Series: Countdown To 2012

Series: The 12 Week Countdown

Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...

...9 Weeks To 2012: The pitter-patter of royal footsteps... maybe.

Maybe it's just me being cynical, but I've always found it bizarre that whenever the (Tory, usually) government is in deep shit, the royal family steps up and does something exciting to bring joy and unity to the nation. When Maggie Thatcher, Milk Snatcher was messing things up, Charles and Diana wed, and soon after had William and Harry. When Tony Blair was getting his hands dirty in Iraq's oil, Charles and Camilla wed. When David Cameron began the slow, torturous procedure of screwing us all over, William and Kate wed. Now things are destined to get even worse, and I can almost imagine Mr Cameron's PR people piercing little holes in William's condoms and swapping Kate's contraceptive pill with tic-tacs.

I'm not sure if it's a deliberate attempt by the royal family to paper over the cracks in our broken society, but it does seem odd. Perhaps they take their duties very seriously; perhaps I have underestimated them in my naive assumption that all they do is shake people's hands, wave as if they have a broken wrist and smile at people they clearly think are morons. Either way, I'm not too bothered. Maybe we'll get another bank holiday.

#StupidGirlsAreNotAllowed

I frequently find myself getting irritated by Twitter or, more accurately, by people on Twitter – but no more so than I found myself this evening, when I happened upon the worldwide trending topic, #UglyGirlsAreNotAllowed. I don’t know why I bothered clicking on it; I don’t know why I ever bother clicking on the frequent sexist and racist crap that decorates Twitter like a tacky set of Christmas lights, but I think a part of me must be in disbelief that such ignorance and cruelty is allowed to permeate so freely through a social networking site used by the masses. And sure enough, there it was: a list of things “ugly girls” are not allowed to do, including “play hard to get”, “have a boyfriend” and “not give head”. I believe in freedom of speech, but there is a point when freedom of speech becomes bullying, and even when names are not used and the guilty culprit argues it is just a general attack, it is still an attack. You do not have to name names to be guilty of racism, homophobia or xenophobia, and you do not have to name names to be guilty of sexism; if you are guilty of any of the above things, you are a bully.

Singling out one person as a target of bullying is obviously damaging; I’ve been a victim of it myself, and while those responsible may have refused to identify themselves as “bullies” or seen their actions and their words as “a joke” or “a laugh – stop being so sensitive, gawwwd!”, the isolation, the self-hate and the fear that I felt as a result tells another story. And the effects are the same when you bully a group of people. I am not saying that there is such a thing as “ugly girls” (because who are we do judge what beauty and what ugly really is?), but there is certainly a belief in most girls and young women out there that they are ugly. Maybe not every day and maybe they don’t hate everything about themselves, but there will always be moments when they look into the mirror and see flesh that they don’t think should be there, spots which other people don’t seem to have and bits of them which are either too big or too small. In their minds, in that moment, they are ugly. The airbrushed, carefully made-up models that drape themselves over the front covers of the magazines which litter their desks stare back at them, and the voices of these thoughtless, ignorant tweets creep into the pages and talk to them: Ugly girls are not allowed to have boyfriends. Ugly girls are not allowed to play hard to get. Ugly girls are not allowed to not give head. And what does this ultimately result in? Not ugly girls, but insecure girls, underselling themselves, caving in to every little pressure heaped on them and believing that the crap they get is as much as they deserve. Funnily enough, this works a treat for certain pig-headed men without much going for them, whose only real chance of getting laid is in preying on someone a bit vulnerable. Strange how that works out, huh?

This is exactly why it makes no sense for women to be attacking other women; in doing so, they are inadvertently making it a whole lot easier for men. Instead of standing together and waving the two-fingered sign of Girl Power (trademark of the Spice Girls, probably), they turn that two-fingered salute around and say “Up yours!” to their fellow sisters. It is done out of insecurity, of not wanting to be the one who stands out and of wanting to be accepted by those who hold all the power (men), but it only serves to place them further back. I am tired of belonging to a group which men happily identify as “bitches”; of course, they want us to talk badly about one another and vie for their attention as if winning their attention is somehow the equivalent to winning a nice, big, sexy slice of chocolate cake – but in calling us “bitches”, they are able to disregard us; they are able, with the help of you “bitches”, to silence us. And ultimately, in silencing women you are silencing yourself.

Series: Countdown To 2012

Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...

...10 Weeks To 2012: The Chav Revolution

I anticipate that the history books of our future grandchildren and great-grandchildren will cite the year 2012 as an iconic period in Britain's history - because it was the year that saw the start of the Chav's Revolution.

I say Chav's Revolution because, as this government, its supporters and the increasingly right-leaning media like to encourage citizens of this country to believe, an overwhelming number of us are indeed chavs. There is an underclass who live among us, festering in dark little holes like something out of an H.G. Wells novel, and these creatures are workshy, tax-evading, burberry-wearing, McDonalds-eating chav bastards who steal or kill people at their leisure; the economic and societal problems of Great Britain fall almost entirely on their shoulders, and must be stopped at all costs.

But this portrayal surely can't hold up forever, and soon public backlash will be so vast that it will be the ConDem government we'll be trying to stop at all costs. Already in 2011 we have seen protests and riots galore, and it's only been a little over year since the ConDems began their reign. How much vilification can certain hard-hit groups of society stand before they lash out, with the support of other members of society - graduates and school-leavers, pensioners and those facing redundancy - who until recently were free from stigma, but who now have the same mindless, generalised arguments thrown at them time and time again?

It is the vilification of these working class-turned-respectable-turned-chav groups that will be the ultimate downfall of the Conservatives' scam. New Labour did the Tories a huge favour in 1997 when Tony Blair came to power and banged on about "Education, education, education": they began a period of divide and rule. Blair took working class people, told them they could be middle-class and sent them off to university; as a result, working-class came to mean underclass, or chav, and chavs came to be the biggest scapegoat of this country's problems. Never mind pointing the finger at bankers and massive corporations with overseas accounts who manage to get out of paying billions of pounds in taxes - let's all blame the idle underclass who loot from Poundland for fun and who can't get a job, and let's not question why they can't get a job, but just assume that they don't want one and would rather sit around watching like-minded people on Jeremy Kyle all day long.

Where it has gone wrong for the Conservative is the downfall of the divide and rule era. Working class-turned-respectable barely exists anymore; a working-class person might be able to go to university if they're prepared to get themself into huge amounts of debt, but when they leave university, it's not prosperous careers in the inner city that await them - it's retail work. They're not moving into luxurious studio appartments with a view overlooking the Thames - they're still living with their parents, and even the option of signing up for a council property is not open to them as it was once open to their parents. The aspirational working class is unable to fulfil middle-class aspirations, and it is here that they will face criticism from those who, frankly, don't have a fucking clue; it is here that they will join Team Chav, and here that the 'Chav', as we have all come to know it, will become an unstoppable force.

So what will be the trigger? I'm not sure we can really pin it all on one event, rather an accumulation of shittiness will take its toll, and it will probably all kick off with something really small - like David Cameron dropping a Starbucks cup in the street. The hypocrisy, the blind disregard for the 'chav' profession of street cleaner and the mere fact that Mr Cameron routinely has a Starbucks whilst those such as myself see it as a little treat every six months, will result in mass protesting. But this time, we won't just be marching up and down the streets of Westminster, waving banners and surrendering our legs to varicose veins; we'll be throwing toilet paper over Big Ben, storming 10 Downing Street and stealing the Prime Minister's sugar (this is the Big Society, after all - he should be happy to help!) and setting John Prescott on anyone who wears a blue tie.*

So is The Chav Revolution something to look forward to? Hell yeah. Let's boot David Cameron out of Downing Street and see him signing on every two weeks.

*Avoid wearing blue ties next year if you're not a Tory bastard.

Series: Countdown To 2012

Crap bucket. I forgot today was Saturday.


Series: The 12 Week Countdown

Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...

...11 Weeks To 2012: Leap Year

This, essentially, means two things:

1.       Someone born a year before me will be turning 6 next year, whilst I will be turning 23. I’m sure most people born on the 29^th February still get to celebrate their birthday every year on 1^st March, but it will always feel a bit false, won’t it? But next year these guys will get to party like it’s... well, like it’s 2012.

2.       Custom grants me permission to ask someone to marry me. Seeing as I am just a simple-minded female incapable of making such huge decisions independently, this is a job only entrusted to my gender on one day every four years. I think it’s supposed to minimise the damage we women might cause to the world – because leaving the fate of civilisation in the hands of men has always worked a treat, hasn’t it? But this begs the question: Who would I ask to marry me? I only just got divorced in the summer – am I ready for such a huge commitment again? What if I put my trust in another man and he ends up breaking my heart just like the last one did? Or worse, what if he breaks his leg, and has to sit out for the rest of the season, taking precious money out of The Bank of Arsenal all the while doing Sod All on the bench besides biting his fingernails and looking increasingly more like a Lady Boy every weekend? Señior Fabregas, you have inflicted upon me some clichéd trust issues. I will never forgive you.
 
So I can’t decide if having a leap year will be a thing to look forward to or a thing to dread. I guess it depends on where you stand: in the Woohoo I’m turning 6 next year! Club, or the Men dazzle you with their ball skills, score a couple of times and then sod off. They can’t be trusted!!!! Club.

Series: Countdown To 2012

Series: The 12 Week Countdown

Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...

...12 Weeks To 2012: The London Olympics

You know when you’re on a really crowded tube – I mean so crowded that faces are pressed up against the glass, hands are unknowingly shoved under a stranger’s boobs and someone’s crotch is rubbing against your hip, and we all just purse our lips tightly together and act as though this is perfectly acceptable behaviour first thing on a Monday morning. And you know that moment when the doors slide open, one person struggles off, tripping over someone’s work suitcase (why, people, WHY??) and about fifty-million eager, slightly sad-looking faces stare back at you from the platform as if to say, “Can’t you make room for a few more?” Well, that is what I envisage when I think about the 2012 London Olympics.

Just like it doesn’t make sense when those on the platform try to squeeze all 180lbs of themselves into a space large enough to occupy only a disgruntled Chihuahua, I don’t see the sense in inviting further herds of tourists into London to take up yet more dear space. And tourists are worse than Londoners. Not because Londoners exude a brilliance that everyone else lacks (which we kinda do – c’mon now, people), but because they don’t know where they’re going. Just like when I go to a new place, I have to stop every five yards and look for a sign, or retrace my steps on a map, or spend five minutes trying to gather the courage to go up to someone who looks nice enough that they won’t stab me to say, “Excuse me? Er... how do you get to Burger King from here?” When Londoners set out on a journey first thing on a Monday morning, usually, they know where they’re going. They know that the doors open on the left, they need to take a left when they get off, exit the platform through the middle doors, ascend two flights of escalators (not walking, but running), take the second right once they reach the top, and the exact moment at which they should be taking their Oyster card out of their pocket, because of course if you don’t have it out in time, you’ll be the idiot standing uselessly at the ticket barriers, thoughts of “OHSHIT OHSHIT OHSHIT I CAN’T FIND IT!” flashing like an emergency alarm through your brain, while everyone behind you huffs and puffs and secretly wants to punch you in the back of the head for slowing them down. It is only because Londoners are so efficient and are mostly able to prevent occasions such as these do we manage to not murder one another every single morning. How will all the tourists comprehend this? They only care about the flying javelins they’re about to see; the mere thought that someone might need to be at work by 9 o’clock or else they get a bollocking from their boss doesn’t even cross their mind.

The other issue is, of course, that Team GB will no doubt disappoint. No offence to those taking part, but the very fact that we are hosting the Olympics next year is going to seep you dudes in more expectation than is probably sane. I mean, let’s face it: the only Olympic sport this country has ever done well in is the Pub Crawl. And if it’s not our sportspeople who will disappoint, it will be our weather. You can almost see the 100m sprinters tearing across the track holding folded-in umbrellas... just in case it rains.

I am not looking forward to the 2012 Olympics. Sure, it will bring in more money, but you’d be a fool to think that any of us will see any of it.

Series: Pet Peeves #5

Pet Peeve #5: Bad grammar

I don’t claim to be an expert on grammar. Even with my first class honours in English Language (yeah, I’m brilliant), I still stumble over certain rules of the English language and have to consult my handy grammar book, and sometimes when I’m only half awake I make unusual decision – like that time I decided to insert an apostrophe into the word yes. But some people seem to have no understanding of basic grammar. They speak English and English alone... and yet they can’t really write it. Seems a bit of a shame, doesn’t it? So here I am with a few simple lessons on English grammar.

1.       Apostrophes. For those who don’t know, an apostrophe is [‘]. It looks a little like a tear, or, I dunno... a flea? You’re probably most familiar with it in words like don’t, won’t and can’t. Here it serves the purpose of turning do not into don’t, will not into won’t, and cannot into can’t. It also turns he is into he’s and she is into she’s. These are called contractions. They enable us to be lazy. Where most people tend to get confused, however, is when we stick it in the middle of a word like elephant’s. When you put an apostrophe in the word elephant’s, you are not talking about two, three, four or five elephants; you are talking about something belonging to an elephant. Allow me to clarify:

I stepped in an elephant’s poo on the way home today.

We’re using an apostrophe here because we’re talking about something that belongs to an elephant. It’s a possessive.

I love elephants!

We use no apostrophe here, because we’re referring to a number of elephants.

You may have also seen apostrophes [‘] at the end of words, all abandoned on their own. Here, they tend to be referring to both of the above. Let me show you what I mean:

I think those elephants’ ears are gorgeous!

Note: more than one elephant is present, and something belongs to those elephants (i.e. their ears).

2.       There/ their/ they’re. Look! An apostrophe in the word they’re! So what does that mean? Well, I’ll show you in just a minute.

Put the glass over there.

There are too many smelly people on the underground.

Surely you don’t need me to explain this?

That’s their favourite song!

I’m going to steal their milk – ssshh!

Another possessive. In other words, we are referring to something belonging to a person or a group of people. Confusingly, I’ve just told you that if something is a possessive then you need to stick an apostrophe in it. That’s not the case with their. You would say That car is theirs rather than That car is their’s.

They’re so annoying.

Tell me if they’re coming to the party.

They’re squeezes the words they and are together. Simples.

3.       To/ too/ two. Just in case...

Give that orange to me.

There’s too much fecking noise in this room!

                I’ll be there in two minutes.

                Can I have a biscuit, too?

I refuse to give you too much of my time. Last week I gave you two hours, and you spent all that time too engrossed in your flaming Facebook to pay any attention. Too bad!

4.       Whose/ who’s. Lately I have been getting this wrong, in the same kind of way I got it wrong when I inserted a superfluous s to the word bus. I know the rules, but sometimes my brain chooses to do things a little differently.

Hello? Who’s there?

As well as being a common sentence uttered in horror films, it’s also a common mistake a lot of idiots (like me!!!) make. Who’s there? is basically shortening the question Who is there? in an attempt to sound less like the queen.

I don’t care who’s going to the party – I’m not going dressed as a banana!

I don’t care whose banana costume it is – I’m not wearing it!

I think it’s with the last two examples that most of the confusion lies, and you can see why. In  the first example, again, we’re shortening Who is to Who’s, but in the second example, it wouldn’t make sense to say I don’t care who is banana costume it is, would it? If in doubt, replace Who’s with Who is, and if it doesn’t make sense, you know you’re using the wrong who’s/whose!

5.       Who/ Whom. I struggled with this one for years until I discovered a simple technique to stop being such a fecking eejit. And it goes like this:

You have a sentence, and you’re not sure whether Who or Whom should be used. Let’s use an example sentence:

I don’t know who/ whom is going to win the Premier League this season.

The first thing you need to do is change what you’re saying into a question, using either him, her, he, she, they, we, them, or us – so it becomes:

Are they going to win the Premier League this season?

Is he going to win the Premier League this season?

Is she going to win the Premier League this season?

Are we going to win the Premier League this season?

The words he, she, they and we demand that we use the word who. The words him, her, them and us demand that we use the word whom. So in the example I have just given, who would be the correct usage:

I don’t know who is going to win the Premier League this season.

Let’s find an example which would demand the use of the word whom.

Who/ whom is that last slice of cake for?

This is already a question, so let’s just answer it:

That last slice of cake is for him.

That last slice of cake is for her.

That last slice of cake is for them.

That last slice of cake is for us.

Because we’re using him, her, them or us, in the original question, we must use whom. You could also say For whom is that last slice of cake?, but say it around the wrong person and you’re likely to get slapped. So maybe be careful there.

6.       It’s/ Its. OH MY GOD why don’t people get this right anymore? Basically, people don’t know when to use the apostrophe and when not to use the apostrophe. Remember before when I was talking about possessives? That is when you don’t use the apostrophe. Have a lil look see:

That little doggy was just licking its own butt! Haha!

This is a possessive. The dog possesses a butt; it is licking it.

It’s a funny sight to see a dog licking its own butt.

In the first instance of it’s, all we’re doing is shortening it is. In the second instance, we’re not shortening anything. You’d sound like a wally if you turned to your mate and said, “Hey, it is a funny sight to see a dog licking it is own butt.” Your friend would look at you, scratch their head and then tell you to go and lick your own butt.

7.       You and me, Me and You, You and I, I and... someone. We’ve all had it done to us. You’re sitting round with a group of friends talking about what happened yesterday and you say, brimming with excitement, “Oh, me and Jimbob went to the cinema yesterday!” And then your know-it-all butthead of a friend (i.e. me) says, looking all smug, “John and I.” Then you sit there and silently hate them for the rest of your life. But I can help you, people! I can make sure this never happens to you again. Instead, you can be the know-it-all butthead of a friend who is hated for the rest of someone else’s life. And it’s really simple! All you need to do is get rid of your friend.

That sounds loserish and a little bit extreme, but you’ll see what I mean when I put it to you like this.

Me and Jimbob went to the cinema yesterday.

Jibob and I went to the cinema yesterday.

Remove Jimbob from the equation, and which one looks right? I don’t even need to tell you, do I! You know yourself already, you smart little pipsqueaks! I am so proud. Let me give you more examples, just so you really know your stuff.

Let me and Jimbob in! We’re cold out here!

Let Jimbob and I in! We’re cold out here!

Fred, Pauline, Tony, Richard and I are in a band called The Buttheads!

Me, Fred, Pauline, Tony and Richard are in a band called The Buttheads!

This one might confuse you a leeeeettle bit, but I assure you that the first example is the correct one. Even though it still doesn’t sound quite right, if you change are to am, it makes perfect sense. Oui?

8.       Your/ You’re. Pisssssss-easy.

Your = Possessive.

You’re = You are.

You’re a bit of wally is the same as You are a bit of a wally.

Your a bit of wally is the same as you being a freaking hypocrite. Learn some grammar before you go calling other people wallies, dipshit!

May I please borrow your book on grammar, Maaarfer?

No, you may not, for you already seem to know your stuff!

May I please borrow you’re book on grammar, Maaarfer?

Why yes, of course! I am so pleased to hear you’re trying to improve your written English.

Actually, I’m not – I just want to beat you over the head with it.

Finally (because I’m bored -  not because I’ve exhausted all the grammar rules people commonly break; trust me: there’s LOADS more), I’m going to leave you with one fat-arsed passage of writing, making use of all the rules I’ve spent the last however-long banging on about. Consider it my audition for Britain’s Got Talent.

There are many reasons why your parents and teachers might push learning good English at you, but for me, the best thing about being good at English is that people automatically assume you’re intelligent, even when you’re not. You might be the biggest freaking genius in the entire world, but if you can’t articulate it then your ingenuity is likely to go unnoticed. It’s too bad, really, because I think that very often we pay too much attention to people who are good at articulating total bullshit. Politicians are a good example of this; they chat a lot of shit in a posh accent, using all the right words and putting apostrophes in all the right places, but when you strip all these things away, you see that what they’re really saying is, “I will take all your money, buy myself five houses and leave you in poverty. Mwahahaha!” I don’t think it’s fair to give more credence to those who speak nicely simply on the assumption that because they were taught where to put apostrophes they must therefore have the authority to say how things should be run. As I have just demonstrated, it’s not hard to learn these rules; with some practice we can all distinguish between who and whom, their and there, and it’s and its – but who’s to say that learning these rules will really make us any more informed on the way the world works?

Have you ever read a legal document, overflowing with language designed to put you off, and gone, “Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever” before clicking “I AGREE”? Wise up to these bastards’ divisive techniques and to their cheap tricks. Read more. Use a thesaurus to find one or two more fancy-sounding words (but be careful to check their definitions; one of my favourite scenes from the sitcom Friends is that one where Joey uses a thesaurus to make the letter he’s writing sound smarter, and ends up signing his letter, Baby Kangaroo Tribbiani). Don’t be afraid to use correct English on Facebook and on Twitter (I know those arseholes on Twitter only allow you 140 characters per tweet, but hey: at least it teaches us how to be concise, which is another useful device in writing!), and don’t worry that if you do you’ll lose some street cred or something – you can always follow a well-constructed sentence such as “I will give cookies to whomever likes this status” with “lol”. “Lol” is now an entry in the English dictionary, after all (or so I’ve heard).

The English language is a massive thing and you can use it to express yourself in so many different ways. Exploit its enormity; looks for words besides “good” and “nice”, then come back to me when you’ve found them. You and I can bedazzle the world with our written English and make it seem as though we’re freaking legends when are, in fact, just a little bit dorky.

Lol.