Is it only me...but surely this is not good use of David Cameron’s time.
It is with some incredulity that I read a recent interview with Ed Miliband, the Dippy One, when he criticised The One Caesar, Mr Cameron, for failing to stop the sale of half price chocolate oranges in WH Smith’s. Really, Mr Miliband, maybe here there is a clue here as to why you and your obsolete party are lagging in the polls.
At this point, let me declare an interest-I like chocolate oranges and I especially like cut price chocolate oranges.
It seems that when in Opposition The One Caesar made a speech promising that when he became Caesar he personally would make the sale of cheap chocolate illegal-or some other similar promise. Now maybe, Mr Miliband, you might want to take a long hard look at the campaign promises made and subsequently broken by the previous leaders that you actually served. Believe me I can assure you that banning the sale of cut price chocolate is a mere trifle compared to what your lot said when you were trying to win and stay in power. Student tuition fees, need I say more?
But there is a more important issue at stake here than who promised what to whom and when.
Now as I am no longer an Apparatchik charged with defending our borders, liberties and freedoms, I am no longer privy to the contents of the Two Caesar’s in box but I can guess the kind of issues that the Her Maj’s First Minister might be dealing with as I write this and you read this. These are likely to include the wars we are still fighting; the lack of growth in the economy; the possible break-up of the Euro with all its consequent implications; our constant whining and whingeing that we are not spending enough of the Taxpayer’s money on our pet causes; the need to raise more money from tax; the demand to reduce the amount we borrow; and of course the impending break up of the United Kingdom.
Did you see cut price chocolates anywhere on that list? And it is my guess that in the list of priorities in Number 10 (and hopefully No 11 too) if cut price chocolates figures anywhere above No 985, something is wrong. Indeed in the list of government priorities only Health and Safety and Wonky Weather should rank below the need to reduce the price of chocolate oranges. It would not surprise me though if somewhere in the deepest darkest bowels of Whitehall there was not a Steering Group of Apparatchiks toiling away producing reports, Ministerial Submissions and strategic legislative, policy and communication options to reduce the price of chocolate oranges at our stations.
Now I for one, and not just for reasons of vested interest, do not want one cell of The One Caesar’s brain devoted to reducing the price of chocolate oranges. I do not want one cent of my hard earned taxes being used to pay for Apparatchiks to consider how this might be done. And I do not want one minute wasted through my elected representatives debating and producing more pointless hot air on this subject.
Other than Mr Miliband, does anyone else want to see our political elite prioritising this issue? Do let me know.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
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Sunday 29 January 2012
Friday 27 January 2012
Please, Sir
Is it only me...but we all make mistakes, even me!
I have recently read that steps are now underway by a bunch of Senior Apparatchiks and other Grand Panjandrums to restore Sir Fred Goodwin to Mr Fred Goodwin, formerly Head Honcho at Royal Bank of Scotland before it became owned by us. This unsettles me.
Now let me say at the outset that I am no fan of titles, baubles and other decorative awards not given or earned through the application of labour or intellect. Sadly as yet I have not been able to persuade the Great and Good to my point of view. Consequently a couple of times a year Her Maj organises some sort of prize giving ceremony and those recently elevated to the Great and Good priesthood or who have ‘bought’ their titles by corrupting our political system, their presence leavened by a few proles who have been lollipop people for centuries and have never missed a day’s work in 150 years, queue up to be doled out their bauble.
However I really don’t see why, having gone through this ceremony, we now seem to want to take back Fred’s bauble. What has he done wrong that we all want our revenge on him?
Admittedly Sir Fred did make a wee mistake a few years back with some quite dreadful consequences for him, his family, the nation and the global economic system but hey, we all make mistakes.
What happens to you when you make a mistake? Would you expect to be stripped of your pension? Would you consider it right if you lost your job? Are you hauled before the Court of Public Opinion? Would you hand back your Blue Peter Badge, Jim’ll Fix It Medal and Brownie Medals? No. Why not? And why do you expect different rules to apply to Sir Fred?
And it is important remember that everything Sir Fred did or try to do he did in the best interests of his shareholders. It was not about personal gain, it was not fraudulent, and it was not illegal. It might have been hubristic but it was not wrong. And we should also remember that he did a very good job for his shareholders, for his people and for the taxman up until the balloon burst. And you cannot blame Sir Fred entirely for that.
I once heard a tale of a man who lost £2m for his business. He immediately tendered his resignation to his CEO. And to his credit the CEO refused to accept the resignation pointing out to his man ‘that he had just paid for the most expensive business lesson ever and he was not going to throw away all that training and development’.
Maybe anyone crying for Sir Fred’s medal back should heed that advice.
Let’s leave the man alone.
Have a great week.
And if you are looking for some marketing enlightenment to get you through the week ahead, take a look at www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
I have recently read that steps are now underway by a bunch of Senior Apparatchiks and other Grand Panjandrums to restore Sir Fred Goodwin to Mr Fred Goodwin, formerly Head Honcho at Royal Bank of Scotland before it became owned by us. This unsettles me.
Now let me say at the outset that I am no fan of titles, baubles and other decorative awards not given or earned through the application of labour or intellect. Sadly as yet I have not been able to persuade the Great and Good to my point of view. Consequently a couple of times a year Her Maj organises some sort of prize giving ceremony and those recently elevated to the Great and Good priesthood or who have ‘bought’ their titles by corrupting our political system, their presence leavened by a few proles who have been lollipop people for centuries and have never missed a day’s work in 150 years, queue up to be doled out their bauble.
However I really don’t see why, having gone through this ceremony, we now seem to want to take back Fred’s bauble. What has he done wrong that we all want our revenge on him?
Admittedly Sir Fred did make a wee mistake a few years back with some quite dreadful consequences for him, his family, the nation and the global economic system but hey, we all make mistakes.
What happens to you when you make a mistake? Would you expect to be stripped of your pension? Would you consider it right if you lost your job? Are you hauled before the Court of Public Opinion? Would you hand back your Blue Peter Badge, Jim’ll Fix It Medal and Brownie Medals? No. Why not? And why do you expect different rules to apply to Sir Fred?
And it is important remember that everything Sir Fred did or try to do he did in the best interests of his shareholders. It was not about personal gain, it was not fraudulent, and it was not illegal. It might have been hubristic but it was not wrong. And we should also remember that he did a very good job for his shareholders, for his people and for the taxman up until the balloon burst. And you cannot blame Sir Fred entirely for that.
I once heard a tale of a man who lost £2m for his business. He immediately tendered his resignation to his CEO. And to his credit the CEO refused to accept the resignation pointing out to his man ‘that he had just paid for the most expensive business lesson ever and he was not going to throw away all that training and development’.
Maybe anyone crying for Sir Fred’s medal back should heed that advice.
Let’s leave the man alone.
Have a great week.
And if you are looking for some marketing enlightenment to get you through the week ahead, take a look at www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Monday 23 January 2012
Women and children first
Is it only me...but why?
The recent tragedy of the sinking Italian cruise liner when it was alleged that ‘the women and children first’ rule was not followed, has set me thinking. We always know this is a dangerous thing for me to do but it has happened and so I thought I would share my wisdom with you. How lucky does that make you?
Now I accept that this might be the polite thing to do and certainly as a man of considerable charm, albeit kept well hidden, this is of course how I would behave should I ever be unlucky enough to find myself in such tragic circumstances.
And you can bet your bottom dollar that should my office space ever begin to incendiarize I will clarify any doubt that might exist in the minds of my co-workers and highlight that our door is clearly labelled fire exit and even hold open said fire exit until every woman and child has left the room.
However I do believe that such a policy might be illegal.
Under Equal Opportunities legislation so beloved of the feministas and other bleeding heart liberals, it has to be the best person for the job, irrespective of gender and age who would have to go first. On this basis, if you are going to get into a boat, especially if it requires rowing, I would like to suggest that the best people for the job and therefore those who should get in first would be those with any sailing or rowing ability. It goes without saying that if strength and stamina were required to ensure that the boat had the strength to make land, these are more likely to be male traits than female.
And I haven’t even mentioned navigation skills!
It should also be pointed out that the Guardianista-inspired Human Rights Act guarantees us all a right to life, to family life and to marriage. I do not recall anywhere that these rights were determined by gender though clearly you have more of these rights than anyone else if you are an illegal immigrant facing deportation. Therefore anyone denied a right to a lifeboat space on basis that they were not a woman or a child, would have a very good case at Strasbourg. Of course no one would be able to get off the boat until all the illegal immigrants had got off otherwise they would be heading to Strasbourg too.
Now it might only be me but this perfectly illustrates the legal and moral dilemmas that arise from simplistic statements such as ‘women and children first’. And so I would contend that it might be better and more legally sound if we adopted the maxim of ‘every person for him or herself’.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus
The recent tragedy of the sinking Italian cruise liner when it was alleged that ‘the women and children first’ rule was not followed, has set me thinking. We always know this is a dangerous thing for me to do but it has happened and so I thought I would share my wisdom with you. How lucky does that make you?
Now I accept that this might be the polite thing to do and certainly as a man of considerable charm, albeit kept well hidden, this is of course how I would behave should I ever be unlucky enough to find myself in such tragic circumstances.
And you can bet your bottom dollar that should my office space ever begin to incendiarize I will clarify any doubt that might exist in the minds of my co-workers and highlight that our door is clearly labelled fire exit and even hold open said fire exit until every woman and child has left the room.
However I do believe that such a policy might be illegal.
Under Equal Opportunities legislation so beloved of the feministas and other bleeding heart liberals, it has to be the best person for the job, irrespective of gender and age who would have to go first. On this basis, if you are going to get into a boat, especially if it requires rowing, I would like to suggest that the best people for the job and therefore those who should get in first would be those with any sailing or rowing ability. It goes without saying that if strength and stamina were required to ensure that the boat had the strength to make land, these are more likely to be male traits than female.
And I haven’t even mentioned navigation skills!
It should also be pointed out that the Guardianista-inspired Human Rights Act guarantees us all a right to life, to family life and to marriage. I do not recall anywhere that these rights were determined by gender though clearly you have more of these rights than anyone else if you are an illegal immigrant facing deportation. Therefore anyone denied a right to a lifeboat space on basis that they were not a woman or a child, would have a very good case at Strasbourg. Of course no one would be able to get off the boat until all the illegal immigrants had got off otherwise they would be heading to Strasbourg too.
Now it might only be me but this perfectly illustrates the legal and moral dilemmas that arise from simplistic statements such as ‘women and children first’. And so I would contend that it might be better and more legally sound if we adopted the maxim of ‘every person for him or herself’.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus
Friday 20 January 2012
Open door policy
Is it only me...but how would you leave a room?
Now I work in a glorious office. It is an office space to die for. But the Health and Safety Gauleiters are doing their level best to ruin it. Someone needs to rein in these jumped up Hitlers. Who do they think they are?
The place where I work is an 18th century farm complex. It has lovely brick work, fabulous thick walls and plenty of natural light. And in this place I work in what I guess would be the hay loft, in an office about 20 metres by 20 metres-the ideal spot for me and my team to be creative.
We have three dormer windows in the roof space and a door. And it is the door that is causing the problem.
For yesterday I become emotionally disturbed when I discovered a workman chappie installing a Fire Exit sign above said door, seemingly ‘on the instructions of the Health and Safety Officer’.
To my mind surely a Fire Exit above a door, the only door leading in and out of my work space, is akin to putting a notice on a packet of peanuts warning ‘This product may contain nut traces’.
Now I might be missing something here but a door is a door, even in a fire. And should our place start to incendiarize my first thought will be to vacate the premises via my door. My instinct would not be to attempt an egress from the premises through the dormer windows. Indeed I cannot think of many people who would instinctively think this and attempt to exit in this way. Admittedly I do not have the warped mind of a Health and Safety Gauleiter nor do I move in the sort of imbecilic circles of the Health and Safety Community but it is surely obvious a door is a door and is used to exit and enter a space. Can anyone think of another use for a door?
From time to time we do get visitors into our space and I suppose you could argue, if you worked in Health and Safety you certainly would, that visitors might not know how they should leave in a hurry. Now that is a fair point, I suppose. It is however worth point out that we are not talking an office the size of the Plains of the Serengeti and I have just checked that the door is clearly visible from all points in the office and can be reached easily in 5 strides from any desk.
Can you see my point?
I now await anyone who can justify the stupidity of the need to deface my beautiful brick work with this bureaucratic-inspired vandalism. To whom are these jumped up pip squeaks accountable?
Pope Julius II had Michelangelo to deface his walls. I get a Health and Safety Apparatchik. I know who I would prefer.
Have a great week. And hopefully you will not need to use your door in a hurry.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Now I work in a glorious office. It is an office space to die for. But the Health and Safety Gauleiters are doing their level best to ruin it. Someone needs to rein in these jumped up Hitlers. Who do they think they are?
The place where I work is an 18th century farm complex. It has lovely brick work, fabulous thick walls and plenty of natural light. And in this place I work in what I guess would be the hay loft, in an office about 20 metres by 20 metres-the ideal spot for me and my team to be creative.
We have three dormer windows in the roof space and a door. And it is the door that is causing the problem.
For yesterday I become emotionally disturbed when I discovered a workman chappie installing a Fire Exit sign above said door, seemingly ‘on the instructions of the Health and Safety Officer’.
To my mind surely a Fire Exit above a door, the only door leading in and out of my work space, is akin to putting a notice on a packet of peanuts warning ‘This product may contain nut traces’.
Now I might be missing something here but a door is a door, even in a fire. And should our place start to incendiarize my first thought will be to vacate the premises via my door. My instinct would not be to attempt an egress from the premises through the dormer windows. Indeed I cannot think of many people who would instinctively think this and attempt to exit in this way. Admittedly I do not have the warped mind of a Health and Safety Gauleiter nor do I move in the sort of imbecilic circles of the Health and Safety Community but it is surely obvious a door is a door and is used to exit and enter a space. Can anyone think of another use for a door?
From time to time we do get visitors into our space and I suppose you could argue, if you worked in Health and Safety you certainly would, that visitors might not know how they should leave in a hurry. Now that is a fair point, I suppose. It is however worth point out that we are not talking an office the size of the Plains of the Serengeti and I have just checked that the door is clearly visible from all points in the office and can be reached easily in 5 strides from any desk.
Can you see my point?
I now await anyone who can justify the stupidity of the need to deface my beautiful brick work with this bureaucratic-inspired vandalism. To whom are these jumped up pip squeaks accountable?
Pope Julius II had Michelangelo to deface his walls. I get a Health and Safety Apparatchik. I know who I would prefer.
Have a great week. And hopefully you will not need to use your door in a hurry.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Monday 16 January 2012
Breast strokes
Now it might only be me...but could someone explain to me why I should foot the bill for this.
Be warned-feminstas and Guardianistas might not want to read this!
If I buy a car and something drops off I take it back to the garage and, dependent on circumstances, I would either expect the garage to fix the faulty part or give me money back. I would not expect the taxpayer to pick up the bill and pay for the repairs. So could someone please explain to me the difference between a broken part on a car and broken breast implant.
Over the weekend I watched an endless parade of photogenic women wailing and caterwauling because the NHS, and for NHS read you and me, would only pay to have their implants removed and not replaced if these had been installed privately in the first place. And of course these moaning minnies do not have the spondooliks to pay for the damage to be corrected. Bless! My heart bleeds!
As an aside don't you think it a fanatastic coincidence that the only people who seem to have had such treatment, if the media are to be believed are young, incredibly photogenic and gobby! Does no-one over the age of 35 go for bigger breasts?
And of they bitterly resent having to pay again to be restored to a busty DDD cup because the NHS, i.e. you and me, would not install new implants. Seemingly this would cause ‘untold psychological damage’.
Now it is my understanding that if you paid to go private in the first instance it was most likely because you could not get the treatment on the NHS. In other words it was for cosmetic and not for medical reasons. Given this I really do fail to see why I should foot the bill just because these distaffs want to be bustier.
In any event, love, I would advise that before turning to the taxpayer to fund your Jordan-esque desire, you should, before you inflict yourself on us through your TV mates, demanding your so-called rights, ask your private clinic to make good the damage. That is what I would do if Kwik Fit fitted me with a faulty exhaust. Is there any difference?
I can just about accept that if you been fitted with an unhealthy product that the NHS should foot the bill. After all it is about preserving the health of the nation but unless I missed something during my sex education lessons, I cannot remember wee, misshapen or even extra large breasts being a threat to people’s health.
Nor can I recall large busts being covered by the Human Rights Acts though given the nonsense covered by this most pointless piece of legislation, this might be something I missed.
And as for the psychological effects, my advice, darling, get over it. The NHS has far more important things to do with our money that pay for your self inflicted psychological damage.
Have a great week...whatever your breast size!
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Be warned-feminstas and Guardianistas might not want to read this!
If I buy a car and something drops off I take it back to the garage and, dependent on circumstances, I would either expect the garage to fix the faulty part or give me money back. I would not expect the taxpayer to pick up the bill and pay for the repairs. So could someone please explain to me the difference between a broken part on a car and broken breast implant.
Over the weekend I watched an endless parade of photogenic women wailing and caterwauling because the NHS, and for NHS read you and me, would only pay to have their implants removed and not replaced if these had been installed privately in the first place. And of course these moaning minnies do not have the spondooliks to pay for the damage to be corrected. Bless! My heart bleeds!
As an aside don't you think it a fanatastic coincidence that the only people who seem to have had such treatment, if the media are to be believed are young, incredibly photogenic and gobby! Does no-one over the age of 35 go for bigger breasts?
And of they bitterly resent having to pay again to be restored to a busty DDD cup because the NHS, i.e. you and me, would not install new implants. Seemingly this would cause ‘untold psychological damage’.
Now it is my understanding that if you paid to go private in the first instance it was most likely because you could not get the treatment on the NHS. In other words it was for cosmetic and not for medical reasons. Given this I really do fail to see why I should foot the bill just because these distaffs want to be bustier.
In any event, love, I would advise that before turning to the taxpayer to fund your Jordan-esque desire, you should, before you inflict yourself on us through your TV mates, demanding your so-called rights, ask your private clinic to make good the damage. That is what I would do if Kwik Fit fitted me with a faulty exhaust. Is there any difference?
I can just about accept that if you been fitted with an unhealthy product that the NHS should foot the bill. After all it is about preserving the health of the nation but unless I missed something during my sex education lessons, I cannot remember wee, misshapen or even extra large breasts being a threat to people’s health.
Nor can I recall large busts being covered by the Human Rights Acts though given the nonsense covered by this most pointless piece of legislation, this might be something I missed.
And as for the psychological effects, my advice, darling, get over it. The NHS has far more important things to do with our money that pay for your self inflicted psychological damage.
Have a great week...whatever your breast size!
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Friday 13 January 2012
The end is nigh
Is it just me...but this is the end of civilisation as we know it.
Now it is quite possible that this piece of news may not have reached yet and so once again I invite loyal and devoted readers of these words of wit and wisdom to share my outrage when they hear that Waterstone’s, the booksellers, has decided to drop the apostrophe and will henceforth be known as just as Waterstones.
And they have reached this decision on the basis that this is ‘more practical’.
Now given that the High St at the moment is facing meltdown; that books are going to go the way of the vinyl and LP; and if you have a Kindle or an iThingamabob you have no need for Waterstone’s, you would have thought that the Head Honchos at Waterstone’s would have more on their mind than their ‘impractical apostrophe’. Sadly not.
So yet again the language of Shakespeare, Chaucer and the King James Bible is corrupted and de-flowered; protocols and rules that have developed over the years to aid comprehension and understanding and which have stood the test of time are abandoned without a by your leave; and those who should know better, who should be rising above the baying clamour of the mob and who should be setting an example of proper language use, fail to fulfil their responsibility to protect their linguistic heritage.
If Sainsbury’s and McDonald’s can get it right it surely behoves a purveyor of learning and literacy such as Waterstone’s to get it right too and not be so slapdash with the English language. Surely the aforementioned businesses have the same practical issues as Waterstone’s?
Where will this all end? Will it soon be ok to split the infinitive when we write? How long before it will be acceptable to end sentences with a preposition? And will the gerund and gerundive as well as the dative genitive soon go the way of the dodo?
It might only be me but as you can see this is the thin of the wedge and if we don’t make a stand now and man the linguistic barricades it will soon be anarchy out there with everyone making it up as they go along. And then where will it end?
So if you believe in the apostrophe stand and be counted. And from now on that will be the last book I will be buying from Waterstone’s. That’s Waterstone’s with an apostrophe.
Have a great week.
And don’t forget that it you looking for something a wee bit more insightful and informative check out www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Now it is quite possible that this piece of news may not have reached yet and so once again I invite loyal and devoted readers of these words of wit and wisdom to share my outrage when they hear that Waterstone’s, the booksellers, has decided to drop the apostrophe and will henceforth be known as just as Waterstones.
And they have reached this decision on the basis that this is ‘more practical’.
Now given that the High St at the moment is facing meltdown; that books are going to go the way of the vinyl and LP; and if you have a Kindle or an iThingamabob you have no need for Waterstone’s, you would have thought that the Head Honchos at Waterstone’s would have more on their mind than their ‘impractical apostrophe’. Sadly not.
So yet again the language of Shakespeare, Chaucer and the King James Bible is corrupted and de-flowered; protocols and rules that have developed over the years to aid comprehension and understanding and which have stood the test of time are abandoned without a by your leave; and those who should know better, who should be rising above the baying clamour of the mob and who should be setting an example of proper language use, fail to fulfil their responsibility to protect their linguistic heritage.
If Sainsbury’s and McDonald’s can get it right it surely behoves a purveyor of learning and literacy such as Waterstone’s to get it right too and not be so slapdash with the English language. Surely the aforementioned businesses have the same practical issues as Waterstone’s?
Where will this all end? Will it soon be ok to split the infinitive when we write? How long before it will be acceptable to end sentences with a preposition? And will the gerund and gerundive as well as the dative genitive soon go the way of the dodo?
It might only be me but as you can see this is the thin of the wedge and if we don’t make a stand now and man the linguistic barricades it will soon be anarchy out there with everyone making it up as they go along. And then where will it end?
So if you believe in the apostrophe stand and be counted. And from now on that will be the last book I will be buying from Waterstone’s. That’s Waterstone’s with an apostrophe.
Have a great week.
And don’t forget that it you looking for something a wee bit more insightful and informative check out www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Wednesday 11 January 2012
Deja vue
Is it only me.......but this is just deja vue all over again.
As you may be aware in the past few weeks with the death of Kim Il-Jong the world has lost another gruesome dictator. And good riddance though until we better understand the jib of his podgy son I am not sure we will be able to sleep any better in our beds at night. Though having said that now I had better be careful I don’t walk into any umbrellas over next few days.
It was amusing to see the wailing and crying that went on in the streets of North Korea on news of his death and to watch apparently sensible and rational North Koreans, I assume there are as many of these in that country as there are in this, rend their garments, beat the pavements and bawl hysterically during the official mourning period. It was also interesting to see the western media cover this with wry detachment and ironic puzzlement.
But hold on this was déjà vue all over again.
Let me take you back to 1997. Remember? Were not many of us behaving just like the North Koreans last week on the death of young yummy mummy who died in a car crash? Now sadly many young mums die in traffic accidents but few have Princess in front of their name. It shouldn’t make any difference but it does and in those lachrymose filled days and weeks we made the North Koreans look like amateurs with our public grief, the flower strewn pavements and the hysterical chest beating as just like the North Koreans we tried to outdo each other with our public proclamations of love and grief.
Now no doubt you may argue that the two cases are not the same. At least we didn’t send non grievers to the Gulag. And you would be right. Maybe we are just more subtle with the media joining in this conspiracy and assuming that you weren’t quite right in the head if you were not joining in this lemming like behaviour. There isn’t really much difference. Can you recall much air time being given to those who did not join in? No, neither can I. And those who bore the loss of the People's Princess with stoic fortitude were ostracised and denied a platform for their emotions if I recall.
In truth we in this country are no different from the North Koreans.
Remember that the next time a dictator dies.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
As you may be aware in the past few weeks with the death of Kim Il-Jong the world has lost another gruesome dictator. And good riddance though until we better understand the jib of his podgy son I am not sure we will be able to sleep any better in our beds at night. Though having said that now I had better be careful I don’t walk into any umbrellas over next few days.
It was amusing to see the wailing and crying that went on in the streets of North Korea on news of his death and to watch apparently sensible and rational North Koreans, I assume there are as many of these in that country as there are in this, rend their garments, beat the pavements and bawl hysterically during the official mourning period. It was also interesting to see the western media cover this with wry detachment and ironic puzzlement.
But hold on this was déjà vue all over again.
Let me take you back to 1997. Remember? Were not many of us behaving just like the North Koreans last week on the death of young yummy mummy who died in a car crash? Now sadly many young mums die in traffic accidents but few have Princess in front of their name. It shouldn’t make any difference but it does and in those lachrymose filled days and weeks we made the North Koreans look like amateurs with our public grief, the flower strewn pavements and the hysterical chest beating as just like the North Koreans we tried to outdo each other with our public proclamations of love and grief.
Now no doubt you may argue that the two cases are not the same. At least we didn’t send non grievers to the Gulag. And you would be right. Maybe we are just more subtle with the media joining in this conspiracy and assuming that you weren’t quite right in the head if you were not joining in this lemming like behaviour. There isn’t really much difference. Can you recall much air time being given to those who did not join in? No, neither can I. And those who bore the loss of the People's Princess with stoic fortitude were ostracised and denied a platform for their emotions if I recall.
In truth we in this country are no different from the North Koreans.
Remember that the next time a dictator dies.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Monday 9 January 2012
The blame game
Is it only me......but wonky weather is not our fault.
Recently I was checking out at the supermarket and the young whippersnapper of a cashier suggested to me I should bring my own bag because plastic bags weren't good for the environment telling me in no uncertain terms:
"That's our problem today. Your generation didn’t care enough to save our environment for future generations".
Clearly a closet enviro-mentalistic eco-warrior.
Shocked and stunned that I and my generation were being blamed for the wonky weather and after some reflection and soul-searching on "Our" day, here's what I remembered about our generation......
Back then, we returned milk, lemonade and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have a lift in every store and office building. We walked to the shops and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
Back then, we washed the baby's nappies because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 240 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of Wales. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
Back then before health and safety had been invented, we drank from a water fountain or from the tap when we were thirsty instead of using a throwaway cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
Back then, people took the bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
It might only be me but isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we older folks were just because I don’t recycle my carrier bags and have the nerve to blame us for the wonky weather? It is not our fault that the polar bears don’t have any ice.
Let he or she who is without sin cast the first stone.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Recently I was checking out at the supermarket and the young whippersnapper of a cashier suggested to me I should bring my own bag because plastic bags weren't good for the environment telling me in no uncertain terms:
"That's our problem today. Your generation didn’t care enough to save our environment for future generations".
Clearly a closet enviro-mentalistic eco-warrior.
Shocked and stunned that I and my generation were being blamed for the wonky weather and after some reflection and soul-searching on "Our" day, here's what I remembered about our generation......
Back then, we returned milk, lemonade and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have a lift in every store and office building. We walked to the shops and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
Back then, we washed the baby's nappies because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 240 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of Wales. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
Back then before health and safety had been invented, we drank from a water fountain or from the tap when we were thirsty instead of using a throwaway cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
Back then, people took the bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
It might only be me but isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we older folks were just because I don’t recycle my carrier bags and have the nerve to blame us for the wonky weather? It is not our fault that the polar bears don’t have any ice.
Let he or she who is without sin cast the first stone.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Friday 6 January 2012
Carry on nurse
Is it only me.........but shouldn't nurses be doing this already?
I see that in their latest flurry of we-have-to-be-seen-to-be-doing-something activity, the Two Caesars have decreed that our nurses must now to stop and chat with us at least once an hour. Seemingly it is all about improving patient care in our hospitals.
I suppose that it will still be ok for nurses to keep food out of reach of elderly patients until it gets cold, fail to move them until they get pressure sores or even make them a cup of tea or even offer thirsty patients water, so long as they are getting their hourly chat.
It staggers me that our micro-managed society needs to set a standard nurses to have a chat with patients. Do you think they had a Summit before coming up with this wheeze?
I hear a noise off. It is sound of Mary Seacole, Florence Nightingale and Hattie Jacques turning on their graves.
Surely it is part of DNA of being a nurse to care for your patients? Should it not come automatically to nurses to chat with those in their care? If not, why are you a nurse?
Now already those who shop steward the nursing profession (and by the by if you are a profession you shouldn’t need shop stewards) are bleating about lack of resources and the Two Caesars need to allocate more of our money and other such poppycock.
It costs nothing to share a smile and a word of kindness, care and empathy with those in our society needing the most care on an hourly basis or even when it is required. Seacole, Nightingale and Jacques knew this and that is why they are still remembered to this day. They didn’t need to be told what to do. It came naturally to them.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
I see that in their latest flurry of we-have-to-be-seen-to-be-doing-something activity, the Two Caesars have decreed that our nurses must now to stop and chat with us at least once an hour. Seemingly it is all about improving patient care in our hospitals.
I suppose that it will still be ok for nurses to keep food out of reach of elderly patients until it gets cold, fail to move them until they get pressure sores or even make them a cup of tea or even offer thirsty patients water, so long as they are getting their hourly chat.
It staggers me that our micro-managed society needs to set a standard nurses to have a chat with patients. Do you think they had a Summit before coming up with this wheeze?
I hear a noise off. It is sound of Mary Seacole, Florence Nightingale and Hattie Jacques turning on their graves.
Surely it is part of DNA of being a nurse to care for your patients? Should it not come automatically to nurses to chat with those in their care? If not, why are you a nurse?
Now already those who shop steward the nursing profession (and by the by if you are a profession you shouldn’t need shop stewards) are bleating about lack of resources and the Two Caesars need to allocate more of our money and other such poppycock.
It costs nothing to share a smile and a word of kindness, care and empathy with those in our society needing the most care on an hourly basis or even when it is required. Seacole, Nightingale and Jacques knew this and that is why they are still remembered to this day. They didn’t need to be told what to do. It came naturally to them.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Show me the way to go home
Is it only me.....but some people just have too much time on their hands.
This morning when driving into work I almost drove off the road.
It seems that many of us when slavishly following the inane commanding voice of our SatNavs (and for the record I still find my way from A to B in the old fashioned way i.e. by using a map) are driving up dead ends, into farms and into rivers. Silly people! Have we as a nation lost all ability to think for ourselves? This is what happens when we let the Health and Safety Gauleiters and other Nanny State Apparatchiks dictate to us what we do.
But I digress.
Clearly this requires action and as the Apparatchiks clearly don’t have anything else to do these days (and is it any wonder that many of us think there are too many of them in the first place?) they have set up a SatNav Summit. I kid ye not. No wonder I almost drove off the road and I did that without the help of a SatNav.
Is this really the most pressing issue facing the Two Caesars and their legions of under-employed Apparatchiks? I would love to hear your views on what else our Apparatchiks should summit about to kill an idle day, week or month.
And I bet too that after months of discussion, debate and deliberation and having devoted more time and money to killing a few trees and penning a report, they recommend that SatNavs advise their owners in terms of mounting panic that there is a river nearby. And in Apparatchik terms brought up at Nanny School, ‘nearby’ means anywhere in same county.
If people are too stupid to drive into a river because it never occurred to them that the SatNav might be wrong then they don’t deserve the combined heavily subsidised brains of our Apparatchiks working out what to do on their behalf.
And if the Apparatchiks have nothing better to do all day might I suggest they get a better job.
Have a great week. And take care if driving near a stretch of water.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
This morning when driving into work I almost drove off the road.
It seems that many of us when slavishly following the inane commanding voice of our SatNavs (and for the record I still find my way from A to B in the old fashioned way i.e. by using a map) are driving up dead ends, into farms and into rivers. Silly people! Have we as a nation lost all ability to think for ourselves? This is what happens when we let the Health and Safety Gauleiters and other Nanny State Apparatchiks dictate to us what we do.
But I digress.
Clearly this requires action and as the Apparatchiks clearly don’t have anything else to do these days (and is it any wonder that many of us think there are too many of them in the first place?) they have set up a SatNav Summit. I kid ye not. No wonder I almost drove off the road and I did that without the help of a SatNav.
Is this really the most pressing issue facing the Two Caesars and their legions of under-employed Apparatchiks? I would love to hear your views on what else our Apparatchiks should summit about to kill an idle day, week or month.
And I bet too that after months of discussion, debate and deliberation and having devoted more time and money to killing a few trees and penning a report, they recommend that SatNavs advise their owners in terms of mounting panic that there is a river nearby. And in Apparatchik terms brought up at Nanny School, ‘nearby’ means anywhere in same county.
If people are too stupid to drive into a river because it never occurred to them that the SatNav might be wrong then they don’t deserve the combined heavily subsidised brains of our Apparatchiks working out what to do on their behalf.
And if the Apparatchiks have nothing better to do all day might I suggest they get a better job.
Have a great week. And take care if driving near a stretch of water.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Tuesday 3 January 2012
Cinema Paradiso
Greetings, devotees. And a very Happy New Year.
Cicero is extremely apologetic for his absence over the past few weeks. He has resolved to do much better in 2012. He knows how much he has been missed as many of you have told him.
And in 2012 a new strategy is being followed.
If you are interested in listening to Cicero's thoughts on the vicissitudes of everyday living in the modern age and the many many stupidies of the world, stay here to be entertained.
But if you seek enlightenment, stimulation and education leavened with Cicero's raiper-like wit, you will need to look elsewhere for Cicero's marketing thoughts have moved to www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com. Hopefully this will bring Cicero's enlightened marketing thinking to a wider audience. So bookmark Cicero's new site now. He looks forward to seeing you there.
In the meantime...........
Is it only me...........but cartoons are not films.
Now I like going to the cinema. I like films. And every Sunday when I hide behind the Sunday papers I eagerly look forward to reading the film reviews and seeing what is good at the cinema. There is in my ever so humble opinion nothing to beat going to the cinema to see a good film and escaping for a while from the reality of the Eurozone crisis, the political machinations of the Two Caesars and the stupidity of our Health and Safety Laws.
I was therefore looking forward to some time out over the past few weeks as the revels raged and sales madness took hold to go and see a good film. And according to my considered perusal of the film reviews there was many a fine film on current release.
Imagine therefore my disgust when I checked what was on at my local multiplex-nothing.
Now that was not quite true there was plenty going on but all the films on show were either cartoons or CGI or involved violent car chases and other special effects. All were designed for people of significantly fewer years than shown on my birth certificate; or for folks lacking my quantity of brain cells; or for very young people requiring maters and paters to accompany them.
There was nothing for people of advanced years with a full complement of brain cells. Where were the films likley to win Golden Globes, Baftas or Oscars?
These multiplexes come by definition with mutiple screens. Surely it is not asking too much for at least one of these screens to show at least one film which might be called art instead of films which are more like scribbled graffitti than art.
I know its Xmas but don't the Honchos than run our cinemas realise that people like me might want to see a film too. Maybe we just don't buy enough popcorn or nachos to justify a proper film. Hopefully Steven Spielberg or Frances Ford Coppola might read this and do something about it for next Xmas.
In meantime have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Cicero is extremely apologetic for his absence over the past few weeks. He has resolved to do much better in 2012. He knows how much he has been missed as many of you have told him.
And in 2012 a new strategy is being followed.
If you are interested in listening to Cicero's thoughts on the vicissitudes of everyday living in the modern age and the many many stupidies of the world, stay here to be entertained.
But if you seek enlightenment, stimulation and education leavened with Cicero's raiper-like wit, you will need to look elsewhere for Cicero's marketing thoughts have moved to www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com. Hopefully this will bring Cicero's enlightened marketing thinking to a wider audience. So bookmark Cicero's new site now. He looks forward to seeing you there.
In the meantime...........
Is it only me...........but cartoons are not films.
Now I like going to the cinema. I like films. And every Sunday when I hide behind the Sunday papers I eagerly look forward to reading the film reviews and seeing what is good at the cinema. There is in my ever so humble opinion nothing to beat going to the cinema to see a good film and escaping for a while from the reality of the Eurozone crisis, the political machinations of the Two Caesars and the stupidity of our Health and Safety Laws.
I was therefore looking forward to some time out over the past few weeks as the revels raged and sales madness took hold to go and see a good film. And according to my considered perusal of the film reviews there was many a fine film on current release.
Imagine therefore my disgust when I checked what was on at my local multiplex-nothing.
Now that was not quite true there was plenty going on but all the films on show were either cartoons or CGI or involved violent car chases and other special effects. All were designed for people of significantly fewer years than shown on my birth certificate; or for folks lacking my quantity of brain cells; or for very young people requiring maters and paters to accompany them.
There was nothing for people of advanced years with a full complement of brain cells. Where were the films likley to win Golden Globes, Baftas or Oscars?
These multiplexes come by definition with mutiple screens. Surely it is not asking too much for at least one of these screens to show at least one film which might be called art instead of films which are more like scribbled graffitti than art.
I know its Xmas but don't the Honchos than run our cinemas realise that people like me might want to see a film too. Maybe we just don't buy enough popcorn or nachos to justify a proper film. Hopefully Steven Spielberg or Frances Ford Coppola might read this and do something about it for next Xmas.
In meantime have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
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