The Modern World Disgusts Me: Part II...

I am sat on a train travelling home. It is a Monday evening. 


There is a business chap next to me. He is having a loud mobile phone conversation and he actually says the following thing: 'We need to park this because he hasn't got a benchmark, so it's obviously not a slam dunk.' 


He says it without a trace of irony. 

He says it as a real thing. That matters. 

Using those exact words.


Cunt of the week award? Already won on a Monday? With six more days to go? I think so...

Quote of the Day...

'The key to good decision making is not knowledge. It is understanding. We are swimming in the former. We are desperately lacking in the latter.'

Malcolm Gladwell, Blink

Holiday in Thailand: Part IV...

We were too knackered to travel to either of the major kickboxing stadia during our whistle-stop tour of Bangkok, so we made a decision to go and see the Muay Thai when we arrived in Krabi. And Ao Nang Kickboxing Stadium was about 20 minutes away from our hotel, so we went along. 

The stadium itself looks a bit ramshackle but it's perfectly safe and most of the seating is decent enough: the seats near the ring are 1500 baht (about £30) and essentially offer leather sofas on three sides, plus a standing area on the fourth side where the locals watch the fights and bet; while the stadium bleacher seats are 1000 baht (about £20) and aren't as close but offer a slightly elevated view of the action. The beer is pretty cheap, too.

There were nine fights on our card, with each fight lasting five three-minute rounds, unless there was a stoppage or a knockout. Four ringside judges decide the result if there's no stoppage or knockout.

All the fights except one lasted the full distance on the night we went, so it was about three hours of entertainment for £20, which seemed pretty exceptional value. Most of the fighting was of a decent standard, too, with the heavier and older fighters taking a more considered and technical approach, while the younger and leaner fighters were much more aggressive. 

The final fight was between two young children and their kicking was so technically solid it was astonishing. The referees were also incredibly good and kept on top of the action at all times during all the fights.

From a martial arts student perspective, I was intrigued that there weren't a huge amount of punch, punch-elbow or kick-punch combinations thrown. But the gloves looked about 10-12 ounces so I guess consistently kicking with the raw shinbone does more damage over a long period of time than throwing punches in padded gloves, although one of the better and more technical French fighters did cause a lot of damage with a couple of well-timed uppercuts. 

The plum clinch, where fighters get their hands around the back of each other's necks so they can pull the head down and drive knees into the head and the floating ribs, was also used quite a lot. But this was often effectively defended, so it was then turned into either a hip throw or a trip to down the opponent. I am assuming this was a scoring move as it was used quite frequently.

I'd read reviews online about Ao Nang Kickboxing Stadium that were a bit disparaging, but it was a thoroughly enjoyable night out and it felt a very safe environment to be in. It was certainly much less intimidating and much less testosterone-filled than many boxing matches I've seen in the UK. But Muay Thai is a part of Thai culture and also a martial art where both the martial and the art sides are clearly on display in the actual fighting and in the pre-fight rituals.

The night also offered a chance to see a less sanitised but also very traditional side of Thailand. We got there quite early and had a cheeky poke around the stadium and the training facilities next door and the staff were really friendly and helpful. It's well worth a visit. Just make sure you pre-book a cab back if it's a late finish.

Holiday in Thailand: Part III...

I have four basic requirements from any holiday: 
i) Time with the Missus. 
ii) Time to swim on a nice beach. 
iii) Time to read. 
iv) Time to explore something old or cultural.

Thailand is providing all four with stunning scenery and fabulous food thrown in. We should have come here years ago. 

One highlight of the holiday so far is book one from my reading list. I thoroughly enjoyed Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell and his second book, Blink, is similarly entertaining and thought-provoking. 

It explores the premise that unconscious decisions are often more accurate and reliable than decisions taken that are backed up by extensive research and planning. Of course, it isn't quite that simple 

But Gladwell argues that unconscious decisions made by people with experience and understanding are often more reliable than decisions made by equally qualified people who purely rely on statistical data and so-called proof... as the former rely on their unconscious to process data while the latter invariably drown in a sea of excessive information. 

Gladwell sort of concludes that the best results come from a joining of both statistical data with 'blink' decisions, but only as long as the statistical data is directly relevant and the 'Blink' decision-maker has the experience to back up his instinct.

It's a wonderful book and it introduces ideas such as 'thin-slicing', 'sensation transference' and 'white space' when it comes to rapid decision making.

I'll be starting on his third book when I've finished Chuck Liddell's autobiography, which is proving to be an enjoyable and entertaining read. That should be no surprise, though, as I'm a big fan of Liddell and used to love watching him fight in the UFC. 

So another Gladwell book is next up. If I'm not tempted by Victorian Prostitutes or Batman first...

Holiday in Thailand: Part II...

Me and the Missus are having breakfast. It is our first morning at a plush spa resort in Krabbi and I have come up with a cunning plan.

This involves me taking redundancy at work, which as a journalist will probably come round at some point, then me and the Missus spending a year in an Asian country; meaning I can train in a martial art at source, and she can spend a year working as an apprentice potter at source. We're also both writers so we'd write about the experience and about each other, too. 

It's a plan I am very excited about and I am waxing lyrical. 
'It would be fab. We'd have to spend six months beforehand learning another language, we'd have to rent the house out but that would pay for itself, and we'd also have to put a chunk of cash in to make it work. But it would be a great adventure,' I enthuse. 'If we went to Korea, I could train in hapkido at source, while you could get a gig as an apprentice potter. It would take some organising but it would be fabulous. It would be an adventure. And it would be our adventure. Just me and you. How cool would that be?'

The missus is silent. I assume she is pondering the plan. Then she speaks. 
'Somebody's got waffles for breakfast.'

I could feel offended that I am being ignored. Until I realise I have the opening sentence of the book version of our travels...

Holiday in Thailand: Part I...

Me and the Missus are on holiday in Thailand. And here are some thoughts so far:

Bangkok is both insane and amazing.

Ayutthaya is stunning. 

The Reclining Buddha (pictured above) is beautiful, 

Krabbi is utterly enchanting.

Five-word Reviews: Byzantium...

Beguiling, stylish, sexy vampire thriller.

Some Thoughts on Ed Miliband...

The problem with Ed Miliband is that we’re supposed to believe he’s a credible world statesman, a politician who can represent Britain and British interests on the world stage.

And it’s not like he has a huge weight of expectation on his shoulders either: the last two Labour Prime Ministers were Tony Blair and Gordon Brown, one of them a war criminal, and the other a Scottish man who was so unpopular that God produced a Biblical flood to wipe him out.

  

The other problem with Miliband is that in a world where media image is increasingly important, he has a look of continual befuddlement, like he just doesn’t understand what is going on and what his part in it is. 

Drink a pint, Ed. He looks ridiculous. Eat a bacon sandwich, Ed. He looks ridiculous. Look like a normal bloke, Ed. He looks ridiculous. Kidnap George Osbourne, dress him in rubber, put you in a Gingham dress, then simulate sex acts with each other in the window of Selfridges on Oxford Street, Ed. He still looks ridiculous. He can’t even get those basic things right.

Ed Miliband just doesn’t look the part. A world statesman? You have to be joking! Running the country? Please! He’d look out of his depth as the assistant manager of the tie department of Grace Brothers in Are You Being Served. Right? Probably. But that's also because we're obsessed with how he looks and how he comes across in the media.

Because unless you want another five years of repugnant, privileged, wealth-shitting former Etonians like Cameron and Osbourne, people who view any form of compassion for the poor like it was a turd that won’t flush in the bowl of the only fully functioning toilet at a dinner party for oligarchs, then you have to put all those media-contructed opinions about Miliband presenting themselves as facts aside and vote for him.

Because if it’s a choice between people who blatantly don’t care for anyone except their rich mates, or a bloke who clearly does care but just looks a bit crap doing it in front of a camera, then I know which one I will be voting for.

And it’s not that smug cunt, David Cameron. 

A Good Day...

This morning, I woke up curled between the Missus and our cat, Buffy.



I went to work then met the Other Woman Who Loves Other Women for dinner (note to readers from below the Watford gap: dinner means the midday meal). 

After work, I went training and spent time in the pub with the Other Woman afterwards.

My day then ended as it had begun, in bed with the Missus and the cat.

 

Days generally don't get better than this. Even with other less good shit stuff inbetween.

50 Shades of Grey...

I am in the pub with the Other Woman, who informs me that she and a mutual friend are having a girly night out to watch the soft-porn S&M chick flick, 50 Shades of Grey. She then asks me if I will be taking the Missus to see it. 

I reply with the following: 'I don't feel an urgent need to watch a fictitious story about a relationship that starts with the promise of spiritual fulfilment and intriguing sex, then turns into a soul-destroying journey where one dominant partner humiliates a submissive partner, only granting them sexual favours on their terms and usually after prolonged bouts of mental torture and physical chastisement. I feel that is a thing I am quite familiar with…'

The Other Woman ponders for a while, then concurs: 
'I see your point.'

The Modern World Disgusts Me: Part 1...

I was in a shop today looking at buying music and I chanced upon a CD by an artist called Joey Badass. But his surname was spelt Bada$$. Honestly. This is a real thing. I have not made it up for comedy purposes. He actually exists. Above is a picture to prove this is real.

I was also walking up Guildford High Street when the Missus pointed out that there was a stand for UKIP opposite the posh bread stall. And there the UKIPs were, talking to people, like they were proper human beings and not the Poundland racists and discredited Tories they actually are. And some people were talking back to them. Like it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

Some people are just fucking idiots.

Five-word Reviews: Ex Machina...

Engaging enough low-key, sci-fi thriller.

Comedy News…

Two comedies currently providing much enjoyment at From Beer to Paternity Towers are Catastrophe on Channel 4 and Uncle, which was a sleeper hit on BBC3 last year and is about to return for a second series.  

Catastrophe is written by Sharon Horgan, who co-wrote the excellent adult sitcom, Pulling, a few year ago, and American actor-writer Rob Delaney. They play a Londoner and an American who find themselves parents-to-be after a passionate fling ends up with a baby en route.

It’s beautifully written and beautifully under-played, with none of the cast grasping for laugh lines. And even though it can occasionally mine uncomfortable territory (birth trauma, cancer, social awkwardness), it still manages to be very human with both central characters eminently likeable. It also boasts a cameo from Carrie Fisher, while the superb Ashley Jensen features in a supporting role.

Series two of Uncle gets under way any day now and Nick Helm still excels as the loveable but emotionally stunted loser of the title, with the excellent Elliot Speller-Gillott as his strait-laced and neurosis-laden nephew, Errol, whose own trial through teenage-dom continues to delight.

  

Catastrophe is currently on Channel 4 and is well worth a catch-up if you’ve missed it. Uncle is well worth a series record when it kicks off.

Breakdown: Part 1...

I am a tad worried that I may be having a breakdown of some description. 

I was out playing snooker with a friend the other day and, dotted around the club, were flyers advertising a vacancy for a part-time table cleaner. The hours were daily between 7-11am and the flyer suggested it would suit 'a student or an active pensioner'.

And I genuinely thought 'I'd like to do that!' It would be a quiet work environment, I could cycle there from home and cycle back again and that would be good exercise, and I could take real pride in making sure those tables were in pristine condition before the club opened and the players arrived. 

I'd get real satisfaction out of doing something like that. I'd be meticulous and I would genuinely care. I'd be good at it, too, because it's a good club and they recognise the importance of providing a professional playing environment for all their players. And I could contribute to that and it would make me happy. 

The Missus pointed out that this was probably an indication of current stresses in my latest job and a lack of satisfaction after a tough few weeks. She also said it would pass. 

But I fear it won't pass. I fear it's getting worse. I'm currently in a well-paid job and an alternative career doing menial work that is probably poorly paid is sounding tempting...

I also read OK! today and I genuinely wanted to shoot most of the people in it. And although that is probably a perfectly rational response, it isn't a right one. Or is it? I'm too confused to tell...

Five-word Reviews: Birdman...

Razor-sharp, offbeat, uplifting satire.

The Best Joke in the World: Part 1...

Q. Why should Grandmaster Flash never bully Bono from the U2?
A. Because he's close to The Edge. 

Upcycling...

The Missus has turned into a crafting dervish: her pottery skills impress on an almost weekly basis when she brings her latest creations home, and she's also dabbling with sewing.

We've also been after a bookcase for the front room and, instead of spunking lots of cash on a new one, she simply got an old one out of the cellar and upcycled it.

I was hugely impressed by this and commended her work.
'That's fabulous. It really is,' I offered as I admired her handiwork.
'I'm pretty pleased,' she replied.
I continued: 'I'm most impressed because it's the first time you upcycled anything. You took something tatty, unappealing, smelly, old and broken and made it both presentable and serviceable. It's brilliant.'
'Actually, it's not the first time I've upcycled and improved something,' she replied. 'I've had one upcycling project going for about 18 years now...'
'And what's that?'
'It remains unfinished...'

And, with that, she started to get changed as we prepared to go out and celebrate our anniversary. It's been 18 happy years...

Five-word Reviews: Foxcatcher...

Unremittingly grim, conspicuous Oscar-chaser.

Happy Anniversary...

It is Sunday morning and me and the Missus are in bed, following a meal out to celebrate 18 years together, a meal that was rounded off with a trip to the pub, then more booze back at home. Consequently, we are a tad 'fragile' and watching rubbish telly before we make the move to get out of bed. 

The TV programme in question is Amanda Lamb Sells Houses. Or something like that. And, in this particular episode, the eponymous TV presenter is advising a home owner and her very silent husband on what they should do to increase their chances of a successful house sale. The woman, however, is quite bullish in her rejection of Lamb's eminently sensible advice and the Missus is perturbed by this. 
'Why doesn't the husband say anything? Is he a mute?' asks the Missus. 
'No. He's just terrified to question her decisions and he's obviously had his spirit broken by years of verbal abuse and criticism, aimed at making him "better".'
'Where on Earth have you got that from?' she replies. 
'I recognise the look...' 
'What look?' 
'Nothing. It's just a wild guess...' 

Shortly afterwards, I was on punishment detail stripping the bed and making more cups of tea. I am banned from having opinions. Fact. 

Grayson Perry...

It's nice when you get an unexpected surprise. And, this week, I've had just such a thing. 

The Missus got into pottery about three years ago and, by osmosis, I now know a bit more about the likes of Bernard Leach and Grayson Perry than I probably otherwise would do. Such knowledge sharing obviously works both ways, though, as she now has a solid understanding of UFC fighters and she can spot a hapkido wrist lock or a BJJ arm bar at 100 yards.

But back to pottery... 

A while ago, I downloaded the series of 2013 Reith Lectures that Perry gave entitled Playing to the Gallery. Topics covered in these lectures included the value and purpose of art in the modern age, a personal review of Perry's own artistic career, and a discussion on what is classified as art in the 'anything-goes' world of modern art. 

And they're utterly wonderful. The lectures are entertaining, thought-provoking and, at times, quite moving. They're well worth a listen if art of any discipline is your thing. 

Even better, they're available for free on the BBC website. Joyous stuff.