Change. Experience. Experience. Change. Politics. Does this sound familiar?

Pretty much everybody in the UK must be aware that Gordon Brown is not the most popular of British Prime Ministers. Brown spent a decade as Chancellor of the Exchequer, responsible for managing the British economy. Only a year after being promoted to Prime Minister, the economy is in a tough spot. Who is to blame? Like every politician, Brown took credit when things were going well, but concluded that forces outside of his control were to blame when things turned bad. Not surprisingly, a lot of the British electorate sees it differently. I am not going to comment on who or what is responsible for the UK’s economy. The short answer is that there is no short answer. Lots of factors affect an economy, which is why economic models are no more reliable than weather models. But this crisis does prompt another question. In a democracy, how do you compare the importance of experience with the necessity for change?

In Brown’s speech to the Labour Party Conference, he observed:

I’m all in favour of apprenticeships, but let me tell you this is no time for a novice.

This comment has been latched on to by most pundits. The implication is that, at a time of financial stress, you cannot afford an inexperienced leader. Is this argument convincing? By that logic, Robert Mugabe’s incompetence in ruining the economy of Zimbabwe should be rewarded by keeping him in power forever. It also means that when things go well, you should reward the leader by kicking them out and replacing them with somebody new. The thing about politicians is that, more than anything, they want power. They want it when they are young, they want it when they are old. They never stop wanting it. So when they are young, they emphasize the advantages of youth. When they are old, they emphasize the advantages of age. Youth is associated with vigour. Age is associated with experience. Hence, youthful politicians can more easily adopt the mantra of ‘change’ - observe how Barack Obama has tried to take ownership of the word. Not having a track record can also be an advantage, as it means you will have fewer skeletons in the closet. Without the burden of history, a young candidate can easily raise expectations without the fear of contradicting their former decisions. However, wily political operators can find ways to turn age to their advantage. They can present themselves as doers, realists, pragmatists, fighters and, ultimately, survivors. They have the knowledge to get things done. They can even show off their mastery of the political game. Take this clip from a 1984 Presidential campaign debate between Ronald Reagan and Walter Mondale:

The downside to knowing how to get things done is that it naturally prompts a question: what have you done? Or, in tough times, it can prompt a more acute challenge: why did you not do something sooner? I expect that secretly the Conservative opposition will be glad to see Brown hold on to the Labour Party leadership. The longer Brown stays, the harder it will be to change the Labour Party leader and successfully re-launch the party in time for a general election that must occur by mid-2010. With Brown in charge, whatever goes wrong for the country can be laid at Brown’s doorstep. Whatever Brown does to improve the economy will only beg the question of why he did not do it sooner. Inadequate regulation of banks? Brown could have changed the regulations. Excessive household debt and reckless lending? Brown could have curbed them both. Excessive bonuses focused on short-term risks? Brown could have legislated to limit them. Unlike the Conservatives, or even a new Labour leader, when Brown makes changes he also has to explain why he did not take action before. On the other hand, if Brown does not make changes, he can be presented as a Nero - fiddling whilst Rome burns.

Whilst researching this article, I noticed an interesting error on the Labour Party’s website. In his conference speech, Brown said:

Let us be clear the modern role of government is not to provide everything, but it must be to enable everyone.

And just as we know that governments cannot and should not do everything, so too we know markets cannot deliver it all on their own.

And just as those who supported the dogma of big government were proved wrong, so too those who argue for the dogma of unbridled free market forces have been proved wrong again.

The Labour Party version omits the word ‘again’. If you do not believe me, listen to the audio of the speech - the relevant sentence begins 10 minutes 37 seconds into the recording. Perhaps it is a simple accident, but it is telling. Who exactly has been proved wrong again? If Brown is blaming unbridled market forces for recent events, and he knows unbridled forces have been proved wrong previously, then why were they unbridled? In short, why did Chancellor Brown choose not to act to prevent market excess, when Prime Minister Brown knows they need to be reigned in now? Brown went on to say:

And so it falls to this party and to this government, with our commitment both to fairness and to business, to propose and deliver what after recent events everyone should now be willing to accept - that we do all it takes to stabilise the still turbulent financial markets and then in the months ahead we do nothing less than rebuild the world financial system around clear principles.

And friends, the work begins tomorrow.

By talking of tomorrow, Brown was positioning himself as a man of action. That may work with some. Others may find Brown’s talk of tomorrow to be a reminder of what was left undone yesterday. When you employ a man to do a job for ten years, you might reasonably assume he should have started work by now.

Enoch Powell said that “all political lives end in failure”. Every politician, however successful, must stand aside eventually. Whether it is past mistakes, a loss of glamour, waning powers, or getting the blame for problems outside of their control, no politician can go on forever. Most must stop sooner than they would like. Brown had his decade as Chancellor, but doubtless laments that he had to wait so long for Tony Blair to step aside from the top job. On a personal level, it is possible to feel pity for Brown. After so long in power, your government’s mistakes accumulate, and bad memories of when the opposition were last in power will fade. Brown’s government is shackled by the voting inertia that comes with long service. A few mistakes and a economic downturn may conspire to guarantee that Brown suffers the ignominy of a few years of unpopular rule, followed by electoral calamity. It is a shame for an intelligent and talented politician who may have otherwise left a very different legacy. But voters are not motivated by legacies. They are motivated by what politicians promise to deliver, and by delivery on those promises. Throughout his time, there has been no doubt what counts as Brown Promise no.1:

The British economy of the future must be built not on the shifting sands of boom and bust, but on the bedrock of prudent and wise economic management for the long term. 1997

Now it is true to say in Britain that the last forty years has been characterised by stop go, boom bust, instability in economic policy. And so I can tell you that the first objective of the new government has been the determination to ensure monetary and fiscal stability, in place of stop go, and to do so in an economy far more open than the sheltered national economics of the past. 1998

The way forward is for governments to consciously pursue monetary and fiscal stability through setting clear objectives, establishing proper rules, and requiring openness and transparency - the new rules of the game. Particularly important for a Britain which has been more subject than most economies to the instability of boom-bust cycles and constantly changing policies. 1999

And so Brown’s promise went on, every year after that. Brown’s main electoral promise has been an end to ‘boom-bust’ or ’stop-go’ economic cycles. See here for an excellent collection of Brown quotes repeating the promise over and over, year after year. Now that the economy appears to be looking more bust than it has in a very long time, the failure to keep that promise will dog Brown to the end of his career. The economic downturn may not be his fault. But if recession is outside of Brown’s control, then his promise should never have been made.

The tragedy of Gordon Brown is that he risks being remembered as the greatest ever economic bungler, and the man who grew impatient with Tony Blair. People may forget he was once the steely custodian of the nation’s economy, who also set a precedent in campaigning for a fairer deal for the poor, both at home and abroad. New economic woes allow old political foes to poke fun at Brown in ways that were previously unimaginable. For example, follow the link on the right for propaganda from the ‘Taxpayer’s Alliance’.

Everybody starts young, and grows old. Politicians are not exempt. When Brown said this is no time for novices, it reminded me that the grey-haired steward of prudence was once a young man himself. Brown was once the novice. Brown was born in 1951. His comment on novices can be variously seen as jibes at the expense of two Davids. David Cameron, leader of the Conservatives, was born in 1966. David Miliband, a potential successor to Brown as Labour Party leader, was born in 1965. But Brown was younger, and even less experienced, when he first rose to prominence. Back in 1987, when still just a thirty-something, Brown was given the job of Shadow Chief Secretary to the Treasury. In other words, he was the Labour opposition’s deputy spokesperson on economic affairs. In October 1988, his boss, the Shadow Chancellor John Smith, suffered his first heart attack. Smith spent three months away from Parliament to recover. As a consequence, the young Brown had to step up and take on the role of debating with the then Chancellor, Nigel Lawson, about the state of the economy. In Parliament, Brown ferociously castigated Lawson, and ducked any challenges about his own lack of experience. And even back then, as can be seen in Hansard, Brown had adopted the rhetoric for which he would later become famous:

The Chancellor knows about stop-go policies. He made a reasonable living in the 1960s and 1970s castigating its ex-practitioners. He knows about boom and bust. He knows about spending sprees and about inflationary hangovers. He knows all about the cycle of overindulgence and about having to pay the bills later. Yet this Chancellor has become no less a stop-go Chancellor than Selwyn Lloyd, whom he much criticised. He has become no less a boom and bust Chancellor than Lord Barber, whom he and his friends castigated. The most serious charge of all is that he is the only stop-go Chancellor in history who has had the full investment opportunities of North sea oil, opportunities for a real supply side miracle which have been dissipated and squandered. No Chancellor has had better luck and worse judgment.

The Chancellor has claimed only one stated objective and he has chosen to use only one instrument of policy. He has had five years in which to pursue his single goal using his single instrument of policy. Even with the unique advantages available to him, he has failed. All he has done is to create tax opportunities, tailor-made for people with vast fortunes in the City. To the City, sooner or later, the Chancellor will doubtless go. He has failed the country.

It is an irony that Brown’s career has had a certain similarity to Lawson’s. Both had difficult relationships with the Prime Minister. Both were long-serving Chancellors, and both were considered very successful in the job. Both performed the rare feat of occasionally delivering government budgets which repaid debt instead of borrowing even more. Lawson’s career ended in failure, when he resigned rather than be implicitly undermined by the Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, who had employed an economic advisor that openly disagreed with Lawson’s policies. Brown’s career will likely end in failure too. Either his party or the electorate will end his political career, as both gradually lose faith in his capacity to change after decades of making the same promise. Brown’s vision of an end to stop-go economics was only a mirage. The ballot box is the least forgiving way to end a political career, but Brown will doubtless battle to the last. One can only guess where Brown will go when he is eventually ousted, and who will then decide the next change in Britain’s economic direction.

Everyone knows that Star Wars was set a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. But what if it had been set in a parallel universe, one that is oddly closer to home?

[An Imperial Star Destroyer chases the Princess Leia's consular ship, the Tantive IV. A battalion of stormtroopers is planning how they will board it.]

Stormtrooper Sargeant: Right lads, the front door is here (pointing at a holographic schematic of the interior of the Tantive IV). We will blow up the front door, climb through the hole, and proceed to rush any defenders we encounter down this very narrow corridor, ducking and diving past any blaster fire. Casualties should be no higher than 80%. Do we have any volunteers to be first through the door?

Stormtrooper 51-55Y: Sarge, wouldn’t it make more sense to go in another way, one where they won’t be waiting for us? We’ll be sitting ducks walking straight through the front door.

Stormtrooper Sargeant: What?!?!? You want to sneak up on them from behind, and miss the glory of getting shot in the head at the earliest opportunity? No, a frontal assault, that is the best policy for us Imperial Stormtroopers! Anyhow, our armour is made of strong plastic, and should be able to deflect most blaster shots.

Stormtrooper 51-55Y: Can’t we just switch off the rebel’s oxygen, or gas them, or blow them up, or at least switch off the lights before we board? I’m just trying to think of ways to reduce the number of casualties.

Stormtrooper Sargeant: Lookie here, I was killing Jedi back when your DNA was still being reconstituted, and I can tell you, I have never met a stormtrooper who was so keen on unorthodox battle tactics as you. It is our job to run headlong into battle. The glory of the Empire depends on it.

[The sound of Lord Vader approaching down the corridor, breathing heavily]

Stormtrooper 51-55Y: Alright, alright, I’ll go first. Anything to get away from that asthmatic wheezebag.

…

[Princess Leia gives R2-D2 a message, then hides around the corner]

C3-PO: What are you up to R2-D2?

R2-D2: Buzz, tweet, beep (translates as: Can you believe it? They have me carrying messages around like a bloody homing pigeon. I’m an astrodroid, not the Pony friggin’ Express. Silly cow should just learn how to use email. She tried to phone but it seems she cannot get any reception in this quadrant of the galaxy. So now I have to carry this message to that stupid old duffer, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Remember him? No of course you don’t, you had your bloody mind wiped, didn’t you? I’m surrounded by imbeciles.)

[Stormtroopers see Princess Leia hiding]

Stormtrooper 1: Set for stun

Stormtrooper 2: Set for stun? Ha! We didn’t have a stun setting in the good old days. We’d surround those Jedi and shoot and shoot and shoot until their bodies were charred from blaster burns. We may have been psychopaths, but we were loyal psychopaths. Back then we were warmongers, not peacekeepers. A lot of the glamour has gone out of the job for me. I mean, half of our men lie dead back there, and now we’re setting our blasters to stun. In the old days we would have just shot their ship right out of the sky…

[Stormtrooper 1 turns to Stormtrooper 2 and fires on him. Stormtrooper 2 falls to the ground.]

Stormtrooper 1: Another casualty of friendly fire.

…

[An escape pod from the Tantive IV whizzes past the window of an Imperial gunman, manning one of the turbolaser turrets]

Imperial Gunman: There goes an escape pod. Who left those hanger doors open!

Imperial Gunman Supervisor: Calm down. There’s no life signs. It must have launched because of a short circuit. There is no conceivable way that escape pod could be used to carry the secret blueprints for the Death Star.

Imperial Gunman: Suppose you’re right.

Imperial Gunman Supervisor: Anyhow, we need to be more environmentally conscious. I was on a training course the other day and they’ve introduced targets to get the Imperial Fleet to be carbon neutral within the next ten years. Do you know how much carbon is consumed by every turbolaser shot? To offset the carbon emissions of a Star Destroyer like this you need a forest the size of Endor.

Imperial Gunman: It’s all the fault of those clones, if you ask me. Can you imagine how much energy, not to mention money, is wasted growing those stupid clones in great big vats, then teaching them and training them, but most of them get shot a few seconds after entering battle. And we waste a helluva a lot on making that stupid plastic armour they wear. They might as well go into battle just wearing their boxer shorts.

…

[Imperial Commander walks up to Darth Vader aboard the Tantive IV]

Imperial Commander: Lord Vader, the battle station plans are not aboard this ship. And no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during fighting. No life forms were aboard. We’re all completely stumped as to what happened to those plans.

Lord Vader: You idiot! Do I have to think of everything? I’ll string up those nincompoops in laser targeting for this! And who left the hanger bay doors open this time?

…

[Jawas hiding in the rocks on Tatooine, waiting for droids to wander by]

Jawa: (mutters to himself) This has to be the stupidest idea we’ve ever had… hiding in the rocks in a desolate expanse on a sparsely-populated desert planet… in the hope that a stray astrodroid will wander by so we can capture it. What do they think is going to happen, that robots will start falling from the sky?

…

[Stormtroopers on Tatooine, examining the crash site of the Tantive IV's escape pod]

Stormtrooper: (holds up a metal ring he found on the ground) Look Sir! Droids!

Stormtrooper Sergeant: (sarcastically) ‘Look Sir! Droids!’ And which unit are you with: Stormtrooper CSI? Did they just transfer you in from a crack team in Forensics? Fancy yourself as a regular Sherlock Holmes, do you? That metal could have fallen off anything!! The escape pod is made of metal! We got tracks in the desert, one with footprints, one with wheelmarks, and no life signs. However, you’re still looking around for evidence of what was inside the escape pod. Of course it was droids! They must have cooked up a defective batch when they cloned you, boy. You hold on to that bit of metal, son. It goes with the plate in your head.

Stormtrooper: No sir. The plate in my head is made of strong plastic, sir.

…

[Jawas off-loading droids from their giant sandcrawler transport at the Skywalker homestead]

Jawa 1: We came all this way to sell droids to rednecks? Why didn’t we just drive into the droid market in town? These hicks farm moisture, for cryin’ out loud.

Jawa 2: Well, I’m sure as hell not paying to park this transport in Mos Eisley, especially since they introduced congestion charging. Ever since Mos Eisley council adopted that carbon neutral policy it’s just been one more tax on sandcrawlers after another. I wouldn’t mind if they spent the money on public transport, but have you ever seen a bus out here?

…

[Uncle Owen, standing with the Jawas by the sandcrawler, tells Luke to clean up the droids he just bought from them, an unknown red R2 unit and C3-PO. R2-D2 chases after.]

R2-D2: Beep, tweet, beep, blurp (translates as: Oi! How dare you pick that old garbage can ahead of me! It looks more like Dusty Bin than an R2 robot. I’m an exceptionally well-made droid, you know. And another thing…)

[Jawa restrains R2-D2 and it stops and falls silent. C3-PO and the other R2 follow Luke.]

Luke: This way (gestures that the droids should follow him)

[Red R2 droid follows haltingly, then blows up, emitting smoke from its head]

Luke: Uncle Owen! This R2 unit has a bad motivator, look!

Owen: (turns to Chief Jawa) Hey, what you trying to push on us?

Chief Jawa: Give me a break! If he’s got a bad motivator, then you go motivate him. Okay, okay, you can pick another robot, but no refund.

Jawa 2: (aside to Chief Jawa) Next these farmers will be asking us to provide a warranty and 24/7 support. I tell you, we should get out of this business of selling second-hand droids. There is no future in it.

Chief Jawa: And do what instead?

Jawa 2: On-line gambling. It’d be an instant hit on this planet, I tell you.

…

[At the dinner table in the Skywalker homestead]

Luke: You know, I think that R2 unit we bought might have been stolen…

Owen: What makes you think that?

Luke: Says he belongs to someone called Obi-Wan Kenobi…

Owen: Luke, sorry to break it to you, but of course the robot was stolen! Do you think the Jawas drove out all the way out here to sell us legitimate second-hand merchandise? Geez, boy, you’re so naive at times. And you want to go off and galavant with your friends at the academy? You wouldn’t last five minutes…

…

[Luke and C3-PO in the speeder, looking for R2-D2 who has gone missing]

Luke: There’s a droid on the scanners, hit the accelerator!

[Sound of sirens wailing. A flying police droid pulls up alongside Luke's speeder, and signals them to halt, which they do.]

Police droid: In a hurry? Step out of the vehicle please. Do you know how fast you were going? They call these things speeders for a reason…

Luke: Sorry sir, we lost our droid.

Police droid: Lost your droid? In the middle of the desert? A likely story.

Luke: Yes, I took his restraining bolt off…

Police droid: WHAT!! Are you some kind of droidist bigot? You put restraining bolts on robots? Keeping droids restrained is a serious offence. They’re not slaves, you know. Show me the droid’s ownership papers.

Luke: I don’t have any papers. We bought them from the Jawas yesterday…

Police droid: Receiving stolen merchandise? It’s one thing after another with you, isn’t it, young man?

Luke: Please sir, I am in so much trouble already. Is there some way we can work this out?

Police droid: What do you mean? You going to offer me some moisture?

Luke: How about 15 minutes in the ‘company’ of golden boy there? (points to C3-PO, still sitting in the landspeeder)

Police droid: I like a bit of posh. Make it 30 and it’s a deal.

…

[Sandmen on a hilltop see Luke rapidly approaching in his speeder]

Sandmen Leader: Quick, to the Bantas! His landspeeder will never escape our fleet-footed animals!

Banta: (aside) Another bloody speeder chase. Do I look like I’m built for speed? No wonder these sandmen still live in tents…

…

[Obi-Wan Kenobi takes Luke and the droids back to his home]

Luke: Ben, this droid claims to the property of an Obi-Wan Kenobi, do you know him, is he a relative of yours?

Obi-Wan: He’s me! I changed my name because I got sick of everyone making fun of it.

Luke: How did you know my father?

Obi-Wan: He was a good friend. We fought together in the clone wars, back when I was a lot younger, shorter and more Scottish. That reminds me. Here, your father wanted you to have this… (walks over to fetch something from a trunk)

Luke: What is it?

Obi-Wan: It’s your father’s light sabre.

Luke: (shaking and smacking the light sabre) It’s not working (holds the end up to his eye, pressing the button as he does) Are the batteries flat?

Obi-Wan: Let me see (takes the light sabre) - you left the safety on.

Luke: How did my father die?

Obi-Wan: He’s not dead. Darth Vader is your dad. He’s the most evil guy in the galaxy.

Luke: No way!

Obi-Wan: We’ve all been lying to you since you were a boy. We hid you here, with your uncle and your auntie, to keep you safe from your father.

Luke: So they’re not my real uncle and aunt? And my real name is Luke Vader, not Luke Skywalker? And you hid me on this horrible desert planet because nobody would think to look here?

Obi-Wan: No, they’re your real uncle and aunt. And Skywalker’s your real name; it was your father who changed his name. He decided Vader would sound more scary. He used to be called Annie Skywalker. And I thought my name was bad! In fact, your father was raised very close by; Owen is his half-brother. We hid you in the one place we knew Vader would never think to look: with his relatives! He was always terrible at keeping in touch with his family - he never wrote his mum a single postcard - so we assumed he’d never come back, not even at Christmas.

Luke: Seems like a strange plan to me… (starts to wonder if Obi-Wan is mad) Anyhow, this hot chick left some message for you in this droid….

(R2 starts to project message of Princess Leia)

Obi-Wan: That’s no hot chick… that’s your sister, Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.

Luke: Come on! You expect me to believe all that!??!? And my sister’s a Princess but I got stuck here farming moisture in the middle of a desert planet? Uncle Owen said I was naive, but I’m not gullible!

Obi-Wan: (waves fingers in front of Luke) you will forget everything I have just said (aside) I should have realized he’d never believe me anyway.

Luke: So what happened to my father?

Obi-Wan: He’s dead. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?

To be continued….

Hardly anyone likes the plays of William Shakespeare any more. He wrote great stories, invented new words, and greatly influenced English-speaking culture. Without The Bard, there would be no roses by any other names, no ladies that doth protest too much, and no dogs of war. In recent times, people have rebuilt his theatre, The Globe, and translated Hamlet into Klingon. But in an era that demands instant gratification, many find his language too unfamiliar, his stories too long, and his themes difficult to relate to. This is a terribly unfair. Shakespeare liberally mixed sex, violence and comedy into heady concoctions, palatable to both the elite and the man in the street. All the right ingredients are there. They just need remixing for a generation more accustomed to enjoying three minutes of popular cheese than three hours of satisfying entertainment. Here are my remixes of three Shakespeare classics…

Macbeth

Macbeth: Man, it’s pissing down. Good job we slaughtered the enemy so quickly.

Three Witches: Hubble bubble, you’re going to be King!

Banquo: Bloody hell! And what do I get?

Three Witches: You won’t be King, but your children will be.

Macbeth: Tell me more, like who will win the 3.30 at Kempton Park… bugger, they’ve gone.

King Duncan: Macbeth, I owe you a great debt for defeating my enemies in battle. As a reward, I am going to come over to your house for a party. I’ll need to sleep over ‘cos I fancy a drink but I’ll be driving.

Lady Macbeth: (aside to Macbeth) Great, we can kill King Duncan and take over the country!

Macbeth: (to Lady Macbeth) Erm….

Lady Macbeth: (to Macbeth) DO IT, DO IT, DO IT YOU BIG SCOTCH WOOLY WOOFTER

Macbeth: (to Lady Macbeth) Yes dear. (aside) I’m not so sure this is a good idea, but I’d rather murder the King than suffer more nagging from the missus.

[Later that night]

Macbeth: Is this a dagger which I see before me? No, it’s an hallucination. Better take it easy with the ganja next time I host a party. (Kills King Duncan in his sleep)

Lady Macbeth: Jesus Christ, what a mess! You’ve got blood everywhere! I’ll never get the stains out of this carpet.

Macduff: The King is dead! Who killed him? And who will be King now?

Macbeth: I didn’t kill him! No no no no. Not me. No sir. No no no. Now we have that sorted, does anybody object if I crown myself King?

Macduff: (aside) Methinks Macbeth is telling Macwhoppers.

Macbeth: Ok, now I’m King, let’s have another party! (to Banquo) I’d really like you to come, and you should bring your son as well.

Banquo: Okey dokey. (Pulls his mobile phone out and calls his son) Hey son, you’re invited to a party. (Is stabbed in the back) On second thoughts, perhaps you shouldn’t come. (Dies)

Macbeth: Let’s parrr-teeee! Pass that bong over here.

Lady Macbeth: (aside) At least we got him off the crack cocaine.

Macbeth: (seeing Banquo’s ghost) F*ck me! I really should stop smoking this stuff!

Lady Macbeth: Terribly sorry everyone, but this party is over. I’ll never get these bloodstains out with you lot trampling them in further!

Macbeth: I am going to call those witches for advice.

First Witch: Eye of newt, and toe of a frog…

Second Witch: (interrupting) No, no. You’re giving him the recipe for our amphibian stew. He asked for help with getting blood stains out of a carpet… here it is… cold water, salt and hydrogen peroxide.

Third Witch: And whilst we’ve got your attention, you’d better know that no man born of woman can kill Macbeth, and you’ll be safe so long as a great big forest does not walk right up to your front door.

Macbeth: Normally I’d say you must be barking mad, but as the missus is having some success with getting the stains out of the carpet, I’ll take your advice seriously.

English Army: Carrying these branches above our head, they’ll never see us coming!

Macbeth: Geez! The flippin’ forest is marching towards my front door! No, wait, it is the English army in camouflage. Pretty subtle, huh?

Lady Macbeth: (blotting the carpet furiously) Out, out, damned stain! I’ve had enough of this. (Kills herself)

Macbeth: Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow. She should have cleaned the carpet tomorrow.

Macduff: Bloody villain, I’m gonna bust a cap in your ass!

Macbeth: Come on, if you think you’re hard enough. I have it on good authority that no man born of woman can kill me.

Macduff: I was delivered by caesarian section, so was not “born” in an extraordinarily pedantic sense of the word.

Macbeth: Oh well. Serves me right for listening to a lot of bad advice from silly women. (Is killed by Macduff)

Romeo & Juliet

Prince of Verona: This town is going to hell, what with all those brawls between those bloody ruddy Capulets and Montagues.

Romeo: Hey Julie, looking hot! (aside) I like ‘em young.

Juliet: Cheers, you’re gorgeous - why don’t you climb up my balcony and light my fire?

Romeo: Could be risky, what with our families feuding all the time. Plus I’m out of condoms…. what the heck, I’ll call a priest.

Priest: I pronounce you man and wife. (aside) She’s a young hottie, but methinks lust has got the better of common sense this time.

Tybalt: Oi, Romeo! No Montague gatecrashers at our party! (aside) I knew we shouldn’t have publicized it through Facebook.

Mercutio: I hate them Capulets.

Tybalt: Take that! (stabs and kills Mercutio)

Prince of Verona: Romeo, you’d better get out of town before I run you out of town!!!

Juliet’s Dad: You look upset. Cheer up! I’m going to marry you off to Count Paris.

Juliet: What a predicament!

Priest: Drink this, and everybody will think you’re dead. (Juliet drinks sleepy stuff, falls into a coma)

Romeo’s servant: I got bad news - Juliet is dead!

Romeo: What a downer. I am going to kill myself.

Apothecary: Here’s that poison you wanted. Bloody lethal it is.

Romeo: Julie, you look hot even though you’re dead. (Drinks poison, dies)

Juliet: (wakes up) Shit! Romeo’s dead. If that poison is as lethal as the apothecary boasts, one drop from his lips will kill me too. (Kisses Romeo, dies)

Prince of Verona: What a balls-up! Why don’t we all learn to get along? Different strokes for different folks. And that apothecary should have a serious think about diversifying into contraceptives.

Julius Caesar

Narrator: It’s day fourteen in the Big Brother Senate House, and housemates Cassius and Brutus are increasingly fed up with Julius Caesar’s bossy behaviour. Meanwhile, Antony and Caesar’s adopted son Octavius are in the diary room.

Soothsayer: Beware the Ides of March.

Julius Caesar: Come again?

Brutus: He means beware March 15th - eviction night.

Julius Caesar: I’m not taking advice from some strange person I encounter at the start of a play. Didn’t you just see what happened to Macbeth?

Cassius: (aside to Brutus) Caesar bestrides the world like a Colossus, and we walk under his huge legs, afraid to peep up in case we get an eyeful.

Brutus: Yup, Caesar grows too big for his bossy boots.

Cassius: Let’s kill him and put his bossiness to an end.

Brutus: Kill him? Didn’t you see what happened to Macbeth either?

Cassius: A recent internet poll came out strongly in favour of our murdering Caesar.

Brutus: In that case, let’s do it.

[March 15th, at the Big Brother Senate]

Soothsayer: It’s March 15th! Today is eviction day!

Julius Caesar: Are you still here? And who let you in anyway? Don’t you have anything better to do? (Caesar is stabbed in the back by Brutus et al.) Now I get the point. (Dies)

[At the Big Brother's Little Brother Forum]

Brutus: Romans! I love Rome. We killed Julius Caesar to stop him bossing us all around so much. And because we saw an internet poll that was heavily in favour of his assassination. Is everyone cool with that?

Romans: Sure. There’s no arguing with internet polls. And the way you executed Caesar was very entertaining.

Antony: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.

Romans: What are you going to do with them?

Antony: It’s a figure of speech. I mean, shut up and listen to me for a change. I don’t talk fancy, like Brutus does, but I think it was very naughty of him and the others to kill Caesar. And in his will, Caesar left you all his money and his properties and his prized DVD collection. So tell me now, Romans, who are you going to vote out of the Big Brother Senate come the next eviction day?

Romans: Vote out Brutus! He killed the noble and generous Caesar!

Octavius: (aside, to Antony) Looks like the bookies have you and me as the odds-on favourites to win now.

Brutus: That’ll teach me to trust internet polls. (Kills himself)

Is there enough time to do everything you should be doing? Think about it: think of all the expectations that everyone has, and whether there really are enough hours in the day to do it all. Think of all the advice you get from the news and magazines about having a better, happier life, then work out when you would do it all.

There are 168 hours every week. Let us assume you work. Bang! There goes 40 hours (or 50 hours… or more…) in one shot. Unless you work in public service, are on benefits or are cheating the system. Good for you, but that does not help the rest of us. Not many of us live above the shop we run, so probably you will spend half an hour on getting to work and getting back again each day. Splat! Another 5 hours consumed. Most people also need some sleep. Pow! There goes another 8 hours per night or 56 hours a week, if you really want to stay healthy (physically and mentally) and get the normal number of z’s needed each night. Mr. and Ms. Average are already down to 67 spare hours a week. Then some doctor tells you to go do some exercise to stay healthy Zap! That will take up another 2 hours a week at least, unless you intend to skip the shower and are happy to spend the rest of the day stinking of sweat. Better schedule some quality time for family and friends. How about reserving 25 minutes per day? Smack! Another 3 hours a week spent on just getting people to like you (and ensuring your kids remember who you are). We are down to just a measly 62 hours now.

Do not forget your civic duties. Better keep up with the news once in a while, so you know which way to vote come the next election. But maybe you are reading the newspaper on the train to work… phew! Okay, you got off the hook on that one, but you better spend the journey home reading a proper book so you do not seem like an ill-cultured ignoramus at the next party you attend. Thwack! Caught you out - who said you had time to attend a party? One night out a week will take up 5 hours at least, and you do not get to count it with the quality time because getting drunk is something totally different… Before you go out, better brush your teeth/bathe/shave your face/shave your legs/put on lippy on/put your dentures in* (*delete as applicable) Splosh! There goes another 3 hours a week. Take a freebie on how long it takes to get dressed, though for some it you it will take hours. Which also means ironing shirts and laundry. And other household chores, like the washing up and hoovering. Crack! There goes another 2 hours a week, you slovenly lot. We are down to 52 hours spare each week.

Were you planning on eating ever? Yes, I know you could eat out, but all those TV chefs will be angry at you unless you cook one decent meal a week. Then you had better do some shopping for food, too. If you are super-speedy at both then maybe you only spend 2 hours doing that each week. You also have to keep the fashion gurus happy by shopping for clothes and shoes. That will be the final 50 hours for some of you, closer to 1 minute every other month for others.

Were you ever going to do something for the community, like helping the elderly woman who lives next door, or volunteering for the neighbourhood watch scheme? Of course not! But you waste 10 minutes a week imagining yourself to be a decent human being or making excuses for not doing it. A more realistic drain on your time is telly, and worst of all the ad breaks in telly. Bam! There goes another 10 hours a week (admit it!) unless you spend that time browsing the web, watching DVDs or playing video games instead…

Have you ever spent the day filling out a tax form? Or weeding your garden? Or putting together your Ikea furniture? Better be careful - you probably cannot spare the time. Let us hope your luck holds and nobody in the family gets sick (least of all you), that the car does not break down, that the upstairs toilet does not develop a leak and that your pet does not get fleas. You simply do not have the time for any of that. You need to find time for brain-training games and staring at sunsets and clearing out those boxes from the garage and knitting a scarf and supporting the cup run of your local football team and learning the piano and booking your skiing holiday and and and and…

Did you forgot to make time for loving? You know the lurve thing. That funky love action. Getting it on. The James Brown/Barry White/Marvin Gaye luurrrve THING, baby. It could be that you are not exercising those muscles (ahem) very often. If you are a man, any time saved by not doing is subsequently wasted by either thinking about it, or practicing on your own. On the plus side for men, if you do meet a woman interested in you, you can guarantee that after all that practice you zip from pants off to fast asleep in less than two minutes. If you are a woman, this may not seem like long enough. Better get used to it - at least you can use the time saved to complain to your friends about it.

Feeling a bit hurried? Not sure what to do next? There is only one thing for it. Better make a list of things to do. Then make another list because you missed some things off the first list. Lose the second list, waste some time looking for it, then combine the third and first list into a super-list that covers both. Before you know it, you will be making lists of all the lists you have. You should also keep a diary. Block out your time carefully, months in advance. That way, when the plans inevitably change at the last minute and you need to sell those concert tickets, you will have only wasted the time you spent managing your diary.

Then you make time for a course on time management and they tell you to prioritize, like that is a solution. Prioritization is no solution if you still have more things to do than the time available. But try telling that to the person giving you the time management course, especially as you spend the next hour arguing for your money back.

And then you have to find time to read a blog about how little time you have. But look on the bright side: at least you are not the one making time to write it.

(The observant ones will have noticed that you after my calculations, there might be another 40 hours spare each week after all. So where does it go - I have no idea! Perhaps it just slips off the bottom of the page, like this paragraph…)