ALCOHOL: THE BRITISH AND IRISH DISEASE
Oh yes there is scarcely a country or city on the planet that doesn’t have its very own resident drunkards, but ask almost any citizen of the world about the problems of alcohol abuse and anti-social behaviour, and regrettably the British and Irish ‘yoof’ spring to mind all too often. In the British Isles after all, such annual celebrations as New Year’s Eve, Christmas, St Guinness’s Day, St George’s Day, and the 12th of July are merely drinking festivals. It even seems nowadays that the obvious pleasure of enjoying the gift of summer is blighted by the prospect of young people in the neighbourhood congregating in the garden next door and swallowing copious amounts of poison at literally all hours of the day. One only has to randomly trawl through the Myspace, Facebook and Bebo personal profiles to disgustingly discover thousands of young people paying homage to various alcoholic drinks, not to mention countless photographs of them taken in night clubs with such beverages in hand.

Just how do so many under-18s get access to alcohol? Night clubs in a shameless quest for extra revenue will accept almost anyone of any age, with the result that the rest of us suffer the dreaded prospect of boisterous, out of control teenagers pouring onto the streets in the early hours with more drink inside them than their body and mind is equipped to accommodate. All night clubs without exception, like any other club, should be members-only institutions with members aged over eighteen, or better still 21 only admitted. Identity ‘prove it’ cards or passports should be required by any responsible night club before it sells its soul and allows its premises to become a playground for under-age alcohol enthusiasts. Such clubs should be infiltrated by plain clothes police who can spot the presence of under-age occupants and then prosecute non-complying night clubs. Ask night clubs to sign up to such suggestions and one is likely to receive not co-operation but hostility. Ask police to take a more pro-active stance in the war against under-age drinking and they will shrug their shoulders and complain of a lack of resources.

I have come to realise that the police are loath to seize and process the arrest of large groups of anti-social practitioners because of the potential tedium of paperwork. The police much prefer to take the easy option and target one individual here, one individual there. The very notion of challenging a mob of drunken youths is anathema to the so-called forces of law and order. Alcohol consumption should be confined to people of 21 and over, instead of which fifteen or sixteen year olds are already downing poisonous liquids.

What is even more ludicrous but potentially tragic are the glamorous television commercials in which dozens of beautiful people are ‘enjoying’ a cool, sexy Bacardi, Magners or Smirnoff. The trouble is that the models in these advertisements are filmed when they are stone-cold sober. It would be an eye-opener if such commercials were displaying people with a dozen or half a dozen spirits or pints in them. Such enthusiasts would not look so remotely attractive then. Alcohol advertising is massively misleading and should be banned. This will not happen, because in the final analysis, money talks and the rest of us will just have to grin and bear the spiralling problem of alcohol-induced anti-social behaviour. The alcohol manufacturers do include the drink responsibly suggestion in small writing on their products, but asking a young person to drink sensibly is akin to expecting a Formula One racing competitor to drive carefully.



PARTY ANIMAL
I occasionally get invited out by people, who obviously don’t know me very well. I mean I’d rather stick my head down the toilet than enlist in a lads’ night out bonding exercise. I’ve been there and done that. One goes out, drinks too much, spends too much, and unlike in the movies, comes home to an empty bed, having spent several wasted hours watching other people ‘enjoy themselves’. Oh yes, I cheerfully steer clear of that pathetic scenario nowadays.

Then of course, I don’t care much for socialising with a large group of people. Some people might prefer safety in numbers, but crammed in to a venue of ear-splitting, obnoxious music coupled with a large queue at the bar is not my idea of a good time. I even try to avoid work night outs or Christmas dinners which predictably are dominated by the loquacious few, in which several loud mouths hold forth on the tedious ‘I’ve done this and I’ve done that, and I’ve been here and I’ve been there, and I’ve seen everything and I know everything’, while the rest of the assembled mass hang off their every word. Meanwhile yours truly just slopes off to the periphery in self-imposed exile and protest at the proceedings. Worse still, once the drink starts to flow and the demons come out to play, then various people engage in a little light-hearted banter (or craic) in which friends and work colleagues tease each other. This evolves into sarcastic put downs. I mean there is only so much leg-pulling one can achieve, before the leg comes off. Ah yes, it all ends in tears and recriminations.

Ultimately, if you need liqueur as a means of seeking attention, you deserve pity. Can there be anyone more dreadfully dull than someone who needs alcohol to have a good time?



WEAKNESS
What exactly is weakness? Weakness is when you cannot devote yourself to one partner, even though you promised to do so. Weakness is when you cannot control your temper. There is nothing strong about acts of violent fury. Weakness is when one or two alcoholic beverages are not enough. Weakness is when you have to possess what everybody else seems to have. Weakness is not being content with what you own, and you crave more. Speaking of cravings, weakness is when you cannot resist such desires as smoking. I have tended to refrain from ranting about smoking, but all I can say is that when I see someone ‘coolly’ holding a cigarette, I think that the smoker should simply wear a tee-shirt stating that ‘I hate myself’. Weakness is simply a lack of self-control. You can be a muscular, powerful body-builder with bulging biceps, and yet be terribly weak. Ultimately we are all weak, but some people are weaker than others.



CONCERT CRETINS AND FESTIVAL FOOLS
I have to laugh at these people who state their dislike for religion before proceeding to follow the crowd and assemble in a muddy field, herded together like foul-smelling cattle as they pay collective homage to the pock-marked, acne, guitar heroes performing up high on the stage. These young idols fly in to the concert venue on their helicopter and then sing about their standard theme tunes of angst, boredom, depression, and despair before being flown back to their country mansion, whilst the ‘in-crowd’ spend several hours both queuing to get in and then dispersing at the end of the ‘fun’. No you won’t find me huddled together with fellow-believers worshipping that shambles. Yet again it all comes down to bragging rights. Person A wants to tell his or her mates that they saw U2 or Bruce Springsteen the other night. So, where exactly did you bump into them, then? Was it at the local off-license or were they waiting for their order at the local Chinese takeaway? No, they were up on a stage, seventy yards away in a big stadium!

The poor lonely crowd desperately attempting to re-create the next Woodstock are akin to the masses who chose to follow ‘Brian’. “Think for yourselves”, Brian urged his followers. How ironic that the bandwagon-jumping festival-goers who express their admiration for ‘The Life Of Brian’ are the living embodiment of Brian’s hangers-on, desperately seeking a flawed, human Messiah. It’s a pity that they are too pissed and stoned to realise that the joke is on them. Still, they’re not going to let the truth get in the way of their foolish escapism.



EMPTY GLASSES
There are a lot of silly people whose lives are like an empty glass…which needs alcohol to fill it. Give them a glass full of poison, they lose their inhibitions, start behaving ‘out of character’ and apparently have a good time, or what is known amongst the alcohol-addicted Irish as ‘craic’. They empty the glass down their stomach and then they too feel empty again. Ah yes, but help is at hand, as they proceed to fill their glass again and temporarily fill their life with this oh so worthwhile pursuit again. They repeat this exercise over and over in which the empty glass must be filled so that they too feel fulfilled, before the festivities conclude with empty glasses, as the empty people brace themselves once more for their empty life, which like an empty glass needs alcohol to fill it. Oh dear, how sad is this?



EMPTY FUTILE GESTURES
Oh crumbs, just as this book was progressing so nicely and I was destined for literary awards, critical acclaim, and a massive surge in my fan base, I go and sabotage all the glory by putting the following thoughts to paper.

Sorry folks but I feel compelled and duty-bound to scoff at the mass-produced outpourings of public sympathy that respond to such terrible tragedies as the news of a missing child, such as Madeleine McCann. Let’s get one thing straight: The abduction, assault, or murder of a young child is dreadful, evil, horrible, malicious, totally unacceptable, wicked. In fact there is a multitude of adjectives to describe such circumstances and one would not wish such a fate on anyone.

However, brace yourselves, for I am unmoved by the media-sponsored tidal wave of sympathy that emerges in such gruesome situations. Why do lots of people suddenly feel this urge to wear silly bracelets or armbands or tie ribbons round trees? Ultimately, these are token gestures which solve nothing. When a family is touched by the intense pain of a missing child, their profound sense of grief should not be violated by nationwide empty, futile gestures. Of course by all means any person with a morsel of information that could lead to the discovery of a missing child or the whereabouts of the culprits should co-operate fully with the investigation. This goes without saying. However, what should be avoided are the helpless people who try to help yet cannot and who only succeed in intruding on someone else’s tragedy. It’s almost as if the public relish the prospect of a hard luck story, so that they can rally together like London residents during ‘the Blitz’ of the early 1940s.

Oh come on, there are far too many bandwagon-jumpers around for my liking. May I remind you all that young children die in abuse, famine, neglect, poverty, terrorism, and wars every day, but of course non-British, non-white youngsters are not worthy of the same intense attention. Well, excuse me but the media and the sheep who follow them remind me of people waiting for a bus of misery to come along. Look everybody there goes another bandwagon for you to leap on. Too late, not to worry, I’m sure that there will be another one along soon.



PRETTY GRAVES
Have you ever visited the various military cemeteries dotted around Western Europe, the Far East, and elsewhere? Have you noticed how beautifully preserved the graves and headstones are? In fact, in most graveyards one will find a multitude of pretty graves. It is all the more ironic as lurking beneath the ground is a rotting, decomposing corpse who probably lived and died a life of pain and troubles. However, not to worry, we all may have to cope with a life of intermittent ugliness, but hey at least we will have a nice little plot with a lovely headstone, immaculately mowed grass and pretty flowers to ‘enjoy’ at the end of it all. I remain perpetually perplexed as to why we appear to care more for looking after the dead than we do for preserving the living. Come on folks. Let’s make one another’s life pretty, instead of devoting our energies to foolishly decorating each other’s grave.



DRIVEN TO DISTRACTION
In Norn Iron during the dark days of the 1970s and 1980s, there was a huge security presence in response to the various terrorist campaigns. Even though the war is over or the cessation of violence is ‘complete’ or even permanent, an increased police presence is once more required, I believe, for Northern Ireland’s continuing problem of careless, reckless and sometimes drunk driving.

There is indeed a new kind of terrorist plaguing the Six Counties (and beyond). He or she may be in a well-paid job, live in a lovely house, be well-educated, have wonderful children, drive a beautiful car and not possess extremist views on anything, but nevertheless this very same person could well be threatening the lives of other road users with his or her arrogant and defiant attitudes to road safety. Oh yes the accepted wisdom, reinforced by shock television advertisements, emphasises that the majority of road accidents are caused by young motorists and/or by newly-qualified drivers. I don’t deny this. It is hard to do so when the statistics speak for themselves. However, rather than clamber onto the young people are dangerous drivers bandwagon, I have seen sufficient evidence with my own two eyes to suggest that there are a whole host of vehicle users from all walks of life and more particularly from age groups who should know better, whose antics on the roads leave an awful lot to be desired.

For a start, I am exasperated as a pedestrian by the number of occasions when I have witnessed drivers speed through traffic lights as they are changing from amber to red. The amber light is a signal to warn motorists to slow down because of an imminent red light. Amber is not intended as a starting-pistol for impatient, selfish drivers to sprint through the lights in order to avoid waiting two whole minutes for the next green light to shine. An imminent red light denotes that an adjacent traffic lane or a pedestrian crossing is about to go green. Those road-users (not necessarily young in age) who dash through amber lights are an absolute menace. I would appeal for cameras to be fixed on top of traffic lights so that the chancers who actually traverse a red light are recorded and issued with fines. I believe that fines of increasing severity for each traffic offence might be more of a deterrent than the pointless points system. Allocating three points to a speedster is about as effective as handing out a hundred lines, stating ‘I shall not put other road users at risk by driving so dangerously fast again.’

I would also recommend that each and every one of us re-take our driving test every ten years. Why should that be a problem? If one is a competent road-user, then one has nothing to fear. The increased revenue from say a £10 fee for a ten-yearly test could finance road improvements, which themselves will contribute to greater road safety for all motorists and passengers. Besides, if vehicles are tested on an annual basis to ascertain whether or not they are fit for the open highway, then surely those entrusted with the steering wheel, gears and brakes should also receive a regular driving health check, so to speak. Regularly assessing whether vehicles are dangerous or not is commendable, but the continued absence of evaluating whether the persons (charged with the great responsibility of driving them) are themselves road-worthy or not only serves to negate the purpose of MOT tests.

I would also like to nominate for the hall of shame the drivers, especially black taxis in London who seem to take exception to any pedestrian who has the bare-faced cheek to step on to a pedestrian crossing. It would be nice to see drivers slow down whilst approaching zebra crossings in the expectation that one or two human zebras just might be on the point of stepping off the pavement. Instead of which I find motorists accelerating over the crossings whilst pedestrians are actually stepping on to this designated point of access. One of the great ironies of life is that the white van man and other rent-a quotes who are not shy at coming on to radio phone-in shows complaining about the state of the world and the ‘yoof’ of today are the very same hypocrites who drive irresponsibly and then have the nerve to highlight the failings of other people when they themselves would do well to set a good example.

Finally, speaking as someone who has been prone to driving fast myself, I would urge a greater police presence on the motorways to combat the Formula One wannabees who mistakenly believe that the speed limit is 110 miles per hour. On the occasions when I have foolishly been driving beyond ninety miles per hour, it is quite an eye-opener to find a number of motorists over-taking me! Only the deterrent of watching police, as opposed to imaginary speed cameras, might persuade various big adults to stop driving like big babies. Perhaps traffic lights should be fitted on dual carriageways at ten mile intervals to halt excessive speed. Ultimately, the police ought to stop making excuses about a lack of manpower or resources. Dangerous driving is one of the most serious crimes in our society and those forces committed to crime prevention need to be visibly confronting it. Instead of which, police cars perform endless laps of the city centre all day long while the motorway terrorists are allowed to misbehave, driving the rest of us to distraction.



OSAMA BIN LADEN

Did you know that dear old Osama Bin Laden is an Arsenal football supporter? No wonder he is wanted for crimes against humanity. Apparently Arsene Wenger in his quest to recruit even more foreign players to the Emirates Stadium wished to sign Bin Laden. Osama Bin Laden stated that he wanted to continue living in Afghanistan, but that he would fly to Arsenal’s home fixtures. Wenger then asked him where he proposed to land his private aeroplane. Bin Laden replied that he would fly his ‘plane into the Palace of Westminster one week and then next time he would fly into Canary Wharf.

I’ve never understood why Osama Bin Laden is referred to as the world’s most wanted man. I mean, who wants him really? I don’t want him at all. I don’t ever find myself thinking that I must summon Bin Laden when I want someone to weed the garden. Similarly, England football fans often want a new manager, but surely they don’t actually ‘want’ Osama Bin Laden. Mind you, his team-talk before an international against the United States would be delivered with much passion: “I want you lads to fight for this win. I want you to compete against them as if it were life and death. Don’t be afraid when you tackle to take both man and ball. In fact, forget about the ball. Just take the man. Show him no mercy.” I must confess that as an unwanted person, I envy Bin Laden for being such a wanted and much sought after man.

Apparently, Osama Bin Laden is held responsible in absentia for the 9/11 massacre in the United States. Put simply, Bin Laden was basically the travel agent who arranged for the flights into the World Trade Center. However, if you went on holiday and the pilot crashed the aeroplane, who would you blame: the pilot or the travel agent? Personally, I would be having it out with the pilot for careless driving. I would not be storming round to the travel agents to complain.

I actually feel quite sorry for any young Muslim who genuinely wanted to pursue a career as an aeroplane pilot. Their chances of securing such a position since September 2001 must rest somewhere between nil and zero. Can you imagine a job interview where a Muslim male waits to be quizzed about his application. He passes the time by pulling out a copy of the Koran and starts reading it. Then suddenly he is called for his interview and he absent-mindedly walks into the interview with the Koran in his hand. Oh dear, I don’t think he’s going to be short-listed, do you?!

So why has Osama Bin Laden never been apprehended then? Well, there are two main reasons. Firstly, he is being hunted by American ‘intelligence’ forces. He’s perfectly safe then. Secondly, think about it: what happens when you go on the run? Let me explain. You don’t just pop back to your abode and pack your belongings. No, in your desperate desire to go into hiding immediately, you simply don’t have the opportunity or time to collect such essentials as deodorant, a clean pair of boxer shorts, a fresh pair of socks, nor after shave, nor shower gel, nor the shower itself. As a consequence, Osama Bin Laden went into hiding with no toiletries or change of clothes. The guy obviously stinks. His cave must be filthy and rotten in the extreme. Thus when the intelligent American intelligence come near Bin Laden’s cave, they exclaim that “there is absolutely no way we’re going near that cave over there. There is a foul stench coming from it.” So, if you’re looking for old Bin Lid, the misunderstood travel agent, his cave is the dwelling with the unbearable odour.



THE MIDDLE-EAST: A CULTURE OF BRUTALITY?

I have just completed my reading of Robert Fisk’s epic study of the Middle East, entitled ‘The Great War For Civilisation’. The publication was a real eye-opener on a host of subjects, not least Mr Fisk’s revelation of the twentieth century’s first (secret) holocaust – the ethnic cleansing of Armenian Christians by the Turks. Mr Fisk also graphically recounts the deadly consequences of the ‘civilised’ west’s pernicious use of depleted uranium shells against Iraq, resulting in innumerable child deaths from cancer in a country where healthcare provision was drastically undermined by the impact of economic sanctions.. The agonising suffering of these innocent infants doesn’t get reported on the front page of British tabloids because these wretched children are not middle-class, blue-eyed white girls. Fisk’s book also reinforced my sympathy for the dispossessed Palestinian people at the mercy of the merciless Israeli occupation. However, more than anything, I came to the realisation that the Middle East, both Muslim and Jew (not to mention ‘Christian’) is an area afflicted by a widespread culture of barbarity and violence.

Take Iran for instance. I grew up in the mistaken belief that the 1978 revolution ushered in a period of repression, only to discover that life under the Shah was no more pleasant for police detainees than it would be during the reign of the Shi’ite extremists. If Iran has been devoid of human rights for more decades than the west cares to admit, then the picture in neighbouring Iraq is even more grim. There, anyone who suffered arrest would brace themselves for the likelihood of an early death, or merely painful torture if they were particularly fortunate. Fisk writes of one interrogation centre where pedestrians were not permitted to walk on the pavement outside, in case they should hear the screaming of the internees held within. For all their alleged devotion to Allah, I am overwhelmed by the intense pain and suffering that Muslims actually inflict on each other! So much for brotherly love and fellowship.

This brings me on to something else. Whatever regime one cares to mention, one finds the Middle East is weighed down by a plethora of violent organisations determined to wage a war of insurgency, and frequently on each other. Such is the sense of disunity among the Muslim peoples that off the top of my head I could list such fearsome phenomena as Al Qaeda, the Taleban, the Mujahideen, the PLO, Fa’ata, Hamas, Hizbollah, Islamic Jihad, and then throw into the melting pot such diverse groups as the Sunnis, the Shias, the Kurds, the Jews, not to mention the Americans, the British, and previously the Russians, and one has an almighty political volcano.

Of course there are many followers of Islam who are perfectly peaceful men and women, but I cannot help but draw the conclusion that that the Arab-dominated (or American-dominated?) Middle East is a region awash with brutality and violence. If I was to climb onto a stool in the centre of Baghdad or Beirut and repeat this remark, the likely reaction of the locals would almost certainly confirm my worst fears.