Right, so this is my attempt to throw my considerable international influence into the "File-Sharing: Yay or Nay" debate. I've not done much research, so this could be horrendous.
What spurred me to write this post are a few links I Stumbled Upon a while back, a various reports I've read of the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) targeting evil file-sharers and forcing obscene amounts of money out of them.
Firstly, this one: http://img40.imageshack.us/img40/9172/1245456677307.jpg it's fairly self explanatory. $80'000 FOR ONE DOWNLOAD! YOU MUST BE KIDDING ME! How can the RIAA possibly justify such harsh penalty? The fine would be less if that woman nicked the CDs from a shop!
There was another one but I can't find it :( Sad Face.
The government has done an about-face on its previously somewhat-liberal stance on file-sharing and now has pledged to crackdown on it instead, with threats of disconnected internet and fines and blahblahblah. Let's be clear on this - if people can file-share they will, and theres nothing anyone can do about it: people are too cheap and the internet too hard to govern (but thats a whole different discussion). The old cliché is true - if you can't beat 'em join 'em, which is what many musicians are now doing. The highest profile of these is of course Radiohead's famous you-choose-the-price download of In Rainbows (I paid £4 and probably would have got it illegally if i had to pay a tenner), but recently Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails fame and apparent foreward-thinker has given his ten cents to the discussion, concerning how aspiring musicians can embrace file-sharing to build a fan-base for free and then start charging, which can be seen here: http://forum.nin.com/bb/read.php?30,767183,767183
The man's talking sense.
There's more to add but i'm tired an no one is going to read this anyway.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Acrobat - Jo Webb & the Dirty Hands
11 songs about failure
On his website, Jo Webb states his influences as Andy Partidge, Roger Waters, Frank Zappa, the Beatles and Iron Maiden, but in truth, Acrobat, Jo Webb's debut, sound more like a mixture of Maximo Park and The Feeling, or an English counterpart to Harvey Danger.
Jo Webb also claims that the Dirty Hands are 'the best band you've never heard of', and after listening through he may well be right. At times, the songs crackle with energy, and none more so than in Acrobat - the first single and album opener - an ecclectic mix of crunchy guitars, hooky synths and a catchy chorus, Acrobat has a youthful exuberance not heard since the aforementioned Feeling's Twelve Stops From Home. And Acrobat isn't even the best song. No, that title lies with Happy Man. Its a darker song than Acrobat and perhaps less radio-friendly, clearly the 'Happy Man' is anything but. Lines like "Dont need to drink yourself to sleep/don't need to bury the food you eat" and "Break it down, life is full of misery so why participate?" show the darker side of Jo Webb's lyrics.
Its not all plain sailing. Towards the end of the album the quality takes a dip, notably Invisible and Dissolved, but perks up again for the final two. Invisible is incongrously uninteresting, with some awkwardly phrased melodies and lyrics (what would people do if all the money in the world dissapeared and all their treasures were worth absolutely nothing at all?). Similarly, Dissolved never really gets going either, though not quite to the extent of Invisible. Given the overall quality of the record these blips can be mostly overlooked, but its just a shame they're present because Jo Webb can undoubtably write better songs.
The million-pound question is, Will they ever become well-known? In a fair world, where music is judged by quality, and people have time for a more modest band exempt from celebrity-crazed egotism and well-crafted, infectious pop songs, then yes, but sadly this is not the case, and despite the quality of this record, I get the impression that that Jo Webb and the Dirty Hands will plug away as unknowns without making much of an impression on public consciousness.
Tracks to download:
Just buy the damn album!
On his website, Jo Webb states his influences as Andy Partidge, Roger Waters, Frank Zappa, the Beatles and Iron Maiden, but in truth, Acrobat, Jo Webb's debut, sound more like a mixture of Maximo Park and The Feeling, or an English counterpart to Harvey Danger.
Jo Webb also claims that the Dirty Hands are 'the best band you've never heard of', and after listening through he may well be right. At times, the songs crackle with energy, and none more so than in Acrobat - the first single and album opener - an ecclectic mix of crunchy guitars, hooky synths and a catchy chorus, Acrobat has a youthful exuberance not heard since the aforementioned Feeling's Twelve Stops From Home. And Acrobat isn't even the best song. No, that title lies with Happy Man. Its a darker song than Acrobat and perhaps less radio-friendly, clearly the 'Happy Man' is anything but. Lines like "Dont need to drink yourself to sleep/don't need to bury the food you eat" and "Break it down, life is full of misery so why participate?" show the darker side of Jo Webb's lyrics.
Its not all plain sailing. Towards the end of the album the quality takes a dip, notably Invisible and Dissolved, but perks up again for the final two. Invisible is incongrously uninteresting, with some awkwardly phrased melodies and lyrics (what would people do if all the money in the world dissapeared and all their treasures were worth absolutely nothing at all?). Similarly, Dissolved never really gets going either, though not quite to the extent of Invisible. Given the overall quality of the record these blips can be mostly overlooked, but its just a shame they're present because Jo Webb can undoubtably write better songs.
The million-pound question is, Will they ever become well-known? In a fair world, where music is judged by quality, and people have time for a more modest band exempt from celebrity-crazed egotism and well-crafted, infectious pop songs, then yes, but sadly this is not the case, and despite the quality of this record, I get the impression that that Jo Webb and the Dirty Hands will plug away as unknowns without making much of an impression on public consciousness.
Tracks to download:
Just buy the damn album!
Sunday, 19 July 2009
Jo Webb and the Dirty Hands come to Furze Platt
Right, so while I was still at school the sixth form was asked if they wanted to participate in the filming of a music video for a friend of Mr Richards' band. The theme was to be an 1980's American Prom, two things which I'm not very good at - dancing and being an 80s kid. I suited up and went down to FP and the main hall, where it had been slightly transformed into an 80s styley thing. There wasn't a massive turn up, maybe 20-25 or so, but smaller numbers meant more camera time, which is always a good thing, right?
We were split into the standard cliques for an American (or really any) High School - the 'fit ones', the jocks, the bullies and the geeks. And Chris. Chris Darby was chosen to play a younger version of the singer, Jo Webb, and the main action of the shoot revolved around him, mainly him having his trousers and underwear pulled down in front of some un-impressed girls. The rest of us got to look shocked/make the small-penis sign in the background. Good fun!
Then it was time for the band to play, with us dancing away in the foreground, so several groups of 3-4 danced in front of the camera while everyone else danced and the band played in the background. I had worked out an utterly fabulous dance routine for Peach, Jamie, Liam and I which we performed enthusiastically for a while. The best part was since we weren't supposed to be cool we could dance as awfully as we wanted, cue the old man boogie and the lawnmower.
The song, Acrobat surprised us all by actually being really good and catchy; the band and director were really friendly as well and open to any silly ideas we had. Best of all, we all got free CD's which I may review in the near future.
All in all, it turned out to be well worth my while going and I can't wait to see the finished article on youtube.
We were split into the standard cliques for an American (or really any) High School - the 'fit ones', the jocks, the bullies and the geeks. And Chris. Chris Darby was chosen to play a younger version of the singer, Jo Webb, and the main action of the shoot revolved around him, mainly him having his trousers and underwear pulled down in front of some un-impressed girls. The rest of us got to look shocked/make the small-penis sign in the background. Good fun!
Then it was time for the band to play, with us dancing away in the foreground, so several groups of 3-4 danced in front of the camera while everyone else danced and the band played in the background. I had worked out an utterly fabulous dance routine for Peach, Jamie, Liam and I which we performed enthusiastically for a while. The best part was since we weren't supposed to be cool we could dance as awfully as we wanted, cue the old man boogie and the lawnmower.
The song, Acrobat surprised us all by actually being really good and catchy; the band and director were really friendly as well and open to any silly ideas we had. Best of all, we all got free CD's which I may review in the near future.
All in all, it turned out to be well worth my while going and I can't wait to see the finished article on youtube.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Footbore (so witty!)
Right, so I'm only beginning this one this way to keep up the trend.
In stark contrast to the blog below, I'm going to write about why I've become so disillusioned with football. Its a farce, and frankly I can't be bothered with it any more. That is, until the 16th August...
I suppose the thing that triggered this abandonment is Cristiano Ronaldo, and the hubbub surrounding his megabucks move to Real Madrid. The man has to honour and his word means nothing. "I am definately staying at Manchester United, no matter what happens tonight" he lied before this seasons Champions League final. He acts like a child. "Playing for Real Madrid has been my dream since I was a child" says Mr. Ronaldo, but it seems to me that now the dream has come true he still thinks he is a child, and his way of expressing he frustration is by throwing his toys out his pram. Sir Alex Ferguson being Sir Alex Ferguson promptly throws them back, but such is the demand for Ronaldo he can do what he likes, namely moving to Madrid.
And then there is the financial side. No human being, no matter how good, should be worth £80 000 000. Its obscene, but because of the ever-raising transfer sales we've become immune and its becoming the norm. Shady foreign businessmen now see Europes biggest football clubs as ways of making money and expanding brand awareness into every corner of the earth. Its no longer for the love of the game, but money, pure and simple. Dr. Sulaiman Al-Fahim and Sheik Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan, the two public faces of the Abu Dhabi United Group that took over Manchester City want to use it as a brand to increase exposure of Abu Dhabi in other countries, especially populous East-Asian countries. Make no mistake, this is Abu Dhabi as a country.Thus, football has become political.
The Right Honourable Cristano Ronaldo has taken the brunt of this rant, though he is not alone in provoking my scorn. Didier Drogba is a scumbag. As is Thaksin Shinawatra, previous owner of Manchester City and Human Rights abuser. Next to Ronaldo, the people who get my goat the worst are players like Daniel Sturridge, an 19 year old Manchester City player (I think I can see a trend emerging...) who demanded 80k-a-week. What has Sturridge achieve to earn such wages? A league victory for City? A strong showing in the CL? A heap of goals? No. None of this. All he has done is made 21 appearances for the first team and score a few goals. But such is the climate that has been created by massive injections of money into the Premier League, Sturridge and his peers are able to make such ludicrous demands. Fortunately he was rejected, so City's owners aren't stupid at least.
Also, perhaps, another reason why I've gone off football is that the teams I support always lose. I can take Spurs losing, but not England. I was so happy when England managed to actually win a penalty shootout in the semi-final, but that made a dreaful, humiliatingly easy 4-0 defeat to Germany all the more bitter.
Maybe I should just support a Championship team...
In stark contrast to the blog below, I'm going to write about why I've become so disillusioned with football. Its a farce, and frankly I can't be bothered with it any more. That is, until the 16th August...
I suppose the thing that triggered this abandonment is Cristiano Ronaldo, and the hubbub surrounding his megabucks move to Real Madrid. The man has to honour and his word means nothing. "I am definately staying at Manchester United, no matter what happens tonight" he lied before this seasons Champions League final. He acts like a child. "Playing for Real Madrid has been my dream since I was a child" says Mr. Ronaldo, but it seems to me that now the dream has come true he still thinks he is a child, and his way of expressing he frustration is by throwing his toys out his pram. Sir Alex Ferguson being Sir Alex Ferguson promptly throws them back, but such is the demand for Ronaldo he can do what he likes, namely moving to Madrid.
And then there is the financial side. No human being, no matter how good, should be worth £80 000 000. Its obscene, but because of the ever-raising transfer sales we've become immune and its becoming the norm. Shady foreign businessmen now see Europes biggest football clubs as ways of making money and expanding brand awareness into every corner of the earth. Its no longer for the love of the game, but money, pure and simple. Dr. Sulaiman Al-Fahim and Sheik Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan, the two public faces of the Abu Dhabi United Group that took over Manchester City want to use it as a brand to increase exposure of Abu Dhabi in other countries, especially populous East-Asian countries. Make no mistake, this is Abu Dhabi as a country.Thus, football has become political.
The Right Honourable Cristano Ronaldo has taken the brunt of this rant, though he is not alone in provoking my scorn. Didier Drogba is a scumbag. As is Thaksin Shinawatra, previous owner of Manchester City and Human Rights abuser. Next to Ronaldo, the people who get my goat the worst are players like Daniel Sturridge, an 19 year old Manchester City player (I think I can see a trend emerging...) who demanded 80k-a-week. What has Sturridge achieve to earn such wages? A league victory for City? A strong showing in the CL? A heap of goals? No. None of this. All he has done is made 21 appearances for the first team and score a few goals. But such is the climate that has been created by massive injections of money into the Premier League, Sturridge and his peers are able to make such ludicrous demands. Fortunately he was rejected, so City's owners aren't stupid at least.
Also, perhaps, another reason why I've gone off football is that the teams I support always lose. I can take Spurs losing, but not England. I was so happy when England managed to actually win a penalty shootout in the semi-final, but that made a dreaful, humiliatingly easy 4-0 defeat to Germany all the more bitter.
Maybe I should just support a Championship team...
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Tour de Force
Right, so the the 106th Tour de France (or at least 106 years since the first one, I can't be bothered with the maths when you exclude the races missed by war) started last Saturday, and my love of the Tour has been re-kindled once more. The Tour de France is something of a mastermind topic of mine, thanks to a 100th anniversary book that my uncle bought my dad in 2003 which details every single year of the race through a combination of stunning photography and wonderful writing that perfectly captures the essence and spirit of the race. At my peak I knew every winner since World War Two, yes I know thats sad but I would argue that all that knowledge was more accumulated through wider reading that specific learning, cause that would be really sad.
I digress. The point of this blog is just to explain why I like it so much, and if anyone does happen upon this humble weblog and is un-initiated in the ways of the Tour de France, maybe they could have a look.
Firstly though, is the true star of the Tour de France: France itself. I would like to point out that I am in no way enamoured with the Gallic people, but my God, they have some stunning scenery. The great mountain ranges of the Pyrenees and the Alps are the stars of the show, but also the rolling countryside and quaint villages that le Tour sweeps through in a blur of colour and cheering Frenchmen plays a significant part too. The sight of a line of riders powering up narrow mountain passes then flying down the steep and exhilirating descents is inspiring. The great mountains of the Tour de France have been edified by the years, and the great moments of the Tour have been held on their slopes, like last years weightless ascent of Carlos Sastre up l'Alp D'Huez, supported valiantly by the Schleck brothers, or the crushing solo break-aways of Eddy Merckx. The mountains have even seen death, for instance the tragic demise of British rider Tom Simpson on the slopes of Mont Ventoux in '67 or the more recent crash that saw Fabio Cassartelli carrer of the road on a descent and plough into a bollard in '95. I feel these moments, though tragic, heighten the mysticism of the Tour; its man pitted against nature at its most extreme.
The Tour is the most demanding event in the sporting calendar: three long weeks through the French countryside is no mean feat, yet this utmost level of difficult leads to glory, and in search of glory come great men. The tour has played host to many charismatic and talented athletes, from the early begginings of Maurice Garin, vía such greats as Fausto Coppi, Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault, Miguel Indurain and most recently, Lance Armstrong to name but a few. These men not only have the ability to win, but also to entertain. They are charismatic and enigmatic, not to mention oft controversial. Jacques Anquetil, the joint most succesful Frenchman never won the admiration of the French public in the same way his great rival, Raymond Poulidor did, and Eddy Merckx, usually seen as the greatest rider ever was said to be relentless ruthless, and didn't even have the courtest to 'leave the smallest of crumbs' for his rivals during 5 domineering years in Yellow. I could ramble on for hours about the greats of the Tour, but I'm not going to, because it would be boring and I'd run out of adjective.
However, the yellow lions main is flecked with striped of black, for the Tour does have a dark side which in recent years has come perilously close to de-railing it altogether. Of what evil do I speak? Shortly: drugs. Such are the demands that are placed upon the body during the race, it is of little surprise that the weaker of the men with a poor conscience have resorted to drugs to gain an advantage over their rivals. And after one does it, the dominoes all start falling. It is a problem that has dogged the sport as a whole, not just in the Tour, but across all disciplines of cycling, and even now the Tour has been unable to shake it off. The drugs scandal peaked in 1998 with the Festina affair - large amounts of performance enhancing drugs were found in the car of the director of the Festina team, bringing the race to a standstill for a few days.
Unfortunately, as methods of detecting doped-up riders became more effecient, so did the ways of staying undetected. Blood doping, the method by which the rider removes a pint of blood a few weeks before a race, then injects it back in to gain a huge red blood-cell bonus, is almost impossible to detect, only finding the bags filled with blood is reliable evidence. Riders continue to be found using: last year saw several main protagonists found guilty of doping during and after the race, though the winner was clean, unlike 2006 when Floyd Landis was found guilty after wearing yellow down the Champs Elysee.
Fortunately there does seem to be light at the end of the tunnel. Previous doper David Millar, a Scottish time-trial specialist has been waging war against dopers, and he seems to be having some success. Several teams, notable Millar's Garmin-Chipotle team have declared themselves dope-free, and operate entirely transparently, and several other teams have followed suit, pleasing with British riders being the loudest advocates.
Anyways enough of this, I'm dragging on. In my eyes the Tour de France is the greatest annual event on the sporting calendar. It has everything sport should: it has passion, adversity, glory, defeat, great entertainers, great winners and great losers. Vive le Tour!
I digress. The point of this blog is just to explain why I like it so much, and if anyone does happen upon this humble weblog and is un-initiated in the ways of the Tour de France, maybe they could have a look.
Firstly though, is the true star of the Tour de France: France itself. I would like to point out that I am in no way enamoured with the Gallic people, but my God, they have some stunning scenery. The great mountain ranges of the Pyrenees and the Alps are the stars of the show, but also the rolling countryside and quaint villages that le Tour sweeps through in a blur of colour and cheering Frenchmen plays a significant part too. The sight of a line of riders powering up narrow mountain passes then flying down the steep and exhilirating descents is inspiring. The great mountains of the Tour de France have been edified by the years, and the great moments of the Tour have been held on their slopes, like last years weightless ascent of Carlos Sastre up l'Alp D'Huez, supported valiantly by the Schleck brothers, or the crushing solo break-aways of Eddy Merckx. The mountains have even seen death, for instance the tragic demise of British rider Tom Simpson on the slopes of Mont Ventoux in '67 or the more recent crash that saw Fabio Cassartelli carrer of the road on a descent and plough into a bollard in '95. I feel these moments, though tragic, heighten the mysticism of the Tour; its man pitted against nature at its most extreme.
The Tour is the most demanding event in the sporting calendar: three long weeks through the French countryside is no mean feat, yet this utmost level of difficult leads to glory, and in search of glory come great men. The tour has played host to many charismatic and talented athletes, from the early begginings of Maurice Garin, vía such greats as Fausto Coppi, Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault, Miguel Indurain and most recently, Lance Armstrong to name but a few. These men not only have the ability to win, but also to entertain. They are charismatic and enigmatic, not to mention oft controversial. Jacques Anquetil, the joint most succesful Frenchman never won the admiration of the French public in the same way his great rival, Raymond Poulidor did, and Eddy Merckx, usually seen as the greatest rider ever was said to be relentless ruthless, and didn't even have the courtest to 'leave the smallest of crumbs' for his rivals during 5 domineering years in Yellow. I could ramble on for hours about the greats of the Tour, but I'm not going to, because it would be boring and I'd run out of adjective.
However, the yellow lions main is flecked with striped of black, for the Tour does have a dark side which in recent years has come perilously close to de-railing it altogether. Of what evil do I speak? Shortly: drugs. Such are the demands that are placed upon the body during the race, it is of little surprise that the weaker of the men with a poor conscience have resorted to drugs to gain an advantage over their rivals. And after one does it, the dominoes all start falling. It is a problem that has dogged the sport as a whole, not just in the Tour, but across all disciplines of cycling, and even now the Tour has been unable to shake it off. The drugs scandal peaked in 1998 with the Festina affair - large amounts of performance enhancing drugs were found in the car of the director of the Festina team, bringing the race to a standstill for a few days.
Unfortunately, as methods of detecting doped-up riders became more effecient, so did the ways of staying undetected. Blood doping, the method by which the rider removes a pint of blood a few weeks before a race, then injects it back in to gain a huge red blood-cell bonus, is almost impossible to detect, only finding the bags filled with blood is reliable evidence. Riders continue to be found using: last year saw several main protagonists found guilty of doping during and after the race, though the winner was clean, unlike 2006 when Floyd Landis was found guilty after wearing yellow down the Champs Elysee.
Fortunately there does seem to be light at the end of the tunnel. Previous doper David Millar, a Scottish time-trial specialist has been waging war against dopers, and he seems to be having some success. Several teams, notable Millar's Garmin-Chipotle team have declared themselves dope-free, and operate entirely transparently, and several other teams have followed suit, pleasing with British riders being the loudest advocates.
Anyways enough of this, I'm dragging on. In my eyes the Tour de France is the greatest annual event on the sporting calendar. It has everything sport should: it has passion, adversity, glory, defeat, great entertainers, great winners and great losers. Vive le Tour!
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Hyde Park Life
Right, so last thursday me and Ali bunked off school to go see Blur in Hyde Park their third public performance since reforming earlier this year. Unfortunately, I had quite a lot of drink so my reccolections are a bit blurry. Hiyooooooo! I jest, I was def sober. We got there really early so basically spent 6 hours in the sun, watching the lame warm up acts and waiting for The Real Deal to come on stage. Quick run-through of the support: first up the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, a group of brass-playing Americans who were actually pretty good. Second up were the Golden Silvers, kinda a Morrissey rip-off band - the singer had nailed that trademark mournful caterwaul perfectly. After that Crystal Castles performed in what can best be described as bizzare; the front-woman, sporting an 'Oasis Have Aids' t-shirt stumbled through their set. She was either completely off her face on who-knows-what, or is really good at pretending to be inebriated. She fell over a speaker at one point and took a few moments to get up again with the help of a poor stage-hand who spent the rest of their set trying to stop her mic lead getting tangled as she wobbled all over the stage. Finally, the only bad I had previously heard of, Foals, were just plain old boring. I've never been a big fan of their music and nothing they played did anything to change my mind. Onwards and Upwards.
Blur finally entered the stage at 8:30 to rapturous support, and the crowd loved it. The whole 'amazing atmosphere' that people tend to talk about at events like this finally became evident; it was amazing. Blur were inspired, and blasted through some twenty-five songs, both famous and not so much, with panaché, including two encores. The shoddyness of their support on cast the talents of Blur in greater relief. Most bands are better live, but for Blur the difference was even greater. Tender, the great balad in Blurs back-catalogue, was given a greater poignancy by the 55'000 strong crowd singing along in unison: it really is a beautiful song, and desparately underrated by johnny public. Other highlights included the closing song before the encores, This Is A Low, which was so good it made the encores seem a bit (just a tad!) weaker. Retrospectively perhaps it should have been the final song, it would have been a fantastic send-off.
Anther fun thing during the day was the crowds tendency to lob plastic bottles at anybody and everybody that went up on someone elses shoulders. To some, this is the height of idiocy, but frankly when is it not fun to throw stuff at someone else?? One complaint, where was Charmless Man? God knows we shouted loud enough for it. On another note, I was looking through the myriad videos on youtube of the concert, and lo-and-behold, I found one with Ali and I in it, what are the chances!
Ace day!
Blur finally entered the stage at 8:30 to rapturous support, and the crowd loved it. The whole 'amazing atmosphere' that people tend to talk about at events like this finally became evident; it was amazing. Blur were inspired, and blasted through some twenty-five songs, both famous and not so much, with panaché, including two encores. The shoddyness of their support on cast the talents of Blur in greater relief. Most bands are better live, but for Blur the difference was even greater. Tender, the great balad in Blurs back-catalogue, was given a greater poignancy by the 55'000 strong crowd singing along in unison: it really is a beautiful song, and desparately underrated by johnny public. Other highlights included the closing song before the encores, This Is A Low, which was so good it made the encores seem a bit (just a tad!) weaker. Retrospectively perhaps it should have been the final song, it would have been a fantastic send-off.
Anther fun thing during the day was the crowds tendency to lob plastic bottles at anybody and everybody that went up on someone elses shoulders. To some, this is the height of idiocy, but frankly when is it not fun to throw stuff at someone else?? One complaint, where was Charmless Man? God knows we shouted loud enough for it. On another note, I was looking through the myriad videos on youtube of the concert, and lo-and-behold, I found one with Ali and I in it, what are the chances!
Ace day!
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Right, so I was bored earlier in the week and was just Stumbling around the internet like usual, when I chanced upon an article about some security workers being forced to remove an inch-by-inch Union Jack from their sleeve worn in support of our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, because their superiors said it could be construed as offensive. Thats right, offensive.
I was flabbergasted. So flabbergasted in fact that I actually used the word flabberghasted, which never happens.
This is by no means an isolated incident. During major football tournaments people bring out the cross of St George, and incidents have arised where 'perpatrators' have been asked to removed them or cover them from view. @!"%!$^!
We must be the only country in the world to find our own flag to be offensive. Though the glory days are long gone, I still feel proud to be British, but this was hard to swallow. I'm trying hard to avoid the the R-word, but I'm fairly sure that the influx of nationalistic and devout muslims immigrating from the east are the root of this travesty and loss of British identity. However, this perhaps is only a contributor and not the main cause, which I would blame on our saturatedly polictially-correct society which says all peoples beliefs should be held equal, which is fair enough, but people are so afraid of causing offense to minorites that they would rather offend the majority. This is something that we have grown immune to and is seen as standard practice; thus British identity is left by the wayside in favour of other groups. Thank God British music is still going strong.
Speaking of British music, one of the posters on the aformentioned article posted a youtube link which neatly summarised my feelings, to the tune of the Kinks' Living on a Thin Line.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IIzNmLDvb8
I was flabbergasted. So flabbergasted in fact that I actually used the word flabberghasted, which never happens.
This is by no means an isolated incident. During major football tournaments people bring out the cross of St George, and incidents have arised where 'perpatrators' have been asked to removed them or cover them from view. @!"%!$^!
We must be the only country in the world to find our own flag to be offensive. Though the glory days are long gone, I still feel proud to be British, but this was hard to swallow. I'm trying hard to avoid the the R-word, but I'm fairly sure that the influx of nationalistic and devout muslims immigrating from the east are the root of this travesty and loss of British identity. However, this perhaps is only a contributor and not the main cause, which I would blame on our saturatedly polictially-correct society which says all peoples beliefs should be held equal, which is fair enough, but people are so afraid of causing offense to minorites that they would rather offend the majority. This is something that we have grown immune to and is seen as standard practice; thus British identity is left by the wayside in favour of other groups. Thank God British music is still going strong.
Speaking of British music, one of the posters on the aformentioned article posted a youtube link which neatly summarised my feelings, to the tune of the Kinks' Living on a Thin Line.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IIzNmLDvb8
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