Oh to be English.

Let me be absolutely clear from the outset. If I reference 'the X factor' later on, I'm not talking about anything to do with the witless cretin that is Simon Cowell. I'm talking about an unknown ingredient; a mysterious chemical reaction and if we're lucky, a happy accident.

We all know why the England football team were recently so unsuccessful. Deep down, we all know it.

Instead though, we intellectualise it. It was Fabio's fault; if he'd put Gerrard in the middle it would have all been fine. Or; the players, they're not passionate enough, they're overpaid, they're not good enough. All rubbish.

We can win. We are good enough. It's not Capello's fault and Gerrard can play on the left. Gerrard could play right back if he needed to. Remember Istanbul?

There is something that has not been considered. We're trying to avoid playing our own game. As a country our citizens have no idea what it means to be English and similarly our footballers are trying play another country's game.

Surely the path to true enlightenment is understanding, acceptance and application. So let's work on understanding our own nature, accepting it and then applying ourselves.

In pure footballing terms, we all need to start loving the hulking great centre forward and trust our instincts to hit long hopeful balls as much as possible. Embrace the fact that we really can't be bothered to dribble our way out of defence like the Italians. We are just going to lump it forward and trust that the big man will knock it down for a quick easy goal.

The spirited performance comes out every now and again. When it does we are so surprised. England 5 - Germany 1. We catch a fleeting glimpse of how we want England to really play and we like it. We like it because we are being ourselves. We are connecting. The chemical reaction, the happy accident.

The X factor. (Simon Cowell is still a parlous twat)

Rapid Vapid Consumerism

I'm going to avoid talking about the subject matter for as long as possible. I have to. If I peak too soon, I will quickly reach disdain. Disdain wouldn't be so bad but it quickly progresses to anger before a 'low mood fugue' sets in. I'm therefore prolonging the period before I sink into a state of resignation that 'all is not well with the world'.

For some people nothing and everything is ever enough. Grand gestures are required. A friend of a friend told me that his girlfriend had indicated that he spend at least £3000 on an engagement ring. Apparently, it was the 'done thing'. There was even a handy formula for him to follow ...two months salary or £3000, whichever the higher amount.

They are no longer together.

Should we not all be satisfied with a rusty curtain ring instead of a big rock? The important things in life are not enriched solely by grand gestures; they develop out of thoughtfulness, appreciation and common human kindness. Have this as a bedrock first and then throw in a few grand gestures (when you know you don't NEED to)

Ok I've deviated long enough. Consumerism. The throw away waste culture we all inhabit sickens me. It has turned people into Dawn of the Dead mall zombies. Stumbling, brainless from one disposable product to the next, never satisfied, never satiated of the desire to throw away and replace or buy crap for sake of buying crap.

I submit that consumerism has in it's own way contributed to a deterioration in the skills necessary for a meaningful connection with another human being. Those most affected either see their relationships as entirely disposable and replaceable or they see a demonstration of human kindness needing a pound-sign attaching, to give it some relative meaning for them.

The important things in life are un-consumable. My mum sums it up the best. Pointing to her heart... "Jono, it's what's in here that counts."

Management Types - No#47

The Knee-Jerk

The Knee Jerk is generally weak, feeble and listens to everything everyone tells him.

The latter part of the aforementioned is generally a very good thing. Listening is a particular skill which will serve anyone well. Interestingly, the vast majority of people NEVER actually listen.

Sometimes I'm the same. I'm so caught up in 'delivering my message' or 'getting across my point' that I forget to process properly what another person is actually saying to me. But I'm better than most. I know this for a fact because my 'balls up' ratio is within normal parameters.

Unfortunately, however precious the skill of listening is, it is certainly not at all wise to act upon every piece of new information. The Knee-Jerk does this.

Repeat Knee Jerkers run the very real risk of turning into No#52's... Flappers. And there's only one thing worse than a Flapper, the dreaded and universally despised No#101.. the Happy Flapper.

The voice was there in my head. Quietly repeating. "this is a mistake.. This is not the correct course of action.. You don't need to do this". Over and over it repeated. The unfortunate thing was, it was drowned out by a louder voice. An incessant drone, dramatised to the hilt.

Now I realise, the case had been overstated. The case for the prosecution was flawed. I questioned, I sought clarity, I accepted and I took action.

I just didn't listen to my voice.

Television. Drug of the nation.

When I was a kid, TV was my life. I was a serious cathode ray addict. I must have been because I can remember specific episodes of Sapphire and Steel. And boy, was that hard to watch.

These days I don't watch that much of it. About six weeks ago Virgin Media sent me a new 'smart card' to plug into the virgin set top. I haven't plugged it in. Nor have I taken the Set top box out of it's wrapping. That arrived in February.

Come to think of it I don't have a house phone either. I used to have it plugged in until I made one long local call that cost me 15 quid. No more. It's unplugged. Better still no one can ring me. That is of course unless they have my mobile. Suits me fine.

Anyway i'm straying of my point now. Television is a drug. Drugs are bad. Ergo Television is bad. But this is not quite correct. Like anything, too much is bad for you but a little of what you fancy does you good.

Now I'm contradicting myself. Let me start again.

We all have our addictions. We all do some things too often for our own detriment. Right now it's my iPhone. I use it for everything. Work, rest and play. Eventually there will be a support group I can join, I'm sure.

So what's yours?

What are YOU doing too much?

Weeding out the weed

Having toyed with the concept of being a smoke free zone, I have finally taken the plunge.

If anyone had said to me twenty years ago that I would waste in excess of 20k on useless white tubes which had the effect of depressing mood, shortening lifespan and giving me a permament fuggy aura, I would have thought they were crazy.

I fell into that trap. No more though. I'm on the path to freedom. My addiction will be conquered forever and my faltering self respect restored.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating though.

For now, British American Tobacco, Gallaghers and other death stick purveyors.. Go fuck yourself.

FaceDown FaceBook

I'm on the brink. I'm teetering on the edge. As much as I love keeping in touch with those far and wide, I'm considering pulling the plug.

I'm spending too much time on FB It's starting to become a daily feature. Ostensibly there is nothing wrong with this; keeping in touch with friends is good right?

No argument from me there. I really like the contact. I just can't help wondering why lots of people play games all the time, and then share the fact that they're playing games all the time.

I'm a scramble addict. Late night scramble. But you'd never know it. I choose not to pollute the newsfeed..

I'm fairly tight on my privacy settings and I usually check them on a regular basis. I share a lot with my friends but I'm very careful not to give any rights to external websites.

That said, My natural scepticism kicks in when I hear that Facebook 'takes privacy very seriously'. If that were completely true, there would be a catch all 'share nothing' button. There isn't.

So what to do? Shall I press the nuclear button and disappear forever? I know that if I do that, there are many individuals whom I am unlikely to hear from again.

I suppose there is always Twitter.

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.

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.

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....

Birmingham, Britain's second largest city was host to a couple of fast paced whirlwinds this week. The Mosely Tornado managed to toss around a few cars and blow the roofs off numerous houses. Thankfully no one was killed or seriously injured.

The other tornado hitting the Brum area was the West Midlands Police. A swoop on a terror suspect linked with the London attacks was successfully and quickly executed. (pun intended)

Phrase of the week: "This fast paced police investigation"