McReadie Nuggets

Sometimes Things Work Out Perfectly

2006-04-28T18:47:00.000+01:00

Following a pretty busy week at work, which concluded with meeting a deadline which a couple of months back looked pretty unrealistic, I decided to check what was on at the cinema this weekend.

I checked the Guardian film reviews and, with amazement, realised that one of them was for "Overcoming", a Danish film about the Tour de France which I've been keen to see ever since it went into development.

The Guardian often reviews obscure little films that are only on in one cinema in the whole country - often in Cambridge. So I tried not to get my hopes up too high when I clicked on "Is this film on near me?"

Sure enough, only one cinema was showing it. The Ritzy Cinema, London. The cinema that is closest to me. A cinema that is just a half hour walk away from my front door (or a mere fifteen minutes on the bus.)

Sometimes, just sometimes, stuff works out perfectly.

Google: Font Of All Knowledge

2006-03-17T19:34:00.000Z

I couldn't live without Google. It answers more or less any questions I have (aside from the Great Yahoo Mail Spring Tableau Mystery - which Fire Blanket of course maintains is solved; I am in the process of evaluating his new evidence). In fact, Google is my first port of call on questions to such an extent that, when I recently thought to myself: "Where did I put the cable which connects my digital camera to my computer?" my first thought is "I'll Google it!"

This is proof that Google cannot in fact know everything. Further proof comes in a question I posed today: how does one go about pronouncing Tsotsi? This year's Best Foreign Film Oscar winner is out this weekend, and I want to go and see it.

But buying a ticket is going to prove difficult - because I don't know how to say "Tsotsi". And, being obsessive compulsive, I'm concerned that the person in the ticket office will wind up being an Afrikaans speaker, and thus fully aware of my shameful ignorance.

Google offers several different verdicts:

"Tsotsi," pronounced sot-si...
www.boxoffice.com/scripts/fiw. dll?GetReview?&where=ID&terms=8550

..."Tsotsi" (pronounced SOT-see)
www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/ c/a/2006/03/05/PKG56HDK7I1.DTL&type=movies

Tsotsi (pronounced Sawt-see)...
www.tsotsi.com/english/index.php?m1=reviews& m2=reviews&review=hollywoodelsewhere

South African film Tsotsi (pronounced 'sote-see')...
www.boxofficeguru.com/oscarspotlight2006d.htm

"Tsotsi" means gangster or thug in this slang - and is pronounced TOT-si...
www.news.yahoo.com/s/csm/otsotsi

Tsotsi (pronounced "TOW-see")...
www.mindsay.com/tags/tsotsi

“Tsotsi” (pronounced “tots” by the characters in the film) is an Afrikaans word meaning “thug”...
www.taemag.com/issues/articleid.19027/article_detail.asp

"Tsotsi" (pronounced sote-see)...
www.p076.ezboard.com/fpoliticalpalacefrm69.showMessage?topicID=320.topic

"Tsotsi" (pronounced with a hard "s")...
www.townonline.com/natick/ localRegional/view.bg?articleid=447914

Tsotsi (pronounced SOE-TSEE)...
www.reelblack.com/upcoming.htm

"Tsotsi" [pronounced TOT-si]...
www.christiansciencemonitor.com/ 2006/0302/p06s02-wogn.html

"Tsotsi" (pronounced "soht-see")...
www.tuftsdaily.com/news/2006/03/02/ Weekender/Weekender.Interview.Gavin.Hood-1650509.shtml

Tsotsi (pronunciation: the “ts” sound is like in “tsunami,” the “o” is long, and the “i” pronounced as a long “e”)...
www.playbackstl.com/index.php?option=com_ content&task=view&id=1712&Itemid=57

And that's just the first few hits...

In short, I'm none the wiser. I think I'll go with "sot-see", as this seems to be the most frequent suggestion. I tell you, I haven't had this many worries over pronouncing the name of a film since I went to see The Aristocrats. (Should one go with the American pronunciation since it's a US film, or the British since one's seeing it in the UK? Eventually I went with the former. I still don't know whether it was the right call)

Invariably, when I put this much pressure on myself when it comes to a film title, I wind up screwing up whatever pronunciation I had in mind in any case. So, if you work at the Ritzy Cinema and experience McReadie asking you for a ticket for "tits-go-see", or something similarly embarrassing, cut me some slack. I tried.

So Sick of Ne-Yo

2006-03-17T16:07:00.000Z

Capital, it has to be said, play many songs incessantly (even more so, it seems, since they started promising listeners that they wouldn't play the same song repeatedly). Currently in heavy rotation is Ne-Yo's appropriately entitled "So Sick".

Coping with an annoying song being played over and over again is difficult. Here at Nuggets, we aim to ease the pain of day to day annoyances such as these. We suggest that anyone suffering from Ne-Yo exhaustion reads the following, alternative lyrics, and sings them any time the song is played. I have thus far only used the chorus, but found it highly effective.

Ne-Lo's "So Sick", Reimagined by McReadie

Gotta change the radio station
Now that this song's on
Cos one listen more
And my mind will be gone
And I know it makes no sense
But I hate this sodding song
And it's the only one I seem to hear forever more

(It's ridiculous)
It's been months
And for some reason I just
(Can't turn it off)
And I'm stronger than this
(Enough is enough)
No more pissing 'round
Ignoring the awful sound
I'm so over the crap tune
Doin' my head in

And I'm so sick of this song
So tired of it
So done with thinking
The rhyming scheme's neat
Said I'm so sick of this song
So crap and slow
Might be time to smash the radio

Gotta fix the fact it's in my head
And has been for a year
But since it's played non-stop
It's so tough to be free
I'm so fed up with my thoughts of it
And my memory
And how every other tune that plays
Is just a lead into it

That's the reason I'm so sick of this song
So tired of it
So done with thinking
The rhyming scheme's neat
Said I'm so sick of this song
So crap and slow
Might be time to smash the radio

(Leave me alone)
Leave me alone
Don't make me think about that line
That I once admired
Let it go
Smashing up the radio

Cos I'm so sick of this song
So tired of it
So done with thinking
The rhyming scheme's neat
Said I'm so sick of this song
So crap and slow
Might be time to smash the radio
(So why can't I smash up the radio?)

My Anniversary

2006-03-16T09:32:00.000Z

It's my anniversary next month. At the end of April. Yup, on April 28, it'll be a year since I bid a fond, and somewhat reluctant farewell, to the Centre for Anxiety Disorders and Trauma. It'll be a year since I walked out of that building - that building which had in some ways become my home away from home - and took my first, tentative steps into my post-therapy life, just like a newly born deer trying to figure out how his or her legs work.

(I did not in fact walk home from the Centre after my last session - I got the 68 or 468 bus, but the image of the newborn deer was too good to resist. Plus, with the way some of these bus drivers manoeuvre their vehicles, and the lack of seats, I do spend much of my time on London buses moving around like a newly born animal with little awareness of his or her limbs).

Some choose to mark their anniversaries with flowers. Some say it with jewellry. Others still choose chocolates. The Centre, however, chooses to mark our anniversary with the exchange of questionnaires. Nothing says I love you - not just as a former patient, but as a useful research subject - like two ten page documents asking you about every single aspect of your anxiety.

Sigh...

It reminds me of the old days... So many significant events in our relationship have been marked by questionnaires - the start, the finish, and, er, more or less every therapy session in between.

The questionnaires have made me nostalgic. I have, in the past year, grown capable of standing on my own two feet and facing anxiety alone. But there are times when I'd like nothing more than to be thrown back and forth on a 68 bus as I travel down to the Centre. I'd like to sit in the waiting room, and notice that the "window" is actually a lightbox. I'd like to sink down into a comfortable chair and say and sometimes laugh about what's on my mind - and then figure out how to deal with it.

But time moves on. The questionnaires prove that. They've moved on. Being the Obsessive Compulsive Professional User of Language that I am, I find myself able to spot new questions with ease. So even though there are some of the classics there - "do you believe there are lucky and unlucky numbers?", to which I want to respond "I couldn't tell you today, it's the 13th, but I'll get back to you tomorrow" - there are also some exciting new questions. Case in point: I'm asked if I'm bothered by intrusive nonsense words, or by music. Interestingly, I am. When I go home, I find that I words and sentences which make no sense popping into my head as I lie in bed before falling asleep. And they're always spoken by my family. I'm aware it's not actually my family saying these words, but it's said in their voices.

And most mornings I wake up with a song going round in my head. It's interesting to realise that these symptoms are common enough amongst Obsessive Compulsives to warrant being on a questionnaire. In the past, I would have worried about both the intrusive words, and the songs. When both started popping into my head, though, I must have been fairly well into therapy, because I regarded them as intrusive thoughts and didn't get into a debate about why my mind was getting occupied with nonsense words spoken by my parents.

There's no doubt that every day of my life is made easier because of what I learnt during therapy. The intrusive words and music is only one example. Some things I do now would have been impossible to do before I spent six months travelling over to the Centre every week or so. So I will of course fill in the questionnaires, and send 'em back. Cos nothing says I love you - not just as a former provider of therapy, but as something that gave me skills which make my life better every day - than two ten page questionnaires where the answers to most questions reveal someone who doesn't suffer with anxiety anywhere near as much as she did before she met you, you ol'Centre, you.

Wabbits? Weally?

2006-03-16T09:11:00.000Z

The mystery of the current Yahoo! Mail Seasonal Tableau continues. Fire Blanket thinks The Three Bundles of Mystery are, in fact, not mysterious at all but are rabbits. Eating. Sideways on. Obviously.

BB however, remains unconvinced by this thesis and, so, I'm sorry to say, do I. I cite in support of my argument, firstly, BB's "no visible wabbit ears" theory. One would expect a depiction of a wabbit, even when sideways on, to feature ears prominently. Instead, I see a head which appears to have a beak. Secondly, I feel that the Bundles of Mystery are too big to be rabbits, especially when viewed alongside those animals in the Tableau that we have positively identified as our fluffy tailed friends. Thirdly, I feel the colouring and body shape is wrong for a wabbit. They seem too big.

As a result, I'm afraid I must declare that the Grand Yahoo! Mail Seasonal Tableau Mystery of 2006 continues. I am willing to accept any alternative explanations, and will reconsider Fire Blanket's Wabbit Theory if further evidence is offered in its support.

I am also looking into ways to contact Yahoo! to solve this mystery. Unfortunately, they have wisely hidden their contact details from public view - perhaps they're worried about having their time wasted by, say, people enquiring about their Seasonal Mail Tableau - and ask for all press enquiries to be directed to an external PR agency. I have decided, to give myself an ego boost, to consider McReadie Nuggets a publication and myself thus a member of the press. My experience of external PR agencies is not positive, but I am willing to go to any lengths to uncover the truth, even if it means conversing with a PR agency full of posh and thick stuck up public school idiots who are back stabbing and thoroughly unpleasant and insincere. Scum.

Five minutes later
OK, in retrospect, I should not have written that past sentence. I was planning to include a link to the blog in any contact with the PR agency, in order to show what a big press outlet they're dealing with here, and to demonstrate that this issue has become the talk of the entire world (well, OK, of London, Bath, and New Zealand). My Spidey senses tell me that they may be less inclined to help me having read my diatribe on PR people.

Fire Blanket - on second thought, mark me down for a copy of "Bang Your Life Into Shape", and send it over to me with urgency.

Do I Need An Eye Test? You Decide.

2006-03-08T19:10:00.000Z

The answer to the question: "Does McReadie need an eye test?" is, I suspect, "yes". I probably need an eye test pretty much all of the time. I've worn glasses since I was three years old, I'm astigmatic (to which I have found, with some relief, that - despite the name - there is generally no stigma attached), and my eyes seem to have steadily deteriorated, or at least changed, over the years.

But, being the lover of democracy I am, I have decided to let you - you readers of Nuggets - decide whether or not I should be popping down to the optician. You see, something has happened lately which has made me wonder whether my eyes are getting worse, whether I've suddenly become very stupid, or whether I'm both more blind and more stupid of late.

What happened? Yahoo have decided it's Spring.

Let me explain.

I'm a big user of Yahoo mail, and for about the past six months, Yahoo have been accompanying the login page for their mail service with a little seasonal tableau. I loved the one for Autumn - all turning leaves and shades of brown - I tolerated the one for Winter (it seemed to take ages to load) and, yesterday, found that it was now officially Spring.

If you click here, you'll see the way in which Yahoo have chosen to mark Spring. It's quite cute - rainbows, blue skies, fields, and animals. On the right, a cute little rabbit. I love wild wabbits.

However, on the left, there are three twitching things which are making me wonder whether I need an eye test and/or a brain scan. I can only assume the twitching things are animals of some sort. But what the hell are they meant to be? On first glance, I thought they were geese. But what would geese be doing in a Spring meadow with a wabbit? And why were they twitching? And why were there three of them?

So I got closer to my computer screen. I performed a close examination of the animals. I had hoped for resolution. I got confusion.

I'll be honest with you:

I have not the faintest idea what these animals are meant to be. I couldn't even take a wild guess. I am officially flummoxed.

And it's driving me crazy.

So, hey, do me a favour, wouldya?. Wander over to the site. Take a look at the animals. Tell me what you think they are, either in the comments or in the new poll on the right. And then tell me if I need an eye test. Or an intelligence test. Or both.

People Power

2006-03-06T19:48:00.000Z

So I guess I'm a disappointed idealist. I'd like to think that we, as individuals, have the power to do things - to change things. However, I also think that the reality is that we, as individuals, don't have the power to change things unless we happen to run a multi-national corporation. Or, better still, know someone who runs a multi-national corporation. Yeah, OK, or if we happen to be sleeping with someone who runs a multi-national corporation.

Occasionally, though, I am reminded that we are able to make small differences each day, typically through the smallest of gestures. In my line of work, you would have thought I was aware of the power of a few words - I think generally I am, but sometimes I need reminding.

Today's been in a case in point. I fear that the second anecdote in this post is about to turn into one of those mushy group e-mails that you might get sent by a superstitious friend because, at the bottom, it tells you to forward it to ten people to be granted with everlasting love, and it tells those ten people to send it back to you so that you, as the forwarder, can get a sign of the everlasting love you've just been granted. (These e-mails tend to rely on a rather peculiar definition of everlasting love - namely, the willingness of ten people in your address book to send a daft e-mail back to you).

Now, I hate those e-mails (and probably disappoint those who send them to me by failing to reply in any way - each and every time they are sent). So I will understand if the fear that this post may turn into one of those sort of affairs turns you away. I'll understand if you stop reading. I won't ask questions later. Stick with the next three paragraphs, cos that's gonna be pretty typical McReadie. But you might wanna avoid the text that comes thereafter.

OK, so, the first illustration of the almost weird power of words - not negative, as such, but not massively positive either. Today, a new person started at our company. And so we held a little induction session for this new starter. And, as part of this, I gave a rambling little presentation about my role within the company. After the presentation, I had a little chat with our newcomer, and we got onto the subject of kids. She has a son. She then asked me, as though it was the most normal question in the world: "Do you have any kids?"

And I guess it is a normal question. But the first thought that comes into my head: "When did I start looking old enough to have kids?!" It seemed bizarre to me that anyone could consider the possibility that I would have rugrats. I'm only a kid myself! I went to see Chicken Little 3-D at the cinema! I love video games!

It's strange how someone else's words can make you consider yourself in a different way. It felt like the first time someone called me Miss McReadie, rather than simply calling me by my Christian name. Or the first time I was called "Madam". Or the first time I went into a computer game store, bought a game, and was asked if I was buying it for my kid. All strange happenings. All made me stop and think the way this morning's question did.

Reflection is a good thing sometimes. For example: my first thought was to be concerned I looked old enough to have kids. On reflection, however, I have decided to take it as a compliment that someone thought I'd managed to find a guy daft enough to want to procreate with me.

Alright, following the cynicism, here comes the mush.

Today's other example of the power of words, and of individuals. I was on the tube. It was pretty busy, but there was a spare seat next to me. Two elderly guys got onto the train. I went into my typical ruminations about whether or not to offer my seat to them (I imagine the first day that someone offers their seat to you on the tube feels pretty much the same as the first time someone asks you if you've got kids, and hence it's not a decision I take lightly). But neither one of the took the seat next to me, so I figured they maybe wanted to stand. Soon enough, a woman sat down next to me in the spare seat.

Next stop, said woman gets off the tube. One of the elderly gentlemen goes to sit down. Well, this was a cue. They didn't want to stand! It was time for some seat offering! No further rumination needed!

So I stood, and asked the guy if he wanted to sit down. He said that it was very kind of me, but that he was fine standing. As an OCD-er, I went straight to the typical "are you sure?" question, but he insisted he was fine, and revealed that the guy he was with, who had taken the spare seat, was his older brother.

Both the guys were old - in their seventies at least, maybe even into their eighties. They were also both American, and proved a phenomenon I've long believed to have existed: for some reason, elderly American men seem more "with it" than elderly British men. One of them recognised a PSP advert on the tube - don't imagie an eighty year old Brit doing that.

Anyway, the seated American guy next to me told me it was very kind of me to have offered my seat to his brother. And then he said some words that made my day:

"Your mama must've raised you right".

Six words. That's all. And yet they made me smile then, and they make me smile now. They made me smile because he'd said something nice to me. They made me smile because they were a compliment to my long suffering parents. And they made me smile because it's the most typically American thing anyone has ever said to me - the sort of line I only ever normally hear in the American film and TV that I love.

We chatted a little, and he told me he lived in Birmingham. I was delighted that he said it with American pronunciation (Bir-ming-ham rather than the British way of saying Bir-ming-um). For a moment, I wondered whether he lived in the UK - in our Birmingham. He must have sensed my confusion, because he started to say Alabama, and I quickly chimed in, saying the name of the state at the same time he did. He asked me if I'd ever been to the States - I told him no, but that I'd love to go. I got off the train, told my two new American buddies it was nice to meet them, that I hoped they'd enjoy the rest of their trip, and to take care.

And that was it. Whole conversation must only have taken five minutes. We didn't say much. But I connected briefly with someone from a country and culture that fascinates me, and he said words that made me smile.

I often marvel at the way babies and toddlers have the power to make everyone around them smile - just by being themselves. But it's days like today that I realise that still, as adults, we have some of that same power; that ability to have a positive impact on someone by just being us. We do have power - maybe not to change the world, but to change someone's day. Maybe we should use that power more often.

OK, mush over. And, I swear, if anyone appropriates this for one of the Read-This-Aloud-Then-Send-It-To-Ten-People-For-Luck e-mails, I will sue. I hereby give notice. I am not joking.

And The Award For Most Impressive Level Of Anxiety Goes To...

2006-02-27T11:35:00.000Z

I don't mean to boast, but I'm pretty damn good at this anxiety thing. We all know that I, personally, am very good at severe anxiety. But I don't stop there. Oh no. I'm also able to suffer anxiety - most effectively - on behalf of others. Now, at this point, you're probably thinking: "Well, I can do that. No big deal. I get nervous on behalf of my friend/partner/relative all the time". Fair enough. But do you get nervous on behalf of people you've never met? I thought not. See now, that is a trick McReadie is perfectly capable of performing.

I bring this all up because, for the past few weeks, I have become increasingly nervous on behalf of Jon Stewart. Though I often refer to Mr Stewart by his first name - in the same way I refer to Lance and, er, Earl by their first names - I do not know the man personally. Sure, using the broad McReadie definition of "met", Jon and I are close buddies, but using the more widely accepted definition of "met", I am no more than a rather long-term fan of the man.

Here's the thing: my ol'buddy Jon is hosting the Oscars. This Sunday. And I'm nervous for the guy. I don't want his name to be dragged up alongside that of another one of my comedy heroes - David Letterman - in articles about hosts who've bombed at the Oscars.

Now those of us with brains know that the man is hilarious. So too are Ben Karlin and David Javerbaum - two writers from the Daily Show who are also writing for the Oscars gig, and whom I have also, ahem, "met". My only worry is that the sort of idiots attending the Oscars and, indeed, the idiots watching at home, may not realise the genius in front of them. If this happens, the pain will only be worsened by the large amount of evidence that, as well as being brilliantly witty, Stewart is a very nice man.

The good news is that the man himself doesn't seem to be nervous. He seems to be going in with "what's the worst that could happen?" kind of attitude that was advocated by my mental health care dudes. I congratulate him on this. I am trying to take a leaf out of his book and not worry.

But I can't help it. I am worried. For a man I've never met. The only bigger disappointment than Jon bombing on Sunday night will be me failing to win the Oscar on Sunday for "Most Impressive Level of Anxiety". G'luck, Jon.

PS. If any of you have Stewart's book Naked Pictures of Famous People (and the answer to my Mother's question: "Is it really naked pictures of famous people?" is a "no"), check out "The Recipe" - will he be following this come Sunday?

UK TV Recommendation

2006-02-23T13:58:00.000Z

Wednesdays for the next few weeks are gonna be a superb telly night.

Of course, this statement only applies if you're in the UK. And if you like generally like the same TV as I like. But with those caveats in place - Wednesdays are gonna be a superb TV night! Mark my words.

First up, at 9pm on BBC2, is series two of the UK version of The Apprentice. I came to this party rather late. I only started watching the first series after a quick visit home led to watching an episode with my parents. I rapidly becoming hooked, even though the series was about half way through by that point. So this time, I made sure to turn up on time - right from Episode One. Delighted to see that most of the contestants are back stabbing bastards - and that those who aren't seem to have some naive belief that integrity and accepting responsibility are necessary qualities in a successful business person. Yeah, just like they are in politicians.

Tough to pick a favourite candidate at this early stage, but frontrunners at present are the prat who wanted to call the Boys' Team "The A-Team" (a clever suggestion in 1985, perhaps, but not so much twenty years later) and the woman who is clearly an emotional wreck. "Oooo, goody, we're gonna be getting lots of tears from her," thought I, as she almost wept about the way the women's team had used sex appeal to win the competition, and it seems I'm right - the preview for next week showed her weeping as well. Excellent.

For the record, I agreed with her point about the women using flirting in order to get what they wanted (namely free fruit - don't ask). Such behaviour does reinforce negative images of women in the workplace. That said, making this point while close to tears reinforced the other negative image of women in the workplace - emotional, irrational beings who cry at the drop of a hat. To be fair, these stereotypes work for me. Women at work do seem to be either ruthless bitches or weepers. It's a good rule of thumb. I'd like to think I'm neither. Which is probably why I'm not a multi-millionaire.

Possibly even better than The Apprentice, though, is the programme that follows it - The Armstrongs. I'd read several reviews of this that described it as a real-life version of The Office. That's a pretty good description.

The show follows life at Coventry's third largest double glazing firm, run by the eponymous Armstrongs. Working life there appears to be ever so slightly more depressing than it was at my first job (and that's saying something).

The Armstrongs themselves are indescribable. I noticed they drive a Jaguar. I can only assume this is on hire purchase, because their business style is such that you're amazed they've had any success at all. I strongly suspect that their firm (U-Fit) is the third largest double glazing firm in Coventry simply because there are only two others.

If the first episode is anything to go by, this series is going to more hilarious than many comedies. Tough to pick a favourite moment, but I did enjoy John Armstrong asking why his new employee Michael (the only applicant for the position) hadn't mentioned that he would need to take time off to compete in an Othello tournament - cue John wondering why someone wouldn't mention they needed time off for some f*****g Shakespeare competition. Priceless.

A Couple of OCD-Related Things

2006-02-23T13:51:00.000Z

First off, have discovered, via BB, the writings of Kit, another UK-based OCDer. Check it out.

Secondly, thanks to Lisa P for again checking in and leaving such kind comments. It's interesting you should mention OCD/Anxiety Twelve Step Groups, Lisa. I hadn't been previously aware of such organisations, but the minute I did a Google for "anxiety recovery" when I was writing that whole post about my first 2006 OCD Freakout, I came across them!

I was interested to see they existed - not least because it shows that others have the same feeling as I do (and, indeed, you do); that this is an illness from which we're in recovery rather than one from which we can be cured. How prevalent are such groups in the US? I have to admit I'm not aware of any existing over here, but that's not to say they don't!

New Year's Resolution Update

2006-02-23T13:25:00.000Z

Thanks to all those of you who checked in and wished me well with my (daft) New Year's Resolution. And, Fizzwhizz, congrats on your gym routine - how's it going?

I thought it was time for an update on my progress (and time for a blog update in general - perhaps I should have made regular writing here my resolution instead).

So you know how all these "experts" tell you that eating more heathily will make you feel better? More energy? Mentally better? Physically better? Well, I can exclusively reveal something that my little two month experiment in more moderated eating has taught me:

Such claims are bullshit.

Do you know how I feel about my healthy eating? Miserable. My chocolate deprivation may well drive me over the edge. I am continuing to moderate my intake, and this is having clearly disastrous effects on my taste buds. Case in point: for Christmas, my Grandma very kindly bought me some chocolates. When I tasted said chocolates at Christmas, my expert opinion was that they were nice, but not exceptional.

Cut to a month or so later, and I decide to have one of these chocolates as part of my Weekend Choc Allowance. Guess what? This chocolate - previously felt by me to be average - has become one of the most glorious things I've ever tasted. It necessitated closing of eyes, and deep consideration of its magnificence. In short: my previously highly sensitive chocolate palette has been destroyed. Honestly, if you gave me some cheap confectionary product which made you vomit, chances are I'd sing its praises and declare it the most lovely food stuff on the face of the earth. What has happened to me?

Another lie pushed by these Healthy Eating Dudes is that eating more fruit and vegetables, and less junk food, will give you more energy. Lies. I feel sluggish. And somewhat depressed. You know why? Cos I'm miserable about not eating junk food! It's a vicious circle, I tells ya!

Oh, and you know the Actimel challenge? Drink those little yoghurts for two weeks, and you'll be splashing in puddles, and going round the park on roller blades? Lies. I have continued to avoid puddles, and remain dubious about the delights of roller blades.

I can thus conclusively tell you that eating stuff in moderation, and cutting back on the junk, has brought me nothing other than:

- Misery
- Exhaustion
- Occasional diarrhoea

Great.

Having a Birthday: McReadie Style

2006-02-23T13:14:00.000Z

'Twas my birthday on Monday. I'm now officially twenty seven years of age - a fact that made me wake at half four in the morning and freak out about how little I've done, and how I'm not where I thought I would be at twenty seven, and how twenty seven is only three years away from thirty.

This is not uncharacteristic of me. I tend to do this each and every birthday (and each and every New Year). When I turned eight, I probably freaked out about how little I'd achieved, and how I'd yet to master times tables, and how I really expected to be further along in my writing career by this point.

That's one of the many reasons I'm not wild about birthdays. And so I tend to downplay the day I turn a year older. I haven't had a birthday party since I was about seven (by eight, I was probably too busy worrying about long multiplication to feel like celebrating). I keep the date on my birthday on a strictly need to know basis. "Fortunately", half of those people who I do deem need to know are absolutely hopeless with dates, and so tend to forget about The Big Day in any case. This pisses me off, frankly. If you're taken into the small group who know the date of McReadie's Birthday, the least you can do is bloody well remember it.

So, no, I don't tend to do big celebrations for my birthday. I tend to go home, and do vaguely celebratory but low-key things like eating take out pizza, playing hours of video games, watching TV, and sleeping. Admittedly, this is pretty much what I normally do but, what the hell, it's what I like doing, and so I'll damn well do it on my birthday.

This year, however, had the potential to be a little different. Jason Mraz - one of the merry band of male singer-songwriters in heavy rotation on McReadie's iPod - was in town. I already had tickets for his 21 February gig at the Shepherds Bush Empire. But then I discovered he was playing a free, acoustic set at Borders in Islington - on my birthday.

I figured this would be a pretty damn good way to celebrate my turning twenty seven. So I excitedly made plans to attend. Dammit, maybe I'd even make a song request - saying it was my birthday to give me extra influence. I'd bring along my copy of his first studio album, to prove I was no Johnny Come Lately, and ask him to sign it. I would do all this because I was twenty seven years old, dammit, and it was time to kiss goodbye to the social anxiety that previously would have crippled me in such a situation.

So, on the day of my birthday, I woke up with even more nervous excitement than I normally would on the 20 February. The show was scheduled for four. I relaxed, opened some of the lovely presents my Ma, Pa, and brother had bought for me, and started to think about which song I'd be requesting at Islington Borders at four o'clock (eventual decision: On Love, In Sadness).

After a lazy morning, I decided to plan my journey over to Islington. Logged onto the Borders Events website in order to remind myself of where the Islington branch was, and to figure out what time I'd need to leave in order to get there by four.

But the website said something strange: it said the event was at 1pm. Even though last time I'd looked, it had definitely said four.

I noticed this at about twenty to one. I was in Tulse Hill. Short of taking a plane there (which, we all know, would hold problems for me) I was not gonna make it to Islington by one.

But surely there had been some mistake? They couldn't have rearranged the concert. I'd come back to London from Newbury a day early in order to see it. I had the whole day off. It was my birthday, for crying out loud!

So I phoned the branch. The event was indeed at one. The schedule had been changed.

So I missed the concert. This is a fact that still depresses me - more so after the brilliance of Tuesday night at Shepherds Bush. And after I read on a messageboard that there were only about thirty or forty people at the free Islington gig. And that it was entirely acoustic - just Mraz and his guitar. And that he played nothing but requests.

So for the rest of the afternoon of my twenty seventh birthday, I sat around depressed, wondering how to salvage the day. Answer? Takeaway pizza - my first of the year (damn this Sensible Eating New Year's Resolution). And a piece of the birthday cake my Mum had kindly cooked for me, which proved once again that my Mum makes the best cake in the universe.

Ah, well. Maybe my twenty eighth birthday will be better. Though I already know I'll wake up in half four in the morning, freaking about how I'm twenty eight, and the fact that's only two years off thirty, and the fact that I thought I woulda achieved more by now - like, say, having managed to request a song at a free acoustic set performed by one of my favourite artists.

Sigh.

Stick With Your Instincts

2006-01-23T17:53:00.000Z

Traditionally, I do not make New Year's Resolutions. I always felt they were somewhat futile: it seemed an artificial time at which to decide on a new way in which to live. I suspect I partly felt this because of my anxiety of a new year (don't ask) but I do also feel it's a valid point: I liked to think that, if a resolution was to be made, I could make it at any time I wanted. Indeed, I liked to think that my life was a string of occasional resolutions (I was probably deluding myself with that thought, by the way).

This year, however, is different. It has been clear to me for a while that my diet could be improved. In a rather obsessional and defensive manner, I tell myself that my diet is not all that awful - and I'm sure it isn't, in comparison to some people's. That said, I also feel it's not as good as it could be. The problem, I think, is that I don't tend to eat things in moderation. I tend to eat the same meal for lunch and in the evening. And chocolate is a problem.

So, this year, I have written a list. It is stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It's a set of rules. The one that's bothering me the most is that chocolate is to be confined to weekends, with a maximum of three portions allowed - and a target of just two. This is tough. This weekend, I survived on just two tiny bars of chocolate. That is more or less unthinkable. Not least because the bastards at my local Somerfield seem to have decided to put a whole load of junk food that I would adore on Very Special Offer.

That said, I'm so far sticking to the new rules. My Mum asked me yesterday if I felt better for it.

The answer?

No.

I always knew these New Year's Resolutions were pointless.

Another Year, Another Set of TV Recommendations

2006-01-23T17:50:00.000Z

I think if there's one thing readers expect from Nuggets aside from lengthy posts on anxiety, it's televisual recommendations.

Never one to disappoint:

- Prison Break: starts tonight, 10pm, Channel 5
- My Name is Earl: started a few weeks back on Channel 4, 10pm, Friday evenings, but it's not too late to get into it. It's funny and surprisingly sweet, and I'd suggest accompanying it with a takeaway pizza for a lovely night in.

McReadie: Not Above Having A Major OCD Freakout Every Once In A While

2006-01-23T17:02:00.000Z

I often give thought (in a completely non-obsessional way, you understand) as to whether I regard myself as "cured" of OCD. Do I still regard myself as an obsessive compulsive? Or am I a recovered obsessive compulsive? Or perhaps a recovering obsessive compulsive?

I think the last is closest to reality. On the one hand, I'm not the OCD-riddled person I once was. On the other, it is clear to me that I am not ridded of my obsessive tendencies - they have not gone away completely, and I don't think they ever will. During therapy, and immediately after its conclusion, I was in a state of perpetual awareness of my thought processes - on constant guard against the OCD. Living, to some extent, in fear that it would all come back again.

After a while, you settle down. You start to become more relaxed. You start to, maybe, become a little complacent. You wash your hands because they feel dirty, even though you know they don't really need washing. You allow ruminations about contamination to begin again. You think twice about letting something "dirty" touch something "clean".

And, rapidly, it escalates. Hence, on Saturday, I staged a major OCD freakout the likes of which I've not seen for a while.

All started with a pair of shoes. Before Christmas, I became concerned about these shoes. One had a mud-like substance on the bottom. I didn't panic too much, until the thought occurred to me that this might not in fact be mud, but may instead be dog waste.

Much obsessive analysis - including the classic sniff test - ensued. I became concerned that, because I'd worn that pair of shoes to the doctor that morning, I could have harmed my doctor and her unborn baby. Yes, this was indeed becoming obsessive. Time to take action. Action was putting the shoes on my bed. And sleeping in said bed. Action caused me to panic, and to weep, but action proved just about successful. I went home for Christmas, and didn't really worry about The Shoes.

But the thoughts started reoccuring this weekend. I started to avoid the shoes. Their very presence in my flat bothered me. I began to think about how the contamination had spread throughout the whole flat. The sniff test seemed to prove more certainly than ever before than this was no mere mud.

Friday night, I had difficulty falling asleep. Saturday, I decided I had to take action. But the action I chose was daft - in that it was obsessive. I decided to clean the shoes. But cleaning the shoes was tough, because I had to make sure I didn't become contaminated in the process. Let's just say that a bucket was thrown away once the cleaning was complete.

Sure enough, in an OCD-fashion, the cleaning was not enough to satisfy me. So I threw the shoes away.

Slippery slope.

Before I knew it, I was disinfecting the entire floor surface of my flat. And cleaning the sinks in my flat. And washing both rugs in my flat (so desperate was I to free one of the two rugs - trapped under a bookcase - that I did take to the damn thing with a pair of scissors). And worrying about whether contact with the rugs would harm the person in the dry cleaners who was going to charge me a stupid amount to clean 'em, or the person in the launderette who offered a far more reasonable price.

After all this, I felt the way one always does after engaging in an obsessive ritual: exhausted, and unsure it had been sufficient. I felt I needed, quite urgently, to wash the clothes I'd been wearing, and to take a shower. I'd planned to see my Grandmother, but I felt I couldn't do that without decontaminating myself. Else I'd harm her.

It was at this point that it finally hit me (sometimes I'm a little slow): things were getting out of hand. Spiralling out of control, one might say. It was time to fight back.

So I rolled around on my bed in my "contaminated" clothes. I then phoned my Grandma, and went round there. When I returned home, I did not shower. Instead, I went to bed. Next morning, things were better.

This whole experience, and many other things in my day to day life, prove I'm not a recovered obsessive compulsive. Nor I am an obsessive compulsive. I'm a recovering obsessive compulsive. It's an important distinction. I don't think the temptation to obsess and worry will ever go away. No, in fact - I know it won't. It's a clever little bastard is anxiety, and it'll try more or less anything to get your attention. Keeping my guard up against it can be hard at times - when I'm physically ill, or tired, or (as was the case this weekend) stressed. Or when all seems to be going well, and I start to relax.

But when you let the guard down, even for an hour or two, you remember why you have to keep it up. So it's back up again now. Gotta keep it that way.

Oh, and by the way, dear Nuggets reader... It's never too late to put your guard back up. Or even put it up for the very first time. It's tough, but it's better than having no guard up at all.

McReadie Once Again Succumbs To The Charms Of Everyone's Favourite Psychological Illusionist

2006-01-05T18:33:00.000Z

I've mentioned before my love for Derren Brown. Last night was the broadcast of his latest TV special, The Heist, in which he apparently convinced three "normal" people to commit a (fake) armed robbery.

Reading the reviews of the show this morning, there's once again the theme of being simultaneously impressed and freaked out by everybody's favourite psychological illusionist.

See, now, the only thing that freaks me out about him is that the more unsettling the trick he performs, the more attractive I find him. This is concerning.

Charles Kennedy

2006-01-05T18:25:00.000Z

About half an hour ago, Charles Kennedy - leader of the Liberal Democrats here in the UK - made a statement. I've got a whole lot of time for the Lib Dems - heck, realistically I am one - but I have to admit that I can laugh at 'em. They're the baby party. The underdogs. The guys we know haven't got a hope of getting it.

So when the Lib Dems make a statement, you don't expect it to be big news. You expect it to be a proposal to add 2p to income tax to fund recycling.

Well, tonight's statement bucked the trend. Charles Kennedy's statement included an admission that he has been struggling with a drink problem for a while, and an announcement that there will now be a leadership election at his request.

I like Charles Kennedy. And I liked his statement. And I hope he wins.

Like McReadie, Her Tooth Loses Its Nerve

2006-01-05T18:08:00.000Z

I don't like dentists. It's one of my (very) many long standing anxieties. Traditionally, I've gone in for avoidance. This, as we have learnt, is not a good way of dealing with anxieties. It's also not a terribly good way of dealing with your dental health.

Fortunately, I seem to have been blessed with fairly robust teeth. As of 3 January 2006 - almost twenty seven years after I arrived on this earth - I had never had any work done on my teeth. I was rather proud of this record. Especially since I hadn't seen a dentist in about ten years.

Now I have had dental pain at times over the years. Jaw ache. And a tooth I was always nervous about following a blow to it some fifteen years ago. This little tooth occasionally gave me pain. But said pain came and went, and so I was able to maintain my avoidance of dentists.

Sadly, this record of cowardice was ended yesterday.

On Boxing Day, my tooth started to hurt. Didn't think too much of it. A week later when it was still hurting - and when there appeared to be swelling beneath the tooth - I couldn't think of anything but it.

As a result, I found myself yesterday paying a visit to the dental accident and emergency department at Guy's Hospital, wondering about whether multiple tooth extractions would be necessary. And how likely it is that a young non-smoking, non-drinking individual could have developed mouth cancer.

There was waiting, there were x-rays, and then there was the verdict. My little tooth, knocked some fifteen years ago, had been struggling. It had, in fact, been slowly dying, and an abscess or cyst growing slowly under the tooth. That's what was causing the pain.

So time for a little root canal, carried out by a lovely and kind student dentist (I was somewhat relieved to find out he qualifies in July 2006 and wasn't someone who'd only started a week ago). I coped, and felt rather proud as I wandered out of the hospital with a numb bottom lip and drool running down my chin.

I may look like crap, I thought, but at least I'm crap that can visit a dentist.

So now I have a tooth that has lost its nerve. This seems strangely appropriate. I have a temporary filling in there, have to find a local dentist, have the root canal done again to try and get rid of the remaining nastiness beneath the tooth, and then have a permanent filling put in.

So my record of perfect dental health is gone. But my record of dentist avoidance is gone too - and, to be honest, I think that's a good thing.

Tis The Season to Apologise For My Uselessness

2005-12-18T21:27:00.000Z

Guys and gals - you faithful readers of Nuggets - I apologise. I've neglected you lately. Oh, sure, I could give excuses - presentations to give, meetings to attend, flu to conten with - but we both know that none are going to be good enough.

I'm now off home for the holidays, and so it's time once again for Nuggets' Christmas hiatus. But I didn't want to go before wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a very happy New Year. Whatever you have planned, I hope you have an excellent time.

Thank you to anyone and everyone who's read my ramblings this year and, most importantly, to anyone who's left comments. Thanks especially to my core team of blogger buddies - I'm talking about you, Taxloss, Hypatia, Fizzwhizz, Barbara, Bernard, Jo, Wyoming, and Fire Blanket. And, Lisa P, thank you for checking in and for your positive comments on my ramblings about the "delights" of anxiety.

See you all in '06.

Dr T and Me: It May Be Over

2005-12-12T15:36:00.000Z

Regular readers may remember that I have previously declared I have all the time in the world for The Lovely Dr Tanya Byron. Dr T is the clinical psychologist who transforms little shits of infants into lovely little kiddos in programmes such as The House of Tiny Tearaways on which I am, quite frankly, hooked. I watch, typically, impressed by Dr T's kindness, positive attitude, and ability to work wonders.

It is with sadness, therefore, that I must report that cracks are starting to appear our relationship. It may, dare I say it, be over.

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when a nervous mother came into the house. She has a food phobic kiddo, and it was identified that Mum had a problem with the little tyke getting dirty.

So Dr T of course set up an exposure exercise - fruit picking. Little kiddo would get mucky and both Mum and kid would hopefully learn that their fears of mess were unfounded.

So far, so good. But then the unimaginable happened: I saw Dr T give said Mum an elastic band to put on her wrist. The idea was to flick it each time an anxious thought appeared, and to try and block this thought and think more positively.

No, no, no! Blocking or avoiding anxious thoughts only makes them come back even stronger! What the hell are you doing, Dr T!

Instead, shouldn't the woman should be asked to live with the anxious thought - possibly even make it worse (he's gonna get messy, if he gets messy he's gonna get germs on him, those germs might kill him) - and be asked to see what happens? Blocking a thought means you never get to find out what would happen if you lived with it (and, in any case, blocking is near impossible to do - "think of any animal other than an elephant" and you find yourself thinking of an elephant).

Interestingly, Dr T felt that many of the kiddo's problems stemmed from the mother failing to deal with many of her emotions. So how come it was OK to block out anxiety, but not to block out other emotions?

Argh. This was painful. I felt my respect for Dr T crumbling.

Now, I have to admit that my own mental health issues mean that I suspect I get disappointed in people too easily. So I decided to give Dr T the benefit of the doubt. I did not withdraw from the show. No - I stuck with it.

Last night, though, she buggered things up again. This week, we have a kid in the house who is seriously phobic about animals. Tanya exposed said kiddo to a rabbit and a guinea pig to see quite how phobic kiddo was. Answer: pretty damn.

It wasn't the exposure exercise that bothered me. It was the fact that Tanya reassured the kid that nothing bad would happen. Promised, in fact.

h, Dr T, reassurance doesn't work - it feeds back into the anxiety. Also, you didn't seem to ask the kid what she was scared of. You decided for her ("now, I think you're scared because of the way the rabbit's moving, but nothing's going to happen").

I of course hope the kid's phobia is reduced over the week, but I can't help but feel the approach is flawed. Surely the kid should be allowed to discover whether her fears are founded? I was terrified of flying. All the statistics in the world about flying being the safest form of transport didn't help. I can't be sure the plane won't crash. I have to go and see. Chances are, once I do, I'll realise I can reappraise the risk level I've attached to the activity.

Similarly, our little animal phobic kid isn't going to be successfully reassured that rabbits don't hurt people. No reassurance will be good enough for her. And, in any case, we can't be sure the rabbit won't hurt her. It might go and scratch her. But she has to take the risk and find out.

Dr T: it's been a blast, but I fear these may be irreconcilable differences. I may have to bid you farewell. I can live with the occasionally gothic makeup, and the somewhat dodgy dress sense, and even with you being referred to as "Dr" Tanya Byron in a way that would make most people think you're a medical doctor even though we both know you're simply a PhD, but - really - when it comes to bad anxiety advice, I have to draw the line.

So consider this your first, friendly warning. If you give better advice tonight, I'll give you lots of praise. If, however, you do not change your line in tonight's show, I will ask you to do so again, in a firmer, lower voice, while on your eye level. If you do, lots of praise. If you don't, time out. This is an extreme form of ignoring which will show you I will not accept this behaviour. You'll spend time in your room by yourself - one minute for each year of your life. So expect to be in there for half an hour or so.

I've also created an "Anxiety Advice from Tanya" sticker chart. Every time you give bad anxiety advice, you'll get a cross. Every time you give good advice, you'll get a sticker. Once you get three stickers, you gain a treat - possibly me watching another one of your shows.

I know it might seem tough, but you really must learn.

Encores

2005-12-12T15:33:00.000Z

You know what really piss me off? Encores. Seriously. They drive me mad.

I don't mean that it annoys me to get a couple of extra songs at the end of a performance. No. I enjoy that.

What pisses me off is the daft routine of us, as an audience, having to clap our hands til they sting in order to get the performer back out.

We know that the singer has not, in fact, decided not to perform his or her two most appreciated tunes. We all know the performer will come back out. They know it. And we know it.

The whole thing is like the Royal Variery Performance: a daft bloody charade.

An Evening With Jon Stewart... And Various Other Stars

2005-12-12T14:44:00.000Z

Gotta lotta time for Jon Stewart. Being an "early adopter" when it comes to many matters pop culture (or, if we're being less generous, "a geek"), the man has been on my Respect Radar for quite some time - ever since he hosted the little-remembered-by-anyone-other-than-McReadie "Where's Elvis This Week?" back in 1996.

Since I first made the realisation that the man was really rather funny, he's gone from strength to strength - further evidence that the McReadie Seal of Approval can do wonders for your career. He's now best known for being at the helm of the almighty Daily Show - a very funny half hour of fake news which has won more awards than I've won petty arguments over grammar. And, believe me, I've won lots. My record is nigh on unbeaten.

So it was with some excitement - and, as ever with me - near crippling-anxiety that I wandered along to the Prince Edward theatre for last night's An Evening With Jon Stewart.

(Check the fine print: also featuring Daily Show writers Ben Karlin and David Javerbaum! Bless them, do you think they're used to feeling a tad overshadowed by the might of the Stewart? For the record, both of them were very funny as well).

The show was, needless to say, hilarious.

And I saw more famous people yesterday night than I had seen over the twenty six years of my life up to that point. I get socially anxious anyway in theatres, but it's even more difficult to feel relaxed when, sitting in the row behind you, are David Baddiel, Angus Deayton, and - directly behind you - Salman Rushdie.

And, sitting just a little way away from you in the row behind, Alan Rickman. This is excluding the people I saw on the way to my seat - Armando Iannucci, though he and I are old friends as I saw him once on Oxford Street - and the people I could have seen if I'd tilted my head in the direction advised by those with me ("Look behind ya - Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant! And, hang on, I think that's Phill Jupitus!") Fortunately, the minute someone tells me there's a famous person behind me, my head becomes fixed so as to avoid any eye contact with said famous peep, and any potential embarrassment that could result thereafter. I am, as you all already know, far from cool.

But something strange happened as the show progressed: I became used to the famous people all around me. The fact that Angus Deayton was carrying a rucksack was, for some reason, strangely comforting to me. "Hey, he carries a rucksack. I carry a rucksack!"

This desensitisation was important because, on the crush that ensued on the way out of the theatre, I found myself allowing a gentleman to walk ahead of me. A gentleman who looked a lot like Richard Dreyfuss. Mainly cos it was Richard Dreyfuss. I managed to stop myself from babbling on about the delights of "Mr Holland's Opus" and "What About Bob?" I also managed not to get into a discussion of his backing out of The Producers at the last minute (in a weird way, I respected his chickening out, and wished I was famous and able to back out of things at the last minute due to the jitters). And I didn't say: "Wow, you're short!" Seriously, I could look the man in the eyes without need to crick my neck. And: "Wow, you look old, Dreyfuss". Cos he does. But perhaps that's down to what I feel might be a lifetime of anxiety. And drug abuse.

No, I said none of these things because now I walk comfortably amongst stars. Could even look straight at Ricky Gervais as we stood waiting for one of our group to emerge from the theatre.

Yeah, hanging with Salman Rushdie, Angus Deayton, Richard Dreyfuss... Now all part of a typical Sunday night for McReadie.

Now Here's A Holiday Song

2005-11-21T16:28:00.000Z

Ditch Slade's Merry Christmas Everybody. Dismiss Wham's Last Christmas. Disregard Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmas Time".

And, while you're at it, magic away Wizard's "Wish it Could Be Christmas Everyday"; declare war on Lennon's "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)"; and stop "Stop the Cavalry".

As you may have gathered, I'm not wild about Christmas songs. I may in fact hate them. The only commonly-played ones I can just about tolerate are Chris Rea's Driving Home for Christmas, because I think it's very evocative; The Pogues' (featuring Kirsty MacColl) Fairytale of New York because my brother and I have an ongoing argument about whether the lyric is "Merry Christmas, you arse" (my view) or "Merry Christmas, my arse" (my brother's view) - according to the web site, we're both wrong; it's "Merry Christmas, your arse"; and Cliff Richard's Millennium Prayer, because of its unintentionally hilarious video.

So it's big news that I have found today a holiday song which I... wait for it... like! It's true.

It's by Brett Dennen - one of the male singer songwriters who forms part of the merry collection of Male-Folk-Influenced-Singer-Songwriters-McReadie-Likes - and you can download it here and check out the inspired lyrics here.

The latter page also contains a note from Brett explaining that the "song is not meant to be heard as a social or political critique of our country". Oh, Brett, this liberal hopes that you're just saying that to soothe potential complainants rather than because you really didn't mean any political message to be taken away from your song - much like the way Michael Jackson put a message up at the beginning of the Thriller video saying that it shouldn't be interpreted as supporting the occult, as this went against Jackson's beliefs (sure, Michael, whatever - we "believe" you).

Regardless, any holiday songs which contains lyrics such as these is one I can get behind:

Hurricane waters ravage southern towns
Black and white people left to drown
While the White House and the Emergency Management Agency ignores
Victims take shelter in the Astrodome
The National Guard says “don’t go home”
The holidays are here and we’re still at war

Police officers hassle the homeless
Domestic disputes and alcohol violence
The jail house opens wide its door
A corporation cuts a million employees
The factory moves overseas
The holidays are here and we’re still at war

The song's free to download for the next few weeks, so if - like me - you have liberal political leanings and a defective Likes-Folk-Music gene (and, let's face it, who doesn't?) be sure to check it out.

McReadie: Smells of Pritt Stick

2005-11-08T11:59:00.000Z

There is the distinct smell of Pritt Stick in my vicinity. This is peculiar, because I have not been using said adhesive.

This leaves, as far as I can see, a couple of options. The smell is either from the new top I'm currently wearing, or is the scent of my new deodorant. If it's the latter, I should maybe consider changing back to my previous brand. I'm not sure smelling of Pritt Stick is a particularly good thing.

In other news, I have ear ache in my right ear. Probably linked to the redness and pain in my right tonsil. My neck is starting to hurt, I'm hot and cold, and I feel a little groggy.

Naturally enough, this is occuring just before two consecutive days in Exeter, for which I have to rise at 5:25am. Gah.

Oh, Raj...

2005-11-08T10:30:00.000Z

Love Raj Persaud. Have done for many years. So many reasons to like the guy. Raises the profile of mental health issues. Works at the Maudsley. Seems like a thoroughly nice guy. And - discovered today - he was born in Reading!

So I was a little distressed when I read that everyone's favourite TV psychiatrist is embrolled in somewhat of a scandal. He's been accused of plagarism, and I have to say that the evidence is fairly damning.

Oh, Raj. What happened? You have eight degrees, for Chrissake. You must know that in the peculiar world of academia, plagarism is the normal world equivalent of murder. I do believe it still carries the death penalty. An apology has been offered by The Good Doctor. Let's hope he's forgiven. In the same way I've forgiven him for the very freaky abstract photo of him on his website. Presumably the abstract approach was taken so as not to look too arrogant but, honestly, the result is just frightening. Thankfully, I'm not feeling too obsessive or anxious today. Had I visited the site on a day when I was feeling a bit mentally off - well, that scary picture could have been enough to tip me over the edge.

A New Blogger Joins The Fold

2005-11-08T09:01:00.000Z

Our new friend from Wyoming has set up a blog, and I highly recommend that you pay a visit.

Rambling Mad is a diary about life in Wyoming - and has some lovely pictures of the state. Check it out, if you please.

Speaking of Comments...

2005-11-07T12:41:00.000Z

Thank you, Lisa, for your kind words. I tell you, I don't know what to do with all this praise. Other than, y'know, bathe in its beautiful glow.

McReadie: Moderating Comments

2005-11-07T12:31:00.000Z

It seems that comment spam is the new Internet annoyance. No longer is "Cheep Presc1p1ion Drug" confined to our inbox. Now it's on our blogs too. Sigh.

Blogger has introduced a word verification feature to try and get round the problem. However, I hate word verification - especially Blogger's, since the "words" are often in a font which makes them near impossible to reproduce accurately - and so I resisted turning it on. I also thought it would discourage the Nugget Faithful (all four and a half of you) from commenting.

I find today, however, that the folks at Blogger have introduced a commment modification feature.

This I have turned on. So if you notice that your comments seem to hang around in limbo for a while before appearing - that'd be why. It's a pain, but it's less damaging to my ego than me clicking on the comment link only to find spam.

Why I Love Earl Warren

2005-11-07T12:26:00.000Z

Hey, my sidebar appears to be back in the right place! Wonder how long that'll last.

The calls for me to explain my love for Earl Warren have become "deafening". It's not just Fire Blanket any more. No - he has been joined by an anonymous friend from Wyoming. Both are keen - perhaps even desperate - to hear the reasons for my Earl Affection.

Never one to disappoint, I have decided that it's time for the long overdue explanation of why I regard Earl as a hero. Unlike some bloggers I could mention, I don't raise a fascinating topic and then leave my readers in suspense. No: here at Nuggets, we like to fulfill readers' requests. Even if they are hopelessly misguided (you will regret asking this, chaps - I know you will).

A little background first off. Warren was born in 1891, and served as Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court between 1953 and 1969. Prior to his time on the court, he'd served as Governor as California - a fact that only serves to increase my depression when thinking about the idiot who currently holds the position.

Warren was - and remains - a highly divisive figure. Impeach Earl Warren signs were to be found across the country during his time on the court. The debate typically centres around the way in which he made the Supreme Court - in effect - the legislative branch of government as well as the judicial. Many felt his decisions to be far too liberal - and out of step with majority opinion in America. Should an unelected figure legislate in ways with which many Americans were uncomfortable? It's an important debate, but shouldn't disguise what seems to me to now be self-evident fact - many of the rulings considered to be liberal nonsense at the time are now revealed to be cornerstones of a democratic society.

OK, see, I'm going into an essay already, aren't I? And I haven't even started explaining the reasons for my love yet. So let's bullet point it from here on out, shall we?

Six Reasons McReadie Loves Earl Warren
1) He brought about racial desegregation: In the 1954 ruling in Brown v Board of Education, Topeka, Warren declared racial desegregation to be unconstitutional. At the time, racial segregation was a fact of life across much of the United States - note that Topeka is in Kansas; hardly the Deep South which most of us would associate with segregation. The legislative and executive branches of the US government had been unwilling or unable to broach the highly controversial subject, so Warren did. In this sense, it was clearly an advantage that he was not an elected official. Whether or not you believe he should have been legislating, you surely can't deny that the ruling was right. And before leaving the Court, he was sure to issue another ruling to the same effect, with the aim of giving a kick up the arse to those areas not desegregating speedily. Go Earl.

2) He enshrined a crazy little concept called The Rights of the Accused: Warren made clear that anyone accused of a crime should have the right to an attorney and that, if they could not afford an attorney, one should be provided by the state. He also made clear that the accused should be informed of their constitutional rights at the time of their arrest. Oh, and he established a right to silence. At the time, many felt Warren was making it too easy for the accused to escape punishment by making it too difficult for the police. Some people - like myself - reckon that Warren was just establishing basic human rights.

3) One Man, One Vote: In the 1950s, it became clear that many state legislatures had not reapportioned representation for many years. As a result, rural areas had disproportionate representation in these legislatures. So Earl comes in and says, yeah, you're gonna need to deal with that. One man, one vote. I believe Earl thought these rulings to be the most important he made while on the Court.

4) He believed in the separation of church and state: I'm not religious. That said, I believe that everyone should have the right to practice a religion. I also believe that the state should not promote one particular religion over another, or force citizens to participate in religious ceremonies. In my view, religion is a private choice, and the state should not be involved in it. Earl thought the same and, in a series of rulings, made clear that religious activity should not be prescribed in schools. This was a highly controversial decision at the time but, in McReadie's opinion, separation of state and church is a good thing. And, besides which, the Constitution makes clear that there should be a separation.

5) Seems like he was a good guy: Shortly after he became Chief Justice, Warren was walking in a hallway near his office when he noticed an awed worker. Warren wandered over to the guy, and greeted him with: "My name is Earl Warren - what's yours?" The name of the awed worker? Thurgood Marshall - later to become the first black Supreme Court justice.

6) He fooled Eisenhower: Having read thus far (honestly - I'll be surprised if anyone has), you could be forgiven for thinking that Warren was a Democrat. Nope - he was a Republican. He was nominated to the Court by Eisenhower, who expected Warren to be a moderate Republican. So you can imagine that Dwight was a little shocked when Earl turned out to be a bit of a liberal. Eisenhower later described his choice of Warren as "the biggest damn fool mistake I ever made".

I mean, c'mon! What's not to love?

More People For Whom I Have All The Time In the World

2005-11-07T10:59:00.000Z

Further to my previous post on this subject. I simply can't believe I forgot these two the first time round:

- The Lovely Dr Tanya Byron
- Kate Winslet. She's from Reading, so of course that counts in her favour straightaway. But then I saw an interview with her on Conan O'Brien, where she explained how she got back at a bully from school, and I realised that I did indeed have All The Time In the World For Her. And her turn in Extras didn't do her any harm, either.

Some Things Never Change

2005-11-01T20:16:00.000Z

I may now be a competition winner, but I'm still an idiot.

My Victory-Excitement means I have not yet:

1) Cooked or eaten an evening meal
2) Showered
3) Ironed my clothes for the meeting I'm attending tomorrow
4) Printed out the information I need for my meeting tomorrow
5) Figured out what time I have to get up for my meeting tomorrow (answer: early - I have to be in Exeter by quarter past ten)

But, heck, who cares! I'm a competition winner!

McReadie: Competition Winner!

2005-11-01T19:41:00.000Z

I never win anything. Well, OK, I won some prizes at school by virtue of being a geek, but I don't really count them. I'm talking about victories in competitions. Victories in competitions I do not do.

My brother does, though. Always has. My brother is, frankly, quite the jammy little sod. From his drawing appearing in the Care Bears club mailout when he was six, to his frequent victories on the Irish lottery, to the one hundred and fifty quid he won last week on Quiz Call - my brother is the family competition winner.

I, on the other hand, am the family competition loser who, despite constant losses, loves gambling - to the extent that it's the only thing I think I could become addicted. (I'm not counting junk food - I'm already addicted to that).

Today, though, the tables have fleetingly turned. Just forty five minutes ago, I won a competition!

Thanks to Capital FM, I should soon be the proud owner of a copy of the Extras DVD...

And - wait for it; this is the best part - it should be signed personally to me by the one and only Mr Ricky Gervais!

(Note the "should"s in my previous two sentences - I can't quite believe this is happening).

But, really, it's true! I answered the Podcast related question correctly - in fact, I already knew the answer cos I listen to the show fairly regularly - and included in my text a comment that I hoped would increase my chances ("I, like Mr Gervais, originally hail from Reading. I feel this makes me more deserving of a signed DVD, even though it clearly doesn't").

So I texted, and I waited. And waited. I began to think I'd misunderstood - maybe this was a competition that was lasting all week; clearly cutting my chances of winning. But, no, wait, Richard's about to announce the two winners! Two winners! That's one more than I thought! That increases my chances!

So my heart's thumping away, in the excited Maybe-I-Will-Win-This-Time-But-Idiot-You-Never-Win-Don't-Get-Your-Hopes-Up way in which it's beaten while awaiting the results of every competition I've ever entered from the Roland Rat traffic sign competition when I was about five, to the Streatham Redskins Ice Hockey Club prize draw, to my numerous money wasting attempts on the very same sort of quiz channel with which my brother won one hundred and fifty quid on the first attempt.

And then the usual happens - my name isn't read out. First winner? Jim from somewhere or other.

But wait, there's one more winner! And it's me! I've won!

I can, of course, barely believe it. My OCD rapidly kicks in, and I start to think that maybe there's someone else with my name in Tulse Hill who'd entered the competition. Or maybe I misheard. After all, I haven't eaten in hours, and competitions make me go a little wacky. I'm there, about to send a "Guess what I think I may have just won..." text to my family, when my phone rings. It's a lovely lady from Capital. I have won! I can't believe it! She probably finds my level of excitement both touching and a little freaky!

I tell you, there couldn't be a better competition in which to register my first win. I'm a long-time Gervais fan - in fact, the first post from this very blog proves it!

Needless to say, my day has officially been made. Probably my week, in fact. Perhaps even my year. Excited phone calls to parents and brother ensued immediately.

As I say, it all seems a little too good to be true. I'm now thinking - did I give the right address? Did I actually spell my name properly when I gave it to the lovely woman at Capital who wanted to ensure she had it down correctly so she could "ask Ricky" to personalise the DVD to me? And: here's one from my brother - "What if he signs the cellophane? How are you going to watch it?"

Enough of this rumination, though. It's time to enjoy victory! And to wonder whether a personalised autograph just means "To McReadie", or whether it also means, say, a reference to our shared birthplace as mentioned in my winning text. How cool would that be? Ricky, buddy of mine, if you're reading - and I think we know all comedians head straight to Nuggets for cutting edge humour - it would, to be clear, be very cool. I mean, c'mon, I even spend time fully explaning your shows to our friends on the other side of the Atlantic!

A Glorious Junk Food Product

2005-10-31T16:52:00.000Z

Since Fire Blanket was kind - or should that be foolish - enough to maintain that he wants to hear about my love for Earl Warren, I should really be writing a post about the late, great, Supreme Court Chief Justice.

However, I have a splitting headache which is causing pain not only in my forehead, but also in my eyes, jaw, and neck, and therefore I don't think at the moment that I'm in any position to do Earl justice (forgive the pun).

I'm also pissed off. When I came into work this morning, I only had one meeting this week - on Friday. Now I also have one tomorrow, and one on Wednesday in Exeter, which will mean getting up at about half five. And I feel like sulking about it. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.

I may not feel able to sing the praises of Earl, but however much my head hurts, I'm still always able to sing the praises of a nice junk food product. And this weekend I discovered one that is not simply nice - it is truly magnificent.

Take two chocolate chip cookies. Make them soft, chewy, American-style cookies. Put a layer of vanilla chocolate chip ice cream between them. Package and sell.

What do you have? A Ben and Jerry's 'Wich, that's what. Mere words cannot do justice to its gorgeousness. I'm in love.

Being Altruistic When You're Obsessive

2005-10-28T08:49:00.000+01:00

I decided many months ago to give some money to a mental health charity. The decision was made, to pinpoint the exact time, when I finished my course of therapy. I was so incredibly grateful for the treatment I'd received - and so incredibly depressed by the notion that not everyone gets that quality of treatment - that I figured I should try and do something to change that situation. I always go on about the need for decent treatment for everyone with anxiety disorders, and so I figured I should try to do something to bring that about.

So, like a good little obsessive compulsive, I did some research and ultimately decided to donate some money to the Psychiatry Research Trust. The Trust funds research into mental health problems, specifically at the Institute of Psychiatry. The Institute of Psychiatry jointly runs the specialist centre at which I was treated so, y'know, I'm kind of fond of it.

The research of course wasn't over once I'd decided to which charity I was going to donate. Oh no. I contacted the organisation, asked whether it was possible for my donation to specifically fund research in anxiety disorders. Ensured that the charity would be able to claim the tax back on my donation, meaning that my money would go further. Sent a few e-mails back and forth. Received all the information I needed.

In fact, I've had all the information I've needed for a few weeks now. But I haven't quite got round to sending off a cheque. Here's why: how much money should I give? This apparently simple question has led to a whole load of rumination.

Whatever figure I come up with doesn't quite seem like enough. At first, I figured I'd donate my earnings from one day of work. That seemed reasonable. I would just mentally tell myself that one day of the week, I was working solely to benefit the Psychiatry Research Trust.

Then I got worried. I mean, only one day's wages? That's only one three hundredth and sixty fifth of my yearly earnings! That's nothing!

OK, so I figured maybe two days' earnings. But that's still next to nothing, relatively speaking. Maybe a week's earnings? But that's still only seven three hundredth and sixty fifths of my yearly wages. Seems a little pathetic.

This was starting to spiral out of control. OK, wait, maybe here's what I do: I think about how much I would have had to pay for my treatment had it not been on the NHS. I figure how much it would have cost to have the treatment privately, and then donate that money to the charity.

But, wait, that's gonna be loads of cash. I mean, I live comfortably, and I can afford to donate, but should I really be donating that much? Isn't that a little reckless?

I started to think to myself: what if, two years down the line, I have for some reason lost all my savings, and am living on the street. I'm gonna be sitting there thinking: "Dammit, why did I give that much money to the Psychiatry Research Trust? I could really do with that money now. To, y'know, buy me some food".

I mentioned all this rumination to my mum (meaning I have broken two Golden Rules of fighting OCD during this whole mess - do not ruminate, do not ask for reassurance) and she pointed out that in my hypothetical living on the street situation, I could regret any instance of spending money. I could be there thinking: "Dammit, why did I spend all that money on Sky Digital? I could have spent that money on food!"

That's a pretty good argument, but here's the thing: I know I wouldn't regret spending money on Sky. I'd be there thinking: "Well, yeah, I could have used that money on food. But, hey, back in the days when I wasn't on the street, I got hours of televisual entertainment! It was worth the cash!"

I mean, like to think I'm caring but, heck, I'm not that caring. The shameful truth is that if I was on the street, I know wouldn't regret purchases that had in some way directly benefited me. But charitable donations... I have a feeling I'd been thinking: "Yeah, well done, McReadie. It's great that you helped fund improved treatment for anxiety disorders. I'm sure you're going feel great about that as you sit here starving. You didn't think that food for yourself was perhaps a bigger priority? Idiot."

This whole process has made me realise that it's very tough to donate money when you're obsessive compulsive.

I realised I have to stop ruminating and just get on with it. So I'm gonna bite the bullet and send off a cheque this weekend.

Hopefully my money will help to make sure that everyone who gets nervous about how much money to give to charity will get the treatment we need to stop us from getting nervous about such things.

Kind of ironic, isn't it?

Does Anyone Else...

2005-10-27T19:42:00.000+01:00

...get Bette Midler and Barbra Streisand confused? Or it is just me with another Stupid McReadie Mixup?

Other Stupid McReadie Mixups, for the record, include:

- Antidote/Anecdote
- Gazebo/Zamboni (don't ask me why, but when I look at the zamboni clearing the ice during Streatham Redskins' games, the first word that comes to my head is gazebo)
- Dustin Hoffman/Dennis Hopper (less of a problem now, but for a long time I couldn't remember which name went with which actor, despite knowing they were two different people)

Where's My Sidebar Gone?

2005-10-27T19:40:00.000+01:00

Answer? Keep scrolling. It's down at the bottom of the page.

This happens from time to time. And very annoying it is too. Normally, it's the result of some misguided attempt on my part to change my blog layout. This time, however, no such misguided attempt took place. All I did was write some posts.

Most annoying. Get it sorted, Blogger.

More on Miers

2005-10-27T19:17:00.000+01:00

It seems she got Earl Warren and Warren Burger confused!

To quote from a Washington Post story:

In an initial chat with Miers, according to several people with knowledge of the exchange, Leahy asked her to name her favorite Supreme Court justices. Miers responded with "Warren" - which led Leahy to ask her whether she meant former Chief Justice Earl Warren, a liberal icon, or former Chief Justice Warren Burger, a conservative who voted for Roe v. Wade [McReadie The American Politics Geek Comment - This is the Supreme Court case which established a woman's right to an abortion]. Miers said she meant Warren Burger, the sources said.

The story slipped by without me noticing, but fortunately this Time article clued me in, and means I can now mock her on another level. How can you confuse the Mighty Warren with the Amusingly Named Burger? How, Harriet? How?

To be clear, Ms Miers, here's a crib sheet for future reference:

- Earl Warren: Hero of McReadie. Probably the best Supreme Court justice in the world. If ever asked the question: "Who's your favourite Supreme Court justice?", there is clearly only one answer. It's Earl all the way.
- Warren Burger: Moderate conservative judge. McReadie likes his name, and appreciates his ruling against Nixon's claim of executive privilege during Watergate, and his stance on Roe v Wade. Not wild, however, about the way he started to undo Earl's valuable work on the rights of the accused and religion and state.

Miers Withdraws!

2005-10-27T19:05:00.000+01:00

Way hay! Harriet Miers, Bush's nominee for the Supreme Court has withdrawn her name from consideration.

You don't care, do you?

But I do. As most of you know, I'm a bit of an American Politics geek. And I'm particularly geeky about Supreme Court justices, mainly cos of my love for the mighty Earl Warren.

(Don't ask who he was or why I love him unless you really, really want to know. I'll launch into a whole lecture on the Mighty Earl. Let's just say that when I was considering doing a PhD, Earl and his time on the Supreme Court was a big part of it).

Now I know you don't share my enthusiasm for this sort of subject matter. And any enthusiasm Fire Blanket may once have had for US politics has almost certainly been killed by our Presidential Middle Names discussion.

But, despite all that, I invite you to rejoice at Miers' decision to drop out. Why? Well, mainly because we've been spared a Supreme Court justice so unqualified that she makes the President who nominated her look like, say, Abraham Bloody Lincoln.

Supreme Court nominees are required to fill in a questionnaire when they are nominated. It's a bit like an application form for a job, but generally considered a formality. Miers' questionnaire? Considered so incomplete as to be insulting. Praise be to The Daily Show for drawing attention to a couple of her best answers. I've reproduced 'em below, courtesy of The Washington Post, so that you too can be amused. I should perhaps point out that the woman clearly wasn't listening when her school teachers told her to always answer in a sentence.

Question: Has anyone involved in the process of selecting you as a judicial nominee (including, but not limited to anyone in the Executive Office of the President, the Justice Department, or the Senate and its staff) ever discussed with you any specific case, legal issue or question in a manner that could reasonably be interpreted as seeking any express or implied assurances concerning your position on such case, issue, or question? If so, please explain fully. Please identify each communication you had prior to the announcement of your nomination with anyone in the Executive Office of the President, the Justice Department or the Senate or its staff referring or relating to your views on any case, issue or subject that could come before the Supreme Court of the United States, state who was present or participated in such communication, and describe briefly what transpired.

Miers' Answer: No.

Question: a. Describe chronologically your law practice and legal experience after graduation from law school including...

...ii. whether you practiced alone, and if so, the addresses and dates;

Miers' Answer: No.

See? We had a narrow escape.

Also, her withdrawal is a blow to the Bush administration. And you just have to love them. Seriously, you do. There's a law here on McReadie Nuggets to that effect.

Now attention will turn to Bush's next nominee. I've got my fingers crossed for Colin Powell. But since Bush seems to like unqualified idiots, it seems more likely that he'll nominate me.

Waitrose: Making McReadie Cry

2005-10-27T18:21:00.000+01:00

Waitrose made me cry a bit yesterday. There I was, minding my own business, reading through my copy of Radio Times when - all of a sudden - I stumbled across a rather moving story, reproduced in full below.

The Heartwarming Tale of the Sad Little Boy and the Horse That Came Through the Letterbox

When you are almost 4 years old and you lose your very mostest, bestest ever toy, your world falls apart.

Alas, that's what happened to young Thomas Avent.

It was a little plastic horse that came in a farmyard set. Thomas took Horsey everywhere. And when Horsey went missing, Thomas was inconsolable. Rooms were searched, toy boxes emptied and sofas felt down. But Horsey had, as they say, done a runner.

Thomas' mother rang the supermarket where she'd bought the present. But the news wasn't good.

Regretfully, they no longer stocked the set. They suggested she tried Customer Services at their Head Office. The Assistant she contacted understood the seriousness of the situation and set to.

Over the next few days she made dozens of calls. And every one of them drew a blank. In desperation, she called the department store in London that was part of the same group as the supermarket. Could someone, she asked, go into the stockroom and have a rummage around?

So someone did. And there, joy of joys, at the back of a shelf were a few dusty plastic farm animals - including Horsey. He was cleaned up, dispatched in the internal mail to Head Office, placed in a jiffy bag addressed to Thomas and popped in the post.

Ecstatic is the only word to describe the look on Thomas's face when he opened the envelope. Indeed he even wrote a little letter to the Customer Services Assistant. It said "Thank you for finding my Horsey for me. I was really happy when he came in the post looking like new. Love Thomas".

Sniff, sniff. I'm going all emotional again. How dare a major supermarket manipulate me with their cute little stories? And, typing it up now, I just noticed that reading the first letter of the first line of each paragraph spell Waitrose. Who's doing their advertising now, for Chrissake? Derren Bloody Brown?

I'm not even sure it's 100% true, despite the reassuring "The above incident was recounted by a customer of Waitrose Food and Home, Salisbury". And, if that is genuinely Thomas' letter, then he's a precocious little sod. "Looking like new"? What kid says that? Other than, perhaps, a kid who was plunged into private school at age three. And, let's face it, his parents are shopping at Waitrose in Salisbury. Not exactly Tulse Hill Somerfield, is it now?

And with all that said...

Thomas got his Horsey back! Awwww... Sniff, sniff.

The Scientology Mafia

2005-10-27T17:41:00.000+01:00

Keen readers may remember that, a few days ago, I posted about Scientology and, more specifically, my suspicion of it.

I was a little worried that I'd get lots of irrate Scientologists shouting at me (let's face it: my post seemed likely to provoke that sort of reaction). So I was pleasantly surprised when I read the first (and, alright, as yet only) comment on my post. 'Twas from someone called VM who, it seems, probably has some links with Scientology, but who was very understanding of my views - even though he or she thinks I'm misguided. If you're reading VM - thank you for your comment, which was thoughtful and, indeed, thought-provoking.

For a moment, I thought I could become a bit more relaxed about the whole Scientology Thing - y'know, as soon as they drop their opposition to psychiatry.

But then my attention was drawn to this. My post has appeared on a Scientology Google Group - within two short days of it being published here on this site.

I admit - I was a little panicked. My suggestion of the existence of a Scientology mafia seemed well founded.

However, a little more research reveals that the user who posted it is anti-Scientology. I think. The whole group is rather confusing. Much like the religion which is its subject.

Vice Versa

2005-10-24T20:49:00.000+01:00

For the past few weeks, I've been spending most of my working afternoons visiting hospital wards to give presentations to the nurses working there.

For the past week or so, I've been visiting cancer wards. And: let me tell you. They're depressing. Really depressing.

Let's face it: when visiting a cancer ward, most people would probably expect it to be depressing. You'd probably expect to be depressed because the patients there are suffering from a disease that we're all scared of; or because some of them are sick from chemotherapy; or maybe you'd feel sad looking at the faces of worried relatives.

Don't get me wrong. I find all of those things in the back of my mind each time I walk onto the ward. But that's mainly where they stay: in the back of my mind. The attitude of the staff that work there is such that your mood is lifted - distracted from the stark fact that the patients on this ward are suffering from cancer.

No, what's depressing is the ward itself. It's dark. It's dingy. The furniture is old. In fact, everything looks old. It's not cold, but for some reason it feels cold. There's no colour. Anywhere. Everything's brown or grey. Everything's totally non-discript. It's not dirty, but it's so dark that somehow it doesn't seem clean.

In a word: depressing.

Before I started the training sessions on the cancer wards, I was doing sessions on the private patients wards at the hospital. The contrast couldn't be more dramatic. There are only ten floors between the two departments, but it feels like two entirely different worlds. You walk into private patients, and it's like walking into a hotel. The lighting is beautiful. There are flowers everywhere. There's colour. Everything looks new. Everything's clean.

Some of the patients on that private ward may be in there for serious illnesses. But some will just be in for routine treatment. They'll just have an overnight stay in their hotel-like environment. Be home the next day.

Yet their counterparts ten floors below may be in hospital for weeks. Lying there in a bed in a non-descript, depressing ward.

Occur to anyone else that it should be our cancer wards that are beautiful? Occur to anyone else that if all those private patients put the money they were spending on private healthcare into the NHS instead, we'd maybe have cancer wards that are uplifting rather than depressing? Occur to anyone else that this whole situation just seems... wrong?

Broken Flowers

2005-10-24T18:07:00.000+01:00

Went to see Broken Flowers yesterday. My love for Bill Murray is such that it was of course crucial to go and see it on opening weekend. Gotta love The Murray.

My view? Much like that of Fire Blanket - I liked it, but I didn't love it. I suspect it was a bit too arty for me to fully "get". Not as arty as Coffee and Cigarettes, which I absolutely did not get but suffered through for Murray, but still a little too into all the symbolism nonsense for me to declare that I loved it.

(I'm sure the basketball hoops everywhere meant something but what, exactly?)

That said, Murray was as great as he always is, and Jeffrey Wright was excellent too.

But perhaps most exciting Broken-Flowers-Actor-Discovery is that I've found today that "Kid in Car" is played by Bill Murray's real life son, Homer. Now if only I'd known this when I was watching! And if only I didn't feel the cinema social pressure to leave before the credits are up! (My stalker-like qualities mean I already knew Murray had a son called Homer).

I tell you, there really should be some kind of law whereby these kind of details are flashed up for my benefit. Yeah, here's the deal: if a film contains someone who isn't well known, but who is linked in some significant way to one of my favourite actors, warning should be given at both the beginning of the film (right after the BBFC bit) and at the beginning of the scene. Warnings should be worded along these lines: "HEADS UP MCREADIE: THE YOUNG MAN IN THIS SCENE IS BILL MURRAY'S REAL LIFE SON!"

See, now I'm gonna have to watch it all over again. And wonder about the basketball hoops all over again. Damn.

The Saga of The Jack Johnson Ticket

2005-10-22T13:13:00.000+01:00

I've liked Jack Johnson's music for a while. Not in a fanatical way, but he's been on the McReadie Music Radar, and I bought Brushfire Fairytales a few years back.

Then something rather unpleasant happened: Johnson became far too popular for my liking. With the release of In Between Dreams, his third album, he became, dare I say it, a bit of a star. The album was number one album download in many iTunes stores across the world. I knew the end had come when I saw a TV advert for the album. It was time for McReadie to cut all links with this (admittedly rather attractive) singer-songwriter.

See, here's the problem - and I'm a little embarrassed to say it. I'm somewhat of a music snob. Not in the sense that I go around proclaiming that I'm a fan of South African jazz - I do know a guy who says he is, and my reaction to that kind of claim always tends to be the same: "Not even South Africans like South African jazz" - but in the sense that I like my music to be hidden gem-like. I don't want to be able to tell everyone the name of my favourite singer, and for everyone to go "Ah, yeah, I know them". Instead, I want only a select few to appreciate my top pop picks. I want to be a member of a select group who appreciates This Kind of Music.

(Unfortunately, "This Kind of Music" seems to be heavily folk-influenced. I blame my parents, both folk music fans. I clearly have the defective "Likes Folk Music" gene).

Normally, maintaining these high standards of snobbery is easily done. I tend to like music which has not made it big here. Often big in the States, among the college crowd, but not big here.

This makes getting a ticket for concerts a doddle. Teitur, Jason Mraz, Gavin DeGraw (I have a weakness for male singer songwriters with guitars) - all no problem. I could even faff for a little while deciding exactly which seat I wanted.

I therefore have an inaccurate view of what it's like to get tickets to a concert. Even the relatively popular concerts to which I've been - Simon and Garfunkel and Brian Wilson - were not too much of a problem.

Now, of course, none of this would have been an issue had I not heard Johnson's excellent (in my opinion) Sitting, Waiting, Wishing while I was on my little French Summer holiday. I had MTV on in the background and thought: "Hey, that's a good song. And it sounds quite Jack Johnson ish". Yeah, that'd be cos it is Johnson, McReadie. And, dammit if it wasn't accompanied by a cool video too. (If you click that link back there, you can see it).

So I caved. I bought In Between Dreams. And damn fine it is too. I was a reinvigorated fan, albeit one reluctantly accompanied by a whole load of new fans who would have looked blank a few years back when I mentioned Mr Johnson.

So I was quite excited when I saw that Johnson was to play London. "Hey," I thought, "I'll go to that".

See: here's the problem, though. My typical experience of buying concert tickets left me woefully unprepared for the task of purchasing Jack Johnson tickets. I'll be honest: I went in complacent. I mean, I knew he was more popular than the acts I usually go and see. I assumed there would be quite a few people trying to get tickets. I assumed it may therefore be a bit of a problem to get hold of 'em, but also assumed that patience would do the trick. I figured I'd be ready at midday, when the tickets went on sale, and just do a couple of page refreshes on Ticketmaster, et voila.

To be clear: I'm a naive idiot.

It rapidly became clear that this was going to be like those "normal" concerts I'd heard about - where people have ten phones by them to redial the ticketline, and where people load up ten Internet browsers to try ten different ticket sites.

The stupid thing was that this only became clear after I'd given up the ticket I managed to get on Ticketmaster. See, within about ten minutes, I had a ticket which I could opt to buy. Trouble was, my previous experience meant I thought there was a little faff time here. Maybe I'll just check and see if there are better tickets... And, hmmmm, See Tickets are normally cheaper than Ticketmaster, I could just check there. Oh, and dammit, I'd better answer that phone call from The Buddy.

Needless to say, within five minutes, I'd thrown away my chance of a ticket. It was clear I was going have to spend the rest of the day hitting myself over the head with a mallet in order to punish myself for my stupidity. (Fortunately, the phone call from The Buddy was to cancel our planned meet up today, so I would have the day free to do just such McReadie Mallet Bashing).

As time ticked on, the situation became more desperate. I do believe I was, at one point, close to tears due to my stupidity. The fact I kept coming Oh-So-Close to securing a ticket only for the system to time out when I submitted my credit card details made things even more painful.

Just fifty minutes after the tickets went on sale, it became pretty clear they'd all sold out.

Depressed, I tried to remain positive. Hey, I mean, he's scheduled two dates in London. And the second date doesn't seem to be on sale anywhere. Maybe I'll be able to get a ticket for that.

Sadly, my depressed side pointed out that if these tickets sold out as quickly as the first lot, I'd need to know with some precision when they went on sale - and I didn't.

I kept trying to call the ticket line at the Hammersmith Apollo. Wait! A recorded message! And on my previous twenty attempts I'd only got an engaged tone! A nice lady told me that all tickets for Jack Johnson on 3 March had now sold out. After only fifty minutes of them being on sale. Oh Christ. Where's that mallet?

But wait! She then said that tickets for the 4 March gig (the date I actually would prefer to attend) were on sale at 1pm! And the time? About two minutes to one!

Hallelujah! There were more tickets on sale, and chances are others didn't yet know the time at which they would be on sale!

Straight to Ticketmaster. Panicked entering of details. Do I want to stand or sit? Normally I can think about this decision for ages, but I realised I was against the clock. Don't make the same mistake again, dammit.

Sit. I'll sit. Yes, I know it's further away from the stage, but I'm always too damn short to see anything when standing. Order the damn ticket, dammit! Stop pissing around!

I paused. I faffed. I knew I didn't have time to do this. I loaded up two Ticketmaster windows to see if I could get a better seat. I told myself to stop being so stupid. I selected a seat - no idea how good it was - and submitted my credit card details, heart in my throat, sure it would time out before confirmation.

It didn't! I got tickets!

(And I think you all know that when I say "tickets", I mean "ticket". One ticket. A ticket for McReadie. Unsociable-Attends-Concerts-And-Films-Alone McReadie).

Woo hoo! And it's a damn fine seat too - front and centre of the seated section! Hooray!

(Note to self: never again cave and start liking popular artists. It's not worth the pain).

McReadie And Her One Sweaty Armpit

2005-10-21T11:03:00.000+01:00

(Fire Blanket - if this post doesn't finally destroy your misconceptions about me, it may be time to seek some sort of help).

I like to go for unconventional medical problems. The swollen foot. The ingrowing toenail. The tinnitus. Most don't really cause anything other than minor annoyance, and slight embarrasment. And laughter from those around me ("That McReadie and her wacky medical problems!")

Recently, though, I have noticed a problem which is causing major annoyance, and much embarrassment.

To be clear from the outset: I do sweat more than is lady like or desirable. I think it's an hereditary problem, and that it's compounded by the medication I take for my OCD.

Typically, it just means that my head drips with sweat, and that I look highly unpleasant in the Summer months (yes, even more so than usual).

What it seems to be meaning lately, however, is one armpit which is far more active in the sweat department than the other. Yes, McReadie's right armpit is being most troublesome of late. On some days, no deodorant can calm the overactive little rascal that is my right armpit. It's most annoying. And, of course, triggers my OCD.

Sigh...

I suppose I should be grateful that these conditions make me distinctive. Let's face it: if you see someone coming towards you with sweaty forehead, fat foot, and sweat mark under right arm - why, you're pretty much guaranteed that it's me! Stifle your laughter and come and say hello.

Church: You Crazy Chick

2005-10-21T10:55:00.000+01:00

"I think I'm gonna need some therapy
Oh babe I hope you got a PhD
Won't you lay me on the leather couch?
I got a lot I need to talk about"

To clarify, Charlotte - a therapist with a PhD would be a clinical psychologist. The leather couch to which you refer (somewhat of a cliché, frankly) is, however, more commonly associated with Freudian psychoanalysis, sometimes performed by psychiatrists. Psychiatrists do, to be clear, not have PhDs (unless they took 'em for fun) - they are medical doctors. You might want to change your lyric, therefore, to "oh babe, I hope you got an MD" - that would work in the States.

In any case, as far as I can gather, you're hoping that the boy who is making you crazy is capable of giving you therapy. Frankly, such a relationship between a therapist and a client would be highly unprofessional, and you're being a little inappropriate in even suggesting it.

Hope this clears things up.

Help Me

2005-10-21T10:50:00.000+01:00

Recently, I've become addicted to Trebor Softmints. I love them. I can't get enough of them. It's becoming a problem.

Help me.

(I bet Scientologists have something to say about the nature and treatment of addiction. Yup!)

Stupid People and Scientology

2005-10-21T10:16:00.000+01:00

I try very hard to be tolerant. I like to think of myself as a live and let live kind of person. I admire Voltaire's sentiment - "I disagree with what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it".

(Or something like that. My History teacher used to claim that phrase summed up the ethos of the Liberal Democrats. I think it's actually fair to say that it sums up the ethos of anyone who believes in democracy and free speech, but then my History teacher was, in retrospect, a bit of an idiot.)

Anyway, as I said, I do like to think I'm tolerant. But I have, with some shame, realised recently that there are two groups of people whom I cannot tolerate:

1) Scientologists
2) Stupid people

(To be clear: the two categories are far from mutually exclusive).

I've known for a long time that I can't tolerate stupidity. My English teacher from my first year of secondary school was right when she noted that I didn't tolerate fools gladly. I find it almost impossible to keep my mouth shut when someone is being openly stupid. It causes almost physical pain.

Scientology is a new category of non-tolerating for me. I'd always been a bit suspicious - it is, after all, a religion based around the writings of a goddamn science fiction writer - but with all the recent publicity because of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, my concern has grown.

My main beef is with the religion's hopelessly misguided views on psychiatry and psychology, which disturb me more each time I read about them. Today, I've uncovered a whole organisation set up simply to fight against psychiatry.

It's honestly scary. Maybe I'll set up an organisation to fight for psychiatry and psychology. I do fear, however, that were I to do so, the Scientologists might come after me. I can't help but think there's probably some kind of Scientology mafia to come and deal with non-believers. So if, in a couple of days time, my posts start talking about the abuse that is psychiatry - be suspicious. Assume the Scientology Mafia has got to me.

All The Time In The World For...

2005-10-21T10:04:00.000+01:00

There are certain celebrities for whom I have all the time in the world. These are people who seem to me to be genuinely nice. They seem down to earth. Untainted by their fame.

I have decided to list them, here on the blog, so that an official record of my love for them exists. Please feel free to make further suggestions but, remember, the standards here are high - I don't declare just anyone to be someone for whom I have all the time in the world.

- Fern Britton: So nice and Mumsy. You know that if you fell off your bike and scraped your knee, she'd be there with the Dettol and the Band Aid.

- Phillip Schofield: Just seems like a lovely man.

- Dawn French: Funny, nice, and likes chocolate. What more could you want?

- Dolly Parton: Down to earth and nice despite probably having an income larger than that of many developing countries.

- Kirsty Young: Despite being very pretty, she seems down to earth and normal. Also, she once said in an interview that she had problems at school due to her deep voice, and I relate.

- Victor Garber: What can I say about Victor that I haven't said already?

Reassuring a Blue and Breathless Patient

2005-10-21T09:46:00.000+01:00

I've finished my first draft of the piece I was writing on the blue and breathless patient.

Part of the text covers dyspnoea - or "breathlessness" as it known to those of us without a medical degree, but with common sense.

Breathlessness may, the text notes, be caused by anxiety. It then goes on to explain how to manage breathlessness. Most of the suggestions seem sensible: position the patient in an upright position; give oxygen; give drugs. However, one suggestion concerns me:

- Reassurance (this may reduce anxiety)

No, no, no! As I learnt during therapy, reassurance does not help in the face of anxiety. It is only a short term solution, not a long term one.

Instead, I would suggest that any doctors treating a critically ill patient say: "Yes, you are critically ill. Yes, I know you're breathless! Yes, it could be that you're currently struggling for your last breaths! Maybe you will die, maybe you won't. Let's just wait and see, shall we?"

Now, this may not seem very kind but, as I think we all know, cruel to be kind is very much the rule with anxiety.

The patient will find that his or her anxiety initially climbs but, assuming the patient survives the racing pulse and highly unpleasant physical symptoms of anxiety - it will admittedly be a bit touch and go since he or she is, well, critically ill - he or she should find that the anxiety will reach a peak and then rapidly plummet.

And next time they find themselves blue and breathless and near death, they should find their anxiety isn't as great as the first time. And that's got to be a good thing!

Speaking Of Stopping Me From Becoming Big Headed...

2005-10-20T17:42:00.000+01:00

In light of the recent niceness directed to McReadie Nuggets, I decided to take a look at my Blog Hot or Not score to redress the balance and bring me back to earth.

Sadly, it turns out that my account has been terminated because they've revamped the site and changed the way it works.

The good news, though, is that this means you can once again give me a poor score! Just click on the Blog Hot or Not button in the toolbar, and vote.

Stop McReadie From Becoming a Big Headed, Spoilt Little Shit

2005-10-20T17:13:00.000+01:00

People have been saying nice things about me lately. Well, I say people - by that, I mean a couple of people: the aforementioned Fire Blanket and the always-nice-Jo from over at Hidden Words.

Nice words make me feel all warm and fuzzy. And then they probably make me arrogant. Hence the new poll - don't let me build up an inaccuarate picture of myself. Tell the truth. Vote in the poll on the right, if you please.

The Blue and Breathless Patient

2005-10-20T14:58:00.000+01:00

I'm currently (meant to be) writing about about the causes and treatment of blue discolouration and breathlessness in a critically ill patient.

A few weeks ago, Closer had a radio advert which promised the magazine would tell you why Brad Pitt had cold feet.

I haven't read the article in question, but I can only imagine that Pitt's cold feet resulted from peripheral cyanosis. Oxygen therapy should be prescribed and, depending on the cause of the hypoxaemia, I think a target oxygen saturation of 90-100% would be reasonable.

Bleep me if there's a problem.

Oooo, And Another Thing

2005-10-20T14:34:00.000+01:00

Fire Blanket has also created a fabulous game called More = Bad. I realise that I have been playing it for a few years without even knowing. The ultimate aim is to attend a film screening where you're the only one there.

Like Fire Blanket, I have never achieved this - but have come close a few times. My best result is when I went to see Game Over: Kasparov and The Machine at the Croydon Clocktower. Attendance? Two. Including me.

I almost thought I was going to achieve a screening all to myself recently, when I went to see Whisky. My experience sounds similar to Fire Blanket's description of seeing Last Life in the Universe. I too arrived early (as usual) and took my seat. The film didn't start at the expected time. I began to worry that I was at the wrong screen. I double checked my ticket. I was in the right place. I then experienced a strange sense of euphoria - it was going to be just me and the projectionist! My anxiety had passed, and I was preparing for the ultimate cinema experience - a private showing.

And then three other people turned up. And the film started. Sigh.

Fire Blanket's Big Idea (Drumroll, If You Please)

2005-10-20T14:20:00.000+01:00

I'm no good at coming up with ideas. I'm hopeless at it, in fact. Some people just seem to have great ideas all the time. I'm not one of them.

What I am good at, however, is trampling all over someone's idea with realistic objections or, alternatively, seizing someone's idea and seeing ways of making it work. And hopefully gaining credit. I hope that with Fire Blanket's Big Idea - which, as I've said, is great - I'll manage to do the latter. I'll try not to take the credit, though. Cos I don't deserve it.

So here's The Idea (click there if you want to read about it in the words of the man who came up with it).

How many of you have been to a film by yourself? (McReadie waves hand in the air at this point). And how many of you have noticed others in the self same screening, also attending by themselves, and thought to yourself that if you had spoken to one another beforehand, you could have gone along to the film together rather than alone?

Well, I've often thought about this. But Mr Ideas Fire Blanket has actually thought of a way of making a difference - setting up an Internet forum where we can post which films we're going to see on our own when. And then, if we so choose, all us individual attenders can make contact. We could have a drink before the film, or a little chat after it, or just nod politely as we enter. Who knows, we might even like fellow individual-attenders and - gasp - make a friend.

A good idea, no? But, as so often, it's taking a little time for the rest of the world to see the light. Perhaps people are just being shy.

If this is the case, then I would remind you of the words of the mighty Larry David:

Cheryl: I thought you didn't like talking to people.
Larry: I don't like talking to people I KNOW, but strangers, I have no problem with.

C'mon. In the words of Fire Blanket - let's all go!

Fire Blankets: A Very Good Thing

2005-10-20T11:30:00.000+01:00

There are very few science lessons from school that I remember. I was never a scientist or a mathematician, aside from a brief flirtation with Salter Science kits in the mid to late eighties, and evenings doing sums my father wrote for me on lovely coloured sheets of paper. No, it was fairly obvious that I was destined to be the type of student writing long essays on questions to which there are no right or wrong answers rather than the type of student who proves there is only one right answer to an equation. As a result, science was often something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

In fact, there's probably only one science lesson that really stands out in my memory. It happened when I was about sixteen. The subject of the lesson was the fire triangle. It's testimony to how memorable the lesson was that I can actually still remember - some ten years later - the principles of said triangle (unlike the carbon cycle, and the oxygen cycle, and the uni cycle, and all those other illustrative diagrams I never truly learnt in science).

The fire triangle states that there are three things a fire needs in order to prosper: fuel, heat, and oxygen. If any one of those is removed, the fire cannot burn.

Now this obviously isn't inherently memorable. Unless, perhaps, you're a pyromaniac. Which, to be clear, I'm not. I'm the anxious type, remember. It took me until I was about twenty to have the nerve to light a match.

No, it was memorable because of the answer one student gave to a question we were asked about said triangle.

My teacher, to her credit, was trying to take the theoretical construct of the fire triangle and make it real for us by giving a hypothetical situation. So she asked what we would do if - picking a student at random from the class - Emily was on fire.

Now if you've been following along, you will know that the answer is that we need to cut off one corner of the fire triangle. Which one, though? Well, the fire already seems to have fuel (that'd be Emily). And it has heat - it's a fire, of course it's bloody hot. But what about oxygen? We could cut off the oxygen. We could grab the fire blanket in the corner of the classroom, put it on Emily, and discover that since the fire no longer had oxygen, Emily would no longer be alight, but simply slightly singed. Ah, the fire triangle!

Now had someone given this - the "correct" answer - the chances are that I would no longer remember the details of the fire triangle. No, it was the answer that was given which has ensured the fire triangle will be burnt into my mind for the rest of time (burnt - do you see?):

Teacher: "So, a fire needs fuel, heat, and oxygen to burn. If you cut off any one of those things, the fire cannot burn. So, OK, bearing that in mind, what would you do if, say, Emily was on fire?"
Student raises hand.
Teacher: "Yes?"
Student: "Pour petrol on her".

(It sounds harsh but, believe me, Emily was a bit of a bitch. This answer was actually fairly reasonable. Were I not a pacifist who is unable to harm a fly, I would have been pouring a little petrol on Emily in this hypothetical situation.)

I bring all this up because I have been reminded in recent days that fire blankets are very good things. Not only can they cut off one corner of the fire triangle, thus making said fire no longer, er, fire-ish, but because they can also serve as the pseudonym of our latest, lovely McReadie Nuggets fan - Mr Fire Blanket.

My recent break from the world of blogging meant it took me a little while to discover that Fire Blanket has said some truly lovely things about my ramblings. No, really, it's true. I know you doubt it, but it's true. It's true. Goddamit - go and take a look for yourself if you don't believe me. Look: here!

Needless to say, I have been very touched and flattered by Fire Blanket's very kind words, and my ego has been inflated to ever more monstrous proportions.

And Fire Blanket is not just great because he thinks I am great (though, admittedly, that helps). He is also great because, unlike me, he is using blogging for the greater good. He has A Big Idea. And a very good Big Idea it is too.

You're intrigued, aren't you? Well, fear not. I'll tell you all about The Magnificent Big Idea in the next post. Ah, the suspense! It's almost like the anticipation I felt when wondering if anyone else would pipe up with comedy answers to the Emily Fire Triangle Question ("OK, I know petrol was wrong, Miss... How about alcohol? Wood? Anything that's highly flammable?")

Better Access to CBT?

2005-09-12T11:39:00.000+01:00

I think I've previously ranted about my belief that good quality Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) should be easily accessible to anyone who needs it. I got lucky - by dint of living in South London, I got treated at a specialist clinic. Had I been living in South Yorkshire, Southampton, or Southsea, I might not have been so lucky.

Well, we all know that policy makers read every single word of McReadie Nuggets, and having read my rant, they've obviously decided it's time to heed my wise words, and spring into action. Thus I was pleased to read in this morning's new look Guardian (surprisingly alright, although I could have done without the fifteen different mentions within fifteen different articles of their new style - I get it, I bought and am reading the goddamn new style paper) that plans are being considered for the creation of 250 psychological treatment centres to provide therapy for anxiety and depression.

From my vantage point as simply someone who has been treated for anxiety with CBT, this sounds to me like a good plan - assuming it's done properly. I know there are obstacles here - having enough mental healthcare professionals to staff the centres, for a start - but it seems to me that CBT for all who need it is a goal well worth achieving.

I've had five stretches of therapy in my life. The first was when I was ten, and really beginning to suffer with anxiety. Seems to me that if I'd had the right therapy then, I would have saved the health service a hell of a lot of time and money. Let's hope that one day, in the not too distant future, kids with anxiety disorders at age ten will get the help they need to ensure they're not still suffering from the same problems at age twenty. It's worth the effort.

Lance's Retirement

2005-09-09T15:59:00.000+01:00

A funny take on the Lance Retirement Mystery.

A Long Overdue Larry Mention

2005-09-09T13:58:00.000+01:00

I realised it's been a while since I mentioned comedy hero Larry David. So I figured I'd do it today, especially since I've realised he sneaked in another amusing blog post without me noticing.

Occasionally, when I need a good laugh, I like to go on to Amazon, pick a product I like, and read the one star reviews of it. I just find them funny. So I figured today that I'd take a look at the one star reviews of Larry David's Curb your Enthusiasm. This was my favourite:

One star
I ordered the first season based on the reviews and since I am always hungry for good comedy. I watched the first three episodes before returning the DVDs. This product should be rated XXX!
The vulgar language and total lack of any moral standards was more than I could stand. I cannot imagine how anyone could find this boring garbage funny. Larry David had nothing funny to say so he used vulgarity at every opportunity to try and attract an audience. If you like to listen to foul language being used to describe the male anatomy and sexual activities in general, then this trash may be for you. Many scenes in the first three episodes dragged on and on even though there was nothing going on besides some boring dribble between Larry and his wife.
Do yourself a favor and don't waste any money or time on this trash!

Almost as funny as an episode of Curb. Almost.

Hey: It's My Anniversary!

2005-09-07T17:42:00.000+01:00

I almost forgot... Happy Anniversary to me!

Yup, it's the anniversary of my redundancy today. A year ago today, my company decided to cut me loose. Bastards.

I remember that, on that day, I was kinda in a state of disbelief. Shortly afterwards, I went into a state of upset, anger, and panic. A few weeks after that, I felt relief - not least since I was lucky enough to get a job pretty quickly after my redundancy, something that I'll always be grateful for.

I guess time gives perspective and it's only now that I can see that the redundancy was, in fact, a blessing in disguise. It gave me the kick up the backside I needed to go and do something else.

There's no doubt that I'm much happier today than I was a year ago. A big part of that, of course, is being by and large rid of the OCD. But it's true that being out of a job I despised has helped a lot too.

I know it's become kind of a cliche - people saying that redundancy is the best thing that ever happened to them. But I do think it can be a good thing. Change is scary, for sure. But what I've found out over the past year is that it's a hell of a lot less scary and considerably less unpleasant than trying to control the uncontrollable - than trying to make sure everything stays the same; than getting stuck in a rut you're not really happy in; than never taking a risk for fear of what might happen.

I guess what I'm trying to stay is: Take a chance sometime. Doesn't even have to be a big one. Say it with me: What's the worst that could happen?

Now this isn't to say that nowadays I'm white-water rafting without a lifejacket. No, I'll admit it: I'm still not great at being a spontaneous risk-taker. But I'm getting better with practice. And it makes me feel much better than I ever felt when I was trying to control everything.

Bush to Lead Katrina Inquiry

2005-09-07T11:50:00.000+01:00

Whitewash at the White House, anyone?

And thanks to Barbara Bush for some incredibly sensitive remarks. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic).

For Fizzwhizz

2005-09-07T10:45:00.000+01:00

A post just for long time Nuggets supporter Fizzwhizz, in response to her comments on my Bleedin' Gums post. Never let it be said we don't make individual readers feel special here at Nuggets! (Cos you are special!)

I should perhaps say, first off, that the whole Bleedin' Gums panic turned out to be, er, rather unnecessary. No further "bleeding" has been observed, and it seems that the pink colour in the toothpaste spit could in fact have simply been the remnants of the artificial colouring found in the gummy Pick N'Mix sweets I had been eating prior to the brushing taking place. A couple of lessons here, kids: 1) Panic is never productive and 2) Woolworths Pick and Mix sweets really aren't good for your dental hygiene and health (but I think we all already knew that, deep down).

Now, Ms F Whizz, in response to your health anxieties... See, now, I don't think I can really answer the question you posed about whether a doctor visit was necessary for your headaches. To do so would be to give you reassurance, and that would in turn simply feed back into your health anxieties. So let me ask you this: Do you think you need to go to the doctor for your headaches?

(See how annoying the implementation of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy techniques for anxiety can be?)

Now, to turn to your second question quickly before you yell: "JUST TELL ME WHETHER I SHOULD BE WORRIED! DAMN YOU!"... Ah, yes, Mr Ron Howard will of course be hitting the TV screens to plug his new flick, so I shall indeed post the photo once more so you Nuggets readers can share an opinion as to whether I did see (sorry, meet) the man himself:

Here's the piccie. You're looking at the guy on the right in the grey baseball cap.

Whaddaya reckon, peeps?

PS. I love the Mike Reid/Crowe comparison, Fizzwhizz! I see exactly what you mean. I'm going to take Crowe's words even less seriously than before now. And I don't like Zellweger either... But my love of sporting dramas - especially those based on a true story - is such that I will go and watch the film. And try to ignore her.

And Now It Seems That It Isn't A Joke

2005-09-07T10:39:00.000+01:00

Further to my two previous posts, Armstrong has issued a statement which indicates he wasn't kidding around when he spoke of a comeback.

Statement as follows. Interestingly comes from Armstrong's spokesman Mark Higgins, who'd said earlier in the day that Lance was 100% retired (poor Mark - I used to hate it when my boss said one thing which I told people, and my boss then said something completely different which I then had to tell to the same people):

by Mark Higgins, CSE:
We have been getting a lot of calls on the Lance comments from today's Austin American Statesman.

Here is a statement from Lance regarding his career:

"While I'm absolutely enjoying my time as a retired athlete with Sheryl and the kids, the recent smear campaign out of France has awoken my competitive side. I'm not willing to put a percentage on the chances but I will no longer rule it out..." - Lance Armstrong

Ah, Don't You Love The World of Rumours?

2005-09-06T17:59:00.000+01:00

Further to previous post... 'Twas apparently just a joke:

Armstrong Says Comeback Talk a Joke
AUSTIN, Texas — Lance Armstrong is staying retired.

An Armstrong spokesman said Tuesday the seven-time Tour de France champion is not making a comeback, despite comments the cycling great made to the Austin American-Statesman that he is considering returning to competition to anger the French.

"It's not going to happen," Mark Higgins told The Associated Press. "He's 100 percent retired."

Higgins, who spoke to Armstrong after the article appeared, said Armstrong was joking when he told a newspaper he was thinking of coming out of retirement.

"I'm thinking it's the best way," to anger the French, he told the newspaper. "I'm exercising every day."

Armstrong said he had toyed with the idea of a comeback after the French newspaper L'Equipe reported Aug. 23 that he tested positive for a performance enhancing drug during the 1999 tour. He has strongly denied the drug allegations.

Armstrong was speaking to the newspaper to announce his engagement to music star Sheryl Crow. The two got engaged last week while on vacation in Idaho.

No, Lance

2005-09-06T17:43:00.000+01:00

It bothers me when atheletes do the whole I'm-Retiring Thing, only to come back to their sport a few months later. I mean, c'mon, retire or don't retire. If you tell us you're retiring, then go. Some sportsmen seem to come and go more frequently than my anxiety, and God knows that's saying something.

So I'm not best pleased at reading the news that Armstrong may be planning to overturn his retirement decision and go for an eighth win in the Tour. On the one hand, I understand that his career - his life - has been based on proving people wrong, and so I understand that he might want to get back at the French by riding.

But, on the other, I admired the way in which he retired. There was no back and forth once the announcement had been made. He maintained that nothing would bring him back to the sport; that he was now moving onto the next phase of his life. I respected that, and believed him.

But now that there seems to be some debate about him coming back, I feel strangely disappointed. The thing about Lance is that when he says something, he says it so vehemently that you can't help but believe him. But if he goes back on his vow to retire and not be tempted back, it's gonna be tougher to believe him the next time he swears something. And, sadly, the thing he swears most frequently - that he doesn't, and hasn't doped - is the very reason he's considering breaking the retirement vow. It's left me feeling a little uncomfortable.

The article in question, for information. And, for the record, I can't possibly believe that winning an eighth Tour is going to do anything other than piss the French press off even more, leading to even more of a doping witch hunt than exists already (and, let's not kid ourselves, it does exist):

Armstrong is engaged and contemplating a comeback
Seven-time Tour de France champ says he might ride again.

By Suzanne Halliburton

AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Cycling champion Lance Armstrong is engaged to rock star Sheryl Crow and is considering coming out of retirement to try for an eighth consecutive Tour de France victory, he told the Austin American-Statesman on Monday.

Since Armstrong and Crow have been living together for 18 months, their engagement may have been expected, though the couple has been dispelling breakup rumors since May.

But a spring wedding followed by a summer Tour?

"I'm thinking about it," Armstrong said. "I'm thinking it's the best way to piss (the French) off."

Armstrong said he has entertained the idea for only the past two weeks. He said he began thinking about it when a French newspaper reported Aug. 23 that he had tested positive six times for a banned blood booster as he was winning his first Tour in 1999.

When asked how serious he was about another Tour, Armstrong said, "I'm exercising every day."

Armstrong has made a career of proving people wrong, winning a record seven Tours after surviving advanced testicular cancer in 1996. And he often is at his best when he's got a motivational chip on his shoulder.

Since the articles appeared in L'Equipe, an all-sports daily newspaper based in Paris, Armstrong has vehemently denied ever using erythropoietin, a blood booster that has been illegally used by cyclists for years.

A French laboratory outside Paris, trying to perfect relatively new testing procedures for EPO, used urine samples provided by Tour cyclists in 1999 in its research. All samples were anonymous and assigned a number, and all were B — or backup — specimens, the A samples having been tested and discarded in 1999.

Armstrong provided 17 urine samples in 1999, representing every day he wore the leader's yellow jersey in the three-week Tour.

Researchers have concluded that EPO can stay in the body and be detected by a urine test for up to one week. According to L'Equipe, which claimed it was able to match up the numbers with the names of the cyclists, Armstrong tested positive six times. It did not mention the other 11 samples.

The International Cycling Union began investigating the matter Aug. 29. The nonprofit regulatory organization, based in Switzerland, is expected to announce its results this week. USA Cycling already has issued a statement supporting Armstrong.

Last April, Armstrong announced that this year's Tour would be his final race. He stayed conservative throughout the Tour, winning only one stage, but still coasted to a 4-minute, 40-second margin of victory over Italy's Ivan Basso.

As for the engagement, Armstrong said he popped the question to Crow on Wednesday while they were vacationing in Sun Valley, Idaho.

"We've told family and friends, stuff like that," he said. Armstrong added that he discussed the engagement with his three children before he asked Crow.

It will be Armstrong's second marriage and Crow's first.

Although still officially retired, Armstrong hasn't been able to spend much time in Austin. He said he will maintain a busy schedule at least through mid-September. Armstrong is set to tape an interview with Oprah Winfrey on Wednesday, and he'll return to Idaho next week to meet with the Dalai Lama.

Bleedin' Gums McReadie

2005-09-05T14:28:00.000+01:00

Many have argued that I'm more than a little like Lisa Simpson (just substitute Lisa's desire for a pony with mine for a hamster), but today I feel more like Lisa's hero, Bleeding Gums Murphy. After a spot of brushing of the ol'teeth this morning, I noticed some pink mixed in with the toothpaste spit. In a totally non-obsessional manner, detailed analysis was carried out, including a repeat tooth-brushing to eliminate certain possible confounding variables; and extensive washing out of mouth with salt water occurred in order to stem any bleeding and to disinfect any wound. I'm now nursing (probably imagined) tooth pain. I still struggle a bit with the old health anxiety aspect of my OCD but I realise I seem to be improving a little: I'm not yet worrying myself sick with thoughts of complex dental surgery.

How are you all? It's been rather a long time, hasn't it? No real reason for the lack of posts lately - I guess I just got out of the habit, and I also went home for a few days over the August Bank Holiday weekend.

Beyond worrying about the possible dental issues, have been worrying a little about my impending Open University exam. It's on October 10. It's strange, but my anxiety never really used to extend to exams. But this time round, I'm feeling out of practice, and am acutely conscious that I've spent over four hundred quid on this course. It's been about five years since I took an exam, but I can report that revising is as painful as ever. I hate revising. Hate it.

In more positive news, went to watch the last stage of the Tour of Britain yesterday. I had intended to go last year, but didn't because I was working the weekend (I would be made redundant on the Tuesday, following seven straight days in the office, but let's not drag that up). I wasn't too sure what to expect, since my previous experiences of watching cycling from the road have been at the sport's biggest race but, I've gotta tell you, I was incredibly impressed. It was well organised, I managed to get a great spot along the great course (through Westminster, and past many London landmarks) and there were some even some good freebies on offer. All in all, a great day, and I'd certainly recommend it: even if you're not a massive cycling geek, it's a good day out. I even managed to get Roger Hammond's autograph (he's a Brit who rides on the Discovery team).

The only slight downer was the cost of the official merchandising. At the Tour de France, I bought a lovely set of four pin badges of each of the classification jerseys for fifteen Euros (ten quid). Even came in a nice little presentation box. The collection of pin badges of the classification jerseys at the Tour of Britain would have cost over 20 quid. Ah, us Brits and our need to make cash.

I'm pleased to see that the site has received a fair few hits off the back of my recent post declaring my hatred for Coldplay. It seems that I'm not the only one who hates the group more with each passing day.

I've decided to therefore make another music confession which could be seen as a little embarrasing: I can't help but like McFly. Yes, I know they're just a Beach Boys/Beatles/Busted hybrid knock-off but, dammit, those cheeky lads sing some catchy tunes.

Damn You, PowerPoint

2005-08-22T13:22:00.000+01:00

I'm currently putting together a presentation on PowerPoint. I hate PowerPoint. It just makes everything look naff.

My Mental Healthcare Professionals Told Me There'd Be Days Like This

2005-08-22T12:13:00.000+01:00

Sort of like this song, but just slightly different.

Been feeling really quite mentally crappy over the past few days. Started on Friday night, continued on Saturday, Sunday, and still not feeling great today. Just woke up on Saturday morning and felt depressed and, as the day wore on, started having lots of intrusive thoughts, and became quite obsessive. Started to get the ol'shaky hands too. Not sleeping properly cos of nightmares, and so am generally lacking in energy.

It's strange: when I'm feeling like this, I don't walk as quickly as I normally do. That helps to contribute to the feeling that life is passing you by, and that you're not really a part of what's happening.

Have come into the office to work today, despite feeling like staying at home, watching television, and sleeping. One of the rules I was taught to deal with the ol'dodgy mental health is to do the exact opposite of what the problem is telling me to do. Hence: problem tells you to stay in bed and sleep, you get out of bed and go to work.

Also not feeling very chatty, so when The Buddy just asked if I felt like going to the cinema tomorrow night the mental answer was "no", but the actual answer was "yes".

It's not fun feeling like this, but I'm grateful that, nowadays, I know what to do when I am feeling bad. And, it has to be said, days like this are few and far between now. And I'm very grateful for that.

Argh

2005-08-18T14:11:00.000+01:00

It's been one of those days so far. The plan was clear. Things have been quite quiet on the work front lately, so today seemed to be a perfect day to complete the final assignment for my Open University course. It's not due until mid-September, but I'm keen to get ahead so as to allow myself as much time as possible to revise (I'm not convinced that I've taken much in actually during the course). And I'm worried about this final assignment: it's a critical evaluation of a journal article. I've never written a critical evaluation of a journal article but, reading the instructions, I saw that statistical analysis is involved, something which tends to give me a headache.

So I arose and, sure enough, buggered about for a couple of hours before getting into gear (it has to be said that I have failed to get into gear for most of this week). Nonetheless, when I finally sat down to work, I felt motivated, and optimistic that I could get this done and dusted today.

It was hard work, though. It took me quite a while just to write a 300-odd word introduction.

And then the phone rang. My boss. Giving me some more work. No worries - I can get through it all by deadline, even if I continue to spend today writing my assignment. Just had to do one thing straight away, and then I could get back to the essay.

The one thing should have taken ten minutes. It was making a small amendment to the text of a file. Thing was:

The file wouldn't open.

I don't know what the hell was wrong with it, but it resolutely refused to cooperate. An hour later, I was beginning to panic about how on earth I was going to retrive the file.

About half an hour later, I finally found a way.

That way took about another hour. I've only just completed the ten minute job I started around half eleven.

And, of course, I've made no further progress on my assignment.

And I am due to get another work-related phone call later today.

I realise I'm spoilt in being able to manage my work and my studying fairly easily but today, really, has made me want to scream.

I Hate Coldplay

2005-08-15T19:14:00.000+01:00

I realise I'm in the minority here, but I'm just gonna come out and say it anyway: I hate Coldplay. More and more with each passing day, in fact.

And there's no escape. They are everywhere. Radio. TV. Even film - it seems obligatory to have at least one Coldplay tune in a film's soundtrack nowadays.

Who is buying their music? Cos I may have to shoot you when the revolution comes.

Take That, Dr Pepper Museum!

2005-08-08T17:35:00.000+01:00

So, as mentioned last week, back on March 4, I ordered some goods from the Dr Pepper Museum, in Waco, Texas.

20 weeks after I placed the order, I was still waiting for the goods to arrive. At that point, I was given a refund. They wouldn't give me a refund prior to that point, apparently because they believe that goods often take 20 weeks to get from the States to the UK. In fact, they were steadfast in their belief that 20 weeks was standard.

You may remember I told you I was therefore going with Plan B - eBay. I bid on a Dr Pepper tin sign, and won. I asked the guy if he had another of those signs. He did. He happily sold it to me, and was incredibly helpful.

On Saturday, 30 July, I sent payment for the two signs.

This morning - Monday 8 July - I received the items. Just over a week from payment to delivery.

Take that, Dr Pepper Museum! ONE WEEK! NOT 20 PLUS! ONE!

The House Of Obsessive Compulsives Episode 1: My View

2005-08-08T12:39:00.000+01:00

As mentioned, I only managed to catch about ten minutes of last Monday's first episode of The House of Obsessive Compulsives but I rectified that situation yesterday by sitting down to watch my taping of it. So here's my opinion, simply on the basis of being an OCD sufferer treated with the same techniques shown during the show.

I was very pleased to see that my concerns about the show being exploitative, or insensitive, or intrusive, or portraying the sufferers as "mad" were completely unfounded. My firm belief that the Centre would not have agreed to participate in such a show were well founded. I completely agree with Fizzwhizz that the show beautifully demonstrated that those of us with anxiety disorders are not mad, just big time worriers. And anything which helps break down the stigma relating to mental illness has got to be a good thing.

That said, I was a little disappointed to realise I came away feeling that the show hadn't really explained CBT for OCD. I read a review of the show in Metro in which the writer felt the programme had not adequately explained why a participant was being asked to put her hand in a toilet bowl and then eat a sandwich. While I disagreed with some other aspects of the Metro review, I do have some sympathy with this point, and it's one I've seen expressed elsewhere. Putting your hand into a toilet and then eating without washing first is, of course, not "normal" behaviour, and I suspect a lot of viewers will have been asking themselves why someone so completely obsessed with cleanliness was being asked to do this.

I think Fizzwhizz's suggestion that it all seemed a bit easy (a contention with which I again tend to agree) is linked to the same problem. By not showing the work that goes on before Exposure and Response Prevention, the programme left itself open to misunderstanding of the reasons for the behaviours in which the participants were being asked to engage, and did indeed make it seem like an "easy" process.

The fact is that, before any of the three were invited to expose themselves to what they were afraid of, they would have spent a great deal of time talking the problem through with their therapist. I imagine that the participants would have undergone the same assessment interview I did in the first instance to make sure that the treatment was appropriate - this takes upwards of three hours, and involves the completion of many questionnaires, and detailed discussion of symptoms and behaviour. And then, during the first part of treatment, the way in which the problem works would be discussed. The patient would work out the meanings they'd attached to their thoughts, and see how their behaviours were simply reinforcing the problem. Only once this has been worked through, and the patient gained a full understanding of the problem - and, as a result, how to fight it - would they be invited to "experiment" by facing the things of which they were afraid.

To be fair, this sort of area was occasionally touched upon - in interviews with the therapists and, in particular, when Sophie the obsessive washer phones home. She talks with her partner about having talked through how the problem works, and how her - for example - asking for reassurance simply reinforces the problem. And later, when she's talking to Wendy, she also talks about issues such as avoidance and rituals.

But, really, I feel this whole area should have been made much more explicit. That way, viewers could have understood exactly why these participants were being asked to do what they were doing, and how it helps. I think it also would have got rid of the criticism I've read elsewhere that the programme never really explained why these people had become so obsessive. The fact is that CBT does not really focus on this issue - instead (as you identified, Fizzwhizz - gold star!) it focuses on the here and now and dealing with the anxious behaviour. Again, I'm not sure this was made explicit enough.

I have to be cynical about it, and suspect that an hour talking about thought conceptualisations of OCD is less likely to attract viewers than an hour of watching a glitter-phobic spreading the stuff all over her room, or an obsessive cleaner putting her hands down the toilet. I imagine that's why the programme makers put the focus where they did, but I think it's a shame a bit more of a balance couldn't have been struck between the two areas - confronting fears, and showing the framework used to confront such fears.

I still have some hope that tonight's, concluding, show (9pm, Channel 4, everyone) will redress the balance a little, but I suspect it will be pretty much the same - the time at which most of the discussion of how the problem works is at the beginning of therapy and, obviously, these participants are now past that.

I understand that tonight's show involves each of them going home, and it will be interesting to see how that goes. I have to say that after watching the show, I am almost grateful that I lived alone during my worst OCD spells - clearly, partners, friends and relatives of sufferers have a stressful time of it, made far worse if you're living with the sufferer.

It should be noted that the partners of each of the participants were unintentionally reinforcing their OCD-spouses' behaviour. Of course, they were acting with the best of intentions, but reassurance, for example, just feeds right back into the problem.

Be interesting to see how they deal with changing their behaviours in order to best help their OCD-suffering partner. It's tough. Think about it: you see someone who's upset. What do you do? I imagine you try to reassure them. You'll say stuff like: "It'll be OK". It's human nature. We do it automatically, because we think it's the best and most comforting thing to say. Problem is that, often, it's not. Let's say you're worried about giving a speech in public. You tell a buddy this, and your buddy automatically says: "C'mon, it'll be OK". For a while, you'll probably feel better. But then perhaps you get to thinking and worrying again. How can your buddy be sure that it'll be OK? Fact is: your buddy can't be sure. And you can't be sure. You have to go out there, do your best, and take the risk.

But dropping reassurance to an upset person is really, really difficult. Quite often, when someone tells me they're worried about something, I find myself giving reassurance - and that's even knowing that it's not the best thing to do. Try it next time someone comes to you worried about something - bet ya can't do it.

That's why I was interested to hear on the show that American studies have shown good outcomes when OCD patients are treated in a group. On the one hand, I can understand the benefits of the "we're all in the same boat", and can see how patients could spur one another on to greater progress - this certainly seemed to be the case with the three sufferers in the house.

On the other, I can see that this human nature to reassure could be a problem. My Mum told me she was talking to the TV when Wendy was having a bit of a panic, telling the others not to tell her it was going to be OK, because that was reassurance, and would only make the problem worse (how well I've infected my Mum with the CBT bug). The problem is that, I think, a group of sufferers may - with the very best intentions - wind up reinforcing one another's obsessive behaviour. This is certainly why I intensely dislike the forums on the two prominent UK OCD support group sites. There's value in learning that you're not alone, but posters tend to wind up telling one another to continue engaging in obsessive behaviour - believing that this is the right thing to say. It's not.

Perhaps that's less of a problem in The House of Obsessive Compulsives, because they're all undergoing CBT at the same time and, hopefully, all changing their beliefs and behaviours at the same time. Again, it would be easier to judge that had they shown more of the work done with each participant relating to understanding the problem.

Well, that's my two cents' worth, anyway (well, probably closer to twenty two cents' worth, actually). I might have felt there could have been more on the therapy, but there's so much value in a sensitive depiction of OCD and its sufferers - and in a depicition of the dedication, expertise, and kindness of good therapists - that, all in all, I'm happy.

Do tune in again tonight if you can. If only to see whether Wendy's husband gets diagnosed with OCD himself - I loved the way that, when taking her to the house, he said: "OK, here's Number 39. I guess this must be it. We're sure it's 39?" Concrete proof we're all on an OCD continuum.

But, Y'Know, What Does It MEAN?

2005-08-08T12:22:00.000+01:00

I saw Donnie Darko for the first time on Saturday night. It's not the kind of film I'd normally watch, but The Buddy declares it his second favourite film of all time, and raved about it non-stop when he saw it, so I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about.

I still don't know.

Seriously, what the hell is it about? I have absolutely no idea. As we approached the last half hour, I assumed that the final fifteen minutes would explain it all. I felt I'd be left with an explanation. I wasn't. I was left with a headache.

I don't deal well with films that make no sense to me - that appear to be weird for the sake of being weird. It's the reason I didn't like Being John Malkovich, and it's the reason I didn't like Donnie Darko. My brother teases me that, for me to enjoy a song or a film it has to make sense - it has to have a meaning. He's right. They do. And Donnie Darko doesn't.

I texted The Buddy immediately afterwards, somewhat angry that I'd sat through two hours of nonsense on the basis of his recommendation. I asked him what it was about. He said he has no idea. That just made me even more frustrated. When pushed, he said it's about time travel and self-destiny.

Another friend of mine, who'd watched it and considered it over-rated, came up with an alternative explanation, but admitted he'd given up trying to follow the plot halfway through. He feels it's the classic "I don't understand it, therefore it must be good" scenario. I agree. See also: "It means whatever you want it to mean."

On Sunday, I went to see Whisky. I didn't really get that either. I tell ya, when did it become good for a film to make so little sense?

McReadie's Latest Anxiety Challenge

2005-08-05T18:43:00.000+01:00

So I'm finding something lately: after each successful anxiety challenge, there's a weird sense of euphoria, where you start to think about what you're going to do for your next trick. It's the strangest thing: I used to hate exposing myself to anxiety, but now it's almost like I feel bored when I don't. (Of course, the minute I expose myself to anxiety I wonder what the hell I'm doing, but that makes for all the more euphoria if I do manage it, right?)

Anyway, in the aftermath of the trips to see the Tour, I'm wondering what I should do next. I was thinking about it this morning on the tube, in fact.

Well, as chance would have it, an unexpected anxiety challenge was coming my way today in any case.

'Twas a colleague's birthday today. The plan earlier in the week was just to go out for drinks but, by this morning, it had changed to lunch. I found this out while out of the office, and so was told to come and meet my already-seated colleagues once I arrived back.

Now, I gotta tell you, that made me uncomfortable. Traditionally, I've hated meeting people somewhere. Anxiety blinds me, and I just don't see them, and I think everyone's looking at me, and I get even more anxious and so one. So I was nervous about that. And, as you may remember, eating out in public with people has traditionally been a very big problem. Eating out in public with people when I arrive late and have to find those people: even bigger problem.

So I did the face-the-fear thing. I didn't dawdle, or try to arrive once they'd have all left. I strode into the Blue Elephant. It was a much posher place than I'd normally eat in (bear in mind that posh for me is Pizza Express). Also: it's bloody huge, and done out like some goddamn jungle. Again, normally I would have panicked at that point. But I managed to ask the waitress (almost calmly) where the group was, and found them OK.

So I sit down, and everyone's already had a sort of cracker thingy, which is then brought to me. Well, that makes things tougher - eating when other people aren't. I just about hang in there, even though I'm starting to get panicky. Not least because there are, like, three types of knives and forks and spoons for us and I have not a clue which I'm meant to be using. And cos it turned out that, when you sit down, they put a napkin on your lap and, well, I'm not used to that sort of malarkey. I'm used to picking up a napkin at the same time I pick up my drinking straw.

We then have to order. Rapidly becomes clear that there's nothing on the menu that's vegetarian. More panic. We're told the only vegetarian thing is green curry. I'm not wild about curry (other than Korma), but there's no choice, so I order. I should point out that, in the past, I would have looked up the menu of the restaurant we were going to in advance, figuring out what would be the thing I was least likely to throw up on. I believed I was least likely to throw up on bland food. Curry would not even have been considered.

I don't order a starter, which means (cos of the set meal deal we're doing) that I have to have a dessert. No-one else will be doing that, I realise. Meaning everyone will be watching as I eat my ice cream. More panic.

I eat part of my friend's starter, which is pretty spicy. Start to feel a bit rubbish. Main course comes - start to feel very rubbish. The curry is really spicy, and I struggle to eat it. This is not good.

Now, here's the trick I've found in these circumstances. What I always did before is to stop eating when I started to feel really sick. Trouble is that, if you do that, you won't start eating again. And, in fact, you'll feel worse. Often I had to retire to the toilet, convinced I was gonna vomit (sometimes I did) and then experienced major panic each time I attempted to return to the table. Reason for all this? Stopping eating is avoidant behaviour. And avoidant behaviour - well, that don't help, my friends. Makes stuff worse.

So even though my tongue, throat and, indeed, whole mouth are on fire, I try to keep munching on boiled rice. Tell myself not to stop. Try to focus attention outward - chatting to my friends rather than becoming engaged in a grand mental debate as to whether I'm gonna make it through the meal without puking. I don't manage to eat much of the curry, and that bothers me a bit, but I manage to eat something.

My clinical psychologist told me that, to deal with this problem, I had to eat as much as I possibly could... and then eat a bit more. So I eat as much as I possibly can of the curry. Then it's dessert time. So I eat a bit more. Cinnamon ice cream. Yum.

The No Sense Of Humour Lighting Man, And The No Sense Of Humour Hospital Person

2005-08-05T18:22:00.000+01:00

As you may have gathered from reading my ramblings here, I have a bit of a strange sense of humour. It has been described as everything from dry to weird to: "You sarcastic bitch". (The last description being probably the best and most accurate).

Now when you have a bit of a strange sense of humour, it can be a problem. Most people I meet get used to it in time, and it's fine. But for a small minority - those with no discernable senses of humour at all - it remains a stumbling block to all communication with me. Like the colleague of mine at my old company who asked, during hot weather, why I was still wearing two layers (the answer was that, at the time, I had a bit of an OCD-thing about getting cold). My response - "Because I'm a cold-blooded reptile" - wasn't taken in quite the spirit I'd hoped, and that colleague seemed to avoid me from that point on.

I'm reminded of this today, because there have been a couple of examples.

First was at a training session this morning. I was directing the training with my boss, and one of the trainees had been in a foul mood all morning, and been pretty unpleasant to me.

We'd split the people attending the session into four groups, and the group this woman was in was the only one who hadn't yet had a briefing from my boss. So, anyway, my boss is eventually free, and I wander over and ask the group this woman is in if they'd be interested in talking to him for a few minutes. The woman grouches and moans, and says the training session was meant to finish at twelve. I looked at my watch: "Well, that's OK, it's two minutes to twelve. My boss talks quickly".

Yeah, sorry, that wasn't really an example of my sense of humour issue, was it? It was an example of Angry Sarcastic McReadie. But, OK, here comes a proper example of what I'm talking about.

My colleague (and, indeed, friend) and I had to go and buy a lamp at lunchtime (don't ask). So after wandering around the area near our office, we eventually find a shop with the words "lighting specialists" in massive letters on the window. We walk in, and you're surrounded by every single type of light and lamp imaginable. Anyway, we walk up to the guy, and he asks what we're looking for. I say: "We're looking for a lamp. Have we come to the right place?"

My friend and I giggle. The shop guy, on the other hand - not even a smile. In fact, he asked us if we'd been drinking.

Reminds me of the time my chiropodist, upon examining my ingrown toenail, asked me how long I'd had it. My response: "The toe? For as long as I can remember". Again, not a titter.

The good news is that sometimes I do manage to restrain myself. One time I was in a supermarket, and the woman in front of me was loading can after can of dog food onto the conveyer belt. Honestly - you've never seen so much dog food. It's all she was buying. And she had the dried stuff, the meaty stuff, the cleans the dog's teeth stuff. Everything.

I cannot tell you how tempted I was to say: "Got a cat?"

Note To Self: Take Medication

2005-08-04T14:13:00.000+01:00

I've been on medication for the ol'anxiety disorders for a while. Doesn't bother me one bit to be on medication for the anxiety. I know that lots of people feel uncomfortable taking drugs for mental health problems - or, indeed, for health issues in general - but I ain't one of 'em. Way I figure it: if all it takes each day to keep me mentally healthy is a couple of tablets and the techniques I've been taught, I'll happily take that deal. It's a good one, and it's one that I'm happy is available - there are times when I thought it wouldn't be.

Thing is, I'm a bit sloppy when it comes to taking said tablets. It's fine if I get into the habit of it, but the minute I get out of the habit...

In my past life of writing patronising keep-healthy articles, I often made the point that the best time to give up smoking is when on holiday, because your routine changes dramatically and - as a result - it's easier to drop the habits you'd typically have at home. Good, patronising advice there, McReadie. Now for me, sadly, my recent holidays screwed up my tablet-taking patterns. I got out of the habit of taking my tablets. As a result, I went about a week without taking them - not really through design, just through getting out of the habit.

Let me say it: this a very stupid thing to do. Don't do it. It's stupid.

Thing is, back when things were very bad, I could spot an immediate effect if I stopped taking my tablets. Within about a day, I'd be convinced I was getting very ill because I no longer had tablets to keep the condition under control. An interesting case study of the effect of cognitive processes on the way you feel, that one. There's no way that neglecting to take one tablet could bring about such a dramatic change in my state - the drug would have still been in my system, built up over weeks - but believing that neglecting to take one tablet could bring about a dramatic change, well, now, that will make you feel really shitty. Guaranteed.

Anyway, now that I know that there is no chance that failing to take a tablet will turn me crazy overnight, I don't feel immediately ill if I stop taking the tablets for a little while. As a result, I don't feel any great urgency to start taking them again. It starts off just missing a day, and then I forget the next day, and then by day three I'm just out of the habit and then just a few days after I suddenly realise I've gone a week without taking the ol'Sertraline.

I'll say it again: that's a bad idea.

See, you start to feel a bit rubbish. I guess your serotonin doesn't know whether it's coming or going.

So you start to take the medication again, and tell yourself off for having not taken it in the first place. Trouble is, Sertraline has some side effects for me - nothing major, but just significant enough to be annoying. Dry mouth. Screws up my sleep patterns. Now, these problems faded after I was on it for a long, concentrated spell. But when I stop and start again, hey presto, I get the side effects again for a few days.

This is, of course, all my own fault. It's irresponsible and patently stupid behaviour. So let me state it here: I'm not going to muck about with the medication again. Hold me to it. Now excuse me while I gulp down something to drink in the hope of getting rid of this damn dry mouth, and yawn because I haven't been sleeping properly.

Noooo! Someone's Leaving Alias!

2005-08-03T13:32:00.000+01:00

An Alias post - for the benefit of Barbara, mostly, cos I know I still haven't managed to turn the rest of you on to the delights of Alias (what's wrong with you people?)

I'm afraid I must share some bad news. Someone major is leaving, if Kristin at EOnline is to be believed (and, it has to be said, she's only to be believed about 50% of the time). Check this out:

"Parting is such sweet sorrow...Heartbroken. Shell-shocked. And just, well, sad. I've never approached a column feeling quite like this, which explains why I rewrote this paragraph nine times before I realized there's no easy way to say:

Someone is leaving Alias. A main, integral character. It's happening early in the season. And many of you will be devastated."

And, she of course, holds back from telling us who this character is.

So, of course, I've started work on trying to figure it out. All anyone seems to be able to "confirm" is that Greg Grunberg ain't in Season 5, and nor is Mia Maestro. But surely neither can be considered major characters? I mean, I love me some Agent Weiss, but he's not a main character by any stretch of the imagination. And, OK, I know that Nadia is a pretty big part of the story but would the post above really relate to her departure? Seems unlikely.

After a quick Google, it seems that the theory gaining momemtum on various Internet boards is that it's Michael Vartan. I think he would warrant the post above. But let us not jump to conclusions too speedily. This is, after all, a serious matter. Let's consider the other possibilities:

- Carl Lumbly... Well, let's face it, Dixon ain't that major, and I think he's more liked/respected than loved by us Alias geeks.
- Kevin Weisman (Marshall)... Well, sure, we love him, but - again - I think the above posst would be a bit OTT.
- Ron Rifkin (Sloane) - well, personally, I'd be upset if Sloane left. I love the evil little bastard. But would this quote really be used for him?: "And many of you will be devastated."
- Devastated - now, that's a strong word. It's a word that I would use to describe my mindset if it turns out Spy Daddy Victor Garber is leaving. But I'm excluding him as a candidate on the basis of the same quote I used to exclude Ron Rifkin: "And many of you will be devastated." Let's face it, were it Spy Daddy leaving, we'd ALL be devastaed. Not just many of us. We'd ALL be devastated.
- That only leaves Jennifer Garner and, let's face it, if she left it'd surely be time to pull the plug on the show (well, at least I hope they'd pull the plug on the show). And since there have been lots of reports about the pregnancy being written in, I'm assuming it's unlikely she's leaving.

So, I gotta say, Vartan looks like the most likely candidate. My reaction is part upset, part sheer relief that we will still have Spy Daddy for Season 5. (We will, right? Someone tell me for sure we will! I can't live with the doubt!)

Ron Howard?

2005-08-02T13:40:00.000+01:00

I think I've previously discussed my hopelessness when it comes to meeting famous people. About as impressive as my encounters get are a phone conversation with former Health Secretary, and always Father Christmas lookalike, Frank Dobson; a phone conversation with Keith Chegwin; and a possible encounter with Anton Rogers in Newbury WH Smiths.

The Tour never really used to attract famous people. The most we used to get was a visit from Alain Prost. But that, as with so much else, has changed since Armstrong started his Tour-winning. Now we get famous peeps all the time.

And, if you're lucky, you even get to see 'em. As previously mentioned, I saw Sheryl Crow a couple of times on my little trip.

But now it seems that I may actually have seen someone else famous while on my Paris trip - Oscar winning director and former 1970s sitcom star Ron Howard. Thing is: in common with my general hopelessness when it comes to spotting famous people, I didn't actually notice I'd spotted him. I was too busy taking piccies of Discovery Channel team rider Pavel Padrnos and it was only when I uploaded my photos that I spotted another man in the shot - a slightly ginger man in a baseball cap, who looked an awful lot like that Oscar winning director and star of the 70s sitcom Happy Days.

A quick Google shows it could have been him - he's apparently in Paris at the moment directing a film, and was due to visit the Tour. So I ask you - did I meet Ron Howard? Review this photo, and then vote in the poll on the right, if you please.

The House of Obsessive Compulsives - Episode One

2005-08-02T12:14:00.000+01:00

So, unfortunately, my day in Exeter was a stupidly long one (had to get up at 5:30am, travel down, enjoy six hours of meetings, and then travel back: not that I'm bitter) and so I only saw the last ten minutes of the show (fear not - taped it - I'm obsessive compulsive, remember?)

Thanks, Fizzwhizz, for sharing your view - glad to hear you felt the show was positive. Hope you also felt it was positive, Jo, and that maybe there's something there which will have been of help.

I'll give you a complete rundown of my feelings about it when I've seen the whole show (full view now here), but I can yell ya the short part that I did see evoked rather weird emotions. On the one hand, I was there grinning, and experiencing a weird kind of enjoyment in watching them face their fears - knowing that they were doing well, and that it was going to make a real difference.

On the other hand, I found it upsetting to watch them as they faced the anxieties - I guess cos I know how they were feeling, and cos those feelings are still pretty fresh in my mind. And the peaks and troughs of progress were a bit too fresh for me too. The woman who managed to deal with the worries about glitter, and then have a panic attack the following night was especially familiar. After I'd done well with the contamination for a while, I found myself feeling more stressed at times, and by the weirdest things. I remember being on a train back from Exeter, and feeling incredibly claustrophobic and panicky, and being incredibly irritated by every other person on the train (though, it has to be said, that last part is pretty standard for McReadie). Thing was: I was doing well with the therapy, but I felt as though I was backsliding.

In therapy, the comparison was made between anxiety and a tantruming child, and it's an analogy that works well. The panic that you experience having done well with something is, I figure, the mind kicking up a tantrum and trying to get your attention - "hey, you ignored me before, don't think you're gonna do it again". Course, I know that now but, at the time, I didn't, and so I know that the poor woman was probably concluding(incorrectly) that all her progress was for nothing, and that she'd never be free of it - and that's not a nice feeling.

The other weird thing was - it made me miss the dudes. Christ knows why - as you saw, they can be sadistic little sods when they want to. And they get away with it because you know and they know that it's the whole "cruel to be kind" thing.

On somewhat of a side note, and for British Nuggets readers... D'you remember that recurring sketch in Goodness Gracious Me with the old Indian guy saying that absolutely everything was Indian? ("The royal family? Indian! Have arranged marriages, live in the same house and all work for the family business. Indian!") Well, I am now like that, except that rather than saying everything's Indian, I say everything is obsessive compulsive.

I guess once you've trained yourself to be super-aware of anything which could be an obsessive thought pattern, you notice such patterns everywhere - in yourself and in others. And, amusingly, last night's show made me realise that I'm a tad obsessive compulsive about glitter.

I hate the bloody stuff and always have. I don't like that you pick up a card in WH Smiths - even one which is just touching a glittery one - and three weeks later, you're still finding shiney specks on you. It just pisses me right off. I have thus been known to avoid glittery cards. Thing was, I'd never thought of this as OCD... until I saw the show last night.

See - this is what I'm telling you: I am the Everything Is OCD Girl ("Feelings on glitter? OCD! Don't like touching it, don't like the fact it gets everywhere, thus avoid it. OCD!") Dammit, maybe now I have to face the glitter thing. So if you happen to see me wandering back to McReadie Towers will pots of glitter, and a look on my face which suggests I'm ruminating, you'll know why.

A Wealth of Televisual Delights Awaits!

2005-08-02T12:05:00.000+01:00

It must be said, I have been rather starved of televisual delights of late. Oh, sure, there's been the ever-reliable Alias on Sunday nights but, frankly, that's been about it. Long gone are the days when, early this year, I was involved in careful scheduling to ensure I could watch all the shows I wanted to (there was a list made, and it was stuck to the fridge, and - yes - that was probably a sign of OCD). I have been forced to go to my fall back options - repeats of Friends and Frasier.

But it seems that next week this state of affairs will change. First off, Lost will at last be with us - Wednesday, Channel 4, folks. As you know, I've been looking forward to this show for ages, and its appearance alone would have been enough to declare next week A Good One Televisually. But, wait, for there is more! Season 3 of Without a Trace starts on E4 next Tuesday! A little more promotion for this, Channel 4/E4, if you please! And, then, with less promotion than something which hasn't been at all promoted, Season 2 of Arrested Development apparently begins next Thursday on BBC4.

Why, I'm as excited as Televisual Geek McReadie can be!

Now, Don't Forget, Will You? Maybe Do Some Checks.

2005-07-31T10:19:00.000+01:00

I'll be spending the day in Exeter on Monday engaged in a set of meetings I already anticipate will be a massive waste of time (nothing like going in with a positive attitude, is there?) so this is my last chance to remind all British-located Nuggets readers about The House of Obsessive Compulsives - Monday, 9pm, Channel 4.

If you're at all interested in gaining an insight into how I went from a person who couldn't sit on her bed in clothes which had been outside; who had to decontaminate inanimate objects such as taps, light switches and my watch; who spent hours a day obsessing over intrusive thoughts to someone who managed to get on an aeroplane despite a crippling fear of flying - then this is your show. Hopefully, by the end of it, you'll understand why I continue to blather on about how grateful I am to the Centre.

Help Us Cast The Lance Armstrong Movie

2005-07-29T18:33:00.000+01:00

Here at Nuggets we are currently casting the Lance Armstrong movie, following a general dissatisfaction with the path the actual casting is apparently taking.

You'll be pleased to hear that excellent progress has been made on this important task. Currently, we have:

- Lance - George Eads
- Linda Armstrong Kely (why, that'd be Lance's mom) - Marg Helenberger (excellent suggestion, Barbara!)
- Sheryl Crow - Jorja Fox (go Fizzwhizz!)

Allow me to invite you to consider some other major parts, not yet cast:

- Jim Ochowicz, Lance's first pro coach: a man who Lance has called his surrogate father
- Chris Carmichael, Lance's coach
- George Hincapie, the only team-mate to accompany Lance during each of his seven Tour wins

Suggestions, if you please.

Updated Sidebar

2005-07-28T14:29:00.000+01:00

The observant among you should notice that the sidebar has been updated. I have added some of my newer blogger buddies to my "Fellow Bloggers" links - apologies for the delay, everyone - and there's also a new OCD and anxiety disorders links section.

Enjoy!

(I know you will).

What's The Worst That Could Happen? Well, You Could Order Something And 20 Weeks Later Still Not Have It

2005-07-28T13:14:00.000+01:00

Those of you who are long-term Nuggets followers - and who also have long memories - may recall a post I wrote back in January about my worries over what gifts to buy my mental health dudes to thank them for everything they did for me.

Now, you'd be justified in assuming that, seven months after I wrote that post and three months after I left therapy (actually three months to the day I think, having just glanced at the date) the gift issue is sorted.

It's not.

In the end - and after a level of thought of which the dudes would not approve - I decided to order 'em some gifts from The Dr Pepper Museum in Waco, Texas.

Wait, wait, that isn't as weird as it seems. See, a pretty important question I had to ask myself during therapy was: "What's the worst that could happen?" My clinical psychologist got me to arrive at this question by asking me whether I knew the Dr Pepper advertising slogan was. (He was showing a lack of understanding of my TV geekery at this point). Here in the UK, it used to be: "What's the worst that could happen?" (Now it's "Dr Pepper: So Misunderstood" which, frankly, still works for an obsessive compulsive).

So each and every time I walk past a Dr Pepper bottle, I can't help but grin. Hey - what's the worst that could happen? I tend to visualise a Dr Pepper can each time I'm doing something anxiety-provoking.

So I figured some Dr Pepper merchandise would be a good gift for the dudes. So I ordered them each a set of Dr Pepper pens, and this very cool (in my opinion) serving tray.

The order was processed on March 4.

I still don't have the products.

This pissed me off a bit, as you can possibly imagine. I thus sent several e-mails to the customer service peep at the museum, asking where the hell my products were, and why the hell I hadn't received them.

Well, turns out that she is about as unhelpful as my mental health dudes were helpful. For a start, she refused to believe my assertion that the goods were probably lost in the post until... I had waited 20 weeks. I'm not sure she understands that the UK is an advanced Western society with a postal service - she acted as though I lived in some remote African country or something.

Anyway, it was 20 weeks last Friday. So I e-mailed, asking her to send a replacement by a speedy, trackable method - preferably courier.

She refused:

"Please note that our carrier unfortunately does not offer a tracking method for items to your location, therefore a refund of the original invoice will be made to your original payment method, as we will be unable to re-ship due to the lack of a guaranteed method of shipping to your location. We regret that this shipment can not be re-sent, however as the package was never returned to us, we can not clarify the problem, and therefore can not take the chance that the same thing happens again, as typically items that have taken this long come back to us, and as of now, yours has not. The refund should show on your statements billing cycle within 30-45 days depending on your companies closing date. Thank you for your patience and understanding."

I wasn't gonna give in that easily:

"Thanks for your note. The issue here is that I very much still want the products - they are intended as a special gift. Can I ask why it's not possible to use a different carrier? I am aware of several companies which do offer a guaranteed method of shipping to the UK - indeed, a courier would be able to deliver the goods within 24 hours if necessary. It seems clear to me that the item has simply been lost in the post, and using a courier would certainly avoid the chance of this happening again. I don't think I'm being unreasonable in asking that an alternative method of shipping is used so that I can be guaranteed the products.

If this is not possible, then can you make another suggestion as to how I might be able to secure Dr Pepper merchandise? Is there another company within the States that might be able to send the products internationally or, alternatively, are you aware of a supplier in the UK?

Thanks in advance for your help."

She remained resolutely unhelpful:

"Please note that as stated in the previous email, a credit has already been issued to you for the funds you were originally charged$66.90, which cancelled your original order. As stated on our site, we are not a part of the Dr Pepper Co. and have no info on other outlets for Dr Pepper merchandise, as we produce the things that we sell.
If you wish you may place another order through the site, requesting guaranteed FedEx service (this is not a service we use, however we can try their service) in the comment section of the order form, however for an order similar to yours, the fees for shipping and handling could run you $90.00 or over for a similar weight shipment, and incur import export fees in addition, that would be the recipients responsibility in addition to the shipping fees. This service says delivery should occur in 4-5 business days from ship date to most areas in your country. However as this is not the shipper we normally use for overseas deliveries due to the high expense, we are only stating the info that their standard shipment states, and cost could run over the fees stated here once the package is delivered to their site for inspection. Thank you!"

So I think it may be time to give up on the Dr Pepper museum, with their George Bush-like belief that the UK is some poxy little country that often has to wait over 20 weeks for a package to arrive there from the States. (I mean, I know we are a poxy little country, but I also know that I often receive goods from the States, and it sure as heck doesn't take 20 weeks.)

So it's time to go to some sort of Plan B. The trouble is I don't really have a Plan B. So I'm pinning my hopes on eBay at the moment. I did actually look there first, but there wasn't any decent Dr Pepper stuff there at the time. Now there is. I just have to hope I can get two of any item I'm interested in - one for each of the dudes.

GAH!

I did actually once discuss my worries over presents at a session. I explained that I spend loads of time thinking what to buy someone, and then once I have bought it, convince myself they won't like it and that I've made a big mistake - to the point I consider not giving it to them. It was suggested that I shouldn't overthink present buying - that if you put too much thought into it, nothing is ever good enough, and that you wind up buying (or giving) nothing.

Ironically, buying gifts for the people who told me that is proving to be a perfect case study of their point.

Ha Ha

2005-07-27T18:27:00.000+01:00

Just after I published my previous post, Cigar Smoking Dude left to go home. But, before going, he picked up a part smoked cigar which he'd saved. Clearly my mentally yelling at him has had an effect! And to think the mental health dudes lead me to believe that just thinking something couldn't make it happen. Pah!

Smoking

2005-07-27T18:19:00.000+01:00

I don't smoke. Never have. Few reasons:

1) The health thing. It's bad for ya, don't ya know?
2) The cool thing. I was never cool enough to even be offered a cigarette. Worst thing I was offered at school was a chance to join Bridge club.
3) The expense thing

Now the third point there is an important one. I mean, I couldn't do smoking because of the health worries. But I also just can't get my head round what an expensive habit it is. I mean, those little white sticks cost!

Anyway, at the moment, there is a guy working in my office who smokes cigars. These, as I understand it, are even pricier than cigarettes (I'm right, aren't I?)

But he doesn't actually smoke the whole cigar. He just takes a couple of puffs and that's it. I think it's cos he's trying to give up.

Now there are a couple of things that annoy me about this couple of puffs technique. Firstly, I can't imagine it's gonna work. I think cold turkey is the way to go. But secondly, and more importantly for someone as miserly as me, it must be costing him a bloody fortune! What a waste! If you're gonna pay for something that's gonna kill you, at least make the most of it, for crying out loud.

I mean, isn't there some way to put out the cigar and then resmoke it? A friend of mine used to do it with cigarettes. Clearly, the smoking has killed too many of his brain cells, making him unable to figure this out.

Mostly Good On The Salad Front

2005-07-27T13:46:00.000+01:00

As you may remember, I was somewhat concerned about the freshly-made salad I purchased the morning.

But, I have just consumed said salad, and I'm pleased to tell you that it's by and large good news. Oh, sure, it wasn't the salad it would have been had I eaten it at the time it was prepared - the long-term effects of the olive oil were to turn the lettuce, er, vaguely translucent (nice!) But 'twas a good salad - with more ingredients than those promised! I had been gearing up for lettuce, olives, tuna and egg, if you recall. But there were added bonuses - tomato and red pepper! We won't talk about the carrot. I don't do carrot.

But, all in all, it seems I worried unnecessarily. What do you mean "story of your life, McReadie"? Why, you smug little bastard...

Who Should Play Lance?

2005-07-27T12:59:00.000+01:00

OK, OK, wait - I have a suggestion as to who should play Lance Armstrong in the film of his life!

Here goes... How about George Eads? They're both from Texas, they both have that square-jawed thing going, and they're sort of a similar age.

Whaddaya reckon?

(George Eads is, for the record, the guy who plays Nick Stokes in the original - and best - CSI. Oh, c'mon, you knew any suggestion I came up with would be a TV rather than movie actor.)

McReadie Worries About Salad; Tries Not To Worry About "The House of Obsessive Compulsives"

2005-07-27T11:02:00.000+01:00

I'm quite a salad fan. This may come as a surprise to you, since it is also the case that I'm quite the junk food fan. Mmmm... junk food. However, as it turns out, the two loves are not mutually exclusive. I can enjoy a good salad and follow it up with a good chocolate bar. And a good bag of crisps. And a good cake. And a good few slices of takeaway pizza.

Here's the thing, though: while I'm not all that fussy about junk food (if it has sugar in then, pretty much, I'm happy) I am fussy about salads. Here's the rules:

1) No cucumber
2) No red onion
3) Must have proper French Vinaigrette, made by my Mum or my Grandma

Now, as you can imagine, finding a salad which meets these criteria is tough, especially in the UK. Especially the last one cos, unfortunately, my Mum and Grandma do not supply salads to any major supermarket chain.

In the past week, however, a new food place has opened in Wimbledon station. It's Spanish, I believe, and when I saw the details of its green salad - lettuce, egg, tuna and olives - I had hope. Thus this morning, I took the plunge and purchased.

I was impressed. It was freshly made, and they even gave me a piece of bread to "mop up" the dressing with (I asked for only olive oil, though vinegar was offered, cos I was worried that the vinegar would burn up the lettuce before I had a chance to eat it). Problem is, obviously, I won't be eating said salad til lunchtime. And it was made around 9:30am this morning. It's safely tucked in the company fridge, but I am nonetheless worried. Will it hold out til lunchtime, or will it be a mere shadow of its former self? It's cause for concern.

Yes, yes, I realise this sounds a little obsessive compulsive. What I can tell ya? I am one, remember?

And that provides a perfect link to the other thing I wanted to tell you about this morning (yes, yes, a need for neat links is probably another manifestation of OCD, but what the hell, a nice link is a nice link) - The House of Obsessive Compulsives. This is a new, two part TV show on Channel 4, which starts next Monday.

Now, I've been aware of this show for a little while. I read about it on an OCD support site, and a quick Google search shows it's been gaining some media attention. I gotta be honest: I was a little worried when I first heard about it. I wasn't wild about the concept of a reality TV version of OCD. It felt a little too like an intrusive freak show - "Hey, look at these crazy people! It's entertaining, isn't it? And the best thing is we can get away with this by claiming it's a psychological experiment! Cool, huh?"

However, I was reassured when I found out that the team of experts behind the show are all from The Centre for Anxiety Disorders and Trauma at The Mighty Maudsley! Why, yes, those of you with good memories, this was where I was treated! And I'm confident that these good folks wouldn't be involved with this show were it exploitative. We loves them Centre for Anxiety Disorders and Trauma folks.

So I'll be both taping and tuning in (obsessive compulsive, huh?)

I'm not too sure how it'll feel watching other people in the same place I was not too long ago. On the one hand the days of the deep, dark OCD feel a long time ago and, on the other hand, I guess the feeling that I'm a recovering obsessive compulsive won't ever go away.

I never really understood what former alcoholics meant when they said they were "recovering" even though they hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in fifteen years. But now I get it. Maybe I haven't bought a Dettol product in a while, but it doesn't mean the temptation isn't sometimes there. Recovering obsessive compulsive.

Anyway, I hope that a few of you might tune in next week. Consider this your heads up.

Matt Damon as Lance?

2005-07-26T17:56:00.000+01:00

Opinions? Fizzwhizz, weigh in!

I gotta say, it'll be weird if they make this film. I mean, I'll be first in line to see it - you know my love of sports movies and, well, a sports movie about Lance! That'd be a dream.

But, typically, the sports movies I watch tell stories of which I wasn't previously aware - or, if I was, the knowledge wasn't of any great depth. But I know Armstrong's story - I've been a supporter since 1991 - and so it'll be weird to see a Hollywoodised version of it. I'll probably sit there going: "Hey, that's not how that happened!" and, "Oi, don't forget his first wife is the mother of his children and supported him through his comeback, not Sheryl Crow!" and, "Matt Damon - I mean, what the hell?!"

I'm Still Here, Kids

2005-07-26T16:37:00.000+01:00

No time, no boring rant from McReadie, Nuggets fans!

Fear not, I am still here. And I've missed you all. Apologies for my absence. Caused by a couple of factors: first off, a stupid little viral illness which made me feel a bit rubbish for a few days. Secondly, and more excitingly (for everyone other than those of you who enjoy hearing about my relapsing-remitting earache), a little trip to Paris to see the final stage of the Tour de France.

Yes, my second holiday in only three weeks and I coped with this one better than with the first. Oh, sure, there were a few nerves, but I did OK. On Saturday I even managed to wander round the city of Paris with someone I barely know, and eat two meals in the company of that person I barely know, and I didn't even feel that nervous. And, despite the vertigo, I went up to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and looked over the roofs of Paris.

My Mum marvelled at the whole weekend, and asked me if I thought, a year ago, before I started therapy, that a year later I'd be standing at the top of a tall monument in a city I'd never visited in the company of someone I don't know - all without feeling too nervous. The answer, of course, is a resounding "no".

I've said it before, I'll say it again - I'm kinda a fan of CBT and the Maudsley.

I owe the mental health dudes some photos of my trip. I told 'em in my farewell/thank you letter than I'd booked the holidays, that I was already worried about whether I'd manage to go... and that I'd send 'em some photos when I got back. So I'm figuring out which photos to send over to them. I'm trying to avoid selecting loads of photos of cyclists - trying to remind myself that while I may be excited by a close-up shot of Stuart O'Grady, other people probably won't be. I tell you, I'm showing a consideration when it comes to my holiday photos that few people have shown me as they've shown me the fiftieth shot of something very dull.

So, I know you're all wondering: did I see Lance? (I know Fizzwhizz, who is quite a Lance fan, will be wondering and, Barbara has also revealed an interest in cycling - sorry that I have so far failed to respond to your many comments, Barbara!)

So, allow me to answer: and that answer is, "well, sorta!" I saw him sign on at the stage start, but got all shakey (damn my overactive nervous system) and so many of the photos are blurred. And at the stage end, well, the crowds were six deep and I am just a tad over five foot, so it was tough to see anything. I did manage to get a shot of Lance and The Boys on their victory lap - through luck rather than judgement. Also saw George sign on, and Popo (Popo for a top three step on the podium in 2008, when Lance is elected President - you read it here first).

What's that you say? Show us the pictures, McReadie? Well, I shall oblige, dear readers:

Wander over here. Click on any photo to see a bigger version.

In other news (yes, that's right, we've done cycling so now we're turning to TV) I enjoyed Extras, and if you haven't seen Catherine Tate yet, start watching - this Thursday, half nine.

I must turn away from this upbeat TV news for a moment, though, to bring you televisual news which has shaken me. Some of you may remember how eagerly I've been awaiting Lost, the new(ish) show from the creator of Alias, which stars that guy who played the nice older brother in that classic implausible televisual yarn, Party of Five. (We're talking about Charlie, the one who, if memory serves, had cancer. Not Bailey, the implausibly good looking one who I always thought was probably fifty even though he looked permanently twenty five).

Anyway, Lost was supposed to premiere on Channel 4 sometime around January. It's now the end of July and we still ain't seen it. It's due to start on August 10 - just three weeks before it comes out on DVD in the States.

Now I regard this as, well, crap. But one thing always reassured me when I was disappointed by English TV - the thought that it may be bad, but it ain't as bad as French TV. This opinion was formed from youthful summers spent watching French TV in all its hideous "glory" - dubbed American shows, boring documentary series, and Fort Boyard on Saturday nights. Fifteen odd years later, not much has changed.

Or so I thought. Until I turned on TF1 on Saturday night, to be greeted by three episodes... in a row... of Lost Les Disparus. Yes - Lost! The French have Lost before us! A shitty dubbed version of Lost, admittedly, but Lost nonetheless!

Frankly, my world has been turned upside down. The French have a series I want before I do. I'm still reeling from the shock. Honestly - things may never be the same again.

On a completed unrelated note, I'm wearing my new Nike long-sleeved t-shirt today and I love it to a scary extent. Scary not least because three kids probably laboured for three days for three pence a day in order to make the damn thing.

Laurie and Larry David Story

2005-07-13T12:14:00.000+01:00

Amusing story from a David about the Davids.

No, no, this doesn't count as searching for gossip! The piece is written by Laurie David herself! She volunteered the information! This is not snooping!

Bennifer II

2005-07-13T11:32:00.000+01:00

I'm nosey. It's true. It's always been an important characteristic of the being that is McReadie. I spent much of my primary school career perfecting the art of reading upside down so that I could sneak a peak at documents on my teacher's desk. By secondary school, my skills had been perfected, and I've continued to practice them ever since.

I used to justify such activity as part of my preparation for a career in journalism. An ability to snoop is clearly an important skill for any journo.

What became clear in my early twenties, however, is that I had trouble exploiting the fruits of my nosiness. That, for the record, is not a good quality in a journo, hence my reincarnation as a namby-pamby writer-editor working on healthcare topics.

Anyways, my nosiness remains even if an ability to exploit it is not part of my makeup. As a result, I enjoy gossip to an extent that I find a little repulsive.

My shame at my enjoyment of gossip means that I find myself unable to purchase tabloid newspapers. The embarrassment is too great, and I tell myself that I don't want to encourage an industry that makes money off our sick interest in the details of people's private lives.

Trouble is, there is an easy and secretive away round this - a way to maintain the moral highground while digging in the gutter for gossip. It is, my friend, the Internet.

I love the Internet for so many reasons. I love the way that it allows people who wouldn't otherwise know one another to make important connections. The trivia buff in me loves the way it helps me to find out stuff I wouldn't be able to find out anywhere else. I love the way I can read about, taking something at "random", the results of the day's stage in the Tour just a few minutes after the stage has finished.

These are all respectable things I like about the Internet. But, dammit, there's a darker side to my love of the 'net. No, it's not porn. No - it's the way it allows me to indulge my inherent nosiness with no embarrassment.

See, I struggle to buy a copy of the National Enquirer in my local newsagent. But looking at news from the National Enquirer on the Internet - no such problem! No public shame!

The recent marriage of Bennifer II - that would be the Seems-Like-A-Nice-Girl Alias star Jennifer Garner and I-Should-Hate-You-But-Dammit-You're-Funny-And-Don't-Seem-To-Take-Yourself-Too-Seriously Ben Affleck - has brought this issue into clear focus. I admit it: I wanted to know about this whole relationship. My love for Alias is such that I felt the need to know the details of something which clearly is none of my damn business.

Several Google searchs later, and I'd read about where the ceremony was held, what they were wearing, and got all emotional over the fact that the ceremony was apparently officiated over by everyone's favourite Spy Daddy, The Lovely Mr Victor Garber.

I tell you: I'm truly ashamed at my level of interest in the proceedings. Just because these people are in the public eye does not mean their private lives should be. I realise that.

Each time I use the 'net to dig up grubby gossip, I swear it's the last time. So, here, I'm telling you, it's over. Hold me to it.

Oh, but, hang on, The Lovely Vince Vaughn is apparently getting close to The Lovely Jennifer Aniston! OK, so I'll just read about this... Yeah, sure, last time. I swear.

Lance Kicks Butt

2005-07-13T11:23:00.000+01:00

As mentioned, yesterday was the first big day at The Tour. And boy did Lance kick butt. I was there yelling the flat down, doing my best impression of a directeur sportif (cycling language for "team boss, coach, and all round lucky dude") - "Vino's suffering, boys, turn on the gas", Ullrich's gone, Ullrich's gone, keep going!", "Basso's dropped! Basso's dropped! Turn it on!"

Needless to say, my neighbours must love me. What the heck - it's revenge for their very loud parties on weekends.

Yes, Lance blew pretty much everyone out of the water. A minute into Basso, two and a half into Ullrich, and about five into Vinokourov. It was an incredibly exciting stage. For once my heart was pumping over time due to excitement rather than anxiety.

Not only was I cheering Lance, of course. I was cheering all the Discovery Channel boys. The other day, they had us all a bit worried, with an uncharacteristically below-par performance on the first mountain of the Tour. But they were back yesterday - big time. Controlled the race beautifully, and gave their all for Armstrong. We love 'dem Discovery boys.

And my new tip for the top, Yaroslav Popovych, rode beautifully in support of Lance. The moment Lance clearly told him to turn on the gas was a great one. Popo just went for it, and one by one the cyclists dropped off the back of the group. Go Popo! (I would link to the previous posts on the blog on young Popo but, I've said it before, I've said it again, the Google search of my own site is hopeless).

Another very big day today - the highest climbs of this year's Tour. Needless to say, I'll be doing a whole lot of yelling again today. GO LANCE!

Allez Lance!

2005-07-12T13:24:00.000+01:00

First really big day in The Tour today. Time for Lance to show who's boss. Are you as nervous and excited as I am? My Spidey Senses somehow tell me you're not.

Well, what the heck:

GO LANCE AND DISCOVERY!

McReadie Eats Lunch, Watches Cycling

2005-07-08T16:49:00.000+01:00

It's a colleague's (and friend's) birthday this weekend. As a result, it had been decided that the whole company should go out for lunch.

We went to a rather nice local pub. Not so long ago, this woulda been an uncomfortable experience for me. Eating out, and with other people, has been difficult for a long time.

You might remember that, more recently, I had been able to eat out, but found myself puking after the event (instead of feeling like puking during it).

Well, today, ate no problem at all. Everything on my plate, in fact. Downed my pineapple juice. Sat and chatted. Went for a hot chocolate with my friend. Returned to the office. Don't feel sick.

My clinical psychologist would ask me how this has happened. He already knows the answer, as do I - by not avoiding the situation, even though it scares me. Face the fear and all that. It's not plesant, but dammit it seems to work.

And, best of all, the pub was showing... The Tour! On a big screen TV! I have never, ever, ever been in a pub which chose to show cycling! Dammit, this place may have to become my new hangout.

London Blasts

2005-07-07T11:44:00.000+01:00

I'm sitting safely in my Tulse Hill flat. My friends and family are OK. I'm shaking and close to tears. It's tough to believe this is happening.

For anyone else in the capital, I hope you and loved ones are safe and well.

Allow Me To Bore You With My Holiday Photos

2005-07-06T19:23:00.000+01:00

I threatened to bore you with my holiday photos, and bore you with them I shall!

Click here to take a look at some shots from the first three stages of this year's Tour.

I've tried to avoid posting loads of shots which are exciting to the cycling geek that is McReadie but to no one else. I can guarantee, for example, a shot of Sheryl Crow's back! And a decorated supermarket window! And some sunflowers! Check it out - c'mon, how can you resist?

London To Host 2012 Olympics

2005-07-06T13:04:00.000+01:00

So, Taxloss, Hypatia - we've got six years to figure out how to get the hell out of here for the duration of the event. Somehow I think I'll want to avoid the tube during the weeks London plays host to the world's largest sporting event.

Sorry, Paris. I wanted you guys to get it.

Cyclists and Sunflowers

2005-07-05T12:55:00.000+01:00

Cyclists passing sunflowers: it's the classic Tour shot, and I took this one!

Yes, folks, I did it. The anxiety was bad, and I almost thought I wouldn't be able to go, but I did, and I enjoyed it, and I got to take pictures like these! Thank you all for your support - as ever, I was touched by your kind comments and they mean a lot.

Arrived back this morning. Currently sleepy and hungry, and today's Tour stage is about to start, so I'll sign off for now and bore you with details later. I must say, I'm enjoying at last having the opportunity to bore people with details of my holiday, and photos from it - many times I've suffered through other people boring me with their travels. Now I get to do it! Aha!

McReadie Feels Sorry For Herself

2005-07-01T09:45:00.000+01:00

Brace yourself: this is going to be a post where I wallow in self-pity a bit. I give you permission to skip it if you don't have the stomach for it. Go ahead - I won't ask questions later.

I leave to go on holiday tonight. I'm due to see the first three stages of the Tour de France.

I feel like crap. Sweaty, shakey, exhausted, sick, achey, lightheaded, dry mouthed etc. I need to eat, but my anxiety is currently so bad that the thought makes me want to throw up. I can't quite remember why I ever decided to do this. I am currently fantasising about just not going. Not showing up. Staying at home in "safety".

I've just re-read the "Anxiety Rules" I wrote at the end of therapy. That's helped a bit. Reminded me why I'm trying to do this. It's tough to keep focused sometimes when you don't have therapy sessions reinforcing messages every few weeks.

So, yeah, tonight at seven I board the coach. Overnight crossing. Then tomorrow I see the prologue time trial (well, it's not really a prologue this year - it's too long to be considered such). Then after the stage it's over to Nantes where we're staying for two nights. Sunday I see the first road stage, Monday the second road stage. Monday night it's back to the boat for an overnight crossing, and Tuesday I'm back in London.

Writing that down, I realise how ridiculous my high level of anxiety must seem. But there are just so many things in this trip which are the kind of things that make me nervous - coach journey (cos I get travel sick), meeting new people, eating in front of people etc etc.

I hope I can do it. I'm going to try.