Practising digital colouring...
Tuesday 27 December 2011
Friday 9 December 2011
A (seasonal) letter to the bank
Dear Sir,
I am writing to request an extension to my company’s loan.
As a family-owned business with a global distribution network, I hope that an explanation of the unfortunate set of circumstances necessitating this request shall elicit a sympathetic response. The root of the problem is twofold; with the London Riots of August, the actions of the journalists of News International, and the conduct of Jeremy Clarkson, this December I am expected to deliver coal to a record number of clients. Additionally, the price of coal has increased from USD$30 in 2000 to over USD$150 in 2011.
I feel it is important that you are aware that my company has already taken significant cost-cutting measures. My workshops are manned by a largely foreign, non-unionised workforce; they are given no pensions, no sick leave, no tea-breaks, no uniform, and no respite. If the temperature weren’t minus fifty degrees, one might refer to it as a sweat shop.
Despite having clients in over one hundred and ninety countries, we charter no airplanes and ship no containerised freight. Instead, we have been reduced to delivering our goods from the back of a single sleigh, pulled by eight reindeer. There were originally nine, but at this time of the year Comet is engaged in a price war with Currys and Dixons.
I have already asked my friends and family for contributions. I dispatched more than sixty missives, and after receiving a large number of disheartening responses, saying that my intended recipient was fictional, and could I please stop writing to this address, I got a rather promising response from the Tooth Fairy. She explained that she was in the possession of significant sums of money, but a dental sacrifice would be requisite to access the funds. I saw what needed to be done, and I didn’t hesitate. I promptly assembled the elves, explained the predicament, and ordered them to craft me a set of pliers. I asked Mrs Claus if I could borrow some of her methadone. Several hours later, the grisly exchange had been made. For my trouble, we were given the princely sum of £32.
There must have been a clerical error! I may not be a qualified dentist, but Mrs. Claus and I once had the bathroom redecorated, and I suspect that the amount of enamel must surely fetch a higher price. The methadone was starting to wear off, and I was incandescent with rage. I rang the Tooth Fairy up immediately.
“Ooo oo oo-oo ooo!” I exclaimed.
“I can’t understand you, pet.” she replied, and hung up.
I had reached a nadir. My mouth was in agony, and my solicitor, Sue Indiscriminately, informed me that it was inadvisable to claim for an ‘accident at work’ since I was self-employed. “The elation of winning a large financial settlement,” she said, “might be tempered by the fact that you would have to pay it to yourself”.
Opening the paper, I read about Bell Pottinger and the conduct of exam board officials. We were going to need yet more coal!
Due to my dental deficiency, I began to conduct business via email. It seemed pointless to continue answering the phone, when my only option was to regale the caller with an inappropriate, albeit now rather accurate, clanger impression.
I was on the cusp of giving up the business completely when I discovered, sitting in my inbox, an email headed “Request for Urgent Business Relationship.” I had received an email from a Nigerian Prince! What luck! Not only did he “trust my ability and reliability to conduct a transaction of great magnitude”, but he thought I would be an idea “overseas partner into whose account funds would be transferred”. This would be the answer to my financial woes. With the twenty-one million pounds he was offering me, I could afford to buy coal for every participant in the London Riots, every crooked exam board official and still have enough left to furnish the Murdochs! Curiosly, despite sending Mr. Okon the five thousand pounds needed to cover the transfer charges, the money still hasn’t arrived in my account....
And so I turn to you, and the financial institution you represent, to request financial aid.
I strongly advise you to approve my application for credit, lest you wake up this Christmas to a piece of coal.
Possibly.
Yours sincerely,
Mr. S. Claus
I am writing to request an extension to my company’s loan.
As a family-owned business with a global distribution network, I hope that an explanation of the unfortunate set of circumstances necessitating this request shall elicit a sympathetic response. The root of the problem is twofold; with the London Riots of August, the actions of the journalists of News International, and the conduct of Jeremy Clarkson, this December I am expected to deliver coal to a record number of clients. Additionally, the price of coal has increased from USD$30 in 2000 to over USD$150 in 2011.
I feel it is important that you are aware that my company has already taken significant cost-cutting measures. My workshops are manned by a largely foreign, non-unionised workforce; they are given no pensions, no sick leave, no tea-breaks, no uniform, and no respite. If the temperature weren’t minus fifty degrees, one might refer to it as a sweat shop.
Despite having clients in over one hundred and ninety countries, we charter no airplanes and ship no containerised freight. Instead, we have been reduced to delivering our goods from the back of a single sleigh, pulled by eight reindeer. There were originally nine, but at this time of the year Comet is engaged in a price war with Currys and Dixons.
I have already asked my friends and family for contributions. I dispatched more than sixty missives, and after receiving a large number of disheartening responses, saying that my intended recipient was fictional, and could I please stop writing to this address, I got a rather promising response from the Tooth Fairy. She explained that she was in the possession of significant sums of money, but a dental sacrifice would be requisite to access the funds. I saw what needed to be done, and I didn’t hesitate. I promptly assembled the elves, explained the predicament, and ordered them to craft me a set of pliers. I asked Mrs Claus if I could borrow some of her methadone. Several hours later, the grisly exchange had been made. For my trouble, we were given the princely sum of £32.
There must have been a clerical error! I may not be a qualified dentist, but Mrs. Claus and I once had the bathroom redecorated, and I suspect that the amount of enamel must surely fetch a higher price. The methadone was starting to wear off, and I was incandescent with rage. I rang the Tooth Fairy up immediately.
“Ooo oo oo-oo ooo!” I exclaimed.
“I can’t understand you, pet.” she replied, and hung up.
I had reached a nadir. My mouth was in agony, and my solicitor, Sue Indiscriminately, informed me that it was inadvisable to claim for an ‘accident at work’ since I was self-employed. “The elation of winning a large financial settlement,” she said, “might be tempered by the fact that you would have to pay it to yourself”.
Opening the paper, I read about Bell Pottinger and the conduct of exam board officials. We were going to need yet more coal!
Due to my dental deficiency, I began to conduct business via email. It seemed pointless to continue answering the phone, when my only option was to regale the caller with an inappropriate, albeit now rather accurate, clanger impression.
I was on the cusp of giving up the business completely when I discovered, sitting in my inbox, an email headed “Request for Urgent Business Relationship.” I had received an email from a Nigerian Prince! What luck! Not only did he “trust my ability and reliability to conduct a transaction of great magnitude”, but he thought I would be an idea “overseas partner into whose account funds would be transferred”. This would be the answer to my financial woes. With the twenty-one million pounds he was offering me, I could afford to buy coal for every participant in the London Riots, every crooked exam board official and still have enough left to furnish the Murdochs! Curiosly, despite sending Mr. Okon the five thousand pounds needed to cover the transfer charges, the money still hasn’t arrived in my account....
And so I turn to you, and the financial institution you represent, to request financial aid.
I strongly advise you to approve my application for credit, lest you wake up this Christmas to a piece of coal.
Possibly.
Yours sincerely,
Mr. S. Claus
Saturday 29 October 2011
Halloween Costumes
This Halloween, I’ve been told that my costume ‘has to be scary’. Seeing that I can’t remember the last time that the thought of a pallid, raven-haired man going for my jugular kept me awake at night, I’ve written a shortlist of genuinely scary costumes...
Early-onset Alzheimer’s
The threat of eviction
Coming across as pretentious
Losing your glasses and mistaking paint thinner for white wine
The concept that the release of the Truman show was actually an elaborate double-bluff, all your friends and colleagues are actors, and your life is being televised for the amusement of others.
Dying alone.
Early-onset Alzheimer’s
The threat of eviction
Coming across as pretentious
Losing your glasses and mistaking paint thinner for white wine
The concept that the release of the Truman show was actually an elaborate double-bluff, all your friends and colleagues are actors, and your life is being televised for the amusement of others.
Dying alone.
Friday 30 September 2011
When life gives you lemons.
When life gives you lemons, feign gratitude and be sure to compose a hand-written note of thanks upon receipt; life is very particular about these sorts of things. It might be a good idea to subtly hint to life that citrus fruit, although rich in Vitamin C and a welcome addition to any chef’s arsenal, are not considered a conventional gift.
Explain to life that, nowadays, gifts are often given in the form of vouchers. Many people, unsure of the exact interests of the present’s recipient, choose to delegate the precise choice of present to the beneficiary ; while ‘A popular history of British Seaweeds’, ‘Managing a Dental Practice: The Genghis Khan Way’ or ‘Tattooed Mountain Women and Spoonboxes of Daghestan’ (all genuine titles) may find a loving home on some bookshelves, a book token or Amazon voucher would probably be a safer bet. If you’re going down the voucher route, why not follow it to its logical conclusion and just give money – an everything voucher.
When life inevitably objects, protesting that lemons have inestimable value in preventing scurvy, you should clarify that, while lemons historically helped to abate the spread of the deficiency disease, modern medicine and global food distribution mean that vitamin C deficiency very rarely reaches the chronic levels necessary for the symptoms of scurvy to be exhibited. In any case, a lack of available citrus fruit is often not the root cause of the ailment; sufferers tend to be elderly or alcoholic, subsisting on a diet devoid of fresh fruit and vegetables not because of restricted access but because of culinary ineptitude.
When life exclaims ‘but that’s not fair!’ you can retort, “well, life, you aren’t.”
Explain to life that, nowadays, gifts are often given in the form of vouchers. Many people, unsure of the exact interests of the present’s recipient, choose to delegate the precise choice of present to the beneficiary ; while ‘A popular history of British Seaweeds’, ‘Managing a Dental Practice: The Genghis Khan Way’ or ‘Tattooed Mountain Women and Spoonboxes of Daghestan’ (all genuine titles) may find a loving home on some bookshelves, a book token or Amazon voucher would probably be a safer bet. If you’re going down the voucher route, why not follow it to its logical conclusion and just give money – an everything voucher.
When life inevitably objects, protesting that lemons have inestimable value in preventing scurvy, you should clarify that, while lemons historically helped to abate the spread of the deficiency disease, modern medicine and global food distribution mean that vitamin C deficiency very rarely reaches the chronic levels necessary for the symptoms of scurvy to be exhibited. In any case, a lack of available citrus fruit is often not the root cause of the ailment; sufferers tend to be elderly or alcoholic, subsisting on a diet devoid of fresh fruit and vegetables not because of restricted access but because of culinary ineptitude.
When life exclaims ‘but that’s not fair!’ you can retort, “well, life, you aren’t.”
Monday 19 September 2011
Lists to complete
Fictional Book Titles
The rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall of lava lamps.
Advertising slogans
'Go to work on a unicycle' (The Unicycle Marketing Board)
Dull double-acts
Sooty and Teller
The rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall of lava lamps.
Advertising slogans
'Go to work on a unicycle' (The Unicycle Marketing Board)
Dull double-acts
Sooty and Teller
Friday 19 August 2011
Friday 29 July 2011
Scientific facts
Television was discovered in 1928 by serendipity, when Alexander Fleming left an agar plate unattended in the laboratory while taking leave. When he came back from his holiday he noticed that a ring of bacteria around the Televisium Notatum fungus had stopped listening to their radios.
Wednesday 27 July 2011
The Tree Surgeon
I suppose that some people might say I’m not a proper doctor.
Probably the same sort of people who say that a home economist isn’t a proper economist, table tennis isn’t proper tennis, and caterpillars aren’t actual pillars. But it hurts, nevertheless.
I mean, vets never get that sort of abuse. It’s never ‘Oh, you’re not a real medic because your patients have four legs’. Just because my patients are made of cellulose and don’t move doesn’t mean that I have it easy.
Admittedly, I don’t have to make any complicated ethical decisions – I just have to check whether my patient has a preservation order - and nobody minds if I leave my watch inside a patient. But aboriculture is a skill and art, just like neurosurgery. Or engineering. Or texting while walking.
I mean, every artist has his tools. Since mine is a chainsaw and I operate without anaesthetic, you’d think people would be relieved that I don’t work on humans!
What really gets to me is the small talk.
“So, what do you do?”
“I’m a tree surgeon”.
“Oh, and how did you get into the business?”
“I got the key out of my pocket, inserted it into the lock, turn-- ”
“So you failed medical school?”
I didn’t fail. The tutors and I reached an agreement that it would be mutually beneficial if I were to leave.
“So why were you thrown out?”
It was an easy mistake. Anyone could have made it.
“Did you kill someone?
No. I’ve never done that. Not knowingly.
I don’t want to go into the specifics of the incident, but suffice to say that it would be impossible to recreate without a monopoly dog, twelve rubber bands, a suspect radiologist and a rather elderly patient.
“As one door closes, another opens.”
You should complain to your landlord about that.
Probably the same sort of people who say that a home economist isn’t a proper economist, table tennis isn’t proper tennis, and caterpillars aren’t actual pillars. But it hurts, nevertheless.
I mean, vets never get that sort of abuse. It’s never ‘Oh, you’re not a real medic because your patients have four legs’. Just because my patients are made of cellulose and don’t move doesn’t mean that I have it easy.
Admittedly, I don’t have to make any complicated ethical decisions – I just have to check whether my patient has a preservation order - and nobody minds if I leave my watch inside a patient. But aboriculture is a skill and art, just like neurosurgery. Or engineering. Or texting while walking.
I mean, every artist has his tools. Since mine is a chainsaw and I operate without anaesthetic, you’d think people would be relieved that I don’t work on humans!
What really gets to me is the small talk.
“So, what do you do?”
“I’m a tree surgeon”.
“Oh, and how did you get into the business?”
“I got the key out of my pocket, inserted it into the lock, turn-- ”
“So you failed medical school?”
I didn’t fail. The tutors and I reached an agreement that it would be mutually beneficial if I were to leave.
“So why were you thrown out?”
It was an easy mistake. Anyone could have made it.
“Did you kill someone?
No. I’ve never done that. Not knowingly.
I don’t want to go into the specifics of the incident, but suffice to say that it would be impossible to recreate without a monopoly dog, twelve rubber bands, a suspect radiologist and a rather elderly patient.
“As one door closes, another opens.”
You should complain to your landlord about that.
Sunday 24 July 2011
Horoscopes
Your attempt to create a sloth-cheetah hybrid will reach a disappointing conclusion as you create a creature that can travel at 60mph but chooses not to.
As you walk past a branch of John Lewis, you will entertain the notion of treating yourself to a nice pair of heels and a dress. You dismiss the idea on the principle that your wife might mind.
You will find the ‘General Enquiries’ counter to be sorely lacking, when they are unable to answer your questions ‘Does a General rank above or below a Brigadier?’, ‘When’s David Petraeus’ birthday?’ or ‘How many Generals does it take to change a lightbulb?’.
A trip to the estate agents will leave you wondering whether ‘wall-to-wall floors’ and being ‘just a stone’s throw away from a group of people throwing stones’ are really valid selling points.
If you’re going to commit a crime, leave it until the end of the month when Saturn is in alignment with Jupiter, Orion is ascending and the Police Chief is on holiday.
Although you’re not generally a superstitious person, you’ve found yourself reading the horoscopes page. Seasoned cynic that you are, you're unimpressed, smugly thinking to yourself that these broad assumptions apply to such large proportions of the population that they’re working on percentages. Aren't you, Steve?
Consumed by rage at TfL’s use of the tautology ‘personal belongings’ in tannoy announcements, you will storm up to the London Underground headquarters and shout ‘what other types of belongings are there?!’ to the bemusement of the security guard and admin staff.
You will put £30, 000 of plain, unmarked bills in a black suitcase and leave it by the stone underneath the bridge at the prearranged location if you ever want to see your son again.
You will get in a fight with an electrical appliance. Although you will win, the victory will be hollow, tainted with the knowledge that you now need to buy a new toaster.
You will come to the sudden realisation that you no longer play minesweeper or solitaire on the computer to waste time. The knowledge leaves you feeling a slight sense of loss, but no real desire to play them again.
Towards the end of the month you will buy a ukulele so that you can pretend to be a giant playing an acoustic bass.
An accident involving a tube of araldite and a colt firearm will give you an entirely new outlook on the phrase ‘stick to your guns’.
Saturday 23 July 2011
Unsuccessful product launches
Jellyfish fingers
got off to a slippery start
The chain of Dutch mountain bike stores
faced an uphill struggle
The coathanger aerials
received a poor reception
and for the Drive-Thru brothels
it was touch and go.
got off to a slippery start
The chain of Dutch mountain bike stores
faced an uphill struggle
The coathanger aerials
received a poor reception
and for the Drive-Thru brothels
it was touch and go.
Wednesday 20 July 2011
A day in the office at News of the World
Although the offices are now closed, the final issue printed, and the presses stilled, I can reveal that someone left a Dictaphone running during one of the normal days of work. So here it is; a transcript of Monday morning at News of the World.
Journo: Good morning, Rebekah. Did you have a good weekend?
RB: I have never knowingly had a weekend. If, at any point, weekends did happen while I was at News of The world, I was not informed, and I certainly didn’t authorise payment. Although I have heard that weekends were widely-practiced on Fleet Street, particularly in the late 1990s.
Journo: Oh. I thought you said on Friday that you were going for a meal with the Camerons?
RB: I don’t know the name.
Journo: Really?
RB: Not at all. I did not know that ‘David Cameron’ worked for the British government until 2011, and I’m sure he would deny that he’s ever met me.
[the door swings open and Rupert and James Murdoch walk in]
Journo Good morning James, I’m glad that you’re here, actually, I needed to ask-
RM: This is the most humble day of my life -
JM: Sorry, what were you going to ask?
Journo: Well, after you left on Friday, I discovered that my copy of -
RM: This is the most humble day of my life -
JM: Sorry, just ignore him. Do go on.
Journo: So, as I was saying, when I was tidying up my office on Friday, I discovered that my thesaurus had been closed. Now, I wouldn’t ordinarily mind, but I had spent literally minutes sifting through the pages to find a good synonym for ‘scum’ (with fewer than three syllables so that our readers wouldn’t feel alienated). I left the office for a minute to answer the phone, and when I returned, all my hard work was lost.
JM: The closure of a book with 160- odd pages is something that is a grave thing.
Journo: Well, it’s not just that.
Obviously, after noticing the book was closed I tried to open it again. I promptly discovered that the pages were stuck together with superglue!
JM: I’m as surprised and shocked to learn that as you are.
Journo: Hmm. Do you know who glued the pages of my thesaurus together, Mr. Murdoch?
RM: This is not an excuse, but your thesaurus constitutes less than 1% of the books in this company.
Journo: So you did it?
RM: No. But I would be willing to make you a rather generous cash payment to make this whole mess go away. I think that, frankly, I’m the best person to clear this up.
Journo: Good morning, Rebekah. Did you have a good weekend?
RB: I have never knowingly had a weekend. If, at any point, weekends did happen while I was at News of The world, I was not informed, and I certainly didn’t authorise payment. Although I have heard that weekends were widely-practiced on Fleet Street, particularly in the late 1990s.
Journo: Oh. I thought you said on Friday that you were going for a meal with the Camerons?
RB: I don’t know the name.
Journo: Really?
RB: Not at all. I did not know that ‘David Cameron’ worked for the British government until 2011, and I’m sure he would deny that he’s ever met me.
[the door swings open and Rupert and James Murdoch walk in]
Journo Good morning James, I’m glad that you’re here, actually, I needed to ask-
RM:
JM: Sorry, what were you going to ask?
Journo: Well, after you left on Friday, I discovered that my copy of -
RM:
JM: Sorry, just ignore him. Do go on.
Journo: So, as I was saying, when I was tidying up my office on Friday, I discovered that my thesaurus had been closed. Now, I wouldn’t ordinarily mind, but I had spent literally minutes sifting through the pages to find a good synonym for ‘scum’ (with fewer than three syllables so that our readers wouldn’t feel alienated). I left the office for a minute to answer the phone, and when I returned, all my hard work was lost.
JM: The closure of a book with 160- odd pages is something that is a grave thing.
Journo: Well, it’s not just that.
Obviously, after noticing the book was closed I tried to open it again. I promptly discovered that the pages were stuck together with superglue!
JM: I’m as surprised and shocked to learn that as you are.
Journo: Hmm. Do you know who glued the pages of my thesaurus together, Mr. Murdoch?
RM: This is not an excuse, but your thesaurus constitutes less than 1% of the books in this company.
Journo: So you did it?
RM: No. But I would be willing to make you a rather generous cash payment to make this whole mess go away. I think that, frankly, I’m the best person to clear this up.
Monday 18 July 2011
This post contains a laminated cardboard cut-out of a nuclear submarine
It emerged this week that a Swiss Political Party has formed with the sole intention of banning Microsoft Powerpoint. I personally can’t see why... I mean, what’s not to like about sitting through a speaker reading out sentences that are typed up in 14 point black Times-new-roman on a slide behind him? < /heavy sarcasm> This got me thinking. If I were to create a political party, what policies would I implement?
Employment
I think it’s important to learn from the successes of the past. Go with what works. Nepotism. The problem isn’t that nepotism exists, it’s that too few people have contacts of any worth. So I guess what I’m suggesting is an enthusiastic drive to marry off the elite. But the elite are too few in number to have any really significant effect on the UK’s entire population. The only logical solution is to marry them off multiple times. Marry and divorce repeatedly. Cameron urged us to ‘hug a hoodie’ I’m suggesting ‘marry a marquis’. This would also boost the economy; with so many nuptial ceremonies the sales of tiny place cards, confetti and vicars should skyrocket.
Defence
The whole idea behind Trident is that it’s a clandestine nuclear weapon; no-one should know the location and it should never be used. I think the obvious question that presents itself is ‘Why don’t we just pretend to have bought it?’ Should the need ever arise to give the impression that Britain is armed we could make a lifesize laminated cardboard cut-out of a nuclear submarine. As long as we’re careful not to let the enemy encircle the ‘vessel’, I can see this as a viable approach. This policy of bluffing could be rolled out to other sectors – laminated cardboard cut-outs of schools (fine so long truancy rates don’t fall), laminated cardboard cut-outs of hospitals (especially feasible for the treatment of the blind or vision impaired) and laminated cardboard cut-outs of libraries (suitable so long as opening hours don’t increase and coincide with times in which the populace might not be at work).
Energy
It has become clear that the UK must seek alternative energy sources – I suggest harnessing the power currently generated, but not captured, by all bicycles in gyms. A coil of wire wrapped around the axle and magnets attached to the wheel should create a current. The covert installation dynamos would not have to be restricted to health clubs; energy could be generated when punters open the fold-down seats in the cinema or on the tube or walk through hand-powered revolving doors. (I secretly suspect that this is already the case).
Employment
I think it’s important to learn from the successes of the past. Go with what works. Nepotism. The problem isn’t that nepotism exists, it’s that too few people have contacts of any worth. So I guess what I’m suggesting is an enthusiastic drive to marry off the elite. But the elite are too few in number to have any really significant effect on the UK’s entire population. The only logical solution is to marry them off multiple times. Marry and divorce repeatedly. Cameron urged us to ‘hug a hoodie’ I’m suggesting ‘marry a marquis’. This would also boost the economy; with so many nuptial ceremonies the sales of tiny place cards, confetti and vicars should skyrocket.
Defence
The whole idea behind Trident is that it’s a clandestine nuclear weapon; no-one should know the location and it should never be used. I think the obvious question that presents itself is ‘Why don’t we just pretend to have bought it?’ Should the need ever arise to give the impression that Britain is armed we could make a lifesize laminated cardboard cut-out of a nuclear submarine. As long as we’re careful not to let the enemy encircle the ‘vessel’, I can see this as a viable approach. This policy of bluffing could be rolled out to other sectors – laminated cardboard cut-outs of schools (fine so long truancy rates don’t fall), laminated cardboard cut-outs of hospitals (especially feasible for the treatment of the blind or vision impaired) and laminated cardboard cut-outs of libraries (suitable so long as opening hours don’t increase and coincide with times in which the populace might not be at work).
Energy
It has become clear that the UK must seek alternative energy sources – I suggest harnessing the power currently generated, but not captured, by all bicycles in gyms. A coil of wire wrapped around the axle and magnets attached to the wheel should create a current. The covert installation dynamos would not have to be restricted to health clubs; energy could be generated when punters open the fold-down seats in the cinema or on the tube or walk through hand-powered revolving doors. (I secretly suspect that this is already the case).
Thursday 14 July 2011
In which the author muses upon falling pianos, lacquered sea-sponges and toast.
I went to see Terence Malick's "The Tree of Life". The following is a transcript of my inner monologue.
I could be watching the Apprentice now.
Just enjoy the film. The Apprentice will be on iPlayer.
But I would rather be watching S’ralan-
Lord Sugar
Sorry, ‘Lord Sugar’ with Helen, Tom, Jim, Susie and Natasha.
I’ve always thought that Tom looks a bit like Tony Blair played by Andy Serkis.
Really? I thought it was more ‘Andy Serkis played by Tony Blair’.
Get back to the film!
But it’s just a non-linear show-reel of natural history. Look, there’s a sub-surface shot of a wave, a shiver of hammerhead sharks and a group of Moon Jellies. It’s like a ‘best of’ for the entire globe.
Now that’s what I call nature?
Something like that.
Look, it’s a dinosaur. Surely you can concentrate on that.
I used to love ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’ when I was younger.
This is supposed to be a sophisticated film. Just try paying attention for a minute.
No! The dinosaurs are gone! Now what am I supposed to do?
Watch the film?
Okay, I’ll watch the film while *thinking* about dinosaurs. If I could have any dinosaur for a steed, which would I choose? I don’t think I could go for a diplodocus. People might think I was overcompensating for something.
It’d also be quite hard to find a parking space.
I hadn’t thought of that. Okay, what about an Eoraptor? They’re fast.
True, but at 2 foot long one might find it rather difficult to support your weight.
I could use lots of them. Like the Romans and logs. I’d ride in a sedan chair, and have hundreds continuously fed underneath the base.
Has anyone ever told you that you have a sick sense of humour?
Only the people that know me.
Okay, it’s a scene with people in now. Surely your attention can be captured by this. Look, a baby. Aww
Urgh!
Now this is cinema. Raw emotion, profound artistic statements -
Actors? Shots? There’s no coherent or engaging plotline. Although we’re informed there’s a death I have no desire to find out how it happened. [pause] I wonder how I’d like to die. It would have to be something with comic irony, say, crushed by a falling piano.
It’s a bit cliché.
You know how as the length of the fall increases the threshold for ‘mass of the object needed to inflict fatal wound’ drops? (Also known as “a coin dropped from the Eiffel Tower could kill”) Well, how about being crushed by a miniature piano dropped from an aircraft?
Well, I’ll grundgingly admit that it’s creative.
Or how about being stabbed with a sponge? Obviously it would have to be a sponge that was dried, possibly lacquered, and sharpened to a point...
When would *anyone* prepare such an item?
Perhaps in a prison. Inmates are very creative when it comes to making shivs.
I think that an inmate lacquering a sea-sponge may attract some attention. Besides, where would an inmate get a sea sponge from?
An aquarium.
What, you think that they could just say “I know that incarceration usually means confinement within a correctional institution, but do you think it’d be alright if I went to an aquarium today?” and be allowed to leave. Then, they would return with a sea sponge secreted about their person.
No, you’re right. That’s absurd.
Finally, you’re talking some sense.
If he got permission to go to the aquarium, he’d almost definitely return with a shark.
. In your hypothetical situation, what, may I ask, was the prisoner’s crime?
He was a short assassin. [pause] He shot someone in the knee.
I can see that you’ve really thought this through. Was the victim alright?
He’s doing quite well for himself, actually. He went on ‘Dragons’ Den and managed to get Debora Meaden to invest £50, 000 in the invention he came up with while convalescing in the ICU.
I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but what did he invent?
An edible toaster. It’s quite clever, when you think about it – people only ever go to use a toaster when they’re hungry, and once they get there the Taster™ provides instant satiation.
So what’s it made of?
Toast.
But in order for a toaster to work you need a filament, wiring, casing! Surely clients complain that it doesn’t work.
In all the test groups we ran no-one actually reached the stage of trying to make toast with it. They all ate it before that situation arose.
But- but- that’s preposterous! People must have complained about it’s single-use?
Not a single one. It would appear that the test groups were all a bit embarrassed, reluctant to admit that they’d eaten an entire toaster.
That’s absurd.
It’s planned obsolescence at its finest.
I could be watching the Apprentice now.
Just enjoy the film. The Apprentice will be on iPlayer.
But I would rather be watching S’ralan-
Lord Sugar
Sorry, ‘Lord Sugar’ with Helen, Tom, Jim, Susie and Natasha.
I’ve always thought that Tom looks a bit like Tony Blair played by Andy Serkis.
Really? I thought it was more ‘Andy Serkis played by Tony Blair’.
Get back to the film!
But it’s just a non-linear show-reel of natural history. Look, there’s a sub-surface shot of a wave, a shiver of hammerhead sharks and a group of Moon Jellies. It’s like a ‘best of’ for the entire globe.
Now that’s what I call nature?
Something like that.
Look, it’s a dinosaur. Surely you can concentrate on that.
I used to love ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’ when I was younger.
This is supposed to be a sophisticated film. Just try paying attention for a minute.
No! The dinosaurs are gone! Now what am I supposed to do?
Watch the film?
Okay, I’ll watch the film while *thinking* about dinosaurs. If I could have any dinosaur for a steed, which would I choose? I don’t think I could go for a diplodocus. People might think I was overcompensating for something.
It’d also be quite hard to find a parking space.
I hadn’t thought of that. Okay, what about an Eoraptor? They’re fast.
True, but at 2 foot long one might find it rather difficult to support your weight.
I could use lots of them. Like the Romans and logs. I’d ride in a sedan chair, and have hundreds continuously fed underneath the base.
Has anyone ever told you that you have a sick sense of humour?
Only the people that know me.
Okay, it’s a scene with people in now. Surely your attention can be captured by this. Look, a baby. Aww
Urgh!
Now this is cinema. Raw emotion, profound artistic statements -
Actors? Shots? There’s no coherent or engaging plotline. Although we’re informed there’s a death I have no desire to find out how it happened. [pause] I wonder how I’d like to die. It would have to be something with comic irony, say, crushed by a falling piano.
It’s a bit cliché.
You know how as the length of the fall increases the threshold for ‘mass of the object needed to inflict fatal wound’ drops? (Also known as “a coin dropped from the Eiffel Tower could kill”) Well, how about being crushed by a miniature piano dropped from an aircraft?
Well, I’ll grundgingly admit that it’s creative.
Or how about being stabbed with a sponge? Obviously it would have to be a sponge that was dried, possibly lacquered, and sharpened to a point...
When would *anyone* prepare such an item?
Perhaps in a prison. Inmates are very creative when it comes to making shivs.
I think that an inmate lacquering a sea-sponge may attract some attention. Besides, where would an inmate get a sea sponge from?
An aquarium.
What, you think that they could just say “I know that incarceration usually means confinement within a correctional institution, but do you think it’d be alright if I went to an aquarium today?” and be allowed to leave. Then, they would return with a sea sponge secreted about their person.
No, you’re right. That’s absurd.
Finally, you’re talking some sense.
If he got permission to go to the aquarium, he’d almost definitely return with a shark.
He was a short assassin. [pause] He shot someone in the knee.
I can see that you’ve really thought this through. Was the victim alright?
He’s doing quite well for himself, actually. He went on ‘Dragons’ Den and managed to get Debora Meaden to invest £50, 000 in the invention he came up with while convalescing in the ICU.
I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but what did he invent?
An edible toaster. It’s quite clever, when you think about it – people only ever go to use a toaster when they’re hungry, and once they get there the Taster™ provides instant satiation.
So what’s it made of?
Toast.
But in order for a toaster to work you need a filament, wiring, casing! Surely clients complain that it doesn’t work.
In all the test groups we ran no-one actually reached the stage of trying to make toast with it. They all ate it before that situation arose.
But- but- that’s preposterous! People must have complained about it’s single-use?
Not a single one. It would appear that the test groups were all a bit embarrassed, reluctant to admit that they’d eaten an entire toaster.
That’s absurd.
It’s planned obsolescence at its finest.
Monday 4 July 2011
Signs that I would really like to smuggle into a Zoological park and stick by the enclosure of the appropriate animal..
Hardcore Prawn
Ungrateful Swine
Python Schmython
Vlad the Impala
and, at the entrance of the park, just below the opening hours
"Do not open if the seal is broken".
Ungrateful Swine
Python Schmython
Vlad the Impala
and, at the entrance of the park, just below the opening hours
"Do not open if the seal is broken".
Saturday 2 July 2011
94% of broadcasters bandy statistics
There is a 96% probability that this post was inspired by the current trend for rolling news coverage to back up 87% of assertions with statistics. (While there is an 84% chance that the preceding statistic was fabricated as a way of starting this post. In the words of Oscar Wilde “You can’t believe everything that you read on the internet.”)
It seems that it’s now impossible for televised debate to take place without absurd comparisons to underscore arguments. It’s not valid simply to discuss the impacts of industrial action – any contributor must be able to authoritatively assert that ‘Using the money that was lost during today’s industrial action, the government could have bought 52 dialysis machines, or a mass of rubber ducks equivalent to the weight of Eamonn Holmes’. It’s absurd, but goes completely unchallenged.
Bill Turnbull and Sian Williams do not bat an eyelid as an interviewee suggests that “If the London Underground were adapted to run on sixty thousand hamsters tethered to the front of each train instead of electricity, TfL could afford to rent one sixtieth of the Sydney Opera House”. Fiona Bruce and George Alagiah nod knowingly to each disjointed, incongruous factoid, as if to validate it. Juxtaposing two ideas does not make them relevant!
Taking things to their (il)logical conclusion, one might expect a report on pensions in five to ten years time to consist of commentators starting with clauses such as;“If no-one in the UK wore sunglasses on Tuesdays”, “If we all agreed to use a single hyphen rather than one of those extended double hyphens” or “If we imagine a penguin eating Weetabix” (which I personally think is a rather lovely mental image).
This sort of nonsensical comparison isn’t exclusive to the realm of current affairs. For years, physicists have been using the standard units of distance “the length of a blue whale”, “the height of a double-decker bus”, and the oft-cited “size of an Olympic swimming pool”. The units of weight (or, more accurately, mass, if there are physicists reading) don’t fare much better. An elephant. A bag of sugar. A fully-loaded 747.*
As the adage goes, ‘if you can’t beat them, join them**’. Accordingly, I’ve had a go at devising my own arbitrary units for the measurement of distance. There are two pencils in an owl, four owls in every shelf, and two shelves to an Ian Duncan Smith. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just seen a press-release stating that 89% of online audiences stop reading articles after 480 words. So I think I’ll stop writing.... now.
* That was a strange shopping list.
** As the adage goes after finding a thesaurus, ‘if you can’t vanquish them, co-operate with them’. As the adage goes after being fed through Google translate from Albanian to Finnish and back into English “If you can not win them to Hi’self". I digress.
It seems that it’s now impossible for televised debate to take place without absurd comparisons to underscore arguments. It’s not valid simply to discuss the impacts of industrial action – any contributor must be able to authoritatively assert that ‘Using the money that was lost during today’s industrial action, the government could have bought 52 dialysis machines, or a mass of rubber ducks equivalent to the weight of Eamonn Holmes’. It’s absurd, but goes completely unchallenged.
Bill Turnbull and Sian Williams do not bat an eyelid as an interviewee suggests that “If the London Underground were adapted to run on sixty thousand hamsters tethered to the front of each train instead of electricity, TfL could afford to rent one sixtieth of the Sydney Opera House”. Fiona Bruce and George Alagiah nod knowingly to each disjointed, incongruous factoid, as if to validate it. Juxtaposing two ideas does not make them relevant!
Taking things to their (il)logical conclusion, one might expect a report on pensions in five to ten years time to consist of commentators starting with clauses such as;“If no-one in the UK wore sunglasses on Tuesdays”, “If we all agreed to use a single hyphen rather than one of those extended double hyphens” or “If we imagine a penguin eating Weetabix” (which I personally think is a rather lovely mental image).
This sort of nonsensical comparison isn’t exclusive to the realm of current affairs. For years, physicists have been using the standard units of distance “the length of a blue whale”, “the height of a double-decker bus”, and the oft-cited “size of an Olympic swimming pool”. The units of weight (or, more accurately, mass, if there are physicists reading) don’t fare much better. An elephant. A bag of sugar. A fully-loaded 747.*
As the adage goes, ‘if you can’t beat them, join them**’. Accordingly, I’ve had a go at devising my own arbitrary units for the measurement of distance. There are two pencils in an owl, four owls in every shelf, and two shelves to an Ian Duncan Smith. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just seen a press-release stating that 89% of online audiences stop reading articles after 480 words. So I think I’ll stop writing.... now.
* That was a strange shopping list.
** As the adage goes after finding a thesaurus, ‘if you can’t vanquish them, co-operate with them’. As the adage goes after being fed through Google translate from Albanian to Finnish and back into English “If you can not win them to Hi’self". I digress.
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Charities that I would definitely support (if they existed)
The Royal Society for the Protection of The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds
A charitable organisation working to promote the conservation and protection of ornithologists, birdwatchers and people who-liked-the-idea-of-supporting-an-environmental-charity-and-decided-to-choose-this-one alike. Their aims are achieved through awareness campaigns (there are only 300 breeding pairs of Twitchers left in East Anglia!), operating reserves (in which they can, in turn, operate reserves for avians) and raising money through the sale of themed products (the highlight of the online store being a clock that chimes with the sound of a different orinithologist each hour).
The Royal Society for Bird Protection
A not-for-profit group which distributes contraceptives to the feathered, winged, bipedal ectotherms.
The Society for the Protection of Royal Birds
A charitable organisation working to promote the conservation and protection of ornithologists, birdwatchers and people who-liked-the-idea-of-supporting-an-environmental-charity-and-decided-to-choose-this-one alike. Their aims are achieved through awareness campaigns (there are only 300 breeding pairs of Twitchers left in East Anglia!), operating reserves (in which they can, in turn, operate reserves for avians) and raising money through the sale of themed products (the highlight of the online store being a clock that chimes with the sound of a different orinithologist each hour).
The Royal Society for Bird Protection
A not-for-profit group which distributes contraceptives to the feathered, winged, bipedal ectotherms.
The Society for the Protection of Royal Birds
Tuesday 21 June 2011
Monday 20 June 2011
Extreme Waiting
Do you think you could deliver food at 30, 000 feet?
While moving at 300 kilometres per hour?
Then perhaps you'd like to consider becominga member of cabin crew
an extreme waiter.
While moving at 300 kilometres per hour?
Then perhaps you'd like to consider becoming
an extreme waiter.
Friday 3 June 2011
Coming soon to a cabinet near you...
I've recently discovered a new genre of film; the political rom-com. Much like conventional rom-coms they feature contrived narratives and bumbling Brits who seem to live exclusively in London. However, once any of the characters says anything compromising, they assemble a press conference and immediately apologise, explaining that they will 'choose words more carefully' in the future.
Can two politicians sleep with together, and still look each other in the eyes in the morning?
One of them is lying. The other is lying down.
If those don't interest you, there are still plenty to choose from; Theresa May's Diary, Four recessions and a by-election or, if you're a fan of cartography, Notting Hill (Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea).
"When David met Nick"
Can two politicians sleep with together, and still look each other in the eyes in the morning?
"How to Lose a No Confidence Vote in 10 days"
One of them is lying. The other is lying down.
If those don't interest you, there are still plenty to choose from; Theresa May's Diary, Four recessions and a by-election or, if you're a fan of cartography, Notting Hill (Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea).
Sunday 22 May 2011
Sunday 15 May 2011
Wednesday 11 May 2011
Friday 29 April 2011
Wednesday 27 April 2011
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Surprisingly specific
Surprisingly specific word of the day: Antimacassar
Image Attribution - Chris McKenna (Thryduulf)
Antimacassars are those small pieces of cloth draped, ever so fetchingly, over the headrests of commercial passenger transport vehicles. Their purpose is to extend the life of fabrics, and their use and name can be traced to the Victorian and Edwardian periods, when it was common for men to wear ‘Macassar oil’ in their hair.
Monday 28 February 2011
Saturday 19 February 2011
Rise of the machines?
(If you're wondering where the sixth player went, Kryten got locked in during a game in the Industrial zone. He got distracted, started cleaning and didn't make it to the door before the two minutes elapsed.)
Friday 18 February 2011
Rastamouse: The unanswered questions
For the uninitiated, allow me to introduce Rastamouse, titular protagonist of the first British animated series to feature Jamaican-Caribbean characters.
Reminiscent of Oliver Postgate’s creations, the stop-motion series illustrates how characters can solve problems through respect and communication. The show promotes redemption in the place of retribution. Or, as Rastamouse would put it ‘making a bad ting good’.
Ignoring the common themes of criticism which have plagued the show (some object to the use of pseudo West-Indian accents and racial stereotyping while others claim that ‘cheese’ is an allusion to canabis) – Rastamouse has some explaining to do.
Is President Wensley Dale hiding a dark secret? Has Yersinia Pestis paid Mouseland a visit? Does Larry the cat have an alibi? If not, why are so many of the mouse-folk bereft of parents?
The orphans wear shorts, the female mice wear skirts or dresses, but the adult mice wear nothing below the waist. Is this some sort of sartorial statement about who wears the trousers?
Reminiscent of Oliver Postgate’s creations, the stop-motion series illustrates how characters can solve problems through respect and communication. The show promotes redemption in the place of retribution. Or, as Rastamouse would put it ‘making a bad ting good’.
Ignoring the common themes of criticism which have plagued the show (some object to the use of pseudo West-Indian accents and racial stereotyping while others claim that ‘cheese’ is an allusion to canabis) – Rastamouse has some explaining to do.
1. Why are there so many orphans?
Is President Wensley Dale hiding a dark secret? Has Yersinia Pestis paid Mouseland a visit? Does Larry the cat have an alibi? If not, why are so many of the mouse-folk bereft of parents?
2.Why do none of the adult mice wear trousers?
The orphans wear shorts, the female mice wear skirts or dresses, but the adult mice wear nothing below the waist. Is this some sort of sartorial statement about who wears the trousers?
Monday 14 February 2011
Thursday 10 February 2011
8 British road signs to look out for.
Which have, at best, limited application.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
Still, they're preferable to careless cartographers.
7.
8.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
Still, they're preferable to careless cartographers.
7.
8.
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