Droning on and on and on…

It is as if we are on the tipping point of a Really Big Thing.

They’re all droning on about it.

The media.

Especially the tabloids.


Drones. Are. Everywhere.


A simple quadcopter is now a drone.

A model aircraft is – depending on which publication or website you choose to read – a drone.

Strapping a GoPro* to my motorbike would make it a drone too.



Back to the drones.

Apparently, if I strap a GoPro** to myself and jump – with a parachute, obv – out of an aeroplane I would be, according to the Daily Mail, a drone.

Which is rich, because all the Daily Mail does is drone on about things.

The government has drones.

Thousands of them.

But if we call a model aircraft with the smallest camera attached to its fuselage a drone, then we dilute the whole government/drones thing.

So let’s do it, yeah?

It’s a drone.

Even if it’s a balsa wood model aircraft with a cheap and cheerful camera parcel-taped to the side.

It’s a drone.

The things that the Government is using to kill civilians in the middle east?

Those are drones too.

Let’s just forget that the Reaper UAVs are weapons of death and destruction,

Because they’re not.

They’re drones.

And every town has people who own drones.

And they’re OK, right?


So that makes the Government’s drones OK too, right?

Erm… Right?

I said right?



*Why would you buy a GoPro, when there are much better, cheaper cameras out there?
**No really, why would you?


which actually sounds, when I read that title back, just a little – you know – BDSM-ish…

So I am en-route to Texas.

This means I’m sitting at Heathrow waiting for my United flight to be called. Or it means I’m actually sitting in an aluminium tube at 33,000ft. Or it means I’m desperately trying to kill the horribly-long layover at Houston. Or it means I’m actually in Austin, but haven’t got around to updating this blog yet.

I’ve thought long and hard about how I’m going to play the social media thing while I’m at South by South West (or #sxsw if you prefer the Twitter tag for it).

Muso-related output will, I have decided, go straight on to the This Reality Podcast website. This output may be text, video, audio or a combination of all of these things. There will also be muso- and SXSW-related tweetage on the podcast Twitter account.

This blog will carry random Texas-related text, video, audio or a combination of all of these things. And possibly non-Texas-related thoughts too. There will also be random tweetage on my personal Twitter account.

And that’s it.

The bad news is that I may have to cut short the visit, as I have been offered a contract, but it is a contract term that I start work on Monday 19th March.

This means that I’m probably not going to be able to make the Softball game that I was going to get slaughtered play in.

Oh well.


Jeremy Clarkson: tosspot to the nobility

With all the hoo-hah about David Cameron denying he rode Raisa (when he really did ride Raisa), the former Metropolitan Police horse that was loaned to Rebecca Brookes, the former News International executive, you might be forgiven for thinking that the country had its fair share of twats.

But no, Jeremy Clarkson has promoted himself up the twat ladder to take pole position from Twat Cameron, by weighing in to the Raisa/Cameron affair (hereafter known as ‘Horsegate’) with a series of statements, best categorised as complete and utter bollocks.

Prior to Cameron backtracking on his original pile of utter bullshit statement, and confirming he actually had ridden the horse after all, Top Gear presenter Jeremy Clarkson, a friend of the prime minister, went on air to ‘categorically state’ that the prime minister had not ridden it.

Clarkson, who, let us not forget, writes columns in the Sun and the Sunday Times (both of these are News International imprints), told Chris Evans on BBC Radio 2: ‘I can categorically state that he never rode that horse. I do actually live there. It’s all rubbish.’

Stunning, Jeremy, absolutely stunning.

Mr Clarkson has proven to the entire population of the planet that the minute he opens his mouth, bullshit pours out of it.

Well done, Clarkson, you utter tosspot.

Shake the tree (2/29)

Like many people, I’ve been watching, reading about, and listening to the Leveson enquiry in to press standards, with great interest.

It’s been clear, almost from the start of the testimonies, that there is something so rotten in this particular state of Denmark, that the press landscape stinks more than a barrel of dead fish.

Several surprising revelations have stuck out more than others.

The revelation, from the current chairman of the Press Complaints Commission (PCC), that his organisation is not a regulator or arbiter of standards, would have made many people sit up.

The clue is in the name, but many people would have assumed that, because of its position, the PCC was a watchdog with disciplinary powers.

It isn’t.

It’s a toothless complaints organisation.

And newspapers – such as the Duly Getworse Daily Express and the Daily Spurt Daily Sport, who have walked away from the PCC – can choose to ignore everything the PCC ever says.

For me, the wider question is ‘How can the concept of self-regulation work?’

To be truly effective, doesn’t a regulator have to be *outside* of the industry that it is regulating?

I do find it interesting that the vested interests who have testified to Leveson have all said they feel that statutory regulation would damage, not help their industry.

These are, presumably, the same newspaper publishers who want every other industry independently/statutorily regulated?