Spring is in the air!

It's the first of September today - hurrah! The Winter months are over for us down here in the Southern Hemisphere. It is 23c and sunny in Melbourne today. To put this in perspective for my English readers, this is the equivalent of it being 23c on March 1st in the UK. NEVER. GONNA. HAPPEN.

Melburnians take this all in their stride though and many can still be seen walking the streets wrapped up in big coats and woolly jumpers. Bloody Australians don't get excited until it hits at least 35c. Melburnians sure do enjoy the first warm day of the year post winter but you don't see the hysteria you do in the UK when the thermometer finally smashes through the 19c mark in late April. I guess it's because they know that they have about 8 months of this in store, whereas in the UK it might only last for an absolute maximum of 8 weeks.

Fuck me, I am talking about the weather.

I've been here for nearly two years now.

Could I be more English?

*races off to find nearest pub with people drinking on pavement and looks forward to some early summer sunburn*

Speeding

I got my first ever speeding fine through the post the other day. Now, I'm not going to go off on some wank Jeremy Clarkson 'I'm a selfish, ignorant, boorish twat who thinks I can do anything I like and fuck the rest of the world' rant. Nope. I was caught doing 109kph in a 100kph. Fair cop gov. You got me. I'll pay the $135. I have no complaints, if I hadn't have sped then I wouldn't be getting fined. Simple as that.

One thing that did make me laugh though was the wife. About 30mins after we left the stretch of road on which I was speeding she mentioned that she saw I was speeding for quite a long stretch of the road. I knew I was going about 10kph over the limit but because it was a highway and because everyone else was doing it I wasn't concerned and I never once thought there would be speed cameras on the road considering how detached it was from a residential setting.

Then when the fine landed in our postbox the other day, the wife says to me that the stretch of road I was speeding on is notorious for the amount of speed cameras it has. Gee thanks, Wifey. Why couldn't you have told me this whilst I was actually going 9kph over the speed limit? Pffft.

Bugger, I have turned into Jeremy Cuntson - I'm blaming other people for my mistakes. Still, at least I'm not a fat cunt. Yet.

Bang My Ass.com

I always look at my Stat Counter with a feeling of disappointment at my low readership numbers but also with happiness that at least one person other than the wife is looking at my ramblings.

Anyway, I checked out today from which sites my readers are coming from. I was amused to see the following URL in the list of sites from which people had clicked through to Well, Clearly.

www.google.at/search?hl=de&q=bangmyass&meta=

Mmm...that sounds interesting I thought. I have had an Austrian visitor and they found the site by searching for the term 'bangmyass' on Google Austria. And indeed if you click the link above you'll see little old me 5th down on the list. I can't help but feel that the searcher was maybe a tad disappointed when he clicked on the link and instead of gaping assholes he saw a rant about the Labour Party. hee hee.

Dance music not quite dead yet.

The Guardian's pretentious 'Rock Critic' Alex Petridis wrote a notorious column in 2003 in which he proclaimed that dance music was dying and 'as a youth cult, dance music seems to be in terminal decline. And it has no one to blame but itself.'

Alex was himself a clubber once, and like a lot of people who drift away from clubbing he likes to mock and denigrate the scene that he once held so dear. You know the types and the cliched sayings they come out with: 'It's not as good as it used to be' or 'It's too commercial these days' or 'The music was much better in my day'. Of course, the reality is that the scene is still producing great music and great parties and hundreds of thousands of people are dancing to repetitive beats across the globe, all having a fantastic time.

When you become a jaded clubber due to health reasons, getting too old to cope with Mondays or simply turning into a miserable bastard the easiest way to cope with this loss of hedonistic libido is to blame the scene rather than look at yourself. Once the jadedness sets in, it becomes fashionable to look at everything through a pair of cynic sunglasses (not oversized mind you, you'd look too much like a clubber at Space then) and suddenly it's cooler to sneer than to celebrate.

Anyway, there have been a few articles in the English press that show that Mr Petridis may have been speaking utter bollocks all along. I could never have predicted it personally. I mean surely one man's descent into cynicism provides the ultimate clear headed analysis of the current state of club culture?

Raves are apparently on their way back in the UK and Ibiza is experiencing its busiest season for years. The Observer states that:

A resurgence in the popularity of dance music and the rave culture that has seen nearly all of Ibiza's superclubs, such as Space and Pacha, break records for visitor numbers seems certain to continue for the rest of the summer.

Alex writes in today's Guardian about the sudden increase of illegal raves and Alex, being Alex, puts this down to young people's desire to break away from the corporatist mainstream where every festival is sponsored by a mobile phone company or brewery.

What Alex neglects to mention in his article is that this new movement actually seems to quite enjoy dance music as well. The 'Yoof' seem to be back onboard the good ship Bosh. Well I never. It also appears that increasing numbers of people are willing to fly to Ibiza and spend £30 to get into a club, spent £100's on drinks just to listen to those old, haggered superstar DJs, whom Alex disparaged so much in his 2003 column.

I expect a 'Indie is dead, dance music is the new cool' column in a few weeks Alex. I won't hold my breath though.

Britney Belching

Britney's reputation takes yet another blow as a home video of her has been placed on the web and viewed by millions. The video clip was taken by fuckwit hubbie, Kevin and shows Britney tucking into a feast of chicken and chips, continuously belching whilst she rambles incoherently.

She claims that people have already invented a way of traveling through time just like in Back to the Future. Oh Britney, if only they had invented it and shared it with you. You could then travel back to three years ago and stop yourself shacking up with that parasite Kevin. Maybe you could reverse your decision to break if off from Justin Timberlake, after all you were fit then and Justin would never film you belching would he? If I find out about anyone who has invented a time travelling device I promise I'll point them your way immediately. Think of it as a present from me to you...

Maried Bliss

A good piece from Caitlin Moran in today's Times..

There’s a new book in town that’s getting everyone riled: Guy Thomas Blews’s Marriage & How to Avoid It, which stakes out a bold arena for combat. In a nutshell, Blews’s claim is that a happy marriage is impossible. This is, he asserts, because human beings in general — but, really, when you come down to it, mainly men, grrr, the tigers — are incapable of lifelong relationships. They are compelled, at some point, to voyage out of the stifling environs of the wedding vows and bang that chick in marketing.

The tragedy for both Blews and his argument — which is as old as the hills, and about as sprightly — is that he is such an obviously damaged individual. Those opposing his claims have simply pointed out how uniquely unqualified he is to comment on marriage, rather than attack his actual argument head-on. Really, Blews has had the kind of life that would make anyone eschew the engagement-ring tray at Elizabeth Duke. His parents were locked in a loveless marriage, which he was able to observe only during the summer holidays from his boarding school. Subsequently, when Blews attained his majority, his first lover became so agonised in the final stages of her multiple sclerosis that she blew her head off with a shotgun. In any other age, Blews would probably have abandoned any further attempt at trying to deal with human relationships. He would simply have become a sad-eyed and slightly bitter monk, tending a vat of hyssop liqueur and kicking the priory’s chickens out of the way.

However, in the 21st century, the coping mechanism of the troubled middle classes is slightly different: they come up with a theory about how awful people are and then get a publishing deal. And, so, here we are with Marriage & How To Avoid It, which some cultural commentators (primarily the men’s magazines Nuts and Zoo, albeit that their commentary consists predominantly of “phwoar!”), have hailed as a great truth.

Of course, the concept that a man simply cannot be satisfied with a mere, single woman is ancient. The Greeks thought that men couldn’t be satisfied with women, full stop, and that they would have to flee into the bed of another man to have a decent relationship. The idea of homosexuality as a solution isn’t, oddly and sadly, much touted in modern society, but the theory behind it — that men must roam from the home — is still the same. It’s an idea that is always announced a little proudly. Men’s “natural physical urges” are “so strong” that they “cannot control themselves”. Men, of course, wouldn’t look proud of a single other “natural physical urge” “so strong” that they “cannot control” it — such as soiling their pants, or succumbing to sleep at the wheel of the car and being smashed to death under a lorry. Such a theory also ignores that if it’s by and large a “natural urge” for men to be unfaithful, then it’s also by and large a “natural urge” for their wives and children to wish them to be not unfaithful.

Men may very well be more prone to unfaithfulness. But then, women are more prone to investing too much in a relationship and subsequently becoming resentful and boorish. Both traits are equally likely to break up a marriage. But no one is advocating that women’s neediness is also a “natural urge” that can’t be controlled. Indeed, women tend to acknowledge their weaknesses, and subsequently buy tedious self-help books on the subject by the dozen. Interestingly, the self-help section in my local bookshop carries no books about curing infidelity aimed at men. This is, presumably, because the kind of men who buy into this theory of monogamy being impossible would rather exhaust themselves in persuading a sceptical humanity that their vices are irrevocable “natural urges” rather than simply to try to become better human beings.

While luck and synchronicity do play a part in it, the simple truth is that a happy, lifelong marriage tends to be the result of sheer hard work on both sides. Blews is a good-looking, charming man in his mid-thirties who is unlikely to see the value in a deal that involves selflessness, biting your tongue, minding your manners, repeatedly rejecting the heady thrill of a flirtation, and remembering to never, ever talk during a rerun of Moonlighting — not when he could be banging the chick from marketing, anyway.

But surely, at some point, he must ponder what the results of his theory will be. For myself, I can think of few things more aspirational than an old couple holding hands. That speaks of a lifetime of jokes, shags, winks, kids, secretly slagging off the neighbours, 52 Christmas trees, and crying with laughter at a some terrible new haircut.

Blews’s touted alternative, by comparison, does not seem like anything to wish for. For while society might still have a sneaking regard for the rampant stag, ultimately it dislikes a weak, priapic, sybaritic old goat in a Bath chair.