Mind your language!

A tattooist's lot is not a happy one, at least when it comes to dissatisfied clients:

"The price was £90 [...] But he only wanted to pay £70. He became very aggressive then got three friends who were waiting in a car outside to come in.

He was threatening to kill us. We called the police and he was arrested."

It appears that this difference of opinion originated in a problem of communication between the tattooist and his Iranian customer, whose English was apparently not up the the subtleties of caveat emptor (though, given the length of the tattooing process, the waiting heavies outside suggest a degree of premeditation).

Once the police had removed the offensive quartet, the tattooist, clearly shaken by his ordeal, decided to print a sign and place it in the shop window:

 "If you can't speak English don't even bother coming in."

After a few hours, and presumably having calmed down somewhat, it dawned on him that the sign might be 'misconstrued' so he removed it.

And that would have been the end of the matter, were it not for a passing lecturer in English and Media Studies who took a picture of the sign and tweeted it with the words:

Discriminatory, racist… but also really dumb when you think about it.

To be fair, his main point (albeit expressed in depressingly Americanised terms, given his occupation) appears to be the inherent contradiction of writing the sign in English - rather like buying a bowl inscribed 'DOG' when no-one else is likely to eat from it and the dog can't read - but it was the 'racist' angle which immediately seized the public's attention.

Either the local paper has been doing its best to stir up a hornets' nest or the result has been an undignified scramble to board the outrage bus (perhaps not entirely unconnected with the forthcoming local elections); step forward the Council Leader...

 "I'm glad the sign was taken down. It's a throwback to the 1960s."

...the local MP...

 "The sign was a backwards step but at least it's down now."

...and the Council’s head of regulatory services:

“While we are pleased that the sign has been voluntarily removed, our officers have visited the business concerned and stressed that this sort of behaviour is totally unacceptable."

I must admit to a certain amount of confusion here; are they objecting to the wording of the sign (which was, perhaps, unfortunate as well as illogical) or to the implication that those who do not speak English should not enter the shop?

If the latter, it is certainly discrimination of a sort, but how should this be reconciled with the fact that, as the tattooist says,

"The reason for the sign is tattoos are permanent and we cannot take the risk of making a mistake because we cannot communicate with a customer"?

While the sign could, perhaps, have expressed it in less forthright terms, it is surely quite rational for a tattooist to refuse clients unable to make their requirements clear or give informed consent, and therefore for the studio to warn them that such rejection is likely if they enter the premises.

The sign is gone, but, thanks to the wonders of twitter, not forgotten. As we have seen before, this supposedly ephemeral form actually succeeds in preserving momentary follies and indiscretions beyond all previous limitations.

I love it when a plan backfires!

And it all looked so good on paper - a teenage crime tsar to bring policing right up to date and show that young people have a stake in society; Kent PCC Ann Barnes must have thought she had a sure-fire PR triumph on her hands.

Instead, she's landed with a year's bill for £15,000 - which will keep 17-year-old Paris Brown in rather more style than many hard-working adults - unless the girl can be persuaded to step down.

And that's not looking likely at the moment; Miss Brown has learned the lesson of 21st century media practice and has made a tearful public apology on camera so, in what is fast becoming a national tradition, she clearly feels free to carry on in the position she so dramatically disgraced.

The apology itself was a striking demonstration of the attitude engendered by modern educational theory with its incessant praise regardless of results and its focus on feelings rather than rational thought; the media, she said, had misinterpreted her words:

"...If I’m guilty of anything it’s showing off and wildly exaggerating on Twitter and I am very ashamed of myself."

Note that 'if' - by dismissing any suggestion of racism or homophobia and denying that her tweets referred to drugs, she has essentially ducked the blame completely; her public declaration of how she feels completes the winning formula.

In fact she is the victim here. To accuse her of politically incorrect opinions is clearly a hostile and subjective interpretation of her innocent words:

"I deeply apologise for any offence caused by my use of inappropriate language and for any inference of inappropriate views."

Sincere? Maybe, but you have to admit that's a suspiciously well-constructed bit of sophistry for a 17-year-old apprentice who, only a few days ago, was expressing herself in these erudite terms:

"Been drinking since half 1 and riding baby walkers down the hall at work oh my god i have the best job ever haha!!"

And therein lies the problem. Because it's difficult to see what exactly Miss Brown can bring to the table that justifies the salary she's being paid if that is how she behaves - and thinks - at work. Never mind the accusations of racism and the rest; it looks as if she is likely to be a bit rubbish at the job.

I don't want to join the media witch-hunt, which has been a far from edifying spectacle; my point is that almost any youngster barely turned 17 is bound to make a mess of something like this through lack of experience and maturity - I know I would have done.

Since Vance Packard first alerted the world to 'pester power', children have been adopting an increasingly central role in decision-making within Western families until they effectively hold the purse-strings. New Labour deliberately brought this trend into public life by repeatedly harping on about young people - or, in Blairspeak, 'yungpeeple', eliding it into a talismanic catchword to be wheeled out on every possible occasion.

And the young swallowed hook, line and sinker this politically expedient idea of their own importance. I'm sure that Paris Brown, really does believe that she is worth her hire and should stay in her post for a full year before going on to greater things. In fact she perfectly sums up a growing trend in Britain.

Given her reaction to this situation, I think it is virtually certain that she will eventually go on to join the ever-expanding army of public-sector workers promoted well beyond their competence but blissfully unaware of their own limitations.

Quis custodiet custodes IPSAe?

Well, if Bercow gets his way, prospective members of the board of the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority - including those currently sitting - must be vetted and approved by his own pet panel.

Four members of the watchdog which polices MPs' expenses are to stand down after a row with Commons speaker John Bercow.

Mr Bercow decided not to back the automatic re-appointment of the four IPSA board members when their contracts end in January.

Naturally this isn't going down at all well in some circles, but an interesting defence of Bercow has appeared at Conservative Home, where Paul Goodman has been mulling things over thanks to a personal interest in the story:

'I was approached recently to apply for a place on the IPSA Board, and saw on reading the conditions that the Speaker would play a part in the selection process.

I thought that it was unlikely that I would be successful if I applied, and decided that since I've no confidence in the Speaker it would be wrong to do so in any event.'

Come on, Paul - surely a lack of confidence in the Speaker is exactly why you should apply!

Someone's got to keep an eye on him; if he's on the level, you have nothing to fear and, if he really is after placemen, it won't be exposed unless someone objective gets involved in the process.

And, more importantly, if a lack of confidence in Bercow acts as a complete deterrent to would-be applicants, what sort of people will we be left with?

Meanwhile,  remember this from Dizzy Thinks?

'Frankly, even a very shiny arse with neon lights on it saying "I'm a shiny arse" would find it hard to make more of an arse of itself on Twitter than Sally Bercow has in recent months.'

More than two years on and she's still at it,  not to mention that photo, and those TV appearances. Now, I wouldn't normally be so insensitive as to bring up the indiscretions of a man's wife in relation to his professional career, but John Bercow has chosen to share bed and board with this woman of his own free will (at least I assume so).

And if that's any indication of his judgement of character, perhaps we should look very carefully indeed at his choice of appointees.

Watch Thou for the Mutant!

Here's a handy hint for any aspiring local politician (and Sally Bercow); if you're going to blog/twitter/post a video diary on youTube, avoid saying anything derogatory about the electorate.

It's a fair bet that the Mayor of Ellesmere Port won't be showing his face in his local Asda anytime soon - at least not after posting a video diary with the comment,

‘My usual visits to Asda would probably be later than this... mostly to avoid the mutants who go in during the day.’

In an impressive display of stable-door-bolting, Anderson explained that he was referring to a particular group of customers who had abused him on two visits to the supermarket and not to Asda customers in general, but the damage was done.

The Daily Mail obligingly found some outraged locals to express their indignation; here's one Ellesmere Port Asda shopper:

‘What an idiot. Next time I see him he’ll be getting a lung full off me. He’s not helping himself get votes for next year.’

And another:

‘There are a lot of kids hanging around outside the supermarket and we see a lot of drugs, but people like me just come here to do their shopping. How dare he say we are mutants?'

Meanwhile, Labour Councillors have merrily hopped on the bandwaggon:

‘Mr Anderson says that his comments were taken out of context, but I do not see how that could be the case. He quite clearly calls Asda shoppers mutants in the video. He shouldn’t have said it and he owes an apology to the people of the town.'

As they say, if the cap fits...

@andromache - beware of Greeks

Following the news that Derek Simpson twittered his way through the BA negotiations on Saturday there's been much speculation about when and where not to twitter.

Opinion is divided about the stream-of-consciousness trend - it is all too easy to make oneself ridiculous. This quote from Dizzy Thinks admirably highlights the potential of the medium:
'Frankly, even a very shiny arse with neon lights on it saying "I'm a shiny arse" would find it hard to make more of an arse of itself on Twitter than Sally Bercow has in recent months.'

Remember Stuart MacLennan and his political career, or rather lack of it? And what about the jogger who ran into a tree while sharing with an agog audience the fact that he was running in a park? Both are strong arguments for a sort of Green Cross Code; Stop. Think. Tweet.

And for recognizing that there are times when twitter is simply not appropriate. Business meetings are, by and large, out, as are church services of any kind*, romantic dinners for two and anything involving alcohol, but my favourite to date is a sight I observed last week.

Troy has fallen to the Greek army. On stage before a rapt audience, Hecuba the queen laments the loss of her city, her husband and her sons and bewails the fate awaiting the Trojan women. And in the wings, waiting for her cue, stands her daughter-in-law Andromache, baby cradled in one arm, busily twittering on her Blackberry.


*Update: and royal ceremonies - Dizzy Thinks has just posted on a new Labour MP's reaction to the State Opening of Parliament.

Stuart MacLennan - retrospective foot in mouth

'Think in your head, now, think of the most...private...secret...intimate thing you have ever done secure in the knowledge of its privacy...Are you thinking of it? Well, I saw you do it!'

(Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead: Tom Stoppard)

For the lucky majority of us, the Player's taunt is an empty one. Most of our youthful indiscretions, though they may cause our toes to curl in moments of excruciating recollection, are at least buried in the past with no surviving evidence.

Not so for Generation X-box, the children of the electronic age. Every bitchy e-mail, every inebriated garbled text is potentially there to be viewed in the cold light of day years after the event. The doings of todays young people are recorded in the kind of detail that in previous centuries attended only the actions of royalty.

The concept of privacy has undergone a radical change since the advent of Facebook, Myspace, Twitter et al. Their users treat the world to a constant stream-of-consciousness narrative regardless of merit or consideration. And there are going to be repercussions.

'A Labour election candidate who cursed leading politicians, including David Cameron and Nick Clegg, on his Twitter page has been removed from standing. Stuart MacLennan will no longer be the party's Moray candidate and has been suspended as a Labour member after admitting tweeting offensive comments.' (BBC news)

The offending tweets were broadcast last year when Mr MacLennan was still a student. Now, my student days are long gone but I do remember that, in the political hothouse of my alma mater, I was hardly what you might call a model of moderate speech or opinions.

And I am ceaselessly grateful that none of my self-righteous political opinions from those days can ever come back to bite me.

Update: From Guido Fawkes - Prophetically one tweet said “Iain Dale reckons the biggest gaffes will likely be made by candidates on Twitter – what are the odds it’ll be me?”

Twittering All The Way to a Darwin Award

For those unfamiliar with the concept, the Darwin Awards are for people who "do a service to Humanity by removing themselves from the gene pool" in some particularly stupid fashion.

Previous holders (usually postumous, naturally) include an American who jumped out of a plane to film skydivers without wearing a parachute (1987), and the Brazilian who used a cigarette lighter to inspect the inside of a fuel tank (2003).

For those who do not actually die or lose their reproductive capacity, there is the honourable mention. This is a game we can all play at home; my personal shortlist, for example, includes the three boys I caught last week lighting a surreptitious fag while perched in a row on the school's oil-tank.

Today I'd like to nominate the young man who ran into a tree while simultaneously jogging and tweeting. According to the victim, in a scene which must have been viewed by passers-by with no little satisfaction and Schadenfreude, "The branch came out of nowhere and hit my face hard."

Well, they do that, branches. In fact, there's a whole lot of dangerous Nature out there, just waiting to pounce on the unwary jogger, particularly if he's using both thumbs and most of his brain to broadcast the amazing information that he's "Running to work, very late".Luckily for the waiting nation, he survived to tell us "Smacked my face against a branch, hurts". To think that we came so close to being deprived of such a literary talent forever!