If only humans go to heaven, exactly at what point in humanity’s development did the Good Lord say “Okey Dokey, they can come in now”?
Neanderthals seem pretty close to Homo sapiens, so I assume they got the nod. But what about Homo heidelbergensis? Smart name, but apparently a bit of a knuckle-dragger. Or Homo erectus? With a name like that, maybe they all went to hell?
Are washing machines designed by people better suited to creating crossword clues?
As I understand it, there are only two things to put into the slot for liquids: the actual detergent, then softener. So why are there three container bays in the drawer? Is it multiple choice? Pot luck? Or some kind of cryptic clue that the CIA would set you on an entrance exam to test whether you can select the right one?
Do we try and shove onto pets our own 21st Century problems and psychosis? A successful Cable Operator friend rang me a few years ago. "I just had two guys in here trying to sell me a dog channel. What do you think?" "You mean endless adventures of Rin Tin Tin, Crufts Dog show marathons and movies like Old Yeller, Beethoven, or Best in Breed?" I queried. “No," my Polish friend replied. "Not a channel about dogs... for dogs. You turn it on for them when you leave the house. Apparently has colours and images they like." My... how we laughed at, without question, the dumbest idea we had heard in years. Those two guys are now multi-millionaires with the channel a huge hit in various Metropolis... and I'm still just a penny-less fool with a sense of humour. You got it. Guilt ridden couples who go out for a night on the town who used to leave on any old channel for the doggie, now select this channel and add it as to the pay line-up on their monthly bill!!! I love my dogs, but I promise you they are not aware or bothered by what's actually on TV so long as it doesn't meow. The idea they would care what I left on for them is as fanciful as a warm greeting from a Border Control official.
Do I think I can fool myself into giving things up when not one of my close friends believes I can sustain privations for more than a few days?
Are we always so glad to see the end of one year? Yes, there have occasionally been a pretty putrid last 12 months, but on balance the good times have always outweighed the hideous. Often it feels like waving a tearful farewell to a good year; rather like a well-worn pair of cowboy boots that took time to wear in but now are very comfortable. Instead, we are being asked to swap them for a new pair that might not be as good.
Would anyone go Christmas shopping in town anymore? Crowds of people, traffic moving slower than treacle, and endless Christmas songs. I understand Mariah Carey has made nearly $100m in royalties on ‘All I Want for Christmas is you.’ That’s enough to turn me into the Grinch.
Do I still have a couple of racks of ties that beg me to put them on every time I open my wardrobe instead of throwing them away? Firstly I cannot forget the eye watering cost! Hermes ties, which were de rigeur in my days in the City are now over £200 each. I must have fifty! Let alone a smorgasbord of others; even my School House tie of skull and crossbones from my days at Rugby School. If I have worn a tie more than a dozen times in the nine years since moving to Malta (outside of funerals or marriages) I would be surprised…..and yet. I accept the current method of showing your superiority in meetings is a black polo and Birkenstock sandals rather than a Gieves and Hawkes suit, Turnbull and Asser shirt and Loeb shoes, but who does that impress? Dressing well is not only about self respect but respect to others. The idea you can dress like a tramp to show you are so rich you don’t need to show esteem sends out all the wrong signals. My days of business meetings are few and far between but if I am seeking a partner let alone financial resources dressing with dignity for who I’m talking to, usually pays off.
Do so many cop shows feature earnest looking detectives flashing a torch as they enter a building looking for someone, when there is a perfectly good light switch nearby?
Flashlights are quickly joining forces with other cop cliches
1) How bad the coffee is in a police station,
2) There’s always a parking spot right where it’s needed
3) A cop with a troubled home life or estranged spouse, leading to personal phone interruptions mid-case.
4) The mismatched partners forced to work together, often a “family man” paired with a “loner” or eccentric cop
5) The cantankerous police boss who constantly chews out the main cop and threatens to take their badge.
6) The cell phone signal dropping or battery expiring at a vital moment And finally
7) Police and FBI fighting over jurisdiction with “This is OUR case!” arguments.
Do I give inanimate objects a personality? When Basil Fawlty from sitcom Fawlty Towers scolds his car and warns it if it does not start he would give it ‘a damn good thrashing’ then proceeds to attack it with a tree trunk, I can’t help but laugh. Not because of Fawlty but I believe the car didn’t start out of its own sheer bloody-mindedness. As a petrolhead, I have owned a wide variety of cars over the years. Some I used to talk to on long drives, discussing everything from sex to politics. Others I barely grunted at, certain they had a perverse desire to tip me into the nearest hedgerow and get a different owner. Only very few did I not communicate with at all. Those lasted the shortest time in my ownership. The attribution of emotion to inanimate objects might seem daft, but in fact it covers up a multitude of sins. Lawnmower won’t start? It’s because it’s pissed about being dirty; not the reality of you buying a duff brand. By giving ‘things’ a soul, you give them an ‘excuse’ for not always working for other reasons than just being not a good choice. It’s a backstop for my ego. “Darling, the oven switched off halfway through cooking the turkey, not because I set the timer wrong but because it didn’t like the oven cleaner you used last time. Christmas lunch will now be Christmas dinner.”
Do people see speed as the answer to all our problems? Whether it’s streaming data, messaging a mate or having a pizza delivered barely seconds after placing an order. Whatever happened to the delight of anticipation? Don’t get me wrong. Obviously, some things naturally improve with waiting time, like sex, or improve with ageing like cheese, wine and teenagers. Other things such as fashion, sixties sitcoms, and taxes don’t. This plea is not a request to return to listening to a computer’s rendition of Greensleeves for a decade, while trying to get through to your mobile provider. I just think a little wait enhances the prize. I’d far prefer to sit and smell someone preparing food in a kitchen than wait for the putt-putt-putting of a scooter with a meal the temperature of an hour-long dead corpse.
Does my dog dig his heels in? The lamppost. Simple enough to walk around. Yet, if my dog passes one side and I the other, with the lead wrapped around the post, my 12kg dog becomes a 100kg anchor. Getting him to come back around the lamppost to unwind the lead is as likely as me finding a tap-dancing oyster. ‘Lamppost etiquette’ in dog lingo means whichever way he walks around it is sacrosanct, and it is I who needs to change direction. This refusal to move is indeed a canine unwritten law, as on my walks I see other owners being forced to do the same thing and unwind themselves for the benefit of their pooch.
Did our forebears not only display deep wisdom but also a sense of humour dealing with the law? I am not advocating chopping a baby in half, as suggested by King Solomon, as an optimal solution to a disagreement. However, the slap of common sense across the face of the ‘litigators’ was what worked.
Is there so little thrill and danger? By far and away the moments of my life that sparkle in my memory are those of danger, wonder or excitement. Often all three. (These of course include marriage ceremonies). If, as they say, life’s key moments will flash in front of my eyes just before I shuffle off this mortal coil, I am damn sure mine will not include any snippets from work, religious services, group sessions of any description, let alone earnest social or political discussion. I suspect those fleeting last moments will feature marriages, my beloved wife, kids and grandkids… yet interspersed with: Screaming in fear bulleting solo down the Cresta toboggan run in St. Moritz Jumping off Annapurna on a hang-glider in Nepal (following my wife) Hand feeding a Tiger shark (admittedly wearing a butchers chain mail glove) scuba diving in the Pacific near Tahiti Sideways out of control in an eyewateringly expensive classic Ferrari around the UK’s famous Goodwood race track Avoiding a stampede of screaming girls at a Beatles concert at the Hammersmith Odeon Jumping out of a plane at 14,000 feet over Nelson, New Zealand (again following my wife) Accidentally getting airborne solo in a glider whilst still a schoolboy. Munching fugu (deadly poisonous puffer fish) in Tokyo Working with lions the size of Buicks on a movie shoot in Africa, certain I smelled like a tasty chicken Discreetly exiting the boudoir of a lady who failed to mention she was still married until her husband returned early from a business trip. As I look at current generations it would appear most of their thrills are vicarious, living through an Avatar in some video game or fantasising about men in Spandex in f/x laden movies. For real spice a few dawb paint at some middle class location like a museum, Wimbledon Tennis, Ryder Cup Golf, or Test cricket beseeching me to Stop Oil. Safe sensible places where the public might tut-tut displeasure. To me, that’s about as exiting as watching toast get cold. Danger and risk of injury is what makes you feel alive. If protestors want to raise their heart beat and get real press, try that kind of malarkey as an MMA event or NSCAR race and see what the crowd think of you.
Do common sense and dress sense also take a holiday when people fly? There was a time when people actually dressed up when they travelled, especially by air. It was glamorous and everyone wanted to get in on the act. Huge dark sunglasses and silk scarves wrapped around heads like Grace Kelly and men aching to look as cool as Sinatra, Davis and Martin in snappy suits or slacks, pullovers, and penny loafers Over the decades travel started to go down hill and the glamour was traded for cattle herding. However, there was still some point in looking good instead of like a refugee from an all-nighter, as you might get bounced up a class if you looked the part. But even that glimmer of hope has gone as check-in would rather upgrade a plastic influencer with an IQ to match their shoe size than a Nobel prize winner. Nowadays, unless you can hop on a NetJets, you are just a hunk of meat needed to be cattle prodded from airport point A to airport point B. And a vast number of travellers display the same sense of behaviour as our bovine four legged friends.
Do airport managers spend so much time thinking of ways to make a journey through their fiefdom so unpleasant? I dislike intensely zigzag queuing but understand that it’s an efficient way to stack a lot of people in a confined space. However, when there are no queues, zigzagging like some demented pinball to achieve going forward twenty feet by a walk that would be an Olympic long distance event, is completely daft.
Do fancy restaurants insist on the loos being as dark as a coal hole? My wife complains she can never find anything in her handbag, let alone have enough light to touch up her war paint. As for me, after a few glasses of Bordeaux, these black holes are an obstacle course. More than once I have returned from turning wine into water with a bruised leg or burgeoning black-eye.
Are people so keen to lie in 40c (110f) sun to turn their bodies the colour of condemned veal? Global warming is at last having a visible effect we rich westerners can relate to. Over-hot summers. We still flock to destinations that should only appear in Lucifer’s holiday brochures. But for how long?
Does everyone who has previously won an Olympic bid then say it was never worth it, yet countries queue up to host it? The Moaning Minnie list of previous Olympic hosts is longer than the ribbon gymnasts wave about on their floor exercise. (Quick question here. In an age of equality why are only women allowed this exercise?) The Australian grumble about how the Olympic village outside Sydney was originally a rubbish tip and at least they have returned it to that. The bird’s nest stadium in Beijing might as well be birds nest soup and the Olympic structures in Rio crumble like rocks of cocaine that are sold there. I read today in the London Times that before Paris has even fired a starting gun there is much mooching and shrugging of shoulders of unhappy Parisians. The hoteliers are complaining that the hotels are at only 70% occupancy as so many tourists have taken to Airbnb. Restaurant bookings are down as again those in Airbnb are cooking in. “Pourquoi”, (why) cry our French cousins, the stub of a Gauloise cigarette screwed into the corner of their downturned mouths. GREED is the answer. The simply ridiculous price hikes by the cheese eating surrender monkeys, as Homer Simpson once described the French, are just one step too far. Add to that the by-the-throat greeting by Parisians to foreigners and you have a recipe for attendance disaster that even Escoffier could not have whipped up. Of course as an extra ‘amuse-bouche’ to this PR meal disaster is the fact the French have had an election with change in direction that makes a weather vane in a tornado look stable. With a two part vote the first set swung France to the right. “Quelle horreur” the media all wept as they ran around hands on cheeks like the figure in The Scream by Edvard Munch. So they then get every single other party to co-operate on candidates on tactical voting to beat Marine Le Pen and instead end up with a far left Government who want 90% top rate of tax, retirement dropped from 65 to 60 and unlimited immigration. And who think the Olympics an outrageous waste of money. Do I see conflict of interest raising its head here?
Is 2024 such a smorgasbord of democratic voting? Nearly one third of the world will be voting this year. It is a massive list from the obvious; USA, UK, Russia, Taiwan, Mexico, India to UN Security Council and EU Parliamentary representatives. In fact, for change of Heads of State to General Elections, the list is 37 countries from Algeria to Venezuela.
My first reaction is where can you go to avoid endless advertising! Do these visual scattershots with earnest pleas for your vote actually work, or just irritate viewers?
In the USA the stories are legion of people pumping tens if not hundreds of millions into elections for Senator, Governor or Congressman that fail! The proliferation of online media means nowhere is safe now. Whether Russian interference actually had any effect in US elections is moot as far as I am concerned. These intrusive messages, that on the whole are toe curlingly condescending, would make zip difference to my choice.
The long silence?
Apologies all round.
I have just completed my third book, giving my agent the pitch of two completed books to secure a new publishing deal on top of my published first book Fall Out (by MN Grenside available on Amazon in paperback, Kindle or audio book. Got to be allowed a plug. It’s Christmas)!
This has meant much of the time when I would be tapping out these missives I have been completing the trilogy. Even as I write this on a plane to New York to see a number of producers about film and TV rights, I have spent a few hours noodling over book four.
I thoroughly enjoy my new occupation as a published author, despite some days of staring at a blank screen for hours on end. Even more frustrating is deleting large sections that a few days before I reckoned were ubergripping but I see now are as exciting as watching toast get cold!
Writing is the creative equivalent of three steps forward and two steps back…with a zillion miles to walk.
So, this is my apology for my recent silence and undertaking that normal service will be resumed in 2024.