The story of my life

Holiday time, hence the absence (more on this another time) and the short post...

A couple of weeks ago Facebook unleashed its latest change - the Timeline. It was announced many months ago with big fanfare and such. It was lauded as an enormous change.

So, what has actually changed?

Well, not a lot really. Your wall was always in chronological order, with most recent activity at the top and it still is. It still tells you everything that you have been doing, when you made friends with people and such like. But - critically - the Timeline has neatened everything up, given it a fresh, simplified look and made things more searchable.

It is a good change.

Yes, there has been a tiny bit of tinkering: you now get a 'cover' picture as well as just a profile picture, and your info has been moved around; but the main thing is the simplicity. It is almost as if they have been listening to my grumbling. In the past the changes have tended to clutter things up, move things around unnecessarily or introduce 'new' features which simply don't work within Facebook. What they have managed to do with Timeline is strip this back to the features that people actually want and use.

Good work, Facebook.

Welcome to a new place...

Yes, the blog has changed it's name. Why? Well, essentially to preserve anonymity. Whilst I was never particularly identifyable before, there was the potential that people could put two and two together, albeit with a lot of scrabbling around to find the twos first. But this way there is nothing to specifically link me.

And I think it is a better, somewhat more accurate name anyway.

It's beginning to look a not like Christmas

No, it's not a typo.

I went for my work Christmas meal last night. Only, I'm still not feeling very festive. At all.

It may be a work thing. I'm not a huge fan of hanging around much with my current colleagues. In my immediate team, none of them did or would ever go for a meal. We are a small team comprised of a new chap, an older chap- who could think of nothing worse than socialising - and myself who, as senior, is 'the enemy'. Well, not quite, but they are hardly going to relax around me. So we get merged with another team for our Christmas meal, a team who we barely associate with for the rest of the year.

So why do I go? Well, partly to make myself seem more accessible and not seem like the ogre-manager that they may seem to think I appear. But also because those people who complain the team doesn't do anything, never integrates etc. are the people who don't make an effort and go to the meal. At least this way I have a legitimate reason to complain.

But for some reason this year it just doesn't seem Christmassy. I know that to a great degree this is my own fault. The decorations are starting to go up at work and I have only today and tomorrow left in the office. I've horribly back-ended myself with my holidays this year, but one of the side effects is that I miss the Christmas build-up at work, asking people what they are doing and other such nonsense.

And at home my life is a clutter. Once again I am single for Christmas. I have been with someone on two previous Christmases and there is something inherently infectious (and not in a bad way) about Christmas preparations. You get excited as much for the other person as you do yourself by being infected by their excitedness. But I am used to being single for Christmas. However the house is in a state.

I am having the roof replaced this week. For those of you that have read the news stories about gales and storms, rain and wind and snow you can probably imagine I am revelling in the coincidence that is this same week that I am exposed to the elements. However I took precautions and emptied my loft. This means that the boxes that were in there are scattered around the house. Combine this with emptying the spare room so I can DIY it, this means there is a lot of clutter around. Too much clutter to feel tidy for Christmas, and certainly far too much to make space for where the Christmas tree would normally go. Add further stilll that I am away in the week run up to Christmas and it hardly seems worth it as I won't be theren So it isn't going up this year. And the two that would normally go outside won't go because of the scaffolding for the roof, and the potential to get nicked whilst the house is unoccupied for the week I am away.

The forces really have conspired against me.

And, of course, going away immediately before Christmas means that I am probably concentrating on that rather than Christmas. Once I get back I can start to think about Christmas, for all the one day I have.

And it isn't as though I don't have reason to get excited. I have sorted and organised all the presents, made the cards and am generally ready. The nephew is getting super-excited and I am to be Santa on Christmas day. I have a costume and everything. And I have been eating mince pies for a while. But no matter how much I try to convince myself it's Christmas, it just doesn't feel like it.

There could be an age thing. Not only am I single and childless, but I have little to get excited for. I know what I am getting for Christmas: a drill, a kitchen bin, and a mattress topper. Alk very utilitarian and not in the spirit, but then our family has often been like that.

But I can't help feeling it isn't just me. I know I have done all my shopping online (or Man Shopping) but I haven't felt as though town, and the shops, have helped me get into the spirit.

I don't know if it's a general malais, ennui or anaesthesia, or quite what. Every year they start the Christmas countdown earlier and earlier. The BBC Magazine Monitor regulars will know of the feature whereby readers report their first sighting of Christmas merchandise, and this year Selfridges unveiled some of their Christmas display in July. They claim to have sold around 2000 baubles in the first week, which really isn't that much for a big shop. But if there are Christmas decorations on sale for half of the year is there any surprise when we become ennumbed to the festivities. It's rather like the boy who cried wolf. For half the year. It has bred not just indifference, but active antipathy, conscious disengagement.

And as hardly having shopped in town (again, it has been done online and I don't want to spend any more money than necessary with getting the roof done and going away) I haven't been exposed to the relentless tirade of Christmas tunes (although I went to a shop on Sunday and heard something worse than Christmas tunes: terrible covers of Christmas tunes because they were clearly tok cheap to afford the originals). But maybe it's a good thing, maybe a need a year off to rekindle my love and appreciate what has become very mundane and perfunctory.

DIY it yourself

I'm feeling very home-made at the moment.

I've just had some more of the delicious chicken and mushroom soup that I made. A couple of weeks ago I was eating beetroot soup, not only that I had made myself but with beetroot that I had grown myself. And last night's mash potato was also home-grown.

But it got me thinking, just how home-made is home-made?

The beetroot soup was probably about as home-made as you can get. At the other extreme is the restaurant meal where you don't grown the food yourself, you don't even cook it yourself. Or the takeaway. But at least with the takeaway you are probably eating it at home (or wandering down the street dripping kebab everywhere). But where in the middle does it stop being home-made?

For example, the chicken and mushroom soup - I bought all the ingredients. Yet everyone would say this is home-made food. And so almost all of the food I make is home-made because I cook pretty much from scratch.

But one of my colleagues recently 'home-made' a Christmas pudding, only I'm not convinced it was home-made. He bought a pack which contained all the ingredients he needed, pre-weighed out. All he had to do was mix them together and cook it. There are 'bread packs' which contain all the flour, yeast and everything not only weighed but pre-mixed. All you do is add water and bake.

Obviously with these things there are still elements to go wrong - you could add too much water or bake for too long and burn it. But the same could be said for a cook-at-home pizza. Yet no-one is going to try to argue that because I put it in the oven for a quarter of an hour I have made it.

The local supermarket has just started selling 'deli packs' - essentially the same as pudding mix. You get given a portion of chicken, chopped and ready to cook; with a portion of freshly chopped vegetables; a pack of ready-to-use noodles; with a sachet of sauce to pour on. The idea is that you fry up the chicken, add the vegetables and noodles, stir in the sauce and voila, you have a home-made chicken stirfry. Or do you? Shouldn't I be buying the chicken and vegetables myself and cutting them up? Should I make the sauce myself from entirely fresh ingredients? All hand-picked from my own garden?

Stir-in sauces were all the rave a few years ago. You chose the main ingredients and selected a sauce with the curry spices ready mixed in the sauce for you. But they were popular for a couple of reasons - mostly down to the fact that people approached these particular sauces with trepidation, considering the careful mix of spices the preserve of the professional. These stir-in sauces allowed you to have a curry at home without having to know how to actually make it. They also (should have) save you cluttering up your kitchen with dozens of spice jars and racks, though everyone probably has a jar of cloves that remain unloved. These new deli-packs go one step further - you don't even choose the ingredients, just the style.

And it isn't just the kitchen either. Anyone who knows me will tell you I love my DIY. There is barely an hour when I am at home that I'm not filling, screwing or banging. And not in a good way. But how 'myselfed' is my work? I use a powertool to drill the hole. I've started using a powertool now to screw as well; so it isn't really 'me' that is doing it. Yes I may be deciding where I want to put the door, but the door itself comes ready made - someone else has glued and screwed the jambs and the panels. Maybe I should be doing that to claim proper DIY? And cutting down the trees to make the panels and jambs. And obviously moulding, styling and firing the ceramics in the bathroom too.

And I need to be very careful with this, because I'm ending up talking myself out of my own accomplishments if I'm not careful. Yes, I had a lovely flapjack, but I didn't make it myself. All I did was pick the pears, puree them, mix them with oats, butter and sugar and bake them for 20 minutes. I certainly didn't sow my oats.

Just a quickie

Mostly just by way of general update on things in my life...

So, work has been ridiculously busy. It doesn't help that I've back-ended myself this year again. I always save up my holidays. I am reluctant to take any during the first half of the year in case I get offered a new job and have taken too much holiday and have to 'pay some back'. Then I take long weekends over summer, but rarely any substantial break. So it got to the end of November and I still had 12 days of my 25 day annual allowance still to take. I'm having a long weekend this weekend, then leaving work on the 15th December until January. A lovely long break, but with the weather and the reduced daylight, all I shall be doing shall probably be DIY. Still, at least it is getting done!

And I'm not the only one back-ending myself either. During December there are only 3 of the 20 working days when all three members of the team are in. It really hasn't been well thought through. I blame them.

Date six never happened. Somehow I managed to blow him off. I think the signs were there on date five when we never even kissed, but mostly that was because we were in public and I certainly am not one for overt displays of affection. But then I was saying to anyone who knew about any of the dates that I wasn't convinced by him. And not just because of the fluorescent orange.

It didn't help, either, that a REALLY REALLY fit new person started at football. That is certainly one way to get me going back frequently. And he's a gayer. I wasn't convinced at first; but he definitely is. And SO fit. Beautiful blue eyes. And within my age range. And he has a hairy chest (Facebook pictures are great). And so unbelievably fit - did I mention that? But anyhow, that kind of distracted me from making a defined effort to rearrange the blown-off date six.

It is a recipe for disaster though. Not because it would again involve dating someone at football (that said, I've had no problems with my ex but mostly because he's never been back to football since) but mostly because - although single on Facebook - I think he has some sort of 'distance' or 'on-off' relationship going on. He may not but we'll see. I think I'm building myself up for a fall, but it's very difficult to stop. Even more difficult when you spend one Sunday evening session just marking each other and bantering with each other all the time.

I have now caught either one mouse twice, or two different mice, in the house. The first I released at the very top of the garden which is up a flight of steps; but people think it has probably just found it's way back. The second time I released it back into the house. Unintentionally - obviously. I opened the trap to grab it so I could take it to the park and release it and the bugger slipped out of my hand. Next time I shall jsut take the trap down to the park.

One of the reasons for the long weekend this weekend is that I have a man coming round to handle my erection. He's putting the scaffolding up so the roofer can start on Monday. I will be pleased with that - I have been intending to get the roof done since moving in six years ago; but only just gotten around to it. It is a bit of a frustrating job though - it is a lot of money to spend; and it isn't as though I'm 'getting' anything for it - I have a roof already; it's not as though I'm going to see an immediate benefit or have something to play with; I'm going to be in exactly the same position, just more watertight.

The DIY is progressing. The bathroom is coming along nicely - I'm currently doing the bath panel which is the last job to do in there. That should be done by the weekend, then I near to clear out the spare room to have a good look at the floor in there and chip off the remaining plasterwork. I'm in the middle of (re)placing doors too - my bedroom had a crappy sliding door on it; it is getting a proper hinged door; the lounge hasn't had a proper door on it since I moved in (the old one was taken off when replacing the floorboards and didn't go back on I think because it was horrible but I can't remember) and the ill-fitting kitchen door is to be replaced with one to match the others. It's all go, thank goodness.

This does mean that the house is a tip with boxes getting moved round as each room is needed for another task. It is also not helped by it being Christmas, though I have bought all the Christmas presents I need to already (smug grin) and made the Christmas cards - this is a long standing family tradition in that for the last 10 years or so I have been the only person in the family to give Christmas cards; and they are homemade. But the boxes of clutter are only going to get worse when it comes to getting the Christmas tree out. And I usually enjoy (well, sort of) having a good clean and tidy up before starting with the erection. Of the tree. And then my mother has taken to emptying their loft and giving me lots of junk to Ebay. Thanks for that. Still, if I can get it all online before Christmas I might benefit. And I must get around to posting other Christmas cards. The annoying thing is that ordinarily I would use any spare time at work to address the cards and Ebay the stuff; only because of being backended by my staff I don't have that time!

Hopefully at some stage I will get time to scratch my arse.

Not in my blog...

Apologies if this is a little short - bladdy work keeps getting in the way.

I went round to my parents at the weekend for a family meal. One of the things this enables me to do is to read the local freesheet. This is a curious thing. It is a free newspaper that costs very little to create and contains very little of concern. It is curated from articles which have been in the 'proper' pay-for local evening paper over the preceding week.

What it does do though is give a little insight into what actually troubles local people which comes down to one thing:

Change.

People hate it; but if they can attach localism to it, then they believe it will carry even more weight. For some reason if something affects a locality it threatens a community. It is very rare that 'change' is seen as an enhancement, which is why any development - whether physical, social or technological - should be insipidly gradual with people hardly even aware that it is occurring.

One of the pieces which jumped out at me as ridiculously irrational was a piece on the opposition for a wind turbine.

A single wind turbine.

Not a wind farm. Just one turbine.

Now, I am currently preparing a much more substantial essay on the benefits of renewable energy so I will not go into that now. But I was so annoyed at this piece on the local opposition. The ONLY ground for opposition was that it would spoil the view.

There was nothing about any increase in noise pollution - in any event they would be well advised to steer clear of that as the wind whistling through trees creates as much noice as a turbine.

There was nothing about the increase of traffic due to the construction, though they probably realised such an argument was very temporary as it would only last a matter of weeks.

There was nothing about any interference to wildlife, though obviously this would distract from any 'local' viewpoint as wildlife is nationwide.

There was nothing about any disruption caused by construction and digging and hauling huge lumps of earth out, scarring the immediate landscape for a period of time. That did surprise me actually because the argument that it will take nature 2 or 3 years to return the cut-and-covered cable channels to their natural state (if at all) is certainly more arguable than the argument that, for a couple of weeks, there are going to be a couple more lorries on the road.

No, the only argument against it is that it would be a blot on the landscape. The arguers rather shot themselves in the foot though. They pointed out that there was already one turbine locally which could be seen from x many miles away and interferred with the view one got of the minster as one approached the town.

So there are two problems with that argument. Firstly there is already a turbine. How much more 'distracting' is a second actually going to be. And secondly they were not arguing that it would interfere with the view of the landscape, the rolling hills and meadows; but with the view of another (albeit much older) man-made object.

It really annoys me because for those that find them ugly there are as many who find them pretty, and a substantial amount in the middle who find them neither but who agree that they are necessary.

And it's pure NIMBYism. They wouldn't bat an eyelid if the turbine were going up fifty miles away. Or twenty miles away. Or even five miles away. In fact they would probably be postiviely arguing for them as necessary to decrease our reliance on diminshing, non-renewable resources. If they were reasonable about it - even residual in just accepting that it would happen - rather than reacting to it, then they would adopt it a lot quicker. If you are the rough surface, then of course something will grate on you.

How often do villages build themselves around - or simply differentiate themselves by - a windmill. "Turn left just after the old water-mill". In one viillage in Nottinghamshire one of the 'star' attractions is the old, industrial, entirely unaesthetic when contructed pumping station. It just takes a couple of years to get used to it being there. Think about your trip home - you possibly love seeing a particular petrol station or even power station because you know that you are practically on the home straight.

I would love to live close to a turbine. Not just because I would be 'doing my bit' but because I think they are a thing of phenomenal beauty, would enhance (or at least unaffect) the value of my property, and give me something a little bit distinctive.

I have a brilliant house on top of a hill with a view over a lot of Nottingham. At the very distant horizon I can see the eight cooling towers of the power station and it is a view which is very definitely mine. I own that view. And that view changes - some of the buildings get knocked down and rebuilt, some of the houses have their roofs replaced; even temporal things like the trees growing or the cars on the roads changing. Every time I look it is different; but most definitely mine. And just because someone erects a turbine in that view, that addition doesn't make a detraction from the beauty.

Take the arguments against High Speed 2, the new proposed rail link. I have already clearly stated my position: I am very much in favour of the project and I have very little time for those campaigning against it. I will hear their argument, but I will see through their argument. Rather than simply put the other side I can see a fully established and reasonable rebuttable.

There are four main arguments: financial, ecological, environmental and social.

The financial can only be assessed by looking at the cold, hard facts but most of the argument relies on spiralling coats, overruns and the initial costs and ignores the long-term financial benefits.

The ecological considers the pollution in the construction and continued operation and ignores the fact of necessity and that this is probably the most ecologically sustainable way to cope with increases in population and travel requirements rather than some ridiculous utopian suggestion that we will just learn to adapt to our existing network and that we should simply reduce the amount we travel rather than improve how we do it.

The environment concerns relate to 'carving up' 'vast swaths' of 'green-belt' land and ignore that this has already been undertaken with the sprawling rail and road connections already covering our green and pleasant land. Yes, my 'just-one-more' argument ignores any 'creep-concerns', but seriously, we have a lot of countryside as it is.

Which brings me finally to the main argument I was trying to get to: the 'social' argument that this will 'devastate' the villages it cuts past. It won't. They will still exist. People simply cannot afford to abandon the houses in these villages purely because a train zips past every hour. The 'devastation' of the 'constant interruption' will be something short-lived, and shorter than simply 'once they all die they will be quiet.' If they really are that desperate to get away from the noise, they can move. And their house won't have lost any value: people will see the close transport links as a positive benefit. And this is where their arguments, as well as being NIMBYist, are short-sighted and very selective in the benefit/damage analysis.

If we were just to listen to personal, NIMBYistic arguments, the projects would never get done. The change is not bad, it is just different. And we should embrace it, as to resist it is just making a rod for our own backs, no-one else's. And if we resisted all change then we would never progress.

A gentleman of extraordinary proportions

I'm so excited: today I have trousers that actually fit!

This may seem a remarkable statement and for me the remarkableness is that I need to make it at all.

You see, I am tall.

Not ridiculously tall. I am 6'4" (around 193cm for those who don't use a yardstick). The UK average is around 5'9.5". I have now found out that less than 5% of the population are my height or taller, but I still don't come across as abnormal. Well, not height-wise. But I am not proportioned in the manner in which shops would like me to be. My legs are long. Not so long as to look unusual, but long enough to expose my socks in a standard 'long' trouser leg. So my new trousers are a 37" inside leg.

The problem really is that I am not that ununsual in my unusualness. The fact that I struggle with clothing (well, getting it to fit at least) is not in any way unique to me either. If I speak to any of my friends they will tell you they have problems.

Trousers and jeans you wouldn't think would be much of a problem. The waist size is specified - 28", 30", 32" etc. Obviously there will be some (like me) who fall inbetween those (at around 30.5") but nothing that a belt can't assist with. Then you get the leg length - short (around 29"), regular (around 31") and long (33"). I am ridiculously over the top, I accept; my current trousers would classify as extra-extra-long. But that's not the only problem.

If you are a 28" inside leg, they simply don't make a 'long' - you have to settle for short or regular. Similarly whilst some shops offer 'extra-long' at around 35", they only do so if your waistband is 34" or greater. A friend suggested to me that I shop in Big and Tall, but the problem is in the name: Big AND Tall. You have to be both. Yes I could get trousers in my length, but then I would be able to fit in the waist twice over.

And obviously 'long' is not necessarily so strictly defined. In some shops a long trouser will be 33". Some it will be less. I have seen some places regard 34" as 'regular'. And there are some that don't tell you at all - you just have to try it out. 

But even between stores some people can find that what is 31" to one shop is a different 31" in another shop. I know there are always going to be slight variences due to manufacture, but you will hear some people say "I need a 32" waist in Marks and Spencer, but a 30" waist in Next." I am presuming that they haven't lost that many pounds walking between the stores.

But this isn't just me being particularly long in the trouser department.

I have quite a long torso too. I don't know how - my dimensions don't quite seem to stack up. I can only presume that my tiny head makes up the difference. But a long torso means that all t-shirts are too short. They are all (unless you start looking at XXL) the same length. Never mind, at least I know I am a 'small' because of my pigeon-chest (or shall we just say slender body?) Or sometimes even an extra-small, very occasionally a medium. But if I am buying a jumper or shirt I have to get a medium or a large. This is because the arm-length on anything smaller is simply not enough to keep my forearms warm, let alone my wrists. I have extraordinarily long arms and yet noticably slender wrists. This is why I don't wear long sleeves unless I have to. Even then, medium or large jumpers are often not long enough in the sleeve, but to get anything bigger would swamp me and certainly hide my lithe body, hindering me with my already-hampered attractiveness.

Some places are getting better. There are a number of shops now that sell long-sleeve shirts with longer arms. Some actually allow you to select one of three or four sleeve lengths (though again the lengths offered are often collar-size dependent and I may have to get a wider collar to get the longest arms). However whether they are in stock is another matter.

And that is the real problem. Very very few people fit comfortably into these 'average' sizes because we all differ from average in one or another respect. I don't think I know of a single person who buys medium shirts, medium t-shirts, medium jumpers, 34" regular jeans and size 9 shoes. But the point is of stock - my shoe size is 13, but I regularly have to squeeze into a 12 because that is the largest that many brands manufacture. Go to a shop and whilst the shoe may be manufactured in a size 12, they probably don't have them in. They get sent standard pallets of stock which contain possibly up to twenty pairs of size nines and tens; a dozen or so elevens, eights and sevens; and one pair of size twelves if I am very, very lucky. But at least I can usually get them online.

Realistically it is not my body that is the problem. It is everybody's body. And not just in skewing the averages, but because everybody has a problem finding the right size in something. It's just that I have a problem finding the right size in everything.

And believe me, I would never want to change my body. I love being the height I am - I can see over the heads of other people and reach high up things. I stand out, I am distinctive, unusual. And I like being distinctive. My arms, though ridiculously long, are really useful - particularly as I am so independent, it means I can hold a door in place whilst picking up the screwdriver to screw it back on. Yes I may look ridiculous, but I like that. And again with my thinness, I would much rather be as skinny as a rake than a fatty, any day. I have trouble enough pulling as it is, without struggling to get my arms around them once I have. So I love my body in all its ridiculous unconformity.

I just wish I could get a jumper to fit.

Devastation and speculation

So, this weekend brought another sad suicide. There have been a few of late, both publically and those entirely unknown outside of those affected.

And so people turn to Facebook and Twitter to voice their heartfelt emotions. Only it doesn't seem very heartfelt. How much thought, care and effort does it take to bash out a quick RIP in 140 characters.

One of the things that tends to annoy me almost as much as the impersonal nature; is the way that people do it as though they are breaking news. I know I have already had a moan about people thinking they are the news and the most reliable source of information.

A lot of people use Facebook and Twitter rather flippantly with a basic disregard for any responsibility or even any basis of fact. It becomes too easy to retweet, adding fuel to the flame of what may just be a nonsense. It has happened a number of times in the past where stories have escalated beyond control with falsities taking the place of facts. I think somewhere before I have ranted about the Facebook campaign to change your profile picture to a cartoon character on behalf of the NSPCC which in fact the NSPCC had nothing whatsoever to do with and which then spiralled further into speculation and just plain random stabs in the dark that the campaign was one created by a paedohphile which spread round like wildfire apparently just from one random comment that "It sounds like something a paedophile would do".

But those that initially jumped on the bandwagon were very quick to jump on to another without any proof that either wagon had wheels on which to run. And it is this irresponsibility that annoys me.

With the suicide over the weekend the internet has already gone wild with speculation. The media - for once - seems to be exercising either a degree of caution or respect; though this is probably more due to the scrutiny of the operation being under the spotlight of the Leveson Inquiry at the moment than out of any real moral cause.

Within hours of the initial reports one of my acquaintences on Facebook had posted about how this should draw attention to depression despite there being no suggestion whatsoever that depression was a factor in the case.

There could have been any number of reasons. The individual was well known and therefore could have been concerned about a story that was going to break either directly or close to home; maybe there had recently been a terminal diagnosis; possibly there was some logic to say "go out at the top of your game". And even if it was depression or some other pressing concern, there could be hundreds of reasons either independently or collectively contributing to the decision, whether reasonable or remarkable. And yet people have taken it upon themselves to start assigning an assumption simply to add to the salacious gossip.

It is speculation, but mostly it is curiousity. People are surprised by the suddeness. Let's face it, in the vast majority of speculators this is not a natural part of the grieving process. Regardless of how well respected the individual was, so many of the commentators had no or very little personal connection that they are not grieving. They are simply shocked and saddened. Now, this is not to say that people can't be saddened by the death of someone they didn't know; but to eulogise and express your devastation on your Facebook is taking the level to an extreme. And it comes across as unintentionally disingenuous. A measure of reason (and I know I had a go about this previous post) adds not just the necessary respect but the resposibility acknowledgement too. People who never met the individual are coming out with endless tributes, hyperbole and platitudes.

What it does do is muddy the waters around it. If someone starts with a too-involved tribute, too-personal or too-detailed it attaches more weight to their tribute. Maybe they knew something that other people didn't, had insider information; maybe their thoughts are therefore that more credible. And that is what powers the rumourmill. What may have been a rather flippant and ill-thought but genuinely intended remark spirals out of proportion and somehow crazily gets converted from opinion and speculation into fact. And all this before the coroner's inquest has even been opened.

I understand one aspect of what it is like to be suicidal, I have had my own, very personal, very individual circumstances; but there is no way that I would transpose those onto anybody else's cirucmstances and assume that they are/have been going through exactly the same feelings as I am. To do so would be disrepectful in the extreme.

So please, present the obituary, tell us the historical facts and remember the individual; but do so with an absolute responsibility and do not add confusion with opinion or speculation. Afterall this is one of the few occasions when the individual has not chance to reply, obtain a correction or rectify and misstatement.

Giving up on giving up

I have the day off work today to be incredibly cultural. I am intending on visiting four art galleries. I am hoping to get to the new Anish Kapoor exhibition at Nottingham Castle; then over to the Lowry at the Lakeside, and finally for the daytime pop up to One Thoresby Street to see what is going on in the photographer's gallery there.

Then in the evening I am off to see one of my favourite new local bands Swimming at Nottingham Contemporary. That should be amazing.

But, most importantly, I shall be drinking.

This was always the end date I had in mind from the start of NOvember. As well as the band playing, it is the last Friday of the month. So this was the target day.

And I am pleased to say I have been successful! Despite the idea that the guidelines where not stringent rules I have still stuck by them and not drunk a drop of alcohol since 31 October 2011. And it isn't for lack of booze: I currently have 204 cans of lager; 12 bottles of white wine; 9 bottles of beer and 3 litres of Baileys at home, along with a couple of festering bottles of home-made pear cider. That's around 600 units of alcohol kicking around just waiting for me.

Nor is it through lack of pursuasion. I have be pestered by friends to go out drinking. And when I have explained my reasoning behind it, rather than accept my decision they have stepped-up their berrating to try the harder to encourage me to break my bar. Thanks guys!

Nor is it through lack of opportunity - I have continued to go out. Not much at weekends in all fairness, though there has been a bit of a drop off in the run up to Christmas there anyway (something which identified NOvember as a sensible candidate in the original post). But during the week I have been out on a couple of occasions on almost every week to the pub or a restaurant and still resisted the urge to have a tipple.

And nor was it through ease. I did find it difficult. Most of all I found it plain boring. There were a number of occasions where I had to talk myself round. For example this Saturday I was walking home from my brother's and it would have been lovely to have gotten in and had a beer rather than the cherryade which I ended up with. I kept saying to myself "they are only guidelines"; "you've done well already" and even "no-one else need know". But I convinced myself otherwise on two grounds - firstly I was so close to completing my challenge I would have been so disappointed in myself to have failed; and secondly if I was to have started drinking I should have done so with the takeaway at 6pm rather than on getting home at 9:30pm.I was even successful on the difficult days (not just the Fridays) when the train ran late and I had nothing to do but kick around the station. Previously I would have popped to the local shop and bought a couple of beers, but I persevered. And even last night. Again, I kept telling myself "You've already done so well, it's just one day shorter" but I still didn't drink.

So, presumably I feel fantastic? The break has done me the world of good? I have so much energy I am bouncing of the walls and my healthy glowing skin means that I don't even leave a mark?

No. When I saw my mother at the weekend she said I looked healthy. But then she would say that. She's been encouraging me to at least cut down on drink for months. It didn't stop her offering me drinks at the start though.

I had hoped to feel a difference I have to say. It sounds perverse, I know - that I should want to feel better and therefore confirm that my previous alcohol intake had been excessive. But I didn't see it as that. I wanted to find an answer. You see I sleep appallingly at the best of times, so I had hoped that cutting out alcohol for a sustained period of time would allow me to establish a 'normal' sleep routine, and actually sleep through the night. But no. And I didn't feel any more energetic either. In fact I caught a bug, despite my immune not being hampered by booze.

Nor has it done anything for my skin. I don't suffer hugely from bad skin, and (ignoring the booze) usually have a healthy diet so don't suffer with spots or outbreaks too badly. But they haven't stopped whilst I've been off the booze - the skin has been the same, in fact my usual winter deterioration has started. The skin on my knuckels decides to shed itself around now, unfortunately before the underlying skin has established itself making it look as though I have gone nine rounds with a brick wall. Not good for a professional. And the ruddiness I get to my cheeks occasionally has persisted. It's not a permanent red-face, but it seems to suggest I am over-heating. And not as a result of the booze, apparently.

My gut doesn't suddenly feel full of good health either, but then again I don't think there was anything wrong with that aside from normal digestive actions. And they have continued producing wind a-gusto so that hasn't settled either.

And my memory is no better. I had thought that my brain deterioration may have been linked to the booze consumed. It still may in all fairness, and cutting the booze out may reduce the amount of damage occurring, but may not necessarily repair any past damage. So I will continue to forget vitally important words and even the most simple of spellings. I have since put at least two different items in 'safe places' and forgotten where those safe places are; and I am constantly checking the door to see if I have locked it.. I actually think my memory is better when I am drinking

But am I glad I did it? Yes. Definitely. Firstly it did give me a much needed break. But mostly it showed my that I could do it.

Histrionic hyperbole

Some people really do themselves a disservice.

Obviously the media has an obsession with hyperbole, rhetoric, histrionics, exaggerations and outrageous comment, but what some don't realise is that it can actually work to devalue their comments.

For example the government recently published consultation on an 80 miles-per-hour speed limit on the motorway. Brake - the safety charity - were up in arms.

Read their statement. It uses ridiculous talk. Count the exaggerated emphases:
"Selfish"
"Bereaved"
"Horrendous pile-up"
"Carnage"

I particularly like the last one if only because of the pun.

But it gets better - in another quote the charity says that the proposal is "desperately inhumane". I have to say this is entirely disregarding the context of the story:

1. it is a proposal out for consultation. It is not a definite.
2. it is an increase from 70mph to 80mph. That is all. Just 10 miles an hour. Which is - according to the DfT's own figures - already broken by almost half of the motorway users already. And on sections of the road with the highest specifications of safety equipment in place.

Splattering the charity's press release with such ridiculous claims only serves to discredit the charity and undermine any reasonable, moderate objection. They are clearly taking things out of context, they're off their nut. They can't be trusted. Such an overreaction is not just unwarranted but practically perverse and therefore that opinion can instantly be dismissed as crack-pot. They are unstable radicals who will shake the dictionary to extract the most contetious words they can find for the sake of a soundbite which ends up sounding like the snappings of a rabid dog.

And it isn't just safety charities either. The proposal for HS2, the high-speed rail link between London-Birmingham-Manchester and between London-Birmingham-the East Midlands-Scotland went out to consultation and the Commons Transport Committee broadly backed the proposal, saying there was a good cause for the construction, but with a few minor caveats.

HIGH-SPEED RAIL LINK 'IN TATTERS' SAYS OPPOSITION.

Have they read the same story?

Apparently the "report has raised around the fatal flaws in HS2's business case". This isn't just putting words in the mouth of the committee that they never said, this isn't just propaganda and rhetoric, this is an actual falsity.

No, by all means have an opinion. In fact, DO have an opinion, hold your position, make it known. But coming out with such ridiculous statements and comments as that denegrates what may well have been a properly reasoned, moderate and sensible argument or opinion held by a majority (or at lease a substantial minority) into incoherent ramblings, deranged outbursts and unacceptable nonsense that is just plain embarrassing.

I know there is an obligation from the media to obtain both sides of the story, to challenge and seek contrasting opinions; but I can't quite work out whether the journalist has struggled to find anyone with a reasoned response; selected or edited the comment for maximum effect; or alternatively has their own private agenda where they seek to discredit one side of the argument as logically unthinkable lunacy.

Or at least that's my opinion on the matter.

Take one tablet three times daily

On my Facebook feed today I havehad the third comment in about a week which goes something along the lines of:

I'm thinking of getting an iPad/tablet computer. I don't need one and cannot really justify the expense but I WANT ONE.

And I can't quite get it.

Way way back, around three years ago now, I started commuting considerably substantially by train. Before I had travelled mostly by car, but occasionally by train - a couple of times a month or so. Then my car got broken into and written off by the insurers as 'beyond economic repair' so I went to travelling by train more frequently, but still for journeys of only around twenty minutes or so. But then three years ago my job changed and I ended up on the train for an hour each way. So two hours a day in total.

Of itself that isn't a bind. Were I not on the train I would be spending the same two hours a day in the car; getting the train forces me to do some form of exercise at either end; and I can do stuff on the train that I wouldn't be able to do in the car like read or sleep. People tend to get a little miffed if you sleep in the car if you're the driver I found.

But this meant that I now had two hours a day of time to fill. Reading was all well and good for a while... and I always had my little MP3 player to give me some tunes; but even then the restriction to about 400 songs (at the time that was good) meant that the same songs came round pretty quickly.

So, I looked at alternative entertainment and was immediately drawn to portable computing. The alternatives were either a portable DVD player, which would mean I would have to buy DVDs; or a portable MP4 player. Why spend all that money on an MP4 player which does the same as the MP3 player, just with video, when for pretty much the same price I could have a mobile computing device which gave me MP3 and MP4 capability, as well as word processing; picture viewing and adjustment; and at home would give me the freedom of another device to browse the internet on whilst watching tv. It was a no-brainer.

So I did some browsing around. At that stage the iPad hadn't been released, but there were tablet computers just coming out on the market. They intrigued me. They actually fascinated me. They were new and they were novelty. Every man and his dog on the train seemed to have a laptop; but these didn't even have a 'top'. I wouldn't be following the sheep, I would be standing out!

But then I looked at it and considered it properly. Yes there were a few minor technicalities - the tablets were slightly lower spec: less memory, slower processors and considerably less storage. Whilst I could get a chunky laptop with up to 500GB of harddrive space (again, this was good at the time), these tablets could only manage around 32GB of solid state memory.

But it would be shiny...

Aside from the 'technicalities' there were more fundamental flaws. One of the reasons for buying a portable computing device over the MP4 player was that I could do things other than just music and video on the train. Tablet devices didn't seem to allow me to do that. They had the additional functionality of connecting to the web...but only when I was at home with wireless broadband. They probably had a wordprocessing application, but it was very limited in what it could do, and with only the screen and no keyboard it wouldn't be suitable for anything other than just quick bits - certainly not enough to do anything substantial on. So essentially it was just a bigger media player.

And that brought me on to a couple of other points. Tablets are reasonably sized. They certainly don't fit in your pocket. So I would need a bag to carry it around in at any event. So if I needed that, why didn't I just go for a device with the functionality of a keyboard? In fact, this would provide me with an even greater benefit than just the keyboard - they ability to angle the screen for the optimum viewing angle. My phone can provide media in my pocket if I need something that small. So why would I want something as big as a tablet which I can't put in my pocket and can't make calls on [phone] but also don't have full functionality of a keyboard and wordprocessor [laptop]? And that's before remembering that you have to peer through finger smudges from the touchscreen to watch whatever you are trying to watch.

So, I bought a netbook - basically a laptop without a disc drive to make it much smaller and lighter. I hardly ever use a disc drive anyway so it is no loss, and using one on the move is just asking for trouble.

And I have never looked back. An tablet has less functionality and certainly less portability than my phone; and almost no functionality compared to my netbook. I do have to wonder why people get them.

And I have asked. I asked a few of my friends what they do with their tablet that they don't do with their home computer or phone. They struggle. They use it purely to justify having bought it, but cannot give any specific circumstances where it is the only device they could have used. It purely comes down to it being a bit smaller, a bit lighter or a bit quicker to start up. It basically comes down to "it's just there. It's on. I can grab it." The laptop takes a little longer to start up; the laptop is a little heavier. My netbook is the best of all worlds.

I wonder what will happen in a few years when the fad has passed?

It's not so black and white after all...

So, I've been intending to do a post about racism for a long, long time, only now it's flared up in the news and whatnot.

Obviously there has been the Blatter incident where he somehow seems to think that inherent racism is perfectly acceptable so long as you apologise afterwards. Quite how he has been an authority figure within football for so long has baffled me since his abject (and in many ways incoherent) rejection of technology in football, but he has now gone from plain farce to purely offensive and willfully ignorant. If there are people making racism comments and monkey sounds, then of course there is still racism in football.

Then there is a much more local story of the pillock who has objected to the Union flag being flown in his village on the basis that the national flag is a racist emblem. He says that he has received racist hate-mail since then entirely vindicating his view. No. What he has done is shown just how truly ignorant he is, and if he has received any hate-mail then it is probably directed at him because he is ignorant and himself racist against the nation he should be calling home; rather than being racist hate-mail of itself. But then he probably can't tell the difference because he certainly cannot tell the difference between national pride and offensive racism. I seriously question whether the chap has actually received any hate-mail as he seems to be a chap who just want to make a noise for the purposes of making a noise and having people look at him than because he actually has any considered, reasoned argument to put forward.

But let me just make absolutely plain: hate-mail cannot be justified in any circumastances. Any threat immediately invalidates any argument the writer was trying to get across; and any attempt to intimidate anyone with threats is not just stupid, it is plain inhuman.

Now, let me stake out my corner...

I am a nationalist. I am fiercely proud of this country and everything about it. I am white from a middle-class(ish) family in the heart of the country. Nationalism has been given a bad name though. True nationalism - my nationalim - is purely about a love for a country. It has nothing to do with hate.

AndI am a true nationalist - a patriot - not a racist. I don't have a racist bone in my body. I honestly and truly believe that everyone starts off as equal, and the racists are the people who manage to dimish any opinion I have of them by showing their ignorance, stupidity and short-sightedness.

How is it even possible to justify racism? I just simply do not understand it. I cannot see any logical step that takes someone from thinking "that is a black person" to "they are therefore ethically or socially lower than me". It isn't presumptious; it isn't stereotyping; it is illogical and it is wrong.

"They come over here, taking our jobs" don't they? Maybe if the imbecile making the comment actually got off their arse and started applying for jobs rather than stuffing their greasified job-seekers allowance in their gobs whilst watching trash tv, they would actually realise that there are jobs out there. Many jobs. Just because it isn't a job testing computer games or reviewing tv programmes and getting paid £100,000 for it, doesn't mean there aren't any jobs or that they have all been taken by immigrants.

"They keep themselves to themselves, in a ghetto"; "They have no respect for their community / for this country". [to the people making those comments:] And I suppose you are demonstating considerably more respect for the community by segretating and not integrating sections of it which - in your own supremist mind - you have determined are not worthy of being called part of the community? I think what you will actually find is that they have just as strong a sense of community as anyone else. But you wouldn't know because you haven't asked them, or if you did you didn't listen to or tolerate the response. Instead you went off destroying the community, being a divisive, inflammatory figure, causing trouble for the sake of it with for no real reason. If you were to take a moment and find out you would realise that they actually probably made a substantially greater effort to integrate and be accepted than you. They probably know more people around the neighbourhood. They are actually desperate to fit in and be accepted. It is no easy thing coming over to this country to start a new life, but they were so desperate to be a part of Britain, to be here, that they have taken that step. And yes, the Indian community (for example) may often seem to associate amongst themselves or whatever, but they do not do so on an exclusionary basis. It's just the easiest way. Small steps into the freezing and scary cold water rather than a huge leap in cause waves, lots of mess and potentially lethal hyperthermia.

Let us not forget, it is the fantasticness of this country that makes them want to be here. Britain has always been a friendly, accommodating place. People have always wanted to live here with us. People talk of the Norman Invasion, but it really wasn't an invasion. William the Conqueror bent over backwards to learn English over his native French and to adopt British culture and traditions: cultures and traditions which have endure to this day and which are under no threat. He certainly did not impose 'the French way' and would have faced a rebellion had he tried. But from way before then and all the way since then the British nature has been to embrace people who want to be here, or even to encourage people to come over here - we have often spread our net wide and far to encourage people to come over when we have needed them. The racists who rant off probably love nothing more than going for a good curry at the weekend and nowhere else in the world will the Anglicised chicken tikka masala sit happily alongside a traditional roast dinner as the nation's favourite. The British nature is that we welcome people, and we learn from them. And change is to encourage diversity and innovation rather than to stiffle nationality. Afterall, we have long been at the forefront of development (and I mean far before even the industrial revolution) by learning from other cultures and societies. If you are insular and ignorant you simply do not develop or identify new products or markets - to concentrate just on the self deprives the individual of innovation and identity.

"They send all the money they earn abroad." What audatious prick is going to determine what any private individual is entitled to do with money they have worked hard to earn? It would be like telling me that of my disposable income I had to give a certain percentage to someone. What the ranter usually ignores as well is that yes, they may very well send the money abroad, but that is ignoring entirely the wider economic benefits. Before that money can go anywhere it has to be earned (and don't believe anyone who tells you all immigrants are on benefits because the proportion of immigrants on benefits is substantially lower than the number of nationals on benefit) and they pay PAYE and National Insurance on that. And don't forget they need to eat: they buy food from UK business who pay tax on their profits. They buy utilities from domestic suppliers and pay VAT on it. They pay council tax on the house they live in, road tax on the car they drive, fuel duty on the petrol they buy and again pay VAT on all but essential purchase. The economic benefit of migrant workers to the UK economy is amazingly substantial. And that's ignoring any effect of goods exported out to those families or the benefit that sending sterling money does for the liquity, stability and creditworthiness of our currency in the macroeconomic scheme of things rather than tinyminded micro scale. And so if, after all that, they want to send some money 'back home' why shouldn't they? Or am I to be stopped buying things for my (UK based) mother and father?

Unless, of course, the arguement from the racist minority is actually that our national identity is so weak, so pathetic, so insecure that it really is at risk of dilution or eradication. In which case, following true evolutionary processes - and indeed the process which racist thugs hold so dear to their heart - of survival of the fittest, should we not just let it lie down and die a death? No. But nothing has survived by standing still.
One of the hallmarks of our country, the keystones of our nationality of which we should rightly be proud is our diversity, our tolerance, our understanding, our friendliness, our adaptiveness, our adoptiveness and our inclusion. Ok, maybe seven. But they are our defining characteristics, they make us British and they are bluddy amazing. And so are we. And so are they for wanting to be one of us, in their own very individual way.

iDate v5.0 (maybe)

So it's the regular, weekly date. That's how it happens. You just slip into a routine. Already it is boring. No, it isn't. But it could easily turn that way. So, we went for food last night. This was different though - this was proper food in a restaurant. I'm still not sure whether that counts as a 'Meal' or not though. I have to say I was disappointed with myself. I was grumpy before I even turned up. I have been tired recently. I had hoped that the whole 'not drinking' malarky would allow me to establish a better sleep routine but it hasn't - there is no change. And then my nesting has reached pretty extreme levels which has meant that even by the time I do get to bed I don't settle. I have been engaged in lots of little, niggly jobs like hammering down floorboards that have been loose for months, replacing the pane of glass in the greenhouse that broke last year, clearing the junk off the patio that has been waiting for months and replacing the zip on the coat that I bought this time last year at a shop down in London that broke instantly and that I haven't been able to get back to the shop to exchange. All this has meant not only do I not settle, but also that I am knackering myself out even before I get to bed. So yesterday should, ought to have been welcome relief - a night off. A night when I didn't even need to cook. Now, aside from being tired, I started out in a bad mood. I was in a bad mood because we were supposed to meet at 7:30 pm. My train was to get in at 6:30 pm. That hour is literally only just enough time for me to get home, turn around and head back out again. That or I was just to kick my heels around town for an hour. I hadn't been given any explanation as to why we couldn't meet at 6:30 which I think added to the frustration. Then my first train ran late, meaning I would get to Nottingham until 7:10pm. Now, coincidentally this meant that I wouldn't have to sit around kicking my heels for an hour but would in fact be pretty much on time. But in fact it just made me more annoyed. Add to this that I actually hadn't heard anything from when I sent a text when leaving work asking where to meet; until 7:15 as I was leaving the station demanding that I go to his flat. Sod off. Meet me in the town square. and return texts promptly. Well, that's what I should have said but I didn't. I went round the flat. And off we went for dinner. Proper restaurant. Jamie Oliver's Italian. Nice enough but I know of places just as nice but less pricey. But we had a nice chat. Again, my niggled state started to show when he seemed to make absolutely no effort to ask for the bill. I couldn't catch anyone's eye as my back was to the room (dislike, though I think he engineered this so I couldn't get distracted or eye-up the waiter that I quite fancied) and he really had no impetus, but then again he was sat on a considerably more comfortable seat than I was. And then we went to a pub for a couple of drinks. A good pub. Good because it was on my way home. The tendency in the past has been to go to a pub of his choice which will usually send us towards his flat, away from my home; or just straight to his flat. But in the pub he positionned himself so he couldn't really see me properly. Or me him. There was a lovely corner that we could have sat in and both had comfortable seats, but no - in order to look at him I had to screw round uncomfortably on the bench. And all this with a diet coke (I had lemonade over dinner but then I was eating so I could have something sugary without worrying about my teeth). And then we just went each to our own homes. Which was no bad thing. By the time we'd eaten and gotten to the pub it was almost 10pm so it would either have been skip the pub, rush back to his so he could give me a blowie and then me dash home late; or go to the pub for a drink and relax by which time it would be too late to go back to his and I would get home at a sensible time. So yes, I was in a grump. And for that reason it may not have been a fair date. But then I'm not too sure how it is going... He seems to be an absolute dichotomy. Or maybe not a dichotomy but certainly contradictory. He still persists in referring to "grabbing food" and both when we met and separated he called me "mate" which isn't relationshippy at all. But then he is also far too into me. He keeps telling me how fit I am and how amazing I am with all the stuff that I do at home and work and it's too much. I like to think of myself as a nice, ordinary, humble sort of a chap; and I don't take flattery keenly. I know this is a different sort of dating to the usual wake-up-naked-on-the-first-night sort, and I know I am not good at dating at all anyway and need to get used to it; but still, make your mind up: am I 'mate' or am I amazing?

A stadium by any other name

So, about a week ago Mike Ashley in his infinite wisdom decided he was going to rename St James' Park as the Sports Direct Arena. I had a bit of a rant about it on my Facebook, and a fellow supporter responded with something basically along the lines of 'they need the money from the naming rights and it doesn't change the club'.

Now, I fully understand and in fact absolutely agree with the new UEFA financial fair play rules which are coming into effect which effectively stop an owner swamping a club with debt (or private money by way of loan) to buy up the most expensive players for short-term game-asset-stripping and glory, only to bail out when the going is good and then bankrupt the club to recover the loan.

The naming of the stadium, however, does not address this. Sports Direct is within Ashley's own stable of companies so has not paid anything. The club itself admits the reasoning behind it is to show willingness to rename it in the lead up to seeking a new shirt (now shirt-and stadium) sponsor. But the club has been naive and do not realise with a historical ground like Newcastle, the sponsorship rights are very much a poisonned chalice and that rather than benefit the sponsor will merely incur the wrath of fans. Fine if it is a new stadium without any association, but not one who's name has been there for a hundred or so years.

It also ignores the fact that sponsors will be very very wary of renaming the stadium within a few months of its name having changed. It doesn't give any value to the name if it is flippantly changed as easily as that. He has done more damage than potential benefit.

But what it did get me thinking was what exactly makes a club?

Clearly it isn't the players. They transfer in and out on a whim, always seeking the next step. There are some who stay with a club for years, but usually only once they have 'made it big' and they stay on to work out their twilight years. Generally you will do well to find a player who has stayed at a club for a decade.

Nor is it the manager. Sir Alex Ferguson has recently celebrated 25 years at the helm of Manchester United but that is by far and away an anomoly and his closest contemporary has only around half that. Indeed the average lifespan of a Premiership manager in a job is 4.09 seasons.

It isn't the strip either. This changes every other year and whilst usually a similar scheme is followed there have been some radical departures.

And it isn't even the home ground as new stadia are built and clubs such as Arsenal move into nice shiny new grounds like the Emerates Stadium.

And it isn't even the limited companies that run the clubs. Many of these go into administration or liquidation and the assets are bought by a new limited company to operate the club.

A somewhat extreme example of all of this is (or was) Wimbledon FC. They moved stadia in 2003 just sixty or so miles up the road. Now they are called the MK Dons, Dons reflecting the old WimbleDon name, and MK to reflect the true location in (and presumably curry new local support from) Milton Keynes. And adopted a new strip. It also went into administration in 2003 and was bought out by a new limited company. So, is it still the same club?

But regardless of the name of the ground, I'll still be black and white through and through.

Well, until they change the strip, obviously.

Charity begins at work

It's getting to that season again.

Charity season.

I know Charity operates throughout the year, but in the dull run-up to Christmas it gets worse.

So, recently we have had a cake sale for a hospice; samosa sale for Kurdish (I believe, I forget) orphans; book sale for a local nursery; sweet sale for something-or-other and there is another cake sale coming up. Hopefully for an obesity charity.

Then there is the cuddly toy sale which has been happening for a wee while. Someone upstairs is selling 'shopping trolley tokens', there is a year-round bookstall and it won't be long before the lass in health and safety starts selling the charity Christmas cards.

There are already three posters up for different Christmas markets or gift fairs. Someone is recycling mobile phones next to the vending machine and there is a charity 'walk a mile' happening this weekend. Walk a mile?! I walk no less than 8 miles every day.

This is even before you take into account the dozen or so chaps doing 'Movember' where they grow mustaches in aid of mens health; the day we had last month where everyone had to wear something pink for women's health; and the various 5k; 10k; half-marathons, marathons or abseils that people are doing.

Oh, and then there's Children in Need coming up too. We have another cake sale for that, seven different tombolas or raffles around the place, guess the sweets in the jar, guess the weight of the cake and general collection buckets here there and everywhere. And you can't get away from it. The tombolas actually tour round the office from desk to office. If you appear busy or on the phone, they come back when you're not. I would love to be able to spend a working day wandering around not doing any work.

It is relentless. It is draining. And not just financially - I lose track of which charity is which, what particular cause I am donating to. It is fatiguing and - worse still for the charities - anaesthetising. I have no idea which charity it is, what they do, how my money benefits them. The constant pestering has lead to a distinct drop-off in interest and in giving.

Or I would have if I were to engage.

I don't. And it's not because I am a grump (though, at work, that may be a perfectly levelled moniker). I have already selected the charities to which I wish to give, and I do so on a regular basis. I am happy with my choices. On occasions I may choose to donate to another; but I am not doing so purely on the basis that one of the other 250 or so people in the building in which I work has decided they are supporting a particular charity and so should everyone else here. If each of them were to organise a 'day' for their particular charity, that would be one every single working day. I am going to give to the charities that mean something to me in a way that causes them as little distruption or administrative costs as possible.

And I don't stop there. Don't forget that I volunteer for a charity, doing at least one stint a week. So I'm giving as well as just giving. I really am not anti-charity.

I can't even walk down the main shopping street in town without one of a dozen or so chuggers, representing at least three or four different charities, approaching me. But it has gotten worse now. Now they are targetting me in my own home. Just a couple of weeks ago there was one who - despite having been informed that I had just sat down to my hot (though rapidly cooling) dinner; and despite having been informed that I didn't do doorstep giving - persisting in trying her luck. I had to shut the door in her face because she wouldn't shut up. I felt bad, and I was in my own house.

He's in fashion...or was...or may be

I had a pleasant, if uneventful weekend.

Very uneventful really. I didn't go out either Friday or Saturday evening. Partly due to not drinking; partly because there were hardly any other people heading out. But it was a good weekend because it was unseasonably mild so I could get work done outside.

The unseasonably mild weather continued today, and it provides a wee bit of a problem.

Coats.

It may not seem a huge problem but as ever with me it is, of sorts.

I have many coats. I have far too many coats really. I have four work coats. I have my thin black coat for summer showers; I have my thicker autumn coat for wind and rain; I have my heavy black coat for very cold wind and snow; and I have my smart black overcoat for winter interviews.

Then I have my utility coats - my fluorescent jacket for cycling; and my red waterproof walking jacket.

Then I have my fashion coats - a thin, warm-shower jacket; a blue nylon autumn jacket; my leather jacket; my Superdry coat (which is quite warm but does not keep you super dry) and a thicker green waterproof-yet-still-fashionable winter jacket.

A ridiculous number of coats.

But at the moment I don't know which one to wear. I have to open the door to decide if I should be putting on my thin coat or my thicker autumnal coat. And by the time I get to the station I am hot and sweaty and not really wanting any coat on. It's pretty much the same as the umbrella dilemma really.

My latest coat is the 'heavy black coat' which has been bought for work, but is almost too nice and fashionable for work. But I could do with it for work as my other coats are either too thin, or the interview overcoat which is far too smart for work. But it will probably only get used for work in extremis; and otherwise for fashion.

Last year the fashion was for Barbour-style quilted jackets. I didn't like them. I thought they were rather naff I have to say. This year it's a different matter and I actually really quite like them. I think this year's style may actually be slightly more fitted, styled. But then again I think I may be telling myself that to justify my fashion decision last year.

But it got me thinking...just what is fashion? Really?

I know there are the slightly crazy autocrats at the high-end fashion houses, designing things never to be seen off the catwalk. Outlandish fascinators, ridiculous heals and almost certainly a bit of nip showing. I've never seen anyone wearing anything like those.

Then there are the hidden oligarchs; the people at the high-street stores who almost cartel-like decide amongt themselves that pink shall be the new black. Now; these are the people who really seem to determine 'fashion', and here's how...

They restrict the supply.  They determine that their shops shall only sell, say, pink for that season. As you can only buy pink, if you either need to get new clothes because your old ones have perished or shrunk; or you just simply have to buy new clothes every season because you have been brainwashed by the fashion massive; pink will be all that you will be able to buy. We all love to buy new.

And then peer-pressure kicks in. All your friends who have bought new are wearing pink, meaning your teal top from last season stands out. And even when walking down the street every face from the passers-by to the shop window mannequins are decked out in pink. And you aren't. You are the little island of teal bobbing around in the sea of pink, just waiting for a seagull to crap on you. We all hate to stand out.

And so fashion is something which we reluctantly, forceably become involved in - whether it's because we love to buy new; because we hate to stand out; or because it's all that there is. And it seems unfair.

When I look through my wardrobe at my vast quantity of clothes, hoping against hope that my lime-green, short-sleeved, zip-up shirt will come back into fashion, I find I both resist and comply with the current fashions. Yes I wear my Bench jeans and my Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt, both bought this season; but I also mix it up with some of my Topman-style t-shirts (you know the ones, with the contrasting edging to the v-neck (with three buttons) and sleeves) bought a couple of years ago; or some shirts possibly even older than those.

So, have I been more resistive or more compliant? I don't know. But I haven't bought a Barbour-style quilted jacket.

Yet.

The anti-anti-poppy possie

Today is Armistice Day, 11 November, and I am proudly wearing my poppy.

I strongly believe in today. I think it is a matter of the utmost respect to honour the people who fought for our freedoms, whether they fell or not. Even if they came back they undertook missions at which I would blanche and witnessed horrors I cannot imagine. It changed those people whilst it changed our history and our future. And let no-one forget that.

Recently, however, there has been some incredibly negative pro-poppy propaganda going around. You must have seen it on any social network. It usually goes something along the lines of "if the poppy offends you, feel free to leave the country". And I don't get it.

Firstly, this reaction is in response to a tiny, miniscule, insignificant element of radicals who have deliberately targetted the poppy to inflame the situation. And by people rising to it they have been satisfied, those radical elements have achieved exactly what they set out to do - a bit of cheap publicity for their cause. They actually want to be hated. I would much rather just ignore them and not feed their flames.

Secondly, they are probably British nationals anyway. That is unfortunate, that people have been turned (whether under there own influence or otherwise) to such extreme views on their own soil. But simply to assume that they are foreign nationals with little knowledge or understanding of the British or British history is ignorant and naive. I know of many immigrants who have been so desperate to feel a part of this country, to adopt this country as their own, to fit in with their community, that their knowledge of British history is better than many of the indiginous peoples. But that British people could harbour such opinions against the poppy brings me on to...

Thirdly, part of the fight which the poppy represents is the freedom of expression. Rather than simply attacking back,we should be looking at what it is that turns these people radical, why they choose that route, and what we can do to address or prevent it. Is it that they have not properly understood or had explained to them history, the reasoning behind the wars? Or do they see it as political when putting a personal view to it and giving an insight to some of the individuals behind the image may have more pursuasion. The moment we turn to insult and inflame, any reason within the argument is lost and the anti-anti-poppy suddenly becomes dismissable as extremist; which brings me on to...

Fourthly, the some of the reaction has been so offensive and inflamatory of itself so as to be as bad as the original acts. Yes, the anti-poppy acts and demostrations are deeply offensive; but so is the National Front and the BNP who are leading the anti-anti-poppy 'offensive'. And yet somehow their message has slipped into public mainstream and people who are usually moderate and reasonable are starting to come across as xenophopic, racist and radical.

And the final reason is that the post usually isn't about the poppy - it is of itself purely inflamatory. There is no reference whatsoever to the meaning behind the poppy or otherwise. In fact the word poppy could be substituted for puppy or anything else and the post would have practically the same effect and message. There are other racist posts which talk about those who have died in battle etc. but again from a very  protectionist, racist point of view. And that just simply isn't how the British operate.

There has been a recent 'phenomenon' of the white poppy - or the peace poppy. The intention behind it is to make a call that there be no more war. Very idealistic. But there could very easily be an argument put forward that this is denegrating and bastardising the symbol of the red poppy; belittling the honour of those who fought in the wars as not just irrelevant but plain 'wrong'. They never say this; but if you were wanting to argue strongly against the white poppy movement I can see how that argument could be inferred.

So yes, I will wear my poppy with absolute pride that those people fought long and hard to protect my freedom. I observed the two minute silence with the utmost honour, respect and reverence. But I will not start stoning people who deliberately set out to provoke inflamatory retorts.

Do not be diverted from the cause. Instead, simply we should remember them.

Facebook follies for further analysis

So, following on from my previous assessment of Facebook I have had a further rumination.

I think really, with a lot of the 'new features' that have been rolled out; Facebook really has made two errors. Firstly it does not understand its users; and secondly it does not understand its competition. And in business each of these is a huge flaw in itself.

It seems to think that Twitter is a competitor with the new 'ticker' and subscribe options. Really it isn't.

Twitter has three main types of Tweeters; and then it has readers - people who don't themselves tweet (much) but who just go on for the gossip. The three types are:

Slebs usually very minor celebrities who use it purely for cheap PR. They either spout their own agenda; or they say things purely to attract attention; or they repetitively plug their own show (or whatever) until people are so bored they no longer pay attention.

Anons may have reason for being anonymous or may not. Some use it to put across their own, potentially controvertial point of view with little direct, personal retribution. Because of work or social groupings they want to get their view out there, but not necessarily be attached to the view. Or they may be hoaxers, fakers, impersonators or jokers for either humourous or malicious intent.

Chatterers who use it as a public form of Messenger. It's almost like having a dialogue (or in many cases a monologue) across a pub with almost the world in the middle (whether or not any of them are listening or paying attention is another matter). Most of the posts are either messages to people, or relatively innocuous and innane - perhaps even vapid - background noise about life. Absolutely nothing controversial. Literally 'just putting it out there'.

And Facebook isn't that. Facebook allows you to give a more involved, slightly less frequent, insight into your life to people who may actually give a damn. Facebook allows you to literally build up a profile rather than just excerpts of nonsence. Facebook allows you to share your relevant photo albums and chat and things. Twitter doesn't; and nor does Flickr or any of the other photo sharing sites because those are about getting the image out there, they are not about social iteraction.

So yes, Facebook doesn't understand Twitter. But it also doesn't understand its users either. Facebook has three main types of users:

Integrated - they live their life on Facebook. Or some of it at least. They are on almost daily, keep their status updated and upload photos and videos. They will share links of things they have seen or read and probably get involved with applications and games as well. Some are more involved than others - some cannot seem to leave it alone and berate you with status updates and comment on every photo uploaded; some have a more sensible approach.

Passive - these are curious creatures. They will usually go on daily and have a look around, just keeping up to date with people. They don't let people know what they are doing, they just read. But they do so on a very regular basis - some are on as much as integrated users, just very quietly so. They are certainly more involved than...

Occasional - they kinda got convinced to join, probably because they wanted to look at someone's holiday photos, or because they were getting event invites. They are very reluctant users; popping on only when they absolutely have to.

What Facebook doesn't understand is that of the 1 billion or so people who have a profile on; the majority of them fall into either the passive or occasional category. And it is these people who get frustrated with the rafts of changes that are thrown into the mix. Since the last major change I have noticed how many of my passive friends have been even more passive; simply not using the site. And quite a few of those who had limited integration have dropped down to passive at best, but probably down to occasional users. It is just too much. The site itself now looks a mess: you have Favourites; Apps; Games; Groups; Lists; Tickers and Chat, and people don't want it. They just want the status feed. And even that has been messed up into Hot Topics, Recent Stories and Older News.

Have you seen the Google home page? It is simple. It is clean. It is dominated purely by the search box. Twitter also is very simple - it has a box for you to tweet, and then it has your tweet feed. If you want to appeal to the public at large you have to keep it simple, stupid. And Facebook is really risking becoming a niche site for those committed integrationists.

Facebook seems to be trying to do everything from one site - be Web 3.0 all on its own. And it can't. It is simply diversifying too far from what was its core asset. And when you do that you confuse your users and for confused users it is so much easier to stop being users than it is to stop being confused.

I see the internet developing into a series of monopolies or oligopolies of companies who know what they are doing, such as:
Search - Google, Bing
Video - Youtube
Pictures - Flickr
Entertainment distribution - Amazon (whether physical delivery or streamed)
Auctions - Ebay
Encylopaedia - Wikipedia
and such like. There will be other, smaller websites offering niche services, or favoured by the anti-capitalists; but ultimately once a site reaches critical mass it simply becomes the biggest, most viable site to use for the particular transaction. The key will be establishing the site in that primary position; or in capitalising where a competitor makes undesirable or unpopular changes to the dissatisfaction of their users.

And, were there a realistic competitor, the Facebook blunders would be the idea opportunity.


And this is where Facebook is confused

Into the unknown

So, last night was Date4.

We still haven't had The Conversation.

I have no idea what that means. Are we automatically Going With, merely by agreeing to go on Date4? Are we in some sort of relationship-limbo until we make up our minds?

Bear in mind also that last night involved 'food'. Definitely not a 'meal' but 'food'. Pizza at that (and not even a whole one each). He most definitely did not 'offer to cook' for me - I think he used the phrase 'we could grab a pizza'.

And this was at nearly 10pm. Apparently I am still not quite special enough to put off going to the gym, so we only met at 9:30pm. Bear in mind that I was supposed to be leaving at 11pm to get home that would be an entire 90 minutes together. Awesome. Potentially the shortest date yet!

But I did still get a blowie out of it, although fortunately he didn't need to spit in the plant this time. The plant which is, incidentally, still looking healthy. For now.

So, where am I with it? If we were to have the conversation now, what would my response be?

I don't know.

I'm not overwhelmed, I have to say. I don't spend every waking hour thinking of him and waiting to be with him again. But then when I do see him I forget how attractive he is, and how well we get on together.

I think potentially the problem is that we are doing proper, traditional dating (well, aside from the blow-jobs) rather than GayDating.

The film Weekend which I reviewed briefly here portrays GayDating brilliantly - you practically have all three of your first dates within the space of the weekend; being practically inseperable.You fall head-over-heels in love so quickly that you can't stop yourself carrying on rolling down the hill. You don't have time to have a life between the various dates, so you have to talk deep and meaningful; what each party wants, is looking for, hates, has experienced. Rather than just "good week at work?" And you don't have time to forget, get distracted or even frustrated. Your mind wanders onto other things, other people even. So maybe the intensity of GayDating may actually be a good thing - you instantly develop the bond, you have to because you are with each other for 40 hours continuously, rather than potentially as little as 90 minutes.

Or maybe it's just me. You see I don't understand gay.

Actually, that's perhaps not true. I think I just don't understand love.

I understand the biochemical process. I understand that love releases hormones - seratonin, adrenaline, pheremones and dopamine and stuff. And I understand how these give us the butterflies-in-the-stomach, rush-of-blood-to-the-head feeling. And I know the psycho-social craving that we get for this, the desire to be around someone that induces those chemicals. I also understand that, after a while, we release our independence and become co-dependent, and that really love is what happens when the chemicals stop: usually around 2-3 years into a relationship.

I also get the social reasonings behind forming relationships. That we are stronger as a group, with the work divided amongst the individuals with regard to their particular strengths.

But I am missing a link. I am not missing the hard-wired social requirement to form a relationship; just the need to form that relationship. Why this particular individual. Why do we not jump in and bed down with just anyone?

Again, I understand some of the psychology and the evolutionary reasoning. In order to ensure maximum variety of the species, the greatest chance of survival from any single threat, that we seek diversity. I understand this may make the tall guy fancy the short girl, or the girl to fancy the girl or why I fancy the hobbit. I just don't understand the overarching hard-wiring.

What is it that makes me attracted to a particular individual? I know that the chemicals have been released, but why with that person and not another; why am I wired to find hobbits attractive, whereas someone else goes for someone I may find repulsive. Yes, there is diversity; but what entity decides on diversity? Who doles out the cards?

I know there is some psychology behind it. Good old Freud with his Oedipus complex and fancying our mothers because we spent our formative years with her and came to depend upon her for food, warmth and comfort, and other such notions; but it doesn't all satisfy quite why.

And from my own point of view I have to work out whether this current person is someone to commit a little more to, despite not being hobbity.

And I have to work out what Date5 without The Conversation means too.

I'd like to speak to you about cheeses.

A slightly naughty steal from The Rut though if you get a chance have a look around his site because it is hilarious, even if the humour can be a bit rude or offensive to some.

But let us have a look at the world through the medium of cheese. Insert your own cultural/economic considerations or references throughout.



Greece: feta. A weak, somewhat disappointing cheese. Needs very careful handling as it can be quite slippery due in part to the substantial amounts of oil smothered on it. Despite looking like building blocks, this cheese crumbles easily when any stress is applied. Only good for one thing - salads; and when the salad days are over, the cheese just looks like an over-priced luxury.

France: brie and Camembert. Barely distinguishable between them, these cheese are both soft with little substance and a lot of 'give' to them. They have one of the most agressive smells to them, but ultimately no bite and just a bitter aftertaste. Standardised production means there is little variety amongst them. Very fatty, these cheeses can leave an uncomfortable feeling if consumed to frequently.  These cheeses needs surrounding with protection, usually in the form of a wooden box or crate.

UK: Cheddar. The staple of cheeses, the bedrock, the standard to meet. Such a versatile cheese there has never been - it is firm enough to be sliced and enjoyed alone, can be grated to enhance the flavour, or melted to add texture and substance to any mix. Ranging from very mild to mature, with no bitter aftertaste, it meets everyone's palate. Sometimes coloured to add to the diversity of the (milk) culture, this is a very adaptive cheese. Can be infused with many different flavours from sweet to spicy without jarring the aroma.

Stilton. The wise, old man of cheese. Strong, mature, blue-veined and carrying a weight of culture and history; this cheese has perhaps the most robust and yet sophisticated of flavours. This is despite (or inspite) of its production in working class counties with beautiful rolling countryside. Again, not against introducing other (bacterial) cultures to the flavour. The good, solid crust ensures that this cheese will not sweat or crumble easily and fits amazingly with the climate whilst the introduction of more continental flavours with apricot or cranberry compliments - rather than detracts - from the taste. Smooth.

US: burger cheese and squeezy cheese. Actually really quite a misnomer. These products contain very little actual cheese - they are artificial, new, tasteless and bland despite their brash appearance. Their rubbery texture and appearance will wilt very easily when even the slightest of heat is applied, and them get everywhere causing problems and leaving a slimey residue. Pretty much despised everywhere outside their own country they don't travel well.

Swiss: Emmental. Nutty, yet otherwise very little flavour - seems unable to make up its mind whether it wants to appeal to as many people as possible or have a strong distinct character, so has ended up as a perifery cheese. Also, by way of substance, this cheese has far too many holes for all sorts of naughtiness to hide in.

Dutch: Edam. Very versatile - almost too much so. Likes to stand out, hence the bright red wax, but ultimately nothing much to write home about as it is barely distinguishable from other surrounding cheeses. Over time it has developed its own protectived shell which these days is seen more as a novelty than anything else. One of the few cheeses with no edge to it.

Italy: Parmesan. Whilst this cheese shows a strong, robust exterior, its tendancy to flake is well known. Many alternatives are actually more satisfying and less costly. Definitely not to everyone's taste this should be used sparingly and is rarely used as anything other than a finishing touch.

Australia: do the Aussies actually have cheese? Or anything of substance for that matter?

All of this with tongue firmly in cheek. Or cheese.