BANG! Politics 2.0

The more weight I lose the more interested I am in clothes again. When overweight, not only do you find clothes harder to buy, but personally I just couldn't motivate myself to splash out on stylish stuff when, essentially, I'd just look like a fat guy in nice clothes. That sounds quite superficial and crushing, but really it's true.

Think how excited I was when the 1980s trend came back round; broad shouldered jackets, big sunglasses, listening to Duran Duran on your iPod finally acceptable. Now imagine how distraught I was when perusing the new Reiss collection for this Autumn/Winter. Tones of 1980s with a twist, apparently the broad shouldered look has evolved to "Carrot Shaped". I'm no veg expert, but I wouldn't say I'm a carrot. Possibly a turnip, on a bad day an aubergine. Where's this carrot fad come from? More stick thin guys wearing skinny jeans and waistcoats. Great.

In fairness some of the stuff looks pretty good, they finally have a tweed jacket in their collection which I've been looking out for for a couple of years. I have a soft-spot for Reiss as I used to work there and know how good some of the lines are. Maybe I'll ask them to show me the turnip collection.

I'm currently searching for a house in London, an experience which any Londoner will tell you can be hectic at the best of times. The market moves in hours not days, where something you've seen before lunch has been taken off the market before you've finished your Pret a Manger Super Club.

There tend to be a few different kinds of agents you'll experience on your way through hell; the Wideboy, the Sloane, the Chelsea Pro, the Massimo and, occasionally, when very very lucky, you'll get a Genuine. You'll quickly stereotype your agent within the first few seconds of your unfortunate acquaintance.

On entering the establishment the lettings girl will waft through from the back of the office wearing a shirt, denim skirt and flip flops, and, just when you're wondering if she actually works there, she continues her vague gesture toward professionalism by absolutely ensuring she has enough cigarettes in her bag for her trip out of the office. Bang - Sloane.

In stark contrast you meet the Chelsea Pro. She roars up to the property having stolen you off her own colleague. She means business. This time it's a hugging dress, killer heels and she knows how to walk at what seems a frightening pace; outstretched hand, "Jane...". While you feel safe in the knowledge she's a fierce professional, she scares the life out of you. You're told, "You can't afford to mess around, you need to view, offer, seal" and you hurriedly mumble something in fear of being paddled on your bare buttocks. She's the kind of girl the Wideboy would pretend he'd bedded.

He most certainly never has though, and never will. He's slick, but oily. Cheap and certainly cock-sure. He's apparently very, very good at his job, but totally fails to convince you the 1960s 3 bed is as "stunning" as he makes out. There's nothing wrong with him, apart from his discount loafers, and he means well - as long as you get him his commission. You won't be doing business with this guy and, to be fair, would slightly begrudge him his bonus from your signature.

The Massimo feels like a cool breeze after the Wideboy. A silver-fox tennis player happy to drop you anywhere in Fulham if it suits, you just have to straddle his racket bag in the front seat. He amuses you with his knowledge of parrots having seen a strange man walking past the office holding one at arms length. Ultimately, his offerings are utterly useless, and potentially totally ignore the alarming straight-forward brief. You don't mind though, as he's a nice guy and essentially has more use as a taxi driver taking you to a competitors office. Bye Massimo.

Then, when you're really down, you meet the Genuine. He's a bit of everyone; a happy medium. You feel like he's on your side and after a while, no matter who you are, you let your guard down. He lays down the facts and gives you time. If you get one, you hang on to him like you do a sofa in Starbucks - smugly smiling to passers by and sneering at anyone who tries to share, like a jealous boyfriend.

While I've found a house that's essentially perfect, other things need ironing out before we can go ahead. I just hope I can deal with Mr Genuine sooner rather than later.

A massive congrats to Mike Perham for becoming the youngest person to sail around the world single-handed. Not only does he deserve a medal for living in Potters Bar, but it's a massive achievement to do it on your own and overcome personal struggles like missing toast and your own bed for a few months. I don't think I made either when I was 17.

If I was moderately famous, I'd like to die in the summer. The news lull would mean maximum-mourning publicity, and that's obviously what counts. Q - When did Mother Teresa die? A - The same week as Princess Diana, seriously, look it up if you don't believe me. It was page 8 news; one of the modern day martyrs of the world seriously short-changed on column inches. Poor bitch. I bet she was gutted, done all that work with lepers and she gets page 8...I didn't even know she was ill. It's a bit like planning your birthday night out over the world cup final, just know when you're beaten.

So I'm back. I'd like to think a lot's happened but it hasn't. Everyone knows nothing happens in the summer; most politics is in limbo, the city is in a slumber with traders having closed their positions and the high rollers are on holiday. You only need to read the papers to see lazy journalism (it's a great time for PR agencies) and to realise it was 10 minutes of your life you'll never get back and also, ultimately, that you should still be on a break with the rest of the world.

I'm off to the South of France for ten days to get sunburnt and make borderline-inappropriate jokes about the natives. I'll be in the middle of nowhere, poolside, drinking cheap French beer and eating far too much fresh baguette...I won't be blogging.

Au Revoir.

Tony Benn. Just listen to the man.

Wow, when the Queen toured the empire in 1953, over 25% of the Australian population turned out to see her during her 8 week visit there.

Awesome. You wouldn't get that with any head of state these days.

Today I went to my first car boot sale. It was an experience to say the least. Having heard horror stories of polyester-clad ogres tapping on your windows when you draw up, opening your doors and rifling through your stuff before you've even taken your seatbelt off, we decided to get there at 6am. For normal people this would work, but this start time didn't gel well with my semi-insomnia. With a solid two hours sleep under my belt we rolled onto a dewy field to find ourselves, thankfully, one of the first there.

Having convinced a slightly odd-looking gentleman that I was, in fact, not an arms dealer selling any "weapons, guns or rifles", we ironically managed to set our pitch with military timing. Surviving an early minor scare selling a dish dated 1792 for £1, the rest of the morning went smoothly. The punters rolled in and the crap sailed out by the Tesco carrierbag-full. My leather bum-bag was plump by midday and it was time to get out before the lady who I'd talked out of £1.50 decided she indeed had no use for ripped, crotchless suit trousers.

I have to say, considering the unsavoury reputation, car boot sales are actually great fun. After tackling some simple rules, it's a great opportunity to have a laugh with some friends about the kind of shite you'd managed to hide from them since you've been acquainted.

A friend of mine (talented writer / American / all-round good egg), has pleaded to the readers of her world-class blog to circulate this. It's worthy. I HATE totally unacceptable service as much as the next person, and her husband (talented teacher / American / all-round good egg) has recently been on the receiving end of some outrageous petulance from US Airways. I flew US Airways to their wedding last summer and didn't have anything stolen. I won't be flying with them again to maintain that record.

US Airways considers THEFT to be within their "Ordinary Standard of Care"

*** PLEASE REBLOG***

My husband traveled on a US Airways flight from Boston to Charlotte on Sunday August 9th, as a chaperone on a school trip for Providence Day School, where he is a teacher and Senior class advisor.

When boarding the plane in Boston, he was told there was no more room on board the plane for any carry on luggage, and was ordered to hand over his small, rolling bag to a baggage employee on the jetway.

His bag was tagged and tossed below. Once he landed in Charlotte, he was told he wouldn’t collect the bag on the jetway, but that he would have to claim it off the baggage belt. He waited for his bag at the baggage claim belt, and when it arrived, the zipper was partially opened. He opened up the bag to discover that his brand new Mac Powerbook and the accompanying power cord had been stolen.

He immediately reported the situation to the Baggage Claim desk for US Airways, and faxed all required claim paper work to US Airways main office less than 24 hours after the incident.

Six days later (Saturday, August 15th), he received a letter from Carrie Kleinschmidt at the Central Baggage Resolution Office with US Airways. Her letter states the following:

“Please accept our apology for the inconvenience caused by your recent baggage incident. This is not the impression we wish to convey or the level of service we strive to provide.”

It goes on to say, ”We are unable to compensate for computer hardware/software as it is among those items excluded from coverage per our Conditions of Contract.”.

A copy of the contract clause in question is helpfully included along with the letter. The applicable clause is in Section V - Baggage, under the sub section “Exclusions from Liability”, Part 1. The language reads:

“When US [Airways] has exercised the ordinary standard of care it shall not be liable for the loss, damage to, or delay in delivery of…”

That’s the part that we as frequent customers of US Airways (in fact, I am a Dividend Miles program member) find very hard to swallow: ”ordinary standard of care.”

Does that mean that THEFT is the ordinary standard or care that US Airways maintains? How truly horrifying. Ms. Kleinschmidt herself, in the letter’s opening, declares the recent incident not to be of the “level of service” that US Airways “strives to provide”. How can she declare the incident not of their usual level of service, but then rely on a clause that excludes them from liability if they don’t provide the “ordinary standard of care?”

We would appreciate your attention and assistance in helping us rectify this completely unsatisfactory situation. To think that Providence Day School provided more than 100 paying round-trip passengers for US Airways and in return, they have nothing to offer my husband, an educator, other than this paltry excuse for an exclusionary clause.

If this is the “ordinary standard of care” that US Airways offers its customers, then not only will we be flying another airline from now on, we will also be sure that their negligence gets the press and media attention that it deserves.

Sincerely,

Jenn and Joe Grabenstetter

FACT: You can't make cheese from breast milk because it doesn't contain enough fat.

I learnt that from Come Dine With Me. You learn something new everyday

For some time I've been asked to write about my weight. Probably less about the facts and figures and more about the possible insecurities or tussles a guy might encounter when they're overweight and trying to deal with it. Not surprisingly these requests have come from girls, as men rarely discuss weight or dieting, as they probably see it as a feminine trait and will sheepishly mumble something about being big boned and that muscle weighs more than fat. I should know, I've said the same.

When I suddenly awoke to find myself obese, I had to ask myself serious questions about how I'd got there and what I should do about it. It was an obvious cocktail of poor diet, drink and inactivity that sent me to 19st (266lbs) in a number of months. There is nowhere to hide and nobody to blame but yourself. There was a genuine moment of realisation, when I stood in front of a mirror stark naked and (this may appeal to the dark comics) shed a few tears. I think I was just really pissed off that I was supposed to be in the prime of my life, when in reality I couldn't climb a flight of stairs without feeling out of breath and I was rarely - correction - never catching the eye of any girl that crossed my substantial path. I'd speculate that there aren't that many differences between men and women when it comes down to it. Essentially I felt inadequate compared to my peers, and when I look back on my youth as an old man, I didn't want to feel I'd wasted it being unnecessarily and hamperingly overweight. I wanted to feel good about myself - both superficially and deep down.

So 18 months ago I decided to join the gym, something I documented in my very first blog post. A harrowing experience which drove home how a guy in his early twenties was wasting a youth that should be full of ambition, boundary-pushing and perhaps a measure of hubris. From then on I knew I was in for the long haul. It's funny, because in interviews I'm often asked, "what's the biggest project you've ever worked on, and how did you maintain momentum and motivate yourself through it?". And, if I was to answer totally honestly (which isn't something many do in an interview) I would say losing all that weight. There are seldom occasions in life that fall fully on your shoulders; long periods of hard work with little tangible reward.

As I sit here, still working my project having lost 5st (70lbs) I realise how much it's changed me as a person. I know what it's like to be ignored because of the way I look, often underrated and worst of all pride-sappingly pitied. I've not finished my work, as it's an on-going process, but I've already unearthed old glossy unthruths straining to convince people that being obese is OK, that people will always ultimately look beyond superficial first impressions and that "you're not alone". In a typically crass manner, I've learnt some savage lessons.

I rarely impulse buy (that's a lie, today I purchased a pair of navy shorts with won't be worn more than once), or judge things by their covers, but this months GQ was too good to leave on the shelf. Sienna. Marry me.

As if I needed any other proof that Brits Abroad are a shocking breed, this article just proves it in hysterical fashion.

I've just watched Enduring Love, a film I've been wanting to catch for years now. It's not new, was made about 5 years ago and was an early Daniel Craig film. Unpopular because it's British basically, and based on the brilliant writings of Ian McEwan. Watch it if you can, such a good movie.

This is a cool interview with Sienna Miller. Not only is she verging on perfect, but I like how the interviewer is outclassed by her at every turn and clearly fancies her from his awkward body language. Which is totally understandable. Totally.

Saw this picture of Leeds midfielder Jonny Howson. Awesome, I'd love to be able to create stuff like this.

CEO of Barclays Bank gives an interesting interview on the Banking sector (don't yawn).

Sir Bobby Robson 1933-2009

Sir Bobby Robson. A footballing legend, a national treasure and most of all, a true gentleman. He lived and breathed the beautiful game from childhood right until days before his sad death, when he attended an exhibition match arranged to raise money for his own cancer charity. Until the end, always thinking of how his enthusiasm could change other people's lives for the better.

There are few words to describe the warm feeling and loving grin you will see on anyone's face when they hear his name. A personality that cut through any club or national allegiance; something that has been seen this weekend up and down the nation in mourning.

RIP Bobby, you will be sadly missed.

I'm so sorry for overdosing on videos, but this is simply unmissable. Seriously.

It's nice that when there's a financial crisis on, people really dig deep to get things efficient and strive to do the very best they can at work.

I'm really glad when people clock into work at the local mattress factory, they knuckle down and think 'today's the day I make a difference'.

Watch them at work.

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