CALMzine Issue 5

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JAMES WALSH INTERVIEW | WHAT MEN DO | MISTER MUMBLES | DEAR JOSH | FRESHERS GUIDE FOR INTROVERTS

barry adamson brighton rockers barry adamson

Barry Adamson returns with a brand new, dubtinged single, the deep, brooding and playful “Brighton Rockers”.

Available to order now on super-limited flexi-disc postcard complete with digital download or standalone download over at iTunes.

Also find Barry’s track “The Sun and The Sea” on Manchester Compilation THIRTY ONE. All proceeds to CALM www.thirtyonesongs.com

All profits go to CALM. Buy the single and donate at www.barryadamson.com

brighton rockers

CALM

CONTENTS

GREETINGS.

Greetings. So, here we are again with issue 5. Who’d have thunk it. Time flies when you’re watching the Dutch women’s Olympic hockey team, eh! Like a young butterfly breaking free from their chrysalid shackles, we have thrown aside the restraints of a theme this time round in order to open up our pages to a wider variety of content (bad metaphor, but let’s run with it. Is chrysalid even a word?

Possibly not…)

To temper our collective national post-Olympic come down, this issue hopes to jolly you along into the approaching autumn months via the surreal world of our resident gentleman of high repute, Mister Mumbles, who has seen fit to provide us with a guide on how to ensnare a suitable lady friend; CALM’s very own sports pundit, Fabio Zucchelli, discusses the Olympic legacy and what Coe and Co. need to do next. We have a Freshers guide for the Introverted, CALM’s old chum Martin Cordiner returns with his take on the dark side of comedy and we introduce the brilliant new book ‘What Men Do’ with a sneaky excerpt. Our regular agony uncle Dear Josh continues to provide the men of London with his unique nuggets of truth and Frazzled Daddy gets serious. Our cover art comes from the talented fingers tips of Mudi, a seriously impressive young artist heading for great things, and our lead interviewee is none other than ex-Starsailor front man James Walsh who chats about going solo, Sporty Spice and spats with Noel Gallagher. What more could you possibly want? A regular Chris Sav ‘Everyman’ cartoon, you say? Oh, okay then. But, only because we love you. ENJOY!

Need Help? Call CALM. London: 0808 802 58 58 Outside London: 0800 58 58 58

MANifesto ..................................................... 5.

What Men Do ................................................ 6.

Fashion ......................................................... 8.

Inner Life ...................................................... 10.

Mister Mumbles ........................................... 12.

CALMzine interview: James Walsh .............. 14.

Sport: Apocalympics .................................... 17.

Tears Of A Clown ........................................... 20.

Art Show: Mudi ............................................. 22.

CALM Competition ........................................ 25.

Frazzled Daddy.............................................. 26.

Chris Sav: EveryMan .................................... 29.

Freshers Guide For Introverts ..................... 30.

The Rant ........................................................ 32.

Dear Josh ..................................................... 34.

CREDITS Editor: Rachel Clare Creative Director/Original Design: Joey Graham Editorial Assistants: Charley Evans & Alex Baderick Cover Art: Mudi CALM Charity Director: Jane Powell Contributors: Chris Owen, Matt Brown, Martin Cordiner, Mark Hendy, Majestic, Mister Mumbles, Chris Sav, GS, Joshua Idehen, Andrew Dobbie, Richard Kemp, Mike Ward, Sam Smith, Fabio Zucchelli.

Thanks to Topman for their support

Want to advertise with us?

Contact: editor@thecalmzone.net

CALMzine is the first port of call for all your manspiration needs. We all have issues at the end of the day, so what do you want to talk about? Who do you want us to talk to? We want to hear from YOU. Email us your ideas and views at editor@thecalmzone.net If you want the hard stuff, go to the CALM website: www.thecalmzone.net or follow us on twitter @CALMzine thecalmzone.net - CALMzone Helpline London: 0808 8025858 Outside london: 0800 58 58 58

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W

hat Men Do is the brainchild of Andrew Dobbie, Richard Kemp and Mike Ward, three Yorkshiremen on a mission to help young men. It is not simply a book offering nuggets of life wisdom for blokes, nor is it a self-help bible. What Men Do is a movement (and not in a bowel related kind of a way) to motivate and encourage teenagers to overcome the trials and tribulations of adolescence, and hence coming out the other side with their heads held high and self esteem in tact. A call to arms, if you will. For those of us the wrong side of twenty-five, What Men Do still offers an enlightened window into the inner workings of the male brain. In their own words “This guide will help you to harness the spirit of what’s dangling between your legs and become the Hero you have within.” Well, we’re sold, so to kick-start our collective odyssey into a fulfilling manhood, here’s an extract:

HOW TO MAKE A DRY MARTINI Two ingredients which always play a major role in What Men Do are enthusiasm, and caring.

Men use their degree of enthusiasm as a key measure before involving themselves in any project, new or ongoing. This is partly to ensure they don’t find themselves wasting precious time, and partly because unless there is a very important reason, Men don’t quit.

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Therefore, before you involve yourself in any new commitment it’s worth asking yourself how enthusiastic you are for its ultimate achievement.

This will serve as a good guide as to whether it’s right for you.

Of course enthusiasm alone won’t ensure achievement. Steel balls will certainly help to overcome opposition or moments of near despair when success seems hopeless. A cold assessment initially of your enthusiasm will therefore serve you well on the basis of ‘forewarned is forearmed’.

Alongside enthusiasm is caring which, more than anything, instils quality into any final achievement.

Like enthusiasm, it’s easy to spot (not least within yourself) as it’s exclusively defined by action.

No Action? No Caring.

Caring can be defined as ‘love in action’, and whilst this is undoubtedly true deep down within the psyche, in practical terms it’s less of an emotion and more an attitude. When you see a guy putting his chewing-gum wrapper in the garbage bin rather than wrapping it into a ball and kicking it who-knowswhere, it tells you something about the guy’s attitude to life, not only to his own but to that of others.

Many guys are under the impression they care for something, or someone, but take no action to give

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“CARING IS PROBABLY THE MOST UNDER ESTIMATED INGREDIENT TO TIP THE SCALE BETWEEN SUCCESS AND FAILURE IN ANY ENDEAVOUR, NOT LEAST HOW TO MAKE A DRY MARTINI.” this validity. This lack of action exposes their ‘caring’ as self-delusion.

Once you realise this it’s easy to become caring aware as you witness the items on the floor in the department store, the garbage on the street, the dud light-bulbs at the bus station – all manifestations of uncaring decay, and a lack of action.

What Men Do is not merely to take the action necessary to receive thanks (and get paid?) but to go ‘the extra mile’ and do that which is greater than what passes as adequate for Joe Average.

The essence of this is often to be found in an ability to anticipate need. If one of your mates is in hospital with a serious sports injury, don’t make a list of what he would like you to bring him when you’re there, but think about what they are likely to be beforehand and take them with you. On such gestures are friendships built, caring exposed, and your grasp of What Men Do clearly visible in action.

The action necessary for the preparation and presentation of food is one of the best routes to learn about caring. A sandwich is a dead giveaway once you’re attuned to how to make an assessment. Has it been thrown together, the bread thick, or stale (or both), the meat still raw or largely fat, the lettuce leaf dead from exhaustion, the remnants of the tomato core still present?

In passing, you might like to consider this in relation to your own sandwich making skills. If you’re on a hot date and she’s visiting your home whilst the folks are away, a sandwich made with caring might make the difference as to the time she leaves.

Caring is probably the most under estimated ingredient to tip the scale between success and failure in any endeavour, not least how to make a dry martini.

The basic procedure is: first take the martini glasses out of the freezer, then fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add Gin or Vodka as preferred. Pour a little Vermouth into each glass, swish it around to ensure a total covering, then pour it away. Run a piece of lemon rind around the rim of each glass a couple of times to sharpen the taste buds. Shake the liquid until your fingers are painfully numb, then strain into the glasses. Serious Martini drinkers currently discard the lemon, adding two slices of a cold narrow cucumber. For best results approach the task as a challenge, perform with enthusiasm and an infinite degree of caring.

It’s really a very cold version of having very hot sex.

That’s What Men Do. You can buy a copy of What Men Do: A Guys Guide To Becoming A Hero on their website: www.whatmendo.co.uk/the-guide

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INNER LIFE: FRIENDS WITHOUT BENEFITS

BY SAM SMITH

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e were like a married couple. No one tired of telling us that.

We saw things the same way. We saw each other day and night. When he mocked me I got mad and felt hurt. He cooked dinner to make up for it. We holidayed together. In Paris for the 1998 World Cup, our hand forced by a shortage of hotel rooms, we shared a bed for the first time.

“They definitely think we’re gay,” he said of the receptionists who checked us in.

I met Tim at university in Wales. It was 1995. We were naive and unsure and relied on irony to get us through. Tim was skinny, like me, and he had a long, friendly, almost goonish face. He also possessed a wit and warmth I had not experienced before. Girls found him endearing and funny, and I wanted to be involved.

We bonded over football and music. The pillars of mateyness. He abhorred stereotypes and phoniness.

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His voice did not queer. But this was the thing: with Tim there was no need for the forced masculinity that had made my other male friendships so tiresome.

Instead, there were what, in retrospect, everyone calls “signs”.

He had one girlfriend at college. They lasted a couple of weeks. After they had attempted, and apparently failed, to sleep together, she asked me what was wrong with him. I got defensive with her. After a game of cricket one afternoon, he said he regretted not taking a shower with me and the rest of the team. He said it light-heartedly. When we were living together in Manchester after university, he crashed on the sofa one night, and at four a.m. I was woken

by Tim groaning my name. I listened with alarm and called out to him, but he continued sleeping. Later, when we were living in London, I came home early from work one day to find him pulling up his jeans in the lounge. A porn film was playing on the television, starring one woman and several men.

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He apologised for that incident. It was awkward and we were both embarrassed. We went to the pub to watch football and did not talk any more about it. That evening I considered asking him about his feelings but demurred. We were friends, nothing more, and his inner life was just that.

The friendship, though, had become strained. He was cranky, less patient with me. He had started going out with people I didn’t know. I acted like I didn’t care.

We had lived together for too long — the best part of seven years. I see now that the issue of sex had come between us. For Tim it was everywhere and nowhere. I still cannot imagine how it must feel to live in celibacy with someone you love.

*** Tim came out in November 2007. I was living overseas, so he sent me an email. “I’m gay,” he wrote.

“Not a joke, it’s the truth I’m afraid. Clearly I would never have been able to say it out loud to you ... I’m still the same person, haven’t become all camp. I’m still as cynical and ironic as ever.”

WAS I THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE? SHOULD I BE FLATTERED? WAS HE IN TORMENT? DID MY PRESENCE PREVENT HIS COMING OUT EARLIER? We exchanged several emails on the subject. I kept them all. At one point he said we were in danger of becoming “touchy-feely”. His coming out was not a problem — I told him so, and he thanked me. But that was not the end of it. Since then I have been preoccupied by the thought he treated me as his de-facto husband. Was I the love of his life? Should I be flattered? Was he in torment? Did my presence

prevent his coming out earlier? When he groaned my name in his dream, what were we doing? Did our closeness make other people assume I was gay? Was I ever my own man during the years we lived together?

We are still friends — good friends, though the intimacy is gone. He has become more confident, grown into his sexuality at a time when some real married couples are losing theirs. He does not miss me these days. He has told me about “gay world”, as he calls it, and has boasted at his tally of sexual partners (into triple figures at the last count). I am envious. He would deny it, possibly because it sounds trite, but his coming out has enabled him to realise his true character.

But about the questions that follow me, we cannot and shall not talk. Perhaps love between men is now more taboo than sex. Though it is also possible I don’t want to hear the answers. I have had to realise that, like all the women in my life, Tim no longer loves me. I am left looking back, on the best relationship I’ve ever known.

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LONDON’S DANDIEST GADABOUT SEES FIT TO SHARE WITH YOU HIS TOPPERMOST TIPS FOR ENSNARING HOT BUTTERY CRUMPET...

I

n my salad days, when I was young, green and foolish, I enjoyed a certain degree of success with the fairer sex. In fact, I was something of a rapscallion, a caddish Lothario oft-times to be caught with my trews halfway around my anklejointy bits and other parts of me up God-knows-where. Hardly a wonder then that I used to be a deft touch shinning groundwards down drainpipes upon hearing but so much as a front garden gate latch lift and fall, claclonkerty-clonk. “Gor Blimey, me ‘ubby’s ‘ome!” the panicked lass would cry in despair, dropping her aitches as hurriedly as I’d hoist aloft my britches and clamber out the bedroom window quick smart.

But I’m not here to advise you on escaping from romantic clinches – you can learn all that carry on yourself simply by listening to Paul Simon’s ‘50 Ways To Leave Your Lover’, if you are fortunate enough to be in possession of a functioning gramophone with a decent needle and indeed, a charged battery for your hearing aid. No, what I’m here to do is help you gain a lovely lady friend in the first instance. So, without further ado, please find attached my failsafe methods of wooing yourself a wonderful woman.

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1. GET TO KNOW YOUR ACCIDENT BLACKSPOTS.

Mark my words – linger around near a blind bend, humpback bridge or multi-lane roundabout long enough and the damsel of your dreams will be delivered to your arms as if by fairy magic. Of course, she may be a bit woozy and her head might be a little grazed, but don’t let that put you off! If you’re well versed in CPR, you’re almost certainly guaranteed a crafty hooter honkle, or better yet, a full-blown snog – all in the name of Vinnie Jones, Patron Saint of First Aid. Then, when she’s been mended and discharged from intensive care, she might just decide to say thanks in her own special way by inviting you around to her digs, baking you some scones and then popping her finger up your botty during the chariot race scene in Ben-Hur.

2. SAY IT WITH FLOWERS.

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Any woman who says she doesn’t like being given a great big bunch of colourful, sweetly scented flowers is either a liar, or a fiend in disguise. Both are to be avoided AT ALL COSTS. Buy the woman you admire some blooms, and watch carefully her reaction upon their receipt. Does she clutch at her throat, cough, splutter and sneeze? If she does, she is in all likelihood a hay fever suffer and will therefore constantly grouse and grumble about the pollen count all summer, every summer – so do the right thing and sever all ties with immediate effect. As dear old Pater was prone to say, there are plenty more fish fingers in the frozen section! It’s a shame Pater’s dead, really. I think you would have quite liked him.

as I do the modesty they serve to cover”. No matter if your pubic area is in reality an overgrown mess of gingery fuzz that resembles Bungle off Rainbow after he’s been dragged though a garden hedge backwards – once the bedside lamp is off and you’re snuggled ‘neath granny’s patchwork eiderdown together, that foxy librarian won’t know any the better, nor less even care.

5. BECOME A MILKMAN/PLUMBER/ELECTRICIAN/WINDOW CLEANER.

3. STYLE YOUR HAIR WITH PRIDE AND CARE.

It is a well-documented fact that women love a man who has his mane firmly under control. Just look at Hitler. He could have bagged any woman he pleased, and it was all thanks to his carefully crafted emo fringe. That Bieber lad, he’s the same you know.

The gals, they faint at his feet – and that’s handy.

Remember: Tesco Value Wet Look Gel may not be the final solution to all of your problems, but it will give you a jolly good head start.

4. INVEST IN A TROUSER PRESS.

Making sure your slacks are neatly and properly presented sends out the right message to that foxy librarian rearranging the Mills & Boon novels across the way. You are essentially saying “I lavish just as much time and effort upon caring for my twill trews

During my time, I’ve turned my hand to allsorts – quite literally upon the occasion when, for a brief stint, I worked as the chap who sticks the bobbly bits on the blue Liquorice Allsorts at the Bassett’s Factory.

But that’s a story for another day. The point here is that your choice of career can greatly increase your chances of meeting your future wife, or indeed, your chances of meeting someone else’s current wife. Any of the jobs listed above are a good bet for making the acquaintance of extraordinarily friendly and accommodating ladies, as proven by the numerous “fly-on-the-wall documentaries” I’ve enjoyed watching on my wind-up computer down the years when the rest of the household is slumbering.

So, there you have it dear readers. With these tips to hand, you don’t need to be a six foot hunk with a six pack and a six inch thick tallywhacker to net yourself a stunner and settle down – I’m living proof of that fact. Missus Mumbles is exceedingly happy to be my lifelong companion, even if she did end up having to spend several years in a traumatic brain injury rehabilitation unit, relearning basic cognitive and motor skills following my ham-fisted attempt at CPR after her accident on that blind bend just outside Milton Keynes. Thank goodness she’s finally mastered the use of the lavatory again, that’s all I can say!!

Follow @Mister_Mumbles on Twitter. You won’t regret it…

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T

he year is 2000. Britpop is over, and what comes next? Four music college graduates from Wigan form Starsailor and find themselves on the front page of the NME and hailed as ‘the new Coldplay’. By 2009 they’d sell over 3 million albums, support the Rolling Stones and become the last band to work with Phil Spector...

Looking back, is there anything you think ‘yeah, we could have done that differently?

James Walsh, once lead singer and guitarist, flew the nest a few years back. Now he’s writing film music, working with the likes of Beverley Knight and Mel C and has a new single and EP out.

CALM’s Mark Hendy dropped him a line to talk fame, feuds and feelings.

So you took bad reviews to heart?

Hi James Walsh. How do you do? I remember seeing you 10 years ago in NME when your single Good Souls was released - what was it like being in Starsailor at the start?

They are clichés but it was a whirlwind - a rollercoaster. You’re moving at a million miles an hour so we didn’t always take time to stop and think how amazing it all was. 2000 was an exciting year because it was all new to us, and everything we did seemed to be right. The next two years were harder because the pressure was bigger.

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I’m proud of what we achieved in Starsailor. I think I was too uptight at times; too sensitive. I let some of the harsher critics get to me instead of appreciating the fans support. That’s my only regret really.

I still take bad reviews badly sometimes. I think the worst thing to take is the real snidey, sarcastic comments on some of these gossip sites. If somebody doesn’t like an album, fair enough, but being insulted out of context just for badness is hard to take.

What was it like working with Phil Spector?

The first couple of weeks with Phil Spector were great. He was on good form and very determined.

We got to see and hear the wall of sound being built.

Then his mental health deteriorated and he retreated into himself. We’ve had some stick for ‘sacking Phil Spector’ but we had a lot of pressure from the label, who were paying for the sessions and didn’t like the way he kept them out of the loop.

I took my mum to see you at the first Isle of Wight festival in 2002. She still sings your songs in the car. Were you ever trying to make mum music?

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I’m glad your mum is a fan. We do have a few families with older kids coming to gigs. Some of them love it, some of them have been clearly dragged along...that goes for the parents and the kids.

Have you ever found yourself being pressured to go down a certain route?

Not really. Obviously labels need hits so it is interesting to ponder how the albums would have turned out if we didn’t have to worry about getting a couple of ‘radio songs’. I think it’s much easier to be an album artist now actually. Laura Marling and Bon Iver don’t have any conventional hits but their outstanding cohesive records have brought them success.

Your third album On The Outside is my favourite.

How do you feel about that album?

Funnily enough I listened to a few old Starsailor songs in my local the other day - the landlord put them on I hasten to add. The On The Outside tracks sounded by far the best and most fresh. The songs from Love Is Here have endured but they sound better live. On The Outside captures the energy better for me.

You’ve toured with The Rolling Stones, U2, and The Police. Surely you can relax, that’s it now?

It’s been amazing, but I can never relax. Touring with them has just spurred me on to keep going.

These people have produced songs that will always be played and never be forgotten. I think that’s what I’d like to do. There’s a string of Starsailor songs that have done okay but I think Four To The Floor is the only one that has truly achieved longevity, thanks in no small part to the remix. Another one of them that connects across the genres would be lovely.

What stresses you out?

An empty diary stresses me out. You need some time to work and some time to relax but if there isn’t enough work, there isn’t enough money for the family so it’s hard to relax. I lose my temper very occasionally. Like most people, it’s usually with call centres.

What pushes you?

New experiences. I think some people had me down

as a frontman of a band who some people liked and some people didn’t. Hopefully the film soundtracks and collaborations with Melanie C and Eliza Doolittle prove that there is more to me than that, and I can write in different worlds. I’m just as determined to be respected as a songwriter as I am an artist. Songs last forever. I also like the idea of someone who maybe doesn’t like my voice, humming along to one of my melodies because they don’t realise it’s mine.

Would you do a TV celebrity thing? Noel Gallagher said he’d do The X Factor for £1million, but what about the Jungle one? I think you’d be good on Come Dine With Me. Definitely not a long-term celeb thing like Big Brother or the jungle. I would ponder a Come Dine With Me offer and absolutely jump at the chance of going on Countdown or Pointless.

Are you fed up of people asking you about your spat with Noel Gallagher?

The Noel Gallagher questions have almost stopped.

It used to be a bit of pain but now I think it’s funny.

I’ve been in the same room as him a couple of times since and there was no trouble. I admire him greatly as a songwriter and performer and I’ve heard he’s a nice chap to work with too. I just think he’s got a cruel, sarcastic streak that comes out every now and again.

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You’ve been in the music industry for over a decade. What state do you think it’s in now?

I think making it is harder than keeping it up these days. It’s possible to be a fan of a band without ever putting your hand in your pocket thanks to YouTube and Spotify. Some labels see the online figures, sign a band then don’t know why it doesn’t work. I think we need to accept this will take a while to work out so in the meantime you just have to be amazing live and make sure people come to shows.

Are you happy?

I’d say I’m reasonably happy. I think once you get married and have kids, you’re constantly thinking about providing for their future. I’ve been extremely unhappy, but thankfully it has never got to depression. I’m a bit of a worrier and carry these worries around with me. I can get upset quite easily. My wife Lisa is great at lifting me up when I have moments of self-doubt or I get upset. I think I’m scared of letting people down and sometimes in trying so hard not to let anyone down, you end up letting the people closest to you down the worst.

That is one conundrum I need to work out.

Do you find talking easy or hard?

I find talking hard. Especially explaining myself.

Tell us about your CALM moment, when something changed in your life.

The big moment in my life was having my first child Niamh. I found out while I was on tour. It was amazing, scary - so many emotions. Your priorities change in a heartbeat. Suddenly your life becomes this often brilliant, sometimes worrying balancing act. You have to give attention to your kids, your love life and your career because they all benefit from each other. But if the scales tip too far in one direction or another it can go wrong.

Are you a party animal?

Occasionally. I don’t take drugs but I like a few gin and tonics or a nice bottle of wine. Sometimes its good to let off steam dancing like an idiot to Van

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Morrison. I have to be careful though. I’ve had some terrible hangovers and been sick in airports all over the world as a result.

How did you get to work with (my favourite Spice Girl) Melanie C? We share an agent and he approached her because he knew I had started doing song writing. I get on well with Melanie. I’m happy she wanted to work with me. She’s got a very dry wit and can cut anyone down who gets too full of themselves.

How does being a solo artist compare with being in Starsailor?

I loved being in Starsailor. You get the comedy and the friendship, the arguments too. It’s great. Being a solo artist is a more solitary existence but there is more freedom. I’ve learned so much from stepping into the unknown. I feel proud that I’ve managed 10 years in the music industry, but I have to keep it up for another 20. The good thing is that the present is working out fine so I’m very lucky in that respect.

Thank you, James Walsh.

You can download the single Man On A Hill and Live At The Top Of The World EP here: www.jameswalshmusic.com @jamesstarsailor @mrkhendy

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Like a hung-over teenager scraping themselves off the beer stained floor and sneaking out past broken furniture into the dazzling morning sunlight after their first house party, our collective national head has been spinning like never before after the Olympics. The Paralympic Games provide a welcome second injection of Olympomania, but the time spent cold turkey in-between has at least given us an opportunity to reflect. One thing that’s been talked about consistently since winning the bid in 2005- in addition to how creepy the Cyclops mascots Wenlock and Mandeville look- is the ‘Olympic legacy’. So, what is it exactly? Is it something tangible, measurable and achievable, or like Boris Johnson swaying from a zip line waving mini Union flags, just a politically driven image of nonsense?

‘Wealthier, healthier, happier’ is probably the simplest way of describing the goal of the legacy set out by Lord Coe & Co. A fuller definition- although definitely less catchy- can be drawn from what the government seeks to analyse when evaluating the success of the legacy: ‘…the impact on UK economy, social cohesion, regeneration of East London, and development of elite sporting performance and the uptake of sport’. Researching the area, it does

become clear that London 2012 has dedicated more emphasis on the legacy than any previous Olympic Games, which in itself seems like a good start. To celebrate one of Team GB’s many Olympic successes, I’ll answer the question in the style of a triathlon: in three small chunks (not to belittle the ridiculously torturous event of course).

WEALTHIER?

Firstly, an admission: I’m not an economist. Secondly, a celebration: I’m not an economist. It is clear, though, that no-one really has a fool-proof answer to the question if they’re totally honest (so the views of politicians can, as ever, be discounted). Some say the long-term benefits will outweigh the short-term costs, normally arguing that tourism will thrive after the Games, improved infrastructure will help UK businesses, the construction industry has received a much needed boost and foreign companies will want to set up camp in London. Others claim the opposite: the exorbitant cost of the Games- partly privately funded but still a national financial burden costing an estimated £400 per head- outweighs any potential gains made in the future and that all the 100,000 jobs created for the Olympics were only temporary so unemployment will actually rise after the Games.

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These jobs, by the way, have involved various innovative recruitment schemes promoting equality in the workforce, including ‘Access Now’ for people with disabilities and ‘Women into Construction’ for… women, I imagine. Finally women will be able to exact revenge by exercising their right to sexually harass male passers-by from scaffoldings… which men will simply hate, of course.

The other question is whether any potential benefits will be confined just to London or spread across the whole country like Grime music and rioting.

One thing is certain: a previously dilapidated area of East London has been rejuvenated beyond recognition, and this will help the local economy of the area long-term. (All that’s left now is to destroy the only remaining evidence of the scrap heaps that previously blighted the landscape, by removing the heap of rusted steel called The Orbit). It’s notoriously difficult and fraught with danger to measure the long-term economic impact of hosting the Olympics, but regardless, it does seem unlikely that other areas of the country beyond London will feel any real difference either way. Overall, if I were to put money on it (which I have already done in a way), I would predict that the Games will have cost more than it makes.

HEALTHIER?

‘Inspire a Generation’ goes the London 2012 motto.

Getting people, and kids in particular, into sport and exercise has been one of the most visible aims of the Olympics. It was a nice touch to see seven young athletes risk second degree burns to light

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the Olympic cauldron (all of whom will now be expected by everyone they know to become gold winning athletes), which did say something about the forward-looking nature of the Games. It was the ambition of Sir Lord Coe OBE MBE GCSE and his minions to get 2 million more people actively involved in sport by 2012, and the last time he made a vague estimate the numbers were up by 1.5 million, which still seems like a great achievement.

Coe said of improving sport involvement: ‘I’m a great believer that the greatest driver of participation are big events, big British moments. The Kelly Holmes, the Matt Pinsents, the Daley Thompsons; they’ve tended to put more people in sport than almost any other motivation’ (a sentiment Sir Steve Redgrave probably didn’t appreciate). Indeed, the signs are that this theory holds true: after the unprecedented success of Hoy, Pendleton and co. in Beijing four years ago, for example, British Cycling membership has doubled (meaning twice the number club cyclists riding three abreast clogging up the roads and preventing motorists from overtaking). Inspiration is a really quite an incredible thing; it always amazes me how suddenly busy the public tennis courts become during Wimbledon. You can guarantee that the day GB won canoeing gold, children across the country sat in their bath tubs sloshing their parents’ broomstick around in the water, making crowd noises and flooding the bathroom (as a grown up I obviously did nothing of the sort).

With UK obesity numbers currently lying in the gold medal position in Europe, the health agenda is clear for inspiring a generation into sport. Although

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it’s unlikely these figures will decrease or even level out due to our ever-more sedentary lifestyle and easy, cheap access to unhealthy food, the Olympics will surely at least help to counteract a worrying trend. The numerous programmes designed at increasing sport and exercise participation started back in 2006, with PR company-influenced names like ‘Places People Play’, ‘Sportivate’ and ‘Run Fatboy Run’ (or was that a Simon Pegg film?). I think the real effect, though, will come now that people have been exposed (not in a beach volleyball kind of way) to a massive array of sports they may have borne little interest or knowledge in beforehand, while also gaining inspiration from the victories of Ennis, Farah, Hoy and the various other champions who were not plastered across every advertising board in the country.

HAPPIER?

With both the long-term economic impact and the strength of the Games’ ability to turn us into a nation of healthy-eating Olympians somewhat unclear, one thing that seems less ambiguous is the effect it has on our happiness. Stefan Szymanski, a world-leading sports economist, did what academics do best and trawled through a giant dataset, used the right statistical tests to find the answer he wanted and concluded that major sporting tournaments make the host nations happier. Importantly, he did factor out things like income, age and marital status, and in all seriousness he does present a compelling case.

Amid all the excitement before the Games started, there was definitely something of a nervy mood as people worried about security, transport

fiascos and Boris Johnson embarrassing the nation with casually racist comments. Since then, even among most of those who openly sought to avoid the Games, the mood has positively shifted into widespread joviality. Millions watched live events in a party atmosphere (despite battling with a ticketing website that must have destroyed a good few laptops after being thrown against the wall). ‘Social cohesion’ was it an all-time high as we Londoners suddenly started treating visitors like fellow human beings rather than map-laden obstacles, and a healthy level of national pride returned after years of capitalist meltdown, subsequent austerity measures and expositions of abhorrent government and media behaviour.

Indeed, it was the supposedly ‘difficult’ timing of the Olympics given the UK’s recession that will have added to its antidepressant effect; for instance, while I’m not dismissing the importance of keeping informed of worldwide current affairs, suddenly the majority of stories reported were good rather than bad news. Before, all we had was the odd story of a water-skiing squirrel to temper the turmoil, whereas during the Olympics the squirrel would barely have got a look-in. The other good news is that Szymanski’s data showed that the happiness of host nations endures for at least four years. It looks like the ‘feelgood factor’ doesn’t just dissipate the second all those just here for the Olympics bugger off. The happy memories, renewed faith in our country’s ability to do something well and sense of togetherness should last a little longer yet. Good news indeed.

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H

ere are two things that are true. I have stood up on stage, by myself, and made people laugh.

Having tried to, I might add, I wasn’t accidentally naked or anything. I have also spent what I consider to be significant portions of my life so far feeling less than content. Here’s another truth, or at least a supposition – I consider these two things to be related.

I’ll get something out the way pretty quickly. I haven’t done stand up very much. Let’s say you could count the number of occasions on the fingers of three fingers. But trying to make people laugh, in almost every scenario, is very much what I do. Up until recently, I would feel like I hadn’t really met someone until I had made them laugh. It wasn’t that I didn’t know whether I liked them or not, it was that I genuinely felt like we hadn’t actually been introduced until I had established that laughing connection. As if we were just standing next to each other in a queue, rather than actually talking. As an aside, you might not want to stand next to me in a queue.

Yes, we British communicate through humour. It’s how we breakdown our inhibitions and rituals, rather than just waving our hands around and shouting

like those continentals. See, I’M HILARIOUS. But my instinct is just always, automatically, to try and make people laugh. One person, a room of people, my colleagues, a high court judge. I’m always, always looking for an opportunity.

I’ve also considered myself not worth very much at various points. Insignificant. Not very good at anything, not really. Not as worthwhile as other people. It’s more under control these days, but occasionally a mistake at work or a perceived slight makes me stew over failures past, present and expected.

Many comedians have suffered from depression.

Ruby Wax and Stephen Fry have made programmes about their own experiences. Spike Milligan, the legendary purveyor of inspired nonsense who seemed to have a whole universe of his own to revel in, battled depression for 40 years, and inspired Anthony Clare, the late presenter of Radio 4’s In the Psychiatrist’s Chair, to write a book with Milligan about the depths of his experiences.

So is there a link? Does one bring on the other? Does constantly having to look happy make you unable to

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admit you’re unhappy in a healthy way? Does living on late-night food and green-room riders make you wish you were someone else?

Personally, laughter is my medicine, but it is also a symptom THIS METAPHOR ISN’T WORKING. Put another way, the desire and joy I get from laughter is a response to a greater feeling, a greater impulse, a more ingrained trait. My instinct is that these people have various and different such traits, but the gut desire to try and make people laugh is, in its way, a response to each.

For example, if you are unhappy and you want to escape this by spending all your time laughing and trying to make other people laugh, you may end up thinking, why can’t it be like this all the time?

Why doesn’t everyone else want to constantly make jokes? How can they possibly be happy working on a spreadsheet at 2.34pm on a Tuesday afternoon when all I want to do is explore the outer reaches of the pun universe (Ed - puniverse??). I can accept that they’re probably not necessarily “happy” at that particular moment, but how can they just get on with it while I’m wishing for some sort of communist state as organised by Eddie Izzard? “Comrades! Bring us your weird non-sequiturs and profound daft-ery!

You have nothing to lose but your job security and pensions! Jokers of the world, unite!”....other people

don’t seem to need laughter to get by. I feel like I do.

Alternatively, the laughter is something to hide behind, to distract yourself, to get away from something else that lurks, always waiting for you to accept it’s there and to face it down, rather like the washing up. Making other people happy through the gut reaction of laughing, something that they can’t fake, gives me a sense of worth. But when they’re not there to provide that response, well it’s, just....not quite as good.

And then there’s the confidence thing. Making people laugh isn’t always about being confident, sometimes it’s about trying to prove that you are confident, which is the most tell tale sign of not being confident.

So you act funny, and indeed happy, but you don’t always feel it.

People are somehow surprised at this. I’m not quite sure why. You don’t have to be happy to inadvertently make other people happy. Maybe it’s because a lot of people misunderstand the selfishness of making people laugh. I don’t do it for other people, I do it for me. I feel better when I do it because it makes me feel good about who I am, about what I can do, about life, about what we as human beings can create together, when a colleague says something amusing and you run with it.

Or you turn up to work accidentally naked. I mean, a joke’s a joke, I’m not fussy.

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MUDI

Word from our cover artist: “I’m Chris Eghweree (aka Mudi) a freelance graphic designer and illustrator based in South London. I’ve been interested in illustration for a while now but found myself developing a style while studying for my Graphic Design degree at the University of Creative. I use my work as a way of expressing myself and usually base my work on my own random thoughts, things I hear, spins on popular culture and observations; All that with a slight humorous yet bizarre undercurrent running through out. I’d describe my work as a twisted spin of my own reality, depicted through hand drawn type and random drawings.”

See more of Mudi’s art here: www.whoismudi.com

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MUDI

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FRAZZLED DADDY

By Matt Brown

Now before we begin I have a couple of teeny apologies to make. First, by the time you read this you might be sicker of the Olympics than a peeky leper who has just eaten a handful of rancid dogturds and McNuggets. However, I am still basking in the warm glow of the opening ceremony. I am most definitely not a flag waving kind of chap but I felt a deep love and pride in my country when I watched Danny Boyle’s moving, affectionate and funny take on Britishness. It is something I was thinking about when I heard Danny speak about the inspiration for the Olympic ceremony that leads me to apology number two. You see I am the most terrible fraud but I’ll get to that in a moment.

The opening ceremony was, according to Danny, a tribute to his father who died 18 months ago.

This was a man who made a great impression on the young Danny Boyle. He was the man who introduced Danny to the Olympics when they would watch the action from Mexico on a flickering black and white telly late into the summer nights of ’68.

Whenever I hear a story like that I cast myself in two roles; first as the father and then as the son.

I desperately want to be the kind of father that inspires his kids. To be the kind of father who gives them a love, excitement and passion for life, in whatever form, that marks them for the rest of their days. I want them to not be as afraid as

I was when I was a kid, or as self conscious, or as unhappy. You see, when I cast myself in the role of the son I am reminded of the car wreck of a relationship I have with my father. We haven’t spoken properly for nearly five years but hadn’t really communicated effectively for a good deal longer than that. At first, after we stopped speaking (after a series of almighty shouty rows) I would think about him everyday sometimes with anger, sometimes shame, sometimes sadness.

Now I don’t think about him so much, which in turn brings its own heavy heart to the day. This sorry state of affairs has brought its own reward though in the form of one of the golden rules of fatherhood. You are completely at liberty to screw up your kids in whatever way you see fit except in the way that your father screwed up you.

Don’t make the mistakes of your father because there are plenty of mistakes out there for you to discover all on your own.

In other news, I was queuing up at the till in Boots the other day when I noticed a shaven headed young man in front of me waiting to pay for three jumbo packs of Durex ‘Tingle’. In contrast I was waiting to pay for a pack of pull-up pants (4-5 years). When I got home my wife told me I had bought the wrong pull-ups and then laughed when I told her about the Durex ‘Tingle’.

It was a depressing time. @FRAZZLEDDADDY

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@globalstreetart.com

NEXT ISSUE: STREET ART SPECIAL in association with Global Street Art. OUT OCT 2012 we b

Go to www.thecalmzone.net for features, opinion, forums and competitions to keep you busy until the next issue of CALMzine. Plus find out how you can get involved with the Campaign Against Living Miserably.

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Everyman by chris sav

calmzine

.. .

needs you

Would you like to write for CALMzine? Do you have a photographic eye? We want great writers, interviewers, bloggers, tweeters, artists and photographers for CALMzine and the CALM website.

What’s your obsession, your passion? Music, sports, arts, gadgets, fashion, comedy, gaming – or something further out of the box? Can you write about it, picture it, tweet it? Can you conduct a gripping interview?

We’d love to hear from you, and in no time your work could be on our website and in these very pages.

Get in touch with Rachel at: editor@thecalmzone.net

I

t’s disturbing to think that it’s almost five years since I nervously signed in to my university halls of residence for the first time. I was 22: a good four years older than most people there. It doesn’t sound like a lot but believe me – when you’re already shitting bricks about trying to engineer a new social group any perceived difference between you and them can feel hugely amplified.

Aside from living in the big smoke and improving my career prospects (ha ha, if only. Thanks, recession!), gaining some self-confidence was one of my main motivations for going to uni. As I’m sure is the case with many of you, I had a small but closely-knit social group who I could really be myself with. But if anyone else ever intruded on the clique or if I was to dare to venture outside it, I would turn into this awkward, silent person whose only positive contribution to social interaction came when he left the room.

One thing that a lot of people said to me before I headed down to London was: ‘You can be whoever you want to be’. While it sounded like the kind of nonsense that only the socially-confident or Disney screenwriters would come out with, there was undoubtedly some truth to it. Fresher’s week gave everyone the opportunity of a clean slate. No one knew anyone else so I could potentially leave the old me at home. Plus, with so many people feeling

nervous themselves (maybe not quite as nervous as me), awkward conversations that didn’t lead anywhere were inevitable. I would be in my element!

It was all easier said than done, of course. I set my new room up by about 1pm, which gave me five hours to mentally prepare before heading off to the uni bar to meet some new people. This ‘preparation’ involved pacing around my room (which was far too small for pacing – I was more going backwards and forwards like a lemming that had fallen down a ditch) and reading and re-reading a WELCOME TO LONDON UNIVERSITY! flyer that became so worn that it was almost transparent.

Then, the time came. Rightly or wrongly I had decided that that night would define the next 3 years of my social life. Would I be a hermit, an outcast? Or would I be one of those ‘normal’ people who could ask to borrow a pen in class instead of bailing and going home to watch a 24 marathon? Walking into the bar was the hardest thing I had ever done. It still is. But it was also one of the best decisions I’d ever made, second only to going to uni in the first place.

So now, after a far too rambling and self-indulgent introduction, here are some tips inspired by that that night and the rest of fresher’s week that the introverts out there might find useful.

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Get to know people before hand There will be countless social media channels through which you can get to know fellow students before fresher’s week. I joined a ‘London University Freshers ‘07’ group on Facebook about six weeks before. This meant that I didn’t have to ‘go in cold’ every time I wanted to say hello to someone – I could just say ‘You’re Geoff, right? We spoke on the Facebook group’. This proved to be a massive help to me as one of the people I met through Facebook introduced me to some other people who eventually became part of my core social group.

It’s okay to have a few drinks Contrary to university lore, not everyone at uni is a borderline alcoholic. There are plenty of people who don’t drink and there are ample opportunities to socialise outside of bars and clubs. But if you want to have a couple of drinks to help calm your nerves on the first night, go for it. You won’t be alone. I’m sure you’re smart enough to know where your ‘line’ is without some anonymous old man telling you, so if a swift pint helps you feel a bit less like you’re naked in the middle of St. Pancras station in rush hour, I say go for it. But if you want to and can do it sober, fair play to you. You’re a better man than me!

introverts. My DVD collection was enough to open the doors of conversation with one guy in the group who came back to mine in the first week. We ended up watching films together almost every day for the rest of the year. As for the other guy and the girl who joined us that night: we all got a house together in the second year.

Say ‘yes!’ as much as possible If you haven’t read The Yes Man by Danny Wallace, you should do so before you go to uni. I’m not sure what the film adaptation’s like, but I assume the message is the same but probably expressed by Jim Carey pulling stupid faces. The book is truly inspirational though and will hopefully encourage you to take every opportunity fresher’s week throws at you. Again, you know where ‘the line’ is, but if you get through the week without doing something that you wouldn’t have expected yourself to (even if it’s just wandering into an open flat party, nervously saying something and making a quick exit), we both know that you’ll regret it. As a side note and on the subject of getting outside of your comfort zone, the book The Dice Man is well worth a read preuniversity, too.

Introduce yourself to your flatmates I don’t think I need to tell you how shit scary this is.

But it’s actually easier than having strangers knock on your door introducing themselves periodically throughout the week. It also demonstrates confidence – a trait that you may not actually possess but will be assumed by your flatmates. You’d be surprised how easy maintaining this façade can be (okay, it’s not easy, but it’s far from impossible).

Invite people back to your flat Again, it suggests self-assurance and confidence to keep a group of people entertained, even if this just involves putting a DVD on. But more importantly it gives you the opportunity to show who you are without awkwardly trying to talk about yourself – something that won’t come naturally to many

Most important of all: Don’t beat yourself up There will inevitably be times when the introvert in you holds you back. But remember: every small step, from applying to uni to giving that far-too-emotional defence of Family Guy in a random kitchen at 3am, are all positive steps towards making uni a socially and emotionally fulfilling experience.

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THE RANT CAN I HAZ RANT. LOL.

By Chris Owen

Shakespeare’s first folio in 1623; Johnson’s seminal Dictionary of the English Language in 1755; and the first Encyclopaedia Britannica a few years later around 1768…. legendary moments in the history of the great English language, and ones we rightly laud.

Now, I’m gonna stick my neck out here and suggest that, in a schoolroom in a corner of a future England, no-one – NO-ONE – will be putting “2012, first recorded use of ‘LOL’ as a spoken word meaning ‘to laugh out loud’…” in the pantheon of great moments in the evolution of language.

Unless, of course, they’re using it to mark the moment our great and proud language set forth upon a sea of shite, never to return from the grotty abyss of laziness, text speech, trite acronyms and stupid fucking verbal tautologies.

I mean, come on… “LOL – that was a funny cat video” – if you’re going to laugh, freakin’ do it.

You don’t say ‘blink’ every time you do so – unless of course you’re one of the cretins who says ‘LOL’ in which case you probably do say ‘blink’, if only to remind yourself to bloody do so.

There’s enough crap grammar, spelling and general abuse of the English language (don’t get me started on errant apostrophes – since when did everyone seem to think they stand for “here comes a fucking s”?), without adding to it by creating new ways to verbally pollute our proud lexicon.

The danger is, if we allow ‘LOL’ to enter into the language (I won’t) where do we stop? Do people have to say ‘retweet’ every time they say something they heard elsewhere? Do we have to verbally say ‘hat tip’ when passing on information? Am I going to have to stick my thumb up and shout ‘like’ everytime I see a product in a shop I quite want to buy? No, no we bloody won’t, because this shit has to stop now. NOW I tell you. Enough. Grow up.

Do you have something you want to rant about?

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Our entirely unprofessional agony uncle offers his entirely unprofessional advice…

Q. There’s a girl at work I fancy the hell out of. She makes me active in places that shouldn’t be active in an office environment, if you know what I mean. How do I ask her out without sounding creepy? Jack, Hammersmith J: Jack, Jack, Jack. How much do you really like this girl? Do you want to a) know her or do you just want to b) ‘know’ her in the biblical sense? Because if it’s a) Start small with baby ninja steps. A chat.

She’s still smiling at you in an ‘I actually like you and you don’t smell’ way? CASUALLY suggest having lunch break together. She isn’t laughing like she’s suddenly possessed by the Ghost of Malficient? All clear for asking her out, bro. And if it’s b) Don’t bother. You’ve already built the fantasy in your head; she can never match it. She’s a walking Phantom Menace. You will be disappointed. Leave well alone.

Q. My prudish mum wants to be friends on Facebook. She has no idea about my penchant for makeup and late night visits to Chariots sauna. What do I do?. Philip, Shoreditch J: DUDE! LOOK YOUR MOTHER IN THE EYE AND SAY ‘NO! NO NO NO! NOT TODAY, NOT EVER! FACEBOOK FRIENDS?! WHY?! YOU’RE NOT MY FRIEND, YOU’RE MY MUM! SEEING MY FACE FOR (add the age you left home here) YEARS WASN’T ENOUGH?! NAY, MAMA, NUH UH. NIEN (throw yourself on the floor and tantrum if you have to) YOU HAVE MY NUMBER, YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE DAMN YOU! Q. I heard that scientists discovered that manflu really exists. How should I celebrate the vindication?

Arthur, Tooting J: Videogame console. Bed. Junk food. Phone. Slave (also known as ‘Girlfriend,’ ‘Wife,’ ‘Mum’ or ‘Gullible pal’) Three to five days. Your best zombie voice. Go to waste, young Padawan, go to waste.

Q. The Olympics inspired me to be more active, so I took up jogging. Joggers ALWAYS look cool. However, at the moment I look more sweaty than sexy as I chug round the park in my lycra. Any tips? Craig, Finchley J: 1. Put the work in. Eventually that which is flabby will be firm. And sweat on firm bods is the foundation of cool.

2. Jog with ‘cool’ people. Nothing like reflected glory to act as placeholder until you get yours. Please jog with cool people you know, otherwise I Am Legally Obliged To Inform You That Stalking Is Not Cool, Bro. 3. Jog in private. Treadmill, maaaaaaayn!

4. Wear something funny, like Superman-themed Lycra. Nothing says cool more than ‘I can totally and knowingly make fun of myself.’

5. Listen to music you love while jogging. Music you love is proving to make you feel cooler. I am a God when I’m jogging to Faithless. CANT GET NO SLEEP (deh deh deh deh deh deh deh deh deh dehdehdeh etc)

Do you have a question for JOSH Email us on editor@thecalmzone.net

NOTE: Josh is not a qualified expert. He’s just a joker.

However if you do want to know some more about him, go to www.poejazzi.wordpress.com If you need professional advice, call the london CALMzone helpline on 0808 802 5858.

Outside london call: 0800 585858

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