Don’t take my blog too seriously.

“Does all this stuff really grind your gears?”


No, not really. My blog hopefully contains serious points. I do not in my day to day life take much of it seriously. Unless it’s interest rates,

Dear Keynesian morons,

The interest rate is a price just like any other price. 

All the Keynesians that have just read this have committed suicide. 


I’m quite drunk. Tonight I saw Dakota. She has no job and is living off her savings and wants to work for some charity who want to pay her peanuts. She deserves more than this. Hesiod was right: women make you work. I realise that so many of the changes I’ve made in my life were prompted because of her to place myself in a better position to look after her. I think this is the lot of man: to work to attract women. 

It’s mainly her eyes. They’re this kind of really light blue and somehow that is just so sexy. It’s also that she’s really intelligent and well read and reads high brow stuff. Also that she thinks and has opinions on things that are well thought through and informed. You can just sit and talk to her about history, politics, philosophy, science and get an intelligent conversation out of her, which is so rare.

I’m fed up of having conversations where I say that I like to read and they ask who my favourite authors are and I’m like “Bulgakov, Kawabata, Kerouac” and she’s like “Oh those are so highbrow, I don’t read anything like that”. Dakota is more on an intellectual par, she might not have read Bulgakov or Kawabata but she’s read serios authors and she would never in a million years think her reading inferior to anyone’s. With her I feel like I have an equal.


“Living dolls: The rise of the teen girl clones”

I think I’m about to express one of those opinions, or as I see it, observations, that occasionally gets me labelled a misogynist. So in The Times magazine there is an article of the above title and basically it talks about how all these teenage girls now aspire to look identical and this is deeply surprising to the author and yada yada. 

I don’t find it surprising, in fact I would find anything different surprising. Women all pursing radically individualistic styles and paths through life would surprise me. In fact it would challenge my world view to the point where I would have to wander off into the wilderness, retire to a cave and rethink my life.

Put simply women have a herding instinct that is very strong, if you can communicate an ideal to them en masse they will respond my confirming to that ideal. This is how the fashion industry works. Women are not risk takers, they are highly risk avoidant, and so they will cluster around the safest behavioural patterns and so end up being pretty samey. If you look the same as everyone else and everyone looks like the celeb that wins accolades and dates really rich and successful men, then at least you can be sure that even if you’re not doing something right, you’re not doing anything wrong. It’s a good, safe, strategy. 

The last piece in this puzzle is that women are all gunning for about 20% of the male population. Study after study shows that women rate 80% of men as being below average attractiveness. A large group of women is after a tiny group of men, competition will always be fierce. 

“That silly sanguine notion, which is fully entertained here, that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen, encourages, and has sometimes enabled, one Englishman, in reality, to beat two.” 

On Nice Guys and Romance Novels.

I was in the library yesterday, the local public one and I noticed something: easily 80% of the books in there were “romance” novels i.e female porn. Something else I noticed is that most of them have rather rapey titles like “The sheik’s reluctant lover”. I’m not actually making that one up. 

So much for “teach men not to rape”. Romcoms are just as………I was going to say just as bad but I’m not sure I want to call them bad. Have you ever studied the average lead male in a romcom? He’s either a stalker or a rapist, at the very least he’s unhealthily obsessed with the lead female, can’t take no for an answer, hangs around her workplace or the places she hangs out, kisses her when she pushes him away, even forces himself on her when she says no. You know, stuff that people get arrested for. This is one of these things feminism kinda has to just yell “Patriarchy!” at, because otherwise they’d have to admit that women just like these kind of stories and the men in them.

As a teenager and a young adult I found all this stuff rather confusing. These days boys are brought up with “Listen to what she says, respect her as a human being, no means no” and then when you get to being a young man you find that you’re running around listening to her, doing everything she says. You’re doing exactly what you’ve been brought up to do, you’re also a virgin that hasn’t even been kissed, despite the fact that most of your friends are female and through them you meet new women all the time. Now and again you develop feelings for one of these friends and invariably you get told that she “doesn’t want to risk the friendship” or “she isn’t ready for a relationship” or something. She still relies on you for emotional support and when her new boyfriend starts mistreating her you have to be there for her, just like you were there for her when the last boyfriend mistreated her. 

The first few times this happens you chalk it off as one of those things, not everyone is compatible with everyone else, right? She doesn’t feel the same, that’s fine. Besides everyone says you’ll make a wonderful boyfriend for someone one day, you’re a great guy. You’re not like those other, nasty, guys and you feel good about that. There’s someone out there for everyone! You’re disappointed that your friends so far have not returned your feelings but you respect their choices and you’re proud to be the kind of guy that can be there for them anyway. This goes on for years “maybe next time, maybe next time, there’s someone out there for me, I just have to find her.” Or maybe you listen to “Stop looking and it’ll happen when you least expect it” so you stop looking. 

Then one day it hits you. It’s not them, it’s you. There’s something wrong with you. There’s something really wrong with you. You’re doing everything right, you’re following the formula perfectly, you’re attentive, you’re supportive, you’re caring, you take an interest in them as people rather than sex objects, so it must be that there is some deep, hidden flaw in you which only women can see. Of course you ask them what’s wrong with you and you get told that there’s nothing wrong with you, you just haven’t found the right person yet. You notice something about the guys they’re with though, they’re not like you. They’re not caring, they’re not attentive, they’re not going to be there much longer either and everything with them happens so quickly, your friends meet them one week, sleep with them the next, whereas you are told to be patient, not to rush. 

These guys are obviously better than you. They’re so much better than you that they don’t even have to follow the rules. Soon it’s like a splinter in your mind, digging it’s way into you “What’s wrong with me? I’m doing everything I’ve been told to do” soon you’re beating yourself up “I’m ugly, that must be it” but you get reassurance that actually, you’re kinda good looking. This makes it worse, because now you don’t know what your flaw is but you know every woman can immediately see it, maybe even the guys can see it too, but you can’t. You become massively self-concious as you try and find this flaw, it nags at you constantly and every time you meet someone it only gets worse. They can see your flaw, you can’t and they’re going to reject you for it, because that’s what you are, you’re a reject. You’re some pathetic, badly made thing that gets thrown in the dust bin and you don’t know why and nobody will tell you.

It’s not long before you hate yourself. You’re worthless. Nobody wants you. Oh sure you have friends but you’re still lonely and you’ve always been rejected and because of your flaw you’re always going to be rejected and the pain is soul destroying. Literally soul destroying because it eats away at you and destroys your character. Rage builds in you, “Why was I made like this?” “What did I do to deserve this?” “Why me? Why not one of those arseholes that keeps sleeping with my friends?” “I’ve done nothing wrong, I’ve tried my best to do everything my female friends want and all I get is pain and rejection.” You feel that if you crawled under a rock and died no-one would care. The feminists like to say that “nice guys” feel entitled to sex. No, to be a nice guy is to know that you’ve entitled to nothing, is to know that you are nothing to anyone. It’s to know that if you were about to commit suicide no-one would bother to stop you, you’re not even entitled to live. 

Eventually you just stop talking to women. They don’t want you to talk to them, you’re just bothering them. You end up a little reclusive and shy, the pain is unbearable and most nights you go to sleep hoping you don’t wake up. You just wish there was one person who could see past your flaw and care for you and how special that person would be to you. How you’d care for them in return, how you’d love them. You’re in a very, very dark place. Women are now just a source of pain, each new one you meet just reminds you how worthless you are, so you avoid them.

That’s being a nice guy and very few nice guys get beyond this stage. The one’s that do usually end up being total arseholes and players. No-ones ever found their feelings important so they don’t see why other people’s feelings are important but they’ve learned what works and what doesn’t work with women and that’s usually fulfilling the standard female fantasy of a confident, bold, sexually aggressive male “sweeping her off her feet”. 

Today’s fun.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! So he pulls out this booklet and on it is a star and in each arm of the star there are numbers one through ten. On each point of the star there is a label like “motivation and aspiration”. Already I can feel myself repressing a sigh, my shoulders want to drop, and a feeling that this situation can only be resolved one of two ways. Either I must impact my head off the desk or else I must face palm.

I fight these urges and co-operate fully with the questions, scoring myself on a range of largely pointless questions. Then, this is the best bit, actually no it isn’t, how can I write this to fully capture the moment? First, carefully, purposefully he filled in the numbers and then, just so that we fully understood the import of answers I had given, wait for it, HE JOINED THE NUMBERS TOGETHER!!! ONLY THEN WAS THE FULL MEANING REVEALED!!!

At this point my thoughts were that, once again, the system had demonstrated itself more insane than the people it’s trying to deal with. Someone somewhere has decided that me filling out a star diagram is somehow of utility to me, as if I need what I know about myself represented as a a star diagram for me to fully comprehend what I have just said.

Mania and Shakespeare

I’ve been remarkably manic this week. I suspect the sunshine had something to do with this, I’m grouchy, energetic, doing fine on four hours sleep, cocky, confident. Can’t concentrate for shit though and I had a panic attack yesterday which just about crippled me. I managed to sit down before I fell down though. 

Then in the evening I went to see Macbeth, which was pretty good. Sir Kenneth Branagh was Macbeth. I don’t rate it as highly as the Patrick Stewart version but it was good none the less. I love Shakespeare, every time I see one of his plays I’m reminded of why he’s so celebrated. His insights into human nature are still salient, his plots interesting and his language exquisite. The RSC is easily one of my favourite places, I love the atmosphere of the place, and of Stratford actually; the Avon is so beautiful in summer and it’s nice to sit and watch the rowers speeding up and down while waiting for the play to start and the restaurants are good too. When I’m there I find myself gazing out of the windows from the bar and I think to myself “There’s no where in the world quite like this”. 


Watching other lunatics on BBC 3. It’s really interesting. Yesterday I had this assessment: Dear world Bipolar disorder and learning difficulties are not the same thing. I know it is difficult but try to follow. Different groupings of words have different meanings. So this grouping “Bipolar disorder” means something different from this grouping “Learning difficulties”. 

I refer to this as “GCD” or “General Cognitive Disorder” or the general stupidity that characterises anyone working in mental health who isn’t themselves loopy as a fruit cake and thus, paradoxically, functional enough to do the job.  I swear if a new consultant came in and was all “Hi I’m…….I have xyz disorder” I’d be like “Oh thank fuck, a normal person”.

Watching this I feel so fake. Whenever I’m fine I wonder if I make this whole thing up or I wonder if it’ll ever happen again. Except that I’ve been here before so many times. “I’m fine now” “I’m healthy now” “I don’t really have Bipolar disorder”. I feel that way at the joke that is my six monthly check ups. Mainly, though, this is because I say something like “My panic attacks are getting more frequent and also more intense” and the consultant, says, immediately after “So, you’re fine then?” This is what I mean by GCD. Only someone suffering from GCD would decide that someone suffering from panic attacks is fine. On that occasion I looked at her and I just thought “You’ve never had a panic attack in your life, have you? You’ve read about them in books, and passed exams where you list all the symptoms, but you’ve never actually experienced one”.