UTTERMEDIA

A brief look at some of the disregarded moments at the December 2010 student protests. Click images for larger versions.

A policeman with a first aid logo on his baton.

A student trying to burn some concrete blocks.

A photographer with a ridiculous moustache. 

My friend Rob has voted twice before, but this time around our local council managed to screw up his electoral role details (the very same happened to me in 2005). He made a very interesting statement on his profile page, which sums up my thoughts perfectly.

“I would like to vote. I think its important to have your say, but now I can’t I’ve started to look at it in a different light. There are a lot of people in the country who believe just because they vote, it gives them the right to expect the elected government to make everything alright for them in their own lives, rather than actually making any effort themselves to better their lives or make any changes.

There are too many lazy pessimistic moaning buggers in this country who use every opportunity to blame someone else for their lives being stagnant, debt-ridden and downright mediocre.”

Nationwide super-killer epidemics, prorogued caustic credit karma, and penny pinching duck-loving politicians. Just as our diverse society of hypercondriacs, cynics and pessimists had come to terms with some or all of the above, or perhaps even none at all, it snowed. Quite a lot.

In typical historic British fashion, we couldn’t just sit back at let it snow. We went balls-out hell-for-leather OTT oh-my-god crazy. Severe weather warnings weren’t quite enough. Every news channel, school, workplace, highways agency and lollypop man went into severe panic-ridden overdrive.

During the last few weeks I found it very easy to take a step back and assess just how pathetic and dramatic our response as a nation has been. Not so much the media and businesses, but individuals. This was their moment to shine.

The News Reporter
Of course, they’re paid to hyperactively spit and scoff into the camera, use overly exaggerative hand gestures and trudge through the snow like a demonised polar bear in-front of millions. But what are they telling us that we can’t already guess, and why?

“I’m here in Little Storping…”

Well that’s great! Somewhere that we’ve never heard of and somewhere that we’ll never ever go to.

“…which has had a massive 10 inches of snowfall in the last 12 hours…”

Thanks for the stats. I’ll just write those down in my little book.

“…and local schools and business are closed for the foreseeable future.”

My guess is that Little Storping isn’t very big? Could you not walk to the butchers? Do you not live ABOVE your shop? How did the news crew get there? Where did you buy your brand new Helly Hansen jacket?

The Trooper
Hardy, unstoppable, resilient. Perhaps ex-military? As they draw their curtains or pull up their blind, there is absolutely no facial expression whatsoever in reaction to the snow. Eyes forward, hands neatly by their side, maybe a slight morning sniff or twitch. But categorically no wince or gasp at the otherwise surprising blanket of white that has pillaged their village.

He will climb into a regular car, in regular clothes, slipping into regular reverse. No wheel spin, no skid, no high revs. He glides through the snow, with a chubby blanket of white powder collecting beneath the front spoiler. Other village folk who were previously and furiously shoveling or scraping FREEZE as if overcome by the sub-zero temperature. The Trooper doesn’t even see them. 7 minutes later he’s at work, imperceptive to the lack of co-workers.

The Trouper
Only a hairs breath away from being a true thespian. Having obviously completely forgotten about snow that last time it appeared, the reaction is nothing short of bezerk. Almost like a form of tourettes, the first reaction is “OH MY GOD!” or “Faaarrrrkkkkkiiinnn’ ‘eeellllll!”. From that moment on, they KNOW that they will be in their pyjamas all day long.
There is no attempt to try and leave the house. At this point, The Trouper turns to The News Reporter. Said reporter uses all the correct buzz words interlaced with verbs, nouns and adjectives. ‘Bad’, ‘horrific’, ‘stranded’, stimulating the very simple nerve endings of The Trouper. Then they switch over to Jeremy Kyle for 3 days straight.

Rev-olutionaries
Also known as backseat drives and self-professed mechanics. Somewhere deep deep inside, they know that snow is wet. They know that water offers very little traction. And they surely know that traction is important for land motion.

Their feet are made from bricks, thus resulting in high-rev-syndrome. Very much like The Trooper they probably avoided all media coverage during their morning routine. But they HAVE acknowledged the presence of snow. Once secured in their vehicle (with packed lunch, driving gloves and the obligatory sun visor CD holder) their foot is magically and instantly magnetised to the accelerator. Instant wheel spin, and the car’s back-end slowly wags side-to-side like a veteran dog, occasionally bouncing of the kerb. He’s not going to work. Not now, and not even in 5 days time when slush and broken ice remains.

When he does finally enter hyper-space and catapult out of his semi-permanent parking space, he becomes that lone idiot that you see driving around with snow still piled high on his roof, like a modern-day natural dunce cap.

City Slippers
In the city, they don’t have to shovel out their own car. They don’t have to worry about a thing, in-fact. For their commute to work to be a success, they simply need the bus or train drivers to have gotten to work. It’s all laid out for them. Chances are that if they’re in a busy part of London, the snow hasn’t even stuck around long enough for them to really notice it.

So whilst they chug back a Starbucks, digesting the days news on a cute mini portable AM/FM radio, an overwhelming sense of smugness surcomes them. “These idiotic country bumpkins” he chortles. Mainly in reference to Little Storping, The Trouper and Re-volutionaries.

The bus reaches the destination. Newspaper under-arm, Starbucks cup left on the seat, and cheap AM/FM radio blaring, he steps of the vehicle. Almost skipping to work in glee, his foot makes direct contact with a rather well disguised sheet of ice. He falls flat on his arse, pride well and truly 100% eradicated, right in-front of The News Reporter.

The Canadians
A slight anomaly in my character assassination. The Canadian opinion only reaches us via social networking. Ie: Twitter, Facebook. Much like myself, they find it nothing short of hilarious that the UK enters a raised state of panic in reaction to what is essentially, precipitation.

Because The Canadians live in generally snowy conditions, they take on the same attitude that a hardcore carnivore would towards a vegan. Because they live in generally snowy conditions, they have snow chains, constant supply of grit, oversized 4x4s, and tennis racket shoes. In the UK we have a yellow box of salt at the bottom of every 117th road.

So in essence, it is laughable, but I’d love to see Northern Canada deal with a heat-wave. Yah?

That just about wraps up my observations on a nation as a whole completely alienated and bemused by snow, ice and sleet. We’ll get the hang of it next year, right? Probably not. Come February, there will be a pot-hole pandemic.