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Logical fallacies: weapons in the information wars

In the era of Brexit and Trump, it’s more important than ever to be able to tell truth from post-truth

Transformer Megatron
It’s Megatron. He’s a Decepticon, innit? Oh, come on, it was either this or yet another fucking picture of Pinocchio.

“If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.” ― Adolf Hitler

In my last post I talked about cognitive biases, or errors in thinking. Now I want to move on to logical fallacies – errors in communicating. It’s sometimes difficult to see the difference between the two because there’s so much overlap between them. If you believe (erroneously) that all Muslims are terrorists, then you are going to argue that all Muslims are terrorists. But you can also believe something that is true and argue it incorrectly. The truth gets lost somewhere between your brain and your tongue (or tweet).

Very broadly speaking, cognitive biases are stupidity, while logical fallacies are lies, or distortions of the truth. But there’s a complicating factor: lies can be told innocently (you believe them to be true), or maliciously (you know they are untrue but want to persuade other people that they are true). We’ll come to that. It’s probably best if I just crack on.

(First, a note: committing a logical fallacy does not in itself mean your point is wrong. If I claimed that, I would be guilty of the fallacy fallacy. It just means that your argument is invalid, and you’ll have to find another way to support your view. And sorry about all the Latin. I didn’t name these things!)

A priori argument

AKA rationalisation, proof texting.

Starting out assuming something to be true (some pre-set belief or dogma) and then seeking out only arguments – or pseudo-arguments- that support it, and ignoring all those that contradict it.

Usually involves …

Appeal to emotion

Using emotive or loaded words to make your argument instead of neutral ones. People respond more viscerally to emotive terms and are thus more susceptible to persuasion.

“The #TrumpRiot is yet another example of how the alt-left is infinitely more dangerous, violent & intolerant than the alt-right.” – Paul Joseph Watson

Often goes hand in hand with …

Hyperbole

Exaggeration for effect; overstating the case in an effort to be more persuasive.

It is technically cheating, because it’s misrepresenting the truth, but it’s long been an accepted part of discourse (probably because it’s generally quite easy to see through).

“I voted Leave because our prisons are full of Polish rapists.”

“We even had Barack Obama flying in to tell us what to do.” – commenter on Guardian website

(The facts – the president of the US, on a visit to Britain, gave his personal opinion that it would be a bad idea for the UK to leave the EU – have been stretched, so that now it is suggested that Obama was ordering the UK to vote to stay, which is clearly not the case. If he’d threatened to launch ICBMs on London if we didn’t do as he said, well then, yes, that would count as telling us what to do. But my interlocutor has set up a straw man here.)

Cherry-picking

AKA half-truth.

Telling the strict truth, but deliberately minimising or omitting important key details in order to falsify the larger picture and support a false conclusion. Pretty much accepted practice, particularly in the age of the attention deficit, but no less dangerous for it.

The trick can be played with pictures as well as words.

Plain truth fallacy

AKA simple truth fallacy, salience bias, executive summary.

The tendency to favour familiar, or easily comprehensible examples and evidence over that which is more complex and unfamiliar.

“This country’s been going to the dogs ever since we joined the EU. It’s high time we got out.” – commenter on Guardian website

 Appeal to authority

Generally speaking, we would be well advised to heed the opinions of experts, because they know whereof they speak (certainly better than the man in the street). However, when they are talking about something that’s not in their area of expertise, or if their opinion is very much in the minority in their field, we should take their pronouncements with a pinch of salt.

“It must be true. I read it in the Mail.”

Getting a celebrity endorsement – like asking Beyonce and Jay-Z to appear at your rally – is a form of appeal to authority.

Just plain folks

The opposite of the above. The supposition that someone’s opinions are more valid because he is a “plain talker” who “says what’s on his mind”. Usually comes with a free side-dish of ad hominems designed to ridicule or demonise anyone with a heart or a brain: “boffins”, “bureaucrats”, “tree-huggers”, “coddled liberal elite”.

“I’m voting Trump because he tells it like it is.”

Argumentum ad populum

AKA appeal to popularity, bandwagon effect.

“A million customers can’t be wrong!” The assertion that your view must be right because the majority of people share it. But remember, we’re all numpties. The popularity of an idea has no bearing whatsoever on its validity.

There are 1.6 billion Muslims and 2.2 billion Christians in this world, and they sure as hell can’t all be right.

False dichotomy

AKA false dilemma; false binary; logical fallacy of the excluded middle.

Believing (or stating) that there are only two opposed approaches or answers, when in fact a range of solutions are possible. Probably the most common example of this is “You’re either with us or against us”, when it’s obvious that you can agree with some of a person’s views and not others. We don’t live in a black-and-white world; the true answer (assuming there is one) usually lies somewhere in the grey.

“You’re either for freedom of speech or you’re not.” – Paul Joseph Watson

Hopefully, even a fool can see that it is perfectly possible to take an intermediate stance. You could approve of freedom of speech under certain conditions, for example, or with certain exceptions (the position that most legal systems in the developed world take).

Personally, I’m for freedom, except where it impinges on others’ freedoms. There’s no contradiction there; it is, however, an ever so slightly complex idea, at least, one that’s evidently too complex for Watson’s followers to grasp.

“Black lives matter.”
“No, blue lives matter.”

Again, there’s no reason to make this an either/or affair. It should be obvious that all lives matter (although there may be certain times when it is appropriate to highlight the fact that one particular group is at disproportionate risk).

Argument to middle ground

In a way, the opposite of the above. We generally think in a linear, binary way. Someone makes a claim, someone else makes a counterclaim, and ultimately, if we are lucky, they agree on a compromise. The Greek terms for this are thesis (proposition), antithesis (negation) and synthesis (reconciliation of the two). Here’s a example: thesis: “Drugs are bad.” Antithesis: “No, drugs are great.” Synthesis: “Some drugs are good and some are bad”/”Drugs are not too harmful in moderation.”

But it doesn’t always work this way. Sometimes the thesis is rubbish, sometimes the antithesis is rubbish, sometimes one or the other is indisputably correct, and sometimes they’re both way off, so the answer does not always lie somewhere in the middle. Replace “drugs” with “cigarettes” in the above example and you’ll see what I mean (PS: I’m a smoker).

This faulty logic can have pernicious consequences for debate. When the BBC has a discussion panel on man-made climate change, for example, they’ll generally invite one or two people who are proponents of the idea, and one or two who are rabidly opposed, in the name of “balance”. But if they were to truly reflect the weight of opinion in the scientific community (and the evidence), they would invite 99 climate change believers and one sceptic.

Equally, populating Question Time with one person from the far left, two from the centre and one from the far right is not necessarily a fair representation of the political makeup of the country.

Non-sequitur

Latin for “does not follow”.

Developing an argument by suggesting that one thing automatically follows from another when it clearly does not; implying causality where there is none.

“Donald Trump has been a very successful businessman, so he’d make an excellent president.”

Slippery slope fallacy

Claiming that if X happens, then Y will automatically follow, when there is no evidence to suggest this is true.

“If we let any more Muslims in, the next thing you know, we’ll all be obeying sharia law.”

Moving the goalposts

Asking for a certain degree of proof or evidence, and then, when this is offered, demanding more.

“The EU was going to let Turkey join.”
“They could never have done that as long as the UK exercised its veto.”
“But … they banned our bendy bananas.”
“No they didn’t. They simply proposed a new classification under which straighter bananas were given a higher rating.”
[Half-hour pause while they go on Google]
“But they banned powerful hoovers.”

Shifting the burden of proof

Claiming that the onus is on your opponent to disprove your point, rather than on you to prove it. Your point does not become right simply because someone cannot explain why you are wrong.

“If you visit the Real News Network, you’ll find Clinton was the higher risk of WW3, especially with her support of the dopey Syria No-Fly Zone idea.”
“I’m afraid deranged far-right websites that peddle fake news and conspiracy theories are some way down my list of reputable sources.”
“Instead of mocking my source, how about demonstrating, using logical fact based arguments, why I’m wrong?”

False analogy

The assumption that because two things are similar in one respect, they are similar in others.

“The EU is failing and breaking up, just like the USSR did. In fact, it’s just like the USSR.” – commenter on Independent website

“Humans are tribal animals living in cultural groups. That is what makes us human.”
“We were. Some of us aspire, via education and tolerance and openness, to a better future.”
“A ‘better future’? History is full of ideological madness ending up in bloodshed. Think of the Great Leap Forward!”

“Remember when the right rioted after Obama got in? Me neither.” – Paul Joseph Watson

[Obama was not elected on a platform of hate, he was not openly racist or misogynistic, and he did not threaten to revoke the hard-won rights of millions of American citizens. Also, the numbers of people actually rioting were inflated, as we’ll see below.]

(Tweet posted after Lily Allen went to a Calais refugee camp and apologised to one of the children there on behalf of the UK. The two points aren’t remotely comparable. The UK government could see exactly what was going on in Calais and could have acted to help much sooner. No one in authority knew about the paedophile ring in Rotherham until it was exposed, so no one could have done anything.)

 Reductio ad Hitlerum

The observance of Godwin’s Law; namely, the likening of one’s opponent to Adolf Hitler, or Nazis in general. Liberals (and Remain voters) are often guilty of this. It’s usually hyperbolic and unwarranted, but sometimes, the comparison is apt.

Tone policing

Attempting to dismiss an argument based on the manner in which it is delivered rather than its content. Whether I am screaming, laughing or crying while making a statement has no bearing on its truthfulness.

“More sneering and condescension. Exactly what we’ve come to expect from liberals.”

“Stop whining. You lost!”

 Terror management theory

The exploitation of threat hypersensitivity, which I covered in my last post.

“We have to do something!”

AKA security theatre.

A relatively new fallacy, which maintains that when people are scared, angry or fed up, it is necessary to do something, anything, immediately, regardless of whether it will actually work.

“I’m voting for change!”

Argumentum ad baculum

Latin for “argument from the stick”.

The fallacy of “persuasion” or “proving one is right” by force, or threats of violence. More of a sign of desperation than a logical fallacy, but used increasingly often.

“Give me your address and we’ll see who’s right.” – (Twitter user, to me)

Generalisation

Here we encounter the problem I mention above: the human tendency to generalise is a cognitive bias and a logical fallacy. They’re two sides of the same coin, feeding on and reinforcing each other. I thought I’d cover this under both rubrics because it is, in my opinion, the single greatest cause of misunderstanding.

“The mainstream media tries to portray these ‘refugees’ as a peaceful and freedom-loving people, but that’s just not the case at all.” – Supreme Patriot website

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard people say things like “God, Italy’s awful”, based on one subpar holiday, or “I refuse to shop at Tesco since that checkout girl pulled a face at me”. The reverse is almost as common: “Everything David Bowie does is genius”, “Portuguese people are so lovely!” We’re constantly trying to extrapolate from the specific to the universal, and it often leads us to false, and sometimes dangerous, conclusions.

“You voted Leave, so you must be racist.”

(Yes, many who voted leave voiced concerns about immigration, and concerns about immigration often go hand in hand with racism. But one simply does not follow from the other.)

The problem of intent

There’s a fuzzy logic to the order of this list.

I’m going to don my optimist’s hat and speculate that most of the time, when people make logical blunders, they’re doing so in ignorance; they’re simply not aware that they’re obfuscating or mangling the truth. But there’s no doubt that some people commit them deliberately. They know full well what they are saying is wrong, but they say it anyway, because they have an agenda – usually the acquisition of power, or money, or influence. They are using logical fallacies to exploit other people’s cognitive biases, in order to achieve their own ends.

So I’ve listed the fallacies in a sort of “order of innocence”; the further they occur down the page, the more likely it is that they deployed with malicious intent. From hereon in, in the main, we’re no longer talking about Leave or Remain voters, but the campaigners. We’re not dealing with Clinton or Trump fans; we’re dealing with the media, the politicians and their advocates. This is the point where stupidity starts to shade into lies.

The red herring

Responding to a question by changing the subject; a form of non sequitur. I guess point blank refusing  to answer the question would fall under this heading as well.

The romantic rebel

AKA truthout fallacy, brave heretic, iconoclastic fallacy.

The fallacy of claiming validity for your standpoint based solely on the premise that you are heroically standing up to the prevailing orthodoxy, or speaking up for the people, or “sticking it to the Man”. The principal modus operandi of the alt-right. Although they’ll probably have to ditch it now that their views are becoming orthodoxy.

Ad hominem

AKA poisoning the well.

If you can’t win the argument, go for the man. The argumentum ad hominem takes two main forms: first, attacking your opponent’s character (the guilt by association fallacy) – “Why should I listen to Tony Blair’s opinions on the EU? He invaded Iraq” – and second, an attempt to discredit their argument by pointing out their previous failings on this subject: “People in this country have had enough of experts.”

Just because someone was wrong once – even if it was on the topic at hand – it doesn’t mean they’re wrong this time, and it certainly doesn’t mean they’re wrong all the time. Experts are experts for a reason.

Michael Jackson may not have been your first choice of babysitter, but that doesn’t mean his music wasn’t great. If we were to apply this reasoning rigorously, the only person who would ever be allowed to judge or challenge anyone would be Jesus Christ himself. Oh, except for that time he overturned the moneylenders’ tables.

“Why should I listen to a leftie moron like you?”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire, Gary Lineker pushes junk food for a living, and then tries to take high road on migrants” – Jon Gaunt

(Someone just called “House” in fallacy bingo. That’s a hyperbole, an appeal to emotion, an ad hominem, a non sequitur and a false equivalence in one tweet, along with a bonus malapropism. But please don’t look this guy up – he’s a professional hatemonger only doing it for the attention.)

Tu quoque

Latin for “you also”. AKA appeal to hypocrisy.

“You, sir, are drunk.”
“And you, Bessie, are ugly. But I shall be sober in the morning, and you will still be ugly.” (Winston Churchill to Bessie Braddock – possibly)

Ducking the question by flipping the accusation around on the accuser; a particularly poisonous blend of red herring and ad hominem, but one that often succeeds in taking the heat off the accused by forcing the accuser on to the defensive.

“Take a look. You look at her. Look at her words. You tell me what you think. I don’t think so.” – Donald Trump, on one of the women who accused him of sexual assault

“LGBT GARBAGE IS JEWISH BY NATURE. Feminism is Jewish mind poison and almost all feminist icons are Jewish criminals.”
“Fuck off back under your rock, you fascist prick.”
“Not very tolerant for a liberal, are we?”

(There’s clearly quite a big difference between intolerance of different skin colours and cultures and intolerance of hate. NB this is also an instance of false equivalence.)

“I’m sorry, but a lot of people who voted to leave the EU are racist.”
“No, it’s the EU, with its protectionist policies, that is really racist.”

(I think the reasoning here is supposed to be something like this: the EU is a trading bloc of neighbouring states. Those states, which all have majority white populations, are discriminating against all countries who are not part of the bloc, and some of them have majority black populations. Of course, the logical conclusion of this argument is that if you ever talk to, give a gift to, make a deal with, promote or do anything nice to a white person, you’re a racist.)

“The Leave campaign was full of lies.”
“But Remain lied too.”

(I’d argue that while the Leave campaign was riddled with blatant falsehoods [Turkey, the £350m, bendy bananas, EU accounts not signed off for years], the Remainers were guilty of, at worst, empty threats [austerity budget] and inaccurate predictions [immediate recession].)

“Trump is a serial sexual assaulter, a liar, a sexist, a cheat, a quadruple bankrupt … etc”
“But Hillary sent confidential emails through a private server.”

TINA (There is no alternative)

Margaret Thatcher’s catchphrase, which she used to railroad through her pet policies. An attempt to stifle debate by asserting, falsely, that we have no choice but to follow the present course of action. Often accompanied by the argumentum ad baculum.

“Instead of sulking, Remain voters should accept the result” – Daniel Hannan MEP

“Get over it”/”Suck it up”/“You lost.”

Equivocation

Premeditated ambiguity; a deliberate failure to define your terms, or the deliberate use of words that have multiple senses in an effort to mislead.

People seem to be especially susceptible to semantic tricks. Using military euphemisms such as “friendly fire” and “collateral damage” makes the events seem less awful than if you said “We killed our allies” or “We killed civilians”.

Take a tweet by Paul Joseph Watson. Under the message “Anyone who talks about the system being rigged is nuts” – a sarcastic reference to Trump’s suggestion that the US election might have been manipulated – Watson quotes two tweets from senator Elizabeth Warren:

1) “Washington is rigged for the big guys.”

2) “It’s not rigged, @DonaldTrump. You’re losing fair and square.”

Superficially, that looks like a clever observation. But think about it for a second and it falls apart, because the word “rigged” is being used in two distinct senses and contexts. Warren’s first tweet was about the general imbalance of power and lack of social mobility in America. The second refers to Trump’s suggestion that the election (or at least the media coverage) was rigged, against him, which is clearly a different proposition. Watson is comparing apples and oranges.

The straw man

A common fallacy, and one routinely deployed by politicians, especially Boris Johnson (probably picked it up at the Oxford Union debating society). Basically, it’s an attempt to discredit your opponent’s position by restating it in a weakened, exaggerated or distorted way. The name derives from an analogy: instead of attacking the real man, you’re standing up a “straw man” and attacking that instead. The reductio ad absurdum is a form of straw man.

“Self-loathing Brits alert!”
“Or, perhaps, xenophobia-loathing Brits alert?”
“Do you have evidence to suggest 17 million people wanting control of their own country are xenophobic?”

(These were comments under a Guardian article about an anti-racism protest. At no point did I suggest that all 17 million Leave voters were xenophobic.)

“Can we be so sure peace and stability on our continent are assured?” – David Cameron
“I don’t think leaving the EU is going to cause world war three” – Boris Johnson

Snow job

Attempting to “prove” your point by overwhelming your audience with mountains of marginally relevant facts, documents and statistics that look impressive when taken together, but don’t hold up under any sort of scrutiny. Basically, you’re counting on your reader or listener not to bother to check any of your facts or sources, which these days seems to be a fairly safe assumption.

Some of the more deranged fascist websites, the day before the US presidential election, ran a story linking Hillary Clinton’s campaign chairman, John Podesta, and his brother, Tony, with … wait for it … the disappearance of Madeleine McCann in Portugal in 2007.

BREAKING BOMBSHELL : Multiple Reports Tie Clinton’s Podesta Brothers to Child Abduction Case of Madeline McCann

Alarm bells should sound immediately: this “story” falls squarely into the realms of what you might call “too bad to be true”. It’s just so horrific and so damaging – surely we’d have heard something about it before?

It only takes a quick glance at the evidence to prove your gut instinct right. Exhibit A is a photo of the Podesta brothers next to two photofits issued by British police in 2013 in connection with the McCann case; B, an email purportedly proving that John Podesta went to Portugal; C, testimony from businessman and former Navy SEAL Erik Prince.

A) Put aside for a moment the questionable resemblance. If you read the original Guardian article from which the photofits were taken, the police e-fits were different portraits of the same man, not two different men. B) If you actually read the email, it was not John Podesta, but Mae, his daughter, who travelled to Portugal … in 2014. C) A quick check on Prince reveals him to be a serial fantasist whose main claim to fame is that his private security firm Blackwater was responsible for the killing of 20 Iraqi civilians in Baghdad in 2007.

This particular snow job melts pretty quickly.

Banners from fake news websites
Oh. *Now* I believe you.

Argumentum ad veritatem

AKA the appeal to the truth; “protesting too much”.

This isn’t a recognised fallacy so much as an observation of my own. In the same way that virtually every sentence that begins “Fact is” generally goes on to offer either opinion, speculation, or bug-eyed fantasy, I’ve noticed that any website that screams “TRUTH!” or “INFORMATION!” at you can reliably be dismissed as a purveyor of unadulterated bullshit.

The more strenuously someone insists that they are telling the truth, the more seriously you should scrutinise their claims.

 Now we come to the ultimate fallacy.

Making shit up

Sometimes, when you want to win an argument, it’s not enough to tinker with the truth, to use misleading words and diversionary tactics and unfairly malign your opponent. Sometimes, you just gotta lie through your teeth.

And lies – from tendentious fibs to full-on fabrications – seem to be the weapon of choice in today’s internet information wars. (Although the Mail and Express have been at it for years.)

Some are fairly easy to see through, such as this “news story” from 2014 about dastardly Muslims demanding that the US army alter its dress code to include, er, turbans (which Sikhs wear).

Others are less easy to dismantle. Take this story about an FBI agent involved in the leak of emails from Clinton’s private server being found dead in an apparent murder-suicide. (There’s no such news organisation as the Denver Guardian, and no evidence that the events described ever happened.)

The doctoring, or repurposing, of pictures and video have now become routine. Several memes doing the rounds that claim to show Democrat protesters in scenes of carnage were in fact taken during the London riots of 2011. This photo and this photo are just two examples of the many fakes doing the rounds; this video, of a man purportedly being beaten up “for voting Trump”, in fact shows an attack after a road rage incident, and this one, of a woman supposedly taking a dump on a Donald Trump placard, actually shows a piece of (disgusting) performance art in Mexico City in July 2012.

I won’t bang on again about the smorgasbord of lies the Leave campaigns cooked up to get their way, but … you know. They lied. A lot.

Then there was this horseshit about Clinton and John Podesta eating babies at satanic rituals, somehow conjured from a single email from a Serbian artist inviting Podesta to a dinner party in 2015. Say what you like about these alt-right types: they certainly don’t lack in imagination.

Fake news is on the rise because it’s working – even some of the more outrageous alt-right confabulations are getting shares in six figures on Facebook – and it’s working because it’s tailor-made to prey on people’s cognitive biases: their fears, their prejudices, their ignorance.

What should you take away from this? I dunno, really; I just want people to have as many tools as possible at their disposal to help them make some sense out of the hurricane of information out there.

But I will say this: next time you’re tempted to share a news story on Facebook or Twitter, stop. Consider the source. Do they have an agenda? Use your critical faculties. Does it seem too good (or bad) to be true? Is it consistent with other, proven stories you’ve read about? Have they committed any obvious logical fallacies?

Keep an open mind. Doubt first, check second, accept third. There are some dangerous bastards out there who think you are stupid.

Prove them wrong.

2 thoughts on “Logical fallacies: weapons in the information wars”

    1. I don’t wish to imply that the left, or even the centre, are entirely innocent in this respect – but the vast majority of the trickery I’ve seen has been in the service of the Brexit vote and Trump.

      I should probably just spend more time on Lolcats.

Comments are closed.

Stupidity and lies: the new standard for online debate?

Hominids

Israel/Palestine. Russia/Ukraine. Brexit. Trump. The quality of online debate has arguably never been lower. Is it time for a reminder of the basics of rational thought?

Hominids
“Of course we knew the £350m was a lie!”

“How fortunate for leaders that men do not think.” – Adolf Hitler

(I’ve got way too much for one post, so part one will deal with “stupidity”, part two with “lies”.)

Humans have been arguing for as long as they could speak. You’d think, given 200,000-odd years of practice – plus all the intervening research into rhetoric, logic and psychology – that we’d have it down to a fine art by now. And yet the vast majority of online debate these days seem to consist of little more than “You lost, suck it up”, “Moron”, “Liar”, and “Fuck you”. What happened?

Some social explanations have been put forward: the phenomenon of deindividuation – when we deal with anonymous avatars rather than real people, we don’t accord them the same respect – and the creation of ever more disparate echo chambers, or bubbles, of people who agree with us, leaving us less able to understand those who don’t.

Part of the problem, I think, is that most people aren’t remotely trained in critical thinking. Half the time, when people think or speak or write – and I include myself in this – they don’t know that they’re committing basic errors of reasoning. So I thought I’d put together a little list of some of the more common ones (and in my next post, some of the rhetorical cheats people use to exploit them), so that you can avoid tripping up when you’re debating – and politely point out when your opponent does.

I’m with stupid

Are Leave voters the dumb ones, or Remain? Do Clinton fans need educating, or do Trumpettes? Who’s the bigger fool: the liberal, or the alt-right fascist?

The uncomfortable fact is, we’re all idiots. Your brain, thanks to your evolutionary past, is prone to all sorts of errors and biases. The model of the world in your head is not an accurate representation of the world in front of you.

Sure, humans can be amazing. We’ve been to the moon, we’ve cured smallpox, we’ve figured out the structure of DNA and made computers that fit on a fingernail. But we also text while driving. We hook up with our exes, we pump industrial waste into lakes, and we laugh at Mrs Brown’s Boys. Even Einstein mislaid his keys.

This is because there’s a lot of information coming at us, 24/7. And our brains, while capacious, can’t take it all in – they need to winnow, to precis, to prioritise, often instantaneously. And while we generally think of ourselves as rational beings, all too often, our thought processes are derailed by inbuilt prejudices; emotion, wording, status, looks.

Full disclosure: I’m not the world’s leading authority on this subject. I’ve picked up most of this from reading books and websites (although after 25 years of subediting, I’d like to think my critical thinking skills aren’t a complete disgrace). What’s more, there’s still a lot of disagreement even among the experts about terminology and classification, not least because these areas straddle the separate domains of psychology and logic, and as a result, some of my definitions may be a little fuzzy. But the basic principles are solid enough, and should be of some use to anyone looking to improve the standard of their online discourse.

For a more in-depth, comprehensive and authoritative list of cognitive biases, you could do worse than check out this site.

And please try not to be put off by the big Latin words. I didn’t coin them!

Dunning-Kruger effect

AKA illusory superiority.

Time and time again, studies have shown that most people consider themselves more intelligent than average. Most people also consider themselves better drivers than average, better-looking than average, and nicer than average. Which can’t, obviously, be the case, because statistically speaking, only half of us can make that claim.

Why is this so? Because human self-esteem is a fragile thing. In order to drag ourselves through the daily grind, we have to convince ourselves that we’re in with a shot of happiness, of success, that we can hold our own. Consequently, we think of ourselves as being at least competent at everything. (Those who suffer from depression, though, often report feeling the opposite.)

But there’s a more alarming twist. When you start learning a discipline, you quickly come to realise exactly how much there is that you do not know. Someone who has never studied that discipline, on the other hand, does not have that insight. Instead they tend to assume that their passing acquaintance with the subject, combined with their natural, above-average intellect, qualifies them to have an opinion. In short, amateurs are often more likely to believe that their opinions on a subject are valid than experts are.

“People have had enough of experts.” – Michael Gove

Third-person effect

You believe your opinions are based on experience and evidence and fact, and that people with opposing views are gullible and susceptible to propaganda. In reality, you are probably just as susceptible as they are.

Confirmation bias

Related to: cognitive dissonance

Again, it’s all about self-esteem. People like to build up an image of ourselves – an identity – that is strong and above all consistent. As a result, we tend to seek out information and people and things that support our existing beliefs, rather than sources that contradict or threaten it. This is why Arsenal supporters rarely subscribe to MUTV, and why ardent admirers of Taylor Swift are more likely to follow other Swifties on Twitter than Katy Perry fans.

If we do this for long enough, we create echo chambers around ourselves, filled with people and things that reinforce our world-view. So when we are eventually confronted with evidence or opinions that threaten it, we react with intolerance, or even hostility.

“Hello, I’m a rabid xenophobe. Do you have any copies of the Daily Express?”

“There’s nothing you can say that will interest me, you fucking libtard.” [liberal retard]

Backfire effect

The tendency to harden your stance when you come up against evidence that contradicts your position. Widely observed among Remain and Leave voters since the referendum – rather than seeking compromise or to better understand opposing views, many people have “doubled down” and entrenched their positions.

Self-serving bias

On a similar note, most people, when something good happens, tend to believe that it’s a quality within themselves, or within their “ingroup” (people they share an identity with), that was responsible. Any failures, meanwhile, will generally be blamed on outside forces. So if you pass an exam, you’ll probably come away thinking, “Wow, I deserve that because I worked really hard for it”, but if you fail, you might think, “Stupid teacher totally failed to prepare me for that.”

“Wow, Team GB did so well at the Olympics. Isn’t Britain amazing?”

“The NHS is falling apart, and it’s all the fault of those bloody immigrants.”

Choice supportive bias

AKA defensiveness, special pleading.

Sometimes, when you have to make a decision, it’s a bit of a coin-toss. You genuinely don’t know if you will have a better time at the local club or at the bowling alley. So you choose the bowling alley … and it turns out to be a disaster. Brian breaks his wrist and Trish loses her phone. But when someone has the temerity to criticise your choice, you leap to its defence, citing all sorts of reasons in favour of the decision – reasons that you didn’t even think of when you made it. This bias, which again boils down to self-esteem, tends to be more pronounced in older people.

“I voted Leave because I thought the Remain campaign’s predictions of economic problems were just fearmongering.”
“But sterling has tanked and investment is down and food prices are rising.”
“Everyone knows that sterling was hugely overvalued, and anyway, it’ll be great for our exports!”

Cult indoctrination

When you read about cults in the papers, you probably think, “How could any of these people be so weak-minded as to fall for that crap?” But the unfortunate reality is that most people, given impoverished circumstances, some catchy slogans, a big enough crowd and a sufficiently charismatic figurehead, are more than capable of being coopted into a religious or quasi-religious sect. Our innate desire to belong to a group is very strong, rooted in millions of years of tribal culture, as is our propensity to kowtow to authority figures. This often leads us to overlook flaws in authority figures, to fail to question them, and to follow their bidding without question.

“Oh my God, like – like – Gee, I can’t – Paul, Paul Joseph Watson, you are like, like – everything to me, I just …”

“Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!”

Projection illusion

AKA false consensus bias.

While everyone likes to think they’re a bit special, few of us want to be seen as a freak. On the whole, people crave acceptance; we want to fit in, to be liked and understood. So we seem to have an inbuilt predilection for believing that everyone else – at least, everyone else in our little cabal – thinks the way we do. In the absence of any clear signals, we project our own wishes, desires, interests, concerns, ethics and moral code on to others.

If you’ve never taken sugar in your tea, you’ll probably raise an eyebrow when you meet someone who asks for two. And if you’ve grown up in an omnivorous household, your first invitation to a vegetarian dinner party is likely to come as a shock.

“You have no idea why most people who voted to leave did so. Most people voted over the immigration issue” – garyhumble, Guardian website

“Immigration was not the top issue for Leave voters, however much Remainers *want* it to have been” – Daniel Hannan MEP (tweet, now deleted, but still in Google cache)

Good Old DaysNostalgia fallacy

AKA Pollyanna principle, golden age fallacy, positivity bias.

“Thiiiiings … ain’t what they uuuused to be …” It’s been the lament of every older generation since the dawn of time. And yet history shows that broadly speaking, the quality of life has consistently improved for most people the world over. The standard of living in western countries, at least, has followed an almost uninterrupted curve upwards for 2,000 years; life expectancy has improved, rates of crime have fallen, wars and disease and famine have become less common, and technology has made our lives easier. Whence this disparity?

It turns out, it’s because when recalling past events, people have an innate tendency to remember positive experiences and suppress the negative ones. You’ll often hear older people waxing lyrical about the sense of community and the trees and fields and the games of cribbage round the fireplace, while conveniently glossing over the freezing outdoor toilet and the regular beatings from Dad and the cousin who died of polio.

“I know from the days before the common market that we did OK, we did fantastic, and we can go back to that” – May Robson, Sunderland resident

[In the early 1970s, prior to signing up to the EEC, the UK was known as the “Sick Man of Europe”. Its beaches and skies were polluted, wages were depressed, inflation was high, and industry was in decline. During the first 42 years of its membership of the EU, UK GDP grew by almost 250%, outperforming most major world economies.]

Threat hypersensitivity

We’re all going to die. We try not to dwell on it too much, but our fear of mortality informs our every moment. We go to great lengths, consciously or otherwise, to avoid things that might endanger our lives. Some people find religion useful in submerging this fear; some throw their energies into raising a family; others base their hopes for pseudo-immortality on historical fame, or works of art or engineering.

It turns out that even mentions of death can markedly affect our behaviour. When people are reminded of their mortality (say, by a news story about a terrorist attack), they tend to defend their world-view, and people who share that world-view, more strongly. According to terror management theory, reminding people of their mortality tends to shift people’s politics to the right.

“We have a situation where we have our inner cities, African-Americans, Hispanics are living in hell because it’s so dangerous. You walk down the street, you get shot.” – Donald Trump

“It’s a total disaster, on top of which you have migration which is destroying Europe,” he said at an event in September. “Germany is a disaster now. France is a disaster.” – Donald Trump

“Fix our broken mental health system. All of the tragic mass murders that occurred in the past several years have something in common – there were red flags that were ignored.” – Donald Trump’s campaign website

Correlation v causation

This encapsulates a range of logical snafus, but I’ll confine myself to a couple of examples.

Humans have a habit of drawing conclusions from limited information. Say a football player happens to wear red underpants for a particular match, and his team wins handsomely. Then, in the next match, when he wears his blue strides, they lose. He might conclude, since victory coincided with red-pant-wearing and defeat with blue, that the red pants are responsible, and thus decide to wear the red pants for every match. He’d be a fucking bellend if he did, but this is a mistake people make all the time.

For a more complex example, consider the deadly Mr Whippy. It’s a proven fact that every time ice-cream sales rise in an area, the local murder rate rises too. Could this really mean that Magnums turn people into killers? Well, no, it’s more likely the fact that in warmer weather, people buy more ice-creams – and they also stay out later, drink more, and interact more with other people.

“This country’s been going to the dogs ever since we joined the EU. It’s high time we got out.”

Availability heuristic

AKA attention bias, anchoring bias; closely linked to the above.

If you see (or hear about) a particular event, you are more likely to think it is far more prevalent than is actually the case. The classic example of this is fear of flying: many people refuse to get in an aircraft because they are worried that it might crash, but in fact, each time you take off, your chances of carking it are only about 1 in 10 million. The reason we think air disasters are more common than they are is that when they do happen they are, understandably, given extensive coverage.

“I voted Leave because our prisons are full of Polish rapists.”

[As of March 2016, there were 965 Polish nationals in British prisons. That’s out of a total Polish population of just over 800,000 — so 0.12% of all Poles here are convicted criminals. The total number of prisoners is around 95,000; about 0.14% of the population as a whole. I can’t find any figures broken down into both ethnicity and crime. So unless Polish rapists are better at avoiding detection than British ones, or the CPS for some reason is softer on eastern European sex offenders, they’re no worse than the natives.]

Generalisation

Possibly the most insidious – and thus the most invidious – of all cognitive errors, generalisation covers a wide range of sins, including the out-group homogeneity effect, illusory correlation, attribution errors, essentialism, the representativeness fallacy and stereotyping. But they all essentially boil down to the same thing: the human mind abhors an information vacuum.

Picture yourself as the alpha male of a savannah-dwelling tribe of hominids around a million years ago. (Ooh, primal!) You’re stalking through a wooded glade with a companion when you spot a spider on his neck. He cries out and brushes the spider off. A few hours later, he’s dead. To avoid a repetition of the tragedy, you forbid the tribe from foraging anywhere where they see a spider. Sadly, this means you can no longer access any of your food sources, so you all starve and die. D’oh!

The fact is, less than 30 of the 43,000 or so species of spider (less than 0.1%) have ever caused a human death. Avoiding every spider is an irrational and costly response to the (exceptionally rare) problem of spider bites. What you’ve done here, Ogg, is generalise, or stereotype, in a most unhelpful way. You’ve (correctly) identified a link between a spider and a death, but you’ve extrapolated the qualities of one spider to all spiders, and consequently stone-tooled yourself in the foot.

Historically, this ability to derive sweeping rules from limited information would often have been useful. Water from little lake bad. Put leaf on wound good. But in the modern world, where life-or-death situations are far less frequent and it’s become almost impossible to judge a book by its cover, the knee-jerk response is rarely the right one.

“Typical Remoaner.”

“You liberals are all the same – patronising, smug and condescending.”

 Default Bias

AKA status quo bias.

Many people (Remain voters, I’m looking at you. I mean us) naturally favour a situation simply because it pertains right now; because it works, more or less, and because they fear that any significant change might jeopardise that. I’d argue that it’s a fairly justified fear when no one actually has any credible idea of what to replace the status quo with.

“If it ain’t broke …”

Nihilism

AKA “Tear it all down!”

Polar opposite of the above fallacy. A blind rejection of what exists in favour of what could be, no matter what the likely cost. A disorder particularly common among infants and psychopaths.

The sunk cost fallacy

AKA argument from inertia.

One of the more personally costly mistakes people make.

You realise, at the end of a trying first year of your university course, that you don’t like your subject. What do you do? If you switch courses, you’ve basically wasted a year of your life. But if you stick it out, you might have wasted three.

We often think, once we have set out on a certain path, that the best course of action is to see it through no matter what. “I can’t back down now,” we say. “I mustn’t lose face.” To give up now would mean admitting that we were wrong, which is harmful to our self-esteem.

Logically speaking, it’s much better to have been a bit wrong in the past than to be massively wrong in the future. It usually makes sense to quit sooner rather than later, and give yourself more time to make a success of your next plan. But no, we still watch crappy movies all the way to the end, we still stay in doomed relationships for far too long, and we persist in pursuing disastrous policies.

“Get used to it. We’re leaving.”

Coming soon: logical fallacies and dangerous, lying bastards.

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Quantum entanglement

Northern lights

‘What sort of guy do you think you’ll end up with?’ ‘Someone like you.’

Northern lightsI’m an echo. A ghost haunting a dead body.

I’ve hurled myself against the world, and haven’t left a smear. Nothing I do seems to matter.

I’m glad R cancelled our film night. I’d rather drink alone anyway.

It probably means I won’t go for that swim tomorrow, but … What’s the point? The only people who see me naked these days are the guys in the pool changing room.

***

The cold is definitely colder when you’re alone.

***

Shouldn’t have bothered coming to this. I mean, I like the night and I like the people, but B usually ends up making me feel shit about myself and I just end up bitter about all the luminous beings I’m too old and ugly to fuck.

Ha. Bet she’s a handful. Edgy, flirty, naughty. Not my type at all, mind. Bloody cocksure, as well. That would get old really quickly.

She’s quite fun to talk to, though. Anyway, I’d better leave her to her work. She’s –

“No, keep talking to me. I like it.”

That was sweet. And forthright. And a little bit patronising.

And actually, that might not be a terrible bum. Still. Definitely no spark there. Plus, she’s too young. And has tattoos. And lives in a squat.

***

How fucking cool and brave is that, living in a squat? And now that I think about it, the tats kind of suit her.

***

So having cancelled our last meeting at the last minute, P asks me to see an exhibition at the National Gallery with her … and then fails to show up. She “forgot”, her text says. At least she’s honest.

“Don’t take it personally,” people say when these things happen. How else are you supposed to take it exactly?

Thanks to my stupid work hours and my friends all getting married and moving away, I barely get to make plans any more. And when I do, they either pull out at the last minute or fail to show up altogether.

Mind you, what am I missing? I hardly ever enjoy myself anyway. I can barely remember the last time I felt anything approaching joy. I get the occasional kick out of playing Magic; sex is still OK, when it happens; and writing something I’m proud of still feels pretty good.

The solution would be to stay in and write. If the ideas hadn’t gone.

***

So, what do we reckon the chances are of her showing up? 40%? 30%? Yes, she wants me to look at her stuff, but a) any fucker with a basic grasp of English could do that and b) the rules of basic courtesy apparently don’t apply to meetings with me.

Wow, she made it. And on time, more or less. Those leggings are … interesting.

This is more fun than I expected. It’s easy being me when I’m with her. Don’t get that a lot.

But nah. She doesn’t fit the template. She’s no Kath or Elinor or Becky or Charlotte or Kate. And she has a boyfriend. And that’s before we even address the question of whether she’d be remotely interested in me in a million, trillion years.

Wouldn’t mind hanging out with her again, though.

Bless her soul, she has like twenty quid to her name and will not stop offering to pay for things.

***

What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t be getting sweaty and dizzy after a short, brisk walk. I’m not tired or out of breath, per se, just … dizzy. Clammy. Fuzzy. And it feels like … there’s a coating on my lungs. If it’s a cold, it’s a persistent bugger. That’s two months now.

***

I killed myself 13 years ago, when I pumped myself full of coke and wine and tobacco and jacked off to porn every weekend for two years in an attempt to block out the pain. I succeeded, but in the process, I blocked out the pleasure, too. Now life just sort of … happens.

Christmas. The latest issue of Doctor Who Magazine. Writing stories, making models, chasing girls, driving fast: everything was just so sharp and bright. What happened?

***

Beer in the afternoon. Before work! Haven’t done this in ages.

She’s so open with me. This is only the second time we’ve met properly and already she’s telling me she’s cheated on her boyfriend. I feel compelled to be open with her, too.

God, that laugh. Somewhere between a purr and a scrappy gear change. I want to make her make that noise all the time.

And apparently, I can.

***

All right, so I fancy her a bit. But it’s not a problem. It doesn’t get in the way. And for fuck’s sake, it’s not as if I’m ever going to act on it.

***

E’s being very chatty and complimentary tonight. Five years I’ve been coming to this pub and she’s always been pleasant, but now she’s … obsequious, almost. Yeah, sure, let’s be Facebook friends.

***

Woah. That’s the third time I’ve woken to a stonking erection in one day. E? The girl in the cafe? Painkillers? Relief at finally finishing last blog post?

I actually want to go for a swim today. That’s five in a fortnight and no massive benders. Might be able to look at myself in the mirror again one day at this rate.

Fuck’s sake. I invite J to the radio recording, get no reply for 3 days, invite W instead, and then 5 minutes after she accepts, J replies in the affirmative. So I uninvite W, and five minutes later, J messages to say, a propos of nothing, that she has a boyfriend.

***

Am I doing the right thing posting this? It’s pretty raw. I can see this losing me friends, and it’s not as if I have them coming out of my ears these days.

But it’s true, and I think there’s some important shit in there that people should be thinking and talking about. (Plus it might go viral and get me a book deal.)

***

Phew, I guess. Just the one friend down. Most people took it as it was intended and responded positively, supportively. And who was the most positive and supportive of all? What a detailed, considered, thoughtful, articulate, honest email. I respect her, and thank her, so much for that.

***

Not sure if it was right to invite her to this. She doesn’t know anyone. It’s cliquy. She’s not a comedy writer. And we’re not even reading out one of my scripts so that she can see how fucking hilarious I am.

But … she’s fitting in all right. And enjoying herself, I think. God, the bitch can literally talk to anyone.

M looked a bit jealous. 🙂

***

Now I know I’m prone to misinterpreting signals from women, but surely this counts as a promising message? “You are really really interesting and funny … Let’s go for coffee.” OK then, E, you’re on.

Ooh. Now it’s beer.

***

“Thank you for helping me, I truly love spending coffee time with you or just exchanging emails, makes me feel nice!”

***

Old Mother Hubbard II
After two weeks of peace, neighbours called the police,
Who broke down the door and discovered
Rex, full of vigour,
And marginally bigger,
And no trace of Old Mother Hubbard.

“Honey, I’m comin’ home!”

I’ll put the kettle on and sacrifice a goat.

“A little boy, please!”

***

So we’re meeting for this beer that E wanted so badly … and she turns up (on time) dressed to kill and kisses me far too close to the lips … and then she sits down and tells me she’s pregnant with her fiance’s child.

Yay. Another friend.

James Thurber’s One Is A Wanderer is basically a portrait of me.

***

Wow, a kiss on the neck? She sure is bold, this one.

and she loves the bikini and she loves the pill in the ring box and ok so the comedy’s a bit shit but basically this is cool

god did i really say that that was actually quite funny well she seems to think so anyway ha

the MC’s just asked if we’re together that’s hilarious how could anyone think we’re together she’s like … loads younger and hot and cool and shall I say we’re together fuck it, yeah I’ll say we’re together GOD NO THAT’S THE DUMBEST IDEA EVER SHE’LL KILL ME – “Yeah, we’re together” –SHIT OH SHIT OH – thank god she’s going with it and no one in the audience has given us a funny look or anything

i guess if we’re together i should probably put my arm round her

and now i guess i should hold her hand because she gets me and i get her and it feels right and it must feel right for her too cos she’s holding it back

don’t go for the kiss though it’s tempting but that’s not what this is about

i don’t think

***

La da dee, la da dow. La da dee, la da dow. La da –

What the fuck? I haven’t sung out loud since 1998.

***

“Smooch … from my scandalous mouth.”

***

“I don’t want to hear about anything to do with other women!”

***

I’m actually having ideas. For things to do. I want to learn the piano, I want to write a screenplay, and I want to go on a cruise and see the Northern Lights.

But I don’t want to go alone. Who …? Yeah. She’s crazy enough. Not crazy. Open. Free.

Fuck it, why shouldn’t I ask her? OK, sure, so she’s taken and she’s poor and she’ll probably run a fucking mile, but … It hardly costs any more for two than it does for one anyway.

And I don’t want to go alone.

***

“I love it!!!

“I’m already so excited I can’t get to sleep!

“I just need a warm jacket and shoes.

“Yes!”

I knew she’d say yes.

***

“Hey, listen, I’m gonna say it because I am thinking about this trip of ours.

“1. I like it. 2. I like you. 3. I understand you like me

“BUT

“I know I am super flirty chatty and open towards you, but whatever we do together or don’t do together I really would like us to be in a friendly relationship which would exclude sex at any point under any influence. Seriously, I like you in my life and you know I’m in a sort of complicated relationship but I would really appreciate if we could have this cleared out and keep it that way.

“Also I would like to be a bit more honest towards my boy and not behave like a bitch as is my usual approach to people in general, even though I like them very much.

“So that’s me … Simply don’t take me for holidays if you want something to happen because i would like to avoid this scenario …

“Uuffff … So serious … Hope you understand this and as ridiculous as it may sound I just wanted to say it.”

This was never about the fucking. I mean, sure, if she held a knife to my balls and demanded that I service her, then maybe I’d consider it. And it would probably be great.

But it’s not IMPORTANT. It’s so far down the list – way below the fun we have together, the quantum entanglement, the spontaneous conversations, the freakish detours … There’s no way I’d jeopardise any of that for the sake of a quick legover. My penis doesn’t get a say in this one. It’s too important.

I will cope just fine with my friend without benefits because the friendship is amazing.

Besides, it’s highly unlikely that I’d be able to keep up with her.

***

“Andy, I don’t think I can go.

“I mean, for a coffee I can, but not on the trip. I’m sorry.

“I hope you understand. I have thought about it a lot and wanted to tell you in person but I realised that its not a good idea. I am with a guy I love and I intend to stay with him. I think I have sumthin to return to you and if you wanna continue being my friend and work together on fun stuff then I’m super happy, but I’m feeling a bit pressured by the way you are towards me. As much as I am warm towards everything and people in general there is a line I don’t want to cross.

“I’m just tellin’ ya how I felt and at these moments I tend to run away, so it’s better to say it, not run, and be mates:)”

I knew she’d say no.

***

Northern lightsYou get me. I get you. That hardly ever happens. I have so enjoyed the things we’ve done together: emails, coffees, writing, drinking. So have you. I’d like to try doing a bunch of other stuff together, because I think we’ll enjoy those too. Comedy. Photo shoots. Holidays. And one day we’ll overstep the boundary and we’ll stop because then we’ll know what the limits of our friendship are, and we’ll have had a shitload of fun finding out.

Regardless of how I feel about you today, regardless of how I feel about you tomorrow, I swear to you that you will always, always be able to trust me, absolutely.

***

“Hey hon,

“Everything you say is right, everything I said was wrong 😉

“Now lets go back to fun!”

***

When you’re young, you have passion and energy to burn, and no technique or wisdom. When old, you have plenty of technique and wisdom, but you’re all out of passion and energy.

Is there any point at which the two phases overlap? If there is, I must have missed it.

***

Weird. You still look like my dad. But you stopped being my dad, what … 20 minutes ago?

I don’t know what you’re supposed to think at this moment.

Yes I do. You worry about Mum. That’s what you’d want, right?

Why am I asking you?

***

I want to talk to someone. Someone who isn’t my mother. I mean, of course I want to talk to my mother, but I have to be strong for her. Just … now, right at this moment, I would like someone to be strong for me.

***

So, we’ll just organise one fuck-off party and then, if one of the guests just happens to be a priest …

“Then we’ll see what happens!”

This marriage joke is getting out of hand. Excellent.

“And I do quite like your surname!”

***

So my mum’s got cancer and my dad’s dead and I’ve been diagnosed with arthritis and my job is driving me insane and my flatmates are a nightmare and my sitcom’s been rejected and my last four dates have all wanted to be friends but what’s the point in more friends when all the ones I have keep letting me down and now this –

This fucking infection. Why won’t it budge? The sweat, the lingering burning smell, the fug. And I keep getting flashes of pins and needles all over my body – especially in my head. Might as well take some of Dad’s antibiotics. He won’t be needing them.

***

“You can be so sweet sometimes.”

***

coffee walk food flirty chat and now we’re having a massage together this is an adventure and oh now she’s in her pants and she’s turning round to show me her tattoo and …

yep

OK

and jesus this masseuse has touched my balls like 48 times in 20 minutes i wonder if hers is touching her up too oh dear lord i might actually be smiling

she’s like the rain on my face

i like her bum but i love her eyes hungry eyes darting flirting daring staring fuck-you fuck-me eyes

***

“Read most of what u sent me, a few things made me laugh out loud, but boy the thing that you got in a few of ’em that you ain’t good enough for the girl, that’s just bollocks!

“Cant wait to read one about me, lol!

“Xxx”

***

Does every pregnancy have to destroy a friendship? First A, then W, then C, then D, now J. Is there some sort of “life for a life” rule I don’t know about? Is this Dunbar’s number in action? Am I the 151st friend? Or do you just have to build a new friendship on new terms? Would it help if I had a child of my own?

***

i feel terrible cos I hardly spoke to her all night because i was working the door and she was with her friend but this is nice now just me and her and her bike walking and smoking and chatting how can someone be relaxing and exciting at the same time

i need a field of corn to run naked through

***

“I do not give a fuck who thinks what. I am more than happy to be there for you. But for fuck’s sake, gimme a bit of breathing space when we are together!

“Or am I such a flirty stupid bitch that I’m asking for this?”

***

Maybe it’s bronchitis. Let’s see … I have half the symptoms, but … no rattle, no cough, no shortness of breath. Diabetes? Immune disorder? I should probably see a doctor. If I really want to get better, that is.

***

this might not work i mean i wanted to come and i wanted to come with someone and there’s no one i’d rather come with than her but im not sure this is her scene

who am i kidding every scene is her scene

its so hard talking to people when its just me but when its me and her were like fucking magnets chocolate-coated diamond-tipped sex magnets

***

you youve bought me an inflatable cactus for my birthday that’s insane and rubbish and thoughtful and dumb and i shall treasure it for ever

so were shopping now were waitrosing this is so fucking easy you should hire yourself out as a personal shopper babe youd make a killing

or a cooking buddy you could be a cooking buddy cos cooking with you is a fucking blast too

we’re in the zone that zone where either of us can say anything and it will be OK so so what kind of guy do you think you will end up with

“Someone like you.”

you amaze appal impress depress confuse abuse and delight me youre the onion to my cheese the burdock to my dandelion

fuck where the fuck are M and M no text no call no nothing I so wanted you guys to meet fuck

hey babe why arent you joining in poker is the whole point of the night talk, baby, shine! fireball, explode!

and now theyve all gone and youre back again and we’re going on another adventure and we’re drinking in a scuzzy pub and oh fuck we’re trying to get into a strip club and oh fuck she just smashed a wine bottle into a scaffolding pole are you all right babe? and I don’t care that you’re being a bit crazy because we’re a fucking team again

this isn’t chemistry chemistry is dry and rulebound and predictable chemistry is formulae on a blackboard and buchner flasks and bunsen burners thisismagic

***

EAT MY WAKE, REASONABLY FIT 40-YEAR-OLD WOMAN!

Fuck yeah. That’s three swims and two long walks this week. And I’ve had loads of ideas for blog posts and language articles and I’ve started to think I can work my sitcom idea into a really good film.

We’re going to read Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time together and go to the Canal Museum and do a bondage shoot and a thousand things I haven’t thought of yet.

Except we’re going to do none of those things, because you’ve cancelled them all.

***

The bronchitis – if that’s what this is – is becoming unmanageable. I can sort of function normally, I have no problems breathing (although my airways are constantly sticky), and I can still do 10 strokes underwater and swim 40 lengths without a rest, but just walking at normal speed gives me the sweats, and at least once a week my heart becomes a nest of vipers, and the pins and needles are nails and bread knives, and now bits of my head are falling off and I look like a police mugshot after a Saturday night brawl in Rotherham.

I don’t think this is going to go away.

***

“I love you too, Andy. I have no fucking clue how you can stand me.”

***

And everything’s OK. One coffee, one shitty Costa coffee, and everything’s OK. Even after two months, and all those awkward emails and protestations and no-shows, the knife just slipped straight back in the sheath. You’re full of plans again and you want me to help and that means the world to me, even though that is actually a shitload of work and i don’t really have the ah what the heck

and now we’re charity shopping i hate shopping i hate shopping alone i hate shopping with mum i hated shopping with k and l and c and I hate charity shopping more than anything but

not with you

***

“Do you think cheating is bad?”

Yes, I do. Well, no. I mean, it depends. If your relationship is up shit creek and it’s about to end anyway and you just haven’t got round to telling him yet and he’ll never, ever find out, then it’s probably not a hanging offence. But if you’re just feeling a bit horny right now and will feel awful in the morning and have a guilty look on your face when you go back to Arhus and he senses something’s up and you end up confessing everything and you ruin what was a perfectly good relationship, then yes, on balance, I’d skip it.

Granted, you have a piercing intellect and a wicked sense of humour and you’re fantastic company and smoking hot and 18 years younger than me and you’ve been the undoubted highlight of this trip and I haven’t been fucked in for ever … But I have no idea what state your relationship is in, and I’m on my seventh double vodka, so I can pretty much promise you that whatever we manage to get up to will not be worth the potential fallout.

So, even though I knew, the second I put my hand on the small of your back to steady you on the boat to Gozo, that this might be on the cards, and even though I’ve spent every waking hour with you since vaguely hoping that this moment might come, yes, I think cheating is a bad idea.

WHY DID YOU JUST SAY THAT, MOUTH? WHY?

***

You told me you weren’t coming to the book launch an hour before it started. Sorry, you said; we’ll go for a swim on Monday instead. On Monday morning, you cancelled the swim. Sorry, you said; now I can only do coffee on Wednesday. So I cancelled lunch with my friend, because it was my last chance to see you for weeks. And now here I am, with my coffee, alone.

I assume you still want me to edit that thing for you.

***

Just the two swims this week, then.

Fucking hell, that’s a lot of blood. How many samples do you need?

***

I’ve been asked to appear on a TV show on behalf of the Remain camp. I’m pretty confident. I know my looks have faded but I know my shit and I’m sharp as tacks. My emphatic victory is bound to win me the adulation of some starstruck little leftie.

Why can’t we start yet? I’m itching to start. Just a couple more hours.

Boris looks glum. But don’t take pity on him. Put the unprincipled motherfucker in his place.

Back to base for final preparations. Who chose a flying suburban house as our HQ? Let’s step outside for a second – that woman out the back wants a chat. No, we’re taking off again.

Last-minute briefing with the campaign director. This group has a creepy, cultish quality, but it feels like family too.

This one seems keen. Sexy, cool, funny, wicked. She’s … familiar. Like you, but not you. Someone to mess around with.

She wants me to kiss her breast. She wants to be my girlfriend even though she has a boyfriend.

“See you around, I guess,” she says.

“See you around, I guess”? That’s no way to say goodbye.

“Er … I love you?”

And then she laughs, and I realise she’s joking. And in that second, I fall in love for the first time.

***

“Slap my ass if it’s too much, not my face please!”

***

So, there’s nothing wrong with me, huh? All the tests came back negative and there’s no rattle on the stethoscope. And yet here I am, slick and trembling after climbing two flights of stairs, head consistent with a journey through a plate glass window, lungs drowning in their own mucus (don’t they say drowning is the best way to go?), Morse code heartbeat, allergic to myself.

I know I’m dying; I just don’t know how fast. Might be tomorrow, might be in 10 years.

Not that I give a shit, really. I’ve done most of what I wanted to do. Sure, it’s a shame that I’ll never cradle my own daughter, that I’ll never write my own book or sitcom, and that I’ll never throw a massive wedding party for all my mates, and it sucks that I’ll probably never see the those unearthly, swirling lights. But I don’t have any dependents, or world-changing plans in train, or unfinished business, and it’s not as if the calendar was brimming with things to look forward to.

The only thing that really bothers me is that, as things stand, my last kiss will have been that fucking awful night at N’s place, when she decided two minutes into our first kiss that our first kiss was going to be our last. My last act of passion denounced as an act of aggression.

I just … I want to know that she knows. I’ve told her, but words are just words. She’ll find out, I guess, how she’s been the single best thing to happen to me in the last five years, maybe ever, how she’s helped me imagine and enjoy and hope again. But what if I don’t wake up tomorrow? She needs to know now. How can I tell her in a way that she can’t fail to understand?

***

Some guys get drunk and send the girl they like a picture of their willy. I got drunk and sent you a picture of my will.

***

“This feels like blackmail.”

I’m so sorry. That’s not what I intended at all. I just wanted you to tell you that you rock my world motherfucker and I don’t know how long I’ve got and I would like to spend as much of that time with you as possible and somehow I haven’t seen my best friend in three months –

“Give the motherfuckers who rock your world a bit of time and space and things will fall into place!

“X”

Sure, babe. I’ll make sure my death fits in with your schedule.

***

You’re all take and no give. You’re a vampire. You suck everything of value you can get out of someone, then toss aside the husk.

Hm. Maybe that’s a bit harsh.

Promise me, some day, that you will let someone love you. It doesn’t have to be me. But for your own sake, ask yourself this question: if you run away from everyone who likes you, who are you going to end up with?

And that’s a bit wussy.

***

Erenow you were the universe
A galaxy of blazing suns
And now you’re just like everyone
(Though monumentalised in verse)

The fireball has become a squib
Once capital, now lower case
A plain and half-remembered face
Goodbye, Eve; ahoj, surplus rib.

***

We could have conquered the world, you you you she you you she you she and I. Or at least, for a couple of hours a month, unhappiness. Which is more or less the same thing.

Only one swim this week.

There’s still gas moving through the pipes, but the pilot light’s gone out.

***

It’s turning cold.

***

dandelion and cheese

Northern lights

68 dumb-fuck reasons for leaving the EU

Brexit illo

‘I did it to put everyone else in the shit’

Brexit illoThe UK’s vote to exit the European Union has created many uncertainties. Will the country be better off, or worse? Is the UK a xenophobic, retrogressive nation, or a brave, proud, forward-looking one? Can the Conservatives and Labour remain united in this time of turmoil? Will anyone be able to afford to go on holiday again?

The result has made one thing crystal clear: the UK is a bitterly divided nation, along lines of age, race, region, class, wealth and education. If we are going to begin to heal these divisions, it is crucial that we try to establish exactly why it is that 51.9% of those who voted decided that being outside the European Union was better than being in it. Once we have a better understanding of these grievances, we can address them and – hopefully, one day – resolve them.

To this end, I have begun compiling a list of reasons given by Leavers, gathered from Twitter, Facebook, comment threads, discussion forums and friends.

1. “Because of all the EU laws that we have no say in.”
“Name one.”
“Erm …”
“Come on, what are these laws are that you won’t have to obey any more that made you vote for this short-term economic hit? Can you name one?”
“I wouldn’t be able to, no.” (Caller to James O’Brien’s LBC radio show)

2. “As a protest vote.”

3. “Because I want it to be a close result.”

4. “It [Sunderland] already is [a giant jobcentre]. That’s why I voted Leave, to put everyone else in the shit like us.” (Twitter)

5. “To stick it to the toffs.”

6. “To give Cameron a bloody nose.” (Express website)

7. “To give Cameron a better negotiating position.”

8. “Because the EU closed the coalmines.” [The EU had nothing to do with the closing of the coalmines.]

9. “Because I thought we had been in long enough.”

10. “Because I had the hump.”

11. “Because now our lads will get out of prison, cos there will be jobs for them.”

12. “The main reason I voted out was because the EU parliament aren’t elected representatives. The second is, they pass laws that affect us, but we aren’t given a say. Third, we need to sort our own house out.” (J, on Facebook, giving exactly the same – factually wrong – reason in three different ways)

13. “Because I felt uncomfortable when a group of brown people got on the bus the other day.” (Family member)

14. “Because the EU made them change Marathons to Snickers.” [That was Mars’s decision, not the EU’s.]

15. “Because they banned our bendy bananas.” (Express website) [The EU introduced a law stipulating that bananas should be given different classifications depending on their curvature. No fruit was ever banned – it was just a different classification system.]

16. “Because fishermen now won’t have to throw fish back in the water and Muslim women will no longer be told by their husbands not to wear make-up.” (Caller to LBC) [The exact effect of the UK’s withdrawal from the EU will have on fishing waters and quotas must wait until negotiations are complete, but we will still need agreements with our neighbours, and limits to prevent overfishing, which our neighbours will probably wish to remain broadly the same.]

17. “Because I’ve lived here all my life, and when I was growing up, that street over there was filled with shops.” (TV documentary)

18. “To stop the Muslims immigrating here.” [Migration is unrestricted within the EU. But individual nations are responsible for setting their own limits on immigration from non-EU countries, such as those where the majority of citizens are Muslims. Leaving the EU will have no effect on the number of Muslims coming to the UK.]

19. “Because I want our old lightbulbs back!” [The EU has placed restrictions on the sale of old-style incandescent lightbulbs in a bid to reduce energy wastage and slow global warming.]

20. “Because vaccines should not be mandatory.” [The EU has never passed any law making vaccination mandatory, even though vaccination is widely regarded as being a pretty good idea. Some European countries have done so of their own volition.]

21. “Because the Queen said.” (Pro-Brexit Facebook group)

22. “Because we should not be signing up to TTIP.” [TTIP is a trade deal between EU and America, which the EU has just put on hold. After the UK leaves the EU, most commentators believe it will sign up to a similar deal with the US, probably with fewer checks and balances.]

23. “Because we are like Germany, and Germany isn’t in the EU.” [Germany was a founding member of the EU.]

24. “Because the country is full.”

25. “To annoy my wife.”

26. “It will be an adventure!”

27. “Because the value of the euro is going to go down.” [Even if it were true, this would not have a marked effect on the UK’s economy. Since the vote, sterling is down 18% against the dollar and 15% against the euro.]

28. “So that I can get cheap photovoltaic panels from China.”

29. “Because otherwise, 7 million Turks will come over here.” (LBC caller) [Turkey would never have been able to join the EU so long as Britain used its veto.]

30. “Because I am fed up with being ruled by unelected bureaucrats.” [The EU parliament is directly elected in regular European elections. The European commission –basically the civil service – recruits its own members.]

Screenshot of online conversation
The people have spoken.

31. “Because I didn’t want my sons to have to join a European army.” [The EU would never have formed an army so long as Britain exercised its veto. Even if it did, conscription would be a political and practical impossibility.]

32. “Because there’s too many Pakistan people in Glasgow.” [I repeat: EU membership has no bearing on immigration from outside the EU.]

33. “Because it takes more than 5 litres of water to flush my shit away.”

34. “Because EU taxes are making our petrol more expensive than everywhere else in Europe.” [No, those would be taxes imposed by the UK’s government. The EU plays no part in setting national tax rates.]

35. “To send them women in the headscarves back home. One of them stole my mum’s purse.”

36. “Because I don’t like what the EU is doing to Africa.”

37. “Because I’m scared of black people. They’re so physical.” (mother-in-law of member of Facebook group) [The mechanism by which leaving the EU will rid the UK of black people is unclear.]

38. “I don’t want to send money to Greece. I don’t care about Greece.”

39. “Because the EU does nothing for us.” [Estimates of the value of EU membership to the UK vary from £31bn to £92bn per year.]

40. “Because the EU has devoted 26,911 words to the regulation of cabbages.” [Seems quite a minor thing to sacrifice 20% of your pay packet for, but in any case, it’s bollocks. There are at present zero words in EU legislation specifically governing the production or sale of cabbages.]

41. “Because our prisons are full of Polish rapists.” [As of March 2016, there were 965 Polish nationals in British prisons. That’s out of a total Polish population of just over 800,000 — so 0.12% of all Poles here are convicted criminals. The total number of prisoners is around 95,000; about 0.14% of the population as a whole. I can’t find any figures broken down into both ethnicity and crime.]

42. “Because the roads in Oxfordshire are full of potholes.” [Technically, such matters fall within the local council’s purview.]

43. “Because the EU is anti-semitic.”

44. “So that we can go back to the way Britain was in the 50s.”

45. “Because they sold off the water, gas and electricity.” [Once again, that would be the work of the UK government, not the EU.]

46. “Because I couldn’t decide, and my boyfriend voted Remain.”

47. “Because schools are no longer allowed to hold nativity plays in case they offend Moslems.”

48. “Because the EU spent £13m on art last year.”

49. “Because they never vote for us in Eurovision.”

50. “Because if we stop all the immigrants using the NHS, it will work properly again.”

51. “So we don’t have to queue at the doctor’s.” [There is no clear consensus on the impact of immigration on the health service. Undoubtedly, more people in a country means more people to treat. But it is widely agreed that migrants to the UK are on average younger and healthier than the local population, that inward migration is good for the economy, which gives us more money to spend on the NHS, and that without migrant workers – 24% of doctors and 12% of nurses were not born in the UK – the health service would collapse. Besides, the ageing resident population is by far the biggest strain on health services.]

52. “Because I want a more powerful hoover.” (Facebook group)

53. “Because the EU is going to ban toasters, and I love toast.” (BBC interviewee) [The EU has never threatened to ban toasters. It is, however, considering a limit on the amount of energy that household appliances can use, in a bid to reduce the effect on the environment.]

54. “So we can have our electrical sockets low down by the skirting rather than have to put them little higher up the wall.”

55. “Because they are building houses for Filipinos and it’s blocking the view from my kitchen window.”

56. “Because I don’t understand politics. This is what my friends suggested.”

57. “Because there’s too much traffic in Sittingbourne.”

58.“Because they tell me I need scaffolding to clean my guttering.” [Really not sure where this information came from.]

59. “Because I fancied a change.” (Caller to Radio 4 programme)

60. “My uncle voted Leave because his sister told him to.”

61. “Because the European Parliament building is the same shape as the Tower of Babel, which is anti-Christ.” (Facebook group’s family member)

62. “So all the fucking Chinks will leave.” [China is not in the EU.]

63. “Because the ensuing recession is going to bring house prices down, and I can’t afford to buy a house.”

64. “Because I want to buy sweets in ounces, not grammes.” [The UK converted to the metric system two years before it joined the EU. Further, retailers can still sell in imperial units, alongside the metric ones, if they so desire.]

65. “Because they don’t pay for NHS prescriptions in Wales and Scotland, and that’s not fair.” (Manchester woman) [Again, precisely diddly squat to do with the EU.]

66. “So that I don’t have to pay the bedroom tax.” [The bedroom tax was imposed not by the EU, but by … oh, can’t you fucking guess by now?]

67. “Because I’m fed up of the French burning our lamb.” (Frank, Twitter)

68. “Because I want to use my teabag twice and the EU won’t let me.” (Aunt of friend of commenter) [Another falsehood peddled by Boris Johnson]

Thanks for contributing and helping to turn a sad list into a truly depressing one. I’m turning comments off here now because I’m getting spammed to death, but you can still add your gems to the version on Medium if you like.

24 thoughts on “68 dumb-fuck reasons for leaving the EU”

  2. A friend apologetically told us that she voted Leave because she couldn’t decide and her boyfriend voted Remain so…

  3. An interview on TV with LEAVE voters produced this gem. A bloke thought that the EU was a ‘waste of taxpayers’ money’ ……..’I mean, they spent € 13 million on art last year, so that just shows you. …….’

    Perhaps the saddest of all reasons for voting LEAVE.

    2. This is obviously from someone who’s never ventured as far as Maidstone? Traffic would be the last of my worries if I lived in Sittingbourne. In fact it would provide my means of escape.

  8. Oh, and another one from a relative:

    “Because schools are no longer allowed to hold nativity plays in case they offend Moslems.”

  9. Because our prisons are full of polish rapists – heaving with them
    1% of prison population is Polish – don’t think they were all I there for rape either

  10. In a comments thread argument, one woman told me that Britain (read England) was so much nicer before we joined the EU. Ummmmm no- bankrupt, poor, rolling strikes, restrictions on food, stronger class structure keeping the poor in their place and so on. What was she talking about

  11. Because the roads in Oxfordshire are full of potholes.
    Because there are insufficient funds made available for mental health within the NHS.
    And finally from my home town ‘Owa many darkies.,.’

  12. My wife was a headteacher in a primary school with a 90+% Muslim population. Every Christmas there was a nativity play. The Muslim mums were just as delighted for their children to be in this and if a daughter was chosen as Mary, they were delighted. There were never any complaints.

  14. “Because the Queen said.” Taken from a leave EU Facebook page and still being laughed at by 1000’s of us in our pro remain groups!

  15. “So we can have our electrical sockets low down by the skirting rather than have to put them little higher up the wall” – we are all Physiotherapists and the value to the elderly of not bending do far did not appear to have been considered – no further reasons for leaving were offered

  17. Someone voted leave because they would not have voted to join if we hadnt already.

    Then there is to ‘take back control.

  19. A colleague of mine said “so we don’t have to queue at the doctor’s”. Last time I checked, nothing had changed there whatsoever. But then “we haven’t left yet”…

  20. “Because I want to buy sweets in oz not grams”
    -42 year old man said this, and its wrong anyway.

    “They make me fill in extra paperwork at work” -60 year old painter decorator. When pushed he named the legislation and it was 1 page of a4 tick boxes, scope of work, start date, end date, any dangers to other people, and location of toilets. Sort of stuff he should do anyway!

    “Because of the new motorbike test” -actually specd by DVLA, to the strictest interpretation of EU emergency stop law. Could have been a lot freer and easier.

  21. A guy where I was working at the time said he was voting leave as “then all the f*cking chinks will leave” I explained that china was not in the EU but he just repeted “they’ll still leave” so I gave up

  22. The best I heard was the day after the referendumb. It was a woman from Manchester who voted leave because they don’t pay for NHS prescriptions in Wales and Scotland and she thought it was unfair that she had to because she lives in England.

Comments are closed.

Down and out in Paris and Le Mans

A wabbit

Material of unexpectedly graphic sexual nature on TV at 7.30pm! Maybe France not all bad.

A wabbit
Do not grow too attached to this character.

Adrian Mole turned 50 last weekend. While we’re not exactly contemporaries, the day I was given The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 and Three-Quarters, I was aged exactly 13 and five-sixths. So Ady and I go way back.

While no one would describe Mole as an aspirational figure, I did find him inspirational – he motivated me to start a diary, which I’ve kept ever since. 

To begin with, and indeed for most of its duration, it was shit, but it did come to life for brief periods. The first time this happened was on my school exchange trip, to Le Mans in France, in April 1984. (Apologies for the artlessness, but this is more or less as I originally wrote it.)

Day 1

Left school 6am. Coach journey: predictably riotous. Ferry journey: ate, lost all money on machines, force 7 storm, vomited. Still, was one of last to succumb and managed to keep pullover mostly clean.

As a result of storm, coach arrived four hours late in Le Mans. Was lined up like criminal in identity parade, picked out and dragged into Renault 11. Treated on arrival to cup of “real English tea”, which turned out to be Earl Grey. Drank it anyway.

As we went to bed, M Broussard remarked on funny smell. Turned out to be chicken Mum packed me for lunch that I never had a chance to eat.

Day 2

Fabrice – for that is my exchange partner’s name – bounded into room to wake me for breakfast at 7am, seemingly having forgotten that we had retired only four hours previously. Forced to deliver something to a friend of Mme Broussard. Fabrice deliberately didn’t tell me what “Chien mechant” meant on the sign.

Out to play on French pinball machines. Not as good as English ones. However, turns out 2p coins are exactly same size as 10 franc coins, so we can play for ever basically for free.

Back for first lunch: unspecified meat, hard lumps rumoured to be pommes de terre, and grated carrots in butter.

Back to town to play more pinball. Get feeling cultural scene in Le Mans not wide and varied.

Home for tea. More grated carrots in butter, plus chicken Mum packed me for lunch yesterday. French seemingly unaware chicken is not like wine and cheese and does not improve with age.

TV after dinner. Material of unexpectedly graphic sexual nature at 7.30pm. Maybe France not all bad.

Day 3

Swimming 7am. Are they in a different time zone here? Might have had good time if had been more than a quarter awake.

Having had sneak preview of dinner, did best to cram myself full of tolerable pre-meal crisps.

Bicycle ride with Fabrice. He almost hit one old lady, two joggers and a dog.

Discovered to horror that entire family are Formula One fanatics, and was thus forced to watch cars driving round in circles all afternoon.

Kidnapped and driven 30 miles to see les grandparents. Not most exciting of hosts, despite endlessly fascinating vegetable garden. Things perked up when they introduced me to their collection of cuddly rabbits. “Which one do you like?” they asked. I pointed to a perky-looking white one. At which point they pulled it from its cage, wrung its neck and presented me with that evening’s supper.

Next, the pigeon coop. “Well,” I thought, “at least we won’t be eating these!”

They’re the main course on Monday.

Day 4

First day at school. Never been so glad to see English classmates. First lesson English. Now know why Fabrice barely speaks a word.

Tour of Le Mans racing circuit. Totally dead and deserted and all in all, great value for money (entrance free).

Biology lesson interesting, not so much because of activity (dissecting hearts) as because of one of people performing activity (lush brown-haired French girl).

Dragged into school dining hall where was confronted with yet more lettuce. Clearly, this country needs more rabbits. Still, probably not even rabbits can face the stuff when it’s drowned in vinaigrette.

The Broussards’ bath contains a rubber mat, the ostensible purpose of which is to stop bathers sliding around in the bath, but the actual consequence of which is that you have to physically get out of the bath and back in again every time you want to wash a different body part. Exited bath with beautifully patterned back to find household asleep.

Day 5

Thumper Day.

Now, have never exactly been gourmet. Prior to arrival here, had tasted little beyond roast beef, fishfingers, and Jason Parker’s fist. So rabbit flesh, for the likes of me, was asking a lot.

But got it down, and kept it down! (Although if anyone mentions Watership Down in next 24 hours, will not be accountable for consequences.)

Little fascist bastard beat me at chess. Must have cheated – he is idiot at everything else. Bundled into bed at gunpoint at 9.30.

 Day 6

Typical French: think they are modern industrial nation and haven’t even discovered flavoured crisps yet.

Thrashed pants off Grand Master Broussard at chess. Knew last night was a fluke. Also helped him with his homework. His French homework.

More pinball. 2p coins now like gold dust.

Yesterday, the family, apparently concerned I am not finishing my dinner, asked me what I like to eat. “Most kinds of meat,” I said. Which presumably explains today’s 100% vegetarian meal.

Day 7

School this morning brought the perfect opportunity to impress ravishing Gallic goddess Sophie. No one could solve the chemical equation on the board. The class was paralysed and in despair. But then, out of nowhere, Sir Andrew Bodle galloped to the rescue, snatching the chalk from a hapless student’s hand and filling in the solution with no little panache. The classroom fell silent in awe. Until little brat Fabrice piped up and told everyone I’d already solved it the night before.

French dinner ladies on strike so trudged back to Broussards’ for another 20-course battle with various drowned vegetables. First radish division moved in and neutralised my tongue; then Secret Tomato Service carried out all-out assault on throat. Finally, horde of kamikaze cauliflowers mopped up what was left of taste buds.

Afternoon: guided tour of West FM Radio. Two offices, two microphones and collected works of Barry Manilow. Very popular station, apparently.

Dinner: lettuce in weedkiller with rare consolation side of sauteed potatoes. Seriously. What’s happened to the meat?

Day 8

Up 6.30am again. Whoever drew up timetable for trip should be boiled alive in vinaigrette. Reason: day trip to cold building filled with old towels (tapestry museum), followed by cold building with “bifurcating flying buttresses” (Le Mans cathedral). Original plan was to tour third cold building, a castle, but no one could find way in.

Stop four was a stable, which, as expected, offered horses and some hay. Final destination was vineyard, which might have been interesting but for fact we weren’t allowed so much as a sniff of the produce.

On return was for some reason denied access to almost palatable-looking tomato soup-flavoured pasta everyone else was eating and instead served another portion of lettuce in napalm.

Day 9

Lunch: grated carrots in butter, which had to deploy stupendous feats of imagination to keep down, plus beef and chips. Have now worked out why the French words for animals are same as for meat from those animals; because they barely do anything to it before chucking it on the plate.

Eight hours chez les grandparents. No ritual sacrifice this time, at least.

Day 10

(Because this was a physical diary, it was subject to the depredations of the physical world, and day 10 sadly went missing at some point.)

Day 11

New personal worst. Up 6.15am. At least in good cause: off to spend the day in France’s grand capital. Coach journey took three hours, which looked like it just flew by for Andrew Rogers and Collette, Damian Cullen and Jeanne-Marie, and Fabrice and Michelle Wilkinson.

Sacre-Coeur: photographs and annoying tradesmen.
Pompidou Centre: “art” and lunch.
Shopping: bought cheap tat for presents.
Notre Dame: photographs.
Arc de Triomphe: photographs, toilet.
Eiffel Tower: too late for final ascent. Photographs.

Might have been bit more excited about today if hadn’t visited every single one of these places 12 months ago.

Back to Le Mans 8 o’clock for another grisly encounter with a pasta swamp.

Day 12

Resolved to end bathtime misery by removing rubber bath mat. Succeeded in doing so after titanic struggle, only to replace immediately upon seeing caked-on grime underneath.

“Boum”, or “party”, at Sandrine’s house. All could manage was peck on cheek from Sophie. And this is FRANCE, where people peck one another on cheek 50 sodding times a day.

Back by 6 for dinner of unidentified fluid and what I hope was a sausage in bog of beans.

Day 13

Blessed morning without Fabrice, as he had to go to dentist. Not sure what he had done, but he still has way too many teeth for his face.

Final pinball session. 2p coins now exchanging hands for 50p.

Dinner: grapefruit, some sort of fish, rice, and … drum roll … will it be lettuce or grated carrots today? … PRAISE THE GODS, IT’S LETTUCE!

In hindsight, wish had loaded up little more on it, cos have since been informed that farewell dinner tomorrow will be … snails. SNAILS. Spent rest of evening trying to work out how to fake own death.

Day 14

The smell was the worst part. When stench of roasting mollusc first wafted in from kitchen, was all could do to stop self bolting. Creatures accompanied by beetroot and, quelle surprise, grated carrots, which have never looked so appetising.

But plan worked. Close eyes, swallow whole – no chewing – and immediately follow with copious quantities of bread and wine. In this manner managed to get 10 down before palate and stomach revolted.

Afternoon trip to Alpes-Moncelles. Hiked for what seemed like 70 miles before returning to Mystery Soup and the soundest sleep of the fortnight.

Fabrice packed Michelle in. Little tosser.

Day 15: le jour du depart

Coach arrived outside school 9.15. Made maximum capital out of French custom of bisous by getting two lots from every girl and three from Sophie.

Coach stopped at Arromanches and Bayeux en route to ferry – first bit of real heritage/culture of whole visit. Had about three minutes at each.

Crossing quite choppy again, but managed not to decorate toilet bowl this time. Clearly, after what it’s been through these last two weeks, stomach is now made of cast iron.

(Post scriptum: I feel obligated to point out that my raging xenophobia subsided somewhat with age.)

Helicopters in the stomach

Me age 13 on bike

Every time she smiled, my heart tried to jump out through the top of my head

Me on a racer aged 13
I got the racer two weeks later.

“He was so afraid of girls that he made a secret study of them. But the more he studied them, the more he feared them.”
Opening dialogue card, Harold Lloyd’s ‘Girl Shy’, 1924

Until that Monday, I minded my own business. I went fishing for minnows at the weir with Heath and Jez. I threw myself into my history homework with borderline pathological zeal. I got thrashed at contract whist by Mum and Dad and Nana Martin; skidded down the grassy slopes of Barbury Castle on old cardboard boxes; counted down the hours to the next episode of Doctor Who. In short, I enjoyed innocent, uncomplicated passions that I thought would last for ever.

Until that Monday.

She wasn’t what you’d call classically gorgeous. In fact, no one else seemed to have noticed her. She was quiet, slim, average height, with hypnotic, sparkling grey-green eyes, hair like burnt Shredded Wheat, and what seemed to be a giant steel girder attached to her face.

Yes, she wore a dental brace; one of those terrifying Disneyland monorail affairs going all the way round her head. But every time she smiled – even through all that scaffolding – my heart tried to jump out through the top of my head.

For the first few weeks, I contented myself with gazing across at Kerry in Geography, ignoring the teacher’s dronings about the formation of terminal moraines and wondering how it was that no one else could hear the tom-tomming of my heart and the Lynx attack helicopters circling in my stomach. Until that Monday, I had always been the first to raise my hand when the teacher asked a question. Now I waited for my beloved to raise hers, in the hope that her sleeve would slip a little and expose just a couple more inches of heavenly forearm.

With every passing week, the helicopters grew louder and the throbbing more intense – but I still had only the dimmest notion of what they meant. There was a rumour that Steven Foster, a loud, scruffy boy in my tutor group, had been seen holding hands with Lizzie Stutters, a skinny, spotty girl in the year below. And I’d heard other children talk about “fancying” girls – but somehow the word “fancy” didn’t quite cut it. After all, when people say, “I fancy a cup of tea”, it means they’d quite like a cup of tea, but it won’t be the end of the world if they don’t get one. But I knew it would be the end of the world if I didn’t get Kerry.

So, the day we broke up for half-term in February 1983, during afternoon break, I sought out Sharon Penney. Sharon was no great shakes at English or Maths; but when it came to Other People’s Business Studies, she was top of the class.

She was uncooperative at first, but an offer of two lots of maths homework soon loosened her tongue. Kerry lived on the main street in Broad Hinton, she said, a village five miles from mine.

So three days later, trembling with excitement and dread, I put on my only remotely trendy pair of trousers, gave my bike a thorough clean, and set off.

Five miles wouldn’t normally be much to ask of an able-bodied 13-year-old on a bicycle. But there were complicating factors. First, my chariot wasn’t exactly state of the art; it was a three-year-old Raleigh Grifter, a sort of bulky proto-BMX with none of the BMX’s ruggedness or manoeuvrability. Second, I wasn’t entirely sure how to get there. And third, it was -7 degrees C, and we were well into our third consecutive day of heavy snow. But somehow, two hours later, a pitiful snowman on wheels dismounted outside 76 Green Lane.

After I’d brushed off all the powder, I took a minute to catch my breath, and thought about what I was doing for the first time. I liked Kerry, but would she like me? I’d never really considered whether I was good-looking or not. Nana Bodle always called me her “handsome boy”, but she was biased. I was skinny. And ginger. And, according to Steven Foster and his mates, a nerdy swot. On the other hand, I was a nice boy from a nice family – well spoken, fairly intelligent. And I was wearing my trendy drainpipe trousers.

Oh well. There was only one way to find out. I screwed up my eyes and knocked.

After 20 agonising seconds, a young girl – a good two years younger than the one I was expecting – answered the door.

“Hello?”

“Um … h-hello.” With the cold and the nerves, I was juddering like an arrow in an archery target.

“What do you want?” Very self-possessed, was this 11-year-old.

“Is this Kerry’s house?”

The doorman sneered. “Yeah.”

I had rehearsed everything up to this point. But it now dawned on me that I had no idea what was supposed to happen next. Should I ask to come in? Should I ask if Kerry wanted to come out? What if she was busy? My mind was as blank and skiddy as the country lanes I’d just cycled over.

So I mumbled, “OK, thanks,” jumped back on my bike, and rode the five miles home.

I’ll never know what would have happened if I’d had the courage to say something that day. But it presumably wouldn’t have involved the entire population of the school laughing at me for a week.

♥ Charles Darwin hated peacocks. “The sight of a feather in a peacock’s tail, whenever I gaze at it, makes me sick!” he wrote to botanist Asa Gray in 1860. 

The previous year, Darwin had published Origin of Species, setting out his theory of natural selection – a theory 20 years in the making. His idea, with all that it implied for the story of the Creation, had been greeted with predictable howls of rage from the church, but its reception in the scientific community and the general public was much warmer. No one could point to anything that seriously undermined his simple, elegant argument. 

Except for the peacock. 

If Darwin was right, and all the traits of modern animals were adaptations that had evolved over millions of years to maximise their chances of survival, then what was this ridiculous bird doing strutting around showing off its elaborate, brightly coloured feathers, which are not only useless and cumbersome, but actually reduce its chances of survival by making it more visible to predators?

In fact, natural selection struggled with sex differences generally. It couldn’t, for example, explain the southern elephant seal, the males of which are five to six times heavier than the females. It couldn’t explain deer antlers, which are good for nothing but fighting other deer with. And it certainly couldn’t explain the green spoonworm, a type of marine worm in which the male is a glorified, brainless pair of testes that spends its entire life inside the female’s genitals.

By the rules of natural selection, males and females ought (sexual organs aside) to be identical. After all, they face identical challenges: they share the same habitat and the same diet; they have the same predators, succumb to the same illnesses. Adaptations that are useful to one sex should be just as useful to the other. 

Sex, Darwin realised, was the key. The ultimate test of evolutionary success is not how good you are at surviving, but how good you are at reproducing. From a genetic point of view, it’s better to live a short life and produce some offspring than it is to live to a ripe old age and have none. 

The peacock’s brilliant plumage may work against its survival – but because big, showy tails happen to appeal to peahens, they increase its chances of mating. The same is true of the male elephant seal’s bulk, the male deer’s antlers and, in theory, the small male human’s trendy trousers. 

Darwin presented his theory of “sexual selection” in The Descent of Man, in 1871 − and was roundly ignored. The biologist RA Fisher revived the idea briefly in 1930 with his book The Genetical Theory of Natural Selection, but it was another 40 years before anyone realised just how powerful a light this insight could shine on human relationships – and on human nature in general. 

Cometh the hour

Wheatsheaf pub

A sea shanty about the night in 1987 when I lost my virginity

Wheatsheaf pub
Where boys become men, apparently.

“What people say they find attractive does not always correspond with their actual sexual behaviour.”
– Sign at ‘Sexual nature’ exhibition, Natural History Museum, 2011

When I was a young lad, no sorrows to drown,
At weekends we’d paint the town red;
We’d head to the Wheatsheaf in old Swindon town,
And drown our tomorrows instead.

One fateful night three companions walked in,
Corina, who kept glancing at me;
Nancy, not quite as attractive as sin,
And Rob, a tall bloke with bad acne.

Oh fair Corina, Corina my love,
Why couldn’t you be my first?
With your laughing green eyes and your stonewashed Levi’s,
You would have rocked my universe,
Oh, you would have rocked my universe.

We talked, laughed and danced, and we shared a cigar
I downed eight pints of ale, then upped nine;
And after three more they called time at the bar
And Corina said, “Let’s go to mine.”

Once we’d arrived she took Rob to her bed
To embark on a night of romance.
Then Nancy she yawned, cracked her fingers, and said,
“Well, come on then, take off your pants.”

Oh fair Corina, Corina my dear,
Why couldn’t you be my first time?
With your soft golden hair and your pert derriere,
We could have been partners in crime,
Oh, we could have been partners in crime.

Now I’d spent five years with my flag at full mast
In readiness just for this day;
Now it was called for, the stiffness had passed
But she put it inside anyway.

(sotto voce)
It wasn’t the ale, nor the Marlboro Lights,
Nor my first sight of a lady’s doodah;
Twas the thought of the angel I’d prayed for all night
Being jackhammered by Freddy Krueger.

Unfair Corina, Corina, you cow,
Why couldn’t you be my first chick?
You left me with Nancy, who I didn’t fancy,
And slept with that pizza-faced prick,
Oh, you slept with that pizza-faced prick.

♥ There is a conflict at the heart of the human mating system.

The optimal mating strategy for males (and thus their more “natural” behaviour) is to take lots of short-term sexual partners. The optimal mating strategy for females is to have one (or  few) long-term sexual partner. Clearly, when men and women hook up, something’s got to give.  A compromise is called for; and it turns out that, surprise, surprise, it’s the least  attractive people who do most of the compromising.

Individuals of higher mate value – more attractive people – are more likely to achieve an arrangement closer to their preferred strategy. So desirable men (looks, money, high status) are  more likely to play the field; desirable women, meanwhile, are more likely to insist on commitment (and on a longer courtship period before sex, of which more anon).

Conversely, men  of low mate value will more willingly accept a long-term relationship, while women of low mate value will more often accede to requests for casual sex.

As Herold and Millhausen put it in their 1999 study, most women adopt a “restricted sociosexual strategy” – ie, they prefer long-term relationships – but there are some who prefer an unrestricted strategy.

 

Ode to Brexit

Fucking terrifying picture of Theresa May, as most of them are

The UK may well end up hopelessly broken – but no turning back now! The people have spoken!

Ode to BrexitI

A ham-faced PM (one of Bullingdon’s worst),
On deciding that party, not country, came first,
Promulgated, to silence a sceptical few,
A vote on our membership of the EU.

So everyone picked a side: Leave, or Remain –
Some on principle, others for personal gain.
In a landslide the like of which no man has seen,
Leave triumphed by seventeen points to sixteen.

When Hamface stepped down, we were short of a Tory
To guide this now unshackled nation to glory.
Johnson? Gove? Leadsom? No; I was the Don
(Cos no one was quite sure which side I’d been on).

Brexit means trade with the whole human race!
(Apart from the neighbours we slapped in the face.)
Brexit’s a vow we won’t break – but hey presto!
We’ve scrapped all the pledges in our manifesto.

II

Some want a new vote. They say Leavers told lies!
Well, perhaps one or two comments were ill-advised:

The lawmakers in the EU are elected,
Passporting will be adversely affected,
Turkey’s not joining, we can deport crooks,
The EU’s accountants aren’t cooking the books,
We could have controlled borders (if I’d been arsed),
Leaving might reignite strife in Belfast,
The UK’s rebate isn’t going to be cut,
Gibraltarians might well get screwed in the butt,
We’re not bailing Greece out, we don’t get outvoted,
And bendy bananas? Well, he was misquoted!
The UK may well end up hopelessly broken –
But no turning back now! The people have spoken!

Brexit means Brexit, means fields of spun gold!
(With no one to pick it; migration’s controlled.)
And fishermen, able to fish as they please!
(Till 2019, when they’ve emptied the seas.)

Twat

III

Of course, for such marvels, a price must be paid;
There will be some downsides to our bold crusade.
But so what if some students from France are deterred
And tuition fees rise from insane to absurd?
Never mind if the banking jobs move to New York
And you pay a quid more for your leg of roast pork.
Meh, so tourists get spat at for speaking their tongue
And holidaymakers to Europe get stung!

Big deal if your freedom to travel is dead –
Just look at the sovereignty you’ve gained instead!
Don’t be sour that some millionaires sold you a pup;
Get over it! Move on! You lost! Suck it up!
Who cares if we’re furthering Putin’s agenda?
We took back control! Let’s go on a bender!

IV

We’ll get the best deal cos we’re strong and we’re stable.
Just look at the team that we’ve sent to the table!
There’s Johnson and Davis, disgraced Liam Fox!
(Forget, for the nonce, that they’re all massive cocks.)

I’ll show them who’s boss! I’ll be stable and strong!
Cos 17 million folk can’t be wrong!
I’ll give you the freedom to excoriate
The 1.6 billion Muslims you hate!

The SS Britannia will unfurl her sails
(But without Northern Ireland and Scotland and Wales)!
Brexit means mind-blowing plans for the nation!
There’s only one problem –

The implementation.

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You, me, and the EU Tree

Gnarled tree

And the people on the far east of the street … well, they just hated trees

Gnarled treeOnce upon a time, there was a street; and in the middle of the street, there was a tree. And the name of the tree was the EU Tree.

 

The EU Tree wasn’t perfect. Parts of it were a bit rotten, it cost quite a lot of money to prune and water, and its roots were starting to scrape against the foundations of some of the nearby houses. But by and large, people loved the EU Tree. It produced fruit for those too poor to buy food, its low branches allowed people to climb from one garden to the next, and it held the soil together when it rained.

 

But some people did not love the EU Tree. The people on the far west of the street were nostalgic for the days before the tree, when it was just a big field, and they said it starved smaller seedlings of light. And the people on the far east of the street … well, they just hated trees.

 

So the people from the west and the people from the east got together, and hatched a plan. They started talking loudly about the bad points of the tree, and telling fairy stories about how much better the street would be if it was gone. And then one day, in the middle of the night, they sneaked into the park in the middle of the street, and chopped the EU Tree down.

 

When the rest of the people in the street woke up to find a charred stump where the EU Tree used to be, they were sad and angry. The far westerners looked the other way and whistled; the far easterners laughed. As the people who loved the tree trudged miserably back to their homes, the westerners turned to the easterners and said: “We’re just going to go and get some new seedlings, to plant in the space where the EU Tree used to stand.”

 

And so the westerners left to find some seedlings to plant on the lot. And when they returned, they found that the easterners had built a fucking Starbucks on it.

A fucking Starbucks

Exclusive! – a teaser. Sorta

Couple at dinner

“But I want some variety while I’m still vaguely young
Like something with a kitten heel, or a slightly longer tongue.”

Couple at dinner
“You go first.” “No, You go first!” “All right then.”

Currently, when not slogging through the night on the paper, I’m working on a film script about a couple trying an open relationship. The idea was taken from my last sitcom proposal – since that’s now dead in the water and I have lots of great characters and jokes with nowhere to go, I thought I’d stick them on the big screen instead. 

Films are very different beasts from TV shows, so I’m making a lot of changes. The scene below, for example, has been axed. In the film, the couple have been married for 10 years; in the sitcom pilot, they weren’t married – the idea was for Greta to suggest an open relationship just as Marcus was about to propose. And since Greta is a (wildly unsuccessful) bespoke poet, she’s decided to make the suggestion as only she can …

Sorry about the crappy formatting. 

GRETA
I finished a poem! It’s called A Big Step. Would you like to hear it?

MARCUS
Of course, babes.

                                                                       GRETA
Ten years ago, I found a shoe. I liked the look of it;
It pinched a bit to start with, but quite soon it stretched to fit.
I love my shoe; I always will – I’m anxious to inform,
It supports me and protects me, and it keeps my tootsies warm.

Though it’s scuffed around the edges and the stitching’s come away,
It’s comfy and reliable – I wear it to this day.
But once, our walks were joyful. They were wild, and action-packed;
And lately they’ve grown samey – pedestrian, in fact.

So I’ve decided I would like to walk the next few metres
In a range of different loafers – ones that don’t need Odor Eaters.
See, in this decade past, I haven’t touched another sole,
Though quite a few have asked me if I’d like to take a stroll.

But I want some variety while I’m still vaguely young
Like something with a kitten heel, or a slightly longer tongue.
I don’t want to go barefoot; I don’t want to go solo –
Just to find out how it feels to slip on a Manolo.

And while I’m out there pounding other footwear in the street,
You, dear shoe, should seize the chance to try some other feet.
I know you’d only held one foot before our 10-year march
(And that one had an ingrown toenail and a fallen arch).

It’s not a final parting, shoe – we’ll always be together;
But after years of canvas, I quite fancy trying leather.
(Don’t worry, I won’t catch infections from some Birkenstock,
Cos every time I try another shoe, I’ll wear a sock.)

And fear not, I won’t get attached to some old Dr Marten,
Cos when all’s said and done, it’s you I’ll put my body part in.
Although you’re made of canvas, I hope you can be suede:
I just want a kickabout before I’m an old maid!

MARCUS is oblivious, gazing into the distance, mouthing the words to his proposal speech.

GRETA
So, what do you think?

MARCUS
Well … very clever, hun. Really subtle use of imagery, as usual. I really liked the use of  at the end of the second stanza. And was that a sneaky enjambement at the end of the fourth … ?

GRETA
There is no subtle imagery. YOU’RE THE SHOE, YOU COLOSSAL WANG.