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Phallic Intention

Leon
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Words | Leon Fleming

Illustration | Andrea jones

It may not be something people want to discuss in polite society, but the phallus has a far greater impact on the world around us than we realise. Blushing cheeks, turned heads, riotous laughter, even total indignation are reactions to it because we all know what it is; we all know a penis when we see one. But the horror comes not just because of the piece of man it signifies, but because it is erect; a symbol in our modern world for sex, pornography, promiscuity and infections, and the fun that can be had.

But that is just the tip of the iceberg – phallic also – because it is not a product of the modern world, but originates with the ancient peoples of our race, stretching back to when we walked for the first time on two legs and began to consciously explore our bodies, our minds, and every other living thing around us.
 
It is a misconception to believe that the phallus is merely a symbolic representation of the penis, even though that is what it describes. It is so much more. It is fertility, heterosexual and homosexual union, strength, birth; and because of its links to creation, the phallus has also been used as a manifestation of God.

We cannot help but fill our environment with them, and once you start looking, you see them absolutely everywhere; bottles, glasses, bollards, buildings. We like to think it’s coincidental that they just happen to have the same shape as our beloved male sex organ, but that may not actually be the case; there may instead be an unconscious draw to this shape because of what it means to us. Looking at structures like Mayan and Egyptian pyramids, twentieth century skyscrapers like the Empire State Building and the ‘Gherkin’, also known as the ‘Crystal Phallus’, it can be seen that there has always been a little bit of a preoccupation. Temples and churches too with their spires and minuets, meant to denote a route to our chosen deity, may in fact be symbols of strength and power in the form of the male protrusion.
 
Monarchies, religions, governments, corporations have all felt the need to show off their prowess in their architecture; exerting the power of their egos over those that walk in the shadow of these great bestial erections. Or possibly over-compensating for a lack of real power; a trick to fool us all into being afraid and actually just a physical realisation of massive insecurity.

I’m not sure where the difference is; maybe they are both equal factors in an ever-spewing cycle. Either way, the power, real or imagined, of this penile icon is an obsession that is unlikely to ever leave the human psyche.

The League of Extraordinary Gentleman

Domhnall OCathain
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Words | Domhnail O'Cathain

In the beginning, we are told, men and women were put on earth. Men were meant to create, to pioneer and to lead. Then, women came along and showed us boys up. In the political world, we should look no further than Maggie Thatcher, Hillary Clinton, Angela Merkel and, er, Sarah Palin.
But when it comes to politics in Jersey, it’s definitely a man’s world. With the exception of Anne Pryke, the Health and Social Services Minister, nine of the ten ministerial posts are currently occupied by men. But who are these specimens of manhood who humbly and ably serve the tax-paying public?   

 

Terry Le Sueur
Chief Minister
The top dog, the Godfather, the mack daddy. He may look a bit little an aged Billy Bunter and strike as the type who just might nod off in mid-speech, but no one can deny that El Tel has one of the sharpest minds in the States. Cue the Google searches for “Billy Bunter”…..

Alan Maclean
Economic Development Minister
It’s a poisoned chalice looking after economic development in Jersey in the middle of a recession. Reviving the traditional industries of yore – agriculture and tourism – would require a miracle worker. Sadly, performing acts of God might just be beyond the remit of someone responsible for economic development. How cool would it be if that was part of the job description though? We could have glorious sun all year round, Jersey Royals as big as your head and cows that produce chocolate milk. Friends, it would be paradise.  

Ian Le Marquand
Home Affairs Minister
It’s only fitting that a former magistrate step into a role that oversees the legal system, the police, the prison and so on. The problem with a magistrate in charge is that you can never be sure that we aren’t all tarred with the same brush used for years on the speed-demons, good time Charlies, and Artful Dodgers out there. That said, our Ian is probably the only one with a brain big enough to understand all that law drafting jiggery-pokery.      

Sean Power
Housing Minister
The States Assembly’s token Paddy. An all-round champion of the people, his fight against further taxes on booze and dodgy Dickensian-esque landlords has proven to be a solid vote-winner. Huzzah!     

Freddie Cohen
Planning And Environment Minister
Silver-haired with a silver-tongue to match. What else can be said about a man whose steady and unwavering hand has helped turn St Helier into a concrete oasis? The plethora of cranes and high-rises now filling the skyline means anyone flying over town might mistake it for Hong Kong. Before we know it the concept of urban living will expand to us dwelling underground, in the clouds and possibly in an extra dimension.

Michael Jackson
Transport And Technical Services Minister
Obvious references to his controversial and deceased namesake aside, Mickey is the sole Connétable in the Council of Ministers. Sounds a bit lonely. There aren’t real politicians are they, Connétables? He probably gets the teas in at the Council’s meetings though. If they’re ever short of one, I’m sure he could provide a makeshift table.

Philip Ozouf
Treasury Minister
Phil Jr. is part of a well-honoured tradition of political dynasties in Jersey (his dad, the late Phil Senior, was Connétable of St Saviour). With one beady eye on the top job when Old Man Terry hangs up his spurs, he is currently busying himself with doing a hatchet job on the public sector budgets.

Ian Gorst
Social Security Minister
Elected as a Deputy in St Clement back in 2005. He once produced one of the finest moments of  sincerity on the election trail when he declared that his “home” parish was his favourite football team. He would have got more respect if he said it depended on who was topping the league on any given week.

James Reed
Education Minister
Arh, Deputy Reed from St Ouen, eh. A farming man. A proper man who you could go for a pint with. There must be a revolution in teaching methods going on in the classrooms – kids can learn to add and subtract using grubby potatoes, the theory of gravity is proven by cow-tipping, and Animal Farm is the holy grail of the English curriculum.

Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Budget?

Wilhelm
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Everyone. And it's no laughing matter.

At the end of last month Treasury Minister, Senator Philip Ozouf, delivered to the States an unprecedented set of economic proposals, designed to steady the good ship ‘Jersey’ from 2011. The goal – to plug the £112 million annual leak.

The Senator said Jersey should aim to put money in the coffers by asking Islanders to pay more, such as: GST up to 5%; cigarettes up by 11%; booze up by 7%; higher Social Security payments for those earning £44k or more; higher rates of stamp duty and Land Transaction Tax (share transfer); and a 2% rise in fuel duty. Assurances were given that those who could less afford to pay would be protected (Income Support to rise to counter GST).

The Senator said he was not in a position to confirm what, if any, rises would be made in relation to taxes on businesses and corporations, and the Island’s wealthiest residents.

No two budgets are the same, yet elements of the Ozouf Budget echo aspects of the UK government’s proposals, which led to passionate exchanges in Westminster last month, whereby Labour accused the Conservatives of ‘squeezing the middle’ in its own Comprehensive Spending Review.

As well as asking residents to pay more, the government wants States departments to belt-tighten. For example, the Senator has proposed a public sector voluntary redundancy programme, in an attempt to reduce the government’s wage bill.

The Senator said that tough decisions needed to be made today. In recent years, Jersey has raided the cookie jar (a ‘rainy day’ fund of approximately £560m) to the tune of £160m. The States is asking Islanders for a show of solidarity in helping turn things around. For many, Jersey’s economy is regarded as a very clever one-trick pony, but new or collateral ideas are in short supply. Islanders’ faith in the Ozouf regime towards 2013 may be eroded if higher taxes and duties don’t produce results – and the government doesn’t demonstrate that it can operate efficiently. Only time will tell whether the 2011 Budget caused the States to step up to the plate – or placed Jersey’s taxpayers at the lip of a very slippery slope.

Mr Most Haunted given the green light…

Wilhelm
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Or was it an 'orb'…? Spooky.

In October, Deputy Kevin Lewis felt obliged to raise his concerns with fellow States members about the proposed visit to Jersey of the medium, Derek Acorah, who plans to perform at Fort Regent.

Acorah gained celebrity status among fans of the paranormal when he appeared on the popular TV series, Most Haunted, alongside the increasingly nerve-shot figure of Yvette Fielding.

Acorah has had a fair amount of success exhibiting his claimed talents for being able to communicate beyond the grave – a power that Deputy Montfort Tadier must no doubt feel he shares when addressing the House.  

Deputy Lewis feared ‘vulnerable’ Islanders might be at risk by Acorah’s show, believing it to be ‘inappropriate’ entertainment. (Come on Deputy, we know he’s a scouser but there’s a limit to what he can nick from the stage. There’ll be lights on him the whole time for cripe’s sake.)

The States appeared to disagree with Deputy Lewis. In fact, some of them were severely cheesed-off that he’d raised it.

To note, Treasury Minister, Philip Ozouf, shed light on how the States chamber can get sidetracked from discussing ‘real issues’. In his speech to the Jersey Chamber of Commerce in March 2010, he said, “up until last week the Assembly has spent nearly 90 per cent of its time this year on backbencher propositions – it’s time to concentrate on the things that really matter”.

Out of interest, Gallery learned recently that a community of psychics in England were forced to cancel a society open day citing “unforeseen circumstances”. (You can’t write that. That’s genius.)
 

Meer Mortal

Wilhelm
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A male of 'simples' pleasures whose passing has caused a conundrum

This month Gallery acknowledges the male of the species.

With each passing generation, the post-war male has worked hard to distance himself from the stereotypes: chauvinistic, patriarchal, sex-obsessed, etc. And so Gallery doffs its cap to a truly modern man and figurehead of his community, who sadly passed away in October 2010. Nelson (father of 48) was the dominant male of the ‘discovery desert’ meerkat enclosure at Durrell.

Much like the modern Jerseyman, Nelson lived a full and active life – and contributed tirelessly to the community he represented. Sources say he was instrumental in shaping the environment in which he and the other meerkats lived. His daily routine included digging burrows, watching for predators, sunbathing and socialising (mostly having break-neck sex with his relatives).

Following Nelson’s death, aged 12, Durrell’s website revealed that keepers were “a little concerned about how the rest of the group would deal with the loss of the dominant male”. Initial signs were that the mob were “keeping well” but were being “closely monitored” to see if a natural successor arose within the group.

Cameras placed at strategic locations showed how events unfolded. Having tapped the phones in the burrow, keepers learned of a meeting between representatives of the various branches of the family, to be held in the back room of a launderette in Cheapside.

Dons from the Chicago, New York and Sicily chapters later conducted a secret ballot in the cloakroom of La Capannina. A power struggle ensued between Gerald (Nelson’s son) and Trigger (second cousin). Sources say a third contender (Bruce) declared himself out of the running after he woke up to find a vole’s head on his pillow.

Keepers say Bruce, who made a desperate bid to dig for the lemur enclosure, initially lost weight and developed the shakes, but has recently perked up after securing a bit part on a car insurance commercial.

Moguls+Monopolies=Human Missiles

Wilhelm
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The barrage of bad news is proving a little tiresome

Many people are reading this month’s magazine under a proverbial cloud, a feeling of agitation that cannot be attributed to a specific cause. It may be a result of the general pressure applied by these uncertain times we are living through. If so, some politicians (current and former) are not helping.

In October, the people who the media sniff around for a quote were up to their old tricks, and other big stories have emerged from unlikely sources.

Last month mud was thrown in all directions. We were told that Jersey’s lawyers are running a cartel, that the Planning Department’s corrupt, that Syvret was still tipping toys out the cot about a fair hearing, and that people who pay towards their child’s education (in addition to what comes out of their ITIS contributions) can pay more. Consequently, Islanders have reacted – set off like fireworks. They have come down on both sides, and the blogs have gone nuts.

You don’t get militant gradually. Militancy just happens. Having lived patiently under ‘the cloud’, something fairly innocuous will get on your wick, triggering a mist to descend. You’ll turn green and muscley, split your work suit, leap into the air, and look for the nearest traffic warden to ‘play’ with.

Each new month brings further tales of woe. The temptation to wade in (whether on a blog, in conversation with friends, or even strangers) is huge. The problem is that not everyone who reaches breaking point has taken the opportunity to first consider the facts. It only takes one person with a caber-sized chip on their shoulder to butcher a healthy debate.

Intro-Man Issue

BD
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Like James Brown said; ‘It’s a man’s world’. Heads of state, politicians, inventors, explorers… the seven dwarfs. Everywhere we look it’s those of us that stand up in the toilet that steal the limelight. Yes, behind every great man is a great woman, but is that supposed to be some sort of defence of the fairer sex’s role? It starts with ‘behind’?!

Well… most Gallery editions tend to offer more for the girls than the guys, so you’re well catered to from our end ladies. That could be something to do with the fact that our team is 75% female. Not this month my friends… for our ‘man’ issue we’ve made sure that we’ve catered to the guys for once. We have a men’s fashion shoot (p74) and also profile some ‘men about town’; Jersey-based entrepreneurs who are establishing businesses in the face of the recession (p118). Manly high fives to them all.

Our beauty editors have also identified some men’s ‘beauty’ products that we pretend we’re too manly to use but secretly like to get at Christmas (p86). We offset all that metrosexuality with a review of the best ever masculine cars and a page on tools you need to own and some expensive men-orientated gadgets (p142).

This month XYs across the Island and all over the world will be flexing their masculinity for Movember. As this magazine hits the streets men will already have downed razors and let their top lips sprout forth with configurations of stroke-able and twirl-able moustache madness. Harking back once again to a time of Magnum P.I, Brian Blessed, Graham Gooch or in honour of more recent characters such as Earl (of My Name is Earl fame), gentlemen will be throwing their post-shave healer aside and raising money for The Prostate Cancer Charity.

The menswear department at De Gruchy have even got the guys at Pull-In Underwear to design a specially designed Jersey pair (pg 134) that they’re selling with 100% of proceeds going to the charity. If you’re not brave enough to grow the mo, make sure you get involved and pick up a pair for yourself or your man.

Despite this being the man issue, our clients seem to have taken the opportunity to surreptitiously talk to us men. There seem to be a fair few pages of shiny jewellery goodness that look suitable to buy young ladies. Christmas must be coming up…. happy moustache growing and shopping, gents.

I’m off to chop wood with an axe while drinking Jaegermeister to restore the balance… see you next month.

BD

Rant: Mean Kitty- August 2010

Mean Kitten
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It’s Alive!

Advocate X
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Warning ? the following article contains nudity, swearing and numerous references to bodily fluids. If you are under the age of 18 (or are under 18 but already a parent, in which case congratulations for being able to read at all), then you might not want to read on unless an adult is present.

Last year, I sent a simple yet utterly awesome text message to my friends. It read:

?Lady X pregnant.

Holy Sh*t.

Repeat: Holy Sh*t.?

We had made the discovery (with typical good timing) en route to a wine-tasting holiday in Bordeaux. Lady X had woken up following an overnight rest stop feeling slightly funny, and had sneaked out to purchase a pregnancy test from the nearest pharmacie. Despite having taken four years to come to terms with ?Une bouteille d?eau plate, s?il vous plait?, she was somehow able using the international language of exaggerated girly gestures to acquire a box of little stick things after only half an hour of frantic waving.

Making her way delicately back into the room past a gently snoring and completely-unaware-of-impending-doom husband, she soon discovered that both the instructions and the result of the test consisted of one word: ?Oui?. I was then woken up to the sight of a delighted Lady X hopping up and down with delight while shaking the (still dripping) test in my face.

Shamefully, my first thoughts were: ?Damn you, karma? as I had only recently written columns on the horror of ginger children and the stupidity of many parents and was convinced that an angry cosmos was about to provide me with the most violent and ginger offspring in history. I immediately resolved to realign my karmic balance and spent the next months doing good deeds including preventing a terrorist attack on America and saving many innocent villagers in Africa from the ravages of a civil war (at least I?m fairly sure that?s what I did – unless my sleep-deprived brain has once again failed to distinguish between i) reality and ii) the latest adventures of my alter-ego Jack Bauer). Of course, this didn?t stop me on doing the gentlemanly thing and insisting that Lady X take over the driving duties for the remainder of the holiday as it would have been a terrible shame to waste all those pre-paid vineyard tours filled with delicious, delicious wine.

Anyway, several months later a thankfully blond-haired Baby X has arrived and you will shortly be required to join in with the rest of the population of Jersey in swearing allegiance to your new and diminutive overlord. If you fail to comply, it will be at your own risk: he has already mastered the dark arts of projective vomiting and ? more impressively ? projectile pooing and take it from me, once he has decided to use these evil powers your curtains may never be the same again.

More disturbingly, he is also progressing his understanding of the human psyche such that not only are his victims forced to obey his every wish, but also being screamed at repeatedly seemingly makes them more frantic in their desire to please him. He has also declared war on the sort of awful baby clothing that says things like ?My Grandmother has no originality? and ?If you think I?m ugly, you should avoid my parents at all costs?, instead preferring to adopt a basic wardrobe of simple vests tastefully dotted with little cars and diggers (which symbolise his understanding of the importance of transport and infrastructure to any good dictator).

He communicates using the aforementioned screams and a selection of cute little mogwai noises, which, combined with his distaste for bright light and water, has made us extremely reluctant to feed him after midnight. He has also filled an astonishing number of nappies with a substance that I have been desperately trying to keep hidden from any passing United Nations WMD inspectors (although the government of Iran has recently shown an interest in helping me ?dispose? of them). The future is clearly his, and if you don?t jump on the bandwagon now, you and everyone you love may meet with a series of unfortunate accidents. All hail Baby X!

Has the Future Arrived?

Russ Atkinson
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Those of you who follow Gallery’s motoring section as if it were your favourite religious cult will know a little about Honda’s CR-Z by now, having seen it featured in the top five hybrid & electric concepts that actually managed to make it through to production and as a little teaser in last month’s review of Honda’s Insight.

For those of you who consider yourself normal, of sane mind and free of motor-based editorial vices however, the CR-Z has been dubbed a ‘sport hybrid coupé’ and the spiritual successor to Honda’s CR-X from way back when it was acceptable to sport a mullet to compliment your all-over denim ensemble as you roller-booted along to your walkman, blasting a bit of Duran Duran down your earholes. Remember those days? Thankfully I was still in short trousers. Or was that a shell suit?

Don’t get me wrong – if anybody is an advocate of noisy, thirsty, vehicles that provoke plentiful perspiration at anything but a snail’s pace that person would be me, but wasn’t 2010 supposed to be the future? I’ve a feeling HAL-9000 would be seriously unimpressed with our lack of progress. What with everyone saying that climate change is going to force our children’s children’s children to evolve into something more aquatic the, CR-Z couldn’t have arrived in showrooms at a much better time.

So how is it different from the hybrids and electrics already silently and efficiently roaming our streets? Firstly, it’s more like driving a car as opposed to a spaceship. There isn’t any great emphasis on the CR-Z actually being a hybrid once behind the wheel, and quite importantly it has a manual gearbox. A six speed manual gearbox at that – no CVT monotonic elastic bands here, no sir-ree. The ratios are quite short too which gets you more involved in the driving experience and gives the impression of making better progress than you might be, because let’s face it, a 124PS combination of 1.5 litre petrol engine and electric motors isn’t going to set the tarmac on fire, but it is a nippy little thing.

You don’t feel as compelled to drive with the utmost of fuel economy blinkered sense at all times which is a bonus. That backlit speedometer display from the Insight makes an appearance though in an almost awe-inspiringly beautiful form (see inset image), ever adjusting from green to blue depending on how many inches of sea-level rise you may or may not be causing. If you’re REALLY naughty though, and select the ‘sport’ mode it’ll turn red. Of course, the trees are still there too, but I didn’t care about the trees this time, the CR-Z is more about driving than saving the planet – it just happens to be pretty good at multitasking. Needless to say, the fuel economy is still excellent – that’s what this car is all about after all. Pushing the (recycled) envelope.

The auto-stop feature is barely noticeable and kicks in to reduce the number of polar bears forced into a vaguely icy but positively watery death whilst you’re sitting at the traffic lights, which is a nice, clever touch.

Just ignore the rear seats and consider the area behind you to be a healthily sized storage space. Unless of course your nearest and dearest are unfortunate enough to have misplaced their legs at some point, although if this is the case fitting the requisite mobility equipment into the remainder of the bootspace may prove troublesome with the seats up. Actually, forget I mentioned it and just consider the rear seats in this 2+2 a tiny bonus. Literally.

The model tested was a mid-range version and apparently the top-of-the-range GT is the one to look out for, with leather seats as standard and a few exterior enhancements. This one came with all of the usual refinements that you’d expect, the obligatory climate control, airbags, CD player with USB & AUX connectivity, electric windows and mirrors, on-board computer, wheel mounted controls and also cruise control, which complements the MPH to KPH readout button as discovered on the Insight last month as well as the nice, big foot rest to the left of the clutch just perfectly if travelling abroad is your bag.

Okay, so visibility out of the rear window is still poor but that’s just a hit you have to take for Honda managing to create such a wind-resistance evading slippery shape in their epic struggle for fuel efficiency.

This is a definite step closer to the way we should be buying and driving cars right here, right now, in the future. I wonder how long it will take for other manufacturers to follow suit? Hopefully their are some interesting studies being hidden up their mechanical and creative sleeves…

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