Tooper has been considering the lot of the those guardians of the late night drinking and gambling dens; the bouncer.

He argues that too often this much maligned group get a bad press.  How many of us would be prepared to put in the hours of weight training required for that ‘concrete mixer’ physique and then in order to maintain it, fork out money for specialist gym memberships and illegal steroids?  Would we really be prepared to endure a life devoid of even a hint of a sense of humour; a life that requires you to stand outside in all weathers, repeating the same phrases over and over, ‘…got any ID..?’ ‘…sorry guys, no stag parties…’ and, ‘… not in those shoes, mate… ‘

And yet while there seem to be a deluge of reasons not to choose this option as a career path, many do.  Tooper has considered the reasons and surprisingly come up with some pluses for doing so.

• PC Immunity – Can there be any job less affected by the tsunami of political correctness that has engulfed us than the shadowy world of the nightclub doormen?  These people exist in a vacuum where, on a whim and depending on who has upset them that week, they can be the doorman equivalent of Simon Cowell (but without the sugar coating!).    ‘I’m sorry, someone with glasses cut me up this week so keep moving, you fat, four eyed tosser…’
• Mood Blindness -  For most people waking up with a raging hangover and in a foul mood would not be an ideal preparation for a days’ work … but for a bouncer …
• Power Trip – Don’t mess with these guys.  They have the final sanction as to who enters the inner sanctum and who stays outside with their noses pressed up against the window …. and if you piss them off or even try to make eye contact, they have the power to send you right to the back of the queue.  ‘OK, so you wannabe clubbers may have queued for hours but, my rules; my decision.  Deal with it!’
• Casual Violence – It’s not clever; it’s not pretty but let’s be honest here, there are days when we really feel like punching someone out.  Forget about the Marquis of Queensbury rules and the restraint in the boxing ring, if someone is fool enough to kick something off in their vicinity, you’ll probably make their day.
• Police Envy – Not for our bouncers the ethnicity training, PC terminology and form filling that is the policeman’s lot.  Oh no, in Bouncer World justice is merciless and swift.
• Chick Fests -  Forget about pulling some scantily clad hottie while there is some alpha male ‘bad boy’ reeking of Lynx and danger; you’ve got no chance.  Everyone knows bouncers are babe magnets.

Still say Bouncer jobs are for losers?

Commy’s has recently been forced to listen to his female friends castigating the modern male’s attempts to impress them.  Why is it, they asked, that men feel compelled to lie about their job, financial and relationship status in an effort to impress? Do they not realise that the vast majority of females can spot a bull-shitter at twenty paces?

Yet, whilst agreeing that women may well have a point, Commy did feel that by concentrating their attentions on these knuckle-draggers; subtle, more intelligent ‘players’ were slipping under their radars.  Men who, contrary to female opinion, have evolved their flirting skills to the extent where, armed with a few key phrases guaranteed to provoke a frisson of heightened sexual interest, they do very nicely, thank you very much!

Below, he provides a few ‘tried and tested’ exmples :-

• ‘…my evening class tutor says that, for a karate black-belt,  my hands are remarkably good for bread making.’

• ‘…of course I’m a great believer in soul-mates.’

• ‘…maybe I haven’t found the right one yet … but I’ve been working on my marriage proposal for years.’

• ‘…my favourite Shakespeare play?  Oh, Romeo and Juliet obviously!’

• ‘…don’t tell anyone but I always shed a tear when I watch Bambi.’

Having said that, Commy did concede that whilst some men had made great strides over the years, there are still one or two who still haven’t quite grasped the concept of piquing women’s interest without taking it that step too far.  He therefore feels obliged to pass on one or two school boy errors:-

• ‘…my last girl friend and I used to co-ordinate our outfits.’

• ‘…you know, I think chick-flicks are a much underrated art form.’

• ‘…Saturday afternoon … paint shopping … great!’

In these fast paced, high pressure times, Tooper had been wondering aloud whether he should consider a stress busting hobby when a friend helpfully suggested fishing.

A little concerned that this previously seemingly normal individual had suddenly morphed into a fishing evangelist; Tooper allowed himself to be persuaded that a little night fishing might be ‘just the ticket’.  Apparently all he needed to calm his troubled urban soul was to spend a night clinging to a muddy river bank dangling a pole into dark swirling waters while listening to nothing but the stillness of it all.  Egged on by fellow volunteers and alcohol, while ignoring a growing knot of anxiety, Tooper heard himself declaring gamely,  ‘Count me in.’

So it was with profound misgivings that he found himself stumbling through undergrowth at midnight, setting up camp in what appeared to him to be ‘midge heaven’ and having his mobile confiscated.  What Tooper would later refer to as his ‘longest night’ became something of a watershed.  If nothing else it proved to him that:-

• it is indeed always darkest just before dawn
• toilet tissue can never …ever… be considered a luxury item
• a watched pot tips over when it boils
• absence really does make the heart grow fonder … when it comes to your own bed and hot food … and …
• fishing bait probably is the spawn of the devil

Commy has been discussing the type of trial lawyer he would want representing him.

While most agree that requisite qualities included an encyclopedic knowledge of the judicial process together with a logical, incisive mind, Commy begged to differ.  Why, he wonders, would anyone risk their freedom by engaging a bookish, lack-lustre barrister when everyone knows the only thing guaranteed to hold sway over the general public (and therefore a jury) these days, is either a celebrity or a celebrity lawyer.  Isn’t someone with the dramatic court-room presence of a thespian, much more likely to bring in a favourable verdict?

He even put forward a few likely examples, together with possible extracts from their spellbinding court-room performances:-

• Ian Fleming – ‘We’re going to need someone to put up a bond … James’s bond’.
• Forrest Gump – ‘Verdicts are like a box of chocolates … you never know what you’re gonna get.’
• Hans Solo – ‘May the LAPD Force be with you.’
• Rhett Butler – ‘Frankly me’lud, I don’t give a damn!’
• Lauren Bacall – ‘You know who blew the whistle don’t you, Steve?’
• Patrick Swayze  – ‘Nobody puts Baby in a courtroom.‘
• Scotty from Star Trek – ‘I’m afraid it’s life Jim … but not as you know it.’
• Jack Nicholson – ‘Heeeere’s the jury!’

Tooper has been wondering if he might have the necessary attributes to make it as a career criminal.

After all, who hasn’t watched The Godfather films and wondered if they have the ‘cojones‘ to claw their way to the top of a criminal network?  To have the power and influence to inspire loyalty and loathing in equal measure and the wherewithal to acquire fast cars, faster women and a consigliere!

Yet, given its obvious attractions, why do most of us resist the temptation to select this particular career path, Tooper wonders? For the record, he has started noting down a few of his thought processes:-

• First and most obvious – what would mum/gran/ex-headmaster say?

• All the most obvious scary celebrity-gangster-nicknames have already been taken; such as Scarface and Mad Dog.  Even Tooper’s own most obvious choice … Baby Face.

• Just not scary enough – I’m British.  I apologise if someone bumps into me!

• Having neither the accent nor sufficient knowledge of ‘street patois’ – Somehow a middle-class, white guy mumbling,  ‘mo-fo‘ doesn’t quite cut it!  (Also, see Point 1 above).

• Fear of being a victim of ‘a hit’ – Who hasn’t had nightmares of visiting a barber shop or bar and being the last one standing as everyone else suddenly hits the floor?

• Assuming you survive ‘the hit’ … fear of a long prison sentence for tax evasion -  Given Tooper’s chosen ‘nome de plume’, he feels he’s much too pretty to serve time!

Commy has been considering the subject of friendship and in particular, the Facebook friend category.

While he understands that there are those amongst us  who subscribe to the theory that the number of Facebook friends one can boast about roughly equates to what a popular and generally rounded person you are, Commy isn’t buying it.  How many of these so called friends would take a bullet for you, he wonders?

After all didn’t you and your small circle of friends spend years building unbreakable bonds based on shared (usually embarassing) experiences?  Didn’t anyone thinking of joining that select little cabal have to be carefully monitored before serving, at least, a probationary period?  So what has happened to change all that?  Facebook, that’s what!

The harsh reality of life is that there are (and always will be) people who will never be told where the party is on Saturday night. (or if they are, it is the wrong address!)  Yet now, one whiff of a Facebook friend request and they are fast tracked through the probationary period, have access to all your innermost thoughts and deeds and worst of all, know exactly where the party is on Saturday night.  And yet, are we being fair?  In the real world, these innocents will always be left standing when the school teams are being picked.  By accepting them so easily into our circle of friends, aren’t we just setting them up for future disappointment?

Commy thinks the solution is for there to be a Facebook Friends grading system as follows:-

• CHOSEN FEW  (best-man/maid-of-honour candidates only)  – Access to all party locations, in-jokes and innermost feelings.
• INNER SANCTUM  (stag/hen party guests) – Practical joke initiators; given access to most in-jokes and party locations.
• OUTER CIRCLE (possible stag/hen guests/work colleagues) - Practical joke collaborators; given access to some party locations (if they bring a bottle).
• PERIMETER FENCERS (always on the outside looking in)  Practical joke victims.  Access to party locations ONLY IF they provide the venue AND all the beer.

Tooper and some female friends have been discussing marital loyalty and that classic Tammy Wynette anthem to feminism, ‘Stand by your man’.

Whilst some put forward the suggestion that this song should be the ironic background soundtrack for any news conference featuring the next rich and powerful man’s fall from grace, (while tearfully begging forgiveness from his electorate and grim-faced wife … in that order!) Tooper injects a note of caution.   Rather than pouring scorn on these irrationally loyal women clinging desperately to their status and what’s left of their dignity, he maintains that they should be encouraged to stand by their flawed and disloyal men … but only for so long as it is in their interest to do so.  Then they can move on in their own way and in their own time.  Much like:-

• Hillary Clinton  – ‘You know what, Bill?  I’m not angry … just very, very disappointed.  Now move over, I’m running for president.’
• Elin Nordergren – ‘Apologise all you like, eventually I’ll be walking away with millions, your beautiful children and one set of very bent gold clubs.

Now contrast that with the fate of the women who stood by their men too long:-

• Marie Antoinette – ‘…bread … cake, what’s the difference?’
• Anne Boleyn – ‘…how hard can it be to produce a male heir anyway?’

and the loyallest (and stupidest) of them all :-

• Eva Braun – ‘He’s so misunderstood … you know what he actually said was, I can’t stand JUICE!’ 

Commy and friends have been musing on the few areas of life not infected by the many and varied missives of the Health & Safety inspectorate.

In a  world increasingly governed by litigation, ambulance chasers, and the ‘where there’s blame, there’s a claim‘ culture, Commy asks that people spare a thought for those truly hit hardest by these spontaneity kill joys.  He is, of course, referring to those unfortunate enough to be the potential sexual partners of the Health & Safety zealot.

These poor men and women who, in those first heady days of any relationship, recklessly suggest a little al fresco frolic in the park, only to find their erstwhile H&S Inspector-lover meticulously conducting a risk assessment before setting out, as follows:-

• usual hazards relating to STD’s and pregnancy … tick
• potential for humiliation from CCTV/YouTube footage … tick
• potential splinter injuries due to picnic bench collapse/tree abrasions … tick
• potential of drawing an audience of curious packs of stray dogs … tick
• potential for citizen’s arrest for public indecency … tick …

Thinking a little sexual foreplay at home would be potentially less troublesome, (perhaps even involving some light, ‘fluffy handcuff’ type bondage) our hapless romantic returns from slipping into something a little more comfortable, only to find our naked H&S jobsworth, hovering by the bed, clipboard and pen in hand:-

• repeat of point 1 above … tick
• potential robbery of all personal possessions after being shackled … tick
• potential of being held for months as a sex slave, together with resultant loss of earnings … tick
• potential humiliation of being found by rescue services, naked, handcuffed and smeared with Nutella … etc etc…

Tooper has been wondering when the PC Police will be taking a look at the average menu.

Having already left their mark on vast swathes of our lives, how has this potential minefield of offensive terminology managed to slip through their net, he wonders?  After all, don’t some of our restaurants/canteens risk offending at least 0.00001 percent of the population with their insensitively named dishes?

For those of you who think Tooper is over-stating the case; take a look at some of these more blatant (and tactless) examples :-

• ‘Pigs in Blankets’ – on any Police canteen menu

• ‘Baked Alaska‘ – on any Greenpeace Office canteen menu

• ‘Spotted Dick‘ – on any STD Clinic canteen menu

• ‘Toad in the Hole’ – on any Fetishists Convention canteen menu

• ‘Devils on Horseback’ – on the Vatican City canteen menu

• ‘Lady Fingers’ – on any canteen menu (if you are vegetarian!)

• ‘Hoppin John’ – on the Olympic Village canteen menu (Para Olympics obviously!)

• ‘Faggots and Peas‘ – on any Gay Pride canteen menu

• ‘Birds Nest Soup’ – on any Synthetic Wig Makers canteen menu … or at Trump Tower!

Commy suggests we’ve all endured evenings with couples who barely have a civil word to say to each other.

You’re expecting a great evening ‘breaking bread’ with old friends; couples with whom you can kick back and relax and it’s all going really rather well.  That is until the late arrival of one twosome who, for the sake of this exercise, will be known as Moody and Grumpy.   They know who they are!

From the moment they appear (separately), it’s obvious all is not well.  Your polite enquiry about the  whereabouts of Grumpy is met with a caustic response from Moody along the lines of, ‘he’s outside trying to find a large enough parking space to park his ego.’

Undaunted you push on with the evening and, against the odds, seemingly everyone’s having a good time.  Relieved that any tension appears to be dissipating, you serve your lovingly prepared food and fine wine to the assembled company.  Good natured banter is being exchanged when Grumpy, no doubt lulled into a false sense of security by Moody’s apparently effortless bonhomie, rather recklessly pushes his luck by picking at the festering scab of an argument they had before leaving the house.  Temporary ceasefire over, Moody freezes and eyes flashing in temper, spits out the words guaranteed to bring any warring couple right back to battle stations, ‘…DON’T START!’

Other guests are exchanging worried looks.  Someone comes to the rescue by making a joke which everyone, falling on this excuse to cover their embarrassment, laughs at uproariously.  Noise levels are raised for the rest of evening and, although the elephant is still in the room, no-one is in any doubt that when Moody and Grumpy take their leave (early, due to splitting headache and/or having to get up early the next morning), everyone knows that, in their household, it is going to be an extremely long and trying night.

Which brings me to Commy’s question.  Why do couples think this poisonous atmosphere has gone unnoticed? Are they so wrapped up in point scoring that they are unaware of the harsh, blemish-enhancing light this sort of pettiness bathes them in?

Commy suggests, the next time he has to endure one of these evenings, the warring factions are given the following options:-

• either they both sit on the ‘naughty step’ until they have had a chance to think about their selfish behaviour and apologise  … OR …
• for entertainment value, they are pushed into the centre of the room for a pillow fight to the death!