When I Grow Up

As the year lazily plots it course, the reappearance of another birthday on the horizon inspired a period of quiet introspection; stock was taken of last year’s events and what I had learnt, and there was much contemplation of what the new year may bring. With this reflective mindset and the annual ‘sloughing off of the old self’ fast approaching, off I trotted to Digitise or Die: What is the Future of the Book?, a discussion between Margaret Atwood, Andrew O’Hagan, Erica Wagner, the literary editor at the Times and Stephen Page, chief executive of Faber & Faber at Southbank on a topic close to my heart.

A Snakey Zeitgeist

Snakes on a plane. It says what it does. And it sounds even better when Samuel L. Jackson lends his inimitable style to the phrase: “I’m sick of these mo********ing snakes on this mo********ing plane!”

A refreshing antidote to the bent for too-clever-by-half post modern (in some cases, post post modern) movie making, the world’s most hyped internet movie charmed even the Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw.

But what particularly tickled my fancy is how the phrase has apparently entered the contemporary lexicon. According to the Urban Dictionary it is equivalent to ‘cest la vie’ or ‘sh*t happens’. For example:

A (aghast): “I can’t believe the BBC paid £5m to Graham Norton to host goddawful semi reality tv for another 3 years!’

B (in suitable California surfer drawl): “Snakes on the plane, man, snakes on the plane.”

England expects

Three years and 51.5 weeks have come and gone. Yet again, the silliest of all silly seasons is about to commence. And as of Friday, the next five weeks will see (guaranteed):

• global productivity (save, perhaps in North America) grind to a halt
• grown men crying
• (the majority of) womenkind sighing, getting on with it and ignoring behaviour which would otherwise be branded madness but is a common afflication of Beautiful Game devotees
• the airing of facts and statistics – from the simple run-of-the-mill ‘that’s ker-azy!’ (ie. footballer’s worst barnets) to the downright certifiable (Sepp Blatter has apparently checked into a 15,000 Euro a night German hotel and has his newspaper ironed every morning by his butler. It’s true.).
• ditto with false hope and superstitious mumbo jumbo. I have been reliably informed that the odds on England winning have been shortened to 6-1, exactly the same odds as England had before the 1966 World Cup. That’s gotta mean, something, eh?

In slightly off the topic news (but not so off it’s festering and green and greeting you with a ‘hello, mommy’), the warm-hearted chaps at London city law firm Baker & McKenzie – that’ll be the PARTNERS, to you minionboy – have warned boingboing.net that they will be monitoring the website and will be taking legal action in the event of activity infringing on their client Infront Sports Media’s rights by streaming World Cup footage etc. etc.. Boingboing has understandably given them the two fingered salute (just keeping it civil) but I’m figuring the Baker & McKenzie paralegal or trainee who’s landed the job of monitoring boingboing’s website is having the last laugh. Who would have thought that all those years slogging it through lawschool, avoiding the pub in favour of an intimate relationship with a library desk, would actually pay off with some fun?

Anyway, here’s a couple of photos of Londonium gearing up for Friday’s festivities. Unfortunately I keep missing beflagged cars shooting past me and could only manage this stationary shot outside me ‘ome. The flags don’t seem that prominent on these piddly shots but they’re there, trust me.