One of the greatest advances in technology is texting on mobile phones. I have, in the past, spoken about how such a thing came about (which is a great story too so please check it out). But the best thing about texting is that it has normalised the deaf in a way that nobody planned. It has made it possible to do so many things that previously they only dreamed of.

And then I saw this video and I can't believe it, what a great thing. Kerrang have an hour of signed video for the deaf. If this is anything to go by then it must be genius must watch telly:

Labels: Articles

[This is Part 3 of 4 in Pirates!: The Bunby Bungle. If you're interested then please read Part 1 and Part 2 first.]

It was subtle the way he did it. The way Bunby made the subtle shift. He had been losing hard for 12 hours. That's 11 hours more than a man like Bunby liked to lose for. He could lose for a bit. He was happy to just to prove how much a winner he was when the fortune turned around. But 12 hours in Marshall had assumed that despite his own best efforts Bunby was in on the whole situation. Marshall assumed so much that he thought Bunby was only there to make sure that Marshall did what was right and paid the correct percentage to the people that controlled this island.

But Marshall didn't usually work like that. He was respected by other pirates because he pulled the most fearsome deals, and he had done for forty years. The only problem was that he didn't do very well at the pirately conduct awards. Marshall had never believed in this so called honour among thieves. What was the point. Thieve or be thieved upon - that was Marshall's whole life.

And he'd been planning to rumble this casino for close to eighteen months. It was a length of time that invited opinion. First up it was important to realise that he did about a job a month regardless of circumstance. But he knew by now how important planning was, but he also knew that he needed to see all of the angles. And so Marshall wanted to see every place for a couple of nights a month for every month for quite a long time before he went in. And at the Tawnies it had seemed perfect. No pirates, not one in all of that time. And yet there was lots of money being traded. Bunby's appearance moments after he had arrived said that there was a reason that pirates didn't come in, and that reason was Bunby.

"Right," Marshall said out-loud and suddenly, "I want a shag. I know what I said, but I'll pay separate for this. And well. I've earned well tonight."

This wasn't strictly true but clearly come seven am some of the girls were ready for a second go. Marshall stood up and three of the girls stood in front of him offering their services.

"It seems churlish to choose. I'll take you all."

Tune back next week for Part 4 of 4.

Labels: Bunby, Fiction, Long, Pirates

One says, "I think I've lost and electron."
The other asks, "Are you sure?"
The first replies, "Yes, I'm positive."

Labels: Jokes

There's a guy on the train most mornings who is really annoying. Why is he so annoying well he starts off by being one of those people who views being on a train as the ideal time to continue his social life. That's right he's a social caller.

In case you aren't sure about the definitions you have four different kinds of people on trains (in relation to telephone use).

Perfect Saint - Mobile phone is off and stays off for entire journey.

They called us, don't blame me - They receive a call on the phone. They look suitably embarrassed, explain the situation or answer the question quickly and hang up. If a conversation of more than one minute ensues then this person has become a social caller.

I just called, to say, I'm on the train - sometimes you do just need to initiate a call on a train. Normally to let the person at the other end know that the train has finally left the station and seems to have some intention of finally getting you home. This should be less and less necessary because you could always text. But we do know that texts can, on occasion be as delayed as the trains. So yes, it can be acceptable. But if the conversation strays off of the unavoidable reason for your call then you're into social caller.

Social Caller - Oh dear, you stupid pitiful scum of the earth. You're on the train, you're bored. You've forgotten to bring a book or magazine and despite having a phone which you could play a game (with the sound off please) or write an e-mail (or for that matter blog post criticising your fellow passengers) you decide that it would be a good use of your time to catch up with your friends by giving them a call. This is just simply not fair. Us poor saps are sitting here while you yammer on about what's going on this weekend, what's happening with your boyfriend or on one memorable occasion as you wonder if the fact you'd missed your period means anything! And it goes on and on. And sometimes the person on the other end has better things to do or dies and the conversation ends. We on the train think, for one blissful moment that the pain has gone away. But there you are scrolling through your speed dial looking for your next victim. And it all just gets worse and worse.

So, now we have the definitions sorted lets get back to my social caller. Well the first thing to note is that it's in the morning. The used to be a rule, a social code, that although nobody liked mobile phones on trains at any time on morning commuter you don't talk to somebody even if there on the train right with you. Silence is the order of the day. But there's no stopping this guy. Second this guys got a shrill camp voice and ends every sentence with a raised voice like it's a question. Even when it's not. And finally he's depressed. So he just talks interminably about why everything is wrong in his life since he was dumped, and how he just doesn't seem to have any energy any more. The worst is when he's dials and then we all wait to see if the next person is going to pick up. He says, "pick up, pick up, pick up" as it rings. And then when nobody answers he says, "why don't they ever answer". Perhaps it's because it's seven fifteen and they're asleep or they have decided that the very last thing that they want to wake up to is your depressed whiny voice droning on and on until the end of the world. Or perhaps they hate you. This is what I shout at him - in my mind.

Labels: Articles

And is surprised to discover six live penguins in the boot. "Yes, Officer - I'm in a terrible state. I won these penguins in a raffle and I don't know what to do with them." Replies the policeman, "If I were you, I'd take them to the zoo."

The following day, the policeman notices the same car and flags it down again. The six penguins are still huddled in the boot, but now they're wearing sunglasses. "I thought I told you to take them to the zoo," says the policeman.

"Yes, you did - and they enjoyed it so much I'm taking them to the seaside today."

Labels: Jokes

He pushed the soil through his hands, and then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He found, by moving his fingers, the roots within the soil, and grabbed hold of them and started shaking the clump. The mud fell out in giant clods and smashed on the floor. He was making a mess, so he stopped and went to the side wall to get the broom.

He lent against the broom and looked over the whole of his land. It seemed to stretch on for miles. In fact it did. There wasn't another soul for miles around. He was totally alone in this world, because of the way that he had chosen to live. He had chosen to live this way, without anyone. He was thinking this, as he was about to go back to his work. When he was shot dead.

Labels: Fiction, Short

Because:

Labels: Illustrated

The other day while walking to work I noticed a kid who was wearing a tracksuit and a beanie suddenly crouch down next to a wall. He was right next to it so I couldn't see what he was doing and this piqued my interest. I looked again, this time for longer, and could see his hands moving around on the wall.

In to my mind popped the thought, "little bugger is spray painting that wall". Just as I was thinking this another boy came walking along the side street wearing a very similar get up. As the second kid turned the corner onto the main road the first kid jumped up and sacred the living daylights out of the other. This had been, of course, the entire reason for hiding behind the wall. They quickly laughed and clapped each other on the back and went running up the hill.

Sometimes innocent acts look deeply suspicious. And I wonder if it's London or the media that's made me consider such simple fun between two children a less likely prospect than graffiti? Who knows? Maybe it's simply the fact that there's much more graffiti on my journey in to work these days?

Labels: Articles

[This is Part 2 of 4 in Pirates!: The Bunby Bungle. If you're interested then please read Part 1 first.]

The Tawnies had a problem. The word had got out. There were two pirates sitting at the bar drinking straight rum. And these pirates had been drinking rum for eight hours straight. The bar had been hoping that eventually they would get drunk enough to go home. But that hadn't happened. Now they seemed like they were moving in.

"Shall we go to the tables?"
"I…"
"Sir," the barkeep was still on duty out of fear rather than anything more noble.
"I… Can't."
"No Sir can't."
"Sir now are we?"
"I well..."
The barkeep, looked upset, "I was just asked."
"Yes. The only bet I'm laying tonight is that I won't bet. If I lose I lose, but if I win then I pay out a piece to this gentleman from keeping me from trouble."
"Marshal."
"What?"
"You should be beyond such tricks with the staff. You know your destiny is to die at the table. So why do you deny yourself so? You shouldn't deny your destiny."
"No. I suppose not Bunby. But on the other hand if I am to die at the table as has been suggested I thought it best to avoid as a pastime."
"You can avoid all you like. But you know all that will happen is that you won't have played and enjoyed for years. You'll just have drunk yourself into a self-hating hole, and then while perfectly innocently walking past a bookies one day fall dead over the table. If it is fated it is foolish to avoid it."
"You have a point."
"You're damn right I have a point. Here's two pieces," Bunby through two pieces at the man behind the bar and took Marshal by the shoulder. "Now we play."

They walked over to the nearest table. The table was full but their presence was enough to suggest simply to some of the players that it would be safest to cash in their chips and leave. Once they sat down they were dealt in quickly and efficiently but clearly that wasn't enough for Bunby.

"Check or bet?"
Bunby looked at the dealer like he was talking a foreign language. "I can't decide that," he screamed, what do you expect of me? Barkeep! Barkeep!"

The bartender limped over, looking very worried at the situation. He seemed more worried to approach Marshall who he knew he had let down.

"Barkeep!" shouted Bunby, "I think this guy is trying to gip us. I can't be expected to play straight sober. I think he's trying to dry us out on purpose. You need to keep me and my friend here suitably drunk. Suitably! Do you understand? If we end up sobering our game will be lost. And currently we have no drink. Do you understand? We need to be drunk here otherwise this man will quite naturally cheat us out of all of our hard earned money."

The bartender made to move away.

"Hold up," Marshall said. "There is another thing."
"Another thing." Bunby assured.
"There is another thing?" The bartender seemed less sure.
"It's of a private matter," Marshall said.
"It's perfectly valid, and I feel it too." said Bunby. He'd clearly been here before.
"I only," said Marshall, "can bet well if I'm properly stiff. Half mast isn't enough anymore. I simply can't do it. So get me your finest women. Get me them, one for me and one for Bunby here. I want to have two one for each. We can't have relations, we can't Bunby, but we must have them here for the sharpening of the senses they provide. So we will pay them for that not the other."

Drinks arrived seconds later. And after two minutes the finest women of the establishment arrived. They were excited to be there too. A client who would pay without sex. A big difference. That's why they were the best. One of them had literally unmounted, been swapped out for another girl, because of the unusualness of the situation.

It was that excitement that he thrived on. It was almost like a real date, much more than the sex his wife would give him freely that night.

Tune back next week for Part 3 of 4.

Labels: Bunby, Fiction, Long, Pirates

The first muffin says, "Boy it's hot in here."

The second muffin says, "I don't believe it! A talking muffin!"

Labels: Jokes

My interest was piqued by Nick's comment the other day which suggested rather intriguingly that people were creating a new conscience for themselves. Which to an extent implies that the old one wasn't created by ourselves. But I digress.

The main thing about a social conscience is that it doesn't exist. Or rather it is as slippery as a well oiled eel. Think of this, one of my favorite thought experiments.

Which is more important to you, a human life or a DVD?

The honest answer is almost certainly not the old testament version of morals that suggests that a human life is more valuable than all else. In reality we know that we might all happily buy a DVD for about fifteen pounds. And fifteen pounds can save a life in Africa. The simple logic of this shows us that while we might try and deny it, our moral compass doesn't run as smoothly as we think.

The biggest mistake that economics ever made was trying to apply a model of rationality to the world. Humans simply aren't rational they are actually rationalising. We as a group are very good at lying before the act, we will all suggest right up until we buy that DVD that we obviously care more about human life than DVDs and then we buy the DVD and rationalise the decision.

The question then is how is this different to murder? I'm not going to argue that you are murdering someone each time you buy a DVD that wouldn't be right, it's clearly manslaughter. But rather in the case of murder everyone agrees usually that killing somebody is wrong. Except actually we don't feel that all of the time. In America you are allowed to kill people if they killed somebody first. But we also allow it in the UK because our army is allowed to go and kill people too. Obviously this uses a similar argument of self defence. And although I won't disagree with you if you tell me that some wars are morally justified then hopefully you will see as I do the rationalisation that's going on.

When we were looking at free will before, I threw in the example of us letting criminals off from murdering people because they plead insanity. The moral compass is especially confused here. We are saying that murder is bad, we have decided it is immoral. But we decided what is and isn't moral ourselves. The murderers clearly thought it was justified morally. That the person deserved it. The only real thing that makes murder immoral is that there are more people who are not murderers than people who are. Sure there are lots of potential murderers, but murderers are against murder in general too, just not the one that they did - that one was justified - in their mind. But if we are able to make murder immoral because murderers are in the minority, surely that is also how we decide who is insane? They are people who do not act like the norm. The point being surely, if you decide to murder somebody surely you were insane anyway? So how can you plead insanity? Perhaps it is just our moral swirl sorting things out for us? I mean it works quite well really. It's the ones who don't think it was odd that they murdered somebody who we want to lock up - but can we say that that is moral?

Nick's original point was about the environment. So I guess my point is this, while everyone thinks they like the environment, and says that they care about it (well not everyone but everyone who does) and they may even recycle, the biggest problem is that they just can't stop themselves from consuming in the first place. We think we have a conscience, we think we have morals, but the actual morals we have are often very different than the morals we think we have.

Labels: Articles

Because not many of them know how to dance.

Labels: Jokes

It was dark as Karen left the school. She had been working late, as she always seemed to end up doing at the end of term, and she was very tired. She walked past the giant window of the lunch hall and stopped to look in the window. Or rather to look at herself in the reflection.

"It's night's like these," she said to herself, "that are giving you those bags under your eyes".

She turned away from the lunch hall and carried on walking. The cool breeze, announcing the oncoming winter, swirled along the path and right inside her collar. She gave an involuntary shiver.

The wind was picking up and so Karen picked up her pace too. She started walking more quickly and yet the wind was whistling down the path with such a force that she could hardly hear her own footsteps. Let alone somebody elses.

Up ahead at the end of the path there was a little area between the lights for the path and the lights of the car park where it was totally dark. And on a usual night Karen hated walking through it. She carried a torch in her bag which she usually took out and used to get through the inky blackness. But tonight the wind was so strong and getting stronger that she felt she couldn't simply stop and rummage around in her bag. She had to just plow forwards. She had to. She stopped just for a breath on the edge. Just on the edge she stopped. And then her foot went forward, disappearing into this space. As her foot disappeared she reassured herself one last time, took a breath although it was hard in this wind, and with that she stepped into the black.

black

black

black

black

black

The other side.

She exhaled. She kept running forward though. And as she did it she pulled her keys from her coat pocket and pressed the button for her central locking. She did it early like this every time, even though it allowed for a chance that somebody sneak into her car, but when she got there it looked empty. She got in, locked the doors, gunned the engine, turned on the lights, and turned up the music. She was safe.

Labels: Fiction, Short

I had some friends over for the beginning of the Formula 1 season. We were going to have to stay up all night as the race is in Australia. And we all pretty much made it through except Rod.

Stew handily brought a great Formula 1 flag which set the scene rather nicely.

You can just make out Rod's knee and beer in the bottom corner of the shot.



A great fun evening that we all enjoyed. For the love of the sport but mainly to be amongst friends. Fantastic!

Labels: Illustrated

A friend of mine was telling me the other day about his father who had had a massive heart attack but had driven himself to hospital because he had known that where he was he would have been taken to hospital in Lancashire and he "wasn't going to bloody die there" so he drove himself to a hospital back in Yorkshire.

While he was relating the story, a woman friend of mine piped up suggesting that she thought that this was odd because normally men exaggerated their health issues. Suggesting that the concept of man 'flu proved her point.

For those not in the know, man 'flu is the idea that even if you get the slightest sniffle then you are suddenly having the worst possible illness that anyone has ever had in their lives.

The thing is that there does seem to be some confusion between the 'flu thing and the whole heart attack story, and how men will often times completely deny the true pain that they are in just to save themselves from embarrassment. So which are we men or mice?

The truth seems to be mice. Men will happily inconvenience their spouse or partner by having the worst ever symptoms ever up until the exact moment that their partner suggests that they go to the doctor. The powerful urge not to inconvenience others in the British Male will mean that men will lie about the really bad things saying they don't exist just so people don't feel that they have to bother too much.

I know a guy who was so polite in this way that when the doctor asked him if his arm hurt, he said that it was just a bit stiff, when in fact he had shattered three bones. The brilliant thing about this kind of lie is that it means that you don't make people pay attention to you and then later when people find out the truth (if your arm falls off or something) then people will probably call you, "incredibly brave". Luckily most of the time you don't have to endure the attention of people calling you "incredibly brave" because if you're playing this right then the first symptom most people should notice of your illness is death.

Labels: Articles

He was leaning against a wood fence. As he leaned forward the vines came close to his nose. He could see the grapes. They were so bright and shiny that he could see the glint in his own eye within them. Monkeys were running up and down the branches having away with the prime fruit. It was their time, the sun was setting and the people weren't ready to face the evening yet. He gave his beard a deep scratch. As he did it the fresh salt from the days sailing cut into his hand. It was a pain that had seemed immense the first day it had happened forty years ago but now comforted him beyond any other moment in the day. He always knew he'd done an honest days work when he had salt in his beard. Even if... especially if the day hadn't been honest by other men's standards. He knew what hard work was, and he'd never understood why one job was more honest in the eyes of the law than another. As long as you worked hard to get your money, as long as you worked the hardest to get your money then it must be your money.

A beautiful warm breeze fell towards him, the monkeys were chattering in the trees, and there was salt in his beard. This was the life for him. The only thing missing was women and wine. He turned around and walked into the bar.

Although it was quiet compared to his usual kind of establishment, there was murmuring from the tables. He put it down to the playing of cards which seemed quite intense. He approached the bar and sat at one of the stools.

The keep came over, and said, "what'll it be?"
"The stakes must be high tonight."
"Always high here."
"Must be good for business."
"We do alright."
"Lucky you."
"The house always wins, that's what they say."
"That's what they say."

The keep looked at our man a bit more deeply. He suddenly realised to ask him something, "you don't know where you are do you?"
"I'm in a bar aren't I?"
"You're in the most prestigious bar in all of the Windies. The most famous gambling den of the whole sub-continent. You're in Tawnies."
"Tawnies really. Never heard of it."
"Well your loss," says the barkeep.
"Not really my loss if I'm here is it?"
"No I suppose not."
"Now lets get down to business."
"Betting, drinking or pleasure?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
"Thought I'd never have to."
"Drinking first, pleasure later, and you're to stop me betting at all costs. A piece for you if I've not bet by morning."
"You're on. So what'll it be?"
"Bumbo"
"We don't serve Bumbo here."
"Well I'm not drinking grog."

There was talk suddenly from the nearest table. Our man heard the word Bumbo being repeated several times."

"We," said the bartender, "don't serve pirates here."
"I'm not a pirate," said our pirate.
"How do we know?"
"Serve me some rum, straight then if you must, but I won't drink grog."
"That doesn't tell me you're not a pirate."
"Check my arm."
"That just means you haven't been caught."
"Yes it does. But if you think you're better than the entire Dutch West India Company then you've got another thing coming."

And just as things looked to be getting ugly a square hat walked in. Rain dripping off his coat. He walked past everyone who had stopped playing cards and were only staring at him. As he walked past the window lightning cracked. highlighting what was left of his face. He made it up to the next door stool to our man and said, "This pirate causing you trouble? Because if he isn't then I will."

To be continued, please check back next week for Part 2.

Labels: Bunby, Fiction, Long, Pirates

"Having sex is like playing bridge. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand."

Labels: Jokes

You may have noticed that while most of the web world has gone hog wild for tags google have been putting in labels all over the place. Is it just their foolish attempt to stamp their authority on the web. Are we going to suddenly have Jimbo Whales jumping up and down shouting, "I told you don't fight the web"?

Well no google does use both they just use them in different contexts (although they have been known to get them a bit confused) and the difference between these contexts is quite useful.

Tags are meant for making sense of things that other people have created. Labels are used for making sense of things you have created. So on del.icio.us people are tagging things and perhaps a folksonomy will emerge but it also allowed in this context to have personal tags which don't describe the thing, eg the popular towatch and toread. People are using the tags here to help themselves organise the data out in the world.

But here on my blogger powdered blog I'm labeling because I the author am categorising my own creations.

It's a difference but it's a very useful one. Not as some commentators have said simply google being controlling.

Labels: Articles

"My dog's cross-eyed, is there anything you can do for him?"

"Well," says the vet, "let's have a look at him"

So he picks the dog up and examines his eyes, then checks his teeth.

Finally, he says "I'm going to have to put him down."

"What? Because he's cross-eyed? "

"No, because he's really heavy"

Labels: Jokes

He put his hand to his other wrist and held it between his thumb and fingers. He knew his thumb had it's own pulse and this wouldn't be accurate. But he had to do something. He started counting but he soon realised the situation was useless. He couldn't feel anything. No pulse. What did it mean?

He held on for a moment later and suddenly there was something. A beat. He was alive.

Labels: Fiction, Short

It's very sad for poor old Nicholas Owen:



He was once, as he is now, a popular television newsreader. But was it ever thus?

No.

While in Croydon recently Katherine and I overheard the announcer on the tram service and noted at length that it sounded uncannily like Nicholas Owen's canned voice.

Almost instantly Katherine asked what his voice was doing in such a low rent establishment.

And actually instantly I came upon the most telling realisation of perhaps, but not actually, my whole lifetime: He's clearly been arrested in the illegal and frankly unhealthy trade of Gerbils for toupees and then forced as part of his probation to read out the tram announcements. I know - it seems so obvious now I've said it. But why do these, frankly, criminals continue in their trade?

Because Gerbils wear some of the finest toupees known to man. Hit it:

Labels: Illustrated, Truth

Many people see the theatre as the height of bourgeois living, okay so maybe they see the opera or ballet as the height, but theatre is certainly up there.

There does however seem to have been an important change going on in London because recently football, the working class game, has become more expensive to attend than theatre.

Theatre, like sport, is live. And perhaps most importantly theatre attunes your senses in the same way that sport does when you are there. You concentrate much more on the mechanics of the production as well as the story in the theatre whereas if you're watching a movie it can be easy to get lost in the film.

Now some might say that it is this getting lost within the film that makes film superior to theatre and there almost certainly is some truth in that. But the knowledge that all of this is being done in front of you for real, without and tricky shots of funny edits more than makes up for it. I think you must experience both to appreciate either.

But the question remains, if it's cheaper to go to the theatre than it is to go to football doesn't this mean that theatre can no longer just be for the elite? Or perhaps it is the other way around and actually it is simply that Chelsea and Arsenal are no longer real football clubs? Unlike, for example, AFC Wimbledon.

Labels: Articles

[This is Part 4 of 4 in The Citron Investigations: The Influenza Adventure. If you are interested then please read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 first.]

"What could my neighbour's cats have to do with anything?" Sarah asked.
"I am trying to decide that very question."
"So…"
"Well, although I hate colloquialism, 'if I knew the answer to that…'"
"Yes…"
"Oh. The saying is, 'If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be asking the question'"
"Ah."
"Yes."
"So what have my neighbour's cats got to do with anything?"
"As I say, I'm not sure. Would you mind describing them for me."
"Well I don't know where to start."
"How about with their colourings."
"That's what I meant but she's got more than 10 cats. So I'm not really sure what they all look like. There's several tabbies, several pure black, at least one black one with a white underbelly. And so on, she has a lot of cats."
"Indeed."
"Yes."

I looked around the room. It was an ordinary room. An ordinary living room. There were no clues in this room and yet I had seen the clue from the moment I had entered it. It wasn't in this room it was beyond it. It was in the garden. The most important two pieces of information were there to be watched on the real life television of her back window.

"When," I asked, "was the last time that your neighbour mentioned your bird feeder?"
"Oh not for years now. It's verboten. We used to row about it all the time."
"Who originated the rows?"
"Well I did. Her cats keep trying to eat the poor birds. And I… I just don't think it's fair."
"So why have you stopped arguing about it? Have you suddenly become happy for her to have her cats eat the birds?"
"No. No way! She just wouldn't budge and neither would I. I knew that she'd never change and that we had to live next to each other so we both, about four years ago, decided that it was best to give it up. Give it up, ignore it, and just try to get along. It's worked much better."
"Until now."
"No, including now. We still haven't spoken about it since we made our pact."
"Just because you haven't spoken about it doesn't mean she hasn't been acting."
"What?"
"You know that cats are supposed to be being kept indoors during this bird 'flu crisis? Her cats aren't indoors even though she cares so much about them."
"What?"

I called out, "GEOFFREY!"

Geoffrey walked back into the room.

"Yes Citron."
"Arrest the next door neighbour. Get forensics to check the bird feeder for poison for gods sake. I can't believe you haven't done it already. The neighbour isn't a hardened criminal for Gods sake she'll probably confess immediately."
They both said, "confess to what", at the same time.
"Confess to poisoning the bird feeder. She did it to protect her cats. She didn't want them to catch bird 'flu."
"Do you want to interview the neighbour?" Geoffrey asked.
"No. Why should I? I want to go and get a less dangerous drink."

And with that I got up, swished my coat tails behind me, and walked out of the room.

Labels: Citron, Fiction, Influenza, Long

So the mother superior suggests that they all take their clothes off. Which they all do and work progresses as normal.

After a short time there is a knock at the door and the sister shouts out, "who is it"?

"It is the blind man," comes back the reply.

The mother superior promptly lets him in. Upon which the bloke says, "Nice tits sister, now where do you want these blinds?"

Labels: Jokes

There are some really simple ideas that come along sometimes and change everything. These are ideas that the moment you hear them makes you think, "oh that's so obvious" but they really change everything. I'm not talking about things like Evolution or the world is round which are big ideas but have a lot of science behind them. It's obvious to us now that the world is round because we've seen it from space but the first time it was said it wasn't so obvious.

There's a great apocryphal story about an employee at the Swan Vesta firm (they match matches etc). This guy who was like a janitor or something said to his bosses, "will you give me a million pounds if I tell you my idea and we use it - honestly it's worth more but you have to promise that you'll pay me if you use it". After a lot of humming and hawing the firm agreed to give him the money if they used his idea. So he told them the idea, which was brilliant in its simplicity which was, "why don't you only put the sandpaper only on one side of the box". And all of the money that was saved by doing this was far in excess of the million pounds that they had to pay him.

This story might be true because nobody has ever disproved it but it's almost certainly a reverse engineered story based on somebody having a conversation about how one kind of match box cost less to produce than another and then concocting the story around it.

The thing is that it's very difficult to make money from some ideas. Some ideas are so brilliantly simple that they can't actually be used to make money because they are so easy to copy. And some simply wouldn't work in the same way if they were monitised. For example the world wide web and wikipedia are great examples of incredibly powerful things that were given away freely because they needed to be free or they wouldn't have been successful. People like Tim Berners-Lee and Jimmy Wales must get asked all of the time if they wish, now they've seen the success of their inventions, that they had added a charge or royalties to it. And yet neither of them would have ever been successful if the charge applied.

I really think that the best way that people are going to find to save the world environmentally are going to be ideas like this. Ideas that don't actually cost anything, or ideas which cost but cost far less than the current situation but can't shift more units. By the very nature of environmentalism less is more. So how are these inventions or even less than inventions these ideas going to get through to us when it is in no companies interest to transmit them. This goes against the edict of consume more so how will it ever succeed?

Well in a closed system like a global economy the externalities will eventually internalise all by themselves. We have suddenly started seeing oil companies concerned about global warming. Why? That doesn't make any sense does it? They should be the last people to come round to it. They want to be selling us their last barrel of energy. Yes of course they do but a large part of their business is supplying us with energy for heat. What if it starts getting warmer all by itself? They'd be out of business. The external cost of a warming planet has suddenly become and internal cost without the government even doing anything.

So firms will become concerned with this problem sufficiently to help us change our habits. But the big question is what if the solution is simply to consume less. Is it possible within the economy for this to naturally occur without massive government intervention?

I'm not particularly hopeful, we shall see.

Here's an example which helps see how likely this is:

On average 62 billion e-mails are sent every day. Yes 62 billion! Obviously this is an estimate but even so it's a big old number. Sounds about right to me though. 2 billion on the internet, 31 e-mails a day. Sounds about right. Some people are clearly slacking to keep the average down (I think I'm in about 100+).

A large chunk of this e-mail is kept - forever. Just stored on servers, on home computers, on work mailboxes. Just sitting there. And then those servers back this up and keep the same thing day after day even though it's not really changing. That's a lot of storage being used. And maybe it's useful, maybe it is. I'm not going to argue about that really.

But take a look at the last e-mail conversation you had with somebody. Say it was 10 back and forth e-mails on a subject. This means that you have 10 e-mails in your sent items and 10 in your received. But in each subsequent e-mail the e-mail gets longer because it quotes from the one before it. So the tenth e-mail has all of the previous e-mail parts in it when they are totally unnecessary most of the time. I won't say totally all of the time because from time to time I've looked back to see what I said if the conversation is happening slowly. But I only look down to look back because it's conveniently there if it wasn't I'd look back to my sent items.

Now a lot of these messages are spam which doesn't get replied to, but a lot of e-mail is just these back and forth conversations which are just getting longer and longer.

Surely there is a better way? A better way of dealing with this? Surely it would take just a few key players to solve this problem. A few key firms to go in and change something to make this go away. But the problem is that you can't sell it. Microsoft would be accused of taking a feature away from the users. And even though people wouldn't miss it after a month or two and it would help save the world in a very small step at a time kind of a way people will never do it because it would mean giving up something that is only very occasionally useful and most of the time just takes up disk space - and the just in case thing would stop the change.

It's the same reason that one supermarket hasn't stopped selling plastic bags. If you force the customer to change and the customer doesn't want to they'll just shop elsewhere. But does the blunt instrument of tax work better? Perhaps we just need to help educate the companies about how the externalities are going to internalise all by themselves eventually.

Labels: Articles

Suddenly, a vampire jumps out onto the car.

"Quick," says one nun, "show him your cross".

So the other nun rolls down the window and shouts, "Get off my f*!k!ng dashboard you c*nt!"

Labels: Jokes

Steven recoiled as he read these words on the wall in front of him.

"Life was fun"

Life had been fun for Steven. It was true that life had been fun. But now that wasn't the part that upset him. It was the idea that it could no longer be fun. That life had been fun once but that time was now at an end.

But that was the situation that Steven now found himself in. It wasn't the sign's fault. The sign was merely stating fact. The sign was presumably talking about someone else. And yet it seemed so relevant to him.

Life had used to be fun. People had used to call him Steve. He had used to ride a motorbike. But he couldn't buy one now. Now it would be so middle aged. But what had made people start calling him Steven. That was where the change had come. That was the change and he resented the hell out of it.

Steven was his father's name. Not his. People should know that. But... And yet... He couldn't tell them. He couldn't explain why he wanted to demand to them that they saw him as young. All he could do is hope. Hope and be annoyed.

Labels: Fiction, Short

Labels: Cartoon, Illustrated

Here's a thought that occurs: which is the perversion being naked or wearing clothes? Not that I'm a nudist I'm a card carrying clothes wearer. One of the few clothes wearers who feels the need to carry a card no less. But here's my point.

There is an extent to which perversion is defined as doing what most people aren't doing. But that kind of definition falls down when you realise that not many people are making lace anymore. Are the lacemakers perverted? Of course not. So we need a different definition.

Actually what would happen if you were a nudist, you'd grown up in a nudist colony, and you had always secretly wanted to wear clothes. Would you be a closet clothes wearer?

I imagine that the best alternative is to say that perversion is things that are animalistically not normal. Things like, supposedly, being gay. The idea being, I guess, that procreation is always supposed to be about making babies. This despite the fact that there are gay animals and all animals are naked.

This takes us back to that pointless definition which I guess is "people who do things which I don't". Is their any other kind of argument?

I can't imagine one, which leaves us in the situation that everyone in the world is perverted except for you. Or that no one is perverted. Which is it? Or is it another word destined for the scrap heap?

Labels: Articles

[This is Part 3 of 4 in The Citron Investigations: The Influenza Adventure. If you are interested then please read Part 1 and Part 2 first.]

I walked into the house. Her house smelt fresh and clean but not very warm. It smelt faintly of bleach. I wondered vaguely if she was an obsessive cleaner or if it was Special Branch who had been cleaning up during their evidence gathering. Or the often missed third option - both. It had been my impression over the years that the most common misdiagnosis by inspectors was due to missing the blend option. Oftentimes things weren't as clear and organised as to have only an option a and an option b. Sometimes, often even, it was both. Or in the direst of investigations it was option c.

I was supposed to be interviewing this woman but why? I knew now that it was no longer a case of bird 'flu, but what was it instead? I could ask her but presumably if she actually knew she'd have mentioned it already. I decided to go ahead. Cadeau hadn't seemed particularly keen for me to be here in the first place it would be best perhaps to at least aim at the impression of a normal investigation.

Her house was arranged unorthodoxly with her front room at the back, which led to my first question as I walked into the room.

"Unusual to find the front room at the back, wouldn't you say Ms…" I felt leaving things dangling was possibly the best way to get information.
"What is the purpose of this she said," She said this in a voice that was not on directional volume. A voice that boomed in all directions. The purpose seemed to be to attract the attention of anyone other than myself to respond.
"Mr Citron is aiding us with our investigations," Geoffrey chipped in.

"Well what's the point of him? What about the other five men who have been in here. At least they seemed to have bothered to learn my name".
"W-W-Well," Geoffrey stammered, "your case has been being upgraded and moved around as we've got more information about it. We started by believing that your house was the epicentre of a case of bird 'flu. But now we think this isn't true. But unfortunately we don't know what it is now. Now that it has become an obscure non-contagious case we have brought in Mr Citron."

"Oh," she said, as though the matter had been settled some hours ago and that Geoffrey had been reiterating rather than revealing.

"So," I ventured, "Ms…"
"This lady is," Geoffrey started.
"This lady can speak for herself," she said on her own behalf, "I am Sarah Lockwinter. Miss Sarah Lockwinter. And you I notice are a Mr rather than a detective. Why is that."
"Ah," Geoffrey started.
"I too can speak for myself," I said stopping Geoffrey short, "I am a kind of contract worker. I only get brought in if the case is really strange and the police can't solve it. They don't always characterise it this way but it's true isn't it Geoffrey."
"Yes, yes it's true."
"I'm a gun for hire, but I do - just like those old fashioned criminals have certain principles."
"What are they?" she asked.
"Well, I never like to interview sober. What do you say to a drink?"

Sarah nodded at this, stood up from her couch and walked over to the drinks cabinet.

"Officer," she said to Geoffrey, "do you mind leaving us alone for a moment. I wouldn't like to put temptation in your path."
"Oh don't mind me," Geoffrey said.
"I do mind you, thanks." Said Sarah, and with that she gave him a look so filthy that you would really have thought it would be a requirement to join a nunnery afterwards just to purge the spirit. It was a micro gesture but it was enough to convey to Geoffrey that he should back out of the room and wait until we were finished. And so that is exactly what Geoffrey did. He nodded at me just before he left. It was a nod asking for reassurance, I gave him none. It would have compromised me with the witness.

"So, Mr Citron, what's your poison?"
"Hmm, a slightly less original joke than you'd probably hoped."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, never mind. You weren't to know. I still get it less often than I get the offer of a squeeze of lemon. People like to say, 'Mr Citron, a squeeze of lemon?' which is particularly stupid because the drink I drink most often would curdle with such an addition and yet they say it to me anyway."
"So what's that?"
"What's what?"
"What's the drink."
"Ah a White Russian."
"That requires milk doesn't it."
"Yes. Sadly the police have my milk?"
"As evidence? But we know it's not 'flu now."
"No, for their tea."
"Ah."
"Indeed."

There was suddenly a silence in the room. In fact this would have been the kind of situation where a breeze would have picked up to make a slight whistling sound if there had been one - but all of the windows were fastened shut.

"So what will it be."
"I'll have whatever you're having."
"Okay then a gin and cranberry."
"Umm."
"You can have something else."
"No, no. A promise is a promise."

What had I let myself in for? I had been willing to accept any kind of regular alcohol and maybe tonic or water but to have fruit introduced was asking for trouble in my book.

She brought the drink over. It even had ice in it which she'd fished out of a plastic pineapple. I took a sip. It was immediately refreshing and then the after-taste made you feel more thirsty than you had at the start. It seemed like a dangerous kind of a drink. One that made you want more the more that you drank. Ye Gods!

I looked her in the eyes and said, "tell me about your neighbour's cats."
"What?" she asked as she looked surprised.

Tune in next week for the fourth and final part of The Citron Investigation: The Influenza Adventure.

Labels: Citron, Fiction, Influenza, Long

And the zebra is looking back over his shoulder when he sees another zebra at the top of the hill. So the zebra says to the lion, "That's my wife. Fake like you're eating me."

Labels: Jokes