If You Want to Run a Country, Grow the Fuck Up.

I am quite openly disappointed with the state of politics in the UK. I think a lot of stupid decisions have been made in the time I've been paying attention to it, particularly in the last five years. I think that not enough is being done to educate people about politics for the general public to properly understand it, unless they go out of their way to learn. Which is difficult because political journalism is in an equally pitiful state.

Most of the things reported about politics is either scare-mongering or stupid. A lot of the governmental decisions reported are the ones that wind people up or cover up something more serious or just make it look like politicians are doing something more than wasting tax money. Of the rest, most political news is only scandal - MPs have been claiming expenses they're not entitled to or having sex with someone their not supposed to, somehow.

Or it's gossip.

Recently I was flipping through a Metro and saw an article that had no other news but that a Labour MP thought Ed Milliband was a wanker.

I don't really care what anyone thinks of anyone else. People are entitled to their opinions. And Ed Milliband isn't doing a great job of making Labour look great right now. So it's not an unreasonable opinion to have.

But it's not the kind thing that political journalism needs to be focussing on. Most of the places that actually convey useful, worthwhile information are private blogs that are committed to making sure that someone reports properly on politics because the media sure as hell isn't going to.

More importantly, it's nothing like professional to talk that way about the representative of your own party. Firstly. it makes him look childish and immature. And it shakes people's faith in the whole party. How can anyone expect them to run a country if they can't even keep their own MPs from calling them petty names?

I tried to find the article on Metro website, but I couldn't find it online. But it's not like there aren't plenty more instances of MPs slagging each other off like stroppy teenagers.

Nick Clegg was a guest on Adam Hills's The Last Leg recently and got a huge laugh by intimating that he thought Boris Johnson was more tosser than statesman. Which doesn't generate faith in the his commitment to the coalition, but it was at least on a comedy show, designed to make people laugh rather than educate people about the political situation of their country. In that kind of setting, it can be excused.

But when politicians and MPs bickering at and about each other makes the mainstream news, then it makes the country as a whole look petty and silly. If the people in charge of running the country can't even treat each other with respect, as adults and colleagues, as people who have a serious job to do and need to work together to it, then how can any of the general population feel comfortable depending on them?

It's getting worryingly common seeing people with this kind of authority behaving like toddlers. It's no wonder the UK is in worse shape than it has been in years.

Right now, the person who seems to taking politics seriously - and getting attention for it - is Eddie Izzard.

His intention to run for London mayor has been publicised for a while now. The vast majority of interviews concerning it focus on how he'll make the shift from comedy to politics work. But when he speaks about other politicians, he does it with respect even when he disagrees. He said of David Cameron:

“He is center-right, so I’m okay with that. He’s not my party — ‘It’s more about the few than the many.’ He said he wouldn’t take apart the National Health Service, and he sort of did.”

And that's it.

He doesn't call him a prick or a wanker or a tit or a waste of public funding. Which I sometimes do. By speaking frankly and tactfully, he acknowledges that it's up to Cameron to make the decisions he wants to while he's in power. He isn't petty or childish or mean. He recognises the difference in their political views and the right of people to hold views that contrast to his own. And he doesn't judge any person's character or personality because of it.

He knows that there isn't space for bickering and name calling when it comes to something as  important as running a country.

I can call politicians a tit. I am 21. (For three more days.) I am less than a year out of university. Most importantly, I am allowed to be immature sometimes because I am not in charge of a fucking country. Comedians can call politicians a tit. It's their job to make people laugh. And the fact is, it makes the general public feel good to mock the people in charge, the people who make the rules that in turn make them feel exploited.

It's different if you are also a politician. If you have any responsibility over other people's lives, you have to work together with the people who are supposed to be doing it with you. You don't achieve anything by squabbling. And you definitely can't be trusted with governing other people's lives if you don't understand that.

Izzard is about the only person behaving like an adult and it's ridiculous that there aren't more people treating the government of our country like the serious deal that it is.

Go suck a dick, media.

It offends me that when I typed 'm' into a search box, the first suggestion was 'Magaluf girl'. I can assume with a fair amount of confidence that I don't need to explain what I mean by the story about the Magaluf girl. I don't care about the Magaluf girl. So she sucked some dick. It wasn't classy, but it also wasn't news.

I don't care how much dick she sucked. She - you - I - everyone - has the right to suck as much or as little dick as they like, for their own or others' pleasure, in exchange for goods, services, money, whatever, as long as they do it of their own free will, and they have the right not to be judged for doing so. She can suck all of the dick in the world and it won't make a difference to my life. Fact is, if I want to know about people sucking dicks, I'll go out of my way to find people sucking dicks. There is plenty of it out there without it also being in the news. So maybe, by society's current standards, it was tacky to exchange twenty blowies for one alcopop, or whatever it was, but if she thought it was a fair trade then that's her call to make.

Personally, I resent the fact that the media has insisted that I have to hear about it, when there are much more important things happening in the world. I've been reading recently about scientists finding the part of the brain that switches on consciousness. I've been reading about secret paedophiles in our government. I've been reading about disabled and mentally ill people protesting because they can't afford to live because of the meagre benefits they get from our twisted government. These are all far more important than the fact that some girl sucked a few dicks, but all have been ignored by the general public because all they are about is that a girl sucked a few dicks. 

This is why I loathe humanity. There are more interesting things to read about, things which are more valuable to humans in general, than "lol at the slut", which is effectively what we've been given here in place of actual news.

What people choose to do with their own and other peoples' bodies is their business and no one else's. If they choose to tell their friends or tweet about it or post videos of it online, that's their decision. Sex between consenting adults is not and never should be in the news. News about rape cases, fine, people need to know how to deal with predators and abusive people, to know that the law and the government won't tolerate people treating each other like that, et cetera, et cetera. But this is just gossip, and it's clogging up the social consciousness to the extent that it is pushing out things that actually qualify as news. 


And because it is apparently far more interesting than anything that actually matters, here is a dick (from Wikipedia):

See the non-effect it has on your life?
Now go do something useful.

Bigger On The Inside

The Daily Mail makes me ashamed to be British. The fact that it is so popular in my country makes me feel somehow associated with it, and that makes me feel dirty. And not in a fun way. But not for the obvious reasons. The bigotry, the quack pseudoscience, the gossipy approach to ‘news’ and the shameless right wing propaganda all irk me, but in a harmless-old-fart sort of way. In the same way that most people’s grannies are a little bit racist, I don’t really care that the Daily Mail is a bit shit. I generally assumed that the people who are affected by it are the people who are dumb enough to read it, that they inflict it upon themselves, that if they really choose to believe that divorce causes cancer then that’s up to them. They’re most likely the same people who will choose how many lottery tickets to buy based on the horoscopes in the back of gossip magazines. Generally, I’ve been happy to let them go ignorantly on and to wait patiently for natural selection to take its course. As long as I don’t read it, I reasoned, it won’t get to me. And, on the odd occasion I want to vent about the stupidity of the world with a big fat facepalm, I accept total responsibility for looking at anything written by Samantha Brick.

What I actually did on my birthday.

But there is one thing that does disgust me – the personal attacks. In general, I think it’s despicable that a respected newspaper would be so childish about anything, but there a particular one that gets to me on a personal level. This one. (As much as I loathe publicising this drivel, I think it's only fair you know where I'm coming from.)

Earlier on this year, my trusty Google machine informed me that Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra would be playing at the Camden Roundhouse on my 20^th birthday. With no celebrations yet planned, I lost my proverbial shit. I was then promptly and politely informed that, with very good and somewhat heartbreaking reason, that part of the tour had been postponed. Instead, I got drunk with my friends on my birthday and ate pizza and watched films and suppressed the little fangirl that had come prancing out of me when she had seen the chance to party with Amanda Fucking Palmer.

The show was rescheduled for July 12^th. In what I hoped was very much the AFP spirit (and on the back of some kind person offering me cupcakes), I decided I would take biscuits. For anyone unfamiliar with Amanda Palmer, she has a huge Twitter following and she makes a genuine effort to make her followers feel like they are part of a community. This tweet from just before the show, for instance, encouraging her fans to talk to each other is a perfect example. I promised her that I would speak to all of the strangers – and what better ice breaker than an offer of biscuits?

So I arrived with a carrier bag full of biscuits and walked from the box office to the end of the queue and offered them out to everyone waiting. It was indeed a great ice breaker. My friend and I got talking to loads of cool people. Random compliments flew. People standing near each other started chatting after discovering a shared passion for ginger nuts. A girl from France was delighted that she had got a chance to try a chocolate Digestive. Some people were genuinely hungry. Some people just really fancied a custard cream. Some people hugged us. More promised to find us inside and hug us there. Some did.

AFP with her loving fans.

From the start, the night was incredible. Having both attended and staffed such performances, I expected to have to punch my way to the stage and stand in an awkward crush for an hour and a half before the warm up act kicked off. 

But, of course, AFP does things her own way. A better way.

Ten minutes after the time the doors were officially opened, an astonished ring stood on the floor of the Roundhouse around the first warm up act, who were already playing when we arrived. They were fantastic. They were energetic and colourful and exciting – just like everything else. And one of them gave me a hug. I suspect that more of them would have, but I only asked one of them before I went off to tell a fantastically dressed man that I loved his face.

Over the next hour, I was introduced to some incredible musicians. AFP appeared on the balcony and, without microphone or amplification, accompanied the entire audience singing ‘Creep’ on her ukulele. She came onstage to introduce us to each one of her warm up acts – that is, her special guests. She told us where she had found them and why she wanted us to hear them. They were all incredible.

When at last Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra took their places, the crowd as one screamed and clapped and stamped and jumped. In the first song, AFP waded out into the audience, letting us all paw at her, stroke her, touch her, hug her, dance with her as she cut through us. Mad rushes to brush her with fingertips swept the smaller people – myself included – along in her wake. Propelled away from my friends, I ended up right at the front. For a moment, I was face to face with her while she waited for two security guys to haul her back onto stage. The whole time she had been tugged at, she had not missed a single note. Her voice was perfect the whole time. She had no problem cutting through people when she wanted to get back to the stage. She was powerful; in those moments, she was flawless.

Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra.

She told us stories about being at Glastonbury, about meeting Liam Gallagher from Oasis, about being exposed to English swear words. The music was amazing. The gorgeous Chad Raines threw himself to the front of the stage, leaning over the audience so that we could reach to stroke his sweaty back while he riffed – even dripping with hours of exertion, he had the fluffiest curly hair (I know, I touched it). He and the delicious Jherek Bischoff danced together as they performed, hugging and sharing guitars and creating a miniature show within the show of their adorable bromance. AFP had her special guests back on to perform, to duet with her, to dance with the band.

She sent her band off for a break and performed for us with just a ukulele. She performed a new song about being strong when all the world is going to shit around you. It was perhaps the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard written for the ukulele. About half way through, tears started to stream down her face. She did not miss a note; she did not stumble over a single syllable. She just kept singing and playing perfectly through until the end as tears dripped onto her chest. Seeing her cry broke my heat. I managed to hold my own until the end of the song, when I thought I would be safe. 

But then she played ‘The Bed Song’, another beautifully sad, sadly beautiful song. 

And I broke down. I bit my knuckles until a woman in front of me hugged me. The people behind me found my friend and dragged her to the front so that she could hug me too. I wanted to hug Amanda Palmer. I think we all did.

She just got on with the performance.

Towards the end, AFP played us a brand new song, exclusive to the night, one that she said maybe she would never play again, one that we should upload and share. It was a gift. It was a direct response to the judgmental article about her Glastonbury performance in the Daily Mail – that had not even tried to critique her music or her performance – that she had finished writing only an hour before the show had begun. It was bright, bouncy and funny. She proudly and properly used one of the new British swear words she had learnt. Half way through, she flung off her kimono and finished the song completely, comfortably nude. It was fantastic and I adored it – I have already described it on more than one occasion as my favourite thing that has ever happened. 

And meant it.

(Enjoy that video while it lasts; YouTube will take it down for the nudity sooner or later. Dicks.)

But at the same time I hate that it had to happen. I hate that someone had to make AFP feel so objectified, so bad about one little accident, to make it seem like it eclipsed all the effort she had put into putting on an incredible show. It is horrible for anyone to say such a thing about anyone, but to do it in a public and respected forum and to try to pass it off as ‘news’. And about someone who does no one any harm ever, who spreads only joy. It was hurtful and unnecessary. “Boob glimpsed briefly” is not news. It is definitely not a review.

And if people think it is, then maybe someone needs to start reviewing the reviewers.

I don’t mind if the Daily Mail and its writers and readers don’t like AFP. That’s totally up to them. In fact, if AFP were the kind of performer that the Daily Mail approved of, I probably wouldn’t care for her all that much. Simply put, I don’t trust them to have particularly good taste. 

But they don’t need to be dicks about it. They’re supposed to be professionals. And I have never known a professional anything to fail more monumentally.

Fangirl though I may be, I am under no illusions that Amanda Palmer is perfect. She's human. But I do think that she is a wonderful role model and a great person to look up to. I wish I had her wit and energy, her bravery and creativity, her perseverance and dedication. I wish I could connect with people the way she does, could make people feel special like she does. I wish I had her strength, her courage, her joy. I wish I could pull a Neil Gaiman (but frankly, she has earned him – and he her). Through her music, her writing, her talks and, I think most importantly, her behaviour, she has taught me a hell of a lot about life and what it is to be a good person. She has taught me that the most important thing to be is myself. She has taught me that if you don't like the way things are done, you can go out and do them your own, better way, and if you're on the right track then you'll get the support you need. She makes me want to work harder at everything I do. She makes me think it can be worthwhile to do what I love.

She makes me want to buy biscuits for total strangers just to see them smile – and she makes me actually do it, too.

I love you, too.