I Did It All For Science

 

Image © NASA

As regular readers may have noticed, it’s been a little while since my last post. The reason for this is simple – I have absolutely nothing to write about.

Even now this remains the case, making this post an experimental attempt to be both entertaining and informative, whilst simultaneously saying almost nothing at all. By reading, you are implicitly offering yourself up as a participant in this experiment – please ram the electrodes forcibly into your head when the red light flashes.

Are you sitting comfortably? No? Well of course you’re not – I’ve strapped you down and inserted an unnecessarily bulbous probe into your startled rectum. All in the name of science. In any case, we’ll begin with the informative section.

As you may be aware, NASA’s Kepler telescope project has recently announced the discovery of 54 Earth-like planets, far beyond the reaches of our solar system. This is incredibly exciting, and a great achievement, but it will be some time yet before they are able to establish whether any of these planets support life, let alone sentient species with the power of language.

This means that, of the 55 Earth-like planets now known to science (including Earth, which is about as Earth-like as you can get), the total known to have developed a word for the strange taste of a stainless-steel spoon currently stands at zero. I find this incredibly disappointing.

After all, scientists have finally conceded that noodles and pasties have a taste that is neither sweet, sour, bitter nor salt, and declared that this flavour shall henceforth be known as ‘umami’. I defy you to go to the kitchen, lick your cutlery with every inch of your tongue, and tell me that a word exists which accurately describes the flavour you’re experiencing. Only an advanced, sentient species, with millennia of spoon-licking under their belts, can help us now. NASA’s search continues.

Right, that’s it - I think I’ve provided quite enough value for money for one post. The entertaining bit is cancelled. Please remove the soiled scientific apparatus from your tender orifices, and form an orderly queue for the complimentary lollipops.

Are you an alien from a distant world? Do you lick spoons? What about a fish-slice? No? In that case, I won’t bother suggesting that you leave a comment below. And you certainly won’t be interested in e-mailing pithytitle@live.co.uk

Rage Against The Myopic Classes

 

This is a picture of me looking intellectual and studious, so you know that everything which follows is 100% true and unbiased.

I like to write on the bus. It may seem like an unusual place to do anything that requires concentration, but provided Cardiff Bus Company has remembered to put on more than four buses, and I am therefore able to find a seat, I often manage to knock out a page or so. The bus is potentially a place free of distraction, where one can cocoon oneself in asocial productivity.

Potentially.

All too often, the cocoon is penetrated by the coarse, discordant racket of whatever disposable music the brainless arses of Britain have unquestioningly purchased this week at the behest of Radio 1, and now feel compelled to play to the rest of us through a zero-point-naught-watt phone speaker. When this happens, I stop writing, and instead spend the entire journey in a state of silent, coronary-inducing fury. Sometimes I quietly snap my biro over my knee and jam the two jagged ends into my ears in a desperate bid to block out Kanye West.

I loathe the sort of people that do this. I mean really loathe – and I know, in your heart, you do too. I’d go so far as to say that they need some kind of collective name, so that we can all direct our loathing more precisely. ‘Bastards’ would be good, but it’s a bit too broad.

The name should reflect the fact that these people are so dense, thoughtless and socially-unaware, that they either think it’s totally acceptable to pollute public spaces with their personal music preference, or they realise it’s unacceptable, but simply don’t care about anything other than the satisfaction of their own immediate desires.

I’d like to propose the name ‘The Myopic Classes’*.

The ‘Classes’ part is not something I’ve chosen carelessly. The class divide in Britain is alive and well, but it’s no longer based on wealth, status or breeding. The two-tier class system of today is based on education, empathy, social-awareness and civility. A stark divide exists between those who possess all of these faculties, and those who possess none of them. You can see it in some people’s eyes – two dispiriting windows into a mind devoid of all though and emotion, save for a burning sense of crass, hedonistic entitlement.

Sadly, I suspect that Britain probably doesn’t have the resources to educate every individual, and rehabilitate every community, to the level necessary for the eradication of the Myopic Classes. A psychotically optimistic Marxist might claim otherwise, but I’m a realist.

If anything, the situation is likely to get worse, not better. Already, for example, the government budget for free book programmes is being drastically reduced. This means that more undisciplined and culture-starved children will never get the opportunity to read for pleasure or enlightenment, as their feckless, Myopic parents squander the child benefit money on X-Factor phone-ins and Katie Price Signature Series Dignity Removers. It’s a cycle seemingly without end, and Britain is churning out vacuous morons at a frightening rate.

As you may be aware, I’m not a social historian. I couldn’t tell you how, why or when this divide occurred, but I trust the evidence of my eyes and my experience, and I can tell you without reservation that it exists. I’m sure you’ve noticed it yourself - unless you’re one of my mysterious readers in Malaysia, Brazil or Russia. In that case, I can only hope that you don’t have to deal with the knuckle-dragging zombies that most of us in Britain encounter on a daily basis. Who knows, perhaps Malaysia is a utopia of intellectualism and social enlightenment. Perhaps those lucky Malaysians have never even heard of N-Dubz.

The rest of us may not be able to relieve ourselves of the Myopic Classes, but perhaps we can relieve them of the tools with which they torture us. In a future post, I will bring together two seemingly unrelated subjects – social decline, and high-energy radio frequency weapons (HERF), with exciting implications for the future of noise pollution on public transport.

Yes, that’s right – I’m going to blow up some chav’s excrement-spewing phone with a homemade ray-gun.** Hurrah!

Has your writing schedule been affected by the Myopic Classes? Has some ignorant, foul-mouthed oik ever ruined your day in the pursuit of their own selfish agenda? Why not vent your entirely justified fury by leaving a comment?

 

* ‘Myopic’ essentially means short-sighted, unthinking and narrow-minded. Not knowing what ‘myopic’ means does not qualify you for membership of the Myopic Classes. Not caring probably does.

** ‘Chav’ is a piece of British slang, generally used in reference to exactly the kind of person I’ve spent this entire article describing. Feel free to borrow it for use in your country of origin. If you don’t have chavs in your country of origin, please tell me how you do it.

Bad Writing

This looks very interesting. I suspect that any creative person who has ever fretted about being too amateur would benefit from watching this documentary. I only suspect this since I haven't actually seen it.

Unfortunately, there appear to be no immediate plans to screen it in the UK. I've contacted the producers about it, and they now seem to be under the delusion that I am affiliated with a prominent Cardiff art cinema. I am sorely tempted to play the producers off against the cinema, claiming to represent both of them.

Clearly this would be slightly eccentric, but it's a measure of just how badly I'd like to see this film. If anyone based in the UK (and, ideally, Cardiff) genuinely is affiliated with some kind of plausible screening location, please get in touch with these people at BadWritingTheMovie.com.