What Truth?

Lying. We all do it. But yet, no one likes being lied to. Are we all just big hypocrites. Or, if in a world where lying is normal, is it just karma biting back?

Ricky Gervais (who I loathe) released a movie a while back entitled 'The Invention Of Lying'. I (fortunately) have not had the (dis)pleasure of seeing it. But I believe it is about a world where nobody can lie, save for the character Gervais plays. All hateful biased aside, it is an interesting idea, no matter how much I dispise the lead...

Thinking about it, would you like to live a life where nobody can lie? Not even about their inner, most private thoughts. These could range from an affair to a murder, or something more mundane like what we want to eat. Or, if you are going to be completely honest, all the things that you would like to do to Cheryl Cole, but even thinking about them may get you arrested.

Jesting in bad taste aside (for now) would it really be terrible if we were all honest with each other? Sometimes it could be a good thing to tell a lie. Couldn't it? For example 'Does my bum look big in this?' asks the wife. If the husband says' yes, your bottom looks huge', then divorce may be on the cards. Whereas, if he answers 'no, it looks perfect' then everything remains hunky-dory and, without insinuating anything about gender, there may be a happy ending to the evening.

*Note, I'm not saying all women are concerned about their bums being big or that having a big bum is a bad thing.

So, a little white-lie here and there may save a marriage, while an affair may destroy it. There are two sides to this particularly deceptive coin. However, is it not up to the individual and their judgement? And, if so, who are we to judge someone elses actions?

Nobody.

Will that stop us? No. We constantly judge people. To prove that to you, I point out Susan Boyle when she first walked on that stage. We all thought 'sit down dear, we'll call the hospital to send sonmebody up. No Susan, not on the floor...'

I digest. (Digress)

One thought I've had is that we are not judging the liar on their deception. But rather on their ability to lie. After all, we wouldn't think anything about it if we believed the lie. Would we? Therefore giving the liar top marks!

BUT...

...What if you are the person being lied to. Would you rather know the truth and have, for example, doctors tell you that you will die tomorrow and be unable to stop it,  but they have granted you that final chance to say good-bye to your loved ones. Or, would you prefer to be in the dark and to spontaniously die, without having to worry yourself about it?


Obviously, we would all prefer not to die full-stop and I am using extreme hyperbole here. I assume it would be personal preferance, but I would prefer to say good-bye. Especially to my Mum, right after I've updated my Facebook status...

All in all, lying is bad, morally wrong and a sin. (Says so in the Bible, Revelation 21:8 )

But even after learning that, we will all still do it. Won't we?

If you'd like to voice your opinion on lying, this blog or anything in particular, feel free.

If you did not like this post, then have a listen to Anastacia's song 'Why'd You Lie To Me' to cheer yourself up!  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJPcABsojlU&ob=av2e

Love Thy Neighbour?

I should just warn you, when I say teenage girls in this post, I mean 14-15 years old who think they're grown up.

My next door neighbours are having a birthday party for one of their teenage girls.
Family and friends have been invited, in order to celebrate her turning 14.

I think

I only think this since I do not care nor like them, due to the fact that I'm woken randomly at night, by the sounds of shouting and screaming from the girls. Or the baby who loves crying.

I hate them.

This party wouldn't have bothered me as, I understand teenage girls etc

But this afternoon I forgot about this party, so hung out my washing to dry on the line, not later knowing the horror I was to endure upon retrieving my clean clothes.

I chose my moment, when they sang the 'Happy Birthday' song (I could hear it through the walls...) I would run out and take them down. Meaning the clothes, not take down the girls.

How was I to know they were singing it in a pitch black garden, watching me take down my underpants off the line.

I got half-way down and they stopped singing. immediately I heard the shrill voices of teenage girls addressing me. They broke into a chorus of 'Hiya Johnny!' so I turned to face them, to wave and feigned a smile.

As I turned my back the birthday girl shouted to me 'I can see your underwear Johnny!'

No shit Sherlock. We're neighbours with a low fence....

The Lesbian, Cometh

Earlier this year I attended an Open Day trip with college to Manchester Metropolitan University.

I personally didn't like the University and so, I very politely kept it to myself... This is a lie, I told everyone.

So here are two pictures of me and my new best friend, Carol Ann Duffy, the poet laureate.

Carol and I, looking fabulous.

Carol (she sin't drunk) and me, doing my best to look happy

The poet laureate means the poet who officially writes poems for a Royal occasion i.e. Will's and Kate's wedding, she penned a poem entitled Rings.

Here The Guardian covers the poem as part of a Wedding article. I think the poem is beautiful.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/apr/23/wedding-carol-ann-duffy-poetry

Jokes aside, the woman is a legend and inspriation. The first out-gay person  AND the first woman, while being down to Earth.

She can come and have a night out with me anytime.... This is not a lie.

Heavy Metal Lover?

With the riots sweeping through the country like underage drinking, I thought it was just the right time to have a literary riot. (Hopefully sounding more logical than this seemingly pointless chaos)

Enjoy.

(Demand, not a request)

The Blackpool Metro service. A local and cost-efficient, depending on your income bracket, way of getting around Blackpool.

While I'm not one to kick up a fuss...

*Insert retort here*

...I have noticed over the last few years that their drivers seem to be a tad on the bleak side.

               I mean, who wouldn't smile when they see this hurtling
                                          round the corner...
                           
                                    ...Unless you're driving.

Puns aside, the drivers tend to look homicidal. (A fact which may dissuade a potential passenger)

You may think this is understandable, since they deal with the general populace of our quaint *tourist resort.

*Tourist: In Blackpudlian, tourist stands for somebody engaging in a debauched activity, namely ridiculous alcohol consumption just before a wedding. Presumably stotgun.

Then, add the *tourists to the local tribes of Chavs, who have the gait of a gate, rigid and violent, while charging around with the name 'Henleys' etched into everything they wear.

...A *tourist may think that they are all indeed called Henley, since their intellect in questionable, since they have chosen to holiday in Blackpool...

So there are 2 perfectly viable reasons for the bus drivers to be depressed. But, is it a perfectly viable reason to treat the locals, who do not stand like they are facing a firing squad, with the discontent deriving from their misery?

No.

More often than not, I have received a multitude of accusative looks, based on what I can only assume, due to the correlation, is because I am a teen (and this was BEFORE the recent looting) On another instance I have been christened 'deaf and dumb' by one driver, as I could not understand a word he spoke and implored him to speak clearly. Ironically the insult was the only thing he said with clarity.

They also get paid to provide a public service. Note the word public does not differentiate between anyone,  whether they wear Henleys or a suit by Guccci.

(If they are wearing a suit by Gucci, I ask why are they using a bus?)

We, as the public, are the Metro's blood. And yet, they treat us all like malcontents?

I will gladly acknowledge the fact that some of their staff are a delight to see. They are neither rude or mean, but rather polite and kind.

In fact one member of staff in particular, I do not know their name and they may not wish to have attention drawn to them, is the nicest person I have ever met. There is always a smile upon their face, they act like all the evil atrocities in this world don't exist.

I wonder, why can't all the staff be this way?
It says on their website that they're all supposed
to be "professional" which should at least imply
a smile.

Shouldn't it?

Did you get my text? A.K.A. Why didn't you reply?

So you're texting a friend. So you've been doing it for the last 20 minutes. So you are getting all the latest gossip about their little life. So you sent them another message and they didn't reply. So they still haven't replied 2 days later.

What does this mean?

Do they not want to talk to you anymore? Have you suddenly grown boring to them? Have they been irritated by something you said?

Your curiosity has peaked, you simply must know why they haven't got back to you. So how do you ask them, without being rude?

If you blurt out "Why didn't you reply?" or even more abruptly demand "Well?" your friend may not stay your friend for very long. The case may unravel to be that the text never arrived, and the blame falls upon your service provider.

So, after 2 days worth of deliberation and erratic pondering, you've formulated the perfect text message that covers all possibilities, "Did you get my text?".

If the answer is no, then you can resend the unanswered text.
If the answer is yes, then they probably meant to get back to you but ultimately didn't.
They could also ignore this one as well...

It may however, be an innocent mistake like their credit has expired or they have broken their phone.

If it was any of the more 'acceptable' circumstances then surely they would have endeavored  to contact you another way. (Unless the conditions were so extraordinary!)

Which begs the question, is the unresponsive 'friend' really worth the effort?

Story Makers

I asked my mum this evening if she could help me come up with a good idea for my college assignment; writing a child's story.

Fair to say I don't really 'do' children (No matter how you decide to interpret that, I still do not!)

Mum usually tells me I was born at the age of 76, as I never wanted to watch CBeebies or play out. When I was 4, she came into my room on Christmas night, dead on midnight, dressed as Santa Claus. Me, at the age of 4, told her to stop being immature and to grow up...


Back to her story idea. Yeah. I won't be using it. She suggested the image of an adopted child having a bath in bleach, and the foster parent being either twisted or very clever...

Twisted since it would burn, and probably kill, the child...

...Clever as it would clean the child and the bath.

All The Little Things...

  You know the feeling. You're eating your dinner (hopefully in a civilized manner, i.e. cutlery rather than cut-throat) and then your fork scrapes, for the tiniest fraction of a second, against your teeth. A sharp pain shoots through your entire body and causes what I can only describe as 'discomfort'.

  Another example would be the washing up. Your washing away at whatever (Don't lower the tone, we're talking kitchen, not bathroom... Or wherever else you would wash, maybe Blackpool sea if you're feeling adventurous and a little bit drunk/mental/retarded.) when suddenly your nail catches a stainless steel implement. The sudden pain runs through your bones once more, causing you to fall to the floor, dead. *Note the use of hyperbole.

  My final example would be the most random thing ever. You can come into contact with these mundane things every day of the year. Be in your radiator, front door, Nan, whatever. Every now and then this common household item/person will attack you, rather like a Pokemon, with a sudden jolt of electricity. This feeling is universal, be you young or old, male or female, English or Chinese (If you are Chinese, WELCOME!)

  What I am pointing out is you are  going to get hurt. Every single day. By                                                 anything.

Relationship troubles are the same as a fork on teeth, a little sudden pain for something that is necessary.

A job is the same as the dishes, you don't want to do it, nobody does, but you have to.

And the electrical discharge from inanimate objects? (Nan, I'm sorry and I love you but really, you can't walk...) Just think of it as a sign, telling you to trudge on, and defeat the pain.

Lady GaGa. Why do I love her so?

I do resent it when somebody tries to tell me that I only like Lady GaGa because I am gay. There is nothing wrong with people that do like her simply because they are gay, but I am definitely, without a doubt, not in that circle.

I will admit, part of my attraction to Lady G. is probably derived from me being a homo and her being the latest gay-icon. I openly have a soft-spot for Kylie Minogue, Madonna, Cher, the list of gay-women goes on (I mean women with a gay following, not lesbians... Not that I discriminate against lesbians either...)

Back to my love for GaGa, I am devote to her mainly because of her talent. She dances fantastically, sings majestically, writes fluently, carries herself respectfully, controls the media effortlessly and encourages the world to be lovely. All at the same time...

It does have to be said though, I am partial to a woman in power and I love it when a sister does it for themselves. So part of her appeal is because she is a woman of power. Does this mean I wound like S&M. I wonder? (and you can forget that Rhianna song, I like that anyway...)

So there you go, I love GaGa as she deserves and commands my respect, not because she is the latest big thing. No. That is what Cheryl Cole is for. Meow.

Mum's Boy

My mother tried her hand at writing today. She dictated and I typed, since I mash the keys faster (If in a slightly incorrect order...)

She finished her short piece, exausted physically and mentally.

I then twisted the structure and layout, to create a poem as her piece had some of the key characteristics of a poem. (No, it didn't rhyme, but it was excellently ambiguous)

Here it is:

Mum’s Boy

He leaves school at 16.

Only to join up as a 6^th form

student and start all over again.

He waits with anticipation and

excitement to start his new adventure.

Before you know, it’s arrived.

He can’t wait to get there and start.

Mum meanwhile, is excited for him

but apprehensive, and hopes his first day goes well.

Of course, nothing to worry about.

He loves it; he is full of it and full of himself.

From then on, the year starts flying by.

She watches him grow in confidence.

So much so, that he gets a little above himself.

She waits, watching for the fall. 

And when it comes, it’s not what she expects.

But she builds him back up again, to begin round 2.

It’s a tumultuous 2 years, until he finally gets his grades.

And then he is all so full of himself again.

Mum knows she has to go through it all again,

as Uni is looming… Then it hits her.

No, she won’t.

Because he’ll be moving away.

Instead of feeling relief,

she yearns to have the turmoil once more.

She is going to be left behind.

Hear no evil, See no evil.

 Compliments.

A universal thing that everybody must enjoy in some form.

For example, I was sat with a friend today at dinner and she pointed out a female whom my friend told my 'You'll love!'
I turned around and, unsurprisingly, I loved her.

The female, who I now want to marry and have children with, had deep scarlet hair which towered over the rest of the regular, flat hair. (Not that there is anything wrong with flat hair, which is fantastic in a different, but slightly less unique way)

I couldn't help myself. I edged closer to The Hair for a better view. When I finally reached her table, I told her with great enthusiasm 'I was just admiring your hair from over there where I was sat and I just had to tell you I love it!’ She thanked me for the compliment and I swiftly left the student to be alone with her fabulous hair.

When I had left the tower of hair, my friend had told me that her face had changed to a shade of red. (Which nobody noticed because of her cherry mane)

I then went on to tell a member of staff in the college library that I loved her camel-colour dress and that it hit her body in all the right places. I even said she looks as delicious as a caramel cappuccino. (On account of it being a similar colour) This lady lapped it up and thanked me for the compliment and, if slightly inappropriate, found the simile hilarious!

This got me thinking, what is the harm in complimenting people? It makes you feel good, as you made somebody else feel good.
I couldn't help but ponder, is this one of the rare instances that an act cannot be interpreted as an evil or malicious thing, no matter the confidence level of the person?

What a tempting thought...

The University Challenge

With the exams looming on the horizon, most of my time is consumed with revision. Syntactical parallelism, the ever evolving representations of women, the dramatic intentions of David Hare and the weird nature of expressionism. While I am away from this barrage of information, I ponder over where will I study next? And what I will study? The media? Creative writing? Journalism? Something else that isn't manual labour?

Mum wants me to attend a local uni, possibly in Preston, so we can save money on accommodation. A wise tactic.
Me, being extravagant and often ludicrous, prefers to dream about going to Edinburgh and studying there....

...The latter obviously costing more.

It makes me want the really important answers to the thousands of questions that comes with this pondering.
Like what other courses there are?
How much will it cost?
What other options could I have that would keep my Mum from taking out another mortgage just for my education?
And where in the world is Madeline McCann?

Seriously though, where is she? 

Attention to Beauty.

                                  I have an question.

   I have undergone widespread research involving Facebook groups, Starbucks coffee and multiple zits and I have come to the conclusion.

   Do people put themselves down in order to be told that they are wrong, thus getting attention and adoration?

                           Hear me out on this one...

   E.g. Attractive girl with a good figure says to her girl friends whilst having lunch 'I'll have the salad, I'm getting fat.'

   The girls all look at her as though she just told them she is secretly a man.

   So they all fawn over her and tell her she isn't and she need not worry.
The 'fat' girl thanks to her friends and they all think about their weight and body image.

   Another way to see this is she has actually said something about herself that is devoid of any rational though, couldn't be possibly true even in the slightest and neither the girls, or the 'fat' girl in question would dare believe it.

                               Question is why did she say it?
                  She honestly thought that she was getting fat?
                   She wants to make her friends feel insecure?
                               She wants sheer adoration?

                                          Think about it.

Little Children...

Today I passed a shop that was advertising it's new baby-proofing techniques.

It included various things such as water proof plugs, blue-taking sharp corners and other terrific ideas/products.

Needless to say they had a larger than life price tag.

Easier way to baby-proof, use a condom!

The I.B. Cometh

           I recently went to a party with a few I.B. students...

 Needless to say they are extremely clever and frequently make jokes about dividing an atom and curling up inside with a nice warm cup of nitrous oxide.

              Yeah. Hilarious. I can see you laughing your ass off now...

 I jest of course, they are wonderful people who could probably crack the Da Vinci code in their sleep.
    It was one of the first times in my life where I was the least intelligent person in the room and I felt rather inadequate and so wanted to curl into my own atom...

   So, I think what I am trying to say is: If you are surrounded by the  I.B. students and you are not part of their elite ranks,
                           You're screwed.

Nana Cougar and the young doctor.

Tonight I visited my Nan in hospital.

She was admitted on Wednesday, my niece came home from school to find her splayed on the floor.
                                          The ambulance took it from there.

Naturally I was worried, if she died I would be a shell of who I am. (Plus I'd be out of a job!)

She isn't a great woman by any means of the word. She isn't the most likable person. In fact I don't actually like her!
                                   But she is my Nan, and I love her, unconditionally.

Mum gave me regular updates to how she had deteriorated and was hallucinating about working 'all night long' with a 'hunky' doctor.
Now, my Nan cannot walk. So she can't work. My Nan is also racist, and the doctor black! You get the idea that she is losing the plot yes?

When we arrived on the scene (or the ward for the less dramatic reader) she was perched, bolt upright in her chair, looking healthier, younger and more alive than I have ever seen the 83 year old lady!


It is fair to say she is doing fair.
Even if she wants to sleep with every medical personnel she looks at...

Go on, treat Yourself.

'If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door' - Milton Berle

That's exactly what I intent to do. Even if it takes an eternity. As I write this I wondering what this site should be about. I have come to a conclusion.

I have absolutely no idea.

I look back at the quote and  wonder if it will work. It can't hurt to try I tell myself.
I imagine thins will be a representation of me.

If this blog seems unsure it's doing a pretty bad job already. I am a very opinionated person and rather self-sure. Which is a good thing.
                                                      Isn't it?

However, I will presume that I will post stuff. Stuff about my interests, likes and activities.
I like to read, play video-games, spend time with my friends, think, breathing's usually a good one.

I also think I am the only person who lives in Blackpool that likes it.

If you are reading, please stay with this, I promise to improve!

Feedback welcome.