I can’t be bothered to write anything about bird ‘flu (or to read any more about it, come to that) or, to give it its full Fleet Street name, “the deadly H5N1 virus”. As Babyfather commented last night, maybe if it had been given a cuddlier name it wouldn’t be such a virulent virus. We saw a picture of it on the news last night too, and it looks a bit like something out of Ricky Gervais’ Flannimals, which could explain its antisocial behaviour. Anyway, I am so bored of bird ‘flu that I am boring myself with these observations, and will give you an insight into the way I usually get inspiration for this blog.

In general, a piece of news will catch my eye and I will muse over it on the way to work/whilst lying awake at night wondering how I am going to turn over without my massive bump making me fall out of bed/whilst slipping into a trance like state in front of Deal or No Deal. I will then slowly form an opinion, edit out my more knee-jerk reactions, try and pretty-up any particularly thunderous or rabid responses it solicits in me, and engage myself in a somewhat masturbatory game of putting this opinion into phrases which I like to believe are beautifully turned, but still this side of pretentious.

My lunch hour at work will then unravel into a glorious afternoon of checking my computer rear view mirror for suspicious superiors or uppity juniors, who may find fault with my translating these thought processes into what you see before you, during work time.

Obviously this process changes from post to post, as some of them are just vacant ramblings and not news-based at all. But usually something will grab my attention enough to enter me into the process, and hold it enough for me to actually get me out of the process the other end. Call this an apology for laziness, if you will, but recently nothing has inspired me to write anything. I had a half-written piece on the Oscars, a few thoughts about writing something on the Estonian jam mountain (should that be lake?), and just today a half-arsed attempt at a post filled with wit and levity about the fact that Judas Iscariot has finally been given his right to reply in the press. But I got bored halfway through when I read about the caution with which the academic community is greeting the revelation. Apparently the text is from the second century and is therefore a second-hand gnostic interpretation of what happened. And it has something to do with The Da Vinci Code. I was almost comatose by the time I got to that bit – obviously inserted by the journalist in an attempt to make what was an interesting story which had become dull dull dull a bit more topical.

There is one piece of news out today that I love though, and that my imagination hasn’t stopped mulling over; and that is the delightful snippet which I saw on the beeb last night, and which is seemingly covered nowhere but on their website, detailing the fact that a policeman who put a youth in a bin in a Hackney park was cleared of charges. What’s not to like about this story? It was in Hackney, and although it doesn’t mention what park it was, if it was anything like the Hackney green spaces I know, the youth was almost certainly feral. The policeman got off, the father admitted that if the kid was being ‘lippy’ he should have been arrested, and the friend who filmed the whole thing on his mobile phone could be heard laughing throughout the video clip. At a time when Damilola Taylor’s parents are going to have to sit through another entire trial before having the chance of seeing their son’s killers brought to book, it is refreshing to see that a little kid who deserved a stern telling off by a responsible adult, can be given one without the world tearing its hair out.

Crikey. I sometimes scare myself with my reactionary sounding rhetoric. I can almost hear the words political correctness gone mad. Let me know your views – am I a closet Daily Express reader? I hope that actually, on reflection, the reason I enjoyed this story is because of the fact that the incident was caught on camera, and my reaction is good old fashioned laughing at another’s pain.