I realize this isn’t a very fashionable viewpoint, but what do you expect from such a deeply unfashionable man?, as much of a slave to fashion as my last carers, here were slaves to morality (and cleanliness and thinking about it, fashion) – anyway, I’m not going to get into attacking those b*stards today, they should be in jail but they have run back to Bangladesh, Morons.
Anti-elitism has hit the headlines again after a total bell-end swam in front of the boatrace and basically was lucky not to get decapitated.
The fact that I’m even talking about it shows that sadly any sort of publicity stunt, no matter how stupid, does appear to work in the same way as the Go Compare adverts
are memorable in proportion to how awful they are. What can I say, apart from F*** F***ETY F***?
Awful things become awfully popular as long as they are publicised – The X factor, Olly Murrs, Big Brother, Chris Moyles,
Snow Patrol or f*cking Snow Patrol, actually the addition of f*cking to any one of those things is appropriate.
Before I get to my unfashionable subject, this week for me has mainly been about being in hospital again. Well, I think the procedure went as well as could be expected. They got the pictures of my brain they wanted and I lived, it’s the implications that scare me, whenever they work them out. I was expecting a general anaesthetic but they gave me a local so some pain, a bit more conscious indignity and less chance of slipping beneath the waves. Even though I was having this procedure done on my private medical insurance, one night in hospital is pathetically deleterious to my sh*tty energy and crushed spirit. Kipping on a floor in the past didn’t used to be a problem but now being away from home for one poxy night, it’s like being checked into the world’s worst hotel for the price, floor 15 (the top floor) of Charing Cross Hospital
where they have slightly nicer lino. I don’t know what it is but the atmosphere for a patient in a hospital is threatening, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but you feel helpless, at the mercy of everyone. Luckily, I was inducted by a kind nurse called Penny (if only ‘inducted’ was a euphemism) and then a friend came to see me. I’ve said it before but a visit from a friend when you are feeling supremely vulnerable is just the best thing so to my college mate Helen VJ thank you so much. I then proceeded to have a very poor night’s sleep in preparation for being got up at 7 for this thing that was scaring the sh*t out of me and I can’t even rant about the hospital food because I was ‘nil by mouth’. What an electrically happy combination of circumstances?
So the next day (Tuesday) I may have been woken up at 7 but was there any sign of this procedure happening? Was there f*ck. I eventually got taken to be prepped at midday where I found out I was to be conscious instead of knocked out. Mixed feelings to this news. You’re pretty sure you’re not going to die but you know it will hurt. On balance I think that’s good. I have no idea how long it lasted – too long but the staff were all very nice. The high point of this truly awful experience, and it was blighted by having to have my groin shaved in front of them (about 10 people). But before I move on to moan about something else (I hate to moan but that’s this weeks theme) I just want to say I can’t fault the manner of the Angiographer Bryn Jones and the Glaswegian bloke operating the space age machine.
Do you see a little why this is quite scary? Once it was over and I was rolled back to my room, I was pleasantly surprised by the arrival of one of my good Samaritans Anna who had driven up from Portsmouth
–what a nice thing to do! Seeing a friendly face after an experience like that is a big help.
I am still going to bang on about Elitism. Elitism has become a dirty word in the last few years. Now ‘snooty’ elitism which is about excluding someone from getting power, jobs, money or fair treatment on a narrow reading of their merits is utter nonsense, for example what the Sunni Muslims seem to think they have a right to do to the Shia majority in Bahrain and in other parts of the middle East makes me mad, but ‘hero of the left’ Billy Bragg
also made me mad this week. He was recently talking about how Politicians at the top across parties in this country didn’t have enough ‘life experience’ to be making decisions that affect people’s lives. Bollocks to you Billy Bragg, that’s like expecting my neurologist to have had a stroke before anything he says is valid – such a ridiculous point of view. He was going on about how people like David Cameron, George Osborne, Ed Balls and Ed Miliband doing PPE at Oxford doesn’t qualify them as people with enough life experience to understand how their decisions affect the ‘common man’. As someone who did PPE at Oxford let me confirm it qualifies you for f*ck all but let me also just say it makes me confident that the people making the decisions are at least smart enough to understand the mountain of things that go into making these decisions – I am glad such complicated decisions are in the hands of intellectual elites and not the common man, who is best left to watching football, fighting
and eating pies from Greggs
–if the working classes can make such sweeping generalisations about being posh (and they do) it can be given back. I wonder how that’ll be interpreted by the bleeding hearts and the more vociferous (usually people who enjoy the trappings of being middle class but fancy themselves as working class champions)
Anyway, I enjoy a good stereotype (who doesn’t and who takes themselves so seriously as to not see the truth in a lot of social generalisations?), any resulting arguments are likely to be lively, just as long as no bitterness, resentment or personal attacks result – I don’t shy away from arguments but I don’t have it in me to bat away personal attacks in quite the way I once could. It has also been particularly painful that my active pursuit of finding a partner is apparently deeply unattractive and I quote:
"there is nothing more unattractive than someone who's desperate for a partner”.
I don’t give a sh*t how true this is but it’s sometimes better to shut up, as one of Tim Minchin’s songs goes ‘sticks and stones may break my bones my bones, but words can break hearts’....’only a ginger, can call another ginger, ginger’
... etc...Oh well, going to see an American comedian described as ‘irreverent, brutally honest and opinionated’ tonight ought to level me out. I’m sure Doug Stanhope’s dulcet, soothing tones will be just the ticket. Gary,
my housekeeper is taking me. As a man who speaks his mind, this should be right up his street. if you want boring touchy feely beige whale song you’ve come to the wrong place.
Actually, while I’m here, I can report that Stanhope was superb. It must be pretty tough for a non-household name US comic to do a 40 day UK tour because how you pack out regional venues I don’t know, however in London obviously quite a lot of people know who he is and London is home to loads of Septics (Tanks –Yanks) so the Apollo was pretty full.
Anyway, like a lot of comics he wasn’t for the faint hearted, but I thought he was outstanding. He literally just stood there and RANTED.
But intelligently, not just purely angrily, like someone like Rhod Gilbert. For example, Stanhope’s de-construction and ridicule of the whole ‘occupy wall street’ movement was rib-cracking poetry, and he was not scared of being crude. His diatribe on the invitation American Football trousers give to those of a perverted persuasion
was one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. FACT. Better still, my housekeeper Gary, who had been an inspired 11th hour replacement was howling with laughter (so much so I was concerned considering he’s a man who’s had bypass surgery before) –anyway, he and Gwen have made my morning by surprising me with eggs, bacon and beans which given how racy my diet has to be was Manna from heaven. Legends. Anyway, best get back to being deeply unattractive.
