State of Jordan

Faliraki Feminism

2006-08-16T10:23:00.001+01:00

You're all wankers, you're all shit
You can't even find our clit
With a knick knack, paddy whack, give a dog a bone
You're all shit
Now fuck off home

Anonymous English women, chanting – Faliraki 2006.

As far as statements of feminist intent go, it's unlikely that the above example is ever going to make it into a notional collection of 'Top Hundred Best Feminist Sayings Ever'. Aggressively sexualised and emotionally stunted modes of expression were, after all, just some of the things that the sisters were doing their level best to move away from. Clearly the girls of Faliraki, hadn't read the bits about needing to break free from the dominant patriarchal paradigm and its fundamental corruption of of human relationships, leading to the subjection of women and the rise of the violent society. Which is a shame, given the amount of time and effort spent worrying about such things, but there you have it. What with having lots of babies, drinking heavily at the weekend, and suffering domestic abuse at the hands of one's partners, many modern women just don't see the point of feminism any more.

On the other hand, it's hard to resist the notion that our Faliraki cheerleaders above do seem to have a point, and a rather succintly made one at that. Consider the terms in context. The girls' chant was directed at a group of drunken, aggressive, gormless-looking young men, sporting the lobster-pink suntan that tells the whole world: 'British and Proud of It'. Confronted with such types, the overwhelming temptation is to abandon any attempt at empathetic social explanation and simply call a wanker a wanker, before moving quickly on. If we accept this, we can see that the next line: 'You're all shit' is there simply for emphasis, and to provide a neat rhyming link to the next big point: 'You can't even find our clit'.

The notion that large numbers of men are at a loss to capably describe, find – let alone push – the right female buttons, is one of the few aspects of feminist theory that seems to have stuck in the popular imagination. Surely, most civilised people now understand that ignorning and mis-understanding female sexual needs, is something best left to gay men (who have an excuse) or the most brutish type of penis-obsessed wife-beaters? With female orgasms having gone public sometime between the Kinsey Report and Lady Chatterley's Lover, it wasn't long before the more discerning gentleman was asking himself how it was that such fuss and bother came to be. Alas, sex education at school is limited to the use of unhelpful words and concepts, in an arena where practical, hands-on experience counts for a lot. And thus, most boys leave school having heard the word 'clitoris' vaguely, maybe, perhaps linked to the notion of 'orgasm', in some smutty way or other. And so they fumble on, with varying degrees of success. It would all be so much easier for men if everyone in the world just had a nice big cock to wave around.

However it is, it's clear (according to the heavier women's magazines) that sex is what women have too, and men need to shape up. Whether or not vast swathes of male society are concerned, or even aware, of such developments is another matter entirely. If only they'd read Cosmopolitan more often.

Back to our Faliraki verse, we can see that the song has now made it's key points, and aside from rhythmic padding, has only one final suggestion to make (see last line). I suppose we should be passingly glad, that it contains trace elements of feminist thought although it is, in fact, more closely related to the less hopeful, man-hating approach of radical feminism.

But a hundred years ago, I can't imagine it was usual for any woman to make such forward suggestions to men (at least not publicy), let alone have the temerity to go around mentioning this thing 'clitoris', whatever that is. So we have moved on a bit.

Quite remote from what the feminists had in mind, the Faliraki chant owes more to empty notions of 'Girl Power', than it does to feminism, and is fact simply another product of a society stage-managed by men, in order to allow women in on the game of consumer equality, and thus make more money. But then I suppose vomiting and fighting in the street on a Saturday night alongside the lads, brings its own kind of equality too.

On Stupidity

2006-07-18T17:36:00.000+01:00

Always and inevitably everyone underestimates the number of stupid individuals in circulation – Carlo M. Cipolla

Some time ago, I was provoked by a warning notice in the handbook of a household power tool I'd just bought – a paint stripping gun, in fact. Having listed clearly the uses and benefits of such a tool, alongside sensible safety advice – for it is, after all, a 1500 watt power tool – the handbook then issues the following warning, to those still unsure of the paint stripping gun's reason for being. It said, in bold typeface:

Warning – Never use this Appliance as a Hair Dryer

A further note then went on to remind those of us who were thinking of using the paint stripping gun on animals, to please not do so.

Now, I generally approve of Britain's ongoing and briskly organised 'safety first' approach, although it is regarded with amused contempt by most of the rest of the world, (except Sweden. I'm guessing) who see it as quaint and patronising. What do they know, I figured? Where I come from, no plug socket in the bathroom, means no death by electric shock. If Johnny Foreigner prefers to fry to a needless death whilst shampooing his already over-coiffured barnet, I say let him fry.

But this warning note on my paint stripper, seemed to take le biscuit. I was astonished. Are we that stupid, I wondered? Surely not. Must we really tell our citizens not to use 1500 Watt Paint Stripping Heat Guns on their heads, hair and faces? Or their cats and dogs? Can't we just assume that there's a received wisdom here and move on. Failing that, perhaps people could just be allowed to piece together the clues and use them as a guide to further action. The label 'paint stripping gun' does it for me.

Outraged on behalf of the British people, I decided that this sort of thing is the upshot of the dumbing down of culture. It's not loud and mindless reality TV shows, or binge drinking hoodies that are to blame, it's the belief that 'the people' are all really stupid, all of the time, potentially dangerous, and irresponsible at any given moment. From this assumption follows the removal of people's chance to work things out for themselves, using simple words, concepts, contexts and motivations as guidelines and evidence. Instead, it is assumed by the powers that be, that people think like this:

Person 1: "I just bought a paint-stripping gun"
Person 2: "Oh really? What for?"
Person 1: "To dry my hair, of course .Before then turning it onto the dog."

For heaven's sake, I thought. It's not a ten year, multi-level investigation into the collapse of a major financial institution. It's not even The Sun crossword. It's a paint stripping gun.

Now, I am fully aware that stupid people are everywhere and their numbers are growing. Every day, near enough, a stupid person unapologetically interferes with aspects of my life. The dustbin men, maybe. George W. Bush. Certain bus drivers. That lot on Big Brother. Many, many others.

But let's give people a chance, I figured. They can do it, probably. Ditch the comedy warning, and let them proceed. Go on then. Use the paint stripping gun as a hair dryer, why ever not? And don't forget to give the cat a good going over with it too. I could use a new pair of slippers.

If everyone treats everyone else as if they were an outright, grade A moron, then logically we shall all end up standing in the big and ever-growing, moron queue – a place I had particularly wished to avoid. Enough is enough, I figured. Treat people smart, and they'll think smart.

Anyhow, I related my tale of patronised outrage to a friend, who happens to be a lawyer. "How stupid do they think people are?" I asked her. "Oh", she said casually, adding with chilling legal precision, "Warnings like that are a response to prior litigation."

"What?", I asked dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

"It means that people have already tried to use the paint stripping gun as a hair dryer, or on their cats and dogs, and then tried to sue the power tool company for negligence. The warning is an attempt to forestall any further attempts to sue."

"So people really are that stupid, after all?" I gawped.

"Well, yeah, of course they are. Durr", she confirmed.

Sometimes, I then realised, it feels so good to be wrong.

Past Tense Imperfect

2006-05-15T16:03:00.000+01:00

Watching a documentary on TV last night, I was alarmed to learn that the mighty Carthaginian general Hannibal is currently laying siege to Rome. Having just recently crushed the Roman legions in an epic battle, Hannibal's vast barbarian army is now camped on a plain overlooking the city. Rome's fate hangs in the balance, and its leaders are – right now – engaged in panicked debate as to how to deal with the crisis. What exciting times we live in.

The thing is, I could tell the Romans that they've really nothing to worry about (much) as - for reasons unclear - Hannibal will turn out to be a big pussycat and decide not to attack Rome. In a strategically disastrous move, he will opt instead to spend the next 11 years holidaying in the Italian countryside, pillaging, raping and marauding, whilst the Romans get their shit together. The rest, as they say, is history.

Which brings me to my point. Without wishing to state the blazingly obvious, I know what happened to Hannibal and Rome, because it happened in the past. Why then, do the 'experts' on so many historical documentaries choose to relate the story of past events in the present tense? It is quite the most ridiculous thing. As if the events of, say, Hannibal's near-destruction of the Roman Republic were not dramatic enough, documentary makers insist on making their pundits, speak in a breathless present tense in order to make things seem somehow more urgent and compelling. Call me the most wretchedly old fashioned of pedants, but I should have thought that past events are to be described in the past tense.

Imagine if you and I were to have a friendly conversation about the Second World War, conducted in the present tense:

Me: Yes, yes, but Hitler sees the threat from Stalin and he acts: invading Russia is a pre-emptive act.
You: But what will he do about the Americans, currently weighing their options in the West?

And so on.

In last night's doc about old Hannibal, things got completely out of hand. One historian gamely attempted to use the present tense to describe the Battle of Cannae, but lapsed a number of times into the past tense. I can understand his confusion: the Battle of Cannae happened over 2000 years ago. Describing Roman options in the present tense ('they can launch guerrilla attacks'), he quickly decides that another option 'wouldn't have entered their minds'. Well, make your bloody mind up mate. It does enter their minds, or it doesn't, surely?

Further confusion was sown by the habit of the narrator, correctly using the past tense to introduce past events, interspersed by the experts breathlessly extrapolating about the same events in the present tense. However, one could not help himself, switching from the present tense he had maintained throughout, he announced solemnly: 'The struggle between Rome and Carthage was inevitable'. Regardless of the fact that history cannot be spoken about in terms of inevitables (which any Day One degree history student could have told him) I would like to note that, for the sake of clear and consistent English diction, what the man should have maintained is that: 'The struggle between Rome and Carthage is inevitable'.

But that wouldn't have made any sense, would it? It happened over two millennia ago.

It's Not My Fault

2006-04-03T13:59:00.000+01:00

"There's an old saying, that victory has a hundred fathers and defeat is an orphan…I am the responsible officer of the government and that is quite obvious."

So said President John F. Kennedy in April 1961, speaking of the 'Bay of Pigs' affair, the illegal invasion of Cuba that he had sanctioned and that ended in ignominy and disaster for the US and its cronies. Without getting too misty eyed about JFK, it's worth noting how open his comments were. He was prepared to clearly accept responsibility for an event that had gone terribly wrong, and which involved the deaths of thousands of people. Compare this to the words of just about any modern politician or businessmen, and I think you'd find that times, well, they've changed.

Consider Wembley Stadium. It's a disaster, obviously enough, which is presided over by the Australian building firm Multiplex. Despite being the group charged with overseeing and organising the building of the new stadium, Multiplex last week denied that they were responsible, in any way, for the failure to deliver the stadium on time. We had nothing to do with it, they said. It's not our fault. Quite who's fault it is – because it must be someone's – was not made clear, but doubtless there are already teams of lawyers gathering to fund their comfortable retirements on the proceeds of the upcoming legal battle.

To continue the footballing theme, José Mourihno is another one up to the same business. It's never his, or his show pony players' fault, if the team loses. It's always 'the referee', 'bad luck', or Arsene Wenger who is, somehow, to blame. The Special One's refusal to accept responsibility for anything except his success is perhaps a result of stupidity and arrogance, but it's symptomatic of a current trend to evade responsibility for the things you do wrong. Sad to say, but Mourihno and his ilk are cultural leaders of a sort, but the example they set does little good to the impressionable morons who take clowns like him seriously.

This trend is also amply reflected in the TV show, The Apprentice. Whilst, I must admit that I'm addicted to the grisly spectacle it present, the format of the show is always this: first half, a group of talentless and intensely tiresome egomaniacs with no business skills, fail to complete the task set for them. Second half, everyone blames everyone else for the failure, with not one of them ever prepared to accept responsibility for the things they have clearly done wrong.

This kind of thing isn't just limited to people in ther public eye, but they help set the agenda for the dumb, slavering mass that is the public. How many times have you witnessed instances of bad or ignorant driving? If the guilty driver is somehow made aware of his (and it usually is a 'him') poor driving, the common response is one of outraged and aggressive indignation. It's not their fault for driving like a total fucking ignoramus, it's your fault for pointing it out.

This kind of approach to life comes from the top, filters down to the plebs and creates the kind of unpleasant 'me first' society we live in today. I hereby announce, that Tony Blair and his revolting and shameless gang of hypocrites, toadys and self-hating lesbian martinets are to blame for all this. They never accept that they do anything wrong, and even when it is made publicly obvious that they have, they never resign, or even bother to say sorry. They just blame the media, who's fault it is for exposing them.

I am Invisible

2006-03-20T15:30:00.000Z

Bad news: apparently, I've become invisible. It's true. At The Granary Oven in St. Neots, they can't see me. I went in there the other day to buy a sandwich and three members of staff couldn't see me, although I was stood in plain view.

Yes, okay you've guessed it this is going to be a rant about the shoddy standards of service seen every day in the miserable grim motorway that is now modern Britain. Picture the scene:

Jordan walks into sandwich bar/bakery of the modern, glossy type. It is called the Granary Oven. He is one of two customers.

Jordan picks up sandwich and takes to counter to pay.

Waits five minutes whilst three members of staff, apparently unoccupied, fail to serve him.

Presumes self to be invisible.

Leaves unnoticed.

That was the sad situation I found myself in, only last week. I could have highlighted my plight by alerting one of the members of staff to of my desire to purchase the sandwich, and yet I felt that – on the evidence presented to them: man stands at counter of sandwich shop with sandwich – it should have been fairly obvious what it was I wanted. But no. As I stood at the counter right in front of her, one team member finished wiping the counter before turning on her heel and going round the back. Meanwhile an ugly and stupid old woman, was doddering about with a clipboard pretending to do something non-essential, whilst the manager was taking ages to serve the other customer, who he had wrongly served before me (I came into the shop first). Irked, and quite possibly invisible, I left.

All the above took about five minutes or so. Annoyed, I crossed the road, and headed for the greasy spoon across the road. In it was one bored-looking Turkish bloke. I approached the counter, and said 'Can I have a cheese and onion sandwich please?' Within 30 seconds, he had freshly prepared and wrapped just such a thing, and charged me less than the other rubbish place over the road.

So what have we learnt today. That it takes one bored-looking Turkish bloke about 30 seconds to make and sell a cheese and onion sandwich, whilst it takes three supposedly 'busy' English people five minutes to not sell a sandwich that they didn't even have to make.

This, I think, is an accurate snapshot of the way our service culture is managed and why – when we go abroad – standards of service seem much better. The truth of course is simple: they are better.

Anyway, if you're ever passing through the pleasant but anonymous town of St Neots and you fancy a bit to eat, avoid the ridiculously named corporate shitbox that is The Granary Oven, and go to that bloke over the road in the greasy spoon and give him your money instead.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

All that Glitters...

2006-03-03T09:04:00.000Z

So, that's it then for glam rock superstar and nonce, Gary Glitter. Three years in a Vietnamese hard-labour, military prison for molesting two eleven year old girls. Nice. Still, as one way to end a career, I guess it beats the firing squad. For some, however, the magic lives on. Yes, cast a bucket into the bottomless well of human stupidity and you will eventually come up with some Gary Glitter fans. The news section of the official Gary Glitter website is called 'The Daily Glitter'. It's editor makes a heartfelt plea for musical freedom, protesting that: "Music fans want to be able to remember Gary Glitter for the great legacy of recordings he produced." As opposed to remembering him for molesting children, one presumes. I'd also like to take issue with the catch-all inclusion of 'music fans' here. I'm a music fan, and let me state here for the record, I do not want to remember Gary Glitter's legacy of recordings, or hear them ever again. I make this statement largely on musical grounds (I'm still happy to listen to The Who, despite Pete Townsend receiving a police caution for viewing pornographic images of children), but when you consider Gary Glitters offences, I really, really don't want to listen to such 1970s 'classics' as:

"Do You Wanna Touch Me?"
"Hello Hello I'm Back Again"
"Doing Alright with the Boys"
"It Takes All Night Long"
"And Then She Kissed Me"

And perhaps most worrying of all…

"What Your Mama Don't See"

Spot a pattern here, pop-pickers? The remaining Gary Glitter fan/s also reports excitedly, that their hero has released 'a new single for 2005'. It's called 'Field of Dreams', and presumably won't be coming to the iTunes Music Store anytime soon.

Haven't these people got anything better to do? Going on about Gary Glitter. Oh, hang on that's me. Time, to bow out disgracefully, which seems to be the theme of the day…

Absinthe & Madness

2006-02-27T15:10:00.000Z

My wife went to Prague last year and returned with a bottle of ‘the green fairy’, for my instruction and edification. It was the real Czech gear, weighing in at a whopping great 70% alcohol by volume. One starts to feel dangerously drunk after only a couple of shots. ‘But does it make you hallucinate?’, they said through gritted teeth. Probably not this particular stuff, as it contains only a small quantity of the necessary psychoactive, thujone. Not legal in the UK (spoilsports), this is the very stuff that made Van Gogh go nutzoid and cut his ears off. Sounds like fun. The real mental juice is however available from ye internet, but it costs about a hundred quid, or something.

On a related note, even stronger spirits are also freely available in Poland. Bottles of the appetisingly named ‘Rectified Polish Spirit’ are readily available from any half-decent supermarket, and come in two distinct flavours: 70% and 90%. Whilst on a family holiday in Poland last year, my brother-in-law - a well-qualified medical doctor, scientist and gentleman - noted that, in his experience, 70% alcohol was most often employed in the cleaning of dead bodies. Expressing concern and astonishment that such material was being touted for public consumption, he then went on to observe that 90% alcohol would, upon contact with flesh, immediately kill all the beneficent bacteria contained in the drinker’s mouth, rendering them subject to any passing infection. Furthermore, it would then burn a path straight down to the stomach, where it would set about the intestinal flora considered necessary for healthy life. He predicted that it could then attack your central nervous system, causing you to lose your eyesight amongst other things.

None of which stopped me finishing the bottle off within the fortnight. Goodnight sweet fairy...

Protecting the Stupid

2006-02-27T12:34:00.000Z

Why do so few Cambridge cyclists use the cycle lanes provided for them? I think I know the answer, and a solution to the problem

As far as truisims go, describing Cambridge as a 'bicycle friendly town' is something akin to describing Venice as 'great for gondalas'. Whilst it's apparently a fact that there are 'nine million bicycles in Beijing', and that Amsterdam probably qualifies as bicycling nirvana, it's very fair indeed to say that provisions for cyclists in Cambridge are pretty darn good. Well done, therefore to all those in Cambridge who's efforts have made it so. The various council bodies responsible for Cambridge and its environs should be applauded for their eco-friendly, safety first, pro-bike initiatives, not to mention the efforts of the pro-war bluestocking and 'bicycling MP', Anne Campbell (remember her, everybody!? No? Oh well).

Anyway, as a result of the work these people have put in, Cambridge is now criss-crossed with bicycle lanes and one-way or contra-flow precincts. All these are designed to encourage cyclists, by appealing to local residents' green friendly sensibilities, whilst providing convenient routes to areas across town. Not to mention safe havens from the depredations of the less attentive motorist, who are legion.

Cycle lanes are, in short, a great idea for which we should be grateful. Why then, do few local cyclists use them? As a motorist, cyclist and pedestrian, every day on many occasions, I am witness to the sight of some idiot on his or her bike, not using the provided cycle lane. Instead you will find them snarling up the traffic on narrow roads, by preventing cars from travelling at 30 mph in areas where it is also impossible to overtake. Buses and cars are forced to trundle on behind whilst Johnny Lycra-Pants makes like some cut-price Lance Armstrong along the Milton Road. 'Get onto the cycle path and out of the way, you total idiot', are the words that so often, and so easily, come to mind in these circumstances. Why are they holding up the traffic along a busy urban clearway, when there are clearly marked cycle lanes about a yard to their left? Because they can? Because all motorists are incipiently evil and must be punished? Because it saves the enviroment a bit more, by not wearing out the pavement? Who knows, but personally I have my own explanation: because the cyclists in question are inconsiderate to the point of abject stupidity.

But merely slowing the traffic down a bit is dull sport, when you consider the thrills to be had on, for instance, the Madingley Road stretch of town. This is the 'xtreem' sport end of the stupid cycling game, where the truly dumb can pit their wits against a large number of lazy, bored, inattentive, half-asleep, irritable, poorly skilled and perhaps equally stupid motorists – who just happen to be sitting behind the wheel ('driving' is too generous) of two tonnes of hurtling metal and glass. Sadly, it only takes a regular glance at the pages of the local newspaper to see which of these two parties comes off the worse if and when a collision occurs. And yet there they are, desperately striving for the delirious 'King of the Mountains' adulation that presumably greets their heroic arm-pumping arrival at the office bike sheds.

Why, I ask myself, do these people risk their lives on the open roads at the hands of motorists (of all people) who they have never met, when they have the choice of using the cycle lane? I may refer you to the answer I gave above, and perhaps provide a simple solution to the problem: cyclists who do not use the provided cycle lanes should be given a heavy fixed penalty fine, both for blocking the public highway and, more importantly, for endangering the lives and well-being of themselves and others. If that seems strict, then consider it no more than a classic, if often unstated, function of government: protecting the stupid from themselves.