The Bruno Mars question

Inspired by Mikes inability to give away his Bruno Mars Plus 1 – the Bruno Mars question:

"'Cause what you don't understand is that I'd catch a grenade for ya"

Bruno Mars has laid down his commitment to catch a grenade for you in song - well, I’d like to know who ‘you’ is exactly? Is he talking to all of us, or to one person in particular? ‘You’ has to be someone, or everyone. It’s probably in your best interests to find out whether it’s you, or not – just so that you can sleep a little easier at night. Or get cheaper life insurance.

It could even be me. If I was to listen to the song then I’d be well within my rights to think that he was talking to me and vowing a lifetime of grenade security on my behalf. It’s technically a contract. If its one person in particular then he’s literally going to have to be at the side of this person for the rest of their life, on the off chance that a grenade is dispatched in their general direction. There’s no point pledging to catching a grenade if at the precise moment you’re not looking one is launched at the person you’ve committed to catching a grenade for. But then why on Earth would you want to be with someone who has put themselves in a situation where grenades are likely to be thrown at them whilst they go about their everyday business? What have they done to get themselves into this position? There are easier relationships to be had.

Mr Mars is also very specific on the fact that it’s going to be a grenade. How does he know this? It sounds like there is something that he is not telling us. There are, according to the army study guide (I’ve done my research) 6 types of grenade, does his grenade catching obligations cover all 6, or are there loopholes and types of grenades that he wont catch? Would he be able to opt out of catching a particular type of grenade on a technicality? Is there a small print at the end of the song that I’ve not seen? *Catching grenade obligation only applies to grenades thrown between the hours of 7am and 11am and is restricted to illuminating grenades*.

Its admirable how he manages to go about his everyday business with this grenade catching vow hanging round his neck. He’s probably regretting ever saying it. It’s a modern day miracle that he’s managed to have a music career in spite of it, no wonder he’s writing songs about it – its probably all he ever thinks about, the only surprise is that there aren’t more songs about grenades – maybe there are more in the pipeline. How does he incorporate potential grenade catching into his show? It probably means that you increase your likelihood of being in the vicinity of some grenade related activity if you go to a Bruno Mars show. I only hope that the audience are aware of the dangers of the fact that there is possibly a grenade thrower in their midst. What happens if the person he is catching grenades for isn’t at his show – will he have to nip out at regular intervals if there is grenade throwing potential?

How exactly does he incorporate this grenade catching pledge with his commitment to jump in front of a train?

Facts > Opinion

Every now and again a subject comes along on which everyone has an opinion, regardless of how well they know the subject in question. One thing is for sure; if I’ve seen and heard one opinion on the Amanda Knox story in the last 3 days then I’ve read a million - from countless multiples of 140 characters on Twitter, to diatribes on Facebook, to missives on messageboards, to rants in the office.

The problem is though, that most of these opinions make me want to cover my eyes and ears and jump out of the nearest window. Of course people are entitled to an opinion, but facts always beat opinion. Here’s a rule of thumb that you might want to incorporate into your day to day life: If you are considering formulating an opinion on a particular subject, then it’s worth checking if there’s a fact on it before you start – if there is then simply align your opinion behind that fact, even if the fact doesn’t resemble the opinion you were going to formulate.

The reason for this is very simple: If there is a fact available on the precise topic of your opinion, and that fact is different to the opinion that you have about it, then your opinion is wrong. I’m not even sorry to say it - you are wrong. An opinion isn’t even required if it is different to the fact that is available on the same subject.

If your opinion differs from the fact then you are wasting your time putting together an opinion, you are wasting your time talking to me about it, you are wasting my time in making me listen to your opinion, and you are wasting my time in making me tell you that you are wrong. “In my opinion she is guilty as hell” is a worthless opinion, because the fact at present is that she is not guilty. Whats hell got to be guilty about anyway?

Even if I didnt like what the fact was, and would prefer your opinion as the real fact, it wouldnt alter anything - all that would happen is that we would both be engaged in a even more pointless conversation, because more than one person was wrong.

God knows how I managed to get over 3 paragraphs out of Facts & Opinions, but I can go on a lot, lot longer about it.

I’m only interested in facts, is what I’m trying to say, I think, if you’re unclear on my point. I spend most of my day avoiding getting involved in discussions on current affairs with people, because it usually ends up with me wanting to kill one of us. Arguing with a fact is effectively the same is arguing that 1 + 1 = 27.

If the government really want to save money, they ought to scrap the entire criminal justice system and replace it with people, chosen at random, who declare 'guilty' or 'not guilty' based upon 3 key strands:

a) Whether the defendant looks guilty from 5 photos of the defendant selected at random, what I’m seeing is something similar to the way that they select the numbers on Countdown,

b) The headlines from a selection of newspapers,

c) a 10 minute chat with 3 acquaintances, all of whom have a combined knowledge on the subject that is less than yours.

The most important thing is that they must have no more than a basic understanding of the actual case, but are capable of formulating a deep seated view based upon this very minimal understanding. We could even turn it into prime time TV, with someone like Richard Bacon surprising people at the bus stop or somewhere and asking the big question 'Guilty or Not Guilty?', or even in front of a live studio audience who have to vote on which way the person will cast their judgement.

Maybe the whole thing could get a reality TV makeover – I’ve copywrited Judge Idol, so don’t even think about it. Saturday nights wont be the same again.

The only cases where this wouldn’t apply is in cases of alleged paedophilia or cases where the defendant has a funny name - where the verdict will always default to guilty.

What I’m not saying is that I know more than you – although 99 times out 100 I probably do. I have very little understanding of the case, other than one person was murdered, 3 people were convicted and 2 people were have had their convictions overturned. And unless you’ve spent months and months in the courtroom listening to every strand of prosecution and defence wrangling, it's probably the same understanding as you, which means that you’re just speculating.

Sometimes you have to go with it.

Boiler Issues

My boiler has been broken for some weeks now, certainly since before Christmas. As is usual with any plumbing requirements I might have, I give my mate a ring. As is usual with my plumbing mate - he has no fucking clue.

A couple of years ago I had water dripping through my kitchen ceiling - the bath and shower is directly above the leak so it was obvious that was the source - I just didnt know how. I got him out to have a look and after about an hour of umming and ahhing, he couldn't find the problem so left me with it. I rang a plumber from the yellow pages who found the problem within 2 minutes and charged me £70 for coming out and 35p for parts - a fingertip full of silicone to seal around the tap and stop the water from the shower trickling through.

Anyway, my mates esteemed conclusion was that the boiler problem could be one of 3 things - none of which he wanted to commit to because it might not actually be it - and buying parts would cost me. One of the 3 things was a new boiler.

"You might want to get someone out to have a look at it" he said as he packed his toolbox up and left.

"I thought I just fucking did" I shouted after him.

Anyway, having the boiler not working wasnt really a problem because the hot water still worked - magically I assumed, and I borrowed a couple of oil filled heaters from my brother. The house was actually warmer than it was when the heating worked. So this suited my general apathetic, 'not arsed' approach to life right down to the ground.

Lately however, I've been getting a bit bored with the freezing kitchen so I decided to get it sorted. I rang a guy from the Yellow Pages and he was actually very good. Well, when I say good - what I mean is that he was a nice man.

He came round, ummed and ahhed for a bit and narrowed the problem down to one of 2 things. He decided to go with the problem which required the cheapest spare part, and then went away, came back a couple of days later and fitted it. The boiler still didnt work.

Because the other option he'd narrowed it down to meant an expensive spare part, he suggested giving a business who carried out fixed cost repairs a call because they would do it for cheaper than it would cost him to get the part. Sounded like a good idea to me and to his credit he didnt charge me a penny for anything.

I rang someone else up yesterday, who sent someone straight out to have a look at it. He narrowed it down to one thing:

"You need a new gas valve" he said

This wasn't one of the thing that the previous guy had narrowed it down to when he had his 2 goes at it, or one of the things my mate narrowed it down to when he had his 3 goes at it. So lets hope we've finally got it sorted after 6 goes at it.

He's coming back today to fit it. You'll be able to tell if it does work because the polar icecaps will be half their usual size by the end of the day and there'll probably be a cyclone in Australia or something, as its going on maximum power for the full duration.

I saw my mate last night at football:

"Got someone in to sort the boiler, he's had a look at it today and is coming back tomorrow to fit the part..." I said

"Gas valve" my mate replied before I had chance to say what it was.

"Err...yes, how..?" I stammered, shocked.

"Thought it was" said my mate, confidently.

"Then why the fuck didnt you fucking fix it then you tit??"

Dangerously Curious

We've all done it haven't we? Yes, you have. Haven't you? Just me then.

A week or so ago, being bored - and dangerously curious, I put my car registration number in webuyanycar.com to see what they would value my car at. This moment marks a change in my life - a few years ago being 'dangerously curious' in front of a laptop would have taken to me to a much more different site than a car valuation one.

Anyway, they came back with an expectedly low amount - any car company who is going to be selling on your car in the future will never give you the true valuation of it, as they have a profit to make. And, I've also discovered that there is a different downside to being 'dangerously curious' than there used to be, as I am now faced with a picture of my car with their value in large figures next to it on one of their adverts, on a lot of websites I now go into. I've seen it that much that I'm half expecting their adverts to be transposed into my dreams now.

Yesterday, I received another email from them entitled 'Great news, your car has increased in valuation'. 'Brilliant' I thought - 'my car has increased in value without me actually doing a single thing' other than being exposed to a zillion adverts. I checked. It was about £300.

Maybe if I leave it another 3 years, they might get a bit closer to what the value of the car actually is.

Car Crash Gym

Monday night at the gym was a nightmare. The gym is a 15 minute walk from my house, but it took me that long to park the car, yeah I know I should be walking but it was cold and wet and the last thing I want to do is extend an hour session at the gym - that I don’t want to do in the first place - by another 30 minutes of exercise. That’s the kind of complication that would just make me not bother at all, so basically knackers to that. Although I can officially confirm to all media outlets that I will be journeying by bike from now on (weather/being arsed dependent).

The 2^nd Monday of the year will now forever be known as ‘Car Crash Monday’. The exact moment in time when this years New Years Resolutioners meet last years New Years Resolutioners - who came for 4 weeks but paid for the whole year, and think they’d better at least show the effort - and collide with the regulars who haven’t been since New Year for fear of it being packed, in a perect storm of sweat, lycra and odd smells that you never actually smell anywhere else.

In the week between Christmas and New Year I was actually the only person in the gym at one stage, this either makes me very sad or very dedicated - or a high octane mixture of both. I did allow myself to dream that it was my own private gym occasionally – except that I probably wouldn’t need 12 running machines. On Monday night, I wasnt even the only person in the square foot that I was standing, let alone the only person in the gym.

By the way, if a smell that you smell in the gym all year round is also there when you’re the only one in the gym, does it mean that its you?

Leaflet shit

I don’t really read the things that I should: from ‘best before’ labels on dairy products, to letters from the council. I see them, but because they’re not immediately important to me, because they don’t have an immediate impact on my life, because I’m happy enough in my own world - then in my mind, there’s no point concerning my already overworked head with them.

I once answered a knock on the door to be greeted by a man identifying himself as a bailiff. Apparently I hadn’t paid my council tax and he was there to duff me up/sell my functioning internal organs/do whatever it is that bailiffs do.

After paying him, I contacted the council to find out why they hadn’t told me about this. To which I was informed very politely that they had infact sent me lots of letters about it.

“Don’t be so ridiculous” was my response “I’m not an idiot, if I had received them I would obviously have opened something so important and read....ahhhh”

I stopped as I remembered the pile of stuff that I don’t read, hidden away under the coffee table. In that pile I discovered about 10 letters from the council, each getting progressively more insistent, culminating in a letter that essentially ended with a ‘bollocks to you then, see you in court dickhead’ crescendo.

A court appearance that I didn’t attend, because I hadn’t seen the letter telling me to, because it was under the coffee table.

Anyway, one of the other items that I don’t read are Wheelie Bin collection leaflets. It’s far easier for me to peer out of the window on a Monday evening and see what colour bin the people on the street have put out, than it ever will be reading the leaflet and keeping it in a safe place, and then remembering where that safe place is. That sounds like someone elses hell.

Except, over the Christmas period it all gets a bit confused because the day changes from Tuesday to another day, which I will have been informed about in the leaflet, that is somewhere under the coffee table, that I haven’t read.

On Tuesday this week my bin had become so full that I thought that it was better to just stick it out the front of the house, to be sure that I wouldn’t miss the collection day, whenever it was. I had no clue when collection day was, I just knew that I didn’t want to miss it when it was.

10 minutes later, the rest of the street had all wheeled their bins out. The same colour as mine. I imagined that everyone else on the street was thinking how organised I was for knowing when the collection day was. This satisfied me.

Except that no collection lorry turned up the next day. I saw people on the street walk up to their bins, open them up, look confused that it hadn’t been emptied, walk up to someone elses bin, open that up and see that it hadn’t been emptied either. The look on their face then was an ‘I’m really, really confused now/thank God its not just my bin’ hybrid.

You know that look. Yeah you do.

What I’d actually achieved made me very proud. Not only had I’d started my own false Wheelie Bin chain, but I'd exposed everyone else for being as leaflet shit as I was.

Wheel idiot

Bumped into my friend Carl in the newsagents. Havent seen him for about 5 years.

"Bloody Hell Watski, how are you - havent seen you for ages" he shouted across the shop. "The last time I saw you, you'd been messing around at football and had smashed your wrist to bits and had operations and nights in hospital"

"Yeah, Carl - I'm never going back there. I cant even think about it without cringing inside - it was a right royal pain in the rectal passage if I'm honest. I dont know how I managed for 8 weeks" I moaned.

"Yeah, must have been a nightmare" said Carl. From his wheelchair.

Return of the Ma(r)ck

Well..well...well.

This place hasnt changed one bit. Apart from the fact that I'm a bit older, wiser and generally more lethargic and grumpy than I could ever have been accused of in the past. This, I believe, is a positive thing.

I also used to have lots of virtual friends in this place - virtual people who were much funnier than me - who have probably given up unsuccessfully virtually calling for me and found new, better, funnier virtual friends to hang out with. It was pure virtual altruism on my part, I virtually did it all for you. To virtually make you better virtual people.

I am also, now a technological magician. I spent 20 minutes trying to remember the password for this place - chuntering, complaining, moaning, throwing things - and that was just to myself. I was just about to give up when I summoned everything that I had into one problem solving thought. Yes, I used a different email address to log in. As I speak Wikileaks are headhunting me for some secret mission they have planned, that involves only those with lightning speed of mind and technological prowess.

So here I am, remind me what I'm supposed to do now.

Left behind...

Returning back from my trip even further up North I relaxed back on the settee and could feel my aching muscles. 135 miles I'd cycled in 3 days. And I was fucked.

Then there was a knock on the front door. I struggled off the settee and thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't cracked open whilst doing it. I opened the door to be greeted by my next door neighbour. Ordinarily she only wanted one of two things: someone to open her bottle of wine when the husband was away (I might explore that one in more detail in my next post...next year), or to hand over a parcel that the postie couldn't be arsed to leave in the shed.

She was carrying neither wine, which is probably good news at it was 1.00 in the afternoon, nor porn, err I mean parcel.

"You haven't shut your car door properly" she said in a sort of ner, ner, ner, ner, ner fashion, before turning on her heel and going back to her own abode.

"Oh right, thanks" I replied, wondering whether it was pure coincidence that I'd been away for 4 days and nights without the car and she'd knocked on my door 5 minutes after I got back, or whether she'd been knocking on my door hourly for 4 days with any one of wine, parcels or bad news.

Anyway I was also thinking that it was odd, as I can pretty much guarantee that I always shut the car door properly. I'm a bit careful like that, but this time she was right - it wasn't shut properly. So I opens it, then shuts it. 'Why couldn't she just have done that, instead of waiting till I get home to tell me?' I thought as I creaked back to the house.

A little later after a shower and a rub down by a Thai masseuse - I dont know if masseuse is male or female, but I mean the female variety if it's male, it's irrelevant anyway as it was a fantasy and not reality - I pick my keys up and head out to the car to go to the shops.

Sitting in the drivers seat I'm immediately aware of the glove compartment open, then aware of my satnav missing, then glance down and notice my envelope of petrol receipts gone, then the colour of the loose change in the ashtray bit is a bit silverless, etc.

It appears that the car had been relieved of the valuable stuff in it by the local valuable stuff relievers. They are very thorough.

When I say I can pretty much guarantee that I always shut the car door properly, I cant always say the same about locking the car. It does it automatically after 30 seconds so I get a bit lazy. How lazy exactly do you have to be to not be arsed to press a button on something that is in your hand?

That's probably for another day.

Anyway, it transpires that when I'd picked the bike up from it's service at the local bike emporium before I went away, the bike rack had prevented the boot from shutting properly, which in turn had prevented the car from locking itself.

The local car door tryers had struck gold when they undertoook their monthly try of car doors, hoping for one to be unlocked.

As I drove to the shops, I changed the cd in the cd player and perused the quandry.

How bad does your taste in music have to be exactly, to have everything in your car stolen except for the cd's?