The World's Fair

Teenager’s the world over have a cry that, although the language in which it’s spoken may change, carries precisely the same meaning and exasperation for their parents.

‘It’s not fair!’

And you know what? The teenager’s right. But get over it, kid. Life’s not fair for any of us. It never was. And anyhow, you don’t really mean that ‘the world’s not fair’. What you really mean is ‘the world doesn’t operate the way that I want it to’.

The concept of fairness is incredibly hard to define. The King of All Dictionaries, the Oxford, defines fair as “just or appropriate in the circumstances”. Look up ‘just’ and you’ll see “based on or behaving according to what is morally right and fair”. So fair equals just and just equals fair. These are not black and white, they’re judgement calls and each of us would have our own choice of what they mean.

Imagine two men in the same town. Your town, maybe. Perhaps even your street. Let’s call them John and Paul.

Now John has his own business and employs quite a few men and women in the area. He looks at Paul and sees a man of his own age who has spent more than half his life claiming various benefits and thinks that life just isn’t fair. Why should he pay his taxes to support a guy who doesn’t support himself or his family? It just isn’t fair.

Paul on the other hand has tried to look for work, he really has, but there aren’t any jobs out there for a man of his age that it would be worth his while to take, not when he’s got three children to look after as well. The way he sees it, people like John should help him out. John can afford a nanny to look after his kids. It just isn’t fair.

Which one’s right? Both. Or neither. Which one you would agree with depends on your political view. A succession of governments have implemented what they believe to be the best policies to make our society fair but without a generally accepted definition of what ‘fair’ actually is, they face an impossible task. Both Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair won landslide election victories by promoting a vision of a fairer Britain. Whatever you might think of their respective levels of success, it’s difficult to see either of them being elected today.

Or perhaps I’m being unfair?

Fear Itself

Perspiration’s never a good thing. A pounding heart and light-headedness aren’t very welcome either. Neither is a dose of the shakes, and a case of the dodgy tummy is always to be avoided. But sadly these are extreme symptoms of something that we all experience at some time or other in our lives:  fear.

Fear is one of the most basic of all human emotions. It triggers our ‘fight or flight’ instinct where we either stand our ground or leg it, deciding the odds aren’t in our favour and that it’s better to live to fight another day. Now that’s all well and good if you’re facing down a charging buffalo or the playground bully but I’m not quite so sure how it works when faced with having to complete a set of company accounts.

I’m not too confident when it comes to sorting my business finances. They induce an emotion of ‘bad-scared’ in me. This is quite similar to ‘good-scared’ – the feeling you get watching a spooky film in the safety of your own home – but with the unwanted added reality of consequences. In this case, the consequences are those of HMRC.

Now, in the same way that Catholics can get their sins removed by a priest, in this particular instance I could pay to have my fears removed by an accountant. They’re trained to handle it much better than I am. To be honest though, that would eat up any profits that I might have made throughout the year, thereby being a bit of a false economy. Anyhow, accountants are pretty scary themselves, only slightly less so than clowns, ventriloquist’s dummies or that bloke who’s replaced the meerkat in the insurance advert.

No, it’s time to face up to this particular phobia head-on. It’s time to just get on with it. It’s time to prepare my accounts. So you’ll excuse me if I end a bit early this week. Not only do I have lots of adding up and taking away to do (primarily taking away) but I’ve also got to go to the dentist for a filling.

I keep telling myself – there’s nothing to fear, there’s nothing to fear, there’s nothing to fear, there’s nothing…

© Shaun Finnie 2013

Bye Bye Baby

I’ve heard it said that writing a book is like giving birth.

It all starts with a passionate flash of inspiration, then there’s a period of uncertainty where there seems to be nothing there at all apart from a vague mass that means nothing at all to anyone else, only you. Slowly the component parts begin to come together until it starts to take shape and become a small but recognisable version of the finished product. Eventually, after around nine months of love, nurture and discomfort, it’s time for your beloved creation to emerge into the world. Whereas hitherto it’s been yours, completely yours, and you were the only one who could see its beauty, now it’s time for others to take a peek at something that was once a part of you but is now a creature in its own right. They get to see what you’ve been talking about and to decide on its beauty (or otherwise) for themselves. And hopefully, if they’re polite, they won’t say that it looks like a scrunched up version of Winston Churchill.

You know what? That’s rubbish. For one thing, unless you write shocking revelations that you can’t prove about high-profile celebrities, you don’t end up paying for a book for the best part of the next twenty years. And, assuming that you aren’t a particularly aggressive typist, there’s much less blood involved in writing a book too.

There’s a massive emotional attachment involved in both though, I’ll grant that, but let me ask all parents one question: A few months after your baby was born did you lose most of your interest in it (apart from seeing what cash it brings home every month) and move on to the fun part of creating a new child?

That’s how it is with writers. Whereas parents can continue to nurture and improve their infant for years after it’s born, a writer pretty much washes his or her hands of their new ‘baby’ shortly after it’s made its first appearance in the world. Once that first sale is made it’s no longer theirs, there’s nothing more that can be done.

And the nine months analogy? That’s wildly inaccurate too. It’s quite possible to knock out a paperback in three months, start to finish. It might not be great art, but it could be perfectly acceptable. Others can take years. For example I’m still working on a novel that I started making notes for in the last century. To make that count on the ‘it’s like giving birth’ comparison you’d have to say that the road to conception begins at your first fumbled schoolyard kiss.

All this of course is leading me up to saying that my new collection of short stories (“Forks in the Road”) is now available in all formats. If you like, you can download it for your favourite e-reader device or, if you don’t hold much truck with that particular new-fangled malarkey, head over to www.lulu.com where you can buy a paperback version. If you want a signed copy, drop me a line.

I’m delighted with how it’s turned out and at the moment I’m allowing myself a little while to bask in its beauty before starting the hard work on the next one. I’ve been scribbling in my Rough Ideas book for a while, let’s see what comes out of it.

That's another thing that's different about making human babies. The actual creation process is so much more fun. 

Naughty, Naughty

Many things infuriate me as I rush headlong into middle age. British politics. World politics. Political correctness. Rio Ferdinand. Health and safety. My neighbours. Your neighbours. Almost anything involving other people. And women on diets who say “Ooh, aren’t I being naughty?”

I simply can’t understand where their definition of “naughty” comes from. Mine’s from the Oxford English dictionary, the definitive text-book of our glorious language, and it simply states “(especially of a child) behaving badly”. To me that means throwing a tantrum or some building blocks or maybe slapping another child because they wouldn’t let them play with a particular yellow toy truck. Those children are naughty and should be punished.

But women on diets? They’re not being naughty. They’re eating cake. They’re breaking a promise that they made to themselves to abstain from such fattening delights. And they’re lying to themselves while they do it because they still believe that they’re keeping their diet going but just being naughty, ‘just this once’. They literally want to have their cake and eat it, but not suffer the calorific consequences.

And they always say it with a conspiratorial smile too, maybe even a wink, as if to imply a question “you won’t tell my Weight Watchers class leader will you?” Of course I won’t, but I hope you don’t expect me to keep quiet next week too when you’re whining about how you’ve not lost any weight?

It’s simple. If you want to lose weight then stick less food in your face and move about a bit more. That’s the only rule. And if you want to save money stop giving it to charlatans who prey on fat folks like fake-psychics prey on the needy and desperate and just follow this one simple magic formula instead.

Less food + more movement = less you.

I’ve embarked on this quality rant because, as you’ve no doubt guessed, my own weight is infuriating me at the moment. I know what I should do and I’m not really doing it. So I feel miserable. So I eat. So I get fat. So I feel miserable…   My weight might not be coming down but my Cadbury and Mister Kipling shares as going up nicely.

I’ve read recently that one of the best fat-burning exercises is doing squats while holding weights at throat level. That sounded doable so I gave it a go. Hold weights at throat height. Keep back straight and gently lower into squat position. Now, keeping back and shoulders straight and tummy tucked in, push up. Never mind if it hurts, keep going. Do as many reps as you can and then push for ten more. Don’t even think of giving in. What are you, French?

So I did as many as I could and then some. I repeated this for several days. I’m now just as fat as ever but I seem to have done something to my knee.

So it’s back to the drawing board. I need to lose some weight.

Now I wonder how I should go about it...?

Infuriation Calling

I received a very unwanted phone call this week. Rather than describe what happened I'll record it here, pretty much verbatim, so that you'll know exactly how to handle the situation if you're unlucky enough to receive a similar call.

Phone: Ring ring

Shaun:  Hello?

Caller:   Hello, is that Mr Finnie?

Shaun: Who's calling?

Caller:   Hello sir. This is [foreign call centre for a large multi-national financial institution]. Can you confirm a few security details for me please?

Shaun:  What's this about?

Caller:   Would you just confirm your full name and date of birth for me please sir?

Shaun:  No.

Caller:   (slightly taken aback) Sorry?

Shaun:  No. I'm confirming nothing until you tell me what this call is about.

Caller:   I'm sorry sir, I need to confirm your security details before can continue. So can I have your full name and date of birth for me please?

Shaun:  No. Is there something wrong with Mr Finnie's account?

Caller:   Oh no sir, nothing like that.

Shaun:  Is Mr Finnie in some kind of trouble?

Caller:   No, not at all.

Shaun:  So is this a sales call?

Caller:   Well sir, we'd like to explain some exciting opportunities with you, so if you'd just answer a few security questions...

Shaun:  This is [large multi-national financial institution], correct?

Caller:   Yes sir.

Shaun:  The same [large multi-national financial institution] that employed me for over twenty years until recently?

Caller:   Er...

Shaun:  But of course if you really were from [large multi-national financial institution] you'd already be aware of that fact, wouldn't you?

Caller:   Er...

Shaun:  and you'd also be aware that one of the first things that they drum into their customers and staff is that you should never, ever, give out your personal security information in any telephone calls that you didn't instigate yourself.

Caller:   Er...

Shaun:  So, as I'm sure that you wouldn't want me to compromise my own or the bank's security by giving that information to a phone call that I didn't make or ask for, you'll understand that I won't be confirming or denying any details right now.

Caller:   But sir, you'll be missing out on all the great offers that I have for you.

Shaun:  Let me make sure that I understand:  If I refuse to give you my security details then you won't be able to cold call me with your unwanted telesales pitch?

Caller:   (resignedly) Well, basically... yes.

Shaun:  Thank you. Goodbye, and have a wonderful day.

So there you go. Lesson learned. Never give out any details to a cold caller. That's what my bank told me. It seems pretty good advice.

Of course, there's another way of dealing with these unwanted calls. Simply repeat the following in a stilted voice -

'I'm sorry, I'm unavailable right now. Please leave your message after the click....'