A very interesting interview this morning during the rain-delayed ODI between SA and England. It was Aggers talking to England legend Marcus Trescothick who has curtailed his international career due to depression and anxiety. Tresco was very open about his condition, which was pleasing not from a voyeuristic point of view, but rather from the point of view that sport needs to face up to some of the problems its people have; instead they tend to be marginalised and left to suffer in silence.
Tresco described the problems he has with both anxiety and depression, and, vividly, the building up of these problems as the pressure situation of a test match abroad came closer and closer. The loss of control, loss of self, that he felt as the reality of those situation became sharper, was almost painful to listen to. In practice, daily life, he could manage. It was only as these times approached that the symptoms defined themselves, reaching a crescendo of shrieking that simply made normal life impossible.
The things is that these are physical symptoms as debilitating as many physical injuries. Yet we don't believe it, or we look at one situation and two different people and ask why one can do it and the other not: could it be that the psychologists are wrong and we don't believe in the existence of other minds at all?
Sunday, 31 August 2008
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Gymology
I can hear the calls of my readers desperate to know my current gym-status, after a flurry of pain-related posts a few months back has been followed by total silence on the matter.
Well the biggest problem is the drink. I do 1000 calories in a gym session then I go and drink them back on, with some crisps maybe. I do have muscles, but they are still building on top of the flab, so I am just plain getting bigger all around.
In terms of fitness this is really hard to judge. I still get shooting pains all the way down my arms when i lift weights; still soak the elliptical machine in sweat; and I swear that the rower gave me a heart attack the other day going for a new record time (personal record that is) for the 2000m (it would have been 7.41, but I only managed 7.46).
In practice, if you asked me to, say, play a football match, or run down to the shops for a pint of milk, I'd still collapse in a heap after a few yards. I wonder if that is a pavlovian type reaction, over and above the actual fitness levels of my body. A sort of body-memory of all those years of agonising enforced exercise at the point of a detention. Or maybe I'm not as fit as I think!
Well the biggest problem is the drink. I do 1000 calories in a gym session then I go and drink them back on, with some crisps maybe. I do have muscles, but they are still building on top of the flab, so I am just plain getting bigger all around.
In terms of fitness this is really hard to judge. I still get shooting pains all the way down my arms when i lift weights; still soak the elliptical machine in sweat; and I swear that the rower gave me a heart attack the other day going for a new record time (personal record that is) for the 2000m (it would have been 7.41, but I only managed 7.46).
In practice, if you asked me to, say, play a football match, or run down to the shops for a pint of milk, I'd still collapse in a heap after a few yards. I wonder if that is a pavlovian type reaction, over and above the actual fitness levels of my body. A sort of body-memory of all those years of agonising enforced exercise at the point of a detention. Or maybe I'm not as fit as I think!
To The Reader From Wherever
UPDATE: this is a bit unfair, this post. I mean, I spend loads of time on blogs but rarely comment these days because it is so easy to get involved in rows. Sometimes i can't avoid it, being so uncontrollably enraged by whatever, but by and large I just surf n read. So for me to write a post about someone who, according to Sitemeter, reads my blog endlessly and also lives very close by, but doesn't comment, is out of order. I suppose I was just thinking about my general lack of comments. Then again my lack of comments probably reflects my lack of commenting elsewhere, and also the random and pointless-seeming nature of this blog.
So as you can see, I've deleted the post.
Reader, you're welcome. And i hope you found something you liked!
UPDATE 2: Actually, bearing in mind what sitemeter says, and where it is, it might be the government reading me!! Holy moley, could be Labour thinks I am a threat to national security (public safety, maybe). My endless drunken rantings have struck terror into the hearts of our rulers; my incisive and powerful critiques of government excess and the surveillance society have caused me to be targeted; my...
If it is the government then I'd like to amend the above welcome to something else...but I'm too scared.
So as you can see, I've deleted the post.
Reader, you're welcome. And i hope you found something you liked!
UPDATE 2: Actually, bearing in mind what sitemeter says, and where it is, it might be the government reading me!! Holy moley, could be Labour thinks I am a threat to national security (public safety, maybe). My endless drunken rantings have struck terror into the hearts of our rulers; my incisive and powerful critiques of government excess and the surveillance society have caused me to be targeted; my...
If it is the government then I'd like to amend the above welcome to something else...but I'm too scared.
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Tee Hee
This story reminds me of an old joke from a very old series of Have I Got News For You, where a guy, cheesed off with Yorkshire Bank, changed his name to "Mr Yorkshire Bank PLC Are Fascist Bastards" and demanded a chequebook in the name. He got it, but the bank subsequently said that "Mr Yorkshire Bank PLC Are Fascist Bastards has been asked to take his account elsewhere."
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
End of World Delayed
Phew.
And there was me thinking we'd seen the revival of the irresponsible scientist who'd pursue his theories with a near-insane zeal. With all wild hair and everything.
Luckily there is no chance of creating the Big Bang in a dull corner of central Europe after all.
And there was me thinking we'd seen the revival of the irresponsible scientist who'd pursue his theories with a near-insane zeal. With all wild hair and everything.
Luckily there is no chance of creating the Big Bang in a dull corner of central Europe after all.
At Last, Some Good News
From Zimbabwe. The Times report was rather more forthright than this somewhat anodyne report from Britain's national broadcaster, in that police were waiting at Parliament, with a list of 17 MDC MPs it wanted to arrest: but either way, finally, the forces of good are on the march.
And they've started in the same way as all good starts against all evil: by taking the piss.
Could it be that we are about to witness peaceful, democratic change?
And no invasion either.
And they've started in the same way as all good starts against all evil: by taking the piss.
Could it be that we are about to witness peaceful, democratic change?
And no invasion either.
Monday, 25 August 2008
One Track Minds
I really am impressed by the team GB cyclists, you know.
If only because you can hear Alex Salmond sucking through his teeth from here.
This my considered, thoughtful and intellectual response to the challenge posed by team GB to the SNP:
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
No I have not suddenly become a unionist, and yes I am aware how it is traditional for pot-boiling socialist countries to do really well at the Olympics deliberately, while the rest of their people stagger on in high-rise blocks being surveilled by the government 24/7:
but I just love to Alex Salmond pissed off. He is, of course, with Gerry Adams, the finest politician the UK has produced in 40 years.
But honestly.
Hohohohohohohohohohohohohohoho.
Come on Alex, tell us that Chris Hoy was really racing for Team Scotland!!! Tell us that Team GB was using Scottish resources! Tell us that Hoy would of done it on his own!!
Sorry, I'm going to have to stop, I'm about to crap my kex.
UPDATE, TUESDAY: Mr Eugenides has posted in somewhat more detail than myself on this subject and with loads more skill, too. but then he probably cares more.
If only because you can hear Alex Salmond sucking through his teeth from here.
This my considered, thoughtful and intellectual response to the challenge posed by team GB to the SNP:
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
No I have not suddenly become a unionist, and yes I am aware how it is traditional for pot-boiling socialist countries to do really well at the Olympics deliberately, while the rest of their people stagger on in high-rise blocks being surveilled by the government 24/7:
but I just love to Alex Salmond pissed off. He is, of course, with Gerry Adams, the finest politician the UK has produced in 40 years.
But honestly.
Hohohohohohohohohohohohohohoho.
Come on Alex, tell us that Chris Hoy was really racing for Team Scotland!!! Tell us that Team GB was using Scottish resources! Tell us that Hoy would of done it on his own!!
Sorry, I'm going to have to stop, I'm about to crap my kex.
UPDATE, TUESDAY: Mr Eugenides has posted in somewhat more detail than myself on this subject and with loads more skill, too. but then he probably cares more.
Miniplenty Malquoted, Rectify
Doubleplusungood: Eastasia blameful, BB unblamed. InPartyObs report BB todaywise: "ungood moneyfigures are Eastasia, Eurasia-crimewise."
But, comrades, porno-ration increases!!!! 500MB-daywise!!!! Comrades, the porno-prod of Ingsoc is worshipful. Ingsoc-porn doubleplusgood!!! Comrades, ingsoc is pornful because porn in relation to ingsoc is doubleplusgood: plentiful mans and womans unloving each other, untouching, unkissing, sexing powerwise. Comrades! Use Ingsoc porn!
Masturbation is strength!
Comrades, beer-ration to downgo, because unheartful goodwise. Beer is ungood and comrades should be waterwise. For an Ingsoc-Stella per comrade per day we could have a Floating Fortress!!! Destroy Eastasian criminals!!!
So comrades, undrink Stellas, think Ingsocvicwise: give to Ingsoc collections for Floating Fortresses, Abortions.
But, comrades, porno-ration increases!!!! 500MB-daywise!!!! Comrades, the porno-prod of Ingsoc is worshipful. Ingsoc-porn doubleplusgood!!! Comrades, ingsoc is pornful because porn in relation to ingsoc is doubleplusgood: plentiful mans and womans unloving each other, untouching, unkissing, sexing powerwise. Comrades! Use Ingsoc porn!
Masturbation is strength!
Comrades, beer-ration to downgo, because unheartful goodwise. Beer is ungood and comrades should be waterwise. For an Ingsoc-Stella per comrade per day we could have a Floating Fortress!!! Destroy Eastasian criminals!!!
So comrades, undrink Stellas, think Ingsocvicwise: give to Ingsoc collections for Floating Fortresses, Abortions.
Mrs Thatcher & Memory
So Mrs Thatcher has dementia.
I find it hard to refer to her (PBUH) as Lady Thatcher, I prefer the early 70s title of Mrs Thatcher.
Anyway.
I don't read them but cue loads of really funny, tolerant, humane and compassionate jokes on lefty blogs and in lefty papers about dementia & Mrs Thatcher.
Because tolerance is something you don't need to show if the person you're talking of does not, in your view, fit the bill of 'tolerant' themselves. It's a sort of conditional value, I think. It means that if someone is not left-wing it really is good if they die.
I think this is how it goes. After all there was loads of unemployment when Mrs T was PM so when she dies it'll be really good. She'll deserve it. (This is not "simplistic" by the way, but wanting criminals to go to prison most certainly is.)
We saw it when Pope JPII died, so we can reasonably expect it when Mrs T shuffles off: death is funny when your political opponents die.
Just in case you had forgotten:
When our leaders were hard as nails because they had to be: when there were tough decisions to take and a tough world to live in.
By the way in Today's Time I saw a graphic I've never ever seen in 10 years of reading archetypal lefty-histories of postwar GB.
The normal story is this. Mrs Thatcher was a failure because average growth 1979-1990 was 1.9%, no better than the average figure from 1870-1990 (to take a not at all arbitrary date).
QED.
In Today's Times we learn that growth in Team GB (sorry, couldn't resist it) OUTSTRIPPED THE FUTURE EUROZONE BETWEEN 1983 AND 1989.
So clearly it was all a massive fuck up. But I've never read that in any sub-soft left history of the UK: they wouldn't have left it out - would they?
Check out David O Morgan's pseudo-socialistic "The People's [of course-TD] Peace [ geddit - like The King's Peace only a bit more crap - TD]" for a particularly shitty example of this kind of left-selectism.
I say this again: Churchill was wrong. He did not write history: the left write history. Accordingly, as I've said before, our current govt will turn out to be the sorry victim of global turbulence and malificent malefactors, just like Wilson and Callaghan.
And I like Callaghan. Loads.
Clearly.
Come on Jim, your country needs you!!! Sort it from the grave!!!!
I find it hard to refer to her (PBUH) as Lady Thatcher, I prefer the early 70s title of Mrs Thatcher.
Anyway.
I don't read them but cue loads of really funny, tolerant, humane and compassionate jokes on lefty blogs and in lefty papers about dementia & Mrs Thatcher.
Because tolerance is something you don't need to show if the person you're talking of does not, in your view, fit the bill of 'tolerant' themselves. It's a sort of conditional value, I think. It means that if someone is not left-wing it really is good if they die.
I think this is how it goes. After all there was loads of unemployment when Mrs T was PM so when she dies it'll be really good. She'll deserve it. (This is not "simplistic" by the way, but wanting criminals to go to prison most certainly is.)
We saw it when Pope JPII died, so we can reasonably expect it when Mrs T shuffles off: death is funny when your political opponents die.
Just in case you had forgotten:
When our leaders were hard as nails because they had to be: when there were tough decisions to take and a tough world to live in.
By the way in Today's Time I saw a graphic I've never ever seen in 10 years of reading archetypal lefty-histories of postwar GB.
The normal story is this. Mrs Thatcher was a failure because average growth 1979-1990 was 1.9%, no better than the average figure from 1870-1990 (to take a not at all arbitrary date).
QED.
In Today's Times we learn that growth in Team GB (sorry, couldn't resist it) OUTSTRIPPED THE FUTURE EUROZONE BETWEEN 1983 AND 1989.
So clearly it was all a massive fuck up. But I've never read that in any sub-soft left history of the UK: they wouldn't have left it out - would they?
Check out David O Morgan's pseudo-socialistic "The People's [of course-TD] Peace [ geddit - like The King's Peace only a bit more crap - TD]" for a particularly shitty example of this kind of left-selectism.
I say this again: Churchill was wrong. He did not write history: the left write history. Accordingly, as I've said before, our current govt will turn out to be the sorry victim of global turbulence and malificent malefactors, just like Wilson and Callaghan.
And I like Callaghan. Loads.
Clearly.
Come on Jim, your country needs you!!! Sort it from the grave!!!!
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Room One Oh One
The worst thing....
Which differs from person to person; it could be something trivial, something threatening, or something deadly. It doesn't matter. The point is, the individual cannot cope with it, however brave they are.
The worst thing...
In your mind: they are in your mind, they know you better than you know yourself. They have watched you more carefully, thought of you more, tried to understand you more. They care about you more than you do. They want you. They want you like no-one else ever wanted you. Deeply, essentially, they need you so that they can survive. The intimacy is in no way sexual, in every way psychological, spiritual (it takes over all spirituality), ideal (it is every idea you might have).
The worst thing...
They grow like a fungus in your head, until even a thought not about them is about them (Ingsoc in relation to chess - how parasitic is that). Every word is them, every inclination, desire, cumulation, is them. Because they want you so much.
And you open your eyes, and there they are: Room One Oh One.
Which differs from person to person; it could be something trivial, something threatening, or something deadly. It doesn't matter. The point is, the individual cannot cope with it, however brave they are.
The worst thing...
In your mind: they are in your mind, they know you better than you know yourself. They have watched you more carefully, thought of you more, tried to understand you more. They care about you more than you do. They want you. They want you like no-one else ever wanted you. Deeply, essentially, they need you so that they can survive. The intimacy is in no way sexual, in every way psychological, spiritual (it takes over all spirituality), ideal (it is every idea you might have).
The worst thing...
They grow like a fungus in your head, until even a thought not about them is about them (Ingsoc in relation to chess - how parasitic is that). Every word is them, every inclination, desire, cumulation, is them. Because they want you so much.
And you open your eyes, and there they are: Room One Oh One.
Saturday, 23 August 2008
Laaaaaa La-La Laaaa La
Foolishness2.
Such is life.
Alright, alright. It's Tears For Fears again (Head over Heels).
Such is life.
Alright, alright. It's Tears For Fears again (Head over Heels).
Let's Not Be Adult (About It)
Really: why bother. Let us be childish and stupid, be immature and freakish, be twats and wankers. The cause of authoritarianism has the scientists and the rationalists own the death-cults. Why not just be bloody silly, prance about in fields like idiots, read Graham Hancock, think of fairy-circles and machine-elves; open the Bible at a random page; why not look to the heavens and see things you cannot justify or repeat, why not see beauty and be staggered; why not just delight, consciously, in life, and its compromises, its failures, the very fact that you think things are wrong; the very fact that you know you are not perfect, even fallen. In the fact that evil derives its power from the existence of good.
Couple of twats (good & evil that is).
Why not take an innocent joy, that does not involve killing other humans, in the fact of existence, this most bizarre of coincidences, this pathetic excuse for rationality? Why not just be, when all around us are desperate to cast their shadows over our lives, and make their laws to govern our lives and deaths? The rationalists are gathering for laws, pouring over sub-clauses, desperate to enact sunsets: they want to control.
Why not just be? Well, because it hurts. Probably.
Let them come up with some justification as to why we should be allowed to live. You know how they love their justifications. They might be logical. Or they might just be pragmatic.
Because, sooner or later, they will do it...then they will see the reverse...and their austere logical or ideological purity will not allow anything else.
And it will be the end.
And it will have been prepared for.*
Yet there'll be this appeal, that we kept through our lives.**
*Well what the hell did you expect??? I am ENGLISH. Sentimentality is woven into my soul. It is the handmaiden of alcohol.
**See above.
You know, I am convinced those two, bloody sentimentality and alcohol, are having an affair...couple of tarts. Dressed up to the nines, flirting like they're anyone's. Cheap tu'penny ha'penny whores.
Couple of twats (good & evil that is).
Why not take an innocent joy, that does not involve killing other humans, in the fact of existence, this most bizarre of coincidences, this pathetic excuse for rationality? Why not just be, when all around us are desperate to cast their shadows over our lives, and make their laws to govern our lives and deaths? The rationalists are gathering for laws, pouring over sub-clauses, desperate to enact sunsets: they want to control.
Why not just be? Well, because it hurts. Probably.
Let them come up with some justification as to why we should be allowed to live. You know how they love their justifications. They might be logical. Or they might just be pragmatic.
Because, sooner or later, they will do it...then they will see the reverse...and their austere logical or ideological purity will not allow anything else.
And it will be the end.
And it will have been prepared for.*
Yet there'll be this appeal, that we kept through our lives.**
*Well what the hell did you expect??? I am ENGLISH. Sentimentality is woven into my soul. It is the handmaiden of alcohol.
**See above.
You know, I am convinced those two, bloody sentimentality and alcohol, are having an affair...couple of tarts. Dressed up to the nines, flirting like they're anyone's. Cheap tu'penny ha'penny whores.
The Alamo
If you're in America, may I suggest you FUCKING STAY THERE.
This is not meant to be racist, by the way, it's only meant to tell you that the endless drivel, the self-satisfied stream of piss-talk you'll come to know as politics, is waiting for you here. We have tolerant people desperate to exclude people they don't like from public discourse; evidence-based politicos who think people who don't share their worldview are mad (and who think that national psychiatric units are the victims of massive conspiracies for not agreeing with them); liberty loving ID card fanatics; CCTV loving dickwads who think that government spying on you is in fact less awful than your taking pics in a public space; doctors who only ever appear on the radio to discuss their love of death; MPs who think you need to prove yourself to the state, day in day out.
And you know, the worst thing is - there is a majority in favour of all this evil.
We want it, we call for it, it comforts us: evil. It looks so good, so fine, so sexy. It makes us feel happy by the fire of our repeated bullshit.
And people ask me why I have turned away from literature and history towards maths. Literature and history are hopelessly compromised by two generations of academics whose politics take precedence over the results of their researches, and who think their audiences are either essentially their own political side, or completely stupid. I have become a postmodernist at last: these subjects are screwed by their insistence on socialist narrative. The facts have been manipulated, turned, twisted, ignored, by cadres of people of the same politics for forty years now. We no longer know what is true from what is a lie.
How are we to tell? We are not supposed to.
There is no bullshit in maths. I complete the square, calculate a confidence interval, discuss the width of the interval, see how something is binomially distributed, differentiate, integrate.
Integrate. Integrate. I integrate a differential function*
*This is a reference to a long-forgotten song by Karel Fialka, which was called...well I forget what it was called but it was sort of sung by the guy's 10 year old kid and the refrain was "The A Team, The A Team, I see the A Team". It was a sort of satire on violent 80s TV. Needless to say, Doctor Who was not mentioned. The song can be found on "Now That's What I Call Music 10".
This is not meant to be racist, by the way, it's only meant to tell you that the endless drivel, the self-satisfied stream of piss-talk you'll come to know as politics, is waiting for you here. We have tolerant people desperate to exclude people they don't like from public discourse; evidence-based politicos who think people who don't share their worldview are mad (and who think that national psychiatric units are the victims of massive conspiracies for not agreeing with them); liberty loving ID card fanatics; CCTV loving dickwads who think that government spying on you is in fact less awful than your taking pics in a public space; doctors who only ever appear on the radio to discuss their love of death; MPs who think you need to prove yourself to the state, day in day out.
And you know, the worst thing is - there is a majority in favour of all this evil.
We want it, we call for it, it comforts us: evil. It looks so good, so fine, so sexy. It makes us feel happy by the fire of our repeated bullshit.
And people ask me why I have turned away from literature and history towards maths. Literature and history are hopelessly compromised by two generations of academics whose politics take precedence over the results of their researches, and who think their audiences are either essentially their own political side, or completely stupid. I have become a postmodernist at last: these subjects are screwed by their insistence on socialist narrative. The facts have been manipulated, turned, twisted, ignored, by cadres of people of the same politics for forty years now. We no longer know what is true from what is a lie.
How are we to tell? We are not supposed to.
There is no bullshit in maths. I complete the square, calculate a confidence interval, discuss the width of the interval, see how something is binomially distributed, differentiate, integrate.
Integrate. Integrate. I integrate a differential function*
*This is a reference to a long-forgotten song by Karel Fialka, which was called...well I forget what it was called but it was sort of sung by the guy's 10 year old kid and the refrain was "The A Team, The A Team, I see the A Team". It was a sort of satire on violent 80s TV. Needless to say, Doctor Who was not mentioned. The song can be found on "Now That's What I Call Music 10".
Not Another Bloody Repeat
Yes.
You can lose your job and future because someone makes a totally unsubstantiated, malicious complaint against you. The complaint itself will show up on all enhanced-CRB checks for the rest of your pathetic, miserable life.
You are innocent: you are fucked.
This has been proved in a court of law.
NuLab are wonderful upholders of justice.
All you need to be is innocent, to lose your life.
Courts are politically-neutral, sensitive, defenders of liberty.
This is C21 Britain: civilised, tolerant, evidence-based, insane.
Fuck me, all these frigging repeats. They really get on my tits.
You can lose your job and future because someone makes a totally unsubstantiated, malicious complaint against you. The complaint itself will show up on all enhanced-CRB checks for the rest of your pathetic, miserable life.
You are innocent: you are fucked.
This has been proved in a court of law.
NuLab are wonderful upholders of justice.
All you need to be is innocent, to lose your life.
Courts are politically-neutral, sensitive, defenders of liberty.
This is C21 Britain: civilised, tolerant, evidence-based, insane.
Fuck me, all these frigging repeats. They really get on my tits.
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Reading
One of these words is good, a whole new world of intellect and emotion: the other is a pile of clogged up, part Victorian, part post-piss-awful-modern crap, which can barely facilitate buying a pint of milk in the space of one day.
Which is which?
Which is which?
The Boys of Summer
Are sitting at home getting fat, playing on the PS3: or else getting pissed under the smoking shelter while the rain batters the corrugated plastic; or else watching Olympics thinking those guys are all on drugs; or else forgetting the cricket; or else thinking that Frank Lampard is half the athlete of Chris Hoy and about a million times the money; or else shagging everything in sight on an Ibizan beach, or street, or in a club; or else being arrested for being a nobhead; or else getting a tattoo on the upper arm.
The worst thing...I told you...in the world (see post below for hint).
The worst thing...I told you...in the world (see post below for hint).
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Julia
No it's not another Orwell based screed, but I wanted to see if I could sneak a reference in anyway.
Instead it's this story, via JuliaM: do read it for yourself. It's heartbreaking and sickmaking. Aside from the suicide, which might have any number of long term causes, a man was indeed treated as essentially guilty before any reasonable process of investigation was carried out.
This complaint alone would have been enough for me -or anyone working with or near "vulnerable people" to lose my job and never be able to work in education again, since it would have appeared on the enhanced CRB check all such workers have to go through.
Think about this world we're living in. You can lose jobs, opportunities, have the police record your details, be bailed without any due process, simply for being completely and utterly innocent.
You can lose your job and never get it back purely on the basis of a false, unsubstantiated complaint. And you become, on the way, just another automatic suspect on the DNA database. Your DNA routinely searched whenever a crime happens, just in case you did it. There is also no possibility of a mistake, obviously.
Let us also not think that the police believe in the concept of innocence. A year or so ago a top policemen said on Radio 5 that he had found that people wrongly arrested were often guilty of other things, so they should definitely have their DNA recorded.
Just when - and why - did the concept of innocence disappear?
Let's just repeat that earlier point though, because it's worth it: you do not need to be guilty of anything to lose your job and have your life ruined.
"If that's justice, I'm a banana."
Instead it's this story, via JuliaM: do read it for yourself. It's heartbreaking and sickmaking. Aside from the suicide, which might have any number of long term causes, a man was indeed treated as essentially guilty before any reasonable process of investigation was carried out.
This complaint alone would have been enough for me -or anyone working with or near "vulnerable people" to lose my job and never be able to work in education again, since it would have appeared on the enhanced CRB check all such workers have to go through.
Think about this world we're living in. You can lose jobs, opportunities, have the police record your details, be bailed without any due process, simply for being completely and utterly innocent.
You can lose your job and never get it back purely on the basis of a false, unsubstantiated complaint. And you become, on the way, just another automatic suspect on the DNA database. Your DNA routinely searched whenever a crime happens, just in case you did it. There is also no possibility of a mistake, obviously.
Let us also not think that the police believe in the concept of innocence. A year or so ago a top policemen said on Radio 5 that he had found that people wrongly arrested were often guilty of other things, so they should definitely have their DNA recorded.
Just when - and why - did the concept of innocence disappear?
Let's just repeat that earlier point though, because it's worth it: you do not need to be guilty of anything to lose your job and have your life ruined.
"If that's justice, I'm a banana."
Sunday, 17 August 2008
Another Thought
Why doesn't The Independent change its name? Surely someone could sue it for mislabelling or mis-selling or something?
It could be The Daily Paranoid, or the Daily Doommonger or even the North London Daily Mail.
When did Viz become the para-comedy wing of the National Secular Society?
Why aren't I doing something useful?
It could be The Daily Paranoid, or the Daily Doommonger or even the North London Daily Mail.
When did Viz become the para-comedy wing of the National Secular Society?
Why aren't I doing something useful?
A thought...
We hear a lot about the idea that left and right don't mean anything these days, that politics is becoming more amorphous, shifting: but if you spend any reasonable amount of time on the political blogs you can see that in fact there is a definite hardening of ideological attitudes (particularly of atheists to Xtians, for some reason), a movement of sorts to the kind of genuine contempt for the act of opposing one's views that we thought had been relegated to the 1980s. I think that this sense of mine (and I mean the UK blogosphere here) is probably exacerbated by the fact that the energetic shouting is carried on by relatively few people, compared to the actual millions of people out there who take rather more moderate views when you speak to them about stuff.
I wonder if the two sides (and there are pretty much two, though there are fuzzy lines and overlaps) are gearing up for a bigger confrontation, another battle for the spirit of the hour? My ex-alter ago, Jim Callaghan once said that every thirty years or so the political landscape shifted and you just got caught in it (or something similar): I think this time, with less popular engagement, the activists (including the bloggers) don't need to appear friendly or consolidating. They can fight among themselves with as much ideological purity and logic as they can muster and whoever emerges the more powerful will carry the rest of the country anyway.
Logic is an interesting element of ultra-modern politics: we are seeing it taken to the ends of rational thought, for the development of rational thought; and if a view is not rational, it is harmful, and if it is harmful, it must disappear. I've always been struck by that phrase of Goldstein (via O Brien, via the narrator, via Orwell): "the general hardening of outlook that set in around 1930", and I can't help thinking that we're heading for another one. Not so physically violent, obviously, but with a violence of attitude and treatment of opponents, with simplistic ideas about what is in people's heads, and how the world should be run.
I've always disagreed with the views of some that there is bullying and aggression in the blogosphere...but I am coming round to this view now. Aggression more than bullying perhaps. Ideological aggression. Debate, in the sense of people with differing views, is being elbowed out by shrieking and abuse.
And I've done my little bit to stoke all this rubbish too. I can't complain about that. I suppose I would say I was a little naive, but I've watched with mounting horror recently the consequences of it, and I think it is more than time for me to stop my part in it.
Every so often i wonder if I should change tack: I think I will. I enjoy blogging, that is the sole reason I do it; I sometimes enjoy political discussion, but less and less. I am going to turn TTD back into what it started as: a vehicle for my thoughts, not a platform, and -
believe it if you dare -
I really am fed up with swearing. I've done it too much, too poorly. It does nothing at all.
So expect from NuTTD:
1) randomness
2) silliness
3) Doctor Who
4) cricket
5) fiction
6) fantasy
7) literature
8) whatever else takes my fancy.*
* expressed in varying tones, but without swearing or aggression.**
**Alright. This is a pledge, an aspiration. Not a promise.
Somehow, also, you are going to have to keep me off the computer after a drink. That's probably the biggest key to it all.
But here, as I've said before several times, are 3 blogs one would be doing REALLY well to emulate:
The Joy of Curmudgeonry
An Insomniac
In Search of High Places
I'm sure Alex won't mind my saying this but things are a little quieter on ISoHP nowadays, as he is very busy with his studies, so Matt is kind of running both blogs (it seems).
Also this blog has lots of meat to it, lots of thinking, and with a really excellent comments policy and "system" too:
Crushed By Ingsoc.
There are lots of others too. I might update this post as I think of them, but I'm off for some maths now.
UPDATE MONDAY: Despite tangling briefly with this blog's author a year or so ago, and despite the fact that this blog is incredibly well known I had managed to completely avoid To Miss With Love. In this case the blog itself is wonderful, although the comments boxes aren't always. But it ought to go on or near my list of brilliantly civilised things to read.
I wonder if the two sides (and there are pretty much two, though there are fuzzy lines and overlaps) are gearing up for a bigger confrontation, another battle for the spirit of the hour? My ex-alter ago, Jim Callaghan once said that every thirty years or so the political landscape shifted and you just got caught in it (or something similar): I think this time, with less popular engagement, the activists (including the bloggers) don't need to appear friendly or consolidating. They can fight among themselves with as much ideological purity and logic as they can muster and whoever emerges the more powerful will carry the rest of the country anyway.
Logic is an interesting element of ultra-modern politics: we are seeing it taken to the ends of rational thought, for the development of rational thought; and if a view is not rational, it is harmful, and if it is harmful, it must disappear. I've always been struck by that phrase of Goldstein (via O Brien, via the narrator, via Orwell): "the general hardening of outlook that set in around 1930", and I can't help thinking that we're heading for another one. Not so physically violent, obviously, but with a violence of attitude and treatment of opponents, with simplistic ideas about what is in people's heads, and how the world should be run.
I've always disagreed with the views of some that there is bullying and aggression in the blogosphere...but I am coming round to this view now. Aggression more than bullying perhaps. Ideological aggression. Debate, in the sense of people with differing views, is being elbowed out by shrieking and abuse.
And I've done my little bit to stoke all this rubbish too. I can't complain about that. I suppose I would say I was a little naive, but I've watched with mounting horror recently the consequences of it, and I think it is more than time for me to stop my part in it.
Every so often i wonder if I should change tack: I think I will. I enjoy blogging, that is the sole reason I do it; I sometimes enjoy political discussion, but less and less. I am going to turn TTD back into what it started as: a vehicle for my thoughts, not a platform, and -
believe it if you dare -
I really am fed up with swearing. I've done it too much, too poorly. It does nothing at all.
So expect from NuTTD:
1) randomness
2) silliness
3) Doctor Who
4) cricket
5) fiction
6) fantasy
7) literature
8) whatever else takes my fancy.*
* expressed in varying tones, but without swearing or aggression.**
**Alright. This is a pledge, an aspiration. Not a promise.
Somehow, also, you are going to have to keep me off the computer after a drink. That's probably the biggest key to it all.
But here, as I've said before several times, are 3 blogs one would be doing REALLY well to emulate:
The Joy of Curmudgeonry
An Insomniac
In Search of High Places
I'm sure Alex won't mind my saying this but things are a little quieter on ISoHP nowadays, as he is very busy with his studies, so Matt is kind of running both blogs (it seems).
Also this blog has lots of meat to it, lots of thinking, and with a really excellent comments policy and "system" too:
Crushed By Ingsoc.
There are lots of others too. I might update this post as I think of them, but I'm off for some maths now.
UPDATE MONDAY: Despite tangling briefly with this blog's author a year or so ago, and despite the fact that this blog is incredibly well known I had managed to completely avoid To Miss With Love. In this case the blog itself is wonderful, although the comments boxes aren't always. But it ought to go on or near my list of brilliantly civilised things to read.
Friday, 15 August 2008
SATS Fuck Up Cleaned Up: No Casualties
Well thank fuck for this.
In other news:
British people cancel contract with "inept, bossy, arrogant" government.
British government cancels contract with "disloyal, selfish, ungrateful" people, claims "they will just never get the project of total surveillance".
CCTV camera walks out on country road, cites "disagreement" with motorists.
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I couldn't see his face".
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I did see his face but i'm only a mass of metal and plastic so I can't be expected to arrest someone now can I."
Ronaldo fails to move to Madrid, cites own "greed" and "idiocy" as reasons.
CCTV camera "not to blame" for theft, burglary, assault, GBH: claims "It's really hard to get a good look from this angle".
Evenings get darker: UK insists "it's the latitude, gov".
CCTV camera "scores result" in thrown apple-core case. "We got the bastard" it says, as high-fives with DNA database.
Pissed bloke gets hangover: curry "to blame".
Police officer sues member of public, cites "unrealistic expectations" of arrest of scumbag for crime. LATEST: arrests member of public, cites "Public Order Act" in case of looking at public servant "wrong way".
CRB form fails to prevent murder, whinges "well he was clear".
Bears cancel contract with "unhygenic, poorly maintained" public toilets, set to sign new deal with "woods".
Pope cancels agreement with Richard Dawkins, claims "not the deal I thought I was signing up for". Dawkins to sue for breach of contract.
Eggs reveal non-ovaristic origin, claim "we come from outer space".
Lifeboat operatives save life: disciplined for breach of H&S rules.*
*Yes: inevitably, this is true.
In other news:
British people cancel contract with "inept, bossy, arrogant" government.
British government cancels contract with "disloyal, selfish, ungrateful" people, claims "they will just never get the project of total surveillance".
CCTV camera walks out on country road, cites "disagreement" with motorists.
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I couldn't see his face".
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I did see his face but i'm only a mass of metal and plastic so I can't be expected to arrest someone now can I."
Ronaldo fails to move to Madrid, cites own "greed" and "idiocy" as reasons.
CCTV camera "not to blame" for theft, burglary, assault, GBH: claims "It's really hard to get a good look from this angle".
Evenings get darker: UK insists "it's the latitude, gov".
CCTV camera "scores result" in thrown apple-core case. "We got the bastard" it says, as high-fives with DNA database.
Pissed bloke gets hangover: curry "to blame".
Police officer sues member of public, cites "unrealistic expectations" of arrest of scumbag for crime. LATEST: arrests member of public, cites "Public Order Act" in case of looking at public servant "wrong way".
CRB form fails to prevent murder, whinges "well he was clear".
Bears cancel contract with "unhygenic, poorly maintained" public toilets, set to sign new deal with "woods".
Pope cancels agreement with Richard Dawkins, claims "not the deal I thought I was signing up for". Dawkins to sue for breach of contract.
Eggs reveal non-ovaristic origin, claim "we come from outer space".
Lifeboat operatives save life: disciplined for breach of H&S rules.*
*Yes: inevitably, this is true.
Thursday, 14 August 2008
It's Not My Fault!
One of the most vivid characters in modern literature, though it is a book with many faults (120 pages of the author spouting junk being the most egregious), is Jim Taggart out of Atlas Shrugged. In fact he is not a character at all, but an extended snivel, a drawn out length of snot from humanity's flu-stricken nose.
What is only slightly more subtle in the novel is how his grasping desire for control and containment is sheltered by his noisy throat-clearing compassion. Each and every act of "mooching" is covered by the right vocabulary: of fairness, the "little guy", of chance, of opportunity.
His ultimate act of compassion, the apotheosis of his care, is to watch a man on a torture device: at which point Jim collapses, presumably from the weight of his own internal contradictions.
I wonder if I could play him in the forthcoming movie, although i am surprised such a project is being considered (I do hope they aren't making it with any subsidy or tax-breaks).
It is a disturbingly gripping novel for such an extended political moan: I usually loathe polemics, and books which (as they frequently do) go on and on about THAtcher get thrown in the bin in the Drummer-house, so it is a bit unusual for me to like this book so much. I think, because, ultimately, there are so damn few books in which the leftists are the unadultered villains: in 99% of art the left is the good side, the subsidy-vampires the nice blokes, the believers in a certain type of equality the really beautiful people, that this book stands out massively.
And sometimes, yes, you do like to see your worldview for once reinforced by art instead of slammed by it.
But Jim Taggart is more than a villain: he isn't competent enough to be a villain, though he causes enough evil, and occasionally willingly so. It is because in the annals of villains he is so thoroughly unwilling to acknowledge himself as a villain that the problem occurs: few villains go through literature without exposure, without catharsis of one kind or another, without total destruction or without being a conscious vehicle for evil. Jim Taggart's whining love of good marks him out as peculiar in the halls of literary ghastliness. A special type of evil is his, that takes loves of humanity as its starting point.
The book is clear on the point that Jim Taggart has no love, through what it drives his girlfriend to (I can't remember if she marries him or not); but this is needless and mere propagandising by Rand. It is clear regardless of this woman that Taggart is a scumsucking lowlife, and that it is a strange kind of hollowed out, emotionless love, that makes him so.
It is a vaguely obvious point: love is a human emotion, not a rational point of view. You can't love something as amorphous and unknown to you as humanity. You can only love people.
Though having said that, the book is equally clear on the point that you can love money, and railways. Although this is a cheap shot: these loves are really shown to be a kind of self-love, which is really no more than self-respect: from which societies are ultimately derived.
Don't know if I follow that, as such.
But fuck me I really do not like the shrieking harridan Jim Taggart, with his constant proclamations of innocence, his seizure of other people's wealth and ultimately genius, his harping, whinging, moaning and carping, his treatment of individuals as sources of his own influence and power, all neatly parcelled in the thin wrappings of compassion.
I can't help thinking I've heard of people like this awful harpie elsewhere, somewhere recently....
Fuck me the book is 645 000 words according to Wikipedia. And I've read it 3 times, including all the John Galt stuff. That's nearly 2 000 000 words i can never get back. But I don't mind. i'd've only listened to Radio 4 or gotten pissed or something instead (and yes I was sober when i read it, all 3 times).
What is only slightly more subtle in the novel is how his grasping desire for control and containment is sheltered by his noisy throat-clearing compassion. Each and every act of "mooching" is covered by the right vocabulary: of fairness, the "little guy", of chance, of opportunity.
His ultimate act of compassion, the apotheosis of his care, is to watch a man on a torture device: at which point Jim collapses, presumably from the weight of his own internal contradictions.
I wonder if I could play him in the forthcoming movie, although i am surprised such a project is being considered (I do hope they aren't making it with any subsidy or tax-breaks).
It is a disturbingly gripping novel for such an extended political moan: I usually loathe polemics, and books which (as they frequently do) go on and on about THAtcher get thrown in the bin in the Drummer-house, so it is a bit unusual for me to like this book so much. I think, because, ultimately, there are so damn few books in which the leftists are the unadultered villains: in 99% of art the left is the good side, the subsidy-vampires the nice blokes, the believers in a certain type of equality the really beautiful people, that this book stands out massively.
And sometimes, yes, you do like to see your worldview for once reinforced by art instead of slammed by it.
But Jim Taggart is more than a villain: he isn't competent enough to be a villain, though he causes enough evil, and occasionally willingly so. It is because in the annals of villains he is so thoroughly unwilling to acknowledge himself as a villain that the problem occurs: few villains go through literature without exposure, without catharsis of one kind or another, without total destruction or without being a conscious vehicle for evil. Jim Taggart's whining love of good marks him out as peculiar in the halls of literary ghastliness. A special type of evil is his, that takes loves of humanity as its starting point.
The book is clear on the point that Jim Taggart has no love, through what it drives his girlfriend to (I can't remember if she marries him or not); but this is needless and mere propagandising by Rand. It is clear regardless of this woman that Taggart is a scumsucking lowlife, and that it is a strange kind of hollowed out, emotionless love, that makes him so.
It is a vaguely obvious point: love is a human emotion, not a rational point of view. You can't love something as amorphous and unknown to you as humanity. You can only love people.
Though having said that, the book is equally clear on the point that you can love money, and railways. Although this is a cheap shot: these loves are really shown to be a kind of self-love, which is really no more than self-respect: from which societies are ultimately derived.
Don't know if I follow that, as such.
But fuck me I really do not like the shrieking harridan Jim Taggart, with his constant proclamations of innocence, his seizure of other people's wealth and ultimately genius, his harping, whinging, moaning and carping, his treatment of individuals as sources of his own influence and power, all neatly parcelled in the thin wrappings of compassion.
I can't help thinking I've heard of people like this awful harpie elsewhere, somewhere recently....
Fuck me the book is 645 000 words according to Wikipedia. And I've read it 3 times, including all the John Galt stuff. That's nearly 2 000 000 words i can never get back. But I don't mind. i'd've only listened to Radio 4 or gotten pissed or something instead (and yes I was sober when i read it, all 3 times).
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
Why Should You Be Free From Intrusion?
OVer at Iain Dale's place a debate is sort of going on about liberties, especially as they are affected by CCTV. Tom Harris MP makes the basic point, asking us exactly how our liberties are affected by the cameras?
Well, in true NuLab or progressive style, I would say that this is a simplistic question and that the answer is fairly complicated.
Firstly, we need to acknowledge that we have consented over the past 15 years or so, to being watched in public. By government and by private companies and even by private individuals. It is perfectly true, i think, to say that there is no real public demand to abolish them. I think some people do feel safer with the cameras around. But then this is no reason not to make the case against them, or to challenge the view that they are a good in our society. It is merely to state the obvious: that we have devolved control over our communities to faces behind screens, that we have given up on a police officer being able or willing to prevent crime, that we want to feel there is an authority looking over us.
I frequently do claim to speak for others on this blog, but today I'll settle for speaking for myself: I have never thought that a CCTV camera protected me: I have often thought that if I were mugged, it might help catch the perpetrator. I don't see it as a crime prevention device at all: how can a camera stop a crime? Especially if all you need to do is wear a hoody to escape its attentions?
Unfortunately I don't look good in hoodies and am probably the only person in the world who looks worse in dark glasses, so those aren't really options for me.
Being watched by the state, or whoever, as you proceed about your lawful business, makes a basic assumption: that crime will occur, and that you might do it. This differs from a copper on the beat in that they look for evidence of possible or potential crime, and look to make citizens feel safer - especially if they are known the community, as used to be common. A camera is just there to see you. The widespread presence of CCTV on our streets is a testament to the automatic mistrust our leaders and authorities have of us. Street to street, corner by corner, you are always on the verge of committing an offence. Step into a shop and you might be a thief. Get on a bus and you might slash the seats. Always the surveillance and always the justification "you have nothing to fear if you've done nothing wrong".
But does the citizen have the right to proceed privately in a public space, or does going out make you concede that you should be observed by the state (and others)? At the moment i think most of us would probably agree that if you step out in public, you lose that right to privacy you might have at home. I can see the force of that. There is no right to privacy in public.
But that simply means there is no right not to be seen: it does not automatically confer on anyone the right to suspect you of a crime (and when you put CCTV alongside the DNA database this ideology can be seen to be building rapidly).
Therefore I think it is a kind of de-citizenisation. It encourages you to believe that you need to be watched - for your own good; it encourages authorities to believe you need to be watched - for their own good; and it is a testimony to the view that crime can only be dealt with after it has occurred, and certainly not prevented.
This government, and others of its hue, along with its bedfellows in universities and in organisations such as Canada's Human Rights Commissions, is not simply interested in crime as such - though that it is, as it has created many of them and thereby made it much harder to be a law abiding citizen - but in appropriateness, "helpfulness", language and ideology. The movement towards criminalising things the authorities simply disapprove of, such as speech, is strong and will only increase towards the end of this government. That is, it cares about what is in your mind. It wants you to think what it thinks is right. About certain religions, human sexuality; about its specific and ideologically based notions of "hate".
CCTV makes the job of enforcing such desires much, much easier. Cameras exist that shout at people. Cameras that can hear cannot be far away. There is really is nothing stopping the extensive network of cameras being used to police conversations between individuals. It will take only the political will. And with the political will there to create various databases, tracking your movements for your entire life, with your DNA taken for being wrongfully arrested, with cautions for fighting at the age of 13 turning up on CRB checks thirty years later (as does happen incidentally) - why would you doubt that the political will is there?
The will is already there to use cameras to enforce parking regulations at 3am, to detect apple cores and cigarette butts being thrown onto the ground, to prosecute for leaving bin lids a little bit open: these are not authorities whose first motivation is to serve the public.
I would accept a charge of "alarmist" at this point. It seems fair enough. But then I am alarmed about it. And this is why I am saying so.
Well, in true NuLab or progressive style, I would say that this is a simplistic question and that the answer is fairly complicated.
Firstly, we need to acknowledge that we have consented over the past 15 years or so, to being watched in public. By government and by private companies and even by private individuals. It is perfectly true, i think, to say that there is no real public demand to abolish them. I think some people do feel safer with the cameras around. But then this is no reason not to make the case against them, or to challenge the view that they are a good in our society. It is merely to state the obvious: that we have devolved control over our communities to faces behind screens, that we have given up on a police officer being able or willing to prevent crime, that we want to feel there is an authority looking over us.
I frequently do claim to speak for others on this blog, but today I'll settle for speaking for myself: I have never thought that a CCTV camera protected me: I have often thought that if I were mugged, it might help catch the perpetrator. I don't see it as a crime prevention device at all: how can a camera stop a crime? Especially if all you need to do is wear a hoody to escape its attentions?
Unfortunately I don't look good in hoodies and am probably the only person in the world who looks worse in dark glasses, so those aren't really options for me.
Being watched by the state, or whoever, as you proceed about your lawful business, makes a basic assumption: that crime will occur, and that you might do it. This differs from a copper on the beat in that they look for evidence of possible or potential crime, and look to make citizens feel safer - especially if they are known the community, as used to be common. A camera is just there to see you. The widespread presence of CCTV on our streets is a testament to the automatic mistrust our leaders and authorities have of us. Street to street, corner by corner, you are always on the verge of committing an offence. Step into a shop and you might be a thief. Get on a bus and you might slash the seats. Always the surveillance and always the justification "you have nothing to fear if you've done nothing wrong".
But does the citizen have the right to proceed privately in a public space, or does going out make you concede that you should be observed by the state (and others)? At the moment i think most of us would probably agree that if you step out in public, you lose that right to privacy you might have at home. I can see the force of that. There is no right to privacy in public.
But that simply means there is no right not to be seen: it does not automatically confer on anyone the right to suspect you of a crime (and when you put CCTV alongside the DNA database this ideology can be seen to be building rapidly).
Therefore I think it is a kind of de-citizenisation. It encourages you to believe that you need to be watched - for your own good; it encourages authorities to believe you need to be watched - for their own good; and it is a testimony to the view that crime can only be dealt with after it has occurred, and certainly not prevented.
This government, and others of its hue, along with its bedfellows in universities and in organisations such as Canada's Human Rights Commissions, is not simply interested in crime as such - though that it is, as it has created many of them and thereby made it much harder to be a law abiding citizen - but in appropriateness, "helpfulness", language and ideology. The movement towards criminalising things the authorities simply disapprove of, such as speech, is strong and will only increase towards the end of this government. That is, it cares about what is in your mind. It wants you to think what it thinks is right. About certain religions, human sexuality; about its specific and ideologically based notions of "hate".
CCTV makes the job of enforcing such desires much, much easier. Cameras exist that shout at people. Cameras that can hear cannot be far away. There is really is nothing stopping the extensive network of cameras being used to police conversations between individuals. It will take only the political will. And with the political will there to create various databases, tracking your movements for your entire life, with your DNA taken for being wrongfully arrested, with cautions for fighting at the age of 13 turning up on CRB checks thirty years later (as does happen incidentally) - why would you doubt that the political will is there?
The will is already there to use cameras to enforce parking regulations at 3am, to detect apple cores and cigarette butts being thrown onto the ground, to prosecute for leaving bin lids a little bit open: these are not authorities whose first motivation is to serve the public.
I would accept a charge of "alarmist" at this point. It seems fair enough. But then I am alarmed about it. And this is why I am saying so.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
The Information
Look, my last act tonight before going to bed is this. For those of you getting here by googling about harsh fucking and cunts and stuff.
The post you are looking for is a satirical one about SENTENCING for EVIL CRIMES. It has nothing whatsoever to do with sex. My point was that SEVENTEEN YEARS for a BRUTAL, UNPROVOKED MURDER is not really THAT HARSH. The post is IRONIC and REALLY RATHER CONSERVATIVE. It was not intended as AN AID TO MASTURBATION.
So fuck off, will you? It's nothing to do with sex at all, but is instead, a comment on the crapness of a civilised society that cannot be arsed to punish murder unless there's a "hate" motive behind it.
(post is dated 29/3/08 if you're interested).
The post you are looking for is a satirical one about SENTENCING for EVIL CRIMES. It has nothing whatsoever to do with sex. My point was that SEVENTEEN YEARS for a BRUTAL, UNPROVOKED MURDER is not really THAT HARSH. The post is IRONIC and REALLY RATHER CONSERVATIVE. It was not intended as AN AID TO MASTURBATION.
So fuck off, will you? It's nothing to do with sex at all, but is instead, a comment on the crapness of a civilised society that cannot be arsed to punish murder unless there's a "hate" motive behind it.
(post is dated 29/3/08 if you're interested).
Life Goes..
As an aside, my CD version of "The First Picture of You" by the Lotus Eaters is currently being chopped away by my ancient crappy Tesco-stereo. It takes me at twenty times the speed, and with a tenth of the consolation, through that period of ten years ago, when every day was a challenge to prove that I did have a brain, even though I felt, as surely as I feel my feet upon the ground, that my head was empty. Eventually of course, with hearing quotes from Shakespeare in my laying down, and otherwise always feeling that I was plummeting into an infinite pit, I proved that it was indeed empty, as I had suspected.
Ten years: and nothing I've done since then in work or art that approaches the achievement of getting up each day of that week, putting on my suit & gown, daydreaming down to Exam Schools and picking up the pen.
I don't really care what you think at this point: I write it for the same reason I write everything or nothing: because I want to.
I vaguely remember a 15 year old Billie Piper singing something like that, soon after that week.
Ten years: and nothing I've done since then in work or art that approaches the achievement of getting up each day of that week, putting on my suit & gown, daydreaming down to Exam Schools and picking up the pen.
I don't really care what you think at this point: I write it for the same reason I write everything or nothing: because I want to.
I vaguely remember a 15 year old Billie Piper singing something like that, soon after that week.
Normal Service
Well it's very quiet round here. It always has been to some extent but I seem to have reached an impasse in terms of getting people over to read my stuff. I don't really mind, I like being sort of on my own anyway and I write this more for myself than anyone else, but you'd still like a few more Sitemeter clicks - anyone would. I seem to get almost all visitors via CBI and I'm still getting people here who've googled "harsh fuck". I get a few foreigners, Americans mainly, but no big deal. Most click throughs are still some kind of robot I suppose.
I like to write what I like to write but I don't have much of a stomach for the big net rows that kick off on the bigger sites, though I enjoy reading them. Maybe that's the reason I've failed to win any kind of readership. Also I'm pretty inconsistent: I didn't post much in July for example but not working at the moment, I'm flooding the two blogs with drivel.
I wonder if CtS can get a better consistency (the other blog, Completing the Square - click on the link at the side): that after all, is not supposed to be drunk, or swearing, or random, just thoughts on A Level maths. Yes it's pretty specialised but it might get a more regular readership.
Ho hum.
It looks like it might be a nice afternoon. I can't get the gym to pick up the phone.
I wonder if I might go for a walk instead?
I can't sit here blogging all day, that's for sure.
I like to write what I like to write but I don't have much of a stomach for the big net rows that kick off on the bigger sites, though I enjoy reading them. Maybe that's the reason I've failed to win any kind of readership. Also I'm pretty inconsistent: I didn't post much in July for example but not working at the moment, I'm flooding the two blogs with drivel.
I wonder if CtS can get a better consistency (the other blog, Completing the Square - click on the link at the side): that after all, is not supposed to be drunk, or swearing, or random, just thoughts on A Level maths. Yes it's pretty specialised but it might get a more regular readership.
Ho hum.
It looks like it might be a nice afternoon. I can't get the gym to pick up the phone.
I wonder if I might go for a walk instead?
I can't sit here blogging all day, that's for sure.
Monday, 11 August 2008
Ovaltine For The Soul
This morning I woke up after yet more feverish dreams (I have been having these a lot lately, not sure why - illness hangover possibly) and decided to hightail it from BackofBeyond, Glos, to The Oval for the last day's cricket of 2008. Test cricket, that is. It was one of those rare occasions where the 5th day is meaningful (ok ok the series was lost but the match was in the balance).
So 4 hours of car & train and there I was, in this beautiful, calm stadium. £15 on the door - not bad at all. Cricket is often accused of being white, or middle class: well I clocked loads and loads of ethnicities there today: an old West Indian guy sat in the seat below me, greeting me warmly ("how y'a doing, alreet?") and an Asian family occupied the four seats to his left: loads of other types of people came in: people in suits, in patkas (not as a tribute to Monty, but for real), wearing skullcaps, in veils.
Yes alright I'm making a fuss of this but that is because we always hear this crap about cricket in this country, that only privileged whites like it: today told you in a broad saaf Laandan accent, that this view is a load of old cobblers.
Also the atmosphere was great: from being greeted by the West Indian guy to the people around me who were happy to chat, to the Saffers who passed by without any abuse or pisstaking: the atmosphere was just for good sport, that was all.
"nee trouble, mate, I divven't want nee trouble" - you often read this in Viz!! Well there was "nee fuckin' trouble" today, that's for sure.
And England won, which helped: and Fred hit a 6 to win, which was even better. But to feel so relaxed so far from home (I am so parochial these days), at what could have been (and was, for a little bit) a tense sporting occasion: to feel free to enjoy the sport in the company of others who wanted the same - was just great.
Oh and a word about the Barmy Army. As readers of this blog might recall I used to be part of this organisation. They have been great, supporting England all over the world.
But today they were twats. Why, guys, why the blinking flip did you start damnfool Mexican waves, chants and hollers of "woooo" when the match was at its only delicate moment: with England at 147-4 and wickets going down and new batsmen in and the conditions dodgy: all the ingredients for thrilling, absorbing cricket; why did you start all that bloody stupid arsing about? It couldn't possibly have helped England and it might have put them off.
Leave all that for when its 364-1, or restrict yourselves to just cheering good shots, clean blocks and near misses, eh? Not when the bowler's steaming in at 90mph with the match (nearly) at stake.
Great day, great sport (Cook was outstanding - that boy is a real talent; Ntini bowled brilliantly; umpiring seemed pretty good from where I was ((Peter May stand)); shame about the trains, but never mind.
So 4 hours of car & train and there I was, in this beautiful, calm stadium. £15 on the door - not bad at all. Cricket is often accused of being white, or middle class: well I clocked loads and loads of ethnicities there today: an old West Indian guy sat in the seat below me, greeting me warmly ("how y'a doing, alreet?") and an Asian family occupied the four seats to his left: loads of other types of people came in: people in suits, in patkas (not as a tribute to Monty, but for real), wearing skullcaps, in veils.
Yes alright I'm making a fuss of this but that is because we always hear this crap about cricket in this country, that only privileged whites like it: today told you in a broad saaf Laandan accent, that this view is a load of old cobblers.
Also the atmosphere was great: from being greeted by the West Indian guy to the people around me who were happy to chat, to the Saffers who passed by without any abuse or pisstaking: the atmosphere was just for good sport, that was all.
"nee trouble, mate, I divven't want nee trouble" - you often read this in Viz!! Well there was "nee fuckin' trouble" today, that's for sure.
And England won, which helped: and Fred hit a 6 to win, which was even better. But to feel so relaxed so far from home (I am so parochial these days), at what could have been (and was, for a little bit) a tense sporting occasion: to feel free to enjoy the sport in the company of others who wanted the same - was just great.
Oh and a word about the Barmy Army. As readers of this blog might recall I used to be part of this organisation. They have been great, supporting England all over the world.
But today they were twats. Why, guys, why the blinking flip did you start damnfool Mexican waves, chants and hollers of "woooo" when the match was at its only delicate moment: with England at 147-4 and wickets going down and new batsmen in and the conditions dodgy: all the ingredients for thrilling, absorbing cricket; why did you start all that bloody stupid arsing about? It couldn't possibly have helped England and it might have put them off.
Leave all that for when its 364-1, or restrict yourselves to just cheering good shots, clean blocks and near misses, eh? Not when the bowler's steaming in at 90mph with the match (nearly) at stake.
Great day, great sport (Cook was outstanding - that boy is a real talent; Ntini bowled brilliantly; umpiring seemed pretty good from where I was ((Peter May stand)); shame about the trains, but never mind.
Saturday, 9 August 2008
It Used To Be Cold
Before all sorts of weird things happened...it used to be cold here, and we used to wear huge coats, big black ones, with zips central and side, with fake fur hoods and necks: we called them parkas. They were the hallmark of a sort of cool geek in the early to mid 80s, while we were still not quite sure if we'd ever see 18, if the clowns who ran the world would one day make all those alarm games and practice routines real. You see, if you were four, five or six in 1981 then you might have the echo of an air raid siren as part of your bored thoughts, or even dreams. Yes - they did test the sirens then, the same rising and falling intonation as was used in WWII because a) people knew it and b) it was easy to make and c) it was as scary as fucking hell. It made kids shit their pants, and adults think "what the fucking fuck?" and made grandparents shit their fucking pants. Of course it did.
No fucking about ends of the world in 2080 or 2100 or some other bullshit time:
1983
1984
today
tomorrow.
Whenever.
Now plus four minutes.
Nineteen Eighty Four.
No really, they did test air-raid sirens in 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984, and so on. It was a sound we heard, in shadow, in darkness. We only heard it as fear as we grew with our Transformers. But we did hear it, we did know the world would end: we did know it. I challenge anyone of 30 or more to tell me they really did not know the world might at end at now + 4 mins.
I certainly did.
And I was born in November 1976.
I always knew it. Cruise missiles hovered in my dreams from 7 onwards: the fear of total destruction from a year or so later. I did. I did think of it - people think that I am lying (they always think that I am lying).
We heard it as the sun went down. No wonder all those twats with dope and stuff made no impact on us.
"No, really, mate - it's the end of the world."
"Ah..don't talk shite, ya fooking bastaad, yey"
"No. Really. Four Minutes. That's it."
And so on. I was only seven or eight.
And they tell us modern kids are less innocent. How much less innocent can you get than knowing the world might end at 4 minutes' notice?? And - fuck you, you arrogant cunts, yes we did know it, we really did, we did know it, or I did anyway, I did know it.
How much more guilty were we, clinging onto childhood, at the end of childhood? We were the last, when the tunnels were built and the film of 1984 was being made amid the shattered remnants of the Docklands. Jesus, man, we were all going to die, and we knew it: they knew it: we all knew it.
We just never talked about it.
About nuclear fusion and prompt neutron radiation, and uranium tampers and high kiloton range yields, and, worse, megaton yields from massive uranium tampers in frankly minor fusion devices where the yield turns out to be basically fast fission.
We don't talk about it now.
Just as well.
Or we'd never have got this far.
The innocence of childhood - oh yes, I knew nothing of cunts, or disease, or abortion: but i knew a fair amount about the end of everything. How it would happen. How they would tell us. The rising and falling intonation.
Is it healthier to know how to get an abortion or to know how the world ends, at the age of 11?
Are my endless weird thoughts just oddments of subatomic strangeness in my head (poor electrons!!!)? Is there a non-world? Is there a this-world, where i never did exist? Do I exist in a trillion odd worlds, where I -and the world -took different decisions at each nano-second of my life?
They claim to be less innocent: it was we, who now teach them, who knew that the world might end. We who went home and played in 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984. We played. We knew it.
You never get over childhood anxieties.
You never do.
Freud never examined a generation born and brought up in such a world. If he had -he'd've diagnosed us all as mad as fucking cunts.
Now we run the world. Or the brightest and maddest of us all do. The rest of us just get pissed. Like me. It's the best i have to offer this world. My getting pissed. Yeah! It's the least harm my nuclear-anxieties offer.
Ruth & Jimmy out of Threads - yesterday.
edited a little because the alternative was to delete the whole thing! I have lock my computer away when I have had a few jars, I really do. Especially if I've spent part of the previous day looking up nuclear weapons on wikipedia. I saw a really good video last week about the Valiant by the way, which showed Operation Grapple in colour - fascinating stuff.
No fucking about ends of the world in 2080 or 2100 or some other bullshit time:
1983
1984
today
tomorrow.
Whenever.
Now plus four minutes.
Nineteen Eighty Four.
No really, they did test air-raid sirens in 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984, and so on. It was a sound we heard, in shadow, in darkness. We only heard it as fear as we grew with our Transformers. But we did hear it, we did know the world would end: we did know it. I challenge anyone of 30 or more to tell me they really did not know the world might at end at now + 4 mins.
I certainly did.
And I was born in November 1976.
I always knew it. Cruise missiles hovered in my dreams from 7 onwards: the fear of total destruction from a year or so later. I did. I did think of it - people think that I am lying (they always think that I am lying).
We heard it as the sun went down. No wonder all those twats with dope and stuff made no impact on us.
"No, really, mate - it's the end of the world."
"Ah..don't talk shite, ya fooking bastaad, yey"
"No. Really. Four Minutes. That's it."
And so on. I was only seven or eight.
And they tell us modern kids are less innocent. How much less innocent can you get than knowing the world might end at 4 minutes' notice?? And - fuck you, you arrogant cunts, yes we did know it, we really did, we did know it, or I did anyway, I did know it.
How much more guilty were we, clinging onto childhood, at the end of childhood? We were the last, when the tunnels were built and the film of 1984 was being made amid the shattered remnants of the Docklands. Jesus, man, we were all going to die, and we knew it: they knew it: we all knew it.
We just never talked about it.
About nuclear fusion and prompt neutron radiation, and uranium tampers and high kiloton range yields, and, worse, megaton yields from massive uranium tampers in frankly minor fusion devices where the yield turns out to be basically fast fission.
We don't talk about it now.
Just as well.
Or we'd never have got this far.
The innocence of childhood - oh yes, I knew nothing of cunts, or disease, or abortion: but i knew a fair amount about the end of everything. How it would happen. How they would tell us. The rising and falling intonation.
Is it healthier to know how to get an abortion or to know how the world ends, at the age of 11?
Are my endless weird thoughts just oddments of subatomic strangeness in my head (poor electrons!!!)? Is there a non-world? Is there a this-world, where i never did exist? Do I exist in a trillion odd worlds, where I -and the world -took different decisions at each nano-second of my life?
They claim to be less innocent: it was we, who now teach them, who knew that the world might end. We who went home and played in 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984. We played. We knew it.
You never get over childhood anxieties.
You never do.
Freud never examined a generation born and brought up in such a world. If he had -he'd've diagnosed us all as mad as fucking cunts.
Now we run the world. Or the brightest and maddest of us all do. The rest of us just get pissed. Like me. It's the best i have to offer this world. My getting pissed. Yeah! It's the least harm my nuclear-anxieties offer.
Ruth & Jimmy out of Threads - yesterday.
edited a little because the alternative was to delete the whole thing! I have lock my computer away when I have had a few jars, I really do. Especially if I've spent part of the previous day looking up nuclear weapons on wikipedia. I saw a really good video last week about the Valiant by the way, which showed Operation Grapple in colour - fascinating stuff.
Thoughts on BB & Sport
Clearly posts like the previous one would be unnecessary in a society based on the principles of Ingsoc, since there would be no competing entertainments to Ingsoc itself.(By the way Orwell today reports discovering a snake on the drive.)
But it's kind of interesting to posit this kind of world as a thought experiment to those of us who find it difficult to imagine a world in which the past does change so regularly and so brazenly: if you were at work the day after a Test Match with your cricket following mates, and you had read about BB's startling innings of 252 not out, you and your mates would be compelled to recall the flashing square cuts, the exemplary cover drives, the hook for six off Morkel, etc and you would recall the mustachioed old boy treating the bowling with disdain, while you talked, and poor old KP's century would be ignored.
Put it this way and the bizarre horror of the mutable past becomes clearer (to me at least) - we're probably more used to arguing vigorously over sport than politics, so if you suddenly had a party line to follow...say over what a lovely place China was...
But it's kind of interesting to posit this kind of world as a thought experiment to those of us who find it difficult to imagine a world in which the past does change so regularly and so brazenly: if you were at work the day after a Test Match with your cricket following mates, and you had read about BB's startling innings of 252 not out, you and your mates would be compelled to recall the flashing square cuts, the exemplary cover drives, the hook for six off Morkel, etc and you would recall the mustachioed old boy treating the bowling with disdain, while you talked, and poor old KP's century would be ignored.
Put it this way and the bizarre horror of the mutable past becomes clearer (to me at least) - we're probably more used to arguing vigorously over sport than politics, so if you suddenly had a party line to follow...say over what a lovely place China was...
Friday, 8 August 2008
BB DayOrder No94
Comrades! Blog TinDrum has been attacked!!! Crimethinker has posted cricketwise!!! Comrades, this is plus unIngsocful - BB himself writed that cricketspeak was crimespeak.
Cricketspeak is death, comrades. Be fullwise this openmindful.
Death it is, comrades, this is doubleplusclear. But Kevin Pietersen is plusgood. Comrades I am plushearful: you speak - "but Kevin Pietersen is cricketful! How can KPspeak be goodspeak?"
Comrades, be restful and thinkful. Blackwhite shows partymembers that good is badful oftimes. Today KP shows goodful side of crimethinking cricket. He is runful, comrades - but not too runful.
He is goodthinking: he knows BB must always be topscoreful so he crimestops at 100. He is full of Ingsocprinzip: unthinking the last ball; being ware that doubleplusungood bowling is, needfulwise, good bowling; unGraemeSmithing the South African innings.
Comrades! BB hopes you all saw BB's own innings today!! Doubleplusgood! BB's innings - in accordance with the principles of Ingsoc - was cut and driveful, sixful and unchanceful. BB's record 200 has set Airstrip One up for CERTAIN VICTORY South Africa-wise!!! The Test Match is measurable distance endwise!!!
Scorecard: Airstrip One 553
Strauss 6
Cook 39
BB 252*
Bell 26
Pietersen (c) 100
Collingwood 61
Ambrose 4
Broad 1
Harmison 49
Anderson 15
Panesar 0
Cricketspeak is death, comrades. Be fullwise this openmindful.
Death it is, comrades, this is doubleplusclear. But Kevin Pietersen is plusgood. Comrades I am plushearful: you speak - "but Kevin Pietersen is cricketful! How can KPspeak be goodspeak?"
Comrades, be restful and thinkful. Blackwhite shows partymembers that good is badful oftimes. Today KP shows goodful side of crimethinking cricket. He is runful, comrades - but not too runful.
He is goodthinking: he knows BB must always be topscoreful so he crimestops at 100. He is full of Ingsocprinzip: unthinking the last ball; being ware that doubleplusungood bowling is, needfulwise, good bowling; unGraemeSmithing the South African innings.
Comrades! BB hopes you all saw BB's own innings today!! Doubleplusgood! BB's innings - in accordance with the principles of Ingsoc - was cut and driveful, sixful and unchanceful. BB's record 200 has set Airstrip One up for CERTAIN VICTORY South Africa-wise!!! The Test Match is measurable distance endwise!!!
Scorecard: Airstrip One 553
Strauss 6
Cook 39
BB 252*
Bell 26
Pietersen (c) 100
Collingwood 61
Ambrose 4
Broad 1
Harmison 49
Anderson 15
Panesar 0
The Orwell Diaries
Tomorrow these go online, published as a blog at The Orwell Diaries. If nothing else, they will be a masterclass in tight, clear expression. I would rather read Orwell on chickens than modern academics on the major issues of the day.
Read 'em.
Read 'em.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
The Tenth Planet
I've just seen this for the first time (still recuperating from guts issues) and all I can say is - wow. This is a taut thriller with some great perfomances and, to my mind, a tragic descent of a hard but reasonable man into madness - through love.
And the Cybermen are so human in this, you know there is a decaying human skull under the cloth, and their voices give the impression of wanting to hold onto something - musical, tuneful, something almost beautiful. Mondas - the satire of earth, with its progeny that are very similar to us. IN this, at least, they are almost logical, whereas in later serials they develop concepts of revenge, anger, delight and even fear (watch the Cybermen trying to escape from the exploding mineral stuff at the end of Attack of the Cybermen).
There is a fair amount of crap to do with Z bombs and radiation but really - this is fantastic television. William Hartnell is great and although Part IV is done as telesnaps and clips, the regeneration is just brilliant. With him being out of part III too, something is building up - like Logopolis, but more subtly. You get a powerful sense of confusion and fear: he is old, he's been in that body for hundreds of years (unlike his later selves), he knows nothing else, he's never regenerated before and the process perhaps looks and feels like death. The strangeness of the moment is the same, for the only time, for the Doctor and the audience. What a moment, when the show's original star hands over to Patrick Troughton. It brought a lump to my throat 42 years later.
And the Cybermen are so human in this, you know there is a decaying human skull under the cloth, and their voices give the impression of wanting to hold onto something - musical, tuneful, something almost beautiful. Mondas - the satire of earth, with its progeny that are very similar to us. IN this, at least, they are almost logical, whereas in later serials they develop concepts of revenge, anger, delight and even fear (watch the Cybermen trying to escape from the exploding mineral stuff at the end of Attack of the Cybermen).
There is a fair amount of crap to do with Z bombs and radiation but really - this is fantastic television. William Hartnell is great and although Part IV is done as telesnaps and clips, the regeneration is just brilliant. With him being out of part III too, something is building up - like Logopolis, but more subtly. You get a powerful sense of confusion and fear: he is old, he's been in that body for hundreds of years (unlike his later selves), he knows nothing else, he's never regenerated before and the process perhaps looks and feels like death. The strangeness of the moment is the same, for the only time, for the Doctor and the audience. What a moment, when the show's original star hands over to Patrick Troughton. It brought a lump to my throat 42 years later.
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
Addendum
While I'm on the subject of myself, having just reclaimed my identity, I would like to mention something. On Monday, during my tragic descent into guts-ache, I had the fortune to visit some friends around the area of Winchcombe. I'd like to make it clear that most people in this area are very friendly and welcoming. And that where we eat was great, with super food, etc.
However.
At least one person there took exception to the idea that a family might eat together, in a civilised fashion, in a restuarant. Today we have social problems of vast importance: family breakdown, parents and children at each others' throats, lack of communication, problems with diet....
so you'd expect people to be delighted to see a family eating with their young children and expecting good manners from them, you know, demanding pleases and thank yous, etc, etc.
Au contraire. In the minds of some of the Great British Public, that a child should be seen - much less heard - in public is still offensive.
And no, there was no screaming, shouting, running about, or anything else that could rationally be construed as offensive. Just children being happy and eating with mummy and daddy.
If we do want to do something, anything about our social problems in this country, we could do worse than encourage families to eat together, in situations where they are expected to behave well, rather than get all nineteenth century on their ass....no?
However.
At least one person there took exception to the idea that a family might eat together, in a civilised fashion, in a restuarant. Today we have social problems of vast importance: family breakdown, parents and children at each others' throats, lack of communication, problems with diet....
so you'd expect people to be delighted to see a family eating with their young children and expecting good manners from them, you know, demanding pleases and thank yous, etc, etc.
Au contraire. In the minds of some of the Great British Public, that a child should be seen - much less heard - in public is still offensive.
And no, there was no screaming, shouting, running about, or anything else that could rationally be construed as offensive. Just children being happy and eating with mummy and daddy.
If we do want to do something, anything about our social problems in this country, we could do worse than encourage families to eat together, in situations where they are expected to behave well, rather than get all nineteenth century on their ass....no?
Hallelujah
It's actually a nice afternoon and I'm feeling a bit better! Yay.
However, I have managed to find no way of making the normal distribution exciting, intriguing or even comprehensible, so I am carefully avoiding it. If any of my reader who's done stats would like to explain (in the customary words of fewer than or equal to one syllable) it then I'd be grateful.
Having switched from Pure to Stats in my maths studies, I've noticed this interesting effect: I find Stats incredibly boring. And I was advised to choose Stats over Mechanics on the basis that it was more relevant. Huh.
This proves that relevance is not and should not be a criterion for education.
Mind you, having said that, I am convinced that it was my purchase of "Imagining Numbers" by Barry Mazur that sent me into this guts-ache in the first place: I still have no idea what the square root of minus 1 may or may not be, and i am on p170. Also despite being inordinately pleased with myself for being able to complete the square on the quadratic, I took one look at the equation for the cubic in this book and fell over. To think I had been merrily factorising cubics and all along there was this...monster lurking beneath.
I've gone back to reading children's books.
I still fancy completing the square a bit though...a little bit of dy/dx...simultaneous quadratics...areas under curves...equations of tangents and normals...polynomials...*sigh*. For me it is that I can see little, if any, practical use for much of this (though of course I am assured that there is loads) - I do it because it makes my brain work and because it is fun. Copying normal distribution tables out of the back of the textbook is neither of those things. And I am not doing A Level Maths to read - or WRITE - sentences!!! I was utterly gobsmacked to see questions telling me to write sentences to explain stuff!!
ps - if you are afraid of equations, or are of a sensitive intellectual disposition, look away now:
..and that, I believe, only gives you part of it.
However, I have managed to find no way of making the normal distribution exciting, intriguing or even comprehensible, so I am carefully avoiding it. If any of my reader who's done stats would like to explain (in the customary words of fewer than or equal to one syllable) it then I'd be grateful.
Having switched from Pure to Stats in my maths studies, I've noticed this interesting effect: I find Stats incredibly boring. And I was advised to choose Stats over Mechanics on the basis that it was more relevant. Huh.
This proves that relevance is not and should not be a criterion for education.
Mind you, having said that, I am convinced that it was my purchase of "Imagining Numbers" by Barry Mazur that sent me into this guts-ache in the first place: I still have no idea what the square root of minus 1 may or may not be, and i am on p170. Also despite being inordinately pleased with myself for being able to complete the square on the quadratic, I took one look at the equation for the cubic in this book and fell over. To think I had been merrily factorising cubics and all along there was this...monster lurking beneath.
I've gone back to reading children's books.
I still fancy completing the square a bit though...a little bit of dy/dx...simultaneous quadratics...areas under curves...equations of tangents and normals...polynomials...*sigh*. For me it is that I can see little, if any, practical use for much of this (though of course I am assured that there is loads) - I do it because it makes my brain work and because it is fun. Copying normal distribution tables out of the back of the textbook is neither of those things. And I am not doing A Level Maths to read - or WRITE - sentences!!! I was utterly gobsmacked to see questions telling me to write sentences to explain stuff!!
ps - if you are afraid of equations, or are of a sensitive intellectual disposition, look away now:
..and that, I believe, only gives you part of it.
Another Target Book, Yesterday
The best of 'em all. For me it was the Dalek POV stuff that did it. Wow.
I think it is Ben Aaronovitch's brother who writes utter drivel for the Times, mainly NuLab lickspittle stuff: well they should get Ben to do it. He could write from Brown's POV.
Target
As I think i have mentioned before, Norm is perhaps the greatest blogger on these islands. He posts with intelligence, wit, verve and tolerance - above all tolerance, the quality that is draining from political and cultural and even scientific discourse like blood from an English batsman's face. I plead guilty of course to being wretchedly intolerant; this tends to make up for my physical and moral weaknesses. But at least I've never told anyone I'll delete their comments if they don't share my views, unlike this clown. (I don't mean DK by the way). Heh - what if we'd heard this in late nineteenth century central Europe:
The debate on Newtonian physics is over. Newtonian scepticism is a morally indefensible position. All "skeptics" are trying to do is spread fear and doubt about Newtonian mechanics.
Actually I think some people did try it but luckily Albert just ignored them.
By the way, in British ufology, "sceptic" means a gentle agnostic type, and "skeptic" means a reverse Fox Mulder who does not want to believe. It sort of takes advantage of the UK and US spellings.
Anyway. Back to Norm. And WotN is the brilliant author Adele Geras, and DotN is the brilliant poet Sophie Hannah, how cool is that. I bet they play fantastic games of scrabble.
Norm posts, while on the idea of government targets for the Olympics thusly:
It's hard to believe I read this, but new legislation now forbids England's cricketers from dropping catches, and all batsmen down to number six in the batting order are to average at least 45 runs per Test innings.
Yes, well, I don't agree there, Norm. You see we have had a voluntary code of practice now since 1877 and I think we can all see that it is not working. We have cricketers being bowled round their legs, caught at point, hooking their first ball off a fast bowler, bowling their first delivery straight to first slip, dropping catches in frankly inconceivable ways, and it is all doing tremendous damage to society. We are reaching a point where people's first reaction to the idea of cricket will be to laugh. And think of the cost to the ECB over the years of this grandstanding incompetence, this binge-failing. No - the time is right for legislation to act in the best interests of cricket and society in general. As part of the legislation we will create the Cricket Commission, headed by Dame Suzi Leather, Lisa Jardine, or someone else with links to NuLab but no interest in or specialised knowledge of cricket at all.
Well anyway. When I was a child, Target was a wonderful word, which implied that there were Doctor Who books that i could buy (Target was the paperback imprint of WH Allen, which published 150 odd novelisations of Doctor Who over twenty odd years). I loved that word, and I loved its connotations: the discovery in the shop, the gentle flick through, the couple of hours of blessed silence on my own devouring this (to me) wholly new adventure of the Doctor. Now, it implies government driven standards, for me and others compulsorily to achieve, enforced by government apparatchiks under the bizarre language twisting labels of "entitlements" and "rights". I find, more often than not, that a child's story will contain nuggets of something: linguistic flair, unusual construction, description, whatever - that was not part of the initial brief. Traditionally I've ignored the brief and concentrated on the genius of the child's work. Now, we're actually ratcheting up the target culture, being endlessly focused, judging the work of infinite imaginations on narrow sets of criteria. It is the managerialising of creation. It doesn't matter how kindly you put it, or how many vivid colours you use on the child's work: it's come down from business and management and it is being stamped, like the boot, on the faces of those who actually do have an insight into life - namely, children.
A Target novel - yesterday
You can tell by this semi-plagiaristic waffle that i am still poorly and feeling sorry for myself. I have not eaten a meal now in 38.75 hours and my guts are still churning like I have just eaten a massive curry at that place Viz always used to promote.
The debate on Newtonian physics is over. Newtonian scepticism is a morally indefensible position. All "skeptics" are trying to do is spread fear and doubt about Newtonian mechanics.
Actually I think some people did try it but luckily Albert just ignored them.
By the way, in British ufology, "sceptic" means a gentle agnostic type, and "skeptic" means a reverse Fox Mulder who does not want to believe. It sort of takes advantage of the UK and US spellings.
Anyway. Back to Norm. And WotN is the brilliant author Adele Geras, and DotN is the brilliant poet Sophie Hannah, how cool is that. I bet they play fantastic games of scrabble.
Norm posts, while on the idea of government targets for the Olympics thusly:
It's hard to believe I read this, but new legislation now forbids England's cricketers from dropping catches, and all batsmen down to number six in the batting order are to average at least 45 runs per Test innings.
Yes, well, I don't agree there, Norm. You see we have had a voluntary code of practice now since 1877 and I think we can all see that it is not working. We have cricketers being bowled round their legs, caught at point, hooking their first ball off a fast bowler, bowling their first delivery straight to first slip, dropping catches in frankly inconceivable ways, and it is all doing tremendous damage to society. We are reaching a point where people's first reaction to the idea of cricket will be to laugh. And think of the cost to the ECB over the years of this grandstanding incompetence, this binge-failing. No - the time is right for legislation to act in the best interests of cricket and society in general. As part of the legislation we will create the Cricket Commission, headed by Dame Suzi Leather, Lisa Jardine, or someone else with links to NuLab but no interest in or specialised knowledge of cricket at all.
Well anyway. When I was a child, Target was a wonderful word, which implied that there were Doctor Who books that i could buy (Target was the paperback imprint of WH Allen, which published 150 odd novelisations of Doctor Who over twenty odd years). I loved that word, and I loved its connotations: the discovery in the shop, the gentle flick through, the couple of hours of blessed silence on my own devouring this (to me) wholly new adventure of the Doctor. Now, it implies government driven standards, for me and others compulsorily to achieve, enforced by government apparatchiks under the bizarre language twisting labels of "entitlements" and "rights". I find, more often than not, that a child's story will contain nuggets of something: linguistic flair, unusual construction, description, whatever - that was not part of the initial brief. Traditionally I've ignored the brief and concentrated on the genius of the child's work. Now, we're actually ratcheting up the target culture, being endlessly focused, judging the work of infinite imaginations on narrow sets of criteria. It is the managerialising of creation. It doesn't matter how kindly you put it, or how many vivid colours you use on the child's work: it's come down from business and management and it is being stamped, like the boot, on the faces of those who actually do have an insight into life - namely, children.
A Target novel - yesterdayYou can tell by this semi-plagiaristic waffle that i am still poorly and feeling sorry for myself. I have not eaten a meal now in 38.75 hours and my guts are still churning like I have just eaten a massive curry at that place Viz always used to promote.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Cricketspeak
At the risk of offending BB (see post below), I have decided to write on cricket anyway as I am poorly and feeling sorry for myself. So I am propped up in bed and listening to the rain.
England's performances since the latter part of 2005 have, in the main, been dire, inadequate, or simply mediocre. The one good Test series, in my view, was the 2006 Pakistan series, won (now) 2-0: Strauss was an effective and efficient captain who led from the front: Panesar and Harmison put together a couple of good bowling performances and Chris Read looked to be getting his batting together.
Then, of course, the selectors took the bizarre decision to hand the captaincy to Andrew Flintoff, and to bring back Geraint Jones, and the rest is history. Since then England have generally beaten poor sides and been exposed by good ones.
I don't understand the unfolding narrative of "playing like millionaires" - a statement that usually means England's batsmen flash their bats like video game swords and nick the ball to slip or wicketkeeper. It implies a genius hampered by an unpredictability. In reality this is not the case: England's batsmen struggle to judge the lines of deliveries, seem uncertain when to play, are unable to play themselves into a long innings. None of this is new: over the past 20 years batting averages have risen to such an extent that each of the major test nations now have one more player who averages 50, and 40 is no longer the guarantee of a class player, as it used to be - England have been largely immune from this (KP averages exactly 50); in addition, since 1991 there have been only 7 scores over 200 by England players (Gooch, Hussain, Thorpe, Trescothick, Key, Collingwood and Pietersen). England have failed to produce any players of consistent world class with the bat.
Or the ball. Hoggard, Harmison, Panesar - all average over 30. Caddick and Gough averaged about 28. You have to go back to Bob Willis to find an England bowler who took loads of wickets at a very good average.
In short - the technical ability of England players is not improving, nor is their mental strength. Ian Bell's brilliant 199 was a case in point. He spent a very long time in the 190s, advancing through streaky singles, and it was clear to me at the time he'd be out before 200. Players, time and again, get into a position where they could, with technical and mental application, dominate the opposition, but throw it away. As if they are frightened of the possibility of success - it is easier to fail and think of the excuses than it is to come close to success and know that the only thing that stood between you and success was yourself.
After the Ashes debacle of 2006-07 the Schofield report was supposed to set out a blueprint for the development of English cricket. Instead it shows all the flaws of early twenty first century Britain. We got a report (good, we always need more reports) more layers of management (also good: promotes efficiency and accountability, and we got rid of David Graveney (which seemed odd to me). Net effect: the bizarre selection of Darren Pattinson.
There is also a limit to how long you can argue that you have a team in transition, and when you have to admit that your players are simply not of a high enough class. England cricket has too many players who fair to middling, and part of the problem (I suspect) faced by the managers and leaders of cricket, is that the players coming through are also....not quite good enough.
A depressing thought, but I am not sure I see any evidence to the contrary.
ooh...my guts are churning again....
England's performances since the latter part of 2005 have, in the main, been dire, inadequate, or simply mediocre. The one good Test series, in my view, was the 2006 Pakistan series, won (now) 2-0: Strauss was an effective and efficient captain who led from the front: Panesar and Harmison put together a couple of good bowling performances and Chris Read looked to be getting his batting together.
Then, of course, the selectors took the bizarre decision to hand the captaincy to Andrew Flintoff, and to bring back Geraint Jones, and the rest is history. Since then England have generally beaten poor sides and been exposed by good ones.
I don't understand the unfolding narrative of "playing like millionaires" - a statement that usually means England's batsmen flash their bats like video game swords and nick the ball to slip or wicketkeeper. It implies a genius hampered by an unpredictability. In reality this is not the case: England's batsmen struggle to judge the lines of deliveries, seem uncertain when to play, are unable to play themselves into a long innings. None of this is new: over the past 20 years batting averages have risen to such an extent that each of the major test nations now have one more player who averages 50, and 40 is no longer the guarantee of a class player, as it used to be - England have been largely immune from this (KP averages exactly 50); in addition, since 1991 there have been only 7 scores over 200 by England players (Gooch, Hussain, Thorpe, Trescothick, Key, Collingwood and Pietersen). England have failed to produce any players of consistent world class with the bat.
Or the ball. Hoggard, Harmison, Panesar - all average over 30. Caddick and Gough averaged about 28. You have to go back to Bob Willis to find an England bowler who took loads of wickets at a very good average.
In short - the technical ability of England players is not improving, nor is their mental strength. Ian Bell's brilliant 199 was a case in point. He spent a very long time in the 190s, advancing through streaky singles, and it was clear to me at the time he'd be out before 200. Players, time and again, get into a position where they could, with technical and mental application, dominate the opposition, but throw it away. As if they are frightened of the possibility of success - it is easier to fail and think of the excuses than it is to come close to success and know that the only thing that stood between you and success was yourself.
After the Ashes debacle of 2006-07 the Schofield report was supposed to set out a blueprint for the development of English cricket. Instead it shows all the flaws of early twenty first century Britain. We got a report (good, we always need more reports) more layers of management (also good: promotes efficiency and accountability, and we got rid of David Graveney (which seemed odd to me). Net effect: the bizarre selection of Darren Pattinson.
There is also a limit to how long you can argue that you have a team in transition, and when you have to admit that your players are simply not of a high enough class. England cricket has too many players who fair to middling, and part of the problem (I suspect) faced by the managers and leaders of cricket, is that the players coming through are also....not quite good enough.
A depressing thought, but I am not sure I see any evidence to the contrary.
ooh...my guts are churning again....
Saturday, 2 August 2008
BB DayOrder No.42
Comrades, why does ingsoc require reality-control? Ingsoc needs reality-control because of crimethink.
Comrades, BB is loveful party-wise, but BB is ungoodfeeling when InParty Comrades fail history-wise. Comrades, remember that history is partythink, and so history is changeful; days are onetime sunny and onetime rainy: this is needful. Why is it needful? It is needful because comrades are plusforgetful. Comrades crimethink weatherwise doubleplusdayful!! So, comrades, you must blackwhite weatherwise, and recall fullwise and speedwise doublethink. Some days, comrades, exist hotwise and coldwise. It is BBthinkwise, comrades - no weather exists outside BBthink.
Some oldthinking comrades say "a day is hotful" - these comrades are plusungood and must be unpersoned. But, comrades, needfulwise, a day may be hotful and coldful, if BB decides weatherwise.
No reality outBBwise, comrades!!!! Goodthink thiswise. Goodthink leads BB-wise and BB-wise thinks lead life-wise, comrades!
BB
ps - BB thinks are drawn drinkwise by plusungood reports of Outparty members falling floor-wise, vomiting, and crimespeaking BB. Comrades, remember fullwise that alcohol causes oldthink, sexcrime and unbellyfeeling Ingsoc, alcohol also causes unbellyfeeling food and drink, which ungoodwise shows Outparty members. Comrades! Crimedrink is activity unpersonwise!!! Be Fullminded thiswise!
pps- BB attention is also drawn cricket-wise. This is crimesport, comrades. Cricketspeak is death. Let no Partyman or Partywoman cricketspeak. Cricket is an unsport.
Comrades, BB is loveful party-wise, but BB is ungoodfeeling when InParty Comrades fail history-wise. Comrades, remember that history is partythink, and so history is changeful; days are onetime sunny and onetime rainy: this is needful. Why is it needful? It is needful because comrades are plusforgetful. Comrades crimethink weatherwise doubleplusdayful!! So, comrades, you must blackwhite weatherwise, and recall fullwise and speedwise doublethink. Some days, comrades, exist hotwise and coldwise. It is BBthinkwise, comrades - no weather exists outside BBthink.
Some oldthinking comrades say "a day is hotful" - these comrades are plusungood and must be unpersoned. But, comrades, needfulwise, a day may be hotful and coldful, if BB decides weatherwise.
No reality outBBwise, comrades!!!! Goodthink thiswise. Goodthink leads BB-wise and BB-wise thinks lead life-wise, comrades!
BB
ps - BB thinks are drawn drinkwise by plusungood reports of Outparty members falling floor-wise, vomiting, and crimespeaking BB. Comrades, remember fullwise that alcohol causes oldthink, sexcrime and unbellyfeeling Ingsoc, alcohol also causes unbellyfeeling food and drink, which ungoodwise shows Outparty members. Comrades! Crimedrink is activity unpersonwise!!! Be Fullminded thiswise!
pps- BB attention is also drawn cricket-wise. This is crimesport, comrades. Cricketspeak is death. Let no Partyman or Partywoman cricketspeak. Cricket is an unsport.
See You, for CBI
CBI doubts my thinking over the similarity between Depeche Mode's "See You" and Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart".
Well then he is wrong, despite his encyclopaedic knowledge of music.
for the synth refrain in "See You" goes: dum, de-dum DumDum, dum de-dum DumDum
(is the best way I can put it - you hear it about three times during the track)
and the close of Love Will Tear Us Apart (ok, not the middle, or beginning, admittedly) goes: er...ok well it isn't the same but goddammit it is very similar indeed; I am surprised anyone who knows the two tracks can't place the similarity.
Yes alright, egg on musical face...
Well then he is wrong, despite his encyclopaedic knowledge of music.
for the synth refrain in "See You" goes: dum, de-dum DumDum, dum de-dum DumDum
(is the best way I can put it - you hear it about three times during the track)
and the close of Love Will Tear Us Apart (ok, not the middle, or beginning, admittedly) goes: er...ok well it isn't the same but goddammit it is very similar indeed; I am surprised anyone who knows the two tracks can't place the similarity.
Yes alright, egg on musical face...
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