The Chapman Zone Dave’s Blog

On Scout Summer Camp to be precise, so I won’t be posting for a while (no sarcastic comments please Collin!)

I didn’t want my last post for a while to be about a bl**dy TV programme - that would be sad.

I am going one Saturday, and will return the following Saturday. With any luck I will also have the following week off work, although that depends on my boss. When I interviewed for this job, I did tell my boss that I needed these two weeks off every year at about the same time, and that this was non-negotiable. Of course, beign the soft-touch that I am, when he came to me and said that he might need to call me in for the second week as we may well be inundated with work, I sort of relented. I told him that I will take the second Monday off, and call him on that day to see what the situation is. If it’s ok, I will take the rest of the week off, but if he is snowed under (and I did tell him to only call me in if he was totally desperate) and cannot cope with the workload, I would come in and help out.

I really hope that I don’t have to come in that week. I avoid all connections to the outside world when I am on Summer Camp - any news or radio, tv or papers are totally avoided, and this enables me to lose touch with the outside world and all its pettiness and banality. Thing is, this does cause me this kind of mild culture shock when I get back, and it can take me a few days to adjust back to the ‘real world’. Actually, I don’t consider what we live in at the moment, the ‘real world’ since it is built on the principles of artifice and the illusion of power over each other. The world out on camp is much more ‘real’ to me - a small society, interdependent, relying on each other for survival.

Enough of that - this is not another of my rants.

I’m in the last throes of getting ready for the week. I still have to print out a multitude of forms and sheets, collate emergency medical and contact information, iron and pack my clothes, work out what other sundries and bits & bobs I need to take with me, check the oil, water and tyres on my car, and a dozen or so other things that I can’t think of right now.

This is my biggest problem when prepping for camp. When things seem to be going smoothly, I get paranoid that the only reason for the smoothness of preparation is that I have forgotten something totally crucial.

Oh well, I guess there’s nothing I can do to alleviate that feeling, except get myself on camp - as soon as I leave the HQ, the worrying goes away…solely because it is then too late to do anything about what I may have forgotten!

Have a nice week everybody who read this (although about half of the people who read this are coming out on camp with me!), and I’ll see you in a week!

I belong to the Blockbuster mail-order rental club thingy. You know, the one where you pay them £15 per month and they send you three DVDs at a time. When you’ve watched them, you send them back and they send you three more, and so on, so the quicker you watch them, the more value for money you get.

I love a bit of Sci-Fi, so when I perused the Blockbuster catalogue and came across a film called ‘Serenity’, I thought “what the heck”. When it turned up, I pretty much watched it staight away, since I had nothing else on at that particular moment.

“Hmm…very enjoyable” I thought to myself. The movie itself is a follow on from a now-cancelled TV series called Firefly, which I had never seen, but had heard good things about. The movie piqued my interest enough to add the TV series to my list at Blockbuster.

Fortunately, the first disc turned up almost straight after I sent Serenity back, so I sat back to see what the series was like…

“Wow!”

I normally avoid watching new TV shows, as they tend to be sterile affairs, full of vacous models with little character, and derivative attempts at plot. I think the only recent exceptions to this rule are South Park (which just keeps on getting more outrageous), and House (I caught a few episodes and found it worth catching if I was in). I am also mourning the loss of Malcolm in the Middle (mourning might be a bit strong), as this has been the most consistently funny series on TV for years. I will catch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and American Chopper if I have nothing better to do, but as for the rest of it….well, most of it is a waste of time. You already know my feelings towards Big Brother (well, actually you know a small fraction of my feelings towards Big Brother), and I hold Soap Operas with almost as much distaste. But I don’t want to talk about them.

Where was I? Oh yeah - “Wow!”.

What a great show! I pretty much binged on them the past few days, since discs 2 and 3 (and then 4) turned up in sequence and just at the right time to have a marathon of sorts (in between me prepping for Summer Camp).

The basic premise is “Cowboys in Space”. It’s set 500 years in the future, when Earth is “all used up”, and humanity has moved on to a star system containing dozens of planets and hundreds of moons. The system is run by the Alliance, a rather totalitarian authority, who provide the core worlds with technology and luxury, while leaving the outer worlds with the bare minimum, or sometimes less, giving these outer worlds a somewhat ‘frontier’ quality, where the rule of the gun prevails.

In this setup we meet Mal Reynolds, Captain of the Firefly class starship ‘Serenity’, a rather dilapidated ship which, with its ragtag crew, fly from system to system, looking for charters (legal or otherwise) and trying (usually unsuccesfully) to stay out of trouble.

It’s a great premise for a Sci-Fi series (even if my praisee didn’t do it justice), and it was living up to it’s potential, thanks largely to it’s creator, Joss Whedon (of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ fame). There were large helpings of humour and pathos, mixed with a deep, gritty, ‘used space’ sensibility. The protagonists are (or rather, had the potential to be) more three-dimensional than your usual TV heroes.

It could have been the best Sci-Fi series of all time…but it got cancelled.

After just 14 episodes, Fox Network pulled the plug. They say it was due to tepid ratings, but when you consider that Fox themselves caused that reaction by scheduling it wrong, showing the episodes out of order and frequently ditching it in favour of sporting events, it was no wonder that audiences did not easily come to know it. It was almost as if Fox sabotaged the show in order to justify it’s cancellation. But why.

Well, one (paranoid) view is that the show’s anti-authoritarian stance might not have sat well with the Bush administration, and pressure was brought to bear. This is perhaps lent weight by the fact that Fox rejected the original Pilot, and insisted that they make a new one, citing certain character traits and the overall tone.

Whatever the reasons, whoever made the decision to axe the show was either a retard or a fascist, and should have been fired.

The show is stonkingly good. I have, since watching the show, ordered the season box set and the follow up movie ‘Serenity’ from Amazon. The urgency was partly instigated by disc 4 being faulty (an unfortunatley common trait with Blockbusters DVDs - they offer you no recompense, even thought I must have received over 50 faulty DVDs since joining), resulting in an inability to watch the last three episodes of the series.

I since went back and watched ‘Serenity’ again, and it came through with so much more power, reaching its zenith as a couple of principle characters are killed off (obviously the impact of this is heightened by the familiarity that the series generates). Great movie. I hope that Universal will continue their good sense in making it, by agreeing to do more. Joss Whedon has stated in interview that his preferred medium for continuing this story is cinema, although he would consider re-awakening the TV series format if an offer was made.

Anyway, if you like a bit of sci-fi, get yourself in possession of this gem of a tv-series and movie, and learn how to swear in Chinese!

Looks like they’re moving up in the world - one of Pompey’s premier venues for music no less.

There’s a showcase for local bands on Monday nights, and they are one of four bands playing tonight (Monday 24th July). Tickets are available on the door at £4 apiece. Doors open at 20:00.

Review will follow. Meanwhile, here’s a piccie of the band. They asked me to take one last week, as they thought they might get one in the paper. Alas, it was not to be, but they have got their name on the Wedgewood billing, which is definitely a ‘cut out and keeper’!

From left to right: Aaron Fenton (Bass Guitar and Vocals), Kyle Fenton (Drums), Tom Spooner (Guitar and Vocals)

Had another game of cricket with work on Tuesday evening. We were playing a game against Telsis, who are a league side, and were using us for a bit of practise. We only play friendlies these days. Apparently, OPCS used to play in a league, but due to lack of commitment, and other teams bringing in ringers too often, they left the league a few years ago.

It was stiflingly hot, and I was a little worried about standing in the middle of a big field all afternoon. We only had eight players, due to the game being called off over the weekend and then called back on again on Monday night.

Due to the lack of players, I actually got some action from all aspects this game - bowling, batting and fielding. Up till now, my batting contribution has been restricted to the last over of our innings, maybe getting in strike if I was lucky.

Tuesday, Chris asked me to open the bowling. Truth be told, I had a bit of a mare, partly due to being a poor bowler, but also due to playing on an artificial wicket that had a wicked camber - every ball that went down the off side bounced wildly away from the wicket, and I got at least 2 wides called per over (I bowled four overs overall). I managed to fluke a wicket - I accidentally let go of the ball too early on one delivery and took off the bails before the ball had bounced. I also managed a caught and bowled. After I got my line sorted out a bit I bowled one straight down the line, which the batsman hit straight back at me. I managed to get my hand in the way, and held onto the ball, but it bloody hurt! I was shaking my hand off for the rest of the innings.

I made matters worse by rolling on the same hand when diving for a catch in the field, and it started to swell up by the time we left the field. The other team had managed a big total of 149 - which included 33 extras….I wasn’t the only one having trouble with their bowling!

Because of my hand, I asked Chris to put me at the bottom end of the batting order. Problem was, because we only had eight players, I had to get in and bat anyway. 149 is a big total to get when you’re only playing 20 overs, but the rest of the team were playing some aggressive and open strokes, and we were sneaking closer towards the winning post.

I got in to bat with three overs left, and made a decent account of myself, considering I had not batted properly in a game yet. I got up to 13 runs by the last ball of the innings.

The last ball was interesting, because before it was bowled, the score was tied, andwe needed just one run to win. Vikas (the other batsman) was on strike, so I had to simply run like stink as soon as the ball left the bowlers hand. Unfortunately, the ball beat Vikas, and the keeper took the ball safely.

“Aah, sod it!” I thought, and threw myself at the crease…..which I managed to miss by a good two yards……and roll over on my bad hand again, which really made it swell up. Oh well, it was worth a try, even if it was only a friendly.

Driving home was agony - I had to operate the handbrake and reverse with my right hand, and use the left only to steady the wheel rather than grip it.

I thought I might have broken a bone by the way it swelled up, but it started going down again by the next morning.

Still bloody hurts though.

LETTERS TO THE UK PRESS NEVER PUBLISHED

Hats off to the England cricketers for their achievements in the Ashes this summer, which rightly earned Andrew ‘Freddie’ Flintoff BBC Sports personality of the Year. Winning a two-team tournament against a nation with a much smaller population once in every ten attempts, then never shutting up about it, makes me proud to be British.

                                                                           - Ben Hunt, Chiswick

The government tells us that we are eating too many pies and dying of heart disease, then in the next breath they’re telling us we are living too long and there’ll be no more pension money left for us. I wish they’d make their minds up.

                                                                           - John Moore, Birmingham

‘Alton Towers Fun Park - Where the magic never ends’, or so the commercial says. Imagine my disappointment when it closed at 7.30.

                                                                           - Colum Hill, Manchester

I am married to a Taiwanese lady, and people often ask me if she was a mail-order bride. I find this very insensitive. The Royal Mail lose around 2 million letters and parcels each year, and to suggest that I would trust the delivery of my wife to them is insulting in the extreme. She was sent by DHL next-day delivery.

                                                                           - L Palmer, London

The record companies would have us believe that the money made by CD pirates goes to fund the drug industry. But the money rock stars make from legal record sales ends up in exactly the same place. When they stop breaking the law, so will I.

                                                                           - P Boddington, Ringway

Peter Andre might look smug in all his wedding pictures, but I’d just like to remind him that, as a Playboy reader, I have seen his wife’s m!nge. He hasn’t seen my wife’s, so who’s had the last laugh?

                                                                           - P Bell, Leeds

It really annoys me to see these suicide bombers blowing up people as well as themselves. In my day, suicide was done in a more dignified way, such as slicing your wrists in the bath, or hanging yourself from a door with a belt.

                                                                           - Paul Mulraney, Belfast

On holiday a few years back, I took part in a quiz and managed to reach the final only to lose out after what I consider to this day, to be a correct answer. The question asked ‘What ‘C’ would you associate Jeremy Clarkson with?’ to which I confidently replied ‘*unt’. Not only was I told the answer was incorrect, but I was asked by the holiday rep to leave the premises immediately. Has anyone else experienced such appalling treatment whilst holidaying with one’s family?

                                                                           - Noel, Leeds

My friend’s mum recently pointed out that I have the same ironing board cover as her. Can anyone think of a more mundane and pointless remark to make than this?

                                                                            - Alun Daniel, Bradford

I’ll never understand my neighbour. He has recently started wheel-clamping his own caravan when he finds he has inadvertently parked it in his own drive! I wonder if he is a sadist, a masochist or both.

                                                                             - Alan Thakray, Liverpool

Did anyone else feel that Mel Gibson’s remake of the classic ‘Life of Brian’ wasn’t anywhere near as funny as the original?

                                                                            - Michael P, Cheltenham

On the BBC website, I read with interest that some scientists in Australia have discovered the smallest fish known to exist. They’ve obviously never been to the Britannia Chippy on the Gloucester Road.

                                                                             - Alan J., London

Hats off to the American police. They arrive at Michael Jackson’s Neverland ranch to arrest him a mere six months after he admits climbing into bed with young boys on worldwide TV. Perhaps they should get some faster cars.

                                                                            - T Barnham, London

COULD the Home Secretary explain to me how biometric checks on iris patterns and fingerprints are going to help keep tabs on Muslim cleric Abu Hamsa.

                                                                            - Les W, Barnsley

HOW come rap artist Dr. Dre can use the ‘N’ word on his multi-million selling albums and win a MOBO award, yet when I used it at my son’s football match I was asked to leave the park? Once again, it’s one law for the rich and another for the poor.

                                                                            - Reg Ashcroft, Bradford

The government says that there are nearly 50,000 people with HIV in Britain, a third of whom do not even know that they have it. Is it just me, or is it a bit harsh that the government know and haven’t told the poor sods?

                                                                             - John Campbell, e-mail

Never mind ventriloquists like Keith Harris and Roger DeCourcey. What about Professor Stephen Hawking? I saw him on telly blathering on about galaxies for hours and I never saw his lips move once. Genius.

                                                                            - Mike Woods, e-mail

With reference to that series “Manhunt” where ex-Special Forces soldiers try to hunt down Andy McNab. Why don’t the producers include a couple of Iraqis in the hunting team? They found the tw*t quickly enough the last time he played hide and seek with them.

                                                                             - Shuggie, e-mail

Hats off to the witty burglars who stole my entire CD collection with the exception of “There is Nothing Left to Lose” by the Foo Fighters. I hope that when sentencing, the judge takes into account their splendid sense of humour.

                                                                           - Chris Scaife, Jesmond

I see on the news that Lord Hutton says he is “satisfied that David Kelly took his own life”. He may not have liked Dr Kelly that much, but isn’t this taking gloating just a little too far?

                                                                            - Dave Owen, Edinburgh

I never worry about the destination when I’m going on holiday. My dad isIranian and my mum is Irish, so I spend most of the time in customs.

                                                                            - Stan, London

What’s all this nonsense about that 66-year-old Romanian woman being the world’s oldest mum? My mum’s 77. Beat that.

                                                                            - Thomas J., Ilford

Got some good news from the insurance company on Friday. My policy is up for renewal on the 22nd, and they did one of their routine ‘wanted to check that everything was alright’ phone calls.

I asked them what my new premium was. £340 came the reply. That is with four years no claims discount.

I asked, out of curiosity more than anything, what it would cost to move up to fully comprehensive cover (I am currently third party fire and theft).

£360 was the reply. Bloody hell, thought I! I’ll take it!

I was expecting it to be a hell of a lot more than that. I guess I must officially be an old fart now…

I hate Big Brother.

I do not hate my friends.

I hate Big Brother with such an unbridled passion, that I have managed to take everything that I hate about humanity, and channel it through my hatred of this programme. I truly belive that this world would be a better place if this programme ceased to exist (along with a few other things that I am sure to get into in future rants.)

Everytime I flick through the channels, and see it on telly for a split second, the hate rises in me, like bile rising in my throat. Every time I see a newspaper with some related story sprawled across the front page, the hate rises. Every time I see a news station report a story on it, the hate rises. Every time I hear someone talk about it, about the goings on in that house, and who should be evicted, the hate rises.

Hate is a very strong word, and I do not use it lightly.

Would it have been better for me to say “I hate it when my friends talk about Big Brother”? Would that have caused less offence?

Why? The differences between the two are blurry at best. Yet one would have been brushed off with nary a second thought. But now we’re getting into semantics, and I really don’t want to.

I hate Big Brother. I do not hate my friends. Can I spell it any clearer?

Also, I should add that the way I write involves my fingers trying to keep up with the numerous things my brain wants to communicate, so sometimes the points get muddled. I know that there are people who watch every day, wasting hour after hour. I also know that my friends do not fit into this category. At least I hope they don’t.

I took a trip up to look at the campsite we will be spending Scout Summer Camp at this year. We go to the same place every year, but I like to check on the place to make sure nothing drastic has changed that might b*gger up the programme.

Anyway, it was a nice day, so I decided to take the bike. On the way up, I was buffetted all over the place by wind on the M27 and A3(M), so I decided to take a more leisurely and picturesque route back along the A272 and A32.

Funnily enough, this was the route I took back when I bought the bike.

So I am going along the A272, stuck behind about twenty or thirty cars going at thirty miles per hour, and even slower round the bends. Now, I am not speed freak, especially on the bike, but being stuck at thirty was torture. The Bandit does not like crawling along, and gets a bit juddery and bad-tempered.

I get to West Meon Hut, and turn left onto the A32. Hooray!  There is open road in front of me…for about 500 metres, then I get stuck behind not one, but two horse boxes going at between twenty and thirty miles per hour, with two more cars stuck behind them. Beign a quite twisty road, there is no chance whatsoever of overtaking four vehicles, even if they are going that slowly.

I have nothing against horse boxes going slow - of course, they have to, to keep the horses safe and happy. I was getting worked up nonetheless.

This carries on for a few more miles. Then, past Warnford, there is a roundabout, the left turning continuing along the A32 towards Fareham. I hope and hope and will the horse box to turn right…

The first horse box indicates right…yessss! Then the second horse box.

Then the two cars behind it. Nice!

I indicate left and open up the throttle a little. The car behind me must have had a slow driver behind the wheel, because after a few seconds I cannot see them in my mirrors. The horse boxes must have been on the A32 for a long time, because there was nothing in front of me at all.

For about six miles, the road was mine. All mine.

Nobody was on the road at all (there were cars coming the other way, but that didn’t matter). There was nobody in front of me to slow me down, and there was nobody behind me to pressure me to go faster. For six whole miles, I rode my way, with nobody to see and nothing in my way.

For the first time since getting into motorbiking, I felt a true feeling of utter freedom.

Let’s get this clear, right from the off:

I hate Big Brother.

I absolutely f***ing hate it.

I hate everything about it.

I hate the people that make it.

I hate the people that present it.

I hate the people that appear on it.

I hate the people that watch it.

Yes, you heard me right. I hate the people that watch it. All of them. Unfortunately for me, a lot of my friends watch it. But while they are still my friends almost all the time, for the few moments when they are talking about it in my company - they are not my friends. I do not know who they are. I am filled with confusion as to how people whom I like and respect can allow themselves to partake in this turgid waste of life. Fortunately, they have enough positive qualities to their character to offset the hatred I have for them when they are discussing this…this…….

……I don’t actually know what to call it. I hesitate to use the term ‘programme’ because there are some actually quite good programmes on TV at the moment, and there have been many many good and great ones in the past. When I have to describe Big Brother, adjectives fail me.

“But Daaaaaaave, why do you hate it so much? It’s only a TV programme! It’s only a bit of harmless fun!” are the usual responses when the vein in my forehead starts to twitch.

But before I go into the ‘why’, I would like to take a step back in time….

In the mid-nineties, there was a film starring Jim Carrey called ‘The Truman Show’, many of you will know it well. It tells the story of a mild mannered man who goes about his mundane, everyday life, all the time unaware that he is the star of a worldwide phenomenon - a television programme that runs 24 hours a day, 365 days a year - all about him, in a self-contained biosphere that is populated entirely (except for Truman) by actors and hidden technical crew. Simply watching him go about his life has most of the population of the world enthralled. It is the most successful TV programme of all time, and many people have spent their lives going through Truman’s trials and tribulations with him.

And what trials and tribulations! He was ‘bought’ while still in the womb by the production company, and every facet of his life is controlled by Christof - the producer of the show. He has gone through some pretty harrowing experiences in his life, not least of which was when they arbitrarily decided to ‘kill off’ his father when he was still a teenager, all in the name of entertainment, in the eternal quest for ratings.

I don’t want to go on all day about this film, but it would be easy to, since the film poses questions on many different issues. The relevance to Big Brother (or rather one of them - it has many connections) became clear to me when I watched the scenes of the movie that showed the viewers - in their homes, in bars, at work - all totally glued to the screen, transfixed and utterly involved in every facet of Truman’s life…to the point where they have forgotten about their own. Their lives revolve around Truman, they spend most of their time talking about him - what he just did, what is going to happen to him next… 

Apart from the occasional soap-opera moments, when something emotionally wrenching happens, his life is as mundane as anyones, probably more so. And yet, the viewers seem content to put their own lives on hold to see somebody else do….well, nothing really.

I always viewed this film as a cautionary tale about letting others rule your life. One of the questions I was left with was “who was being controlled more - Truman, or the fanatics of the show?”

“But Daaaaaaaaaave, you’re talking total b*ll*cks. The Truman Show was a movie, it was fiction, and it was an extreme example - Big Brother is nothing like that, it’s just a bit of harmless fuuuuun…”

The thing that makes me laugh, and truly question the motives of the people making these programmes, is that this explosion of fly-on-the-wall documentaries happened within a couple of years of the film coming out. It was as if the filmmakers had said “here is a cautionary tale - take heed”, and the TV producers saw it and said “Wow! Look how popular this programme is, and how the people are utterly transfixed - we could make a fortune on a programme like this that will cost peanuts to make!” Either they were so stupid that they missed the entire point of the film, or they were simply blinded by the pound signs and chose to ignore the moral arguments against the idea.

You know what? I could go on and on and on about this topic, but I won’t. There are so many things wrong with the very existence of Big Brother, that I could write for days on it. So I have decided to stop here…..for now. I find that I need to build up a really big head of steam to really rant with any sense of conviction, and venting the spleen relieves some of that pressure. I have mellowed off too much, and the words are not crashing forth from my brain and fingers. Besides, I was recently criticised for making my posts too long, so I shall await my next mental frothing fit before subjecting you to any more.

Just to finish though, if a suicide bomber decided to strap five kilos of C4 explosive to his chest, break into the BB house and blow himself up along with all the contestants, producers and fanatical hangers on outside…..I would probably celebrate.

What I did on my summer holiday
By Theo Walcott Esq aged 8 1/2
I went to a place called Germany with my Uncle Sven and some other grown up’s. It is a country in Europe where a bad man called Adolf used to live with his nazties, he does not live there anymore, Uncle Owen does live there, and the grown up’s say I cant talk about the bad man as it will make Uncle Owen cry if I do. In Germany there are lots of castles and some mountains. We are staying in a place called Baden Baden that’s a silly name, Uncle Frank has the same name as his dad, that’s silly too, his mum must get their underpants mixed up all the time.

On the aeroplane Uncle Sol sat next to me, he got me some toffee and wants to be my friend, he works at the place where I do my YTS, so does Uncle Freddy but him and Uncle Sol are not best friends anymore.

Uncle Owen met us at the airport, he talks foreign, Uncle Wayne, Uncle Steven and Uncle David also talk funny, my mum says Uncle David talks like Orville, he is a duck, Uncle Sol say’s Uncle David wears dresses and knickers, and asked me if I had ever worn them. Uncle Sol got me some pop.

In Germany the grown ups are going to play football, my grandad says we beat them in the olden days before my mum was born. That is a long time ago.

While the grown up’s went to play football so I went shopping with Auntie Vicky and some other girls she bought me a big ice cream and got herself a little one but she said she was full before she had eaten any and threw it away. She bought lots of shoes and handbags and let me play with Brooklyn. She say’s she used to be in a pop band and sang me one of her songs, I think she was telling fibs.

I told Uncle Sol about my day out with Vicky and he sulked, then he bought me an even bigger ice cream with lots of hundred’s & thousands on it.

All the other grown up’s have a girlfriend except Uncle Sol so he plays with me while they go out. Uncle Sven says I must keep Uncle Sol happy, that’s why I got taken on holiday.

The grown ups went to play Football against somebody called Sweden, Uncle Sol was crying as Uncle Freddy played for them and would not talk to him. Uncle Sol bought me lots of toffee today and some crisps. Uncle Sven is from Sweden and I heard him on the phone to their boss last night. Uncle Michael hurt his knee and had to go home to his mum for a plaster. Uncle Peter is a giant, a proper giant like you see in books, he is rubbish at football though.

Uncle Wayne had a sore toe at the start of out holiday but it got better so they let him play football. Uncle Sol got me a present but I do not like it. He says all Germans wear leather underpants and I should while we are here, they are too tight for me.

All the grown ups started to call Uncle Wayne a potato head who stood on somebodys spuds. He got shouted at by the referee. They are all saying that we have to go home now. Uncle Sol was crying again and I had to sit on his knee to make him stop. He had his mobile phone in his pocket, I think.