HAPPY SNAPPY

....Why take a picture when your mind's eye can see so much.

Imagine the scene, it's the near future, and thanks to some extraordinary exploits by the boffins at NASA, man is finally going to visit Planet Mars, and by some quirk of fate you're going! You're brought to NASA headquarters and undergo an intense training routine in preparation for your historic journey, constant briefings about the dangers you may face become part of your daily life, and by the end of astronaut school you are a well drilled space pilot ready for anything the outer limits can throw at you. The night before take off you stay in a sealed environment, lest anything or anyone derail this brave new step for humanity, and after sleeping soundly, with dreams of little green men surprisingly absent, you are awoken by the commander in chief with the news that the president is on the line and would like to speak with you before your journey begins. Having moved Obama to tears with your promise to 'do Planet Earth proud', you undergo the final preparations before being escorted to the space shuttle through throngs of adoring crowds, feeling every bit the hero. Nervous glances are exchanged amongst the dozen or so brave souls who will be accompanying you on your voyage, but all in all the mood is one of hope and anticipation as the enormity of what you are all about to undertake finally hits home. You enter the shuttle, waving goodbye to your loved ones and winking at the tearful young blonde in the front row, before the hatch shuts behind you, the final checks are undergone and you get strapped into your seat. Good luck messages, handshakes and hugs are exchanged between the crew members as you wait for the countdown to begin........TEN........Oh no, fuck no.............NINE......................I can't believe I forgot it...............EIGHT..............What's the point in going if I don't have it...................SEVEN.........................I won't be able to show all the lads on facebook what I got up to................................SIX.........................................I'm gonna have to press the abort take off button........................FIVE.......................MMEEEEEEEEEEE CAMERAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

As the dust settles and you are brought before the previously rapt President to explain why you singlehandedly wrecked one of the most important events in the history of mankind, you are anything but sheepish and feel totally vindicated despite the look of utter disgust and dismay on Obama's face. As you are cuffed and manacled, before being sent down to spend the rest of your miserable existence in solitary confinement, the baying mob hurl abuse and various projectiles at your bowed head. But when the steady stream of missiles slows for a moment you look up, only to see not faces contorted with rage as you'd expected, but scores upon scores of giddy onlookers frantically shoving and barging their way to the front in the hope of getting a picture of the shamed villain who curtailed the dreams of an entire civilisation. The irony of the situation is not lost on you.

There was a time when showing someone your photos meant rummaging away in the most unkempt cupboard in the house, before finally emerging covered in dust, but proudly displaying a handful of enormous cobweb ridden photo albums containing the entire history of your life up to that point. Relatives would coo, chortle and sometimes cry as they looked back on times of yore, whether it be Christmas, Christenings, Communions or family holidays to the Canaries, each photo held within it a captured moment in time which meant something to everyone who viewed it. Angelic faced children that turned out to be the devil incarnate, smiling lost ones that will forever be lionised, random people that no one could ever quite place and countless others, all contributed to the charm and appeal of the family album which upon being taken out for a 'quick look' would still have a captive audience hours and gallons of tea later. Back then you were lucky if more than a dozen photos of you in a guise resembling anything like yourself currently existed, and should disaster strike and you found yourself in the local newspaper for any reason, chances are that the picture provided would be one of you proudly posing upon receipt of your less than stellar Leaving Cert results. For all but the most vain, this state of affairs suited us just fine, true it'd be nice to have a few pictures of that horrifically drunken New Years Eve where your best mate embarrassed himself to such a degree that photographic evidence would surely result in him leaving the country never to return, some adventures were captured on film, others weren't, but all took residence in our minds and that's what mattered most.

Digital photography has been one of the best inventions of the 21^stwinkie or not, then the vicarious effect of seeing an exciting event witnessed through the lens of someone elses camera begins to lessen somewhat. There is of course the exceedingly rare occasions when you're perusing someones photos and you just have to take a breath, doff your non existent cap and proclaim yourself suitably impressed by the panaromic vista, the hilarious carnage of the previous Saturday night or the ever so cute bambino that fills your screen, these are the things that the digital camera was invented for, but as with everything in this day and age you can always have too much of a good thing and there's countless folks out there only too happy to prove this theory.

The whole 'I was there' mentality of the current day internet generation is something that we all possess in some form or another, even the most cynical of people like myself will readily admit to triple checking my pocket to ensure my camera is firmly ensconced within before setting off for something that may or not prove itself to be worthy of being remembered with scores upon scores of all too similar images. But one thing that I have found through this irrepressible desire to ensure that I capture this oh so important moment in time is that it somehow takes away from the feeling of excitement and joy that you would ordinarily associate with such an occasion, it's almost like we've all at once become freelance photographers as we patiently wait for the perfect photo opportunities almost to the detriment of everything else, take a look at your photos from the last big event you were at, whether it be something as mundane as a family Christening or a gig that you'd waited patiently for, chances are your overriding memory of this moment in time will be the panic and fear you felt that the pictures you were taking wouldn't quite cut the mustard and would therefore lessen the impact of the event when viewed by all in sundry on whatever social networking site you chose to display them on. Now compare this to a similar occasion ten years ago, okay so the memories are pretty hazy and the day itself probably went by in a flash, but I'd wager that the few wisps of recollection that still linger in your grey matter are ones of carefree enthusiasm only marred by the mundanity of the church or the sub standard fare offered up by the band, whichever the case may be. By choosing to document our lives to such an extreme level we have somehow stopped living them in the manner in which we ordinarily would, rather than enjoy ourselves and be caught in the moment, the moment has to be caught and we have to be seen to be enjoying ourselves.

I for one thoroughly embrace the age of digital photography and all that comes with it, the fact that so many people choose to embrace it to the point where suffocation is a very real threat is neither here nor there as their actions don't really impinge on my life. But I can't help feeling as I watch this youtube clip of Michael Owen's last minute winner against Manchester city, that although the person filming the action may have a tangible memento which has not only been enjoyed by himself but by thousands of others, he has lost a moment in time which, thanks to his insistence on capturing the moment, is gone forever.

HEALTH HAZARDS IN THE HOME

This is a woman's world, this is a woman's world, but it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without Philip Schofield or some other grey haired buffoon....

 As a rule I am loath to mention the recession/credit crunch/downturn in the economy or whatever other miserable monicker our current state of affairs is receiving, but now that we are mired in this wholly depressing state of affairs I feel it only necessary that the real issues with the recession be addressed. A by-product of this downturn in fortunes is that the traditional family dynamic of the man going out to work whilst the woman stays at home to mind the children has been completely blown apart, (although in truth this is a fairly prehistoric way of viewing things but I felt it necessary to use it to illustrate my point, so bear with me!) nowadays the idea of a 'house husband' is not the cause for derision that it once was, and the amount of men dutifully bringing their children to school or pushing a buggy round the local park is a testament to this. Along with these brave souls, who are doing everything in their power to keep their fragile family unit in working order, there are countless other fit and able men of all ages and with various unutilised abilities, who are finding it difficult to fill the hours in the day on an all too regular basis. Now I for one, do in no way condone spending your life wasting away in front of the television, *adopts the tone of a gnarled old war veteran* “ When you should be out there earning a living for yourself”, but it's simply impossible to spend every waking minute in the fruitless pursuit of the slightest tendril of a job opportunity. So on occasion that leaves even the most assiduous of fellows finding comfort in the familiar weight of the remote control and his favourite easy chair, but for any man to enter the quite frankly hostile environs of daytime tv is to risk not only losing his entire afternoon but quite possibly his sanity aswell.

Of course there was a time way back in the advent of television when programming began at six o clock with the evening news, and the thought of anyone even pausing from their daily grind to sit down and stare at the goggle box was fanciful at best. But as times became less austere and the previous generation allowed themselves to get down off the cross for a few minutes during the day, so broadcasters plucked up the courage to fill those dead hours between the children heading off for school and the long suffering husband getting home from work, with shows aimed at sating the inquisitive nature of the stay at home mum. These shows initially concerned themselves with the pressing concerns of the day such as cooking, fashion, child care and health, but as time went by day time television began to morph into a living, breathing entity full with it's own unique character, dubious charm and all too depressing boundaries which are all too strictly adhered to. From Derek Davis, Oprah Winfrey and Carol Vorderman right through to their modern day counterparts, daytime television has spawned countless careers which in all honesty it had no right to, and it is now seen as a gateway to better things by the various pondlife that blight our lives on a daily basis.

To the uninitiated, daytime television can seem like a scary place, one second you've got the ample charms of Holly Willoughby to soothe your bleary eyes but in the next instance you're faced with an Eamonn Holmes sized dilemma, as the increasingly rotund Northern Irish windbag waddles his sorry way onto the screen and threatens to ruin your day even before it's started. This is a typical problem with these early morning shows as you carefully try to negotiate your way through them without having to spend too much time looking at whomever the resident 'silver fox' is, all the while hoping against hope that Mylene Klass may choose today to have a particularly revealing wardrobe malfunction. The content of these early morning shows is at best mildly distracting but at it's worst it can display a level of morbidity and full on misery rarely seen outside of your local A&E. Various light hearted segments discussing the latest news in the soap operas are all well and good, but once they've lulled you into a false sense of security you'll suddenly be confronted with a grim faced lady of indistinguishable age who's been to hell and back with various physical ailments and has no problem whatsoever in sharing her macabre tales with the nation, as such it's important to learn the tell tale signs that things are about to get serious. As the camera pans back to the studio having just been full of the outdoor reporter (usually someone deemed wacky by someone who wishes they were wacky, FYI: being wacky = being a tosser) and their 'alternative' story we are solemnly informed by the now all too serious hosts that the guest seated across from them was once a happy, young thing in the.............QUICK CHANGE CHANNELS!! IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT TO, JUST SWITCH IT, FAST!!!!! Thankfully even amidst this well of emotional outpourings there is the safehaven of Sky Sports News with it's warm, loving embrace and repeated punchlines hour after hour, and you can breathe a sigh of relief safe in the knowledge that that's one less disease you ever have to worry about getting. On a lucky day you may even be fortunate enough to stumble across the majestic, wondrous televisual experience that is Aerobics Oz Style, but diamonds in the rough like this are all to rare and as the day progresses things only get worse.

No, what's needed in any society is a viable alternative to the thing which has for so long brainwashed the masses, rather than force people to do something just give them a choice instead, such is the way the best revolutions begin. This alternative will come in the face of a new, male orientated daytime tv show entitled 'Blokey Blokes'. The Blokey Blokes will take up residence from 12pm (the time that in all honesty most of it's viewers will rise from their slumber) and be in situ until 4pm, or until such time that they feel they've spoken to their audience sufficiently and dealt with whatever issues have arisen, they're blokes you see so they don't need to adhere to schedules. The presenters of BB (I've just realised that Blokey Blokes shares an acronym with Big Brother but seeing as that's just ended I am entitled to use it as I wish) will come from all walks of life with not all of them being necessarily famous, rather than have the token people who do all in their power to portray themselves as 'one of the lads' on a nauseatingly regular basis, we shall scour the world for suitable candidates, here are a few of the blokes who I believe may just be up to the task. Kriss Akabusi, enthusiastic nutjob would enliven things when the conversation inevitably begins to falter, Sean Ryder, they say every face tells a story, if that's the case then Sean needn't open his mouth as his mug says it all, Mel Gibson, say what you like about Mel but you cannot deny that the man is a riveting combination of genius and lunatic, Michael Carroll, made famous for winning the lotto and blowing the lot on sports cars and drugs, Carroll would be marvellous entertainment and probably really needs a steady income right now, and Sean Lock, having two Seans on the show may become a problem, particularly given the frazzled state of Ryder's brain, but Lock deserves a wider audience and speaks to the grumpy old man in us all. Every show needs at least one relatively straight man to keep thing ticking over and that honourable position would go to the legend that is Bill Murray, he would at once both egg on the more deranged of guests while at the same time plead for a modicum of peace, all the while smirking mischievously at the camera as things went postal all around him. Other guests would pop in and out as they felt like it and local tramps, vagrants and winos would be invited in for a dram of whiskey and chided into telling a tale or two about their exploits whilst they warmed their feet by the fire. There would be no strict itinerary as such, although obviously guidelines would need to be adhered to to prevent things descending into anarchy, phonelines would be open all day as would the bar, and callers brave enough to speak to the presenters would run the risk of ridicule, any risk would be more than worth it though given the wealth of real life experience available to the rapt audience. The best thing about BB would be it's organic nature, no man has any need for a sterilised, by the numbers form of entertainment anymore, which is typified by arguably the most popular male orientated show on television, Soccer Saturday, which is basically a load of blokes sitting in a room watching football and shouting their heads off, BB would be like that but instead of limiting itself to football it would encompass all the things that we as men love and cherish above all else, just imagine Mel Gibson sitting down watching hardcore pornography and telling you the viewer about it's merits or lack of as the case may be, the possibilities are endless.

All this may seem a bit churlish and unrealistic, but as more and more men find themselves at home and at a loose end on a daily basis it's only going to be a matter of time before someone snaps and says enough is enough, women constantly like to harp on about equal opportunities across all sectors so let's see how they like it when men invade their last bastion and claim it for themselves. Let it be known that this is not a tirade aimed at inflaming a battle of the sexes, more an observation regarding the lopsided nature of daytime television and the need for change, we live in an age which will be reflected upon as the most startling in terms of the progression made by mankind, so when you see Blokey Blokes appear on your TV guide please don't get all haughty and pen a strongly worded letter to the powers that be, instead just console yourself with the fact that we will no longer be privy to all your most intimate secrets via the medium of the Loose Women, as we will instead be rolling in the aisles as a one eyed drunkard from Wales regales us with tale after tale of his debauched and decadent life.