So why in God’s name was I dragging myself out of bed to go and listen to Ed Balls?

The answer is that weeks earlier I had decided that as part of my “get out and do more stuff or you’ll just sit alone in your flat and end up getting a cat” regime I would book a ticket for the Guardian’s first Open Weekend. I know, it sounds like the most revoltingly middle class event in history, which the Guardian themselves described itself as “Richard Littlejohn’s worst nightmare”. As I sat bleary eyed on the Piccadilly line to Kings Cross I really wasn’t sure why I was going, and given the £30 ticket price started to fret that it was all a waste of time, money and valuable doing nothing time.

Fortunately I was proved wrong. Yes, many of the cliches you would expect from a Guardian event were there, including poetry in the foyer, all sorts of free range/organic produce at a canal side farmers market and various eccentric characters milling around. Not that I understood the poetry… I tried, honestly I did, but as I sat surrounded by intelligent looking folk nodding earnestly all I could feel was the whoosh of the prose flying straight over my head. I have no soul.

The event mostly consisted of a bewildering selection of talks, workshops and debates held across the Guardian’s Kings Place HQ, the lower floors of which double as an arts centre. It’s a wonderful building nestled on the Regents Canal just round the corner from Kings Cross. I had serious office envy, although as I know too well a good looking building is not necessarily a joy for its occupiers.

Here are some incoherent ramblings on the sessions I attended:

Ed Balls in conversation

I’ve never been a huge fan of Ed Balls. He always comes across as a bit of a bully who is very keen to tell people they’re wrong but then less so to tell us the solution. In this session his human side definitely came across, probably thanks to the time available and a tone far less aggressive than your regular interview, Commons debate or episode of Question Time. His worries over the NHS reforms was surprisingly chilling, describing such policies as the moments that make opposition hurt the most. His critique of the budget was unsurprising, although again I couldn’t grasp much substance in terms of alternatives.

Obviously a room full of Guardian readers such as myself were going to be sympathetic to Balls’s coalition bashing, and much as I found myself nodding along I felt deeply uncomfortable that I was merely validating my own views. The interviewer could have been more challenging at points, although she rightly picked up on the hypocrisy of a former Labour minister criticising the current government for attempting to manipulate the media. It wasn’t entirely a love-in from the audience though, with many expressing the common exasperation of left-leaning voters despising the coalition but struggling to understand the opposition’s message. Balls’s answer is that as the public grow tired of excuses the mood would change and support would drift back to Labour. I think he’s right about being tired of excuses, but I’m not so sure about the second part.

Some edited highlights of the session are available here.

Will the internet be open?

Richard Allan (Facebook’s European director of policy), Rachel Whetstone (Google’s global head of communications and public policy) and Clay Shirky (auther, professor, God to geeks) discussed freedom on the web and the threats to it. China may be the obvious example, but as Whetstone pointed out this risks letting several (even democratic) countries off the hook. While she was reluctant to name and shame, Shirky was happy to point the finger at Turkey and South Korea. The panel explored some of the issues, both real and hypothetical, that face companies like Google and Facebook as well as their implications for start-ups – YouTube can afford lawyers, the next YouTube can’t.

Allan was reluctant to be drawn on Facebook’s stance on China and what they would and wouldn’t be willing to compromise on to gain access to the lucrative market. I think that relationship status will definitely be “It’s complicated” for a while. There was also a brief but good-natured ding dong over what Facebook did and didn’t reveal to Google and why Mark Zuckerberg’s Google+ profile appears higher in Google’s search results than his Facebook presence. It would have been nice to hear the neutral Shirky pronounce over such issues, but time was against us.

No great conclusion was reached, but it was a thought-provoking discussion with excellent speakers, especially Shirky. I ended up buying one of his titles from the bookshop, where I could happily have spent a small fortune had I not reined myself in and remembered my already overflowing in-tray of reading material.

Small society: are Britain’s social bonds fraying?

This was a wildcard option for me as I had a spare slot and there were still tickets available. It was definitely the most “Guardiany” session of my day, addressing issues around social cohesion, community and inevitably last year’s riots. Camila Batmanghelidjh of Kids Company was, as ever, a captivating listen, conveying the sometimes impossible to imagine realities of some young people. There is always a danger of appearing to make excuses which, on the whole, she successfully avoids, although as with Ed Balls this was hardly a balanced room.

Social analyst Richard Sennett discussed the implications spending more time at work, especially with work now often so far from home. His suggestion seemed to be that more home “stuff” (my pathetic phrasing, not his) such as schools and childcare should be moved closer to our work. I wasn’t too clear on how this would make a significant difference, other than distancing us even further from our home communities. As an audience member later questioned, why must we accept the premise that life should adapt to work and not the other way around?

Conservative MP Jesse Norman somehow bypassed security and made it to the stage, but generally refused to play up to the Tory stereotypes which was pleasing, although I honestly can’t remember the thrust of his argument (and I wonder why the journalism thing never worked out for me?).

The tone of the discussion was not especially combative, with each speaker largely making their own points without disputing the others. There was one tense moment when Norman attempted to suggest that Hereford was not the bed of roses you might expect, which seemed to rile Batmanghelidjh and more so the audience, which I found frustratingly predictable.

Again there was little in the way of conclusion… other than the depressing thought of what social unrest may blight the Olympics. Cheery cheery. Incidentally I’m no saint on communities – in the six months I have lived in my current flat I have barely said a word to my neighbour, and I’m massively jealous of my friends in the suburbs who not only know their neighbours but even socialise with them!

On the cutting edge: scientists working at CERN explain the latest developments in physics

Scientists communicating their work always fascinate me… I don’t know why people so fantastically intelligent and sufficiently focussed (some would say blinkered) to reach the summit of their chosen field should somehow, by coincidence, be expected to also possess the ability to disseminate this knowledge to us mere mortals. Many of my university lecturers were, I’m certain, at the bleeding edge of their specialism, but they couldn’t explain the relative basics for toffee.

The three physicists on this panel did a reasonably good job explaining their amazing work, and an excellent job conveying their passion and enthusiasm. I was definitely struggling by the end though… clearly this was due to a lack of sleep. Yet even as I sat in utter confusion, I was thrilled that on a glorious Sunday afternoon there were a few hundred people willing to sit in a dark basement in Kings Cross to hear about this stuff.

The Guardian's three little pigs and big bad wolf

Some other nice touches to occupy time between sessions:

• Over lunch in the staff canteen (a very tasty lamb cobbler) I shared a table with a couple of Guardian writers who were happy to chat about the sessions we had each been to, along with what they were working on that afternoon. A reminder that amidst the crowds there were still people putting together a newspaper for Monday morning.
• A giant mural was created over the course of the weekend, documenting and reflecting on the event, exploring the purpose of the paper, its relationship with its readers and its future in the digital age. Yeah, OK, very Guardian.
• The three little pigs and the big bad wolf from the Guardian’s recent TV ad were on display in the foyer. If you haven’t watched the ad, do so now – I think even an Express reader would chuckle.

And the point?

So what was the point of all this? At £30 for a day ticket it wasn’t exactly cheap, but I have no idea if they made a profit or if that was even the purpose. I suspect this was more about a newspaper engaging with its audience, trying to make them feel more connected, more inclined to get involved and more likely buy copies / subscriptions / associated services.

And the point for me? I don’t really know. It was just a nice way to spend a day, surrounded by pleasant and friendly people. Much like when I go to Radio 4 comedy recordings at the BBC, this felt like my crowd – certainly more so than the people I shared the cocktail bar with the previous evening (my friends aside of course!).

This was an opportunity to learn more about things that I knew a bit about and to learn a bit about things I didn’t know about at all, though I should probably have challenged myself and done more of the latter. My one regret is not getting along to any of the sessions about the paper itself – how it’s put together and what the future holds. Hopefully I’ll have another opportunity next year.

I’m still a media anorak at heart. And apparently a Guardianista as well. I can live with that.

Considering each lasted no more than half an hour, and most came in under 15 minutes, I have a surprising amount to say about some of them… more than many “full length” films.

Click the titles for IMDB entries.

Live Action

Pentecost – a funny and well acted story of an Irish altar boy in the 70s, obsessed by Liverpool FC and tasked with putting in the performance of his life at a high profile mass. Enjoyable, but very WYSIWYG.

Raju – a German couple travel to India to adopt an orphan. In a highly predictable scene the boy disappears in a busy market, plunging his adoptive parents into turmoil. What happens next does however surprise, and leads to an impossible dilemma. The director successfully captures the chaos of the situation, both physically and emotionally. This was my choice for winner on every count – story, significance and film-making.

The Shore – a tale of a broken friendship through the Northern Ireland troubles. One of them is back in town and looking to reunite…. I wonder what might happen? Highly predictable, though in an engaging and at times amusing way. For me this was the weakest of a strong field. What’s that? It won the Oscar? Shows what I know.

Time Freak – the only American entry and (I’m sure coincidentally) the most accessible, the “Freak” of the title has invented a time machine but becomes obsessed with perfecting his role in minor day-to-day encounters. A simple idea that certainly spoke to this obsessive compulsive perfectionist… I definitely wouldn’t cope with time travel!

Tuba Atlantic – Oskar is told he has days to live and wants to send a message to his disowned brother on the other side of the Atlantic. Helped along by his personal angel of death. Who is still in training. And he’s got a thing about seagulls. Utterly bonkers, but kind of sweet.

Animated

Dimanche / Sunday – I loved the “flat” style of the animation, but that’s all I did love. To be honest I didn’t understand what was happening, and neither did my two friends. Could all three of us have just been a bit thick?

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr Morris Lessmore – a hurricane sweeps Morris to a mysterious house inhabited by flying books, for which he becomes custodian. I spent the first half thinking “this doesn’t really make sense”, but then was utterly charmed by the second half. The animation of the books was spot on and couldn’t fail to make me smile. It reminded me a lot of Up, but there are many other influences that those more cine-literate than me would spot. Hardly complex, but my favourite… and this time the Oscar judges agreed with me.

La Luna – Pixar have done some amazing shorts over the years, most notably the hilarious For The Birds. Oh, and the one with the clouds…. I might need to get the Pixar DVDs out. But La Luna… sorry, didn’t do it for me. Young boy taken to work with his father for the first time, and it turns out his dad does something clever with the sky. Technically excellent, and probably works well for kids, but not much more.

A Morning Stroll – the only British nominee, and as the screening was introduced by its director/producer who seemed like a nice chap I was probably pre-disposed to liking it. A chicken and a New Yorker go for the Morning Stroll of the title – actually they go three times, with each stroll altering our view of what is really happening. The use of animation is the best of the nominees, and if I weren’t a sucker for the charm of The Flying Books it would, and perhaps should, have been my winner.

Wild Life – something to do with an Englishman moving to Canada and his struggle to settle in, plus some kind of metaphor involving a comet. I didn’t get this one at all… answers on a postcard.

This has really opened my eyes to shorts… Given I come out of almost every cinema trip thinking “that could have been 20 minutes shorter”, it’s probably fair to say I have a short attention span. But not every story or idea needs two hours, as these nominees demonstrate perfectly.

Ten films, almost all worth the short amount of my life they consumed (just under 4 hours total), for two £7 tickets. A pretty good return on investment in my book.

• More on The Oscar Shorts, including trailers

The Artist

Here’s the thing… I didn’t love it.

I’ll just give you a moment to recover from that revelation…..

That’s not to say I didn’t like it and enjoy it. I’m not even saying I don’t think it should have won the Oscar for Best Film, largely because I can’t think of a better candidate off the top of my head while I type this quickly on a drizzly Sunday evening eating leftover lasagne. I just wasn’t as blown away as almost everyone else was.

I suspect this largely comes down to the expectation/anti-climax issue. As David Mitchell (who I want to be when I grow up) recently remarked upon, when anything is built up with excessive praise the result can only be disappointment. I went into The Artist wanting to see an excellent film, which happened to be silent and shot in 4:3 black and white. What I got was a fairly mediocre film which was all about being silent and being shot in 4:3. The plot was predictable, the characters (the dog aside) thin and largely unlikeable… I just didn’t care. There was some nice cinematography, the dream sequence is worthy of note, and as a modern day novelty it held my attention for the refreshingly short running time. But for me, novelty was the bulk of it. Even ignoring the shark jumping conclusion, if this had been released in the era it was meant to be taking us back to it would barely have registered.

Some have pondered whether the success of The Artist would usher in a flurry of look-a-like/lack of sound-a-likes… I doubt it. This was about a silent film being released in the 21st century. Now it has been done, the point has been made. It is nonetheless enormously uplifting that The Artist could be a popular triumph, once again proving that audiences are willing to embrace fare that doesn’t conform to the regular Hollywood formula. There may be hope after all.

• The Artist on IMDB

The Iron Lady

Back when I was a producer at a talk radio station, there were certain topics that would make the phones ring. Abortion. Parking tickets. Benefits. If it was 3 in the morning on a quiet news day and your desperate presenter was stuck doing a monologue and approaching an on air breakdown, you could throw one of these out and the switchboard would light up. Granted the people on the other end were generally over-opinionated and under-informed, but not every hour could be Sony award winning.

One such topic was our beloved/despised former PM Margaret Thatcher. Since at the age of 9 I hadn’t really developed an interest in politics (contrary to popular belief I wasn’t born reading The Guardian) I have always struggled to understand the magnitude of emotions surrounding Mrs T. Sure, I got that depending on your leaning you either loved or loathed her policies, probably more so than with most governments. But could she really be so bad that people, and not just the afore-mentioned over-opinionated and under-informed, looked forward to celebrating her death?

Realistically I didn’t expect The Iron Lady to massively realign my understanding of the emotions surrounding 80′s politics, which is good because this wasn’t a film about Thatcher’s politics. In fact it was barely about Thatcher at all… it was a cleverly executed and beautifully acted exploration of dementia, ageing, and losing power. Clearly for the latter aspect it’s hard to imagine anyone for whom the contrast could be so extreme, but otherwise the protagonist could have been anyone.

This explains why the film drew the criticism it did from many sides. For those who agree with Thatcher’s politics, reducing her life to her heartbreaking final years is an insult. For those that found her abhorrent, attempting to rouse any kind of sympathy is an outrage. The great controversies of her career were given moments of exploration which would have left even Daily Express writers thinking “now it’s a bit more complicated than that…”. This was never going to change anyone’s opinion, but I don’t think it intended to. If I want to learn about the complexities of the politics I guess I’m going to have to read some books, because it probably can’t be done in two hours of cinema.

Before I move on, Meryl Streep was thoroughly deserving of her Oscar for this role – haunting, moving and an impersonation that was pitched just the right side of cliché. Although I still struggle to take her seriously after Death Becomes Her. Also more than worthy of note was Olivia Coleman playing Thatcher’s daughter Carol, easily the most overlooked supporting actress performance of the year.

• The Iron Lady on IMDB

Martha Marcy May Marlene

This wasn’t the kind of film I would normally see. I would see the trailer and read about in the paper, then have no intention of going to see. It shrieked depth and intelligence, and while I wouldn’t class myself as shallow and thick (hush at the back) it just wasn’t for me. But when Claudia and Danny on Film 2012 and the good Dr Kermode all raved about it, I thought maybe I should broaden my horizons. So off I trundled…

I’m hesitant to say anything about the plot as I would agree with the many critics who have said the less you know in advance the better. In fact for the purpose of this “review” it doesn’t really matter, because even now, several weeks later, I don’t know what I made of it. All I can say is that I’m glad I ventured out of my comfort zone, as it’s rare for a film to make me think for as long as this did and continues to do.

My viewing in fact doubled as a second date – yeah, weird choice of date movie. To add to the fun the chap I was with seemed to be something of film buff so I was rather concerned about being found out when I couldn’t proffer some deep and meaningful analysis. After a few minutes of us both attempting to sound intellectually moved, we both cottoned on the fact that neither of us had a clue *. But it definitely needed to be seen with someone, as this one really did need to be dissected afterwards.

I find myself now staring at the blinking cursor asking what my point is…. I guess on this film I don’t have one. But it does make the point that I should try films I otherwise wouldn’t more often, so I would advise you do the same.

• Martha Marcy May Marlene on IMDB

* No, I didn’t see him again. Maybe I was found out after all.

Anyway, I digress. Once you get over the title, Educating Essex was in fact one of the best documentaries I’ve seen a while.

The star of the show is clearly deputy head Mr Drew. He seems to capture the perfect qualities of a secondary teacher – the one that can have a laugh with his students, but who can also turn up the discipline when needed. We saw less of the headmaster, Mr Goddard, in the opening episode but he too seems thoroughly suited to the job, taking a clearly nonsensical accusation of assault deadly seriously and handing the situation perfectly.

In many ways this programme should have been quite depressing, featuring as it did a tiny minority of kids behaving in a disgraceful way. Yet the handling of these difficult situations by the school meant the programme was actually quite uplifting, even inspiring. Amongst the nuggets of wisdom dished out by Mr Drew, my favourite came when he was being interviewed about the school’s reluctance to expel unruly pupils. It was suggested that this meant the kids would always win, to which he replied that he wants the kids to win.

With so much said by politicians, commentators, the media and us everyday folk about education and what schools need to be doing, it was refreshing to see the reality of an everyday school dealing with everyday issues.

At one point the head and his deputy broke the fourth wall and made reference to the documentary they were starring in, worrying “what if they think we’re all idiots?”. Well don’t worry Mr Drew, I think the exact opposite.

• Watch Educating Essex on 4oD

We put the news on one of the screens in the shop. At one point a customer came to the counter and quite irately demanded to know why we were showing a silly disaster film instead of the 3:10 from Kempton. It was a misunderstanding that sums of the surreal nature of that day.

This morning I was setting up my new TV, and since it was Sunday morning most of the channels were showing drivel, so I put it on BBC News which was showing one of dozens of documentaries that have been made about 9/11. Although I have seen those pictures hundreds of times and heard many moving stories of what people endured that day, it still brings a lump to the throat.

This was a story that unfolded on live TV, in all its shocking detail. I won’t just read about it history books and watch archive, like I have done so many events of the past. It’s odd to think there are people now in their teens who wouldn’t have been aware of what was happening on 9/11 and who now wonder what it was like to have lived through those times. Of course people older than me can say the same about many other historical moments.

This was undoubtedly the defining news event of my life so far. Here’s hoping it remains that way.

Last weekend I had the joy of being part of Ashley and Ivanka’s big fat Ukranian wedding in Manchester, taking up the dubiously titled role of best man. As my good friend Matt has so eloquently blogged, weddings can be somewhat trying affairs, especially for us singletons, and all the more so when you have responsibilities including getting up in front of a room full of strangers and trying to be funny. Obviously one is always happy to see their friends celebrate their union, but let’s face it, weddings can be ten-a-penny when you’re in your late twenties and early thirties.

So here’s the thing… it was lovely. From start to finish. Even though I didn’t have a clue what was happening for a lot of the time (there was a lot in Ukranian). Starting with the rehearsal and dinner on Thursday, the quiet night in with Ash’s family on the Friday, to the big day itself. Having been so busy worrying about all the things that needed to be done and remembered, it suddenly hit me that actually what this was all about was my two friends getting married.

There was of course the added pressure of the speech – I think it went reasonably well, people seemed to laugh at the right places and nobody walked out. A few people who weren’t there have asked to read it, so I’ve reproduced it below. Apparently some of the stories turn out not to be 100% accurate, but why let the truth get in the way of a giggle.

With that out of the way, it was time to let the hair down. By which I mean get riotously drunk. I don’t think I disgraced myself, but it was great to spend an evening laughing, dancing and generally being daft with good friends. I finally got to bed at 4:30… which given I had to drive from Manchester to London the following day probably wasn’t sensible. But screw sensible for once… although if anyone has video of the midnight performance of the Macarena, I want all copies destroyed.

The hotel was stunning, and there’s nothing quite like staying in a hotel where you’re part of the wedding party – nothing is too much trouble. Pot of tea at 11:30pm? No problem. Although I was alarmed by how easy it was to get a key to the honeymoon suite at 1am! And I’m sure they judged us for the 3:30am room service call for more champagne: “No, we don’t want anything to eat with that!”.

There are some pictures on my (new) Flickr account, although I’m sure others will have many more that are far better – I can’t wait to see the official ones. And just down there is a little video I shot at the reception of the Ukranian dance troop that Ivanka was once part of, trying to teach Ash some moves. Note I was hiding behind a pillar, for fear of being roped in myself!

And surely, someone, somewhere must have been able to take one picture of me that I actually like. Well, not so far. Shit, this was meant to be unremittingly positive wasn’t it.

The speech

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m James, the questionably titled best man. 10 years ago in the corridors of Imperial College’s computer science department I met a shy, cantankerous, geeky young man with a receding hairline and for both our sins we’ve been friends and drinking partners ever since.

Before we get down to business, I must first reiterate the groom’s compliments to the bridesmaids who have done a wonderful job and look absolutely amazing, and on their behalf thanks to Ashley for his kind words. On any other day these bridesmaids would have stolen the show but of course that accolade belongs firmly to the beautiful bride – Ivanka you look stunning, and I think we can all agree that Ashley is a very lucky man.

Can I also say a big thank you to my fellow groomsmen Matt and JJ who haven’t scrubbed up too badly themselves and have proved invaluable in the run up and the course of today.

Finally on the list of thank yous, on behalf of I’m sure everyone here I would like to thank Ashley and Ivanka for inviting us to be part of their special day. It has been truly magical and it has been a pleasure for us all to share it with you, so thank you for having us.

It was an honour to be asked to be Ashley’s best man. Being the awkward modern man that most of us are, the invitation wasn’t exactly moving – I seem to remember Ash’s exact words were “Ivanka says I should ask you to be my best man”, which I think sets the scene quite nicely.

Of course the answer was yes and it is a pleasure to be here now, but I must admit to some anxieties as the day approached. Of course the main worry for any best man is the speech – what if they don’t laugh? Well I’ve sorted that, so if the dozen or so people I have bribed to find everything I say hysterical would like to come and find me at the end, you can collect your five pound notes. (Alright, I’ll make it a tenner).

The other big anxiety was the sheer complexity of the wedding ceremony and the proceedings surrounding it. Not being familiar with the Ukranian traditions I have been keen over the past year to get my head around all the customs that would form part of this special day, but to be honest it’s all been a bit of a blur. All I kept hearing about was lots of sacred cloths, lots of candles being passed back and forth and a fair amount of vodka. The whole thing sounded to me like something of a fire risk.

Of course a fire risk would be appropriate since our lovely couple met thanks to their involvement in the College Motor Club which maintains Jez, a 1916 Dennis Brothers N type London Fire Brigade appliance and now mascot of the Royal College of Science (is that right?) which you may have seen over the course of today. Many decades old, prone to regular breakdown and in need of constant care and attention, Ashley spent many an hour in the Jez garage, which is where he met Ivanka. Eventually Ashley summoned up the courage to ask Ivanka on their first proper date. As we’ve already heard, Ash is a master of the sincere and touching invitation, and I think us singletons could learn a thing or two about the art of enticing that special someone out for a romantic evening. So what were the words that Ivanka could not resist? What was it that finally melted her heart and persuaded her that Ashley was worth the time of day. Pens and paper at the ready gentlemen, here they were:

“I’ve got a 2 for 1 voucher for Bella Italia, fancy going dutch?”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Ivanka may not have recognised the significance of this invitation. Either that or some kind of automatic defence mechanism meant her brain refused to process the concept of a date with Ashley, so she perhaps thought this was just a friendly invite from a mate, and not a romantic gesture. As a result, her response was not quite what Ash had in mind:

“Sure. Let’s invite JJ along too.”

Ashley was, as you would expect, heartbroken. Because as all good spend-thrifts know, a 2 for 1 voucher with 3 people is not maximising the saving.

So with that in mind, I have a little something for our happy couple… a 2 for 1 voucher at Bella Italia! So you can recreate that special evening – with or without JJ, it’s up to you.

Despite this initial hiccup, eventually the seeds of love were sewn and 6 years later here we are. The fact that Ashley proposed shortly after finding a discount voucher for suit hire is, I’m assured, completely coincidental.

When I came to write this speech, I thought I should include something about why Ashley and I have been friends for so long. I thought long and hard about this…. but came up with nothing. Fortunately being a compulsive geek, I have kept almost every email I have ever sent and received so thought I would go back and see what Ashley and I used to talk about back when we first met, and there I found the answer as to why he has been such an invaluable friend. For what I found was dozens of emails of him answering my annoying questions about how to do various pieces of coursework and programming exercises – I knew there must have been some reason why I put up with him!

But what I also found was that Ashley tended to use email mainly to forward jokes to his friends. And one in particular caught my eye – in total honesty Ashley sent this to me on 16^th December 2001, and I would like to share it with you now. It’s called “Romance Mathematics” (yes, we really were that cool). According to this formula, a dumb man plus a dumb woman equals a one night stand. A smart man plus a dumb woman equals an affair. But a smart man plus a smart woman equals romance. Is that what we have here today?

Of course there is one more combination left… a dumb man plan plus a smart woman. And that ladies and gentleman, equals marriage.

Another traditional element of the best man’s speech is of course the tales of drunkenness and depravity involving the groom. Unfortunately as Ash and I were both born middle-aged – although in my case only in mind-set and not hairline – there was not much to tell. I had hoped that the stag weekend would throw up something revelatory, but alas I made the mistake of appointing JJ the head of debauchery and the best he could come up with was a shaving foam pie in the face. I’m reliably informed that won’t happen today, though Ash if you’ve got the 2 for 1 voucher for the dry cleaning I’d keep it handy.

There were however some snippets of conversation that I think warrant sharing… obviously it would be indiscreet of me to disclose too much, so I shall remove all context and just give you with the following three quotes from the groom himself:

• “A camel is much more useful than a woman.” (someone might be getting the hump)
• Referring to Chris, his sister’s boyfriend: “I’d swap Ivanka for Chris”. Look out Stacey.
• “If I’m going to wake up with face full of shaving foam then I want JJ’s sausage afterwards”.

I’d like to tell you that these were less disturbing with the benefit of context, but they really weren’t.

Stag night aside I did try to seek out embarrassing stories from Ashley’s past – I even asked his little sister for any stories of his younger years, but nothing was forthcoming. Which can only mean that he has a completely clear record and has led a life of purity, integrity and decency. Or, more believably, that he has had anyone with anything to tell sworn to silence through bribery, blackmail or, most likely, sinister threat. Nobody, it seems, dares mess with Dr Brown. In fact after the cheap shots about his hairline I’m half expecting to find a horse’s head in my bed tonight.

But enough of his Lordship here, what of our beautiful bride? We can all see how beautiful she is, but what you can’t see with your eyes is that she has a beautiful personality to match. Always with an infectious smile on her face, always up for a good chat, always interested in other people, even those she’s just met – she really is one of the friendliest people I know. And knowing Ashley’s exacting standards, she must be doing something right to have won him round.

It’s almost 10 years to the day that I’ve known Ashley, and I can honestly say that the 6 he has been with Ivanka have been his happiest. He’s gone from being that geeky boy that I met in a corridor in 2001 to being the charming, successful man who has achieved amazing things, albeit with less hair.  And I’m sure his success and happiness has been more than partly thanks to his other half.

Ivanka, all joking aside, you’ve got one of life’s good guys, and I’m sure he will spend the rest of his life loving and supporting you and doing his utmost to bring you every happiness, as I’m sure you will him.

And if all else fails, at least he can always fix the computer.

Ladies and gentlemen that’s me done, so all that remains is for me to ask you to be upstanding….

And raise your glasses to Ivanka and Ashley, the bride and groom.

I went to bed last night having spent an uncomfortable few hours watching the coverage on BBC News. The images such as those of the furniture store burning out of control were simply astonishing and tragically compulsive. Around 11pm I started to hear rumours that trouble was brewing in Ealing, my adopted home of the past 6 years. Initially I dismissed this as rumour and exaggeration of the (justified) extreme police precaution. Last night you could put virtually any place name into the Twitter search box and you would find tweets claiming the area was under attack and that its branch of Nando’s had burned down. By 11pm I could no longer bear to hear any more, switched off the radio and went to sleep.

At 6am I awoke to news that there had indeed been violence in Ealing. Turning on Sky News I was met with images of destruction not unlike or anywhere near as severe as the pictures I had seen from Tottenham, Enfield, Hackney or many other areas over the past few days. Except this time the windows that were smashed were those of coffee shops I had relaxed in, restaurants I had dined in, and retailers I had shopped in. Selfish though it sounds, it definitely hurts more when it’s your home.

In the office today the mood was subdued, and most people had a story to tell of what they witnessed last night. One colleague told of a troublemaker hiding under bins in her garden, meters from her bedroom window. I consider myself fortunate that in my temporary lodgings in a relatively sleepy village near Heathrow (long story) I am immune from the direct of impact of events.

As many of you will know, I’m something of a Guardian reading, granola munching, fairtrade drinking lefty liberal. And as us types so often do, I’ve found myself torn on my feelings around all of this. Seeing the images of youths running riot in the streets, especially streets that I know and love, like most people my instinct is that they should be punished with the full force of the law, with a tragic feeling that there is no hope of “fixing” such mindless animals.

And yet at the same time I am unable to shake the desire to understand and explain their behaviour. Many times over recent days attempts to analyse the situation have been shouted down by those saying that there is no justification for the appalling violence and theft that we have seen and that those responsible for the trouble over recent nights must be punished quickly and firmly.

And I wholeheartedly agree. But what about the kids that are going to cause trouble tomorrow? Or next week? Or in five years time? Many say that firm policing and punishment would be a deterrent, and perhaps this is true. But do we want to live in a society where the reason people don’t commit crime is just because they don’t want to go to prison? I don’t. So therefore I do need to understand what has driven these people to make the utterly incorrect conclusion that this behaviour is necessary or acceptable.

I could write about how the education system has failed people and how too many children do not have a stable and loving family to look after and guide them. I could speculate over how the current spending cuts may be disproportionately affecting the poorest, youngest and most vulnerable in our society while the bankers and the wealthy continue to occupy a different world. I could explain how it’s all the fault of the coalition. I could argue that the 13 year Labour government must be to blame. Plenty of people have and will continue to write on the subject with varying degrees of accuracy and sensitivity, but clearly I’m not best placed to work this out. I’m a white, middle class accountant who has been fortunate to have received a good education and to have been raised by loving and decent parents who somehow instilled in me an implicit sense of right and wrong. I have a good job paying a decent wage, have never had to go hungry or cold and my only worries in life are superficial in comparison to many others.

Obviously I have an opinion which I could and at some point may share on this blog, but that’s another post for another day, and you’re unlikely to have your view changed by little old me anyway.

Whatever the underlying cause, regardless of whether you’re a bleeding heart liberal or a member of the Daily Mail “hang ‘em and flog ’em” brigade, the immediate question is what the police should do to stop the trouble in our cities tonight, and dare I say over the next few nights. Should they use water cannons? Should the army be called in? Should Blackberry Messenger be closed down? Should there be curfews? Should there be a media blackout? My answer…

I don’t know.

Outrageously, given me zero years of experience and training in the area of public order policing, I cannot tell you what should be done. Pathetic isn’t it… everyone else with an equal and even lesser understanding of the subject have been able to come up with a view, be they callers to radio phone-ins, members of the public interviewed on TV, politicians, colleagues, friends, random people on Twitter or some bloke on the bus that some other bloke overheard. As Simon Mayo ever aptly and succinctly tweeted earlier – “I never knew I followed so many experts in urban riots”.

In hindsight I’m sure that the police will be able to learn lessons from this. Who amongst us when faced with a new and unprecedented challenge can guarantee that we would get it right first time. For now they are simply doing the best they can under extraordinarily difficult circumstances. When people rant that the police “weren’t there” to protect them, that wasn’t out of choice. They weren’t sat in the canteen sipping tea and eating doughnuts. And for whatever failings there have been in the past or inevitably there will be in the future, I still trust them to make the best choices about how to deal with the situation. Frankly if I didn’t, I should probably be moving.

To finish on a positive note, as is so often the case when our city comes under fire and we witness the worst of human nature, soon after we witness the best. By 7am this morning “#riotcleanup” was trending on Twitter and throughout the day we have seen pictures of the “broom armies” out in force and getting our communities back to normal. I would have loved to join them in Ealing today, and like the police and our other emergency services the images of them hard at work remind us of the overwhelming number of decent people that we pass and ignore every day of our lives. Thanks to them my faith in the people of this city is maintained at a time when it would be so easy to despair. Thank you all.

That was the last time I wrote a blog entry. It was about hidden tracks on CDs and how I thought they were a terrible idea. It ended as follows:

Sorry for lack of posts in the past, eek, 2 months. You know what I’m like!

Oh the irony.

Flash forward three and a half years to a rainy Saturday afternoon in February 2011 and I’ve finally got around to doing what I’ve been meaning to do for, ooh, about three and a half years. And so this blog is (re-)born. I have no idea if I’ll stick at it, but I’ve given WordPress $12 to host the domain name so perhaps for a little while I’ll feel obliged to get something for my money.

As an extra incentive to actually stick with this, I’m going to throw-forward (hey, I still know the radio lingo) to some posts which should appear in the next couple of days. First, a brief update of what the hell I’ve been doing for the past few years for those that don’t know. Second, an almighty rant about the disastrous changes to higher education policy. Oh yeah, I can do politics.

You’re excited now aren’t you?