Sssssh

It is an oft repeated gag: elderly relative bursts forth with some very un PC comment in a room full of people, which probably includes those who belong to the group being mentioned/ discussed.  More often than not, it is their very presence that has inspired comment.  For example “Oooo look Jenny, there’s a (insert offensive term here).”  Shocked at their apparent lack of embarrassment and self censorship, you desperately try to tell them that they shouldn’t say such things whilst glancing around to make sure that nobody overheard.  You are conflicted.  On the one hand, you know that such words/ phrases are offensive and shouldn’t be said at all, let alone in public.  Yet, granny is 86 and such words were not deemed offensive in her formative years.  When she was growing up gay meant happy rather than homosexual.  Words that we now consider racial slurs were probably nothing more than descriptive terms.  No harm intended.  Furthermore, she’s got this far and lived her life using these words and isn’t liable to change at this late stage.  So does this mean that we should merely accept it when older people use language that we deem to be sexist, racist, homophobic etc?  Is age really a valid excuse for saying things that other people may find offensive?

The reason I ask is because an eighty year old soap star is currently being slated for saying that victims of sexual abuse are paying for sins committed in past lives.  Not surprisingly, this has caused outrage, particularly amongst victims of abuse and organisations that support them.  However, there are those who are leaping to his defence and stating that he should not be vilified for this abhorrent point of view because of his age.   Call me a social fascist if you like but I don’t think that age is any excuse, unless of course there are other underlying medical things going on (such as Alzheimer’s or autism).  To me, if a person fully understands what they are saying and what is going on in the world around them then they are responsible for their behaviour.  This rule should apply whether the person is eighteen or eighty six.  To say that they are simply too old to change is ridiculous.  As humans we never stop learning and part of the learning process involves adapting to the changing world around us.  It may well be disconcerting to learn that certain words, customs and beliefs we were brought up with are redundant or no longer acceptable but that’s life. 

If we want a more tolerant and accepting society we need to challenge prejudice wherever we find it, even if it feels mean or uncomfortable to do so.  I mean, you can challenge without being offensive or condescending.  You don’t have to necessarily have to treat them to a lecture about how not to behave in public but it is always a good idea to patiently explain that some people may find their words offensive and/ or upsetting.  Of course, if you do this you lay yourself open to being criticised for being intolerant.  You may even get the whole “I fought a war so that we could all be free to talk the way we like” speech.  And yes, this may be the case.  I am not for a second disputing that the older generation have made and continue to make a valuable contribution to society.  However, this does not exempt them from having to consider the possible ramifications of what they say.  Just like the rest of us, they should (as far as is reasonable) ensure that what they say does not offend and upset other people.  Surely this is not too much to ask of anybody.

That horse has bolted

I fear I may be trying to jump onto a long departed bandwagon here, given that the storm over the Tesco debacle has been raging for a good few weeks now.  A more with it blogger would have taken straight to her computer to pound out a few pages of outraged diatribe the minute the news broke but not I!  This is mostly because I like to see whether something is really truly worthy of my consideration before I blog about it.  At first I thought that this was just going to illicit a few hysterical headlines and some horse gags before finally dying down and disappearing but I was wrong.

Not only are we still talking (and laughing) about it all; yet more food related screw ups are coming to light.  It now transpires that Findus is amongst the brands whose ready meals are thought to contain horsemeat.  This is one of those scenarios that I wish I was surprised by but I’m not.  The fact that big corporations pack their ready meals with just about anything, package it and then sell it onto an unsuspecting public really does not amaze me in the slightest.  Sure, we have laws that are supposed to protect the consumer by discouraging these kinds of shenanigans but when did the law ever stop big corporations from doing anything.  If recent times have taught us anything it is that the law does not apply to you if you are rich and powerful enough.  And Tescos is both very rich and very powerful.  When it comes down to it the only thing that these companies truly care about is making a profit and as long as they are still doing that then everything else is of secondary importance.  I very much doubt that this horse meat fiasco will have made that much of an impact on Tesco’s profit margins because people do still need to eat, however pissed off they may be that what they thought was a juicy beef burger is actually Black Beauty slathered in BBQ sauce. 

The only bit of the whole episode that took me by surprise was the outrage.  Apparently, people were perfectly at ease with tucking into cows and pigs but were practically hysterical once they realised that they may have inadvertently eaten a cute little horse.  Why?  Surely if you are perfectly at ease with gorging on the flesh of one animal, eating another animal wouldn’t be that much different.  At least, the principle is still the same.  The animal was once alive and now it isn’t because it is on your plate glistening in all its gravified goodness....yum.  Plus, I’m assuming that many of those who purchased and ate the offending products didn’t actually realised that they had been duped since a large proportion of those would have purchased said products multiple times.

Then it dawned on me.  It is not necessarily people being squeamish about eating horses (well, ok it largely is); it is more about the fact that people thought that they were getting one thing when they were actually getting something different.  If they have been fooled once then how many times and with how many other products has this happened?  What else is in our food that we don’t know about?  Cats, frog’s eyeballs, dinosaur bollocks?  Who the hell knows? It is Tesco’s after all.  There could literally be anything in your gourmet microwavable spaghetti bolognaise.  It genuinely doesn’t bare thinking about.  Plus, it is an issue of trust.  Nobody likes being lied to, especially if those lies are about things that we are buying and potentially feeding our families. 

I’m just hoping that Tesco’s don’t establish a used car arm of their business because God only knows what they’d try and sell you; hearses masquerading as people carriers, pushbikes with no wheels, etc.  You just never know what they will think up next (and you probably wouldn’t want to) but hey, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?  It could be the start of a whole new dinner party game: guess what’s in your burger!  

Love is in the air

I really didn’t want to dedicate an entire blog post to this mushy nonsense but tradition and a bizarre sense of obligation has forced me to do just that.  Anyone who has not been fortunate to live in a cave without Internet access and/ or other connections to the outside world will have noted that International Make Singletons Everywhere Feel Bad Day (otherwise known as Valentine’s Day) is almost upon us.  For the less commercially enslaved readers among you, Valentine’s Day is that special time of year where we all forget to nag our partners about the gigantic pile of washing up that they have still not done and the toenails they have left wallowing in the bath.  Instead our nagging endeavours turn to hints about overly expensive meals in “intimate” Italian restaurants and “romantic” Valentine’s breaks in some country manor house.  We approach the day with rising anticipation and a sense of certain expectation; surely, this time he or she will have pushed the boat out and have planned something really special.  You know they have been avoiding the whole thing BUT that is just so that they don’t give away the surprise.  You have booked the whole weekend off work and told anyone who cares enough to pretend to listen of your impending Valentine’s treat.

Then the day comes round.  You awake to no breakfast in bed.  Indeed, your partner is still grunting and snoring next to you whilst whispering something lewd about Kate Middleton/ Prince Harry/ Russell Crowe/ Harriet Harman/ John Prescott/ Anne Hathaway (delete as appropriate) and licking their lips.  Naturally, you go downstairs expecting that they have somehow miraculously smuggled in your surprise the previous night and have left it somewhere obvious for you to find.  Like a child on Christmas morning, you dash downstairs unsure and excited about what you might find.  A mad dash around the house reveals nothing.  Not a sausage.  Only a headless mouse (at least Tiddles has remembered) and a puddle of cat piss next to the fridge.  You turn from this feline trail of destruction to see your dishevelled looking partner squinting at you through eyes full of sleep and fresh morning sunlight.  Outraged you demand whether they even know what day it is.  Nonplussed, they reply that it is Friday and run off to get ready for work.  Almost hysterical you yell after the that it is Valentines Day and demand to know why it is that everybody else’s partner ALWAYS does something romantic and yet they always forget to.  You then follow said partner to the bottom of the stairs where you proceed to list the various wonderful things that friends’ partners have done for them for Valentines Day.  Every intimate meal, every surprise holiday gets a mention.  All the while your partner seems way too preoccupied with where they have left their shoes/skirt/belt/handbag, which just gets you more enraged.  By the time you have said your goodbyes you are wondering how you can ever admit this embarrassment to your friends and colleagues, who will now think you are a complete failure because your partner couldn’t even be bothered to show how much they love you by wasting their money on a piece of card sporting a pair of smooching teddies and a vomit inducing verse.  Woe is you.  The fact that they have spent the past year holding back your hair as you vomit after consuming your bodyweight in tequila and listening to you as you pour out your latest workplace drama pales in significance next to the absence of a creepy looking teddy holding an embossed love heart. Because when it comes to relationships, it is the small manufactured things that count.

Later on that evening you return home to find a battered looking bouquet of roses and a large soppy card with the 99p price tag still attached.  You peek inside just to see a generic soppy verse that has been seen by countless other people that very same day and your partner’s name at the bottom.  Still, you are not happy.  They did this only because you nagged them to do it and even then, it was done in a rush and with very little thought.  It was done purely to placate you and to give them an easier life.  Just look at the state of the flowers! 

I have spent so much of my adult life hating things like Valentines Day.  I celebrated it a couple of times when I was a teenager and had my first boyfriend but that was before I realised how stupid the whole thing was.  I understand the whole thing about wanting to tell somebody that you love them but why does that have to be done on an allocated day and why does it have to involve buying them random tat and insisting that they do the same in return?  If you genuinely love somebody, why do you need an allocated day to remind you to spend time with them?  Surely, it means more when somebody does something because they want to rather than because they know that you will expect them to. I don’t know, maybe I am just being a tad naïve here but I’m not really sure how a person’s willingness to contribute towards Hallmark’s profits and their feelings towards their partners are linked.  

For those of you who have reached the end of this post and are still wondering whether I will be celebrating this pointless waste of a day: the answer is a resounding NO.  The only time I will ever celebrate valentines day is if I end up owning a business that manufactures cards and random tat.

Gaga baby names!

What is the deal with baby names these days?  Seriously, why do parents feel the need to inflict a lifetime of embarrassment and emotional torture on their innocent offspring by burdening them with stupid names?  I seem to be encountering more and more youngsters with names that just make me flush with embarrassment on the poor child’s behalf.  I can tolerate names that are unusual or inventive.  Some of them are really lovely creations.  However, there are others that are just plain cruel.  There are far too many to recall in the space of one blog post so I have listed a few that stand out:

11)  Kamden (not only is this a place name but it is one that has been misspelled.  Whether this is a deliberate attempt at inventiveness or because the parents cannot spell is not quite clear)

22)  Brynlee (what?)

33)  Tihnita (where to start and finish with this monstrosity)

44) Bristol (again, place name)

55) Preston (if you’re going to pluck your spawn’s name out of the A-Z rather than an actual baby name book then please make sure that said name refers to a nice place and not a post industrial Lancastrian shithole)

66) Bradford (mostly as above)

77) Presley

88) Ferrari (no, I shall resist the temptation...)

99) Brooklyn (it wasn’t good when a halfwit celebrity couple named their son Brooklyn)

  10)  Apple (great in a crumble but not so good as a baby name)

111)  Anus (if you need me to explain why this name is a bad idea then you should really not reproduce...ever)

112) Blue bell

113) Peaches (fresh or tinned...you decide)

114)  Willie (NO)

115) Santa (this child should consider taking some form of legal action against its parents when it is old enough)

I have no idea what possesses parents to do something so cruel.  I suspect (and hope I’m right) that they are just intending to give their spawn a nice, original name rather than inflict a lifetime of misery, resulting from the relentless teasing of school bullies and the hours spent having to spell their stupid names phonetically to all and sundry.  And, like any half baked craze, I strongly suspect this one is partially the doing of idiotic celebrities.  As my boss pointed out, celebrities and their children can get away with having names like Rocco and Peaches.  Infact, it is almost a requirement to have a name that takes its origins from a piece of fruit/ make of car/ other inanimate object/ city.  However, if you are a council worker/ barmaid/ doctor/ other invisible nobody then naming your offspring something outlandish is certainly NOT a very good idea.

 

Ok, so you might argue that Blue Bell is a cute name for a baby.  Fine.  I don’t necessarily agree with you but there you go.  The point is: can you imagine a thirteen year old Blue Bell?  A twenty three year old Blue Bell?  A fifty year old Blue Bell?  It goes without saying but usually one’s Christian name is for life.  Do you really want your child to wonder into adulthood blushing every time somebody asks what their name is? 

And you know those pieces of card you keep in your wallet?  Yes, your bank cards and driving licence!  The things that you use to prove who you are....the things that have your NAME printed on them?  Well, in approximately seventeen years time little Talula Hula will be able to apply for one of those.  Oh, I can just see the look on the admin assistant’s face when that application lands at DVLA HQ.  Still, if nothing else it will brighten their day and will give them a story to go home with (“Dude, I got an application form for a new provisional licence and you will never BELIEVE what the poor sod was called.”)  I’m not picking on the DVLA.  I don’t think they are nasty, evil people.  But they are people and, like school bullies, bank clerks and potential employers, they know a stupid name when they see one!  Moral of this paragraph: one day your precious little bundle of vomit will be a grown up with ID.  That ID will contain his or her name.

It goes without saying but kids (and adults) can be cruel.  Children get bullied for all sorts of reasons; being too short, being too smart, wearing glasses, having a speech impediment, liking Justin Bieber...the list is endless.  Some of these things are unavoidable traits.  Others aren’t.  Take it from me, being bullied is an unpleasant experience at any age and one that can haunt a person into adulthood.  No parent wants their child to be the object of playground taunts, which is why every parent should refrain from naming their child with creations like Santa, Chardonnay and Sambuka.  That is, unless you desperately want to be having to explain to your child why the cashier in the bank has to stifle a snigger every time they emerge at the counter, snotty little bank book in hand.  

Tis the Season

You’ll forgive my absence, dear readers, when I tell you that it was solely down to the various enforced preparations and visitations that have been made necessary by the festive period.  At this point in the proceedings I’m supposed to bemoan the expense, the inconvenience and that irritation at having to spend my all too rare time off with people I find infuriating “because it’s Christmas.”  However, I’m going to refrain from doing that because I actually like Christmas....

OK, I hate having to spend money on gifts that I know people will probably hate and promptly consign to the back of the wardrobe (just as soon as they’ve finished gushing over how they have always wanted an electronic tin opener shaped like Ken Livingstone’s face).  I have also never been a huge fan of making small talk with relatives who I barely know and probably won’t see again until next Christmas, when we will probably have the same conversation yet again.  BUT....

I like Christmas.  It is the one time of year when normality is suspended and you can just let your hair down.  There is also something rather spirited about this time of year.  Sure, advertisers are as infuriating as ever, trying to get us to buy their tat and masquerade them as gifts to our unsuspecting friends and relatives.  Aside from that, there is this air of excitement that seems to just pervade and not just amongst young children.

When you’re a child Christmas is all about that wonderful sense of anticipating what is in store for you on Christmas morning (and having time off school).  As an adult it becomes an excuse to share some time with friends who we have not seen nearly enough during the year.  Sociologists and psychologists are constantly telling us that we are far too unhappy and that this is due to the fact that we are terrible at prioritising.  We simply do not make enough time and effort with the things that matter most because we are much too busy rushing around pursuing things that, on balance, don’t matter that much.  British people apparently work some of the longest hours in Europe and this seems to be having an impact on the quality of our relationships.  Why is this relevant?  Well, whilst you are busy rushing about answering the telephone, typing letters, selling stuff etc you are not busy engaging with friends and family.  You can easily become cut off and it may even reach the point where you feel loathe to reconnect because, well, it has been so long.

Then Christmas comes and is in itself a reason to reconnect.  Suddenly you have an excuse to put away the laptop and go visit a friend that you have not seen in months.  Even though you do not have an excuse as such you can simply say that you thought you would drop in “because it is Christmas.”  Suddenly, you are sitting, chatting and wondering why you don’t do this more often.  Then you go round to your parents, aunt’s, in-laws, you name it....OK, so some people are just plain annoying and make you want to staple things to their heads but at least you are reconnecting with people.  You are making an effort.  You are, once again, part of it. 

Sure, you can sit there and moan about those “Morcombe and Wise” reruns and the fact that the turkey was just too dry for your liking but when it comes down to it, I bet you loved every single minute.  You loved watching your little nephew tear at the wrapping paper like a kitten tearing a baby mouse to shreds; you loved hearing your elderly grandfather tell you about what Christmas was like when he was a kid (for the umpteenth time!) and you loved having the excuse to consume your body weight in wine and novelty confectionary.  Complain as you might, you know deep down that Christmas just would not be the same without any of these things.  Indeed, life would not be the same without any of these things. 

If you are still doubting the truth of my words, I would urge you to consider those who have spent this Christmas alone and isolated.  Those who would have given anything to see a friendly face or share a laugh or two with a well meaning friend or neighbour.  There are many reasons why a person may have spent Christmas alone; family break downs, poverty, lack of transport, death of friends and loved ones etc.  I am not writing this article as a way of explaining why people are lonely because like many facets of the human condition, loneliness can be a complicated and very individual issue.  It is also beyond the remit of an amateur blog such as this one.  I simply write this entry to ask that you use Christmas and all of its associated messages to take stock and be thankful for all that you have because even if it does not seem to be a great deal, it is probably more than a lot of other people.

With love and good wishes for the New Year!

Class reproduction

It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?  And when it did it was bound to be plastered across the front page of every newspaper on the planet.  I am, of course, referring to the news that William and Kate have spawned.  On a human level, I am happy for them.  For most people, the prospect of having a tiny rug rat running around is a delightful prospect.  Finally, here is a miniature version of yourself that you can teach to hate everything you hate (Justin Bieber, racists, Tories etc).  Plus, there is always something unashamedly optimistic about being a small part of creating a new generation.  One that will hopefully be much less careless and much more educated than we were. 

On a political level I am horrified, embarrassed and somewhat confused.  I am horrified because, in spite of the fact that many ordinary Brits are struggling to keep body and soul together, we will still be expected to contribute to this little person’s lifestyle via our taxes.  Taxes that could and should be spent on better things, such as improving public services and getting us out of the financial mess in which we have now found ourselves.  The thing is that council services, the NHS and education have all faced huge cuts because we are apparently unable to support them.  However, we could somehow afford to pay huge sums of money for silly Jubilee festivities that had no discernible point other than to remind us that the queen has been successfully fleecing us for 60 years.  We also found money to pay towards security for a wedding of two people that we hadn’t even met and that the vast majority of us probably couldn’t care less about.  Then there are all the regular perks that we pay for: private education, goodness knows how many palaces, private health care.  The list goes on and incorporates things that most of us cannot even afford to pay for for ourselves, which begs the question: why should we pay for that bunch of scroungers to have them?  Thus, this latest addition will only continue the “work” of its family, which is namely taking money of the working people of this country and using it to fund a life of unashamed privilege.

My embarrassment and confusion have arisen as a result of listening to some of the sycophantic opinions that are being banded around.  Admittedly, it is mostly the deluded individuals from the Royalist fraternity but I have also overheard comments from people who should really know better.  The comments mostly centre around how wonderful it will be to have another royal running about.  Do these people not realise how much they are being exploited and how much better this country would be if we didn’t have to fund an institution that is essentially a pointless waste of money?  This latest addition will be just another pointless waste of money.  Furthermore, I have heard many of these same people talking about how the tax payer should not be funding non-workers to have children (I think they mean benefits claimants).  In their blissful ignorance they seem to forget that the royal family do not contribute anything to society (don’t you dare try and play the tourism card: Britain would attract tourism with or without the monarchy) and have a much easier time of it than benefits claimants.  How many benefits claimants do you know who can afford to send their children to Harrow or Eton?  No, many of their children are languishing in sub-standard state funded comprehensives.  It is the ignorance of these people that embarrasses me.  The ignorance and the willingness to unquestioningly hand money over to a bunch of people who are so much better off than they will ever be.

You have to question what impact this little brat will have upon your own life.  Will it, for example, be emptying your bins or tending to your sick relatives?  Probably not.  At best it will open a few hospital wards, whilst grinning at the assembled crowds in a condescending and mock sympathetic manner.  Meanwhile we will be working ourselves to death to pay for it to enjoy a swanky lifestyle whilst we languish in sub standard housing that we haven’t a hope in hell of ever owning.  If you do not think that this is a good enough reason for Britain to become a republic then there is clearly something wrong with you!

Opportunity Knocks But Rarely Comes In

So I just signed up for a student loan.  This is purely so that I can complete a course, which will allegedly enable me to progress in my chosen career.  Quite a noble reason for getting oneself into debt.  I suppose that, on balance, there are worse reasons for getting into debt but this does not make the fact that I will come out of university owing a big evil bank thousands of pounds any easier to deal with.  The thought of contributing anything to their already over inflated balance sheets, even if it is only a pittance, leaves me feeling cold and resentful.  Yet, without their “help,” I would have been unable to complete my course.  The problem is that for all that Universities pretend to be these high minded cathedrals of learning; they are really nothing but blood sucking, money grabbing leeches.  Sure, they may have been all altruistic when they were nothing more than a few learned masters teaching gifted and talented students in rooms above inns but it just isn’t like that any more.  If you really want to prove my point then feel free to be late with a tuition fee instalment.  Have a gander through the myriad of threatening emails that they send claiming that you will be kicked off your course and unable to matriculate if you fail to make the coveted payment within an allotted timescale.  The long and short of this paragraph is that if you want to get anywhere these days, you will probably need to go on some sort of course and these courses cost money.  Money is in short supply to most people.

However, there is another way.  A way that doesn’t involve begging banks on bended knees to loan you money.  A way that doesn’t entail you sitting up until stupid o’clock in the morning typing up an essay whilst high on energy drinks.  There is a down side though.  You have to not mind looking like a complete pillock in front of an entire nation of brain dead drones.  The official term is reality TV but I prefer to call it the exploitation of the financially desperate and chronically stupid.  However, reality TV has a much better ring to it so we shall run with it (that and it is much easier to type). 

I will be the first to admit that I have often been disdainful of such programmes and the kind of people who go on them.  I mean, who would want to spend however many weeks prancing around in a house full of strangers and be filmed in the process?  I never really understood the mentality.  That is, until I found myself grovelling to a bank in order to be able to BORROW my course fees.  The thing is, that if I was financially better off this would not have been an issue.  I could have just paid off my uni fees in one lump sum.  However, like most of the population I am not rich.  Sure, I can afford my bills and my rent without a struggle.  This is more than can be said for a lot of people.  There are many people who I know of who have to think twice before putting the heating on.  It is literally a case of “can I afford to eat AND be warm?”  It is a grim state of affairs when you have to choose between eating and staying warm but that is what a lot of people are calling reality these days.  So I cannot blame those who, upon seeing a way out, scramble towards it in the hope of finding something better on the other side.  If that means locking yourself in a house full of other z list wannabes then so be it.  Six months of endorsing cheap perfumes and appearing on day time TV shows has got to be better than serving booze to twelve year olds in One Stop. 

Of course, these people could do it the old fashioned way and work hard in order to get a good job.  It is perfectly doable, right?  WRONG!  As we have already discussed, the way in to most reasonable jobs nowadays is a university degree and these do not come cheap.  Then there is the issue of your education before university.  In the UK, the top jobs are taken by those with the privilege of a private school education, which certainly does not come cheap.  Thus, it goes without saying that in order for a person to succeed in this world they had better be starting from a relatively good position.  By that I mean that mummy and daddy had better be in a position to pay up for school and university fees.  I know you will all hate me for saying this because, well, you are still clinging onto the belief that Britain is a meritocracy whereby anyone with the talent and determination to succeed can do so.  Just look at the likes of Alan Sugar and Philip Green, you all cry wistfully.  Yes, they started from virtually nothing and are now worth tidy sums.  However, they started off in a different climate.  One in which the business world was less hostile to the fledgling businesses.  Amazon had not yet been dreamt up and Tesco wasn’t the colossal force of misery and exploitation that it is today.  Today’s world is different.  The big guns like Amazon and Tesco rule and you may as well quell any notions that your business could ever compete with them because that just won’t happen. 

Traditionally, the business world has been the hope of the working classes where politics and general pratting about with polo sticks has been the domain of the upper classes.   However, the current economic climate has stopped a lot of working class people in their tracks.  They see that their traditional means of gaining some semblance of control (for the business community is quite influential) and autonomy has now been shut off to them, whilst the rich are still able to do pretty much what they have always done.  Namely, doing a bad job of running the country and blaming those lower down the pecking order for their monumental screw ups.  So this leaves your average working class person with a conundrum: One Stop or Big Brother?  I suppose that the end decision doesn’t actually matter since either way, you will end up getting mouthfuls of abuse from an undeserving public whilst being shafted by a huge corporation whose only use for you is to make them money.  It’s just that one of the options will net you more riches and a brief sniff of fame (unless that armed robbery you were caught up in happens to be broadcast on Crimewatch).

Somehow, I am feeling more positive about the loan debacle....