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It has been said that Swine Flu has killed Man Flu. Before this summer’s prime-time pandemic came around, when a man started groaning and calling out in an effected murmur for the final embrace of sweet death, the lady in their life rolled their eyes and asked in a their most patronising voice “are you sicky wicky, has diddums got Man Flu”.

This system may have lacked compassion but at least it worked. Men got on with the important job of being men and forgot about the time they sneezed and bequeathed their X-box to their neighbour’s Nephew. Sinks were unblocked, things got covered in grease, spiders were courageously removed from baths and whenever a complicated electrical device malfunctioned a man was on hand to take the back off with a screw driver, peer at the indecipherable maze of circuit boards, and declare with the steely authority of a man that, “yes, it is broken”, but since Swine Flu Women have put to one side this healthy level of scepticism and have started to feel concern. After all they might have swine flu.

The NHS and the medical profession is in general is so overpoweringly obsessed with problems related to tits and vaginas that men’s health was, previously, entirely the preserve of one magazine read entirely by gay men. Many doctors, having never been in a Soho hair salon, have never even seen a copy and therefore don’t know the slightest thing about the afflictions of the flatulent Sex.

Having never had any attention paid to their ailments before some men, me included, are getting a little carried away. Yesterday in the car on the way home from a festival, having had the very mildest case of the sniffles the previous night, I started to feel hot, “God I think I’m burning up”. My head was felt, I was undeniably hot. This was it, I was done for, Swine Flu for sure; this was a solemn serious diagnosis, everyone was very concerned.

No one seemed to notice the bright pink face . . . it was sunburn.

I’ve just read a piece in the Guardian. Apparently the panic surrounding the swine flu is more dangerous than swine flu. LINK.

More dangerous than swine flu! How can that be possible? As if we didn’t have enough problems. People are panicking everywhere. There are about ten people panicking in my office right now. How am I supposed to stop myself from catching it? Where is the government, why haven’t they set up a panic line? This is a panic pandemic. Get the kids, lock them in the basement; buy gold, tinned fruit and bottled water; surround your house in barbed wire. This is the big one. Where all going to die of a global panic pandemic and there’s nothing you can do about it – agggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~!

I think I’ve got it. I feel kind of panicky. Help, I’m done for, save yourself.

I’m enjoying the plinth. The webcam is good, gives you something to look at in the office while you watch the ashes score tick by. No nudity as yet, bloody amateurs. Why have Britain’s professional ‘Live web cam’ girls not been called on to represent? Anyway, after I’d put the lack of professional pornographers to one side I got to thinking about what I’d get up to if I got a go on the plinth.

If I got a go on the plinth:

I’d dress as a giant mangy pigeon covered in little Nelsons
I’d represent Britain by undermining any movement towards European federalism
I’d support my favourite charity the Samaritans by not jumping off
I’d send thousands to their death in foreign wars so I could be more like all the other statues
I’d cast myself in bronze, melt myself down, and sell myself to gypsies
I’d drink two litres of white cider and try to sell passers by the same crumpled, out of date, copy of the Big Issue
I’d steal a traffic cone and wear it throughout as a hilarious witch’s hat
I'd get Keyboard Cat to play me off

A while back I went through a phase of writing short questionnaires and sending them to the great and good. Unfortunately the response was underwhelming (most people didn’t respond, those that did were wonderful). I had a few spare, so I decided to ask them to myself. If you want something done properly . . .

1. Volcanoes are romantic in the sense that they are powerful demonstrations of the Earth’s essential energy, but at the same time they are terrifyingly destructive. Where is your favourite volcano and do you love them, fear them, or perhaps you’re indifferent to them. Can you tell me?

I think if I found a volcano in my kitchen at night scurrying over the worktops I’d be terrified, but generally I’m indifferent. My favourite volcano is probably Dante’s Peak starring Pierce Brosnan. I like a nice explosive volcano. The whole of the world should know when it’s gone off. It should blow up like an atom bomb in a can of beans and end up looking like someone just punched planet earth in the face. I don’t like volcanoes that ooze magma like a festering wound. No one likes oozing, everyone likes explosions; volcanoes are you listening!

2. ‘Crumbs’ is a lovely little expression isn’t it?

You’re telling me!

‘Crumbs’ is best deployed as an understatement:

“So my Dad chopped off his own penis and threw it at the neighbour’s teenage daughter.”

“Crumbs”.

3. Samuel Goldwyn once said – “I don't want any yes-men around me. I want everybody to tell me the truth even if it costs them their jobs.” What was the most expensive truth you’ve ever told?

Pleading guilty.

4. Global Warming is a hot topic these days (pun intended). To reduce atmospheric CO2 concentrations I’m collecting cans of fizzy drinks and sequestering them under my stairs. Will you support my endeavour financially?

You and I both know this is another one of your highly unethical plans to extract money from the well meaning to fund your Fanta addiction.

5. My elderly neighbour has turned blue and is complaining of the most terrible chest pains in a strangled whisper. Should I call an ambulance?

Is it Swine Flu? If it is Swine Flu then they won’t send an ambulance, they’ll just seal of the house E.T. style, but I think it sounds like a heart attack, so I’d say yes, call an ambulance and quick; unless it is a heart attack resulting from a high fever, bought on by the swine flu virus weakening the heart muscles of the elderly person. If it is that kind of heart attack chuck a blanket over them, hide them in your toy cupboard and feed them on Reese's Pieces, then buy them a potted marigold – be prepared to escape on your BMX.

A friend of mine found one of these in London with a London number on it and ‘call Steve’ at the end, a very funny, if not entirely original, practical joke. She thought it was so funny she took it home and stuck it up on her bedroom door. I find this version on the interweb.

There’s a fire in London today. Fires are a nice bit of excitement in a boring office. People start popping up saying things like “I can smell smoke”, then we all earnestly discuss whether we should be evacuating, knowing full well we have no intention of evacuating without a fire alarm.

We’ll dutifully walk out of a building every time the fire alarm is sounded without the slightest sign of danger, but when the room is evidently filling with smoke we’ll do absolutely nothing. We are strange stupid creatures.

To find out where the fire was I searched for ‘fire’ on Twitter. Twitter is great for finding fires. You can be absolutely sure that someone will tweet a picture of any fire. It’s just one of those things, you have to tell people about. It’s a deep seated instinct to yell fire to everyone and anyone, even if they’re reading it on a computer on another continent. It turned out to be in Dean Street, in Soho, miles away, so we were all able to relax and get back to work.

Finding this all out on Twitter got me thinking about citizen journalism and the wisdom of the crowd and I realised I haven’t had a web poll in ages, so without further a do – WEB POLL!

A multi million pound NHS programme to reduce teen pregnancy has been cancelled after results have shown that the rate of pregnancy increased within the group compared to similarly at risk groups not in the programme.

The scheme, which was based on a successful Dutch model that ran in a number of brothels in Amsterdam's red light district, involved teens meeting once a week with a specially trained mentor known as a Madam.

An NHS spokesperson defended the decision to apply the Dutch model to British teenagers “In these brothels the girls have sex with up to ten men a night, they’re having sex thousands of times a year, but none of them get pregnant, that’s impressive figures. . . They use these magic pills and bucket loads of Jonny’s, bucket loads!”

The programme sought to teach the teenagers birth control strategies highlighted in the Dutch study such as, putting a Jonny on with your mouth, anal, tit wanks and swallowing it all down. The programme also replicated life skills classes. These were designed to give the teenagers, many of whom have social and behavioural problems, the confidence to handle a punter. The classes covered a wide range of subjects including 'keeping it neat down there', mood lighting and money handling.

Though the results did demonstrate an increased understanding of available contraceptive methods and a higher uptake of sexual health services within the group, they failed to reduce the overall rate of pregnancy, the government’s key measure of success.

The national programme director said it would be wrong “to dismiss the lessons learned from the study. What we discovered was that, though being on the game gives these teenagers a strong incentive not to get pregnant, the fact remains that they can still make nearly as much money by getting knocked up and claiming benefits, and they get a house if they’re on the social. Given the choice of being a prostitute or a teenage Mum many of these teenagers are still opting for teenage pregnancy which is disappointing.”

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/8139315.stm

This is it people – it’s your last chance to snap up a ticket for the inaugural Johnson Fest: Johnson Fest 2009. This years festival is to hosted at Tim’s house, 15 The Grove, Sydenham, SE26. Tickets are £150 and are available . . . they’re selling out fast.

There’s an outstanding line up:

Bands:

The Waz / Lucky Bears / Rat’s Tea Party / Jimmy & the Sausages / China Owl / Mummy’s Teapot / Tarot Hooker / Flail / Sicky 6 / Goodbye Piano / Chris & The Crisps / Grundies / The Epileptic Elves / Tina Spanks / Egg and Spoon Race / Chunky / Friends Houseboat / Tim / AK-forty-heaven / Fired From My Arse / Folk Ferrari / Jizzy Parks (acoustic) / Your Mum Licks / The Yellow Toothed Creature Band / Leaf Mould / The Creases / Antonio e Antonio / Crumbs / Minus plus still more to announced . . .

&DJs:

Tim / DJ DoleScum / SubPrime / Barry B / Surround Sound System / Scratch Mark / Jukebox Jig / Big Beat Pete / The Graphic Equaliser (I have a dream) / Music Skillz / MC Missy’s Crabs / Tim’s iPod on Shuffle plus still more to be announced . . .

Also featuring:

The Spectacular Fighting Girls / The Krakow Cabaret / The Russian Roulette Tent / Face Slapping / Jew vs Christian / Sheep Shearing Demonstrations and assorted vagrants/buskers . . .

Book now to secure one of our luxury bear pits only £50 for the weekend, children go free if accompanied by a packet of Rennie.

Life’s complicated when you have a girlfriend. I don’t mean complicated in a Dawson’s Creek, anxty soundtrack, oh other people’s feelings are so complicated, hey let’s watch black and white films, oh I know we can project them onto my massive forehead, type of way. I mean, literally, logistically complicated.

What seems to occur is a symptom I’ve dubbed ‘social doubling by proxy’. This essentially means that when you achieve the status of boyfriend you automatically gain entry to every social event that your girlfriend is invited too and visa versa. Logistically this can be difficult. I find it difficult remembering to breathe, I have an organisational disability. I forget my Mother’s birthday for God’s sake. Every year the date passes without even a flicker of recognition from me. It’s as if she was never born. What does this say about me? I am a person who thinks his mother was never born.

Clearly I am ill equipped to deal with such a sharp increase in ‘popularity’ and the engagements that go with it. Practically, up to this point, this has meant that every morning when I wake up I’m gently reminded of my schedule for the day and told to dress appropriately. This is good in that life is a constant surprise, a new day full of possibilities, who knows what the evening will bring, who am I having dinner with today? Unfortunately it is almost exactly the same as having Alzheimer’s.

Clearly there are problems with being the demented one in a relationship. Knowledge is power, if you don’t even know what you are doing tomorrow, then how can you have any influence over it? I need to regain control over my social life. I need to be able to say yes, I can come out for drinks when asked. Right now I just look blank, shrug my shoulders and say ‘I’ll have to ask my girlfriend’. This is why, today, I have started a diary.

In the old days diaries were out of the reach of people like me. The problem was that the same thing that meant that you relied heavily upon a diary was exactly the same reason that you would leave your diary on a bus, or drop it in a river, or accidentally use it as kindling, but now they have them online http:// calender.google.com I’m even able to make the girlfriend a co-author so that she doesn’t resent it usurping her!

With talk of redundancy in the air I thought it was time for me to dust of the old C.V. and update it with all my recent achievements!

Date of birth: I was concieved, millions of other sperm didn’t even make it. My first serious achievement. I then made it through birth without killing my mother unlike Oliver Twist and made it through infanthood without dying of a preventable disease unlike millions of children in the third world.

Education:

School - I finished school, I didn’t get expelled like Lilly Allen, or shoot the place up like some crazy nut job and I certainly wasn’t involved in any wizard shinanigans that resulted in the death of my headmaster.

A-Levels – I did these, Richard Branson didn’t.

University – I went to one! I was educated to degree level without becoming a weirdo christian unlike the Arch Bishop of Canterbury.

Post doctorial work – I, like Bill Gates, have never achieved a Phd.

Work experience – Unlike 26.7% of the people in this country I have a job, also I don’t claim job seekers allowance like 1.5 million people in the UK who currently do.

Achievements:

Unlike Genghis Khan I have never raped anyone or pillaged anyones lands. Unlike Jesus Christ I have never caused a disturbance in the temple or been executed by the Romans. Unlike the Buddha I don’t waste my days hanging around under trees thinking. Unlike Price Charles I have never had an affair. Unlike Zinadine Zidane I have never lost a world cup final or headbutted anyone; in fact I have never been red carded in competitive football and the football team I play for has never been relegated from the preiership unlike millionare footballer Michael Owen. I have never died in a failed race to the south pole or in a foolhardy attempt to climb mount everest unlike 203 people. I have never failed to finish a marathon that I started (marathons started zero). I’ve never embezelled a pension fund unlike Rupert Murdock, or commited purgery like Lord Archer. I have a cordial relationship with my mother unlike Eminem and I have never beheaded my cousin unlike Queen Elizabeth the first. Unlike Tony Blair I have never been forced to stand down as the leader of the Labour party, or started a war in Iraq. I never got involved with the mob unlike Frank Sinatra. I have never drunkenly sworn on national television, unlike Tracey Emin, or Oliver Reed. I have never lost an election unlike Wiston Churchill. John Lennon once wasted a whole week of his life in bed, I have never done this. Unlike Florence Nightingale a patient of mine has never died of Cholera. Unlike Neil Armstrong I have never fluffed my lines while standing on the moon. Unlike most of the richest people in the world I have never lost millions on the stock market. I have never filed for bankruptcy unlike the corporation General Motors. Not having a mortgage I have never missed a single repayment and I have not lost a single proffesional darts match.

Pass my details on to anyone you think might be interested.

I had a little road rage incident this morning. I was riding with my girlfriend, on bicycles, two abreast, when some middle aged accountant in a BMW zoomed round us horn blaring. I called him a cock and made the wanker sign. Ten meters further up the road at the red traffic lights. The lights that Mr important had wanted to reach so urgently that he had used all 150 of his horse power over ten meters to reach. Mr Important and I had a brief and frank exchange of opinions.

Mr Important felt that cyclists were required to use the road in single file; I on the other hand was firmly of the opinion that the Highway Code allowed cyclists to travel two abreast. The argument descended into farce. Mr Important claimed ‘two’ was only permitted in cycle lanes. No it’s not I replied. He then asked what I would do if an emergency vehicle was coming. Move over, I replied. Easy, if you’re going to test someone on their highway code, angrily, at high volume, at a busy intersection, personally I’d choose a more difficult question. How about should you shout abuse at cyclists at intersections?

It was a pointless argument. I’m going to claim victory on the grounds that Mr Important wound his window up and down during the argument, making himself look like a pussy. Also he started it by honking his horn and having the face of a prick. The Highway Code is not definitive on the correct answer. You can ride side by side as long as you aren’t on a bend and the road isn’t busy or narrow. (He was way off with his bike lane comment). It was a fairly large road, wide enough for Mr Important to pass us, was it busy? Not particularly, but it was in London, so no road is empty. As cyclists we could have been more considerate, but we were turning right and approaching a red light SO CHILL OUT YOU BMW KNOB TWAT.

IVF sounds like a good idea until you find yourself aged fifty with two abreast.

I still lost however because I ended up really stressed and looking like a tit. The lights changed during our tête-à-tête and the van in front of us didn’t move. Probably too amused by the scene we were causing to miss any by pulling away. I can still feel the stress in me now and it’s nearly two hours later. I was coming back from an early morning swim in the Lido. I was feeling really good, maybe a little too smug, but chilled, happy. It was a glorious day – it still is to most people – sun’s shining, girl by my side. Lesson learned – let it go, life’s too short.

My department announced redundancies yesterday. Thankfully I escaped the chop this time. When I got home I had a letter notifying me of the dividends payable on my share options. The redundancies are an attempt to increase profitability. The board has a duty to their shareholders to maximise the return on their investment. I realised that some of the people informed of their imminent redundancy would have received dividend letters too informing them of their meagre portion of the profits. The board is therefore firing them as part of their duty to them as investors. That’s one fucked up irony.