In my arithmetic exam, I got full marks because I knew 10/10 = 1.
In English, my essay was marked 10/10.
Does that mean I got top marks or did I score only 1?
Now in my logic exam...
Sunday, 24 April 2011
Saturday, 23 April 2011
Guilty by proxy
It is not because it's Easter that I suggest we spare a thought for those less well off than ourselves around the world.
But, among other countries, I suggest we spare a thought for the ensuing humanitarian crisis in Libya.
After all, we've played our part.
I'm sick fed up listening to detractors in the West berating our leaders for supplying arms to these brutal regimes in the first place.
As voters in our great democratic system, are we not responsible for charging them with that very task?
We are all guilty by proxy.
Then again, maybe it's because it is Easter that I suggest that the blood on our hands is now relevant to believers and non-believers alike.
But, among other countries, I suggest we spare a thought for the ensuing humanitarian crisis in Libya.
After all, we've played our part.
I'm sick fed up listening to detractors in the West berating our leaders for supplying arms to these brutal regimes in the first place.
As voters in our great democratic system, are we not responsible for charging them with that very task?
We are all guilty by proxy.
Then again, maybe it's because it is Easter that I suggest that the blood on our hands is now relevant to believers and non-believers alike.
The story of the Songs of the Thrush and the Blackbird
It was the day before Easter and five in the morning when I rose from the dead.
An unearthly hour to get up, I admit, but there is nothing that sharpens my senses quite like an early morning walk.
And so, before I had second thoughts, my training shoes were on and I was on my way.
I can't imagine what Easter must be like in the Southern Hemisphere. Spring seems such a natural time for a celebration of hope.
The sights, sounds and scents of an early morning more than make up for my loss of sleep.
Yet none compares to the beauty of the songs of the thrush and the blackbird.
The song thrush perches atop the highest point, breast proudly preened, singing its little heart out. And a beautiful song it is too.
The blackbird, just as mellifluous, is more normally found a few feet below the tip of a tree.
In life, don't make the mistake of believing that those who like to be seen as well as heard are necessarily the most gifted.
You might be a blackbird and worth listening to every bit as much.
An unearthly hour to get up, I admit, but there is nothing that sharpens my senses quite like an early morning walk.
And so, before I had second thoughts, my training shoes were on and I was on my way.
I can't imagine what Easter must be like in the Southern Hemisphere. Spring seems such a natural time for a celebration of hope.
The sights, sounds and scents of an early morning more than make up for my loss of sleep.
Yet none compares to the beauty of the songs of the thrush and the blackbird.
The song thrush perches atop the highest point, breast proudly preened, singing its little heart out. And a beautiful song it is too.
The blackbird, just as mellifluous, is more normally found a few feet below the tip of a tree.
In life, don't make the mistake of believing that those who like to be seen as well as heard are necessarily the most gifted.
You might be a blackbird and worth listening to every bit as much.
Friday, 22 April 2011
All promises are the same when they are broken
They say that there are two subjects to avoid if you want to avoid falling out with friends.
Religion and politics.
Both play a huge part in my life.
And while I like to think that religion also plays a huge part in the way that I lead my life, I hate to think, whether I like it or not, that so does politics.
So for the purpose of this blog, I'd like to put my religion to one side except for the following analogy.
Not long after Easter Sunday, we will all have a cross to bear at the ballot box.
Do you listen to politicians? Do you listen to your conscience? Or do you listen to me?
I've lost count of the number of times I've voted and pinned my hopes on politicians when it might have been better to pin a tail on a donkey. I've even sold my soul to the Devil on the promise of a better life. Oops! There's my religion sneaking back in.
But remember this, whenever a politician promises you the earth, you can be sure of one thing. You're future has already been soiled.
Religion and politics.
Both play a huge part in my life.
And while I like to think that religion also plays a huge part in the way that I lead my life, I hate to think, whether I like it or not, that so does politics.
So for the purpose of this blog, I'd like to put my religion to one side except for the following analogy.
Not long after Easter Sunday, we will all have a cross to bear at the ballot box.
Do you listen to politicians? Do you listen to your conscience? Or do you listen to me?
I've lost count of the number of times I've voted and pinned my hopes on politicians when it might have been better to pin a tail on a donkey. I've even sold my soul to the Devil on the promise of a better life. Oops! There's my religion sneaking back in.
But remember this, whenever a politician promises you the earth, you can be sure of one thing. You're future has already been soiled.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
It's not news. The Sun has been bugging us for years.
The moment a hand of cruelty is lifted against a poor defenceless creature, animal activists everywhere appear from nowhere.
And a good thing too.
As the so-called superior race, we ought to know better.
So I ask you, where are all the dissenting voices when a camera is stuck on the back of a penguin as is the case in a recent study?
There can scarcely be a more clear-cut case of invasion of privacy.
The reason I bring it to your attention is to draw an analogy between this heinous practice and the phone hacking scandal that continues to bedevil The Sun.
Surely such precedents leave an open door for Rupert Murdoch’s defence team?
After all, the courts are there to deal with miscreants who offend against either man or beast.
How would Lord Prescott feel, for example, if we were to strap a camera to his carcase rather than merely tapping his phone line?
Let's not even dwell on what that would throw up.
And why is it okay to poke a camera lens into a bird’s nest to see how many eggs it has laid and yet refrain from probing inside Peter Stringfellow’s love nest to see precisely what he’s laid?
There has to be consistency.
If not, before you know it, we’ll be peeping at Toms, eavesdropping bats and bugging bugs.
And a good thing too.
As the so-called superior race, we ought to know better.
So I ask you, where are all the dissenting voices when a camera is stuck on the back of a penguin as is the case in a recent study?
There can scarcely be a more clear-cut case of invasion of privacy.
The reason I bring it to your attention is to draw an analogy between this heinous practice and the phone hacking scandal that continues to bedevil The Sun.
Surely such precedents leave an open door for Rupert Murdoch’s defence team?
After all, the courts are there to deal with miscreants who offend against either man or beast.
How would Lord Prescott feel, for example, if we were to strap a camera to his carcase rather than merely tapping his phone line?
Let's not even dwell on what that would throw up.
And why is it okay to poke a camera lens into a bird’s nest to see how many eggs it has laid and yet refrain from probing inside Peter Stringfellow’s love nest to see precisely what he’s laid?
There has to be consistency.
If not, before you know it, we’ll be peeping at Toms, eavesdropping bats and bugging bugs.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
The Daddy of all SI Units
The International System of Units, more commonly abbreviated to SI, is devised around seven base units.
But none is more base than the newly introduced eighth.
Self-Interest (SI).
Unlike other SI units which have the convenience of the number ten, this one has the inconvenience of being linked to politicians.
The inconvenience is theirs.
As the world’s most widely used system of measurement, it recognises the fact that, whether from the Outer Hebrides or Outer Mongolia, all politicians are slimeballs.
Ask your local MP what his SI value is.
If yours is lower, you're a banker.
And for once, that is not rhyming slang.
But none is more base than the newly introduced eighth.
Self-Interest (SI).
Unlike other SI units which have the convenience of the number ten, this one has the inconvenience of being linked to politicians.
The inconvenience is theirs.
As the world’s most widely used system of measurement, it recognises the fact that, whether from the Outer Hebrides or Outer Mongolia, all politicians are slimeballs.
Ask your local MP what his SI value is.
If yours is lower, you're a banker.
And for once, that is not rhyming slang.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
President Trump to save the Newspaper Industry
The headlines are already out there. Donald Trump has designs on the White House.
At this stage, like me, you might be tempted to ask "why doesn't he just buy the whole bloody lot?" Then I remembered that's how every President gets in, so it's back to a level playing field.
Or is it?
Name another candidate.
You can't!
Donald Trump is not only a man of the media, he is media-savvy.
He stands head and shoulders above all others. (He doesn't really, but his hair gets him there.) For a man who made billions from iconic buildings such as Trump Towers where the storeys reach to the sky, it seems somewhat fitting that Donald sticks with his two-storey hairdo.
The problem for Donald, however, is that the hairdo doesn't always stick with him.
But despair not.
From such adversity, great leaders are forged.
Would Napoleon have been the same with the use of both eyes?
Or would Admiral Nelson have regarded two arms as a handicap?
How would Hitler have juggled with two balls?
With two storeys, President Trump might not be in control of his hairline, but he certainly makes a good headline.
Look out Gaddafi. You're about to be trumped by two-storey Donald.
At this stage, like me, you might be tempted to ask "why doesn't he just buy the whole bloody lot?" Then I remembered that's how every President gets in, so it's back to a level playing field.
Or is it?
Name another candidate.
You can't!
Donald Trump is not only a man of the media, he is media-savvy.
He stands head and shoulders above all others. (He doesn't really, but his hair gets him there.) For a man who made billions from iconic buildings such as Trump Towers where the storeys reach to the sky, it seems somewhat fitting that Donald sticks with his two-storey hairdo.
The problem for Donald, however, is that the hairdo doesn't always stick with him.
But despair not.
From such adversity, great leaders are forged.
Would Napoleon have been the same with the use of both eyes?
Or would Admiral Nelson have regarded two arms as a handicap?
How would Hitler have juggled with two balls?
With two storeys, President Trump might not be in control of his hairline, but he certainly makes a good headline.
Look out Gaddafi. You're about to be trumped by two-storey Donald.
Monday, 18 April 2011
All in the best possible taste
Today’s Daily Mail has a story to die for about the latest innovation from America.
It’s a drive-thru mortuary.
You know it makes sense.
The Robert L. Adams Mortuary in California is offering the opportunity to have your dead relative exhibited in an open casket behind a drive-thru window display.
That way, you can pay your last respects without having to pay for parking.
And maybe the idea is not as bizarre as you may think. After all, every time you go to a drive-thru McDonald's, there's very little on display other than dead meat.
At the mortuary, however, there are no French fries and maybe that’s not a bad thing either. Do you really want to hear the Grim Reaper telling you that “You’ve had your chips”?
But I’ve an idea that I think goes one better.
Motorised coffins.
At a difficult time when you might prefer to stay at home, your dead relative can be placed in a glass-sided, motorised coffin. With modern technology cloned from cruise missiles and sat navs, the coffin can then be set off on a tour of family and friends.
Details of its journey can be sent out in advance so that those wishing to say goodbye don’t even need to leave the comfort of their own living room.
And there’s more.
Mortuaries can be smaller as, at any one time, half the corpses could be touring the country.
Car journeys to the mortuary will be reduced, thus helping to save the planet.
Traffic congestion will be eased - as well as the attendant risk of death on the roads. Ironically, by putting death on the road!
And any corpses that are starting to smell will surely benefit from being out in the open air.
Finally, if a coffin is involved in a smash, for at least for one party, there will be no risk of death or injury.
Trial runs are scheduled to begin soon.
So if you see one passing through your neighbourhood, doff your cap, be grateful that it's not you and let RIP with those immortal words:
"It's not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin they carry you off in."
It’s a drive-thru mortuary.
You know it makes sense.
The Robert L. Adams Mortuary in California is offering the opportunity to have your dead relative exhibited in an open casket behind a drive-thru window display.
That way, you can pay your last respects without having to pay for parking.
And maybe the idea is not as bizarre as you may think. After all, every time you go to a drive-thru McDonald's, there's very little on display other than dead meat.
At the mortuary, however, there are no French fries and maybe that’s not a bad thing either. Do you really want to hear the Grim Reaper telling you that “You’ve had your chips”?
But I’ve an idea that I think goes one better.
Motorised coffins.
At a difficult time when you might prefer to stay at home, your dead relative can be placed in a glass-sided, motorised coffin. With modern technology cloned from cruise missiles and sat navs, the coffin can then be set off on a tour of family and friends.
Details of its journey can be sent out in advance so that those wishing to say goodbye don’t even need to leave the comfort of their own living room.
And there’s more.
Mortuaries can be smaller as, at any one time, half the corpses could be touring the country.
Car journeys to the mortuary will be reduced, thus helping to save the planet.
Traffic congestion will be eased - as well as the attendant risk of death on the roads. Ironically, by putting death on the road!
And any corpses that are starting to smell will surely benefit from being out in the open air.
Finally, if a coffin is involved in a smash, for at least for one party, there will be no risk of death or injury.
Trial runs are scheduled to begin soon.
So if you see one passing through your neighbourhood, doff your cap, be grateful that it's not you and let RIP with those immortal words:
"It's not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin they carry you off in."
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Defecate no more. It's time to defect.
I ask you.
What kind of crazy world are we living in?
On the one hand, we hound Julian Assange, the founder of Wikileaks, like the mad dog that he is.
On the other hand, we let Moussa Koussa slip in and out of Britain in the most slimy manner possible.
For years, Moussa Koussa was a cohort of that original Mad Dog, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi.
He was part of the regime that sat (I've left the 'h' out deliberately) on its poor subjugated people.
It is the same regime that is implicated in the cold-blooded murder of WPc Yvonne Fletcher outside the Libyan embassy in London.
Again, it's the regime that is fingered as being behind the blowing up of Pan Am 103 over Lockerbie and the murder of another 270 innocent people.
You get the picture.
Libya was getting a bit too hot for Moussa Koussa.
So he fled to Britain.
So why did we let him go?
Well, he had 'secret knowledge'.
Is that not what Julian Assange had?
What kind of crazy world are we living in?
On the one hand, we hound Julian Assange, the founder of Wikileaks, like the mad dog that he is.
On the other hand, we let Moussa Koussa slip in and out of Britain in the most slimy manner possible.
For years, Moussa Koussa was a cohort of that original Mad Dog, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi.
He was part of the regime that sat (I've left the 'h' out deliberately) on its poor subjugated people.
It is the same regime that is implicated in the cold-blooded murder of WPc Yvonne Fletcher outside the Libyan embassy in London.
Again, it's the regime that is fingered as being behind the blowing up of Pan Am 103 over Lockerbie and the murder of another 270 innocent people.
You get the picture.
Libya was getting a bit too hot for Moussa Koussa.
So he fled to Britain.
So why did we let him go?
Well, he had 'secret knowledge'.
Is that not what Julian Assange had?
Yes.
And the moral of my story?
Knowledge alone is not power. It's how you use it.
Knowledge alone is not power. It's how you use it.
Friday, 15 April 2011
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
If you don't want to know the score, look away now
Not you Gomes, you bloody oaf!
(Goalkeeper pays price for not paying attention.)
(Goalkeeper pays price for not paying attention.)
A short sharp sentence. Or two.
You do four years at Uni, study hard and make new friends.
You graduate, come out in debt but can't find a job.
You grow bitter.
You do four years inside, learn a thing or or two and meet a few interesting characters.
You get parole, come out debt-free then do a few 'jobs'.
You grow rich.
I rest my case.
Dammit! Has anyone seen my case?
You graduate, come out in debt but can't find a job.
You grow bitter.
You do four years inside, learn a thing or or two and meet a few interesting characters.
You get parole, come out debt-free then do a few 'jobs'.
You grow rich.
I rest my case.
Dammit! Has anyone seen my case?
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
I am an ex-voter. Not an 'x' voter.
It is well-nigh possible to open a newspaper these days without reading one headline or another about AV - the alternative vote.
As readers of my blogs are doubtless aware, when it comes to matters of great import, no-one has their finger on the pulse quite as firmly as I do. So it may surprise you to learn that, for me, this particular pulse has gone dead.
In fact, I wonder if it has ever been alive.
I have always maintained that my right NOT to vote is a vote in itself.
This may not enlighten the psephologists as to which candidate I would back, but it is my contention that voting doesn't necessarily convey that either. Were I to exercise my vote, it might just as easily be interpreted to mean that I decided my chosen candidate was only marginally less of a tosspot than the next one.
After all, let's suppose your ballot paper gave you the choice between Hitler, Hussein and Blair.
Who would you vote for?
What has eventually pushed me over the edge with regard to AV is the plethora of celebrity endorsements from nonentities like Peter Stringfellow and Tony Hadley.
Do I really want to know what they think when I can listen to the eloquent and cogent arguments put forward by Lord Prescott, for example?
Okay Jordan. Tell me what you think.
I'm ready to listen as well as look.
As readers of my blogs are doubtless aware, when it comes to matters of great import, no-one has their finger on the pulse quite as firmly as I do. So it may surprise you to learn that, for me, this particular pulse has gone dead.
In fact, I wonder if it has ever been alive.
I have always maintained that my right NOT to vote is a vote in itself.
This may not enlighten the psephologists as to which candidate I would back, but it is my contention that voting doesn't necessarily convey that either. Were I to exercise my vote, it might just as easily be interpreted to mean that I decided my chosen candidate was only marginally less of a tosspot than the next one.
After all, let's suppose your ballot paper gave you the choice between Hitler, Hussein and Blair.
Who would you vote for?
What has eventually pushed me over the edge with regard to AV is the plethora of celebrity endorsements from nonentities like Peter Stringfellow and Tony Hadley.
Do I really want to know what they think when I can listen to the eloquent and cogent arguments put forward by Lord Prescott, for example?
Okay Jordan. Tell me what you think.
I'm ready to listen as well as look.
Monday, 11 April 2011
The difference between Heaven and Hell
You are 21 or 22 years old, give or take a little fluff on your chin.
You wake up in Paradise, also known as Augusta, Georgia.
You pinch yourself.
Yes, you really are there.
Well almost.
Today you are going to take a 4-stroke lead into the final round of The US Masters.
Before you begin, you indulge yourself for breakfast with an exceedingly good cake from that chap who wrote exceedingly good poetry and you remember his percipient words:
"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs."
Rory McIlroy was that young boy. Today he wakes up a man.
Having so miserably lost the Championship, he never once lost his head.
The interview that he gave in the immediate aftermath of his defeat should reassure everyone that he is well enough placed to cope with such adversity.
Then I cast my mind to the hellish conditions his contemporaries experience in places like Afghanistan where losing limbs is more likely to impact on their lives than losing a golf competition.
Yes, I take my hat off to Rory McIlroy. But I take my freedom from the selfless acts of our real heroes in the less attractive parts of the world.
You wake up in Paradise, also known as Augusta, Georgia.
You pinch yourself.
Yes, you really are there.
Well almost.
Today you are going to take a 4-stroke lead into the final round of The US Masters.
Before you begin, you indulge yourself for breakfast with an exceedingly good cake from that chap who wrote exceedingly good poetry and you remember his percipient words:
"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs."
Rory McIlroy was that young boy. Today he wakes up a man.
Having so miserably lost the Championship, he never once lost his head.
The interview that he gave in the immediate aftermath of his defeat should reassure everyone that he is well enough placed to cope with such adversity.
Then I cast my mind to the hellish conditions his contemporaries experience in places like Afghanistan where losing limbs is more likely to impact on their lives than losing a golf competition.
Yes, I take my hat off to Rory McIlroy. But I take my freedom from the selfless acts of our real heroes in the less attractive parts of the world.
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