I love watching Richard Dawkins documentaries. The naivety of the man is supreme. He cracks me up. Richard brought his kids up to be questioning, skeptical, fully-rounded human beings. He believes that children have the right not to be indoctrinated by their parents or teachers. He believes in a right that doesn't exist. Just like the "enemies of reason" believe in gods that don't exist. How does a young child stand up for their right not to be indoctrinated by religious parents? And if the child can't, who will? Do we have an army of questioning, skeptical, fully-rounded humanist social workers watching CCTV footage of a parent's every interaction with their child? Does a questioning, skeptical, fully-rounded SWAT team storm the home and arrest the brain-washing mum or dad?
Young minds are open to the possibilities of the supernatural, things that go bump in the night. Mums and dads are there to protect their kids from evil ghosts, monsters and carnivorous wallpaper. They're there to cuddle and suffocate with their overbearing love. And if they have a god to help banish the evil from the home and protect the child, they will call upon him.
The 60s boy next door has moved up from a Lambretta to a Mini. Today he is out lovingly washing it as we walk past. My filthy, sticky car is a few feet away. If I were a normal middle aged man I'd say to him, "You can do mine when you've finished." I'm not normal, though. Some cars are aesthetically pleasing to me, like the boy's Mini. But that's as far as it goes for me. My car stays plain-looking, unwashed and unloved, covered in tree and bird emissions. I ought to give it a once-over but that can wait till the week before its service.
Googling only makes Eliza Doolittle depressed. Is she depressed about the state of the world? Conflict, poverty and "natural" disasters, Eliza?
No, it's the nasty people on the internet saying how fucking awful her music is and how she should fuck off back to public school.
Named after a cockney flower girl who provides wank material eye candy for an old man in payment for elocution lessons, Eliza was born into the world of the stage school female "artist" bollocks infecting current pop music. She is the granddaughter of Sylvia Young!
I hear Eliza's latest song every day on the radio at work. It annoys me so much I've gone beyond hate. I'm somewhere much darker.
The other day I blurted my distaste out loud.
"I've never heard this song before," was the reply, even though it had been played every day for five weeks solid.
And then, probably to spite me...
"I love it! It's really lively! It's got a really lively beat! It's so happy!"