The Legend of Mike and the Colour Bans

Peter McCarthy was a formidable man -
he'd fire you for breaking his own colour bans,
"No-one who works here should wear red on a Tuesday!"
Oh Peter just liked it when he got his own way!

Pete labelled his lunch in the office fridge
when he was the one who desired to pinch
the most exciting contents of tupperware boxes
claiming the chicken dinner had been stolen by foxes.

His wrath was unrivalled when he was challenged,
all formal complaints just bounced off the 'panel'.
No-one believed that this panel existed
(and any that did, thought it was his Mrs).


His employees not only despised grumpy old Pete
but they plotted rebellion against him whilst he was asleep
- he took a nap at noon behind closed doors
but his workers could tell by the sound of his snores.

One particular Friday, whilst Pete was asleep,
the ringleader, Mike, shouted, "Oh, havoc we'll wreak!
Today is the day that we claim back our freedom
and protect all our lunches; ham sandwiches, edam."

"So what's the plan?" the caretaker wondered aloud.
"Oh it's such a stroke of genius, that Pete himself would be proud!
We all know how much that he detests red
so we'll dress him whilst he sleeps, from his toes to his head.

We'll get red tights, and red shoes, red shorts, a red t-shirt too
and when old Pete wakes he won't know what to do!"
Macy, the manager, scoffed at the thought,
"He's going to wake up whilst we dress him, of course!"

"We just need him to drift into the deepest of sleeps."
Mused Sharon the cleaner as she began to sweep
"But how on earth can we guarantee that?"
Macy's hand on the desk making an impatient tap.

"We all know why Pete takes his nap at noon."
Mike commanded the attention of the whole room,
"The heavier the lunch, the deeper the sleep -
after last year's Christmas lunch he slept for a week."

Although Macy rolled her eyes at Mike's exaggeration
she knew he was right, and he'd got her attention,
"Well what kind of meal do you propose?
You're expecting me to cook a roast I suppose?"

"I wouldn't presume anything quite so sexist."
Mike replied, suppresing all desires to suggest this.
A small voice piped up "I don't mind cooking a roast."
the owner of which was the least likely of folks...

...a timid young guy, who went by the name 'Martin'
"...if you'd like me to, I mean..." his lack of confidence starting.
"Well are you any good?" Mike asked honestly.
"Martin used to be a chef!" Macy shrieked obviously.

"That's settled then," Mike nodded his approval,
"Stage 1 of the plan is Pete's authority removal.
Be sure to raid all your wardrobes at home
for red items we'll use on a short term loan."

Next Tuesday arrived and the atmosphere was electric
no-one could concentrate, it was bordering pathetic.
At midday Pete walked from his office to the fridge
everyone held their breath, not moving an inch.

A satisfied sigh of relief, the office exhaled together,
as Pete turned from the fridge, his hand holding the container
that everyone knew housed the mighty roast pork
that Martin had cooked just the evening before.

"What are you staring at?" Barked a prickly Peter
Everyone pretended to type on their computer.
And so Pete walked back into his room
not suspecting a thing about what he was to consume.

All that was left to do was to wait for the snores
Mike and Macy's ears to Pete's office door.
Mike gave the thumbs up to the rest of the office
and quietly they sneaked in with the stash from their closets.

Inside Pete's office, Mike laid out the clothes
he had managed to bring from his wardrobe at home.
Whilst others spread their offerings out on the floor,
there were so many choices for them to explore!

Whispered arguments broke out over the incriminating outfit;
should it be a glitzy dress or something more classic?
Sharon fought her corner for the cute mini-dress number
But she was out-voted by all but Pete in his slumber.

And so it was decided, the votes had been cast
the outfit for Pete had been chosen at last,
they squeezed and pushed and zipped him into the red,
with Pete sleeping so heavily since he'd been fed.

Off back to work, the workers sneaked out
wondering if this plan could ever work out
and, hearts beating fast, they went back to their desks
trying to keep their wits in check.

It was half past one before Peter woke;
everyone heard as his last snore broke
into cries of, "WHAT THE- HOW DID- OH HELL!
I LOOK LIKE THE BRANDING FOR RAMADA HOTELS!"

Mike exchanged looks with his colleagues -
Pete would guess who had this plan up their sleeves -
of course this one had 'Mike' written all over it
(and so did the label in the back of the outfit).

Peter barged out of his office and into the next room,
his face the same colour red that his attire had assumed,
he was dressed in a red beanie, and a skin tight tunic
Mike's football shorts, and Macy's red tights from Munich.

"Is something the matter?" Mike asked innocently.
"You insolent little brat: you did this to me!"
"I can't think what you're talking about." Mike calmly replied
knowing full well the extent of his lie.

"Mr McCarthy, Sir, I don't mean to be rude."
Macy began, in ear shot of the whole room,
"But isn't your rule that on a Tuesday
if you're wearing red then it's your very own Doomsday?"

Peter paled, he looked decidely ashen,
"Well, I can't imagine I'd have such rules on fashion"
"You fired Dom Rogers when he wore that red tie!"
Martin insisted, his moment to shine.

"How dare you suggest I practice unfair dismissal!"
Peter fired his protest out like a missile
"He's got a point." Mike suddenly agreed,
"He must like red - he's dressed head to toe, can't you see?"

"Don't you get funny with me!"
Pete was not a happy bunny,
"You know I hate red, it's my one and only rule."
"Oh, well I guess you really are a fool...

You either have to leave your job
or accept you need to shut your gob."
Mike had a smug grin on his face
yet knew he'd lost all chance of that raise.

Pete opened his mouth, then closed it again,
he screwed up his eyes and counted to ten,
then eventualy he let out a sigh,
"Well, then, I guess it's goodbye!"

Flinging his red beanie to the floor,
Pete picked up his briefcase and marched out the door.
Too stubborn to backtrack from his self-imposed rule,
Pete had bitten off more than he could chew.

The cheers reverberated around the office,
they'd won, they'd done it, they'd outdone their promise.
With claps on his back, and many high-fives
Mike had never felt quite so alive.

It was a few weeks before the new boss arrived,
out-sourced from a top firm in Shanghai.
He greeted his new colleagues with a simple bow,
and a very polite, "Nice to meet you now."

Feeling like the cat that had got the cream,
Mike wondered if this was all just a dream.
But when he was called in to see the new boss
he was quite concerned to see that he looked rather cross.

"I heard that you were after a raise,
well let me tell you, there'll be no such praise,
I have only one rule, and it goes like this:
if you want to go places, there'll be asses to kiss.

...No, wait, let me make that two rules,
the second is to get rid of insolent fools:
anyone wearing anything other than black
will find himself without a job and out on his back."

Mike opened his mouth to voice a protest,
then realised the colour of his sweater vest.
But Mike was a rebel, and would always resist,
so with a grin he said, "I will never submit."

So that was how our dear hero Mike,
packed up his desk and left on his bike,
but he never regretted overthrowing the dominion
of Peter McCarthy, and his colour opinions.

He only hoped that Martin would rise,
just as Mike had after his predecessor's demise,
because once this new boss had got the, well-deserved, can
there would be no more colours left to ban!

7 reasons why the Internet is just a series of lists now

Anyone else noticed that sometime over the last year there has been a change in the way general gossip, and 'fun facts' are being communicated via the web?  This kind of information on the Internet is now almost always presented as a list.

Why oh why?  Who decided that?  I don't remember the news item, "Good evening and welcome to the 10 o'clock news, just in - the Council for Actualising Midly Amusing Information Online (CAMAIO) holds groundbreaking meeting that decides the format of amusing Internet articles will now be reduced to a series of lists."

To ironically explain my incredulity and disbelief whilst also explaining what I believe are the causes of all this, I have created the below list:-

1) I blame Twitter.  I love Twitter, sincerely I do.  Not only is it a forum for multiple postings (I like posting more than once a day) but it's the kind of world where you can chat to your favourite popstars, find out what type of jam Gok Wan prefers, and share jokes in the nicely succinct medium of a 140 character tweet.  But, the 140 character tweet is also the very problem.  We're so used to seeing information broken down into short bursts, spat out at 30 minute or less intervals, that now it's assumed our attention span is only capable of dealing with itemised information, chunked down into smaller sizes, like Jamie Oliver's methodology for making posh meatballs. (I dunno, I watched a cooking show with my Grandma once...)

2) We love lists!  Organising our thoughts, ideas and other such bits and bobs into lists is not a new idea.  Us human folk don't like reinventing the wheel much.  We ran out of pictures to use as memes, so now we've decided the only way forward is to write lists.  Because, you know, lists never get old.

3) Advertising.  Know those sites that put each item on a list on a separate page? So annoying, right?
And then when you use your iPhone you almost always accidentally hit the advert on the side with your finger when you try to press the 'Next' arrow shaped button, hiding amongst a forrest of further arrows, which you hope will take you to the next item on the list.  Whether you hit the advert with your finger by accident, or hit the wrong arrow, you somehow manage to get redirected to the site: MEET HOT SINGLE DINNER LADIES or something like this.

4) Peanut butter.

Or, actually, rogue items on a list.  It's supposed to be funny I think.  It's just a bit nonsensical really.

5) You're doing it now aren't you?

Also known as 'You're smiling because you just got fooled by item number 4'.  Again, I think it's what's passing for comedy.  It used to be really funny in fact.  But when it was hilarious I also still had a MySpace account, had a Lycos email address and had never had the misfortune of discovering what I now like to term 'list abuse'.

6) It's meant to be cool.

I have quite a bit of a problem with this though.  It means that now, something which would be funny in a non-list format, is automatically forced into a list, even when it doesn't quite fit.  It's a bit like trying to fit an extra syllable into a line of song.  It just really doesn't work.  It's all, "3 reasons why salad doesn't go with cupcakes".  Err - what do you mean this is an article with 1 screenshot of an autocorrect fail?  That's not what I bought into!

(For some reason I seem to think someone might be able to text their friend "I just bought cupcakes for my salad" where 'salad' is just an autocorrect.  That's probably not even possible, right?)

7) Buzzfeed.  And for all I have issues with lists at times, there are some pretty amazing things on Buzzfeed.  There are also some pretty horrific things on Buzzfeed, and so sometimes, I wish it hadn't been invented.  But really, it's probably the reason everything is just lists now. Yeah.

If you liked my list, you can read another of my witty creations below - enjoy!

The Ballad of the Uninhibited Solo Street Dancer

One elbow, angled acutely
stabbing thin air rather brutally
swish of the hips in the opposite direction
twisted up face, gurning perfection
the bigger the shape
the faster the pace
the more violent the move
the sillier the face
the gaping mouths of the captivated crowd
as the street is my stage and the music so loud.

One might assume it's a form of disease
as I ignore the protests, the begs and the pleads
but as soon as the drum taps out that broken beat
I'm bound by the music to jump to my feet.

I try to explain but it's just no use
the music is reason, no other excuse
as I pirouette from each door step to kerb
body popping and twirling with verve.

I leap frog the postman on his morning round
ignoring the clatter of his bike to the ground
and twist my way to the zebra crossing;
cars screech to a halt whilst the lights are flashing.

I moonwalk a little as onward I go
and grab the lollipop man in a hurried tango.
He can't help but look aggrieved
as I clamp his crossing stick between my teeth

(I assure you that's no innuendo).
And the music comes to its final crescendo
I can only assume backing dancers have appeared
but as I whip around, it's just as I feared:

I'm going alone, bystanders still look aghast
as I fall to my knees in the middle of the path
And twist and turn like Torvil or Dean
at the start of bolero, and I'm an ice queen

As the final notes blast in my ears
I expect to see claps or maybe hear cheers
but then realisation washes over me,
with jazz hands still extended  in front of my knees,

the music that forced this impromptu jive
was blaring from speakers I'd long left inside,
and what others witnessed had polluted their vision
for I'd danced to no music, there was nothing to listen.

I gulped as I warily got to my feet,
how stupid I'd been to dance in the street!
As I sorted my hair, and dusted myself down
I slowly walked, composed, through the gathered crowd.
Then finally silence broken by the sound
of a single clap, unbelieveably loud...

I searched for the source of this admiration
(or perhaps it was mere shock or indignation?)
but found this a task of great difficulty
as the claps of others joined to applaud me!
And finally whoops, and at long last cheers
screamed warmly at me as I wiped away tears.

It was then that I realised I need no permission
to just let go and lose my inhibitions
in the street,
at the door,
or just in my own home,
in Durham,
or Glasgow
or even in Rome.

If dancing is what puts a smile on my face
then I'll keep moving,
keep bopping,
keep pulling these shapes!

Bring on the Crazy!

Finishing a book is a lot like waking from a very deep sleep and realising that the world isn't quite what it was when you first went down for those forty winks.  The worst part is that you know that the book really isn't finished at all.  In fact, it's just the bare bones of what it will be after the next few weeks of extensive editing.

Despite this, you still have to adjust to living in the 'real world' again.  And I'm not sure it's going to be an easy adjustment.  I mean, for starters, yesterday I told a guy I barely know that he was the spitting image of one of my main characters.  I think he was a bit taken aback.  Couple this with the fact that I am now having major withdrawal symptoms from no longer writing witty dialogue exchanges between a delusional, naive young professional and her sarcastic, over bearing, American best friend.  What's a writer to do?

I guess the answer to that one would be to continue writing.  And so that's exactly what I'm doing.  Because, the thing is, if I don't focus all my creative energies on writing, then some of the crazy is going to spill into my everyday life.  Yeah, you think you've got it bad now, listening to me spout out any old nonsense that comes into my brain - well, you wouldn't be particularly impressed with the Franks that isn't writing.

I mean, yesterday I was asked what I was doing and the answer was 'I'm just thinking about gammon'.  To be honest with you, until yesterday, I thought thinking about gammon was pretty normal.  But I have been informed otherwise.  So, you know, if you think that's weird, that's just the tip of the meaty iceberg.  I've got lots more where that came from. 

So basically, what I've learnt is that it's best for the nation as a whole that I get stuck back into my writing.  Whilst there's still lots of work to be done on the first draft of my latest writing creation, I'm never going to be able to edit it whilst completely ignoring all these new ideas in my head.  No, I say bring on the ideas!  Bring on the weird and wonderful and bring on the inspiration... Moreover, bring on the crazy!

And if anyone has beef with that, then you ought to put some mustard on it ;)

In defence of Facey B and other social media...

I need a filter.  Not for my coffee machine, or for my Kenwood water jug, but for my mouth.  The problem is, sometimes I say stupid things.  And in no way do I imagine that this doesn't happen to all of us at some time or another, but I mean, it seems to happen to me more often than not! If I took a second or two to just think about what I am going to say, and what it actually sounds like to others then I wouldn't end up asking people questions which sound ridiculously inappropriate, telling people about bananas or accidentally asking people out when I'm just trying to make conversation.  Turns out, conversation is a mine field.  I need as much help as I can get.

Recently, there has been a video doing the rounds on the Internet where a guy is portrayed as having a pretty rubbishy life, but managing, via Facebook, to make it look like he's having the most amazing time ever.  In all fairness, I think we're all guilty of sugar coating our lives for the purposes of social media but I have a bit of a critique for this video (And let's be real here, it's totally using reductio ad absurdum since I question how many people actually fake these kinda things for Facebook. Watch the video here)

Firstly, not airing your dirty laundry in public is a common practice in 'real' social situations. This doesn't mean that you can't admit when things aren't going to plan, or that I've got beef with people using Facebook to say negative things. Rather, if people don't want to talk about negative things then maybe it's because there's a bunch of people on their Facebook friends list that don't need to know this information, or that they don't want to know this information.  It's not because our life is a social media lie, it's because our Facebook friends list is bigger than our everyday social circle, and we want to be careful about what we share.

Secondly, having a filter is a good thing.  How many times a day do I wish that I had used reflection time before opening my mouth and saying something? A million times.  Okay, maybe half a million, as I'm trying to work on it at the moment.  The point is that I love that Facebook forces me to think about that I post before I post it.  That doesn't mean that I always manage to post something interesting or funny (not for lack of trying...) but it does mean that I try to think about the impact of what I'm saying and the message that I'm putting out there.  And hopefully, as a result, manage to avoid bearing all to everyone ever.  I mean, nobody needs to know EVERYTHING that happens to me. (Trust me, it's pretty boring anyway)

I get that the video's point is mostly that reality and Facebook are different kettles of fish, and I agree that this is true.  However what makes me sad is that people seem to be taking this video as a total attack on sharing their positive life experiences with their Facebook friends.  And I fear that the result could be several thousand regular social media users feverishly analysing their every post on the Internet, and metaphorially backed into a corner, shaking, wondering 'WHAT IS REALITY ANYWAY?'.  ("Well, I was going to post that I'm drinking tea and watching the footy, but then I don't want to rub it in my best friend's face because her TV is broken...  Maybe I shouldn't say anything.  Why do I need to say that anyway? I should just enjoy the footy, not talk about it."  That kinda thing...)

Why are we punishing ourselves for being positive?  Why are we guilt tripping ourselves for posting pictures that make us look happy, or for focussing on the good things in life rather than the bad things? Or just for telling others about the fun things that we're doing? Surely positivity can only breed more positivity?

Is it really so bad that I didn't want to publish the number of negative experiences that I've had in my life on Facebook?  What would I achieve by doing so? They certianly wouldn't go away by making them public and it wouldn't make for comfortable reading anyway.

As I mentioned earlier, I don't criticise others for using social media to talk about bad things in their life.  Facebook is a great way for talking to others about problems and sometimes a call out on social media is how people can get the help they need.  Sharing problems can also be a good thing, because people shouldn't have to deal with things alone.

My point really is that we need to give ourselves, and others, a break.  Yeah, sure, take social media with a pinch of salt.  And if someone really is saying something on Facebook that you don't want to see, feel free to hide it or delete them as a friend. 

Personally, I think I'd like to continue exercising my right to use the fliter that is social media. Afterall, nobody needs to know about me prancing around in my underwear to 80s music, do they?

(OOOPPPPSSSS)

I blame Prince for my apocolyptic dreams...

Another normal day.  A little freakish weather perhaps - but this is Britain.  It is completely expected to experience rain and hail and blazing sunshine in the same day.  Still, now, although early on a summer's evening, it really was quite dark.  Though the sun was still shining, I predicted another rain storm.

I was cooking in the kitchen in the small flat I called my home when darkness descended.  Instinctively, I turned the gas off the hob, and walked closer to the window.  Outside it was raining heavily, and the sky had turned a crimson-gold colour.  I felt a shiver travel down my spine.  Something was wrong.

I picked up my phone and saw it flash with updates on Facebook timelines.  It seemed the rest of the world had not failed to observe the strange weather and the colour of the sky.  Some speculated that the end of the world was nigh.  I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone in my pocket.  Despite this, I really felt the need to speak to someone face to face.  So we could both laugh about the weather together.

I pulled open the front door of my flat and stepped into the passageway.  The stripped lighting above me was flickering - it was always doing that, to be honest.  I thought I heard a noise, but I couldn't see anyone approaching.  It was then that I felt the strange sensation.  It hit me somewhere behind my knees and at once I fell, face down, on the floor.

Rather than feeling fear, I was unable to feel anything but curiosity.  I didn't try to get up, but I knew that I shouldn't, or maybe that I couldn't?  And then the floor below me tilted downwards slightly, so that it was on a slant.  And my body, slowly, began to slide across the floor.  At this point the only thing I dared move was my eyes.  And as I slowly slid downwards, and came closer to the wall, I could see round the corner the parlaysed bodies of my neighbours, also slowly sliding downwards.

Like a ton of bricks I was shocked out of my vision and realised I was still stood outside my front door.  It was only then that I felt the fear and decided to head back inside.  I made sure the door was firmly shut but as I turned around I noticed that there was something sitting in my computer chair.

I couldn't tell you why I did this, but I felt the need to turn the chair around, and see who, or what, was sat there.  I put my hand on the back of the chair and pulled it round.  I screamed!

Okay, it was just my coat.  I really needed to take a deep breath.  I walked back over to the kitchen, forcing myself to slow my breathing, to calm down.  That was when I noticed that the sky was completely orange.  A firey, burning sphere central to my view of the sky captivated me.  I couldn't tear my eyes away from it.  And then it was gone.  The whole sky blackened at once.  At the same time, the electricity cut out.

I felt my body tense as I realised I couldn't see anything at all.  I used my hands to feel my way back towards the computer chair.  I heard a noise on the other side of the flat door.  It was a creaking noise coupled with a sort of shuffling sound.  I knew I should find out what was on the other side, but I was scared.  I approached the door cautiously, slowly edging forward.  My hand reached the door handle.  I could hear the heavy breathing of whatever faced me on the other side.  I pulled open the door and-

Lost boys: Speak no evil

I wonder if you made it home
-heavy hearted-
rain just started
are you dancing in it yet?
I bet...

you weren't that brave.
And did your pirate ships
come home with it;
all that treasure?
Midnight til forever
Well, I never...

found out if you got arrested,
live behind bars now,
'spose you got there somehow.
Dying for you,
to tell me it's not true.

And did you ever
eat all that Nutella?
The world is small
and the stars are bright,
I look up and wait to see your light.

I guess you must have passed that test,
and every weekend is a holiday,
and still closure seems so far away
but I don't know
and you don't say.

I'll keep quiet
slow the riot
of thoughts that threaten to spill
over - oh, they will
soon, while you leave me wondering
always guessing;
a curse or blessing?
Only time will tell.

Even if you won't.