The Great Scheme of Things

I have been in and out (and in and out) of hospital. I have been admitted as an emergency as a result of a scan that I had weeks ago for an operation which, after an overnight stay, did not happen as it transpired that I did not actually fulfil the ‘Emergency’ criteria but was, in fact, ‘Red List Urgent’, which boiled down to being sent home with instructions to turn up again a few days later having had nil by mouth from 3am (meaning that I set my alarm for 2.30 in order to fill up on chocolate). I did as instructed, was re-admitted three days later and, this time, operated upon. The operation was, unfortunately, unsuccessful and I was ‘kept in’ overnight before being discharged with the promise that an alternative procedure would be carried out ‘within a few days’. It goes without saying that, to date, it has not, nor will it according to my latest telephone conversation. They wish, I am informed, to assess me after an MRI scan, despite the fact that I have had two previous MRI and three various CT scans in the months since I became ill. My internal organs have been photographed so often that my innards are considering getting an agent. I’m not sure how much more assessment I can take. (This does, I hope, explain my reasons for missing my regular post last week. It’s not much in the Great Scheme of Things, but does have, at least, more timbre than ‘the dog ate my homework’.)

It is a strange thing that every single medical professional I have encountered over this little journey has been top class: caring, efficient and keen to do their very best for me. It is very clearly the organisation itself that has problems. My own issues, I think, stem from the fact that I have two specialists in two different hospital ‘departments’ and they clearly do not wish to talk to one another (let us call them Abbott & Costello), and neither of them with my GP with whom I have just managed to get a ‘non-urgent’ appointment a mere six weeks after I asked for it.

Now, other than an initial spell (December and January) during which I was unusually unwell, I am and have been – despite the evidence of more blood tests and scans than those accorded to a blue-tongued sheep – well… well. I remain fitter than most of my contemporaries; I am (otherwise) healthy and active and – whisper it in case it is held against me – happy most of the time, although I must admit that, unusually for me, my mental welfare has required a little husbanding through the last few months. I have drunk more tea and eaten more biscuits than Tiger Woods has had car crashes.

Earlier today my wife prompted me to write down what I wanted to know from a scheduled ‘telephone consultation’ with a consultant – Lord only knows which one – set for tomorrow and, having considered it for a little while, it transpires that the answer is everything. I want to know why – other than assessment – nothing was done, during which time my body endeavoured to ensure that when arses finally did shift into gear, nothing could be done. It will almost certainly be some time before I find out whether or not it has succeeded. I want to know what went wrong with what they tried to do, what stopped them doing what they then planned to do and most of all, what the heck they intend to do now. I’m pretty certain that the answer will be that they are “awaiting scan results in order to assess the situation, thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch…”

I’m a couple of months short of 68 years old and I realise that the concept of any general improvement in my physical well-being is an aspiration on a par with world peace, a quiet half-hour in a hot bath with a cool whisky, or correctly locating the exact mille-second that lies between raw and overcooked scrambled egg, but I find it very difficult to accept that after so many medical professionals have viewed my internal workings in 3D – one or two of them actually having had a good old rummage around in there too – nobody is able to tell me “This is where we are, and this is where we’re going.” Good news/bad news – any news would be good. I am in the perfectly happy place of eating well, drinking sensibly, exercising regularly and staying healthy that I would have been in without any of this medical intervention and worry – a worry that, like a despot’s democratic majority, continues onward and upward with new uncertainties at every turn. Nothing can turn back this particular clock, but it would be great to know what time it is now, and what time it will be in an hour.

Anyway, enough of the moaning – you clearly do not need to listen to that! – I just felt that I should explain last week’s absence and warn that there may be more ahead – or not, obviously.

Today I’ve played football with my old-fogey team-mates, loaded a skip with the contents of the old bathroom, mixed sand and cement and patched up the floor, mixed plaster and patched up the ceiling. I’ve just had a bottle of beer and I’m about to put my feet up in the certain knowledge that every muscle, bone and joint in my body will ache like buggery in the morning and that, of course, is exactly as it should be. In the great scheme of things I am in excellent shape: I am old, growing older and, fortunately – for me, if not for you – perfectly capable of writing at least one blog a week as long as I am not in hospital while my laptop remains at home…

The Beginner’s A-Z of D.I.Y Subversion (Ear to Email)

EAR The organ of hearing. The external part of which can be removed with relative ease (compared, for instance, to little finger, thumb or nose) and sent to relatives in a jiffy bag. Blood loss is minimal, as is the effect on auditory sensation, although earring wearing may become a bit of an issue and the amputee may have to address the problem of his spectacles constantly sliding diagonally across his face.

EARLY Before the usual or appointed time; ahead of time. It is a good idea to make it your business never to be early for anything, unless it has a free buffet.

EARNINGS Money earned; wages. You will almost certainly be completely unfamiliar with the verb to earn, but, according to my little dictionary I find that it means to ‘acquire through merit’. As you are likely to be equally unfamiliar with the word merit, I decided to look that up as well. Merit, apparently means, ‘claim to respect and praise’, which, I must admit is something I have never personally encountered in all my years associated with subversion.

EAVESDROP To listen secretly to a private conversation. You might as well – you’re unlikely to ever have one of your own.

EDIFICATION Morally or spiritually uplifting improvement or enlightenment. The kind of thing that many Americans pay one third of their income for, only to discover that the humble man-of-God to whom they paid it, has emigrated to the Bahamas upon discovering that he has, apparently, misread the signs and turquoise, shell-suited Gods are actually extremely unlikely to descend to earth aboard a cigar-shaped silver craft on this, or indeed any other, Thursday teatime.

EDUCATION The process of imparting or acquiring knowledge or skill. Well now, this is an impossibly huge and alien concept for the subversive, so I will tackle it in two parts:

a. Knowledge

1. The sum of what is known. So, what is known? Well, that depends upon where you’re sitting, doesn’t it? I once met a man who could recite pi to the thousandth place, but didn’t know how to tie his own shoelaces. I know what I have tucked away in my belly-button, but I very much doubt that anyone else will want to. Einstein was the most intelligent man who ever lived, but did he know how much fart-powder should be added to the tea urn at the women’s institute meeting on Thursday mornings to produce the most devastating effect?¹ A great deal of knowledge is totally surplus to requirements unless you aim to make a living out of winning pub-quizzes and, in fact, you will never win a pub quiz by knowing anything of any significance whatsoever.

2. sexual intercourse (archaic). Intriguingly, used in this context, the word is almost always accompanied by the word carnal, which, as we all know, means fleshy, which just goes to show why it’s no fun being a supermodel.

b. Skill:

The ability to perform a task, especially when acquired by training. So, it stands to reason that if you have a particular skill, based upon many hours of practice and selfless devotion, possibly behind closed doors, you are per se ‘educated’. Now we all understand why boys get such a particular education at public school don’t we? That kind of skill would have got me a clipped ear as a boy, not to mention the threat of incipient warts and blindness. But let’s face it, the fact that we can exhibit our education through the ability to pick our toenails at the dinner table is a great thing and an achievement that can only serve to narrow the class divide in our country.

The answer is almost certainly ‘Yes,’ isn’t it? The man was a bona fide genius. It is possible that he knew more than my mother.

EFFORT Exertion; an attempt, try. You are extremely unlikely to put any amount of this into anything that does not involve free food or alcohol. In order to maintain a balanced view I took the liberty of looking up ‘Try’ which means ‘to put a strain on’ and is something that you do to the world in general and the Welfare State in particular.

EGO When your ‘girlfriend’ sighs ‘God, you’ve got a big one…’ this is what she is talking about.

ELBOW What you don’t know your arse from.

ELECTION Selection of a person or persons for office by vote. Unless you are in an unusually democratic gang of one, this is highly unlikely ever to happen to you. If you choose to try and follow this path, might I recommend local politics to you. The turnout for local elections is traditionally below 40%, the winning candidate might be one of eight or nine¹, which, by my calculations, means that you can win an election with the support of substantially less than 5% of the electorate. In certain rural constituencies, this might be bought with little more than a decent size bag of sheep-nuts.

Conservative, Labour, SDP, Green, Reform UK, Restore, Various Independents (including single issue candidates), Monster Raving Loonies, Mr Bin Face, Your Party (First four listed in order of wealth and the rest in order of sanity).

ELECTRONICS Concerned with electronic devices. Mini cameras, covert listening devices, position trackers… face it, they are of very limited use to a person who cannot change a plug without fusing the entire neighbourhood and melting every filling in his/her mouth.

EMAIL The act of writing, sending and immediately regretting a message.

Unavoidably Detained

The Cols in My Education

For reasons that will almost certainly form the basis of a future missive, I have nothing for you today. Please accept, with my apologies, this little nugget which popped up on my ‘On This Day’ notifications from five years ago, to see you through…

The Beginner’s A-Z of D.I.Y Subversion (Diatribe to Dynamite)

DIATRIBE A bitter, sharply abusive denunciation, attack, or criticism. Known in subversive circles as ‘conversation’. There is little point in speaking about anyone at all except in derogatory terms. All subversives are bitter about something, be it the blatant oppression of the working classes by the ruling elite; the exploitation of minority groups in our supposedly egalitarian society, or the price of deodorised socks at the Co-op, and will waste no time in denouncing¹ any or all of them.

The most important thing to remember about the act of denunciation is that it does not encumber the denouncer with any responsibility, e.g. suggesting a solution to the problem. This is the job of politicians – who really should know better.

DICTATOR (See Despot – above) Charlie Chaplin played The Great Dictator in a film, only to find that a certain Mr A Hitler subsequently plagiarised his creation and went on to achieve worldwide notoriety without having to eat liquorice boots. Many historians have considered how the impact of the Second World War might have been lessened had Mr Hitler been as funny as Mr Chaplin, but on closer examination of the latter’s films, most are forced to agree that he was.

DIM Rather stupid. It is impossible to underestimate the importance of dim people to your organisation. With proper persuasion, they will do all the things that you are far too scared to do. Also, when captured by the authorities, they will waste no time in admitting to anything at all, as long as the policeman offers to share his Smarties.

DIGESTIVE A medicine which aids digestion. More importantly, a biscuit. Should you ever find yourself in gainful employment, always strive to assume control of the staff tea fund. Once in this lofty position of power, replace the digestives with Rich Tea and watch the fun begin¹. Remember that, whatever is claimed to the contrary, the tea fund never did stretch to Hobnobs and always offer to reinstate the Digestives in return for an increase of the weekly subs. Be prepared to deny emphatically that the quality of the tea has fallen during your time in charge and also that the tea money has, in any way, contributed towards your new Rolex watch, whilst pointing out the importance of proper timekeeping in the delivery of the tea. Always keep a separate stash of Supermarket Own-Brand Rich Tea, which can be passed off as ‘low-sugar’ or ‘gluten-free’ as required and a small pack of Jammie Dodgers for the exclusive consumption of the person in charge of the photocopier and the recently divorced hottie in accounts.

It is a universally acknowledged truth that absolutely nobody likes Rich Tea biscuits – with the possible exception of vicar’s wives, who do so solely on a cost basis, and Supermodels, for whom a single biscuit provides:
100% of their daily nutritional requirements
A convenient ashtray
A nice shiny surface from which to snort their actual daily nutritional requirements.

DISMEMBER To sever limb from limb. Probably not the best course of action for the do-it-yourselfer. To be efficient at this you need a sharp knife and an even stronger stomach. It does make a dreadful mess in the bathroom and, unless you feel you really have to make a point, I recommend you dismember something with far less blood, gristle and sinew than the average human being. Try a chocolate digestive biscuit, a plastic duck or Donald Trump (please).

DISSENT To disagree with the methods, goals, etc., of a political party or government; take an opposing view. Does this make you a subversive? No, this makes you normal. Governments in general serve only one rational function, that of being the focus of dissent. It is perfectly logical to hold in contempt anyone who always knows what is best for you. Government is full of them¹. It is also full of people who know that what is good for you isn’t necessarily good for them.

Politics is the only profession for which being called a ‘sanctimonious prig’ is considered a good thing.

DODGE To evade by sudden shift of place. What one does with all responsibility.

DOMESDAY Archaic word meaning ‘The day of Judgement’. Generally associated with the Domesday Book, an early census, ordered by William the Conqueror, who wanted to know exactly how much he could screw out of whom. Think combined Census and Tax Return with the implicit threat of disembowelment for non-payment.

DOOMSDAY The Day of Judgement. Your afternoon in Magistrates Court – £25 fine and bound over for two weeks. Also, excluded from all branches of McDonalds until April.

DOWNHILL Into a worse or inferior condition. The direction in which your life is heading. Generally, unless you are wearing skis, it is not considered ‘a good thing’ to reach the bottom first. Even in Downhill Skiing, one is expected to reach the nadir with some form and grace; not with one shoe missing, a fat lip and a tampon up one nostril. Also, remember that not even Franz Klammer was able to walk back up the mountain, no matter how quickly or elegantly he got down it. A couple of paper cupfuls of gluhwein down at the bottom end and you’re staying there baby.

DUEL A prearranged combat between two persons, fought with deadly weapons according to an accepted code of procedure, esp. to settle a private quarrel. Once an invitation to duel has been accepted, it is considered extremely bad form to hide behind one’s girlfriend pretending to be a non-English speaking Lithuanian with a dodgy leg. You will be considered a complete cad if you do not go ahead with the duel and die with honour. Duels are traditionally fought at dawn, with either swords or pistols. (If you are offered the choice of weapons, go for celery. Contempt is much easier to handle than fatal wounding.)

DUET A piece of music for two performers. What you thought you’d read when you accepted the invitation to a duel.

DUODENUM The first portion of the small intestine, from the stomach to the jejunum¹. The first indicator that you are actually properly scared.

The section of the small intestine between the duodenum and the ileum – and you think your job, stacking supermarket shelves, is grim.

DYNAMITE High explosive. Much like next-door’s glue-sniffing son, this is never to be approached with an open flame. Much like next-door’s glue-sniffing son, dynamite can have a devastating effect on the neighbourhood. Unlike next-door’s glue-sniffing son, dynamite is very rarely sick on your rhododendrons.

ASSIGNMENT.

Place a soft-boiled egg up a politician’s exhaust (or that of his car).

A Novel State of Mind

I am seldom completely unable to write, but i am all too often unable to write what I want to write. Currently I have three main ‘projects’ on the go: my weekly blog, my A-Z blog (which I hope will become a kind of self-assembly book for anybody who is dedicated enough to be bothered by it) and a novel (which is actually a follow-up to my first novel which, true to form, has yet to find itself flopping across the desktop of any publisher or literary agent. I have a terrible tendency to become bored by things as soon as they are finished. I am hoping that writing a ‘part two’ will spur me into action with ‘part one’. On the whole, I doubt it. Almost certainly it will result only in me having two unpublished novels on my books. Perhaps I’ll leave them to my children in my will.) I try to plan how I use my time: blog Monday/Tuesday, novel Wednesday/Thursday/Friday, and A-Z on Saturday (Sunday remains a day off, unless the rest of the week has gone particularly badly and/or my mother-in-law has come to visit¹) but my brain seldom plays ball. A blog idea – one that simply has to be written posthaste, before it slips from my grasp – inevitably occurs to me at the very moment I settle down to work on the novel: a beautiful A-Z definition will tumble from my pen in the midst of a torturous plot-hole repair, and eventually I will struggle for hours to successfully extricate one from the other. Writing would be so much simpler if I didn’t have to use my brain.

I should, of course, have a place to jot down ideas as they occur so that I can return to them as required but, sadly, my organisational skills reach their nadir precisely at the point of desperate need. “I must remember that” I think each time an idea pops into my head, “it’s too good to forget,” but sadly it is not. Nothing in my head is immune to episodic amnesia.

In the past I always kept a notebook by my bed in order to record mid-night inspirations, but more often than not, what I wrote was indecipherable, incoherent and in dire need of attention, particularly as, for some unknown reason, my wife objected to being woken by my bedside light and, my night vision being what it is, I was probably as likely to scrawl down her leg as on the paper. Consequently I often approach a day at the keyboard with an empty page and an empty head. Staring at a blank sheet of paper pushes whatever should be on my mind further back into the deepest recesses of the Labyrinth, behind ‘O’ level Geography, the chemical symbol for blancmange and a surefire method for remembering the names of The Seven Dwarfs (Dwarves?) in alphabetical order. A blank sheet of foolscap inevitably leads me to conclude that I will never write again.

Getting the Tetris blocks of my mind into order is the primary obstacle. The A-Z has a certain ‘style’ as does the novel whilst everything else spills into the blog and, if I don’t have my wits about me, slops straight back into the former two as well. Characters in my ‘book’ suddenly find themselves spouting subversive definitions, conversations occur that clearly belong to Frankie and Benny*, and situations develop that only Dinah and Shaw* could make sense of. Unpicking the stitches involves a kind of inverse macramé that my mind is simply not equipped to perform.

It is, I like to tell myself, nothing more than a state of mind. The thorniest of problems – and therefore the ones I choose most often to ignore – arise when I am on ‘novel’ duties. I have a thinly-written plot which, due to my tendency to write myself into corners, evolves constantly. By the time I reach halfway, the précis has become longer than War and Peace, and explanatory passages – which seldom provide an ideal home for gags – begin to litter the manuscript like redactions in Peter Mandelson’s Christmas present list and I am eventually forced to go back in order to remove the reasons for the now extraneous explanations and somehow darn the holes that are left². Early drafts are a sieve through which all traces of reality are sifted. There is a strange circularity to it all:

The chapter makes sense, but is boring
I add jokes and ‘situations’
I add explanation for the added jokes
I add jokes to the explanation
I remove all jokes that are too difficult to explain
I explain to the dear reader why something I have just written so directly contradicts something I wrote in chapter two
What remains makes sense, but is boring – and now twice as long as it originally was.

Invariably I reach a denouement that I am happy with, until I realise that it has precious little to link it with where I started. I generally rewrite the beginning as time has made it even less interesting to me. Most of my blogs work in this way: nothing ends as it was originally intended to, nothing starts as it originally did.

The first draft of the current novel is about two-thirds completed and I have reached the stage where it now has a certain path that it must follow in order to reach its conclusion. It writes itself almost (although it does need me to jazz it up a bit). It knows where it is going and I just tag along for the ride, throwing the occasional firework out of the window. It most certainly is not a chore, but I do find myself writing entire passages that I know I will have to excise, purely because my brain needs the exercise. Eventually I will corral it all back into place, secure in the knowledge that in the morning I will wake up in a novel state of mind.

Unfortunately tomorrow should be an A-Z day.

My mother-in-law sadly passed away some years ago and was actually a delightful woman who suffered fools (me) very gladly. I dedicate that line to her in the knowledge that she would find it funny despite her oft-repeated assertion that she didn’t really like ‘comedy’.
Does anyone actually darn anymore? I have painful childhood memories of woollen socks that seemed to be ninety percent darn. I grew up on a council estate, I thought that was what tennis balls were invented for.

*Regular readers will be familiar with both Frankie & Benny and Dinah & Shaw, both of which have appeared regulalrly on these pages over the years – and are probably due to do so again.

The Beginner’s A-Z of D.I.Y Subversion (DDT to Devil)

DDT Hydrocarbon compound, an effective insecticide. Many of the people you will encounter in the pursuit of your subversive activities would benefit greatly from a spray down with this. Pay special attention to all warm, moist areas: The Amazonian Rain Forest, North West India, all regions generally covered by underwear.

DAMAGE To injure or impair. It is a legitimate course of action to cause damage to those who themselves cause damage on a much greater scale. There are those who would damage our communities, our countries, our planet and, were they to be given the opportunity, probably several others in the universe. Now is the time to rise up and damage their cause. It is impossible for even the seasoned subversive not to take sides. Sit on the fence and you will get your balls creosoted¹. Think of your children. If you don’t have children, think of somebody else’s children. If you don’t like children, think of yourself.

Probably not applicable to female subversives – unless they are also Wimbledon ball girls.

DANGER Exposure to injury; jeopardy; risk. Oh, dear me, no! No, no, no, no, no! Exposure to injury is to be avoided at all cost. Besides serving no useful purpose whatsoever, injury is in itself a foreign word to the subversive. It translates as ‘Pain’. Pain is exclusively reserved for the benefit of others. Pain is to be inflicted. Pain is most certainly not to be endured. Some people thrive on danger. To the brave, it is like a drug. To the subversive it is like a laxative. It is best never to get involved in anything that could, in any way, be considered dangerous.

DEATH Extinction of life. Death is not a skeletal figure dressed in black, carrying a scythe¹. Death is an insurance salesman. Death is called Nigel. Death works at a call centre in Mumbai. He got your phone number from the HMRC website.

An agricultural hand-tool for mowing grass or reaping crops. How it became associated with Death, I am not certain. A scythe is used in the reaping of crops and Death is, of course, The Grim Reaper. I Googled ‘Grim Reaper’ and got a short piece about a heavy metal band from Droitwich. I also accidentally Googled ‘Grim Reeperbahn’, which I do not recommend as a course of action, and I would like to make it known, here and now, that I have never met the lady.

DEBACLE A confused rout. Now here is a word I know all about. My whole life is confusion – at least I think it is, I’m not sure. A rout is any overwhelming defeat, which just goes to prove that my wife is completely correct when she describes my entire life as a debacle.

DEBATE Contention in words or arguments; discussion; controversy. To dispute; to deliberate. Forget it. Politicians do it all the time – and look at them. The gentle art of persuasion is best served with a baseball bat. Do not deliberate – it merely postpones the painful realisation that you haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Debate requires at least two parties and has three rules:

Don’t get involved.
If you do get involved, always stand by an open door.
Write down very clearly the points you wish to make and, in an emergency, use the list to set fire to the other person’s trousers.

DEBAUCH To corrupt; to pervert; to riot; to revel. Excess in eating or drinking; lewdness. This sounds like so much fun, the government will almost certainly tax it in the next budget.

DEFEAT Frustration; overthrow; loss of battle. Try to avoid all possibility of defeat by never openly being drawn into battle. If you should become embroiled in a literary battle, use a pen-name and, if possible, somebody else’s typewriter or cut letters out of the newspaper. If you are drawn into a verbal battle, remember always to speak slowly and quietly. Very quietly if your opponent is bigger than yourself. Keep calm when stating your own arguments and listen carefully and patiently to those of your adversary before destroying them with your incisive wit and perception. It is also a good tactic to stand behind them and pull faces. Should you get drawn into a physical battle you have two basic choices: flight or fight. Of course, one of them is right and the other one is fight. If all possible escape routes are blocked, and a physical confrontation becomes inevitable, you must immediately adopt the correct stance. This is best known as the foetal position. Roll up in a ball, as tightly as you can, and whimper softly¹. Never worry about losing face – it does not hurt as much as getting beaten up.

Foam at the mouth if at all possible: your opponent will a) believe that you are in need of medical attention and will not want to get involved in all the questions that are associated with a 999 call (the answers to which are all ‘I don’t know’) b) will not want to get sputum all over his brand new linen trousers and c) will have just the vaguest suspicion that you might have rabies and/or a trapped fish bone – the consequences of either being far more messy than they would want to risk.

DESPERADO Desperate fellow; reckless ruffian. A media word for subversive. If you like the sound of this title, do not wash or change your underwear for a week.

DESPOT (See Dictator – below) A king or other ruler with absolute, unlimited power; autocrat; any tyrant or oppressor. Everything that you most revile. Everything that you’d most like to be. You could buy a dog, but remember that even the dimmest of canines might be inclined to answer back now and again – also it is not easy to remain imperious with dog crap on your slippers.

DEVASTATE To lay waste; render desolate. The effect that the dedicated subversive can have on an ‘All U Can Eat Oriental Buffet’ during its £4.95 Afternoon Special session. Also the effect that certain prawn dishes in the above may have on the hungry subversive after they have sat in lukewarm water for four and a half hours under a dodgy heat lamp. (You know that I meant the prawns and not the subversives.)

DEVIL (1) The supreme spirit of evil. I drank some of this on holiday in Bulgaria and spoke Swahili for three days afterwards.

DEVIL (2) An atrociously wicked, cruel, or ill-tempered person. You will meet a lot of these. Tell them that you have wandered into the Job Centre by mistake and, anyway, you can’t attend a job interview right now because you have a bunion.

DEVIL (3) A person who is very clever, energetic, reckless, or mischievous. Exactly the kind of person that you do not want in your band of desperadoes, but will almost certainly be first in the queue to join you. Allow them to become a member at your peril. Finding your shoes super-glued to the pub floor is all well and good the first time it happens, but can become seriously annoying, particularly when you are trying to evade the landlord.

DEVIL (4) (Cookery) grill with Cayenne pepper. Something that you do with kidneys – although God knows why. As far as I am aware, kidneys serve only one purpose in the culinary world, e.g. something to pick out of steak and kidney pie.

Lessons I Have Learned

If you have anything at all between the ears, you have to treat life as one big lesson. If you are prepared to learn, life will teach you all you need to know, although not always before you need to know it. Sooner or later you will have access to the font of all knowledge… and then, of course, you die…

As I approach, with ever-increasing velocity, my own personal end-of-days, I feel it only fair that I should share the fruits of my knowledge with you. Here is what I have gleaned from 67 years of existence:

If you are over sixty years of age, you are NOT cool! It is an incontrovertible fact and nothing can change it. Any attempt to make yourself look more cool will, inevitably, actually make you less so. Raised eyebrows and under-the-breath ‘tutting’ is probably the best you can expect. If you have children, they will refuse to sit next to you on the bus and may even attempt to persuade the local magistrate that you abducted them at birth.
Young women NEVER think you look younger than you actually are. Try too hard and they are more likely to think that you are both ancient and terminally sad. They will find you ‘sweet’ until you start to smell of urine. They also will not sit next to you on the bus, even if the only alternative is standing, wedged between the woman with a Chihuahua in a nappy and the schoolboy with who is dying to show them what he has in the matchbox.
Losing weight will not help. Senior skin loses all elasticity, so removing ‘filling’ merely leaves hanging flaps – like a sausage with the meat sucked out. Moobs¹ do not disappear, but begin to look alarmingly like those of the native women you used to stare at in the National Geographic.
Clothes will not be your saviour. Wearing clothes that are appropriate for your age will merely make you look your age, but wearing clothes that are inappropriately young will almost certainly leave you looking like the kind of person that nobody wants to be trapped in a lift with.
Whether button or zip, you can NEVER trust a fly. Either can reveal itself as being open at the most inopportune of times, but only the zip has the capacity to bite back. Life holds, for most men, an absolute minimum of two scars: one under the chin – from falling from a bicycle, scooter, roller-skate or badly nailed together pram-wheeled go-kart – the other being the winkle welt from an all too close childhood encounter with a zip fly.
Once you have passed 50 years of age, tight clothes are NEVER the right option. If you must wear the bloody things for riding your bicycle then never get off it in public. Ever.
You will not be able to impress young people with your intellect. They speak a completely different language: they will not understand a word you are saying.
There is no such thing as the right temperature. Everything – food, drink, hands, feet, enthusiasm – is either too hot or too cold.
Despite the panoply of options available, the world remains solidly polarized: Left versus Right, United v City, Us against Them, Marmite vs well, anything really… You will never be in the right half.
Computers never need to update unless you want to use them. If you need to use them urgently, the updates will take days and will involve hours locked on a black screen within which not even the little circle-thing turns.
Contact lenses have many advantages over spectacles, but being able to see properly is not one of them.
You do not become better at things as you grow older, you merely become more tolerant of your own mistakes.
Shoes do not ‘wear in’. Shoes either fall off on the way down a long staircase, or grip you so tightly that your nails turn black and drop off. Loose shoes do not tighten and tight ones never loosen, they cut off your circulation more effectively than becoming honorary secretary of the local stamp collecting forum.
The next blog post is always great, the present one is awful.
Whatever else you fight for, you should always battle to keep the old you at bay. Never wear a flat cap to hide your bald spot. Other than a ginger toupee, nothing says ‘lost the plot’ as loudly as a tartan cap and string-back driving gloves.
Parking spaces are never perpendicular. Why else would you not be able to leave your car straight in one?
You can never trust a politician. Even if they promise to lie and cheat for you, they are lying.
Nobody ever really believes that ‘it was the dog’.
Whatever you may believe, you never know best.
You should always brush your hair and take a selfie before you do anything strenuous – it may just be the last time anyone ever sees you alive.

¹ Man-boobs. The real reason men were given nipples: to complete their total humiliation on the beach. Along with noses and ears, these grow exponentially with age. Try to relax, they are a normal symptom of ageing, even if they prove to be incredibly inconvenient when they keep falling through the arm-hole of your singlet in the gym.

The Beginner’s A-Z of D.I.Y Subversion (Communism to Crucifixion)

COMMUNISM Doctrine that all goods, means of production &c. should be the property of the community. What a wicked system! Communism is currently frowned upon by most countries of the world, particularly the communist ones. It strikes me that the most obvious problem with the communist system is the confusion engendered by the paradox that those who are most doggedly communistic and therefore ardently opposed to all change and liberalisation, both socially and economically, are known as ‘conservatives’ and… actually, now I see that written down, it isn’t actually paradoxical at all, is it?
Most subversives are, nominally at least, Socialist¹ – except when it actually comes down to the principal of sharing things. The average subversive is more comfortable with a more theoretical observance of Socialist principals, whilst maintaining their shares in BT and the little nest egg in Zimbabwean diamonds.

A sort of user-friendly Communism, once much-vaunted in democratic societies, but now largely discarded in favour of personal advancement, capitalist expansionism and unparalleled levels of shoe ownership. Socialist principles in the UK have been progressively watered down since the Second World War, through the Worker’s Party, The Labour Party, New Labour, New New Labour, and Sir Kier Starmer.

CONFLICT Struggle, trial of strength. Oh dear me, no. No sensible subversive ever gets involved in such a thing: he/she is seldom well enough. I, myself, have been almost exclusively virtually subversive for six months, due to a heavy cold. Struggle is a very physical process and, should it become absolutely unavoidable, best left to somebody considerably fitter than yourself.

CONSCIENCE The complex of ethical and moral principles that controls or inhibits the actions or thoughts of an individual. E.G. ‘Am I likely to get caught?’

CONSERVATIVE In politics, one who desires to preserve institutions of his country against change and innovation. What a wonderful concept. In Britain, we have a whole party opposed to change and innovation. The only problem is that, these days, nobody is quite sure which one it is. Generally, in politics, innovations, such as everybody getting a fair and equal chance in life, are frowned upon.

CONSPIRACY An evil, unlawful, treacherous, or surreptitious plan formulated in secret by two or more persons. The most widely known conspiracy in the UK is almost certainly The Gunpowder Plot of 1605. The conspiracy was to blow up James I and the English parliament on its opening day, November 5^th, in the hope of prompting a great Catholic uprising. The brother-in-law of Francis Tresham (one of the conspirators) was warned not to attend the ceremony and the plot was subsequently exposed. Guy Fawkes, a paid mercenary, was captured, tortured and killed, as were most of his co-plotters¹. The plot back-fired as harsh anti-catholic laws were passed by the shocked establishment and November 5^th became widely known as Guy Fawkes Night (as it had a better ring than Thomas Catesby Night) and the tradition of scaring the living daylights out of the elderly and setting fire to half the neighbourhood, nightly from October 1^st to November 30^th, began.

Robert Catesby, John Wright and Thomas Winter originated the plot and, when Guy Fawkes was captured, they fled to Holbeach House in Staffordshire, where they were killed during a gunfight with the local sheriff and his deputies the very next day, having accidentally ignited their own gunpowder. Instant karma.

CONVERSATION Informal talk or exchange of ideas. Usually involves one person expressing their opinions whilst allowing others to either agree, or be wrong.

CORRUPT Make rotten, pervert, make evil. A common aim of all subversion and politics. Calling a Right Honourable Member a corrupt politician is a double damnation similar to evil devil, violent war and Michael Gove. If you believe that two wrongs can make a right, you may feel able to trust a corrupt politician. I do not, but then I don’t trust Dettol.

How To Corrupt a Politician: Elect Him

COSH A bludgeon. The subversive’s most subtle weapon.

CRISIS Turning point or decisive moment. I’m not certain that my interpretation of crisis is quite the same as my Dictionary. A subversive’s definition of crisis requires just one word – ‘Life’. Life is crisis, crisis is life. If I have a crisis it is seldom, if ever, a turning point, it is usually a rabid fear of being found out.

CRUCIFIXION A form of execution by being nailed or tied to a cross. Although the Romans did not originate crucifixion, they did use it widely, generally on slaves and despised malefactors. It would appear that Jesus of Nazareth, who could almost certainly be described as an early subversive were it not for the fact that both his motives and his methods were honest and virtuous, was killed in such a manner, with the intention that his importance was seen to be diminished to that of a common slave – well, that worked didn’t it…
In order to speed up death, which could be slow and tortuous, the crucified party often had his legs broken. This was considered merciful by the kind of person who regarded nailing an innocent man to a tree as justice.
As a subversive, you will have little time for religion, but you will have plenty of time to consider whether you are sufficiently committed to your own cause to run the risk of such punishment¹.

The answer is ‘No’.

HOMEWORK.

Describe in detail, the differences between:

Capitulate & Collaborate
Chaos & Crisis
Corrupt & Castrate
Capitalist, Communist & Conservative

Don’t bother.

The Analogue Kids #2 – A Spittoon in the Lounge Bar

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Harry nodded and Muriel sat down unheeded, placing a pint of beer in front of him. “I hope you don’t mind but, it’s really heavy isn’t it, a pint of beer? If you don’t take it I’ll have to pour it in the spittoon.”
He wanted to smile but he found himself pouting like a toddler and he had no idea of how to stop. “I saved you the seat last week,” he said, “but you didn’t come.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I couldn’t call you because I don’t have your number. I phoned the pub…”
“Really? Who did you speak to?”
“I’m not sure. She said she was too busy to act as your unpaid answering service, especially on quiz night, and hung up. I presumed she’d let you know when she wasn’t so busy…”
“I left early – straight after the round on Soul music – this is the first time I’ve been in since.” Harry moved his empty glass from the beer mat and having taken a sip, put his new pint in its place. “It might have been better in the spittoon,” he said.
“Isn’t that what you normally drink? I’m sorry, I thought it was… Shall I?…”
“It is what I normally drink,” he said. “It’s always horrible. I don’t know what they do with it.”
“Why don’t you drink something else?” she asked.
“I like it,” he answered, looking puzzled. “And what kind of pub do you think has a spittoon these days?”
“I thought they all had them.”
“I think something might have misled you. Is there a John Wayne season on the iPlayer or something?”
“I don’t really come into pubs very much. They’re not easy places to be in when you’re on your own.”
“They’re about the only places I do go in on my own.”
“So when you say you haven’t been in here since last week?”
“I’ve been sat in front of the telly, eating frozen meals for one and generally pondering my navel.”
“And did you reach any conclusions?”
“I need to get out more.”
“Good. Where shall we go?”
Harry picked up on the you/we transition immediately, but all in all he thought it best not to mention it. She might change her mind. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never really go anywhere.”
“What about the seaside?” she answered. “You can’t go wrong with the seaside can you? Do you have a bus pass? We could go on the bus.”
“It’s years since I’ve been to the seaside,” said Harry. “So many people and so noisy… I’m not sure.”
“It’s not all ‘kiss me quick,’” said Muriel, suddenly nervously twisting the stem of her wine glass. “There are plenty of quiet beaches. We could just walk, take a picnic maybe, or buy fish and chips.”
Harry fiddled with the wedding ring he had moved onto his right hand over five years ago and gave the impression of deep consideration. “Why not,” he said at last. “Yes, I’d like that. If we win this quiz, the prize will pay for the chips.”
“Better get the form then…”

Harry returned with two glasses, one of wine and one of beer, two packets of crisps (one plain, one salt & vinegar), two packets of salted peanuts, two packets of pork scratching and a cheese and onion sandwich that looked as though its best days may have been before the Crimean War. He placed them on the table in front of Muriel. “I wasn’t sure,” he said, “which you might fancy.”
“I’m not certain that anyone should eat that sandwich,” she said. “I’m pretty sure that the cheese wasn’t blue when it went into it. Perhaps you could go and put it somewhere where it can rot in peace.” Harry departed with the offending butty, returning without it seconds later. “Landlord took it back,” he said. “Put it in the dart team’s buffet.”
“They don’t play until Wednesday,” said Muriel.
“He doesn’t like waste,” said Harry. “He’s got steak pies in the warmer that lived through Brexit.”
Muriel looked at the smorgasbord on the table. “Shall we share a packet of ready salted?” she asked. “The one that’s still in date?”
Harry smiled agreement and sipped his beer as he lowered himself into the chair. “I registered us as The Analogue Kids,” he said.
“That’s good,” smiled Muriel, testing an over-large crisp on her front teeth. “No-one will know who we are. If we lose we won’t be humiliated and if we win, we won’t get mugged on the way home.”
“For twenty quid?”
“Harry, where I live, they’ll mug you for twenty pence. Well, they don’t need the money actually: they’ll mug you just for the fun of it.”
“Bloody hell, are you ok going home?”
“Oh yes, the bus stop is right outside my door and the bus driver always waits until I’m in.”
“That’s good of him.”
“Her. I pay her with humbugs. It’s a long night for her and her breath smells like she’s swallowed a dead fox by then.”
“Right… well, there’s two teams of students in tonight and one team of dons, not to mention the extremely uncomfortable middle-class foursome over near the window who have somebody outside with a mobile phone giving them answers when they think that nobody’s looking, so I definitely wouldn’t go spending the prize money just yet.”
“Is there nobody ‘normal’ doing the quiz?”
“Lots of them. Half a dozen ‘normal’ teams doing the quiz, but absolutely none of them winning it.”
“But you still think that you can win it.”
Harry allowed himself the slightest of smiles. “We,” he said. “I think that we can win it. We did ok last time until they had the round on Social Media Influencers.”
“Derren Brown seemed like a perfectly logical answer to me.”
“To all ten questions, yes… Anyway, if I have a good day today, yes, I think we can win it. If you have a good day, I think we can win it and if we both have a good day then nobody will stop us. The fish and chips are as good as ours.”
“But what about the team of dons?”
“No problem with them. Away with the fairies, all of them. They’ll do well in the Classical Greek and Philosophy rounds of course.”
“Are there really…?” Muriel stopped short, warned by the amusement in his eyes. “I suppose you think that’s funny don’t you?”
“Well,” he grinned. “It is a bit.”
“Misplaced I’d say,” she pouted.
“Like a spittoon in the lounge bar,” he said.

I hope you’ll forgive me. I enjoyed these two so much last week that I felt I had to give them a second episode today. Unless everyone hates them, they will appear again I think.

The Beginner’s A-Z of D.I.Y Subversion (Cabal to Collaborate)

CABAL Secret plot. Most of your D.I.Y plots will be extremely secret: you will probably be the only person ever to know anything about them. If you feel that you are perhaps getting too much of a good thing, tell your wife¹, but expect to be held up for ridicule.

Subversion is a notoriously sexist occupation and ‘partner’ still sounds a little too ‘woolly hat and lentils’ for many ‘traditional’ subversives. If you are the wife, then tell your husband and expect the same result. If you are single, then tell anyone you can think of and expect total apathy. If you have a friend, then you are not a subversive.

CANT Hypocritical speech. This is not the word I thought it was and it doesn’t mean anything like the same, however, no turning back, and it is quite an appropriate word for our guide. Being hypocritical is one of the most essential subversive skills. Without it, you may end up saying what you really mean. Fatal. Never fall into the truth trap. Truth is a four-letter word to the subversive¹. Lie at all times.

Inevitable, as most of them cannot count beyond three.

CAPITALIST Owner of capital. Think of everything nasty, everything evil, everything you most covet – that is capital. Think of the owner of the capital – that is a capitalist – and sheer, naked envy will make him your sworn enemy. He has it and you don’t. Now, how can that be fair? Being fair is all about you having the capital and the capitalist slaving away in an attempt to get you some more. Life, of course, is seldom fair.

CAPITULATE Surrender on terms, give in. This is something the good, honest, decent subversive will never do – unless it is to his advantage. Surrender traditionally requires either the hoisting of a white flag or a good foreknowledge of the safe word. Capitulation is, in fact, the greater part of subversive valour¹ and very rarely results in bruising other than to the ego – which does not hurt anything like as much.

Oxymoron of the day.

CASTRATE Remove testicles. Not particularly effective as a political ploy, but great fun in the right company.

CEMENT Fine mortar. A fine, grey powder which, when mixed with sand and water, has many applications in building and construction work. Mainly employed by the D.I.Y subversive in the construction of concrete boots:

Place victim’s feet into two medium-sized plastic buckets¹.
Three quarters fill with suitable cement mixture.
Allow concrete² to set (usually 3 to 7 days, depending on conditions).
Throw victim in river or lake.

It is wise to take a few precautions before employing such conglomerate footwear:

Spread plenty of plastic around before mixing the concrete – splashes can be very difficult to remove from light-coloured carpets.
Ensure that the concrete is correctly mixed. Incomplete mixing could lead to surface cracking and eventually to the re-floatation of the corpse. Whilst this may be acceptable in the large marine environment, it can be unsightly in the home pond or swimming pool.
Ensure that the water depth is sufficient to cover the victim. Throwing a six-foot victim into a five-foot garden pond is never going to work³; the weight of the concrete will ensure that the victim remains upright and, even allowing for a certain amount of settlement, his nose is unlikely to sink below the surface. If you are not properly prepared, you may be forced to haul your victim from the water. Beware – wet concrete is even heavier than dry concrete. If you are unable to remove him from the water, try putting a small fishing rod in his hands or, alternatively, decorate his head to resemble a buoy.

Alternative Procedure: 3,000 tonnes of concrete spread evenly across the bridge of the nose will silence even the most stubborn of dissenters.

Traditionally, the wearer of concrete wellies will be dead. If this is not the case, you may need some help in holding their feet still while the concrete sets.
Mixture of sand, cement and water is known by builders as ‘gobbo’ and is used in building walls – concrete (below) actually relies upon the addition of a harsher ‘ballast’ – usually pebbles or grit – in precise ratio. It is a well-known fact that these ratios are never actually precise enough and the resulting mix is either too dry to lay, or so wet that next-door’s cat is consumed by it three weeks later.
This is especially relevant if you are trying to submerge a living victim. There is a very useful technique for ascertaining the vitality of your victim involving a small hand mirror, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it would be best to gag the victim whether alive or dead, but not with one of the monogrammed handkerchiefs that Aunty Sheila has bought you every Christmas for the last twenty years

CHAOS Disorder, confusion. The ultimate aim of the subversive group is to spread disorder and confusion throughout society. The ultimate dénouement is usually the spreading of disorder and confusion amongst the subversive group itself.

COLLABORATE Aid an enemy in occupation of one’s own country. To vote Conservative. In a war (subversives are always engaged in a war – even if it’s only with the car) collaboration is perfectly acceptable, providing you do it with the winners. In the Second World War, the French collaborators made three basic mistakes:

Collaborating with a party that offered little in return.
Collaborating with the losers.
Being French.

In order to make a real success of collaboration, you will first have to persuade somebody to occupy your country. If you are American, Chinese or Russian, I think you might as well give it up as a bad idea straight away. If, however, you live in Lichtenstein, you have a fighting chance¹. Your first step is to talk to someone with a larger army and persuade them to invade. Negotiating with a foreign power is not always easy:

HOW TO TEMPT THEM.

Advise them of the richness of your natural resources.
Offer them money.
Ask very, very politely.

HOW TO DEAL WITH THEM.

Be certain of their aims.
Be certain of your aims.
Get everything in writing.

IS IT WORTH IT?

No.

Although the non-fighting chance is always the preferred option.