Just For Men: Woo and How to Pitch It

20 Jul

Men. You gotta love them, what with their briefcases, insecurities, external genitalia and all.

Recently one of my admirers enquired about the ideal way to woo a lady of my cachet. I was charmed by his moxie as well as his attached photo, so I immediately began a detailed response to his query. However, I realised that he may not be the only young man feeling a bit overwhelmed by the changes in the “dating game,” so I’ve decided to take this opportunity to share my advice with all of you losers.

  • Ignore any advice given to you by another man (father, brother, that man your mother asked you to call uncle even though he’s really just her “special friend”). They don’t know what they’re talking about. If they did, they’d be too busy shagging to have time to stick their noses into your love life.
  • My first piece of guidance is to better yourself before you even think about getting involved with a woman. Seriously, look at yourself—who in their right mind would be interested in knobbing that? Read a few books, learn a foreign language, watch a few films, put your comic books in the attic. Before you put yourself “on the market,” you’ve got to have a product others would be interested in purchasing or at least renting with the option to buy.
  • In addition to building up your mind, keep your body in reasonable shape. While not all women demand perfection in the male physique, we do have some standards. Update your wardrobe—remember, you are what you wear. Hygiene is also important. I mean, do I really have to be telling you these things? No wonder you’re alone.
  • Be bold when approaching a woman you’re interested in. Don’t be afraid to go up to a woman you don’t know and introduce yourself. Yes, you may get pepper-sprayed a few times. But surely you can cope with having profound vision loss in one eye if it means finding Miss Right.
  • When talking to a woman, limit the amount of references to your penis to zero. Men are fascinated with cock talk but women, less so, so keep it confined to the locker room. Extremely unattractive is discussing others’ opinions of your member. Women aren’t particularly interested in the testimony of others, whether it’s from previous users or doctors who specialise in abnormalities.
  • It’s true that to curry a woman’s favour, a man should steer the talk towards the lady herself. This isn’t because women are the vainer sex; it’s because they’re the more interesting sex. Do you know how boring it is to hear a man talk about himself? Ask your mental health counsellor or parish priest, they’ll tell you.
  • Ask her questions, as long as you’re prepared to accept the answers.  If you’re not going to be able to handle the fact that she is better than you at almost everything, you may struggle.
  • If things are going swimmingly, it’s perfectly acceptable to try your chances on the first date.  Gently touch her hand or knee, give her a quick peck on the cheek. If she doesn’t press charges, you’re in there, my son.
  • If things are going less than swimmingly, wrap up the interaction quickly. You’re not doing anyone any good by prolonging the inevitable awkwardness. Don’t worry that she might have her feelings hurt. If you haven’t enjoyed the date, it’s unlikely she’s found much to write home about either. Cut your losses, make your apologies and vacate the premises, leaving as few contact details and as little DNA as possible.

Following the above advice should help you make a start towards finding love. It’s not an easy task but my motto has always been the harder, the better. When it comes to love, the challenge of finding it is always worth the pay off of receiving it.

Go get ’em, tiger!

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“Si vis pacem, para bellum”—Flavius Vegetius Renatus

10 Jul

Nick Gibb, schools minister, whom I believe but have yet to confirm was disowned by his more musical relatives, announced yesterday that teachers will have more power to “crack down on nuisance pupils.” I say, harrumph.

Surely the term “nuisance pupils” is redundant. When was the last time Mr Gibb was around young people? They are, by definition, a nuisance. Duh.

One of these so-called powers is the power to search students for the following items: music players, mobile phones, fireworks, knives, pornography and cigarettes. Schools today are in trouble, I would never deny that. They are hotbeds of violence, bigotry, and frustration, and anyone who works there and survives deserves an award. But I do believe this scheme to be mostly pointless.

Music players must be annoying (especially given the music young people undoubtedly play through them) but how dangerous can a Walkman be? Their corners are rounded, for goodness sake.  And do students really bring fireworks into the building? Obviously students shouldn’t be bringing fireworks to school but they shouldn’t be bringing ten litre tanks of gasoline to school either, and I don’t see those on the list.

Pornography seems a bit unnecessary as well; are young people really that interested in pornography? I find that a bit hard to swallow. In fact, including it on this list may actually end up encouraging young people to find out more about pornography. It wouldn’t surprise me if within 48 hours of Mr Gibb’s announcement, young people will be heading down to their local library’s card catalogs, searching for books on erotic art and/or old issues of Health & Efficiency.

Personally, I am appalled that teachers would even consider confiscating cigarettes from young people. During puberty, it is vital that teenagers can define themselves as “cool” and there is no better way of doing this than by smoking cigarettes. In five years when our hairdressing salons, mobile discotheques, and crack dens are being run by poindexters instead of hipsters, we will have Mr Gibb to blame.

Many students claim that they carry mobile phones to school for safety reasons: if someone attacks them with a Walkman and/or a piece of pornography, they will immediately be able to ring through to 999. I know this to be a lie. Check any young person’s mobile and the first number they’ll have on speed dial is the European Court of Human Rights. That way if an adult brushes past them, asks them a question or looks at them from an angle they find offensive, they’ll be through to Brussels in a jiffy. This fad for human rights for young people is madness. It isn’t just that teenagers shouldn’t be allowed to have mobile phones in schools. They shouldn’t be allowed to have them full stop; they cause more trouble than they’re worth.  Think about happy-slapping. There was never a problem with children fighting each other until mobile phones came around.

I don’t envy the schools minister his job. Things are in a right state, and he must be seen to be doing something. But I can tell you right now that this is not going to do a damn bit of a good. This is because wars between groups of people (and let’s not kid ourselves here, this is a war, a war between good and evil) are not won through power. They are won through emotional manipulation and fear. Look at any war in recent history and you will see what I mean. Did Nixon win Vietnam through power? No. He won it by introducing the television series M*A*S*H to the American public, which shamed the Viet Cong into surrendering. When George W Bush raised the flag to announce “Mission Accomplished,” he was illustrating just how completely crazy he was, which frightened the Iraqis so much that we haven’t heard a peep out of them since.

Therefore I have a proposal for the Schools Minister. It is radical, I am aware. But when you lose control and you’ve got no soul, it’s a tragedy and desperate times call for desperate measures.

Each school in England, from infant to secondary, should be given a puppy. This puppy shall be kept on the premises, and part of the school budget should be ringfenced to include enough money to provide for the puppy’s food, medical treatment and personal caretaker. The puppy can function almost as the school’s mascot, and it’s a documented fact that animals can help the lonely and sad, so the puppy’s presence will help with morale in both the classrooms and staffroom.

More importantly, though, the puppy will function as the most effective weapon in the war on “nuisance pupils.” Whenever a child steals a rubber, passes a note or repeatedly stabs the games mistress, he will be escorted into the Puppy Room, where the student can hear but not see the puppy. There a teacher will read aloud the crime(s) the student has committed and will force the student to administer a shock to the puppy (volts and length of shock will vary according to the crime’s severity). The student will be able to hear the pathetic cries of the puppy, the innocent, cuddly puppy, the puppy this child has grown to love like the brother he never had, and he will have to accept that it is because he was bad that the puppy is suffering. Enforce this rule for one week and I guarantee you that behaviour will improve (any student not emotionally scarred for life by this experience should immediately be institutionalized—he is clearly a serial killer in the making).

Before you accuse me of unnecessary cruelty, I should stress that obviously the puppy is not really being shocked. The whole thing is faked, and the sounds of the distressed puppy are actually coming from an out of shot, struggling actor assigned to each school (another hidden benefit of this proposal—a reduction in dole queues nationwide). The point is the child believes his behaviour has harmed the animal and therefore will be so ashamed and frightened that he will shape up forthwith. It’s harsh, I know, but it works. I’ve cured many a godchild of the habit of chewing gum in public with this particular method, so I’ve evidence of its success rate.

Alas, I’m sure it would take someone of great courage to enact this policy, and we know that Mr Gibbs probably does not have the Balls to do it. I guess teachers should be thankful that they will also be granted anonymity in cases where a complaint has been made against them. I know my good friend Mr Stephen L Devoncourt of 22 Steeplechase Lane, Market Harborough (tel: 01645 321778) will be much relieved that the fistfight he had with his school’s head boy will now never be made public.

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Happy Birthday to the United States of America

4 Jul

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight‘s last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?


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Society is All But Rude, To This Delicious Solitude

1 Jul

Now that both of my football teams are out of the World Cup, I’m going to take a short break from sports-related posts. Before doing so, though, I would like to clarify there’s little more satisfying than seeing one Mister Cristiano Ronaldo taken down like a Saddam Hussein statue (not literally, of course, I believe he has his Nike likeness placed prominently amongst the gladioli in his front garden). First he was a winker and now he is a spitter. I’m curious why he keeps choosing offenses that make The Sun’s headline writers’ jobs so easy for them.

If like me, you’ve suddenly got a lot more time to spend doing things other than watching men run around on the telly, you may be in the market for a new hobby. Some of you may also feel a bit guilty about all the additional bile you’ve released into the atmosphere after the last match and are wondering what you can do to counteract your carbon footprint. Look no further as I have a solution for you that will not only keep you busy but will also benefit the environment, and that hobby is gardening.

Before you pooh-pooh it by assuming that only old age pensioners are interested in gardening, I would like to assure you that it’s an ideal hobby for concerned citizens of any age.  Now that I’ve proved my point, let me discuss its benefits.

Clearly the first benefit of gardening is that it gives you something to do. It keeps you active, by demanding that you use both your body and brain power. It gets you out into the sunshine. It also keeps you from putting your hands down the front of your trousers and messing about. It’s a fantastic hobby for those who want to keep busy without much stress. After all, what kind of trouble can you get into in a garden?

Gardening can also be a way to save money. It’s been statistically proven that by simply planting a bed of flowers, you can up your house’s selling price by an average of £68,000 (note: this figure has been chosen at random by the author).  Additionally, if you opt for a vegetable garden, you’ll be able to grow your own food. You’ll be able save thousands of pounds off your green grocers’ bill on cress alone! Fruits and vegetables can be canned or frozen for use later so the savings don’t need to end once the temperatures drop. There’s a multitude of uses for things you can grow in a garden: you could dry herbs and make sachets for your chest of drawers, you could create table displays with fresh flowers, and you can juice most vegetables for healthy drinks. You’d be surprised what uses you can find for homegrown plants.

Finally, a garden benefits both the local and global community. Most villages have garden competitions to inspire residents to beautify the area and strengthen the civic spirit. Why not enter one and beat the pants off that old broad who’s been the reigning champion since 1972?  It’s about time someone did. Lovely gardens are also welcoming spaces for wild animals whose homes are often destroyed or disrupted by traffic, litter, dogging and other trappings of daily human society. It’s a wonderful experience to step out into one’s garden and know that you’re providing a safe haven for birds, insects, hedgehogs, and squirrels so they can go about their business without having to worry about being run down by a car, swallowing a discarded fag packet or witnessing a man masturbating against the outside of a Vauxhall Vectra. Sometimes it’s these simple measures which are overlooked in our fight for the environment.

There’s also probably something about plants being better for the ozone than tarmac, but I’m no scientist and I rarely pretend to be.

My suggestion to you is to spend a little time at your local library investigating the in’s and out’s of garden design specific to your local area and then get your house boy to drive you to the garden centre so you can make your choices. Trust me, it will be worth it. Why not do it this Saturday afternoon? God knows, your original plans for that day have been scuppered.

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No Witty Title Today, I’m Afraid

27 Jun

Technology is everywhere. That’s the world we live in. Some technology is morally good—it can help us find directions to little towns with delightful tea shops and allow lovely lady writers to reach out more of their devoted public. Some technology is not morally good—it is helping sad bastards to feel better about themselves when they really shouldn’t,  it is draining us of our sanity by tempting us to six hour Mah Jongg marathons, and it is destroying the pleasure of holding a book or newspaper in your hands as you read.

However, technology is here. I can’t do anything to stop it. I don’t have to fall in love with it, but it’s here and it’s changing our world.

Today’s England v Germany match would have benefited from technology. In less that a few seconds, we were all able to see that Lampard’s goal went in. In the time it takes for Ashley Cole to decide where to throw in the ball or the time it takes for a player to pretend he’s hurt long enough for the other team to kick out the ball, the refs could have been able to see that the goal had gone in. Cost is not the issue; the fact that video technology won’t be used at all levels of the game is not an issue (international teams get pussy at the drop of a hat but my Sunday league can’t even get a look in, how is FIFA addressing that inequality?). Technology would have shown the goal to be fair and who knows how keeping things fair  might have changed the match.

That said . . .

England’s performance was poor throughout. Despite the hours I’ve spent on the minds of Fergie, Arsene and yes, Jose, I am no football expert. But I do know this:

  1. There needs to be an offensive plan beyond just whacking it towards the goal and hoping that someone on the other team makes a mistake and allows it to go in.
  2. There needs to be a strong defense. Did Germany play fantastically or did they just take advantage of the space they were allowed? David James (albeit in gorgeous yellow) had to work too hard whereas the skinny version of James Corden at the other end was more protected.

While it’s true that we don’t know what might have happened had the “goal that wasn’t (but really was)” counted, it’s also true that it shouldn’t have mattered. When I set out to woo a gentleman, I am a man possessed. I know what I want and, on the few occasions I’ve taken a kicking (not literally, of course, as I do not woo that type of man), I get up and get on with the wooing.  When I really, really want a man, I go in there and get him. England did not go in and get their man today (not even Ashley). It was a poor showing all round: Johnson wasn’t fast enough, Lampard has to do something other than miss “ambitious” tries, I don’t even know what’s up with Rooney and John Terry—Hello? Did you not get the memo that you were playing in a World Cup match today?

I’m afraid I don’t have the patience to analyze this any further, to dig into the sporting, historical and cultural explanations that might make sense of this fiasco. Like the rest of you, I am too mortified and too drunk to do so reasonably at this moment. Instead we should all just concentrate on accepting it, getting to the toilet before we vomit and avoiding kicking off at the elderly German man who just happens to step into our paths as we stumble home.

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A Much Relieved Match Report

23 Jun

Our moment came. England played a good game of football. It wasn’t the best game of football but it was a solid game; they played as they should have done in the first two matches.

Defoe’s goal was lovely and the tide had turned. Although we weren’t able to score another, we had some decent efforts. It was exciting and fun to watch (though it was also nerve-wracking, Christopher has bitten my nails down to the quick this afternoon). This is what the World Cup should be like.

Yesterday, Steven Gerrard said, “The fear of not winning drives you on.” Stevie, no. The desire to win drives you on. The desire to win, to be the best. We should not be motivated by any fear—fear of losing, fear of letting people down or being pilloried by the press. Have you ever seen a Will Smith film? Did he defeat the aliens because he was afraid? No. He killed them because he is one tough motherfucker; anyone messes with him and he is going to get all rowdy on their ass.  We need to stop being driving forward by fear. We need to get through the next round because we have that burning desire that fills our stands, our pubs and all too frequently our trousers but is so rarely seen on the pitch.

But today, in the end, we did it. Was it down to a coach, who successfully motivated his team, (possibly Sopranos-style)? Was it down to the players who remembered that it’s three lions they’re wearing and made it to the back of the net? Was it down to the media whose constant pressure finally paid off? Or was it down to the good old English fans, who woke this morning believing that for fuck’s sake, in a week where we’re facing the Budget, a Tube strike and the news that Jordan has doubts about remarrying Alex Reid, something good has got to happen to this country?

Thank you, boys.

Thank you, England.

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A Quick Note to Those Not Interested in Football

19 Jun

Unlike those who complained about my multiple posts on the election, those of you not particularly interested in football are forgiven. It’s only a game, after all, and we all are allowed our own personal preferences when it comes to what sports we enjoy. If you prefer cricket or baseball, that’s fine. Please pardon the rash of football-related posts, but, to me, World Cup football is magical. Maybe less so for you. You’re not alone.

You may also just find reading the posts too painful to read. That’s okay, too; it’s so very English of you.

If you’re one of those people for whom these posts aggravate your Irritable Bowel Syndrome, I beg your pardon. There’s only a few weeks left (please knock wood now).

However, I do find some of the anti-football rants by Americans upsetting. G Gordon Liddy said he thinks it originated with “South American Indians [who] instead of a ball used the head, the decapitated head, of an enemy” while he was on the phone to Dan Gainor, who said “soccer is a poor man’s or poor woman’s sport” being sold as part of the “browning of America.” And Glenn Beck, ever the clever one: “Barack Obama’s policies are the World Cup—It doesn’t matter how you try to sell it to us, it doesn’t matter how many celebrities you get, it doesn’t matter how many bars open early, it doesn’t matter how many beer commercials they run, we don’t want the World Cup, we don’t like the World Cup, we don’t like soccer, we want nothing to do with it. The rest of the world likes Barack Obama’s policies, we do not.”

Of them, I’m slightly less forgiving.

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A Sobering Match Report—18 June 2010

18 Jun

By far, Algeria were the better looking team. The chiseled jaws, dark locks, strong noses and golden skin contrasting with the electric green, I’m afraid, put our boys to shame in the fanciable department. Thank Christ, David Beckham was looking pretty sitting, legs crossed at the knee, on the bench. I absolutely adored the shade of their goalkeeper’s jersey, though I’m not too keen on the fitted cut.  I was particularly taken by the dusky features of Karim Matmour, whose eyes brought to mind a gorgeous fella I spent a summer with in Strasbourg a few years back. Goodness, it must have been nearly twenty five years ago. Wait a minute . . . I’d better check my old diaries . . . could it possibly be that Matmour’s the son I never knew I had?

As far as the football goes, when the best thing I can say about our star player is that he managed not to lose his temper every time his touch was off, which was coincidentally every single time he got a touch, well, that really says it all, doesn’t it?

England, listen to me. You are no longer an empire. That’s okay. It really is. The world’s moved on, but thanks to your stubborn pride fuelled by the English media, you’ve not been able to. Football matches—win or lose—are not testaments or denials of a once-strong empire. Don’t put the weight of your entire history on a few dim but athletically talented men. Stop basking in old glories of a great empire and be a great nation. It will still be exciting when we win and it will still be upsetting when we don’t, but for god’s sake, focus on the now. Which granted today isn’t much to write home about. But I think you know what I’m talking about. Please, just stop.

Boys, Wednesday is make or break day.  Forget about the empire—it’s not England v. the rest of the world. It’s England v. Slovenia. Pull up your socks (not you, John Terry—socks should stop below the knee) and win a fucking match, will you? Eleven men in England shirts have won the World Cup before.

That was then, but it could be again.

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A Realistic Match Prediction—18 June 2010

18 Jun

England will win draw. But not because they [didn’t] played fantastically well.

Individual players’ strategies during the game will be “Oh my god, I’ve got the ball, I’ve gotta get rid of it” or “I’m kinda lined up here, maybe I should just kick it as hard as I can over towards that goal area.” A few will probably get carded, but there won’t be any serious injuries or errors.

No fans will be truly satisfied with the match.

David Beckham will look lovely.

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A Sensible Match Report—England v USA, 12 June 2010

13 Jun

Please note: The unfortunate circumstance of the USA goal as a result of Rob Green has occurred. We can’t change that now. Whether or not there were problems with the ball is neither here nor there. The plain and simple truth is that mistakes happen. All of you have made them; I have even come close myself. So I say, let’s not dwell on this. We must move forward.

Despite the incessant phone calls I receive from Mick McCarthy, the truth is I’m not really an expert on football. However, I would like to share a few of my observations.

WELL DONE TO ONE MISTER WAYNE ROONEY

I’m very impressed you managed to keep your temper under control this evening. Well done, son. The next challenge is to maintain that control while actually getting involved in play some time before the 71st minute.

MEMO TO FABIO CAPELLO

1. Your suit and glasses—absolutely divine.

2. Stevie (I can’t help but still think of him in that way) Gerrard rose to the occasion as captain, particularly in the first half.

3. Aaron Lennon was in fine form. Tell him I said that.

4. Frank Lampard needs less hair gel and more focus.

5. Glen Johnson worked hard and shed blood, which has got to count for something.

6. I’m not going to comment on your choice of Rob Green. As I said, we can’t dwell on it.

7. Less Heskey, more Crouch, please. A Crouch and Rooney partnership is magic.

8. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl, but have you ever thought to mention to the players that sassing the referee never comes to any good?

COMPLAINING ABOUT THE VUVUZELAS MEANS YOU ARE A RACIST

I think the condemnation of the drone of the vuvuzelas is too much. Throughout my travels in Africa, I’ve come across a number of enormous horns and have never found them too hard to handle. Pay attention to the action, my friends.

THE STYLE, THOUGH, WAS QUITE VULGAR

Both the orange and the yellow boots have got to go. Besides being dreadfully hideous, they unfairly call the eyes to the feet of certain players. This was distracting to me as I was trying to focus more on their asses.

I’m not a fan of the USA’s sash. I’ll avoid any making any comparisons to beauty pageants, because I’m sure pundits everywhere have already done that. I’ll just say this: unless you’re the heir apparent of a small European principality, a sash is never the right choice.

Although he played his little heart out, Tim Howard’s goalkeeping get-up was too flash for me. When will the world accept that very few people look good in head-to-toe orange? Rob Green’s kit was much easier on the eye and also coordinated nicely with his surname. But I’ll move on from that. Mustn’t dwell.

Additionally, something must be said about the hairstyles. The close-cut clip look, so favoured by English lads, may not be at the cutting edge of fashion, but let’s face it—it makes us who we are. My god, just pause for a moment and imagine what potato-faced Rooney would like with a mop of hair. Frightening. Though there was more variety on the heads of the Americans, most of it was appalling. Robbie Findley’s was too reminiscent of Lionel Jefferson’s. Oguchi Onyewu—it’s a mustache and beard, not mustache or beard. And I’ve only got one word for Landon Donovan: your forehead is out of control.

THE FINAL WORD

Overall, it was not a totally unenjoyable/enjoyable (delete as appropriate) way to spend ninety-seven minutes of one’s time.

(An England match is never an England match without a mention of David Beckham. Sigh. He’s so lovely.)

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