What’s that noise?

Obviously language develops. And no-one in their right mind wants to get in the way of progress. But it doesn’t stop you being annoyed. Not in a ‘Lynne Truss gets annoyed at market traders (or trader’s, tee hee)’ style. More in a stop making sense style. So, just for readers of the Emu, my top 10 list of irritating things that people say.

1. Any advance on 100%. Very popular with footballers, who are constantly ‘giving 110%’, then get into a battle over the course of a season where this is gradually increased to 150%. Of course, there is always the chance that the benchmark for your average footballer is about half of what they could achieve, so that their maximum capability was actually 200%. But I think it’s more likely to be crap use of language. Actually, the footballer angle doesn’t unduly worry me; it ends up being a Ron Manager-like pastiche. But I think the X-factor style ‘one million percent yes’ is really irritating.

2. The correct use of ‘well’. A particular annoyance at Emu Towers, where the small Emus are fully aware that calling anything ‘well good’ causes their doting father to turn from Bill Bixby to Lou Ferrigno almost instantly. Of course, this turns into good sport, particularly for #3:
“How are you this morning, Felix?”
“I’m well well, Dad”
And so on…

3. I’m not being <<insert code here>>, but…
I used to work with someone who would always start sentences with ‘I’m not being funny, but…’. And they never were.
Pop ‘racist’ into the sentence, and inevitably people think they can get away with the most outrageous slurs, because they’ve defended themselves accordingly. Astonishing.

4. The correct use of literally. I saw a TV show recently where someone said “My heart was literally in my mouth”. No it wasn’t, you daft twit. And more worryingly, #2 recently tried on some headphones that “literally made my head explode”. Just for that, he won’t be getting them for Christmas.

5. To be honest. Also a good one to start off a sentence. It sort of suggests that everything that doesn’t start off this way is a complete lie. Which it might be, for all I know.

6. For my sins. I don’t get this one at all. I got a phone call from someone at work once, who introduced himself with his name, promptly followed by’…for my sins’. As everyone’s favourite diminutive Scottish mackintosh clad popster would say…’it means nothing to me…’

7. …Aah Vienna. Meaningless song lyrics, used to minimal effect, in everyday language. Also see ‘Everything I do, I do for you’, and pretty much anything from the Bryan Adams back catalogue.

8. What’s that all about? Often used as a lazy end to a sentence, if you can’t really be arsed to give it due consideration. In my experience, very popular after a couple of pints by men sporting bad knitwear and worse haircuts.

9. OMG & LOL & ROTFL etc. Aside from the fact that a long time ago I used to be in a band called Laughing Out Loud and we soooo should have patented that name and made buckets of cash, it’s putting abbreviation in to irritate and show off most of the time. Honestly. FFS, how annoying.

10. Not a problem. Apparently this was quite the thing to say in the early 1990’s. I would like to suggest that anyone still using it in 2010 should probably be put in the stocks for not keeping up. In our local Co-op, there’s a sallow youth on the till who uses ‘Not a problem’ as a substitute for saying, well, anything else:
“Can I pay by card?”
“Not a problem”
“And some cashback?”
“Not a problem”
“£30 ok ?”
“Not a problem”
“Thanks”
“Not a problem”
“Bye then”
“Not a problem”

This is slightly irritating to me for two reasons. Firstly, I fear that he’s got so used to “Not a problem” being his stock response, that if his house was on fire, his car stolen, a plague of locusts came into the shop etc, then he’d be straight in with “Not a problem”. Secondly, I’m irritated that, a bit like ‘to be honest’ above, the implication is that there should be a problem in the first place. Which given the circs, means that I’m troubling him every time I go into the shop. Actually, put like that, I’m not overly bothered.

If you see any of these objectionable uses of our language on future pages of The Emu, feel free to pop round to my house and shoot me in the knee with a BB Gun. To be honest, I don’t think you will.

Stockholm Gala Days

Greetings from Stockholm, where Mr and Mrs Emu have been spending their annual few days away from the offspring, in an attempt to rekindle their sanity. And where better to hang out than Stockholm, home of the darker side of European cinema, where the nights start drawing in at about 2.30 pm, and where every time you venture outside, it’s like walking into a freezer. And apparently, we got out just in time; get here in December and you start getting down to a couple of hours of daylight and minus 20 degrees.

But, given that our cultural knowledge of Sweden up to this point had been largely driven by the works of Stieg Larsson, the Abba back catalogue, Bjorn Borg’s adventures with wooden racquets, the Bluewater branch of Ikea and those really cool 1960’s Volvos and Saabs, we set about the business of getting to know Stockholm as well we could. So, with no further ado, here are the top 7 things to know about Stockholm, presented to you by a very impressed visitor:

1. The Swedish parliament is represented by 17 different parties. That’s 17. Given the fuss that the UK has recently made about an effective coalition, how could it possibly work? Well, in a couple of ways. Firstly, it splits parliament down into sub groups responsible for policy and process – each group represents all parties. Secondly, when parliament sits, the decisions are made by individual vote. The members of parliament actually sit together in order of constituency rather than in their parties. This seems incredibly civilised to me.

2. There’s a sense of reserve about the place that manifests itself in how people engage with you. There’s no unfriendliness as such, although on the scale of judging a city entirely on the basis of how many people say hello to you on a run, it would rate alongside Barking. Or Thetford. But the idea that people aren’t jumping about trying to impress you all the time is all good in my book.

3. Because the Swedes have been busy being tolerant for so long, some of the approaches that you see in other countries seems woefully old fashioned. For example, the idea of a gay-friendly bar or district is, well, a bit 1960’s. Everybody seems to be switched on to a fairly enlightened approach to the environment, without necessarily being a hemp-toting hippy. Although, of course, these would be tolerated…

4. There seems to have been a problem with alcohol abuse in the Nordic countries for years. It’s not as super-expensive to buy a beer as it used to be, but that’s in the context of everyone being pricey. And that, in turn, is partly because VAT is running at a standard 25% But the issue with  alcohol was more a problem of abuse in the home, so the government decided to sell the stuff themselves, regulating the sales through their own chain of shops, that were only open until 3pm on weekdays. Rather worryingly, there are quite long queues outside the shops, but the recognition of alcohol as a drug that needs controlling is pretty neat. For a country with such a reputation for alcohol abuse, there’s no culture of drinking on the streets. A shame in a way as you could pretty much guarantee that your beer would always be cold.  

5. Like many European countries, Sweden’s language skills put ours to shame. And it’s not just knowing another language, it’s being super-fluent in it. Ask someone in Stockholm if they speak English, and they’ll say ‘of course’, rather than ‘a little’. I got lost while I was out running, and had to ask directions. I’d been running for about 40 minutes, and must have looked a right mess.
‘Can you tell me how to get to Skeppsholmen’, I asked a pedestrian.
‘Certainly’, he replied, ‘and will you be travelling by foot?’

6. Because of the extremes of the weather, there seems to be a natural affinity with nature, so people get out and about when they can; the centre of Stockholm is    littered with islands that have hardly any inhabitants that you can just wander, run or cycle around. And if you talk to someone about the weather, it’s like an audience with Michael Fish. except more fun.  

7. According to Mrs Emu, who knows about such things, the classic blonde Nordic look is down to a genetic deficiency that took the kerotene pigmentation out of the hair. And apparently, the Nordic men were quite taken with this, and bred little genetically deficient Scandinavians for generations afterwards, thereby leading to a long lineage reaching all the way to the wives of many Premiership footballers. Mrs Emu, I might add at this point, is a brunette. Anyway, apart from all of that, there’s a pretty healthy and vital look to lots of the people we met. We walked around quite a bit in central Stockholm and beyond, and really couldn’t find any obese people to point and laugh at. Similarly, there was a marked lack of chavvieness, although, given that almost everyone was wearing a black anorak, who knows what hellish fashion might have been beneath?

So, if it’s so fantastic,why don’t you just go and live there? Well, it’s bloody freezing, you have to pay four quid for a cup of coffee, and you’d have to watch a lot of  Ingmar Bergman films to fit in. But loads of stuff to learn, and I can’t recommend it highly enough for a visit. Just not in winter.  

Shock news – knee bone is indeed connected to the thigh bone

I’m acutely aware that it has become my habit to use this blog as a kind of substitute mother figure for complaining about all my aches and pains. Probably fair enough, as I’m also aware of my real mother’s rather direct view of such things – it goes along the lines of ‘If you stop running long distances, you’re less likely to injure yourself’. And fair enough, but not necessarily what you want to hear when a good proportion of your life revolves around those very distances.

For those of you who are runners, you’ll know what this means. After a couple of days of not running, you get a little, well, ansty. To the extent that, as 60’s pop favourites Peter & Gordon would have it, the birds sing out of tune. A couple more days of this, and your otherwise gregarious and kindly nature turns a little sour. This is a good time to get some advance apologising in to your family. After a couple of weeks, you start to notice that all the runners that you see out and about (and there are far more than there were a week ago…), have cheery smiles on their faces. They’re also running faster than you’re ever likely to manage on your return…should this ever happen. Another week and you feel more Wagner than Cher, as I believe you young people might say.

So, I’m pleased to announce that the Emu is back and running. And the journey back has been an interesting one, which I’ll try to summarise for you.

Running hasn’t been quite right since I did my back in during the summer, and I started to have a problem in my left knee a month later. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a ‘bit of a dull ache that you could run through’ sort of a problem, it was more of a ‘sudden collapse of the left leg leaving you like a dropped puppet’ sort of an affair. It was, as they say round these parts, ‘rarely waird’ as it also managed to come with shooting nerve pains and elephantine-like swellings.

Talking this interesting phenomena through a couple of days later, a friend recommended a masseur who could iron out all sorts of muscular and nerve problems. So a couple of days later I found myself, not for the first time in my life, semi naked on a bench with a perfect stranger with unknown qualifications moving my back about.

An interesting approach to first impressions as well, as Mrs Emu arrived just as we’d got going, after her 12 hour shift a-nursing. Introduced Mrs E, and Mr Masseur announced that he had no time in his life for western medicine. Mrs E mentioned that she’d had to deal with a 12″ blood clot that afternoon. Mr M said that the way to resolve such ailments was to take a little cayenne pepper. So, having isolated 50% of the potential customers in the house, he went on to address the second half. As he dug about in the nether regions of my back, he came across an astonishing discovery, and I heard him whisper faintly…’aha, it’s trapped’. Fearing I’d misjudged him, and that he really did know what he was doing, I asked what he’d found. A trapped nerve, causing all my referred problems? Sadly no. Apparently he’d identified some trapped energy. And it all went a little downhill from there. Towards the end of the session, he was moving some nerves around in my feet, using the faux-science that I believe is called reflexology. I asked why the right foot was so much more painful than the left. Apparently it’s because the right foot represents the past, and the left one the future. To give the man some credit, he did at least have the grace to look a little embarrassed. Anyhow, after about an hour, he prescribed some magnesium crystals.  I tried to bend my left leg and travelled at some speed towards the ceiling.

After a couple of weeks of rest, a visit to a knee specialist, an X-ray, an MRI scan, and a general sense of relief around having health insurance, I ended up on the bench of a fine physiotherapist who looked at my legs, tutted loudly about the muscle tone in my left thigh, and noted that my left leg was about half an inch longer than my right. ‘Funny’, I said, ‘I’d never noticed that’. ‘No’, he said. ‘It’s where you put your back out in August, and the pelvis hasn’t reset properly’. And so, with a bit of manipulation and a loud crack, my legs were restored to roughly the same length.  And so I get back to running.

What does this tell us about life, the world and everything?

Well, as John Lydon once notably said: ‘Never trust a hippy’.

And as the Emu says: ‘The kneebone’s connected to the thighbone…’