DON'T DAWDLE

 

Dawdling, this is something that drives me to distraction. Some days it seems as if everybody is at it. They get in my way, they dwell at doorways, dither at the till, they prevaricate at the cashpoint, they block the escalators, and they wander at the way in.

The Dawdler is in sharp contrast to the overactive spindly addict dashing to get their next fix like Usain Bolt on roller skates; the Tortoise and the Hare springs to mind.

Is dawdling a result of being in one’s own world? Be it the headphones or the loud mobile phone conversation, there has to be a reason for, this now, common high street scenario.

I remember in my earlier years walking down a crowded Oxford Street with the throng all seeming to know where they were going. Yes, you would get the odd bad pedestrian who would suddenly and sharply hit the brakes leading to collision, but by and large dawdling was at a minimum.

People looked where they were going, they listened, they paid attention to their surroundings, whereas now it’s all about the internal self rather than the world outside.

The bar dawdler is another creature that needs to face extinction. They get in the way of thirsty customers and try the patience of beleaguered bar staff, it shouldn't be too hard to choose a drink and order it without going through a complete list of the drinks available, or make a choice between Cheese & Onion and Salt and vinegar crisps or pork scratchings.

Mind you, this infuriating craze that has taken the pub world by storm of queuing up should be ridden out of town. It's pointless and actually makes bar staff work harder. Don't be a queuer.

I saw a clip on social media of a new trend in which idiotic attention seekers stand at the bottom of escalators blocking their fellow travellers way.This is moronic, dangerous and just plain annoying. Dawdling turned into performative nonsense.

Just remember, don't dawdle people, its not clever and its not funny.

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UNITED

North London Together

A gathering on a Tuesday evening of 100,000 people on the streets of Islington celebrating Arsenal’s title win into the early hours was a sharp contrast to Tommy Robinson’s Unite The Kingdom March of a few days earlier.

A literal sea of diversity and genders gathered together in unity, real unity. The mood, buoyant, the atmosphere electric and the harmony obvious. This said more about modern Britain than the gathering in Whitehall where hate, fear and loathing held sway. Where animosity and suspicion were the default.

The unity seen outside the Emirates stadium was genuine in its shared passion. These people did not come together to show that they hated someone else but that they loved the same thing.

People decided to leave their houses, bars, pubs and restaurants to take part in a shared experience. This was not prearranged, this was a spontaneous moment that showed that a shared cause brings out the best in people when that shared cause has values and is inclusive.

There was no in fighting, no arrests, no one was made to feel unwelcome or uncomfortable.There was no ego, this was purely a show of pride and celebration.

The red and white Flag of Saint George was weaponised at the UTK march whereas the red and white Arsenal colours were on display as a shared positive experience.

THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE CATALAN

 

Flight 115

Pepe Guardiola has booked his ticket on Helicopter flight 115 out of Saigon amid the imminent collapse of the Manchester City machine powered by oil and controversy. The darling of the UK sports media is fleeing before the Viet Cong storm the embassy.

His achievements speak for themselves, or do they? Are those achievements tainted? 

There is an old proverb which says that there is no smoke without fire , and this may very well be true in Guardiola’s case. Drug tested as a player for the banned anabolic steroid nandrolone while playing in Italy’s Serie A for Brescia in 2001. Guardiola was later exonerated

Manager of Barcelona who were found guilty of bribing referees. Former FC Barcelona presidents Sandro Rosell and Josep Maria Bartomeu, José María Enríquez Negreira, and his son Javier Enríquez Romero, were indicted for "corruption", "breach of trust", and "false business records", opening an investigation into the case. Guardiola is of course innocent as he did not make payments

Manager of a Manchester City side that were given a two-year ban and were also handed a €30 million fine by UEFA's Club Financial Control Body for breach of Financial Fair Play rules after deeming they'd falsely inflated sponsorship revenues between 2012 and 2016. The ruling was later contested, and the court overturned the ban and reduced the fine to €10m

Manager of Manchester City who currently have 115+ charges. The alleged breaches include overstating sponsorship revenue, failing to provide accurate financial information, breaching player and manager remuneration rules, and non-compliance with investigatory obligations. Guardiola is of course innocent until proven a beneficiary.

Manger of a club owned by a nation state with bottomless resources via Deputy Prime Minister of the United Arab Emirates and a senior royal, Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan. He operates within an authoritarian state that is frequently criticised by international organisations for restricting freedom of expression, criminalising dissent, and lacking fair trials. Human rights groups have demanded UK sanctions. Human rights organisations have called on the British government to investigate Sheikh Mansour's alleged role in the UAE government's support for the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in Sudan. And a UN Panel of Experts and U.S. intelligence have identified the UAE as supplying weapons and logistical backing to the RSF, a militia group accused of committing widespread atrocities in Darfur. Naturally Guardiola is not involved in any of this he merely benefits financially.

His time at Bayern Munich seems to be his only tenure not to have any kind of shadow over it. In fact, the only hint of controversy was when Guardiola accused a dressing-room mole of damaging the club. Alleged details of rows that happened behind closed doors after the team's Champions League exit at the hands of Atlético Madrid were leaked to the German media and he was, understandably unhappy.

So, this man with a room full of trophies covering his time at Barcelona where he had the best players in the world and at Bayern Munich which is essentially a one/two team league and at Manchester City where has had unlimited resources, reaches the end of this chapter.

An iconoclast and a footballing genius for sure, but, and this is the thing, there is a whiff of something untoward connected to his achievements. The fans of the Clubs that he has managed won’t care about that and that’s fair enough, but in sport, above all businesses there is an expectation of fair play. Where Guardiola is concerned there will always be that niggling doubt that he didn’t play by the rules.

I'll TELL YOU WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT

A world in which truth is stranger than fiction is a world where seeing is not always believing. We can all de deceived and bamboozled by those who choose to use dark powers for nefarious purposes. 

The scam call, spam, dubious emails and spurious texts are the arsenal of the criminal. Most of us receive more scam calls than calls from people in our contacts. We open more spam emails than genuine emails. "Hi mum I've lost my phone..." is the modern equivalent of the bloke selling dish clothes door to door.

Everyone wants something from you, everyone wants your hard earned cash. The beggar on the street sitting on his cushion of newspapers, the drug addict simply shoving an out held palm to  you repeating the mantra of "any spare change?"

Then you have the charity huckster loitering outside train stations trying to disguise their salesmanship under a guise of charity. Don't be fooled dear reader, this is not charity this is locking you into a contract for commission.

Then there are those who imply that hey are giving somethin g to you.

I don’t want the chance to win a golfing holiday in the Algarve. I am happy with my internet provider. I’m not looking to switch to another phone network. I don’t need any more insurance. I don’t want to join a gym, anyway, what are you implying?

It isn’t safe anywhere it seems. In the pub I was offered a palate of Ferrero Rocher, which I suppose makes a change from the usual meat in security tagged packets and boxes of Wilkinson Sword blades. sSome bloke even had the temerity to offer me a free 'taster' of drugs! Obviously I turned this down and sent him away with a flea oin his pierced ear.

0% credit, buy one get one free, nothing to pay for six months, discount codes, recommend a friend and the beat goes on.

I find myself suspicious of everyone these days, every phone call every email, every person standing outside the train station and even someone politely asking for directions is viewed with initial suspicion.

My bottom line is this; If I want something I will seek that something out. Please stop the hard sale.

STATUE OF NO LIMITATIONS

 

When people start erecting statues of their leaders you know that things have gone to pot, when people start erecting golden statues of their leaders its safe to say that we are entering the Kim Ill-sung arena.

The deification of Trump at Sodom and Gomorrah Mar-A-Lago is the latest in a line of tacky stunts that not only defy belief but appear to be part of an elaborate performance piece by an unknown artist with enormous wealth, (a Liberace Banksy if you will)

The Golden God is a tale as old as time, worshipped by some, feared by others and sought after by many.

Indiana Jones nearly got crushed by a huge boulder in search of one, Charlton Heston's Moses destroyed one, Bomba The Jungle Boy goes up against a ruthless hunter to protect one and  Homelander's erection sets the worlds collective teeth on edge in The Boys.

Statues of public figures are part of life in a lot of countries, generally in celebration of someones achievements, so it's a strange thing to build a golden statue of a person whose achievements are largely grifting money and playing golf badly.

The Pastor, Mark Burns, at the centre of news reporting on the worship aspect of the unveiling has been vocal in his insistence that no one will be worshipping Trumps clenched fisted abomination. My viewpoint on Pastors informs my opinion of what Mr Burns has to say.

Pastors are the ultimate grifters. They have no visible qualification, they are basically Estate Agents with a pulpit, rinsing money out of misguided congregations. They are hucksters using flim-flam and sleight of hand so of course they are going to be in Trump's corner as he is the master of all those dark arts.

I have not read the bible but I know enough that theres a part in it that says that worship of idols is frowned upon by the almighty so these religious, bible-clutchers who feel it's okay to bend a knee in front of the golden gargoyle clearly missed that bit.

My conclusion is that Trump has The Idiots Guide To Being A Dictator in Audiobook form as he continues to pursue a campaign of misguided, delusional and just plain daft decisions. Those that are most complicit with his idolatry are the idle rich as they see, in him, a kindred spirit in action 

Trump's hubris apparently has no boundaries so I'm half expecting him to commission a 151 foot high statue of himself made of Swarovski diamonds to place on liberty Island next to The Statue Of Liberty. That statue will be of him "grabbing Lady Liberty by the pussy"

MADNESS AT THE MET

 

For those of you, like me, who enjoy the films of Ray Harryhausen you will have seen Jason And The Argonauts and Clash Of The Titans. They both feature the gods atop Mount Olympus viewing the mere mortals from their lofty heights with detached interest knowing that they can control destinies on a whim. 

They may have been adorned in their finery, sipping ambrosia and popping down to earth for a bit of nooky whenever they fancied it, but Zeus and his pals were modest, humble and reserved when compared to the attendees of The Met Gala.

I first heard the term “ludicrous popinjay” when watching the sublime Frasier. This was uttered by Niles Crane when judging a pretender for Daphne’s heart. The term perfectly describes the parade of vacuous dilettantes’ posing on the stairs and red carpet in front of salivating gentlemen and women of the press at the excruciating show of preening narcissism that is the Met Gala. 

Apparently, this is where "haute couture intersects with history to create the ultimate cultural moment – all in the name of art” but it is really an opportunity for celebrities to parade in outfits, one more outlandish than the other, trying to outdo each other in the ridiculous stakes.

The films The Hunger Games, Snowpiercer and Rollerball all showed a ruling elite in a dystopian future beguiled by their own sense of entitlement. Their hubris was manifested in their disdain for the general populace and that’s how it feels when viewing the conveyor belt of pompous egotists strutting their stuff.

Their costumes, because that’s what they are: costumes, designed to out flounce their opponents for column inches and photo layouts cost obscene amounts of money which makes the whole enterprise smack of Marie Antoinette and her coterie mixed with the Romanovs and we all know what happened to them.

The whole shameless display of wealth and ego is possibly the worst thing to happen to the concept of the subtlety since Roche Bobois.

It all comes across as very much the Emperor’s New Clothes. I am convinced that the designers of the hideous, performative and outlandish would cloak their effete clients in used condoms with dead geese as shoes in order to make a statement

The thing that irks me in particular is the extreme lack of self-awareness shown by these millionaires in the face of not only the global economy but the very real problems in the country in which the gala is held. As a mirror to the reality of the lives of many the few are casting a very ugly reflection. Narcissus in extreme.

"Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad" and maybe the Olympians are still looking down and testing the world of celebrity that have the audacity to present themselves as god like. The celebrities who rock up looking like an explosion in a jumble sale are clearly delusional and yes, perhaps mad to think they are in the slightest bit important or meaningful.

"Off with their heads" I say (metaphorically of course)

MEET ABBOTT AND COSTELLO

 

Bud Abbott And Lou Costello were not only famous for their vaudevillian double act but they also starred in a successful Comedy franchise that in volume, exceeds the Carry On movies. The couple made a number of films between 1940 and 1956; that’s a staggering 36 in 16 years.

Starting out on the stage then radio they became the most popular comedy team of the 1940s and 1950s, and the highest-paid entertainers in the world during World War II so it was logical for them to go into the movies

Their co-stars were many and varied and included famous names like Charles Laughton, The Andrews Sisters, Dick Powell and Adele Jurgens. They most notably starred in a number of Horror Comedy Movies alongside such Pre-code stars as Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney JR, Bela Lugosi. These films not only featured the famous Hollywood monsters but had those recognisable faces playing parts.

The Invisible Man, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, Dr Jekyll And Mr Hide and The Mummy were all met by the iconic duo along with Ghosts, Pirates, Aliens, Killer Apes and Ghouls.

Much of their horror output is considered close to being cannon by horror fans, with Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein getting the most kudos.

It's a fine line to have genuine horror in horror comedy but these two managed it

Abbott And Costello were not as surreal as their predecessors The Marx Brothers, nor as versatile as The Ritz Brothers  but their cinematic output was watched by many and formed a major part of post war filmgoing experience in the states. 

The closest to them in terms of profile were Bob Hope And Bing Crosby and their "Road To..." movies were a staple for many years. The difference being that they were stars in their own right. Bud & Lou came as a pair.

They were the last of the wisecracking comedy acts of the era that relied on slick routines and old school experience, they were followed on the big screen by much broader comedy in the shape of The Three Stooges and Martin & Lewis.

These Abbott And Costello movies represent a kind of purity in concept; "let them do their thing and the rest will take care of itself"

BRAND X

 

The United states was built on the four Gs; Greed, Guns, Genocide and Grift, that's maybe why grifters find their way there. Just look at the man in charge of the country and his entourage of shameless charlatans.

The image of the brave frontiersman and the wagon train of settlers is an idealised view of the  old west, it tells of adventure and endeavour, of  wholesome values in the face of adversity and manifest destiny.The reality is a moustachioed man in a black suit and tall hat driving a wagon loaded with snake oil.

The Carpetbagger rather than the Cowboy, the Huckster instead of the Homesteader, the Con Man not the Cattle Rancher, the Grifter bamboozling the Grafter.

The landscape, 300 years later, remains very much the same in the USA as Pastors, Influencers, Spiritual Advisors, the leading lights of MAGA and the Manosphere abound and drain the finances of the gullible and the greedy.

We've seen Louis Theroux expose the graft and allow his subjects to be hoist by their own petard, we've seen Trump shout down dissenters and a variety of his coterie in avoidance heavy interviews.

The latest shameless Grifter to face the court of public opinion, before having to face an actual court, is the overly verbose Russell Brand, who now loves in America. His appearance on Piers Morgan's Uncensored was by equal measure excruciating and jaw dropping. Brand rambled and pontificated, diverted and misdirected, his grasp of reality seems slender but one can't help but detect a large dollop of cynical manipulation from Brand.

The former 'Shagger Of The Year' referenced Hitler, Veganism, Carnivores, Israel, Consent, Prison, Bear Grylls, Covid, Robert Kennedy, Uncle Tom Cobley and all in his rambling semi-coherent responses to Morgan's questions.

The cherry on the unsavoury Brand cake was both embarrassing and extremely funny. If you like the sort of humour see in Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm Brand's two minute search, through the Bible that he seems to carry everywhere, for a meaningful quote would have been right up your street.

In that moment Brand came across like a unused Sacha Baron Cohen character channeled through the lens of Tom Stoppard.

To say that Brand imploded is an understatement. It must be clear to all that his recent TV appearances have coincided with the release of his new Booky Wook. This is classic Grifter misdirection; just look at Trump staging assassination attempts to detract from the bigger story.

Brand is under the microscope for alleged criminal offences of an extremely dark and concerning nature and his conversion from atheist, then Buddhism to now being a Christian has to be viewed with suspicion. His Grifter credentials have been well and truly exposed and the bottom line for him is that for all his self conscious "look at me Iv'e swallowed a dictionary" act, he comes across as wholly unlikable and thoroughly guilty.

It seems very much that Brand sees a way to stay out of jail with his conversion and meandering words about guilt, accountability and, cant but he may have ruined his chances.

The Grift, does not make one invincible, it only insulates as long as you don't give the game away; his appearance on Morgan's show to promote his book did indeed cause Brand to expose his grift in all it's cynicism.

OFF THE WAIL!

Did anyone need a new Michael Jackson Biopic? Haven't we all heard all there is to (legally) be heard about him? 

Michael Jackson peaked with the Off The Wall album, an album with writer, performer, musicians and producer at their peak. Thriller, despite its unprecedented success, was the begining of the end of Michael Jackson as a soul artist and turned him into a pop star. 

"Bad" further took him away from the roots of The Jackson Five and then his output veered from the bizarre to the mediocre as his appearance and image deteriorated into a cliche. Dangerous and invincible featured mawkish lyrics that the Archies would baulk at but the irony is that he reached peak popularity, a popularity across the globe in places where 'naffness' does not register in the same way. The hysteria that accompanied his public appearances was one step away from the reception a cult leader would receive.

And that, in essence is what he became; the leader of a cult.

A cult leader with trite dance moves, terrible clothes and a face that transformed into that of an extra from Dawn Of The Dead.

His sweet soulful voice became a series of screams, shouts and vocal spasms punctuated with asthmatic gasps. he went from glorious warbler to grotesque wailer 

I am not going all in on his behaviour documented or otherwise as I feel this is a path well trodden, its the music, the once wonderful music that he made. The talent was always there and when he was good, oh, how good he was.

I won't be going to see "Michael" starring Jaafar Jackson as I don't feel the need to revisit the post Off The Wall years as this seems to be the main thrust of the film. I'd rather listen to songs from his his earlier mercurial career. Michael jackson is an America tragedy as far as I am concerned and that tradegy started when he decided to stop being a great Soul artist but "the King Of Pop"

I leave you with a reminder of the real magic-

https://youtu.be/euJQMVKHIj4?si=gqQHgFsMPFhaqTi-

LOVING LOVE ON THE SPECTRUM

 

Every once in a while, dear reader, a cynic such as I has to admit to the fact that our cousins across the Atlantic can deliver a televisual shmaltz fest that is neither excruciating nor crass.

This one has it all; the gentle but uplifting pianos, the soft-focus composition, an eye toward a shot that would make a good cover for a self-motivation book and a large dollop of syrupy sub text.

But, and here’s the thing, it’s glorious.

I am talking about Netflix’s Love On The Spectrum, and I am not ashamed to admit that I am hooked. Such is my addiction (if you will) that I have watched all four seasons, completing the latest in three days.

The premise is simple, and we have seen a version before with Channel 4’s The Undateables which veered into some debatable territory given the disabilities of some of the subjects, we are introduced to a set of young American men and women who are on the wide and wonderful Autistic spectrum, searching for love.

Yes, that one thing that unites us all regardless of our circumstances; we all want love.

What is most striking is how supportive their families and friends are. Of course, this sort of programme will have been produced to the nth degree but there are some things you can’t fake. They see the humour and joy in how their children and friends interact with the world and above all show a real sense of encouragement and care.

The main characters of the show have their journeys followed throughout the four seasons, we see the lows and more importantly the highs as they search for “the one”.

It’s easy to forget that by virtue of being on the spectrum the rules and customs of dating, which are hard enough for most people, can be jungle paths to navigate for them. Often, they decide that they have found that special person after 5 minutes, sometimes extended silences take place and we will them to break it with a question or even a smile.

Among the stand out stars of the show are James, the rapid talking font of knowledge with the Hawaiian shirts and mullet, Madison, a charming young woman who has a good grasp of what makes her different, Tanner ever smiling with a heart of gold Abbey, who is full of boundless optimism tempered with reflective moments, the indefatigable Dani who is looking for a man who both loves illustration and is up for some intimacy and Connor who dreams of a bygone England and is supported by his family and in particular his wonderful mother Lise.

The beauty of the show is in the honesty of it's stars their words of wisdom and their capacity for great humour and wonderful soundbites. The off screen film crew, led by show creator Cian O’Clery, that follow their subjects exploits are to be commended as they never patronise or exploit their subjects, rather they are an unseen presence offering comfort and optimism.

What started out as an Australian show soon moved locations to the USA where it has found a loyal audience and thas received seven Emmys. It is supported by Autism organisations and has helped both educate and entertain.

The film makers allow the love seekers to break the fourth wall and this insight is valuable in helping us to understand their trials and tribulations.

Yes the show serves a serious educational point but above all it is very very funny. Funny in a "laugh with' way and because we grow close to the subjects we feel protective towards them.

They stumble and fall in their quest for a life partner but they ultimately believe that cupid’s arrow will find its way to them. I won't spoil it by saying how many arrows land but you find yourself hoping that Cupid has good aim.

If you want an uplift in these dark times then I recommend that you get on the love train and see what life is like on the spectrum.