The boo Rooneys

Actually, no, I don’t care that you’ve travelled thousands of miles or how much the objects of your derision earn. How does spending any amount of money afford the right to treat other people like shit? It’s not only an inability to tell the difference between not trying and not being any good, it’s the endemic response to failure that irritates. It’s the culture that celebrates bullying chefs, which encourages us to dispense with those who fall short of another’s subjective view of perfection; they’re only human beings, plenty more where they came from. Shout abuse at those who disappoint and applaud the arrogant but talented pricks, ability is all that matters… when I see all this it reminds me that sometimes I don’t like you very much.

From the office of bad comparisons

I am trying very hard to get over my disappointment in the recent behaviour of the U.S President. I am failing. Serves me right for being swept along in the general euphoria but I guess I'm no different from the billions of other dolts who populate this planet; I want something or someone to believe in.

It took until today for Barack Obama to even suggest an environmental impact as the inevitable risk of our search for the black gold, to oh-so cautiously encourage people to think about their addiction. Not that he put it that way of course. It's far easier to spew out the nonsense of yesterday; comparing the psychological impact of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill to that of the 9/11 attacks. Those would be the events in which 3000 people lost their lives and countless more in the aftermath. What a tit.

Mister Furious

President Obama is furious. I know this because he said it twice; but this was stage-managed fury so it wasn't terribly convincing. I've little time, nor (I hoped) had he, for people who would vent rather than act, but since the U.S government is unable to do anything he expends much of his energy on that favourite political pastime, making sure we know who to blame. That'd be British Petroleum, formerly BP but helpfully renamed by the White House so the xenophobes know which b*stard foreigners to hate. No one doubts who is responsible but just in case, hint that British Petroleum are withholding all the facts, or better still that they're not working with the necessary sense of urgency. Because when people are emotional they'll swallow any old sh*t.

Love is all

Back in the 1980's when AIDS first entered the popular consciousness the main television channels played their part by running a number of prime time awareness programs. Those I recollect featured an assortment of pop stars talking about safe sex. The irony escaped me at the time but the reason I remember was that half way through one of these shows, after various demonstrations of how to put a condom on a banana, I think it was Jon Moss of Culture Club who made a remark to the effect that the most important element in a relationship was love. I will always admire him for that.

Some years later I saw a documentary on transgender reassignment and if I am to be completely honest I didn't find it comfortable viewing. But again it was one particular comment that stays in the mind; a woman having undergone a procedure tearfully hoping for nothing more than to be loved for who she was. It sounds a bit 'Richard Curtis' but I'm embarrassed to say it was only then that I was able to properly connect. I've thought about that moment a lot. I hope she's O.K.

Despite being a term apparently in use for over a decade it's only in the last year I've heard the initialism LGBT, referring to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people. Perhaps one reason for my lack of awareness is that it never occurred to me to group people in such a way. It's not the exclusion that bothers but the negative inference. Sexual orientation seems a completely separate issue to gender identity; the commonality appears to be based on what people are not, rather than who they are. In truth I am uncomfortable with any form of segregation, no matter how well intentioned, but that's an easy stance for a white heterosexual to take. So I tell myself that the need for such organisations is as much a failure on my part to embrace all that is different and wonderful as it is an instinctive search for identity.

Nevertheless I look forward to the day when we generalise, if we must, not according to physical preference but the content of our hearts, and I propose a new alliance based on the following three principles:

1. It doesn't matter what sex a person wants to be.
2. It doesn't matter what sex a person wants to have.
3. Love is all that matters.

That's right I said "love" - I don’t want to make it too easy.

Left of centre

In August 1991 hard-line members of the Soviet communist party staged a coup d'état, arresting Mikhail Gorbachev in a futile attempt to roll back the years. The BBC at the time rather bizarrely described these usurpers as right-wing or Conservative - well it was the BBC. I only mention this because for a bit of fun at lunchtime I decided to find out where I could be found on the political compass - it being more exciting than reading this weeks' Packaging News - and was surprised to discover I'm left of centre. Beyond wondering whether this is how others see me it is a reminder that such dubious exercises leave more questions than answers, or at least I hope they do. I could have just said they're false, that whilst generalisations help in providing context we should forego the label. Though it does explain the behaviour of some student friends, one might describe them as left-of-centre, who possessed of a core conviction branded themselves appropriately and then 'discovered' what else they believed in.

Pipe dreams

A charming idealist or a wasted opportunity - it's unsettling to think how my perception of Johnny Nolan has changed. I first saw A Tree Grows in Brooklyn when I was 15 and most recently last Saturday, though I have seen it many times in the intervening 27 years. Usually with repeated viewing I notice the faults, no performance can be perfect, but I was surprised to find it was my reaction to Johnny that was different. It was the first time I could properly feel the frustration of his wife, I'd always understood but this time I felt it. This disturbed me a little, worrying about being too harsh, but I let myself off with a warning. He is a drunk, a pipe-dreamer but also a purveyor of hope… until you get to know him. Yet I am conflicted for he is a kind generous man and genuinely loved, surely the greatest of achievements? I don't know why this film in particular affects me so much. James Dunn who won an Oscar for his portrayal had problems with alcohol throughout his life and Peggy Ann Garner who played the central character was married three times and died of cancer having outlived her daughter. Such is life; to me however she will always be Johnny's daughter Francie Nolan, and as such perfect, though whether that's a healthy outlook I'm not so sure.

I met Stanley Baxter once

I met Stanley Baxter once. He asked me if the next train went to London. I said yes, it did.

I think you ought to know I'm feeling very tired. Shortly after the election I dreamt the Conservatives had formed a coalition government with the Chelsea striker Salomon Kalou - I’m still trying to figure that one out. I’ve not been sleeping well, perhaps it’s the finite variety of work that makes it so difficult to drag myself out of bed or the mind-numbing drive on the motorway; there and back again, and again, and again… a developer’s tale. This may explain the loss of my debit card to a non-functioning cash machine this morning, followed by an inability to remember my account number when phoning the bank; not so long ago I forgot my PIN number. Either I’m tired or it’s the onset of dementia. Or maybe I should go for a swim.