Guide me oh thy great Jehovah…not!

Isn’t the irony of life just wonderful?

There I was sitting engrossed in watching a re-run of Professor Richard Dawkins’ “The God Delusion” when I noticed two ladies walking up the driveway to come to our frontdoor.  One of them was a grey-haired lady probably somewhere in her 50’s whilst her accomplice was a stunning 20 year girl with long flowing wavy red hair.

Now it’s not particularly usual for us to get random visitors early on a Saturday morning (other than Roddie our Postman), so I had a funny feeling running through my bones that these two were going to be a couple of sales’men’ from a church trying to sign me up to become one of their flock.  As it turns out, my doorstep visitors turned out to be Jehovah’s Witnesses and so as Professor Dawkins was put on “pause” I knew what I was going to be doing for the next 1/2 hour.

Funnily enough I had just been saying to my friend (who has actually invited his preaching visitors back for tea and chat) that we never really got visited by the doorstep Jehovah’s – and the next thing I have a couple of them right in front of me.  Do you think there was some higher intervention on this one?

So, rather than slam the door in the faces, threaten them with a gun/dog/knife or to call the police for trespassing (these are all examples that they told me during our conversations still happens to them), I actually stood with them and engaged in some meaningful discussions as I listened to their very strong views.

Now, I am not going to bore you with the two-way chats that we had; suffice to say that according to them:

Males have a higher place in the universe than females…(further irony of this coming from 2 females themselves!)…
Homosexuality is wrong…and a gay person who wanted to join their church wouldn’t be allowed…
Gay and Lesbian couples cannot love each other the same way that a heterosexual couple do….and it’s just un-natural…
9:11 and all the atrocities in the world is God allowing “man” to see the damage he is causing before he comes back to earth to help us and sort us all out…
The current situation in Pakistan is a test of faith…and as long as they live by the Bible they will be fine…

But I am not going to go into the whole religious arguements discussions that we had on my front doorstep.  I was more interested in the 20-year-old red-head (…and not for the reasons you may think).  I was much more interested in the fact that every time I tried to engage her in the conversation, her answers came from the older woman.  She basically wasn’t allowed to answer.  Why? Was she not well versed enough in her faith? Did she need more practice?

I realise that this girl would have been in ‘training’ but it would have been nice to actually hear her speak without her mentor butting-in and speaking for her.  Perhaps it was because I got a real gut-reaction that the younger girl was actually indicating  that (through her body language) she was actually quite uncomfortable with some of the things her mentor was saying and that would have been much more for a modernisation programme down at the Kingdom Hall – but she simply wasn’t allowed to say this.

Regardless of your views, the one thing you have to give these people credit for is their true, unequivocal and undying commitment to their case.  Because, let’s be honest, there’s not many things that could get me out canvassing on doorsteps at 10am on a Saturday morning with the risk of physical and verbal abuse; dogs; guns; knives or the threat of getting physically run off someone’s land.

Passion is passion no matter what the subject – and although my views versus my doorstep preachers were literally poles apart, it was nice to be able to engage in a conversation with them and have an opportunity to discuss some of our personal views.  But these guys do it week in, week out regardless.

However, clearly on an outcome based visit, Mrs Grey asked me what I had taken from their visit.  And (other than their wee magazine) I explained that ultimately the main thing that their visit brought me was a chance to write about them on my blog…do you think that is why they were “sent” to me….Mmmmmmmm?

Just finish your sentence, end of…!

People who know me will vouch for the fact that I loath the use of abbreviated text language when it’s not being used on a mobile phone or within an instant message.  However, is it just me that is has started to pick up on the whole shortening and abbreviations of our spoken words as well?

We have always had TLA’s (three-letter abbreviations) and other acronyms in and around our daily which I have no problems with because least these abbreviations or acronyms are started and finished in the context of a conversation.  My problems are around the way in which we (and I am not just talking of our younger generation here) have started to shorten their sentences and leave the listeners to fill in the blanks.

Take the new phrase which has crept into society, “end of“.  In my day, in order to bring a conversation or point to a conclusion, we would say, “End of story!”  However, in our brave new “don’t have enough time for anything” world, this phrase is now shortened to simply, “End of…” with you being asked to fill in or presume the final work is ‘story’.

Similarly, the same principles are applied is to the phrases, “As simple as…”  Now this phrase always had the ability to have a subjective ending, leaving the presenter to fill in that the “simple” was, but in general it was the conclusion to an explanation that has previous been given thus, “it’s as simple as that.” (The ‘that’ having been already explained).

But this has once again been changed for you to fill in your own blank, because again we are faced with the whole abbreviated “can’t be bothered finishing this sentence” attitude.  However, in this case the “simple as” is actually used in the same context and effectively means the same as “end of“.

The same process is applied to “as if…” – as an example it could be put, “as if you would ever hear me saying something like that?” This is simply abbreviated to, “…as if!”

I may be getting slightly harsh with this one as it could be I am completely misinterpreting the whole process of communication here.  It could be that as our language and verbal communication skills have improved over generations and have taken us to a point where we are actually backward-engineering our language and starting to reduce the amount we speak.  Although to be honest, I have to say that I am not convinced on this one and believe it is more about a verbal laziness than anything else.

So as you listen to people’s conversations with you, be aware as to whether they have time to speak to you or not and watch out for this new concept in sentence shortening.  And go easy on them because remember, the dropping of a word here and there can actually save them so much time over the course of a full conversation – they may have an important appointment to be at and saving those few words will get them there earlier.

So on this topic there’s not much more to say it’s simple as….end of!

Breaking the supermarket rules #1

It’s strange and weird when you get so wound up about things that should really just be like water off a duck’s back, but that seems to be the case for me every time I make a visit to any supermarket.

You see, whether it’s non-badge holders parking in the bays reserved for people with disabilities; young lads parking in the parent and child parking or people sneaking 14 items through the “10 items of less” checkout; there is always something to wind me up.

For this blog, I am going to focus on my strongest pet hate and write about unauthorised use of disabled parking bays.

I recently witnessed a man in a business suit taking the last disabled parking space and get out and spring across the car park to go elsewhere, not even to use the supermarket who’s reserved car park he had set up camp in.  I couldn’t resist a quick check of his car on my way past, only to have my suspicions confirmed…no disabled parking permit!

Now I fully understand that not all ‘blue badge holders’ have physical or visible disabilities – however what they do have it is an actual permit; which for the very reason I am moaning about – they are always diligent about displaying their badge when they have one.

So as for ‘Business Zebedee’ that I witnessed, he clearly had no thought for the person with MS or the parent with the child in a wheelchair – because that would have meant him circling the car park again to find an alternative (as an aside, further away) parking space.  But I would love to have made him stand there and watch as the person who actually needed the space literally struggled to get out of the ‘skinny’ space and then get from the far end of the car park to the point where this guy was now squatting in their reserved space.

But I guess that as long as this businessman (who let’s be honest represents many, many members of the public) was able to save some of the leather from the soles of his shoes by not having to walk as far and he didn’t take as long to get to where he was going – is that not all that matters?

It’s the old adage on this one again…we just hope that he never has to find out.

Festival season…I don’t think so

As everyone who reads this blog knows, I live in the North of Scotland – and area that has seen a huge increase in the ‘summer outdoor festival‘ scene, with the biggest probably being ROCK NESS set on Dores Beach on the banks of the world-famous Loch.

mud therapy

This weekend however, we have The Tartan Heart Festival @ Belladrum close to Beauly in Inverness-shire.

So the fact that this festival takes place less than a couple of miles (as the crow flies) from my house, I have been continually asked in the last few weeks whether I would be attending?

My immediate response has been a very loud, very clear and very decisive “Absolutely Not!”

So for someone who loves music so much, you may ask yourself why I would be so clear in my mind about my non-attendance at my doorstep festivals.  Well my reasons revolve around the whole washing, showering, toileting issues associated with camping at these outdoor events.

I know that I could simply do the same as many of my friends and travel home each night to get washed and showered and then head back  to Belladrum the following day clean, polished and refreshed.  But whilst this may solve my own personal hygiene issues, I still have an even bigger problem with the fact that I would be in close proximity to all the other festival-goers walking around like Linus from Charlie Brown who hadn’t taken the same proactive steps in dealing with the aura around them.

I understand that for some, the fact that they live a whole weekend in the same socks, pants, clothes and non-breathable wellies is all “part of the festival experience”.  But quite frankly as far as I am concerned, you can keep it!

Perhaps once the festival organisers find a venue with a [minimum of] 4 star hotel; where you can walk out the front door onto the main festival stage field with reserved areas for other hotel residents who have signed a contract confirming they will shower at least twice a day, then I may just consider making an appearance at that particular event.

Until then however, I will just have to make do with seeing my friends photos of their festival attendances on their Facebook pages or watching the highlights on BBC3 sitting in the comfort of my own lounge after a nice hot relaxing shower.

Cloned milk…is there a problem?

After the huge hullabaloo earlier this week about the fact that a cloned cow has entered the food chain, this got me wondering ultimately how serious an issue this actually was.

Well it must have been seen by some to be very serious as almost immediately expert microbiologist Profession Hugh Pennington was wheeled out in front of the cameras – and when he is released onto our screens it generally means they are saying to us “look we’ve got a Professor for you, so take this issue really seriously…ok?”

Professor Pennington was thrust upon us to offer reassurance that it was “the word ‘clone’ that people don’t seem to like” and I can see where he is coming from as it is associated with things like Dr Who, Sci-Fi movies and circuses (lots of people suffer from Coulrophobia you know).

cloning could bring us the ultimate product in fresh strawberry milk straight from the farm

However, listening to all the other ‘experts’ who were stopped on the street and asked for their comments, I am not sure that Prof Hugh had hit the nail on the head with his summation, as I didn’t get the feeling that the first thing on everyone else’s mind was the way in which the word ‘clone’ was being used in this context.

However, Professor Pennington went on and told us, “This work is going on in the states where it’s quite legal.  Nobody’s worried there about safety, and I’m not worried either.”

Well, thanks for that reassurance Prof Pennington – but I am not sure that just because Americans aren’t scared about cloning and see it as quite legal makes everything alright.  Don’t forget this is the country where in certain states it is illegal to cry on the witness stand; to blaspheme and ironically in this case  illegal to milk another man’s cow.

So I am not sure we should take our lead from our cousins over the pond on this matter.

However, having listened to the expect ‘Pennington’ telling me not to “panic” along with the many street experts who were all saying that for some reason this was against the will of God, ergo totally wrong, I started to come to my own very basic and non-scientific conclusion.

Why is it we seem to be worried about the cloned cow (its meat and its milk) but we are not worried one little bit about the cow that it was cloned from being in the food chain?  Is this not something of a contradiction in terms?

You see if you clone something, then according to Dictionary.com it states that a clone is: “a cell, cell product, or organism that is genetically identical to the unit or individual from which it was derived”, so would that not mean that if there was no problems with the first donor cow [if they have done their work properly] then there should be no problems with the second (cloned) cow.

So what then is the big fuss about the cloned cows milk or meat getting into the food chain?

I could see the big issue if the cow they were cloning from was riddled with disease – but on the basis that even with my basis understanding of science and biology, an animal such as this probably wouldn’t be an ideal candidate to clone from – that would be the human equivalent of selecting Michelle McManus or Katie Price as your donor.  So I am guessing they would have used a pretty healthy bovine creature to grow a brother, sister or whatever you would call it in a test-tube.

So on this basis, let’s just calm the argument a bit for the meantime.  This is science at its best.

I mean think of the advantages in this whole clone-gate affair.  If we are now at the stage of cloning the perfect milk-producing cow; I am sure that we are only a fraction away from me finally getting my dream and having a cow that actually produced fresh strawberry flavoured milk.

Just think we could have these ultimate cloned cows all across the country; acres of pink, yellow, brown and white cows divided into fields and categorised by their flavours.  Who knows, Phase 2 could be the production of flavoured Mr Whippy type ice-cream in winter time.

So I say, if we are now at a stage cloning the almost perfect cows, it brings me to my closing point…what’s the problem?

The benefits of fresh flavoured milk by far outweighs any potential risks which may be associated with cloning these beasts.  Let us all just focus more on the positives and put the negatives to the back of our mind for the next lets say, few decades.

Therefore as Professor Pennington says, “Don’t panic!!!” there’s flavoured milk to be developed.

Remembering the “big wait”

And so for the first time during the summer holidays in Scotland thousands of teenagers woke up early this morning waiting with bated breath for Postman Pat to deliver that big brown envelope containing their exam results.

However many thousands more reverted to the norm and stayed sleeping, ignoring Pat stuffing their envelope through the letterbox due to the fact they had already received their results.

The reasons behind those “Rip Van Winkles” being able to stay in their slumbers was because they got their results by text at 3 o’clock yesterday afternoon, thus putting them out their misery some 18 hours before some of their friends.

However, did it take away any of the angst experienced by those who had opted for the conventional ‘through the door’ method?  Well, probably not.  Because instead of checking the window intermittently during the GMTV (or TVam in my case) ad breaks to see if the postie was in the street, the text team simply replaced this by constantly picking up their phone to see if they had missed that all-important text message…as if! This, along with holding their hands up in mid-air just to check they had enough ‘bars’ to be able to receive their messages and sending ad-hoc texts to their mates to see “Hv u gt urs yet?”

Ultimately the wait  for the text message results would have been just as intense the wait for the big brown envelope.

So, this got me thinking – in my day (yes, way back then) would I have registered to get my exam results sent directly to my phone by text message if I had been lucky enough to own a mobile phone?

Well, the advantages would be that I would know my results nearly a day before some of my friends.  I would have an extra day to prepare myself for the results if they were bad or would have had the same extra day ‘drinking’ time to celebrate if they were good.  I would have had some extra time to come up with excuses to give to the folks if things hadn’t gone quite according to plan or I as a bit of a techy geek, I would have had the chance to see if this new-fangled technology thing really did work.

So ultimately my answer to getting my results by text would have been YES.  But not for the reasons outline above or even to have been seen to be uber-diligent and keen to find out just how I had got on the tests that would affect me for the rest of my life.  The real reason is quite simple…

As a 17 year old teenager, if ever there was a way to allow me to keep sleeping until 2 o’clock in the afternoon and mean I didn’t have to get out of bed at some un-godly hour like 8am – then I would have grabbed it with both hands.

At that time in my life, my sleep was way more important that any text message or big brown envelope containing my destiny!