As a species we are an utter failure.

Take a moment and look out your window. Get up from your chair, walk up stairs if you're in a basement, peer between the bars if you're in a jail, do what you must, but get a glimpse of the outside world. Just remember to come back and finish reading once you're done.

If you are reading this on the day I published it then chances are you just looked out on a glorious, sunny day without a cloud in the sky. But where are you now? Sat back in front of a computer, that's where.

Birds are singing, bees are buzzing, fish are swimming, all manner of creatures are going about their animal business, but not one of them is sitting in an office moving a little arrow around on a screen which makes their eyes hurt.

While aforementioned bees make honey, we voluntarily sit indoors creating systems for applying for passports online, choosing pictures to go with leaflets on safe lifting, making graphs about the volume of flat-bed trucks round international airports, or whatever it is we have convinced ourselves we need as a society.

We are self proclaimed 'kings of the world', but what are we doing with our reign? Creating a load of pointless systems and structures to keep everyone busy until they die.

I am well aware that if no one in the world turned up to work today there would be all sorts of horrible chaos, but if you didn't, just you, what would really happen? Would society collapse? Would the struggles of our ancestors be in vain? Would anything in fact be any different, except for the fact that you didn't spend a day of your short life sat at a computer waiting for the home-time bell to ring?

There are vital jobs in this world - doctors, farmers, power station operatives etc. But increasingly there are more and more jobs which contribute nothing to society - paparazzo, tax inspector, Ant and Dec and so on. How did we come to this?

I am in no way claiming to be above all this - as I type blue skies are nothing more than a tantalising glimpse through a window out the corner of my eye. But I intend to change this state of affairs.

You've only got one life and if it makes you happy feel free to spend it typing out spreadsheets and sending out jargon-filled emails. I for one am going to make hay while the sun shines.

Eleven significant people died yesterday.

At least, that is eleven people who the Metro felt were significant enough for us to know about.

These included a family in a car crash, a suicidal Welsh soap actress and superb writer JG Ballard.

Now, these weren't the only people who will have died yesterday, so what criteria means they make the headlines?

Death is without a doubt a massive part of the news business, from murders to accidents or celebrity funerals, I defy you to find a newspaper without at least one corpse within its first ten pages, even if it's not a fresh one.

Anniversaries of deaths, memorial services, tributes, they all make compulsive reading for those who cared about the passed-on.

And there it is - caring - if your audience care about whoever has shuffled off this mortal coil, they will read the piece. This doesn't mean the reader has to like the person in question - I imagine the eventual deaths of Charles Manson, Peter Sutcliffe and even Noel Edmonds will generate a fair amount of interest.

If the corpse was a celebrity in life then you've got an audience. If they empathise with the deceased, maybe see something of themselves, then you've also got a winner.

It is a sad truism, but apply it to yourself - are you more likely to read about a middle-class graduate stabbed while walking through a park in the nice part of town, or a teenage hoodie knifed in a gang conflict on a council estate? And be honest.

Of course there are other factors which turn a death from an unfortunate inevitability into a headline story. For example, was the demise untimely? Were the circumstances unusual? The success of the Darwin Awards shows that we will read about the death of a stranger if he fell down a well rescuing a chicken or chocked to death eating live ferrets.

So there you have it, if you want to make the headlines it's simple - just drop dead, but make sure you make something of your life before you do!

If I told you I felt pheromonaly and spiritually compatible with you would you let me interlace our digits?

Or, in other words, if I told you I loved you would you let me hold your hand?

The beauty of the English language is that there are many ways you can express yourself and describe everything from a glorious sunset to a tiny atomic particle. The downside of this though is that you can use a lot of pointless words to say absolutely nothing.

The Local Government Association recently published a list of 200 words and phrases which councils should avoid using, as they are considered jargon.

Having trawled through my fair (and often unfair) share of unreadable council agendas I agree wholeheartedly with this list, but why stop at local authorities? With one great push we could remove objectionable phrases such as 'blue sky thinking' or 'thinking outside the box' from usage all together.

And while we're at it I've got a few more choice bits of our lexicon which I think myself and the other Word Police (all self-appointed) could crack down on. I'm not necessarily saying these words and phrases should be banned completely, just not used in ways that make you want to drop pianos on the orator:

Basically - Nobody who starts any statement or explanation with the word 'basically' ever goes on to actually say anything basic. This word normally precedes a long, incomprehensible rambling, which could so easily have been edited down to one succinct sentence.

Inappropriate - This word has been misappropriated so much it no longer holds any meaning. It is a favourite tactic among cowardly politicians to accuse people of being 'inappropriate' when said people are doing something they don't like - normally objecting to, or pointing out flaws in, their ideas. This tactic means the accuser doesn't have to explain what they don't like about the other's actions, and it saves them from having to address any issues which may have arisen as a result.

exciting - Jumping off waterfalls is exciting. Learning to fly a plane is exciting. Fighting a genetically engineered giraffe-eagle hybrid is exciting. Rolling out strategies, compiling spreadsheets or completing workstation safety assessments is not exciting, and it never will be, however much you repeat the word.

Needless to say - If something really is needless to say then you don't need to say it do you? Simple.

These are just a few of my suggestions for inclusion on the list. I haven't quite decided what punishment should be prescribed to misusers, but I imagine it would involve a dictionary and that bizarre eye-opening device from A Clockwork Orange.

Feel free to add your suggestions below and together we can create a better, more intolerant world.

You are the future of journalism.

That's right, take a moment to have a good look at yourself, hunched over your keyboard, your empty cereal bowl at your side, wondering if you can get away with another day's wear from those pants. No? Okay, just me then.

But anyway, look at yourself, because you are where it's at. In the words of that modern master of poetry Bryan Adams 'Everything we do, we do it for you'. So what better way to please you than to let you in on the news?

Online news is all about interactivity. The ability of readers to add their comments to a piece allows it to grow and expand in all variety of ways, for the whole worlds to see. And further than that we now ask you to send us pictures, videos and songs. The news is yours to own and shape, but are you up to it?

In case you're worried I have compiled this simple quiz to help you answer the burning question:

ARE YOU A JOURNALIST?

1) How do you dress?

a) In a grey mac and fedora, with a little 'press' card tucked in your hat band.
b) Smartly, shirt and tie, suit jacket when required.
c) I am in every piece of clothing all the time.
d) Always naked.

2) You witness a car crash, what do you do?

a) Quickly whip out a camera and take pictures of the injured parties then try to force your way into the ambulance to get quotes.
b) Call 999 then see if you can help. When everyone is out of danger talk to witnesses and get their numbers for later.
c) I see everything, this holds as much interest to me as a fly stuck in jam.
d) Carry on chewing, stare blankly as the emergency services arrive.

3) You have to knock on the door of a family who recently lost their teenage son. The mother says she doesn't want to talk about it and is about to close the door. What do you do?

a) Shove your foot in the door and tell her you won't leave until she talks to you. Offer her a load of cash, because that makes up for a dead son.
b) Tell her you understand, give her your card and say that if she ever does want to do a tribute to her son you will be happy to help, then walk away.
c) Smite her.
d) Panic, kick the door down, run through the house into the back garden and churn up the lawn.

4) Police are hunting a serial killer on your patch, how do you approach the story?

a) The killer rings you with enigmatic clues which you refuse to pass onto the police for the sake of getting a scoop. You end up hunting down the murderer to an abandoned warehouse where you kill him yourself in a dramatic standoff.
b) Work with the police to put out descriptions of the hunted man, put out appeals with victims' families and follow the trial when he is eventually caught.
c) You know who the murderer is, but it is his free will to kill, so you don't interfere.
d) You sit down - it looks like rain.

5) You are sent photos of a top celebrity caught having sex with a cow. The celebrities agent rings up saying their client is suicidal and will kill himself if you run the story. What do you do?

a) Splash the pictures all over the front page - the suicide will make a nice follow-up story.
b) Agree not to publish the pictures but ask the agent for exclusive interviewing rights in return.
c) You knew about it already - you see all.
d) You feel funny and you can't sit down any more.

6) You suspect your local mayor is an international drug dealer. What do you do?

a) Your paper funds you to follow the mayor around the world, where you stay in the best hotels, gathering evidence. Eventually he realises you are on his tail and you get embroiled in a savage gun battle at the dock of a Colombian drug-dealers hideout. You escape by leaping into the water as conveniently placed barrels of fuel explode around you.
b) You gather as much evidence as possible from your office and take it to the police, asking for exclusive inside information on the story as a reward for your help.
c) You unleash a series of plagues upon the town, including a rain of badgers, little mould patches on all the bread and the disappearance of everyone's left shoe.
d) You follow your brothers happily into the back of the truck driven by the nice man in the white hat and apron. You wonder where you're going - on a nice adventure perhaps? Or to the seaside?

So, how did you do? Check your answers below to find out:

Mostly As - you are Hollywood's unbelievably ridiculous portrayal of a journalist. You wouldn't last five minutes in the real world of reporting, you're probably better off going in search of the lost island of dinosaurs.

Mostly Bs - Congratulations! You are well on your way to becoming a real journalist. Now you just need to develop a healthy aversion to money.

Mostly Cs - You are God. Please don't smite me, I've been good (that doesn't count - I had had a long day and that tree has been threatening to fall over for months, how was I supposed to know about the flamingo enclosure?).

Mostly Ds - You are a cow. Admittedly a very intelligent cow who can somehow read, has wi-fi access and can operate a keyboard and mouse with hooves. But you are a cow nonetheless and unfortunately there's not many openings for farmyard animals in print journalism, try television.

Mostly Es - You've been doing the wrong quiz. Even the cow was more intelligent than you.

Something terrifying is happening and nobody seems to have noticed.

All the signs are there - we're suffering a miserable recession, the IRA are killing people and Michael Jackson is preparing for a sold-out tour.

That's right, our worst fears have happened - we're back in the Eighties!

Somehow Great Britain has become stuck in a time loop and my fear is it will spread to the rest of the world.

Now, I know that the recession isn't limited to our own corner of the world, but imagine if this hideous Eighties epidemic were to spread as voraciously. We must all be on alert, from the global authorities to the man (or woman) on the street. As a public service I have decided to compile a list of early warning signs to keep an eye out for:

• A mass congregation of bricklayers in central Berlin.
• Any of the following being funny: Eddie Murphy, Steve Martin, Dan Ackroyd, Ben Elton, Chevy Chase (in fact if you spot Chevy Chase being funny at all something has probably gone terribly wrong).
• Balding drummers and Geordie guitar prats somehow being considered as the purveyors of cutting edge music.
• Pointless groups of islands in the middle of nowhere with a population of about four being described as 'strategically placed' by our government and the Sun.
• Extra-strength hair gel selling by the bucketload.
• The birth of a boy who, although outwardly appearing to be an awkward geek, of the ilk which could make a good web editor, may well be the new messiah.
• Thatcher standing firm atop a pile of exhausted pit workers holding a school milk bottle out of the reach of a thirsty toddler.
• Noel Edmonds and his buffoon pal Cheggers creating unwatchable television in a studio packed with baying morons.

Admittedly the last one has already happened (I would say check out Noel's HQ, but really please don't), so we may already be too late.

The problem is, now we have diagnosed the disease we have to find a cure. My suggestion - we force the Nineties to arrive early (or late, depending on how you look at it). So run out now, buy a hoody, a whistle and some baggy jeans, I'll call Shaun Ryder and I'll meet you all down the Hacienda. Mad for it!

Do you know where your kids are?

Sure, they could be at school, college, work, or, in my case, but a twinkle in someone's eye, but are you sure? What if they're indulging in a drugs-fuelled orgy, injecting heroin into their ears while writhing in a naked mass of teenage bodies, all being filmed to be posted on Youtube or Facebook?

This may sound unlikely, but that's only until you learn of the immoral activities of 'Generation Sex'. If you are unaware of this scourge on the face of society, let the Daily Mail educate you with this article, published today.

This is textbook Mail stuff - it reinforces the idea that society is something to be feared and we are collapsing into the last days of the Roman Empire. It also reinforces the idea that in 'The Good Old Days' (Copyright Daily Mail), when the world was black and white, kids sat quietly and pleasantly, amusing themselves with a cup and ball and never once even acknowledging they had genitals until they were adults with moustaches (including the women).

The problem is that even if Ms Lichtenstein does have some pertinent points they are buried in such sensationalist ramblings that any dissection instantly leads to their collapse. Glazing over such ridiculous digressions as the obligatory insertion of fear of paedophiles into the piece, it still seems that all we are left with is a lot of unanswered questions, without any real solution being offered, other than to "pull up our pants".

For a start, our esteemed author claims that the internet makes it easy to access sexually explicit material at the click of a button. But there are many parental filters out there which will not let little Johnny and his furtive imagination discover anything more offensive than a Tellytubby.

Then there's just the simple fact that teenagers are teenagers, and I can remember during my youth the excitement elicited when one of my classmates smuggled a pornographic magazine into the playground and displayed it proudly for all to see. Enquiring pubescent minds will find this sort of thing however hard you try to stop them (whether they know what to do with it afterwards is another thing - I remember at least a couple of worried looking spotty faces gazing with barely-hidden confusion at the centrefold in all her adult glory), so surely it is better to responsibly educate them on the facts of life, rather than trying to hide it like a dirty secret, leaving them (often literally) fumbling in the dark.

If Ms Lichtenstein is so worried about these debauched parties her daughter is apparently attending, why is she allowing her to go to them in the first place? She offers us a lot of examples of problems within today's modern society, but no solutions and she seems unwilling to lead by example. What I want to know is does she still allow her 13-year-old daughter on Facebook? Is she making an effort to keep her away from 'Skins parties'? And most importantly has she actually sat down and discussed this whole thing with her progeny? Now there's a video I'd be tempted to watch on Youtube.

Since when have beards been news?

I flicked on ITV news this morning only to be confronted by some unrecogniseable author telling the anchors that beards are pure vanity and Prince William shouldn't be allowed to grow one. Of course this chap didn't have a speck of hair on his tubby face, and I'm willing to bet that if he did decide to grow some facial foliage he would end up looking like a toddler who has got hold of a Biro and scribbled randomly across its chin.

I myself sport a beard which ranges from quite carefully tended and trimmed to, more often than not, fairly untamed and bushy. I do not see this as an act of vanity, if anything it is laziness which buys me five extra minutes in bed each morning, but since growing a beard I have been amazed by the number of people who have felt the need to pass comment on it.

Facial hair has become so naff in the eyes of the general public that people can actually raise money by letting their inner primate out. My friend recently participated in 'Movember', a charity event which originated in Australia, where men are sponsored to grow a moustache during the eleventh month. But if you think about it participants are actually receiving money for being lazier than usual, as they have a whole lip-worth of face which they no longer have to regularly shave.

It seems strange that something which is essentially a natural part of life can actually go so out of fashion, to the extent that people seem surprised if anyone under the age of about 40 grows some chin cover, and now the heir to the throne has decided to bin his Mach 3 it is actually making headlines.

What will outrage the media next? "Harry in hat-wearing scandal"? "Revealed: Camilla wears contact lenses!"? It's ridiculous that we are actually using time which is supposed to be for news to discuss whether it's a good idea for the little prince to experiment with five o'clock shadow.

I realise the irony of complaining about something not being newsworthy then dedicating a whole blog to it, but as a militant beard-wearer I thought someone had to speak up. I don't care if it is no longer the mode, facial hair now has the royal seal of approval and all I can say is leave beardies alone!

I love science, but I hate scientists.

I know this is a sweeping generalisation, but I spent four years of my life at Imperial College of Science, Medicine and Technology, surrounded by the analytic autistics, and I'm afraid it has tainted my views in a way that can't be remedied.

I was reminded of the reason I most dislike members of the scientific fraternity today when I read this article on the BBC news website.

Science is a beautiful thing, it contains incredible revelations, such as the fact that all known matter is made up of only 118 elements, and uncovers even greater mysteries, such as the double slit experiment, which shows that light can act like both a particle and a wave.

The problem is the people who tend to research science are, by definition, scientists. Now I'm sure there are a few good egg scientists out there who can empathise with people's feelings and recognise things outside their own work as being important. The problem is that in the academic world these people are probably not very good scientists.

Apart from a small group of my close friends (I know that I would say that, but remember that birds of a feather drink heavily together) almost everyone who I encountered at Imperial fell into the category of bad scientists.

These people are not malicious, or in any way stupid, but what they are is blind to humanity. They are the kind of people who could be talked into designing a bomb which could destroy the universe for the sake of the challenge, and then be suprised when someone actually builds it.

Everything in the world of scientists has to be rationalised - there is a theory that if you knew the position and direction of every particle in the universe you could map out the future. But where does that leave humanity and the concept of free will?

The above article angered me because it is part of this whole school of thinking that says love is nothing more than synapses flashing in our brain, predictable human behaviour, part of our internal programming to make sure we procreate and the species survives. Who is anyone to tell us that our ideas of romantic love are delusional? That there is no such thing as love at first site?

Why can't people be allowed to believe in magic, even if they are wrong? Why does everything have to be explained? Why shouldn't we hold out for someone we believe is perfect for us and who seems to be able to read our mind?

And the worst of it is that once again the good old media get the blame. This time for spreading an unachievable view of the romantic ideal.

But if you look at it I think it is the exact opposite - the media and advertising have been killing the idea of true love for ages. Open any fashion magazine and you will see airbrushed pictures of the beautiful folk wearing £1,000 dresses or cufflinks studded with diamonds, with vacuous unemotional looks in their eyes.

Television tells us we must all be on the property ladder and decorate our homes with IKEA cupboards and eggshell paint. No longer are relationships supposed to be about feelings, but instead financial security, desirable possessions and superficial looks.

Now I'm not saying it is wrong to chose this path, I'm just saying I wish modern life wasn't quite so accepting of it, with pre-nuptial agreements and online wedding gift lists.

Like a kind of emotional X-Files, I want to believe, I think there is one person out there for me and I'm not going to settle until I find that person. In the meantime I'm off to watch the Princess Bride, a film which features giants, miracle workers, true love and pirates, but no scientists...

I surrender.

I am emerging from behind my notepad, feebly waving a pair of white Y-fronts on a stick and keeping my hands where they can be seen (there's a joke here which can't be made on a family website).

I can no longer maintain my clearly outmoded idea that you need facts, sources or even a shred of the truth to publish stories. I have spoken in a previous post about my dislike of the fashionable "wicked whisper" style celebrity pieces in various national, and city-wide papers. But after reading this morning claims that a female celebrity has decided to dye her pubic hair white to resemble Santa's beard I have decided that there is no depths to which they will not sink, and if you can't beat them, join them.

I present therefore for your consideration my own series of insider gossip taken from my new column 3am Whispers from the Molehill:

• Which occasionally hat-wearing musician is not an individual, but actually one of identical sextuplets who are all linked by an extremely long umbilical cord? The singing six take it in turns to perform in the spotlight, with the cord wrapped in kitchen foil to look like a microphone lead, while the others wait in the wings sipping Vimto and eating Penguins.
• Which blonde bombshell has fallen in love with a performing bear? After meeting at the circus the petite princess has spent several nights in the paws of her new furry friend. However, she must hide her ursine love in case her betrothed Coco finds out and she causes the tears of a clown.



• Which trainer-sporting rapper has spent a sizable chunk of his new-found wealth on making an unusual addition to his crib? The hip hop homeboy was so concerned with showing off his bling he bought a shark tank to go in his living room wall. But, instead of housing a finned friend in the cavity, the uzi lover has had a tiger fitted with a scuba tank and has named his fishy feline Gaspy.



• Which children's television presenter doesn't take drugs? The kids' favourite spends absolutely no time partying until 4am in Soho bars, has no wild S&M romps with prostitutes and has never been papped with lumps of cocaine stuck in his nostril. Sources close to the star reveal he is considering spending Christmas at his mums.



• Which oxygen-breathing rocker is actually a wizard who created society as we know it? The fantastic front man lived with the dinosaurs until a spell went wrong and he killed them all, accidentally spawning modern man in the process. He's now working on a Christmas single after getting out of rehab.



• Which newspaper magnate is actually three separate monkeys in a cleverly designed human suit? The press proprietor will frequently relax after meetings by letting her inner chimps loose to cycle around boardrooms on unicycles or share a lovely cup of tea. Unfortunately when it comes to important decisions the crouching chimps and hidden monkeys have the combined business sense of, well, three chimpanzees.

Okay, I'm a bad blogger, I've been away and I didn't tell you all. At the very least I should have left some sort of forwarding number that you could call if you're in emergency need of random drivel, but like I said - I'm a bad blogger.

In my defence the last bit of absence was unplanned as I was struck down with some kind of nasty plague that most lesser mortals would probably work into a spiffing book featuring deep thoughts on mortality and the triumph of modern medicine over colds.

But previous to that I had a week off during which time I helped my sister and her fledgling family move house. This includes my sister, my incredible 11-month-old niece who has somehow made me tolerant to babies, well at least her, and my sister's partner (this makes it sound like they're in a legal firm together but I'm still waiting for this whole area of nomenclature to let go of the Victorian era).

Moving they say is one of the most stressful things you can do, but this move is in all a good thing. Previously the gang (as I'm sure they would like to be known) had been living with my parents, so this buys a valuable amount of independence, showing they can go it alone.

Of course by moving they may be costing themselves a little more, but if you look at it the benefits are obvious:

• They are both nearer their work, so if anything suddenly happens there they can be there quickly to find out what's going on.
• It is a lot easier for them to keep in touch with friends in the area, who can just drop in and see them for chats about what's going on.
• They can set up a base in a community where my niece can grow up and people will recognise them as part of that community, as they will see them there every day.
• They won't constantly be interfered with by demanding elders, who may mean well but have clearly lost the plot and can make life a whole lot more difficult.
• They will be a lot better off than families who may be doing the same job but having to live a lot further away, and they will be able to do their jobs a lot better as a result.

So all in all, you would have to be some kind of money-grabbing lunatic with the long-term vision of an amnesiac blowfly to think that my sister and her brood not living in their new home was a good idea.

Sorry to be do self-indulgent, chatting on about my family like this, but everyone knows if you treat family well they will be happy with you in return. I suppose I should try to give you a little newsroom insight to keep this blog on the theme which it is supposed to prescribe, but having been away so much recently I fear I don't have much to say.

There is one thing I guess you should know - if you want to write to me, or any of the other Harrow Observer team, please note the address is now:

Harrow Observer
Gazette House
28 Bakers Road
Uxbridge
UB8 1RG

Comments on a postcard please...