HOW DOES MY HEAD LOOK?

Seriously? We are THAT vain?

Okay, I can understand why there are mirrors in changing rooms. You want to see how the clothes look on you. How that jacket hangs. And does the colour suit you?

That’s fair enough.

And I can understand why a display rack with various spectacle frames would have a mirror nearby. I mean, you want to check that the colour and frame-shape suit your face.

That’s reasonable, too.

Same with hats. If you buy a hat you want to be sure it will look good, and that the jaunty angle is just jaunty enough. It seems only reasonable that the shop would provide a mirror.

However, I was recently at the airport, where in the duty free shop I happened across a display stand with headphones. And under each set of “cans”, was a mirror.

It took me a moment, and then I realised: What? You want to check out how you look with a big set of ear-defenders and a coil wire perched on your head? You worry that they suit you? That they don’t clash with your hairstyle?

Yes, there are people out there who worry about their visual appearance to that extent. So vain that they would select one pair of headphones over another on the basis of how good they look – rather than how they sound – when they’re wearing them.

If you are one of these people, let me tell you now: There is no way you will EVER look good with what resembles a steak pie clamped to either side of your head.

Drew McAdam

KNOWLEDGE VERSUS INFORMATION

As a youngster I loved the pleasure of randomly dipping into a set of encyclopaedias we had in the family bookcase. It was packed full of the most amazing stuff.

In my time leafing through those great tomes I learned about inspiring figures like Clive of India and the Second Carnatic War. I learned how a battery works, and I learned all about the most amazing animal in the world: the duck billed platypus.

In fact, I was so enthralled by these books and the knowledge they held that I endeavoured to read each and every volume from cover to cover. Admittedly, I started at Aachen (it’s a German town), and didn’t get any further than aardvark (a nocturnal mammal native to Africa). But it was a start.

I discovered the delight of taking one of the volumes from the shelf, opening it anywhere, and just reading whatever was on that particular page. That way, I built up an incredible storehouse of knowledge. I learned that Olympus Mons is on Mars, and is the largest volcano in our solar system. When travelling in a school, Killer Whales breathe in unison. And Peter Durand invented the tin can for preserving food in 1810.

I also learned that the skeleton of a spider is actually located on the outside of the body. And my imagination was gripped by the story of short wave radio, and how it works.

And these weren’t just a string of facts. I delved into the history of sailing ships and currency. I immersed myself in the biographies covering the lives of the most extraordinary people who have made their mark on this world in the fields of science, politics, philosophy, economics, and so on.

All this, just by opening an encyclopaedia at random, and starting to read.

Of course, we don’t have encyclopaedias today. Instead, we have Google.

So, I tried the same thing. I typed in random letters and just waited to see what it came up with – it’s the closest I could get to randomly dipping into the family encyclopaedia.

What a dreadful disappointment.

Here is what I discovered… lots of information about cheap holidays, flights and hotels. I also found out that UFOs really exist, and that wearing a hat made from tinfoil stops subliminal messages from being beamed into your brain by the Government.
Irina Shayk recently paraded her “to die for” figure in new swimwear shoot.

Oh, and Aaardvark is not a mammal from Africa – it’s a company that manufactures archery equipment.

Yes, with the internet came access to a sea of information. But information is only of any value if it is useful information rather than celebrity non-news and advertising. Sadly, most of the internet falls into those catergories.

However, I’m going online now to see if I can buy an old encyclopaedia. Happy days.

Drew McAdam

PSYCHIC HOT… OR PSYCHIC NOT?

 

It’s become a multi-million pound industry – testament to the fact that an army of people are using these services.

I’m talking about internet psychic hotlines. You’ll find the little adverts popping up online with the headline: “Ask our psychics anything – for free.”

Ask anything? And for free, eh? That sounds like it could have comedy potential.

The advert for each psychic usually runs along the lines of: “I’m Monica. I’ve been working with tarot and angels since my early teens.” The site invites you to type in a question, and the psychic will type an answer… Well, half an answer, and an intriguing one at that.

It’s a teaser designed to intrigue you about the stranger they tell you is about to come into your life. Or the life-threatening danger you face in the coming week. Or the money you could miss out on.

It’s at that point you are invited to “please click to go private”.

Clicking private means giving your credit card details. Don’t worry, though. They accept all credit and debit cards. And it’s only £1.50 a minute to type in your question and get your answers.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure some of these psychics are terribly accurate. One psychic told me that I will be giving birth within two years. (They obviously thought that it was the female version of my name.) That’s one of the problems when you’re corresponding by keyboard, rather than voice.

And when I really tested their abilities, they were left wanting. Not one of them could tell me with any certainty whether or not my car would start in the morning. And most of them were completely wrong in their answer to my query about whether or not it was going to rain next Tuesday.

Not one of them was able to tell me where I’d left the remote control for the TV, or where I could buy a monkey. You know, I’m beginning to suspect that some of these psychics aren’t very good.

Just because they say they can see the future and talk to angels doesn’t mean they really can. Which is a shame for the many thousands of individuals, many vulnerable, who – perhaps in desperation – turn to these psychics. They pay vast sums of money for an answer to their problems.

Typing messages back and forth for an hour is going to cost you £90. And I’m not sure there’s much to be gained from that.

But what would I know? I’m not psychic.

Drew McAdam

BIG BUSINESS AND BIG EARS

A wet and windy morning, yet some 200 people went along to the Playhouse Theatre at 11am the other morning. Why? Because it was the Press Launch for The Lion King, coming to the theatre later in the year.

And it wasn’t just for journalists, but for competition winners, too.

I have to say, this was a slick and professional presentation. Well, it would be – it was organised by Disney. And they don’t do things by half.

It started bang on time. Some of the cast members were there in full costume – along with a gospel choir. They performed a clutch of song and dance numbers, right there, just feet from the assembled group.

The representative from Disney gave a slick presentation and slide show – with video segments – on how the costumes and puppets used throughout the show are constructed.

Visit Scotland were brought in to the frame. The Playhouse staff members were polite, attentive and efficient.

Even already, giant advertising posters are everywhere, and the box office is being doubled in size to cope with the demand for tickets. Impressive stuff.

But of course it’s impressive – it’s Disney. They do things properly. They are customer-focused. They do it big, and they do it right.

And that got me thinking. All those sluggish companies and inefficient firms that let us down and break their promises when it comes to everything from delivery times to product quality could do with bringing Disney in to advise them how to run their businesses properly.

Actually, I think some of the captains of industry would look rather fetching in big ears, red shorts, large yellow shoes, and white gloves.

There would be no delays with the trains and transport companies if Disney was at the helm. No standing from London to Carlisle. No surly staff… Yes, Disney would sort it out.

And when when you think about it; a lot of those inefficient and incompetent firms are Mickey Mouse setups. They’re halfway there already.

Drew McAdam

BRAKE THE HABIT

It’s hard to believe that so many drivers don’t know what the little stick thing with the button at the top is for. The one between them and the passenger.

It’s a handbrake.

The idea is, when parking, you pull it on, and it stops your car from rolling away. (That said, I have to admit there have been a couple of occasions when I had to chase my car down the street.)

But that’s by the way.

The other use for a handbrake is when you come to traffic lights and they are red. You brake. Pull on the handbrake. Select neutral gear. Then take your feet off the pedals.

What could be simpler?

So, how come many people don’t actually use it? Instead, they sit in front of you with their foot firmly on the brake pedal.

Was a time when cars had two brake lights, one on either side, and down low. Now, however, most have an extra strip of laser-bright red LEDs at a height which precisely matches the eyeball height of the driver behind.

On a dark night you invariably have one of these never-use-the-handbrake clowns in front of you, and their intense eyelevel brake light is melting your eyeballs.

Obviously they never look in their rear view mirror, because if they did they would see a furious, demonic luminous red face glowering at them.

And when they eventually take their foot off the brake to draw away, the after-image of their brake light is burned into you retina to the extent that you don’t realise they’ve gone.

Just another example of the thoughtless, inconsiderate, lazy driver.

That brake light after-image could explain so many UFO sightings, though. “It was amazing… this red light seemed to dance in front of me. Wherever I looked it was there; just in front of me… until it melted through a wall. And my car didn’t.”

So, to those drivers: the brake pedal is for slowing you down and stopping. Its purpose is not to stop you from rolling away. That’s what the handbrake is for.

The driver behind you would like me to pass that message on to you.

Drew McAdam

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO PUT ALL THAT STUFF?

 

Do you remember the TV programme where members of a family would play daft games, then the ultimate winner watched items pass on a conveyor belt? They then won the prizes that they could recall in a set time. These prizes usually consisted of household appliances, and a cuddly toy. There was always a cuddly toy.

Well, here is a list of the sort of thing that might have been on that conveyor belt: diary, camera, hi-fi music centre, chess board, world atlas and radio.

If that was all, and you remembered them, you would be doing quite well.

So here are some more items: torch, games console, calculator, video camera and a telephone.

How many of them would you have managed to remember?

But we’re not finished yet. There’s a compass, clock and a notebook. There’s also an encyclopaedia, dictionary and photo album, television set and music collection, along with a calendar, books and a collection of recent movies.

Got all that?

The thing that struck me about this game was that it would be very nice to win all the items, but how did the winner transport all their booty?

I had a mental image of the contestant leaving the TV studio, shoving a massive wheelbarrow loaded with the mountain of goodies they’d won, then trying to get everything onto a bus.

I mean, seriously; how would you transport all that stuff home?

But if you were to win all those prizes today, 40 years on from when The Generation Game was at its height, you wouldn’t need a wheelbarrow… Because everything on that list can be carried in your pocket!

Except the cuddly toy.

Think about it.

Drew McAdam

OFF BY A FEW DEGREES

It was a TV interview. Some bloke complaining that he had graduated from university but couldn’t get a job despite having a hard-won degree. He had to accept work stacking shelves in the freezer of his local butcher.

I must say, my heart went out to him. Years of work, study and application – and it all came to zero… Well, several degrees below zero.

Had he stopped there, I would have been writing this column with a different slant. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he went on to reveal that his degree was in Art History.

What? At school, a chum of mine took Highers in Art and Mathematics. The only job I could see suited to these qualifications was one that involved painting computers.

But a degree in Art History? Only useful if you’re applying for the post of curator in an art gallery.

I mean, did he really think a pointless degree like that entitled him to a top job and a top salary? It would seem he did.

And he’s not the only one. There are thousands of them out there.

Wealthy teenagers taking courses that have no bearing on real life, and then complaining  they can’t land a job suited to their intellectual and academic capacity. Poor lambs.

A little bit of research reveals that there is a plethora of next-to-worthless degrees. Ask yourself: who is going to employ you just because you have a degree in philosophy. Or psychology. Or – wait for this – David Beckham Studies, from Staffordshire University. I kid you not.

You can even take a Madonna studies module as part of the Gender Course at Harvard. Or Oprah Winfrey studies at Illinois.

There are degree courses in parapsychology at Edinburgh and Liverpool, among others. Very handy if you want to join the Ghostbuster team. However, it’s unlikely to impress a REAL employer who is offering a REAL job.

The first thing youngsters should learn in life is that you must always give the customer what they want. And when the customer is your potential employer, he certainly doesn’t want you waving an archaeology degree in his face.

Unless, of course, you want a job stacking shelves in the local butcher shop. In that case, your degree will do just fine – for swatting flies. Oh, and beating off the bailiffs when they come to collect your student loan.

Drew McAdam

UK OR US

 

Having been booked for a performance in Englandshire recently, I had to catch a train to Birmingham, then change for Northampton. Easy enough.

Except that at Birmingham the connecting train didn’t move. The minutes passed and then it was announced that the train was cancelled, as were all other trains travelling that line, due to a problem on the track. Everybody off. Tough cheese, travellers.

Okay, they didn’t actually say that last bit, but that’s what they meant.

It’s at times like that you realise that the railway system is run by individuals who couldn’t find their own backsides with a torch and a hand mirror.

But you can’t let these people get in your way. Which meant I had the added burden of a very expensive taxi fare from Birmingham to Northampton. The show must go on, and all that.

Not including the taxi fare, the round trip cost in excess of £400. I’m not making this up – it really did cost that much.

So, if you live in West Lothian, and you want to do business down south, you had better be prepared to clamber over all sorts of obstacles and spend a week’s wage on travel.

Which is odd, because my journey of 323 miles (plus return) works out at £1.23 a mile. However, you can fly the 3,200 miles from Edinburgh to New York for £394 (yes, return) which is actually LESS than it cost me NOT to get to Northampton.

The New York flight works out at 12p a mile in a comfortable plane, in case you’re wondering, as opposed to the £1.23 for each mile travelled by train. Yes, mile-for-mile it’s 10 times more expensive to travel by train in the UK than to fly to America.

If you’re a West Lothian businessman, I suggest you consider doing business in New York, rather than anywhere in the Midlands. Not only is it less expensive to travel there, but you have a better chance of actually arriving at your selected destination.

Now, is it just me, or is there something seriously crazy about that?

Drew McAdam

ROAD CLOSED – SO THERE

I used to think that only police officers had the authority to shut roads. But now it seems that any monkey in a hard hat, hi-viz jacket and a pair of workman’s breeks that displays his bottom-cleavage has the right to close the Queen’s Highway.

There was a time that roadworks had a man stationed at either end with a big lollipop that said STOP on one side and GO on the other. Okay, so one side of the road was closed from time to time, but the traffic still moved, the work was done, and there was no round-the-country detour for motorists.

Today, all you get is a crowd control barrier and a big sign that says “Road Closed”.

Having a couple of guys with stop and go signs is too much trouble. It’s easier just to shut the road. But easier for who?

Trying to get from A to B? Tough. Find another way that involves going through C, H and T to get there.

Once again, for example, the A70 in West Lothian was closed – as happens on an annual basis. It’s an arterial route used by busy people who are trying to run their businesses and get to work. And where are the diverted to? Along the narrow West Calder main street. Genius.

Just so show you how daft it all is, a few weeks ago a tiny stretch of a road in Somerset was closed, which resulted in a – get this – 47 mile detour for drivers.

I saw something similar in Fife recently, but angry drivers had simply torn down the road closed signs and tossed them into a field. (Amazingly, the workers were working on the pavement, not the road!)

What’s the betting that the roads are shut as a way of meeting Health and Safety guidelines, because cars travelling along a road pose a risk to the workers sleeping in their van. Or, sure, the guy down the hole will be safe, but the 12 blokes watching him at work might be mown down by a passing vehicle.

And, anyway, lunch breaks mean they don’t have two guys spare to work the stop and go lollipop signs.

Everywhere you go in West Lothian you’re faced with barriers and the familiar Road Closed signs – find alternate route.

It didn’t happen before. There’s no reason for it to happen now.

Drew McAdam

TOO OLD TO FALL?

Did you read the story reported last week, the one about the lady being told she couldn’t sky dive because she was too old? All that work, and £500 raised for the CLIC Sargent charity which helps children and young people who have cancer, and she wasn’t allowed to jump on account of her age.

Every day, 10 kids learn that they have cancer. So providing support seems like a good cause.

That aside, Fiona Duff, who is in her mid-fifties, went through the anguish of deciding to jump out a perfectly good aeroplane, and find out for herself if gravity is just a theory or if it’s a fact.

(Trust me, Ms Duff. The earth sucks.)

Meanwhile, another lady from South Queensferry, who is just the wrong side of her forties, is putting herself through the same anguish. Fiona Riley is going to take the jump – well, plummet, actually – for MacMillan Cancer Care.

Well, I have some news. I’ve done a bit of parachute jumping in my time. Just two stories… One person, having landed safely, bundled up her canopy and then wandered across the runway and was almost mown down by the aircraft sha had jumped from as it came in to land.

Another jumper (aka meat-bomb) landed safely, though it was on flat roof of a factory. She was fine, until she ran round her canopy (as you are trained) to flatten it and stop it from re-inflating. The result? She ran right off the roof and broke her ankle.

Let me just say that the people involved in both these incidents were in their early twenties. I’m sure that somebody with more experience – for that, read older – wouldn’t do something so stupid.

Apart from anything else, in 2004 Frank Moody from Australia completed a tandem jump from 10,000 feet after his friends dared him to do it. Frank, by the way, was 101 years of age. And he loved it.

Both Freefall Fionas will be jumping at some point in the future. Ladies, I salute your courage, and your charitable work.

If you know either of these ladies, slip them a few pounds for the charity. Perhaps even think about doing something similar yourself, whatever your age!

Though it may not seem like it now, ladies, once you’ve been in the wide blue sky and then floated to earth, you will experience a rush of euphoria like you have never felt before. And, as we used to tell the new jumpers: “Now you know why the birds sing!”

Drew McAdam