Glob-a-log

Yesterday, I was talking to a friend in a bar. I like bar talk – if it’s about more than women, football, cars and, these days, of course, also iPhones and Macs. It’s amazing how boring people can be about those things.

Still, when the alcohol starts to ripple (as of yet gently) through the brain, and the conversation flows from the latest Stephen King to the self-portraits of Rembrandt, by way of the Second World War and EU politics and the records of Miles Davis and who was and wasn’t in Casablanca…

… then, to me at least, it’s about the best of times beer & shots money can buy…

… and yes, there is a point to all of that and I’m slowly coming to it.

So, at one random point in the evening my friend mentioned that stolen corpse of the former Cyprus president Tassos Papadopoulos. I reminded him that stealing corpses has always been the favourite pastime of a select few morons & scoundrels and I was quite amazed to learn that my friend did not know about the theft of a way more famous corpse:

“Three months after Chaplin died on Christmas, 1977, his body was stolen in an effort to extort money from his family. Chaplin’s body was recovered 11 weeks later after the grave-robbers were captured. He is now buried under 6 feet of concrete to prevent further theft attempts.”

Anyway, I was reminded of these grave robbing tales when I came upon the following story, a bit earlier today:

“Three mysterious signatures on pages of parchment bound in leather and kept under lock and key may prove the theory that William Shakespeare was a secret Catholic who spent his “lost years” in Italy.”

Talk about digging up famous graves indeed. Still, Shakespeare’s dead body has been fucked with by God knows how many necrophiliacademic chancers, who try to sell us this, that or the other latest theory about him.

So, we get speculations about his portrait, his sexuality and even his gender. We get to read about all the reasons why Shakespeare couldn’t have written what he has written…

… and now we have yet another idiot claiming that Shakespeare was a catholic…

… which, of course, is trivial beyond all other trivial pursuits. It’s like the pursuit of happiness entwined with the quest for the fountain of youth, squared by the search for an honest MP.

The point of Shakespeare is not whether he was catholic, female, black, alien and/or bisexual.

The only point worth making is that the point of Shakespeare is that he is Shakespeare.

All other speculation is as senseless and unwelcome as a plastic replica of the Tower of Pisa, thrown at the Taj Mahal.

Those people to whom reading comes almost as naturally as breathing, can’t have failed to notice that Hilary Mantel generated a few marathons worth of column inches in the literary sections of the collected international newspapers, after she was first nominated for and then won the Booker prize for her historical novel Wolf Hall.

Most of the times, I disagree with the Booker juries but I did not do so on this occasion – but then I’m hardly impartial when it comes to Hilary Mantel. Ever since I read her truly excellent novel ‘Beyond black’ I’ve been a huge fan. It did take me a while, since Mantel was, even after ‘Beyond black’, a relatively unknown author but I did manage to collect all of the other titles over time.

At the moment, I’m rereading her 1987 novel, ‘Vacant possession’, which is one of my favourites.

Why I’m going on and on and on about Mantel and all of her works? Well, because yesterday I came upon the following passage:

“[T]eachers’ children are always worse than others. Their parents know from experience that there is nothing to be done with young people, and when they get home, they’re not even being paid to try.”

That one made me laugh out loud in the pub where I was reading this book – and I was reminded of it when I saw the following news story today in the Telegraph:

“A suspected thief was caught after he fell into a slurry pit after being disturbed while trying to steal a tractor. The man, who is aged in his 20s, tried to steal the vehicle from Follets Farm, near Bridgewater, Somerset. But he was disturbed by beef farmer Lance House, 50, and fell into a deep slurry pit as he fled through the darkness.”

So it goes.

As a parent you try to raise your kid as well as you can, hoping he might end up as a new Albert Einstein or David Beckham…

… and then, one day (or night) you get a phone call from the local constabulary, with the message that your Albert/David is sitting in the nick, smelling like Old Nick’s arse…

… but I dare say that most of young master Beckstein’s wouldn’t have been surprised at all to hear that he’d ended up like that.

As Hilary Mantel said, Teachers know.

Dan Simmons, who is one of my all time favourite writers, has this thing about certain words. Or, to be more precise, the incorrect use of certain words and phrases.

Like the way people indiscriminately use the word ‘decimate’, when they actually mean ‘a Hell of a lot.’ As in ‘The plague decimated Europe’ Which it did not; it killed many more than one in ten people – which is what decimation actually means.

It was a Roman form of punishment: To randomly select and kill one in ten persons for a crime committed by some other person.

The Nazis adopted a similar approach when it came to discourage the various resistance movements in Europe. The Nazis were really big on all things Roman, as they were on superstition.

Anyway – and I am slowly coming to some vaguely point-shaped point here – Dan Simmons also once commented that he didn’t get people who used the term ‘organized religion’, because all religions, by their nature, are organized.

Which is true enough. It’s just a lazy way of comparing private beliefs with the collective & hierarchal form of belief systems that comes with its own buildings, officials, clothing and rules…

… and, always, sooner or later, with discrimination, demonisation and the killing of both infidels and dissenting members of these churches.

It doesn’t matter much whether we consider ourselves the children of God or the children of Darwin: We are deeply irrational beings and we don’t play very nicely in groups.

The moment we start putting flags, or crosses, or crescents on official buildings is also the moment we start killing people. That’s just one of the things that make us human.

It’s kind of funny, when you come to think of it (though I’m sure Dan Simmons won’t approve) how people, so often, claim that such and such a crime or certain types of behaviour are ‘inhuman’.

When they are, of course, anything but.

When it comes to human nature, we are always more likely & willing to take Abraham’s knife and kill on the say-so of some demon or some God than to think for ourselves.

Like the following story shows:

“The stepfather of a two-year-old boy claimed he pushed 42 “blessed” sewing needles deep into the toddler because his lover told him it would keep the couple together.”

Talking of Abraham’s knife – and the dirty tricks we claim our Gods play on us: That story did end well. One of the few times a child was saved by the bell, instead of that bell being dropped from great (church tower) height on its fragile head:

“And [God] said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me.”

It’s a pity God is no longer in the divine intervention business. On the other hand, He and His angels would have a hard time of it, what with priests abusing children, Taliban madmen murdering school-going girls, armies using child soldiers and all the other horrors religious & political leaders (and, of course, millions of individual citizens) routinely inflict upon children.

About that step-father though, who so loved his partner that he would suffer all those needles being stuck in his own child…

… I’m sure it would be possible to grant him his wish, not to be ever separated from his lover.

As long as both of them will get a life sentence, I don’t see why they should not be allowed to share the same cell…

… and as long as that cell would hold one of those fakir style beds of nails.

So, “tomorrow 56 newspapers in 45 countries take the unprecedented step of speaking with one voice through a common editorial. We do so because humanity faces a profound emergency.”

That’s because of climate change. Most scientists seem to agree that this is a very serious issue. Some don’t. I am decidedly not an expert, so nobody should be interested to hear my opinions on this – even if I had some.

So, I won’t bother with that.

To be honest, most people can’t even be bothered to think much about this topic either and even more would never agree to give up their dreams of a wealth and waste driven life style, not even if they were afraid the most gloomy predictions are true.

Human beings just aren’t made for that kind of cautiously reflective and/or acting responsibly stuff.

Also, there are many more other, far more interesting and important stories to obsess about.

Like this one:

“Gino D’Acampo, the winner of I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here!, and his fellow contestant Stuart Manning face criminal charges for animal cruelty after cooking and eating a rat on the ITV programme, it emerged today.

Chief Inspector David Oshannessy, of the New South Wales RSPCA, said it was not acceptable that an animal had been killed as part of a performance. “The allegation is that an animal was cruelly treated on the set,” he added. “It was a rat that was killed. There is a code of conduct in New South Wales that dictates how animals can be used. The killing of a rat for a performance is not acceptable.” Police from Murwillumbah … issued field court attendance notices to two men aged 30 and 33 for the offence of animal cruelty, a spokesman for New South Wales police said.”

Why worry about one lousy little planet when people are being so mean to rats?

(Actually, I’d rather have a rat on a bit of toasted earth than having to listen to this…)

Summer used to be journalism’s silly season. Then, hard news – or those who made and reported on it – took some sandwiches, a bottle of sun cream and a towel to the nearest beach and stayed there for at least a month.

In the meantime, newspapers and television journalists made do with the monster of Loch Ness, the odd UFO (or oddly shaped vegetable) and, as a token gesture to international affairs, a Bigfoot, or a Yeti, or a fat American who got stuck between the automatic doors of his favourite McDonald’s outlet.

These days, it seems that – not unlike the Christmas season – the silly season keeps expanding. Of course, there is also news about Afghanistan, Iran and even Switzerland but these kind of hard news stories have to share or even leave the limelight for tales concerning all manner of celebreties. So, we have almost as many column inches for the Afghan troup surge as we have (in some papers) for the news that Robbie Williams’s hairdresser was found dead.

Not that I’m complaining.

If you write a daily column, silly is good. So, when I’m feeling lazy I can always bring out the old soap box and cry, ‘Health and safety gone maaaaad…!!!’, because not a day goes by without stories like the following…:

“A council in the West Midlands has apologised to Linda Langford, one of its tenants, after ordering her to remove two garden gnomes from outside her front door for health and safety reasons.”

… and if I feel like pontificating on the sorry state of Western civilisation, and the general incompetence of our politicians, army chiefs or police services, there will always be articles like this:

“A police force has apologised after deploying 30 officers, a fleet of vehicles, dogs and a helicopter to arrest members of a rock band on the basis of false information. The four members of the band were arrested at gunpoint after a gig in Staffordshire after a CCTV operator told police they had a handgun in their car. The musicians, their manager and a friend were detained overnight, had their fingerprints and DNA taken, surrendered their clothes for scientific examination and had their hands swabbed for firearms residue. On closer examination, however, the security camera footage showed the band unloading their instruments and equipment and using jump leads to start one of their vehicles. “

Sometimes, though, the actual season meets the silly season in quite delightful ways, so, today, I will leave you with this excellent bit of cheerful silliness. Truly heart-warming, cold comfort soul food:

“Scientists have created the world’s smallest ’snowman’, measuring about a fifth of the width of a human hair. Experts at the National Physical Laboratory in West London made the miniature figure which is just 0.01mm across.“

(When it comes to classical silliness, you can’t beat Henson’s babies…)

First, the most beautiful sentence of the week, by A.A. Gill, in one of his Times columns:

“Scotland doesn’t have history, it has current affairs with a long memory. “

Then, the most stupid remark made, this week, by any public figure, care of pop singer Rihanna, from a tabloid interview.

“Every woman should have naked pictures taken. In five years my body might not look like this.”

Now, this quite funny story – which is also kind of stupid but not exactly in the Rihanna league:

“A vicar has warned his congregation of an increase in “satanic activity” after he found a severed sheep’s head mounted on a pole outside a church in his Gloucestershire parish. The Rev Nick Bromfield warned that “dark forces” were on the rise in the area and revealed a series of mutilated animal carcasses had been found.”

To be honest, I doubt all of this has much to do with any dark forces, be they on the rise or otherwise employed.

It’s more likely it’s just kids being bored out of their stupid, tiny skulls. We are talking about Gloucestershire, after all, which is not so much the armpit of the universe as one of its discarded toe nail clippings.

Anyway, the article continues:

“The “offerings” had been ritualistically laid out in circles or around stones in his three Forest of Dean parishes – Drybrook, Lydbrook and Ruardean. Bromfield has issued a warning to parishioners against dabbling in occult events, even those that may seem harmless, such as crystal ball readings or pub psychic nights.”

Such a brilliant idea…

Take away the few existing public pastimes still on offer in Gloucestershire.

That will surely stop those bored kids from putting any more sheep’s heads on poles…

Okay, perhaps it will stop them long enough to take Rihannaesque photographs of themselves and put them up on Facebook first.

(Can’t think, can’t dance, can’t sing…)

I really have no time today to spend on this blog. I have to cook for six people – and do the shopping as well…

… and just four-and-a-half hours to do all of that…

… and post my daily column…

… so I better get my house in gear, my shit in order and more of that good old running-around-and-waving-my-arms-and-going-I’m-late-I’m-late-I’m-bloody-late type of stuff…

… but not before I have shown you why cats make poor police dogs (but should always be on hand when you have to deal with the boys in blue.)

Enjoy:

“A police department in Texas in the US has released footage of an over-affectionate cat distracting a policeman trying to issue a ticket to a motorist.”

Now, move it on over, ’cause this cat’s cooking…

… and is also officially really, really late.

See you tomorrow, I’m sure.

I’m back in Prague – and I can inform anyone who cares about these things that the neighbourhood pubs are still going strong.

I’m getting too old for this pub crawling game.

Meaning that I’m not in the mood to read (and comment on) any newspapers today. So, here are some links to a few other old stories, if you feel the need to spend some more time at this blog today.

I really need to go and spend some quality time in the shower house.

Enjoy:

1) Setting fire to dicks

2) Get thee behind me, Satan (and bring on the lubricant)

3) There’s something about Viagra

4) Outreach pastors and sex toys

5) Forced to watch porn

(There are some things even Jesus would find hard to swallow…)

Remember that old Doris Day song?

Yes, that’s the one:

“When 9/11 was just a normal date
we asked our leaders, what will we be
Will we sit pretty, will we be rich
Here’s what they said to us.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
but we will fuck things up, you’ll see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.”

Or, as the fat man sang,

“We shall fuck things up on the seas and oceans,
we shall fuck things up with growing confidence and growing strength in the air,
we shall fuck things up on our Island, whatever the cost may be,
we shall fuck things up on the beaches,
we shall fuck things up on the landing grounds,
we shall fuck things up in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fuck things up in the hills…”

… and, if only he’d known, he would, no doubt, have added,

“we shall fuck things up in Iraq,
we shall fuck things up in Afghanistan and
we shall fuck things up in all the world’s ‘correctional institutions’, from Iraq’s Abu Ghraib prison to Long Lartin prison, in Worcestershire and Belmarsh prison, south London.”

“We shall never surrender”, indeed – and we are so winning that batlle for hearts and minds…:

“SOME of Britain’s most dangerous Al-Qaeda leaders are promoting jihad from inside high-security prisons by smuggling out propaganda for the internet and finding recruits. In an authoritative report, Quilliam, a think tank funded by the Home Office, claims “mismanagement” by the Prison Service is helping AlQaeda gain recruits and risks “strengthening jihadist movements”.

Abu Qatada, described by MI5 as “Osama Bin Laden’s right-hand man in Europe”, has published fatwas — religious rulings — on the internet from Long Lartin prison, in Worcestershire, calling for holy war and the murder of moderate Muslims, it reveals.

Abu Doha — said to be Al-Qaeda’s main recruiter in Europe — has taken courses in Belmarsh prison, south London, enabling him to mentor other inmates.

Abu Hamza, jailed in 2006 for inciting murder, has preached radical sermons to followers using water pipes in his Belmarsh cell, and Rachid Ramda, the Algerian leader of the Paris Métro bomb plot, led Friday prayers in the same jail.”

Bush & Blair, Obama & Brown: Still making the streets of Britain and the USA safer and safer, each day…

Sometimes, life is kind to time-pressed, autumn-weary columnists. When looking out of the window is like hearing an endless loop of Supertramp’s Godawful ditty ‘It’s raining again’, it’s hard to think of things to write.

You read about the ‘Slumdog Millionaire director [wanting] to tackle the tale of Aron Ralston, the trapped climber who amputated his own arm with a pocketknife in 2003‘…

… and you think, ‘Good!’.

Not ‘good’ that someone is making a film but ‘good’ that someone, at some point in time, had a demonstratively worse time of it than you are having now. Thinking of someone having to saw off their arm with a blunt Boy Scout knife can be strangely comforting.

So, it’s nice when the online newspapers, occasionally, bring us bits of news that columnists and lowly bloggers can copy/paste without having to add any suave comment, bon mot or sniggering aside. Something like the following, in other words:

“Riga- In an incident that is sure to warm the hearts of news editors everywhere, a man is alleged to have bitten two people following a dog show in the Latvian capital, Riga, on Sunday, the Baltic News Service reported Tuesday. Police were called after a 27-year-old dog handler from Slovenia reacted in canine fashion when the dog he was parading failed to perform as well as he had hoped.”

Obviously, you could try to add more spices to the story broth, using this sad dog owner as a stand-in metaphor for the debt-ridden, apathic, dumbed down, celebrity obsessed people in the West, whose sense of entitlement is even bigger than their flat screen TVs…

… but why bother?

Why bring coal to Newcastle – or, to use a slightly more modern equivalent: Soldiers to Afghanistan – when the stories themselves have better built-in metaphors than any commentator can hope to make up?

What can you do but shrug when you read about ‘poppy fascists’ – and what more can you do than whisper ‘But of course…!’, when you read the following story?

“Fans hoping to catch a glimpse of U2’s free concert celebrating 20 years since the fall of the Berlin Wall will have - in the words of one of the band’s biggest hits - to “scale these city walls”, after organisers threw up a massive barrier to block the view for those without tickets.”

To be honest, I’d rather have my ears amputated than listen to Bono but chacun son goût and all that rot.

Anyway, if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to looking out of my window, staring at the rain and contemplating how nice it would be to amputate the arms of all the members of Supertramp with a blunt and rusty pocketknife…

See you tomorrow.

(Yes, I know it’s bloody awful but I don’t see why I should be the only one to suffer here…)