There’s this disturbing advertisement on telly nowadays. It has, amongst other things, a scene with a couple of men, one standing suspiciously behind the other while the one in front is holding a newspaper that completely covers their nether areas. The one behind asks “Did you feel anything?”. And then the voiceover says “It glides so smoothly you won’t feel a thing”. Ahh, it’s those homo-erotic advertising people at Gillette!!

I’ve finished ‘Beasts of no nation’, definitely recommend it. From that, I’m going on to Hemmingway, and A Farewell To Arms’. I’ve also picked up a cool-sounding book about a robber who’s obtained $100,000 but can’t spend it ‘coz he’s constantly on the run from the cops. At first I thought this book might be the inspiration for the telly show “My Name Is Earl”, but it’s different. It’s called ‘Milo’s Run’, by Danny King. I’ll let you know what it’s like, of course.

This is what I see in my e-mail inbox. The Greenpeace newsletter telling me “Don’t nuke Iran”. Uhh, ok.

The Iweala book ‘Beasts of no nation’ is a fascinating read, a fantastic debut. It talks about child soldiers in a senseless war between unnamed “enemies” in what is recognisably Africa. So that you can get a feel of the narrative style, I managed to find an essay called Listening to Agu where the author describes how the book came about (Agu is the main protagonist, a child-soldier). It is written in the same style used throughout the book; a kind of pidgin-broken English.
Btw, I used to be called Agu by my lil’ sis back when I was young and cherub-faced.

And here’s a little head-scratcher. The Lotto is now offering a new product called Monday Lotto or something (if I wanted to accurately search out all the facts for you, then I’d have studied journalism, you daft bints). What I’ve understood from the telly ads without actually bothering to do any further research is that this time you don’t even have to get the numbers right; the closest guess counts. Now call me cynical, but I think that this makes no difference at all to the chances of winning the lottery. This is not based on any sound statistical theory, but entirely on my cynicism and suspicion of anything advertised on the telly. But am I right?

This was the name of the movie on E4 that kept me up last night, apart from the Snooker final (well done Dott!!). Nicole Kidman as a Russian mail-order bride who comes, unknowingly to her British, bank clerk husband-to-be, with some baggage in tow. Two Russki ruffians, to be precise. Vincent Cassell was one of the baddies (was it this movie that prompted him to be casted in “Derailed” in a similar but more brutal role?? Hmmm…) and the movie is quite fun, as the British clerk (Ben Chaplin) falls in love and then is defrauded by this trio. There’s a scene where he’s berating Nicole for her role in the fraud, calling her a prostitute.

NK- “You can’t hurt me more than I already am”
BC- “Well Nadia, if it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to give it a bash”

There’s a lot of pretend Russian being spoken, at which Nicole is surprisingly good. But there’s also a lot of proper Russian dialogue from the actors which is inexplicably translated wrongly in the subtitles! It’s not as if the actors are really Russian. So how come they are speaking rehearsed lines properly, and the subtitles so off kilter?

Anyhoo. I’m continuing my tour of the planets with Ben Bova’s Sci-fi books. This time it’s Saturn. The format of all books is such:- It’s the future. Man is moving to the planets. Colonization of the planets brings about various unforeseen problems. There are certain characters who emerge heroes.
However, you do learn a lot about the planets and the direction of current exploratory thought, from the examples he uses.

Another book I’m looking forward to reading is called ‘Beasts of no nation’ by Uzodinma Iweala. I appear to have, yet again, uncovered something special. (Naz, you’re making it too difficult for people trying to be like you!)

Shasha, on returning from her holidays, has brought back with her a fondness for the six-stringed swinging. She bought herself an acoustic guitar on Thursday (plus carrier bag, which I must say she holds quite professionally) and promptly tore her way through her first lesson book (Guitar for Absolute Beginners). She now borrowed two more from the library and intends to torture, er please me with even more scratchings vaguely in some Q-minor key. Oh how I long to hear more of Kostas’ renditions of that timeless classic, ‘The house of the rising sun’. (Atleast, that’s what I think the song was; I only heard it a couple thousand times).

United have been comprehensively beaten 3-0 by Chelsea, who secured their Premiership title for the second time. And deservedly so. But more worryingly Rooney seems to have picked up a telling injury which puts England’s chances at half of what they previously were. Which is less than zero.

And to round it all off, here’s a very insightful view into cartoon making from Autology.

I realise now that all the major companies that are waiting to recruit me must only be holding back because they assume that after the Herculean effort required to pass my Masters, I was in need of a well-deserved rest. Of course that is true, but I am now willing to take on a job that is not too demanding of me physically and mentally. A spacious corner office with a couple of secretaries and a large expense account should do me just fine, methinks. Not to mention the usual perks like a chaffeur, free stationery (to take home if I choose) and a whopping huge mother of a leather chair.
So step forward you multinational companies, you devourers of man and nature, don’t be intimidated, I am available.
Please?

Nuclear supporter: Lord Ingham. Anti-nuclear protester: Mr Ginham. Anagrams yet?

This is the modern day celebrity: “I’m not gonna confuse Harvey than what he already is”. Jordan, back to school for you.

“With enough people repeating the word ‘democracy’, democracy it must be”

I like watching Bremner, Bird and Fortune. But all I take on board is the factual content, because, like other journalists in these modern times, they do tend to over-exaggerate. Which reminds me of Taj, a friend in India who pretty much introduced me to the joys or motorcycling, but more importantly developed a whole tradition of telling tall tales of feats accomplished on motorbikes when there’s no-one around to collaborate them.

To paraphrase something I heard – “It’s possible the world was made round so that we don’t see too far down the road”

Watching the snooker on telly, you realise how much of human communication relies not just on content of speech, but body language too. I guess we all have been confronted by this problem while texting a message to someone we don’t know all that well; should we joke?, will they understand it?, etc. Hence the popularity of smileys to clarify the situation. The commentators on the television speak authoritatively about what options are left to a snooker player, and what balls it is wise to play because the white ball ends up in such-and-such a position, and a miss will still entail a difficult pot for the opponent. What I noticed is that a lot of their confident statements like “Yes, the pink will go on its spot, but the red next to it will still go in the middle pocket” are based not as much on their experience of positions and angles as ex-players, as on the fact that they are in the hall watching the players prepare to take the pot on. Which signals to them that, at the very least in the players’ eyes, the ball can be played.

Thinking upon it, I wonder whether the use of smileys in textual communication is indicative of the communicator’s inability to verbalise their message adequately. Is it possible that the more smileys and similar shortcuts one uses, the less capability they have to express themselves in plain words? Or is it that the communicator is actually a highly gregarious animal to whom the message is more than just words, and the presence of smileys is essential because the message is more personal?

Oh, and I think I might be the first to spot a mistake in an advertisement, thanks to the amount of time I spend in front of the telly combined with the intense scrutiny I put ads under. Some Oxy cleaning powder is advertised as being able to clean jam, ink and grass stains from white shirts, so you get crystal clear whites. I don’t have to clean these stains from my whites because I don’t eat grass and ink, and I put my jam on bread. Now I don’t know what the brand is because I am not susceptible to brand-recognition programming when it comes to household sanitation products; I’m not a woman. (I’m loving it! tm). But apparently a lot of housewives are walking around under the mis-impression (un-impression??) that their whites are white. But these whites are not crystal white. Which leaves their children permanently scarred and prone to deeds of misconduct like speaking in the classroom and thinking and suchlike. Alarums!! I’m aghast at the thought! Apart from beating them to correct this, (worked with me; I no longer think), the only solution is to make their whites crystal white. Anyhow, towards the end of this ad, the screen splits into four quarters showing four different white items of clothing. Only two of these are relevant to our discussion (my discourse, actually). While the seductive female voice (in truth an eighty year-old with a colostomy) says “white cuffs and white socks” in that order, the screen zooms in on socks first, and then the cuffs!! (both equally bog-standard, by the way). Lo and behold. The truth is thus revealed. Let it not be said that I keep my immense knowledge from the world.