And on a more light-hearted note...

"Hello?"

"Hello, I am Andrew [or Paul? it was a generic English-sounding name] calling from [something] research. May I speak to Mr Nash please."

"As Sab'yn wal Jau?"

"Is Mr Nash available?"

"Safot softim bi'Quarthadast."

"Are you Mr Nash?"

"Inama nishuf al a sadarr. Eyann zaratha zarati. Kali bakka a tishuf a hett. Al a hudad alman dali."

"....

Sorry for wasting your time, sir."

[click. dooooooooooooooooo]

Damn cold callers. But they don't have a response to ancient or fictional languages.

Reflections on 8 Years

Okay, a personal post. Not particularly interesting to many people I imagine. In fact, this is perhaps more for myself than the entertainment or enjoyment of any reader.

Tomorrow (Friday 27th May 2011) marks the end of 8 years of Secondary Education. There are still exams to sit, but after tomorrow I will never have a true lesson again.

8 years. Let's take a look back.

September 2003. I, as an 11 year old, started as a Year 7 at South Hunsley school. I made other friends reasonably quickly and sufficiently strongly. This was punctuated by hellish trips on the bus every other morning. Overall rating: meh.

Year 8. A good year. I had firm friends. Bullying issues evaporated. I had good teachers, did well and generally enjoyed myself.

Year 9. A "meh" year. The system in the school meant that we were now divided into groups from all around the year. I was largely cut off from some friends except during lunchtimes. Did well in subjects but in fact found Science painfully slow-I knew literally everything they taught us already from my own casual interests.

Year 10. Cracks appeared. Some friends and acquaintances started behaving in less-friendly ways. A few did 180-degree turns and became openly hostile. Though this was punctuated by mini-fame brought by making a two-second long clip satirising a teacher (Bradsheep), the overall atmosphere came to a head in June or July with me snapping and punching one Adam Medforth in the head. Bad times followed.

Year 11. Near-ceaseless bullying campaigns throughout the year. Though I started the year predicted A*-B grades at GCSE, this slipped and my actual results ended up as 4 Bs and 6 Cs. I learned a useful but ultimately devastating method for dealing with the stress. I completely shut off emotions altogether except for at a few moments every day, when I allowed good feelings to emerge whilst still forcing negative ideas down. I became almost incapable of articulating myself and ended up having a very quiet emotional breakdown about March-April 2008 sort of time. Eventually one teacher did notice my decreasing drive and notified the head of year who coaxed me into letting it all out. The bullying ceased, but the paranoia I had picked up remained.

Year 12 (round 1). Though emotionally drained by the previous year, I nevertheless managed to get something at least resembling enjoyment out of this year. Except in Chemistry, which both piled work on and contained Adam Medforth in the class. Guess which subject I came out with a "U" in?

Year 12 was a crushing disaster. I came out with a D, two Es and a U. So I did it again.

Year 12 (round 2). I started again. Though it was a far better year than had been experienced the last 3 years, I nevertheless made the mistake of not making more of an effort to socialise with the people in my classes. I chose to hang around with people from my age year. Any kind of a social life simply did not exist.

Year 13. Probably the best year since year 8. My paranoia has evaporated. Whatever happens, I am effectively guaranteed a place at university. I have a large group to be around at lunchtimes. And though I'm perhaps still not the most social of people, I nevertheless get out more than I did the last 3 years. In terms of emotional recovery I certainly owe more than might be suspected to various people.

Although I enjoy this specific year, I will be very glad to see the back of secondary education.

On Male Infant Circumcision

Ooh, a controversial topic, this.

Male infant circumcision when there is no immediate medical requirement is, to my mind, a barbaric practice; a relic from the bronze age that has no place in the 21st century. I will not say and do not believe that people who circumcise their child are barbaric. Rather, they are woefully misinformed, misled, or in some cases didn't do adequate research into the issue before making the decision to have their son's foreskin removed. We are so used to the idea of male circumcision that we inadvertently trivialise it and don't see it as a big enough issue.

Here is a basic overview: male circumcision removes 15 square centimetres of the single most sensitive organ in the body. According to every major study (to which I will be happy to link on request) the sensation of pleasure during orgasm for circumcised males is dramatically reduced. The foreskin contains the largest concentration of sensory nerve endings found in the body (between 10000 and 20000 per square centimetre).

There are, however, health benefits to circumcision. Numerous studies have shown that circumcised men have a slightly reduced chance of contracting HIV. The HIV uses certain cells in the foreskin as binding sites to infect the host. Also, the many folds in the foreskin allow the virus to linger on the penis, increasing the chance of transmission. Naturally, however, there is no adequate substitute for using a condom.

Circumcision also slightly reduces the chances of urinary tract infection, as the foreskin can trap dirt and debris which can introduce infection-causing micro-organisms. Simply spending a couple of seconds cleaning the area in the shower all but removes the additional risk.

Male circumcision is not on a par with female genital mutilation. Female genital cutting usually involves removing the clitoris and clitoral hood. The closest approximation for a male would be to remove the foreskin as well as the glans. If any males reading this winced at the idea, they will understand why female genital mutilation is internationally illegal.

That said, the closest approximation to male circumcision is the removal of only the clitoral hood. Women who undergo this procedure (also internationally illegal) claim a loss of sensation, but still come to orgasm with the same frequency. Bear in mind that the removal of the clitoral hood comes with its own health benefits that almost mirror those for males circumcision There is, shockingly, a pro-female circumcision crowd who frequently cite such findings. In fact, some of them go so far as to claim it is sexist to allow males the medical benefits but not females.

This blog post is not intended to in any way trivialise the barbaric practice of female genital mutilation. I do not and would never advocate the legalisation of such a barbaric practice. Rather, I am advocating that male circumcision be made illegal. I hope that within my lifetime, many countries will go down that road as public awareness increases.

Comments are-naturally-free and anonymous.

The Most Important Phrase In the World

Every war, every instance of bigotry, every act of douchebaggery ever carried out. All of them could have been prevented with a simple phrase. The phrase must not be spoken spitefully or it loses its effect. It must also be listened to and taken on board.

The phrase is this:

"Get over yourself."

Rivers of blood might not have been spilled, had those three words only been spoken to the right people.

"Germany will rule the world!" Hitler might have cried. "Kill the Jews! Butcher the Gypsies! The Aryan race is superior!"

"Get over yourself!" would be the response. "Germany's alright, but it's not that good. You're just a cunt!"

"I am infallible!" the first Pope might have cried. "God speaks through me! Believe or be damned!"

"Get over yourself!" would be the response. "You're not that interesting to talk to! Go back to you child porn stash!"

"I will destroy you!" might some forgotten king have said.

"I will destroy you!" might some other forgotten king have said.

"Fucking get over yourselves!" the response would cry out, clear and loud. "Do you think your descendants will give a flying fuck about your petty squabbles? Do you think, oh great rulers, that your very names will be remembered, thousands of years from now? Your puny realms will crumble into dust. Not a trace of your ever having existed will remain. Be friends. Share."

And would any of them ever listen. Of course not. But if they had, we could be exploring the galaxy by now.