SO LONG, AND THANKS FOR ALL THE FISH - ING QUOTAS

In the midst of the fug I am currently going through about my lack of having a girlfriend (and having potentially missed out on one yet AGAIN !!), there are few things in life at the moment that make me truly happy. "Doctor Who" is finally back on our screens, Guinness, pizza and whiskey also feature pretty highly, as is having lots of money to go to comic cons instead of spending it on relationships, pensions, mortgages and children.

But nothing, oh absolutely nothing on God's green Earth, makes me happier about voting for Brexit last year than hearing that snivelling, slimy, odious, pathetic, perverted little bourgeoisie twat Jean-Claude Juncker's bitter and arrogant response to our perfectly democratic decision to bugger off out of his distopian little pseudo-Soviet empire / Borg collective / Fourth Reich last year.

He is undoubtedly shitting himself, because if the European Union collapsed, he would probably struggle to get a job on a parish council in Norfolk. Had this hare-brained, feeble-minded, not to mention horrendously ugly love-child of Bernie Ecclestone and Sepp Blatter got his way, anyone with a job and an independent, free-thinking lifestyle would have been squeezed by the parts until they bled. And then squeezed a little more. Then, eventually, men in uniforms would have come around to your house to take it away along with all your money, your blu-ray players, iPods, and children to give to people who make pipe bombs and drive around on pavements, killing people in urban city centres.

The man probably masturbates over the prospect of a federal Super-state with him as an ultimate, unchallenged, Palpatane-esque` ruler in his sleep,. If ever there was a symbol of the arrogance of the European Union, and its utter contempt for the personal liberty of its own citizens, it is this man. I'd love to punch him in his snidy little mush, then kick him in the bollocks as hard as humanly possible with a steel toe capped boot covered in rusty old nails.

This half-man, half-turkey hybrid. My God, he's ugly. He's really got a face only a mother could love. And that's if his mother had cataracts so bad they could be sent to a glass blowers and turned into marbles. Talk about a welder's bench. His father must have been a vulture, given how he looks and acts like one. Someone from CSI run his DNA please, because it cannot possibly be 100% human.

The reason that pricks like Juncker, Tusk et al are mouthing off, is because they’re becoming increasingly nervous. Their jobs depended on the UK voting to stay in the EU, but instead of trying to sweet talk us, or use facts and logic, they chose to use threats and insults. An out vote in France, should it happen, will bring about the end of the EU, and their vastly overpaid, cushy, unelected jobs of sheer pointlessness. As I said, that scares them, because it means they lose their undeserved positions of power. In a strange way, they’ve actually managed to prove Boris Johnson right, of all people.

Juncker the Joker is spiteful, he is petty, and he seemingly wants to cut his nose off to spite his face. He has shown his true colours, his view is clear: everyone must stick to the same, sterile, staid, standardised, outdated rules. His rules, even where they may irreparably damage you and make about as much sense as putting a handbrake on the Titanic. Should you leave, we will damage you further. Like a fire escape surrounded by an alligator-infested moat covered in barbed wire.

What a complete and utter bellend. The man’s a sadomasochist in a boring, ill-fitting suit. Stalin after a shave and with new spectacles. The very embodiment of Fifty Shades of Grey. That must make Nicola Sturgeon the modern day political equivalent of Anastasia Steele. Wanting to leave the UK in order to jump back into the EU is like divorcing your husband because he's little bit clingy, then marrying Max Mosely instead.

Earlier today, Juncker turned to Nigel Farage and asked him why he was still there. What a prick. It was a moment that shone a spotlight on what this waste of blood and organs really feels: he wants Britain to go so he can pretend the EU’s problems aren’t there, like George Osborne spending the last few days under the stairs pretending the economy wasn’t there, and start building his new little Soviet empire.

The problems of the EU, however, are only growing larger, and they do so because men like him refuse to change. Refuse to acknowledge. Refuse to act. Refuse to listen to the fact that ordinary, working-class people are sick to the back teeth of being told what to do by a simpering little coward who never had a single vote cast for him to get to where he is, and are voting across Europe with their feet to tell him to fuck the fuck off back to where he belongs, and to fuck off even more when he gets there. Even if he ended up on the dark side of the moon, the moon would be telling him to fuck off even further.

You would assume that the most powerful politicians in all of Europe are democratically elected, but no. The European Commission – the face of the EU and sole proposer of legislation – is entirely appointed. That alone makes them more faceless than a TOWIE actress and, unsurprisingly, it has led to the creation of a bureaucratic behemoth.

Even Adolf Hitler stood for election. People actually cast votes for one of the most reviled dictators in history. This means that Jean-Claude Juncker, the laughably-titled 'President of the EU', has more in common politically with Zaphod Beeblebrox than the man who wrote "Mein Kampf", started the Second World War and initiated the Holocaust. Come to think of it, the EU was Hitler's idea in the first place !! Juncker's not just a moron, he's a bloody plagiarist to boot !! Condemn the UK if you dare try son, but at least we now have the chance to ensure we are no longer lectured to by an absolute cockwomble like him, and I, for one, am delighted about it.

So long, Jean-Claude, and thanks for all the fishing quotas.

Because that is the only thing that history will ever remember you for, you arrogant, smug, narcissistic, nosey, odious, slimy, creepy, snivelling, smelly, hand-wringing, sodden, simpering, fat, rude, irritating, bullying, ugly, senile, pathetic, small-penised, drunken little Luxembourgish cunt.

NOT-SO-WONDER WOMEN

As you know, I am approaching 36 and I’ve never had anything even remotely approaching a girlfriend. When Damon Hill was 36, he won the Formula One World Championship. When Frank Bruno was 36, he won the World Heavyweight Championship. When Steve McQueen was 36, he made "The Great Escape".

When I turn 36 I shall probably make some tacos and cocktails and spend all day wondering my my belly button, having previously been an 'inny' ever since I emerged into this cruel, dark world of ours, is threatening to become an 'outy'. Now, I’m pretty unremarkable in most respects – neither fantastically attractive (if only), nor absolutely hideous. I’ve got plenty of friends, male and female. They always express confusion and disbelief that I’ve been unable to get a girlfriend in the 20 years or so I’ve been interested in the idea.

Admittedly, I am a burnt-out, hard-bitten, cynical cliché of a man. And, like most misanthropes, what has fuelled my pessimism - ironically - is my optimism. When you go through life expecting intelligence, honesty and fairness, but you get Made in Chelsea, The Only Way is Essex, and Prop 8 ... you should be in the least bit surprised that you tend to become a bitter grump.

Apart from this, I’ve lived a full and active life, but somehow this particular aspect has passed me by. It’s a cliché, but it really did seem seem like one day all my friends were suddenly shacked up with a partner and squeezing out kids right, left and centre. The older I get, I don’t even know how to go about meeting women – I work in an almost exclusively male environment and most of my interests are male-dominated activities. I’ve heard the advice about salsa dancing for instance, but I think I’d be so awkward that my desperation would be obvious ( seeing as I have the rhythm of a drunken octopus and the flexibility of a bungalow ).

Just as Groucho Marx famously said, “I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member,” men famously do not want what they can have with ease, especially women (can you imagine if men selected fruit using the same criteria? Durian sales would go through the roof). Because women as a species are so fundamentally and intrinsically aloof emotionally, although not necessarily physically, they become the giant stuffed unicorn at the sideshow ring-toss game. Even when the action’s fixed, winning the prize becomes an obsession, and guys keep on playing, long past the point of reasonable expenditure.

So while I’d love to be able to introduce a girlfriend to family and friends, the chances are surely becoming smaller the older I get. And fatter. The problem is simple though. Women seem to assume that a "nice guy" who doesn't get far with a girl is merely using a dating strategy whilst really being an arsehole underneath, and I think this is overly cynical. Yes, that's rich coming from me, but hear me out for a second.

Some guys just get genuinely nervous around girls and don't portray themselves in the best possible light even though, underneath it all, they are decent people. Sure, there are predators and passport-seekers out there, but to follow the logic of women is to just not give any guy a real chance whatsoever because of the amount of power they have bestowed upon themselves. I think this is actually a big misunderstanding - people have different definitions of "nice". Women for example, seems to define a nice guy as someone who is agreeable and inoffensive, whereas I and many others would describe him as someone with integrity who has good morals and really sticks to them.

But of course this is real life. You're not attracted to someone just because you think they're morally good. But at the same time it does feel like a kick in the teeth when you have to hear incessant whinging from your female friends about their arsehole boyfriends when you're still single despite their praise of you. It just doesn't seem to add up. And if we weren't really nice guys, they wouldn't even want to be friends with us. Plus there are a hell of a lot of girls that I know that I don't necessarily fancy but who insist on staying with guys that treat them like crap.

Yes "nice guy" behaviour is significantly motivated by a desire to find a girlfriend. However, the fact that this is turned into an accusation is completely ridiculous and typical of women to flex the muscle and power of rejection that they crave and desire to delpoy so often and so much.

Most men have an instinctive desire to have sex with women. This is why our species still exists. However It's not all about sex. I don't think it's even mostly about sex. There is massive external and internal pressure on men to have female attention. A man's status and, as a result, frequently his self-esteem depends greatly on his success with women. Also, there is a level of emotional connection which men in general cannot get from other men. As such, female attention is a major motivator for men in general. Not just "nice guys". A great deal of male behaviour, whether consciously or not, comes from this. Why is this desire only considered sinister when it is expressed by being nice?

Personally, I never felt entitled to anything for my being nice. In a race, everyone but the winner will feel some disappointment. Does that mean they all felt entitled to victory? There's nothing wrong with having high moral standards just because you women don't. It just sets up a situation where the nice guy cannot see why he is compared unfavourably to another guy who isn't as nice. Nice guys are just generally men who lack a little bit of 'confidence'. This is probably the primary reason they are unsuccessful but it is also the reason they choose the nice-guy strategy. Because of way the women wield the power of rejection around like He-Man waving his sword about, they feel they don't have anything to offer women except being nice.

This is why I am so upset by these attacks on nice guys. Do we build them up so they can be what women actually want? Nope. We kick them while they are down. Shaming them for daring to want a relationship with a woman and eroding the little 'confidence' you unfairly demand they have and then going off of your power trip shoving rejection in every decent upstanding guy's direction. And whilst we're at it, it probably would be a good idea for every woman on this planet to get a dictionary and look up the differences between the words 'confidence' and 'arrogance'. You'd be surprised how much of a chasm there is between them.

Bitter, much, but I think the truth is that attraction is separate from morality and it cuts both ways. I'm not attracted to women who I don't feel at least some physical attraction to even if they are nice, and likewise some guys just aren't good at getting their good points across to girls. Just don't assume that the unsuccessful "nice guys" of which you speak are really just "jerks in disguise.

And here's a little bonus tip whilst we're at it … when a guy takes the time to remember your birthday and buys you a card … DO. NOT. EVER. TELL. HIM; "That's so sweet, you're so cute …", then excitedly tell him how much you're looking forward to the red-hot date you've got lined up that night. Unless of course he has a hardly-read blog on the internet, in which case thanks for the material and the inadvertent inspiration. I hope your date went well, but remember that hair wax is a bugger to get out of your pubic hairs and cheap aftershave can really sting your labia.

Mind you, it might also make for some handy emergency contraception just in case you've forgotten to ask if your date actually has any (or if he can even spell the damn word) whilst gazing absent-mindedly at the dopey sod's rippling abs that are the expected minimum standard in order to be allowed to have sex at all these days.

Now though, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch "Only Connect", a highly-intellectual television programme hosted by a blonde-haired woman who has very large breasts and an equally big I.Q to go with them.

She's married to the comedian David Mitchell.

Go figure, ladies.

Go figure.

PITNICKING

I used to believe we are, by nature, flawed. One look at my body will tell you that alone, in the sense that as an example of the male of our species, it's got more flaws in it than one of Donald Trump's gaudy, chintzy hotels.

Whilst attempting another half-baked manscaping exercise the other day in preparations for Birmingham Comic Con (... damn you, Christopher Eccleston, why did your Ninth Doctor's outfit have to consist of V-neck t-shirts ...) I decided that to believe that thinking we aren't is the ultimate narcissism. It would mean that out of all creation, we, and only we, are inherently broken.

Instead, I have come to believe that western culture, beginning ten thousand years ago with communal agriculture, is the thing that is flawed. When humankind abandoned hunting and gathering, and began to work the land is when it fell from grace. It is when we were expelled from Eden and began our endless search for meaning.

You can laugh at the human predicament. You can laugh at yourself. You can laugh because the alternative is crying. You can laugh because a truism has been exposed. You can laugh at the weakness, stupidity and failures of others. You can laugh because you identify. You can laugh to be polite. You can laugh from surprise. You can laugh from nervousness. You can laugh at the futility of it all. You can laugh at the antics of animals. You can laugh because it hurts. You can laugh because others are laughing. You can laugh at tragedy if enough time has passed. You can laugh at the statement, "This is no laughing matter".

When tribes became villages, became towns, became cities, became nations, is when we descended into insanity. Which probably expalins how we ended up with the EU. The destruction that followed required us to invent laws and dogma to curb the madness. But we are not by nature mad. Unless you're Donald Trump of course. We were driven to behave madly by a culture we created and then forgot we were in.

Which raises the question, what now? A return to foraging doesn't seem like much of an option. The wisdom needed to support that lifestyle took thousands of years to accumulate and is now long forgotten. Perhaps a constructive first step might be to simply acknowledge that the fabric of our existence is badly torn. And that the tear began long ago, when we lost faith in the world. When we decided this miraculous garden would not, or could not, provide.

Step two would be embracing the fact that there's nothing inherently wrong with us, that we are masterpieces of biological engineering. And step three ... well, that would be a new way of thinking. One that is not sickened by a zero-sum culture. Sadly, if you're reading this, you will not be the one thinking those new thoughts. You probably won't even recognize them when they come. If anything, they will appear as a threat to you.

And just to be clear, I include myself in this group. We are all hopelessly shackled to the old way of thinking. Perhaps a child is being born right now who will make the breakthrough. Or perhaps it will emerge from some form of artificial intelligence.

Our salvation lies within ourselves. Within our own ingenuity and determined effort. "Make America Great Again" and "Take Back Control" are bumper stickers for victimhood. But we are not victims. We are the creators of opportunity. Sure the system's rigged. It always has been. So what?! We as a species have always consistently ignored the rigging. You won't let us join your club, we'll start our own club. You won't let us go to your school, we'll start our own school. You won't let us earn money your way, we'll earn it our way. You won't give us a chance here, we will go elsewhere.

I have long believed that if there is a purpose to our existence, it is to bear witness to the mystery and beauty of creation. My thinking, as always, was simple -- a universe unobserved is just a wasted effort. What's a play without an audience? Going forward from that understanding, I further believe that the key ingredient for conscious living is curiosity.

What will happen next? Why is this happening now? How does that work? Where did it come from? Where is it going? To be curious is to be in the moment. To be in the moment is to be in a state of grace. And yet, the older I become, the more I'm inclined to look away from what is and seek refuge in my staid ideas of what should be. As a result, my daily challenge is to resist the siren song of nostalgia. I was created to stand in awe and wonderment amidst the spectacle of eternity.

In the meantime … gee, I don't know, I guess we sit and watch reality television instead of good stuff like Doctor Who which might actually make us think. Actually, best to not contemplate that too much, given the path that this disposable razor sitting in front of me is about to take …

See you all at Comic-Con !!

ONCE AROUND THE BLOCK

Sometimes I have conversations with people who are not there. Not out loud conversations. No Thorazine yet, thank you very much. But I definitely catch myself having spirited debates and heated arguments with folks who exist only in my head. Which doesn't stop them from speaking forcefully, and, at times, eloquently on their own behalf.

On occasion they are people I know. Other times they are purely fictional creations, brought into existence to question my thinking, my actions, or just piss me off. (Because there's not enough real people pissing me off, I've gotta make some up.)

But I've recently become more fascinated by the idea that there is no self at all. The memories, emotions, thoughts and attitudes that combine to create the self are finally recognized as nothing more than ripples on the surface of a pond. And the truth of what we are, collectively and individually, is the pond itself. That which silently embraces the endless dance of form.

Deep. Clear. Still.

Reflecting the infinite and eternal, while receiving with equanimity both the beauty and the ugliness that falls into it - even the critical inner voice which is talking to me right now. It seems to me that the biggest, most momentous choice of our lives is the one that none of us gets to make. I'm talking about the decision to be here, to be alive. Now before we digress into the choice of leaving this life, a subject best suited for handwritten notes left on the bed stand, let's investigate the initial premise.

Simply put, we all arrive here screaming, crying and covered in goo, without prior consultation. Or so it appears. If in fact we were part of the decision to become cognizant, the memory of that process has been completely wiped from our consciousness. But what if it were retrievable? What if we could become aware of the primary decision to live, the fateful choice to participate in the world of time, energy and form? Wouldn't that improve our daily condition? No matter how difficult and confusing life was, we would always be clear on one thing, "I asked to be here. This is my choice."

Of course, there's another option to consider. We are here against our will. The unending cycle of birth, life and death is a sentence. We are souls in prison. But that grim, Matrix-like scenario falls apart the minute you ask how hell on earth could possibly include single malt whisky. Or Doctor Who.

The things I have spent my life depending on are undependable. Because they are things. And things are, by their very nature, subject to change. This applies to people as well. People change. People leave. Inevitably we all leave. The world, therefore, is essentially an unstable, uncertain environment. That's why I choose to believe in, and depend on, an unchanging, eternal, omnipresent non-thing.

I prefer not to call it God, because the very word tends to thing things up. So I try not to call it. I try to experience it.

Easy to do looking out at the ocean. Hard to do looking up at the ocean. Easy to do when you look at a baby. Hard to do if the baby is next to you on a long plane flight. Easy to do when you look at a pretty girl. Hard to do if you once loved her.

Clearly what blocks me from transcendence is judgment. If I were able to suspend having an opinion on drowning, other peoples' baby's vomit, and separation anxiety, if I could simply see these things as they are - actions devoid of meaning until I give them meaning - I could experience some semblance of union with the infinite sublime. The human mind is very adept at labelling. Left to its own devices, it will label situations, things, places, and people. It's a pretty handy app. 

Except when it comes to people. Over time those labels tend to solidify. They become all we can see. They become what we experience. The true depth of a person, the breath-taking miracle of their very existence, is replaced with a word. A sound. An assemblage of vowels and consonants. Ink or digital letters on paper or screen. Which is why I sometimes try to look at people and see them, witness them if you will, without immediately attaching a mental label. This is especially fun to do in a crowded public place. After a few minutes of practicing non-judgemental looking, I find my heart filling with affection for total strangers.

It's an extraordinary experience. I encourage you to try it sometime. Be warned though, when you feel affection, you can't stop smiling. Even when you find yourself looking through the wedding photos of someone you loved once. Well, you've both made it this far, so kudos on successfully navigating your first trip round the sun together.

Just keep right on …