I thought it was really good to see a government back down from their original stance of not allowing Gurkha’s who had fought for Britain before 1997 UK residency. What I did pick up from all this was that you need a celebrity in order to do (or at the very least significantly contribute) to a campaign, otherwise the campaign only seems to get so far before it just loses a motion or is suffocated by other things happening. In the case for the Gurhka’s, they had a beautiful woman who was able to speak with a resonance that compelled even the politicians themselves.
It seems sad but in order for the government to hear you, you need a celebrity to attract attention. So, does this mean that those who wish to have speed cameras taken down should contact, The Hoff? I mean, what better ambassador? He could drive down the street in the sleek black car, whilst Kit blared out that all speed cameras should be taken down. When backed into a corner during a fierce debate with some dodgy politician, he could just whisper something into his black digital Casio and all of a sudden – in extremely slow motion and with a bionic sound effect – Kit could come crashing through the window and pull up in front of The Hoff before the both sped off down the M1.
Or, what about those that campaign against Airport expansion or construction, they could get Mr T. He hated flying, so surely he has no interest in airports being constructed. For every speech he did they could have an opening sequence of the various ways the rest of the A-Team managed to get him on a plane. Ranging from the spiking of his smoothie to the time he was somehow tricked into actually getting on a plane without him noticing. Also, all his speeches would be concise and to the point. And if any one disagreed I’m sure they’d face a knuckle sandwich. There could be special appearances from Murdoc or Face (I found out his full name was Templeton Peck the other day and cracked up laughing) to reaffirm the message.
I’m not trying to trivialise those that campaign because it’s something I feel strongly about (Although my last two paragraphs have suceeded in doing so). Yet, it seems that in order to be heard, the importance of a celebrity is weighty. Joanna Lumley also happens to show humility in defeat (when they originally lost the decision), never gave up hope and dealt with everything with aplomb. However, if she wasn’t there still attracting people after the original defeat, would it have been overturned?
In other news, Coldbrain sent me a link to a sighting of Mr Paddington himself (click on Street View). I’m now hopping onto a train to see if he wants to go for a pint.
Friday, 22 May 2009
Monday, 18 May 2009
Can I claim for that?
For me, it started off with a murmuring around the news agenda at the end of last year. A few sentences spoken on 5Live, a couple of columns worth in the newspapers about some MP from Balderdash who managed to claim back on expenses a new plasma television. Cheeky git, I remember telling myself and then totally forgetting all about it, just like I do with most of the news I hear or read.
The murmurings continued to grow, however, on a weekly basis with new MPs from Codswallop or Crudforth successfully making rather dubious claims from new garden decorations to toilet rolls. The public’s interest grew and the media licked its lips in anticipation of another scandal teetering on the brink of explosion. What made it all the more enchanting was that we were being dripped fed information because it was not being disclosed by the government. It smelt bad and the fact it was being hidden made us all the more suspicious as to who spent what on what. Maybe Gordon Brown had made an expense claim on a Rocket Propeller Grenade launcher to wipe out any threat both inside his party and out, or that’s what I like too have thought.
It seemed something was foul and it was being covered up. Yet, someone, either a civil servant or other government employee disagreed with the non-compliance, and decided to do something about it and started giving newspapers info. I hope it was the same 23 year old clerk how was blamed (as it was his/her fault) for all that data being lost on a CD sometime last year, thus ensuing public uproar.
And then The Daily Telegraph finally got the information released letting us all know what’s been going on. MPs had successfully claimed back on expenses things like, mortgage repayments for second homes, restoration of beams to a roof, a garden being redesigned and a moat being cleaned. A moat! Now that is abuse if I ever heard one. The fact it was a Conservative MP only reinforced the stereotypical image of what one has of a stereotypical MP. Still what made this all juicy was that it was all MPs from all the major parties that were abusing ‘the system’. I do believe that the Labour and Liberal Democrats looked worse from this, considering their ace card revolves around being ‘working class orientated’. So instead of blaming each other, they blamed ‘the system’. Along the lines of, I am perfectly within my rights to claim for those items because the system allows it.
Those justifications were as solid as Ian Hislop’s chances of winning on an episode of Have I got News For You. Everyday we all heard more stuff coming out in The Daily Telegraph about home improvements being claimed back but even worse, using ‘the system’ to make a profit on the housing market. Enraged and fuelled with righteous retribution they were all wrong, that was until someone said.
“Yeah, but what would you do if you were in that position. I mean, say you were new and your boss said ‘it’s alright, claim that new ipod touch on expenses, we all do it’, wouldn’t you?”
Shit I thought, I probably would and stayed silent as my conscious wrestled itself into submission. But then, my answer was honest and that made me look at things differently but still come up with the same conclusion, I really want an ipod touch. I would like to think that I wouldn’t make too many far out claims, perhaps buying Pret A Manager sandwiches instead of Boots ones or tipping the cab driver a few pound on the receipt. Definitely no moat being cleaned!
Some of those MPs did make a mistake and claiming for tea cloths is probably just about excusable whereas there were those that did realise exactly what they were doing. What has come out of this though will be a change in the expenses claim system which will hopefully eradicate the lavish and process the appropriate.
What I would like to do is thank the guy or gal who first discovered what was going on and started telling the press about it because without him or her doing that, none of us would have known what had been happening.
The murmurings continued to grow, however, on a weekly basis with new MPs from Codswallop or Crudforth successfully making rather dubious claims from new garden decorations to toilet rolls. The public’s interest grew and the media licked its lips in anticipation of another scandal teetering on the brink of explosion. What made it all the more enchanting was that we were being dripped fed information because it was not being disclosed by the government. It smelt bad and the fact it was being hidden made us all the more suspicious as to who spent what on what. Maybe Gordon Brown had made an expense claim on a Rocket Propeller Grenade launcher to wipe out any threat both inside his party and out, or that’s what I like too have thought.
It seemed something was foul and it was being covered up. Yet, someone, either a civil servant or other government employee disagreed with the non-compliance, and decided to do something about it and started giving newspapers info. I hope it was the same 23 year old clerk how was blamed (as it was his/her fault) for all that data being lost on a CD sometime last year, thus ensuing public uproar.
And then The Daily Telegraph finally got the information released letting us all know what’s been going on. MPs had successfully claimed back on expenses things like, mortgage repayments for second homes, restoration of beams to a roof, a garden being redesigned and a moat being cleaned. A moat! Now that is abuse if I ever heard one. The fact it was a Conservative MP only reinforced the stereotypical image of what one has of a stereotypical MP. Still what made this all juicy was that it was all MPs from all the major parties that were abusing ‘the system’. I do believe that the Labour and Liberal Democrats looked worse from this, considering their ace card revolves around being ‘working class orientated’. So instead of blaming each other, they blamed ‘the system’. Along the lines of, I am perfectly within my rights to claim for those items because the system allows it.
Those justifications were as solid as Ian Hislop’s chances of winning on an episode of Have I got News For You. Everyday we all heard more stuff coming out in The Daily Telegraph about home improvements being claimed back but even worse, using ‘the system’ to make a profit on the housing market. Enraged and fuelled with righteous retribution they were all wrong, that was until someone said.
“Yeah, but what would you do if you were in that position. I mean, say you were new and your boss said ‘it’s alright, claim that new ipod touch on expenses, we all do it’, wouldn’t you?”
Shit I thought, I probably would and stayed silent as my conscious wrestled itself into submission. But then, my answer was honest and that made me look at things differently but still come up with the same conclusion, I really want an ipod touch. I would like to think that I wouldn’t make too many far out claims, perhaps buying Pret A Manager sandwiches instead of Boots ones or tipping the cab driver a few pound on the receipt. Definitely no moat being cleaned!
Some of those MPs did make a mistake and claiming for tea cloths is probably just about excusable whereas there were those that did realise exactly what they were doing. What has come out of this though will be a change in the expenses claim system which will hopefully eradicate the lavish and process the appropriate.
What I would like to do is thank the guy or gal who first discovered what was going on and started telling the press about it because without him or her doing that, none of us would have known what had been happening.
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Readjusting
It’s been a while since I last posted. It’s not that TalesofEpoch has been forgotten. In fact, I think about the ol’ blog on a daily basis as it is my creative outlet. Each day I wait for a new entry idea to fall into my head. Sometimes it happens when I’m making coffee in the kitchen at work, just before I push the lever down on the hydroboil machine and scald my hand causing the instant freeze coffee to fly from my mug. Other times I’ll be reading a book in peace, either at home, in a coffee shop or the library and then the idea will just appear. Not daily, but quite frequently.
These ideas have been popping into my head less and less of late though. It’s like I am scraping the barrel of concepts and getting the dried leftover pulp. I mean what on earth were my last two blog entries about? They were shit. I reread them this evening and they made me snigger but I was overwhelmingly cringing at the lack of substance. Now I think the reason for my last two lacklustre entries was because I’ve been working my cotton socks off. Since mid March my working life has taken over all other aspects of life and has become my life. I have been starting work around 8:15am and finishing around 6pm which churns out nothing more than a haggard looking man who spends a further five minutes trying to untangle his earphones to listen to some music before exiting the building. After I finish work all I want to do is sleep and nothing more. Well apart from eating first. I’ve been trying the last couple of weeks to write something but both pieces resembled my last two entries and were duly deleted. Currently, work has regulated my life because all my energies are focussed there, it is begrudgingly because I want energy for myself to at the very least make breakfast in the morning and hold a decent conversation. Instead I’ve started saying uh-huh as a response to everything which when asked, is that report done yet, is perfectly appropriate but when asked, Please, I need your help, I think I’m going to have a breakdown isn’t really the response the recipient was hoping for.
I did have a couple of days off during the Bank Holiday and I remembered what it was like to be me which was great, especially when the red eye disappeared and I didn’t have to open Outlook. The time off also made me realise that I’ve got to readjust myself. Work life is always going only get harder and I’ve got to develop the skill to either get away with doing nothing, which I can’t do if I wanted because I actually strive for self actualisation (check me out getting some of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in here). Or I develop the skill to cast work aside at a certain point and not let it flood my life. At the moment, I’m rubbish at this but at least I’ve realised that’s what I should do if I don’t want to turn into a complete bod.
And should I fail, I’m afraid I’ll write about more crap like how difficult I find it to cut my toe nails, or how I’ve got earring shrapnel in the top rim of my left ear which is now part of me as the skin has grown over it.
In other news, I got a juicer. No it wasn’t because I saw a Jason Vale advert. Two people completely unrelated to each other and on separate occasions advocated the benefits of buying a juicer so completely blindly taking their advice I went and got one. Now I can drink carrot, beetroot and radish all in one drink. How lovely.
These ideas have been popping into my head less and less of late though. It’s like I am scraping the barrel of concepts and getting the dried leftover pulp. I mean what on earth were my last two blog entries about? They were shit. I reread them this evening and they made me snigger but I was overwhelmingly cringing at the lack of substance. Now I think the reason for my last two lacklustre entries was because I’ve been working my cotton socks off. Since mid March my working life has taken over all other aspects of life and has become my life. I have been starting work around 8:15am and finishing around 6pm which churns out nothing more than a haggard looking man who spends a further five minutes trying to untangle his earphones to listen to some music before exiting the building. After I finish work all I want to do is sleep and nothing more. Well apart from eating first. I’ve been trying the last couple of weeks to write something but both pieces resembled my last two entries and were duly deleted. Currently, work has regulated my life because all my energies are focussed there, it is begrudgingly because I want energy for myself to at the very least make breakfast in the morning and hold a decent conversation. Instead I’ve started saying uh-huh as a response to everything which when asked, is that report done yet, is perfectly appropriate but when asked, Please, I need your help, I think I’m going to have a breakdown isn’t really the response the recipient was hoping for.
I did have a couple of days off during the Bank Holiday and I remembered what it was like to be me which was great, especially when the red eye disappeared and I didn’t have to open Outlook. The time off also made me realise that I’ve got to readjust myself. Work life is always going only get harder and I’ve got to develop the skill to either get away with doing nothing, which I can’t do if I wanted because I actually strive for self actualisation (check me out getting some of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in here). Or I develop the skill to cast work aside at a certain point and not let it flood my life. At the moment, I’m rubbish at this but at least I’ve realised that’s what I should do if I don’t want to turn into a complete bod.
And should I fail, I’m afraid I’ll write about more crap like how difficult I find it to cut my toe nails, or how I’ve got earring shrapnel in the top rim of my left ear which is now part of me as the skin has grown over it.
In other news, I got a juicer. No it wasn’t because I saw a Jason Vale advert. Two people completely unrelated to each other and on separate occasions advocated the benefits of buying a juicer so completely blindly taking their advice I went and got one. Now I can drink carrot, beetroot and radish all in one drink. How lovely.
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Dogs and Sharks
Over the recent years I have becoming gradually more and more scared of dogs. I am not referring to a Sausage dog or a Labrador. It’s the Rottweiler and the Staffordshire bull terriers that have me feeling all cold and shivery when I see one walking along the path. I didn’t really used to care about them but recently they’ve started growling at me and forcing their owner towards my direction.
For example, I was walking back from the off licence the other day after buying some wine and was day-dreaming a naughty scenario that included me and Sarah Silverman, when all of a sudden I hear this low pitch growl, Sarah Silverman shouldn’t growl I thought, so I looked around and from the other side of the path was a man of no great stature but a weather-beaten face holding the leash of a large Rottweiler almost as big as him. At first I thought it might have been the man who growled but the baring of teeth by his pet made me realise it was the dog. We were about 40 feet apart and coming closer with every step. I thought what should I do, if the dog goes for me. The sensible pragmatic side of me said cross over the road now and you will be fine but the side full of naïve self-pride said bollocks to that, if you walk away they’ll know it’s because of them. The only thing I could think of to defend myself would be my keys should it attack. Not much help there. Still I thought that these are public walkways and anyone should feel comfortable using them and besides the dog probably doesn’t want to take a chunk out of me, it’s probably just messing with my head. As we crossed each other I took a deft side step to the right to make sure there was plenty of space between me and the 100 pound animal which didn’t go unnoticed by its owner. “Don’t’ worry mate if he wanted to bite you it would,” fucking great reassurance.
But sometimes it’s the owner that makes me think oh shit, I’m screwed because they are so puny. One guy was practically being led by his dog and although he had the bling and the large silver chain as a leash there was no hiding the fact the Staffordshire bull terrier was taking him for a walk. On that occasion, the dog didn’t pay much interest to me but I was getting slightly freaked for the possibility that the owner wouldn’t be able to stop it if it did want some of my calf.
Yet thinking about it some more, ‘dangerous’ dogs are still well behind on the thing I fear most, Great White Sharks and the possible return of El Dorado to the BBC. Perhaps it was because I watched Jaws when I was far too young or that a rather large fish brushed past me in the sea when I was around twelve, but I am terrified of the Carcharodon carcharias. I have never seen one other than on television but the sight of them fills me with a slight awe but more predominately, terror.
It is not because I think they are evil and horrid. I admit if I’m in the sea then I may be considered food. It is the realisation that when one is near you and wants you then life is pretty much over. Seeing the fin gliding above the sea is the signification that death is coming towards you. Shouting won’t help, swimming away won’t help and no one can help you. And that’s what scares me. Knowing that I just can’t do anything but wait, even though it’ll be a couple of seconds before I’ve been slashed into pieces and then spat out because I wasn’t the juicy seal it was expecting.
I read an article about a surfer in San Fran who got attack by a Great White. He said that he got hit from below and he didn’t realise what had happened until he saw his board snapped in two and blood all around him. Then the next moment the shark bit into his rib cage but he still was able to shout for help as he tried to stop the shark from rolling him under by punching its nose. I couldn’t believe it as I was reading that he had time to scream for help. What was he saying? He was lucky because another surfer had heard the screams and originally fled but felt he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t turn back so went to his aid. By then the guy had some how managed to fight off the shark but was dying from the lack of blood because half his organs were hanging out. Still the other surfer saved his life by swimming him back to shore so that the paramedics could take him straight to the hospital.
For example, I was walking back from the off licence the other day after buying some wine and was day-dreaming a naughty scenario that included me and Sarah Silverman, when all of a sudden I hear this low pitch growl, Sarah Silverman shouldn’t growl I thought, so I looked around and from the other side of the path was a man of no great stature but a weather-beaten face holding the leash of a large Rottweiler almost as big as him. At first I thought it might have been the man who growled but the baring of teeth by his pet made me realise it was the dog. We were about 40 feet apart and coming closer with every step. I thought what should I do, if the dog goes for me. The sensible pragmatic side of me said cross over the road now and you will be fine but the side full of naïve self-pride said bollocks to that, if you walk away they’ll know it’s because of them. The only thing I could think of to defend myself would be my keys should it attack. Not much help there. Still I thought that these are public walkways and anyone should feel comfortable using them and besides the dog probably doesn’t want to take a chunk out of me, it’s probably just messing with my head. As we crossed each other I took a deft side step to the right to make sure there was plenty of space between me and the 100 pound animal which didn’t go unnoticed by its owner. “Don’t’ worry mate if he wanted to bite you it would,” fucking great reassurance.
But sometimes it’s the owner that makes me think oh shit, I’m screwed because they are so puny. One guy was practically being led by his dog and although he had the bling and the large silver chain as a leash there was no hiding the fact the Staffordshire bull terrier was taking him for a walk. On that occasion, the dog didn’t pay much interest to me but I was getting slightly freaked for the possibility that the owner wouldn’t be able to stop it if it did want some of my calf.
Yet thinking about it some more, ‘dangerous’ dogs are still well behind on the thing I fear most, Great White Sharks and the possible return of El Dorado to the BBC. Perhaps it was because I watched Jaws when I was far too young or that a rather large fish brushed past me in the sea when I was around twelve, but I am terrified of the Carcharodon carcharias. I have never seen one other than on television but the sight of them fills me with a slight awe but more predominately, terror.
It is not because I think they are evil and horrid. I admit if I’m in the sea then I may be considered food. It is the realisation that when one is near you and wants you then life is pretty much over. Seeing the fin gliding above the sea is the signification that death is coming towards you. Shouting won’t help, swimming away won’t help and no one can help you. And that’s what scares me. Knowing that I just can’t do anything but wait, even though it’ll be a couple of seconds before I’ve been slashed into pieces and then spat out because I wasn’t the juicy seal it was expecting.
I read an article about a surfer in San Fran who got attack by a Great White. He said that he got hit from below and he didn’t realise what had happened until he saw his board snapped in two and blood all around him. Then the next moment the shark bit into his rib cage but he still was able to shout for help as he tried to stop the shark from rolling him under by punching its nose. I couldn’t believe it as I was reading that he had time to scream for help. What was he saying? He was lucky because another surfer had heard the screams and originally fled but felt he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t turn back so went to his aid. By then the guy had some how managed to fight off the shark but was dying from the lack of blood because half his organs were hanging out. Still the other surfer saved his life by swimming him back to shore so that the paramedics could take him straight to the hospital.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Snail Shells Shower Sneaks
Now that's the sixth best sequence of alliteration I've seen all year.
A random thing happened to me last Thursday. It was around 10pm and I was walking home. It had been raining and I’d decided to stay in Ye Olde Weatherspoons and drink another bottle of Effes beer. The rain stopped after twenty or so minutes and I made my move.
Although walks home at night after a few beers are not uncommon, the mixture of rain, humidity and moisture in the air made sure it was a rather odd journey. I crossed over a road and turned off the main path onto a short cut and then crunch. I knew I’d trodden on something before I heard the sound because of the small resistance I felt as my foot came down. I had stepped on a snail. Crap I thought and scrapped my new pumps (I got these ones by the way) along the ground to clear away any shell debris leftover. Turning left to save me ten minutes meant I’d have to go down an alleyway where the street lamps did not work. I first thought that this was ‘chav’ hunting ground. The ominous signs were there, all street lamps were off, it was dark, the path was an alleyway where anyone could appear from, but I thought sod it and started the 300 (or so) metre walk. It took only a few steps when again there was a crunch sound. I couldn’t be bothered to scrape my shoes and continued but it was not too long until there was another crunch as within a space of a nanosecond I crushed a snail’s home followed by its life. My feet shuffled along a few more steps and with every other I destroyed a snail and its abode. This was getting all too strange so pulled out my key-ring and found my little light and illuminated the alleyway. At first I couldn’t quite understand what was in front of me but as I narrowed my eyes to take a more inquisitive look I noticed hundreds of snails all over the place. The path was absolutely littered with them. There was hardly anywhere I could tread without smashing one of those little fellas into pieces. It seemed there was some sort of a snail convention taking place inviting all the snails within four counties to congregate here down this dodgy dark alleyway. I pulled out my phone to take a photo but it was currently being repaired and the makeshift one doesn’t have a camera.
I still wanted to get home early though and decided to carry on down the alleyway. So with my little light as guidance I began weaving in and out but unfortunately could only pick out the big ones. Crunch, “Ah shit” I said aloud as I started to squash more snails. I even attempted tip-toeing but lost my balance and almost ended up falling to the floor. Getting back to the task in hand I decided that there was no other way to get through but to leg it. There would be more squashing but I wanted to get out quickly. I put the little light away and just ran for it.
It didn’t take long for me to hear that crunching sound, in fact it happened with every step. In the dark I could imagine I was treading on snow. Unfortunately, reality set in when I finally made it through the alleyway and stood underneath a lamp post (that was alight) and saw on my new trainers a plethora of snail shells covering my pumps. When I got back home I took the hose out and washed away all the debris making sure everything had been sprayed off. To help with the cleaning process I even poured half a tube worth of washing up liquid to make sure the job was done. It was a random end to the night but my trainers no longer look new and I hate snails.
In other news, I saw this on the Kiss Channel a couple of weeks ago.
A random thing happened to me last Thursday. It was around 10pm and I was walking home. It had been raining and I’d decided to stay in Ye Olde Weatherspoons and drink another bottle of Effes beer. The rain stopped after twenty or so minutes and I made my move.
Although walks home at night after a few beers are not uncommon, the mixture of rain, humidity and moisture in the air made sure it was a rather odd journey. I crossed over a road and turned off the main path onto a short cut and then crunch. I knew I’d trodden on something before I heard the sound because of the small resistance I felt as my foot came down. I had stepped on a snail. Crap I thought and scrapped my new pumps (I got these ones by the way) along the ground to clear away any shell debris leftover. Turning left to save me ten minutes meant I’d have to go down an alleyway where the street lamps did not work. I first thought that this was ‘chav’ hunting ground. The ominous signs were there, all street lamps were off, it was dark, the path was an alleyway where anyone could appear from, but I thought sod it and started the 300 (or so) metre walk. It took only a few steps when again there was a crunch sound. I couldn’t be bothered to scrape my shoes and continued but it was not too long until there was another crunch as within a space of a nanosecond I crushed a snail’s home followed by its life. My feet shuffled along a few more steps and with every other I destroyed a snail and its abode. This was getting all too strange so pulled out my key-ring and found my little light and illuminated the alleyway. At first I couldn’t quite understand what was in front of me but as I narrowed my eyes to take a more inquisitive look I noticed hundreds of snails all over the place. The path was absolutely littered with them. There was hardly anywhere I could tread without smashing one of those little fellas into pieces. It seemed there was some sort of a snail convention taking place inviting all the snails within four counties to congregate here down this dodgy dark alleyway. I pulled out my phone to take a photo but it was currently being repaired and the makeshift one doesn’t have a camera.
I still wanted to get home early though and decided to carry on down the alleyway. So with my little light as guidance I began weaving in and out but unfortunately could only pick out the big ones. Crunch, “Ah shit” I said aloud as I started to squash more snails. I even attempted tip-toeing but lost my balance and almost ended up falling to the floor. Getting back to the task in hand I decided that there was no other way to get through but to leg it. There would be more squashing but I wanted to get out quickly. I put the little light away and just ran for it.
It didn’t take long for me to hear that crunching sound, in fact it happened with every step. In the dark I could imagine I was treading on snow. Unfortunately, reality set in when I finally made it through the alleyway and stood underneath a lamp post (that was alight) and saw on my new trainers a plethora of snail shells covering my pumps. When I got back home I took the hose out and washed away all the debris making sure everything had been sprayed off. To help with the cleaning process I even poured half a tube worth of washing up liquid to make sure the job was done. It was a random end to the night but my trainers no longer look new and I hate snails.
In other news, I saw this on the Kiss Channel a couple of weeks ago.
Sunday, 12 April 2009
It's all in the email
I get annoyed when ever so often the news agenda runs wild with some story and its coverage becomes bigger than the story itself. It makes me not want to buy a newspaper, watch or listen to the news and stay ignorant of everything.
On this occasion it’s about some bloke who works for Prime Minister Brown that wrote an email to ‘a friend’ (who happens to run some political blog) about smearing some Conservatives. Firstly, what on earth do they mean by ‘smearing’? Is someone going to smear Ann Widdecombe in Johnson’s Baby Oil or smear the Tories HQ in dog crap? Ok, it’s to do with damaging someone’s reputation but I think I’ve made my point on the loose term of the word used in political context.
Still, I’m torn here and even though I have been exposed to quite a bit of coverage on this story I’m still not clear on a few things (please note I’m writing this before I have read a Sunday Paper) such as did the guy send the email to blogger man from his personal email address or was it from his @labour.gov.uk one? This is why I’m undecided. I think given his position as some spin doctor, you know that band from the early-mid nineties, pants, I mean some guy that turns bad news into good for an organisation, he shouldn’t really have written what he did. But this should only apply within his working capacity, i.e. whilst at work or using equipment owned by his employer. Outside that jurisdiction I think he should be able to say what he wishes. I mean come off it, so what if he wants to ‘have George Osbourne running scared’ by smearing him. If that’s his talent in life, then he might as well use it. I shout at the television and call Wayne Rooney a bastard every time he scores for Man United, doesn’t mean I hate the guy, it’s just some throw away expression I make every time he does what he does best. Same thing applies when I see crap news stories all over the papers, I think what a load of crap The Guardian or Telegraph have got printed on their font covers today. I then check out the hottie on the Daily Star and I calm down. Still I say it with my voice and not on a letter headed with the organisation I work for which would in some way suggest to the recipient of my views that the organisation I work for endorses what I say. So this is why I’m sitting on the fence on this one but wish to make the reader aware of which way I’ll side once I find out where the email was sent from.
If it was sent by his @labour.gov.uk email address then I think he’s in the wrong. Sending that sort of stuff using your work email address is probably not the smartest thing to do because really you are opening up everything to interpretation. The stalwart right winger would probably believe that Mr Brown himself proof read the email before it was sent and that’s where the hysteria begins. Fair play to the Conservatives, they’re precisely doing what Labour doesn’t want them to do, acting rather admirably. As yet, I haven’t heard a call for a ‘public enquiry’ (another term I one day wish to discuss) or some sort of restructuring of their cabinet. All they’re highlighting is that we’re in a recession and that Labour should be concentrating on that and not smear. I think all 60 million of us are in agreement with that and we probably also agree based on their reaction to this is that they’ve got better spin doctors (perhaps the they’ve got the singer working for them).
If he did send it from his @destroyconservative.me.uk email address to his blogging pal then I think we are wrong to castigate him. Yes, it is probably foolish to write those things but we all do foolish things and as long as we do them in our own time then we should be allowed to express our personal intentions and feelings. I’m pretty sure Tony Blair must of said ‘That git David, he made me look a fool today. I’ll get him one day,’ after receiving a pasting on Prime Minister’s question time and he should be allowed to say that at home or sending it to his mate Bill Clinton on his @blairrules.co.uk address. Isn’t that what freedom of speech (I guess in this sense freedom of email) is all about?
In other news, I’m so glad Phileas Fogg Tortilla chips are back. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s invited every time I munch on a packet of those bad boys.
On this occasion it’s about some bloke who works for Prime Minister Brown that wrote an email to ‘a friend’ (who happens to run some political blog) about smearing some Conservatives. Firstly, what on earth do they mean by ‘smearing’? Is someone going to smear Ann Widdecombe in Johnson’s Baby Oil or smear the Tories HQ in dog crap? Ok, it’s to do with damaging someone’s reputation but I think I’ve made my point on the loose term of the word used in political context.
Still, I’m torn here and even though I have been exposed to quite a bit of coverage on this story I’m still not clear on a few things (please note I’m writing this before I have read a Sunday Paper) such as did the guy send the email to blogger man from his personal email address or was it from his @labour.gov.uk one? This is why I’m undecided. I think given his position as some spin doctor, you know that band from the early-mid nineties, pants, I mean some guy that turns bad news into good for an organisation, he shouldn’t really have written what he did. But this should only apply within his working capacity, i.e. whilst at work or using equipment owned by his employer. Outside that jurisdiction I think he should be able to say what he wishes. I mean come off it, so what if he wants to ‘have George Osbourne running scared’ by smearing him. If that’s his talent in life, then he might as well use it. I shout at the television and call Wayne Rooney a bastard every time he scores for Man United, doesn’t mean I hate the guy, it’s just some throw away expression I make every time he does what he does best. Same thing applies when I see crap news stories all over the papers, I think what a load of crap The Guardian or Telegraph have got printed on their font covers today. I then check out the hottie on the Daily Star and I calm down. Still I say it with my voice and not on a letter headed with the organisation I work for which would in some way suggest to the recipient of my views that the organisation I work for endorses what I say. So this is why I’m sitting on the fence on this one but wish to make the reader aware of which way I’ll side once I find out where the email was sent from.
If it was sent by his @labour.gov.uk email address then I think he’s in the wrong. Sending that sort of stuff using your work email address is probably not the smartest thing to do because really you are opening up everything to interpretation. The stalwart right winger would probably believe that Mr Brown himself proof read the email before it was sent and that’s where the hysteria begins. Fair play to the Conservatives, they’re precisely doing what Labour doesn’t want them to do, acting rather admirably. As yet, I haven’t heard a call for a ‘public enquiry’ (another term I one day wish to discuss) or some sort of restructuring of their cabinet. All they’re highlighting is that we’re in a recession and that Labour should be concentrating on that and not smear. I think all 60 million of us are in agreement with that and we probably also agree based on their reaction to this is that they’ve got better spin doctors (perhaps the they’ve got the singer working for them).
If he did send it from his @destroyconservative.me.uk email address to his blogging pal then I think we are wrong to castigate him. Yes, it is probably foolish to write those things but we all do foolish things and as long as we do them in our own time then we should be allowed to express our personal intentions and feelings. I’m pretty sure Tony Blair must of said ‘That git David, he made me look a fool today. I’ll get him one day,’ after receiving a pasting on Prime Minister’s question time and he should be allowed to say that at home or sending it to his mate Bill Clinton on his @blairrules.co.uk address. Isn’t that what freedom of speech (I guess in this sense freedom of email) is all about?
In other news, I’m so glad Phileas Fogg Tortilla chips are back. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s invited every time I munch on a packet of those bad boys.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
Pumps
My battered plimpsoles have finally perished. I had managed to ignore the gradual demise and crumbling of my footwear by shoving them in the corner to collect dust and become a shelter home for arachnids. Besides I wear shoes to work, so polished you can see your face in them. Well, not really but they are in tidy condition. What I could not do any longer was ignore the hole in my plimpsole, especially when it rained and my feet got wet. Thing is, I’m really picky on my footwear based on a criteria of comfort and whether they look radical which sounds simple but can last eons in the search for new footwear.
And so it began last week venturing all through the shops looking for a new pair of trainers. I walked past a pair of Converse and winced a little. I really like those trainers especially as they look better the older and more battered they become. My only problem is getting them on. Those boot versions leave me spending ages trying to slip them on. Sometimes I try so hard to get my foot in that I lose my balance and smack myself against the wall. So I carried on walking past and spied a cracking pair of Adidas Campus. These white and orange shell capped beauties were exactly what I was looking for and asked for a pair of size 9s. The sales girl came out two minutes later with a pair of size 8s. They had no 9s left but would I consider trying the 8s. Even though I knew full well I am a 9 I still found myself saying, “yeah alright then,” as she handed them over to me. They looked the money, I felt the money but alas my big toe was attempting a breakout from shell cap prison and there was no way I could cope with the crammed up condition the rest of my digits were in.
Vexed, I even considered ‘Priceless Shoes’ but it seemed they have all closed down. Eventually I found myself on eBay bidding for a pair of those Nike turtle shoes, the ones where they’ve cut out an extra section for the big toe to live. However, I got out bidded in the last moments with someone coming in with a £62 bid for a pair. I couldn’t really compete but it was a blessing in disguise as I’d either have to wear them bare foot or buy those special Nike socks. A bit of a palaver for someone who likes to get ready in about fifteen minutes so I guess it was for the best. So in the end it left me looking at my stained, scuffed plimpsoles and thinking I’ve got at least another summers worth of wear out of them.
And so it began last week venturing all through the shops looking for a new pair of trainers. I walked past a pair of Converse and winced a little. I really like those trainers especially as they look better the older and more battered they become. My only problem is getting them on. Those boot versions leave me spending ages trying to slip them on. Sometimes I try so hard to get my foot in that I lose my balance and smack myself against the wall. So I carried on walking past and spied a cracking pair of Adidas Campus. These white and orange shell capped beauties were exactly what I was looking for and asked for a pair of size 9s. The sales girl came out two minutes later with a pair of size 8s. They had no 9s left but would I consider trying the 8s. Even though I knew full well I am a 9 I still found myself saying, “yeah alright then,” as she handed them over to me. They looked the money, I felt the money but alas my big toe was attempting a breakout from shell cap prison and there was no way I could cope with the crammed up condition the rest of my digits were in.
Vexed, I even considered ‘Priceless Shoes’ but it seemed they have all closed down. Eventually I found myself on eBay bidding for a pair of those Nike turtle shoes, the ones where they’ve cut out an extra section for the big toe to live. However, I got out bidded in the last moments with someone coming in with a £62 bid for a pair. I couldn’t really compete but it was a blessing in disguise as I’d either have to wear them bare foot or buy those special Nike socks. A bit of a palaver for someone who likes to get ready in about fifteen minutes so I guess it was for the best. So in the end it left me looking at my stained, scuffed plimpsoles and thinking I’ve got at least another summers worth of wear out of them.
BlogCatalog
Who is
- Paddington's Shadow
- I like listening to Rob da Bank, Mista Jam on 1Xtra, drinking coffee and ginger tea. I enjoy listening to the radio, particularly Radio 5Live and World Service and am also learning Spanish which seems to be going ok. Another thing I like doing is writing which is why I have this blog.