Relativity

One of the more common phrases I’ve started using in the past few years is “You’re a child”

I am not talking to children when I say this, nor am I insulting the person to whom I am speaking; it is all to do with relativity, i.e. our relative ages.

My oldest friends are all around my age or older. The rest are mostly younger. At work recently, one lad was beating himself up about his age and younger colleagues, sensing blood in the water, did their best to pour flames on his despair.

As I watched this from afar, I found myself starting to feel the inner frustration that only age can bring until finally I had to act.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” I yelled across the office. "When you’re over 50, sure, you can start contemplating what life is like for an older man. But until then, stop whining. You’re still in your thirties; YOU'RE A BLOODY CHILD.”

Laughter erupted and insults were hurled my way about my own age, deflecting attention from this youngster so that he could wallow in self-pity at the prospect of entering his forties.

Part of me would LOVE to be his age again; yet, paradoxically, the other part is absolutely delighted that I am sitting comfortably in my mid-fifties. Now that may sound strange to youngsters (and by that I mean those under fifty), but it’s true.

I have wandered this planet for fifty four years, some of it on my hands and knees, when I was a toddler or inebriated in my twenties, and loved almost all of it. My brain is full of experiences that youngsters today cannot really appreciate. However, despite the jokes, they do actually appreciate it, I think.

Here is an example.

A couple of really young colleagues from work have formed a quiz team at a local pub. My own son is also part of that quiz team. All of them are in their twenties. Until recently, they weren’t doing very well at all. At the end of the quiz, the quiz master usually announces the top three only and they had not featured in that lofty position.

The next day at work, I walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and two of them were discussing the previous night’s defeat. One of them went to university with my son, hence the reason my son comes to the quiz too.

“Those questions were really hard,” one of them said. “How are we supposed to know who was a Prime Minister in the 1970’s or who starred in a film in 1956!”

I asked what the questions were and then, to their amazement, answered them.

“You should come to the quiz and join our team,” said one of them.

“Nah,” I replied.

Soon afterwards, I got a text from my son, asking me to be part of the team.

“Come on,” he said. “Show us how much you know!”

Reluctantly I agreed to go and found myself sitting around a table with people who were half my age and younger. On that first week, we finished one point outside the top three – a lofty position for them.

The next week we tied for first place – and I won the tie-break question meaning that we had WON! Our prize was a certificate giving us money off food and drink on our next visit. I have now turned up four times to the quiz and we have won TWICE now, the most recent victory coming on Wednesday of this week. Since I have been part of the team we have a 50% success rate,

They are now almost begging me to turn up every week.

To be fair, it isn’t just me; it is the age range. I have no idea about some of the question being asked, particularly questions about celebrities, pop music of the 2000’s onwards and knowledge about the latest crazes. However, my brain is full of golden knowledge nuggets that I have collected over the years and I am very strong on older stuff.

One thing saddened and amazed me the other week at the quiz. The question was:

“Which comedian released a song called “Funky Moped” in 1975?

I immediately said “Jasper Carrott”.

Now I appreciate that foreign readers may not have heard of him, but he was a very famous comedian from Birmingham from the early 1970’s, probably until the mid to late 1990’s. I’m originally from Walsall, near Birmingham, so I know Jasper Carrott very well and have actually seen him live. He is very funny and his Birmingham accent reminds me of my home town.

Not one of the other members of my quiz team had heard of him.

“WHAT???” I said incredulously. Aware that I might give the answer away, I starting hissing at them like a snake with a frustrated whisper.

“YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF JASPER CARROTT?” I hissed.

“SSSSHHHH!!” they implored. “You’ll give the answer away.”

I didn’t care. I ranted in a silent hissing whisper for about five minutes, almost causing us to miss the next question.

The other teams must have thought that we were impersonating a group of deranged anacondas!

I was appalled, so much so that I have mentioned it to people my age who are equally amazed that the youngsters of today have forgotten or never heard of one of the best British comedians of the past few decades.

To be fair, they have also been amazed that I have never heard of various other modern celebrities, comedians included.

It’s all relative you see.

Never mind, at least between us we stand a great chance of winning on quiz night.

Mind you, that doesn’t stop my own 23 year old son hurling ageist abuse at me. Last week we were in Liverpool, where I went to university. We passed a pub called The Swan Inn that I and fellow rock music lovers had frequented in the early 1980’s because it had great beer and a jukebox that played heavy metal classics.

“Look at that!”  I exclaimed. “I was in there drinking beer and listening to Iron Maiden in my youth.”

“Really,” he said, looking at the sign. “It was founded in 1898. Were you there for the first opening night?”

This is what I have to put up with, dear reader. I don’t really mind. What I do mind, is that Jasper Carrott is lost on the youth of today.

He is still around today so I would like to make sure that my quiz team know who he is. Here he is discussing, coincidentally, growing old in the 1990s.

I hope you can understand his accent.

Britain - Your Questions Answered

Regular readers will know that I am British – or maybe just a weirdo from Britain.

The year 2012 has actually been quite a year for our little islands and I’m sure that the world has noticed us a little bit more than usual.

The Diamond Jubilee, the Olympics and the Paralympics have all helped to put us on the map (we have always been there anyway – just off the North West coast of France) but perhaps more people have taken notice of us this year.

On my travels, people have asked me quite a lot of questions about my home country and in order to educate you, if you are from outside our islands, I thought I would share some of those questions – and, indeed, answer them.

I have genuinely been asked some of the questions below – others are just a few I stole from the internet with the aid of my good friend Mr Google.

The answers are all genuinely true – well mostly – possibly.

Do you live in London?

All people in the UK live in London – that’s 62 million of us. There is no other city or town in England, Northern Ireland, Scotland or Wales. 

We were all born there too. 

When the Romans invaded Britain in AD 43, led by Emperor Londinium, he was so enamoured with the River Thames that he decreed it to be the site of the greatest city outside Rome. 

Why do American films always have a British bad guy?

The answer is simple; we are all evil megalomaniacs who want to take over the world – all 62 million of us – even James Bond. 

It started with the Beatles in the 1960’s and since then we have conquered most of the known world, in a subtle way, of course.

Recently they were questions about Barack Obama when Donald Trump accused him of being born in Kenya. This is of course wrong. I can now reveal that Barack Obama was born in London, in the same street as me.

Furthermore, Vladimir Putin’s real name is Vince Putin and he was also born in London. 

Have you met the Queen of England?

Liz and I are the best of friends. We have afternoon tea every day. In fact, she has contributed several posts to this blog. Can you guess which?

How can you be British AND English?

England, Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales are all aliases for Britain, which is an alias for London and also the United Kingdom. Since we all come from the UK we are also Ukrainian.

Why do you all drink tea?

At 4pm in Britain, everything stops for tea. We down tools, go to a tea room where we are served lashings of tea served by men with silver trays, snooty faces and whose name is Jeeves or Perkins. Accompanying the tea are scones, tea cakes and a stiff upper lip.

It is tea that gives us all rotten teeth and stiff upper lips (due to grimacing when we drink an extremely strong brew).

Why is your beer warm?

Our beer is not warm – it is served at room temperature, which in Britain averages -10°C.

Does everyone in Britain sound like the Queen?

Yes. This young man from Scotland has a perfect British accent… 

As does this guy from Birmingham (I used to talk a bit like him - really!):

Why do you spell words incorrectly?

Nobody in the United Kingdom can spell. Those guys across the pond have got it right.

I have been taking lessons to improve my spelling, actually.

I now know that:

Colour should be Color

Tap should be Faucet

Nappy should be Diaper

British should be Limey

Are you impressed?

What is a bloke?

The official definition of bloke in the Oxford English Dictionary is “not a woman”.

What language do they speak in England?

We all speak Latin.

How do you play cricket?

You have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that's in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he's out. When they are all out, the side that's out comes in and the side that’s been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out. When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in. There are two men called umpires who stay out all the time and they decide when the men who are in are out. When both sides have been in and all the men have out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game!

Why is Monty Python funny?

I don’t know – you tell me.




I have a friend in London called John Smith. Do you know him?

There are 30,000 people in London called John Smith – and I know them ALL!

Who feeds the Loch Ness Monster?

There’s a little Scottish fellow who lives in London, who travels 560 miles to Loch Ness every week, with a lorry full of fish and spends three days throwing them into the Loch before setting off back to London to fill up his lorry for the following week.

Why are British people so grumpy?

Because we are constantly asked stupid questions.

And finally …

If you have any genuine and serious questions about life in Britain, please feel free to ask me and I will try to give you some serious answers (instead of flippant and facetious answers like those above).

The Nutter Magnet

I have an affliction that has tormented me for most of my life: I am a complete nutter magnet.

I’ve asked myself why nutters are drawn to me but I simply cannot see what it is about me that sends them into a frenzy. I could be in a room full of people who are all completely different. When the nutter enters the room, he will invariably look around for a victim, spot me and then home in. As soon as he sees me, he will shift into the highest gear of weirdness, smile his crooked smile and, before I can blink, he will be there, inflicting his nuttiness on me.

It’s happened all of my life and continues to happen to this day.

Here are a couple of examples of my encounters with nutters.

In the eighties, I was sitting in a pub with a mate. He got up to buy a couple of beers and when I turned around a second later, the only nutter in the pub had taken his seat. It was as if he had been waiting for my friend to leave. This guy (they are always guys) stared at me with a very creepy grin. He didn’t say a word.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “This seat is taken.”

His grin widened but he said nothing. I should have simply stood up and joined my mate at the bar, but being the idiot that I am I stayed there.

“I can read your conscience,” he claimed. “I KNOW your mind.”

Oh no, I thought – a bloody nutter. Instead of getting up and walking away, I tried to engage him in conversation.

“Look mate, my pal’s at the bar and will be back in a minute.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he said, his grin becoming even weirder. “I can read your mind like a book.”

“No you can’t,” I said. “Nobody can read minds.”

What kind of idiot was I? What was I doing trying to engage the nutter in conversation? I knew that it would end in pain.

The nutter, buoyed by my stupidity, settled into his seat and started to explain why my thoughts were so easy to read. I can’t remember what he said exactly but his words were mad enough and loud enough to attract the attention of quite a few people in the pub. Instead of coming to my rescue, these people simply enjoyed the show and started laughing openly.

“What’s he saying now?” said one.

My mate returned from the bar and, being much more forceful than I am, said “Oy, mate! That’s my seat.”

The nutter got up and I breathed a sigh of relief. However, such is the strength of my nutter magnet that he wasn’t finished. He walked behind me and continued telling me, in increasingly bizarre terms, why my every thought was screaming at him. And then the final humiliation – he put his hands on shoulders and started massaging my neck. He lowered his lips to my ear and said “I think you can read my mind as well – we’re so alike.”

I have to thank my mate at this point because he intervened.

“I wouldn’t touch him, mate,” he said to the nutter. “He’s got AIDS.”

I have never seen a man fly out of the pub so quickly.

Perhaps I should have simply ignored the nutter. Unfortunately that doesn’t always work as my second tale will reveal.

I was on the London Underground. The train was full but I had been lucky enough to get a seat. When I say “lucky” I really mean “unlucky”. I was listening to music at a fairly high volume and was so engrossed in it that I was oblivious to my surroundings. I noticed that the woman opposite me was staring in my direction – I thought for a brief second that I may have attracted the welcome attention of a nice young lady. But then I noticed she wasn’t looking at me at all; her gaze was focussed slightly to my right. Her eyes briefly flitted back to mine and her brow furrowed as if she were puzzled. I turned my head to my right to see what was so fascinating.

That’s when the person to my right grabbed my headphones and ripped them off my head.

The man next to me was a complete nutter, one of the worst kinds – an angry nutter. He had apparently been yelling at me for a while but my music had been loud enough to cover his insane screaming; that’s why the lovely lady opposite had looked so puzzled. I had been sitting next to the nutter as he screamed at me but my music had been so loud that I was oblivious to his insane ranting.

He gripped my headphones in his dirty hands and shouted “WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME????? NOBODY LISTENS TO ME.”

The person on the other side of the nutter must have breathed a sigh of relief at this stage because, as usual, the nutter had focussed all of his attention on me.

“Can I have my headphones?” I asked calmly.

He threw them into my lap in indignation and shouted.

“LISTEN TO ME!!!”

Because he was angry, I agreed to listen to him. He spent the next ten minutes telling me about alien invasions, evil doppelgangers and peculiar conspiracy theories. He punctuated his ranting with “DO YOU BELIEVE ME????”

I nodded in the hope that he would leave me alone – he didn’t. I’m sure that if I said “No,” he would have carried on ranting.

Of course, the rest of the train found my experience highly amusing and again some people were openly laughing. It was as if the nutter and I had been surrounded by a bubble impervious to sound; he was oblivious to everybody else and the mocking laughter that echoed around the train.

When the train finally stopped, I waited for the doors to open and a few people to get off, before leaping up at the last minute. I managed to get off the train before the nutter could react and follow me.

These days I am more aggressive to nutters; if one were to sit next to me in a pub I would get up and leave rather than being subjected to a one way humiliating tirade of abuse.

All this has got me wondering whether I have any physical properties that draw nutters to me. Have I got a kind face? Can they really read my mind? Am I an alien?

Ah – I think I may have it. I think it is my mad bad hair. It must be an antenna that draws nutters in. Perhaps if I shave it all off the nutters will leave me alone. Perhaps I’m like Samson – except my hair doesn’t give me strength; it is the nutter magnet.

Maybe I’m wrong though – perhaps it’s just me. Whatever the reason, I fear that nutters will still be drawn to me. I have never done anything to encourage them at all. I wonder whether I have an invisible tattoo on my forehead saying “I LOVE NUTTERS” that only they can read.

Anyway, I’m not the only one who suffers:

Listen here for the Birmingham commedian Jasper Carrott's experience of nutters: Nutter On The Bus

I know exactly how he feels.

I've Got This Mole, Ya Know ...

I was having a poke around YouTube (as I sometimes do) and I came across this classic piece of stand-up comedy from Jasper Carrott.

For those of you who have never heard of him, Jasper Carrott is from Birmingham (pretty close to where I was born) and is one of my favourite comedians. I first heard this routine as a child in the 70's and I have never forgotten it.

I was delighted to discover that it came with its own animated film.

I hope you understand the Birmingham accent (very similar to a Black Country accent but not quite).

Enjoy: