BLOG 195: An Open Book

“About one-fifth of the people are against everything all the time.” Robert Kennedy (From his speech at The University of Pennsylvania 1964)

Is there anything more annoying than being asked to be completely open by people who have not bothered to earn the right to you ever being so candid?

What a ridiculously impertinent request.

I have no idea when openness became a requirement in order to just rub alongside people who are pretty inconsequential in your life. I strongly suspect this desire to know absolutely everything about someone may have originated from our cousins over the pond... who (face facts) are a rather loquacious breed... but I have to state that being ‘an open book’ is as entirely unbritish as you can get.

I recall on my first trip to the USA, I was in a toilet in a department store in New York City. I’d been in America for about three hours, but having grown up with American movies, literature and general folk culture, couldn’t wait to immerse myself in the shopping delights of Lexington Avenue. I’d used the loo (I had been told by my travel companion that one should piss in a country before it has a chance to piss on you), and was at the vanity units washing my hands. A woman came out of a stall and approached me, asking me the time. On hearing my accent, she rightly concurred I was not from those parts. (She was only out by ten thousand five hundred miles when she ascertained that I was Australian). So requested that I be completely honest about something she was about to show me. Before I had a chance to point out this was not something I was comfortable with... she showed me her recently augmented breasts and asked me give my honest reaction to the naturalness of their appearance.

I don’t recall my exact answer... decades later the shock still hasn’t worn off!... however I’m sure I said something satisfactory and left the loo pretty sharpish afterwards. I’ve dined out on that story innumerable times over the years and it always gets a big laugh. However over the years the laughter seems less about the fact a complete stranger, irrelevant to my existence, sought my honestly ... and more about the fact a complete stranger exposed herself to me. It appears we too have gone the route of demanding openness from any one of our acquaintance.

This may well be a fashion but there are some things that just go against natural law. Thing is there are certain states of being that have to be earned. You can’t request that someone be open, or loyal, or relaxed, or natural or at ease.

Most people who are open to experience kind of know this. They are not impatient and know that the only thing they need to make others open, loyal, relaxed, natural or at ease is for them to have an open mind. It is NOT something you can request of others... it is something you must request of your self.

It’s many years since the Bloomingdales incident. But I had the unfortunate luck to meet yet another woman who clearly was as unable to be patient and demanded my openness (thankfully no body parts were exposed this time.)

Mary (Hi Mary if you are reading this blog) appears totally unable to fathom that the reason that she is not rewarded with my openness is that she approaches me with such a closed mind. Her approach is to come to me with a totally preformed judgement and challenge me to prove her wrong. I have asked Mary about her approach, but it all got turned on it’s head and ended last night with her offering me a new challenge: to be open with her.

Now why on earth would I do that? Mary lives a state where defending her existing ideas, beliefs, values, mental models and so on is her prime response. A good discussion is one where she wins and the opponents (who are always wrong) lose. I don’t know why she even wants to know me as she is most comfortable with like-minded people, where there is a tacit agreement not to challenge ideas. A good chat in her world is where much of the conversation is spent reinforcing her preconceptions and ideas. It’s very comfortable existence, staying with what is seen as the tried and true. However it is also a state of embattlement, where Mary and friends are constantly having to repel what they see as attack. I really cannot see why I cannot simply be ignored by her and cronies. I don’t do have neither the time or the energy to join in with such an exhausting way to be.

It is exhausting living Mary’s life. To constantly be right you have to ensure no one else can be. So she has to:

• Ignore anything that doesn’t fit the box. Let it die in silence. Most people can take this hint that they have said something that is not wanted.

• Criticise anything that doesn’t fit the box. Show her expertise in this area is infallible and no one else is so obviously no one else can be of any use.

• Damn it anything that doesn’t fit the box with faint praise. Say how others contribution might just work ensuring that by implication it is clear how useless it is.

• Laugh at anything that doesn’t fit the box. Effectively prevent anyone else taking it seriously.
• Analyse anything that doesn’t fit the box. Ask searching questions and tie them up in knots. Then just leave them hanging, like the lawyer who has just crucified a witness.
• Date anything that doesn’t fit the box. Point out it is old hat and of poor quality and by implication completely ineffectual.
• Compete with anything that doesn’t fit the box. Replace it with something similar that ensures the original is dropped.
• Undermine anything that doesn’t fit the box. Play mind games till the originator has no confidence in challenging the status quo.
  
  
• Change anything that doesn’t fit the box . Take up the new thing then adjust it so it is no longer recognisable.

I have to hand it to Mary, I don’t see that much of her but over the years, she has been very good at doing all of the above with a sweet caring smile. Her favourites with me are to analyse and undermine... and every time, she gains ground in the war that is going on in her head. It is quite exhausting.

In the past she has leapt to the defence of people she has assumed I would be in conflict with because her preconceived idea of me says that I would have nothing in common with them. Of course the reality is that my friends are highly diverse and the company I frequent is likely challenge the narrow boxes of age, race, experience. However if Mary could open her mind a little she would see there ARE patterns, though the patterns are of exploration and difference rather than similarity and similarity – which is the only pattern she understands.

I have tried to not be in the company of Mary as much as I can. However, our circles unavoidably cross. So I have no alternative but to co-exist around her however... she is not prepared to just co-exist around me. I represent something to be vanquished or at least tamed. The fact that every preconception of me has been proven incorrect has not lead her to see that my existence does not threaten hers.

Any how last night Mary reckoned that if I was entirely open with her, she would consider backing off... a little.

Thing is, I don’t think Mary has the first clue about what being open is.

In my world, being open is to live with a sense of curiosity, where every moment is an opportunity for learning, where existing ideas, mental models and beliefs are temporary and flexible. What others have to say is always interesting, and a good dialogue is one where you learn something new or are persuaded to think differently in some way.

I’m a huge Robert Kennedy fan. He believed the world should be seen as alive, dynamic and dull of opportunity. He famously changed George Bernard Shaw’s word into this sound bite “Some men see things as they are and say why? I dream things that never were and say why not?”Robert Kennedy knew that being means seeing things both as they really are (as opposed to through the lens of fixed though) and also as how they could be.

What would be the point of being open with Mary? She is unable to see things as they really are. She has a fixed view. I have loose models of understanding, constantly integrating newly learnt and recently experiences into my being. To put it bluntly... she can’t get a handle on me. I don’t fit her boxes.

Last night, she blew up because I was being slightly quieter than usual – or in her words... ‘moody’.

To me this is one of my many and varied shades. It gets rather tiring when you’ve been drinking at the fountain of discovery for too long. Being open does need rest periods. Yes, I am usually the one starting conversations with strangers and seeking new experiences, but I’m not the court jester. Most people find it easy to accept that iIt just so happens that sometimes I’m not the one starting the conga.

However, this was all Mary needed to go into analyse, undermine and change mode – with a side serving of critique. You have to hand it to her... she is smooth. She approached ‘in the name of friendship’ and then proceeded to fill my head with stories of how others had approached her commenting on my moodiness. She then went on to offer me advice on improving my character. She advised everyone has their box and we should behave like our label or it is only natural that inconsistencies will be brought to her attention. She pointed out that she is a expert in being totally consistent so I should call on her for advice – be completely open with her.

And seeing it is clear to all that the war against Jax is something Mary has to wage...I let her. So there she was sanctimoniously accusing me of emotions I wasn’t feeling, of having motives I have never thought of and offering me a route to salvation. I just stood there and let her tell me that I should learn to be more open. That I should tell her every detail of what is going on with me so that she can deal with the fact I may not fit the rigid little box that she has made for me.

Of course it’s a war that Mary isn’t going to win...because although I let her do her thing... I will NOT be taking on board a thing she said. What is puzzling though is why should she think that she does not have to earn the right to for me to be open, or loyal, or relaxed, or natural or at ease with her? Why is so impatient for this to happen? Does she not know I can feel her lack of like? Why on earth with the way things actually are I feel that I SHOULD be an open book with someone so closed?

What a ridiculously impertinent request.

The lady in the toilets at Bloomingdales stood a far better chance!

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BLOG 194: You Slag!

“SLAG: the materials left over after the process of separating the valuable fraction from the uneconomic portion of an ore” Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Ever seen that woman who has zero inhibitions. Ever wondered where she comes from or what makes her that way? Or do you just think “one of natures good time girls” and never give it another thought.

Probably the latter huh? Some girls are wives, some are mistresses and the others… well… you don’t HAVE to be a slag do you? It’s a choice… probably the wrong choice but a choice none the less. After all no one makes a girl wear clothing a size too small, or say something so provocative, or dance like there is a pole in the room , or not wait to be asked…to just boldly offer. Who really wants to know what makes a woman that way when clearly that path seldom leads anywhere but to loneliness long term. Clearly the wife option is the one to aim for… the mistress if you have no luck or solid offers… but really – who sets their goal at being a good time girl? Surely everyone know that truly is not an option… not to anyone with an ounce of sense.

Hey ho this wouldn’t be JaxWorld if there was really going to be a presentation of the argument for the obvious. (The obvious being… female successfully negotiates protection and security for life from male of species by only being uninhibited with aforementioned male in private, behind closed doors and preferably with the light off (marriage) or all of the above but with the light on and sometimes in the back of his car (mistress)… you know the OBVIOUS). We all know that women who do not trade the exclusivity of sexual relations with a male before a certain age will end up sad, alone, dressed like lamb when clearly looking like mutton, owning far too many cats, and dancing like a crack whore in order to attract just enough attention to stop herself swallowing a bucket load of pills. But really. I know the obvious is what we all believe… but REALLY???

It is obvious to me that I cannot see beyond the horizon. Should I then believe that there is nothing further and the world is flat?

It is obvious to me that the sky is the lid on top of my world… I’ve never seen beyond it with my own eyes. Should I then believe that there is nothing beyond the sky?

Yep… what is obvious… what is self evident… quite often is not anything other than an invitation to delve deeper.

Because if you delve deeper, you will find people’s stories, and when you do you realise that what you thought was a sad slag is in fact what the Americans call a bitchad. Which like most American thangs these days turns out to be an anachronism:

• Babe
• In
• Total
• Control of
• Herself
• And her
• Destiny

Frankly I find the whole thing is rather laboured (two words to one letter is quite frankly cheating) but hey ho Bitchad is vaguely pronounceable …. and it has made it into the New Oxford American Dictionary… so who am I to argue.

Bitchad’s reject the idea of hitching their wagon to someone else’s horse. Thing is, they argue, once you enter into these partnership deals you have to keep up your end of the bargain. This usually means submission to some sort of code of conduct.

Interesting to note that given free reign on what to wear 89.4% of a test sample of 1678 western girls aged between 4 and 7 chose denim mini skirts, spangangly tube tops, generous and obvious coatings of make up and serious amounts of hair volumisming. From this the conclusion was drawn that (in the west at least) it is instinctual to the female to dress provocatively. A similar number of girls from the same background aged 14-17 were given free reign on what to wear and the choices were startlingly, more conservative. From this the conclusion was drawn that (in the west at least) nurture is used to control the female’s desire to dress like sirens.

This research didn’t surprise me much. Women are brought up (in the west at least) to seek out a secure provider and get him shackled to them by some sort of enforceable action – marriage or children or something. Usually, in return for the protection and security, a male will require the repression of any external sexual liberation. It did not surprise me in the slightest that the vast majority of young women would ‘sit on their money maker’ – to attain a status one must act a status and a wife’s status is that of exclusivity… she would hardly dress to attract attention. (The ownership of cardigans being incredibly high amongst wife and quite comparable among mistresses).

Reading up on Bitchad’s I noted that they too have a penchant for cardigans… worn over not much more than a push up bra, and usually with few buttons secured. But at the end of the day these women seem to be very up front about their sex… and will advertise themselves as up for purely recreational relations by overtly breaking the code of conduct society has in place for women.

Is this what is beyond the obvious? I wonder… after all what is in it for them?

"Women were the guardians of morality; they were made of finer stuff than men and were to act accordingly" so said Harpers Magazine editor Frederick Allen. Of course you’ll note he phrased his observation in the past tense. He noted the women of his acquaintance had acted upon a desire to be seen as individuals outside of their familial roles. He commented on the huge difference in these women’s clothing, language and behaviour. In particular he noted primitive, uninhibited and sexual behaviour in these women, something he found puzzling as they seem not to be interested in making permanent relations with their sexual partners and wished to be viewed as independent worldly women.

What prompted his observation was an advertisement for car batteries that was placed in his magazine. The advertisement featured four women dealing quite competently with their broken down car. The advertisement was entirely devoid of men. To Mr Allen this was an excellent example of how the women of his world had changed. The date?... oh... 1923.

You see, this ain’t nothing new. Today the word Bitchad has made it to the American dictionary, 90 odd years previously the word Flapper got there too. In the 1920s, flappers broke away from the Victorian image of womanhood. They dropped the corset, chopped their hair, dropped layers of clothing to increase ease of movement, wore make-up, created the concept of dating, and became a sexual person. They created what many consider the "new" or "modern" woman – the torch was handed to the generations of women of the decades that followed and all sorts of impossible dreams became realities for women.

Of course, then along came the 1990’s and the post-feminist movement. If you have no idea what this is -it can be most clearly seen on so-called feminist media products, such as Bridget Jones's Diary, Ally McBeal or Sex and the City. Female characters claim to be liberated but what they are constantly searching for is the one man who will make everything worthwhile.

Yep... throughout the 90’s and Noughties women drifted away from the idea of being in total control of their selves and their destinies and simpered dreamily after suitors.

Well here we are in the twenty-tens and there has been a bit of a reaction. Like the flappers of the 1920’s who were not prepared to sit around and wait for the suitors who were not coming (good excuse though, most were killed or maimed in WWI), the Bitchads seem unable to sit around and wait for the suitors who are not coming for them either (no idea why but there seems to be a numerical disbalance between the genders). The Bitchads seem to have decided, like their jazz-baby sisters before them that sisters should be doing it for themselves.

Waiting for Mr Right is no passive activity, there are 12 hard and fast rules to be adhered to at all times :

Ø Don't Talk to a Man First (and Don't Ask Him to Dance)

Ø Don't Have Flirtatious Eye Contact with Men or Be Loquacious

Ø Be Honest but Mysterious Don’t Open Up Too Fast

Ø Don't Initiate Telephone Contact, Rarely Return His Calls, Always End Phone Calls First

Ø Don't Meet Him Halfway or Go Dutch on a Date and Don't Accept a Saturday Night Date after a Wednesday

Ø Always End the Date First Don’t See Him More than Once or Twice a Week

Ø No More than Casual Kissing on the First Two to Three Dates

Ø Don't Have Intimate Relations Till After Fourth Date (or Longer)

Ø Don't Tell Him What to Do, Always Let Him Take the Lead

Ø Don't Expect a Man to Change or Try to Change Him

Ø Don’t Live with a Man or Leave Your Things at His Place

Ø Stop Dating Him if He Doesn't Buy You a Romantic Gift for Your Birthday or Valentine's Day

This is much the same stuff Flappers said “To Hell with that” and dragged men onto the dancefloor, did a few Charleston’s followed by a frantic horizontal foxtrot in the back of a Crossley 20/25. Bitchads are clearly of the same mind. I should imagine back in the 1920’s the good girls (Gibson Girls) would have been scandalised by the Flappers and called them slags. A Gibson girl dressed appropriately, waited for a suitor and definitely sat on her ‘money maker’ till after the vows were said... she knew that in order for a woman to have any security in this world, she needs to trade exclusive rights with a man... or be left on the slag heap of life.

The post feminist movement, sprung up maybe because for all the achievements made by women from the 1920’s onwards, young women started to recoil in horror at the very idea of being thought of as feminist. The almost ritualistic denunciation of feminism heralded a return to the values of the Gibson Girl... the meek will inherit the earth. (Well, if not the earth- a meal ticket for life). Luckily there are women who just don’t buy into this 12 steps to matrimony or nothing stuff (I say luckily as demographically there are just not enough men to make this possible!).

I was asked the other day do I think Bitchad’s really are in control of their destinies and if I think they’ve got it right.

You know what? I haven’t a clue. All I know is that this is that whenever I see one.... she does rather look like she’s having a whole heap of fun. I find it a little sad that "You Slag!" seems to be the judgement on thoe who simply choose to walk a different path. Live and let live I say.

Can’t see what the fuss is all about really.

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Blog 193: Psych!

“Tricks and treachery are the practice of fools, that don't have brains enough to be honest.” Benjamin Franklin

Over the years I’ve written a lot about people who pretend to be one thing but in fact are another. My novel, the articles I write for magazines, the editorials I do... it pretty much creeps in . You can always tell a Jax piece of writing because I, like Benjamin Franklin am flabbergasted at the practice of duplicity. I don’t get it.

Do the practitioners of this idiotic practice think the rest of us are fools?

Well, if you are one of these eejits... and you’ve not come across my writings before I will say it again... WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING – please do no confuse the fact we choose not to confront you about it with the ridiculous idea that you have got away with it. WE. KNOW.

A friend of mine told me a tale of what happened to him this week and (although we had a really good laugh about it) it left a bitter after taste . Thing is, the person who did it to him was doing so to manipulate him. Neither of us could figure what the end goal of the gentleman who was practicing the dark art of mind games (hence the resistance to outing the portly twatter) but the fact that he spent time cooking up such an underhand scheme was not a laughing matter. The gentleman concerned has it ‘in for’ my friend... and we are both aware that we are probably only on the first act of his treacherous manuscript.

My friend Joe is a mechanic. He used to design car parts for a major manufacturer once, but the British motor industry is no longer what it was and several redundancies later (handsomely paid of in all), he decided to downsize, retrain and work in a garage instead.

He’s a great bloke Joe. He has the look of Vladislav Doronin (if you don’t know what this Russian chappie looks like he’s the billionaire pictured above to the left!)... he is a great looking guy who basically has women dropping at his feet on a daily basis... if only he would notice! He’s a little high maintenance, as you’d expect from someone with a creative streak, as a friend I do find I have to acknowledge his positive actions or he feels slighted and prone to a bit of a sulk. (Never back out on a night out arranged by Joe... he won’t come out on one of yours for a year afterwards! LOL). But that aside I’d say Joe is a great bloke, intelligent, challenging, attentive, generous, cultured, fun, brilliant with kids and animals, charmingly but mildly overconfident and has the driest and wickedest sense of humour. He’s pretty popular - The girls like to be with him and the guys would like to be him.

One would imagine someone like Joe doesn’t have too many haters. And one would be right. However, successful human beings like Joe (and not in £££ by the way...we’re talking of in getting along with the other bipeds) really rattle the cage of The children of a lesser God. To put it more plainly... some people are just jealous and wish to bring him down a peg or two.

And no prizes for guessing who set himself up to be the architect of Joe’s doom?

Yep... a work colleague.

Joe’s metamorphosis from car part designer to grease monkey (sorry Joe!)... causes suspicion in others. Especially this one senior grease monkey .

While Joe in his late forties has the look of Vladislav Doronin, his co-worker Alan who has just entered the early half of the same decade is some what reminiscent of another billionaire altogether.. Sheldon Adelson (Yep that’s the American billionaire pictured to the right). Alan is a little folicially challenged, his once resplendent ginger mane having thinned greatly and turned frizzy(possibly from an overuse of hair colourants but men never talk of this stuff so I am assuming here). Alan’s overall appearance is that of a man somewhat out of tune with just how fabulous forties look these days, he does rather remind me of the middle aged men of my youth... wrinkles, jowls and high waisted trousers.

However, when Joe started at the garage, (which is part of a nationwide chain), he was sent to work alongside Alan in another branch, to learn the corporate ways. Joe rather liked Alan. Yeah he was old school, wife at home, one rather precious son, where as Joe’s more of our times -a divorce-dad whose off spring comes to stay at weekends, but they found common ground and Alan gave Joe a lot of helpful pointers for the workplace.

I wouldn’t quite say that they were quite up for beers and a game of pool on a midweek night, but Joe was inclined to think of Alan as a straight up and down guy someone who had your back – someone you could trust.

Alan’s advice was pucker as it played out. Joe starts at his garage and after a bit of a bumpy start (why would a designer want to do MOT’s?) he found his groove with the other chaps and settled in. Joe knew he had been accepted when they gave him a nickname (ClooneyClone) and he was included the rather risque banter one might expect in a garage.

So... time rolls by and Joe’s contract is about to be renewed. (Oh forgot to say, the garage operates these new fangled European contracts so every 12 months you basically have to reapply for your job). Needless to say Joe’s contract is renewed, but ... Joe was a bit rattled by a couple of questions the head office bods threw at him. They were about banter in the workplace that head office could not have possible known about unless they were specifically told by another mechanic. Joe answered the questions with honesty and HQ let it drop... but Joe was rattled. Someone, somewhere was twisting innocent workplace banter into actions that could best only be described as the stuff of a gross misconduct hearing.

Now as I said, my mate Joe is prone to a bit of a sulk when he thinks things are going one way, and they turn out to go another. I have told him over and over that it is his Achilles heel and one day someone will use it against him. But what can you do with a character flaw eh? I suppose you just hope your good bits counter act the bad. But Joe starts withdrawing inside himself at work, watching his colleagues closely trying to figure out who the twisted snitch was.

A bit of light relief came his way. Out of the blue, the week after the contract interview, Alan rings and asks him if he fancies that pint and game of pool they were always saying they were gonna have... but never got round to.

Joe’s like, YEAH. It’ll give him a chance to talk to someone from the company who is slightly removed from the premises, but most of all he liked Alan and it’d be good to relax in the company of a colleague – he’d been building quite a few walls to protect himself since the interview and he needed to get back to being ClooneyClone the geezer they all liked.

Well... the pint and game of pool happened... but so didn’t happen. If the contract interview was like a prelim hearing for a gross misconduct case, a pint and a game of pool with Alan was like being interrogated by MI6 – but in a poorly scripted movie!

Alan (there is a reason why he is only a mechanic and NOT a government agent) asked thinly veiled question after thinly veiled question. It became clear that Alan wanted to know if his aim had delivered a body blow or a surface wound. In short the only way he would know if Joe had been hauled up about work place banter would be to ask him. This would not be something he could read on a memo... and there was no way that Alan could ask outright without revealing that he was the one who went to head office with the charges. The only way that Alan could be sure that the reports of misconduct were noted by HQ was to pose as Joe’s friend and confidante and envegal it out of him.

Like I said, Alan is not a government agent... as clever as he thought his interrogation was, Joe picked it about five seconds in.

The best bit was when Alan (clearly getting frustrated at not gleaning any information) made up a piece of ‘highly confidential information’ and gave Joe the big sell about how much he trusts him so he is about to give him some news that only the top bods know. Joe tormented him for a while saying he thought it best if he did not give him the information... then seeing Alan was about to have a coronary (so bursting was he to enter the next stage of his cunning plan)... let him tell all. Alan then almost had to beg for a bit a ‘highly confidential information ‘ by return. Joe just gave him the highly unconfidential info that they call him ClooneyClone cause the other mechanics are so young that think all older people who haven’t fallen apart are movie stars. It was all too painful. Alan really NEEDED this shoot to score... it was pitiful. In the end Joe gave him what he wanted, he did a Clooney (good acting)... he let Alan know how the gross misconduct enquiry was a massive, massive wound to him. Once he acted out that bit of fiction to Alan’s satisfaction... Alan remembered a previous appointment and had to dash.

When Joe told me about this whole incident I have to admit I laughed. But thinking about it... how pathetic! Alan doesn’t have to work with Joe every day so what difference should Joe’s existence in the same company make to him ? And while we laugh about how pathetic it is to run to HQ and spread lies about the new boy... muck when thrown always leaves a stain. Somewhere in HQ there is a file saying Joe has said anti-Semitic, sexist, racist and disrespectful things in the work place. And while we laugh at the little weasel trying to put one over on Joe by pretending to offer a lads night out... entrapment is a terrible thing to do. It’s a misuse of trust to lure someone into your deceit .

But more than any of this... Joe has no idea what Alan’s agenda is.

Okay he knows that Alan is trying to affect his job security... but he has no idea why.

Since the pint and a game of pool, Joe has twice noted Alan has gone to superiors (this time in Joe’s garage) and named and shamed Joe for the smallest departure from the company handbook. (Name me a mechanic who provides maintenance of mechanical equipment by numbers). And yet Alan still is posing as Joe’s remote chum. Clearly what has happened to date are rudimentary shots over the bow.

As I said to Joe... he needs to watch his back... that wrinkled thin topped ginger nut has got it in for him. War is in the air.

Us writers keep a track of old papers, ther is much inspiration to be had from looking back at old newspaper stories. There was an America Newspaper called The Brooklyn Eagle. It has in the July 1914 edition a powerful cartoon called 'A Chain of Friendship' . (google image it if you can) . It depicts a small insignificant act of betrayal between gentlemen, then a more obvious one, then an even bigger one then finally one where sides must be decided and it is all out mayhem. The caption read: “If Austria attacks Serbia, Russia will fall upon Austria, Germany upon Russia, and France and England upon Germany.” The following month... the world was a war. 1914 – 1918 are the dates of that conflict. 969, 815, 000 people died. And even today 98 years later, the number one question asked is still... “what was it about?”

Sometimes in life... you just don’t know the answers. Sometimes people want conflict with you when you pose no threat. When you’ve done nothing to them. When you are totally harmless. They just do – I suppose they feel it is easier to bring you down this way than be honest and discuss their issue.

Although Joe and I laughed about it (while he slaughtered me a pool ... beat my slice with a clever cannon shot the git!) I know him well enough to know that Alan’s clandestine assault has already started to work. He was manipulated into withdrawing and being suspicious of his colleagues, till he figured out Alan was the perp. And now he is noting every move Alan makes and wondering what is it all about. No matter what he says as he laughs about the balding twatter... Alan’s campaign is eating away at it him. Worst still he can’t confront him so has to wear a mask of tranquillity at work. How long can anyone keep that up for? He is just waiting for the next blow to fall... as surely it will.

“Tricks and treachery are the practice of fools, that don't have brains enough to be honest.” So said Ben Franklin. I would add that unfortunately they do have just about enough brains to make trouble.

Watch your back Joe.... watch your back.

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