Wednesday, 11 January 2012
May Actually Contain Nuts.
David Cameron, Prime Minister was let out in public today; and was yet again on record bumping his gums about things he is under-qualified to talk about. The British movie industry was receiving his attention and our Dave opined that we should be making more “mainstream” movies.
I have some questions, your bumptiousness.
What does that even mean? “Mainstream”.
Let’s say it means commercially successful. Movies that make money, yes? Which begs the question - does he think movie-makers go out of their way to make nae money?
Or does he want UK film-makers to go all Hollywood? Big names, big budgets, special effects and a storyline Arnie could drive a truck through? Where’s the money for that going to come from?
Here’s the thing, dear David, nobody knows which films are going to make money. (Stuttering Royalty or inept suicide bombers anyone?) And here’s another thing – didn’t you abolish the UK Film Council?
Cynical me ties the timing of this comment in with the release of The Iron Lady. Is DC imagining a time when film-makers are making a biopic of his life and keen to make sure they are in a position to take full advantage of his “legend”.
Another thing that caught my eye recently – something for the brain-cell impaired - a warning sign on a jar of peanut butter that read “May Contain Nuts”.
And another thing that caught my eye...
I had occasion to be in a hotel. Away on business, dontcha know. (Jeez, do I live the highlife or wot?)My well-appointed room had all the usual stuff including an (empty) mini bar and a safe, which was nicely tucked out of the way. Wandering about the room, scoping the facilities – as you do – I opened the wee door of the safe. On the inside was a warning that read, Danger of Suffocation.
The frontage of the safe was rectangular. About five inches high and about eight inches wide. Picture me with the daft expression on my face and thinking WTF.
I had to try it out. I twisted my neck and lined my face up to the opening. I pressed against it. Nope. I could still breathe. Quite well as it happens. But I had my full weight on my feet. What if I was unsupported?
So I lined up a coffee table, stool and dresser – not an easy task as they were all different heights - lay on top and moved to press my face against the mouth of the opened safe. Before I moved in, I had a moment of panic. What if this worked? What if I did actually suffocate? What would they tell my family? Would they put it down to some strange auto-erotica thingy?
My trousers were safely zipped and belted, so no danger there. I hopped off my perch to check, just in case. Aye. We were decent. I put my shoes and socks back on as well. (There are some devious fuckers out there – who knows how their minds work.)
So. Safety factors all accounted for, I lay across the table, stool and dresser. Lined my face against the safe opening and pressed against it. Sadly, I noted that breathing remained an achievable goal.
But people don’t put these signs up for nothing, people.
What if I wrapped a scarf around my head before applying to the safe? A quick mental inventory and I spotted the flaw. I had no scarves on my person. But I did have a spare shirt.
I wrapped this round my head and moved back into position. It was a more comfortable way to be possibly suffocated, what with the cushioning against the metal of the safe, I thought, as I waited for my breath to fail.
Nothing dangerous happened. No auto-erotic thingy. No danger of suffocation. My pesky lungs kept on filling themselves to spite me. Bastards.
(Do I, or do I not put myself through the mill for you, dear reader?)
Realising the sign was a dud I re-arranged my room and slung off my shoes and socks. I could feel a letter to the government forming in my head. Maybe we should get David Cameron to talk to the public about the dangers of misleading signage?
What do you think?