Cats

Felis catus, also known as the domestic cat or Your Royal Highness, picked a winner when they got hitched to humans. Humans were going places, and cats made sure we were going there with fluff on our clothes and the sound of fur-ball-retching ringing in our ears. As humans moved from a menu item on the savannah to rulers of the planet who stood to gain the most? Not Homo sapiens; it was the cat. Carried along on our hair covered coat-tails the cat, through its assiduous pursual of self-interest, has come to dominate our lives, and therefore rule the world. If you doubt my assertion that cats rule, I would ask you, “Who never goes near a computer yet has been described as the ‘mascot of the internet’?” Not the internet’s architect, nor one of today’s so-called influencers. That’s right, the cat.

Winston Churchill, while a great lover of cats, was aware of their egocentrism. Before he was a wartime Prime Minister, he had been heard to remark that his beloved cat, Jock, was over indulged, and ‘owed so much to so many’. A phrase he was later to borrow for his praise of the RAF. Another world leader aware of the pulling power of cats is Donald Trump, which is why he wears a marmalade Tom on his head.

‘Dogs have owners, cats have staff’, goes the humorous sound bite that describes our relationship with the two most common household pets. Except cats don’t have staff, they have slaves. This relationship is all going one way. You might derive pleasure from your moggy, but that’s purely incidental. The cat is all about the cat; this is a toxic relationship. To prove this let’s carry out a little thought experiment analysing some typical cat behaviours in a human context. I was swiping through Tinder bios the other day. Sorry, did I say Tinder? I meant flicking through the CVs of eligible bachelors while in Human Resources and I came across these descriptors:

• Looking for a long-term exclusive relationship (nice!)
• Likes quality time at home (so far so good)
• Avoids medical care (really?)
• Fussy eater (hmmmm)
• Lies around all day long (not good)
• Leaves hair everywhere (yuck!)
• Will scratch if stroked the wrong way (weird)
• Prone to jealousy, but happy to be fondled by anyone who comes into the room (creepy!)

That’s swipe to the left for dates and mates but is endearingly self-indulgent for Mr Pussums. See what I mean? Toxic.

How did we get here? Slowly! Cats have played the long game. About ten million years ago the fossil record shows the appearance of a new group of small cats in the Fildae family (all cats, big and small). Then more recent archaeological data shows that about 8000ya humans and cats looked each other over and, liking what they each saw, moved in together. We saw a way of eliminating the hordes of rodents that had entered our houses following the newly harvested grains. Cats saw our recently developed first bricks and visualised a warmth hearth; they saw domesticated animals and imagined a world where food came to them; finally they saw the earliest forms of writing and visualised an information age their images would come to dominate. Cats were still hunting, but the prey was bigger than anything they’d previously dreamt of – us.

Don’t misunderstand me, I’m a cat lover, I’m just not blind to their conniving ways. Just as I’m not blind to the motivations of my human lovers. It’s just so much easier to put the cat down (on the floor – shame on you for thinking otherwise), outside or have it neutered. If every Tom, Dick or Harriet could accept those terms then I might find a permanent spot by the hearth or even on the bed.

Much love to you all,

Cecily

Cosmetic Changes

Breaking news! L’Oréal is to stop manufacturing lipstick. I was speaking with L’Oréal’s head of product development, Ms Cherry Glossie (her real name), the other day when she let the news slip. I’d had a Zoom meeting with her to see where production of Cecily cosmetics was at. I’d always thought it would be fun to have a Cecily cosmetic line, so I’d sent Cherry samples of various cosmetics I had developed just before the pandemic. Amongst other items there was a blusher called ‘A Red Awakening’, a facial compact named ‘Powder to the People’ and an antiperspirant called ‘Pit Stop’. Unfortunately Cherry dispelled any aspirations I might have to be a makeup magnate. She’s not one to beat about the bush Cherry; she told me that as Cecily was already 100% made up, she saw no point in her making her make up. I was so deeply disappointed that I could feel the colour draining from my face. Fortunately I had several hundred kilograms of blusher near at hand.

It was then that Cherry delivered her lipstick bombshell. Due to mask-wearing women don’t see the point in donning lipstick. Consequently lipstick sales have dropped faster than my ageing breasts. Cherry hypothesised that women were letting themselves go in other ways behind their masks, and we could expect an epidemic of tartar encrusted teeth and moustaches when the masks finally come off.

Not being a quitter I then contacted Estee Lauder and their product development director, Mx Beau Tockser (Zie real name). Beau told me to forget oral cosmetics, instead I should concentrate on the eyes – that’s where zir focus is. Beau wanted eye makeup that said, ‘I’m happy’, I’m sad’ and ‘I love you’. I told Beau I have a dark eye shadow called ‘20 Winks’ that says, ‘I’m tired’, but zim wasn’t interested, telling me to go back to the drawing board. I was so angry that I could feel the blood rushing to my face. Fortunately I had several hundred kilograms of facial powder near at hand.

With my cosmetic empire crumbling I offered my make-up samples to a local mortician and crematorium. I reasoned the dead can’t be as fussy as Cherry or Beau, but they are. The mortician I spoke to, Finn Ishing (from Funerals R Us), said they prefer to use the deceased’s own make-up. Failing that they use makeup products from quality manufacturers such as L’Oréal and Estee Lauder. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, he then offered to incinerate my surplus samples for free. What with the agitation this provoked, and my proximity to some sort of furnace I started to sweat like a politician who’s been asked to hand over their tax returns. Fortunately I had several hundred kilograms of antiperspirant near at hand.
 

Utterly defeated I’ve now changed tack. I have several different surgical masks, each with a different facial expression that I’ve drawn by hand myself. I then choose the mask that matches my mood. That way I can easily convey, ‘I’m happy’, I’m sad’ or ‘I love you’. If I don’t want to be bothered I’ve got one with a couple of teeth missing and a hairy upper lip – it works a treat.

Much love to you all

Cecily

Bestpasswordever!

I have a new phone, I call it Roger. I find it endlessly diverting whenever I go to use my phone to say, I’ll ‘Roger that’. Roger goes everywhere with me, a habit I developed with my previous phone. This eventually brought about that phone’s demise when it slipped off a hand basin and fell into the loo. No amount of dried rice was going to bring Dory back; ‘Over and out’ you could say. This won’t happen with Roger – he’s waterproof.

I purchased Roger from a store where the salespeople looked as if going outside was something weird people do and were young enough to think a landline was a geo-political thing. I’m so technologically challenged that two salespeople were assigned to me; they tagged in and out at regular intervals. I didn’t mind, I found them so similar and their talk so incomprehensible that they were interchangeable. I called them ‘Thing One’ and ‘Thing Two’; not to their faces of course. I’d like to have, but the chance of interrupting their torrent of tech talk to say anything was zero. Thing One spoke eloquently of the advantages (or was it virtues?) of each phone until I was so bamboozled that I chose Roger because I liked his colour. Thing Two then banged on and on about security, especially the need to upgrade my passwords. It appears the 123456789 that I regularly use has been cracked by hackers. ‘But I can barely remember that!’ I protested. ‘How can I be expected to remember, fjr843jrAD55HJUb4’? ‘Furthermore’, I remonstrated, ‘I’ll have to pass on the security changes to all the people I share my passwords and accounts with’. At last there was silence; they were speechless. Apparently, I was doing it all wrong, and unless I wanted to see my details, my contacts’ details and all my money disappear off to Eastern Europe I needed to get serious about security.

A biometric method of accessing your phone is the most secure, more so than a PIN or pattern. I tried facial recognition, which should be super-secure as no-one’s face looks like the recorded one on my phone, including my own face if Roger’s success at recognising me is anything to go by. His success rate is lowest first thing in the morning. I know I can look a little rough first thing, but all the other Rogers that I have woken up to (never you mind how many) recognised me the next morning. While they might have considered it they didn’t have the brutality to deny knowing me before slipping back into sleep mode.

I have passwords for Africa, which is a good thing because I’ve been contacted by an uncle I never knew I had who lives there and who is after some of them. Passwords are the bane of my life. Rather than unlocking worlds they bar me from entering everything from Adobe to Zoom – I hate them! I have scraps of paper with every possible variation of my first pet’s name, mother’s maiden name and favourite sport written on it. These scraps of paper have been heavily over-inked with additional numbers and special characters until they look like they were written by someone experimenting with cryptology and LSD. I have no idea which websites these relate to. Passwords, I hate them!

Then I discovered a password manager, and the sun shone and lambs came out to play. Now I need only remember one password, but it must be a good one! The conundrum is to develop a password that is impossible to guess yet easy to remember. I was advised to think of a memorable sentence that only I knew, then take the first letter of each word to form an apparent random collection of letters. To be topical and positive I tried the sentence, ‘Cecily Loves Information Technology’, which while memorable does not strike the tone I was looking for. I had more luck with my second choice, however due to security reasons I am unable to tell you what it is. You see I am learning.

However I do like to share, so if you’d like we can meet up for coffee and I’ll tell you then. That’s what I told my Uncle in Africa, but I haven’t heard back from him yet.

How Good A Friend Are You?

A friend is someone who will stick with you through thick and thin. Although shouldn’t that be thin and thick? As thin was first (and long ago) while the thick is seemingly here to stay. Our good friends are vitally important to us, and we hope that we are a good friend in return. But are we?

If a good friend has ever failed to tell you about a relationship break up, difficulty at work or that she’d vomited in a public rubbish bin after Friday drinks it may be that you’re not at the top of your friendship game. I’ve devised a short quiz to answer the question, ‘How good a friend am I?’ Not only will it give you a rating to impress what friends you do have left and help flesh out a deficient CV, but it will also point out any areas that you should focus on to improve your friendship skills. If you’ve already reached uber-friend status then you can jump straight to question 6.

Take the quiz.  Score it yourself, or better still get that good friend who you haven’t seen since the 2005 Christmas party incident to score it for you.

1. How do you react when you see a friend having a romantic dinner with your ex in a restaurant?
   1. Give them some time to register your presence prior to going over, saying hello cordially then withdrawing to another restaurant = 2 points
   2. Ignore them the entire time while talking loudly about how good your life is and laughing uproariously at your table = 1 point
   3. Spend the evening alternatively staring intimidatingly at them and trolling their social media pages = 0 points
2. What do you do when a friend asks for the recipe after your dinner party?
   1. You are thrilled at the compliment and send a detailed recipe annotated with hints on how to complete each step. At their next birthday you give them a copy of the recipe book with a personalised note to your friend from the author = 2 points
   2. Act thrilled at the compliment and promise to send the recipe. Which you dutifully do, after being reminded five times = 1 point
   3. As for b, but you miss out two key ingredients and double the cooking time = 0 points
3. What do you do when a friend buys the same dress as you to wear to a function that you are both due to attend?
   1. Purchase a different dress and say nothing to your friend other than complimenting her at the function on how lovely she looks = 2 points
   2. Say nothing to your friend but immediately go on a crash keto diet to lose a couple of kilos so that you look better in it than she does = 1 point
   3. Buy another dress to wear to the event, and post images on social media of you wearing the doppelganger dress doing household chores (what, this old thing?) = 0 points
4. What do you say when a friend has suddenly gained some weight?
   1. Say nothing but invite her on gentle activities so that she can get exercising again and/or talk about any issues = 2 points
   2. Say nothing but invite her on strenuous activities that she will struggle to complete = 1 point
   3. Tell her that a few extra kilos wouldn’t look better on anyone else but her, then offer to take her shopping for kaftans = 0 points
5. A friend and you have been struggling to lose a few kilos that seem to have taken up residence around your middles. Then you bump into her and discover she has suddenly lost a lot of weight, what is your reaction?
   1. Say nothing but invite her out to see if everything is well with her = 2 points
   2. Avoid situations where you could be photographed beside her = 1 point
   3. Hope that her illness is serious = 0 point
6. You are confident that you have good friends, and in turn are a good friend; you see a quiz in a trashy publication purporting to assess how good a friend you are. What is your reaction?
   1. Not take it seriously but read it for amusement with a healthy scepticism = 100 points
   2. Take the quiz after glancing at the scoring guide to see how you should answer the questions to achieve a high score = 1 point
   3. b. above plus you tell everyone you know your own inflated score and advise them they are lucky to know you = 0 points

Scoring
0                            Friends are those people you see others wanting to be with. Weird eh?
1 – 6                       Welcome to the human race.
100                        Well done! This score reveals nothing about your rating as a friend but does speak well of your common sense.                
110                        Congratulations! You are either an uber-friend or a cheat. Consequently people either love you or hate you.

Lockdown DIY

In 1970 David Crosby sang, ‘Almost cut my hair’. Of course he didn’t – he let it fall out instead. Thereby allowing a symbol of rebellion set the scene for a symptom of ageing. Crosby’s refrain was political, he was endorsing his opposition to the establishment. So was I a sell-out 50 years on when I took the pinking shears, more about this choice later, to my crowning glory? No, as it wasn’t a rejection of counterculture that led to my lock lopping so much as an act of desperation and boredom.

Desperation because under lockdown rules in New Zealand you are unable to go to the hairdressers. In Australia, a land where coiffure is clearly valued more highly – witness Dame Edna and Norman Gunston – hairdressing is an essential service; the equal of other services such as policing and fulfilling your role as an ER medic. I was bored as I’d spent four entire weeks living with myself – no mean feat and sadly something no man has ever chosen to do.

This combination of desperation and boredom set the scene for cutting my own hair. It was the day and time of my scheduled appointment when armed with my kiwi can-do attitude and thoughts of, ‘how hard can it be?’, I set myself down in front of the mirror. I’d washed my hair and had a towel wrapped around my shoulders – it was just like the real thing. To heighten the experience I had a friend with me on Skype asking questions about the weather, how my day had been so far, how much I wanted off today and had I thought about a change in look? It was so realistic that I began to think about getting a mullet, but I bottled out and settled on a fringe trim. However my scissors, blunted through being used as screwdrivers to tighten pot handles, were useless. The pot handles, unlike my trousers, required tightening after all the lockdown cooking I was doing. Hence the pinking shears, which make poor screwdrivers. I also thought the sawtooth pattern would create a new look for me. I was right, it was a new look, but for humankind not just me.

Fortunately, and I may be the only person saying this, the New Zealand lockdown has been extended for another week. This will give time for my hair to grow out. Unfortunately I’ll now miss a scheduled appointment with my dermatologist, and won’t have a nasty mole removed. However I’ve still got that can-do kiwi attitude, I mean, how hard can it be?

2020 Vision

Nostradamus, that famous clairvoyant from the 16th Century, would have been 517 years old this year had he not died in 1566. Many people laud his powers of prediction and believe he still has relevance today. For example, I discovered that if you take Nostradamus’s birth year of 1503, and divide this by my age (never you mind) you get 25, which is the number of unpaid parking tickets I found in my car this morning. Amazing!

Devotees of Nostradamus will cite that he forecast the French revolution and the rise of Adolph Hitler. Sceptics point out that the statements of Nostradamus were vague and have been fitted to these events after they occurred, something called retroactive clairvoyance. Personally, I think that predicting civil unrest in France and the rise of a nationalistic nutcase isn’t that difficult, and is something that I could easily have done.

In a bold step I’m prepared to prove my skills of clairvoyance by stating my predictions for 2020:

• Donald Trump will not be impeached in 2020. Instead he’ll cut a deal with Nancy Pelosi whereby the impeachment process is halted in return for his exile to another country.
• Vladimir Putin, flushed with the success of his Crimean conquest, invades Greenland on a Sunday in April while Denmark is distracted with ‘Dancing Cow Day’ (it exists – look it up). Vladimir had been alerted to Greenland’s mineral wealth and strategic importance by Donald’s interest in buying it in 2019. As a sign of his gratitude Vladamir gifts an isolated rocky outcrop in the far north of Greenland for a Trump Tower. Donald, Melania, Don Junior and a certain New York hairdresser now reside there.
• In the UK a review of the first referendum finds that a computer glitch underreported the remain vote. The vote was much closer than first thought, a tie in fact, with 16,788,671 votes both to remain and to leave. After much debate in parliament it is agreed that instead of another referendum the result will be decided by the toss of a coin. This will be carried out at Buckingham Palace by the Queen using a specially minted gold coin with a pound on one side and it’s euro equivalent on the other.
• The Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s political life gets more and more difficult as fires rage across parts of the country while other parts drown underwater, adding to his woes is a growing body of evidence that the Barrier Reef is dying. His only respite was looking like a family holiday in the Marshall Islands. Unfortunately on his flight to the islands the resort is flooded due to a combination of spring tides and sea-level rise. The Morrison’s flight is diverted to nearby Manus Island where Scott spent the night in a refugee detention centre.
• In the 2020 Oscars the early favourite ‘The Irishman’ is defeated on the night by ‘Jo Jo Rabbit’. This New Zealand movie gave the beleaguered Scott Morrison some relief as he was able to claim it as an Australian icon, along with Phar Lap, Pavlova, Russell Crowe, Crowded House and Lorde.
• In New Zealand the 2019 investigations into electoral fraud by the two centre-right parties are completed, with shady dealings being proven. The centre-left win the 2020 election by a landslide.

There you have it, Cecily’s 2020 vision. Next year, when the future is the present I’ll look at these thoughts again. Whether I’ve been prophetic or not I’ll at least prove Nostradamus correct in one of his assertions, namely, ‘The present time, together with the past, shall be judged by a great jovialist.’ (Nostradamus). Until then have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Cartoons

2019 Booker Long List

I was devastated to see I hadn’t made the long list for the 2019 Booker prize. If your reading is limited to 280 characters let me enlighten you on this award. The Booker is for novels; a novel is around 15,151 tweets long. In case you’re now worried Donald Trump might compile his tweets into a book and win don’t worry, the Booker is for works written in English. It is a very high profile literary award that even to be nominated for the long list is a mark of distinction. The winner receives a 50,000 pound prize, but this pales into insignificance when compared to the prestige associated with winning this award. So you can imagine the scale of my disappointment not to make the long list. This was only heightened by the fact that I had already spent the prize money on preparations for a massive party to celebrate the announcement of my award on the 14th of October. I’ve even had the invitations printed on a very expensive card titled, ‘Come Celebrate with the Cooker of a Booker’. I might have got ahead of myself.

Between bouts of depression I’ve spent a lot of time since the list was announced trying to explain the judges’ glaring omission. Firstly is there a prejudice against women? Possibly, but 35% of Booker prizes in the last 20 years have gone to women. Not brilliant, but better than the proportion of crash test dummies that are women (none), resulting in a diagonal seat belt that has elevated one of my boobs above the other, they’re no longer abreast. But I digress. Could it be because I’m not a resident of the United Kingdom? No, but neither were 70% of winners in recent years, including New Zealand’s own Eleanor Caton in 2013 and before that Kiri Hume in 1985. So given our small population size New Zealand women have done well. The issue certainly isn’t talent, sppelling or; grammar.

The only thing I can think of that might have kept me from this year’s list and the bookshelves of the world’s finest book stores is that I didn’t get a book to them in time. That was only because I didn’t write a book. That is so unfair! If Alfred Nobel (inventor of dynamite) can spawn a peace prize, and Donald Trump can be President without being presidential, then why can’t I be a celebrated author without writing a book?

It’s not as if I deliberately didn’t write a book. There was nothing intentional or premeditated in my failure to furnish the judges with a book. I just forgot to write one. This can happen to anyone; forgetfulness is a very common human foible. I feel deeply aggrieved that being human has come between me and my goal of becoming a distinguished author.

I forget other things too. Forgotten birthdays, names (sometimes my own), cervical smear appointments and reasons why I entered a room litter my past like U-turns trail a politician. All have been accommodated and generally looked over with a benevolent, ‘That Cecily, she’s a card!’ But not those Booker people. They’ve chosen the high road of pedantry. I’ll not forget this.

I will write a book for the 2020 Booker prize, unless I forget, and the inspiration for this endeavour will come from a best-selling book on Amazon after the 2016 US Presidential elections. The book was blank inside; the title was, and I kid you not, Why Trump Deserves Trust, Respect and Admiration. I think I’ll title mine, ‘How deadlines changed my life’. Take that, Booker people!

I won’t start on it just yet though, I’ve got an enormous credit to get through at a restaurant and bar first.

2019 Booker Prize Long List

I was devastated to see I hadn’t made the long list for the 2019 Booker prize. If your reading is limited to 280 characters let me enlighten you on this award. The Booker is for novels; a novel is around 15,151 tweets long. In case you’re now worried Donald Trump might compile his tweets into a book and win don’t worry, the Booker is for works written in English. It is a very high profile literary award that even to be nominated for the long list is a mark of distinction. The winner receives a 50,000 pound prize, but this pales into insignificance when compared to the prestige associated with winning this award. So you can imagine the scale of my disappointment not to make the long list. This was only heightened by the fact that I had already spent the prize money on preparations for a massive party to celebrate the announcement of my award on the 14th of October. I’ve even had the invitations printed on a very expensive card titled, ‘Come Celebrate with the Cooker of a Booker’. I might have got ahead of myself.

Between bouts of depression I’ve spent a lot of time since the list was announced trying to explain the judges’ glaring omission. Firstly is there a prejudice against women? Possibly, but 35% of Booker prizes in the last 20 years have gone to women. Not brilliant, but better than the proportion of crash test dummies that are women (none), resulting in a diagonal seat belt that has elevated one of my boobs above the other, they’re no longer abreast. But I digress. Could it be because I’m not a resident of the United Kingdom? No, but neither were 70% of winners in recent years, including New Zealand’s own Eleanor Caton in 2013 and before that Kiri Hume in 1985. So given our small population size New Zealand women have done well. The issue certainly isn’t talent, sppelling or; grammar.

The only thing I can think of that might have kept me from this year’s list and the bookshelves of the world’s finest book stores is that I didn’t get a book to them in time. That was only because I didn’t write a book. That is so unfair! If Alfred Nobel (inventor of dynamite) can spawn a peace prize, and Donald Trump can be President without being presidential, then why can’t I be a celebrated author without writing a book?

It’s not as if I deliberately didn’t write a book. There was nothing intentional or premeditated in my failure to furnish the judges with a book. I just forgot to write one. This can happen to anyone; forgetfulness is a very common human foible. I feel deeply aggrieved that being human has come between me and my goal of becoming a distinguished author.

I forget other things too. Forgotten birthdays, names (sometimes my own), cervical smear appointments and reasons why I entered a room litter my past like U-turns trail a politician. All have been accommodated and generally looked over with a benevolent, ‘That Cecily, she’s a card!’ But not those Booker people. They’ve chosen the high road of pedantry. I’ll not forget this.

I will write a book for the 2020 Booker prize, unless I forget, and the inspiration for this endeavour will come from a best-selling book on Amazon after the 2016 US Presidential elections. The book was blank inside; the title was, and I kid you not, Why Trump Deserves Trust, Respect and Admiration. I think I’ll title mine, ‘How deadlines changed my life’. Take that, Booker people!

I won’t start on it just yet though, I’ve got an enormous credit to get through at a restaurant and bar first.

You’re Dreaming!

“All men dream; but not equally”. So said T.E. Lawrence (aka Lawrence of Arabia) in his ‘7 Pillars of Wisdom’. Hardly surprising, after all we are all different, certainly we aren’t all equal, and of course, we aren’t all men. And if you thought there was a single understanding of the word dream, well you’re hallucinating.

We all daydream. I imagine like me a common daydream of yours is a life of espionage: safeguarding good, eradicating evil and bedding Daniel Craig. All completed secretly while carrying on the day job as a librarian. No? How about imaging yourself as Cleopatra, bathing in donkeys’ milk while preparing to seduce Mark Antony. No? It must be just me. Of course I’m being silly, my wildest dreams don’t extend beyond discovering the bathroom scales are over-reporting or learning ice cream is slimming.

We day-dream because the brain feels a need to generate its own stimulation. Essentially the brain is entertaining us because we’re bored; it’s transporting us to a more interesting place. Taking us away from a tedious repetitive task, removing us from the Chairperson’s report, or muting your beloved’s explanation of how a router works.

Like daydreams, sexual fantasies occur when we’re wide awake, although Stanley Kubrick had his with his eyes wide shut. Personally I found the movie a battle to keep mine open, and so nodded off for the entire second half and missed the climax – story of my life.

The brain is the largest erogenous zone in the body, so it’s not surprising that it needs a little stroking. While both genders may fantasise, the fantasies often differ. For example, hers is possibly a road trip, and picking up a hitchhiker who turns out to be Brad Pitt. While his might involve the entire female Brazillian beach volleyball team in a hot tub, helping them with the task of sand removal.

While we may all dream at night, we can’t agree on why we do so. Freud saw dreams as “the royal road” to our hidden desires and emotions. The analysis of a person’s dreams, so the argument goes, will give great insight into that person. Freud has fallen out of favour with other psychologists. I guess that can happen when you tell your female colleagues they are envious of their father’s penis, and your male colleagues they have sexual feelings towards their mother.

Today some scientists believe that dreams are aiding memory consolidation, or are an extension of daytime consciousness – perhaps helping us to work through difficult problems. Others say there is no direct function, rather it is a consequence of other biological processes. I personally believe we have dreams to warn us against – just in case you were considering it – going to work naked.

Yet another type of dream is that of Martin Luther King Jr., who in 1963 had a dream of a more inclusive America. While today in the USA “The Dreamers” refer to undocumented migrants who arrived in the USA as children. Here dream is being used as a synonym for hope.

The corollary of dreams of hope are nightmares of despair. A quick browse of any news media will confirm the many instances of misery in the world. Like me I’m sure you’d like to do something for those whose wildest dreams are securing safety and the basic necessities of life. I’m not certain what the answer is exactly, but I am sure it’s to be found in building bridges, not walls. A previous Republican President recognised this when he said, “Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall”. Let’s not build any more. We may not all dream equally, but let’s share a dream of a bit more equality.

No News Is Bad News

I like to keep abreast of current affairs. I find important issues such as elections, changing macroeconomic conditions and the name of Kate and Will’s latest to be extremely compelling.

In addition to keeping a watchful eye on these weighty issues I am also drawn to the weird happenings in the world. For instance this week I learnt of a 0.5km fun run in the Texan town of Boerne. That decimal point is not a typo, we’re talking 500m. I could do that – it’s a fraction of the distance I run every day looking for my keys, phone and wallet. The run starts at one bar and ends at another. One hundred and fifty metres into the run there’s a doughnut stand, which is beside a smoking area. It would be fair to say the emphasis is more on fun than run.

You could say the organisers of the Boerne fun run are “taking the piss”, but not as much as IKEA, as this next piece of news will reveal. IKEA recently placed a magazine advert for baby bassinets that doubled as a pregnancy test. Anyone who thought they might be pregnant was encouraged to pee on the ad that was splashed across the magazine’s pages. If they were pregnant the positive test revealed a previously hidden special discount price. If there are couples out there reading this and trying to get pregnant – not at the same time obviously – please note this only works for women.

Some people may discount weird items news as being improbable or inconsequential. Whereas I, having lived with myself these past few decades, find them entirely believable. Furthermore, I find they have value in allowing me to view the weird events in my own life less severely. For example, I read of a job interview that went awry when the applicant fainted and only regained consciousness in an ambulance. Which made me feel better about the time I went to the toilet while nervously waiting for a job interview. When I tried to leave the stall I found I was locked in. With my phone in my car, and my cries for help going unnoticed I resolved to commando crawl under the door. However I was concerned my clothes would get dirty so I stripped to my underwear then squeezed through the gap. While lying horizontal and scantily clad on the toilet floor someone came in; I was relieved – in every sense – when they didn’t hang around. However I did get the opportunity to explain myself fully to them when I saw them on the interview panel. You see it works, you’re already feeling better about your own worst interview.

It is incorrect that News is an acronym for either Notable Events, Weather and Sport, or for North, East, West and South. Rather the clue is in the name; news is to do with new information. Other explanations are fake (news).

Fake news, unlike real news, is intended to deceive. It is not news. Nor is it new – the term was used as early as 1894 in a cartoon by Frederick Opper. We owe a lot to President Donald Trump for the work he has done in the area of fake news. We are especially indebted to his broadening of the term to include accurate news that he doesn’t like.

Real news has power, and the people who vilify the fourth estate, or worse still harm those within it, realize this. News has the power to increase the engagement of ordinary people in society. Initially through increasing their ability to hold a conversation. Secondly, it facilitates the shaping the people’s opinions and beliefs. Then ultimately, news allows people to go out and shape their world. Clearly dangerous stuff.

So I’m going out to buy a quality newspaper with accurate reporting, reasoned editorials and a few job vacancies with interviews by Skype – not in an office block with a dodgy toilet door.

Cartoons