Principal Skinner; The Original Don Draper

In 2009 the fictional Mad Men character Don Draper was given the title of the world's most influential man. For the purpose of this post I am going to put aside my concerns with the world having a cynical, arrogant, womanising deserter as a role model. But who influenced Draper?

The official line is that the character is based on real life 50s ad-man Draper Daniels, but I have another theory.

Principal Seymour Skinner.

Both Skinner and Draper were orphans, Don's mother, a prostitute, died in child birth and his alcoholic father died when he was 10. Skinner's past is even more tragic as, although we know he was an orphan, his character has not yet come to terms with this and so has not even given any clues as to what exactly happened to him.

Sgt. Skinner

Both troubled souls were enlisted in the US Army under their real names, Skinner being Armin Tamzarian and Draper being Dick Whitman. They were sent to conflicts that they were completely unprepared for and ultimately lead to them stealing the identities of their superior officers.

Lt. Draper with Private Whitman

These stolen identities eventually come out, famously for Skinner in front of the whole town during the episode 'The Principal and the Pauper' and in front of Draper's boss Bert Cooper. Both the town of Springfield and Draper's boss shrug it off and return to normal.

It could be argued that the only person Draper has really loved is he ex-wife Betty, who just as Skinner's romantic interest, Edna Krabappel, struggles with the drudgery of everyday life. Skinner and Draper have commitment issues which lead to the unhappiness of the woman in their lives.

Betty, wishing for freedom.

Edna, bittered by life.

It was difficult to choose just one picture of this man.

It is true that in a comparison of their success in their jobs, Skinner perhaps doesn't not perform as well as Draper, but I would say that the lack of government funding in Skinner's line of work has a great impact on how creative that he can be in his job.

I love Mad Men and all the characters, Don Draper is fascinating and it is exciting how parts of his past are revealed through a series of flashbacks and his self-destructive and deluded behaviour.


But, Armin Tamzarian is so deep and complex that his real life can not be revealed on a family show. The rebel-without-a-cause is so tormented by the demons of his past that he feels comforted by his Norman Bates-style relationship with his mother.

His mysterious past what keeps him from committing to his true love and similarly moves him to champion the school and all the children. This is part of the reason why he has never completely excluded Bart Simpson, because in truth, he sees much of himself in his cheeky smile and mischievous eyes.

Beneath his grey hair and lavender shirt lies a man with a wild heart and an unbroken lust for life.

Who is Principal Seymour Skinner?

Rebel without a cause

Too cool to push

No, not that type of push. Not pushing a baby out, you are getting your colloquialisms confused.

I am of course talking about those who walk amongst us who are too cool to push the button on puffin crossings -that's right 'puffin', the ones with the green and red men, I did my homework.

In case you are not familiar with these types of crossings then read no further, you are obviously much too posh for this site, what with your chaffer driven cars, you have probably never even been on a bus, let alone had to walk anywhere. This site will be more to your needs; http://howtospendit.ft.com/ Goodbye.

Anyway, I have seen it so many times, and guys, you do not look cool striding across the road then realising that you have misjudged it and you have to break into that pathetic little half jog the rest of the way.

It amuses me that younger men (I live right by a puffin crossing and it is usually younger men) feel that they need to flaunt their male prowess in this fashion.

Working on the assumption that our primal instincts are somehow at work here, what does the lack of button pressing show?

Is it that this man is simply too important to be airing on the side of caution - he's got places to go, people to see? Has feminism emasculated men so much that his only chance of boasting about his manhood is to put his life in jeopardy by not crossing when the green man says so?

Perhaps these men are showing some sort of deep seeded rebellion against society and by not being sucked into the 'illusion of choice' of a green man or a red man, they are saying "fuck you establishment". Or is it something far more incredible, that the man in question is so in control of the situation that he can manipulate the traffic at his will? *Whispers* superheroes are finally here.

This odd macho behaviour is also true of those younger men who push buggies and prams with one hand, just so they can keep their swagger, which they do so well in the tracksuits of the late 90s, Jeremy Kyle-style. Prams are impossible to navigate and steer at the best of times, never mind with one hand. I suspect that this may have a deep seeded reason, like, "is this baby even mine?"

But why the threat of danger? Why the living on the edge, but in the most mundane ways?

Obviously this is an extremely serious issue that needs to be addressed by the nation. Our young men are at worst hurting and not being able to express this hurt or, perhaps more worryingly, just not grasping how to use basic, everyday, objects. Is this more evidence of 'broken Britain'?

Stop. Press. Wait for the green man.

#WaitForTheGreenMan

Please, for the love of god, just wait for the green man.

Me? I am a stay-at-home mum.

It's day two. And this human experiment of mine is going sour fast.

On my second full day of no job or college, I'm struggling.

The first day consisted mostly of lounging around trying to look busy, for who's benefit I'm not sure, but occasionally I would swiftly get up and wash my tea cup, fold some laundry and make more tea.

Today I had renewed vigour, I tidied the whole house, finished the DIY in my son's bedroom, read the paper, went to the shops and baked a cake, only to glance at my watch and find that it was noon. I could have passed for a regular 50s housewife if it weren't for the fact I was wearing jeans.

But, it got me thinking, there is no shame in being a housewife.

When I was younger I was determined to never be a stay-at-home mum, I wanted a career and a family, the 90s third-wave feminism had worked its magic and I wanted it all; a career, children and to break the mould and have a house-husband. Radical, I know. Fight the system!

But, it worked out that my partner got a job and I was left holding the baby. And the truth is, I will cherish those days for the rest of my life. I had embraced domesticity and all it had to offer. So suck on that Carrie Bradshaw.

The moments I felt like I was betraying myself (and maybe even the sisterhood) was when people asked me: "And what do you do for a living." I would immediately down-play my role by saying: "Well, at the moment, I am just a stay-at-home mum." "Just"? Just a stay-at-home mum? Why just? Because lets face it, if you are doing the job right it is hard work.

From messy potty training to home hair cuts; motherhood is tough. And while kneading the dough for fresh bread I couldn't escape the feeling that I had sold out, I was Betty Drapper. Well, perhaps not quite.

"Husband! Look what I did!"

But, baking, knitting, sewing, pickling, making jams, all of the domestic goddess's dark arts are now in vogue with the rise of the 'hipster housewife' and the feminists embracing the traditional homely 'woman's work'. And, as it rising in a more natural popularity, these highly skilled jobs become highly respected, as 1960s feminist Betty Friedan points out in this interview here.

Women, albeit mainly middle-class white women, are picking up the skills their mothers fought for them not to have to for reasons other than the 50s illusion of domestic bliss. It's because of necessity, concern for the environment and self-sufficiency.

I suppose my meandering point is, while I job hunt I should once again invoke the call of the oven cleaner, live in the moment and enjoy my homemade cake - guilt free.

My first day at Clown College

I have been recruited to make a fool of myself on stage to an audience of hundreds for charity.

As part of the Southport Comedy festival I will be trying to make strangers laugh for Claire House.

Claire House is a charity that provides care and support for babies, children and young people with life-limiting conditions and their families across the North West.

So I am now officially a student of the art of hilarity after I attended my first workshop on a stand up comedy crash course with Southport's home-grown comedic talent, Brendan Riley.

It was a gentle friendly session to begin with but the group is to be seen as a gym for the comedic mind - and I am in desperate need of a workout.

I have no comedy experience, that is unless you count the time I was waiting for a bus and I had, how to put this delicately? I had a builder's bum and was leaning up against the glass bus shelter - that made many strangers laugh.

Or the time I woke up in the middle of the night screaming to my husband that I couldn't see. I had gone blind, terror in my voice! It was only when my husband jumped out of bed in panic and put the light on that a miracle happened and my sight was restored. That always makes people laugh, or smile politely and move away.

But stand up needs so much more than a funny story, the delivery is everything and I need to make sure that I am comfortable enough on stage to deliver even half decent material with conviction to prise even a giggle out of a crowd.

That is the scariest part and I am hoping that the workshops will help me to do this. Otherwise I might as well go back to the bus stop.

• The Claire House Comedy Workshop Showcase takes place on Sunday, October 27 at the Ramada Hotel in Southport. Doors open at 6:30pm with the show starting at 7:30pm. Tickets cost £15. To book email me; rebecca.koncienzcy@trinitymirror.com

For more information on the comedy festival click here.

For more information on Claire House click here.

I'm not mad, I'm with a child

Sometimes I get frustrated by having to put down my cup of tea because a small hand is coming towards me with a huge bogie on it and the owner is demanding removal. And sometimes I get bored of going over stuff I already know, like 'A' is for apple and "yes six does come after five", yawn.

But, there are bonuses to having kids.

So many seem fixated on how we should be bringing up our children, what we should be feeding them and how we should be teaching them, without thinking about what is really in it for them.
Yes, your life will change, but for the better. No, not because creating a new life is so rewarding or because of the profound bond and love you feel when you look into your child's eyes. No, it will change for the better because now you can do all the things you have always wanted to do, without looking mad.

I can now freely dance at buskers in the street, that's right, dance at them. It's not weird, it's not embarrassing, I'm not mad; I am dancing with my child. Go on; just think about that situation without a child. The more positive amongst you are thinking 'Oh look, what a free spirit', but deep down you are really thinking what the rest of us would be if we saw a woman dancing at a busker; 'crazy, she has completely lost it.'

It is not simply a case of reliving your childhood, no. It is much simpler then that (or deeper, depending on if you are talking to a psychiatrist because you took dancing in the street too far) we are not reliving anything; we are simply doing the things we have always wanted to continue doing but aren't allowed to because of 'social norms and values'.

With a child by your side it is suddenly becomes completely acceptable to say everything you are thinking out loud. No I am not talking to myself, or worse the shelves of bread, there is a child in my trolley, I am talking to it.

Or, if the moment takes me I can play with the Lego blocks, so what if my child is in nursery that morning, I am tidying it up, it's not weird, I'm not mad; I have a child. I may also wish to enjoy a few precious moments watching Peppa Pig, which is not weird, it is not embarrassing and I am not mad, because lets face it some of those episodes are just so funny, and did I mention? I have a child.

You may occasionally want to do some colouring, with a child it's all go, break out the crayons! And I haven't even started on all the soft play areas out there. Oh. My. God. Slides, ball ponds, huge foam building blocks, so much fun to be had, and you defiantly can not go to a soft play area without a child, that really is crazy.

So, if you have just become a parent or perhaps you are contemplating a baby, or you're just fed up with your screaming child; just think of all the wonderful things you could be doing - without looking mad.

Behold! The God of Mass Transit!

I have never liked to think of myself as easily corruptible, but I recently brought a weekly travel pass and I feel like a God.

I usually buy day travel passes and have to rummage around in my bag for the correct change like a filthy peasant -if you have had any experience at handing paper money to a bus driver you will know how it is imperative to a safe, happy journey to have the correct change.

But, no longer do I need to engage in empty pleasantries while I purchase a ticket; no longer do I need to wait in line while the student in front counts out his fare in pennies (rookie mistake - this it is as equally annoying to the driver as Charles Darwin or Elizabeth Fry rearing their ugly heads, it's legal tender, dammit!); no longer do I need to struggle to my seat with the bus in motion as my ticket floats towards the chewing gum riddled floor.

Now that I have a weekly travel pass I can waltz on to the bus without even a sideways glance at my chauffeur, just one quick flash of my pass and I'm in, no questions asked. I can go anywhere (as long as it in in zones A-E); at any time (as long as it is between the hours of 6 am and midnight); on any mode of travel (as long as it is owned by specified transport provider): I feel like a God. A God, I tell you!

I could easily get hooked on the power of the pass, the knowing glances from the train guards as I stride through an open gate instead of having to fiddle around with the ticket barriers, their eyes say 'This is a woman that travels, she knows what she's doing'. The envy of the sheep being herded through the tiny gates, you should have gone the post office, you plebs.

Realistically, I couldn't afford to do this every week, so when the clock strikes 12 on Monday I shall shrink back to being the Cinders of public transport. It is just way to expensive.

A recent survey by Santander 123 World found that we spend, on average, £782 a year on travelling to work by public transport and with incomes that aren't stretching as far as they once were and above inflation rate price rises in travel fares, this is a lot of money.

When I bought my new TV I joked how I was beginning the process of pointing my furniture at the most expensive thing I own, then a friend said how if she were to do that she would have to point it at her yearly bus pass, costing between £470 and £665 - more than my TV.

I could only imagine the power of near-unlimited bus travel power for a whole year. If I wanted the whole package -travelling by bus, train and ferry- it would cost over £1,000 for a year. For that I would be pointing all my furniture at the pass on an alter in the centre of the room and every morning crusading through the house to retrieve it, Indiana Jones-style, complete with a ball of unpaid bills from the doormat rumbling down the street after me. Epic prices call for epic daily usage, I would want my money's worth.

So, I am going to relish my week of extravagance, make lots of unnecessary bus rides, look down on those with pocket change and wave like the Queen from the window, for this week I am the God of Mass Transit.

This Week's Struggles

This week I am struggling to keep on top of work load as I am preparing for my week's work experience with The Southport Visiter.

What I do intend to do is any stories or ideas for articles that the editor doesn't like I will post up on my blog next week.

So, because I won't have time to fill you in on this week's news I will point you in the direction of my new favourite internet haunt, The Guardian's Data Blog. It. Is. Amazing.

 http://www.guardian.co.uk/data Enjoy!

Why? Why didn't I break his legs!?