Glob-a-log

(Not bad but I prefer ‘Pet Sematary’…)

As songs go, ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’ always sounded more of a threat than a happy promise.

Ominous, is the word I’m looking for – as in ‘By the smashing of my thumb, something dreadful this way comes’.

Better still, as in evil little boys letting packs of demented Rottweilers loose on a few carloads of blameless Alpine goats eating popcorn at a drive-in movie. Or something.

Talking of troublesome pets, which may or may not be altogether too clever by half:

“A territory man claims his pet cat can speak English, with a vocabulary of seven different words so far. Robert ‘RJ’ Duncan, of Palmerston, says his budgie Piccaninny can also speak. But when the Northern Territory News first visited the ex-boxer, 34, and his wife Sandra, 32, at their Gray home, the house-bound moggie grumpily declined to comment. Instead, he scratched Mr Duncan a few times before bolting to his bedroom and barricading himself in his cupboard.”

Conversationalist cats and babbling budgies.

Truly, April may be the cruellest month but August…

… well, let’s just say that this part of summer it is that cursed Time again, that we have to admit that the rags are alive with the sound of stupid.

(Man’s best friend won’t be singing, ‘What a friend we have in Jesus’…)

Over the last couple of years, I’ve mentioned and quoted a largish number of my favourite columnists. I don’t think I ever did so with one of the Guardian’s cockier columnists, Charlie Brooker – which is a pity, for he is seriously funny.

Me, I don’t even own a TV but I still read Brooker’s ‘Screen burn’, whenever he has something scathing to say about any of the televison programmes he reviews.

Today’s column was, as ever, great fun to read. I’ll give you the opening lines here:

“Animals, all of us: dying, desperate animals, alone in our skulls, in our souls, quietly tortured by our foreknowledge of death, wandering a mindless rock, baying with pain or killing each other. That’s the working week. Come Saturday we crave relief.”

I was reminded of this column, which was the first thing I read today, when I came upon the following article in the Telegraph…

… which kind of proves how true Charlie Brooker’s statement was…

… since it does show that – at least by this Saturday’s report – some people crave the relief of religion, while others desperately seek the company of pets…

… while both groups, for wildly differing reasons, crave the coming Second Coming:

“It’s a question that all animal-loving Christian evangelicals must address: who will look after their pets on Earth when the Rapture comes and they are taken up to heaven? Now a group of atheists in the US have come up with a tongue-in-cheek solution, offering to take in the cats and dogs of “saved” believers in return for a small fee. All the atheists signed up by Eternal Earth-Bound Pets are self-confessed sinners and blasphemers, guaranteeing they will be left behind when the chosen are selected.”

Now, this is a fun story – but first allow me to digress a little…

Last week, I read a rather nice column in the Times, written by Michael Gove. The best part of it was this, quite accurate observation:

“We’ve now reached a stage where we are so prone to arrogance we judge the past by the standards of the present, but we labour under so much ignorance that we can’t illuminate the present with proper insights from the past.”

I was reminded of that line when I read the following news story – which did indeed prove that hindsight would be a Hell of a lot more useful if we got it a bit earlier:

“A moon rock given to the Dutch prime minister by Apollo 11 astronauts in 1969 has turned out to be a fake. Curators at Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum, where the rock has attracted tens of thousands of visitors each year, discovered that the “lunar rock”, valued at £308,000, was in fact petrified wood. The rock was given to Willem Drees, a former Dutch Prime Minister, during a global tour by Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin following their moon mission 50 years ago. Nasa gave moon rocks to more than 100 countries following lunar missions in 1969 and the 1970s.”

It does make you wonder what kind of cheap shit Neil Armstrong and his merry men presented the other hundred or so countries with.

Fossilized sheep arses to South Africa? A bit of dried up chewing tobacco to Trinidad & Tobago? Some hardened vomit to Venezuela perhaps?

Anyway, if we had known at the time that this token of the astronauts’ esteem was, in fact, more a case of ‘A small stitch up for man, a giant fuck you to the rest of mankind’, then we might have reciprocated in kind.

Preferably by offering the astronauts the choice to have

a) a Gouda cheese
b) a wooden shoe
c) a golden skate and/or
d) a whole bloody windmill

… shoved up their arses, that is.

Too many times, I read about something that divides opinion the way Ernest Walton and John Cockroft split the first atom – or Moses split the Red Sea, if you like.

Which, as often as not, has me murmuring morosely, “A plague a’ both your houses.” Which is exactly what happened when I read the following news article:

“A secular group was today demanding that tourism groups stop promoting what it calls a “creationist” zoo, that questions the traditional view of evolution. The Noah’s Ark zoo farm, in Wraxall, near Bristol, was accused by the British Humanist Association (BHA) of misleading tens of thousands of annual visitors and “threatening public understanding”.”

Now, as an agnostic, it’s fair to say that I’m kind of secular myself – though I’d sooner be the connecting part of a Jesus & Mohammed daisy chain than belong to any fucking ‘group’, demanding this, that or the other bit of nonsense.

I mean, insisting that a bloody tourist group stops promoting some stupid zoo farm? How Mary Whitehouse is that? How arrogant – and how mind-buggering stupid? Should we also demand a stop to Jack the Ripper tours in London, because they glorify violence, or picket travel agencies that advertise for Euro Disney, because the Tawdry Kingdom promotes anti-feminist, princess-centered types of relationships? Should we demand a ban on roller coasters, because they make a mockery of Newton’s solemn laws of gravity?

In other words, who do these useless fucks think they are, proclaiming they should be the arbiters of all things trashy, trite and touristy?

Not that I have all that much time for the owners of the Noah’s Ark zoo farm, to be honest. They do sound like a clamour of cretinous creeps:

“The zoo, however, rejected the BHA’s claims that it is not open about its interest in creationism, the belief that all life was created by God, and said that it wanted to promote a debate about Darwinism and 6000 BC creationism (also known as young Earth creationism), both of which it said on its website were “flawed” and “extreme in their own rights”.”

Extreme indeed.

I do so vividly remember how Darwin and his free-flowing beard demanded that all dissenters should be burnt at the stake. How he led nine bloody Crusades against and declared Fatwas on the infidel – and who could forget the image of Richard Dawkins, calling on his followers to bomb abortion clinics and praising the suicide bombers of civilians as holy martyrs?”

Back to those useless wankers of the British Humanist Association though and their Crusade against Noah’s Ark:

“The BHA said the zoo farm, run by husband and wife Anthony and Christina Bush, seeks to discredit scientific facts such as radio carbon dating, the fossil record and the speed of light. The BHA said signs at the zoo also describe how the “three great people groups” could be descended from the three sons of Noah.”

Now, I’m not sure how these ‘three great people groups’ could be descended from the sons of Noah. With that shallow a gene pool, one would sooner expect a none too immaculate conception of three great travelling freak shows – and I admit I’m somewhat confused about the up till now missing link between Noah and Einstein.

On the other hand, I can’t say I’m surprised by the amount of gibberish, spouted by the husband and wife team that runs the Ark. As Shakespeare asked, ‘What’s in a name?’ – and with a name that weds those two other distinguished, if befuddled believers, Antony Blair and George Bush, one expects a certain amount of baffling bullshit.

Still, what business is this of the BHA? As far as I know it’s – as of yet – not illegal to spout idiocies, or even promote them. If the Arkers want to claim that Jesus is faster than light or that you can clearly hear Satanic messages when you play fossil records backwards, why shouldn’t they be allowed to do so…

… and why should tourism groups not advertise for this? Tourist boards thrive on promoting outdated, dare I say fossilized bits of cultures past and outright myths & nonsense. From Stonehenge to Morris dancers, from Loch Ness monster tours to the London Ghost Walk: It’s all grist to the tourist mill.

Anyway, enough about this whole silly subject – though I will have to leave the final word on this to one of Noah’s Ark’s representatives:

“Noah’s Ark research assistant Jon Woodward said: “To say that we are not upfront with our beliefs is unfounded. The name Noah’s Ark is the first indicator.””

Quite.

By the way, doesn’t it say all you need to know about those humourless prats at the BHA that, even in the court of common sense, they are beaten handsomely by a bunch of barmy Bible belchers…?

Ah yes, it’s August, so it’s time for stories about UFOs and miraculous goldfish, of topiary poodles and, of course, the perenneal sightings of the Loch Ness monster:

“A security guard claims to have spotted the Loch Ness monster while browsing Google Earth. The image, which can be seen on the satellite mapping program, depicts a large object resembling a sea creature clearly visible beneath the surface of the water. He said: “I couldn’t believe it. It’s just like the descriptions of Nessie.”

Earlier this year it was reported that climate change may have killed the Loch Ness Monster. There have been no “credible sightings” of Nessie for over a year.”

Don’t you just hate Global Warming…?

It’s bad enough that those poor polar bears don’t have a floe to stand on anymore, or that the coastline of Bangladesh is moving up faster than Elton John’s hairline…

… and now it seems it might even have killed good old Nessie…

… and no, I’m not at all convinced by its resurrection on Google.

God knows you can find anything on Google. I just did an ‘Elvis spotted on Venus’ search and these were the first five (of 25.700) entrances:

1) UFO SPOTTED OVER TEXAS. Twin cousins witness the landing! ELVIS SEEN WORKING AT M&M’s

2) 1 Feb 2002 … This just in: Hundreds of schoolteachers in Houston reported the latest Elvis sighting Friday

3) Elvis Spotted On Venus!! Roseanne Barr Gives Birth To Squirrels!! Sinatra Evaporates! Ghost Of Nostradamus Haunts Danny Thomas!

4) Apr 2008 … Elvis Spotted Surfing in Hawaii.

5) Glowing Elvis “angel” spotted in Jerusalem 22 times since Jan.

No, I’m afraid Global Warming did kill Nessie – and I can prove it.

I mean, since we know about Global warming it’s not just the Loch Ness monster that’s gone AWOL.

No, we also haven’t had any “credible sighting” of Bigfoot in the USA, yetis in the Himalayas, leprechauns in Ireland or pixies on Iceland.

All killed by Global Warming, without a doubt.

I’ve said it many, many times but science is so cool.

Truly, no disrespect to Colonel Sanders or Baron Samedi but who else but one of our beloved white coats could have dreamed of doing this to a blameless chicken?

“A Canadian palaeontologist believes that he can manipulate chicken embryos in order to create a dinosaur. Hans Larsson, the Canada Research Chair in Macro Evolution at McGill University in Montreal, said he aims to develop dinosaur traits that disappeared millions of years ago in birds. Mr Larsson believes that by flipping certain genetic levers during a chicken embryo’s development, he can reproduce the dinosaur anatomy.

Though still in its infancy, the research could eventually lead to hatching live prehistoric animals, but Mr Larsson said he has no immediate plans to create dinosaurs, for ethical and practical reasons. “It’s a demonstration of evolution,” saidMr Larsson, who has studied bird evolution for the last 10 years. “If I can demonstrate clearly that the potential for dinosaur anatomical development exists in birds, then it again proves that birds are direct descendants of dinosaurs.””

Spoilsport!

That’s what’s wrong with people today: No follow-through. You can talk about ethical & practical reasons till the two-head cows come home but at least the people of the Manhattan Project wanted to find out immediately if they got enough bang for their bucks.

Gods, where’s the sense of adventure? Every Pandora, every Frankenstein, yea verily, every Calvin (of Calvin & Hobbes fame, of course) would have understood instantly that if you CAN create a dinosaur it is no more than your human duty to produce one.

Still, there is one basic flaw in the argument that you could prove evolution by turning a chicken into a Tyrannosaur Rex.

I mean, change that chicken into a chartered accountant.

No, not literally.

You can add alcohol to said accountant and change him into a Newcastle loving Neanderthal who thinks he’d have a chance with Anna Kournikova, Kate Moss, Eva Longoria AND Angelina Jolie but that doesn’t say much in terms of real provenance.

As the following day’s lonely hangover will prove only too well.

Or, if you want, you can make the Hulk burst out of his clothes but you can’t make Kermit call him daddy.

Or something.

(The new & improved government stamp of approval…)

You have to hand it to the Brits: They are very, very good at understatement.

Which is probably one of those evolutionary things.

Giraffes got their long necks from having to reach for certain high leaves; Posh Spice got bigger breasts, because David Beckham got on her tits so much and all of her Majesty’s subjects develop stiff upper lips, because each and every ever-flailing British government never fails to hit them where it hurts.

I’ll come back to that understatement business in a bit – but first, when it comes to gross incompetence, which scenario would frighten you the most?

1) To sign up for the army and be sent to Basra or Afghanistan, where you hear your country’s Minister of Defence claim that it is the government’s overriding priority to provide the best of equipment for its brave soldiers

2) To walk the streets of London during any anti-government demonstration and come across a few handfuls of the Met’s well-trained anti-riot police officers

3) To visit a pub just before last orders and be mistaken for that prat with the moat (or any other Member of Parliament, for that matter)

Or, quite simply, to have to go to any English hospital, for even a minor operation:

“A man had two appendectomies in a month after doctors failed to remove the appendix at the first attempt. Mr Wattson, 35, had his first appendectomy on Tuesday, July 7. He was told that the procedure had gone well and discharged the next day. A month later, Mr Wattson was taken to hospital after collapsing in Swindon town centre. He was told by doctors  that his appendix had burst and that he needed an emergency appendectomy.

He was readmitted for surgery and released following the second operation on August 9. Mr Wattson then suffered further complications. The incision made during his second operation became infected, leaving a hole in his stomach 4cm deep and 2cm wide. He had to be admitted to hospital for a third time and spent another six days there.”

I promised to get back to the subject of understatement.

Well, when it comes to understating stuff, I can’t see how you can better a certain mister Gearing, deputy general manager for surgery at Great Western Hospital:

“Paul Gearing, the deputy general manager for surgery at Great Western Hospital, confirmed that an investigation into Mr Wattson’s claims was under way. He said: “We are unable to comment on individual cases. However, we would like to apologise if Mr Wattson felt dissatisfied with the care he received at GWH.””

IF Mr Wattson felt dissatisfied…?

Marvellous.

(The sat nav Saviour…?)

First, let me stress that I like Bob Dylan. I’ve got a lot of his albums, some of which I still play, occasionally.

He’s written some wonderful songs and he’s inspired many more talented artists to make the most awesome covers. Jimi Hendrix and his version of ‘All along the watchtower’, for instance; Guns ‘n Roses and their version of ‘Knocking on Heaven’s door’;  Nick Cave’s glorious ‘Wanted man’ and many, many others.

Still, there’s no getting away from the fact that Dylan himself sounds like a slightly disgruntled, geriatric goat that’s trying to bum a tenner off you.

Which is why the following bit of news did surprise me a bit:

“Bob Dylan, the legend of folk and rock music, could soon be directing drivers down Highway 61 as car giants frantically bid to sign him up as the new voice of their sat nav systems. The singer – a global superstar who has sold more than 70 million albums in a 45-year career – revealed that two major motor manufacturers had approached him to provide a audio road map commentary.”

I really don’t know about this one.

I mean, if you really want a sat nav, that, when it’s new, is always protesting about the way things are going and, when it gets bored with that, starts chasing women, left, right and centre, before it suddenly finds Jesus…

… then Dylan would be your perfect guide, I guess.

Me, I think he’s altogether too contrary a person to be trusted with a map.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way. I can already hear that slow train coming…

At last! A cure for cancer!

Okay, not really but the following is still good news for millions upon millions of suffering souls.

Sort of:

“A teenager obsessed by the World of Warcraft online game has become the first person to attend a US internet addiction retreat. He will undergo a 12-step treatment at the reStart Internet Addiction Recovery Programme in Washington state, which has opened for business to cater for the growing number of “cyber junkies”. The retreat is also open to outpatients seeking respite from an over reliance on joysticks, internet pornography and spending days on end staring at a computer screen.”

It’s a good wheeze.

So, first you treat teenagers who spend all their waking hours living in the World of Warcraft.

After this cure, which will have cost a cool $14,500 (£8,800), these teenagers will, no doubt, revert to type and become obsessed with sex…

… and since most male teenagers are much more comfortable with digital than with female bits, preferring data to dates, if you will, they will then become addicted to internet pornography…

… for which the reStart Internet Addiction Recovery Programme also offers a cure…

… after which our poor befuddled teenagers have no other option than to stare blankly at their computer screens…

… for  which the reSIARP has a cure for cash as well!

In other words, you could do worse than buying stocks & shares in that company.

(South Africa’s world cup dream final…?)

The whole idea of the Olympics used to be that partaking was more important than winning.

That’s still the case, by the way. It’s just that it’s no longer about individual sporters or teams. It’s about dictatorships like China wanting to host the Games to prove international political ‘partaking’ points. Or for former world players like Britain to show a deeply uncaring world that it’s still there – sort of.

Apart from this political point scoring, there’s now big business to think of as well. So, in order to draw more rich sponsors, it’s become important that a rich man’s sport like golf is able to partake as well.

Happily, football (or soccer, if you’re so inclined) parted with this Coubertin nonsense many decades ago. So, there are a lot of ugly things you can say about this self-proclaimed ‘beautiful game’ but they are, at least, not guilty of the grandiose hypocrisy, as expressed by the modern Olympic movement.

You won’t find many professional (and amateur) players or coaches stating that partaking is more important than pulverizing your opponents and while a single-minded lust for winning at all costs is not always a thing of beauty, its honesty is almost endearing – and certainly to be preferred to the pious lies still spouted by the IOC.

When you see members of the International Olympic Collaborators kowtow to the money men and dictators, the likes of José Mourinho, Alex Ferguson and Fabio Capello all seem to take on a sheer saintly hue.

Anyway, enough about those obnoxious Olympics. Let’s talk a bit more about football – and this maybe not quite laudable but refreshingly honest lust for winning…

… and about the English national team and its lovable losing ways.

Of course, it used to be that the English liked to pretend that they didn’t mind losing all that much. Being quite good at losing, they indulged in the oft-expressed belief that really wanting to win stuff was a bit vulgar.

Those days are long gone, of course. The English public and the English Football Association now want nothing more and won’t accept anything less than winning the world cup in South Africa, next year.

Being Dutch, I would almost like to see the English team meet the Dutch team in the final of that tournament. It would be a rather nice opportunity to stage a  reenactment of those old Boer wars.

It won’t come to that, of course.

Neither the Dutch nor the English have much chance of going beyond the quarter final stages of the tournament but since the English are more desperate to win that stupid cup than the Dutch are, I don’t mind sharing a truly golden tip with the English FA.

They should look at cricket for inspiration. No, not those bloody boring Ashes. What should inspire them is a cricket game that was recently played in the southern Pakistani city of Sukkur.

Truly, the only way for the English team to end up holding up the trophy in South Africa is to do to Rooney, Cole, Gerard, Ferdinand, Terry, Lampard and the rest of the team what the winners of that Pakistani game had done to them:

“A team of cricketing eunuchs have beaten a team of men with everything intact in the first game of its kind. The match took place in the southern Pakistani city of Sukkur between the eunuchs and a team of young men from a local club, according to the BBC.

The eunuch’s opponents were from a local cricket club called the Olympians, while the eunuchs’ team was called Sanam XI. The match was held at the largest stadium in the city and a sizeable crowd turned out to cheer both teams.”