This Is This

It’s a pain being back at work after a summer bank holiday, but yesterday was a beautiful day filled with the madness of London. Each of these is an entry in itself, but what the hell.

Here’s (”Here are”?) what I heard.

Two Cockneys
Bloke: Gaz got bottled (pr: boh-ouwd) this weekend.
Geezer: By ‘oo?
Bloke: Dunno. Called us from ‘ospituw and was all loik - “Just got boh-ouwd”
Geezer: Good. ‘ees a twat.

Values
Girl, 10: Do you know the shop “Office”?
Girl, 11: I know Office World.
Girl, 10: Office is like this designer shop which is like really expensive.
She closed her eyes and shook her head when she said “really expensive” to show this is a good thing.

Pricelessly Crazy
A guy in the street giving directions to someone down his mobile phone. He is using hand signals.

Racist?
Someone: Do you know who has bought the house next door yet?
Me: Only their name. Mr and Mrs Stevens from Ealing.
Someone: Oh, that sounds OK. I mean, at least they’re not, you know… Nothing funny about Stevens. You know. Stevens.

Here’s something by the great Armenian poet Jeff Nicols.

One day - I’m going to throw myself off.
One day - I’ll take my chances on the rocks.
There’s a deep end, and I’ll be swimming with the sharks
instead of wading in the shallows and waiting for the dark.

One day - I’m going to take to my heels.
One day - I’ll know how it feels
to be drifting away. One day I’m going to fly away.
One day - but not today.

One day - when the shadows grow long.
One day - they’ll be talk of moving on.
And when all is said and done there’ll be nothing left to say.
Some day - but not today.

I had a search referal this week for the Spanish translation of my July archive. Muchas gracias.

The google search for my July posts, was headed “Soy Un Depurador Con sabor a fruta” which is the translation of I Am A Fruity Scrubber

To read This is This, sorry, �ste es �ste, in Spanish, click here.

Adios.

El arb�l fue derribado por los vientos fuertes.

Trans: The strong winds blew the tree down.

Phew - glad it wasn’t the worst case scenario for New Orleanians. I was living there when Hurricane Andrew hit and it was no picnic.

I huddled for hours in the dark under a desk I had crammed into a doorway next to loadbearing walls. At one point, a metal trash can hit the window. That’s bad enough, but it’s downright scary when you live on the second floor.

Hopefully the bon temps with start roulering soon for the folks down there.

If there’s one certainty about modern life and all its conveniences, it’s that we’re no less busy than we were 10 years ago. Our capacity to fill the time with more productivity has meant that instead of doing the same amount as before and taking it easy in the free time remaining, we just do more.

So we actually have less time to amuse ourselves. And we all need a laugh, right? But there’s no time for standing around waiting for the funny parts of life. I hear you.

The answer? Speed joking.

Here are a few gags and I’ve cut straight to the punchline, so you can enjoy the rest the day being productive.

1. When I woke up my giant marshmellow was gone.

2. “Look Hans, no Ma!”

3. “Does my bomb look big in this?”

4. “It’s OK, I’ve just blown a seal.”

5. “But son, where is Bagh?”

6. …and the other has hope in his soul.

7. ….and God says: “Reverend, meet me halfway - buy a ticket.”

8. “Cheer up Mister Frodo, you’ve still got your elf.”

Thanks for your time.

I don’t know what it is about songs happening when I go on holiday. I didn’t even take a guitar.

In the music section of my song page you’ll find Rosa Lee. I’ve always wanted to write a song with a girl’s name in the title*, but this folky song in 3/4 just about lets me get away with it.

I like the looseness of this, the way the words don’t fit so it makes some phrases stand out. I kept adding more instruments, but kept taking them out once I recorded them because it sounds best with just one guitar. Please enjoy.

*Michelle - Beatles, Alison - Elvis Costello, Barabara Ann - Beach Boys, Sweet Jane - Velvet Underground, Layla - Eric Clapton, Lola - Kinks, Roxanne - The Police, Maybellene - Chuck Berry, Peggy Sue - Buddy Holly, Mona Lisa - Nat King Cole. Fine songs all.

Our house on the horizon

The loch

Green and pleasant land

Straight is the gate

A lady from work spent a weekend in Devon and brought us back some clotted cream toffee. Normally you should avoid eating anything with the word “clotted” in it but it would be rude to refuse.

Next week she is going to San Francisco. Me and a colleague are looking forward to being thrown more scraps from her travels.

Me: So what local treat are you going to bring back for us? Sourdough bread?

Colleague: A gay man?

Me: Acid?

Colleague: Chinese food?

Me: Sea lion?

Earthquakes, 1970’s police car chases, trams, hills, hippies, fog and panning for gold. Fun with stereotypes.

Right now there’s probably someone in San Francisco going: “Mind you, cor blimey guvnor God bless ya luv apples and pears stitch me up like a right monkey” while dreaming London is full of double decker buses, rain, rude people, pubs, markets, tube trains and bowler hats.

I bought a big TV. It’s one of those LCD ones that goes on your wall. It’s a 26 inch one with all the fixin’s. I welcomed the TV into the home and went into Mr Fixit mode, writing down how many scart leads I would need, measuring for coaxial cable lengths. Technical stuff really, leave it to me, I said to Wife.

But nothing in Jones Towers is ever easy, so I confidently trundled off to the DIY/hardware store to buy screws to attach the mount to the wall. I like hardware stores because of the maleness off them. It is a place where I can buy a couple of things and improve the place where my family lives and that makes me feel ten feet tall.

This being a big old TV, I wanted to make sure I was doing it right. The mount that goes on the wall is about the size of one of those side dishes you get with in-flight meals, so I needed to be sure I used the right things to stop the new member of the family falling off the wall and breaking.

I found a sales assistant and showed him the bracket, explaining that it was going into an thick brick wall and I thought I needed very large screws. I told him the weight of the TV and he said I needed anchor bolts.

“That’s the only thing strong enough,” he said.

“Really?” I said. “Because I’ve got bookshelves hung up with screws and they are rock solid. The TV weighs less than those.”

He gave me the “listen sunshine…” look and said “Your bookshelves will fall off the wall. You’re talking about a TV. You don’t want to risk it, do you?”

“No,” I said, ashamed.

The anchor bolts looked kind of stumpy. I wasn’t sure.

“Great, thanks very much,” I said and picked up the anchor bolts.

He walked off - then I put the anchor bolts back and walked over to find another salesman for a second opinion.

I explained it again to the second guy and added, “but screws will be OK, won’t they?”

“Should be,” he said.

“Better than anchor bolts?”

“About the same. Screws will be OK if you get them big enough.”

I knew it. I thanked him and he walked away. The shelves loomed over me. Philips, standard, tap in, plaster board, timber, breezeblock, concrete. Thousands of screws. I didn’t know which ones to get, so I grabbed a pack of four inch ones, thinking they should do the trick.

So juuuust to make sure, I thought I would grab another salesman for a third opinion to make sure I had made the right choice. A saleswoman walked past. “Sure,” I thought, “she’ll know. Why shouldn’t a woman know more about hardware than me? That’s cool. Just don’t saw ’screw’ in a sexual context.” Right.

“Excuse me,” I said. She had great eyes.

I explained what I needed for a third time and asked if she thought my screws were big enough. I could feel myself starting to blush.

“I’m not sure,” she said, “I’ll just get a colleague to help you.” She walked over to a phone and when she came back she said: “Someone will be right with you.” She glided towards Timber and Lighting. Nice legs too.

Oh shit. What if the person she sends for turns out to be the first guy whose advice I ignored? He’ll know I didn’t trust his judgement and went and got a second opinion because I thought he was talking rubbish. What if he -

“You need some more help?”

Bugger.

Mr Anchor Bolt, looked at me, then glanced down atmy bag of screws and smiled condescendingly.

“I went for these,” I said. I may as well have added, “because I don’t value your advice.”

“Up to you,” he said mockingly, “good luck.”

Moral: Go with your gut instinct.

The TV is on the wall, by the way.

I went to a talk by the Dalai Lama last year in London. There were probably about 400 people there and it was the only talk he gave in the capital in 2004. I bought the DVD of it recently and at the very moment when he walks on to the stage, the shot cuts away to me. Really close up, too. You can actually make out the lump in my throat under the misty eyes and grin of the loon.

The opening shot goes: Dalai Lama/me/Dalai Lama

Cool as you like. So, if you want to see my new DVD (with appearance by His Holiness), and help a good cause you can buy it here:

Tenemos Academy

Me and HH? Oh, sure… nice guy. We’re going shooting this weekend.

Next week’s Caught On Camera: Me and Benedict XVI

Just back from a holiday with the inlaws and the kids in Scotland. It was kind of like Meet the Parents crossed with Balamory, but we had a great time.

Scotland would be paradise on god’s green Earth if it weren’t for the weather. And since the Earth mostly isn’t green and I can’t say if god exists and I don’t hold much sway over the weather, then I guess Scotland is as good as it gets.

I realise that the Scots can’t understand me just as often as I can’t understand me. I find this wierd because I talk like 90 per cent of the people on British TV, so I assume they are swinting with ears cocked when they watch Hugh Grant movies just as much as I am watching Trainspotting.

One conversation went like this:

Me (falling back on default football banter for male small talk): “I think we’ll be all right this year, but I doubt we’ll finish fourth again.”

Him: “Aye, you’ll be all right, but I think you’ll do it, honestly, Cliff.”

Me: “Maybe. There’s not many teams who will challenge us. Liverpool, maybe Newcastle if they get Owen.”

Him: “Newcastle, aye. They’re trying to sign - oh what’s his name?”

Me: (sympathetically silent)

Him: “Och, you know right. Wee fella. Owen. If they sign him they’ll be right.”

But that’s OK. And he pronounced “him” like “hem”, which is cool.

Sitting on the banks of Loch Lomond with the mist was drawing in and out, snoring over the mountains, watching land, made me think about sunshine and wonder why most people always call a sunny day a “good” one. Everytime the weather shifted between showers and sunlight, mist and wind, I realised an important lesson in impermanence, and seeing it change was like watching a lifetime.

Once, in the car, the kids were playing Eye Spy.

Daughter, 3: I spy with my little eye, something black and white.

Son, 5: The lines on the road.

D: No.

S: The bridge?

D: No.

S: The moon?

D: No.

S: Give me a clue.

D (triumphantly): Penguins!!!

Wife (with mock reprisal): Daughter, 3, where can you see penguins?

D (matter of factly): At the North Pole.

Which you have to admit is right.*

The countryside was incredible. Go if you haven’t. If you have, go again. In case you forgot, you might be reminded that every day is a precious gift. But hang on to the receipt in case you want to exchange it for something of equivalent value in case you don’t need that day or you’ve had it before.

Ho hum, back to reality.

Och aye the news.

*Actually, it’s not. There are no penguins at the North Pole. Penguins live only in the southern hemisphere. Everyone’s a critic.

There was a lady on the bus this morning, in her mid-twenties, casually dressed, looking at a pad. I glance over and see she is reading a to-do list.

I love to-do lists. I have tons. They have categories. Personal lists, work lists, creative lists. My lists have lists. I am writing this entry in a to-do list.

I know she was reading one because I read it. Yeah, I know, bad thing, I shouldn’t have, blah blah blah zzzzzzz.

Anyway, changing the subject: today is a good day, the traffic wasn’t bad and I’m going away next week to….

What’s that? Excuse me? What was on the list? I knew it. You see, you would have read it to.

The list said this:

To-do List
1. Wash loads of Nick’s shirts.
2. Perhaps start packing.
3. Ask Sarah about JJ’s birthday pressie.

I love number 2. It’s so unassuming it’s almost embarassed to be on the list. She’s obviously a planner, rather than an activist like me who jumps in at the deep end.

My list would look like this:

1. Shirts for Nick.
2. Present for JJ. Talk to Sarah.
3. Pack.

I put pack last because if I should “perhaps think about” it, it can perhaps wait.

I am quite results oriented, but I’m not a type A go-getter. People notice I’ve got before I mention I’m going to get it, if you see what I mean.

But I know a lot of these planners, and they can drive me mad.

“Don’t plug it in!!!”

“Why not?”

“We need to read the manual.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But we should read it first and make sure there’s nothing we don’t need to know.”

I am going away soon and someone who has nothing to do with my planning asked me when I was going to pack and what case I was going to use.

I would just say “What are you taking?”

I guess they just like planning. Maybe it’s bad that I don’t. Part of the whole thisisthisness of how I live is:

“What’s happening?”

“What do I need?”

“What do I really need?”

All the rest is emptiness.

Which is where I’m headed for a while. The next post will be on the 22 August of your Earth calender. During that time, I will travel around sun nearly a dozen times. Fact.

Iain just told me that he has been unable to post on this blog but got some feedback saying he wasn’t a member, or something. I can confirm that he isn’t, and on closer inspection, I see I must have changed my settings so that only members could leave messages. My mistake.

In my dreams I imagine that there were hundreds of messages, most of them from Eric Clapton, bounced back by other non-members. If anyone did try to comment over the last week, my apologies and please try again.

Probably no one did, because who am I right?

This outlook was proven this week by my discovery that I was getting linkage action from Dave who has me in his right hand nav as Some British Guy, which made me laugh.

So go ahead now and leave a message - if you want. But you don’t have to. And now that I’ve made a big fuss of it, everyone will be looking to see who leaves a message. No pressure though. Fire her up, take her for a spin and see how she feels. Think about it, take a couple of days - talk to the family.

When did “middle-class” start meaning posh? When I was a kid, everyone I knew was middle class and upper class people were given the derisory snorts now given to middle class folks like me. I am middle class and white and male and English and I sound posh.

And you can attack me without any guilt whatsoever, because part of being in what is seen as priviledged sectors of society means I am not protected by any anti-prejudice rules or moral “something-”ist defenses.

In fact, it would help if you were prejudiced about me because it would save you lot of time and you’d probably be right. I do the kind of things and think the kind of way middle class people Englishmen do. I’m one of those kind of people. Go ahead, I don’t mind. Take a swing.

The fact that my last name is Jones, I live in the suburbs and have two kids makes me so average it’s like a black hole from which no distinguishing features can emerge.

I would like to apologise for making the comparison between Carlos the Jackal and Eric Clapton.

The conclusion drawn was totally unjustified and without foundation. One is a man from humble beginnings who is a role model for legions of fans who worked hard to become the best. The other is a blues guitarist.

I can understand how it might have caused offence to Mr the Jackal’s family.

“Think, OK? You got to use your head man, and ask yourself how I do it.”

I’ll tell you what scares me about Eric Clapton.

When you look at pictures of him over the last 40 years, you will notice that he looks different every 8 years. Not just older with different hairstyles, I mean he actually looks like a different person.

From 1960’s Yardbird to the current-day Delta blues preservationist, via the Albert Hall residencies of the late 80’s and the rootsy days of MTV pluglessness, old Slowhand looks like a dozen different people.

Pirates of the Caribbean Eric: “Aye, a guitarist is what I be. One of the foinest this side of the Leeward Isles. Arrr.”

Smug Handyman Eric: “Look at that. Can’t see the join.”

1982 Businessman of the Year Eric: “Going forward, we feel it is vital to continue to perform the blues for our blues-loving shareholders.”

Greek Harbourmaster Eric: “You want to buy boat? She very fast, very fast. You want to buy wife? I have wife also.”

Gaspumping Eric: “I used to have one of these. What do you get fifteen per gallon? Twenty - tops?”

Country Superstar Eric: “This next song was wrote by my daddy.”

Wild Wild West Eric: “Wanted - for theft of the blues”

Headmaster Eric: “See me.”

Naughty Schoolboy Eric (about to see Headmaster Eric): “Whatever happens guys, this summer’s gonna rip.”

Chandler Bing Eric. “Could I be a bigger blues legend?”

Disco Stu Eric: “Now with me, I love to love and I love to dance.
And I’m just about danced out.”

Advertising Executive Eric: “…but with a guitar people feel they belong to an exclusive demographic.”

He is the Carlos the Jackal of the music business.Saying that, I wonder if Carlos the Jackal thinks he is the Eric Clapton of the terrorism business. That would be wierd.

Related post: Cliff Richard is evil
What Gets Me About Eric Clapton - An Apology

Updated version of children’s toys

Buckaroo
Peta and the RSPCA forced a rethink of this classic children’s favourite. Mules are given regular breaks for rest and watering, during which time all mining supplies must be removed from the animal’s back.

Operation
Children must sign disclaimers to say they are not medical professionals and no malpractice suits can emerge from the game.

Othello
Racist connotations gave rise to a change in legislation which led to all pieces being of equal colour and importance.

Battleship
Diplomatic options must be exhausted before any hostilities can begin, and French children must oppose any military action. After each game, Kofi Annan and Bono hold a four hour benefit concert in the Place de la Concorde to raise awareness for the plight of the losing side.

Hangman
New features include a governor’s phone that can stop proceedings at any time and an Urgent Action campaign by Amnesty International.

Hungry Hungry Hippos
International relief effort and awareness campaigns must run concurrently to replenish the natural habitat and food sources to offer long term solutions to the ongoing problem.

Barrel o’Monkeys
Previous reports on inhumane conditions mean that the “barrels” must be at least ten by fifteen feet for each primate, with plenty of natural light, shelter from the elements and activity areas with features like tractor tyres, rope swings and tree trunks.

Mr Potato Head
“He looks funny, but it’s all right.” This toy must not be segregated from the other toys just because he suffers from Cranial Vegetosis.

Hot Wheels
The implication that these good might be stolen forced a branding rethink and the toys are called “Legitimately Owned And Registered Vehicles”.

I am getting very annoyed. My employer has developed a bollocksing system which is colour coded and I can not use it, because I am colourblind. If you want it to do one thing, you make it green. If it’s red, it’s something else that should only be changed in emergencies. Which seem to happen a lot these days. It is annoying as hell and what was a minor setback when reading a tube map has now become a disadvantage at work.

The worst thing about being colourblind is that when people find out about it, they say “Really? Wow, what colour is this?” and point to something. I can understand the curiousity, but they should seriously think about the question. If someone tells them they are tone deaf, they don’t say “Really? Wow:

Caribbean Queen -
Now we’re sharing the same dream
And our they hearts beat as one.
No more love on the run.

…what key was that in?”

Because they won’t know.

Red and green are words to me, colours based on a perception I don’t have. I know “pink flowers are nice” because my wife told me, but I can’t choose them. So when I buy flowers I say “pink flowers are nice” and I have to ask the person to pick out pink flowers for me. And I remember that purple goes with pink, so I say “and some purple ones” I explain my predicament to the flower seller and get a look which is a mixture of pity and confusion. I can also tell they are tempted to ask “Really? Wow, what colour is this?”

Sometimes people say, “So how do you drive?” and I tell them that they have to apply for a provisional liscence from the DVLA and book a load of lessons before they can pass a theory and practical test. As you can see it’s had no effect on my sense of humour. I’m not funny in colour AND black and white. I am the Abbot and Costello of bloggers. “This is This Meets the Mummy”.

“I mean traffic lights,” they say, meaning “oh you’ll be seeing some colours in a minute, dickhead.”

For some reason traffic lights look more colourful. It’s something to do with the hues of colour.

“So you’re not really colourblind.”

No. That’s just the name of the general condition for colour perception disorder, which has varying degrees which are increasingly rare the more severe the disorder. I don’t see everything in black and white, but lots of colours look the same. Anything with red and green in, so purple, pink, orange, violet, lime, aqua marine. That’s why this site is blue, by the way.

“I see. But why am I in quotation marks and you’re not? And how did I get in this blog?”

Just because. You are a fictional amalgamation of real life people who I have stereotyped for the purposes of this entry. You don’t really exist.

“I don’t?”

No. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll use quotes too.

“Would you?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” - no problem. You can go now.

“Bye”

And please stop asking me what colour things are.

See the balloons at the bottom of this picture?

They all look the same to me, and all the dots.

I don’t know why I even point out that they look the same. They ARE the same. Only they’re not, I’m told.

This week has been a series of revelations and confessions for me, which is unusual. In the last few days I have confessed that I am friends with rock stars, I am a fruity scrubber, my mother died (killed seven years ago) and I can’t see colours.

I’ll keep it light tomorrow.

Time
Or a lack thereof. When I was a kid I knew nothing of time. I had no time and I had lots of it. Kids live in time, adults for the most part ride it out.

Snow
Four, maybe five feet of it. Over my head anyway. Snow when you’re a kid only means good things. It’s not about delays or cold or wet or staffing problems or having no bread. It’s about snowball fights and sledding and snowmen and building igloos and ramps.

Mum
Or having one. And seeing her and my dad together when they were happy. I’d go through all the pain of growing up and losing her again for a day together. But that’s the ride and you can’t have regrets.

Space
I grew up around a lot of it. Walking to a certain tree or creek would take all afternoon and you could play somewhere different every day.

Football
I was pretty good at it. I played on the left wing and scored about half the goals my team put past their opponents. Now I’m useless, but it was a great buzz being the best at the thing you love most in the world.

You know I don’t really ask for much. I give till it hurts on this webstie and I ask for nothing in return. I offer, that’s what I do. Points of view, opinions, perpective maybe, we have some laughs - and you can take it or leave it most days.

Well today I am saying if you like your rock rocking then you could do far worse than to buy Teen Dance Ordnance by A.

If you like Feeder or the Foo Fighters or Weezer or Blink 182 or The Killers or Razorlight or any upbeat rock or hard pop, then you’ll like A. Two singles on their last album, Hi-Fi Serious, were called Nothing and Starbucks and they were both blinding.

I tell you this selflessly, and also because my friend is in the band and is one of the nicest people you’d ever want to meet, but mostly because they rock. I mean RAWK rock. Hello Cleveland rock. And it’s a cracking album.

So buy it here in the UK or here in the US.

You don’t have to buy it out of pity. There are a million things that deserve your money more. This is a favour - for you, not me. I’m doing you a favour, because you deserve good music and A are entitled to very large houses befitting rock gods.

Goodnightweloveyou! BLAAAWW……..beDAUNGO!

That was supposed to be the last dramatic chord crash before the drums sticks get thown into the crowd, bows are taken and the house lights come up. I’m not sure it worked.

Why is Christmas sometimes written as Xmas? It should be t-mas, at least it looks like a cross. Xmas to me, just looks like “Timesmas” or “Tenmas”.

When else does X mean Christ? Generation Christ? The Christ Factor? King’s Christ? The Christ Files? Malcolm Christ? Terminator Christ?

My point is never. So why do we have X as Christ in Christmas? It doesn’t even carry on in bible studies, although it would add an eductional level:

If X died for our sins and there are 10 commandments, how many wives turn into pillars of salt if X=Christ.
a) one
b) Lot’s

Maybe X was Jesus’s gangster name with his disciples, like X-zibit, and they called him that when he went round doing the biblical equivalent of pimping rides. “Yo X, getting a little low on wine here, man.”

I think it comes down to laziness. I bet the Protestants don’t say X-mas. Not with their work ethic. They work like gurkas. Or gerk like workers.

I had a religious experience this weekend, at Ikea of all places. I was buying a couch with ugly legs, but I was going to replace them anyway. Then before the checkout I saw the bargain area where they have all the broken things and I saw my exacty same couch with a leg missing for half price. Bonus, thinks me, I was going to saw the legs off anyway.

I ask the guy when it will be delivered if I buy it today.

Him: “Monday.”

Me: “Great.”

Him: “Allah willing.”

Me: “Oh.”

It seems a strange policy. So if I pray, will the sofa arrive quicker?*

On a lighter note, King Fahd has died. I very much doubt oil prices with come down and the behandings will stop, but hey, they’re our allies, so that makes everything all right.

*This sounds almost too convenient for the purposes of this posting, but I swear it happened.