Sunday, August 28, 2005

Urban Strife

This is a story which was recounted to me yesterday: It is one thirty in the moning and the city silence is broken by a single car horn. 'Annoying', my partner thinks but not enough to get me out of bed. Seconds later it is repeated, but his time with more urgency and frequency. After looking out the window she could see two cars, head to head with the occupants in each vehicle wildly gesturing for the other to move.

Now our street is one of the those annoying ones where once everyone is parked up for the night there is single lane traffic only. If you are lucky there will be a space to pull into so the other person can pass. Not tonight though.

My partner watches in amazement as the occupants of the street start to come out of their houses to watch the proceedings. A couple who live a few doors down get right into the spirit of things and take sides with the Vauxhall Vectra. This doesn't go down to well with Mercedes man and a side dispute develops. Mercedes man is now fighting his battle on a number of fronts. Mercedes man loudly threatens to call the police.

A taxi approaches the back of Vectra man, sees what is happening and promptly reverses back up the street. As he passes some of the onlookers he raises his eyebrows, quizzically. The onlookers return the gesture but add a shoulder shrug to show solidarity.

This action by taxi man seemingly cuts through the dense fog of testosterone. Vectra man reverses up the street. Then at the top of the street where they eventually pass he shoots Merc man a defiant gaze. Merc man drives past, his proud heart filled with deep joy. The victorious stag.

How can two grown men allow this situation to develop? Is being (or rather feeling like) the dominant silverback so important to these men that they will engage in such a ridiculous display?

The answer is yes.

Recipe of the week:

A fragile ego combined with a goodly amount of 'meat headedness' half baked for twenty minutes - Remember NOT to leave it to cool before ramming it down someone elses throat.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Another Life

My facial muscles may not betray any kind of brow furrowing but inside I’m boiling. My analyst (if I had one) would say that I’m incompatible with modern life. His report would start. ‘Jon is seemingly disconnected from his immediate surroundings. His ennui is exacerbated by his inability to accept the trials and tribulations of 21st century Britain – he is; not of this age.’

Ok, that’s a bit of an overstatement. Sitting on the motorway in a jam and wondering why on earth I’m there doesn’t really constitute mild psychosis. Although I can’t help thinking that us children of the seventies would have been much happier growing up through the fifties and sixties. The yearning for a simpler life is a strong urge that lives in all of us. Given the chance we would willingly ditch the daily drudge for a space on a quiet distant shore.

This weeks tip for grannies:

Keep the cash stashed under the bed. Best place for it.

This weeks beef:

Telephone sales people. If I never had to deal with the corporate equivalent of a knife-wielding mugger for the rest of my life it would be too soon.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

I'd love to say it was my idea to get the allotment. Striding out like a lone eco warrior ploughing the field and reaping the rewards of giant courgettes. It wasn't though (I haven't even seen it yet).

While I sat on my fat ass and played Football Manager 2005 my girlfriend and her sister did all the backbreaking work. It's only now that I'm hanging onto the coat-tails of their success. But what a success it is. Aside from the giant courgette which has the circumference of a body builder's thigh, we have had potatoes, carrots, onions red and white, marrow, fresh herbs and spinach.

Only after one has savoured organic veg do you realise what a nation of sheep we are. The major supermarkets (and minor ones for that matter) give us the shiniest, scubbed up good looking food that money can buy. Unfortunately the taste doesn't live up to its aesthetic qualities. Bland.

So brothers and sisters, join the revolution. Overthrow those who control the means of production. Get an allotment.

Now where was I on Football Manager....