The world is watching and we are behind you

American president Barack Obama has made a moving and motivated speech to the house of Congress - a "battle cry" as the BBC news service described it - pushing ahead with health care reforms.

It was the Michael Moore film Sicko which first brought home to me the shocking truth that one of the most powerful and influential nations on the planet is still in the dark ages when it comes to health care.

It is one of only a handful of developed democracies that doesn't have free health care. It seems an insane idea, that America, the land of the free, the home of Bart Simpson, the country that asks not what can be done for them, is still in a situation where around 70 million people do not have heath insurance. People who, to quote the president "live every day just one accident or illness away from bankruptcy".

The speech is great, and I've put a link at the bottom to the full transcript on the BBC website. But the problem is not common sense, or common decency, the problem - as always - is money.
The insurance companies make too much money (and fund too many political parties and individuals) to ever let America create a National Health Service.

Over the years numerous presidents and politicians (and even a first lady) have tried to champion reforms to America's health care, and each time the money men have - to put it very simply - threatened to take away the slush funds and everything has quietened down.

I hope - and if I was religious I would pray - that Obama can wade through this stand off. The American people want it, the world wants it.

If he pulls this off he will change the history of the developed world, he will improve the lives of millions of people and he will be remembered forever.

And, Mr Obama, you can't put a price on that.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/8247661.stm

OAP ASBOs

I took a train on Saturday out to England to visit a friend. Being the Bank Holiday weekend the train was naturally very full.

At Bristol we were besieged by a large group of pensioners, filling the train to bursting. From snatches of conversation I later found out they were on a trip to see the Tattoo in Edinburgh.

Sat in front of me was a young mother (about 25 years old) with a tiny toddler/baby. She was crammed into two seats with a pushchair, a small suitcase and a bag of bits for the baby.

An older couple got on the train, they were obviously part of the Tattoo gang, but can't have been more than in their late 50s, and looked very fit and healthy. They proceeded to inform the mother that the seats she was occupying were reserved for them as part of their booking. The couple kicked this young mum and baby off her seat, forcing her to stand at the back of the carriage with baby, pram, bags and all.

I was furious! I immediately got up to offer the woman my seat. She declined, thanking me for my offer but saying she only had ten minutes to go to her destination.

I sat back down and noticed that while there were several young people - and even two young men you might describe as 'hoody yobs' to look at - dotted about the carriage, they were all sitting quietly, reading books or newspapers, or listening to music (but quietly enough so that you couldn't hear the tinny noise from the headphones).

The pensioners on the other hand, were talking loudly across the carriage at one another, getting up and down constantly to access their luggage or go to the toilet. They were talking on mobile phones which rang incessantly. They stuffed their faces with food and drink, and I even saw one old lady throwing a wrapper on the floor. They stuck their legs and bags out in the aisle and generally made as much noise and disturbance as they could.

Not that I don't have respect for the elderly, but if they had been a group of young people the attitude towards their 'anti-social behaviour' would have been very different.

Disgusting.

Is it just me.....

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/8223528.stm

Or is anyone else thinking...PLANT MORE TREES!

New things I have done this week:

Visited the city of Edinburgh (I have been to the airport three times in my life, but never visited the city until this week)

Watched a comedy show at the Fringe Festival (several actually)

Been chatted up by a hippy

Performed at the Fringe

Had Nepalese food (yum yum)

Had a Subway sandwich (yuk yuk!)

Received a good reaction from my performance at the Fringe

Drank shots in a heavy-metal bar until 4.30am

Been offered more gigs at the Fringe by the guy who runs the Free Fringe!!!!

Been chatted up by a 12-year-old

Edinburgh or bust

I am taking my comic ramblings to the Fringe Festival next week. I have six half-hour performances scheduled over four days, and also a couple of possible impromptu readings at a restaurant as part of some mates' gigs, and then any other open mic or poetry nights where I can blag, barge and knuckle-dust my way onto the stage.

Although, I'm not sure about the last bit (not the blagging, barging and kuckle-dusting - I am a journalist after all) but about there being open mic somethings, or other random opportunities. You see, I am, as you might say, a virgin.

This is my first Fringe and I'm not too sure what to expect.

I have wanted for years to go, to wander the streets smoking French cigarettes in the sunshine, swigging on my bottle of warm evian and taking in the sights, sounds and smells of people from all over Europe and the world 'being creative'. (Which is usually the smell of sweat, fear, beer and broken dreams.)

I can't quite believe I'm going to be performing though. I feel like a fraud, like I've managed to slip under the radar. I'll turn up at the Fringe office on the first day to pick up my performance pass and they'll go "Oh yes, EW. We've been waiting for you. We're sorry but there has been a mistake, this is the Fringe, and it's for proper artistic people and skilled, entertaining performers. Never mind, we do hope you haven't travelled far."

And I'll be standing there in my costume (yes, I have a costume) with my evian going cold in my bag and my French cigarettes will tumble slowly to the ground, one by one, turning over in the air before scattering their filthy tobacco on the cracked floor of my dreams.

Put right off my, ahem, coffee.

I hate to be a wimp, but; eeeeewwwwww.

Someone in the Guardian newsroom obviously had a little too much time on their hands today when coming up with this gem of a feature:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/aug/06/peeing-in-shower-rules

A whole page (accessible via a picture and link from the website's FRONT PAGE for goodness sake!) about urinating in the shower; the do's and don'ts.

I don't want to read that when I'm tucking into my morning mocha. Quite frankly, I don't want to read that ever.

I don't give a s**t (no pun intended) what some twit at the Guardian thinks is good shower etiquette, I don't care what anyone thinks is good shower etiquette. I don't want to think about people urinating in their showers ever, and it certainly shouldn't be given such prominence on a well-respected news website.

And to think there are eager young trainee journalists out there hungry for a chance to prove themselves and get a coveted byline while the lazy old hacks churn out this sort of twaddle.

Piss off!

The BIG question....

Answer:

No, you don't have swine flu.

Tax dodgers

A quick scroll back through some previous posts during my morning coffee break* revealed some particularly negative posts about the recession. (Sorry to be so boring, but this is supposed to be a sort of news-analysis type of blog. EW looks round as several lurkers fall off their chair in surprise.)

So why not something positive for once?

At least this year's batch of students all have a genuine excuse for not getting a job during the summer holidays. Well done to the dirty, tax-dodging lot of you!


* Well, I lie. It was last night during my evening glass of wine - as far too many of my post ideas have been lately. Maybe I should change the name of my blog. The glass of wine? Lady in red (wine). (Hmmmm.) Back on the coffee tomorrow I promise

What a difference a recession makes

So holiday season is upon us (well not me, but the credit crunch impervious middle classes) and parents are desperately scrabbling for countries with good exchange rates to drag the kids to for their summer holidays.

(I'm not a parent, but I remember being as happy as a pig in s**t as a kid down some rain-swept Welsh beach with a broken bucket and spade - what European art gallery? The Mona what? Can we go back to the beach now?)

Gone are the days where luxury and opulence were the topic of conversation at the PTA meeting come September. "Bradley and I thought that extra £200 per person was so worth it for the cruise rooms with the balcony." Not any more.

Now it's become chic to go cheap. Budget is the new black and caravans and campsites up and down the UK are full of well-spoken mothers tottering to the campsite shop to ask the "Garson" behind the counter: "And whom do we talk to to get this awful weather changed?"

Cardiff Cow Tipping

A group of young teenage boys go into a Greggs pastry shop in a Cardiff suburb.

They emerge some moments later and proceed to eat their hot baked treats while dropping and throwing crumbs on to the pavement.

Before long a group of six or seven seagulls has landed on the pavement of the busy street to eat the offerings, while several more circle overhead.

The noise reaches a crescendo some 30 seconds later, as the skull-cracking shrill of the gulls competes with the sound of traffic and pedestrians and the general bustle of city life.

"Watch this," says one of the boys to his mates. Whereby he rips off a sizable lump of pastry from his pasty and throws it - underarm - deliberately into the path of a passing Cardiff City bus.

There is an almighty bang (well, louder than you'd expect from two birds being slammed into by a ten-ton bus doing at least 25mph).

There was a lot of feathers. And a bit of blood. I laughed.

With cheese on

Invisible custard dragons have grabbed my umbrella, and now it is raining purple poo and it's getting all in my hair!

This distresses me, not because it is poo, but because it is purple and I don't like purple. And because it's making my hair messy. And because my comb has turned into a brick.

Not like an artistic, dry-stone something type of brick. But a dusty, concrete-crusted house brick. How boring I think, as I take it out of my pocket and turn it over in my hands. Why would I dream about something as boring as a house brick?

But there's no time to finish that thought though, because just then the green flags of time start blowing upwards and the sky leaves to chase the sun who is getting drunk at the bar on the corner because they have a good offer on cider.

Then I wake up, in a hot sweat, and think maybe the cheese before bed was a bad idea.

Time travel on my expenses

If I have worked the science bit of this blonk thing properly you should be reading this on Saturday. Although I wrote it yesterday; that is today. But you are reading it tomorrow. Which is now today. Hmm. Whenever it was, I had one of those rare double-post-idea days.

If I was a good blogger then I'd just put two posts on my blog in one day and continue as normal. But because I am a half-arsed, too-busy-to-be-imaginative, can't-actually-write-for-toffee, type of blogger, I can't go wasting posts like they were froth on my Saturday morning latte.

So I am hoping some computer jiggery will put this up on Saturday, so good morning to all you lurkers out there. Hope you are having a nice start to your weekend.

The reason for my post today (yesterday, whenever) is that I have been thinking about all this swine flu hullabaloo in the news. In the UK so far, 27 people have died of the virus, which is truly awful, one death, for anything is horrible, and my blonky thoughts go out to their families. But can we have a little perspective please!

12,000 people die a year in the UK of normal flu. 12,000 a year. Every year. Year in, year out.

While we must continue to wash our hands, and all that, against the spread of swine flu, can we please all just calm down a bit.

Have we forgotten about the heinous MP's expenses scandal? Funny how that has been lost on the breeze like an un-tissued sneeze.

Forget tamiflu, we need a good old dose of common sense.

Compare the jealous celebrities dot com

All hail common sense.

As I grabbed a take-away morning coffee on my way into work today a chirpy young chappy (or it could have been a girl, it's hard to tell Emos apart these days, especially when they're in blue bomber jackets and matching baseball caps) thrust a crisp Metro* into my free hand.

So I stumbled toward work jugging my coffee, bag and metro with my umbrella and jacket - it's British summertime now, which means my half hour walk into work involved three removals and re-wearings of my jacket, getting my sunglasses out twice and opening my umbrella, as the weather changed on a merry-go-round of whim and fancy.

Getting into work and sitting back with my coffee I read with delight that a stuffed animal from a TV advert campaign for car insurance is more popular than a host of top celebrities. The animatronic meerkat with a Russian accent, from the adverts for website compare the market, has a huge online following, including half a million fans on facebook and 200,000 followers on Twitter.

Normally I hate celebrity trash stories, but I LOVE this one.

To think that talented (and yes, I use the word very loosely) celebrities who have worked so hard shagging producers and directors, thrusting themselves (often half-dressed) into our faces with such aplomb for the coverted celebrity prize of being this week's glossy spread in a weekly magazine... have been gazumped by a stuffed rodent in a dressing gown.

Ha ha ha ha. The fickle world of the fake celebrity. Maybe he'll appear in Celebrity Big Brother this year?

*For anyone outside the UK, the Metro is a free newspaper distributed in the centre of large cities, and throughout the London underground network. Aimed at working young professionals it's remit is to be a "15 minute digest of the day's news".

Fighting talk - another week of shame

Two figures from opposite sides of the celebrity sphere are in court in England this week, both facing allegations of violence.

England and Liverpool captain Steven Gerrard has admitted hitting a reveller in a nightclub in Liverpool after a row over music - although the star footballer is insisting the act was self-defence. While across the country in London, Back to Black singer Amy Winehouse has appeared in court to face charges of hitting a woman who had asked her for a photograph.

Now celebrities in court is nothing new, but while we are used to the usual forays into drug use, drink driving and the like, acts of violence are not so common.

There are so many examples of famous celebrity brawls that I can't list them all here. The first two that spring to mind are Liam Gallagher and Jamiroquai's hat-wearing JK lashing out at photographers in the 90s. But it's usually a day's worth of blurred and bloodied photographs in the tabloids and doesn't end up in court.

Drugs and wild nights flashing your boobs are one thing. But it is a sad state of affairs to see two young (29 and 25) role models in court for punching and hitting members of the public.

Maybe they need a dose of their own medicine and someone could knock some sense into them both?

Moon landing hoax - shame on you!

It is the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing this week.

Newspapers and news programmes in the UK (and I assume throughout the world) have been full of pictures, interviews and features of the historic landing.

A quick search on the internet will come up with millions (maybe billions?) of sites, articles and videos exploring the event.

However, by now, the "One small step for man" speech is as synonymous with the great feet of human and technological endurance as it is with the 'Moon Landing Hoax'.

Did man really walk on the moon in 1969? Was the technology there? Why are the shadows wrong on the pictures?

While this is not a post to attempt to come to a conclusion on this debate, or explore my own thoughts on the matter, I would like to just say one thing. Will these documentary makers please leave the poor astronauts alone!!

I googled 'did we really land on the moon' this morning while I was having my coffee and found a video of this fat American chasing poor old (and they are all old now) astronauts to get them to swear on the bible that they went to the moon/walked on the moon/walked in space/whatever.
These poor guys, who had no doubt been fantastic pilots and scientists before joining Nasa went on to risk life and limb to further mankind's exploration of space.

Whatever your beliefs on the moon hoax row, the astronauts are not to blame. Why aren't these guys chasing down Nasa, or the government? It was really sad to see film crews chasing these poor, bewildered old men. Shame on you!

If you are reading this please help!

I have swine flu. I'm sure of it.

I can't go out in case I infect a pregnant woman who will not be able to visit crowded public places, and I can't live with that on my conscience.

So I am locked up in my flat, washing my hands repeatedly between key strokes. They are starting to get raw and rashed (my hands that is, not my keyboard) and this post is taking a very long time to type as my bathroom is down the hall.

I have a pair of knickers wrapped around my head like a face mask. Don't worry, they are clean.

I rang the NHS helpline but they said I was not to come to the doctors or go to the pharmacy for my tamiflu tablets. Instead I was to ask an uninfected, healthy friend to go and pick them up for me.

But I have no friends. Or a letter box, so even if I did have a friend I would risk infecting them too, jeopardising our relationship and ending my one and only contact with society in my otherwise sad and insular life.

The food is starting to run out and soon I will be reduced to opening the tin of pilchards in tomato sauce I won in a summer fete tombola last year. What else goes with Bovril?

If you are reading this please help!

Like buses.. and all that (always make sure you have clean nickers on in case you get run over by one)

I've been very busy this week with two comedy performances in the space of three days.

I have know about both gigs for more than a month, so in typical 'me' style, was up into the wee hours the night before the first one panicking over what material to do. I eventually staggered to bed completely exhausted - still no closer to sorting out my set - and spent the entire day leading up to the gig stressing about what to do.

Tonight (being the night before the next gig) is set to be the same.

What puzzles me is that I am usually a very organised and prepared person. As a journalist you have to be organised to work towards deadlines. If anything, I am usually accused of over-organising things; nights out, which pubs we meet in, where we go next etc. etc. I am constantly reminding myself to relax and 'go with the flow'.

But when it comes to this comedy stuff, I seem to put it off until the last possible moment. I think, it maybe has something to do with the fact that I am absolutely petrified of getting on stage.

It's like a mental block when it comes to being on stage in front of people. I put the 'normal, sensible, organised me' in a little box and pack it away in the corner of my brain and this sweaty, panicky, disorganised, mess of a person takes over.

Oh, I've just read that last bit back. Isn't that schizophrenia? Yes EW, yes it is. So is answering your own questions on your blog.

And the day started so well..... can I get off now please driver? This is my stop.

Looking after the pennies

As I was sipping my cold morning coffee this afternoon there was a programme on BBC Radio 4 about the battle of the discount stores.

Pound shops, we were dully informed to the background noise of (I assume) goods being packed in plastic bags and other assorted 'general shop noises', are popping up everywhere on our high streets.

The bastard love child of a broken economy and an indebted population, they are about the only retail outlets that seem to be 'bucking the trend' of declining consumers amid the recession, by selling bags of jelly tots and packs of dishcloths at incredibly low prices.

But even among the lowest of the low (ok, so the nice lady presenter might have said cheapest of the cheap, but she said it in such a way that it sounded like lowest of the low) there is a retail war going on, as pound shops are undercut by 99p stores.

And now, the new kid on the cheap block is the 89p store.

The lady presenter interviewed the owner/manager of a pound store on a high street where one of these 89p stores had opened up the road. The pound store had seen a decided downturn in trade since the 89p joint opened. This confused the well-spoken Radio 4 woman, who seemed flabbergasted (in her Queen's English) that consumers really would turn their backs on a store "for the sake of a few pence".

And herein, finally, lies my point. "For the sake of a few pence" spat the well-spoken, middle England, daddy's little girl presenter. What, to a woman who's father owns Rolls Royce, or Dunlop, or the local country club, or whatever, is 11 miserly pence?

Why, she probably doesn't even save her coppers anymore, she's the sort of person who can count pound coins as loose change and simply discards the coppers and silvers right there on the street like a cigarette butt or a finished chewing gum.

While most of us are lucky to have survived this recession relatively unscathed (most of us still have jobs, a roof over our heads and can afford to feed ourselves, even if it is the cheaper stores-own brands these days) to a lot of people - are you listening Radio 4 - 11 pence is still 11 pence. Of course you're going to take a few extra steps down the high street if you can get your set of 20 disposable lighters and broken biscuits pack cheaper.

It smacks of "let them eat cake" syndrome, and until it can be beat out of the middle and upper class mentality (preferably with a big, hard stick) then we are never going to get over this recession.

Match point

Like the heartbroken victim of a cheap kiss-and-tell tabloid romp, I have been keeping a dignified silence of late, content to lurk with intent on an array of familiar blogs - and take the time to venture tentatively into some hitherto uncharted territory.

Many events have been reported on in the public arena since my last post, but I am looking to the future now, so for anyone expecting a "here's what's happened so far since the three minute advert break for all of you who are too stupid to remember what the show you have been watching for the last hour is about" you can switch over now.

Green lawns and red strawberries have been the order of the day this week, as the crinkle-free white-clad athletes of the tennis world grunt it out for the Wimbledon crown.

In the UK, our great hope, Andy Murray, takes to the courts tomorrow (Friday) and by the time you read this may have already won or lost his game, set and match, dashing a nation's hopes against the white-topped net of despair.

But I'm sure life, like this blog, will go on.

Once again I seem to be failing

For anyone who cares, this is the second time I have started a blog and failed to keep up with it.

Both attempts were for fun, an excuse to write and to be published - of sorts. But I just don't know how regular bloggers find the time to keep up with it. There just aren't enough hours in my day!

Plus, I don't think you can become a blogger if you read other people's blogs first (I think it works the other way around though).

I got into blogging because I read a few blogs regularly and decided to give it a go, the problem is, the blogs I read are so fantastic (eg Annie Rhiannon, Sarah Gostrangely - links below) that I just feel like a silly child following their big brother or sister round. Tolerated because it's (blogging) family, but not really wanted and certainly not cool enough to hang out with the big kids.

So I raise my coffee cup to all you amazing bloggers out there, it truly is an art to come up with witty writings on enough of a regular basis to keep people interested.

http://annierhiannon.blogspot.com/

http://sarahgostrangely.blogspot.com/

King Arthur lives!

A story on the BBC website today reports that a Pagan campaigner protesting for better access to Stonehenge is being evicted from the site. (see link below)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/wiltshire/8022291.stm

King Arthur Pendragon (the guy actually changed his name to this in 1976 by deed pole) has been staying in a caravan near the site since last summer in order to maintain his protest.

You have to check out the story, if only to see a picture of the protester (real name John) who looks like he's just walked off the pages of Beowulf, complete with grey beard and ceremonial robes.

While public access to historic sites is a very serious debate, I couldn't help but smile as I sipped my morning coffee and read about poor John, ummm, I mean King's plight.

Not only do I love the exentricity of it all, but the very idea that if the man who spawned the King Arthur legend were to return incarnate I'd like to think he would be fighting for justice, peace and the rights of the common man, not living like a hobo in a caravan outside some old ruins in the English countryside.

Good on you though King!

When Annie came to visit

Little Pinch spent the night in the big city last night, in my spare room to be exact.

It was lovely to see her and nice to think we could help out on her long trip across the country and over to Ireland by providing a warm bed and a hot shower.

I don't think she'll mind if I say she was tired. I was tired having not finished work till 9pm that evening.

I wanted to make it a big, special night in our nation's capital. I should have taken her to the Millennium Stadium or for a walk around the flood-lit castle walls. We should have stood, shoulder to shoulder, at the water's edge down The Bay looking out across the inky black sea of possibilities a capital city has to offer.

Instead we fed her cheese and bacon sandwiches and Easter egg, sat on the sofa and chatted as she learnt to play Green Green Grass of Home on her guitar. But, maybe, that is the real spirit of Cardiff.

We'll do the castle and all that tourist crap next time Annie, I promise.

Doesn't anyone have a fresh idea?

While waiting for my morning coffee to cool I read today that plans are afoot for an operatic version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

It's going to be called The Golden Ticket, and is due to premiere in St Louis, USA, in June 2010 (Video on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh7GvGoiTtY).

Now Roald Darl was my childhood hero. I grew up listening to and reading the adventures of Danny the Champion of the World, George and his marvellous medicines and all the other fantastical and magical characters Roald brought to life.

But an opera? Really? I am sure it will be a very lavish and well-adapted production, the Gene Wilder film of the 70s was great fun (sorry Johnny, but you just didn't cut the mustard as Willy), but isn't there a producer or financier out there with the balls to back something NEW?

I am sure there are plenty of new writers bursting for a chance to see their work come to life, and I'm also sure that the late, great Mr Darl would be happy to see that new talent (perhaps inspired to become a writer/film-maker/producer having grown up reading his books) given their chance to shine.

Sweaty airplane and Haggis

The job of a journalist is basically poking their noses where nobody wants them and asking all the questions everyone else in society has too much moral conscience to ask.

We are vilified and championed in equal measure (yes, there really are people who think that a free media is the cornerstone of a democratic society, and no, they are not all journalist lecturers).

Part of the job is also, sometimes, reviewing things for the paper/magazine/website/radio show you work for. In line with this I am going to Scotland this week to walk in the beautiful hills and sample the delights of local cuisine.

I have dusted off my 1950's style rimmed hat complete with little white card tucked under the ribbon which reads "PRESS" and am ready to venture over Hadrian's Wall to see what tempting treats the Scottish tourist board can offer.

I have sumptuous visions of me standing by a windswept loch, the clouds swirling overhead like rich cream in a thick, sweet sauce, whipping out my pad from my grey Lois Lane trenchcoat which is churning around my legs, licking the end of a pencil before hovering it above the paper and asking; "So what's on the menu tonight, Haggis or deep fried mars bar?"

I think they may not be inviting me back.

How time flies

Gosh, I hadn't realised it had been so long since my last post!

This is always the difficulty with blogging, you go through weeks where you have something to post every day - several times a day sometimes - then some weeks the 'real world' takes over and internet land has to take a back seat.

Last week, for example, two friends had babies. A boy and a girl respectively*.

So I have been busy buying cute cards and toys and standing in BHS wading through racks of miniature outfits with embroidered rabbits on and then travelling around the country to gush as the little tikes dribble their sick down my new top.

* I mean that one boy baby and one girl baby were born, not that one of my two friends was a boy - now that would be worth posting about.

Deer Heads and Chips

I finished work last night, ran to a nearby bar and changed into jeans, a top and nice shoes (in the toilet obviously, not in the middle of the bar) and did my make up and put my hair up.

Then I went up to the bar and ordered a coke which I downed in one (I'd been in the loo for about 20 minutes, the least I could do was buy a drink - although I won't be going back to that bar in a hurry, I don't want them to think "oh, there's the woman with bowl problems"!)

The venue was lovely, a very middle-class wine bar/cubby hole of a place with fairy lights on the walls and a deer's head mounted above a tiny nook fire with a red Ikea lamp in the grate.

The night was a mix of music, comedy and poetry - although I would say most acts were poetry, roughly every other. I was a bit flustered owing to the rush from work to get there, plus the event was the first one the organiser had put on so it was a bit disorganised. There was no discernible set list, so I was on the edge of my seat at the end of each set not knowing if I'd be next up or not. But I still managed to enjoy it - I think.

I wasn't drinking as I was driving which was a bit of a shame because there was a huge group of office workers there all from the same company and when they drunkenly mobbed me after my set I felt a little out of tune with their staggering, slurred enthusiasm.

Still, I sold a few booklets of my work which paid for my sausage and chips on the way home.

Set list crisis and stage fright

So my next gig is tomorrow night. It's a "night for the unpublished" and will include other comic poets, comics, music and some spoken word stuff.

The organiser tells me they've had lots of interest for slots, which is both great and terrifying news. The good news is that with lots of interest in slots it means the whole event has been pretty well publicised, and as it's free there will probably be lots of people there. The down side is that with lots of interest in slots it means the whole event has been pretty well publicised, and as it's free there will probably be lots of people there.

Eek. I don't have very long on stage, about five minutes in fact, so the question is what do I go for? I have some really crude "shocker" poems which always go down a storm at pub and club gigs, but also some more weighty poems of actual literary merit as well as *hilarious* content that always go down well at poetry and literary events.

What will they want tomorrow? How many people will be there? Will they laugh with me or at me?

It's nearly enough to drive me back to the fags!

Maybe there's something to this comic performance stuff....?

And no, that's not supposed to be an attempt at an ironic joke within a statement about comic performing to be all Will Self and clever.

I have another gig this week, which makes it three gigs I've picked up in nearly as many weeks. This might not sound that impressive, but when you consider I'm not actively seeking out gigs this year it's puzzling to think I have been sought out and offered these performance opportunities.

It makes me wonder if maybe the publishing route I was so keen to follow this year is perhaps a bit premature and I should continue to perform as much as my budget, spare time and opportunity allows.

Then I take a sobering mouthful of coffee, drag my head down from the clouds and realise that I'm not getting paid for any of these gigs and that while I'm still doing it for free there will be plenty of people willing to give me some time behind a mic.

If I was charging and still getting work, well that would be another story.....something to consider......hmmmmmm

Get a degree in Twittering.....

Once again I found myself staring in disbelief at my computer screen as I sipped my morning coffee and read about a university offering a Masters Degree in what they are calling "social media".

See link below to story on the Guardian's website:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2009/mar/30/social-media-course-twitter

The course - costing £4,000 and offered at Birmingham City University in the UK - will include things like how to start a blog and podcasting, and will cover social networking sites including Twitter.

The guy behind the course (which has been, unbelievably, independently approved as being of Masters standard) insists that such skills would be valuable for anyone wanting to pursue a career in media, public relations or marketing.

This I don't doubt. Working for the regional press myself I know how desperate middle-aged, conservative bosses are to tap into the seemingly unending pot of gold they believe the internet can offer. But as most of these bosses don't even have a mobile phone for personal use they are rushing to hire anyone who appears to have the skills and know-how to get the golden goose to lay her eggs. (This might seem like a strange analogy, but some of the people in power in the presses are so bewildered by the digital age - yes, they still call it that - it might as well be about a goose laying eggs for all they understand of the youtube generation.)

No, I don't disapprove of the course. What really gave my coffee a bitter taste was that this course is being offered as a Masters Degree. A Masters Degree? Really people? Offer a vocational course in social media, find some NVQs or set up apprenticeships but do not sully Britain's proud educational heritage by muddying the waters of our prestigious MA with lessons about facebook!

You know you're getting old when.....

* You stay at home Saturday night drinking coffee (with no whiskey in it) and playing Monopoly with your partner.

* You spend the weekend sorting out the junk in your spare room into three piles (trash, charity, ebay) - and enjoy it.

* You wonder if it's not time to treat yourself to a pair of new slippers as your old ones aren't as comfy as they used to be.

* You relish the early shifts you are on this week as it will give you more time in the evening to continue the spare room sort out.

* You don't mind writing about these tragic steps into middle-age in your blog.

Sigh.

Clutching at straws

Last week the BBC news website published a story about how the Wizard of Oz was an economic parable about the great depression in America (The Scarecrow represents the American farmer, the Tinman factory/industrial worker, Wizard of Oz as the president, the Emerald City is green money, exposed as fraud) See link below for full story.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7933175.stm

What a load of old tosh and lazy journalism! You could do that for practically any film.

Using today's global recession crisis I have come up with some examples:

Matrix - Neo represents the drone worker (you, me, the general population) who has been living in a dream world of a property price boom, consumer as King, plastic spending and lending, only to be finally (and rudely) awakened to the reality that it is all make believe and the banks and global economy are failing machines sucking out our every last penny (using humans as batteries) just to stay alive in a world where there is no sun (hope) for the future.

Jurassic Park - Living in a dream world, global leaders (John Hammond ) use dodgy techniques (stock market traders, speculative trading, money for nothing etc) to generate impressive profits and businesses (the dinos). But soon the enormous profits become hard to sustain (the dinos go nuts) and it is only through the common man (Dr Alan Grant) using some common sense (like not taking out loans they can't afford, or using their credit card to buy a new tv upgrade every three minutes) to finally defeat the problem.

Go on, give it a go yourself - it's great fun.

The post I didn't want to write

I have been trying to decide all day if I should write this post.

A (really big) goggle-box-hating, reality-tv?-get-a-life part of me wants to leave it out, to just ignore it as I do with all the chav-tastic tv/celeb crazes that are rapidly sucking the life and
imagination out of the general populous.

But another (annoyingly conscientious) part of me has been nagging away all day and has finally convinced the other me that if I want this to be a blog about my take on global news and issues of the moment then I can't get away with not mentioning the death of Jade Goody.
So I have made a huge cup of coffee and here goes....

Firstly, it is always sad to hear that a 27-year-old mother-of-two has passed away before her time. Especially of such a horrendous disease which is responsible for so many tragic and untimely deaths.

Secondly, on the whole "media limelight/do we really care/she's not the first person to ever die of cancer/but she was 'the working class people's 'people's princess'" debate the tabloids have positively marinaded in since she was diagnosed (live on Indian Big Brother) I have this to say:

I was never a fan of Jade Goody. Not because I have/had anything against the woman personally, but I would rather whittle my eyes into amusing shapes with blunt razors than watch Big Brother, or I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, or The Apprentice, or.....etc.

Jade took part in several tv shows during her life, and launched perfumes and wrote books and made her million(s?) because the appetite was there for it. (Whether that appetite came from the media or the public is a debate I'm not getting into here).

So if you are on that "we don't care, who the hell is she anyway" bandwagon, then simply don't watch it, don't click on the links on news websites which show timelines of her reality tv career, pictures of her when she first went into the big brother house in 2002 looking all "piggy" (media words of the day, not mine), tributes from celebrities, memorial groups on facebook etc.

I can't decide that in years to come if her life will become (if it isn't already) a cautionary tale of media frenzy and reality versus real life that media studies students might write essays on: Who exploited who? Who made the most money? Who cared? Who put her there? Discuss.

Or an inspirational tale about one uneducated working class woman's fight to go down in history.

And really, as I finish my coffee, I'm not sure if I care. Time will tell. Or, given the relentless appetite of tabloid journalism, which can make or break a star in five minutes, maybe by the time you read this there will already be something else on telly.

Just when you stop looking....

It's always the way that as soon as you stop looking for something (eg love, a job, friendship, your car keys) it finds you!

This has just happened with my comic writing.

For 2009 I have been focussing on trying to get my writing published, as oppose to seeking out opportunities to perform my work.

And now, I have been approached and offered two gigs within five days of each other!

Maybe I should stop writing to literary agents and I might get an offer from one?

Shooting stars

It has emerged today that the teenager behind the tragic and devastating massacre in a German school this week had posted a warning of his intentions in an internet chat room the night before the attacks.

Chat room users who later informed the police after seeing coverage of the shootings, said they had not taken the threats seriously - who would? There is so much on the web these days, a lot that is legitimate, but so, so much that is lies and falsehoods made up by cheats and frauds.

In an age when expectant fathers are updating their Twitter followers on the progress of their wife's labour (this is a TRUE story) is it any wonder 17-year-old Tim Kretschmer's threats weren't taken seriously?

What is sad though, is not that this warning went unheeded, but that Kretschmer was in a situation where the loneliness of the web (no comments please about friends you've made online, at the end of the day you are sat on your own with your computer) was his only outlet, the only place he decided to make a final cry for help.

Sadder still is that a quick search for the details of these grievous events will throw up a multitude of interactive news sites offering stories, comments, interviews, videos, maps, timelines, diaries, political debate and, no-doubt, much discussion in chat rooms across the world wide web.

Get real!

In Britain the TV is rubbish, I mean really not worth the hours of work it takes to earn enough money to pay for the electric to get the cathode tube thing warmed up and produce a picture.

We have depressing soaps which are supposed to reflect 'real issues' of drug use, drudgery and dodgy chav (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chav) fashion; then there are mindless game shows eg Deal or no Deal where moronic contestants just have to open boxes to win prizes; or perhaps you would rather melt a few brain cells watching 'reality tv'. I can't think of anything less real than a bunch of wanna be celebrities (or aspiring Z-list celebrities) stuck in one place being filmed all the time and dancing like monkeys for ratings.

And when the TV bosses aren't busy sludging out this drivel for us, we get shows like 'Coleen’s Real Women' and 'Natalie Cassidy’s Real Britain' where famous people go and find 'real' people and talk to them.

Who is it we are supposed to believe is 'real' in these shows? The poor mugs who are duped into being part of a "hard-hitting documentary about the state of the nation"?

Or is it the pathetic famous people who are trying to convince us THEY are 'real' people, in touch with the normality of everyday life and paying bills, and doing a shit job all day to come home to watch crap on the TV?

Switch it off and go for a walk or read a book.

In These Horizons I Was Inspired

As well as ranting in this blog about things in the news and media industry that annoy me (I'd love to say something positive once in a while, really I would, but there's so many numpties out there it gets hard sometimes) I do a little bit of comic performing from time to time. This is pretty much entirely on an amateur basis - ie, I don't often get paid to do it and I still have a regular 9-5 job.

Last night I performed some of my comic rhymes at the iconic Welsh art centre, The Millennium Centre, in our nation's capital.

What an impressive and imposing building. I truly recommend that anyone visiting Cardiff takes a look inside as the upper levels and staircases are made of undulating wood, the whole building is made from a variety of natural Welsh materials (slate, timbers etc) and it's free to go into the huge main hall and coffee shop/bar and have a look around.
It has been nicknamed the 'armadillo', partly I think because of it's shape (see the picture link below) and partly because it is so organic, almost alive. I love it!

I feel honoured to have had a chance to perform in such an inspiring and breath-taking venue.

On the down side, I got a rejection letter from a literary agent this morning.

Ah well. You win some you loose some. Time for a coffee.

This link is for a pictures of the Millennium Centre:
http://images.google.co.uk/images?hl=en&q=Millennium+Centre&gbv=2

This link is for an amusing story about an American who loved the Millennium Centre so much she got a tattoo of it - even though she's never been to Wales! (Sorry there's no picture with this one, the walesonline news website is a little more 1909 than 2009):
http://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/2009/02/02/tat-s-the-way-to-do-it-kasey-91466-22831374/

Not just any clueless consumer, but rich clueless consumers

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2009/feb/18/jam-sandwich-marks-and-spencer

As the recession settles in, starts unpacking it's stuff and taking up all the space in the wardrobe, even the more middle class brands are nodding in the direction of 'the help' and making sure they are being seen to 'do their bit' in this time of crisis. (See my earlier post about budget skiing holidays http://ew-coffeebreak.blogspot.com/2008/11/beat-credit-crunch-sack-servant.html).

The British totem that is Marks & Sparks has come up with a sandwich, but not just any sandwich, a cheap, credit crunch-beating, jam sandwich. For 75p.

"Yay," yell all the redundant Woolworths workers, "we were struggling a bit to afford those fois gras baps they do for £5.97 a pop."

My problem with M&S's nod to the credit crunch is not that people who shop there for their lunch snacks in the first place are hardly likely to be feeling the bitterest pinch from the recession, more that, well, I wouldn't expect to pay any more for a JAM SANDWICH! Two slices of bread, with Jam in the middle. You could buy a LOAF and pot of jam for that price.

If you are stupid enough to think that 75p is a good investment for a jam sandwich then you've obviously got more money than sense and don't really need to be watching the pennies in the first place.

What a piece of work is a man

I am sitting and sipping my mid-morning coffee wondering what to type.

I am totally flabbergasted by an article I've just read on the Telegraph newspaper's website.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/4592467/Romeo-and-Juliet-production-sparks-fears-over-knife-crime.html


Complaints about Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet because it "glamorises knife violence and gang violence". Shakespeare? Shakespeare?

Has the world finally gone totally and utterly mad? Was I abducted in the night while I slept quietly in my little Cardiff flat, transported half way around the Milky Way, to wake up on some strange, alien planet?

If only we could get the gang members off the streets and into our theatres and concert halls to appreciate the joys of Shakespeare and the arts.

If only we could expose them to a writer so passionate in his work, so audacious in his visions that he is still arousing tempers and making headlines nearly four hundred years after his death.

Such joy, such passion, such drama, might just inspire these forgotten teenagers and children of Britain and show them there is more to the world that the gang violence they get unavoidably caught up in.

This is a sad, sad day for the world.

Can you copy cool?

I was on facebook yesterday morning sipping my coffee and wishing away the hours until I could finish pretending to look busy (ie working).

Bored with all the 'status updates' and 'added new photos' I started reading through my mate's profiles.

For anyone reading this not on Facebook (I salute you) there is a profile page, a bit like on blogs, where you can fill in various sections with what films, books etc you like, favourite quotes, if you're single, if you are interested in men/women/friendship/networking etc. (You see why I envy you if you have managed to resist the facebook bug.)

Anyway, there is a bit near the top of your profile where you can put what political views you have and what religion you are (cue all the 'Jedi' comments - I told you non-Facebookers, you really are not missing much).

A friend of mine had put something down which I thought was quite unique, and the nearest thing to humour I think I've ever read on facebook. Having not seen this person for a while I messaged them a general hello, asked if they'd had any snow then said I liked their profile answers. (I think I used the words "very cool". Shudder.)

Later in the day I got a message back:

"Yay, it is gud isnt it! I saw it on someone elses profile n copied it."

The internet is too big

That's it. The internet is officially too big now. No more please.

This time last year all I had was an email account. Back then my sporadic trips online involved going to interesting, informative and sometimes amusing sites to learn something new, read up about a subject, buy something or watch a funny video when there was naff all on the gogglebox.

Now, I have two facebook accounts (personal and professional) a myspace site, a website, three email accounts and this blog. Phew!

Trips online involve updating them all before I can get round to doing anything productive. Don't get me wrong, no-one is holding a gun to my head as I write this (but wouldn't that be a gripping blog idea, hmmmm) and I love keeping more up to date with my friends on facebook.

But when today, just as I was having my morning coffee, I heard them talking on the wireless about the new social networking craze called "twitter" I had to decide that enough is enough!

Snow joke*

Having just trudged through two miles of Cardiff snow in my walking boots, waterproof, gloves and scarf, I arrived in work, made myself a big, steaming cup of coffee and sat down to write about how we all over-react (every year) to a few inches of snow as if martians had finally landed.

I was going to write something suggesting that most people have a very short memory as we have a dusting of snow somewhere in the country every year. I was going to moan about the stupid people who go out and get stuck in the snow when it's obviously really bad. If it's heavy where you are DON'T GO OUT in your car, stay home, stay safe. Have some common sense: if there's 15 inches of snow on the ground don't go out and become a stranded motorist.

I was going to tell everyone to grow up, it's just a bit of snow.

Then I saw some pictures of (grown up) people in London making snowmen, and sledging. And I watched a video on a Welsh news site about a snowboarder who was heading up to the Brecon Beacons with his board.

And as I sit here writing this it is snowing out of my window, and it is beautiful, and I feel five years old again and want to go out to the park across the road to make snow angels.
While I still think people should take care if there is heavy snow where you are (take the day off work, I'll write you a note if you want) it's so nice that while the country is gripped by a bitter recession, we can all forget about the credit crunch today and watch the snow for a bit.

*Sorry, I couldn't resist

Caller waiting

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7860336.stm


And this is the man we must trust to drag our fragile economy back from the brink of collapse, put nearly two million people back into work, and turn the tide of a British business community in turmoil.

A man who doesn't even know how to use the 'silent' function on his mobile phone.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

I am officially a writer now

I got my first rejection letter today.

Very polite: "it is an amusing idea, unfortunately, after careful consideration, we do not feel it would be suitable for the current direction of our list."

How nice.

I take back what I said about Londoners.

How to be a literary leper

As anyone who read these sparse news-related musings will know (or anyone who scrolls back through earlier posts for that matter) I am a somewhat comic performer on occasion.

This year, I have decided to get off the stage and see if anyone would be interested in publishing my little offerings. To this end, I am learning - fast - that publishers won't accept any work unless it comes from a literary agent.

So I've been sat at my laptop chain-drinking coffee and researching agents for several days.
And what a surprise. "No Poetry" "No Poetry" "No Poetry" runs the refrain.

I wonder if I should ring them up and explain that calling my comic rhymes 'poetry' is like comparing a Philly rapper to Shakespeare - at completely different ends of the spectrum. My work is funny prose that just happens to rhyme.

But it does make me feel sorry for 'real' poets out there. It's like having a contagious disease, you say the P word and they can't hang up quick enough. Dam Londoners!

Sofa so good

"A bottle of whisky, which had rolled within reach"

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/somerset/7853328.stm

How convenient.

Anyone think the proximity of the whisky to the site of the accident could have perhaps precipitated his misadventure?

The bonny Prince of Scotland

Great poems, but wouldn't it be nice to see the Prince of Wales reciting poetry about Wales????

At least he's got a holiday cottage here. Sigh.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/7846874.stm

David Cameron fancies Gordon Brown

I know the House of Commons is just a place for a slanging match on par with the schoolyard taunts of 'nah nah na na nah', but David Cameron really seems to take it to a new level when having a go at old Gord.

Especially at the moment when the country is in the very real grip of a very frightening recession which seems to be tightening it's boney fingers day by day around all our purses.

Is it just me or is it time - on a day when unemployment in Briton reached nearly two million - to put aside the petty name calling and actually do something constructive?

People might not like Gordon, but at least he's getting his head down and trying to get on with job.

Or is it a case - Mr Cameron - that the lady doth protest too much?

Obama stands for hope

When they ask me where I was the day Barack Hussein Obama was sworn in as American President I will - like many in the UK given that the time difference made it around 4pm in the afternoon - say I was in work.

Now this is not the most memorable of places to be, I think, as I watch him stumble through the oath; to be in work, how boring. I sit and wish I could be somewhere more memorable and glamorous for such a memorable and glamorous occasion.

Then I think about the credit crunch, and recession, and think how lucky I am to be in work at such a time. I think of all those who have been made redundant, I think of all those who cannot find work.

Americans have an annoying habit of hyping things up - can you ever imagine Gordon Brown being sworn in as Prime Minister outside Westminster admits such pomp and ceremony as adorned Capital Hill today?

But when you look beyond all the hype there is the feeling that something very real happened today. The air smells a little freer now - maybe. There is a little more hope in the world now - maybe.

Obama stands for hope, well I have hopes too. I hope he can deliver his promises, I hope he can fulfil his pledges. But more than this, for the first time in a long time, I have hope that the most powerful man in the world will make some real changes.

Goodbye Woolworths

In the wake of the closure this week of the last remaining Woolworths shops there has been an upsurge of comment pieces and articles in the media bemoaning a "world without Woolies" and asking if Britain will ever be the same without the (nearly) 100-year-old high street favourite.

It's just lazy writing from lazy journalists trying to get on the Woolies bandwagon (and I can say that without the slightest hint of irony because, well, because this is my blog).

And while I am saddened at this latest high-profile totem victim of the credit crunch, and despair even more at the loss of so many jobs, I can't quite understand the thinking behind all of these Woolies 'obituaries'.

If the shop was that dam good in the first place we would all still shop there and it wouldn't be closing.