Garrulous Geek

29 July 2008. 1 hour is spent in the basement of a Moroccan restaurant in London, just off Regent Street, watching a band I'd never heard of before and couldn't name now without Googling. Time passes unmeasured, as I stand in silence with a friend, watching the blonde at the microphone. She puts up a parasol, indoors, at night. This too is fine.

And it matters not whether the band sound like Bic Runga or Lene Marlin, or even Travis on one track; or that the beer costs a fiver a bottle, or that the place is full of incense. My mind is far from my CD collection, my bank account, and my wonderings the next morning as to whether the smoking ban even covers incense. Nothing really matters here, just 4 minutes of music at a time, applause, and more music. I could be anyone, anywhere, no-one, nowhere, unknown to almost everyone in the room. My mobile doesn't even get a signal. I am out of reach - far away.

I've not been to a gig in many years, and am out of touch with this environment. It's good to come back to it. If nothing else, it's wonderful to just take an hour out of my life and just be lost in the semi-acoustic anaesthesia created by these 3 people; far from my studies, my work, my worries.

The band finishes, and we part company. I return to my hotel room, alone, though not before I call in at a newsagents to buy a packet of chocolate covered Hobnobs, for some as yet undetermined reason. Before too long it's 5:08am and I'm waking up in my clothes with my laptop still on at my desk. I doze for 2 more hours, before getting up. The alcohol leaves my system, and my worries and paranoia creep back, and I'm fretting about discussions with my friend over our dinner and drinks prior to the gig, as if I will be judged for voicing my opinions on ebook readers, the changing music industry, whether films can ever be adequately adapted from books (with specific reference to Love in the Time of Cholera, High Fidelity and Bridget Jones), whether the message of American Psycho is lost in it's grotesquery, whether Rage Against The Machine's half-caste heritage makes their covers of violent black hip-pop more palatable to me as a white man, the relative merits of Christina Aguilera and Alphabeat, and my assertion that All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey could be the greatest pop song ever were it not for a single atrocious harmony in the middle eight. Well, maybe I should be judged for that last one, but nevertheless - I seem to spend so much of my life worrying about things I've said and done in the past, as though people are keeping score, tallying up all the stupid things I've said or done in the past, the rants, the swearing, the dirty jokes, waiting till I tip the balance before disowning me. I'm sure I'm not the only one to worry like this, but it doesn't really make it any easier, and I do find it concerning that it only seems to be alcohol that can adequately mask those fears.

In other news, Tuesday wasn't my only night of culture in London this week. I spent Monday night at the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall. I went with three friends to see a couple of pieces by Beethoven (including his 5th symphony) and a concerto by a chap called Carter which none of us really rated, though we were impressed with the variety of primary school type percussion instruments it made use of. And if that sounds like damning with faint praise, that's because it is. The 5th symphony was brilliant, especially as I - being rather less cultured than my veneer might suggest - had not previously heard it in full, and was only familiar with the well known first movement. It was interesting to spend such long times listening to just music, with no lyrics, as I have obviously become accustomed to through listening to modern pop music and the like. It was quite surprising to find how quickly the 32 minutes of the 5th symphony could pass. A good time was had by all, and I enjoyed doing something different, taking advantage of being in London for these trips to do something I'd not normally have the chance to.

I've also had another night of culture tonight, albeit much more mainstream and popular. I went to the cinema (alone, which I don't think is as weird as some of my friends do) to see The Dark Knight. I'll not write about it at length, as there's enough credible reviews out there, but I will say I thought it was spectacular. Heath Ledger's Joker was terrifyingly psychotic and I found the film genuinely unnerving and edgy. It was gripping, exciting and intense. Definitely one to see.

What price nostalgia? Last week, I spent £15.70 to have a look at the past and see what it was like. A couple of weeks back - probably around the time I was watching the No Surprises video over and over - I had a lengthy chat with my mum to try to get to the bottom of why I'm so predisposed to feeling melancholy; she's known me about as long as anyone, so it seemed a reasonable bet that if anyone knew then she might. I don't know that I got many answers, but in the course of discussion I came to wonder whether I'd been "happier" prior to moving house from Haslemere (Southern Fairy fancy town where footballers live) to Heswall (Northern monkey fancy town where footballers live). It sticks in my mind that I was happier before then than since. Perhaps there's something in that...

Besides, class had finished early for the day, and I quite fancied a nice walk in the sun. If nothing else it would be nice to see how well I could remember places I'd not set foot for over 18 years.

I took a train from London Waterloo to Haslemere, a journey I'd not made since - at best guess - I'd last been to visit London with my dad all those years ago. It seemed odd to be making a journey like that again after all this time, and doubly strange to think of it as a journey that my dad made every working day for about 7 years. I wonder how much faster the trains are these days... It's a very different journey to my commute into Manchester. The railway line appears to carve out a path through woods and forests, where my journey merely runs past a slag heap and through a handful of small towns. I'm struck by how green everything looks, and by the different plants that grow around here - there's bracken everywhere, for example. I don't know where I'd go to find bracken up North, but it's all over the place down there.

The train approaches Haslemere, and I feel nervous, like I'm about to meet someone important, or do something dangerous. I remember travelling to Newcastle, my birthplace, from Durham, while at university, and feeling similarly strange. This is a stronger feeling though - I left Newcastle at 18 months, and don't remember it at all, but I feel I know Haslemere like the back of my hand. I've not brought a map with me, but I'm confident I'll be able to walk about 5 or so miles around the town without getting lost.

Stepping out of the station, I take a right towards Wey Hill, and I see a dentists on the other side of the road. It looks very different to when I was there last, when I had my first orthodontic brace and my brother had his first fillings. Apparently it's the Denplan Dentist of the Year. Heading towards Wey Hill, I pass a pub, and it occurs to me that my landmarks for navigation are completely different to anything I'd have used back in the day. These days, I work on pubs and churches. Last time I was here, I attended one church and no pubs.

I pass the library and a fabric shop that I remember my mum taking me to. I don't see the toy shop where I bought a Lego set and a teddy bear with one year's birthday money, so I guess they've closed down. At the bottom of the hill, I'm disappointed to find that the old leisure centre where I learnt to swim has been supplanted by a Tesco store and a few blocks of flats. I wonder how long it will be before Tesco crushes the Co-Op over the road, the scene of my first shoplifting crime in which I took a tin of Quality Street off the shelf and started eating them. I don't recall if my mother was made to pay for them, but I know she wasn't best pleased. Behind the Co-Op there's a children's playground with a very tall slide that I'm sure I never went on, much as I wanted to. I toy with the idea of going on it now, for old time's sake, but there's kids everywhere and I'm not sure it would go down too well.

On towards Shottermill, I pass a church where we attended a Finnish School of sorts for a number of years with my mum, and a layby outside a newsagent where I remember discussing the withdrawal of half-pennies with my dad. I press on, heading out of town somewhat, towards the roundabout that takes you to Liphook, and pass another pub that I don't remember. I assume it was here when I last was, but I couldn't really say. Shottermill Ponds are as pretty as I remember them, with ducks, geese and swans swimming on them. I take some photos and hope I can put together a panorama later.

I can - click for a big pic:

Rounding the corner into Camelsdale, and heading back towards town somewhat, I pass children in school uniform, playing by the ponds and in a park where I remember a fete of some kind. Some of these children are the same age I was when I left. The younger ones could feasibly be children of people I went to school with. Of course, I don't recognise anyone, and even if I did, what could I possibly say to them? Since our lives diverged they've doubtless run parallel courses, but what could we have in common any more?

I'm starting to get thirsty walking in the sun, so I call in at a newsagent for some Ribena and a Double Decker. The name - Cee Gee's - is the same as it was when I was last here, though it appears to be independent these days, where I remember it as part of the now defunct Happy Shopper franchise. I toy with the idea of asking the shopkeeper how long she's owned the shop, but decide against it. The gentlemen behind me in the queue talk to each other and I wonder how my accent would sound against theirs. They would probably think I sound Northern, which would at least make a nice change from being up North and sounding Southern. I expect my voice will always sound like it belongs in another part of the country.

I walk down towards St. Paul's church and Camelsdale Primary School. The vicarage has been extended but the church is just as I remember it. They've cut down the elder tree from which my siblings and I used to pick and eat the small black berries after church. I look through the church windows, trying not to appear too suspicious to the parents picking up their children from the playgroup in the church hall, and I'm proud to see that a banner my mum spent weeks making still hangs in the church, exactly where I left it. I'm glad they're still enjoying it, given the work that I saw go into it. The school is also much as it was when I was there, barring the removal of a few trees and some rebuilt outbuildings. I don't see the small outdoor swimming pool that used to be there, and either way I'm sure that the laws nowadays wouldn't permit children to get changed in the open air with only a towel to protect their modesty...

Back up the hill and past the street where I went for piano lessons. I recall sitting in our car on the piano teacher's drive while my mum spoke to her, and letting the handbrake off to see what would happen. Had my knowledge of physics at the time been as good as it is now, I would have deduced that the car would roll down the drive and into the road. I may even have figured out that that was quite dangerous. As it was, no such thoughts occurred to me, though mercifully my actions didn't lead to any injury, death or damage.

I approach one of the hills that surrounds Haslemere, and head further out of town, past a builders merchants (I remember it as Jesse Mann - it now calls itself Coomers) and then round a bend in the road to the site of many a grevious crime against humour, as perpetrated by my dad... The turning towards our house is on a bend with very poor visibility so whenever we drove out of that junction my mum had to get my dad to duck so she could see past him. Sometimes when my mum asked him to duck my dad said "Quack", much to our amusement.

Smiling to myself at the memory of this, I head on towards the street where I used to live. The road is quite narrow, and I remember the days after the '87 hurricane (or "storm" if you must insist on meteorological accuracy) when it was blocked by trees and you couldn't get a car out of there. At the bottom of our road I pass a little stream that goes under the road, the venue for many games of Pooh Sticks (Google lists a website for a Pooh Sticks World Championship, which sounds awesome. Alas, the website is rubbish). The houses around here are enormous, and the gardens look like they could have been transplanted directly from Ness Gardens or somewhere similar. I imagine that some of these gardens would be a full time job to look after, but if you can afford to live around here, I imagine that you can afford to pay someone to do that full time job.

I walk past our old house, but I can't linger to look at it for long as the owners - who also own two BMWs - are just pulling into the drive. The house is as I remember it, though I fancy that the end of it has been extended out towards where we used to have a greenhouse and a vegetable patch. I shudder to think how much the house is worth nowadays. Half a million? More?

At the top of the road I turn briefly to the right down an old bridlepath that we used to walk with our nanny, who looked after us when my mum was finishing up her English classes. There's the overgrown remnants of a log pile that we used to hide in and around, and I'd like to walk further but it would deviate from my planned route. I turn around and head back in the opposite direction, past the house of a girl I used to know; my mother informs me, and I vaguely recall, that I used to fret about whether she'd marry me when I grew up. Ah well, it wasn't meant to be! Onwards round a corner, past ponds where I once found a snuffbox - old fashioned even then - and more enormous gardens. There's a small table outside a tired farm building with boxes of eggs and an honesty box, though I fancy the eggs aren't at their best after a day in this sunshine. I take advantage of my age and independence and walk a path that I never trod but always wanted to, through woods that skirt the edge of Shepherd's Hill. I see a fox sat in a field, but I don't have the right camera to get a good shot of it. Nevertheless, it occurs to me that when I was last here mobile phones were the size of a briefcase, the 35mm camera was just in fashion, and the Walkman (the ones that played tapes - remember those?) was hitting it's stride. These days my mobile has Walkman written on it, and a camera in the back of it.

I pass a house for sale with a sign that says "Plot and 33 outbuildings". My mind boggles somewhat.

I get a nosebleed - they've picked up this past week for some reason - as I head into the town centre which seems apt given how they plagued me as a child. At the other end of town is the doctor's where they cauterised my nose after first anaesthetising it with... cocaine.

I have a quick look at the nursery I went to, where I remember puzzling over the difference between addition and multiplication - why should 2 + 2 = 4 = 2 * 2 ? Surely one of the signs in question is redundant? I stay long enough to take a picture of the building, but I feel self conscious, as though in this day and age I could be arrested for even looking at any kind of school with children in it.

The town centre is an odd thing, with a building stubbornly located in the middle of an elaborate roundabout. I look at the shops - there's a bookshop and a Woolworths that I remember, others that I don't. The bookshop's sign doesn't appear to have been painted since I left. I wander past the museum and take a quick look at the doctor's, then head back into town to look for somewhere to eat. I settle on a Wetherspoon's pub, different and the same everywhere you go. I sit down for sausage and mash with a pint of cider. I watch a cat climbing over shop rooves and I call Alison and Beth, and I miss my family. Beth is pre-occupied with her Duplo, so conversation with her is brief. I finish my meal and listen to the surrounding clientele curse out their conversations, and for a moment the only difference here is the accent people are talking in.

I get up and head back towards the train station. Passing a small park, I see teenagers loitering, and I wonder whether they have always loitered here. These ones probably weren't even born when I left, but perhaps others loitered before them and I was just never around to notice them. Rounding the corner on the approach to the station, I come across a gang of men, suited and booted, no doubt returning from their days at work in London. I think of my dad again, coming back each day from work and heading home to his waiting family, and I'm reminded of how I feel like my dad every day, getting the train to and from work, coming back to a house with Alison and Beth waiting for me.

I run over the station bridge and get on to the train to Waterloo (how many time's did my Dad nearly miss a train here?) and reflect on what I've seen...

I think it was easy for me to remember things in a certain way, given my age and the simplicity of my life when I lived here. I didn't know the world was broken at the time, but plenty of bad things were happening when I lived here. Vietnam and the Cold War had just about ended, but the Gulf War was brewing. John Lennon wasn't long gone. Fred and Rosemary West were burying people under their patio. Meanwhile, I was a child, playing in the garden, reading books, going to piano lessons, walking in the woods. I wasn't worrying about exams, girls, popularity, sex, money, work, wars, recession... I was innocent, and protected from all the troubles of the wider world. They would have got round to me eventually though, and I'd have found out about it all, and it would have probably been just as difficult to deal with as it was for me up North.

I wonder if I was slightly naive to think of my time in Haslemere as trouble free - a simpler life - but perhaps it's only natural that my mind has picked such a prominent event as a 200 mile move as the dividing line between my innocence and my... enlightenment?

I'm reminded somewhat of Rob's fixation with Charlie in Nick Hornby's High Fidelity (a masterpiece, as I've said before, in both book and film form) and how he had made her, in his mind, the root of all his problems.

I'm not sure what questions I was asking in going to Haslemere, and I'm not sure they were answered, but I definitely learnt something, if only about myself. The ancient Greek aphorism Know Thyself comes to me. I think I do understand myself a bit better following the trip, and that's got to be worth £15.70 of anyone's money.

I only recently found out that the carbon monoxide in that lyric refers to suicide by way of vehicle fumes. It fits with the rest of the song, but it's still somewhat jarring to learn that, not least when it seems so obvious in retrospect.

I've been busy as all hell lately, with work and studying and family and trying to enjoy life at some point along the way. Work has been pretty dire lately, and I honestly don't know how much longer I'll be able to stick it out for before moving along. Likewise studying has been very hard work, though now that my exam is out of the way I feel I've got a bit more room to breathe. Family life is more enjoyable by orders of magnitude, but nevertheless hard work. And even "fun" seems a tremendous effort at the moment. It's much easier to just pass time without regard to whether I'm actually enjoying anything I'm doing.

I came across the video for No Surprises a couple of months back, having not seen it for a long time. The imagery seemed distressingly relevant at the time, and I watched the video several times in tears. It was rather reminiscent of my miserable teenage years, at which time The Bends was a mainstay in my music collection; a time when I felt sure I knew just what the man in the Just video had said, and knowing why he'd wanted to lie down in the pavement and stop...

I wish I could stop. Lie down. Rest.

Anyway...

Alison and I watched Control the other night - the documentary film about the life and death of Joy Division singer Ian Curtis. I can't claim to know much of Joy Division's music, beyond the marvellous Love Will Tear Us Apart and even that only due to it's presence on the Donnie Darko soundtrack. I did know what Joy Division meant prior to seeing the film, though that's more to do with my obsession with trivia than any interest in the band. Still, even without my having any real interest in the band, the film was engaging and interesting, and quite moving. The story was somewhat reminiscent of the much more well known Kurt Cobain, what with him being unable to deal with his fame and the pressures of performing. It was quite interesting because it was very difficult to sympathise with the lead character. It was much easier to pity him for his mental problems (depression, epilepsy) than to sympathise with him, as some of his actions - particularly with regard to his love life - were basically selfish and foolish. The suicide itself was well done, and very moving. Quite challenging to think of his situation and how he felt, and whether a person could ever be justified in killing themselves and leaving a wife and daughter behind like that.

Sticking with films, but on a decidedly lighter note, Alison and I are going to see the new Indiana Jones film on Saturday. It's getting some mixed reviews, but I'm sure it'll be good at what it does. I'm sure it won't be a searing critique of the work of archaeologists under the pressures of the cold war, as some critics apparently think it should be, but I'm certain that it will contain the following at a bare minimum:

• A hat
• A whip
• A tomb/cave/other dark place
• A car chase
• A fight

which should be about enough to carry it really. I've no doubt that it won't be as good as Raiders, or even as good as Crusade, but with the dross that Hollywood gets by on these days, I'd even settle for anything as good as Temple. It'll be 2 hours of thud and blunder led by Harrison Ford, which will definitely do the job.

Alison and I are picking up the new Lego Indiana Jones game for the Wii too. It looks like good fun, and if it's anything like Lego Star Wars which we both had a great time playing, then it should be £30 very well spent. The Wii has been one of our best purchases of late, and I've been amazed at how much I've been able to get Alison playing it. Gaming has normally been my domain, and occasionally a mystery to her, so it's been quite good to find some games we can play together. Mario Kart and Mario Galaxy have been two recent surprises - I'd never have expected to have got her playing those two.

Right. More another time... I'll write about some films next time.

I've been meaning to write for a while about some of the various media I have been consuming of late... books, films, games, etc... I shall start today with music.

First and foremost, the title of this post is a line from Get Over It, the new single by The Guillemots. It is, in my humble opinion, a masterpiece. You can watch the video at Youtube if the fancy so takes you. I have purchased the single via Itunes this very afternoon... I like being able to buy a single for less than a pound, and actually be involved in the charts again. I know the charts are horribly corporate and whatnot, but I think lowering the barrier to entry in terms of price (both for a band distributing singles and for the listener purchasing them) can only be a good thing. I'm hoping the charts will broaden out a bit more to include music that would otherwise not get in there, were it only being purchased by 14 year olds in Woolworths.

Talking of singles, I picked up The Mystery by Doug Walker as well. Chris Moyles had been banging on about it and how good it was, but also how no other DJ or station would touch it. The song was good, so I downloaded it, and after a few listens figured out why no one was interested in playing it... It's a Christian record. Sure, it doesn't mention God or Jesus, but it's pretty clear when you know what you're listening for. Shame that popular radio is so biased against anything remotely "edgy" in that sense.

Talking of things that are remotely edgy, I watched the Brit Awards last month. Dear goodness, what an embarrassment. It doesn't take too much cynicism to imagine that it was pre-arranged that all of a sudden once the 9pm watershed hit everyone would get drunk and start swearing. Sharon Osborne, Vic Reeves, The Arctic Monkeys... It's all just a bit cringeworthy. Very pretend rock 'n' roll. The awards themselves were predictably bland... Yes, I was pleased to see Mika, Mark Ronson and Kanye West pick up an award and yes - it's arguably fair that the Foo Fighters won a couple, though I think Dave Grohl's sarcastic acceptance speeches pretty much covered off the fact that they were pretty much token wins; the rest of the awards all seemed either ill deserving (Adele - more on that story later) or tediously predictable (Take That, Kylie). The performances were also pretty forgettable, with the exception of Amy Winehouse' hideous singing for Mark Ronson's version of Valerie that was memorable for all the wrong reason. All in all it was a bit of a waste of time.

Adele... How can she win a "critic's choice" award? In what world of paint-drying-and-peelingly boring music can she be seen to be even remotely interesting? Why the dragging vocals? Why the uninspired music? Why the obsession with pavements? Why the enormous record sales, for goodness' sake? I'll tell you why... It's the fault of middle aged, middle class folk buying any old CD for £7.97 in Asda to sit on their coffee table next to their copy of the Daily Mail. It is music for people who do not like music. It is the Ready Brek of the music world.

In other news, I've been buying second hand Placebo albums lately. Placebo are one of those bands that I've always known I should be listening to, but somehow never quite got into, with the exception of putting Without You I'm Nothing on a compilation tape about 10 years ago. The albums are all pretty much brilliant. The music is confident and capable - precise without sounding fake. The lyrics are poetic, in a way that surprisingly few songwriters achieve considering that songs are arguably just poetry with a backing track. I think the thing that surprises and impresses me most is that the music is almost effortless to listen to and appreciate - it's not like listening to a Radiohead or White Stripes record and having to give it time to be sure that it actually is good music and not just arty wank. The content is somewhat unsettling - spanning misery, modern life, drugs of every kind, bisexual sex - but strangely I find it less offensive than, say, the majority of R&B in the charts at any given time. Consider, for example, the lines:

Got a headrush, in her pocket
Two rubbers, two lubes and a silver rocket

from I Know by Placebo. Yes, it's very rude. However, let's compare that to the marvellous writing by Taio Cruz in his top 10 single Come on Girl, the bridge of which is worth writing out in full:

You wanna take a bite?
Come whet my appetite,
Put it in, do your thang, make my head spin,
So c'mon take me away,
You better take me away,
You better hit the spot,
If you want I can make you pop,
So let go, electro, take it nice and slow,
C'mon boy, c'mon boy, c'mon boy!

Maybe I'm using double standards here, or maybe I've got some idea that one of these artists is making grown up music for grown up listeners, while the other is making songs for immature sex crazed teenagers. Hmm. Either way, I'd much rather listen to Brian Molko's musings on his rather torrid lifestyle than yet another blinged up rapper banging on about all his bitches or whatever. Ugh.

Right. That's about all I've got to say about music for the time being... Films or games next, I think. See you then.

It surely has been a while...

I've just returned from a few drinks with an old friend of mine. Always good to catch up with someone you've known nearly 20 years. There's a somewhat unusual sort of freedom with someone like that. Like, if you've known someone that long and not freaked them out or driven them away by now, then you should be pretty safe to talk about nigh on anything, right? So, that was nice...

I've had my birthday just lately. I'm now 26 years old. People keep telling me I'm more than halfway to thirty and that sort of thing, as though I'm somehow supposed to be bothered by the inevitable, unavoidable, irrevocable passage of time. You may get the impression that I'm not overly fussed by being 26, or being 27 next year, or even 30 in 4 years time... You'd be right.

I was given money for my birthday, which is fair enough because that's what I asked for when people asked what I wanted. I've bought myself a swanky new Ipod, which is pretty cool. I've ummed and ahhed about getting one for a while now and it is pretty handy now that I have it. I've also finally got into buying music off the 'net with Itunes, which is something I've been meaning to do for a while, and so far it's not disappointed. It's all very easy and the quality is good, so I'm quite impressed. I know there's all the furore about DRM (I'm a geek - I'm supposed to know about these things) but I'm a bit apathetic about all that fuss at the moment. Anyway. The music's good and the price is good, so I'm not too fussed.

Beth is doing well at the moment. She's really getting the hang of talking now. She's apparently supposed to know 300 words by the time she's 2, but I'm sure she knows more than that already. She talks all the time, and is good at assimilating new words and using them properly. She's started to get the hang of talking on the phone too now. I'm currently away on training in London, but I've been calling each day to say hi to Ali and to Beth. I think she appreciates it, even if all she says is "Yes" to about anything you ask. Still, it's progress... a while back, all she'd say was "No".

I've actually got some good photos of Beth, from Christmas, and from a day a while back when we had some snow. I'll post them on Facebook or something, or on here sometime soon.

Training, ah training... It's pretty hard at the moment. I've got loads of work to be getting on with and it's very difficult trying to fit in family life and leisure time. I've come to appreciate the ironic use of the phrase "copious free time" as coined in - as I understand it - the US Navy and popularised by the legendary satirist and pianist, Tom Lehrer. "Sure", I say, "I'll do that in my copious free time". My, how we laugh, my fellow students and I, as we quietly wonder how we'll manage to cram everything into our brains in time for the exams. Panic is already setting in, and the first exam is still two months away. It's not looking good. I'll get back to you in May and let you know how it all turns out.

I've a mind to write about a whole bunch of other stuff, but it wouldn't really fit with this sort of general progress update. I've got a bunch of buzzing thoughts about various items of media... films, books, TV... Rough reviews of sorts. I'll post again soon, maybe even this weekend.

Still, don't hold your breath, eh?

One of the things I was given for Christmas, was a book that you may have heard of. It's called "Freakonomics" and it provides a rather unconventional look at the way the world works, tackling such issues as eduction, parenting, crime and so forth. It's fairly well written and makes for a pretty compelling read. It's occasionally guilty of the third kind of lie, but generally speaking the arguments and reasoning appear sound, if a little of the wall. The tone errs on the side of editorialising, but this is aimed at being a popular paper back for the casual economist, so that goes with the territory. Either way, it's a good read and I'd recommend it, if only to those with a passing interest in statistics and the like.

Yesterday I read a chapter concerning the fall of crime in the USA during the late eighties and early nineties, which surprised everyone as crime was expected to skyrocket at that point. The authors debunk various theories - improved policing, gun control, strong economy among others - and settle, with a knowing air of controversy - on the notion that it was the legalisation of abortion that led to falling crime. The argument goes that unwanted children are more likely to turn to crime, so as the legalisation of abortion (Roe v Wade 410 U.S. 113, for those of you who really want to read a full case note. For the less keen, the edited highlight can of course be found at Wikipedia) leads to less unwanted children, less crime logically follows. The reasoning is persuasive, albeit somewhat distasteful, and it certainly treads a fine line between utilitarianism and Machiavellianism. The idea that we can reduce crime at the cost of however many million unborn babies is certainly difficult to weigh up.

I am reminded, at this point, of another economic notion that I have come across in my limited flirtations with the subject. There exists a logical fallacy, known as "the parable of the broken window" which was conceived by a French economist in 1850. The fallacious argument goes that if a window happens to be broken, this is a good thing, because it makes work for the glazier, who can then spend his earnings on bread, such that the baker then has money to buy a pair of shoes from the cobbler, and so forth. The factor that is overlooked is of course that the owner of the original window has paid out the cost of the repair, and has nothing to show for it. He has borne the cost of the improvements to the rest of the economy, and the end result is that the system as a whole is worse off to the tune of one window.

It may be a sound argument to say that the abortion of many children is a good thing if it reduces crime. Society benefits from lower crime, and there is much rejoicing. The problem that is overlooked is that society has lost millions of children, and has arguably committed an act of corporate murder, depending on where you stand on the abortion issue. As for myself, I come at things from a Christian perspective, albeit a fairly liberal one. I disapprove of abortion for reasons of lifestyle, laziness and contraception, but I think it's probably OK if there is a great risk to the child or mother. All of which leaves me in the position of considering the cost of abortion to be a pretty steep one to pay for the prize of lower crime rates.

The real difficulty with this sort of thinking is that I'm pretty much bound by the nature of this life to think in terms of "the lesser of two evils". The thing is, I don't want the lesser of two evils. What I want is no evils. I don't want to have to pick between two bad things to try to achieve one good thing. The brick wall that I come up against is that this world is fundamentally broken, and no amount of chopping and changing can fix it. The window was broken way back in The Garden of Eden, with the apple debacle, and we've been attempting to pay off the glazier ever since. The sad truth is that the system can not be fixed from within, and requires an outside influence to sort things out - in short, it can only be done by God, by way of salvation through Jesus. That's the only way that this particular window can be fixed. Any other solution is short term and limited. We may fix one thing, but it will always be at the cost of something else, until we look for something beyond this world to help us out.

By way of easing my way back into blogging, here's an easy option... one of those quiz things that goes round. Not very interesting, I know, but it's been a while... I'll get back into it soon enough.

Quiz...

1. Was 2007 a good year for you?

Yeah, it was OK. It wasn't spectacular... I didn't do as much exciting stuff as last year - no new houses or babies. It wasn't bad though.

2. What was your favourite moment of the year?

I had a good time in Finland on holiday. It was fun taking Beth swimming in the lake, I liked that. She couldn't walk on her own yet, but she liked paddling while I held her up. There's pictures on Facebook.

3. What was your least favourite moment of the year?

My Grandma in Finland died, which was pretty rubbish, although we had been expecting it. Still, funerals are never great times, are they?

4. What are your plans for 2008?

More of the same, really... Work and look after my family. Try to get back on track with God. What a mess that is. I need to reprioritise a lot of things... Stop worrying about things I'm going to buy, stop wasting time on pointless things, get back in touch with people. It's all a bit messy at the moment.

5. What countries did you visit?

Last year I visited Finland, twice - holiday and then funeral. I don't think I went anywhere else. I don't think I even went to Wales.

6. What date in 2007 will remain etched in your memory?

Beth's birthday in June was good. We went on the big wheel in Manchester, then had tea in Cafe Rouge.

7. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Beth getting to a year old, our marriage getting to three years old... More ongoing achievements than landmark single events.

8. What was your biggest failure?

Continuing my slide away from any kind of meaningful relationship with God. I still believe it all, but I can't get excited about it these days. That and not doing enough work for my course. Oops.

9. Did you suffer any illness or injury?

Coughs and colds, but nothing major. Had a bit of surgery to remove a nasopalatine cyst from the roof of my mouth. It turns out I'm in the lucky 10% for whom the nerves get damaged, so I've lost some feeling behind my teeth. Never mind.

10. What was the best thing you bought?

Probably our Nintendo Wii. Awesome. We got it for Christmas, but I had the foresight to buy it in September, anticipating the rush. It's great fun.

11. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

I had a very rough drunken night back in February... That was pretty bad. That or the drunken trip to the strip club in October or whenever. How embarrassing.

12. Where did most of your money go?

Things I bought on ebay... CDs, DVDs and games for the Nintendo DS. I'm well into Nintendo at the moment, so loads of my cash went that way.

13. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Our holiday in Finland, as I'd not been for a couple of years and I really like it there. It's beautiful.

14. What songs will always remind you of 2007?

I've listened to the radio a lot this year... There's been lots of songs I've gotten really sick of, rather than ones I've really liked. I've not got bored of the Mark Ronson/Amy Winehouse cover of Valerie by the Zutons. That was good.

15. Compared to this time last year are you:

• Fatter or thinner? A bit fatter. It's all those trips to London and eating two cooked meals a day.
• Happier or sadder? Probably a bit sadder... I'm feeling the pressure with work and my course. That's kinda getting me down.
• Richer or poorer? A bit richer.

16. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Studying, praying, reading the Bible. Sleeping too... I've fallen into bad habits of staying up too late wasting time and doing nothing of any use at all.

17. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Wasting time on the Internet. Ugh... how dreary.

18. How will you be spending Christmas?

I spent Christmas with my family - first my immediate family, then we saw Alison's relatives and then mine. It was busy, but good to see people I'd not seen in a while.

19. Which LJ/MySpace users did you meet for the first time?

I don't have accounts on either LJ or Myspace, as I am not 14.

20. Did you fall in love in 2007?

No, for reasons that should be obvious to most readers!

22. What was your favourite TV show?

Heroes was very good. I watched some more 24 on DVD too.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

Who has time to hate people? It's time consuming enough trying to like people.

24. What was/were the best books you read?

I think I read Day Of The Triffids this year. That was great. I got into reading the original James Bond novels too. They're really good, much better than the films. Live And Let Die was excellent.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

I got into The White Stripes, who I think are pretty good. I'm trying a bit of hip-hop too, but it's yet to really grab me. I can see the talent, but I find it hard to actually enjoy it.

26. What did you want and get?

A Nintendo Wii.

27. What did you want and not get?

Enough good marks on my homework, but I only have myself to blame for that really!

28. What was your favourite film this year?

I don't even remember what I've seen this year... American Gangster was good. I saw Die Hard 4.0 too, which was pretty much what you'd expect - silly action and whatnot. Oh yeah, and we watched The Last King Of Scotland on DVD which was brilliant.

29. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?

My birthday... I don't think I did anything special. I went to church, then I think I travelled to London for a week of training. Lucky me. I was 25.

30. What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?

Knowing I'd done some more work instead of wasting time.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?

Haha, I love the idea of a "personal fashion concept". Again, who has the time? I'm still wearing clothes I bought years ago. My "personal fashion concept" was "If it's not got holes in it yet, then you can keep wearing it and avoid spending money on new clothes".

32. What kept you sane?

My calm, easy going nature. And tea.

33. Which celebrity did you fancy the most?

Kelly Brook on Strictly Come Dancing. Her and Camilla Dallerup, also of Strictly fame. We're going to see the Strictly tour in February. I think both Alison and I will be eyeing up several of the competitors!

34. Which political issue stirred you the most?

CCTV, ID cards, all that crap. You can argue about whether it's Orwellian or not, but it's hard to see it as anything but a rubbish waste of money. The other thing that wound me up was tax credits... What a pain in the arse.

35. Who did you miss?

Alison and Beth while I was on training. Also, most of my friends from back in the day. I'm rubbish at keeping up with people at the best of times, let alone when I'm busy with work and everything else.

36. Did you treat somebody badly in 2007?

I probably didn't always make the most of the time with my wife and daughter.

37. Did somebody treat you badly in 2007?

I don't think so, no.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned this year?

Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. You have to work at it.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year...

Pick a few lines from Fitter Happier and you're pretty much there.

...just very busy. I'll blog soon, I promise.

By the time I get round to uploading this, I will probably know who has been voted off Strictly Come Dancing this week. As it is, I'm writing this in Notepad and will have to upload it later, as I'm on the train and Orange 3G perplexingly classifies my blog as "pornography" and unsuitable for anyone under the age of 18. Obviously my last entry raised more eyebrows than was immediately apparent.

So, I'm probably on decidedly safer territory if I stick with good, wholesome family entertainment like Strictly. I'm obviously getting dangerously middle-aged and middle-class, as I'm an ardent Strictly fan. So much so, that Alison and I are going to see it live when they go on tour in the New Year. Excellent.

We had our staff ball a few weeks back. We all headed down to the Kensington Olympia, ate fairly forgettable food, drank lots of free drink and generally had a good time. As part of the entertainment they had a bit of Strictly Come Dancing competition with various of our partners dancing with professional dancers and being judged. Brendan Cole and Lilya Kopilova from the show were there.

After they were done, and whichever partner it was won and was given their trophy, the dancing became decidedly less sophisticated and artful. The DJ put on the dance music and thousands of accountants descended on the dance floor. I resisted the pressure to dance, informing people that they'd have to get several more drinks into me before I'd go anywhere near the dancefloor... Well, being as the drink was free, this wasn't too difficult to achieve. I went and had a dance, in so far as my uncoordinated flailings can be called dancing. I don't have a problem with rhythm - I'm pretty good at keeping to the beat - I just have a problem with moving my limbs in anything like a sensible fashion and without causing bodily harm to my fellow dancers.

So, I danced for about an hour or so... Me and a thousand other dinner jacketed men and evening gown-ed women, aged anywhere between 20 and 60, letting our hair down and taking a break from our hours sat at desks counting other people's money. "This is weird", I think to myself, my and many other arms raised in the air as Faithless' Insomnia booms out at us. "Dun-dun-da-dun-dun-dun-da-dun-dun-dun-da-dun-dun-dun-dun". I wonder how silly we all look, sweating away in our black suits, dancing with other people's spouses to 10 year old records. I can't bring myself to worry for too long though, carried away as I am by alcohol and deep bass notes and the sheer physicality of this slinking, gyrating mass of people...

It's a curious thing, but it's strangely liberating... Moving to the music, following the beat from song to song. I am, admittedly, relieved that I don't have to try to impress anyone with my "moves" - I don't think Alison really saw me dance till after we were wed, by which point it was too late - but perhaps that just leaves me freer to enjoy myself. I doubt I'll make a habit of it, and I'd rather be able to dance properly, Strictly style, than to do anything that might fit in at a club, but perhaps once in a while it's fun to give it a go.

***

And lo, it was Dominic who left. Not to worry.

"Don't go a strip club - those women have mother's, fathers and they want to have children one day!"

So went the exhortation from a friend of mine, shortly before she left the pub wherein we were celebrating our tutor's stag do. Predictably, we proceeded to go to a strip club, but not before getting a few more drinks inside us, losing several quid to the quiz machine and eating lots of noodles.

I have mixed feelings about strip clubs. On the plus side, there are women taking their clothes off; on the other hand, it's really nothing more than the more socially acceptable face of the sex trade. You see the dichotomy, I'm sure. Strip clubs are respectable and enough to appear on high streets up and down the country, but I'm inclined to say there's something a bit more sinister at work than just a bit of smut at the end of a lad's night out.

I suspect that of those people who would ever go to a strip club, most would only ever go for a stag do or birthday party or the like, irony optional. But what of the numerous people I saw at the club I attended, still in their pinstripe suits after a day at the office? Don't they have homes to go to? Wives? Girlfriends? Or are they too busy spending their Thursday evenings in strip clubs to find any such partner? What of people attending strip clubs on their own, with no leering accomplices? Could there be a sadder way to spend an evening?

I wonder who is exploiting who, in the strip club system. The most obvious suggestion would be that I, the punter, am exploiting the stripper, forcing her to take her clothes off for my money. Having thought about it of late, I think that's a rather simplistic way of looking at things. Rather, I would think it more accurate to say that it is the proprietor who exploits me and my fellow punters, by way of exploiting the girls that he employs. I think it is men who are exploited out of their money on account of being too controlled by their sexual urges. To put it succinctly - it's just too damn easy to persuade us to give an unknown girl a fiver to take her top off for two minutes. I'm not saying that the women aren't being exploited too, but that's not the financial incentive for the guy in charge - he's just out to betray his fellow men by taking our money.

Now, admittedly, this is not exactly what was on my mind when the pretty blonde was taking off her rather inauthentic airline stewardess uniform, but I digress. It's easy to look at this seriously now, when I'm not full of alcohol and surrounded by hordes of baying City workers.

Now of course, the women are being exploited too. We pay women to take their clothes off and show us their bodies for our enjoyment, without really caring a jot about any aspect of their lives that doesn't involve their being nude and in our presence. Anything else is irrelevant. They are paid for their physicality and nothing more. However, the trouble with such a line of thinking is that it paints me into a corner regarding nigh on any other trade that depends on a person's physical traits and abilities. Is a model being exploited any less just because they get to keep their clothes on? Is a construction worker being exploited any less just because he's a guy building a house? The work is entirely contingent on his body. Hell, sometimes even he doesn't keep his shirt on. Is a sportsman any less exploited just because they're using their body to run around a pitch or swing a tennis racquet?

The corollary to that argument is that I'm then obliged to say that prostitution is legitimate, which is rather more difficult to justify. Working on the prior line of reasoning, a prostitute is making their physical abilities available to another person for money. It's their body to do what they want with, surely. Perhaps the problem there arises when you introduce a third party - the guy pimping the girls. Now that's real exploitation, never mind just paying women just to take their clothes off. That's when things get ugly. That's when people start getting shipped in from other countries, bought and sold like animals. That's when people start getting beaten and abused. Clearly there is a line somewhere between being paid to play tennis and being paid to have sex with someone, but for the life of me I'm not quite certain where that line is. That being said, I suspect that stripping lies on the wrong side of the line.

Now, it's all very easy to argue for and against prostitution when I'm not letting morals cloud things, but as a Christian (albeit the kind that occasionally finds himself half drunk and in a strip club - go figure) I'm compelled to think of things rather differently. No, it is not right for women to be exploited for their bodies, be that for page 3 modelling, prostitution or rape, take your pick. I suspect the whole problem arose back in the garden of Eden, when Adam and Eve first became aware of their nakedness and were embarrassed of their forms, and God gave them their clothes. From that point on, the body was something to be covered and hidden, and from that point on it was inevitable that one person would pay another to reveal their hidden body. Were it not for the fall and our subsequent hiding of our bodies, there would be no need for strip clubs in which to see other bodies exposed.

So, with that in mind I can only resolve to not set foot in such an establishment again.

Tuesday. Training. London. Deferred tax, group relief and a hideous test - 38%. Still feeling a bit sick with whatever Alison had. Take the tube at rush hour - silly mistake. Late to meet a friend. Walk into Soho, talk about work. Someone from The View outside a pub. Fish and chip shop. Good fish for central London, my friend tells me. Can't finish mine. Still feeling a bit sick with whatever Alison had. Talk about The Mercury Music Prize and it's arrogant winners. Talk about holidays, families, children, parents, ill grandmother, marriage, tax, David Cameron. Pay for our meal, the price we pay doesn't match the prices on the wall. Get a VAT receipt, claim back every pound spent. Walk further into Soho. Pubs crammed, drinkers on the street. Recognise this area from last evening of drinking with friend. Drunker then. Not drinking much this week. Still feeling sick with whatever Alison had. Find a pub, not too full, strange sign behind the bar - "Where locals come to be insulted". David Beckham's football camp letters on the wall. Gary Neville is his friend, it says here. Talk about the past, where we've come from, old friends, people we have and haven't seen in a long time. Miss the Wirral - why did everyone move away? Uni, jobs, families. Talk about the future. Need a reunion, but life moves on. People busy - jobs, families, children. How permanent are friends? Who will we maintain contact with? See again? People left behind when we move on, replaced by new friends where we arrive. Comparison to an author from the industrial revolution whose name I forget. I don't know much about literature, and my literary journalist friend knows little about tax. Talk about people we just seem to click with, teenage friends. An unspoken understanding. Raised on Nirvana and Harry Enfield, but surely there's more to it than that... Cider too fizzy. Can't finish it. Still feeling sick with whatever Alison had. Time to move on. Leave the pub. Alison calls. My life intruding into the pause we had taken to examine ourselves. Part company. Friend goes home to review things - CDs and books I guess. Promise to meet again soon. Hug, not weird after 17 years of friendship. Walk to Picadilly Circus. Tourists, adverts, statues. An Angus Steak House on every corner. Friends in TGI Fridays. Back to the here and now.

Sunday. Alison's birthday. Present didn't arrive yesterday, Amazon to blame. Early start, Beth hungry at twenty past seven. Warm milk to drink, sat between us in our bed. Porridge, shower, no time for a shave, friend picks me up, drives me to church. Just gone nine. Guitar, tune up. Amplifier, check levels, rest of the band arrives. Practise practise practise practise pray play worship God. Lead guitar on a ten year old song, can anyone even hear me? Service over, hurry home, twenty seven baked potatoes in the oven. Guests late. Friend from church arrives first. Three children. Mother-in-law next. Then more and more and more. New neighbours, old friends. House full. Garden full. Where is the rain? Food for everyone, kids run riot outside. Pudding. More guests. Babies everywhere. Beer, wine. Football lost on the roof. Friend from church's daughter needs the toilet, demands my accompaniment for some reason, friend from church only too happy to have someone else do their dirty work. Potty, poop, good-grief-open-a-window. When in my life did it became normal to wipe a friend's child's bottom? Return child to parent. "This is the second time I've done that, once more and you'll owe me a beer." Only half serious. Rain sets in. Tidy toys away. Kids locked inside, stir crazy. Time to go, leave our house in peace. Tidy up, black bin liner, dishwasher, cup of tea. Rest, reflect.

In my teenage years, I cleared up after drunk vomiting friends at parties. In my twenties, I'm clearing up after my friend's pooping child. I guess life is different, but it stays the same too.

We got back from our holiday in Finland a couple of weeks ago. We had a good time, and it was nice to be able to take Ali and Beth over there to see it, given how many times I've been and how big a part of my history it forms.

I really like being in Finland... it's beautiful and unspoilt. There's forests and lakes and fields everywhere and its so big and wide open. The population density is a low low 15.5 people per square kilometre (thanks Wikipedia). If you do the maths, that means that if you spread people out evenly (a bit difficult due to there being close to 190,000 lakes in the country - that only counts those over 500m^2, the largest being the 5th largest in Europe at 4,308km^2) then you would be 250m from the nearest person. Somehow I like the idea of having that much space around you... Once you get out of the cities and towns, you can be in the proverbial middle of nowhere in about 20 minutes. It's quiet and peaceful, the air is clean, there's minimal light pollution... It's wonderful.

We spent a couple of nights in Helsinki, the capital city, which was nice as I've never really spent much time there. We had a look around the city and spent one day at a zoo that they have on a nearly island. It cost just 10 euros for entry to the zoo and the boat ride to get there, which should be a bargain by anyone's standards. The zoo was pretty good, and I've got quite a few photos in the album that I'll link to later.

After Helsinki, we drove up to Parikkala (note to self - update that Wiki page, or suggest that my mum have a go at it), where my mum grew up. Between drama over the hired car seat for Beth, and Beth's yelling on the 5 hour journey, it was quite a long day, but we got there in the end.

We stayed in a lovely cottage, about 20 minutes drive from where my Grandma's house is. We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The cottage had only just been built and it was extremely nice - very well decked out and extremely comfortable. The place had it's own sauna, which is always enjoyable. We were right by a lake so we could go swimming, although it was pretty shallow around us, so swimming was more an exercise in falling over and making a meal of getting up again.

A couple of our day trips were slightly marred by events out of our control, but we got to see quite a bit of the surrounding area, so that was good. I'd like to go back again, when Beth is a bit older, which would make things on that front a bit easier. We did manage to see Savonlinna (Finnish link, because I'm bored of just linking to wikipedia pages the whole time), spent some time at my aunt and uncles, saw my ill grandma in hospital and went to a nearby nature reserve, though that last trip did involve Alison being extremely startled when an adder crossed her path.

The travelling was OK, though Beth was a bit noisy on the flight there, and very noisy on the flight back. Our trip back involved a 4 hour train journey, which was considerably more pleasant and considerably cheaper (about £80 for the two of us plus Beth) than any 4 hour train journey I've ever been on in England. We got to stay in our own little compartment, with a bit of company from another mum with kid's at one point, and the train even had a play room for kids with a slide and books and stuff. Kudos to VR, Finland's rail network. Apparently you can do stuff like that when you don't privatise your rail industry, and you actually make sensible use of your taxpayer's money, unlike a certain bunch of clowns.

So, all in all it was a good trip. You can see the photos that I've uploaded to Facebook, complete with captions and a bit more explanation of stuff.

I like Finland. Monty Python be damned, it is the country where I want to be. I think I'll learn the language (my initial explorations suggest it is a work of art - logical in ways that please me more than they probably ought) and buy a holiday cottage there. Maybe I'll retire there when I'm older.

When I'm in charge, there's a few offences that will be punishable by swift death. As a little service to you, those of my friends kind enough to read about me here, I am choosing to let you know - ahead of time - what these things are. That way, when I take control, you won't be left trying to plead ignorance in the face of my heavily armed correction squads, for believe me now - ignorance will be no excuse. Read on and take note, for these are the things that you shall not do:

• Drop litter of any variety anywhere except in a bin. This includes spitting chewing gum from your mouth, you savages. I can only imagine that smokers will be particularly hard-hit by this ruling, as they seem to think it their right to drop cigarette butts everywhere they go. Oh well.
• Let your dog crap on the street. Similar to the above, this will also result in a swift execution. As a sidenote - cats will still roam free and may still defecate in your garden. You may not like this, but you can whine about that when you successfully depose me from my seat of power and take charge of the country.
• Leave used tea bags in the sink. Words fail me sometimes, they really do. Put it in the damn bin. Good grief.
• Play music at an offensively loud volume in your house, such that I am forced to listen to it while relaxing in my garden.
• As above, for music played in a car or other motor vehicle.
• As above, for music played on your mobile phone while walking down the street. This problem is only compounded by the fact that you're probably listening to R&B. Luckily for you I've not yet made bad musical taste a capital crime, but you have been warned.
• Drive a car that has been "modded" with an absurd exhaust. No one thinks your mum's Clio has a V8 engine, no matter how loud it is. You better hope it's modded to withstand sustained RPG fire.
• Swear in public, especially in earshot of children. Just shut up, huh? No one wants to hear you punctuating your sentences with the f-word.
• Engage in any unsolicited marketing activity, including but no limited to spamming, cold calling, junk-faxing, pop-ups and spyware.
• Sell crap food. For example: Nescafe is not coffee; sausages should contain meat that wasn't pressure hosed off the carcass; hydrogenated vegetable fat is not a valid substitute for the cream in ice cream; low fat yoghurt is a travesty; citric acid, sugar and carbonated water do not constiture lemonade; Sunny Delight and Fruit Shoot are revolting. We'll eat real food when I'm the boss.
• Stop on double yellow lines to use a cash machine or similar. You may get lucky and simply find your car stolen while you get your money, but I wouldn't chance it.
• Show off your underwear. Now, some people think that women showing off thongs is sexy. I am not one of these people. I don't want to see it, and you will stop showing it to me. There are extremely rare occasions on which underwear on display can be highly intriguing, and this will be permitted, but 99 times out of 100 it is just plain ugly. I am, however, prepared to act as judge, jury and executioner in these borderline cases.
• Write truly terrible song lyrics. Recent offender: Fergie's track "Big girls don't cry" includes the line "And I'm gonna miss you, like a child misses his blanket." Not only is this line unwieldy and tenuous, but the next line shockingly fails to find anything to rhyme with blanket. Seriously, just shut up.

I'm sure there are more things that will spring to mind once I oust Gordon from No. 10 in my impending coup, but I think that's enough planning for now. I trust you all feel better informed. Tread carefully.

Answer me this, if you can...

Are the majority of women so easily manipulated that they will buy a perfume "endorsed" by Sarah Jessica Parker - a woman who almost certainly had no hand in designing it or manufacturing it, but was in fact just paid a wedge of cash to be photographed holding it - believing that by wearing said perfume they will somehow attain the style, success and sex appeal of the fictional character that she played in Sex And The City?

I hate advertising. The sooner Boots take down those 10 foot tall posters of her ridiculous grinning face, the more pleasant my walk to work will be.

I've probably mentioned it before, but I find it tough to buy CDs. I'm usually pretty short for cash, and I tend to buy everything second hand on ebay, but I still have to be really selective in what I pick up. I hate to feel like I'm wasting any money on non-essential things like music or games or whatever, because money isn't exactly abundant...

I get frustrated trying to pick CDs, because it's so hard to find anything that really grabs me - something really outstandingly different or inspired or inspiring or even just really impressively talented. I listen to the radio most days, and while I love the variety of music, there's just so little that I'd ever actually buy and listen to again once I got bored of hearing it on the radio. Sure, the Kaiser Chiefs are pretty good, and the lyrics are quite smart, but is the music really any more impressive than anything I've heard before? Yes, Flourescent Adolescent by the Arctic Monkeys is a great single now that you mention it, but I don't care about the rest of their work because it all just sounds deliberately grimy and underproduced, and apart from the drumming they don't sound wonderfully talented - more like they were just in the right place at the right time. Hey There Delilah by the Plain White Tees is a beautiful acoustic number, but wouldn't I be better just buying a Simon & Garfunkel best of? Hell, even that Kate Nash single is pretty catchy, but I hate Lily Allen so that probably wouldn't work out too well. There's even the odd dance track here and there that's good, but I can't listen to an album of that, God help me.

The only band that's really grabbed me of late are The White Stripes, and that's probably only because it's the first time I've been exposed to any blues music. Even then, though, I'll probably just buy up their back catalogue and won't venture further than that.

So, in a bid to widen my horizons, I turned to... Amazon. Perhaps their recommendations would be able to inspire me? So I sat and browsed the list, let it know I already owned a few things it was suggesting, and then had a look at what remained...

Well, as I like Electric Light Orchestra, I'm apparently supposed to want to buy something by Wizzard or Prefab Sprout. Hmm. This is not off to a flying start...

Ooh, here we go, something that got recommended because I like Belle & Sebastian, that might work. Oh, it's Isobel Campbell's solo album after she quit the band due to breaking up with the lead singer. Sorry, no sale, I don't think that's going to work. There's a slew of other bands from Glasgow, but again I'm not sure that's the best criteria on which to suggest CDs.

Ugh... Oasis albums, recommended because I like Blur. As someone who was around at the time, this seems quite ironic.

Pantera, because I like Rage Against The Machine; Keane and Kasabian because I like Muse; endless Ben Folds records; Enya records because I bought my dad one of her albums as a present years ago... It's probably just a mercy that Amazon doesn't know I like Green Day and Blink 182 or I'd be wading through NOFX albums and other "real" punk that I'm really not into. This isn't working for me.

Sure, a couple of albums turn up that I might look into, but there's far more that I definitely am not interested in.
It all seems to be borne out of people buying 3 albums that happened to be released in the same week, and people like me buying up a bands entire back catalogue such that everyone else is expected to own all their records on the basis that they bought one 10 years ago.

In the end I got fed up and bought a Kanye West album. Rap music. Not exactly home territory - certainly something different. And sure, the albums got some good singles and a couple of other good bits on there, and he's very talented in his field, but it's just not something I can access terribly easily. The swearing that I can handle on a Green Day record bugs me here, and every other word seems to be nigger, which will probably always be a bit weird for my white ears to listen to.

Time to crawl back to another damn guitar band...