I'm trying to keep away from the news this week, to take a break from the awfulness of it all, to grant my brain a temporary respite from Trump Derangement Syndrome. But that's almost impossible, isn't it?
I'm sure you've heard this by now. Everyone's heard it by now. Even people who don't like Bruce have shared it. I'm posting it here merely for posterity's sake...
And it's not the only one. I'm thankful that while I do my best to bury my head in the sand, there are people out there far braver than me, who keep on speaking out...
And here's a related tune from Mr. Hannon...
All the sycophants and narcs
All the cannibals and sharks
A secluded paradise
Of spies and cypress trees
Mar-a-Lago by the sea
Cheating losers on the greens
Swapping wives for beauty queens
Making turgid wedding speeches
Entertaining fascist leeches
Mar-a-Lago, how I miss
The golden johns in which I pissed
All that ostentatious wealth
The paintings of myself
When I was young and free
Oh wait... this just in! Even Roger Taylor's having a go.
Now, I know, you probably haven't got much time for Roger Taylor. I'm a Queen fan, and even I don't have much time for Roger Taylor. Still, fair play to him for this...
Here's The My Top Ten Traditional Christmas Song...
And here are some more of my favourite records of 2025, to listen to while you cook your turkey.
I wouldn't normally do this on Christmas Day, but I'm worried if I don't, I won't get them all in before next Thursday.
11. The Mountain Goats - Through This Fire Across from Peter
Balkan
Another concept album, knocking on the door of the Top Ten,
this one involving a dream that novelist / songwriter John Darnielle had, involving
a shipwreck and a desperate ordeal for three survivors (including the titular
Peter Balkan).
I’m only just beginning to scrape the surface of this one –
the latest Mountain Goats album was released in early November – and its
position so high in the countdown is perhaps more reflective of my growing
fascination with the work of Mr. Darnielle and a lot of time spent listening to
the Goats’ back catalogue this year (I’m even thinking of putting together an ICA
for JC… if I ever get the time).
10. Jonathan Richman – Only Frozen Sky Anyway
It’s a while since I’ve listened to any new releases from
Jonathan Richman – in fact, I don’t think I’m familiar with any of the albums
he’s put out this century, only the stuff from his prime in the late 70s early
80s, and the classic 1990 release Jonathan Goes Country.
I was suckered into falling for this one through his cover /
reinvention / Jonathanisation of the Bee Gees’ Night Fever, but there’s much
more joy to be found here. The critics tell me the album dwells on death and
mortality – but isn’t that to be expected from an artist with six decades in
the music business? I can’t say I noticed it anyway, I was more taken with his
customary wit and wisdom (making me wonder why I haven’t paid more attention to
his more recent output), deep philosophical insight (which you can take or
leave, it never feels like he’s pontificating) and splashes of Spanish, as on Se
Va Pa'Volver and Little Black Bat.
9. Divine Comedy – Rainy Sunday Afternoon
Another late entry to the countdown, released at the end of
September, yet already confirming itself as a glorious addition to the
Neil Hannon songbook. It’s a deeper and more personal record than his rather
frivolous last recording, Office Politics – incredibly, that was six years ago,
but Neil kept himself busy writing the soundtrack to Wonka in the meantime.
Unlike the Jonathan Richman record, I could
definitely spot mortality as a major theme here – understandably, as it turns
out Neil lost both his father and his favourite dog while working on these
songs. Yet it’s never a depressing record – there’s a lightness, a joy to be
found in even the most contemplative of tracks. Just none of the pure comedy
moments Neil often throws in to satisfy his Noel Coward urges.
It always amazes me that The Divine Comedy came to fame at
the height of Britpop, since Hannon’s songwriting belongs to another era
entirely. Coward yes, but Cole Porter too.
Roland arrived at Grange Hill a year or so before I went to High School. He didn’t have a good time of it, being the fat kid who everyone picked on… his only friend being annoying Janet with the whiney voice. He was singled out by school bully Gripper Stebson, who made his life a misery, and towards the end of his first year, he ended up in hospital after running out into the road in front of a speeding car.
I missed the episode where Roland got run over, so somehow I managed to convince myself things had got so bad he’d tried to commit suicide. The internet tells me, years later, that it wasn’t actually a suicide attempt, but Grange Hill went to some dark places, so I’m not 100% convinced.
The reason I’m telling you about Roland is that when I started High School, the bullies and the wags soon twigged to the fact that I share the first three letters of my Christian name with the Grange Hill character played by Erkan Mustafa. And even though the end of my name was different – who cares? Rol became Roland… and the sound of kids mimicking whiney Janet’s catchphrase, “I only want to help you, Ro-land…” was soon echoing through the halls of our Secondary. And I hated it.
Author and neurobiologist R. Douglas Fields created the acronym LIFEMORTS to summarise nine triggers in our brains that cause us to get angry, lose our shit and full on HULK out. Last time, we looked at the first of these – L for Life or Death Situations. Today, we’re looking at I… for Insult.
I’d argue that many times, getting hit by a stick or a stone – even if it caused us the long term inconvenience of a broken bone – is preferable to many of the insults we’ve received in our lives. The insults the cut us to the quick. The insults that we lay awake at night recalling. The insults that leave permanent scars.
Unsurprisingly, scientists have studied the way our brains react to insult, and they compare the effect to a “mini slap in the face”…
The researchers found insults uttered by a fictitious person triggered short bursts of brain activity in the front part of listeners' brains, regardless of who the insult was directed at, themselves or somebody else.
These very rapid responses, which the researchers say are akin to a slap in the face, did not diminish over time; offensive statements continued to grab the brain's attention, generating large responses of similar magnitude, regardless of how often the invectives were heard.
Insults elicited a larger response in brain activity than compliments, and they continued to do so throughout the session, the experiments showed.
Ouch. Insults have a bigger impact and stay with us longer than compliments. So much for “names will never hurt me”!
It's a telling reminder of how our brains tend to fixate on negative events more intensely than they do positive things – what's known as the negativity bias.
Get that – what they’re basically telling us here is that our brains are much more likely to brood over negative things than they are to get zuzzed up by positivity. Our brains are essentially miserable emo/goths. It’s a wonder we’re not all on Prozac.
The reason our brains don’t like being insulted goes way, way back to the dawn of man when our very survival often depended on being part of a fledgling community, and hierarchies became suddenly very important. The higher you were up the hierarchy, the more chance you had of surviving. Of getting food and water, or having others help you by sharing resources and skills. Of finding a mate and being in with a chance of passing your genes on to the next generation. However, even back then, there were lots of buffoons who made it their business to try and batter other people down, and if they couldn’t do it physically, maybe they could do it verbally. The insult became as much a threat to our position in society as the stick or the stone… and our brains, whose primary job is to keep us alive, began to realise that insults could be deadly.
When Swanny chanted out, “I only want to help you, Ro-land,” and the other kids laughed, he was knocking me down the hierarchy ladder, and cementing his own position near the top. And this made me angry.
According to Psychology Today though, Anger is the absolute worst response to Insult. Whereas the strongest way to respond might well be… acceptance.
When someone insults us, we ought to consider three things: whether the insult is true, who it came from, and why. If the insult is true or largely true, the person it came from is reasonable, and his or her motive is worthy, then the insult is not an insult but a statement of fact, and, moreover, one that could be very helpful to us.
Which seems fair enough… although in that case, it is really an insult? Aren’t we just talking about constructive criticism there? Some people have a hard time with that too – any form of criticism – but it still differs from an insult.
On the other hand, if you think that the person who insulted you is unworthy of your consideration, you have no reason to take offence, just as you have no reason to take offence at a naughty child or a barking dog.
I think that as we get older, it becomes a lot to ignore insults from dingbats who aren’t worth expending a breath on… but when you’re a teenager, that’s much harder. Everyone’s opinion matters to you in the deadly hierarchy of the school yard.
As kids, we’re more likely to return the insult… I know you are, you said you are, but what about me? That doesn’t quite work when the insult is linked to your name though. I suppose I could have tried to come up with an equally stinging riposte linked to Swanny’s name – yeah, well, you look like a swanee whistle (maybe I could have imitated the sound of a swanee whistle every time he walked past?) Or could I have compared him to a Swan Vesta – you’re a hothead, Swanny… where’s your vest? It’s hardly Oscar Wilde or Dorothy Parker, is it? And chances are he might just have (to use another swan analogy) broken my arm in return.
The fundamental problem with the put-down, however brilliant it may be, is that it equalizes us with our insulters, bringing them up to our level and us down to theirs. This gives them, their behaviour, and their insult far too much legitimacy. Returning the insult also risks injuring the insulter (who, in all probability, is fairly fragile) and inviting further attacks.
Depending on the power differential in the relationship, fighting fire with fire is rarely a smart move… not when the other side has bigger fists and is more than prepared to use them.
If you can’t use humour to deliver a stinging rebuke then, perhaps you can use it to defuse the situation in another way? When Swanny piped up, “I only want to help you, Ro-land,” maybe I should have replied, “Cheers, Swanny – any chance you can do my Maths homework for me?” Or turn the mockery back on myself to show him it didn’t bother me at all. “Ouch – that hurts. I’m going to have to go do what Roland would do in this situation… eat a few pies and wash them down with a gallon of Irn Bru.” Of course, it’s all very well thinking of witty ripostes after the fact (shades of L'esprit D'escalier), particularly 40 years after the fact! But I think eventually this was the strategy I began to adopt in terms of dealing with insults. I got in there first. I insulted myself, put myself down, before anybody else could. Take the insulter’s power away by showing them I had an even worse opinion of myself than they did. It works… to a point… but no wonder I ended up with low self-esteem.
You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you! Goddamn you all to hell!
Last week, I put forward an early contender for my album of the year, thinking it might be looking like a bit of a quiet one. Then all hell broke lose, firstly with the announcement of a new Pulp album, their first in 24 years...
And hot on their heels, Neil Hannon decided to get out of bed again...
Meanwhile, as he eases slowly into his retirement, some old geezer from New Jersey found SEVEN albums lying around in his attic that have never been released before and decided to put them together as a new box set, Tracks II...
This started a few months back, but I usually found that at least if I left a reply to someone else's comment and ticked the box, then I would receive subsequent comments in my inbox. Now even that has stopped working.
This isn't so bad for that day's post as I can check in and see if there are any comments to read and reply to, but as it also effects previous day's posts, I find myself having to check back through the past week and discovering new comments I've missed.
Is anyone else having the same issue? I've also found it to be true when I leave a comment on another blogger-based blog - like Charity Chic's. I no longer receive a notification to tell me if there's been a reply. One of the things I enjoy most about the blogosphere is the fun little conversations that crop up in comments boxes, but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with them now the notifications have stopped. I've checked my spam folder in case they'd started going in there, but no joy. Wordpress comments still appear to be working fine.
Those of you who are on blogger - is this happening to you also? And for anyone else who leaves a comment on this blog, do you still get notifications if someone replies? Is it just me?
I didn't take History at school, so I know very little about the Kings & Queens of England, Scotland & Wales. Everything I do know, I learned from songs...
Once again, the finger pointed firmly in the direction of our brains, and I immediately figured our old friend the amygdala might be responsible. However, it turns out there’s another suspect in the frame: the hypothalamus!
The hypothalamus is a tiny little blob of gunk deep within our brain which takes charge of our heart rate, body temperature, hunger, and the sleep-wake cycle. It does a bunch of other jobs too, notably mucking about with our social behaviour – including sex-drive and aggression. How does it do this? By releasing hormones! And which hormone is responsible for our obsession with what other people think of us? Dopamine.
Last week, we closed with a quote about “externalising our self-worth”: in other words, seeing ourselves as others see us. Take Tiberius – when someone smiles at him, even a stranger, he feels a little better about his day. If a colleague or peer compliments him on his work or tells him he’s doing a good job, it makes him happy. And if someone reads his blog or leaves a nice comment… well, it’s cartwheels time! Because every time one of those things happens, the hypothalamus in Tiberius’s brain releases dopamine… the “feel good hormone”… the “happy hormone”… the “pleasure hormone”. You’ll find many similar sobriquets applied to dopamine online. Because dopamine is also the hormone that’s released when we eat, have sex, and take drugs… anything that feels good. (Even if it's bad for us.)
Anything that gives you pleasure will trigger the release of dopamine. This can range from a fun activity you enjoy, like dancing or cooking, to sex, shopping, and even certain drugs. Dopamine activates the reward pathway in the brain, leading you to desire these activities more. For this reason, dopamine can play a role in addiction.
For example… if being smiled at by a stranger gives Tiberius a mini dopamine hit, why doesn’t he go out of his way to be nicer to strangers? Or... does he pick and choose which strangers he would rather be nice to, because, frankly, their smiles are worth more to him? Other factors outweigh the dopamine hit in certain circumstances. A smile from a little old lady in the supermarket who’s asked Tiberius to reach for a tin on the top shelf… that’s worth it. But he’s still not going to wave at that Audi driver and let him pull out, even if the Audi driver might smile back… is that because Tiberius believes the Audi driver won’t smile back, or does he get more of a dopamine hit by denying the Audi driver, by causing him a little inconvenience? There are, I presume, certain circumstances where being mean will grant you more of a hit than being nice? It all depends on who you’re interacting with in any particular moment.
Speaking for myself, rather than Tiberius, I can report a recent incident when I was on the motorway, driving at the speed limit in the fast lane, with an Audi driver behind me, far too close, desperate to get past. When it was eventually safe to pull back into the middle lane, I did so. My hands remained at ten to two on the steering wheel, but I carefully extended the middle finger of my right hand as the Audi accelerated past. Up ahead now, the Audi swerved erratically as he opened his own car window and raised his own hand / fist / finger up into the air in a furious gesture of aggression. And then he was gone. But the fact that he’d clearly noticed my subtle bird flipping, and that it had aggravated him so very much... this gave me a much greater dopamine rush than any stranger’s smile could have done. Call me petty, but I was buzzing on that for the rest of the day.
The world needs people like you and me Who've been knocked around by fate 'Cause when people see us They don't wanna be us And that makes them feel great
Going back to Tiberius, I’m sure that positive feedback from his colleagues – and the feel good hormones released as a result – encourage him to keep trying his best in the workplace. It’s interesting to note that some scientists believe a shortage of dopamine might be responsible for all manner of medical and psychological complaints, from autism to Parkinson’s, but that you can boost your dopamine by eating more protein (because that’s what it’s made from, apparently). Another reason to keep chomping brazil nuts… if I needed one. Better yet, Healthline tells us...
Listening to music can be a fun way to stimulate dopamine release in your brain.
Next week, we’ll talk about one of the biggest dopamine boosters on the planet – and, as a result, one of the most addictive drugs you will ever come across. Worse still, it’s perfectly legal and children are becoming exposed to it at an increasingly younger age these days… with all kinds of horrific consequences.
I’m talking about social media.
Oh, the horror.
If you could see the you that I see
When I see you
You would see things differently
I assure you
I wish I could hire Henry Rollins as my motivational coach.
I called this series Self-Help For Cynics because I've always been very cynical about most kinds of Self-Help. The dictionary tells me...
The words misanthropic and pessimistic are common synonyms of cynical. While all three words mean "deeply distrustful," cynical implies having a sneering disbelief in sincerity or integrity.
I reckon I'm all three of those, but I'm trying to change... and writing this series is a big step towards doing that.
That said, I'm willing to accept that my cynicism has taken a bit of a back seat in recent editions of this feature. In fact, beyond the odd "that might not work for you, but it could be worth a try" sort of comment, I've pretty much gone along with everything I've read.
Today though, we cover an idea that has me raising an eyebrow like Roger Moore and scrunching up my face like Les Dawson. You might argue it's not possible to do both at the same time, but in my head at least, that's what I'm doing.
In the last few nail-biting editions of SHFC, we've discussed how it's best to confront your emotions head on rather than avoiding them, bottling them up or trying to distract yourself from them. The more I read, the more I see this advice given as a way of rewiring our amygdala / monkey brain, teaching it not to panic or feel anxiety in certain situations and gradually becoming a lot more chilled in the process.
"Feel the fear and do it anyway!" was the mantra that I rebuffed in my younger days. Now I'm grudgingly having to accept there might be something to it. However, there's a school of thought that takes this idea one step further and suggests we take time to actively welcome negative emotions. Monkey Brain Guru Dr. Jennifer Shannon explains...
When you experience fight-or-flight sensations but there is no immediate threat, it is a false alarm. Regardless of how urgent these sensations seem, resisting them will only prolong them. Pointless as they seem to be, uncomfortable sensations, like negative emotions, are necessary. The more we can welcome them, the more easily they will metabolise.
At best, this sounds to me like wallowing. At worst? Could it be a form of sadomasochism? Not according to the New York Times...
...researchers found that people who habitually judge negative feelings — such as sadness, fear and anger — as bad or inappropriate have more anxiety and depression symptoms and feel less satisfied with their lives than people who generally perceive their negative emotions in a positive or neutral light.
I took a moment to think about this in terms of music, and I wondered about famously "miserable" lyricists like Leonard Cohen, Townes Van Zandt or The Pope Of Mope himself, Stephen Patrick M-Word... were they actually happier because they "welcomed" their negative emotions? Although if that's really the case, welcoming didn't work for Nick Drake, Elliott Smith or Kurt Cobain, did it?
What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?
...and I thought... I thought... actually, maybe this provides an answer to that conundrum. Why do I like miserable music? Because it allows me to welcome negative emotions, thereby lessening their hold on me.
Look! I found a website called "HAPPIFY"! Pour your cynicism on that, fellow misanthropes! But first, let's hear their advice...
When you feel out of sorts, centre yourself with a few deep breaths and connect inward to the emotion you're experiencing. Give it a name, and allow it the space to simply be. Say, "Hello, sadness" if that's what you're feeling, and let it roam freely until it's ready to leave—because emotions are fleeting by their very nature.
Scientists have done a variety of studies to back this up, because that's what scientists do. One involved getting volunteers to dip their hands into an ice water bath. Half the group were told to try to ignore or deny the uncomfortable sensations they felt, while the other half were told to accept the discomfort of the freezing cold. Guess who managed to keep their hands in the bath the longest?
You might argue that actively seeking to accept or even prolong uncomfortable feelings could be rather counter-productive... or even self-destructive... but not according to that New York Times article I mentioned earlier.
“What one resists, persists,” said Amanda Shallcross, a naturopathic physician who studies emotion regulation at the Cleveland Clinic. When you avoid your emotions, “you’re bound to experience longer-term negative mental and physical health.”
Dr. Jennifer Shannon calls negative feelings "necessary feelings" and invites us not only to welcome them, but to provoke them. She suggests practicing by welcoming everyday anxiety-causing situations such as arriving late, listening to someone complain about you, or being in a long queue. I actually tried this final one last week when I was stuck on the M1 for an hour on my way to work. I sat there and I paid attention to what I was feeling, how my body was handling the anxiety... and I can honestly say that it did help, I didn't get as wound up as I normally would. It didn't stop me badly needing a wee though.
Taking this one step further, Dr. Shannon suggests "actually triggering your own negative feelings to welcome". Here are some of her suggestions...
Listen to a political candidate you dislike (to be fair, that could be any of them, but Trump's imminent return is enough to cause any sane person sleepless nights)
Watch a movie you know you won't like (life's too short for Tom Hanks, I'm sorry)
No. I'm sorry. This is too hard. Why would I want to do this again?
You are getting good at feeling bad.
Ah. Well, in that case...
Watching those three videos - welcoming the music of U2, you might say - did enable me to properly understand my reaction to this band. I realised it's not so much the music that causes me an unpleasant reaction... it's just Bono's smug, supremely punchable face. And that's useful, because as this series has proven time and time again, the more we understand our emotions and reactions, the easier they are to accept.
Here's something nice to wash that unpleasant taste out of your ears: Norwegian Americana hero Harald Thune, doing his own bit of welcoming...
Back in my 20s, when I had an abundance of free time and the world still made a vague sort of sense, I read (on average) a book a week. As well as the Stephen Kings and Dean Koontzs of my teenage years, I delved further into proper literary fiction, read the weekly book reviews in the paper, and sampled the cream of contemporary novelists. Some struck a particular chord and became longtime favourites - the late Iain Banks was top of that list - while others, like Julian Barnes, produced one or two books I thought were excellent... but others that left me cold. Martin Amis was firmly in the latter camp.
The son of respected satirist, Kingsley Amis, Martin was often described as the enfant terrible of the literary scene in the 80s and 90s. He posed for photos like the one above, clearly trying to cultivate a Bowie-esque mystique, and wrote books that mocked the worst excesses of capitalist society and the common man. There's no denying his talent as a writer, but his books were often a hard read, full of what one critic described as "the new unpleasantness". Only his light-hearted 1973 debut, The Rachel Papers, and Times Arrow, the story of a Nazi doctor told in Benjamin Button-style reverse narrative, stick in my mind as books I'd want to read again... but increasingly these days, I have less time for literary fiction that stretches my brain and just go looking for a good yarn to relax in. What would Martin Amis say to that?
"No one wants to read a difficult literary novel or deal with a prose style which reminds them how thick they are. There's a push towards egalitarianism, making writing more chummy and interactive, instead of a higher voice, and that's what I go to literature for."
I'm rather happy being a thicko, Martin. Here are some songs which mention your name... starting with one that place both you and your dad into a catalogue of literary greats... with a cough and a burp.
The Spanish Amanda were a North London indie band who came together in the late 90s, and produced some fine records like this future Celeb Jukebox entry...
Their back catalogue is available as "Name Your Price" downloads in bandcamp, should you be interested. But what's this got to do with Martin Amis, you ask? Well, The Spanish Armada now go under the name The Chickpea Darlings, and here they are with a song about the year I turned 16... except, they claim, "It's not really about 1988. It's about now."
We end with the title track of an album that was heavily influenced by Martin Amis, particularly his 1989 novel London Fields. If you've never read one of his books, this song tells you everything you need to know... whether you like it or not.
This gentleman is The Weeknd. I can't pretend to be familiar with his work, but I do know that the French don't have a word for him. Here are ten songs that have nothing to do with him...
The King of Pop was Michael Jackson. This is Mick Jackson, who coincidentally wrote Blame It On The Boogie which was then a big hit for his slightly longer namesake.
Every year I do these countdowns, I have a little whinge about the artists who wait till late November to release their records. Yeah, you might sell a few more copies in the Christmas shopping rush, but you don't really stand much chance in year end lists against records we've been living with for months.
This is the fifth album by Swedish sisters Johanna and Klara Söderberg, who weren't even born until the 90s, but live forever in music's best decade, the 70s. Another gloriously catchy set of West Coast Americana-flavoured tunes that sound like you've known them all your life... though it's still unfair to ask them to compete, after only a couple of weeks, with the year's constant companions. Ask me again in March and this might well be in my Top 3.
By contrast, here's another late entry, and another record that seems immediately familiar... perhaps because much of it was. Yes, it's a compilation, a "greatest hits" from the best chronicler of modern society in the world of "pop". I feel Jim Bob would appreciate those inverted commas. Did someone decree we can't have compilations in our Year End countdowns? Oops. You won't like the next entry either then.
Never mind. Here are three songs Jim Bob did release this year, from his excellent Beach Ready EP. None of them are on The Essential Jim Bob, though they're all strong enough to deserve a place. Jim Bob can do no wrong.
8. The Divine Comedy - Charmed Life (Deluxe Edition)
Another Greatest Hits collection (albeit one that does feature some actual hits), though it earns its place in my countdown from disc 3 of the Special Edition, the “Super Extra Bonus Album”, a collection of new and unreleased recordings. You well might expect a ragbag of outtakes and B-sides (although nothing wrong with that, depending on the artist, as has been demonstrated elsewhere in this countdown), but the quality of the tracks here makes this one of the best releases of the year for me, full of Neil Hannon's Coward-esque wit and self-deprecating wisdom. A wonderful treat, well worth paying £3 more than the double album.
Arthur C. Clarke was, according to the intro to his popular TV shows, the "author of 2001 and inventor of the communications satellite". The former claim is irrefutable. Clarke did write the book that the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey was based on, along with its sequel, 2010, and many more science fiction novels. And of course, in creating his Space Odyssey, he influenced a certain Mr. David Jones...
Imagine the far flung future of the year 2001... who knows what things will be like then? Well, there'll be monkeys everywhere, and computers that won't open the door for you. That's about all I can remember from that movie. Or the year 2001, to be honest.
I smashed your phone tonight, oh joy The consequences will reverberate Until eternity I'm told I smashed your phone tonight oh joy
I smashed your phone Outside Yordas Cave I smashed your phone Splintering fragments Like in an Arthur C. Clarke
As to that second claim, about the satellite... well, I'd take that one with a grain of salt. Google "inventor of the communications satellite" and you'll find Clarke's pal John Robinson Pierce taking the credit, although with a little more digging you might discover that Clarke suggested the concept in a lecture that JRP attended. Clarke later said, "I'm often asked why I didn't try to patent the idea of a communications satellite. My answer is always, 'A patent is really a licence to be sued.'" Still, I suppose you can afford the lawyers by that point, Arthur.
Magic is the art of influencing the course Of events by the intervention Of spiritual forces or some other occult device.
According to Arthur C. Clarke Any sufficiently advanced technology Is indistinguishable from magic.
I was never a fan of 2001, book or film, but I was an acolyte of Arthur C. Clarke's Mysterious World and its sequel, World of Strange Powers, two TV shows that ran throughout my childhood and informed much of my belief system. UFOs? Yep. Nessie? Absolutely. Big Foot... that video is incontrovertible proof in my mind. (A former colleague of mind practiced for ages until he'd perfected the "Big Foot Walk". He would saunter across the sales office, pause to look back, then continue on his way. But he wasn't as convincing as the real thing.)
I take my coffee black I love Arthur C. Clarke I'm more than what I lack I'm ready to start
Every day I get lost in the thoughts That haunt my head when I wake up Did I sleep through the only years I have For a future I don't?
The intro to Arthur C. Clarke's Mysterious World informed us that the author was pondering these mysteries "in retreat in Sri Lanka", which always sounded a bit dodgy (especially when allegations were made about him in the UK tabloids, which were later proved untrue). However, it turns out the real reason he chose to spend his retirement there was that he was a big fan of scuba diving.
Who'd have thought Arthur C. Clarke would appear in so many pop records? And that's before we even get to the ones that feature his name in the title...
But it's Neil Hannon who takes pride of place today. Being just 18 months older than me, and by his own admission, a child who didn't go out much in the 70s, it's no surprise that Neil and I ended up watching the same TV shows. The only difference being, he turned that experience into an amazing pop song. I turned it into this blog post. I think Neil's ahead on points.
Do you remember that old TV show? 'Arthur C. Clarke's Mysterious World' Well, if ITV make a new series They ought to come take a look at my girl
I don't understand her She doesn't make any sense to me I don't understand her It's like she's speaking in Swahili
