“All the Internets a stage, and all the men and women merely players” – William Shakespeare

Today I’ll be modernising the words of the greatest writer in the history of the english language, William Shakespeare. That’s twice I’ve borrowed off genius to nonchalantly endorse my own opinions. Actually, scratch that. I infringed the copyright of Dostevsky once. Oh, and during the university days, Noam Chomsky’s words might as well have not been his own. Sometimes I didn’t even give him the courtesy of a good solid reference.

I was, perhaps, the foremost academic plagiarist in the university at that time. Deep in the darkness, amid the ambiance of intrigue that envelopes the dimly lit halls where the secret society of university plagiarists gather, my picture hangs in the hall of fame. The candle light flickering beneath my Corinthian features. Perpetuating and illuminating my memory. Cathartic chanting of my name, ringing around its hallowed chambers.

I was like a thief in the night. And I mean that quite literally. It was on more than one occasion that I found myself hastily thumbing through a copy of ‘Manufacturing Consent’ at three O’Clock in the morning with a freshly brewed cup of froth from the library coffee machine, half a packet of Space Raiders and someone of equal or worse time management skills. Needless to say, Chomsky, N (1988) didn’t grace my bibliography as frequently as it probably should have.

Shameful tactics are at hand once again this week, as I attempt to impress you all with words that aren’t my own. I’ll be adapting the words of Shakespeare in an all round less impressive fashion, whilst simultaneously trying to give them a vague significance to the modern age.

The final layer on top of this deliciously patronising cake I’ve baked for you, comes in the form of me opining these ideas without compunction, believing them to have a profound influence on how you should live your life, and berating you for the life you live now. As you’ve seen, I’ll also be trying to get away with using words like compunction. Just call me ‘The Philosoraptor’.

Broadsheet Newspaper types like to call this type of thing a ‘piece’. You know, the types who enjoy long boozy lunches in Soho with avant guard musicians. An agreeable bottle of Sancerre. A Garibaldi with a Capachino. Waitrose. Organic Yoghurt. That sort of thing.

Calling this a ‘piece’ gives it an artistic credibility that, quite frankly, it doesn’t deserve. ‘I enjoyed your ‘piece’ on the irony of Hollywood producing films that reflect the golden age of the cinema’ one will say to another, over a poppy-seed Muffin and an Austrian goat milk, double-half-caf-half-decaf-soy milk cappuccino – extra hot – with a dash of Madagascan cinnamon and half a teaspoon of caramel-latte-frappa-mocha. ‘Oh and where did I put my cashmere Beret? Oh yes, I remember. On my giant porcelain Dog, in my studio flat in Hampstead’.

Social networking. You entered this world of caricature at the same time I did. In fact, I think we left the same door ajar on our way in (surely with the intention of one day sneaking back out).

We all went down a long tunnel liking and commenting on more things than we care to remember, and it lead us here, to this very moment, when you clicked on the link I very consciously decided to share with you on Facebook or Twitter. Which means that you too have an account on a social network. Which means that you too, put conscious and self-conscious hours into grooming a caricature of yourself for the perception of others.

We’re all perfectly happy cultivating these online personas, because in most cases all it comes to represent is a harmless and less inhibited version of ourself. We let them represent us, whilst we peer our heads around the technological wall we’ve built for ourselves.

We maintain it, so we can give an audience – mainly of our own choosing – an initial impression of our lifestyles and tastes. All of the things we value, like, find funny, and interesting, will naturally manifest themselves over time in the form of likes, statuses, retweets, links and fan pages.

Today, who you are online, can become highly indicative of who you are off it. The minutia of your character is open for scrutiny by the people who ‘like’ you. But, how far do we go in displaying signs of success and ambition? Failure and foible?

For the highly self-aware, social networks are used as an extension of themselves. Peddling promotional propaganda for who they are, and what they’re doing. For those less self-aware, it’s become a stream of unedited consciousness, sent into the abyss.

With people turning to news feeds before newspapers, social networks are now used to show people how eminent we are. To make other people understand how happy we are, how successful we are, how funny we are, and how prosperous our careers are . Twitter bio sections are often used to tell people who we work for, and it has to be glamorous. It has to be illustrious, because we don’t want people knowing that we’re not where we want to be yet. In many ways, we use social networks as a banner for our lives, in an attempt to define it for ourselves and other people. It has the potential to become the smoke and mirrors of the digital age. Maybe we’re in the process of fulfilling the prophecy of Andy Warhol.

Its become all too easy for an individual consumed by sadness, to present themselves as secure, happy, calm and assured. If, as they say, the only thing you need to be a success is to portray an image of success, then the caricatures we all create online are helping – for better or for worse – bear out a cultivated image born out of a desire and longing for what we could be, rather than who we are.

But in spite of this, Social Networking can help us all. Facebook has given me many things. Its given me access to people’s differences. It helped me to understand that not everybody shares the same tastes as I do. It made me radically hone a flaw in my character that I’m sure we all share at times; a readiness to be intolerant of others, and a denial of the way others choose to live their lives, because it jars with our own ideologies.

Social Media reaffirms and heightens social interaction amongst others, and teaches us all about the varying cultures, memes, syntax and neuroses across the landscape of the society we operate in. It makes us deal with social conventions we ordinarily wouldn’t be privy to, or have any wish to engage with.

Crucially though, social networking reflects the human condition and the macroscopic world around us, really well. We look into this mirror and we still see the insecurities and neuroses we all share. The life changing events we all have – Getting jobs, loosing jobs, switching jobs. Making friends, loosing friends. Winning and loosing lovers. A microcosm of society. A paradigm of the real world.

Steadily, we consume a daily diet of reading about the unexplainable tendencies of sadness and happiness in other people’s lives. We tell people the state(us) we’re in. And for a short time, as it flutters across the news feeds, timelines and into our lives; we become privy to the joy, idiocy, brilliance and sadness in the lives of others. And what’s reassuring, in many ways, is that from the safety of the technological wall humanity has created for itself, we’ve confirmed what we already knew. That we’re all privy – to a lesser or greater extent – to the same disappointments and happiness as each other. You can judge people on their online personas. Cultivating ideas and impressions on others, because of the addictive pleasure of staying socially present without having to let your guard down.

Through it, we seek to be defined as good for something, one thing or many things. To become eminent in the eyes of people we’ve known in our lives. We live in a global village, and the world, has never been smaller. The people you know, and the people you don’t, will judge you on this stage, as they do in the real world. And whilst its highly addictive to be defined in soundbites, pictures, 140 characters, statuses and pixels – it can’t be at the cost of real life. Because soon, cartoons will dance on the stage that Shakespeare put us on.

Treat it like life, but be yourself. You never know when your individuality might touch someone. On Facebook; eminence can be imminent. At least in the minds of others.

Nightclubs

I spent three years at university, so by association I spent three years in Nightclubs. I’ve never liked nightclubs. I find them as, or if not more, abhorrent than Celebrity Big Brother. A programme that signifies to us all, that humanity is now officially eating it’s own arsehole.

Deep down, I’d like to think that we all have an ambivalence towards Nightclubs. That really, people just pretend to like them. It’s an odd relationship. And if you’re British, the oddness of that relationship is exacerbated further, with the knowledge that the weekly practice of thrashing about to Faithless half cut, with the crude image of a cock and balls on your face has become a national institution.

From mindlessly subscribing to them, to fearlessly evading them. Everybody has, at one stage in their life, endorsed them. Admittedly, some have taken them to their hearts more readily than others. We become aware of these people, by the attire they don. This includes – but is by no means restricted to – something florescent, a stupid hat, being half naked, carrying a road sign or other form of official public notice, something from All Saints or fancy dress. I take particular umbrage with the last one. “Let’s subversively mock geeks, despite the fact that during our school days we couldn’t wait to shun them because we thought we were superior. That’d be fun wouldn’t it?” Would it? You moronic Gump.

Ironically, fancy dress is normally always worn with predetermined intentions. Intentions of proving to everybody around you that you suffer from little or no inhibition, you don’t take yourself too seriously, you’re perfectly fine ignoring the underlying sexual tension between strangers, and you really don’t care what people think. Despite the fact that you do, you always have, and your crushing inability to be yourself eats you up inside on a daily basis.

All of this being said, by and large, you’d be hard pushed to find someone who hasn’t, at some stage in their life, found themselves breathing in the stale perfume and second hand air only the enclave of an inner city nightclub can offer. Thankfully, tastes refine with age. In the context of nightclubs, tastes seem to evolve in three. First, you like them. Then, you tolerate them. And finally, you loathe them. Not just the Nightclubs, but more importantly, the people in them. The disdain you feel towards these people reaches all kinds of astronomical. You hold them in the deepest contempt, and rightly so. You find yourself unleashing the kind of unfettered vitriol more often seen from a wounded badger trapped in a cage.

There’s no set timescale as to when you’ll reach the final stage. But, reach it you will. And if you think you won’t, then maybe you should ask yourself why you’ve never seen your Mum slamming a row of Sambuccas and inanely yelling along to ‘I found love in a hopeless place’ before throwing up on a mans shoes outside ‘The Good, Kebab, And The Ugly’.

Regardless of the phase you’re going through, one thing is for certain – nobody enjoys them forever. Even the most hardened ‘it’ girl, who loves nothing more than taking a break from the latest idiot themed thumping to shove coke up her nose off the surface of a U-bend, will one day relent and enjoy the tranquility of a sedentary lifestyle.

For most of us, the story starts age 16, where full of the naïvety of adolescence, you look forward to the day you finally turn 18. Because then, and only then – with the blessing of her majesty’s government – can you legally stagger into the hot, overcrowded furnace of your choosing, and start being overcharged for drinks under the guise that it’s some sort of obligatory privilege.

Maybe it’s just the result of the nervous disposition I seem to adopt whenever I’m in these places, that makes me so indifferent towards them. I do after all, carry the expression of a man who’s just been informed of an unreported gas leak 80% of the time – even when I’m having fun. If you’ve ever seen me dance, then you’ll rightly remember that I look like a stork on stilts trying to circumnavigate a steady hand-game. The post nightclub food from ‘Kebabistan’ does nothing to better my mood these days.

Anyway, I fear this is getting tangential. Back to Nightclubs. I don’t like them anymore. I don’t even have to pretend to like them these days. Does that mean that I’ll stop going to them? Probably not. Like almost everything in life, it’s all indirectly linked to social pressures and in particular, other peoples birthdays, which apparently, we all have to celebrate now or be damned. But that’s for another time. I might have to wait until my early thirties before everyone else admits their birthdays are not deserving of full scale, city-wide celebration, and that really they just like a sit down and a cup of tea too.

As is always the case, I only believe half of what I write. I take an infantile delight in being a contrarian and iconoclast. There are, of course, many fine nightclub goers who cause no bother and enjoy perfectly harmless – and reasonably promiscuous – fun. Bit of boob here. Bit of arse there. We all lap it up in our droves to spontaneous and continuous applause. Everyone I know is pretty much in that number. The real direction of my acrimony, is for the people who ruin it for the rest of us. You know. The ones with the stupid hair, who say and do stupid things whilst wearing stupid clothes, dancing stupidly to stupid music and generally slaving themselves to the perceived judgement of others. You know the ones.

As a final note, I see it as no coincidence that my new found aversion to night time establishments coincides with my appreciation for the comfort of 100% Merino Wool. And if you do think it’s a coincidence, my recent purchase of a 100% Egyptian Cotton Flannel Dressing Gown in Forest Green Highland Tartan should go some way in proving you wrong.

So on that final note, in this, my most disappointing of blog entries. I conclude.

“To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness” – Bertrand Russell

I once joked about having the song ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’ by The Rolling Stones as my funeral anthem. If there’s one song in the history of music that would leave the congregation incredulous whilst you’re being carried out of the church feet first, it’s probably that. It would stir the most bizarre and diverse mix of feelings and emotions wouldn’t it? It hammers home the resignation of knowing that this time, you can’t get what you want – whilst simultaneously affirming that life still goes on. It’d be like taking the piss from beyond the grave.

Personally, I’ve always been on the lookout for something to tug the heart strings like vintage Spielberg. Something that paints you in an almost messianic light, before everybody heads off to The Dog and Partridge to enjoy the Quiche that has been kindly laid on by the landlord, Bill. During the wake, the grandchildren that survive you will be sliding on their knees and spilling Coca Cola like nobodies business. They get away with it because “it’s not disrespectful, they just don’t understand”.

From time to time, it’s only natural that you hear certain pieces of music and earmark them for a headline spot at your own funeral.You start planning the moment you hear a piece of emotional gold. Straight after the Prayers of Penitence you say to yourself, go right into the tear jerker you’ve had in your locker for years that makes the ending of ‘The Green Mile’ look chirpy in comparison. When I reach my latter years, and life starts to slowly creep away from me (like my cheating wife 25 years previously), I might even compile a Spotify playlist to keep a constant track of my choices and ensure that the X Factor winner doesn’t end up echoing out from the alter as I’m being mourned.

As long Facebook and Spotify continue to milk their communal cash cow, their relationship will surely continue to strengthen. My friends will be able to keep a keen eye on what I favoured at my time of death. Minimal work, tailor made funeral, emotional send off. Social Networking at it’s finest? Have I just uncovered a niche in the market? Is it too late to create www.theywouldhavewanteditthisway.com?

The contenders are strong. Pie Jesu is a classic and has long been a stalwart of the funeral scene. The traditionalists tend to favour ‘Abide With Me’ to unlock the flood of tears required. The reflective, but life affirming ‘How can I Keep From Singing’ and the consistently weepy ‘Time To Say Goodbye’ are always in high demand. The last two particularly, are like the little black dress of funeral anthems – Especially the il divo versions, which I find, carry with it a contemporary edge. Always classic and go with everything. We’re talking about the big, big players in the funeral game here.

It was whilst listening to the song that I jokingly put forward – “You can’t always get what you want” – that a spiral of thought suddenly triggered inside me. The title of the song (perhaps obviously) also happens to be a line in the song. The chorus, in fact. That line is followed up with another line (again unsurprisingly, it is a song after all) “but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need”.

Now, I’m the last person to recommend extrapolating any kind of advice or wisdom from Mick Jagger or Keith Richards. These are, after all, the same people who wrote vague lines such as “the restoration plays have all gone round” and other harebrained inanities like the classic “Women think I’m tasty, but they’re always tryin’ to waste me and make me burn the candle right down”.

You see? That my friends is the difference between The Beatles and The Stones. Lennon cathartically mused that “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see” and Jagger told us to “Get our rocks off”.

But on this occasion, the borrowed philosophy of Jagger et al couldn’t be more accurate or ring truer. We all believe that we deserve happiness. Not misguidedly either. Some of us believe we deserve happiness on a monumental scale. They can normally be found under the label ‘selfish’.

But, when you’re a good and reasonable person, and you live your life in a way that is both respectful to yourself and altruistic to others, it’s hard to contemplate why you didn’t get what you so desperately wanted or felt you deserved. You believe in the fairness of justice and humanity, and it becomes hard to comprehend any kind of real happiness without that which you so covert. Sometimes, there is nothing more painful than seeing your good go to waste and watch the world take advantage of your better nature. Your dreams and hopes nonsensically dashed by a simple twist of fate.

And then life goes on. And you realise, in time, that not getting what you want, and all of the accompanying mental and emotional turmoil that goes with it, helped to redefine your objectives, your priorities, your focus and your resolve.

You abandon all of your preconceived perceptions, and you suddenly have the potential -if you say yes to it – to redefine and reinvent yourself. There is nothing more liberating than not getting what you want. The process of having your hopes dashed intermittently throughout your life, will sometimes be the only thing that keeps you looking after your dreams.

Through our perceived failure, if you learn to accept it and let it teach you, you gain immeasurable clarity. And through that clarity comes a heightened sense of conviction and the opportunity to become even more exceptional and gain true originality.

Accept the one guarantee in life – you can’t always get what you want. Take that guarantee and cash it in at the bank. But when you do it, know that somewhere down the line, you’ll be back at that bank. And this time you’ll be getting fat off the interest. It is our perceived failures that become the catalyst for profound reinvention.

If you handle your disappointment well, what you thought was failure can transpire to become your greatest teacher. Dreams will constantly change and evolve. The death of something is the only thing that sparks the change agent. Hopes will be cruelly dashed for us all.

Handle it right, the rewards could become more than you ever could have imagined.

54 Rules For Living

1. If you answer your phone, you’ll get a reputation for answering your phone.

2. Avoid conflict and stay away from the people and places where hate can be found.

3. Invest in small sartorial details. They say everything about your character.

4. If you love somebody let them know. If you get hurt as a result, know that the process of heartbreak will strip you down and build you up in ways that you won’t be able to fathom. You’ll become a better person for it. It remains a profound experience.

5. Good judgement comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgement. Mistakes and failure are a part of life. Learn to grow strong by failure and grateful by success.

6. Love and get to know your family. Never leave the house on a bad word. You’ll never know when it might be the last.

7. Trust your instincts. You’re the best there is at being you.

8. Prepare. But know that some of life’s greatest gifts and tragedies arrive in moments that you’d never have anticipated.

9. Resist with all of your heart hating someone that you once loved. That way darkness lies.

10. Not every cliche should be ignored. Sgt Pepper is still the greatest album The Beatles ever made.

11. Don’t always hope that people get what they deserve. There are going to be many occasions when you’ll be grateful that you didn’t get what you deserved for mistakes you’ve made. Live and let live.

12. Karma isn’t certain. But the people who hurt you will eventually destroy themselves on account of the way they are. They too will be stripped down and forced to learn.

13. The best form of revenge is living well.

14. “We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars” – Oscar Wilde

15. Happiness is only real, when it’s shared. Find the right people and invest your time in them.

16. Money isn’t everything. Not having it is – Work to become rich, but don’t make money your God. It doesn’t buy you happiness. It buys you distractions.

17. Never go too far in displaying signs of transparent and conspicuous wealth. It’s classless.

18. Buy The Big Issue. It’s a job, not a charity.

19. Give to charity. Half the world can’t feed itself.

20. L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N. Someday, someone will be thankful to the person who let you go.

21. Never loose patience with others. Be tolerant and kind. Everybody is facing a personal battle.

22. Eat your Breakfast and stretch. It prepares you for the day ahead. You’ll regret not eating your porridge on the long and laborious journey home.

23. The greatest drink of all time is Coca Cola. The Black Doctor. Feel the burn.

24. Find a job you enjoy, and you’ll never work a day in your life (See point number 11 about cliches).

25. Only marry if you want to spend the rest of your life with them. As Woody Allen said: “I think people should mate for life – like Pigeons, or Catholics”.

26. Good Manners are telling. The nicest words are still “thank you” and “please”. They get you further than you might think. There is rarely an excuse for being rude. When dealing with obnoxious people, being polite is a revolutionary act.

27. Never get involved with someone in a relationship unless you absolutely adore them. Try not to be reckless with other peoples hearts.

28. For the men – Admire women, respect them and learn from them. But accept that you might not always understand them. As Frank Sinatra said: “I’m supposed to have a Ph.D on the subject of women. But the truth is I’ve flunked more often than not. I’m very fond of women; I admire them. But, like all men, I don’t understand them”.

29. When everything else just doesn’t look right, wear a white shirt (Again, for men)

30. Faith is a good thing. Whatever gets you through the night is important. Hold on to your right to believe in what you want.

31. Never read the Murdoch press, The Daily Telegraph or The Daily Mail. It’ll skew your perceptions.

32. Never claim to have seen, read or heard something that you haven’t. Buy the ticket, read the book and listen to the album.

33. Never attempt to counter foolish people with reason.

34. Be tolerant and remain slow to judge the actions of others. You’ll never know what someone else has been through.

35. At some stage, we all have to work in a job we hate. Let it strengthen your resolve and teach you about what you want from your career. Know that one day your prospects will look better if you work hard and stay kind. “Work is more fun, than fun” – Noel Coward.

36. Try to find a nice balance between work and life. Work remains a subsidiary to the people and places that you love. Put them first.

37. Invest in the best Navy suit you can afford. Unless you’ve got a body like Brad Pitt in Fight Club, it’ll give you better shape than you’d ever have without it.

38. There might be a better pair of jeans than a pair of Levi 506′s. But if there are, then I haven’t found them.

39. There are many beautiful women in the world. You should plan to marry one and have loved about 4 or 5. Realise when you’re happy.

40.a Quiet is good. Avoid loud places from time to time. The most profound moments of your life won’t take place in a nightclub at 3.00am. They’ll take place whilst talking to someone you love about resolving the problems in your life.

40.b Think back to the Black Eyed Peas song ‘I gotta Feeling’ which includes the lyrics “Tonights gonna be a good night” – No it’s not. It’s going to be exactly the same as last friday. It might even be worse. Don’t let that song get you in the mood for going out. Will.i.am doesn’t know the kind of day you’ve had.

41. Be funny. Strive to see the comedy in everyday situations. Start with subversively mocking people and go from there.

42. The best example of a man can be found in Paul Newman. He’s the benchmark.

43. You don’t have to be bold or certain to be brave.

44. People will be reckless with your heart. When you place your life in the hands of others, accept that you might get hurt. Don’t let this destroy your faith in people or love. As sure as the sun will rise, heartache will come to every life.

45. You might not be around to finally witness the demise of someone who hurt you. But it shouldn’t matter. Don’t waste your time on jealousy. It will consume your life and make you bitter.

46. Buy good shoes.

47. “If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got” – Phil, Team Training Specialist at a former workplace. The man responsible for marketing Barcardi Breezers in the early naughties. I’ve not listened to him since I found that information out.

48. Don’t embarrass somebody in front of others. It will always say more about you than it will about them.

49. Speak and learn from your elders. They can dip their feet into the fountain of youth and you can dip yours into the fountain of wisdom. You’ll both have wet feet, but you’ll both know more about life. And fountains.

50. Some peoples advice will be rubbish. By all means ask for it, but don’t follow it blindly. Follow your intuition. Deep down you know the answer.

51. Never act outside of your own morals or principles. You’re ultimately responsible for the action you take. Make sure the decision you make, is a decision you’re happy with.

52. “If you’re going through hell, keep going” – Sir Winston Churchill

53. Take opportunities when they present themselves and learn to laugh at yourself. You’re an insignificant spot on an insignificant rock on the scape of a universe which currently lies in the midst of billions of years worth of history and an indeterminable future. Live in the present. Look after what you’ve got. The world wasn’t made exclusively for you so help others.

54. “Process and Procedure are the last hiding place of people without the wit and wisdom to do their job properly” – David Brent

The Rules of Attraction: An Insight

If women adhered to the same rules of attraction as men, then the population of the
planet would be far in excess of the recent milestone we’ve triumphantly and gloriously arrived at. Seven billion people. Hurrah! Give yourself a pat on the…back? Genitals? Split prophylactic or sheath?

It’s simple really. Evolutionarily speaking, it’s thanks to the existence of woman, a species that – if you believe GQ – places less importance on physical attraction, and more emphasis on fairly judging a mans character – that we’ve managed to prevent the earth from becoming overpopulated. Through a combined effort, we’ve all managed to thwart the possible destruction of the human race via overcrowding. Once again, congratulations. We did it. I’d like to thank the restraint of men everywhere, and that stubbornness in women that we’ve all come to love…

Confused? Basically, it’s handy for all concerned that women are more impressed with a mans sense of humour, than his perfectly formed arse (although I’m informed the latter does help immensely, and is, on occasion, a deal breaker).

We all know there’s a disparity between the way men and woman think when it comes to finding a ‘mate’ and coaxing them into sexual congress. Men will know that difference through rejection, and women will understand it from their experiences of being ogled at, felt up, or having to yell “get your hands off me, you preposterous little letch” in Nightclubs and Bars worldwide.

“Women fall in love with what they hear and men fall in love with what they see, that’s why women wear make-up and men tell lies”. This cosy little half-true/half irrational ditty is a perfect way to summarise the vast gulf in attitude between the sexes and their traditional, archetypal, Hollywood influenced laws of attraction. It’s this gulf in attitude, that I plan to address with an almost relentless and academic vigour. Sort of.

It’s been handwork trying to write something that doesn’t offend the sensitivities of either sex or come across as painfully misogynistic. If it does, then I apologise. If I get through this unscathed then I’m going to demand a nomination for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Failing that, I’d at least like a ‘Webby Award’. Imagine the plaudits – “For his remarkable achievements in remaining unaffiliated whilst talking about the impossible subject of what women want..Ladies and Gentlemen..Martin O’Connor”.

There is an actual point to all of this. It’s not worthy of the grandiose, over the top introduction that I’ve heaped upon it, but there is a point. First let me tell you what I’m not going to do. Sadly, I’m not going to inform you about the needs and wants of men and women. We’ll never completely know everything. That fact should by now, be abundantly clear to everyone. Even some of the greatest minds of our time have skipped that question in favour of concentrating on something a little less challenging. Even Einstein decided to “crack on” with the theory of relativity as opposed to finding an empirical explanation as to why men leave wet towels on the bathroom floor.

I’m as clueless as the rest of you as to what men and women want. Nobody knows. Let’s get this straight, there’s no solace to be found here. If what you’re looking for is answers, then the relationships page in last Saturday’s Guardian might be of some comfort. Failing that, you’re just going to have to remain as angry and perplexed as I am. If I was to propagate that kind of advice unabashed, then I’d be believing my own hubris in doing so.

Let me begin. The female laws of attraction help to maintain a special kind of balance in the world. Without them, we’d be fucked – both literally and metaphorically. If women had the same initial sexual drive that features so prominently in men, then we’d all be roaming the streets like supercharged sexual tigers. The female laws of attraction ensure that we don’t all start making babies in the dairy section of Tesco Express when we pop in for a pint of milk.

Have we all recovered from the giddy delight of imagining a world where getting women in the sack is as easy as buying a cut loaf? Good.

I’m sure every man reading this would – give or take a few months – come to exactly the same conclusion as me, that whilst it’d be nice getting more slap and tickle for less effort, the reality is that it’d be too hard to keep it up (as the actress said to the bishop!).

The world would become overpopulated, and the place would descend into a hellish chaos. That’s why the female of any species are essential. Through the rigorous selection process they apply when choosing a male, they ensure the continuation of a healthy gene pool (although recent episodes of Jeremy Kyle undermine that argument) and maintain the steady increase in population worldwide by being decidedly picky. Some would say contrary..not me of course.

Females keep the world in order. It’s almost as if it was all intuitively designed that way. Some people will call this a product of evolution. Not me, no way. No, I strongly believe that the most conclusive evidence for the existence of God is can be found in a woman’s ability to resist hopping into the sack on a first date.

If women had the same unrelenting and immediate sexual desires as men, then we’d all be celebrating the birth of the worlds 1 trillionth baby. Men everywhere would be revealing their bodies in nightclubs with a scary regularity in an effort to impress the newly created, and much more visually minded female. Phrases like: “He had it all on show Tiffany, WAYHAY!” would become more frequent and women would start yelling: “Get your nob out sexy” from high-rise scaffolds in busy urban areas whilst flicking through pages of The Sun.

The sad and lamentable reality, is that if anything, women continue to remain distinctly unimpressed with the male body. As I’ve mentioned before – on the 6th day, God created man – and he made an almighty hash of it. He should be thankful that Man went on to create ‘Henry the Hoover’ vacuum cleaners to hide his embarrassment.

Women are selective in their choice of men for good reason. It’s a bit like quality control or going through customs. Would you be allowed to bring dodgy meat into another country? No. The same rule applies with women.

I get the sense that even the most dreamy of men – who smell great by the way – have to display more than a chiselled jaw and a great set of shoulders. And whilst I don’t doubt that women are attracted to the physical beauty of men in all the similar ways that men are of women, there is still a massive difference in the nuances of that attraction.

That’s why men have to prove themselves with a series of ‘morning texts’ before they’re allowed near them. There is a heightened emphasis on personality from the get go. A heightened emphasis on a man being able to prove himself as attentive, caring, protective, emotionally stable, decisive and masculine. By both the manner of his conversation, and traditionally, by the way he looks after others, how capable he is and by how socially dextrous he is.

From an animalistic point of view, the ideal scenario for the male of any species is to walk into a room, look at the female with lust filled eyes and with little or no obstacles to manoeuvre, enjoy a quivering mound of love pudding. This is both the truth, and a disgusting analogy.

Women on the other hand, tend to be attracted to a the confidence a man emits, the way he holds himself, his gait, his style and his sense of humour. In this way, women also want to enjoy a spoonful of love pudding. They might even go for second and third helpings.

Eventually, men and women commit to ordering a life times supply of quivering love pudding together. They precede to eat with relish. And then they pay the bill for the rest of time, which in the context of this metaphor, means children. Once again, not only is this the truth, but it’s also a terrible analogy.

In the past, I’ve asked women a simple question: What do you find attractive in a man? Amongst some of the more obvious answers like a nice smile, nice eyes, broad shoulders, cleanliness, a sense of humour, a wonderful personality and a razor-sharp intellect, I’ve heard – and these are all true – nice shoes, good hands, well-groomed finger nails, nice teeth, dirty shoes, tall but not too tall, love handles and smelling nice.

Personally I’m taking issue with the Shoes bit. Presumably you could look like the Elephant Man, but as long as you’re wearing a pair of Gucci Loafers you’ve got a chance?

Not buying it.

Hobbies and Interests? The Cliche of Socialising

It’s the one word we all avoid using when dealing with prospective employers, first dates and house arrest. It’s the most lethal word in the english language. It’s more lethal than ‘lethal’. More lethal than a synonym of ‘lethal’ (and yes, that does include deadly, deathly, mortal and ruinous). Many people succumb to its majesty. Many more resolve to steer clear of this cruel mistress, and never darken her door again.

How do we avoid it? Well, we casually skirt around it. Normally by lying, writing something unnecessarily verbose, or a mixture of the two. This combination results in something extraordinary. It’s still a lie. But it’s not just any old lie. It’s a lengthy and detailed lie. The kind of lie that steadily evolves from being an innocent variation on the truth, into a comprehensive fabrication with whistles and bells on them. We’re talking about a 9th commandment breaking lie. Which is one lie lower than Nixon but still some way off O.J Simpson.

Picture the scene. It’s some idle Tuesday and you’ve set yourself the daunting task of rewriting your CV. You reach the dreaded hobbies and interests section. You’ve forgotten. What are they again? Who are you? Where are you? Is it Monday? Is there still time to learn the O’Connor skank?

Your primary goal is to woo some wetbag in a suit who has the necessary power to give you a job. You need to stand out. Be markedly different. You’ve got a lot to give. You always have done. You are so God damn interesting. Don’t you remember the time you got your 1 mile Swim badge? Yet, ironically, there has never been a stage in your life where you’re more uncertain about who you are, what you like or what you’re worth.

You need to dig deep and find out. And quick. Because writing that you like ‘socialising with friends’ just wont do this time. You’re out to prove that you share a devastatingly vast range of interests with others. But you can’t allow yourself to say that one word. Socialising. Out of the sheer terror of trying to deal with this perverse Catch-22, you write something like: “I am keenly involved in activities with friends, including playing squash and watching films”. You’ve never played squash.

In an effort to avoid the cliche of socialising, people begin to form creative alternatives. And good ones. So good in fact, that some of them could be valid answers to a tough question on Family Fortunes.

Les Dennis: “We asked a hundred people for an overly complex elaboration of a favourite pastime, without using the cliche ‘socialising with friends’, in an effort to differentiate yourself from 2.7 million people unemployed and define yourself as a fun person who’s a “right laugh and a real hoot”.

Les Dennis: “You said: “Swimming with crocodiles with Andy and his brother Dave on a Safari holiday in 2008, before riding elephants into a remote African village and becoming firmly integrated into the Chokwe tribe “…

Our survey said…Top Answer!

Socialising. It’s a verb. It has a valid definition in the Oxford English Dictionary (go to the ‘S’ pages to find it). It’s applicable, acceptable and ascribed by all of us. It perfectly describes all of the fun things we like to do with other people. It’s a blanket term, yes. But it’s a good blanket term. It works. It’s perfect. It’s never not been good. It covers a multitude of sins.

You went out with Bobby and Simon for a quick drink? Socialising. You skydived with Gareth, Jimmy and his friend Alan? Socialising. You went to the cinema with Matt, Pete, ‘The Rickshaw’, Fingers, Fun Jeff, Silent Steve, Jesus, Nick – who’s best friends with ‘The Rickshaw’ – (appropriately named after the infamous mishap at Jesus’ stag do, that saw him end up sleeping in a Rickshaw outside a cash and carry in Calais) and the Archbishop of Banterbury AKA The Bantersaurus Rex AKA Banter Claus AKA Noel? Socialising.

And yet we fear it. We neglect it. It’s cliched and it’s old hat. It’s an empty term. We desperately want to use it, but feel we can’t or perhaps shouldn’t.

It’s the antithesis of it’s actual definition. It couldn’t be more effective in communicating the opposite of its desired intention. It’s essentially CV suicide. I’m not exactly sure who decided it wasn’t good enough, but they did. And life has been just that little bit worse ever since.

Succumbing to this particular cliche, tells the world that you’ve genuinely forgotten what you like doing with other people. Its akin to holding your hands up and saying: “You know what, I don’t care. I used to play football before the knees went, I went down the Driving Range a couple of times with Bob, and I still enjoy Orange Wednesdays, but aside from that, I just sit in the pub eating Pork Scratchings with a rotation of about 2 or 3 friends out of 8 at any one time”.

It’s unfortunate. We can’t rely on telling employers that we simply just enjoy the company of other people anymore. They’re after something else. Something a little juicer. Something with a bit more joie de vivre.

All of a sudden we have to have swam with dolphins with Julie, visited the West Wing of The White House with the members of the Monday night curry club from the Rose & Crown (including Phil who got kicked out during the Tottenham game), or played a round of links golf in Augusta with old school friends.

They don’t want to know that you like ‘socialising with friends’. They want to know how you socialise with friends. Then they’ll judge you. Then someone in accounts will mock your interest in hiking and laugh. Then they’ll pair it up against the impressive Anne who bread a Dodo with her best mate from a preserved strand of DNA, and they’ll eventually employ her. Breeding an extinct Mauritian bird is much better than your interest in attending 21st Century literature club with Alan. Apparently.

It’s a sad indictment of the world we live in that we feel pressured into creating lavish fairytales to avoid admitting that we enjoy ‘socialising with friends’. The same goes for being made to feel embarrassed for declaring an interest in music, film and some form of generic exercise. Perfectly acceptable. Perfectly normal. 100% true.

From now on, I’m going be honest. And include some normal truths. To compliment the stalwarts of my current CV, like my penchant for the Guitar, I’m also going to include my love of Rogan Josh.

School

“I have never let my schooling interfere with my education” – Mark Twain

Oh no I’ve done it. I’ve just referenced Mark Twain. And now I’ve used the word ‘referenced’ to illustrate the fact that I referenced him in the first place. And now I’ve gone and referenced my initial reference as well as my use of the word ‘referenced’, apropos of my referencing. And finally, as if to thoroughly cement how poor this introduction is, I’ve used the word ‘apropos’.

I’m sure that some of the worlds leading minds would think that nothing marks out a ‘pseudo-intellectual’ more patently than when a person takes smug delight in quoting Mark Twain. And if there is a more definitive way of exposing faux intellect, then it’s probably done by using the word ‘referenced’ straight after it.

Quoting Mark Twain in this day and age is in the same territory as describing something as ‘multi-layered’ or agreeing with The Observer Magazine that “the way The Wire uses melodramatic conventions to subvert social stereotypes is first-rate”.

Well yes, quite. We all agree it’s far too easy. And now we’re only ever a couple of clicks away from being able to say “If man has a conscience, he will suffer for his mistake” without ever having to step foot near a copy of Crime and Punishment, have read Fyodor Dostoevsky’s bibliography or know that he was a 19th century Russian dissident.

A quick browse of the web or a brief scan through the pages of a broadsheet supplement and you’ll be ready to trick people into thinking that you don’t simply spend your day, idly lounging around in your pants eating pot noodle on toast (which you do), but instead you hone an astute intelligence and an all-embracing knowledge of literature, culture, and art (which you don’t).

So now is probably the time to tell you that I’m almost certainly in the Idle Pot Noodle Pant Lounging Party. Like the fraud that I am, I’ve copied the whole quotation from a website. How particularly crass and witless of me.

My intention was to try to take advantage of what Mark Twain said and use it as the stimulus for this piece, in an effort to draw a parallel between the musings of one of the pioneers of American literature and my own meandering experiences. That’s right. You heard correct. This piece (as I’m slowly becoming aware) will seemingly attempt to draw parallels between the thoughts of a writer – whose work is tantamount to literary genius – and Martin O’Connor, 23 from Nottingham.

How thoroughly embarrassing that idea is for all of us to come to terms with. I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t look me in the face. In fact, the next time you see me, hit me. Just don’t take it out on the face or the nether regions. I still harbour hopes of one day having children, and my chances are significantly improved if you don’t go for the face or bollocks.

Despite the fraudulent manner in which I came by this quote (www.brainyquote.com), I can’t help but admit that I’ve admired it for a long time. Mainly because it allows me to justify my careless and negligent attitude towards my own schooling. Any quote from a bright person that defends my own laxity gets a thumbs up from me. It somehow always manages to make me feel relieved and less guilty about my years of shameful coasting.

And coasting is exactly what it was. For most of us, our school years are home to some serious remorse. I’m no different. Aside from the obvious regrets like bad haircuts, trying to ‘play’ a slice of pizza in the 6th Form CD player, and being a Death Eater during Voldemort’s quest to become the most powerful wizard of all time, there’s always that stand out embarrassment. The colossus of regret. The very foundation on which every under achievement since, has been built. The one that lurks in the deepest and darkest corner of your mind and only comes to light whilst sat alone at 7.30 AM in your Pyjamas eating Cornflakes, applying for jobs or generally trying to better yourself in the work related arena: I’m talking about the perennial under achievement during school.

I might well be accused of being overly self-deprecating when I say that. Maybe in my case I am being humble. I’d say I did average. Satisfactory. Fair. Passable. Unexceptional. Common or garden. Middling. I occupied the academic middle ground with a wielding consistency. I was the undisputed king of casually ignoring going any further than simply getting the job done, as documented in my year 10 Geography coursework on Kenya.

I’d still surprise myself on occasion, and find myself getting above my station. I was the yachtsman who owned the boat to sit in port, not brave a storm. I would intermittently get a surprise ‘A’ in something nondescript and end up dining at the top table for a while, with some of the more established alumni looking on at my achievements dismissively. They knew as well as I did that my observation on the ‘nature of loneliness’ being the true residing motif in the book ‘Of Mice and Men’, was a lucky guess. We all knew I’d be back on form next week being able to spell bisuiness. I mean, business.

For two or three times every couple of years, I ate their food, drank their wine and took their women. But there was still a general feeling looming, that I had no real place being there. The reception I endured was akin to the sort of greeting Charlie Sheen would get at the academy awards. Or Mel Gibson eating a bacon sandwich in a synagogue.

I certainly didn’t do well enough to be pictured leaping and prancing on the school green with unattainable girls for the front page of the Evening Post. Or being congratulated by the headmaster after achieving a record 15 A*’s and inexplicably, an MBE. But then, thankfully, I didn’t do half as bad as one person in my class, who when asked to write about the ethical and moral considerations regarding Euthanasia, wrote about the ethical and moral considerations about the ‘Youth in Asia’.

I am sure however, that, in many ways we all feel that if we’d only done something different at school or were quicker to understand that which would later became obvious, then the course of our lives would have changed or took a different path, and our dreams and ideals would have evolved quicker, better or in ways that are more beneficial to us than those that ultimately transpired.

I have no doubt that there has always been a distinct difference between ones schooling and ones education. Despite everything I might or might not have achieved in academic study, I’d like to believe that I’ve always understood that a person’s intelligence isn’t confined or restricted to the notion of learning set information to pass tests. It always appeared facile to me, that the intellect of a human being, could be reduced to being assessed in such a misleading and rigid fashion. In fact I distinctly see it as a sign of un-intelligence, that someone could believe that grades, numbers and letters alone can dictate the shape of your destiny or define the nature of your brilliance.

For every Oxbridge graduate with an impressive CV and a burgeoning career, there’s still something, somewhere, that they’ll never know. A discipline that will never come naturally. It might be something as simple as an unconventional way of interacting with others, knowing how to fix a burst pipe, faking sincerity to get out of social situations, playing an instrument, telling a joke, peacemaking, intuition or attention to detail. Everyone has a distinct style, a way of learning and natural interests and dispositions.

We all went to school to learn to pass exams once upon a time. It’s the law. And because of the nature of state schooling, it was sometimes hard to find a way to operate within a system that’s right for some, but wrong for so many more.

An education in comparison, is committing yourself to simply carry on liking what you like, working to get better at what you’re good at and being curious about the things that you think can help you thrive and succeed and make you happy. Even if that includes taking quotes from the internet, watching films just to know how bad they are or writing blogs.

A life long commitment to a continued education, even if it’s only to find out what really happened at the end of The Sopranos, or researching a piece of wisdom once whispered by Winston Churchill, is worthwhile, and could one day help or inspire. Schooling never completes one’s education, on the contrary, sometimes it interferes with the process of education. Learning new things about who you are, what you like, and the philosophies that influence you, can become a catalyst for profound reinvention.