Just another Friday,,,

Hey, watch out, it's Friday 13th again. Of course, I'd forgotten this until my lovely wife had the good grace to remind me. I wish she hadn't mentioned it because my otherwise sunny morning suddenly went very, very grey indeed and the Friday the 13th terrors came over me yet again.

I'm no fan of Friday the 13th, despite it being a Friday and the weekend beginning here. It's a day for staying close to home, preferably surrounded by lots of lucky rabbits foots, various religious symbols (I'm not at all choosy when it comes to my gods), sitting in a calming yoga position inside a pentagram of salt and candles and staying calm, breathing deep, focussing on happy thoughts, and hoping the fcuk that you'll get away with it again (sorry, that should read fuck but I don't want to offend and invite bad luck on Friday the 13th, who knows what nutters are out there)?

It's not a day for hang gliding, juggling with knives, going for a mountain walk, opening a new tub or salt, placing all of your savings on a single number on a roulette table in a casino in Las Vegas, or walking across a field with a single 'cow' in it. No, any of these might be a mistake.

The fear of Friday the 13th is called ‘Friggatriskaidekaphobia’ or ‘Paraskevidekatriaphobia’ (I do so love big words, imagine the score if either of those came up in Scrabble). Frigg comes from the Norse goddess of wisdom after whom Friday is named, triskaideka meaning 13, and phobia meaning fear. Para is probably about parachutes (yet another thing not to get too involved with on Friday the 13th).

Apparently, If you cut your hair on Friday the 13th, someone in your family will die (short back and sides please, my man). If a funeral procession passes you on Friday the 13th, you will be the next to die (bad news if you live next to the crem). Never start a trip on Friday or you will encounter misfortune (best not to sneak off into Italy currently then). If you break a mirror on Friday the 13th, you will have seven years of bad luck (I tend to avoid mirrors at all times anyway, no refection you see). A child born on Friday the 13th will be unlucky for life (it didn't seem to do George Clooney much harm though - lucky bugger). Ships that set sail on a Friday will have bad luck (the Titanic broke the trend. It sailed on Wednesday, April the 10 - a stroke of luck that). If you walk under a ladder or if a black cat crosses you on Friday the 13th, you will have bad luck (snakes and ladders don't mix well either).

There's never a good day to die, but Friday the 13th has had its fair share of celeb deaths, Rossini (the Italian composer - tra la la), Richard D. Zanuck (of Jaws fame - dum, dum, dum, dum), The best jazz trumpeter ever, Chet Baker, jumped to his death in Amsterdaaaaam, Buckingham Palace was bombed in WWII and a servant killed (oh dear, how sad, never mind, carry on), the Andes flight disaster and subsequent barbecue which occurred (more ribs anyone?), and a disproportionate number of women drivers are killed on the roads in the US (basically because they are too busy worrying about Friday the 13th and not concentrating on the road or their make-up), oh, and let's not forget Tupac Shakur (buy one, get one free - I always think that when his name comes up).

But not to worry, on Friday, April 13, 2029, a large asteroid will fly so close to the Earth it'll be visible without a telescope in Africa, Europe and Asia, according to NASA (Day of the Triffids stuff - pass the white stick please). Of course, NASA is well known for using dodgy calculators (send for Bruce Willis). No need for concern though, don't panic, hang on to your bowels. Thirteen is only a number and it's just another Friday. It's not like Jason Voorhees is real or anything... hey, who's that outside in that hockey mask?

Have a good day.

Why worry...

Gosh, it's a worrying time. A dangerous pandemic announced by the WHO, Italian restaurants closed (what'a no spaghetti, si?), in fact, the whole country shut down, and now America has closed its borders to flights from Europe (not the UK though which shows the depth of thought put into that decision - not). No loss to me that one as I'm not going back there ever anyway, certainly not at the moment. Yes, it's a worrying time and I'm generally not a worrier. I'm more Mr Micawber than Hiram Grewgios (look him up) in general, always trusting that 'something will turn up'. It usually does.

Yes, something will turn up at some point and eventually (hopefully a vaccine), but for now, it's a time for retreat and not to be bombastic or selfish. Yes, it's a pain that it's going to stop us going abroad or into cities (and it will), a pain that we would be better advised not to go to pubs, restaurants, gigs, football matches, the cinema etc. It's a pain that... well, it's just a pain generally. Mind you, it's not as big a pain as dying, and let's not forget that people are.

I say thank my gods and Tim Berners-Lee for the Internet, it helps us in so many ways - entertainment, news and information, online purchasing, instant communication with friends, it's all so very different from the isolation we might have lived in back in the past when 'worrying' events took place. Worry is made worse by not knowing, being isolated in every way, not being able to get what you need. It might still happen, but so long as we have the Internet and access to it then things aren't so dark as they were, let's say, in the days of the Black Death (bring out your dead).

Back in the War (God save the King!) which, of course, I don't remember we were told to 'Keep Calm and Carry On' and we did (chin up, stiff upper lip and all that, blah, blah, blah). But this isn't a war, (except in the most symbolic of ways) and this enemy isn't even visible and - currently - we have no defence against it.

So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to stay indoors, try not to go out or have any contact with anybody, watch Netflix, listen to old Radio 4 dramas on Youtube, read, cook nice food, eat, drink, and be as merry as possible in these worrying times. I'm going to treat it as a holiday and use the time to have a good think. I'm a big fan of thinking - if only people thought more in general instead of demanding that they can continue to do what they want regardless and then complain about the result. There will be things I miss, but I'd rather be as safe as possible, I can deal with missing things but maybe not death (the ultimate missing).

This worrying time has made me realise once again (as if I didn't already know over and over) that you never know what's around the corner. In fact, you don't even know there is a corner until you turn into it. Corners are like that and even a sat-nav can't give you any direction on this one. Worrying isn't it? This is me looking worried - I hope it makes you smile but I hope it makes you worry a little. Worry is good in worrying times, it may just keep you alive.

Call me Kevin...

Did I mention that my middle name is Kevin? For years I've tried not to think about it but these days I think I make an excellent Kevin and I'm warming to the name. Now don't be offended if your name is Kevin (Kweeva if you are of the female persuasion), I've known lots of Kevins and they've all been very nice chaps indeed.

The name's background is Irish (Caoimhin) and there's even a Saint Kevin. The name was rarely used until the 1950s when it surged in popularity in the US and the UK, peaking in the 60s. Since then it's become, well frankly, a bit of a joke name and 'a bit of a Kevin' has often used as a gently mocking insult. Popular names are often driven by celebrity (right Beyonce? Correct Kanu? You all right over there Brooklyn (a bridge)? In Germany, Kevin is used sometimes to describe a short-lived fad (like those spinner things or Cabbage Patch Dolls).

It's a great name for a weird spree killer as Lionel Shriver decided in her 2004 novel 'We Need To Talk About Kevin' (I can relate to that Kevin a little - pass my crossbow - was it his name I wonder)? Then there's Keegan (Splash it all over perm boy), Costner (dooby-dooby-doo, I do it for you), Bacon (Footloose, footloose kick off the EE shoes), and that awful Spacey chap (a big Rapp fan it seems). In the poptastic world of pop pop-pickers, we have Kevin Gates, Kevin Rudolph, Kevin Woo (who isn't a window cleaner apparently) and the magnificent Kevin Parrot of Brian and Michael fame (Kevin is Brian in case you didn't know).

So where did the mockery begin? Harry Enfield's Kevin in 'Harry Enfield and Chums' has done about as much good for us Kevins as 'Tim, nice but dim' has done for the name Timothy (he's such a bastard that Enfield, a real name kisser of death). Then there's Kevin the Carrot (every child's Germanic plush toy favourite karotte mein liebchen - a meisterstroke by Aldi that) and of course Kevin the one-eyed Minion (as if having the name Kevin wasn't disadvantage enough).

Names are like that, always popping in and out of popularity. Cyril used to be a very popular name (nice one) as did Clarence and Arnie (it'll be back!). But you never quite know when your name is going to go from a much-loved moniker to a burden. So what name is next? Roger already has it's problems (as the Bishop said to the actress) Adolph is long gone (obviously), Dennis is menaced, Malcolm is mocked (thanks to that TV ad for Sinex), Wayne is down the John - and Herbert? Well, it's just not right. Names that would have been viewed as silly just a few years ago are back in demand. My grandsons are Milo and Archie (who inspired this blog - he calls me Kevin), but who knows when their tide will turn - is there anybody out there called Canute?

So, my middle name is Kevin, I'm a Kev through and through - kind, gentle, noble and handsome (oh, and a serial killer).

Birthday chips...

It's my birthday today, I was born in 1957 at the peak of the boomer years. The same year that those bloody Japs (remember Pearl Harbour) started selling Toyota cars in the US, the year the Suez Crisis ended, Russia (the USSR) launched Sputnik 1 (comradeski), South Vietnam was attacked by Viet Cong guerillas and kicked off all that shit (I love the smell of Napalm in the morning), Elvis bought Graceland (been there, done that, still in the building ma'am) The first nuclear reactor opened in Pennsylvania and (rather spookily given current events) the Asian Flu epidemic raged and 30,000 Brits succumbed to it one-way or another. It was also the year that the Frisbee was invented and I've been whirling ever since.

Of course, back then we took this in our stride and hardly broke into a sweat - we were tougher and rougher and we still had cowboy programmes on TV (you know proper programmes, not silly bints and bint blokes with painted on eyebrows pouting into the camera and requiring you to adjust your colour control because of all the orange - not that there was colour TV back then). Times were somehow more real and you could believe what the papers published and the BBC broadcast, or so we were led to believe.

Yes, my bloody birthday and I'm sixty - fruiting - three. An old man by anyone's standards back then when only half of blokes lived to collect their pensions (not unlike today really, but for different reasons - you'll be ninety before you get yours).

Apparently, the number 63 symbolizes humanitarianism, harmony, balance, tolerance, idealism and family (see, I really am perfect like I've always said). As a number, it resonates with the energy of the numbers 6 and 3, as well as number 9 (reduced to a single digit). The number 6 signifies home, family, harmony and idealism. The number 3 signifies creativity, expression, idealism, tolerance and inspiration. The number 9 signifies humanitarianism, philanthropy and tolerance. So, in general, my age signifies philanthropy, optimism and healing so just call me the Dalai Lama. (optimistic moi? I don't fruiting think so. We are all doomed). 

But what's in a number anyway? Don't they say age is just a number? Well, obviously but I'd rather be 23 than 63, it'd give me a better chance in these virus-challenging times.

Still, sixty-three, not bad for an old reprobate like me. I'm still rock 'n rolling (not quite in a wheelchair yet), still spinning my Hula-Hoop. My slinky may have slunk, but I haven't had my chips yet. It's on days like this that I remember the words of Hunter J. Thompson, 'Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up and loudly proclaiming " Wow! What a ride!"

At least when I'm singing Happy Birthday to myself in the bathroom (twice) it'll have a little relevance. Okay, that's it for today. I'm off to do my celebratory thing. Chips in the car here I come!

Digging a hole...

Today is one of those days, a non-blogging day. I get them about once a week and I'd forgotten just how hard blogging is when you try to do it daily. So no blog today. But as you are here...

Now, where did I put that spade?

International Women's Day. Just what is that about? Now, I know that this isn't going to win me any popularity contests but do we really need it in the UK? Do we need a team of women staff running the Flying Scotswoman (renamed especially for the occasion)?

The original aim of IWD – to achieve full gender equality for the women of the world – has still not been realised after almost 100 years. A gender pay gap persists across the globe and women are still not present in equal numbers in business or politics. Figures show that globally, women’s education, health and violence towards women is still worse than that of men. But most women have the vote, can own property and belongings, and can wear trousers to work (I wore a skirt to work once. It didn't go well) But a train, really?

Besides, I really do believe that women have a different role to play in society to men and that makes it a little more complicated (again no popularity prizes here for that one, so wait for it...) and that role is motherhood. Now, motherhood is sought (some might say demanded) by lots of women and that disrupts their lives significantly, particularly in work and promotion terms. But it's their choice (usually) to have kids and they do bleat on about it and how hard it is to be a working mum (this hole is getting deeper). I appreciate their efforts, but why should the world be changed to accommodate their maternal needs? If they want an equal playing field (like this one I'm currently digging my own grave in) then have it by all means. But don't expect your company or organisation to stand still while you are at home cooing over your kid. To my mind, this is a huge freedom for women and one that men (whilst there is paternity leave on offer these days) don't need and in most cases even want (bloody hell, it's getting dark down here).

So why all the Ra-Ra women thing? Of course, men have responded with International Men's Day (19 November, just so you know guys) but that's just bloody silly too. In fact even sillier than IWD (mind you, thinking about it maybe it's all drinking beer and telling jokes, finishing up with a fight about football and a kebab, Not such a bad idea at all then).

The thing is, where does this end in these gender-fluid times? We already have Gay Pride Days (all rainbows and flamboyant gestures), Pansexual and Panromantic Awareness and Visibility Day (whatever the great god Pan that is), even International Drag Day. So why not, 'I Can't Make My Bloody Mind Up What Sex Or Sexual Preference I Am Day?

Anyway, as I'm still digging (bloody hell, is that a kangaroo?) is it just me that thinks all of these days compound the problem of difference rather than flattening things out? What does it matter who or what we are, so why focus on it by having a specific day?

And with that, I'll lay down my spade.

Humpty Dumpty...

Firstly, a tale of animal cruelty for young children who love kittens. "Ding, dong, dell, Pussy’s in the well. Who put her in? Little Johnny Flynn. Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout. What a naughty boy was that, To try to drown poor pussy cat, Who never did him any harm, But ate all of the mice in the farmer's barn."

Nursery rhymes, those innocuous little rhymes we learnt at our mother's knee, or our grandmother's, or our aunt's and which for most of us was probably the first book we ever owned (£1.99p - sixpence in my day - from the local newsagents). Such happy little rhymes full of sunshine and cakes. Certainly not the stuff of nightmares... Or are they? (na...na...nahhh).

Great horror writers like Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, H.P. Lovecraft, Dean Koontz, Bram Stoker, and Mary Shelley tend to dominate the horror story stakes (pointed wooden ones mainly), but Mother Goose isn’t too far behind. Yes, that fictional white-haired, little-old loveable lady at the (dark) heart of kiddie poems has got a bit of an evil streak (na...na...nahhh).

Let's take Baa, Baa, Black Sheep (1731). It's generally agreed that “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” is about the Great Custom, a tax on wool that was introduced in 1275. Mind you, some PC lunatics insist that the use of the colour black and the word “master” proves that there is a negative racial message. The political correctness police called it into question with some schools banning it from being repeated in classrooms, others simply switched out the word “black” for something deemed less offensive (and stupid) like “Baa, Baa Rainbow Sheep” or "Baa, Baa Sheep of Colour Sheep. Horrific.

Remember Goosey Goosey Gander (1784)? It’s hard to believe that any rhyme with “goosey goosey” (after all we all love a good goosing don't we?) in its title could be described as anything but jolly good fun old hockey stick. But it’s actually a tale of religious persecution from the days when Catholic priests had to hide away in holes in the floor to say their Latin-based prayers (a major no-no at the time) even in the privacy of their own homes. In my day the end of the rhyme mentioned an old man “who wouldn’t say his prayers'. So he was taken him by his left leg and they threw him down the stairs.” (bump, bump, bump, bump, crack! Broken neck time folks. Ouch!)

What about Jack and Jill (1765)? Come on, admit it. We've all mucked around with the lyrics to “Jack and Jill”, turning what was seemingly an innocent poem into something a little bit Carry On (ooooh Matron.) Its real meaning isn't quite as innocent as you probably thought. One of the most common theories surrounding the story’s origin is that it’s about France’s Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette, who were both found guilty of treason and subsequently beheaded (chip, chop, chip, chop the last man's dead. Or is that Oranges and Lemons?). The only problem with that is that those events occurred nearly 30 years after “Jack and Jill” was first written and there were no Tardis type travel machines back then. The more likely possibility is that it’s an account of King Charles I’s attempt to reform the tax on liquid measures. When Parliament rejected his suggestion, he instead made sure that the volume was reduced on half and quarter-pints, known as jacks and gills, respectively (the killjoy king).

London Bridge is Falling  Down (1744) is a cracker. Of course, we've all sung Carol's pants (or some other knicker-elastic challenged person) are falling down. But the original song wasn’t much better. Depending on whom you ask, “London Bridge is Falling Down” could be about a 1014 Viking attack, child sacrifice, or the normal deterioration of an old bridge. The most popular theory seems to be the first one - more specifically: the alleged destruction of London Bridge at the hands of Olaf II of Norway in the early 1000s. I have to say though I prefer the child sacrifice thing.

Psychopaths have a place in my heart and Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary (1774) fits that bill perfectly. “Contrary” is an understated way to describe a murderous psychopath. This popular English nursery rhyme (which reads like a script from Gardener's Question Time) is actually a recounting of the homicidal nature of Queen Mary I of England (a.k.a. Bloody Mary) a fierce believer in Catholicism, who executed of hundreds of Protestants. Yes, Silver bells and cockle shells are torture devices. She's also in there at her bloody worst in Three Blind Mice (1805) with the trio in question believed to be a group of Protestant bishops—Hugh Latimer, Nicholas Radley, and The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer—who (unsuccessfully) conspired to overthrow the queen and were burned at the stake for their heresy (barbecued blind bishop - yum yum).

Yes, all nursery rhymes are wicked. That crooked man? The devil comin' to getcha. Then there's Eeeny Meeny Miny Mo which this day has the replacement word Tiger (and not the noriginal) as it's victim, Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush, a prison rhyme about women prisoners exercising around a mulberry tree in Wakefield prison (it's grim up t'north), Rock-a-Bye Baby a tale of child murder, Ring a Ring of Roses is all about the plague, Humpty Dumpty, Doctor Foster, Mary and Her Little Lamb, Georgie Porgie, Little By Blue, Tom Tom The Piper's Son, all nursery rhyme nightmares waiting to awaken - and just who was that man (the one that wasn't there) upon the stair? Am I seeing things or something? (na...na...nahhh). 

So there you go, nursery rhymes, the root of all evil and where Stephen King gets all his best ideas from.

Better Red Than...

Aren't dictatorships terrible? They take away your freedom and often you live in fear of that knock on the door or speaking out about something you disagree with. Well, yes, maybe, probably, but is so-called democracy any better? Just because we vote our leaders in does that mean that we are somehow superior and that they are better at representing our interests? Do Bozza Johnson and Donnie Trump really have the best interests of the (their)  people at heart or are they simply representing themselves and intent in getting their own way through whatever means possible whether it be lies, damned lies, statistics, misdirection, sleight of hand, buffoonery, bullying, threats or even Jesus (Amen, hallelujah, baloney)? When we are living in a democracy (in the free world - Amen, hallelujah, baloney) do we not worry about that knock on the door and can we say what we think without fear of repercussion or censorship any longer? (Amen, hallelujah, baloney).

Oh dear, what a lot of questions (are you thinking yet? Really thinking, you know for yourselves, thinking your own thoughts, not what you have been told by experts, politicians, idiots, your mate down the pub, silly women on silly TV programmes, silly men on silly TV programmes, the papers, the internet, your company, your kid's school, your kids after they've been told by their school, your doctor, his doctor, his doctors doctor, anyone at all just as long as you don't have to think for yourself and take responsibility for your own life?). Are you THINKING now, or are you happy to let somebody else do the thinking for you because it's so, so, soooo much easier and therefore not your fault?

Okay, just where is this going (another bloody question) and what's the news on the street (yet another one)? Well, as yet the street isn't littered in corpses (as yet you note), but let's just go back to that dictatorship thing. I'm beginning to think that people don't want to have to make decisions for themselves and that they would rather be told what to do by 'experts' (you know educated experts that know what is what, know everything actually - and is that baaing I can hear?). 

China seems to have this Coronavirus in control, just how did they manage that I wonder? Well, China is a dictatorship and they don't mess about, when they want to control something then they control it. They shut down whole provinces, they weld the doors to apartment blocks closed so that nobody can get in or out and the army stands outside armed with machine guns. In short, they contain and control for the greater good. On the flip side (the good side but not by Western standards), they build massive hospitals in days - not years, they isolate the infected, they block travel into the country, they shut schools and they home-school, they make sure that people at risk don't have to go out by making sure they have enough food. Of course, if you break the rules then they will shoot you and probably burn your body, but it seems fair enough to me in light of the alternative and potential extinction.

Italy seems to be going the same way (eventually) but they've never been a democracy really have they? (by the way, keep a metre apart or you may go to jail - no better place to catch it really).

So, just what does our wonderful island democracy do? Well, firstly they deny that there is anything to worry about, then the 'experts' advise us to wash our hands and sing happy birthday (twice), they smilingly tell us not to panic buy (despite not telling the truth about 'discussions' they are meant to have had with supermarkets and self-isolate but don't stock up on anything before you do), they don't close schools, they allow Crufts to go-ahead, they continue to allow people to travel in and out of the country freely, at will, willy nilly, they mumble that if we think we have 'IT' that we should maybe self-isolate (whatever that means as there is little information around what that maybe is), our sports events and concerts continue, people go off to work each day up and down the country, sick people WILL be attending those meetings, there WILL be sick workers in factories and office blocks, etc, etc, etc. But don't worry, keep washing your hands and singing Happy Birthday (twice). That should stop it!

There is no clear guidance on the reality of the situation and it's all dependent on who you listen to and what YOU want to hear - ADVICE: THINK FOR YOUR-BLOODY-SELVES PEOPLE, stop bleating and saying you can't do anything to change it, you are not selfish order-taking, dummies.

At last, they (the experts) are finally admitting that it's unlikely that we will avoid an epidemic but to keep your chins up and don't panic and carry on (ra- ra- ra). I wonder who knows that the Spanish Flu of 1918 (5 million dead) was so hushed up by our government that there were bodies on the streets and all of the hospitals were full (corridors and basements and all). We all know that our current government are cheats and liars but we still nod and listen to their platitudes and mumblings. What a bunch of hopeless virovankers we all are, it makes me wonder if a dictatorship might keep us alive whereas our totally fake and stupidly democratic domestic approach may become the real problem for us and not the virus at all.

Yes, I'm a bit cross, a bit cross and worried, a bit cross and worried that I'm not being told the truth, a bit cross and worried that I'm not being told the truth and pissed off by all us stupid British sheep keeping calm carrying on as always and baaaing happily whilst they might be being led to the slaughterhouse by their own trusting laziness and stupidity. 

My advice: stay out of harm's way as much as possible, don't invite the virus in, don't mix with other people, and wake up and think! Maybe we really do need a touch of martial law because if it gets a hold that will happen.