Giving up the goat

There is an old Turkish saying that goes as follows:

A woman for duty, a boy for pleasure, but a goat for ecstasy.

Well, apparently it's popular in Sudan as well.

Absolute quote of the day: "We have given him the goat, and as far as we know they are still together."

'Be more British week'

This is my new idea. Ever since the Shirehall in Shrewsbury took down the Union Jack incase it offended ethnic minorities living in the town¹, I've felt a bit distressed by the fact that it seems like the only people it's OK to have a go at are the British². Of course, that makes me a conservative, which in turn makes me suicidal.
There are many aspects to Britain that I dislike. Birmigham New Street station, Football fans³, people who think bus shelters are the place to be on a friday night and the rest. But there are so many things we should be proud of and so many great traditions we should keep going. So in 'be more British week' (and I say British to please the European Union, because really I'd like it to be 'be more English week') I propose we spend a little while doing things we often forget. Drink tea hot, with milk. Spend an hour digging in the vegetable garden or cut the lawn. Talk to someone about the weather, or queue for a bus. Make a sarcastic comment, or satirical joke about Tony Blair. Say something quaint like 'goodness me', or drop something and exclaim 'oh sugar!'. Have your umbrella turned inside out.

Do it all safe in the knowledge that the world will be, in a small way, a more British place.

---

1. An idiotic suggestion, because Shrewsbury is the whitest town in Shropshire, which is in turn the whitest county in England. This isn't because of racism on our part you see. Put simply, it has few charms and plenty of downsides which you can only really ignore if you were brought up with them.
2. Especially the Welsh. If you must call them a people.
3. Who I witnessed in full voice at aforementioned station, singing the opening riff of Ring of Fire in a way that would make Johnny Cash depressed and thus combining two evils into a single, more vile offence.

The 'learn all of the capital cities of all of the countries in the world' challenge.

Pretty self explanatory. Why? Because then you can convince people how cool you are by telling them you know the capital city of every country in the world and then getting them to ask you.¹

Rules:

1) Countries only. None of this dependent territories crap.
2) The unerring and unquestionable authority on this is Wikipedia.
3) Where at all possible, try to learn some kind of funny fact about the country/capital in question².
4) Use your new found powers for good, not evil.

I'm as far as Andorra. Capital city: Andorra la vella. This is going to be well easy.

---

1. Failing that, if you ever need to be diagnosed as being autistic, this is a sure fire way.
2. For example, Astana (Capital of Kazakhstan) literally translates as "Capital City". Most people would tell you the capital city of Kazakhstan is Almaty, but they'd be wrong. It used to be, but they changed it to purpose built Astana. Probably because Almaty means something ridiculous about apples. ('Father apple', or 'The apple that provides for us'.)

Exacerbating circumstances

The most infurating task ever to be burdened with has to be helping one's mother¹ sign up for a Skype account. I am going to broaden this to 'explain anything at all to do with technology to one's mother, who continues to blame her inability to understand the most basic concepts on the fact that she's fifty'. Incidentally, my dad has a computer science degree, so why she can't ask him I don't know. But back to my mother!

Not only is she the most painfully slow (and inaccurate) typist in history, but she barely understands how it is she is managing to aim spelling atrocities at me via my brother's MSN messenger account. I'm saving the concept of automated sign-in for another day. Frankly, she's still struggling with the basics, the internet equivalent of not being sure which hand is left and which one's right (there's a trick to that one²). Anyway, so once I've gone over the reason they ask for your email address³ and explained to her that there's no reason for me to send her her password via text message rather than msn (the Russkies will be monitoring text messages too you know!) I am rapidly losing patience, especially as I can apparently assume no base level of knowledge, despite my family having had internet access since 1997.

Anyway, I'd continue, but I just uttered the phrase "Well, you just plug it into the USB port" and I suspect this is going to take a little while to explain.

---

1. Real mother, not the mother that first placed me in a boat.
2. It's "stop being retarded". I bet you thought I was going to say you can make an L with the index finger and thumb of your left hand. Common misconception - that L doesn't stand for Left. It stands for Loser, which you are if you still have to do this.
3. I'm starting to think it's a really a base-level IQ test.

Snow joke

Punters everywhere (and I use the generic term for Sun readers as liberally as possible) were outraged today by this news article.

I was also a bit shocked by it. 4ft? Ours was much bigger!

On an unrelated note...

I'm really hating the current trend in D-list celebrities for using states of being as continous verbs.

viz: "I'm really loving Big Brother at the moment".

Also, it's infiltrating other levels of society because my brother just told me he's really liking Black Books at the moment. Repent, Limeys¹. The invasion is imminent.

---

1. This link is here not because I don't think you know, but because I found it so obnoxious.

The Long Distance Valentine, or "What could possibly say I love you better than a bear clutching a little red heart", or the shameless parody.

I'm sorry, Sufjan. I really am.

Valentine's day is fast approaching, and being in a long-distance relationship I am in a bit of a quandry as to what I should do to celebrate. I've split the different options (and how they would portray me) into a list. I'm currently in 2a), tending towards 1).

1. The realist sends a small-ish card, by second class post. It may have a note inside it saying how they'd love to spend the day together, but can't. In addition, they'll have a long phonecall and tell eachother they love eachother more often than usual.

2. The post-modern ironic smartass is the guy that refuses to send anything because Valentine's Day is commercialist bullshit. Not only this - he insists on telling everyone he meets for a fortnight beforehand that Valentine's presents is commercial bullshit. He may also use words like "hyper-consumerism", "corporate conspiracy" and "the MAN" .
2a). The secure relationship refuses to send anything because there are more ways of saying 'I love you' and there's no need to prove it with tacky tat just for one day of the year.

3. The no-hoper sends an e-card, possibly even an animated one, with the text to the effect of "I luv u!!" either because he forgot to buy one or he genuinely thinks e-cards are a good thing.
The no-hoper is usually single by Feb. 15th unless the act is construed as being so ridiculous that he is in fact mistaken for 2), in which case he gets bonus points for being witty, funny or soooo ironic.

4. The Sentimentalist sends a careful, thoughtful card with perhaps a poem inside that has been composed for the occasion. Phrases like "Roses are red, violets are blue" are avoided at all costs. They may also have flowers delivered, and spend hours on the day looking at photos of the couple together. They will then cry themself to sleep. People like this suck.

5. Anyone who sends a stuffed toy - be it elephant, monkey holding humerous banana or indeed teddy bear with a little red heart - will be first against the wall when the revolution comes.

Contenders - Ready!

Something that makes me kinda happy, though is a little irrelevant and maybe even irreverent now I come to think of it - Some might even call it a light hearted subject change...

While I was researching whether or not Robert Mugabe had won the Noble Peace Prize (as my friend said, "Maybe he did before he turned into a mentalist") I chanced upon the best name in history. The man who preceeded Mugabe as President of Zimbabwe was a Mr. Canaan Banana.

So I invite you to come up with your own suggestions. Stage names don't count in my opinion, it has to be what it says on the birth certificate. (Otherwise the competition would be open to Mr. T and nothing could beat that.)

So long, Marianne

I was going to hop on the waggon train and do my own songs of the year, but there was a slight problem - namely that pre-15 my music taste was embarassing, post-15 my music taste was similar to Nathan's and now I'm over 19, my music taste is Nathan's (with a lag of a few months since he introduced me to most of my favourite bands).

The only notable exception is a deep rooted love of Pink Floyd, the Kinks and Leonard Cohen¹ as well as a nostalgic adoration of the Offspring.

I do have a slight problem with music, though. And I know I've got a follower in this one (you an' me both, brother). If I get hooked on a track, I'll listen and re-listen to my own delight and to the despair of my neighbours until I physically can't bear it any more. Example from my iTunes:
Caring is creepy by the Shins, play count 2.
New Slang by the Shins, play count 41.

On another note, if only this blog had a zippy little thing like Livejournal where you could write what music you're listening to right now, and choose from a whole range of smileys to describe your mood aptly and succinctly. Wouldn't that make life more fun?²

---

1. Not since Ashlee Simpson has one person achieved so much with so little. Listen to him - he can't sing! But it's still brilliant.
2. Maybe this is sarcasm.

Continuity/Subject Change

In response to Charlie's earlier posts about science being deliberately misconstrued by PETA, and on the theme of misinformation I would like to point something out about this.

My intent is not to argue against the values of the people that carry out these attacks. There are, and always will be people who are of a militant turn of mind and they will use any excuse to attack other people. There is no way I could persuade them otherwise and so any deliberations on the subject are futile and deeply frustrating.

My objection to this is actually that the journalist in question has got his facts wrong. He strongly implies that it is the work of the ALF (Animal Liberation Front) who were the darlings responsible for my boat house getting burnt. In actuality, while they have no objection to arson, the ALF never knowingly endanger human life¹. Their website is actually quite funny to read as all they seem to be is annoying people, viz: "5 Hens liberated from egg farm", "Meat advert corrected" and my particular favourite, "Chicken farm raided, 22 chicks freed". That was on the 5th of January, in the middle of winter. Letting chicks freeze to death doesn't seem very compassionate to me.

The most likely suspect for these attacks is a group called ARM who hit the news fairly recently for stealing the body of a grandmother from her grave because a guinea pig farm didn't close down when threatened. They have also voiced their desire to assasinate prominent Scientists involved in vivisection.

Luckily, judging by the success of their attacks, they are all bark and no bite.

---

1. I would be the first person to give a member of the ALF a black eye, but they are hardly the worst activist group I can think of.

Well...

Since it seems that people have mentioned a great deal about the region they come from as well as their family, I present to you the politics of Shrewsbury and Atcham (and Montgomeryshire/Powys) in a nutshell.

My local MP, Daniel Kawczynski is notable for being the tallest MP in Parliament¹.
Lembit Opik, the crooked-smiling MP for my neighbouring constituency hit the news recently for dumping his weathergirl fiancee and instantaneously taking off with one of the Cheeky Girls. Remember, Kids - it's a meeting of minds.

I think that's about it.

---

1. Only Shrewsbury's website has a cow on it.

Anywhere but here

I was indeed listening to Radio 4 this afternoon when they discussed basically what Nate just wrote. Part of the report stated that girl from a working class English background was asked why she wasn't participating in Citizenship class. She replied "I don't come from anywhere".


I, on the other hand, am one quarter American (from Georgia, y'all), one quarter of me is Derbyshire mining stock and half of me is from Clapham, Saaaf London.

My paternal grandfather was a cobbler, and one of his legs was shorter than the other. When my parents met, my father described my mother as looking like a sack of potatos, and told her he didn't know why he was going out with her because he didn't like fat women.
My maternal grandmother dumped an un-named very rich man to move to England and become a miner's wife. My great uncle loves genealogy, and as a result I know that I have ancestors on the Mayflower, in the Domesday book and on both sides of the Salem witch hunts.

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother over the phone. He said "Sally, you're going to have to marry me!" and she replied "...I guess so."

Family history is fun!

It Burns us, Precious.

It's little wonder that the Scots choose to make more fuss over Robert Burns than they do over their patron Saint, especially considering the only notable thing St. Andrew ever did was name a golf course after himself¹. But why the big fuss over Burns' Night? I've looked into this at quite great length² and what I found was that he seems to be some kind of hero of the people, viz:

"Rabbie Burns was just a common lad from the hills, like, he wrote poems about getting up in the morning and stuff. He wasn't writing flouncy poetry about flowers, he was writing because he worked on a cruddy farm and had to get up at 5am and it's bloody freezing."

My response of course was why didn't he move to England and get a proper job. However, because the Scots love him so much (and they have to find something to be happy about) I've compiled an alternative list of reasons to celebrate the birth of Rabbie Burns:

1. He wrote the following immortal lines:

I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,
Douce hingin' owre my curple,
Than ony ermine ever lap,
Or proud imperial purple.

Now I'll be the first to admit I have no idea what any of this means, since I recognise about one word in five. But what is really, really amazing about this poem - the thing that makes it stand out amongst his others - is that he manages to find a rhyme for the world purple.

2. Burns' Supper. Even if you go solely for the purpose of having a wee dram. I have a very high opinion of a man who gets the phrase "entrails gushing" into a pre-dinner speech and gets away with it because it's cultural.

3. There was another Robert Burns who is notable for robbin' a liquor store and escaping from a chain gang. Now HE'S a man of the people.

4. While Address to a Haggis itself is some million stanzas long and extremely unpleasant to listen to (it's like the Welsh national anthem which you can only sing if you have laryngitis), it contains the incredible line "Great Cheiftan o' the puddin' race", the greatest thing you can ever say to a sheep's stomach stuffed with, let's be honest, all the other bits of the sheep.

5. He wrote some pretty famous stuff, quite a lot of which has been well and truly anglicised. I guess you're thinking these famous words;

The best laid plans of mice and men,
Oft go awry

Well, you'd be wrong. Actually what he wrote was;

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men

Gang aft agley

Which makes no sense at all!

6. For a while, "Scots wha hae" was considered to be the unofficial national anthem of Scotland. Now don't tell me that "wha hae" is a dialect phrase meaning "who have", it's so obvious that it was intended to sound like "Scots - Wahey!"

---

1. Don't get me started on St. George, who never set foot in Britain and converted unbelievers by waving a dragon at them and saying "You guys feel like becoming Christians, right?".
2. By which I mean I asked my Scottish friend Johnny "Why do you like Burns' Night so much?"

What's in a name?

I know so little about American politics that it is laughable. But I definitely found it funny that Obama rhymes with Osama and his middle name is Hussein. I should not comment on this until I have read the relevant Wikipedia article, or sobered up. A wee dram on Burn's night is good for the soul.

Consumerism takes a turn for the worse.

And you thought dog chocolates and pet shoes were a stupid idea. Anybody rushing out to get some of this?

Can I do this?

A post on a communal blog that isn't about the fact that it's a communal blog?¹

Hug a Hoodie!

There have been days recently when the media have been so bereft of interesting stories that they have had fill pages with articles about people being kicked out of shopping centres for wearing hoods. I can't remember the exact words a particular octogenerian grandmother used to protest against being kicked out of a shop for wearing one, but it was something like "I'm not a thug - don't lug me together with those yobs!".

Evidently she'd rather one rule for us and one for them?

---

1. Interesting fact: I once posted on a communal blog before except I was 15 and a horrible, stupid, grubby teenager with nothing interesting to say for myself. Needless to say, I'm not a teenager any more.

Mutual gratification

I heartily approve (except my picture doesn't work and I accidentally deleted it). Now not only can we come up with a collective name for ourselves (like the Notting Hill set, except with a bit less of a political agenda and no bicycle clips) but it also removes the need to continually post on each other's blogs.

Big up to Nathan for choosing the name by the way. If I'd done it, I'd have come up with an appalling cliche like "The Mansfield Five"¹.

As for the foliage photo - Nate, I'm dead inside. Thanks a lot.

---

1. Leading to further blog-related hi-jinks that we could refer to in Enid Blyton style, viz: "Five have an adventure", "Five go to Nathan's house", "Five lose interest", "Five killed in freak skiing accident" etc. etc.