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Happy St George’s Day

23 Apr

Today we honour St George, the Patron Saint of England. Unlike St Patrick’s Day, traditional celebrations do not centre around getting pissed out of our gourds. Instead we spend the day trying not to seem racist.

As a naturalised citizen, I bear no guilt from the evils of the Empire nor shame from the loss of it.  I embrace my new country and can display my Cross of Saint George. However, I am not naive to the world around me, which explains why I’ll be flying my flag indoors (which sounds like a euphemism but is meant literally).

Unfortunately England’s flag—which should represent our entire country, good and bad—has been co-opted by what most sensible people would call the bad.  Apparently, 24% of the English consider their own flag to be racist, according to a report called This Sceptred Isle.

This is unfair. There are still many things English to take pride in. David Beckham is properly lovely and you know it.  Our citizens are incredibly charitable. The NHS may not be perfect, but I’m grateful for it. We’ve got terrific architecture, art, comedy, music: I mean, we got a lot good going on here, people. It’s a shame that those who want to appropriately celebrate these things are too afraid to do so, for fear of being associated with racist ignorance. Is there a way to have national pride without being nationalistic?

I don’t know and I’m not in a position to make that call anyway. But I do hope we can all remember old St George on his day. Who cares that he wasn’t really English and that his greatest feat was killing an imaginary creature? I mean, we’ve all got our own personal dragons that need slaying and he can inspire us to do that. And our saint did tons of brilliant things, including bringing himself and others (even oxen) back from the dead, which is no mean feat, I can tell you.

As the song goes, “I’ve been dreaming of a time when to be English is not to be baneful, to be standing by the flag not feeling shameful, racist or partial.” God knows, Morrissey’s got his issues but let’s make his dream come true today, just for a minute, in the privacy of our own sitting rooms. Then tomorrow when we wake to the hate and violence in the streets, the dire economic picture and the idiots who run our country, we can return to feeling ashamed once again.

The Gee-Gees and Me

14 Apr

It may surprise you to know that I’m interested in the Grand National, as I’m usually anti events that lead to animals being killed (unless it’s tastefully done). However, today, like most of the nation, I’ll be glued to the telly watching the legendary handicap steeplechase run.

When I was an itsy-bitsy girl, my father had an old Army friend we called Uncle Eli. Every once in a blue moon, he would spend a few days in our family home. His visits were usually preceded and followed by at least ten days of silence from my mother, which may explain why I found time with Uncle Eli so enchanting. I thought his excesses were exotic and exciting. Of course, now I find barely functional alcoholics rather less attractive, but then, a visit with Uncle Eli meant a weekend of good fun.

One year, my father and Eli invited me to join them on one of their usually private jollies. Though I requested advance knowledge of the details (so I could choose my wardrobe wisely), all Eli would tell me was “You’re going to have the time of your life.”

And I did. After a quick stop at the one bar in town which also had a children’s menu, we drove through the gates of Melvin Purvis Raceway. As soon as we got out of the car, my face was stung by the frenzy that surrounded me. Men of all sizes were frantically running about, holding newspapers, cigars and their wallets as they rushed to the windows and then trackside. While my father and Eli chose their bets, I watched the enclosure through my binoculars.

I was initially seduced by the satiny sheen of the jockeys’ silks (I was a child and can be forgiven for this). But soon I was studying the horses. I don’t know how anyone can deny the beauty of the equine beast: the muscular curves of the thighs, the seductive shape of the face, the crowning glory of the crest. One in particular caught my eye: a grey colt with a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eyes. I was no expert, of course, but it felt as if that horse was trying to tell me something and I knew what it was.

I immediately ran to the sides of my adult companions. “Eli,” I said, with absolute certainty, “the smart money is on the grey colt, number 27.”

My father tried to shush me, but Eli knelt down and said, “What’s the scoop, scout? You got some insider information?”

I thought of the way that horse had so boldly stared me down and said, “The information is inside me. I’m telling you, I just know it.”

He flipped over the paper he was holding, scanned the page and tutted. “He’s being ridden by a bug boy, doll face. Long shot–95/1. I don’t rate his chances.”

I pulled at my pocketbook, emptied all of my resources into my hand and passed it over to him. “Then use my money,” I said. “Place the bet.”

There must have been something about the tone of my voice or perhaps it was the awkwardness of a grown man being given a child’s life savings, but Eli scurried off and did as he had been told. The three of us then made our way to the rails.

“What’s his name?” I asked as I went up on my tippie-toes to get the best view.

“Butch Dreams Big” came the answer to my query.

Though the race seemed to only last seconds and the horses passed by me so quickly that the entire field was a blur, I knew what I knew.

“A blanket finish!” I heard a spectator shout. I think I was the only one there who was not surprised when the winner was revealed.

Eli immediately began asking me to pick my favourites in other races, but my father intervened. We collected my winnings (which my father pocketed) and walked silently back to the car. Eli left town the next day, and I was never included in one of their outings again.

The fact that my father did not tell my mother about our adventure made clear to me that, despite my newly discovered talent, my life’s meaning would not be found on a racetrack. I have never placed another bet.

The closest I allow myself to come to this forbidden pleasure is watching the Grand National each year. Christopher and I each have a flutter, but the winner gets personal favours instead of monetary rewards. I’m pretty confident about my choice this year, but I shan’t share it. If you’re betting today, please be sensible.

And good luck to the horses and riders. May you all end your day without bullets in your heads.

Today Is A Sunday

18 Mar

For some, it’s the end of the week. For some, it’s the beginning. For me, today is a Sunday. A normal Sunday.

Why?

Because I have the good sense to choose men and birth control wisely. Because I am more than a uterus and because I despise children’s voices.

If today means something different to you, have a good one.

Divided By A Common Language, Part One

1 Feb

It’s time.

Despite being an internationally respected woman and writer, I still get some grief about “speaking American.” Guess what? I’m American so, to those people I say, duh. But I’m British, too, so I also say fuck off, you twat.

However, in the spirit of being more welcoming, I’ve decided to supply a British-American dictionary for my less worldly readers. Here’s the first section.

But I’m telling you right now: I don’t want any quibbles. I don’t speak for all Americans. I don’t speak for all Brits. I only speak for myself: Agatha Whitt-Wellington. Got it?

A

Abattoir:  Slaughterhouse
Abseiling:  Rappeling
Abroad:  Overseas
Accelerator:  Gas pedal
Action Man:  G.I. Joe
Accumulator (bet): Parlay
Advert:  Commercial
A&E, casualty:  ER (emergency room)
Aerial:  Antenna
Aeroplane: Airplane
Alight: Get off
Aluminium: Aluminum
Alsatian:  German Shepherd
Angry: Mad, pissed off
Anti-clockwise: Counter-clockwise
Articulated lorry, juggernaut: Semi, tractor trailer, big rig, 18-wheeler
Arse:  Ass
Athletics: Track and field
Aubergine:  Eggplant
Automatic (car): Standard
Autumn:  Fall

B

Backhander: Kickback
Bagsie: Dibs
Balaclava:  Ski mask
Bang to rights: Dead to rights
Bank holiday: National holiday
Bap, cob: Hamburger bun
Barrister:  Trial lawyer
Bath: Bathtub
Bedsit: Studio apartment
Beefburger:  Hamburger
Beermat: Coaster
Behind: In back of
Benefits:  Welfare
Bespoke:  Tailor made, custom made
Bill: Check
Bin: Wastebasket, garbage can, trash can
Bin liner: Garbage bag, trash bag
Biro: Pen
Biscuits: Cookies
Bloke, chap, lad: Man, guy
Bogie, bogey: Booger
Boiled sweets: Hard candy
Bonnet: Hood
Booking: Reservation
Boot:  Trunk
Bottle: Moxie
Braces:  Suspenders
Break (school): Recess
Boiler (central heating): Furnace
Box (men’s athletic protection): Cup
Bum bag: Fanny pack
Bungalow: Single-storey house
Bum: Butt, booty, fanny
Burgle: Burglarize

C

Call box: Phone booth
Candy floss: Cotton candy
Car park: Parking lot
Canteen: Cafeteria
Caravan: Trailer, camper, RV
Caretaker: Janitor
Car boot sale: Yard/garage sale
Car side lights: Parking lights
Car wing: Fender
Catapult:  Sling-shot
Cellar: Basement
Cheeky: Ornery (cheeky monkey=ornery critter)
Chemist: Pharmacy, drugstore
Cheque: Check
Chips: French fries
Chuffed: Happy
City centre: Downtown
Cladding: Siding
Clean your teeth:  Brush your teeth
Cling film: plastic wrap, Saran wrap™
Coach: Bus, Greyhound™
Condom: Rubber
Consultant doctor:  Specialist
Cooker: Oven, stove
Coriander: Cilantro
Cotton: Thread
Cotton bud: Q-Tip™
Cotton wool: Cotton balls
Courgette:  Zucchini
Crash (a car): Wreck (used as a verb and noun)
Crisps: Potato chips
Crumpet: English muffin
Current account:  Checking account  

D

Daddy long legs: Crane fly
Daft, thick:  Stupid, dumb
Diagonal: Catacorner
Digger: Backhoe
Dinner jacket:  Tuxedo
Diversion: Detour
Doctor’s surgery: Doctor’s office
Dodgems: Bumper cars
Draughts:  Checkers
Drawing pin: Tack
Dressing gown: Robe
Dual-carriageway: Divided highway
Dummy: Pacifier, binky
Dustbin: Trash can
Dustcart: Garbage truck
Dustman: Garbage man
Duvet:  Comforter

E

Engaged (phone): Busy
Estate (inner city):  The projects
Estate (area of new houses): Sub-division
Estate (car): Station wagon
Estate agent: Real estate agent
Ex-directory: Unlisted

F

Fag: Cigarette
Fag end: Cigarette butt
Fairy cake:  Cupcake
Fairy lights:  Christmas lights
Fancy: Like
Fancy dress party: Costume party
Fanny: Pussy (sounds somewhat cruder, doesn’t it?)
Father Christmas: Santa Claus
Fire brigade: Fire department
First, second, third, fourth year (at university & high school): Freshman, sophomore, junior, senior
Fishfingers:  Fishsticks
Flannel: Washcloth
Flask: Thermos
Flat:  Apartment
Flyover:  Overpass
Football:  Soccer
Football boots:  Cleats
Footpath: Trail
Freephone: Toll-free
Fringe: Bangs
Frying pan: Skillet
Full stop:  Period

G

Gammon: Ham steak
Gangway: Aisle
Garden: Yard
Gear stick (car): Stick shift
Gherkin:  Pickle
Give way:  Yield
Gear lever:  Gear shift
Glove box: Glove compartment
Gobsmacked: Surprised
Goose pimples: Goose bumps
Grease-proof paper:  Waxed paper
Green fingers: Green thumb
Grill: Broil
Ground floor: First floor

H

Hair slide: Barrette
Hand bag: Purse
Hand brake: Parking brake
Hash (#): Pound sign
Headmaster / mistress:  Principal
Hen night:  Bachelorette party    
High Street:  Main Street
Hire: Rent
Hob: Stovetop
Holiday: Vacation
Homely: Homey (homely actually means ugly, so watch yourself)
Hosepipe: Hose
Hundreds and thousands: Sprinkles

I

Iced lolly:  Popsicle™
Icing sugar: Powdered sugar
Identity parade: Police line-up
Indicators (car):  Turn signals
Inverted commas: Quotemarks

J

Jacket potato:  Baked potato
Jam:  Jelly (as in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches)
Jelly:  Jell-O™
Joiner:  Carpenter
Jumper:  Sweater
Jump leads: Jumper cables
Junction (motorway): Exit

K

Kit (sports, camera, etc.):  Gear
Kitchen roll: Paper towels
Knickers:  Panties, underwear
Knuckle dusters:  Brass knuckles

L

Ladder (tights): Run
Ladybird:  Ladybug
Lager:  Beer
Launderette:  Laundromat
Lay-by:  Rest area
Lead (dog):  Leash
Leads (electrical): Cords
Lemonade: 7-Up™, Sprite™
Let: Rent
Letter box: Mail box
Level crossing: Railroad crossing
Lie-in: Sleep-in
Lift: Elevator
Lift (give someone a lift): Ride
Lodger: Boarder
Loo, Toilet: Bathroom, restroom
Loogie: Goober, hocker (goobers are also chocolate covered peanuts)
Loft: Attic
Lollipop: Lollipop, sucker
Lollipop lady:  Crossing guard
Lorry: Truck
Lorry driver: Truck driver, trucker
Lot (material items): Bunch
Lounge, sitting room: Living room.
Love bite: Hickey

M

Manager (sports): Coach
Managing director:  CEO (Chief Executive Officer)
Mange tout: Snow peas
Mannequin: Dummy
Manual (car): Stick, stick shift
Mate: Friend, buddy, pal, chum
Maths: Math
Megaphone: Bullhorn
Mileometer:  Odometer
Mince (meat): Ground meat
Mobile library: Bookmobile
Mobile phone:  Cell phone, cellular phone
Motorway: Highway, expressway
Mum:  Mom
 

To be continued….

Divided By A Common Language, Part Two

31 Jan

N

Nappy: Diaper
National: Federal
National Insurance number: Social Security number
Newsagent: Newsstand
Newsreader:  Anchorman, anchorwoman
Nick (verb): Steal, rob
Nick (noun): Prison, state pen, slammer, big house
Nil: Nothing, zero
Nought: Zero
Noughts and Crosses: Tic-Tac-Toe
Note (money): Bill
Number plates: License plates

O

OAP: Senior citizen
Off-licence: Liquor store (also available as a drive-thru)
Off-roader: SUV (sport utility vehicle)
Off-the-peg: Off-the-rack
Operating theatre: Operating room
Overtake: Pass

P

Pants (y fronts): Underwear, briefs, shorts
Paraffin: Kerosene
Parking brake: Emergency brake
Patience (card game): Solitaire
Pavement:  Sidewalk
Pay in: Deposit
Pay packet: Pay check
Pay rise: Pay raise
P.C. (Police Constable): Police Officer
P.E. class: Gym class
Pelican, zebra crossings: Pedestrian crossing
Petrol:  Gas
Piles: Hemorrhoids
Pitch (sports):  Field
Plait (hair): Braid
Plaster (bandage):  Band-Aid™
Plaster (walls): Drywall
P.M.T.: P.M.S. (it’s a proper syndrome in America, not just a bit of tension)
Pocket money (child’s):  Allowance
Poorly:  Sick
Pop socks: Knee-high’s
Post: Mail
Post box: Mailbox  (flag up to indicate you have something to be picked up)       
Post code: Zip code
Post-Mortem: Autopsy
Potholing, caving:  Spelunking
Powercut: Power outage
Pram:  baby carriage, buggy
Prawn: Shrimp
Press-up:  Push-Up
Pressurise: Pressure
Propstand (push bike): Kickstand
Pub: Bar
Public school: Private school
Pudding, sweets, afters:  Dessert
Pull: Pick up, score
Puncture (tyre): Flat
Pushchair:  Stroller
Push bike: Bike, bicycle

Q

Queue: Line
Quid: Buck (slang for a dollar)

R

Randy: Horny
Rasher (bacon):  Slice
Redundant: Laid-off
Register: Roster
Return (journey): Round-trip
Reverse (a car, etc.):  Back up
Reverse charges: Collect call
Revision: Study, cram
Ring (on phone):  Call
Roadworks: Construction
Rocket (vegetable): Arugula
Roundabout: Traffic island
Row: Argue, fight, quarrel
Rubber:  Eraser
Rubbish (refuse): Garbage, trash
Rude: Risqué

S

Sack (get the sack): Fired
S.A.E:  S.A.S.E (self addressed stamped envelope)
Saloon (car):  Sedan
Sand pit (children’s):  Sand box
Sello™ tape: Scotch™ tape
Semi-detached: Duplex
Semi-skimmed milk:  Lowfat, 2% milk
Serviette: Napkin
Settee:  Sofa, couch
Shaving foam:  Shaving cream
Shop:  Store
Shopping trolley:  Shopping cart
Silencer (car):  Muffler
Single ticket:  One-way
Solicitor: Lawyer, attorney
Sorbet:  Sherbert
Skint: Broke
Skip: Dumpster
Skive: Play hooky
Sledge:  Sled
Sleeper (rail):  Railway tie
Slip road: On-ramp, off-ramp
Slowcoach:  Slowpoke
Smock (dress): Jumper
Snog: Make out
Spanner: Wrench
Spirits: Liquor
Stabilisers (child’s bike): Training wheels
Stag night: Bachelor party
Starter: Appetizer
Static caravan: Mobile home
Strop, wobbly: Hissy fit   
Study: Den
Sub-contract: Outsource
Supply teacher: Substitute teacher
Surname: Last name
Suspenders:  Garter belt
Swear: Cuss
Swede:  Rutabaga
Sweets:  Candy
Swimming costume: Swim suit, swimming trunks, bathing suit

T

Takeaway:  Takeout
Tannoy: Loudspeaker
Tap: Faucet, spigot
Tarmac: Pavement, asphalt, blacktop
Teat (baby bottle): Nipple
Tea towel: Dish towel
Telly: TV
Tetchy: Touchy
Thousand million: Billion
Tick: Check, checkmark
Ten-pin bowling: Bowling
Till: Cash register
Tin (of food):  Can
Tip:  Dump
Tipp-X™: Wite-out™ 
Toilet, loo: Bathroom, restroom, john
Toilet roll: Toilet paper
Torch: Flashlight
Touch wood: knock on wood
Tout (tickets): Scalp
Towbar: Trailer hitch
Trainers: Sneakers, tennis shoes
Tramp: Bum, hobo
Treacle: Molasses
Trousers: Pants, trousers
Tumble dryer: Dryer 

V

VAT:  Sales tax
Verucca: Plantar wart
Vest: Tank top
Video: VCR

W

Waistcoat:  Vest
Walking (country): Hiking
Wardrobe:  Closet
Washing up: Dishwashing
Wellies: Rubber boots, galoshes
Whinge: Whine
Windcheater: Windbreaker
Windscreen: Windshield
Whatsit: Doohickey, thingamabob
Write-off (car): Total

Z

Zebra crossing, pelican crossing: Crosswalk
Zimmerframe: Walker
Zip: Zipper
 

Some of these words are familiar to my readers, whether they are British or American or Other. I don’t doubt you’ve heard many of them on television or in films. So why, may I ask, is it so difficult for you to understand them when they come out of my mouth? Well, you can plead ignorance no more. Thanks to the time and effort I’ve taken to enlighten both my countries’ citizens, I’m certain that US/UK relations will improve.

And as we say in all types of English, you’re welcome.

Thank You, Driver, For Getting Me Here

3 Nov

If you’re like me, you probably grew up admiring lion tamers. Like Superman, lion tamers’ incredible talents, fantastic costumes and determination to do good for humanity are inspirational and sexually intriguing. Unfortunately, we all learn as we age that neither Superman nor lion tamers exist in the real world.

However, there are stylish, altruistic hard workers who walk among us. We see them everyday but rarely do we take a moment to either notice or appreciate them. They are bus drivers.

Hey, hey, hey now, Agatha (I hear you saying). Hay is for horses (I hear my elocution tutor saying). Please hear me out.

Often you’ll see in the editorial pages of the tabloids complaints about the buses: the stink of piss, the teenagers’ noise, the slight delays that on occasion may occur. These are simply hooey. Take it from a frequent rider (yes, I ride the bus, what of it?)—our public transport system is champion and it is due primarily to the humble and skilful bus driver.

Every single day in England, men (and I’ll admit a few women) risk their lives for our safety. Plenty of people bitch (excuse my French) but how many of you can manoeuvre that much steel and human cargo through the dangerous streets of our country? Let’s not forget that the average English street is barely wider than the average English bus. Once when I was on the Number 41 into the city, our bus driver managed to squeeze by an illegally parked Vauxhall Nova, passing the wing mirror with literally just an inch to spare. He neither blinked nor broke a sweat. That’s power.

Bus drivers must maintain this cool through other stresses, very often from the passengers they devote their lives to. We might be frustrated with other riders’ noise, confusion or lack of correct change, but these poor chaps have to deal with it for hours on end and they’re not allowed to slap or swear at any of them. They are also our guardians while we ride: I remember so clearly the day a fight broke out over the front seat on the Shopper Hopper and within seconds, the driver jumped from his seat, disarmed the attacker and quickly citizen-arrested him. Not impressive enough for you? I should add that during that same trip, our driver also performed cardiopulmonary resuscitation on an old dear, led us all in a sing-song and still managed to get us to the Supercentre right on time.

There are very few heroes left in the world today, but for me, bus drivers come closest to being modern day lion tamers. I just wish more wore hats. And carried whips.

Halloween: We Fear What We Don’t Understand

27 Oct

Here is something I know: in England the current connotation of the word Halloween is “another American concept that is slowly destroying the world via our children’s innocence.”

Here is something you know: I am very clever and generally understand things better than you do.

Therefore, in the spirit of John 8:32, I would like to enlighten you to some truths about the Halloween holiday so that you shall be set free from your misconceptions. While the practices of the holiday should be limited to children, the theories behind it provide some good moral lessons we’d all do well to remember.

COSTUMES

Adults wear costumes (yes, of course, I’m talking about fancy dress, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean) to escape their own mundane existence and live someone else’s life for an evening (although why people think slutty nurses’ lives are so fascinating is beyond me).

However, for American children, costumes serve an educational purpose; they’re used to introduce them to different career options. By the time American children reach puberty, they have already had first hand experience in a number of fields: medical, law enforcement, construction, super-heroism and witchcraft. Another benefit of children’s costumes is that they should be homemade. Homemade costumes are economical; support recycling (for at least a decade in America, all pantyhose were sold in plastic eggs, yet you never saw one of these in the landfills because they were ever so crafty); and encourage ingenuity within a family, forcing children and parents to discover new purposes within objects (I once wore Mason jar bands as earrings for my fortune teller costume, don’t tell me that’s not creative).

Sadly, families today often feel that they just don’t have the time to devote to the traditional costume-making process. Purchasing a costume loses some of the true meaning of Halloween; however, if it has to be done, the only appropriate option is a boxed costume which contains a highly flammable, colourful smock-type outfit and a plastic face with eyeholes and a thin, easily snappable piece of elastic to secure it to the head.

TRICK-OR-TREATING

Trick-or-treating is not begging. It’s actually an ancient form of barter: when you give a child a “treat,” you are actually paying for the entertainment they have provided you by making you feel frightened, amused or vaguely confused. Trick-or-treating in America is organized; there’s a single night chosen and if you don’t want to participate you just turn your porch light off. The “trick” part of the name is often interpreted as a threat, but this is incorrect. Despite what the horror films tell you, there are actually no recorded incidents of any mischief, criminal or otherwise, around Halloween on the books of any single American police station. Fact. Being scared, though, is part of the holiday’s tradition: ultimately, it’s a lesson in mortality and the sooner a child learns of his impending death, the happier the child will be, I always say.

Treats are generally candy, partly because sweets are enjoyed by most people and partly simply because they come individually wrapped. Years ago there was an urban legend that strangers were sticking razor blades in apples and contaminating cookies, so parents feel safer when a child comes home with individually wrapped candies–though, of course, a hypothermic needle could easily be used to inject candy through its wrapper without raising any suspicion (would-be poisoners should ignore this remark).

The candy most associated with Halloween is candy corn. To eat candy corn, you are required to bite off, chew and swallow the white bits and then discard the rest in the nearest bin. A little wasteful, yes, but it’s the law.

JACK O’LANTERNS

These days, there’s a real art to pumpkin carving. I myself prefer the traditional Jack O’Lantern face—circle eyes, triangle nose and the toothy grin. Carving even this relatively easy design is a great way to develop dexterity and knife-handling skills. The inside of the pumpkin is then frozen to be baked into Thanksgiving pumpkin pies and the seeds are roasted for a nutritional snack. In the carved pumpkins, you place a candle. You do this because it looks nice. Carving pumpkins is just nice, okay? Doesn’t niceness matter anymore?

Ultimately, I don’t care if you like Halloween. Support it or don’t, it’s no skin off my nose. However, if you decide you don’t want to be a part of it, keep your anti-American sentiment out of it. Halloween was an important part of my childhood; don’t let your ignorance try to taint my memory. If you find any of these meaningful traditions interesting enough to adopt in your own lives, I am happy to provide you with additional suggestions, costume designs and recipes. However, I request that you please ask your children not to come round my house during Corrie.  Halloween or not, that’s really annoying.

We Are What Democracy Looks Like and We Look Fetching

16 Oct

October 15, 2011 was a Global Day of Action. I hope your actions included more than just eating chips and listening to the football scores. The Arab World had the spring, and this autumn is a chance for the rest of us to make a difference.

The day was tied to the Occupy Wall Street protests in New York. If you aren’t aware of them, may I politely suggest that you wake up and pay attention to the world around you? They’re a leaderless, non-violent movement of people of all ages, races, and political persuasions who are a bit sick and tired of the power and greed of corporations. One of their slogans–We are the 99%–highlights the fact that the richest 1% of the US owns 40% of the wealth and takes home nearly a quarter of the nation’s income, and therefore politicians seem more keen on protecting them and corporations than looking after the majority of the country.

The government bailed out the banks because “they were too big to fail.” I’m no mathematician, but 99% of a country seems like a pretty “big” group (see chart).

So protesters began “occupying” Wall Street. Within weeks, thousands of Americans were occupying their own cities. The movement went global yesterday with protests in countries around the world. People are gathering together to say, “Yo, politicians, we are here and you must pay attention to us.” (Use of the slang term “yo” is obviously optional.)

As an American who is—yes, I know this may shock you—part of the 99% and as a concerned global citizen, I felt I had to act. So Christopher and I led an occupation of the village green yesterday.

We set up our tent in late morning, and it didn’t take long to attract some attention. This may or may not be explained by my incredibly captivating attire (merci to the boys at Designs by Maurice). However, our multimedia presentation quickly helped to inform the less enlightened villagers, and soon our numbers rivaled those in major American cities.

Unlike the hypocrisy shown in many American cities towards the universal rights of freedom of assembly and expression, our local police were most respectful of our protest. I confess there were a few arrests. This was not due to violence or destruction, but rather because, during our General Assembly to vote on our demands, some participants insisted on saying “pacific” instead of “specific” and I felt compelled to shop them to the coppers as that level of ignorance has no part in any effective social change movement.

One criticism of the American protests is that they are unfocused: opponents see this as a weakness but many supporters see it as a result of the many different societal problems caused by greed. Our group decided while we stand in solidarity with all multi-issue protests, we would focus on one simple specific demand: we will continue to occupy until the world becomes a fairer and all round nicer place to live.

Although I elected not to stay the night out on the green, I have just returned from there and can report that the occupation is still going strong. If you would like to help us, here is a list of the campers’ current needs:

  • Food
  • Tarps
  • Cardboard and paint for signs
  • A job offering a living wage
  • Yesterday’s Wales v. France rugby result
  • Water

If you’re not able to stop by our group, please consider supporting or starting your own local occupation. Show your politicians that enough is enough. Greed has to led to a global financial crisis and austerity measures, which hurt the poorest the most, will not eliminate the problems. Take action. Do something. Just don’t bother throwing a pie in Rupert Murdoch’s face, because that didn’t really change anything, now did it?

Je Suis Innocent!

19 Jul

Despite what you may have heard in today’s select committee, I was never present at any discussions between Coulson, Cameron and Brooks. A certain flame-haired so-and-so is clearly only dragging my name into the proceedings to make herself appear more likeable by association with such a popular, attractive and clean-as-a-whistle writer as my good self. And the implication that I have locked lips with either of the Murdochs—come on, you know how I feel about Australians!

At this point, I am not likely to get my legal team involved: there are much bigger fish to fry first. I’ve hardly been harmed in the way others have by News Corporation and far be it from me to draw the attention away from the real crimes this soulless organization has committed.

I’m sure the fact that when you click on Rupert Murdoch’s Wikipedia page you are immediately redirected to the Amazon entry for my latest novel is purely a technical hiccup and will be straightened out soon.

The Prime Minister and The President

25 May

I’ve about had it up to here with you, Mr So-Called Cameron. I’ve tried to take the high road about your not inviting me to be the UK’s Special Representative for Anglo-American Relations, even though clearly the ideal candidate must be someone with my intelligence and diplomacy—not to mention the fact that I’ve had relations with men of both breeds.  You’ve made your position clear, and upon it I shall not dwell. However, despite my unofficial status as a key player in your policy machine, I do feel compelled to speak up about Obama’s visit to Number 10.

Regarding the ping pong game: No. 

It makes a mockery of your offices, and I’ve no doubt that the reason behind it was probably sinister. Refusing to play a one-on-one basketball game with him, especially if you were afraid of being shown up, could only have been motivated by racism.

More importantly, though, the opportunity of a high five with the President of the United States is not the epitome of a special relationship.

One type of special relationship is that between brothers (and no, I don’t mean brothers in that way, racist). There is an undeniable bond between brothers, but that bond could go good or bad. It could become tainted by hero worship, resentment or unrealistic expectations. Brothers with healthy relationships, however, acknowledge their similarities as well as their differences.  They learn from each other, and they maintain boundaries by not sharing everything (as painful as that may be to the woman who fancies them both, I’ve learned to my dismay).

Bush and Blair (neither of whom I’ve slept with) did not have a healthy special relationship. Why don’t you try to right that wrong with Obama? It’s about respect and mutual benefit. It’s perfectly fine for you to give him praise, but why not take a few things from him as well?

For example, take his advice on some key issues. What do you know about American higher education? President Obama is focusing on making it more affordable to students. What would be his take on your tripling the fees for UK students? You’ve also appointed an abstinence-only organisation to advise you on sexual health. They tried abstinence-only sex ed in America; some evidence has shown not only did it not decrease rates of sexual activity, it may have led to young people taking more risks in terms of contraception. Why not learn from America’s mistakes?

John F Kennedy (whose brother I may have slept with) said, “Leadership and learning are indispensable to each other.” As leaders of the two greatest nations in the world, you and Obama could have used this time more wisely. You should have shown him the benefits of the NHS, properly made tea, and a culture not afraid of intellectual debate. He should have shown you more than just his table tennis skills.