Pets Are Pointless: Fact

Animals are not humans...

I think it is only right to point out at this stage that I myself have never owned  an animal of any kind. (If you exclude a brief spell ‘Babysitting’ a Goldfish) This is in some ways due to an area of my psyche that acknowledges the fact that, even with as much precaution as I can muster, any animal in my loving clutches will be lucky to make it through the night.  I’m a human as far as I’m aware and therefore have no idea what is considered comfortable for say a dog. Dogs, as well as all other animals, cannot speak a human language meaning it is hard to ascertain what their preferred living conditions are or whether they enjoy their steak medium rare or well done.  To put this into context, if a strange old woman turned up at your home who could only communicate by howling and occasionally scratching her face with her foot, would you know what to do with her? Well animals are my strange old woman.

Ok, so some people argue that pets are good companions, particularly to those who are old or disabled in some way and I understand just how important a loyal animal can be to someone who has very little. However, when you see a middle-aged woman letting a dog frantically lick her face while she kisses it back is downright strange and socially awkward, not to mention dangerous in terms of the bacteria said woman is receiving in the process. How can you be so detached from the human race that you have to resort to treating an animal as one of your own species. You often see these people  on talent shows such as Britain’s Got Talent as one of the ‘freaks’ that they have to include every year. They are portrayed in a way to make them seem like social outcasts, the sort of people that audiences know are going to be dreadful in their act. Normally, I’m not too keen on the coliseum type programme where the paying audience jeer at the dregs of society and  often feel sorry for the genuinely good-willed but misguided soul who ends up being slated by the judges and the public. The aforementioned  dog owners on the other hand deserve every bit of criticism they get.

That brings me onto the issue with food and indeed the finances required to keep a pet.  There are many people in this country to which money  poses a huge issue,  be it an unsubstantial job or poor life decisions that leaves them struggling to pay the bills.  No, conscientious human being would not wish such a life of  financial struggle on any other person. After all,  a life without money is often a life of a very low standard.  FACT. Anyone who lives by the now worn out mantra that love and kindness is all you need for a happy life  should see how long they remain happy out on the streets, cold, hungry and with no money to spare. (Well at least they have love to get them by…)  Yet there are some, simply idiotic, people who still feel it necessary to purchase a pet  when they are  in a horrid financial state.  Not only do they need constant attention and care, (the animals that is..) you also need to pay for the food they eat and unless you’re happy sharing a bowl, this is a bit of a hinderance.  I can’t count the number of times I have seen a down-on-his luck young man lying on the pavement with no food to spare with only his trusty, money sapping dog for company. Get rid of it!

I think writing this blog I have undergone a sense of self-discovery.  I don’t think I actually hate pets, or indeed feel they are useless. No, its the owners I despise.  Not every pet owner of course, only the dog kissing ones who think that owning a pet is going to help them in some way, the kind of people that  I wouldn’t be surprised  believed that their pet will grow up to become an affluent doctor or lawyer.

British Comedy vs. American Comedy

I can think of nothing better on a lazy afternoon than to sit down and watch ‘The Office UK.’ The awkwardness of Gervais’ character, David Brent, as he nonchalantly dishes out subtle racism is almost squeamish to watch and the ‘teachers-pet’ Gareth never ceases to try and assert his non-exsistent authority to hilarious effect.  It could be considered the holy grail of British comedy, a comedic feast of precision engineered humour that rewards audiences for paying close attention to it’s deft approach to comedy.  Yet, watch the American version of the same show and you’ll be left wondering if it is even the same  format.

All of the ingredients are there; the enthusiastic boss and his cronies are all in place, as well as the  familiar office environment, but the way in which it dishes out its laughs couldn’t be further than Gervais’ masterpiece. The gags are fired off by the office employees at a back-breaking pace with no shortage of comic situations for the viewers to revel in.  Whilst this may be considered a good characteristic for a comedy to possess, it just doesn’t have ‘The Office’ feel that many of us know and love.

The beauty of the British office was that the conversations, the social faux pas’ and the people themselves were all plausible and believable. The characters had soul and people wanted to observe  and identify with them, particularly in the case of Tim and Dawn, giving the comedy a bit more heart. Watch the American version and you’ll see the emptiness of the stereotyped, often unessecary characters.

It’s the same across most American comedy. The humour is obvious and in your face because  producers only intend to harvest laughs from its audience. The idea of a story, interwoven with interesting characters and sub-plots is very much pushed to he side, and whilst I’m not suggesting that American comedy is unintellegent, it does seem very lazy, often using famous faces and cultural references to enhance the comedy. The only notable exception is the brilliant programme ‘Friends’ which gives you the chance to empathise with its characters and the situations they find themselves in.  They seem human rather than artificial.

I guess I just enjoy the sophistication of good British humour. Generally the act of understanding a joke is harder work and as a result more rewarding . American comedy on the other hand, seems to stick a syringe straight into your brain and directly inject you with humour making it impossible to ignore.

Football in Sexism Shock Horror

So…the proverbial rock of Super Sunday, whose gruffly scottish garble about all things football had been beamed into millions of peoples homes each week, has been sacked. Stonefaced Andy Gray was caught on camera spouting sexist remarks about female linesman (or should that be woman?) Sian Massey. Yes, this is the same  Andy Gray who has been imortalised by phrases such as ’They have hit the floor running,’  “Take a bow son!’ and more recently, ‘Bitch better get off the football field and make me a sandwich.” Ok so the last one may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but the uproar this whole episode has created makes you wonder, even when  the actual comments were mild at best. At least he didn’t run off with another footballers wife, a la John Terry.

Football  has the stigma of being  a mans game and this has been the case for decades.  It’s also no secret that football fans are not the most, should we say, sensitive of bunches and I’m almost certain that the prescence of a woman on the pitch wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the huge, half-naked pie machine in row Z. But this is not about them, this is about the employees of Sky Sports and how they handled the situation.

Firstly, the comments were made off-air so it had no reflection on their professional intentions and even so, it  came across as casual banter not unlike that heard on the street amongst friends. What would have been the difference if they had made these comments in the pub after a game? No-one would have batted an eyelid.

Admittedly, pointing to his groin when asking for a microphone to be set up may have been a bit too far, but enough to cost him his job? Not a chance. The worst thing about the whole saga is that no one will emerge as winners.  Sian Massey can never officiate again without being labelled by fans as ‘That woman who got the FIFA man sacked’ and Andy Gray will never commentate again.  It is strange to see some people claiming  that this incident will encourage budding female officials  to follow their ambitions of making it in the professional mens game. These people are idiots.  If anything, this will  discourage women from becoming involved, scared off by the prospect of relentlessly baying crowds and angry, pugfaced scottish commentators making comments about their chest sizes.

In some ways I suppose it’s good to see that Sky Sports have cracked down on sexism and taken action against the sexist pigs. Now, I wonder who the Soccerette is going to be this week?….

The Student Protests aka ‘Whodunnit’

As a second year Sixth Form student myself, I wholly understand other student’s desires to express their discontent with rising University fees.  It is clear however that  many of these protesters are not exactly cut out for any kind of higher education, particularly as they had misunderstood the phrase ‘Peaceful protest’ with ‘Smash and burn everything (preferably with a blue-ish colour to fufil a political agenda) in sight.’

Admittedly it is not fair to tar all those involved with the same anarchist brush, but having been to a protest myself it was clear that  there were a large number of people willing to use violence. It’s hard to gauge whether this was because protestors were caught up in the heat of the moment or whether they were a bit peeved that officers were battering them with their glorified sticks. Either way, no-one seems to know who to blame for the damage caused.

As many journalists have done before me,  I am going to jump on the  ’whodunnit’ bandwagon. Who is to blame? Heavy handed police? Rebellious students?  Or could it have been Prince Charles and Camilla for having the cheek to cruise into the action in their flashy Rolls Royce? My personal opinion? I don’t care..

The whole idea of a protest is to raise awareness of issues surrounding what the protest is about and the whole, violent sub-plot should only be a side dish for the main, journalistic course.  Reporting on the few thousand hot-headed teens who set fire to christmas trees is not only lazy journalism, but it also steals the attention away from the tens of thousands more protesters who go about their business peacefully. This can only encourage students to get caught up in any destructive behaviour the next time they protest, as they may feel it is the only way  they can gain any media coverage for an issue they feel passionate about.

As I was told as a child, “If someone is being a nuisance, just ignore them and they’ll go away,” and at the moment this mentality does seem to have been adopted. Unfortunately those that are being ignored are the peaceful protesters who just are not considered as sensational a news story as  the naughty teens who are throwing their toys out of the pram.

Journalists all over the world have opted for this easy way out as it doesn’t require delving deeper into the issues. It would be refreshing to see an article one day that effectively ignores the warring tribes and instead focuses on the purpose of the protest, even though such a story probably wouldn’t appeal to the masses. After all, it would be a crying shame for freedom of speech to be ditched in the metaphorical gutter of poor journalism.

Generation Music

Personal taste in music can be a touchy subject for a lot of people, the dreaded question   ”What type of music are you into?” causing the victim to nervously list their favourite artists whilst trying their hardest not to mention the ‘Jedward’ album that they have stored on their MP3. It seems as if people are embarassed to share their musical implications in the fear that someone will declare that  your taste is unusual, anti-social and maybe a little bit too feminine.

Personally, I believe this is largely due to the fact that every genre of music carries its own persona, and that a persons preference in music is an indication of their personality and lifestyle, which is untrue in the majority of cases. The reason we laugh at parents who are partial to a bit of ‘N Dubz,’ or get excited at the prospect of ‘Tinie Tempah’ being played on the radio, is that in our minds the only true followers of these artist’s style of rap are street folk that wear oversized chains and trousers down to their ankles.

This is far from being the only reason why people nowadays are so protective of their musical secrets.  Just take the fact that there isn’t a ‘generation defining’ style nowadays that is considered socially acceptable to the masses, unlike in  previous years.  Yes, there were different genres back in the 80′s, but the electro, pop sound that you find on every 1980 Music compilation CD is the epitome of that era.  The 1940/50′s was the distinctive era of jazz and soul, and the less said about the cheesy and quite frankly awful mass produced pop of the 1990′s, the better. (S Club 7 still brings a shiver of disgust down my spine.) If a young guy strolls into a cafe blasting rock giants ’30 Seconds to Mars’ from his phone, there would be more than a few looks of bewilderment and disgust directed at him from the older inhabitants.

Just look at the chart today and you’ll find a mangled mix of rock, alternative, RnB, rap, Drum and Bass and Dance to name a few, with no clear indication of what would be the clear frontrunning genre of our time. I bet that no-one reading this post can think of one artist or band that can truely claim to be the ‘voice of our generation’ without someone else giving you a perfectly valid reason to counter it. No-one however could contest the fact that The Beatles were the flavour of their time.

Personally I’m a rock/alternative kind of guy mainly because I like the way it sounds. Surprisingly to some, I don’t wear drainpipe jeans, leather overalls or, as it turns out, ride a Harley Davidson.

(Not So) Great Britain

As a proud Brit myself, it wasn’t the easiest thing to write this blog post without trying to take a biased swerve on proceedings, but lets cut to the chase. No matter how hard patriots mayargue it, Great Britain is no longer so great anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, its a good place to live and there is a wealth of history and culture for people to sink their teeth into, but on the world scale we’re political minnows. We no longer have the vast, proud empire that elevated us to superpower status and ever since we accepted Marshall Aid, American companies cannot be refused to invest in British businesses if there is no good reason not to allow them. The masses of Mcdonalds and Subways is proof of this iron curtain of American products.

Lets face it, America wouldn’t exactly fall into economic crisis if they no longer traded with us – we’re dependant on them, not the other way round. War between us would only end with a large Great Britain shaped hole in the surface of the earth with America’s only casualty an old man stubbing his toe in the heat of the moment.

Greatness, as it has been for hundreds if not thousands of years, is judged on a country’s posistion on the world stage. Who’s going to fear the might of Cambridge educated pushovers and our ‘bloodthirsty’ warrior Queen (I didn’t think so.) We as a country are going to have to accept our posistion on the end of the American’s leash and be the ‘bitch’ that we have been for a while.

-If only greatness was based on the quality of tea, we would win hands down-

The Premier League? Pah! Give me passionate fans, bobbly pitches and fruitless voyages up to Carlisle any day of the week…

It’s hard to swallow, but I’ll admit it.  I used to be a fan of Premier League football.  Yes, I was once snared in  the alluring corporate trap of  big players, big football clubs, big money and even bigger egos, egos suited to reality TV more than professional sport.  You see, being a fan of the top league in English Football is a bit like eating a chocolate cake. On the surface it looks so appealing you fool yourself into thinking you can stomach more than you can take, but once you’ve eaten a slice or two (or three,) you end up hobbling away in gluttonous pain.

This was exactly like my experience as a fan, as once I’d surpassed the initial appeal of the Premier League with the star-studded players, headline-making goals, crucial refereeing decisions and multi-million pound stadiums, I too was left feeling full-up.

In the Premier League, football isn’t football unless it’s pumped with sickening amounts of money and is played in front of tens of thousands of spectators with a million others watching from their sofas. In fact a more appropriate name for arguably the  top tier of the world football hierarchy, would be the Franchise League, at least then it would actually reflect its current state.  Despite being an avid fan of football since a very young age, having been brought up by a West Ham adoring family, I lost interest in the game altogether as it was always Liverpool, Manchester United, Chelsea or Arsenal (who at the time were the four riches clubs may I add) starring in an  unbreakable cycle of  finishing their seasons in the top four, making every year as predictable as the last. For the first time in my life, I was bored of the beautiful game.

It wasn’t until I started my first year of secondary school that I un-earthed the Football League. I was reluctant at first, but after a few prods and a hefty amount of convincing, my friends forced me to go and see a match with them at Colchester United. Bearing in mind this was at a time when Colchester still plied their trade at Layer Road,  it was a massive culture shock to my Premier league attuned brain cells.  “What’s this?” I said, pointing to what I assumed was a run down cowshed.  Turns out that this was the stadium and the corrugated iron were apparently the ‘walls.’  The paint on the turnstiles as I entered into the ground was peeled and crusted, and the corridor you had to squeeze through was so small I wondered how the fairly chubby man behind me was going to fit through, especially as at that time he  was scoffing a Pukka Pie.  To make matters worse it was cold, wet and the opposition was Yeovil Town, a place I couldn’t even point out on a map.  As I took my seat I looked across to the other stand and realised I was surprisingly part of a  privileged group, as masses of people hunched together with faces set like stone gargoyles against the elements… standing. ‘Standing at a football game!’ I moaned ‘I thought seats were a legal requirement!’

It would seem from my bleak description that I went home from this escapade with nothing to show for myself but pneumonia and a sense that I had wasted my hard earned cash, however this is surprisingly far from the truth.  As soon as the kick-off whistle sliced through the dense Essex air, the roar of the crowd and the determination of the players was inspiring.  Every fan at the run-down ground seemed to idolise their sporting heroes on the pitch and people in the stands were actually enjoying themselves, having a laugh and joining in with the banter. There were no extortionate prices for food, no Bentleys or BMW’s parked around the ground, no pristine pitch or poster boy footballers. No. This was real football.  Crunching tackles, a passionate fanbase and a hot cup of Bovril to warm the cockles. It was at this moment when I decided that league football was what I wanted to follow as the experience  had single-handedly reignited my original love for the beautiful game.

If metaphorically the Premier League is a chocolate cake, then League football is  a coconut. Yes it may look ugly, hairy and somewhat dirty on the outside, but get to the centre and its pure, white, untouched football.