Number 2 on the list of things I don’t understand is drinking.  I’m not talking about quenching one’s thirst with a refreshing cold/tepid/hot beverage.  I’m quite partial to a nice coffee (decaff americano if you’re asking) or a glass of cold water.  I even enjoy a pint of cider, beers, glass of wine, and Jack Daniel’s and diet cola.  What I don’t get is the mindless consumption of too much alcohol to ensure, not only inebriation, but also temporary memory loss, balance problems, severe regurgitation, and complete and total dehydration.

Yes, I used to go out and get that drunk.  In fact I think I did it about 6 times in total (feel free to correct me).  The last time was on my 21st Birthday.  While I may have enjoyed the night before, the morning after certainly made it a rarity.  I like alcohol, in fact I enjoy the feeling of being tipsy.  I enjoy the lowering of my inhibitions, and I enjoy the taste of alcohol.  I do not enjoy the thick head, my tongue feeling three sizes too big, the poor co-ordination, the uselessness I feel the morning after, so I don’t do it.

Why I’ve been thinking about this, and why I no longer understand it, is that drinking seems to justify itself.  It’s Friday, so we must drink.  And we must drink each day this weekend until Monday comes again, whereupon I shall return to work with a hangover and the inability to remember the entire weekend and start the mind-numbing process all over again.   I have colleagues who cannot relax from work without having a glass of wine, or can of cider, and who have sufficiently low willpower that it doesn’t stop there.  I have, indeed, been guilty of said things in the past.

I know myself well, I know how easily habits are formed in me.  I know that if I come home to a glass of wine each day, that will very quickly turn into a bottle a day.  This may not seem like a lot, but let me get into the maths bit.

125mL of wine is around 1 unit.  1 bottle holds 750mL or 6 glasses.  1 bottle of wine thus equals 6 units.  The recommended weekly intake for men is 21 units per week.  1 bottle of wine per day for 5 days is 30 units.

OK, the science bit:

Alcohol is a poison, and the organ responsible for removing poisons is the liver.  The liver has a healing cycle, but after a heavy night on the booze it takes about a fortnight to recover.  So consistently drinking large quantities of alcohol puts you at serious risk of liver problems later in life.  Watch over the next decade and watch the statistics of 30-40 year olds suffering from serious liver disease/problems.

So – to the facts.  On this website you can see the basic problems of binge drinking, but this in my view doesn’t go far enough. Binge drinking on a regular basis can mean you become behaviourly dependent on alcohol.  In short – such behaviour as is displayed at present in an overwhelming percentage of the population and we are in risk of becoming a nation of alcoholics, some would argue we are already.

The issues are deep and ingrained.  Beer until the 1920s was healthier to drink than water.  It has always been socially acceptable to drink.  Yet we have never had the same culture as Italy, Germany, or France where one drinks alcohol with a meal – and occasionally watered down.  Drinking there is a social phenomenon and not to achieve obliteration, something one does with company and food – something that has been referred to as a café culture.  We have never had such things in this country, and I believe that we are fighting historical and cultural prejudices to alcohol.

Example:  At work it was being discussed what games could be played over a weekend evening with some friends and some booze.  I suggested ‘Scrabble, but only putting down words of two syllables.’  Immediately I am a social outcast, that somehow suggesting ‘scrabble’ is a middle-class pursuit.  The next question ‘Do you drink?’  The follow-up was ‘Do you go to the pub?’

You see how ingrained it is in our culture.  Now will someone please, pass the f**king port?

I’ve been thinking a lot this weekend about stuff I don’t understand.  I credit myself with a little intelligence and like to think that in most cases I can understand quite a lot about human nature, the human psyche, cinema, literature, politics, religion, and the like.  But I just don’t get the fascination with a few things.  The first I intend to deal with is football.

Now, football is – by definition – a game of two halves, a great leveller, the working man’s game, or whatever else pundits can come up with.  Long ago, people with full time jobs used to get together for a game of kicking a sphere from one person to the next in the vain attempt to kick the ball into a goal passed a goalkeeper, while an opposing team tried to prevent them from doing so.  Each team would have 11 ‘players’ on it and a rudimentary set of rules was created to ensure a modicum of fair play.  They clearly needed a team to play, so neighbouring towns, villages, and cities, would develop their own ‘teams’ (as we shall call it) and modern football came in to existence.

Fast-forward now to 2012 where the gulf between the upper eschelons of the English première league and the grass roots local sides are in the hundreds of millions of pounds a year in revenue and turnover.  Formerly local teams now have legions of fans across the globe whilst being owned and sponsored by billionaire international conglomerates, oligarchs, and investment houses; managed by former players and former managers of international teams with a list of accolades longer than my leg.  Smaller clubs are closing, and local support is having to decamp to a slightly further away team who charge double the ticket price of the old one.

Now, this is merely the start of what I don’t understand – and consequently what I care little for.  I agree that since players are now ‘professional’ – although their conduct on and off the pitch would suggest otherwise – that some form of salary is required, we are now paying these players something in the region of a hedge fund manager’s salary to ensure that they don’t go play somewhere else.  And this isn’t just limited to the English leagues, this happens across the globe.  Sport has become big business.  Yes, the tax revenues are nice (but with good accountacy practices most of this can be avoided) but really, does any sportman need to earn £20,000 a week?  ”Oh, but,” the rebuttal begins, “a player’s working life is much shorter than ordinary people’s.”  Very true.  But earning £1m a year for the average life expectancy of a player – around 15 years – is still more than most people see in a lifetime.  Plus, a player retiring from the pitch doesn’t just stop there – there’s punditry, commentating, coaching, managing, teaching, and a possible career outside of football.  Now that’s a cosy pension and some pocket change right there.  And ticket costs?  A season ticket for a top tier English premiere league club, £1000.  A standard ticket cost?  £50 per game.  Ouch.  Plus with TV revenues, sponsorship, and the like some of these clubs are the richest businesses in the world.

As to the players themselves?  They have become beacons of hope for youngsters everywhere.  Yes, I was once a football fan, although I didn’t use to watch the games.  I wanted to be a footballer but lacked the requisite skills, concentration, and practice.  I didn’t care enough.  I still don’t.  But now they don’t want to become footballers for the love of playing the game.  They want to be the next millionaire wünderkind they hear so much about on the TV.  They want to get paid the £20,000 per week just to play.  And shockingly very few of them will make it, but so many of them will give up on anything else but that avenue of desire.  It’s debilitating as a (former) teacher and (future) parent to know that when a kid says ‘I want to be a professional footballer.’ they are more likely to end up working at a supermarket for minimum wage.

Which brings me to this point: most of the footballers we see are neanderthal, alpha male, homo-erotic, poorly educated, practically illiterate, money obsessed, idiots.  You see them on the pitch swearing, f*ing and blinding away – you don’t need subtitles to lip read swearing, it’s pretty easy.  They understand, I think, that these are role models for today’s youth – and to see them behave on the pitch the way they do is shocking in the extreme.  To see how they challenge and argue with the authority figure on the pitch (the referee, or the ‘illegitimate person dressed in sable regalia’ (I paraphrase)) it becomes a little easier to understand how little respect is being shown, or taught to these youngsters.  You must also imagine my complete disdain for such behaviour.  Appalling.

But what I find most egregious about the game is not the overpaid salaries, or the idiotic players, or their poorly understood role in modern society; it the fans.

I lived 8 years in Cardiff and I knew that it Stoke City fans were in town, you stayed home.  Why?  Because – for some reason – Stoke and Cardiff have a great enmity.  I’m fairly sure in the trenches of WW1 and on the battlefields of WW2 Stoke boys and Cardiff boys would have fought, bled, and died together – but when it comes to football, all bets are off.  Every club in the country has a fierce rival – someone they want to beat.  But it’s the unthinking hatred I disdain.  The hate of these people ‘because they’re from *insert place name here*)  I understand hate, and rivalry.  I still loathe every player who ever shut me out of a WFB game from turn one purely because I’d deployed incorrectly; or every 40K game I got shut out of for playing a themed army; or any online game of SF4 I’ve every played.  But I realised my enmity and anger is directed at myself for sucking that bad.  The violence and hatred that is displayed every Saturday, Friday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and occasional Wednesday is horrid.  I abhor it.

But you listen to them on the terraces during the games – the songs, the chanting, it’s like a crowd baying for blood.  It’s no surprise that when Peter Jackson wanted chanting for the Uruk-hai horde in The Two Towers he went to a stadium full of (cricket) fans.  I’m fairly sure if Ridley Scott wanted to redo the crowd scenes in Gladiator he need only attend a weekend Premiership fixture.  The noise is tremendous and it’s all directed at the fans of the opposing team.  Effectively saying ‘your shit’ – the only response is ‘your shit, too.’  And this can in extreme cases spill over into violence.

It’s pointless.  It’s mindless.  It’s expensive.  It’s business.  It’s players are obscenely paid.  I don’t understand the fascination for a game that after 90 minutes (plus injury time, extra time, and golden goal extra extra time) still leaves me feeling the same as I did before, only more bored and older.

In the world of Tim – football would be played by amateur teams only, no club owners, and no salaries over £10,000.  The referee would be the law, and any argument with his decision is a sending off.  Fans can only support the team from their home town, and nowhere else.  Ticket prices cost no more than £10.  And if you decide to start a fight, you can consider yourself banished from the terraces and expect a visit from the local (well run, well provisioned) police force.

After reading this from author and semi-twitter buddy Sarah Cawkwell, and after putting up with some rather bizarre behaviour over the last 48 hours I feel moved to write this:

All I want is to be treated with some respect.  That’s all.  That and some consideration.  That’s all, some consideration and respect.  And decency.  I want to be treated with three things: Respect, consideration, and decency.  And courtesy.  I want to be treated – I’ll come in again.

Respect, consideration, decency, and courtesy.

It’s not hard.  It’s not trying.  It’s not going to take much out of one’s day.

For example: Instead of shouting across the room ‘Why are there three people performing this task, when two will do?’ (I paraphrase, and the task is one I’m doing) why not take me onto one side and ask, quietly ‘Why are you doing this when there’s only enough for two?’ – then at least I can explain to you in simple terms that you haven’t considered the backlog of work from the day before.

For example: Instead of handing out all the payslips to each person in turn and then give mine to someone else – thus managing to confirm my opinion that you have an issue with me and can’t get past it – give it to me directly and smile.  You’ll feel better, I’m sure.

For example: Instead of arranging something that might require me to chip in some cash without asking when is convenient for me, or either whether I even want to – why don’t you ask those things prior to arrangements being made?

For example: If you don’t like the way you’re being spoken to by someone, don’t take it out on me.

For example:  Just because it pisses me off that people don’t clean my desk after the night shift – it gives me the right to complain about it.  I will not, however, leave my desk in a disorderly state.

See, I obey the golden rule.  I try to apply the golden rule to everyday life.  I think the golden rule is something we should aspire to, and not something we should sneer at by saying such ridiculous things as ‘Well, I’ll respect you if you respect me.’  Respect is a two way street, and if one reneges on your side of the deal – it’s never going to work.  At all!

Our society (in this country) seems to be skewed in favour of selfishness, and litigation.  Now I concede that this is not countrywide – and a complete generalisation – and there are pockets of greatness in this area; but it is a concern of mine that unless some radical action – revolution, if you will – that we will slowly slide towards a society of individualists linked by nothing but our Facebook profiles.  We’re forgetting the lessons we were taught by history – and consequently we may be doomed to repeat those mistakes.

A smile, a thank you, a please, a kind word – it’s not much to ask, it is?

Last week I mentioned my band – The Distancing.  Very soon we shall be releasing our first album length project.  11 songs we’ve written and performed extensively over the last 18 months.  It’s been a long road, and people have been wonderfully supportive.  So thank you all.

Tomorrow night I shall be gigging in Burton-upon-Trent.  Future gigs are uncertain at this moment in time.  What I do know is that the music we’ve recorded sounds massive and there are some dynamite tracks on there.  I’m really looking forward to sharing this with the world.

Today, I’ve been contemplating the kind of stuff I listen to at work – and this being a rehearsal night it needs to be a quick one.  A while ago I concocted a few ‘mood inspired’ setlists – one of fast paced, pumping rock music; some chilled music; etc.

The music I work with is usually something with conversation – The West Wing, stand-up comedy, podcasts, but the chilled playlist has been right up my street.  Here are a few selections from it:

• Numb – Thunder.
• The End of The World – Gin Blossoms.
• Home – Foo Fighters.
• Goodbye to You – Michelle Branch.
• Suddenly I See – KT Tunstall.
• If It’s Hurting You – Robbie Williams.
• Zombie Jamboree – Harry Belafonte.
• Sayrui’s Theme – John Williams (from Memoirs of a Geisha)
• Whatdoyousay? – Vivid.
• The Everlasting – Manic Street Preachers.
• She Caught The Katy – The Blues Brothers.
• Pride & Joy – Stevie Ray Vaughan.
• Writing to Reach You – Travis.

Enjoy your evenings.

Chilli – serves 2

• 250g minced beef.
• 1 onion, finely chopped.
• 1 garlic clove, finely chopped or crushed.
• 400g of chopped tomatoes.
• Same size can of Chilli Beans/Red Kidney Beans in chilli sauce.
• Half teaspoon of Paprika (smoked paprika is better.)
• Half tablespoon of mixed herbs.
• Teaspoon of vegetable stock powder.
• Worcester sauce.
• Red wine.

Brown the onion in a frying pan over a medium heat – make sure the onion is soft before going on.  Add the garlic then after a few minutes add the beef.  Break apart the lumps and stir well.  Once the mince is totally browned add the paprika and stir it to coat the meat.  Cover the meat in wine and allow it to bubble to almost nothing, then add the stock powder, and Worcester sauce.  Pour in the tomatoes and the chilli beans, then wash out the tomato can with water (no more than a half can) and add this to the pan.  Stir well, add the herbs and plenty of seasoning, then allow to simmer.  Allow as much of the water to evaporate as possible, you want a nice thick sauce.  As it reduces, season to taste with spices and herbs as required.

Serve with rice, chips, or both.

First, I’m sorry for all the years I mindlessly hated you while you were part of Nirvana.  It wasn’t you I was hating but that no-talent, whiny, self-involved, badly-in-need-of-a-wash, junkie frontman of yours.  I thought it was quite telling when after a few years I caught a documentary detailing how they mixed Nevermind, that Kurt had only one vocal track – and you got at least 4.

Second, I’m sorry for all the bad cover versions of your songs I may perform in the course of my life.

Third, thanks for all the music.  There are so many of your albums and your songs that I now completely love that it almost seems a shame that I couldn’t get over my own stubbornness to learn of your greatness at an earlier age.  From the delicate grace of Home (Echoes, Silence, Patience, Grace) to the wonderful Monkey Wrench (The Colour and the Shape), Stranger Things Have Happened, Next Year, The Pretender, Long Road to Ruin, Stacked Actors, and the beautiful Everlong.  They all have special places in my musical psyche.

Finally, thank you for being one of my biggest influences.  As a drummer, guitarist, songwriter, and aspiring Harley-Davidson owner; you’re my hero.  And you’re a dude to boot.  Tenacious D, Songs for the Deaf (Queens of the Stone Age), and the Pick of Destiny movie would not have been the same without you.

Dude, you rock.

Tim

The last few blog posts have been a little light in tone, so I decided to take on something a little more – weighty.

Rape is (as I understand it) the forced involvement in a sexual act against one’s will.

Why I bring this up is largely as a result of this event: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SlutWalk and my resultant feelings on the matter having seen the delightful behaviour of bevvied up, barely dressed, twenty-somethings on the nations streets on the weekends, or at the end of a month.

Now the Slut Walk movement started in Toronto due a police officer stating that to avoid being victimised that women should avoid dressing like sluts.  The poor choice of words aside, the issue is largely does he have a point.  The Slut Walk movement would argue that women should be able to dress as they wish without having to worry about victimisation – in point of fact we should be spreading the message to men not to rape, rather than the women to avoid being raped.

So who has the most valid point?

Having not ever studied criminal psychology, sociology, or anything as helpful to the discussion as that – all I can offer is a considered opinion.  Rapists, to my mind, are either meticulous planners (those who rape out of compulsion) or opportunists.  The meticulous serial rapists will have a particular modus operandi, a given ‘type’ of victim, a particular hunting ground, etc. – almost creatures of habit.  Allow me instead to deal with the opportunists.

Opportunists will look for a given series of circumstances to come about – perhaps the intoxicating effects of alcohol, a particularly dry spell of sexual encounters, a fixation on a particular person of attraction to them to the point of obsession.  In this respect, the manner of dress could indeed be a factor.

Journalist Rod Liddle suggests that: “…I have a perfect right to leave my windows open when I nip to the shops for some fags, without being burgled. It doesn’t lessen the guilt of the burglar that I’ve left my window open, or even remotely suggest that I was deserving of being burgled. Just that it was more likely to happen.”  Feminist  writer Jessica Valenti argues: ”The idea that women’s clothing has some bearing on whether they will be raped is a dangerous myth feminists have tried to debunk for decades.”

From a simple risk management strategy dressing in a way that is sexually provocative is more likely not only to attract the attentions of the opposite sex, but is also more likely to attract the attention of a sexual predator; in the same way that smoking does not lead to lung cancer – only increases the likelihood of it occurring.  Taking the responsibility for one’s own safety should be the priority.  Similarly, drinking to excess to such a state so that one can even fail to stand up presents a sexual predator with a much more available and easy target – it does not guarantee that one will fall foul of the predator, just makes it more likely.

How would you like to end the night?  As the potential prey of a sexual predator?  Or with an attractive young member of the opposite sex you met while out on a night out drinking with your friends?  To limit the attentions of dangerous people we can simply modify behaviour and dress.

In essesnce, I’m not preaching an ‘avoid being raped’ message – rape is a tragic and horrific act that shouldn’t, but does, exist.  Our children should be being taught that to take a partner by force is wrong.  But until that message permeates our society, we can take the responsibility on ourselves to avoid such attentions.

So I like writing reviews.  Mostly because it’s a good way to express an opinion (and I like doing that) and talking about books.  So recently The Founding Fields asked for some more folk to help review – and I threw my hat in the ring – and they asked me to join.  So check out my first review for Deliverance Lost on The Founding Fields.

Enjoy – and goodnight.

Quick post today as I will be decidedly busy this evening, heading to a gig in Hednesford near Cannock.

If you don’t know already I play guitar and write songs for The Distancing – a band based in Burton-upon-Trent, Staffordshire.  They can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/TheDistancing; here: http://www.myspace.com/thedistancing; or here: http://twitter.com/thedistancing.