Call My Guff

Time for the first episode of a brand new game show named as per the title of the piece. Which of the following three descriptions most accurately describes the term 'The BBC understands....'??

1) The BBC, being an organisation in receipt of several million pounds of public money via the license rip-off fee, has taken a wild stab in the dark at the most likely outcome and is hoping to pass it off as news.

2) The BBC has weighed a variety of possibilities and via a process of deduction and brilliance is able to exclusively reveal te following information from an informed and logical standpoint.

3) The BBC, an impartial and publically funded organisation, has been breast-fed the following information and is dutifully passing it on to you, the poor fee-paying schmuck on the reverse side of the looking glass.

Mudpuddlin Man understands that the BBC is a has-been (was a has-been? has been a was-been?)

All hail the several hundred alternative outlets for one's instructions on what to think and how to feel!

Lack of ability

On my spanky twitter account, you will note a couple of days ago a whimsical entry regarding a round of 80 I achieved at pitch and putt (if achieved is the right word). You will, perhaps, be relieved to know my belief in my own abilities does not yet stretch to taking on Rory McIlroy on a real-life or even 'in my wildest dreams' basis.

Now, I could come up with a number of reasons for a score of 80 - I was not aware we would be playing for starters, and I had expected to only be meeting my friend Simon for lunch. Had I known differently there are any number of stretching exercises and pre-game practice sessions a less lazy version of me might have undertaken. In addition it was frightfully muggy and I felt quite faint in the searing heat and let's not even mention that the steak and ale pie from the aforementioned lunch was weighing heavily in my acceptably flat stomach. Oh, and I had to use municipal clubs and what I consider a sub-standard ball.

No, it would be wrong to lean on excuses (however valid all of them are), I should fess up to a lack of ability at this point. I am just not all that in the golfing world, nor it turns out in the pretendy golf world.

This leads me to a cathartic look inwards and my latest random list of joy. Here are 5 other things that I am not good at.

1) Dancing. I remain clueless at expressing myself in this medium. I can move my arms and I can move my feet, but not at the same time, and certainly not to anything resembling a beat. I do look good in shadows though, so nightclubs are not a complete no-no.

2) Admitting I am wrong. I'll be honest, I am making an assumption on this one. There are far too few occasions for me to be certain, but perhaps it is a weakness of mine?

3) Physical art. I envy those that create beautiful items or paintings. I can weave a few words, but I couldn't paint my way out of trouble even if it was numbered.

4) Timing. If there's a wrong time to say something, count on me to say it. Not only that, count on me to find a way of magnifying my voice so everyone in a wide radius can hear my shame and tut accordingly. Every time I say something horribly inappropriate without causing an international incident is a glorious victory.

5) Shopping. How, why, and from where does anyone acquire the skills or patience to stand more than a couple of minutes in a packed city centre at any time of day at any point in the year? To be honest, I get irritable shopping online.

There, all very healthy, defining one's self through one's inabilities. I encourage you all to do the same and we can have a good sob later ;)

We'll have a bat I reckon Bruce

As I relaxed in front of the cricket coverage and noted Ricky Ponting electing to bat first at the very ground they reduced England to 72-6 at lunch after the first morning session a mere year ago, I thought to myself 'I probably wouldn't have done that, Ricky.'

I'm not the greatest fan of the Australian Cricket team, as from the delicious 1986-87 tour until the recent resurgence of English cricket, the in-between time was a barren desert for English Ashes fans. Merv Hughes, Craig McDermott, Glenn McGrath, that Wayne Shaun bloke... too many tormentors, too little backbone (if anyone reading knows Mike Atherton, tell him Glenn McGrath has worked out how to do him over).

Given my dislike of the Baggy Green Roos, I had a feeling today might bite that hairy backside of Punter Ponting, it was a good feeling. It is all the more enjoyable to be able to cheer on a team against Australia without really needing to worry what the result is and Pakistan, by changing from Afridi's captaincy to Butt's, would surely be a more formidable opposition than the festival of batting ineptitude on show last week from both teams?

Sure enough, Katich and Watson (who seems to have fooled the Aussies into thinking he is an appropriate Test opening bat) were back in the hutch and Ponting was wobbling. Twenty odd for two and it was already a ropey old decision to bat first, and then the ball rattled into Ponting's shins in front of middle. I am not sure whether it was the utter plumness of it I enjoyed most or that Ponting was so done by it he was walking before the finger came up. I'll be calling my kippers Punter from now on as I like them done up just like that.

Being Australia, they had to reach lunch at 73-6, one run better than they did us for at Headingly a year ago, but we eventually made 102. Punter's mob were skittled for just 88.

Yeah, I probably wouldn't have done that, Ricky.

Cheese, please!

On a glorious hot day like this there is little point in waffling endlessly on my blog. So, for your delight I offer the first of what I hope will be some arbitary lists.
Today, I delve into the world of cheese. Cheese that was, and still is and cheese that was but has attained the status of acceptably cool. Please note, the author will not enter into any correspondence nor provide any citation over the classification (past or continuing) of items on the lists as cheese. I will, however, consider one addition to each list per reader for a small consideration.

Cheese that was, and still is.

Joe Dolce’s Shaddupya Face
The magic of David Copperfield
The bit in When a Child is Born where Johnny Mathis talks
The phrase ‘The extraordinary debut album’
Tupperware parties
Anything which involves fancy dress and the workplace
Noel Edmonds
Anne Robinson’s conjunctivitis wink
Applauding in the cinema and/or cheering obscure references in sequels to the original
Sending Christmas cards to everyone in your office

Cheese that was but has become cool

Laura Brannigan singing ‘Gloria’
The Mini Metro
Thinking interest rates are too low
Martina Hingis
Owning complete series of stuff on DVD
Massive hair
Doctor Who’s companion
Dirt cheap polo shirts
Having a ‘going out’ pair of jeans
Billy Ocean

Compulsion

This is my first posting on Blogger so an introduction is in order for anyone who strays this way. I'm Dave, I am 38 and I live in Norfolk in the kingdom of East Anglia, now subsumed into the UK. I also suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, so if you see this post 8 times in 4 colours, that's why.

Sorry, that was just a little OCD joke. I also have a macabre sense of humour. Just as well given how abrasive OCD can be on your day to day activity. I know I don't need to check the door is locked over and over again, the cats playing in my front garden know it, the birds singing in the trees know it and the curious neighbour walking their dog who stops to watch the strange man checking his door knows it. Doesn't alter for a moment the compulsion and the fact of doing it.

And there is the rub. It's getting 'caught' that hurts. It is being seen. It is having to justify your actions which sit squarely in the unjustifiable camp from the viewer's standpoint. It is the disappointment in myself, the shame and horror of being abnormal, unusual, watched. Suddenly you are an outsider in your own front yard, a stranger to those that know you. The guilt and the shame wash over and the compulsion feeds off the negative energy. Just one more check, just one more check.

I've lived with it for 38 years, I am determined to beat it. I'll laugh and sing and enjoy everything as I always have and I will beat OCD, remove it, end it.

I thought a little introduction was in order. Stop back and I'll have plenty more to offer. I write poetry, short stories, love politics and chewing the fat on any number of issues. I am a Mudpuddlin man who has discovered the Web Log.