I'm Sincere, Really I Am, Please Buy This Thing

And this month's pretentious tosser award goes to ....

James Veitch who, in an ad running on Youtube, peers into the camera whilst wearing glasses and then takes them off a second later as he mouths some meaningless gibberish about web design.

<sarcasm> Yeah, I'm rushing out to buy whatever it is he's selling because, let's face it ladies and gentlemen, a man who can take his glasses off whilst simultaneously doing a piece to camera is clearly someone who deserves our full confidence </sarcasm>.  And he can have this little bit of html for free.

A Present from Siberia

High pressure is settling over northern Europe and easterly winds are set to bring some severely cold days for the rest of this week. Once this would have been of some concern but with my commuting days behind me I can take relaxed (if not smug) attitude to it all whilst still thoroughly sympathising with those who must still go through it.

Here, courtesy of Twitter, BBC Travel and Jaymesh Patel, are a couple of snapshots to encapsulate this morning's fun and frolics for those attempting to reach central London from parts out west.

We had a little snow this morning in beautiful Ruislip, about enough to disturb any gnats strolling on the pavement and it's all gone now.

Where It's At

Journalism is a tough profession. Deadlines to be met, snarling sub-editors red-pencilling copy, pressures on cramming the text into the allotted two column inches. And perhaps tougher with sports reporting where a story must be filed quickly before it is yesterday's news and unwanted. So we can make allowances for the odd factual slip or infelicitous choice of phrase. But surely there can be no mercy for the following extract which appears in the current issue of the digital newspaper Essex Live (and if you are wondering why I should be perusing this particular publication, it is because on Saturday the football team I follow, Wealdstone FC, achieved a memorable victory over old rivals Billericay Town in the quarter-finals of the FA Trophy, blowing them off the pitch with a 5-2 scoreline, and I was keen to see what local opinion thought of the game).

The result ends Billericay's hopes of a cup final at Wembley Stadium where the final was scheduled to be played at

Ending a sentence with a preposition is not the crime against grammar that it once was but in this case I think an exception can be made. The "at" is redundant and makes the whole sentence clumsy.  Also the final will take place at Wembley. It hasn't been moved because now that Billericay are knocked out there's no need for such a prestigious venue. However my ire is aimed at the entire sub-clause in which the "at" sits. It seems pretty bloody obvious that, if Billericay hoped to play in the final at Wembley, then the final must surely have been scheduled there. It would be really strange to have read the following:

The result ends Billericay's hopes of a cup final at Wembley Stadium even though it is actually going to be played at Dagenham Dog Track¹

I don't know what the word "scheduled" brings to the party either. The final will be at Wembley Stadium. Or you could say the final is to be played at Wembley Stadium. It is more than just an entry on one of those wall-chart/calendar things that hang in the Personnel Manager's office recording holidays and the dates of the firm's outings. It goes well beyond blocking it out on the Google Calendar of the Events Organiser at Wembley. The Trophy Final has been held at Wembley ever since its inception and before that when it was the FA Amateur Cup. Wealdstone, I am proud to record, have won both events (in 1985 and 1966) and wouldn't it be splendid if they completed the hat-trick in 2018?

1. Insert any unlikely sounding venue of your choice if it makes you feel better

Del Trotter, Are You There?

Fans of the Peckham wide-boy whose exploits were documented in the TV series Only Fools and Horses will surely appreciate the following snippet.

In one of my other incarnations, I maintain a website dedicated to the cartoon character Bristow. From time to time collections of the cartoons, originally published in the Evening Standard, were issued in book form. The first one appeared in 1966 and, unusually, comprised redrawn full page versions of some of the original cartoons together with pictures specially drawn for the book to make more of a story. It is rarer than the other books but still not too difficult to find on Ebay and on second hand book search sites.

Recently I saw this book on Ebay. It was for sale for £1601.27. This compares with a "normal" second hand price of between £5 and £15. I assumed this must be a mistake, was tempted to send the seller a message¹ but, as Ebay doesn't make this possible until you bid for something, decided not to waste my time.

Today the following appeared in my web browser, as a targeted ad based no doubt on the fact that I had looked at the book.

I can save £1,375.70!!! according to Messrs. Ebay. Wow, with those savings I could take a week's holiday. I could buy a wardrobe of top clobber. I could... hold on....I'm not actually saving a bean. A book that was on sale for 100 times a reasonable price is now available at a dramatic price cut (but still some 15 times more than anyone with half a brain would pay). I am being invited to pay an unbelievably stupid price for a second hand book of which the seller can't even be bothered to supply a picture of the front cover but hey! it's cool because not long ago he wanted a price so ridiculous he was probably in line to become Regius Professor of Rip-offs and Scams at the Trotter Institute.

And if you're wondering what the front cover looks like, here it is and you don't have to cough up a single bean for the privilege of seeing it.

1. The message I would have sent? Something on the lines of "I don't know what you've been drinking / inhaling / injecting lately but I'll take a crate of it, OK?"

Lines on the Prolonged Departure of Jacob Zuma

Once again this column presents a piece of "verse" skilfully commenting on current events (this time in South Africa) whilst finding clever rhymes for the name of the subject. It is profoundly to be hoped that his successor, Mr Ramaphosa, does not, through either his style of government or the manner of his eventual leaving of office, merit such treatment.


The crowds had gathered in the streets.
They'd heard a tasty rumour.
Their eyes were fixed upon the news
That spelt the end of Zuma

Their mood was turning rather bad
What made for better humour?
'twas support that melted in the night
That did for Jacob Zuma.

It didn't go as fast as planned,
But stuck like an angry tumour.
Still in the end they got him out.
Goodbye, good riddance Zuma.

How Stupid Is Steam?

Steam, for those who do not know, is the trading name of a business that sells computer games over the internet and provides many related services. I have been a customer for several years. As with other online enterprises, they hold information about me that helps prevent unauthorised access to my account. I have no issue with this.

What does make me raise my eyebrows in exasperation is what happened when, as occurred today, I logged on and they displayed a message asking if my email address was still as it was. Fine, I get the idea that if it has changed I need to let them know so they can contact me should this be necessary. But the email address has not changed (indeed it has been the same for about fifteen years). When I clicked on the little button to affirm this, I was then invited to verify that this was my address. Which means they would send an email to which I would reply. I did do this the first time the account was set up.

Now, on this occasion, the email address has not changed. I have told them it has not changed and that what they are displaying is correct. What then is the reason for them effectively telling me that they don't believe me? Why is my simple click on a "Yes, this email is still the same as it was" not good enough? Do they employ systems designers who sit in their little cubicles munching doughnuts and saying to one another  "Yeah, Chuck, I know they can just click Yes and they have logged on correctly and all, but you know maybe they did change their email and they forgot and all so we'd better check anyway. Whaddya say Chuck? Let's do it, huh?" and Chuck would swill down the last of his coffee and grunt approvingly.

If you're reading this, fellers (and you know who you are), do feel free to explain.

Saying it like it is

The sports news on Radio 4's Today programme this morning covered the opening of the Winter Olympics in Korea. Someone in the British team has dropped out of something (I wasn't paying that much attention as the effort of waking up came first) but I snapped wide awake when the hapless representative went on to affirm that "Someone else will step up to the plate".

Oh, please! I know British clichés are no longer the best in the world but surely we can do better than parrot this stupid Americanism? "The Plate" means the bit where the batter stands in a game of baseball. He only has to stand there while the bowler throws a ball at him three times and then he is out, unless he has managed to hit the thing first. The plate is not particularly far from where the teams sit waiting their turn to come out nor particularly difficult to reach. There are no tanks of piranhas on either side waiting to grab a clumsily placed foot. There are no snipers up there in the "bleachers" (God, how I love that word) waiting to take out anyone who is too slow. In brief, "stepping up" to the plate is easy. It's a doddle. Anyone can do it. It takes no talent or even bravery. You can always duck, once they start chucking the ball at you.

I contend that to use this phrase to indicate the acceptance of responsibility in the face of adversity is not just lazy and ignorant but an insult to every red-blooded Briton (and if anyone knows of any Briton whose blood is not red, do get in touch). We have plenty of suitable sayings of our own based on sports we actually play and can claim to know something about. For example (and with footnotes for those many Americans I know will be eagerly seeking explanations):

• Walking out to the first tee¹
•  Marching out to the crease²
•  Striding up to the oche³
• Pedal up to the start line⁴
• Sidling up to baulk⁵
• Sticking out your hand ⁶
• Standing one's round⁷
• Shouting down the opposition⁸

and doubtless, many more

If you would like to support the Campaign for British Clichés please get in touch.

Footnotes:
1. You must know this one, surely.
2, Cricket. The crease is the line marked on the ground in front of the wicket. The wicket is made of three stumps and two bails. The stumps are ... look, there is such a thing as Google you know, you could be looking it up there instead of wasting your time here.
3. Darts. The oche is the line behind which the players must stand when throwing. Pronounced "Ocky", not to rhyme with "blotchy". Not be confused with the Scottish expression "Och, aye".
4. Cycling. Or competitive tricycling, for younger readers.
5. The baulk line on a snooker table is where the cue ball is placed for the opening shot of each game. Players don't necessarily have to sidle but late at night, with the cigarette smoke thick over the shaded green lights and the pints stacked up on the side tables, a long cool sidle is what you do when you want to intimidate your opponent. So I'm told.
6. in a "one potato, two potato" divvy-up of teams for playground football. See the Opies' excellent Lore and Language of Schoolchildren Oxford University Press 1959 for more. I suppose these days there is an app for team selecting.
7. What you do in a pub.
8. Politics