How to become ridculously well read in one evening

Despite time spent writing my blog, my hits have not gone up. Apparently there is some bloke with a bet who has seen his hits go from 100 to one million in about two days.

To cut a long story short, I don't give a shit. More to the point is my googlewhacking obsession. Until yesterday my whole family were world googlewhacks, then it turns out my brother has a namesake in Rotherham. But, and this is a big but, my favourite books are 'blooglewhacks'. Noone else seems to have read them.

'How to become ridiculously well-read in one evening' is an all time classic. It's a 1980s literature gem. It sums up classics so you don't have to read them. This also means it gives you brilliant ideas for stories.

Artonomics Part Deux

Had a wonderful evening last night with a darling girl, a friend of Phil’s who speaks like the Queen (especially when drunk) but who has a heart of gold. One of her birthday presents was a glossy photograph book by some rich idiot, who is essentially nicking all my ideas from this website and making a fortune from it. It was portrait photos of a load of actors who suggested a famous actor friend of theirs for the next photo (see my Coincidence or Fact entry from a while back).

About three years ago I went to a party in Stoke Newington, invited by my acquaintance S. I turn up; there’s about 20 people there including an acquaintance F. Did F know S? No. But both F and S knew me. Then an acquaintance I turns up. Did he know F or S? No, but I, F & S all had met me before, but had never met each other. Then C turns up, then K and then T, and this situation was repeated again, each time another person I knew turning up and then not knowing anyone else there apart from me. There were six people at the party, which was not organized by me (S, F, I, C, K and T) all who I knew, but who had never met each other before. By the time T turned up, I had to leave early as I was so freaked out by this improbable and mind boggling experience.

I drew a mind map when I got home as to how this had happened, but I’ve probably lost it now. Anyway I didn’t take any photos so it would be really difficult to display that artistically and it’s not much to do with economics.

But my new idea for artonomics is to have the 5 richest people in the world, contrasted with the 5 poorest people in the world. It probably wouldn’t be that difficult to find photos of the richest people in the world. But taking photos of the poorest people in the world would be a bit of a mission. I’ll ask my blogging heroine J about this.

Tatski - PR Watch 5

Tatton can ski - on blue runs!

Amazing! Had a brilliant time skiing with a load of Tories (and I mean it). Feel the most refreshed I have ever felt after coming back from holiday - it is all that exercise. Marvellous.

Also the Today programme plus the rest of the media is finally catching up with last year's news and they mentioned the NHS cuts today, plus their complaints man rang me to 'deal' with my complaint from two weeks ago. The NHS cuts were on the front page of the Guardian, the Mail and the Times, so my personal onslaught against them all is starting to pay off a bit.

In a good mood all round. Professor Pat Thane described my proposal for an MA as 'very good'. Chuffed.

Me and Phil have been dancing round to 'Billie Jean' substituting the last bit 'but the child is not my son', for 'but the NHS is not for sale'. That bit was my contribtuion, Phil rhymed some other bits saying something a bit rude about a lefty colleague of mine.

Then I went to 'Hackney's Health Hustings' which was like the Life of Brian meets Yes Prime Minister meets the Green Wing meets the Darling Buds of May meets City of God if you can imagine such a thing. Utter Hilarity. Monty Goldman, my hero and an absolute legend is standing as the Communist candidate in the election for Mayor and has this poster of himself looking like Che Guevara, which has gone straight up in our hall. The Tories (and I mean it) didn't turn up! Apparently the socialist unity party have nothing to do with the communists or unification socialists, who have nothing to do with the Socialist Workers Party (Respect) who are also having nothing to do with the new workers socialist party being set up by the socialist party. Brilliant!

Maundy Thursday

I'm not the world's religion expert, and I know I felt like God last week when I did that personality test and this week, having been dumped with the bastard child of all time, I feel like the mother of Jesus Christ. Slightly overweight, a bit of cellulite around the buttocks, quite miserable and not looking forward to the immediate future with any relish. OK, I may not have my own son's crucifixion to contend with (was the Vigin Mary still alive when he got crucified?)but I have got saving the NHS on my shoulders, which is a bloody great weight I can tell you.

Presumably on this day (which we know it wasn't, it was probably in July) approximately 1973 years ago the poor Virgin Mary was not looking forward to a skiing holiday next week. More to the point, rather than going on to be leader of the Christian faith or whatever he was, Jesus would have been treated for paranoid delusions in the NHS. So, I'm having a week off my heavenly duties and I will enjoy the pagan festivities whilst skiing down some hills and thank my lucky stars I wasn't around 2006 years ago, as just like now there's not much I could have done about it.

Artonomics

I'm always getting brilliant ideas for exhibitions and just generally for things, but rather than carry them out I do some gardening. My new brilliant idea is to combine Art and Economics - Artonomics. Basically to display economics visually. Or to inject economics with a bit of creativity.

I've been thinking about this for a couple of weeks and already had some excellent ideas for an exhibition:

1) Have ten portrait photos of the world's richest people, the same size, in their own environment.
2) Have a photo of a bank statement of someone who's very rich, or even a copy, or a fake.
3) Have a selection of photos of when the super-rich get paid, the reasonably well-off, the poor and the very poor; the same moment when they receive their largest income for that month.
4) Have ten sausages or ten crisp bags or ten CD cases with the ten most expensive works of art printed on them.
5) Have a supply and demand chart (price). It's called something but I can't remember what. Have the supply curve made out of ten pence pieces, and the demand curve made out of those penny chews shaped like lips. Then you could have a fake diamond as the price.
6) could have five photos of something someone poor does in a day, then 5 photos at the same time of what someone ok-off does, then someone super rich.
7) Capital displayed visually. Perhaps displayed in sculture form. You could form a queue outside the museum looking at the building itself, with a balance sheet drawn up by accountants, with a tour from architects explaining why it's worth so much. The blind could be given samples of the items and what they're made of to feel. Then you could have Karl Marx's book - in braile, on audio and someone summarising it on braille, with a lovely painting of a capital city in the background.

Nine billion pounds invested in the NHS

It was announced this morning on the Today programme that the cleaning up of the nuclear power industry would cost nine billion pounds more than expected. Me and Phil had a good old fashioned laugh about this this morning. He said we could get a gold plated Barts for that. I said we could get Sir Nigel Crisp mummified in a pyramid. Then it got really ridiculous and Phil said we could get John Cleese as the minute hand on Mohammad Al Fayed's clock. I said John Cleese wasn't anything to do with health.

Embracing your outer contradictions

Sorry to completely plagiarise J, but I will explain.

We went to visit Phil's cousin at the weekend (who I will try to keep anonmymous in case the Daily Mail get on to us - but you don't have to be a brain surgeon or even an upper GI trainee to work out who she is). Anyway she is the Princess (too young to be Queen) of blogging. She did a recent entry 'Embracing your inner contradictions' which was quite sweet. My contradictions are defintely outer. Whether that makes them easier to embrace or not I don't know. Sometimes I feel like smearing them on Tessa Jowell's nose. My contradictions also seem to reproduce and produce mutant cousins, which come round and whack you on the bottom when you're not expecting it.

Or are they whacking you with a fat bunch of fifty pound notes, which they then stuff down your greedy little neck?

To cut a long analogy of contradictions short, I had the worst interview since the classic Spud in Trainspotting scene of 1996.

It started badly, with the pleasant interviewer lady, who must have been a few years younger than me, saying 'You're from Leek', 'I'm from Newcastle'. I couldn't think of anything to say and rather than say 'any of your friends died from heroin overdoses or motorbike accidents' had to think of what I remember about Newcastle. Posh of course, but it wouldn't be polite to say that. The New Vic, I said. Theatre in the round (I didn't say that). What I said was 'Good Golly Miss Molly'! The 'classic' musical which was the most famous thing to come out of Stoke on Trent (allegedly) before Robbie Williams emerged.

Then my presentation wouldn't work, so I read it off the piece of paper, and felt a bit like one of Taggart's young policemen assistants reading out some crappy statement from a well known crook. Even I had a glazed questionning look as I finished reading the thing. It turns out I was the only person who said that a good quality service wasn't cheap. They even told me so. Part of my presentation said that 5% cost cutting would be difficult in the long term. They told me that actually costs were being cut by 10%. I don't know if it was audible, but I took a deep intake of breath at that point. I was shocked.

It finished after a few more cock ups with me trying to crack jokes when I didn't know the answers to their questions. Suddenly the car park attendance and reception work looks attractive. 10% cuts. So much for meditation too. Much better would be to practice interview questions.

One major outer contradiction I have is this. The strength of materialism lies in its ability to help people in the here and now. Teaching women of the developing world how to meditate or do yoga isn't going to feed their families.

But I put this to my Yoga teacher, Roberto four years ago, in December 2001. He said look up Entropy in the Dictionary of Philosophy. I argued with him, and said that I didn't need to look it up, I'd done A Level Physics and knew that it was the second law of Thermodynamics, that you can't generate energy from a closed system. Energy is not perpetual; life is not eternal. He said, look it up. The dictionary said that the second law had been disproven, and that entropy can be perpetual. Life can be eternal.

So I will carry on my yoga and meditation in the hope that I will not become depressed and/or anxious about the impending doom upon us all. Phil bought his Mum a midwifery bike for Mother's day - so there we have it, the modern day dialetical materialism. Idealism (me) with a bit of healthy materialism (Phil). I have embraced my outer contradiction.

Tat Nav

Well. Another week of contrasts.

Started off so well with me cool, calm and collected. I'm successfully meditating. Let me qualify that. It means that in my part time role as Car Park Attendant I can 'lie'. On Monday when the car park was full and one lady got blocked in by about four cars, one of which wouldn't identify itself (the driver wouldn't anyway)I took the highly unusual step of closing the car park. When people started getting aggressive and trying to run me over to get into it I said there'd been an accident and we didn't want to disturb the scene.

Then after a couple of other disasters at work me and Phil got food poisoning from what was my favourite local curry house. Damnation, as Dad would say. Hours of puke.

But we had a day's holiday booked yesterday and had a wonderful time skiing. It started off badly with me wanting to leave the house while Phil was still in the throes of passion 'downloading' with the other love in his life (the computer). So we ended up leaving at about eight o'clock giving us about an hour to get to the other side of the universe (Milton Keynes - Snow Dome). Milton Keynes is how I imagine Los Angeles - you don't know if you've got there or just left. It's ideal for car lovers, and lovers of roundabouts.

We arrived an hour late, but the teacher was lovely, a woman in her fifties who smiled and welcomed me immediately. I had to ski the second I got there but managed to stay upright. There was a hilarious bit when I fell over on to the travelator and the lovely instructor lady fell on top of me, whilst trying to help me and we both went heading straight for the mechanics of the machine. It reminded me of Raiders of the lost ark, when the boulder was rushing for them, the instructor was screaming at one of the others 'press the red button, press the red button' and just like Harrison Ford, we were saved in the nick of time.

Basically, she was a brilliant teacher who made it so simple, with us all together as a team, skiing backwards and everything. I was amazed as to how good we were at the end of three hours (two in my case). Very lucky to have such a good teacher for my first experience of skiing.

On the way back I navigated a bit, showing Phil the shortcuts around Stokey - Tat Nav.

Have gardened almost all day. Planted all the stuff we bought at Columbia Road about six weeks ago at Phil's Mum's Birthday; pansies mainly. Also planted lettuce seed, pruned the climbers and tidied up the rubbish. Spring is the busiest time for gardening. Summer is just for watering and sitting.

When I look out of the window I can see the mini daffodils, the pansies and primroses, and the hazel is against the cream expanse of wall, twiddling its catkins waiting for the summer calm.

Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Saw this last night, which was a treat for Mum for her birthday.

I don't normally like theatre - I find it too contrived and unrealistic. At least with telly, somehow you can do whatever you want as it's not in real time for the viewer.

Perhaps the reason for this is I initially saw excellent theatre - one of the first things I saw was 'The Woman in Black' in its first showing on a school trip in 1988 - it was on in Birmingham or somewhere. It was absolutely brilliant and has meant that anything I have seen since has had to live up to this.

Anyway, this is a brilliant play. It's the writing that's outstanding, but I also loved the set and costume, the acting - well that was good too. I thought that with such a well written play, the acting couldn't really go wrong.

It's basically a story of a middle aged history academic (George) in what seems to be a poor marriage - destructive and degenerating with a heavy drinking wife (Martha), they invite a young biology fellow and his new wife round for drinks and have a few drug fuelled debates and a late night, where George ends up telling MArtha their 21 year old son has died.

But for me, in addition to the good laughs you have when they're having their rows, the play is tackling very bid topics.

There is a massive amount of symbolism, which to be honest is what floats my boat. George and Martha were the names of the first president of the United states and his wife for a start; the play is questioning existence itself. There are 3 acts to the play.

George symbolised History to me. The young biology teacher symbolised Science, and his young wife symbolised the Church (her father was a Bishop or something). I couldn’t decipher what Martha represented, but then we were told at the start of the third act – she represented Mother Earth.

What was so powerful about the play was how set in the ‘now’ of 1962 it was; I was very impressed with myself for spotting this. Even before looking at the programme I had written down ‘1962 set?’. The set and costume were so accurate apart from anything else and there were a couple of references to the war being about twenty years ago. The house was immaculate, academic American, but also very homely. Even the colours of the set had an impact – lovely warm browns making one feel very nostalgic for the now. Only Honey (representing the Church to me) was yellow in contrast. Then by the third Act, blue was introduced, in Martha’s top and a blue shadow cast from an open door.

George’s speeches constantly referred to ‘historical inevitability’, which chimes so well now and also reminds me of Castro’s speeches around then; ‘History will absolve me’ and the start of the Cold War.

Mother Earth, was older than History – Science and the Church come along together, then the Church gets sick, Science couples with Mother Earth. Then History tells Mother Earth her son, Humanity presumably, is dead. But at the end, you don’t know if this Death is real or an illusion. Then it’s just Mother Earth and History together again.

One criticism is that the play could have more music, the sound was also bad – Mum could hardly hear it and the sounds could have created improved ambience for the audience.

Should Mother Earth listen to History?

Excellent comedy on Saturday night

By reading mine and Phil's blogs you'd think we lived in different countries, never mind shared a relationship. He's managed to make Das Capital look small in his latest entry (I'm talking about blogging here!) - and he didn't even mention the amazing comedy we saw on Saturday night.

There was a women's writing festival - 'Chic-Lit' in Bethnel Green in this great, modern, small-theatre venue place. All of the women were hilarious - which I really wasn't expecting. It sounds awful, but I was expecting them to be radical lesbian people, and it was incredibly civilised without your average chavvish asbo lout present.

I have decided to get a dishwasher.

PR Watch (Number 4)

Phil has asked me to explain paragraph 3 from the last posting.

My argument is thus: PR (Public Relations) has essentially developed into free advertising. Perhaps that's what it should be called - FA; sweet FA. Anyway, large and small companies have 'Marketing' or 'Advertising' or 'Communications' departments. If they don't then they employ some other company to do it for them. Essentially they try and sell stuff, not through advertising but through the news articles themselves - because people trust it more.

I speak from personal experience. One of my first jobs when I moved to London, ten years ago, was at 'Freud Communications'. A PR company. It was about paying idiots quite a lot to spout bullshit, to try and sell some other form of bullshit, or even the same bullshit. Bullshit dressed as 'Vache Merd' if you will. When I was working there I remember Denise Van Outen was promoting coffee or something. The people I was working with said she had broken her arm filming a TV commercial - it was lies, but it got in the national newspaper. Then there was stuff at the other, even less salubrious end of the market. KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken). Some people on the team were paid quite a lot when KFC got 'positive coverage', ie not very often. So people would try to come up with brilliant ideas of how to get positive coverage of KFC in the press. They tried, but 'Zilcho' occured. So, still bizarrely enthusiastic, they spent hours getting together clips in the press every time KFC was mentioned. The even better paid idiots on the 'KFC account' were paid a fortune to do 'Crisis Communications'. I remember one girl, who was permanently on call (had a mobile phone which was quite rare back then) and the clients (KFC) would ring her day or night for a comment every time someone got stabbed in or around a KFC - which was incredibly often. So she would effectively quosh or bury this bad news in some bullshit, trying to show what a great contribution KFC made to humanity.

I hated it. I left after two weeks.

But PR is on the increase. Just like America, with the inexorable rise of the private sector and the accompanying corruption that goes with it, bad money chases bad money. We’re all persuaded to spend more on stuff we don’t need, at the expense of the stuff which is essential, that should be free anyway. Every TV or Radio programme you watch or hear is about ‘promotion’ – promotion to make you spend money when you quite clearly shouldn’t. And who is monitoring this? Ofcom. Absolute idiots. They’re the worst perpetrators – careerist media whores, with a conflict of interest register that makes the Bible look short.

My argument is that we don’t want a society where greed and money is the main motivating factor. In fact, we want the opposite. A society where care and love for humanity and the planet motivates us. Journalism should be coming from this angle – where we’re trying to report what’s going on to help humanity.

A couple of weeks ago in Time Out I saw a little article saying that Ofcom had ruled that it’s ok for media companies to make money out of stuff they’re supposed to be independently reviewing – ie Richard and Judy selling the books they ‘review’ on their programme.

Should Lord Archer, a convicted, lying criminal be allowed to advertise his (utterly shit) book on their TV programme for free without criticism?

Health PR is even worse. At least Lord Archer’s book can be used to keep yourself warm in the energy shortages. But the disgusting scum who promote private health care and crappy drugs in the ‘free’ press are precisely that. Why don’t they tell us to campaign for a free, comprehensive NHS, give up smoking, get rid of our cars, cycle to work, eat more fresh fruit and veg and do some yoga? Because they don’t make any money out of it.

But then, just when I was slitting my wrists at work, with none other than Jesus Christ’s own PR machine working overtime, it turns out Tony Blair no less has given Trotsky a large dose of free PR – for World Book Day. Is it a joke that a biography of Trotsky is his favourite book?

I did a bit of research on the internet and it turns out that Isaac Deutscher (the guy who wrote the book) is a bit unsympathetic to our Trotsker, but it is a good book, so hopefully they’re going to reissue it so I can read it.

Talking of PR, in Computing Which they are on about a new ‘gadget’. A computer ‘book’ where you can download 200 books onto this one book sized screen thing. Brilliant idea for someone like me. I will try and get Phil on the case. That would be excellent, a way I could take loads of luggage on holiday without the weight.

One minute I hate PR (Jeffrey Archer), the next minute I love it (new portable computer book). One minute I hate free speech (the BNP), the next minute I love it (a book about Trotsky). I am sick of contradicting myself. I suppose that's how David Cameron feels, but at least he's got a new baby to take his mind off life's hypocrises.

Tat Pot (PR Watch No. 3)

Phil has decided that my new nick name is Tat Pot. It's a hilarious mixture of Pol Pot, Tin Pot Dictator, Crack Pot and Tatton. Poor Pol Pot must be turning in his grave.

The fact is, Phil actually IS Norman Tebbit. They've never been seen together, spout the same sort of nonsense and both claim to like cycling. Joking aside, our world is a crazy place. On Saturday, listening to David Hitlerry's Any Questions, I found MYSELF agreeing with Norman Tebbit who was saying he didn't agree that Ken Livingstone should have been suspended. Can you Adam and Eve it - Tat Pot agreeing with the Chelmsford Skinhead?

My personal crusade against greed in the media has been given another boost today. By Lord Archer promoting his book - completely without any difficult questions on Richard and Judy. I have found the article which told me about them being able to make money from selling books they're promoting - it was in last week's Time Out. A new ruling from Ofcom.

Then there was the wife of an Economist employee promoting the magazine in a 'feature' in today's Media Guardian.

There was a speaker from the 'Corporate Social Responsibility Foundation' on Radio 4's Today on Friday. Doesn't come up on google - what the hell was that all about? Yet more corruption.

There will be people in PR companies in London who are calculating exactly how much free advertising this is for the multinationals as I type. Idiots.

Cat found - Ofcom watch out

Yes, Marmite was found outside trapped in our neighbour's courtyard. Miaowing her head off, and then her goldfish memory proving that human beings are superior to cats - she ran away from me when I came to rescue her.

Then Trotsky hissed at her - as her poor sister didn't recognise her either. But they're back to their old selves now, busy hopping from table to (incredibly expensive) record player.

Now I'm happy again, rather than dedicate hours of my time to reading semi-shit autobiographies of bitches, I can restart the Tatton campaign to introduce good old fashioned philanthropy into society - starting with an attack on Ofcom. Their conflict of interest register on the internet is practically as long as the Koran itself, and over my dead body if they're starting to deregulate further the already pathetically regulated so-called 'free press' or advertising industry as it should be called.

Every day the BBC gets worse - its breakfast programme could just be called 'Press Releases of Conglomorates'. The Today programme could be called 'Sell'. Well, ok it's not quite as bad, although they didn't have anyone challenging Sir Digby Jones the other day when he laid into trade unions...

PR Watch

The thing about PR is it's essentially free advertising. But who regulates it?

Myself at the moment.

The Sunday Times magazine last week (5th Feb).

8 articles. 7 of those are essentially selling something or someone's services. Nicky Clarke - advertising hairdressing, Suzi Qattro selling her new album. Bryan Sykes, a DNA expert selling his DNA company's servcies. Jeremy Irons selling his acting services. Diana princess of wales story - advertising an auction house. The National Portrait Gallery advertising its Wlliam Shakespeare portrait and a children's charity advertising itself. Then in the newspaper another childrens charity with a three page puff.

I am on a rubbish mailing list at work. I know when stuff's been sent from it because I'm 'Catton' on it. On Friday a glossy 122 full colour 'magazine' called 'Public Service Review: Health' came through.

Can we get one or two celebrities to back 'Keep Our NHS Public'?

When you've got the Daily Express backing a 'ban Inheritance Tax' campaign, probably initiated by The Queen and Dr Fox saying that there should be a maximum tax rate in the sunday Times, yet not saying how much he earns, I just start putting on Coldplay's 'Parachutes' to cheer me up.

'Everything's not lost'

PR Watch

There seem to be plenty of 'media watch' type campaigning organisations. When darling Phil eventually teaches me 1% of everything he knows about computers, and I manage to put links up here I'm going to refer to them.

I'm also going to set up 'PR Watch' to keep a check on PR. Every other bit of journalism you read is basically trying to sell you something. Why aren't they officially paying for it? Surely it's corrupt!

Bishop Ba Ba of Boob

We decided that if Phil was around in the 1820s he'd be Bishop Ba Ba of Boob.

I want to create a more open society

The problem with having an open society - is first of all, how do you define it? Secondly, am I sure I'll want it when I get it?

For the first question - an open society is a society based on peace and other idealistic values like love, health and laughter. Having a society based on fear promotes privacy.

The second question - I think I may be being too idealistic. For example, when I started work at the organisation I currently work for, I loved it. I loved those in charge at the top, I could see where they were coming from, their ideas, and why they were doing what they were doing. I liked the way they communicated. They appeared to listen to lowly people like me, who were relatively speaking, at the bottom of the organisation. They were very open with us and told us what was what. There appeared to be relatively little bullshit.

Just over six months ago after the issuing of the-document-which-I-will-not-refer-to-as-it-is-tosh-wank my idealistic dreams were shattered. Suddenly everything's changed and all these people who I loved who were in charge of me are telling me to shut up - virtually on a daily basis. And I tell them to shut up - by shouting at them when they speak to me in their condescending tones on the Today progamme.

You see openness is fine and lovely when it's a beautiful sunny day on the beach. But when the bastards start pelting you with shit, you start thinking, actually if I could get together with a couple of like minded people, build a little hut in the mud, which we used to call the beach and then start secretly finding out the bastards' game plan so we can move to another beach, or preferably another fucking planet. Suddenly a little peace and quiet, a secret space where we could hijack the shit propelling bastards seems much more appealling than the dreaded mud tornado the beach has turned into.

Just reading this blog makes me realise how influential tonight's TV programme has been; 'How Safe is your house' was a really scary reportage style TV show which demonstrated the dangers of fire, gas leaks, tornados and floods.

I've changed my mind. I don't want an open society. I want to live in a fortress behind steel plated fire proof doors and ten thousand alarm systems which alert me to fire, floods, pestilence, wind, earth and fire again. I want to be shielded from the truth at every opportunity because the truth is scary and dangerous. I just want to think about the next ten seconds...

Can Richard Morgan spell?

In my personal opinion, no, but I'd welcome any comments. Particularly from his friends and family. Phil's defence was at least he can lance a boil. I suppose at least Richard can ski. Which is more than I can do.

Brilliant programme on Radio Four last night - did my interesting dream four years ago have any significance?

One of the positive ways darling Phil has influenced my life is by forcing Radio Four on me. I am now addicted.

Last night (Saturday night let me remind) there was a lovely production of the French Lieutenant's woman. Then even better, there was 'Great Debates'. I've never heard it before, but they apparently take a 'real' debate or disagreement from the past and discuss it again with proponents of each argument. Last night it was Jefferson versus Hamilton at the birth of the USA. I didn't know any of this, but Jefferson was an idealist who believed in the people and local democracy. Hamilton, sounded unfortunately like a bit of a prat, advocating law & order etc, a centralised government and the first national bank. Ie George Bush in a wig. But it was very interesting, I was learning something I didn't know much about and it was done in a very good way, like a court of law so the debaters could bring forward witnesses.

Of course it's the perennial arguement that I debate with myself and any old sausage passing past me in the pub. Idealism versus materialism. Marx claimed to have conquered the debate with 'dialectical materialism' but I'm not so sure. Jefferson sounded to me like he was influenced by Hegel or vice versa, because of course Hegel was an idealist too.

Four years ago I dreamt that I was a young man, a German philosophy student in Paris in the 1820s. I was at Univesity in Paris, in a wood panelled room and a woman spoke to me to rebuke me for some misdemenour. I had no respect for this woman whatsoever. I woke up from the dream, convinced that feminism was not seen as part of philosophy now. Sure enough, it was not listed in the dictionary of philosophy I had.

Being a woman, I know we are obscured from these highbrow philosophical and political debates. There haven't been many female philosophers, certainly not idealistic ones. The pursuit of love has not been studied in any depth from a philosophical angle. The pursuit of love is in the material world - evolution and David Attenborough have taught us that making love ensures our survival in the most long term sense.

Love itself is an ideal - it's immeasurable, unconquerable, unattainable and invisible to the naked eye. But the pragmatic steps we can take for ourselves - to learn to love our friends, family, neighbours and bodies, can improve our lives on a personal level and ultimately improve humanity.

Pragmatism is vital as we all have to live in the real world. But idealism - the belief in an ultimate ideal good of some kind - in my case Love - makes life worth living and is the past, present and future.