Yes Man by Danny Wallace

In the run-up to Christmas this year, I had a big work deadline causing me stress. This was all I could think about until after it had passed. Afterwards I looked around and tried to organise myself a pre-Christmas night out. Unfortunately, everybody I tried had been booked weeks ago and I was forced to continue my run of staying in.

To make matters slightly worse, I asked my husband to recommend a funny book to cheer me up and he suggested  Yes Man by Danny Wallace.

The gist of the thing is that Danny has also got into a rut of not going out which he decides to break by saying "yes" to things he would normally say no to. But he has friends who ring him up and ask him. He doesn't have to play phone tag with people for days just to remind them he exists. His friends just ring up and all he has to do is say yes. The lucky c*nt.

Anyway, before long Danny is allegedly affirming his way to the good life, saying yes at work to a TV presenting job in which he tries to wind up a Buddhist monk by poking him.

But it isn't all plain sailing. There is the time he agrees to come along with his ex and her new boyfriend on a date, donating money to any charity which asks him, spending a lot of money on travel because an advert happened to be phrased as a question and meeting up for polite conversation with a stockbroker obsessed with Sarah Brightman.

There is also the ever-so-neat plot about the girl he loves who has returned to Australia. Will Danny's resolution to say yes to everything make him brave enough to move out after her and give it a go? (Clue: of course it bloody will). Call me cynical, but things like this make me doubt that half the events described ever actually took place (think for a moment about how boring, episodic and unstructured an account of anyone's real life would be). So bearing in mind that we've agreed between us that Mr Wallace needn't be strictly truthful, that we'll allow him some license in order to better entertain us, why isn't the ****ing thing funnier?

I suppose the book worked for me in that I moved from feeling properly sorry for myself to just being a run-of-the-mill grumpy old git.

The People's Manifesto by Mark Thomas

In 2009, Mark Thomas toured Britain with a stand up show where he asked the audience to suggest some policies they would like to see put into practise. At the end of the show each audience voted for their favourite policiy and all the favourites have been collected together to form this book: the demands of the people of Great Britain (or at least those of them who agree enough with Mark's left wing politics to make them feel it was worth going to see him). Anyway, it's considerably more democratic than anything offered by any major political party.

The lovely thing about these policies is how they range from the serious (renationalising the railways, requiring a referendum to go to war and introducing a "none of the above" box on ballot papers), to the trivial (everyone should be allowed the day off work on their birthday, Windsor to be renamed "Lower Slough" and overtaking lanes for pedestrians). Many of the the policies reflect a desire for fairness, or sometimes just a love of poetic justice, for example, people who support ID cards would not be allowed any curtains, those guilty of homophobic hate crime would have to serve their sentence in drag and and anyone who lets their dog shit in the street would have to wear it as a moustache.

Overall my favourite policy is that politicians should have to wear overalls like formula 1 drivers, covered with the logos of all the companies who pay them.

The Gone-Away World by Nick Harkaway

I think this is a first novel. It definitely reads like a first novel. The author seems to have shoveled in every idea he's ever had giving it a rather chaotic feel. And the structure is a bit odd: half of the book forms what has got to be the longest flashback in the history of literature. Then there is the fact that text just needs a bit more deletion. I mean, I'm a fan of both Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams, so I like humorous asides and explanatory footnotes as much as the next person, but “The Gone-Away World” contains several which are so long and convoluted that they get in the way of the story. Despite these criticisms, the book contains some great ingredients: truckers, Ninjas, mime artists and the end of the world. I think this book was like a cake I dropped on the floor but decided to eat anyway: a bit of a mess but still tasty.

Sometime in the near future the latest ultimate weapon is invented: the “Go Away” bomb which removes the information from matter, effectively causing enemies to disappear all together. A small, regional (Afghanistan-like) war quickly escalllates and results in much of the planet being reconfigured with “Go Away” weapons. At which point it is discovered that these perfect weapons come with their own kind of fall-out. Matter stripped of information (known as “stuff”, presumably as in “such stuff as dreams are made on”) is given new and horrific forms by people's thoughts and the survivors of the “Go Away” war have to battle centaurs, mermaids and dog-swllowing monsters. In this crazy, post-apocalyptic landscape the “Haulage and Hazmat Emergency Civil Freebooting Company of Exmoor County” eke out a living until called on to put out a huge fire with the added hazzard of “stuff”. That's about all I can tell you without spoiling the plot.

In the way of themes we have, War, friendship, the dehumanising aspects of large companies (pretty apt in the wake of the credit crunch) and, of course, Ninjas. Everyone loves Ninjas.

My favourite character has got to be Ronnie Cheung, a foul-mouthed army martial arts instructor who offers the hero the following advice:

“You are fucked. You are desirous of getting unfucked.[...] The second law of thermodynamics [...] does not smile upon unfucking.”

In the big set-piece battle with the Ninjas at the end of the book, Ronnie drops hs kecks to show them his wrinked martial arse. He's a class act.

I really hope Nick writes some more books. This one is kind of a trainwreck, but a trainwreck that's pleasantly exciting to be in, rather than deadly. Once he's found the delete key, I think his work will be an absolute joy. Write more Nick! And then get rid of most of it to leave only the best bits!

Bad Science by Ben Goldacre

Bad Science is effectively the book of the blog by the lovely Ben Goldacre*. Throughout the book Ben deconstructs sloppy journalism and abuses of scientific language, roughly in order of how angry Ben gets about them. So we start with relatively harmless bollocks like detoxing and face cream, moving on to Homeopathy and Nutritionism. Then we look at the ethics of pharmaceutical companies and finally media heath scares and hoaxes like MMR. On the way there are some excellent explanations of the placebo effect, and of probability and statistics, which strike many people as counter-intuitive. And some amusing ranting at Ben's favourite awful poo lady**.

There is also a bonus chapter available from the internet, which deals with a particularly unpleasant man who has been trying to flog vitamin pills to Africa as a cure for AIDS. This was left out of earlier editions of the book, due to the filthy villain attempting to sue our Ben.

I particularly liked the final chapter in which he complains bitterly about the quality of science journalism. Ben points out that there must be loads of people with degrees in science subjects who have gone on to work in unrelated fields (yes! Yes! Here I am, Ben!) and yet whenever we get any science on in the media it has to be dumbed down so the lowest common denominator crapwits who couldn't differentiate e^x with respect to x can understand it. Where's my science, eh, world? Is it in the same place as all the trousers that actually come up to your waist have gone?

To the roll call of “cargo cult science” (things that like to use sciencey-sounding language but completely lack the rigour of the genuine article) I would like to add psychology and economics. In fact I think it would greatly benefit the world if economics were renamed “guesswork”.


*I think I have a bit of an intellectual crush on him. I'm not interested in the contents of his trousers, but I do love him a bit. If he ever wants a platonic groupie, he knows where I am!

**Amoungst other hilarious claims, Gillian believes that "foul-smelling stools" are a sign of ill health. This especially amused me; McKeith literally thinks her shit don't smell.

Molesworth Books by Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle

I complained so bitterly about how long and slow-moving "The Dream of Scipio" was that E (you remember E, disapproves of Derren Brown, that one) loaned me her two Molesworth books "Whizz for Atomms" and "Back in the Jug Agane" to cheer me up.

Molesworth is a pupil in the 3rd form at St Custards boarding school (you can use the magic of the Interweb to take a virtual tour round St Custards here ) and the books are not so much stories as short vignettes of school life. In common with "Transpotting", "A Clockwork Orange" and I can haz cheezburger, the Molesworth books are spelled phonetically and written in dialect. By someone who can't spell. This means that it takes a while to get into them. And I'm still not sure what some of the 1950s slang means. The trade mark style of these books makes it tempting to have a punt at mimicry so here are my school days at St Custards Grammar School For Girls:

The scene is the form room of 10b. The gurls are engayged in activities befitting yung wimmen cosmo quizzis, makeup, finding the bits abowt (HEM-HEM) in Shirley Conran books and givving each other annerreksya, ect, ect. But soft! (posh prose) here come their form teacher. Miss Batley teech ART and kno nothing. She woud not recognise the gerund if it started nesting in the art cupboard and drinking the poster paint. (Mrs Roebuck the latin teacher kno all about the gerund and gerundives. She also make us stand by our desks and sa "Salway magistra" like we were at Mallory Towers chiz chiz chiz! ). "Hullo clouds, hullo sky," sa Miss Batley, "Hullo Personal and soshal education worksheets, hullo anti smoeking leaflets ect ect". Miss Batley's antismoeking leaflets do more for the tabacco industry than smoeking beegles. 10b adopt the 1000 yard stair of trormatised veterans when will the torment end ect ect. And still it continue! Now we must do roll pla and try to sell each other drugs but hav scientist found a drug which fry the mind like personal and sowshal edukation? They hav not.

An Utterly Impartial History of Great Britain or 2000 Years of Upper Class Idiots in Charge by John O'Farrel

This book is something like an attempt to create a more up-to-date version of "1066 And all That". It is a fine example of"scattergun" humour: Most jokes are a bit rubbish, but there are a lot of them and every so often one works. Given free choice, I generally prefer to get my humourous history from the lovely Mark Steel (How clever do all the people who mocked him for still being a socialist feel now,eh?) but this book has done its share of chipping away at the vast edifice of my ignorance...

Things I didn't know before I read this:

1. That we lost the hundred years war. It should have been bit of a clue to me that we don't own France anymore. I knew all about the longbow and the Battle of Aigincourt, but I wasn't aware of the bit where the French get really good with artillery and kick our asses.
2. The last time Britain was successfully invaded by a foreign power was not 1066 but 1688 when William of Orange showed up with a massive army and a very ropey claim to the throne and was crowned king.
3. That the "Rufus Stone" in the New Forrest marks the place where William Rufus was assassinated.

Things I still can't remember:
1. Which Henry was which.
2. Which Edward was which.

The Peculiar Memories of Thomas Penman by Bruce Robinson

A coming-of-age tale by the writer of "Withnail and I" set in the 1950s. And what a strange decade the 1950s were: beating your children was acceptable while masturbation was beyond the pale.

Thomas Penman is 15 and lives with his godawful parents who hate him and each other. His father actively beats and bullies him while his limp and useless mother spends all her time boiling up cheap, nasty meat for her dogs which she allows to shit in the house. By the end of the book you can practically smell the shit and dogmeat. Also living with them is Thomas' beloved grandfather who is dying of cancer. Being 15, Thomas is not so much concerned with the gaping hole that the old man's death will leave in his life, but with what will happen to his grandfather's prodigious collection of pornography on his demise. Grandfather is not a loveable, white-haired, Werther's-toting old gent! Following the trauma of serving in the First World War, he went a bit strange and devoted himself to creating rather eccentric porn - such as erotic stories about boys at public school and pictures of naked women whose bums he has replaced with a second pair of breasts. The jewel in this porno crown turns out to be a picture of a woman with who seems to have a duck up her arse, with just its head sticking out. If Grandad dies, Mum and Dad will go through his things and this priceless collection will be thrown away. And so the young, gonad-driven Thomas begins the sneaky rumaging through his grandad's stuff that will eventually expose all his family's secrets.

I really enjoyed this book, mostly because it is filled with lurid descriptions of rather disgusting things, whether they are old, incontinent dogs, the contents of teenage boys' minds, the hypocrisy of nearly all the adults or the grisly deaths of crabs exploded by Thomas and his best friend as a hobby. All of life is here and looking pretty unwholesome. Here's a taste taken from a description of how Thomas lurks about his home:

"More often than not he located in the hall, wedged between the wall and a piece of furniture called a tallboy. When there was no one around this was his favourite spot. It was a dark, secret place, with bland wallpaper covered in dots. No one else ever got in here. (The only other person who ever got in here was his grandfather who had been known to exploit the isolation to hang his testicles over the banisters.)"

From now on whenever some old timer tries to tell me that things were better in the 50s when children weren't cheeky, women knew their place and gays could probably be burned at the stake, I shall be thinking of the woman with a duck up her arse...