A Day of Disappointments

The line of newly decapitated chickens left to drain over the bath tub told me that this was not going to be a day full of sunshine. I knew as much when I switched on my PC this morning. My attempts to lure Telegraph readers here with my newly launched blog had resulted in nice round figures. The round figure happened to be zero, which was also the number of people I'd managed to attract here after reading my post about Gordon Brown’s lack of humour.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that these Telegraph readers are a somewhat humourless bunch, conservative in their tastes, and the type of people who can’t appreciate a handsome Welshman in a thong. I also have another more sobering suspicion: that the Chipster has found his level. I shouldn’t post on anything other than generously proportioned underwear, genitals, and guide dogs for the blind. If recent comments are an indicator, I should also get drunk every night and go out on early morning raids to adjacent blogs where I should leave my badly types ramblings.

The utter failure of my posts at My Telegraph has been an ever greater disappointment because I’ve been giving more thought to trying to find a little work in freelance writing. I’m not sure what I could write, where I could sell it, nor who would buy it, but I have been reflecting on how stupid it was to turn down the chance to write for Britain’s best known publisher of hardcore pornography. I might not have known many of the words but, as Gabby pointed out, what are dictionaries for if not for looking up all the filthy synonyms for parts of the body?

The second big disappointment was Gabby’s announcement that she and her sister intend to record a third Cheeky Girls album. It was the reason for the chickens. She claims that white meat helps her vocal chords. Help them do what, is what I’d like to know. I’ve hidden this news here in the body of the post because I don’t want to unduly alert the media. The last time the Cheeky Girls got back together, the government stuck a military cordon around Bangor. It might not mean much to you but the people of Bangor suffer when those girls start to sing. They’re already talking about guest vocalists including Charlotte Church. I don’t think I need to say any more.

The third disappointing thing I’ve discovered today is that a good friend of mine, an honourary thonglateer and second most handsome man on the planet, will no longer be the head of the Welsh Liberal Democrats. The good news is that he’s hoping to become chairman of the Lib Dems next year. I wish him well with that. I really do. If more men were like Lembit Opik, this world of ours would be a better place.

The last disappointment to come along was the news that Richard Madeley is considering giving up blogging. Yes, you heard me right: it is a disappointment. I feel sorry for the man. I really do. We’ve had our public fallings out but we all know that they were only for the cameras. It was done in the best possible taste. I like reading his blog and I want him to reconsider. Come on Dick. Chin up. All three of them.

This has been an odd bitty post but I’m a bit of an odd man. I’m now off to write something intellectual for My Telegraph. I might even wear a cravat.

A Question Nuance

Today I blatantly stole an idea from Dave Hill (and now a picture from The Spine).* I opened a blog over at The Telegraph.

Actually, I didn’t steal the idea as much as I went back and posted on the blog I’d registered earlier this year. I’m A. Aaron Esq, which as you’ll no doubt know is the name of my grandfather. I didn’t expect any replies to the small piece I wrote about Gordon Brown. Nor did I expect people to misunderstand me and actually accuse me of liking the man. So, in response, I wrote the following, which I’m also posting here so as to bore you all with yet more of my wise words about the great man himself: Mr. Bernie Clifton.

I opened a blog here at The Telegraph and people immediately misunderstood me. Did I really say I liked Gordon Brown? It seems that I did. Or I didn’t, depending on which comment you read in response to my original post. I don’t know where I went wrong. Things are never this difficult on my own blog. But there I’m usually writing about sling-backed thongs, stripping, and the North Wales exotic dance circuit. Do I really smell of pineapples and am I really the owner of the largest collection of thongs in Wales? Well, yes and yes. Do I like Gordon Brown? Of course I don’t. It’s a foolish thing to ask of a man who is often mistaken for Lembit Opik. It was a question of a nuance that some people just didn’t pick up.

Nuance. Can’t live with it. Can’t bash it on the back of a head with a spade.

Miscommunication has to be one of the less enjoyable novelties of trying to communicate on the internet. Irony doesn’t tend to work without a fat smiley at the end. Nor does sarcasm or anything that isn’t as blatant as: ‘I dislike Gordon Brown and wasn’t so hot on Blair.’ Yet out of it comes at least one interesting question. Who do I like? There’s so much negativity around, shouldn’t I begin by saying who and what I like? If we’re all going around castigating Brown, isn’t it good to know who we’d like to see in his place?

I don’t know if I have the answer to that question, but I do like Bernie Clifton.

I’ve been thinking a lot about him in recent days. Last week, I bumped into him in the local shopping centre where he was collecting money for charity. I’ve written about this elsewhere so I won’t go into too much length about him here, but things seemed simpler in the days of Crackerjack. Even now, people seemed to have so much faith in an old comedian with bad knees and dressed in a faded yellow ostrich suit. Yet it’s hardly surprising when we’re led by a man whose personality hasn’t been bypassed as much as it has had a ring road built around it.

It’s not that I want my politicians to act the buffoon, but I don’t seen buffoonery as being anathema to being serious. It’s a lesson that politicians simply fail to heed. Churchill recently came fifth in a poll of great wits. Does anybody think him a lesser politician because of it? The same is true of Einstein who once stuck out his tongue and it became one of the iconic pictures of the century. Groucho Marx’s aphorisms are routinely quoted as if wisdom and Chaplin is seen as a great artist making significant political films.

Gordon Brown would never countenance an ostrich outfit. I don’t imagine at any point in his life he’s ever donned a pair of yellow stockings and feathered shoes. But then, can we imagine him sticking out his tongue, saying anything witty, or even making a significant political point on anything? I don’t suppose it means I should dislike him any more than I already do but it certainly doesn’t make me trust him.

And that’s why I like Bernie Clifton. It’s all a question nuance and seeing the absurdities in ourselves. Life seems so much more healthy that way.

*Thanks to David at The Spine for letting me use the picture.