I’ve actually had a really good day today. I’m working on a web based business idea at the moment, trying to get something significant up and running without really having the first clue about how to do it. I’ve been bouncing around the fun bits for months now, thinking about designs and marketing campaigns and how I’m going to spend the fortune I’ll soon have amassed. Unfortunately I know that just around the corner I’m going to have to start thinking about tax and revenue structures. I’m going to have to step up the plate and work out just how far short my finances are going to fall (and we’re talking very, very short). And yet, as I begin to think about that side of things, the side that I’ve been putting off for almost a year now, I suddenly find my heart beating even faster. Not only because the more I think about it, the more confident I am that this is genuinely a good idea; but because I’ve realised that it’s the business I want to run, not just the campaign.

At 27, I’ve had an incredible life: full of adventure, excitement and a good old fashioned childhood. My pops is in the army, and until the age of 6 we moved every couple of years; I was born in Shrewsbury, moved to Germany, on to Northern Ireland (all I remember about my time near Omagh is rolling painted eggs down a hill near our house at Easter and having to check under the car for bombs every morning), North America and back to an army base in Strensall just outside York. When I think of my childhood, I think of paperchases around the forests outside of Washington DC, canoeing down the Shenandoah river and building forts with my younger brother amongst the gorse bushes in the enormous army training grounds. We travelled a lot, and saw as much of our family as we could. Surrounded as I was by variety and love, I despair at the countless children forced to grow up in poverty in inner cities, many of whom will never understand what it means to be truly free. As much as I enjoy living in the city, there’s no way I will raise my children here. I don’t want to live in fear of what might happen to them, and there’s absolutely no way I want them to feel that constant threat.

When I look at what’s happening to our country at the moment, it all seems to come back to this one point. As a nation, Britain is incredibly proud. Little over a hundred years ago, Queen Victoria ruled a huge percentage of the global population. Our empire stretched across the globe, and we sat on our island throne gazing out at what we had accomplished. Slowly but surely though our empire diminished, until there was little left beyond our shores, and all we had left to admire were ourselves. And boy did we have a lot to admire. Twice Europe descended into anarchy, and twice we stood strong while others around us fell. An entire generation grew up appreciating what unity really meant, the sort of national unity that can only really come from a collective enemy. Those too young to fight watched in terrified awe as their parents and grandparents disappeared off to fight, and there was barely a family that wasn’t touched by tragedy in some way. Everyone had played their part, and the young had a reason to be grateful to their elders.

However, as time moves on and the reality of the 2 Great Wars fade into Hollywood memory, those who remember it properly grow old and finally succumb – and everything is changing.

What do we have to be proud of today? What does it mean to be English now? I read the other day that there is a “Jade Goody : The Musical” in the pipeline. That alone is enough to make me want to turn my back on this place and leave forever. I would imagine it’s a lot easier to be proud of being English when you don’t live in England!

Bloody ‘reality’ television. Even if it can be called reality, which it can’t, it’s certainly not your reality. I just worked out that if you spend 6 hours a week (and I would imagine a lot of people spend a lot more) watching truly crappy television or reading horrendously predatory articles about other people’s problems, that 312 hours a year. Over 50 years that’s 15600 hours, or 650 days. Or almost 2 years. 2 years of your life pouring over pictures of cellulite or watching some idiotic celebrity-wannabe make a fool of themselves in the big brother house.

How depressing.

Still, at least they’re not my two years! I think I’ll spend mine meeting new people, seeing new places and experiencing new things if it’s all the same to you.




Or at least I would if I could afford it.

If I’m honest, I didn’t want my first real posting to be about politics; I can’t help but think that we’re all forced to be part of the farce that is ‘democracy’ enough as it is. Nonetheless, the truth is that nothing so often forces expletives and rapid changing of the channel / radio station than politics.

It’s all too common that I find myself standing in the kitchen, imploring whichever politician is in the hot seat to just ‘please, for all that’s holy, answer the damn question!’

But, with the odd glorious exception, all I get is the same pre-approved statement, served 3 ways. The same mindless, headline-friendly sound bite, designed not to impart any actual information, but rather to keep as many people as possible happy. In fact, it’s not even that positive. It’s to avoid offending as many people as possible. Nothing more, nothing less. And that, right there, is the problem. As with just about everything, it’s the media that is driving this staggering need to appease everyone, this constant necessity for those in its glare to look over their shoulders, watch their backs and cover their arses, all at the same time.

I understand the concept of democracy. It’s to ensure that the voice of the people is heard, that no one government can ever become powerful enough to start to suppress its people. It’s a noble ideal, and one that works perfectly in principal:

1. We elect those we trust to represent us.
2. We elect those we consider more able to do the job than us.
3. We let them work, safe in the knowledge that they will speak to us when they need our help.
4. They dedicate their lives to making right, reasoned decisions on our behalf, periodically resubmitting themselves to our approval.
5. Those of us whose chosen official wasn’t successful accept the result, grateful to have been given the chance, and safe in the knowledge that there’s always next time.
   

Unfortunately, it begins to fall down when reality is thrown into the mix.

Ultimately, the country functions like an enormous business, with departments and interests in just about every aspect of modern life. Our government is supposed to be running that business, and yet because of the way our democratic system works they are also forced to run a continuous media-based election campaign. Do you think Sir Richard Branson or any one of the Dragons would be where they are today if they had been forced to explain and justify every decision they made to someone who didn’t have the faintest concept of how a business actually ran? If they had to distil every global strategic decision into a 6 word quotation understandable to a complete layman? (And now, as if that wasn’t enough, we have Twitter. It is only a matter of time until one of the most important aspects to getting foreign policy approved is its capacity to be explained in no more than 140 characters!)

This absurd Eastenders plot of a story concerning the slanderous emails coming out of Downing Street is the perfect case in point. So some idiot, working without Gordon Brown’s knowledge, decided it would be a great tactical move to drag opposition names through the mud. Let’s face it, he wasn’t wrong either. His real mistake (apart from being an idiotic, career-obsessed little weasel) was that he got caught doing it. But fortunately caught he was, was sacked, and surely that should be the end of that? That’s the way this would work anywhere else. He was caught doing something he really shouldn’t have been doing, has lost his job and been forever branded pathetic. Surely David Cameron can see that this is embarrassing enough for Gordon Brown without the Conservatives even getting involved. Why not laugh condescendingly at their childish antics and move on? I may be mistaken, but I’m fairly sure there is a whole world of shit out there that calls for the Prime Minister’s time more than this. There are only so many hours in a day, and amidst a global recession, cultural extremism and bloodshed on a frankly incomprehensible scale, the leaders of our country are spending hours every week debating things that really should not concern them.

As far as I’m concerned, I’d be happy never to see a politician again. The Houses of Parliament should be like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever comes out! I would sleep easy, knowing that in the corridors at Whitehall, great men in my corner made great decisions that I would never need to understand. I remember listening to an MP being bitch-slapped for suggesting that a lot of the Irish voters who voted against the EU constitution might not really understand the intricacies of what they were voting for. I’m going to stick my neck out and say that he might have had a point. I’m not saying that the referendum was a bad thing, or even that the result was wrong. It’s just an illustration of how much modern politics needs to be fought through the media. It doesn’t matter how considered and reasonable an argument is, if the red top readers don’t buy into it, it’s not going to work.

Spin is king.

And so, with that slightly disjointed and meandering rant off my chest, I feel happy enough to step out into the rain and face down the world. There’s a smile on my face, and try as you might, it’s not going anywhere.

Actually, that reminds me. I remember a while back the Tories kicking up a big fuss because they claimed that Labour had stolen one of their ideas. I may be wrong, but if you have something that you clearly think is best for the country, and then the people in a position to actually put it into action decide it’s a good idea to do so, shouldn’t that be a good thing? Wouldn’t the ultimate scenario be that the ruling party stole every good idea of yours and made it happen? I know you’d be forced to come up with some new ideas when the time arose, but as the leaders of our country I like to think you could probably stretch to that!

Right, I’m done. Now where are my wellies?

So, here we are. Futile Fury.com. I registered the name about a year ago after yet another infuriatingly late night spent clasping my ankles, desperately trying to give a client the impression that there was nothing I would rather be doing with my Friday nights than making infinitesimal copy changes to their website.

"No, of course I don't have any other plans. This is your website, and we want to get it absolutely spot on. So what if it's not something your customers would ever notice, we'd know that last bullet point shouldn't have a full stop and I wouldn't be able to enjoy my weekend if we didn't take it out right now!"

Or something like that.

It always makes me laugh, one’s ability to lie so convincingly when called upon.
The phone rings. I recognise the number. It's her... again.
"Oh for f@*k’s sake, I wish that fu”%ing pedantic bitch would take her bloody phone and shove it up her no-doubt clinically tight a$$!"
Deep breath, affix grin (because you can hear it over the phone you know) and answer:
"Sarah! Hi, how are you doing? No, it's all great here, what can I do for you? You want me to drop my trousers and grease up again? Of course, no problem, I can’t imagine anything that would make my life more complete.”

And so, as the time drew inexorably nearer when I would be caught on a bad day and promptly lose my job, I decided an outlet was needed. Somewhere I could come to vent my frustrations about life, the universe and everything. And let me tell you, the list of subjects is a long one. Politics, money, celebrity, sport, London, the media; my fingers are positively tingling in anticipation at the spleen I am finally going to be able to vent.

I don't know whether I'm angrier than most. I certainly hope I am. The world doesn't stand a chance if there's this much rage in it!