Saturday, April 29, 2006

The Nanny State

Normally a phrase which gets me as cross as, "it's Political Correctness gone mad!" (Invariably applied to a subject which has nothing whatsoever to do with "Political Correctness")
But how else to describe the leaflet produced by the NHS in Dundee telling you, "How to Do Your Number Twos?"
And no mention, surprisingly, of the Ĺ“uvre of Ben Schott, either.
I'd say this should be more widely available. A Podcast (or, for the elderly a Senna Podcast) of Patricia Hewitt herself reading the instructions to ease the mind while easing the bowels.
I feel an email coming on...

Dicky Is Re-Colonising This Space

In much the same way as this fascinating story, which I find, in an odd way one of the most encouraging stories I've ever read.
For all the fear of environmentalists, nature is so astonishingly resilient.
Mind you, if even John Prescott can manage to mate...

The Horror, The Horror

No, it's not just thinking about John Prescott doing jiggy-jiggy.

Or even the competence of the FA trying to find a new head coach. (Charles Clarke might be worth a bet though, he'll be looking for a new job soon, I suspect.)

No, it's the thought of living here

Quiz Question: which band is represented by the picture above?


Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Dicky's Daily Ditty

In view of my recent neglect of this blog it has to be 'Another Girl, Another Planet' by the Only Ones.
For the simple reason I've been spending some of the time I should have been devoting to you, Dear Reader, on Another Girl, especially the Jodie Marsh and Jamie Foxx Sex Shock (They didn't: that's the shock) or Another Planet. and if you want to know my first impressions of the inhabitants of the other world...


I must apologise to my regular readers (though not to the irregular one: you know who you are) for the lacuna.
In my defence, may I say that there is rather less of Dickie than there was before the gap. Not a huge amount less, but nonetheless, there is a part of Dicky which is no longer a part of Dicky.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

True Romance

"Oh my God! Preston's engaged again."
"Sweet, innit?"
"Innit? They gonna get married?"
"Well, they're engaged."
"It'll be wicked if they get married."
"Yeah, wicked."
"Well wicked."
"Yeah, well wicked."
Etc. Ad infinitum.
Dicky had the misfortune to develop a serious Celebrity Big Brother habit earlier this year.
It involved some pretty awful experiences. George Galloway's erotc cat. George Galoway in general. Frequent glimpses views of parts of Pete Burns one would much rather not see. Even that affront to any reasonable person's sensibilities, Jodie Marsh! But nothing, I repeat nothing, caused me quite as much distress a slistening to the two lovebirds attempting to converse. Their linguistic skills would be a disgrace in ten year olds.
"Wicked, innit?"
"Well wicked."
That's them in their more articulate moments. Now I can understand, to a certain extent, why Chantelle pretended to be even more stupid and ignorant than she actually is: she genuinely didn't know what a gynaecologist is, say, and pretended to think Dundee was in Wales so she can say, "I'm putting it on, playing the cute ditzy role because people think it's cute."Now I don't think ignorance is admirable: the only reason nowadays for lack of knowledge is laziness. But at least she has the excuse she is pretty thick, so pretending to be extremely thick isn't too much of a jump.
But for the prospective husband, who went to university (admittedly he didn't graduate, but he got in, which requires, even today, a glimmer of intellect.) A man who, it slipped out in the show, thinks of himself primarily as a lyricist, and has written an unpublished book, surely he could consruct a sentence?
The problem is, he wants to be famous. His careful study of popular culture had shown him what the audience for Big Brother want. They don't want cleverness, but they want a cute romance.
So he gave the audience what they wanted. I remember the look on his face when, having already looked devastated when he hadn't won, he saw his girlfriend's face and realised he'd destroyed the relationship. The act had turned into reality.
And today, splashed all over the tabloids, Preston and Chantelle announce their engagement. Purely by coincidence on the same day that her new TV show launches (her, for heavens sake, presiding over make up advice! The one who looks like a kid who's raided mom's make up bag wihtout permission.)
There may be those who think they are sweet. "I'm living the dream!" was the scripted line she was given to say on leaving the Big Brother house.
I don't call it living the dream: I'll leave the precise word to you, dear reader, but I'd call them both "someone who has sex for money."

That's The Way To Do It!

Now, if you were paying attention earlier, you might have encountered someone who tried to impress by being an anarchist collective of Media Studies Students. Personally if I were trying to impress I'd go for something more demanding than "I can't be bothered with books, can I have a degree for watching Deal or No Deal?" BA, but that's just me.
But I can't but help having a sneaking admiration for the phoney in today's 'Times'. "Living the Dream?"

Saturday, April 08, 2006

The New Lennon

Some people are getting themselves into a tizzy over the fact that Pete Doherty is supposed to have claimed to be the new John Lennon. (Actually he didn't: an interviewer made the suggestion and he replied, "that sounds good" but let's not get caught up with facts.) And the irate response is, "how dare that junkie compare himself to John Lennon.
There is a teensy flaw in that argument. I was quite surprised to read this in a biography of Lennon: (so surprised that I memorised it) "for the last ten years of his life rarely a day passed without him using a drug, mostly heroin, usually several."
It's perhaps too much to say that the last decade of Lennon's life was wasted, but he certainly was for most of it.
I'm not a great believer in the e idea of role models. If someone makes me laugh or sings a song well they've done their job as far as I'm concerned, and how they spend the rest of their time is their business.
But I'll make something of an exception for the Beatles: they achieved a level of global fame unknown before and rarely if ever equaled since, and they chose that fame to actively promote the use of drugs.
I don't condemn anyone for using drugs personally, but I do find it weird that someone should be considered unfit to be compared to a man who used drugs copiously, advocated their use, and ended up addicted to heroin because, "they're a junkie!"

Barry Scott is Evil

A lot of people, including one of my favourite bloggers, Lubin Odana think that it's fun. There's a remix of the ad theme, tee shirts, all sorts. But, no matter how subtle and clever the advertising is, it is still advertising. And this particular advertising campaign has included one truly disgusting gaffe.
From now on, when I want to refer to a cleaning product I'll adopt the form "one of the many other cleaning products which work just as well as the over-hyped Cillit Bang".

Friday, April 07, 2006

If You Could Be Anyone...

One of the attractions of the internet is the anonymity: we all expect Bigdong Bloodaxe to be a weedy, bespectacled 14 year old. A simple act of wish fufilment akin to Master Derek recounting his sexual exploits with his harem of lovers, all of whom have identical prose styles.
Sometimes people change their ISP, and instead of reregistering everywhere as Gladys they become Penelope, and make a fresh start. Certainly if you're recounting using crack and heroin it's wiser not to give your real name and address.
If you're playing an RPG the whole point is to create a persona, be it Everquest or Second Life. But using a pseudonym always involves to some extent creating a persona. If someone discusses Dr Who signing themselves 'Adric' their cumulative posts create a sort of identity, and an expectation. If the person who was Adric changes their mind, and decides that the best Dr Who actor wasn't Peter Davison after all, but Colin Baker, Adric might become 'Mel'.
And, of course, there's banning. If 'KarlMarx' is banned from a forum, it's very easy for 'Groucho' to sign up a couple of days later and express similar views.
Who, for example, would wish to adopt the persona of a middle aged man with a dodgy spleen, questionable pancreas and the lower digestive tract from Hell, along with the libido of a giant panda and a love courgette which fully unfurls once a decade or so? Obviously a hip and trendy chap in his early thirties who shags his way through the babes of Notting Hill like a rabbit on Viagra. Obviously.
Now bearing in mind that one could claim to be absolutely anybody I recently encountered the most magnificently bathetic claim imaginable...
"I'm not really a single loony: I am (wait for it) a group of Media Studies students and I'll (Sorry we, there's lots of us really, honest) write an essay about you!" Scary! Dicky is all a-quiver. Honestly, if you're going to pretend to be anybody, why on earth Media Studies Students? It's like, "yeah, I've got a really glamorous job, it's er, roadsweeper.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

How Many Anarchists...

does it take to make an "anarchist collective"? More than one, I'd say. (To my devoted, if somewhat deranged, reader, can't you club together and get a bigger monitor? That little one's a dead giveaway it's you.)

Saturday, April 01, 2006

"Skanky Ho"?

Now Dicky's the first to admit he doesn't dangle with de yoot in his hood, or even in his trilby, and he most certainly couldn't tell one end of his nang from his butters. But the phrase, "skanky ho" which he has come across several times lately (usually, it must be said, in conjunction with Jodie Marsh [above]) has a certain charm.
It sounds rather nautical, and I imagine it being used something along the lines
Captain: Can you see anything from up on the rigging, boy?
Sailor: Nothin' clear, sir.
First Mate: Cap'n, you'd best know, some of the men are beginnin' to whisper...
Captain: If I hear any whispers I'll clap 'em in irons.
Sailor: Skanky Ho! Skanky Ho!
Captain: Splice the mainbrace and twiggle the mainspliff, we've got a skanky ho astern!
First Mate. That'll keep the men happy tonight.

Please don't bother correcting me if I'm wrong. I'm perfectly happy with my meaning for the phrase.

Full Jodie Marsh updates are available on Jodie Marsh's Suitcase. (Writ Pending?)