Another conversation starter from Richard Herring's book Emergency Questions...
Which conspiracy theory do you think might actually be true?
Rich thinks Paul McCartney really was replaced by a lookalike in the late 60s. You may well agree with him, but I'd argue that the replacement was far more interesting in that case.
These days, conspiracy theories get rather a bad rep. I blame the internet and all the right-wing loonies who have ruined the good old conspiracy theory for everyone. I used to love a good conspiracy theory... nowadays, I'm more likely to keep that to myself in case people think I'm a Trump supporter.
But if I had to choose a conspiracy theory that I still feels needs further investigation... despite all the (redacted) files that have been released in the intervening years, I would go for the JFK assassination every time.
Look, I know the Oliver Stone movie was a bit dubious in places, but there were still far more questions than answers. Do I really believe Lee Harvey Oswald was a lone gunman? What about the shots from the grassy knoll? Why did Jack Ruby kill him before he could be properly interrogated?
Come on... the guy was a Patsy! Even the Manic Street Preachers think so...
What about you? Were the moon landings faked by Stanley Kubrick? What about the Roswell Incident? Was there something in David Icke's Lizard People rantings? Is the Illuminati controlling our every move? Go on, we're all friends here...
Summer's over and the time is right to bring back some of the ongoing series I abandoned just prior to my holiday from teaching (aka the Exhaustion Weeks). It's a cliché that I go back to work for a rest, but...
As usual, I'm stealing another query from Richard Herring's book EMERGENCY QUESTIONS and trying to answer it with added songs. Here's today's question...
What age would you like to be when you get to heaven, presuming there is a heaven and you get to choose what age you'll be when you're up there?
Putting aside whether or not we believe in any kind of afterlife, this is a thought-provoking question. If we're lucky enough to live to an old age, we wouldn't want to be stuck at that age, for eternity, with all the frailties, disabilities and marble loss that might come with it. We'd want to be young and strong and ready to take best advantage of our nirvana...
No thank you very much. I wouldn't mind going back and reliving a good day of my adolescence, safe in the knowledge that I could return to where I am right now before the bad days kick in. Because I did have a good many bad days as a teenager, days of self-doubt, embarrassment, humiliation days and crushing loneliness.
In answer to Rich's question then, I'd probably choose to be mid-30s. Some time just before I fell down the stairs and broke my arm, also causing a slipped disc in my back which still bothers me today. Some time before the aches and pains set in...
Richard Herring is back, with another conversation starter from his book Emergency Questions...
If you had to marry a muppet - if you had to - which muppet would you marry?
Now it strikes me that this question gives (straight) female readers more choice, since the only potential muppet wife most blokes will be able to think of is Miss Piggy... and who would want to marry Miss Piggy? Except Kermit.
Well, I mean, there's that girl from the band too, but I don't even know her name.
If gender were no issue though, and I had to choose a Muppet purely on chances of compatibility, I'd probably go for Gonzo. I feel a certain simpatico for The Great Gonzo and his resilience in the face of utter failure.
Richard Herring's question of the week, from his excellent book Emergency Questions...
What's the best museum you've ever been to?
Rich's answer to this is the Keswick Pencil Museum, which I have to say takes some beating. He's probably being sarcastic, although maybe not, because I'm sure he appreciates a good pencil like the rest of us. Having been there myself, I can highly recommend it.
The photo at the top of the page was taken in the Weston Park Museum in Sheffield, which was probably the first museum we ever took Sam to... but we still enjoy visiting it today. The woolly rhino is worth the price of admission on its own... or it would be, if admission wasn't free.
A more local museum that we still pop into from time to time, even though it'll only kill half an hour or so is the Tolson Musuem in Ravensknowle Hall, Huddersfield. There are a few old cars, an old trolleybus and... best of all, a horse that has been cut in half to reveal its skeleton. From one side, it's a horse, from the other... brrr!
The South Yorkshire Aircraft Museum has also become a regular summer stop for Sam and I. An excellent collection of old planes and helicopters, some that you can sit in and pretend you're a pilot.
I like a museum that allows you to step back in time and see the world as it was in days gone by. One of the best of these is Ryedale Folk Museum in North Yorkshire; it's like wandering around an old village and you can go into the old shops, farm buildings and cottages and really feel like you've gone back in time.
Finally, there's the National Science and Media Museum in Bradford - formerly known (back when I worked in the city) as the National Museum of Photography, Film and Television. They have lots of ever-changing interactive exhibits, but the best thing is the Hall of Mirrors. They were closed last year for extensive renovation, so I'm looking forward to seeing what's new in the summer holidays.
Having listed some of the best museums Sam and I have visited over the years, I still haven't answer Richard Herring's question. My favourite museum? Well, it'd have to be this one...
Do you know the history of the trench coat? What it represents and who it's for? What I want to know is who would want a coat So close to the floor? I went to the Trench Coat Museum to see 'em A thousand different cuts Like pelts from another dream Stuffed and bursting at the seams Cause I'm fishing for a theme If it's somewhere in between A day's honest graft and constantly fleeing the crime scene...
Growing up among a family of builders, there was always the opportunity to wreck things. Before side-stepping into building houses, my brother specialised in demolition. I never really accompanied him on any of these wrecking jobs, but I'd see him knocking stuff down for my dad around the farm every now and then. My greatest memory of his destructive tendencies involved my first bike, which he drove over with his JCB when I made the mistake of leaving it in the yard. My sister carried it back into the house and held it up to show me what had happened... but it wasn't until she turned it side on that I realised it was flat.
My dad was a joiner by trade, but he could turn his hand to most jobs. He built sheds, turned our old barn into the house my Mum still lives in today, and single-handedly wood-panelled the house I grew up in to within an inch of its life. Wood panelling was very big back in the 70s, especially if you were a joiner. There was always some DIY project ongoing, despite the fact he had a full time job at the car auctions and also managed the farm.
I do have one specific memory of a demolition job that I got involved in, and this was when I was very young... maybe 4 or 5. There was a wall down the side of the staircase that my dad had started knocking down so that he could make the small sitting room a bit more open plan. This was an old farmhouse, so all the walls were built of stone - no plasterboard when that place was built. Removing the wall was taking him some time (in between all his other jobs), but one morning he and my Mum woke up very early to the sound of hammering... only to discover me sitting on the stairs with a lump hammer in my hand, cheerfully knocking out the bricks. I guess I wanted to be like my dad...
Back to Richard Herring's Emergency Questions, and this week we're asking for your darkest confessions...
Have you ever had the opportunity to assassinate a public figure?
Now clearly there are a lot of people in this world right now who might want to assassinate a certain orange demagogue... although I'm sure most of us realise that doing so would only make a martyr of him, and that's the last thing anyone wants. Better to let such people die on their own swords, methinks.
I also feel I should clarify that I don't condone murder, even the murder of complete tosspots, and I'm sure none of the good folk who waste precious minutes reading this guff once or twice a week condone it either. Still, there are, I'm sure, some people out there in the world who you definitely feel would be deserving of a good slap. So have you ever been in a position to administer such an admonishment... and had to hold yourself back?
The first came back in the late 90s when I had the misfortune of going to see Oasis at Sheffield Arena. Now It's no secret that I am not, nor have I ever been, a fan of the Gallagher brothers and their brand of plodding, humourless, psuedo-Beatles Brit-rock. With that in mind, you may well wonder how I ended up at one of their gigs? All I can tell you is that this was during my radio days, the tickets were free, and my mate was a much bigger fan of the Brothers Dim, so I was persuaded that it might be a good ticket to have in my scrapbook. A couple of years earlier, when the lads were just starting out, that might well have been true. However, this was the Be Here Now tour, and all I can remember of that travesty was that they had a red phone booth on the stage. (A little research reveals that even Noel Gallagher now admits Be Here Now was a bag of shite. Whereas Liam says it's his favourite album. Make of that what you will.)
The support act that day were Travis. Now I know what most of you think of Travis, but let me tell you this: They blew the Swaggerlers off the stage. I can't have been the only one in the audience who thought so. In fact, Liam Gallagher himself even came out to watch them... and herein lies my tale.
We had pretty good seats in the arena. Front row, just above the tunnel. There were no seats below us, that area was fenced off for the sound guys. And that's where Liam came to watch Travis. He walked out directly beneath us, stood by the sound desk for a few songs, then mooched back into the tunnel. And this would have been my moment. At the time, I confess (and it's not a particularly nice confession), I briefly considered spitting on his head. It's lucky I didn't have a brick at hand. I mean, imagine if I had... I might have denied the world that Beady Eye record. It doesn't bear thinking about...
Comedy is a very subjective thing. What I might do a LOL at, you might roll your eyes and breathe a deep sigh. And vice versa. With that in mind, I take on board the idea that some of you might consider the comedian Michael McIntyre worthy of the space he takes up on this earth. I certainly do not.
That aside, the one trait I find off-putting in celebrities and commoners alike is arrogance. Hence my disdain for Frank & Betty Gallagher, and the intense irritation I feel whenever I see Michael McIntyre's smug mug on the TV. Imagine then, coming across that detestable countenance in real life. The horror!
Such a thing occurred the last time Louise and I visited That London. This might have been about 15 years ago. We were staying in the leafy borough of Hampstead, and one day were were mooching around the shops when we heard a loud, braying voice in the street behind us. A voice that chilled our blood.
There he was, the so-called "funny" man himself, large as life, peacocking down the road with his mobile phone pressed to his ear, talking loudly to his agent (or some other amenable sycophant), loud enough so that everyone could hear, so that everyone would look, so that nobody could fail to notice that they were in the presence of "greatness".
I'm not a violent man. I've never thrown a punch in my life. But it's no exaggeration to say that Louise had to physically restrain me that day. McIntyre got off lightly.
Thank God I've never been in the same room as Bono. I'd be serving ten to life right now. Either that, or somebody would have given me a medal. Maybe both.
Another query I stole from Richard Herring's book Emergency Questions, with the hope of hearing your answers...
What's the best advice you've ever received and ignored?
Sometimes I wonder about this. Chances are though, if you ignore some advice and end up regretting it, you'll probably edit your memories to forget you were ever given that advice in the first place. Well, that's how my memory works, anyway.
My parents would have loved me to go to university after my A Levels, but I was determined I wanted to go work in radio for no money instead*. My parents never pushed me though... they let me make my own mistakes and find my way back. Possibly this came from my brother who left school to pursue an accountancy course, hated it, quit, got a milk round, saved up, bought himself a digger and went on to become a very successful builder. Maybe they thought I would follow a similar path.
(*Literally: for the first couple of years, I did not get paid.)
I didn't, but I did eventually end up going back to university while I was working nights at the radio station, thereby having my cake and eating it. Because as well as wanting to be a DJ, I also wanted to be a writer. Somebody probably should have given me some advice about that as well.
It might have been better had someone advised me to go away to university rather than staying in my hometown... socially, at least, it might have made more well-adjusted human being... but on the other hand, I did finish uni without any student debt, and there's not many people who can say that.
Another query to help start conversation, courtesy of Richard Herring's essential book, Emergency Questions...
Do you have a favourite towel? What is your best story about it?
While I'm not sure that I have any stories about towels, I do have very definite opinions about what makes a good towel... and it's not a new, fluffy one.
I'm firmly with Larry David when it comes to towels...
"Towels are better when they're washed over and over again, like a pair of jeans, they dry you a lot better."
Are you with me (and Larry) on the benefits of a nice rough towel? Or do you buy new towels every 6 months because you like them fluffy as heck but don't care whether you're actually dry or not?
Any other towel-related opinions and anecdotes will be gratefully received...
Another one of Richard Herring's Emergency Questions to arm yourself with the next time you're forced to make dinner party small talk...
Have you ever had a near death experience?
I suppose it depends on your definition of a near death experience. Luckily, I've never walked down a tunnel towards a shaft of light only to get yanked back at the last second... maybe you have? (I hope not.) So I'm going to answer this in terms of "have you almost nearly died?"
Taking that definition, I've probably had more near death experiences than I realise. Every time I drive to work, I encounter a handful of Audi drivers intent on killing me and them. In their fast German cars, I'm sure they're convinced an airbag will save their life...
Beyond these everyday life-threats though, the closest I ever came to death was probably the time I blew up the electric meter in our holiday cottage when I was a kid.
In our home, I grew up with an open fire. As this was the 70s, before they invented Health & Safety, I would often lay the fire, light the fire, and mess about with a hot poker to my heart's content, from a very young age. For example: I had a Star Wars figure that I didn't really like - he was a bit boring - so I melted bits of him with the poker and he became much more interesting to play with.
Every year we went on holiday to a cottage at Reighton Gap near Filey. The cottage didn't have an open fireplace, it had a three bar electric fire... but there was still a poker next to it, for decorative reasons. One day, I wondered what would happen if I touched the poker against the coils of that three bar fire... and I thought I'd give it a go to find out.
The answer to that question is that sparks will fly. The electricity will also travel up the metal poker into your arm. And - if you're lucky - the resulting power surge will short out all the electricity in the bungalow. If you're unlucky, it won't do that and the electricity will continue to flow up the poker, into your arm, and... gkkkkkkk.
I was lucky that day. Until my mum and dad discovered what I'd done.
Here's a song about a Near Death Experience by J. Spaceman and his mates. Thankfully, I didn't Hold On that day...
Another one of Richard Herring's Emergency Questions to jump-start our Friday conversations...
What's the worst experience you've ever had in a hotel?
Unlike the Frequent Flyers and Another Holiday Already? types that read this blog, I don't spend a lot of time in hotel rooms. Louise isn't fond of hotels, so most of our family holidays are spent in rented cottages. Sam and I brave a Premier Inn once a year for our annual boy's getaway - he's a big fan of the All You Can Eat breakfast. Imagine his horrid during the post-covid year when we booked into a Travelodge that promised "breakfast included" to discover that it constituted a Kellogg's variety pack (random choice) and a carton of Kia Ora. Never again!
Is that the worst experience I've ever had in a hotel room then? Sam would certainly say so. And I'm not sure I can think of anything worse... no rats or cockroaches or views of the local rubbish dump. I'm sure you guys can help out with that though.
My only other vaguely relevant anecdote today is from a holiday with my sister and her family in my teenage years. This was either Jersey or Brittany... I can't remember which, but they were the only two holidays I went on with them. File this one under disconcerting...
The cottage must have had three bedrooms: one for my sister and her husband, one for their two kids (my eldest nephew is only four years younger than me) and one for me. I'd reached the age where it was no longer cool to go on holiday with my parents, but I wasn't old enough to go off on my own... and I never had mates who suggested a week in Ibiza (thank GOD).
Anyway, I woke up one morning to discover that my pillow was missing. When I looked, it was over the other side of the room... wedged under the door, as though trying to stop someone or something getting in. I hadn't done that myself (not consciously, at least) so I wondered then... and still wonder today... how that happened.
Musicians spend more time in hotel rooms than just about any other profession, except travelling salesmen and Ernie. Most of the time, they're not trashing them and throwing the TV out into the swimming pool (that's just Ernie)... instead, they just sit around writing miserable songs about life on the road...
The most evocative of these doesn't mention the word hotel in its title, but it was the first track I thought of today. Anyone who's seen Lloyd Cole live in the last 25+ years will have heard him explain what a Spectra-Vision girl is...
Just another bunch of would be desperados Failing to pace themselves against the grain Strung out on semantics, Holiday-Inn vigilantes, Late night, early town Am I supposed to sleep, here all alone 'Neath the shadow of the mini-bar, with the promise of a Spectra-Vision girl?
What's the worst experience you've ever had in a hotel?
This isn't one of Richard Herring's questions, but it follows on from Friday's post regarding brushing hair...
How do you brush your teeth?
Or, more specifically, what do you use to brush your teeth?
Smart Alecs will already be shouting "a toothbrush, duh!" at the screen... but what I mean is: do you use an electric toothbrush or an old-fashioned manual one?
For many years now, we've all used electric toothbrushes at Top Ten Towers. And indeed, every time I visit the dentist, she encourages me to do this.
However, have you noticed...? NOBODY on TV uses electric toothbrushes.
Couples brushing their teeth together or having a conversation while one of them is brushing their teeth is a TV director's shorthand to demonstrate domesticity. It happens all the time in TV shows. Yet nobody ever uses an electric toothbrush. Now clearly, there's an obvious reason for this - the noise of the toothbrush makes it harder to have a conversation / hear the dialogue. But this is one of the TV quirks that, once you've noticed it, you see it all the time.
Most recently it came up in an episode of the new John Hamm show Your Friends & Neighbours. Here are a bunch of rich Americans with perfect teeth, living lives of obscenely excessive wealth (which is why Hamm has started stealing from them all)... yet they still use bog standard bargain shop toothbrushes. This has become a bit of an obsession of mine lately, so please let me know if you ever see anyone on TV using an electric toothbrush.
Another conversation starter culled from Richard Herring's book Emergency Questions... and some songs I loosely linked to it.
18. Which celebrity would you like to stroke your hair as you die?
I think my go-to answer for this would usually be Kate Winslet. She has long been my celebrity crush, and the older she gets, the more I respect her attitudes to celebrity and being herself on screen.
To be honest though, I'm not sure I'd want Kate - or any other celebrity, for that matter - running her fingers through my hair. Especially if I was on my death bed. I mean, it's a bit late now, isn't it, love?
Maybe it'd be better to choose a celebrity who can calm me down in my final moments, rather than getting my heart rate up or leaving me feeling frustrated over lost opportunities.
So I did a quick google search on "Who is the most caring celebrity?" and the answers the AI generated included...
Oprah Winfrey
Dolly Parton
Beyoncé
Keanu Reeves
And do you know what? Of those guys, I think I'd choose Keanu. I feel like he'd be the one most likely to make me feel zen about my last moments on earth.
The biggest problem I have with this question is that I don't really like anybody touching my hair. Not because I'm precious about how it looks (I couldn't give a monkeys)... it's just: PERSONAL SPACE, DUDE! Still, I'm sure Keanu would respect that...
Some time ago, Louise bought me the above book, partly because she knows I'm a fan of the comedian Richard Herring, but mostly (I suspect) because she knows I'm crap at making small talk. The book promises "1001 conversation starters for every occasion" and so I thought I'd use them to encourage a little conversation on this blog, rather than it all just being about me trying to convince you that Huey Lewis deserves more of your respect.
So I'm going to select a question every week or so and give you my answer. Hopefully then you can leave your own answer in the comments box. It'll probably fall flat on its arse as most of these things do, and I'll quietly bury the idea in a couple of weeks, but let's give it a go, eh?
I skipped the first two questions because they were too silly or inappropriate, but question three was right up my avenue of interest...
3. Have you ever seen a ghost?
Now I'm not actually going to bore you all with my answer to this, since I wrote about it in detail some years ago starting here.
I will tell you though that for his part, Richard Herring responds to his own question by saying, "Interesting fact for after the question has been answered: ghosts do not exist. Anyone who says they have seen one is thus mentally imbalanced." But he's a comedian, and comedians often talk bollocks for humorous effect.
I'll throw in the next question for good measure...
4. Have you ever seen a Bigfoot?
Only on film. And as I'm sure I've mentioned before, I wholeheartedly believe the Patterson–Gimlin film was not a fake.
