It is a little-known fact that I once worked for the BBC. It was only for two weeks and I like to think that I was filling in for the Governor-General. I forget his name so he cannot have been that important. In fact, I worked in the Record Library and was filling in for a friend who was on holiday. The RL was the lowest rung in the ladder at The Beeb and wannabe presenters and producers were just thrilled to be working anywhere at The Beeb on the off-chance that they might be noticed. Little did they appreciate that we were the lowest of the low and upward progression would be as a low form of life emerging from the swamp.
Our job was literally to replace stacks of records after usage to their correct location in the library. To do this we sat at a long table, each of us sorting the records into categories, which gave us a chance to chat. Like me most were graduates and you would expect a modicum of intelligent conversation.
Not so. There were the usual inanities and nonsense from recent graduates none more so than their views on America. Sniffy as hell and all so patronising of American culture and politics. Remember this was 1983 though some would say what has changed? After one too many such condescensions on America I had had enough. Having recently graduated joint honours in American Studies and having at least worked and lived in America, I pointed out what utter tosh they were talking. That was it. Frozen out, cancelled and cast into utter darkness, it soon became clear that there was no place for me at the table nor The Beeb. Given the culture that has recently been exposed I would say that is a good thing.
***
I am grateful to the podcast ‘Planet Normal’, the planet of right-thinking and reasonable views, for pointing out before Christmas that the Brighton and Hove Museum suggested decolonising Christmas. Apparently Santa’s use of a naughty list means a judgement on indigenous practices worldwide and the ultimate judgement on all societies. This asks us to accept colonial assumptions of cultural superiority and so is a harmful colonial gaze. Then there is the question of elves who ‘are identifiably different to what is often presented as ‘normal’, which is white, male and non-disabled.’
I am grateful to the Museum’s support as I was onto this two years ago in my blog ‘On the Naughty List’ (24th January 2024). I wrote about the discrimination in the film ‘Elf’ in which there was blatant Shortism and lack of diversity as humans were not allowed to work at the North Pole. This clearly undermines the principles of Diversity, Inclusion and Equity (DIE principles) as it excludes humans. Further undermining of DIE principles is also highlighted by the Naughty List. Santa was also a man and clearly depicted as dictator. Again, exclusionary as it suggests only men can be dictators.
I wrote to Netflix to complain and to suggest a Trigger Warning before the film. They have not responded to me. I cannot think why.
***
Postscript: Just had a lunch with my elder daughter who is a social worker. She said parents often need advice on parenting as children do not come with manuals. Nor do wives.
.
Jesus wants me for a sunbeam
It is that time in the cycle again. Every two years the government sends me a bowel cancer testing kit with which I am meant to return a faecal sample. The problem is I have lost the test kit and the return envelope. Undeterred I have laid a deposit in a normal envelope and I have sellotaped it as best as I can. There is a little seepage from the sides, but I am sure Australia Post can handle that. Not knowing where to send it, I have sent it to the Prime Minister’s office as our newly elected Prime Minister seems to have a solution to all of Australia’s problems. I am sure he must know the relevant department. I’m hoping for confirmation of receipt.
***
I recently had the chance to go to a ZZ Top concert, which for all who know me must surely regard as an aberration. Always game for source material I was undeterred in putting on my sensation seeker’s hat. I was looking forward to it as I had listened to ‘Gimme all your lovin’. It was the first time I had been to a concert of contemporary music as my usual gig, if you will excuse the pun, has been classical concerts including opera and ballet. My fellow concertgoers were slack-jawed when I told them it was my first time. It was if I had just admitted to being a virgin. Each to his own.
It was certainly throwback time. There were a lot of aged rockers, both on and off stage, while numerous rocker chicks, both young and old, wore jeans far too tight for them. As ZZ Top has been visiting Adelaide since 1981 some of their original supporters had turned up, beards and all, with younger members of their family trying to emulate their granddads. You do not often see that in modern society, but this was clearly a family event. I was impressed by the number of ZZ Top beards given their scarcity in the circles in which I move. Where these people live, I know not. Clearly not the eastern suburbs.
Ahead of sitting down I inserted earplugs, but on second thoughts I added two others just to make sure. I am now waiting to get them surgically removed at the end of June. An eight week wait, but that is why you pay for private health insurance. The first act was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. They all had surprisingly good heads of hair even though they were all 72. Though not all was well with their bodies. The bass guitarist at one stage had his legs spread so wide he seemed to be attempting the splits. Either that or his hips had locked. After 10 minutes, having been immobile from the hips down, we knew his hips had actually locked. Their session ended early so he could be taken off.
Returning to our seats post interval, the stage was literally a wall of speakers. With two sets of earplugs in place I felt confident I could survive. I had not reckoned on the G-force of the blast. I looked round and it all looked as if we were all skydiving as the flesh of our faces was flattened. A few days later I was asked what the concert was like. ‘LOUD. VERY LOUD.’ My questioner could not understand why I was shouting.
Jesus wants me for a sunbeam
It is that time in the cycle again. Every two years the government sends me a bowel cancer testing kit with which I am meant to return a faecal sample. The problem is I have lost the test kit and the return envelope. Undeterred I have laid a deposit in a normal envelope and I have sellotaped it as best as I can. There is a little seepage from the sides, but I am sure Australia Post can handle that. Not knowing where to send it, I have sent it to the Prime Minister’s office as our newly elected Prime Minister seems to have a solution to all of Australia’s problems. I am sure he must know the relevant department. I’m hoping for confirmation of receipt.
***
I recently had the chance to go to a ZZ Top concert, which for all who know me must surely regard as an aberration. Always game for source material I was undeterred in putting on my sensation seeker’s hat. I was looking forward to it as I had listened to ‘Gimme all your lovin’. It was the first time I had been to a concert of contemporary music as my usual gig, if you will excuse the pun, has been classical concerts including opera and ballet. My fellow concertgoers were slack-jawed when I told them it was my first time. It was if I had just admitted to being a virgin. Each to his own.
It was certainly throwback time. There were a lot of aged rockers, both on and off stage, while numerous rocker chicks, both young and old, wore jeans far too tight for them. As ZZ Top has been visiting Adelaide since 1981 some of their original supporters had turned up, beards and all, with younger members of their family trying to emulate their granddads. You do not often see that in modern society, but this was clearly a family event. I was impressed by the number of ZZ Top beards given their scarcity in the circles in which I move. Where these people live, I know not. Clearly not the eastern suburbs.
Ahead of sitting down I inserted earplugs, but on second thoughts I added two others just to make sure. I am now waiting to get them surgically removed at the end of June. An eight week wait, but that is why you pay for private health insurance. The first act was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. They all had surprisingly good heads of hair even though they were all 72. Though not all was well with their bodies. The bass guitarist at one stage had his legs spread so wide he seemed to be attempting the splits. Either that or his hips had locked. After 10 minutes, having been immobile from the hips down, we knew his hips had actually locked. Their session ended early so he could be taken off.
Returning to our seats post interval, the stage was literally a wall of speakers. With two sets of earplugs in place I felt confident I could survive. I had not reckoned on the G-force of the blast. I looked round and it all looked as if we were all skydiving as the flesh of our faces was flattened. A few days later I was asked what the concert was like. ‘LOUD. VERY LOUD.’ My questioner could not understand why I was shouting.