Bringing you up to speed

Sudden realisation can have a profound physical effect. You read about it in books and see it on TV and it seems so hammy and cliché, but it's true. Try this for size.

I used to play as a striker for the British Council football team. I modelled myself after Cyrille Regis: muscular, powerful and quick. Very quick. My scoring record was pretty good: better than a goal every two games. My favourite goal saw me run from midway inside my own half, head the ball past the last defender, dummy the keeper and roll the ball into the bottom left hand corner of the goal. I was so elated I ran off to celebrate with the two casual bystanders who were watching by the corner flag. It later turned out that they'd pissed all over my kit bag and my copy of Vibe magazine which featured a Public Enemy cover story. Bastards.

A couple of weeks later I scored a 25 yard screamer which curved outrageously as it arrowed into the top corner of the net. Buoyed by having notched what was obviously the goal of the season I found an extra enthusiasm. An exuberance which gave me an extra yard of pace as I chased our opponent's playmaker back towards the centre circle. I executed a perfect sliding tackle, gathered possession of the ball and passed it back to our holding midfielder before sprinting my way back upfront for the next phase of play.

As I ran I became aware that my left hand felt weird. I figured it must have been caught underneath me as I slid in to win the ball. I looked down and saw my thumb bent back on itself at a grotesque angle, as if it had decided independently to pack up and emigrate to my elbow. I knew immediately that it was dislocated and ran to the referee to ask him if he would pop it back into place. His response, after a wince which pulled his face into a horrified 'O' was, "You've been watching too many movies, mate. I can't do fuck all about that. You'll need to go to hospital."

The understanding that my injury was serious and wasn't a Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon momentary inconvenience acted as the trigger for the physical response referred to above. Not, as you'd imagine, one of excruciating pain, but a wave of nausea the like of which I've never experienced, even after a dodgy kebab which is the exclusive fare of my local high street eaterie. My legs were suddenly unable to bear my weight, I swooned and collapsed like a 19th Century woman suffering an attack of the vapours. I was helped back to the dressing room by a couple of colleagues where I waited for an ambulance to arrive.

I had a similar revelatory experience this week. About 3 months ago I had an appalling day at work. I finally gave up smacking my head against the brick wall at about 7pm and, in a supremely bad mood, drove home. A month later that I received a letter advising that I'd been caught by a speed camera doing 36mph in a 30mph zone. I was so angry at myself, but hey, that'll teach me. I'll be paying much more attention when I get behind the steering wheel from now on. Luckily I was given the option of attending a speed awareness course rather than have to pay a fine and accept a 3 points penalty on my licence. So that's what I was doing on Tuesday morning.

There were 24 of us in a room being looked after by 2 facilitators, one of whom had the demeanour of a sorrowful, empathic, avuncular prison officer, the other the gloomy aspect of an undertaker from Rotherham: each one of his anecdotes ending with, "Ploughed straight into 'em. Never stood a chance."

I saw this course as an opportunity to reappraise my attitude to driving and get back into the good habits that I'd long slipped out of. The other people there...? Hmmmm... Not so much.

The first question was offered by the sad Uncle: what is the speed limit in built-up areas? Easy. That's 30mph. Although in some circumstances the police will apply a formula (the speed limit + 10% + 9) that gives drivers some leeway up to 42mph. Interesting, no?

Second question. What is the speed limit on motorways? That's right, 70mph. Use the formula and you get 86mph. A middle-aged woman with badly died hair (she had plainly forgotten to do her roots) and who steadfastly refused to take her brown anorak off said, "Well the limit's going to be 80 soon anyway. So..."

"Yes, but the limit is still seventy miles per hour," said the doleful trainer. The funeral director was out of the room.

"They'll put it up to eighty. They have to," said a bloke in a chunky grey pullover which looked as if it was rather itchy. The whole room shifted its attention to him. "The government want us to drive faster so we use more fuel and give them more money in taxes."

His pronouncement was met with silence. Apart from me. I coughed up a giggle. His stern face told me he wasn't joking. I stopped laughing. This fella's enunciation of his conspiracy theory was the cue for everyone else to give voice to their sense of injustice.

A woman at the back with her glasses perched on the end of her nose said, "The thing you don't appreciate is that society moves much faster now. We all work, we're all pressed for time and for the most part we're all being penalised for just keeping up with the flow of traffic."

"They friggin' trapped me - excuse my language. They were hiding behind the bushes with a speed gun," said a woman in a nurse's uniform.

"I'd like to see the breakdown of deaths on the road. I bet most of 'em are just ordinary people in a hurry to get to work," said a man in a tracksuit at my table.

A woman with a number two haircut and very pink, shiny skin - which reminded me of spam - got very animated and punctuated her shrill speech with a jabbing index finger. "Right. Let's get right to the crutch(!) of the matter," she hissed, flecks of spittle spraying from her downturned mouth. "You lot want us to speed so we can keep you in a job. We have to speed," which sounded a lot like the same conspiracy theme enunciated by the grey pullover: as if David Cameron had clamped their foot to the accelerator pedal.

Many whiney voices were raised at this point, crashing around the room in a bitter cacophony, but I tuned out as I began to swoon with the realisation that I may well be a misanthrope. Suddenly X Factor and 50 Shades Of Grey made perfect sense. I spend most of my life fully engaged in responsibility avoidance (I construct my own little world within which I can draw upon resources to help me remain creative - that's my excuse anyway), but even I accept that the reason I received a speeding ticket is because I was driving like a wanker and I could have hurt, or even killed, someone.

I'm aware it's a bit of a touchy feely notion, but we are all of us connected. Whatever I do, or don't do, has an impact on the wider society. A more apposite example of this is our lust for the new iPhone 5. The working conditions in the Foxconn plant where they are manufactured are so awful there was a spate of suicides. In reaction to this the employee dormitories are now equipped with safety nets to catch those who might want to jump. Earlier this year around 150 workers threatened to commit suicide by leaping from the factory roof in protest at their working conditions. This is emblematic of life in the Western world: poor foreign workers, stripped of their rights and dignity, and forced to make gadgets for the wealthy (ie. us). We point to our gadgets as a sign of the advancement of the human race and this is true, but at what cost.

These workers do not receive what any person would consider a living wage. A Foxconn production line worker would have to work 60,000 years to earn what Tim Cook, CEO of Apple, takes home in 365 days.

And the wider implications if we cede our responsibilities to each other are manifest. We end up in a special relationship with a rapacious America who's foreign policy in the Middle East is clearly delineated by the scary and comical John Bolton, but no-one gives a flying finger of fudge:

"...Persian Gulf, the critical oil and natural gas producing region that we fought so many wars to try to protect our economy from the adverse impact of losing that supply or having it available only at very high prices."

So, what have I learned this week?

1) I'll be sticking with my iPhone 4 for a while. Well, at least until my present contract runs out.

and

2) Only a fool breaks the 2 second rule. Unless the police take time out from tasering blind people of pensionable age and force you to drive faster.

You wonder where I been? I been gone for a while!

The words of Daryl McDaniels from Can I Get It Yo, track 3 on the seminal Run DMC album Down With The King. Mind you, in the same tune he also says, "Back to attack the wick-wick-wack. Me, Daryl Mac. Suckers on my ball sac!" So, y'know, I'm not sure how much store one can put by his statements. I have, however, been on hiatus for a period of time. 

Writing a novel.

A cross between Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Robert Tressell's The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists: weaving the overtly political into the surreally comedic, because, kids, there is truth in art. Which is why Shakespeare rocks so hard and still resonates through the veil of five (count 'em) centuries.

Here's a f'r'instance: Coriolanus. A lesser known of the tragedies in Bill's canon, the character of Caius Marcius Coriolanus (the flawed warrior who tries being a politician because his Mum thinks it's a good idea), is so one-dimensional he doesn't even get a soliloquy like Hamlet or Macbeth.

I struggled getting through it when I read this play as a youngster. I found the politics of the piece baffling, but it taught me a new word which described the group of people Coriolanus so despised;

You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate
As reek a’th’rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air—I banish you!

The word, of course, is "Plebeian" and it's been bandied about recently as flagrantly as an empty Lib Dem promise: the Chief Whip accidentally giving voice to the contempt Tories feel for ordinary people, as if their divisive policies weren't clue enough. When Gideon cut taxes for the rich in the 2012 budget the acceleration of inequality was plain for all to see. It is projected that by 2015 at least half a million more children will fall below the official poverty threshold. The young, women and the poorest have taken the brunt of the Coalition cuts. Andrew Mitchell denies he used the words attributed to him, which is good enough for Our Dave to draw a line underneath this episode. Or at least try.

The irony is we're supposed to feel sympathy for the target of Mr Mitchell's ire, namely the police. The very same chaps who altered statements to cover themselves over Hillsborough, shot and killed Mark Duggan and instigated a "gangster" narrative to muddy the waters and ensure that we all came to the conclusion that he was asking for it. They fed the media the story that Mark Duggan shot at them first, was out-gunned and died as a result. As evidence they cited the fact that a bullet lodged in a police radio. At first we were told Duggan was responsible, before it became clear that the bullet belonged to the officers themselves.

The legendary rock band, Spinal Tap, summarised this precise situation best in their description of two business managers who meet in a hotel lobby*.

When two liars lie so much they just cancel each other out.

A plague o' both your houses.

* from the DVD commentary of This Is Spinal Tap possibly the greatest movie commentary of all time.

Barcode Crucifix

I got a call from an excited Matt at Playschool Noize today to advise that 'Barcode Crucifix' by Damaged Gods out on 4/4/2011 is officially available for pre-order from amazon, play.com and hmv.

Slide back a month and I'm watching the Brits hosted by James Corden. Eliza Doolittle, during the first half of an ad break sponsored by Mastercard, proffers her stinky, powder blue trainers to the camera and mews in a voice she obviously imagines to be endearing (but which actually induces me to try and chew at my left elbow), that these are indeed her favourite trainers. If ever there was an indication of the crass commodification of music then here it is: wrapped in a self congratulatory clusterfuck celebrating vacuous product placement.

Music is both an art and a science. Between the algorithms and arithmetic, maths and magic exists the light and shadow of music. And Cheryl Cole.

The musical landscape has always been populated by non-entities with absolutely fuck all to say, playing fifth rate music filtered through fifth hand ideas and sponsored by tossers who know literally fuck all about fuck all. The difference is that now they're likely to receive a Brit nomination as they guarantee TV ratings.

It's been a long road to get to a point where this work could be released. Variously, it didn't sound "black" enough (I'll leave that to Plan B). There were too many long words (Antidisestablishmentarianism, anyone?). The guitars (Jim Davies of The Prodigy guests) were a tad too angry. The themes too dark. Even the artwork (by Lucius Michael Copsey) caused some consternation with the last record company who deemed it "disgusting" and "distateful". Awesome, eh?

But hey, if Chuck D digs it then I know I'm doing something right. I'm not going to rewrite the foreword (Pretentious, moi? Mais oui!) to the album here, but great art should be a document of the times in which it was created, so as I look out of my window I see dissent and dissatisfaction in equal measure and that's what 'Barcode Crucifix' enunciates eloquently. It concerns matters magikal, sexual, political and religious. Every word loaded with a symbolism which resonates long after the last note fades. And I personally guarantee that it'll make you shake that booty.

Can you imagine Public Enemy kicking fuck out of Nine Inch Nails whilst both parties are being torched by Rammstein as Dub C laughs at the horrific carnage? Lovely, isn't it? Man, I love Cradle Of Filth, but their hymns to violence are steeped in either fantasy or, in the case of the amazing 'Godspeed On The Devil's Thunder' album, history. Damaged Gods are of the NOW. When we suggest that "The lawless government invites anarchy," just look around. It is entirely true.

The album has been years in the making and is more relevant and necessary now than when it was conceived. So over the past couple of weeks our government has;

- sent David Cameron to sell guns to Egypt's supreme military council


- had David Cameron appear in Kuwait to defend arms sales vociferously, whilst Gaddafi continues to use British arms against his own people


- sent the SAS and MI6 to the wrong place, where they were captured by farmers

Remember, these chaps went to the very best public schools and did the Oxbridge thing, so are far better and way more intelligent than you or I. Thus, I'll pause before branding any of these actions as thoroughly cretinous. Don't get me wrong boys and girls, it's ALL about the music, but these are the reasons I do what I do. And these are the reasons for the snarl on my face.

Meanwhile, shitty bands play their odes to vacuity with a criminal inanity. Don’t accept it. You deserve better. We all deserve better. And that is what Damaged Gods represents. The middle of March finds us on tour as a trailer for the album and August sees us over in America further spreading the damage. As always Brozilla will be sharp of suit. Superior of mien. Sexy of limb. Witty. Charming. And the easy erudition of my oratory skills will be a joy for all to behold. The aim here is to put on a show rather than merely play gigs like so many other bands and I would urge you to attend, participate wholeheartedly and display your affection by offering a two fingered salute.

Vees up. Us against them.

Nothing but love

xBx

Jackin' for beats with... DJ Gaddafi

As we approach the release of DJ Gaddafi's upcoming album "The G Files" we are pleased to give you an in depth interview with the Middle Eastern Despot/Rapper as he discusses his favorite producers, rappers, David Cameron & Dr Dre's "Detox" album. We're given an "Access All Areas" pass to his impressive Presidential Crib. Situated in the southern suburbs of Tripoli the central domed portico gives access to a lofty entrance-hall, lined by a row of double columns of grooved white marble with gilded bases. The white marble floored ballroom - the size of two football pitches - hung with tapestries woven in a different age depicting the Saracen violently resisting the infidel Christian Crusaders. The high, ornate ceilings are adorned by one elaborate chandelier after another.

We enter as DJ Gaddafi is in the middle of a telephone conversation with his American agent;

DJ Gaddaffi: I don’t wanna hear what the fuck these motherfuckers got to say. They say I can't run shit and this and that? Will. I. Am.? Yeah, the motherfucker’s tight as fuck, but if it ain’t broke, you can’t fix it, motherfuckers. I’m ‘bout to go hard. I’m not gonna make this guy a superstar again. The boy had his chance. GA! DA! FEE!. Let me reiterate this. Hold on... One love, Basil, I get down with y’all, that’s Libya baby, for real. Freshly! Chopped! Basil! Yeah... Y’all puttin’ it down for the brothers and sisters, for real. I’m just talkin’ about all the suckas that be hatin’. Be a fan and stop hatin’. Listen to the real shit, you got to do it. Sheeee-it. Let me pull this motherfucker back for y’all one more time. This just that soulful shit, this is what I do. Don’t get mad at me, I wanna say your name, but I ain’t gonna do that. One love y’all to people that got love for Libya. Freshly Chopped Basil: What’s up y’all this is Brozilla with "Freshly Chopped Basil". I’m here with DJ Gaddafi, you all know him, and here he is. What’s up, man? DJ Gaddafi: Just chillin’, doing my thing. You know how we do? Workin’ on "The G Files", tourin’, having a good time. Just want everybody to come see this tour and feel the music I’m bringin’. Freshly Chopped Basil: So you've got the album coming out soon. It’s coming out at the end of April, right? DJ Gaddafi: Yep. The album is coming out April 27th. It’s a great record it’s got a lot of features. I got a lot of talented cats gettin’ down; Snoop Dogg, Beyonce, G-Influence and Brother B, The RZA, P Diddy, Eminem, Nick Clegg, 50 Cent, Tech N9ne, Ed Balls, Chuck D, RBX and Caroline Spelman singing some chorus hooks... Dr Dre did his thing on a couple of tracks... Just a bunch of talented artists and I love what they do. Freshly Chopped Basil: Usually with your albums you produce the entire thing. How come you put Dre in the mix? DJ Gaddafi: I love Dre, who doesn't? I think he’s a great producer. In fact all the producers that’s puttin’ it down I respect them and I love their work. There’s a lot of good music out there, I respect everybody and I love what they do. Freshly Chopped Basil: On the flip side of that, you as a producer, which artists would you like to produce for? DJ Gaddafi: My tastes are way out and people might think I'm trippin’, but I wouldn’t mind doing something for T-Boy. And- Freshly Chopped Basil: That's Tony Blair, right? For real. T-Boy can spit. He brings heat and keeps it 100. He's my main Caucasian. He kinda reminds me of myself when I was doing my thing, and I’m still doing my thing, don’t get it twisted. We go waaaay back. He brings the fire. I like Raekwon, he’s cool. I like Jay-Z, he’s super cool. I like Nu Labour, even though they don’t have records out now. Snoop, that’s a must, I’ll work with him anytime. Damaged Gods are crazy talented. They're getting a lot of play out here with "Outf!%king rageous." You heard that yet? Whooooh! HOT. There are tons of guys out there that I like who are putting out good music, but there’s a lot of other people trying to rap and trying to produce just because it’s so easy to get into right now, but in a minute that’s gon’ change once that real music comes back and people understand what’s really going on. I know I went somewhere else on that answer, but hey. Freshly Chopped Basil: You’re putting out this record on your own Coup D'etat label. This is your second independent release. What's that like when you compare it to your major label experience? DJ Gaddafi: I mean independent is a little harder than being on a major label. You gotta be hands on: make sure everyone's doing what they s'posed to do. I wasn’t hip to that, I thought I was still gonna have people to do things for me. But you get a chance to really see what’s going on and really know who got your back and who don’t got your back in the business. I’mma put it to you like this: when I was with a major, it was on and crackin’. Everything crackin’. I made a lot of people, a lot of 'behind the scenes' people, rich. But now that I’m independent and I have to get at the same people that made it pop for me back in the day, then it’s a problem. I mean that as far as, “Hey, DC, can you gimme a hand here? I- Freshly Chopped Basil: "DC?" DJ Gaddafi: David Cameron. "I made you a load of money and I'm still making you money.” And I gets no love. It can still go down like that. It’s just a different way as far as showing that support. I mean I support everybody in the Middle East, I support everybody in the West, the East, Down South. But it’s just gotta be a mutual thing, especially here where I’m from. Everybody out here, all the DJs, all the clubs, everybody gotta ride and look out for each other. I’ve been to clubs where I’ve seen cats that’s from here at the door, and they like, “Nuh uh” and they let artists from somewhere else right in. We gotta have more unity and that’s what we missin’ from the game. The talent is there, the music is there, the unity is the key. Freshly Chopped Basil: Tell us about the viral video you had for "Capitalism Crash". How did you guys decide to do that and are you guys gonna shoot any other more traditional music videos? DJ Gaddafi: For "Capitalism Crash" I just got my secret police to film David Cameron swanning around the Middle east trying to sell arms to literally anyone. In this climate of violence? If that doesn't show you that Capitalism is utterly bereft of morality... Anyway, the response was off the chizzain! I think we're up to something like 5 million views on YouFace. Yeah, we’re gonna shoot more videos. We shooting for "It's All About The Oil Receipts" which is me and T-Boy. Doing that, puttin’ it down and letting people get a glimpse of that. Middle East meets West. I got family in all places so I can’t have tunnel vision. That’s how you survive in the game, you can’t have tunnel vision. Freshly Chopped Basil: I heard that "Education Revolution" was originally gonna be a Michael Gove collaboration song, tell us about that. DJ Gaddafi: I did the song with him, that’s what that was. But records change. A lot of records I could tell you about right now that had other people on them from a lot of artists that you know have changed. Just like on that Elton John single “Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me”? I was on that song originally and I got dropped for George Michael. So records change, that record changed. I put G-Influence and Brother B on it, it was a good feel for them so that’s what it was. Freshly Chopped Basil: On another note, have you worked with Dre on "Detox"? DJ Gaddafi: In the beginning, sort of the beginning, I was over there with Dre and the rest of the fellas going through the records and marking off ideas for him to hear. That’s all I did really. Then a year or so ago I spat a verse or two, but I don't know if they made it onto the record. Freshly Chopped Basil: So you made some TV appearances since your last album. How did that come about and how did they approach you and what was your first thought? DJ Gaddafi: Well I did the "Celebrity Fit Club". I didn’t want to do it at first because I thought it was some corny shit. So I was like, “Damn, I’m not old, I ain’t played out. I’m still a youngster.” I told ‘em no, but then the producer Rich called me and said, “Lemme take you out to lunch”. So I had lunch with him and he explained to me what the show was about and what was going on as far as showing me how to eat better and showing me how to exercise their way. I said, “So y’all gonna pay me to exercise and eat right?” So I was like, “Shit, let’s go.” And I did that and I’mma do more of those type of shows. On the big screen, as far as movies, sitcoms, all of that, I’mma do it all. It’s just showing versatility and by the way I’ve been easing over into scoring. I scored the popular Libyan drama "Tripoli Heights". I don’t even know if a lot of people know that but I scored that show, it was a great show. So I’m doing a lot of things. I’m easing my way into being behind the scenes ‘cause that’s what I really love. I’m still a motherfuckin’ rap artist period. I do that. But you grow and you have to change and I’m just changing and I’m looking for the next motherfucker who can shock the world. A lot of motherfuckers can rap and they do that all day but I’m looking for a person that has a story about themselves, something that can captivate the world, not just your hood. And that’s what I like about T-Boy. He got a story and he tellin’ these motherfuckers, “This is what it’s like with me and where I’m from. This is what it’s like and this is how we gon’ give it to you." He got a story about it and you rarely find artists that really give you that story and that realness. But I’m pretty sure it’s coming, and I’mma be looking, ‘cause I am a producer, Gaddafi Funk Entertainment, baby. Freshly Chopped Basil: We’re about to wrap up but before that tell us what kind of vibe people are gonna expect on the album. DJ Gaddafi: You can expect a lot of records that’s got a soulful feel, a lot of records that’s like more on the groove tip. I ain’t really goin’ hard on the record, like Will. I. Am. Did you catch Black Eyed Peas at the Superbowl? Oh, man! That was some repugnant shit. A lot of people don't know that Fergie played William Shatner's girlfriend in an episode of TJ Hooker back in 1986. She's looking rough these days, right? That's the crack. A lot of these celebs are on crack these days. They tell me crack is in. Anyway, what I'mma be doing is talking to everybody from a fake tanned, ugly WAG motherfucker on "Daybreak" to Paxo on "Newsnight". Freshly Chopped Basil: Can you explain the bloodthirsty repression of your people for four decades at the behest of your Western puppet masters? DJ Gaddafi: Huh? Freshly Chopped Basil: Never mind. Before we leave, do you have any closing comments about anything? DJ Gaddafi: All I have to say is whatever you want to do in life keep your mind to it. If it don’t jump off at first don’t get frustrated, even though we do get frustrated. Just keep pushin’ and don’t let nothin’ hold you down. And keep faith in God and know that it’s gonna be alright. And for the motherfuckers that be hatin’ on Brozilla Triple X L, kiss my motherfuckin’ ass, ‘cause you can’t hold a brother down. Freshly Chopped Basil: Wise words. Thanks for your time today. Peace. DJ Gaddafi: Huh?

Change that works for us

The TV debates between the three main party leaders engaged millions of people and reversed the trend of dwindling voter turnout, but shifted the focus towards physicality and personality. Suddenly Gordon looked very much like a stranger in a very strange land, his face a tad saggy and that weird thing he does with his lower jaw - a movement so grotesque and pronounced it suggests he's attempting to dislocate it in order to feed upon freshly aborted foetuses - cast the fellow in a poor light indeed. He even had the temerity to refer to a person expressing unequivocally bigoted views as 'bigoted' (actually, I have to defend Gordy on this last point. Were I caught in an unguarded moment discussing the chauvinistic, xenophobic, small-minded views of that woman, then on April the 29th I can assure you that instead of 'Bigotgate' we would have been confronted with 'Ignorant Fucking Dickheadgate' which is far more lyrical, but perhaps a little too unwieldy to form a tabloid headline).

So it's May the 7th and there are 5 other people in the office, none of whom have voted and are happy to enunciate their bafflement with the difference, or lack thereof, between the 3 parties. A 6th, with a little gentle probing, reveals that her vote has been cast in favour of the Lib Dems as "I could never vote for Gordon."

I voted Lib Dem once.

Just the once.

And I was rather young.

An abandoned sofa in the bushes bordering Hazel Grove Cricket Club was an unconscionable eyesore which marred my otherwise idyllic walk to the train station. A letter appeared in the Stockport Advertiser on the Thursday and by the Friday morning - late and running frantically for the 08:03 to Manchester Piccadilly calling at Woodsmoor, Davenport, Stockport, Heaton Chapel and Levenshulme - I noticed it had gone. Buoyed by this prompt restorative community action I voted for the Lib Dems at the next local election.

I think it might have been a week later when I was confronted by my Father ('Dad' never carried the right amount of respect. From time to time I'd even throw in a 'Pater'): "You voted for the Liberals, didn't you?" he said in a level tone which nevertheless dripped with both accusation and disappointment. I looked down uneasily. A "What the fuck were you thinking?" hung uncomfortably in the air between us and remained unspoken. In my panicked defence I offered the settee, but Basil Tracy Creese Sr picked more holes in it than the abused and forsaken piece of furniture which kicked this episode off in the first place. He challenged me to read about the Liberals (this in the days before the internet - I had to traipse to the library to complete my task) and then try and justify a vote for their party. I did. And I couldn't.

I was thinking about this when the country fell in love with TV Nicky and the Lib Dems enjoyed their poll bounce. And when Shirley Williams, at the beginning of Election Night, forecasted 80-90 seats for her party. And when I saw William Hague, Iain Duncan Smith and Michael Gove acquire their new posts within government (the last of these twats actually said the following: "The liberation of Iraq has actually been that rarest of things – a proper British foreign policy success. Next year, while the world goes into recession, Iraq is likely to enjoy 10% GDP growth. Alone in the Arab Middle East, it is now a fully functioning democracy with a free press, properly contested elections and an independent judiciary... ") And when Nicky and Davey C had that cringe inducing press conference on the lawns of No. 10. And again when our new coalition government announced that they were abolishing the Child Trust Fund.

I bought the manifestos for all 3 parties prior to the General Election for just such an event. The Conservatives made no mention of abolishing the CTF. Their policy was to cut back government funding to the poorest families. Nope. The abolition of the CTF is exclusively a Lib Dem thing as outlined on pages 16 and 102 of their manifesto.

The difference between the wealthiest and the poorest of our society is now a yawning chasm. The CTF was an attempt to reduce this inequality. Research by the Children's Mutual shows that the people saving into the funds were in the lower income bracket and children in this band would have no prospect of enough funds at 18 to kickstart their adult lives.

The CTF has been described as "the most successful savings initiative there has ever been". The number of people saving monthly, long-term, for their children, went up threefold, and the amount they were saving went up by 60% since its introduction. It is important to note that whilst the CTF is being abolished more expensive tax reliefs on middle class savings – private pensions and ISAs – are staying in place.

Since the credit crunch the dialogue has been about the need for personal saving and its importance for the financial health of the nation that this is encouraged. The one initiative which attempted to address this is to be axed. It's so spectacularly short-sighted it could only have been devised by incompetents or elitist numpties. If you see Nicky ask him how the dissolving of the CTF squares with their manifesto title of 'Change that works for you: building a fairer Britain.'

I couldn't understand why the country would vote for avowed representatives of the privileged to skew the game for their own ends, until I watched an episode of Fawlty Towers a couple of weeks ago. My namesake is looking rather smug having terrorised a working class oik for daring to breach the threshold of his hotel: this is in direct contrast to the deference with which he treats, say, Lord Melberry or the Psychiatrists. Sybil passes acid comment;

Sybil: You never get it right, do you? You're either crawling all over them, licking their boots, or spitting poison at them like some benzedrine puff-adder.
Basil: Just trying to enjoy myself, dear.

It's what we British do. We despise the working class and the fact that most of us are working class. Blair, Mandelson and the rest of the middle class New Labour acolytes embodied this contempt: Mandy saying the Labour Party didn't need any more "oily handed sons of the soil". They strategised to seduce the Great Satan Murdoch and enthusiastically implemented the inherently divisive Tory fiscal blueprint which has borne bitter fruit.

They say you get the government you deserve, but looking at the numbers the majority of us voted for the progressive, centre-left parties: 85% in Scotland, 70% in Wales, 67% in the North East of England and 61% in the North West. It was this flawed voting system which won the Thatcher Conservatives 4 elections on the spin. The seat numbers reflected the inaccuracy of the system, not the strength of the Tories, who at their very best only achieved 43.9% of the electorate.

So we've entrusted our future prosperity to the posh boys again. The diligent subscribers to the notion that if the rich get richer, we all benefit - they'll look after us and make things better, won't they? Did you know that Nicky has a blue-ish tinge to the sanguine fluid coursing through his veins? Yeah. Turns out his grandmother was a Russian baroness, whilst his great uncle was bludgeoned to death by his own peasants...

...Nah, too easy. I'll leave it there, I think.

What the f$%k is NLP?!?

I went to a party last night. I know! I don't drink and I don't socialise. But it was a surprise birthday celebration for my mate Irv. Or rather Ian Irving. So I had no choice. Right now he's a very big player in the Experiential Marketing scene, but back in the day he was part of a team who made a music video for my previous band and we've kept in touch ever since. The festivities kicked off in Londinium at 8:00pm, but having to wend my way via Britain's terminally blocked arteries (M6 and M1) meant my perfectly laid plans were fucked and out of the window as the tailback from Hades finally spat me out in Clapham 2 hours late.


For the duration of my arduous journey - soothing soundtrack provided by Miles Davis - I was thinking: "I could just drop him an e-mail or a text... Why am I even doing this?" The answer arrived most eloquently in the slack-jawed, joyous incredulity on Irv's face as I stepped into the venue. Awesome! It was fantastic to see him again. Many, many emotional, manly hugs later and Irv plays the perfect host as he introduces me to his guests (the great, the good, the beautiful and the celebrated) variously as: "The first celebrity I worked with", "The poshest man I know", "The coolest man I know", "He's an intellectual" and "Watch out! He'll NLP ya!" as he pulled a dramatic Bruce Lee pose.


The last of these intros generated the response which forms the title of this blog. Joel Beckett (Lee from The Office, Jake in Eastenders, Stand-up comedian and voice over artiste without compare) asked if it meant I could get inside girls' knickers really quickly: his enquiry accompanied by some extraordinarily sexually graphic hand gestures. Erm...


In those tumultuous and rambunctious surroundings it was difficult to give an appropriate response. So I figured I'd do a quick intro.


Ready?


Ok...


Whatever you do, do not think about a quaint little cottage situated at the foot of a mountain, the immense, glistening white slopes stretching ever upwards to a cloudless azure sky. Snow enveloping the cottage, covering the windows and piling up against the ornate wooden door. A beam of sunlight tumbling into the white, frozen valley and illuminating it with a bitter, glittering fluorescence.

What happened as you read the above paragraph? Did you picture in your mind's eye the cottage, the mountain and the snow even though I advised you not to? If so that's because the only way to make sense of what you read or hear is by engaging a little with the experience yourself. Once you grasp that truth the rest is all fun and games because just by saying a few words in the right way, you can transport people to specific places and influence the way they think. Richard Bandler and John Grinder, the founders of NLP, integrated Noam Chomsky's concepts of language and hypnotic patterns used by Milton Erickson to identify powerful tools of influence and persuasion. Thus, NLP is essentially the study of communication and its effects.

The most high profile exponent of NLP (amongst all his other trickery) in the UK is probably Derren Brown and in his book Tricks of The Mind he details how he attained his qualification in this discipline by attending a seminar with 400 other people for 4 days. My experience in becoming a certified NLP Practitioner was totally different. I studied with only 3 other people for about a fortnight under the tutelage of a world renowned NLP authority, Rintu Basu, and I had to competently demonstrate hypnosis, fast phobia cures, swish patterns and the accessing of eye cues amongst other similarly freaky things before I could graduate.

I volunteer this information so that you know that I know what I'm talking about. And whilst I may be an avid student of social interaction and its consequences, you're sitting there, reading this blog and that means you're already aware that language affects perception.

And politicians know this.

They know that in inter-personal communication if you're able to control the level of abstraction, you control the communication itself. The 'hierarchy of ideas' is a model which allows us to move (or 'Chunk') up and down, through and between different levels of abstraction from vague and ambiguous to definite and specific, and is one which everyone from Winston Churchill to John F Kennedy to Barack Obama has exploited.

If we take 'sex toy' as an example. The phrase 'sex toy' is at a particular level of abstraction. If we then chunk down on 'sex toy' we move to a lower level of abstraction - something more concrete and specific. So if the subject of the communication was 'sex toy' we might ask 'What type of sex toy specifically?' and chunk down to 'Rabbit Vibrator'.

If we required further detail we could 'chunk down' one more level by asking something like 'What type of Rabbit Vibrator specifically?' And we might get a response of 'Ultimate Remote', 'Aquagasmic Double Pleasure' or 'Wet n Wild Waterproof'.

With each increasing level of specificity we are moving down through the hierarchy of ideas and down through levels of abstraction. And, of course the further down you go, the more specific you get and the more opportunity there is for contention. For example, I might, as my personal political campaign platform, say we need to look to build a better, more vibrant Britain. Very few would disagree with that. However, were I to more clearly delineate the component parts of my policy and state that we would work our way towards this Utopian vision of Britain by feeding bits of Dermot O'Leary to a grizzly bear spazzing out on amphetamines on prime-time television every Friday night, the less creative amongst you might disagree with what seems a radical strategy.

When Obama talked about 'Change' and 'Hope' and 'Yes, we can' these were all concepts abstract enough for everyone, the world over, to be seduced by and rally behind. The specificity and day by day revelation of the detail of his programme of 'change' is what has so disappointed us all. And we see a similar tactic employed by David Cameron and the Tories. This is from Our Dave's website:

"David's vision is of a country where people have more opportunity and power over their lives; a country where families are stronger and society is more responsible; a Britain which is safer and greener."

See? It's impossible to disagree with ANY of those statements. Keep it vague and you'll invite complicity. In this instance most now perceive Dave as the Prime Minister in waiting. For now he'll avoid debate on definitive budgetary and taxation plans, for fear he and his party come across as cold hearted, Vampiric entities.


Pity, then, Gordon Brown who, at the last Labour Party conference, felt compelled to outline specific policy details with timescales. And figures. And percentages. And projections. All in an effort to make us love him more and instead lost the support of both his party - who recently staged yet another (failed) coup against him - and The Sun. Personally, I think the latter's a very good thing indeed. New Labour's lasting legacy will be that they presided over a near pornographic widening of the gap between rich and poor whilst grinding their collective tongue ever deeper into Rupert Murdoch's sphincter of supreme, nefarious darkness. Seriously, why would you want to consort with pure evil like Mr Murdoch? A man whom, it's fairly obvious, spends his waking hours hacking the limbs off orphans.

Anyway, Gordon is in desperate need of some basic instruction on the use of language to persuade, influence and reshape perception. If you see him, put him in touch with Basil Creese Jr. He'll NLP ya!


Now, take your knickers off and bend over.