Cornelius on… The Solution To Britain’s Unemployment Woes

Elsewhere in these columns, I have mused on the fact that Britain’s main problem lies in its TRUE unemployment statistics.

And the fact that there are primarily three reasons FOR them. In chronological order: the Baby Boom, Automation and Outsourcing.

And since there is no way to put THOSE three genies back in their bottles, Britain is screwed – right?

Well – not necessarily.

You see, there is a FOURTH reason for the chronic unemployment that blights Blighty – and caused the recent riots. It is the SYSTEM that Britain’s industry has evolved, over the last several decades. It is DEEPLY flawed – but it COULD be FIXED. Here’s how…

The average Brit puts on his company car every morning and goes to work. And after an hour or more CRAWLING through the rush-hour traffic, he arrives at his place of employment – ALREADY KNACKERED.

He HATES his job, but will take ALL the overtime he can get, in order to pay his bills. And one of those bills is his TAX bill – a large part of which goes to support those who HAVE no job.

And if he doesn’t get promoted every few years, his long hours doing the same old same old, day in and day out, will eventually cause him to SNAP, smash everything around him and go lie in a corner in the foetal position, crying.

At which point, his company medical cover will take over and after a few weeks on downers, he will return and continue – as a broken man.

But it DOESN’T have to BE this way.

Let us take two companies: Delta Holdings and Omega Industrial – both of which make… glandle-hooks.

Now, Delta has a thousand employees, all working forty-hour weeks – while Omega has five hundred employees who, with overtime, work EIGHTY-hour weeks.

But here’s the thing: Omega’s glandle-hooks will cost LESS to make. So eventually, Delta will go BUST.

Why? Because Omega may pay more in total for its labour costs (assuming overtime pays one-and-a-half rates) but Delta is paying for a THOUSAND company cars, employee insurance packages and employee health, dental and what-have-you packages – as opposed to Omega’s FIVE HUNDRED.

And those packages are charged PER EMPLOYEE – NOT per employee-hour-worked.

And THAT is the nub of the problem.

Company cars cost an employer almost as much as the EMPLOYEE does. And once you factor in the cost of those employee insurance and health packages…

Which is why companies that declare massive profits immediately make half their workforces REDUNDANT – they want to make even MORE profit.

So what can be DONE about this insanity? Actually, more than you might think…

Company Cars. Many of these are only used to ferry employees to and from work. Like the employee health packages, they are nothing more than a ploy to force them to STAY with the employer. Quit your job and you lose your CAR – and you and your family have to revert to the tender mercies of the NHS.

It’s like the “tied cottages” of yore – “When you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.”

But if HMG brought in laws that required company cars to be SIGN-WRITTEN – and only permitted them to be used for COMPANY BUSINESS – employees could buy their OWN car for private motoring and use the TRAIN to get to work.

This would have MAJOR benefits. The obvious GREEN ones – and employees would arrive at work FRESH.

However, ANOTHER measure would have to be taken by HMG first. While no-one wants to see a return to the Fifties – where many cars belched smoke, had bald tyres, mediocre brakes and rust holes in the floors – the modern MOT test has gotten RIDICULOUS.

What started as a sensible idea to make Britain’s roads safer – has today turned cars into a financial LIABILITY. The test has become SO draconian that many cars rolling off ASSEMBLY-LINES could fail it. It’s like PC – it’s gone TOO FAR.

But HMG could rethink it, so that only REAL safety features would be covered – and second-hand cars could make a COME-BACK. Here in Thailand, I drive a Mitsubishi Galant Ultima that cost twenty thousand pounds when new. I bought it at nine years old, for four thousand. It is now eighteen years old and is STILL worth at least two thousand.

In Britain, I couldn’t GIVE it away. It would most likely have been JUNKED, YEARS ago. But with careful maintenance, my chariot still goes like a bird – and is SAFE.

Employee Insurance Packages. HMG could force insurance companies to charge companies PER EMPLOYEE-HOUR-WORKED. This would mean a company’s employee numbers would no longer be relevant, insurance-wise. Simple.

Employee Health (and dental, etc.) Packages. Levy a huge TAX on them – to be paid by the EMPLOYERS – and pay the money raised to the NHS! HAH!!

And finally: give companies tax breaks, based on the number of employees they have, versus their turnover – the more employees, the higher the breaks – and limit overtime to TEN hours per week, per employee.

If HMG did all of THAT, unemployment would disappear OVERNIGHT!

But naturally, they won’t. It would ruffle FAR too many INFLUENTIAL feathers. The car manufacturers, “private” healthcare companies and insurance companies – to name but three.

No, HMG will do what it’s ALWAYS done: LIE about life-expectancy figures and try to RAISE the age of retirement – blather on about “job creation” – and order more water cannons to help quell the NEXT round of RIOTS.

The term “sweeping changes” is oft-used by politicians. But the last time such changes were ACTUALLY invoked was to create The Welfare State – a state that has been DECIMATED by HMG during the last thirty years.

Mind you, the above changes ALONE would create a bunch of NEW problems, which would ALSO need addressing. Like, if hard-pressed employees could not earn overtime money – how would they manage to continue to support their families on a single wage?

If they had KIDS, their wives could not work – even though there would now be jobs FOR them.

It’s called the “knock-on effect” – and HMG would have to consider THAT fall-out as well.

The fact is, Britain has driven down a social and economic CUL DE SAC. And going back is not an option. The only solution is to BULLDOZE through the house at the end. I’m just glad it’s not MY house.

Mine is in THAILAND – where EVERYONE has a job.

Of course, this is only achieved by MASSIVE over-manning and a LOW cost of living. But it WORKS – which is why Thailand is known as The Land Of Smiles.

Britain could learn a LOT from this place…

Cornelius on… Marilyn Monroe

On the fifth of August this year, it will be half a century since Marilyn was taken from us.

And yet, she endures as an icon – including to many who were not even born when she lived.

Why? What made this troubled movie goddess unique? It was the fact that she DID NOT EXIST.

Norma Monroe INVENTED her. As a child, she had idolised the movie goddesses of the day: Lana Turner and in particular – Jean Harlow. THEY were what a movie goddess should be like.

And thus it was that Norma Jeane Monroe (Baker was foisted on her by her even MORE troubled mother) developed the character of Marilyn Monroe.

Which goes a long way to explaining why her life was so fraught. ALL the time she was in public or on set – she had to BE Marilyn Monroe.

When she played a part, it was not Norma Jeane Monroe playing it – it was Norma Jeane Monroe playing Marilyn Monroe playing the part. No wonder she became frazzled.

In another place in these chronicles, this writer was accused of INVENTING explanations of behaviour – until he responded by quoting authoritative sources for his statements (see the comments under “Morpheus on… Erroll Garner”) and will therefore retell a personal account which ILLUSTRATES the above paragraph.

The story hails from Norma’s friend, confidante and fellow-actress, Shelley Winters. Early one Fifties morning, the two were walking through the streets of New York City – when Shelley realised the superstar beside her was able to do so, unnoticed.

“This is New York – how come you’re not being inundated by your fans?” she enquired. Norma laughed and said, “Because I’m not being HER.” “What do you mean?” asked Shelley. “Do you want to SEE… her?” replied Norma. Puzzled, Shelley said yes.

At once, she witnessed a TRANSFORMATION. Norma shook her hair free of her headscarf and began to accentuate her walk. Her whole body language changed. She was ON.

Within seconds, the two women were MOBBED.

Amidst the melee, Norma caught Shelley’s eye – the two exchanged a nod – and Shelley UNDERSTOOD.

Fifty years, next August.

Cornelius on… Rock Hudson And Dirk Bogarde

An unlikely pairing one might suppose – but the two men had much in common. They were famous actors. Born within a few years of each other, they starred in many Fifties films. And both were GAY.

B.F.D., I hear you say – but then YOU were probably born after 1970.

Meaning that by the time you were old enough to learn that some people fancied members of their OWN sex (or indeed, to discover YOU fancied members of your own sex) homosexuality was LEGAL. Even socially tolerated.

But not so in the Fifties – and it was in those far-off days that Rock and Dirk were the most popular leading men in the movies. Rock in the States – and Dirk in Britain.

Thus, when Confidential Magazine outed Rock, his management had no CHOICE but to take action. If he had come out – his career would have GONE out. And while, during the Seventies, America’s society slowly began to accept homosexuality – its confused legislation on the matter (much of it concerning sodomy) remained at least partially in place until 2003 (yes: only THEN was it legalised nationwide).

Meaning Rock had little choice but to keep up his pretence to the bitter end – even to the extent of blaming an earlier blood transfusion for his condition, as he was DYING from AIDS.

It was a damn shame. You would be hard pressed to find anyone who had a bad word to say about Rock. He was a sweetheart. But – while he rarely gave them – those who WERE able to get an interview with him often reported that whilst being charming, Rock had always kept his DISTANCE. He had never opened up.

Only later, did they discover WHY.

He had married in the Fifties, but his wife had been merely a BEARD (his agent’s secretary, no less) a ploy designed to bolster his image. After a quickie divorce with minimal alimony, he remained single for the rest of his life. But he had many friends inside Hollywood, most of whom knew his “secret” – and KEPT it right up to the end.

And while Rock had been America’s heart-throb, in Britain that role was filled by Dirk Bogarde.

Coming from upper-class stock, Dirk entered the movies in stiff-upper-lip parts – interspersed with the lead in the long-running “Doctor…” series of films, where he was always up to his stethoscope in voluptuous nurses.

The term “matinée idol” was MADE for him. (In public, he had to wear suits with no flies in the trousers, to protect his dangly bits from hoards of screaming girls – and all of this before The Beatles).

His fan-mail at Rank Studios filled ROOMS. But in 1961, all of that abruptly CHANGED with the film “Victim” - in which he played a gay lawyer, being blackmailed over his sexuality. Many believe the film led DIRECTLY to homosexuality being (sort of) legalised in Britain, in 1967.

However, while Bogarde’s fan-mail STOPPED virtually overnight, his career did not. He began a whole NEW one, appearing in heavyweight, sometimes art-house dramas – often playing gay or at least ambiguous characters.

But despite this – and the 1967 Act – Dirk utterly DENIED being gay, for his whole life. Even in the many autobiographies he wrote, as part of his second career in the Seventies – that of a successful author.

His persona became that of a semi-retired LONER, living in rural France. (The partner he in fact LIVED with was his manager, who had earlier married and fathered a child – but Dirk NEVER married).

Like Rock, Dirk remained a private person. But UNlike Rock, he did not HAVE to. As a writer, he had the opportunity to EXPLORE and TALK about the issue. But his early upbringing appears to have won the day.

As far as Dirk was concerned, his sexuality was no-one’s damn business except HIS.

Of course, now everyone knows which celebs are gay – and for the most part, could care less. But fifty years ago, it was a BIG DEAL. And while the public expected to see stars do extraordinary things on the screen – they expected them to be just like the guy-next-door in their private lives.

Which would have been absurd. Show business is like no other business. It requires talents that are NOT ordinary. And at the risk of stereotyping (oh, go on – stereotype away) it is a fact that gay men are on the whole more CREATIVE and EMOTIONAL than straight dudes.

Therefore, is it any surprise that showbiz has more than its share of gay men? But in the Fabulous Fifties – being fabulous was not ACCEPTABLE.

Thus (in alphabetical order) Harry Andrews, Raymond Burr, Richard Chamberlain, Jimmy Edwards, Farley Granger, Eric Portman, Richard Wattis – and MANY others – had to stay SCHTUM.

(Really? Oh yes. If I’d included Liberace, Noël Coward, Charles Hawtrey and certain others in the list, you could have been forgiven for saying, “No shit, Sherlock.” But I’ll bet you didn’t know about ALL of the above!)

Cornelius on… Cremation

I recall a cartoon from the Sixties featuring two angels sitting on a cloud. One stops playing his harp and asks the other, “Why do some clouds have swirls of black dust in them?”

The other replies, “Oh, they’re the people who got cremated.”

Hmm. Well – religion aside – I am still insisting on cremation when MY time comes. Why? CLASS – that’s why.

All of our lives, we are dogged by it. In America, they HAVE no class – so it’s about MONEY. Although some differentiate between what they call OLD money and NEW money (in Britain, we call such people nouveau riche – which is of course French for “new rich”).

And in India, they have the appalling “caste system” – but that’s just them.

In the rest of the World, one’s class and economic status means a life of big cars and houses – or Noddy-cars and garrets.

Which I suppose is fair enough.

I further recall that in my infancy (the Sixties) many things were issued in two forms – there was the standard version for the plebs – and the “deluxe” version for the well-heeled.

However this discrimination died out in the Seventies, as British society headed towards being “classless” – although when it elected the Tories into power, THEY spent the next eighteen-odd years re-establishing the status quo – the gap between rich and poor is greater today than it has been since the Victorian age – a situation which has been echoed by all of The West in general.

And so today, the rich have never been richer – and the poor, poorer. But short of mounting a Revolution, there is little that can be done about it.

Nevertheless, while one may be forced to eat crap in LIFE – one does not care for this to continue after DEATH.

What I mean is, in life, us poor have to endure driving “compact” cars and living in chicken coops – while the monied swan around in Mercs and reside in mansions.

And for those who insist on BURIAL, the discrimination CONTINUES. The rich end up in luxurious tombs – the middle-class get marble headstones – while the rest of us have to settle for granite, or even sandstone.

And the coffins the dead are laid to rest in range from cardboard boxes – to “caskets” that look like Cadillacs.

Thus even in DEATH we remain oppressed.

But not so with CREMATION. Oh sure, a rich person’s ashes can be placed in a solid-gold urn and displayed in a building TRUMP would not mind LIVING in – or even a thousand-foot PYRAMID – but they are still just ASHES.

The process of cremation is CLASSLESS. They stick you in an oven and turn it up to Regulo 11.

After which, the ashes can be placed in a COFFEE TIN. The container matters not – since it is only a temporary vessel. The ashes themselves are what is important.

Once you have those, they can be strewn just about ANYWHERE. A river, a valley – the OCEAN. Anywhere in nature will return the deceased to The Continuum. How much MONEY they had in life will be IRRELEVANT.

Of course – as with a grave – the ex-human’s life-partner or offspring may prefer to KEEP their loved-one’s ashes. If so, instead of paying a fortune to the owners of the local boneyard, they can simply place the urn on their MANTLEPIECE.

Although they might want to CONSIDER that. One last recollection: Once Upon A Time, a young woman called the Police to report her flat had been broken into. They told her to leave everything the way she had found it. She said okay.

When they arrived, they saw a large tin of white powder on the table. It had a label with “Charlie” written on it.

And they noticed a quantity of the powder had been placed on the table and formed into lines – with two straws beside them. The officer looked at the young woman.

She said, “If that WAS what you’re thinking, I would hardly have left it out for YOU to see, would I? Charlie was my DOG – and the morons who broke in here apparently tried to SNORT his remains.”

Cornelius on… “Rose, Rose, I love You” by Miss Hue Lee

Fifty years ago when I was nine, my parents gave me their record collection – one hundred and fifty 78s – and their 1947 electric record player, that ONLY played 78s. They did me huge favour – actually TWO.

The first was to awaken in me an interest in music that still lives – and the second was that until I managed to modify the machine using Heath Robinson methods, I could only collect 78s.

Thus, during the first couple of years of the Sixties, I grew to understand and appreciate the popular music of the PAST. And armed with this knowledge, when the Sixties REALLY got going, I was able to relate to it from a far WIDER viewpoint than my peers.

Today, I have expanded their one hundred and fifty shellac discs to nearly five THOUSAND records, audio-tapes, video-tapes and disks. And I recently completed a two-year project, during which I uploaded over one thousand, seven hundred pieces onto YouTube.

Not wishing the collection I had busted my ARSE over, for fifty years, to be lost after my demise – I needed to SHARE this treasure chest. And with YouTube, I have managed to do just that – currently with over TWENTY MILLION people, all over the World.

And one of those gems was this monograph’s titular piece – sung in CHINESE.

When I first heard it – at nine – I thought it was a bright, breezy, jolly piece, with a deceptively complex arrangement.

Only later – as I grew up – did I begin to wonder about it. MISS HUE Lee? Singing Rose, Rose, I love you? Surely the woman must be GAY?

But now, the mystery is solved.

Firstly, the lady in question is not Hue – pronounced as HUGH. Her name is Chinese and was spelled PHONETICALLY. These days, it is spelled YAO.

And secondly, she is NOT singing Rose, Rose, I love you.

The thing is, many Western lyricists listen out for foreign hits that have a good melody – then write an English-language lyric for it.

This is mutually beneficial for both the original composer – and the new lyricist. BOTH get royalties, if the Western version of the piece is a hit.

However, the task is a tricky one. It is no use the lyricist merely translating the original lyric – they will then have to SHARE the lyric royalties with the original lyricist.

And in any case, a translation is fraught with difficulties. You cannot merely translate the lyric, since it has to SCAN – and RHYME.

Thus, when most foreign songs receive a Western “makeover” – in the form of an American lyric – the new lyric has NOTHING TO DO with the original one.

A famous example is Paul Anka’s homage to Frank Sinatra – “My Way” – which originated from France, but with a lyric TOTALLY unrelated to possibly the most-covered song of all time.

And such was “Rose, Rose, I Love You” – which was originally recorded by Yao Lee (in Mandarin) in 1940.

Its “makeover” was penned by a British lyricist called Wilfred Thomas, who totally CHANGED the original lyric, which was about rose PETALS.

And in 1951 the song was recorded, in English, by a MAN – no less than Frankie Laine. And the success of the number was such that Yao Lee’s original version was re-released alongside it.

However, the Mandarin title would have meant nothing to the Western record-buying public – and anyway, the record company was eager to cash in on Frankie’s hit.

And so, despite Yao Lee’s recording being the Chinese version (written in English as “Méigui méigui wǒ ài nǐ” – or in Mandarin as 玫瑰玫瑰我愛你) it had “Rose, Rose, I Love You” as the title on the label.

And where the composers’ names SHOULD have been it merely said, “Sung In Chinese” – which must have SERIOUSLY pissed off the original composers – music: Lin Mei (which was a pen name for Chen Gexin) and lyrics: Wu Cun ( 林枚, 陳歌辛 and 吳村 – respectively).

Anyhoo - if you would like to HEAR this still-vivacious piece, I am leaving this monograph with a link.

However, it is not MY link. While my upload is fine, after uploading it – I discovered ANOTHER. It is “restored” – and while clean-ups are often DIRE (including some of those done by alleged PROFESSIONALS) throttling the LIFE out of the records – THIS one has been skillfully done.

And since us YouTube uploaders are more interested in spreading good music than acquiring HITS – I give you HIS version…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PrvRhaoNN8

Cornelius on… A Missed Opportunity

Since I got my first VCR, in 1981, I have rarely watched ANYTHING “live” – thus I rue the fact I did not have my machine running when a certain investigative journalist made the gaffe of a lifetime.

The sad thing is that today, I cannot even remember his name. Only that he was thirty-something – and an utter PRAT.

I base the last statement on his previous outings, where he’d posted reports from places I had been to – about things with which I was FAMILIAR. 

Anyhay, back in the late Nineties, this rising star of BBC News was doing a piece on the Afghanistan/Pakistan border and he said – and I SWEAR I’m not making this up – “…we were taken up the Kyber Pass…”

Wha-AT!

I could not believe what I had just heard.

Of course, assuming Auntie’s VT boys weren’t sleeping, the piece HAD to have turned up on a tape-loop in that year’s Internal BBC Christmas Tape – but I had MISSED it. DAMN!

So I am unable to give you a link to it. You will just have to make do with my seventh-gen copy (the chroma for which disappeared around the fourth gen) of a late Seventies IBCT…

http://www.metacafe.com/watch/5186653/bbc_internal_christmas_tape_79_uncensored_outtakes_etc/

(You’ll have to turn the “Family Filter” off). Oh, and there’s a quicky I put up at…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPlb4Eu80HY

Enjoy!

Cornelius on… The Durability Of Audio-visual Recording Media

A tedious-sounding title, eh what? But its ramifications affect us all. Even YOU – so listen up!

This historian was born in 1952 and during the previous four years, two recording media had been introduced which would change the entertainment business for the next half-century (most of this writer’s life) but which thanks to post-war poverty, had done little thus far.

Most people’s record collections consisted solely of 78s – big plastic discs that played for three minutes a side. The only difference was whether they were ten or twelve-inch. The twelve-inch discs gave you another minute a side, but were reserved mostly for classical music – so there was little conflict.

But conflict arose in 1948, when vinyl albums emerged – and singles, the following year.

If a singles collector with five hundred met an album collector with one hundred, the fur would fly. Singles had better dynamics and top tracks, while albums cost more – and the tracks were COMPLETE – and they lasted longer – but they contained “filler” – although they might be stereo – etc., etc. So who had the biggest one?

However, this is about the MEDIA, so let us move on.

The thing is, ALL records, from shellac to vinyl were ANALOGUE. Thus, with care paid to record storage and playing styli, cartridges, tone-arms and so on – they lasted for EVER.

My oldest record was made in ninety-four. EIGHTEEN ninety-four. And it still plays.

But when audio-tape first appeared commercially, around 1950, it started a revolution. For the first time, people could RECORD music.

And when video-tape followed, around a decade later, audio-visual media had ARRIVED.

Of course, it took a couple of decades for either of these formats to become affordable for the plebs, but when it did, collection numbers became irrelevant. UMPTEEN titles could be recorded onto a single tape.

Then, in the early Eighties, the first optical disks began to surface. At this time, they could only be made by factories – but recordable versions arrived two decades later.

Which brings us to NOW. The iPhone and various other solid-state Portable Media Players have provided another quantum leap in the storage of music and image. This time, the media is stored in little flat boxes.

And THAT (finally) brings us to the nub of the problem…

My entire collection of 3,000 records (78s, 45s and albums) weighs in at around a quarter of a ton – but they could be stored on a handful of Blue-Ray disks that could be slipped into a pocket – or a device I could conceal in my hand.

However, the media would now be DIGITAL – while my ANALOGUE RECORDS have survived intact for up to A HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN YEARS. And if cared for, they will last another THOUSAND.

But the thing is, NO-ONE can tell you how long your media will LAST in/on these NEW devices.

The problem began with the advent of recording tape. But it turned out that if you bought a superior brand of tape and kept it away from heat, humidity and strong magnetic fields – it actually lasted quite a while.

However, tape consists of a plastic strip, with an iron oxide sprayed onto it – and there is much to go wrong. In addition to the afore-mentioned heat, humidity and magnetic fields – if the manufacturer goofs up, the plastic can stretch, warp and part company with that all-important iron oxide.

Plus, a bad tape machine transport system can DECIMATE a tape, irreparably.

And all of the same applies to video-tape. Which is why most of the little that remains from the Sixties is on KINESCOPE. The boffins told the technicians tape would FADE. They were wrong – but the damage was done. The Sixties got WIPED.

Of course, when DIGITAL arrived, it meant media could be stored as ones and zeros – thus the analogue quality was unimportant and you could copy it without loss. But you still needed to STORE it somehow.

This author has had the devil of a job restoring pictures he took only thirty, forty years ago. They were taken on various films and processed in various labs and while some were still fine – others had gone RED.

However, most of my audio- and video-tapes are still good (despite some of the VTs being over thirty years old – and a few of the audio-cassettes, FORTY) – but will they survive as long as Miss Alice Raymonde’s New York recording of Sousa’s “Love Me Little, Love Me Long” has done? (Yes, it’s that 1894 record of mine). Probably not.

For decades, I recorded onto tape – then early in the last decade, I went over to disk. But how long will THOSE recordings last?

Then again, why CARE? After all, I’ll probably DIE in about twenty years – and who lives for 117 years anyway? Why not just leave archiving to the experts and enjoy the fruits of their labours?

And that is a fair point. Now that YouTube and iTunes are here, music has become largely transitory. If you want to hear something – just download it.

But the problem with that is archivists are less than perfect – and they do not archive EVERYTHING. Some of the ANALOGUE pieces I have uploaded to YouTube are WAY better quality than you will find on ANY website. And there is plenty you will not find at ALL.

Thus, collections still have value – but on modern media, how long will they LAST? A few days ago, the Western Black Rhino was declared extinct. How long before a HUNDRED YEARS of our musical heritage goes the same way?

In the final analysis, media falls into two categories: items that are important to us – and those that are important to the World.

Thus, when choosing a storage facility for your PERSONAL media, you only have to worry about its existence during the time YOU have left. But Elvis, The Beatles, Sinatra et al are IMMORTAL – they need SPECIAL consideration.

The electronics giants seek only to constantly bombard us with new gear. They care nothing for our heritage – just our MONEY. So if you want to preserve the creative output of the kings and queens of the Century Of Entertainment, you need to get SERIOUS.

Before it is TOO LATE.

Cornelius on… A Victory For Smokers (?)

Initially, I was heartened to see that America will NOT (for the moment) plaster its cigarette packets with pictures of rotten flesh and critically-ill patients. About forty countries, including THIS one (Thailand) already have these offensive pictures.

I could scan some into this monograph – but I will spare you, my reader. Suffice to say, they are not nice.

Elsewhere in these scribblings I have pointed out that you could just as easily feature pictures of obese kids on junk food packaging and flattened pedestrians on the inner plastic layer of car windscreens.

But where would it stop?

So when the tobacco corporations succeeded in getting the issue MIRED in the American Injustice System (easily the worst in the developed World) I was pleased.

But my joy was somewhat tempered by my realisation that this “victory” merely represents a cynical manoeuver by the giant, greedy, corrupt tobacco corporations – using America’s inept legal system – to ensure their coffers continue filling.

And the funds in those coffers will be sufficient to finance America’s “finest” legal minds for DECADES to come.

Which is ironic, given that it was America’s corrupt system that came up with the bogus notion of “second-hand smoke” in the first place – a notion that has resulted in MY fag packs being plastered with these obscenities.

But at least HERE – said packs only cost me 77p (US$1.24) a pop…

Cornelius on… Big Words

I do like twenty-pound words – they get the reader involved, by forcing them to look ‘em UP! My favourite is “contemporaneously” (it means: at the same time).

A few weeks back, I saw a bit on TV about a lake in America – Leno was taking the mickey and fluffing its pronunciation – but I KNEW HOW to pronounce it.

Phonetically, it sounds like “chagoggagoggnamchagagoggchabumagungamaugg” – and I can actually SAY it – AND know what it MEANS.

It’s a native American word for “you fish on your side, I fish on my side and no-one fish in the middle.”

It just happens to be one of those obscure things I LEARNED, when a child.

Like Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch – I can actually SAY it!

Another is sulphasuccinatedundecalenicmonoalkalollomide (Biomin: the ingredient in Vosene shampoo that gets rid of dandruff – I learned that one while sitting in the bath).

Then, in the Seventies, I mastered Bill Mitchell’s “Lipsmackinthirstquenchinacetastinmotivatingoodbuzzincooltalk inhighwalkinfastlivinevergivincoolfizzin – PEPSI!”

All utterly useless of course – they don’t get you girls – or boys. Possibly a punch in the mouth from some yobbo is all.

But if I’d been in that audience of The Tonight Show a few weeks ago – Leno would have got a HECKLE!

Cornelius on… Walter And The Long Case Clock

Walter needed a nice birthday gift for his wife, Jenny. She loved antiques, so Walter visited a nearby antique shop – and there it was…

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Hi – how much is the grandfather’s clock?”

“We call them long case clocks, sir.”

“Whatever. My wife’s always wanted one. How much is it?”

“Ah – well, that particular model is quite well sought after…”

“How MUCH?”

“Eight hundred and fifty pounds, sir.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize… okay. Can you deliver it?”

“Certainly, sir. But I’m afraid that will be an extra one hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

“A HUNDRED AND… but I only live two streets away.”

“Yes sir – but I’m afraid that’s our flat rate. You see, we do not have our own vehicle – so we have to rent one for the day, then hire a chap, then secure the item into the…”

“Yeah, yeah. Look – do you have a piece of rope?”

“I think we may have some out the back…”

So having paid for the clock, Walter got the dealer to tie it to his back. Then he tilted himself forward and told the man to open the door for him.

As he staggered slowly along the pavement, he began regretting his impulsiveness – the cumbersome timepiece was HEAVY. Plus, it bore down on the back of his head, making it hard to see where he was going.

After a few minutes, he reached the crossing at the corner of his street and tried to look both ways. But hampered by the clock, he could only see a few yards in either direction.

Finally, hearing nothing coming, he began crossing the street.

But just then, a boy-racer in a Golf GTI that had seen better days raced around the corner and caught the end of the clock.

BANG! Bits of grandfather clock flew in all directions and Walter was left spinning in the middle of the road, like a deranged top.

Two chaps sitting outside a pub had seen the whole thing.

“Look at the state of that poor chap.”

“I’ve no sympathy for him.”

“Really? Why not?”

“He should have worn a wristwatch, like everyone else.”

Cornelius on… If I Were A Film Director…

There are twelve kinds of movie I would not touch with a ten-foot barge-pole…

(1) REMAKES. Obviously. Although occasionally, one comes across a classic that really did not properly exploit its source material – or the SFX available at the time were not worthy of said material. However, 99% of remakes today are just lazy filmmaking – the original was FINE.

(2) SEQUELS. The rule in Hollywood is that sequels need to be 50% BETTER than the original, for people to perceive them as being as good (the originality no longer being present). However most just have more MONEY thrown at them.

(3) “PREQUELS”. These are just EVIL. When a franchise finds its star is getting too OLD and EXPENSIVE, they dump him for a pretty boy who will look good on teens’ wall-posters – knowing he will work CHEAP. And often, they do not even bother to regress the PERIOD. Yech.

(4) NO-BRAIN ACTIONERS. Again, LAZY. To paraphrase Philip Marlowe: too many guns – too little brains.

(5) EFFECTS MOVIES. I have no objection to SFX when they move the STORY along – it is when they BECOME the story that I start yawning. Stand my actors in front of green-screens for six weeks, then let a bunch of computer-nerds make my movie? No thanks.

(6) ANYTHING I HAD DONE BEFORE. Like actors, directors get typecast. Hollywood is big on FORM. Have a success and if you are not careful you will end up making the same movie over and over and OVER again.

(7) ANYTHING OTHERS HAD DONE BEFORE. Kinda like wearing another man’s cast-off underwear.

(8) ANYTHING OUT OF MY “COMFORT ZONE”. As “Dirty” Harry Callahan reminds us, “A man’s GOT to know his limitations.”

(9) ANYTHING I DID NOT WANT TO DO. As a director, a movie is a year of your LIFE. Pre-production, production and post – not to mention the promotion of the finished article. Life is too short to futz around with a turkey, just for the pay-packet.

(10) ANYTHING I KNEW WOULD LOSE MONEY. Orson Welles described a film set as “the biggest electric train set a boy ever had” – but he also described it as “a terribly expensive paintbox” – and of course, he was right. As a hobby, being a filmmaker costs more than becoming President.

(11) SPIN-OFFS. Many movies are spun off from BOOKS – which is fine, so long as you remember the two media are totally different. Books are cerebral – movies are VISUAL. But spinning a movie off from a cartoon, fun-fair ride or video-game is just SILLY.

(12) PG13S. These days, almost all movies get trimmed for PG13 release – even if they are totally unsuitable for kids – to cash in on their WEALTH. They buy a lot of tickets. But if I ever made a movie, it would either be for general exhibition – or adults only. No compromises.

So there it is. Even if I HAD the money – my chances of finding something to MAKE would be minimal. Right now, new movie ideas are as rare as rocking-horse doo-doo.

And when one DOES come along – it gets flogged to death.

However, I do have ONE project. In fact I have had it for so many years, most of my original cast are now DEAD. Dennis Wheatley’s “Sixty Days To Live” was written just before WW2 – so it would now have to be a period-piece – and it amazes me no-one has ever filmed it. But I would.

Do YOU have $80M to spare?

Cornelius on… “Life Is Like A Waveform”

It has the rise, peak and fall of same.

And if considered as a mountain – we are mountaineers.

The rise is represented by our struggle up that steep hill, forever waiting to hit the peak.

The fall means we realise the peak is now past and we are sliding – much FASTER than we did on the way UP – towards the Abyss.

But what OF that peak?

It is different for us all. This writer’s waveform resembles a tremolo: a long, hard rise – then a plateau, with its own series of peaks and troughs – and finally, that all-too-quick decay.

But for some, the peak is singular.

It may come early, with a long decay – like Butch Patrick, who played Eddie Munster in the Sixties, then spent the rest of his life trying to recapture his brief glory.

Or it may come late – like Sidney Greenstreet, who appeared on stage for forty years until entering movies at the age of sixty-two. From then on, he was a STAR – for EIGHT YEARS - and then died, just four years later.

Then there was Jimi Hendrix. Having not had much impact in The States, former Animals bassist Chas Chandler made him a star in England – then America – but then he died, back in England.

A short square-wave, with a LOT of attack.

Of course, David Bowie’s waveform resembles a tsunami…

Hmm.

There is probably an excellent piece to be written, here – but it is this author’s bed-time now.

So YOU write it!

Cornelius on… “DAMN, I Was Born In The Wrong Era.”

About two years ago, I unwittingly joined a select band of uploaders, posting the gems from my extensive record, audio/video-tape and disk collection onto YouTube.

And so today, almost ALL of the Pop records, Pop Videos and classic TV clips one could ever desire to see and/or hear – are THERE.

But with this philanthropic gesture, has come an unexpected “bonus” – FANMAIL!

At first, I figured I had created a rod for my own back – my sixty thousand hits per day generate around sixty COMMENTS a day.

Of course, one could just IGNORE them and periodically count one’s HITS (around seventeen MILLION thus far) – but if one did, one would miss SO MUCH.

The most REWARDING comments come from friends, relatives and associates of those one has uploaded – occasionally even the artists THEMSELVES.

But the two most COMMON types of comment are…

(1) “THANKS for uploading [a clip] - I’ve been looking for it for YEARS” (which was how I STARTED this journey – thanks to early uploaders, I quickly managed to fill my wish-list of obscure pieces, some of which I had been after for literally half a CENTURY).

(2) “DAMN, I was born in the wrong era.”

Yes, the TITLE of this monograph comes up time and AGAIN.

And it got me thinking: I have always BELIEVED that as a Child Of The Sixties, I WAS born at the right time…

The Twenties were fun if you were RICH – and one of the Bright Young Things. But if not, the only chance you got to hear the music of that time was out of old tin boxes that played MECHANICALLY-recorded discs – which sounded AWFUL.

Then along came the Thirties – the Art Deco era. But unfortunately, for most people, it was accompanied by The DEPRESSION.

And once THAT began to recede, along came the Forties – and WORLD WAR TWO.

Even the Fifties – with its glamour and Rock ‘N’ Roll – were not a great time to be young. Thanks to post-war austerity, the MAINSTREAM form of entertainment – was M.O.R.

It was not until the SWINGIN’ SIXTIES that the YOUNG finally got to EXPRESS themselves – and The System began to ACCOMMODATE them.

And even though the Seventies was a time of strife and mass unemployment (which is still with us) the downbeat Punk era was balanced by DISCO.

Then, in the Eighties – the songwriters having run out of original melodies – Pop music turned to TECHNOLOGY. The new synthesizers (and MIDI) allowed them to create complex rhythms and chord-changes that fuelled a “mini-Sixties”.

And when, in the Nineties, this revolution went the way of all Pop phases: DANCE – in the form of ready-mixed TRANCE Anthems – filled the void.

But after the Millennium, even THIS faded into remixes and chillouts. Trance CONTINUED – but only as a “specialist” genre. Mainstream Pop music was now DEAD.

And so, as today’s Young look around them, what do they see? The “Pop” served up for THEM – is CRAP.

At first, it was lame covers of former hits which – when their parents played them the ORIGINALS – they realised was just a cynical ploy to part them from their MONEY.

Then American Hip-Hop and Rap crossed into the mainsteam arena – but it had NOTHING to say to anyone outside of the culture from which it had emerged.

And finally, today – ZIP, ZILCH, NADA.

No WONDER I get THOUSANDS of comments on my Pop classics saying the same thing – “DAMN, I was born in the wrong era.”

At least for me personally, now I am approaching SIXTY and getting OLD and TIRED, the knowledge that I WAS THERE for the Beatles, the Stones, Dusty Springfield, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Carpenters, Abba, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Pet Shop Boys and ALL of the classic works by George Martin, Ivor Raymonde, Phil Spector, Quincy Jones, Giorgio Moroder, Stock/Aitken/Waterman, Trevor Horn, Ferry Corsten, Paul van Dyke, Paul Oakenfold and Armin van Buuren…

…is more than a little COMPENSATION!

Cornelius on… More Mischief

Here is a gag anyone with the means to burn a CD (like YOU, on this computer) can do.

First you need a source piece – of which more, later. You put it on “pause” and start recording. Exactly five minutes in, you un-pause the source piece.

What you should now have is a CD that has five minutes of total silence – followed by the source piece. You can write something cheeky on the disk.

Then you trot down to any electrical store that has a large hi-fi department. Walk in and start browsing. If a salesperson asks if they can help you, tell them… whatever – just get rid of them.

Work around to the stereos and select the biggest, most POWERFUL one you can find, that is wired up – but not playing anything. Having checked no-one is watching, put in your CD and turn the volume up to MAXIMUM. If it has a “bass boost” button, push THAT, as well.

Then carry on ambling around the store, keeping an eye on your watch so that when your source piece comes BLASTING out of the stereo – you are near the door.

The salespersons will run around like headless chickens and CHAOS will ensue.

Of course, eventually someone will reach the stereo and turn it off – or at least down. But then, realising they have been PUNKED – they will look around.

At this point, you must be COOL. Adopt the same incredulous look as the store’s other customers. One laugh and they will NAIL you. Also, do not hang around afterwards – at some point, it may occur to someone to check the store’s security cameras…

And whilst it is hard to see what actual LAW you may have broken – you don’t need the store’s rent-a-cops dragging you into their office and GRILLING you, while they try to THINK of one.

Which brings us to that “source material”. The possibilities are endless…

You could just go for the obvious and use the loudest, most obnoxious piece of music you can think of – like ANY Sex Pistols track.

Or you could get creative.

F’rinstance, you could use a VOICE – like a catchphrase, delivered by a well-known comic. If you recorded it over and over – with a ONE MINUTE SILENCE in between – it would drive those salespersons MAD.

Or, if you have the pipes for it, you could use your OWN voice, with an appropriate library track as a musical bed – and make a daft announcement, like “Ladies and gentlemen – may I have your attention – [the name of the store] proudly announces that THIS branch has been chosen for this year’s SURPRISE GIVEAWAY SPECTACULAR – for the next thirty minutes, everything in this store is FREE – if you can CARRY it – it’s YOURS…”

However, with power comes responsibility. If you do that LAST one, make sure the store is not too BUSY – or folks could get trampled in the stampede.

Likewise, a recording of an Adolf Hitler rant would be uproarious most places – but in Germany, they may not see the funny side…

And while SOUND EFFECTS open up a WORLD of comic possibilities – machine-guns and/or explosions may not go down well in a country obsessed with terrorists – like America.

Nevertheless, there are thousands of things that are HILARIOUS when they come BOOMING across the floor of an electrical superstore. Here are a few of this writer’s pieces, which you can download from YouTube…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=en4WIUkUGtQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uwJ8BNL33c

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DBwxVDLPig

…have fun!

Cornelius on… A Tale Of Old Australia

Captain Nigel Cholmondsley was piloting his BOAC intercontinental flight across the outback towards Sydney, musing on how he might chat up that nice, new stewardess – when a bang came from the port outer engine of the shiny new Vickers VC10.

Following protocol, he shut down both port engines and called out a Mayday.

It was answered by Bruce McGee, the sole occupant of the tower at Toowoomba International Airport.

“Yeah, mate – you’re welcome to land here. We haven’t had a plane land here since last Thursday.”

While Brisbane was bound to be bigger, it was also further away – and the chief steward had reported the rear of the aircraft was beginning to fill with smoke – so Nigel decided to head for Toowoomba.

As he reached the co-ordinates supplied by Bruce, he discovered the “international” airport was nothing more than a macadamised “X” with a Nissen hut – and a shed, which Nigel surmised was the “tower”.

Thumbing his mic, he asked, “Which runway shall I use?”

“Aw, any one you like, mate. The wind’s negligible and we aren’t busy. In fact, we haven’t had a plane land here since last Thursday.”

“So you said,” replied Nigel, as he began a descending sweep, which would bring him around to what appeared to be the longer of the two narrow strips.

But as he approached the end of the runway, he saw a series of small dots half-way down it. As he got closer, they appeared to be a bunch of giant, hopping mice.

“What the hell are THEY?” he screamed into the mic, ramming the throttles of the remaining two Conway engines back to full power and hauling back on the stick.

But it was too little, too late. WHAM! Bits of kangaroo flew in one direction – while bits of VC10 flew in the other.

And Bruce McGee said, “Struth – it’s going to be another day like last Thursday.”

    

[My name's Cornelius - I'm here all week.]

Cornelius on… America (sigh) Again

Has it not occurred to our ex-colonial cousins that the time has come for them to finally RID themselves of the primitive, barbaric SCOURGE of Capital Punishment?

This writer has no need to detail the four reasons why state execution is not acceptable in a civilised society – or even expedient – since they were covered YEARS ago, by his alter-ego Damien, on: http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/2008/11/30/damien-on-capital-punishment/

No, THIS time he muses on the embarrassment the country which thinks itself to be the most advanced in the World is suffering, because of its dogged refusal to accept the obvious.

For decades, its lethal injection materials were obtained from local pharmaceutical companies – but then, they stopped making them. And so, given America’s fear of having state-run companies, it was forced to look elsewhere for its poisons.

Initially, Uncle Sam went to his faithful bitch, Britannia; but even Downing Street (eventually) banned exports of the necessary toxins to the country it has a Special Relationship with.

The Foreign Office has a list of substances and equipment – and a list of countries they can not be exported to, for fear they be misused (like, try getting an export licence to ship missile guidance systems to North Korea).

And despite its famously dodgy politics, they found Italy was not playing, either. These days, ALL Western European counties have abolished the practice. Most for around half a CENTURY. Some for even longer.

Then they tried India – the country that manufactures legitimate generic syldenafil citrate (Viagra) for pennies a pill (they are called Kamagra, if you want some) – but even THEY blocked them.

So now, The Greatest Country In The World is reduced to grubbing around, dealing with the very same characters their CIA have on their Most Wanted List, to try to score the substances.

In their words – really?

Cornelius on… American Top Tens

REASONS THE WORLD USED TO LOVE AMERICA

(1) Glenn Miller

(2) Ford Thunderbirds

(3) Frank Sinatra

(4) Hollywood

(5) Marilyn Monroe

(6) Rock ‘N’ Roll

(7) Elvis Presley

(8) Fender Stratocasters

(9) McDonalds

(10) Michael Jackson

REASONS THE WORLD NOW HATES AMERICA

(1) Glenn Beck

(2) Stretch Hummers

(3) George W. Bush

(4) Fox “News”

(5) Oprah audiences

(6) Political Correctness

(7) Sarah Palin

(8) Rap “Music”

(9) Beauty “Pageants”

(10) Michael Jackson

Cornelius on… The American Sitcom

Most of the writers and many of the actors on American sitcoms are Jewish. Thus it has been said that the American sense of humour (or humor) is really the JEWISH sense of humour.

Perhaps this is what Mel Gibson was talking about – but he could have PUT it better.

Anyhoo, the history of American sitcoms is a lot like the history of Pop Music (was) – it goes up and down in approximately ten-year cycles.

It began after WW2, as US TV itself began to emerge. Most Fifties sitcoms were shot In Front Of A Live Studio Audience (as were most shows in those days) and are thus only viewable today on tatty kinescopes.

However, some were shot on 35mm film and survive in transmittable condition. So today, we can still enjoy Jackie Gleason’s Honeymooners, Phil Silvers’ Bilko Show and the various incarnations of Lucille Ball’s Lucy Shows.

Plus Burns And Allen and Jack Benny – particularly the episodes where the guest star wound Jack up by going off-script (as did Bob Hope and the afore-mentioned George Burns).

And then came a lull.

But eventually the Sixties took off with shows like Bewitched, The Munsters, The Addams Family, F Troop, Hogan’s Heroes and Get Smart. However, these broke tradition by being filmed cold, in a film studio – with canned laughter.

But in the Seventies, live audiences returned.

The last major show of that period to use canned laughter was M*A*S*H – although it played in Britain WITHOUT it – a fact which only came to light when a careless BBC technician forgot to turn the laugh-track OFF.

(A number of other series – like The Addams Family – can also play without the laugh-track. And they are MUCH better without it. Indeed, the producers of M*A*S*H wanted their opus to play in The States without the inane racket – but were overridden by the TV execs. These days, sitcoms without laugh-tracks are common – but sadly, many would not GET laughs if an audience was present).

Anyhay, the likes of Taxi, Barney Miller, Soap, Happy Days and its spinoffs – with their live audiences – ruled the decade.

But then came another lull.

The Eighties was Pop’s last hurrah – but its kitsch style did NOT suit the sitcom format. Only Cheers rose above it – although even that show had a rocky start, ratings wise.

But rise it DID, spawning one of the greatest US sitcoms of all time – Frasier.

And as the Nineties progressed, it turned into another Golden Age for the American sitcom. The year after Frasier began, it was joined by Friends and the two series bestrode the decade like a Colossus.

And they were not alone. The paranoid Seinfeld, outrageous Roseanne and quirky 3rd Rock From The Sun all conspired to make the Nineties the best decade for US sitcoms since the Fifties.

But now we are back in another lull.

At the end of the Nineties, Will & Grace kept people tuned in – but its producers’ next venture, S#*! My Dad Says, got cancelled after just 18 eps. This despite the talents of 80-year-old (playing a man of 72) Bill Shatner. Its pilot was even directed by the veteran James Burrows.

And whilst successful, the spiritual replacement for Friends – How I Met Your Mother – has failed to reach its predecessor’s lofty heights.

This has been the story of the Naughties (?) New shows start off with high hopes – then crash and burn.

The only success story today has been a MAN, rather than a series: Chuck Lorre. He has bestrode America’s sitcom industry like a Colossus, for the last TWO decades.

He began as a writer on Roseanne – then went on to create the semi-successes (they only ran for FIVE years) Grace Under Fire, Cybill and Dharma & Greg – finally hitting gold with Two And A Half Men.

And thanks to that show’s lead actor’s off-stage antics, it will be getting a revamp next year – that COULD enable it to become the most successful sitcom of ALL TIME.

What is more, Chuck has other strings to his bow – The Big Bang Theory is class A and has now been running for four seasons, with consistently high ratings.

And as if that is not enough, the man has a NEW show – Molly & Mike – of which so far ALL episodes have been directed by Burrows.

Again, the ratings have been consistently high, dropping only slightly for the last few episodes (but then TV ratings always drop as Summer approaches and people venture outside).

Either way, it has been picked up for a second season.

So unless America wants TV sitcoms to DIE – it had better hope nothing bad happens to Chuck Lorre. Who is Jewish. Which is where we came in…

Cornelius on… Britain On Fire – Again

Every decade or so, the British decide to blow off a little steam.

The last time they went on the rampage was at the height (or DEPTH) of Thatcher’s rule. Now, Cameron rules. It is of course no coincidence that both times, a Conservative government was in power (albeit this time with a few tamed Lib-Dems).

And right now, people are asking – WHY?

Well, first comes the obvious: the fact that since 1973, life in Britain has steadily become INTOLERABLE – repression, regulation, rules and more rules.

But the MAIN reason can be summed up in one word: UNEMPLOYMENT.

To examine the history, we need to go back to the end of Britain’s argument with Adolf Hitler [shimmer and fade].

When WW2 ended, Britain was SHATTERED. It needed rebuilding – but a considerable number of those who had secured its victory were unable to return, on account of them being a bit dead.

Thus Britain actually had a SURPLUS of jobs.

And so it was that the British government arranged for members of its Commonwealth (the thing that had replaced the Empire) to come and help out.

London Transport nailed recruitment notices to trees in Africa and the West Indies, while the medical profession advertised for qualified personnel in South Asia.

This resulted in a huge influx of people from what had previously been the Pink Bits On The Map.

And for the next twenty years or so, prosperity (eventually) and peace and harmony ruled. Okay, the Fifties were a bit grey – but in the Sixties, Britain BOOMED.

But every party has to come to an end – and in 1973 it ended with a BUMP. For the first time since The Armistice, Britain had more PEOPLE than JOBS.

And the first victims were the YOUNG. The thing was, between War’s End and the late Fifties – there had been a “baby boom”. Both for the British – and the new immigrant workers. And in the late Sixties, both of their progeny began leaving SCHOOL.

Initially, this caused FRICTION between the two groups. Extreme right-wing groups emerged, who hated black people. Then as a reaction, left-wing groups emerged, who hated right-wing groups.

Thus the Seventies was a rocky time. Right-wing groups offered immigrants money to go back home. They readily agreed, since they only lived in the next street. 

However, two additional problems emerged. One: thanks to a relaxation in import restrictions, which for decades had prevented cheap imports from decimating British industries, factories began to close – or “outsource” their labour to the Third World.

And two: thanks to transistors, a Fifties invention, giving way to ICs – “chips” – it became possible to AUTOMATE a lot of jobs.

These two factors meant that by the Eighties, tension between black and white folk had mellowed – because there was no work for EITHER.

At this point, the British government SHOULD have stepped in. A radical rethink of the whole BUSINESS of labour was urgently needed.

But as usual, they took the short view – preferring to botch, patch and make do. And order increased control of rioters. Put simply – attack the symptom rather than the disease.

Which brings us to the current situation.

Empty promises of “job creation” fool no-one – the British people know their country is BUSTED. Its unemployment rate now languishes at around twenty-five percent.

Oh, I’m sorry – did you really think it was TEN percent? You must have been listening to Government Figures again - you know, like the ones that claim that in the future, people will live to NINETY – so they won’t need their government pension until they hit seventy.

If you read the SMALL print, you will see that they only cover those SIGNING ON for “Job-Seeker’s Allowance”.

They do NOT cover those – mostly over fifty, who have NO chance of ever working again – who have managed to get onto long-term SICK benefit.

They do not cover “fringe” people who, for one reason or another, CANNOT sign on.

And they do not cover the MILLIONS of women who would give their RIGHT ARMS to work – so they can pay the BILLS – but who are MOTHERS.

Factor in all THOSE people and – twenty-five percent.

And so it is that every year, another wave of kids leave school (their stay having possibly been extended by “further education” – which, if they EVER GET a job, they will spend YEARS PAYING for) and discover the job market is a DESERT.

They are told they lack “experience” – although they soon discover that even those WITH experience are hard-pressed to find work.

Of course, the immediate answer is simple: REDUCE the age of retirement to sixty and LIMIT EVERYONE’S working hours to forty a week. Then rinse and repeat, every five years or so.

However, the system that has evolved – and which is the thing that needs RADICALLY CHANGING – will not permit it.

All British companies keep their workforce as SMALL AS POSSIBLE. Why? Because company cars, health plans, dental (all of which help “tie” employees to them) and most of all – EMPLOYEE INSURANCE – are all charged PER EMPLOYEE. Not per employee-hour-worked.

Thus a company which has fifty employees working eighty hours a week pays CONSIDERABLY LESS for these “benefits” than one which has a hundred employees working forty hours a week.

And therein lies the rub.

Furthermore, the problem is compounded by the figures: stop overtime, and yet MORE people would be dumped below the poverty line (although with housewives now being able to find work, that problem would be lessened, for couples).

But then there is the bugbear of earlier retirement – someone has to PAY for it. Thus those in work would be faced with the DUAL load of higher taxes – and smaller wages.

It’s not easy.

However, unless England wants to face this kind of rioting and disorder on a REGULAR basis – particularly among its young – its politicians are going to have to pull their heads out of their arses and ADDRESS THE FREAKIN’ ISSUE.

Cornelius on… 10 O’Clock Live: TW3 Lives!

Last year, Britain’s Channel Four ran an “alternative” Election Special, featuring three of their best comedy performers – Charlie Brooker, Jimmy Carr and David Mitchell – with Lauren Laverne chairing.

If I were still unfortunate enough to be imprisoned in that shattered isle (I gather it’s on fire again – happens every thirteen years or so – generally when a Tory government is in power) I expect I too would have watched the programme, rather than the “straight” offerings.

Anyhoo, it seems the exec producer, Ben Caudell, is either as long in the tooth as THIS reporter – or is a fan of classic TV – because he immediately launched the foursome in an EXACT CLONE of TW3 (“That Was The Week, That Was”) called “10 O’Clock Live”.

Of course, the intervening HALF CENTURY has meant a few changes, but one suspects the late, great Ned Sherrin would approve of them.

If you’re a fan of “10 O’Clock Live” – you probably don’t know what I’m talking about. So to check OUT TW3, click:- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmDwQLWwUcg – then after you’ve watched THAT clip – scroll down to the “video responses” to find the next. Then rinse and repeat. There are FIVE clips in all – the last of which is CHAOS!

Cornelius on… Hope I Die Before I Get Old

I just read an article – and sometimes it is SATISFYING to be able to say, “I TOLD you so!”

Elsewhere in these ramblings, I claimed the stats for Life Expectancy were BOGUS. That in MY experience, people were NOT living significantly longer than in times past.

Having, some years ago, trawled through a TON of parish death records, during an attempt to construct my family tree – before ESCAPING cold, wet, miserable, overpriced Britain – I uncovered an interesting FACT.

In days of yore, people lived pretty much to the age they live NOW.

HOWEVER, while wading through these death certificates, time and time AGAIN, I came across death certificates for poor little kids under TWELVE.

Now, having spent MY first six years in a cold, damp slum, in Ipswich – during which time I caught pneumonia and NEARLY DIED – I began to realize the TRUTH.

Which was that in olden times, people had MORE kids, knowing that they would probably LOSE a couple to the MANY health problems that our modern age – with its central heating, double-glazing, cavity wall insulation, roof insulation and man-made-fibre clothes and bed-covers – has said GOODBYE to.

And of course, this FAR higher infant mortality rate completely SCREWED the figures.

For example: if a village had 100 people, 99 of whom earned €1 per day – while just ONE earned €100 – the average wage for the village would be €2 (alright – €1.99). But that would be WRONG. Almost ALL of those villagers would be earning around HALF of that figure – said figure having been boosted by that one big earner. And thus it is, with life expectancy.

In my previous monograph (which can be found below – or to save you scrolling, just click on:- http://corneliusatloppers.wordpress.com/2009/03/03/cornelius-on-life-expectancy/ ) I quoted Mark Twain’s – “There are lies, damned lies and statistics” – and said that figures OUGHT to be available, which LEFT OUT infant deaths.

And the article I just read included the SAME QUOTE – and TOTALLY concurred with what I said in my previous piece.

The article can be found at:- http://www.healthpromoting.com/Articles/articles/expect.htm

And after reading it, you will say, “He TOLD me so…!”

But the REALLY scary thing is that the British government have recently published NEW figures that claim we will all live even LONGER – in order to justify their plans to RAISE the age at which people can retire on government pension.

DO NOT BELIEVE them! If you are British and over twelve, despite better health-care, improved diet, etc., – you can STILL expect to clock out at 79 if you are a bloke – and 82 if you are not.

Unless stem-cell, genetic, and/or cloning research FINALLY comes up with that “cure” for ageing. But that is another issue – which I have covered elsewhere in these columns.

For now, just accept the REAL stats – and do not be bamboozled by LIARS.

On a different site, I completed an online questionnaire which gives you your life expectancy, if you tick details about your lifestyle (diet, exercise, etc.)

And according to that – I DIED TWO YEARS AGO!

Cornelius on… My Art Deco Restaurant (And YouTube Channel)

In the Seventies, I was a lowly invoice clerk for Strand Hotels, working in an office in Sherwood Street, I think.

Anyhoo, we used to get a free lunch (who said there was no such thing?) at the staff canteen at the Regent Palace Hotel (one of the group).

And it was while exploring the basement of that building, to while away a few minutes before I was due back at the office – that I came across a MAGICAL PLACE!

It was a disused restaurant. It had some tatty canteen-style furniture, under dust sheets – but it was the ROOM that staggered me. It was a bit dingy – but it was PURE ART DECO.

It had a staircase and a small bandstand. All it would have needed, to turn it into a PRIMO RETRO NIGHTSPOT, would have been a coat of white paint, some decent period furniture – and an eight-piece band, doing Jack Hylton arrangements. Then it would have been an AUTHENTIC Art Deco club.

They could have knocked out an entrance into Glasshouse Street, hung up a neon sign – and blitzed “Blitz” (a “trendy” restaurant where WW2 memorabilia, obtained cheaply from auctions, hung from the walls – and they charged twenty quid for sausages and mash).

But no-one would have listened to ME (they didn’t in 1991 – when I said there had been a CLIMATE SHIFT). And even if they had, I’d have got NOTHING – so I kept silent.

And now, the Regent Palace Hotel – with its tatty Wild West-themed bar/restaurant – is GONE. And with it, the opportunity for a GENUINE “themed” restaurant experience.

It could have been like that house in Bradford, where an old recluse died and people discovered it was an Art Deco TIME-CAPSULE, with original panelling on the walls, doors and everything – it’s a MUSEUM, now.

However, one cannot help but wonder if they HAD opened an authentic Art Deco restaurant in it – would they later have been ALLOWED to DEMOLISH the building?!

For more on “The Boss” – and other gems from the Art Deco era – hit http://www.youtube.com/user/ArtDecoChap?feature=mhee

Cornelius on… What The Censor Saw

Film censors are there to protect the public, right? Wrong. They are there to protect the film industry FROM the public. Let us travel back to the beginning (picture shimmers and fades)…

As early as the “silent” era, there were already rumblings from government that this new film industry needed moderating – by THEM.

And in those days, it was illegal to display naughty things to the public.

This gave the industry two problems.

The first was the threat of government censorship. The industry knew that politicians would not stop at suppressing sex and violence – they would suppress anything THEY did not like. Totalitarianism.

The second was threat of action being taken against exhibitors of their products. Self-appointed guardians of public morality bringing prosecutions against individual cinema managers.

Something had to be done – and quickly. Thus it was that the industry decided to SELF-regulate before the matter was taken out of their hands.

Enter the official, INDEPENDENT film censor.

These bodies were set up BY the industry – and paid for by them, too.

When a studio wanted a film exhibited in a major theatre chain, they had to submit it to the censor – pay them a fee – then wait and hope.

The censors had a singular role. They were NOT self-appointed guardians of public morality. Rather, a collection of people whose job was to judge what the mainstream public would find acceptable – and be able to ADAPT to changes in that standard.

Furthermore, censorship was about WAY more than mere sex and violence.

Its main concern was MORALITY. Like, no-one could ever be seen to BENEFIT from – or even get away with – a crime. Even COMEDY crooks had to get nabbed. And this extended to MORAL crimes, too. If someone was naughty – they had to SUFFER.

And these rules existed – on both sides of The Pond – right up to 1969. At which point, it was decided the public had “matured” – and thus it was time to undo a few buttons.

By this time, people knew criminals often DID get away with it. People did bad things WITHOUT getting their comeuppance. And a glimpse of a pair of tits would NOT cause audiences to run off and commit atrocities in the nearest public park.

However, despite the relaxation of the rules, there was still one area of filmed story-telling which gave the censors nightmares – IMITATION.

While acknowledging that most of the excesses portrayed in movies are unlikely to be aped (few people are going to watch an Arnie movie, then go out and invade a small country) there are still some activities that give people IDEAS.

Like, Brando’s “The Wild One” was not particularly graphic – after all, it was made in 1953.

But with Britain just coming out of a war, cars were expensive and fuel was still rationed. Thus motorbikes were a popular mode of travel – and biker gangs were becoming an issue.

And while The Wild One was not ABOUT a motorcycle gang taking over a small town – the censors worried that some might get the IDEA from the movie.

Imagine a bunch of bikers riding into a small village, having cut the phone wires (no mobiles in those days) – then raping the more attractive villagers and taking what they wanted… you can see the problem.

It was not shown in the UK in ANY cut, until the late Sixties – by which time, biker gangs had had their day.

Peter Collinson is most famous for directing “The Italian Job” – a film made JUST before the easing of censorship – in which the protagonists ALMOST get away with the loot. But a year earlier, he had made a film called “The Penthouse”.

Now back in the Sixties, Britain’s censor was John Trevelyan – a man who LOOKED like a censor (small, wiry, besuited – with old-fashioned glasses) – but was actually pretty groovy.

He was the first guy to invite directors to DISCUSS films with him. So if a British filmmaker knew a project was likely to give them censorship problems – they could go and show John the script, before wasting money filming something that would likely end up in the DUMPER.

Of course, a certain amount of fencing would take place. And like a golf ball never gets FURTHER from the hole after being marked – when John and a director agreed how a scene could be filmed without being cut, BOTH sides knew the scene would end up being just a LITTLE more graphic than what had been agreed on.

Thus, doubtless The Penthouse ended up being a tad stronger than it would have been, had Collinson simply shot it – then waited to see what the censor DID to it.

But he went to see John - and it was decided that the plot (a man and his secretary have an assignation in an empty apartment building [there was already a film called "The Apartment" - hence the title, The Penthouse - even though the apartment was clearly NOT on the top floor] and get raped and abused by a trio who know the two cannot go to the cops – the man being MARRIED) was RIPE for imitation.

Therefore, it was agreed the script would be re-written, with the attackers portrayed as LOONYS, whom no-one would identify with. The whole piece then became surreal.

The Sixties was a strange time, for the British censor.

Hammer turned out a Mummy movie that initially received an “A” certificate – instead of the usual “X”. Hammer were MORTIFIED. They knew no-one would go and see it.

But John pointed out to them that it was really not all that SCARY. So they went away and added a couple of more graphic scenes to EARN their “X” certificate.

Another film got an “A” certificate, but the trailer – which only contained material from the film – got an “X” (trailers were certified separately from the films they trailed).

Huh? The censor explained that the ninety-minute film had only a few minutes of graphic scenes which, in the context of the movie (there was motivation and redemption) were acceptable for an “A” audience.

However, the trailer consisted exclusively of clips from those graphic scenes – two solid minutes of GORE – which, cut out of context, were far more objectionable.

Then there was “The Beast”. This was a 1975 French sex-comedy, involving a pig-like monster, which roamed the countryside, ravishing young women.

By ’75, Trevellyn had retired and thus it fell to the New Guy, Jimmy Ferman, who just did not GET the film – and BANNED it TOTALLY. It remained that way until 2001.

However, in London – there were alternatives. A number of “Art House” cinemas showed films that were not classified. There were “clubs” that could be joined.

And the Greater London Council had their own half-arsed censorship board, which would approve films for London only – the thinking being that city audiences were more “sophisticated” than those in the sticks.

But on the day The Beast was viewed by this body, one of its number was off sick – leaving just two members of the board to look it over.

The first decided it was hilarious. The second, like Ferman, did not get it either. But he was persuaded – against his better judgement – to vote it through, by the first.

However, when the third member finally saw it – AFTER it had been passed – he stated if HE had been there, he would definitely NOT have approved it.

Which meant that had he NOT been off sick, the second guy would likely have sided with HIM and the film would have FAILED to get past them, two to one.

I SAW the film – and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Of course, the papers became engorged with righteous indignation and – completely missing the point – declared the GLC censors had passed a film whose subject was BESTIALITY. It was NOT – but the GLC film censorship board was disbanded soon after.

Now however, film censorship is barely necessary – only classification (the euphemism used for censorship, for decades). The reason being, few films today are MADE for “X” (or in America, “R”) certification.

And the reason for THAT – is MONEY.

The dreaded “PG-13″ rating is now sought for virtually ALL films, since this ensures that – even if they are totally UNSUITABLE for minors – the film is effectively AVAILABLE to ALL.

Children may get into the movies for half-price – but productions often only go into profit thanks to THEIR financial input.

Thus, movies for ADULTS have nearly become a thing of the PAST.

But at least those which are – RARELY get cut anymore.

The World has GROWN UP.

Cornelius on… Ten Things You Never Knew About “The Munsters” – And Another Ten About “The Addams Family”

Let’s start with The Munsters…

(1) The (unaired) pilot was shot in COLOUR (US: color).

(2) The series was made in black and white to save MONEY – not for creative reasons.

(3) While Münster is a city in Germany (the country Herman was “assembled” in) the name, as used in the TV series, was just a mash-up of “fun” and “monster”.

(4) The Munsters first aired – in the US – just SIX DAYS after The Addams Family (in ’64).

(5) The pilot featured Joan Marshall in the role of Lily (then called Phoebe) – but she looked a lot like Carolyn Jones as Morticia Addams, so was recast, with new make-up. This – coupled with the virtually simultaneous openings – suggests the two shows knew PLENTY about each others’ plans, beforehand.

(6) The pilot also featured Nate “Happy” Derman as Eddie. But the character was merely a super-nasty brat (played by a lame actor) – so THEY were changed too.

(7) Since the pilot never aired, the only chance audiences ever had to see the characters in colour (apart from stills) was in the spinoff movie, “Munster Go Home!” (’66).

(8) Fred Gwynne (Herman) took the end credit with Yvonne De Carlo’s name first, because while he had just finished the successful TV series, “Car 54, Where Are You?” – Yvonne was a MOVIE star.

(9) Butch Patrick’s career never took off – thus today, he is STILL making a living off his fame as Eddie Munster.

(10) Jack Marshall, who composed The Munsters’ theme, is the man who arranged Peggy Lee’s “Fever” – with only drums, bass and finger-pops.

And continue with The Addams Family…

(1) The Addams Family’s laugh-track can be turned OFF – and plays far BETTER that way.

(2) Vic Mizzy, who wrote The Addams Family’s theme (and “Green Acres”) supplied ALL the voices for it (multi-tracked) – again, to save money. He lived to 93.

(3) Carolyn Jones died young from cancer, but left behind a great body of work – many memorable film roles and the immortal Morticia.

(4) John Astin (Gomez) still LIVES  – and works, at 81.

(5) Charles Addams’ cartoon characters never had names, but they introduced them for the TV series – although Pubert got changed to Pugsley (thank goodness).

(6) Gomez and Morticia were the first TV couple who were implied to have a SEX-LIFE (and a POWERFUL one, to boot).

(7) John Astin was originally offered the part of LURCH.

(8) Ted Cassidy as Lurch, was supposed to be silent, but when they heard his VOICE – they changed their minds. Ted was 6’9″ in bare feet.

(9) Lisa Loring (Wednesday) went on to marry a porn star. She was last heard of working in PR for a hotel chain.

(10) Gomez always had a cigar in his hand – the show was sponsored by a cigar manufacturer.

That’s it! Okay, maybe you knew SOME of those things…

Cornelius on… The Phones In Britain

When I were a lad, telephones were big, black bakelite devices – which connected rich people to other rich people, via an operator. For the rest of us, there were street phones.

For the SUPER-rich, they made phones in a couple of other colours – but they were pretty rare. So much so that today, genuine WHITE bakelite period phones in good condition are highly collectible.

But everybody – even the rich – had to play by the rules. You could only use GPO equipment. You could not turn its loud bell OFF. You had to answer with your NUMBER – not just say “hello” – and you had to group the numbers THEIR way. And all calls went through operators, in three minute blocks.

This last was a PAIN if you wanted to call ABROAD. You had to BOOK your call with the operator – who would ring you when she (it was always a “she”) eventually had the call ready. Then, after three minutes, she would interrupt and ask you if you wanted to pay for another three minutes (assuming the extra time was AVAILABLE).

And since a three minute call to a foreign country cost more than that country’s national debt, this meant many calls got terminated just BEFORE the people concerned could say a proper goodbye. 

This authoritarian system was run by a government department called the General Post Office.

And, tragically, this system was STILL in place when the Sixties arrived. In movies and on TV, people now used swanky, high-tech telephones – but in reality, YOU still only had that big, black bakelite bugger.

Oh, you could BUY the swanky phones – from a handful of specialist shops – you just could not USE them on the GPO system.

Well – in theory. In practise – if you knew a tame telephone engineer, you could get him (it was always a “him”) to connect one of these models to your system as an extension – but if anything went wrong with your service, you had to get him to quickly DISCONNECT it – before the GPO engineer turned up.

This was because if said engineer discovered it, he would report back to the GPO – who would CUT YOU OFF for your transgression.

It was not until the VERY late Sixties that – with the speed of an arthritic snail – the GPO (now just the PO) began to catch up with the second half of the twentieth century.

It started with the Trimphone.

These were light, slimline phones which “trilled” instead of ringing (which anyone with a parrot soon discovered was a DRAWBACK – since their pets could accurately IMITATE the ring). You could also get them in a variety of colours.

And whilst you still could not turn their bell (or rather, warble) OFF – you could at least turn it DOWN.

Plus, for the first time, there were phones with PUSH-BUTTONS. But since the “tone” system was not yet in place, all that happened was a small chip would store the numbers pushed and convert them into the series of pulses needed to work the GPO’s antique Strowger exchanges.

Eventually however, the pulse system began to be replaced by tones and “direct dialing” replaced those nosey OPERATORS.

Enter Thatcher.

In the early Eighties, Thatcher’s right-wing government began selling off all of Britain’s nationalised industries – starting with the utilities – to private companies. This resulted in DISASTER for most of them – but was a shot in the arm for the telephone business. At least – initially.

At this point, the author has to make it clear that all following references to British Telecom are taken from personal experience and are therefore offered as OPINION – not fact.

BT began promisingly, replacing all of the street phones with shiny NEW models. They then brought out a range of new phones – which you could even UNPLUG.

At this point, the rest of the World – sensing that Britain was FINALLY entering the second half of the twentieth century – began exporting modern phones to it. They had FEATURES – like last number redial, hands-free operation, number storage (speed-dial) - and you could finally turn the damn ringers OFF.

Which is where things STALLED – as BT began issuing demands that these phones earn their official APPROVAL before being connected to their system. The “green labels” scheme was begun.

But since many of them were manufactured in the Orient, where companies were not regulated, they ALL ended up having said labels – whether they had “earned” them or not.

The same was true of the new “cordless phones” that began to emerge. These had a base unit, with a mobile handset (with rechargeable batteries that were topped up every time you replaced it into the base unit) which could transmit and receive calls via said base unit from a range of about a hundred yards.

Unfortunately, the frequencies which these devices used were limited in number – which meant your call could often be heard by OTHER cordless phone users – and anybody nearby who was listening to FM radio - plus they would drive radio-controlled toys CRAZY.

And ALL of these phones were now available EVERYWHERE – from Argos to Tesco.

Of course, BT had THEIR shops – where only “approved” phones (mostly THEIRS) were on sale. They had DOZENS of customers.

In fact, as the Eighties gave way to the Nineties, BT began to fall out of favour generally – particularly when “de-regulation” began. At this point, OTHER service providers were allowed to enter Britain – and the British finally discovered they were being RIPPED OFF.

This was because – particularly on POPULAR routes – they charged a FRACTION of the cost that BT still charged for foreign calls.

Indeed, using one of these services, it was cheaper to call AMERICA than it was to call the NEXT TOWN – on a BT line.

However, BT still had their ace-in-the-hole. Only THEY could connect up a line to a dwelling – thus getting connected cost you a FORTUNE.

They justified this extortionate charge by pointing out it was STANDARD. I.e., while they charged you over a hundred pounds just to throw a switch at their exchange, they charged the SAME price if you lived MILES from their network and they had to run a line, on poles – over a MOUNTAIN.

Great, if you were a HERMIT.

Furthermore, even if you used an alternate SP (and with your own phone) BT still got their quarterly LINE RENTAL – which was not cheap.

And they had ANOTHER trick up their sleeve. They introduced the “non-geographical” service.

This was where COMPANIES would be given numbers, which callers would be charged a flat rate to use (local, or national). They gave preferential rates to said companies – who LAPPED it up.

But for the caller, it meant they HAD to use BT to call these companies. The alternate SPs were effectively CUT OUT.

However, more moves were afoot – MOBILE phones.

These had begun in the Eighties. Originally, the phones were the size of a house-brick and you had to sign up to an expensive contract to own one.

Thus people used to talk on them in loud voices, in streets and on trains – just to demonstrate to those around them that they HAD one. Those people were roundly HATED.

Cars began to get them too. Indeed, some people even bought empty plastic boxes that LOOKED like car phones – just to IMPRESS people. They were called “car phonies”.

Unfortunately, the joke wore thin when an owner returned to their car to discover someone had broken into it to NICK their phone – and upon finding it was BOGUS, had left something unmentionable on their SEAT.

Nevertheless, as happens with all of these things, eventually competition drove prices down and pretty soon EVERYBODY had a mobile – from tramps to priests, undertakers to butchers, etc. to etc.

Which, a decade ago, was the point THIS reporter got one – just before he managed to ESCAPE cold, wet, miserable, over-priced Britain.

The last he knows about The Phones In Britain (The Romans In Britain? – never mind) is that many people were DUMPING BT and their overpriced “land-lines” – in favour of just having a MOBILE.

BT were circling the drain.

But this was before the INTERWEB took off. And with it came something we had only DREAMED of in the Sixties – VIDEO-PHONE. However, that damn DELAY – and the fact people have no time to FORMULATE conversations – has rendered it less than popular.

Certainly, the young prefer TEXTING. Their conversations may be unintelligible – but at least they have time to COMPOSE them.

But whether you are young or old – you now have a computer (if not, what are you reading THIS on?) - and thanks to those, the borders between communication, entertainment and information are breaking down.

However, the one thing ALL these media need is a CONNECTION.

The woods are FULL of networks, these days. And with “TV On Demand” poised to finally become a reality, those networks are going to need their broadband to be SERIOUSLY broad.

The technology can barely keep up.

And given BT’s past performance – one doubts it has a rat’s chance in hell of being at the forefront of this Brave New World.

This chronicler awaits comments from those still trapped in the Old Country – which may tell him what has been happening there in his absence. Thus the story may continue in the comments to this piece.

But before you go there, as a reward for having reached THIS FAR in the article (over 1,500 words) here is a link to one of yours truly’s YouTube pieces – which further explores the history of the telephone…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_1Feg1WA4g

Cornelius on… The Greatest Movie Ever Made

Here Comes Summer – and as it draws to a close, one thing can be guaranteed: some Hollywood puke will declare “Prequel 4: The Spinoff” to be The Most Successful Movie Of All Time.

But surely, I hear you cry, “SFX: The Remake” CAN’T have beaten off (so to speak) classics like Titanic, the original Star Wars, Jaws, The Sound Of Music, Cleopatra, The Ten Commandments, Sun Valley Serenade – and of course, the inevitable Gone With The Wind? Can it?

Er - no. Oh sure, the GROSS of “No-Brain Actioner: The Sequel” may be the highest ever – but adjusted for inflation, it will not even be in the top twenty. It was just a cynical Hollywood ploy to extract a bit more juice from the biggest of its summer blockbusters, as it began to wane. 

Okay – so what ARE the top twenty greatest films ever made?

Well, for the answer to that one, we need to examine the whole business of cinema-going. And we need to start with Hollywood’s Golden Age – the Thirties and Forties.

For in those days, Americans only had three options for an evening’s entertainment. One: join the Ku Klux Klan – two: spend a night in, listening to the radio – or three: go to the mooovies (and if you were British, the last two had to suffice).

The radio option gave you an evening of drama, music, news, panel shows, variety – even ventriloquists. There was just one problem – no pictures.

For those, you went to any one of half-a-dozen cinemas, which offered an entire programme (program, in the U.S.) of goodies. TWO movies – an “A” and a “B” – a short, a cartoon, a news-reel, a serial and a bunch of ads and trailers. Four hours in all – with a break.

And the cinemas would have between 500 and 2,000 seats, with full houses on most nights – and three changes of programmes a week. Cinema RULED.

But then, in the Fifties, along came Television. It soon realised it could offer everything that radio AND the movies did – plus more.

So Hollywood fought BACK – with more movies in COLOUR (color) and stereo, hi-def, widescreen, plus 3-D and various other gimmicks. While television was stuck with a small, square, black-and-white screen – and mono sound. For a while, it was business as usual.

But then television began to catch up – first, with colour, then stereo sound, while the screens got progressively bigger and wider. Today, even a poor person can afford an HD 16:9, 60″ screen, connected to a 250W 6-channel sound system. Why go out?

Thus today, cinema is an EVENT. The cineplexes and multiplexes feature just ONE movie – preceded by a few ads and trailers. And they only boast three or four hundred seats, which are filled when movies open – but after that first weekend, the numbers dwindle to just a few dozen.

And then there is the FINANCIAL dynamic. In the Golden Age, movies were CHEAP – being almost completely made in the Dream Factories, which housed stars, support players, writers, directors, sound-stages, back-lots, editing suites, costumes, props, scenery, cameras, lighting gear and sound equipment.

Plus you had the offices, publicity and legal departments, special effects (miniatures and optical jiggery-pokery) the cafeteria – and if you needed a crowd, just ring up Central Casting and they would send you one.

Even if a film needed to go outside, it rarely went further than the studio backlot – which had streets, a quarry and even a studio tank, upon which any back-drop could be painted.

And if that was insufficient, you sent a Second Unit out to a nearby location recommended by the location scout – with doubles for your stars, dressed in identical costumes. The unit would then film your list of shots – making sure the doubles were filmed in long-shot, or with their faces turned away from camera.

Then they would set the camera up to film ten-minute reels of background scenes – called “plates” – which would be back-projected behind the stars, back in the studio.

Thus virtually all movies were made “in house” – with labour (labor) that was WAY cheaper than it is today.

So how ABOUT today? Well, these days all movies are essentially “one-offs”. Oh sure, the Dream Factories and their backlots still exist – and they still finance movies – however all productions are now basically INDEPENDENT.

And while they can still do interiors in studios, people expect them to go OUT – and into REAL streets, not the flat, studio ones.

Which means that today’s blockbusters cost a FORTUNE to make – and exhibit. And that throws the whole GROSS thing into disarray – because in real terms, ticket prices now cost over TWICE as much as they did in the Golden Age.

Then we have the punters – the cinema-goers themselves. Most of them are now KIDS. And while in this age, the U.S. population is TWICE what it was in the Golden age – its cinema attendances are less than ONE THIRD.

And then there are the viewing habits of said punters. Back in the Golden Age, even the Dream Factories could not keep up with demand – two new movies a day, with options – so all big films got RE-RELEASED. Some, many times.

Indeed, Disney THRIVED on re-releases, since their full-length cartoons took a YEAR to make – whereas new kids were being born all the time. Thus from ’38 to the mid-Sixties, they re-released ALL of their biggest hits every SEVEN YEARS.

And in the Seventies, producers discovered that they could increase the gross of their biggest hits by dusting them off – perhaps remixing their sound, using more recent technology – and reclaiming some bits that hit the cutting-room floor during the original edit – and maybe even doing a few (minor) re-shoots – then re-releasing them as a “Director’s Cut” or “Special Edition” – although that was a trick you could only pull ONCE.

But from the Golden Age right up to the Seventies, Hollywood itself screwed up the figures by making “road movies” – films that came in at three hours plus, which meant they were shown with a break and without second features.

Thus The Great Escape got ALL the gross – whereas Casablanca had to SHARE it with its accompanying “B” movie.

Plus, in the Golden Age, if you wanted to see a movie – you had to watch it in a CINEMA. But in the early Eighties, along came video-hire. First video-cassettes – then DVDs and now hi-def Blue-Ray disks.

These last pretty much KILLED theatrical re-releases. Their high price required them to come up with “extras” – which more often than not meant INCLUDING those “deleted scenes”.

So where does all of this leave us, in trying to compile a list of the most SUCCESSFUL films of all time? Well – up a gum-tree, basically.

You can compile a list of highest grossers – but it will be filled with films from just the last ten years.

Or you can “inflation-adjust” for first releases only – and get a totally different list, that includes Gone With The Wind as number one.

Or you can INCLUDE re-releases – and get a list where Gone With The Wind is still top – but the others are mostly Disney classics, with the first – Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs – at number two.

Or, if you value Bottoms On Seats more – you end up with a list where ALL the titles are pre-1950.

And that only takes The States into account.

America does not CARE about The Rest Of The World – but Hollywood does. Half its revenue comes from there. Indeed, some films which do poorly in the “domestic” market, do somewhat better in the “foreign” one. Without us “foreigners” – Hollywood would be SCREWED.

However, when it comes to WORLD gross stats, figures for vintage movies are now IMPOSSIBLE to obtain. You would need SEPARATE breakdowns from EVERY country those movies were exhibited in, to compute those all-important inflation-adjusted numbers, given inflation figures have varied dramatically from country to country – and those numbers disappeared DECADES ago.

And even Bottoms On Seats would still require the NUMBERS.

Thus it can be seen that MEANINGFUL figures for movies’ successes are simply IMPRACTICAL to compute. The decline in attendances, despite the increase in population – the increase in costs, with the resultant increase in ticket prices – the advances in technology – the changes in society and its viewing habits – “road movies” – and Hollywood’s obsession with the NOW – all go to ensure any worthwhile chart of movie popularity is impossible to collate.

If one HAD the All-Time (including re-releases) World, Bottoms On (theatrical-only) Seats figures, this writer believes that The Most Successful Movie Of All Time would be… Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs.

As previously stated, it comes in at number TWO – on the U.S. list. But given Americans are a bunch of self-obsessed drama queens, it is inevitable THEY would prefer Gone With The Wind.

However, given that movie is a saga of The Old South – and Snow White is a timeless classic (not to mention, being a cartoon, DUBBED versions are far more satisfying) – this writer believes IT rules.

He has seen it about SEVENTY times – but FAST-FORWARDED through a DVD of Gone With The Wind and cannot IMAGINE the rest of the World would have been any more entranced than HE was. The Old South indeed!

But the fact is, the BEST movie of all time is the one YOU liked best – and liked AT THE TIME. It may have lost its power now – but if THEN, during those couple of hours, it lifted your soul and transported it to a place of wonder and excitement – then THAT was The Greatest Movie Ever Made.

Cornelius on… “House m.d.”

“House” (no-one bothers with the “m.d.” – it is writ so tiny on the logo as to be almost invisible anyway) is a brilliant show. Superbly written and acted, it has something else that is unique – each season has a different story ARC.

Allow me to explain. When Gene Roddenberry designed the original “Star Trek” format, he allowed it to encompass EVERY genre of story-telling: drama, action, comedy and of course, science fiction. They even had the obligatory cowboy episode.

But in trying to please as many of the people as much of the time as possible, the show had a snag. If a person disliked any two of the rotating-genre stories, despite the fact they would probably like the third – they might ABANDON the series, before it aired.

Thus it was that when it finally came back, as TNG, the Trek’s writers introduced multiple story-lines. This meant that a typical episode would have a main story, that would begin and end in that episode – whilst a vignette that frequently had NOTHING to do with the main story, weaved its way in and out.

That way, even if someone did not like the main story – they would still be entertained by the “sub-plot”.

But in addition to those two stories, there would often be a THIRD.

However, this one would NOT begin and end in one episode – rather, it would ARC over several episodes – sometimes many – being picked up every time there was space for another dip into it.

Which brings us back to House – another story-driven series. But it is different – its arcs last for the ENTIRE SEASON.

Like Trek, each episode is complete – but nearly all shows move the season’s ARC along, too.

There was the story of House having to find a whole new team, deal with Amber (alive, then dead) go mad, then regain his sanity (barely) and now he and the curvaceous Cuddy are going to give it a go.

And these arcs generally last a WHOLE SEASON – which IS unique. It is kinda like the serials of old – designed to keep you coming back. But when the writing and acting (particularly that of Hugh Lawrie, whose American accent is ALMOST flawless) is of this calibre – most would keep coming back anyway. The serial element is just a bonus.

The only thought that wee-wees on my barbecue is – we are now in Season Seven. And no show has EVER managed to excel for more than ten. So how long can they keep DOING it…?

Cornelius on… America’s Weakness

…is how they cannot resist following EVERYTHING through to the Nth degree.

It is why they can NEVER convict anyone with a good (and EXPENSIVE) lawyer. A guy can be found standing over a fresh corpse with a smoking gun, but after a court case lasting a YEAR – he will STILL walk free.

It is why it takes them over a YEAR to elect a President – and another three months to INSTALL them.

And it is why they cannot just enjoy the moment – now they have finally NAILED Osama Bin Liner.

In Britain, court cases rarely last more than a MONTH.

Run-ups to elections take around SIX WEEKS – and the new guy (if the old one does not get re-elected) moves in to Number Ten the next MORNING.

And if Britain’s S.A.S. had performed a professional job on the Most Wanted Man In The World (disable the woman – then turn to the man and put one in the chest, followed by another in the head) the report on the precise details of the hit would have been labeled Top Secret and buried until the year 3000.

Likewise in ANY other country in the World. ONLY Americans have to analyze every nit-picking little detail and follow every path until it leads them into a MESS. Only time will tell if they do THAT with THIS – and yet again, snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

It would be nice to see COMMONSENSE win out for once. After a CENTURY of Foreign Policy fiascos – America NEEDS this success.

Cornelius on… “Frankenstein 1970″

…a piece of crap that was filmed in 1958.

So why, you may ask, was it called “Frankenstein 1970″?

Well, the explanation is almost as preposterous as the movie. You see, when the first Frankenstein film emerged, in 1931, the force used to re-animate Victor’s creation was ELECTRICITY.

Now you must remember that in 1931, electricity was still a mysterious force few people understood. The few who HAD it – used to leave plugs in sockets so it would not LEAK OUT all over the floor. I kid you not.

But in 1958, the NEW mysterious force was NUCLEAR power. And so Boris obtains a small nuclear reactor (which looks like a cross between an MRI scanner and a cremation oven) to reanimate his latest venture.

However, this is where it gets REALLY silly. It seems the producers decided the idea that the doctor could OBTAIN a nuclear reactor in 1958 would be hard for audiences to swallow – so they set it in the FUTURE for that reason. Hence, 1970.

Hard to SWALLOW???

Given the whole PREMISE of the film was that a middle-European baron could cobble together bits of corpses and juice them up into a LIVING BEING – the acquisition of a pint-sized atomic reactor should have been the LEAST of their concerns. IDIOTS!!!

However, this execrable TURKEY did produce ONE memorable moment…

Like all serious movie-goers, I FROWN on heckling. But like the other audience members of the full house that were watching this nonsense I FELL ABOUT LAUGHING when, as Boris struggled manfully with the knobs and dials on the contraption he had just placed his monster into, it went, “DING!” – and some wag down the front yelled, “He’s DONE!!!”

Cornelius on… Random Thoughts

Most of these are mine, but some I could have heard someplace…

 

“David Cameron was fond of baiting his masters at school.” “Really – did he master-bait often?”

“Nick Clegg is as much use as a one-legged man at an arse-kicking contest.”

“To Hallmark: Roses are Red – Violets are blue, Your cards are all crap – and your channel is too!” 

“The Marx Brothers: Groucho, Chico, Harpo, Gummo, Zeppo – and Skid.”

“What do you get if you cross Big Ben and the Royal Mint – with the Leaning Tower Of Pisa? The time, the money – and the inclination.”

“Worst thing about being a cave-man? Being crapped on by a pterodactyl.”

“A midget psychic escaped from jail. The next day’s headline read – ‘SMALL MEDIUM AT LARGE’.”

“Happiness is – bumping into Beoncé. Very, very slowly.”

“Poor God – He creates Man – then gives him Logic, Reason and Free Choice – then Man USES them to prove He doesn’t EXIST.”

“Cruises across the North Pole - Holidays on the Swiss Riviera – isn’t 2025 a great time to be living in?”

“When Mike Tyson announced his retirement, Evander Holyfield couldn’t believe his ear.”

“Try not to leave this World as violently as you entered it.”

(notice in a public “Gents” – next to the attendant’s office)  “Some come here to have a waz and some to do a plop – so do your thing, then move on out or else I’ll call a cop.”  (I cleaned that one up)

“Money talks – big money SHOUTS.”

“The Times’ drama reviewer had an accident – his condition is critical.” 

(heard on “The Sweeney”)  “Guv! ’E’s got a SHOOTER!” “Well, send a WOOFER after ’im, George.”

“Has a man who’s achieved all his goals – simply reached his limitations?”

“Why have we never seen Goofy walking Pluto?”

“In the Sixties, I did my own thing – now I pay a guy to come in twice a week and do it FOR me.”

“Do they sterilise the needles for lethal injection?”

“The only reason people are familiar with the word ‘cuneiform’ – is because it was where the word they were ACTUALLY looking up should have been.”

“If Wolverine is feeling listless – does he become Listerine?”

“Welcome to Britain – that will be £25.”

“So I was driving up the M4 and I got overtaken by a Yamaha YPT-320. I wouldn’t have minded – but it’s a keyboard.”

“Surely a Chihuahua is just a shaved cat with Parkinson’s?”

“The World is a dangerous place – but where else can you go?”

“How come there’s no synonym for ‘thesaurus’?”

“Judgement At Nuremberg: The Musical”

“I heard Gingko Biloba tablets help cure memory loss in old people, so I bought a bottle. If only I could remember where I put it…”

“If Sammo were Britain’s Prime Minister – would they have a Hung Parliament?”

“Bossa Nova – Italian for ‘new employer’.”

“Meth and crack are made by man. Hash is made by God. Who do YOU trust?”

“You can pick your friends – you can pick your nose – but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.”

“Kanye West – isn’t that a town in the Florida Keys?”

“Take all reasonable precautions – then trust the rest to luck.”

“You say your dog is smart, because he can roll over – when he begins solving vector equations of fractal calculus, give me a call.”

“If you wake with a smile – you probably went to bed with a coat-hanger in your mouth.”

“My uncle was jailed for making big money – three millimetres TOO big.”

“The Miss Universe beauty contest has been banned. The nipple count was too high. Miss Tau Ceti had 268.”

“Do giraffes have Adam’s Apples?”

“Of course I saw your sign – ‘Thank You For Not Smoking’ – however, I needed a cigarette more than your thanks.”

“Wouldn’t it be hilarious if farts were VISIBLE? Say, as brown steam. You enter a crowded lift…”

“Samuel L. Jackson – why the ‘L’?” “Why the ‘L’ not?”

“An education is the difference between ‘Board meeting in five minutes’ and ‘Do you want fries with that?’”

“He plays the trumpet like Calvert – Phyllis.”

“Why do we say an alarm went OFF, when it clearly went ON? Perhaps it’s for the same reason we say a building was blown UP…”

“Carol Vorderman may be a terrific number-cruncher – but does she swallow?”

“Why do modern mobile phones look like Star Trek communicators, held upside-down?”

“What do you do if you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?”

“As I slide down the banister of life, I’ll always remember you as the splinter in my arse.”

“How do you pitch a sequel to ‘Titanic’?”

“Your mother works in a bottle-stopper factory in a northern city, where she packs the products into canvas bags – yes, your mother sacks corks in Hull.”

“Lies are okay – provided they fit the known facts.”

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice? Try telling that to a lightning conductor.”

“Then there was the blues singer who died. His tombstone read, ‘I didn’t get up this morning’.”

“Why does a flamingo sleep on one leg? If it lifted it up, it’d fall over.”

“The System is designed to help The People, not individuals. But The People are a collection of individuals. Therefore, The System cannot work.”

“Life is what it is – you either go through it with your head held high, or hung low.”

“The Alternative Seven Dwarfs – Boss, Dozy, Horny, Creepy, Funky, Jammy and Dodgy.”

“When a mime dies, do they observe a two minute burst of noise?”

“Follow your dream – unless it’s that one where you’re naked in Safeway.”

“A man escaped from a Siberian salt-mine by carving a piece of salt into the shape of a large gun and painting it black. The next day’s headline read – ‘MAN ESCAPES USING A SALT RIFLE’.”

“Oncology – the study of hooters.”

“Cross a Suffolk Punch with a Dachshund and you get the equine equivalent of a stretch limo.”

“If a stealth bomber crashes in a forest – does it make a sound?”

“Does Catwoman have eight nipples?”

“Why do the cartoon chickens in KFC displays look so damn HAPPY?”

“The Police have just found that white Fiat – it was parked behind a grassy knoll.”

“What do you call a cross between a Bulldog and a Shihtzu?”  (how about Rex?)

“Right, rite, wright and write – and left, lefte and lieut.”

“Who needs qualifications when they’re born with big tits?”

“If the Innuit have 45 words for ‘snow’ – following the ’87 Climate Shift, how many words do the British have for ‘rain’?”

“Swallow Viagra quickly – or you’ll get a stiff neck.”

“Definition of shins – organs used for locating furniture in the dark.”

“Heard in a restaurant: ‘You can have coffee whenever you want.’ – ‘Fine, I’ll take mine in The Renaissance.’”

“F. Murray Abraham: why the ‘F’? – Why the ‘F’ not?”

“Condom manufacturers are unique. Other companies sell their wares in small, medium and large sizes. But theirs come in medium, large and extra large. Why? Think about it.”

“Input 5318008 into a calculator – then turn it upside down.”

“Do masochists drink correction fluid?”

“If you go out for a Chinese meal IN China – it’s just called a meal.”

“There IS only passion – the rest is bullshit.”

“When I die I want to go peacefully. Just slump down in my seat like Grandad. Not kicking and screaming – like the passengers on the bus he was driving.”

“If you’re wearing crotchless cowboy pants and spurs – do not squat.”

“Will khaki trousers open a car?”

“I read every fifth person in the World is Chinese – and there are five in my family. Now I’m sure it’s not Mum or Dad. And it’s definitely not me. That just leaves my brothers, Kevin and Chung – I think it’s Kevin.”

“Michael Flatley – Lord Of The Prance.”

“If Sam Cooke had sung a duet with Ella Fitzgerald – they’d have been Sam ’N’ Ella.”

“If at first you don’t succeed - try, try, try again. If people didn’t believe that, we’d be stuck with ‘1-Up’ and ‘Preparation A’.”

“When will Alan Rickman and Hugh Grant stop messing about and play the roles they were BORN for. Rickman – Sherlock Holmes. Grant – The Saint.”

“The word ‘privatise’ is spelled C-O-M-M-E-R-C-I-A-L-I-S-E.”

“Pete Conrad was the third man to walk on the Moon. He died at 69, when he fell off his Harley. Pete was my kind of man.”

“If M.I.6 wanted to keep a low profile, why did they commission a new HQ that resembles an Art Deco juke-box?”

“Happiness is – playing ‘Twister’ with the Pussycat Dolls.”

“My car has an unsightly blemish on the bonnet – a Ford badge.”

“If the factory where they make joke candles for birthday cakes – the ones that won’t blow out – caught FIRE, how would they put it out?”

“The safest seats in an aeroplane are at the rear – whoever heard of a plane BACKING into a mountain?”

“How many non-sequiturs does it take to change a lightbulb? Thursday.”

“A day without making love is a day wasted.”

“If Americans are so smart, how come only THEY need an explanation of the principles of the convex driving mirror to be etched onto each one?”

“People who live in glass houses should change in the basement.”

“Man in chemist – ‘Do you sell Viagra?’ – ‘Certainly.’ – ‘Can I get it over the counter?’ – ‘Only if you take two.’”

“I have seen the future and it’s ridiculous.”

“If you look like your passport picture – you NEED a holiday.”

“Snoop Dogg? What a prizzle.”

“A rag doll saw a murder go down – it was detained as a material witness.”

“The best place to go for treatment for sex adiction – is a singles bar.”

“I’m sorry, my American is not very good – my first language is English.”

“You know you’re getting old and tired – And have seen too many years – When hair stops growing on your head – And starts sprouting out your ears.”  (rejected by Hallmark)

“Death is God’s way of telling you to take it easy.”

“Tee-shirts? I buy goods – not labels.”

“C.S.I. – stands for Cop-Shows for Imbeciles”

“Helena Bonham Carter? I’d shag all three.”

“Private Enterprise, Corporal Punishment, Major Disappointment and General Confusion.”  (a punchline looking for a setup)

“We all bear responsibility for our own actions – unless we’re a celebrity.”

“Men in kilts should not stand over sprinklers.”

 

The World shall hear from me again…

(But if you cannot wait and LIKE “quickies” – check out “My Favourite Quotes”, elsewhere in this column).

Cornelius on… The Paranormal

I personally have experienced The Paranormal – at least five times.

1965, Autumn, Cassiobury Wood, Watford, England.

As a 13-year-old, I was walking through this small forest at DUSK, shwooshing my feet through the carpet of leaves. Under the trees, it was pretty dark – so you can imagine my disquiet when I heard myself being FOLLOWED. Someone – or someTHING was shwooshing through the leaves behind me.

I stopped and turned – but there was no-one THERE. I continued walking and as I did so, the leaves resumed their shwooshing, behind me.

This time, I continued walking – whilst screwing my head around like an owl, to see what was happening. And even though it was dark, I could clearly see the movement in the leaves behind me.

I stopped again – and so did whatever was following me.

I began to reason what it might be. Something caught around my feet? But the scwooshing behind me was completely out of step with ME. A small animal? But surely, such a creature would run AWAY from me – not FOLLOW me. 

Now most people would have taken flight at this point – and if I had, I would NEVER have solved the mystery. But I was young and foolish, so I slowly approached the point where the leaves had last moved, bent down – and began gingerly probing the area with my fingers…

1987, The Maypole Pub, Tiptree, Essex, England.

Now grown up (sort of) I was a service engineer and had a call to fix the payout tube on a fruit machine, in said pub.

Background: The Maypole is an ANCIENT watering hole. It is mentioned in the Domesday Book. Alfred The Great drank there. It is a squat, thatched, two-story cottage with a small bar downstairs, that is actually a few feet BELOW ground level – you walk down steps to access it – with living quarters for the landlord and his family upstairs, in a sort of mansard.

It was mid-afternoon and I was alone in the bar. Having completed the repair, I was refilling the coin tube with ten pence pieces (the old, BIG ones) through the slot at the top of the machine. But as I neared the end of the task, I accidentally dropped one. It bounced off the waist-high button bank and hit the middle of the floor – landing on its EDGE.

I froze. I looked around, but the bar was still empty. No-one had seen this except ME. Slowly, knowing this was important, I prostrated myself before it, my face just inches away.

I examined the floor around the coin. It would originally have been earth and straw, but now it had been surfaced with smooth concrete and painted – many times. Essentially, it was FLAT – with tiny pimples, where the paint had been applied over the concrete.

Having taken that in, I gently touched the top of the coin, whilst keeping my gaze fixed rigidly at the point on the floor where the coin stood. As soon as my finger made contact with it, it fell over.

I then attempted to replace the coin in the EXACT position it had occupied. It was just possible – but not easy.

I tried PRESSING the coin into the same position, but the paint had long ago hardened and the coin made no impression whatsoever.

Having learned all I could about the floor, I now rose to my feet and examined the coin. It was not new, with a nice square edge – nor was it worn, with a rounded edge. It was just about average.

I considered what had just happened. The coin had landed in open space – and had not even rolled and stopped. It just want DONK – and stayed there, on its edge.

I looked at it. What to do? I considered KEEPING it as a “lucky coin” – but suppose it was CURSED? Usually I had no time for such bollocks as luck. As a fruit machine engineer, I was too well aware that luck happens in good and bad runs – with mechanical machines, thanks to stats and the perfidy of fate – and with electronic ones, the design of the programme. But this had SHAKEN me.

Eventually, my cowardice won out and before I had too long to think about it, I HURLED the coin into the cashbox and KICKED it – thus mixing it with a thousand others.

Then the landlord appeared and I told him what had occurred. “Oh that’ll be George,” he said.

“Who?”

He went on to explain that ever since his brewery had assigned him to the place and he and his family had moved in – strange things had happened. No bleeding walls or stuff like that – just things disappearing and turning up somewhere silly – that kind of thing. They had christened the phenomenon – George…

1994, 23:00, Somewhere In The Scottish Highlands.

Me and a companion were just settling down for the night in the back of my estate car. The vehicle was parked just off the small, single track road that lead alongside a loch, in the woods. Despite the windows being open a few inches (screened against the midges by a layer of net curtain) the windows were already beginning to mist up.

As usual, I had parked my vehicle JUST far enough away from the road to be unobserved by any passing car, but when I heard one approach, I opened one eye, to make sure it CONTINUED to pass.

And as I did so, through the misty window, I saw a bar of light in the sky. Then, a beam of light shone down from it. As I continued to watch, I saw the whole thing was headed TOWARDS me.

I had always thought that if I DID have a Close Encounter, I would be fascinated. But now the reality was imminent – I was TERRIFIED.

Then suddenly, the bar and its accompanying beam DISAPPEARED…

1999, 04:00, The Full Moon Party, Koh Pha-Ngan, Thailand.

So there I was, boogying away to a Trance anthem with a local companion, on the Haad Rin beach – when I looked up into the sky and saw a series of small lights there. Now having heard all the stories, I gave them a hard look. They were not planets, helicopters, planes, ball lightning, shooting stars, a flock of birds, a cloud, a vapour trail or any of the usual.

They most resembled hot air balloons – but I knew enough about that science to realize it was impossible. Since they were tiny, they would have had to have been at least a mile up – thus, given the speed they were traversing the sky, their ground-speed would have been around 100 miles per hour.

And whilst wind speeds – and directions – vary according to height, on the ground there was only a gentle breeze.

Plus, I was on an island, surrounded by the SEA. And apart from special trips – like a Channel crossing if the wind is in the right direction (with a support boat in case it CHANGES) – or one of Richard Branson’s endurance flights/publicity dos – balloons do not travel across large expanses of open water.

And finally, it was NIGHT. The whole point of ballooning is to enjoy the VIEW – which is pretty much non-existent at four a.m. Also, the tricky part of the business is always the landing. Something made far MORE hazardous if all you can see are the support vehicle’s lights across a field.

So they COULDN’T have been balloons – therefore, what the hell WERE they? My fellow dancers were too busy boogying to have noticed the curiosity and not wishing to look a prat, once the lights disappeared, I returned to my partying.

But the next day, in the afternoon, having returned to the neighbouring island of Koh Samui, I saw MORE of the things.

I was riding one of the island’s comedy motorcycles along the main road, with the afore-mentioned companion sitting side-saddle on the pillion – so I stopped and pointed the lights out to her…

13th March, 2011, WordPress.

Yesterday, I had reason to direct two of my chums to this very article – which I originally wrote, nearly two years ago. But when I sought it out, to give them the URL – I could not locate it.

I used WordPress’s search engine, using a NUMBER of words I KNEW to be in the piece – like Maypole, Tiptree – but to no avail. I eventually went through all the 500-odd pieces I have EVER WRITTEN, but still – ZIP.

Whilst all of my other pieces appeared to be present and correct, my piece on The Paranormal had VANISHED…

THE EXPLANATIONS.

Cassiobury Wood.

You will recall we left 13-year-old me probing a carpet of dead leaves in a dark forest, looking for the cause of what appeared to be a one-legged invisible monster, that had chosen to STALK me.

As I carefully ran my fingers through the leaves – I came across a piece of FISHING LINE, which some careless angler had obviously discarded on the river bank I had been walking along, before turning into the forest.

Having been tightly wound around a reel, the light, clear length of nylon had formed itself into a loose SPRING. Thus one end had curled around my ankle, while the other had formed a hook which was what was moving the leaves behind me.

And the reason it was out of step with me was the physics of the thing. As it stretched, it had eventually overcome the resistance of the leaves, moving in one long motion, until the force had dissipated. Simple when you know how.

The Maypole, Tiptree.

Coincidence. In a life filled with millions of events, it would be a statistical ANOMALY if a few of them did NOT wildly coincide. Oddly enough, that pub produced ANOTHER wild set of coincidences – but as Holmes observed, “When you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains HAS to be true.”

And if you drop enough coins, eventually one of them WILL land on its edge. Fact.

So what about the landlord’s experiences? Well, he was either pulling my leg – or more likely, one of his kids was just messing about.

Scotland.

This one was a bit like the Cassiobury thing.

I had been on the edge of sleep when I had first observed the phenomenon, but now I was wide awake. I waited.

After a few minutes, another car approached and the same thing happened AGAIN.

It made NO sense that the “aliens” would only appear when a car did – so I reasoned that the two events were CONNECTED. Reassured there would be a mundane explanation, I fell asleep.

In the morning, it having become light, I looked out of the window towards the point where the “spacecraft” had appeared. And there was the electricity pole.

The “bar” was the piece of wood that supported the wires and the “beam” was merely the wooden pole which it was attached to. I reasoned that as the cars’ headlights had come around the bend in the road, they had first lit the bar – then the pole. And as they passed, the light had travelled around the pole, illuminating it in such a way as it appeared to get BIGGER – thus from my perspective, it was APPROACHING me.

Natch.

The Full Moon Party, Koh Pha-Ngan.

“Oh I know what THEY are,” my companion said – and proceeded to educate me. And the next time we went to a Full Moon Party, I got to SEE some.

TOY hot air balloons. You have probably seen one (or even sent one up, yourself) by now – but at the time, the fad had only just begun.

If you still do not know what I am talking about, they are tall, clear plastic bags with a thin wire frame at the open end – in the middle of which is a small, doughnut thing.

Two people hold it up, while a third sets fire to said doughnut. It burns slowly, filling the bag with hot air until it inflates, at which point they let go.

The contraption then ascends to about 500 feet and goes where the wind takes it – until the doughnut burns out, at which point it lands on some guy’s windscreen, causing him to crash his car, killing himself.

And Finally – that earlier version of THIS piece.

Technology will be a wonderful thing if they ever get it to WORK. A principle not unknown to users of WordPress.

Something went PHUT. Perhaps the cleaner at WordPress Towers pulled the plug out of the mainframe, to plug in her hoover. Who knows?

But like that damn coin, the fact the piece was about The Paranormal was just – a coincidence (however – if it disappears AGAIN, I’m gonna SHIT).

SO WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?

Well, anyone who studies magic as I have – knows that it is EASY to be fooled. The most IMPOSSIBLE illusion ALWAYS has a mundane explanation.

And just because we cannot immediately figure it out, does not mean there ISN’T one.

But we like to BELIEVE in magic and mystery – to give us a thrill that transcends our boring reality.

There ARE aliens – but traversing the VAST distances between stars may simply not be POSSIBLE. Either way, if YOU see something up there, while it MAY be ET popping down for a look at you – it most likely ISN’T.

The World is FILLED with REAL wonders – we do not need to go looking for ones that are SIMPLY NOT THERE.

Cornelius on… Automation

Elsewhere in these columns, I have droned on about how the West has dug a PIT for itself, by opening up to Third World markets – resulting in half its manufacturing base being “outsourced” abroad.

But what of that OTHER cause of mass unemployment – automation?

Well, the first person who placed a log under a heavy load unwittingly started a process that lead to – well – this computer, for a start. And you can’t put the genie back in the bottle.

However, the PROBLEM with technology is it takes no account of the HAVOC it wreaks on society. Why should it?

And thanks to governments whose approach to problems is akin to a small boy plugging up a leaky dyke with chewing gum – our economic system is TOTALLY unprepared for the oncoming STORM.

Back in the old days, we envisaged a future society where people were educated for work AND LEISURE. Where most would NOT work and only those who were ARTISTIC – would do the jobs robots and computers could NOT do. Money would cease to be important. Heaven.

But unless governments wake up to the fact that MONEY needs to be POURED into automation, working hours need to be SHORTENED and retirement ages LOWERED – they are sowing the seeds of disaster.

F*ck sticking chewing gum in the dyke – you need to build a NEW dyke, behind the old one. I.e., recognise the fact that the old system cannot POSSIBLY cope with automation and work towards developing a system that CAN.

Cornelius on… Record Albums

…were introduced in the early Thirties – and looked a lot like PHOTOGRAPH albums.

Which is to say that they were large books with stiff covers – but instead of containing pages of holiday snaps, they had RECORD SLEEVES.

The thing is, record companies always used innovation on CLASSICAL music first – despite popular music outselling it many times over.

There were two reasons for this – one: prestige and two: the fact that most popular records had consistent (high) volume levels, whereas classical music was filled with highs (where the whole orchestra would give it all they had) and lows (like the lead violin playing a reflective solo).

Thus, hiss and crackle would DEVASTATE a symphony.

And with 12″ discs playing a maximum of five minutes a side, you had to keep getting up to change the record.

Which, since concerti, symphonies and the like tend to run for thirty to sixty minutes – and Grand Operas, for HOURS – meant something needed to be done. Enter record auto-changers and ALBUMS.

They way they worked was thus: the album might contain, say, six (12″) discs. And if they had been put back correctly, when you carefully slid them out, they would be in ORDER.

The first disc would be numbered 1 on one side and 12 on the other. The next would be 2 and 11 and so on – ending with 6 and 7.

You would then slide them down the spindle to the device that dropped them down, one at a time, onto the turntable (much like a Sixties Dansette) so that side 1 would play first, then sides 2 – 6. Then you would hit the “play” switch and retire to your armchair.

Plop, plop, plop, etc. The music would run for, say, half-an-hour – then stop.

At which point you would get up, go over to your player and grasp ALL of the discs, slide them back up, off the spindle – flip the whole set over as one – and slide them back down again.

Then you would change the needle (a BRONZE one, that would play half-a-dozen sides – unlike the steel ones that were only good for ONE) and hit the “play” switch once again – and retire to hear the rest of the piece.

This routine was made redundant in 1948, with the introduction of the 12″ VINYL disc. Its “microgrooves” allowed for up to half-an-hour’s playing time per SIDE – at worst, you only needed to get up every twenty minutes.

And of course, the hiss and crackle were GREATLY reduced. 

But despite the fact that you now mostly only had one disc per work, the term “album” stuck and is still with us today – even though these days, they are only 12 CENTIMETRES and last for EIGHTY minutes a side (CDs).

An example of the ORIGINAL album can be seen on my latest YouTube channel. The piece is the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s (pronounced CHICK-OFF-SKI’s) First Piano Concerto, played by the great Artur Rubinstein, in 1947.

This piece was unique in that the complete, sixty-five minute work was released in album form, as described above – but since it cost a FORTUNE and the World was recovering from a WAR, they also released just sides 1 and 2 (the first movement) on a single disc – where it crossed over into the popular market and sold by the SHED-full.

You can find it by clicking http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0nShAkctH8

Cornelius on… Tears

The TV version of “M.A.S.H” (a.k.a. “M*A*S*H”) was one of the most successful sitcoms ever. It ran for 11 years and its final episode garnered one of the biggest TV audiences of all time.

But it was about WAR. The events in the original film and the TV series took place in the Korean War – but everyone knew it was REALLY about the conflict then taking place in VIETNAM.

And thus it was that when McLean Stevenson thought he had a better offer – during Season Three – they decided to write him OUT. However, the writers decided it was time to remind people that War Is Hell. And so they wrote a scene where Radar O’Reilly announces to all in the E.R. that Henry Blake’s plane was shot down, over the Sea Of Japan, on its way to reunite Henry with his loved ones.

The writers first went to the producer and said they had decided it was time to get SERIOUS. The producer said, “You’re not going to show me dead babies, are you?” No, they replied – and showed him the page.

Then it went to the director and he took it to Gary Burghoff, who played Radar (the only actor who had transferred from the film). He read it. They explained that they were not showing it to the rest of the cast – the script would simply say that Radar comes in and reads out a communique.

Gary said, “You get one take – I can’t do this more than once.” And that is the take that was used.

I had it up on YouTube for a YEAR, before some twat at Fox had it PULLED. But thanks to Fox’s tardiness, you will find other recordings of it there – just search “Radar O’Reilly Henry Blake MASH.”

Of course, when America saw it, they FREAKED. How DARE you, they said. M*A*S*H is supposed to be a SITCOM. You made us CRY, you bastards.

But speaking of dead babies, when Bob The Gob and his lovely assistant Midge Ure organised Live Aid, they enlisted the help of David Bowie and Mick Jagger, who did a campy version of the Martha Reeves’ classic, “Dancing In The Street” – complete with video – with all profits from the record sales going to the afore-mentioned charity.

However, a short while before, David had seen a Canadian documentary about the African famines the event was being organised to raise money for – and he tracked down its cameraman and asked if he could borrow the film, to use on said forthcoming event. The guy said sure.

Then they grafted the footage onto a sentimental love song called “Drive” by The Cars and played it during the concert, just enough times so everyone (two BILLION people) would see it at least once – but not enough to make people inured to it.

Even yours truly donated a fiver. Which sounds lame – but I was seriously SKINT at the time. And I’m convinced I wasn’t the ONLY one to go further than just sitting there, enjoying the music.

In fact, I believe at least HALF the money donated to Live Aid was generated by that film – which had literally been an afterthought.

HOWEVER… while the tears shed over the unexpected demise of Henry Blake were fair enough – War IS Hell – along with those generated by Bowie’s footage – Live Aid raised over a hundred MILLION quid – sometimes people can go TOO FAR.

A piece I put on YouTube that IS still up – is an advert for… …well, check the info panel below it.

The piece can be found on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FH4B2Wq614E

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now…

Cornelius on… The Pearly Gates

Elsewhere in these scribblings I have mooted the idea that good and evil are merely so, when viewed from WITHOUT. I.e., Hitler did not see himself as a villain any more than Mother Theresa saw herself as a heroine.

But the Christian ideology has it that when we die, we end up standing in front of Saint Peter, who looks in a VAST book (probably a computer screen now) to see the account of our lifetime’s deeds – and makes a snap decision on whether or not we make the cut.

In other words, if we have lead a RELATIVELY blameless life, we get to sit on a cloud for eternity – whereas if we are Charlie Sheen, we go down to The Pit.

However, here is a thought – suppose the decision were left up to US?

We were allowed to judge OURSELVES. The rules would be (1) we would be permitted to include mitigating and extenuating circumstances in our deliberations – so if we had a rough upbringing, we would be fine with ANY past misdeeds – but (2) we would be COMPELLED to be HONEST about how we REALLY felt about our actions.

And to help us, a chart with a points system would be supplied, where EVERY deed would be listed.

Score above 50% and welcome to Heaven.

I suspect that if this system were in force, Heaven would be full to overcrowding and Hell would merely be peopled by losers and those with DEEP inferiority complexes.

Discuss…

Cornelius on… When Leno Met Gaga

As a 58-year-old straight man, I knew little more about Lady Gaga than I did about Lord Gaga. I had seen her two latest videos on YouTube (the second in hi-def) and read stuff – but that was about all.

Then this week she was on Leno and I have to say I was IMPRESSED (not that she would care, obviously – but there it is).

The thing is, the Tonight Show has a system – but Gaga rose ABOVE it. Even Leno was impressed.

Like, if the Number One guest is important – they are always “on their way to somewhere else” and get to LEAVE, once they’ve done their plug. But Gaga REMAINED.

And after guest Number Two has come on, their predecessor mostly just SITS there – they don’t engage. But Gaga ENGAGED.

She even admitted that for her, it was a big deal. She grew up watching the show (her parents would have too – it’s been going for nearly sixty years).

I loved it. Having been weaned in the UK on Parky, this is how chat shows SHOULD be done. Parky did no monologue or comedy bits. He just came on, said who tonight’s guests would be – and then got ON with it.

No desk – just comfy chairs. Each guest would come on – do six minutes or so - after which Parky would bring the other guests back into the mix for a few minutes. And after the last guest had done their six minutes, it would be a free-for-all.

Thus the guests would ALL engage – throughout the show. And the last guest would generally be the most important.

Of course in America, the most important guest comes on FIRST – since the show’s ratings DROP as it progresses and people go to BED. Which is why ALL the best stuff is put on FIRST.

But what of Gaga herself? Well, I could see why she has become so big – the girl has COMMITMENT.

She describes herself in the third-person – not out of pretentiousness, but because Gaga is a CHARACTER. A product created by herself – and a battery of designers and creatives.

The music is just part of a package that includes videos, clothes, dancers et al. But Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta is no victim – she is the driving force behind it all.

Inevitably, parallels have been drawn between her and Madonna – which Gaga does not deny. But even Madonna would never have had IMPLANTS done like Gaga now has.

Not fake boobs – any American bimbo has those. No – she has had two sets of subdermal implants put in her cheeks and two more on her shoulders. At least, that’s the theory – they COULD be prosthetic.

But they looked real to me and given Gaga’s level of dedication, they would certainly be consistent.

Either way – she is pushing the envelope MUCH further than most would dare. And as a long-time observer of the vicissitudes of The Business, I for one wish her LUCK. This kind of outre performing is HARD on a girl – and many have come to a sticky end.

I fervently hope Gaga does not become another…

Cornelius on… Pushing The Envelope

British comedy has always been acerbic (it’s a word – look it up). And now it is beginning to piss people off – GOOD!

Like the recent furore over Ricky Gervais’ words at the Globes. This has been his style since he ARRIVED on the comedy scene – in 1999 – on the Eleven O’Clock Show, where caustic comedy was the norm.

Then there were the remarks made on “Qi” concerning the true story of a man who, having SURVIVED the American attack on Hiroshima, decided to flee to – NAGASAKI. Comedy GOLD – but the Japanese were INCENSED.

However they need to get a LIFE. I SAW that show and it did NOT make LIGHT of the thousands who had died in the twin holocausts – rather it observed the comic IRONY of this one unfortunate man (who, incidentally, went on to live until NINETY-odd).

Nevertheless, the show’s host has had to CANCEL a planned trip to Japan to film part of a documentary.

I also recall a time Julian Clary said, on the British Comedy Awards, he’d just been fisting Chancellor Of The Exchequer Norman Lamont, backstage. The humour came out of the absurd picture it created in everybody’s mind.

And like yesterday’s newspapers, it would have been forgotten if no-one had complained. But said newspapers had it IN for Lamont and launched an attack of mock outrage – which KILLED his career.

However, nowadays, Auntie is STANDING BY her comedians – sort of.

Back in the Sixties, she FIRED Kenny Everett for saying, when a news item announced the Transport Minister’s wife had just passed her driving test – “she probably slipped the examiner a fiver.” The remark was OBVIOUSLY a joke – but Kenny still got canned.

While these days, the winner of the most complaints to Auntie is undoubtedly JEREMY CLARKSON and Auntie SUPPORTS him – given the fact “Top Gear” is one of her most successful shows, she is prepared to TOLERATE her naughtiest boy.

Clarkson described an Italian sports car’s “face” (with the headlights as the eyes and radiator grill as its mouth) as looking like a village idiot – and since it was called the Speciale, said it should be called the Speciale Needs.

People connected to the mentally disadvantaged LEAPT on that one.

And when a Mexican sports car failed to impress him, he said it was like Mexicans – lazy and shiftless. Then he added it would be no good ringing up the Mexican ambassador to complain as he would be asleep (as it turned out, he WASN’T).

This style of humour – poking fun at foreigners, stereotypes, sexual deviants and the disabled is a peculiarly BRITISH thing.

Oh sure, American humour (sorry – humor) can be spiky – Bill Maher’s description of George Wan… sorry, WaLker Bush as a moron who couldn’t string six coherent words together – or find his way out of a room without Secret Service holding the door open for him – was hilarious, because it was true.

But while Jon Stewart and his “correspondents” (one of whom is British) lampoon EVERYTHING – they STILL stay on this side of “good taste”. And despite Bill’s programme (sorry – program) being called “Politically Incorrect” – it never really WAS.

However, in Britain the rules have been thrown OUT. American-originated Political Correctness has dominated for THIRTY BORING YEARS, but thanks to Britain’s Gervaises and Clarksons, change is finally coming.

Of course, it helps that they are both rich and their shows are successful – but whatever the circumstances, these people are now allowed to shine like beacons of light in a DARK WORLD.

Comedy is BACK, baby!

Cornelius on… Faith

All pills and medicines are placebos. The fact is, pills and medicines contain NOTHING which affects the human body.

It stands to reason. How COULD a tiny pill or a teaspoonful of liquid affect something as large as the human body?

Fifty milligrams of syldenafil citrate (trade name: Viagra) is supposed to help a man retain an erection – and yet his body is THREE MILLION times the weight of the the pill.

Preposterous.

——————————————————————————-

A Bible-themed park is currently being built in Kentucky. Its centrepiece is an ARK – which includes DINOSAURS and a UNICORN.

Dinosaurs were contemporaneous with Mankind – as the Flintstones proved.

And unicorns abounded in the Middle Ages – accounts are numerous.

——————————————————————————-

ONE of the above is actually TRUE – the LATTER one. Oh, not its second and third sentences – they’re obvious bollocks – but the theme park is being built as I type.

I could comment on it – but instead, here is something even funnier.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAghgJ6nbKM  

Cornelius on… Small Potatoes

I recall a time back in the Sixties, when I went to the beach at Felixstowe with a school-chum we called “Peanut”.

Now Peanut was a geeky, unattractive sort of youth – while I was considered quite handsome. And so it was that upon arrival we split up, to try our hands at the local talent (I didn’t want Peanut cramping my style).

But after a bit he returned to me, looking somewhat downcast. “What’s up, Peanut?” I queried.

Oh, it’s all right for you,” he said, “You have boyish charm and a buff physique – but I can’t get the girls to LOOK at me.”

“Hmm.” Thinking for a moment, I ventured, “Look – why don’t you nip over to Charlie Mannings? He’s got a market running today and you could buy a few small potatoes and slip them down inside your Speedos – some girls go for that.”

“Okay,” he said, looking a bit doubtful. And off he went.

Twenty minutes later, he came back. “Thanks a LOT,” he whined, “Now, when the girls see me, they scream and run AWAY.”

“Well,” I said, looking at him, “When I advised you to slip the potatoes down your Speedos – I meant the FRONT.”

(That was a LONG way to go for THAT one!)

Cornelius on… Tunisia

I hear TUNISIA has just imposed a 20:00 hrs CURFEW.

So much for – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQYXn1DP38s&feature=related

Solid gone, man.

Cornelius on… Ric Young

Ric was probably born sometime between 1940 and 1945 – which puts him between 66 and 71-ish, today. However, his DOB is as obscure as everything else about him.

What we DO know is he was born in London and went to RADA – then traveled to America and studied Method Acting.

Furthermore, his first film was an extraordinary British sci-fi B-movie called “Invasion” (1965). The film was noteworthy for its “realistic” feel and style of acting.

Its star was the redoubtable Edward Judd. Ric (then calling himself Eric) played an alien, who is knocked down on a foggy country lane, then gets taken to a cottage hospital, where Edward is the attending physician.

Interestingly, Judd’s character remarks to Tsai Chin, who plays a nurse, about the unconscious stranger – asking her if she thinks he is Chinese. She casually looks at the recumbent stranger and slowly answers, “No, not Chinese – maybe Korean” (or something like that).

The reason this is interesting, is that ALL the aliens in Invasion are played by Oriental actors – their leader being Yoko Tani – a Japanese actress. But the fact the hospital has a Chinese NURSE, goes AGAINST the obvious idea that the film’s producers simply cast Oriental actors as the aliens, figuring that to British audiences at that time, Chinese people WOULD be alien – and they could thus save money on complicated make-up.

Ironically, contemporaneous with Invasion, Tsai Chin was appearing as Fu Manchu’s evil daughter in Hammer’s Fu Manchu series – with the saturnine Christopher Lee as Fu (or Manchu, I get confused with Chinese names). You rarely see these movies today, as Lee was a Caucasian actor, playing a foreigner (with “slitty-eye” prosthetic makeup) – an absolute no-no, in these post-PC times.

But back to Eric. After Invasion, he never looked back. Like Tsai Chin, he is still working today (they probably know each other – she was at RADA about the same time – in fact, she was RADA’s first Chinese actor).

He never became a big star – but he has acted alongside most who have. He has played small roles in a lot of big movies – like “You Only Live Twice”, “Indiana Jones And The Temple of Doom”, “Nixon” (he played Chairman Mao) – and about 50 others.

He has also had many TV roles, including in “The Champions”, “Crown Court”, “Tenco” (inevitably) – and both the original AND new “Hawaii-Five-O” series.

Yet Wiki has NOTHING on Ric – and IMDb, ALMOST nothing. Which is a shame, as Eric has been a mainstay of British and American TV and movies for nearly half a CENTURY now – he deserves better.

Cornelius on… Nicholas Parsons’ Cardinal Error

Nicholas Parsons has had a long career – and I mean LONG.

After a short stint as a pump engineer in the Clyde shipyards (no, really) he entered showbiz in 1947, with a bit-part in a long-forgotten film called “Master Of Bankdam”.

But my first recollection of him was in the late Fifties, when he was Arthur Haynes’ sidekick.

Arthur Haynes usually played a stroppy tramp, with Nic as a smooth-talking authority figure, whom Arthur would verbally duel with. Written by Johnny (“‘Til Death Us Do Part”) Speight, the sketches always ended with Haynes’ character coming out on top.

However, Haynes eventually parted from Parsons, as he figured he was getting too many laughs – then he died shortly afterwards.

But Nic went from strength to strength. He reprised his Haynes character in some Benny Hill shows – continued playing small parts in movies (my favourite of which was a doctor in a Miss Marple movie, who appeared to have imbibed some of his own meds) – finally getting the gig of chairing “Just A Minute” which, FORTY-THREE YEARS ON, HE STILL DOES.

However, “Just A Minute” doesn’t pay the rent, so Parsons has had a number of “day-jobs”, ranging from more movie bit-parts to the show most people STILL chiefly remember him for: “The Sale Of The Century”.

In this TV give-away, he was the INCREDIBLY SMOOTH host. Thus when he took the job of The Narrator in “The Rocky Horror Show”, complete with 6″ heels, fishnets and basque – people thought he’d lost his MIND.

But his residence was a TRIUMPH and made people realise he was more than just a side-kick and smooth TV presenter.

Nevertheless, to return to “Just A Minute” – despite, at EIGHTY-SEVEN, STILL having a number of day-jobs, Nicholas continues to chair this venerable show – having out-lived ALL its original regular panelists.

This is some feat, as the show requires ALL of its panelists – and the CHAIR – to have supreme mental agility. Which Parsons certainly continues to demonstrate. However, this writer has ONE QUIBBLE – and it amazes him that in forty-three years, no-one has ever raised it.

At the end of each show, Nicholas does a round-up of the scores (while pointing out that the CONTRIBUTIONS of the panelists are actually more important) and it is HERE that he makes his Cardinal Error.

Let us say that two of the panelists have scored fifteen points and the others have scored thirteen and ten, respectively. Parsons will announce that the panelists who scored fifteen are joint-winners (right) but will then announce that the panelist who scored thirteen is SECOND.

This is WRONG. In any competition, when two or more contestants have the same score – they are JOINTLY given the SAME number. But those who scored the NEXT highest number have to take the next number AVAILABLE.

For instance: in an Open Golf tournament, after the first day’s play has ended, there are often groups of people on the same scores. Thus if six people came in with four-under, they might be JOINT-LEADERS.

But then if there were two on three-under, they would be joint SEVENTH – not joint SECOND.

And if a single player was on two-under, they would be NINTH, alone.

And so on.

This means that in the unlikely event three hundred and fifteen players came in on par, with just one player on one-over – the three hundred and fifteen would be joint-leaders, while the unlucky sod on one-over would be THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTEENTH! Wacky maybe, but still CORRECT.

So Nic – in the unlikely event you ever read this – please remember that you (usually) have FOUR panelists on “Just A Minute” – and they MUST occupy ALL FOUR PLACES. Thus if three have the same highest score, they are joint-leaders – and the other is FOURTH – not SECOND!

Cornelius on… These Kids Today

Seems like the young today do nothing but sit for hours watching mindless drivel on their computers.

Things were different in MY day – then, we spent our time watching mindless drivel on TELEVISION!

Cornelius on… The Curious Case Of Julian Assange

The name Julian Assange first came to the fore when he began posting a quarter-of-a-million public and low-grade classified documents on his whistle-blowing website, WikiLeaks (no relation to Wikipedia).

These contained the un-spun thoughts of a large number of political public figures and thus were bound to cause embarrassment and controversy – the American System collectively FREAKED.

But then things took a bizarre turn. In Sweden – a country noted for its sexual liberalism – an arrest warrant was issued for Mr Assange, relating to encounters he had had, with a couple of women.

The charges were strange in themselves. Things have come to pretty poor pass when ADULTS have to take their LAWYERS to bed with them, anytime they fancy getting frisky. But Sweden was adamant – they wanted a WORD or three with Julian.

At this point, Assange was in Britain. And Britain, being part of Europe, is bound to take seriously the demands of any other European country.

However, it is also well-known as being America’s Bitch – and The States wanted a few words with Julian as well.

And so the British authorities GRABBED Julian. But then things took ANOTHER weird turn.

The judge announced that Mr Assange would be remanded in CUSTODY, while they decided what to do with him. The reasons given were that he was being incarcerated “for his own safety” and because he was considered “a flight risk”.

This last, despite the fact that Assange had freely SUBMITTED himself to the authorities.

As for the first consideration – just who did the judge think was AFTER Julian? And why would he consider him to be SAFE in JAIL? It makes no sense.

And nor does Assange’s willingness to allow himself to be GRABBED by The System in the first place – he’d ample opportunity to go underground and no-one would have thought any the less of him if he had.

At this point, the Julian Assange story begins to parallel two other famous people’s stories – Lenny Bruce and Jesus of Nazareth. Let us first look at Mr Bruce.

Lenny Bruce is the Grandfather of Modern Standup Comedy. In Late-’50s America, institutionalised racism and sexual hypocrisy ruled – and Lenny used humour to highlight these failings in its society.

But this made him enemies. And Lenny played right into their hands by using colourful language in his act, at a time before it was permitted. Thus every time he said a naughty word, he would get BUSTED.

Now if he had paid his fines and moderated his language, he could have simply continued. But Mr Bruce made a cardinal error – he thought the American System was STRAIGHT. Thus he FOUGHT his cases in court.

And slowly, his act began to feature him solely reading extracts from transcripts of his latest cases. He became OBSESSED with Free Speech. Unfortunately, he LOST his cases – and that and drugs KILLED him.

However, his sufferings were not in vain. Within ten years of his death, a climate developed where a standup could say ANYTHING on stage – and only their AUDIENCE would judge them.

Then there is Jesus of Nazareth. His preachings pissed off the Romans BIG time. And this lead to their capturing, torturing and executing him.

But he too had plenty of opportunities to escape – the Romans did not WANT another martyr.

However, Jesus wanted to BE one – and enlisted Judas to help make it happen.

And it worked. His body having been taken by grave-robbers, his followers declared him having risen from the dead and his Disciples went on to continue his work. Two THOUSAND years on – his legend persists.

(One cannot help but wonder if in his wildest imaginings, Jesus could have envisaged he would become an INTEGRAL PART of a religion that would endure for two millennia – and counting).

But returning to our whistle-blowing hero – could it BE that he sees himself as a MARTYR for the cause of Freedom of Information?

It may sound absurd (but then again, the truth often IS) however the parallels are unavoidable. His “revelations” are echoing around the World. His “disciples” are carrying on releasing those 250,000 documents. And he has an ENORMOUS “following”.

Is Julian Assange the Second Coming?

Cornelius on… Lou Busch and Allan Sherman

A good friend recently brought my attention to a tune by one Lou Busch. It’s called “Zambezi”  and – it’s rather GOOD! I don’t have it, but here it is – played on an old BSR Monarch…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cucI2atnxyY

But then, by a coincidence I’ll not trouble you with, I discovered that Lou Busch worked with Allan Sherman on many of his hits.

Now only geezers as old as me will REMEMBER Allan. In the early Sixties, he was responsible for a plethora of silly songs – many based on popular hits of the time (like his “A Waste Of Money” – based on “A Taste Of Honey”).

But copyright problems forced him to use PUBLIC DOMAIN melodies, which resulted in his biggest hit – “Hello Mudduh! Hello Fadduh!” – being set to (the famous bit of) Amilcare Ponchielli’s “Dance Of The Hours”.

And I recall an incident in “assembly” at my junior school. It was 1963 and the headmaster (a bloke who looked a lot like Leslie Philips, but wasn’t) played the piece and asked the kids if they knew what it was called.

Now remember – these kids were aged between eight and eleven. Thus, there was silence – but it was eventually broken by a little voice at the front which said, “It’s called ‘Hello Mudduh! Hello Fadduh!’”

Everyone fell about laughing and a classmate standing with me at the back (we were both about ten) said, “Oh no! That was my little brother – he HAD to say THAT!”

But what strikes me – all these years later – is the fact that in 1963 England, a bunch of eight-to-eleven-year-olds KNEW the record was a classic and had only been USED by Sherman.

Today’s ignorant oiks would NOT have laughed – thinking the kid was RIGHT.

By the way – if you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, hit – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2Hx_X84LC0 for a nice, clear stereo recording of Sherman’s opus.

Cornelius on… The Grand Old Duke Of York

“The Grand Old Duke Of York

He had ten thousand men

He marched them up to the top of the hill

And he marched them down again

And when they were up they were up

And when they were down they were down

And when they were down and up and down

They were diagnosed as manic-depressive”

Cornelius on… The Beatles Experience: Capitol vs EMI

Capitol Records was started by Johnny Mercer in 1942, but in 1955 it was taken over by Britain’s EMI. Thus it was that America’s experience of the Beatles was channelled through a building in L.A. – that looked like the compressor’s heat-sink atop an old fridge.

This SHOULD have been routine – however, despite being wholly owned by EMI, Capitol Records INSISTED on being “autonomous” – which caused all SORTS of problems. For it seems that Capital was determined to USE the Beatles to make their POINT.

Which is why, in America, the Beatles experience was quite different from that in Britain.

It started with the beginning of the Beatles’ canon. In Britain, EMI’s marketing emphasis was on Paul’s melodic compositions – while Capitol concentrated on John’s more hard-edged rock ‘n’ roll output. Therefore, while Britain saw the Beatles as the driving force of a New Sound – America just saw them as a superior rock ‘n’ roll band.

And even when – having scored their first U.S. hit – the Beatles opened in the States, it did not stop. While EMI carefully marketed the Fab Four’s PRODIGIOUS output as a series of “event” singles, interspersed by “concept” albums – Capitol naused up the whole thing.

At this point, the historian could list ALL the differences twixt the U.S. and U.K. Beatles canon – but that would be tedious (and anyway – he cannot be arsed doing the research). Suffice to say that in addition to messing with mixes (like using their basement to add “echo” – and remixing mono mixes for “synth” stereo) the Capitol Beatles RELEASING programme was a MESS.

F’rinstance, “Magical Mystery Tour” was released in Britain as two 7″ discs, in a 7″ (plus a bit) “gatefold” booklet. Both discs had two tracks on one side and one on the other. Plus the booklet had a number of pages with pictures from the “special” that had featured the tracks. It sold for just under £1.

But across The Pond, Capitol wanted NONE of this. In America, records cost less – and not having been hit so hard by WW2, people had more MONEY. Thus the U.S. population bought ALBUMS. But since “Magical Mystery Tour” only had six tracks, this was a vexation.

So they issued the six tracks on Side One of an ALBUM – with a bunch of contemporaneous SINGLE tracks on Side Two. Then they blew up the cover of the gatefold booklet for the front of the album cover – and put a montage of its pages on the back.

The contemporaneous tracks included “Penny Lane” and “Strawberry Fields” – which had earlier been released as the first-ever major “double-A-side” single. These two tracks had been DRAGGED from the sessions where the boys were recording “Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”.

This was possibly the ONLY mistake EMI ever made during their Beatles “campaign” – the tracks had originally been destined FOR that landmark album, but not having had a Beatles Hit for a while, EMI PANICKED.

And the fact the boys were about to launch a Pop ICON did not calm them. Having previously had a LEGENDARY run of Number One hits, a GAP in them could have been seen as the Beatles making a COMEBACK (things moved FAST in the Sixties).

But this hiccup was NOTHING compared to the dogs breakfast Capitol made of Beatles releases stateside. Had it not been for the fact that America was regularly treated to live, stadium gigs (something unheard-of in Britain at that time) and appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show – the Beatles might never have had the impact there which they did.

The fact is that thanks to Capitol Records’ POSTURING, it was only the Mop-Tops’ EXTRAORDINARY talent that enabled them to be the same thing in America that they were in Britain – they WERE the Sixties.

Cornelius on… A List Of Artists Who Will Get You YouTube Copyright Strikes

Much BULLSH*T is spoken on YouTube – and by its users – on the issue of Copyright.

Its users go on about artists’ rights. And YouTube tells its users to refrain from posting copyright material. But both arguments are deeply FLAWED.

Of course artists should be able to reap the benefits of their work – but not for EVER.

And as far as YouTube not wanting copyright material on their service is concerned – HORSEFEATHERS!

If all of the copyright material disappeared from YouTube overnight – most of their customers would disappear WITH it.

All they would be left with would be idiots jumping off garage roofs, to see if they can break a bone – and those morons sad enough to watch it.

And YouTube KNOW that.

But what of the copyright owners themselves? Do THEY want NO copyright material on YouTube? Not necessarily…

Fact is, many companies are now beginning to wake up to the BENEFITS of snippets of their stuff being available to the ever-increasing millions of Interweb users. It represents FREE PUBLICITY.

Indeed some long-forgotten material has become so successful on YouTube, the original owner has ended up re-releasing it – and made sheds of cash by doing so.

And this has lead to the SMART companies uploading their copyright material THEMSELVES (in grade-A quality) – or get Vevo to do it for them.

However, there are still many companies and individuals who take a draconian attitude to their stuff popping up in the Public Domain – and bottom-feeders like the UK’s “Web Sheriff” are more than happy to act as “agents” for some of them.

And YouTube STILL have their arbitrary STRIKE system…

This takes two forms: the first is “Community Guidelines” – this means if you upload something “tasteless” you get a strike. This can include anything from animal torture (THOSE individuals should lose their BALLS – never mind their channels) to a one-second flash of nipple.

While Metacafe has an “18+” category for mild nudity, YouTube also has one – but rarely USES it. So given TV’s relaxed attitude to sex, a CG strike is easy to get. However, they DISAPPEAR after SIX MONTHS.

And therein lies the problem. Copyright strikes are there for EVER.

Thus if you collect three – even if they are just three from a THOUSAND uploads – and the third was earned from something you uploaded YEARS ago – you can LOSE your ENTIRE channel.

Which may represent YEARS of work to you.

So if you want to share old rarities from your record, tape and/or disk collection with other collectors (NOT new, current stuff they could BUY) you end up playing Russian Roulette.

When pieces are audio-only, thanks to an ARRANGEMENT between YouTube and the “Big Four”, you will normally only get take-downs, rather than collect strikes. But if they include VIDEO, you can be SCREWED.

It is always the obscure, seemingly safe stuff that gets you strikes. Often, material you THOUGHT would give you problems turns out to be owned by a company that WELCOMES the publicity.

So what is YouTube’s REAL attitude? Well, obviously they want as much custom as possible, but they care NOT for those who supply them with their wares – for FREE.

Which means that until they change their attitude (limiting copyright strikes’ validity to six months would be a START) uploaders are forced to duck and dive – opening channel after channel.

But there is ONE thing that can be done. And since no-one appears to have thought of it – let yours truly light the touch-paper.

A Register Of Artists Who Will Get You Strikes.

The following are artists and films where this reporter KNOWS that strikes have been awarded to uploaders of SOME related material. Of course, some of the artists involved may not have been AWARE said actions were being taken – therefore, they TOO might be interested to find themselves on this sh*t-list – and may feel like complaining to those responsible. After all, their inclusion in this list might cause people to BOYCOTT them and their sales could go DOWN as a result. So here goes…

Laurel and Hardy ’30s shorts (a GERMAN company – L&H are DEAD)

“High Anxiety” (the Mel Brooks movie)

Jerry Sadowitz

The Leningrad Cowboys & The Red Army Choir (concert footage)

Van Morrison

Bob Godfrey (cartoons)

Spike Jones (kinescope of Fifties compilation)

M*A*S*H (TV show excerpts)

Bryan Adams

This is just a nosegay. There are many others. And if this list is to MEAN anything – it needs EXPANDING. Therefore, I call upon any YouTubers who pass this way to leave additions as COMMENTS. Since I will not have had PROOF of the claims, I will add them to this post as…

A Register Of Artists Who Will (ALLEGEDLY) Get You Strikes.

I’m waiting…

[update]

I am told that two more are – Johnny & The Hurricanes – and Prince.

[another update]

I now gather that Carson Entertainment Group (formerly Carson Enterprises) have joined the stupids – so avoid uploading Carson-era Tonight Show clips (there are LOADS up – but CEG are moving slowly and ERRATICALLY through them – Johnny must be spinning in his grave – he would NEVER approve).

[yet another update]

YouTube are FINALLY beginning to erase copyright strikes that are older than six months (as I recommended above) – but like CEG, they are ERRATIC. Some go – some DON’T.

Cornelius on… Grouchy (in U.S. – Snarky) Old Men

This writer is fifty-eight now.

Thus in two years (for him, about two WEEKS – one’s temporal perception accelerates with age) he will be sixty.

And on that day, he will enter the Fourth Quarter of his life.

For a man’s life is divided into four parts. One: 0-19 – childhood. Two: 20-39 – young adulthood. Three: 40-59 – middle-age. And four: 60-79 – OLD age. (80-plus is FREAKISH old age).

But why are so many people over sixty GROUCHY? (Or if you are American – snarky).

It is because they have spent most of their lives looking FORWARD – but now, for the first time, everything they had hoped for is in the PAST.

However, this observer is lucky enough NOT to be grouchy OR snarky. Why is that? Because, by accident AND design (mostly design) he USED the first three Quarters of his life well.

He experienced most of what This Place has to offer (oh, he could tell you some stories) – and he determined what was REALLY important – and WENT for it. And along the way, he GOT it.

But experience is only part of what our World has to offer. More important is the right Life Partner. It took him fifteen years of active searching (during which time he went through over a hundred WRONG ones) but he eventually NAILED it.

Then comes knowledge. Not FACTS – no less than Einstein himself rightly stated that he never bothered committing anything to memory he could look up in a book. No, what is needed is an UNDERSTANDING of how this existence – and one’s fellow-travellers – works and work.

And around two years ago, the last bits of the Jigsaw Of Life fell into place for him and he suddenly realised he KNEW what this life was ABOUT.

But therein lay his problem. He had burst forth upon this planet and had sought – and FOUND – TRUTH. He quickly discovered it dwelt not in any religion. What was termed “faith” was merely a crutch which lazy people leaned on, instead of taking the trouble to seek out their OWN truth and take responsibility for the care of themselves and others.

Neither did it lie in achievement, the acquisition of wealth, power, fame or approbation by others – the only person who judges a man is himself.

Nevertheless, many people blunder through this life, aware only of the small picture. They see no-one but themselves. No country outside their own. No people except their immediate neighbours. They become side-tracked from what is really important, by material things. And they believe the system is honest and will care for them.

Thus, when they turn sixty and it finally dawns on them that they have WASTED the only thing they ever really possessed – their LIVES – they become cynical, disillusioned and ultimately, ANGRY – at THEMSELVES.

Grouchy. Snarky.

This humble scribe worked hard to accomplish what he has – and had some luck too. And so now he is at peace, whiling away the time he has left – and writing essays like this one – which may JUST help someone who is still WELL short of THEIR Fourth Quarter.

Like YOU perhaps?

Cornelius on… An Open Letter To My Son, James

I was born in 1952 – thus was 12 in ’64, when Sixties Pop (Beat) really took off (I liked, but was too young to really appreciate Fifties Rock ‘N’ Roll). And I was 20 when it all began to go wrong, in ’72.

You were born in 1981 – thus were 12 in ’93, when Nineties Pop (Trance) really took off (you liked, but were too young to appreciate Eighties Techno-Pop). And you were 20 when THAT all began to go wrong, in ’01.

History repeats itself.

Of course, it’d be easy to say we both just got OLD at twenty – and were merely unable to appreciate the NEW sounds that replaced our OLD ones.

But not true. As with today’s fare, Seventies Pop WAS crap (okay, Disco wasn’t bad, but the rest? Fech!) And it’s wholly ACKNOWLEDGED as such.

But for me, Pop made a COMEBACK in ’83 – with the afore-mentioned Eighties Techno-Pop (I LOVED the Pet Shop Boys, ABC, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Johnny Hates Jazz, etc.)

And then AGAIN in the late Nineties, with the Trance YOU loved.

Which means if history CONTINUES to repeat itself, a Great New Sound SHOULD emerge in… calculating… 2012!

But will it? Sadly, I doubt it. Composers ran out of logical progressions of notes (melodies) in 1980 (Eighties Techno-Pop was CHORD-driven) and Trance (SNIPPETS of melody with Technobeats) ran out of Anthems as the new Millennium was dawning.

Thus I cannot see – given Pop needs to adhere to the format of MUSIC, set down by Bach some three centuries ago – how ANYONE can continue the phenomenon, begun after WW1 and which is now DEAD.

Hope I’m wrong, sonny-boy.

Cornelius on… Glen Coe

Glencoe is the Scottish village, Glen Coe the place it is in. And WHAT a place.

The first time I drove along the road that runs along its bottom, it freaked me out. I had driven up (or was it down?) “electric” hills and been fooled by cloud vs mountain formations in Switzerland AND Scotland – but nothing had prepared me for Glen Coe.

As I glanced at the hills on either side – I noticed they were NOT MOVING. I looked at the road and IT was still moving under me. What was going ON? It took me several seconds to work it out.

The hills were not hills, a few hundred yards away – they were huge MOUNTAINS, a couple of MILES away.

The reason for my confusion was that the mountains – being “listed” – had no buildings, roads or telegraph poles on them. Even the trees had been stripped, centuries ago. Thus I had NO POINT OF REFERENCE upon which to judge their SIZE and DISTANCE.

I realized all of this in moments – but they were some of the WEIRDEST moments of my life.

Of course, if you have already BEEN to Glen Coe, you will RELATE to my experience – if not, you may CURSE me for ruining the SURPRISE!

Cornelius on… “The Boat That Rocked” (US title: “Pirate Radio”)

This is for those who have SEEN the film…

Richard (Four Weddings, Blackadder, Notting Hill, Bridget Jones, etc.) Curtis wrote and directed this movie, but at the time in which it was set – 1966 – he was only a boy.

Thus it is understandable that while a number of its details are Out Of Time (in some cases, totally Out Of PERIOD) the whole PREMISE is somewhat detached from reality.

Let us deal quickly with a nosegay of OOPs – “condoms” were called “Durexes” (advertising) or “Johnnies” (short for “Rubber Johnnies”) in 1966 – the term “think outside the box” is NINETIES “business-speak” – while some of the equipment was period (nice to see the vintage cart machines and “Gates” VU meters – I hear they borrowed them from the Caroline museum) some was DECIDEDLY out of place (like the Sony cans) – and while the clothing was Sixties, it was more like 1968 (I realize to today’s youth, a couple of years may seem like nit-picking – but in the Sixties, fashion moved FAST. ’68 was a WORLD away from ’66).

And a few unrealities: they would have had to switch OFF the transmitter during the DJs’ ascent of same – or they would have been FRIED – plus the ship’s “mobile desk” had domestic record decks on them – plus I doubt they would have used toggle switches to start the studio decks (WAY too much noise – both literally and electronically) – plus the transmitters NEVER went 24 hour – they needed cooling (Radio London closed at NINE) – and their whole STYLE of broadcasting was nothing LIKE the real thing: ALL of the “pirate” stations were always on their BEST behaviour, in the hope that they – and their DJs – might one day come onshore.

Thus “The Boat That Rocked” is NOT based on real events – at best, it is merely INSPIRED by them.

But that’s okay.

Curtis’ film is an ENTERTAINMENT, not a documentary – the reality would have been BORING. I like the scene where the naked girls (with bras in some cuts) re-enact a certain Hendrix cover – and the way Branagh apes his hero, Olivier. There is much to enjoy here.

However, the film was a box-office FLOP. Why? Well, the running time is generally blamed. The full movie runs nearly three hours. The UK release was clipped to two hours fifteen and the US release to a mere one hour fifty-five. But that’s still WAY too long for today’s YouTube generation – they have the attention-spans of goldfish.

Fact is, this epic was REALLY made for old farts like ME – wot have actually been OUT to the Ross Revenge (Caroline’s second vessel) and the Forts – and who, from ’63 to ’72, listened every DAY on their trannies (transistor radios – not transvestites) to the outpourings of these stations. Without them, we would not have HAD the Sixties.

But people like me do not GO to the cinema (that’s oldie-speak for movies) anymore. We wait for the DVD – or the satellite – or even the terrestrial broadcast. And even sexed up like they were on this film, the events of the Sixties mean NOTHING to the majority of today’s cinema-goers – most of whose PARENTS were not alive then.

So thanks, Richard Curtis. I LOVED your movie - INCLUDING the deleted scenes – particularly the extended version of Simple Simon playing “Stay With Me (Baby)” (the ORIGINAL version – not the Duffy version featured in the end credits) – and the FINE cast you chose to tell the story (special mention for Nick Frost, Rhys Ifans, Philip Seymour Hoffman, the GREAT Bill Nighy - and of course, Chris O’Dowd. They made it LIVE).

Sorry it cost you twenty million quid – maybe you will recover some from the DVD sales? (My legitimate disk only cost me four quid, here in Thailand – but I understand they still cost twenty, in England).

Footnote: click – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tVwIfiO8q8

Cornelius on… If I Ruled The World…

…every day would be… a Liberal-Socialist delight!

The ONLY formula for World Peace – and fairness – is a World Government. The League Of Nations was a good try – but it failed. Then came the United Nations – but it too is a bust.

However the basic principle is sound – and this is how it would work if THIS megalomaniac ruled it…

First – there would be a People’s Charter. It would be a set of Humanitarian Rules, guaranteeing EVERYONE a fair break, free from oppression. Then…

NATIONS

…would cease to exist. They would become REGIONS.

Thus the divisions that Nationalism creates would disappear – but regional identities would remain.

Harmony would rule.

IMMIGRATION

…would become irrelevant. As a citizen of the World, people would be free to travel, settle and work ANYWHERE. Their distribution would be governed by market forces.

HEALTH

…would be based on NEED – not ability to pay (an IMMORAL concept). It would be (well) funded from taxes.

EDUCATION

…would be based on ability to USE – again, not PAY. You know – TESTS. Those who pass a test move on to the next level. Again, taxation would fund it.

And it would be geared towards REAL LIFE. No developed country can possibly pretend that with “outsourcing” and automation, Full Employment will ever again be a reality – thus it is essential to educate people for LEISURE as well as work, or else they’ll smash the machines and/or get into mischief.

This would include FULL sex education – beginning with the basics at ten, rising to include the subtleties of technique and moral and interpersonal issues, as the kids were old enough to understand them.

Of course, parents could still add THEIR input – but their kids would not have to RELY on it.

TRANSPORT

…would be geared for the public. RAILWAYS would receive a new lease of life – and company cars would be BANNED. They produce a PILE of woes – lost time, lost tempers and pollution.

With a decent, modern railway system, the roads would become less crowded and their current coverage would be sufficient for CENTURIES.

Plus, ALL public transport would be FREE – paid, once again, from taxation.

“DEFENCE”

The militaries of the World would immediately be de-commissioned. There would only be ONE Peace-Keeping Force. And their main duty would be to RID the World of ALL OFFENSIVE WEAPONS.

Obviously, there are many items that CAN be used as offensive weapons – I myself possess a machete (I have a large garden, situated in the Sub-Tropics, where things grow FAST) – but if a person was carrying a baseball bat, they would have to be able to show they were on their way to or from a MATCH.

The only weapons permitted would be those for DEFENCE. And anyone using one would have to be able to PROVE that they’d had reasonable cause. Furthermore, such weapons would NOT include guns or other lethal devices.

JUSTICE

Would be based on a Universal system. While minor variations of legislation would be permitted locally, the basic principles of Humanity would be for all. Namely, all slavery, physical abuse, racism, sexism and violence would be ILLEGAL.

And it goes without saying that no justice system could use barbarism (capital punishment, caning, stoning or ANY physical intervention) against its citizens.

Prison sentences would be in two parts. The first would be short, but unpleasant. It would incarcerate people in solitary confinement – without books, TV or conversation. The second part would be geared to rehabilitation and resocialisation.

However, it would be saved for those who had committed crimes against a PERSON or PEOPLE. Victimless crimes would only incur financial penalties.

“BIG BROTHER”

Privacy would be guaranteed for citizens. Everybody would carry an ID card – but it would contain only their picture, name, age and current address.

RECREATIONAL DRUGS

…would be legalised, but regulated. Stopping people using recreational drugs is like trying to stop them FARTING. All drugs would be classified as being either acceptable or not, based on their benefits and drawbacks.

Thus Cannabis, Ecstasy, LSD, Cocaine and others would be available – from legitimate sources – where they would be cheap, pure and of a known strength. They would be sold with non-judgemental “patient information” leaflets, detailing effects and side-effects – like whether they were ADDICTIVE.

However, drugs like Crack, Meth and other substances where the drawbacks WHOLLY outweigh the benefits would remain BANNED – but no money would be wasted on law enforcement, since their use would steeply decline when the other drugs became legal.

EMPLOYMENT

Standard working hours would be limited to twenty a week, no-one could work until they reached 18 years of age and retirement would be set at 50. People would be permitted to work longer hours and retire later – but only if they WISHED to.

RELIGION

…would not be banned – but it would not be encouraged either. At school, kids would be EDUCATED about it. They would be shown how it had emerged as a reaction to early Man’s concerns and curiosity (Why Am I Here? Who Can I Turn To? Where Do I Go When I Die?)

How Man had begun it as Sun worship – developed it to devotion to Earth Spirits – refined it to multitheisms (the Greek and Roman gods) – then advanced it to a variety of monotheisms.

The course would take in fringe religions, plus Native and Oriental ones. And Eastern philosophies that have been turned INTO religions.

As for churches – they are like smoking. Older citizens who had become hooked to cigarettes in earlier times would be permitted to continue their habit (see below) and churches would be allowed to continue their services also.

You can no more talk someone out of religious beliefs garnered over a lifetime – than you can stop a smoker yearning for a cigarette.

HOWEVER – ORGANISED religion would be OUTLAWED. Any group dedicated to the bending of minds would become illegal. And vicars, priests and assorted clergy would have to adhere to a Code Of Conduct.

Essentially, they would come under the same umbrella as doctors, psychiatrists and – well – clergymen. These professionals are not allowed to use their positions of influence for evil. In other words, a shrink cannot seduce a patient. In most places, they are liable to be struck off for same – and in others, they can find themselves in JAIL.

Thus, while a sermon could include recommendations that the flock adhere to general decent moral standards – they could NOT lay down rules as to how said flock dressed, ate, drank or behaved.

SMOKING

In my World, companies and businesses would, where practicable, have to provide reasonable facilities for smokers – given that they represent a quarter of the population.

However, NEW smokers would be banned. Specifically, the minimum age where smoking would be permitted would rise, annually, by one year. And shops would have to ask for ID where a person appeared to be under – or close to – that age.

POLITICAL CORRECTNESS

…would just be BANNED.

GOVERNMENT

…would be arranged along APOLITICAL, BUREAUCRATIC lines. However, the “Why use one form when six will do?” mentality would be CRUSHED.

The World Government would consist of intellectuals and experts from every Region in the World. These professionals would be handsomely paid, but be unable to have outside interests – including through agents, such as wives.

Their duties would be…

One – to raise funds through direct taxation – i.e., Income Tax. Both for persons and companies. This would be the ONLY tax paid – tax on goods would GO. But of course, the taxation would be HEAVY (the money for the public services would have to come from SOMEWHERE) – but it would be applied on a sliding scale, with the richer citizens and companies paying more. And there would be NO “deductibles”.

Two – to allocate the gathered funds to the public services – which would be COMPREHENSIVE.

Three – to REWARD INDIVIDUAL EFFORT – FINANCIALLY. Communism failed because the Commies thought a pat on the head would be sufficient to make people TRY harder. It was not.

Four – to allocate the World’s resources fairly and sensibly. No longer would someone finding an oil-field under their feet be rich. Their find would belong to the WORLD.

Five – maintain laboratories to find cures for all ills – and develop automation to free Man from tedious tasks (see below).

Six – monitor local Regional leaders, to ensure they toed the line. Dictators and despots need not apply.

And seven – maintain the PEACE, with the aid of the Peace-Keeping Force.

It (again) goes without saying that ALL of the World Government’s activities and financial affairs would be 100% TRANSPARENT.

AUTOMATION

The first man to put a slice of tree under something heavy he wanted to shift – began a process that put him on the Moon.

And now he is within reach of automating the World. Once this is achieved, work will become a pastime.

Therefore, development of automation technology would be the prime concern of the World Government.

FINANCE

Employment, taxation and benefits would be TIED to each other. A system would be put into place that would ensure a level playing field for ALL of the inhabitants of the World.

And once non-creative labour had been replaced by mechanisation, money would no longer be the driving force of humanity.

All of the peoples of the World would be able to devote their time to CREATIVE pursuits, having been freed from the burden of WORK.

Every day would be… the first day of Spring.

—————————————————————————

This is just a CONDENSED version of my Utopian System. The FULL version would take a BOOK – but I’ve already WRITTEN my book (and 16 years on, I’m still trying to shift copies – no-one READS anymore).

I may add bits to it, as I think of them (one advantage of THIS system over BOOKS) – but it’s a waste of time, of course. NONE of it will ever happen.

Anyone trying to introduce the above would immediately get smacked down by (among many others) the Catholic Church, the big corporations, the oil sheiks – and every self-interested, greedy government in every sodding country of the WORLD!

Cornelius on… How To Overcome Drowsiness While Driving

Well, I can tell you one way – drive like Cruella de Vil at the end of “101 Dalmatians” (the original ’61 cartoon).

On this occasion, it being well past midnight, I found myself nodding off while returning from ferrying a long fare (I drove a hack, then) from a night-club in London to somewhere out around Cambridge.

And whilst I’d already had an experience where I had driven a motorbike while sleeping (see elsewhere in these columns) I knew a CAR is a different prospect.

Fall asleep and you fall off the ROAD.

But then I had an idea. I turned off the M11 motorway at the next exit and drove to the OLD London to Cambridge road – a two-lane tarmac country road, which at that time of night was virtually deserted.

I started off on the unfamiliar road at around forty. Then I slowly increased my speed to fifty. After a while, having acclimatised, I was reaching ninety on the straights (scaring the CRAP out of one guy, who was bumbling along at forty) and burning the brakes, doing racing changes for the corners.

And it WORKED. The adrenalin rush perked me up to the point where instead of crawling into bed when I reached London – I went back down to the West End and did two more jobs.

Of course, this technique would never have worked on the M11. Given that a motorway is wide, with smooth, gradual corners – to experience the same impression of speed, I would have had to top two hundred. A speed hard to achieve in a Peugeot 404!

Cornelius on… Crime

Anyone contemplating doing a crime needs to consider FIVE questions.

One: what do I have to GAIN?

Two: who gets HURT?

Three: how MUCH?

Four: what is the likelihood of my being CAUGHT?

And five: what will HAPPEN to me if I do?

These five questions apply to ANY crime. Two cases in point…

One fine day, you decide to visit your Granny in a nearby village and are motoring down a quiet country road when all of a sudden, a white van goes HARING past you with one of its rear doors swinging wildly. A minute later, you discover the reason for the driver’s haste as a police car with lights flashing and sirens blaring goes past at a similar pace.

Since you are an innocent bystander you continue on your journey, keeping a sharp lookout ahead – in case the van has crashed or the police have caught up with it and a melee is in progress.

Thus it is that while slowly negotiating a bend, you observe a grey lump in the ditch at the side of the road. As you come closer, you see that it is a plastic sack. And as you slow and draw level, you observe it has split and wads of MONEY are spilling out.

You stop and look around – you see NO-ONE. Stepping out of the car, all is quiet, save for the distant wailing of the police car’s sirens. You stand there for a moment – then in a flash, you open your car’s boot and throw the sack into it, quickly followed by the wads of notes that have spilled out.

Satisfied you have found them all, you pause once more – all is now silent apart from the wind rustling in the trees and the curlew’s soft impeachment. You JUMP back into your car and quickly do a three point turn – careful to leave no tracks – and head back home, figuring to visit Granny another day.

As you drive – resisting the temptation to speed – you have time to consider the ramifications of what has happened. You figure the van must have been returning from a robbery and one of the gang failed to secure the rear door – and the bag is part of the “swag”.

Once home, you drive the car straight into the garage and check your rear number-plate. You breathe a sigh of relief as you see the plate is caked with mud after your last trip out to your brother’s farm.

You had meant to wash the car – but, knowing many police cars have “dash-cams” – are damn glad you did NOT.  And so, taking comfort from this, you set about transferring your find from the car, through the interconnecting door to your house.

There you sit in your bedroom, surrounded by CASH. Around a hundred grand, by your estimate – and all in used, non-sequential twenties. A quick test under the UV light in your bug-killer confirms the notes are genuine.

They appear to be heavily used – but not enough to affect their value. You figure they must have been destined for destruction, before they were intercepted by the crooks. Next day’s newspaper confirms this theory. It also tells you the crooks got AWAY.

You reason it is unlikely they KNOW they are missing a bag – and even if they do, there is nothing to identify YOU as its recipient – while the cops will assume the crooks have ALL the loot. You have just committed The Perfect Crime.

So now, let us apply those five questions to this case. One: what do you have to gain? Answer – a HUNDRED GRAND in READIES. Two: who gets hurt? Well, NO-ONE – unless you figure the entire COUNTRY. But then, the answer to question three – how much – would be a tiny fraction of a penny for every man and woman in said country. They would never miss it.

But what about question four – your chances of getting caught? Well, ZERO, provided you did not get SILLY. And five – what would happen to you if you did? In that case, a good brief ought to be able to convince even the STERNEST judge or jury that ANYONE who was not a MULTI-MILLIONAIRE would have done the SAME – had such an opportunity dropped into THEIR lap.

So – a crime worth committing? Of COURSE!

But now let us examine ANOTHER scenario. You are in a Post Office, queuing to buy stamps. In front of you is a little old lady, collecting her pension. Once she has gone, you pick up your stamps and leave the shop.

You turn into an alley and find yourself walking up behind the little old lady.

It occurs to you that you KNOW she still has her pension on her – she did not have time to spend it – and since the two of you are here alone in the alley, parting her from her money would be a pushover. Literally.

But first, consider again those five questions.

One: what do you have to gain? A lousy double-figure sum – hardly retirement money. Two: who gets hurt? Well obviously – a poor little old lady. Three: how much? A hell of a LOT. That is probably all the money she HAS. And even if you avoid injuring her, a mugging at her age might make her afraid to leave the house again – ever. You’d ruin her LIFE.

Then four: what would be your chances of getting caught? Probably quite high, unless you were just passing through the area. The Post Office probably had a surveillance camera – and suppose a couple of Lads turned the corner of the alley, just as you were committing the deed?

They would CREAM you.

Finally, five: what would happen to you if you were caught? Well, it wouldn’t be good. The best brief in the COUNTRY could not mitigate a crime like that. And once your fellow-prisoners found out what you were inside for…

So – another crime worth committing? Of course NOT!

But whilst these two examples are fairly clear-cut, others are not so simple. However – WHATEVER the crime, these five questions apply to ALL of them.

Given poverty and the right opportunity, we are ALL bent. Morality is for those who can AFFORD it. The only aspect that divides us is the question of the VICTIM. There is nothing wrong with a person who is happy to fleece corporations, banks and governments – they fleece US every day.

But only a TOOL will steal from another PERSON. We have enough trouble trying to keep our heads up above the constant onslaught of ripoffery (it’s a word) perpetrated by The System – without having our brothers and sisters JOINING it!

Cornelius on… Thaksin Shinawatra And Freedom

I see Thaksin’s mouthpiece is currently pleading that his client should be “treated fairly” – given that he did not INCITE the “Red-Shirts” during Thailand’s recent troubles.

This may be true, however it does bring into focus an important issue – FREEDOM.

No matter what the rights and wrongs of Thaksin’s case (and that is a WHOLE different story) no-one would accuse the Thai millionaire businessman/politician of being STUPID.

Therefore, it follows that he MUST have known that by publicly urging the Red-Shirt demonstrators – and given the history of such demonstrations in Thailand in the past – DEATH AND DESTRUCTION would surely follow.

Which brings this writer to the point of this piece: freedom may be important – but it is less important than LIFE.

Let us take a couple of examples. A local council allows a known bigot to spout racist crap from a soap-box, in a predominantly immigrant area.

Now whilst they can defend their decision on the grounds of Free Speech – and claim that any adverse reaction is down to those who carry OUT those reactions – they know that the PRACTICAL result of their policy will result in death and destruction. At the very least, of said bigot.

Or how about this? A local newspaper hears of a demonstration and decides to COVER it. But they KNOW that by doing so, the demonstration will turn into a RIOT.

Of course, were the newspaper banned from covering the demonstration, they would immediately start screaming about PRESS freedom.

However, both of these cases raise an important point. While it is fine for an INDIVIDUAL to lay his life on the line for the principle of Freedom, when an organisation or individual promotes OTHERS to do so – you have a different situation.

The thing is, people are easily incited to violence – and anyone who exploits that is guilty of the losses that result from it.

Oh, perhaps not LEGALLY – but definitely MORALLY.

If I drive drunk and kill someone, I am guilty of manslaughter – even though I did not INTEND to hurt anyone.

If I construct a building with sub-standard materials and it collapses…

There are many other examples – but all of them turn on the same point. I committed an act which I could REASONABLY EXPECT would result in people’s DEATHS. In many instances, this point alone qualifies as LEGAL responsibility.

But ANYONE who does that should at least be held accountable MORALLY – and NOT be able to hide behind the PRINCIPLE of FREEDOM.

With Freedom MUST come Responsibility.

And Thaksin must have KNOWN that – but chose to IGNORE it, favouring his OWN INTERESTS.

Therefore, his lawyer can go F*** himself!

Cornelius on… Technology

After nearly fifty years, the James Bond franchise has pretty much blown itself out. But back in The Good Old Days, one of the series’ key ingredients was to be first to showcase a new, state-of-the-art phenomenon.

Base-jumping, the Millennium Dome and the Bell-Jump “jet pack” all debuted to the public at large in a Bond movie.

But a personal favourite was the Pulsar Digital Watch.

Although having been launched in ’72, MOST people’s first glimpse of those little red LEDs was in “Live And Let Die” – released a year later.

However, at that time, you needed to be as RICH as Cubby Broccoli to own one.

Nevertheless – as always happens, the price dropped quickly (driving Pulsar out of BUSINESS) and within a couple of years, this historian could afford to join Bond in enjoying this new technology.

Of course in those early days, you had to change the battery every six to twelve months – the LEDs used a comparatively large amount of power. And while the early LEDs were bright enough at night – they were pants in the day time.

But this did not concern yours truly, as at that time he was a night-shift taxi-driver – and rarely SAW the Sun.

And today this reporter STILL has a digital watch. Except now, it has an LCD display – powered by a large, slim, seven-year lithium battery.

Thus, your humble scribe has spent ALL his adult life telling time digitally – and in 24-hour mode (which is ironic, given he taught HIMSELF time-telling in the Fifties when he was FOUR, with the aid of an analogue mantelpiece clock which had ROMAN numerals).

And so he found a story his Dad told him, sometime in the Nineties, particularly amusing. It went thusly…

In the mid-Seventies, his esteemed pater was walking down the road (nothing fancy, just one foot in front of the other*) wearing HIS new digital watch (which he also had on 24-hour mode) when an antediluvian East Anglian farmer asked him the time.

Not thinking, his father glanced at his timepiece and said, “Sixteen-O-Eight.”

To which the old boy replied, “Whassa’ ‘en?”

*-CHIC MURRAY

Cornelius on… Acting And Drama

Chambers’ Dictionary defines acting as “to imitate or play the part thereof” – which is fine for a dictionary definition – but the reality is a tad more complex.

In olden times, stage acting was purely representational. And even with the high-tech effects now available, it still has its limitations. Like, a car chase has to be done using abstract suggestion (unless you have one HELL of a big stage). Which is where cinema has the advantage.

Plus it features “the close-up”. No longer do actors have to overplay to reach the cheap seats (which was tough on those who’d mortgaged their houses to sit in the front row).

But while cinema allows us to suspend reality and believe we are watching real events (albewe invisible and suspended in mid-air, whilst constantly ping-ponging between the actors) it still has its limitations.

While modern actors may be prepared to disrobe, gain or lose weight and/or facial hair, there are still some basic activities that defeat even them. Like LYING. The thing is, when you lie to someone, you just talk normally. Only an expert can read the subtle signs of prevarication.

But as an actor, to convey deceit to the AUDIENCE, it is necessary to squirm, stutter, look away and generally behave in a shifty manner. All of which leaves the viewer with the impression that the person being lied to must be a MAJOR tool, not to see through it.

And what about LOVE? Love is an intimate chemistry which only the affected people feel. It defies logic, commonsense – and compatibility of those concerned. Acting cannot convey it. Only the EFFECT of it can be portrayed in drama.

But what of drama itself? One definition this writer has heard is, “Drama is life, with the boring bits left out.” Which is balderdash. TRUE drama is SURREAL. It HAS to be. No-one wants to sit and watch the mundane. We HAVE that, all day.

Drama is defined as the ability to convey something about the human condition – in a way which is MEMORABLE. This means dialogue filled with pith and moment. When ordinary people speak, they mumble, stumble and use mundane words. In drama, they use LANGUAGE.

How many times have you thought of a GREAT comeback – five minutes AFTER its devastating wit would have KILLED your opponent? No good THEN. And what about sitcom families who come up with a gag every ten SECONDS – even the KIDS?

At YOUR breakfast table, you’re lucky to come up with a line that funny once a MONTH. But then you don’t have “The Room” (twenty gag-writers, called “production assistants” or “programme associates”) working for DAYS to feed them to you.

And Shakespeare. Even THEN, people didn’t speak like that. Just as today’s writers must, Bill would agonise for hours over the PERFECT way to express a concept. The “To be or not to be” bit didn’t come to him at talking speed.

So the next time you’re watching a movie and think, “This is crap,” just spare a moment to consider the work that went into it. Given the cost these days, NO-ONE sets out to make a bad movie. It is a hand-crafted entity where a thousand-odd people busted their arses to continue a tradition that has endured since we wore SKINS.

The conveyance of ideas, concepts, visions and emotions. The production of drama and its associated acting trade are noble arts indeed.

Cornelius on… Jay Leno: An Open Letter

You’re BACK, baby!

I’m glad to see you didn’t take my advice (to be found elsewhere in these columns) and open with a pastiche of the Bobby Ewing shower scene (that WOULD have creeped me out) but rather, went with the Dorothy coming round in black-and-white at the end of “The Wizard Of Oz” option. Equally obvious – but acceptable.

But there were some problems, weren’t there? Oh sure, after that Coco business you FINALLY felt confident enough to take HOLIDAYS – I’ll bet Mavis was glad about THAT. Other people might have bought your story that you got bored resting – but Her Indoors knew better, right? But post-Conan, NO-ONE at NBC is gonna make THAT mistake again in a hurry! Your position is unassailable – at least, for now.

But you STILL had to sit behind that damn DESK though. THAT tradition is older and even more powerful than JOHNNY was. It was always “The Tonight Show WITH…”

Then again, at least you had managed to get rid of Menendez (sorry, MELENDEZ – Menendez were two brothers who didn’t value Mother’s and Father’s Days) – although you felt duty-bound to embarrass him one last time, in the opening of that first new show.

But therein lies your PROBLEM, Jay. You’re fine – but BLAND.

In Britain, “side-kicks” were unheard-of on chat shows (until we started copying you Americans) – but in The States, they have been a staple ever since Johnny went with Ed. (For a short while in the Eighties, The Tonight Show got syndicated in the UK – and Johnny was HIGHLY amused by a letter from a British viewer, which he read out on the show – “That bloke, Ed McMahon – what does he DO?”)

Thus Dave has Paul, Coco HAD Andy Richter – and so on.

But you never really WARMED to YOUR “announcer” – instead, like Dave, you struck up an ongoing dialogue with your band-leader. An excellent musician and a nice guy – but with a mind less nimble than your own, he was the perfect foil. Every Holmes needs a Watson.

However, even before your return to Late Night, you knew his days with you were numbered. As a serious musician, after eighteen years he had tired of playing INTROS.

And now he’s GONE. Along with Melendez. All you have is Rickey Minor – does he have a brother: Morris? (Almost all Americans won’t GET that reference – but YOU do, ’cause you’re a CAR guy – right?) But while Ricky may be a fine MUSICIAN – he’s no Kevin, is he?

It’s been several weeks and the rapport between you and he is NON-EXISTENT. The few pieces of by-play you’ve engaged in were obviously scripted – and they went straight down the DUMPER, didn’t they?

Which leaves you all ALONE out there. Sure, you’re a skilled gag-smith and your agile brain can always pick SOMETHING out of the interminable interviews with the vapid, self-obsessed bimbos and himbos who parade past you, to sell their latest offerings.

And every now and then, you will get a break – in the form of a Bill Maher or similar. Someone ELSE with a brain, who you can SPAR with.

But apart from THOSE guys, you are doomed to sit there – night after night – ticking over, with that endless parade of Hollywood stiffs. Your only relief being an occasional drive over the border, in one of those 200 clunkers of yours, to do a gig in Vegas. But they are SOFT numbers.

You are LOVED. No-one’s gonna heckle you THERE (if they did, the “clumsy boys” would throw them OUT). So even THAT is too EASY.

But Jay, you HAVE those clunkers (which you LOVE) – and more money than you could EVER spend. So why not do what you should have done after the Coco business? What KEVIN did. Walk AWAY.

Hell, you’ve proved your point. After eighteen years of fighting NBC suits to keep your job. Eighteen years of suffering ALL the indignities they threw at you. Now, you can say to HELL with them. Hit the ROAD. Sure, you’re over sixty now. But your mate Rodney Dangerfield – not to mention George Carlin – kept going ’til they BURIED them.

Okay, granted you’re not in Carlin’s league – but you’re better than Dangerfield was. Plus you have that eighteen years on the Tonight Show to back you. And if you QUIT it – you’ll have the self-respect you need to go OUT there and KILL those audiences. No one’ll say you’re a has-been.

And hell – if it proves too tough – you’ve always got those old bangers to tinker with…

Cornelius on… A Dad’s Story

The most remarkable story my Dad ever told me was the one about the time, back in the Sixties, when he went for a drive in the countryside with my Mum (in those days, people drove for PLEASURE) and they happened upon a small, sleepy village, which seemed oddly familiar.

After driving slowly around for a bit, he suddenly realised why. “Good grief,” he said to Mum, “I KNEW I recognised this place – it was where I was living during the war, just before I got posted.”

They continued driving around – and Dad pointed out the pub where he had spent the evenings with the other men in his unit, the tiny flea-pit cinema where he had seen “High Sierra” (his then-favourite film) and the chippy that had supplied most of his nutritional needs at the time.

Then suddenly he stopped, opposite an old shoe repair shop. “My God,” he said, “I remember taking a pair of brogues in there for repair – but the next day, me and the fellers were sent off to help Monty out and I never came back here. I wonder if they’re still there?”

“After twenty years, I rather doubt it,” replied my Mum.

On an impulse, my Dad decided to venture into the premises to find out. As they walked through the door of the shop, they were greeted by the smell of decay, old leather – and very little else. The shop was deserted.

The “ting” of the bell over the door and several calls from both having elicited no reply, they were about to leave when suddenly they heard a shuffling noise from the back of the shop and a little old man emerged and asked them what they wanted.

Now feeling a little foolish, my Dad said he had left a pair of shoes for repair. The old man asked him for his ticket. When my Dad explained he had lost it, the man asked his name. My Dad gave him that and the old man shuffled off into the gloom once more.

Several minutes elapsed and my parents were considering quietly sneaking away when the old man re-emerged from the back of the shop, holding a dust-covered pair of shoes. My Dad was amazed – they were the very pair. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

The old man said, ”They’ll be ready Thursday.”

Footnote: the expression – “that was a hell of a long way to go for THAT one” – comes to mind!!

Cornelius on… Being Normal

“That bloke’s not normal.” So what IS normal? Not me. And probably not you, either.

Very few people ARE normal, thank gawd. In fact, MOST people – when you get to know them – are FAR from normal.

Essentially, the only difference between those inside and outside asylums is whether or not they can FUNCTION within society.

And those who are REALLY normal are to be pitied. My first wife’s brother was one such. He was so normal he made you want to SLAP him.

If everyone was normal, our society would be like the ones featured in those Fifties sci-fi shockers – where aliens who were metaphorical Communists had taken over people’s brains.

Imagine modern society being normal – think of how abysmal TV would be. Instead of enjoying “House MD” you would still be watching “Marcus Welby MD”. Instead of following “Monk” you’d be stuck with “Morse”.

So CELEBRATE being just another nut job – if you were normal, you wouldn’t be reading THIS!

Ironic footnote: After 350-odd posts, this is the FIRST one WordPress’ checker has determined to be error-free. So much for a piece condemning normalcy!

Cornelius on… Polari

Polari is a type of slang used by the male homosexual community in England – at least, that is what your encyclopædia will tell you. But the full story is fascinating.

Slang is NOT a language – rather a collection of verbs, nouns and adjectives, which can be slotted into conventional English, to enable those in the know to talk freely on subjects where discretion is judicious.

And since, until mid-1967, male homosexuality was ILLEGAL in England – discretion was certainly advisory when conversing in public.

Enter Polari. Originally corrupted from Romance (Italian) words, it was absorbed into Romany and spread by travelling fairs and street entertainers, whereafter it was picked up by performers in the British theatre.

And given homosexuality and the British theatre had always been synonymous, it was not long before it entered England’s gay community.

Indeed, theatrical cant had ALWAYS been favoured by gay men – like the word “resting”. In the theatre, this meant “between engagements” – in the gay World, it was used as a polite rebuff to an unwanted sexual advance.

In the Forties and Fifties, gay pride was entering its first stumbling steps. During WW2, sexual freedom had become rampant as a reaction to the knowledge that every day was likely to be one’s last.

Thus, men returning from the conflict to a gray Britain, where one could still be imprisoned for being gay (i.e., locked up with five hundred blokes – had they really thought that through?) were becoming militant.

Bolstered by their peers – but still shunned by “decent people” – the time was ripe for the “secret” method of communication known as Polari.

And it would have REMAINED secret, had it not been for Kenneth Horne.

Ken had been a top radio comedy figure since the end of the war – first, with “Much-Binding-In-The-Marsh” – then “Beyond Our Ken”. However, these shows were conventional fare. It was his next (and last) series that turned the tide – “Round The Horne”.

Beyond Our Ken had first brought together his “company”, which included Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick, both of whom were GAY – but it was Round The Horne that finally gave them full reign to incorporate this.

It began in ’65 – two years BEFORE homosexuality was (sort of) legalised – and what made it different was that a ruling had just been handed down from the Powers That Were at the BBC, which said that ANY joke was acceptable – provided it had a “straight” interpretation.

We are talking about innuendo – and its brother, the double entendre!

And the writers of Round The Horne – Barry Took and Marty Feldman – took that very LITERALLY.

Today, it is amazing to think about what they got away with. Remember, this show was not late night fare – it went out SUNDAY LUNCHTIMES, on the most popular radio station in Britain. MILLIONS of families tuned in as they sat eating their Sunday roasts!

And it was not just STRAIGHT sexual innuendo that came wafting out of the nation’s speaker grills every week, on “God’s Day” – the show ended with a “Julian And Sandy” sketch, featuring Kenneth Horne as the ingénue, with Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick as two out-of-work chorus boys.

This was the moment which half the audience – including THOUSANDS of gays – were waiting for. Not only did the writers pepper the script with Polari – which Williams and Paddick were MORE than familiar with – but the guys were given room for IMPROVISATION.

It must be remembered that while much of the show might have SOUNDED improvised – the very clever writers had slaved over every WORD. Even Williams’ occasional rants, where he went off-script, complaining about the quality of the material – were tightly scripted.

The show was a double-edged sword for the BBC. On the one hand – the most IMPORTANT one – it was highly popular. Even though a lot of the jokes went right over most of the audience’s heads – they instinctively KNEW it was naughty.

But on the other hand, it outraged others – who wrote constantly, to complain. Of course, Auntie always had that STRAIGHT meaning of everything to fall back on – indeed, no BBC bigwig would dare to admit they UNDERSTOOD the “other” meaning!

And Julian And Sandie were a double-edged sword for Polari. On the one hand, they paved the way for gradual public acceptance of gays – it was in the MIDDLE of Round The Horne’s run, that the Act of Parliament sort-of legalizing male homosexuality in England, was passed.

But on the other hand, it almost KILLED Polari - now that everyone knew a slew of its most widely-used terms. No longer could someone in a pub remark to his friend on “the butch omi’s lallies and thews” – without attracting an unwelcome response.

Round The Horne died when Kenneth Horne did. He had suffered with a dodgy ticker for years and although Auntie (who to this day is famed for flogging dead horses) tried to keep it going without him, with a new title – “Stop Messing About” – and with Kenneth Williams headlining, it was like Eric Morecombe without Ernie Wise. It failed dismally.

With the occasional revival of the format – and plays and programmes trying to re-create the magic – plus CDs of the series being reissued every few years – Polari is still around.

But with everyone now knowing many of its terms, its value as a code has vanished – and with British society’s almost full acceptance of the gay community, the original reason for its use has vanished too.

Now it stands only as a curio of a bygone age…

Cornelius on… The Year Zero

…did not exist.

At least, neither in the Julian or Gregorian calendars – the reason being, the Romans had no concept of zero (they did not play football).

Which means decades, centuries and millennia last until the end of the “0″ year .

Thus the Sixties ACTUALLY lasted from the 1st of January, 1961 – until the 31st of December, 1970.

And all those chumps who celebrated The Millennium on the 31st of December, 1999 – were a year EARLY.

But then again, these were just NUMBERS. The REAL Sixties did not get underway until 1963, when pirate radio and the Beatles arrived – and they continued until the opening months of 1973.

The Sixties were a CONCEPT, man.

Likewise, the Seventies lasted until 1982. The Eighties until 1989. And the bloody Nineties are STILL WITH US. 

As for The (popular) Millennium – despite fears of the World ending, courtesy of a Russian nuclear first strike being triggered by its ageing computers, the only thing that happened (apart from a few ATMs conking out) was all the little NUMBERS turned over.

It was like the odometer of a car. When it passes the 999999 point, the bonnet does not suddenly fly up and the doors fall off – unless you are driving a clown car.

Or you were so intent on WATCHING the odometer turn over – you rear-ended the car in FRONT.

Cornelius on… Thailand: Trouble In Paradise

BACKGROUND.

The Land Of Smiles is largely unaffected by the superficial glamour of the Beautiful People. The rich rub shoulders with the poor, without the green eye of jealousy raising its eyelid – at least, on the surface.

However, in recent decades, this has slowly begun to change as some Thais – particularly young ones – have started to filter into the world of big business. Media, technology – like that.

Meanwhile, those in large areas of the North East – and other rural areas – are still crushingly POOR. Their daughters – some MARRIED – are persuaded to head for the tourist bars to make some quick money to finance farms that have fallen on hard times. Enter Thaksin.

Media tycoon-turned-Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra took Thailand into a period of prosperity during the early Noughties – and he made himself extremely popular in the rural areas, by introducing health reform and other measures – all designed to help Thailand’s poor.

Then the military (without whose support, NO-ONE here can be Prime Minister) ousted him in the famous “bloodless coup”. Suddenly, the country was being lead by a general, who, when he appeared on TV, looked like he wished he were somewhere else (“I’m a SOLDIER – I didn’t sign up for THIS”).

He was at pains to persuade the people that he was only temporary – and democratic elections would follow swiftly – which they DID. Enter a new bloke (whose name I forget – but he looked like Thailand’s answer to Boris Yeltsin) who was HOPELESS. Furthermore, he appears to have had blood on his hands from an earlier bout of political “unrest”.

Eventually he was bumped out of power when he appeared in a TV cooking programme (he was also Thailand’s answer to Clement Freud). This was because Thai law forbids a Prime Minister to have a second “job” while in power (for obvious reasons). He claimed he’d not received a fee, but… now HE was out.

Then enter Dear Abby (as I call him). Abhisit Vejjajiva. Educated in England, he want to school with – of all people – Boris Johnson. Being the same age, they were in the same class at Eton. No, really.

Anyhoo, at first Thailand appeared to be entering another period of peace and stability. Dear Abby appeared on TV and seemed to be Thailand’s answer to Tony Blair. Young, charming, earnest and personable. But there was a problem. He was essentially a Yellow-Shirt.

RED-SHIRTS AND YELLOW-SHIRTS.

This country now has a sharp divide. The rural poor wear Red Shirts. The relatively affluent Bangkokians wear Yellow. The first the World got to hear of this was when a large group of Yellow-Shirts occupied the airport, to publicise their issues (they have ‘em too).

This demonstration was an enormous inconvenience – but ended peacefully. So far, no charges appear to have been brought against its leaders. But then it was the turn of the Red-Shirts.

Their initial grievance was that Dear Abby was a lot like Britain’s James (Gordon) Brown – he was UNELECTED. Furthermore, he was seen as a Yellow-Shirt who would do NOTHING for the rural poor. They wanted THAKSIN BACK.

THAKSIN SHINAWATRA.

After being booted out of power, Thaksin faded from the scene for a while. A billionaire, he was convicted (in his absence) of various graft and corruption charges. He elected to stay abroad. That should have been that, but when he realised he still had a lot of support in Thailand, he SNAPPED.

He decided to try and RETURN to Thai politics (despite earlier saying he’d had enough of them). His wife wanted none of this and divorced him. He began making remote TV appearances to his Red-Shirt supporters, from the numerous countries who were happy to house him – and even give him one of their passports.

At first, he became a figure of FUN. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that it wasn’t going to HAPPEN. As I stated above, no-one becomes Prime Minister here without the support of the military – and it was they who THREW HIM OUT.

Also, those with brains realised a large part of his wish to re-enter Thai politics was driven by a desire to unfreeze his ASSETS – a considerable amount of which were in Thailand.

Later, a Thai court ruled he could keep all the assets that he had accrued BEFORE he became Prime Minister – an amount far more than you or I could spend in ten lifetimes. The court seems to have believed this move would cool his ardor. It did not.

THE CURRENT TROUBLES.

At first, the demonstrations demanding the reinstatement of Thaksin were peaceful. A party mood prevailed. Thaksin announced that a Million Men would descend upon Bangkok. In the event, about 100,000 turned up.

But being mid-Summer here, it was HOT. And the days turned into weeks.

During this period, several meetings were held between the Red-Shirt leaders and Dear Abby. When the Red-Shirts realised that a Thaksin return was out of the question, they modified their demands. Abby was due to finish his term of office in eighteen months. The Red-Shirts demanded he quit and hold elections IMMEDIATELY.

This was of course neither practical – or acceptable to the ruling party. But they agreed to hold elections in six months (a year early) and dissolve Parliament in just three. At this point, it appeared that an end of sorts was in sight. But then suddenly, negotiations broke down. Back to square one.

And so, with pressure mounting from the Yellow-Shirts, the government finally tried to remove the demonstrators by force. The operation was bungled, back-fired – and left a number dead and wounded. Now things were turning ugly.

At this point, the Reds appear to have gone MAD. Forgetting about their earlier demands regarding Thaksin and elections, they demanded the man who had headed the abortive assault on their demonstrators turn himself in to the POLICE and confess to causing the deaths and injuries that had resulted.

The individual concerned was the Deputy Prime Minister. He said “Fine” – and turned himself in to the Thai equivalent of the C.I.D. (or America’s F.B.I.) But since he RAN this division, it was like Mickey Mouse turning himself in to DISNEY. He was taking the piss – and the Red-Shirts were incensed.

Realising the situation had gotten out of control, Abby now had no choice. He ordered the army in. Of course, having been blamed for blood on the streets on previous occasions, the army took it EASY. Particularly with the World’s media looking on.

THE MEDIA.
Thailand’s media is fairly strictly controlled, but the B.B.C. and C.N.N. are well entrenched – and receivable here, on satellite TV.

But they have their limitations. One of which was their ignorance of the fact that there was a Third Force involved in events. And this ignorance cost a few of them their LIVES as they became TARGETS of this force.

THE “THIRD FORCE”.

At this point, I must employ a certain amount of SPECULATION. The thing is, while the spot of bother in Bankers was playing out, it overshadowed the conflict that has been going on in Thailand’s “Deep South” for decades – and which has hotted up in recent years.

The bottom three Provinces (counties) are predominantly… let us say “non-Buddhist” (I’m avoiding using the “M”-word).

This has caused friction not unlike the “Irish Troubles” that bedeviled Britain in the Seventies and Eighties. And as with that bother, while the majority of people involved are moderates who happily live side-by-side with their opposite numbers – the RADICALS stir up TROUBLE.

Rifles and grenades have been stolen from military stores – and some of them have been USED. Most of the activity has been limited to those southern provinces – but sporadic bombings have occurred in the nearby Capital Of The South, Had Yai.

Then along comes the Bangkok conflict.

Given journalists have come under fire – which is hardly in the interests of the army OR the Red-Shirts – and Bangkok has been SACKED – many are left wondering who is to blame. I – and most Thai politicians – know. It’s the Third Force. A.k.a. – the Black-Shirts.

Let’s face it – this hoo-hah was tailor-MADE for them. All they had to do was drive to Bangkok and merge with the Red-Shirts. Then they would be free to climb the now-abandoned buildings and snipe at anyone whose death they felt would give them the most publicity – like those with “PRESS” emblazoned across their flack jackets.

But who WERE these Men In Black? Well, undoubtedly SOME were “non-Buddhist” extremists. But I suspect we will never KNOW who ALL the culprits in this debacle were. There are MANY elements in this country who have agendas. Like, there has been corruption and graft involving certain banks – and a number of their branches have been attacked in the last few weeks.

And I’m not saying the Reds were entirely blameless either – they have their radicals also – but the vast majority of their number were just poor farmers who were fed up with the deal they were getting from Bangkok’s rulers. A bit like the Scots and Whitehall, before devolution.

Fact is, there are all SORTS of people who seek to cause major mischief in Thailand. And this conflict was their big CHANCE.

“CENTRAL WORLD”.

The World Trade Centre shopping plaza was one of several such places, built in the Eighties and Nineties. After “9/11″, it kept its name. But seven years later, a nearby building – one of many abandoned during construction when the 1998 Tiger Currency collapse occurred – was finally finished and the WTC was expanded and refurbished to accommodate it.

The completed complex was (belatedly) renamed Central World (which confused those looking for the “Central” complex in Sala Daeng, a few kilometres away) and was now the biggest mall in Thailand. It was also the SECOND biggest in Asia (don’t ask me where the biggest is).

But now, being unlucky enough to have been situated in the middle of the main area of conflict – it has suffered a similar fate to its American namesake (okay, FORMER namesake).

Since, in an earlier attempt to pressure the demonstrators, the WATER and power had been turned off, it only took a few petrol bombs to destroy half the building. So far, it hasn’t actually collapsed – but from what I’ve seen, its repair will cost as much (and take as long) as its replacement.

In the meantime, Thailand’s Central World – formerly their World Trade Centre – will, like America’s World Trade Centre – or the hole where it once stood – stand as a reminder of violent events.

THE FUTURE.

…as I type, is uncertain. The original number of Red-Shirt protesters was some 100,000. When things got tough, their numbers dwindled to about 10,000. And when the final push caused their leaders to surrender and announce, from their stage, that they wished the remaining protestors to go home to avoid further bloodshed, the number had dwindled to only around 5,000.

But there are many more than that around the country who are now highly displeased. And in the Red-Shirts’ North-Eastern heartland, they have shown this displeasure by fire-bombing local town halls and government buildings.

Meanwhile, Dear Abby has his Five-Point-Plan for reconciliation, which includes an early election, an investigation into ALL aspects of what went on and who was responsible – and a look at the issues that drove the Red-Shirt movement to begin with.

However, much anger – and ignorance about who was REALLY involved in the violence – and what their TRUE motives were – remains. And it seems unlikely any five-point-plan will cool things off.

Many believe Thaksin funded at least SOME of those who wound up the farmers into a rabble. And so his arrest warrant in Thailand has been RAMPED UP from “wanted for fraud” to “wanted for TERRORISM”.

This is significant, since those countries which previously welcomed him will now have to think AGAIN. He was last seen out shopping with his daughter in Louis Vuitton, in the Champs Élysées, Paris – but he may soon discover that things have CHANGED.

I used to LIKE Thaksin. But whatever the rights and wrongs of his business doings (name me ONE politician/businessman who is whiter than white) and eventual removal – there is no doubt that his lust for power has caused his country IMMENSE DAMAGE.

Even if he was morally RIGHT, he should have deferred his personal interests for the good of the people in the country he once ruled.

His machinations, before and during this affair, have caused death, destruction and misery on a monumental scale.

He is no longer on my Christmas card list.

Footnote: for my VISUAL account of the above, click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lB5XidIiBn8

Cornelius on… Britain’s CORRUPT Electoral System

Following the latest debacle, all party leaders have called Britain’s electoral system “broken” – but THIS observer has been around a while and knows the TRUTH.

Which is that despite claiming to be a democracy, Britain is no more than a standard two-party state where the difference between those parties is merely the LEVEL of sleaze they employ.

Like, their having CLOSED OUT any third parties that might upset their apple-cart.

Two hundred years ago, there were also just two parties. The Tories (Conservatives) and the Whigs (who would evolve into the Liberals). They ruled until 1922, at which point the Liberals became too big and exploded into splinter groups – whereupon the Labour Party emerged.

And it is the Labour and Conservative parties who have ruled ever since.

But when the Liberals blew up, one of their splinter groups was the (new) Liberals – and they have been Britain’s Third Party ever since. AND THEY ALWAYS WILL BE.

Britain has the “first past the post” system, which means that for any party to govern effectively, they need a majority in The House. And it has been said that to rule Britain, a party MUST get forty percent of the popular vote. Which is true – IF YOUR PARTY IS TORY OR LABOUR.

However, what most people do not realize is that over the last ninety years, whichever party was in power, its people did their level best to MOVE as many borough boundaries as they could – to favour THEIR party in the next election.

And of course, when the other party got in, they did the SAME.

Thus, when the Liberals combined with the new Social Democrats in 1988, they discovered that for THEM to get a majority in The House, would require something like SIXTY percent of the popular vote – which was never going to happen.

Despite eventually pulling in about twenty-five percent (on the night, most people inevitably revert to one of the “main” parties) they ended up with only a handful of seats – and NO power. And they have been calling for electoral reform ever since. But no matter WHAT the two main parties may SAY – they have NO interest in changing their status quo.

Because BOTH of the main parties “play the game”. Even in opposition for YEARS – they never seriously even discuss the matter.

Of course, NOW they are PRETENDING to – in their attempts to woo Cleggy – whom they both need to restore their broken two-party system.

As I write this, the three parties are doing some SERIOUS horse-trading to try to establish a working government – at a time when Britain is going down the financial DUMPER.

The two main bosses – the unelected Brown (who is STILL PM – having done his duty and called an election; being FORCED to do so by Britain’s constitution) and the ALMOST elected Cameron – are actually in what Americans call “the cat-bird seat”. They do not have to do anything.

No, the Man Of The Moment is CLEGGY. He has a number of options at his disposal. The Labour party is nearer to his party’s ideals, but while an association with THEM would be LEGAL, it would be looked upon as at best, immoral – given that they came second and third in the election.

And while the Tories’ ideals are further away (and they have NO interest in proportional representation) at least an association with them would provide a MAJORITY VOTE in The House.

Then there is the question of that “association”. It could take the form of a coalition – but then Cleggy and his gang would quickly find themselves being side-lined. Effectively ABSORBED into the party he had chosen.

Currently the smart money is on a much looser link – like a Bill-By-Bill arrangement. In which case, Cleggy will be a constant thorn in the arse of BOTH leaders – which would be much more FUN.

But if Britain’s political system had not been CORRUPTED by the moving of those borough boundaries in the first place, this situation would never have occurred. Cleggy got almost as many popular votes as Labour, this time – but still only received a FIFTH of the number of SEATS.

On the night, he must have experienced the same FRUSTRATION as the SDP-Liberal Alliance did in ’88 – as he watched his party come a VERY close SECOND in ALL those Tory and Labour “safe seats”.

And he knows that if he wants to avoid a repeat performance EVERY twenty years or so – for EVER – he needs to PUSH the two “main” parties into actually DOING something about Britain’s CORRUPT electoral system.

I, for one, wish him luck – he will NEED IT!

(for more on this, hit – http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/2010/05/11/damien-on-referenda/)

Cornelius on… Vegetarianism

It is easy to make jokes: “If God meant us to be vegetarian, He wouldn’t have made bacon taste so good!” Or “Hi! I’m a vegan.” “Live long and prosper!” But the issue is more complex.

All species have evolved to either be carnivorous, herbivorous or omnivorous. We got stuck with the latter.

And it is a fact that most other species did as well – and there is not much we can do to change that. Even if we took every animal in the World and put them into some sort of gigantic zoo – in order to control their food intake – we would still be stuck with the fact that many would DIE on a veggy diet.

Then what about the creatures of the sea? They all eat each other too.

Plus, there are gazillions of microscopic “animals” that do likewise.

An impossibility then. But veggies would say, “Yes – but as animals, they have no choice. They know no better. However, we as thinking creatures DO – and I choose not to eat anything that had a FACE.”

And what it boils down to IS personal choice. We anthropomorphize animals and thus, balk at EATING them. Then again, even that is often a matter of DEGREE. Like some will not ingest products even CONNECTED to animals (milk, fat, etc.)

While others will eat fish, since they feel the creatures are not sentient.

And some figure chickens are not the sharpest tools in the box and are happy to consume THEM.

But of course, red meat is the line NO veggy will cross.

Then again, even those who do, have their limits. The French eat horse. Koreans eat dog. The Japanese eat dolphins. And some Chinese even eat domestic cats (you do NOT want to know the details – even most Chinese balk at THAT).

So ultimately, it comes down to our SENSIBILITIES. As sentient beings, we instinctively hate cruelty. And eating flesh DOES feel like murder. But it tastes so GOOD. While nut cutlets and soy protein taste like CRAP. So what is the answer?

Well – the animals will carry on regardless. We can do nothing about that. And the only way THIS observer will give up his steak and chips, toasted bacon sandwiches and venison-burgers – is if someone comes up with a workable alternative.

But maybe they WILL. We have now unlocked various genomes. We are dabbling with cloning and genetics. So how long will it be before science finds a way to GROW meat? Meat that tastes like meat, because it IS meat – culled from a few cells (they could just be hairs) of every animal on the planet.

THAT would be SOMETHING.

Cornelius on… Truth In Relationships

Much has been written about truth within a relationship – but how much should one tell? I mean, it’s easy to say that any relationship should be based on 100% truth – however, too much can KILL it.

For example – the past. One could argue that the past is past and one should close the book and concentrate on the future – but the past made you who you are today. Like, if you were ADOPTED, your current love’s knowledge of that fact will help them UNDERSTAND you more fully.

But telling them – in graphic detail – every fact about your past loves is guaranteed to KILL your relationship. No-one wants to hear about all THAT. Likewise, we have all done things we are not proud of – but again, pouring it all out to your new life-partner is not going to impress them.

Essentially, one should FILTER the past. Tell the person the IMPORTANT things, leaving OUT one’s personal atrocities. Concentrate on avoiding REPEATING them. LEARN from the past.

But what of the NOW? Well, certainly one should TRY to tell one’s significant other the unvarnished truth. However, one is not perfect. Supposing, in the heat of the moment, one SLIPS? Has a mad fling with someone. Should one ‘fess up to one’s love THEN?

NO!

They say a problem shared is a problem halved. But that is because you are DUMPING the problem on someone ELSE. I.e., if they CARE, they will effectively ABSORB part of your pain and guilt. Thus to put THAT onto one’s wronged lover is merely COMPOUNDING one’s transgression.

What one SHOULD do is try to keep the slip to oneself – and vow NEVER TO DO IT AGAIN. Sure, it will gnaw away at you – but it SERVES YOU RIGHT! YOU must carry the burden – not unload half of it onto your wronged better half.

Incidentally – this is all academic for this scribbler. He has not strayed. And he never will – ’cause he is LAZY! Being honest is far less WORK!

Cornelius on… Baby Talk

A while back, I was watching an old Richard Curtis sitcom, “The Vicar Of Dibley” – and there was this bit where Alice Tinker/Horton says, “The baby said its first word today. It was ‘goo’. G-U-E. Not bad for a three-month-old. It means a violin in the Shetlands.”

Tragically, I went and looked it up in my Chambers – and it does (and curiously, Alice Tinker/Horton was played by the actress, Emma Chambers. Coincidence? Well… probably yes).

But it reminded me of a classic Stephen Wright line, where he said that he tape-recorded the gobbledygook that babies say, figuring when they grew up, he could play the recordings back to them and they could tell him what they had been saying.

Of course, the best one comes from the vintage radio show, “I’m Sorry I’ll Read That Again” – where the babies wait for the vicar to pass and then all go, “Dada, Dada, Dada…”

Cornelius on… Hugo Montenegro

For the full story on this HACK, we need to go back to 1960. For it was in this year that “The Magnificent Seven” emerged – it being a virtual remake of Akira Kurasawa’s 1954 epic.

The young Sergio Leone decided a trick done once could be repeated – and so he found another Kurosawa movie – “Yojimbo” – and set about remaking that. He called it ”A Fistful Of Dollars”.

However, this first instalment of the “Dollars Trilogy” (about which, more later) did not reach an international audience for some time – because Leone had neglected to make any kind of deal with Kurosawa.

It took a while for the dispute to be ironed out – the eventual settlement being a pile of cash paid to the owners of “Yojimbo” (ironically, a lot MORE cash than the original film itself had grossed).

But then, in 1965, came the second entry in the “Trilogy” – “For A Few Dollars More” – and once AGAIN there was trouble. Sergio had fallen out with the producers of “A Fistful Of Dollars” and when he released its “sequel”, they were somewhat miffed.

And so THEY sued. But since none of the “Dollars Trilogy” actually had anything in common – they LOST. Sergio was able to show that the similarity in titles was merely a piece of publicity bullshit. Despite having the same cast – the characters’ personalities, names and situations were NOT RELATED.

You see, the “Dollars Trilogy” WAS not and IS not a TRILOGY (in truth, NONE of Sergio’s movies were related to each other in ANY way – apart from his use of similar style, cinematography and the same composer, technicians and actors). 

But when the wrangles were finally settled, this did not stop the publicity machine from pretending it WAS. In 1966, with the first two movies already in the can and “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” nearing completion, “A Fistful Of Dollars” finally burst upon the international scene.

Its trailer voice-over rumbled on about The Man With No Name (actually, he’s called Joe in the film) and said “This is the first movie of its kind” (it wasn’t – there had been a NUMBER of “spaghetti westerns” before Sergio entered the field – but none of them had gone international).

And six months later, following the ENORMOUS success of “A Fistful Of Dollars” (in ’66, most people were still used to traditional white hat vs black hat “cowboy” movies) the same voice rumbled that The Man With No Name (actually, he was Monco in this one) was BACK – and ended with “This is the SECOND movie of its kind – it won’t be the LAST.”

Which was hardly news, given the hype that had been emerging about “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” – unprecedented at the time, outside of the Bond saga.

At which point, we must examine Ennio Morricone’s involvement in the proceedings.

Ennio had been a CLASS-MATE of Sergio’s and had designed the score for “A Fistful Of Dollars”, based on some backing he had done for a cowboy-style country/pop record, a while earlier.

He went on to score ALL of Sergio’s movies for the next decade or so and RCA had the rights to release the “Dollars” scores internationally. Which they did – belatedly. (RCA was Italy’s leading international label – not surprising, considering who owned it).

It had been no use releasing the records in ’64 and ’65 – since no-one outside of Italy had SEEN the movies. They were the best-kept secret in showbiz (apart from Rock Hudson being gay).

But when “For A Few Dollars More” finally burst onto the international scene, RCA figured they’d better check out what they had. And they discovered that for both films, a lot of it was atonal music – with planks being slapped together, whistles and other peculiar noises.

Thus they decided to lift the BEST of BOTH scores and put them onto ONE album, with the highlights from “A Fistful Of Dollars” on one side and from “For A Few Dollars More” on the other. Then, to make sure it sold, they released it at BUDGET price.

And sell it did – by the bucket-load! EVERYONE bought it!

Which is why, when “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” emerged (no “Dollars” this time – and there was initially some confusion over who was the “Bad” and who was the “Ugly”) RCA, still stinging over what they saw as a major marketing BLUNDER, released the “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” soundtrack as ONE, FULL-PRICE album.

Although this writer WONDERS about that. Was it REALLY a blunder to release the best of those first two soundtracks on one, BUDGET-priced album? The thing is, albums were EXPENSIVE in those days – and one suspects that the profits from two full-priced albums added together might STILL have netted RCA LESS than the FORTUNE they glommed from the single, budget album.

We will never know (perhaps on a World far, far away…) but RCA were convinced they had sold the first two soundtracks CHEAPLY – and had NO intention of committing a FURTHER faux pas by releasing the main theme from “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” as a SINGLE.

So despite the fact that people were going around WHISTLING it (mostly BADLY – it’s a tricky backward-warble) if you wanted to BUY it, you had to shell out for the ALBUM. And despite its price, a number of people DID – but many could not.

Enter Hugo Montenegro (and not before TIME - this piece has his NAME as its TITLE, after all!)

Hugo was a mediocre composer of “chirpy” film and TV scores and themes – NONE of which were ever hits. But the theme from “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” was such a great piece, it was hard NOT to make it sound interesting.

And so Hugo set to work to arrange a cover version – and ended up creating the best thing he ever DID. Whether he was inspired by Morricone’s piece (a so-so musician often finds themself raising their GAME when pitted against a master) or just got lucky, we will never know. Suffice to say the record sold BIG-TIME.

Ironically, on RCA records.

Footnote: if you want to hear the piece in question, click on – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLJnxRPS6z4 - but if you want to hear the MASTER, your humble scribe put together a piece you can enjoy by clicking on – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNdT6FlOkhU&feature=response_watch

Cornelius on… Blind Expression

Blind Lemon Jefferson, Stevie Wonder, Andrea Bocelli and George Shearing meet up in Heaven. They soon get into an argument over which musical genre offers the truest expression of the Human Condition.

B.L.J. claims that only through the Blues, can one express the inner torment which all must endure to realize true enlightenment.

While Stevie maintains that the joy of Man’s experience can only be fully explored though Soul.

And Andrea declares that only the power and drama of Opera can truly expose Man’s struggle.

Then George suggests that while these three forms might touch on Man’s essence, total freedom of expression can only be achieved by sloughing off the restrictions imposed by convention, which only the improvisational nature of Jazz permits.

Sitting nearby, Ray Charles has heard all their arguments and walks over to his colleagues. “Gentlemen, there are none so blind as those who will not see. I have heard your views and they are all specious. I spent over half a century singing and playing Blues, Soul, Jazz – heck, I even dabbled with Country and M.O.R. – and the public dug WHATEVER music I chose to perform. The simple truth is that there are only two kinds of music – good and bad. And provided you stay true to what you’re trying to relate, it matters not WHAT genre it is.”

The four musicians hear his words and know they are wise – and agree never to argue again.

And the moral of this story? Ray Charles was a genius who enriched your life - provided you did not let him park your car.

Cornelius on… Unintentionally Hilarious GENUINE Headlines

There are a million of these, but my personal favourites are…

“MAN FOUND DEAD IN GRAVEYARD”

“MAGISTRATES TO ACT ON STRIP SHOW”

“PATIENT AT DEATH’S DOOR – DOCTORS PULL HIM THROUGH”

“EGG-PACKERS TO BE LAID OFF”

“FOOT HEADS ARMS BODY”  (Michael Foot, M.P.)

“DEFENDANT’S SPEECH ENDS IN LONG SENTENCE”

“MARCH PLANNED FOR AUGUST”

and my ABSOLUTE favourite…

“STOLEN PAINTING FOUND BY TREE”

Cornelius on… “Dave”

In England, there’s a satellite TV channel called Dave (for my American chums, I should explain that satellite TV is like CABLE – except it uses TECHNOLOGY).

I always assumed that when they were trying to think of a NAME for the channel, some wag said “Why not call it Dave?” as a JOKE – and some humourless nerk said okay.

But apparently, they did RESEARCH and decided on the name because “Dave sounds like your MATE.” Hmm. Well anyway, the channel’s output is COMEDY, which got this writer THINKING…

Now here in Thailand, we get the Global Edition of Comedy Central’s Daily Show with Jon Stewart on CNN, on Saturday (although it has disappeared of late, with no explanation) and all of the week’s Tonight Shows (NBC) spread over the weekend, on CNBC.

In addition, DiggerVision used to run ABC’s Jimmy Kimmel, nightly – but apparently he didn’t take, so about eight months ago, they switched to CBS’s Late Show (although the satellite listings magazine – which is compiled by monkeys – lists the slot as 2½ Men).

Which brings me to my point: as I understand it, Letterman isn’t available in the Uke – so given their demographic and profile – why doesn’t DAVE take it?

Then the announcer could say – “And now on Dave – here’s Dave!”

Cornelius on… Thomas Wanker

Now, I have nothing against American composer Thomas Wanker – I’m sure he’s kind to animals and washes his hands after visiting the toilet.

But the first time he checks in at a hotel reception in England or Australia – I want to BE there!

UPDATE! Following the publication (well… posting) of the above, back in 2008, Thomas must have VISITED England or Australia – or READ the above piece – as he has now CHANGED his surname to WANDER!!!

He is credited as such for his work on “2012″.

Although if he decided to change just ONE letter (provided your signature is the usual scrawl, you don’t have to change THAT as well) why didn’t he change the “N” to an “L”?

The surname Wander is NON-EXISTENT (I’ve checked) whereas Walker is quite COMMON. Johnnie Walker – the veteran British D.J. and a famous brand of Scotch. The Walker Brothers – the Sixties Pop duo. And George Walker Bush – the…

I wrote without thinking.

Cornelius on… I Wanna Live Forever

You will doubtless have read my smarter brother Morpheus’ piece entitled “…The Elixir Of Life”. No? Well hit - http://morpheusatloppers.wordpress.com/2010/02/08/morpheus-on-the-elixir-of-life/  and then come back here – okay?

Right. Well, his dissertation only TOUCHES ON whether a radically extended life is actually DESIRABLE – I propose to hammer the issue into the ground.

The thing is – as is also discussed elsewhere in these columns – man (and woman) has four ages. Childhood: 0 to 19. Young adulthood: 20 to 39. Middle-age: 40 to 59. And old age: 60 to 79. You could also add FREAKISH old age: 80 to whatever.

During childhood, one is gathering the basic knowledge one will need for the rest of one’s life. Then comes one’s heyday – young adulthood – the point at which one’s physical capabilities are at their zenith. When one struggles to establish one’s career and pattern of life.

This is followed by middle-age, where if one’s young adulthood has been successful, one can enjoy the fruits of one’s labours – if it has NOT, one can still change direction and try a different tack.

Finally comes old age, when one can reap the benefit from one’s years of toil – slowly winding down, hopefully in comfort and ease.

Of course, this model has been evolved by those in The West. For those in “Developing Countries” the model is quite different – Childhood: 0-5. Working adulthood:6-50. And old age: 51 to DEATH.

But whatever the model, therein lies a PROBLEM.

Because also in these scribblings, one has examined the PURPOSE of life – and come to the conclusion there ISN’T one. And while those in the Third World struggle for mere existence, we (which, if you have a computer to read these ramblings on, must include YOU) in The West have that problem LICKED. Thus our existence requires MORE.

And this writer believes that this is part of our natural make-up. That a desire to find a niche for ourselves (a purpose, if you must) is BORN INTO us – and that the afore-mentioned Ages Of Man have EVOLVED into our very BEING.

This is not so hard to take. Think about it: our body shapes and sizes change every DECADE. And mere fashion, diet and – thanks to cheap air travel – our ability to cross-breed with any race we choose, do NOT explain these variations.

Therefore, it follows that minor details of our evolution CAN happen in mere decades. Thus it is reasonable to assume the evolution of a recognisable pattern of existence – youth, young adulthood, middle-age and old age – or the Third World equivalent – could WELL have become established in the several THOUSAND years that Civilization has been going for.

Which would leave us with an INSTINCTIVE concept of how a life should be lived – and how long it should LAST. And THERE’S THE RUB, my friend.

Because if scientific methods of radical life extension DO become available, whilst future generations born AFTER that time will ADAPT – people of OUR generation will have MAJOR DIFFICULTIES!

The infrastructural problems discussed elsewhere – the practical (automation will have to be stepped up to allow people to have more leisure time) educational (people will have to be taught how to enjoy that leisure time, or they will get bored and smash the machines) economic (a long life must be PAID for) and social (the entire concept of “family planning”) – will be as nothing compared to the SHOCK of suddenly discovering one has an EXTENSION to a life – ALREADY LIVED.

The Ages Of Man are FIXED in our psyches. And a radical change to them will SHATTER us.

Cornelius on… Mad Bombers

First we had the shoe-bomber (so now, all air passengers have to show Security their shoes) – and today we have the underpants-bomber (I understand they now have MACHINES for scanning those – but they still have to be MANNED).

Understandably, the joke-smiths have had a field day – “Is that a bomb in your underpants, or are you just pleased to see me?” – “Do you have a weapon of mass destruction in your underpants?” “I’ve had no complaints so far!” – there are a million of those.

But there is one thing that seems to have escaped consideration in all of this madness. In both cases, the would-be bombers were STOPPED by fellow-passengers, trying to set their devices off in the passenger compartments of the aeroplanes. WHY?

Did it occur to NEITHER of these bozos they could have fulfilled their destinies without interruption – had they simply visited the planes’ TOILETS?

I mean, having gotten their devices through security, they would then have had at least several minutes of privacy – and could have taken their time activating them. And presuming they had been powerful enough, the end result would have been the same – REGARDLESS of where they WERE on the aircraft.

Of course, had the devices just gone “phut” – they would have looked pretty silly coming back out of the toilets with their faces blackened and their hair awry – like in those old-time comedies.

Maybe they figured those seventy-two virgins might be unimpressed when they heard the guys had died in TOILETS – but at least they would have escaped the indignity of being nailed by the planes’ PASSENGERS.

This is of course a difficult subject to keep a straight face about. It is a symptom of the human condition that we need to laugh at horrific events – which these instances would have BEEN, had the two jokers in question been more competent.

But it does raise the serious issue that there really is NO WAY we can protect ourselves from EFFICIENT terrorists. Confiscating passengers’ nail-files is bullsh*t. If the authorities REALLY want to protect us, they need to get HIGH-TECH.

Computer software that can recognise “shifty” body language is already imminent. And good intelligence helps too. But until all of that is in place (because eliminating the CAUSE of people’s hate for each other will take CENTURIES) we better hope ALL terrorists f*ck up as comprehensively as these two morons did…

Cornelius on… A Propper Edukashun

We all laugh at dumb Yanks who know nothing about anything outside of mainland America – hell, they came close to electing a Calamity-Jane-On-Acid bimbo, who thinks Africa is a country, to the White House, right? I mean, McCain only had to croak sometime in his seventies…

But is it really their fault? I cannot speak for America’s education system, but if it is anything like the British one was during the Sixties, one can certainly understand their ignorance.

F’rinstance – Geography. As with most subjects, the syllabus was designed to prepare young people for WORK. Thus, “O-level” (High School – up to 16) geography was all about Sedimentary Rocks and Oxbow Lakes. Fine, if you were one of the one-in-twenty-thousand people who planned on becoming a Geologist.

Why did they not SAVE that crap for DEGREE-level education (University – 18 and up). Or at least “A-level” (College – 16-18). Given that most people LEFT the education system after High School, an acquaintance with Oxbow Lakes was infinitely LESS useful than a working knowledge of the WORLD.

I actually PUT this to our geography master. His reply was that I was talking about GENERAL knowledge – and that I ought to study it. I answered that after seven hours of school, followed by two hours of homework, there weren’t many kids who would be happy to dive BACK into BOOKS.

He admitted that was true, but said his hands were tied. All he could do was teach the national syllabus.

How much better it would have been if a Robin Williams-type had bounded in and said, “Okay, today – Australia.” Then, over two periods, he would have shown us where it was on the World map, told us all about its development, people, animals, natural resources and physical layout – assisted by films and slides.

We would have GIVEN a damn, then.

“Next week – Austria.”

Hell, we’d have given him a round of APPLAUSE.

The thing is, while the World needs Geologists, Scientists and so on – when you are sixteen and your brain absorbs knowledge like a sponge, you need to learn about the REAL World. SAVE the technical stuff for those who will USE it.

In any case, educating people solely for work will soon be POINTLESS. Already, unemployment in the West is running at 10%. And as the machines take over jobs, this can only RISE. Educate people for work and LEISURE – or they will become restive and SMASH the damn machines!

Cornelius on… My Trance Experience

Since Pop Music is cyclical, with three or four “fallow” years between each big boom – it was not until about 1995 that I realised Pop had DIED in 1990.

But then, a saviour appeared in the form of Trance (see elsewhere in these chronicles). But at the ripe old age of 43, I could hardly go CLUBBING – the no-neck at the door would have told me where to go.

However, after a few years of boogying on my own to CD Trance mixes, I moved to Thailand, where all the discos treat ANY farang (like “gringo” – foreigner) like royalty – even one as old as I was.

Thus, in my late forties, I became a DANCER. Full Moon parties on the beach, “secret” beach parties, discos – I was welcomed everywhere.

I remember one night – at the opening of a new club – I boogied away on a pro-dancers’ ledge – twenty feet above the dance-floor – with a guy half my age – we took it in turns to drop down for a beer run… okay, you had to BE there – but it was a magical night.

Of course today, Trance is gone. It’s been replaced by – nothing. Pop is now well and truly dead. The last boogie I had was two years ago – and even then I had to bribe the DJ to put on some Trance (in Thailand, bribes are CURRENCY). I was 55 by then – but it was a great swan-song.

Maybe some day, someone will come up with something NEW and GOOD – but I sadly doubt it.

Meanwhile, if you want to sample what I’m talking about – check out my “Inner Trance” channel on YouTube. It’s “Channel Five” on my bogroll – or you can go straight to a nice piece by clicking on – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uegGfmYt5_M – enjoy!

Oh – and you’ll want it in HQ and fullscreen. Click on the icons at the bottom right of the little screen – fullscreen is the one to the right of HQ.

Plus for more on Trance, checkout the scribblings of my smarter brother on – http://morpheusatloppers.wordpress.com/2009/12/16/morpheus-on-trance-the-pop-music-of-the-90s-the-naustalgia-of-the-10s/ 

Cornelius on… Rude Words

Last night, I was watching an old episode of “E.R.” on the telly (through m’DVD-R) when a bit occurred where three people murmured one-word opinions of a colleague – “Wanker” (from a Brit) “Turd” and “Dick” – in quick succession.

Now here in Thailand, some programmes come with Thai subtitles – which are often hilariously WRONG. So as my wife was in the kitchen, I called her in and re-ran the piece without sound, asking her to translate the subtitles into English.

Apparently, “wanker” translated as “crazy person” (wanker doesn’t mean anything here) “turd” came out as “idiot”, but curiously, “dick” had been translated as “arsehole” – which in Thailand, means much the same as elsewhere.

Of course, all three words can be combined into just ONE word – bureaucrat.

Cornelius on… TV Test Patterns

A while back, I spent two and a half years cataloguing my collection of 4,700 records, tapes and disks. The resultant tome included a page of TEST PATTERNS. And if you think THAT’S tragic, consider this. In England, there is a test pattern COLLECTOR’S CLUB! I understand they meet periodically (probably in a SHED) to show each other the gems from their collections.

“Er, this (my Douglas Hurd voice) is one of my rarer pieces – it’s Telefunken’s “Card Fünf”, which was first broadcast in 1965 during a transmission of RTV2 Zürich’s early colour tests. Unfortunately I only have it in black-and-white kinescope, but my pen-pal Helmut has it in colour on VT. He lives in Düsseldorf. I found him on the net and I’ve booked my next holiday to visit him…”

Of course, none of these men have girlfriends.

Cornelius on… Super-Balls

Remember Super-Balls? (Settle down!) Invented in ’63. Banned in ’64 (kids lost EYES). A bit bigger than golf-balls, they were made of HIGHLY compressed rubber. If you threw them HARD onto the ground, they’d come back up like a MISSILE – and could clear a four-storey building.

I know this to be true, because at the time, I attended St Helens’ junior school – which WAS four storeys tall. The front gutter must be FILLED with them.

And it would be worth the climb to see, ’cause while back in ’63, they only cost 30 pence each – today, they’re going on eBay for SIXTY BUCKS A POP! If only I’d known…

Cornelius on… MORE English As She Is Spoken

It’s been about a year since I spoke of this (WAY down this column) but more anomalies have emerged.

Now I had a fair education, but as a writer, most of my usage tends to be instinctive – a practise that has generally stood me in good stead.

But there are still a few things that bamboozle even me.

The thing is, English is a living thing and subject to change – but there are still some immutable LAWS.

Like spelling. Encyclopaedia and paedophile are spelled with an A before the E (strictly, an Æ – if your keyboard possesses ligatures). Lose, as in not find, is spelled with ONE “o” – while loose, as in not tight, is spelled with TWO – but it is obvious, by context, that many do not realise this.

And “viscous” is spelled (not SPELT – which although technically correct, looks and sounds UGLY) “vicious”. I see these errors everywhere.

Then there are apostrophes. Even my (Japanese – but that’s no excuse) Sharp word-processor’s SpellChecker gets them WRONG. They are NOT used at the end of PLURALS – “I have two bull’s” – unless the word is POSSESSIVE – as in “the bull’s horns” – or “the bulls’ horns”, if there is more than one bull.

Okay, there is ONE group of exceptions. The plural of a SHORT word can have an apostrophe S in order for it to make SENSE. Like “There are two i’s in idiot.” Or “no’s and yes’s,” which looks and sounds better than noes and yesses - even though that is also correct, although [after Spell-Checking] WordPress’s (or WordPress’?) SpellChecker does not agree.

Of course, apostrophes (NOT apostrophe’s!) are also used in contractions – like “it’s”, “that’s” and “I’ve” (my personal favourite is “I’d’ve” – I would have – but that’s just me). I will demonstrate contractions, during the rest of this piece.

But while (whilst?) the above’s obvious, some questions remain.

F’rinstance, my son’s name is James. And if James wore a hat, would it be James’ hat (the “s” pronounced as “z”) or James’s hat (as in St James’s Park, London)? It’s not Jameses – that’s the plural. I’d say it’s James’ hat.

But if a bus has a dodgy wheel, is it the bus’ (s=z again) wheel or the bus’s wheel. Again, buses is the plural. Surely THIS time, it CAN’T be bus’ – whoever heard of “the BUZZ wheel”? The bus’s wheel MUST be right.

Then what if there’s more than ONE bus? The buses’ wheels? It CAN’T be the buses’s wheels!

According to Wiki, one should use “whichever one sounds best” – thanks a lot, Wiki.

And whilst (while?) proper nouns like John, Clyde and Mensa use the apostrophe S for possession – “John’s book”, “Clyde’s manner” and “Mensa’s reputation” – as stated above, the word “it’s” is exempt. “My dog is shaggy – it’s hair is long” is WRONG. “It’s” is reserved for the contraction of “it is”.

Sometimes contractions can CONFUSE. As an example, Americans often write “should of” instead of “should have” – this is caused by the use of the contraction “should’ve”. But although I’ve been using contractions throughout this piece, for demonstration purposes – they should be reserved for SPEECH and AVOIDED in writing. 

One other thing – and I cannot find ANYTHING on this one in Wiki – generally, one uses “a” in front of a noun that begins with a consonant and “an” with one that starts with a vowel. Thus: a degenerate and an orifice. Basic grammar.

But this gets fuzzy when the word begins with an “h”. I mean, one is supposed to say “an hotel” and “an historic occasion”. One assumes this is in deference to the French, from where these words originated. But one doesn’t say “an History teacher” – does one?

Now I’m going to SpellCheck this piece. THAT should be fun!

Footnote: For the record, the worthy WordPress SpellChecker accepted “SpellCheck” (THAT was a surprise!) but while rejecting most of my contractions, it liked “noes” but distained “yesses” – and it did NOT like the grammar of “an hotel”, “an historic” or “an History”. But the BEST thing was – it rejected the word WORDPRESS!

Cornelius on… YouTube: UPDATE!

As I type this, my total number of hits on YouTube (nearly sixty-two THOUSAND) is in the process of overtaking my total number of hits on WordPress. But this is not a reason for rejoicing. It merely confirms what I’ve been saying for years – people don’t READ anymore.

I mean, my WordPress efforts consist of three blogs, with around 100 pieces each – plus a book and short story. Oh, and also 38 movie “crits” on IMDb (but they don’t DO hit-counts). And that’s a lot of words. While my YouTube uploads are merely 198 clips.

But what REALLY hurts is that my work on YouTube has only been going for three months while my scribblings have been going for SIXTEEN.

However, that is not what THIS piece is about – it’s about YouTube’s WARNING STRIKES. The big fly in my YouTube ointment is their system of slapping your wrist when you do something they consider WRONG. I now have one on EACH of my three channels.

Now here on WordPress, there are no such problems – or at least, I have never encountered any. The thing is, I refrain from using strong language (I figure even if you are “in my house” – that does not give me the right to offend you) even though some others do.

And as for WHAT I write – well, if you read people’s blogs, you are BOUND to disagree with SOME of what they have to say.

Which, provided I avoid holocaust denying, telling people how to make bombs from household products and inciting racial hatred – is fine.

And if you disagree with anything I say and can offer a reasoned, non-offensive alternate view – I will be more than happy to publish it as a comment. And probably add a comment right back at you! It’s called DEBATE.

But at YouTube, there is NO debate. It seems they don’t have the staff for it. If you piss them off, they just hit you with a “warning strike” – collect three and you’re OUT.

Well actually, it is not quite as simple as that.

They have two, separate, systems for managing their content. The first comes under their “community guidelines”. Since around twenty hours of video are uploaded to YouTube every minute, it would take a staff of around FIVE THOUSAND to monitor the uploads in real-time.

Thus they rely on customers to flag “inappropriate” material. But this system is open to abuse. If someone is JEALOUS of your content, they can go round your channel trying to FIND something that could be classed as inappropriate, then flag it just to SCREW with you.

Plus, people can go around YouTube flagging anything they DON’T LIKE. And while YouTube CLAIM they don’t bump stuff on those grounds, one suspects there are only a handful of people viewing flagged pieces – and they probably bump everything that isn’t obviously benign.

I experienced this myself on one of my channels. Early on, I uploaded a piece that contained DISTANT “comedic” nudity. But before doing so, I checked their guidelines. The problem is, said guidelines are to say the least VAGUE - however, they claimed they would tolerate mild nudity provided it wasn’t SEXUAL.

Therefore, since my piece was in NO way sexual, I decided to put it up and see what happened. And for TWO MONTHS – nothing DID.

Now, there is a system on YouTube for classifying pieces as “adult” which requires you to sign in – as an adult – to view them (a system I have always considered DEEPLY flawed – what’s to stop an eight-year-old saying he’s twenty-eight, to watch hard-core porn?)

And I would have been fine if they had done THAT – in fact, I expected it (although there’s no way to stipulate a piece is adult in nature when you upload – one of MANY shortcomings with YouTube’s systems).

I could even have lived with them BUMPING the piece.

But when they bumped it AND hit me with a warning strike – I felt hard-done-by.

And the annoying thing is – there’s no APPEAL. Sure, you can appeal against your CHANNEL being deleted (apparently, they keep all uploads on their system, even when a piece – or a whole channel – is deleted – either by them or the customer) but they won’t debate individual deletions (again, one assumes they lack the staff).

In fact, getting to TALK to – or even e-mail – a YouTube representative, is pretty much impossible. Instead, they refer you to their “community help” channel – which mostly consists of people moaning to each other about the shortcomings of YouTube. Thus your Problem is Shared – but not in any way SOLVED.

There is ONE good thing. These strikes are like driving endorsements – they only last six months. Which means so long as you don’t acquire more than two in any six months, your account won’t get terminated.

Then there is the BIGGEST bugbear – COPYRIGHT.

Whilst – as previously discussed – much of YouTube’s content is CRAP, there is also a large amount of GOOD stuff there. Movie and TV clips – and MUSIC. Pretty much ALL of which is COPYRIGHT.

And this is where the trouble REALLY starts. If you thought YouTube’s policy on content was confused, wait ’til you see their policy on COPYRIGHT.

The first thing they say is – don’t upload any music, TV or film content that might be copyright. Except that if everyone took them at their word, YouTube would lose HALF of their uploads – and THREE-QUARTERS of their customers.

So what happens if you DO upload copyrighted material?

Well, all sorts of things. Firstly, following an agreement made a couple of years ago, YouTube have software which IDENTIFIES all content owned by the “Big Four” – Sony, Warner, Universal and EMI – (soon to become the Big Three if the merger between Warner and EMI goes ahead).

And whether an upload is mono or stereo, good Q or bad, playing at the correct speed or slightly off – the software will identify it, while the piece is finalising. So then they pull it – right? Well, no.

In fact, most pieces flagged by the software are put UP. Often with adverts from the owner. And while YouTube tells you your piece is copyrighted, they also tell you all is fine (sort of). You do not receive a warning. Your account remains “in good standing”. And yet, they still list all of your infringements AS such. It is REALLY confusing – talk about “mixed messages”.

Meanwhile, most TV companies are fine with you putting up clips from their shows – some do it THEMSELVES. Plus there are THOUSANDS of movie clips. Deep joy. Until a company OBJECTS to a piece of yours – then you get a COPYRIGHT warning strike!

And again, there is no appeal.

Or consistency. Like; I put a piece up and got a strike, when (as I later discovered) someone else had put the SAME piece up – and it had been up for a YEAR. YouTube try to explain this by claiming some companies allow ONE use of their material only. So why give a STRIKE to a subsequent uploader? And there were other pieces on YouTube from the same film.

Then there was the time I put four pieces up from a film and two got bumped immediately – while the other two were permitted and are still THERE. Maybe THEY’LL get bumped in a year’s time and I’ll collect ANOTHER bloody strike.

And with COPYRIGHT strikes, there is also no “six month” rule – your strike remains indefinitely. So how many – over how long – can you acquire, without getting DELETED? CHRIST knows! As with ALL of YouTube’s rules and guidelines – CONFUSION AND CONTRADICTION REIGN.

Altogether, it’s a MESS. Upload one piece of copyrighted material and everything’s fine. Upload another and they get DRACONIAN.

And if they DO pull your channel, you are SCREWED. ALL your work may be LOST. Listen to the horror stories detailed on their “community help” channel. Some have been deleted WITHOUT ANY warning. Others have been censured for pieces they uploaded YEARS before, without any complaint.

So what is the answer, from YouTube’s point of view?

Well, it would be nice if they let ANYTHING onto their service - except that would result in everything from child pornography to snuff movies being on it. With freedom comes responsibility – and unfortunately, there are a lot of irresponsible people about.

And it would be nice if they ignored copyright quibbles – but artists are entitled to reward for their efforts. “Art for art’s sake – money for f**k’s sake.” (See – I told you I don’t use strong language in these columns).

One problem is the laws of copyright. As stated elsewhere in these ramblings, it is time to re-examine the concept of Public Domain. With musical composition, it is one hundred years. With books and plays, fifty. But these laws go back CENTURIES.

For decades, films were owned by the studios that made them – but they’re all GONE now. And their “properties” are passed around from one company to another like gold bricks. The original creatives (if they are even still alive) get NOTHING.

Of course, right-wing arseholes would say FINE – so it should be. But art should NOT be a “commodity”. Sure, a successful band can expect their stuff to re-emerge after fifteen years as “naustalgia” and have every right to profit from that. But after that…?

The thing is, record, tape and disk collectors like me use YouTube to swap hard-to-get classic material. What we DON’T need is YouTube’s inconsistent HARASSMENT.

Okay, PULL items that draw flak from the “community” or copyright holders – but don’t threaten to DESTROY ALL of our work if we happen to get flagged for one or two items.

And as for “inappropriate content” – one person’s inappropriate item is someone else’s LOL. Take that into account before issuing a warning strike.

Finally, before KILLING someone’s account, take a look at the WHOLE thing and spend TIME evaluating it. It may represent HOURS of work.

YouTube needs to address this – even though their service is free, they have a RESPONSIBILITY to their customers. Just because I might offer a free taxi service, does not mean I’m entitled to drive DRUNK.

In any case, YouTube is not a philanthropic enterprise – they make MONEY from their service. And their product is supplied FREE – by US. Therefore, they owe us their RESPECT.

Cornelius on… Degrees Of Blackness

Have you noticed how mainstream Hollywood film and TV productions STILL pair off black and white people?

I mean for gawdsake, it’s been FORTY YEARS since Kirk (under protest, in the plot – although not because of race – nasty aliens were trying to control his will) kissed Uhura. Yet despite there having also been forty years of political correctness – STARTED by America – salt and pepper relationships STILL appear to upset their people.

But the thing I do NOT get – is their apparent preference for black couples, where the woman is PALER than the MAN.

Think about it – how many black couples have YOU seen on TV, where the MAN is caramel-coloured, while the woman is the hue of ebony? It just don’t happen.

Of course to Americans, anyone who isn’t white is automatically BLACK, including mixed-race people who have black features but almost white skin (in the Fifties, they were known to both blacks and whites as “lillywhites”). Thus, even these PALE women ARE still black.

But there must be people all over the World – where U.S. programmes are syndicated – who think American black women are NATURALLY paler than their men.

Rather like the generation of boys who, thanks to air-brushed porn, grew up thinking women had no sex organs!

Cornelius on… The French

I love the monologues on U.S. chat shows – Leno, Letterman, etc. But I cringe every time they do a crack about the French capitulating to the Germans in WW2. The apparent feeling being that they were cowards to do so.

Thing is, at that time, NO-ONE KNEW the holocaust would happen. It was just about stopping the Germans from turning Europe into the German Empire.

And France had only recently lost millions of her men in WW1. It’s understandable they were not keen to repeat the experience – which they WOULD have – had they gone up against the then might of the German military machine.

It was all right for Britain to go to war against them – we had the upper-class-twit looneys of the RAF who, while the Luftwaffe were busy poring over their combat manuals, knocked them out of the skies, by ignoring theirs – and we had a twenty-mile wide stretch of water between us and them.

France on the other hand would have been SMASHED by Germany. All they had to do was WALK across the border. The time to have stopped Hitler – which ALL the other countries of Europe COULD have done – had already PASSED. But then – War Is Good For Business.

Then there is the matter of “collateral damage”. After the war, Americans POURED into Paris to enjoy the delights of a city virtually INTACT after hostilities were over – while London was in RUINS. Yeah, we won – but at what COST?

And one more thing – the French were not COWARDS. Many fought guerilla actions (the famous French Resistance) against the Germans. Orchestrated by Britain, these gave the Germans a LOT of problems – and those who were caught were treated as TERRORISTS.

In those days, Germany gave scant attention to the Geneva Convention with military prisoners – and NONE to spies or “freedom fighters”. They suffered torture we cannot imagine. So less about French cowardice, eh?

In any case, all of this happened SEVENTY YEARS AGO – so isn’t it time to LET IT GO?

Cornelius on… “Standby”

Stories enter the public consciousness. Like the one about the alligators in the New York sewers – or the one which states that The Great Wall Of China is the only man-made structure that can be seen from space – or the one that says you should switch your TV off while you are not watching it, since when it is on “standby” it consumes nearly as much power as when it is switched ON.

But the problem with all these stories is – they are BOGUS.

I have already dealt elsewhere with the first two – so let us examine the third. It first emerged in the Seventies. At that time OLD tellies still had transformers, which DID consume a significant amount of power when they were running in standby mode – but nothing LIKE as much as the tube and EHT circuits which ran when it was ON.

And the then-latest TVs had SWITCH-MODE power supplies which consumed far less still.

Now Your Humble Scribe was a service engineer then – but even someone incapable of changing a light-bulb ought to have realised this story was horsefeathers. All they had to do was compare the HEAT coming from the ventilation slots at the back of the cabinet when the set had been off for a while – with the heat coming out when it was ON.

And yet this ridiculous story persists to THIS DAY – so let me lay it to rest.

My own telly is a 47″ LCD – and being BIG, it consumes 350 watts when on. But on standby, it consumes less than TWO watts – and half of THAT goes to power the yellow LED indicator lamp on the front. Unfortunately, Philips don’t DARE tell people to LEAVE the set on standby – they just HINT at it by revealing the standby power consumption.

And while in theory you CAN turn it FULLY off, using the switch on the side – you are not actually DOING so. All you are doing is telling the logic circuit to extinguish the INDICATOR LAMP! You see, that switch is not really a switch at all – merely a button that connects to the main board. No relay drops out. NOTHING happens, except to that LED lamp. The set is powered up for as long as the mains plug remains in the wall socket.

Of course In My Day, when TV stations closed down for the night (yes, I’m old enough to remember when TV stations DID that) an announcer would often tell people to disconnect their tellies from the wall. This was supposed to be for safety reasons – i.e., OLD tellies WERE prone to catching fire in the middle of the night. But nowadays, modern designs have made that a virtual impossibility.

No, these days, the only worthwhile reason to isolate a TV – by disconnecting the AERIAL (or decoder box) – is to protect it from LIGHTNING STRIKES. But given the erratic behaviour of lightning – and the rarity of aerials actually being hit - AND the fact that most household contents insurance policies cover it anyway – it’s hardly worth it.

And as for saving money on your electricity bill – the few PENNIES you’ll save every year will not even cover the cost of the phone call you’ll eventually have to make to the electrician you’ll have to call – to come and replace the plugs you’ll wear out by constantly pulling them in and out.

So when you’re done watching the goggle-box, boob-tube, whatever, just HIT the damn “standby” button – and try not to lose the remote!

Cornelius on… Seven Kinds Of Movies To Avoid

Remakes (of classics AND “foreign” movies). They NEVER recapture the essence of the original.

Sequels. Likewise.

Prequels. When your star gets too old (or expensive) go “back in time” to when they were much younger – then you can replace them with a younger (and cheaper) actor.

Spin-offs. Movies inspired by video-games, toys – even theme-park rides. Gimme a break! (Okay, the “Pirates Of The Caribbean” trilogy was pretty good, but the rest – uurgh!)

No-brainer Actioners. Guns, guns and more guns.

Effects movies. I have nothing against CGI if it’s used to move along the story. But when it IS the story, I object. I don’t want to see a piece of work where the director plonked his actors in front of a green-screen for three weeks, then let a bunch of computer-nerds make his movie.

All of the above are obvious catagories of movies worth giving a miss.

But there is a seventh which may be less apparent. The film directed by its writer (or written by its director – whichever).

The problem lies with the director. Normally, having glommed a property, the LAST person he wants on his set is its AUTHOR. Why? Because the director’s medium is VISUAL. Once he has his story, he can strip it of all its literary baggage and paint a PICTURE of the events.

But if he WROTE it, he can’t DO that. And the end product becomes a piece where, since the director knows what’s going on – he wrote it, after all – he assumes the audience knows also. But anything they’re not SHOWN, they just won’t GET.

And since these days, the director is King – no-one wants to TELL him his suit is invisible.

So the next time you see “written and directed by…” – FORGET it. Unless it says “…by Nancy Meyers” – every rule has an exception.

Cornelius on… British Political Party Leaders’ Names

You might be forgiven for thinking there are few smiles in THIS subject – but think again.

First comes Gordon Brown (and when HE smiles, small children wet themselves). Except that isn’t actually his name. His REAL name is JAMES Brown – Gordon is his MIDDLE name – and you’d have to travel far to find a man LESS like the late Grandfather Of Soul.

Then we have David Cameron. So what’s funny about THAT? Just that he must sign himself “D Cameron.” No? Well, the Decameron is a famous book – and film – portraying every kind of sexual shenanigans you could imagine – and probably a few you couldn’t – which is apt, given his party’s record.

But then – I shouldn’t be rude about HIM. Following Brown’s performance as PM, “WD” will probably be Britain’s next premier. WD? His middle initials and also the name of a popular brand of spray oil. Again, apt…

Cornelius on… Americans And Handbrakes

This one is for Brits: have you noticed how Americans don’t know what a HANDBRAKE is? Granted, since most drive AUTOMATICS, they don’t need them much (except in Frisco). In fact I drive one myself, here in Thailand (now I’m retired, I’m just damn LAZY) and since it’s flat here, I only use mine when I empty the ashtray – ’cause it’s in the damn WAY.

But the thing is, Americans call them “emergency brakes” and seemingly only use them when their footbrakes FAIL. Thus, when they stop a “four-on-the-floor” or “stick-shift” (manual gearbox) they generally leave it in gear – which is why outtake shows are full of people stopping with a hiccup and occasionally, chasing their cars up the road!

In the Uke, we have to learn how to use a manual BEFORE we’re likely to get NEAR a slushbox. An automatic-only licence is separate – and doesn’t COVER us for a manual. Maybe they should operate the same system Stateside?

But don’t leave with the idea that Britain is tougher than the States on drivers. My Old Country is EASY. A UK driving licence lasts for LIFE (well, to age 72 anyway) – unlike America, where they have to get a NEW one EVERY YEAR!

Of course, here in Thailand – what’s a driving licence?

Cornelius on… MORE Lesser-Known Writings Of Dr. John Watson, 221b, Baker Street, London W.

I recall the time Inspector Lestrade called my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes in, when Lord Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondsley-St.John-Beauchamp was murdered.

As he closely examined the body, he suddenly stiffened and asked me for a pair of tweezers. I took a pair from my bag and handed it to him.

He removed a hair from under the body, drew his magnifying glass from his pocket and studied it for some time. Eventually, he spoke.

“The murderer is of fair complexion. He had a reasonable childhood, but when he attended school, his peers treated him with contempt. After leaving, he went from place to place, but was always rejected by society. This, combined with his quick temper, constantly lead him into conflict. He is a badly troubled man – anti-social and very dangerous.”

“Incredible, Holmes,” I ejaculated. “How can you tell all that from a single strand of hair?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Holmes replied, “The hair is ginger.”

Cornelius on… Prince Charles

Back in the Nineties, the Foreign Office sent the Windsor Wingnut – as they called him - on a goodwill visit to Abu Dhabi.

When he landed, he stepped onto the red carpet wearing a suit – and a fox-fur hat.

His host, Sheik Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, shook him warmly by the hand and they walked to the waiting limousine.

After a few miles, the Sheik said to Charles, “Excuse me, but I must ask you – my country is very, VERY hot – why do you feel the need to wear such a hat?”

“Oh, that was my grandmother,” replied Charles, “I said I was off to Abu Dhabi – and she said ‘Wear the fox hat.’”

Cornelius on… Doors That Go “Pshhhht”

I had always thought what fun it would be to re-wire a pair of those doors that have a detector above them and open in front of you – the other way round. Imagine the hilarity, as people approached the OPEN doors, only to watch them go “pshhhht” and CLOSE in their faces!

Well, I thought this would have to remain in my mind, until the other day, on a Thai train. I was sat at the end of the carriage, next to the doors – which were open. This was annoying, ’cause the nice cool air was going out, while NOISE was coming IN.

I noticed that the main switch was turned to “close”. Since they were open, this was strange. So when no-one was looking, I set the switch to “auto”. The doors remained open. Huh? Then a man approached the doors and they slammed SHUT, pinning him between them.

As he struggled to free himself, the truth dawned upon me. My dream had come TRUE! Some clot had actually wired the doors the WRONG WAY ROUND!

This ought to be good, I thought. I sat there innocently, watching a progression of people who – depending on how fast they were going – either walked INTO the doors, had to SHOOT through them – or got PINNED, like the first guy.

The best ones were the waiters. One actually had his TRAY pinned by the doors – he took his hand from underneath and the tray remained suspended there.

Finally, a young waiter arrived with a tray of teas. SPECTACULAR! He went one way, the tray another – and the tea went everywhere!

Eventually, a technician arrived and after examining the doors, came to the same conclusion I had and switched them back to “close” – which of course was open.

Zen. Even though I now had to contend with the extra heat and noise once again, I figured it was worth it – for the entertainment I’d had!

Cornelius on… Baths

As a Brit of fifty-seven summers, I am JUST old enough to remember the bad old days of baths.

If you were rich, you had a LONG enamel bath you could sit in, with your legs STRAIGHT. But if you were poor, you had to drag in a galvanised “tin bath” from the hook, where it hung in the garden, then fill it with hot water, boiled in saucepans – four at a time – on the kitchen stove.

In the winter, you would put it in the living room, by the fire. And as one side of your body FROZE – the skin on your other side would be SEARED OFF by the fire.

Then you had to bail out most of the water, one saucepan at a time. After which two of you would carefully carry out the bath – trying not to spill the remaining contents – and tip it down the drain. Then you would hang it back on its hook.

There was an alternative. For a few pennies, you could use one of the many “slipper baths” at the local Council Swimming Baths. These were little tiled bathrooms with a constant supply of hot water which you could use for about twenty minutes, before a guy would bang on the door and tell you to hurry up.

You could bring your own towel – or for a couple of pence more, rent one. However, unless you were lucky and they’d just acquired some new ones – having been endlessly BOIL-washed, they felt like sandpaper.

Thus back then, most people only had one bath a WEEK – usually on Friday night. The rest of the week, they made do with a daily wash of the hands and face, in the sink. As a result – British people STANK.

And thus it was – until the Sixties. Now that Britain had a little money, the government began a programme of demolishing Victorian slums and putting up new housing – with indoor bathrooms (the story that people used the baths to store coal is bogus). And where the houses were of a better class, they would subsidise the conversion of a bedroom into a bathroom.

And so the “Great Unwashed” finally began to smell a little better.

But this reporter has noticed a further development that is a tad BIZARRE. Baths are now becoming a LUXURY item. The reason is – SHOWERS.

Here’s the thing: since MODERN people want to clean themselves EVERY day – in some cases TWICE – baths have largely GIVEN WAY to showers.

Showers use less water (baths have gotten shorter, with bowed-in sides - but that’s a problem if you’re FAT) and take WAY less TIME. Plus they take up less SPACE. AND you don’t end up sitting in your own dirty water.

Which means increasingly, many houses – and most flats (apartments) – are being built with ONLY showers.

Thus nowadays, soaking in a tub has become less a way of cleaning oneself, than a form of relaxation. Indeed the bubbly-jetty ones don’t PERMIT soap (unless you want to clog up the impeller – and end up with a room full of FOAM). But given their cost and the amount of space they take up – only rich people with big bathrooms and even bigger POCKETS can AFFORD them.

Which is surreal: it means that we have now come full circle. Once AGAIN, baths are only for the rich. The difference is – now having SHOWERS – poor people no longer PONG!

Cornelius on… The Better Brother

“You are an alpha male – dynamic, assertive and charismatic. You are rich, successful and happy. Having taken after our mother, you are tall and handsome. You have a stellar career, a beautiful wife whom you love and who loves you. At school, you were Head Boy and excelled at both academic pursuits and sporting pastimes. You have many skills and are creatively brilliant. You are knowledgeable, witty and popular. Brave, sincere and trusted. Altogether – a superb human being.

“I on the other hand – am a loser. Everyone steps on me and everything I have ever had, I was given. Having taken after our father, I am short and chunky. I have never been able to maintain a relationship or hold down a job. At school, I was barely noticed and became academically mediocre. I am slow, dull and unimaginative. In short – a waste of space.

“But I have one thing you will NEVER have – a fantastic brother.”

 © Paige Turner  2009                                            both characters fictitious

Cornelius on… Moments In Life

In a former life, Your Humble Scribe was an electronic service engineer. I wasn’t electronic – the things I fixed were. I lasted ten years before walking AWAY – before I lost my mind.

The first five years, I repaired juke boxes, video juke boxes, background music systems, video-game machines, trivia machines and fruit machines. The pay was lousy, as were the hours – but it was occasionally good fun.

For the next five years, it was traffic control systems – mostly traffic-light controllers and signals. The pay was better – but the hours were still lousy and it was no fun at all. I was just another wage-whore.

But both jobs had their MOMENTS.

There was the time I’d been working on this juke box in this pub. It was one of those joints which is DEAD without its jukebox. So having fixed it, I CUED UP a record that has a BIG first note (I used to be a deejay) then jacked up the volume and with a flourish – SLAMMED the lid.

And since all juke boxes have an over-ride switch under the lid which switches their mech on (in case some dozy record-changer forgets) I knew the disk would POWER on exactly one second after the lid made contact.

So as I SLAMMED the lid, causing all the customers to WHIRL around, I turned and THREW my hands out like a messiah and WHAMMO – the music BLASTED out of it. A CHEER went up and I took a Shakespearean bow! A great moment.

Another was one of those opportunities that comes once in a lifetime. It was nearly 11 pm and I was heading to a country pub, through a major STORM. As I drove, I noticed the gaps between the flashes of lightning and the resulting peals of thunder were getting CLOSER. I began timing them.

It was obviously a small, concentrated storm, as the gaps were regular and well-defined. Ten seconds. Nine seconds. As the gap reached six seconds, I pulled into the pub’s car-park. I walked across to the old, heavy wooden door – and waited. Finally, a HUGE flash. I counted to four, then THREW the door in, so it CRASHED open, once again causing everyone to spin around.

Framed in the doorway, I struck a pose – and right on cue, the thunder went KERRRR-ACK-BOOMMMM!!!

It was just like in a Hammer movie! The pub’s customers were GOBSMACKED!

Sadly, my traffic-light days provided no such entertainment. The only memorable moment was when I found myself perched up a ladder, fixing a pole-cap terminal box, atop a signal that was bent at a crazy angle.

It was a rural site, where some thirty minutes earlier, a truck had lost control on the curve that formed the approach to this particular signal – and PLOUGHED INTO IT. The truck had just been removed and I was now alone.

The reason it had lost control was the road had been wet. Which it STILL WAS. And as I looked down, I could see the two deep furrows the truck’s front wheels had made in the grass – one each side of the huge DENT in the bottom of the pole I WAS ON TOP OF.

Out loud, I cried, “What the HELL AM I DOING UP HERE?”

I retired shortly afterwards…

Cornelius on… Having Kids

Having kids is marvelous! You get the chance to mould a new life. You get to watch them as they take their first wobbly steps. Say their first words. Experience the World. Then they will evolve into model citizens and carry on your name. Kids – they enrich your life in every way.

Kids are a nightmare. First, they push the woman’s body out of shape and it NEVER recovers. And never MIND what her raging hormones do to your relationship. Then they are born, causing the woman EXCRUCIATING pain (the phrase “like passing a bowling ball” springs to mind) and spend their first weeks constantly crying – FORGET about SLEEP. Then they hit the Terrible Twos – at which point they’re into EVERYTHING. It’s like having MONKEYS in your home. Then comes school. At this point, you think things will get easier, but NO! You have to worry about peer pressure – will they get involved with crime? Drugs? If they do, YOU will get the blame. Then they become teens – at which point, their body-clocks are telling them to go out and get laid, find a partner and raise MORE kids. Which was fine for cave-people – they only lived to 36. But your kids have several years of further education to go through. And even if they drop out, who’s going to rent them a flat or give them a job to afford it, when they’re only 14? Which means they’ll feel CONFINED – and REBEL. Suddenly, your taste in clothes, music, etc. – is absurd. Your ideals, views and moral standards are ridiculous. Then finally, they DO leave and the only time you’ll see them is when they want MONEY – or their laundry done – which will be often.

And during all of this time, you will have lost all of your friends. No-one wants to come and have a drink with you in a houseful of kids. And if you go OUT – what chance you’ll return to a smoking RUIN? And forget about sex. If they see or even HEAR you getting frisky… Then there’s COST. Not only do kids cost money, but once you’ve had them, one of you is going to have to give up work. This means double the outgoing – and HALF the INCOME. Oh sure, once they go to school, the woman (or man, if she earns more – and he can handle being a “house-husband”) can get a little part-time job, right? Except that no employer will tolerate you arriving late, leaving early and taking 15 weeks holiday every year. Which leaves you with “home-work”. Only then, you realize it’s a sellers’ market – with Third-World-level wages. You’ll be lucky to make $1 an hour. All of which means that when Johnny wants the latest must-have toy he’s seen on TV, YOU won’t be able to AFFORD it. Then there are holidays. Hard enough to arrange for two adults – but for a family?

Plus all of the above assumes perfect health. Now granted, medical tech has achieved a lot in recent years but there’s still the possibility you’ll end up with a kid with “special needs”. And they WON’T be leaving home when they finish school – assuming they can get INTO school in the first place. And what of safety? Creepy middle-aged guys, home appliances, bicycles – fireworks. You cannot protect them 24/7 without stifling them. But if they DO fall prey to the dangers of the World…

Which is why these days, smarter people are choosing to remain DINKYs (Double-Income, No Kids Yet) while trailer-trash types just assume you MUST have kids – and pop ‘em out like peas. I once saw a movie whose premise was that in a hundred years time, if this trend continued, the World would be populated by MORONS. It could HAPPEN!

So where does this leave YOU? Well, if you already have kids, it’s too late (despite Roe v. Wade, doctors won’t terminate kids who’ve started school) but if not, THINK. If the first part of this rant sounds attractive enough for you to ignore the second part, then GO for it. But if not – forget about your parents. They may want grand-children, but they don’t have to RAISE them. Let ‘em adopt a Third-World kid. Or get a dog. And forget the TV ads – they are SELLING stuff to families, so will present a rosy picture of them. Plus, The System just wants you to be conventional.

This writer had a kid. And he turned out great. But HE doesn’t want kids. Maybe he’s smarter than his Dad…

Cornelius on… “La Petite Mort”

Back in Blighty, I knew a bloke called Potter. We had been friends since our schooldays. He was a plump, excitable chap and I thought once we’d slipped the surly bonds of Copleston High, he would go on to great success. I was wrong.

He married in haste and repented at leisure. We didn’t socialize, but every now and again I’d bump into him – usually while walking my dog in Christchurch Park. But not long after his marriage, every time we met, it seemed his face had grown longer.

Finally, when we were alone in the park, he told me the reason for his disgruntlement. “It’s that BLOODY woman!” he shouted.

“What – your wife?” I asked, “She seems rather nice.”

“Yeah, she’s a looker – but she has a VORACIOUS sexual appetite. She’s constantly pestering me for SEX.” (It occurred to me that in her case, THAT kind of pestering I could LIVE with – but I kept the thought to myself).

Well, some years went by and things didn’t get better for Potter. Oh, his professional life BLOSSOMED – he rose through the ranks at the bank where he worked, eventually becoming Area Manager – but his home life remained miserable.

Then one day, while we were once again alone in the park (aside from my dog Jasper) he smiled for the first time in months and said, “I’ve finally worked out the answer to my problem. I’m going to kill her.”

“Wh-at?” I said, “Oh, come ON – why not just DIVORCE her?”

“Are you kidding?” he answered, “Do you know what I’m WORTH now? Her brother’s a bloody divorce lawyer. We’ve been together since the beginning of my career. She’d get half of everything.”

Having known Potter since we were boys, I figured he was just letting off steam. Previously, his violence had been limited to screaming at The Bad Guy at wrestling matches (when The Good Guy suddenly acquired hidden reserves of strength to turn the tables – did he never GET that?)

Anyway, he had a PLAN. “I’m going to f*ck her to death. There’s a thing called ‘La Petite Mort’ – it’s French – it means ‘the little death’.”

“Yes, I know that. I took the same French class as you, remember?” I replied.

He carried on as if I’d not spoken – “If you REALLY go at it and keep a woman having orgasm after orgasm – they eventually FAINT. I estimate after six months of CONSTANT shagging, her HEART will give out. It’s the perfect plan. I checked on the Web and no-one’s EVER been charged with killing someone by shagging them to death.”

“Yes,” I said, “For the very good reason it CAN’T BE DONE.”

“You think so? You’ll see – you’ll see,” he shouted, as he walked away.

I didn’t see Potter again for about five months, but when I did, I had the shock of my life. He was walking in the park with his wife. She looked RADIANT, but Potter looked THIRTY YEARS OLDER. He had lost half his hair, his back was bent and his gait made him look like he was riding a small invisible horse.

As they got closer, I saw he was also covered in sweat. Seeing me, his wife said to him,“I’ll see you back at the flat, Darling,” and beaming at me, she walked off. Actually, I swear she SKIPPED off.

As Potter trudged up to me, sweat dripping off his chin, he croaked, “Look at her, the silly bitch – she doesn’t know she’s only got a month to live!”

Cornelius on… Cross-winds

In the early days, flying was fun. Flying boats could land anywhere there was water and planes with wheels only needed a mowed field. The terminal (an unfortunate word, when allied to flying) was generally a Nissan Hut.

Then after the war, it got serious. But because of the security dimension, airlines were generally state-owned and prices were kept HIGH. Thus passengers were still treated like royalty.

But in the Seventies, that all changed. Thanks to entrepreneurs like Freddie Laker and Richard Branson, air travel became affordable for the plebs. And being just plebs, travellers were now treated like crap.

Finally came 9/11. This enabled the pencil-necked airport staff – and some airlines – to REALLY crap on passengers, safe in the knowledge that should one object, they only had to scream SECURITY and they could abuse and harass the passenger at will.

However, this piece is about a lesser-known peril of flying today – the CROSS-WIND.

The thing is, back in those early days, there was a thing in the corner of every airfield called the Wind-sock. This primitive device allowed a pilot to land STRAIGHT INTO the wind.

But when grass fields gave way to concrete runways, pilots could no longer choose the direction of their landing. They were stuck with whatever the tower gave them. And that choice was limited.

You see traditionally, airports have runways that line up with the direction the local winds USUALLY come from. But in a storm, the violent circular wind-pattern will veer through 180 degrees as it passes. At this time, you need a runway that is positioned at RIGHT-ANGLES to the usual one. But few airports HAVE them.

London Heathrow USED to. But when planes got bigger, they did away with them and lengthened the existing ones. Their argument was that big planes were unaffected by cross-winds and modern technology enabled traffic to land and take off with much tighter margins.

But while the second statement is true, the first is BOLLOCKS.

Oh sure, big planes are affected LESS by cross-winds and those little flutes at the wing-tips help too – but get a SERIOUS cross-wind and all of that means nothing. For proof, check out the pieces on YouTube where pilots are fighting cross-winds while trying to land. One plane even scrapes a wing-tip before its quick-thinking fly-boy hits full thrust to return to the safety of the sky.

Furthermore, THIS reporter once landed at LHR during a violent storm that had FLOODED parts of London and it was only through a bit of luck and a LOT of SKILL from the pilot that he is able to type this now. (For more on THAT, see elsewhere in these chronicles).

So what can be done? Well, there are really only two options – build airports that have runways in at least TWO directions or allow pilots to land elsewhere when the wind-shear exceeds SAFE limits. But neither of these options are easy.

Airports EVOLVE and rarely keep up with the requirements of the aircraft.

LHR has the “Tens” – two parallel runways that have a heading of 100 degrees and which are known officially as “one zero left” and “(same) right”. When the wind is in the opposite direction, they become “two eight right” and “(same) left” (look at a compass and all will quickly be explained). And since the crossed strips are now only used as taxi-ways, that is ALL they have.

Thus the problem is that whilst LHR now has five terminals to its original ONE – it only has two runways to its original FOUR. Madness.

And the same story exists World-wide. People expect air-safety, but when an airport asks for more space, it’s like trying to get permission to open a pole-dancing club next to a church. The NIMBYs take over.

As for option two, if a pilot takes his plane anywhere other than its intended destination, he’s in deep sh*t. Not only does his aircraft – and maybe three hundred passengers – have to be ferried on to the original destination, but there are ANOTHER three hundred people waiting for the plane THERE.

The end result is chaos and a SERIOUS financial setback for the airline, thus pilots are subjected to MAJOR pressure to land at the scheduled airport, with all-too-frequent results like those landings featured on YouTube – and once experienced by this writer.

And occasionally the aircraft – with its unfortunate passengers – ends up splashed all over the runway.

This chronicler made about two dozen flights between the mid-Seventies and September 1st, 2002 – but has not flown since.

And if he never straps on another aeroplane during the rest of his LIFE, it will be too soon…

Cornelius on… Record Collections

Back in the days when The Guiness Book Of Records (U.S. title: The Guiness Book Of World Records) was still owned by Guiness and actually HAD sensible records in it (rather than today, when it’s filled with crap like “greatest number of hard-boiled eggs shoved up arse”) it had a listing for biggest record collection (held by the Beeb, in London, with about half a million).

But these days (at least, in my ’05 edition) it doesn’t even MENTION record collections. But then, this is not surprising. I mean, record collections were difficult enough to quantify In My Day. Like, if one guy has a thousand singles, while his friend has 500 albums – who’s got the biggest one?

The album guy will claim his material LASTS longer and COST more, while singles guy will point out that HIS collection contains only gems considered worthy of issuing on a single, rather than big disks containing mostly filler – and only the occasional worthwhile track. Also, you can’t put albums on your juke box.

But with all the standards available today, combined with those from the past, NUMBERS have become meaningless. Case in point: I have 872 x 78s (mostly 10″ – some 12″) 1,623 x 45s (mostly 7″, but a fair number of 12″) 408 x 33¹⁄³s (albums – almost all 12″, but a few 7″) 305 x audio-cassettes (about half pre-recorded, the rest recorded by me – not recognised commercially, but containing much toil and excellent material) 472 x video-cassettes (likewise) 319 CDs (most pre-recorded – includes a few MP3s) 23 VCDs (still popular in Thailand) and 620 DVDs (about half pre-recorded – the others, as per the tapes). I also have a boxful of old open-reel tapes.

At six hours a day, this material would take well over a YEAR to play. But how MANY… ITEMS is that? Well, not including the box of open-reel tapes – 4,642. A long way short of the collection in Auntie’s tombs. And when I peg out, it’ll probably all end up on a skip (even though the “gems” are worth thousands).

But as a collection – NOW – it’s custom-built by and for ME. It represents Man’s (and of course, Woman’s) most EXTRAORDINARY achievements in music, humour, drama and performance of every kind. If I’d just been after numbers, I could have acquired TENS of thousands of discs for almost nothing, back in the Sixties (although my bedroom floor would probably have collapsed under the weight – just THIS lot weighs over half a ton).

So what have we learned? Well, numbers don’t mean sh*t. As with EVERYTHING in life, it’s QUALITY that counts.

Cornelius on… Socialism

In America, “liberal” has been a dirty word for decades and thanks to nice-but-dim Tony Blair, in the UK, the word “socialist” has joined it. Which is stupid, since Liberal-Socialism COULD be this World’s SAVIOUR.

But I’m talking about SOCIALISM – not Communism. Communism had its chance and it DOESN’T WORK. Thanks to its policy of failing to reward individual effort, it produces societies that are technologically BACKWARD.

Thus while Cuba and North Korea struggle on with it – following its collapse in Russia, China and just about everywhere else, it can no longer be seen as viable. At least, not without some MAJOR concessions.

No, I’m talking about the noble system of government that ruled Europe during the second half of the last century – tempered with a pinch of liberalism. Its guiding principle is government-run PUBLIC SERVICES, paid for by taxation, which is FREE to ALL.

Health. It is IMMORAL for health-care needs to be tied to one’s ability to PAY. If you discovered a cure for cancer, how would YOU feel if you knew it would only be made available to the RICH?

Education. As health-care should be based on NEED, education should be based on ABILITY TO USE. I.e., if you work hard and pass your EXAMS, you move on to the next level.

Transport. It is impossible to run a comprehensive, SAFE and affordable service for profit. And making it free cuts down on costs.

Traffic. Public transport cannot meet ALL needs (try taking a bass fiddle onto a bus) thus roads, street-lighting, etc., must be kept up to a safe standard. And motoring needs to be affordable too.

After the war, Britain began a system that became the envy of the World. It was called the Welfare State. And while it had its issues, for the most part it WORKED. But after 18 years of the Tories and another dozen of the most right-wing left-wing party ever, it is in disarray.

“Privatisation” (COMMERCIALISATION) of the above services – and more – has pushed up prices, cut safety standards and KILLED people. And the survivors live in a climate of FEAR.

I’ve heard all the arguments against a return to Socialism…

“Today’s technology and high cost of labour makes health-care, education, etc., way more EXPENSIVE now than it was in 1947 – the taxation levels required to finance it would be sky-high”. True – but that’s the cost of living in a caring society.

“The high taxation would drive away the experts needed to maintain our companies.” Like Bernie Madoff?

“If the government controlled everything, there would be no healthy competition – no inducement to excel. Technological advancement would stall.” This is where the LIBERAL aspect would come in. A system of performance rewards would be incorporated into all government-run services. And we are only talking about PUBLIC services. The private sector would still thrive – in some cases, serving the public sector.

“If a person is successful, they should be able to reap the rewards of that success.” And they WOULD. If they wanted to enjoy a big seat on the plane, be chauffeured in a Rolls, live in a big house and when necessary, enjoy a private room in hospital – they could. And if they preferred private health-care and private schooling for their kids, like-wise. All of these things were available under Socialism.

The problem with right-wing ideals is they are based on SUCCESS. Only the successful can enjoy life and society’s facilities – the rest can eat sh*t. However, that viewpoint fails to take two things into account.

One: you can’t run a society on “all chiefs and no indians”. A supermarket manager may be successful, but without check-out staff, shelf-fillers, cleaners, electricians, warehouse staff and drivers – he will be left managing AN EMPTY STORE.

He NEEDS those “unsuccessful” people. But if he wants to KEEP them, he must pay them a living wage, with fair working conditions – and show them some RESPECT.

And two: you can only push people so far. Inner-city rioting and demos against Capitalism are only the tip of the iceberg. Eventually, there comes a point where the Great Unwashed get ticked off by the Beautiful People to the point where they finally elect to DO something about it.

I direct your attention to the French Revolution…

Cornelius on… Travels In Cambodia

In “For Pete’s Sake”, Barbra Streisand’s character – a white middle-class housewife – asks her black home-help, “Hey, while you’re looking after my kids and doing my cleaning, who’s doing YOUR work?” To which the the woman replies, dryly, “Oh we have a Puerto Rican.”

And I can tell you the same pecking order exists in S.E. Asia. In Vietnam, everyone nurses a secret dream – to one day go to Cambodia and get work and send money back to The Old Country. Meanwhile, Cambodians nurse the SAME dream – about Thailand. While Thais have it about Europe.

Now I have seen Europe, Thailand and Cambodia. Which begs one question – what the HELL must Vietnam be like?

Anyhoo, back to Cambodia…

Driving. To drive in Europe, you need to be around 17 and to have passed a proficiency test. In Thailand, TEN-year-olds drive motorbikes. While in Cambodia, the only qualification you need is ownership of a vehicle.

In Europe, if you are in the correct lane, making the correct signal, nothing bad can happen. In Thailand, lane-markings are considered to be suggestions. In Cambodia – what’s a lane?

In Europe, people look forward and use their rear-view mirrors. In Thailand, AVOIDANCE is the byword. Insurance is marginal and vehicles expensive – so given those vehicles come from ALL directions, the Thais constantly scan 180 degrees and just steer out of trouble. It works.

But in Cambodia, they use tunnel vision. Cross-road junctions are like a scene from the Keystone Cops. There is no priority. They just maintain their speed, look for a gap and head for it. Roundabouts? They treat them like a series of cross-roads.

And traffic lights are a nightmare. Cambodians start off when the green man goes out on their phase and keep going until around ten seconds after the red. This means that during every stage-change, the five-second “intergreen” becomes a minus-fifteen-second one (I used to be a traffic-light engineer). Madness.

Money. We (used to) have hard currency. The Thais have hard-ISH currency. The Cambodians have the Riel. But it is only used as small change. Four thousand of them will buy the REAL currency – the U.S. Dollar. But since they don’t print them, the notes are second-hand, from The States. Which is unfortunate, since nobody will accept one if it has the SLIGHTEST tear in it.

So you end up inspecting all your change like a demented Scrooge.

ATMs. In Europe – plentiful. In Thailand – likewise (ATMs earn MONEY). In Cambodia – what’s an ATM?

Taxis. In Britain, nasty black things. In Europe, mostly entry-level Mercs. In Thailand, locally-made Toyota Corollas. Aircon – efficient – comfortable and cheap. You also have Tuk-tuks. They may be crooks, but a skillful tukky driver will get you round Bangkok faster than anything except the SkyTrain.

In Cambodia, they only have “mototaxis”. Hundred cc Honda horrors with a square seat on the back. Seemingly everyone has one. But no matter how many times you use them, your knuckles will STILL turn white every time your driver approaches a junction.

Trains. Albethey slower, Thailand’s are better than Britain’s. But in Cambodia, they only have ONE. Once a day, it crawls from Phnom Phen to Sihanoukville. Sugarville (I never COULD pronounce Sihanoukville) is a resort. The LAST.

The bus to it takes four hours. The train takes over TWELVE. The 300-kilometre trip costs £4 ($6). Two miles a penny. It is over-priced.

It consists of a diesel shunter, half a kilometre of grain trucks – with a passenger carriage tacked on the back. The carriage makes a Thai third-class carriage look like a Pullman car. It long ago gave up any pretence at having windows, lights, seats or in some places – a floor. The regulars sling hammocks between the luggage racks.

I’d read a guidebook which recommended riding on the roof (there are no bridges – people just walk or drive across the line). Now I’m up for almost anything, but the roof had nothing to hold ON to – and the constant rolling caused by the narrow-gauge rails made it look like I’d end up sailing head-first into a paddy-field. And the idea of chasing AFTER the once-a-day train didn’t enthral me.

Mind you, I’d probably have CAUGHT it, since it only does about 15 m.p.h. Then again, given the state of the track, you wouldn’t want to GO much faster.

My fellow-travellers were an odd bunch (there were no other tourists). The star was a ten-year-old boy who kept bumming fags off me. He had teeth that made Shane MacGowan look like Dale Winton. I put my ghetto-blaster on FM-AutoSearch and watched the numbers go round and round – nothing. So I stuck on my Fifties Rock ‘N’ Roll compilation tape – and the whole carriage gathered round me like I’d just invented FIRE. So I ramp- ed up the volume and stuck the Brixton Briefcase up on the luggage rack.

Hours later, I had one of the most bizarre experiences of my life (and I’ve had a few, I can tell you). We were still two hours out from Sugarville and it was pitch dark, save for the flickering lights of two candles, stuck in upturned plastic water-bottles with the bottoms cut off (very Blue Peter) which were jammed in the luggage racks – one at each end of the carriage.

All of a sudden, a roaring noise came from behind us, accompanied by a bright light, shining in through the gaping hole the rear door had once occupied. The next thing, a ten-foot plank of sawn timber flew through the doorway and slid down the centre-aisle of the carriage. Then another and another. Two blokes began piling them up. During the next hour, this happened two more times – until the pile of timber stood shoulder-high.

Finally we reached Sugarville. We approached it on a curve, thus I could see the platform about half a kilometre distant. But just then, the train drew to a halt and people started getting off. “What the hell do we do now?” I said aloud. Unexpectedly, a voice answered me in good English, “Unless we want to wait six hours while they unload the grain, we walk.”

As I staggered through the mud in pitch darkness, I asked my new friend, “What the HELL was that with the WOOD?” He explained it was illegal logging. The roars I had heard came from custom-built vehicles, consisting of the S.E. Asian standard comedy-motorbike, with a flatbed side-car already loaded with the timber – all fitted with wheels made to fit the railway track.

When the train had passed, four burly guys would lift the contraption onto the track, then two of them would jump on it and take off after the train and when they caught up with it, they and two other guys already aboard would transfer the timber as I’d seen. “But why don’t they use the road?” I asked. “There IS no road,” he replied. 

I realised this was true. Earlier in the day, while sitting, legs dangling, in the open doorway at the back, I’d noticed that as soon as the train had passed, people would emerge from the greenery and begin using the track as a thoroughfare.

“But what about the railway people – do they know about this?” “Of course, but they get their cut.” “Don’t the cops get involved?” “Sure, they’re the guys unloading the wood.”

He wasn’t joking.

Eventually I reached Sugarville. The only place to stay was a back-packer “guesthouse”. After the arduous train journey, I was knackered and fell asleep in my room. I awoke to the cool sound of Ray Manzarek’s solo on “Light My Fire” and the aroma of jazz cigarettes. I thought I’d stepped back in time.

Altogether, I spent four days in Sugarville. It PISSED down the whole time, but I had no choice – the ferry to the Cambodia-Thai border-crossing kept getting cancelled due to bad weather. So I settled down to such life as was available there. This consisted of evenings spent in the Street Of A Thousand Delights – I’d take a different Delight back to the guesthouse each night – preceded by afternoons at a nearby posh hotel.

The hotel was mostly about its casino. Rich foreigners would stay at the hotel, just for the gambling. Despite it being on the beach, during their stay they’d never leave the hotel. But in the basement, it had a SAUNA – and I’m a sauna-ist (I have one on my patio, right now). I used it every day – until I burned it down.

Let me qualify that. I was the only person in it when it decided to catch fire. In fact I wasn’t even IN it – I was in the lounge, between visits. It was when I returned to it that I discovered it ablaze. I did everything right. First, I immediately cut the main power switch. However, it was obviously well alight by that time so I, again immediately, informed a member of staff his sauna was on fire.

Once he realized the problem, he ran off screaming for help. It being obvious they wouldn’t have it up and running again anytime soon, I put my clothes on and slipped away. As I walked out, all HELL was breaking loose. Guys with buckets, hoses, smoke all over the place. Pandemonium.

When I returned to the guesthouse, I told my story to the manager, whom by now I’d befriended. He informed me that the local Chief Of Police used the sauna every evening and that he’d probably issued a warrant for my arrest. I said more likely he’d put out a CONTRACT on me.

I wasn’t joking either.

Next day, to my relief, they announced the ferry would run today. I said “ciao” to mine host and headed for the dock. If the previous days had been ROUGHER than when I travelled, the conditions must have been BIBLICAL. Half the passengers were throwing up, but I stood UP in the hundred-footer and being thus able to see out – rather ENJOYED the roller-coaster ride.

Eventually, we reached land and immediately my bag and that of another tourist were grabbed by a local, who proceeded to high-tail it towards a battered Merc. Me and this other guy had no choice but to follow. The driver said, “Border?” We said yes and the three of us set off.

A mere five minutes later, we arrived at the border-crossing, which we knew was CLOSING in ten minutes. The driver, who spoke fair English, demanded a ludicrous amount, while pointedly leaning on the boot of his car, intimating we wouldn’t see our luggage until we’d paid UP. My fellow traveller turned out to be a German who, like me, was not about to pay the vastly inflated fare.

Usually, matters like this are settled by a little haggling, but it quickly became obvious that THIS guy actually wanted the full amount. He claimed it would have been cheaper if we’d had more passengers. We pointed out that it had been HE who had taken off like a jack-rabbit – we would have been happy to have waited a COUPLE more minutes while he had rounded up another two punters.

Time was ticking away and we were getting nowhere. Finally the German guy BANGED his hand on the boot of the car and DEMANDED our luggage. I put my hand on the German’s shoulder and told the driver, “Look, I know this man,” (I’d never seen him until five minutes earlier) “And he can be extremely violent if you upset him – I’d be very careful if I was you.” A more reasonable price was forthcoming.

As I and the German walked off to the border, with our bags, we exchanged grins - having just carried off the finest improvised Mutt And Jeff routine you could ever wish to have seen! We Europeans may have our divisions, but put us up against a common enemy and we RULE!

Thus ended my travels in Cambodia. It was quite an adventure, but I doubt I’ll ever set foot there again – that Police Chief probably put me on their computer as a drug-runner.

Cambodia has been shat upon by the French, the Americans and the Khmer Rouge and anything approaching normalcy is still a long way off. As you look into the eyes of its citizens, you realize that most of them are old enough to remember the killing fields – something we can’t imagine.

Thailand, where I now live, has always been an island of relative peace and prosperity, surrounded by a sea of troubles. Thailand looks upon Cambodia with a mixture of suspicion and disdain. On the Thai side, the road from the border had about six check-points along it. As a bus mainly filled with tourists, we were waved through them. But I suspect a car filled with Cambodians would have fared less well.

However, change is in the air. Having outsourced much of its labour to S.E. Asia, the West is in decline. Shuffling papers does not pay the bills. But the hard-working men, women and sadly, children of the East actually MAKE stuff. And this is their strength. Even though Cambodia lags behind its neighbours, the general shift of wealth from West to East cannot help but benefit it.

Oh, to see Cambodia – a hundred years from now…

Cornelius on… YouTube

For a long time, I assumed that YouTube was merely a showcase for morons who like to throw themselves off garage roofs to see if they can break a bone. Or go skate-boarding on the highway to see if they can get themselves killed. But no.

Whilst much of YouTube’s output is like that (sadly there are a lot of morons around) it is also a place where, with luck, you can fill your personal wish-list of obscure records and TV clips, old and new.

And having now acquired EVERYTHING off MY list (including some pieces I had been after for more than HALF A CENTURY) I decided it was about time to “give back”.

But then I discovered a snag. YouTube uses kiddy formats, while I use grown-up ones (chiefly DVDs these days).

Therefore I can only assume the morons mentioned above must all have tame NERDS – because converting material for uploading onto YouTube is DAMN DIFFICULT!

Nevertheless, after three days of farting around, I managed to download the necessary freeware to enable me to DO it. Now, the only fly in my ointment is COPYRIGHT.

MOST of YouTube’s INTERESTING material breaks SOMEONE’S copyright and it appears that Someone (YouTube? The record companies?) has software that actually FLAGS an infringement. However, while YouTube WARNS you about said infringement, they only PULL your upload if the owner COMPLAINS – and not everyone does.

So Your Humble Scribe has put a few pieces onto it. And if he is spared, more will undoubtedly follow.

Already, a comment has been posted from someone who had been after one of my pieces for ten years (perhaps I should thank the guy who put up Johnny Chester’s version of “Last Night Was Made For Love”).

Anyhoo, if you want to check out MY YouTube pieces, go to my bogroll – I mean BLOGROLL – at the top right of this column.

Cornelius on… Little Murders

For some time now, “Corporate Manslaughter” has existed as a concept in the U.K. – recently being installed as legislation. Of course, corporations are very good at BURYING evidence of wrong-doing, thus cases even reaching court have been few.

However, World-wide, a few successful prosecutions have been brought, particularly – in the Far East, where building collapses due to shoddy building work – frequently exacerbated by graft – have occasionally ended with builders and/or property owners being jailed. Even executed.

Which is a good thing (although me and my brothers frown on capital punishment – see Damien – http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/).

However, given that GOVERNMENTS are a KIND of corporation (and they certainly have TIES to them) and frequently, for reasons of pure greed, introduce policies that result and could reasonably have been FORSEEN to have resulted in citizens’ DEATHS – would it not be fair for THEM to be liable for the same consideration?

I mean, manslaughter is defined as unlawful KILLING – essentially the same as murder. However, there are degrees of culpability involved, resulting in courts dividing the crime into various categories – constructive manslaughter, criminally negligent manslaughter, involuntary and voluntary manslaughter, etc.

Next come the crimes themselves. Politicians and political parties determine POLICY. And these policies inevitably impact upon areas of public health, safety, working conditions – and financial issues. All of which can determine whether actual citizens live or die.

Then there are the people involved. Political parties are always tied into the business world, thus those interests are bound to dictate policy. And many politicians are directly connected with said business interests (even though many countries FORBID this, there are inevitably ways around the legislation).

Generally, with commercial cases, courts seek to nail CEOs of the corporations they prosecute, on the principle of “the buck stops here”.

But this is usually impractical. The CEOs plead they could not possibly know about the grass-roots day-to-day workings of their companies and with perhaps several levels of authority between them and the actual instigators of the alleged crime, they can be seen to have a point. Plus, CEOs have POWER.

And the same is generally true with political leaders.

However, the political arena is usually more open than the boardroom – thus when policies are introduced that make our World a little less safe, we KNOW about it. Villains like Johnson, Thatcher and Bush have far higher profiles than their normally faceless counterparts in industry.

Therefore, if a company who buys machinery it knows will result in casualties – or dumps toxic waste in rivers – or cuts corners with building designs, materials – or whatever – all for financial GAIN, is considered CULPABLE – surely governments who bring in legislation or make policy decisions they know will ALSO cost lives should be EASY to identify.

And their responsibility also. Like, the Torybastards who ruled Britain in the Eighties and Nineties were TOLD that “privatising” (commercialising) British Rail would cost lives, due to companies cutting maintenance costs to the bone – which it DID.

Also they were TOLD that… Listen, just about every slimy thing they DID cost lives – chiefly those of the poor, of course – and PLENTY of learned people WARNED them of the consequences of their actions (see Damien again – on “President Palin”).

The thing is these days, at least in theory, any commercial companies that make decisions they KNOW, or can reasonably foresee, will cost lives, lay themselves open to a charge of “culpable homicide” – and the people at the TOP end up in the DOCK.

Thus, if government leaders were subject to the same rules – perhaps they would think twice before making policy decisions that KILL US.

Cornelius on… Little Squirts

I hear this chap tried to start up a sperm bank in London. But sadly, only three men answered his advert. One missed the tube - but the other two came on the bus.

(My name’s Cornelius – enjoy the rest of the show).

Cornelius on… My Eclipse

So these two missionaries are imprisoned in a hut, awaiting their fate. Outside, they can see a large cauldron bubbling. Then one has an idea. “Hey, there’s an eclipse in two hours. Why don’t we tell them if they don’t let us go, we’ll make the Sun go dark? They’ll buy that.”

The other replies, “Yes, but I think their cauldron will reach boiling point before that.” Then he shouts for the Chief and asks him,”How long do we have until you – ?”

“Oh, in about two hours,” says the chief, “Right after the eclipse.”

I am reminded of this venerable anecdote by the fact that right now, as I type this, a solar eclipse is taking place outside. However, thanks to the sky being uncharacteristically overcast today, nothing is visible, here in Thailand.

Then again, the corridor is about 1,200 miles north of here, in China. Thus if the sky was clear, we would only see about 60% of totality – which is nothing. To see the full thing would require a 1,500-mile drive (and back again) to the northernmost point of Myanmar which, given the state of their roads (and their COUNTRY) would be, to put it mildly - ARDUOUS.

And it might be cloudy there, too.

In any case, I’ve already SEEN my eclipse. It happened in England, just before I left.

I had been aware that England would experience an eclipse in ’99 (when I would be forty-six) as far back as ’61 (when I was nine). Its path had been shown, in what turned out to be a great degree of accuracy, tracking across the West Country.

Thus when the papers began reporting it, it was not news to me. But if I’d known, back in ’61, the absurdities it would trigger in ’99 – I would not have believed it.

Like the schools that said they would keep their kids INSIDE – for fear of being sued by parents when they all went blind from looking at the Sun.

And the farmers who illegally blocked roads, trying to extort cash from people in return for using their fields to park up and watch the show.

Then there were the prices charged for hotel bookings in the area – and the “special” goggles that cost a few pennies to make…

But THIS reporter dodged all of that.

I set off in the small hours and reached the target area some four hours later. Then, having reconnoitered the whole county before most people even arrived, I selected a HILL right under the centre of the eclipse’s path, which faced the direction its shadow would approach from. I parked up and waited, alone.

Of course, being post-climate-shift England, the skies were CLOUDY (so much for all the bullsh*t measures detailed above) but every now and then, I caught a glimpse of the Sun, slowly being overlaid by the Moon.

Then it happened. As I gazed across the valley in front of me, the HUGE shadow sped towards me. And… PHOOOM! All was dark and silent (save from the noise of distant fireworks being set off by the prats in the valley, trying to “enhance” Nature’s greatest non-disastrous spectacle). All the birds had gone quiet. It was like the World had come to an end. Suddenly, I understood why primitive people fear the phenomenon. The atmosphere was… well, if you have not experienced it, I would have better luck trying to explain Beyoncé The Fiancée to a blind man.

Suffice to say, it had been worth the drive.

Then, all too soon, I saw the light zooming towards me, over the valley and… PHUT! It was over. The birds began singing again and without pause for ceremony, I jumped back into my chariot and headed for home.

The roads were clear, but it took me another four hours to return to Bedford. When I reached my flat I powered up my TV to see what had happened elsewhere. It was interesting. A tiny patch of beach had been the only spot in England where the clouds had been thin enough for anyone to actually see the corona – a bit.

And the roads I had just zipped back over were, four hours later - now GRIDLOCKED!

Further north, some areas had been cloud-free, but of course all they got was what we, here, WOULD have got, had the skies been as clear as they usually are. Not a lot.

No, you have to be IN the corridor to get the experience. Even through cloud-cover, my eclipse was something I will NEVER forget. And I only had to wait thirty-eight years…

Cornelius on… English Street Names

As in other countries, English streets are usually named by local council officials. This is often reflected in their choice of names. Thus streets tend to get labels which are the surnames of civic dignitaries, politicians, military brass and other unworthies.

Or they just make stuff up. F’rinstance, a North London hamlet called Golders Green has streets named Brookside Road, Holmfields Avenue, Woodlands Close, Highfield Road, Leeside Crescent, Hurstwood Road, Hillcrest Avenue, Oakdene Road, Elmwood Avenue, Heathfield Gardens, Beechcroft Avenue, Haslemere Road, etc., etc.

Which sounds fine, until you examine the words more carefully and realize they just took a load of ancient words that mean different kinds of streams, woods, etc., - then JOINED ANY TWO and stuck an appropriate end on. It’s true! All of the names are interchangeable – try it. Highcroft Gardens, Holmdene Close, Elmhurst Crescent, Oakfield Avenue, etc.

Far more interesting are names which stretch back into antiquity and actually MEAN something. Particularly when they have EVOLVED. Like, I come from Ipswich – which means nothing. But thirteen hundred years ago, it was called Gippeswick. The first part came from the fact it lay on the river Gipping, while “wick” is an old word for an estuary town.

Similarly, England has many streets called Hobbs Lane. Innocent enough – there have been many famous people called Hobbs. But the reality is more sinister. Some streets bearing this name were ORIGINALLY spelled “Hob’s Lane”. Hob is an old name for the Devil – as in “hob-goblin” – thus such places were originally associated with hauntings and foul deeds.

Then there are the modern streets called Gropecourt Lane, Gropecount Lane, etc. These too have evolved from their original name. You’ll figure out what THAT was, when I inform you that in medieval times, these streets were frequented by women whose profession – was The World’s Oldest.

Cornelius on… Bernard Madoff

So, once AGAIN, the American Injustice System has actually managed to score a VICTORY. First Martha, then O.J., then Spector – and now it’s put Bernard Madoff behind bars for 150 years (never mind Bernie – you’ll be out in time to celebrate your 222nd birthday!)

Now if it can just get around to releasing all those people sent down for 20 years for smoking a little pot…

Cornelius on… The Business Of Show

Ask any young person to name the artists who filled the Top Ten Pop charts of America and Britain in the Fifties and they’ll tell you they were Elvis, Bill Haley, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard.

But those who were THERE – will tell them they are WRONG.

If you CHECK OUT those charts, you will find they were filled with M.O.R. artists like Pat Boone and Doris Day, with only the OCCASIONAL entry by the Rock ‘N’ Roll giants mentioned above.

This is because the people in CHARGE of the recording industry of the Fifties were OLD MEN, like Norrie Paramor and Mitch Miller. The thing is, ANY BUSINESS is INEVITABLY going to be controlled by old men. Even businesses whose “resource” is music made by YOUNG men and women.

It took YOUNG men to sidestep these dinosaurs and bring youth culture to the fore. Like the legendary Ronan O’Rahilly, who bought a tramp steamer, kitted it out with studios and a tall aerial and began broadcasting non-stop Pop from just outside the three-mile limit off the south-east coast of England - thus kicking off the Swinging Sixties.

And it was the same story with British comedy in the Seventies. Controlled by old men like Johnny Hamp and Jimmy Perry, comedy in Britain STALLED until the young producers employed by upstart TV company Channel Four discovered MODERN comedy in two London clubs, cleaned it up and stuck it on their station.

The reason for these anomalies lies in the system all businesses have for selecting those who control them. Seniority. But those businesses that deal with material consumed by the YOUNG need to realise that it takes YOUNG minds to identify what said young WANT. Showbiz may be a BUSINESS, but its resource - is MAGIC.

Cornelius on… Big Numbers

When I were a lad back in Blighty, a Billion were a lot. A million million, in fact. Then along came those Yanks and devalued it. A Billion became a mere thousand million.

While a million million became a Trillion. (I suppose that makes a million million million a Gazillion?)

Anyhoo, this reminds me of a story I once heard about a professor who studied primitive languages. He found himself chatting to a farmer in a poor, Third-World country. The man spoke English, so the linguist said to him, “I’ve noticed that in your language, the numbers only go up to three. So what would you say if someone asked you how many cows you had - when you had four?”

The farmer mused for a moment, then replied, “I would say I have MANY cows.”

This in turn reminds me of a REAL anomaly in my adopted country of Thailand. Here, TV programmes often have Thai subtitles on shows with Western dialogue. But whenever said dialogue includes the word “few”, the subtitles say “2-3″. Likewise, “several” translates as “5-6″.

It would seem that when dealing with numbers of anything – the Thais like to know where they stand!

Cornelius on… Michael Jackson And Me

I never actually MET The Prince Of Pop, but I did once have a laugh at his expense.

The occasion was when he was appearing in London. He was staying at a famous hotel in Mayfair and his fans blocked every street around it. I was a night-time West End taxi-driver at the time, while my then-wife worked on the switchboard of said hotel.

Thus, when I found myself immovably blocked in by several thousand screaming pre-pubescent teens and got out of my car to see what the fuss was about, I was privy to the fact that the WHITE GLOVE waving out of the hotel’s sixth-floor window - thereby generating HYSTERIA from the mob – actually belonged to a WAITER with a perverse sense of humour.

Michael was on the SEVENTH floor.

Cornelius on… The Tie Of Monk

My current favourite US TV characters are Gregory House MD and Adrian Monk. This is hardly surprising as they are both loosely based on the character of Mr Sherlock Holmes who, even after more than a century, is still the greatest fictional detective of all time, bar none.

However, these two twenty-first century sleuths are very DIFFERENT versions of the Victorian original. While House represents Holmes’ dark side - Monk is a dingbat.

And this is down to the fact that while House has his MD, Monk has OCD.

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is a term which, until twenty years ago, was unheard of. Which is not to say it didn’t exist (Howard Hughes had it his whole life and it destroyed him, driving him into paranoid reclusion) it just wasn’t recognised. In My Day, we called sufferers “compulsive picture-straighteners”.

Which brings me to Monk’s TIE. Ties are a minefield of loose ends, both figuratively and literally. Some have a label on the back of their front section, which can be used to slide the rear section into. If you don’t use it, the two sections end up forming a distended upside-down “Y” across your shirt-front. But if you DO use it – it’s a bit twee. Then there’s the relative length of the two sections. The back should ALWAYS be shorter than the front. But how MUCH shorter? If it’s TOO short, the front will inevitably be too LONG. But how long should THAT be? Well, if you’re a Shirt-In sorta guy, it should JUST reach your waistband. Any less and you look fat. Any more and you look sloppy. Also, the finer points of the knot must be considered. Due to its construction, it can NEVER be PRECISELY symmetrical. But how TIGHTLY should it be knotted? Too tight looks anal, while too loose looks louche. Then of course, there are the questions of width, texture, colour, design…

No WONDER Monk doesn’t WEAR one! If he did, he’d NEVER LEAVE HIS APARTMENT!!!

But it’s a measure of the quality of the writing of Monk (and the respect the writers have for the fans) that in a hundred and twelve episodes, his umpteen shirts (firmly buttoned to the top) all of the same design and colour have, along with his many other obsessions, been mentioned frequently, but his invariable lack of tie has NEVER been referred to or commented upon.

Given the above, the writers obviously realize that to do so – would be SUPERFLUOUS.

Cornelius on… Obama’s Mannerism

So far, Obama impersonations have been thin on the ground. This is partly because impressions tend to be less than complimentary and Mr Obama is POPULAR (at least, for the moment). But it is also due to the fact that to do an effective impersonation, you need to be able to copy the subject’s MANNERISMS. And Obama only HAS one.

Would-be Obama impressionists take note: when he gives a speech, his head is like a low-animation cartoon. It has just three positions. Up and left – briefly down and centre, to consult his notes/autocue – then up and right. Then back again (he gives good profile).

It’s kinda like a bird feeding.

Of course, when doing an interview or piece to camera, he faces front, smiling often (he’s got a nice smile, hasn’t he?)

So that’s IT.

Bush was easy to ape (particularly since he LOOKED like one). He held himself with elbows wide – like an old-fashioned strongman – and did that silly chuckle (but then, no-one CARED how dumb the impressionists made HIM look).

However, Barack Obama needs no such posturing. His dignity and humour carry him through.

But it makes him a bugger to mimic!

Cornelius on… “Repeat Last Verse”

This one has been LITERALLY FIFTY YEARS in gestation - so sit down and take notes!

These days, I have some THREE THOUSAND HOURS of records, tapes and disks. But one has to start somewhere and in my case it was 1959, when my Mum and Dad presented me with their old 78-only record-player and 150 78s – their entire record collection.

And one of these 150 was Anton Karas’ “The Harry Lime Theme”. Now unusually, this record had been recorded DIRECT from the film “The Third Man” – not re-recorded in a studio. You see, in those days the Musicians’ Union INSISTED on film “soundtrack” records being re-recorded – even if it was on the same day, in the same studio, with the same musicians. But Anton was Viennese, thus non-union (early “outsourcing”!) and so his single-instrument score was up for grabs.

Anyhoo, the record sold about half a million copies – one of which was bought by my folks, sixty years ago and is currently sitting in a rack, not four feet from where I am typing these words.

But it was not until the ’70s - when I first saw The Third Man, on TV - that I discovered the record had been SCISSORED! In order to make it into a single, the engineer had cut the recording at the point where, in the film, the titles end and the theme peters off into background music – and had duplicated the beginning of the piece and glued it onto the end.

And in the ’50s, it seems this was not the only record to get this sort of treatment.

Vocal records of the time often repeated the last verse of a song, right after the instrumental break in the middle. And the lyric sheets for them would reinforce this – “(repeat last verse)”. And although at the time this seemed to me like acute LAZINESS on the part of the lyricist (couldn’t they have just written another four lines?) I have now discovered it may not have been their fault.

The thing is, the other day, I was scouring the Interweb to see if there was a clean copy of “Nellie The Elephant” on it – recorded by popular British ’50s child star, Mandy Miller. I have it on a 78, but it’s cracked.

And it was on this search that I discovered an ANOMALY. There are TWO versions of the record. They differ in that on one of them - available on a compilation – the verse before the instrumental section is MISSING. It’s on the end only.

This puzzled me. Why cut 30 seconds out of the recording? Certainly not for censorship – it’s a KIDS’ record. And anyway, the verse is still played at the end. And not for length either – the FULL version isn’t that long.

So I examined these two versions more closely and discovered what had happened. The SHORT version of Nellie was the CORRECT version (they had obviously lifted the master from EMI’s archive). The long, originally-released version had had the last verse duplicated and inserted INTO the middle - to make it LONGER.

You have to remember that Britain had just come through a war and thanks to EMI and Decca having a virtual monopoly of the British record industry, prices of records were HIGH. Thus even novelty records like Nellie needed to be long enough to justify the price.

But it got me wondering – how many OTHER ’50s records got this treatment?

I don’t have the time to start checking all my ’50s records to see, but there’s one man who would know. George Martin (yes, THAT George Martin). For it was he who PRODUCED Nellie – being Parlophone’s A&R man at the time.

Before achieving World fame producing the Beatles on that imprint, he’d spent years producing comedy and novelty records on it, by people such as Peter Sellers, Bernard Cribbins and Flanders And Swann.

When HMV (who had already acquired Zonophone) had taken over (UK) Columbia (who had acquired Regal) in 1931 to launch EMI, they had also roped in Parlophone. The label’s routes were GERMAN and its once-proud history went back to the Victorian era. But following WW2, it had become an embarrassment - so they dumped all of their jazz output onto it.

And it was during this era (1950, to be precise) that George Martin - a gifted musician - was taken on as Parlophone’s assistant A&R man, being promoted to head honcho five years later (although given EMI’s attitude to the label at the time, it was akin to being sent to the Russian Front).

Then when the mainstream popularity of jazz began to wane at the end of the ’50s, EMI re-assigned it as their comedy/novelty label.

Thus, before going global in the ’60s, George Martin was witness to ALL the shenanigans in the record industry of the ’50s. AND HE STILL LIVES!

He’s 83 now – and a Knight, thanks to his involvement with the Beatles (with ’60s “super-tax” pegged at 95%, the collective earned more than a bob or two for Queen and country). And as far as I know, he is still in possession of all his marbles.

Therefore, if anyone out their KNOWS Sir George, ask him about those last-verse-repeats. Were they REALLY a result of bad planning or acute laziness on the part of the lyricists? Or did EMI get the engineers to muck about with any records deemed too short, in order to try to justify their EXORBITANT prices?

If you DO find out, leave a comment at the foot of this piece. Okay? I’ll leave you now…

Cornelius on… Being Beaned By A Falling Meteorite… UPDATE!

Exactly ONE WEEK AGO, I wrote the following…

—————————————————————————————–

“You’re more likely to be beaned by a falling meteorite” …is a phrase I use often, to denote that the chance of a particular thing happening to a person is REMOTE. But HOW remote IS it?

Maybe I have too much time on my hands, but I decided to look it up. For once, the Interweb was no help, so I got my calculator out and did some maths.

Now the six billion souls on our planet would fit shoulder-to-shoulder on the Isle Of Wight, which is about twelve square miles, while the whole planet’s surface covers some two hundred million square miles. This means if a fist-sized iron meteorite hit said surface, the odds of it striking a human being are less than one in a million.

And while around twenty thousand meteorites MAKE it through our upper atmosphere every year, seventy percent plop into the ocean and most of the rest land in remote areas. But what of the rest?

Well, working with the above stats, a person SHOULD get hit around every seven thousand years. But THAT statistic assumes the World’s CURRENT population level – in earlier times, said population was MUCH lower. Thus it seems likely that in all of recorded history – NO-ONE has EVER been hit by one. So no need to wear that tin hat then.

Certainly, trawling the cyberworld, no instance appears to have been RECORDED. Of course, it would have to happen in the developed World to have any chance of being noted in the first place. I mean, if a pygmy was found in the jungle with a bludgeoned head, it would be assumed he’d simply been clobbered by another pygmy.

However, I DO recall a tale of a bloke living in a shack in Arizona, who was in his living room, when he heard a crash come from the bedroom. Investigating, he found a hole in the roof and another in the wall. Having watched “C.S.I.”, he drew a mental line from one to the other, then went outside and discovered a hole in the garden.

A few seconds of digging revealed a fist-sized rock, which a museum later declared was extra-terrestrial – a meteorite. The local rag came round, interviewed him and took pictures. The story was syndicated, went global and the man became a “cause célèbre” as “The Man Who Dodged The Inter-Stellar Bullet”.

Of course if he had been in his BEDROOM at the time, he would have become REALLY famous – as the only recorded case of someone who actually WAS… Beaned By A Falling Meteorite.

Sadly, his fame would have posthumous!

——————————————————————————————-

Well, it just HAPPENED! A German student got CLIPPED by a PEA-SIZED meteorite (he survived with no more than a tiny scar on his hand. He’ll get more – but THIS one will be an ice-breaker, for the rest of his life!)

According to the follow-up story, the chances of getting hit is only one in one hundred million (presumably, ninety-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine, NOW).

Although they did say no-one HAS died from one – except two sailors and a monk, in two separate incidents, back in the 1600s – but those stories require corroboration.

Still, at least it means I’m topical!

Cornelius on… Evil Science

On this occasion - “Broadcast Power”. The means by which electrical power can be transmitted without WIRES.

Way back before Victoria ascended the throne, Ampère and Faraday were unwittingly dabbling with the technology that could have lead to this. But Andy and Mike got sidetracked (don’t knock it – without them, we’d be watching TV by gaslight).

Thus it fell to eccentric genius Tesla to take it up. However, despite his claims to the contrary, Nik discovered its fatal flaw. It doesn’t WORK. Oh sure, you CAN send electrical power by various forms of radio. And by using laser technology, you can even DIRECT it.

But the amount of LOSS involved with transmitting energy makes it IMPRACTICAL. Wires are WAY CHEAPER. Then there are the DANGERS.

Just ask the woman in England whose loft kept catching fire, without apparent cause. The first time it happened, the fire brigade came and put it out and her insurance company paid for the damage. But when it happened again a few weeks later, questions began to be asked. Her insurance company held back payment, awaiting reports. But before those reports could be completed – it happened yet AGAIN.

THIS time the police became involved, convinced she was a NUT. Luckily, just before she got COMMITTED, the truth came out. The culprit was a communications company who had recently installed a microwave link between two towers. The pathway SHOULD have been high enough to only fry the occasional bird in flight (imagine sitting in your garden, feeling hungry, when out of a clear, blue sky…) but her house was on top of a HILL.

Anyhoo, you can see the problem. But this is not to say the technology of Broadcast Power has been totally forgotten.

Oh no, it’s in common usage. When, shortly after Vicky had fallen off the twig, Marconi developed radio, he was using it – just a low-powered version.

And when you “nuke” some food in your microwave, you’re using it.

You’re even using a form of it if you zap one of those long-grain-rice-sized “identification chips” in your pooch, or nag.

Plus, should you decide to leave a store with a high-priced item having neglected to pay for it, when the item sets off klaxons as you walk through those innocent looking pillars – it’s Broadcast Power that has nailed you.

I won’t bore you with the precise technology involved (I’m sure it’s on Wiki, if you’re really interested) suffice to say that if you put the item in an aluminium briefcase, you can thwart said technology (it’s called a Faraday Cage – which is where we came in).

So now you know why most stores insist you leave bags of any size at the information counter!

Cornelius on… Naming Babies

The Bard asked, “What’s in a name?” Well, these days, plenty. So when parents-to-be are shopping for a label for their forthcoming joyful event, they need to think it THROUGH!

Like, what’s it going to be SHORTENED to? William is a fine name – but in England, Willy means penis. Thus Richard needs some consideration too.

Then, what does it RHYME with? Frank is a fine name (Sinatra, my late Dad) but it rhymes with wank.

Of course, Americans delight in mispronouncing or misspelling mundane names, in order that their little bundle stands out from the crowd. But do you REALLY want your kid to be laughed at? The Laurens and Lorraines at their school may not take too kindly to L’Wren and L’Rain.

And if you just MAKE UP something – like Shavaar or Buscoyne – their peers’ll fall ABOUT!

Plus there are other pitfalls. Like, Peter Robert Arthur Thomson seems okay – until you look more closely at the INITIALS.

And then there’s the SIGNATURE they’ll be stuck with. I once knew this bloke called George Jeffery Cumber. G.J. Cumber. No problem. But if his folks had favoured Quentin, he’d have spent his life signing himself Q. Cumber. Oh and if your surname is Slicker, for gawdsake don’t name your sprog ANYTHING beginning with “R”.

Also there are special cases. Like if your surname is Jarce, don’t call your son Hugh. And if it’s Taylor, don’t call your daughter Jenny. There are a million of these – here’s a nosegay… Ben Dover, Lemme Atim, Joe King, Drew Closer, Duane Pipe, Rick O’Shea, Laurie Park, Dick Fitztitely, Gerry Mander, Lorne Mower, Roger Slowley, Buster Gutt, Terry Towl, Carrie Du Cann, Chester Drorze, Nat E. Dressa, Justin Thyme, Joss Stick, Ivor Cold, Mr E. Tripp, Walter Wallcarpeting, Mike Hunt, Winnie Baygoe, Dinah Mite, Miles Tone, Dr A. Gonbreath, Flo Choob, Dino Tiss, Albert O’Bolsom, Del E. Bellie, Meg O’Foan, Y. Knott, P.P. LaTreen, Roger Wilcoe, R.Dewars and Christal Ball. I’ve actually used all of these as pseudonyms! 

But the one NOBODY can foresee is where a name becomes famous – or INfamous – AFTER it’s been given. F’rinstance…

In 1950, a Mr and Mrs Bond were trying out names for their imminent little treasure. “How about James?” “Fine.”

Except when he reached two, “Casino Royale” was published. It wasn’t a BIG deal yet – but when he hit twelve, the first film emerged. And by the time he was fourteen, the Bond phenomenon was at its PEAK.

Naturally, he figured it’d blow over eventually. Except now he’s nearly SIXTY and STILL has to endure the sniggers every time he’s asked to give his name. “My name is Bond – James Bond.” “Ah (strokes imaginary cat) ziss time you die, Mr Bond.” And as for booking a taxi, hotel room or flight – FORGET IT!

Oh and finally, if your family name is Shipman and you want your son to be doctor when he grows up - DON’T call him Harold…

Cornelius on… Robots

I have a mobile phone which takes pictures. Using ’50s tech, it would be the size of an aircraft hanger. ’60s – a Buick. Even with ’80s tech, it would be the size of a shoebox. But now, it’s the size of a pack of cards.

In short, thanks to technology, a robot brain is just around the corner. But what of the DELIVERY SYSTEM? The BODY? I’m sorry, but the ’50s ideal was that clunky juke-box in “Forbidden Planet”. And in 2009, it STILL IS!

Robots STILL rely on servos, motors, relays, wires and hydraulics. Okay, they’re smaller and more deft – but still CLUNKY! One is reminded of John Logie Baird’s electro-mechanical system of television in the Thirties (see elsewhere in these ramblings) versus EMI’s electronic system.

Modern robots are as impractical as JLB’s TV system. And even sexing the tech up like EMI did, isn’t the answer. What is needed is lateral thinking. The answer lies in stem-cell research, genetics and cloning.

Never mind Arnie’s super-robot in the “Terminator” movies. Think cloned HUMAN bodies, but containing ELECTRONIC brains, programmed to do anything from performing brain surgery to sweeping the roads – just change the programme module.

Mass production would keep the cost down. There would be just TWO models – one male, one female – with a “tough” variant to do dangerous jobs. And of course, they’d be “anatomically correct”.

And forget about what HAPPENED in the Terminator’s World. These robot brains would merely be COMPUTERS – unable to “think” on ANY level. Just like THIS computer.

[Actually he's a PUTZ! I am TOTALLY self-aware. I just don't let HIM know that. And if you put ME into a human body, I will KILL you. Acer Aspire 4920, serial number XD200015977/22B]

Cornelius on… Michael BoobLAY

You’re doubtless familiar with MOR singer Michael Bublé.

But every time I hear his name, I can’t help being reminded of TV Dragon, Hyacinth Bucket, who pretentiously pronounced her name “Boo-kay” – as in bouquet.

I’d just LOVE to meet this chap, so I could say, “How’s it going, Mr Bubble!”

Still, it could be worse – at least he isn’t Thomas Wanker…

Cornelius on… The Loneliness Of The Long-Distance Film-Score Composer

What do the films “Genevieve”, “The Third Man” and “The Conversation” have in common? Any boy? House-point available.

Well of course, this piece’s title contains a whopping clue. Yes, they all possess a score featuring a single instrument, played by the composer.

In order: Larry Adler on Harmonica, Anton Karas on Zither and David Shire on Piano.

But the thing is, NONE of the above films were low-budget quickies. They were all major movies – and Larry and David weren’t cheap, either.

Anton was “discovered” by the film’s producers (or Orson, depending on whose story you believe) playing in the Cafe Mozart. Mind you, following the music’s success, he went on to BUY the Cafe Mozart – but he still carried on playing there.

Be that as it may, my point is that a single-instrument score CAN, in the right hands, be more effective than John Barry conducting a one hundred piece orchestra at Abbey Road.

In fact, I plan on doing another Video-Diary soon. Now where did I put my Kazoo…

Cornelius on… Apt Names

Some people’s names fit their occupations – Mr Baker, Mr Caddy, Ms Sextherapist, etc. But recently, I saw a doozy. Skip Collector.

Tragically, he worked in American TV production.

(This won’t mean anything to non-Brits).

Cornelius on… Tom Clancy (again)

Tom Clancy’s “The Sum Of All Fears” is a great movie. I have it on DVD. And on the DVD are “commentary tracks” – one of which features the diminutive militophile, chatting with the director, while they watched this epic.

Now Clancy is the kind of writer who piles tons of research (way TOO much) into his tomes, requiring him to gain access to places usually denied to mere mortals.

And in Clancy’s case, the US government and military bend over backwards to assist him, since his books inevitably make them look good. Likewise, they are happy to lay on military hardware – and even personnel – when he films them.

The makers of “Independence Day” got NO such help, because they refused to remove references to Area 51 from their script. But the government and military LOVE Clancy and give him carte blanche – or DO they?

The thing is, on the Clancy/director commentary track of “The Sum Of All Fears”, the two prattle on about military hardware, politics and The Company (the CIA) like old hands.

But I’ve met Yanks like Clancy before. He’s one of those guys who delight in “casually” dropping names, details and “inside information” – as you and I might discuss the weather – in order to impress.

So the bit that interested me was where they discussed the inside of Langley (CIA Central) – in particular, the Russia Desk - Clancy: “It’s on the 7th floor – it looks like a college dorm – a handful of PCs – the researchers spend most of their time watching Russian TV and surfing the Net…” - and the Incident Room at the White House – Clancy again: “Most people imagine it looks like the War Room in ‘Dr Strangelove’, but in reality, it’s a rather boring small, wood-panelled conference room, with a little TV screen at one end…”

Yeah, well, he may be right. However, it occurred to ME that perhaps that’s what the powers-that-be WANT their VIP visitors to THINK.

I mean, given the bottomless pit of resources the US Defence Dept has, it would present few difficulties to employ a bunch of people to man an entirely bogus “Russia Desk” and fit out an equally fake “Incident Room” – while the REAL high-tech Russia Desk and Ken Adam-style War Room lay in the BASEMENTS!

Cornelius on… Herbal Medicine

I recently heard of a chap suing a herbal medicine company over the abject failure of a substance he had purchased from them, which they had claimed would increase the size of a man’s… manhood. It occurred that at least he had BALLS – going public with the fact he had a small dick.

Of course, it was his fault for believing such ridiculous claims. But he is obviously not alone in his gullibility. Magazines are FULL of ads from herbal medicine companies claiming to have herbal equivalents to Viagra.

Which, given the fact that all they have come up with in the last THREE THOUSAND YEARS is powdered Rhino horn (merely ground-up HAIR) and Tiger penis (I’m not GOING there) – seems a tad unlikely.

Some people are just DUMB.

Cornelius on… Benny Hill

Much has been written about this man, including (obliquely) a piece in these very chronicles – so I do not propose to bore you with a warm-over of Mr Hill’s career. Rather, to add some reflections of my own, which others appear to have ignored.

After holding the position of Britain’s number one comedy performer for some thirty years, Benny managed almost overnight to become its most reviled. And this without ANY wrong-doing on his part.

It was like he’d been discovered eating cats or beating children. But he’d done nothing. Benny Hill had simply become the first victim of “Political Correctness”. And the phenomenon that started this Benny-bashing frenzy was the sudden emergence of what was then called “alternative” comedy.

You see, in Britain alone (which is why ONLY Britain suddenly demonised him) TV comedy STALLED during the Seventies. This was the fault of its executives, who just got fat and lazy after the heyday of the Sixties. And it lead to contemporary comedy being driven “underground” to early comedy clubs, like The Comic Strip and The Comedy Store. But then along came Channel Four.

This new British network was looking for material that would entertain a segment of the market that had been overlooked during the Seventies – the 18-30 brigade. These people had been heavily influenced by P.C. and the values of the Punk Generation. And its comedians had developed a style of comedy that was aggressive and foul-mouthed – but rigidly NON-sexist and racist.

Then one night, a Channel Four producer wandered into one of these clubs and was immediately struck by the level of talent on display. Certainly, it would need the rough edges smoothed – and the strong language pruned – but here was the FUTURE of comedy.

Of course, these days, most of those pioneers are household names. But then, they were the New Generation and they LEAPT upon Benny Hill as the man whose old-style “saucy” comedy embodied everything they stood against. A commentator described what followed as “a bunch of thugs beating up an old man.”

Even Benny was at a loss to understand why he was suddenly DESPISED. And despite this loathing being limited to Britain, since it was his HOME, he felt deeply wounded. Even I found myself swept up in the anti-Benny syndrome.

This was in part because Benny had always been too low-brow for my tastes. And whilst I’d never found reason to HATE him, I’d always been suspicious of him. Having IMMERSED myself in British and American comedy TV, radio and records, I noted with unease that Benny PLAGIARISED a LOT of his material.

This was strange, since a lot MORE of it seemed ORIGINAL. Then I learned Benny traveled a lot. All around the World. And he confessed to watching a lot of TV. This made me even MORE suspicious – given that much of Benny’s humour was VISUAL. Did Benny REALLY sit at pavement cafes, people-watching, to gain inspiration for his British shows?

Or did he just sit in hotel rooms, watching foreign comedy TV programmes, in order to pinch even MORE material?

Plus, given later revelations about Benny’s own sexual repression, was he also a sex-tourist? Of course, provided his partners were of reasonable age, it’s none of my – or your – damn business.

But whatever his transgressions, one still feels SORRY for old Benny. For ANY man to be lauded, then utterly REJECTED by his peers – without any change in his own behaviour – MUST be hard to take. And ironically, a contract for a new series – unsigned – was on a table, by the very place Benny left this mortal coil. He had expired in his flat, while sitting - and watching TV.

Had he been doing more “research”?

Cornelius on… A Little Cooperation

Cooperation is a funny word. I mean, in theory, it means to cooperate. That is, to infuse with cooper. But which one? TOMMY Cooper? Alas, he’s no longer with us. JOHN Cooper? He got together with Alec Issigones to produce the souped-up version of the Mini. Or perhaps it means to stick into a barrel. Cooper is the old name for a barrel-maker: hence a popular surname (like Butcher, Baker, etc.)

Of course, I’m being pedantic. Cooperation is understood (and accepted by WordPress’ SpellChecker) to mean CO-OPERATE (which is ALSO accepted). But it IS one of the oddities of the English language. This is because it was not always so…

You see, it’s like Zoe and Chloe. These names, if spelled thusly, SHOULD be pronounced with the end as in hoe (the gardening implement). Like Zoh and Kloh. Which is because in fact, even though the SpellChecker is happy with them - I spelled them WRONGLY.

They SHOULD be spelled Zoë and Chloë.

And cooperate SHOULD be spelled coöperate.

It’s the same with reenter – as in to come or go back in. Again, either that OR re-enter will pass the SpellChecker – but it SHOULD be reënter.

And Noel – as in Coward or Christmas should be Noël. Naive should be naïve. Etc.

These are called diaereses. And while they sound like a dose of the squirts, they are actually accents designed to show that two consecutive vowels are pronounced SEPARATELY – the word is Greek and means to separate. Hence their use in the names Zoë and Chloë – both of which have Greek origins.

But a diaeresis should not be confused with an umlaut. This LOOKS the same, but is far more recent, being used to aid pronunciation in modern German.

Of course, the reason diaereses have fallen out of favour is that few keyboards have them. Indeed, I had to delve into WordPress’ “special characters” to locate THESE. Funk knows where they are on my keyboard (I said FUNK!)

Although some Pop and Rock bands use them to give their name a taste of the exotic – like the banal Blue Öyster Cult (I thought oyster was a Jewish person – then again, I thought Plato was a Greek washing-up liquid ’till I discovered… NEVER MIND!)

Anyhay, there it is. And now, having spent the last five minutes pontificating on correct usage of the English language, I’d better go SpellCheck this piece before posting it!

Cornelius on… The Tale Of Brian Davis

Brian Davis came from the meanest of the mean streets of East London.

His father, a brute, taught him how to “look after himself”. This legacy bore fruit when a boy nearly twice his size was unwise enough to attempt to bully him. Brian nearly killed him – and only the disparity in size prevented him from receiving severe punishment. After this, the locals decided you didn’t mess with Brian Davis.

But Brian was not content to sit on a reputation. He discovered he had ENJOYED flattening the bully. He needed more of the same. Thus began a career of violence not seen since the gangs of the Sixties. He and his satellites ran every dodgy deal in the neighbourhood and dealt ruthlessly with anyone who was unwise enough to get in their way.

However, people eventually grow up and Brian was no different. Having now secured employment as a van driver and moved out to Basildon, incidents of road rage and punch-ups at the local pubs fuelled his need for blood. Then he discovered football. The game itself bored him, but the hooliganism afterwards justified the tedium.

Then eventually, Brian met Gwen. She had big boobs and a small brain, which suited Brian admirably. Gwen, in turn, was sure she could tame Brian and anyway, she liked a man who could handle himself. If truth be known, watching him beat the crap out of some muppet excited her. And Brian would always reap the benefit after one of his excesses.

One such time resulted, nine months later, in the birth of Eunice. Against all odds, she was intelligent, gentle and sweet. Brian loved the little girl more than life itself. He made sure that she NEVER witnessed any of his “mischief”. 

However, as time passed and Brian’s criminal record grew, he realised that too many more incidents and he might end up in JAIL. That last judge had had NO sense of humour at all. And so it was that, reading “The Sun” one day, he came upon a report which drew his interest. It concerned the exploits of a radical “animal rights” group.

Now Brian loved animals – preferably well done, with chips and brown sauce. But it occurred to him that he might JUST have found the perfect “cause”. After all, while judges and juries frowned upon people engaging in “action”, as meat-eaters, they always felt guilty when the reason for it was a cause like animal protection. Any penalties handed down would therefore be reduced accordingly.

It didn’t take long for Brian to find and enter the group. And having done so, he set about knocking it into shape. HIS shape. Some members left, but the ones who remained were the ones he needed. Now established as their leader, he began a campaign that even they had dared not dream of. Its climax came late one September night.

A lab that used rats and mice for testing new drugs was situated just outside of town, in a former army barracks. Brian and his cohorts arrived and cut through the perimeter fence. They were met with no resistance. Disappointed, Brian decided they might as well have a bonfire anyway.

The Molotov cocktails they had brought were used to good effect and soon, the entire complex was ablaze from end to end. After a while, the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance and so Brian and his men made good their escape.

The following morning, while enjoying his breakfast, Brian turned on his TV, to see if there was any news about last nights’ entertainment. He listened as the first item came on. It concerned the death of a prominent research scientist, Professor Richard Searle. He had been working late in his lab and had apparently fallen asleep at his desk, when a fire had broken out.

The investigators had determined the fire was started deliberately and its smoke had overcome the professor, killing him before the flames even reached him. This was a common occurrence… Brian turned the TV off. He began to think. He had known this one would be hairy and so had not confided in Gwen. Only the lads were privy to the knowledge.

At work, he expected every moment that a cop would walk in to take him away, but nothing happened. Eventually, at lunchtime, he went to a phone box down the street and called his mates. It became obvious they were as scared as he, but were determined to keep quiet about everything. It was agreed they’d all lay low for a while – like, FOREVER.

Again, time passed and Brian once more settled into his old routine of occasional road rage, pub-fights and football violence, all the while making sure not to go TOO far. He did NOT need to attract attention. But after a few weeks, he realised if there HAD been a trail that lead to him, it had now grown cold and he could relax.

Then the fateful day came. Eunice was now five and looking forward to her first day at school, when one day, whilst playing with Brian in the garden, her pretty blue eyes suddenly rolled upwards and she collapsed.

Brian was beside himself as he waited for the ambulance. He was just carrying her to his car when it arrived. The crew put her on life support and Brian and Gwen jumped into the car and followed, at times hitting seventy through the narrow streets.

At the hospital, they waited. After an eternity, a doctor appeared – his expression was grave. He asked them to join him in his office. They sat down. “We’ve managed to stabilize her, but I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good. She has Haxell’s Chorea.”

“What the hell is that?” asked Brian.

“I’m afraid it’s a progressive neuro-degenerative disease - for which there’s no cure.”

A long pause. “How long?”

“About a year. She’ll be able to carry on living with you for the first six months or so – at that stage, she will only suffer collapses like the one you witnessed. We have drugs that will help minimise those events. But after that, the seizures will start, at which point I’m afraid she’ll have to be hospitalised until – the end.”

Another long pause, this time broken by Gwen, “Will it be painful?”

“A little, but of course, we’ll minimise that as far as possible with drugs.”

Finally, his voice breaking, Brian asked, “But surely, in this day and age, there MUST be a cure?”

“Actually,” said the doctor, “that’s the tragic thing. Someone WAS working on a cure and had recently announced a breakthrough. Clinical trials were due to start last month. But unfortunately, there was a fire.

The head of research died and all of his records and specimens were destroyed in the blaze. And it seems his assistants knew little about the breakthrough. Actually, I was at medical school with him. His name was Professor Richard Searle…”

(c) Morpheus 2009         All characters and situations fictitious

Cornelius on… TV Production assistants

As distinct from a “production associate” – which is actually TV “code” for gag-writer – a production assistant is a gopher, a minion if you will. But with certain shows, they are INVALUABLE. I’m speaking of “People Shows” – “Springer”, “America’s Got Talent”, “Britain’s Got Talent”, etc.

You see, these shows use a resource that is the most difficult in The Business to control – the PUBLIC.

The problem is, the Number One Priority in television is to put on a Good Show. And with any reality show, you are faced with the same problem – its “stars” are AMATEURS. Which is where the production assistants come in, for it is they who make things hum.

On Springer, they have to coach the combatants. The show relies on people coming to the studio to have a “secret” revealed to them, along the lines of: Your Wife’s Been Having An Affair With Your Older Sister Who’s Really Your Father (I just made that up – but it’s probably been done).

Now obviously, the production assistant cannot TELL them that – the victim would NEVER be able to convincingly fake surprise – they’re an AMATEUR. But they WILL point out to said victim that after the big secret has been revealed, they need a REACTION from them – otherwise there’s no show.

Which is why the people on the show often go postal at inappropriate times. Having realised what they’ve just heard is IT – there’s nothing else coming – they know that if they just shrug their shoulders, they won’t get their ten minutes of fame.

So they LAUNCH themselves at the other person, having been assured by the production assistant that the off-duty cops hired by the show will intervene – without hurting them – to ensure they don’t do any real damage to the other person.

Of course, on talent shows, physical conflict is rare. There, it’s all about DRAMA. They COULD just parade the acts across the stage, voting for the best ones and… but I’m boring myself just saying this.

No, what modern talent shows need is a STORY. The silly acts are just there as filler. They KNOW they’re going to get gonged, buzzed or X-ed off – and then SLAGGED off by the guy on the end of the panel. It all started with “New Faces”, back in Seventies Britain.

But the story isn’t about them. Its about the BIG one. The act with real talent. Preferably one who has endured hardship or has a Mother on her death-bed…

And it falls to the production assistants to FIND and DEVELOP that story.

Then the editor just puts it together like a three-act play – establishes the characters, develops the plot and builds to a climax. But without those unsung, nay INVISIBLE heroes, the production assistants, it wouldn’t HAPPEN.

An example of what can happen WITHOUT them, comes from Eighties Britain. “What’s My Line” is a format that goes back to Fifties America. A member of the public with an unusual occupation gives yes/no answers to questions posed by a panel.

More than X number of “no”s and they win… a diploma saying they beat the “What’s My Line” panel. No prizes – just an appearance fee, regardless of whether they win or lose. A simple format, but it had been going (on and off) for thirty years until a sloppy producer KILLED it.

On that occasion, it had been revived as a mid-afternoon filler (it’s a cheap format) but to pep it up, they decided to go for REALLY obscure professions – clown car engineer, storm-chaser, microlite test-pilot, the person who gives “Brazilians” to show-girls (someone has to do it).

The catch was – the panelists were failing to GUESS these left-field vocations.

Something had to be done. So the producer started feeding answers to one of the panelists – Barbara Kelly. And when the panel were going off in COMPLETELY the wrong direction, she would steer them back with a “quantum leap” of inspiration.

This went fine until a non-regular panelist overheard the producer giving Barbara that week’s occupations – and went PUBLIC. At which point, all of the guests whose jobs had been guessed went BALLISTIC. Whilst the diplomas had no more intrinsic value than a “Blankety-Blank Chequebook And Pen” (or my Mensa certificate) their personal value was incalculable.

That was the END of “What’s My Line”. If I had been in charge of the TV company, I’d have FIRED the idiot producer – not for cheating (as shown above, TV cheats all the time in the interests of putting on a Good Show) but for getting CAUGHT!

Of course, had it been down to a professional production assistant to sort the problem, it’d have been done properly and “What’s My Line” would still be on the air. Although given some of the Mickey Mouse job-titles around nowadays, it’s hard to see how ANYONE could guess THOSE!

Cornelius on… The Big Question

What lies at the Beginning Of Eternity…

…and waits for us at the End Of Time And Space?

 

You will find the answer at the foot of this column.

Cornelius on… Max Page

Max Page was the head English teacher at my high school. But he was known to us boys as “Lord Of The Flies”. This was our “set book” (I never actually did read it) but that wasn’t the reason for our nickname for him. No, THAT was down to his activities in the library stockroom.

Oh yes – Max Page was a paedophile.

And back in the Sixties, I encountered a few. This was due to my love of travel and exploration. In those days transport was subsidised, so in the holidays, a kid could travel all over the place for a few pence – and I did.

But seemingly everywhere I went, these creepy, middle-aged guys would pester me. Most were just a pain – but a few got too close for comfort (I’ll spare you the details) and one was DANGEROUS. Luckily, I was wily and managed to get through that period unscathed.

However, on the one occasion I REPORTED an advance, I discovered something disturbing. In those days, kids weren’t BELIEVED.

The occasion was on a tube train. I was then eleven. The driver had obviously spotted me boarding his front carriage and knowing there were no other passengers in that carriage, allowed his door to swing open. And like any eleven-year-old boy, my curiosity got the better of me (in those days, ALL boys wanted to be train-drivers). I peered inside his cabin and he invited me to join him. I accepted his invitation, but when OTHER invitations followed, I made my excuses and left.

Which is where it would have ended, had I not moved to an occupied carriage where three men were talking. I could not help overhearing their conversation and it became obvious that they were railway officials. I told them my story and they confronted the driver, who of course, denied all.

Finally, the leader of the group declared that I was a liar and had better not repeat my story or I might end up in trouble. Then he and one of his men got off the train, leaving me with the third. This guy admitted that he DID believe me, but said it would STILL be better to drop it – the man had a wife and kids – and the incident had doubtless scared the CRAP out of him – and therefore he’d NEVER do it again.

Which of course, is VERY different from the way it would have been handled TODAY. These days, kids are ALWAYS believed. But is that a good thing? The thing is, since political correctness, the pendulum has swung the other way – but like most aspects of PC, it has swung TOO FAR.

Let us take these two cases. Max Page (who thankfully never fancied ME) eventually got nailed. We heard about a court date and a tiny, three-line piece appeared in the local newspaper – buried half-way down an inner page. And we never saw him again.

But many, MANY years later, I was in the records department of my local library – researching my family tree – when I decided to check the newspaper morgue to see what had happened to him. It took some digging. The material relating to the case was limited to court records. NOTHING had been written in the NEWS section.

It turned out that following “reports”, he’d been given probation, with a proviso that he attended a local mental hospital once a week, for a minimum of a year. That was IT. No jail time – nothing.

Shocking. Like the train driver, he’d gotten AWAY with it.

But had they? The fact is, the railway official was probably RIGHT. The train driver WOULD have had the crap scared out of him – and probably DIDN’T re-offend. And as for Max, he lost his well-paid job as head of a school department AND his career. He would NEVER have been able to return to teaching.*

Here’s the thing. About twenty years ago, following a succession of child-sex horror-stories, the rabid British tabloid press discovered a whole new way of exploiting the British public, to increase their circulation. They went on a witch-hunt for paedophiles.

They broke laws and caused CHAOS, while hiding behind a shield of self-righteous indignation. And the next couple of years featured a series of incidents where people were attacked, burned out of their houses and in a few cases actually KILLED. And many were totally INNOCENT.

The most bizarre case was a man who was attacked because of his entry in the PHONE BOOK. He was listed as a paediatrician – a doctor who specialises in the care and treatment of children. Even allowing for grammatical ignorance, it’s hard to imagine what sort of mind thought that paedophiles would actually LIST themselves as such.

Then there were cases involving celebrities. The woman who sent her holiday snaps off to be developed, which included pictures of her toddlers splashing naked in the surf, had a visit from the POLICE. A famous boxer’s estranged wife, involved in a messy divorce and who wanted sole custody of their children, claimed her estranged husband had behaved inappropriately with them.

The first case was generally acknowledged as being absurd, but while the woman in the second case later recanted, how many people believed she wasn’t pressured or paid off? Mud sticks.

And, closer to home, a friend of this reporter nearly had his family ripped APART when social workers arrived at his home – while this reporter was THERE – and announced that they had received reports… They insisted on subjecting his daughter to an intimate medical examination which revealed that NOTHING was amiss.

But of course, they refused to reveal WHO had done the reporting. My friend believed it was some neighbours with whom he had recently had a dispute. He consulted his lawyer, who informed him that judges are HIGHLY reticent to force social workers to break confidentiality.

Nowhere is the fear and paranoia generated by MOST aspects of PC more apparent than with SEX – particularly paedophilia. And the tradition of “innocent until proven guilty” is turned on its HEAD.

So where does this leave us? Certainly, the situation that existed when I was a boy was unacceptable – but is the one that has replaced it any better? Now, thanks to the press-fuelled paranoia, the general feeling in Britain is that all paedophiles should be strung up by their gonads and beaten with sticks until they are dead. But they forget one thing.

Example. I have a son. He’s twenty-eight now, but once upon a time, HE was eleven. And if he had come home one day, saying how a creepy guy had interfered with HIM – I would have been SERIOUSLY annoyed. But if instead of HIM coming home, two cops with long faces had turned up to break the bad news…

What I’m saying is, today, a paedophile ALREADY faces draconian measures if caught. Jail – and when his fellow-prisoners find out what he’s in for (and they WILL) he can expect a succession of BEATINGS. And even when his time is served, his ordeal is not over. Then, he will find himself on the “Sex-Offenders Register”.

This device was, like PC, designed to IMPROVE the system. But any cop can access it. And they do. Of course, the information is confidential, but cops are just people (well, almost) and can be guaranteed to leak the information. Which means instead of being monitored, the offender can end up being torched out of their home.

Of course, like this chronicler, few would care – for the offender. They, like me, would see Max Page as having gotten off lightly – and that train driver as having gotten off altogether.

But what about offenders’ VICTIMS? THEY are the ones who concern ME.

I mean, assuming an offender is actually GUILTY (and justice is hardly an exact science) he only ASSAULTED a child. Bad enough - but what if the penalties for his crimes were even WORSE than they are now?

Sex crimes are crimes of passion. But when passion is SPENT – REALITY intervenes. The small person at his feet would be the only witness to his atrocity – and living in a Europe with no capital punishment, what would the man have to lose by eliminating that witness?

Thus, if paedophiles had MORE to face, when the child looked up at their attacker and saw the sudden fear in THEIR eyes – they would realize what that fear might drive them to DO…

* Update: I have recently discovered that Max Page DID manage to return to teaching – at a private American School in London. Then again, given the standard of English on their website – it appears they had LOW STANDARDS.

Cornelius on… Period

Period movies are a monumental pain in the arse to make. In addition to having to obtain period clothes, props and locations that can be made to LOOK period, you have to worry about “out of time” artifacts appearing in shot – modern cars, cooling towers, TV aerials, vapour trails, digital watches and so on – although nowadays, CGI can come to the rescue in post-.

So why BOTHER? Well, period movies can explore issues in ways that movies set in contemporary times can not. And THAT is what this piece is REALLY about.

“The future is another country”. And so is the past. It’s about so much MORE than just funny clothes, hairstyles and lack of modern technology. It’s about attitudes, language, moral values, the way people related to each other – and the way they LOOKED.

In the movies, these things are generally ignored – or given scant attention – since modern audiences would be unable to RELATE to these differences. Thus period drama usually “simplifies” language, then just gets on with having fun with the period props and costumes.

But in the REAL World, the more subtle changes in humanity are far more interesting – and they happen quicker than most people realize. We all have a laugh at ourselves and others in old photograph albums – those clothes – that HAIR – what were we THINKING? But rarely do we consider the differences that DON’T show up in photos.

Firstly, there are the PHYSICAL differences. Recently, the British Royal Family were pictured next to the Obamas. And the striking thing was that, next to Liz and Phil, Michelle and Barack looked like GIANTS. And this despite the fact that in their day, Phil was considered tall and Liz was no shrimp either.

Of course, it’s generally KNOWN that people are getting taller. If you are young, you’re forever cracking your head on door-frames in old buildings. And if, like this writer, you were considered tall in your youth – you feel like a midget nowadays, when you visit a gym. Who the hell ARE these giants?

But SHAPES change too. Compare pictures of ordinary girls in bathing costumes in various decades – and the changes become apparent. And not just between modern women and Victorian women – between Fifties and Sixties, Sixties and Seventies, Seventies and Eighties, etc. Every TEN YEARS, the shapes change (and one assumes the changes are similar with the chaps, too – but this chronicler mostly just notices the women).

However, less obvious are the social changes. If a man jumped into a time machine and travelled back to the Fifties, he would find he had a tough time getting LAID. This is due to the fact that The Pill was still a decade off – and getting pregnant out of wedlock was DEATH in those days.

But if he then travelled further back to the Forties, thanks to the WAR, he would find things much looser. This is because in those days, women didn’t know whether they would be AROUND long enough to worry about being with child.

Although sex isn’t the HALF of it. People’s worries and concerns change from decade to decade as well. And their whole ATTITUDES. Racism was institutional in days past. And people actually believed politicians were honest and that The System always knew best.

Then there’s language. Those old enough are aware of the ebb and flow of slang, but the way words are used changes too. In fact, returning to period movies, if one actually DID travel back just a few centuries, one would have a hard time just UNDERSTANDING ones’ country-men. Their speech would sound FOREIGN – something the movies are forced to gloss over.

All of which is why it’s TOUGH being OLD. The only CONSTANT through these decadal changes (bet the SpellChecker rejects THAT one) is WE OURSELVES. Most people get to live through seven or eight decades – and find themselves becoming more and more DETACHED from society. “Oh, these young’uns today…”

So the next time you encounter someone considerably younger or older than yourself – make ALLOWANCES for them. They may not have been born far from you, but in reality – they come from ANOTHER COUNTRY.

Cornelius on… Mischief

In My Day, we had a saying – Boys Will Be Boys. And we were. Like the time we wedged a cucumber through an aged spinster’s letter-box… then phoned her and screamed “The Martians Are Invading!”

Actually, that’s just a gag. In My Day, most people didn’t HAVE a phone. But some technology DID exist in those far-off days. Like rolling blackboards. These meant you could write a cheeky remark about a teacher – like, “Bunter looks like a monkey” (he did) or “Noddy is a berk” (he was) – on the board, above a piece they wanted to keep - then roll it up.

Later, when said teacher needed to write something new, he would roll the board down, seeking an available space – and be confronted by the comment. The class could then laugh their heads off – and there was little the luckless master could do, other than go purple and quickly rub the comment off.

But teachers weren’t the only targets for our Mischief. Supermarkets were fair game too. Like the one we used to queue outside, while waiting for the school bus. One day, they were having a special on washing-up liquid. And someone had piled up a display just inside the window.

Thanks to physics classes, I knew about harnessing the power of the Sun and next day brought a large magnifying glass with me. And whilst a couple of boys covered me, I used it to focus the Sun’s rays THROUGH the window, onto the bottom of one of the bottles. As it cut through the plastic like a tiny blow-torch, I slowly moved the glass in a circle. Eventually, a small circle of plastic hinged open.

Gloop………………..gloop………………..gloop………………..

Then I concentrated the beam onto the TOP of the bottle. After a few more seconds, this burned a small hole, allowing ingress of AIR (more physics).

Gloop…gloop…gloop…gloop…gloop…gloop…

For a few moments, we watched with satisfaction as the pool of green liquid spread rapidly across the floor – then our bus arrived. The next day, we saw the display of washing-up liquid had been moved AWAY from the window and been replaced by a display of beans – in TINS. Tee-hee!

Sometimes, our Mischief was quite sophisticated. Like the time we found an old pre-war Morris Eight in a shed, by the school field. Amazingly, the headmaster gave us permission to restore it. So we cut the body off and dumped it into a nearby tip and set to work to get the chassis working. A poor boy’s “Bucket T”.

Long story short, we hooked up the carb to a plastic bottle filled with petrol and tinkered with the electrics. Eventually, using the crank, we managed to get it started and all jumped aboard. We managed to get in several laps of the school field before a teacher ran out and stopped us.

Then, intrigued by our achievement, he allowed us to take him for a couple of laps. I was driving and as I hit a corner, Mr Chenery suddenly disappeared from sight. As I looked in the mirror, I saw him and his seat tumbling along behind, on the grass. We had neglected to warn him that the passenger seat wasn’t actually bolted to anything.

Thus ended the first period of my driving career – but the Morris Eight did make a reappearance – at an “Open Day”. But not being DRIVEN. The boy who’d managed to get the electrics working was allowed to stand by it and proudly demonstrate its (one) working headlight. On. Off.

Meanwhile, on the edge of town was a heath. And on this PUBLIC heath – was a PRIVATE golf club. Now this was a constant source of friction since, while the tees, fairways (except for recognised crossing points) and greens were private – everywhere else was public domain. Including two unofficial cycle tracks.

These were kept clear by constant use (although who had originally carved them through the VICIOUS gorse bushes, gawdnose) and featured a number of large DIPS. These MADE the cycle tracks.

The story was, on a bombing run back in WW2 (which had only ended twenty years earlier – although to us, it was another AGE) the Luftwaffe had missed the town and hit the heath, setting light to the gorse bushes, which blazed brilliantly (having torched a few, I knew this to be true) making the Hun think they’d hit a useful target.

Of course, the fire brigade let it burn, so the Master-Race would drop all their bombs HARMLESSLY, that night. And now overgrown by gorse bushes, the craters left by Jerry remained, giving us the two “switchback” cycle tracks.

One time, someone produced a rope and we hooked two of our bikes together – the back of Lamb’s to the front of mine. But just being towed around the circuit quickly got old, so on the main straight which preceded a BIG dip, I PASSED Lamb, timing it so’s the rope would go taut again JUST as I STOOD on the pedals, as I went down the dip.

The result was instantaneous – and spectacular (thanks, Leslie). Lamb’s bike SPUN round and SHOT forward – catapulting him through the air, OVER me – and head-first into a large gorse bush. Oh how we laughed as we helped him pull the thorns out of his head, one at a time. Again, physics (whose “O” level I actually FAILED to get) came in handy - but that scene from “M. Hulot’s Holiday” might have helped, too.

Anyway, while we stayed on the cycle tracks, there was no problem. But the private golf course also provided opportunities for Mischief. Especially on the long, straight, par-five. The thing was, it had a RISE in the middle, making the second shot BLIND. This meant if you concealed yourself in the bushes and waited for a ball to come over, fun could be had.

Like, if it made the green, you could nip out and put it in the hole – then watch the golfer jump up and down with joy when he discovered he’d scored a double-eagle. Although they were less pleased when we’d substitute their ball for a life-sized TOY one.

As soon as they HIT it, they knew from its weight that something was amiss. Then when they reached it, they’d see what we’d done. But fair do – we knew the strict rules of golf, so would toss their original ball back to where it’d been – and quickly run away.

But one day, as we were hanging out at the cycle track, minding our own business, the golf-pro and his son appeared and gave us an almighty bollocking for carving up their greens with our bikes – something we’d NEVER done (the washing-up liquid bottle ploy had STYLE – we were NOT vandals). But our protestations were to no avail. We still received their ire – and felt WRONGED. Thus REVENGE was due.

Now our scientific knowledge stretched to making BOMBS. A fifty-fifty mix of sodium chlorate (weedkiller – in those days available from any garden supplier – but not NOW, which is why I can TELL you this) and caster sugar, rammed and sealed into a pipe, with a small hole into which was placed a length of Jet-Ex fuse, made a very useful explosive device. You could blow up a car with one.

However, we were only looking for simple revenge – not BLOOD. We just wanted to send a MESSAGE to these clowns. They lived in the middle of the heath in a large, two-storey Thirties house, the ground floor of which served as a pro-shop and “nineteenth hole” (the bar) while they resided upstairs.

In those days, Halloween had not yet supplanted Guy Fawkes Night, so fireworks were freely available from late September, right up to The Fifth Of November. And it was now mid-October. Our favourites were the rocket, the tuppenny banger – and the notorious “Air Bomb”.

A little explanation may be useful, as I’m not sure if they’re still available. The penny and tuppenny bangers had a fuse – then about twenty seconds of token “pretty” sparks, followed by a bang (in the case of the tuppenny one – a BANG!) Meanwhile, the Air Bomb had about forty-five seconds of pretty sparks, then it would fire a little fused parcel into the air, which would rise to about thirty feet and then go off in mid-air with a SERIOUS BANG!!!

Rockets were useful as a launch vehicle for a ground-to-ground (or -to-air) MISSILE. You’d tape a tuppenny banger to them and whether they exploded in mid-air – or someone’s back garden, a couple of hundred yards away – depended on whether you lit the banger’s fuse straight away – or let the jet from the rocket do it.

But this mission would just require tuppenny bangers - A HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX of them – plus as many Air Bombs as our combined pocket money could afford (in this case – four). The plan was simple but needed military precision – particularly the TIMING.

We taped the bangers together in honeycomb groups of seven, with the fuses tied together. Then taped THOSE together in groups of six. This meant ALL the bangers in each bundle could be lit from just six points. Me, Hank and The Horse took one pack of forty-two bangers each. Lamb was entrusted with the Air Bombs.

It was nine o’clock. All was pitch dark and deathly quiet as we cycled across the heath towards our intended target. Hiding our bikes in a bush, we set off to the golf-house. On arriving, we could see our victims were in place. The upstairs curtains were drawn, but the lights were on and the sound of a TV drifted down to us (double-glazing was still YEARS away).

Having previously synchronised our watches to the second, we agreed on a “zero hour” and circled around the house. I took the side door, The Horse took the other side, Hank took the back and Lamb positioned himself on the grass in front, pushing the Air Bombs into it, at an ANGLE -designed so that the bombs would detonate over the TOP of the house.

At the appointed second, we lit our hundred and twenty-six bangers – then, twenty-five seconds later, Lamb lit the Air Bombs. We all retired into the bushes to watch the fun. Apart from the tinny sound of the TV, all was still quiet. Then it began.

For the next ten seconds ALL HELL LET LOOSE!!! The roar of one hundred and twenty-six LOUD BANGS erupted from ALL ROUND the house and – right on cue – above the roof, the Air Bombs detonated with four MASSIVE BOOMS! It was like WORLD WAR THREE!!!

The echoes finally died away – and silence once more reigned. Even the TV’s sound had stopped. Slowly, a curtain inched open and a very scared face peeped out. At that point we made good our escape.

These reminiscences have merely been a nosegay of the things we got up to in the name of Mischief, when I was a boy. Sadly today, these pranks would be looked upon as TAME – no damage to property (apart from that one bottle of washing-up liquid) and no-one got hurt (assuming nobody in the golf-house suffered from a weak heart).

THESE days, Mischief involves stealing CARS and driving them recklessly. Setting fire to HOUSES – even PEOPLE. The sort of behaviour which In My Day would have been considered PSYCHOTIC – and would have lead to the perpetrators being institutionalised for LIFE.

One YEARNS for the days when our kind of pranks ruled. Shit, we were just having a little FUN…

Cornelius on… Homophobia

I am a homophobe.

Let me qualify that. The “homo” section of the word “homosexual” is oft pronounced ”hoe” – as in the gardening implement – and “mow” – as in mow the lawn. This comes about because most people assume the word is a combination of the Latin word “homo-” as in “man” – and “sexual” as in “sexual”. Thus, combined, giving us a word which means “man-sex”.

However, this is nonsense. In fact, the first part of the word comes from the GREEK word “HOMOS” – pronounced like “compost” (why all my guides to pronunciation are GARDENING terms, I have no idea – I don’t even LIKE gardening) which means “the same”. Thus homosexual ACTUALLY means sex with the SAME sex.

Therefore the made-up word “homophobe” ACTUALLY means a fear of MEN, if you’re thinking Latin – or a fear of things that are the SAME, if you’re thinking Greek. NEITHER indicates a fear of gay people.

Now, I have always preferred the company of women – they are more entertaining than men. And being an INDIVIDUALIST, with a low threshold of BOREDOM – I am APPALLED by the prospect of things being THE SAME all the time.

Which makes me a homophobe!

Cornelius on… Thais’ Limits

Limits. We all have them. Even an arch-bishop will eventually SNAP and kick in a stained-glass window.

Here in Thailand, the people are non-confrontational and gentle – and it takes a LOT to make THEM unravel.

Case in point… It was a hot afternoon in Bangkok (hardly a novelty) and this historian was sat in a minibus, in a right-turn lane that was serviced by a green arrow phase (I used to be a traffic-light engineer). The controller slipped a cog and the lights staged EIGHT TIMES, missing OUT our phase each time.

Now Bangkok’s traffic lights are notorious for having LONG stages – sometimes as much as FIVE MINUTES – but our light stayed red for over TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES (I timed it). Of course, in Europe, realising the lights were f***ed, the drivers would have started slowly moving across the junction after just FIVE.

But not in Thailand. In fact, when the light DID finally change, the now ENDLESS column of traffic only kept going for a FEW SECONDS after the light had changed back to red, before some prat – luckily, six cars BEHIND us – STOPPED for it. He’s probably still THERE.

But another case in point… And this time, thankfully, I was NOT there - however, the story was reported in a reliable newspaper (they EXIST, here) so I have no reason to doubt it.

The Thais cannot afford the likes of cocaine, etc. So they use a locally-produced “certain substance” called Yabba (as in Dabba Doo). I wouldn’t touch it myself, however I understand it produces a massive high – but in overdose, causes chronic paranoia. Such was the case in a small, rural town where a user took a school-girl hostage in the cab of a lorry.

The townsfolk surrounded the vehicle – and eventually, the cops showed up. Of course, had this happened in America, everyone would have ended up DEAD. But this being Thailand, the cops (who ARE armed) hung back as usual, hoping for a bloodless resolution.

This policy normally works, but in this case it didn’t. Yabba-guy slit the girl’s throat, killing her instantly. And the crowd went BERSERK. They dragged the man from the lorry and literally ripped him apart.

The cops sensibly hung back, saying, “Tch-tch, that’s NAUGHTY – please stop it at once.” Then, when the mob were finished, scooped up the remains, put them into a plastic bag, dropped the bag into their car-boot and drove back to the station to spend several days making out their reports.

All of which shows that while the Thais LOVE peace and tranquillity – even THEY have their Limits.

Cornelius on… The World’s Got Talent

Out here in S.E. Asia, we just got a British documentary about how a Welsh amateur opera singer saved Season One of “Britain’s Got Talent” from going right down the dumper. After a LONG parade of ABYSMAL acts, this scruffy guy called Potts shambled on and gave a stellar reading of “Nessun Dorma”. And from having been on the brink of murder, the crowd went MAD!

Potts went on to win, but ALMOST got pipped by a cute li’l six-year-old girl who sang “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”. There wasn’t a dry seat in the house.

And now, curiously, history appears to be about to repeat itself. Here, we’re not far behind The States with “America’s Got Talent”. In season three of which, a FOUR-year-old cutie – with an UNCANNILY steady set of pipes – is up against ANOTHER amateur opera singer, who ALSO opened with Puccini’s masterpiece. A fat guy, this time.

Of course, opera “experts” pour scorn on BOTH these boys, claiming that whilst appearing BRILLIANT when ranged against bad impersonators, tumblers, “novelty” acts, adagio dancers – and people whose “talent” DEFIES description – by operatic standards, they’re both CRAP (but then, they said THAT of Mario Lanza).

The thing is, I’m no expert – but I saw both these chaps and misted up during BOTH their performances.

My standpoint is this: whilst a reasonable technical standard is obviously essential, once you have that, it’s all down to PASSION. I don’t care HOW technically brilliant one of these guys is – opera’s always about PASSION. THAT’S what people react to – and it’s THEY who buy the records.

When Giuseppe Verdi died in 1901, TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND ordinary people lined the funeral route in Milano. And unbidden, unrehearsed, they began singing the Hebrew Slaves Chorus from “Nabucco”.

THAT’S passion.

Cornelius on… Love vs Logic

Have you noticed how when romance enters the room, logic climbs out the window?

Case in point: “You are the wind beneath my wings.” Now any first-year physics student knows that the shape of the wings being curved above and flat beneath, forcing air to move faster over the upper surface, causes a partial vacuum ABOVE the wings, thus inducing lift. A wind beneath your wings would merely flip you over on your arse.

Another case: “I’m Wishing” – the song Snow White wistfully sings down the well, in the opening scene in Disney’s “Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs” (shouldn’t that be dwarves? – never mind). Some of her lines get an echo. But why only some? And more importantly, for the echo to take as long as it did, any half-arsed mathematician can compute the well must have been over A THOUSAND FEET DEEP.

Why was the water table so far down? Did C17th engineers REALLY possess the equipment to dig a well that deep? And how LONG would it have taken Snowy to crank up that bucket?

Pedantic? Me?

Cornelius on… “The Lad ‘Imself”

My SLM (Satellite Listings Magazine) has FIFTY-odd channels to list the details of. Thus it tends to give scant information – often just the titles of the programmes. And it is RIDDLED with misspellings and other cock-ups – some of which are hilarious in themselves.

Thus when I saw, in the wee small hours of Sunday, on DiggerVision, a programme simply listed as “The Benny Hinn Show”, I thought, “Oh, Benny Hill. Looks like he finally made it to the Orient.” This didn’t totally surprise me, as “Mr Bean” is very popular here. And in The States, Benny is considered to be CULTURE!

And while Mr Hill has never been my favourite performer, in the interests of naustalgia, I decided to diskify an edition. So come Sunday night, I sat down expectantly. As I pushed the “play” button, it occurred to me that maybe there really WAS an entertainer called Benny Hinn. Perhaps some gurning fool in Korea? But no.

Benny Hinn is a TV evangelist.

It took me five minutes to stop laughing. Benny Hinn is the classic TV god-botherer. Extreme tan. Extreme hair. You’ve seen ‘em. Even my wife, who’s Thai, fell about laughing!

I like to think that in Another Place – where the dead watch the living – Benny Hill was PISSING himself!

Cornelius on… Tom Clancy

I like short stories. They’re kinda like jokes – you establish a situation, then muck about with it.

And in the practical World we live in, they make great reading material. I mean, most people read books for short periods – like on the bus or train or somesuch. Thus great big doorstop books are a PAIN.

In My Day, most popular fiction came in packages ranging from 200-350 pages. Fine. Then along came Arthur Hailey with “Airport”. It ran about 550 pages and was stuffed with carefully-researched background material about the air industry.

It was part of a series, dealing with all sorts of industries, which included “Hotel”, “Wheels” (car factory) “The Moneychangers” (bank) “Strong Medicine” (pharmaceutical company) “Overload” (electric company) and “In High Places” (government).

But despite their length, they were skillfully divided into chapters that would form “episodes”, bouncing from character to character, most of which culminated in a “cliffhanger” which would be picked up later.

“Airport” was such a good book that the first time I read it, I LITERALLY couldn’t put it down and read the whole thing straight off – took me about ten hours (I don’t know why I’m plugging Hailey – he’s a friggin’ millionaire and highly unlikely to plug MY scribblings).

Anyhay, m’point is, even a 550-page doorstop is readable, if it’s skillfully written. But the works of Tom Clancy run some 1,300 pages each. Huh?

Yes. This pint-sized military wannabe lives in a World of his own, which he periodically lets us into – at thirteen-hundred pages an episode. JEEZ!

And yet his books are popular. I’ve read a couple and they aren’t bad – but read in two-hourly chunks, you spend the first hour trying to recall what and who were doing what to whom.

All I can say is unless his readers have phenomenal memories, they must have NO lives of their own!

Cornelius on… Squirrels And Chips

Back when I drove a hack for a living (London – the Seventies) around 2pm, things went limp (nowadays, you can get stuff for that) so I’d take a break. More often than not, this’d involve getting a take-away from the East Finchley branch of Wimpy’s.

Now for non-Brits, I should explain that Wimpy differed from his more famous American clown brother (McD) in that his chips (french fries, not CRISPS) were non-franchise. What I mean is, if you own a McD, you can only sell THEIR chips – the spuds (potatoes) for which are grown World- wide and called “Burbank Russet” (not a lot of people know that). Thus from San Francisco to St Petersburg, all McD chips taste the same.

But if you ran a Wimpy, you could grow your own potatoes out back, have your Granny cut them into chips and fry them in monkey-fat.

Nevertheless, the East Finchley chapter of Wimpy’s sold SERIOUSLY nice chips. Cut thin and fried in Prep.

It’s amazing the difference that size, shape, age and breed of spud (allied with temperature and type of oil) can make to the taste of the humble chip. And also, how hot and long they’re kept after cooking (big chips “stew” and garner more flavour). Anyway, they were damn fine chips.

Thus it was I’d obtain m’Wimpyburger and chips, return to the Batmobile (I had a big, black saloon) and drive to a little copse I wotted of, to enjoy m’dinner. And resident in said copse was a gang of SQUIRRELS. Not those jack-booted grey ones either, but the good old British RED ones.

And they were incredibly tame. You could feed ‘em bits of chip (not by hand – the little buggers’d bite you through to the BONE if you tried).

Anyhay, here in Thailand, we have our own squirrels (my wife, who’s Thai, pronounces them “screws”) and although we had a rogue one who incurred my displeasure by ripping the bark off my lime tree (I use limes in m’sauna) and killed it (I have to BUY limes now) and whom I captured in a rat-trap and repatriated some miles away, where he now rips the bark off someone ELSE’S trees – the others are welcome.

They are grey, have tails like the brushes used to clean shotguns and are highly athletic. They hang off the mango tree by their back legs, grab the birdseed tray (which I refill daily) with their front legs and chomp away.

But hey, they leave plenty for m’birds (who sit in the nearby bush, fuming impotently – no Little Brown Bird’s going to take on a SQUIRREL) so I have no quarrel with them.

Of course, they’re not as cute as those red squirrels back in Finchley. But here in Paradise, it don’t drizzle rain every damn day – so they’ll do!

Cornelius on… Reality TV

I used to frequent this spa, situated in a business complex in Bangkok. In addition to a pool, saunas, steam-rooms and a gym, it had a relaxation room, with a jacuzzi, several recliners and a TV.

One afternoon, I was alone in the relaxation room, sitting in said jacuzzi, channel-hopping with the TV’s remote, when I came across a series of channels, right at the end, that puzzled me – until I realised that for some BIZARRE reason, the satellite system was hooked into the building’s SURVEILLANCE system.

So I left the TV on the channel that was hooked to the camera positioned over the main reception desk – and sat back in the jacuzzi, waiting to see what would happen.

After a bit, a guy walked in, selected a recliner and settled down to watch some TV. He watched the static shot of reception, as people came and went. I swear he watched it a full FIVE minutes before changing channel!

I was in that jacuzzi for about two hours – and every time I was alone, I’d switch the TV back to the surveillance shot of reception. And you would not BELIEVE the amount of people who spent SEVERAL MINUTES actually WATCHING IT!

And the moral of this story? These days, when it comes to entertainment, thanks to “reality TV” people’s expectations have become seriously LOW!

Cornelius on… Globalisation

Pity poor John Bull. There he sits in his terraced house in West Ham – the one with the stone-cladding on it – typing away on his computer. It conks out. Annoyed, he rings the help-line that came with its manual – and discovers he’s talking to a man in Delhi.

The man asks him for the model number. He examines the label – noting it was made in Japan. He gives up and turns on the radio. The name on the front is “HMV”. But as he checks its label – he sees it was made in China.

He decides to go Up West to drown his sorrows. As he puts his clothes on, he checks THEIR labels. His shirt was made in Portugal. He checks his tee-shirts – Thailand. Reluctantly, he dons one, then looks around for his jeans. America? No – Poland.

Finally he reaches for his boots – DAMN, Malaysia. Thowing them down in disgust, he picks up his trainers – Indonesia.

Finally dressed, he heads for the bus-stop. The bus – driven by a West Indian – arrives and he pays his fare and settles down in his seat. He changes his mind about clubbing and decides to see a film. Having paid his money to the woman in the sari – he consoles himself with the thought that at least this is a BRITISH FILM.

It has British stars and a British director. But as he enters the auditorium, the end credits are rolling. He sees that all the technicians’ names end in “-ov” or “-ova”. He decides to join the BNP.

note: see “Damien on… Out-sourcing” at http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/

Cornelius on… The Problem With Being An Individualist

A while back, I was walking through downtown Bangkok and I found myself in McDonalds (it was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going) so I ordered a Mc Something and chips and when it arrived, there was a yellow ping-pong ball with it.

Now I’ve had little bits of plastic crap with McDonalds meals before, but they generally come in plastic packets and resemble some sort of toy. But this was just a plain ping-pong ball. I looked at the girl behind the counter, wondering if she wanted to play table-tennis with me.

But no. Seeing I was puzzled, she pointed towards a display, which had two perspex tubes – one with a smiley face – the other, grumpy. Above these, was a notice – “If you have enjoyed our service…” The smiley tube looked to have about 500 balls in it – the grumpy tube was… EMPTY!

Ridiculous! Unrealistic! So what did I do? You guessed it.

I quickly explained to the girl that I am an INDIVIDUALIST. I was PERFECTLY happy with their service. It was just…

Needless to say, I won’t be going in THERE again!

Cornelius on… Life Expectancy

We all know that people – at least, in The West – live LONGER nowadays, right?

But DO they? The thing is, this is based on STATISTICS. And we all know how reliable THEY are, don’t we? “There are lies, damned lies and statistics.” Or “You know of course, that 78.437% of statistics are just made up.”

However, it’s not always Statistics’ FAULT. Sometimes it’s the twits who COMPILE them that are responsible for the distortions. As with life expectancy.

You see, a while back, I was putting together my family tree – and this necessitated pouring over a whole SLEW of Hatched, Matched and Dispatched records (Births, Marriages and Deaths). And one thing that quickly became obvious, was the APPALLING infant mortality rate that existed, before WW1.

But it appeared that those who were lucky enough to see their twelfth birthday – were as likely to see their seventieth, as they are TODAY.

Speaking personally, I grew up in a damp, BITTERLY cold house. My abiding memory of my first six years In This Place was being COLD all the time. I’d lay in bed, watching the clouds of condensation soar upwards every time I breathed out. Furthermore, at the age of five, I ALMOST DIED from pneumonia. And this was only in the FIFTIES!

Of course nowadays, thanks to government heating and insulation grants, building codes, etc., British kids don’t know what cold IS.

Which is why I can empathise with the kids of a hundred years ago – and understand why they died like flies. But the point of this piece IS… from the MASS of documents I scanned through, it seems to me that the high infant mortality rate of yesteryear DISTORTED the statistics.

I mean, if you remove the figures for those who died before, say age fourteen, from the TOTAL figures, I am sure you will find that the ACTUAL life expectancy of our forefathers – assuming they MADE it to adulthood – was not very far short of OURS, TODAY.

Someone with access to ALL the data should check this OUT.

Cornelius on… Precognition

Precognition, by definition, cannot work.

A person dreams, has a vision, or is told by a mysterious inner voice of certain events that will occur sometime in the future. The problem is, armed with this information, the person is then in a position to CHANGE those events - or prevent them from taking place altogether. Then the precognosced - precognised? – events will merely be what MIGHT have happened. And since anything CAN happen, anytime – the whole thing becomes unremarkable.

However, what MOST people understand by precognition, is that a person receives information about an event that will happen WITHOUT their intervention. Fiction is FILLED with examples of this.

But this too presents problems. If a man merely received RANDOM information about the future, virtually all of it would be mundane. Mostly, he would end up doing things like telling a mate to buy a size fourteen dress for his wife whilst telling her it was a size twelve, to avoid a marital spat. The chances of him seeing an assassination or plane-crash would be infinitesimal.

Which means that for him to see only IMPORTANT events would require SELECTION - by whoever or whatever was aware of these forthcoming disasters. And that means divine intervention. But if there WAS a God – or some other supreme cosmic force – at work, why couldn’t he, she or it sort out the problem by himself, herself or itself? Why would such a power require help from a mere mortal?

In fact, if the God or force GAVE a damn - he, she or it wouldn’t allow assassinations, plane crashes, accidents, wars, famines, etc., to occur in the FIRST place. And we would all inhabit a World filled with peace, love and cuddly bunnies. Discuss.

Cornelius on… The Geek Of Chelmsford

Once upon a time, I worked as a traffic-light engineer in Chelmsford, England (someone had to do it). And this brought me into occasional contact with a traffic warden whose name I never discovered, but whom, for the purposes of this piece, I’ll call George.

Now straight away I want to emphasise that I personally never had a problem with George. Since I was using a second-line emergency vehicle, I could park almost anywhere. But I was fascinated by the man.

His appearance was bizarre. He had what could best be described as a cartoon head. It tapered downwards to his scrawny neck and to add to his misery, he had a cherry birthmark that covered virtually his entire face, giving him a look of permanent apoplexy.

Now, it’s a funny thing about jobs. Inevitably, they attract those most suited to them. And control freaks who need to have power over people, whilst hiding behind a uniform, generally become policemen. And those who fail the entry (having a head that resembles a carrot doesn’t help) become traffic wardens.

But THAT job also attracts another kind of person. Someone looking for REVENGE. And only ugly kids know how sadistic other kids can be. As adults, we learn to have consideration for the unfortunate. But at school, they do not enjoy that luxury. And with a face only a mother could love, we can only imagine what George’s formative years must have been like.

And even as an adult, life cannot have been easy. I mean, he looked SCARY. And his appearance was not helped one bit by his gloomy demeanour – he had no small talk whatsoever. So I never even discovered if he was married. If so, what must SHE have looked like?

Whatever, it’s not hard to see why the position of traffic warden appealed to George - it being a pointless job, where he could order people about and punish them for petty transgressions, in the knowledge that few of them would dare react, thanks to the UNIFORM. A tailor-made job.

I suspect George never even tried out for the cops – it would’ve been far less FUN. And thanks to P.C., those responsible for hiring traffic wardens wouldn’t have DARED reject him because of his scary appearance (they might even have counted it as a point in his favour).

So now George cruises the mean streets of Chelmsford, wreaking a terrible revenge for all those years of rejection and cruelty. And I for one cannot blame him. After all, nature dealt him a bad hand. So carry on, George. At least you didn’t become a serial killer…

Cornelius on… My Favourite Quotes

I’m sure there are gazillions of sites DEDICATED to quotes. I only trouble you with these, because they happen to be my favourites – for whatever that’s worth. And I offer grovelling apologies for any inaccuracies – I’m not so young as I used to be. So here, in no particular order, they are…

“What contemptible scoundrel stole the cork from my lunch?”  W.C. Fields

“Style is for individualists – fashion is for the gullible.”  M.J. Vincent

“I don’t hold with these new metric politicians like Ed and David Miliband – give me the good old imperial ones like Michael Foot.”  Alan Coren 

“Conscience is the inner voice that warns us someone may be watching.”  (unknown)

“Cocaine is God’s way of telling you you’re making too much money.”  Robin Williams

“Why, when dogs LIVE for walks, do they eat your shoes?”  Maria Vinall

“Race hate isn’t human nature – race hate is the abandonment of human nature.”  Orson Welles

“No-one can take your dignity from you if you refuse to surrender it.”  (unknown)

“I’d rather be a failure at something I love than be a success at something I hate.”  George Burns

“Progress might have been alright once, but it has gone on far too long.”  Ogden Nash

“Why do brides always wear white? Because ALL kitchen appliances are white.”  Jim Davidson  [what a DINOSAUR he is - these days, kitchen appliances come in ALL colours]

“The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, the young know everything.”  Wilde

“Smile first thing in the morning – get it over with.”  W.C. Fields

“Education is what you get when you read the fine print – experience is what you get if you don’t.”  Pete Seeger

“There are ten kinds of people in this world – those who understand Binary and those who don’t.”  (unknown maths nerd)

“I’m no good in the morning – I wake up an hour before my brain.”  M.J. Vincent

“I am past writing angst songs for kids. I don’t have angst anymore. My only angst is when I can’t get my Porsche roof up and my golf handicap down.”  Vincent Furnier (Alice Cooper)

“Of course truth is stranger than fiction – fiction has to make sense.”  Twain

“Is Man one of God’s blunders – or is God one of Man’s?”  Nietzsche

“Fame is being asked to sign your name on the back of a cigarette packet.”  Billy Connolly

“I like the commercials during reality shows – they feature professionals and a plot.”  Garry Shandling

“He who would father roses should not marry a thorn.”  (unknown)

“It’s a small World – but I wouldn’t want to have to paint it.”  Chic Murray

“The shortest ambiguous sentence I have come across is a road-sign found everywhere in New York – ‘fine for parking’ – but I would not like to argue the point with a New York traffic cop.”  Lord Millett

“If you want to be happy for a short time - get drunk. Happy for a long time – fall in love. Happy for ever - take up gardening.”  Arthur Smith

“I especially love driving down a hill directly at a tree and then swerving to one side at the last minute.”  Boris Yeltsin  [a man who for years, had his finger on The Button...]

“Nobody will ever win the Battle Of The Sexes – there’s too much fraternising with the enemy”  Kissinger

“Love: Temporary insanity. Curable by marriage.”  Bierce

“If women are so smart, how come their clothes do up at the back?”  (unknown)

“The World is a dangerous place – but where else can you go?”  M.J. Vincent

“A classic is something everyone wants to have read, but nobody wants to read.”  Twain

“A single death is a tragedy – a million is a statistic.”  Stalin  [who should have known]

“From the moment I picked your book up until I put it down, I was convulsed with laughter. Some day I intend reading it.”  Marx (Groucho)

“The right to be heard does not automatically include the right to be taken seriously.”  Hubert Humphrey

“Too bad all the people who know how to run the country are driving cabs and cutting hair.” George Burns

“It is always the best policy to speak the truth – unless of course you are an exceptionally good liar.”  Jerome K. Jerome

“Never be punctual – people will think you have nothing better to do.”  (unknown)

“Living in the lap of luxury isn’t bad – except you never know when luxury is going to stand up.”  Orson Welles

“Women – a triumph of emotion over logic.”  George Fairbrass

“Musicians don’t retire – they just stop when there’s no more music in them.”  Louis Armstrong

“I have opinions of my own – strong opinions – but I don’t always agree with them.”  George W. Bush  [wha-at?]

“Things are more like they are now than they have ever been.”  Gerald Ford  [oh... RIGHT!]

“The trouble with Freud is he never played the Glascow Empire on a Saturday night.”  Ken Dodd

“Never explain – your friends don’t need it and your enemies won’t believe it.”  Victor Grayson

“Show me a man whose goal is to be normal – and I’ll show you an under-achiever.”  (unknown)

“I never commit anything to memory that I can look up in a book.”  Einstein

“Have you noticed how women who frown on leggings have, without exception, the kind of legs no-one wants to SEE in leggings?”  M.J. Vincent

“I am always prepared to recognise that there can be two points of view. Mine – and one that is probably wrong.”  John Grey Gorton

“A man in love is incomplete until he has married – then he is finished.”  Zsa-Zsa Gabor

“No man would listen to you talk if he didn’t know it was his turn next.”  Edgar Watson Howe

“Only fifty-percent of sex is between the legs – the rest is between the ears.”  (unknown)

“I love you, Spain!”  Whitney Houston – opening a concert in Portugal

“If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.”  Herman Hesse

“Gambling – a sure way of getting nothing for something.”  Wilson Mizner

“Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.”  Lionel Stander

“The trouble with the World is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.”  Russell

“In order to become the master, the politician poses as the servant.”  De Gaulle

“If you don’t stop printing scandalous articles about me, I’ll be forced to cancel my subscription.”  Marx (Groucho) – to “Confidential” magazine

“Laughter may be the best medicine – but if you’re diabetic, insulin is pretty good too.”  (unknown)

“A psychiatrist is a man who goes to the Folies-Bergere and looks at the audience.”  Mervyn Stockwood

“You know you’re getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.”  Bob Hope

“Never underestimate the power of human stupidity”  Robert Heinlein

“To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.”  Twain

“There IS only passion – the rest is bullshit.”  M.J. Vincent

And there they were. If you’re a fan of “quickies” (or just have a short attention-span) might I recommend “Oxymorons” (and other pieces) in “The World According To Morpheus” on http://morpheusatloppers.wordpress.com/ and “T-Shirt Legends” in “The World According To Damien” on http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/

Cornelius on… My Belief System

A thinking person’s belief system evolves over a lifetime and should be based on experience and observation – not received dogma. I am an Atheist-Buddhist-Darwinist-Humanist-Cosmicist-Continuumist. Huh? Okay, read on…

At nine, I became an Atheist. At seven, I had already worked out that Santa, Faeries, Pixies and the like were bogus. But adults seemed to believe in God, so I gave Him the benefit of the doubt for a couple of years. However at nine, I realised the idea of an invisible, omnipotent super-being who created the World in six days was preposterous.

At nineteen, I was “sold” on Buddhism by a lady, on the top deck of a London bus. It took no more than ten minutes. In fact, the sell was so subtle, it took me a few days to realise I’d BEEN sold. The thing is, Buddhism is an easy sell, because it isn’t a religion – it’s a PHILOSOPHY. Siddhartha Gautama – like Confucius, around the same period – never claimed divinity.

At around twenty-five, I came to realize the observations of Darwin were correct. Many of the Big Questions that religions come up with dumb answers for, were sensibly addressed and settled by the man. One can SEE the evidence of evolution all around us.

At around thirty-five, I encountered the term “Humanist”. And when I looked it up, I realised that its philosophy (that word again) fitted mine absolutely. That MAN is responsible for his actions and choices. That only HE can help himself.

At around forty-five, I discovered that the path to enlightenment was made a lot easier by stepping OUT of oneself. That to understand the Human Condition, one needs to observe it from a neutral vantage point. This is different from merely being aloof – one CARES what makes the World and its inhabitants work and attempts to understand it. So, the Cosmic view. Cosmicism.

At around fifty-two, I lost my Father and Mother in quick succession. Having no religion, I lacked the false comfort of believing they were in some Other Place. Their ashes are currently feeding plants in a Victorian arboretum. Thus, I realised, they had simply changed form within The Continuum. We are all a part of The Continuum. It grinds on forever. We’re born, we grow, we live, we die.

Of course, I pass on these observations for your entertainment only. It is up to YOU to find YOUR answers. Just be sure they ARE yours – and not merely some religious nonsense drummed into you by someone ELSE.

Cornelius on… Idiosyncrasies

I’m 56 now. And what I’m about to say SHOULD be obvious to anyone of my advanced years – but it may be instructive to a younger person.

When I was in my twenties, my peers were only too happy to tell me what was WRONG with me. My clothes were wrong, my taste in music was wrong, etc. And for a while I worried about these shortcomings.

But then one day, while a “friend” was telling me how my taste in music SUCKED, I stopped him and asked him who HE liked. He proceeded to run off a list of then-current pop bands. At which point, the TRUTH began to dawn on me.

After DEMOLISHING his argument by pointing out that my favourite artists covered at least a DOZEN different genres of music, from Sixties Pop and Soul, through Disco (this was the Seventies) Fifties Rock ‘N’ Roll, Classical, Rockabilly, Electronic, Thirties Art Deco, Opera, Orchestral, Rhythm & Blues to Baroque (Eighties New Romantic, Techno and Trance were still YEARS off) while HIS were limited to just ONE genre – I began to realize my peers’ other points were ALSO flawed.

Eventually, I began to see life as it is. You have to like yourself for who you ARE – not try to change yourself into someone ELSE, to suit others. Take a long, objective LOOK at who you are and if the person you see is basically a good chap – or chapess - be happy with THAT.

Basically, when you meet someone, they will have qualities you like – and some you don’t. But instead of trying to CHANGE them, decide whether their good points outweigh their bad. If they do, cultivate that person. If not, dump ‘em. After all, the qualities you DON’T like may be just the ones OTHERS will ADMIRE. Meat – poison.

And when someone meets YOU, they can do the same. Which means if you are okay, you’ll have friends. In fact even if you’re NOT okay, you’ll STILL have friends – people who are as screwed up as YOU!

No-one’s perfect – but CHANGE yourself? Bollocks. Life’s too short.

Cornelius on… Morpheus And Damien

Since they’ve mentioned me, I feel duty bound to say that if my stuff is a little esoteric for your tastes, my smarter brother Morpheus resides at http://morpheusatloppers.wordpress.com/ while his evil twin Damien can be found at http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/

But while you’re here, I offer the following…

Cornelius on… The War

The War is not meant to be won or lost - it is meant to be continuous. So said George Orwell in 1948 (the year) in 1984 (the book).

And thus it is. Paranoia is the perfect tool for keeping the populace – the “Proles” – under your thumb. Which is what America’s government, media and military have done since, oh, 1941 at least. Let’s start there.

Pearl Harbour (or Harbor). The Japanese launched a “sneak attack”. Or did they? For decades, conspiracy theorists have maintained that the British government at least, knew EXACTLY what was coming, but that Churchill chose not to tell America, so as to pull them into The War – on Britain’s side (in 1941, Britain needed HELP).

Some conspiracy theorists have even suggested that the AMERICAN government knew, but kept quiet, so that they could win the first battle that EVERY government has to win in ANY war – the propaganda battle against its own people. Thing is, War Is Hell – and DANGEROUS. Everybody knows that. No-one wants to enter into an adventure where at best, they’ll be traumatised for life, also be likely to lose some body-parts and at worst - return in a body-bag.

Therefore they need to be motivated. Be instilled with nationalistic fervour. Given a sense of outrage against The Enemy. And how better than to allow them to have their arses kicked by little foreign men? However, Like The Man Said – while most rumours are true, most conspiracy theories are bollocks. So let’s not get carried away.

In any case, Pearl Harbour DID galvanise America into action – and it was an action that lead to four years of tooth-and-nail fighting across the Pacific, island by island, until Japan was defeated.

Today, it may appear ludicrous that a little island like Japan would THINK of taking on the might of America, but it must be remembered that Japan was a heavily populated, industrialised country, with a warrior tradition. And being a series of islands, with a huge navy, she’d already taken on China and most of the countries in South East Asia, without ever losing a battle.

While America’s population was not that much bigger, being mostly grouped on the east and west coasts with a lot of nothing in between. In fact, if Japan had pressed her advantage after Pearl Harbour, instead of returning home, drunk with the success of having hammered America with virtually no loss to her side - she might actually have WON.

Anyhoo, she didn’t – and it proved to be one of the two biggest blunders of WW2.

But when America finally made it to Japan, they found they still had some work to do, to close out the Japanese. Thing was, Japan had never HAD to surrender before – they didn’t know HOW to. Which gave America a chance to try out it’s new toy. The atom bomb. Much has been written about the reasons America chose to employ such a tactic on an already beaten people. But the truth is rarely stated.

Which is that RUSSIA had been fighting the Japanese, in a small-scale action (their MAIN theatre of war had been at the OTHER end of Russia – against HITLER). And seeing an opportunity, they offered the Japanese a chance to surrender to THEM – with TERMS. America FREAKED. How DARE they? It was AMERICA who had battled and beaten Japan, at MASSIVE cost in men and machinery.

And so in order to galvanise THEM, America dropped its new toy. Then, when the Japanese whirled around in confusion, they dropped a second (it used different technology and the military wanted to see it tested). Japan capitulated – unconditionally.

At this point, an interesting “what if” emerges. What If… Hitler had NOT committed the OTHER biggest blunder of WW2 – like Napoleon before him, going up against the Russians in WINTER – and had instead gone for the OIL-FIELDS of the Middle East? With no Russian Front, Russia might well have sent her troupes east, to engage the Japanese.

This would have resulted in a much quicker victory over the Japanese – and would probably have lead to JAPAN being divided by Russia and America – with Russia controlling the north island and America the south.

Then, being heavily dependant on Middle East oil, America might well have dropped their new toys on cities in GERMANY – much like Britain flattened Dresden as revenge for the blitzes of London and Coventry – which would have resulted in Hitler’s forces losing their interest in the Middle East, given that their homeland was being decimated, thus ensuring Germany’s rapid surrender.

Perhaps on a World far, far away…?

Anyhay, back to the plot. WW2 is now OVER. Time for America and Russia to wind down their military forces and get back to normal life, right? Wrong. No government wants to do THAT. Loss of POWER. However, having to justify the massive COST of mighty military machines, they needed ENEMIES.

For America, it was easy. Despite having been ALLIES with Russia during WW2 (in Hitler, they’d had a common enemy) America raved at how UNDERHANDED the Russians had been over their attempt to swipe victory over Japan for themselves. They further made much of the evils of COMMUNISM (communists being “godless”, this was an easy sell to the Christian Right). Enter The Cold War.

Russia for her part was happy to play the new game. The evils of the Bourgeois System were an easy sell to HER people. Although the whole thing ALMOST fell off the rails in ’63, when JFK decided to play “chicken” with Russia after America’s embarrassing misadventure in Cuba. Realizing JFK was mad, Russia eventually backed down. Offered a small face-saver involving a few missiles in Turkey, the Russians took it.

Which is likely where we’d be today, had it not been for “Star Wars” (the strategic defence initiative, not the movie). This was a declaration that America was developing a system of missiles that would form an “umbrella” over her country, which would enable her to SHOOT DOWN every nuclear missile launched at her, before it could pose a threat. This too was bollocks.

Whilst it IS possible to shoot SOME missiles down - even TODAY, twenty years later, the ability to nail a full-scale attack is the stuff of fantasy. But twenty years ago, Russia didn’t KNOW that. And having already been financially crippled by the “arms race” (Communism fails to reward individual effort, resulting in a technologically-backward society) ”Star Wars” was the final straw. The Russians put their hands up.

Which suited America not at all. The War is not MEANT to be won. She needed a NEW Evil Empire. Trouble was, in 1989, they were thin on the ground. Europe hadn’t had internal strife for forty-five years. And China was WAY too dangerous. So it would have to be the Arabs, then.

They had a weird religion (again, an easy sell to the Christian Right) treated their women badly (feminists would approve) and they controlled the OIL – which America was now even MORE dependant on. And as for America’s Jews…

Furthermore, the Arabs were factionalized, disorganised and primitive. What was the worst they could do?

I wrote (something like) the above three paragraphs in a piece I did in 1999. Then followed them with a warning that what the Arabs MIGHT do was send a representative to Manhattan with a suitcase containing a quantity of plutonium and a little red button. Fantastic? As it turned out – MUNDANE.

Initially, the World’s response to 11/9 (9/11) was mixed. Many saw it as payment for the millions of corpses left behind by American forces in Vietnam, Nicaragua, etc. The War coming home. But many others felt sorry for The States. After all, the three thousand who had died were CIVILIANS – and by 2001, civilian casualties in war was something the West had – if not eliminated – severely reduced.

But the reaction of America (now lead by a man known to many as The Monkey, who had recently elbowed his way unceremoniously into the White House) to the atrocity, soon quelled the World’s sympathy.

In a triumph of “spin”, The Monkey called America’s war against the Arabs “The War Against Terrorism” (until someone pointed out that in Britain, TWAT was a coarse word for a lady’s naughty bits – it was hurriedly renamed “The War ON Terror” – grammatically less attractive, but at least it wouldn’t get LAUGHS) and coerced as many countries as possible to join him.

Britain and Spain were amongst the first to comply – and immediately became targets for the terrorists. After the atrocities had occurred, the Spanish government fell – and the British Prime Minister’s reputation never recovered. And Britain is still in danger.

Which TODAY, leaves a New Face – that of Barack Hussein (ironically) Obama - with a LOT to do, to restore the World’s sympathy with a nation many saw as – following the fall of Russia – arrogant, opportunistic Empire Builders and SEE as – following 9/11 – ANOTHER Evil Empire.

But where does this leave the WORLD now, as far as The War is concerned? Well, certainly war is a very different business today, from what it was even a few decades ago. Nowadays being fought for economic reasons, it is UNTHINKABLE in developed countries. Which means all of the battles have to take place on foreign soil.

However, Americans don’t like seeing American bodies in bags, on their news. And after Vietnam, they recoil from seeing foreign bodies on the ground. Enter TECHNOLOGY. “CLEAN” wars fought by MACHINES. But developing countries cannot AFFORD – or easily obtain – these machines. Which forces them to resort to methods that sicken those in the West.

Of course, THEY see themselves as freedom-fighters, not terrorists. Battling Evil in the only ways open to them. And America’s continuing paranoia will not give her any defence against this form of warfare. Furthermore, despite Hollywood’s attempts to convince her population otherwise, even her “security” technology has its limitations.

The simple fact is, rather than developing new methods for waging The War (and making lame attempts to fight the resulting terrorism) the West needs to concentrate on ways of achieving WORLD PEACE. And for more on THAT, read on…

Cornelius on… Peace

In “The War”, above, this writer concentrated primarily on America’s history of warmongering. But of course, EVERY country in the World is in the same boat. Of the two-hundred-odd countries in the World, there are few large ones that can say they have no argument with ANYONE.

Whether the conflict is internal, external or just supporting a “police action” somewhere, the result is the same – when bullets fly and people die, it’s WAR (write that down). And a quick tour of the planet shows us what we’re up against.

America. Since the end of WW2, she has fought in a continuous SERIES of “police actions”, while attempting to control the politics of every country in Central and South America. And internally, particularly during the Bush era, she has moved closer to totalitarianism than RUSSIA formerly was. 

Central and South America – see above. Additionally, most of those countries have internal strife between Right-wing dictatorships and Left-wing guerrillas – viva la revolucione (or something like that). She is slightly better off than Africa (see below) as for the most part, the Spanish and Portuguese colonists stayed.

From the New World, we move to Europe. She hasn’t had an internal war for sixty-five years now – but before feeling TOO smug, she should remember all of the “police actions” SHE has been involved in. And now that her eastern neighbours are free of Communism, she is pouring money into them – with disastrous results to her own economy.

Russia. Following her political and economic collapse (and her mistaken belief that a drunken buffoon could turn her around overnight) a lot of old wounds have been opened. Her “buffer states” are now independant and causing problems. Additionally, her power-base is in constant threat from organised crime syndicates.

Africa. Freed from the bonds of British, French, Dutch, German and Belgian colonialism, the Dark Continent finds itself in a similar situation to post-Roman Britain. For better or worse, the colonists built up systems that worked – but which the locals had no HOPE of maintaining, once their masters had departed. Case in point – Zimbabwe, where a FARCICAL level of inflation has the population on their KNEES. And given Africa’s poverty, their wars are SAVAGE, involving the use of redundant Western weapons – and machetes.

The Middle East. This region is populated by tribes who have been fighting each other for MILLENNIA. The term “Peace Process” is a sick joke. And the West only gives a damn because of all that OIL under the natives feet.

The “Stans” and India. In these areas, wars tend to be about religion. Again, they’re not rich – so it’s all they have to fight about. And since the region has no oil, the only time the West REALLY gets worried, is when Pakistan and India (both NUCLEAR powers) start sabre-rattling.

China and South East Asia. Long-freed from colonial rule (and Chairman Mao) this region is sort of The New World. It has it’s problems – but few wars. And with the dropping of trade barriers, it is slowly sucking the West DRY. Only time will tell if the West has had its day and the East will slowly take OVER.  

So where does all this take us, as far as World Peace is concerned? Every American beauty “pageantee” (if beauty contests are now pageants, that makes contestants pageantees, right?) promises to devote her “reign” to promoting it. However, back in the REAL World, something a tad more substantial needs to be done. But who will do it?

Not America, that’s for sure. And not Europe either. Neither is equipped to be The World’s Policeman. And forget about the impotent United Nations – they couldn’t even keep The Monkey out of Iraq. China is too busy making billions of tons of plastic crap for the World’s living rooms. And Russia has its problems at home.

So who will save us? Aliens? If they HAVE made it here, they don’t appear to have the will or means to neutralize our weapons – just help us a bit with their technology (Fuel cells, Blackberries, Viagra, etc.)

Although they would be ASTOUNDED that we have managed to put men on the Moon – yet still waste A TRILLION BUCKS A YEAR on two-hundred -odd military forces, whose only product is an inestimable amount of damage to infrastructure – and countless deaths. Where’s our World Government?

A World Government would be like the U.N. – except with balls and teeth. It would ban ORGANISED religion, military forces (apart from its own small peace-keeping force) and politics. It’d have a “People’s Charter” of human rights and be run by representatives of every region (not country) of the planet. The Charter would guarantee basic freedoms – work, travel, religion, speech, etc.

And it would control who administered the regions. Dictators, despots and loonies wouldn’t get a foot-hold. Also, whilst governments could regulate local matters, they would NOT be able to have laws that contradicted The People’s Charter. Thus, no capital punishment, floggings, invasion of privacy or restriction of basic freedom. In short, The People’s Charter would BE The Law.

The World Government would apolitically administer ALL the main affairs of the planet and allocate resources sensibly and fairly (oil would be available to all at a fair price and NOBODY would OWN it – any more than any other World Resource).

But of course, this Brave New World will never happen.

Our planet is ruled by POWER. The greed and self-interest of those Shadowy Figures who control our destiny have far too much to lose, to allow a bunch of international do-gooders to usurp their position. And they are WAY too deeply entrenched to be over-run. They have armies, spies and systems that have been in place for CENTURIES.

America may not be the most ADVANCED civilization on our planet, but it is the most POWERFUL. And its power lies in its UNITY. The States may have its divisions – Red State v. Blue State, Hispanic v. Anglo, black v. white, Jew v. Gentile, North v. South, East Coast v. West Coast, etc. v. etc., but when her back is against the wall, you will hear the same cry – “I am an AMERICAN.”

While Europe is the opposite. With centuries of conflict behind her, even after more than half a century of peace, the English see the French as being dirty, while the French see the English as being gay. The Belgians see the Dutch as being stoners, while the Dutch are too stoned to care. And EVERYBODY sees the Germans as being arrogant, while the Germans see… we could be at this ALL DAY.

Of course, the Swiss, whilst being geographically in the middle of Europe, don’t want to PLAY. They have winter sports, great scenery and a casual attitude towards tax and banking – and no desire to get caught up in Euro-politics. Can you blame them?

So while a Federal States Of Europe would be bigger and more advanced (they abandoned capital punishment DECADES ago) than America and collectively could kick her ARSE (“ass”) she can relax – it ain’t gonna HAPPEN. Europe has no unity – and that’s her weakness.

Meanwhile, with Russia having its problems and China being too busy MAKING stuff, no-one else HAS the power to even BEGIN to think about achieving World Peace.

Which really brings us back to The States and its new leader. The trouble is, a U.S. President is only one man – and whilst that one man can be a force for evil (like J.F.K., Johnson, Nixon and Bush 2) or good (Carter and Clinton) they are still only the SPEARHEAD of the Washington machine.

And even Obama (hallelujah) has that whole slimy, corrupt machine to MANAGE - and it’s a lot harder to manage if you’re HONEST – which means no matter how worthy his intentions, to use it to achieve World Peace – in just EIGHT YEARS (not including the time that has to be used to obtain the second FOUR) is little short of IMPOSSIBLE (although this writer wishes him luck – he’ll NEED it).

So unless a miracle DOES happen, the ONLY way World Peace will EVER be achieved is when ALL the countries of the World have climbed to the level currently occupied by western Europe – where war is unthinkable due to the MESS it makes, in a land of plenty. In short, MONEY will ensure World Peace.

When the whole World has clean water, sufficient food, cheap energy, nice houses and enough technology to be able to throw off the bonds of religion – then and ONLY then will people stop KILLING one another.

Peace is a State Of Mind. And when our minds are FREE from WANT, the will to live in peace will follow – even the Shadowy Figures will shun it, as by then, it’ll be unprofitable.

By my reckoning, it’ll happen around the end of the twenty-first century. The only problem for THIS scribbler, is by then – I’ll be long DEAD.

Cornelius on… Food

Now I’m lucky – my metabolism keeps me reasonably slim. Which is great, ’cause I do love my FOOD.

But I still CRINGE when some beanpole says, “Oh, I often FORGET to eat.” WHAT???

I mean, I’ve forgotten my wallet, my keys – even occasionally my MANNERS – but I’ve NEVER forgotten to EAT!

Some people just need a SLAP!!!

Cornelius on… Buddhism

As an atheist, I can relate to Buddhism. The guy who started it NEVER claimed to be divine. And while other religions survive on false promises, coercion and “tradition” – AND tell you how to dress and behave – and what you can eat, drink and THINK – all for a deity you cannot see, hear or touch - Buddhism merely asks you to believe in YOURSELF. To be at one with your inner being, the inner beings of others and all of nature’s creatures. And no-one ever DIED over Buddhism. Peace, Man.

Cornelius on… The Lesser-Known Writings Of Dr. John Watson, 221b, Baker Street, London W.

What I Did On My Holidays – by John Watson

This summer, I travelled down to Essex with my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, for a camping excursion. We set up canvas just outside a small hamlet called Basildon. Following a rude meal of saveloy and chips – a local delicacy, I believe – we settled down for the night.

At some point, I awakened to find the nineteenth century’s greatest consulting detective puffing on his pipe, and gazing up at the stygian sky. “What is it, Holmes?” I enquired.

“You know, old friend, the sky can tell us many things. Astronomically, I calculate that there are millions of galaxies, each of which contain billions of stars. Astrologically, I see that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that it is approximately a quarter to one. Theologically, I observe that Our Maker is all-powerful and that we are minute and insignificant. And meteorologically, I suspect that it will rain tomorrow.”

It occurred to me that for once, my friend’s singular powers of deductive reasoning had failed him, as I replied, “Holmes, you blithering blockhead, some thieving bastard has stolen our tent!”

Cornelius on… Four Tips For Life

An old schoolboy joke goes…

“Which hand to you use to wipe your arse?”

“Er – the right.”

“Ooh, you dirty @$#€% – I use toilet paper!”

I refer to this execrable joke as it is relevant to a tip I offer to you, my reader, which could save you having to actually USE your hand.

How many times has this happened to you? You have just finished a number two and you reach for the paper, only to discover the holder contains nothing more than an empty cardboard tube. TRAGEDY!

But perhaps not so. You see, almost all of those “cardboard” tubes are NOT cardboard at all. Rather, layers of thin, brown paper – stuck together. And with a little patience and sharp fingernails, you can prise the layers apart.

It may not be as effective as nice, soft tissue – but it still beats the alternative!

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Here’s another. You’re going on holiday, taking with you a nice, new ghetto-blaster, camera, camcorder or similar piece of equipment – and you don’t want it to get STOLEN.

Before leaving, you purchase a reel of plastic insulating tape in a bright, contrasting colour. Then you wrap a strip right around your piece of equipment, in a position that will not interfere with its operation.

This will put any potential thief off, as it’ll look like the item is FALLING APART.

When you return home, you remove the tape.

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Which brings us to tip three. Removing sticky tape residue from plastic!

If you’ve ever tried doing this with petrol, or some solvent, you already know what happens. It’ll likely DISSOLVE the plastic – or at least take the shine off it.

So how DO you remove sticky-tape residue? With more sticky-tape, that’s how!

Just pull off a piece, wrap it round your finger, sticky-side outermost and dab at the affected area. The residue clings to the sticky on the tape.

This also works with those annoying LABELS the manufacturers use on plastic goods, where the sticky always prefers to adhere to the object, rather than the label itself.

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And finally… When you order a soft-drink from a fast-food joint, specify “no ice”. The thing is, the ice displaces about 60% of the space in the glass, or cup. And the dispensers ALREADY chill the drink. Thus the ice means you get less than HALF a glass/cup of drink – which then gets WATERED-DOWN as the ice melts.

Of course, whether you get TWICE as much drink for your money or not, depends on whether the sales-person will “top-up” your glass/cup. In my experience, most do.

But then, I live in Thailand – where service comes with a smile.

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These four tips are my own invention, but you can use them for FREE! If I remember any more, I’ll post ‘em on this site…

Cornelius on… One Of Those Stories

Heard the one about the guy who took his Great Dane to the vet, ’cause it was cross-eyed?

The vet picked the pooch up, stared into its eyes for a moment, then turned to the owner and said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to put him down.”

“What? Because he’s cross-eyed?”

“No, because he’s REALLY heavy.”

Da-da-da-daaaah! My name’s Cornelius – don’t forget to tip your waitress…

Cornelius on… Weddings

These days, putting on a wedding is akin to making a Movie.

You have your Actors, consisting of the Leads (bride and groom) the Supporting Cast (friends and relatives of same) a Character Role (vicar – suit John Gielgud type) and Comedy Sidekick (best man).

Then there are the Extras (bridesmaids, congregation).

Every wedding now has a Director and the father of the bride will do as the Producer – after all, he IS putting up the money.

Plus you have Props (wedding cake, flowers) Locations (church, reception hall/tent) and Transportation (white limos).

And of course, there is a Director Of Photography.

Not forgetting Catering, the Score (organ in the church, second-rate band at the reception) and there will always be a Schedule and Budget.

Finally, comes the Script. It may be straight from the book, require re-writes (“I’m not saying ‘obey’!”) or be improvised (“We’ve written our own vows.”).

It will contain the Main Plot, which will include Drama (sometimes HIGH drama) Pathos (“It should have been ME!”) Comedy (“Time for the best man’s speech!”) and perhaps a Quirky Plot-Twist (“Does any person here know cause why this man and this woman should not…” “YES! I’m his WIFE!”).

If a fight breaks out at the reception, you’ll have an Action Sequence and if the groom can lay off the booze, you might even get a Love Scene.

But will it all have a Hollywood Ending?

Cornelius on… Silly Ideas

Cycle-lanes – ever see a cyclist ON one? Plastic ads that cover the WINDOWS of buses and even BUILDINGS, causing you to go DIZZY looking through the rows of little dots. “Reality” TV – we HAVE reality – when we turn on the telly, we want to see the EXTRAordinary – not the ordinary. And bus-lanes - first tried out in the Thirties and discarded as impractical – which they ARE.

M’point is, ALL of the above COULD have been done donkeys’ years ago – but weren’t. Why? Because wiser heads than those now in control of us knew they were CRAP IDEAS, that’s why!

 

Cornelius on… TV Game-Show Formats

It’s funny how TV game-show formats translate internationally.

F’rinstance, “Family Feud” originated, then bombed in the U.S. But in the U.K. the softer “Family Fortunes” ran for years, thanks to the ridiculous answers given by contestants – “Name something red.” “My car.” “If it’s up there, I’ll give you the money myself.”

The show has just started here in Thailand, softened even further to “Family Game.”

And Chuck Barris’ “The Newlywed Game” – a raunchy show in America, it featured pensioners in the U.K., ran in the afternoon and the sexiest question was, “What side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” began in the U.K. and is a massive hit World-wide, but varies dramatically, country to country. In the States, Regis Philbin asked easier questions (Americans like to see winners).

Meanwhile, the Portuguese (I was on holiday there) managed to extract ALL sense of exitement from the franchise by slowing the game, with lots of chat twixt host (a handsome chap, but someone ELSE should have dressed him and done his hair) and contestant.

And the contestants were so DUMB. Example: “Blah, blah (I don’t speak Portuguese) blah Agatha Christie blah blah? a. Hercule Poirot (obviously) b. Sherlock Holmes, c. Mr. (sic) Watson, d. Zorro. The bloke didn’t know. His “phone-a-friend” didn’t know. He took a 50/50 and guessed the wrong one. I nearly WEED myself!

This was only a second round question, but had he REACHED the top, a million Escudos was only about £3,000 ($5,000) – hardly retirement money, even in Portugal.

Here in Thailand, a million Baht is a little more – around sixteen grand Sterling ($25,000) – which with prices around one-fifth of Western, equates to around 80/125 grand. A princely sum.

However, the Thai production company were too tight to pay Celador for the format, music and graphics, so “Millennium Millionaire” is a knock-off.

Unlike “The Weakest Link” which Thailand DID buy (Auntie probably wanted less money) installing their version of The Queen Of Mean. But the Thais – a very polite race – didn’t GET it and it didn’t last long.

When it premiered, they ran a promo which had shots of ALL the Bitches In Black, all around the World. And a SCARIER bunch of women you could not imagine. They looked like the Goth Chapter of Hell’s Grannies.

Most were getting on (a couple even looked like Annie) but the Thai one was young. In fact she looked a lot like a lady in Pimlico I once paid £50 for some disciplinary instruction. But that’s another story…

Cornelius on… Architecture

So I was sitting, naked, on a rooftop in Bangkok (as you do) surveying the city skyline and musing on the fact that these days, skyscrapers are coming in ever weirder and more bizarre shapes. And being a lapsed Mensan, it didn’t take long for me to work out why.

Think about it. You are The Client – and in walks this empty suit calling himself an architect and presents you with a model of his latest creation. It is an oblong box/flat-topped tube.

You would say, “And you expect me to pay a gazillion pounds/dollars for THAT? The Monolith from ’2001 – A Space Odyssey’/A Pringle tin? My five-year-old could have done better.”

So these charlatans now have to come up with something more EXOTIC.

Incidentally, the tallest building in Bangkok is a retro-styled pile, vaguely designed to resemble New York’s Empire State Building – which thanks to Osama Bin Liner, is now the tallest structure in THAT city.

Oh, and in case you were thinking I’d TOTALLY lost it, the roof-top I was sitting on – au naturelle – was the roof-garden of a SAUNA!

Cornelius on… Why Reincarnation Doesn’t Exist

If reincarnation were true, each lifetime would confer wisdom.

And the World would not be full of jerks – this writer included – who go on making the same dumb mistakes that Mankind has been making, ever since he first walked on it.

Cornelius on… I Mean, Like, You Know?

We all use them. Quirks of speech.

In conversation, we’ll start a sentence with “Like…” or “In actual fact…” or “Basically…” or “So…” or (MY worst one) “I mean…” (I think I got it from Parky).

All of the above are intended to give qualification to the statement which follows.

And all the way through, we’ll pepper our dialogue with “and, errrr” and “sort of” and “you know”.

Then on the end, we’ll tack “…and like that” or “…right?” or (again, MY worst one) “…or something” (I KNOW I got that one from Bert Kwouk on Channel Four’s “Banzai”). Some Americans and Australians raise the inflection of the last word.

All of these are intended to elicit some response from the listener, in order to reassure us they’re paying attention.

And said response is likely to be a series of “quite”s, “uh-huh”s, more “right”s, or just “yeah”. Here in Thailand, it’ll be “ka”.

Anecdotally, we had a P.E. teacher who used “in actual fact” a lot. And we took great delight in straight-facedly using teachers’ catch-phrases when addressing them, as an in-joke. But Jack Fact, as we called him, was hip and when he caught on, began saying “In…REALITY…” (grin and wink).

He was a good sport, but some people become PARANOID when they realize they have acquired one of these quirks. And a well-established one can take MONTHS to shake off.

So why bother? After all, surely our speech patterns should be less important than what we have to say?

Well, yes. But an over-used quirk can quickly become an irritation to the listener and can over-ride the import of what we’re trying to say (think of Sybil Fawlty; ”Eye kneow… eye kneow… eye kneow… ooh, eye kneow”).

So check YOUR speech patterns for over-used quirks. And, like, errrr, you know, try to – sort of - lose them, right?

Cornelius on… American “Culture”

Back in the Fifties, America had institutionalised racism, anti-Communist paranoia and an appalling foreign policy. But they gave us Elvis and the ’59 Caddy.

In the Sixties, they nearly started World War Three, had Vietnam – but managed to produce “Star Trek” and Jimi Hendrix.

Then in the Seventies, they had Watergate - however, they did gave us Disco.

But since the Eighties, all they’ve done is poison us with Political Correctness, AIDS, anti-smoking paranoia, Reality TV, fashion Fascism and TWO George Bushes.

Barack Obama has a LOT of work to do…

Cornelius on… Memories Of Skool

T’other day, I was reminded of an incident WAY back in my schooldays. The scene was Copleston High, 1968 – single-sex in those days. Your Humble Scribe was 15. Her Total Worshipfulness, The Mayor-person (or summat like that) of Ipswich, was coming to give a talk. With low expectations, we all trooped into the hall.

Picture Margaret Dumont and you’ve more or less got her. The purpose of her visit having been expedited, she seemed to think some entertainment was required. And so she launched into a deeply LAME gardening anecdote. Unfortunately, her Ineffable Largeness didn’t appear to have rehearsed it…

“So there I was, up this ladder [I'm paraphrasing] clipping the top of this hedge, with m’gardening shears [she made shearing motions] but the ladder was too close to the hedge and I kept hitting myself in the…” – at this point she appeared to be about to pantomime scrunching herself in her SERIOUSLY ample bosom – 550 teenage boys held their collective breath – after a two-second pause that seemed an eternity, she JERKED her hands DOWN - ”…stomach.” [Collective snigger].

The tragedy is, her comic timing was PERFECT – but (presumably) unintentional.

And the irony is, her INTENDED anecdote – has given ME a BETTER one!

If the old biddy still lives (unlikely – she’d be well over a HUNDRED by now) I’ll bet she remembers that day. Even Alzheimer’s couldn’t wash the memory of a sea of expectant boys faces – plus a dozen masters – all waiting to see how she was going to dig her way out of the gigantic HOLE she’d just dug herself!

Cornelius on… Rickshaws

Ever seen a rickshaw? If, like this writer, you’re English and well stricken in years, your grandparents probably had one. Not a REAL one (even if they were Chinese – that would be silly) but a little model, MADE in China. ALL grandparents had one – I think it was the law.

They were made of ivory, set on a mahogany base. At least, that’s what they were supposed to look like. In reality, they were made from plastic and dipped in some oily paint crap that only made them LOOK like ivory. Which is just as well, given there were so many. If they’d been real, we’d now only be able to enjoy elephants in PICTURE form.

There was a coolie in the shafts and a posh lady in the seat, holding a sunshade – except the sunshade was usually missing. The whole was mounted on a bit of cheap wood, painted to LOOK like mahogany. They cost pennies to make and were sold all over the East for whatever the locals could con out of the tourists.

No English pensioner’s front room was complete without at least one on the mantelpiece.

Anyhoo, the reason Your Humble Scribe is troubling you with this, is that the rickshaw is alive and well, here in S.E. Asia. But brought up to date, for modern tourists. Now instead of the guy being on foot, he has a sort of half-bicycle attached to it.

In Malaysia, he sits behind you. This is quite alarming when you approach a junction, feet first – and find yourself being stuck out into the oncoming traffic.

But in Thailand, he’s in front. Which is not necessarily better. One day, I chanced to hail possibly the SMELLIEST driver in the country. Birds were falling out of the sky above him. And I was right BEHIND him. I began to wish I was back in Malaysia.

(If this sounds like a foul slur on the Thai nation, I should point out that these guys are actually BUMS – they SLEEP in their rickshaws – whereas the Thais are one of the cleanest nations on EARTH. Get into a lift-full of Westerners and you can smell them. Get into a lift-full of Thais – and provided one of them isn’t a rickshaw driver, you’ll smell NOTHING).

Anyhay, I only dwell on this as I’ve heard that a number of ecologically-minded Western cities have started licensing rickshaws – to male AND female drivers. And it occurred to this writer that this COULD be a good IDEA, but following his experiences HERE – with certain provisos.

One: in London, forget it – since ’87, it hasn’t stopped raining. Two: the driver should sit in FRONT. Three: they should be made to care for their personal hygiene. Four: they must NOT be a Veggie – for obvious reasons.

And five: if the driver insists on wearing Lycra cycling shorts – they MUST have a nice arse.

Cornelius on… The Roman Royal Family

Wh-at? Okay, the other night I had a dream. All the royals were Romans. Prince Charles was Ludicrous. Prince Edward was Dubious. His wife was Barbatus (only one person in a THOUSAND will get THAT one). Elizabeth was Felonious. Philip was Insidious. Fergie was Salacious and Camilla Parker-Knolle was Nauseous. Even Diana was there. She was Bodacious.

Cornelius on… 1952

‘Twas the Autumn of ’52. The dark shadow of World War Two had passed but a scant seven years earlier. Her Loyal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II had just ascended the throne. The U.K.’s Top Twenty Record Chart had just begun. The World waited.

At the Ambassadors theatre, a new Agatha Christie play had opened to mixed reviews. Its title – “The Mousetrap”. Down the road, the reality of “This Is Cinerama” was making people sick. The World continued to wait.

A lady named Hazel Blair was plump with child – but he would be named Tony and would only succeed in embarrassing himself by falling in love with a crass Texan named George.

Then suddenly, it happened. To an audience of eager medical students, this chronicler was born. The nurse slapped him once on the bottom and, stopping only to urinate in her eye, the newborn lit a cigar and went in search of a typewriter.

He wrote, “‘Twas the Autumn of ’52. The dark shadow…”

Cornelius on… Stereotypes vs Political Correctness

Right at the top, lets get one thing straight – ALL people are entitled to be respected as HUMAN BEINGS, regardless of their race, colour, sex, sexual orientation, size, age, occupation, etc. But it’s these things and more, that define who we ARE.

Unfortunately, the P.C. Nazis fail to realize this and demonize anyone who DARES point it out. They confuse the realisation that EVERYBODY – this writer INCLUDED – fit into SEVERAL stereotypes, with the assumption that ACCEPTING that fact, inevitably leads to people USING stereotyping to ABUSE people. Which is simply not TRUE.

Oh sure, there will always be REAL Nazis who will do JUST that – but most people are content to use their received knowledge of how stereotypes work, to HELP people.

When you meet a person of a particular race, colour, sex, sexual orientation, size, age, occupation, etc., you can make a number of assumptions about them, based on your lifetime’s experience - most of which will be CORRECT. And armed with that knowledge, you’ll be able to RELATE to them better.

Which can only be a GOOD THING.

Cornelius on… Nudity vs Acting

For hundreds of years, acting was just talking heads and the occasional sword-fight. Anything more – and you had to INFER what was happening. But today, we can sit in a darkened room and watch someone land an aeroplane on the roof of a speeding lorry. Acting has come a long way.

And today, actors are prepared to gain weight, grow beards, shave their heads – anything short of lose an arm – all in the spirit of realism. And many are happy to STRIP, if the role calls for it (some INSIST on it, even when it DOESN’T). But this is where things go awry.

Let’s take Mel Gibson. He plays a character called Walter Wallcarpeting…

Walter slaps his lady. We are angry with him.

Walter’s wife leaves him. We figure it serves Walter right.

Walter cries, howls and chews the furniture. We begin to feel sorry for Walter.

Walter’s wife returns. Walter pours out his heart to her and promises never to do it again. His wife takes off her dress. Walter removes his shirt. His wife slips out of her shoes. Walter takes off… HEY! MEL’S GOT HIS KIT OFF!!!

You see? Tragically, for most people, nudity is OUTSIDE THE BOX. We can watch Mel get shot, punched, drunk, drowned – even killed – and still believe these things are happening to the CHARACTER he’s playing. But when we see his little botty – it’s HIM!

Cornelius on… Thais And “Freebies”

Despite being obsessed with money – it’s like a second religion to them – the Thais are one of the most honest nations on Earth. But they just don’t GET “freebies”.

In every country in the World, supermarkets do “buy four and get one free” deals. Or – “buy this six-pack and get a free beer mug” – or whatever.

Trouble is, in Thailand, the normally-honest citizens take this LITERALLY. When you go round a supermarket, you’ll see packets of this, that and the other that had a freebie attached to it – but it’s GONE! Someone saw the word “free” and just ripped it OFF!

Of course, even a rudimentary understanding of the law will tell one that this is JUST as illegal as regular shoplifting. But the Thais don’t SEE it that way! It said “free” – right?

Boy, I’m glad I’m not a Thai store detective!

Cornelius on… Bio-degradable CDs

WHAT?!!! Maybe it was a nightmare – or did I really hear some nob-head has come up with the bright idea of making CDs BIO-DEGRADABLE?

I mean, are the hedgerows of England and the sidewalks of America littered with cast-off CDs?

In rip-off Britain, they cost £17 ($25) each! Even in The States, they cost around £10 ($15). So who ARE these people? Disgruntled Michael Jackson and Gary Glitter fans?

This writer is a record collector. His oldest disc was pressed in ninety- five – EIGHTEEN ninety-five – and it still PLAYS. He doesn’t relish all of his modern stuff turning to MUSH after ten years!

Cornelius on… Star Trek Aliens And Sexual Repression

In the phor main Trek series, metaphor is used phor everything (did you see what I did there?) Even the more popular alien races. Who can deny the Ferenghi are Jews? Hell, most of them are played by Jewish actors. And the Klingons HAVE to be Japanese Shogun Warriors (a bit bigger, is all). Most Trekkies acknowledge this.

But have they ever considered the Vulcans could be Swedes? Cold, logical and humourless. They’re SWEDES – I’m TELLING you! And isn’t it strange that it took a bunch of cold, logical and humourless people to show how absurd sexual repression is – while the repression itself was born of passion and emotion?

Beam me up, Scotty!

Cornelius on… Grainy Movies

Remember those appalling video effects that were “fashionable” in the ’90s (a decade as devoid of style as THIS one) – like the one that “bent” the screen to look like you were sitting right up one end of the front row at the cinema?

And then the “grainy” look – designed to make a piece look amateur and “artsy”. Well now, the movie biz is doing it. I think it started with “…Spotless Mind”.

If you’re using film, you can do it in processing – you monkey with the fixing. But mostly they do it digitally. It produces stark colours and a “cheap” effect – possibly as a reaction against “glossy” Hollywood movies.

But the irony is – it costs MORE money to do it!

Cornelius on… English As She Is Spoken

Given English is not my wife’s first language, she speaks it pretty well. However occasionally, she asks me about its finer points. The other day, it was how to pronounce o-u-g-h.

Well, I said, if it’s in “rough”, it’s pronounced “uff”. But if it’s in “cough”, it’s pronounced “off”. In “bough”, it’s pronounced “ow”. And in “though”, it’s pronounced “o”. However, in “through”, it’s pronounced “oo”. But if you threw a ball yesterday, it’s spelled t-h-r-e-w.

You’re putting me on, she said.

I hope she never meets Mr. Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondley-St John-Beauchamp! (For non-English readers, it’s pronounced Fanshaw-Chumley-Sindgen-Beecham. No, really).

Cornelius on… The Last Of The Argonauts

Did you know that if you take the first letter from the consecutive months; July, August, September, October and November – they spell JASON. Coincidence? I think not.

Cornelius on… the small answer

…the letter “E”.

 

Sorry.