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Laurence Inman’s Blog



The new JFK? Laurence Inman finds himself believing the hype about the new US President. And discovering something awful about voice recognition.

Last week I surrendered myself totally to Obamania.

I’m not gay, but I’m sure that if I were, Barack would be my type of bloke. He’s lean, tall, graceful and talks brilliantly. You would trust him with your life. (In one sense we have.)

His wife is young-ish and seems quite sane. His kids are very nice. He could be as great as that other bloke, the one who was shot a lifetime ago.

He’s obviously an infinitely more sensible choice than that doddery old pop and the pitbull woman who would have had her mitts on the GO! switch and her gob round the command tannoy when he shuffled off this mortal coil.

Yes, we’re incontrovertibly better off there. Barack won’t die for ages, unless he gets shot, (because he might be too good for this world,) but then Joe the Plumber looks a decent cove, so we’re still all right. I can’t wait to hear his inauguration speech. I hope it snows in Washington that day. That always adds a picturesque touch, I feel.

It was wonderful last Wednesday, wasn’t it? All those young people shouting ‘Yes we can!’ Jesse Jackson crying. People everywhere believing in something once again, after all these years of brutal nihilism.

And do you know what ? I too wanted so much to believe in something, that I did! And not just something. Anything! It goes further. I now believe that I can believe in anything over and over again into the future.

Let us sink to our knees and thank God that Barack wasn’t 5 foot 6 and eighteen stones, because then no one would have voted for him.

I honestly think that he could overturn the rule that in any walk of life the next bloke in charge is always worse than the previous one. I think he could be as great, if not greater, than any of his 43 predecessors, even greater than James Knox Polk (1845-49)

Now, I’m not one to climb up onto someone’s carefully-prepared table of party comestibles and crap all over the canapés, but a rather disagreeable bit of research was revealed to Radio 4 listeners this weekend.

Apparently, there is such a thing as Deep Voice Analysis, which can screen out all the extraneous bits of your voice and concentrate only on the really important part, the part where you’re meaning what you say.

It seems we’re all programmed to respond to a voice where this is most consistent, no matter what the words spoken actually mean. So it could be that B.O. got more votes than the frozen chip man only because his larynx is constructed differently. Surely that can’t be right ?

Can it be that no one really had a conscious choice in the election ? That they were merely responding to the promptings of atavistic gene-impulses ?

It’s like being told that we marry people, not because of what we feel, but because the inky depths of our subconscious have been stirred by a signal that this person would make a brilliant parent. Is that why so many couples divorce? They marry the great parent-potentiality, but can’t stand the person who contains it?

Are all our so-called choices made by something hidden from us? Were they all settled for us generations before we were even born ?

Bloody hell! What? I mean, bloody hell!



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