John Walker's Electronic House

Need I have spoken any sooner?

This story on the BBC defies belief. The Arch Bishop of Wales has launched an attack on “atheiestic fundamentalism”, citing how these crazed atheists are… guess what. Banning Christmas, saying “Winterval”, and of course, banning Christmas cards from schools. In other words, he’s spouted all the tabloid bullshit as if it’s fact, and even moreso, as if it’s somehow an organised attack on Christians.

Bizarrely, bishops are getting better these days. All around the country I hear about appointments being made of respectable, theologically impressive figures who are passionate campaigners for the right issues. They’re not all good, but so many more are. And with loony lefty Rowan Williams at the top, and the best theologian ever, Tom Wright, in the Durham position, the wincing when bishops make comments has lessened. Until today.

As well as leading to Christmas being called “Winterval,” the archbishop said “virulent, almost irrational” attacks on Christianity led to hospitals removing all Christian symbols from their chapels, and schools refusing to allow children to send Christmas cards with a Christian message.

How can someone in such a high ranking position be willing to speak in public stating utter lies? Was his entire research for the speech spent reading the first two pages of the most vile tabloids, and then repeating it as fact?

A story in the current Private Eye is so symptomatic of a vast trend in the UK that I have to transcribe it here. I think it’s essential that everyone gets a grip on how the tabloid coverage of so-called “political correctness gone mad” stories actually works, and the complete absense of truth from any of them.

It’s fairly bloody obvious. For instance, has anyone ever actually encountered anywhere using the term “Winterval” instead of “Christmas”? The idiotic truth of this matter was that in 1997 and 1998, Birmingham City Council used the term as part of an advertising campaign for drumming up business in the city centre during the whole of winter. It was never intended to prevent the use of the word “Christmas” – indeed it deliberately included Christmas amongst the various other festivities that occur between October and January. But despite this, every year the papers run stories about councils “banning Christmas”, refering to Winterval as if it’s a current matter. This has never, ever been true, but that doesn’t prevent the papers declaring it, and then legions of fat-mouthed morons shrieking about it everywhere they go.

The new Private Eye story is a perfect example (emphasis my own):

In early December, Healey Primary School in Rochdale sent a note home to parents of 4 to 7-year-old pupils: “Please could parents send just one Christmas card to the whole class rather than asking school for a whole class name list [sic]. This is to avoid tears and tantrums which often occur when Christmas cards are distributed.”

When an outraged parent contacted the Rochdale Observer claiming that this was “political correctness gone mad”, her comments were promptly reported beneath the headline: “School bans Christmas Cards”.

A spokeswoman hastened to point out that cards were “in no way banned” from the school, which was currently preparing for no fewer than three festive productions and a carol service. “The cost of so many cards is prohibitive for some families and we feel the children are often pressurised to act in the same way as their peers,” she explained. “In addition, some children are missed out and feel very upset when this happens.”

How was this reported when it reached the national press the following week? “Furious parents and campaigners last night slammed the politically correct brigade for spoiling the true meaning of Christmas,” roared the Express. “Festive cards are being banned in schools… the season of goodwill is being ruined by Scrooge-like officials fearful of offending other faiths or worried about health and safety rules.” Its sister paper the Daily Star, meanwhile, kept up its own tradition of ignoring all the facts with the front-page headline: “Ban on Christmas cards in case they upset Muslims!”

It’s hard to know what to be more repulsed by. There’s the obvious fact that newspapers tell outright lies. And then there’s the randomly included portrayal of Muslims as poor whimpering fools who can’t cope with someone mentioning the word “Christmas” around them. There’s that it deliberately attempts to create and fuel tension between different faiths. People being enormously stupid as a rule will take any reason they’re given to hate Muslims a bit more. Who cares if it’s true, eh?

No one is trying to ban Christmas. No one. Because it’s a massive commerical opportunity that you’d be insane to ignore. Coming soon in John’s rants: why Christmas being commericial is bloody brilliant.

This is what happens if you feed your DS after midnight.

It seems I left my mobile phone on the train, at Bath.

Ringing it, I get voicemail, so I can only assume someone has generously taken the sim out, and kept it as a gift for themselves, rather than looked up my home number and offered to post it to me. So that’s a shame.

Meanwhile, if you’re lucky enough to have my number, don’t ring it. It will be futile. Call the landline (email if you need it), and I’ll hopefully sort something out later today. Fortunately, I have a spare phone with all my contacts on it, which is very lucky. But not the sim, so I might lose my number. Boo.

And that’s all the weather. Holiday pics to come.

EDIT: My number remains the same, and you can call me now. You know, if you have my number. And need to call me.

It was getting onto the train at Trenton, NJ. After an hour waiting in the most miserable train station I’ve ever seen, I stepped onto the train, which ingeniusly has a shiny metal surface designed for being incredibly slippery in the rain. And slip I did, my left leg sliding forward, which caused my right leg to fall into the gap between the train and platform, the sharp metal edge of the train slicing clean through my shin, my foot falling onto the track below. I’ve grown a new foot since, but it sure did sting. I will illustrate the shocking, gory reality with photographs, along with the rest of the post, when I get back (tomorrow).

Fortunately I don’t let something like severing a limb spoil my holidays. I’ve more spirit than that.

Normally when I come to America on my own money I stay in the comfort of Kim and Nick’s house. I find they charge very reasonable rates, and only make me work for seven hours a day, leaving me with a few spare minutes for fun in the city of Chicago. However, demonstrating a remarkable degree of selfishness, they’ve since moved to Philadelphia (or just outside it), and their new place doesn’t have a room set aside for me. (Get this – they think their new baby deserves the room more than me). So travelling with Jo, we originally intended to visit New York until we saw the prices. We both had reasons to want to visit Philly, and so we did, and wow did we luck out.

The first night was spent in New York, then we raced around New York and saw every single square inch of it in two-thirds of a day. Then the train/leg incident, and into Philly. We found a hotel that was significantly cheaper than most, and seemed like it would be a good location. The online reviews were very positive, but most complained that the rooms were tiny. So getting here to discover that the hotel was in the centre of the city in the most incredible location, and that the rooms are huge and really comfortable, is a bit of an excellent surprise. Everyone, stay in the Club Quarters in Philly. Free wireless! Free bottled water! Free coffee! Free gym equipment delivered to your room! I might not have taken advantage of one of these.

So it’s been a good week. Jo managed to get the cold that’s apparently killing everyone I know in England, but you’ll be relieved to learn that it hasn’t affected me. I have met the spawn that’s taken my free accomodation, and found her to be really rather cute. (Try to ignore my freakish eyelids).

Oh, and really, don’t bother with I Am Legend. What a massive anti-climax that film is. All this potential, so much money spent, and it’s the plot of every zombie film ever without a single fresh idea. In fact, it’s the first half of the dreadful 28 Days Later, without being as dreadful. I’m gobsmacked that people are mumbling about Oscars. Will Smith takes most the screen time, and does nothing exceptional (unless you count the muscle-porn scene where we have to watch him flex his chest for about a full minute for no reason). To its credit, it’s very short.

Finally, here’s a strange story about my brain breaking.

I’m sat in a deli in NY, and I go to get some cash out of the ATM. I swipe my card, go to put my PIN in, and… nothing. I cannot remember my PIN at all. It’s just gone. A four digit number that I type in, what, every other day? And now it’s vanished. Then a number comes to me and I try it. Wrong. A variation, wrong. Another, wrong. And now that ATM won’t talk to me any more. (Thank goodness you swipe your card in the US, rather than sacrifice it to the belly of the machine until your transaction is over, or it would have been eaten forever). Figuring this is a temporary madness, I assume it will come back to me the next time I think about it. But no. Nothing. An empty space in my head where the PIN belongs.

Later I come up with another number. And then I realise where the earlier number had come from. To further display how weird it is to have forgotten the PIN, for reasons I can’t explain I can remember my Switch number in full. The number I’d tried before, and this new one, were both from that. In desperation for an answer, my brain had switched in another four digit number it knew was associated.

That night, half asleep in bed, I came up with another number and wrote it down on the pad by my bed. In the morning I looked to see what I had. 2710. There was something wrong with that too… Oh yeah, it’s my birthday. I’m such a genius.

And it was gone for days. From Tuesday to Saturday. I couldn’t get cash out, and I was also delighted to learn that the bank had blocked my credit card in case I was some dirty fraudster, which took a 45 minute phonecall to the UK to undo.

Then yesterday, I went to an ATM for shits and giggles. And there it was. It just came back. Thanks brain!

Hello England.

I’ve returned to my kingdom, and having spent a day in New York, I’m now in Philly for a week. I’m on holiday!

I’m also more tired than anyone else has ever been, even if you’re a recent mother with a caffeine addiction who has received electric shocks ever three seconds for the last four years.

If I ever sleep again, I’ll tell you how I chopped my right leg off this evening.