nunoncastors

Today, quite by accident, I did something that made me almost physically sick. I was happily downloading a few mp3’s and doing the whole ‘musical elitist’ thing when I made a mistake. I didn’t realise it was a mistake initially. No. That would come later.

You see I downloaded something on a whim, it had an interesting name, and I thought it might be some quirky indie rock. Indeed it started out as quirky indie rock.

I listened.

*guitar riff*

Not bad.

*nice little drum thing going on*

*taps foot*

“Our father, who art in heaven, how cool you are etc….”

What the fuck is this?

“Oooooo God, you’re so great and so on. Like an imaginary friend that grants wishes only not imaginary. You’re more real than me because you made me and everything. You are so great. Woo!”

Yes that’s right; I accidentally downloaded Christian Rock music. I feel tarnished somehow, as though I’ve been subjected to something morally questionable for a great length of time. It was only one minute and forty-five seconds as it turns out but it’s still left its mark.

It’s just not right.

I want to retch.

Tom wrote some stuff that mentions things that I don’t know about but more importantly he has footage of a giant insect that will eventually consume us all. I don’t know what the fuck it is but it gives me the fear.

The kraken awakens; stirred from its procrastination by more boredom than you can shake a fair sized stick at. I’ve been skiing, watched some bands, even had a wine and cheese evening. Now I am bored. So yeah, stuff. Things. You know, IMPORTANT THINGS. Incisive commentary, that sort of lark. Brace yourself, here we go…

First up, and I think you’re going to love this as much as those stereotypes I posted, is the knotty issue of sexual consent. Before I launch headlong into the maelstrom I would just like to state, for the record, that I am painfully old fashioned when it comes to this subject. This is down to my parents. They instilled in me somewhat restrictive concepts of right and wrong that I find it impossible to circumvent. I’m aware that my moral compass is largely obsolete, replaced by newer versions with more exciting directions but I don’t mind. Being a decent chap has served me well enough so far (no it hasn’t, it has been a litany of shite.)

The idea of taking advantage of someone so drunk they cannot respond either way makes me angry to a point that cannot be described by words. I know that I am far from naïve (indeed some friends claim I have the filthiest mind they know of) but the very fact that posters are required to state “Have sex with someone who hasn’t said yes to it, and the next place you enter could be prison.” makes me wonder just how worldly I actually am and what the fuck is going on with society. Have we fallen so far?

I do object to the veiled inference that it is entirely the fault of the man involved however. In particular I object to this “Home Office Minister Fiona Mactaggart said she hoped the adverts would encourage women to think that the law was on their side” as, in as much as I’m aware, the law is meant to be impartial.

But this is a minor criticism, for the most part, I agree with what is said. A drunken woman is largely incapable of giving consent; men should recognise that and act accordingly. The problem is that a lot of men don’t because a lot of men are bastards and a fair few women drink too much to be sensible. Don’t argue with me on this, go out on a Saturday night then try telling me I’m wrong.

I’ll offer something to think on however. Say I get blind drunk and wake in the morning to find some harridan has had her wicked way with me and to my knowledge I haven’t consented. What recourse do I, as a male, have? I suspect virtually none. Indeed I suspect there’d be a consensus that it rather serves me right or perhaps more likely a ‘Wahey! Nice one.’

Moving on…

Why is it that so few people understand what you’re saying to them? I know I tend to mumble and mutter quite a lot but when it comes to important matters I can be exceedingly explicit and clear. For example:

“Excuse me Sir, can you spare five minutes to answer a few questions.”
“Sorry, I’m running late as it is. I don’t really have time.” I proceed to walk away.
“There’s five pounds for completing it.”
I stop dead. “And? I’m in a hurry, what part of no don’t you understand? Five quid isn’t going to make me change my plans for the day to fill in some bloody questionnaire.”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“Says you. Why don’t you listen? I. Am. Late. I. Do. Not. Have. Time.” Queue me stomping off.

As you can see, I was very clear when declining the clipboard waving idiot’s request. I stated my disinclination to waste my time and even went so far as to give a reason as opposed to simply blanking them. I was polite and I ticked all the correct boxes for saying no. So why didn’t they accept my answer? Why did they ask again? I do not understand. I’m sure if I’d said yes they’d have grasped that quickly enough.

Another example:

I’m walking through town again. “’scuse me mate, do you have any change?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Only I need money for the bus to Mansfield.”
“I still don’t have any change.”
“Not even fifty pee?”
“Look pal, just fuck off.”

This time an astonished expression meets my outburst as though I’ve just strangled a cat in front of the man. Why is it that I’m the one being rude when it’s him that isn’t paying attention?

ASDA this morning,

“Excuse me.”
No response.
“Excuse me, can I get past?”
Mute inaction.
“EXCUSE ME.”
Nothing.
“Mate, ‘scuse me, can I get past?”
A brief glance in my direction.
“Will you get out of the fucking way you ignorant shit?”
“Who do you…”
“Just fucking move, how many times do you want asking? What do you want? Do you want it in writing? What?”
“There’s no need to…”
“Shut up and get out of the way.” Exeunt muttering.

I know I’m irascible and my patience only stretches to saying something twice before it is lost forever but what the hell is wrong with these people? How can I be clearer? Should I be writing everything down or communicating in semaphore?

Or is it that a lot of people are simply ignorant?

Keep going.

This cheered me up a bit if only because the statue itself was deeply patronising. “Oh didn’t Churchill do well even though he was depressive? Isn’t that inspiring?” Oh yes, that really helps “portray a more positive image of people with mental illness…” Well done, kudos. You’ve missed the point that if it really were a straightjacket then he wouldn’t have achieved anything would he, he’d have sat in a darkened room cutting himself waiting to die.

This from people trying to promote better understanding? Bah, I say! Bah!

More? More…

Hurrah! Norman Kember is coming home! You remember him, he’s the fucking idiot who went to save the world by doddering about in a war zone only to get kidnapped. What larks! This is a man who, through his own stupidity, has caused countless others to risk their necks because he ‘wanted to help.’ Well do you know what would have helped? Not wasting countless man hours by getting yourself kidnapped slap bang in the middle of a frighteningly tense ideological war. Not being a drain on resources. Saying, “You know what; this is my own stupid fault. Don’t bother rescuing me as I’m an idiot.” NOT FUCKING BEING THERE.

It is bad enough for the people who are supposed to be in the country. Personally I don’t think I could be quite so composed if my leg was blown off.

In other news I have formally resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to spend the rest of my voting life spoiling my ballot as I have no faith in politicians. Do not try and argue the point with me that ‘I have to vote’ as I don’t. I’m supposed to vote for the party that best represents my views and none of them do. For the most part they represent their own interests and treat the populace not unlike serfs quietly ignoring the fact that technically they all work for us. The slimy, disingenuous bastards.

That should keep you going for a while, apologies for the unforced absence. Like I said, I’ve been doing stuff. I’ve even been meditating which is rather new-age and hippyish. Usually I’d disapprove of that sort of shite but I’ve found it relaxes me. Who knows, if I keep it up all these rants might turn into odes about kittens.

Not bloody likely.

Tomorrow: LONDON!

Seriously, my three-fold rant is on the way. I am not just fobbing you off with any old rubbish until I get the chance to write it. I am still angry about everything and it does fester away inside me getting more virulent by the day. It’s just that I have to go for drinks (yay) and spend time down the gym (also yay) and eat takeaway food (woo yay) and that leaves little time for blogging at the moment. I’m even going skiing. My life is rich and full and mired with unnecessary shit that saps my free time. For a start, how fucking long does it take to do your ironing. For ever, that’s how long.

Anyway, until my frothing vision is realised why not take a look at the surface of Mars via the omnipresence that is Google. I wonder if the chances of anything coming from there really are a million-to-one.

Mars that is, not Google.

Normal service will be resumed shortly in the form of a post detailing how I no longer have any faith left in government or society. It is not a cheerful post but then I think you’ve all come to terms with the fact I am a grumpy bastard by now so you’ll probably cope.

I think much of my dissatisfaction comes from trying to reconcile my innate cynicism and somewhat dystopian outlook with the odd fact that, at heart, I’m an idealist. Hurrah for psychosocial juxtaposition and the problems it causes.