According to BBC Sport, “Wayne Rooney has agreed a five-book deal that will earn him at least £5m from publishers Harper Collins” It’s a lot to ask of the lad, but I’m sure with Coleen’s help, he’ll manage to read those five books in time to collect the money. I think they should make sure there are lots of pictures in them, though...
I always disliked Mick Hucknall. Something to do with the hair and the support for that Stretford team, I expect. Now the Observer’s profile of him confirms that, as I suspected all along, I was right. He says things like “I am one of the best singer-songwriters this country has produced. Ever. If people don’t like me saying that, tough shit. People should deal with facts. You can’t sell 50m albums without something.” Brilliant logic Mick. By the same token, Jeffrey Archer is one of the best writers ever and Jack Vettriano one of the best painters. The great joy of this piece, though, is the picture, for which you need the print edition. Old Mick in his late middle age looks uncannily like Charlie Drake. Well, it made me laugh…
The Observer | Magazine | One family, one month, 50kg of packaging. Why?
This article illustrates the problem I mentioned some time ago – and it’s a problem that won’t go away until we make the manufacturers do something about it. I like the idea, mentioned in the article, of a co-ordinated dumping of packaging at a supermarket, but that is no more than a publicity stunt. It needs to be followed up by a campaign. It seems to me that the more people who join Friends of the Earth, or write to their MP, or go for weekly organic box schemes, or badger the supermarkets about their policies, the more likely it is that something will happen. Otherwise, we are just going to drown in this stuff.
Allyson Pollock’s article doesn’t tell you much you didn’t already know, but it’s an impressively detailed demolition job on the government’s most shameless sell-out of a noble institution that was once the envy of the world.
BBC NEWS | Education | Students bemoan ‘unhip’ lecturers:
I don’t whether to laugh or cry at this item. I was particularly struck by the magisterial sweeping generalisation of
“They always look down on students, they always judge and have a lack of hygiene… most discussions in seminars revolve around the academic’s new book. In short, every aspect of their measly little lives irritates me.”
So, obviously, this student doesn’t “judge” then…
Today’s Grauniad contains a couple of advertisements that caught my interest. The first is for a Business manager in a small secondary school – salary: £50,000. Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I was a proper teacher, schools didn’t have business managers. One of the deputies would do all the sums, control the stock of toilet rolls, employ handymen to mend windows etc. Of course, back then – silly us – we didn’t realise that the school was a business. We thought it was about education. The headteacher of this school is named as “Spokey Wheeler”. Now, presumably this man’s (woman’s?) parents weren’t vindictive enough to name him Spokey, so this must be a nickname derived from the surname. Doubtless we are supposed to get a warm glow of matiness from this, but actually it’s risible. If you are a headteacher of a school, you should have (or aspire to) a certain gravitas. Adopting a sobriquet that makes you sound like a blackballed member of the Drones club isn’t the way to do it.
Meanwhile, another ad (and these ads cost about £30 per single column centimetre, so they aren’t exactly cheap) is looking for a “Principle” Lecturer….
The Observer has a new supplement, aimed at women. I feel excluded, and can’t see the logic of it. If I go to WH Smith, it’s pretty obvious what constituency is being targeted by magazines with titles such as Woman, She, Woman’s Own etc. Equally, you know what you are letting yourself in for if you buy Computer Weekly or The Tibetan Yak Breeders Gazette. But if you buy a national newspaper, why would you find a section that by its very name excludes half the potential readership? You will say that it’s the same as any other section. If you aren’t interested in business, say, don’t read the business section. Fine – but, like buying a special interest magazine, that constitutes an expression of choice. I can – and will – ignore the new section, and await, though I’m not holding my breath, the new Men supplement…
In the meantime, the new supplement is distinctive, apparently, because it features “relationships, style, shopping, sex and health”. No disturbingly difficult political things for you to worry your pretty head about, then. And of course, this makes Observer Woman entirely different from the main Observer magazine, which features today a section on relationships, featuring advice from “the sex columnists”, an article about memory loss, a fashion feature, an article about shopping for purses…. Obviously very different.
To Milton Keynes for a meeting at the Open University, on the early train from Preston. I didn’t have a reserved seat, so found the first available one, and sat down. Just before we left, a big commotion announces the arrival of a lady in one of those very high-tech wheelchairs, her companion, her two dogs, and their combined luggage. They are at my table, and they are very loud. The dogs are nosing around excitedly, but not causing any problems. Madam, however, feels the need to say to each of them (stupid names for both, of course) to “lay down” repeatedly. She’s a south-eastern gel from the sound of it, so it’s more like “liie daaarn”. The dogs ignore her completely. Companion then reports that the disabled toilet isn’t working. “Oh for fack’s sake” she yells. “Fackin hell, that’s brilliant innit.” She decides to give the dogs some water, so a bowl is extracted from the mountain of luggage, and water put into it. The bowl is placed in the aisle. Water – and who would have predicted it?- is spilt.
The two humans then decide to set up a portable DVD player. Much fussing with the luggage again. Then “You’ve brought the fackin wrong connector, innit?” Eventually, the thing is set up. She is listening via one set of headphones to pop videos. I know this, because the other set of headphones is lying on the table blasting out the soundtrack, and anyway, madam is singing along tunelessly.
I want to leave, but am caught in a classic wishy washy liberal dilemma- if I leave, it will seem I am expressing my distaste of someone who is clearly severely disabled. At the first stop I make as if I’m leaving the train, and seek refuge in another carriage.
All is relatively quiet, beyond the inevitable “I’m on the train” mobile calls, when a man in his thirties gets on at Crewe, accompanied by two boys aged about eight. One is his son, and the other presumably his son’s friend. They sit with two other people at a table, Dad at a seat across the aisle. Boys then proceed to talk at the tops of their voices, to bounce up and down, standing up on their seats, to switch the reading lights on and off repeatedly, to have a competition to see who can make the loudest farting noises… you get the picture. I’m half a carrriage away and getting more annoyed by the minute. Dad’s reaction is to say “shush” at ninety-second intervals, whilst pointedly looking away from the mayhem his charges are causing.
I recounted this tale to ‘er indoors, who pointed out that they probably rarely went on trains, and that this was exactly the way they would behave on a car journey. I think that’s right. But if you allow your kids to behave like that in your car, then that’s your problem. In a public place it’s diffferent. The father clearly knew that these kids shouldn’t be behaving like this, hence the continual shushing, but wasn’t prepared to do anything about it. Is he scared? Embarrassed? I don’t know why. I’m sure if he’d actually disciplined these two mini hooligans, the entire carriage would have applauded. Last seen heading for the Autosport exhibition at Birmingham NEC, pursued by a collective sigh of relief exhaled by the remaining passengers…
BBC NEWS | Politics | Letter reveals Kelly’s approval
Ruth Kelly, or to give her her full title, the beleaguered Ruth Kelly, is the foremost Catholic in the government. She was appointed as Education Secretary despite having no expertise or background in the area. Her main claim to fame is her prominent membership of the loony Opus Dei, a Roman Catholic organisation that follows a strict Vatican line on contraception, embryo research, cloning and abortion – an interesting conundrum when you are the minister in control of the research budget.
Presumably, Ms Kelly would be happy for any of her many children to be taught by the convicted sex offender to whom she wrote last year. The gist of her letter is: “You’ve been a naughty boy, but you’ve said sorry, so we’ll hear no more about it.” This is, of course, the classic response of Catholic institutions when they discover evidence of child abuse. The events at Ampleforth, Britain’s most prestigious Catholic school, is only the latest in a long line of similar cases.
So we shouldn’t be surprised at Ms Kelly’s response. She’s obviously practising Christian forgiveness.
Australian woman all shook up over Elvis song – Yahoo! News UK
Ah – the power of cheap music…
Personally, I’m with the woman on this. Can you have a verdict of justified wounding?