I've just finished reading 'The Element' by Ken Robinson, in which he argues that a successful future (either individual or collective) is dependent on us finding our passion in life. I think that most people would argue that discovering one's passion, and subsequent immersion in said passion is a good thing, and that many people have yet to discover that which is their raison d'etre.
The book is tricky to pin down, however, and for the most part uses examples of famous and talented people that did not discover their passion until they left School, or (in the worst cases) were actively discouraged from following their chosen path by those who guided them through School. I'm always sceptical of anectodal highly-specific and personalised evidence used to lend weight to a theory, especially when no counter-argument is put forward.
Robinson's general point is that we should all be given ample opportunity to find one's own 'Element', and this is more likely to occur if we were to lose the hierarchy of subjects in Schools, and to place more emphasis on the Arts, and creativity in general. We also need to ensure a high quality of teachers (or mentors (I like this word)) in our Schools, to make it more likely that pupils will be inspired to find their 'Element'.
It's hard to argue against either of these points, and when he writes about the need to blur the boundaries between subject disciplines, he's particularly persuasive; I've always been passionate about cross-curricular teaching. I find his jokey style irritating, like the person at a party who's unable to enter any serious conversation in case people find him boring, and I find his analogy of the standardised 'fast-food' curriculum that we have now versus the 'michelin-starred' curriculum that we should embrace to be flawed, but it's well worth a read for anyone interested in the difference between Schooling and education. Just try not to cringe when he describes Paul McCartney as a rock God.
One thing it did do was make me think. I often feel that I'm far too flexible about education, and that my views on how it should be best achieved (at least at School) vary with the seasons. I think that this is actually no bad thing, given our inability to predict what will happen in even the near future. Things move at such a pace (technology, population expansion, global climate change) that it would be foolish to present an education model fit for even the next 5-10 years.
But here's some ideas:
1. Do away with the current system of Sixth Form examinations (A-levels etc). Universities set their own entrance exams, which ensure that the gap between School Sixth Form and university learning is bridged. This encourages liaison betweeen Schools and universities, and ensures that Schools look forward to higher education and the job market rather than backward to past papers.
2. Exams should be relevant to the subject(s) that the pupil wishes to study, but should be less about rote learnign of facts and more about complex problem solving within that subject. Trundling through mounds of past paper questions is not education; it's teaching people how to pass an exam.
3. Do away with 'subjects' at School, and instead teach 'classes', similar to the US college system. This encourages the pupils to think about education not as clasified and categorised into specific subject areas. How many times have I head pupils say 'but isn't that Physics?' when discussing the structure of the atom. Being educated isn't about learning what's on the syllabus for 3 subjects in the Sixth Form. I teach chemistry, but why shouldn't I teach classes about scientific literature, the history and philosophy of science?
4. Prioritise the education that occurs outside School. We focus so much on the education that our pupils get within the School's 4 walls, and ignore what happens outside. It's so easy to communicate with anyone at any time, and yet we don't make best use of this in an educational sense. Education means much more than taught classes, and people can become more educated every time they read a book, or a newspaper, or watch a film, or listen to music, or debate a political point. If the pupils are inspired in the classroom, they'll be adept at educating themselves outside the classroom.
There you go - heavy stuff for a Tuesday morning, or does that make me sound too much like Ken?
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Monday, 18 April 2011
My compressed 30 day music challenge - the first ten days
Impatience is just one of my many faults, and when I was kindly sent the link to this month-long challenge, the first thing I did was look ahead to the questions that I wanted to think about and to write about. They say that good things come to those who wait, but I like to grab things I like the look of rather than wait for them to come to me. I know that if I have too long to look forward to something, I'm guaranteed not to enjoy it when it finally comes around due to the length of the build-up. This is also a great thing to blog about, because I don't really mind if no-one reads it; it's fun to do, and therefore has some value to me. I think that people's musical choices can say a lot about them (it can certainly tell you whether or not they actually like music) and because my tastes are fairly varied and I get bored easily, I'm always interested in what other people like and why they like it.
day 02 - your least favorite song:
Toss-up here. My first 'least favourite' would be the 'comedy' song, like the ones done for comic relief (yes I know it's a good cause but they always make me cringe, when a band and some comics get together for something that isn't funny, but it isn't really music either). 'The Stonk' by Hale and Pace was probably the nadir. This tripe ties with pretty much anything done by Robbie Williams. This man makes music for people who don't really like music. It's not that it's awful to listen to (apart from his rapping) but that it's so anodyne, and so obviously designed simply to be 'un-hate-able'. For that very reason, I hate it, even more than the Stonk. I don't like Kings of Leon or The Killers either, but that's mostly down to the people who feel that this really really standard music is something that borders on genius.
day 03 - a song that makes you happy:
'Barbra Streisand' by Duck Sauce. It's simple, funny, upbeat and reminds me of happy times with Victoria. What's not to like? Can't imagine I'll be listening to it much in a few years time, but it'll always have happy memories.
day 04 - a song that makes you sad:
Waterloo Sunset by the Kinks. It reminds me of my parents, though it's worth pointing out that this is not enough of itself to make me feel sad. They lived in London in the late 1960s and early 1970s and it always makes me think of them as a young couple. I'm not sure why that's sad, but that's what nostalgia tends to do to me, even if it belongs to someone else.
day 05 - a song that reminds you of someone:
Most songs remind me of someone. Anything by Steve Brookstein reminds me of my brother, who decided that his album represented a sound purchase. 'Crazy' by Let Loose reminds me of him (we have a routine) as does 'Still Take You Home' by the Arctic Monkeys, which was the precursor for a very entertaining night out on the West Coast of Ireland. The 'King of Carrot Flowers' by Neutral Milk Hotel is my choice though, because it's one of my favourite songs of all time, and reminds me of my favourite person too.
day 06 - a song that reminds you of somewhere:
day 08 - a song that you know all the words to:
'Gold' by Spandau Ballet. This used to be my karakoe song, until my brother informed me just how bad I was at doing it. It probably didn't help that we were in a dive bar in Texas at the time, and I thought it would be humorous to wear a short-sleeved checked shirt with top button done up and then give a load of hicks some real 80s new romantic stuff that they just knew they wanted to hear. I've since experimented with 'You Can Go Your Own Way', 'True' and 'The Reflex', all with limited success.
day 09 - a song that you can dance to:
I'd like to think that I can dance to any song, but even if that used to be true, it's certainly not now. My dancing is now confined to weddings, and though I maintain my strict rule never to dance on carpet, I'm sure I still look as much of a prick as the people I'm dancing with. For this reason, I suppose I should choose (ironically) 'U Can't Touch This' by M C Hammer, if only because I think my patented dance moves that come after 'yo ring the bell, school's back in' are very special. The fact that 'Out of Touch' by Uniting Nations would have come a close second proves that any credibility I may have built up through any of these answers has now disappeared entirely.
day 10 - a song that makes you fall asleep:
'The Shining' by Badly Drawn Boy. It's the first song from his album 'The Hour of Bewilderbeast', and when I was staying in Boston with my friend Ryan in 2003, I slept on his couch, and fell asleep each night listening to this song. It's a real slow-burner and the lazy 'cello at the start is such a lovely song for late at night.
I've not spent 10 days on the list below, but I have spent a little time thinking about them, so here goes:
day 01 - your favorite song:
I'll take this to mean my favourite song of the moment, which is 'the age of the understatement' by The Last Shadow Puppets. That's Alex Turner (of Arctic Monkeys fame's) other band. I don't think I've ever listened to the lyrics in any detail, but I love the title of the song, its epic feel and the fact it sounds a little bit like Bowie. My favourite songs ever, and by this I mean the only ones that I'll never skip on the ipod are 'Sugar Kane' by Sonic Youth, 'Davyan Cowboy' by Boards of Canada and 'A Day in the Life' by The Beatles: I don't believe that there's any song that you can hear somthing different in every time that you listen to it, but these ones go as close as any. I remember listening to 'Smells like Teen Spirit' by Nirvana when I was 15 and feeling like this was the kind of music that I'd been waiting to listen to, but this sounds so pathetically teenage that I won't mention it.day 02 - your least favorite song:
Toss-up here. My first 'least favourite' would be the 'comedy' song, like the ones done for comic relief (yes I know it's a good cause but they always make me cringe, when a band and some comics get together for something that isn't funny, but it isn't really music either). 'The Stonk' by Hale and Pace was probably the nadir. This tripe ties with pretty much anything done by Robbie Williams. This man makes music for people who don't really like music. It's not that it's awful to listen to (apart from his rapping) but that it's so anodyne, and so obviously designed simply to be 'un-hate-able'. For that very reason, I hate it, even more than the Stonk. I don't like Kings of Leon or The Killers either, but that's mostly down to the people who feel that this really really standard music is something that borders on genius.
day 03 - a song that makes you happy:
'Barbra Streisand' by Duck Sauce. It's simple, funny, upbeat and reminds me of happy times with Victoria. What's not to like? Can't imagine I'll be listening to it much in a few years time, but it'll always have happy memories.
day 04 - a song that makes you sad:
Waterloo Sunset by the Kinks. It reminds me of my parents, though it's worth pointing out that this is not enough of itself to make me feel sad. They lived in London in the late 1960s and early 1970s and it always makes me think of them as a young couple. I'm not sure why that's sad, but that's what nostalgia tends to do to me, even if it belongs to someone else.
day 05 - a song that reminds you of someone:
Most songs remind me of someone. Anything by Steve Brookstein reminds me of my brother, who decided that his album represented a sound purchase. 'Crazy' by Let Loose reminds me of him (we have a routine) as does 'Still Take You Home' by the Arctic Monkeys, which was the precursor for a very entertaining night out on the West Coast of Ireland. The 'King of Carrot Flowers' by Neutral Milk Hotel is my choice though, because it's one of my favourite songs of all time, and reminds me of my favourite person too.
day 06 - a song that reminds you of somewhere:
'Has it come to this' by The Streets. The beat reminds me of the rhythm of the tube, and the song reminds me of London, even if it's not quite the London I know. Mike Skinner's first album was truly original, and I like the fact that his music provides an ironic antidote to American rap. He speaks about greasy spoons, public transport and going to blockbuster, rather than guns, bling and hos.
day 07 - a song that reminds you of a certain event:
'Chasing Rainbows' by Shed 7. Euro '96 will forever be remembered as halcyon days. I spent much of my time in the garden in Durham watching the football and not worrying about my degree. I remember every day as being very sunny, and even remember England playing some good football at times. We seemed nailed on to win the tournament, but were then robbed by the Germans on penalties in the semi-final. It's far more English to laud the plucky losers than the eventual winners, so I think that it's fitting that it happened like it did. This song is from 1996, and sums up how I felt about England then, and still do.day 08 - a song that you know all the words to:
'Gold' by Spandau Ballet. This used to be my karakoe song, until my brother informed me just how bad I was at doing it. It probably didn't help that we were in a dive bar in Texas at the time, and I thought it would be humorous to wear a short-sleeved checked shirt with top button done up and then give a load of hicks some real 80s new romantic stuff that they just knew they wanted to hear. I've since experimented with 'You Can Go Your Own Way', 'True' and 'The Reflex', all with limited success.
day 09 - a song that you can dance to:
I'd like to think that I can dance to any song, but even if that used to be true, it's certainly not now. My dancing is now confined to weddings, and though I maintain my strict rule never to dance on carpet, I'm sure I still look as much of a prick as the people I'm dancing with. For this reason, I suppose I should choose (ironically) 'U Can't Touch This' by M C Hammer, if only because I think my patented dance moves that come after 'yo ring the bell, school's back in' are very special. The fact that 'Out of Touch' by Uniting Nations would have come a close second proves that any credibility I may have built up through any of these answers has now disappeared entirely.
day 10 - a song that makes you fall asleep:
'The Shining' by Badly Drawn Boy. It's the first song from his album 'The Hour of Bewilderbeast', and when I was staying in Boston with my friend Ryan in 2003, I slept on his couch, and fell asleep each night listening to this song. It's a real slow-burner and the lazy 'cello at the start is such a lovely song for late at night.
Monday, 11 April 2011
A nation obsessed
Great Britain really is a great place. It's difficult to think that, from a tourist perspective, it wouldn't be at the very top of places you were keen to visit. Maybe we are a little London-focussed, but we've got it all. Culture, History, architecture, food and drink, the Olympics, diversity, rural beauty and even a warm welcome. Just don't stand on the left on the tube.
We love to stereotype others. Italians are chaotic lovers (mutually exclusive terms you understand), the French are arrogant culinary maestros, the Germans are efficient automatons and the Irish are pasty canal-building tayto-eaters. We're keen to stereotype ourselves too, though the two most prevalent versions are pretty much total opposites, with the replica footbll shirt wearing yob being placed alongside the stiff-upper lipped bowler-hatted gent. Do these exist in a greater quantity that any other Britisher? Probably not, but it's clearly fun to pretend that they do.
We have great national obsessions, such as the weather and organised queuing. The weather isn't so surprising, bearing in mind how variable it can be in Britain, and when one considers how overcrowded London is, it's pretty important to have developed a heightened sense of the queuing system. It's all about politeness too, and maybe that's not such a bad thing. We are a polite bunch after all; where else would a pub confrontation be accompanied by the phrase 'f*ck off,mate'? The addition of the word 'mate' changes a very offensive line into something with at least a degree of politeness. The addition of 'pal' does very much the same job.
Many of our national obsessions can be rationalised, and even the quaint ones provide us with a sense of community. The one that it's difficult to find any positives from is our continual revisiting of the notion of 'class'. It's difficult to watch TV, listen to the radio or read the papers without some mention of it, and it doesn't seem to do much good for anyone. It's often the privately-educated upper-middle classes that come in for the majority of criticism (I've left the true upper-classes out of this, as there really aren't very many of them, and like badgers, most people never come across one in real life).
One of the two things that grated with me recently was Zadie Smith's labour party policital on radio 4 last week, where she accused the coalition of wanting to shut down libraries simply because they had been to posh school, and therefore couldn't understand why poorer people needed access to books for free. The second was Katy Guest's 'rant' in the Independent yesterday, where she claimed that only people who went to 'posh £28,000-a-year boarding Schools seemed unable to determine what class they were', as if it was vital that we should all be aware of what socio-economic class we should be sub-divided into.
The Zadie Smith piece has received enough negative press in the last week, but her argument is so basic as to demand instant dismissal. He idea that you have lost all ability to empathise because you have been exposed to the rarified atmosphere of the English public School system is just a lazy class stereotype, used in such a sense as to avoid criticism by coming across as the voice of the underpriviliged masses. Such stereotyping the other way around would be rightly criticised, but this kind of classism is generally accepted, which is disappointing.
Katy Guest's argument was even more bizarre, but I'm pleased that she's such a happy person that this was the most irksome thing she could find to rant about. Her point was that only the moneyed posh are unaware of this class system that still exists, and their place within this system. Why are Guest and Smith so keen to keep this notion of class at the top of the agenda? What purpose is served by knowing what class you belong to? Why must we label everyone as members of one particular class in society?
The American Dream may be a slightly cheesy concept, but it's tricky to argue with the sentiment that anyone, irrespective of background, can achieve greatness. The current President is conclusive proof that it's possible. Our obsession with class acts as a ball and chain for ambition and social mobility. If you believe Smith and Guest then it's possible to pigeonhole everyone from birth; our path through life is pre-determined by our social class. This argument runs as follows:
1. You are born working class, that is what you shall remain. The chances are that you will live in the North. Your interests shall remain those of the proletariat, such as greyhound racing and football. You will marry young, and have a large family. Your diet will be poor. You will watch X factor and documentaries involving Peter and Katie. You will eat takaway from KFC's 'Mum's night-off bucket' range. You will go on holiday to Spain (Benidorm). You will call your male friends 'geezers'. You will claim to be happy to be working class, but will always resent those of the classes that lie above you.
2. You are born as part of the educated middle classes, and that it what you shall remian. You will go to university, and will join a drinking society, but only in an ironic sense. You will like rugby, and when you live in Fulham you will attend England matches in the pub and will claim that some of the players were at uni with you. You will shout 'quick ball' a lot. You like football, but only on TV. You will marry later, and have just one or two children. You will watch David Attenborough programmes. You will eat takeaway from Basilico, and have truffle oil on your pizza. You will go on holiday to Spain (Barcelona). You will call your male friends 'mates or lads', and will have 'banter'. You are happy to be the class you are, and will pity those of the working class, whilst having no understanding of how they exist.
Do you think these are lazy stereotypes? Do you think that to hamstring people by continutally making them consider their class is wrong? Let's just forget class shall we?
Truffle oil for all I say.
We love to stereotype others. Italians are chaotic lovers (mutually exclusive terms you understand), the French are arrogant culinary maestros, the Germans are efficient automatons and the Irish are pasty canal-building tayto-eaters. We're keen to stereotype ourselves too, though the two most prevalent versions are pretty much total opposites, with the replica footbll shirt wearing yob being placed alongside the stiff-upper lipped bowler-hatted gent. Do these exist in a greater quantity that any other Britisher? Probably not, but it's clearly fun to pretend that they do.
We have great national obsessions, such as the weather and organised queuing. The weather isn't so surprising, bearing in mind how variable it can be in Britain, and when one considers how overcrowded London is, it's pretty important to have developed a heightened sense of the queuing system. It's all about politeness too, and maybe that's not such a bad thing. We are a polite bunch after all; where else would a pub confrontation be accompanied by the phrase 'f*ck off,mate'? The addition of the word 'mate' changes a very offensive line into something with at least a degree of politeness. The addition of 'pal' does very much the same job.
Many of our national obsessions can be rationalised, and even the quaint ones provide us with a sense of community. The one that it's difficult to find any positives from is our continual revisiting of the notion of 'class'. It's difficult to watch TV, listen to the radio or read the papers without some mention of it, and it doesn't seem to do much good for anyone. It's often the privately-educated upper-middle classes that come in for the majority of criticism (I've left the true upper-classes out of this, as there really aren't very many of them, and like badgers, most people never come across one in real life).
One of the two things that grated with me recently was Zadie Smith's labour party policital on radio 4 last week, where she accused the coalition of wanting to shut down libraries simply because they had been to posh school, and therefore couldn't understand why poorer people needed access to books for free. The second was Katy Guest's 'rant' in the Independent yesterday, where she claimed that only people who went to 'posh £28,000-a-year boarding Schools seemed unable to determine what class they were', as if it was vital that we should all be aware of what socio-economic class we should be sub-divided into.
The Zadie Smith piece has received enough negative press in the last week, but her argument is so basic as to demand instant dismissal. He idea that you have lost all ability to empathise because you have been exposed to the rarified atmosphere of the English public School system is just a lazy class stereotype, used in such a sense as to avoid criticism by coming across as the voice of the underpriviliged masses. Such stereotyping the other way around would be rightly criticised, but this kind of classism is generally accepted, which is disappointing.
Katy Guest's argument was even more bizarre, but I'm pleased that she's such a happy person that this was the most irksome thing she could find to rant about. Her point was that only the moneyed posh are unaware of this class system that still exists, and their place within this system. Why are Guest and Smith so keen to keep this notion of class at the top of the agenda? What purpose is served by knowing what class you belong to? Why must we label everyone as members of one particular class in society?
The American Dream may be a slightly cheesy concept, but it's tricky to argue with the sentiment that anyone, irrespective of background, can achieve greatness. The current President is conclusive proof that it's possible. Our obsession with class acts as a ball and chain for ambition and social mobility. If you believe Smith and Guest then it's possible to pigeonhole everyone from birth; our path through life is pre-determined by our social class. This argument runs as follows:
1. You are born working class, that is what you shall remain. The chances are that you will live in the North. Your interests shall remain those of the proletariat, such as greyhound racing and football. You will marry young, and have a large family. Your diet will be poor. You will watch X factor and documentaries involving Peter and Katie. You will eat takaway from KFC's 'Mum's night-off bucket' range. You will go on holiday to Spain (Benidorm). You will call your male friends 'geezers'. You will claim to be happy to be working class, but will always resent those of the classes that lie above you.
2. You are born as part of the educated middle classes, and that it what you shall remian. You will go to university, and will join a drinking society, but only in an ironic sense. You will like rugby, and when you live in Fulham you will attend England matches in the pub and will claim that some of the players were at uni with you. You will shout 'quick ball' a lot. You like football, but only on TV. You will marry later, and have just one or two children. You will watch David Attenborough programmes. You will eat takeaway from Basilico, and have truffle oil on your pizza. You will go on holiday to Spain (Barcelona). You will call your male friends 'mates or lads', and will have 'banter'. You are happy to be the class you are, and will pity those of the working class, whilst having no understanding of how they exist.
Do you think these are lazy stereotypes? Do you think that to hamstring people by continutally making them consider their class is wrong? Let's just forget class shall we?
Truffle oil for all I say.
Friday, 8 April 2011
Day to day irritation
Here's a stream of consciousness diatribe about things that irrirate me. It's first come, first served and I'll give myself 3 minutes. Here goes...
Watching football in the pub at saturday lunchtime, 'comment' in newspapers rather than actual 'news', gastropubs, the person who's 'always late', fat men who claim to be into rugby, 3D spex, The Daily Mail, 10 o clock live, screaming children in pizza express, gourmet burgers, X Factor, menus that mention 'hen's eggs', the importance attached to individuals such as Ian Tomlinson and Princess Diana, travel agents (in 2011!), Jeremy Kyle, interests determined by social class, the misguided concept of 'London prices', too much choice of chocolate bars, too much choice of breakfast cereal, people who say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, stag dos that last too long, hen dos, smoking, meat in vacuum pack, bottled water in restaurants, buying toilet roll, boring teachers, men in shirts from Next, prices at league 2 clubs, cruises, baby photos as profile photos, those 'invisible' socks that go inside pumps, people that block my sunshine, late night curry, dry cleaning, someone called 'Dave Dice' who is a 'person I might know', budget airlines, semi-skimmed from corner shops, no 'dead pool' winners so far this year, people who kiss their pets on the lips, people who use Latinised plurals whether they are needed or not, people who think they can do accents, hole in the wall, people who don't find Harry Hill funny, Hello!, Ok!, pointless exclamation marks, Ross Kemp, phones with a cord, untucked shirts, weddings on the beach, going to UWE and saying you went to Bristol, too many utterances of 'thank you' during newsagent transactions, cookery programmes about baking. Done.
And here's the SOC for things I love (I'll give myself 3 minutes for this too):
The IPL (starts today), semi-colons. That is all.
Watching football in the pub at saturday lunchtime, 'comment' in newspapers rather than actual 'news', gastropubs, the person who's 'always late', fat men who claim to be into rugby, 3D spex, The Daily Mail, 10 o clock live, screaming children in pizza express, gourmet burgers, X Factor, menus that mention 'hen's eggs', the importance attached to individuals such as Ian Tomlinson and Princess Diana, travel agents (in 2011!), Jeremy Kyle, interests determined by social class, the misguided concept of 'London prices', too much choice of chocolate bars, too much choice of breakfast cereal, people who say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, stag dos that last too long, hen dos, smoking, meat in vacuum pack, bottled water in restaurants, buying toilet roll, boring teachers, men in shirts from Next, prices at league 2 clubs, cruises, baby photos as profile photos, those 'invisible' socks that go inside pumps, people that block my sunshine, late night curry, dry cleaning, someone called 'Dave Dice' who is a 'person I might know', budget airlines, semi-skimmed from corner shops, no 'dead pool' winners so far this year, people who kiss their pets on the lips, people who use Latinised plurals whether they are needed or not, people who think they can do accents, hole in the wall, people who don't find Harry Hill funny, Hello!, Ok!, pointless exclamation marks, Ross Kemp, phones with a cord, untucked shirts, weddings on the beach, going to UWE and saying you went to Bristol, too many utterances of 'thank you' during newsagent transactions, cookery programmes about baking. Done.
And here's the SOC for things I love (I'll give myself 3 minutes for this too):
The IPL (starts today), semi-colons. That is all.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Downtime
If you ever ask a teacher what they love about their job, and the first answer they give is 'long holidays', I'd argue that they're not really cut out for the profession. Taking those parts of the year that do not involve teaching and holding them up as the absolute highlight does not say much for one's enjoyement of, and commitment to the important role they have.
In fact, long holidays can become something of a chore, and this is something that I have often tried (and always failed) to explain to friends who are not teachers. I realise it's a tricky sell, and that trying to convince people that a 2 month summer holiday, or a month off at Easter and Christmas can be a hardship is not the easiest thing to do. But it's true. People think back to their School holidays, and recall them as a fantastically happy time, involving famous five-style activities such as long bike rides, nature rambles, cricket matches, ginger beer in the sunshine, apple-scrumping and other such pass-the-time fun that would not feel out of place on the pages of 'swallows and amazons' or 'the wind in the willows'.
Now think again, because you know that all of this is total bollocks. Most of my School summer holidays were spent watching TV and reading books (the latter is not a negative thing at all, but it was unlikely to turn me into the final member of the famous six). At a young age, my capacity for doing nothing was far higher than it is now, and by the time I'd reached university, I was an absolute master of my art. I had more time off then ever before, and considered it something of a triumph if I had managed to get anything at all done prior to watching 'Lovejoy', which was on BBC1 at 3pm. Have a shower, eat some pizza and potato waffles and stagger out for the Hogshead pub quiz was as near as I got to activity.
But that's all changed now. I find it very difficult to do nothing. In fact, I find it very difficult to do just one thing. I can't watch TV these days without spilling my thoughts on the programme on to twitter. For this reason, the School holidays represent quite a tricky time to fill, especially during the day, when Victoria is out at work. I'll finish off this entry, and then I'm off to climb the Monument (because it's there), to peruse some Victorian photos in the Museum of London and to have dinner and drinks with a Kiwi friend. All good fun, but it's actually pretty exhausting trying to fill the time. This is a real problem with teaching; it's the ultimate 'all or nothing' profession, especially at a Boarding School. During termtime it's a 7-day deal, and your time is all pretty much mapped out for you. Suddenly these great long holidays hove into view, and you whose time has been structured for you throughout term suddenly have a great swathe of time to fill.
One final point: why do you think so many teachers marry other teachers? There's only two obvious reasons. Firstly, you get to share the same time off. Secondly, another teacher is the only person that'll have you. The second reason is clearly the more likely, but I wouldn't rule out the first.
In fact, long holidays can become something of a chore, and this is something that I have often tried (and always failed) to explain to friends who are not teachers. I realise it's a tricky sell, and that trying to convince people that a 2 month summer holiday, or a month off at Easter and Christmas can be a hardship is not the easiest thing to do. But it's true. People think back to their School holidays, and recall them as a fantastically happy time, involving famous five-style activities such as long bike rides, nature rambles, cricket matches, ginger beer in the sunshine, apple-scrumping and other such pass-the-time fun that would not feel out of place on the pages of 'swallows and amazons' or 'the wind in the willows'.
Now think again, because you know that all of this is total bollocks. Most of my School summer holidays were spent watching TV and reading books (the latter is not a negative thing at all, but it was unlikely to turn me into the final member of the famous six). At a young age, my capacity for doing nothing was far higher than it is now, and by the time I'd reached university, I was an absolute master of my art. I had more time off then ever before, and considered it something of a triumph if I had managed to get anything at all done prior to watching 'Lovejoy', which was on BBC1 at 3pm. Have a shower, eat some pizza and potato waffles and stagger out for the Hogshead pub quiz was as near as I got to activity.
But that's all changed now. I find it very difficult to do nothing. In fact, I find it very difficult to do just one thing. I can't watch TV these days without spilling my thoughts on the programme on to twitter. For this reason, the School holidays represent quite a tricky time to fill, especially during the day, when Victoria is out at work. I'll finish off this entry, and then I'm off to climb the Monument (because it's there), to peruse some Victorian photos in the Museum of London and to have dinner and drinks with a Kiwi friend. All good fun, but it's actually pretty exhausting trying to fill the time. This is a real problem with teaching; it's the ultimate 'all or nothing' profession, especially at a Boarding School. During termtime it's a 7-day deal, and your time is all pretty much mapped out for you. Suddenly these great long holidays hove into view, and you whose time has been structured for you throughout term suddenly have a great swathe of time to fill.
One final point: why do you think so many teachers marry other teachers? There's only two obvious reasons. Firstly, you get to share the same time off. Secondly, another teacher is the only person that'll have you. The second reason is clearly the more likely, but I wouldn't rule out the first.
Monday, 4 April 2011
What lies beneath
I watched Louis Theroux's programme on TV last night. It once again involved the members of the Westboro Baptist Church, or 'America's most hated family' if you believed the tag-line that accompanied the show. It was essentially a repeat of his 2007 show, which also involved the WBC, and saw Louis do what he does best: giving his subjects a sizeable length of rope with which to hang themselves, all through a mixture of gentle questioning and subtle coercing. It's nothing we haven't seen before from him, and he really is the master of this particular style of Gonzo journalism. His naive and comforting manner belies a keenness to expose, and the fact that he never lets down his front means that people are only too keen to allow their prejudices to shine forth.
I'm all in favour of this kind of expose, but I also think that subjects like the WBC or American neo-Nazi groups are simply not the sort of targets on which a skillfull practitioner such as Theroux should be concentrating. Firstly, the WBC have only 71 members, so they're hardly a serious threat to America, or anywhere else for that matter. Secondly, and perhaps of more relevance, they do not represent a group that need to be 'exposed'. In fact, more 'exposure' is exactly what they are keen to gain. They are not a group that hides extreme beliefs behind a public facade, and hence one could argue that in this case that exposure = publicity.
I checked twitter straight after the programme to see what viewers had made of the it. Predictably, there was a lot of bile being chucked around, much of it directed straight at members of the Phelps family, who are at the very centre of the WBC and are also on twitter themselves. Most of the abuse was little to do with their extreme beliefs or despicable behaviour, but concentrated on violent sexual threats to the Phelps women. I'm pretty sure that this will have little effect on the Phelps family, save perhaps to strengthen their own radical beliefs. It's also clear that two wrongs don't make a right, and the fact that all members of the family are well into 4 (or 5) figures for 'followers' does add weight to the 'publicity' argument. It would be terrible to think that even one viewer was tempted to side with these lunatics after such a programme.
Last night's documentary once again focussed mainly on their picketing of US servicemens' funerals, which they claim is just retribution by an vengeful God for America's toleration of homosexuality. Now this is such a mental claim that it hardly needs a journalist of Theroux's skill to extract it from them. The WBC are happy to attempt to justify this lunacy to anyone who challenges them (as we saw last night). The fact that they disrupt and pour scorn on the funerals of servicemen is disgusting, but surely this is a matter for the police? I actually found it rather difficult to get angry at last night's programme (unlike most of twitter) which is undoubtedly not the reaction that the film's makers would have wanted. This was partly because it's exactly the reaction you feel that the members of the WBC would have wanted. In addition, their behaviour is so appauling and their logic so distorted that you feel almost totally disconnected from their arguments and the need to argue back. Trying to reason with these people would be pointless, bearing in mind that their reasoning is so deluded in the first place.
The only truly tragic part of last night's story was the interviews that Louis conducted with the children involved with the WBC. These were clearly perfectly reasonable and pleasant kids, who had simply been brainwashed by their parents. It is the job of every parent to instil the right values into their kids; values such as tolerance, generosity, politeness etc. It's also necessary for kids to be able to challenge the beliefs held by others, but to see a 6 year old being handed a 'God hates fags' placcard was distressing. A clear example of how nurture can override nature, for the worse.
Overall, I'm not sure what positive outcome the programme could have hoped to achieve. I'd much rather have seen Louis infiltrate the BNP or EDL. These are organisations with a growing and worryingly high membership. They are organisations who wish to become mainstream, and realise that this is a realistic aim, given the racial tensions that run high in many parts of the country. They also realise (particularly the BNP) that by putting on suits and ties and placing a Cambridge-educated chap at the front of the pile in Nick Griffin, they can bury their racist centre, and create a front of electability. These are the sort of organisations that need to be exposed for the danger that they respresent, not the up-front nutters of the WBC. Louis Theroux is exactly the kind of person that's needed to prove that the BNP et al are no different from the 'braces and bovverboots' thugs that characterised the racism of the 80s. There aren't any fundamentally reasonable people who believe in the values of the WBC, but there are some misguided people of limited intelligence who can't see through the veil that the BNP have drawn over themselves.
Time to expose what lies beneath...
I'm all in favour of this kind of expose, but I also think that subjects like the WBC or American neo-Nazi groups are simply not the sort of targets on which a skillfull practitioner such as Theroux should be concentrating. Firstly, the WBC have only 71 members, so they're hardly a serious threat to America, or anywhere else for that matter. Secondly, and perhaps of more relevance, they do not represent a group that need to be 'exposed'. In fact, more 'exposure' is exactly what they are keen to gain. They are not a group that hides extreme beliefs behind a public facade, and hence one could argue that in this case that exposure = publicity.
I checked twitter straight after the programme to see what viewers had made of the it. Predictably, there was a lot of bile being chucked around, much of it directed straight at members of the Phelps family, who are at the very centre of the WBC and are also on twitter themselves. Most of the abuse was little to do with their extreme beliefs or despicable behaviour, but concentrated on violent sexual threats to the Phelps women. I'm pretty sure that this will have little effect on the Phelps family, save perhaps to strengthen their own radical beliefs. It's also clear that two wrongs don't make a right, and the fact that all members of the family are well into 4 (or 5) figures for 'followers' does add weight to the 'publicity' argument. It would be terrible to think that even one viewer was tempted to side with these lunatics after such a programme.
Last night's documentary once again focussed mainly on their picketing of US servicemens' funerals, which they claim is just retribution by an vengeful God for America's toleration of homosexuality. Now this is such a mental claim that it hardly needs a journalist of Theroux's skill to extract it from them. The WBC are happy to attempt to justify this lunacy to anyone who challenges them (as we saw last night). The fact that they disrupt and pour scorn on the funerals of servicemen is disgusting, but surely this is a matter for the police? I actually found it rather difficult to get angry at last night's programme (unlike most of twitter) which is undoubtedly not the reaction that the film's makers would have wanted. This was partly because it's exactly the reaction you feel that the members of the WBC would have wanted. In addition, their behaviour is so appauling and their logic so distorted that you feel almost totally disconnected from their arguments and the need to argue back. Trying to reason with these people would be pointless, bearing in mind that their reasoning is so deluded in the first place.
The only truly tragic part of last night's story was the interviews that Louis conducted with the children involved with the WBC. These were clearly perfectly reasonable and pleasant kids, who had simply been brainwashed by their parents. It is the job of every parent to instil the right values into their kids; values such as tolerance, generosity, politeness etc. It's also necessary for kids to be able to challenge the beliefs held by others, but to see a 6 year old being handed a 'God hates fags' placcard was distressing. A clear example of how nurture can override nature, for the worse.
Overall, I'm not sure what positive outcome the programme could have hoped to achieve. I'd much rather have seen Louis infiltrate the BNP or EDL. These are organisations with a growing and worryingly high membership. They are organisations who wish to become mainstream, and realise that this is a realistic aim, given the racial tensions that run high in many parts of the country. They also realise (particularly the BNP) that by putting on suits and ties and placing a Cambridge-educated chap at the front of the pile in Nick Griffin, they can bury their racist centre, and create a front of electability. These are the sort of organisations that need to be exposed for the danger that they respresent, not the up-front nutters of the WBC. Louis Theroux is exactly the kind of person that's needed to prove that the BNP et al are no different from the 'braces and bovverboots' thugs that characterised the racism of the 80s. There aren't any fundamentally reasonable people who believe in the values of the WBC, but there are some misguided people of limited intelligence who can't see through the veil that the BNP have drawn over themselves.
Time to expose what lies beneath...
Monday, 28 March 2011
Anarchy in the UK
I was rather too young (one, in fact) to remember the Sex Pistols singing Anarchy in the UK, and even if I could remember it, I 'm pretty sure that I was a placid baby and therefore wouldn't have been stirred to acts of wonton destruction in the name of Anarchy. Even now, the song strikes me as very School band-ish, and the most subversive and daring thing about it is the attempt to rhyme Antichrist with anarchist (or anarch-iste, as John Lydon strains to put it). The fact that he's lately been seen advertising butter, and appearing on itv flagship reality TV goes to show that it's tricky to remain an anarch-iste all your life, and maybe we've all got to grow up sooner or later.
Incidentally, an anarchist is defined as follows:
a person who advocates the abolition of government and a social system based on voluntary cooperation
The reason I've waffled on about this is as a result of the riots in Piccadilly at the weekend. This was nominally a protest march about government cuts, though it seems to have been split into two parts, with the Milliband-approved quiet protest (and if there's ever a voice more soporific to calm a protest, I'd like to hear it) and the subsequent more radical anarchistic protest.
Let's look at them in a little more detail:
Protest 1: peaceful, clear purpose, organised, involved people exercising their democratic right.
Protest 2: violent, not quite sure what the point was, chaotic, criminal damage, fighting with police.
The first protest involved people intent on making their feelings known to the coalition government. There's a certain amount of courage required for this, and a desire to stand up for one's beliefs. These people wanted to be seen, they were happy to show their faces and for their point to be made, forcibly and fairly.
The second protest involved people intent on smashing things up. This involved smashing banks, and taking over the roof of Fortnum and Mason. This second act was particularly bizarre, bearing in mind that you only have to walk through the front door and there's pretty much a free lunch to be had at their food hall, given the number of tasty morsels on display. What's on the roof to eat? Bird shit? How very anarchistic.
The fact that these people refused to show their faces meant that they were clearly intent on criminal activity from the outset. Just what point is being made by throwing paint at the police? What point is being made by smashing the window of a bank? Surely the point is that you like smashing things, hence you are anti-social, poorly brought up and with worrying issues of anger. You are also of course a massive coward, since you would presumably not do this sort of thing without the cover of a large mob behind you. It really is amazing how some of the meekest people develop a brave/stupid/violent mentality with the protection of a crowd. The daubing of the anarchist symbol was surely more about the fact that it looks quite cool than any actual political statement. It's hard to see how a 'social system based on voluntary co-operation' can be achieved by sticking a table leg through the front window of Millett's.
Part of the problem with protesting is that it seems to be becoming a social day out, and less about the reason behind the protest than the sheer joy of protesting itself. I remeber being invited to protest in Hyde park for the first Iraq war, and was told to come along because it would be fun, and 'after all, it's such a nice day for a walk'. A walk!? So that's how we get more people to protest. Make sure it's a sunny day, thrown in a park and a stroll past a cheeky deli, and you'll have the great and the good of Hampstead screaming for the abolition of speed humps in no time.
Perhaps I'm becoming old and miserable, and maybe I've always been somewhat institutionalised (public School, university, public School isn't the greatest sight of the real world), but it does seem as though there's none more misguided than the anarchistes these days. Bob Dylan would be turning in his grave (have you not seen my dead pool, Bob?)
Incidentally, an anarchist is defined as follows:
a person who advocates the abolition of government and a social system based on voluntary cooperation
The reason I've waffled on about this is as a result of the riots in Piccadilly at the weekend. This was nominally a protest march about government cuts, though it seems to have been split into two parts, with the Milliband-approved quiet protest (and if there's ever a voice more soporific to calm a protest, I'd like to hear it) and the subsequent more radical anarchistic protest.
Let's look at them in a little more detail:
Protest 1: peaceful, clear purpose, organised, involved people exercising their democratic right.
Protest 2: violent, not quite sure what the point was, chaotic, criminal damage, fighting with police.
The first protest involved people intent on making their feelings known to the coalition government. There's a certain amount of courage required for this, and a desire to stand up for one's beliefs. These people wanted to be seen, they were happy to show their faces and for their point to be made, forcibly and fairly.
The second protest involved people intent on smashing things up. This involved smashing banks, and taking over the roof of Fortnum and Mason. This second act was particularly bizarre, bearing in mind that you only have to walk through the front door and there's pretty much a free lunch to be had at their food hall, given the number of tasty morsels on display. What's on the roof to eat? Bird shit? How very anarchistic.
The fact that these people refused to show their faces meant that they were clearly intent on criminal activity from the outset. Just what point is being made by throwing paint at the police? What point is being made by smashing the window of a bank? Surely the point is that you like smashing things, hence you are anti-social, poorly brought up and with worrying issues of anger. You are also of course a massive coward, since you would presumably not do this sort of thing without the cover of a large mob behind you. It really is amazing how some of the meekest people develop a brave/stupid/violent mentality with the protection of a crowd. The daubing of the anarchist symbol was surely more about the fact that it looks quite cool than any actual political statement. It's hard to see how a 'social system based on voluntary co-operation' can be achieved by sticking a table leg through the front window of Millett's.
Part of the problem with protesting is that it seems to be becoming a social day out, and less about the reason behind the protest than the sheer joy of protesting itself. I remeber being invited to protest in Hyde park for the first Iraq war, and was told to come along because it would be fun, and 'after all, it's such a nice day for a walk'. A walk!? So that's how we get more people to protest. Make sure it's a sunny day, thrown in a park and a stroll past a cheeky deli, and you'll have the great and the good of Hampstead screaming for the abolition of speed humps in no time.
Perhaps I'm becoming old and miserable, and maybe I've always been somewhat institutionalised (public School, university, public School isn't the greatest sight of the real world), but it does seem as though there's none more misguided than the anarchistes these days. Bob Dylan would be turning in his grave (have you not seen my dead pool, Bob?)
Saturday, 12 March 2011
All about the parents?
I'm afraid it's Jamie's dream School again this week, so for those who are bored of my rantings about this particular piece of water-cooler TV, there's no need to read on any further. The programme has turned out pretty much as expected, and I'm not surprised that the star of the show is David Starkey, a man who looks and acts more like his 'dead ringers' cariacature every time he appears. Watching him, kid gloves and all, handling the Staffordshire hoard like a newborn child was to observe someone totally in love with his subject; he then looks expectantly up at the class of brats in front of him, only to note the look of total disgust on their faces. This was sad, though hardly unexpected. He'd have been better off unveiling a bottle of 20/20, which would at least have gotten their attention.
But I've already said enough about the failings of the programme. I'm more interested in the enormous elephant in the classroom that seems to be continually ignored by Jamie, and all involved with dream School. We are told that these pupils have been failed by 'the system'. We're never quite told what 'the system' is, only that it has failed these children. The reasoning goes thus:
1. The pupils all have no GCSE qualifications.
2. The pupils are clearly quite clever.
3. Therefore, the teaching they received was not good enough. They weren't engaged, enthused or educated.
Conclusion: the pupils have been failed by their Schools, and by their teachers within those Schools.
I'm sure there's some truth in this, but here's an inescapable truth: there are good teachers in every School and there are bad teachers in every School. It's true that teacher effects dwaf whole School effects, such that you are far better off having the best teacher in a lousy School than having a feeble teacher in a superb establishment. But clearly these pupils haven't just had the bad teachers. The main problem with them is that they are unteachable. They are feral. They have never been taught how to behave. The general rules of life do not apply to these pupils. And whose fault is this? I'd absolve the pupils from blame, just as one absolves a non-housetrained dog from peeing on the carpet; it simply doesn't know any better. Surely the majority of fault lies with the parents?
Malcolm Gladwell notes that pupils at high-achieving Schools don't actually outstrip pupils at low achieving Schools by that much during term time i.e. the time that they actually spend at School. Instead, their education develops far more during the holidays, and this is where they move ahead of the low achieving pupils. During this time they are encouraged to read by their parents, to take an interest in sport, music, film, theatre, to debate, discuss and to challenge the world around them. They are not allowed to spend long days on the xbox and eating junk food. This is a generalisation of course, but it's the general point I wish to make.
On this week's episode, we were told that one of the pupils had grown up without a dad, had been kicked out by his mother and was living in a council flat on his own. The only time we were treated to a look inside, he was getting hammered with his mates on what looked like cheap schnapps. Failed by the system? Only if the system gave birth to him.
We can talk all we like about what needs to change with education, from curriculum reform and studying Latin (Toby Young) to discipline in the classroom (Katharine Birbalsingh), but why do we never talk about good parents and bad parents, and the effects of parents, rather than the effects of School and teachers. Young people need to be aspirational; they need to feel as though they can make a success of things, and they need the love, nurture and time investment from fantastic parents. How about Jamie's dream parent School - get the parents of these youngsters with potential and teach them how to do a good job?
Just a thought, channel 4?
But I've already said enough about the failings of the programme. I'm more interested in the enormous elephant in the classroom that seems to be continually ignored by Jamie, and all involved with dream School. We are told that these pupils have been failed by 'the system'. We're never quite told what 'the system' is, only that it has failed these children. The reasoning goes thus:
1. The pupils all have no GCSE qualifications.
2. The pupils are clearly quite clever.
3. Therefore, the teaching they received was not good enough. They weren't engaged, enthused or educated.
Conclusion: the pupils have been failed by their Schools, and by their teachers within those Schools.
I'm sure there's some truth in this, but here's an inescapable truth: there are good teachers in every School and there are bad teachers in every School. It's true that teacher effects dwaf whole School effects, such that you are far better off having the best teacher in a lousy School than having a feeble teacher in a superb establishment. But clearly these pupils haven't just had the bad teachers. The main problem with them is that they are unteachable. They are feral. They have never been taught how to behave. The general rules of life do not apply to these pupils. And whose fault is this? I'd absolve the pupils from blame, just as one absolves a non-housetrained dog from peeing on the carpet; it simply doesn't know any better. Surely the majority of fault lies with the parents?
Malcolm Gladwell notes that pupils at high-achieving Schools don't actually outstrip pupils at low achieving Schools by that much during term time i.e. the time that they actually spend at School. Instead, their education develops far more during the holidays, and this is where they move ahead of the low achieving pupils. During this time they are encouraged to read by their parents, to take an interest in sport, music, film, theatre, to debate, discuss and to challenge the world around them. They are not allowed to spend long days on the xbox and eating junk food. This is a generalisation of course, but it's the general point I wish to make.
On this week's episode, we were told that one of the pupils had grown up without a dad, had been kicked out by his mother and was living in a council flat on his own. The only time we were treated to a look inside, he was getting hammered with his mates on what looked like cheap schnapps. Failed by the system? Only if the system gave birth to him.
We can talk all we like about what needs to change with education, from curriculum reform and studying Latin (Toby Young) to discipline in the classroom (Katharine Birbalsingh), but why do we never talk about good parents and bad parents, and the effects of parents, rather than the effects of School and teachers. Young people need to be aspirational; they need to feel as though they can make a success of things, and they need the love, nurture and time investment from fantastic parents. How about Jamie's dream parent School - get the parents of these youngsters with potential and teach them how to do a good job?
Just a thought, channel 4?
Friday, 4 March 2011
The social pariah
It's generally accepted that men and women are good at different things. Their skill sets are different. Maybe it's easier to say that certain skills are emphatically more masculine and others more feminine, bearing in mind that we all have a degree of each. Men claim spatial awareness as their own, and I think they're probably right. It's certainly easier to drive a car with the A to Z open on your knees than it is to get a woman to try to navigate. They'll spend much of the time rotating the page as they try to decide which is left and which is right, before you find out that the blue wavy line wasn't the motorway, but a nearby river. When the roles are reversed, things usually progress more smoothly, though never assume that a woman will be able to understand a satnav. The instruction to 'turn right in 400 yards' will be met with 'how am I supposed to know what 400 yards is?' before the inevitable turn of the wheel about 25 yards from where the instruction was mentioned. Multi-tasking is almost exclusively the domain of women. They can generally manage to cook, feed a baby, push around a hoover, tune the radio, order ocado online and read a book at the same time, whereas men will accomplish only one of those tasks, usually with the tongue hanging out of one side of the mouth, and with a furrowed brow that lets everyone know just how tricky the task is.
There's a whole host of other things one could go into, but they're all pretty lazy stereotypes, and are almost bound to offend someone. However, one thing that I find women far better at is conversation. If one ends up talking to a woman at a social gathering, you generally have no idea what topic the conversation will turn to. Whether it's an old friend, a semi-known partner of a friend or someone you've just met, you'll be chatting through books, food, Art, travel, films etc, with scarcely an pause for breath. With men it's all so very different, although I should put a disclaimer in here that I have a small number of excellent male friends, most of whom I've known for a long time that do not fall into this category. The category I'm talking about is the men that you know, but not all that well. Maybe they are 'work friends' rather than real friends, or boyfriends of good friends that you spend little time talking to unless you have to.
I get a sensation that approaches dread when I end up stuck at a party (not that I go to many) talking to a male that I don't know all that well. I consider myself to be a reasonable conversationalist, but somehow I know that the chat we are about to have is going to be the most awkward thing that's ever happened to either of us. Why should this be the case? It's not like I'm trying to pull. Maybe I'm subconsciously worried that he's about to jump me? This would certainly explain the opening line I tend to use to dampen any homosexual advances: 'so how did you get here tonight?'. Why do I care? Why does anyone care? The options generally tend to be via public transport, or via some form of owned vehicle. Either way, it's not much of a conversation starter. And yet I always feel the need to kick things off with this gem. This will generally be followed up with a 'what do you do?'. I don't care what he does either, and until the day someone says astronaut or premiership footballer, neither will I care. This is bad enough, but it always provokes him to ask me the same question. I always say 'teacher', though by now some kind of latent, desperate alpha-male switch has been flicked, and I'll somehow try and crowbar in that I teach at a very successful School, and I'm part of SMT. What a tool I must sound like. He doesn't care, and I don't even know why I've mentioned it. Maybe I should just challenge him to down a pint, compare size of car engines, or just flip it out there and then. I genuinely have no idea why I behave this way, other than some kind of inner desire to appear a person of quality to a total stranger.
The worst is yet to come. As if I haven't appeared enough of a conversational dunce, I'll then always turn around the chat to football, with a jolly 'so who's your team then?'. I hate myself for doing this. I have so much more to talk about, and yet I can't go 5 minutes with a stranger without mentioning football. If the chap likes football, it's then turn in to a kind of fencing stat-off, and if he doesn't, what then? Rugby? The conversation always tends to improve after a while, but it'll still be one of those conversations that both of us are just waiting for a chance to move away from. And when Victoria comes back with the G+Ts, that's exactly what I'll do.
Maybe I just need to try harder. Maybe my brain just takes over, and I click onto a sort of crap chat autopilot. I think this must be it; I had a really good idea about time and perception to write about when I sat down, and now I've wasted 15 minutes on this drivel.
There's a whole host of other things one could go into, but they're all pretty lazy stereotypes, and are almost bound to offend someone. However, one thing that I find women far better at is conversation. If one ends up talking to a woman at a social gathering, you generally have no idea what topic the conversation will turn to. Whether it's an old friend, a semi-known partner of a friend or someone you've just met, you'll be chatting through books, food, Art, travel, films etc, with scarcely an pause for breath. With men it's all so very different, although I should put a disclaimer in here that I have a small number of excellent male friends, most of whom I've known for a long time that do not fall into this category. The category I'm talking about is the men that you know, but not all that well. Maybe they are 'work friends' rather than real friends, or boyfriends of good friends that you spend little time talking to unless you have to.
I get a sensation that approaches dread when I end up stuck at a party (not that I go to many) talking to a male that I don't know all that well. I consider myself to be a reasonable conversationalist, but somehow I know that the chat we are about to have is going to be the most awkward thing that's ever happened to either of us. Why should this be the case? It's not like I'm trying to pull. Maybe I'm subconsciously worried that he's about to jump me? This would certainly explain the opening line I tend to use to dampen any homosexual advances: 'so how did you get here tonight?'. Why do I care? Why does anyone care? The options generally tend to be via public transport, or via some form of owned vehicle. Either way, it's not much of a conversation starter. And yet I always feel the need to kick things off with this gem. This will generally be followed up with a 'what do you do?'. I don't care what he does either, and until the day someone says astronaut or premiership footballer, neither will I care. This is bad enough, but it always provokes him to ask me the same question. I always say 'teacher', though by now some kind of latent, desperate alpha-male switch has been flicked, and I'll somehow try and crowbar in that I teach at a very successful School, and I'm part of SMT. What a tool I must sound like. He doesn't care, and I don't even know why I've mentioned it. Maybe I should just challenge him to down a pint, compare size of car engines, or just flip it out there and then. I genuinely have no idea why I behave this way, other than some kind of inner desire to appear a person of quality to a total stranger.
The worst is yet to come. As if I haven't appeared enough of a conversational dunce, I'll then always turn around the chat to football, with a jolly 'so who's your team then?'. I hate myself for doing this. I have so much more to talk about, and yet I can't go 5 minutes with a stranger without mentioning football. If the chap likes football, it's then turn in to a kind of fencing stat-off, and if he doesn't, what then? Rugby? The conversation always tends to improve after a while, but it'll still be one of those conversations that both of us are just waiting for a chance to move away from. And when Victoria comes back with the G+Ts, that's exactly what I'll do.
Maybe I just need to try harder. Maybe my brain just takes over, and I click onto a sort of crap chat autopilot. I think this must be it; I had a really good idea about time and perception to write about when I sat down, and now I've wasted 15 minutes on this drivel.
Sunday, 20 February 2011
My Dream School
Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. Why did you have to do this? I've been such a fan, ever since the beginning. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have got into cooking, and maybe even food, if it hadn't been for the Naked Chef. Your books are still the ones I turn to most often, I've enjoyed every one of your TV shows, and I even downloaded that Tim Kay song from iTunes (catchy on first listen, irritating ever after). Your School dinners campaign was clearly heartfelt, and though I don't really want my £30 main course cooked by someone with an ASBO at Fifteen, the concept is great, and you only have to look at the number of copycat presenters and programmes to see that you already have a legacy to be proud of. I know that the 'Dream School' project hasn't been dreamed up by you, and that you've probably got nothing but good intentions, but it's such a bad idea. It's simplistic, patronising and is likely to do the very opposite of what it's supposed to achieve.
Assuming that I'm not now talking direct to Jamie, and just in case the paragraph above makes little sense, I'm talking about the new C4 programme called 'Dream School', in which philanthropic Jamie states that 'I was rubbish in School...' (we're not told why, though it could be for any number of reasons), and '...so it got me thinking: what would a dream School be like?' Well apparently, a dream School includes the following:
1. Children who are very difficult to teach, and have been essentially 'failed' by the current system. The 'system' presumably means the Government, Department for Education, the State School system, the Schools themselves and the teachers within those Schools.
2. A selection of 'star' teachers, who all happen to be from TV-land. We've got Alistair Campbell in to teach politics, David Starkey to teach History, Rolf Harris in to teach Art (did no-one think this was going a bit far?) and Ellen McArthur in to teach 'expeditions'. Not sure I remember any double lessons in that subject when I was at School, but presumably they felt that she looks so much like a 14-year old boy that she wouldn't look too out of place in Jamie's academy.
The tag-line for the show is: 'can star teachers make star pupils?', which is a pretty good soundbite. I don't want to get ahead of myself (and I've done a little cheating by reading Campbell's blog), but I suspect the programme will start with all the teachers struggling because these are difficult pupils, we'll have some heartwarming moments where the celebrity teachers get through to some of the pupils on at least some levels, and we'll end up having not made any real difference, but the teaching profession as a whole will get some praise because some celebs have realised that it's quite difficult teaching young people who don't want to learn.
Here are the problems I have with this programme:
1. These people aren't star teachers. They are a collection of people who do other jobs, and the only thing that they have in common is that they are good in their field, and they are famous for being on TV. I'm not sure how David Starkey (an engaging presenter of reasonably high-brow History programmes on channel 4) can ever hope to be described as a star teacher. I'm also not sure why any teenagers with a history of dysfunctional behaviour should be turned on to History simply because it's now taught by a middle-aged man from a TV programme they've never watched, who has never been a teacher.
2. Alistair Campbell mentions in his most recent blog that the only time he got any 'cred' with the pupils was when they found out about his erotic story-writing past. I'm glad he's made this breakthrough. Presumably we just need to get a couple of slappers from television X, and we're bound to gain a whole load more 'cred' with these children. Maybe Jenna James can drop by for a seminar on Whiggism in 1770s Lancashire?
3. The whole premise of the programme is that these pupils are being failed by their Schools, and specifically by their teachers. Jamie's own admission that 'I was rubbish at School' really means that 'I was failed by my teachers at School'. If this wasn't the case, surely the way to solve this problem is not to bus in a whole load of better (celebrity) teachers. There are poor teachers in every School, and there are excellent teachers in every School. The pupils he has chosen are amongst some of the most challenging individuals, and to suggest that it's only the quality of teaching they receive that needs to be addressed is simplistic.
4. What's next, Jamie's dream hospital? This is a sure-fire winner of a show where we visit some of the most under-pressure hospitals in the country. We note that some people are 'rubbish at hospital', and some people are so rubbish they're literally dying. Never mind, all we need to do is to get in some 'star' doctors, because they surely must make for 'star' patients. Get rid of the doctors that are currently treating our patients, and bring in a few people from channel 4 (Noel Edmonds, Jeff Stelling and the cast of shameless) to cure all. This sounds ridiculous, but it's a pretty close analogy.
5. Shows like this are nothing but education-lite. The real problems are so much more complex, and of course they start at home. Are we products of nature or nurture? Well, surely it's both, so much of the responsibility must lie with the parents. I think it's unlikely that we'll get any parental replacement during this series, but I know what most people would choose if offered bad parents or bad teachers. Responsibility for education should be shared between parents, the children themselves, the Schools, the teachers and the Government. We all have an important role to play.
6. If the show really wanted to look at the specific effects of teachers (which research shows can be as much as 4-fold in terms of pupil progress) what they could have done was to seek out those teachers that are genuinely inspirational. These are the 'star' teachers, and they can be found pretty easily. Just go to any School in the country and ask the pupils who they'd recommend. If every teacher in every School was as good as the best 20%, we'd probably make a massive difference. We could certainly see from a programme like this whether there is such a massive 'teacher effect'. For the record, I'm sure that there is, but channel 4 have decided to go down the ratings route rather than the educational route. They could have made a really interesting intelligent piece of TV, the effects of which could have resonated within the world of education in order to attract and produce effective teachers. Instead they have pandered to the maxim that celebrities guarantee ratings.
Jamie - please go back to doing what you know.
Assuming that I'm not now talking direct to Jamie, and just in case the paragraph above makes little sense, I'm talking about the new C4 programme called 'Dream School', in which philanthropic Jamie states that 'I was rubbish in School...' (we're not told why, though it could be for any number of reasons), and '...so it got me thinking: what would a dream School be like?' Well apparently, a dream School includes the following:
1. Children who are very difficult to teach, and have been essentially 'failed' by the current system. The 'system' presumably means the Government, Department for Education, the State School system, the Schools themselves and the teachers within those Schools.
2. A selection of 'star' teachers, who all happen to be from TV-land. We've got Alistair Campbell in to teach politics, David Starkey to teach History, Rolf Harris in to teach Art (did no-one think this was going a bit far?) and Ellen McArthur in to teach 'expeditions'. Not sure I remember any double lessons in that subject when I was at School, but presumably they felt that she looks so much like a 14-year old boy that she wouldn't look too out of place in Jamie's academy.
The tag-line for the show is: 'can star teachers make star pupils?', which is a pretty good soundbite. I don't want to get ahead of myself (and I've done a little cheating by reading Campbell's blog), but I suspect the programme will start with all the teachers struggling because these are difficult pupils, we'll have some heartwarming moments where the celebrity teachers get through to some of the pupils on at least some levels, and we'll end up having not made any real difference, but the teaching profession as a whole will get some praise because some celebs have realised that it's quite difficult teaching young people who don't want to learn.
Here are the problems I have with this programme:
1. These people aren't star teachers. They are a collection of people who do other jobs, and the only thing that they have in common is that they are good in their field, and they are famous for being on TV. I'm not sure how David Starkey (an engaging presenter of reasonably high-brow History programmes on channel 4) can ever hope to be described as a star teacher. I'm also not sure why any teenagers with a history of dysfunctional behaviour should be turned on to History simply because it's now taught by a middle-aged man from a TV programme they've never watched, who has never been a teacher.
2. Alistair Campbell mentions in his most recent blog that the only time he got any 'cred' with the pupils was when they found out about his erotic story-writing past. I'm glad he's made this breakthrough. Presumably we just need to get a couple of slappers from television X, and we're bound to gain a whole load more 'cred' with these children. Maybe Jenna James can drop by for a seminar on Whiggism in 1770s Lancashire?
3. The whole premise of the programme is that these pupils are being failed by their Schools, and specifically by their teachers. Jamie's own admission that 'I was rubbish at School' really means that 'I was failed by my teachers at School'. If this wasn't the case, surely the way to solve this problem is not to bus in a whole load of better (celebrity) teachers. There are poor teachers in every School, and there are excellent teachers in every School. The pupils he has chosen are amongst some of the most challenging individuals, and to suggest that it's only the quality of teaching they receive that needs to be addressed is simplistic.
4. What's next, Jamie's dream hospital? This is a sure-fire winner of a show where we visit some of the most under-pressure hospitals in the country. We note that some people are 'rubbish at hospital', and some people are so rubbish they're literally dying. Never mind, all we need to do is to get in some 'star' doctors, because they surely must make for 'star' patients. Get rid of the doctors that are currently treating our patients, and bring in a few people from channel 4 (Noel Edmonds, Jeff Stelling and the cast of shameless) to cure all. This sounds ridiculous, but it's a pretty close analogy.
5. Shows like this are nothing but education-lite. The real problems are so much more complex, and of course they start at home. Are we products of nature or nurture? Well, surely it's both, so much of the responsibility must lie with the parents. I think it's unlikely that we'll get any parental replacement during this series, but I know what most people would choose if offered bad parents or bad teachers. Responsibility for education should be shared between parents, the children themselves, the Schools, the teachers and the Government. We all have an important role to play.
6. If the show really wanted to look at the specific effects of teachers (which research shows can be as much as 4-fold in terms of pupil progress) what they could have done was to seek out those teachers that are genuinely inspirational. These are the 'star' teachers, and they can be found pretty easily. Just go to any School in the country and ask the pupils who they'd recommend. If every teacher in every School was as good as the best 20%, we'd probably make a massive difference. We could certainly see from a programme like this whether there is such a massive 'teacher effect'. For the record, I'm sure that there is, but channel 4 have decided to go down the ratings route rather than the educational route. They could have made a really interesting intelligent piece of TV, the effects of which could have resonated within the world of education in order to attract and produce effective teachers. Instead they have pandered to the maxim that celebrities guarantee ratings.
Jamie - please go back to doing what you know.
Friday, 18 February 2011
Never underestimate the significance of 'significant'
This is a line from 'Yes, Prime Minister', where the difference between the phrase 'no increase in taxes' is compared with 'no significant increase in taxes'. The point being made is that the simple inclusion of the word significant changes a very specific and attackable statement into something which is utterly defensible, bearing in mind that there is no definition in this case of the word significant.
I was reminded of this line when I watched the mess that is channel 4's '10 o clock show' last night. The one person that stands out from this car-crash is David Mitchell, the only person that seems comfortable with his role in the show, and consequently is able to flourish. David Mitchell was particularly excellent on the 10 o'clock show last night. I was rather critical of him in a previous post for the fact that he's become quite so ubiquitous, and particularly for his move from edgy ground-breaking comedy 'Peep-show' into hackneyed panel gameshows like 'would I lie to you?'. It seems that I had misjudged him though, and that this was in fact only a phase, and a necessary part of his metamorphosis into credible broadsheet columnist and political satirist. They say that all great comedy characters are rooted in the actor's own personality (think Hancock and David Brent), and it's clear that there's a fair amount of David Mitchell in Mark Corrigan, his character from 'Peep-show'. He seems far more comfortable in his suit on the '10 o clock show', floppy side-parting and all, riling politicians, bloggers and activists alike. He's really very quick-witted, acerbic enough without being rude, and the fact that he scarecely bothered concealing his contempt for Sally Bercow gave him a few more plus points. His own monologue to camera was the best bit of last night's show, and he raised three important points, namely:
1. How political choice is often dumbed down for the public into a simple choice between A (something that sounds good) and B (something that sounds bad).
2. The use of dramatic language to persuade the public of choice A.
3. The fact that the public themselves seem happy with this arrangement, and would rather be spoon-fed choices that are decided by others than to think things through for themselves.
To take point 1, and for those fans of 'critical thinking', this is a classic way to strengthen your argument. Offer only two choices, and make sure that one is un-chooseable. For the global warming argument, it's like offering only the choices of 'do something' or 'do nothing'. Doing nothing clearly leaves us open to the possibility of global destruction, so therefore we must do something, whilst we are left no options withint the 'do something' umbrella, and have de facto agreed with whatever the person presenting the choices has already discovered.
The use of dramatic language is a personal irritation, and though I love expressive language, I'd rather the Orwellian option of 'plus good' and 'double plus good' rather than the plaintives that get bandied around by politicians. Does something need to be done? Stick the word 'desperately' in front of the word need, and suddenly the public are on your side. This doesn't just appply to politics of course, it even permeates as low down as the fast food chain. Beef, tomato and lettuce in a bun? Sounds rank. Tender beef, juicy tomato, crisp lettuce in a fresh bun. Yum.
But it's not the fact that adjectives are used to sell products or to convince people of political ideology, it's the fact that we are perceived as being thick enough that these adjectives are all that's needed for us to be convinced. Sadly point 3 is true in most cases, and until we start to look beyond the simple soundbites and catchy phrases, we will continue to be treated this way. We can't continue to be fed politics in such straightforward bite-sized chunks, but we need someone to filter the information so that we don't end up in a catch-22 situation where there's so much information to digest that we can't process it to find out what's relevant. To be able to analyse and evaluate information is the most important skill of the C21; sadly too many papers offer more 'comment' than actual 'fact', and it seems that many people like to have the thinking done for them, either by the columnists or the politicians. It's just a case of working out who you think is most trustworthy, and then allowing them to tell you what to think. Despressing.
The '10 o clock show' is actually quite thought provoking. Sadly (Mitchell-aside), most of the thoughts it provokes are angry ones. I wonder why it's ok for Charlie Brooker to lambast Top Gear for its lazy racism about Mexicans but for his own show to poke fun at the Japanese for having funny sounding names. I wonder why they really felt that Lauren Laverne (one-time indie pop-pixie and 6 music DJ) was the ideal person to present a political show, but then seem afraid to let her do anything other than pre-recorded monologues. I wonder why when you're trying to demonstrate a show's political credibility by scheduling it at the same time as bbc QT, the guests are of the quality of Sally Bercow and Harry Cole.
Baffling.
I was reminded of this line when I watched the mess that is channel 4's '10 o clock show' last night. The one person that stands out from this car-crash is David Mitchell, the only person that seems comfortable with his role in the show, and consequently is able to flourish. David Mitchell was particularly excellent on the 10 o'clock show last night. I was rather critical of him in a previous post for the fact that he's become quite so ubiquitous, and particularly for his move from edgy ground-breaking comedy 'Peep-show' into hackneyed panel gameshows like 'would I lie to you?'. It seems that I had misjudged him though, and that this was in fact only a phase, and a necessary part of his metamorphosis into credible broadsheet columnist and political satirist. They say that all great comedy characters are rooted in the actor's own personality (think Hancock and David Brent), and it's clear that there's a fair amount of David Mitchell in Mark Corrigan, his character from 'Peep-show'. He seems far more comfortable in his suit on the '10 o clock show', floppy side-parting and all, riling politicians, bloggers and activists alike. He's really very quick-witted, acerbic enough without being rude, and the fact that he scarecely bothered concealing his contempt for Sally Bercow gave him a few more plus points. His own monologue to camera was the best bit of last night's show, and he raised three important points, namely:
1. How political choice is often dumbed down for the public into a simple choice between A (something that sounds good) and B (something that sounds bad).
2. The use of dramatic language to persuade the public of choice A.
3. The fact that the public themselves seem happy with this arrangement, and would rather be spoon-fed choices that are decided by others than to think things through for themselves.
To take point 1, and for those fans of 'critical thinking', this is a classic way to strengthen your argument. Offer only two choices, and make sure that one is un-chooseable. For the global warming argument, it's like offering only the choices of 'do something' or 'do nothing'. Doing nothing clearly leaves us open to the possibility of global destruction, so therefore we must do something, whilst we are left no options withint the 'do something' umbrella, and have de facto agreed with whatever the person presenting the choices has already discovered.
The use of dramatic language is a personal irritation, and though I love expressive language, I'd rather the Orwellian option of 'plus good' and 'double plus good' rather than the plaintives that get bandied around by politicians. Does something need to be done? Stick the word 'desperately' in front of the word need, and suddenly the public are on your side. This doesn't just appply to politics of course, it even permeates as low down as the fast food chain. Beef, tomato and lettuce in a bun? Sounds rank. Tender beef, juicy tomato, crisp lettuce in a fresh bun. Yum.
But it's not the fact that adjectives are used to sell products or to convince people of political ideology, it's the fact that we are perceived as being thick enough that these adjectives are all that's needed for us to be convinced. Sadly point 3 is true in most cases, and until we start to look beyond the simple soundbites and catchy phrases, we will continue to be treated this way. We can't continue to be fed politics in such straightforward bite-sized chunks, but we need someone to filter the information so that we don't end up in a catch-22 situation where there's so much information to digest that we can't process it to find out what's relevant. To be able to analyse and evaluate information is the most important skill of the C21; sadly too many papers offer more 'comment' than actual 'fact', and it seems that many people like to have the thinking done for them, either by the columnists or the politicians. It's just a case of working out who you think is most trustworthy, and then allowing them to tell you what to think. Despressing.
The '10 o clock show' is actually quite thought provoking. Sadly (Mitchell-aside), most of the thoughts it provokes are angry ones. I wonder why it's ok for Charlie Brooker to lambast Top Gear for its lazy racism about Mexicans but for his own show to poke fun at the Japanese for having funny sounding names. I wonder why they really felt that Lauren Laverne (one-time indie pop-pixie and 6 music DJ) was the ideal person to present a political show, but then seem afraid to let her do anything other than pre-recorded monologues. I wonder why when you're trying to demonstrate a show's political credibility by scheduling it at the same time as bbc QT, the guests are of the quality of Sally Bercow and Harry Cole.
Baffling.
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Dead Pool 2011
We're almost a couple of months into the new year, and the dust has well settled on my New Year's eve trivial pursuit and bollinger-sponsored ushering in of 2011. A new year gives one the chance to take stock, to re-appraise, to set one's priorities for the year ahead. These are very personal, specific, but above all, dull tasks to report, and hence it's my dead pool that you really want to hear about, don't you?
For the uninitiated, this is a marvellous parlour game for all the family. It's not exactly fast-paced, bearing in mind that you'll have to wait 365 days to find out who's won. But it's free, and you really do get out what you put in. Those who approach the game with a casual air of picking names out of a hat will rarely succeed, but those who spend hours engaged in careful research will find themselves richly rewarded.
So here's how you play. Decide how many names you're going to pick (everyone picks the same, and I'd suggest 8 for starters). This is the number of celebrities you are going to have to gamble that will die in the next year. You can pick them by order, and then you receive 8 points (on a sliding scale down to 1 point) for your number one choice. There's no rules that apply re: celebrity ages and health conditions, but you should be aware that though no points are awarded for flair picks, the sense of satisfaction one gains when a real gamble pays off can't be underestimated (think of the 15 year old Schoolboy Ben who picked out Freddie Mercury back in 1991, or those more up to date gamblers who went for Brittney Murphy a couple of years back).
I've posted my choices on twitter already, but this is my final selection. In case you feel that I've boobed by missing out a couple of obvious ones, I've refused to pick the following people:
Zsa Zsa Gabor: as much of a gimme as you can get; in fact, I'm not sure that she hasn't croaked already. She seems to be losing limbs at a rate of knots, and she'll have turned into some kind of OAP version of 'boxing Helena' well before the year is out. She's the dead pool equivalent of the 1 yard open-goal tap in, and hence is not one to be celebrated.
Fidel Castro, Nelson Mandela, Kim Jong-Il: they may well all already be dead. Even if they are, or if they pop off during 2011, we'll never know about it, and as they get lowered into the ground, we'll still be assured that it's nothing more than a cold, and that it's a mere percautionary measure.
The list:
1. Bruce Forsyth: rapidly becoming a liability, even on saturday night snooze-fest strictly, and makes Paddy McGuinness look like a master of the auto-cue. Undoubtedly a trooper, but looks to be on borrowed time.
2. Kerry Katona: the 'I've got my life back on track' mantra isn't fooling me. You're still doing ads for Iceland, and you're only one batch of dodgy showbiz sherbert away from me being quids in.
3. Bob Dylan: this is more about gut-instinct. Health scares, limited output for the last few years and he must be getting on more than a bit. Still sings like he's listening to one of his own songs on an ipod, but that's not a reason to put him on the list on its own.
4. Gregg Wallace: sad to report this one, as no-one licks chocolate mousse from a spoon quite like Gregg. Have you seen him lately on Masterchef though? He looks like a barrow-boy who's eaten all his produce, and the barrow too. He's gaining weight in a hurry, and looks to be out like Atkins.
5. Terry Christian: can't believe he's still in work, but he also looks like a skeleton these days. Reminds me of the chap from the Stereo MCs.
6. Daphne Fowler: you know, the old one (oldest one?) from eggheads. Bit of a cheap pick, but can't see her getting through the winter.
7. Margaret Thatcher: she almost made it into my Castro etc list, though I suspect there'll be a few street parties when she heads up to the great trade union in the sky. Shame to see her go, but when you're too ill to have a cup of horlicks at your own party, the next 12 months look a very long way away.
8. James Corden: I'm not sure that being fat and a shamelessly un-funny England footballer suck-up qualifies our James to be a victim of the grim reaper at any time in the next 300 days or so, but wouldn't it be great? Wouldn't it?
So there you have mine. Who's in yours?
For the uninitiated, this is a marvellous parlour game for all the family. It's not exactly fast-paced, bearing in mind that you'll have to wait 365 days to find out who's won. But it's free, and you really do get out what you put in. Those who approach the game with a casual air of picking names out of a hat will rarely succeed, but those who spend hours engaged in careful research will find themselves richly rewarded.
So here's how you play. Decide how many names you're going to pick (everyone picks the same, and I'd suggest 8 for starters). This is the number of celebrities you are going to have to gamble that will die in the next year. You can pick them by order, and then you receive 8 points (on a sliding scale down to 1 point) for your number one choice. There's no rules that apply re: celebrity ages and health conditions, but you should be aware that though no points are awarded for flair picks, the sense of satisfaction one gains when a real gamble pays off can't be underestimated (think of the 15 year old Schoolboy Ben who picked out Freddie Mercury back in 1991, or those more up to date gamblers who went for Brittney Murphy a couple of years back).
I've posted my choices on twitter already, but this is my final selection. In case you feel that I've boobed by missing out a couple of obvious ones, I've refused to pick the following people:
Zsa Zsa Gabor: as much of a gimme as you can get; in fact, I'm not sure that she hasn't croaked already. She seems to be losing limbs at a rate of knots, and she'll have turned into some kind of OAP version of 'boxing Helena' well before the year is out. She's the dead pool equivalent of the 1 yard open-goal tap in, and hence is not one to be celebrated.
Fidel Castro, Nelson Mandela, Kim Jong-Il: they may well all already be dead. Even if they are, or if they pop off during 2011, we'll never know about it, and as they get lowered into the ground, we'll still be assured that it's nothing more than a cold, and that it's a mere percautionary measure.
The list:
1. Bruce Forsyth: rapidly becoming a liability, even on saturday night snooze-fest strictly, and makes Paddy McGuinness look like a master of the auto-cue. Undoubtedly a trooper, but looks to be on borrowed time.
2. Kerry Katona: the 'I've got my life back on track' mantra isn't fooling me. You're still doing ads for Iceland, and you're only one batch of dodgy showbiz sherbert away from me being quids in.
3. Bob Dylan: this is more about gut-instinct. Health scares, limited output for the last few years and he must be getting on more than a bit. Still sings like he's listening to one of his own songs on an ipod, but that's not a reason to put him on the list on its own.
4. Gregg Wallace: sad to report this one, as no-one licks chocolate mousse from a spoon quite like Gregg. Have you seen him lately on Masterchef though? He looks like a barrow-boy who's eaten all his produce, and the barrow too. He's gaining weight in a hurry, and looks to be out like Atkins.
5. Terry Christian: can't believe he's still in work, but he also looks like a skeleton these days. Reminds me of the chap from the Stereo MCs.
6. Daphne Fowler: you know, the old one (oldest one?) from eggheads. Bit of a cheap pick, but can't see her getting through the winter.
7. Margaret Thatcher: she almost made it into my Castro etc list, though I suspect there'll be a few street parties when she heads up to the great trade union in the sky. Shame to see her go, but when you're too ill to have a cup of horlicks at your own party, the next 12 months look a very long way away.
8. James Corden: I'm not sure that being fat and a shamelessly un-funny England footballer suck-up qualifies our James to be a victim of the grim reaper at any time in the next 300 days or so, but wouldn't it be great? Wouldn't it?
So there you have mine. Who's in yours?
Thursday, 10 February 2011
Taste, don't eat
There's really very little in the world that doesn't interest me. I like Art, food, wine, books, TV and film, travel, sport, History, science (my job), philosophy, 'take me out' and much more besides. I don't think this makes me a polymath, an expert on anything or even especially cultured, and perhaps reflects my low boredom threshold more than anything else. The thought of having a season ticket for sport is anathema to me; to know where you are going to be sitting for 20 saturdays every year takes a lot out of the fun of saturdays. I like everything to be something of a treat, like the cinema, a G+T or dropping into a gallery. I consider myself very much a 'dipper in to' rather than a 'fully paid up member of' where my interests are concerned. That's also true for my friends. All of my friends are more interesting when I haven't seen them for a while, and other than people with whom I work, I doubt I see any other friends more than once every few months. Stephen Fry said 'I like to taste my friends, not eat them'. Assuming that he wasn't talking literally, I like his sentiments.
I'm not sure that many people would agree with me. Most people I know like to have a close-knit group of friends, or at least a small circle they can class as their bezzies. These are the people you know on more than just a superficial level; they are the people to whom you can divulge anything. I wonder why we feel that we can't discuss (almost) anything with (almost) anyone. People you don't know so well are likely to give you more impartial advice on important matters, and the viewpoint of someone new must be of greater interest than someone whose thoughts you know before they open their mouth. New people are often no less fun than old friends, and when you like someone new, you know that you like them in the here and now, not that you liked them several years ago, and therefore have a bond that has become more to do with time than actually having anything in common.
I'm not sure that the same theory can be applied to people's interests. I think that most people like to be expert in a few areas rather than being mildly interested in quite a lot. If you're really into films, you've no chance of being caught out at a dinner party when you're unable to quote whole sections of the Coen brothers. If you're really into football, you can chat knowledgably in the pub for a couple of hours before the game of seasons gone by. I was out to dinner on saturday, and when David Mitchell was mentioned, I launched into a tirade about how ubiquitous he is on our screens, before then realising it was a different David Mitchell, who writes books, or makes films, or plays on the wing maybe. There's a class thing at work here too. Our interests almost seem to be pre-determined by the environment in which we exist. There were howls of horror at my posh boarding School when I professed my enthusiasm for American football recently (this is a classic example of something I love, but know very little about the rules). You're a snob if you're interested in wine, one of the uneducated masses if you prefer football to rugby, a nerd if you like science, thick if you watch 'take me out' and elitist if you like classical music. Bummer. I'm not sure why we seem so keen to pigeon hole ourselves into roles that are defined by others. I've just been watching the artist Simon Starling on the culture show, and was quite interested in his work. I'd probably go and see it if I was in St Ives. He's a Turner Prize-winning artist, and hence is in the elitist and snobbish bracket. But his concept was slightly interesting, quite simple, and probably quite interesting to far more people than will ever see it. His photo of a platinum mine in South Africa was nice enough to look at, and the fact that platinum had been used in the development of the photo was nicely cyclical. But this isn't an example of high Art, far removed from the comprehension and interest of the masses. It's just being presented as such. Because some Arty-types want to keep themselves clear of the social strata they feel is a notch beneath them, which is why Starling had a carefully chosen shabby-chic look about him, and talked as though he were uncovering the secrets of the universe when he showed his photos of the gallery's basement.
I'm pretty sure that Simon could do with a pint and a pie at the football, and I'm sure the fat bloke I sit next to at Palace could benefit from doing a bit of beard stroking down at St Ives. Or maybe no-one thinks like me, and that's the way I like it, because I'm desperate to be different. Isn't it all complicated?
I'm not sure that many people would agree with me. Most people I know like to have a close-knit group of friends, or at least a small circle they can class as their bezzies. These are the people you know on more than just a superficial level; they are the people to whom you can divulge anything. I wonder why we feel that we can't discuss (almost) anything with (almost) anyone. People you don't know so well are likely to give you more impartial advice on important matters, and the viewpoint of someone new must be of greater interest than someone whose thoughts you know before they open their mouth. New people are often no less fun than old friends, and when you like someone new, you know that you like them in the here and now, not that you liked them several years ago, and therefore have a bond that has become more to do with time than actually having anything in common.
I'm not sure that the same theory can be applied to people's interests. I think that most people like to be expert in a few areas rather than being mildly interested in quite a lot. If you're really into films, you've no chance of being caught out at a dinner party when you're unable to quote whole sections of the Coen brothers. If you're really into football, you can chat knowledgably in the pub for a couple of hours before the game of seasons gone by. I was out to dinner on saturday, and when David Mitchell was mentioned, I launched into a tirade about how ubiquitous he is on our screens, before then realising it was a different David Mitchell, who writes books, or makes films, or plays on the wing maybe. There's a class thing at work here too. Our interests almost seem to be pre-determined by the environment in which we exist. There were howls of horror at my posh boarding School when I professed my enthusiasm for American football recently (this is a classic example of something I love, but know very little about the rules). You're a snob if you're interested in wine, one of the uneducated masses if you prefer football to rugby, a nerd if you like science, thick if you watch 'take me out' and elitist if you like classical music. Bummer. I'm not sure why we seem so keen to pigeon hole ourselves into roles that are defined by others. I've just been watching the artist Simon Starling on the culture show, and was quite interested in his work. I'd probably go and see it if I was in St Ives. He's a Turner Prize-winning artist, and hence is in the elitist and snobbish bracket. But his concept was slightly interesting, quite simple, and probably quite interesting to far more people than will ever see it. His photo of a platinum mine in South Africa was nice enough to look at, and the fact that platinum had been used in the development of the photo was nicely cyclical. But this isn't an example of high Art, far removed from the comprehension and interest of the masses. It's just being presented as such. Because some Arty-types want to keep themselves clear of the social strata they feel is a notch beneath them, which is why Starling had a carefully chosen shabby-chic look about him, and talked as though he were uncovering the secrets of the universe when he showed his photos of the gallery's basement.
I'm pretty sure that Simon could do with a pint and a pie at the football, and I'm sure the fat bloke I sit next to at Palace could benefit from doing a bit of beard stroking down at St Ives. Or maybe no-one thinks like me, and that's the way I like it, because I'm desperate to be different. Isn't it all complicated?
Monday, 31 January 2011
Twitter ye not
Life needs to be full of little wins. Standing in just the right spot for the doors when the tube comes in; getting to the pub just after someone else has bought a large round; finishing your book just as the plane hits the tarmac (does that make me sound jet set?); eating round the cardomom pod in the pilau rice (middle class ftw). These little wins are what keeps us sane. One of the most comforting things in the world is getting into something before other people. It might be a film, a book or a band, but isn't it a great feeling when you were definitely in on the ground floor, and the world has spent some time catching you up?
I feel a little like this about twitter. I certainly wasn't the creator of twitter, and I'm pretty sure that there were lots of people keen on it well before me. But I've been happily tweeting for at least a couple of years now, and people have slowly been catching me up. Well, in rural Northamptonshire they have, anyway. I'm not sure that my tweets to followers ratio is anything to be proud of (5500:295 at last count), but that means they get about 20 each, which seems like a good reason to follow me; for the personal touch, as it were.
I like twitter. Far more than facebook. It's very easy to stagnate on facebook, unless you're at university, or just happen to meet lots of new people every week. Facebook is very immediately easy to get in to, unlike twitter, which is another reason I like tweeting more than 'booking (?). Here are some reasons why I dislike facebook:
1. People who post 140 photos from one night out, most of which comprise over-exposed white faces with v-signs from strangers in the background, all captured in some carpeted bar/club with shots for a quid and wkd blues on special
2. People who do anything other than contact people or put photos up: farmville, aquaria, throwing snowballs at each other: cretins.
3. People who have whole personal conversations on each other's wall, on topics as dull as who's turn it is to buy milk
4. Any evidence that any any time, in any place, someone was having more fun than you
Here are some common barbs thrust at me for liking twitter:
1. It's just like facebook, but only status updates
2. It's only for people who like to think they're friends with celebrities
3. General nerd noises whenever my phone comes out (even if it's ringing), just in case I might be about to use it to tweet
I'm pretty sure that people who profess not to like it simply do not understand, and if they do, they haven't the patience to see it through: you have to persevere with twitter, as there won't be a mass of people who got there before you who have already friend requested you.
Twitter for me is simply an information store, and it's a great way of filtering out the information that you do want from that which you don't. It's a bit like the Sunday papers. There's always some adverts, some cruise pamphlets, something with Louie Spence on the cover and plenty of thin plastic, usually with a 1950s film for free. There's also the business and jobs section, the money section and the 'life' section. You don't want any of these, but you've still got them. With twitter, simply follow 'news' 'sport' 'books' etc and you've instantly removed that useless wadge from your life. You can follow bands you like - gigs often advertised first on twitter, or comedians - they might be funny, and give you a little lift in the morning. You're also invited (with no questions asked) into a whole new community - the twitterati. Watching 'take me out' on your own on a saturday night, and have a pithy abusive aside to share with someone? - hashtag #takemeout and you have a whole new set of friends with which to pour scorn on the Northern lads and lasses.
Oh, and the Corens, Toby Young, Jason Gillespie, Jay Rayner, Dion Dublin and Bumble are all officially better friends of mine than they are of yours. If only Miss Daisy Frost would start following me...
www.twitter.com/freedman69
I feel a little like this about twitter. I certainly wasn't the creator of twitter, and I'm pretty sure that there were lots of people keen on it well before me. But I've been happily tweeting for at least a couple of years now, and people have slowly been catching me up. Well, in rural Northamptonshire they have, anyway. I'm not sure that my tweets to followers ratio is anything to be proud of (5500:295 at last count), but that means they get about 20 each, which seems like a good reason to follow me; for the personal touch, as it were.
I like twitter. Far more than facebook. It's very easy to stagnate on facebook, unless you're at university, or just happen to meet lots of new people every week. Facebook is very immediately easy to get in to, unlike twitter, which is another reason I like tweeting more than 'booking (?). Here are some reasons why I dislike facebook:
1. People who post 140 photos from one night out, most of which comprise over-exposed white faces with v-signs from strangers in the background, all captured in some carpeted bar/club with shots for a quid and wkd blues on special
2. People who do anything other than contact people or put photos up: farmville, aquaria, throwing snowballs at each other: cretins.
3. People who have whole personal conversations on each other's wall, on topics as dull as who's turn it is to buy milk
4. Any evidence that any any time, in any place, someone was having more fun than you
Here are some common barbs thrust at me for liking twitter:
1. It's just like facebook, but only status updates
2. It's only for people who like to think they're friends with celebrities
3. General nerd noises whenever my phone comes out (even if it's ringing), just in case I might be about to use it to tweet
I'm pretty sure that people who profess not to like it simply do not understand, and if they do, they haven't the patience to see it through: you have to persevere with twitter, as there won't be a mass of people who got there before you who have already friend requested you.
Twitter for me is simply an information store, and it's a great way of filtering out the information that you do want from that which you don't. It's a bit like the Sunday papers. There's always some adverts, some cruise pamphlets, something with Louie Spence on the cover and plenty of thin plastic, usually with a 1950s film for free. There's also the business and jobs section, the money section and the 'life' section. You don't want any of these, but you've still got them. With twitter, simply follow 'news' 'sport' 'books' etc and you've instantly removed that useless wadge from your life. You can follow bands you like - gigs often advertised first on twitter, or comedians - they might be funny, and give you a little lift in the morning. You're also invited (with no questions asked) into a whole new community - the twitterati. Watching 'take me out' on your own on a saturday night, and have a pithy abusive aside to share with someone? - hashtag #takemeout and you have a whole new set of friends with which to pour scorn on the Northern lads and lasses.
Oh, and the Corens, Toby Young, Jason Gillespie, Jay Rayner, Dion Dublin and Bumble are all officially better friends of mine than they are of yours. If only Miss Daisy Frost would start following me...
www.twitter.com/freedman69
Thursday, 27 January 2011
A touch of class
The author Joan Didion commented that 'I write to know what I think'. A great quote, and one that I use in lessons every so often. I write probably because I've never done much writing, and I'm pretty sure that I'll get better if I write more; there's some quality output in me somewhere, I'm sure of it. Maybe there's a novel? I'm always surprised to hear abou the percentage of novels that get rejected. Who's writing them all? I think I move in pretty intelligent circles, and textbooks aside, I hardly know anyone who's submitted a book to a publisher. My TV career (one appearance on 'eggheads') didn't really take off, so maybe it's as a writer of pithy modern blogs that I'll finally find my true vocation. I also write becasue it gives me a sense of achievement in the evening, and a night spent in front of the TV is generally a night wasted, unless I'm trundling through a disc full of 'Mad Men'. George Orwell had a pretty good idea of why he wrote, so much so in fact he wrote rather a famous essay on the very subject.
I don't even know what I'm going to write about now, but BBC2 seems to be running some kind of a 'class war' season, so that's inspiration enough. It can't be in doubt that we have a class system in this country, from the genuinely very posh at the top, and the very very poor at the bottom. The middle-classes are intriguing, but only in the sense that virtually everyone thinks they are in the middle-classes. Does lower-middle really move seamlessly into upper-working, like some sort of pyramidal feudal system from yesteryear? Does it matter what we class ourselves as, when it's how we treat and are treated by our peers that really matters?
I remember the last round of class documentaries (in one sense of the word), which was clumsily presented by John Prescott. He goaded a young Vicky Pollard, suggesting she was working class, when in fact she felt she was middle class. 'I've never worked; how can I be working class?' was her heartfelt riposte. Andrew Neill had a go last night, and his programme seemed to focus only on two things. One was spaded on very thickly - namely that he had come from humble beginnings, but had risen to the dizzy heights of hobnobbing with Diane Abbott and Michael Portillo. The scene where he returned to his old Primary School in his flash silver motor was as grusome as it was predictable. The other point (and the whole premise of the show) was that we used to have working class Parliamentarians (Major, Thatcher), and now we have an influx of posh boys (Cameron, Clegg - neither of whom are truly posh - more upper middle, if you will). One might have thought that such flimsy evidence wasn't really enough to justify an hour of TV, but Andrew managed to drag it out. The fact that people actually VOTED for each of these people in their millions seemed to have passed him by, and the fact that everyone (even the poor, and sub-middle) get a vote these days should ensure fairness on polling day. Far more interesting is to ask why people have been so turned off politics that so few actually turn out for a general election. Far more interesting would be to ask why so many of the population are overcome with apathy where politics is concerned. Probably not wise to ask, when you front a show about politics. If you want to shoo out the posh brigade (sorry, upper-middle brigade), just vote for someone else.
I take the point that many politicians have never really been anything other than politicians, or speech-writers for politicians (Wallace Milliband for example), but beyond that, the boring drone about class-divide sounds like something to churn out when no-one has any better ideas. I even saw a graphic this evening where a large saw cut the UK into North and South, emphasising the divide that only exists in the minds of people who want it to, giving them something to moan about. If Andrew Neill really wanted to see where the class divide is bypassed, he could come along to an old-fasioned British pub, and I'll get him a Hendrick's and cucumber...
I don't even know what I'm going to write about now, but BBC2 seems to be running some kind of a 'class war' season, so that's inspiration enough. It can't be in doubt that we have a class system in this country, from the genuinely very posh at the top, and the very very poor at the bottom. The middle-classes are intriguing, but only in the sense that virtually everyone thinks they are in the middle-classes. Does lower-middle really move seamlessly into upper-working, like some sort of pyramidal feudal system from yesteryear? Does it matter what we class ourselves as, when it's how we treat and are treated by our peers that really matters?
I remember the last round of class documentaries (in one sense of the word), which was clumsily presented by John Prescott. He goaded a young Vicky Pollard, suggesting she was working class, when in fact she felt she was middle class. 'I've never worked; how can I be working class?' was her heartfelt riposte. Andrew Neill had a go last night, and his programme seemed to focus only on two things. One was spaded on very thickly - namely that he had come from humble beginnings, but had risen to the dizzy heights of hobnobbing with Diane Abbott and Michael Portillo. The scene where he returned to his old Primary School in his flash silver motor was as grusome as it was predictable. The other point (and the whole premise of the show) was that we used to have working class Parliamentarians (Major, Thatcher), and now we have an influx of posh boys (Cameron, Clegg - neither of whom are truly posh - more upper middle, if you will). One might have thought that such flimsy evidence wasn't really enough to justify an hour of TV, but Andrew managed to drag it out. The fact that people actually VOTED for each of these people in their millions seemed to have passed him by, and the fact that everyone (even the poor, and sub-middle) get a vote these days should ensure fairness on polling day. Far more interesting is to ask why people have been so turned off politics that so few actually turn out for a general election. Far more interesting would be to ask why so many of the population are overcome with apathy where politics is concerned. Probably not wise to ask, when you front a show about politics. If you want to shoo out the posh brigade (sorry, upper-middle brigade), just vote for someone else.
I take the point that many politicians have never really been anything other than politicians, or speech-writers for politicians (Wallace Milliband for example), but beyond that, the boring drone about class-divide sounds like something to churn out when no-one has any better ideas. I even saw a graphic this evening where a large saw cut the UK into North and South, emphasising the divide that only exists in the minds of people who want it to, giving them something to moan about. If Andrew Neill really wanted to see where the class divide is bypassed, he could come along to an old-fasioned British pub, and I'll get him a Hendrick's and cucumber...
Monday, 17 January 2011
Much ado about nothing-nothing
I listened to a piece by Tim Franks on radio 4 the other day about the 'language of sport'. I say I listened; actually I heard the title, then the first 30 seconds or so, and thought it sounded interesting. But then the real rigours of the morning took over, and the main thrust of the piece was lost in the need to make tea, to attempt to make the bathroom wall-mounted radio tune in to anything other than Moyles and Evans and to ponder the question of whether shaving in the bath really does save time.
I wonder if anyone defended the use of language in sport in this piece, for surely nothing produces as much inane conversation and commentary than sport, and football in particular. Much of the inanity is centred in the pub, both before and after games, and during if the match happens to be on live TV. However, as any man will know, your oldest friends are often those people that you can't really remember having a proper convrsation with, and therefore when you do get together, a solid moan about your respective football teams always helps to pass the time. It's also easy to make friends in the pub when the football is on the TV too; you simply walk up to the bar when you've just arrived, and catch the eye of the nearest chap:
Me: 'What's the score'
Them: 'One all'
...long pause...
Me: 'Good goals?'
And so you've made a new friend. It's actually almost a ritual, akin to getting in to a taxi and asking him if he's been busy that night. The ritual is obeyed, the conversation may flow...
The less defensible inanity comes in live commentary, and the pinnacle of inanity in the post-match interview. This is where the real language of sport descends into cliche. It also serves the public's insatiable appetite for all things round-ball related. If a shark stops swimming, it dies, and it's as if we feel the same fate awaits us unless we keep talking about football.
I'm certainly as irritable as the next person, and here are my four gear-grinding commentary irritations:
'So, an 8-0 win, and you scored a double hat-trick', you must be pleased?'. Hmmmm, let me guess, but I bet the answer will start with 'obviously'.
If you fancy a chortle on the gloomiest day of the year, have a listen to the first 15 seconds of this:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9360000/9360077.stm
I wonder if anyone defended the use of language in sport in this piece, for surely nothing produces as much inane conversation and commentary than sport, and football in particular. Much of the inanity is centred in the pub, both before and after games, and during if the match happens to be on live TV. However, as any man will know, your oldest friends are often those people that you can't really remember having a proper convrsation with, and therefore when you do get together, a solid moan about your respective football teams always helps to pass the time. It's also easy to make friends in the pub when the football is on the TV too; you simply walk up to the bar when you've just arrived, and catch the eye of the nearest chap:
Me: 'What's the score'
Them: 'One all'
...long pause...
Me: 'Good goals?'
And so you've made a new friend. It's actually almost a ritual, akin to getting in to a taxi and asking him if he's been busy that night. The ritual is obeyed, the conversation may flow...
The less defensible inanity comes in live commentary, and the pinnacle of inanity in the post-match interview. This is where the real language of sport descends into cliche. It also serves the public's insatiable appetite for all things round-ball related. If a shark stops swimming, it dies, and it's as if we feel the same fate awaits us unless we keep talking about football.
I'm certainly as irritable as the next person, and here are my four gear-grinding commentary irritations:
- '1-0 down inside 5 minutes; it's the worst possible start'. No. It. Isn't.
- 'A goal just before half time; what a great time to score'. No. It. Isn't.
- Any time a challenge is referred to as a 'potential leg-breaker'
- Anything with an inappropriate use of the word literally: 'he's literally dead on his feet', 'he's literally covered every blade of grass'...
'So, an 8-0 win, and you scored a double hat-trick', you must be pleased?'. Hmmmm, let me guess, but I bet the answer will start with 'obviously'.
If you fancy a chortle on the gloomiest day of the year, have a listen to the first 15 seconds of this:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9360000/9360077.stm
Thursday, 23 December 2010
What's so wrong with Fra-Bo?
What a strange time it must be to be Frankie Boyle. Maybe there's not much news to report beyond travel disaster across the country, but for the Daily Mirror to decide that its lead story should be its own outrage at Boyle's use of an racist term during his new TV show suggests that there was precious little else that was newsworthy that day. The Daily Mail has of course waded in, and has proclaimed itself to be just as outraged as the Mirror, if not more so. I suspect Frankie is pretty surprised at all the anger being sent his way. It really wasn't so long ago that he was very much the comedic flavour of the month. He's gone from one of the nation's favourite comics to being a national pariah in a few short weeks. Rarely do comedians stay fresh and popular for an extended period, but this must be one of the swiftest falls from grace ever. So what happened such that we all turned against Frankie (incidentally, myself included)?
My extensive research has involved a few seconds of thought, a quick read of Wikipedia and a ten minute viewing of Tramadol Nights on 4oD. I guess this means that I'm giving no more than my tuppence worth, but Jeremy Kyle has been doing that for years, and he seems to get recomissioned. Anyway, it seems that Frankie Boyle rose to fame first on Mock the Week, and was widely regarded as being one of the funniest people on the show. His style of humour was always designed to be shocking; he was one of those people who was genuinely amusing, though more often than not it felt a little wrong to snigger. Nothing was off-limits for Boyle, and his stock gags involved all sorts of taboo subjects. Nevertheless, people loved him, and there was much gnashing of teeth when he left the show.
He has since appeared on TV doing his one-man stand-up (his stock in trade), and has published an autobiography (whose title of 'My Shit Life so Far' is almost as bad as Russell Brand's 'Booky Wook'). Quite who cares to read this book is unclear, bearing in mind how little time he's spent in the nation's conscious. He's now got his own series, 'Tramadol Nights', and it's the material involved here that has got him into so much hot water. But wait a minute, isn't this exactly the sort of material for which he was so lauded on 'Mock the Week'? Of course it is; so what changed?
A few things actually: 'Mock the Week' involved 7 comedians each week, and so no-one monopolised the air-time and was hence over-exposed. The range of comedic styles ensured that there was something for everyone (there's only so much of Michael McIntyre's smug grinning face that anyone can take). The comedians managed to end up being raisins in a bowl of raisin bran: a real treat when they pop up. Frankie Boyle was the main beneficiary of the show's format, and his were the gags you tended to remember. Being shocking works so much better in tiny bite-sized chunks. In his new show, he's exposed for pretty much the whole time, and it's very clear that he's a one-trick pony. We've heard all the jokes before, or at least variations on them, and when one gets bored of these jokes, all you're left with is the offensive stuff, and that's what people have focussed on. We used to have a comedian who was funny and offensive, and people were willing to forgive the material, so long as the comedy was in there. He has now committed the cardinal sin for any comedian: he simply isn't very funny any more. The reason I was only able to watch ten minutes of 'Tramadol Nights' was because it was rubbish, not because it was shocking or offensive. The sketches were particularly bad, and whereas many of them had the kernel of a funny idea, they didn't have any wit or skill in the writing to back them up. Frankie Boyle also comes across as less than likeable, and here's another reason that the public and press have turned on him.
So bad luck Frankie - you haven't really done anything different. You've just proved the old maxim: one jelly baby from someone else's packet tastes great, but after a whole packet to yourself, you just feel sick. Mind you, Frankie would probably refuse to eat the black ones.
My extensive research has involved a few seconds of thought, a quick read of Wikipedia and a ten minute viewing of Tramadol Nights on 4oD. I guess this means that I'm giving no more than my tuppence worth, but Jeremy Kyle has been doing that for years, and he seems to get recomissioned. Anyway, it seems that Frankie Boyle rose to fame first on Mock the Week, and was widely regarded as being one of the funniest people on the show. His style of humour was always designed to be shocking; he was one of those people who was genuinely amusing, though more often than not it felt a little wrong to snigger. Nothing was off-limits for Boyle, and his stock gags involved all sorts of taboo subjects. Nevertheless, people loved him, and there was much gnashing of teeth when he left the show.
He has since appeared on TV doing his one-man stand-up (his stock in trade), and has published an autobiography (whose title of 'My Shit Life so Far' is almost as bad as Russell Brand's 'Booky Wook'). Quite who cares to read this book is unclear, bearing in mind how little time he's spent in the nation's conscious. He's now got his own series, 'Tramadol Nights', and it's the material involved here that has got him into so much hot water. But wait a minute, isn't this exactly the sort of material for which he was so lauded on 'Mock the Week'? Of course it is; so what changed?
A few things actually: 'Mock the Week' involved 7 comedians each week, and so no-one monopolised the air-time and was hence over-exposed. The range of comedic styles ensured that there was something for everyone (there's only so much of Michael McIntyre's smug grinning face that anyone can take). The comedians managed to end up being raisins in a bowl of raisin bran: a real treat when they pop up. Frankie Boyle was the main beneficiary of the show's format, and his were the gags you tended to remember. Being shocking works so much better in tiny bite-sized chunks. In his new show, he's exposed for pretty much the whole time, and it's very clear that he's a one-trick pony. We've heard all the jokes before, or at least variations on them, and when one gets bored of these jokes, all you're left with is the offensive stuff, and that's what people have focussed on. We used to have a comedian who was funny and offensive, and people were willing to forgive the material, so long as the comedy was in there. He has now committed the cardinal sin for any comedian: he simply isn't very funny any more. The reason I was only able to watch ten minutes of 'Tramadol Nights' was because it was rubbish, not because it was shocking or offensive. The sketches were particularly bad, and whereas many of them had the kernel of a funny idea, they didn't have any wit or skill in the writing to back them up. Frankie Boyle also comes across as less than likeable, and here's another reason that the public and press have turned on him.
So bad luck Frankie - you haven't really done anything different. You've just proved the old maxim: one jelly baby from someone else's packet tastes great, but after a whole packet to yourself, you just feel sick. Mind you, Frankie would probably refuse to eat the black ones.
Sunday, 5 December 2010
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...
...and if I hear that song once more in supermarket/garage etc, I shall skip Christmas, and get all Easter-ish on the nearest person by crucifying them. There's so much to dislike about Christmas: I'm not a particularly religious person, Christmas presents are great, but only when you're 8 (If I want something now, I'll buy it, thanks), Christmas TV is horrendous (Rick Stein's Cornish Christmas anyone? If I wanted to see a load of halfwit inbreds getting festive, I'd watch the Wicker Man or take a day trip to Corby) and I've never been a particular fan of being told how I have to enjoy myself because 'it's tradition'. I'm not sure why we've invented a tradition that involves eating more meat and root veg than should be humanly possible, before nodding off mid-fart in front of the Queen's speech with a little paper hat perched at a jaunty angle. I do like sprouts though, which is always a bonus come December. Even the bits I like about Christmas aren't particularly Christmassy; I enjoy spending time with my family, but TV, presents and Christmas jumpers aren't any sort of highlight.
But Christmas is a time for good cheer, and fun of all kinds, so I thought I'd take this opportunity to help people to skirt round the pitfalls of that most heinous of all Christmas traditions: the work dinner. Even the thought of it makes me shudder. It's doesn't matter if it's a team dinner, a department do, an office jamboree, the whole idea is to minimise the damage. It's never going to be good, but if you take into account these simple tips, it's likely to be manageable:
1. Always make sure you come out in credit cash-wise. This is pretty easy to do, so long as you assume that the bill will be divvied up equally. Pre-dinner pint? I'll have a mojito. A la carte menu? Have everything which says 'supplement'. Glass of wine? Make sure the bottles stay down your end of the table. Coffee? Yes, and a balloon of the 1969 Armangac. If you emply all of the above tactics, you'll come out in credit, but you may look like you're taking the piss.
2. Don't drink the House wine. When some office joker orders the waiter to bring a 'bottle of the House white and red', nip in with a choice of something that's actually drinkable for your end of the table. People will thank you for it.
3. Never allow anyone but you to divide the bill. People can't do maths: '£400, 10 people, that's erm...erm...no, don't tell me, where's my phone?'
4. Never allow anyone (almost always women) to introduce the different tariff system. This is where you'll have different price points for the a. drinkers b. non-drinkers c. didn't drink much-ers. d. office juniors who don't earn as much, and would rather have been drinking MD 20/20 behind the megabowl anyway. I've been to a colleagues leaving do at Loch Fyne, and the bill was divvied up evenly. OK, so a pregnant wife of a new colleague had to end up shelling out £37 for a starter of mussels and some tap water, but she didn't have to come in the first place, did she?
5. Always offer to pay far more than you should first up. This is a typically male reaction to the bill, and acts as a partial antidote to point 1 (make sure you still end up in credit though). Typical male response to the maths in point 3 is to state 'that's £40 each', then to roll off 5 £20 notes, before flinging them theatrically into the centre of the table, stating 'that should cover me'. People will demand that you pick up the money, and you manage to look generous, without having to end up out of pocket. NOTE: you must be very careful here when dining with women. Men consider it vital to offer more than they should, though women see nothing wrong in resorting to coppers to make up the £38.21 that each person owes.
6. High risk this one, though someone always does it: don't pay. Why is it when the price per person is calculated, and everyone puts in just that little bit extra for tip, do we always hear the phrase 'we're £20 short'? Someone always has a big enough pair of cojones to avoid paying; you could be that person, my friend.
7. Amuse yourself by creating chaos. Most meals out now require a pre-order, but whoever is organising is unlikely to have brought the original sheet which tells them exactly who ordered what food. Your job is to order the most rank sounding starter, main and dessert, and then grab the nicest sounding ones as soon as they come out of the kitchen. Let someone else enjoy your nut roast and three bean soup.
8. Find a like-minded colleague, and give each other 3 phrases that have to be brought into conversation during the evening. I've yet to get in the Frankie Boyle line 'and at the end of the night, you couldn't tell what was poo, and what was chocolate', but there's something for you to aim at.
So there we are. Follow the above, and you'll be able to turn your work meal out into something more than a night to be endured.
And if you're wondering how to make sprouts taste nice, here's 2 ideas:
1. Pureed with double cream and sprinkled with crisp pancetta
2. Shredded and pan-fried in butter
Happy Christmas!
But Christmas is a time for good cheer, and fun of all kinds, so I thought I'd take this opportunity to help people to skirt round the pitfalls of that most heinous of all Christmas traditions: the work dinner. Even the thought of it makes me shudder. It's doesn't matter if it's a team dinner, a department do, an office jamboree, the whole idea is to minimise the damage. It's never going to be good, but if you take into account these simple tips, it's likely to be manageable:
1. Always make sure you come out in credit cash-wise. This is pretty easy to do, so long as you assume that the bill will be divvied up equally. Pre-dinner pint? I'll have a mojito. A la carte menu? Have everything which says 'supplement'. Glass of wine? Make sure the bottles stay down your end of the table. Coffee? Yes, and a balloon of the 1969 Armangac. If you emply all of the above tactics, you'll come out in credit, but you may look like you're taking the piss.
2. Don't drink the House wine. When some office joker orders the waiter to bring a 'bottle of the House white and red', nip in with a choice of something that's actually drinkable for your end of the table. People will thank you for it.
3. Never allow anyone but you to divide the bill. People can't do maths: '£400, 10 people, that's erm...erm...no, don't tell me, where's my phone?'
4. Never allow anyone (almost always women) to introduce the different tariff system. This is where you'll have different price points for the a. drinkers b. non-drinkers c. didn't drink much-ers. d. office juniors who don't earn as much, and would rather have been drinking MD 20/20 behind the megabowl anyway. I've been to a colleagues leaving do at Loch Fyne, and the bill was divvied up evenly. OK, so a pregnant wife of a new colleague had to end up shelling out £37 for a starter of mussels and some tap water, but she didn't have to come in the first place, did she?
5. Always offer to pay far more than you should first up. This is a typically male reaction to the bill, and acts as a partial antidote to point 1 (make sure you still end up in credit though). Typical male response to the maths in point 3 is to state 'that's £40 each', then to roll off 5 £20 notes, before flinging them theatrically into the centre of the table, stating 'that should cover me'. People will demand that you pick up the money, and you manage to look generous, without having to end up out of pocket. NOTE: you must be very careful here when dining with women. Men consider it vital to offer more than they should, though women see nothing wrong in resorting to coppers to make up the £38.21 that each person owes.
6. High risk this one, though someone always does it: don't pay. Why is it when the price per person is calculated, and everyone puts in just that little bit extra for tip, do we always hear the phrase 'we're £20 short'? Someone always has a big enough pair of cojones to avoid paying; you could be that person, my friend.
7. Amuse yourself by creating chaos. Most meals out now require a pre-order, but whoever is organising is unlikely to have brought the original sheet which tells them exactly who ordered what food. Your job is to order the most rank sounding starter, main and dessert, and then grab the nicest sounding ones as soon as they come out of the kitchen. Let someone else enjoy your nut roast and three bean soup.
8. Find a like-minded colleague, and give each other 3 phrases that have to be brought into conversation during the evening. I've yet to get in the Frankie Boyle line 'and at the end of the night, you couldn't tell what was poo, and what was chocolate', but there's something for you to aim at.
So there we are. Follow the above, and you'll be able to turn your work meal out into something more than a night to be endured.
And if you're wondering how to make sprouts taste nice, here's 2 ideas:
1. Pureed with double cream and sprinkled with crisp pancetta
2. Shredded and pan-fried in butter
Happy Christmas!
Thursday, 25 November 2010
Creative Juices
Richard Feynman is one of the greatest minds of the 20th Century. He won a Nobel prize for Physics in the 1960s; he was involved in the atomic bomb project at Los Alamos when only in his early 20s; he helped to compile the report which unearthed the reason for the disaster on the space shuttle challenger. That's all pretty impressive. Perhaps even more special than all this is the fact that he was a brilliantly clever man who was able to inspire every person that he talked to, from fellow Nobel-prize winning scientists to interested laymen. The Horizon documentary in which he is featured is the best programme ever made about science, and I challenge anyone not to find themself drawn in and fascinated by his view of the world. And yet there are things he claims to find difficult to explain: he states that at one time he was trying to explain to his father the emission of a photon from an atom as it moves from a higher state to the ground state. His father asks whether the photon was in the atom ahead of time, and he states that it was not, and it is the moving between 2 states that allows the photon to be emitted. He likens it to when his son told him that he could no longer say the word 'cat' because his 'word bag was empty'. We do not have a 'word bag', i.e. a finite number of words we can use, nor is the number of times we can say any particular word limited. The words are not in our bodies ahead of time; we form them, just as the photon is not in the atom ahead of time.
If anyone is still reading this, I think this is an example of why Feynman would have been such a brilliant teacher - his use of analogy is so good, which is why he can explain even difficult concepts to anyone who is willing to listen.
All this serves to introduce what I was really thinking about, and that is the limit to one's ideas and creativity. Is there a limit to this, just as we might have a limit to the number of times we can say the word 'cat'? I've been a teacher for 12 years (just starting my 13th) and it's a good job that I have moved around from School to School and between roles in these Schools. I've felt that each of my moves has co-incided with the time at which I felt my creativity in that particular role was on the wane. After 5 years as a Head of Department that my creative output was on a downward slope. I'd had a lot of ideas, but I'd rather exhausted them over a 5 year period. But it seems like I'm not alone. Many hugely creative artists (note that I'm not comparing myself to these people) seem to run out of steam after a certain amount of time: Paul McCartney once changed the face of British music, now he churns out instantly forgettable pop pap. You can include Mick Jagger here too. There's the notorious '3rd album' problem faced by singers/bands, and it's often at this stage that later songs just sound like less good versions of what's gone on before (hello Oasis). Salvador Dali was a real artistic original (though Bosch was doing the same thing about 450 years earlier), though when you look at Dali's work, the same themes/ideas come up time and time again. Francoise Sagan - wrote Bonjour Tristesse at the age of 19, and precious little of note afterwards, and there's many authors in the 'one masterpiece' club (Harper Lee, Margaret Mitchell).
Some ideas clearly run their course, and there's no need to keep flogging a dead horse, whilst others are cut in their prime, and leave you desperate for more (12 episodes of Fawlty Towers, and 100 of Birds of a Feather hardly seems fair). To keep being creative takes a very special individual, or ones that are able to reinvent themselves. I'm not sure that many would compare Leonardo da Vinci and David Bowie, but these are the two examples that came to mind first, and I do like to write these blogs in a stream of conscious-esque manner. Da Vinci is probably the greatest Polymath of all time, and he managed to remain creative all his life, and Bowie is one of those artists who seems to be willing to produce total tosh at times (Tin machine) in order to maintain his creative streak - this provides us with genius such as 'Heathen' and 'Hunky Dory'. Only one idea is needed to make us rich, but it's those people that retain the ability to be creative right through to the end that I find most impressive.
Here's some classic Feynman (may need watching twice!):
http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/feynman/10705.shtml
If anyone is still reading this, I think this is an example of why Feynman would have been such a brilliant teacher - his use of analogy is so good, which is why he can explain even difficult concepts to anyone who is willing to listen.
All this serves to introduce what I was really thinking about, and that is the limit to one's ideas and creativity. Is there a limit to this, just as we might have a limit to the number of times we can say the word 'cat'? I've been a teacher for 12 years (just starting my 13th) and it's a good job that I have moved around from School to School and between roles in these Schools. I've felt that each of my moves has co-incided with the time at which I felt my creativity in that particular role was on the wane. After 5 years as a Head of Department that my creative output was on a downward slope. I'd had a lot of ideas, but I'd rather exhausted them over a 5 year period. But it seems like I'm not alone. Many hugely creative artists (note that I'm not comparing myself to these people) seem to run out of steam after a certain amount of time: Paul McCartney once changed the face of British music, now he churns out instantly forgettable pop pap. You can include Mick Jagger here too. There's the notorious '3rd album' problem faced by singers/bands, and it's often at this stage that later songs just sound like less good versions of what's gone on before (hello Oasis). Salvador Dali was a real artistic original (though Bosch was doing the same thing about 450 years earlier), though when you look at Dali's work, the same themes/ideas come up time and time again. Francoise Sagan - wrote Bonjour Tristesse at the age of 19, and precious little of note afterwards, and there's many authors in the 'one masterpiece' club (Harper Lee, Margaret Mitchell).
Some ideas clearly run their course, and there's no need to keep flogging a dead horse, whilst others are cut in their prime, and leave you desperate for more (12 episodes of Fawlty Towers, and 100 of Birds of a Feather hardly seems fair). To keep being creative takes a very special individual, or ones that are able to reinvent themselves. I'm not sure that many would compare Leonardo da Vinci and David Bowie, but these are the two examples that came to mind first, and I do like to write these blogs in a stream of conscious-esque manner. Da Vinci is probably the greatest Polymath of all time, and he managed to remain creative all his life, and Bowie is one of those artists who seems to be willing to produce total tosh at times (Tin machine) in order to maintain his creative streak - this provides us with genius such as 'Heathen' and 'Hunky Dory'. Only one idea is needed to make us rich, but it's those people that retain the ability to be creative right through to the end that I find most impressive.
Here's some classic Feynman (may need watching twice!):
http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/feynman/10705.shtml
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