Limbo, limbo like dis!

Welcome to, when is it? Oh, yes, Friday.

I always remember, as a child, wondering what we were supposed to do on those indeterminate days between Christmas and New Year. Of course in the good old days, Christmas was for the kids and New Year was for the grown-ups. It took a long time to work this out and how it would affect the grown up TJ.

In the vast tract of time that sits between then and now, things have got even more vague. Back in the day, we had Christmas Eve, when everyone was still at work, 2 days of mild indulgence and then we all went back about our business. Only kids were left with spare time on their hands and a raft of broken-on-boxing day presents to lament over. A week later we were allowed to drink a small port and lemonade and stay up until a minute past midnight before being shuffled off to bed so the grown-ups could do whatever it was they did. New years day we were thrown out of the house to play while all traces of the 'Holiday Period' were wiped from the face of the planet. Normalcy waited for us upon our return. Jan 2 was a normal working day.

Now it seems as if this period has had a massive shot of adrenaline and not one part of it has remained unexploited, ripe for monetisation (a word now, really, although it should have a Z in it) and wrung to within an inch of it's life by the marketing machine that is our life. Holidays are longer, productivity takes a dive and the only casualties are the poor shop workers who get about ten minutes off before diving back into the fray. Astonishingly enough I'm having three weeks off this year, partly to defray my holidays I didn't have time to take because I was so busy this year. I'm hoping I have enough to keep me busy so i don't go off the rails with boredom. But this is why I titled this so. That period between the two end of year dates seems to generate even more of a sense of ennui than ever before. No time seems to pass between the sound of wrapping paper tearing and a sense of futility about it all wrapping its clammy fingers around your heart.

Doubtless social historians will look back on this period of time, where senseless worship of an unprovable deity manifested itself in a frenzy of consumerism that leads to nothing more worthwhile than an elevated end of year balance sheet for the merchants and an empty wallet and a five week month for everyone else. If we are going to secularise an already shaky para-religious ceremony, perhaps we should look for something more substantial than tinsel and telly. Alternative Christmas, where are you?

Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes. Oh, really?

No subtlety in the title this time.
 
I wrote a piece a few months back for a guest link to a blog regarding the other side of a tarnished coin; domestic abuse. This is a term that comes with a massive entourage of innuendo and assumption, but like any relationship, it has many facets.
 
A long time ago I got involved with a woman, no more than a girl at the time. It was heady and she was passionate to the point of obsession. I'd just left a less than perfect relationship and she was still in one. Over the years I came to realise where a lot of that passion and intensity came from. As the years passed by and the relationship deteriorated I let my love for this woman grow ever less, putting it in a compartment and trying to seal it off, lest I get too badly hurt. This, of course, increased the distance and the distancing behaviour, probably mutually. Eventually, after years of verbal and physical abuse, I had to leave.
 
I suppose it's one of the natural bits of egotism that we believe ourselves responsible for that which affects us, and I thought, when she 'met someone new' that her life would turn around and she'd shine. Not that lucky. I watched her slow and further decline into alcohol abuse and a girl 14 years my junior begin to look older and more drawn. The arguments continued with drunken phone rants and some psychological thrust and parry between us, where we both said some appalling things to each other. In between, a son struggling to come to terms with a Mother he loved yet who's behaviour he hated.
 
She talked often of ending it and referenced a nephew of mine who had killed himself some years previously. There was at least one overt 'attempt' that was more a statement of intent than a reality. Like most, I thought it was part of the psychological assault; 'real' suicides rarely advertise. So it was with some surprise that I took a phone call informing me that she had taken her own life.
 
I'm sure I'm not alone in this situation but there followed a week of confusion with a variety of emotions vying for the front seat to this final act. A woman I once loved so fiercely but had had those emotions washed away and replaced with sadness, disappointment, anger, confusion and rage. There's no rule book for this, we didn't have a 'What to do in the event of an ex-lover and Mother to your Son committing suicide' lesson in school, or life. What am I supposed to do with the conflicting feelings of love and regret vs. anger and despair. And yes, of course I said 'Why?' That's one of the few standards in this situation; could I/you/anyone have done more? No, of course we couldn't. If we'd been able to do that we would have done it.
 
I am lucky in having a Wife who is analytical enough to work this tangle out and to be able to take an objective view of what has happened, but she also has her contradictions to deal with.
 
If anyone reads this, and if they are unlucky enough to suffer a similar situation, be aware, your feelings are your feelings, embrace them and let them wash over you and through you. Don't put them to one side to fester and grow barbs. I mourn the bright faced woman I met and her love of all things natural, someone never happier than standing in a wood or on a fell top. I'm glad her demons are silenced and she is no longer in an internecine war with the world. I grieve for all who loved her and rarely, if ever, saw the monster she could become. You should do the same, there isn't a single emotion or reaction to have, no 'answer' to a question that doesn't actually exist; saying 'why' isn't for them, it's for us, for we shall never know.
 
This is the real legacy of the suicide; a void, a hole an on-going yearly reminder to ourselves of our possible shortcomings in keeping a loved one safe from harm. Tell yourself, and do it regularly; 'It's not my fault'. Death is too complex for such a flimsy and egotistical solution.
 
Suicide is very painful but it does herald great change for those left behind. Just make sure you remain just that, left behind.

 

And it's 1, 2, 3, what are we fighting for?

It's that time again, when a lame-dog PM sees a juicy apple fall into his lap. One with 'popularity' writ large. (I apologise to lame-dogs for the appalling comparison).

Yes, it's time for another war, yippee.

So what's this on about? Well, some guy did something bad to his people. I'm sure you've read the news about the alleged sarin attack by the Assad regime. This has apparently 'crossed a red line' of what is acceptable or isn't. As if bombing and shooting the shit out of your subjects isn't that bad, nerve gassing them is. I'm spluttering inside.

Anyway, seeing an opportunity for some mid-term poll boosting we know see the 2 biggest idiots to be given driving licences, BO and DC, waffling on about policing actions, surgical strikes and that old standby 'Humanitarianism'. So, do we 'go in' or do we try diplomacy? The 'go inners' seem to be having a hard time of it; Cameron's just got his majority handed back to him, Germany says 'nein' and others who got their fingers badly singed in the Gulf wars must be groaning 'not again'. That dossier may have done more good than harm if it makes people now actually require 'compelling evidence' before mistakenly bombing a wedding and a picnic in the name of International Law.

Something clearly has to 'be done' about this, and someone has to do it, but the traditional response of bomb first, apologise later seems to be a bit long in the tooth. Given the recent de-bigulation of the UK Army Ltd (very) it seems a bit silly to be sabre rattling (quick, someone nip down to the Game of Thrones set and borrow a sabre, we sold ours) and promising 'quick, decisive action'. We seem to be a bit unsure about what that action will be. Bombing is favourite as it lets us test our weapons; planes and ships and missiles. Troops are a bust as it inevitably gives rise to bad behaviour and protracted acts of terrorism, plus you have to put up with all these people who feel sorry for soldiers when they come back with PTSD (I'm sure it's kinda given that when you join up you're expected to go away and kill people, so you might bear that in mind if you're considering joining up), and complaining about how unfair it all is. War is rarely fair and always grisly. What it always is is brilliant for the winners, especially the Leader of the winners. Thatcher, Bush, Blair and even Major all did their bit to put the 'Great' back in Great Britain (some basic geography revision required there) and now Cameron has picked a loser. Because this is what the Syria conflict is; a loser. It's that situation where you see your neighbour beating the shit out of his wife on their back lawn and you go over and beat the shit out of him. He'll hate you, his wife probably won't thank you and the law will criticise you for not reporting them to the 'proper authorities', who can't do anything anyway. After which he'll make your life a misery by playing loud music at night, parking his car over your drive, and all the other petty misdemeanours he can think of, and you'll wish you'd never bothered. Sure, the wife might have ended up in hospital but your lawn would be clean. You'd feel like a coward for the rest of your life, but that life would be easier.

We, the West, the Allies, made Syria along with all the other Arab nations after WW1. We got it wrong then and we've been getting it wrong ever since.

Why can't you be more like me? (or, how not to make a big splash)

I'm currently up skilling, or skilling up, or learning some new stuff, and it entails listening to some Web-Ex recordings. Now some of you will already be lapsing into paroxysms of lethargy due to your own experiences with this marvel of the age. The problem is a straightforward one; you have to be more interesting!

I've sat through dozens of these but I've also done quite a few as well, and I'm, always struck by how different people perform when they are 'virtual'. Otherwise fluid speakers are reduced to gibbering morons, diction gets left in the suitcase in the hotel and the distant learner begins to feel, well, distant.

WebEx and Adobe both offer training courses to prepare you for this type of delivery but does the acquisition of some technical skills really prepare you for delivery?

I recently did a wholly virtual course on virtualisation (I know) to a bunch of guys in Canada, the US and Brazil (well, the Brazilians didn't show, but I had to prepare for them anyway). As is the way in technical training, budgets are slim and accommodation and travel can take a big bite out of what you have. So I had my guys from Mississauga, Ohio and Houston all desperate to learn the mysteries of VMware. 5 days, 9 hours per day and all virtual.

In training you have to engage your students, or whatever the hell you call them in your world. In a V class you have to be extra vigilant and take that much more notice of their language patterns and even their silence patterns. Take some time to socialise a bit, get to know your guys and never talk s about anything contentious (yes, religion, politics or gun control). Above all though, be interesting. Be prepared and try your very best to, uh, not ah, hold on a minute guys.............................got it, waffle! Use modulation more often, inject real interest, or as much as you can fake, into your delivery. Emphasise that you're a long way from them too and get them on your side.

Some simple tips, folks but none more important than ....  switch your mic off before you go to the bathroom.

Susie Wolff, F1 girl!

So, women in F1 is in the news again as the Gorgeous, pouting (no, sorry, I’ll stop this now) 30 year old Scot gets lined up to do a tyre test at Silverstone.

Yay.

And?

Well, the whole history of Women in open wheel racing is littered with the kind of half-baked bollocks that the Male dominated world of motor-sport is renowned for. For which it is renowned, sorry. The argument about whether ‘women’ can race in F1 has been mumbling in the background for some time. It hasn’t been raging because there’s not that much interest in it, not even from other women. Why? Because it’s a ‘boys and their toys’ sport and always has been. A lot of women look at the whole racing world with a degree of disdain but there are an enlightened few who follow racing at all its levels, but the amount of actual participation by women is limited. Where there is involvement women have to suffer the lamentable comments of a largely machismo-driven bunch who make comments about big-ends and curvy body panels and all that other shite my gender is famous for.

There has been a woman in F1, btw, 20 odd years ago Giovanna Amati failed to qualify her Brabham for three races in a row, and was replaced by Damon Hill (who also failed to qualify the car, but a season later he took a Williams to victory). Also, last year Maria de Villota crashed her Marussia F1 car into the back of a support truck after the car ‘mysteriously accelerated’. Investigations found no technical cause for the crash; cue high-heels on accelerator pedals jokes. She lost an eye.

So, what’s the problem with women in F1? Well, it’s really hard to drive an F1 car and most men can’t do it. Technically it’s a nightmare, physically it’s like being interviewed for a job as a mugging victim in Florida; you gotta be tough! Can a woman be tough? Of course they can, no doubts there. Can Susie Wolff be tough enough? Well, she is already a development driver for Williams and has shown she can drive an F1 car. Can she do a Grand Prix distance? Can she do it in the desert heat? Maybe, possibly, I don’t know. The real question is ‘will she be given the chance’. The cynical point to her as the token inclusion for gender neutralities sake, she’s also the Wife of a formula 1 big wig (her hubby is Toto Wolff, a director at Mercedes AMG PETRONAS and shareholder at Williams (ah, I see)), so her credentials are mixed. Ability-wise she’s a middling driver with OK results, the kind who would only get a drive if they were accompanied by a big sponsor deal.

Will she ever be a F1 contender? In my opinion, no, she’s 30 and is probably too old to be competitive, even if she does have the physical credentials. F1 hot-shots are the new, up and coming 17 year old Hamiltons and Vettels. Pay drivers rarely get anywhere and Susie, sadly, probably fits in that category.

 

Sorry, I didn't think you'd mind!

Is presumed consent any consent at all?
 
So, if you've seen the Meaning of Life you will be familiar with the harvesting of the organs scene. Gruesome, innit. But that could never actually happen. Could it?
 
This week, Wales is expected to be the first part of the UK to introduce a 'Presumed Consent' into place for the harvesting of organs from dead people who never knew their organs were going to be harvested! Is this really the mark of a civilised society?
 
If a society accepts that organ transplantation is an acceptable process to allow someone to carry on living then we have to address the circumstances under which such organ harvesting takes place. This relies on the establishment of ownership of said organs. We can probably assume that your internal organs are yours, yes? What about after your dead, does legal ownership still apply?  Does it matter anyway, you're dead! The worry here is that it appears to be the state coming along to take bits of you and give them away. To a non-religious person it probably doesn't matter. To your family it may be massively upsetting to find out your little Gerald has been carved into life-saving morsels and distributed among the waiting lists for heart, lungs, liver and so on. There are so many moral questions here that a definitive answer is probably impossible to arrive at, so let's just make one up then, shall we? We, the Govern-mental institutions that control such issues shall make a decision that will affect ALL of you by blithely stating that we have presumed consent to harvest your organs after your death, sorry, Death! Is this fair or moral? Well, no and no. Presumed Consent really means 'we can't be arsed to, or haven't the financial wherewithal to put in pace sufficient education about the life-saving advantages of organ donation. An arbitrary assumption we can have your bits. You have to proactively tell me you don't want me to do something. any idiot with three neurons firing can see how this philosophy, if extended, could lead to all sorts of negative assumptions, further reducing the ability of the public to have a clue as to what's going on. If we could trust the Government it wouldn't be a problem, but we don't, because they've consistently fucked things up to such a degree that their competence in anything has to be questionable.
 
I'm against this on principle. I'm quite happy to give any bits that are still roadworthy removed and transplanted into a more worthy container, but the parents of a dead child may not be so happy to have their bundle of joy carved up into life-saving portions, and it is their absolute right to be able to be assumed to feel that way. It is a wonderful gift to give to another human being and I would heartily recommend you do so.
 
But I don't think it should be assumed you do so.

 

What a giveaway.

It was World Book Night this week, and like last year I was ready with my big box of books, 20 copies of The Eyre Affair to give to unsuspecting members of the public. Last year I gave out The Player of Games and thoroughly enjoyed it. This year was a slightly less enjoyable experience.

A lot has happened in the last 12 months as society has been eroded by 'bad things' happening and a further paranoid plunge perpetrated by the media. More sex offenders, especially amongst those we trusted with our childhood or humour, bombings, disasters, North Korea; all on a list of things that make you wonder 'why?'.

What has this got to do with WBN?

Weeelll, I have this theory that the more negative things one hears, the more negative one gets and the more negative one feels about everything. Yes, I know that the 'things are getting worse' brigade have been out there since things originally started 'getting worse' (waddya mean 'leave paradise'? For an apple? You're kidding me!) But the kind of stuff we have to read about in the papers about scum, rapists, criminals who prey on the innocent, stalkers and the like, all this has a creeping affect on the General Public, that 'great unwashed' much favoured by those who would manipulate us into mistrust so that we are easier to manipulate further. It's all about trust, and the more you can eliminate trust the less easy it is to band together to fight a common enemy. So when one tries to give something away. For free.

First oddity was a couple whom I approached with a smiling 'excuse me, did you know it's World Book Night?'
Woman - No thanks.
Man - What?
Me - It happens annually, we give away books to those who don't normally read a lot. Do you read a lot?
Woman - No thanks, we don't read that.
Me - Then you're exactly the kind of person we want to reach.
At this point I present her with the wonderful Eyre Affair - WBN edition
Me - it's not a scam or a religious tact, just a really good book. And it's free!
Woman - Jesus, just leave us alone.
Man - Uhn.
At which point they simple walked off, hunched shouldered and uncommunicative.

This was the reaction from four or five folks who automatically assumed I was a scammer, religious idiot or just a nuisance. I have to say that the majority of folks were either polite and accepted or refused in a non-confrontational way and I hope they thoroughly enjoy Jasper's tale.  Two women to whom I gave books while in WH Smith seemed to be unable to grasp the concept of 'free'. One of them took her book to the till and I had to explain to the till boy that it was a WBN giveaway. Neither he nor his supervisor were aware it was WBN, which kinda baffled me.

Sadly Harrogate hosted no WBN events in either the library or Waterstone's, places one would expect to see offering an amount of support. Reading through some of the other givers experiences I believe my problem is one of going out on the street to appeal to the random possible not-readers, most successful events appear to take place in sheltered accommodation, hospices or other enclaves of the socially marginalised. It's commendable that there are givers who target the dispossessed and itinerant to give them books they might never otherwise have access to. I would still like to give books out to anonymous people in the street, the ordinary, those people who least expect it. However I'm seriously re-evaluating the worthiness of this desire against the closed mindedness of the General Public as they get more and more like the Daily Mail stereotypes we know and love.

Next year I'll probably do it again, but may need some other event or support from local business to make it worthwhile.

The Big Bang Theory.

There were two this week in Boston.

Now America has a long tradition of having things blown up, much like ourselves. Both countries have been responsible for their own destruction abroad and at home, but domestic attacks have taken on an identity of their own. Immediately the T word is used. Terrorist/ism. Frankly any bomb it terrifying, so I'm not sure if any borderline exists outside of a fireworks display. Unauthorised banging is always construed as terrorism. So people tend to act weirdly.

Some poor guy who got blown up in the Boston bomb found himself a suspect, mostly because he was brown and there. Later pictures of suspects clearly showed them as being a bit paler than that, but you can bet your last centime that brown people felt slightly more uncomfortable this week, especially if they were 'middle-eastern in appearance'.

So what?

Well, I'm working in London this week and it's the Marathon at the weekend and there's a 'panic by association' thing going on where people make a connection between a marathon and a bombing and get worried that every marathon now will have an accompanying pyrotechnic element. We worry. So it was with some surprise that I found myself outside of Old Street tube station looking at, at first glance, what seemed like an abandoned backpack.

My first reaction was to go and look, pick it up, examine it; but as my toe touched it and I felt how heavy it was I thought better of it. As I backed away, now feeling honestly weird, the apparent owner, who'd been standing a good 20-30 feet away, approached me. Wall eyed and slurring his speech was largely unintelligible and I started to feel nervous.

Now I'm not a guy who gets nervous easily, I've had an 'interesting' life and gotten involved with some near-the-line groups and individuals (I know I have an Interpol file, neat eh?). This guy was now getting a little heated though, and the thought of instant atomisation was growing in my head. I told him not to leave his backpack so far away from him but he just mumbled and swore and told me to leave him alone. At this point I started to feel thoughts and emotions new to me. The guy was clearly 'of middle-eastern appearance'. He was dressed in jeans and a hooded jacket and a hooded top, just like the ones David Cameron told us bout. He was acting very weird. Part of my mind was rationalising and chastising me; 'just because he's foreign, brown and looks like he suffers some sort of intellectual infirmity doesn't make him a bomber', it said. I wondered if my internal organs, once smeared across the building opposite, would concur. His demeanour was getting much meaner and he was starting to froth at the corners of his mouth.

At this point I admit I was out of my depth and retreated. And dialled 101 (the non-emergency services number). Within 5 minutes of me explaining this tale to one of the Met's finest there was a car blueing and twoing its way across the roads. They approached the guy, he argued and he found himself being blue gloved and at that point I left. I went to a local North African eatery (Bogayo, really nice food) and pondered what kind of a society I live in. However lightly I'd been touched by the madness that afflicts us, and I didn't like it.

20+ years ago, walking through the Metro Centre in Gateshead, I came across a Moulinex Mixer box with a fresh Argos receipt attached, sitting next to a fountain wall. A local shopkeeper told me she's reported it as a 'suspicious object'. I laughed at her caution and kicked the box. It didn't explode. she was apoplectic, stabbing at the buttons on her phone as I lifted the box, saw it was a forgotten purchase and decided to wander off with it. No one had reported it lost, so I kept it (it was a good mixer).

How times have changed.

S'cuse me, while I kiss this guy.

The most misheard Hendrix lyric ever, I believe!

Went to the Hendrix pop-up shop on Ganton St, off Carnaby St. last night.

For a Hendrix nut it's not the most stellar experience (hah) but worth visiting simply because it's about Jimi. If you weren't there at the opening then you've missed Janie (tbh, I'm glad I wasn't there, I think I might have burst into flames).

There's the usual stuff; T's, sweats and vests, all at premium prices. An album wall populated with stuff even I already possess 90% of, and I'm not an anal fan by any s.o.t.i. There is a nice portrait made of plectrums, but I'm not too sure of these things outside the 'gimmicky' frame of reference (I went to an art exhibition last year which had Hendrix and Experience portraits made out of bits of smashed records. Clever, but I found myself lamenting the vinyl that had to die to make this so).
Then there is the basement!!! This is a set-up from Fender with loads of Strats, Marshall amps, effects doo-dahs and the prospect of getting a 'master class' in Hendrix-esque tom foolery. I may have burnt my own bridges immediately by walking in and stating 'is this where the wannabees live?' I got some 'looks'.

A real highlight Is a range of Gerard Mankowitz portraits to view and buy, I met Gerard at his exhibition in Harrogate last year and we had a loooong conversation about the sixties (what we could remember of them, ha ha), rock and roll and photography in general. He really is a nice bloke; gentle and engaging, buy his stuff.

Outside of that there is the usual posters, mugs, plectra and 3D tosh to brighten up the shrine of any emergent fans. Being someone brought musically to life by Hendrix, in  the 60's but now approaching my own 60's I'm now unfashionably beyond such fripperies. I went, I looked, I had a massive nostalgia rush, and.

My own biggie.

There are some genuine Hendrix stage outfits there. I've touched the suit Jimi wore at the Band of Gypsies gigs. My life has a new, small but significant highlight.

Go, you'll enjoy it, but hurry as it's only open until April 12th.

Why are you dying, you twat?

Finding out one of your heroes is dying is different to finding out your Mum or Dad, or a family pet, is dying. when your hero dies you feel lost, bereft, and somehow cheated; no more books/music/movies, it's a terribly selfish set of feelings.

Today I found out that my favouritist Sci-Fi author and one of my favourite fiction authors is going to die. Iain Banks and Iain M Banks have been diagnosed with terminal cancer of, well, pretty much everything between neck and groin. I felt all of the above, and lost. Lost because Iain made a significant contribution to the entity known as me. Me.

Several years ago, having had a disastrous relationship with a girl, while living in /Edinburgh, I picked up a copy of Complicity. In the protagonist I found an empathic twin, a like minded soul (with the same taste in music and pastimes). It's a strange coincidence that that protagonist was going to die of cancer too! Crow Road came next and then I made a blinding discovery, this was the same man who wrote 'Consider Phlebas', a sci-fi book that made me jump up and take notice. Iain Banks and Iain M Banks were one and the same, and not some legally definable pair. Since that time I've jumped on every book he's written, drank in his contemporary, Ken MacLeod, who borrows quite heavily from the same pool Banks uses to fund his stories of social inclusion/exclusion and technology driven societies, and had innumerable drunken conversations about the relevance of Culturenomics as applicable to us on Earth.

Iain has less than a year to live, according to his statement delivered with typical gallows humour today, proposing to his girlfriend with the words 'would you do ne the honour of becoming my widow?'. The details of his illness can be found elsewhere.

So the outpouring of grief has been massive and widespread and there'll be all kinds of shenanigans surrounding his slow demise. We all feel desperately sorry for him and his soon to be new widow-in-waiting, Adele. (A cynical part of me suspects he is putting legal safeguards in place as to the disbursement of his estate, he seems that practical about things!). No doubt the literary world will tell Iain what he already knows (he's been told it often enough by his legions of fans) and, who knows, he might even get an award, which is often mandatory for the dead or rapidly approaching. What happens at the end is, quite frankly, none of my bloody business. Suffice it to say I hope the family Banks doesn't go through too much heartbreak over the loss and I hope they all come through the other end in one piece.

Personally? I'm fucking annoyed that my all-time favourite Sci-Fi writer is leaving and that one of my top five fiction writers is going too. Because, you see, I'm human and selfish, and while I can understand what his family are going through, cancer and death have thoroughly stalked my family, I'm sure Iain will also be frustrated at not being able to give us more of what he obviously loves doing, giving us a glimpse into the warm, loving, caring and utterly reprehensible landscape that is the human race.

You will, absolutely, be missed!

The Old Word is dead, all hail the New Word.

It happens every now and then, something 'new' happens. And we all go crazy for it.

Anyone who has worked in IT will be familiar with this phenomenon, and I'm not giving examples, you already know them. But in the general world of stuff there often comes along a stranger, exiled from their speciality and thrown out into the wider world. Such is the fat of Modality. Modality. It's a pleasant enough word; fills the mouth, elicits good lip movement and ends on a smile, or a grimace, depends.

Look it up and you'll see a bewildering array of definitions

1. The fact, state, or quality of being modal.

2. A tendency to conform to a general pattern or belong to a particular group or category.

3. Logic The classification of propositions on the basis of whether they assert or deny the possibility, impossibility, contingency, or necessity of their content. Also called mode.

4. modalities The ceremonial forms, protocols, or conditions that surround formal agreements or negotiations: "[He] grew so enthusiastic about our prospects that he began to speculate on the modalities of signing" (Henry A. Kissinger).

Thank You Farlex (free dictionary). The easiest explanation I've had so far is; 'the way you you stuff'.

I'm a Technical Trainer and I teach virtualization on VMware and the way I deliver training is changing. My company recently introduced two new delivery methods; I shan't bore you with what they are, I'm not selling here, but our boss introduced them as alternative delivery modalities. Now some of the guys I work with are really fucking clever, and at least three of them looked askance at this word, one even asked what it meant. I was lucky as a hypnotherapy training course I'm doing had already introduced me to the finer points of this word some two months earlier. Since then it's started creeping out into other disciplines (I even heard it used to describe emergent graphic novel delivery system, or how you read comics).

So, be aware of this word, it'll be coming to a seminar/talk near you, if it hasn't already. Prepare your aural receptivity modalities beforehand.

No, not that John Venables.

Being called John Venables must be awkward these days. Do a search on twitter, facebook and so on and you'll find a number of JVs come up, along with the usual miasma of 'must die/suffer/be tortued/is scum pages. The current situation with those pictures and the Attorney General's decision to 'make an example' of some/all/those we can find posters of said pics has led to some interesting responses.

When dealing with this kind of attitude I like to get some source material. Mrs Bulger, now Mrs Fergus, is on record as stating she doesn't want vigilante justice to be visited on John Venables, but if someone were to kill him then, that would be one of those things. And who can blame her. Given she was put through the mill once by the murder of her son and then by a callous press/public who accused her of neglecting young Jamie while she was concentrating on shoplifting, a claim later discredited but still out there, adding to the fog. She has cheerfully admitted to wanting to know where they are, just so she knows, not wanting to act upon the knowledge. I wonder about that.

As a parent, if anyone had done that to my child I'd be inconsolable and hell bent on the revenge. I'd be less happy if half the country rose up on my behalf and removed that pleasure from me. I can understand why people vent, ;less so on public forums where the mob mentality gives rise to a sense of collective retribution, such is the genesis of the lynch mob.

Much has been said about the trial and sentencing of these two children, as that is who committed the crime; 2 ten year old boys from social deprivation, poor education and 'broken homes'. Typical fodder for the do-gooder. Were they let out too soon? Did the European court get it wrong? Opinions abound and all of them at odds. But this case highlights, yet again, that we don't know how to run a judicial system to take perpetrators of crimes and deal with them in an appropriate way. We still equivocate as to whether we punish or rehabilitate, and end up doing neither.

Those who get caught up in the sweep of injunctions preventing the publication of pictures of the adult pair may have to swallow their punishment, delivered from the same system that educated Thompson and Venables to A level standard and provides them with comfort and anonymity. (It is my opinion that there are far too many laws to be broken, hence the level of perceived criminality, but that's another story). As we progress along the path of civilisation it becomes ever clearer that the establishment and the judiciary create a legal framework that is a mystery to the 'General Public' and appears to become more farcical by the minute. without the inclusion of public opinion and the increased social education of said Gen Pub then this situation will get worse, and the Gen Pub will feel increasingly isolated from the law and more liable to break it out of sheer exasperation.

We've already had one paedophile killed in  gaol this year, and while few tears were spilled over his demise I fear for a society where convicted criminals get to mete out what they believe to be justice. Likewise I don't want to live in a country where an angry mob can be allowed to get away with circumventing justice to dole out their own twisted and violent retribution.

There's nothing wrong with wanting justice, but everything wrong in descending to the lowest level of human feelings to inflict harm on another human being. In the land of an eye for an aye, all are blind. (I wonder what Bill would have thought?) William Melvin "Bill" Hicks (December 16, 1961 – February 26, 1994) R.I.P.