|
The Sun -- An Urban Legend? Fri, 22 Jul 2005 Summer is a time (cunningly located between Spring and September) when we, as Britons, come outdoors. We feel the Sun's warm rays, and we try and work out just what the Hell is going on. ("Global warming?" "Is it a dream?" "Are my pants on fire again?"). - Unable to find a rational explanation for this foreign warmth, and cautiously clutching umbrellas and anoraks, we take timid steps outside, where we ponder at the lack of rain. Experimentally, some of even leave the house completely - before dashing back inside, expecting a sudden monsoon. Finally satisfied that the Sun is real, and not just a marketing ploy, the country goes into a state of shock. Old people tell tales of the magnificent Summer of '49, where the Sun was sighted for days at a time. People are laughing in the streets, and we go about embracing the sunshine: the nation lies back, relaxes, and begins to melt. This reason for this is that --as a nation-- we have very little immunity to the Sun. Britons are people who should be stored in a cool, dry place, and always kept below 14 degrees celsius. This is because if we are placed into direct contact with real sunlight, we will spontaneously combust. This means that when we are hit by a sudden and unpredicted heatwave (at the same time each year), a frenzy then ensues. People rush to the stores and buy trolly-loads of suncream (which, in the hype, has been priced up about seventeen thousand percent) and stocks of tinned foods. They then dash home to their garages, basements or coolest rooms, where they try and survive by consuming cool, refreshing drinks (spiked with suncream). Some people even take the health-message to its illogical extreme; injecting suncream directly into their blood. Once the entire family, the family pets, the goldfish, Grandpa, the car and the entire house have been lathered in a thick layer of suncream, people relax and start to do Summer things, like go outside, complain about the weather, drink the new "lime... and suncream" flavour Coca-Cola, laugh, smile, and collapse from heat exhaustion. But, after all the complaints about the heat, all the sunburn patches and tanline tattoos, we will eventually grow to like the weather. And we will say that, while perhaps a little on the hot side, it’s very nearly perfect. And, following this blissful revelation, we promptly book our holidays to somewhere much warmer. Armed, naturally, with twin suitcases full of precious suncream. Here’s to you, Britain, and your freak 19 degree heatwaves. - Sam Smith (Permenant Link) The National Health Service Tue 12th July 05 The NHS is a wonderful thing. It ensures that nobody in Britain has to pay for healthcare. It also, unfortunately, ensures that nobody in Britain GETS healthcare. One of my best friends recently went to a hospital, following a suspected broken arm. After arriving at the hospital, she encountered a new NHS initiative, to provide a social group for people with similar interests (or at least: injuries), enabling them to hang out and meet new people. It does this by ensuring that they remain on the same waiting room bench for about four years. At which point, they are allowed to leave the bench, and move on to the next waiting room. Many people have met on these benches, who have gone on to fall in love – get married, and even have children – without at any point leaving the waiting room. These NHS waiting lists are often the targets of satire. And with some justification: people needing important surgery often have to wait on lists upwards of two years long before receiving their appointment, at which point they can go down to the hospital and try and wait out the remaining two years. Having survived the queue, my friend was finally seen by an NHS Doctor. In an effort to improve flexibility and standards of education, this Doctor was multi-lingual. None of these languages were English. Having explained, with some difficulty, the situation (that she thought she had broken her arm) the Doctor conducted an x-ray, and, after careful analysis, he was able to confirm that my friend did indeed have a bone in her arm. He also uncovered considerable evidence that my friend might have more than one arm, which might, or might not, both contain bones. Having established this, suggestions were made about discovering the condition of the said bone. Careful analysis was conducted. This consists of attacking the patient with a surgical hammer. Feedback from the patient on which areas hurt allowed the Doctor to discover –surprisingly- that it always hurts when you hit someone with a bloody hammer. This inspection went on. My friend nervously awaited the diagnosis, which was centred around two main points: A further shock revelation was delivered when she was told that her agonising arm injury, despite being severely swollen, might cause her some discomfort. She was not entirely satisfied with what she’d learnt, which could have been learnt approximately 7 hours and 43 minutes quicker using this following diagnose-it-yourself chart: Do you have severe arm pain? If so – you may have hurt your arm. Is your arm swollen to the size of a small car? If so – your arm may be (wait for it) swollen. (Possibly considerably swollen!) Not entirely satisfied, my friend was invited to return the following day to learn more about her injury. When she returns, she will remember to bring camping gear, have someone water the plants for her, and have all mail forwarded to the NHS waiting rooms. (Where, I am pleased to announce, Amy and Mark Johnson have just become happily married.) - Sam Smith (Permenant Link) Exams This week, I've had so many various tests and exams (driving test, A level exams, drug tests, sanity tests, etc..) that they've all mixed together into one unseemly mass. For example, I was one of the few people in the whole of England to fail English Literature on the emergency stop. Now, this is a stressful time for the nation's student population, so I've provided the following helpful exam tips. (Disclaimer: Please remember that these should not be treated as a substitute for hard work, knowledge, or good advice. Also, in most states, reading this guide does NOT make you a either a qualified teacher or a vetinarian, just a smart-ass.) 1) Turn up. This is an essential skill, and one that you should of practiced during your lesser exams. Extra points are available for turning up to the right exam, being roughly on time, and remembering your candidate number. (Or, if this fails; your name.) 2) Cheat with the full force of Political Correctness: Gone are the dark ages, where cheating involved hiding brief notes behind your sleeve. Now you simply have to cover your entire body in notes. If anyone tries to stop you, claim descrimination based on the biro-toned colours of your skin. 3) Answer the question. - This is perhaps the most common piece of advice I have been given, and it has been reiterated with a depressing frequency. I don't know which philosopher was the brain behind this groundbreaking technique, but I personally believe that it is this piece of advice, not increasing standards, that's responsible for the rise in A level pass rates. Before this revolutionary advice was issued to students, it was common practice to burn, eat, or --during the Renaissance period-- to sodomise your question papers. These old methods are now frowned upon, and can earn you no higher than a C. 4) Remember the catch-all answers: - If you don't know the answer to a specific question, remember the old favourites: "Why do you want to know?", "I know, I'm just not telling", and "It's a secret." - These infallible answers should save you from any complicated situations. And what examiner could possibly fail you, when in response to a question like "What is 4 to the power of 8?" you've kept your composure; calmly and coolly responding with "Your mamma"? (Check the mark scheme). Q: But that's blatantly not on the mark scheme. You could cause people to FAIL. How do you justify LYING to people for a cheap laugh? A: I know you are, but what am I? Q: Wow! Catch-all answers really DO work! A: That's for me to know and you to find out. Q: I love you, have some money! A: Yes. Yes I will. 5) And finally, don't be afraid to use what you know. - Just because you learnt something in Sociology, doesn't mean you can't use it, where appropriate, in your History exam. Therefore it logically follows that you could write your entire Politics essay in French -- just be creative. (I bet the examiner has never seen a numerical explanation of Shakespeare's 'Othello' before; just remember to show your working.) I hope this guide has been useful, and good luck in your exams. Just remember, on the day, take calm, deep breaths, and make sure you don't start writing before checking both your mirrors and your blindspot. - Sam Smith (Permenant Link) Telemarketers Telemarketers are a strange breed of people, created by a higher being for the sole purpose of fulfilling their destiny; to sell you, yes- YOU, a new mobile phone. Absolutely free for the first two years - assuming you don't mind signing up for a contract that's roughtly twice that of your mortgage, and that comes with smallprint containing more words than are actually found in the English language. They even took this idea further, making the intelligent leap of sending their mobile-phone sales pitches- that's right- direct to your mobile phone. INGENIOUS! This has the added advantage of giving people maximum annoyance, while circumventing the inconvenient chance that someone might actually be INTERESTED in the product. To me, this new generation of stupid sales pitches signal the following: 1) Technology has evolved, and is now able to annoy you far more efficiently. 2) Marketers have evolved, and they now do all their thinking on pocket calculators. 3) Answering machines need to evolve, preferably to the point where they are trained to kill, on sight, anything vaguely resembling a salesperson. -And it’s no longer just offers of unwanted physical items (eg. a new mobile phone, laptop or combination scanner/printer/ninja-robot), but immaterial items that are increasingly being offered to us. More and more often, phone calls are going like this: ”Hello?” ”Hallo There. Am I speaking to Mr. and or Mrs. Michaels?” ”No.” “Mrs. Michaels, are you entirely happy with your mortgage?” ”I’m not Mrs. Michaels-“ ”Aaah, you’re not?” “No, I’m not, I’m-“ ”Well, seeing as your unhappy with your mortgage, we’ve taken the liberty of signing you up for OUR new, infinitely better mortgage, with the Bank of Eastern Mongolia.” “I’m already with the Bank of Eastern Mongolia-“ ”Don’t worry Mrs. Michaels! Your old bank shall not be troubling you ANY more! Now, seeing as you’re now one of our loyal customers, would you like to hear about our childcare services?” ”If you don’t stop harassing me RIGHT NOW I’m calling the police. And if you call me Mrs. Michaels one more time I’ll also be calling the hospital very shortly.” “In that case Mrs. Michaels, you will be happy to know that Eastern Mongolia Telecom now offers FREE calls to the emergency services!” “BEEEEEEEEEP...” These conversations will occur about ten times per day. Then, realising they’re not getting anywhere, the call centre will change tact: ”Hello…” “Ah! Hallo again Mrs. Michaels!” “I’m not-“ ”Do you have any friends and or family who you would recommend East Mongolia Telecom to, Mrs. Michaels?” “NO! Absolutely no way.” “That is very unfortunate, Mrs. Michaels. Everyone should have a friend. Perhaps I might interest you in our mail-order bride service?” ”Firstly, you seem to think I’m a bloody Mrs. Michaels, so your argument is deeply flawed, and mail order brides is incredibly inhumane!” “Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Michaels. East Mongolia Mail Order Brides does NOT come under the classification of ‘inhumane’.” “It’s incredibly cruel to the bride! That’s inhumane.” “No Mrs. Michaels. Technically it’s ‘animal cruelty’-“ “BEEEEEEEEEP...” I’m sure that every one of you has heard of that classic T.V moment where, taking man’s first steps onto the moon, Neil Armstrong was interrupted by a transmission asking him if he would like a new mobile phone. Right now, our countries’ space programs are diligently scanning the skies for that first trace of a signal offering us a mobile phone sent from The Eastern Martian Telecoms Corporation, sent to us COMPLETELY free on the simple condition that we send our children off to their slave labour camp (also known as East Mongolia Childcare) to become telemarketers. - Sam Smith (Permenant Link) Music Mon, 21 March 05 I am running out of inspiring ideas and creative material to put into these columns. This, and general laziness brought about by lack of funds (feel free to cure me), are the reasons for the lack of recent updates. So if anyone has anything that would make good column material, please feel free to let me know. I will assume that anything that doesn't say otherwise has your permission to be used here. Please send any wierd links, random comments, glorious fanmail, quirky news items or somewhat confused pizza orders to me here. But, if you need to get in touch with me, please be aware that the answer might already be in my FAQ, reposted here for your convenience: "Q: Sam... you haven't seen my- A: I don't know what happened to your dog! Why would I! Q: That's not what I was- A: IT WASN'T ME! Q: No, really- A: Why would I sell it. And how irresponsible do you think I am! You can't prove nothing! SLANDER!" Now, without further ado, and with half a page cunningly wasted, I turn to the subject this was MEANT to be about. Music. I started thinking about this when a friend of mine mentioned about trying to find a band for her 18th birthday. Being the kind and generous person that I am, I promptly volunteered the services of me and Laura, armed with some form of tamboureen. Due to what I can only assume to be an irrational hatred of tamboureen duets, my friend politely declined. Now - I'm not someone to get hung up over rejection. No, I am someone who, having been struck down, will get back up and try again; offering to throw in Ryan's services on the triangle. The answer was still no. It's obvious that, until I can locate a didgeridoo, this particular formula for musical success is doomed to failure, just like so many other of my amazing ideas. My idea to give fish their own talk show, for example, should by all rights have been a cult-phenomenon, but unfortunately this too was held back by the lack of a didgeridoo. Some attempts of mine in the field of song-creation were, to put it mildly, unsuccessful. But on the other hand, I have discovered a rather effective innate self-defense mechanism. (Squid secrete ink, snakes secrete venom, and cows produce McDonalds' burgers; I scream out a verbal assault of killer-deccibalic destruction - it's the beauty of nature). I hope to eventually hone this quirky talent into a full on martial art, capable of doing battle with the true greats - like Karate, Juditsu and the ancient of art of Indoor-Yodelling, but for now it's limited in its use - being suited only to day-to-day occurances; such as scaring off salesmen and cutting a path through busy crowds. But why should I fail so spectacularly? After all, I do posess vocal cords, and a doctor confirmed that they were not only "in full working order", but were also a "class three deadly weapon". So then why does a vocally-endowed youth like me experience such difficulty in producing musical singing? Another friend suggested that this might be because of something called "melody". Disturbed by this news, I returned to my vocal-cords examiner, who assured me that "No Sam. You've not caught melody. You CAN'T CATCH melody!" - I assume this is because the excellent health of my vocal cords renders me immune. Kim, my loving girlfriend, assures me that my singing is "improving" - but she is also the woman who assures me that my writing is good, my driving is relatively safe, and, presumably, that my flying skills are "getting better". So I shall treat her opinions with caution, and stick to developing the martial-arts potential of my voice into something that can be useful in everyday circumstances - such as fending off people who've come to ask slanderous questions about their dog, or forcing someone to relinquish a didgeridoo Remember, if you see anything column-worthy, you can email me here - and this page DOES have a comments system. ;) - Sam Smith (Permenant Link) View older columns - Next Page >> |
||||||||||||||||||||
