Introducing Captain Chaos

I have three nemeses (four if you count my hair).

I’ve introduced the first, a certain Captain Paranoia who has been with me all through my life convincing me how useless I am, how nobody likes me and how I will inevitably end up alone in a pit of misery and despair. I tend to ignore him these days.

Today I will introduce mysecond nemesis; Captain Chaos.

His aim, as his name suggests, is to make my life as chaotic and unpredictable as possible, a kind of walking version of Murphy’s Law.

Often, he is accompanied by my third nemesis, called Tonto (I will explain in a future post) and together they wreak utter havoc. And when Captain Paranoia joins in, you can imagine what happens. Apparently all three of them are planning a big get together on December 21^st of this year to bring about the end of the world.

But let’s not worry about that just yet.

I’ve just been on holiday to Spain and on the morning of our departure, Captain Chaos chose to spend the day with us.

It all started at 4:45 am.

Being a careful man, I set the alarm for this time so that we could leave the house in plenty of time to get to the airport for our flight to Spain. I’m usually fine when it comes to getting up, but on that day the influence of Captain Chaos began from the very second I awoke.

My usual sense of timing somehow failed me, and I took my time, having a leisurely shower. Mrs PM, a woman who is generally always late – unless I step in and hurry her along – waltzed around the house without a care in the world, slowly making coffee and packing last minute things. I had things to pack too and after my shower, I got dressed and I too drifted around the house like a happy little hamster.

And then I looked at the clock.

We needed to be in a cab by 5:45 am. It was 5:40.

“SHIT!” I said, as Captain Chaos watched with a grin.

“What are you doing?” I shouted to Mrs PM.

“Feeding the cats.”

“Have you called a cab?” I asked.

She didn’t respond but a voice told me she had heard me. That was the voice of Captain Chaos.

I finished packing and checked my list. I hauled our suitcases downstairs to find Mrs PM cleaning out the litter trays and leaving a note for our cat-sitter.

“Where’s your passport?” I asked.

“In my in-tray on the desk,” she replied.

I looked. It wasn’t there. I had my passport safely stashed in my rucksack.

“It’s not there,” I said. “WHERE IS IT?” I was getting a little frustrated.

“I don’t know,” she said, suddenly panicking.

“YOU DON’T KNOW??” I yelled. “WHY DIDN’T YOU LOOK FOR IT LAST NIGHT? WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!!”

We both frantically started turning the place upside down looking for her passport. Captain Chaos watched and laughed. After about ten minutes of searching, she eventually found it in one of the first places she had looked.

Captain Chaos had taken it – I’m sure of that.

“Right,” I said. “Where’s this bloody cab?”

“When did he say he would be here?” said Mrs PM.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You rang for one.”

“I thought YOU were going to call for one,” she said.

AAAARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!

A frantic phone call and a despairing ten minute wait later, we were finally on our way to the airport, a full twenty minutes behind schedule.  But Captain Chaos wasn’t finished yet; he had prepared the groundwork for his next surprise.

We arrived at the airport and found our way to the check-in desk, only to find an absolutely enormous queue.

AAARRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!

We had tried to check-in online (as we usually do) but the website had crashed just as we were reserving our seats. We thought we weren’t checked in, so we joined the queue.

I must have checked my watch about 300,000 times in that queue and eventually we arrived at the desk.

“Have you got your boarding cards?” asked the check-in lady.

Captain Chaos smirked.

“We couldn’t check in,” said Mrs PM. “The website crashed.”

“I need to call the supervisor,” said the woman. “There’s a problem.”

Captain Chaos laughed.

After ten more minutes (during which I felt an explosion building up inside), she returned and said “Right, it’s sorted out. I’ll just check for seats.”

“Check for seats?” I asked myself, relieved but still wary.

“There aren’t any free seats,” she said wrinkling her brow.  Captain Chaos was now on the floor rolling about laughing.

“NO SEATS???” I shouted.

“Hang on,” she said – and disappeared again.

I spent the next five minutes trying to control the raging inferno that was building within.

And then Captain Paranoia turned up, giving a high five to Captain Chaos before whispering “You’re not going ANYWHERE mate!”

The lady returned and said “I’ve freed a couple of seats.”

I was delighted and stuck two fingers up at the two Captains.

“Look at the time,” whispered Captain Paranoia. “You’ll never get through security in time.”

When we finally got our boarding passes and waved goodbye to our suitcases, we had to rush through security, where there was an inevitable queue.

AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!

We were looking forward to a leisurely breakfast airside but that went out of the window, when Mrs PM was “randomly” selected for the body scan.

We finally made it airside and I had barely five minutes to make a quick visit to the toilet.

“I’ll see you at gate,” I yelled as I rushed off.

Such was the nature of my call to Mother Nature that I had to find a cubicle. And the only one left was the one whose previous occupant had exploded.

The toilet bowl was home to the most disgusting mess I had ever seen – and it wouldn’t flush away. 

WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?????

I had no choice. I had to use it. I was desperate.

Thankfully, I managed to flush some of it away when I had finished but as I left the cubicle I found a queue of men waiting to use it.

I just ran – I ran as quickly as I could (although I was tempted to shout “IT WASN’T ME – IT WAS THE BRUTE WHO USED IT BEFORE ME”), with the echo of a guffawing Captain Chaos ringing in my ears, accompanied by the echo of the words of the man who had entered the cubicle after me.

“MY GOD!!!!!! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER ARE YOU?” was all I heard – and I hope he didn’t think that I had done it but I am absolutely certain he is convinced that I was a disgusting feral human being with a MASSIVE bowel problem and absolutely NO IDEA about toilet etiquette. I just hope I don’t bump into him again. The sight in that cubicle is something that will stay etched on his mind forever – I know I can still see it in my nightmares.

I lost sight of Captain Chaos after that and we managed to get away with no problems apart from having to pay an exorbitant amount for a revolting cardboard breakfast and a cup of coffee that looked like it had been brewed in a cesspit.

Sadly, Captain Chaos accompanied us on our holiday; I saw Captain Paranoia waving goodbye to him as the plane took off.

He met Tonto there. I will tell you about that some other time.

I have many examples of how Captain Chaos has caused me huge problems in my life.

Have you met him too?

I Think I'm Paranoid

Research can be a dangerous thing.

Being a hypochondriac, I should know better; I choose not to use the internet to research symptoms of illnesses because if I do, I convince myself that I am terminally ill, even though I only have a mild headache (read about my past exploits here).

I should apply the same rules to travel research.

If you read my last post you will already know that I had a jaunt to Abu Dhabi recently, with a day trip to Dubai to scale the world’s tallest building (read about it here) but the lead up to the trip was a nightmare – because of research I had done on the internet.

Mrs PM suggested the trip because her friend who lives there was about to turn 40.

My first reaction was positive; not only had I never travelled to the United Arab Emirates, I had never travelled to the Middle East at all. For an explorer like myself it seemed like an opportunity not to be missed.

So I said “Yes” with no hesitation.

And then I made a mistake. I did some research.

And Captain Paranoia was sitting on my shoulder as I surfed the world wide web, laughing his tiny little socks off.

As he read the words on the computer screen, he must have thought all of his birthdays had come at once. My initial euphoria evaporated as the words sank in. It was like an enormous bubble had burst. My enthusiasm vanished.

Captain Paranoia was merciless.

Here’s what I read:

Possession of illegal drugs can result in a minimum four year jail sentence. Some over the counter drugs are illegal in the UAE.

Captain Paranoia suggested that if the customs officers found paracetamol in my luggage I would be jailed.

Videos, books and CD’s may be censored in the UAE.

Captain Paranoia suggested that my mp3 player was full of songs so offensive that I would be arrested on sight.

While you can drink in the UAE, you may find that a taxi driver will take you directly to the police station if you are drunk, where you will be thrown in jail.

Captain Paranoia suggested that I might be arrested even if I have a small glass of beer.

It is illegal to live together in the UAE if you are unmarried. It is illegal to have sex outside marriage and even for an unmarried couple to be in a car together. People have been arrested and thrown in jail for this.

Captain Paranoia pointed out that Mrs PM and I are not married and that a hit squad of Emerati police would break down our door while we were asleep, drag us off to jail and then I would have my genitalia hacked off with a rusty sword.

You can be arrested for kissing in public or even holding hands.

Mrs PM is affectionate and often puts her arm around me or pecks me on the cheek in public. Captain Paranoia suggested that I would last approximately three minutes in public before the police dragged me off to jail for acts of gross indecency.

For days, Captain Paranoia persecuted me. I had nightmares about being interrogated in an Emerati police cell for being offensive, drunk or merely being in a relationship outside wedlock. I sheepishly approached Mrs PM and told her that I had changed my mind about going.

“You must be joking,” she said. “I’ve been to places like this before and if you behave yourself and are discrete there is nothing to worry about.”

In the end, she contacted Abbi, her friend in Abu Dhabi, and listed all of my concerns. I wasn’t party to the exchange of emails and missives that occurred but Mrs PM told me in no uncertain terms that while there were stricter rules in place in the UAE, as long as you conducted yourself well, respected the local culture and didn’t do anything stupid like get smashed and urinate against the wall of a mosque, you would be absolutely fine.

And, of course, she was absolutely right.

Just before our trip, we had a meal with a friend who had divorced but then subsequently had suffered the loss of her ex-husband. She kindly offered her old wedding ring to Mrs PM so that we could pretend to be married – just to put my mind at rest.

I felt quite bad about this, but our friend just laughed and said that it was really no bother.

So we travelled to Abu Dhabi.

Captain Paranoia was with me all the time. On the flight he said “If you drink on the flight, you will be arrested at the airport.”

Of course, we weren’t arrested at all. In fact, we sailed through immigration and customs with barely a passing glimpse from the authorities.

Furthermore, when we arrived at the airport, Abbi was waiting for us and gave me a massive hug and a kiss on the cheek.

If anybody was offended, they didn’t show it.

When we arrived at Abbi’s house, Abbi and her husband Adam actually thought we had got married when Mrs PM showed the ring off – and it led to a very embarrassing discussion about getting married and me making an honest woman of Mrs PM.

Of course, Abu Dhabi and Dubai were fabulous. I loved it. I will tell you more detail about that soon.

We had no issues whatsoever.

The key was to respect the local customs and that’s exactly what we did. The Emerati we met were friendly and, although the local culture is more conservative than what we are used to in Europe, it didn’t seem anywhere near as oppressive as Captain Paranoia and the selected items I had read on the internet had led me to believe.

That said, Mrs PM and I didn’t hug and kiss each other in public, we had a few beers but were not drunk enough to offend, we respected the local Islamic culture and dressed accordingly – and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

And yes, I will go back again.

The moral of this tale is to be aware of the local laws and customs of a country you visit and don’t be offensive.

You would have thought that I would have learned that by now anyway, having travelled to lots of countries in the world, including places like China and Russia.

I definitely must not take everything I read on the internet literally.

And even more importantly, I must stop listening to Captain Paranoia.

Boring

On Saturday I heard some bad news: I was told that I was “boring”.

The accuser didn’t tell me to my face; she did it in a subtle way but she spoke her words directly in front of me (almost as if I wasn't there). The conversation went something like this (the words changed slightly to protect the guilty and the innocent):

Mrs PM: I work at a place that's similar to your workplace. My company does the same sort of thing.


The Accuser: How BORING!!


Mrs PM: What? What do you mean, “boring”?


The Accuser: It must be full of engineers – and engineers are SO BORING!


Mrs PM (grinding her teeth): Well I’m an engineer, of sorts – and I like it.


The Accuser (now referring to me): Well YOU TWO are MADE for each other then!!

I thought Mrs PM was going to explode. Mrs PM was actually trying to help the person concerned and the “boring” tag was something she really didn’t like at all.

I was amazed that somebody had the audacity to call Mrs PM and I boring to our faces. Not only that: she actually called ALL engineers boring.

The Accuser, thankfully moved away, presumably her senses being nullified by the tedium of our conversation - or maybe she sensed the aggression in Mrs PM's demeanour.

“I can’t believe she said that,” said Mrs PM snarling. “How can she call engineers boring? I’m not boring, am I?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said jokingly. “I’m boring too.”

Sadly, that didn’t go down too well.

There are a lot of engineers in my company, as you would imagine, so really the Accuser’s slur was directed at all of us.

Now I don’t want to have a go at somebody I barely know – so I won’t. Well, I might do – one day.

But I certainly won’t do it now. It wouldn’t be very nice.

I have actually heard one other woman who works for my company (she shall remain nameless) say a similar thing about one of my fellow engineers:

“He’s really quite nice – for an engineer”.

Again, this struck me as an odd thing to say (and of course he was ridiculed mercilessly for it). And if you are reading, dear engineer - I'm sorry for bringing it up again - but I do have a point to make so I hope you'll forgive me.

Of course, Captain Paranoia had a field day:

“HA HA!!! She just told you TO YOUR FACE what everybody else thinks of you. You are tedium personified. I've been telling you that for YEARS! You have the same effect on people as Medusa – one sentence from you turns them to stone. Even your cats find you boring – your bloody cats!!”

And for a while I heeded his words and started to think – am I boring?

Are engineers all boring people?

Do we induce coma when we use our tedious conversation as a weapon to neutralise people?

Do people fall asleep when listening to us?

Are you, dear reader, struggling to stay awake while reading my monotonous rambling?

I haven’t noticed it to be honest. But would I really notice something like that? Do people call me boring behind my back?

One thing I will say about the Accuser is although she has to interact with engineers as part of her job (albeit briefly), she isn’t an engineer herself. She doesn’t sit at a desk with engineers and she doesn’t therefore participate in our day to day banter.

Consequently, she doesn't really know us.

Maybe we are all geeks who are so preoccupied with technology, gadgets, science fiction and computers that we have little time for small talk about the more mundane things in life that might interest a wider range of people.

I know for a fact that I wouldn’t want to spend my time having a conversation about soap operas for example.

Does that make me boring?

Now, I know a bore when I see one – but I would never call a person boring to his or her face – even if I really did find them boring.

Anyway, I don’t mind what people think of me. I have a thick skin and I can take it. I’ve been called far worse.

One thing I do know, if you are ever unfortunate enough to be trapped in a conversation with me and are about to blackout into an abyss of oblivion, just remember what you have read on this very blog; you can change me from being a boring bastard into a rampaging, ranting monster just by asking me what I think of X Factor, politicians or a whole host of insane madness that blights my world.

On seconds thoughts, maybe that’s not such a good idea.

I just hope this post didn’t bore you.

Are you still awake?

Hello …

HELLO …

Blogging Block

The computer is on, the Word document is open and a blank screen sits in front of me.

A voice inside my head says: “Well go on then – type something.”

I answer that voice: “I don’t know what to type.”

Another voice speaks – it is Captain Paranoia:


“Ha ha ha! You have no stupid ideas for your stupid blog – it’s over! The Plastic Mancunian is no more. HA HA HA HA!”

I reply: “It’s just writer’s block – bugger off!”

I am a realist striving to be an optimist so I won’t be beaten by a touch of blogging block. I’ve written all sorts of nonsense on this blog – why can’t I do it again?

Something will happen.

All I need is some inspiration. I close my eyes – and rack my brain. It is devoid of ideas.

Where did they all go? I claim on this very blog to have a superb and weird imagination. There must be SOMETHING in that vast creepy universe that I can write about.

Something…

Anything…

Nothing!

Nothing at all!

Bugger! Is Captain Paranoia right? Is my alternative persona fatally wounded?

Will the Plastic Mancunian disappear into the ether?

Not if I can help it. I click on Windows Media Player and hit a random tune to see if that gets the creative juices flowing.

Supertramp – Sister Moonshine

Mmm – shall I write about my favourite Supertramp songs?

Bugger! I've done that!

Next song; Dream Theater – Under a Glass Moon.

Mmm – shall I write about my favourite Dream Theater songs?

No – not many people out there know about Dream Theater and I may find myself ranting about the state of music again – and I’ve done that.

Then I remember a book I bought called “The Writers Block” – a small cuboid book packed full of ideas to inspire writers (which I guess I am – a plastic writer perhaps).  I open it at a random page:

Spark word: Waiting

Bugger – I’m waiting for inspiration; that’s a frustrating spark if ever I heard one.

Crap – I’m stuck.

Captain Paranoia resurfaces:


“You may as well give up now…and delete the blog while you’re on.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am struggling because I have run out of ideas.

I’ve written 344 posts and I can’t write one more – about anything!

Anything!

Writer’s block – my imagination won’t talk to me. What have I done to it?

Next song: The Buzzcocks – Ever Fallen In Love

I remember that song – from my youth. I liked that song – it brings back memories. Good memories.

A spark.

A massive spark.

Memories and music.

That’s it! That’s what I’ll do – I’ll trawl my music collection and select songs from my collection. It is vast – there are too many songs.

How about a song a day?

How about 31 songs – a song a day for an entire month – and stories about my life at that time?

Too much for one post – but what a great idea.

Captain Paranoia – get back in you hole. I can now write 31 posts – maybe for January.

Count them Captain Paranoia - 31 posts!!!

Captain Paranoia: “Doesn’t help you for December though – idiot.”

Yes it does. I can write a post about writer's block.

NOW GO AWAY!!!!

Inspiration can be found from the most unlikely sources. If you suffer from writer's block – write about that – and listen to some music - ideas will come.

Inspiration is out there for everyone. It’s just a matter of finding it. Thanks to the Buzzcocks ...

I start typing:

The computer is on, the Word document is open and a blank screen sits in front of me... 

Living With Captain Paranoia

Captain Paranoia really annoys me. He has been my nemesis ever since I can remember. I try not to listen to him but sometimes he catches me off guard and cackles, like the nasty little imp he is, when I fall for his lies

Over the years, he has lied to me, put me down and verbally abused me in order to shatter my already fragile self-esteem.

Here are some of the things he has told me over the years.

There is a hidden camera behind every mirror. Whenever you pull funny faces or admire yourself, the horrific images are transferred to YouTube and laughed at by billions of people worldwide.

You’re going through the green channel are you? The customs men there are putting on rubber gloves – just for you.

Women are scared of you  - they think you look like a crazed monkey

Your cats hate you.

Don’t go abroad – you will catch a horrible disease.

Redundancy at work? You remember that manager you swore at? He is the one deciding who gets the sack.

Can you hear those weird noises your car is making? I think that’s the brakes failing.

Yes – those people ARE talking about you.

Nobody really likes you. Your so-called “friends” just feel sorry for you.

Do you know how many women you groped at the party last night? That woman you fancy knows and now she hates you even more. Besides, she hates people who get drunk.

This rollercoaster will fall apart just as you are at the highest point.

They’re not laughing with you; they are laughing AT you.

It doesn’t matter how much deodorant you put on, you will still stink.

Did you lock the door this morning?

Women think you look like a mad scientist.

You know that bird flu they were talking about on the news? You’ve got it.

The person who used the loo before you has a nasty little disease – and you will catch it.

Your trousers have split.

This plane will crash.

If you ask that question they will think you are stupid.

They can see you on the toilet.

Have you locked the car?

That noise downstairs is a psychopathic alien axe murderer – and it’s coming upstairs.

Women think you look like a pencil troll.

It doesn’t matter that you were invited. They only did it out of pity.

They have installed CCTV at work and all of your rants are beamed live to the Managing Director.

People who wear glasses never get girlfriends.

This blog post will offend everybody who reads it.

Most of the time I ignore the little bugger; this is particularly true in recent years. I have to otherwise I would sit there in front of the telly not doing anything, not speaking to anybody and not going anywhere.

I love life too much to allow myself to be held back by paranoid thoughts. I have to confess that it hasn’t always been that way; I have had to be very brave to overcome some of the hurdles he has tried to put in front of me. Sometimes he has been right, of course, but I regard those episodes as character building.

You can learn from your mistakes and I have made so many in my life that I deserve some kind of reward, I reckon.

Besides, my theory is that as you grow older, you care less about what people think and gain more common sense. If somebody openly laughs at me in public I ignore them – or join in. Why not?

Here’s my advice:

Talk to strangers – you may make a new friend. If they don’t like you, so what?

If your mates take the mickey, join in. They are your mates after all.

If somebody dislikes you – it’s their loss – not yours.

If you feel guilty going through customs you will almost certainly LOOK guilty too.

Take a chance; places like Thailand are wonderful despite the fact you need to have numerous jabs to go there.

And Japan? Captain Paranoia tells me that there will be another earthquake and nuclear meltdown – but I am still aiming to go there in 2013.

And yes – you almost certainly HAVE locked the house... AND the car.

An Interview With Captain Paranoia

Captain Paranoia is perched on my shoulder. He has been listening to the government, watching the news and reading the tabloids. He has agreed to an interview.

Plastic Mancunian: Hello, my evil little nemesis. Please introduce yourself.

Captain Paranoia: I’m Captain Paranoia – the only person who tells you the truth. You know that every word I say is true and that terrifies you. And so it should. Will anybody read this interview? I don’t think so – you usually write total crap.

Plastic Mancunian: Thanks for that. You’ve been watching lots of TV, reading lots of news and listening to the message from our government. How do you feel?

Captain Paranoia: You’re screwed.

Plastic Mancunian: Why?

Captain Paranoia: You’re clearly a moron. You’re sitting here talking to me and eating a cheese sandwich with a can of beer and you have no idea that you are screwed? No wonder everybody hates you.

Plastic Mancunian: What’s wrong with eating a cheese sandwich and drinking beer?

Captain Paranoia: You’re a BINGE drinker. The government says so – and the Daily Mail. And cheese is so bad for you they may as well redefine it as “POISON”.

Plastic Mancunian: Really? What should I be eating then?

Captain Paranoia: I’ve seen your fridge and your cupboards and you’re doomed. You cans of food are so full of E numbers that they may as well be labelled “POISON” too.

Plastic Mancunian: What’s an E number?

Captain Paranoia: Something that will turn you into a mutant. Hang on, you’ve must have eaten loads because you look like a mutant already. Everyone thinks so.

Plastic Mancunian: I’ll go to the shop and buy some more food then. What do you recommend?

Captain Paranoia: Not driving to the shop. You’ll be killing the planet with your oversized carbon footprint. I’ve seen you – travelling to China and other places in an aircraft and ruining the planet for the kids. You don’t care about future generations, do you? You are causing the planet to heat up. It’s all your fault. And that old banger of a car of yours is so bad for the environment it is killing pets every time you drive.

Plastic Mancunian: I’ll walk then.

Captain Paranoia: I wouldn’t do that. You’ll be mugged. Have you seen the crime statistics for this area? You live in one of the worst places in Britain. You may as well walk around with a neon sign saying “Mug me! I’m an idiot.”

Plastic Mancunian: The police will protect me.

Captain Paranoia: Naïve as well as stupid, eh? There won’t be any police because of the government cuts. The place will be filled with desperate anarchists, all with one plan – to mug you.

Plastic Mancunian: Well if it’s that bad, I’d better take protection.

Captain Paranoia: And then get arrested and jailed for assault no doubt. That’s if you don’t end up in hospital, in which case you will probably catch some dreadful virus. Swine flu’s still around, you know. And it’s not an epidemic – it’s a PANDEMIC. It will follow you wherever you go.

Plastic Mancunian: Maybe I should leave Britain – go somewhere else.

Captain Paranoia: You’ll have to fly there. So you clearly don’t care about the environment. Besides, if the bugs don’t get you before you leave the UK, the terrorists will. Or maybe you will be arrested at the airport because you look like a weirdo. Let’s hope so, eh?

Plastic Mancunian: You really don’t like me, do you?

Captain Paranoia: Nobody loves you more than I do and I HATE you. Having said that, I like you enough to tell you how it is, because you are too stupid to read the papers and watch the news. If, by lucky chance, you manage to get on a plane out of England, you will probably end up in a war torn state ruled by an evil dictator.

Plastic Mancunian: Nonsense. Anyway, I want to talk to you about statistics. What do you make of the statistics that we hear on the news?

Captain Paranoia: They prove that you are screwed. D’UH!!!!!

Plastic Mancunian: How?

Captain Paranoia: What a moron. The government is warning you that you are five times more likely to lose all of your teeth if you drink more than four cups of tea a day.

Plastic Mancunian: I drink six cups of tea on a good day.

Captain Paranoia: Then you’ll lose all of your teeth by the time you’re fifty – if you make it that far.

Plastic Mancunian: What are the chances of me losing my teeth if I drink less than four cups of tea a day?

Captain Paranoia: I dunno – maybe 1 in 500,000.

Plastic Mancunian: So if I drink more than four cups, my chances of losing all of my teeth are what? 1 in 100,000?

Captain Paranoia: Not necessarily.

Plastic Mancunian: Surely this is abuse of statistics. The chances of me winning the lottery jackpot are one in 14 million, approximately. They tell me that I can improve my chances of winning by, say, buying ten tickets. “Yes Mr PM. If you buy ten tickets then you are ten times more likely to win the lottery jackpot.” What they DON’T tell me is that I have just spent £10 but my chances of winning the jackpot are still 1 in a million. Of course I could win the other prizes, but that’s not the point. The point is that the government and newspapers mislead us using phrases like “you are 500 times more likely to explode if you drink more than two pints in a day”. The chances of me exploding are infinitesimal, making the chances of me exploding if I drink more than two pints in one go STILL infinitesimal.

Captain Paranoia: You’re talking bollocks as usual.

Plastic Mancunian: Well thanks for that. Can I post the interview on my blog?

Captain Paranoia: Absolutely not! Nobody will read it and if somebody does, by accident, I don’t want to be associated with you. Now bugger off!

Thank goodness I don’t listen to Captain Paranoia.

Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.

Or on this blog.

Ditch Captain Paranoia and make this your mantra.