Wednesday, 30 April 2008

This Is My...Four Leafed Clover

Aha! I found the way to carry on nicking post titles off of Tears for Fears!

Well anyway, I was going to call it "Change pt 94" because I _didn't_ change cricket club and that was a terrible idea because I had 10 seven year olds running around in the mud loving the mess more than the batting. I was far more tempted by, er, other entertainments. What I mean is this. I had been at another teacher's house last night (we'll call him Mr C) and I drank all his beers. I mean all of them, except the ones he drank, and his partner. She knocked back a couple too. I decided to buy Mr C a load more and so I stored them in the staffroom but then I was gasping, utterly desperate for a drink at 4.30 so I...left them alone.

You see...stories don't need progression or endings. Though they do need problems. Without problems they are blogs. Or diaries.

You also need the confessional element. Even the most amazing political blogs are rarely without the personal element. In fact, these are sometimes informed more by the author's loathings and generalisations of his opponents than by his actual views. It is merely a miracle when he finds a Department of Bullshit graph to support his argument on bottom habits or whatever. I mean "merely" in its original sense of "solely" of course. A blog without an author whose ego is the size of six pints of Stella made into a wobbly tower is no blog at all. It is a history book, and a poor one at that. It is also tiresomely obvious when he presents the latest "report" or statement or just lie from whichever party he hates the least to support views he has held since he was 8 and so he can say "Ah, but the research shows..."

God how I loathe that clause.

And I capitalise "god" because it is the start of the sentence. Otherwise I'd join all the radicals who can't be arsed. "god", hey wow this like fucking magic. What about "mr (or even mrs) smith" - wooooow, how cool is that. Get in.

Bloody hell how I hate the way everyone wants to rule the world (c - you know who). Why does everyone want to be in charge? Want their views to be enforced at the point of a prison cell? Why do they want everyone who doesn't agree to be officially labelled "cunt"? Why are we such damned intolerant fuckwits? And the worst of it it's our brightest and best who are the most fanatical, who cleave to ideologies with the most desperation, seeking out all and any references to support them and using Google like a pistol to demolish anyone who disagrees? Why is it down to tenth rate minds like mine to say "actually I don't know...there might be something to be"? And hence prevent the bitterness of revolution and the spread of the gibbet, which seems to be onrushing at the same speed as firsts from crap universities in marxist subjects?

And before anyone emails me with bucket loads of quotes from this very blog showing my own intolerance...where did I except myself, apart from the bit about the tenth rate minds? All I mean is that, yes, I am a cunt, but that in real life,when I really think, and really want to be sensible, I think like the quotation above.

So does writing make fanatics of us all. The diffusion of printed material and all that.

So too does alcohol make bastards and lackwits of us all. So I did turn out to be violent after a few jars after all. And there was me thinking I just got emotional and cried.

Never mind.

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