The Fantasy Blog Stock Market.
Ever heard of it? Me neither, until a few minutes ago. Quite a strange concept really, estimating the fantasy
value of weblogs. My humble little blog came in valued at just over one and a half million dollars, which is surprising. Apparently the value of an outgoing link from my site to yours is about $73. Which means a bunch of you owe me some money.
The lady is a stinky tramp.
As I'm writing this I'm sat on the top deck of the number 57 bus, otherwise known as the travelling circus. About 5 minutes ago, as the 57 approached the bus stop where I was waiting, I braced myself for the usual scuffle in which everyone aims to be the first person on the bus. As is my custom, I maintained a slow - compared to the frontrunners - but determined pace and reflected on how insect-like human behaviour must appear to any celestial obvservers (well, if they actually exist, obviously).
But today something was different. There was a tangible urgency in the drive to board the big red sardine can. Some people actually started running. Blindly bandying the word "parasitic" around in my head (bit harsh, I know) it was then I noticed the driver was actually telling people to hurry up "before
they get on".
Who is this
they, you might wonder.
Lepers?
Masked men with assault rifles?
No, he meant the two homeless women, one thirty-something, one impossibly small and frail pensioner, who were at the back of the que - crowd. As everybody crammed through the doors the thirty-something sped up and managed to squeeze through before the driver could shut them. "Get off!" he shouted, but the woman refused, choosing a seat for herself and sitting in defiance. As the other passengers all crammed back out the doors to escape the terrible aura of this woman, now joined by her gremlin-like companion, I sat thinking how sad this whole scene was from the safety of the top deck.
The problem, you see, was the stench. Rarely do I find opportunity to use the word "abominable". But as I walked back down the stairs to exit the stationery bus the dense wave of odour nearly made me sick. Abominable was the only word that would do.
Everybody had something to say of course, although only one man was saying the driver should just drive the bus whether people smell or not. A lone noble voice amidst a chorus of disgust aimed at the lepers. But was he right? This I can't be sure of, for all my sadness at watching the pack exclude these two poor souls, sneering, mocking them, I know I couldn't have sat anywhere on the bottom deck if they were on it. As always, having waited ages for the bus, two had come at once, and I blended myself into the pack once more. Having briefly gazed skywards, contemplating the Grand Scheme, I now looked down again, continuing on my path, insect-like.
I hate British Gas.
British Gas are beyond doubt the most infuriating, badly managed company I have ever had the misfortune to deal with. After a long, cold winter, where due to a shitty old boiler we were without the use of gas for two or three freezing months, they sent me a bill for £258. During a number of 30 minute phone calls, which as an 0845 number really tax your pocket quite heavily, I was told by some monotone voices the bill was obviously wrong, and by some other monotone voices the bill was certainly right. It carried on like a game of ping pong because around about the third or fourth time I would be put on hold by these delightful human beings I inevitably ran out of money in the phone box. Talk about a scam.
After finally receiving an amended bill of £143, we switched to a gas card meter system and arranged to pay the 143 quid at a weekly rate of £7.50 via the gas card. After the debt outstanding had fallen to around £120, I looked at the meter one morning and lo and behold, we now owed, according to the machine, £412. More phone calls and more wasted money, we were assured a new, correct, bill would find its way to our letterbox shortly.
Fed up with the bullshit we have had to put up with, including:
- about seven seperate bills for the same period
- a number of lazy useless "engineers" who turn up and do nothing
- a number of lazy useless engineers who don't turn up at all and then tell the company they weren't given access to the property
- the continued billing of our gas usage even after transferring to a pay as you go system
- the most incompetent idiots ever to pick up a phone
- the rudest idiot to do the same thing, a dickhead of a lady who accused me of lying when I said we had not used the gas for over a month
- blah blah blah
- we contacted London Energy seeking a move. Unfortunately, we were told, a move would not be possible because British Gas say we have neglected to pay a bill which is over two months old.
Which fucking bill exactly, British Gas?
Obviously not the correct one I have been assured will be coming through my letterbox by the 20th March.
The real cost of oily fish.
That doctors have raised
doubts over the benefits of eating oily fish comes as no surprise. I was actually thinking about the issue just the other day, but it is something myself and surely many others have been waiting for for ages. It's not that I suspect eating oily fish will be detrimental to our health, or even that I doubt the beneficial aspects of Omega 3 consumption particularly. But whenever "the experts" bestow their blessings on one food type or another, it always seems their claims are liable to be disputed at some point, and eventually rubbished.
Science is nothing more than the continual advance towards an as yet (and as always will be) unknown goal. Where will space exploration really lead to? What will the discovery of the absolutely healthy, body clock defying diet really achieve? Eternal life seems unlikely but many are seeking it anyway.
All that is definite is that on this path towards enlightenment wrong turns are inevitably taken, and backtracks need to made. So if you're going to take notice of every new miracle food that gets heralded in on a wave of corporate/scientific/governmental promo-ganda then you're probably going to end up in a real mess.
One day you'll have stuffed yourself full with genetically modified, pesticide-reared tomatoes, next thing you know a new scientific study will discover the importance in flower essences, transported via bug wings, in the development of the tomato's coronary-reducing capabilities.
Or something.
Personally, I love eating fish, it tastes good. Forget any scientific studies claiming it might not be so healthy after all, the only reason I eat less than I would like is because it's so bloody expensive.
Who needs a passport?
Charles Clarke really is a class act. Faced with growing opposition to the identity card (even some supporters are said to oppose the compulsory nature of the card being introduced by stealth) he threw a little tantrum in the House. As MPs argued with Clarke, pointing out that making it mandatory to apply for an ID card if applying for a new passport goes directly against Labour claims the scheme will be voluntary, Clarke came over all flabbergasted, insisting nobody would be forced into applying for a new passport.
Well gee, thanks.
So, we either all eventually succumb to the inevitable and get the biometric barcode, or we will not be permitted to go on holiday, open a bank account, or do any of the various other activities which require a passport as means of identification.
To call it introduction by stealth is taking the piss, actually. There's nothing covert about it.
In a few years, anyone lacking a passport and ID card will probably come under the attention of the authorities. A person of Middle Eastern appearance in this situation will probably end up having their front door kicked in by immigration officers at six in the morning, and subsequently getting shipped off to Guantanamo for "questioning". Anybody else will still get their doors kicked in, only this time by the Serious and Organised Crime squad.
Or am I just getting paranoid again?
USA DNA.
I don't know,
this is just weird.
Sir Ian's comedy of errors.
Can we really expect anybody to trust Sir Ian Blair? His career has devolved into a catalogue of errors which, in the worst light, indicate a man capable of dishonest and unlawful endeavours to serve his own ends. Even with the benefit of the doubt, Blair seems worringly susceptible to error of judgement. Indeed, the many characters who want Blair out on his ear must be positively laughing at the amount of favours he's done them. That is a shame, given Blair's achievements regarding the recruitment of members of ethnic minority communities. The majority of recruits to the infamously institutionally racist force in London are black or Asian for the first time. It's hard to overlook the importance of that fact. The prospect of equality for all in the eyes of the law is an encouraging one and largely attributable to Sir Ian.
To be honest, I think his comments concerning the Soham murders were, despite the uproar, perfectly reasonable. The media feeding frenzy was the result of people not liking what they saw in the mirror Blair held up to them. Nevertheless, the comments were part of an unsettling trend for the commissioner.
Livingstone has rushed to defend Blair's phone conversation taping activities, pointing out that since 7/7, those in positions of authority can and should be given carte blanche to do anything they want. Given the "confusion" caused by the bombings, he said on yesterday's BBC Radio 4 lunchtime show, it is perfectly understandable that Blair neglected to inform either the IPCC or the Attorney General that he was recording the conversations they were having. Poor old Sir Ian, he simply forgot, what with all the pressures and everything, to tell the Attorney General he was recording him as he discussed the legitimacy of phone tapping!
Executed at dawn.
Late last night I came home from work with a sense of anticipation. The guvnor had been complaining about the ongoing rodent problem in the beer garden, which requires constant preventive measure, when I mentioned that I had a similar problem at home. After a brief chat, where I explained that the use of humane traps had proved fruitless, he gave me something that turned out to be a 'GlueeLouee' rodent catcher. Armed with the gluepad and a pack of pork scratchings for bait I thanked him and headed off. When home, I showed it to my better half and she pointed out that if successful, the enemy would still be alive when found. Feeling full of bravado and sensing a breakthrough in the war, I didn't much care that I would have to kill any prisoners the next day. With the trap laid in the kitchen, where the enemy has been sighted most frequently, I went to bed promising myself not to get my hopes up. This has been a common mistake on my part these last couple of months.
Entering the kitchen this morning I moved slowly, anxious of both failure and success, and saw the mouse, trapped. I took it out to the yard to carry out my grim duty. Despite finally piercing a hole through the enemy trenches I have to admit I didn't enjoy the victory much.
All I can do now is hope there is just the one other mouse (only two have ever been seen), I can't say with any certainty whether that's the case though.
Update: Well, within two nights I captured the second little bastard and slayed it with the use of a very large plant pot, which proved much quicker and more humane than the rock I used first time round. Again, didn't enjoy it much, I don't like killing things. Unfortunately, a third mouse has been spotted, and we live in fear of full scale invasion. The arms industry that is my boss assures me that help is forthcoming.
Fashion.
It surprised me that I gave a shit enough to write about this, but I'm going to go ahead anyway. Susannah Frankel, fashion editor of The Independent, saw fit to savage Victoria Beckham this morning, mocking her capacity to "murder any look". Now, while not exactly overcome with the urge to defend Mrs Beckham, I couldn't help feeling irked at the snobbery of Frankel. I know, that's how the fashion world is. But it always pissed me off when some la di dah moron sat there in a grotesque outfit, advising everyone about next year's must-have look, or criticising somebody else for their bad taste. Especially when, as in this case, the photo of the person being attacked showed someone looking glamorous and stylish, while the photo of the attacker showed a dishevelled looking Wurzel Gummage understudy. Then again, I suppose being fashion editor doesn't often present one with the opportunity of getting your name to appear in the front half of the paper, where people are still reading, and haven't left it on a seat on the tube train for the next traveller to pick up.
Now I've got that off my chest, I can go back to not giving a shit about celebrities and their bloody fashion sense. How many others were frustrated at this morning's 'news' programmes, which were saturated with images and opinions of the dresses worn by Kiera Knightley et al at last night's awards shows?
Government surveillence.
Is democracy in danger of destroying our liberty?
.
That was the question Peter Hitchins was asking in his Dispatches programme on Saturday. Warning of the dangers to our civil liberties posed by an increasingly political style of policing, Hitchins set out to put the fear of Big Brother into us quicker than any early morning footage of Pete Burns ever did. Unfortunately, however, the programme fell considerably short of its aims.
.
The case of Maya Evans was admittedly a good opener. A protester arrested in October last year for reading out the names of those in the British military who have been killed in Iraq, Evans was taken in under the Serious and Organised Crimes Act of the same month. Hitchins noted the irony of the situation with something approaching gleeful opportunism. Here, next to the Cenotaph, where those who died to protect our freedoms are celebrated, an innocent exerciser of those freedoms is carted off by the thought police. I found myself imagining the heroes of the past catching a glimpse of a grim future where the liberties they were fighting to uphold were thrown away by the leaders of their very own country. Opportunistic or otherwise, the point was well made.
.
Even the story of Matthew Dodd, a trainspotter subjected to a public strip search by the British Transport Police, was still on the right track (sorry for the pun).
.
But here the programme began to degenerate. As a natural sceptic of the I.D card and somebody who feels genuine anxiety about the stripping away of civil liberties I really wanted to agree with everything Hitchins said. But questioning whether people in police custody under arrest should have samples of their DNA taken was not going to win any converts to Hitchins' line of thinking. Having been arrested and subjected to DNA sampling in the past, I can testify that no unjust consequences have ever come back to haunt me. While I would argue strongly against the cultivation of the national DNA database that is being engineered by the government, it can only be logical that once a person has been caught committing a crime, they have their DNA sampled and held on record for a length of time appropriate according to the offence. Of course, if the police were to arrest somebody for voicing a particular opinion, however disagreeable it may be, there could be no justification for DNA swabbing.
.
Hitchins shifted his attention to CCTV. Again an area worthy of debate, ASBO TV is very much a worrying development in the population monitoring activities of the state. Yet while the prospect of a suspicous, paranoid populous abandoning the streets in favour of watching them through a screen, in order to observe the hooded Children Of The Apocalypse* happy slap each other to oblivion, is enough to spark contention, can anyone really doubt CCTV's value as a whole? What about all the violent criminals whose capture is made possible by surveillence networks?
.
While maintaining a healthy suspicion of government activity in general and biometric recorded surveillence of the poulation in particular, I think what this programme really achieved was to serve as a reminder not to get carried away by one's own agenda, blindly dismissing anything and everything those in positions of power do as some sort of conspiratorial manoeuver aimed at achieving world enslavement.
.
* (COTA registered trademark)
Mouse War.
Had intended to write an update concerning the
Mouse War while I was on the bus this morning, but ended up having to stand, crammed between people with a rich variety of odours emanating from them, for the entire hour and a bit. Incidentally, if you're ever in that situation, remember never to inhale through your mouth at any point, as you can practically taste the stenches.
Anyway, to the task at hand.
It has been a harsh winter, compounded by the lack of central heating in my abode, which has made getting out of bed in the morning similar to entering one of those big walk in freezers wearing shorts and a tee shirt. The enemy will certainly not have found the conditions agreeable. With its main base of operations in the kitchen, with its freezing cold tile floors, it must have been like the long hard Russian winter the Nazi invaders had to endure. The Rodent Queen of the 'humane' trap misery had advised us to place a piece of newspaper underneath the trap, so the cold night time floor wouldn't kill the mouse. So, with it being such a long time since the last enemy sighting, I entertained myself with the idea it had fallen victim to the unforgiving circumstances.
Then, disaster. My better half reported an enemy sighting and worse yet, there were two of them. The bastard didn't just survive, he brought a recruit! How long can there be before this unholy alliance spawns a new generation of invaders?
The dynamics of the war have changed too. Saturday night we saw a mouse in our bedroom (well, all I saw was a dark blur moving very quickly).
The bedroom!
It's like that picture of Hitler, Speer, and his other cronies parading in front of the Eiffel Tower. I can't believe I ever entertained thoughts of not inflicting capital punishment upon the bastard.
It's time for the big guns.
