So I finished the course, and I wrote a story :)

Yep, finished the creative writing course this week, and by ignoring all the advice I got from it, and just doing what I do anyway, I wrote this for the final piece, which had a 1000 word limit on it, that I also ignored.
It got very positive reviews from the other poor sods doing the course, I wrote it far too quickly, and thought it was okay. However, all this, and turning 37 have left me with very little time to write anything else this week, so I'm posting this due to extreme laziness taking over, enjoy, it is loosely based on a not anywhere near as interesting true story.

Sorry for the laziness, usual ranting will be resumed next week, when I will have a lot to say about birthdays when you're a grown up.

Just Because You're Paranoid...

'Excuse me,' came a voice from the car that had just reversed 200 metres back up the road, 'I know this sounds weird, but could I take your photograph?' Pete was taken aback, that did sound weird. But sometimes weird is good, and interesting, and if there was one thing Pete wasn't, it was impolite. And it would be tremendously impolite to refuse such a simple request, besides, he was only strolling out to the pub for the evening, he had time, and this did appeal to his vanity.

'Ok, why not.' Pete leaned into the window of the silver saloon car, pushed up his Aviator sunglasses, and grinned manically at its occupant. Inside he could see tripods, lights and all the assorted paraphernalia of the photographer's trade, which put his mind at rest on one count. This chap was a photographer, or at least had made sure his back story held up okay. Pete was cursed with an over-active imagination, and within the time it had taken for the car to reverse back up the road towards him, and his answer to the man inside, he had enacted five separate scenarios in his head, which all ended with him dead, and none of them were nice.

'Sorry to do this, it's just that you look really interesting, and it's a sort of hobby of mine, collecting photographs of interesting looking people. I'm not some kind of weirdo, honest,' the man chuckled nervously as he got out of the car. He was wearing a corporate uniform, blue jacket and matching trousers, with the logo of the energy company he represented emblazoned on the left breast. This reassured Pete a little more, the man would have to answer to his employers, a serial killer wouldn't have an ID badge casually hanging on a lanyard around his neck. Possibly he was just some kind of government spook, looking for subversive elements, and Pete had once been to a greenpeace meeting, that was pretty subversive. But it was true, Pete did look interesting, with his brothel creepers, midnight blue drape jacket, bootlace tie and quiff, you would swear it was still the '50s rather than the twenty first century.

'No, no, you're fine, to tell you the truth it's not the first time this has happened' Pete lied, he didn't know why he felt the need to lie, it was probably to put the man at his ease, though why he needed to put him at his ease evaded Pete completely. This encounter would either be over in less than two minutes, and they would never see each other again, or Pete would be knocking on the boot of his car and screaming at the top of his lungs to be let out. Either way, there was no need for the chap to be at his ease.

'I'm not surprised, you do have an enigmatic look about you, I'm Darren by the way, pleased to meet you,' said the stranger, smiling through a neatly trimmed beard, and he put out his hand in greeting to Pete, who shook it excessively firmly and vigorously, in a meaningless attempt to show his strength, in case Darren still turned out to be some kind of weirdo, also it might prevent Darren from injecting him with any kind of tracer or bugging devices, by increasing his blood pressure enough to spit it right out again.

'Pete, likewise.'

'Now, if you can just stand there, against that wall with the graffiti, I think that would make a really interesting backdrop,' Pete did as he was told, the wall was, he had to concede, a pretty good backdrop. Some street artist had sprayed a 10 foot high image of an electric guitar surrounded by stars on the electricity substation by the road. Pete dutifully stood in front of it, doing his best Elvis sneers, while Darren snapped away from every angle he could find.

'All done, thanks Pete, do you want copies of these shots? I can email them to you later if you want?'

'Yes please mate, that would be excellent,' Pete said, before he'd had time to think it through, and before he knew it he was writing his email address down on a scrap of paper for Darren. Why had he done that? You could use an email address to call up every bit of personal detail you needed on somebody nowadays couldn't you? He might have been following Pete for weeks, and just needed to confirm his email address to make sure he had the right guy. They could link this to PeteyRNR75 from all those Rock and Roll internet forums he hung out on. What had he said? Was he going to be locked up in some Orwellian nightmare for his strong views on period correct equipment for rockabilly bands, or laughing at the guy who's turn-ups had been half an inch too short? He awaited the knock on the back of the head, and resigned himself to being bundled into Darren's boot.

'Well, thanks for that, I'll send you the pictures once I've jiggled them about a bit, speak to you later!' and with that, Darren drove away into the hazy sunshine of an early June evening. Pete took a deep breath, and walked on to the pub. He managed to talk himself down, and realised that Darren was almost certainly  just a harmless eccentric with a photography project, just as he had said. He thought no more about it.

Later that night, having returned from an uneventful evening at the Three Pigeons, Pete found an email in his inbox with the photographs attached, they were good. They were really good, Pete looked fantastic, with the sunlight glinting off the sides of his Raybans, and his brylcreemed quiff shining majestically in front of that giant guitar in the background. He sent a quick reply, 'Thanks mate, look really good, I hope they help with your project. - Pete' and then went off to bed.

Outside, just past Pete's garden wall, Darren closed the email he had just received on his blackberry, nodded to himself and took out his little bag of lockpicks.

Some Thoughts about D-Day

I woke up this morning, and saw yet more coverage of long ago wars. A whole day of TV dedicated to the D-Day landings of 70 years ago. Union Jacks all over my social media feeds, and newspaper front pages. A wholesale massacre of roughly 12000 people, though the counts vary depending on the source you use. Like a lot of people (not all, but a lot) I was mildly upset by the continuing glorification of war, and given that this is all just before the proper kick off of the first world war centenary remembrances, I thought 'this is going to be a very long four years'. I said something along the lines of “you didn't get stuff like this about the charge of the light brigade fifty odd years ago” to my wife, and then wondered how long the Germans were going to have to keep apologising, and feeling vague guilt over the whole thing, as, if I were a German over here at the moment, watching all the tributes to the allied dead (and a lot of the facebook statuses I saw this morning were explicit that they were only remembering the allied dead) I would be feeling pretty shitty, despite it being 2 generations ago, and not my fault at all. I posted a facebook status to that effect, and that was where the trouble started.

Not as much trouble as I have been running into by other political posting recently, because every rebuttal I got, I countered with the terribly diplomatic reply that I was not getting into it, as it is a very emotive subject, I know people who were directly involved, and people indirectly involved, and these are people I love and respect, and do not want to upset. Particularly my friends in the military, who, while not involved in D-Day itself, are understandably very much on the “we will remember them no matter what, don't you bring your pacifist lefty shit into it today please Dave you hippy twat!” side of things. And I love them for that, and decided to keep quiet. But then I saw a promotion for a D-Day celebration, and I figured a celebration of a massacre is really going a bit far and I thought I'd write a blog on it, and set out my hippy, pacifist, lefty agenda, and did a load of research. I was not prepared for what I found out, and I am less angry on others behalf than I started out.

Let me say at this point that I am not patriotic in anyway, I think national borders are arbitrary lines drawn on a map, and people are the same wherever they are, and utterly different despite being from the same place, all at the same time. Thus the many wars for territory fought over the last few millennia seem like childish playground squabbles that the bigger boys have managed to get their smaller friends to take all the hits for. Yet for some reason, people persist in this idea of a fixed national identity, no such thing I'm afraid, we are all individual and very different. This is a good thing.

I began thinking from the perspective of the ordinary German citizen today, including their veterans, and decided that they were no more guilty of any crimes than the British soldiers. All of them were told that what they were doing was for King and country (or fuhrer and country if you like) and nobody needs it thrown in their faces that they were very much being fed lies and propaganda. Though had they been on the winning side, would it have been different? Given that it has since come to light that in 1944 a large faction of the Nazi party were planning to overthrow Hitler, would the Reich have gone as far as set out in Mein Kampf? Would they have stopped the systematic slaughter of Jews, Gypsies, and political dissidents? Or would they have operated in the same way as the Soviet Union did, and Red China still does. We will never know. As to whether there was another way to finish the war other than D-Day, history again suggests not. Though as mentioned, the Reich may have torn itself apart, but allied forces had no way of knowing that.

This however, was not intended to be a what if? History lesson, although it is a bit. I then decided to have a go with the double standard argument, since Hitler's dream of a thousand year Reich, and lebensraum for the German people was possibly based on various Empires. Particularly the British Empire, on which the Sun never sets (sorry, it's a commonwealth now, is that a better thing?) The war that put the coffin nails in the great empires, world war one, had left Germany with nothing but huge reparations to pay, and their lands split up amongst the other empires. The German people were not likely to take it for long, had it not been Hitler, some other leader would have done something, the second world war was inevitable from the shambles that was the treaty of Versailles. Which is a shame, as had things been dealt with better in 1918, the world would be a better place today, and we wouldn't have had to have the replay. I would like to think that the end of the second world war marks the end of aggressive imperialism in the world, but it's too early to say yet.

After all my wonderings about Hitler's position on Empire, and Britain's own colonial past, which is far from pleasant, I posited the question, do the Zulus mark the anniversary of their brief victory at Isandlwana? Do the Sioux nation mark theirs at Little Big Horn? Of course, I scoffingly assumed that they would have more dignity than that. I was wrong, but they certainly do have dignity, and still mark these occasions, despite having ultimately lost against the occupying forces they were opposing, as you can see here. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/southafrica/1452499/Zulus-mark-anniversary-of-victory-over-British-force.html

and here

http://www.indianz.com/News/2007/003615.asp

That's how wrong I was, you can remember massacres with dignity.

At which point I started to think that these anniversary remembrances are not so crass after all. I looked at the numbers, and there were at least 9000 (up to 11000) killed from the “winning” side, against, between 500 and 3000 (depending on your source) on the losing side. Apparently it is a question of percentages when you're playing the game of war, check Rourke's Drift for another force that were hopelessly outnumbered, but pulled through (although they had a significant advantage). And then at lunchtime, I put the TV on, and saw some of the guys who were there telling their stories. And there are none so humble as these chaps, they have tears in their eyes still as they tell of the hell they had to live through, mostly with a few gags thrown in, and a couple of chuckles. I have nothing but respect for those who were sent off to die as cannon fodder in the political machinations of their leaders. It would be nice to think this wouldn't happen any more, but sadly we still convince our young men that they are fighting for the good of all, when they are mostly fighting for corporate interests. And we send them off to die in foreign lands, while ironically, increasing the chances of domestic terrorism with the same decision.

I suspect it is the twenty four hour news culture that makes it all that little bit grating for me. Were it a tasteful service on the beaches for the veterans and their families from all sides, and then everyone shakes hands, tells a few stories and has a nice day out I would doubtless have had no problems at all. But a whole day of BBC1 given over to a huge world-wide media circus, with world leaders and their wives in nice dresses making moving speeches seems horrendously over blown. Grief porn if you like. Hours and hours of moving montages with rousing music, and Huw Edwards smiling benignly through the whole thing, if you want to bury bad news, do it today please. Constantly being told we must be grateful for the world we live in because so many died for it is slightly patronising, particularly coming from the ruling classes who are systematically trying to dismantle everything that generation achieved for us. By all means have small tasteful remembrance services, but these TV spectaculars are tasteless, crass and frankly insulting to the dead, who were more likely fighting in the hopes that they wouldn't get killed rather than for any future generations.

This TV coverage showed wide-eyed children being shown the landing beaches, and eager to learn about the great sacrifices made that day to keep us all free. I sincerely hope that this is true, and kids today have learned from the past. I remember myself and my brother on beaches in France with war time fortifications on them, and rather than being eager to learn of great sacrifices, we made machine gun noises at each other and shouted “Die you Nazi bastard!” while playing our merry war games. But it was the 80s, and we had been raised on a steady diet of Victor, Eagle, and Commando comics, with a sprinkling of war movies like a Bridge too Far, the Longest Day, the Great Escape, the Dam-busters, and Bridge over the River Kwai. All fine pieces of art, but not unpartisan, and faintly jingoistic. I hope that the current generation of kids are brought up in a more tolerant way, but I suspect they play at terrorists and still pretend to die while one of them shouts “ack-ack-ack-ack-ack” and “Die you Muslim bastard” at them. And with the world cup fast approaching, I would like the playground to be devoid of the chant “Two world wars and one world cup, doo da, doo da” but I will probably be disappointed. After all, the England supporters band still play the theme from the Great Escape at matches, I'd like to think it's because it's a jolly rousing tune, but I suspect I am wrong there as well.

A chap posted this on a Billy Bragg thread earlier, which kind of sums up how many of us feel when we see the many and various union jack and poppy tinged posts about the massacres on social media, particularly when linked to odious groups like Britain First, and I repeat it here for you, as it helped me to get through it all,

“While we commemorate the brave soldiers from all the allied countries, including the commonwealth, who fought on D-Day, let’s also take a moment to remember what they were fighting for. It was not for ‘patriotism’, Britain or anti-Europeanism. It was a fight against Fascism and all it entails.
When ‘Britain First’, the EDL, the BNP, UKIP or any of the racist and bigoted factions try and hijack that fight for their own political agenda it makes me sick. The sacrifice that those courageous men made was in response to an evil man who exploited antipathy towards Jews, Gypsies, Ethnic minorities, Gays, Unions and the Unemployed to control the population and who offered hatred as a solution to his country’s problems. These groups wish to peddle the same ultra-right ideology and the fact that they choose to do so by exploiting the very men who fought against such prejudice and intolerance is shameful. WW2 was described as the war to end all wars. Sadly humans still continue to destroy each other in armed conflicts the world over but Europe, at least, has lived without war since. If we return to days of obsessive and subjective patriotism, hatred of other races and colours, intolerance of religious or sexual persuasion and the demonization of the unemployed, the poor and the needy then we truly do dishonour every man that lost his life on those beaches on that day 70 years ago. Say NO to Fascism – that’s how I will commemorate them.”

Now I heartily endorse this (although I think he means western Europe, the eastern half has not been so lucky) but with all the propaganda being thrown around by both sides back in the war, I don't think any of us can truly second guess the motives behind each and every soldier fighting. Every man there fought for his own personal reasons, most were probably just trying to make sure their homes and families were safe. Some of them may have just been doing it because that was what they felt they should do, after all, they weren't cowards. A lot of them may have had no idea why they were there, and suddenly found themselves in a world of bullets, shells, blood and death with no idea how to cope with it, and were fighting just to stay alive. Had I been alive then, I would almost certainly have been a conscientious objector, and ostracised for my dangerous strain of pacifism. I worry today that those right wing groups who are just “saying what we're all thinking” are employing the very same hate tactics that the National Socialist Party of Germany did 80 years ago. After all, I doubt all their supporters thought they were racists either, but those Jews eh? Can't trust them, you know what they're like. Trying to infiltrate our schools with their Sharia laws....

Anyhow, I wanted to remember the people involved in the D-Day landings, who shouldn't have had to be there in the first place. Moved around like puppets by a ruling class (on both sides) desperately clinging to empires that no longer existed. If only Hitler had written back to Gandhi. 

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2009/09/for-sake-of-humanity_10.html

I leave you with a story from my friend Devlin Butler about his father who was on the beaches of Normandy 70 years ago, it brought a tear to my eye.

On this day in history;

The Normandy beach invasion began and a certain SGT Arthur William Butler (My Dad) and his friends and squad members took to the beach in the first wave of the Normandy invasion. My dad never really spoke about the war or that day much the only thing he really said was "it was hell".

We all know roughly what happened we know of the heavy machine gun fire the countless losses etc. but on this day while most focus on the loss and devastation, I can not help but smile as I remember one of the only things my father ever told me about that day, it is not the graphic detail or the sheer horror knowing about four thousand allied troops died this day that makes me smile, only a completely deranged head case would find that even remotely amusing, but I will explain what does.

So, picture the scene, before even getting to the beach under heavy mortar fire, then hitting the beach still under mortar fire but now within range of the heavy machine guns, friends, comrades gunned down or blown to bits right next to you, everyone trying to get through the water which is now pretty much nothing but blood and bodies to find a defensible spot to take cover behind and get their bearings, somehow my father managed to do that.

So there he is pinned down behind a rock by machine gun fire in his words "The army makes a man of you and puts things into perspective, I thought this was the day I was going to die". So with this in mind, my father who was always very down to earth a complete realist decided in his wisdom that if this was the day he was going to die he was not going to die hungry, and in his webbing he had secured two (I forget if they were pork or lamb off hand) chops and a hard boiled egg, when he told me this I said "but dad? isn't webbing for ammunition etc.?" he said "yes, but there is always room for food" (my dad liked his food lol) and so he proceeded to eat them right there behind that rock being shot at by the German army.

And so, he finished his little picnic (as I call it) and continued to fight on, he survived that day and counted himself fortunate for the rest of his life, he died a few years ago of a brain tumour, pretty much the last thing my mom, myself or anyone who knew him even considered would be the end of him, his final words to me were "Do not cry, I have no regrets"

When people think about war (those who have never experienced it and hopefully never will) the first thoughts are usually the loss of lives, the bravery and heroism etc., and while these are things that are worth thinking about, also remember, all those who fought died were normal people the same as you or I. If you were in that situation, thinking this was your last day on earth surviving all that had come before and knowing you had to charge into the mouth of hell would you have had enough foresight to have packed something to eat? again in my fathers words "To die is one thing, to die in the service of your country is expected, but to die hungry is something else completely".

R.I.P. All of those who gave their lives that day and throughout the whole of WW2
R.I.P. SGT Arthur William Butler (my hero in so many ways, my father)

The ghost of John Peel hates 6music as much as I do

In all the furore this week over the Radio one playlist meeting that was documented in the Guardian (you may not realise there was a furore about it, I didn't until somebody linked me to an article about the furore in an unrelated place, and then another one after that, I then had a look, and discovered that there in my cup of tea, was a raging storm of obvious. I was more surprised that nobody at Radio one was taking massive bribes to play such dreary, antiseptic drones all day). I realised that my long standing hatred of playlists could do with being written about. Interestingly (or not, depending on your viewpoint) I was going to write about the radio making me hate bands very quickly after really liking them anyway.

Here's a little background, I spend a disproportionately large amount of time listening to the radio. Really, all day from 8:30am until 5pm, sat at work, I have the radio on. Have done for a very large proportion of my adult life, as it is the only way to get through the painfully dull working day. And the thing I have noticed most is that the playlisted songs (those that are played on every single one of the daytime shows) go very quickly from being my very favourites, to being utterly hated. Familiarity really does breed contempt in many cases.

Normal people, who listen to the radio in the car in the mornings and evenings on their way to work, will tell me how much they are enjoying a new playlisted record. Because they hear it at most, twice a day, and generally, not even that much. I hear these damn things at least four times a day, five days a week, and if they stay on the playlist, then this can go on for months. The most recent casualty being the new Royal Blood single, which is sad, as I really liked them. And now I don't.

This can all go back to the summer of 1993, when two bands became utterly hated due to over exposure. Those bands were the Levellers and Rage against the machine, both of whom I really liked at the beginning of the year, when I first heard them. By the end of the summer, where every party I had been to, and every place I had been hanging out as one can only do when you're 16, had been endlessly playing those two albums, I hated them. With a passion. Twenty years later I can happily listen to them again, without flinching. The same thing happened with Nirvana, Guns and Roses, and any other band that were overly popular at any point. I am often accused of musical snobbery for my dislike of the current trends, and there may be a grain of truth in that, but it's more often than not that I get bored of hearing the same thing over and over again really quickly.

When I got a proper job, we had Radio one on in the factory all day long, and to begin with, I was being happily brainwashed into buying albums by the bands they endlessly played. I even bought the Ocean Colour Scene album on the back of “The Day We Caught The Train”. I bought a lot of god-awful brit-pop, and I can only claim that I was 18, and therefore stupid, and without taste. Shortly afterwards, however, the self-same endless radio play led me to sell most of these albums, as I was sick of them. Especially Ocean bloody Colour Scene, and their utterly insipid tedious dirges. There's probably a chance that if I'd only heard these tracks a couple of times a day, I'd have been joining in with all the recent brit-pop nostalgia, hell, I might even enjoy the music of Blur and Oasis, but that's stretching things a bit.

I was brought up to speed on how important technology is now by a seventeen year old of my acquaintance (no names, privacy is respected here still) who when told that somebody's parents didn't have any internet access, said “But how do they listen to music?” Which obviously got a few laughs, and was then changed to “But how do they discover new music?” which made me think a bit more. Now obviously, these are people in their 60s, and as we know, people of that age don't want to discover new music thank you very much. Not all of them, but a fair proportion I suspect, if my own parents are anything to go by. But if you are so inclined, there is now an absolute avalanche of new music available in just a click. I think if that had been around when I was a kid, I would have never got anything useful done, just sat around listening to new tunes. Not necessarily a bad thing. I was surprised that the afore-mentioned seventeen year old couldn't think of any alternative though, stuff does change quickly these days.

The only place to hear really interesting, new and exciting music when I was a kid, was John Peel in the evenings. Now, I suspect, Zane Lowe is filling that void (don't shoot me, I know he'll never be Peel, but he does play some good tunes at times). When we were young, you either heard it on Peel, or you had a mate who somehow had all kinds of weird, interesting records that they would tape off for you. I had quite a lot of mates like that, and I thank each and every one of them for the many strange and exciting records they got me into. I also spent a huge amount of time sitting in a local second hand record shop, listening to the stock with the friendly owner, and went through a phase of buying records based on whatever had the most interesting cover, and was super cheap. That really was the only way to get into different music back then kids, you could read the music press, but unless there was a tape or a flexi disc free with it, you had to imagine what they sounded like, and when you finally got to hear them (after saving up your pennies, and picking one of the many albums you wanted to buy, and buying it, major investments back then) you would be disappointed (except for the Dogs D'Amour, they sounded as awesomely cool as they looked).

Now, a few years ago, I invested in a DAB for work, as the years of Radio 2 (no Steve Wright, it is not ok to talk over the guitar solo at the end of Rainbow's Since You Been Gone, and you need to tell the audience what the record they just heard was called, and who it was, I hate you with a passion you can only dream of) and Radio 1 had left me hollowed out and hating all new music. I now had 6music, which was like a whole day of John Peel, briefly. And then I noticed the playlisting was taking over, and for the most part, every daytime show was playing the same songs over and over again at me, and it made me sad again.

It is the best of a bad bunch though, and you can easily tell the records that the DJ has picked themselves. Because Lamacq will never ever stop playing bland mid-90s indie music whenever he gets the chance, Laverne cannot resist Riot-Grrrrl, and Keaveny still has a Who obsession that cannot be quelled. It is a little like my first discovery of Radio 2, around the turn of the millennium, they played the Who, they played Zeppelin, and not the bland insufferable white noise that was being called new music, and being blasted across radio 1 at the time. But that got old, as Radio 2 are still playing the same songs now that they pulled me in with back then.

Why must those of us who listen all day be force fed the same thing over and over again? Why are evening listeners so special that they get the interesting stuff? I've been listening all day, I don't want to listen all evening as well, I want the good stuff in the daytime. And yes, I know, iPlayer, but I like the real time aspect of radio, we are all listening together, and the DJ is talking to me, and we are all in the same gang. I can tweet/text/email the DJ, and he/she might read out what I have said, and maybe reply. I like all that. I want more music that they have picked especially for me, and not stuff that they have been told to play because some crazy statistician has said that is what the target demographic would enjoy. I know I could make my own playlists, and listen to music I want, and have listened to before, and I could use the spotify algorithms for music I might enjoy, based on music I have already heard. But I pay my license fee so somebody else can do that for me. Make the daytimes like the evening and weekend shows 6music, we listen because we like new interesting stuff, if we wanted the same playlisted shite over and over again, we would still be listening to Radio 1.

Short Apology and explanation, may not be relevant to many people, move along, nothing to see here....

To all those who I have possibly let down in the last week or so, I am sorry, but I had to. I have been trying desperately to get enough free time to be able to write, and do my own happy little musical thing, and every time I manage to find the time, I am gripped by stress and worry and anxiety about all the other things I have promised other people I am going to do, which leaves me unable to do it anyway. The only way for me to be able to get on and do the work I want to do, is to let go of all the other stuff that I was mostly doing for other people. So sorry to those who no longer have a stand in bass player for far away gigs. And sorry to those who no longer have a decent little guitarist in their nice little earner projects. Also sorry to those who have proposed really excellent little bands to me in the last week, other guys are available.

I realise that having been the musician who can't say no, is in fact ruining me as a functioning human being. I spend far too much time worrying about when I will have a free weekend, or decent amount of weeknights, in which I might be able to relax, and hang out with my wife and my dog. OR just worrying that I don't have time to fit in all the things I am supposed to be doing at all. And being of a certain age now, I really do value a nice bit of time at home in a way I never used to when I was young and proper rock and roll. The afore mentioned wife and dog both look at me and shake their heads every time I load the car up and go out to play another gig I don't really want to and they are right to. I had very nearly got to the point where I was going to just stop playing with anybody else at all, and was going to retire to my studio and just do my own stuff again (which I have very much done before). But then I figured I could just say no to some things, so I did. And I feel a whole lot better, and the summer schedule looks nicer than it did, and I look forward to going out to band practices again. Particularly when there's now no more than one a week.

So, again, I am very sorry to you chaps I have let down, but let it be known, that had I not, I would have been cursing your names all summer long as I dragged myself out to play music I don't really like as much as I thought, in places I don't want to be. I hope you all find people who are better suited to the job than I am. Do please keep sending me your offers, as once I am cured of this current bout of misery, I'll probably want to get out there with everyone I can again.

The problem is, as always, that when it starts to feel like work, like a job that I have to go out and do, then I really don't want to do it, and the day I don't want to play music anymore will be a very very dark day in my life, and I don't want it to happen. So I'd rather upset a few people, than bugger up my favourite thing forever.

So sorry again chaps, I hope this explains it all a little better for you.

By the way, I am still not entirely sure how many bands I am in, and how many I have left this week. Can anyone who thinks I am still in a band with them please let me know, and I'll tell you if you're right or not.

I'm Not Racist, I'm Just Deaf

After last weeks report of an argument on the internet going slightly awry over a misunderstanding, I had another similar problem this morning. Rather than going over it like I did last week, here's a link to the twitter thread, where an American takes a very long time to realise he is arguing in the wrong thread, and like many others, fails to apologise when he realises his mistake. He also has the sheer audacity to claim that I'm the one that isn't bright, says I'm a joke (I assume he means I'm incredibly witty, and that I make terribly good jokes) and that I might have commented on the wrong thread. He's a clever chap, and I am not going to suggest that anybody takes him on in a battle of wits, or even sends him a tweet suggesting he might like to admit he was wrong. Here's the link, enjoy.

http://twitter.com/US_VeteranGiant/status/469043569853202432

Now, given that tomorrow (or probably today now, since I'll most likely sit on this until then, in case a good idea comes to me in the night) is the day of the EU elections, I should probably do some political ranting and posturing and tell you all why you should vote for my favourite party. I'm not going to though. I'm not even going to tell you which way I am voting, the democratic process requires that you make up your own mind my reading about your local candidates. I am however going to shake my head at you all and tell you that you let yourselves down.

Yep, by continually attacking the kippers (as the Ukip supporters have now become known) we're playing to their strengths. Their whole shtick is that they are now the underdogs, oppressed by the hordes of immigrants coming over here and making the place all colourful and tasty. Oppressed by the EU, forcing us to not cut our hands off with power tools or be forced to work endlessly long hours by unscrupulous employers (oh no, we can sign a bit of paper to get out of that one, or be fired, it's a legitimate choice). Oppressed by the mythical liberal lefty elite, forcing them not to say n*g-n*g, p*ki, or ch*nky. And those of us who are screaming “Racists!” “Fascists!” “Nazis!” etc. etc. are not helping. Xenophobic, backward looking, profiteering,elitist, underhanded hypocrites they may be, but to accuse them of the other is just helping them out.

In fact, the unfortunate shouting of “Racist!” at the smallest infractions of social protocol, or misunderstanding is always unhelpful. I live in Devon, I pretty much grew up here, during the 80s and 90s. The lack of racial diversity has always been stunning down here, which has made it a haven for the genuinely racist and hateful. I've met many pleasant people in the pubs, who when I ask why they moved down here will happily say “to get away from all the darkies what moved in where I used to live” charming, really. But, and this is more to the point, I know relatively little of other cultures, and will ask fairly inappropriate questions of people of different ethnicity when I've had a few. Sometimes I get called Racist for this, I'm not Racist, I'm just interested. I have trouble remembering faces, and sometimes think I have met friends of friends who are of the same ethnic origin as other friends of friends before. Again, I'm not racist, just crap with faces (and names sadly).

Whenever I go to my local Indian takeaway and have trouble hearing what the staff say, I am worried that if I say “pardon?” or “can you repeat that please?” I will get the racist card thrown at me, but as I have said, I grew up in Devon, and there weren't a lot of Indian accents around then. Also, I am profoundly deaf on one side, and a lot of them mumble (I don't mean Indians in general, just most of the staff in there) there are 2 who don't mumble, and I am always relieved to see them. I always feel the need to apologise for not understanding their every word. Which I don't feel the need to do with my Father-in-law, who is very, very devonshire, and also mumbles, and I also cannot understand him. But again, I'm not a racist, I'm just deaf.

Much like the Clarkson debacle, and the firing of the Radio DJ for playing an old song with an unfortunate lyric, this is just distracting us all from actual racism and discrimination that goes on every day all over the world. And hip hop music's reclamation of the legendary N word has not helped at all. Many white/indian/chinese kids listen to this, and all kids like to sing along to their favourite songs. It is not helpful to have to look around to check that there is nobody listening who might be offended before you can do so. I used to like NWA, still do, but the hyper-divisive nature of that word is tellingly worrying. When the gay community reclaimed queer for themselves, were they similarly protective of its use? I certainly don't feel as bad saying queer in front of my gay friends as I would saying n*gg*r in front of my black friends. However, they're all just words, and not inherently racist, because they are just sounds we make, not entrenched attitudes of superiority.

If I were to assume that all members of a particular ethnic group were inferior to my own ethnic group, then that would make me a racist. Luckily, I assume all members of every ethnic group, including my own are infinitely inferior to me. Which makes me an arsehole, certainly, but not a racist. And I would suggest that your average kipper is most likely an arsehole (or even more likely, a perfectly decent sort who is easily persuaded by propaganda and likes having a scapegoat to blame for the inherent unfairness of our society, but for some reason doesn't want to blame the corporations at the top) but probably not a racist, a fascist, or a nazi, and to suggest that they are is kind of insulting to the thousands who died to stop the genuine racists, fascists and nazis back in the big wars with numbers. Just like Ukip are insulting them with their rather tasteless use of this poster.

Which, it turns out, is showing mostly French war graves, rather appropriately.

Distracted from the Real Arguments

Well, after two nights of wondering what on earth I could possibly write about this week, I was gifted a marvellous online argument this afternoon, in which I showed remarkable restraint in the face of boundless abuse. Unfounded I might add, and still not apologised for. It was a little like going back to school again for a bit with some of the insults chucked my way. However, we settled our differences, and he became a perfectly reasonable chap after he realised his mistake, and I shall not name names, or my connection to him, those of you who saw it will know, and those of you who didn't don't need to. I don't personally know the chap, or wish him any ill-will, but it once again got me thinking about people's very different styles of argument.

Now, if you have spent any time on the world wide web at all recently, or even in the company of real people, talking about stuff (you know, in the pub, like we used to do in the olden days) you will be aware of UKIP, and how they divide opinion. Although, in my personal circle, it is more about why you think they're wrong, rather than whether you like them or not, however, I am not getting into that here. There are plenty of other ranty political blogs out there, suffice it to say that the borderline racism is not their worst quality. A friend of mine had posted on facebook that he was thinking of voting for them as a protest vote, and being helpful, I posted some alternatives, and this infamous Stewart Lee picture quote.

After which, I came across this blog entry by somebody else, and rather than just posting the link, I also quoted a hefty chunk of text in the thread, inside quotation marks. Because people never click on links, but they will pick up on bits of quotes. http://anotherangryvoice.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/reasons-to-vote-alternative-2014.html. If you are similarly unlikely to read the link, the gist of the bit I quoted was that UKIP policies are a wee bit tory-like and establishment, and thus as a protest vote, it's a bit daft. There were these two key parts that got me in a bit of trouble however

"backed by a tide of political illiterates who consider them some kind of "alternative" to the establishment orthodoxy",

and “UKIP is the party to represent the kind of person who loved Margaret Thatcher, but thought her biggest fault was that she was too left-wing. If you are not as right-wing as Margaret Thatcher was, yet you actually vote for this unmistakably Thatcherite party, you are clearly an idiot, and should be ashamed of yourself.”

Now, having just read it, quoted a big chunk and wandered off to do something else, I was slightly surprised later on to find some comments below my quotes.

“Another twat that can do nothing but slab off ukip yawn”

“Get your hair cut get a job and jog on I'm not the 1 looks like a idiot”

Which surprised me a bit, as it is not the cut and thrust political debate I am used to. Particularly since I have a relatively well-paid and responsible job. And my employer has no problem with my beautiful locks at all. I'm not one to generalise over the “average bloke in the street” voter, but cripes DM, this is an odd refutation. At this point, I assumed he was on a serious offensive, and pointed out that personal insults are no way to conduct a serious debate, and it seemed a bit childish. I got this in return

“You started it calling all people that vote ukip idiots and what's Thatcher got to do with it no proper argument just blame her”

Yep, I got told that I “started it.” At any point I expected to be told that I was just jealous, or that he knew I was but what was he. I had a quick look up the thread to discover that earlier on he had referred to somebody else as a “chink” which is lovely. Then googled him, and found him expressing solidarity with the lovely Jeremy Clarkson (who I do find funny, and have no problem with) by telling him to use the dambusters dog as defence (we all know what Guy Gibson's dog in dambusters was called right?) so I had a measure of his “speak as I find” type personality, and tried to tread carefully. In my next few attempts to get the reasons for the UKIP support I also got these little gems thrown at me

“what you done apart from slag a party off and slate a dead woman your a hero mate”

“*name of my friend removed* some of your friends are 1st class single minded bell ends”

“maybe you just a green sheep and can't make your own decisions Barr.”

At which point I realised, after much explaining that I had only linked to the article, and had not called anybody anything derogatory, he hadn't seen the quote marks around the bit I quoted, and thus assumed that the fairly combative language used in the original had been mine, and he felt I had aimed it at him. So I did what I always do in these situations, explained it more fully, apologised for any offence caused and tried to move on.

To this guys credit, we did. He did not however apologise for the schoolboy insults. Which unfortunately makes him a grade A cuntknuckle who can go fuck himself with his mum's fat sweaty leg. (joke).

He is also lucky that I do consider pulling people up on their spelling and grammar to be the lowest form of arguing. Pedantry is hugely distracting, and the last refuge of a fuckwit on the ropes. It was tempting, though there would be no winners in that situation, only unending twattery of the worst order.

I learned very quickly on the web that as soon as you bring personal insults into an argument, you have essentially lost. As I've been arguing about politics, religion, music and comic books all over the web since back on the usenet forums in the 90s, I've got a lot of experience at online arguing. Much the same as I learned very quickly in real life arguing in the pub that he who starts swearing first, gets punched in the head by a psycho (learned that the hard way thanks). So I have always conducted myself in as obsessively polite a manner as I can when arguing, particularly on the internet, as I don't like it when people can back-quote me, and prove that I was disrespectful and impolite in my arguments when I pull them up for it. If we all did this, internet arguments would be a lot more fun for all involved.

I will still say things I do not believe in as inflammatory a way as I can just for shits and giggles though. Trolling in its purest form is still a great deal of fun.

On the same note, when I read this in the guardian a few weeks ago http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/apr/28/inequality-hurts-everyone-taxation-growth the below the line comments made me surprisingly cross. I know all below the line commenters are certifiably insane, trolls, or advertising robots, but some of them undermine the whole argumentative process. In the article, Chris Huhne makes the point that inequality is bad, and it hurts every level of society. Hoorah! Rapturous applause, Lib Dem MP makes thoroughly obvious point that we should all agree with. Although some definitely won't agree, that's where the argument in the comments section will go surely?

No, the argument was that Mr Huhne makes too much money to be able to talk about this issue.

As if only the very poor can talk about inequality. If we want any change to happen, it has to come from those at the top, who are in power, unless we go for a full on blood and ashes revolution. And those seldom end well in the short term. It got worse, somebody else dragged Lib Dem policy into it, and then he was pulled apart because he was promoting a book at the same time.

And thus the arguments over the actual issues were brilliantly sidelined into trivialities of party politics that do not matter one jot. Which makes me suspect that the internet trolls, crazies, and swivel-eyed loons are actually hired by the Illuminati/Government/Your Conspiracy Theory of Choice to distract us from ever reaching any kind of truth.

YMMV

:)

Can you really teach Creativity?

Congratulations, you have made it to a blog about creative writing in which our main protagonist has finally written something about creative writing, rather than garbled bollocks about cider, social media, and the intricacies of one man's relationship with the animals he is forced to live with on a daily basis. It may come as something of a surprise, but I have been procrastinating over creative writing this week, by indulging in creative writing, sort of.

Yes, as promised, way back in the first instalment of this blog (or maybe second, or third, I have no inclination whatsoever to check) I made mention of signing up to an online “begin creative writing” course. I then made some thoroughly witty jokes about a course on finishing creative writing perhaps being of more use to me, and oh how we all laughed. Anyhow, this week, the course began, and I attempted to go through the first week’s tasks without judging, and without releasing the ego-monster (I think I may have mentioned before that I believe myself cleverer and superior to everybody else in every conceivable way, and thus allowed to ridicule anything I don’t agree with, or consider beneath me, a habit I am trying to change).

A little background, I have spent my entire life telling people that creative writing courses are an exercise in making money out of the talentless, and that you are taught the basics of constructing sentences, paragraphs and general writingness at school. Combine this ability with looking at stuff and having ideas, and there you go, creative writing, for free, if you need telling, you’re in the wrong gig (and inventing words like “writingness” is as creative as it gets kids). It has always been up there with Klingon and Surfing Studies as a joke subject for a degree course in my mind. In the interests of fairness, and being able to back up my arguments, I signed up for one from futurelearn, as it is free, shortly after I read this article in the grauniad, because I agreed with what was said in it. One should never condemn something one hasn’t tried oneself, so I had to have a punt, and see if it does indeed help my efforts. Last time I indulged myself in a spot of “know your enemy” indulgence, I read the first four Harry Potter books in a couple of days so that I could ridicule them and tell everyone they were rubbish. I spent the next 2 years impatiently waiting for Order of the Phoenix to come out, and became utterly bewitched by them, still am a bit. But I don't expect similar results here. We'll see. (Did you see what I did with the bewitched joke there? Genius eh?)

So far, the course has told me one should keep a writers journal (I assume this is a more organised equivalent of all the bits of paper I have strewn about my pockets with ludicrous ideas scrawled on them in ever more illegible handwriting) and to notice stuff that happens around you (well duh). There was also a couple of bits of other people's books to read, as examples of how writers can create characters (I have read books before thanks, and literary criticism is, I believe still a mandatory part of any school's English lessons. Surely if you don’t read a lot, you probably shouldn’t take up writing). There were some bits where one was encouraged to write things, and put them in the comments thread for other people on the course to read. Here is an example of the exercises that are set, we were asked to write a paragraph with one fact, and three false things, and another paragraph with three facts, and one false thing, here is my effort, see what you think.

1 fact, 3 fiction

Rizla sat by the fire drying out, she had been soaked by the water cannons that they were firing from the top of the moors, she knew she shouldn't have jumped from the window and taken herself for a walk, and was ashamed that Dave had had to drag her out of the ever increasing swamp that was being created before she went the same way as all those drowned sheep.

3 Facts 1 fiction

Dave read the paragraph he had written about his dog. He found it hard to believe that this exercise could make any difference at all in his ability to write creatively, the bit about the drowning sheep made him laugh though, as it was very funny. Rizla made him a cup of tea to celebrate.

I don't think I'm taking this course very seriously. Nobody commented on my efforts (or anybody else’s really, that’s the joy of an online free course, your self-obsession and narcissism can be fully realised).

So my mind is not yet changed, I am still firmly of the opinion that if you need to be told to notice things, write down the things you have noticed, jiggle them about into an intriguing and interesting paragraph, and embellish the truth with more exciting fictional things, then perhaps creative writing is not going to be your thing.

I think this sarcastic bear says it as well as I ever could really.

On the upside though, my collection of tatty notebooks that I have been scribbling ideas in for years and years has been retired. The course notes did inspire me to download an app for my phone instead, I am hoping that this will lead to me having less crap in my pockets (which could mean less pockets, and then PIRATE TROUSERS!) and easier access to all  my notes, as it syncs them to the cloud, and I can pull them down from any computer I like. Admittedly, they were always in my pocket, next to my pen before this, sometimes even in an actual notebook, and as mentioned earlier, more often on ripped off bits of envelope, old receipts, and beer mats, still easily accessible at any time, due to being in my pocket. I now have boxes full of them around my house (carefully filed, as one tends to call throwing things in a shoebox and chucking it in the loft). I am hoping they will confuse the bejesus out of future generations of historians (or my step-kids, when they clear out all my shit after I’ve died and left them all the crap I own as revenge for all the stuff they keep in my house now) as sadly my notes have a tendency towards the cryptic, and if not acted upon within a few months of scrawling them, there is a real danger that a) I won't be able to read my handwriting anymore, and b) hedgehog- howitzer – pigeon war will not mean anything to me anymore (it doesn't, you can have that one for free if you want it).

The other good thing that happened was while we had to listen to other successful writers tell us why they started writing, and other useful insights (feel the sarcasm in those last three words) and while this had no bearing on my work at all, and I struggled to understand why I should give a toss about them, Louis de Bernieres cheered me up. He said that he wrote depressing poetry as a teenager (check), then wasted his twenties trying to be a rock star (check), and didn't write anything other than lyrics really until he was thirty-five, when he had a punt at novel writing (check and mate). So there's definitely hope for me. Will keep you all posted on the course as it proceeds, not holding out much hope, as I have seen this week’s course contains an article entitled “How to be original” I don't know where to start with that one, it's mere existence makes me angry.