NOTTING HILL

I went to the Museum of Brands in Notting Hill yesterday. It was surprisingly traumatic. I took some photos:

It’s actually the second time I’ve gone there. The first time was in the summer when I had some time off work. I’d gone on a Monday and hadn’t checked their website. They’re closed on Mondays. Disappointed, I went to the nearby Walmer Castle to have an overpriced pint. It was a very hot day and there were two men sitting at the table outside. I bought a pint and sat on a leather sofa in the back. After a while, one of the men outside came in and asked the barman if he had any sun cream. The barman, understandably, didn’t know why the hell this man was asking him for sun cream. He’s a barman in a pub, he doesn’t work in Superdrug.

A couple came in with a baby in a pushchair. They parked the pushchair at the bottom of the stairs near where I was sitting and went upstairs. The baby was asleep. One of the men from outside – not the one who had asked for the sun cream, he was too ashamed – brought in the glasses and they left. Downing the last of a pint as you stride over to the bar and put your glass down is one of my favourite things in the world and I could tell this guy enjoyed it too. There’s something so reassuring about it. In that moment I know exactly who I am. Here I stand, a man. And here you stand, landlord of this fine establishment. We are men. We know our roles in society. I place my glass here and flick my eyebrows. You silently nod. No need for further dialogue. Everything we need to say is communicated by my eyebrow flick and your silent nod. We are playing our parts in this drama and we play them well. This could be any moment in history but it is today. Sometimes, when I’m feeling lonely, I’ll go into a pub and buy a pint specifically to enjoy this split second of intimacy; this passing bond.

The two men left. After a couple of minutes, the mother of the baby came downstairs and checked on him. He was still asleep. She went back up stairs. Every five minutes or so, she would come downstairs to check on him. I realised there was a Thai restaurant upstairs. They were having lunch. They’d left their baby downstairs in a pub so they could have lunch. The barman went out a door at the back of the pub and a barmaid came in. She looked at me, and the baby in the pushchair and smiled. It occurred to me that she probably thought the baby was with me. It also occurred to me that the two people who had seen me go into the pub had left. Finally, it occurred to me that if I waited until the woman upstairs came down one more time, I’d then have a window of about five or ten minutes where I could steal the baby and be out of sight before anyone even knew anything was wrong.

I wasn’t really sure what I would do with the baby. If I could get a taxi, I’d be well out of the area before the police were called, but then what would I do. I couldn’t take the baby home. How could I explain the fact that all of a sudden, I had a baby boy in a pushchair? In fact, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. I didn’t even want the baby. And yet, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I’d just finish my drink and walk out with the baby. A courteous nod to the barmaid. Everything is fine. I’m leaving now with my baby. A dialogue started in my head. Part of me planning how I would steal the baby; the other part, increasingly nervous, was asking if I was serious. “Just finish your drink and walk out with the baby” said one voice. “OK, but you are only kidding, right? You know you’re not actually going to steal the baby, don’t you? You know this is just some idle daydream” said the other. “She thinks he’s your baby anyway, she won’t think there’s anything wrong”.

It’s safe to say that if I did steal the baby, my life would be changed forever. There would be no going back. I would be arrested, charged and convicted. At the trial, I would be unable to offer any defence or explanation for my actions. All I would be able to say is “I saw an opportunity”. I would go to prison. I would probably become a tabloid hate figure. My family would possibly disown me, my sister would definitely never ask me to babysit. I’d struggle to get a job. Nothing would be the same ever again.

Sometimes I wish I’d taken that baby.

1000s OF USES: PART 7 – THE MORAL ARGUMENT

Maybe it’s a cultural thing, I don’t know. I just don’t seem to feel the same spark with Simone as I did with Michelle. I was so excited to receive her email, but so disappointed once I read it. It’s only a slight exaggeration to say she broke my heart. I wrote back:

Hi Simone,

Many thanks for getting back to me so quickly. To be honest, I didn’t expect any kind of response at all as the “Contact” form on the English-language site doesn’t seem to work and I had to contact you through the German site.

Thank you for sending me the link to the Patafix site. Some of the ways they use Patafix certainly are very creative and had never occurred to me (playing a board game upside-down on the underneath of a table! Crazy!). However, I’m afraid that I’m still not entirely satisfied.

It seems to me that if you make a specific claim regarding your product, it is only reasonable to ask if you have any way of backing up that claim. Otherwise, people could make all sorts of claims and no-one would know what to believe. I’m not denying that White Tack is a very versatile product, but “thousands” of uses? That seems an awful lot.

Can there really be that many uses?

Regards,
James

I think you can sense the emotion. I was trying to be upbeat, but I was laughing through the tears. She replied quite promptly; such German efficiency.

Dear James,

I just tried out in Google to type in “1000’s of uses” and actually got 180.000 hits of site of products/services with 1000’s of uses. I think this is a general English term which is used to describe a product which is really versatile in terms of usage as this is also the case for our UHU White tack/UHU patafix.

But I actually think it could be a nice idea to ask our consumers for their input and their individual ideas and then to end up with a very creative list of ideas of how to use the product.

Maybe this can be an idea for a promotion on our patafix web-site!

Thank you again for your input and kind regards,
Simone

Now, at first glance, this almost seems like a brush-off (“thank you again for your input and kind regards”). But note how she’s switched to calling me “James” (in her previous email she called me “Mr Ward”). She’s warming to me. And that’s fortunate, because if she thinks I’m going to be satisfied with a response like that, she’s mistaken.

There’s already a word which means something which is versatile in terms of usage, that word is “versatile”. The phrase “thousands of uses”, on the other hand, specifically means something which has thousands of uses. And, as I keep saying, maybe there really are thousands of uses, but you can’t just pick a number, claim your product has that many uses and then cross your fingers and hope you’re right. If we accepted that principle, where would that leave us? The whole foundation of society would collapse. “Oh, well it probably helps lower cholesterol, maybe it would be a nice idea to ask our customers to monitor their levels of cholesterol and let us know how they get on.”

This is a moral issue.

1000s OF USES: PART 6 – GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS

The last few days have been something of a roller-coaster of emotions for me, as I continue my struggle to establish whether or not there really are thousands of uses for Blu-Tack.

Firstly, having recovered from my shocking discovery, I contacted UHU. Their English language site is still under construction, and although they have a very small UK site, the contact form on their website doesn’t seem to work very well (or at all), and I wasn’t able to find an email address. As a result, I had no choice other than to fill out the Kontaktformular on the German website:

Hi,

I recently bought a pack of UHU White Tack and noticed that according to your packaging, White Tack has “thousands of uses”. I was just wondering if you perhaps had a list of all these uses, as I have struggled to think of more than fifty possible uses for your product and so am obviously missing quite a few.

Thanks,
James

I didn’t have much hope of getting a response to be honest, so I was thrilled when a couple of days later, I saw an email appear in my inbox from someone at UHU. My excitement quickly turned to frustration, however, as soon as I read their response.

Dear Mr. Ward,
Thank you for your inquiry on UHU White Tack. There are really multiple applications of UHU White tack such as fixing posters, postcards, memos, pencil boxes, decorations, photos and much more but we do not have a real list of applications at hand. Maybe our German UHU patafix Web-site (UHU patafix is the brand name use in Germany for UHU White tack) can give you some inspiring ideas of how to use the product in a creative way of which you right now have not thought yet. If you click on “I love patafixer” you will find our 4 patafixer teenagers who really use patafix in a creative way (http://www.uhu-patafix.de/). I hope this will be helpful for you.

Best regards,
Simone

Sound familiar? This is exactly the same story Bostik tried to fob me off with. Yes, I KNOW there are multiple applications for White Tack; as I said in my original email, I had counted more than fifty (this is actually based on the number of uses I had established for Blu-Tack a while ago. I’m assuming all of these also hold true for White Tack as well). I’m not asking whether or not White Tack is versatile, I know it’s versatile, I just want to know if there is any truth to their claim that it has “thousands of uses”. And so it begins again.

Fortunately though, there has been some good news. I feel like I’m really getting somewhere with Bostik. Michelle and I are really bonding. I think it’s safe to say she admires me. Perhaps even loves me slightly. I’m sure she looks forward to my emails.

After her last email to me, I wrote back and explained precisely what the issue was:

Hi Michelle,

Sorry I haven’t had a chance to reply. I’ve been a bit busy, you know how it is!

I thought the artwork you sent through was very creative and illustrates the many ways in which Blu-Tack can be used, but at the same time, it highlighted the precise point I’ve been trying to make all along.

The artwork you sent me describes Blu-Tack as a “multi-purpose re-usuable adhesive”, this is certainly true. My problem is that your packaging states that Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. This is a different, and specific, claim. I still haven’t seen or heard anything which backs up this claim. Blu-Tack does have many uses, it is very versatile, but does it have thousands of uses, rather than simply hundreds of uses or dozens of uses? This is what I am trying to clarify.

I noted with interest that another product, WD-40, makes a similar claim, however, they have actually compiled a list of over two thousand applications for their product (http://www.wd40.co.uk/media/images/a/8/LIST_OF_2_000_USES.pdf).

Perhaps Bostik could follow their example and produce a similar list?

Regards,
James

Now, in all honesty, the WD-40 list leaves a lot to be desired. Many of the uses listed are pretty spurious to say the least, and I’ll be raising this issue with WD-40 in good time. For example, I question whether or not this can really be considered a valid use for WD-40:

This seems overly specific:

And surely this:

And this:

Are just specific examples of this:

I didn’t mention any of this to Michelle of course. Some might say I was acting disingenuously, I would say I was being strategic. And I think the tactic worked. Michelle replied today:

Hi James

I hope you have had a nice week and looking forward to the weekend.

I am really glad to hear that you agree that Blu-Tack is indeed a multi-purpose product but obviously disappointed that you do not agree that Blu-Tack has indeed 1000s of uses – or at least maybe you do agree, but want to see these in writing?

We have been asked this question many times before but most have been appeased! – but please bear with me.

The thing is that Blu-Tack uses tend to be so personal and so random to the user that it is hard to identify specific uses. I can only say that by way of the numerous letters and emails we have received over the years stating their uses, that this gives us full confidence that Blu-Tack does in fact have 1000s of uses.

The thing is – Blu-Tack is all about fun, creativity and imagination – this is what we say about the brand. Now if we were to come up with 1000s of suggestions for people then it would kind of take a little bit of that magic away. Also on the same note, we kind of feel that who are we to suggest what to do with your Blu-Tack? I hope that makes sense.

It’s not about stating a random claim just to “big up” our product – as I said we’re a genuine company.

What we have done as part of our website www.blu-tack.co.uk is to put an area on the site where consumers can load up their own suggestions for Blu-Tack as well as their models and animations (other good uses for Blu-Tack). Please check it out – I hope you like it.

I was not long ago sent a rather large list of uses by a customer which I would forward however, quite a number of them were not really suitable for publication – but were read with much interest and amusement the team here.

However, having said all this above if you are still not satisfied then I can do something further. This week I spent a day with my counterparts from Bostik Australia and Bostik South Africa. Both have said that they have lists of thousands of uses for Blu-Tack by way of competitions they have run and both said they will send me a copy once they return to their respective countries.

Therefore, when I will receive them, I will happily forward the lists which I hope will then give you the confidence in us that our 1000s of uses claim is correct.

Kind regards
Michelle

I must say, when Michelle mentioned how listing the thousands of uses for Blu-Tack would take away some of its magic, I was quite moved. And such modesty! Even Bostik, the people who make Blu-Tack, don’t want to prescribe how it should be used. I look forward to receiving the lists from Michelle’s international counterparts; but when I get the list, I might not read it. I want to keep the magic alive.

JACNO

In the last two weeks or so, I’d started listening to Jacno again quite a bit. I’m not really sure why, I think just because I tend to operate in cycles and the simplicity of a lot of his music appealed to me. I considered writing a post about what it is I like about Jacno, how I first discovered him, all of that sort of thing. I even considered changing my profile picture to an image of him with my face superimposed on top (like my current Falco icon).

Today I found out Jacno died at the weekend.

I don’t have the energy to write anything clever. It’s sad news. Just watch this video, please.

1000s OF USES: PART 5 – A SHOCKING DEVELOPMENT

I went to Camden yesterday. While I was there, I popped into Central Stationers (163-165 Camden High Street, London, NW1 7JY). Nothing could have prepared me for the shocking discovery I would make:

The problem is far, far worse than I could ever have imagined. Are Bostik and UHU in cahoots? Has this matter been discussed at some pan-industry trade conference? A gentleman’s agreement made over some late night drinks in a hotel bar? Maybe the reason is less sinister. Maybe UHU’s move into the market forced a kind of Cold War escalation of claims. Neither party wanting to be left behind. Or maybe one company arbitrarily picked a number and the other just copied it, figuring both adhesive tacks probably have roughly the same number of uses.

It is of course possible that adhesive tack really does have thousands of uses. I’m not claiming it doesn’t have thousands of uses. I just want to see some evidence to back up that claim. The burden of proof is on them, not me. They’re the ones making the claim, I want them to show me that claim is true.

I will, of course, be emailing UHU to hear their side of the story.

CHARLES UNWIN

Either late last year, or early this year (I can’t remember which, I know it was cold), I wasn’t feeling well. I left work early, but couldn’t quite face getting the tube, so wandered around in a bit of a daze (thinking about it now, it must have been early this year; if it had been late last year, there would have been Christmas decorations everywhere).

I found myself in the newly opened Book Exchange on Berwick Street. Being newly opened, they hadn’t finished putting all the stock out, and the shop was half empty (ever restless, as soon as the shop was fully stocked, they moved everything downstairs. They sell clothes upstairs now).

I bought this book for 50p:

Inside the book, someone (I assume Charles Unwin) has written this:

I’m not sure what the “902″ refers to. The “40p Wk1″ is in reference to the price which someone, probably the person who owned the book immediately before me, paid for it in an Imperial Cancer Research shop. I know it had previously been sold in an Imperial Cancer Research shop because I found this receipt in the book:

15-10-01. Good lord. Whoever had bought it previously had done so more than seven years earlier. Who was that person? Charles Unwin? I doubt it. The book must have passed through several hands since this edition was originally published in 1978.

The habit of writing your name and address in the inside cover of a book is one which has apparently died out (I base this on nothing more than anecdotal evidence; when I’ve noticed these inscriptions in other books, they always seem to be a bit older. Newer books remain anonymous). My guess is that Charles Unwin must have been the original owner of the book (would someone buying a book secondhand mark it in that way?). He probably bought it in 1978 or maybe 1979. I hope he liked the book. But who was he? Googling the phrase “Charles Unwin” (in quotes) brings up 15,000 results. Which one is he?

There’s an actor called Charles Unwin, but he was only born in 1973. It can’t be him. Could he be the Charles Unwin who the Queen was so graciously pleased to appoint as an Officer of Her Diplomatic Service on the 6th Febrary 1979? Is he the Charles Unwin who would later go on to write this? Maybe he is the Charles Unwin who is friends with a man who calls himself Papalaz. A “very clever guy and a great reader”, maybe Handke’s odd little book would have appealed to him. I suppose I’ll never know.

I wonder what 9a Regent’s Park Terrace is like. This is where it is:

It’s an architectural practice now. This is their website.

This is what 9a Regent’s Park Terrace looks like on Google Streetview. In this picture, it’s obstructed by a tree:

This is what 9a Regent’s Park Terrace looks like if you stand outside and take a photo:

I’m not entirely sure why I went there. I suspect it’s actually a slightly creepy thing to do. But once I had the idea of going, I knew I had no choice. I don’t know what I expected to find, and the whole thing was a bit of an anti-climax. It was cold and windy. I didn’t stay there very long. I felt awkward and went and had an overpriced pint of Red Stripe in the Spread Eagle around the corner.

Maybe part of the reason for my decision to make this pilgrimage was that, actually, it didn’t involve much effort on my part. I only had to get the tube to Camden. I didn’t have to fly anywhere. This was also inside the book:

This Wikipedia page suggests this card is also from 2001; the interim period during Greece’s move to “a closed ten-digit numbering scheme”. I’m a bit surprised that a company like Siroco’s (a holiday apartment complex) didn’t have a website even as recently as 2001. They have one now though. Parikia looks a lot nicer than Camden. Maybe I made the wrong choice.

Papalaz moved from London to Crete at some stage. Maybe I could take a tour of the Greek Islands and pop in to see him. He runs a farm. Maybe that’s what Charles Unwin did. Maybe he met up with his friend in the Greek islands. Maybe Papalaz realised he still had that book he’d borrowed from Charles a few years ago, and gave it back. But, then what? Reunited with the book, Unwin stayed a few nights at Siroco’s, read it one last time, and then donated it to his local charity shop? That doesn’t make sense. Of course it doesn’t make sense. I’m trying to squeeze the biographical details of two different Charles Unwins together for no real reason.

What happened to the book between the time Charles Unwin wrote his name in pencil inside the front cover in the late seventies and the time it was sold in an Imperial Cancer Research shop in 2001 remains a mystery. At some point around then, it might have made a trip to a Greek island, it might not have. Either way, a few years later, it was sold in the Book Exchange on Berwick Street for 50p to a man who was feeling unwell.

1000s OF USES: PART 4 – A MOMENT OF DOUBT

I sent an email back to Michelle saying I hoped she had a nice holiday and saying I was looking forward to hearing back from her.

It was nearly another week before she replied. I assume this must be because she was so busy catching up on all of her work following her time off. I forgot to ask her where she’d been. I hope she doesn’t think I’m rude.

Hi James
I hope you had a good weekend – and are looking forward to this one!

Sorry again for not being able to get back to you sooner – we finished our Blu-Tack yellow Marie Curie link up this week that you will see in the press if you look.

Regarding Blu-Tack® and its 1000s of uses. We originally changed our packaging to show this in 2005 and since then have been often asked about it from our customers since.

We are an open and honest brand and company and would certainly not put on a claim we weren’t 100% happy with.

The uses for the product are so random and varying and often unique to an individual that its hard to just identify them all. There are more obvious uses such as using it for modelling, holding wires in place, using for speakers to stop vibration, holding a screw on a screwdriver, using it to remove another piece of Blu-Tack® off a wall. However, to give you a flavour of more random uses – here are some below that we have been sent more recently:

- The University of Cambridge contacted us asking about the softness because they hold insects feet down with it,
- another one (see quote below) about using in the aerospace industry.
- We also had an enquiry from a professor of ear surgery at Leicester hospital saying he told children to use it as earplugs after surgery because it was the most effective method – and subsequently similar by a doctor in Wythenshaw hospital. I also saw it recently in the press about using it in actual ear operations. So just for ears alone it tends to be multifunctional.
- We have worked with the police (they approached us) about promoting the use for using Blu-Tack® for holding Sat Navs in place so there are no marks on windscreens for thieves to see.
- We are also asked many times about different colours than blue and someone asked us for flesh coloured tack because she used it in her first aid course to hold objects on their dummy in class.

We also have a website www.blu-tack.co.uk which gives loads of information on Blu-Tack® and also has a section for people to upload all their uses for the product – so hopefully we will have eventually the couple of thousand listed – but check it out!

Finally, a graphic design student sent us in some advert posters this week which I thought showed a funny use on front – and also shows a list of many uses – so here it is attached.

I hope that you are satisfied with our response and will continue to use our famous Blu-Tack brand.

Kind Regards
Michelle

Aerospace enquiry
“The reason for the question is that we use it as a cleaning aid and we then clean off any residues from any remaining Blu-Tack. Our parts are used for sensors within the aerospace industry and any contamination may lead to an issue and we are therefore particular in these matters”

Hmmm.

I’m not entirely sure if I should post the artwork Michelle attached as it’s uncredited and looks like it was done as some sort of design project. Anyway, here it is (if it’s yours and you want it taken down, just let me know. I am nothing if not reasonable):

Now, do you see the crucial detail in this artwork which Michelle appears to have missed? The artwork states that Blu-Tack is a “multi-purpose re-usable adhesive”. I have no problem with that claim. It’s true, it’s definitely true. Blu-Tack is a very versatile product and it can be used in a wide number of situations. I’m not denying that, only a lunatic would deny that. My objection is to the specific claim that Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. I am still no closer to identifying what these “1000s of uses” are.

I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere with this. I just keep getting told Blu-Tack has lots of uses; that it would be impossible to list them all because the list would be endless; that it’s hard to identify them all.

I don’t want to identify them all. I’m not asking for an exhaustive list of every single possible use. I just want some indication that it is true to say that Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. Not “lots”, not “many”. “1000s”. They say on the packaging it has “1000s of uses”, show me it has “1000s of uses”.

But how much further can I push this? Michelle seems like a nice person. If she’d been rude and patronising, this would be so much easier. But she seems quite nice.

I went to a course at work this week. At the start, there was one of those “ice-breaker” activities where you have to tell everyone your name, explain your role and responsibilities and share one interesting fact about yourself. I hate these things. There are very few interesting facts about me. Under pressure, I said that the interesting fact about me is that I’m currently embroiled in a dispute with Bostik over the accuracy of their claim that Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. When I said this, everyone laughed, but I’ll be honest with you; I think they might have been laughing at me rather than with me.

Am I losing my nerve?

But then, shouldn’t this story give me hope?

Disney is offering refunds to millions of parents in the US who bought its ‘Baby Einstein’ learning DVDs, after being threatened with legal action over its claims that the DVDs provided educational benefits.

I need to be stronger.

SUIT ENVY

I love this suit. It’s beautiful. I am jealous. I love the bit at 2:45 when Godwin turns his back to the audience (and camera) and with one hand, flicks open the jacket. Perfect.

I first discovered Metro about a decade ago. I was in Selectadisc on Berwick Street. I think Selectadisc is Sister Ray now, or maybe it’s the other way round. Which is it? Selectadisc is definitely now Sister Ray. I was in Selectadisc (which is now Sister Ray) on Berwick Street.

It wasn’t quite a decade ago. Maybe 2000 or 2001. I was looking through the Ms. I guess I must have been looking for Momus, or maybe Monochrome Set. I spotted this CD:

I had no idea who Metro were, but of course, I bought it. How could I not? Just look at that picture.

Later, I’d track down vinyl copies of the two albums which followed it, New Love and Future Imperfect. I’d also buy solo albums by both Duncan Browne and Peter Godwin. I even bought a record Godwin wrote and produced for Ronny. Then I bought a record player to play them on.

But anyway, back to the suit.

This is a silk Anthony Price suit..Wore it on the cover of the single sleeve.. Coincidentally (?) 2 years later in 1984, David Bowie wore exactly the same suit at the beginning of the long clip for “Blue Jean” and sitting at the table in the short clip.. In between, in 1983, he covered my first single “Criminal World” on the “Let’s Dance” album.. Stranger and stranger.. If he covers a song from my new Nuevo album, I guess the circle will be complete..  Well, I can dream.

And here is Bowie wearing the suit:

I thought it was an Antony Price suit when I first watched the Peter Godwin clip, and also thought there was something Bowie-ish about the high-waisted trousers (Bowie always preferred a high-waisted trouser as it made his silhouette appear longer and more dynamic), but it’s nice to see Bowie wasn’t the first to wear it.

I met Antony Price once, at a party. He asked me what I’d studied at university, or possibly he thought I was still at university. It was a bit hard to follow what he was saying. Anyway, I said I’d studied architecture. “Ah! ARCHITECTURE! Albert SPEER! CATHEDRAL OF LIGHT!”

He’s a bit odd. He makes beautiful suits though.

ALAN DAVIES

Jonathan Creek appeared on the BBC One political discussion programme This Week to talk about the controversy over Nick Griffin’s appearance on Question Time. I broadly agree with what he says, although I thought the camera work was a little bit distracting.

1000s OF USES: PART 3 – A GLIMMER OF HOPE

After receiving a reply to my original complaint, I still wasn’t satisfied.

I wrote back:

Hallo,

Firstly, I would like to thank you for your swift response to my query, although unfortunately, I do not feel that you have fully answered my question.

Your packaging makes a very specific claim; Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. However, you seem either unable or unwilling to provide any evidence to validate this claim.

I find it distressing that a company such as yours would put such unsubstantiated claims on your packaging.

In your reply to my original query, you state that for over thirty years, you have received letters from your customers suggesting new uses for your product. If this is the case, then why do seek to keep this information from the public?

Regards,
James Ward

The language I used was perhaps a little tough, and the tone perhaps a little aggressive, but I feel very strongly about this issue.

Today, I got the following email:

Dear James

Thank you for your enquiry on Blu-Tack. I am the Product Manager for Blu-Tack and manage all aspects of the brand.

Our technical services department have been chasing me for a more detailed response but I have been away on holiday unfortunately so I’m sorry for not getting back to you sooner.

If you can please bear with me for a few days I will come back to you with a more detailed response where I hope we can give you some re-assurance – we are genuine about our claims!

Kind regards
Michelle

At last, I think I’m being taken seriously.

KNAPSACK MAN

I first read William H Whyte’s book City: Rediscovering The Center about ten years ago. It was republished apparently in May, but despite pre-ordering it in April, my copy from Amazon only just arrived. I’ll probably write something more detailed about the book at some stage, but I thought this passage was worth quoting in full. It’s from a chapter on street people and the unusual characters Whyte observed in New York. It’s such a perfect, complete account. There’s a whole story here. It’s beautiful.

He was a handsome man who walked with a curious up-and-down loping gait. He wore a trenchcoat, no matter what the weather, and on his back was a knapsack. Fastened to it was a photograph of him and a card with a hand-lettered statement. It read:

ONLY MY FAMILY HAS THE RIGHT TO ASSAULT ME. IF YOU ARE NOT A MEMBER OF MY FAMILY PLEASE DO NOT HIT ME.

Passersby were fascinated by the sign and would fall in behind him, peering intently at the sign. But the up-and-down movement made the reading of it difficult. Sometimes there would be several people trying to read it and they would jostle each other for position. At street corners he would stop and then stand immobile with hands folded as if in prayer. The people who had been following him could now read the sign and soon would disperse.

The last time I saw Knapsack Man he still wore a trenchcoat but there was no knapsack or picture and he walked with a normal gait.

TOURIST, BORED

TRY JESUS

I found this postcard lying on the pavement the other day:

I picked it up and read it. “Yes,” I thought, “I am looking for good news”. It was almost as if this flyer was aimed specifically at me, although typing this now, I wonder how many people are likely to answer “no” to when asked if they’re looking for good news.

I like the sound of this Jesus Christ guy, though. His story is, apparently, in history’s most popular book, The Bible. At this stage, although I was interested in trying Jesus, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to commit financially, so I was pleased by the offer of free reading guides. I was especially pleased to see that it doesn’t matter who I am, and that my life would be changed forever. That is great news.

I turned the postcard over.

Disaster. There’s no return address.

1000s OF USES: PART 2 – A REPLY FROM BOSTIK

Following on from my earlier post, I sent an email to Bostik regarding their claim that Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. Actually, I didn’t email them, as I couldn’t find an email address on their website, so instead I filled out the form on their Contact Us page.

This was the message I wrote:

Hallo,
According to your packaging, Blu-Tack has “1000s of uses”. Having looked at your website, in particular the “Anything you can imagine” page, I have managed to piece together a list of thirty-nine individual uses for  Blu-Tack. You don’t need me to tell you this falls some way short of your bold claim. Please can you send me a list of at least 1,969 additional uses for Blu-Tack.

Thank you in anticipation,
James Ward

It was just a short message, I understand they must be busy people and so didn’t want to waste their time. They’ve got work to do, they have commitments. As I’m sure you know, adhesives and sealants are a very dynamic technological field. I didn’t want to distract them from their efforts designing adhesives and sealants capable of achieving increasingly higher performance, versatility, cost-effectiveness, and in building into their adhesives additional functional properties besides the mere ability to bond together two different substrates. We’re talking about Blu-Tack here, this is important work. They recently developed Blu-Tack which is actually yellow. I don’t want to stand in the way of innovations like this.

Today, I received a reply from Bostik:

Thank you for your Email regarding Bostik Blu-Tack® and thousands of uses.

We don’t have a list of all the uses of Bostik Blu-tack® as the list could be endless. Bostik Blu-tack® has been around now for over thirty years and we still receive letters from people about the product and other uses they have found for the product.

Kind regards
Technical Team

This is far from satisfactory.

What they are apparently suggesting is that far from only having “1000s of uses”, there is, in fact, potentially an infinite amount of uses for Blu-Tack. And yet, even after looking at their website, I have only been able to find 41 uses for Blu-Tack – since I sent the original email, I have added two to the list; stabilising pieces on a game board (thank you Alex S) and for use in the production of low-budget stop-motion films.

If, as they claim, they have over thirty years’ worth of letters from members of the public suggesting potential uses for Blu-Tack, why are they keeping this information private? Why aren’t they sharing it with everyone, so we can all benefit?

I’m considering submitting a Freedom of Information request so that this list is made public.

ESCAPE

It’s usually around this point each month, the last few days before I get paid, that I start to plan my escape.

When I say “plan my escape”, that’s perhaps overstating the level of sophistication these idle daydreams have, but I like the way the phrase sounds. Basically, these plans never really involve much more than taking advantage of the narrow window of opportunity between the moment my wages are paid into my bank account and the moment most of that money gets swallowed up by Direct Debits – mortgage, council tax, utility bills, credit card and loan payments. There’s only really a day or two to act, but for that brief period – my bank balance misleadingly high – I feel anything is possible.

Although of course, there’s not really all that much which is actually possible. Even before paying all my bills, I don’t earn an enormous amount of money, certainly not enough to start a new life with. To do that properly, I’d need a new name, a new passport, a new National Insurance number, a new bank account. To set all this up, I’d need money and contacts, I have neither. Failing that, I’d need ingenuity and cunning. I have even less of those.

This article in a recent issue of Wired shows the elaborate lengths people have gone to trying to disappear, and the even more elaborate ways in which they are often found. I don’t really see anyone I know hiring a private detective to hunt me down, and I don’t have a huge amount of faith in the efficiency of the police, but still, it’s obvious that we live in an age where almost everything we do leaves some sort of digital trace somewhere.

Obviously, the best thing to do would be to live off-grid. Cash only, no Oyster, no internet. But where? Staying in London has certain advantages; London is a big place, a man could lose himself in London, lose himself. But it’s also too easy to be found again in London. If the police were involved, there’s CCTV everywhere, and even if they don’t spot me, it would only be a matter of time before I ended up bumping into someone I know.

Australian businessman Harry Gordon, who faked his death in a boating accident in 2000, lived under a new identity for five years until the afternoon he passed his own brother on a mountain trail.

Also, my meagre funds would struggle to cope with London prices. Somewhere else. A city is good though. A big city. Anywhere small and I might stand out. I’d want somewhere big and crowded where no-one cares about anyone else. As well being impersonal enough to allow me to blend in, a big city would also provide entertainment. Having given up my job and spending most of my time on the streets, I would have a lot more spare time on my hands. I’d fill my days visiting museums, galleries and libraries.

I’d follow the example of Henry Shelby:

Shelby is extraordinarily fond of museums and galleries and has become something of an art expert. Vagrants are rarely molested in New York museums and galleries. Shelby is apt to smile and say this is because the guards can never distinguish between a legitimate bum and an artistic one. They never disturb a person like him because they never know when they are trying to eject an artist who is holding a one-man show on the third floor.

In fact, that article is full of excellent advice, much of it still relevant today. Using public transport as a place to sleep, for example, is something I have done many times before (never deliberately). Just need to have a valid ticket and look fairly presentable:

But for two reasons he places more importance on his personal appearance than he does on having a place to sleep. First, he is naturally a neat and tidy man to whom uncleanliness is distasteful. Second, good grooming is a safety factor in his existence. The police will always pick up an unkempt man and will generally walk right by a tidy man. A shower is not only a comfort, but a good investment.

The plans for the first few days are simple. On pay day, I take a day’s holiday – I don’t mention this to anyone else, and say to my girlfriend that I’m meeting some friends after work for a few drinks. This gives me until quite late in the evening before anyone even realises there’s anything wrong. I go to the bank and take out as much cash as possible, then buy a train ticket to some town or city somewhere with my credit card. I travel there, make a few purchases (again with my credit card) and spend the night. The next day, I take out any remaining cash. Pick a dummy destination, phone a few hotels and B&Bs there and buy a ticket with my credit card. Then I buy another ticket with cash to somewhere else. I switch off my phone and dump it. I get the train to this other town, then buy another ticket to yet another town, again with cash, and travel there. I repeat this a few times, until I’m comfortable my footsteps have faded, careful not to waste too much money on train tickets. Then I start my new life.

The exact details of my new life would need to be worked out once I arrive in whichever city I decide is most suitable. Once I know how much money I have, and how much is the minimum I need to spend each day. Once I’ve studied the public transport timetables and once I’ve learnt the opening hours of the public libraries, galleries and museums.

I get paid on Thursday. This blog might be quiet for a while.

BNP

1000s OF USES

OK, I can accept Bostick were the first to develop a re-usable adhesive. The Wikipedia page about Blu-Tack suggests that, as with 3M and Post-Its, Blu-Tack was invented by accident:

The substance was invented by Austin Carpenter in 1971 in England during development of an industrial adhesive by Bostik, he was prompted by his wife for a glue that could easily stick posters to walls and be removed again without leaving marks.

Laboratory Researcher Alan Holloway, working for sealant manufacturer Ralli Bondite of Waterlooville Hampshire, had in 1970 inadvertently produced a product that was useless as a sealant, but pliable and semi-elastic. This novelty product was demonstrated by Ralli Ralli “>Bondite management to visiting executives from another sealant and adhesive manufacturer, as a means of wall mounting notices. There was no need for secrecy about the formula, as it was of no use for a gun-grade mastic, the main product of Ralli Bondite. In the beginning the potential of this material was not fully recognized, until later when Bostik commenced research into the development of what they were eventually to launch as Blu-Tack. In its conceptual stage the product was white, but was colored blue in response to concerns received from marketing research regarding the possibility of children mistaking it for edible confectionery.

It’s clean, and the clever addition of blue colouring makes it safer for children looking for a snack. Unlike other, cheaper, adhesive putties, it is quite good at not drying out. I can accept all of that. But I struggle to believe there are thousands of uses for Blu-Tack. I can think of maybe four. Sticking pictures to the wall; preventing an ornament from sliding off a shelf; forming a sort of protective cushion for when you make a hole in a piece of cardboard with the point of a pencil; sculpture.

The back of the pack gives a short list of potential uses:

Clean, safe and easy to use, Blu-Tack provides an ideal alternative to drawing pins and sticky tapes with hundreds of uses around the home, office or school environment.

Blu-Tack holds up: Posters, cards, paintings, decorations, maps, messages and much more

Blu-Tack holds down: Ornaments, telephones, photographs in albums, screws to screwdrivers, model parts during construction or painting

Blu-Tack: Cleans fluff from fabric and dirt from keyboards.

At first I was worried that the switch from “thousands” to “hundreds” on the back of the pack was a sign that Bostik had realised their original claim was foolhardy and unrealistic. Although I don’t believe this to be the case any more. All it means is that in each of the three environments mentioned (home, school and office), there are hundreds of uses, but the total number of uses is still at least two thousand. It also implies that the upper limit of uses is somewhere around three thousand (although this would only be the case if the number of uses was evenly distributed between the three environments. I don’t believe this is realistic. I imagine the distribution would be weighted more towards the home. We can at least say that no individual environment has fewer than two hundred potential uses for Blu-Tack).

Another question this brief blurb raises is how exactly do you define an individual use? Bostik seem to be under the impression that “holding up posters” counts as one use, “holding up cards” as another and “holding up paintings” as a third. As I see it, however, these are all different examples of the same use. In fact, all the examples given in the “Blu-Tack holds up” list are all just variations of the same thing (with the one exception of holding up decorations). So far, Bostik have given two examples of potential uses, one of which I had already thought of.

Their “holds down” list is slightly better. Ornaments I had already mentioned, but the others are all new (although I would question whether Blu-Tack really is suitable for use in a photo album). Again however, holding down model parts during construction and during painting really only counts as one use. Using Blu-Tack to remove fluff and clean keyboards are also new ideas.

Total number of uses (including my original list): 11
Number of uses still required to validate Bostik’s claim: 1,989 (minimum)

The wrapper protecting the slab inside the pack also lists some possible uses:

Hold down pots (illustration is of a sort of desk tidy thing, I suppose that counts as a new possible use); fix signs to windows and doors (already mentioned, location of signs is irrelevant); hold keys secure (OK, fair enough); make models (mentioned already); stick cards up with it (mentioned already); clean the keys on your keyboard (again, mentioned already); remove lint from clothes (mentioned already); stick up decorations (also already mentioned). From this list, there are two new uses.

Total number of uses (including my original list): 13
Number of uses still required to validate Bostik’s claim: 1,987 (minimum)

The Blu-Tack website has a section listing possible uses for Blu-Tack:

Use it like a sensible person or roll it into a ball and stick it on the ceiling: there are as many uses for Blu-Tack as there are fish in a big place with fish in it – or sea, as some call it. Be practical, creative or bizarre and Blu-Tack is there at your side; the faithful friend, handy handyman or caring therapist.

Christ.

Rather worryingly, they seem to be asking visitors to the website to send in suggestions, which makes me wonder if perhaps Bostik haven’t yet produced a comprehensive list of their own. They’ve broken down the list of uses into different categories (practical, creative and bizarre), apparently now having abandoned the environment (home, office and school) system they mention on their packaging. Also, some of the inclusions on the list aren’t suggested uses at all, they seem to also include general queries or comments about the product.

There are thirty six suggested uses included on the website. However, some of these need to be discounted as they have already been included on the list (preventing ornaments from slipping, holding model parts during construction and painting, holding up cards, sculpture, cleaning the keys on a keyboard, sticking up notes) and two uses are included in the list twice (securing a sat-nav to a dashboard and fixing a picture which won’t hang straight).

The other uses are:

- Car claying
- Removing bits of Blu-Tack from a wall [a slightly circular logic at work here but I'll let it pass]
- Recharging an Aspergic seven-year old
- Fixing a loose hinge on a drawer
- Drawing clouds
- Picking up spilled beads
- Fixing the bridge part of a pair of glasses
- Targets for an indoor shooting range
- Immobilising insect legs
- Replacing lost lids on tubes of paint
- Holding down hats for bald people
- Stopping a door from banging loudly
- Preventing the vibration buzz of a speaker stand
- Removing sticky labels
- Marking positions on maps
- Rubbing out pencil marks
- Opening black bags
- Holding the pages of a desk calendar
- Earplugs
- Sealing low pressure water leaks
- Dampening a drum
- Making jewellery
- Holding a candle in place on a candlestick
- Nose guard

Total number of uses (including my original list): 39
Number of uses still required to validate Bostik’s claim: 1,961 (minimum)

I shall email Bostik and request a list of at least 1,961 additional uses for Blu-Tack. If I don’t hear back from them, god knows there’ll be trouble.

PHOTOGRAPH

Whenever I go back to Ward HQ, which is fairly often to be honest (birthdays, bank holidays, anniversaries, Easter, Christmas and any other excuse Mumward can think of), I usually at some point sneak up to my old bedroom and spend a few minutes going through my bookshelves, slipping a few paperbacks into my bag to take home with me. It’s a slow process, but I am gradually transporting my entire library from Worcester Park to my flat, two or three books at a time.

Those quiet moments, upstairs on my own, form a peaceful respite away from the rest of my family. Standing there, reviewing all these books, it’s almost like I’m buying them again for the first time – my bedroom suddenly becoming an extension of the Notting Hill Book Exchange, or Any Amount Of Books on Charing Cross Road. This time round though, each book has a perculiar link – at one time, I found each of these books interesting. Something about each and every one of these books caught my eye; something made me pick it up, walk over to the counter and pay for it (I am, for the sake of romantic simplicity, overlooking those books I obtained for free – either as gifts, or through stealing). With some, it’s obvious why I bought a particular book; with others, it’s a complete mystery. Sometimes it was connected to a brief obession of mine, inexplicable once passed; sometimes it would be something longer lasting. I rediscover myself by rediscovering these books.

Possibily equally revealing is the question of why I should pick a particular book to take home with me now. Why do I feel the need to revisit that moment of my past rather than any other? Usually it’s a sign that a previous obsession has returned. Shortly after writing about my dream of a holiday from everything, I came home with a copy of Altered States and The Mind Benders. Last time I went back to Ward HQ, it was just after I heard that Keith Waterhouse had died.

This photo was inside the copy of Billy Liar I brought home that day. I guess I must have been using it as a bookmark last time I read it.

Yes – that is me driving.

I’d like to think that the fact that I’ve decided to adopt a left-hand drive position in my bright red car is a sign of my innate cosmopolitanism. In truth, it probably wasn’t due to my youthful Europhilia, but simply because, as a child, cars never played a particularly important role in my life. Dadward was always a reluctant (and not particularly good) driver. We would walk. If somewhere was too far to walk, someone else would drive. If no-one else would drive, we wouldn’t go.

As I look at the picture, I can’t help but feel that it doesn’t really look like I’m having fun. I’m taking it all very seriously. I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but it definitely isn’t whoever is taking the photo (I assume it’s my mum, I’m avoiding her eye as she crouches with her camera). I have no idea what those two yellow fins in the bottom of the picture are part of, but I suspect I’m jealous of whoever got to sit in it. I’m stuck in this shitty red car.

The fact I appear in the picture allows me to date it quite accurately. I must be abouut five yyears old there. I was born in April 1981. That means this photo was taken in the summer of 1986. 1986! Seven years into the Thatcher government. A year after Live Aid. It was the mid-eighties. But look at those people in the background – that’s not how the mid-eighties have been sold to me. This is supposed to be a time of teenagers in high-waisted trousers driving sports cars; primary colours or moody black and white; textured, volumised hair and mobile phones.

There’s only one person in that photo who appears to acknowledge which decade it is, and she is obscured by the man in the blue suit. Everyone else seems to think it’s the tail-end of the 1970s. I mean, just look at that guy in the burgandy shirt and grey shorts behind me. Who does he think he’s kidding? Surely he should be wearing a linen suit (with the sleeves rolled up) over a pastel T-shirt and a pair of espadrilles (without socks).

Have I been lied to?

HOW I FOUND FALCO: PART 5 – THE SOUND OF MUSIK

This is the last in a five-part series of posts about how I discovered Falco. The first part is here, the second part is here, the third part is here and the fourth part is here.

OK, so despite knowing that any reasons I give to explain why I like Falco are likely to be false, I’ve now reached a point where I have to explain why I like Falco. This could be a bit difficult.

Further complicating factors: I don’t speak German, so my understanding of what any of the songs are actually about is limited, and even if I did understand the lyrics, I don’t really have any idea of the social, cultural or political environment which inspired them.

When, in 1985, [Eno] and John Cage were talking about their shared distaste for music that comes too heavily laden with intentions, Eno added, “I have the same feeling about lyrics. I just don’t want to hear them most of the time. They always impose something that is so unmysterious compared to the sound of the music [that] they debase the music for me, in most cases.” ¹

Not understanding the lyrics doesn’t have to be a problem and could actually be a benefit. I usually listen to music at work, or on the tube while reading a book. I don’t really want any words entering my brain and distracting me, but I like the sound of human voices. Listening to lyrics in a language I don’t understand seems like a good compromise.

Certainly Falco’s debut single Ganz Wien loses some of its menace when re-recorded in English (although admittedly, the English version isn’t actually a direct translation). Written whilst Falco was in awful, self-indulgent, hairy drugrock outfit Drahdiwaberl; Ganz Wien quickly became a highpoint of the band’s set, and Falco got signed up (I think Drahdiwaberl also signed to the same label, but without Falco). However, in order to get any radio play, he was forced to not only to change the words but also to sing them in a different language after there was an outcry over the original lyrics. Even without knowing any German, it’s obvious he’s saying Vienna is on heroin and “coca-ine” and basically suggesting it’s not a very nice place to live – this theme would be continued throughout Falco’s first album, Einzelhaft:

Listening to the album, it’s quite obvious that Einzelhaft was inspired by Bowie’s Berlin trilogy (Falco, such a Bowie fan, specifically moved to Berlin to “follow the tracks” left by his hero). The first side of Low is the biggest general reference point (bits of Speed Of Life and Breaking Glass seem to appear throughout the album), but the most explicit “I ♥ Bowie” statement must be Helden Von Heute, a hugely effective pastiche of “Heroes” which makes no effort to disguise its source of inspiration (the name of the song translates as “Heroes Of Today”). But what stops Einzelhaft from just being a Bowie tribute is illustrated by the song which was released as a double A-side alongside Helden Von Heute:

Borrowing a riff from Rick James, and influenced by Kurtis Blows and Grandmaster Flash, Der Kommissar was originally intended for Reinhold Bilgeri who felt it was “too soft”. Writer/producer Robert Ponger took it to Falco, they reworked it and it became number one throughout Europe.

The surprise success of Der Kommissar introduces the tragic irony at the heart of the Falco story. Falco was intimidated by the success of the record, by the pressure to follow it up with another hit. It paralysed him. There’s a scene the Falco biopic, Verdammt, wir leben noch!, where Falco explains his situation:

Everything that I record now will be compared to Kommissar’s success. Do you know what that means? A blank piece of paper is supposed to become a worldwide smash hit.

This scene might never have actually taken place of course, but it shows the thing Falco feared most. He feared becoming a one-hit wonder.

Unfortunately, Falco’s second album failed to capture the same level of success as his debut, despite it being probably the best record he ever made. Confident, sophisticated, slick European disco, filled with taught strings, funky basslines and excited brass. It also has a fantastic cover:

The Bowie influence is still there, but it’s a different Bowie. The Young Americans Bowie, maybe a bit of the Let’s Dance Bowie. The way he warbles “Never stop this old erosion, FANTASTIC VOY-AAAAAAGE!” at the end is a particular highlight:

To promote the album, Falco travelled to America to make a fifty minute long-form video, which has to rank alongside ABC’s Mantrap as one of the greatest pop follies of all time (I could be really nerdy here and point out how certain motifs in the film would appear in later videos, but I’ve already written more than eight hundred words, so I won’t right now).

After the relative commercial failure of Junge Roemer, Falco parted from producer Robert Ponger to work with Bolland & Bolland. A pair of brothers from Holland, Bolland & Bolland had released a couple of singles of their own (including In The Army Now, later covered by Status Quo) before setting up a studio in the middle of the Dutch countryside. It was a collaboration which would at least guarantee that Falco wouldn’t have to worry about any more of his records being compared to the success of Der Kommissar.

Again, success came as a surprise. The two other singles released from Falco’s third album – Vienna Calling and Jeanny – while not reaching the incredible success of Rock Me Amadeus, performed well (Jeanny, which tells the story of the abduction and possible murder of a young girl, saw a boost in sales when the German Mike Read had it banned from the radio), but these songs had been written and recorded before global success. In fact, they’d been recorded at a time when Falco wasn’t really doing very well, as a sort of final roll of the dice. Falco’s next album would be the one which would be written and recorded by Falco, the international pop sensation.

The title track from Emotional is very clearly aimed at the American market, and suffers for that fact, but the rest of the album shows that Falco just can’t do it. He can’t just be a normal, sensible popstar. And so the rest of the album, instead of being a dozen versions of the title track (which I’m sure is what the record label were hoping for) bounces around all over the place. There’s an uneasy near-resolution to the story of Jeanny (“I would give anything to see Jeanny again – coming home”); an overwrought tribute to war photographer Robert Capa (“They know! Life is WHITE LIGHT! Slightly out of FOCUUUUUUUUUSSSSSS!”) and an insane, rambling, seven and a half minute fantasy about Kathleen Turner which starts out with Falco on a train to Brazil, mutates into a bit of mid-80s funk, then turns into a gospel chant, after which Falco solemnly tells Kathleen Turner “I’m just talking about, not the first kiss of my life, I’m talking about… our planet!” and finally the whole thing ends with a sort of military marching band thing.

There’s also this:

That’s got to be one of the greatest opening moments in pop video history. It’s fucking brilliant. The video also features something else I love about Falco: excellent finger work, possibly rivalled only by Jarvis. Fans of the anachronistic Napoleonic wear/sunglasses combo Falco wears at the beginning of The Sound Of Musik video will pleased to know it reappears in the video for Wiener Blut.

The last album Falco made with Bolland & Bolland shows Falco at his insane best.

Full of Fonz-like cries of “Ey!”, rrrrrrrrrrolled rrrrrrrrrrs (“Hit! Them! With yourrrr rrrrrrrrrrrhythm stick!”) and deranged yelps, Dance Mephisto is an exhilarating, slightly terrifying three and a half minutes of lunacy. Another song is about the sinking of the Titanic (in interviews, oddly, it seems like he identified with the ship):

“De! Ca! Dence! For! You! And! Me! DECADENCE!” I love the pointless over-exuberance of that video, it’s so needlessly over-the-top, so unnecessary. Never once did anyone say “OK, that’s enough now”. Just more nonsense poured on top of nonsense. This is what I love about Falco. Forget all that other stuff I’ve written. It’s this. This excess. There’s a scene early on in Verdammt, wir leben noch! where Falco visits a brothel with his friend Billy. Billy tells him that the most beautiful girls in Vienna can be found here. Falco asks if it’s expensive. “Depends what you want” replies Billy. “Everything, Billy, always,” Falco answers. “You know me. Always everything.”

“Always everything”. That’s what pop music should be, surely? And while the rest of the time, in the rest of my life, I might choose nothingness over somethingness, Falco represents a form of everythingness. Always everythingness.

——————-
¹ Eric Tamm, Brian Eno: His Music and the Vertical Color of Sound, 1995, p81

LIGHT SWITCH

During my lunch break at work yesterday, I made a light switch using a piece of A4 paper, some sellotape, a pair of scissors and a pencil.

HOW I FOUND FALCO: PART 4 – NO ANSWER

This is the fourth in a five-part series of posts about how I discovered Falco. The first part is here, the second part is here, the third part is here and the final part is here.

As Now We’ve Got Europe slipped into a state of dormancy, I was relieved of the pressure of having to listen to a variety of music. Variety has never been something I’ve been a hugely comfortable with, and so this new-found independence was deeply satisfying.

While for most people, a 1GB MP3 player would seem horrendously restrictive, for me it is more than adequate, being capable of holding all nine Falco studio albums with room to spare (the extra space I filled with Amanda Lear and Yello). Armed with this puny, stone-age MP3 player, I’ve spent most of the last year listening to Falco:

(My puny MP3 player appears to have had some sort of nervous breakdown recently, and so is currently out of action. I might buy a new one soon.)

But, what was it exactly that I was listening too? Or rather, what was it exactly that I was hearing?

The honest answer is that I don’t know.

While this may seem like a cop-out, I think it’s actually a lot closer to the reality of aesthetic experience than most people are willing to admit. The conventional (flattering, but fundamentally dishonest) view of aesthetic experience is that we see a piece of art (or listen to a record, or watch a film, or read a novel) and we consider what it means (what it represents, what it is saying, how it has been crafted) and we evaluate it (rationally) according to a (fixed) set of aesthetic criteria and then decide whether or not we like it. This is the basis of the review culture and awards infrastructure; where experts in each field are employed specifically to interpret and evaluate works of art, their opinions given credibility because of their ability to fit each piece within a historical framework.

I think that actually, something approaching the reverse is true. That the process works more or less in the opposite direction. That, almost instinctively, we decide whether or not we like something and then hold that decision up to our rational brain in search of some sort of satisfactory explanation. When the decision corresponds with an easily available explanation, we are happy and convincingly convince ourselves that we either like (or dislike) whatever it is for the reason (or reasons) we have selected. However, on those occasions where there is no readily available explanation, we experience discomfort and have to grasp for something else instead (like “it’s so bad, it’s good”).

Malcolm Gladwell talks about this idea here, arguing that when people are forced to explain their decisions, not only do they give explanations which are false, but it can even change the decision they are likely to make. He describes an experiment by Tim Wilson, where a group of students were shown two different posters. Half the students were told to pick a poster they wanted and were then allowed to take that poster home with them. The other half were told to pick a poster, explain why they chose it, and then take it home with them. A while later, Wilson phoned the students and asked if they still liked the poster they’d chosen. The ones who didn’t have to give an explanation tended to be happy with their choice, while the other group regretted chosing the poster they did:

Now, there’s a wonderful little detail in this – that there were two kinds of posters in the room. There were Impressionist prints and then there were these photos of, you know, a kitten hanging by bars that says “Hang in there baby”. And the students who were asked to explain their preference overwhelmingly chose the kitten. And the ones who weren’t asked to explain overwhelmingly chose the Impressionist poster, and they were happy with their choice, obviously. But who could be happy with a kitten on their wall after three months?

Why when you ask someone to explain their preference do they gravitate toward the least sophisticated of the offerings? Because it’s a language problem. You’re someone, you know in your heart that you prefer the Impressionists but now you have to come up with a reason for your choice, and you really don’t have the language to say why you like the Impressionist poster. What you do have the language for is to say, “Well, I like the kitten because I had a kitten when I was growing up” and so forcing you to explain something when you don’t necessarily have the vocabulary and the tools to explain your preference automatically shifts you toward the most conservative and the least sophisticated choice.

[...]

What it really means is that there is a class of products that are difficult for people to interpret. Some things are ugly and when we say that they’re ugly, they really are ugly and we’re always going to think they’re ugly. They’re never going to be beautiful. But there’s another class of products which we see and we don’t really know what we think, they challenge us, we don’t know how to describe them, and we end up, if we’re forced to explain ourselves, in calling them ugly because we can’t think of a better way to describe our feelings. And the real problem with asking people what they think about something is that we don’t have a good way to distinguish between these two states. We don’t have a good way of distinguishing between the thing that really is ugly and the thing that is radical and challenging and simply new and unusual.

And so, “so bad, it’s good”.

If I had to explain why I thought The Beatles were the greatest band of all time, which I’d never be asked to do (because it’s taken for granted and also because I don’t believe it) I’d know what to say. I could use phrases like “perfect songwriting partnership” and “reinvented rock and roll” and “created the blueprint for today’s pop groups”, and I could pretend they’ve always been as untouchable and well loved and respected as they are today. I could, if I had to, also make the argument that The Smiths were the greatest British band of all time (I wouldn’t believe a word I was saying, but at least I’d know the words). I could list their range of influences, locate them in history, discuss the magnificence of Morrissey’s asexuality and the complexity of his lyrics. If I didn’t want to believe (as I don’t) that Morrissey was the greatest British pop star of all time, I could argue it was David Bowie, this, at least, I genuinely do believe (as did Falco). But even if I do believe it, these words wouldn’t be my own. It’d all just be stories I’d learnt. Lines from a script.

I need to write my own script.

SOCKET

LIGHT SWITCH

REGULAR COMMODITIES

I can’t help but feel that this paragraph from a biography about Anthony Perkins goes into unnecessary detail:

William remembers that Tony [Perkins] wildly enjoyed the passive role in sex, and said he had trained himself to accomodate any partner -first by using his own fingers, then the handle of his handgrip exerciser, then a small candle, and finally a larger one (candles and hand lotion were regular commodities in [Tony]’s room). According to William, Tony always came profusely. But as his public visibility increased and his career continued to bloom, “Tony struggled to overcome his desire for anal sex. He lost himself so fully in it that it may have been frightening, and he wanted to change that”.¹

———————–
¹ Charles Winecoff, Split Image – The Life of Anthony Perkins, 1996, p94

HOW I FOUND FALCO: PART 3 – VERDAMMT WIR LEBEN NOCH

This is the third part in a series of posts about how I discovered Falco. The first part is here, the second part is here, the fourth part is here and the last part is here.

Realising that perhaps no-one (including, at this stage, myself) would be interested in a club night dedicated solely to Falco, my attention was still divided as I plunged into the Neue Deutsche Welle scene, searching for some sort additional context in which to place Falco’s music. And while I discovered some fantastic stuff (Die Doraus und Die Marinas, Frl. Menke, Markus and DÖF), nothing really stood out.

I downloaded the entire Falco discography (I’ve since bought them all, so no need to worry, legal people). And started listening to them, though with an ear to finding tracks which would work, or at least be tolerated, in a club.

On the night of the club, security was tight. We were expecting tens of people, possibly (we hoped) some people we didn’t even know.

In one corner, we set up a little tribute to Falco. A framed photo and candles.

We also had a memorial book, where people could write their own personal messages expressing their sadness over the tragedy of Falco’s untimely death. This, I thought, might be a bit of a risk. A memorial book in a bar where people have been drinking all night. It will either go missing, or the pens will go missing (I came prepared with three or four Staedtler Stick 430M ballpoints), or people will just draw three-line cocks all over every page. Amazingly, this didn’t happen. Everyone was very well behaved. The book stayed in its corner. I didn’t even have to replace the pen once. And not a single cock was drawn in the book.

I wrote this:

Some of the messages people wrote were heartfelt:

Some were quite elaborate:

Some people didn’t really know who Falco was:

And some people took the piss:

MERCHANDISE MERCHANDISE MERCHANDISE

Following on from the success of my shoe mug, I have decided it deserves its own range of merchandise.

SHOE MUG T-SHIRT

I WILL STOP NOW.

MERCHANDISE MERCHANDISE

The most popular item of merchandise in my new range appears to be the shoes. In fact, it has been so popular, that a new spin-off item has been designed.

SHOE MUG

MERCHANDISE

I thought it was about time I launched my own range of merchandise. Email me for details how to order.

T-SHIRT (available sizes S-XL)

MUG

SHOES (available sizes 34 – 46)

DOGGY TEE

BABYGRO

HOW I FOUND FALCO: PART 2 – EUROPA

This is the second part in a series of posts about how I discovered Falco. The first part is here, the third part is here, the fourth part is here and the last part is here.

The compilation CD I’d bought, it turns out, wasn’t really a great introduction to Falco’s work. It was a slightly odd selection of songs. A mix of singles and album tracks, taken only from the first three albums. A CD compiled not through any appreciation of Falco’s music, but apparently as a product of licensing agreements and contractual loopholes. The cheap looking sleeve should have been a warning, but at this point I was too ignorant to notice details like that.

Around this time (I think it must have been about five years ago), my taste in music had been gradually moving away from the Hi-NRG disco I’d been listening to for a few years and I was becoming more interested in the music of Europe. An idea was slowly forming in my head. I realised that I’d been short changed by the version of pop history I’d been taught at school. The version of history which goes from the birth of rock and roll through the British Invasion to the experimentation of the last years of the Beatles into hippy, then follows Marc Bolan into glam where it gets made self-aware by Bowie and Roxy, eventually becoming bloated and over-elaborate, being energised by punk, stylised by the New Romantics, before growing too big, stadium-sized, irrelevant, only to rescued by the dance scene etc. It’s a well rehearsed history, which forms a simple narrative, but excludes anything which doesn’t fit.

Unfortunately, everything outside of Britain or the US fails to make the cut in this version of history. It’s a shame, because interesting things were happening everywhere, in countries less chauvinistic than our own. As I soon discovered, the fact is that punk happened everywhere. Disco happened everywhere. There were New Romantics everywhere. The eighties happened everywhere, it just didn’t happen at the same time.

Stumbling across this huge hidden history of pop, it seemed a shame not to let other people know about it. So, Now We’ve Got Europe was launched (the club is currently dormant).

The great thing about launching the club was discovering so much new (and old) music. The trouble was that discovering so much new (and old) music at the same time, meant I couldn’t really listen to anything in great depth, so Falco struggled for my attention, alongside Fancy, Amanda Lear, Elli et Jacno, Matia Bazar, Lio, Ivan Cattaneo, Alaska y los Pegamoides and dozens of others.

Last February marked the tenth anniversary of the death of Falco. The club fell on a night just a few days from the anniversary date, so we decided to dedicate the night to his memory. It was then, preparing for that night, that I really listened to Falco for the first time.

HOW I FOUND FALCO: PART 1 – OUT OF THE DARK

This is the first part in a series of posts about how I discovered Falco. The second part is here, the third part is here, the fourth part is here and the last part is here.

The guy was dead as hell.

I think it was the Geranium Shop in Worcester Park where I found it. I’d been flicking through the secondhand paperbacks, as I often would on a Saturday afternoon. Among the usual rubbish, I spotted a book called “Vengeance Is Mine” by Mickey Spillane. I thought the cover looked great and the inner blurb sounded brilliant:

I’m Mike Hammer. I’m a – well, let’s say a private eye, working here in N.Y. – and my friend Chester Wheeler is in his hotel room, dead, with my gun in his hand. It looked like a straightforward suicide case to everyone but me. And when I found out the kind of women Chester had been going around with; and when some thugs tried to persuade me to lose interest in the case, I knew I was on to something corrupt. I decided I’d better get to the bottom of it – before anyone else found himself booked for eternity in six feet of earth.

I turned to the first page and read the opening line. “The guy was dead as hell.” Amazing. Another line caught my eye as I flicked through the yellowed pages:

On some people, legs are just to reach the ground. On Velda, they were a hell of a distraction.

As I paid my 50p to the elderly lady in the shop, I felt pleased with myself. Here was a prime piece of kitsch post-war Americana I had in my hands. Firmly in the territory of “so bad it’s good” (it would still be several years until I realised this concept of “so bad it’s good” is a myth). I read the book in a single sitting and wanted more. I searched on eBay and Amazon and went up and down Charing Cross Road until pretty soon I had a bookshelf full of his writing. I read them in the haphazard order I got my hands on them. Then read them again in the order they were originally published. Then some of them I just read again because I wanted to.

There was a power to Spillane’s words, a confidence. Reading them in the early years of the 21st century, in the Wimbledon branch of Costa Coffee during my lunch break from working in Virgin Megastore, I immediately forgot any ironic pretensions I had. The conspicuously 1950s stylistic flourishes which at first attracted me soon began to fade into insignificance. Spillane’s depiction of Hammer’s relationship to the city of New York, in particular, was fascinating (and only revealed itself to me after repeated readings).

These books weren’t so bad they were good. They weren’t bad at all. They were good. It’s just they good in a way which wasn’t obvious at first glance.

And so it was with Falco.

And again, it started in a charity shop in Worcester Park.

My girlfriend, having the advantage of not being born in this country, has always been familiar with Falco’s music. Unfortunately, in Britain (if he is known at all) he’s known only for Rock Me Amadeus. And this would be the 12″ single I bought from the British Heart Foundation shop on that day, maybe five years ago.

Like my Spillane purchase, I bought this because I mistakenly thought Falco was so bad he was good. A one hit wonder. A novelty song. This, I would later realise, is possibly the least interesting thing you could say about Falco.

That could have been that – my relationship with Falco could have ended there, before it had ever really begun – but then I found a copy of this compilation CD in a record shop, and (with the encouragement of my girlfriend, who had always preferred Vienna Calling to Rock Me Amadeus) decided to buy it.

TOPICAL COMEDY

I might possibly have over-reacted a bit last night, seeing Andy Parsons making a joke about how Gordon Brown opens his mouth at the end of every sentence. That’s not to say I think I was wrong exactly in reacting in that way, just that I shouldn’t have been surprised.

This is what I wrote on another bit of the internet when I watched another episode about six weeks ago. I’d just seen the round where Dara O’Brien reads out a number or statistic and the contestants have to identify which news story it relates to:

The number was “one million” and Frankie Boyle said something like “What number do you get if you take all the people in Scotland who care about cricket and add one million?” and everyone laughed and someone said something and everyone laughed and then someone else said something else and everyone laughed again and then someone, possibly Andy Parsons, said “Out of the royalties from ‘They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab’, how much money has Amy Winehouse spent on rehab?” and even though that’s not the name of the song, everyone still laughed. Then Russell Howard said “By what percentage would the situation in Afghanistan improve if the US handed George Bush over to the Taliban” and again everyone laughed.

Eventually, the answer was revealed and “one million” referred to the amount of money that the News Of The World has paid out so far to stop details of the phone tapping scandal emerging, and suddenly, I was shocked. I suddenly realised that this was a new series. This is a recent story. This episode was filmed in the last two weeks or so.

So then I thought “Hold on, they just did a joke about Amy Winehouse going to rehab. And Russell Howard did a joke about handing George Bush over to the Taliban. So, was Russell Howard suggesting that there still, in July 2009, remains so much residual hatred of George Bush that if the US handed him over, that would assuage their feelings of hostility and the situation would instantly improve? That all of that anger is purely focused on George Bush as an individual and not on the US in general? And that was the point Russell Howard was making? That’s quite a complex idea to try to get over in a one liner, and I’m not sure it’s really true either. But what else could he have meant?”

Surely it couldn’t be the case that Russell Howard, as a professional comedian and regular panellist on a topical news quiz had simply reached for a lazy, safe punchline and blurted it out, not caring whether or not it made sense. This is a man who sells out Wembley.

Anyway, as I was thinking all this, they all carried on talking about the News Of The World phone tapping scandal and whether or not the scandal had a name yet – you know, like “Watergate” and “Sachsgate” – and someone suggested “Stargate” and then Hugh Dennis said “They should have called the story about Jacqui Smith’s husband ‘Masturgate’” and then I turned the TV off in disgust.

They weren’t even talking about Jacqui Smith, Hugh Dennis just thought that “Masturgate” was so funny, it was worth mentioning, even though the programme was broadcast in July 2009 and the story originally broke several months earlier. Hugh Dennis is actually a regular on two topical comedy shows on the BBC, so he should have had plenty of opportunity to mention the joke at the time. His other show, Radio 4’s The Now Show was on its 27th series in March and April this year. He could have mentioned it then. Of course, had he done so, it would have only reached a smaller audience, but does Hugh Dennis really believe that “masturgate” is such a funny joke that it’s worth storing up for four months so it can reach the audience he thinks it deserves? It’s the sort of joke that if it had been made at the time on Twitter, it might have been retweeted by a couple of people. It is not a masterpiece.

I’m guessing the reason Hugh Dennis wasn’t able to make his “masturgate” joke on The Now Show in March or April is that in March and April, he was busy making jokes about things which had happened three or four months earlier. This would explain why in August this year, they were still making jokes about MPs’ expenses and “duck houses”. As we can see from this Google Trends graph, the phrase “duck house” peaked in May 2009, just after Sir Peter Viggers’ expenses claim was made public:

Looking in more detail, we can see that mentioning “duck houses” would have been funniest between the 20th and the 23rd of May 2009:

If we allow for recording dates and deadlines, we can extend this to the end of May. After that “duck house” does not have enough search volume to show laughs.

The Now Show isn’t on at the moment. The slot has been filled with I Guess That’s Why They Call It The News. This series has taken a dramatic approach to avoid the problem of contestants making outdated jokes on an otherwise topical programme, by apparently asking all the contestants to avoid making any jokes whatsoever. Instead, contestants simply speak in full sentences, and occasionally the audience laughs out of a sense of courtesy.

On Mock The Week last night, Russell Howard did a joke about John Smeaton. The joke was so out of date, Howard couldn’t even remember Smeaton’s name.

SITCOM

Episode One – Mr Lowery makes a big sale. Later, Marion feels unwell – but is that the only reason she asks for the rest of the afternoon off?

Episode Two – Marion seems to regret her impulsive decision, but will she regret choosing staying at the sleepy Bates Motel even more? Meanwhile, Norman struggles to live up to his mother’s expectations.

Episode Three – When Marion doesn’t turn up for work on Monday, Mr Lowery wants some answers. He’s not the only one – Mr Cassidy wants to know where his money is and asks Arbogast to investigate.

Episode Four – Marion’s boyfriend Sam, and her sister, Lila, start to get worried when Arbogast doesn’t get in touch. They think Norman’s mother is involved, but Deputy Sheriff Chambers assures them she can’t be…

Episode Five – Norman has some explaining to do to Sam, while Lila goes to speak to his mother.

Episode Six – Sam and Lila are shocked to discover just how close Norman and his mother really are.

PLANE

PICTURE OF ELDERLY PERSON DRINKING OUT OF PAPER CUP

A list of search terms used by people who have ended up on this blog:

dishwasher dogs adverts
donald o hebb sensory deprivation experiment
i like boring things… line from up
wicked zinger tower meal
currys dishwasher advert poster
currys advert dishwasher
dishwashers advert
i like boring things james
desmond morris status sex
currys dishwasher advert
kfc zinger burger go large
square colouring
currys dishwasher advert
currys dishwasher
i’m a boring man with a lot of boring things to say
currys urgently need a dishwasher
my life in pens i like boring things
good sensory deprivation headphones
currys need a dishwasher advert
rob gannon kingston, on pepsi
i like boring things
buy staedtler stick 430 m gt britain
currys next day delivery advert
currys advert urgently need a new dishwasher
currys dishwasher advert
i like boring things
kfc zinger burger box meal
urgently in need of a dishwasher currys
does the 69 bus go to leyton mills
currys dog poster advert
how much is a zinger tower meal from kfc
desmond morris masturbation
boring things
zinger burger contents
“boring things”
currys dishwasher poster
home made sensory deprivation
currys advert dog licking plate
kfc zinger meal add
inside the black box sensory deprivation
advert currys dog licking plate
“need a dishwasher” currys advert dog
urgently need a dishwasher currys
“bic cristal”
need new dishwasher advert dog licking plate
colouring in competitions august 2009
zinger burger describe
panic sensory deprivation
status and superstatus by desmond morris
urgently need a dishwasher currys ad
“worcester park”
i like boring things
currys need a dishwasher urgently dog
kfc wicked zinger box meal
zinger tower wicked meal
worcester.park
latest currys advert urgently need a dishwasher
blogs on kfc zinger burger
urgently need a dishwasher delivery
“pret a manger”
currys “need a dishwasher”
picture of elderly person drinking out of paper cup
bent nib
desmond morris+on aggression

I think it’s safe to say that every single one of these people was disappointed.

MY LIFE IN PENS: PART 3 – PENS OF TODAY

This is the final part in a three-part pen-based autobiography. Part 1 is here and Part 2 is here.

Inevitably, the previous entries involved a certain amount of simplification. Details were smoothed out. Some pens completely overlooked. Shameful, I know, but I had to make some sacrifices for the sake of narrative clarity. I hope you can forgive me. This part of my pen-based autobiography, concentrating on my life today, will be more detailed. Rather than taking a chronological approach, I will describe the four pens I currently use in terms of function.




Pen: Staedtler Stick 430M
Ink colour: black
Comments: My current day-to-day pen, as mentioned at the end of My Life In Pens – Part 2. Whilst I am a big fan of this pen, I don’t feel quite as strongly about it as Laura, who in response to my previous entry, wrote:

I am 32 and it is all aspire to in life, pen-wise. I love it and have been known to raid shops when I thought there was a shortage.

It is actually surprisingly difficult to find places which sell this pen. I’m not suggesting it’s impossible to find somewhere which sells this pen, but it’s slightly more difficult than you might imagine. While Laura is convinced the Staedtler Stick 430M is the only pen she’ll ever need, for me, there are other pens more suited to particular applications. Still, I do really like this pen.




Pen: Bic Atlantis Stic
Ink colour: black
Comments: This is the pen I use for signing greeting cards or letters. The 1.2mm tip produces a 0.8mm line, and features exclusive Easy-Glide System™ Ink Technology:

Easy-Glide System™ ink technology writes 50% smoother and bolder than BIC’s regular ball pen ink.

I feel that the smooth, bold line produced by the Easy-Glide System ™ conveys a feeling of friendliness and bonhomie towards the lucky recipient of my card. A relaxed urbane easy grace. Or, if it’s a bereavement card, it can suggest warmth and sympathy. None of these emotions are genuine, of course, which is why I rely on a specially selected pen.

I am also rather taken by the subtle, soft, flowing curves of the Atlantis. It makes a pleasing counterpoint to the stark Staedtler Stick 430M. The romantic French and the austere Germans.

As far as I am aware, the Bic Atlantis is the only range from Bic to be named after a mythical lost city from classical antiquity.




Pen: Bic Orange Fine
Ink colour: black
Comments: For a long time, I never liked the Bic Orange Fine. It was the orange casing which put me off. I’m not sure why the world of pen manufacture decided that the finer tipped versions of all pens should have orange casing, but it appears they did. Even Staedtler have a version of the Stick 430 in orange (the Stick 430 F). Of course, I now realise this anti-Orange feeling was little more than racism, and having given the Orange Fine a chance, I’ve found that it is actually a rather fine little pen. It’s especially good for writing in little note books, where smallness of letter is key.

This advert from Portugal, explaining the difference between the Bic Cristal and Bic Orange Fine is one of my favourite things in the world.

I think the lyrics basically go something like:

Bic! Bic! Bic Bic Bic!
Bic Bic Bic! Bic Orange.
Bic Bic Bic! Bic Crystal.
Bic Orange, Bic Crystal.
You can choose from two ways to write;
Bic Orange for writing fine,
Bic Crystal for writing normal.
Bic Orange, Bic Crystal.
You can choose from two ways to write.
Bic! Bic! Bic Bic Bic!

I particularly like the whistle right at the end. There’s also a Spanish version which has a funky little bass line running through it:

Pen: Bic Cristal Clic
Ink colour: black
Comments: This is the pen I use when I am Twirl Spotting:

This is an ideal pen as it combines the reliability of the Bic Cristal with the convenience of a retractable nib. No fiddling around with a lid, just a simple click action. I haven’t had any problems with this pen so far.

What I also like about this pen is the detailing – the way the click button is shaped to resemble the lid of the traditional Cristal. That’s a nice touch.

MY LIFE IN PENS: PART 2 – BECOMING MYSELF

This is the second part in a three-part pen-based autobiography. Part 1 is here and Part 3 is here.

Age: 11
Pen: Parker Jotter
Ink colour: blue
Comments: Moving to secondary school requires a more serious type of pen. Bye bye Berol. The Parker Jotter was apparently the first ballpoint pen marketed by Parker, and over 750 million have been sold. Having said that, I think Parker have slightly overestimated how iconic the Jotter is:

The Parker Jotter is a design classic and a household name, preferred the world over for its quality, durability and great value for money. It’s popular, dynamic and personifies the social side of writing with bright, lively colours and a practical, simple shape. Fun and friendly, anytime, anywhere – Jotter is the perfect Parker companion.

The Parker website also has an incredible writing simulator, which allows you to choose a “postcard”, select whether you want a fountain pen, roller ball, ballpoint or pencil, and then write a little message:

Look at how I avoided writing swear words. Are you proud of me? I’m always amazed those little pads that people use to test new pens in Ryman aren’t just covered in obscenities. Well done Britain. I once had a vague idea of collecting those bits of paper from Ryman. I thought it’d make a nice little website or something. But then I couldn’t be bothered.

Age: 12
Pen: Parker Frontier
Ink colour: black
Comments: My second Parker, the Frontier. After a year of using the Jotter, I wanted something which combined the conservative tradition of Parker but was also more forward-thinking. I wanted to push the boundaries, while at the same time, building on the expertise I had gained. Something contemporary, distinctive and dependable, with more than a hint of style. Fortunately, the Frontier was ideal:

An intriguing mixture of the conservative and the forward-thinking, Frontier brings Parker quality to people who want to push the boundaries – but who know the value that comes from expertise. With a unique blend of durable, soft-touch materials and smooth, lustrous finishes, it’s contemporary, distinctive and dependable – with more than a hint of style.

It was also around this time that I switched to black ink. It seemed like a more logical partner for a sheet of white paper. Black and white. Like the words on this page, like the words in a newspaper, a book, pretty much any written material. It added authority to my words, words which needed authority as they had none of their own.

Age: 13 to 15
Pen: Bic M10 Clic
Ink colour: black
Comments: After a couple of years of Parker pens, I realised that, actually, they’re not all that impressive. I wanted something more simple. One day, in Folwers Stationers (117 Central Road, Worcester Park), I spotted something I had never seen before – a Bic M10 Clic. I had imagined that this was a brand new innovation in pen design, although actually it appears the M10 was launched in 1956, almost forty years before I discovered it in Fowlers that fateful day. Soon, I had the full set – black, blue, red and green. Although I abandoned blue, it was still useful for labelling diagrams. So was green – indeed this appears to be the only situation in which it’s considered acceptable to use green ink. I was always led to believe that green ink was traditionally used by finance people for some reason, and anyone else who used it was immediately labelled a lunatic. I’m not sure if this association with insanity has anything to do with this:

Age: 16 to 24
Pen: Bic Cristal
Ink colour: black
Comments: From the M10, I moved to the Cristal. It was at this point that my relationship with stationery connected to a wider aesthetic, an ideology. Studying Warhol and Claes Oldenburg, I began to appreciate the iconic beauty of everyday objects. I began to want to surround myself with the most definitive versions of things. If I was thirsty, I’d drink Coke (though I preferred Pepsi). If I was hungry, I’d eat a Big Mac (though I preferred Chicken McNuggets).

Cover of this book which I have never read, but it looks quite good.

It was a way of avoiding having to make decisions, I could be totally passive and surrender myself to the collective will of society. I read Duchamp. Eno. Perec. Venturi. I became interested in automation, industrialisation, Fordism, globalisation. “Ugly and ordinary” instead of “heroic and original”. I found boring things interesting (“I like boring things”).

It was obvious then that I would choose the Bic Cristal (even if, secretly, I preferred the Staedtler Stick 430M – see below). Over a hundred billion sold. A design classic, included as part of the Museum Of Modern Art’s permanent collection. What other pen, other than the Bic Cristal could be used for something like this?

This is my desktop wallpaper.

Age: 25+
Pen: Staedtler Stick 430M
Ink colour: black
Comments: Of course, that kind of aesthetic militancy can’t last forever. Eventually, you leave school, leave university, get a proper job, settle down, mellow out. With me, this took the form of feeling relaxed enough to give in to my true desire and switch to the Staedtler Stick 430M. Just look at that strong silhouette, classic German design.

I feel more comfortable in myself now – although, tragically, this feeling of ease was reached at the same moment that both the trajectory of my life and the development of technology coincided, with the result that I now write on a computer more than I do by pen.

MY LIFE IN PENS: PART 1 – THE EARLY YEARS

This is the first part in a three-part pen-based autobiography. Part 2 is here and Part 3 is here.

Age: 3 and under
Pen: wax crayon
Comments: Not actually a pen, of course. I would have been too young; chunky crayons more suitable for clumsy fingers. Soft wax which, had I stabbed myself or attempted to insert it somewhere, wouldn’t cause any serious injury. I’m not sure what happens if a child eats a wax crayon, but as I’d imagine it happens quite often, I guess it can’t be too serious. Probably doesn’t taste very nice though.

I have no real specific memories of crayons from this period. I think at this age, I would have just been using generic “chunky wax crayons”, it would be later that I would get a set of Crayola crayons. This list of all 133 (including 13 retired colours) Crayola colours is a brilliant piece of Wikipediaism. It never really occurred to me that crayons could be so political:

The color known as Flesh was renamed Peach in 1962, partially in response to the U.S. Civil Rights Movement. Indian Red was renamed Chestnut in 1999 due to concern that some children thought the crayon color represented the skin color of Native Americans. According to the company, however, the name originally referred to a reddish-brown pigment from India that is used in artists’ oil paint.

Age: 4 to 6
Pen: pencil
Comments: Again, not a pen. I don’t really remember which pencil I used to use back then, although the Staedtler Noris range is definitely one I associate with my childhood, although I was rather sniffy about it in my review on Amazon of the Tradition. This isn’t a Noris proper, it’s a Noris Club Triplus Jumbo, which might not have even been available when I was younger. I’ve included a picture of it though because it is also the pencil I bought most recently – I wanted quite a fat pencil as I was laying some flooring and wanted something chunky to mark up the boards.

If you’ve ever wondered how pencils are made, and like women with weird sexy robot voices, you might enjoy this video:

Age: 7 to 9
Pen: Berol Handwriting pen
Ink colour: blue
Comments: My first pen! At last! I was never really sure why Berol decided this was a “Handwriting” pen. The Berol website doesn’t go into much detail either:

A plastic tipped pen that is specially designed for children’s use at home and at school. Ideal for classroom and home use, the pen has a smooth ink flow to ensure effortless writing. Washable ink and will not dry out for at least 14 days if the cap is left off. Black, Blue and Dark Blue ink with 0.6mm line width

I’m fairly sure that at our school, they believed it was quite an important thing to move from pencil to Handwriting Pen. I think they believed it was a privilege which had to be earned, and it was only if you had satisfied the teacher with your ability to correctly write in joined-up (something which as soon as I was free from the shackles of primary school I abandoned, at least in part – I now tend to join pairs of letters rather than full words. Some pairs are particularly pleasing to write – I have always enjoyed writing “of”, for instance. A pleasure lost since typing replaced handwriting as my most common form of written communication – although I do always enjoy typing the last six letters of my name “es Ward”). I seem to remember a divide forming within our class at school – those still on pencil, and those (such as myself) fast-tracked onto pen. This seems quite cruel, so possibly isn’t how it really was at all. Some of my memories are certainly fiction (like the way I remember everyone in my class suddenly switching to saying “haitch” instead of “aitch”, much to my frustration. This did sort of happen, but I don’t think it was a sudden event in the way I remember it to be).

Age: 10
Pen: Berol Fineline
Ink colour: blue
Comments: Once I had mastered the Handwriting Pen, the next step up was the Berol Fineline. This pen, with its finer nib (0.4mm compared to the sturdy 0.6mm Handwriting Pen), had to be handled more delicately. Otherwise, the nib could bend or possibly even snap off entirely. I still have nightmares about bent nibs. Actually, that is not true. I have never had a nightmare about a bent nib, although it did bother me a lot at the time. I’m probably interested in stationery quite a lot more than most people, and so this sort of thing doesn’t bother them. Bent nibs, contaminated slabs of Blu Tack, chewed biros or biros with missing lids, Crayola crayons with torn paper sleeves, ANY evidence that the rubber on the end of a pencil has been used. All these things make me unhappy. But why? Stationery is supposed to be used. They’re functional objects. It is my tragedy.

URGENTLY NEED A DISHWASHER?

This poster is for Currys.

The joke is that this guy is such a slob that instead of washing the dishes, he gets his dog to lick his plates clean. Fortunately, Currys offer next day delivery on their dishwashers, so his dog-plate-licking nightmare will soon be over.

In my lifetime, I have probably spent about ten minutes standing in front of this poster. This is possibly more time than the people responsible for this poster expected anyone to stand and study it. It’s situated on the Central Line platform at Holborn station, so most people, if they bother looking at it all, will only see it in the minute-to-two-minute interval between trains.

Although, in fact, that’s not true. I’d imagine a lot of people who travel on the Underground make the same journey every day. And a lot of them, travelling between the same two stations, will make a point of standing at approximately the same point on the platform each day. It might be the place closest to the exit at their destination station. It might be the point they’ve decided gives them the best chance of getting a seat. It might be a compromise between these two competing impulses, calculated according to some arcane logic known only to them. Whatever. Lots of people stand at the same point on the platform each day. And lots of those people are bored. They’re looking for some sort of distraction. They read the posters in front of them. They come to learn every word. They look at each detail of the image.

I think getting a dog to clean all your dishes would be quite a time consuming way of doing the washing up. It would take the dog a while to do even just one plate. Surely much longer than just giving them a quick wipe. Of course, you could argue that the dog-licking-plate method, whilst time consuming, involves little active participation from the guy – the dog is doing all the hard work. This allows the guy to spend time reading instead. But, as you can see from the photo, holding a plate so that a dog can lick it clean isn’t the entirely passive action you might at first imagine it to be. It’s quite distracting. I bet he’s read the same few lines of that magazine several times and hasn’t really taken in a word.

It might be because the dog-licking-plate method is so time consuming that this man has been forced to buy so many plates. I think it’s safe to assume that by putting him in a dressing gown, unshaven, with messy hair and with a load of washing up piling up around him, Currys are trying to suggest that this man lives on his own. But, for a bachelor, he has a lot of plates. It’s hard to tell from the picture, but I’d say there are somewhere between twenty-five and thirty plates there. Dinner plates. That’s a lot of plates. I would in fact argue that it is an unrealistically high number of plates.

And he only has plates. Well, plates and cutlery. No glasses. No mugs. No bowls. Nothing. There’s no sign even of the pan in which he cooked the spaghetti. How did he cook it? Holding a plate full of water over the gas hob?

Possibly the spaghetti was microwaved. But there’s no sign of a microwave oven either. In fact there are no appliances at all. I can accept that the fridge may be out of shot to the left. But that work-surface behind him – there’s nothing on it. No microwave. No toaster. No kettle. Nothing. There are two sockets on the wall behind him, neither being used. There’s not even a radio.

Despite the crude caricature of this man’s bachelor lifestyle – undressed, unkempt – the sparse kitchen seems surprisingly clean. The white doors on the kitchen cupboards and drawers are all spotless. Perhaps he’s also trained his dog to lick the cabinets clean, although that would only work for the lower ones. It would be difficult to pick the dog up and get him to lick the doors of the upper cabinets too.

I’m not sure if next-day delivery is a new service offered by Currys, but you can see they’ve tried to think of some amusing way of illustrating its availability. But I think every single thing about this advert is wrong. Even the tagline “Urgently need a dishwasher” doesn’t really make sense. He’s clearly been living like this for a while, if he’s now decided to get a dishwasher, he doesn’t need it immediately. No-one ever really needs a dishwasher immediately. You might decide to get a dishwasher, but you don’t need one urgently. Whatever system you already have in place to cope with your dishes (for most people, this system involves doing the washing up, for the man in the picture, it involves getting his dog to lick them clean) can hold out for a few more days until the new dishwasher can be delivered. He doesn’t even need a dishwasher at all. OK, he’s got a bit of a backlog, but once he’s worked through that, he should be OK. He’s only got plates to wash anyway.

A COMPLETELY HOMOGENEOUS SITUATION

Although, perhaps my whole “holiday from everything” plan is totally misguided. Jack Vernon believed it was “man’s need for change” which makes sensory deprivation so powerful:

I believe that the human cannot endure a completely homogeneous situation no matter how good or desirable it is. What is homogeneous soon becomes boring and undesirable. Caviar and champagne may be very desirable for breakfast, but not for long as a steady diet. No matter how positive a thing may be, it loses its value under unvarying use. Man’s appetites soon become jaded, so that he ever seeks new gratifications or, failing this, finds increasing complaint with his status quo.¹

I don’t really identify with that worldview at all. I like completely homogeneous situations.

Caviar and champagne doesn’t sound particularly desirable to me for breakfast. What I consider desirable for breakfast is two slices of granary toast with Marmite and a cup of tea. And I have that every day for breakfast. And I like it. It doesn’t lose its value under unvarying use.

I have the same thing for lunch everyday too – a chicken and mayonnaise sandwich with spinach and a slice of gouda cheese, a little salt and black pepper and a sprinkle of dried chilli flakes. And I like this sandwich. I eat it, and then I have a cup of tea and a Cadbury’s Twirl.

Actually, I don’t have this sandwich every single day. Sometimes, if I went out the night before, I might forget to make it, so then I’d need to buy something for lunch instead. In these situations, I used to go to Pret a Manger and buy a Herb Chicken and Rocket sandwich, but then I became paranoid that the people in the shop would start to notice this habit (the Herb Chicken and Rocket sandwich is also one of the cheapest that Pret do, but that wasn’t a factor in me buying it so frequently. I just really liked it) so I forced myself to try to vary what I bought (and it’s this enforced novelty I find increasing complaint with).

I suffered a similar situation of enforced novelty when I was in Sixth Form. During my lunch break each day, I would go to Londis across the road and buy a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a can of Dr Pepper. I liked this routine. Then, one day, just as I put my Jaffa Cakes and Dr Pepper down on the counter and prepared to pay, the woman in Londis said to me “Oh – the usual is it?” It was a year before I stepped foot in that Londis again. I had to develop a new habit, a new routine. I went to Gibbs, two doors down, instead. Here, I would buy two packets of Salt & Vinegar Discos and a can of Pepsi. They sold Dr Pepper and Jaffa Cakes in Gibbs too, but there was no way I could continue buying the same thing from a different store. What if the man in Gibbs and the woman in Londis ever talked about their regular customers and the woman in Londis realised I’d made the switch? I’d look like a lunatic. The only solution was to become a brand new person.

If I like doing something once. I’d like doing it a second time. Why would I want to change and do something else? If I’m having two scoops of ice cream, I want them both to be the same flavour. If I had two different flavours, one would (neccessarily) be nicer than the other. Each time I had some of the inferior flavour, I’d know that I could have been had double the superior flavour instead. I’d grow to resent the inferior flavour (I also find the idea of the junction between the two flavours, meeting and melting into each other, quite revolting).

If I like Falco, then I want to listen to Falco. Over and over again. Thousands of times.

I don’t seek new gratifications. I don’t want new experiences, new sensations. I want the same experience repeatedly. Variety isn’t the spice of life, it’s an excuse for people who can’t make decisions.

————————-
¹ Jack Vernon, Inside The Black Room: Studies Of Sensory Deprivation, 1963, p180

HOLIDAY FROM EVERYTHING

It’s hard to imagine
That nothing at all
Could be so exciting
Could be so much fun.
Heaven
Heaven is a place
A place where nothing
Nothing ever happens.

My line manager keeps asking me if I’m going to take any time off. Not because I work so hard that she thinks I need a break, but just because I have all this annual leave owing to me, and at some point I need to take it (especially as they’ve reduced the amount of holiday that can be carried over into the next leave year).

I don’t know if I really fancy going anywhere. The thought of all that effort – just to get to the airport, even just to pack – seems so far beyond any pleasure I’d get from simply being in another place that I’m already getting exhausted. And what would be the point anyway? Anywhere I went, there’d still be loads of people everywhere, loads of stuff – plates, tables, sinks, doors, stairs, windows, cups, shoes, pens.

I think if I did go on holiday, I’d want to really get away from it all. Get away from everything. Have a week of nothing. Not a week of not really doing much, sitting around the house, watching TV, playing hashtag games on Twitter. I mean a week of nothing. Concentrated nothing. Deliberate nothing. No people. No sound. No light.

In 1954 Donald O Hebb built a dark, soundproof cell at McGill University in Montreal. Volunteers entered the tiny cramped room, donned translucent goggles, padded their arms in cardboard, gloved their hands with cotton mittens, covered their ears with earphones playing a low noise, and laid in bed, immobile, for two to three days.¹

Ideally, I’d want an entirely light-proofed and sound-proofed room. Complete darkness. Complete silence. I don’t have the funding of a university science department to help me plan my holiday from everything. I can’t, like Jack Vernon, build an elaborate soundproof chamber in my front room:

The soundproof room is one that was constructed in the basement of Princeton’s Eno Hall. Soundproofing was achieved by building a “floating room” arrangement – a room within a room. The outer room is a shell of sixteen-inch reinforced concrete. The inner room has eight-inch walls that are separated by a five-inch air gap from the outer room. The floor of the inner room is separated from the outer room much in the fashion of a dry moat. The floor of the inner room is eight inches of concrete that rests on five inches of sand contained in a five-inch concrete saucer, resting in turn on five inches of sand contained in another concrete saucer, which stands upon eighteen inches of crushed rock.²

So what am I to do? I can’t just stay in bed for a week. My girlfriend would interrupt my holiday from everything when she got up to go to work. And besides, if I was at home, I’d be able to rely on my mental maps to orientate myself. It would be too familiar. I could easily navigate my way around in the darkness, just as I do if I wake up in the middle of the night and think I might have forgotten to lock the back door and have to stumble through to the kitchen to double check (so far, I have never forgotten to lock the back door).

We placed our subjects in a light-proof and sound-proof room. Within this room was a cubicle which measured four feet in width, nine feet in length, eight feet in height, its floor space practically filled by a king-size bed. The subject was asked to remain on the bed except when obtaining food or using the toilet.³

A small room with an en-suite bathroom might be OK. An isolated cottage, quiet hotel or even bedsit available on a very short-let basis. If it was a hotel, I’d need to make sure the cleaners wouldn’t come in and disturb me.

They saw nothing but a dim grayness, or was it blackness?⁴

Light-proofing would be quite easy; if thick curtains or blinds aren’t enough, thick cardboard could block out the windows. Failing that, there’s these.

They heard a steady hum, which soon melted into a steady silence.⁵

Sound-proofing would be more difficult. Vernon’s floating room could block out sounds of up to 80dB (a London Underground train is apparently around 85dB), there’s no way I could manage anything like that. Some noises can be easily avoided – nowhere near a busy road, train line or flight path. Nowhere close to bars or clubs, or anything likely to attract noisy drunks. But even if I went to an isolated cottage in the middle of nowhere, there would still be the sound of wind and rain and birds singing outside. I could try earplugs, but I don’t think it’s really safe to wear them for days on end. You can get ones which are suitable for sleeping though. Maybe I could then try to drown out any other sounds with a noise generator:

That, combined with the continual rumble of an air conditioning unit might be enough to work (and would help maintain a constant room temperature too).

Food was provided in the form of sandwiches, fresh fruit and soup placed in a picnic icebox at the foot of the bed.⁶

Fresh fruit seems a little too exciting. Bread and rice (even rice pudding) seem suitably nothingy. I suppose a very bland soup, cream of mushroom or something like that, might be OK. Water. Maybe milk. Pre-cooked chicken? I don’t expect to work up much of an appetite, but I don’t want to go hungry either. A mini-fridge (with light bulb removed). This might make a bit of noise – possibly drowned out by the noise generator. In later experiments, Vernon gave subjects little tubs of baby food. I used to work with a girl who said she would sometimes buy jars of baby food to eat on the night bus home if she’d been drinking and wanted something approximating a “proper meal”. My own experiments along these lines proved unsuccessful on the grounds that baby food isn’t very nice (this could also explain why babies cry so much).

Three of the guinea pigs are simply kept in dark rooms, while the rest are made to wear eye masks that reduce the world to a grey blur, headphones that pump a continual white noise drone into their ears, and gigantic foam mittens so they can’t even scratch their bums for entertainment.⁷

One of these on each hand might work to remove, or at least reduce, the sensation of touch. But I’m not sure if they’re completely breathable. My hands might get sweaty after a while.

Some sensory deprivation experimenters sought to reduce the sensation of touch even more dramatically. Suspended from wires, the subjects were lowered into tanks of water heated to body temperature. As the subjects were held, hanging from wires and floating in the water, the effects of gravity slowly dissolved around them in these giant tanks. All feeling was lost in this ad hoc amniotic fluid. The body expanding beyond its natural boundaries until it fills the pool in which it is submerged. This experience is perhaps a little too concentrated for what I have in mind, even an hour and a half was too much for some:

The feel of nothingness [...] I was becoming bored and irritated. I wiggled my toes to see if I could feel them. There were there, all right, but I wasn’t convinced they, or even my chest, were really part of me. My whole world had shrunk to the size of my face mask [...] I realized that I didn’t know which way was up [...] I tried to get my mind on something – anything [...] In a last-ditch effort, I tried to think of women – in general, then specific. No luck. I seemed to loll, nearly mindless.⁸

That seems like a step too far for me. Although I like the idea of weightlessness. I think perhaps a very very soft mattress, maybe a partially inflated airbed? A gentle, fluffy duvet and soft pillows. Could this holiday be the excuse I need to start experimenting with memory foam? Or one of those elaborate adjustable beds:

We have found that it is possible to confine subjects on their backs for two days without any backache if special arrangements are made: if the subject is in an adjustable hospital-type-bed, with the head and knees raised, little backache results.⁹

All this raises the question of how long my holiday would last. I have no idea to be honest. A couple of days? Some people during Vernon’s experiments pushed the “panic button” to come out early (one lasted only eleven hours – another bailed as soon he entered the chamber, before the door had even been closed). On the other hand, one man, at the end of his seventy-two hour confinement asked if he could go back in for another day or so (this person, a Turkish student studying politics in the US, expected to be imprisoned when he returned home and viewed this as practice). Typically, people sleep for most of the first twenty-four hours. It’s the next twenty-four hours which are crucial. If you get through that period, you can survive three days, four days, five days, a week.

As a way of surviving the difficult second day, Vernon recommends contriving some sort of mental activity. A little word game or mathematical problem. Apparently trying to learn the alphabet backwards is a good one. As is reciting multiplication tables, although one person had to leave the chamber after repeatedly getting stuck in the mysterious and unknown world beyond “twelve twelves are a hundred and forty-four”.

One subject made up a game of listing, according to the alphabet, each chemical reaction that bore the name of the discoverer. At the letter N, he was unable to think of an example. He tried to skip N and go on, but N kept doggedly coming up in his mind, demanding an answer. When this became tiresome, he tried to dismiss the game altogether, only to find that he could not. He endured the insistent demand of his game for a short time, and, finding that he was unable to control it, he pushed the panic button.¹⁰

I think memory games like that which rely on external knowledge are probably quite dangerous. You want something simple and self-contained. A sensory deprivation chamber is not the place to get earwormed with a song you can only half remember. Reciting the lyrics to African Night Flight is not a good idea (I get lost after the “Asanti habari habari habari/Asanti nabana nabana nabana” bit).

The other problem in knowing how long I’d spend in there is knowing how long I’ve spent in there. The guy who left after just eleven hours was convinced he’d been in there for more than a day (he mistook a short nap he took for a full night’s sleep). Another person had the opposite experience; sleeping for twenty-two hours and thinking he’d just had a little nap. Toilet breaks and pangs on hunger can serve as markers. One subject developed an elaborate (and highly accurate) way of estimating the passage of time which involved a pendulum made from a piece of wire he ripped free from the wall, his pulse rate and a handful of nails he pulled out from the floor. This is beyond my abilities. I’d have to stick with toilet breaks and pangs of hunger, and see how long I could tough it out.

Before entering the confinement cubicle, each subject was told that he could end the experiment at any time he so desired. He was told of the presence and use of a “panic button”, which if activated, would effect his release. I should point out that we used the term “panic button” only in the popular sense of the word. None of our subjects experienced true panic or even anything close to it.¹¹

I suppose I could use my mobile as a panic button, and as my confinement is entirely self-imposed, I would be entirely free to leave whenever I felt like it (Vernon’s subjects were also free to leave if they wished – they weren’t even locked in, although none of them realised this). Once they pushed the panic button and left the chamber, they weren’t allowed back in. They couldn’t just press it when they got a bit bored, come out, have a cup of tea and then go back in. They were also being paid, and would only be paid for as long as they remained in the chamber, so there was an incentive for them to stay as long as possible. I’m not paying myself, what incentive would I have? And if there’s no-one around to watch me, couldn’t I just cheat?

One of the initial students to stay in the numbing room told the debriefing researchers later, “I guess I was in there about a day or so before you opened the observation window. I wondered why you waited so long to observe me.” There was, of course, no observation window.¹²

The observation window described by this student may only have been a hallucination, but all of the subjects were constantly monitored by an experimenter in the next room. Some subjects grew to resent the experimenter (who, after all, was in a well lit room, had freedom to move as he wished and could eat or drink whatever he wanted). Others began to feel concerned about the well-being of their experimenter. What if he had an accident? In later experiments, Vernon told subjects that the experimenter wasn’t in a room next door, but in another building on the campus somewhere. This increased the feeling of isolation felt by the subjects, but Vernon doesn’t indicate whether it affected how long they stayed.

This is, of course, supposed to be a holiday (of sorts). Words like “isolation”, “confinement” or “panic button” aren’t really words typically associated with holidays. Some people have hallucinations during sensory deprivation. Some develop psychosomatic illnesses. It might not be fun. Why would I want to do this?

Man’s jaded sensory world takes on a new meaning as a result of sensory deprivation. The ordinary, the usual, the almost unnoticed of our everyday world become, under sensory deprivation, very desirable experiences, and perhaps for the first time, we come to appreciate the value of our ever-changing stimulus world. And if it could mean that man would better utilize the information so constantly available to him, then one would recommend periodic sessions of sensory deprivation for all..¹³

That sounds good to me. Or does it? Is this really something I’m actually planning to do, or have I just spent the last couple of days amusing myself by planning in unnecessary detail something which I have no real intention of ever actually doing?

—————————–
¹ Kevin Kelly, Out Of Control: The New Biology of Machines, Social Systems and the Economic World, 1995, p51 (available here)
² Jack Vernon, Inside The Black Room: Studies Of Sensory Deprivation, 1963, p22
³ ibid, p22
⁴ Kelly, Out Of Control, p51
⁵ ibid, p51
⁶ Vernon, Inside The Black Room, p22
⁷Charlie Brooker, The Guardian, 19th January 2008 (available here)
⁸ Robert Gannon, “I Spent 90 Minutes In Hell”, Popular Science, July 1967, Vol 191 No. 1, p68 (available here)
⁹ Vernon, Inside The Black Room, p157
¹⁰ ibid, p84
¹¹ ibid, p152
¹² Kelly, Out Of Control, p51
¹³ Vernon, Inside The Black Room, p181

MOST COMMONLY OBSERVED IN CAPTIVE MONKEYS

My favourite paragraph from The Human Zoo:

Physiological Sex can also be observed in other animal species and it is worth taking a look at a few examples. As one might expect, they are most readily encountered in the animal zoo, rather than in the wild state. Many zoo animals have been seen to masturbate when kept in isolation. This is most commonly observed in captive monkeys and apes. In males, the penis is stimulated sometimes by the hand or foot, sometimes by the mouth, and sometimes by the tip of the prehensile tail. Male elephants stimulate their penises with their trunks and female elephants kept in a group without a male stimulate one another’s genitals with their trunks. Even a male lion kept in isolation in a zoo cage has been seen to heave itself up into an inverted position against a wall and masturbate with its paws. Male porcupines have been observed to walk around on three legs, holding one forepaw on their genitals. One male dolphin developed the pattern of holding its erect penis in the powerful jet water intake of its pool. Sex dreaming also seems to occur in animals and in domestic cats, the erection of the penis while asleep has been observed to lead to full ejaculation.¹

———————–
¹ Desmond Morris, The Human Zoo, 1969, p89

THE HUMAN ZOO

I’ve just finished reading The Human Zoo by Desmond Morris. The book doesn’t have a fully annotated bibliography, or an index, which is a shame as normally they’re my two favourite bits of a book. I’d quite happily read a book which is entirely index. What it has instead, is a list of literature which informed the writing of the book broken down by chapter, and then by each topic within that chapter. Here is the list of topics in The Human Zoo:

CHAPTER ONE: TRIBES AND SUPER-TRIBES
Home range of prehistoric man
Prehistoric man
Farming origins
Urban origins
Mourning dress

CHAPTER TWO: STATUS AND SUPER-STATUS
Behaviour of baboons
Dominance patterns
Status seekers
Mimicry
Suicide
Re-direction of aggression
Cruelty to animals

CHAPTER THREE: SEX AND SUPER-SEX
Sexual behaviour
Masturbation
Religious ecstasy
Boredom
Displacement activities
Monkey prostitutes
Feline display
Sexual mimicry
Status sex
Phallic symbols
Maltese cross

CHAPTER FOUR: IN-GROUPS AND OUT-GROUPS
Aggression and war
Races of man
Racial conflict
Population levels

CHAPTER FIVE: IMPRINTING AND MAL-IMPRINTING
Imprinting in animals
Mal-imprinting in animals
Social isolation in monkeys
Human infant bonding
Pair-bonding
Fetishism
Homosexuality
Pet-keeping

CHAPTER SIX: THE STIMULUS STRUGGLE
Zoo animals
Boredom and stress
Aesthetics
Bestiality
Super-normal stimuli
Children’s drawings
Costume
Cut-off

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE CHILDLIKE ADULT
Chimpanzee curiosity
Initiation ceremonies
School rituals¹

———————–
¹ Desmond Morris, The Human Zoo, 1969, p249

COMPETITION WINNER POLL

OK, so last week, I ran a colouring in competition. In the end, ten people entered. I wasn’t quite sure what to do next, to be honest, so I made this:

I do, of course, also need to pick a winner. But how can I possibly choose between these wonderful works of art? They’re all winners. Except, obviously, they’re not.
There can only be one winner. But I can’t pick who it is.

You have to:

MY LUNCH

My first job was working at Kingston Library during their Sunday openings. I got £25 for about a four hour shift – later, with more experience, this would increase to £50 as I rose to the lofty ranks of duty manager (responsible for opening up, supervising all staff, resolving any problems, cashing up once the library had closed and locking the building at the end of the day).

After work, I would get the 213 bus home, but rather than getting off at Worcester Park station, I’d stay on the bus one stop further and go to KFC (114 Central Road). I would then walk home, possibly taking one or two sips from my Tango on the way back.

Once home, I would carefully assemble my meal. Placing my Zinger burger neatly on my plate and then adding the fries. I’d sprinkle the contents of the two sachets of salt over the fries and then (and this is important) I would add lots and lots of black pepper.

The black pepper is important because it hints at what was so significant about this ritual. They don’t give you pepper in KFC, only salt. No-one ever gives you pepper; not KFC, nor Burger King, nor McDonalds (except for with the breakfast menu).

There’s something immensely satisfying about adding black pepper to fast food fries. It’s as if you enjoy a secret culinary experience – unintended by such carefully intentional organisations. Adding an entirely new flavour to an otherwise carefully planned meal. Just by grinding a few peppercorns, I was subverting a multinational corporation. These few flecks of ground pepper undermining the work of all the food technicians employed by this global company!

And even more than that, I’d eat it on a plate! With a knife and fork! Or at least a fork (there’s really no need for a knife with a Zinger Burger Meal).

For some reason, possibly relating to a KFC advertisement I may or may not have seen this morning, the memory of my plated post-library Zinger meal joy suddenly came to me earlier today. So much so, that (after calculating how long it would take me to walk back from Leyton Mills) I went to KFC in an attempt to relive this experience.

Of course, since that time in the mid-late 1990s, certain things have changed. Entering KFC today, I realised that a Zinger Burger Meal would no longer satisfy me (not even a large meal, and indeed ever since the introduction of the Tower option, I had been reluctant to ask for a “large Zinger meal” as although I would intend this statement to mean a Zinger meal, made “large” with large fries and a large drink, this has on more than one occasion been misinterpreted as asking for the meal of a large Zinger ie a Zinger Tower, which were it not for the addition of salsa, I’d probably enjoy).

Instead, and cringing slightly as I said the words, I ordered a “Wicked Zinger Box Meal” (there is no other Zinger box meal available, so why do KFC insist I add the word “Wicked”?).  Although the Wicked Zinger Box Meal comes with a regular drink and regular fries (there didn’t appear to be a large option, although there was a Tower option), it does comes with a Side of your choice and two Hot Wings. At KFC, there really is only one side any self-respecting chicken fan would even consider ordering. Chicken gravy. A glorious, gloopy, brown concoction (which, though delicious, perhaps isn’t suited to a sunny July afternoon. I ordered it anyway).

It took me precisely ten minutes to get home (two minutes less than I predicted) and happily, the fries were still hot. Fries seem to lose heat quickest, but today they coped fine. Possibly the “box” innovation was helpful here – not only in preventing heat loss, but also helping to avoid the unpleasant moistness which often results when chips are carried in a plastic bag for a prolonged period.

Naturally, I didn’t use the spork provided with the chicken gravy, as the subversive use of real cutlery was part of the appeal. Although interestingly, an equally important part of the ritual is drinking Tango with a straw from the paper cup (complete with slosh cap). Here, at home, I don’t use a proper glass, as I am familiar enough with the experience of drinking a soft drink from a glass. Drinking the same drink with a straw from a paper cup (complete with slosh cap) in my own home, however, is a rare and genuine thrill. Similarly, I can’t even begin to describe the excitement of using the free freshwipe while knowing that I could easily go to the bathroom and wash my hands properly if I chose to. (The instructions printed on the freshwipe packet are perhaps unnecessarily detailed: “Tear open, unfold and use”. Unfold? As you remove it from the packet it’s about two centimetres square, of course I’m going to unfold it.)

Burp.

COMPETITION TIME

It’s competition time!

Simply print out the image below, colour it in, scan it and send it back! (If you don’t have a scanner, take a photo and then send that) The best one wins a prize!

You can use felt tips, pencils, crayons, chalk, paint or anything you want (please no bodily fluids).

People just copying the image and putting it into MS Paint or Photoshop or similar won’t be disqualified, but I won’t be impressed by the lack of effort.

Closing date for entries is Tuesday 28th July 2009 (2.30pm)

SALT AND PEPPER

DELAY

The train was already at the platform as I rushed down the steps at Leyton station. As soon as I reached the bottom step, the doors closed and I cursed every millisecond of delay which caused me to miss the train.

My anger intensified the closer the cause of delay was to the platform, and gradually dissipated moving away from the station. The outer limit of my anger just brushed those people getting off the number 69 bus and blocking the pavement as I approached the station. Anything beyond that bus stop was blame free.

Inside the station, I cursed the people queuing to buy tickets who stretched out halfway across the station lobby – although at the same time, I recognised their essential blamelessness and so my blame hopped over to the people who were responsible for positioning the ticket machines in that particular corner of the lobby. Again however, I understood that in deciding where to position the machines, these London Underground staff were forced to work within the confines of the architecture of a station built over a hundred and fifty years earlier – built by people who could not possibly have realised that on the 18th of July 2009 at about two o’clock in the afternoon, I would (as a direct result of their design) miss my train by less than a second.

No, I needed to find someone else to blame. Someone who was at least still alive. I had two choices: the elderly woman whose slow descent of the steps stopped me from dashing onto the train, or the person fiddling around with a paper ticket at the barrier. I’d feel a bit guilty blaming the elderly woman, so let’s go with the guy with the paper ticket. Who uses paper tickets these days anyway?  But I could see he was struggling with his ticket even before I headed towards the barrier. Why didn’t I use a different one? If anyone is to blame here, it’s me.

I was still thinking all this as the train pulled away. Looking further up the track, I could already see the next train so knew I’d have less than a minute to wait. I began to walk along the platform. As I was going to Notting Hill Gate, I’d want to be at the back of the train anyway so I’d be closer to the exit when I got to the station.

I reached the other end of the platform at the exact same moment that the doors opened and I boarded the train and took a seat. The time it took me to walk the length of the platform precisely matched the gap between the two trains.

At Notting Hill Gate, I was the only person in my carriage to get off. As I did, a couple slowly walking hand in hand also reached the exit. They had obviously been on the previous train, probably in the carriage I would have been in had it not been for those milliseconds of delay. Those milliseconds of delay, which, in the end, made no difference to my day at all.