Auntie Doris in the 21st Century #3: The Human Genome Project

imageDiddlyNiddlyArchitecture, otherwise known as DNA, was first discovered by Masters and Johnson, when they were washing the sheets after their famous research into people having carnal knowledge with each other.

In order to finish their experiments properly, they looked at the sheets through a microscope, and discovered that all the information about how to grow a human being, and what that human being will turn out like when it is grownup was contained in tiny data banks inside the stains which are produced when men and women love each other very much. In bed. At first, they thought that this information was only contained in the so called “love juices” but later scientists, including Doctor White and Professor Plum, of the university of Cluedo, discovered that this vital information was contained in every cell of the human body!
Once this had been discovered, it wasn’t long before scientists were asked to do a project about it. This would be called the “human genome project” and it even though they started it in about 1990 they didn’t get it finished until the twenty first century.
But once they had finished it, and produced what they called a “road map, the boffins all know how to fiddle about with people’s genomes to make them behave differently. They even reckon that they can fiddle about with the genomes of unborn children so that they won’t have to wear glasses me will be able to play the violin. Of course, they haven’t actually done anything of the sort, yet. Mainly because of discussions about the rights and wrongs of it all. I don’t know about you, but I know plenty of people who have to wear glasses and can’t play the violin for toffee. As a matter of fact, I used to be one of them myself. And I strongly believe that people like me have a right to life, and shouldn’t be edited out of existence by people in lab coats dabbling with forces that they don’t understand.
Of course, a lot of the early work on genomes was done by British scientists. Professor David Bowie of Brixton Academy discovered the laughing genome back in the 1960s. But the discovery nearly drove him mad and he had to spend the next two or three decades trying to be serious.
The thing that the professor Bowie, and the rest of the scientists will never understand, is that the DNA of an individual is just an expression of their characteristics, which is determined when their spirit separates from The Meld, and they get themselves re-incarnated. (Or incarnated if it’s a mixture if spirit that hasn’t been incarnated before.) Trust science to get things cock’ards way on! Yes, you could probably fiddle with the genes for a big nose, or a hairy back, but you couldn’t properly fiddle with actual personality genes, as all that comes from deep beyond what we know of as reality, “far away on the other side” as Cat Stevens once put it.
Still, they like to try. I understand that after his death in 2010, Bernard Matthews left a great deal of money to start up a “Turkey Genome Project” to fulfil his dream of of getting the perfect gobble. It takes all ruddy kinds!

Auntie Doris’s Book Club #7: The Great British Poets – Vol XVII: Mike O’Brien

advertMy nephew Michael had his 53rd birthday this week. Bless him. It only seems like half a century since he was a little lad sitting on my knee, and listening to what I had to say without any back chat or cheek. How ruddy times have changed. Any road, he celebrated his birthday by achieving two personal ambitions. First off, he got to meet one of his heroes, John Otway, “Rock and Roll’s Greatest Failure” and support him with his ruddy silly pop group, Pocketful O’Nowt. and second off, he published a book of his ruddy silly poems. Having said that, I know he is ruddy silly, but I am a bit proud of him an’all.

This book is a bit slim, but it does contain twenty of his poems, and an introduction by Professor Iain Duncan Norville, Chair of English Literature at the University of Wath upon Dearne. Some of the poems are old songs that he doesn’t do in his pop group any more. there is one where our michael dreams that he is David Bowie. (He always has his head in the clouds, dreaming he is ruddy famous, rather than getting any proper work done.) Here is a bit of  another one about Steve Peregrin Took, who used to play the bongos with Marc Bolan.

Steve Peregrin Took
Had a charming English hippie look
That English hippie lasses found appealing
When he travelled up and down the land
As the bongo man in Bolan’s band
He pulled more birds than Bolan did
And Bolan hit the ceiling

There are other poems which are just plain rude. One about a tramp who is a bit too excited in the trouser department, and one which describes the lovely east Riding of Yorkshire as smelling of something that has just fallen out of a cow’s arse.  Personally, I don’t hold with swearing, its not ruddy big, and its not ruddy clever.

So its a shame that Michael feels he has to resort to it. Because some of his poems are quite clever. like the one about the hog roast, where the hog has the last laugh, and the one about the smiling Victorians. My grandmother would have liked that one. My father would have agreed with this bit..

They say that a smile is like an ankle
or even a calf
That only someone close
Should be allowed to gaze upon it 
Not a thing to be photographed
And exposed to the stares of all and sundry

There’s a good one at the end too, “Anyone can Do It” which is clever, because it lets the secret out of the bag that its fairly easy to get yourself published… Here’s a bit of that one.

So the next time someone shows you
Their latest book you should
Resist the urge to be impressed
Unless its any good
Anyone can do it nowadays

I reckon that this poetry book of our Michael’s just about scrapes in as being “any good” You will probably laugh a bit as you are reading through the poems, and maybe you will remember the gist of one or two of them an’all.

You can buy it on Amazon. Our Michael has already bought thirty and is wondering what to do with the royalties. It is lavishly illustrated with old black and white drawings that he has pinched off the internet. It is also available as one of them Kindles books, but there are no pictures in that one, because he couldn’t work out how to upload them all without spoiling them, and besides, it would have made it more expensive for people to upload, or download, or whatever ruddy load it is when you buy one.

He tells me that if anybody does actually buy one because of reading this review, he will get me a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream, but if he sells enough he will get me a Harvey’s Amontillado. I’m not sure I fancy Amontillado though, so don’t feel ruddy obliged to go mad. Your relatives would probably prefer it if you knited them something for Christmas.