Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

lies tshirtAccording to a recently published survey by Britain’s Office of National Statistics, 1.5% of the adult British population is either gay or bisexual. This figure has been extrapolated from a sample of about 180,000 and is much lower than many pundits expected.  I’m not surprised. Brits tend to be a bashful and bolshy lot, content to tell the nosy nanny state to mind its own business, particularly in matters of the boudoir. Gaydar, the gay dating site, claims to have over two million members in the UK so maybe the ONS numbers don’t stack up. In any case, percentages shouldn’t count when it comes to freedom, personal choice and civil rights. If it was all about mustering the troops, the ladies of this land would have been running the show decades ago (and that would be no bad thing). The survey revealed that the highest number of gay and bisexual people is found in London, the wicked city where the streets are paved with diversity. No surprises here either. What only-gay-in-the-village wouldn’t pay for a one-way ticket out of middle England? But which part of this Sceptre’d Isle has the fewest fairies? You guessed it; East Anglia. This may explain the dearth of come hither looks I get these days. Or maybe I’m just past my use-by date.

Back on the Treadmill

Back on the Treadmill

treadmillRegular readers will know that I’ve been under the doctor because of something called PAD (Peripheral Arterial Disease). It’s caused by the thin veins I inherited from my father and a wayward lifestyle of sex, drugs and sausage rolls. The condition affects my mobility and is quite common in old farts of my age, apparently. Following the double stent to unblock my dodgy groin, my consultant (and Dr Green from ER lookelikee) decided that exercise was the best way of evading the surgeon’s knife. This was uncharted waters for me. Apart from a healthy amount of rumpy-bumpy, I’ve always taken the path of least resistance in the physical therapy stakes – buses, tubes, taxis, piggy-backs. I’m a hop on, hop off kind of guy. Ask Liam. He knows. I always figured that if God had wanted me to walk further than the pub, She would have given me more than a 27 inch inside leg. Still, to avoid going the way of my dear old Dad (who didn’t make it past 50), I took the quack’s advice and joined a city-centre gym (no sniggering at the back). It’s a low-cost 24/7 DIY affair, fit for the age of austerity. Stripped-down and ultra-modern without a fluffy robe or juice bar in sight, there are just rows and rows of hi-tech instruments of torture and wall-to-wall mirrors for watching the inquisition. Thankfully, I’m not too intimidated by half-my-age beefed up muscle marys on steroids. While they’re pumping iron on the top floor, I’m fast-walking with the girls downstairs. Life’s a catwalk and I’m back on the treadmill.

Jack’s Cottage Industry

Author2author (851 x 315)It’s a funny old world. Almost by accident, I seem to have started a little cottage industry. Anything to keep me off the streets (and the wolves from my door). Over the years, I’ve learned a thing or two about this blogging and internet malarky and people have often asked for my help (and I’m happy to oblige – what goes around, comes around). So, I thought there might just be a little brass in it. I now offer a web design, blogging and social media service to authors (or anyone else for that matter) and I’ve already garnered a few quality punters attracted to my quality offer. I’m cheap but I’m good (well, I would say that, wouldn’t I?).

All_Books

Here’s the hard sell:

“These days, authors are expected to do a lot more to market their books. This means developing a strong online presence, an appealing author site to draw in the crowds and regular engagement with potential readers through blogging and social networking. Not everyone has the time, the inclination or the skill to set the wheels in motion. Author Jack Scott has been there, done that and built up an impressive social network to promote his own books. Let Jack take the worry out of the web. He can build a fully integrated website, blog, Facebook page and Twitter page for you. He can even produce a short book trailer to add a little Hollywood sparkle to your words. All Jack’s packages are offered at an affordable fixed price and the more you buy, the more you save.”

Apple GidleyIn the best Blue Peter tradition, click on the apple to see something I prepared earlier. And, since I now offer book trailers, I thought it was high time I updated the trailer for my first book, Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey.

Check out my all-new author2author website and Facebook Page (a few extra likes would be appreciated). If you know someone who would like a little help, send them my way. I thank you.

Enemy of the State

Enemy of the State

I see that the Daily Mail (or Daily Hate, as I prefer to call it), has hit the headlines with a vicious character assassination of the late Ralph Miliband (father of Ed, the current Labour Party leader) by describing him as ‘The man who hated Britain.’  It’s not the first time this particular rag has dressed up nasty prejudices as legitimate political comment, though libelling a dead man is low even by their own very low standards.  Well, the dead can’t sue, can they? These days, quite a few people would be tripped up by the Mail’s paper-thin definition of what it means to be British, me included. I’m a bleeding-heart pinko liberal who leans towards republicanism, refuses to doff my cap to my ‘betters,’ can’t abide cricket or warm beer (make mine a chilled glass of French), prefers Italian to a full English, considers organised religion to be, at best, plain daft and what else? Oh, yes, I’m a shirt-lifter to boot. I guess this must mean I hate Britain too. Except, of course, this is nonsense.

It was left to Quentin Letts, that well-known man of the Mail (though not of the people), to defend the paper’s reputation on BBC’s Question Time. Over to Mehdi Hasan, a British Muslim and the political editor of the Huffington Post in the UK, who left poor Mr Letts looking like he’d just been scolded by nanny. Priceless.

If you want to know more about the story, simply Google ‘Ralph Miliband.’ It’s splashed all over the web. Make you own mind up. Don’t let the Daily Mail do it for you.

Warts and All

WitchI noticed a little growth on my head beneath my slowly receding hairline. An ugly little lumpy bump popped up without warning. I didn’t know what it was. Best get it checked out, I thought. A childhood spent splashing  around in the tropical sun fleeing leeches as an army brat and four years under Anatolian skies squashing mozzies as a lotus eater and I could well be asking for trouble. My fierce (her word) German GP didn’t know what it was either. “Best get it checked out,” she barked and sent me off to a dermatologist. He didn’t know what it was. “Best get it sliced off,” he said. Four blue stitches, a neat little scar and a lab report later, it was just a wart. Not the viral kind of my carefree childhood days but the worry warts of my impending dotage. Wisdom warts Frau Doktor calls them. Witch’s warts I call them. I’ve already got a thicket sprouting from my nose, silver short and curlies and unregulated wind. What next? Gout?

Jack’s Lycian Ways

Jack’s Lycian Ways

I recently entered a travel writing contest. The piece was about my favourite part of Turkey, the Lycian coast. It’s not hugely detailed as I was limited to 1,000 words but I managed to pack a lot in. The entry was adapted from my recent e-book Turkey, Surviving the Expats. The last time I entered a similar contest (featuring my best bits of Istanbul, also lifted from the same e-book), I failed to win any gold stars. Boo hoo. Guess what? I didn’t win this time either. Boo hoo too. Mind you, the reference to wet dreams probably didn’t help.

So, ladies and gents, I give you my Highlights of Lycia, the article that didn’t win a bean. Never mind, I like it anyway and I hope you do too.

Postscript

I later found out that my article did, in fact, make it in to the top twenty and I won a prize – Worlds Apart by Smitha Murthy and Dorothee Lang.  The book arrived today (8th October). Thank you!

Don’t Feed the Animals

Don’t Feed the Animals

Tis the end of the line for the go-go gorillas of old Norwich town. They’ve been rounded up and corralled behind bars on Millennium Plain to be gawped at by the townsfolk and their over-excited sprogs before being auctioned off to the highest bidder, all for charity. Bye bye, Guy.

I know I said I wouldn’t mention the gorillas again. I lied. So shoot me.

You might also like Gorillas I Missed.

Should’ve Gone to McDonald’s

Should’ve Gone to McDonald’s

It can be reasonably argued that Indian cuisine began the transformation of the British palate from the drabness of the bread-rationing years to the all-corners-of-the-world flavour it is today. Liam and I love a bit of South Asian and Liam cooks up a mean curry (from a recipe, not a jar). Since our return to Blighty, we hadn’t actually stepped out for an Indian. Until recently. We decided to give the Merchants of Spice a go, a highly recommended eatery located in a fine old building on Colegate, a short stroll from our Weaver’s cottage. Did we enjoy the experience? Yes and no. Inside its antique shell, the restaurant was minimalist chic without a hint of the flock wallpaper and chintzy gilt of old and the mood was sophisticated and buzzy. The bhajis were disappointingly dry but the rest of the food was fine, plentiful and served up in elegant dishes. So why my reticence? Well, the set-price three course menu advertised on a board outside was off menu by the time we took our seats. But my main gripe was the service from the over-familiar waiters. They pestered us like wasps at a picnic, interrupting every conversation and force-filling our glasses. It brought back unhappy memories of certain Turkish restaurants we learned to avoid. The rapid-fire courses prevented us from making a meal of our meal and our gentle pleas to slow things down fell on deaf ears. If we’d wanted fast food, we’d have gone to McDonalds.

Turkey with Stuff in

Turkey with Stuff in

Turkey with Stuff InBooks are coming at me from all directions at the moment, but this one is worth a very special mention. The gorgeous and über-talented Kym from Turkeywithstuffin’s Blog has just released her autobiography and it’s got the chattering classes chattering.

This is what Kym had to say about herself:

“Kym was born in London’s East End & was raised by her Grandparents until the age of 13. After that her life became a series of disasters. A dalliance with a Persian Playboy resulted in a son and eventually, by sheer will, she clawed her way up the corporate ladder in high heels & plenty of lippy, carving a career & a decent life for them both.”

This is what I had to say about Kym’s book:

“A tender and candid memoir from a woman who finds inspiration and love in a foreign land. This heart-warming tale provides plenty of highs and lows, good times and bad but gives a timely reminder to us all that life is for living. There is much to find beyond the bars and the beaches and the author tells it straight from the hip. Get your tissues ready.”

So get yourself a copy of Turkey with Stuff in, pour yourself a full-bodied red, plump up those scatter cushions and grab the Kleenex autumnal shades. Available on Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk

Now Let’s Review the Situation

Now Let’s Review the Situation

jack-the-hack-_writingtipsMore inane ramblings from me on Displaced Nation. This time about reviews.

“Should a review like that count? Well, here’s the rub. Mass appeal retailers who positively encourage reviews as part of their business model are far too egalitarian. There’s very little discernment and no filter. Generally speaking, every comment carries equal weight.”

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