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Creative Language

So, they are going to fine people for swearing in parts of Australia and in Barnsley town centre.

My anger and disbelief at this idea is extremely difficult to contain. It makes absolutely no sense for myriad of reasons, but I just have to point out the most obvious.

Language evolves and progresses over years and decades and centuries. What is considered foul language now was not considered foul language 100 years ago. You know, the kids these days are very creative. Did you know what a MILF was a decade ago? Believe it or not, Shakespeare did not pen the line “My companion, on yonder stool is thine finest mater, for she is a MILF and will make my heart take flight”. MILF is an acronym of the highest order, to be commended for its almost onomatopoeic quality. It also contains what is widely regarded as the second worst swear we have. Should it be banned? The offending word itself is not said,but surely it is strongly suggested.

My wife is American and, as such, because of her societal…
Recent posts

Not My Opinion

When did this happen? Without warning, I am now the go-to guy for every contentious discussion of which anyone in the office wishes to be a part. Recently, I have started to be hit with one line points of argument which make very little sense when flippantly thrown at me out of context and which make even less sense when given context by the aggressor.

Do you think you're born gay or do you turn gay? What do you make of the 2012 end of the world? Both of these minor issues were thrown at me within the space of three hours last week from co-workers. Now, there are quick answers (“It's not for me to decide” and “It's bullshit”, taken in order), but that wouldn't do the combative nature of the questions any justice. I was asked in earnest to shed light on the subjects at hand. Although, with my reputation for being opinionated, loud and, well, a prick, I think they asked me for entertainment purposes more than anything else, like asking the drunken conspiracy-theory-guy in…

Won't you be my neighbour?

So, paranoid at number 4 tried a new tact, this time complaining that our chickens have trespassed on her property. I looked up over my laptop and through my office window to see a member of Sheffield City Council peering over our fence to examine the chicken's humble abode.

Holy shit.

I hung up the phone to whatever insurance company was busting my arse that day to pop outside and offer a kind word, asking if there was anything I could help him with. Did he want to come over and take a closer look? As it turns out, he was quite a nice fellow and we had quite an amicable chat. There was nothing wrong with owning chickens and ours look perfectly content, he said. The only thing is, would we mind trying to make their area a little more secure by putting some pea-netting over the entrance, just to make double sure? Of course, says I. Anything we can do, we'll take care of.

All the while, number 4 is seething from underneath her black hood, listening to the polite back-and-forth betw…

With all due respect...

And so the battle between having the greatest, and devoutly Christian, parents in the world and my very strong atheistic beliefs begins. This morning, my daughter told me that the bad people in heaven would like the fact that I have a bad cough.

My initial reaction to this was to find it a genuinely funny thing to say, immediately creating images in my mind of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Disney World, with hordes of bad guys drinking flagons of ale and singing songs about my cough and chasing a buxom young wench, all while the village burns.

But then came the realization that this was a seminal moment in Emma's upbringing. Do I completely dismiss the notion of heaven and begin Emma's education in her Father's belief system? Or do I maintain the magical illusion that the people she knows and relies upon for guidance are unified when it comes to such important matters? Her Grandparents are amazing, generous, gracious people, but Daddy doesn't agree with them.

I mad…

God's Harmful Rays.

Whilst running errands in Sheffield City Centre I was approached by a pleasant enough looking young man who handed me some reading material. I always take leaflets or pamphlets when they are proferred, for two reasons. Firstly, I think turning them down is confrontational and I like an easy life. Secondly, you never know what you might find out and there is no such thing as too much information (unless your best friend is trying to tell you the best way to clean obscure parts of the human body with a moist towelette after running, that is).

What I was handed was a 16 page lesson in how to (or more specifically, how not to) use graphics to illustrate your point, disguised as a guide on how not to go to hell. Now, my writing partner, Chella Quint here, and I know a little something about this, having recently produced a spoof research paper on forming the perfect pub quiz team (search 'The Venns' on Facebook), which includes many illustrations and graphs showing the internal work…

The None Event

Okay. Just watched the Derren Brown's Big Event. Just a couple of thoughts. Firstly. Why was the guy selected sweating like he was being filmed all night by a national audience while behaving like it was a surprise? Second, would your bank allow you to withdraw 5 grand without warning?

Too bad. He lost. I'm sure the guy got to keep his 5 grand, but that is a None Event.

Get this child some lavender, NOW!

While meandering through the lovely district of Holborn, London, I came across the following sign:

Word to the wise. In case of emergency, I beg you to not confuse the two. If your child is suffering from leukemia and you are running late for the latest round of chemotherapy, please, please, please pay full attention. Emergency aromatherapy may make little Johnny more pleasant to sit next to in the car journey home, but it won't help in letting him live long enough to drive you home someday.