Review: The Angel Inn - Bowness-on-Windermere, Cumbria

Food: 7
Service: 8
Atmosphere: 7
Location: 6

Bowness-on-Windermere has to be one of the worst places to exist in the Lake District. You can't move for Far-Eastern tourists who have no idea how to walk in a straight line; stopping for no apparent reason to take a photo of every single building (I even saw a lady taking a photograph of a Chinese takeaway - maybe to compare notes, who knows?).

It bewilders me how so many tourists travel to Bowness given that it is a turd among gemstones in the Lake District, a place that can justifiably herald itself as one of the most stunning places in the Universe. There is no character, no charm, the scenery is mediocre and there's nothing to do except fight your way through foreign sightseers as they meander about like a lazy shoal of bluefin tuna.

The town has to cater for these happy snapping droves and so a plethora of choice is available, largely Italian restaurants or takeaway establishments that are nothing to write home about. We happened to choose to eat at The Angel Inn simply because it was closest to where we were staying, a three-minute walk down the hill - a nightmare on my crippled knee, but that's a story for another time. Another rather more crucial reason for our choice was that it had a menu that appealed to all the family, from those with a palette bereft of refinement to those with fussier eating habits. The meat brigade were kept happy whilst I could find similar herbivorous pleasures from what I was reading from the menu stand.

We ventured inside the relatively characterful building to the restaurant area and were quickly seated by a tall, blonde waitress - picture Kate Moss but in a hurry. The restaurant itself was remarkably quiet, given that it was 7pm during the first week of the Summer school holidays. The few diners that were seated had been evenly distributed about the room, generating only little atmospheric pockets, rather than clumping guests together to create a buzz - although as an antisocial diner (and an antisocial person in general) it was fine.

Kate Moss handed us our menus and skipped back to the bar area to sort our drinks order. We scoured the menu for the dishes we had already preselected when stood outside earlier, just to check that a whole new menu hadn't been devised and printed in the four-minute interim between standing outside the restaurant and sitting down inside.

I opted for the Asparagus Filled Ravioli, available as a vegetarian option without the bacon pieces. Going off a slight tangent, the idea of giving diners options and choice is incredible and one which restaurants don't do enough. Whilst most restaurants might be open to the idea of not following a strict menu, it often feels uncomfortable to ask. I saw a great example of this just around the corner from The Angel Inn at a place called Baha - there was a clear vegan section which simply said: "Please pick any ingredients from the menu and we will make it into any dish of your choice." Extremely simple and well worth printing on any menu I would say.

Back to Kate and my ravioli. Pillowy pasta pockets of deliciousness, if a tad too salty, slathered in butter and cream. My only criticism of the asparagus ravioli dish as a whole would be the asparagus - there was simply too much of the same thing, both flavour and texture. There needed to be a contrast, a sweetness, a fresh kick, a crunch, a slight spice...something...anything. The 5 garden peas didn't do the trick sadly. It just needed a touch of mint or caramelised crispy onions on top, even a couple of shavings of Cheddar would do it. But I'm no chef. (Fried breadcrumbs would also work a charm!)

It was a nice enough plate of food in a nice enough restaurant in a nice enough location. It was, in a nutshell, nice enough.

If I ever find myself back in the wart of the Lake District that is Bowness I shall be sure to visit Baha and asked them to make the most complex vegan dish I can create from items on their menu. After I've been kicked out from there I will walk around the corner to enjoy a good plate of food The Angel Inn served by Kate Moss.

2017 - A Year In Review


Last year I did my first ever "Year in Review", and it was pretty miserable to be honest. In my final line I wrote "Here's to a better 2017" - but has it been much better?

Sure, Bowie didn't die this year, and neither did Victoria Wood, or Alan Rickman, or Gene Wilder, or Terry Wogan, etc. etc.. But there have been two overarching issues to 2017 that are far worse than any death.

Brexit and Trump have been the hangover from 2016's big, fuck off night out. We awoke in 2017, still in the previous year's clothes with the mother of all headaches, we look around to see our house trashed and think "Oh god, what did we do?". And here come the consequences.

Brexit. Trump. Trump. Brexit. The two biggest snoregasms in history. The build up, the talks, the negotiations, the interviews, the speeches, the private meetings - it will all amount to nothing, it will be over without us even noticing. Nothing will change and it will all have been for worthless. The expensive shit show will be wiped from our memories to be as significant as a fart in a hurricane.

The year began with part joke, part threat: President Trump. By day, he does...well...not very much. By night, he picks up his phone and, with his tiny hands, rants and raves all over Twitter. His social media profile could be compared to a crossover between Paris Hilton and ANY UPPER-CLASS WHITE PERSON who feels they're the ones being victimized by society.

"Wahh wahh wahh! Kim-Jong Un called me old!!! I'm not his friend any more". Yes, Donald, you're really making America great again.

Meanwhile, in the real world, towers are burning down, powerful men are abusing women, terrorist attacks are occurring, missiles are killing innocent people.

At this moment I'm metaphorically stood on the edge of an apartment block roof, a push would be a savior from a constant, never-ending decline.

But oh look! A Royal Wedding here to save the day! (Note my sarcasm).

 A man is going to marry a woman. Great. Great news. Good stuff.

...

Has there been any actual good news? Anything positive at all?...Anyone?

Well in the roadkill stain of 2017, some good things did happen actually.

Rising from the cacophony of bullshit politics, people are actually engaging with government issues. It is easier than ever to have a stance in politics - there is a huge open platform to produce an opinion, no matter what the fundamentals are. It is far more simple to see now what you might consider "right" or "wrong".

Everything from new-wave Nazis to 14-year-olds posting funny Trump GIFs - the internet is full of people with opinions (I understand the irony), but opinions are good.

The caveat to that being that opinions shouldn't be "locked down", everyone should understand that opinions can change and that your own opinions should be reviewed near-constantly.

Furthermore, in the wake of the bloated gargoyle / accused serial rapist Harvey Weinstein is that these issues are now, finally being addressed. There’s no denying the power of those survivors’ personal stories, which were released into the cultural consciousness en masse this year with the resurgent #MeToo movement. Hopefully the momentum continues to build and by next year the wave of change will engulf the powers that be.

Other than that, the world economy grew by 3%, Australia became the 25th country to achieve marriage equality, and gene therapy is progressing.

Strap in and prepare for 2018.

Man in the Woods


There was a man in the woods,
He showed me his penis.
I said "Good morning",
And kept on walking.

Review: Old Swan & Minster Mill - Minster Lovell, Oxfordshire

Food: 7
Service: 3
Atmosphere: 2
Location: 8

It is imperative before visiting any restaurant to check it out online first. Check the review sites, check the website, have a good gawp at the menu to see if you actually want to eat any of their pabulum. Everyone does that, right? None of this "let's just take a chance and try it" malarkey. If you are one of those chancers who just walks into a restaurant without doing at least 5 minutes of Googling beforehand then you must be clinically insane (and will probably turn out to be a serial killer).

I was rather excited for the Old Swan & Minster Mill - in fact, I thoroughly insisted we went there. Being a non-meat-eater, the food selection at restaurants tends to be rather thin on the ground so you can imagine how my eyes lit up when I saw ' Wild mushroom ravioli topped with parmesan and toasted pine nuts'. Finally, a place that didn't just serve herbivores a dry, depressing veggie burger!

12 noon. We pull into the rather full car park, stomachs growling, longing for a good plate of food. A brand new Ferrari 488 GTB sits smugly across two parking spaces - as revenge we park our 2007 Ford Galaxy dangerously close to the driver's door. That'll show the bastards.

We make our way towards the entrance, passing a sign reading "All children left abandoned will be sold to the circus", and step into the dimly lit former mill. As we walk towards the baron bar, we notice a distinct lack of any human life - it was as though we'd traveled into the future to some dystopian version of Earth after Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un have had their hissy fit that led to the extinction of homo sapiens.

After three or four minutes of standing around, a mustachioed man (French I assume given his accent) takes us to a table in an empty dining room. There is no music, just the distant sounds of pots being bashed together in the kitchens and the hum of an air conditioning unit above us. The Frenchman then disappears into the shadows as a waitress hands us each a menu then hurries off to bring us a bottle of water for the table. To my amazement, it is a different waitress who delivers the bottle to the table. Following that, a fresh-faced young waiter with a notepad places his groin dangerously close to my head as he takes our order (there was a distinct smell of musk radiating from his crotch). We'd only been there 5 minutes and had already been served by four members of staff.

After 25 minutes of sitting in the quiet with nothing but awkward family conversation to keep us sane, a totally new waitress brings us our food.

At this point I'd just like to stress that I'm not making it up about the number of wait staff who are serving our table independently. I wish this was some "bit" I had prepared but honestly, there were more staff than customers in there.

Having paid £15 for this plate of ravioli I expected, justifiably, a full plate of food...I mean, is that too much to ask?

A jaunty black plate is placed in front of me with ten pieces of petite ravioli with a couple of pieces of rocket sprinkled on top - because all chefs seem to think that rocket makes a plate of food look like the Mona Lisa. I spend a minute or two looking for the "parmesan and toasted pine nuts" that I was promised, however, it quickly became apparent that it was devoid of both. Being British and not wanting to cause a fuss, I said nothing to the waitress as she brought out the remaining plates of food for the rest of my family.

She then asked if we wanted any sauces with our meals - my sister had ordered a burger so asked for ketchup, and off the waitress scampered. 30 seconds later yet another waitress appeared at the table asking if we would like any sauces. "Ketchup please", asked my sister for a second time, and again the waitress disappeared round the corner. After 10 minutes of eating it became apparent that the ketchup was never going to arrive.

Despite the hundred-plus staff members that seemed to work there, we couldn't find a single person around to ask, they had all vanished. Where did they go? Where did they come from? Questions. No answers. A dry burger it is then.

My ravioli was actually delicious, the filling was sublime: rich, earthy, buttery. If there was anyone around I would have asked for a recipe. I just wish I had more than ten tiny pieces, also a sauce wouldn't go amiss.

£15 for this? It was nice but we had been to a Wetherspoons in Oxford the day before and had payed half the price for food and service that was twice as good. They actually do a cracking veggie burger!

Review: L’Anatra Italian Kitchen - Bourton-on-the-Water, Gloucestershire

Food: 2
Service: 6
Atmosphere: 4
Location: 8

Restaurant reviewers always seem to follow the same "set menu", if you will. They spend an awful lot of the time writing an introduction that doesn't seem to have any connection to the actual restaurant they're writing about. Then there is a single final paragraph where they list off the food they ate and that's it - restaurant reviewed.

But is that the whole point of a restaurant review, to not talk about the food? Going to a restaurant is all about the food, surely...or maybe that has something to do with my inherent greediness. So, like Nigella Lawson on heat, let's talk about some food.

L’Anatra Italian Kitchen is located in Bourton-on-the-Water, postcard-Britain's answer to Venice - except the masses of canals have been replaced with a single piddly stream. Set back a street away from the water is a building that, from the outside, doesn't look very Italian. It is the same story once we step inside, there is a distinct lack of any charm or character. It is dull. If it were a singer it would be Taylor Swift, if it were and actor it would be Tom Cruise, and if it were a band it would be Coldplay.

The whole place is pretty much empty except for three old biddies guzzling down cups of tea before making a hasty getaway out into the rain. Despite the lack of customers, we're still shoved in a table in the corner out of the way, as if to be forgotten. A waitress - who clearly had better things to be doing other than working on a Thursday lunchtime - handed us menus and brought us a bottle of their finest tap water.

The menu was nothing new or exciting, "the usual Italian" as one might call it: pizza, pasta...more pasta. The most exciting thing on there was a vegetarian calzone (and yes, I don't eat meat so my only other option was "pasta in a tomato sauce"), my brother opted for a lasagne, my sister chose the carbonara and my dearest mother went for the penne bolognese.

Not enough time had passed for the food to be freshly made before we were presented with four gigantic plates of food that didn't really look like what we had in mind. My calzone looked like a Frankenstein version of a Cornish pasty, complete with a side salad of vegetables that had clearly been sat in the back of a fridge for two weeks.

By this point, a couple of Japanese tourists had taken a seat on the table next to us, and while they were waiting to be served the man was holding his phone to his ear desperately trying to learn to say "soup of the day". The closest he got was "supa day" which I think is close enough.

Once the waitress had served them their supa day, she ambled over to our table and asked if everything was okay with our meal. Being typically British we responded with nothing but positivity, "Mmm yeah, everything is great thank you. No no, there's nothing wrong with our meals". A blatant lie. We were all hating our food.

My brother's lasagne was a steaming pile of grease, the carbonara that my sister ordered was absent of any flavour, and my mother's bolognese was just a tin of chopped tomatoes on top of overcooked pasta with a few pieces of dry mincemeat hidden away from prying eyes.

I would, however, argue that my calzone was by far the worst of all. A gigantic mound of dough filled with a teaspoon of tomato puree and the saltiest olives I have ever tasted in my life. It was like they'd been grown inside a fisherman's scrotum before being spunked into my calzone, along with what seemed to be congealed "man fluid", but that just turned out to be goat's cheese.

We ate what we could then loathingly paid the bill and made a quick getaway, vowing never to return. Goodbye Bourton-on-the-Water, you were...kind of average really.

Saviour - The Disappearance of John Henley

Whoever desires to be saved,
Should above all hold to lies.
Scatter your faith and your trust for it matters not,
Murals in the chapels of our minds.

 --

Original Poem by James Birchall
Extract from Project Unknown

Don't Fear The Reaper? I'm Terrified

Amy Winehouse, Marc Bolan, Sid Vicious, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison: a panoply of artists all labeled as "died too young". Down the Faustian pathway they traveled to reach the very beginnings of greatness, masses of potential still held within their souls. But does this mean that their lives were wasted? They were able to create and express themselves but then life, and drugs in most cases, got in the way and thus their lives were cut short.

How much of a legacy does one need so that we don't die in vain? What I mean by that is, what achievements qualify us to utter the deathbed words of "I've had a good run"?

 Personally I'm petrified of dying, probably out of fear of not being able to justify my life as amounting to anything. It'd be bad enough to think that if I were now lying in a hospital bed knowing I was merely a useless pile of skin waiting for death, but imagine stepping out into the road and seeing a bus flying towards you. In that split second your life flashes before your eyes, literally, as you try to find some big enough accomplishment so that at least they have something good to say at your funeral.

 I also have an issue with how I'm going to die. I want to have a proud death, not something long and drawn out but not something pitiful and quick - "Here lies James, he choked on an apple pip". How depressing would that be? I don't mean it's depressing because I'm dead but because of the lack of nobility. I can't be alone in thinking this way, surely.

 I'm certainly not saying that because death is inevitable and inescapable that we may as well all top ourselves now, that way our collective achievements add up to nothing. But my conscious has no great desire to go out into the world and find the cure to cancer or be the first to step foot on Mars. My real problem is that death bears an overwhelming uncertainty as to the "when" and "how", and while I have no real big goals in life, I'd like to be able to list my achievements on more than the back of a stamp.

 Side note: don't use this is some sort of therapy evidence against my mental welfare, I'm not depressed or unhappy, I'm merely curious.

This probably, in some shape or form, has something to do with a deep-seated need to be acknowledged by a system that I abhor. Everyone has their own little quirks but these are often not enough to make us successful, but it's these quirks that make us who we are.*


*I added that cheesy ending to make it seem like I'm not completely nihilistic and twisted

Athanasia - The Disappearance of John Henley

The pursuit of meaning,
A veiled reality lies bare.
Perpetual and draining,
Morbid and dark.
There's a light for some,
An eclipse for many.
Fear of death,
Fear of life.
Come the end,
Please come the end.

--

Original Poem by James Birchall
Extract from Project Unknown

Valentine's Day - What's the Point?

Valentine's Day can go fuck itself (yes, we're starting on that level so strap in). Don't think for a second I'm saying that out of jealousy because I couldn't care less for all of the annoying Facebook couples celebrating their 3 week anniversary together. Out of all the silly holidays and pointless days of celebration we have in our society, it is by far the worst - a whole day dedicated to mushy love songs, cheesy romcoms and cheap flowers.
For those in a relationship, first of all good luck, secondly don't forget the roses, the chocolates (the ones that aren't quite the cheapest on offer), those bath products that she loves, oh and remember you have dinner booked at 7. Did she get that card that you ordered at 11pm last night which says something like "You rock my world" alongside a picture of a pebble with googly eyes stuck to it?**
If you need a reason to take your significant other to a restaurant or buy them flowers then all hope of your relationship lasting is over. Exchanging the words "I love you" over a pun-based customised card ordered online is proof that your relationship is nothing more than a sham. If you even dare to propose on Valentine's Day then you may as well end it all now (both the relationship and yourself); how incredibly unoriginal and dreary are you?!
If you love someone, you shouldn’t need a holiday to express it. Don't be a whore to what society tells you to do by declaring your love just because it’s Valentine’s Day. Go out for a meal on any other day except February 14th, surely that's more of a statement of your feelings for one another. If you get chocolates, jewellery or flowers on Valentine's Day then you may aswell throw them away because they were bought without thought.
Valentine’s Day is made a hundred times worse because of all the miserable people on social media complaining how lonely they are. It's either that or they are writing about #SinglePower or how they're "winning at life" because they get a whole tub of probably tear-soaked ice-cream to themselves. By acting as if you don’t care that you aren’t in a relationship by making such a huge gesture implies that you, in fact, do care. You care so much that you felt the need to try and be subversive so that people think you're strong and independent when really you'd love to be bought a teddy bear with your name written on the t-shirt. Bears don't even need t-shirts!
Whilst I'm in super-rant-mode, February...everyone hates you! February is the forgotten middle child of the year. It’s the shortest of all the months, sometimes it has an extra day and sometimes it doesn't, the weather is crap, you've already given up on your New Year's Resolution, it's got too many Rs in it. Damn you, Ferbrurary! 
In reality, though, I’m just bitter and devoid of all positive feelings. Feel free to celebrate your unfounded, two dimensional love on this day, just remember that those gifts are meaningless. Happy Valentine's Day, happy every day.


**I don't mean to gender stereotype or whatever you wish to call it. Whatever your gender, sexuality, persuasion etc, you shouldn't celebrate Valentine's Day either. I hope this clears things up.

The Lonely Astronaut

Floating through space,
He thought about things.
He missed his wife,
He missed his kids.
He missed five-aside football in the park,
He missed air.

 --

Published in Echoes of Silence (2016), edited by Emily Wilson

Does Trump Mean Progress?

Image result for donald trump
President Trump is here and now it's time for us all to strap in with belt and braces until 2020 when the orange overlord's reign will end (unless he manages to win another term).

What with Brexit and the election of Trump, many have said that Western society has taken a step back in its views, signifying regression, progress reversed, a deliberate worsening as some might argue. Perhaps it is possible that the whole world will not fall down at the hands of Trump, that World War Three will not begin and that a nuclear fallout will remain unseen.

I had been hoping Hillary Clinton would win, maybe you had too - I don't really care, though that was largely because I simply wanted Donald Trump to lose.

I didn’t have any strong feelings about Clinton, she seemed...reasonable. However, I lost all interest in the presidential election very quickly as a very personal battle seemed to be being fought between red and blue. Swords were wielded in the debates that saw no politics being spoke at all. Hillary rode of the backs of her social media team who tried to rally the youth armies by using emojis and vacuous hashtags. #GrowUp. Donald, meanwhile, looked to enlist the hard-right forces of the silver-haired troopers, gun-wielding landowners and those with a healthy bank balance.

I was able to assemble a vague sense that Hillary wasn’t all that, but at least she hadn’t said that Mexicans are rapists (every cloud and all that). However, it was clear to see that Trump was very strong is his speeches and debates to a point where it didn't matter what he said, everyone was just happy to be listening to something different.

Trump is so watchable - that’s surely something that we could all agree on regardless of political standing. It was funny to watch an orange man with funny hair being overly verbose and obscure yet being taken completely serious. When he puts on a statesmanlike face, you just know his inner monologue is delightedly singing 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito. The politics of politics is that it’s not about what you say, it’s about relishing the role.

It seems that the general public have a perverted infatuation with an underdog; someone who appears unlikely to ever do well so we give them a chance. If this were the X Factor or some other similarly nondescript reality television show, Trump would never get voted out. We'd all tune in for week after week to watch the funny little man say his funny little lines in his usual funny little way, then we'd cheer because he looks so happy with himself just to have made it this far. Soon the joke would get tiresome to many people but the funny little man has already gained a significant platform for which to, either physically or metaphorically, grab us by the pussy.

Trump’s win came as a rather large shock to me for a number of reasons. Firstly, I wanted to witness his 'defeat' face, the one where he would try his very best to hide his sheer anger and disappointment that he was beaten by "Crooked Hillary".

Secondly, myself and other out-of-touch liberals had been pepping ourselves up with the fact that "he can’t win - it's impossible for him to win". "Out of the two worst presidential candidates in history, he is by far the shoddiest", we would say and then go about our business feeling smug in the knowledge that the world wasn't full of crazy people who would vote for a man like him.

My brain runs on a 'rational optimist' frequency and likes to pat me on the back with thoughts of "maybe he was joking when he said some of those things" and "maybe people will be there to restrain him". Am I really just a reality-denying fool?

As President Trump takes his seat in history, one can only wonder if a shiny new tomorrow is on its way and whether we will see it under Donald's leadership or in the PT years (post Trump). Perhaps Trump will act much like milk does which, given time, matures into cheese; a strong but smooth staple that is loved by the world. Or maybe we will just be left with something lumpy and off.

THE GREATEST POST EVER?!?! (Gone Sexual) - The Death of Intellectual Media

‘Clickbait’ is the art of giving a piece of content a deliberately inaccurate title or appearance in order to ‘bait’ people into ‘clicking’ on it. A fairly simple concept but it often leads to irrelevant, phoney or obtuse content, or as I like to call it "bullshit content".

 Over the last few years clickbait has shifted its way from the internet to become ever-present in daily media; from magazines and newspapers to YouTube videos and TV programs. This is an important anthropological factor that is intriguing and beguiling, let me explain.

Fifty years ago one of the bestselling books was Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community? by Martin Luther King, Jr. This was a book that advocated human rights and inspired a sense of hope in readers. The best sellers of 2016 were all colouring books.

 Also, does anyone else remember when TV shows actually set out to teach you something about the world or at the very least spark a fleeting glimmer of interest inside you? Nowadays television schedules are saturated with vacuous drivel that is designed to entertain those unable to entertain themselves.

Newspapers and magazines used to tell us things that we genuinely needed to know, not what flavour of yoghurt Kim Kardashian is buying or "how to get the perfect beach bod in 12 seconds".

Does this mean that "intellectual" media is dead in the water? This is a question that is not new, it has been discussed and critiqued for many years. But what is new is the subtle shift in culture where simplicity has become the key to everything. The problem with simplicity is that it stops us from questioning the norm and a "non-curiosity culture" is established as the new standard.

I'm not saying I'm anti-anti-intellectual, I just don't feel as though every media outlet has to give in to using emojis and clever hashtags to seduce people into viewing their content.

The economics of the situation are that quick clicks, easily digestible content and lack of nuance generates money, and that's all that matters. A dumbed-down media frenzy where quality of content serves no purpose - anti-intellectualism is king.

The media responds to what people want and people then respond by going even further, thus the cycle continues. A new basis is created where people read only the articles with pictures and not many words, if a word contains more than 2 syllables then it may as well not exist. People will do anything to not have to think.

This is all wrong! Ask difficult questions, engage in logical reasoning, exist to contribute not just to consume. We need to find the way back to curiosity, it may have killed the cat but it means that you're actively taking part in evolution where we must aim to learn as much as we can about as much as we can.

Harambe: The Meme of 2016

Image result for harambe
Oh Harambe, you really captured the hearts of the nation - once you were dead anyway. Why did the internet embrace Harambe the gorilla in such a strong and affectionate way?

In May, a three-year-old child fell into an enclosure at Cincinnati Zoo, then one of the gorillas inside started to drag the boy around.

Fearing that the boy's life was in danger, a zoo worker killed Harambe with a single shot and the boy escaped without serious injury. People were saddened by what had happened but would they have been more upset if it was the child that had died?

Harambe's death began a heated, if predictable, debate about zoo welfare standards and whether lethal force was necessary.

But what wasn't expected was what came next. Harambe became meme.
Meme
An image, video, piece of text, etc., typically humorous in nature, that is copied and spread rapidly by Internet users, often with slight variations.
His image was spread across the entirety of the internet. What started as a very real outpouring of shock and grief spawned into all manner of jokes and trolling.

The hashtag #RIPHarambe was alight with comments ranging from people wishing they had been there to jump into the enclosure themselves if that meant saving Harambe, to people declaring that they would have been happier if the child was the one who had been shot.

Were people really that upset, or even angry, at Cincinnati Zoo's decision to kill the animal?

It was clear after several days that people were now just posting about Harambe because it was funny, this was when 'meme status' had been reached. The online community wanted to "keep Harambe's legacy alive" and they did so by trolling Cincinnati Zoo's Twitter feed. Strongly worded messages about how wrong they were to kill Harambe and endless photos of the gorilla adorned with crying emojis were spammed in the general direction of Cincinnati Zoo's account.

 The situation wasn't helped when Cincinnati Zoo asked Twitter users to stop sending them the messages. In this instance, the internet acted just like a toddler who is told not to touch something because it's hot.

There were those who held vigils and started campaigns targeting the child's parents, things just spiralled out of control because it involved an element of supposed animal cruelty. Being in a zoo meant that Harambe was in an unfair environment where he didn't have much of a chance to begin with.

The problem with some people online is that they seem to get off on being mad about things that they don't actually care about. For me it was driven to the ground so quickly, it stopped being funny after a day or two.

 The only way to understand why Harambe was embraced by the internet as he was is to imagine that people were just tired of the usual media spiel that dominates the news and, in turn, society.

People were bored of hearing the same old stories about war or famine or refugee crises that they just wanted some way to vent their frustration with the world.

The only way of expressing this anger was to turn this into some sort of worship of Harambe and then offer up memes to their gorilla god.

Harambe: the meme of 2016.

Guns, Guns & More Guns

I wrote an article back in October 2015 that seems to be garnering rather a lot of attention recently so I thought I'd clear up a few things.

I do not think that all guns should be rounded up and taken from Americans but I do have a major problem with a person being able to walk into a gun store and come out 7 minutes later with an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle.

This is what happened to Helen Ubiñas who wanted to find out just how quick and easy it was to buy a gun where she lived in the States. $759.99 dollars and 7 minutes later she was able to walk away with a fully-loaded semi-automatic rifle. That's madness! That's the same type of gun that was used to kill 49 people in the Orlando massacre, the same type of gun used to kill 20 children aged 6 and 7 in the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting. 7 minutes!

Are they looking to rival McDonald's with their speed of service? It's as though they want shootings to become as synonymous with their country as the American flag.

When will the next one be? Who will be the personal pulling the trigger? Whoever it is it will only take them 7 minutes from getting an idea in their head to execution. God bless America!

I'm not saying guns cause problems, I'm saying they make up a significant part of the problem. It is insane to have such open and free access to guns.

I made the point in my last article that some people say that cars are a bigger risk to us all than guns. They suggest that we should ban those too if guns would have to go (it's hard to tell if they're joking or not). But cars help to emphasise the steps that should be taken towards better gun control. Cars were never banned, but driver’s licenses, seatbelts, airbags, etc. are all prerequisites. Besides, a car has much more use that a gun. "Oh, go back and tell your ancestors fighting in the war that", they might argue, "you try taking away the M1 Garand belonging to a scared 17-year-old soldier and replace it with a Ford Mondeo, see how thankful he is then". Well that's just a petulant idea that serves no purpose to anyone.

A little side note here: to argue that you need a gun in order to protect yourself because some other person might have a gun is utterly flawed and unwitting.

Other than that you may choose to argue whatever reason that best matches your politics or agenda. But the truth is that people want their guns because of hatred and fear-mongering.

The world is becoming more divided each day, but people seem to ignorantly assume that fear and hatred must be battled with fear and hatred of their own. It's no wonder the human race will end up wiping itself out.

Review: David Bowie - Blackstar

Here is a review that I wrote of David Bowie's Blackstar on 11th January 2016, the day after Bowie's death. It was originally intended to be published in a magazine but for one reason or another it never made the final cut. I had forgotten all about this article until now so I thought I would share it now, on what would have been his 70th birthday. Better later than never, huh?

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Bowie’s 25th record will forever be tainted with the knowledge that it was his last. Nevertheless, his creativity and talent did not slip towards his mortal end, instead he made magnificence to delight us all one last time. Bowie was diagnosed with cancer 18 months ago and he knew that his life was coming to an end, but what do you do when your days are numbered? Make an electronic-jazz fusion album of course.

The album, Blackstar, was released on 8th January 2016 - the date of Bowie’s 69th birthday - and it is both brilliant and bizarre. The title track is a mixture of electronic music, jazz and a lyrically complex ballad (and there’s only one man who could carry that off).

Eerie and unearthly; was the album a way of Bowie saying goodbye? The songs speak of illness, death and heaven - and offer intriguing insights about the man himself as he sings, “I’m not a pop star, I’m a Blackstar”. On first listening to the album, it was lyrically confusing but upon reflection, the lyrics can be viewed with a more insightful approach. I Can’t Give Everything Away, the album’s final track, is perhaps the most potent song to re-examine. “I know something is very wrong,” he begins, “The blackout hearts, the flowered news / With skull designs upon my shoes”. The sense that Bowie had an unhappy secret he desperately wishes he could share is reaffirmed in the chorus: “I can’t give everything away”.

There has been an outpouring of shock and surprise at his death, not least because, at 69, he was relatively young, but because people seemed to ascribe higher powers to him. As if this legend of the mortal world would have somehow negotiated a deal with the higher powers for him to never have to ride the pale horse.

Prisoners In a Five Star Hotel

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I have a complicated relationship with zoos; maybe everyone else does too. They're equally wonderful and pathetic. Remember the story of Harambe the gorilla who was shot dead at Cincinnati Zoo after a child fell into the enclosure? Well an odd thing happened after the news broke, people began to take the side of the gorilla and vilified Cincinnati Zoo and the little boy who fell into the enclosure. Harambe was then embraced by the internet and became the biggest meme of 2016.

We wouldn't feel responsible for the death of a human, but we would when an animal is killed because it was "one of us", a human being, that caused its life to end - we all feel culpable.

I've always had a fascination with animals and was lucky to go on school trips to Blackpool Zoo and family outings to Chester Zoo. I would lie in bed at night, dreaming of the lions and tigers - and, of course, the orangutans. I dreamed of becoming a zookeeper when I grew up if that meant I could spend every minute of every day surrounded by animals.

However, I began to hear stories about how these wild animals were weary and miserable to be locked up in cage all day. I read up about animal behaviour and saw for myself lions pacing agitatedly up and down in their tiny cell. They are fed, kept safe and warm yet they are not happy - prisoners in a five star hotel.

We all feel guilty about the existence of an animal in a zoo. Whatever an institution does to promote conservation we know those animals simple do not want to be in cages. We feel the frustration of each and every big cat striding back and forth behind the glass window pane.

Each time an animal is shot or put down in a zoo there is an honest and genuine sadness because we've had the thrill of seeing these beautiful yet alien creatures in the flesh. We cannot talk to them or interact with them but we can see an individual personality wanting to be expressed in any way possible.

Zoos are wonderful places, I don’t want zoos to close down, but we will always take issue whenever an animal's death is caused in a place where it should be safest. Maybe every zoo should have a statue of Harambe the gorilla or Tilikum the orca to remind us of the central wrong that these animals should have to be here in the first place.

2016 - A Year In Review


As years go, 2016 has been pretty rough - wouldn't you agree? Filled with ups and downs, though largely the latter, it is difficult to feel positive when reflecting on a year filled with events that mainly involved unexpected death or an orange man with floppy hair.

When I try to think what has happened in 2016, I can largely just picture dead people.
Victoria Wood, David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Terry Wogan, Ronnie Corbett, AA Gill, Prince, Lemmy, Leonard Cohen. We all have a particular "favourite" death of the year; the one we’re saddest about, the one that we can't help but mention to every passer-by in the street. We then seem to have a grieve-off to see who actually cared about the famous person in question the most:

"Oh but I had each and every single one of their records!"

"Well I've read every single interview they've ever done."

"Well I know what brand of underwear they wear - go on, ask me which ones they wear!"

Team the neverending string of celeb death with the fear-filled US election and the constant threat of nuclear war and environmental ruin - and Harambe! - and we're left with a pretty rancid pile of ashes to call a year. Sprinkle a little bit of crusty Brexit crumbs on top followed by an unhealthy dollop of Brangelina and you've got yourself 2016.

Maybe it wasn't all doom and gloom, could it be that 2016 was actually alright but we just failed to notice in fear of Kate Bush popping her clogs next?

Sure, The Great British Bake Off is no longer with the BBC and Channel 4 paid £75 million for a tent with a flour-covered Paul Hollywood inside, but you can be damn sure that there will be a "new Bake Off" for Mary, Mel and Sue. Bake Off too will continue, just on a different channel with a couple of new presenters - maybe it will rise into a marvelous masterpiece or maybe it will leave Channel 4 with a soggy bottom. Anyway, two baking programs for your delight whereas there was only one before!

In other TV news, the resurrection of Top Gear was an utter calamity. Okay, maybe I am being rather harsh when I say that because the only real problem with it was Chris Evans, the gingery-grey toddler disguised as a 50-year-old adult man. Alas, every cloud and all that, the "fracas" between Jeremy Clarkson and Top Gear producer Oisin Tymon spawned The Grand Tour. Now this is a show that has, so far, been utterly brilliant, in terms of both entertainment and visual imagery. The same chemistry is present on The Grand Tour between Clarkson, Hammond and May and also Top Gear will be returning in 2017 without Chris Evans! Two motoring-based entertainment shows that you can watch on your tellybox (or internet streaming device) where before there was just the one!

Besides the world of entertainment, the wild tiger population has increased for the first time in 100 years from 3,200 to about 3,900...so that's something positive I guess.

Also on the animal theme, giant pandas are now no longer on the endangered species list. 2,060 giant pandas are currently roaming free in the wild, eating up all the bamboo and not having sex. They're now just "vulnerable", which is better (apparently).

In food news, more than half a million people in the UK alone now eat a vegan diet, and cafes, restaurants and supermarkets have started to up their vegan game, now offering more than just a wilted salad. This means fewer animals had to be killed, again, positive.

Maybe I'm just trying to polish a turd now but has 2016 really been that bad? Well, maybe it's still a yes. I love animals and all but I'd sooner have Bowie still alive than have Pandas move on an arbitrary scale from endangered to vulnerable.

Here's to a better 2017.





Photograph: ITV

Illustration Store Now Open!

I have finally opened up a webstore filled with illustrations that I have made where you can get prints, t-shirt, mugs and more!


Worldwide shipping is available and lookout for special offers which pop up every now and then. There will be plenty more designs coming that will added as soon as possible so keep an eye out.

You can check out what's on offer here: society6.com/jamesbirchall

Where Has The Performance Gone?

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Are the free-flowing, unrestrained, trip-inducing days of music over? They seem to have been exchanged for something rather more bland and conservative, where songs are pumped out of dingy, grey office blocks all following the same set of instructions. Whatever happened to the daring, the dressing-up, the teenage rebellion, the drama and the theatre of music? 

 My music library is dominated by artists of days passed, musicians who appeared on Top of the Pops or The Old Grey Whistle Test sporting wild hair and wilder makeup, and costumes that looked like they'd been beamed straight from another galaxy. The likes of Roxy Music, The Tubes, Jethro Tull et al provided a performance masterclass where convention meant nothing. There was a performance-dictated aesthetic, where David Bowie and Bryan Ferry ruled, an old-fashioned air of glamour, pose and performance was put on.

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What happened? Where did the art of performance go? Today’s music scene seems to be all about being “real” and "down to earth", in both the lyrics and the visuals. They want to be themselves and send out a message that says "I'm just like you" and that's how they sell records - people identify with them. Sure, all of these artists have onstage personae to a point, but that extra level of artifice is totally absent. Where’s the drama and the style? Have we lost the art of pretentious performance?

Previous generations expected their singers to project something more, they were there to look up to and idolise: Sinatra, Piaf, Davis Jr all had characters they put on for a show; it was cabaret, the world of showbiz and theatre.

There are some artists with some air of stage persona; Beyoncé dons her alter-ego Sasha Fierce as she struts around the stage, and Daft Punk wear huge robotic helmets - which does seem as though they're a little shy. There is even still a whiff of theatre from the likes of Kanye West or Robbie Williams, not forgetting the art-vixens Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj who theatricalise their shows. But these people are exceptions which is precisely the reason why they stand out. They are known for being unusual or perhaps freakish but what they are doing wouldn't be called particularly outlandish in the 70s.
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To find true theatre in music, the only reliable place to go has been metal. Ever since Alice Cooper, metal acts have thrived on a theatrical style and presentation that fans have come to demand - from Kiss to Gwar, Marilyn Manson to Lordi, Iron Maiden to Slipknot, theatre is expected and provided.

Maybe pop stars of now could do well to start taking lessons from their metal counterparts. Even at 68, Alice Cooper is still getting decapitated live on stage in front of an audience of thousands. Truly uncommon entertainment.

We need more larger-than-life characters in modern music, not only does it create a much more interesting visual but it produces more experimental and creative music. We need it before we all die of boredom.

My Top Choices From the Early Roxy Music Catalogue


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There are two Roxy Musics, the cultural insurgents of the early seventies and the smooth balladeers of later years, I will be dealing with the former. These are the songs that were created in a time of men in high-heeled boots and cabaret-baroque performances that stopped the zeitgeist in its tracks.

Re-make/Re-model

The very first song on their self-titled debut album couldn’t be any less "out of the box". It is clear that there was no songwriting manual used here. It radiates eclecticism and excess yet manages to sound entirely wonderous and enchanting. It sounds as though each musician is playing in an almost competitive manner, trying to outdo one another to create a sort of dadaist playfulness. Dazzling lights and fanciful outfits helped to make this one of Roxy's all time greatest hits.


Virginia Plain

With a breakout first album unexpectedly climbing as high as number 10 in the UK album charts, it was clear that a single had to be produced. There was no obvious choice for a single from the album so the record company executives asked Bryan Ferry what else he had in his bustling songbook. He just so happened to have a fully formed, completely new sounding song called Virginia Plain that was musically light years ahead of anything else anyone had heard. Virginia Plain was, and still is, a bubbling cauldron of musical alchemy: cool, catchy and cutting-edge.

Do the Strand

The so-called 'difficult second album' seemed like a myth for Roxy Music when they released For Your Pleasure, featuring the ebullient Do the Strand. Ferry’s words are daringly dandyish and frivolous, throwing references to every part of the cultural spectrum from La Goulue (the French Can-can dancer) to Nijinsky (the Russian ballet dancer), artworks such as Guernica and the Mona Lisa. When read aloud, the lyrics sound like the spoutings of madness twinned with mild intoxication, it seems like a roll call of pinpoints in cultural history - playful and witty.


In Every Dream Home a Heartache

Ferry's pithy commentary on rising consumerism can be heard here in its full nakedness, only an isolated keyboard wave can be heard at the beginning of this song. From “penthouse perfection”, cracks appear to reveal something more seedy. "Plain wrapper baby," Ferry purrs, "deluxe and delightful, inflatable doll". Upon first hearing this song, I recalled the meshuga-haired Tim Minchin and his ditty about an inflatable doll being all he requires in life. I tried to draw connections and contrasts between the two before coming to the innately obvious conclusion that they are incomparable. There’s a school of thought that Ferry doesn’t get his due as a lyricist; Ferry doesn’t so much write songs as paint them, perhaps Dream Home is his finest work.


The Thrill of It All


In terms of all time favourite, mine has to be The Thrill of It All from Country Life. I love hearing the screech of an electric guitar combined with the musical purity of a violin which creates an unassailable sound. It is beautifully layered meaning each time you hear it you pick up something completely new that you had not heard previously; a background riff from Phil Manzanera or a faint violin hum from Eddie Jobson. The track is enormous in the way that so much of British rock was in 1974. It is a six-and-a-half minute masterpiece complete with Ferry’s signature debonair delivery ringing in your ears.