In Which I Wait to Be Told What I Already Know

On November the something or other, I go for a follow up appointment with the gut doctor. He will tell me that I am indeed allergic to wheat, barley and rye and that those things are in an awful lot of food, and laugh in my increasingly emaciated face. He'll then refer me to a dietitian, and God knows how long it'll take to see him. I was told I'd have my results within 14 days, but it's been 37 and no sign so far. But when I finally do see the dietitian (by the time Romney's invaded Canada at this rate) then they'll say stay away from the gluten, because if you munch it down then you'll get bowel cancer and osteoporosis. Then they'll send me back to my GP who will write out a prescription for me. There is no cure (they're working on one) for Coeliac's disease, so what could this prescription be for? It'd be for gluten free bread, pasta, flour and bourbons. That's bourbons as in the biscuits, sadly, not as in the whisky. I do like the idea of going to the chemists and picking up 250cc's of Tagliatelle and 50cc's of sticky buns. Actually, maybe not, as I just read this article. If the NHS are going to get utterly ripped off by companies with things that I could buy for a fraction of the cost, then I might not in all good conscience be able to go along with that. I shall use that as the justification I need to obtain a disabled railcard (for the epilepsy).

I was happy to note a bit of personal growth for me yesterday. I went past a bakery and caught the strongest smell of freshly baked cakeys, and I smiled and walked on. There was a time when if thoughts would kill, anyone holding a pastry within thirty miles of me would have been a twitching corpse, riddled with mind bullets. This, then, is progress. Now if I can just stop hanging around the supermarket cake aisle screaming at the ceiling "Why, God, why", then I'll have it cracked.

Today's Tune

In Which I Show My Ugly Side

On Friday I shall be seeing C+C, who have moved locally from London because rent+travel to London jobs= less than London rent. Having travelled by train recently I can safely say that renting a house in London must be astronomically expensive. The only way to get a reasonably cheap rail fare is to book a seat on a train at a particular time of day for your as yet unborn grandchild and hope that on that day they might require to travel on the 14:37 to Skegness. However, I have recently discovered that I am entitled to a railcard that will give me 1/3 off rail fares. I intend to use the money I will save on buying a small army and launching a coup in Equitorial Guinea.

C is a disgrace of a friend. I spent years trying to tell him to listen to Jimi Hendrix and The Doors and Led Zeppelin, and then he went on some sort of interrailing tour of Europe and came back saying that some American had been playing some really good rock from the 60's and 70's, and that I should start listening to Hendrix, The Doors and Led Zeppelin. C, then, can be very slow on the uptake. I've been trying to convince him for his entire life that he's not as good at video games as me. Perhaps he needs a homoerotic encounter with an American to convince him otherwise.

C is C's long term girlfriend, half American and half Mexican. She seems to have taken like a duck to water with that most British of qualities, taking the piss and being taken the piss out of. I hope she is anyway, else every other thing I say to her is causing her to die a little more inside.

On Saturday, I am at THE VILLAGE CRICKET QUIZ.  For reasons that escape me, I have a familiarity with this cricket team, despite not having played it properly. My mate R used to be the captain of the team, but the England Cricket Board said that he had to stand down on account of them being too good for everyone else. Anyway, people say that I am the ringer for the quiz team we'll be entering, but I reckon they could easily win without me. All the other people probably get more answers right on their own than I do, it's just that the ones I do get are the unbelievably obscure ones that people remember. Example: What d'you call the round pieces of card/paper that you are left with when you use a hole punch? Chads. There's two things I hate about quizzes. One is cheats, which are surely more prevalent in this day and age with the advent of interweb phones. When I am promoted from being Queen of England to being King of the World, I will redesignate where the military money will be spent. After all, I'll be King of the World and I wouldn't start a war with myself. One of the worthy causes would be funding the installation of an internet blocker for every quiz in the world. I'll say this- I realise the other thing I don't like about pub quizzes will probably make me sound like a wanker, which is fine as I may actually be a wanker in this regard. I really don't like people who think they are helping when they answer the questions that everyone else is answering anyway. It's not the fact that they don't know the other answers, some people might regard good recall for trivia as a sign of nerdiness (the arrogant twats). It's the fact that they think they are helping, when all they're doing is diluting the prize fund and winning money off of everyone else's back. Imagine someone tagging along with a builder, watching him do all the work and taking half of his wage. Now imagine that that someone who was watching the builder do all the work has some sort of totally unmitigated sense of pride in their achievement. And now you know how much of a wanker I am. Still not as much of a wanker as those quiz freeloaders, mind.

Today's Tune

In Which I Resort to Snippets About Myself

Here's a list of things you might not know about me.

1) As a rule, I like the Dutch.

2) I cry quite easily at films.

3) I cannot chop onions as my eyes react more to them than anyone I've seen. I've heard that you can wear swimming goggles to get around this, but I don't have any because I can't swim. In any case, if I did have them I wouldn't wear them because I wouldn't want to look like some kind of gimp.

4) The reason I hate the television show "Friends" is not so much because of the scenes of self obsessed totally untrustworthy and unrealistic people always sticking together in an inbred group through thick and thick which are so sickly sweet as to give you type 2 diabetes. It was more the fact that I have rarely seen a gulf so wide between how bad a programme is and how popular it has become. Someone familiar with how much the programme annoyed me informed me that Arena magazine had compiled a top 30 list of most pointless stuff ever. The character of Phoebe Buffay came first.

5) I considered trying to cut my hair the other day, because my hairstyle was too long for the fancy dress costume I was in (Goose from Top Gun, since you asked). Chickened out and went to a barber instead.

6) I don't really benefit from horror films as they don't scare me, and I'm not sure if I'd go out of my way to scare myself anyway.

7) I hate theme parks. This is probably because I'm afraid of heights and really don't like rollercoasters. Or big crowds. Or wasps.

8) I think I have laughed harder at (with) friends than anything on television.

9) I think that not enough people cook.

10) I think that not enough people who think they can cook can cook.

11) I despise Halloween, and I suspect I'll devote a blog to it at some point.

12) The worst film I have ever watched at the cinema was Dunston Checks In.

13) The first date I ever went on was to the cinema to see Dunston Checks In.

14) I'm not very good at hiding that I have no idea what to write about.

Today's Tune

In Which I Kill the Notion of Miracles

Lazarus. He was a guy in the Bible who, like a lot of other guys in the Bible, died. Jesus, for reasons best known unto himself (although I suspect He was just showing off) resurrected this Lazarus. Now I know it wouldn't have been right for Jesus going around resurrecting everyone who died in the Bible. For one thing, Judea's pension system would have fallen up its own arsehole. So Jesus could only raise one person from the dead, and it was Lazarus. Why? Well, it may be because back in biblical times there was a medical condition called Lazarus syndrome where someone who had apparently died would suddenly come back to life. So Jesus was a physician with a sense of humour? Hey, it's the Bible. Anything can happen.

This Lazarus syndrome still exists today, although Jesus doesn't (or if he is, he's keeping a rather low profile). So what exactly is the cause of these people suddenly coming back to life? Zombieism? Can't be that as the "not deads" have no (as yet) reported brain cravings. Miracles? Can't be that either, as we'll see in a minute. Crap medical staff who want to clock off early and go out and pickle their livers? Probably. I think we're agreed that incompetent doctors exist the world over, and that their incompetency could quite credibly stretch to not being able to tell if someone has a case of the deads. What's that you're screaming at me? No?

"No, you're being too cynical! No, there is no person in medicine on earth who can make this mistake! No, you're too quick to dismiss the hand of God!" Well alright, you mentalist 24th century Federation starship Captain, how about this? Abdel-Sattar Badawi's a guy in Eygpt who was declared dead, and he was consequently bunged into a hospital morgue. I think you can guess what happened next. Sure enough, he woke up from being "dead" and pushed the lid off the coffin he was in (which somewhat fortuitously wasn't nailed shut). Then he shouted for help, what with being a bit disorientated from being not alive a few seconds ago. Three staff came running in, and he explained to them how he actually wasn't metabolically challenged and didn't really belong in a morgue, and could he please have some cocoa and a hot water bottle?

So the three medical staff tried to take it on board, and only two of them managed to do so and survive. I think under the circumstances having a heart attack and dying is quite understandable. It's a bit of an odd miracle for God to raise someone from the dead to have them kill someone else? "But maybe the person who ended up dead was a nasty nasty man who God had decided to wipe out in an elaborate way because, y'know, He likes playing silly buggers with people?" There was a Brazilian woman who was at her own funeral, open casket. She woke up and somewhat lost her shit, sprinted out of the church and into the road whereupon she was run over and killed. Now if you can explain to me why God would kill someone, resurrect them and then kill them again, I might start to believe it's a miracle. "... Erm..... Errrrrmmmm......."

Today's Tune

In Which I Salute American Creativity

Let's see, I believe the United States and I had some unfinished business... In the blog before last, I was pointing out some of the ways Americans differ from the British. Right. So Americans are fat. On the surface of it, this isn't a huge difference, we're a nation that's quite on the porky side.  Also, you might think saying Americans are fat might be a bit of an unfair generalisation. After all, it's only 37% of them who are classed as overweight. But if you take into account that on top of the overweight people, there are a seperate proportion of 26% who are actually obese. That's 63% who are overweight or obese- almost two thirds. So what would the solution to this gargantuan problem be? You might say more exercise, but it can be quite hard to walk to the shops in America. Not because of any ghastly heat or blizzard conditions, but because there aren't very many pavements in the States. "Right, then", thinks Congress. "The nation is getting a wee bit on the hefferlump side. We'd better concentrate on getting the kids thinner as their parents are too far gone. So. We need young Americans to be eating more healthy food, more fruits, more vegetables." Admirable sentiments. So the U.S government went and legislated that more vegetables were to be compulsorily served at school cafeterias. Well... Not quite. What they did, and I have to give them credit because I might not have had the creativity to think of this, is reclassify pizza as a vegetable. Again, I might be unfairly misleading you there. What they did is reclassify the teaspoons of tomato purée that are thinly spread across a slice of school pizza as one and a half servings of vegetable. Now, there are several things wrong with this. The first one is that tomato is a fruit, not a vegetable. The second one is that a blob tomato purée does not a fruit or vegetable make. Tomato puree is not tomatoes- if you want to get the benefit of fruit, eat fruit, not reconstituted fruit. And there's hardly any tomato purée on top in the first place.

"With roughly two to three tablespoons of sauce on each serving of pizza, that’s about 2 teaspoons of actual tomato paste in each serving."

The final thing that I can think is wrong with this approach is that you can't just add fruit or veg to something and expect it to become healthy. One does not get thin from eating Black Forest Gâteau despite it coming with cherries, one may as well eat raw carrots using lard as a dip. Then again, I suppose Congress could make the rest of the pizza healthy by reclassifying cheese and complex carbohydrates as vitamins C and D. If one slice of pizza equates to one and a half portions of vegetables (fruit!), then you can almost get your recommended five a day by eating three slices of pizza! Hurray! The problem is, there will be Americans that think that- most likely fat ones.

Bubba, why ain't I losing weight?

And whilst we're talking about American schools, what's all this pledge of allegiance stuff? Here's a thing about Americans. They're quite different in that they love their flags. Sure, we might wave the Union Flag about at the Olympics or the Last Night of the Proms like a rabid dog would wave someone's limb about, but to Americans, their flag is getting on for sacred.There's a law in the States that says you can't leave a flag out overnight unlit because the Spetsnaz'll come over from the Soviet Union, create a mouth with the flag and then fuck it. I think they call doing that Old Glory hole or something. Anyway, love their flag. Which is why all the pupils in the schools gather together and recite this:

"I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Oh dear. Well, nice sentiments I suppose, apart from the God bit. I could be accused of hypocrisy here, what with God Save the Queen being our national anthem, but there'd be very few of us who'd actually believe that if the Queen were being held hostage by the Spetsnaz (they get about, those lads), that shit would get real and God would rescue her. So yes, the pledge of allegiance. Every day the kids have to recite that whilst saluting the flag by holding their right hand over their heart. I assume that's a salute, it might just be all of those "vegetables" they've been eating reacting with their cardiovascular system. Anyway, here's a translation of the oath that German civil servants had to swear to Hitler:

"I swear: I will be faithful and obedient to the leader of the German empire and people, Adolf Hitler, to observe the law, and to conscientiously fulfil my official duties, so help me God!"   

Seem a little familiar? No? Well, let me help you along a little. Here's a photo of American schoolchildren giving the flag the salute they used before the hand over heart one became fashionable:

My cholesterol level is this high.

Now I'm not saying that the Stars and Stripes is Adolf Hitler, but...



 *cough*



Today's Tune

In Which I Am a Hippo Critter

The EEG and MRI results came back clear. This means I have no nasties that are going to wipe me out, but doesn't mean I don't have epilepsy as that can quite happily exist without being detectable because, hey, being a ninja neurological disorder is where it's at.

The Nokia 2610.

The me of last week would hate the me of this week, because I decided to do something sensible. I decided to get a more modern phone, a phone that was comfortable with the internet and had approximately 2700 times more memory. Sadly, as I well knew would happen, my current phone runs out of juice approximately 2700 times more rapidly than my old phone. The Nokia 2610 was a phone that, if you just used it for phone calls and texting (and guess what, that's pretty much all you could use it for), lasted upwards of a fortnight. Our relationship has been a long one as phones go, but she was temperamental, sometimes switching off when I was around, or refusing to relay messages and phone calls. I suppose it was because I beat the shit out of her. Still, I now have a phone in which I can chuck irate birds at green blobs, and take scenester tinted pictures of nonsequential things. I could also cheat at pub quizzes, like some people who are actively (although perhaps unwittingly) arguing the strongest case yet for bringing back hanging. Anyway. It's amazing the progress that's been made in six years regarding mobile telephony, but as I have said, this progress comes at a price. 

Firstly, battery power. You want your phone to be able to tell you where the nearest gluten free bakery to Pitstone is? You want to be able to take photographs that make you look far fatter than you are (60p well spent on that app, but you could have bought a Mars bar and started working on it yourself)?  Then be prepared for the battery life to ebb visibly in front of your eyes. Seriously, these smartphone companies are in cahoots with the electrical companies to try and drain the National Grid of as much as possible.

Secondly, the human angle. People whip out their smartphones at any opportunity, and not in an "I've got the latest Smithgrinder 5000 X, with added whipple effect" way. Have a dispute? Check it on the mobile interwebz. Need to find out where you are? Map app. There will come a time when most of us will be completely reliant on these things, and if the GPS satellites go wonky because of solar flares (which is quite possible) or, heaven forbid, our phones have some inbuilt fault like these Toyotas that seem to perpetually be recalled, then our brains won't be able to cope. Judging by that long and fractured sentence, the melt-my-brain process has already begun.

I decided to try and reverse that process by visiting the Tate Britain gallery in London where my favourite painting resides (ooh, get him, he's got a favourite painting). For those that don't know, the Tate galleries were set up by the same Tate from Tate and Lyle who make the syrup. I was going to make a joke about what Lyle decided to be philanthropic towards, but I could find nothing important called Lyle. If you're called Lyle, you don't matter and your parents don't love you. Sorry. Anyway, my favourite painting wasn't on display owing to a massive refurbishment of the place and some due to there being an exhibition of some bloke called Turner's paintings. I looked at the modern art (crap) and I looked at one or two of Constable's. And then I went through about 80 Turner paintings. He's an infuriating artist because he has the skills, but sometimes paints something incredibly dull or in a rubbish way. Yes, I KNOW art's subjective, but some of it is bunk. Really. Anyway, right at the end when I had been given more than a couple of suspicious looks (holding several carrier bags whilst wearing a velvet jacket with a giant orange metal framed rucksack on the back of it is a faux pas, apparently), I happened upon this fucking HUGE painting which must have taken him a few hours to finish, a view of Rome from Vatican City from a Papal balcony, perhaps. Standing up right close to it meant you could see the amazing background detail, and there was a lot of that in there. It seemed to be a painting of a few paintings left slipshod by the balcony- I should have read the description next to it. Doesn't matter. The paintings inside the painting were utterly amazing. I know I've already said amazing, so pick any synonym you like. I'm sticking with amazement. The picture below really doesn't do it justice, but you could go and see it. Entry's free, although they strongly suggest a £4 donation. I gave £2.50. I mean, not having my favourite painting and replacing it with this much-vaunted twat? Who do they think they are? Showponies.

Turner's "Rome, from the Vatican."

Finally, I started to head off for home towards Westminster tube station, which naturally took me past the Houses of Parliament, when who should I bump into but Charles Clarke, former Home Secretary. He didn't recognise me though, for some reason. I realise that relaying you this isn't the most inspired ending to a blog, but it's quite apt as he wasn't the most inspired Home Secretary.


Today's Tune

In Which I Note that the Americans Aren't Very Grateful

Oscar Wilde said it best when he was describing the difference between the British and our transatlantic cousins: "The Americans are identical to the British in all respects except, of course, they're all mad fat bastards." I might be paraphrasing slightly there, I don't remember the exact quote. But they ARE a bit different from us, aren't they? So let's look at the differences. The Americans have shorter memories than us, which is why they keep on forgetting that there are many pubs over here older than their country. I hope this is an apocryphal tale, but I heard that an American couple went to see some 15th century castle in England, and they were very impressed with everything. They had only one question- how did we manage to get everything to look so old?

How did you get him to look so senile?

Americans also show their amnesia when it comes to foreign policy. What you may not know about the War of Independence is that it was the French who won it for the Americans. We spent about £80,000,000 on the war, which today comes in at around £10,757,101,449. The French put in 70% of that for the Americans and sent troops to fight for them, and the Americans' financial contribution? They had a whip round and put a few dollars together. Nevertheless, the French prevailed and did the United States the most concrete of solids. So how did the fledgling United States reward the French who had won their war for them? Why, she made Britain her main trading partner and told the French to go fuck themselves, leaving France bankrupt. Very bad short term memories, or total bastards. You decide.

And what about their long term memories? The Americans' betrayal of France created a broken state. Bonaparte took advantage of this and hilarity ensued, by which I mean 5 million Europeans were killed, a third of them French. France got past this, though, and tried so hard to make friends with Americans, so they had a church raffle and a bake sale or two to pay for the Statue of Liberty. Credit where credit's due, they did a nice job. However, many years down the line, France made the crucial mistake of refusing America's kind invitation to make war on a country simply for the fact that there was no reason to. And how did the Americans show their displeasure? By rebranding French Fries as Freedom Fries. 

Never mind that to the rest of the world this would look like a petty action. Never mind that associating the word freedom with a thinly sliced deep fried potato cheapens it somewhat. The Americans had to show their displeasure to the French by taking the French out of French Fries. Also, they decided to chuck champagne and other French wines down the drain. This is another difference between us and the Americans. They are exceptionally wasteful. Now I don't know about you, but even if I was pissed off at the French, I would happily drink my cellars dry of their alcohol. I mean, the stuff's already bought, the French vineyard owners who of course single-handedly prevented the U.N from permitting this war won't get any richer if you drink the plonk you've already bought from them. Actually, the Americans have form for this. In Boston, they had a load of tea on a ship that they refused to buy because they'd have to pay an ickle bit of tax on it. They took a measured response and bowled on board and chucked the stuff in the sea. What a bunch of idiots. You could have drunk that! Even if you don't like the stuff you could flog it on the black market. If there's demand but no supply then you could clean up, especially if your operating costs are zero because you nicked it. I mean, for God's sake, that would be like a rioter going into Currys and smashing a telly instead of nabbing it. However, I in no way endorse stealing. Unless it's in 18th century Massachusetts.

Here endeth the lesson. Another one on the same topic tomorrow, I fancy. 

Today's Tune