22 October 2011

Its my party and I'll cry if I want to

 As a child birthdays were a monumental occasion, the anticipation for which began weeks, sometimes months before the big day as I would spend hours poring over the latest Argos catalogue picking the presents I’d like to mark the anniversary of my successful passing into existence. Admittedly most times I would not get the exact gift I’d asked for, but times were hard in the Weatherer household and we were grateful for whatever gift we received.

I remember only ever having one party, perhaps. It was tainted by the arrival of one such gift I defiantly did not ask for. Black, about 8 inches tall and loaded with batteries, that description alone is enough to chill most readers of this blog, but let me assure you that the makers insisted this particular model of Robo-Robbie  (I forget its actual name) was intended for ages 3+.

I swear to god that thing was possessed. All glowing eyes and loud abrasive noises, hell it even produced smoke somehow! Truly this was a toy ejected from hell by Satan himself, and it left an indelible mark on my psyche, and remains my only (tearful) memory of a childhood party that was my own.

Today I’ve hit the age of 32. Birthdays have lost that somewhat magical aura as the years have rolled by. Gifts get less exciting, but thankfully on the whole less menacing too. More significantly, birthdays remind me of my own mortality, each year hammering home the message a little bit harder that I am not immortal, and live is preciously short.

Depressing a thought though that maybe, I take a great deal of comfort knowing my little angel is my mark on the world, and that life so far although challenging in parts, has been a hell of a lot of fun.

I look forward to the next 32 years (plus) and all of the times I will share with my beautiful family. Getting old may not be all that bad after all.

14 October 2011

Moving the goalposts

Football, England's finest gift to the modern world has become a multi billion pound business with players, managers and agents alike commanding mega bucks in the name of kicking a spherical object into a big net. With the European championships nearing, and the Three Lions safely qualified, a wave of optimism should be sweeping the nation.

However all is not well, for one of the squads more enigmatic players went and got himself sent off in the last qualifier after aiming a petulant kick at an opposing player. Now while I will not use this entry as an exercise in character assassination, love him or loathe him, its better to have Wayne Rooney playing in his usual balls out style for you, rather than against you. Yes, the red card that followed the incident was pretty much a given. Playing under what one can guess as a certain amount of personal pressure regarding the exploits of certain members of his family and suspicious betting activity with his usual fiery temperament and desire to win, there was always the potential for fireworks. The kick was petulant, and deserved to be punished as such. The card wasn't disputed, he left the field with a fair amount of dignity, one could almost say he took his punishment like a man.

UEFA however see things a little differently. Despite the managers predictions of maybe missing his talismanic forward for one game, maybe two, despite referee Wolfgang Stark reporting how well Rooney accepted the decision, UEFA deemed the incident as "assault" and handed an automatic 3 match ban to the player. In layman's terms England's most dynamic and arguably best player will not be eligible to play again until the Quarter finals of the tournament. Sorry, If they make the quarter finals of the tournament.

England have 3 days to appeal the decision.

Now while I am not going to suggest any kind of conspiracy against the England team,I will be careful not to draw attention to the goal that never was against Germany in 2010, and definitely stay clear of the whole Mr Sepp "I will never give England anything ever whilst I still live and breath" Blatter and the Russian World cup bribe er sorry bid, I will present the following facts:

David Beckhams much vilified kick against Diego Simeone in 1998 received a one match ban

Goalkeeper Harold Schumachers flying hip challenge against Patrick Battiston, which knocked him unconscious and broke his jaw, was awarded a goal kick. No card.

There are plenty more examples like those above floating around on the net and in various footy fans memories, Our beloved sport is far from perfect, far from fair even, and gives spectators cause to moan and argue long after the last kick of the ball. As a football fan though, I don't think I'd love the sport as much as I do without all the controversy, bad decisions and drama that accompanies each. England will have to prepare for a tournament without Wayne Rooney, at least in the early stages, clearing the way for a potential new icon to lead us into a land of hope and (footballing) glory.

6 October 2011

I always wanted you to go into Space (man)

OK, so it seems the smartest man of the 20th century may have gotten it wrong. Don't fret it Al we all have the occasional bad day at the office, but what does this mean to the non white coat wearing masses?

Well, although when I proposed my theory orginally it was taken somewhat at face value. I will try and explain a little more than my canteen dwelling chums were willing to let.

The realisation that the speed of light is not by any means the speed limit of the universe opens up debate on the possibility of deep space exploration, inter dimensional and even time travel. Where once Einsteins theory stood shaking its headand wagging its finger in a stern "NO" motion, there remains only questions without any firm answers. The rules as we know it have crumbled and I believe we stand at the dawn of an exciting new age of discovery and enlightenment. And Aliens.

Yes I said it, and I shall elaborate further before you start thinking of me as the next David Ike. The most common argument against alien visitation to Earth before was based on the concept that nothing could travel faster than light, that the distance travelled by any alien race would be so insurmountable that it would not be possible in any given lifetime. If they existed, they were just to damn far away to pop by and say hello.

Well now the speed limit has become an unknown, technologies possessing speeds that make light speed look like Windows 98 trying to run two spreadsheets simultaneously could very well exist somewhere out there in the deep cosmos.

And what of mankind? Well, when Karl Benz invented the first car back in 1886, he didn't look at the London to Glasgow run and decide that 4.1 days was a respectable travelling time. No, he and many others strived to find ways to travel faster and faster. We are still at it today as car manufacturers try and out run the Bugatti Veyron with their latest creations.

This is precisely what will happen regarding this latest discovery. How? I know not, but what I do know is that the very essence of man demands looking for new ways of making shit blow up,fly higher or go faster. And its all in the name of getting laid.

God bless mankind.

3 October 2011

Do losers dream of Excel Spread sheets?

Do losers dream of Excel Spread sheets?

Dreams, the nightly retreat of the weary mind. So often used as an expression of one’s ultimate waking ambition and desires, yet in the majority of cases most appear nonsensical and downright weird. Journey with me as I explore the innermost workings of our daily biological back up process and realise that not all dreams are what we would happily call our ideal.

Now, before I begin I want to make it clear that I wish to take no credit for the recollection of the following dreams, as these were told across the break table the following morning by various work colleagues of mine.

Case study 1.

Subject A likes his women as much as the next man, (read that sentence how you will by the way) and was embarking on one of the favourite dreams of Heterosexual males everywhere;   Sleeping with a random bit of fluff.

Unless you are an oversexed hormone addled persistent chaser of the skirt or a Premiership footballer  frequent sex with random women is painfully rare, so a virtual bit of action while you sleep is something of a bonus. As you are not actually cheating on your partner, its also a bit like getting one in for free, or a win:win as I like call it. Indeed every male who has ever had one remembers them for years to come down to even the tiniest detail, Subject A is steadying himself for something of a nocturnal treat.

He finds himself stood in a nondescript hotel corridor, rooms’ line both walls as far as the eye can see. Subject A begins to walk , causally admiring the gold plated light fittings and numerous floral paintings that hang on the wall at regular intervals. The door to his right creaks open a little and a pair of blue eyes and a red lipstick coated mouth appear in the intervening gap:

“Hi there, I’m (enter Scandinavian name here as subject A was not paying attention to her name, but was marvelling at the short hotel issued towel and thanking the management for scrimping on the linen budget) and I’m here alone needing some male company, will you join me?”

Subject A is in the room like a shot. She wanders over to the sumptuous double bed, all white sheets, fluffy pillows and rose petals. Sitting on the bed, she slowly pours two glasses of champagne and makes the universal sign for let’s get right to it and pats the bed next to her.

Subject A can’t believe his luck, but suddenly feels the urge to freshen up and hastily locates the en suite. Noticing the shower, he decides it would be only proper he give himself a quick once over and then proceeds to spend the remainder of the dream soaping himself up with a huge yellow loafer.


Case Study 2.

Subject B is something of an IT marvel; he has a good head for figures and a welldeveloped business acumen. Only on this night, Subject B is Founder and owner of D.V.D.A. porn productions and business is very, very good.

Tonight’s shoot is to be the opening scene to the company’s latest big hitter U Ass Masters, the second in its alternative golf series of adult titles (the first of which , won several Woodys). The cameras are all in position, the models are oiled and de fluffed ,and shooting is set to begin.

Subject B suddenly realises the accounts for this month are a little disorganised and that they could do with some attention, after all a balanced book is a happy book. So off he trots spending the remainder of the dream analysing stock counts, ordering Baby Oil in bulk (it’s much cheaper by the gallon) and Googleing fine filter camera lenses.

Now I’m not alone thinking both of these dreams are something of a missed opportunity. Why would our unconscious mind place us into the most desired of situations, only to yank us away and occupy us with such menial task as the construction of pivot tables or the washing of ones balls? Or is our own existence so mundane and uneventful that our psyches cannot even begin to process what a fantasy may entail and makes a run towards some kind of psychological comfort blanket at the last second in order to  spare its blushes at its woefully inadequate attempt to tantalise? Have we forgotten how to unleash our inner creative selves in our most relaxed and free state, and ultimately how to dream?

If getting chased through my hometown by marauding GCSE exam papers wearing nothing but a soiled pair of y-fronts is dreaming, then I for one wish sometimes that I could forget…