The Spanish Plume - A Steve Rant

For audio click here

Steve and Johnny watched the rain clatter onto the street outside the pub. It was sweeping in in bursts on the wind, each one heavier than the last, this latest one biblical in proportions. A woman tried to walked against the wind, her umbrella being used as a shield as she battered against the elements.
“Looks like we're swimming home,” Johnny said.
“Aye,” Steve agreed. “Or hailing an ark” They both took a swig of their beer.

“Some Spanish plume this is.”
“Spanish what? Are you speaking English.” Johnny said.
“Didn't you see it in the press? They were saying that the weather forecasters were predicting a Spanish plume was on the way. Some weather system bringing the Spanish weather with it. They were threatening temperatures in the mid-thirties for two weeks.”
“I must have missed that.” Johnny said
“How do those weather forecasters get it so wrong? It is more like Siberia than Sevilla.”

“Well it’s not an exact science is it?” Johnny was trying to be reasonable. “There are so many variables.”
“So why do they put out such sweeping statements then in that case. They’ve only got one job and they seem to fuck it up.” 

“It’s probably the press misinterpreting. The weather forecasters probably say there’s a possibility of a Spanish whatsit and then the press take it as fact. Anyway what do you care? You hate hot weather. Surely it's a relief that the Spanish plume drifted off elsewhere.” Johnny took another swig of his beer.
“Well yes it is, but that doesn't compensate does it. I should sue.”

“Sue who? For what?” Johny looked askance.

“Sue them for the days of worry that this thing might be coming. For the planning I did on how to cope in that kind of temperatures. Don't you think these people should be accountable for misinformation?” Steve banged the table with his finger. “Half the population were running to Boots to buy suntan lotion, while the other half were running to buy air conditioners. Shops were stocking up on ice cream and cold drinks, when actually we all should have been buying shares in umbrella manufacturers.”

“The press lie about everything, Steve, ” Johnny said. “Why worry about this?”

“Why worry about anything?” Steve said and got up to go to the bar.

“Well quite,” murmured Johnny, “quite.”

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The reaction

Steve looked at Johnny, Johnny looked at Steve.
They simultaneously took a swig of their beer, but neither tasted it. 
The juke box played a catchy tune from way back when. 
People spoke in murmurs, whispering as if attending the funeral of a friend. Outside the grey sky leaked its tears. A 'remain' sticker lay trampled and forlorn on the pavement at the mercy of jack boots. An ambulance rushed by, sirens blearing, lights flashing, taking the sick to hospital.  The bells on the city hall solemnly chimed the hour. 
Neither spoke. 
There were no words. 
There 
are
no 
words. 

Hashtag Monday Memories - Hashtag A Steve Rant

For any newcomers to the blog, Steve is a recurring character who likes to rant to his long-suffering friend Johnny about the little things in life. Here is an example, and here is another

For audio click here 

“Hey look at this,” Johnny held up his phone to show Steve a photo.

“Where the hell did you get that from?”

“My mum sent it to me the other day, she was going through her old snaps.” Johnny said.

“Jesus, we must have been, what? Twenty, twenty-one?” Steve said.

 “Younger, nineteen I think. What did we look like?”

“We were cool,” Steve said. “Or at least I was. You on the other hand.”

“At least I wasn’t trying so hard.” Johnny countered.

“I wasn’t trying. It was all natural. Anyway you shouldn’t be showing me that today.” Steve said. Johnny noticed that he’d assumed his rant pose. He took a deep breath; he may as well ask. “Why not?”

“Well it’s not Thursday.” Steve took a mouthful of beer.

“And?”

“Well have you noticed how our lives, especially online, are ruled by alliteration. You can’t show me an old photo on a Monday. You have to keep old photos for Thursdays, because that’s hashtag throwback Thursday. On Monday you have to motivate me, hashtag Monday motivation or go crazy; hashtag Monday madness. Cleverness is Wednesday, hashtag Wednesday wisdom, and funny stuff is Friday, hashtag Friday Funny. Although if you can’t wait, you can hashtag Wednesday wit.”

“And Tuesday,” Johnny said, wishing he hadn’t.

“Tuesday is the day you give good advice or a silly video; hashtag Tuesday tip, hashtag Tuesday treat.”

“And you point is?”

“Well, when did the world get so alliterative? Why can’t we do things we want to when we want to? What if I’ve got something funny to say on a Tuesday or need motivating on a Thursday?”

“Steve, they are not hard and fast rules. There are no internet police waiting to pounce on any non-alliterative tweet.” Johnny couldn’t even believe he was saying this.  

“I know that, but people follow them like they are set in stone. Do you know what I saw the other day? Hashtag midrift Monday was trending on Twitter. I clicked on it and there were hundreds of pictures of women’s bellies. When did people get so easily led? What if I started one topless Tuesday, would people join in?”

“Ah that’s a different point,” Johnny pointed out. “But it’s community isn’t it. People like to feel part of it. And it means their posts will might reach a wider audience.”

“But surely you’d reach a wider audience if you stand out from the crowd, not follow it.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Steve.” Johnny said. “And anyway I can show you this photo today.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Well, hashtag Monday Memories.” Johnny looked rather pleased with himself.

“How about hashtag Monday My pint is empty.” Steve said, waving his glass in front of Johnny’s face.

Johnny got up, collected the empties and headed to the bar.

Democracy - A Steve Rant

For audio click here

“Did you watch Eurovision,” Johnny asked. Only when the words were out of his mouth did he realise his mistake. Steve shifted into his rant mode almost immediately.

“Of course I bloody didn’t,” Steve’s horse seemed slightly higher than usual. “I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than watch that nonsense.”

Johnny smiled. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“It is. In fact, it’s worse. I love how the Brits get so excited about Eurovision. We hate Europe for three hundred and sixty-four days, but suddenly, once a year, we love it. I reckon that the EU should threaten our participation in that if we vote to leave.”

“See, there you go,” Johnny said, although he knew he was poking a bear with a stick. “A positive for Eurovision.”

“And, it is a perfect example of how democracy is screwed.” Steve said apropos of nothing. “Did you see the discrepancy between the jury vote and the popular vote? Poland! An absolute massacre of a song, came third in the public vote, second in Britian. How on earth did that happen?”

“For someone who didn’t watch it, you seem to know an awful lot about it.” Johnny said. Steve ignored him.

“If you ask the people, you get Poland winning the Eurovision, or things like Boaty McBoatface, Jedward doing well on X-Factor and of course the end game of that is Donald Trump.”

Johnny shook his head. He couldn’t believe Steve had got from the Eurovision Song Contest to Donald Trump so quickly.

“But it’s not like a real election, is it?” Johnny argued. “People can vote as many times as they want in this.”

“So it just becomes a competition about who can attract the most gullible fools and fanatics who don’t realise they are paying a pound each time they vote.” Steve took a mouthful of beer.

“It was only fifteen pence,” Johnny corrected him.

“They are still spending their hard earned money on something ridiculous. As soon as you allow people to vote more than once, it descends in to farce. Not just this one, but all talent shows. And,” Steve was on a roll now. “Maybe we should to the EU referendum via a phone vote. That way the fanatics, like Twat McTwatface Nigel Farage can get on speed dial and get their way.”

Steve took a mouthful of beer, but he wasn’t finished. “And I bet the people who voted for Poland in the Eurovision, did it out of a sense of subversiveness. Oh it's so bad it's good. But then you ruin the credibility of the contest. It’s no longer find the best song in Europe, it’s find the best worst song in Europe. People will enter it with bad songs in the hope they get the cheese vote.”

“Finished?” Johnny said, a look of amusement on his face.

“Think so,” Steve looked like he’d just come out of a ranty trance.

“Good, it’s your round,” Johnny handed Steve his empty pint glass and Steve headed to the bar.