Which came first? The name or the acronym?

Imagine you're a purely fictional inventor created for the purpose of illustrating a point, like Dr Ottaker is.

Dr Ottaker is the finest fictional inventor I've created in the last ten minutes. He may be the best I ever create, only time will tell.

Dr O, as he is know to his friends and creator, has invented a device which when strapped to your head, emits a shield of invisible particles over you to absorb any water droplets heading for your otherwise unprotected hairstyle. It's not going to save lives. But it will save groomed hair which, in the USA and UK, is probably viewed by your average citizen as just as important.

Today, having the use of every dextrous limb is paramount, so an umbrella - the once accessory for every lady-what-does-lunch and diamond gent - is now just something you hold which isn't as fun to hold as an iPhone is. Dr O's invention will free up that extra hand to hold your second iPhone. So both of your iPhones can iChat to each other and unbeknown to you laugh at what a dick you are for having two iPhones using some clever little 'app' you downloaded for only £250 and then £1,000 a week until Steve Jobs pulls his iFist out of your arse.

So patented and packaged, Dr O's little device is ready to be sold to L'Oreal or VO5 or Duncan Bannatyne from Dragons' Den, but there is a problem. Dr O for all his brains, of which there is a whole heap, is not the best with words. The working title of his invention is The Particle Beam Droplet Sythesising Protection Device with Built-in Radiograph Streamlining Technology, or something like that. And this my friend, is not catchy. So some wise-cracking BA Marketing graduate is flown in to 'dynamise' it using an acronym - the idiot's grammatical weapon of choice.

Literally tens of minutes later, Dr O's invention is reborn as The Airborne Invisible Droplet Synthesiser. Or more importantly to your run-o-the-mill Superdrug customer, all thanks to our BA Marketing graduate, the invention is now known as The A.I.D.S. Mr Ottaker has invented The AIDS. Strictly true? No. But that's what it now says on Wikipedia, so that's what the majority of the internet-browsing world thinks.

Ottaker is devastated, he hits the gin with vigour and reaches for his crack pipe. Mrs O kicks him out when the tabloids snap him trawling the streets for hookers, changes the locks, files for divorce and tells the kids Daddy has gone away for ever.

All because of an acronym. A point well illustrated. If not concisely illustrated. No need for them.

For the record, Dr O is now not even the best fictional inventor I've created in the last ten minutes. It is now Mr James Lefrionais, a Parisen racounteur who dabbles in alchemy and invented the broad bean.

Things look shit for Dr O.

Food for thought

London is the capital of England.

London is the world's foremost 'global city' and the world's leading financial centre alongside Tokyo and New York.

More than 7,500,000 people live in London.

London is where more than half of the UK's 100 largest companies, and more than 100 of Europe's largest 500 companies, have their headquarters.

London's public transport system is the most extensive in the world, with the London Underground carrying 976million people each year.

London is a major tourist destination for both domestic and oversees visitors, and will host the 2012 Olympics.

Boris is in charge.

Parental guidance

Well I'm not going to come out of this bout too well I fear. I'm tackling a taboo. Nothing too controversial, this is afterall only my second entry and I don't want to climax too early, but it is a taboo never-the-less.

"The magnitude of a taboo should not be measured by the subject sensitivity, but by the nature of person or social class whose views and opinions you are questioning." La Rouge (2009)

And herein lies the hitch. I'm potentially ruffling the feathers of that oh-so-firey breed; the new mum. Young, old, fat, thin, black, white or purple, the new mother - it seems - wants to share everything their newborn bumpkin has done to date. And what can your average Pierre say to said parent? Any hint you may not want to hear about the exploits of junior will surely be interpreted as "It's wrong to love your baby. Don't love your baby so much. Stop coming over and talking about how much you love your baby". Do you want them to hear that? Because that's what they'll hear.

Children are wonderful little blighters, You've Been Framed has taught me that, but what most new parents fail to realise is the reason their children are so fantastic is because they are precisely that; their children. They're not mine (no matter what the Jeremy Kyle Parentometer Test said), so when young mummy and daddy care that their nipper licked a stick in a hilarious manner, tottered after a puppy in the park, or woke up pulling a face like Ray Winstone, it's fair to say I don't. I'm not heartless, I just don't care.

My advice to any adults who may have just ventured into the alien world of parenthood is to consider this; what did you talk about before Zeus/Orange/Princess Toshiba was born? There must have been conversation before babies? Yes. Of course there was. Now let's not stop loving our offspring, but for the sake of Pierre, let's stop talking about them all the time.

A blog is born

So I'm blogging. And, more to the point, you're reading. Silly billy. 

Born out of a heady combination of boredom, the need to rant, and a desire to keep my writing skills in check, I will be popping thoughts/dreams/theories/reviews up on this; my little corner of the interweb, for you to read at your leisure. Big love to the masses.