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.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
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....
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....
Friday, July 29, 2005
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"
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"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)