The Wonder of the Modern Age

Inevitably when I came to write this post, a post extolling the wonders of technology and all it can offer us, my computer crashed. I thought it had died and as I stared at the black screen I was vaguely impressed that I had backed up everything. I had only backed it up as someone had shouted at me, but still everything was backed up. My itunes has backed itself up to the cloud. I do not understand the cloud. Please don't explain it to me as I simply don't care. From my understanding it means that every time I want to purchase some kicking tunes (perhaps some Paula Abdul) my itunes will insist on transferring all purchases to my computer so that each song is saved a million times and 'my documents' folder is filled with weird album artwork. Nothing can be done to stop this. It also means that no purchases will actually be put on my ipod, presumably because it's all in the cloud. Still there seems to be no solution to this problem. It is similar to the time I managed to make an entire post production script my default word template. There was no point trying to find a solution, it was far simpler to start every session by deleting 40 pages of work. 
This wasn't meant to be a rant, I just happen to be multitasking and trying to buy some music and failing. (I am buying 'Uncle' the music by the way. An excellent purchase that I recommend you all make). I think I have bought it. I just can't access it. What I actually wanted to say when I began was that technology is marvellous. Pretty much every technological term I used in the first paragraph didn't exist five years ago. If my computer died, which it did after I poured a cup of tea in to it, I had to wait for it to dry out before I could see if anything had been saved and accept that perhaps it had all gone. Now, I'd have to dry it out again but in the meantime 

Sorry to interrupt but Itunes is being an absolute bastard. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. 

Anyway. But in the meantime I would be able to access it EXCEPT ALL MY BLOODY MUSIC WHICH IS TRAPPED SOMEWHERE BY FUCKING APPLE. 

I have now lost everything. No music for me. As this is with Apple I am not allowed any actual help. So I have sent some feedback. I would imagine this feedback has gone to an unmanned help desk. 
Perhaps it has something to do with drones. 

I was going to write a post about how I have been enjoying Skype chats with children in Canberra who are reading a book I wrote as their class reading book. This post will now be delayed while I groan and wail in to a cushion. 
Technology is sick and wrong. It is the enemy. Bring back cassettes. 

A Strange Return

Before flying back to the UK from LA I warned my friend that there are reasons why I normally travel alone and try to always fly alone. This is because in the run up to the flight fellow passengers are treated to me moping around with a look of impending doom plastered across my face. I also only have one topic of conversation. Correction; I only have one sentence of conversation "I really don't want to get on to that plane." I really, really didn't. As we left our hotel I was offered a complimentary whiskey. I took it. It was disgusting, I now know why I've not drunk it before. I then took three sleeping tablets. I then stopped self medicating as I was about to do a Marilyn Monroe. 

I was awake for the entire flight. I have the constitution (and arse) of an ox. 

Just before take off my friend tried to take my mind of the journey by showing me news stories on her phone. Sadly she showed me pictures of dolls. I saw no need to replace one intense fear with another so carried on fretting about the flight. Fretting so much that I ignored the announcement that said we would have a flight time of just over nine hours rather than nearly 11. I took it as good news. 

What it meant was that we were powering along at the speed of light on the bumpiest trajectory known to man. We were clearly caught up in some 'fronts' that were blasting Canada and the Eastern US so we skipped and hopped our way across the Atlantic. I had a breakdown (and a revolting dinner) and wondered what on earth I would have been like without the drugs and alcohol. 

Now I am home and I am not going to fly for a while. 

However I would recommend the above combination as preparation for going on the radio. Fifteen hours after landing I went to Three Counties Radio to talk about my book (STILL available on Amazon). I loved it. I think not really having time to think about it helped and I would imagine jet lag and drug comedown also played it's part. The DJ was such a nice man and I hope I came across OK. They asked me back and I went back again on the Wednesday to take part in a panel discussion show. All in all a weird way to spend your first week back in the country. 

It's also probably worth pointing out that despite what it says in the photo above, I am not an audiologist. But I am happy to shout at you to check you can hear. 

Women Aren't Funny

I went to two comedy nights in LA. One was at the 'Upright Citizen's Brigade' in LA and the other was at a comedy festival in LA. The comedy festival was a weekend event and we went to see a show on the Saturday evening. Being a good ten years older than most of the audience I am guessing it wasn't particularly aimed at us, but it is worth pointing out that we were still a good ten years younger than either of the comics we saw. It was described as an evening of mayhem combined with hilarious anecdotes and guests. What it actually was was a 40 year old man telling knock knock jokes interspersed with "hilarious" tales of wanking. Then he introduced his friend (who depressingly has just been given his own comedy show on television) who told hilarious stories about wanking. In quite an angry manner. Oh and he told a very weird story about a dad in a shop where he explained why the story was funny and how he felt about it in interminable detail. Oh and he did all this explaining before he got to the punch line. It almost made you long for a wanking story. 
I was hating it but didn't want to drag my friend away if she was loving it. I looked over. She was checking her work email on her phone. We left. 
We went home and due to an inability to work the television we looked for something to watch on Netflix. We found a documentary about why women aren't funny. It was by a female comedian who interviewed male and female comedians to get to the bottom of why women aren't considered funny. Inevitably most of the males she interviewed (not all) seemed to consider humour a unique and wonderful gift that was bestowed only on men, normally white men. The women she interviewed gave an alternative (normally funnier) viewpoint. Then the woman making the documentary became obsessed with what her comic husband thought of her and how he felt threatened by another male comic she may or may not have slept with ten years ago. She may not have been the right person to make the documentary. She sort of shot us all in the foot. Thanks. 
Are women funny? I think some are. Are men funny? I think some are. I don't think humour is linked to gender. But I think humour is more celebrated in a male. There is the idea that humour in a female is to make up for a lack of other (looks based) qualities. I think men that say women aren't funny are generally threatened by women and want to belittle them, they also know that if they come across a funny woman then she'll be able to beat him in an argument and be funny whilst she's doing it and then he'll have to go and think about his natural superiority bestowed on him by virtue of him simply having a penis. And if that isn't true - what is? Society would crumble. Back in the kitchen women. Tell your knock knock jokes to the kettle. 
The problem is there aren't enough women who are visible in comedy. On a panel show for example there is one woman and maybe three or four men. If one of the men isn't funny, no problem, he's just not funny but there are three others to prove that men are. If the woman isn't funny she is simply not representing herself she is representing all women and therefore women shouldn't be on panel shows as they 'aren't funny'. There's no three funnier women also on the panel to show that they are.
I am not sure when 'women' started operating as one big unit. I personally don't get up in the morning and think 'How am I going to represent women today?' "will all the other women in the world think that the trousers I am wearing do us ALL justice?". I tend to operate as an individual. My views on everything are only representative of me, not 50% of the population. I also don't want to be in a group with every other woman on earth. I don't like some of them. 
Why are men allowed to speak for themselves but women have to speak for a gender? Why do women have to speak for anyone at all? Why can't they go on a panel show or perform comedy and talk about what ever they want? Why is whatever they do biased by them packing a vag? 
I apologise for that last sentence. I spent a while trying to construct it nicely but was aware that I had used the word 'gender' a lot and didn't want to use it again. 

I would like to make it clear that I only apologise on behalf of myself. Not all of womankind. 

Another argument raised by the male comics in the documentary was that all women talk about are women's issues. Periods, men not calling them (is that a woman's issue or VERY much a man's issue - take a good look at yourselves boys), diets. Seriously? You're throwing that at us? I can not put a number on the number of shows I have sat through where men talk about wanking, about how they treat women, about all kinds of things that are generally considered to be 'male'. But ... if they are funny I will laugh. If they are not I won't watch. I won't form the opinion that all men aren't funny and only talk about masturbation. On another note - have none of them thought of locking the door? 
Based on what I sat through in LA, a lot of television and sometimes just in general - American's aren't funny. They over explain jokes, they feel the need to add 'Just kidding!" to the end of statements which are clearly not true. But then again I love American comedy, I love Saturday Night Live, Rich Hall, Amy Poehler, I had a great night at The Upright Citizen's Brigade watching stand up. Bum. Maybe I can't make huge sweeping generalisations of a whole race of people. 
Or perhaps we can. Women aren't funny because a man may once have met a woman who wasn't (or worse perhaps he once met a woman who was and it made him feel uncomfortable). By this logic all men are perverts because I once got flashed by a man. Therefore all men are flashers. Just kidding! 
See American's adding 'Just kidding' REALLY doesn't work. 

Flowers in Your Hair

We arrived in San Francisco and dropped the car off at the airport. I can't speak for my fellow traveller but I never wanted to see that thing again. Public transport is very much my friend. Especially when the public transport is cable cars! These need to make an appearance in London. Especially when you can ride for free if they haven't got the right change (this possibly only works once).  I think we made the right decision abandoning the car - I really wouldn't have wanted to do a hill start in our hire car and San Francisco is pretty much all hills. On the plus side it gave us a much needed two day 'bums and thighs' workout. 
We were only in the city for two days so we needed to cover as much ground as possible within that time. We got a good deal on a "hop on hop off tour" and so set off to see the city. All tours came with a guide who gave you details about what you were seeing. The information and presentation was excellent but it did seem that every anecdote ended with the words 'destroyed in a massive fire'. 
They were also quite keen on mentioning huge, destructive earthquakes. These seemed to be mentioned just as you were going across a bridge or past some particularly hefty sky scrapers. I began to wonder what I would do in an earthquake and what my escape plan would be. I soon stopped wondering as inevitably my plan would be: 
1. Wonder what on earth was going on
2. Crap my pants 
3. Earthquake ends 
4. Deal with consequences (from the sounds of it - a massive fire) 

Luckily we never had to deal with either an earthquake or a massive fire but it's good to have a response planned. 
I went to Alcatraz, I am very glad I didn't sign up for the night tour. It was incredibly atmospheric and the audio tour was excellent. As seemed to be my way in San Francisco I made my plan as to what I would do if I was to be sent to Alcatraz. This plan was simpler, it just had one step. 
1. Die of fear the first night I was there. 

I can't say I fell for San Francisco the same way I fell for LA. I enjoyed it, I would certainly go back but I didn't get the same 'feels' I got from LA. Maybe it was the constant referencing of earthquakes and impending death. LA gets earthquakes too but they didn't seem to revel in it quite so much. It seems a strange claim to fame, in a way I admire the way they've embraced it. If they own it then they control it? Perhaps we could start a tour of sewage works and proudly boast of typhoid outbreaks. 

Driving

We left LA to go to San Francisco and we went on a roadtrip. This was mainly to see the sights and stop off along the way and partly so I didn't have to get on another plane. We were up early and got our hire car which was some kind of monster truck. After repeatedly getting in the wrong side to drive it, we sorted ourselves out and hit the road. If 15mph can be called 'hitting'. We stopped for breakfast in Malibu. We knew Jennifer Aniston lived there but she didn't invite us round so we instead we settled on a venue based on where had the biggest car park. That way we could abandon the car and not have to think about reversing it. 

Then we drove all the way there on the Pacific Coast Highway. At least that was the plan. I started things well by throwing a U turn on the highway. In my defence we needed to be on the other side of the road and we were at some lights and the car in front did it. I assume we were alright but I did rather alarm my passenger. We then cruised along for a bit. Cruised along with quite a bias to the right. I never knew how much you aligned yourself in the road based on where you sat. All our driving was accompanied by the passenger flinching, gripping the seat and murmuring with varying degrees of panic 'you might want to move over to the left a bit'. I was gaining confidence when suddenly we came up against a road block which announced the highway was closed. There was no diversion signs. A couple of cars went round the signs and carried on but given my ability to get fines for driving in foreign countries we decided to put it in to the sat nav and trust that. 

The sat nav saw an opportunity. 

It told us to turn left. I did (accompanied by a cry of 'you're on the wrong side of the road') we then went up the steepest hill in the world. With a sheer drop to one side of us and hairpin bends every four feet. This went on for half an hour. I led a parade of cars through the mountains. They couldn't get past me and I felt unable to go more than 15 mph. Then we got to come down the mountain again. Thankfully we then got back on to the highway intending to speed through and go and see Hearst Castle. 

We arrived ten minutes after the castle shut. Luckily we were able to use the toilets. Unfortunately they were out of order and so we got to use a chemical toilet in the car park. It is unlikely that this trip will make the guide books. We did get to see this sunset though. The thumb over the lens is all my own work. We went and got dinner and I fell in love with our waitress. She was around 100 years old and offered you food in the same way your Grandma would. "A little more Dr Pepper dear?" While I made plans to kidnap her we watched the sun fully set. It was beautiful. 

It also meant that we got to do the last two hours of the drive in the pitch black. The road was similar to the mountain roads. At least I think it was. I couldn't actually see further than the headlights. There were no street lights, no cats eyes and no straight roads. I thought my bum would never unclench. Eventually we got to our motel and I celebrated by not sleeping. 

The next day we went to see sealions in Monterey harbour and then went to Santa Cruz. Afterwards we drove to San Francisco, luckily my friend was driving when we got to the 6 lane motorway where every lane went to a different location and we had to get across 6 lanes in about 30 seconds. We made it on the third attempt. 

I don't think either of us were particularly sad when we gave the car back. Pleased we had done it but more pleased to be back on public transport. 

LA LA LA

I recovered from jet lag and started sleeping like a normal human being on the 4th January, I celebrated by flying to California and flinging my body clock back eight hours. 
Oh I like California. Before I went everyone told me that it was incredibly superficially and all the people were really shallow. Well it turns out I'm not that deep myself and I loved it. I like getting the choice of fifteen different types of milk for my tea, I like being told to have a nice day by everyone; I don't really care if they mean it or not, if they want to act like meeting me was the best thing to ever happen to them that day (or possibly in their life) then I am happy to let them. I don't think we are going to be best friends but it does make the day more pleasant.  
I was on my own for two days, I drank a lot of coffee, went to bookshops, discovered that an inch on a map is about four thousand miles in real life. Then my friends arrived and we became full on tourists. Hollywood walk of fame, diners, food, more food, a bit more food, a tour of stars houses (they could have pointed at anything and I would have believed them), comedy shows, shopping, we packed the days pretty full. The strangest thing we did was go to a cemetery. I would like to stress that it was in the guide books, we weren't just wandering round graveyards. Apparently a lot of celebrities are buried there. We politely wandered around looking for names we knew - Mickey Rooney's gravestone was there, which was a surprise to us all as we didn't know he was dead. We assumed he was actually buried there rather than simply planning ahead. 
We got in to the LA way of life quite easily, picking up coffee everywhere, buying food in industrial quantities, using Uber (amazing). We had an air bnb place so we had a whole house to ourselves which was handy for my wandering around in the middle of the night. Everyone seemed to think we were Australian for some reason and on finding out we were British really only wanted to talk about the weather. 
Which to be honest I was fine to talk about - it was lovely and warm, all the time, and this was their winter. It did make you think that summer must be unbearable but for us it was incredible. No wonder the people are so happy and want to talk to you all the time. It's warm! They can stand outside and talk to you without their hands falling off. Incidentally, talking of hands; the day after I got off the plane I was walking around for about 7 hours. At one point I went to bend my fingers to scratch the inside of my hand. I couldn't move my fingers. I looked down and the plane and the heat and having my hands hanging down the whole day had turned me in to what can only be described as a 'fat handed twat'. It was like I was wearing Mickey Mouse gloves. It was easily repaired by holding my hands up and walking around with them in the air, which was a lovely look. 
Oh and if anyone knows can some one tell me why the sun sets so quickly there? Is it something to do with the equator? There are incredible sunsets but they last about twenty seconds. You could blink and miss it. You'd also assume the blink sent you blind as it's suddenly dark. Answers on a postcard please. 

It's Christmas!

Stick with this: 

When I was a child I had a pink rabbit. His name was Albert. He accompanied me everywhere. He'd been made by a neighbour and was one of a kind. Then, when I was about six, he went missing. You may think that this tragic tale inspired the well loved children book 'Dogger' but in fact kids losing toys happens all the bloody time. Anyway. I can clearly remember going from shop to shop asking if anyone had seen Albert, the house was turned upside down, parks were combed, rivers were dredged. Nothing. Albert was gone. We moved house when I was seventeen, there was still hope that he might turn up, he didn't. 

This Christmas my sister in law handed me a parcel with the words 'this is a bit strange'. I opened it and it was Albert. Well Albert mark 2. My brother and my mum had given my sister in law a detailed run down of what Albert had looked like and she had recreated him. She had even cut her dressing gown cord up to make his tail. 

I cried. Then my sister in law opened her present from my brother (her husband), it was a lovely bracelet, she cried. Then my Dad opened his present from my Mum. A photo album of the grandchildren. He cried. Then my eldest brother opened his present from our Mum and Dad. It was a kitchen bin. We all stopped crying. 

I also got this brilliant gift from my eldest brother and his family. I now have the dilemma of liking it too much to use it. So at the moment it is an ornament, I'll need to put something in it so someone doesn't pick it up and put it through the dishwasher.