Man V. Food

Man V. Food is amazing television; sadly, I've only just been introduced to it. The programme consists of actor Adam Richman visiting America's 'pig out joints' and attempting their various food 'challenges': burgers the size of tyres, barn-sized barbecues, and chillies so hot the challenger is left looking like they've traversed the Sahara.

It is pure excess. America on a plate. The size of this food is unbelievable, and Adam is a genius of the gut - I've seen him fail only one challenge.

This is amazing - not just because of the sheer size of the smorgasbords served up - but because of the huge crowds that always encircle Adam, cheering his name, shouting and whooping off calories as he piles them on. To be fair, Adam does whip them up into a frenzy, and "rides the wave of their energy" when he's struggling.

Let's face it: we all overindulge once in a while, and when I've had a bit too much curry and a few too many beers, and I'm about to slip into a food coma, the very last thing I would want is a room full of excited Americans behind me.

Vegetarians should look away now: there is more meat and blood on show than in the entire, terrible 'Saw' film franchise. It's possible to have a heart attack just watching Man V. Food.

One of the main things I've noticed since returning from travelling, when my girlfriend Shannon and I went on an eight-month adventure around Europe and Morocco in a VW campervan, was just how much food we have at my family home.

I lost weight whilst away - not because I ate poorly, but because food was not as readily available in the large quantities it is at home.

And when you've experienced non-Western cultures, in any capacity, where food may be scarce, or even if you haven't experienced non-Western cultures and simply have a super-strict food budget, it becomes difficult to enjoy a programme in which a man stuffs his fucking face.

Having said that, Adam is an entertaining presenter and it's sometimes hard not to laugh at the ridiculous scale of the food and the enjoyment the Americans take in it - they are being ironic, right?

But it is really difficult to reconcile having a chuckle at the show with the knowledge that so many people struggle to feed themselves properly, especially when low rainfall, rising food prices, poor harvests and a lack of pasture mean millions are at risk of severe food shortages in West Africa in 2012.

In fact, in a lecture broadcast on BBC One last night, leading geneticist and Nobel laureate Sir Paul Nurse highlighted food security as a problem as pressing as climate change and the current economic situation.

He described how the Green Revolution increased agricultural production in the 1960s and is credited with saving the lives of 1 billion people worldwide, and how science will help us tackle the challenges ahead.

The Art of Complaining

Oh, how to fill these long days of unemployment! Well, I've been writing lots of angry letters. It's a pastime I've enjoyed for a while, but something I can really now focus on, as I've so much time on my hands. 

It has been said that the British don't like to complain - I'm trying to redress the balance. I'm getting pretty good at it - I'd say I've pretty much mastered the medium of the angry letter.

A couple of weeks ago I earned £33 in one day - for doing nothing... except complaining. One of these complaints was justified and fairly serious, the other was not very serious at all.

I realised on a Sunday evening when trying to access my internet banking that my debit card was locked, so the following morning I called my bank to find out why. This led ultimately to a complaint and an angry email, which I've just re-read, littered with words like 'flabbergasted' and 'laughable'.

I explained my problem over the phone and was told how to unlock my card at an ATM. I asked how my card had become locked and was told that the only way it could happen was if my pin was entered incorrectly three times. 

At this point I became concerned; I hadn't used a cash point for some time - I'm unemployed and have no money - and, because I know my pin, definitely hadn't entered it incorrectly three times. 

I raised my concerns and was put through to someone in online banking. 

This person then explained how to unlock the card at an ATM. Yep, you've guessed it: I'd already been told how to unlock the card. That wasn't the problem. I was concerned my card had been compromised. These concerns were not taken seriously. In fact, I don't think anyone I spoke to even realised why I was concerned. 

I asked to be put through to a security team and was put through to Martha... in Customer Service. She told me to unlock my card. I knew I had to unlock my card; I wanted to know how my card had been locked. 

All three people I spoke to told me that the only way it could happen is by entering the pin incorrectly three times. I hadn't entered the pin incorrectly three times. I asked at which cash point this had happened. Martha couldn't tell. Much later on in the phone call she told me the date the card was locked on - I hadn't left the house that day. I asked Martha if she thought she should've disclosed the information about the date my card was locked when I originally asked at which cash point it was locked. She didn't know. The resolution of all this was that, basically, should my card be accessed fraudulently, then I should call them again. How's that for security?!

Martha asked - twice! - if I was satisfied with the service she'd provided. I definitely wasn't, and told her I felt I was hitting my head against a brick wall. All three people I spoke to didn't understand my concerns, and had the attitude that if my account was accessed illegally, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. 

It was pure comedy - and not in a good way.

The outcome of this debacle was that I would simply have to wait to see if anyone other than myself accessed my account. I was confident this wouldn't happen, as whoever had tried to access it obviously didn't know my pin, or they wouldn't have locked my card. 

I eventually received a call back from another lady who told me that not many people - even the telephone banking staff I spoke to - realise that a card can become locked if its pin is entered incorrectly at a number of different cash machines. I then remembered that I had put my pin number in incorrectly once, when I first got back from travelling, and that I'd let my friend use it to buy drinks when I was too drunk to do it myself - the night we met Bramble and her owner. He could've entered it incorrectly too.

Case closed, and for my trouble, the bank put £30 in my account, "to cover the cost of the call" - and their arses. 

The other £3 I earned came from the yoghurt company Muller. I was shocked and appalled to discover that a multipack that should've contained three different flavoured yoghurts, only contained two. I promptly sent an angry email off and received £3 vouchers in the post. Yes!

The upshot of all of this is that, now well practised in the art of the complaint, I've targeted a bigger fish - the Department of Work and Pensions. After the way I was treated recently at the Jobcentre, I've sent an angry letter of complaint to the Chief Executive, asking for an apology. 

Watch this space as to the outcome!

Jumping through hoops at the Jobcentre

I'm still unemployed. Today I turned up at the Jobcentre for an appointment at 9.30am, to be met with a sign saying: "As of 13/02/12, the Jobcentre will not open until 10am on a Wednesday."

As my friend would say, I flipped a shit. No one had bothered to tell me the time had changed: no phone call to landline or mobile, no letter, no email. The news obviously hadn't reached an Eastern European lady, too, who stood outside looking as confused as I was. I demonstrated my fine grasp of the English language by unleashing a succession of expletives. She looked impressed.

I wasn't prepared to wait around for half an hour, so tried to get the attention of the security guard inside. He ignored me. Soon several Jobcentre staff descended the stairs; they'd patently just had a meeting. I got the attention of a chap in a suit, who held up all his fingers and mouthed "10".

Being able to read, this was slightly galling. I flapped the piece of paper which detailed my attendance arrangements; he came over and asked if I could post it through a tiny gap between the doors. "It would be easier to open them," I said, struggling to squeeze the paper inside. "I can't," came his uneasy reply. I felt like a zoo animal - except I was locked out, not in.

After checking my details he returned to say my appointment was at 4.20pm. That was it - I made the international sign of being finished - crossing my hands and drawing a horizontal line from the middle outwards - and left. I'd now have to spend another half an hour on a bus to get home.

By the time I did I was furious. I rang the Jobcentre to speak to a lady, we'll call her Caroline, whom I was meant to be meeting, but of course, she wasn't around, so I spoke to a lady we'll refer to as 'Ivy'. I expressed my disappointment to Ivy, who was very nice and said she'd ask Caroline to call me.

Later someone rang from the Jobcentre we'll label Jane. Jane tried her best, bless her. She said that she couldn't tell me why no one had notified me of the time change until I came in a 4.20pm and she could see my attendance arrangements.

I had two seperate pieces of paper which listed today's non-appointment at 9.30am, but Jane wouldn't take my word for it. She wanted to see them. I told her I was annoyed that I'd had to get the bus into town just to come home again. "We'll reimburse the bus fare," Jane said nonchalantly. "It's not about money," I said, "what about my time?"

To which Jane sensitively replied, "To be fair, you are a Jobseeker; time shouldn't matter."

I flipped a shit. Again.

How dare Jane, a representative of the Jobcentre, say this to me? As if my time didn't matter - because I'm unemployed. My time on this planet is not worth as much as someone's who works. At the very least I could've spent two hours LOOKING FOR A FUCKING JOB!

(This doesn't mean I'm looking for work in the porn industry, by the way, but I'm close to considering anything).

Jane had to terminate the call. I rang back, complained to Ivy again, who was very nice again, then finally, Caroline rung.

By this time it was damage limitation. Caroline apologised twice for the original balls-up and once on Jane's behalf.

I still wasn't sure whether to attend the 4.20pm appointment, at first feeling like I would be returning with my tail between my legs, but after consideration did, and was as charming and smiley as I could be.

An example of the bureaucracy of the Jobcentre: I have to fill out three forms because I did a few hours' work writing an online guide for a website for £20.

The Jobcentre has paid me no respect or regard whatsoever. I was made to feel very small, and what I was told by Jane was cruel and completely unprofessional.

I feel confident enough to bite back when I've been wronged, but I bet many people on Jobseeker's don't. I'm concerned that a lot of Jobseeker's are made to feel this way.

At a time when the Department for Work and Pensions is causing controversy, Jobcentre staff should be inspiring confidence in Jobseeker's to get out there and find work, not making them flip a shit.

How to legally steal music

Do you remember libraries? You know, those big, quiet rooms where books were kept. Usually in town? What's that you say... what's a book?!

I remember libraries, and was greatly annoyed to see that my local library has closed down. That once noble red-brick building has been plastered all over and made up to look like some kind of Mediterranean villa, sitting awkwardly in a dreary satellite town. I don't know whether they're flats or offices or what, but the library's gone.

I used to go to my library a lot... to get CDs. In the library, the CDs were the first things you saw, right at the front. Books were already old news.

You could rent a CD for a week for £3, which seemed a good deal. The first CD I rented - which would soon be the last - was, I think, Steps' sophomore effort 'Steptacular'.

Upon leaving the library with my musical bounty I realised that for £9 I could actually buy a copy of Steptacular, that would be mine to keep for ever. I could eagerly listen to the magic of Claire, H and the gang ad infinitum.

So I returned Steptacular to the library, bought a copy from the record megastore, went home for a listen... and took it back the next day, for a full refund. Steptacular was crap - but, importantly, I'd given it a listen and had 'owned' it for a whole evening - for free.

This was the point where I hit upon my amazing idea. I'd recently started downloading music using peer-to-peer websites such as Kazaa, which were fantastic for finding music better than Steps, but had completely destroyed several of my family's poor PCs.

I had also started using iTunes to store my music, and discovered that I could buy CDs from that certain record megastore, take them home and 'burn' them so I had a permanent digital copy, then take them back to the shop for a refund.

Of course, it wasn't long before the shop staff figured me out, and stopped giving me my money back, and instead said I could exchange my CD for something else in the store. This was even more perfect - I had an everlasting voucher that allowed me to constantly borrow new CDs 'on repeat'!

The staff eventually became even wiser to me, and wouldn't let me in the shop - I just sent different family members and friends in to swap CDs for me.

This was how I learnt to legally steal music - and I didn't even need the internet and websites so unsafe they forced unsuspecting computers into meltdown.

The ironic thing about all this is that, like our friends the libraries, music megastores are going the way of the woolly mammoth.  

But fear not - as we know, music is available all over the shop online, and can be downloaded legally and illegally, so I shed no tears for music megastores.

It is the humble old library - to which I raise a metaphorical glass with this blog post - that I well and truly miss.  

Equality Street

Manchester United manager Alex Ferguson has aired his thoughts on the issue of racism in British football, today affirming, "We should do something about it if it's surfacing again, and be really hard and firm on any form or shape of racism."

Referring to the recent war of (naughty) words involving John Terry vs Anton Ferdinand and Luis Suarez vs Patrice Evra, Ferguson said, "There have been a couple of examples recently, which is not good. In 2012, you can't believe it. It was obvious maybe 20 years ago and the improvements have been for everyone to see."

Ferguson's comments echoed those spoken by Alan Hansen in December, when the Match of the Day pundit said, "Twenty-five, thirty years ago, it was probably in a bad way, not as bad as some of the nations on the Continent, but certainly there's always room for improvement."

Hansen had just been asked if he thought racism was rife in English football, to which he replied, live on air, "No it's not. If you played twenty-five… I think it's better, not only with the players, but with the supporters. I think there's a lot of coloured players in all the teams, all the major teams, and there's a lot of coloured players that are probably the best in the Premier League."

Whoops.

Obviously the Twittersphere 'did one' - with footballers - black and white - and fans alike all giving their two-penneth worth. Former Spurs player Rohan Ricketts tweeted how Hansen was "part of the problem when using that word."

It's a strange situation we now find ourselves in - Alan Hansen, in the midst of a spiel about how racism is a terrible, terrible thing, foolishly says a politically-incorrect word, and the knives come flying out.

Although to say that Hansen is part of a racism 'problem' is another thing altogether: he didn't use the word in a derogatory way, as Terry did when abusing Ferdinand.

Alan Hansen undoubtedly didn't mean to cause offence - but certainly did - and apologised, saying, "I unreservedly apologise for any offence caused. This was never my intention and I deeply regret the use of the word."

There - are you happy now, Twittersphere? The point is, most civilised people understand what language is acceptable, yet if someone does slip up (especially a person of the older generation... sorry, Alan), more attention should be paid to the context in which the comment is said. These things aren't always black and white... (apologies again).

It is slightly worrying, also, how issues like this can be blown up instantly on websites such as Twitter, with great swathes of sweaty-palmed and self-appointed experts clambering onto ever-more tenuous bandwagons.

The instantaneous of Twitter is brilliant - breaking news stories revealed on the site feel positively prehistoric by the time TV news channels and papers can report them - but perhaps more people should sit back, take a minute, maybe have a cup of tea, before letting their under-ripe and under-nourished thoughts go spilling out across their computer screens.    

Now Fabio Capello, who publicly expressed his unhappiness at the FA's decision to strip John Terry of the England captaincy - which happened, remember, because Terry racially abused Anton Ferdinand - has quit as England manager.

Job Update:

Unfortunately I'm still unemployed, and have been applying to as many relevant jobs as possible. Today I attended my first scheduled interview at the Jobcentre. I was asked for my form detailing the jobs I've applied for - you have to take three 'steps' to finding a job every fortnight (basically, you have to apply to three jobs in 14 days) - so I proudly showed my record of jobs I've applied for, which I've updated since December, long before I applied for Jobseeker's Allowance. The chap glanced at it, asked me to sign something, then said we were done. I was in there five minutes. They didn't even look at my CV. Completely pointless. I very much hope the Jobcentre bucks its ideas up for my next appointment in two weeks.

Just Say No

Today the Welsh government launched a campaign to stop people smoking in cars in which children are also travelling. This makes complete sense - children should not be exposed to cigarettes in smoky cars - or "hot boxes" - and hopefully most responsible parents realise this.

The Welsh Government will consider a complete ban depending on the campaign's success in lowering the number of smokers in the country. But a ban of this kind would be difficult to enforce and so less of a deterrent; using a mobile when driving has been banned in the UK since 2003, yet how many people do you still see at the wheel engrossed in conversation on their phones?

Simon Clark, director of the brilliantly-named tobacco lobby group Forest - Freedom Organisation for the Right to Enjoy Smoking Tobacco - said he supported the campaign, but added, "I think it's outrageous at the way they're treating smokers considering there are 10m smokers throughout the United Kingdom, who contribute a massive amount to tobacco taxation - over £10bn a year."

The Forest website is superb: the group describes itself as the 'Voice and friend of the smoker' (albeit a husky, phlegmy voice, followed by hacking cough) and the pages are full of photos of supporters all enjoying a quick fag.

Unfortunately I am a bit obsessed with smoking; you see, I'm trying to quit. And it seems that absolutely everywhere I turn smoking or quitting smoking are there. The government has recently run TV adverts for free 'Quit Kits', which I did consider, before realising that nothing would be included in them to actually help me quit, except leaflets saying, "Go on - you can do it!" like an overzealous dad on sports' day, leaflets which I would've probably ended up trying to smoke anyway, upon running out of Rizla.

Seemingly everyone is anti-smoking too, which is obviously a good thing, especially when you're trying to quit - though these people don't tell you about the side effects. Sure, I feel a lot better for cutting down, but I didn't expect the thumping headaches, dry throat and constipation. I've reached points where instead of wanting a cigarette to suppress my crushing nicotine cravings, I've wanted one just to help me go to the toilet. I feel very much like my cat when it snows; she can't go outside and go and has to sit around gurning.

Although it hasn't been as difficult as I thought to cut down: I have found it is as easy to say no to a cigarette as it is to say yes. I've been steadily breaking the routine of smoking since Christmas. Last week I hit an all time high and didn't smoke Sunday through to Friday night, when I ruined it all by going out for a drink and lighting up. I knew I would smoke when drinking, and so having survived a few beers early on without sparking up, I was on edge, delaying the inevitable. I did feel relieved when I had a cigarette, and afterwards felt guilty, but I always knew that the true test would come when drinking, and this is the reason I can't say I've truly quit. (Status update: no cigarettes since Friday night.)

In December I returned from an eight-month adventure around Europe and North Africa with my girlfriend, in a VW campervan. Having gone from being outside everyday for eight months to being stuck inside with the central heating on - I've gone from being a wild beast to a caged bird - I have wondered whether actually this is the reason for my dry throat and headaches, this, coupled with blankly staring at my laptop screen for hours on end. This wouldn't explain my constipation though - it could be my diet, although that normally has the opposite effect.

Whilst we were away my girlfriend and I smoked like Dot Cotton and I decided to quit. This was partly because I have smoked for ten years, but mainly because I wanted my mum to quit and always felt a hypocrite for complaining about her smoking.

My girlfriend Shannon also said she'd quit with me - and hasn't! - so now I am quitting, I can complain to Shannon and my mum about quitting and really get on their wicks. And I can tell you, there is no one more self-righteous and preachy than an ex-smoker!

The Old Man and the SEO

In the midst of job hunting I have discovered that many companies now look for journalists who have knowledge of SEO. I didn't - so endeavoured to find out more. SEO stands for Search Engine Optimization, basically the process by which websites improve their rankings in search engine results. For example, when you type 'Search Engine Optimization' into Google, the first listing is the Wikipedia page on SEO. When you enter the name or URL of this blog into Google - Other Search Engines Are Available - the first listing links to an article on the top 100 alternative search engines; my blog doesn't figure in the first five pages of results - it's probably the 87,199,999th result out of 87,200,000. But hold on - the top 100 alternative search engines? I couldn't name 10 conventional search engines! 

Actually, I had heard of SEO - my understanding was that in order to list high in search engine results, a website should include as many keywords on a particular subject as possible. So, a website about funny-looking cats should have the words 'funny-looking cats' plastered all over the page. Given this, SEO SEO SEO. That should boost this blog's ratings. 

There is a particular factor of SEO that has concerned me, however. Whilst looking for jobs, I found websites looking for journalists with knowledge of writing for SEO; particularly, news websites. Now, I'm not the font of all journalism knowledge - I am unemployed! - but I always thought that writers should be as economical and concise with their writing as they can be, and not repeat words unnecessarily. (I once thought I'd invented a word, 'concision', as in, "the writer used concision", although apparently it exists.)

I have always tried to be as economical with words as possible (apart from that gratuitous last sentence on inventing words; oops, and this sentence). Most people don't associate journalists with ethics, but I think ethically I would struggle to purposely litter my writing with excessive words, even if I was just writing news on this month's funniest-looking cats. Funniest-looking cats.

I can think of only one writer who embodies concise use of language and that is Ernest Hemingway. What would that great man make of deliberately repeating words and phrases in reportage? I wonder.
Hemingway is a writer to whom I have only just been introduced; I have read one of his books, 'A Farewell to Arms'. I was surprised by his style and enjoyed the narrative and was pretty heartbroken by the book's end. It is semi-autobiographical, and I was left thinking, wow, either WW1 was pretty horrible or Hemingway loved a drink, or both. Probably both.

But having said what I have about repetition, Hemingway did use the technique in 'A Farewell to Arms' (and I guess in his other novels), repeating words willy nilly. Take this random excerpt:

'As we moved out through the town it was empty in the rain and the dark except for columns of troops and guns that were going through the main street. There were many trucks too and some carts going through on other streets and converging on the main road. When we were out past the tanneries onto the main road the troops, the motor trucks, the horse-drawn carts and the guns were in one wide slow-moving column.'

The lesson here I suppose is that repeating words can be used for effect, especially when describing a busy scene with lots of interacting characters. But personally I would never adapt my writing style to suit SEO SEO SEO and certainly wouldn't repeat words all over the shop.