Wednesday, 14 August 2013

Fully Loaded Fat

This blog is inspired by Caitlin Moran in her book How To Be A Woman, a so far inherently interesting and fascinating work, inspired by the author's personal experiences. The book is part memoir, part rant, with some interesting sections to debunk the prevailing myth of feminism and feminist activity. On the train back from sunny Croydon (I told everyone it was London), I was reading this section and was inspired to write something regarding one of the prevailing issues with today's modern, disenfranchised youth, and which resonates profoundly with my own experiences and formative years.

Fat: The Biggest Insult

Its the ultimate insult, akin to calling someone a Jew in Nazi Germany or gay in the 1950s. It is the most heavily loaded insult in modern society.

I was fat. I divulged in a proverbial shitstorm of bread, cheese, butter and oncoming diabetes.

I partook in the heavenly, gluttonously decadent act of gorging my already bloated insides and for this I paid my pound of flesh; along with many others. My pounds of flesh were added to  the ever expanding waist of my jeans. But yet I didn't change. Home was a haven away from the onslaught of playground jibes and torments. Now I'm not talking about primary school level, or even the hormone induced formative years of GCSE education. I'm talking about my cognitively mature years of the easily memorable past, even entering my second decade.

I still feel those pains, still feel the barbarous talons of the words and the innate ability to instantly flay the mere green shoots of confidence and self esteem. Flaying instantly my veneer of self-admiration. 

Why does an insult, seemingly innocuous, hold such power over a supposed mentally developed adult?
Its the pressures of childhood and expectation resurfacing into a bubbling cauldron of  a Shakespearian, Macbeth inspired, anxiety and failure. Failure to live up to the ideal. The ideal sprawled across our childhoods and developmental years of a compulsion to fit into the specified mould of attractiveness. It's almost a modern form of Arianism. Fit the mould or be castigated from society. Square pegs and round holes. 

But despite all of this authors assumed truisms and denigrations regarding this idealistic profile, I find my own self, physically and psychologically moulded by the aesthetically obsessed paradigm of the mass community. 

There is nothing that will change this, but you can change yourself. Either change your physical self, or change your psychological self. Change how others see you or how you see others. But, important bit here, you need to be happy in yourself.

I, for all my assumed triumphs in weight loss, have yet to truly develop that sense of comfort with friendship between my brain and my body. It is a guerrilla war of attrition, with my brain continuing its hegemonic position of self-loathing.

The pieces of life for me have been coming together. I have my miniature 4 piece jigsaw of life put together, but still fear the breaking of this inexorably through my weight and figure. No one talks about these issues openly, fatness is not freely discussed, yet needs to be, it is not discussed because it still holds an innate tabooness. This is why the term still holds its highly derogative connotations and is the ultimate derisive remark. It has the power to instantly stop an argument, yet begin one. The ability to inspire a runner or push someone into a gluttonous mess of beer, meat and bread, like a Bavarians wet dream. Fat is a powerful word, and should not be used lightly, but its power lies in the 'arianesque' imagery of the ideal body and society's inability to openly discuss these issues.

Its not healthy to hold weight, it may feel good, but its dangers are to peoples health, in a physical sense. However the derisive and deeply penetrating scything character of the insult adds a psychological dimension to the anguish and reverberating chasm of depression, which is truly dangerous.

Monday, 12 August 2013

Chivalry Is Dead, Long Live Individualism

Inspired by the words and experiences of a wise Scunthorpe-based soul, I bring to you the decline of chivalry and all common manners and the entrance into the deluded filth of individualism and the stagnating cesspool of disregard for one's fellow-men.

In today's modern consumer-centric me-first society, manners have fallen below the parapet of expected behaviour, and into the realm of exasperatingly surprising irregularity.
To exemplify my point, I take you back to previous Saturday, when on the motorised transport system of the vehicular bus, a particularly disgusting individual (of the physical and character level) sat next to me. Now this moronic cretin immediately began perusing his electronic distraction device and thus became immersed in the all-familiar world of escapist self-centeredism.

Now this doesn't sound that bad, however, when an elderly woman entered the bus, this individualistic character, did not even acknowledge or move out of his seat for the elderly lady. Instead he continued to peruse his machine. He was so engrossed that even myself asking him to move so I could offer the woman a seat, aroused no interest in the self-consumed individual.

Here people, is the decline of manners and chivalry. The days of one thinking outside of one-self are all but a distant memory, entrapped in the past along with black and white TV, cholera and serfdom. Instead what we have in today's modern society is self-centrist ignorance of the masses. Chivalry is dead, instead we have a nothing but yourself attitude to all things which do not immediately pertain to individualistic desires in teh quick-fix, one-hour photo culture of today.

Rant over guys, not that you're reading anyways.

Wednesday, 31 July 2013

A Little Piece Of Something Not From Me

Here is something that I have just read, and as I'm being lazy today.
A little segment from Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being:

She leaned over the hole. It was extremely deep. She dropped in the flower. It sailed down to the coffin in graceful somersaults. In Bohemia the graves were not so deep. In Paris the graves were deeper, just as the buildings were taller. It chilled her, and she hurried home.

She thought about that stone all day. Why had it horrified her so?

She answered herself: When graves are covered in stones, the dead can no longer get out.

But the dead can't get out anyway! What difference does it make whether they're covered with soil or stones?

The difference is that if a grave is covered with a stone it means we don't want the deceased to come back. The heavy stone tells the deceased, 'Stay where you are!'

Tuesday, 30 July 2013

The Fast And Not So Furious

So people, I shall discus a topic close to many a heart. Food. You just can't live without it, and let's be honest if we could all eat as much as we like and not gain a pound, the world would be full of food junkies overdosing on the gluttonous drippings of desire.

Hey! Not so fast!

Well I am a man who is not the most portly of gentlemen, however, inside lurks the obese man craving to escape which has riddled my life for the previous years of my gormandizing life. So in perhaps a drastic step, I have eaten nothing today, on one of my 'fast' days. I am currently subscribed to the 5:2 diet, and today is the beginning of fast. To try and settle my nerves I amply prepared, for the protection of my ample rump and gut, an emergency plum.
Yes, you heard me right, an emergency plum. A plum which I would digest in case things took a drastic turn and my stomach was crumbling in on itself.
But success fellow digitals, the emergency plum is still here. There was no emergency, no need for the plum to be released, no gut-wrenching pain in needed of the plummy goodness of the sweet, price-reduced, plum. The plum is still in its protective freezer bag, ready in case of a future night time emergency.

Now a bigger man than I would make a joke about plums and gentlemens areas. I however, assume that readers may have already twigged onto such possible innuendos, so I will just say that you need some plums in your life.

But, all in all, today (thus far) has been void of food, but full of water and caffeine, and there are of course other ways to avoid thinking about food and distracting yourself. Like the possibility of double breakfast tomorrow.

Monday, 29 July 2013

Kiss Off Rock and Roll Nerd

So fellow interested people, this one is about music. For those out there for whom music is not the most attractive fondant fancie in the box, I do not apologise, because music is one of my ultimate passions in life.

Anyway, I was listening to some music today (not really a world-ending admission to be honest) and two songs seemed to reach out to me and link in a way I never thought was possible, neigh probable.

These two magnificent songs are Kiss Off by the Violent Femmes and Rock and Roll Nerd by Tim Minchin. Now the eagle eared music people out there may be wondering what connects the cult, retrospective pioneer of post-punk, the Violent Femmes, and the incredibly Australian, bohemian pioneer of abstract comedic song writing. To me the theme is rebellion, or maybe perhaps the total lack of it.

Femmes Violents?

The Violent Femmes and the post-punk movement moved beyond the ear rendering apocalyptic drowning of noise that punk typified. Punk, to me, is more of a mentality than a music genre. Yes, punk was supposed to be anarchic, absent from rules and a blatant balls-out spit in the face of rules and structure. That was the whole premise of the movement, but musically it was about as comforting to the musical god as having ones family jewels dangling in the protective sphere of a porcupines nest.
However, the Violent Femmes moved beyond the unflattering punk scene and created something better, in a musical sense, but still maintaining some of the rebellious streak. The bridge of Kiss Off tells about the singer taking drugs for the rebellious nature of it and the emotional responses these invoke, telling everyone else to Kiss off into the air.

The Australian Minchin 

Now Rock and Roll Nerd  by Mr. Minchin is a song which really appeals to me personally, because it highlights the personal absence and aching for a rebellion, something else than what I am.
I'm not saying I haven't done things which would cause me to be dethroned from the seat of an MP if it were to be discovered, but there has never been that recurring 'Rock 'n' Roll' attitude which encapsulates the inner-most dreams of teenagers alike, thronging to be the next Axl Rose, Mick Jagger or Lemmy.
The world of Rock and Roll is infinitely alluring, mostly due to its absence of rules, its anarchic nature, its "Fuck You! I'll do what I want" rhetoric. But, for the vast majority of us Mr Tim and his Australian comedic ways, hit the nail on the head and the dream of rock and roll super-stardom is just a pipe-dream, which has probably exploded into a pipebomb of relinquishment and emptiness. I'll leave tonight with the words which encapsulate the downtrodden nature of my own desire to be part of that sub-cutaneous world of anarchism and rebellion, which the Violent Femmes saw the beginning of the end and the push towards conformity. Tim sings:

While his mates all go out late
Popping pills and having fun
He goes home and showers
And gets a good eight hours
He gets his thrills from his morning run
And while his mates all go on dates
Taking speed and drinking cans of Jim Bean
He stays home and cooks
Curls up with a book
With the girl he's had since he was seventeen

Cos he's never really been part of the scene
Give him guns 'n' roses, he'll take Queen
He's more into Beatles than The Stones
He's more Stevie Wonder than Ramones

Sunday, 28 July 2013


Who needs adult life?

Well, second post and second attempt at being vaguely interesting. As I seem to be basing my blog on the implication that I will be detailing the bone-achingly banality of a recent university graduate, I should probably begin with my recent graduation.

Beneath the heat of the midday sun and the pompously expensive rental robes and ceremonial head-ware stood a clammy, nervous and admittedly quite damp 22 year old male accompanied by his immediate family, waiting for the time to come when he would enter the characteristically concrete 1970s building of the union. The building transformed with the supposedly elegant velure carpet, ceremonial drapes and endless chairs; surrounded by the wallpaper of chuffingly proud parents of the graduands.

Parents or children?

But who is all this ceremony and pomposity for?
  • The Student? Well all I was thinking whilst I was in my heat emitting robes and suit, waiting for my piece of paper and 10 seconds on the plinth, was that I have now done what today's society needs. I am now a university graduate. A man of education. 3 years of work to finally be shot of educational facilities. I was just happy to have a certificate which could in prospect enable to have any job I desired.
  • The University? These people are happy. They have my £9,000 plus maintenance grants and loans, and all they give me in exchange is a plethora of comments and constructive criticism and a piece of A4 paper with a computerised name typed on. 
  • The Parents? This is the demographic for whom the graduation ceremony was designed. The people who weren't there for the highs and the lows, and there were plenty of lows. This is their day. All the pomposity, the ceremony are there for the sake of the people who weren't there in the first place. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, but if the culmination of the 3 or more years that a student spends at university, is just a grandiose 80 minutes for the sake of the parents. It just seems starkly anti-climactic.
So graduation ceremonies are only for the parents., Underneath the sweltering warmth of the solar orb and the expectation of ready-to-be-proud onlookers, the culmination of 3 sweltering years had passed and my time as a student was eclipsed by the ever depressing loom of financially independent adult life.
The dusk had come for the protective bubble of student life and the dawn was approaching for independent adult life. How daunting and shockingly realistic.

photo credit:

The Beginning

Hello All - The First Post Is Calling 

(Maybe with Premonitions Of The Last Post Too)

Well, the time has finally come where I will be sharing my inane and insignificant thoughts with the wider, more socially applicable audience of the internet.

I am expecting this little saunter into the fields of blogging will result in endless refreshing and head in hands grimacing at the lack of visitors to this page. But underlying all that non-reciprocated hope and expectation, lies a tool in which I can vent my feelings and ideas about the world around us and the things that generally inspire me or infuriate me to an extent never thought humanly possible.

I will try and make this blog as humorous as I can whilst dealing with the issues that approach me throughout the following days and weeks and hopefully longer. Everything from news stories, local events and musical extravaganzas will hopefully feature at some point during this blogging experience. This experience will hopefully continue the dwindling embers of my creative writing and intellectual thought, which has hitherto become an addition to my daily life since the bubble shattering grounding of life which typically befalls a recent university graduate. Education and strict rules and deadlines were the intrinsic dogma-based rituals of the months and years recently passed, but has now been eclipsed by the banality of work of the daily tedium and humdrumming of monotonous experiences. 

But that is the past, the future is very much ahead of us and shall be until we tread into the veil of uncertainty and not knowing. This blog will attempt to by a source of light on the past and the future of my life by being an output for somewhat creative thought into the digital lithosphere of these here internets and the ilk of what this future may bring.

Anyways, I believe I have dawdled too long on the road of description and banal repetitiveness, and will  progress now into hitting the post button and sending this tedium fueled, nonsensical gibberish into the digital world.

Goodbye first post, and hopefully hello to many a future one.