(Yes, it’s been a while since I updated. My monitor exploded)

Dr Liam Fox MP, our current Secretary of Defence, has called for the new Medal of Honor game to be banned by retailers. This isn’t an unusual step for politicos of a conservative stripe – although admittedly not as common in the UK as in the US – and it is nice that he’s just asking retailers to ban it themselves, rather than trying to pass it as law.

Although that might have more to do with the British constitution¹ than anything else.

That aside, we’re all more than a bit used to people who don’t play videogames jumping up and down and shouting about how they’re tearing apart the moral fibre of our country (whichever country that happens to be).

This time though, I can’t help feeling that the conservatives have more than a bit of a point. The new Medal of Honor game is set during the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan. The single-player game will feature allied coalition soldiers (by which we can read ‘American’) fighting in areas like Helmand, against the Taliban. A bit like they’re still doing now.

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Dealing with unpleasant aspects of our partners’ personalities is something we’ve all had to deal with before – those of us who’ve managed to acquire and retain parters, that is (top tip : if you’ve never had to address a partner’s less agreeable traits, it’s because your own are unassailable).

Some of you may be familiar with Blogmella, my other half. She might seem like a reasonably erudite, relatively funny and generally affable person (for a woman, anyway), but there is a darker side to her. A quite frankly bigoted side.

You see, she just  can’t stand ugly people. And I don’t mean in the ordinary “doesn’t want to sleep with or even touch them” way. We can’t even watch TV programmes featuring ugly people without my having to put up with her violent and disgusted reactions.

She thinks Father Ted would be a much better programme without both Mrs Doyle and Father Jack. She turned away from the screen every time Admiral Adama appeared when we were watching Battlestar Galactica.

I’ve given up on trying to watch The Goonies (although  to be fair, it is a parade of the minging from start to finish).

Obviously I’ve tried to educate Blogmella as to the error of her ways – you have to be tolerant of the differences in other people. Especially when they stubbornly insist on a right to exist within your line of sight. And there are definite benefits to a multiaesthetic society – for example, the more fuck ugly people I surround myself with, the prettier I become¹.

So, next time you’re reading her blog, possibly even agreeing with or laughing at something she’s written (doubtful) – just remember that she’d probably be offended by your mere presence. I mean, you’re on the internet after all. You’re a swamp donkey almost by definition.

Really, it’s only because I’m so tolerant and understanding that I put up with it (and she’s only a woman, so it’s not like anyone pays that much attention to what she’s saying…)

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¹If any of my real life friends are wondering if they fit into this category – yes, you do. Look in a mirror and check out your freakish asymmetric faces.

I had a general anaesthetic recently, and appear to have woken up in 1983.

There are 3D films being advertised, 3D glasses being given away with tabloid newspapers – even dedicated 3D televisions being produced.

Not proper 3D, obviously – that’s reality. No, this is still the same old shitty faux 3D where things are either split into two colours, or polarised, or stereoscoped.

All of which are very impressive ways of blurring the image and forcing people to wear rubbishy glasses while watching TV. Because it’s 1983.

I imagine it’s pretty shit for normal people, having to wear these glasses – whether they have coloured lenses or fancy shutters or whatever – because they’re invariably of poor workmanship, and deeply uncomfortable. I have yet to find a pair which, for example, fail to dig violently and painfully into the skin above both ears. And for people who aren’t normally spectacled, that’s got to be pretty irritating.

For the nearly blind, however, who ordinarily wear glasses, experiencing this 3D bullshit necessitates donning a second pair of glasses, over the top of your existing pair.

This, I shall point out for the sighted people in my audience, is not at all comfortable. It’s also pretty damn usual for at least seventeen pairs of the oh-so-fancy 3D glasses to snap into their component atoms as you try to squeeze them over your existing lenses, possibly because they’re made from plastics which only existed in 1983.

But hey – it’s worth it for the astounding 3D effect!

Except it isn’t. Because – once you’ve finally got a pair of specs on, and you’re just about managing to tolerate the incessant, gnawing pain of the arms digging into your skull – 3D films are shit.

Actually, that’s not fair – they’re much like a normal production, only every 45 seconds something mysteriously rushes towards the camera, but not quite towards you and goes a bit blurry as it sort of (but not really) almost has the effect of coming out of the screen. A bit.

There are only so many times I can see something hurtle towards the screen for no fucking reason whatsoever without wanting to kill the director. And that number of times was exceeded when I was 11 years old, on the Granada Studios tour.

What I shall laughingly call ‘this technology’ is shit enough when you’re forced to endure it in a cinema, although it is at least mitigated by gigantic screens, and the ability to laugh at your friends, who are all wearing stupid 3D glasses and getting migraines.

But why the fuck would we want to pay for this sort of shit in our own homes?

I can only hope that by the time I eventually wake up in the 21st century the entertainment industry will have outgrown this sort of tat.

I used to be quite into horror films. I say ‘used to’ not because I’ve grown out of it or anything, but because the genre doesn’t seem to exist any more.

When I was a nipper, you couldn’t move for horror – and I mean genuine horror, rather than just films marketed as horror (although there was a lot of that, too). There were films aplenty with atmosphere, tension and usually – but not always – a bit of gore.

We had decent slasher films, like A Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween and Friday the 13th (and even some of their sequels), and more visceral horror like The Fly (Cronenberg) and The Evil Dead. There were genuinely terrifying concepts like The Thing (Carpenter) and Alien (both of which are more about human psychology than the alien killing machine stomping around and eating people).

Similarly with videogames there was a whole genre of ‘survival horror’, identified in the early Resident Evil games – which certainly lacked a fair bit in complexity of gameplay and decent translation from Japanese, but they made up for it by providing atmosphere in spades.

Nowadays, there aren’t really any horror games. The Resident Evil series has transformed itself into an action shooter, which is fair enough, but they’ve sucked out most of the atmosphere in the process (and in the latest instalment they gave you a permanent – and irritating – AI companion, so you didn’t even have the ‘trapped and alone’ concept…).

As for films, our modern-day horror equivalent is… what? Saw? A series of Heath Robinson machines with blood and guts? They can be enjoyable, but more in a ‘Columbo’ way – you’re not frightened by them, and although there are occasionally bits that turn your stomach the real point is figuring out the contraptions (and the overall puzzle).

Like Diagnosis: Murder in set a sewer, then.

Taking a break from politics now (a bit like our government), I’m going to talk about distressed things.

For those of you not in the know, that’s making new stuff (furniture, clothing) look like it’s old and worn. I think it’s supposed to give it a whiff of provenance, apparently removing the impression that your dining table was made by 6 year old Chinese children yesterday by staining it with tea and hitting it with bicycle chains.

Pre-fading clothing is quite popular as well – because surely only an imbecile would wear jeans that looked new. No, it’s much better to be seen wearing clothing that’s approximately as faded as the Turin Shroud.

I’ve never been entirely sure why this is the case. Perhaps it’s an outgrowth of the ‘new shoes’ syndrome every schoolboy is familiar with (especially if you were ever foolish enough to wear white trainers) – a rite of passage whereby your shiny new shoes would be stamped on, scuffed and dragged through mud – attached to your feet or otherwise – in order to make them look as knackered as the shoes you’ve just replaced.

I can’t say I’ve ever seen a similar scene recreated when a friend has bought a new couch though – “oh, your sofa looks a bit new there, Jim – I’d better kick fuck out of it for ten minutes and then wipe dogshit in-between the cushions”

So there’s no need to pre-empt it by destroying your nice new belongings yourself (or buying them pre-damaged, like some sort of twat). I mean, for much of my childhood, I did wear plenty of clothes that were ‘distressed’, but that’s because they were fucking second-hand. It wasn’t a deliberate ‘look’ I was going for. We just couldn’t afford new ones all the time.

As there is still a second-hand industry in this country (primarily in the form of charity shops), going to the effort of paying shitloads of cash for new clothing (or furniture) that merely looks like it was recently worn by a tramp strikes me as an astonishingly fuckwitted thing to do.

…and considering that it’s mainly inbred rich people who partake of this trend, I think I’ve answered my own question there.

As we all pretty much expected, there’s been no clear winner in the British general election. This isn’t news.

Nor is it news that almost nobody voted for the Liberal Democrats – as I pointed out in my previous election post, Nick Clegg is a non-entity, despite the media claiming he was having a ‘massive surge’ in popular support following the Prime Ministerial debates (odd, considering he came across like he was animated by Terry Nation).

We still don’t really know who is going to be in charge in the long run, but whatever happens (coalition, minority government etc.) we’re going to have a pretty well-balanced parliament. The sort of thing that doesn’t lead to a strong, decisive government – which the political pundits on the news haven’t stopped bemoaning – but which does lead to some pretty good democracy in general.

I mean, obviously I’d rather have absolutely anyone as PM rather than minge-faced arsehole David Cameron, but if he does end up in charge at least his power will be mitigated. And the Tories won’t be able to pass their suicidally insane economic policies. Or their ‘free Bentley for everyone who owns a top hat’ policy.

Dissenting voices in government is a good thing, is what I’m saying. You don’t get one party bulldozing its shitty ideas through parliament, and they all have to argue about things a lot more (which is the entire point of parliamentary democracy, after all).

Take the EU – MEPs spend years arguing about pointless minutiae, and long may it continue. If they ever agreed about anything, the European Union would be the single most terrifying entity on the face of the Earth.

So, hung Parliament = good for democracy.

But what isn’t good for democracy is the way we somehow couldn’t manage to run a fucking election in the first place. People should not have been turned away from polling stations because the queues ran on too long (in Manchester, London, Birmingham, Newcastle and Sheffield). Polling stations should not run out of ballot papers (in Chester and Liverpool), or miss hundreds of people off the electoral register (Chester again).

Disenfranchised voters are not something we should have in Britain. We’re a first world nation. We’ve exported Parliamentary Democracy to half the world (often to nations who weren’t exactly 100% eager to jump on board) – it would be nice if we could get it right ourselves. It rather steps on our point if we fuck it all up.

It’s also notable that the areas which have turned away voters were all inner-city areas, so not only are we disenfranchising British citizens, but we’re doing exclusively to those who are less well-off.

The ballot workers (and others) are blaming about our ‘antiquated’ system – but the reality is that we have had higher turnouts in previous years with none of these problems. It’s sheer fucking incompetence, and it’s shameful that this sort of thing can happen in Britain.

Sorry for the lack of updates over the past little while; my Nan passed away and I wasn’t really in the mood for writing anything.

It has made me think (obviously enough) about funeral arrangements – in Britain we only really have a couple of options : Burial or Cremation. Either way, it’s a bit boring, so I thought I’d come up with a few new ideas.

• Animatronics

  With modern prosthetics and special-effects technology, it should be relatively easy to robotically animate your corpse. This can lead to a variety of options for the funeral – you could have the procedure arranged in secret and then burst out of your coffin in the middle of the service, for example.

  Plus, your family gets to keep you around the house for a bit. Once they get over the shock.

  It might sound a bit morbid, but you’d be one hell of a conversation-starter.
  
  

• Recycling

  In this day-and-age, people tend to be in favour of ‘green’ solutions to problems – and most body disposal issues tend to cause at least some pollution (even if just in a ‘landfill’ sense…), so why not simply recycle your remains? With chips.

  This would also solve the problem of what to serve at the buffet afterwards.
  
  

• Idolatry

  My personal favourite, you arrange a church (or whathaveyou) service as usual, but have someone standing by to seal the doors of the building once the proceedings begin, entombing your friends and family in with you forever (or being burned along with you, if you have the building set on fire).

  If you’re feeling kind, you can provide each mourner with a ‘suicide kit’ of some kind (a pill, or a hammer or something). Bonus points can be awarded for pre-recording a video of yourself explaining the situation to your hapless worshippers friends and family (maniacal laughter optional).

Hopefully that’s given you some ideas for your own departure – if you have any good ones, let me know in the comments. Let me know if you’re planning on using any of mine, although I’d probably hear about that in the news anyway.

Gordon Brown has finally called the next General Election, then. Obviously we all knew he was about to do it, and when he was going to do it, but it’s nice to have it all official.

We like official.

For those of you not in the know about the Prime Ministerial candidates, I thought I’d do a bit of a rundown of the big three. Although of course we don’t actually vote for Prime Minister, we vote for our local Members of Parliament, and then the Queen picks a PM from the winning side (usually, although she can pick one of the losers if she wants to).

Underpinnings of British politics aside, let’s pretend we get to decide who the PM is, and that it will be one of these three chaps below :

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Being English, I put the clocks in my house forward yesterday (I mean ‘rather than being American, in which case I’d have done it a couple of weeks ago’ not ‘I put the clocks forward whilst wearing a top hat and smoking a pipe’).

Although really, my putting the clocks forward had a lot more to do with my gender than anything else¹ – despite living with another adult human, there is no possibility that anyone other than me would be faffing around with the backs of clocks (and re-setting the VCR – why the bloody hell do we still have a video? Aside from ‘displaying the time’ which does admittedly come in handy, but it’s a bugger to set, and it’s probably not the most environmentally friendly (or space-saving) digital clock in the world, being as it is attached to a video cassette recorder, circa 1998) at 4am, because – and feel free to go back to before the parentheses if you’ve lost track of this sentence – the other adult I live with is a woman.

And women don’t put clocks forward. Or back.

No, they just wait for the magical fucking time fairies to come in and reset all the clocks for them. And when this doesn’t happen (because they live alone, or I can’t be arsed or something), then they are somehow perfectly happy to live in a house with inaccurate timepieces.

Some women are even okay with some clocks showing the correct time, and some being incorrect. In the same house. Which is behaviour that clearly bears all the hallmarks of the criminally insane.

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¹If I’m being technical, I suppose it has rather more to do with the tilt of the Earth’s axis and its continued orbit around the Sun than anything else. But you know what I mean. Pedant.

Like a lot of people in the North-West of England, I was raised Catholic. And, like most of those, I got better.

But 16 years of indoctrination through education can’t fail to leave its mark on you. There are little things, of course – like knowing that Zebedee isn’t just one of the characters in the Magic Roundabout - which make you realise that you weren’t raised with the same heathen beliefs as, say, the CofE¹ kids.

This probably isn’t the case in many other countries, but the nature of religion (and religious education) in the UK means that every Catholic school is going to be around the corner from at least one Church of England school. This makes them handy scapegoats for anything that goes wrong in the local area – vandalism, littering, mouthing off the lollipop man etc.

Add to this the fact that Anglicanism does its best to make itself accessible to all-comers, and you can see why it’s easy for a Catholic to look down his nose at them. They let anyone in, you see. They sing in Church (songs, rather than just dirging out some hymns). They stopped doing Latin decades before the Catholics did.

All of which makes it understandable why a hardline Catholic would think Anglicans were a) doing it wrong and b) going to Hell – but it doesn’t really explain why I still believe that, when – having been an atheist for well over a decade – I don’t really believe that anyone is hellbound. Not even priests vicars who wear tank tops.

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