THE SPEEDIEST TAUTOLOGY

How many times do we need to hear that it's a race against time? Every other movie trailer, it's a race against time. The book jacket of all those John Grisham novels - it's a race against time. The latest TV drama show, you guessed it, it's a race against, that's right, say it with me, time.

Is anybody even trying to race against anything else? Is it even possible not to race against time? Isn't that really what makes it a race?

You're watching the athletics, all the guys are lined up on the starting blocks, the gun goes and - zoom! - they're away. They are all racing against time. Without time, there wouldn't be a race. Sure, they can race against each other, I'm not denying that. But really, without the time aspect, there's not much of a race. How do you know who came first if you ignore the time angle? The person who crosses the finish line first, does so because he's reached it in less time than his opponents. He's raced against time.

So let's stop with the "race against time". Unless the movie promotion guys and the book people and the TV trailer folks are going to offer us a viable alternative type - it was a race against yogurt, say, or it was a race against gravity - let's just call that a race, shall we?

THE BLONDIE CONFUSION

I cannot meet people at midday, just can't do it. I can meet people at 11.59. I can meet people at 12.01. But midday, that's a real problem for me.

My trouble is this - when I meet someone, I try to be polite. "Good morning," I offer cheerily, grinning my most endearing klown smile. Or "Good afternoon," I heartily exclaim as I grasp their hand for a firm shake.

But midday? Now, that's a problem. There's no "Good noon" as far as I'm aware. It sounds pretty stupid saying "Good noon". I don't think people would say that. So, what do you say? Do you turn up early, hoping to sneak a "Good morning" just under the wire? And if your friend is late do you hide until 12.01, then burst forth with the "Good afternoon"? Because, friends are one thing - that's not good practice for the business world where time is money. Good etiquette, I'll grant you, but not very sound business sense.

The most graceful solution I've come up with is this: You arrive a little early, your friend/business partner/probation officer starts with the traditional "Good morning" and you clasp hands. But oh no, what's this - that clock's second hand is rushing along, it's 12.00. You’re in noon, buddy boy, and there's no getting around it now. Just hold that hand for sixty of your seconds, just stand there, shaking, grinning, not saying a word. Then, once 12.01 finally shows its lazy, misbegotten face, you can give the cheerful "Good afternoon" and nobody's any the wiser.

Handshakes kind of get a bit like something out of The Matrix, all bullet-time and stuff, but it's the only way out of a bad situation.

THE MEDICAL ADVANCE

It strikes me that a lot of the medical advances in recent years are based on Superman's powers. You've got the x-ray machine which is Superman's x-ray vision. You've got the CAT scan, which is Superman doing the multi-frequency spectrum analysis through his super-vision. Doctors are now going inside the body and zapping things with lasers - that's called heat vision in Superman's comic book stories. They're even putting that earthquake-proof, bullet-proof, shockproof glass in the hospitals these days - that's Superman's invulnerable skin, right there.

I'm wondering how many more powers Superman has left to give to the medical community. He can leap tall buildings in a single bound... no, wait, that's the air ambulance, we have that one covered. Faster than a speeding bullet is what the emergency vehicles try to be, clearing the roads with all the weow-weow stuff Superman is more powerful than a locomotive - not sure what the medical application of that is but, if they can nail it, that tickly cough isn't going to come back to haunt you anytime soon, buddy.

There's not really much else Superman can offer the medical community. Really, once you're through with the powers all that's left is having hospitals wear spectacles and slouch hats and adopting a secret identity. Once that starts happening, it's probably time to get your medical advances from another source.

MY HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER

Drifter seems like a strange name for a chocolate bar. You've got your chocolate, your wafer, your caramel stuff - who's thinking Drifter is a good name for this? Why not call it Neurotic Loner or Homeless Guy? Hey, why not just call it Bum?

Actually Bum's a pretty stupid name for a chocolate bar. You'd have a lot of trouble marketing that. If you were seen eating a chocolate Bum on the street you'd expect to get some snickers.

THE THREE ALARM FIRE

Fire-fighter has to be a tough job. They never let you get away from the fact that what you're doing is dealing aggressively with fire. There's no fire-therapist. The lowest, rookie rank in the fire service is still a fighter.

They do have one of the coolest vehicles to drive around in, though. That big red truck with the flashing lights, that's on the same list as Batmobile and James Bond's Aston Martin, I think. But there's no getting away from the fact that, once you're in that vehicle, you're fighting fire. It's called a fire truck, a fire engine, it's painted fiery red. Maybe they should paint flames down the side as well, really keep up that fire motif. Yeah, 70s style, baby.

Fighting fire with fire is a popular turn of phrase, but I'm not sure that it works in practice. In my experience, fire isn’t particularly averse to other fires - there's no fire hierarchy or fire clans, there's no one-upmanship there. They're not hanging around in designated gangs, there's no Montagues and Capulets in the flaming world of fire. All fires are happy to join together, have a party, raise the roof, burn the house down. So fighting fire with fire is really just asking for trouble. It's like fighting flu with a dose of the Black Death. Fighting fire with water seems to be a more effective approach, or maybe a fire blanket - that's the thing that when it sees a fire, it blanks it. Totally ignores it, won't give it the time of day.

When a fire-fighter sees someone rushing around are they allowed to ask, "Where's the fire?" or does that confuse people? I guess it could start a panic. Then, you'd get reported to your boss, he'd discipline you, and you'd get fired.

THE ZEST

Why do I keep getting a slice of lemon when I order water in a restaurant? Is everyone else ordering their water with lemon and the waiter assumes I'd go with the majority, that it was an oversight on my part not to specifically mention the lemon. Because, honestly, I've never requested lemon. Water - tap water, mineral water, still water, these are all things I've asked for by name. Never lemon. Never "and a slice of lemon". Never "can you just find a bit of lemon to go with that?". I'm sure I'd remember if I had. And yet I am still receiving the lemon.

Is it there in case the waiter forgets what he's serving maybe? Is he walking along muttering "the water's the one with the lemon in it" as he heads to my table. Because he can’t just surreptitiously smell the glass and say "Yup, that's water" because water is odourless and colourless. So far as identifying it goes, water plays its cards pretty close to its chest.

And sometimes they put a slice of lime in the glass instead. That's just adding another level of mystery to the whole transaction.

Does the slice of lemon add something? Is water somehow a better experience because of a sliver of citrus fruit? Is that a universal truth? Because we're not serving water with lemon at home are we?

Here's something you can try for yourself. The next time you're in a restaurant, order a slice of lemon, you know, when the waiter asks if you'd like anything else. Just a single slice of lemon, that's all you need. Because I'd guess that comes dunked in a glass of thoroughly redundant water, whether you asked for that or not.

"Waitaminute, I didn't order water with my lemon? You've soaked it. Why - it's ruined. What kind of no class joint is this anyway?"

THE NEW LIBERAL DEMOCRAT LEADER

Mayor McCheese seems like a strange candidate for political office. For one thing, he's got a cheeseburger for a head. It's difficult not to have noticed that. Must make it hard when he's entertaining diplomats over a buffet - one moment he's explaining the public transport system of McDonaldsland, next thing he knows they're trying to take a bite out of his face. No one wants that to see that newspaper headline: "Mayor's face bitten off by visiting ambassador".

Did McCheese have to win a mayoral election to become mayor? Surely he must have. I don't see McDonaldsland as one of those junk-food-producing-country dictatorships. Burger King, clearly, has the reigning monarch - he's the king, it's a monarchy, hank-yuh-ve'y-musch. I figure Wendy is lording it up over the Wendyslandians ("Wendyslandians" sounds wrong - maybe, following the example of France, the race is called the Wench... no, that can't be right). But I see McDonaldsland as a democracy, basically because they have a clown as their mascot.

Dictatorship regimes aren't very big on the comedy symbols, I've noticed. Funny moustaches are a popular choice for dictators, but rarely do they have a comedy device as their international symbol. There was no whoopee cushion on the flag of the Third Reich.

I'd like to know who McCheese stood against in that election. It's tough to envisage many situations where a cheeseburger-headed man can win the voters' support. Who were the other candidates? Was it just some cooking oil and a box of artificial flavourings representing the other parties? What was McCheese's campaign slogan? Vote for McCheese, Edam sure will get the job done?!

Then again, does Mayor McCheese have a first name? I don't remember hearing one anywhere. Perhaps he's not the mayor at all. Maybe "Mayor" is his first name. Like Judge Reinhold.

THE DAFT KNIGHT RETURNS

I'm starting to wonder if dressing as a bat is really striking fear into the hearts of criminals. Sure, it works for Batman. But I don't think he's really put this theory to the test. He's just made the assumption that this is what his costume is doing without really thinking it through.

Now, there's that line in Batman's origin about how "criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot" so dressing up as a bat will terrify them. But think about this...

You're at the bus stop, minding your own business, keeping out of the rain under that tiny shelter the bus company provides, and a guy dressed up as a giant bat sidles over to check the timetable. Just to make this clear for you - he is dressed as a giant bat. You get that? Are you getting on the bus with this guy? Really?

You dress as a bat and I think you get the train carriage to yourself. No one wants a desk facing yours at work, just in case you look up. Seriously, the phrase "loony tunes" may well be used behind your back if you dress in this manner. It ain't just the criminals who are worried about you, let me assure you.

In short, I don't think that it's the criminals' superstitions and cowardly nature that is really working in Batman's favour. I think it has more to do with the "grown man dressing as a bat" that's freaking the criminals and - yup - everybody else out. Tell me I'm wrong.

THE HUDDLED MASSES

Everyone finds it hard to buy the right gift for people they don't really know. The Statue of Liberty proves that to me. Nice gesture, strange gift.

The Statue of Liberty was given by the French to the United States of America for their Centenary. How did that work? "Happy Centenary - here's a big statue of a woman holding a torch... we made it ourselves."

Now, it's a good looking statue. It's iconic. But it's a strange sort of gift to give a country. I'd love to know what the thought process was there.

I guess they figured all the books they could get were in French which, really, isn't a very fun present for someone who doesn't speak the language. It's like those terrible "educational toys" you'd get for Christmas as a child. Too much "educational" there, not enough "toy" if I recall.

You could maybe buy a record, but when you're buying it for the whole country it's going to be tough to find something that's to everyone's taste. Maybe a greatest hits collection, one of those "Now" albums by various artists, I don't know. It's a tough call.

In that context, the Statue of Liberty actually makes a lot of sense. What do you buy someone you don't really know? Pointless desk furniture - a paperweight. And what is the Statue of Liberty if not a giant paperweight?

When it came down to it, it was the paperweight or an enormous box of chocolates.

THE LOST

Who's losing all these needles in haystacks? Do you ever wonder this?

Because, it's a phrase. It's a definite phrase. That would be like finding a needle in a haystack. This is what people are saying. Every day. They tell me this with alarming regularity, and I'm sure I can’t be the only one, can I?

Is there a lot of sewing going on on the haystacks? Is the top of the haystack an ideal place to darn socks? Are there a lot of dressmaking classes in the hay fields at harvesting season?

I'm thinking not.

Maybe years ago, when people were just getting the hang of rural life. Sure, you live and learn. Lose a few needles, cut your losses, sew elsewhere. But the phrase has surely clued people in by now. I mean, come on - quit with the sewing on the haystacks. You're dropping needles everywhere, you can never find them again. Just set yourself up at the kitchen table. Nobody ever made a big saying out of "finding a needle on a tiled kitchen floor" you'll notice. It's not very hard to do, you see? Bright lights, smooth, flat surfaces. That's got to be a better place to do your sewing, hasn't it?

The only time you need hay to come anywhere near the sewing equipment is when you're making voodoo dolls or trying a quick repair on a horse's saddle. Otherwise, take it from me - avoid the haystacks - combine them with the needles and it's just a recipe for disaster.

THE GREEN SPACES

There's always a lot of talk about getting more green spaces in the cities, keeping the green spaces, protecting the green spaces, expanding the green. Ya gotta love the green, they tell me.

Now, I'm a city dweller. In fact, I've been a city dweller all my life. Which means I am, by and large, ignorant of what goes on in the countryside. Are they calling out for more buildings? Do they want less green spaces? Are they offering a balance to the city dwellers' obsession with getting more grassy parks? Are they as jealous of our cramped, polluted, noisy, built-up areas as we are of their wooded slopes and open meadows?

Because, while the demand for more green spaces in the cities is a good thing, I wonder quite what the point of the city is. Isn't the city all about the construction and the paving and the road building? If we keep demanding more parks and green areas don't we end up with a field? Isn't that all the countryside is? A city with a rather unhealthy amount of green space?

THE WIND SWEPT BEACH

They make these dispensers for sticky tape, with an axle arrangement and a blade to cut the tape, and the whole thing is weighted by some sand encased in the base. You can feel it when you pick up the dispenser. That's no life for sand, is it?

The GM lobby can't stop pressuring the supermarkets about how they grow their apples, the humanitarian people are screaming about the battery farming, we're getting organic bread and milk shoved down our throats every which way we turn. But nobody's standing up for the sand in the sticky tape dispensers. That seems wrong to me.

If you open those things up there's a whole little beach inside. You know, some shells, a lonely crab wandering across the sand, maybe a seagull swooping in. They don't even know that all their life is is dispensing tape.

If there's a moral to this story it's this - You can fix a lot of things with sticky tape but you'll never fix sand.

THE NON-X-RAY VISION

What is with these Metropolis people? Every Superman comic book, film or TV show features that cry whenever Superman appears - "Look, up in the sky!" "It's a bird!" "It's a plane!" "No - it's Superman!"

He's a guy in a bright blue, skin-tight suit with a flowing red cape and some nut is shouting "It's a bird!" Sure, pal - a big, man-sized bird that's also man-shaped and wearing clothes and a cape. Come on, use your eyes.

"It's a plane!" No, it's not. It could be a man-shaped inflatable balloon maybe, that broke its tethers from the Metropolis Thanksgiving Day Parade or something, but no way is it a plane. You see the lack of wings, the inclusion of the flowing red cape. I'm thinking it's not a plane.

And this is Metropolis. It's not like Superman is a rare sight. He's been around, saving the cracked dam, repelling that alien invasion, frazzling muggers with his heat vision - the guy's a celebrity. You see a man-shaped object in the skies of Metropolis and your immediate reaction is to shout "It's a bird!" - seriously, see an optician.

I hereby propose that the traditional call be altered. Nothing big, just a little tweak.

"Look, up in the sky!" "It's a man-shaped, man-sized bird wearing a red cape!" "It's a man-shaped, man-sized plane wearing a red cape!" "Well, mercy me, you're both wrong - it's Superman!"

A little credibility goes a long way.

THE TWELVE

You have to wonder about those Twelve Days of Christmas. You're there on the first day and your True Love gets you this huge, unwieldy thing, plenty of bubble wrap beneath the wrapping paper. After a bit of negotiation you get inside and that wave of confusion rapidly followed by disappointment hits you. Your True Love looks across, "It's a partridge. In a pear tree. Don't ya just love it?"

What can you say? "Well, of course. I mean, who doesn't like a pear tree with a partridge in it. That'll look good in the lounge. Thanks."

But, the next day you're getting a pair of turtle doves and by day four your True Love's handed you some French hens and some calling birds. What is this? Does your true love think you run a bird sanctuary?

By the time you get those five gold rings you'd be looking at pawning them to pay for the upkeep of the menagerie you're amassing.

And ten lords a'leaping? Who wants lords a'leaping? What do you do with them? "Sit down, you're making me nauseous." You can’t boss around a lord. Well, okay, maybe one. But ten of them?

There's swans, there's geese, there's pipers piping and drummers drumming. But you never hear what "me" gave the True Love in return, have you noticed? I'm thinking it was a book token, some chocolates in the shape of snowmen, maybe a pair of nice warm gloves. You know - normal stuff. And all that junk - the calling birds, the lords a'leaping, those incessant drummers, the whole works - I'm thinking it all went on eBay by January 9th. EBay and charity shops.