AN A TO Z OF THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT

We are in an age of worry. The news is full of people and surveys and reports and warnings about a ton of stuff blatantly or subliminally urging us to furrow the brow, sweat about the future or suffer insomnia. The Fraserisation of the world has caught hold. We are all doomed. Unless, of course, we sieve out all the bollocks.

Here is an A to Z of things to worry about:

Austerity; Anxiety
Brexit; Bees
Cranks; Crooks
Diversity; Dickheads
Extremists; Environment
Fuckwits; Fast Food
Gender; God
Hostility; Hospitals
Internet; Idiots
Jobs; Jerks
Killjoys; Know-alls
Loudmouths; Laws
Maniacs; Manipulation
Nuclear war; Nobility
Obesity; Offending
Politicians; Plastic
Queues; Quirks
Rip-offs; Rackets
Social media; Schemers
Trump; Terrorism
Ulterior motives; Uncertainty
Victimisation; Vandalism
Whingers; Wankers
Xenophobia
Yobs
Zombies

JULY 2018 - FREELANCE WRITING IDEAS

Hello.

Here are three ideas for July features. Some of them may be in your diary already. Some of them may be added to your diary after reading this. Some features may be written by in-house journalists. But maybe, just maybe, I can write something for you.

Let me know what you want, word count, deadline and fee and I will get to work. 

Here are three July ideas and, if I can help, I look forward to hearing from you. joecushnan@aol.com

17 July - 50 years ago the film Yellow Submarine premiered in London. The Blue Meanies took over Pepperland and The Beatles saved the day. Innovative animation. And great songs.

30 July - 80 years ago, The Beano comic was launched. In our house, we had the Bunty for the girls (although I was quite partial to it too), the Hotspur for the boys and the Beano, Dandy and Beezer for all of us. The extra treat was getting the annuals at Christmas. Dennis the Menace and Gnasher, Minnie the Minx, The Bash Street Kids, Roger the Dodger and Billy Whizz. Brilliant stuff.

31 July - 50 years ago, the BBC aired the first episode of Dad's Army, as fresh and funny today as it was back then. The chemistry and comedy is so good that it could not be replicated, evidenced by the awful 2016 film version. Why has it kept its freshness and hilarity for half a century?

THE OOPS OF BURTON DANIELS (A STORY)

Burton Daniels, up to this point, had been a model employee, straight-laced, no trouble, to some a little dull and boring, a fixture like the wilting pot plant next to his desk. He was well-known for his impeccable timekeeping and a full attendance record. He kept his head down, worked hard and always enjoyed high scores in his annual performance appraisals. He was predictable. But all of that was about to change.

It was too beautiful a morning for a conventional sacking. Burton pressed the elevator button for the sixth floor, home to human resources. He had been summoned to a meeting with a manager about half his age and with less than one tenth of his years of service in the company. He knew his time was up. He knew on this gorgeous day that he was for the chop but he felt relaxed and more than ready for mischief. Forty years in the same firm counted for nothing after the takeover. Loyalty and zero absenteeism in all those years were worth zip. The company, once as British as sausage and mash, was now owned by an American outfit and staffed in the upper ranks by whizz-kids sporting small but noticeable MBA lapel badges. It was not the company he joined decades ago. He had seen how the Yanks were cold and ruthless. Burton exited the lift on six and approached the reception desk.

“Burton Daniels, 10 0’clock, if you please.” The assistant ticked a schedule and asked him to take a seat. Almost immediately, Della Hinges appeared, shook hands with Burton and escorted him to an interview room. He thought she was a bit too jolly for an executioner. 

Let the mischief begin, he thought, and as Ms Hinges began speaking, Burton started to hum. When she paused, he paused. When she started speaking again, he started to hum again. He did not hear much of what she was saying. He could see the irritation and slow-burn of frustration on Della’s reddening cheeks. Time for a change of tactics. 

Every time he was asked a question, he answered: “Poultry”. “Do you know why you are here?” “Poultry”.  “What’s the matter with you?” “Poultry”. “Why are you being silly?” “Poultry”.  Della sat back in her chair and rolled her eyes. “Burton, I have important things to say.” 

At that, he broke wind and in the entire history of bodily gas incidents, this was epic, this indeed was Ben-Hur times a thousand. It was noisy and noxious. Della shot up and opened a window wide. Burton was giggling like a schoolboy. “Well,” he said, “when you’re getting the sack, all bets are off.” 

Della had a perplexed look on her face. “Burton, no one is being sacked. I was trying to discuss a new opportunity with you. With all your experience, we have been considering offering you a general consultancy role to improve the wider business.” Burton scrunched his eyes tightly. “But, now, after this behaviour, I’ll have to report back to the directors. I don’t know what they’ll decide now.” 

Burton Daniels pressed the elevator button and headed for the ground floor. Outside, he noticed that in an otherwise clear blue sky, a clump of black cloud had formed just above him. He caught sight of his reflection in a shop window and he and the reflection both shook their heads in total disbelief. In a moment of calculated madness, predictable Burton Daniels had achieved the unpredictable. By default, on this too beautiful a morning for a conventional firing, he had just sacked himself.

OVER-60s PEOPLE OF BELFAST, I NEED YOUR HELP.............

Readers may or may not know that I am researching and writing a memoir about my father, but it also concerns my mother, my family and growing up in Belfast in the mid-1950s/1960s.

The memoir has been support-funded by The National Lottery through the Arts Council of Northern Ireland, support for which I am eternally grateful. I will see this manuscript through to its conclusion.

The working title is: 'Has Anybody Here Seen Kelly?'

In 1960, my father, John Cushnan, left our Belfast home, his wife and seven children and vanished. The next we heard of him was when we were told he had died at 57 in 1982 in Clapham, London. 22 'missing' years, in which he reinvented himself as John Kelly from Derry.

It is a project that is alive and developing well. Recently, I have enlisted the help of a professional editor, so anything I wrote pre-2017 has been reassessed and rewritten, developed and the word count, the territory I have not been aware of until this year has been explored tirelessly. In two months, thanks to this guidance, my words have doubled.

Now, for a chapter, I need the help of Belfast people born in the mid-1950s who, therefore, grew up in the 1960s.

To balance my own perspective of growing up in Belfast, I invite my fellow Belfast folks in their early to mid-60s to think of at least 10 things they remember about being kids and teenagers in our city.

Start with the two words: 'I remember' ..... and think about family, friends, school, food, hobbies, playing outside, holidays ...... anything, anything at all about yourself and your reminiscences.

As a bonus, if anyone can recall anything about my family, the Millars and Killens (New Lodge Road), the Cushnans (Bingnian Drive, Andersonstown), then please include that.

If you go way beyond 10 memories, so be it. Keep going.

I am trying to build a real picture of growing up in Belfast in the 1950s/1960s.

All I can offer is your 'guest star' appearance in my memoir. If it is ever published as a book, you will be acknowledged and will beam with pride, and I will send you a signed, personal, complimentary copy.

If you know me or don't know me, but you are a fellow Belfast 60+ kid, please get in touch
via joecushnan@aol.com

'I remember' x 10.

Thank you.

PERTUSSIS AND OTHER MEDICAL STUFF

I have been looking through my online medical records, accessible via my local health centre.

Two months after I was born, I was given injections mostly (I'm not sure if it was one big cocktail of an injection) to protect against the following. (These are my notes in brackets and not highly defined medical terms!)

Diphtheria (potentially fatal nose, throat and skin infection)

Tetanus (potentially fatal infection in a wound)

Pertussis (whooping cough, respiratory disease)

Polio (infantile paralysis, muscle weakness)

HIB (haemophilus influenza B)

Hepatitis B (infection of the liver)

Pneumococcal (a whole host of ailments)

Rotavirus (diarrhoea, sickness)

Meningitis B (spinal cord and brain)

A month later I was given a second dose of most of those and then a month after that another round of needle fun.

Following that, a year or so later, I was given booster shots for the first four on the list.

One year later, I was given the measles, mumps and rubella vaccination and two years on I got a booster shot.

It all must have worked, touch wood, more than sixty years on, I have been relatively trouble-free in the health department. Drugs, much milk and Farley's Rusks set me on my way.

I NEED COMPENSATION FOR.......

  

Compensation culture - if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

I need compensation for:

.....unnecessary queuing in shops, post offices, etc..

.....anxiety in car parks when the machines won't accept perfectly good coins

.....wasted time answering annoying phone calls about PPI, double-glazing (still happens), time share et al.

.....wasted time answering the door to people who try to worry me about my roof, my windows, my driveway, my drains, etc.

.....wasted time listening to Vivaldi when contacting call centres.

.....thumb-strain as I channel hop for ages trying to find something interesting or entertaining to watch on TV.

.....angst when my mind shuts down trying to remember one of the dozens of passwords, pins, security questions, etc that plague modern life.

.....increased blood pressure when TV announcers butt in at the end of programmes, ruining the moment of reflection and blanking out the theme music. 

and on and on and on.

Cheques payable to "Home for the Bewildered".

JOHN WAYNE: 26 MAY 1907 - 11 JUNE 1979

Today in 1979, we lost John Wayne. Here's a few movie memories.

Stagecoach,

as the Ringo Kid: 

‘You may need me and this Winchester, Curly. Saw a ranch house burnin’ last night.’

Fort Apache,

as Captain Kirby Yorke:

‘Colonel Thursday, I gave my word to Cochise. No man is gonna make a liar out of me, sir.’

Red River,

as Thomas Dunson:

‘Cherry was right. You’re soft. You should have let them kill me, ‘cause I’m gonna kill you. I’ll catch up with ya. I don’t know when, but I’ll catch up. Every time you turn around, expect to see me, ‘cause one time you’ll turn around and I’ll be there. I’m gonna kill ya, Matt.’

She Wore A Yellow Ribbon,

as Captain Nathan Brittles:

‘Never apologise. It’s a sign of weakness.’

The Quiet Man,

as Sean Thornton:

‘There’ll be no locks or bolts between us, Mary Kate, except those in your mercenary little heart.’

The Searchers,

as Ethan Edwards:

‘What do you want me to do? Draw you a picture. Spell it out? Don’t ever ask me. Long as you live, don’t ever ask me more.’

Rio Bravo,

as John T. Chance:

‘Sorry don’t get it done, Dude. That’s the second time you hit me. Don’t ever do it again.’

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,

as Tom Doniphon:

‘Pilgrim, hold it. I said you, Valance. You pick it up.’

El Dorado,

as Cole Thornton:

‘I’m lookin’ at a tin star with a drunk pinned on it.’

True Grit,

as Rooster Cogburn:

‘Fill your hand, you son of a bitch.’

Brannigan,

as Lt. Brannigan:

‘Knock, knock.’

The Shootist,

as John Bernard Books:

‘I won’t be wronged. I won’t be insulted, and I won’t be laid a hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.’