Continuing Trivial Pursuits: History

<< Starkey: "It's 116 years, you fucking idiots"

As mentioned last time, it's now the turn of surely the most derided TP category: History. Its brown brethren, the equally frustrating Art & Literature, has proven surprisingly popular with opponents in the past, but History wins out for always being picked as the last question to answer. I feel I'm maybe talking a bit too much about Trivial Pursuit, however, and we're not even halfway through, so let's get on with it.

Questions:

1. What did the word 'catholic' mean in ancient Greek?

2. Garum was a popular sauce in Roman times. What was it made of?

3. What is the chief ingredient of Worcestershire sauce, first produced in 1837?

4. Which Asian country invented fingerprinting?

5. From which ancient language does the word 'salary' derive?

6. What was the worst epidemic of the 20th century?

7. Sean is the Gaelic variation of which popular British name?

8. Nike was the Greek goddess of what?

9. For how many years did the Hundred Years War last?

10. How old is our universe estimated to be?

And now, the answers...

1. Universal

2. Fermented fish guts

3. Fermented anchovies (look, it's like one of those cards where all the answers are the same!)

4. Fermented anchovies... just kidding, god, this is like that Two Ronnies sketch... it's actually China.

5. Latin. It comes from the word 'salarium', which means salt. Quantities of salt was offered as payment in Roman times. Presumably the diet consisted of chips, fried egg sandwiches and Margaritas.

6. Spanish flu, which killed over 50 million people in 1918. Puts swine flu in perspective.

7. John. Now, some of you may have noticed this is not a question about history. The problem, you see, is that I dislike history so much, I subconsciously avoid taking on any information related to the topic. Starkey would be furious.

8. Sweatshops. Or maybe victory and strength.

9. 116 years. This is such a Trivial Pursuit question.

10. 15 billion years old today.

Next up, it's Art & Literature. I would like to point out, ahead of the unveiling of ten questions that vary between straightforward and factually dubious, that I have a degree in English Literature. A degree that took 3 years to earn, and which appears to have irrecoverably destroyed any interest I ever had in the subject.

Further Trivial Pursuits: Entertainment

<< Gerry Rafferty, literally waiting by his letterbox in anticipation of more royalty cheques





For those at the back not paying attention, I'm devoting 8.5 weeks' worth of facts to the newly-remembered catalyst for my love of trivia, classic board game Trivial Pursuit (to be more specific, the Genus edition, as if you had to ask). The previous post celebrated the notoriously unpopular Geography category - today it's the more mainstream pink cheese, Entertainment. Probably the most popular and accessible TP category, the big E however fills me only with a sense of trepidation. The reasons for this are multiple (well, two) - firstly, the memories of my dad carving a path to glory around the board using only judicious use of the roll again squares, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of every film or TV show ever made, leaving the rest of us trailing in his wake. Secondly, my personal knowledge of film/TV is embarrassingly patchy. To demonstrate, here are 3 films I haven't seen:





The Godfather


The Deer Hunter


Citizen Kane





Here are 3 films I have seen:





Pearl Harbour


Miss Congeniality


Addams Family Values





You get the idea with that - here's the questions (answers below - you don't have to invert the screen)





1. Which sci=fi BBC sitcom was originally intended to be a film?





2. In which leafy London suburb do Jerry Hall, David Attenborough and Richard E Grant live?





3. What was the name of Jade Goody's perfume, released shortly after her Celebrity Big Brother appearance?





4. From where does U.S. TV show 30 Rock get it's name?





5. How did Peter Andre first find fame in Australia?





6. What is Ronnie from Eastenders' real first name?





7. Which sci-fi film inspired several thousand people to create a new religion in the 2001 census?





8. What nationality is Chris Roy Taylor, the creator of The Omnipresent cartoons which feature in The London Paper?





9. Which Scottish singer started his career as a busker?





10. Which type of film did Alfred Hitchcock begin his career working on?











Deep breath, here's the answers -





1. Red Dwarf, which finally sort of got it's wish in recent 90 minute (though it felt a lot longer) special, Back To Earth, which was, in three words, weird, laboured and depressing.





2. Richmond-upon-Thames. Some would say it's not a suburb of London, and that it's a town in Surrey. They'd be wrong.





3. Controversial.





4. 30 Rockefeller Plaza, the building the show is chiefly set in.





5. He appeared on the Australian version of New Faces.





6. Veronica. I know Ronnie is short for Veronica, OK? I ran out of questions.





7. Star Wars. Thousands put 'Jedi' as their religion on the 2001 census. Many a pub quiz bore will try and tell you that had enough people claimed to be Jedi, it would have become a religion. This is not the case.





8. Australian. He has an Australian e-mail address anyway. Good enough for me.





9. Gerry Rafferty, most famous for 'Baker Street' and being one half of Steeler's Wheel, who most famously soundtracked the removal of an ear in Reservoir Dogs. Rafferty recently went missing for several weeks, before reporting he had been relaxing at his house in Tuscany. Which begs the question: how can Gerry Rafferty afford a house in Tuscany?





10. Silent movies.





Next up, it's the last cheese to be obtained in 99% of Trivial Pursuit campaigns - the unattractive bright yellow Cheddar that is History. Does anybody like this round? Apart from David Starkey, who probably collects an entire roundel filled with 6 yellow segments, despite howls of indignation from Jon Snow, Tony Robinson, and him off Grand Designs. More soon...

Trivial Pursuits - Geography

<< "I'm afraid the card says Moops..."

As you may have noticed, the dawn of 2009 has seen me take a slightly less hands-on approach to posting - I've been learning plenty of new stuff, but haven't summoned the spirit to render it into something readable. Instead of becoming the billionth person to apologise for not writing a blog entry for 3 months, I'll press on as I have facts spewing forth from every inch of grey matter I possess. Maybe not every inch.

Anyway, the presence of the veritable fact mountain I've been stockpiling, like grain in a massive barn in Switzerland, has got me thinking - why do I do this to myself? From whence my love of trivial nonsense, to the extent that I spend my life racing around with a large metaphorical fact-net, trying to scoop them up and regurgitate them onto a bemused and indifferent public? Two words - Trivial Pursuit. The giddy thrill of a four-cheese streak. The horror of landing on the central victory podium, a full set o' cheeses glinting in the afternoon sun, only to fall at the last hurdle and spend another half an hour frantically trying to return, all in vain.

Trivial Pursuit is the best game ever, and I think it's what first turned me on to the irresistible glow of pride and achievement gained from knowing things nobody needs to know. In TP, this pointless knowledge makes you a champion. If only it were so in real life. And so, in an earnest homage to the world's finest board game, and in no way a barely concealed attempt to dump large chunks of my fact fountain into barely discernible categories, I begin at the beginning, with 12 questions on the blue cheese, Geography (my favourite TP topic - a specialist subject, no unwelcome surprises like Sport & Leisure). Answers below - try your luck, punks.

1. Which invented language is still spoken natively by thousands of people?

2. What is unique about the nations Liechtenstein and Uzbekistan?

3. Where in the world is Bedlam?

4. How many nations form the G20 economic group?

5. What is the capital of Alaska?

6. Which Latin American capital city was originally built on volcanic lakes?

7. True or false: Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch was given it's stupid and long name to attract tourists to the village.

8. Which German city was built in 1938 to house workers at the nearby VW plant?

9. Which is the only London Underground line to intersect with all other lines?

10. Which country on Earth is furthest from any ocean or sea?

And now it's answers time. I used to love reading the answers - by now you can probably imagine what an insufferable little turd I must have been, gleefully informing people of their slight inaccuracy and snatching the dice from their disbelieving hands:

1. Esperanto - those who learnt the language and married a fellow Esperanto speaker, who presumably they met at an Esparanto-based event, taught it to their children, who have now grown up as Esperanto speakers.

2. They are the only two nations on Earth to be doubly landlocked - this means that they are not only landlocked themselves, but border only other landlocked countries.

3. Bedlam was the name given to Bethlehem Hospital in Lambeth, South London. It is now a military museum.

4. Nineteen. Someone forgot to turn up.

5. Juneau.

6. Mexico City.

7. True - the name was made up in the 19th century to attract tourism to the otherwise unremarkable area.

8. Wolfsburg, in the central Saxony region, was founded to provide homes for a new car plant, and was originally named, slightly less romantically, Stadt des KdF-Wagens by the Nazis, who admittedly are not renowned for their sense of romance.

9. The Jubilee line, following an extension in 1999 which took it from Green Park to Stratford. A little bit of extra info thrown in, in what I like to call a 'Chris from Eggheads' manouevre.

10. Kyrgyzstan, in Central Asia.

Next up is Entertainment... hopefully soon.

I Don't Believe It!

<< Robert Ripley: About to get served

The recent opening of the Ripley's Believe It Or Not! attraction in Piccadilly Circus, complete with five floors of baffling, barely related artefacts culminating in a killer spinny walkway thing, suggests that casual knowledge is becoming big business. In order to compete in this bold new marketplace, I'm going to have to raise my game. So for my latest post, ladies and gentlemen, I have assembled a bevy of actually quite interesting things, which I shall deliver with no small quantity of giddy hyperbole...

Davina McCall used to be a drug addict. Can you believe that?! She seems so clean-cut! Apart from the weird late-night game shows she used to do. You heard it here first!

High heels were invented in the Middle Ages, and were designed for horse riders, to keep their feet in the stirrups. Coo! Who'd have thought? The one article restraining the natural domination of women all over the world, and it was invented to stop people falling off horses. Madness.

Look over here! Traditional Bolognese sauce should contain pork, beef and chicken. That's mental.

A polydactyl is the name given to a creature with excessive fingers or toes. Doesn't sound that interesting? Well, check this out! Eww.

Phoenix Nights star and poor comedian Dave Spikey is vegetarian. But he's Northern! And slightly overweight and middle-aged. It doesn't seem possible! What's more - he really likes broccoli. What is this guy on?!

Brides before the 20th century used to wear blue rather than white. Can you even conceive of such a spectacle?

Behold the world's largest manufacturer of automobiles - at 3 miles high and over 2 years long, it's Japanese car maker Toyota! Weren't expecting that, were you?!

The Super Bowl, the single most widely enjoyed sporting event on the planet, was named after a toy called a Super Ball. A name that conjures image of titanic sporting struggle like no other was name after a mere ball - albeit a super one. My world is collapsing!

You can't buy a return bus ticket with cash on a London bus. We're not safe from this topsy-turvy madness out in the streets. Run for cover - it's factageddon.

Liberia in West Africa was founded by slaves returning from the U.S., hence the flag's similarity to the Star Spangled Banner. Is Spangled even a word? I don't know what to believe any more!!!

The Chinese had invented a form of gun in the 13th century, a full 600 years before Colt, Smith, Wesson and the like. Rip up your history books. They are now worthless. Do it!

And finally...

Fibre doesn't help to keep your bowel movements regular. In fact, it will probably make it worse. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MINDS?!

And much like the fine institution I have aped so childishly, I have no more facts for you, and will now jettison you all into the cold London night air. Until next time...

An A-Z of Things Barely Worth Knowing

It's been a while. I'd like to offer up an excuse, but the basic reason behind such epic tardiness is that I'm lazy, indolent and have a phone that can record around one month's worth of trivia in a handy, new-fangled, "draft text message" form. Anyway, let's crack on. We've got a lot of catching up to do, and what better way to do it then with a dispassionate alphabetical list of 26 unrelated pieces of information. That's right... it's come to this. It's A-Z time!

A is for autoroute, the name for major roads in France. As I can personally relate from a perplexing on-road experience, roads are given more than one number in France if two main roads converge to form them.

B is for brown - the colour of the salt put down in the event of unprecedented Arctic blizzards/one day of moderate snow. Or, in the case of my road, not put down.

C is for Camberwell, the fashionably edgy/dog-rough area in South London famous for its eponymous carrot. Camberwell has long been mooted as the site for a possible extension to the Bakerloo line, and may finally get its wish, as Boris Johnson has suggested extended the brown line on the map as far as Lewisham because, well, it was the first place that came into his head. Camberwell has come so close to getting on the network previously that for several years, the map at Warwick Avenue station showed Camberwell as a destination, never bothering to remove the station when it wasn't built. It's tardiness like that that I aspire to.

D is for Dungeons. The London Dungeons are part of a chain that also offers subterranean fun in Edinburgh, York and Hamburg, to name but most of them. Whether the other branches come equipped with the kind of phenomenal queue not usually reserved for fair-to-moderate attractions, I cannot say.

E is for Everest. At the top of the world's highest mountain you can boil water at only 68C. Handy information to have.

F is for French Roads Again. Parking in Paris can only be paid for via a pre-paid card (like a mobile top-up card) which in turn you can only get in tobacco shops (which are admittedly a lot more prevalent than over here). Try to imagine for just a moment the chaos that this system created for two pasty, doe-eyed British travellers who just wanted to park their car.

G is for Galling, which is the only way to describe the fact that fat-chinned megalomaniac Robbie 'cool for 6 weeks in 1995' Williams has won more Brit Awards than anyone else - 15 in total. The fact that he is miserable beyond his most wretched nightmares is barely a consolation.

H is for Hitler - as anyone with digital TV will tell you, it's hard to avoid learning about Hitler; as a result, I have two mildly diverting facts about the most evil man who ever lived. Firstly, he had terrible table manners, often shouting, belching and annihilating entire races at the table. Secondly, he spared Blackpool in the Second World War despite quite a lot of weapons being built there as apparently, he wanted to keep it as a private holiday resort. Quite frankly, it doesn't seem likely, although the claim is backed up by the fact that Coventry, which made a similar quantity of munitions, received an almighty shoeing at the hands of the Luftwaffe.

I is for India, and Iran. Two misunderstood nations, set to take centre-stage as the world's power base moves east. I don't know anything about them, but what I do know is that the French word for turkey, 'dinde', means Indian, suggesting some uncertainty over their origin. Secondly, Iran's ancient capital was called Persepolis. Neither enlightening nor relevant, but at least a bit interesting.

J is for JML, the company formerly seen on weird mini TV screens in Woolworths, advertising their own handy products, including the childishly named Dryer Balls, and a sponge that cleans your whole house if you leave it in water (maybe). JML stands for John Mills Ltd., a fact I found out from a JML product that I own. It's a vibrating back massager (no giggling at the back). I tried it and it gave me muscle spasms (I said no giggling).

J is also (who'd have thought it? Two Js! this crazy world) for Jongleurs, the nationwide comedy club whose Battersea branch is the one that started it all. Stay tuned for more J-based trivia, except there isn't any.

K is for Kick, the Tesco-made energy drink I have been drinking since the advent of the credit crunch. Prior to crunch time, I drank Red Bull, which started out as a medicinal syrup in a tiny wee bottle.

L is for the Love Bug, a film which was the first to star Herbie the self-driving car. Not to be confused with the Love Boat, the disappointingly pedestrian aquatic soap opera which has a weird knack for appearing in some form whenever I mention it.

M is for Matt Stevens, the England rugby player who has been banned for 2 years for taking a 'recreational substance'. Stevens is orginally South African, though now it doesn't really matter where he comes from, as he can't play for anyone.

N is for Niall. I have discovered from a fairly reputable source (i.e. someone Irish) that nobody pronounces my name 'Neil' in Ireland - only 'Nile' as in Niall Quinn. This revelation immediately followed my being asked to join the St. Patrick's Day committee, and I'm not sure whether this denouncement of my Irishness counts as a withdrawal of the original indication. It had seemed like an easy ride - organising a St. Patrick's Day event? Guinness, outsized green top hats, shamrock and the backroom at O'Neills, surely? Alas, I may never know.

O is for Ouroboros, the symbol of cyclicality and reinvention which features a snake eating it's tail. The word 'ouroborus' is Greek and means, perhaps unsurprisingly, tail-devouring snake.

P is for Park Lane, the desirable street in Central London famous for being the second most valuable square on a Monopoly board, and more recently for being blighted by a gang of dirty squatters who had the temerity to move into a massive house that some rich old bastard wasn't even living in. Park Lane is so called because it overlooks Hyde Park. Those squatters must be enjoying some great views tonight.

Q is for (le) Quatriéme Dimension, the French name for the Twilight Zone. I learnt this from going on the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror ride several times at Disney. It was a hoot of Paultons Park proportions. Quatriéme Dimension, incidentally, translates as Fourth Dimension, for those of you who can't read.

R is for Reese. The company forever searching for new ways to combine chocolate with peanut butter are owned by Hershey. Will I ever run out of new things to discover about American chocolate?

S is for Skid Row. The address which symbolises humanity's lowest ebb is real, and can be found in downtown Los Angeles. You know you've fucked up when your address is actually Skid Row. What next? A Boulevard of Broken Dreams somewhere in Chicago? Perhaps a suburb served by Shattered Dreams Parkway station...

T is for TSA, which stands for Tenants' Service Authority, and is the new name for the Housing Corporation. May not mean a lot to those of you working outside of housing.

U is for Ultras, those divisive supporters of many European teams who give to the cause by being passionate, vocal and loyal supporters, but who also damage the team's image slightly by being violent, racist and violently racist. Italian club Sampdoria, based in Genoa, had the first fans to call themselves Ultras.

V is for Victoria, the busiest line on the Tube network, and the only line to run entirely underground. The Waterloo & City Line doesn't count. Why? You know why.

W is for wilderness. Nowhere sums up this word quite like the Cotohuazi canyon in Peru. The ancient Incan city of Marpa, situated at the centre of its length, is so remote and inaccessible that more people have been to the top of Everest (possibly to boil water more efficiently) than have laid eyes on the ruined city.

X is for Xplosives (just let me have it... please). The phrase 'damp squib' refers to the fuse on explosives getting wet, meaning that the fuse won't light. Except the phrase to make several appearances when the Champions League returns at the end of the month.

Y is for You're Gonna Need A Bigger Boat, the line from Jaws voted the best cinematic quote of all time by ShortList magazine. This revelation comes at the end of a Top 20 list which summarises nearly a century of film-making into a pointless list of overused lines of dialogue. It did teach me, however, that the line "I feel the need, the need for speed" is from Top Gun. I've never seen Top Gun. People seem to be amazed by this. Why would I want to watch Top Gun? Give me one good reason.

Z is for Zulus, the tribe that continually direct spears towards Michael Caine, despite his repeated, angry pleas for them to cease. In another of Michael Caine's top 'performances', he closes the Italian Job by exclaiming "hold on lads, I've got an idea" as he and his cohorts stand in a lorry teetering on the edge of a cliff (you guessed it, that line featured in the list too). This is because the booty is in the other side of the lorry, so they need to retrieve it. I've actually watched this film and didn't pick up on this. Unbelievable. Apparently some bright spark has suggested that the best way to retrieve the gold without plummeting to certain doom would be to slowly release fuel from the front of the tank. God, I'd rather be idle than spend my time working that out.

Acceptable in the Eighties

<< Tony Hart, 1925-2009

Ah, the Eighties. Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Big mobile phones. Roland Rat. Miners' strikes. Dexy's Midnight Runners. You get the idea. A line of facts sporting flock-of-seagulls haircuts, rooting through their filofaxes and playing with a rubik's cube have got me all nostalgic for a decade that ended when I was seven. Ah, those Eighties memories. Wearing a big jumper and eating an ice-cream (which seems illogical). Watching Bugs Bunny cartoons and needing a poo. Standing alone in a freezing playground. Heady days indeed.

When it comes to those who defined the Eighties in this country, Prime Minister and proletariat crusher Maggie Thatcher is right up there, just behind Phil Oakey and Max Headroom. Thatcher was born in Grantham, Lincolnshire, which is entirely unnoticeable in her mangled Victorian accent. MT was in charge for the entirety of the decade. When she wasn't being hated by her own citizens (Poll Tax riots, miners' strikes again, that weird thing on Swap Shop or whatever) she was putting it up nations much larger and more volatile than ours - Argentina, namely. What I didn't realise was that Argentina was under military rule at the time of the Falklands War. A nation run by an army, and Maggie was more bloodthirsty than they were.

Thatcher may have a lot to answer for, but being so intrinsically connected to the Eighties, she was probably at least OK at cutting-edge video game experience Pong. Gordon Brown, if this footage of him being shit at actual ping-pong is anything to go by, would struggle.

The Internet was a global phenomenon launched in the Eighties, although by 1989 only about 12 people were using it. It came into it's own under the jurisdiction of the Eighties' goofy kid brother, the Nineties. Initially, the Internet was called the Arpanet - a fact pointed out by Norwich Union in their desperate attempt to make the loss of identity triggered by their takeover and forcible name change look like a pivotal moment in their destiny. And incidentally, "can you imagine a punk rock singer called Vincent Pernier?" Yes. That's an excellent name for a punk rock singer. Much better than Alice Cooper, who sounds like a vet.

And finally, we bid farewell to an Eighties legend, and perhaps the finest artist in history - Mr Tony Hart. A volatile, experimental genius, Hart was renowned for creating breathtaking silhouette landscapes, only to sabotage his work by tipping vast quantities of glitter glue over it for no apparent reason. He also seemed like a thoroughly nice bloke, who will leave a legacy of shaky camerawork displaying rubbish kids' drawings, comprehensive guides to art and craft that would shame Neil Buchanan - and the Blue Peter badge. Cos he designed it.

The Bleak Midwinter

You know it's upon you when you reach into your pocket for loose change and find nothing but balls of lint, which have frozen into jagged icicles in the arctic temperatures. Or perhaps it's the moment when you fall headlong over the pile of Christmas decorations (which rather than packing away you have opted to allow to slide pathetically into a congealed mass on the floor) and find that ten minutes later you are still there, weeping hysterically. Maybe it's the moment you try to comfort yourself with the notion that the evenings are getting later, as you peer desperately at a dying sun, suffocated by clouds, as driving hail takes chunks out of your skin. Either way, there's a moment for everyone this month then the horror that is January hits you.

It's the month that makes you pine for November - a vacuum of money, joy, sunlight and motivation that feels never-ending. Even the election of a black president, and my team nearly buying the world's best footballer, have raised little more than a wearied grunt in these dark days. I don't know what idiot decided to place a whole week of festivities directly before this god-awful month, but it's created a comedown that takes up a twelfth of the entire year. It's not like February is any better - it just can't get any worse. The only thing to do is keep your head down, hold the tears back and distract yourself until it's Valentine's Day, when you'll have a whole new reason to be miserable.

Read a book - may I recommend J.D. Salinger's Catcher In The Rye? It's a contemporary classic filled with subtle overtones of longing and despair, and is also quite short. Happy Birthday J.D. - 90 on New Year's Day.

Drink until you're happy again - start with Coronas. They look more sophisticated than a dented can of Tennent's Super. Corona is brewed in Mexico, thus adding a much-needed exotic flavour to your midwinter binges.

Go on holiday - Why not explore the Shetland coast? It's 900 miles long. At least you'll be glad to come home.

Lag your pipes - In early colonial America, pipes were made from hollowed-out logs. The fact that water can pass through wood was something I assume they found out in time. Incidentally, does anyone remember a British Gas ad which had a 'sod's law' theme, but said "your pipes freeze on the coldest days?". I'd just like to point out that they freeze because it's really cold - it's not just a coincidence. You think they'd know that.

Watch a documentary which relentlessly exposes the chasm of misery consuming someone more talented than successful than yourself - as I did with Surviving Gazza, a slightly odd title seeing as Gazza isn't actually dead. If nothing else, it taught me that money can't buy happiness, that I liked Gazza a lot more when he was wacky than now he's a suicidal alcoholic - and that Bianca Gascoigne is his daughter.

Stare at Sky Sports News for hours at a time, clinging to the only constant in your life as everything else crumbles like so many Man City transfer negotiations. They might just tell you that Liverpool full-back Insua is Argentinian. Except I just did. And you don't care.

Consider throwing in the towel and heading back to uni to rack up another £15,000 of debt. Why the hell not? We'll all be living in huts soon anyway. Numerus clausus is a system used to allocate university places according to specific characteristics, e.g. race, gender. It was used by the Romans, and has been used for good (redressing the appalling imbalance in the opportunities afforded to women and people from ethnic minorities) and bad (I'm gonna guess... the Nazis).

Go and buy a big telly and rack up another £500 of debt. Why the hell not? We'll all be living in huts soon anyway. Richmond-upon-Thames has more debt per person than any other town in Britain - around £40,000.

Capture a bee and force it to sting you, in order to replicate even an unpleasant aspect of summer - bee stings can remain in your arm for several months. Maybe even 'til summer comes around.

Sit and stare at a wall, feeling unbearably conscious of your most basic bodily functions, such as breathing, blinking and swallowing. The average person produces 1.5 litres of saliva each day, which is unconsciously swallowed again.

Use the internet to book a holiday, gamble obscene sums of money, repeatedly watch a cat sitting on a moving skateboard, or pour out your January bile unto a small, passive white box, and let everyone you know read it. Internet usage in the UK peaks at 6pm on Sunday evening.

Watch soaps. Nobody's more miserable than people in soaps. In their Januarys everyone gets rickets and then the entire street gets torched when a kid's birthday cake topples over. Coronation Street isn't on on Sunday anymore.

Have a birthday. If your birthday isn't in January, just pretend it is. Everyone will be glad of the excuse. It doesn't matter if they know full well it's not really your birthday. Jehovah's witnesses don't celebrate birthdays. Not even in January.

Liven things up with a cold, flu, or exotic vomiting bug. Even the hiccups would break the monotony. Hiccough is pronounced 'hiccup'.

The Final Countdown

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had planned a parade complete with souvenir programme, a payload of digital fireworks and had even hired a few talking heads to digest the year in fact. Instead, the year is drawing to a close and I don't even have time to cast a casual eye over my first full year of fact-finding. Instead, I've been scrabbling for titbits inside crackers and under the tree, as the festive season finally rolled around. My knees are weak, my eyes are heavy - but I'm on the home straight. Here's the final fact burst of 2008:

Barmy health-conscious kids' TV show Lazy Town is made in Iceland.

23% of Hawaiians are vegetarian.

My new boss doesn't believe in the institution of marriage.

Sugar doesn't make children hyperactive (unless it's mixed with amphetamines - just a disclaimer)

Mert O'Donaghue was the first player to record a 147 break in a competitive snooker game. He is also famous for nothing else.

Breathing from your diaphragm helps you to project your VOICE.

Andy-Scott Lee, who I had previously thought famous only for losing on Pop Idol and being Lisa "Number 23? That's shit!" Scott-Lee's brother, was in forgotten boyband 3SL.

This bizarre selection took me to Christmas Eve, where the facts inevitably got briefly festive:

"All I Want For Christmas Is You" is Mariah Carey's biggest-selling single ever.

Conkers are horse chestnuts, rather than regular chestnuts.

That pretty much wraps up the festive section. Hardly 'A Christmas Carol', was it?

Cheesecake is a term for an attractive woman.

Rose wine is made by peeling the skin from red grapes (and then, y'know, mashing it up and that)

Armadillos (including the Holiday Armadillo) are the only animal other than humans to suffer from leprosy.

Menthe pastille is the same thing as Creme de Menthe (by this point, the drinks cabinet was emptying nicely)

Nestle is based in Croydon (they're welcome to each other).

And so to my final fact of this tumultuous year, which started with Geraint Jones waxing lyrical about time zones and has featured a mixed race man winning a U.S. election, the death of Woolworths, a prank phonecall suffering a ludicrously disproportionate backlash, and of course, the occasional mention of the total economic annihilation of the world as we know it.

The clothes shop Morgan, currently teetering on the brink of administration, is based in France.

See you in 2009.

Four Festive Facts

As my first year of learning draws to a close, Christmas is drawing into view - and I'm experiencing the driest days of the whole experience. If I'm not on ten-hour Christmas lunches, I'm in Woolworths, meandering through the post-apocalyptic chaos in search of cheap tinsel; if I'm not there, I'm wrapping presents with all the panache and dexterity of a panda in boxing gloves. There's barely time for breathing, let alone fact-finding. Perhaps unsurprisingly, most of the nuggets I've found have had a festive feel, just like bloody everything at this time of year. (My worst experience this holiday season has been buying a 'festive' Krispy Kreme doughnut, whose sprinkles were red and green, instead of multi-coloured, and considerably fewer than average. Merry Christmas.)

We start with the festive singalong. Listening to the radio at Christmas feels a bit like being in the Soviet Union, hearing the same dozen broadly enthusiastic songs over and over again. Each of them has a different effect on the listener; Mariah Carey's works at first, but starts to grate before you've bought the turkey - Wizzard works the other way round. Slade is just plain annoying, whilst Wham is probably the most inoffensive. Fairytale of New York is an opinion-splitter (certainly in Knowledge Towers) but was always my family's favourite, particularly the line about "the boys from the NYPD choir... singing Galway Bay". Well, at the risk of breaking my dad's heart, I regret to inform you that there's no such thing as the NYPD choir. They made it up. Also, Dad, I've heard Shane McGowan likes a drink.

On to presents. Perhaps the most famous of all the rubbish gifts is the chunky, ill-fitting sweater. If you should be fortunate to receive one, preferably adorned with snowflakes and/or reindeer, find out if it was made from Merino wool. I'd always thought Merino was a place, possibly in Italy; it is in fact a breed of sheep. Does that make you feel better? I didn't think so.

Next up, it's Christmas past. Everyone knows that pagans held a midwinter festival that resembles Christmas, but something I didn't know before was that the Romans had their own version, the simply titled Saturnalia. Gifts were exchanged and no doubt all sorts of debauchery took place with Frankie Howerd looking on sheepishly. One of the key themes of Saturnalia was that slaves became masters for the festivities, and probably took liberties they would come to deeply regret in the ensuing 12 months. This tradition is still going strong today, when your office boss offers to buy the drinks at the team do, and then pretends they've left their wallet at home, and you all have to split it, which is really a piss-take when they earn 10 grand more than you and the entire bill is £30. Ahem.

And finally, after Christmas is all over (I'm aware this was hardly a comprehensive guide to Christmas, but I can only work with what I've got) you have January, with it's sleet, dark and credit card bills. Fear not, however, for Santa has had a word with the banks, and interest rates have been slashed - even going as low as "between 0 and 0.25%" in America. Which demonstrates that, when you're in a hole as big as they are, you can actually set interest rates at a variable rate. So spend away - it's like free money*

*Quest For Knowledge does not accept responsibility for debts incurred over the festive period. QFK would like to state that low interest rates are in no way like free money.

Quick Quiz

In the last three days I've learnt about where things come from - not babies, which everyone knows comes from birds, when bees try to have sex with them (as is my understanding), but - well, why should I have to spell it out for you? This blog is a two-way street you know. I'll give you the three things, and the three places they call home - and then you can work it out for yourselves, while I have a nicecuppatea.

A. 10% of the world's freshwater.
B. Minder's George Cole.
C. Sour-faced yet consistently accurate Strictly judge, Craig Revel-Horwood.

And the places:

1. Australia
2. Greenland
3. Tooting, South-West London


The answers are as follows:

A-2: The Greenland ice sheet contains 10% of the world's fresh water (i.e. not sea water). The day it melts away and you can walk across Greenland, you'll also be able to swim from London to Paris - its disappearance would raise worldwide sea levels by 7 metres.

B-3: George Cole comes from Tooting, joining other T-Town alumni Darren Bent, Matt Willis, the singer from Then Jericho, and of course my good (if not very famous) self.

C-1: Craig Revel-Horwood grew up in Australia. He gives his time there a 6/10.

Digging For Gold

One thing I have definitely learnt (the rest is becoming a blur) is that I get most of my facts from a variety of places - but not that big a variety. The source of the last fortnight's worth of gold demonstrates this aptly, squashed as it is into one blog entry, as life has unexpectedly and obtrusively called me repeatedly away from my computer - to the extent where I'm typing this up at work between tedious and awkward social engagements. I'm spending so much time having to talk to other people that I'm actually learning things from conversations - of the 13 facts I've picked up, an unprecedented 4 come from real, human conversations. They are:

Hull has it's own internet service provider - Karoo, who sponsor Hull City's home shirts.

Sprouts are sweeter if they were picked after the first frost of winter.

Epistaxis is the medical term for a nosebleed.

Doobies are spliffs made entirely from weed. And paper, obviously.


Returning to more familiar ground, I have purloined a steady four facts from my source of preference, the great global web of unimportant information that is the Internet. The internet is in fact a hive of credible and worthy information if you're prepared to dig deep enough. It will therefore not surprise you to learn that I obtained all of the facts below from either Wikipedia or BBC News.

The Care Bears were created for a range of greetings cards.

Milan and Boca Juniors have won more international club trophies than any other teams.

The first mention of a red carpet being rolled out for a VIP is in the Ancient Greek tale of Agamemnon. The motif was then revived in the early twentieth century.

111 was the original emergency number, but it was changed to 999 as 111 calls can be made accidentally - by telegraph wires knocking together.

When I'm not fact-checking or asleep, you'll usually find me searching desparately for something worth watching on TV. Occasionally (usually during QI) I may even learn something. When all else fails, I turn to the red button, the fat key to a world of trivia. In a nicely symmetrical way, these four facts have all entered my consciousness, in one way or another, via the goggle-box:

Michael McIntyre lives in Muswell Hill (may this fact also serve as a lesson to myself and others to write down all interesting facts you discover, lest you forget them and have to crib a barely notable piece of information from a repeat of Live at the Apollo).

The parliament on the Isle of Man is the oldest in the world.

Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote 'Itsy Witsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini' for Timmy Mallett. O yeah!

'Chocolate leg' is the Dutch expression for a footballer's weaker foot (in my case the right. And the left)

So of the last 13 facts, only 1 has not come from the worlds of cyberspace, television, and talking. I'd love to say I found it carved in an Egyptian cave, or found and decoded an old WW2 code message, but the truth is, it was in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a film too depressing to be watched at any time but which had to be returned to the DVD rental service:

W is the least used letter in the French alphabet.

In English, the least used is Z - with X and J just behind. I will now close this latest entry by attempting to redress this imbalance. Zjxzxjxjxjjjjjzzzzxxjjjxzzzzjjxjzzjxxjzjjjxjzjzjzjzjzzjzjzjzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzjjjjjjjjjjjzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzjjjjjjjjxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.

That ought to do it...

One Thing, Leading To Another

Clement Freud is Sigmund Freud's nephew. Freud (Sigmund, that is) wrote a paper on Paranoia and Obsessive Neuroses. Paranoid by Black Sabbath is so popular in Finland it is requested at gigs no matter who's playing - in the same way 'Freebird' is called out at U.S. concerts. Finland are a nation which enjoys a friendly rivalry with its neighbour, Sweden, primarily driven by people confusing Finnish traditions with Swedish ones (e.g. the sauna). This is a problem also experienced by New Zealanders, who everyone thinks are Australian, despite the 2 nations being thousands of miles apart. Any event involving Australia and New Zealand is known as Trans-Tasman. This derives from the countries' location on either side of the Tasman sea, which like Tasmania is named after explorer Abel Tasman. Enfield in North London (bear with me) is also named after an individual - its name means 'Eana's land'. The first ATM cash dispenser in the world was installed in Enfield. Germany currently has more ATMs than any other country in Europe, but Spain has the most per habitant. Spain also has the best football league in Europe, whatever Sky bloody Sports says. League chiefs are doing their best to put the kibosh on this, however, by forcing all teams to play the 'Big Four' (in a league where the Big Four does change occasionally) in a row. The run of fixtures, nicknamed the Tourmalet after a mountain in the Pyrenees, requires each team to play Real Madrid, Barcelona, Sevilla and Villarreal in a row twice a year. Only Valladolid, a team I have actually seen play in the flesh, have even won a game in their 4-game stint. The game before the Tourmalet might be seen as an hors d'oeuvre - except in Spain it would be called a Picadita, or perhaps more recognisably, tapas. In Hawaii, hors d'oeuvres are known as puu-puu. Hawaii is 2000 miles away from the U.S. mainland, but became a state in 1959, mainly to prevent exploitation of labour by granting Hawaiian citizens full voting rights. Another equally distant colony, Greenland, which lies 2200 miles from Denmark, has recently voted for greater autonomy from its rulers. Greenland is the most sparsely populated territory on Earth, with a population of 57,564 people spread over an area of 2,166,086 square kilometres. That's roughly equivalent to the population of Tooting being given the entirety of Mexico to set up home in. It's pretty roomy up there.

Bohemian Like You

Prague is the most bohemian city in the world. Before e-mails start flooding in from rival toursit centres (I'm sure they will), this is on a technicality. The region of Bohemia makes up the western half of the Czech Republic, and Prague is it's largest city. London, meanwhile, has more Facebook users than any other city on Earth - which surely makes it the least bohemian city in the world. Possibly behind Swindon.

To be fair, there are things less bohemian than Facebook, which does at least encourage social interaction, even if it doesn't involve actual human contact, and demands you to give out your personal details without conditions attached (not cool, man). Tax returns, for instance. Jeremy Clarkson. Owning shares. Nazi Germany. To be fair, I think Nazi Germany is pretty much the pinnacle of anti-bohemianism (although this is perhaps not its greatest crime). To name but one thing, scientists in Nazi Germany developed methadone to control the spread of opium around Europe. Anyone who's seen the inside of an opiate user's flat is aware that it don't get much more bohemian than that (if you can call spartan, grimy and unrelentingly grim bohemian in essence). The prescription of methadone, designed to ease heroin users into a drug-free lifestyle, can instead maintain their existence without the bohemian edge of intravenous drug-taking. For shame. It would never happen in Prague.

Sunday Supplement

<< By this point, Janet was convinced that there was no TV guide in there to begin with


Today being the Lord's day, you'll most likely have followed one of only a few possible paths for a Sunday. You have either (a) attended church, washed the car and built a conservatory; (b) woken at 4pm with your head full of molten lead and staggered to the bathroom, where you have remained ever since; (c) trudged aimlessly around Sainsbury's wondering how you can get out of work tomorrow, or (d) woken up at 10am full of vigour, strolled to the shop to purchase a Sunday paper, returned home for a roast dinner, and promptly fallen asleep at 1pm full of gravy, only a vast diaspora of uninteresting supplements covering your indignity.



By the way, I chose (c), but I've been known to dabble in (b) and (d) as well. Sunday papers are a curious thing - for me, they symbolise the huge promise and intense disappointment that Sunday brings. Collecting the bursting bundle of knowledge from the corner shop is the highlight of the whole Sunday broadsheet experience. By the time you've disassembled the thing, you realise that the sport magazine is entirely about the Madagascan basketball league, the business section appears 3 separate times, and the fucking TV guide is missing. You will also discover that to read the entire tome will take at least 4 years, and to read any articles you can actually understand will take 15 seconds. And so you shuffle the whole sorry mess into a makeshift duvet and kiss another Sunday goodbye.



Anyway, if you haven't had the privilege of a Sunday broadsheet experience today, allow me to oblige, as I convert 11 pieces of information into a sweltering column of news before your very eyes.



In the Politics Section:
Barack Obama is the first president to take over during wartime since World War 2. Turn to Fashion Supplement B, p. 337 to learn how to get his look for just £10,000. Obama has also been given the code name Renegade by security services in America. What's your code name? Have a look at our CIA Code Names book, featuring the code names of every human being alive, free next Sunday.


Cornwall is effectively recognised as an independent nation by the EU. To celebrate, get your free pasty by taking this voucher to any branch of Greggs.



In Sport:
Non-UK nationals are eligible for the Sports Personality of the Year prize, with Irish boxer Barry McGuigan the only non-UK winner to date. Turn to the solar plexus of the supplement to find our Sports Personality pull-out, which will give you the tantalising yet doomed hope that Lewis Hamilton might not win.


F.C. Sevilla have the largest network of football scouts in the world. In second place - the makers of Football Manager. This fact is revealed in a piece on Football Manager in which the writer will pretend to be above ever playing it, yet repeatedly betray an unhealthy obsession with the game.


Finally, Barack Obama supports West Ham. Check out our Obama wallchart, which contains all 9,000 articles about the president-elect from today's paper in a handy 8-yard wallchart. It's Obamalicious.



In Fear:
Germany is the world's largest exporter - but is now in recession. As we soon will be. And then you will have nothing, my friend, and will be forced to root through the bins behind Asda for your fix of Sunday news, plus a torn, sauce-stained pictorial selection of extortionate furniture you could barely afford in the first place.





In Cocktails (that weird section that seems oddly specific and is alternated on a weekly basis):
Martini is a type of glass as well as a drink; Margaritas contain demi-sec and tequila. Fancy mixing your own cocktails to jazz up your suffocating middle-class existence? Well work it out yourself. We can't help you to do absolutely everything.



In Things You Are Ashamed Not To Have Known:
There is a London Bridge in London - next to London Bridge tube station. Want to know where to get the best bagels if you're in the area? Pick up your free Bagels supplement, which replaces Cocktails, next week.



On The Cover of the Magazine: Do Nosebleeds Give You Psychic Abilities?
The Actual Gist of the Article: Nosebleeds are used in science-fiction to indicate that a person has psychic abilities.





Please recycle this article, once you've scraped it off your saliva-coated chin, having been woken by the Antiques Roadshow music.

It's All About... You Know, That Guy

<< "Who's the Prez?"

Hello and welcome to the History of the World, Part 2. A man of mixed race with the name Barack Hussein Obama will take the keys to the White House from George W. Bush in two months' time. I have for you today a bevy from facts from a time long ago, that scarcely seem relevant now - except that they can all be linked back to yesterday's seismic events across the Pond, in highly tenuous fashion in some instances, but let's be honest, today it's all about Obama. I, like many around the world, never seriously believed that America would elect a non-white candidate to the Oval Office until last night. I'm still in shock and thoroughly delighted with the removal of the Republicans and the installation of a guy without privilege who seems genuinely interested in restoring the fortunes of his citizens.

I am slightly concerned about a possible Tony Blair factor, in that voters have found the candidate to fit the change they desired like the UK did in 1997. We thought we were getting a fresh-faced, motivated, left-leaning PM - instead we got the most amoral, despicable person imaginable. One thing that Blair was, of course, that Obama is not, is a white guy from a well-off background. Whatever lies ahead, and President Obama faces some huge challenges in making his presidency the success we're all hoping for, it's hard not to get misty-eyed listening to elderly African-Americans recall not being allowed to use drinking water fountains, and sitting at the back of buses just 40 years ago, now seeing an African-American become their President. Even Sarah Palin may have felt the odd sensation of human empathy coursing through her last night. Anyway, here's some facts from the before time, the long long ago, that are really all about the new Prez who will save us all by not being George W. Bush...

Manchester City are the seventh most successful football club in England. Both City and Obama, though ostensibly not at all similar in any way, have become contenders through a windfall of cash. Barack earned his by asking millions of hard-working voters to dig out $5 a time to build a better America. City just went cap in hand to an oil trillionaire. Bet Obama wishes he'd thought of that.

Graham Fellows, the man behind comic character John Shuttleworth, is the brother-in-law of Ainsley Harriott. Ainsley recently found out in an episode of Who Do You Think You Are? (which really should have been renamed What Are You Like? on this occasion) that he is descended from slaves and slave-owners, as is Michelle Obama - a fact revealed during one of her husband's key speeches in turning the election in his favour. Going well so far.

The sun comprises 99% of the mass in our solar system. In other unfeasibly high percentage based news, 97% of African-Americans who voted in the U.S. election voted for Obama. Obama also pulled in young and female voters, whilst older males were for some reason drawn to calcified Action Man, John McCain.

The 'devilhorns' hand gesture means 'I love you' in American sign language. Just don't tell Metallica, for god's sake. Barack and Michelle preferred an affectionate and admirable contemporary 'fist bump' gesture, which Fox News, apropos of absolutely fuck-all, tried to insinuate was a 'terrorist fist jab'. The right-wing media somehow managed to insult the intelligence of working-class Americans during this election with all manner of craziness like this - in the end, they went so far they forgot to remember even basic policies, like rich people get even more money and more guns and things like that.

The Tussauds Group own Thorpe Park, Alton Towers and Chessington World of Adventures. They do also own the disappointing central London attraction that is Madame Tussaud's, which features waxworks of the rich and famous, including from today, Barack Obama. Models of both candidates were made, and John McCain will now be melted down (the model not the man) possibly still humming "Bomb Iran" as the ovens are fired up. Why don't they just buy the guy himself? He's not the most flexible of men, and it's not like he's gonna be busy.

I guess the most amazing thing about Obama's rise to power is that he started from nothing, and was a massive outsider just a year ago. He has clearly always been ambitious, having already been a lawyer and senator, and also published two memoirs, before his bid for the presidency. The fact remains, however, that he is an inexperienced politician from a demographic not exactly used to strutting down the halls of power, and he has been elected on nothing more than his own charisma, idealism and incredible skill at uniting the electorate. I cannot recall a president being elected in any nation who symbolised such an incredible sea-change in the hearts and minds of their citizens - the fact that it has happened in America just makes it all the more incredible.

It seems that, where others have used family connections and personal wealth to gain power, Obama really has achieved the American Dream. Maybe he reached out to the electorate in a way no others have considered - the guy wrote on his blog in between accepting McCain's concession and walking out to an adoring crowd in Chicago. Maybe, as The Onion suggests, there is a simpler explanation for America finally electing an African-American president. Or perhaps the $900 bill he ran up with his local Domino's Pizza branch has helped cement his acceptance amongst the American people. Whatever the reasons, politics will surely never be the same again. Here's today's fact: Barack Obama is the 44th president of the U.S.A. I literally can't believe it, and for the first time since I was about 10 years old, I actually wish I was American.

Money's Too Tight To Mention

Whilst enjoying a cut-price sub at lunchtime, I heard mention over the radio that Gordon Brown is effectively soliciting the world's better-off nations to pour more money into the IMF, to help out countries affected by the credit crunch. It's the international equivalent of a bleary-eyed student gadabout calling their dad at 7am for a fat sympathy loan, having blown all their dough on, I dunno, joss sticks and cans of 20/20. The most remarkable thing, of course, is that the West is asking the rest of the world to help them out. China and the oil-rich Gulf states are richer than us. A lot richer. This surely marks the beginnings of a new economic age for the world we live in.

But wait a minute - who cares about that nonsense? After all, it's only been dominating the news for 18 months. Who can even think about the turning of the global economy when a quite funny comedian and a quite unfunny chat show host have been insulting Manuel's granddaughter on a late-night radio show? The monumental storm in a tiny, plastic play teacup that Brand and Ross have created is like complaining to your landlord about an ants' nest whilst an elephant lurks furtively in the middle of your lounge. I admit that I wouldn't particularly relish finding the 4 messages in question on my voicemail, but the fact that Sachs' sainted granddaughter currently earns a living in a performance ensemble known as the Satanic Sluts might suggest that allegations of sexual activity may not have been the libellous sucker punch we're led to believe.

If we're all trying to ignore the clouds of doom circling just behind a certain prank-calling fop, what chance of the little people affected by the credit crunch getting their turn in the spotlight? Well, the BBC are trying to address this imbalance by listing a few quirky professions either benefitting or suffering as a result. One profession I'm particularly pleased to see doing well is the humble art of cobbling. This is because on Sunday, I saw our local cobbler shutting up shop at midday and wondered to myself how on Earth a South London shoemaker could weather the financial storm when airlines and multinational banks are going under. Thankfully, people are now getting old shoes repaired rather than buying new ones, so I can stop considering taking my weather-beaten old Converse shoes in for a patch-up.

As the West looks to the East for guidance and the odd sly tenner, one idea being put forward is that Islamic financial systems could be used as a model to rebuild Western economies. While Russell Brand at least will be delighted, as it might mean he finally gets a break from being on the cover of the Daily Mail, it does make financial sense - many Islamic financial systems forbid the paying and charging of interest, as well as speculation (that's when some cocky City boy tosses your savings around the stock market like a 3-year-old playing Monopoly). It could be the way forward, and is something that a lot of financial folk must be considering, while Andrew Sachs considers changing his phone number, and seeing if his granddaughter needs financial assistance to facilitate a change of lifestyle.

Across The Pond

<< U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!

With the U.S. elections fast approaching (well, not that fast - can you believe they've only been in an official race for about 6 weeks?) and the NFL entertaining 83,000 slightly confused and fidgety punters at Wembley Stadium yesterday, this post looks at our neighbours over the water, with a series of half-truths that will shed little to no light on their situation.

For starters, he may be the owner of a traditional American occupation, but bad actor Keanu Reeves isn't American - he grew up in Toronto. This may finally explain his jerky movements and wooden demeanour after all these years. From non-Americans pretending to be American, to Americans pretending to be French - McDonalds, an institution so American the golden arches should be on the flag (incidentally - golden arches? It's a yellow M, surely) is the fat, greasy face behind extortionate cosmopolitan eaterie Pret A Manger. The fact that Pret A Manger is French for 'ready to eat' was a bit of a giveaway really.

On Friday I consulted Empire's 500 Greatest Movies, a list likely to infuriate and inspire in equal measure (The Matrix above Vertigo? Fuck off) and discovered that in the U.S. Army, toilet paper is known as John Wayne paper - because it's 'rough, tough and don't take shit off nobody'. Say what you like about the American Empire's amoral foot soldiers - they know how to craft an amusing film reference. These witty bastards have been pivotal in U.S. elections in previous years, namely the great election swindle of 2000.

It feels a bit embarrassing to start braying about the rigged election like a shop steward in the corner of a dusty pub, but come on, it was, and nothing was ever done about it, which is just insane. I guess it's easy for me to say - like Keanu, I'm non-American, so I can't be accused of being un-American. It seems unlikely that their postal votes will count for much this time, as forecasts predict a clear victory for Obama. All I'm saying is with the neo-cons around, it had better be beyond any doubt. One swing state where Obama is focussing his efforts is Ohio, the 11th most-populated state in America, and a place described as a microcosm of the country as a whole. This is apparently due to its mix of rural and urban, blue-collar and white-collar, and a dose of Springsteen-soundtracked 80s prosperity slowly stagnating as the 21st century dawned. Another way of looking at this is that, hell, if Barack can win here, he can win the whole election.

That fifth fact came from today's Evening Standard, so I'm on fresh, and slightly, shaky ground in that I'm taking my learning out of chronological order. The two things I learnt this weekend sadly didn't fit the theme, so they're left out in the cold, like Keanu Reeves at a 4th July street party. Firstly, stars make noise - clearly, not a noise that is especially audible to you or I, but it's been picked up on, y'know, that thing. Secondly, you have sinuses under your eyes as well as above them. Nothing to do with America - except of course, that the Stars and Sinuses was the original name for the U.S. flag. I know it wasn't really - but I'm claiming it. I own this blog - what are you gonna do about it. It's the American way.

Encore

<< Elvis Presley & Sarah Silverman: One of these performers can get away with not doing a proper encore

At the weekend, I went to see Sarah Silverman play at the Apollo in Hammersmith. If you've picked up the review section of a broadsheet in the last couple of days (nobody, then) you'll know that it didn't go all that well. There has been a bit of journalistic licence applied to the night's events, so here's how it seemed from my rather sweaty seat at the top of the arena. First of all, the build-up was a shambles - two men who I believe earn livings as comedians, namely Matt Berry & Rich Fulcher, came on to announce that Silverman's support act couldn't make it, but had recorded a video message. Who cares? He's the support act. I say, there's two comedians on the stage, there's your support act. Instead they just sauntered off, we saw a weird, disconnected webcam video diary on two tiny screens, and then a collection of clips from Sarah Silverman's U.S. TV show. It's tacky enough to show bits from your sitcom at a live show, but why didn't they just show a whole episode? The £45 entrance fee was starting to play on my mind at this point.

Sarah herself then came on, and contrary to some press opinions, was pretty funny throughout her set, and had the crowd on her side. She did seem a bit apprehensive, however, and made an odd remark about not "crashing and burning" just before her set came to a close. Little did we know that there was still time. She left the stage after 45 minutes, and the audience response was not, at least from where I was sat, completely aggressive - not yet, anyway. A lot of people starting heading for the exits - I didn't really think anything of it as I'd assumed there would be an encore. I had forgotten the golden rule that separates music from comedy - bands play encores even when no-one cares, and comedians don't, even when it's painfully obvious that it'll be expected. She really wasn't planning on coming back out, and in the end, had to shuffle back on in post-show slippers, blinking at the audience, illuminated by the house lights. At least, we thought, she came back out. That's better than just walking off and not coming back. How wrong we were.

To be honest, she seemed a bit pissed off that the audience expected more for forty-odd quid, launching into an awkward Q & A session which featured hecklers, and Silverman responding to them, by repeating what they said, but in a silly voice. Oh dear. I had witnessed this kind of encore meltdown before, at Portsmouth Guildhall last year, when Russell Brand, having been consistently hysterical for a full 90 minutes, decided to unmask his creepy alter-ego in the denouement, propositioning 18-year-old girls, his libido nearly bursting from within himself as the rest of us reached for our coats and made noises about having an early start the next day. The final disaster was a YouTube moron hollering for a song she performed on her TV show, then having to tell her all the words, with the audience laughing at him like he came up with it himself. Perhaps if she had remembered her own song, this whole embarrassing scenario would never have occurred - and perhaps, with maybe 15 minutes of new material, she could have delivered a brief but entertaining show, rather than a performance so truncated that the audience assumed an encore. In total, the whole thing was an hour, but with a final quarter I would have paid £45 not to have seen.

Silverman's slightly arrogant, yet ultimately unfortunate, mistake was to misjudge the audience she was playing to. A 45-minute set at a small comedy club would've been fine - but this was a 3000-seater venue. The whole confusion that exists around the encore issue doesn't help, either - there's been many a time I've looked at my watch as a band have 'finished' playing and calculated that the set is too short without an encore, but will be too long with it. Then there's the interminable 'newie', sandwiched in at the start of the encore, always slow, always sketchy, forced upon paying punters as they wait, knees aching, to hear the one song they came for. Playing your best song in the encore is a moot point too - Radiohead finishing with Paranoid Android at their gig this year was exactly what I had hoped for, but didn't fit at all with the mood of the rest of the performance - from being completely, obtusely Radiohead, it was like they were attempting to transform into Bruce Springsteen belting out 'Born To Run'. On the other hand, I remember seeing Pulp knock out 'Common People' a third of the way through their festival set, and being wracked by confusion - did the band hate the song, or was it not their 'best' song (they played 'Babies' to close the set)? Either way, I felt my love of the song slightly diminished. I have only ever seen one act, musical or otherwise, not play an encore at all. It was The Strokes, and they claimed it was because false encores are 'bullshit'. While this stance is admirable, their 11-song back catalogue probably had more to do with it.

I think the rules around encores need to be changed. The tradition began because an audience requested more material from a performer, so why not go back to this? Bands shouldn't save their best two songs for the encore, assuming that the audience would rather watch them than catch the end of Match of the Day - but all performers should have something in their locker for audiences that want something extra. Sarah Silverman really ought to have been able to give a crowd that she had impressed to the extent that they asked her back something better than fart noises and disintegrating songs. She could have done 'Born To Run', for god's sake. Or, if nothing else, she could have brought out a big suitcase stuffed with cash, and let everyone have half their money back. Of course, the other option, one which would have at least spared Silverman the derision of angry punters, would be to abolish the art of encores altogether. One performer is noted for never playing an encore, and as performers go, he was pretty successful - for he was the King himself, Elvis Presley. Elvis' manager encouraged him to never play an encore, to keep the crowd wantin' more (there were no Gs on the ends of words in the rock 'n' roll era). Hence the phrase 'Elvis has left the building' - this was announced over the PA to inform the crowd that the King was solid gone, paving the way for whichever poor sap was on next, clumsily trying to remember the chords to 'Jailhouse Rock' in the dressing room.

Anyway, if you started reading this post while Sarah Silverman took to the stage on Sunday night (impossible, but just go with it) she'd already be on the plane back to America by now, so that's all from me, thanks, you've been a terrific audience.

(Hurries back onto stage as the crowd shrug and head for the exits)

OK, I've got one more for you crazy kids - the phrase 'whistlestop tour' comes from the U.S., where politicians, most famously Harry S. Truman, would board a train and deliver a speech from their carriage at several rural stations, without getting off the train. It was seen as the most effective way to reach key voters quickly, and it won Truman the 1948 election when he had looked to be well out of the running. Please, nobody let John McCain get on that Greyhound bus, we're so close now. Yeah, that's right, a bit of politics thrown into the mix. Edgy material now i've won the crowd over. To close, I'd like to point out that Sarah Silverman may have screwed up her encore, but she's a master of the whistlestop tour - her entire European tour lasted just 45 minutes. Ifangyoo. I've been questing for knowledge, you've been fantastic, cheers, goodnight.

(Boos ring out across the venue - security step in to restrain feral punters)

Do My Job For Me

OK, here's how it is: It's been a week since I posted anything, but I've got sniffles and I need to sit through Talladega Nights so I can send it back to the rental people. So here's five facts, which I'll invite you, the readers, to arrange into a barely coherent, fleetingly amusing article. The best entry wins nothing. For there will be no entries.

Wednesday: Yosemite National Park is only 125 miles from San Francisco.

Thursday: Dustin Hoffman, Gene Hackman and Robert Duvall all shared an apartment whilst trying to break Hollywood.

Friday: Spaniels are prone to hallitosis.

Saturday: Those executive toys where there are five silver balls, and you clack the end one onto the next one and the one at the other end moves, is known as Newton's Cradle.

Sunday: The bridge in Battersea that is permanently lit up like a Christmas tree is Prince Albert Bridge, and not Battersea bridge.

Over to you - I'm going back under the duvet.

Light & Shade

<< Chris 'The Miss' Iwelumo was meditating on the pillaging of Mother Earth at precisely the wrong moment

Up and down. Yin and Yang. Little and Large. This crazy world is all about opposites; polarised forces working against each other to create harmony from chaos. As Darwin put it - two steps forward, three steps back; we come together 'cos opposites attract. The world feels like a pretty shady place at the minute, and the latest crop of facts aren't going to help matters, so I've taken into my own hands to shine a little light onto each day's findings.

We begin on Saturday, when I learnt that deforestation is costing the Earth more financially than the banking crisis - that's not to mention the not exactly inconsiderable environmental consequences. On the light/shade spectrum, this news is darker than Clapham Common at 2 in the morning. I don't even want to think about it - so I won't. The nation's papers certainly aren't - this story has earnt barely a whisper, whilst the misery of Chris Iwelumo is lighting up back pages everywhere. Admittedly, Chris' tale isn't funny for everyone (namely himself) - a 30-year-old lower league football, given a once-in-a-lifetime chance to represent his country in a crucial game, our Chris came on for Scotland against Norway in the second half, and just minutes later, found himself with an open goal to aim at. This is what happened next. I'd like to thank Chris, who has probably scored the goal 3000 times in his mind since, for making me forget about the forests, if only for a few hilarious seconds. (NB In the video, have a look at the linesman on the far side, who runs off having assumed the ball had gone in. It hadn't. Also, look at the picture above. Just look at the poor guy's face).

Moving on, Sunday brought the revelation that Nelson Mandela, one of the world's greatest living politicians, spent his sentence on Robben Island being forced to wear shoes that were too small for him. Thankfully, this news was packaged in a Peter Kay medley with segues so clunky they eased the pain of the great man's suffering to the extent that I was singing "Free Nelson Mandela-ela-ela, eh, eh" for several hours afterwards.

Before it was ingeniously connected to Rihanna's summertime smash, "Free Nelson Mandela" by the Specials was a protest song against, well, I think you can guess. On a Specials compilation my Dad had, it had been changed to "Nelson Mandela" because he had already been freed, which always seemed a touch pedantic to me. The protest song is part of a fine British tradition of free speech and nonviolent action in the support of a better, fairer world. Thank goodness that such principles hold firm, even in such certain times. Except, well, I think you see where I'm going with this.

The right to demonstrate has been taken for granted in the UK for several years, but is now under serious threat. It's already a bit of an issue demonstrating within a mile of Parliament Square (presumably as this would be a fairly effective place to protest), and now even regular events such as the Critical Mass bike ride in La'hn Tahn are being clamped down upon. Critical Mass has been going for 15 years without any problems, but participants have recently been subject to a much-increased police presence, in an attempt to force them to pre-arrange demonstration routes and times. The key loophole for the rebel riders is that as the event takes place regularly, it cannot technically be called a demonstration. That may well change in the near future, unfortunately, but for now if you've got a bone to pick with The Man, you'd better pick it on a weekly basis. London is a city with its mardy face on at the minute, and restrictions on demonstrations are hardly going to help it recapture its freewheeling, bohemian vibe. One brave citizen is doing her bit, however, spreading a few rays of light amongst the smoggy gloaming. Amy Winehouse has been holding 'Coke Candy' parties at her house, where she gives out cocaine and candyfloss to residents. If there's a more tangible example of light and shade than being given free cocaine and candyfloss, I've yet to hear about it.

And so to today. Following a classic good-and-evil England performance on Saturday, Fabio's boys have flown out to Belarus for a game that will no doubt be described as a 'potential banana skin' by some arse at some point. It either is or isn't a banana skin - the potential is whether England fall upon their arses as a result of its presence. A bit metaphorical for football punditry, but there you go. Belarus has been described as Europe's last dictatorship, a troubled outpost where tyranny reigns supreme. It is also the only nation in Europe to still uphold the death penalty (I bet their left backs are a bit more careful with backpasses than ours). As I've reiterated ad nauseum throughout this post, it is all about light and shade today, so I don't want to give the Belarussian nation a wholly negative write-up. I will therefore include that the manager of the national side has assured the world's press that Minsk, epicentre of the tyrannical executive superstate, is very clean. Hurrah!