Broken Computer theory

As with the tipping point of The Broken Window Theory and how that leads on to further broken windows, so my computer has broken and all the good work of me putting the effort in working hard and writing a blog a day is now affected and I'm not going to be able to write a blog for a while.

It's just one of those things that happens, there's no guiding hand trying to stop me, it's just piss poor bad luck and nothing else.

As soon as I've got my computer back up and running I will be back to blog another day.

Broken Computer theory

As with the tipping point of The Broken Window Theory and how that leads on to further broken windows, so my computer has broken and all the good work of me putting the effort in working hard and writing a blog a day is now affected and I'm not going to be able to write a blog for a while.

It's just one of those things that happens, there's no guiding hand trying to stop me, it's just piss poor bad luck and nothing else.

As soon as I've got my computer back up and running I will be back to blog another day.

Another Country

There are times that I'm transported back to being a small child again and I get the feeling I used to get when my friends older brothers had their friends round and we'd get playing, because I could never resist a play with the older kids, and it would go too far and someone would use their superior strength to hold me still and no matter how I struggled I couldn't escape, and the frustration was palpable.  These days  like I get that feeling when I'm battling with putting a duvet cover on, and I never fully trust anyone who doesn't approach this task with caution and a little bit of their heart going "Right there's the outside chance of making a massive cunt of yourself here, be careful, the last thing you want is to end up with the duvet on the floor and you trapped in the cover."

It's my second worst feeling.  Even thinking about it now has brought a little bit of it back to me.

I should have told ya that the things that you love start to own ya

Judgement, and prejudgement.  We all do it from time to time, it's natural and it's one of our basic defence strategies passed down to us from our ancestors on the plains, a stranger comes in to our group from the outside, we're suspicious and fearful, and if something bad then happens to upset the equilibrium it's clearly their fault.

It's not always the first answer that's the right one though is it?

It gets better

I've always been of the opinion that the world is incrementally, day by day, step by step getting better and better, there's little hiccups along the way but gradually we're getting more enlightened and getting closer and closer to figuring out the one simple rule of life.  "Don't be a fucking dick"  and if you are being a fucking dick "Stop being a fucking dick".  Which is the simplified version of what I believe Siddhartha, the Buddha said upon realising that suffering is an inherent part of human life and that the only way to end the suffering of the self is to not harm another living thing.  A less nihilistic version of Sartre's Existentialism, which was built on realising that life has no purpose, no overriding meaning, and that in discovering that we are truly free we first despair, and then realise that the only true choice open to us is to extend the freedom of others.  Fuck yeah, check out my basic level of general knowledge masquerading as intelligence!

Rituals.  They make us who we are, they remind us that in a world where everything can change in a single second, and change back just as quickly that we're still who we think we are.  From paying taxes (if you're self employed) through to Weddinbgs, Stag and Hen Parties, even through to your morning poo and a cup of coffee (not always in that order)  They remind us that in the transience of life some things remain constant.

For me, first thing in the morning involves singing the Doctor Who Theme tune whilst doing an interpretive dance with jazz hands, getting a cup of tea, and a shower and then playing "Dance of the Knights" by Prokovief (AKA The Apprentice theme tune) as I sit down to my computer.  It's at that point I know I'm ready to face the day.

You probably have a slightly different routine, maybe you have a wank to the Blake's 7 theme tune, I don't know, it's up to you you magnificent pervert you.

Whatever you dream you can do.

As I sit at my desk there's my pirate ship model that I bought on holiday in France earlier this year, assorted candles, a stetson, some sweet chestnuts and a Dr Who mug with cooling tea.  There's also a polystyrene skull and two white candles which I never light but they look vaguely magical.  There's a rock my mum gave me because it's purple and she liked it.  And right next to my monitor there's a postcard I bought in Edinburgh a few weeks ago and it's got a quote by Goethe which reads "Whatever you dream you can do begin it.  Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.  Begin it now."

I bought it half way through a brilliant and rainy day in Edinburgh with my friend the comedian and magician Danny Buckler.  We'd talked about a great many things, but mainly about comedy and performance and where we saw ourselves and what we'd like to do with it.  We exchanged stories about things that worked and stories of our own failure, and stories about our heroes.  I'm sure some of the stories we shared were apocryphal, or legend building on the part of the players involved, but in an Oxfam shop I saw that postcard whilst I was buying a few books and it jumped out at me.

I've always been full of ambition, and energy and a clear idea of where I want to be, but I always feel like I've somehow lost the road map and my sat nav's broken, but I've got a vague idea of what I want to do, and this postcard summed up where I'd been going wrong.  It's the simplest thing, but it's the thing that stops us every time.  The beginning.  Begin it.

The Pope Walks into a Bar...

There's an old joke that goes:

A stranger walks into a bar and gets talking to a guy who's sat on his own in one corner, he asks him why he looks so down and why he's on his own.
He says "none of these people will talk to me anymore."
The stranger says says "Why's that?"
The man replies, "Well last year when I saved the Barmans family from a fire I was Bob the hero but do they remember me for that?  When I rescued that dog from the river last winter do they remember me for that? And when I gave all that money  for those school kids to go on that trip did they remember that?

"So what happened?" asked the stranger

And Bob said "You shag One sheep..."

The Pope's coming to visit.

Growing up Clever.

I was one of those kids that if are great if you're a middle class parent of an only child, and horrific to anyone else. An uncanny child that appeared to have been born old.  My mum loves to go on about how far ahead of my age I was in terms of intelligence when I was little.  I know that many many middle class parents do this that they tell everyone that their kid is special, that they're intelligent, that they have a talent.


Turns out though, I did.

AV, irritants and illness.

I'm an irritable bugger at the best of times.  I try not to be, I like to live my life by the words of Gandhi and "be the change you wish to see in the world" which I think makes me a bit culturally than Peter Jones of Dragon's Den who this week said he tries to live his life by the words of Michael Jackson, specifically "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change."  It's difficult though because I've got a bunch of autistic traits that makes getting on with humans quite difficult.

Liberal Guilt

As the New Order song title goes, and oddly my mum's advice to me most of my life: Guilt is a useless emotion.

My mum's reasoning was simple, "guilt is about something you've done, now you either did it on purpose in which case there's no need to feel guilty because it was a calculated decision, or you did it by accident, either way you can't change it you can just make sure you don't do it again."

She's pretty smart my mum. Though admittedly some of her advice does read like it comes straight from the mouth of Hannibal Lecter.

"Liberal Guilt" though that's a weird one, It doesn't come from something that you've done, it seems to come from something that "we've" done to "them" whoever "them", it's a collective guilt that in spite of our best efforts to not be bigotted, racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic etc etc we still find ourselved occasionally falling foul to our natural instincts.

Older, but not wiser

I keep abortively starting and then stopping writing a blog. Rosanne tells me I should keep one, "for your fans" but I suspect that's because when we first met she'd already read every one of my incredibly personal blogs over and over, and it made for a couple of awkward first dates. Especially as she's very quiet and very very shy around strangers. In fact I was 10 minutes late for our first date and apparently she'd nearly been sick with nerves. We then went on a date and as I'm a gobby cow I thought I'd do the talking, but thanks to my blogs telling all my best stories and the deeply personal first hour long show I'd done I had nothing she hadn't already heard.

I want to keep a blog, it's handy for me, and it was always fun to do, though I suspect now that I don't die on my arse nearly as often, nor do I take copious quantities of story enhancing narcotics I'm never sure if my stories are too tame these days. but ho hum.

Also these days I'm getting angrier with stuff in the news, I suspect it's because although I don't appear to age physically the portrait in my attic's starting to look pretty fucked, I'm now doing all the things my dad used to do and still does. I shout at Question Time, get angry at Any Questions (and more so at any answers) and the other day I had a discussion with a woman in Sainsbury's about how Nat West had managed to send out my new cash card to the wrong address TWICE with a pin number. Apparently it's procedure if your card's been stolen to reissue a PIN number. For Security. A security feature that's over ridden if they send it out to your old address EVEN THOUGH YOU'VE ASKED THEM TO KEEP IT AT THE FUCKING BANK FOR YOU. Anyway the most sure fire sign that I'm getting old was that after the woman behind the counter tutted "bloody banks" I said "Yeah, yeah! It's not wonder we're in the bloody recession we're in is it eh?" she laughed and I walked to the car whilst experimenting to see if I could actually eat my own fist.
I'd change banks but it turns out I've got such a bad credit rating I can't do that. I should have known, I can't even get a contract phone. A friend of mine can and he was declared bankrupt last year, so I should have realised.