Fancy looking stupid?

Last week I was invited to a fancy dress party. A Halloween fancy dress party. Obviously under normal circumstances this would be no problem. I would have lied and said I was busy, lied and said I was going and not shown up or gone but steadfastly refused to dress up. However, these were not normal circumstances. This involved my girlfriend's mates. And their fellas. No escape. I have no go.

So, I tried the option of not dressing up. Why is it whenever you try this you end up being faced with the weakest argument in existence? Something along the lines of 'well, everyone else will be dressing up so you will be the one who looks stupid'.
No. The fat guy dressed in a ripped t-shirt and painted green will look stupid. The office-joker on his day off, dressed as a woman and telling anyone who will listen that, hilariously, he has come as 'A Mummy' will look stupid. I will not.
Still, even faced with an argument of such weakness I still failed, got called a miserable bastard and was told I have to go and have to dress up.

So basically I have a week to find a Halloween costume. No ideas yet. But this did get me thinking. In terms of fancy dress parties (a crime in themselves) what is the bigger crime? A really shit costume or a really good one? Is it better to make an effort or to make it clear you have made no effort at all?

In my mind it is undoubtedly the latter. Going to these things is bad enough, but making too much of an effort is merely encouraging it to happen, it gives acceptance to something that should never be accepted. And especially with a format as tired as Halloween, where all the girls will just go as so-called 'Sexy Witches', and compete to look good, whereas the men will try to look as hideous as possible. Where's the fun there? Surely better to go along with the idea of fancy dress in the loosest possible sense (very obviously sellotape two bolts to each side of your neck for example, or wrap some Andrex around your normal everyday clothes). Then you have fulfilled all 'obligations' and can enjoy the party for what it ultimately is. A chance to get drunk with a load of people on the cheap on a Saturday night that coincides (loosely) with a Pagan festival that noone really knows much about.

1970s sitcoms

Not exactly a standard entry but something I was thinking about while I hoovering yesterday. I hate hoovering and its far too dull to write about so it qualifies.

I actually really like 1970s sitcoms. Even as a kid I was fascinated by them, and still watch them on UK Gold (exactly the same episodes of course) to this day. What does this suggest? That every TV programme made between 1980 and the present day simply isn't good enough? That true TV comedy genius died with Leonard Rossiter? Or that they are very very cheap to show and that they will always guarantee the nostalgic viewer?

One thing that is certain is that you don't see sitcoms like that now. Ones that have tried to follow the formula (dinnerladies, The Thin Blue Line) are needless to say a total embarrassment. Why is this? I am honestly at a loss.

All I can do is offer my 10 Golden Rules of 1970s sitcoms:

1. Try to get one of the following on board: Rossiter, Barker, Bryers, O'Sullivan, Jason. This might be tricky these days. Try to look for modern alternatives.
2. 'Accidently' lose a few episodes. This will come in handy in about 25 years when you want to generate some more interest.
3. If an actor leaves/dies between series, never speak of them again.
4. Make an extra long episode, call it a film and guarantee repeats at Christmas for evermore. If you really want to you can even make a sequel (see 'Steptoe and Son Ride Again'. Though don't actually 'see' it obviously)
5. Forget political correctness. Political correctness has ruined comedy.
6. Catchphrases. Thread carefully. Include them, for as many regular characters as possible, but they are only any good if they are not annoying. If used properly they can carry an episode.
7. Running jokes (see catchphrases). For a model of success see the farting chair in The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin.
8. Have a setting and stick to it, no matter how improbable. And don't spend too much money on it. Cardboard walls will do nicely!
9. When going for characters, think extreme. A stupid character here, a fatty there, a regional stereotype or two can only add to your sitcom
10. A jolly theme tune, preferably with words. Everyone knows the theme to Dad's Army and Hi De Hi. Noone knows the theme to Babes in The Wood or Chalk. Or any of the jokes.

Happy sitcom making!

Henry VIII has a lot to answer for - but he'd be the only one answering

No this is not a post about the rotund wedding cake loving monarch. I am talking about call centres.

I hate call centres. I was offered a job working in a call centre once, when I was 21 and looking for a job after leaving University. The job was working for the Woolwich. In those days I rarely had any contact with call centres but I knew I wanted no part of them. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life at that point but I knew I didn't want to spend my life on the phone and I wanted nothing to do with the general public. I have never for one second regretted my decision. So, I speak of call centres from the 'outside'.

My latest experience of problems with call centres came earlier this year. I was having problems with my power provider (one based in the North of the UK). Basically they kept getting my 'Estimated' readings hopelessly wrong. However, when I called their 0845 number to tell them I would typically spend between 20 and (on one occasion) 90 minutes on hold. As a result I can no longer listen to Greensleeves without feeling physically sick.

So, after continuing this charade of attempted phonecalls daily for 2 weeks I received a letter telling me I had not paid. Well, clearly I have not paid. That is because IT IS WRONG! And apart from anything else I probably paid double the amount I was overcharged in listening to their premium rate jukebox. Is this their intention? I wouldn't like to say but I certainly said this and more to everyone I knew at the time.

Eventually I sent them an email. No response but at least the auto reply that came back didn't have a Greensleeves media file attached. 10 days later I sent another email. By this time remember I was complaining about the non-response to the email, the call centre and, by this time, the relatively unimportant matter of the wrong bill! After a while I recieved a phonecall saying that they would adjust the bill and give me £20 for my inconvenience. I suspect I have done badly out of this deal but I felt better. They had admitted that their call centre is terrible. A small victory but a victory nonetheless!

The funny thing is, given the nature of reports about call centres in recent times, is that this call centre is based in the UK, rather than India. If this is the standard of call centres based here then is there any wonder that the Indian alternative is more attractive (regardless of the obvious financial benefit to companies). Unfortunately I cannot comment on the competence of staff. You have to get through to them to do that.

Criminal Records

Last night I found myself (much to my surprise) watching the 100 Greatest Albums on Channel 4. I was surprised at this partly because it was repeat and I remember being furious watching it when it was on originally, but also because as a rule I hate programmes like this.

I don't mind so much the likes of favourite TV moments (though these are now becomming tiresome. You can only watch Del Boy fall through the bar or Basil Fawlty beating his car with a stick so many times) but its the music ones that get me riled. There seems to be so many of them, all voted for by the public, and they always end with any viewer with an ounce of intelligence despairing of said public.

They never fail to disappoint. Anything to do with singles or videos will have Bohemian bloody Rhapsody at number one, Angels by Robbie Williams top 5 and probably something reasonably good at about number 24, just so everyone can moan to their mates about how its a 'travesty that X was above Y' etc. The album ones are equally poor and generally end (as with this one yesterday) with the dull Radiodead topping the poll. Yawn

Anyway, after I eventually switched off the TV in disgust and went to bed it got me thinking about these shows, and what they are about. Basically, Channel 4 ask the public what they think, then tell us what we think. They spread it out over about 3 to 4 hours and pad it out by getting the likes of Jimmy Carr, Phill Jupitus and Justin Lee Collins to provide 'witty' comments. So simple, its possibly verging on genius. Unlike Radiodead, who wouldn't know genius if they were trapped in a lift with Einstein, Hawking and Mozart.

I aint no quitter!

I am a smoker. Since the age of around 15/16 I have smoked. Thats a commitment of over 10 years. Pretty impressive I am sure you will agree. I have been smoking longer than I have been in any job, any educational establishment or been with any woman.

Being an adult I realise the dangers of smoking. I hear about them on the news, I read in the papers, I read about them on fag packets themselves and, irritatingly, I hear about them from people. Over and over again. As if I have never heard it before.

Why do people feel the need to tell me about my health? I'm not bothering them. I don't walk up to a fatty in the street and tell them about the dangers of eating too much do I? So why is it okay for non-smokers (particularly the worst offenders of them all - the ex-smoker!) to tell me about the health risks of smoking as if I have never heard it before?!

A few points if I may.
First, yes smoking obviously isn't good for you. We know.
Second, it isn't illegal. Smoking weed is, yet somehow its okay to talk about legalising this, even though its even LESS good for you and makes anyone who smokes it extremely tedious
Third, someone please explain to me how smoking makes people infertile (as the warnings claim). Birth rates are down on what they were in, say, 1950, when everyone smoked. It clearly didn't make them infertile did it?
Fourth, the country cannot afford for smokers to give up. The tax we pay is valuable for Britain.
People of London, I call on you to Smoke and Smoke For Britain! Hurrah!!

Would you wear a tuxedo to do the gardening?

Call me old fashioned but certain clothes are used for certain purposes. You wouldn't wear the same in bed that you would wear to the theatre for example. Well you might, but omly if you were insane. However, I can't put down to insanity why on Earth people haven't grasped the fact that sportswear isn't for playing sport.

Anyone who ever goes to the shops will know what I mean. Fat men in Man United, Arsenal, Chelsea and (the worst) England tops walking around the shops with their families. Obviously they should be ashamed of themselves but women, why on Earth do you allow this?

Don't get me wrong. I love football more than pretty much anything else. Which is why I play football. In my football kit. I go to games. In my football shirt. These are acceptable in my eyes. I can even deal with people going to the pub to watch their team in their football shirt. What I can't stand is people wearing a football shirt as an alternative piece of clothing. Do they not understand, they look rubbish!! These shirts look good on football players, they look appropriate on football fans at games. They look shit on 20 stone men in supermarkets!!

Last season I remember walking through the streets in the town where I live on a Sunday afternoon. All the pubs were full of people watching Chelsea vs Man United. A massive game. I, hating both teams equally, was avoiding it. I was surprised though that the two fatties wearing Chelsea tops sitting in am otherwise deserted McDonalds were doing the same thing.
Well, surprised but, in a way that also seemed appropriate.

The Scrapyard man, the Scrapyard!

Like most people in England I drive a car. Its not a big car or a flashy car, but is a reasonable Japanese blue affair thats gets me around the place and costs me too much (giving me much welcomed opportunities to moan and complain and bleat at various times of the year). Its a good arrangement and I am happy with it. When my car gets old, and stops working I will scrap it. I, and let me make this absolutely clear, have no emotional attachment to my car.

Tragically though, some people do. Some background here. About 4 or 5 months ago, I was driving quite slowly in the middle lane of the M1 coming back into London. It may or may not have been somewhere around Luton, not sure. Could have been further out. One stretch of the M1 looks much the same as another.

Anyway, in the left hand lane appeared a mark1 Cortina. The driver was a middle aged man in a baseball cap. The cap was turned the wrong way. The signs were not good. On the back windscreen was written the legend 'RATMAN: KILLING IS MY BUSINESS AND BUSINESS IS GOOD'. Now, this may seem like I jumped to an unnacceptable conclusion about this man but I took an instant dislike to him. When I was 17, one of my best mates, in his Ford Escort (with blacked out windows) had BASS: THE FINAL FRONTIER on his back windscreen. Obviously this was pathetic, as he would now admit, but if it was pathetic for a 17 year old boy racer to do this, what does that make Ratman? A man in his 40s? Driving an ancient car?

Possibly I am being harsh, and if anyone knows Ratman and he is a nice fella I really do apologise, but its the whole doing up the old car thing I don't get. Things get old. You throw them away. Why are some people so obsessed with doing things up? Let them go, PLEASE!

Is it so bad being fat?

The gym. When was it that everyone started going to the gym?

I'm 10-15 years ago you never heard so much about gyms. Now everyone goes. Actually, sorry, I have inadvertently just typed the biggest lie on the internet. Noone fucking goes to the gym. Everyone is a member of a gym. In fact I have just come out of a very unpleasant period of being a member of two gyms at the same time. But thats another story.

Back to the point. The reason for this state of affairs can be explained by one word - GUILT!
Gyms guilt you into joining. If you observe their promotional activities throughout the year you will see what I mean. At the beginning of summer, its all 'get in shape for summer', 'wanna look good on the beach?' and 'hey you fat-fucker. You wanna be laughed at'. Or something. Gyms cut their prices for about a week to lure you in, drop their joining fees (JOINING FEE? ON TOP OF THE 70 QUID A MONTH!) and then when you are there you are trapped.

They then try again at New Year. Playing on ill-advised New Year Resolutions and the knowledge that eveyone has done nothing but eat for the past month. So, the gym 'special' offers come out again. Shameless.

The rest of the year is covered by people starting new jobs and people getting dumped by their girlfriends (the reason I first joined a gym. A different one to the one that the girl who dumped me joined of course)

So, you've joined. Then what? I'll tell you. You go for about a month. An outrageously attractive female (if you are male) or man (if you are a girl) puts you on a 'programme' in the gym, then you stop. The visits become less and less frequent until eventually they grind to a complete halt, and the only evidence of your membership is a huge direct debit on your bank statement.

Now, I have no problem with the gyms themselves. Playing on human stupidity is no crime. Its business. My problem is the curious place gyms have earned themselves in society.
We are told pretty much every week or so that Britain is fatter than ever. Yet everyone is a member of a gym. 15 years ago we were never told this, and only fitness fanatics went to gyms.
Its an absurd paradox. You spend lots of money NOT to go to the gym and run on a conveyor belt, and because in your mind you DO go to the gym, you think its okay to eat what you want (which of course IT IS - sorry Mr Oliver) and you don't think its worth going out and running on grass or the pavement, or playing football. Which is of course free, and is what we did before gyms were built.

May as well be made of rope

Ties. I fucking hate ties. What is the point? Seriously! This was what I was thinking to myself as I was standing on the train all the way to work yesterday morning. I tried to do some research on the origins of ties, hoping that there might be some interesting quirk in there somewhere. But even that was boring beyond all belief, so I gave up.

My hatred of ties has gone back to schooldays, when we were forced to wear ties. Yes, even at Primary School. 5 and 6 year old children forced to wear ties. How sick is that? Though obviously it was fun taking the piss off the thick kids who had those ones with elastic (rather, of course than the far more sophisticated alternative of your mum tying it for you every morning!).

From the age of 18 I vowed not to wear a tie ever again, and aside from job interviews and the odd wedding or funeral I have stuck to this more often than not. I have steadfastly refused to wear a tie to work. It works out fine for me, but that doesn't stop me hating ties on others, and other tie-wearers!

Going back to that journey to work. You see a lot of people on the way to work, and lots of them wear ties. I don't have a problem with this of course. They might be in jobs where they have to (which is the fault of the company's small-mindedness and general pathetic views that people get more respect when wearing ties). The people I have a problem with are the following.
1. People with novelty ties
2. People who wear their ties hanging round their necks, undone.

The first of these are obviously wankers. Usually very dull men aspiring to be seen as fun. Wanting to be the 'office joker'. These people aren't worth talking about really so I'll leave it there.

The second lot are worse. These are usually young people working in banks. They have to wear a tie but at the same time don't want to be seen as corporate whores. They refuse to stand up to their employer by admitting that they hate wearing ties, but they want to appear cool by walking to work not wearing the tie. If you see these people, just think of a big city office block and then an alleyway a few hundred yards away full of young men desperately putting on ties before their boss notices.