'I don't mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, and that's how it comes out' Bill Hicks

My son watched Richard Prior doing stand up last night on DVD with his girlfriend. My son is a huge Prior fan. 'There are bits of Prior in all the best stand up comedians' he says 'Eddie Murphy and Chris Rock are heavily influenced by the man, even Ricky Gervais shows some Prior in his routine'. His girlfriend however wasn't overly impressed and looked on in bewilderment as my son fought for breath, doubled up on the sofa, tears of laughter steaming down his face. He said to me after she left this morning 'I was a bit embarrassed and had to hide behind a cushion. She must think I'm mad' I remember getting worried about my ex years ago, who while watching Billy Connolly, laughed so much I thought he was having a heart attack. He was gasping for breath and getting redder and redder in the face until eventually he collapsed, panting and spend the rest of the evening gulping down air in an effort to stop it happening again. That kind of uncontrollable laughing is wonderful and for me it can't happen often enough. I love watching stand up comedians and shows like Mock the Week, QI and Have I Got News For You. Paul Merton will often say something off the cuff that has me crying with laughter. Andy Parsons, Stephen K Amos, Sarah Milligan and Russell Howard tickle my funny bone and I was disappointed to hear that dear old Frankie Boyle had not signed up for the new series of MTW. And now Boyle has got himself into hot water by upsetting the parents of a child with Downs Syndrome who were in the audience of one of his recent shows. Part of Boyles routine derides people with DS and when he saw a couple talking during his set he challenged them and that's when the extremely uncomfortable and embarrassing conversation took place. The parents of the child were naturally upset at the material and Boyle was no doubt uncomfortable to be 'caught out' in this way. I heard the mother say that he had 'failed to point out this was a sterotypical image of a DS person and not in anyway reflective of all DS children.' Or words to that effect. Hmmm....wouldn't that ruin the 'punchline'? And censoring comedy is impossible isn't it?

I would be most uncomfortable listening to racist, sexist comedy of the type performed by the likes of Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning. I would not buy tickets to go as see them and am unlikely to come across them on mainstream television as their material is dated and unwelcome by today's more enlightened tastes. Boyle is edgy and controversial and - yes - sometimes spiteful. But he is funny. Jokes about race, gender, disability, even paedophilia, are squirmating, cringing and uncomfortable but sometimes they are just....funny. If there is any chance you may be offended - stay at home.

There was an interesting article in the Telegraph this week 'Middle Class use comedy to assert cultural superiority'.

Researchers believe that social hierarchy holds the key to what Britons find funny, with middle class audiences using their preferences as a form of “veiled snobbery”.

The study suggests that working class people generally enjoy observational humour based on everyday life that delivers gratifying, straight forward punchlines. Jim Davidson, Benny Hill, Bernard Manning and Roy ‘Chubby’ Brown were the most popular choices, the study found.

However, comedy regarded as complex and sophisticated – such as Brass Eye and The Thick of It – are the preserve of the middle classes, experts claim.

Meanwhile, comedians such as Eddie Izzard and Frank Skinner, and shows including Peep Show, Monty Python, Mr Bean and Little Britain are universally liked across class boundaries.

“To a certain extent a person’s taste in comedy is indicative of their social class,” said Sam Friedman, a sociologist from the University of Edinburgh, who carried out the study.

“Far from illustrating crumbing class hierarchies, the increasing popularity of comedy among the middle classes simply shows how the privileged are now using their superior cultural skills to distinguish themselves in pop culture as well as the high arts. “Shows like Brass Eye and The Thick of It are lauded by the critics, so to articulate a preference for what is regarded as the most valued comedy is a kind of badge of honour.

“However, one has to posses a certain amount of cultural capital to get many of the jokes, so to revere these shows can be a way of excluding working class people.”

The survey questioned 1,000 people at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe asking their views on 32 comedians and television shows.

Respondents’ were divided into class groups depending on their family background, education and occupation.

Monty Python was found to be the nation’s favourite, making 82 per cent of those questioned laugh regardless of social class.

Mr Friedman added: “Monty Python is universally adored because it has something for everyone – from the slapstick of The Ministry of Silly Walks to the wit of The Life of Brian.

“The interesting aspect the study uncovered was how certain comedies appealed to different social classes for very different reasons.”

It found that most working class people either hadn’t heard of highbrow comedians or expressed a sense of intellectual insecurity about passing judgment. Many said such comedy “went over their heads” or was “beyond them”.

By contrast, many middle class interviewees vehemently objected to low brow comedians and referred to their fans as “ignorant”, “bigoted” or “thick”.

The study quotes one interviewee, who said: “All I would need to hear is ‘I went to see Roy Chubby Brown last week, it was magic’ and I would want to glass them.

“It is the absence of sophistication in all of it.”

Mr Friedman claims that middle class people’s tastes are shaped by their social standing, privileged family background and elite education.

The paper, called The Cultural Currency of a ‘Good’ Sense of Humour: British Comedy and New Forms of Distinction, was presented to the British Sociological Association’s annual conference in Glasgow.



There seems to be a wealth of talented comedians in the UK these days, with rising stars like Michael McKintyre (observational and middle class), Jason Manford (observational, working class and northern), Shappi Khorsandi (observational, Iranian and funny)and David Mitchell (posh, funny and a little bit eccentric). All these talented people make me laugh.

I regularly visit a little comedy club and have seem some comedians fall flat on their faces and others raise the roof with gales of laughter. All of them brave. To get up in a room full of strangers, many of whom are more than a little bit drunk, to react of hecklers, to leave the stage with their tail between their legs, for the sake of their art...brave boys and girls. Like non music lovers I think non comedy lovers are people with dead souls. I was introduced to someone at a party the other week and we were getting along just fine when the conversation turned to comedians. 'Russell Brand?' he said 'The guys just not funny'. I wanted to say 'what you mean is you don't think he's funny, which makes me think you are a bit of a twat' but instead I pointed to a figure disappearing into the kitchen and said 'Oh there's someone I need to speak to urgently. Nice talking to you'.

just cause? just cause we're outlaws

Malcolm McLaren died yesterday aged just 64. McLaren is accredited as being the driving force behind the emergence of Punk music and fashion in the 1970s. He also had a hand in introducing hip hop to these shores. I loved punk, in a light touch way. Never one to fully embrace any movement I was a 'Punk Lite' wearing safety pins in my ears, buying some clothes in the Kings Road (not SEX...much too expensive) and waiting in line for The Tubes to sign my 12 inch copy of 'White Punks On Dope'. I loved the Sex Pistols but hated Johnny Rotten. I have a 'mismemory' that it was Rotten who got into an argument with Bill Grundy, the presenter of a magazine type programme in which Grundy was accused of being a 'dirty old man' after flirting with the young punkete Siouxsie Sioux. But it was Steve Jones, another member of the band. The following conversation ensued:

Jones: You dirty sod. You dirty old man.
Grundy: Well keep going chief, keep going. Go on. You've got another five seconds. Say something outrageous.
Jones: You dirty bastard.
Grundy: Go on, again.
Jones: You dirty fucker.
Grundy: What a clever boy.
Jones: What a fucking rotter.

This caused a huge uproar, similar to the Ross/Brandgate incident. Complaints poured in by the thousands and many column inches were written in the tabloids about the scum youth of the day. However, unlike the outcome for poor Ross and Brand, and Grundy, whose career never really recovered, the publicity worked well for the Pistols. The nail in their coffin was the murder of one of their girlfriends. Sid Vicious allegedly murdered his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen, in an hotel room and he died shortly afterwards from a heroin overdose.

Now, I am not advocating that musicians swear on teatime telly or murder their girlfriends or go around ODing but....why are musicians these days so fucking boring???? The UK charts in 2010 are full of cute little boys like Justin Bieber, sweet blonde's like Pixie Lott and Boyzone....yes, you heard me right Boyzone. JLS, nice boys - you could take any one of them home to meet mum, but...Yawn. I blame Simon Cowell.

The 1960s was the time when the music volcano erupted and spilled out bubbling, hot talent which swept away blandness and mediocracy from the UK music chart and spread its magic far and wide. Young people were set on fire by what they heard and a whole generation changed what they wore, where they went, how they danced, what some of them wanted to do for a living and for others, how they thought about the world. The volcano continued to emit small balls of flame throughout the 70s but it has lain dormant for several decades.

It is always sad when a music lover dies. I wonder what music McLaren will have at his funeral.

Goodnight Sweetheart

A spooky coincidence today. A television programme aired this afternoon and they were discussing music and....posters!

One of the guests was Edith Bowman, a radio presenter and a music critic. Ms Bowman blogs and Twitters and via her iPhone she photo blogs. I checked out her blog and it was just a list of 'I did this, I'm going to do this next' type of entry which is something I want to avoid with my blog. My blog is just my ramblings, random thoughts, comments on things that matter at the time or strike me as interesting. When I learn to add links I will be able to upload music and my children will (hopefully) have something to get to know me better by. Anyway, Ms Bowman said that music makes her feel alive. Which is what I was trying to say about what it means to me in a previous blog. The conversation then turned to posters. Athena produced an iconic poster in the 1970s which showed a nubile young woman dressed in tennis whites scratching her arse. This poster adorned the walls of many a teenage boys room and is one of the best selling images of all time. Apparently the demand for this, and other posters from this period, has grown and Athena are relaunching several posters, including the iconic 'Tennis Girl'. Ms Bowman and the rest of the panel then discussed what posters they had on their bedroom walls and both Bowie and David Essex were mentioned. One woman described how she learnt to kiss by snogging her poster of George Michael each night before she went to sleep. I used to do this too, giving the Bowie poster nearest to my bed a long lingering kiss before I went to sleep. This just happened to be the poster that was published in the NME which showed Bowie as part man, part dog. The NME version showed the dogs penis, something that was airbrushed out of the album cover. Not for one minute did I think it odd that I was kissing a bit of paper, depicting a he/she/canine representation of my great passion!

'Everyone is like the Moon, and has a Dark Side which he never shows to anybody' Mark Twain

We all wear masks. I put one on in the morning when I put on my make up before I leave home. We all put one on when we don't want others to see how we really look or how we feel. We give a 'good morning smile' to people when we've dragged ourselves out of bed and smiling is the last hing you feel like doing. We put on an alert, interested face when we are in the audience of a presentation and the speaker makes eye contact with you. A few weeks ago I was in a stressful meeting which got a bit heated and afterwards someone said to me 'I didn't know how to arrange my face'. 'Eh?' I asked 'I was searching for an appropriate expression, should I put on my concerned face? My shocked expression? Or should I wear a neutral expression?. she said. 'What? you thought about all that? What's wrong with just being....real?' I asked. 'Oh No,' she said 'You have to set the right tone, give the right impression.' It came as no surprise to learn that she was, before she changed profession, an actress.

The three main candidates in the upcoming elections will be wearing many masks in the coming weeks. We, the voters, as well as investigating and understanding the policies on offer, will also have to remember that the face we see is not the real one. They are hiding their secret face.

We all have secrets. In the past I have spent years leading a secret life, not sharing the 'real' me with my nearest and dearest. To protect them, to protect myself and to protect others. Nothing too shocking or unusual. Just that the me they knew had other facets and another life. Even now I have secrets. My blogging for instance. I have told my daughter I have started blogging and she has shown no interest in reading them (although I hope that one day she will) but I haven't told anyone else. When I was leaving work today someone asked 'What are you up to tonight? Going out?' I was keen to get home so I could write but I could hardly say that could I? So I said 'No, I'm not doing anything tonight'. The 'real' me is still behind a mask.

I saw you this morning.
You were moving so fast.
Can’t seem to loosen my grip
On the past.
And I miss you so much.
There’s no one in sight.
And we’re still making love
In My Secret Life.

I smile when I’m angry.
I cheat and I lie.
I do what I have to do
To get by.
But I know what is wrong,
And I know what is right.
And I’d die for the truth
In My Secret Life.

Hold on, hold on, my brother.
My sister, hold on tight.
I finally got my orders.
I’ll be marching through the morning,
Marching through the night,
Moving cross the borders
Of My Secret Life.

Looked through the paper.
Makes you want to cry.
Nobody cares if the people
Live or die.
And the dealer wants you thinking
That it’s either black or white.
Thank G-d it’s not that simple
In My Secret Life.

I bite my lip.
I buy what I’m told:
From the latest hit,
To the wisdom of old.
But I’m always alone.
And my heart is like ice.
And it’s crowded and cold
In My Secret Life.
Leonard Cohen

Integrity 1

A visit to Venice a couple of years ago inspired this poem:

Everywhere you look hundreds of faces
In every window, on every corner, in every store
Masks painted all colours, decorated with twirls and swirls
Some adorned with glitter and feathers and rhinestones
Others with works of art created across their brows
Yet all the faces are frozen, still and impermeable
All of them blank and startling, coldly staring
Masks worn to confuse and deceive, worn to hide and mislead
All of them silent, smooth and enigmatic
Masks made from paper mache, plaster and porcelain
Ageless faces, free from the marks and lines that scar ours
Unlike our human faces of imperfection and mediocrity
Unlike our masks of vulnerable flesh
Our masks that reveal things
That I'd rather not see.

And I was reminded of it as I watched the three main contenders for Prime Minister- Gordon Brown, David Cameron and Nick Clegg- start their election campaigns. All of them wearing their chosen masks. Mr Brown is going for inscrutable, solid, dependable and his mask comes with an optional grin that in the wrong light resembles a grimace. For some strange reason Mr Cameron has opted for a mask that resembles a younger Tony Blair and has cleverly teamed it with a black bomber jacket and chinos. The Superman quiff sets the whole ensemble off nicely. Mr Clegg has gone for a mask with an enormous forehead - no doubt to give the illusion it holds and protects an enormous brain. They are posed and arranged and are allowing their wives to be paraded for the press to examine, dissect and, when the winner is announced, one of the Sarah's (sorry Miriam) will be our first 'First Lady'.

So what is the reality behind the masks? One reality I would like to see is integrity. Since the Expensegate it is hard to believe that any MPs have any integrity and although the three party leaders were seen to crack down on those MPs who were using the expense system for personal gain they all knew it was going on, condoned it and even dabbled themselves. Of course any money they spend or expenses they incur whilst carrying out their duties as MPs should be reimbursed but these people have profited by using the previous expense system. My local MP is not one that has shamelessly profited by abusing the system and has always supported much more transparency and less scope for abuse. He has consistently claimed lower expenses than most other MPs for years. He does not claim any expenses other than the employment of staff and communicating directly with constituents. A man of Integrity? Maybe but.....

Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it. ~Buddha

Music, Death and Posters

The office is filled with music this week as it is more or less holiday time. Those of us still having to work are able to do so in a more relaxed atmosphere and a colleague has brought in her iPod which has hundreds of tracts ranging from Billie Holiday to Black Eyed Peas. I love my Zen and can escape the mundane for hours in the music it holds but it is good to be able to share in the act of listening to music. The day passed in a musical blur filled with memories and many tracks evoked conversations ranging from music for our funerals to what posters we had on our walls as teenagers. My colleague was a bit miffed by a comment made by someone last week, who on arriving at the office and hearing music, said ‘Hmmm, I never had you down as a music lover’. My colleague was most offended by this remark because, as she said to me afterwards, ‘someone who doesn’t like music is someone who has no soul or spirit.’ I am always most surprised when someone tells me they don’t listen to music and I feel sorry for anyone who, when hearing a beautiful melody, or a stirring rhythm, is unmoved. I listen to music to unwind, to think, to drift, to reminisce. My mood is lifted by music or my sadness calmed. My favourite tracks are old friends that I visit or new friends that I enjoy getting to know better. Music has an emotional and physical effect on me and if someone said to me that they didn’t think I was a music lover I would be most insulted.

I have already told my children that I want a Humanist funeral and to play ’The Grand Duel Parte Prima' by Luis Bacalov at the start of the funeral (I want people to shed a tear or two and this piece of music should do it) and then something more uplifting as the mourners file out. I had always hankered for ‘Wishing On A Star’ by Rose Royce but feel a Bowie song would be more appropriate as his music is something I return to again and again. ‘Lady Grinning Soul’ is a current favourite and this is the one I think I will go for. It has a dramatic intro played on the piano and then his voice...a beautiful instrument that has been part of my life for as long as I can remember... soars - after a few seconds of stillness. Perfection. Listening to the choices of others, which included ‘Show Me The Way To Go Home’ and ‘You’re My First, My Last, My Everything’ has made be realise that this is the one time when you shouldn’t judge other peoples taste in music. And your funeral is the one time you don’t have to listen to anyone elses opinion.

Lady Grinning Soul

She'll come, she'll go. She'll lay belief on you
Skin sweet with musky oil
The lady from another grinning soul

Cologne she'll wear. Silver and Americard
She'll drive a beetle car
And beat you down at cool Canasta

And when the clothes are strewn don't be afraid of the room
Touch the fullness of her breast. Feel the love of her caress
She will be your living end

She'll come, she'll go. She'll lay belief on you
But she won't stake her life on you
How can life become her point of view

And when the clothes are strewn don't be afraid of the room
Touch the fullness of her breast. Feel the love of her caress

She will be your living end
She will be your living end
She will be your living end
She will be your living end
She will be your living end



As a teenager my bedroom walls were covered in Bowie posters and I went to sleep each night listening to him on my old cassette player while looking at his image and daydreaming about one day bumping into him and being whisked away to a life of unbelievable pleasure and happiness. I would inspire him to write his best music and he would nag me to do my homework. Between taking my virginity and teaching me to play the guitar that is. However amid all my Bowie posters was on interloper...another David. This David had a mass of dark curls, sparkling blue eyes and a cheeky grin. David Essex was completely different to Bowie, physically and musically. But he sang with a London accent, always guaranteed to make me go weak at the knees. I am kinda glad Anthony Newly was before my time as I would have no doubt fancied him despite the fact he looked more like a football manager than a rock star! I saw David Essex being interviewed recently and his hair (what is left of it) was snow white, his face was lined but the cheeky grin was exactly the same. He is in his 60s and still a sexy guy. Although he says he doesn't reminisce he is touring in the summer with other relics from the Seventies and is even taking time out of his successful musical 'All The Fun Of The Fair' to do so. But having listened to his 'hits' on YouTube I can only surmise that it was because of his looks that he made it on my bedroom wall and not due to his musical talent.

Superheros, Heros and just plain old Warriors

According to Wikipedia a superhero is a type of ‘stock character possessing extraordinary or superhuman powers and dedicated to protecting the public.’ In Kill Bill (see previous blog) Bill gives the following speech:

‘An essential characteristic of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero, and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When he wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic that Superman stands alone. Superman did not become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kent’s found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears, the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He's weak, he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race.’
The speech is an extract from ‘Great Comic Book Heros’ by Jules Feiffer.

Today I watched, with my grandson, a modern day superhero cartoon programme for young children ‘Ben 10’. Ben finds a watch like device, the Omnitrix, which is in fact an alien device which allows the user to transform into various forms, each with its own superpower. However the DNA of the user and the the DNA of the form taken combines so the instinctual characteristics of the form is governed by the intelligence of the user. In one episode a few of the forms escape from the Omnitrix and Ben has to track them down and re-absorb the forms back into the Omnitrix. When he caught up with them they were behaving very differently to how they behave when Ben ‘becomes’ them. ‘Why are they acting like that’ Ben asks his grandfather, the only adult in on his secret. ‘Because they are acting instinctively’ Grandad replies ‘They need your intelligence to control the instinct and harness the powers’. All very complex for a 4 year old, which is the age group the cartoon appears to be aimed at although there are also various other versions which are much darker. Ben himself is not a typical superhero. He is sometimes selfish, immature and has a tendency to get a bit big headed. In one episode he travels in time (this concept was very difficult to explain to my 4 year old grandson, although slightly easier than explaining how we lost an hour last weekend, when we put the clocks forward, to my 24 year old son) and Ben is appalled by the behaviour and attitude of his grown up self.

Wikipedia describes a hero as a ‘person who in the face of danger and adversity or from a position of weakness, displays courage and the will for self sacrifice - that is, heroism – for some greater good’.

The world is full of unsung, unsuper hero's. They can be found in the obvious places like the armed and emergency services. They can be found in schools and shops and even in offices. Some hero's will put on uniforms and go out on the streets to look for chances to be heroic. Others will work diligently and quietly, behind the scenes, striving to make changes and bring about a better, kinder – more spiritual world.

'Every noble work is bound to face problems and obstacles. It is important to check your goal and motivation thoroughly. One should be very truthful, honest, and reasonable. One's actions should be good for others, and for oneself as well. Once a positive goal is chosen, you should decide to pursue it all the way to the end.' (Dalai Lama)

Superheros generally have a weakness that is then exploited by their enemies. Practically the whole of Superman 2 has our hero weakened, stripped of his powers and living in a self imposed isolation in his 'Fortress Of Solitude'. Superman gave up his powers in an attempt to be human and he found that he preferred being a super being. When he 'found himself' Superman returned stronger, wiser and more knowledgeable than before. Just like The Bride (Kill Bill) who, having spend 4 years in a coma, awoke with a fire in her heart that only revenge could put out. Although not a hero in the conventional sense The Bride is the heroine of the film and, like Superman, she emerges from the period of solitude a true warrior.