Top 5 things that should have happened this decade....but didn't

If humanity had delivered on the prevailing beliefs and assumptions of the last century, the first decade of the 21st century would have yielded affordable space travel, world peace and hovering skateboards.

Well we've reached the end of the "noughties" and I'm still being dictated to furstratingly by the laws of gravity.

So, in the spirit of reviewing the decade as most serious publications will be doing, I am starting a "Top 5" list. Not necessarily the top 5 things to have happened this decade, rather the top 5 things that should have happened.

This is a collaborative exercise so I need your feedback. Please post your ideas.

Ladies and Gentlemen "THE TOP 5 THINGS THAT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED THIS DECADE……BUT DIDN'T"

Number 5 - January 12th 2005 - Michael Jackson releases a new single that reaches number 1 in the US, the UK and Mars, smashing all manner of previous records. Entitled "Buckets of Love" Jackson's new song featured guest vocals from a re-animated John Lennon and Billy the Cyborg (part man, part vaccum cleaner). David Hasselhof, president of Mars, invited Jackson and his new band to perform in front of an audience of dignatories from around the planet including a cloned version of Marilyn Monroe and a host of robotic monkeys. The event was held at his winter palace, built using remnants of the Berlin wall shipped from the Earth.

Okay your turn.

Climbing the Corporate Ladder

Given that this blog is supposed to be about how to do stuff, mostly, I reckon it's about time I dished out some advice. What better place to start than making something of your working life?

I'd reckon that a significant percentage of you are working for "the man" and not yourselves. If that's the case, a significant percentage of you probably work in an office or at least, some of your work is done in an office.

Some of you will be at the bottom of the corporate ladder, crawling around for scraps and being treated like an insignificant piece of stomach bile by your "superiors". You'll probably know others who've made it a fair way up the slippery rungs of corporate success by burying their noses well up the sphincters of middle management. They're now Senior Manager or Associate Head of and they make damn sure you know that because it says so in their email signature. They're enjoying the slightly larger salaries but they've brown nosed their way there, so while the view might look appealing, it smells a lot like shit.

But there must be another way to achieve your goals? At least, the goals set for you in a decidedly one way open dialogue with your HR rep?

Hard work? Sure, that would do it. But who can be bothered with that these days.

I will be starting a series of posts designed to improve your standing in the office of today. Heed my advice and you'll end up in charge of your department in no time.

Lesson One - Meetings:

1. Call a meeting and make sure that you invite the director of your department along with managers of other areas, except for your own. That's an important part of this plan.
2. You must first have taken a photograph of your manager's face. Then lured him/her in to a cupboard at which point hold chloroform over their mouths and hey presto, they're out cold. Lock the door. This is crucial, I can't stress it enough.
3. Next, print out (using a colour printer) the photo that you took of their face. Cut out some holes where the eyes are. Tie a piece of string to the paper, this will be used to fasten the "mask" to your face.
4. Attend the meeting and address everyone as if you are your manager. Be sure to mimic their voice as effectively as possible. If you're a chap and your manager is a woman, hold your testicles tightly to achieve the level of falseto required.
5. Announce that you are (your manager is) afraid that couldn't make the meeting but that you have some important news anyway.
6. Repeat the following: "It is with great sadness, that I must insist on leaving and recommend that take my place as manager of ." People will be a bit surprised at this, so spice it up a little. Perhaps..."You see, I have developed a rare and disturbing penchant for stealing office equipment and performing indecent acts with them on people's desks after hours"
7. Stifle your giggling as the looks of confusion give way to disgust and anger. Throw in a clincher or two such as " I am most sorry for having defecated on your keyboard and for having cleaned it with a flask of my dog's urine".
8. Finally, flee the scene making monkey noises.
9. Get rid of the mask, place a jar of dog's urine in your manager's desk (ideally pre-prepared) and enter the meeting room. If you have a hat, wear this to show that you definitely weren't in here before.
10. Ask everyone what the matter is and console your director.
11. He (or she) is bound to offer you the now vacant role.

From experience, I reckon you can probably use this technique up to four times in the same company before somebody suspects something. If somebody questions you, they have volunteered themselves as the next target.

In Richard Branson's autobiography, he may or may not have stated that he used this no fewer than 18 times in the past.

Don't forget to report back and let us know how you get on. Good luck.

Spawn

Today I want to talk to you about children. Not in a way that might see me flagged on an FBI "Red Alert" list, I just want to cover off some thoughts and observations I've made and share some ideas.
If you are easily offended, don't read on, maybe just have a little peek, but don't read it all.

Unnatural

Firstly, lets take a look at the fact that people love to gush about; the beauty of child birth. The glory of bringing a new life in to this world that you have crafted, with your genitals, and will love and nurture.
Well sorry to shatter your wonderful illusion, but it's not natural! It's fucking weird! Think about it people! What you have is two to three minutes of intimacy… followed by the fertilisation of what is effectively an egg inside the woman.
This "egg" gradually becomes a little foetus that feeds THROUGH A TUBE from it's host (you might say mother, I beg to differ) like a parasite. A tube for Christ's sake! I've seen stuff like that before, and it's usually in movies. Movies like Alien! There is a little thing, growing inside of you and feeding off you through a tube for 9 months! How the hell is that natural or beautiful? Amazing, yes. Beautiful, no!

It seems just as natural to me, to imagine that kids are grown like sea monkeys. Buy a little sachet of child powder from K-Mart, pop it in an aquariam, sprinkle some water on it and voila, sea children. No tubes required.

I wont get in to the pain of child birth, I haven't experienced it and probably never will (although who knows where science will take us) but I can appreciate that it probably hurts quite a fucking bit. And thank you mothers, but there's no need to explain what happens to your "control" in the weeks or months afterwards during polite dinner conversation.


Aren't your kids wonderful

It seems assumed by parents the globe over, that just because you have created a life that is now three years old and has the energy output of a small nuclear reactor, everyone else will think it wonderful too. Look at little Tarquin running up and down the aisles of the aeroplane, making car sounds as he goes, crashing in to your legs and dribbling on your shoes. How delightful, how clever. Fuck off! I can run up and down aisles too if I want, but I choose not to because it's annoying to everyone else.
I hate watching beaming parents, adoringly encouraging their offspring to be bloody nuisances and assuming that everyone else will be equally impressed and delighted. Well we're not! We want to watch the latest Dan Brown movie adaptation and drink our free alcohol in peace thank you.
Then, finally, after 300 circuits of the forward section of the plane, Tarquin geso back to mummy and cries for the next three hours. How wonderful.


Miniature Army

There are too many people in the world, we all know this, and yet the population keeps growing and growing. So why not adopt? But don't be silly about it, you don't want to be adopting somebody that isn't potty trained yet, or hasn't had all their jabs. Why not adopt a 28 year old qualified neuro-surgeon? You could be so proud when you talk about your little Alex at dinner parties. "Oh yes, my Alex saved a young girl the other day in a fifteen hour operation" that's something to gush about!

But why stop there? Why not adopt a whole gang of successful doctors? You'd be rich! Failing that, adopt thirty youths and train them as pick pockets, doing your bidding while you sit at home eating crisps and drinking beer. A bit like a modern day Fagin. Beautiful.

The end of civilisation!!!

I realised last night, while lying awake in a state of perpetual pre-sleep, that I hadn't updated my blog for a month and that people might be worried. I'm sorry, I've been trying to write a book. But don't worry, here is a piece of writing so brilliant you could call it a tiger…

It seems that you can't go more than a month or two without a news story pillaring the video game industry for corrupting children and transforming them from innocent, doe eyed angels in to vicious, immoral, prostitute murdering beasts. The statistics might not quite back this theory up, but lets not allow facts to get in the way of our self righteous anger!

Groups like Family First NZ campaigned to have Grand Theft Auto banned because it was a "killing simulator". Bob McCoskrie, moral outrage specialist, was vociferous in his criticism of a game that (if the player wanted to) allowed them to pick up a prostitute, have sex with them and then murder them and nick their money. One can only assume he'd researched this himself to make sure. This, of course, coming without a shred of hypocrisy from the man that demands the right for parents to be able to beat their children without fear of prosecution.

Anyway, this has all been done to death. I just wanted to introduce this weeks topic "Games Through the Ages". A critical look at the evolution of popular pass times and suggestions as to why children these days seem more interested in spending their lives in front of a television than eating mud. What's the point in this? There isn't one, I'm just really, really bored.

If you were a child of the 1870s, chances are your spare time (when not up chimneys or down mines) was spent playing with a hoop and a stick. A round piece of wood, and a fucking stick. Imagine Christmas morning now, in 2009 and little William opens his last, big present. you'd see the initial excitement give way to confusion before very quickly turning to unbridled fury. Good luck shifting him out the front door and encouraging him to push his hoop along the road with a twig. "Go on William, run. Run with your hoop" you'd call enthusiastically while William contemplated parenticide.

Parents lament the old days when children would run with gay abandon in the fresh air, making do with nature instead of getting progressively obese in the sole company of pixels. But what self respecting seven year old would subsitute a realistic portrayel of space exploration for a game of Chinese Whispers with Toby, Sebastian and Lucy from next door?
"Oh you said 'I like to ride two trucks' not 'I don't give two…" There are only so many times a child can find enjoyment from such banal activities, especially as they're forced in to socialising at school.

A quick browse of wikipedia shows other popular games such as hop-skotch, knuckle bones and Cowboys and Indians. Okay, so two of those probably assist with dexterity and balance in a round about way, but the other is a simulation of the genocide of a peaceful indigenous people. And yet it's looked back on quite fondly by many. In 100 years time, I bet parents wont be telling their kids to run along and play Concentration Camps.

With every new video game that involves something like guns or fighting, people start panicking that the moral fabric of society is about to implode in to an anarchistic wasteland of murderous children. Yet the evidence simply doesn't back this up.
Kids from the 80s will have played games like Asteroid. Yet how many children do you know that have been killed after their space ship was crushed by a giant rock? Fewer than five I bet!

As a child, I played games on an old Acorn Electron called "Kissing Cousins" and "Mineshaft" yet I've never even cast a glad eye towards a member of my own family let alone been crushed by a giant anvil 500 metres below the surface of the earth.

Having said all that, there is a possible danger in the popularity and evolution of video games. Singstar!
More and more children are being given the false impression that they can sing because their XBox told them they could. This is not true. The Xbox will not be brutally honest, if it was then nobody would buy it, so it lies and fills them with false hope and promise.
Coupled with the increasingly frustrating popularity of shows like American Idol or X-Factor, these deluded Singstar fanatics are being forced on to television and in to my ears. And I'm not happy.

I will happily make my own placard and march arm in arm with Bob McCorskrie as soon as he starts his campaign to ban kareoke style entertainment.
As soon as I've finished shooting the elderly and puppies anyway.

Your first lesson on surviving a zombie outbreak

Zombies have undergone a resurgence in popular culture, manifested in a spate of recent Hollywood releases, B grade horror flicks and the increasingly bizarre ability of Liz Taylor to seemingly remain "alive".
However, there doesn't seem to be a uniform portrayal of what a zombie is and this has caused confusion among the general public. Potentially fatal confusion. Having a better understanding of what they are could save your life.


What is a zombie?

In a nutshell, a zombie is a recently deceased corpse that has started to walk again. It is intent on feasting on living human flesh, determined, but with the social awkwardness of somebody with Aspergers.

Films such as 28 Days Later and the of Dawn of the Dead remake seek to portray zombies as angry Olympic sprinters, able to run and run and run in their endless pursuit of fresh meat. I don't know about you, but if I've been dead for a few days I'm probably not going to be feeling in tip top physical condition and I'm unlikely to be able to muster up anything more than a gentle amble, let alone a jog.

My guess is that the effects of being reanimated on your ability to move would be akin to those that you feel with a particularly severe hangover. Shuffling about and moaning a lot, occasionally stopping to eat something if it's available.

Key Lesson Number 1 - Zombies shuffle about listlessly, moaning and searching for food. Only, unlike a hangover sufferer that craves a cooked breakfast and coffee, zombies yearn for a feast of human blood and organs. Not too dissimilar to people that enjoy black pudding I suppose. But best not shoot them in the head just yet, at least until you've read the next couple of sections.



Why are there zombies?

There are many theories here, but most of them are wrong. Something has to be the catalyst for the zombie apocalypse, it has to start somewhere. We know a lot about how their numbers grow but not so much about how the first one is "created". Scientists have not been puzzling over this question for years. But I have!

The most likely cause of a zombie apocalypse is a virus that attaches itself to the largely intact, but nevertheless expired, nervous system of a human corpse. How did this virus come to be? Who cares.

Anyway, all you need is for one of these viruses to find itself a human host. Once this is done, it is mobile. It controls the basic human nervous system and brain functions.
The virus' reason for existence is the same as ours. It needs to replicate itself. To do this, it uses its host to try and eat/bite other humans. The virus is passed on through the saliva of it's host (the zombie) in to the bloodstream of its victim.
Within hours, the victim (your colleague perhaps) has died from the virus and become re-animated, ready to chow down on its nearest living colleagues and condemned to an existence of wandering the earth in search of its next meal.
I like to imagine sometimes that some of my bosses will be the first to succumb to this.

Anyway, an important thing to consider here is that a largely intact nervous system is required. And once it is infected, only the most basic of functions are re-awakened. Sadly you wont be able to dig up Beethoven, infect him and watch as he finishes his last symphony before shooting him and claiming it as your own.
1) he's been dead too long.
2) if you could infect him he'd just want to eat your brain.

Key Lesson Number 2 - Zombies will try and bite you. Don't let them, even if they're attractive. If you do, you will die and then become one of them.


How do I stop them, can I keep one?

Important questions and easy enough to answer. To stop a zombie, you must destroy it's brain/nervous system. A well aimed bullet to the head usually takes care of this. If you don't have access to bullets, something sharp might do but you probably don't want to be getting too close to it.
My suggestion might seem a little sadistic, but how about a car? So long as the windscreen wipers are functional, and providing it's not a mini, you'll keep clean and you can listen to Van Halen at the same time, or if you're that way inclined, The Carpenters.

Remember, zombies aren't really human as such. They can't do anything beyond move and eat people. They're no more human than Prince Philip. So you shouldn't get attached to them.

Yes, I know. It looks like Granddad. But it's not Granddad. I know he used to shuffle about a bit and moan a lot, but since when did Granddad want to eat your brains? Don't try and befriend him or reason with him. If you do, you too will end up condemned to roam about pointlessly, feeding when you can and writing angry letters to the editor about kids and music.

Key Lesson Number 3 - Zombies are not people. Destroy their brain, don't start a relationship with one. If you're face to face with the zombie version of Megan Fox, she's been dead for at least a few days. Not only would you be in breach of several laws and a number of moral standards, you'll more than likely end up infected within minutes.


In the next instalment, we'll look at preparing yourself for the zombie apocalypse. You'll thank me one day!

Bob Saget Hates You

What better way to end the working week than to pop down to your local with a few of your colleagues or friends and neck down as many pints as you can before staggering home on the last bus/train/taxi/unknown transportation device.
Drinking. Humans have been obsessed with it for ever it would seem, the Greeks and later the Romans worshipped Dionysus or Bacchus the God of Wine and Intoxication. Today, tramps worship White Lightening, the God of £1 a liter cider.

Many great things have never happened because of alcohol. Many advancements in humanity have undoubtedly remained undiscovered because of a hangover after a night out on the "lash" rendered the potential genius as useful as a toddler with an inner ear infection.

In saying that, many a child wouldn't have been born without the aid of alcohol rendering its mother incapable of utilising her normally astute, critical faculties. Similarly, without beer its pitiful mess of nerves and awkwardness of a father wouldn't have summoned the courage to talk to a woman who ordinarily would be more likely to eat a raw turnip while balancing on stilts and making guitar sounds like Jimmi Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner" than give him the time of day.

Yes alcohol giveth and alcohol taketh away.

All this leads me on to my main point; apathy. I suffer from it chronically. The very fact that you're reading this blog (Dad and possibly one other person) is in itself a minor miracle. It means that for 12 minutes I've suppressed the overwhelming desire to do nothing.

I wonder, where we might be now as a species if we didn't have apathy.
I'd wager that for every Einstein, there have been 1 million equally as capable people that couldn't be arsed with pondering what happens at the speed of light beyond mentioning it at the pub.
For every Dickens, there were more than likely a hundred thousand creative and brilliant geniuses that weighed up the pros and cons of writing A Tale of Two Cities before sitting back and helping themselves to another halndful of fish and chips, falling asleep on the sofa while Bob Saget introduced another of America's Funniest Home Videos.

Every time somebody finishes off an evening by vomiting on their shoes outside a bar, another significant opportunity to advance our civilisation is quite literally washed down the drains.

So today I shall make a change, today I.….ah fuck it.

Fast Train to Stardom

Another night, another reality TV show, another glorified talent quest, another metaphorical bucket of shit being flung callously in to our eyes and ears by cruel and heartless television programmers.
But instead of recoiling in disgust, having a shower and embarking on a new venture of creativity, we lap it up enthusiastically like a starving dog until all of our senses have been overwhelmed and filled with Simon Cowell's tedious and repetitive criticism (metaphorical faeces).

Shows like X-Factor, American Idol, Big Brother and Britain's got Talent seem to serve two purposes:
1) They provide an opportunity for people of some (dubious) talent to skip the usual paths to success, such as hard work and application, and get immediate public and tabloid attention.
2) They provide conversation fodder for people who would otherwise cast awkward gazes at each other and the floor while filling their bottles at the office water cooler.

Most of these shows are glorified talent contests where contestants effectively sing karaoke and then cry.
"This has always been my dream" they splutter in between sobs "I need this more than anything".
Well fuck off and work at it then you sad bastard, don't enter a television contest and start crying because 100 members of the public preferred Shantelle's rendition of Whitney Houston.
You're in no worse a position than you were 2 weeks ago when you were 2nd in charge of screwing tooth paste caps on to new tubes at the Colgate factory.
If singing really is "your life" then start a band, write some songs, concentrate on getting gigs and one day a record deal. Don't rely on a talent contest and 9 days of "hard work" to be the only way of reaching your goal you lazy, self centred shit!

I work as a business analyst. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking either;
"business analyst, you're obviously just jealous because your job is so boring" or
"I don't know what a business analyst is but it sounds boring, you're obviously jealous."

Touché. However it doesn't detract from my point.

I don't expect to become a rich and famous business analyst by going on TV and competing in Business Analyst Idol.
If I wanted to become rich and famous, I'd have to work at it. For many years. Not that there are any famous business analysts to aspire to, but you get the point.

In related news, the recent boy in the balloon case seems to have been an orchestrated attempt to garner publicity for a new reality TV show. Job done it would seem… http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20091019/ap_on_re_us/us_balloon_boy

This leads me to ponder what, if any, limits there are to this burgeoning genre. What lengths will people go to in order to be heard, seen or noticed? Beyond writing a self indulgent blog anyway (I know I'm a hypocrite)

How about:

Britain's got Nuero Surgeons:

Simon Cowell passes judgment on would be neuro surgeons as they perform delicate brain surgery in front of an audience of thousands. Watch in delight as David overcomes his nerves and troubled background to successfully perform a frontal lobe lobotomy. Witness the highs and lows of Carmen as she is voted off, having tragically killed her patient when she forgot the importance of a steady hand. Back to the call centre with you Carmen, dreams in tatters.

American President Factor:

David Hasselhoff and Sharon Osbourne judge the quality of would be presidents as they are handed the reins of power for a fortnight. Laugh as Rajender accidentally sets of a nuclear arms race following a mispronunciation of the words Russian Bankers.
Or angrily vote Jessica out for attempting to reform healthcare after a night out on the beers and a terrible hangover.

There must be more. Please add your comments.
Note that any ideas deemed worthy may be forwarded to Fox or ITV for which I will claim full credit and royalties.

Beyond 2000 - Bollocks!

You know what really annoys me? Growing up. Not in the sense that I wish I could still get away with urinating in my pants while on a bus, nor that I wish I could wear corduroyed dungarees without the nasty comments and sideways glances.
No. Both of those things would be great, but the real reason it annoys me is because the older I get, the less time there is for people to invent futuristic stuff.

If it was possible to sue television for shattering a child's dreams, I'd be rich. Tomorrow's World, Star Trek, Beyond 2000 all have a lot to answer for. From flying cars to virtual reality, we've been let down by television time and again.
I've outlined my biggest disappointments thus far in order of bitterness (least bitter to most bitter).

1) Flying Cars

Assumed Future: Sure, there would still be traffic jams. But instead of the boring linear traffic jams of 2009, they'd be three dimensional. "Sorry I'm late love, but I'm in a queue thirty cars deep". The future always assumed cars that could hover, perhaps needlessly, but whatever they were pretty much promised to us! There are a lot of potential downsides to the flying car model, drive thrus for one thing wouldn't work very well. And soliciting a prostitute would be even more dangerous given the height difference. But, you could zoom over landscapes without spilling your coffee so there are definite tangible benefits.
Even a floating skateboard, circa 1989 in Back to The Future would do, but no.

Cold, depressing reality: Segways. The revolutionary transporter that makes it's rider look like a twat and encourages bullying. And you can't even get away from the bullies fast enough as their top speed is roughly equivalent to a 70 year old grandmother with arthritis.

2) Domesticated robot maid/friend

Assumed Future: No longer would I require the company of human friends with their petty needs, judgements and feelings. I'd have Roderick, my shiny, clanky friend that ironed shirts for me, prepared gourmet dinners and laughed mechanically at my jokes. Roderick would be my pal, he'd pointlessly wear a red baseball cap and his protruding ears would flash when he was excited.
Instead of working myself, I'd get Roderick to produce top class documents utilising his ability to tap in to the internet to draw down gigabytes of knowledge and distill it in seconds.
But with Roderick, you'd always be slightly uneasy that he might rebel against your whims and set about on a rampage of great destruction.
"Roderick, fetch me a futuristic meal in capsule form".
"STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO DYLAN!!!! RRAAAAAAAAAA".
So I'd always be kind of polite and say please and thank you a lot just on the off chance that he might develop consciousness and seek to destroy his human master.

Cold, depressing reality: http://www.amazon.com/iRobot-Roomba-Intelligent-Floorvac-Robotic/dp/B00008439Y


3) Teleportation

Assumed Future: Come on, everyone has seen at least three or four different programmes that include teleportation, be it Star Trek or Beyond 2000. Late for work? No problem, it'll only take me 0.05 seconds to get there (once I've shaved and dressed anyway). Holiday on Mars? Sure, 0.05 seconds to arrive at my Martian summer retreat. Need the bathroom? No worries, 0.05 seconds from sofa to toilet, accident free living. Wife's birthday and you've forgotten a present? No you haven't, 0.05 seconds and you've got a beautiful bunch of flowers and tickets to a show.

Cold, depressing reality: Scientists have effectively teleported a single atom a matter of metres. This is impressive, I know I couldn't hope to do this myself, but it's someway off an instant journey to New York for lunch. Apparently, in the next couple of decades we'll be able to teleport viruses. Hooray!


The list goes on. I'm not belittling science, I realise that some of these things are a little bit tricky. But I do blame television for creating and then shattering the legitimate hopes and dreams of people that have watched these shows that promised so much. In 2009 we should be holidaying in Mars with our robot buddies.

What are your biggest let downs? Let me know, I'll collate them and write a scathing letter to television once I have enough.

Zombie Awareness 101: Preparing Yourself for the Inevitable

Having come up with the url for this blog in approximately 38 seconds of deep thought, I guess I should pay some lip service to zombies and attempt to increase people's awareness of them. By reading this blog, you will either:

A) Have a greater chance of survival once the hordes of the undead begin their endless prowl for a feast of human brains. Or;
B) Have wasted 3 minutes of your life that could otherwise have been spent baking a cake or browsing the internet for increasingly obscure pornography (hat tip Martyn).

My money's on the latter but what the hell. Somebody might pay head to my wise words and later come to appreciate the invaluable advice within. Sound in the knowledge that while their cake baking friends succumb to a ravaging mob of mindless dead people with particularly vociferous appetites, they're watching and laughing from the roof of their penthouse apartment, smoking a cigar and riding a horse called Victory.

In order to elongate this blogs life span and to attempt to keep at least some of my 8 loyal followers, I think I'll break this down in to sections:

Topic 1 will be about defining the zombie. Who are they and what is their motivation? We'll look to clarify some contentious areas that have arisen from recent films. For example, can zombies run? Can zombies, devoid of most "human" functions, learn to love? And would that amount to necrophilia?

Topic 2 will ready you for life in a post apocalyptic society. We'll look at favourable weapons and how to maximise your survival long term by choosing suitable shelters and vehicles.

Topic 3 will cover something zombie related, maybe. I don't know what yet. Maybe it will involve dolphins. There'll at least be some mention of unicorns.

Get ready for a series that takes you in to the unknown, preparing you for the (arguably) inevitable post apocalyptic zombie infestation and illuminating you with knowledge that you can share with your children over dinner one day.

Think of me as a Carl Sagan for the undead. Or, as a sad, bored and irrelevant time waster making your life that little bit more pointless.

Of Ghosts and Sour Milk

I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in an afterlife. Things like Ouija boards have a very old and well established scientific explanation (the ideomotor effect). And people like Colin Fry would make me laugh if it weren't for the fact that so many people listen to every word that drips out of his mouth like a thirsty baby pig suckling greedily up to a teat. Except his milk is sour and bitter and makes you ill. Yes that's right, Colin Fry is just like a fat mother pig with a bacterial infection.

Anyway, I don't discount people's personal experiences as made up. I just think that sometimes we have a tendency to see something that we can't explain and therefore consider it super-natural, when in truth it's just unexplained. But that's not to say that people are in any way crazy.

This got me thinking, what if there is something to all these sightings of ghosts. What if, rather than a visitation from the spiritual realm, we're seeing light (and therefore images) from "the past". Perhaps this light has been caught in some sort of vacuum or tear in the fabric of space and time which has only now been released. When we look at the closest star to our Solar System, Alpha Centauri (4 and a half light years away) the light we see has taken about 4 and a half years to reach us. In effect, we're actually seeing that star as it was four and a half years ago.
Light is weird, space is weird, time is weird, I am weird, the popularity of T-Pain is weird, many things are weird. So what if light from the past, light which happened to emanate from a human being, has somehow re-surfaced and appeared in front of somebody 100 years later? Maybe the light reflected off a mirror which then travelled for 50 years before reflecting back off another reflective surface on a distant planet and bounced back to earth? Unlikely? probably. Impossible? Possibly. I'm not here to answer questions, I'm not bothered with details.

If this is possible (baring in mind I just made this up while I was supposed to be reviewing company values) then it could go some way to explaining apparent apparitions.

And if this is possible, it has got me worried. So far, people viewing "ghosts" tend to see images of people doing every day things. Things like walking around a garden or sitting in their favourite rocking chair. All well and good. Nothing overtly disturbing about that. Oh look, there's granddad smoking his pipe and reading the paper. " Hi granddad, I see you're reading the Herald, January 23rd 1975. Anything interesting in the news?" If anything, this is rather a pleasant thought, the chance to at least see departed loved ones if not interact with them.
NO IT'S NOT PLEASANT! What if we see something altogether more disturbing. If my pseudo-scientific pontificating has any semblance of possibility, then we are just as likely to see Grandma and Granddad making Dad! Jesus, that would invariably damage you for life! Imagine the horror! No don't even imagine the horror, oh but you are now because I've implanted it in your mind! It's probably all you can think about now, while you're sitting there with your laptop sipping your coffee, or mopping up the coffee you've just spat out on the table in disgust.

But it gets worse, kind of. It's one thing seeing the "beautiful" coming together of two humans that are very much in love, even if they are your grandparents. It's something else entirely if YOU become visible to somebody else. That time you were singing along to Madonna wearing your mum's bra in the back garden when there was "nobody" around. Well there wasn't anyone around, AT THAT TIME, but now you've just re-appeared in front of your Wife and her family during a barbeque. Sure, they can't hear Madonna's dulcet tones because it's only photons of light and not sound waves, but that's probably not going to save your marriage.

Worse yet, what if intelligent beings on other worlds have developed powerful telescopes, providing incredible detail down to a couple of metres. Imagine that they are on a planet that is 25 light years away. Imagine that we have made contact with these intelligent beings. It's 24 years later and you have been selected as the first inter planetary ambassador.
Then, while about to give your first inter-planetary address on television (which will probably be a floating TV, it is the future after all) a discovery is made through the alien telescope. The light beams, emanating from you 25 years ago have reached the eyes of the President of Quixalootle.
As you are about to utter your first word, the most important moment of your life, an image of you is displayed.
Viewers from our planet and from theirs, are greeted with an image of you standing around the back of a bike shed at school, furiously masturbating to a picture of Paul Holmes all the while looking over your shoulder to make sure that nobody can see you.

But they can see. Just 25 years later than you were concerned about at the time.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm showering in swimming togs from now on.

Colin - Where art thou?

I don't understand a lot of things, I take a passing interest in a lot of things, but rarely do I actually understand them. This provides opportunities and embarrassment in equal doses, a kind of equilibrium of sustained interest and abject humiliation. I can broach many varied subjects, but not for long.
"Did you hear they've found vast quantities of water on the Moon?" I'll enquire, perhaps a little smugly as if to say "I've read the science section of the newspaper, have you?". The conversation typically goes one of two ways, both with the same outcome.
1) "Yes, though the water is not present in any pools as such, rather it's retained within the lunar soil".
2) "No, what does that mean?"
No matter whether the conversation follows the first or second path, my response is the same. A sort of shrug and nervous giggle, a hybrid expression of embarrassment and nervous energy. Probably a bi-product of our evolutionary past, but I don't know enough about evolution to begin to explain it.

Something else that I struggle with is making decisions, ideally I would have a personal advisor that would make decisions for me. Not necessarily sensible decisions though. I'd like it if they were unlikely to kill me, but still helped make my life a bit more exciting or noteworthy. Not limiting myself to adventure and thrill seeking however, I'd want my advisor (whom I shall call Colin) to offer sage advice on occasions that require clear, fast and concise choices. It would also be preferable for Colin to be able to read my thoughts and communicate telepathically. I know this is asking quite a lot, but it would prevent me from saying things that a neutral bystander would undoubtedly suggest I didn't. This would have been particularly useful when a colleague of mine, one that I'd recently won a 5 a side football tournament with, entered a packed elevator and asked me if I'd "been polishing my trophy".

However even if I did have Colin, chosen specifically for his penchant for relatively safe excitement and telepathic abilities, he wouldn't have been able to help me in a moment of social confusion and awkwardness that happened the other day. There would be some things I'd have to do alone, like go to the toilet. Besides, what could possibly happen in a toilet that required advice, let alone an advisor? I'm not that inept that I require somebody to tell me whether to flush or not. Alas, sometimes even the most seemingly innocuous of situations throw up danger, or at the very least the need to make a quick, sharp and effective decision.

Picture if you will, actually it's probably best if you don't, I am at work and I receive the "call to nature" while sitting at my desk. Eagerly anticipating any sort of break from the tedium of updating spreadsheets, even the process of evacuating my waste, I happily whistle and strut my way to the bathroom, not too much of a strut though as that might hasten the arrival of Mr Stinky. "Ah" I think, pleased with my timing "two cubicles to choose from." Decision 1: Far left cubicle or 2nd one in. Far left would seem the obvious choice, only one neighbour. But far left is more popular than 2nd one in and therefore has more "traffic" through it. I could have pondered this for longer, but I didn't want to appear to be some sort of toilet lurker. 2nd one in it is.
Step one involves a survey of the cubicle for signs of urine splashed floors or on some as yet inexplicable occasions, faecal footprints. Check passed. Step 2, lift the lid. Hopefully not on Pandora's box, but on a relatively clean looking porcelain receptacle. This is the most dangerous check, words don't do justice to the abject horror of discovering somebody's shame peeping up at you that wont flush, how is closing the lid helping anyone aside from building up suspense? Anyway, step 2 passed. Lets be honest, I'm not looking for something to eat my dinner off, but it was certainly acceptable enough to sh*t in to.

At this point I'm concerned that I might appear to be some sort of obsessive compulsive toilet fairy that will only poo if his toilet has a heated seat and pictures of unicorns on the walls. That's not the case, I've seen some things in my life I can tell you, notably in a public toilet around the back of a service station in Malaysia, but that's for another day and possibly a less public forum.

Anyway, the final preparatory step is simply to wipe errant pubic hair from the seat with some toilet paper which serves the additional purpose of providing a cushion to prevent any potential splash back. Splash back can be uncomfortable and I prefer for other toilet goers not to be able to determine at what phase of proceedings I'm at simply by listening. Disaster averted. There's no paper in this one. That could have led to a particularly nasty and embarrassing situation so I am thankful this time that I have been conscientious in my approach.
This sorts out the solution to my first decision anyway, 2nd one in was never a goer. What was I thinking? And lo and behold, there are only minor drops of urine on the floor of far left. Nothing a good wipe with some paper won't fix, which is in plentiful abundance. like some sort of toilet paper wonder land.
Let battle commence! Things are going well, I wont bore you with the details, when the door to the bathroom opens. Somebody else taking a welcome reprieve from the call of emails or balance sheets. I know that sound. That's 2nd cubicle in's door opening, closing and locking. Hmm, that sounds a lot like a belt being unfastened and trousers lowered to the floor. Funny, I haven't heard the toilet paper being checked, but I suppose some people aren't as careful as….oh Christ.
This guy doesn't muck around, all sorts of noises and indicators that things are well underway. Poor bastard, here I am with enough toilet paper to make a playground for a million golden retriever puppies and he's stuck in there with little more than a tiny piece of cardboard, more harsh than a piece of sandpaper and about as useful as a umbrella in an earthquake.
Damn it Colin, where are you when I need you. The way I see it, I've got three choices. Pretend to be ignorant and leave, knock on the wall and ask if everything is okay or feed some paper under the wall voluntarily like a guardian angel. Option 2 seems like a bad one, I've got a distinctive accent and people could come to know me as the guy that asks people if they want a hand with anything in the toilet. No, I'll not be that guy.
Option 3 sounds friendly enough. But what if he takes my friendly assistance as some sort of weird insult or worse, attempted come on, and leaves even before finding out that he's paperless.
Option 1 is cowardly, involving least personal risk.
I'm not proud to say that I chose option 1 and having finished my own business, promptly walked out and washed my hands, seemingly oblivious to the fate of the man to my whom only I could help. I left him there, about to realise the most awful of situations and I did nothing. I don't know who he was, whether he ever made it out, how this affected his life. I know that had the roles been reversed, I would have been eternally grateful for a rolled up handful of 2-ply. I probably would have written a letter to the newspaper, praising the generosity and thoughtfulness of a stranger.
As it is, I live in my secret shame filled world, waking in cold fits of guilt at 2 in the morning, even now some weeks on.
I'm curious, would you have done any different? What would Colin have suggested via ESP? I could have blamed him if things turned sour. Was there an option 4? Unfortunately like so many other things in life, we shall never know the answer.