Author: damienowens

It’s difficult to argue with the notion that, biologically speaking, females have got the pointy end of the stick. When it comes to reproduction, for example, men have very little to do. And, let’s be honest, that little bit isn’t so terrible. Our role is like that of a politician who smiles and snips the ribbon on a new factory. It’s herself who has to actually work there; every frigging day for nine months. We’re long gone, sipping champers in the back of the limo and telling our driver that speed limits are for the plebs. But at least pregnancy lasts a mere three quarters of a year and ends in the relaxed comfort of childbirth. The awful alternative, the monthly … eh … you know … a woman’s … natural … that lasts for decades. It’s so horrifying a prospect that we don’t even like to think about it, much less call it by its name. We prefer cryptic asides about painters and Arsenal and obscure relatives who’ve just dropped in. If a foolish male dares to engage in the hopeless battle of Who’s Got It Worse?, women have these shiny nuclear missiles to call upon. What have we got? The rusty revolver that is face-shaving. See how useless it is? You can’t even say ‘shaving’ because women shave their legs and pits. You have to be specific. ‘It’s all right for you girls, you don’t have to drag a flippin’ razor over your face every other day, except at weekends.’ As arguments go, it’s like Bill Gates telling you what a pain it is to open the begging letters. Oh well. At least we get to complain about feeling guilty. Even though we don’t. Frankly, we can’t believe our luck.

Everybody loves David Attenborough. What’s not to love? When he tilts his wise old head at the camera and tells you that this particular species of rodent has an abiding fondness for light jazz, you can’t help but take his word for it. He has natural authority, if you’ll allow the pun. But that’s not all. He also has the ability to make you genuinely care about the fate of animals – and plants, for God’s sake – without ever resorting to finger-wagging or earnest frowning. He achieves this feat by simply being knowledgable, enthusiastic and almost supernaturally pleasant. But none of that is the point. What I’m wondering is this: I used the word ‘love’. I said, ‘Everybody loves David Attenborough’. (It was only a few lines ago, you can check.) Was I just playing fast and loose with the verbs again? I’m not at all sure that I was. I suspect that a great many people literally love him, in much the same way that they love their family and friends. A bloke on the telly. A stranger. Is that possible? And if it is, where’s the floor on this thing? Can we grow to love a fictional character? What about a cartoon character? I’m talking about love, remember, not admiration or respect or any of those other sugar-free alternatives. It sounds too silly to be true but then again this is a profoundly silly world and sometimes we have to … OK. Let me get to the point. Frankly, I’m not convinced that the word ‘like’ covers the way I feel about Wile E. Coyote. There. I said it. I know he isn’t real, honestly, but … his little face! And that giggle he does just before he blows himself up again! Well, don’t look at me like that. Jesus. I didn’t say I was in love with him.

I have decided on a change of career. Writing’s all right but it really starts to hurt the tips of your fingers after a while and I need the tips of my fingers for drumming impatiently on things. I’ve thought about it hard and long and I’ve concluded that the career for me is that of futurologist. I plan to go on the lucrative lecture circuit and say things like ‘In the future, your trousers will tell you whether or not they go with your shirt’ and ‘In the future, everyone will have a small windfarm on the top of their head.’ It’s the perfect career in many ways because unlike real work, it’s consequence-free. The trick is not to say anything that will be proved to be Jackanory within your own lifetime. Stick to the long-term and you can’t go wrong. ‘In the future, tiny nanobots with nanoscissors and nanocombs will render traditional haircuts obsolete’, that sort of thing. By the time it becomes clear that you were talking out of your arse, you’ll be too dead to care. I think it’s a good idea to keep it positive, too. I mean, who wouldn’t want their own windfarm on top of their head? That kind of news is always welcome. Gloom and doom is harder to sell; ‘In the future, we’ll all be up to their necks in seawater and new aquatic species will skip stones at our sun-burned faces’. I also plan to be prolific in my predictifying. That way, you never know, I might even get one right. Maybe they’ll speak fondly of me in the year 2200, looking back in wonder at that lonely visionary who foresaw the day when sentient apples would pick themselves and roll into the shops unaided.

I recently decided, possibly due to sleep deprivation, that the world would be a better place if everyone learned a few magic tricks. That’s tricks, mind, not illusions. When David Copperfield waves his arms around in his ludicrous billowy shirt and turns one of his mates into an elephant (or vice versa), it’s never all that impressive. Too remote, too grand. You mumble the word ‘mirrors’ and get on with your life, possibly pausing to wonder if he wooed Claudia Schiffer by telling her that, with the right glamorous assistant, he could make his lad disappear. A trick, on the other hand, is something simple that’s done right under your nose. You should be able to work out how it’s done, but you can’t. That is its entire appeal. With a little collective effort, we could harness this simple truth for the betterment of all. How about using mini-miracles as a form of greeting? You’d bump into someone you’d hadn’t seen since for ages, rip up a fifty Euro note under her nose and then put it back together. ‘So how have you been?’ Your friend would pluck a pencil from her top pocket and ram it through the palm of her hand, only to withdraw it immediately, and no harm done. ‘Grand. Yourself?’ Tricks could become our national icebreaker. Enda could announce it in the Dail and when he was finished, he could link a couple of metal rings. No? Suit yourselves. Last time I try to make the world a better place.