The cringe and the fury: Remembrance Sunday.
Posted: November 8, 2026 Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: history, Remembrance, Remembrance Day, Remembrance Sunday, war, World War One, World War Two, WW1, WW2 Leave a commentI feel an odd sensation, somewhere between fury and cringe, as each Remembrance Sunday comes around.
Like Diwali, Black History Month and Bring Your Dog to Work Day, it has become an instance for companies and organisations to demonstrate that whatever the cause is – they’re close to it – and thus, hence and therefore – you should buy what they’re selling.
In 2025 and today, a former workplace has used the equipment of said-workplace to portray a poppy.
To make the commemoration of the dead a bit more fun.
And that’s where the emotion comes in, the cringe and the fury.
This day, isn’t there for Sainsbury’s to sell chocolate.
It isn’t for the Cookie Monster to show he can wear a poppy too.
It is to remember the poor bloke choking on his blood, entirely alone, freezing in terrified agony and suddenly forever alone, dying on a battlefield that has always been distant, far away from whatever happiness there may have been in his childhood, sent there by bastards who would have shot him if he hadn’t gone, and someone’s future wiped-out like a village of pals.
That’s why we’re here.
That’s why this day exists.
That’s why we remember.
But I am increasingly of the perception that this is not just commemoration for those who have gone.
Having committed the respect since a child, and seen the world throughout, I am now understanding this is about forgiveness.
We’re asking for forgiveness.
Because we’re going to do it again.
Poor young souls will be brief.
The battlefield will come again, and only our babies, our finest will do.
And I am terrified, of a bayonet and my boy’s body.
Of some savage deciding my daughters are his spoils.
We cannot let it happen.
Not again.
We must remember them.
Catching the 16.40 from Victoria
Posted: September 7, 2026 Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: blogging, commuting, Humour, life, London, Parenting, public, technology, trains, work, writing Leave a commentI’m hot on a train.
Having walked through Underground London for a few minutes in the high-twenty temperatures, I’m hot under the collar.
Making my train, I feel air conditioning hit me, mending my mood and making everything better like Mummy used to do.
I needed a pee, so jumped on the carriage with the dunnie and found I could pee quickly, and well, before stepping out and finding one of those spare seats for priority folk which I would later concede to priority people (a mum and baby).
Sitting, logging onto the Wi-Fi, cracking open a beer; I’ll be home early. Nice.
This is living in the life of 2026 commuters.
Then I realise: a whirring.
Upon noticing it, ‘it’ got louder.
I see its source – the man far opposite. With a fan.
One of those powerful little fans, which I’m sure feels lovely when you’re its owner and have it pointed at you, but for everyone else it’s a powerful little fan that is getting louder – to the point of being…loud.
Bearing in mind the air-con is on, I then note: he’s got it pointing at his balls.
And now we’re in a situation. One of public politeness.
Sound versus sensation.
Ears versus balls.
Who is right?
I am, because this is my blog (I had leftover breaded chicken steak for breakfast #blogging). And in my blog I am right.
And his balls are wrong.
When I then moved seats for the priority mum and son, I turn to see he’s redirected the powerful little fan at his face and he looks disgruntled.
Previously, he looked gruntled.
The son is now crying at his mother due to some technological issues cancelling his tablet viewing, and this is by far preferable to the man chilling his balls at my expense.
It was so to my expense that it genuinely felt expensive, as though the waft of his ball-whiff would sidle-on up to me and whisper “just so you know, I’m cooling down my testicles for the next ten minutes. A bill will be emailed within 5-10 working days. THANKS!”
For someone reason, the smell of the guy wasn’t the problem. Not that day, anyway.
Soon the Mother had calmed son with alternative tech options, and the guy has gone back to looking gruntled. I think he was inconvenienced by their noise.
By god I love working from home.
Sam
Still working on starting that Magnum Opus
Posted: August 4, 2026 Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: blogging, breakfast, ego, Humour, writing Leave a commentYou have to understand this – it’s been warm.
Warmth aside (easy, thanks Dad), it’s also not been so much busy as it has been – distracting.
It’s been hot and I’ve been doing other things.
In other words, I’m still yet to begin that magnum opus I was planning on relying on.
It’s tricky to get started on something when it’s basis is greatness.
Firstly, it requires some ego that can be embarrassing to admit. I think I can write one of great texts – perhaps a novel…or a novella (a longer way to refer to something shorter).
Second, it requires you.
And I’m commonly unavailable. Drunk, or the like. Candy Crush, etc.
And good things too. My children, my wife, working for money.
I even paused this blog to eat my breakfast – though updating people as to contents of breakfast (today – wheatabix and maple syrup) is the purpose of blogging and, to an extent, the internet.
Perhaps the magnum opus will revolve around breakfast.
Perhaps I won’t get around to it.
Earlier I referred to “it” (it’s been hot, it’s been distracting).
I was talking about the times I’m in. You might be in them too.
But when you’ve an ego like mine, you have to believe you’re the centre of the universe – otherwise the magnum opus is all the more unlikely and the only thing written is breakfast.
Breakfast time.
Sam
The risk of losing our dopiness – returning to AI
Posted: January 1, 2026 Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: AI, artificial intelligence, blogging, chatgpt, Culture, dopamine, funny, Humour, technology, viral videos, writing Leave a commentI wrote recently how AI is being used by people to create videos falsely depicting lovely moments of life that cannot and shouldn’t be planned.
You know the kind I mean. Those little dopamine hit videos, like:
- dogs falling off couches and landing on it’s owners testicles,
- frisbees bouncing off someone’s head and going into the ‘goal’,
- and road incidents in which everyone comes close to dying but fortunately doesn’t.
Those types of videos.
The ‘Isn’t Life Lovely?’ videos you sneaked peeks at whilst on computer lessons at school in the old days, which are now the videos you stay up watching on your phone in bed.
They make you feel dopey from the dopamine.
Sadly, these are the ones people are trying to replicate using AI. I was concerned they were increasing. And now they’ve increased.
Watching compilations of ‘Isn’t life lovely?’ videos, the AI-produced fakery is now held amongst the compilations of real videos. And that means they’re being held amongst real life.
And it is ultimately depressing – the opposite of their point (aside from the attention gained for the person who directed AI to do it).
Of course, as a writer – there’s a chance my craft will be lost to AI (should anyone decide to task AI with writing something as inane as my work). But the risk of these fake videos replacing the real ones of cats pooing on the wedding cake, the ice pond breaking at the funniest moment, or simply a wonderful coincidence captured on CCTV – that’s worse.
Worse still, was when I was laying next to my wife in bed one morning and she was scrolling through social media videos. Sure enough, her algorithm brought her to a run of ‘Isn’t life lovely?’ videos – the exact kind we’re talking about here: the ones that are hilarious, unbelievable, relatable and representations of lovely real life – that’s what she thought they all were.
She couldn’t tell that a lot of them had been prompted by someone using AI to fake what is amongst the best of real life.
And that’s when I realised that I was now going to be watching similar videos, concerned that I wouldn’t be able to tell if they’re real.
And that’s hardly the point of them.
These videos are meant to be one of the best things the internet can do – demonstrations of lovely moments that remind you everything’s going to be ok: the parrot is dancing, the baby pulled a funny face at lunch, the granny said a swear word.
They shouldn’t fill you with depression whilst laying in bed early on a Saturday morning as a reminder that the future isn’t yours: it’s AI’s.
Actually, it’s not AI – it’s just going to be a future filled with erroneously bullshit content of talentless artists trying to capitalise on what is currently popular and increasingly easy.
Real life is only so easy if you let it happen. Trying to create those moments in reality is near-impossible (you can always ask Granny to swear – but the serendipitous spontaneity of the moment is lost).
And watching these moments, and laughing in wonderous joy at the crow landing on someone’s chair and saying “fuck off”, or the child flying high into the air when Dad’s jumped on the trampoline, or good old sneezing panda: they’re a part of our humanity.
Humanity isn’t just our empathy in times of tragedy or in helping others in need. It’s also our inherent dopiness as a species which partly explains why life is worth living and also why Alien Life hasn’t bothered sending us an email yet.
People say: “AI isn’t coming. It’s here.” and they’re right.
But it wasn’t always there – and there are things that were always here that we should cling on to with all our remaining and considerable might.
I’d include in that: going for a walk.
AI can’t seem to replicate that yet.
Sam
How do the fish feel during a tsunami?
Posted: December 26, 2025 Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: blogging, fish, funny, Humour, Japan, life, octopus, Tokyo, travel, tsunami, writing Leave a commentThese are the questions no one should be asking, or answering.
Even the fish don’t want to know.
And they don’t want anyone else to know.
The fish, they don’t like me so much, and I’ve heard they don’t have any feelings – so I’m quite the exception to the rule.
Hell of a rule. Hell of an exception.
Still, I picture it: a fish, going about it’s business – coming about 8th when it comes to being a cool vague kind of animal. And then the entirety of life as you know it suddenly shifts violently to the left for a few miles and then finding yourself in downtown Tokyo.
Or you’re an octopus, either very busy being an octopus or just casually being an octopus – doesn’t really matter, and then a wall of other sea creatures comes in from the left, again, and travels with you back to downtown Tokyo.
We all know octopuses, they don’t like spending time any way other than exactly how they wish. And having to commute to central Tokyo, through valleys and past factories, trying to simultaneously enjoying the rapidly passing and increasingly soggy scenery, whilst also avoiding eye contact with the other fish, is a bit of an ask.
‘Tsunami traffic’ which is a cool thing to phrase because it is technically alliteration, unlike ‘technically alliteration’ which is just crap writing.
Would thoughts about what is and what isn’t ‘technically alliteration’ occur to an octopus enduring that tsunami traffic? There are many things that aren’t ‘technically alliteration’ – like my breakfast, which I need to make now.
As such, I’ll call it quits there when it comes to how things go for this fish/octopus.
Maybe I’ll return to it this evening.
I’ve an important blog about AI I need to return to too, but this currently ridiculousness takes priority.
Priority after breakfast.
Sam
Hey, AI – leave sneezing panda alone!
Posted: December 14, 2025 Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: AI, artificial intelligence, chatgpt, Culture, funny, humanity, Humour, nostalgia, social media, technology, viral videos, writing 1 CommentI’m like you.
I too like scrolling through social media and finding clips of CCTV or candid camera of those videos.
You know the ones.
They feature the impossible trick shot, the extraordinary comedic coincidence, miraculous creativity – that make us want to watch again but also put down the phone and head outdoors into the real world.
I suppose, for all the sensational terms I’ve used above, the real definition is ‘hopeful’.
Everyone loves these videos.
You see them and you are reminded that life is actually pretty cool, maybe you’ll go for a walk.
Here’s the problem. AI is being used by living people.
That’s not to say that the deceased would make better use of it, but it is those currently living that are, as ever, the problem.
And they’re using AI.
To do what?
It’s not just their taxes, their spreadsheets, or their wedding speeches.
They’re using it to fake those moments of real life that are the romantic and true chaos that remind us of it’s unruly splendour.
I’m talking about, dear reader, the sneezing panda.
When scrolling social media, you may have noticed an increase in attempts at this type of reality. AI attempts at the glorious moments that make us smile and love the world.
In December 2025, the AI in use is still not capable in application to falsify such important moments as these (I’d also very much so like to include the Aussie chap punching a kangaroo) fluidly or effectively.
My worry is that it won’t be long till they can.
And when that time comes, how can I believe that those lovely little moments are real any more?
Those moments, which I personally consider to be the entire point of social media and why at some point in the 20th Century we began filming each other constantly, are the tickety-boo examples of what screens are for.
It’s not emailing (don’t do it – it’s uncouth).
It’s not online files involving finances (yuck).
It’s not web-dating (less-so but still yuck).
It’s not even sharing government secrets with San Marino (sure they’re a tiny country, but they want to know some secrets too).
It is funny cats (you know this already)
It is Gangnam Style (which seems quite AI but wonderfully, isn’t).
It is The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny (Mr Rogers is the greatest thing – confirmed).
It is the Dramatic Chipmunk, Chocolate Rain, Keyboard Cat, Charlie Bit My Finger, and that other one I can’t recall the name of….
But it’s not AI’s fault.
It’s people, as ever.
People start wars, people spread plagues, and people misuse AI to upset the proper flow of funny cat videos that ensured my faith in life persists like life itself.
This is the same issue that is the centre about most people’s concerns about AI – it’s not the Ai itself: it’s some person, being very regrettable, using it as they shouldn’t.
But what can I do about it?
Well, I’m going to use AI a little less often. I’ve taken to using AI to create thumbnails for this blog.
From now on, you can expect some truly awful drawings, made using my children’s crayons, that I will photograph and upload to accompany every equally awful blog on this site.
I’m doing it for the sneezing panda, you, and myself.
Apologies for that.
Species defining imperfections on the way.
Sam
What about a sumo wrestler – anytime you wanted?
Posted: November 16, 2025 Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: ancestors, app, business, funny, honour, Humour, Japan, on-demand, sumo, sumo wrestling, wellbeing, writing Leave a commentTo pre-empt the following; everyone feels down sometimes.
Sometimes, we feel dishonourable to our ancestors.
Fortunately, I’ve been watching television.
And I’ve discovered the Grand Sumo league has free coverage on NHK WORLD-JAPAN.
It’s fantastic, truly.
The slapping, the blessing, the inadvertent headbutts, the little envelopes, the lot – I highly recommend it.
But nothing comes close to the satisfaction of seeing the faces those in the front row change from keen interest, to slow realisation, to horror, to another slow realisation, to joy, as a 300lbs+ man falls on them.
In my front room, watching this, we’d all go “YAY!” and so would the expressions of those in the front row: because clearly their ancestors were smiling upon them.
Whilst officially not encouraged by the league (sumo try not to fall on people), it is genuinely considered a great honour for a sumo to land on you. You see, that means you’re right up close to the action, privileged and cool.
Depression hits everyone – and I believe sumo wrestlers should too.
Imagine, you’re walking home after a crap day at work, missed the bus, no partner waiting at home, dog ran off with the milkman, and its raining.
What you need is a blessing from your ancestors at a very reasonable price.
An uplift in honour – to treat yourself!
Just sign-up to my new app: Sumo On Demand – and a qualified sumo wrestler will come to your location and land on you.
Honour!
Prices vary, but the top price is the ‘Flat Rate’ – due to you being completely flattened by the sumo and honour.
I don’t mean to see obnoxious, but this is a bloody brilliant idea and investors are welcome to get in touch.
Alternatively, I can apply to Dragon’s Den, have one of my dedicated team of highly trained sumo wrestlers land on each of them, and see how that turns out.
I’d be ‘In’.
If you’re interested in being flattened by a sumo wrestler and increasing your personal honour – drop a comment below, I’ll see what I can arrange.
Sam
Everyone needs a zombie apocalypse sometimes
Posted: November 15, 2025 Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: apocalypse, baseball, change, funny, GCSEs, heartbreak, horror, Humour, Mondays, mortgage, wellbeing, writing, zombie, zombie apocalypse Leave a commentTo begin, I have a lot – A LOT – of tinned food.
Don’t ask why.
It would be a shame to watch it lose its shine due to dust on the shelf.
Don’t get me wrong, I recognised more than most that the beauty of tinned food is its agelessness on the shelf. But they’re also handy in a starvation scenario in which everyone needs more beans.
Nobody wants to see tinned food go to waste, and I’ve got a lot of it – though if you’re my neighbour, please disregard that fact and stay away from my house.
Another point – I’ve a lot of baseball bats.
Slightly more baseball bats than tinned food, actually.
And what a waste it would be – if there was never the occasion to apply a baseball bat to its destiny; not so much baseballs, but the undead.
That eagerness to see nothing go to waste extends to supermarkets, so there’s a good chance for a nice afternoon’s looting too.
The tinned food, the pleasing swish of a swingeing baseball bats, and a trip to the shops. The zombie apocalypse is just something to look forward to.
There’s also the other distinct upsides of the apocalypse:
- Financial loans no longer require your devotion. Mortgage? Pfft, If you’ve enough baseball bats you can move straight in to Buckingham Palace (though be cautious of infected corgis).
- That heartbreak you suffered in the bad-old-days has now been pushed out of your mind, either by concern for zombies or a baseball bat rearranging your brains.
- No more Mondays.
Do you have any idea how little your GCSEs matter at the end of the world? They’re still very important (stay in school. And lock the doors.).
The apocalypse is something people look forward to.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if the world ended”
I suppose definition of “world” is subjective.
For some it’s the planet on which we live, and most people hope remains intact.
For others, the “world” is the society in which they live – demanding their time, money and even enthusiasm, and a lot of people would like to see some change there. Zombies might be the answer.
Lastly, your life is your “world” and you just fancy a change: “It’s a nice day for zombies!”
Maybe, we want to dehumanise the ‘competition’ out there in society or simply start again. Smashing the buggers to pieces without legal ramifications, or be left alone in our bunkers.
Personally, it’s currently a Saturday morning and I do think it’s a nice day for zombies. We’ll see what happens.
Right, must dash – there’s someone moaning and scratching at the door. It’s probably the milkman, who we’ve not seen for 30 years.
And remember, keep your tinned food shiny and your baseball bats plentiful.
Sam
Not all units of measurement are for polite company
Posted: November 12, 2025 Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: books, church, fiction, funny, Humour, language, measurement, vicar, writing Leave a commentActually, I’m not just talking about genitals.
I’m going to (I’m always going to), but not right now.
Genitals are wonderful things, inspirational even, but there are indeed alternative units of measurements.
One of which is inches.
Then you have ‘feet’ – which are also inspirational, despite being gross.
‘Miles’ is most common, but no-one seems to mind ‘miles’ much at all.
“How many miles to the discotheque?” – we used to ask each other in French at school, and despite the obvious moral issues of speaking French, no one could question the integrity of the unit of measurement.
This measurement, and many others, are always fine.
Some aren’t.
Some units of measurement are simply not for Sunday tea-time.
“One lump or two” when proffered sugar is as vulgar as things should get when we’re talking about spoonful’s of anything.
But there are worse, and Sunday tea-time can become an event with more Effing and Jeffing than fucking Jeffrey.
“How many racial slurs to the vicarage?” we’d ask in the old days, and people would answer – awfully. Racistly (racist slurs are really, really racist!). And most importantly – we’d know how far away the vicarage was.
And things would only deteriorate from there (Sunday tea-time).
Some people prefer feet (perverts, but whatever).
Some, miles.
Most, don’t like units of measurement being racial slurs.
Just ask the vicar.
The vicar, such as he is, prefers to know just “how many knobs to the bank?” and he gets his answer too.
The discotheque, the vicarage and the bank are all within reach, with a variety of units of measurement applied and all manner of folk deeply offended, none the less informed as to the distance that matters to them.
I’ve only one piece of advice now, and it’s not to know your audience (yuk).
My advice is – just say and do something.
Yes it might be deeply offensive, but, well – who needs to be employed really?
More importantly, who really needs to be unoffended?
I don’t.
But I do need to know how far away the bank, discotheque and vicarage are.
Because I’m planning one hell of a a Sunday tea-time.
Sam
(P.S Sunday tea-time might in fact not be that great. But you’re invited!)
My baby girl thinks I’m pretty great
Posted: November 8, 2025 Filed under: Matters that Matter, Observe my tips | Tags: babies, beans, Christmas, family, fatherhood, funny, Humour, life, love, Parenting, shopping, writing Leave a commentI took her to the shops today.
She had a massive poo whilst driving there and she handled it like a champ. So did I.
In the rear-view-mirror, her face was doing the typical contortions of one expelling, what I’m sure we can all agree is amongst the worst things ever, a poop – whilst Daddy is singing along to Jessie-Jay on the radio in an attempt to make the whole scene more…musical?
By the time we arrived, her complexion had returned from hellish-rouge to healthy-human, and the gargles and goo-goos were back aplenty, ready for a nappy-change.
Then came my might – the thing of which I am without question the best of in the world:
distractingly amusing sounds and funny faces.
It’s a big difference between babies and men. I’ve never encountered a face so funny, or a sound so amusing, that I wouldn’t know my nappy was being changed.
My daughter was oblivious. At seven months, she generally is.
The amount of things my daughter doesn’t pick-up on is only dwarfed by sheer number of things she picks up and puts in her mouth.
But in the car’s boot, with nothing in reach to distract, it was down to the irresistible power of my face and the sounds that come out of it to make the following two minutes less awful.
There was poo, there was laughter, and there was the risk of each overwhelming both of us – but we persevered, and went shopping.
The dirty nappy went in the shop bin, my daughter went in the pram, and I went into performance mode.
An integral part of fatherhood is taking blows to the brain.
They’re both the height and depths of humour, and like her older siblings, my youngest baby girl loves to laugh at when I do what I do best.
A proportion of those impacts are something I suppose I’m proud:
- My son (6) hitting me in the head with sporting equipment, for humorous purposes.
- My eldest daughter (4) hitting me in the head with props, for amateur dramatics purposes.
- Me (36) hitting myself in the head with whatever is nearest to hand, for competitive purposes (can’t let me son out-do me)
- And my wife (N/A) hitting me in the head, for reasonable purposes.
The third of those – hitting myself in the brain – goes down something-smashing when it comes to fathering a baby girl.
If you’d like some hints as to what to grab for self-brain-bashing, I’d recommend whatever is nearest to hand for the sake of speed, but noise and colour should be appreciated for the awesome power they hold: like tins of beans and tinsel.
There’s a lot of tinsel at the shop, for arboreal/cultural purposes at this time of year, but no one there knows it’s also for brain-bashing purposes. Same for the tinned beans – it’s got nothing to do with fibre.
I’m struggling to write this blog, due in part to the regular severity of the impacts to my brain which cause such delightful bursts of laughter or, even better, the shining smiles of pure happiness from my baby girl.
It’s also due to the effects of the lychee-liqueur which has thus far turned out to be a wonderful purchase, with the promise of it being less-so tomorrow morning.
Then came the pram ‘uh-ohs’ – in which I push the pram, daughter nonchalantly perched within, away and panic in what I’d best describe as in a ‘flappy headed’ way, before pulling her back with a hint of a jolt but with my own laughing smile upon arrival – matched and soundly beaten only by hers.
She really is the most adorably scrumptious of little things that there ever could be, and you might feel the same about your offspring but I’m right because this is my blog and I’m right.
Take your own kids shopping – I’m occupied with the best thing since someone had the bright idea of having things under the sun, and sliced bread.
Due to what I presume to be a clerical error (by which I mean ecclesiastical rather than administrative) – I find there are no baskets proffered in the shop entrance, meaning I have to load items for purchase beneath the pram itself.
Here’s an opportunity to vanish and return, aka ‘Peekabo’.
With each item loaded onto the conveyer belt towards the till, I duck out. Briefly (and I really do mean briefly – I doubt I’ve ever been briefer), I’m away and suddenly I’m back – and sure enough I’m hitting myself in the same head from which funny noises and faces are emitting.
And she’s smiling joyously. The kind of joy you don’t remember.
From there it’s pay, parking ticket, load stuff in the car, daughter in her car-seat (featuring multiple checks on the way home to ensure I definitely packed her), visor down as the sun sets early this time of year, bish, bash, bosh, I’m a dad.
And the smiles and laughter, in addition to the excited little kicks of the even-littler legs, tells me all I’ve ever really needed to know: my baby girl thinks I’m pretty great.
Sam
