I'm dreaming of a White Riot

I never remember the date that Joe Strummer died. I have friends on Facebook who do that for me (it's a boy thing).

Apparently, it was yesterday. Eight years ago.

My Facebook homepage is full of Clash videos. And I know that for my generation, this was the day the music died.

Watch this and remember why.

Is Mad Men better than books?

I’ve just watched the last two episodes of Mad Men and I’m starting to think the unthinkable. It feels almost sacrilegious but I got more from that 90 minutes of TV drama than I would have done from reading a book.

I’ve always thought of myself as a book person. I’ve got two English degrees and have never forgiven my parents for not buying me a membership of the Puffin Club. But I can’t remember the last time I read a novel.

Typical Girls

RIP Ari Up.
The Slits were more punk than anyone. They couldn’t play (to start with) and they didn’t give a damn. They did things their way. And they were more genuinely revolutionary than any of the boys.

Facebook tramples on graves

Dear Facebook

Please stop trying to be clever and start thinking about real people’s real feelings.

You have the biggest customer base in the world and you have no concept of customer service. You don’t even have any way of contacting a customer service person.

I don’t want to ‘engage’ with you. I don’t want to follow you on Twitter or ‘like’ your page (I DON’T ‘like’ you) or ‘share’ a user story about how Facebook has changed my life. (‘We are always interested in hearing from our users’: I don’t think so).

I just want to tell someone – a real person – that you have screwed up.

And I don’t want you to tell me how to ‘engage’ with the site. I don’t need you to tell me who my friends are or how to talk to them. And I don’t want you selecting random photos of me and telling me what to do with them.

Yesterday I logged on to Facebook and there was one of my photos with the heading ‘Tag a friend’. A face was highlighted and underneath it said ‘Whose face is this?’

It’s my dead sister. I posted that photo as a tribute on her 20th anniversary.

She is not on Facebook.

George Osborne ruined my holiday

George Osborne ruined my holiday... and that’s just for starters.

Cornwall is exactly 200 miles away from my house and I’m a long way from the border. I’ve left my worries behind. I haven’t written a things-to-do list for days. I’ve even forgotten what my own kitchen looks like: it’s been overwritten by the one in our rented accommodation.

Then Husband puts on the telly. It’s a day after ‘chancellor’ Osborne’s budget and it strikes fear into me. And anger into Husband. And reality comes crashing back.

There’s a reason I haven’t written much since the election. It’s easy to be flippant about the 80s revival. But it’s just too scary to look face-on at what’s actually happening.

So I’ll let Ian McMillan say it for me.