being told not to eat fat food because they're porkers. Lard Arses! GIANT BLUBBERY BUFFOONS!!!!!

To be quite frank, I think a certain amount of Nanny-ing is important. Because a lot of the population is too stupid to do anything for itself.

I Hate This Place 2

On the corner of Whitehall and Northumberland Avenue, there was quite a nice general store called “Europa”.

When I say “quite a nice” store, I’m judging this on London standards, rather than Global standards. It wasn’t the friendliest place in the world, and it was a fair bit over-priced. So in actual fact, it was a bit crap. But compared to most places in this stinking Hell-hole, it was a positive oasis of lightness.

The shop itself was innocuous. The front of the shop was unobtrusive, as they had made no attempt to convert the outside of the building – all the old windows were still in place, and the only external alteration was a double door on the corner, which was surmounted by an old, weather-worn yellow sign reading “Europa”.

Inside it had high shelves, stocked with all manner of strange and unusual products. There was your standard “Tartan Scottish Shortbread” for Tourists (Scottish Shortbread in London? Why not go to, say, Scotland?), and many other frankly ridiculous items of food on the central isle.

But in the rest of the isles, there was actually decent everyday stuff. For one thing, it remains the only place I’ve found in the area which does McVities Chocolate Shortbread biscuits (truly fantastic for a tea-time snack).

The staff were a fantastic haphazard bunch. They just wore standard clothes, and only two at a time could serve, while at least two other members of staff milled around, re-stocking, or pointing out the mistakes the people on the Till were making. It was gloriously unorganised and as such, quite homely.

A few months ago, it closed for refurbishment. It re-opened at the beginning of September as a “Tesco Metro”.

This is the most depressing thing I have seen in a long time.

Firstly, the old windows have been torn out, and the frames widened, to make space for large tinted plate glass windows bearing the Tesco logo on them. The inside has low shelves just stocking standard produce at more expensive prices than before. The backs of various lurid advertisements in the shop are visible from the windows outside, a tangle of wires and fastenings.

The till area has been replaced so that, instead of two stations with seats behind, there are now five cramped stations, with no room for the staff to sit. True, it means they can serve more people, but I think I preferred the informality of before.

Finally, the staff themselves are the same as before. However, this time, they’re all wearing the regulation blue speckled shirts and blouses and black trousers of Tesco. Whereas before they looked human, now they look like clones of one another. And there’s a certain aura of depression about all of them: whereas before they were the Kings of Europa, now they are the servants of Tesco.

Apparently, this is the way that local shops should go. Tesco are apparently pleased with their range of Tesco Metro stores, claiming their identifiably “British” theme of Red, White and Blue is recognisable and popular in all areas.

They are wrong. Their shop is an eyesore among the venerable buildings next door on wither street to it. I cannot believe how they got planning permission for it. Presumably the MD paid off the planning officers in Whitehall. Or alternatively made himself their bitch for the week. Either way, it’s despicable. I am now waiting to see how long it is before the old faces from Europa are “retired”. After all, to Tesco they’re not people, they’re a commodity. One is much the same as the other.

And they don’t sell McVities Chocolate Shortbread biscuits any more.

(For more reasons why Tesco are crap, go to this article.)

Growing old gracefully

I picked up a copy of Metro today (I know, I know, there's no excuse that can justify it). As per normal, there was an advert for reviews of last night's TV which can be found in the "Evening Standard". Looking at this, one thing came to mind.

Victor Lewis-Smith.



What's that all about then?

Pomp and Circumstance

I just got waved at by Prince Phil and the Queen. I'm more pleased about Prince Phil because, let's face it, the man's a comedy genius.

I knew they waved at me be cause I was close enough to make eye contact and there were only five or six of us stood at the railings. One of the advantages of working where I do is that they let us out of the back gate and into Horseguards. Normally Horseguards is off limits when the Queen is processing through it, but being Civil Servants, we were allowed at.

As I waved my hand in salutary fashion in return, two thoughts went through my head.

The first was that, as I pulled my hand out of jacket to return the greeting, at least three guns would have been trained on me, from the snipers on various rooftops.

The second was "what is the protocol for returning a Royal greeting? Do you bow? Do you raise one hand in the manner of the Knight in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"? Or do you leap up and down like a loon? I like to think my measured response was mature and thoughtful. Phil probably thinks I'm a pleb though.

I Hate This Place

"Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." (Samuel Johnson, September 20, 1777)

I loathe this quote.

Now, far be it from me to contradict such a great literary mind as Dr Johnson, but what was true in 1777 can hardly be said to hold true in 2004. Yet it is very hard to go a week in the capital without hearing or reading a truncated version of Dr. Johnson’s words.

I have a different quote. It reads:

“No Sir, when a man is tired of London, it means he’s been there about 10 minutes.”

London is a beast. It squats on the landscape, weighing down the whole country and tilting it improbably towards the South East, and belching and shitting its foul waste all over the countryside. And every year, this waste seeps out from London’s putrid underbelly and absorbs more of the surrounding area. It’s a disease; a boil on the landscape; a foul, throbbing spot fit to burst, waiting for someone to prick it.

I loathe so many things about London. I loathe the fact that 75% of people think they’re the coolest and hardest people in the world. I loathe these people, who swan about and talk about “doing lunch some day”. These people are miniature versions of London itself – a hideously glossy façade hiding a rotting filthy soulless mass underneath. I loathe the people who try to pick fights in pubs because you don’t have a Cockney accent, yet will switch to being impossibly nice if you are a local. I loathe the fact that all these people, yuppies and chavs alike, look about as healthy as the chickens that Burger King mashes into nuggets. The pallid, wan faces, with colour bleached from them, except where they’ve applied ten tonnes of make-up to counteract the effects of London.

I loathe the stench – that fetid sewer / old burger smell that hangs around most of the centre, like the smell the morning after a party where most of the people attending took improbable quantities of drugs and food, and then revisited it all during the course of the night. I loathe the filth – the vomit slicks that strew the pavement, the ten-week old glob of chewing gum that applies itself without remorse to the soul of your shoe, and which only industrial strength chemicals can remove.

I have lived in London for two and a half years now. This is approximately two and a half years too long. I was exhausted within a week of getting here and have remained so ever since. I long to get away, to escape to somewhere approaching normality, but I can’t because it has been decreed that the only decent jobs are in London. But it doesn’t matter anyway. London is like the major accountancy firms at Graduate Recruitment Time – it hoovers people up, puts them through the most impossible stresses and strains imaginable, and then spits the ones who crumble out beside the wayside without a care for them, while it continues to devour new victims.

So the next time I hear someone say that “when someone is tired of London, they are tired of life”, I am going to find this person and insert Nelson’s Column into their rectum. That’ll teach the fucker.

Having said that...

Having posted one of the most self-pitying blog entries for a while, I have to say, there are SOME perks to my job. Like being chauffeur-driven through the streets of Central London in a flash car with leather seats and (get this!) motion sensors to say if you're getting to near the cars in front or behind. Needless to say they went off a lot.

Also very amusing when one of the people on the intercom forgot to switch of their mic when speaking on a phone - the following snippet was heard quite clearly:

"Fuck You you fuck...."

"Oh yeah? Your mum...."

Marvellous entertainment.

My Life

Hello.

I'm not doing good on this blogging thing really am I? I promise it's just for the moment. Everything's a tad manic and crazy. Not to mention depressing. I really am not happy at work at the moment. I don't mind working hard, though I'm getting annoyed at the fact that it's being taken for granted that I'll do overtime every night, and that I can't even take a days' leave or sick. I've got a days' leave booked on Friday, and I'm convinced that I'm going to have to fight to take it off. Well bugger it, if needs, be I'll work Saturday instead.

To top it all off, I've discovered something quite badly wrong in all the work I did last week, meaning a lot of it needs to be done. This is all the more annoying because it's a stupid mistake I made and I can't blame it on anyone else.

The there's the fact that all the work is affecting my outside life. I'm massively behind in my evening class, I haven't done any music practice for a while, and I haven't been able to contact anyone in ages. I've got a list of people I need to phone that's been building up, but when you get in after doing 10 or so hours, I just want to eat and sleep.

Then there's family issues. I'm probably being unreasonable here, but all my family live within an hours' travel of one another in the North. Unfortunately this means that when there's a get-together, I'm expected to attend. Which involves considerably MORE than an hours' travel. The weekend before last was a case in point. I had to travel up for a family birthday, but couldn't take time off. So I travelled all day on Saturday (and I mean ALL day thanks to Virgin trains), spent Saturday evening in bed with a migraine, spent Sunday at the party (which didn't turn out to be a family party, but a big get together of lots of people), and travelled back on Monday (during which time I had to work because I can't take time off). Then I get put on a guilt trip for not telephoning on the weekend when the actual birthday was.

I may be being unreasonable here. I do have a lovely family who are good to me, but sometimes, I find the demands a tad too much. But then it's probably because I'm feeling low about life.

Anyway, this wasn't meant to be a whinge about my life. No-one really cares, it's not what people read blogs for. But I've noticed a worrying trend in fellow bloggers. It seems they all look down on and sneer at people who post links to other sites in their blog. You know, where you put a post directing people to an article of interest or something.

Why is this such a crime?

If I read something of interest, I don't want to rephrase it in my own words and take credit for it. That's plagiarism. I want credit to be given to the people who actually put the effort in and wrote it. And if you have a problem with linking to sites generally, then I say you're a very petty individual. What's wrong with directing people to other areas of interest. It's nice to the people who receive the link, as they get more readers, and it's nice that you can share things you find interesting with your readers.

So before you get all sanctimonious about link posts, I say this. Get a life. Just make sure it's a better one than mine.

Celebration Time...

This week is stupidly busy.

I am barely getting time to breathe, let alone speak to real people, spend time with my girlfriend, eat, that kind of thing.

I had a long, lo-o-o-o-o-ng rant planned about my train journey on Virgin this weekend (the standard two hours' lateness), but I'm so tired I can barely find the bile in my spleen to vent.

So, I actually thought I'd write a few quick things that have made me happy this week (shock horror!).

Firstly, my good friend B-K has created a blog - markspeak - which I thoroughly recommend to all. Few people would have the confidence to open their blog with the phrase

"It's me, my voice, my ideas. If you don't like it that's probably because you are not me."

But that's him for you. He's a very funny man, with a cracking dry sense of humour, and a healthy view of the world - it's a bit fucked really. He's also an author, and despite what he worries about (the lack of a publisher) I'm convinced he will get published. So go. Read. Enjoy.

Secondly, on a personal point of view, my dear friend Matt P and his lovely wife Su, who gave me the honour of being the Best Man at their wedding last year has just had a baby girl, Holly. I'm fantastically pleased for them - they'll be excellent parents.

Thirdly, Moore has created a new film. It's rather special, and gives a starring role to the G-Man. And a sinister monkey. Go and watch it now. And make sure you have the sound on.

So I shall vanish into the ether once again now. Normal service (i.e. bitterness, ranting and raving) will be resumed shortly.

Conspiracy!

Earth Girl has succeeded in attracting a lunatic to her site with a post about that babboon George W Bush.

CrazyforJesus felt the need to respond to Earth Girl's comment about the Election Results. He started off being quite reasonable, and you can't really blame him for following what he believes in. But oh dear me, he really went off the deep end at the end...

"...people talk about iraq & the wmd, remember when the inspectors when all the to inspect, how come the had to wait for hours or even a day or so before they where allowed to inspect? I tell you why because that was enough time for France to warn the iraq's & for them to leave the country. where are they now, try Syria & Iran ~ oh yea nobody wants to say anything about that huh."

I think we ALL know the reason why nobody wants to talk about that...

"The Bastard Son of 10 000 Maniacs..."

I don't want to die.

I really don't.

I have many years ahead of me, during which I want to do many things. I would like to see a bit more of the world. I would like to get back to earning money through music. I would like to complete seeing the cycle of Mahler symphonies in chronological order with Nick.

But it seem that the largest section of the voting public in America ever has decreed that this shall not be so.

HOW?

WHY?

BASTARDS.

Bush has one of the worst records of any President ever in terms of the American economy. His cabinet have been associated in numerous big business scandals which have impacted directly on the lives of the American populace. He has waged war against two countries, leading to the deaths of thousand of American soldiers. His leadership flushed away the near-global goodwill towards America after 9/11 to leave it as the most reviled state in the world.

Apparently though, none of this matters.

80% of voters apparently placed "moral issues" ahead of anything else when casting their vote. "Moral Issues" covers topics such as abortion and gay marriage. What harm, EXACTLY, does gay marriage do anyone? Who cares that it's prohibited in the Bible - the Bible says we should love our neighbour and forgive people's sins, but that clearly isn't adhered to in any way, shape or form (Death Penalty anyone?).

If you've seen the voting map of America, you'll see that the areas traditionally associated with liberalism and intellectualism in America - the states that opposed slavery for example - all voted Democrat. Yet the heartland and south of America voted Republican. I know why this is. They're worried that people will realise all the genetic problems they've caused by inbreeding over many years and try and prevent this using genetic modification.

This last point is a tad irrational, but that is what my rage has driven me to.

What terrifies me more than anything however is that according to the current constitution, Bush cannot be elected again. Therefore, he can pretty much do whatever he likes and not be held accountable at all. This is a terrifying thought.

To be blunt, in the next four years I predict the following things will happen.

1) At least two more wars (Iran and Syria seeming the most likely candidates)

2) Bush changing the constitution so that he can be elected for a third term (due to "National Security Issues" probably).

3) More major terrorist attacks across the Western world.

4) The first deployment of a nuclear weapon since the Second World War

I hope I'm wrong. But I don't think I will be.

P.S. I make no apologies for quoting "Nightmare on Elm Street" in the title of this.

A meditation on the next four years...

Reprinted with kind permission from Growleroo.

"...the patriot act has already paved the way for widespread suspension of civil and human rights for anyone who challenges the state (it's like the arrowcross all over again), it's only a short step there before emergency powers get granted to the chancellor... uhhh, president.... enabling him to suspend larger and more significant parts of the constitution / democratic process / etc. it's the classic dictatorship model - pursue an aggressive foreign policy while instigating an atmosphere of paranoia and externally-induced instability at home, move to counter this 'external threat within' by gradually stripping the populace of their rights while heightening the impression that only the imcumbent can protect them, then move to consolidate power by declaring a state of emergency and suspending the democratic process. all the while pursuing an agenda, through use of moral and religious doctrine, of vilification and persecution of a minority (in this case it seems to be both middle eastern minorities and the gay community), to keep the populace scared and vulnerable and in need of a strong leader to counter these supposed threats to both their country and their way of life. hitler, stalin, palpatine, whoever - it's history repeating itself, and it bloody scares me."

I think we're going through a collective Dark Night of the Soul.

The Second Coming

The Second Coming - W B Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of "Spiritus Mundi"
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

(Thanks for Andy flagging this up)

Hallowe'en

Normally, I don't go in for Hallowe'en much. It's a bit pointless, and I can't quite believe that it is now the UKs third most popular festival after Christmas and Easter (mind, at least "Clinton's Cards" haven't started stocking "Happy Hallowe'en " cards).

The past three years, my attitudes have changed slightly, mainly because our old landlady Debbie held the most spectacular Hallowe'en parties, involving a good deal of merriment, alcohol and herbal remedies.

However, on Sunday, I had the most enjoyable Hallowe'en for a long time. It involved a get together at a friend's house, alongside all our fellow compadres from Hungary and The Inimitable Martin. We ordered two 1m wide pizzas (Heaven!), Jen laid on a cracking spread of nibbles, and we drank far too much of the vine.

The highlight of the evening was the first of the scary films we decided to watch - "Ghostwatch". Now for those of you who don't remember, this was a one-off BBC special shown in 1992, and featuring the talents of Sarah Greene, her husband Mike Smith, Craig Charles, and best of all, Michael Parkinson.

They really don't make things like this anymore. The premise was that a documentary crew were allowed in to witness the haunted events taking place in a suburban house. Now if they made it these days, there would be mediums, and the family would rationalise with the spirit and lay it to rest. And the spirit would probably be restless simply because no-one had ever found their hidden stack of treasure.

But not Ghostwatch. Oh no.

In the heyday of 1992, the ghost was a psychopathic child molester who hung himself in an under-the-stairs cupboard (nicknamed "the glory hole", leading to far too much amusement) and got eaten by cats. The young girls in the house were beaten up by these spirits, one of them was possessed, while the other gouged out the eyes of her stuffed rabbit toy. Really quite gruesome.

To my shame I was never allowed to watch it when it first went out (though I maintain I was working that night), though all my friends did, and they remember not sleeping for nights after it. It was truly spine-tingling. It built the tension slowly, with subliminal flashes of this deformed ghost figure, reflected for half a second in a window or against a curtain. Then there was the possession and injury of the girls, before it finished up with Sarah Greene and half her crew apparently dead, Craig Charles crying, and Michael Parkinson possessed.

Of course in retrospect, there are a lot of nods to adult viewers to let them know that the whole thing is a hoax. The afore-mentioned "glory hole" (still funny three days after watching the thing), Craig Charles thinking the camera was turned off, and hitting a small child over the head to get him to "sod off". But still I think it was a masterpiece of TV, and something I think we are unlikely to see again.

After having seen this, and being a tad scared, we then watched "Nightmare on Elm Street 3". Awful. 'Nuff said.

The Return of Commuter Boy

Having assembled the stats from my month of commuting hell on Commuter Boy, I have sent off a rather stroppy letter to South West Trains, detailing exactly how much of my life they have cost me. They'll probably ignore it because, let's face it, it's a bit sad isn't it?

However, by the end, writing a "C-log" every day was driving me up the wall, and quite frankly I didn't have the time. So I shall leave Commuter Boy up for posterity, but from now on, any particularly bad journeys will get blogged about here.

Such as...

This morning. Mainly I'm aggravated about the tube. The B has written a good article on the hell of travelling by tube here, and basically I felt the same today. Especially when, as I extricated myself from the crush to prepare to leave the tube, the tall wide businessman behind me chose the same moment to stretch out a bit. The end result of this, apart from annoying the crap out of everyone around him, was to jettison me head first into the Tub door as it was opening. So not only did I hit my head, it got dragged along as well. This a happy bunny did not make.

And a special comment on the lack of co-ordination between the various transport networks this weekend too. Living in the forgotten wilderness of Zone 3, we were clearly not important enough to warrant any transport services this weekend. The trains weren't running on the line into Waterloo (needless to say, we weren't warned about this in advance). Then there was the closure of the District and Circle lines between Earl's Court and Whitechapel, (though at least they HAD warned us about this in advance. So if you wanted to get to Charing Cross or Embankment from where we lived, you were buggered basically.

It was quite amusing that the announcements stated "There is a good service on the Piccadilly Line, and that's it" while we were waiting on the Piccadilly line platform at Leicester Square. It seemed strangely ironic after that when our Piccadilly line train stopped between Kings Cross and the Caledonian Road for about 10 minutes due to signalling problems at Arsenal. We were eventually shepherded off the train at the Caledonian Road after they decided to suspend the line. So that meant not a single tub line in London was running well. Joy.

Anyway, I'm probably ranting because I'm tired and in a bad mood. But still, I've got a lot more to blog about in the next couple of days before we all face impending nuclear death.

Quotes of the Month Archive: October 2004

• 'Americans!: You get your chance to vote for real next week. My simple advice to you is this - Don't fuck it up this time.' (Scaryduck)

• 'In polls of British voters, a clear majority consistently backs Kerry over Bush when it is a given a choice between the two men. But throw US television characters into the equation and you get Homer Simpson...[Today]Kerry will give a speech on national security in Green Bay, Wisconsin, then travel to Nevada and New Mexico for campaign rallies. Wisconsin is clearly the place to be today: Bush will be in Richland Centre and Cuba City before leaving the state for a rally in Iowa. Homer Simpson is a cartoon.' (the Guardian)

• 'Have you seen her [Jordan]? I've seen better-dressed wounds.' (Jo Caulfield, Radio 4)

• 'What do I think of the Sun?...I don't think it is necessary to buy this newspaper.' (U. Meier, The Guardian)

• 'This CD is beyond good or bad. It is from a world where concepts such as "unique" and "indispensible" live happily alongside "hilariously, brain-tearingly wrong".' (Guardian review of William Shatner "Has Been")