I've Measured Out my Life in Teaspoons

Having been awake since 4am, and with lines from Prufrock running inexplicably through my head, I finally decided enough was enough and got up, having measured out my life in coffee spoons and objecting to this on the grounds of being a tea drinker. And so I'm up, trying to think of something mildly diverting to write about, and largely failing. Note to self - must cultivate some Australian friends: I feel the time difference might be beneficial, if only from a Facebook Chat point of view.

Or I could have a bit of a rant about Estates.

Now, our Estates department have their uses. They did, after all, come down pretty quickly to mend the kitchen door handle after my colleague got stuck in there, having only popped in to boil the kettle. At the same time, though, and I fear like most institutions, they do love their "systems".

Take the other week, for example. We came in to find our sink in the hideous alcove we call our shared "kitchen", blocked and filled with brown water (washing up debris, rather than anything more exciting...I hope...) A couple of hours later someone from Estates pootled downstairs (and I can't think of a better verb to describe their way of going round the building.) He sort of lolled in my doorway, taking "laid back" to a whole new level (he looks a bit like Jaspar Carrot under the influence of magic mushrooms, and the thought of him teetering on a ladder tryig to mend a light fighting makes me rather nervous) and said "We heard your sink's blocked".

"Oh. Yes. It was blocked when we came in. Can you have a look at it?"

"No, you need to phone the Helpdesk, they'll give you a job reference number, and I'll come back."

"Can't you look at it now?"

"No."

I phoned the Heldesk, and they did indeed give me a job reference number, and, true to his word, he came back. Ten minutes later. Efficiency?

And then, to give my week that bit of variety it so desperately craves, I got in to find a sort of mini waterfall happily pouring through my ceiling. The floor was soaked for a couple of feet either side of the "drip", as Estates called it in their "reference", and the room had that sort of lingering wet dog smell. The ceiling tiles were worryingly damp and I was sat tapping away at my computer amidst a sea of wires and other electricals. But Estates were on the case, the unsung superheroes of SE1. A mere hour after a job reference number was created they march in (a leak apparently being more serious than a blocked sink, they'd sent the Top Bloke for the occasion). Brandishing a clipboard he looks up at the leak with an expression bearing years of closely honed expertise. And he says...

"Oh. Bugger."

I've not seen him since then.

Cows cont.

Well, I listened to Radio 4 in the gym today. Ha!! I foiled you, you Creepy Apple People!!!

Ahem.

Two more cows for you, courtesy of, somewhat randomly, my old science teacher:

INNUENDO:
You "have" two cows

OLD TESTAMENT
You have two cows. Noah sends you back out as he specifically asked for one of each sex.

- - - - -
Shameless is on tonight. The world just got a little brighter.

Born To Run (away...fast...)

I always knew there was something suspicious about Apple. It's just that up until now I thought it was simply the fact that they are money-grabbing bastards who ensure that with every new product comes a load of new accessories which don't quite fit the old one, thus ensuring that you buy a new iPod/computer at vast expense should any of the leads/cases/chargers stop working.

But it's more than that. Apparently Apple and I are sending each other subliminal messages of some form or other. In short, THEY KNOW!!! THEY KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ME!!!

Well, maybe not everything. Not yet. That I know of... But explain to me this: following my last post I went to the gym, popped the (shiny and new complete with new acessories... I'm not bitter...) iPod onto shuffle, and in amongst the 9 tracks it "randomly" selected for me it played the following:

Emmylou Harris - Born to Run
Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill
Morrissey - On the Streets I Ran

I have 920 tracks on my iPod. Only 4 (I think) of them have running in the title (the other is "Runaway" by the Corrs). Coincidence? ?!?!??!!!????!?Hmmmmmm????!

Oh wait. I remember. I'm diagnosably paranoid. Right. That explains it.

Looking forward to an evening in front of the TV watching reruns of Auf Wiedersehen Pet and MPs pretending to understand poor people; typing stats for work; washing up; musing about teapots; putting the finishing touches to a short story; putting washing away. Life continues as normal...

(...but they're still out to get me....)

Don't Stop Me Now

So, the lovely people at Mind suggested I start a "running blog" to "help" with my training. This strikes me as not particularly useful for two reasons: 1.) I shall spend more time procrastinating about what on earth I can write on said running blog than I will doing any actual running and 2.) I can't think of anything remotely interesting to write about running anyway. I'm thinking my (admittedly small) readership will be even less interested in "Today I ran 5K in Regents Park. I ran past the zoo and saw some camels" (all true, incidentally) than they would in, say, jokes about cows.

So I'm going to do a bit of a plug instead, and leave it at that. If the plug works and some of you sponsor me, I can guarantee you won't have to put up with a "running blog". If you don't, well, I may reconsider...

So... Lovely Helen, Lovely Nicky and I are running a 10K (suppress your giggles, please!) in May for two lovely charities (there's a lot of loveliness going on here. Are you feeling the loveliness?) They are Mind and Cancer Research UK. I'm running for Cancer Research UK in memory of, well, quite a few people actually: my mate Will, who I blogged about in November, my friend Kirsty, who died while we were at school, my mum's friend Anne who died last year, and my granny. (I know. Chirpy stuff.) I won't lecture, as they basically do what it says on the tin - research into cancer, in terms of treatment, prevention and cure. Anyway, you can sponor us here. We're also running for Mind, who do an awful lot of stuff, in particular lots of awareness-raising and campaigning, which obviously appeals to the (currently dormant) activist within me. They also have a brilliant helpline, staffed by real people (don't knock it - this is rare these days!) which needs funds in order to keep going. My sponorship page for that is here.

My training earlier in the year was foiled by keen people who insisted on going to my gym as part of ill-fated New Year's resolutions. Happily most of those good intentions seem to have fallen by the wayside, and I now have to share my gym only with the perspiring, goal-oriented advertising execs in their shiny designer sports clothing who run at double my speed, thus producing double my sweat, on the treadmill next to me while a personal trainer shouts motivational abuse at them. I had a personal trainer once, for a couple of weeks, who was not of that ilk at all. I think she thought I was a lost cause, frankly, because she didn't bother with any of that stuff. Her name was Meggie (actually it was Maggie but she was Australian) and her catchphrase was "ah, good on ya." She would ask me what exercise I'd done since she last saw me, and whatever the answer she would say "Ah, good on ya." I think if I'd said "Well, to be honest, Maggie, I was knackered so I went home, cracked open some cans of Carlsberg and watched Shameless while eating a takeaway curry" she would still have said "Ah, good on ya." Meggie's style of personal training involved suggesting I might like to do some exercise, saying nice, encouraging things while I failed miserably at whatever it was we'd decided to do, then asking me what I'd seen at the cinema that weekend. Conversely the other chap who I once saw when Meggie was on holiday had a rather different style, which involved shouting "If it isn't hurting it isn't working" at you as you fell off the back of the treadmill, then made you lie down on the floor and contorted your body into positions which I'm sure were never intended until you felt your bones crack.

Anyway, those days are gone now - I have neither the cash nor the inclination to be ritually humiliated in the evenings and I now have a nice little routine of 6K on the treadmill and 10 on a bike and a bit of pilates while savouring the delights the iPod Shuffle function has to offer.

Rather like the whole divorce thing, the internet seems to be flooded with whole chat threads on various exercise forums dedicated to the most optimum tracks to accompany your exercise. They're generally loud and stirring, the sort of stuff that's meant to inspire you onwards in your quest for your medal and complementary goody bag of crap. There's a big 70s love-in going on on one site, which is a pretty good era for that sort of stuff, and generally everyone's singing the praises of the likes of Bat Out of Hell, Don't Stop Me Now, Eye of the Tiger and Living on a Prayer. There are a few trance music devotees, a not inconsiderable show of support for heavy metal, and another contingent who favour the bouncy drivel of S Club and Steps, which I presume has its place if you're trying to get a rhythm going, and I suppose is somewhat motivational if you pretend you're running away from it. I was pleased to see one person recommend Amarillo, though that's probably just because the Peter Kay video involved Ronnie Corbett falling off a treadmill.

I was going to respond to one of these when my iPod played me the following selection yesterday:

Joy Divison - Love Will Tear Us Apatr
Eels - Climbing to the Moon
The Smiths - Stretch Out and Wait
Leonard Cohen - Hallelujah
Kate Bush - Wuthering Heights
Morrissey - Life is a Pigsty
The Clash - Rock the Casbah
The Cranberries - Linger
Bob Dylan - A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall
The Smiths - I Won't Share You
Nick Cave - Where the Wild Roses Grow

I figured that, with the possible exception of The Clash, none of these would appear on any such forum, and having looked, I think I was right, but it was an interesting experiment.

One tip though - I think I've found the ultimate track to run to: ELP's Fanfare For The Common Man. Seriously. Try it. And whether you try it or not, please sponsor me!!!

In case you were wondering, we lost 2-0 to Accrington Stanley.

Yep, that's right, Accrington Stanley.

Yeah.

I know.

I thought that.

Oo Areeee Yer?

Who ARE we?

Seriously?

You don't know?

We're Bradford City! The Mighty Bantams! Stuart McCall's Bradford Army!

Ring any bells?

No?

That's probably because we're now languishing somewhere towards the lower end of League 2. For the Americans (and the less sportily inclined - Oi Frank, you there?!) who read this blog, I should point out that "League 2" is what the FA et al kindly call what should rightly be termed "Division 4", to make the likes of us feel better. In British football, we have the Premiership, where Manchester United, Liverpool and all those other teams with fanbases far beyond those fair cities bask in glory and vastly inflated wages; then we have the Championship, where embittered sides jostle with one another for the much-covetted prize of promotion, that they may too sleep with each others' wives and sip champagne in far-flung jacuzzis; then we have League One, which, confusingly, used to be the name of the Premiership, before it was downgraded to the Championship, before it became the new name for the Third Division (are you with me so far?) League One is full of plucky underdogs, championed by news presenters and TV chefs (Delia's precious Norwich are here... but not for long, if the current table is anything to go by!) and those clubs who are down on their luck (Leeds United. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!) League One is actually where the interesting football happens - often nail-biting games, a whiff of violence mingled with fried onions hanging in their air, cold, seatless terraces open to the elements...

...

And then there's us. Are you still here? Here we are, in League 2, previously Divsion 4... well, you get the picture. I'd like to say League 2 was also full of plucky underdogs. But that would be lying. League 2 is, for the most part, a little bit sad, both in terms of the level of football played and in terms of the attitude of some of the players - a sort of listlessness tinged, on occasions, with simmering resentment. League 2 has much of the menace of League 1 (as my mate says "this is proper football - people get hurt") - without, unfortunately, any of the skill.

Take my experience at one of my beleagured team's matches as an example. Aldershot, that bastion of unity in a faceless, squaddie town, are currently languishing in League 2, though, it must be said, doing so with somewhat more finesse and rather higher up the table than the Mighty Bantams. I went to Aldershot last year and felt they were trying to replicate a sort of small-scale Millwall experience for their visitors. There were police everywhere, and a minute or so before the game their fans (and the terraces were packed) started banging on the stands and chanting "Aldershot Call The Shots". This carried on. For the entire game. That's over two hours, assuming they didn't stop at half time - and I'm not convinced they did. The hardcore amongst them carried on doggedly throughout. An element of polyphony was achieved only when our goalie was approaching the ball after a failed attempt on their part to actually score anything - which happened quite a lot. On such occasions a small, adventurous group strayed from the main chant long enough to shout "You're Shit! Uh!" at us.

So there's the menance. But what about the incompetence? Well, I'm a Welfare Adviser. I'm a Welfare Adviser whose sport of choice is cricket. I play the violin, sing, and write plays. Whenever I watch the Bantams I find myself frantically shouting "Get in a space! Where are you?" And that, my friends, says it all.

I shouldn't be so mean. The average age of our team looks to be about 16, after all, so I presume they have to fit in their training around their maths homework. But still, it doesn't bode well, and perhaps it explains why, despite our colourful, exhuberant and (some might say deludedly) loyal fan base, we are still doing so horrifically badly.

It's true, and it's sad, because, fan-wise, we're still attracting some of the biggest crowds in lower-league football to both home and away fixtures. We even managed to take a 200-odd crowd to Torquay a few weeks back, and who in their rights mind would travel from Bradford to Torquay in the middle of winter (or, indeed, at any time?) This is a team that went on an open-top bus tour through the wonderful city of Bradford, attracting massive crows, and even released a DVD called "We Are Stayin' Up!" when they narrowly missed relegation from the Premiership, beating Liverpool (I kid you not!) in 2000. I still remember the "Bye Bye Wombles" posters - which (oh ye of little faith) I thought a tad optimistic as the time, but we did of course wave bye bye to Wimbledon that day, and look what happened to them! Oh how the Not Always Totally Crap have fallen.

And this week we waved bye bye to Stuart McCall, a previously fine midfielder who's led us, admittedly with an impressive lack of success, since 2007. And now we are floundering more than ever, if that's possible. Not waving, not even drowning. We sunk long ago.

I'll tell you what sums up the current state we're in, and that's two defeats by...wait for it... Barnet. I kid you not. That's Barnet, the team that plays on a sloped pitch that would shame most schools; a team whose fans - the smattering that turn up - act as though they've accidentally taken a wrong turning on the way to the theatre, but don't want to be rude and slip out during the interval. Barnet fans are more like cricket fans are in 1920s short stories - they clap politely at every shockingly-aimed kick - balls can sail off metres above the goal, and the true Barnet fan's response will be "Oh, bad luck!" To my great amusement, while this was all going on, the Bradford fans, who'd come down en masse for the occasion (there were more of us than them, crammed onto stone terraces) were keeping themselves amused by hurling abuse at a giant bee - Barnet's mascot, Mr Bumble - to the tune of Guide Me Oh Thy Great Redeemer, cleverly amended to "What the fucking, what the fucking, what the fucking hell is that?"

A good point well made, I feel. But we still lost 2-1. Shame? That doesn't even begin to describe it.

We sighed with relief at today's tedious 0-0 draw against Grimsby, and trudged back to prepare for next week's battle... and dangerous mixing of the counties... against Accrington Stanley.

Who are they? I hear you cry.

Exactly.

The Best of the Rest

Thanks for all your cow suggestions. You are all beautiful people and you should be very proud. Here are just a few for you:

NIETZSCHIAN
The cows are dead.

MR T-ISM
I pity the poor foo' that don't have no cows!

LAKE WOBEGONISM
You have two cows. They are strong and above average, and will one day become the key to a meandering little adventure.

SKEPTICISM
You suspend judgement, for the time being, as to whether or not you have any cows.

YODAISM
Two cows you have

DYSLEXIC ANALYSIS
You have two woks

GUERNSEY
You have two cows. They are Jersey cows. You mock them.

APPLEISM
You have two cows, both are white and shiny. Both of them are touchscreen cows that can only eat apple grass bought from the apple grass store. Everyone else has two cows just like them. You are deeply hip.

MICROSOFTISM
You have two cows, but neither are compatible, one of them just crashed due to bad grass, and the other needs more RAM. They can eat eighty different kinds of grass, and each will make them behave slightly differently.

ENGLISH FOOTBALL
You have two cows. You screw both of them.

BRITISH FARMING
You had a lot of cows. The man from DEFRA burned them. Now you have nothing.

BUDDHISM
You have two cows. They used to be rabbits.

FATALISM
You have two cows, and one day they will die.

THATCHERISM
You have two cows, and a share in a third. Your neighbour has none, and their barn is about to be repossessed. Well done you.

YOUTH CULTURE
You has, like, two cows, you get me? Respect.

NIHILISM
You have two cows, but you don't milk them because they're going to die anyway.

IKEAISM
You have two cows which you assembled yourself. One is missing an udder. The other has three ears. You're not sure how that happened.

ANIMAL RIGHTS ACTIVISM
Someone had two cows, so you invaded their field and set them free. You feel good.

BRITISH BANKING
You have a lot of cows. You squander them. The taxpayer pays for some more.

SOUTH PARKISM
You have two cows. Cows are bad, mm'kay? They trample Kenny and kill him.

ACID TRIP
You have two cows. You're not sure how they got into your apartment. Or why they're pink. Or why they're singing Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell.

POST-ALCOHOL
You think you had two cows last night... you might have lost them on the bus... oh, God, did you really say that to them? Your head hurts...

Triumphal Return of the Cows

Well, it's been a while - 4 years, in fact. But the cows are back! Enjoy!

BLAIRISM:
You say you think your enemy has two cows, and go to war over it.

WESTMINSTERISM:
You have two cows. You claim for them both.

ETHICAL GIFTISM:
You have two goats. They are given to a family in Africa.

FASHIONISTAS:
You have two llamas. Cows are so last year.

PARANOIA:
You have two cows. Why does the one on the right keep looking at you funny?

SHAKESPEAREISM
You have two cows and two bulls. For spurious reasons the cows dress as bulls and the bulls dress as cows. Much hilarity ensues.

BRONTEISM:
You have three cows. They live on the moors in Yorkshire and die tragically young.

JANE AUSTENISM:
You have a cow and a bull. They are obviously made for each other, but don't find out until Chapter 18.

LIBERAL DEMOCRATS:
You have two cows. Your neighbours have 8 cows and 11 cows respectively, but you still think your cows stand a chance.

VENTURE CAPITALISM - AN ICELANDIC CORPORATION
You have two cows.You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened byyour brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associatedgeneral offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows.The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman IslandCompany secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all sevencows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows,with an option on one more. You sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States,leaving you with nine cows. No balance sheet provided with the release. The public thenbuys your bull.

WIKIPEDIANISM:
You have two cows. Cows are green in colour and descended from horses. Their diet consists mainly of waffles with maple syrup and their favourite activities include ice skating.

More to come... Please suggest more in the meantime!

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I'm in the wrong job. It seems that the biggest growth industry isn't higher education at all; it's the rise of the Divorce Party.

This trend hit the news a few months ago with some rather fascinating pictures of "Divorce Cakes." Apparently it's now the In Thing to have a good old celebration to toast the end of a beautiful relationship - a sort of stag/hen do in reverse. I can see, on the one hand, that a spot of booze-fuelled communal vitriol might help in such circumstances - think of it, perhaps as Marriage Guidance's contemptuous cousin. At the same time, though, you can't help thinking it's that the party planners and greetings card designers, cake makers and DJs of this world are rubbing their hands in glee and thinking "Kerching!"

Yes, DJs. For music is, it seems, key to the successful divorce party. Google it, and frankly it opens up a whole new world you probably never knew existed. One DJ casually remarks "Here's a selection of the songs I get asked for most often", which begs the question: How often do you do this?!?

There are chat forums to help you choose "suitable" music for your post-divorce knees-up (because heaven forbid you should choose something inappropriate - oh, think of the shame!) Now I know i'm easily amused, but I did laugh out loud when, after skimming through lots of militant feminist posts extolling the virtues of Gloria Gaynor, and lots of embittered souls oozing with fury and waxing lyrical about any songs that touched on partner homicide, someone called Ellie chirpily if mystifyingly wrote "I chose the theme to Hawaii 5-0 to open my divorce party." Of course you did. Um...why was that exactly?

I guess the sort of music you choose very much depends on a number of factors, and what sort of mood you want to go for - philosophical, celebratory, vengeful, full of relief or mournful, or perhaps a combination of all of these (tricky things, emotions.) So here's a little snippet from the cheerful world of Divorce Party planners, from the comfortingly nostalgic to the gently uplifting to the frankly scary.

I Will Survive
Don’t Look Back in Anger
Suspicious Minds
The Winner Takes it All
I Hope You Die (The Bloodhound Gang at their very finest)
Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me (nothing like bit of Morrissey to cheer you up.)
Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off (Probably a bit late for that if you're already marking the divorce)
D.I.V.O.R.C.E.
Tainted Love
Torn
Too Much, Too Little, Too Late
It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To (nothing like having a good sulk to sort things out)
Good Riddance
Don't Marry Her (Sound advice a tad too late?)
Sisters are Doin’ It For Themselves
I Feel Like a Woman
I Want To Break Free
Every Breath You Take (I always found this song more than a little creepy)
All By Myself (ahhh nothing like having a good wallow)
Breaking Up is Hard to Do (but presumably you managed it)
Cry me a River
I Shall be Released
Forever Young
Diamonds and Rust

I rather liked the little foray into the world of Joan Baez at the end, but I think I've hit on an even better idea. Screw the DJ (actually don't, that would look like being on the rebound and ultimately be a bit tacky) - how about some live music instead? I can recommend the following ditties by Mitch Benn and Bill Bailey.

In the defence of the whole shebang, one of the (only) funny moments of the otherwise unimpressive Phoenix Nights spin-off that was Max and Paddy's Road to Nowhere was an episode where a spurned lover performs a heartfelt karaoke rendition of "The First Cut Is The Deepest", so I wonder if there's a market somewhere in divorce and break up-themed karaoke venues. Anyway, do feel free to suggest some songs for this, so that, in the event of my employer including me in its "rationalisation process" (i.e. firing me) I can consider this as a new career option. Oh and just in case you were wondering, by the way, no, I'm not. My hairdresser did innocently ask, when I said I was married last year, if I was still "with him". What's more she seemed distinctly underwhelmed when I said I was, and proceeded to tell me about various clients who all got married "too soon", or "out of convenience" or "out of desperation". We live in quite a bleak and hopeless little world, really.

Night night.
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