Stereotypes, Racism and My Two Front Teeth

There is something odd about Stereotypes. We all recognise them as being intrinsically wrong. After all they assume that everyone is alike, which they obviously aren't. The only trouble is that clearly there is something right about stereotypes too. Whether you like it or not, the Americans are gun-toting, the French are arrogant, the Japanese do take pictures of everything and the English do create "little england" wherever they go. That is not to say that all of them are, but enough to make it a reasonable stereotype.

If they are a reasonable picture of a people or a culture though, why are we so offended by them. In the UK we had a hit show in the 70's called "Mind Your Language". It was totally successful right up to the end of its run, and had massive viewing figures. It was however racist, and ITV took it off the air. The show was about an english speaking school. The english teacher would try to teach people from different nationalities the nuances of english. The french lady was whistful and sexy, the italian man was passionate and gaudy, the japanese man had a strict code of conduct and so on.



My mother is Chilean and she loved it. She recognised and associated with the spanish bartender character Juan. She understood his protective family values, she laughed herself silly when Juan would treat Mr Brooks the teacher like his closest brother, and laughed harder still when he would raise his fists at the teacher and threaten him with a "punch up". The truth is that in Chile, they have strong family values. They are very protective, and should you be welcomed into the family circle of friends then you really are like the lost brother returned. I experienced this myself when were in Chile. I had never met these people my mother introduced me to, but their welcome was honest and heart-warming in a way I had not experienced before.

This show was filled with stereotypes, from the efficient german au pair, to the chairman mau quoting chinese lady. It was also filled with warmth celebrating our differences and understanding that each nationality has a different set of problems when trying to conform to the british way of thinking.

In the end, as the world got more PC, this well watched show was shown to be racist. As a brit I understand that on the one level we are just laughing at the funny foreigners and their stupid ways. On another hand though it was saying we are all different, let's not be frightened to say so.



The truth is that each and every stereotype has come from somewhere. There are however, reasons for them. Not excuses exactly, but reasons. There is a stereotype of the English being arrogant and nationalistic, superior and outspoken. Pretty much everything you get from Al Murray's "The Pub Landlord". We have an unhappy history in England, we have lorded it over half the world for many years. We have exported "Britishness" and reaped its rewards. And now we are paying for it. The English are disliked the world over for its oppressive history. From our closest neighbour Scotland, to Australia on the other side of the world, everyone enjoys seeing us fail.

We are not an apologetic people as a rule however, so instead of crawling into a corner we stubbornly stand out unabashed claiming how wonderful we must be for everyone to want to beat us. We become visciously protective of our nationalism, shouting from the highest rooftop how we do things better than everyone else, and no-one will tell us what to do, especially those foreigners in Europe. Obviously this isn't everyone, but all the english feel this streak of jingoistic zeal around them.

When asked "What is England?" however, we tend to struggle. We know its not double decker buses and beefeater hats, but over hundereds of years of trying to keep an empire, then a commonwealth and always a United Kingdom we lost our identity in a way the Scots, Irish and Welsh would never have done.



To say "What is Britain?" however! We know instantly of a proud nation fighting alone against insurmountable odds, of a parliament that was the template of governmental process around the world, of a system of laws and courts that balances our sense of equality and justice, of a talented and well educated people that have influenced the worlds thinking from Charles Darwin to Isaac Newton, that changed the way we see the world from William Shakespeare to George Orwell, and who led the world in creative invention from Isambard Kingdom Brunel's brindges to  Adam Smiths ideas on competition.

Anyway, the reason I mention all of this is because this Christmas I am staying with my brother in Scotland. He is 5 years older than me and we used to do exactly what the archetypal stereotype of brothers do. We fought all the time, were horrid to each other at every opportunity, we were jealous and competitive at every turn but we would fight side by side if someone hurt us, and backed each other through thick and thin when trying to get one past our parents.

Today as we were driving through the snow, some of the old arguments were brought up. There was no way that I could compete with my brother physically when I was young so I learnt how to get to him emotionally. In fact I became an expert in it. I could get him to fight me within a minute if I wanted to, and since he had no reasonable response, he would end up punching my teeth out. I would claim the moral victory and get the double bonus of him getting unfairly told off by my parents. By pointing out irritating failings in his comments I managed to provoke the same angry response I got all those years ago.



Now I'm not 8 and he isn't 13. My brother and I are both mature now, and we're smart enough to know what was happening, so he didn't get told off by my parents, and I still have my teeth, but as he protested telling me I am argumentative, and as I frustrated him  by reminding him of his unreasonable opinion, I thought about how we got to where we are now. How just like glaciers carved the rock into hills and valleys, our time growing up together helped carve our personalities. As last night wore on, and the entire population of Aberfeldy tried in vein to take on the Allen boys in doubles pool. I felt so proud to be once again back to back with him taking on the world.

Stereotypes aren't always wrong, they aren't always unjust, but the truth is that they don't tell the whole story. Searching for the larger picture can be fun, entertaining and inspirational. Assuming a people have a "type" is not as big a problem as not asking where the "type" came from.

Music in the Noughties

I dont often talk about music.  I try to avoid it in fact because, well, music reminds me how old I am.

Most of us have recollections of certain moments in our lives when an old song is played to us. It doesnt matter if its the Sex Pistols singing to the Queen, or Whitney Houston saving her love, we all have certain songs that connect with us in a moment of time.

I was a little surprised the other day with a couple of young girls who risked their lives by travelling with me in my cab. They were going "clubbing" in Weymouh and wanted the Radio on. There was little to listen to, but we settled on the thumping sounds of some drum n' bass. Now I call in Drum n' Bass because to me there are two types of Housey music. Drum n' Bass, which sounds like someone going mental on a drum beat machine and can only be understood and appreciated by people with ADD, and Trance which means the same but much much much slower. There are no doubt a hundred different musical types in between, but quite honestly I cant tell the difference between one or the other.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="470" caption="Its not a skill, he is playing a record!"][/caption]

Anyhow, almost jokingly I suggested that Drum n' Bass was only ever listened to in clubs, and people would never subject our ears to such an onslaught willingly if they werent flying faster than the Arian Rocket. Both the girls scoffed at me in the way only young people can do. They told me how they listen to it at home when theyre getting ready, or sometimes just because there is nothing on TV. Yes, they were suggesting that I was past it, that I had no concept of things today, and that I was better off "listening to Radio 4 grandad".

Now the fact that I have over time grown to like Radio 4 reminded me that I may well be genuinely past it, and perhaps had no right to say anything about todays music, but then I thought, I'm turning into a grumpy old man, so why deny myself one of the few pleasures in life that grumpy old men have.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="450" caption="Ahhh the good old days"][/caption]

As I think back to the music around when I was young I start to cringe though. I was born in 71, which means I spent my important teen years in the grip of Stock, Aitkin and Waterman's Rick Astley, Sonya and the entire cast of Neighbours, and from the states Alexander O'Neil and Curtis Steigers. Despite this terrible and frightening age (5 Star!!) I still think of the 80's as a great musical time.

Ok, so I'm going to have a job proving this. Well first let me say that the early 80's post punk era was filled with interesting musical styles all clashing with each other to make something dramatic and varied.

Take for example punk's most obvious legacy. Two Tone came out from the energy and frustration of the late 70's and mixed with the mellow party atmosphere of Bob Marley and other reggae superstars. Bands like The Specials and Madness danced their way into our hearts with poignant lyrics mixed with a sense of fun and style. Their rebellion was exemplified by the political stance these bands tended to take, often doing political concerts to promote their socialist ideals.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="486" caption="Perfect for the 2 Tone loving Chav"][/caption]

New Romantics took a different slant, advancing the ideas of costume and drama from the 70's glam-rock bands like Queen, Bowie and T-Rex, bands like Culture Club and Adam and the Ants would shock us with their heavily made up look and colourful costumes. Scooping the headlines by flaunting their designs and occasionally their sexuality in public, they helped force us to accept a different world of expression.

Electropop developed into the nineties as house and later as drum n bass and twodub and god knows what else, but its start in the early 80's came from a love hate relationship with Disco. Kraftwerk, OMD and New Order brought us a range of simple but interesting tunes with very little lyrical importance. As with Disco, electropop often had one riff as its central theme repeated over and over. As with Disco, it was not afraid to use electrical effects at every opportunity, but it also fought hard against disco, simplifying music to a single synthesiser and a drum beat machines. Even vocals were often monotone so as to keep the minimalism.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="448" caption="New Romantics or Regressed Pirates?"][/caption]

In 1985 Band Aid changed everything. Charity had finally come to the music industry, and whilst the ethics were passionate and valuable, from a musical perspective all these fascinating and different styles blended together in an effort to conform to the mainstream. And with Live Aid the following year, older acts such as Queen merged back into the muscial spectrum. The result was that in just two years, Pop would flood the marketplace once again and Kylie Minogue was number one.

I compare it to todays Drum n Bass/Trance mix. I sit outside nightclubs in my cab listening to songs that all sound the same, or even worse sound like faster Drum n Bass versions of the 80's songs I used to love and I wonder why it is that things have changed so much.

So, I have created for myself a set of rules, my three pillars of musical crapness. Should a piece of music contain one of these three details it may be forgiven but only if it is exceptionally good. If it contains two however, then it should be consigned to the rubbish dump quicker than a sinclair c5.

1. Any music where the artist says "Ooooooooooo, yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh", or "yeah...yeah..." or any other such derivative. (that takes care of almost every rap song created)

2. Any song where the artist has replaced the drum sound with a Clap sound. (sorry all noughties pop!)

3. Any song that uses that funny voice thing where the singers vocals are electronically messed around with. (Its just wrong)

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="250" caption="Get the gun, are the dogs ready?"][/caption]

I am very tempted to suggest that anyone who chooses to rap to a song instead of having the ability to sing should have their voice box ripped out of them by a pack of hounds, but then that could be a little harsh.

Clearly I am getting older, clearly i am out of date, clearly I am not seeing what they see, but I just dont know if I'm wrong yet.

It is one of youths perogatives that they dont tell us why they believe they are right and we are wrong. Maybe they simply dont know why they are right, Maybe they simply cant be bothered to think of a reason, Maybe none of us can til were older.

Either way, I am still going to wait around for a few years and ask them. Im hoping they will have an idea. Im hoping they will be able to tell the difference between one artist to another. Im hoping they will have an explanation as to why miss dynamitee-hee was a good idea.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="448" caption="Chavs!!! I hate them"][/caption]

Zombies, Werewolves and Englands Favourite Terrorist

A big well done for all those excellent costumes we saw on Halloween night. The streets of Dorchester were lined with covens of witches, packs of werewolves and the odd one or two vampiric bloodsucker. Funnily enough as the night wore on and the festivities (and the alcohol) took their merciless toil, I felt more and more like I was in a tribute to Michael Jackson’s Thriller video.

Ah well, such is the nature of the ever changing world we live in. Its all in with the new and out with the old. Clearly the influence of our american cousins (Some would say cousins loosely as in the Darwinist definition) has had a profound effect on our celebrations of all hallow’s eve. I saw many parents walking around their young monstrous offspring in the expectant delerium of a sugarhazed high. This is progress from last years groups of teenage ogres throwing eggs at old ladies windows, but still there is something very unbritish about it all. Maybe its the use of the term “Candy”, or the fact that the kids get very rude if you give them the “trick” instead of the “treat”, but something about this pre-pubescent charity jars with me.

Maybe its because so much attention has been focussed on this splurge of materialism, teaching our not so innocent children to beg for fattening sugar seems immoral somehow, perhaps we ought to have a “bum a fag” day, (on reflection that will mean something very different in the states i’m sure… here in the UK, it means to beg for a cigarette.) but I suspect the thing that bothers me the most is not about what Halloween has become, but what it isnt.

Tonight, November 5th is a very special day in England, or at least it should be. Guy Fawkes was born in 1570 in York. He was brought up amongst Roman Catholics attending the St Peter’s school in York before joining the army in 1586. In 1605 he led the “Gunpowder Plot”, a plan to blow up the House of Lords, during the State Opening of Parliament whilst King James I was inside.

He basically figured we were better off with it ALL gone. And why not. I think every once in a while we should recognise that things are just a bit rubbish and that we may need to blow it up and start again. In fact, Guy is a reminder that we are able to do just that. Thomas Jefferson said…

“The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government.”

Thats what Guy Fawkes stood for, and not only that, but in the true spirit of the English, he failed completely!

We celebrate this day, November 5th, as the day his fiendish plot was discovered, by lighting bonfires and burning the effigy or “Guy”. This is a uniquely english celebration, which now involves fireworks, wooley gloves, scarves and the odd greasy fry, but its obvious to me that even though we have done this practice for the last 400 years the times have changed.

This year, all of our regular public bonfires (an opportunity to place things appropriate to burn on the giant heap in the green) seem to have disappeared. I can only assume this has something to do with the loathed ‘Health and Safety Committees’ that have sprung up around the country spoiling our fun and ruining our lives, since there has always been something magnetic and powerful about a giant bonfire to young and old alike.

It occured to me though as I watched so many monsters haunting the streets, that perhaps it was time to let this tradition go. Perhaps this pyre, this last vestige of englishness should be set ablaze and allowed to drift off into the forgotten sea.

I was in the supermarket today and spoke to a friend I hadnt seen for some time. She had split with her cheating husband and had returned to Dorchester for some tranquillity and a new begining. And thats when it occured to me that before we let all our antiquanted traditions go, we should see if we can blow a little more life into its dying embers.

I put it to you that there is plenty of life left, and that even if you dont see the benefits of burning the last traces our most famous terrorist, then you should replace him with your own burning effigy. Perhaps a cheating lover would be appropriate or a tyranical boss, an interfering mother-in-law or even a sadistic dentist. Perhaps a fraudulent polician would be more appropriate to burn, or a perverted priest, or even an inconsiderate, rude and just plain annoying driver, who cuts in on me and doesnt indicate and stops for no reason whatsoever!

I personally will be imagining enjoying the sight of Dorchesters loathed teenage “Chavs” going up in flames, but whatever beats your drum.

Either way, I think we should try hard to keep this wonderful old tradition. We should celebrate our bonfires and sparklers, even if it does scare the bejesus out of the local dogs!

Burn Baby Burn…..hahaha!

Zombies, Werewolves and England's Favourite Terrorist

A big well done for all those excellent costumes we saw on Halloween night. The streets of Dorchester were lined with covens of witches, packs of werewolves and the odd one or two vampiric bloodsucker. Funnily enough as the night wore on and the festivities (and the alcohol) took their merciless toil, I felt more and more like I was in a tribute to Michael Jackson's Thriller video.



Ah well, such is the nature of the ever changing world we live in. Its all in with the new and out with the old. Clearly the influence of our american cousins (Some would say cousins loosely as in the Darwinist definition) has had a profound effect on our celebrations of all hallow's eve. I saw many parents walking around their young monstrous offspring in the expectant delerium of a sugarhazed high. This is progress from last years groups of teenage ogres throwing eggs at old ladies windows, but still there is something very unbritish about it all. Maybe its the use of the term "Candy", or the fact that the kids get very rude if you give them the "trick" instead of the "treat", but something about this pre-pubescent charity jars with me.

Maybe its because so much attention has been focussed on this splurge of materialism, teaching our not so innocent children to beg for fattening sugar seems immoral somehow, perhaps we ought to have a "bum a fag" day, (on reflection that will mean something very different in the states i'm sure... here in the UK, it means to beg for a cigarette.) but I suspect the thing that bothers me the most is not about what Halloween has become, but what it isnt.



Tonight, November 5th is a very special day in England, or at least it should be. Guy Fawkes was born in 1570 in York. He was brought up amongst Roman Catholics attending the St Peter's school in York before joining the army in 1586. In 1605 he led the "Gunpowder Plot", a plan to blow up the House of Lords, during the State Opening of Parliament whilst King James I was inside.

He basically figured we were better off with it ALL gone. And why not. I think every once in a while we should recognise that things are just a bit rubbish and that we may need to blow it up and start again. In fact, Guy is a reminder that we are able to do just that. Thomas Jefferson said...

"The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government."

Thats what Guy Fawkes stood for, and not only that, but in the true spirit of the English, he failed completely!



We celebrate this day, November 5th, as the day his fiendish plot was discovered, by lighting bonfires and burning the effigy or "Guy". This is a uniquely english celebration, which now involves fireworks, wooley gloves, scarves and the odd greasy fry, but its obvious to me that even though we have done this practice for the last 400 years the times have changed.

This year, all of our regular public bonfires (an opportunity to place things appropriate to burn on the giant heap in the green) seem to have disappeared. I can only assume this has something to do with the loathed 'Health and Safety Committees' that have sprung up around the country spoiling our fun and ruining our lives, since there has always been something magnetic and powerful about a giant bonfire to young and old alike.

It occured to me though as I watched so many monsters haunting the streets, that perhaps it was time to let this tradition go. Perhaps this pyre, this last vestige of englishness should be set ablaze and allowed to drift off into the forgotten sea.

I was in the supermarket today and spoke to a friend I hadnt seen for some time. She had split with her cheating husband and had returned to Dorchester for some tranquillity and a new begining. And thats when it occured to me that before we let all our antiquanted traditions go, we should see if we can blow a little more life into its dying embers.

I put it to you that there is plenty of life left, and that even if you dont see the benefits of burning the last traces our most famous terrorist, then you should replace him with your own burning effigy. Perhaps a cheating lover would be appropriate or a tyranical boss, an interfering mother-in-law or even a sadistic dentist. Perhaps a fraudulent polician would be more appropriate to burn, or a perverted priest, or even an inconsiderate, rude and just plain annoying driver, who cuts in on me and doesnt indicate and stops for no reason whatsoever!





I personally will be imagining enjoying the sight of Dorchesters loathed teenage "Chavs" going up in flames, but whatever beats your drum.



Either way, I think we should try hard to keep this wonderful old tradition. We should celebrate our bonfires and sparklers, even if it does scare the bejesus out of the local dogs!

Burn Baby Burn.....hahaha!

Another day, another week....

So, heres the skinny.

I've been back in the country for a little over a week. Its cold, rainy and I have a cold already. Grrrrr.

Much worse than that, I have been without my baby. This is NOT GOOD! I spend most of my days thinking about her, and worrying about how much she has to do without me, and worrying that we wont be able to afford the wedding, and worrying and worrying and worrying.

Everything feels wrong. The pain in my recovering ankle has always been dull, but maybe with the damp weather it feels worse. The food I've had since I got back is fine except it just doesnt taste the same. Even the TV shows just dont entertain me as much. Everything is as I left it 7 weeks ago, but somehow slightly different.

I just miss her.

Anyway, I'm here to write a blog, not whimper on about how life is terrible.

I do however want to write an apology. I have a number of friends, good people whom I let down consistantly, I dont keep in touch, I ignore their requests, and dont return their phone calls. Its not because I dont want to. They are all very entertaining and great fun to hang out with, but as I get older I have noticed that this is the compromise we all make.

Friends... take up valuable time that we could be much better off spending watching soap operas, and keeping warm tucked up in bed. When we feel down and depressed we avoid our friends. When we feel poor, we avoid our expensive friends. Our friends may give us great memories, but they also give us hangovers, they also force us to get out of our comfies and make us whip round with the hoover in a mad flurry.

For me right now I have two things to focus on. Spend as much time with my baby on line as possible, and work. I have so little time I can freely give to my friends, whom I miss and whom I care about very much.

I really miss chewing the fat with my brother. We used to compete over almost everything, and discuss pointless rubbish like the astethic values of Tarantino's "Kill Bill" til the early morning. We once watched 30 hours of movies back to back, with help of a few friends, snacks, pizza and a hell of a lot of coffee.

I miss cooking strange new recipes with one friend, watching her face as I throw in handfuls of dried spices. I miss us having a meal and sitting down to watch a Vin Diesel or Russel Crowe, seeing her purr at the screen. Or another day we would pig out on chocolates and chat til 2am. With my unreliablility, however and her busyness its been months since we have done that.

I have another great friend whom I adore spending time with. When I was younger I used to pop round to see her and her fella. They would put up with me tinkering on their guitars, playing their music and asking silly questions like "Who is Bruce Springsteen anyway". Now I only ever get to see her on family occasions or very very rarely I stop and chat to her at the odd gig. Im so sorry.

Then theres my oldest friend who now lives in Bournemouth with his beautiful wife. Its not so far away, and yet I rarely even call. When they first moved away I used to go round and stay for the evening. We would hang out in the best Chinese restaurants eating 100 yr old eggs, and dim sum to die for. Then after a few bevvies it was back to the flat for an entire night of playing "rocky" on the X-box. Now I have to search around to remember his phone number.

My great school friend, another married lady now, who tries her very best to stay in touch with me. Offering me a coffee every now and then. We have spent a few New Years together, but I've never done enough to deserve your attention.

My favourite work colleague. Who endlessly asks me out for a drink. Im not a big drinker, you always knew this, but I wish I could spend more time just hanging out with you. I'm always saying I dont have the time or the money. I'm sorry buddy. I miss you.

My literary friend. Who throws ideas off his walls like a sparkler on a cold bonfire night. I know how busy we have both become, and how hard it is just to hang out anymore, and I'm sorry. And my ex-flat mate, who actually lives on his own at the moment. Do you think I would come round more often if we had two playstations set up? lol. I should spend more time pal. I'm so sorry I dont.

There are many many others who I could mention. There are many others that over the stretch of time I have simply lost. Perhaps we all do. Perhaps people really do drift apart like this.

I can only assume its my melancholic mood thats making me think these things, plus the recognition that next year I will move away. Perhaps not forever, but for long enough that things may never be the same again.

I have found that through the net, I have done better at keeping in touch with these lost amigo's. That in some small way I can tell them whats going on in my life, and maybe get a glance of what has happened in theirs, but know that you all mean so very much to me, and I really do miss you even if I dont have the time to say so in person.

The Majesty and the Misery

There have been some fabulous unforgettable moments that I have been lucky enough to enjoy over the last 6 weeks of pseudo-marital bliss. Moments that I found surprising, like the day we went to my lady’s friends house, and we, they and the kids played chickenfeet ‘til we couldn’t laugh or stay awake any longer, or the time we went flying kites and even my lady was surprised at how much fun it was keeping a 4 foot square piece of plastic in the air or the afternoon I stuffed myself silly eating a small mountain of frozen yoghurt with every topping imaginable cascading down its slopes with each spoonful.

There have been moments of such warmth the like of which I have never experienced before. Like introducing Roald Dahl to the skiddles, putting on silly voices as we read them “George’s Marvellous Medicine”, and “The Witches”, or watching the oldest skiddle have that moment of realisation when he finally saw, after 75 minutes of fighting with me, that if you carry that number down, long division really does work, or making my girl hold her chest with belly laughter, watching her tears stream down her beautiful cheeks as I tell her stories of what her evil cat did to me in the middle of the night. Or when I read the warm and touching comments from the lady whom I hope will soon be my mother-in-law.

There have been moments of total synchronicity too. Like when my girl and I told the 2J’s, at exactly the same time, that they could both wear dresses to the wedding if they really want to. Hearing the older boy moan his complaint for the next few minutes would have been great fun, but we were laughing so much at saying it at the same time that we couldn’t hear him. Or occasionally thinking and acting with perfect understanding, like suddenly singing to the same song on the radio, or ordering things without asking each other while out to dinner.

Every now and then, individually the skiddles would turn to us and say in a petulant and frustrated voice “I have the weirdest parents!”. Words which on its own would fill me with pride, being referred to as “parent”, but when said in reaction to us just being “in-love” made it all the more special.

Today was not a good day however, for so many reasons.

First and most obviously, the dream has ended. My six wonderful weeks are over and I had to say goodbye to the woman who has taken my heart. I know I will return and that I have to go home to organise myself and say a different set of goodbyes, but, stealing a line from a man much funnier than me, when you finally know who you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want that life to start right away.

I feel like I have been a balloon, and when I am near her I am blown up, stretching my heart to its fullest, but now she is not by my side. Now that I know I will not get to touch her hand or kiss her lips or smell her hair for so long, I feel like the balloon is empty, and the rubber has warped and gone wrinkly. I feel all wrong, out of shape and uncomfortable. I don’t feel like I will function right again until I am with her again. That’s all I am going to say about her. My feelings of loss are mine own, they are also unreasonable and in my more lucid moments I recognise that this has to happen. It doesn’t serve me to dwell on them, but it is useful to know that my mind was never where it should have been, and still isn’t.

This is probably why on my trip back from OKC to Heathrow I managed to get lost twice.

I can’t say very much about leaving Oklahoma, it was a little bit of a blur, I simply wasn’t thinking about it. I can tell you it was flat, but then most places look flat from above on high. I could tell you that the staff were polite, but I don’t remember a single word they said to me. I didn’t cry on that flight, I just went quiet, stoic and statuesque. It’s a form of shock I imagine.

I landed in Minnesota, the twin city, an hour or two later. I have never been to Minneapolis airport. Last time I came back via Cincinnati, I think, and the in flights were always through Atlanta, both of which seemed quite generic places, but Minnesota had some real character. If It were a real holiday I would have spent a few days there hiking through the woods looking for deer or bears to photograph.

Unlike the times previous however I got to leave the airport. Not out of choice, I should add. For some reason, as I left the flight from Oklahoma I felt I had to collect my luggage from the baggage claim place. After walking past security it dawned on me that they would probably just move my bags directly to the next plane, just like they have always done in the past. So I asked the very nice police lady with the very large hand gun who politely told me that I was right, I needed to check back in, but if I was trying to go back the way I came she would have to use the aforementioned device and floor me. After a swift retreat I found myself facing another security guard type person who told me I was allowed outside the airport for as long as my visa was good, if I didn’t mind missing the flight. With this newly garnished knowledge I ventured my first few steps into the metropolis of Minnesota, and with my second few steps I ventured back into the airport and to the safety of airport control.

A cup of coffee a dose of self-consternation later and I had resolved to pay more attention to what was going on around me and stop sonambulising myself through a coma.

Minnesota really was an interesting place to visit, and even though I was only there for a short amount of time, and only in its airport lounge, there was a sense of identity that you don’t see in other places. They were far more in touch with their spirit. Native Indian art and jewellery was everywhere, as were stuffed wolves and pictures of snow. Even cowboy hats and boots had their place, something you just don’t see in the much smaller OKC airport, but my real joy was taking off.

It’s not that big an airport having what appeared to be only one runway, but it was certainly nice to see the planes taxi in turn on the runways in such an orderly fashion, but the truth is that it was the clarity of the night lights that I enjoyed so much. The freeway lights causing regular areas of shadow and light reminded me of tiger snakes as far as the eye could see. Every block clearly defined and spaced out in such an organised grid pattern that would make mathematicians and town planners the world over turn pale with jealousy. The Vikings stadium and the baseball pitch next door so beautifully lit up. And The big river meandering through it all, with its brightly lit bridges creating focal points throughout the city.

I was stunned by its elegance, but as we flew higher and higher, the wispy clouds blurred most of the lights until they were like distant galaxies seen by the hubble telescope. This notion stayed in my head for the next 30 minutes as we drifted across the states passing small towns that looked in my wandering head like tiny constellations. A horse prancing, a bucket spilled, a field of mushrooms.

The hours dwindled, I flicked through some in flight movies, but even X-Men made me feel sad and Transformers got turned off within 5 minutes. I ended up watching Ghosts of Girlfriends Past and wondered when Matthew Mcconaughey will remove his misogynistic thumb out of his apparently sexy derriere and make a movie that doesnt involve him being an annoying playboy type to women who fawn over him all the time.

Eventually, we began to lose altitude and I looked out my window onto a bright and hot London. Its odd the things I never normally noticed before, that we dont appreciate. I looked down at a rich green patchwork of fields, not a straight line separating them. It was almost as if a five year old were told to draw them. And every field, road, house, garden and farm edged with the trees and bushes that so epitomise my country.

I watched as the landmarks of london came into view. The Thames Barrier, The Millenium Dome, The Ghurkin, The London Eye and Parliament. I watched Buck Palace pass underneath and for the first time perhaps I noticed just how many fields, greens, parks, play areas and commons it has. How you are never too far away from grass and always have a tree in view within a minute. I look in wonder at a very different sort of elegance. At a country that wasnt planned, but formed over centuries of struggle and debate, that was torn by class conflict, by unfair taxes, by crazy civil wars, by religious bickering and also by rain that cuts through our rolling hills and creates so many irrisistable natural boundaries.

And I realise that even on this, the saddest of all days when I say goodbye to the love of my life for a period of time too long to contemplate without invoking a panic attack, that my exhausted state allowed me to see things of elegance and beauty, things that describe the differences between our two countries so simply, things normally overlooked by me and many like me I am sure.

The world has a habit of throwing you curve-balls... and sometimes they are just the tonic you need to keep going a little longer.

Culture Shock and Double Cream

As some of you will know this trip to the US is very different to the last one. Wheras last time we were going out all the time spending the days in museums, art galleries and theatres, and the nights in good restaurants trying to teach the two skiddles which fork to use, this time the closest we have been to going out has been McDonalds.

It has been a good thing though, interesting and challenging. For my part with my girl in her new job leaving at 7am in the morning and coming home at 6pm at night, and the kids gone from 8 to 3, its meant that I had to get to grips with a very different Oklahoma. I have kept myself busy enough, or at least I did initially, trying to keep the place clean, and cook a variety of things, but I have noticed some "differences" which have not helped in my plight to become a domestic god.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="264" caption="Whipped cream"][/caption]

For a start, some of my world famous recipes, have not gone according to plan. In fact they have not gone according to plan so much, that now both the skiddles and my girl are a little... well i'd like to say worried but the truth is that they're more scared than worried. And whilst I accept that some of it has been my fault, most of it hasnt been. Say for example just the other day when I made a peach desert. I wanted to top it off with Evapourated Milk, a delicious, thick and sweet liquid, that goes nicely with a spongy cake type thing. Imagine my disappointment when the stuff that came out was much more like UHT (which they have never heard of over here). It was very hard to explain how it really does taste better in England! Luckily we had some "Whipped Cream"... Whipped cream over here comes pre-whipped in a margerine tub, for you to spoon out!

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="242" caption="spaghetti i think"][/caption]

The other day I was cooking some sticky lemon pork, which went well,

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="210" caption="bad rice"][/caption]

but the spanish rice.... this is rice boiled in chicken stock and tomatoes didnt go so well. For  a start, I spent a good half an hour trying to figure out how to use the can opener, then the rice I used turned out to be quick cook rice, and so went very squidgy by the time I had finished with it. Then there was the spaghetti... now i know what youre thinking... how can you get spaghetti wrong, well two things happened. First the tin of tomatoes I had turned out to be tomatoes and chillis. Now, I am sure that skiddles the world over are fussy. I remember my mother fighting with me over fussiness when I was younger, and my girls skiddles are no different. They took to my "chilli" bolognaise like cats to water... it was not pretty. It didnt help that when I asked how much spaghetti to use, my girl, not realising it was a big pack, told me to use the lot, which then overfilled the pot, until they went all sticky and starchy!

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="316" caption="spanish tortilla"][/caption]

Then there was the spanish omelet (or tortilla) which I made with green beans (cos I didnt think the kids would like spinach), but apparently since I called it a tortilla, and so they expected a flat mexican pancake, and i gave them a thick eggy omelet, they objected to!

In fact the only thing that seems to have gone down okay is my salad dressing, and even that has a limited success. I have noticed that the kids have taken to "adding salt" to everything I cook now, not cos it needs salt but because that way they cant taste it, and they can turn to mommy and claim "its too salty, can I throw it out"!

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="285" caption="cool"][/caption]

Now speaking of Mommy for a little moment... Mommy started off by backing me up. "you must try it", "Its all food", "children in Africa would love to eat this", but as the weeks went on, I noticed she started having "A full lunch with the boss"

So I have started to feel more and more deflated, and its not just in the cooking department either. Take for example the toilet cleaner, which comes as a powder that you leave in the toilet bowl for a while before flushing it. Except flushing it at the wrong time, or putting too much powder in the bowl (especially with such a high water mark on the loo) meant that the foam would flow over the lip of the toilet and may have covered the toilet floor and I may have had to spend a while cleaning it. erm.... but thats not all, even their floor cleaner proved to be too tricky. Instead of having a simple mop and bucket, which everyone and his grandma could deal with, they have a "swisher", a strange device that looks like a mop with a button push cleaning fluid ejector half way up the stick....  Now how was I supposed to know that you needed to put a sheet on the bottom of the thing.

Enough said.... There are things I could have done better, and there are things I have been plain unlucky with. All this is part of the culture shock you get when you come here for any amount of time. I was stunned the other day whilst watching the american version of who wants to be a millionaire that I couldnt get past the first three questions! How was I supposed to know the lyrics to some childrens song!

The truth is that the US might look a little like England, might feel a little like England, might even talk english, but it aint England! No double cream, no clotted cream, no sugar in chocolate (the chocolate here is horrid!), no hot tea, no back bacon, no mature cheddar, no branston pickle, no curry and no crusty bread.

Not that Im saying England is better, just different. And the US offers so much more..... pazazz.  It surprises you with its never ending supply of drinks, the swimming pools, basketball nets and tennis courts connected to each set of apartments, its free telephone lines in other countries when you get a new local contract.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="147" caption="heheh"][/caption]



The US shows how the customer really can be king, it floods you with a million special offers and a billion freebies. Sometimes though its hard to look past the BOGOF's and the Open Days and see how you are being manipulated. Its hard to see that the cheap fuel given to you in one hand means a divisive and unethical manipulation of the international market on the other. Sometimes you feel like you are living in a fantasy, and you just cant imagine people living a different way. Its easy to "expect" things and after a while I have found myself questioning service instead of stoicly putting up with it like we do in the UK.

I can see why they often appear to us as brash and demanding. Its just what they expect over here, but wheras we suffer everything with a good dose of cynicism, they have none and blindly believe what is told to them. I was astonished to see that President Obamas speeches are used to advertise bad debt companies, can you imagine Gordon Brown appearing on a British Beef advert!

Their belief in the polarised one side or the other system is quite astonishing. Not just republican (tory) and democrat (labour), but Dallas Cowboys or Pitsburgh Steelers, No guns or you must have a gun or Jesus or the Devil. Everything is black or white and there is no voice for shades. And the language is so confused that you sepnd half your time trying to work out what you are supporting (or not). Pro-life or Pro-choice... which one believes in abortion? If someone talks of euthanasia, another person talks of death camps.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="234" caption="uh??"][/caption]

Since I've been here I've heard arguments that Darwin caused World War II, that Gravity is gods way of keeping us on the planet and that the US of A have won every major war since the war of independance. Mostly told by nutters that have no place singing on street corners, and yet they do.

I have had a discussion with my future father-in-law that said that the americans saved "your butts" in Granada. If you dont know what happened in Granada, I advise you to look it up and see what the text books say. I had to aquiesce since I didnt know the subject, but I must have done enough, because a revised edition was handed to me the next time I spoke with him, and therin lies another great thing about the US.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="240" caption="She might not be pretty but she brings pure joy!"][/caption]

When they do realise, accept, appreciate they are wrong, they really do something about it. Service is incredible, in every regard, like when the kids ordered some drinks the other day and the waitress brought them over, but the kids started crying telling us they wanted a different drink. In England you would die of embarrassment and tell them to shut up. In england the waitress would huff and groan and charge you double. In the US the waitress told us no problem and came back two minutes later with the new order at no extra charge. Or the way that my girls steak was not cooked well enough for her so they asked her to remove the baked potato, so she had something to eat, whilst they cooked it up, and then they gave her ANOTHER baked potato with the newly cooked steak. This was not special attention, this was common practice.

I went to the school the kids are at again. I had gone several times last time I was here, and I had to pick something up here this time. The staff remembered my name, allowed me to sit in their office, offered me a tour and a drink. There is something incredible in that level of commitment. And believe me, its not just to me they offer it, its with everyone.

I hope that my life here doesnt make me forget my cynicism. Doesnt stop me questioning the facts I am told about the world. I hope I keep doubting everything, and looking for my own answers. More than that, I hope that I keep pushing my new family to see the rest of the world, to recognise what they consider as being normal or passable actually is incredibly good in any other country. I hope I can bring a little realism to their lives, as in my opinion everyone needs to know how they have it good wheras others have it bad just because they happened to be born in the wrong country.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="192" caption="spoilt?"][/caption]

I have alwasy been greatful that my parents did that for me, that they forced me to eat things I didnt like as a child, forced me to sit through things I was bored at, and forced me to try speaking languages when it was much easier not to. I hope I can help do that because its a start to being a more understanding more sympathetic person. To appreciate that things are good here, in part because they are bad somewhere else, and that things covered overnight but not put in the fridge is what millions of people with no fridges do every single day, and perhaps we shouldnt worry so much about the germ that got away, and that maybe a few germs can make us stronger not weaker.

That wasting food/fuel/energy/plastics/boxes may not be a crime, but it is a sin, in that it is a crime of priviledge that both sides of the pond are guilty of.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="216" caption="flu pack"][/caption]

In the US at the moment they have adverts for "Swine flu packs" these include tissues, cold medicine, headache pills, muscle pain pills, face masks and hand cleaning gel. They are aimed at children, in fact such is the panic of swine flu that schools are regularly closing their doors for days at a time to stop the spread. We are talking about swine flu here. On the grand scale if things, swine flu is not a big killer, its not even killed as many people as measles did last year. According to statistics, your child is more likely to get run over going to school than they are from the swine flu they are very unlikely to get at school. And its that kind of manipulation that scares me. When you are swamped with it, then its hard to see the truth.

After all, how many in the UK were worried by asian flu, or the millenium bug. We all fall victim to this crazy manipulation caused by newspapers and media looking for sensationalist stories to catch the attention of a scared public. And I'm in the heart of it. Right here. I dont want to succumb to it, and  hope I never do significantly. Its that part of me that I worry about the most though. That part of me that forgets how ugly hard and real life can be elsewhere, when we have it so good, that even our homeless people have somewhere to ask for help if they are prepared to. I'm reminded of Alan, one of Dorchester's tattooed drunks that recently was given a home to live in. After years and years of choosing not to accept help he finally gave up, saying that his tramping days are over and thanks for the retirement present.

I'm thinking whilst it is good to see the old stallwart walking home every night, what people in Sierra Nevada or Pakistan would have thought of the choices he made. What the young innocent girls of the Surinam, raped by men who have aids because a witch doctor told them that was the only cure, would think of it. What Indian children of 8 years old would think of it as they climb up giant rubbish tips in search of some tin to sell. I wonder in fact how much money those same children would make over here in the US in one year climbing up the mountains of trash over here.

As a conclusion, and I'm sorry this is so long, I want to say that the US is a wonderful paradise of opportunity, where the best really is appreciated and demanded, but I just want to see a little piece of the other world. The world of poverty and hunger. When I was a child I saw Barry Norman on a kids tv show. The nations favourite film reviewer at the time said that to be a film reviewer, a good one, you had to watch an awful lot of BAD movies, to know a good one when you see it.

I think thats good advice for me now, and for everyone.

From cherub to chav

For those of you who have no idea what a chav is... well thats a tricky one... Wikipedia (always fun for a laugh) says

"The stereotypical "chav" is an aggressive teenager or young adult who often engages in anti-social behaviour, such as street drinking, drug abuse and rowdy behaviour. They are often assumed to be unemployed or in a low paid job. Stereotypical "chavs" typically wear tracksuits and hoodies made by sporting brands such as Nike and Adidas and listen to dance music and RnB."

Its typical of wikipedia to sugarcoat these things. I wondering how many chavs grimace at such an official and flat sounding description

You're in your car and you see a Chav on a bike....Why should you try not to hit him?
Its probably your bike

The urban dictionary, home of many an amusing alternative definition comes out with something alot more precise....

Frightening huh!
Frightening huh!

"Picture this a young lad about 12 years of age and 4 ½ feet high baseball cap at ninety degrees in a imitation addidas tracksuit, with trouser legs tucked into his socks (of course, is definitely the height of fashion). This lad is strutting around, fag in one hand jewellery al over the over, outside McDonalds acting as if he is 8 foot tall and built like a rugby player, when some poor unsuspecting adult (about 17/18) walks round the corner wanting to go to mcdonalds for his dinner glances at the young lad, the young lad jumps up in complete disgust and says “Whats your problem? Wanna make sommin of it? Bling Bling” when the adult starts to walk towards the young lad, the young lad pisses himself and runs off to either his pregnant 14-year-old girlfriend or his brother in the army crying his eyes out."

I think you get the picture. In fact I have just seen a webisite that describes these delightful young people as a cross between a "wigger" and "white trash"... so erm.... "wigger trash???" I dont know!

What do you call a chav collecting his moms child benefit from a post office?

Sorrrrrted!

Anyhow, whilst packing with the kids today, I was reminded that even the worst chav started out as a small and often adorable child. What is it about our children that turns even the sweetest, most angelic, doting little girl into a 15 year old foul mouthed, dirty trollop? What has happened to our civilisation that allows the utter dregs of society, the laziest, most ungrateful, theiving, joy-riding, drug crazed, disrespectful, immature and pathetic youths to happy slap their way into british culture like a childs version of the mafia?

What do you call a Chavette in a white tracksuit?
The bride.

So I wondered maybe its something we are doing. Naturally my first instinct was to turn to The Usual Suspects. Maybe its diet, too much sugar, insecticides in the food cycle, preservatives or MSG. Perhaps its bad parenting due to the nuclear family, single parents, modern working families, reliance on schools, lack of respect. Maybe its obsession with possesions, getting the latest ipod, mobile phone or Wii game or a simple degradation of society, no religious values, bad policing and useless laws.

Why did the Chav cross the road?
To start a fight with a random stranger for no reason whatsoever.

I guess all this is possible, but to find the truth I think we really need to look at our little ones. As an unqualified adult, but not a father I am in a unique position of perspective. I am encountering children but do not have the blood connection that society automatically allows us certian rights. I have to be very careful what I do and say to the children I care for, always being aware that every action I take could be scrutinised from granma to the next door neighbour.

It occurs to me that maybe we have somewhere along the way given children too much consideration. So I looked up some of the great literature on the subject, voices that the world will recognise instantaneously as being profoundly right and decent.

"I believe the children are our are future, Teach them well and let them lead the way
Show them all the beauty they possess inside, Give them a sense of pride to make it easier"

Haiiiii-Yah
Haiiiii-Yah

Whitney's portentious edict suggested that we must teach them well and let them lead the way. Im not sure Whitney has ever tried to teach a chav, it would be fun to watch, after all I strongly suspect they are a lot more inclined to listen to Bobby Browns advice on how to bring knuckle bruises down whilst wearing stupidly low pants.

And one thing you can definitely say about chavs is that they have pride, normally in the quantity of "bling" they have stolen from their grannies, or the best fastest most outrageous and loudest Vauxhall Nova they have stolen this week. I wonder if Whitney meant something more incidious, like the beauty inside being their heart, rib cage, stomach? Hmmm, perhaps I have underestimated her

Two Chavs in a car without any music. Who's driving?
The police

So what are we doing wrong to our kids to make them behave in such an anti scoial manner? I have an idea... take a look at the following picture. I believe it will be made very very clear......

Hmmm
Hmmm

curious
curious

ahhhh
ahhhh

To me, it seems pretty clear that when we take photos like these and then post it to literally millions of people on the internet, it is bound to affect our little ones, so when they turn into the teenage chavs, we only have ourselves to blame.

I see, birds huh
I see, birds huh

One last point. If you are in the UK remember it is better to have tried and been happy slapped down, had your mug viewed by thousands on slappy internet sites and shown on the naional news, than not to try at all... apparently! If you are living in the US however, please note, he may look and act like Vanilla Ice, but the gun he's carrying is probably B.I.G's.

scary
scary

Ungh
Ungh

erm...
erm...

From Cherub to Chav

For those of you who have no idea what a chav is... well thats a tricky one... Wikipedia (always fun for a laugh) says

"The stereotypical "chav" is an aggressive teenager or young adult who often engages in anti-social behaviour, such as street drinking, drug abuse and rowdy behaviour. They are often assumed to be unemployed or in a low paid job. Stereotypical "chavs" typically wear tracksuits and hoodies made by sporting brands such as Nike and Adidas and listen to dance music and RnB."

Its typical of wikipedia to sugarcoat these things. I wondering how many chavs grimace at such an official and flat sounding description

You're in your car and you see a Chav on a bike....Why should you try not to hit him?
Its probably your bike

The urban dictionary, home of many an amusing alternative definition comes out with something alot more precise....

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="162" caption="Frightening huh!"][/caption]

"Picture this a young lad about 12 years of age and 4 ½ feet high baseball cap at ninety degrees in a imitation addidas tracksuit, with trouser legs tucked into his socks (of course, is definitely the height of fashion). This lad is strutting around, fag in one hand jewellery al over the over, outside McDonalds acting as if he is 8 foot tall and built like a rugby player, when some poor unsuspecting adult (about 17/18) walks round the corner wanting to go to mcdonalds for his dinner glances at the young lad, the young lad jumps up in complete disgust and says “Whats your problem? Wanna make sommin of it? Bling Bling” when the adult starts to walk towards the young lad, the young lad pisses himself and runs off to either his pregnant 14-year-old girlfriend or his brother in the army crying his eyes out."

I think you get the picture. In fact I have just seen a webisite that describes these delightful young people as a cross between a "wigger" and "white trash"... so erm.... "wigger trash???" I dont know!

What do you call a chav collecting his moms child benefit from a post office?

Sorrrrrted!

Anyhow, whilst packing with the kids today, I was reminded that even the worst chav started out as a small and often adorable child. What is it about our children that turns even the sweetest, most angelic, doting little girl into a 15 year old foul mouthed, dirty trollop? What has happened to our civilisation that allows the utter dregs of society, the laziest, most ungrateful, theiving,  joy-riding, drug crazed, disrespectful, immature and pathetic youths to happy slap their way into british culture like a childs version of the mafia?

What do you call a Chavette in a white tracksuit?
The bride.

So I wondered maybe its something we are doing. Naturally my first instinct was to turn to The Usual Suspects. Maybe its diet, too much sugar, insecticides in the food cycle, preservatives or MSG. Perhaps its bad parenting due to the nuclear family, single parents, modern working families, reliance on schools, lack of respect. Maybe its obsession with possesions, getting the latest ipod, mobile phone or Wii game or a simple degradation of society, no religious values, bad policing and useless laws.

Why did the Chav cross the road?
To start a fight with a random stranger for no reason whatsoever.

I guess all this is possible, but to find the truth I think we really need to look at our little ones. As an unqualified adult, but not a father I am in a unique position of perspective. I am encountering children but do not have the blood connection that society automatically allows us certian rights. I have to be very careful what I do and say to the children I care for, always being aware that every action I take could be scrutinised from granma to the next door neighbour.

It occurs to me that maybe we have somewhere along the way given children too much consideration. So I looked up some of the great literature on the subject, voices that the world will recognise instantaneously as being profoundly right and decent.

"I believe the children are our are future, Teach them well and let them lead the way
Show them all the beauty they possess inside, Give them a sense of pride to make it easier"

[caption id="attachment_321" align="alignright" width="228" caption="Haiiiii-Yah"][/caption]

Whitney's portentious edict suggested that we must teach them well and let them lead the way. Im not sure Whitney has ever tried to teach a chav, it would be fun to watch, after all I strongly suspect they are a lot more inclined to listen to Bobby Browns advice on how to bring knuckle bruises down whilst wearing stupidly low pants.

And one thing you can definitely say about chavs is that they have pride, normally in the quantity of "bling" they have stolen from their grannies, or the best fastest most outrageous and loudest Vauxhall Nova they have stolen this week. I wonder if Whitney meant something more incidious, like the beauty inside being their heart, rib cage, stomach? Hmmm, perhaps I have underestimated her

Two Chavs in a car without any music. Who's driving?
The police

So what are we doing wrong to our kids to make them behave in such an anti scoial manner? I have an idea... take a look at the following picture. I believe it will be made very very clear......

[caption id="attachment_327" align="alignright" width="127" caption="Hmmm"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_328" align="alignleft" width="134" caption="curious"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_329" align="aligncenter" width="134" caption="ahhhh"][/caption]

To me, it seems pretty clear that when we take photos like these and then post it to literally millions of people on the internet, it is bound to affect our little ones, so when they turn into the teenage chavs, we only have ourselves to blame.

[caption id="attachment_352" align="alignleft" width="111" caption="I see, birds huh"][/caption]

One last point. If you are in the UK remember it is better to have tried and been happy slapped down, had your mug viewed by thousands on slappy internet sites and shown on the naional news, than not to try at all... apparently! If you are living in the US however, please note, he may look and act like Vanilla Ice, but the gun he's carrying is probably B.I.G's.

[caption id="attachment_335" align="alignright" width="150" caption="scary"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_349" align="alignright" width="112" caption="Ungh"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_339" align="alignnone" width="105" caption="erm..."][/caption]