Jamie Oliver - The Smoking Gun?

Regular readers will know that I am not a fan of Jamie Oliver. In fact, I think that fat-tongued prick is an utter arsehole who shouldn't be allowed near a TV camera - let alone being given blanket coverage by the media when he chooses to say something.

Yet many disagree. Because, for a celebrity chef, Oliver seems to have a genuinely philanthropic streak. Not for Oliver the Gordon Ramsay approach to career management - traveling the world slagging off failing restaurant owners is not for the often tearful and misunderstood Oliver. No, he wants to change things and, unlike so many others in our society, actually does something about it other than flap his (fat) lips a bit.

So we come to the latest Oliver project - his Dream School. Aside from sounding a little bit like an unmade sequel to A Nightmare On Elm Street, the concept of a Dream School sounds like a lot like the chance for various celebrities to play at being teachers. Then again, the education system is in the need of urgent, radical reform. So why not let Jamie and his posse undertake it?

The answer is in this paragraph - see if you can spot what it is:

He assembled an impressive staff room: the drama teacher was Simon Callow, politics was taught by Alastair Campbell, art by Rolf Harris, history by David Starkey, maths by Alvin Hall and sport by Daley Thompson; other figures such as Cherie Blair, Tinchy Stryder, Andrew Motion and Rankin also pitched in with lessons. The teachers were advised by award-winning secondary headmaster John D'Abbro.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I cheated. I highlighted the relevant section. But I'm sorry - the concept of Alastair Campbell teaching politics is surely the death knell for any school. Alastair Campbell is what many would rightly call a terrible cunt: he is the Machiavellian administrator who allowed Tony Blair to achieve power, go into a damaging nonsensical war and then propped up Blair in power just as most people realised how ghastly Blair was/is. He's a crucial henchman to an abhorrent PM. He did so much to destroy political discourse in this country. In fact, I can't talk anymore about Campbell without resorting to very creative swearing, so I'll hand you over to Michael Howard:

And that man - Alastair Cunting Campbell - is the politics teacher at Jamie's Dream School. It's a bit like making Sarah Palin your teacher for evolution - a dumb fucking idea.

Of course, Oliver needs to find some celebrities in order to attract attention to his project. Choosing Mr Smith at Tooting Bec Comp wouldn't have quite the same impact as choosing the man who facilitated the British involvement in Iraq. But then again, there are other political figures - far less tainted political figures - who could have done just as well. Why not use one of those? Why not use someone less compromised than Campbell? After all, that covers off pretty much political figure barring Tony Blair.

Because that's too difficult. And that's the problem with Oliver - the Smoking Gun or final proof of his idiocy, if you will. He wants to do the right thing, but he is so naive and so unthinking that he will pretty much say anything and engage with anyone in order to achieve whatever philanthropic intentions he might have. To misquote a famous saying, the road to Alastair Campbell is paved with good intentions...

Harsh satire, but ultimately fair:

NOEL Edmonds' wife was being questioned by police last night over why she has failed to smother him in his sleep.

Liz Edmonds admitted during a radio interview that despite the viewing public's prolonged suffering, she has always resisted the temptation to crush 300 aspirin and mix them into his Cheerios.

I, of course, would have substituted Jamie Oliver for Noel Edmonds, but there we go...

Why I (Still) Hate Jamie Oliver

Jamie Oliver is saving the world again. Well, he's trying to make fat munters from the US a little less porcine, but no doubt this will be pegged as some sort of impressive philanthropic gesture from the fattest tongued chef in the whole world. He says:

"I've only worked with a couple of families so far and all I can tell you is it makes the hairs raise on the back of your arm. I feel emotionally connected to this project.

"They are all anaemic with information. They are not stupid, they are not ignorant - it's just they have never had food from scratch in their life."

Oliver feels "emotionally connected" to every project he works on. It is his Unique Selling Point. He's the caring chef. If he just turned around and shrugged at the fatties, it wouldn't make as good television. I do have to wonder, though, whether Oliver would give the first fuck about these troughers if he wasn't paid to care, and if it didn't get him on TV.

It took me a long time to work out what I hate the most about Jamie Oliver, and why, if I ever met him, I would happily punch him repeatedly in the face until he ceased to resemble an ugly sausage roll. And it isn't his face or his voice - although Lord knows both should be grounds for summary execution. No, it is his smugness. It is his belief that he should travel across the country and now the world telling other people how to live their lives. Sharing all the dubious knowledge that comes from being an unexpectedly popular TV chef. To me, Jamie Oliver is the equivalent of a champagne socialist. All of his good deeds are motivated not just by the desire to help others, but the desire to help himself and his career at the same time. And yes, I know there is an argument that all charity work is done for selfish as well as philanthropic reasons. But that doesn't mean I have to enjoy the glib platitudes that spew forth from the revolting Jamie Oliver as he tries to change the diet habits of the world for reasons of career enhancement.

I've an idea of how Jamie could make the world a better place. He could staple his stupid mouth shut.

RIP Keith Floyd

Whilst I can't say I ever really watched him a lot, but let's be honest, a hard-drinking, eloquent TV Chef filled with a certain zest for life is a hell of a lot better than the fucking dross we have to put up with these days. Yes, Jamie Oliver, I'm talking about you.

A Little Light Reading

I’ve been thinking a lot about the list of books that people claim to have read, but never really have. And I’ve also been thinking a lot about Charlie Brooker’s claim that James Herbert’s ’48 is a pretty spectacular book. As it stands, ’48 is an ok book, not great but perfectly readable. Which is the point, really. For me, a book should be readable. And actually one of the most under-rated talents of an author is to make a book fundamentally readable. There are two key factors in making this happen. First of all, they need to have a writing style that is accessible. And then they need to have a story that is actually worth reading.

Perhaps there is some sort of intellectual snobbery towards those who write popular books. It has taken ages for the best works of Agatha Christie to be truly acknowledged as classics – not just of the genre, but of writing in general. Likewise, there is now a widespread understanding that Edgar Allan Poe is one of the greatest writers of all time. Yet in his day his stories were often reviled and he struggled to make a living from his work. Which does make me wonder which authors, currently regarded as mainstream and far from great, will be lauded as masters of their craft in the future?

Inevitably, there will be authors I just cannot stomach whose work will live on – J K Rowling is a good example of that. It may also be that media other than prose become respectable. Consequently, you may find that some of the most important writers of this age are those writing for the TV, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Russell T Davies, Jimmy McGovern and Paul Abbott also become widely regarded as masters of their craft. Likewise, people like Stephen King and Ian Rankin may achieve the sort of critical acclaim they deserve in the decades to come, rather than the more muted critical notices of today that in no way reflect their commercial success.

I’m predicting the future here, and (of course) that can go badly wrong. Also, I’m not going to mistake commercial success for quality. After all, Jamie Oliver’s cookbooks sell well. It doesn’t stop him from being a talentless cross of obese hamster and fat-tongued cockhead. So I’m not going to list the authors who I think should be regarded as greats, and instead list ten books that I really love and think are definitely worth reading.

Carrie by Stephen King: Ignoring the fact that it is a great novel in its own right, it also has something to *say*. For all those who want to understand school shootings, well, you could do far worse than reading this novel. Replace the telekinesis with a gun and change Carrie’s gender, and you have a teenager pushed into a horrible revenge against a society that appears to hate them and they hate.

The Drowned World by J G Ballard: J G Ballard is one of those authors right on the cusp of being considered great. People treat Empire of the Sun as an important work, and also are starting to see beyond the controversy around books like Crash to the fascinating ideas lying under the surface. However, his first book is an undiscovered gem. Bleak without being fundamentally depressing, it sums up nicely the Ballard worldview and begins his trademark of characters who appear not only disassociated with the world, but also with themselves.

The Killing Joke by Alan Moore and Brian Bolland: Graphic novels are often looked down on, because – y’know, comics are, like, for kids. Alan Moore’s work is going through the process of challenging those perceptions, as the veneration of Watchmen shows. If you want to dip back in his history and see the origins of the Joker in The Dark Knight, then read this.

Human Nature by Paul Cornell: Fan fiction has an even worse reputation than graphic novels. And deservedly so, since a lot of it is unreadable garbage written by people who really, really need to get out more. However, every now and again, you get decent fan fiction, albeit still written by people who need to get out more. Human Nature is a great example of great Doctor Who fan fiction – so good, in fact, that they made it into prime-time Saturday night TV.

Ghost Story by Peter Straub: Stories about small US towns under attack from something supernatural or something superhuman are nothing new – hell, the aforementioned Stephen King has built a career around such stories. But Straub’s novel is perhaps the best example of a genre that has slipped into cliché. I genuinely thought I would find this book long and tedious; in the event, it is a great read that really drags you in and makes you care about the characters.

Empty World by John Christopher: John Christopher should be on the same pedestal as John Wyndham, yet he remains a secret. Those who do know of him tend to just know the (admittedly fantastic) Tripods trilogy. However there are many gems in his back catalogue, and my personal favourite is this short novel. Dealing with the aftermath of a particularly virulent pandemic, the novel suggests that the real challenge for surviving in a post apocalyptic world is coping with loneliness.

We Have Always Lived In The Castle by Shirley Jackson. Like Ballard, some of Jacksons’ other works – such as the wonderful The Haunting of Hill House - are getting the acclaim they deserve. Yet this odd book deserves considerable acclaim as well. With the unreliable narrator and the odd family ostracised by the village for a past crime, it builds up towards an climax that is predictable yet feels oddly right.

The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson: It is fake. It is clearly fake. And you shouldn’t need Snopes to confirm that it is a fake – you just have to read the book. It is very well done – almost compelling in a trashy sort of a way. And it is a creepy little story; very much the modern ghost story. It is also palpable nonsense, and like all good nonsense should be, it is also very enjoyable.

The Thief by Ruth Rendell – one of the “quick reads” book range, which is great as it means you can read the book in about an hour and it costs relatively little. The book itself is an odd story of a pathological thief who steals the wrong thing from the wrong person. And the protagonist’s nemesis in this story is one of the most striking villains in any book I think I have ever read. His scheme for revenge is as devastating as it is simple.

The Woman In Black by Susan Hill: Hill is respected for some of her work, not least school book staple I’m the King of the Castle. But her best work – and one of the most terrifying books I’ve ever read – is this one. Turned into a great play and a great film, the book itself is well worth a read.

Of course, the above list is deeply subjective and many may snort with laughter at my choices. But the central point still stands – there are authors and books out there that are simply not respected despite being great. If you have an author or a book that you think is pretty fucking awesome but no-one really knows and/or respects it, then stick it in the comments section and I’ll read it in the highly unlikely event that I get the time…

Jamie Oliver: The Wisdom of a Moron

The BBC carries this story about Jamie Oliver:

In an interview with Paris Match magazine, Oliver suggested people in the UK cared more about getting drunk than they did about eating well.

Hm. Now, I'm not a massive fan of Jamie Oliver. In fact, my hatred for Jamie Oliver is nearly matched by my hatred for one G. Brown, presently residing in Downing Street, London. And when I read something said or written (no doubt by a ghost writer) by Jamie Oliver, the red mist descends. I disappear into the sort of murderous rage normally associated with Serbian Warlords, or British Prime Ministers seeking a historical legacy through the medium of war. There is just something about that dumb looking mockney cunt that makes me want to punch a hole in my own head.

And hearing Jamie Oliver giving advice about the binge drinking problem in the UK leaves me shaking my head with incredulity. We may as well get Bill Cosby to lecture us on the situation on Iraq. Or Bobby Davro to offer us advice on avoiding recession. Oliver is qualified - barely - to comment on food preparation. Anything else is Oliver over-reaching massively, like a retarded infant reaching for the fireplace.

Now, I'm speaking just for myself here, but I can't help but think that the nation's binge drinking problem might be a much less of an issue if there was some sort of incentive for people to stay in of an evening, rather than going out and getting absolutely shitted on special offer booze. Like, say, something good on the television. Rather than an endless parade of talentless TV chefs like Jamie Oliver patronising viewers into believing they are inferior because they have neither the time not the impetus to spend three hours an evening creating a four course dinner. You know, something like hardcore pornography or midgets fighting each other over a steak dinner might be more fun, more educational and more likely to make people stay in with a cup of tea than the latest half-baked culinary "crusade" from Jamie Oliver.

However, whilst I despise Oliver's inane, idiotic dribblings, I will concede it is not his fault. He talks shite; but that will happen if you give a moron a microphone to spout into and a platform to spout from. No, the reason why I hate Jamie Oliver is what he stands for. He is living, breathing, grinning proof that in this day and age, the idiot with the telegenic smile has somehow become worth listening to. Rather than tutting at, and ignoring. The age of the experts is gone; now the general populace seems happy to take advice from a gurning fool simply because of a very minor celebrity.

We need to move on from this ridiculous age when the likes of Oliver are not only encouraged to pontificate, but have their words reported as newsworthy and something approaching the truth. Because Jamie Oliver is about as qualified as my good self to offer advice on binge drinking. And my advice is very different to that of Oliver - I say get pissed whenever you can. Go on, get on it now. Drink until you are utterly fucked. Go the whole hog, and have a bit of a spew at the end. Oh, and if you listen to me you are just as moronic as if you listen to Oliver's advice on anything other that "tukka" - a total tool.

The reason why I would consign Jamie Oliver to Room 101 (and the Orwellian vision of Room 101, not the tedious British TV show version) is not so much because of his personality - although Lord knows his personality makes my teeth ache and my tear ducts bleed. No, the reason why I despise Oliver is because of what he stands for - in the kingdom of the dumb, the fat tongued TV chef is king.