AC/DC Meeting in a Public Convenience on Hampstead Heath

I have no wish to steal the thunder of a former Director of Communications in Downing Street but let me relate the following tale which includes art, sex, drugs and past employees of the state about to publish their memoirs!

I have for some time been visiting a place on the heath in Hampstead and experiencing a considerable amount of pleasure!In passing, I refer to her as my fancy woman but in truth I do not know her name. I have confessed this attachment to Lady BP and a number of others.

Absolution has been given.

Whenever I am in the Great Wen and I have the time I visit Hampstead Heath and gaze on the face of my beloved! The girl with a guitar.

(By the way the picture behind the girl is a copy of a contemporary landscape!)

Once, on a Thursday, I was locked in contemplation of the sublime composition of feminine beauty, light and the eternal when the drugs kicked in. It is annoying that some of the drugs which, demonstrably, keep me alive also require me to pee more than normal in the morning. The said day was one such.

With fear and trepidation I approached the toilets at Kenwood House. Being a poor lad from the provinces I was not convince I would emerge from such a site of cottage industry with my virtue intact or even my trousers!

On inspection it was clear, empty and available. Relieved, partially, I swiftly went about my business. At the point which I am informed is described as mid stream, there was an explosion. The door to the facility flew open and a with a roar and a spraying of uncertain bodily fluids a man in tee shirt and shorts (!) burst into the toilets. This is it, I thought, bummer. Should I enunciate the feeble words…

“Sir.I do not share your sexual preference but I will die for your right to exercise it!”

and prepare to die.

To my relief the figure crashed into the nearest cubicle wrenched a handful of toilet tissue from the wall and wiped a cascade of snot from his nose.

He looked round the facilities saw and discounted my somewhat tense backed figure at the stall and cleared his throat and nose of fluids and went on his merry way. I suspect, though I have no evidence for such, that this was the Thursday morning run intended to keep the former Director of Communications in Downing Street from thinking about the cabinet meeting and all the fun things that he could be getting up to and of course the bottle!

Subprime Warriors

FT ( June 30,2007)

There were several articles identifying a nice little earner, a wheeze, that appears to have started to decompose at the heart of the beast!

You may not be familiar with the term subprime. Think high interest lending, think doorstep lending, no put that baseball bat away, it is all perfectly legal, just a little usurious, allegedly. Subprime in the US includes a lot of iffy mortgages, or ‘overvalued junk debt’ as some commentators would have it.

What do you do if you are a poor struggling banker with voracious and unrelenting shareholders to feed and a high junk habit of dodgy debt to support?

Well the first thing you can do is turn to the Subprime Warriors. These guys will take your debt which is, let’s say, less than colourful, and wave their ‘high tech wands’ over it. Suddenly, something which looks as bankable as a three legged dog at The Stow becomes collateralised debt obligations, CDOs (never mind the quality, feel the width, it sparkles, it gleams) and you can sell it on like hot cakes because it is repackaged with bonds and all manner of beautiful things; sliced diced and presented with a variety of risk attached!
Sell me another, Tory!

It has not been a quiet week in Moneytown.
US regulators issued guidance for the moneymen to

“lay off de liddle guys with de bad debts, ok!”

or words to that effect.
Pangs of conscience for homes lost, lives ruined?
Vulture Capitalists going vegetarian, vegan even?
Not quite Chancellor Copper!

Investor jitters about a credit crunch, the Old Lady herself warning of the vulnerability of the global financial system point to the possibility of more than a slight ‘market correction‘. Eyes have rolled, heads even, hands have been wrung, warning bells have been rung, prodigal chickens have been seen roosting, sacrificial calves have not been fattened, deals have faltered……

Yeah, yeah… split caps; Enron; Blah Blah Blah; BCCI; Blackwheneveritwas; the end of capitalism as we know it, Jim?
Possibly not but consider this.
Our man Lex at the FT points out that while the usual suspects may claim ‘nothing major has gone wrong’ he estimates that losses from CDOs and junk loans for leverage buy-outs could break the $100bn barrier.
Is this good, bad or indifferent and change?
Not good!
US banks, as quoted in Lex’s column, are estimated to have $850bn capital.
(That’s one matchstick for every $100bn and split the last one in half. No, it doesn’t matter if it is the half with the red bit on.)

But the banks won’t take the hit alone. This will be spread across alternative vehicles where liquidity and capacity needs are not currently known or clearly understood. Good for the banks but probably not very good for us then, a rotting pile of paper and a bad smell coming from god knows where. I bet those poor struggling bankers feel a bit more comfortable now though.

Spot the new kids on the block with the big bonuses and the shiny, shiny cars.

Subprime Warriors!

Me, I’m here in the kennels at The Stow; looking after this three legged mutt that has such a sweet face.

The Long Snout

Had this idea about the long snout and used it in an email to a colleague. That’s cute I thought. Wow is it original?

As Ogden Nash might have said.

It’s always tempting to impute
Unlikely parentage to 'cute'

Found through the remorseless Google that I was out by about 18 months.

Along with reference to various animals possessed of enormous hooters there, at pride of place, was the The Long Snout from O’Reilly himself, identifying the proud father:-

Chris Anderson famously named the long tail-- the idea that in the internet era, success belongs to companies that can address the end of the demand curve that is populated by millions of low-volume products, rather than a small number of high-volume products. Last year, noodling on the long tail concept, Rael Dornfest somewhat waggishly pointed out that there's an analogous phenomenon on the front end of product creation, which he called "the long snout."

Interesting word that, noodling!

Alas
In the age of instant communication
he who hesitates
is a man with a great future
behind him!

Not so much bleeding edge, more….. Now where did I put my glasses.

Black Swan

Do you ever get the feeling that you are not wanted. If people use phrases like

not afforded admission to the official British List

an estimate of 43 feral birds in 2003/04 .... undoubtedly an under-estimate given the level of monitoring undertaken.

Stuff it, you know you are beautiful. Every right to be here. Let's hope Betty Saxe-Coburg keeps her hands off and if you see a short streak of whatsit with a wild glint in his eye, a gun in one hand and a kebab skewer in the other run or fly for it!

Hasta Luego!

Duck Posse

Remember, if they get in the way shove 'em in the road. Life is a one way street, guys!

George Bush Memorial Library

John Naughton has a nice photo of a possible place for Dubya's $500m memorial library.

The proposed location of this temple to peace and learning has caused some disquiet, strangely!

Now, who do you think made the following comments? -

"attitudes and actions widely deemed as ethically egregious: degradation of habeas corpus, outright denial of global warming, flagrant disregard for international treaties, alienation of long-term U.S. allies, environmental predation, shameful disrespect for gay persons and their rights, a pre-emptive war based on false and misleading premises, and a host of other erosions of respect for the global human community and for this good Earth on which our flourishing depends."

Most likely a bunch of hate filled pinkos.

What do you think they were talking about?

Legacy polishing of course.

How unlike our own dear, shy and retiring leader!

Munro Bragging

Is that a Munro I saw you on last night or are you just shy and retiring.

So in a land far, far away and a time long ago! Me and ma mate wus dossin in the bellach between Foinaven and Arkle.

OK! No too bad. A bit o’ this a bit o’ that but ok.

So here’s what we did.

We went up Foinaven f*****g brilliant. I saw my Broken Spectre. Back down after a long time coping with the mist and late evening light. We had our supper. Then we had a few wee nips and turned in.

In the light of morning we decided to go up Arkle. Brilliant! What a day, we were zipping along, plodding the route. In the distance we spotted a couple! They were heading towards us with not a stitch on.

Shit!

Thoughtfully, they decided to accoutre themselves with what they had and we passed pleasantly saying hi! Whatever!

Previously, I had stood on the top of Beinn Dearg mounted the cairn put a boot on ma heed and declared maself a Munro.

It’s amazing what you can do after a few wee nips!

Vulture Capitalism

Last night an exemplification of the term vulture capitalism, which I have used before, was given on Newsnight.

Vulture funds - as defined by the International Monetary Fund and Gordon Brown amongst others - are companies which buy up the debt of poor nations cheaply when it is about to be written off and then sue for the full value of the debt plus interest - which might be ten times what they paid for it.

The money men have a huge responsibility for additions to the suffering of the poor but the providers of food which we all consume do so too.

George Monbiot highlights abuses which, foolishly, we thought had long since passed when we gave up sweeties and choco bars in our campaigns. Also one of the best quotes I have seen for a long time

Panaceas are rare in medicine, but the mammary gland is one.

Amen brother George! Read the link.

The Merry Month of June

The temperature inside the house is now less that that outside.

Whoopee, the summer has arrived.

Friends for lunch on Saturday, an Amble on Sunday.

A warm and sunny afternoon saw nine Amblers set out from the church car park in Pakenham. The group followed paths from the village, falling into an easy gait and a convivial buzz of conversation. A stretch of the route opened up to give sight of three hares interrupting their lives to observe our progress. A skylark provided musical accompaniment, compelling us to pause and identify it. The smell of camomile on some of the paths was, like the heat of the afternoon, powerful but not oppressive.

A stop for a photo opportunity and a quick dispensation of dried fruit pointed us in the direction of home. Our return, passing a grand property and tree houses, brought us through some of the quietest and greenest country ways in the area.

One of our number is about to walk from Land's End to John O’Groats. I’m sure all the Amblers would wish him well and enjoyment of his travels.

Cooperativo Oso Pardo d’Espanya (COPE)

The Observer Book of Weather (Observer 20/5/07 p.31).

"In December 2006, bears in the mountains of Spain gave up hibernating because the winter was simply too warm."

My first comment was - “All ten of them!"

The Scene.

A smouldering rubbish dump somewhere at the back of Torrelavega in Cantabria, December 2006.

There appears to be a group of large men in fur coats shambling about or sprawled on abandoned furniture. They are seen to be ‘oso pardo’, brown bears. They are all male, ‘machos’.

Raoul speaks in a heavy Gallegan accent, wearing shades and a baseball cap. He is spread-eagled on a collapsed leather chair. Taking an enormous spliff out of his mouth he waves it in the direction of the other bears, vaguely.
"Hey dude, wanna hit?"
He usually insists on greeting each member with a high five, most of the time he is wasted. Privately, members of COPE think Raoul is too close to the 'out of work' boat crews in Cabo who supply the Yerba Buena.

The direction Raoul was waving the spliff includes in its 120 degree arc an old car on 3 wheels and a beer keg. Through the crazed windscreen there appears to be someone or something in the car. It is an impression rather than and image. The impression is of a bear sat behind the wheel turning it from side to side. If you listened hard you might hear a low sound "Brrm Brrm"- or maybe not. Perhaps this is Alfonso, from Cantabria. He is known, unkindly, by the other members of COPE, as Alfonso el Sabio.

A small but very powerful bear has just shambled into the space. He is carrying a huge stone, a box on his back and pulling a dead ox on a rope. The other bears greet him.
"Ola Inyaki! Still in training?"
Inyaki is Basque, but the bears never, ever, refer to him as such. He is always described as the honoured member from Euskadi. A good bear on your side in a fight, he does tend to hang on to the spliffs and the honeycombs when they are being passed round. The other members of COPE suspect that he has separatist tendencies and too great a fondness for Txacoli, drinking it as if it was water, which it nearly is, of course.

Leon from Leon is the current convenor. He sits at the centre of the space twitching his slightly grey, patrician, muzzle. These meetings are just an excuse for him to get out and cut loose. He would prefer more civilised, intelligent companions.
His grandfather once described a meeting of the Guild, as it was then called, in the 40s that was addressed by a magnificent but rather strident black bear called, Herman. There is no one of that stature, strength or moral fibre here today.

Javier, from Asturias is the firebrand, political commissar, and secretary of the Coop. His father was once shot at by the Caudillio and lived to tell the tale. The tale inherited by his son is a patrimony generously and frequently distributed. He is proud to be addressed as 'El Rojo'. He would probably be shocked by his nickname of 'La Rioja', identifying at least two of his preferences (weaknesses?), if he ever heard it.

Makeweight bears from Segovia (Guitarra), Burgos (Sid), Avila (Jose Maria!), Salamanca (El Profesor), Aragon (Bruno) and Navarra (Garbanzo) sit or shuffle through the rubbish.

Leon calls the meeting to order and sets out the agenda.

"Colleagues", he will never be able to use the more accepted address of comrades,

"We need to decide three things today."

"Who will we send to the 'Bear Necessities' networking event for EU subsidies in Poland?"

"How much will we contribute to the 'Lost Cubs of Rumania' Appeal?"

"And, if we are going to hibernate this winter?"

Raoul lets out a growl that would send shivers down the spine of a vampire and shambles, unsteadily, over to the bear from Aragon. He proffers the spliff.

"Jeesu Bruno! This skunk would make an Opus Dei Archbishop take up animal husbandry!"

Inyaki takes his accordion out of its box and starts to play one of those interminable txirmiri folk tunes. Several bears groan. Jose Maria lets out a wild howl and calls for the partying to begin. Garbanzo then takes off in a tuneless song of death, loss, betrayal, and txacoli, but not necessarily in that order. Javier rests his head in his hands. Leon rolls his eyes. It's going to be a long hard winter.

If you looked at the three wheeled car you might have the impression that Alfonso was sitting still; very, very still. If you listened hard you might hear a low rumble, barely a voice. You would think it was saying

"I'm going to stay up all winter."

over and over again.

Annual Report and Accounts of Buddhist Pizza Investment Enterprises.

I have great pleasure in presenting the annual report and accounts of Buddhist Pizza Investment Enterprises (BPIE).
First can I welcome our visitors from the USA, Tibet and South Wazieristan. It is pleasant to see violent saffron robes mixing once again with the gentle hues of olive green uniforms and the modest garb of our faithful followers.

We have proved ourselves not only popular but profitable! The accompanying consolidated accounts show a remarkable and substantial increase in trading. Despite having to countenance the early retirement of our good friend Mr Wolf for family reasons we have continued with strong growth in all sectors. We carry forward a surplus of over 60 billion dollars, after tax, due in no small part to the hard work of our staff and directors and the ease in selling the idea of Affordable Nuclear Deterrence for Small and Medium Countries.

It took some time to develop this concept with the commander in chief of our private security company but we got there in the end. I will pause for a moment to remember those that fell on the journey, Donald, Karl and the old guy who used to bring the coffee and hubble-bubbles round, or was it the hookers, when we were looking for inspiration.

I have to pay tribute here to someone very special. I could not have done this without the unselfish support of my deputy, Dick, or Deputy Dick as we refer to him. Only someone with a religious conviction so strong, a humane vision of the sanctity of all life and an understanding of the importance of the bottom line could have driven this organisation to the position it is in today! I recommend the modest increase in his remuneration to 10 percent of the audited surplus and a similar contribution to his pension fund. As you know I draw no remuneration from our company but make a modest charge of 4,000 dollars a mile for my travel and subsistence.
The diagram above shows the breadth of interest in our product across the globe. We are glad to see activity in the USA on the Eastern Seaboard. This includes contact with Langley Va. and a substantial property in DC. I personally look forward to developing a very close relationship here.

The traditional market for our type of product is well represented by our contacts in Germany, Italy and Sweden. They are very discrete retailers. In addition, the EU is a haven of peace, stability and security and so able to to provide our products and services to those that are not. They have done this in a way which is affordable, not traceable and free from so called 'ethical' restraint for some time.

Interesting and adventurous proposals are at the heart of our business. This is the reason that we have not overdeveloped in the dark, and eventually we hope very profitable, continent. We are making steady progress in East Africa and have avoided some of the pitfalls that minor competitors have experienced.

My regret for the year is that interest in China and Mongolia appears not to have continued from its early, high, level. That is why I am so pleased to have our visitors with us today from Central Asia. We wish to prosper in a region to which we owe so much philosophically.

It is important not to paint too rosy a picture for our investors. There are substantial threats and challenges in the year ahead. I have not used the R word so far but I cannot duck the duties of a responsible helmsperson. My colleagues on the board see Russia as a threat. That may be the case and I'm sure you were willing to submit to the minor inconvenience of a full body radiological examination before being admitted to the meeting. Peace of mind is, after all, priceless. I prefer to see Russia as an opportunity for the future, and hope to have some exciting news when we report on BPIE next year. Until then, I take the approval of the report and accounts as read, invite you to join us in a glass of wine, just the one, and commend to you our company slogan.

Make me one with everything.

Integers and Flowers

OK
So this is mine

41 2A 9B DD 98 F4 46 AC 2B 04 3A 55 3F 03 28 E0

Keep your hands off.

Thanks.

Meanwhile where the cow slips there slip I.

Getting it Wrong

Sometimes it is possible to be wrong and feel a warm glow.
Adieu Woolfi Adieu.

I mentioned my failing to a colleague this pm and she suggested that it was a shame he was ousted for favouring his A rab squeeze.

Ho Hummmm.....

The Last Person to Leave

I'll get this in first. There are bound to be lots of bad jokes about light bulbs when we get there.

I am grateful for the thought to A Brown esq. and The Major, of course.

Two Soldiers squat in a shelter somewhere on an airfield in the south of Iraq. The heat is ferocious and the dust and detritus of war so thick in the air it precludes thought let alone vision. Smartarsed bastard in the squad called it the fall out from munitions of depleted humanity.

"Sarge, can we no leg it tae the ramp and get in the transport?"

"No private McCavity, we are going to wait for the signal that the ramp is clear of shite so that we are not left out in the cold waiting for some godless bastard to blow our arses off."

"Don't worry son, were going home. No one wants to be the last poor fucker to die for a mistake."

"Aye well."

"Did I ever tell you about the Major?"

"You mean Major Wales, Sarge?"

"No you bampot. The Major. The man who ran the flag down in Palestine and was the last one out alive."

"Is that like, Gaza?"

"The Major retired from the British Army and was supplementing his pension running a student union on the banks of the Forth when I met him."

"He told us this and while he could tell a good story, I have no reason to doubt it."

"He was part of the last group out. There he was lowering the old onion jack for the final time in the middle of some god forsaken part of a newly abandoned Palestine."

"Being somewhat preoccupied, the cunning old bastard had not fully appreciated his position. During the descent of the flag he realised that he was the last squaddie on the ground and there was a superior number of the chosen few out there who would nail his sorry ass."

"He described his exit in words involving shite and a shovel. He had us in tears, but I think it was tight enough."

"Is this you trying tae take my mind off it Sarge."

"Aye son, just think of me as your fucking mother."

"Thanks Sarge but I'll give the goodnight kiss a miss, your no ma type!"

"No probs. McCavity."

They receive the signal to go. They start up, heading for the ramp.

Each is thinking of the Major and his jolly jape when an explosion rips the vehicle apart.

It was the tenth time that McCavity had been fired on in Iraq.

Shy and Retiring.

June 2007.

Two men sit in a room, uncomfortable on such a hot day, dressed in jackets and ties. It is gloomy. There are large windows but the drapes filter out most of the light. A bottle of 30 year old malt, the colour of a maiden's blush, sits between them. Each cradles a glass.

"You'll be off tomorrow then, Tony?"

"Yes, I'll just say goodbye to the staff and tootle down to the palace."

"Put the fear of god into the old bat. Tell her that Phil the Greek is going on trial for conspiracy to murder!"

"Shit, Gordon that's not funny!"

"No, but I would love to see the silly old fart stand up sober in court and deny it. Have you heard from Peter?"

"Oh god, Gordon, one long whine after another."

"That is a shame, such talent, such intellect, such legs!"

"Now Gordie, remember the deal."

"OK, Tony. Is there any more of the devil's buttermilk?"

"Why not!"

"I tell you kid; I don't know what you had to do to get Big I to sign up for the deal but I hand it to you. In fact I don't want to know. I'm away off to see The Mater at the weekend and I could not have that on my conscience. Wife and bairns ok about this, Tony?"

"Yes. Ms Manzanilla is going off to a re-birthing experience in the mud flats of Cancun. The wains will all come round in the end. I'm sorry about the other night, Ewan is so highly strung. He takes after his mother!"

"OK Tone, no offence. Any more?"

"Sure. Why not? How's herself, I bet she is looking forward to this?"

"Aye. It's a pity it is not Princess M, though, that would have given me some fun with Betty when we went up to the palace."

"Christ, give me some more of that, I'm having second thoughts about this."

"No worries pal. I'm just pulling the plonker for old times sake."

As the level of the bottle goes down the two men fall silent and look in to the distance.

Visions from the past seep into the foreground; things getting better not worse, friends and comrades lost and dead.

"Look, Gordon, I would exhort you to abjure vanity and self-aggrandisement, recognise that you are the honoured servant of the people and that your only righteous purpose is to promote the welfare of your fellow citizens and the wellbeing of mankind."

"Away tae fuck, Tone! You are a serious piece of business. Oops it's empty. Is there any more?"

"I'll send one of the little people to see."

"Thanks!"

Big Questions for Gordie

Gordie, does Vulture Capitalism automatically lead to non-domicide tax status?

The Last Will and Testament A. Blair.

Being of sound mind and firm intent I hereby dispose of my personal, political and literary estate.
To my wife and family I leave the legacy of the years I have spent in public service. My wish is that all my disposable property, land, houses and chattels, pensions, debts and credits, the total, to be for their benefit in perpetuity as agreed by my Executrix.
My personal papers, electronic correspondence and computer files I leave to Ms AC my political Executrix. It is my earnest wish that she dispose of them in such fashion that they do not cast doubt on my character, competence or capacity. It is also my wish that any benefit in cash or in kind which derives from these hereditaments is applied to the relief of poverty, famine, and destitution in the countries of Iraq and Afghanistan.
The manuscript of the Great Novel, The Songs and Riffs and The Literary Trivia I leave to Domenic Lawson for the Radio 4 Archive and hereby bequeath the fees for access to the same to the following Anj………

The North

Two men sit in a room across a well polished table looking out to an expanse of green through high windows.

"Another Jaffa Cake, Ian, to go with the Orange Pekoe?"

"No thank you, Martin. Herself the Baroness is at me to lose some more weight."

"Lord, you would not want to upset her now, she is a powerful woman."

"Martin, I would rather run naked down the Falls Road wearing a nipple ring and a green white and gold turban, drinking from a flagon of the devil's buttermilk!"

"I thought Gerry came up with a fine tribute to George Dawson. He has a way with the Gaelic that can sometimes bring a tear to these sad old eyes of mine.!"

"I didn't know you had such an appreciation of the Erse, Ian."

Each man falls into a companionable silence and looks out across the castle lawn as if into the future.

In the distance each can hear music.

Ian picks out the faint strains of a fife band playing 'The Sash' but Martin just hears the lilt of the uillean pipes as they flow through the notes of 'The Derry Air'.

And cut!

It’s Official. Today I Am Old.

Araucaria had a tricky little puzzle in the Grauniad at the weekend.
I solved 8 down this morning as I celebrated with a birthday breakfast.

The clue:-

Multiple character (unless under 60?) (8)

The checked letters for the millions of our readers who do not do the XWDS

M_N_F_L_

You can’t argue with Araucaria, and I thought it would be the prime numbers that would get me!

What we did on our holidays!

Back from the N. Yorks Moors. Really enjoyed it, never thought I would say that about time spent in Yorkshire let alone write it! I only managed 4 pints in the week. What 4 pints though. I am inspired to try a crossword on all the different species of beer!

We had an Amble, well it was more of a Bimble!
Plod across moor from village to Roman Camp, couple of hours there and very impressive it was too.

I have been reading and enjoying Waterlog by Deakin; - tales of swimming and derring-do.

A swimmer for many years now, it has probably kept me alive, but I just do the easy bit; breast stroke, crawl and back stroke, up and down the pool.

This guy swims in unusual, interesting and scary places. One such was the Scillies. Lots of stuff washed up on beaches; historically, Cloudesley Shovell, latterly front doors and sinks. None reported to the Receiver of Wrecks... for a variety of reasons.

As we return down a pleasant lane I attempt to explain this to Lady BP.
"The Receiver of Wrecks" I pronounce!
"Who's Rex?"
"I don't know" I reply "They could be from anywhere"
"Yes. But Who's Rex?"
As Kurt would say, so it goes, for about five minutes.

We twig at about the same time, collapse of stout parties.
The retriever Rex begins to grow as a character in my minds eye.

On another day the Waterlog theme continues as I watch mermen, lads in wet suits, frolicking in Whitby Harbour, jumping off piers and trying to snatch seagulls in the air!

Politics!

Scary, scary.

Thoughts on the Scottish Play.
Alex Salmo salar appears to be walking it. Scottish Labour in BIG PANIC.
Helpful suggestions for some last minute slogans?

Vote Labour or
- You'll never see your Mammy again;
- Gordie will come and smile at the bairns..... Maybe not.

The Brits are whingeing about the break up of the union. They see the feckless Caledonians sucking on the teat of the Treasury, wanting independence and more, regardless of the damage to the UNION. We would be left talking to the Welsh and Paisley. Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani! Pardon me. Without our friends in the north we might slip down the league table on a number of criteria. Maybe no bad thing, spend more time improving the lot of our long suffering peeps instead of fighting useless wars and commissioning useless weapons systems!

But, my god, the tories might get in for ever!

Oooh! Interesting and scary times.

A Statement to Associates of The Anglo Italian Buddhist Pizza Corporation AIBPC

We have been made aware of a certain situation regarding the Goombah who is president of the World Financial Services Inc, a wholly owned subsidiary of AIBPC. Woolfi, a respected member of the family and long term business associate of mine, is a very focused and dedicated employee. He understands these things of ours. Without his ability to put money on the street and get it back again with passion and 15 points I would not have my third yacht. It is with some regret that I am hearing stories about the preferment of his cummari in a financial and institutional sense. It is one thing to reward a squeeze for services in the bedroom department, but business is business, especially our business. An another thing, I think it is unpatriotic at this time to be fraternising with the A rabs, especially when there are good Anglo Italian cummari looking for a regular guy and some medium term financial security. But, as Fat Tony says "Hey! What can you do?"

So, this is what we will do. Woolfi gets to keep the WFSI franchise but gives up the Washington pad and the Georgetown street activities. This A rab cost centre goes strictly off the books and becomes a part time leisure interest. The tax situation will have to be cleared with Jimmy the Books but Woolfi picks up any tab. Fat Tony will assume responsibillity for the street activity and change and I will expect provelone from all profit centres in due course.

Good Guys

Hans Rosling strikes me as a good guy!
His latest blog about

Perestroika in the Soviet Republic of Texas!

had me rocking in the isles. Not an easy subject though. Its fun to see the p... taken out of the Lone Star State and by association, its most infamous scion. However, the death of children is no laughing matter!

One extreme to another. Part 2

Tim Harford writing the undercover economist column in the FT magazine references work explaining how very poor people make money, and how they spend it.

The ”very poor” are those who live on less than a dollar a day. The benchmark - a rare piece of brilliant marketing from the World Bank - is both more generous and more frugal than it seems. Generous, because the benchmark dates from 1985 and has been adjusted since to take account of inflation in each country and is generally now more than a dollar a day. But frugal because the dollar is adjusted for purchasing power. In other words, a Kenyan farmer might have 50 cents a day to spend but still not count as ”very poor” because 50 cents in Kenya buys more than a dollar would in the US. However you look at it, a dollar a day is a tiny income.

Ok so "A dollar a day" goes down in the category of statements about the human condition that start with:

You only need 1 cubic metre of water for survival - a year!

My own approach to the redistribution of wealth has been to have conspicuously little of it. Additionally, I encourage the provision of access to resources by combining in mutual organisations which provide finance at non exploitative rates. Well it keeps me off the streets.

Imagine my interest in another article entitled "Uncommon Wealth" by Chrystia Freeland in the FT Weekend A-Train column on March 31 2007 where she states

. .. even people who have a lot of experience with a lot of money, such as Wall Street investment banker Felix Rohatyn, admit that the magnitude of today’s wealth is hard for them to fathom.

He finds

.... the mass of money that is being accumulated by individuals staggering, If you suddenly have $4bn in your bank account, I don’t know what you do. It is one thing to decide how you will deal with a fortune of $500m. I used to think that was a huge amount of money. But, to a lot of people, it is not any more.

I am staggered by the amounts but lets qualify the phrase 'lot of people' and not get carried away shall we!

The significance as far as Freeland is concerned is that Soros, Gates and Buffet, to name but a few, have added -

new energy, and star power..... to promote social change

I have always found Peanuts a great consolation at these troubling moments of indecision about the meaning of life, the universe and everything else! Basically, I am an altruist. I want to make the world a better place for me to live in.

Ojala!

From one extreme to another

Under the unlikely title of Hannibal Lecter saved my life (the Grauniad Review on Saturday 31 March)

Philip Oltermann discovers what the homeless customers of a London mobile library are reading.

Now you know how I feel about libraries. These Friends are volunteers and do not require six figure salaries to provide a decent, relaxed, and very useful service for a group of individuals who are, at best, ignored!

At the other end of the spectrum the debate continues about ebooks.
John Naughton spots an essay on the book reader industry.

The folks on the south bank won't be getting ebook readers any time soon but what a great idea. Solar powered of course!

April Fools Day Ambling

There she is, the second great love of my life. Lucy!
But I knew before we stepped out of the car park that it would be unrequited!

Off on a trip round Nowton. Is it a nudist colony? Nay lad; they don't speak like that round here!

I believe that the Amblers now are established with their own interweb page so I intend to put them in my links list and only report as the spirit moves!

Hasta Luego!

What we did on our holiday

We declared a national holiday on March 27. You may have missed this. Keep up!

As is traditional on these occasions, we went to the seaside.

I remember going to Blackpool on various saints' days and liturgical milestones. The charabanc would transport us from the classic slum in Salford to the classic seaside resort. To alleviate the tedium of driving through the countryside my mother had various tricks and trucos. My favourite was looking out for the first glimpse of Blackpool Tower. Naturally enough, this could engage a competitive child from the outskirts of Preston!

We hove into Aldeburgh about noon and paid our respects to the Scallop.


Nice one Maggi
The work bears the legend:-

"I hear those voices that will not be drowned"

Amen.

On the instructions for the installation by SCDC:-

"Care should be taken when climbing on or crawling under the sculpture, and children should be carefully supervised."

Needless to say, Lady BP was off climbing and crawling before you could carefully supervise a small child!

A walk through the town and lunch.
On the way back along the prom, money changed hands and a purchase was made carefully wrapped in newspaper.

This later emerged at dinner in the form of green fish curry. Strangely enough, we had most of the ingredients to produce this on a whim. It does go rather well with the Shawsgate Bacchus, This was procured in Wickham Market. Think global, eat (and drink) local!

There should be more national holidays!

A modest proposal for trees!

Some of my best friends are trees but I would not admit to it if anyone was listening.

Concern has been expressed about the deforestation of Uganda.

"Despite these concerns, the government is considering giving away an estimated 7,000 hectares of the dense 32,000 hectares Mabira Forest Reserve, about 50km east of the capital, Kampala, to a sugar company to plant cane."

"Environmentalists said the move would disrupt Uganda's bio-mass and rainfall patterns. It would also endanger rare species and disrupt the livelihood of thousands of people living around the tropical forest."

"According to Frank Mulamuzi, destruction of part of the forest would severely impact on Lake Victoria water levels, affect rainfall patterns, disturb the eco-system and change the micro-climate."

So nothing new there then! However, we are nothing if not inventive. This mealy-mouthed eco-claptrap cut no timber with the government spokesperson who disagreed.

"This is the proper way of utilising resources,"

according to Tamale Mirundi, President Yoweri Museveni's mean green machine!

He said.

"It is easier to relocate the forest by planting trees elsewhere than to relocate a factory."

Now hold on. That gives me the germ of an idea! I see the very HN51 virus of and idea. Have we been going about this eco-business the wrong way? Could it be that all we need to do is relocate trees to somewhere less contentious and inconvenient. Bloody awkward having the Amazonian rain forest where it is. With the greatest respect to Johnny Appleseed, or whoever, I think the Caledonian Forest was a big mistake. All those subsistence farmers in their crofts, much better to have sheep, grouse and heather. It made it so much easier, eventually, to claim the subsidies!

Think of the millions to be made from the relocation of trees in the name of preserving the planet. The recycling of the displaced timber. The potential for redevelopment of prime building land. The opportunities for professionals, consultants and other mendicants to make an honest living. I feel faint at the thought. Where's the camomile?

70 million square metres for bugger all. Mmmm! 17 thousand acres and change in old money for nowt and here I am trying to take over the world on a government grant!

Anyone want to move a tree?

Many thanks to our EA correspondent in the shoes for this.

The Gentle Gardener

Once upon a time, in the foothills of the Suffolk Alps, there was a garden. The gentle gardener planted new flowers and tended the bushes and shrubs. The husband of gentle gardener (THOGG) enjoyed the garden.

The gentle gardener enhanced the peace and beauty of the garden by planting a bird table festooned with containers of nuts and seeds. The birds enjoyed this and sang for their suppers!

Sadly, the garden was invaded by rats!

The gentle gardener was concerned, but the rats had four legs rather than two and so a, benevolent, blind eye was turned to creatures small. However, the rats went forth and multiplied as rats do! They, and their brood, not only stole food meant for the birds but also attacked them and dragged them off into the bushes. This was hard for the gentle gardener.

THOGG looked on!

Killing rats, at least the 4 legged variety, was not something he had considered. To preserve the peace and beauty of the garden he was prepared to act. It is difficult to hit a rat with a blow from a pitchfork! Traps ensnared as many birds as rats. The Lord of the Manor would not approve!

THOGG considered further!

He had seen the rats climb up the bird table and down the containers of nuts and seeds to steal the food. If they were disturbed they dropped to the ground and scuttled away into the bushes.

He half filled large containers with water. There was sufficient water in the container that a rat, even a big rat, would have to swim to keep its nose above the water. There was not sufficient water in the container to enable a rat to scramble up the smooth sides and escape!

With a heavy heart THOGG arranged the containers underneath the seeds and nuts. As the rats appeared he looked on. When the rats were in a feeding frenzy he opened the window and clapped his hands together, two hands clapping. The rats fell into the containers.

The rats, who deserved respect, were consigned to the great wheel. The containers were emptied in the hedgerows.

The Ghost in the Weir

A trip yesterday to Knettishall Heath on what could be an early summer day!
Where? Go to Thetford and turn right. I beg your pardon?
TM 956806 to be precise. Now off and play with your grid references for heavens sake!

A stride up Hut Hill and a perilous traverse to Nick's Hill. As you can see, the terrain posed quite a few technical difficulties. The total elevation of the ascent of over 10 metres was achieved without recourse to oxygen. I may have acquired a few pounds but they are only half as many if you count them in kilos. I have lost none of the skill, determination and pluck that got me over the Kolhoi Glacier in a pair of sailing ducks over 25 years ago. That, however, is a tale for another time.

The descent without ropes was tricky but my nerve held and I was wise enough to rest just above base camp. So many expeditions come to grief on the way down!

A detour at the end where I discovered the Ghost in the Weir, maybe the ghost of expeditions past?

Six Nations One Family Part 3

We did enjoy the match!

Our Correspondent txts from the match, YES THE MATCH:

Lady sat next us berates England 4 not chasing kick.
Lad sat in front says
"What you gotta realise sweetheart is these guys weigh more than 15 stone, that takes a lot of moving!"

Further e-waves from East Africa drawn into the ruck, as it were, with men in thighs.

"So if Wales and Scotland clobber England and France and Italy score a shitload against Ireland the Italians could actually win it?"

As I have mentioned previously, a true sportsman does not play to win, merely to trash the Welsh.

Amen.

Daffs from Turkistan!

So what do you do after a hard morning trying to convince Messrs All and Sundry that Community Land Trusts are 'A Good Thing'?
Poke your eye out with a sharp stick!

Well, I thought I would take a trip to Anglesey Abbey.
Glad I did.

Sunny day, sweet flowers.

The elderly couple with yellow armbands were not flower police. They were friendly, really pleasant and helpful. When requested they pointed out where the flowers came from. I caught up with them later as I hurpled round. They were on a bench chatting about life, the universe and flowers in such a companionable way that I just wanted to go up to them and shake their hands for being human. A brief smile and an exchange to the effect that they were catching their breath! Glad to hear it. As if I felt they might be plotting to enrich uranium in the bowels of the Abbey. You can never be too careful. That Wisteria of Mass Destruction gets everywhere!

What a Pickle

As I roam about the village, and the land beyond, I have noticed the occasional blue tub.
They are usually discretely arranged at the edges of fields or hidden in hedges and I have never seen anyone approach them, loiter near them or cast furtive glances at them in passing.

I now think I know what they are!

A walk on a bright spring day allowed me to pass through the fields and hedgerows disguised as an ambler.

The snap above tells it all.

They are obviously industrial quantities of pickle arranged thus to avoid any one person in the neighbourhood being found in possession of such quantities. This would leave them open to the charge of supply and distribution. In this liberal day and age pickle is not the demon it once was. I believe you can purchase it in modest quantities for personal consumption, say 400grams. The street name for this quantity is jar. You may have heard the lower orders asking each other if they fancy a jar. I have heard, though, that there are dealers in the Great Wen who consume half their body weight of pickle in any 24 hour period. Well it makes sense, what else would you do with bonuses of over a million pounds and they are so close to the pickle dens of Brick Lane.

Piecing together this wicked trade I am reliably informed that it comes into the country in containers. These are unloaded in some dreadful hell hole where reputable cargoes of poor souls seeking a new life or the produce of the poppy fields of Afghanistan that we have done so much to encourage are just abandoned by the side of the road. Such is its value that the pickle is stuffed into every nook and cranny of the container. It then arrives at some port where it is waved through on a wink and a nod and the odd jar being waved under the nose of the pickle police.

I must let our local Bobby know about this. He moves around the village forever on his bicycle, but what is he doing?

Now where did I put those poppadoms?

Are you a Nobel Prize Winner or something?

So a trip to Cambridge to see Lee Smolin plug the new book -

The Trouble with Physics

I am going to order the book from the Stakhanovites at Suffolk Libraries; well worth the council tax.

A very enjoyable evening with a strange ending

You can chase the ideas up in the book yourself, I gave up teaching physics years ago. He presents the problems facing fundamental physics clearly and concisely. A great communicator and how many Quantum Gravity Physicists (QGPs) can you say that about?

Also, some wonderful throw away lines.

"Given the fact that we know little or nothing about dark matter and dark energy we currently know nothing about 96% of the physical world."

On the debates between the foundationists and pragmatists in physics :-

"Shut up and calculate."

The 5 great problems in physics and the 3 roads to quantum gravity and the 29 parameters in the standard model (you did notice the prime numbers didn't you?) slightly unsettled me.

I was momentarily charmed by the idea, advanced by Leonard Susskind, that in order to investigate the structure of matter at the Plank Length you would need an atom smasher the size of the galaxy. Lee joked?

"Lenny says the galaxy but I would check his figures. It could be the solar system."

Ouch!

I was aware of a not so hidden agenda, which I throughly approve of.

"We should organise physics so that the young are free to wander off the path."

"We need surprise."

"Get it on the table"

My kind of QGP.

I headed to to the exit and stuffed notebook, camera, Grauniad Xwd, bottle of Water into bag and zipped up coat so as to feel the benefit. I was about to limp to the car when I was accosted by a yoof. Undoubtedly, he was a physics yoof! He asked me what my name was. Fatal. I asked why he wanted to know. He asked "Are you a Nobel Prize Winner or something?"
What the hell! Weird. I thought of the prime numbers. Time to go home.

Despite what du Sautoy says, stay away from those prime numbers!

Dracula's Grave!

The Amblers have been going for 5 years. This trip was a celebration and as neophytes we were happy to bimble along in reflected glory. No spills or thrills until the end of the walk. Just before the anniversary lunch we ran across 'Dracula's Grave'.

A very astute comment from one of the group.

If they named him as a pup , how did they know he was such a terror?

Give a dog a bad name!

What Shape Are You In ?

I have been interested in Penrose Tiles for some time.

I use them in the privacy (I am an adult after all) of my own computer to generate patterns, pretty pictures if you will.

The fact that reproducing these shapes will cover all of 2D space aperiodically if it is 5 fold rotational symmetry is one of properties of these figures. Interesting, I hear you say, but what is that to do with the price of porter.

Well it seems that Your Medieval Islamic Tiler (YMIT) knew this long before I stumbled across it after reading Roger Penrose, who described their structures and their properties mathematically. Very interesting I hear you say again but what about that pint of porter. Well I have the benefit of a creaky old computer that goes boggler, boggler before carrying out rotations and translations at my command. Roger Penrose has a first class brain with the accumulated knowledge of centuries of mathematicians and physicists at his disposal.

YMIT would have been blessed with a straight edge, a protractor and bits of string. Oh and I suppose the odd tea break with the benefit of a fag with heaven knows what in it.

Do have a look at the pictures!

Enjoy the Fag End of Life.

A drive to Sudbury.

Where? I hear you say, but that’s your loss!

The Gainsborough House recently renovated and refurbished presents a tremendous resource. You could do 2 PHDs here for the price of one.

I have very fond memories sitting with Lady BP under the Mulberry Tree; taking the air and enjoying our life.

The garden is maintained on a voluntary basis. I asked about the mulberries – no one knows; I hope the gardener makes lots of juice, wine or pies with them. He or she deserves it for creating such a peaceful space.

I am very blessed to be able to do these things!

I remember the portrait of

Boy Driving Cows near a Pool

It is in the Tate and the caption includes:-

'I'm sick of portraits and wish very much to take my Viol da Gamba [cello] and walk off to some sweet Village where I can paint landskips and enjoy the fag end of life in quietness and ease'.

It was written 2 years before he died and I do hope he enjoyed sitting outside some village inn, puffing his pipe and daubing the odd landskip!

Interesting use of the phrase fag end!

Brownie Points

So Gordie's big idea is community service for new citizens - great stuff, pity about the reality.

I can just see it now. Ken Loach is very welcome to use this if he is listening.

A bunch of guys, from god knows where, shovelling shit in Leith.

The boss man dibs out for a fag and to chat up the wee hoor who makes the tea!

The guys relax and smoke, talk amongst themselves, and remember where they have come from and what they have left.

The boss man comes back and they start to shovel again.

There is a track on the film 'Oh Brother Where art Thou'. It is a recording of a chain gang song - a real recording of a real chain gang! It was made less that 50 years ago.

Back to the future eh Gordie?

Six Nations One Family Part 2

A txt this weekend from our Rugby Correspondent:-

Just one thing 2 hope 4 now! Wales 2 win in Paris! Hard 4 an English man 2 hope!

It reminded me of the Chief Technical Officer I worked with in the 80s. He he had let it be known on a number of occasions that there was only one thing better than seeing Wales trashed at Cardiff Arms Park (as it was in those days) and that was to see Wales trashed by England at Cardiff Arms Park.

My reasoning on this was that it was to do with the genes. He was born in the border region and probably his DNA had lots of stuff in it about sheep, property and this sort of thing captured by
Ben Hammersly .

His view was one that I would not necessarily have disagreed with. I would also add that, to the best of my knowledge, I am the only member of our extended family who has any connection with Wales. My maternal grandmother was Welsh! There, I've said it, but don't tell anyone.

I hope it is not just the DNA and stuff but I did enjoy the match betweenEngland and Ireland. Good rugby, good sportspersonship, civility, and a recognition on both 'sides' that the English have come a long way since the time they had to shoot their way into a sports ground. It's just the odd country that gets it now.

So we lost!

I know it is a betrayal after all these years but has anyone thought of approaching Ronan O'Gara to see if he would be interested in being the next PM?

The Spoiler

I have confessed to my crosswording before. The prize crossword in the Grauniad (protected behind a paywall on the interweb but provided free with half a ton of paper when you buy the weekend Grauniad) on Saturday last, contained a spoiler.

This is my conspiracy theory about crosswords. You select the level of crossword that you feel comfortable with, Grauniad, FT, Torygraph, Indie or even the Dirty Digger's Times. You start doing it on a regular basis. You are then ensnared into the prize puzzle on a Saturday or Sunday. You get most of them but there always seems to be one clue which is v. difficult, ambiguous or relies on getting the intersecting solution to select between two possibilities.

Araucaria, had one such across clue last week. It depended on solving a down clue:

Girl, has some weight, being well padded. (4,4)

Very naughty of old Cinephile to do that, and him an ex vicar! Immediately thoughts turn to well padded girls and other immodesty. Until you are able to think of other things you will not get it and the across clue, the spoiler, will be beyond your reach.

Reminds me of the old chestnut about the psychiatrist who shows a patient images and asks for the association with each. The patient keeps repeating the word sex. The psychiatrist explains that it is obvious the patient is obsessed with sex. The patient replies that it is the doctor who is obsessed with sex because he has all those mucky drawings!

Back to work!

Six Nations One Family!

It is that time of year again. Lady Buddhist Pizza suspends her normal, industrious, modest, sober and vegetarian way of life to spend the weekends glued to the TV watching large men with large thighs wrestling in mud and giving voice to opinions that bring a blush even to my coarsened cheeks! In addition to the Freudian implications of this exhibition, there is the delicate matter of nationalism. As we all know, there is no such thing as delicate nationalism. (There must be a collective noun or other description of such phenomena which are theoretically possible but are never likely to be observed in the wild; I have been told subtle geologist is another.)

Yesterday's fixture was fraught. England v Scotland! I cowered in the corner as the family ( Lady BP) favourite Scotland, went down to the old enemy England. I was then forced onto the defensive. Though I maintain I am a citizen of the world, an internationalist and I was born in Hope! Hope hospital in Salford; that makes me an imperialist oppressor.

Today was a little easier as the Irish team underwhelmed the Welsh. I think we were both inclined to support the green contenders. There was some havering over bulging cambrian thighs and neanderthal brows and my ready dismissal of the minor order of Celts but the outcome for the Irish was acceptable.

Two further points. A modest score!

It didn't happen in this game but I am sure I have heard in the past the commentator voice....

O'Gara, O'Driscoll, O'Connell, O'Callaghan...... O bugger he dropped it.

During the match we received a text from an interested member of the family which read

Touch, pause, engage, bolox!....

So the new arrangement has not found favour with us all.
Well , when the Argentinians take it up they may have something to challenge the Tango!

Amblers February 07

A pleasant afternoon walk along part of the Icknield Way Path. We seem to be making the effort to bimble along with the local Amblers and it repays us with local contact.When the route had been scouted we were assured the weather was pleasant, almost like spring. We have had a high pressure over us and the frosty night gave way to a cold misty day. Great excitement, Lady Buddhist Pizza took a dive as she tangled with a root on the path. No harm, thank goodness, but she will have some bruises tomorrow!

A Statement by Buddhist Pizza

I would like to make it absolutely clear that I have not now, nor at any time in the past, offered inducements, bribes, strong drink, sexual favours or the promise of preferment to anyone to vote for me, lend me money or make gifts, in cash or in kind, to me or my party. To remove any doubt whatsoever, my party, The Emergency Sherry Party, is so named out of respect for the restorative and health giving properties of manzanilla.

I have, despite many years of selfless public service, had to suffer the indignity of being besieged here in my family home of Browning Street on the great Suffolk Plain, by and army of 2 reporters and that woman from the local ‘tele’. They have camped, remorselessly, for the past 4 hours outside our Jackobethan mansion engaging in some of the worst excesses of gutter journalism since the death of the people’s princess. (May her fragrance always be with us?) They have shown myself and Lady BP no mercy despite my setting the hounds on them, reasoning with their editors, and explaining that I thought a K was something you gave to a broody mare, and a big P was one’s first requirement of the day or 4am if you’re getting on a bit and the old water works are playing up!

I have also made the same points perfectly clear to that snippy little copper, Inspector Bates, who came round asking about hard disks, poxy servers and bypass backup procedures. I was shocked and have certainly never used such language in front of Lady BP. I will have to have a word with the wise down at the lodge about that one.

This is not about the selling of honours, nor conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. It is about a certain person and his lardy lump of a wife trying to usurp power before their time! I will not be moved from my course and expect to be a force in the land for some days to come.

I wish you and your families the very best for tomorrow, the feast day of St Blaise, the patron of the combers of wool, those with sore throats and the day on which, traditionally, the storks come home to roost!

Notes for Editors

1. Browning Street is a carbon zero heritage home which has provided respite and hospitality to many over the years including the Kray brothers, Peter and Roman.

2. Buddhist Pizza is travelling with Lady BP to Semipalatinsk where he will address the influential Gurb Institute on themes of Africa, global warming, nuclear power and air guitar! The carbon footprint for the journey will be offset by a further power failure in Sedgefield.

What Global Warming?

So; if I paraphrase you Mr Monbiot what you are saying is that here in Tokyo we need to turn a few lights out?

Thanks to John Naughton, yet again, for a link to the photo

Corruption and Decay!

Article in FT Magazine 20/1/07 by Michela Wrong

John Githongo is reported to have discovered too much corruption in Kenya.

His responsibility in the administration of president Kibaki was to ensure that the alleged abuses and corruption under Moi, the previous president, were investigated and that the new government did not slide down the same path. I do not know enough to take a view about this and, given the position our own dear leader finds himself in, perhaps discretion is the way forward until Gordie starts turning up the promissory notes and aide memoire stuffed down the back of the sofas in No. 10. My delight in the piece was the story below.

Mr Githongo is now reported to be living modestly in lodgings in Oxford associated with a college as a result of leaving Kenya for the benefit of his health. When he arrived in 2005 it was suggested he was in need of support. John is a big man, as evidenced from his photo, and not likely to be intimidated but we all know what the bad boys are like. He was welcomed to the collegiate bosom and supported by the college porters who, he suggests, provided a ring of steel about his person.

The article goes on …

“Soon after arriving the head porter called to say a package had arrived.”

When asked if it was ticking he replied that:-

“I will immediately dispatch my most dispensable porter to give it a firm kick and find out sir.”

The porters, burly lads, possibly retired from the Oxford constabulary, had a degree of professionalism, dignity and respect for life which we take for granted. We should resolve to give the next can of worms we find a firm kick and find out what happens! Who knows who might support us?

There May Be No St David's Day Holiday

The count I recorded at the site below on the 24/1/07 @ 15:04 was 9061. This, as you may remember, is the petition that there should be no replacement for Trident. The graphic above indicates how the those dedicated to eliminating weapons of mass destruction enjoyed themselves over the Xmas period! Not quite the exponential growth I would have liked to see.

http://petitions.pm.gov.uk/trident/

Our little band of brothers and sisters against nasty weapons were being led by a petition to make St David's Day a public holiday - count at roughly the same time 9153.
So get to the petition and sign you beggars or there may be no national holidays for any of us, except possibly the ants! I wonder who their patron is?

We have to the 17 Feb. A few hundred thousand would be a nice poke in the eye for a retiring politician and his replacement!

Ambling

A mild winter afternoon bimbling along with the local amblers. Two hours of pleasant company and footpaths across the wide meseta of Mid-Suffolk. Less mud than predicted and the rain which threatened held off. Heading back, the sun broke through and the day, measured in weary steps, turned towards its end.

New Year 2007

A very good new year with friends who we love.
A chicken dish which would have annoyed Mr Bush and not too much over indulgence.
We made a trip to Welney and I was smitten. The above, obviously had a wild new year.
But the feeding at 3.30 and the floodlighting brought in birds, especially swans, by the hundreds.

There were more ducks arses after the feeding than I remember from dances in the 60s.


Incoming swans kept us transfixed.


It was difficult to capture the moment. The birds were so cool. They arrived in ones and twos; then sixes and nines, then the tens and twenties. After this they swam around with such sophistication and aplomb that they seemed to be having a little passeo or vuelta before a spectacular dinner or ball.

Enough.

A good new year to all our readers!
La vida es un haya.
Keep planting the seeds!

Between Xmas and New Year

So what's left in your fruit bowl? Ours has the hopes and aspirations of Xmas past. The bowl was given to A when she worked at the coal face of the NHS. A family were so pleased with one of the GPs that they gave him a family heirloom. The fruit bowl. Said GP did not like same. So the bowl was passed on to A, peacemaker and disposer of bodies!

It sits in pride of place on kitchen table. At the moment it has, post Xmas, 4 bananas, two apples, a papaya and two avocados. A's Mum, a very sweet lady at 90 up but with some short term memory problems, kept asking what the avocados were. Various explanations and gentle promptings produced the same round of questions as to what on earth these things were. Good gracious!

Brendan Barber of the TUC has just been complaining about the enormous buckets of boodle that the captains of industry pay themselves. Nice one Brendan!

However, what about the the grubby little deals that go on all the time, Xmas boxes to the milk persons and newspaper delivery operatives; money paid over in cash to window cleaners. A nod and a wink, a heartfelt thanks, and a handful of cash to the person who sorts out car, central heating, roof, or drains in extremis. I'm sure A, the bounder, never entered the fruit bowl in the register of employees interests or gifts. Only joking! Humbuggery! Great fun, remember you heard it here first.

I can remember one of the few times I successfully pulled the leg of our DoH (he was a saint) when I worked in a London borough as his assistant. We had both taken time out after 6pm to visit the opening of some sheltered housing we had paid for. The developer had provided some cakes and biscuits and fizzy white wine. I drove the DoH so he decided to have a glass. I looked at the bottle and decided that a glass was probably worth 4GBPs; well over the casual hospitality limit in local government terms at the time! I kept a straight face and said that I expected to see it entered in the hospitality book the next day. I never bothered to look.

The other time I brought a belated smile to his lips, poor sod, was when we passed a poster announcing a meeting to be addressed by Tony Cliff. I pointed it out to DoH who had a whistfull look in his eye, being a bit of a firebrand in his yoof. As he perked up I couldn't resist the - I've got all his records line.

Anyway, the domestic godless tip for Avocados. Use horseradish sauce instead of mustard!

Nuestra Bandera de Paz y Amistad

The kitchen has been full of the smell of celery and parsley (perejil- our flag of peace and friendship; with acknowledgment to Karlos)
We are so fortunate. I have so much! So many books as gifts. A and I will need a reading week; but more of that later! A's mum has been telling us the story of her early years in between our Cava and prep for dinner!

Felices fiestas a todo!

One Mouse Per Child

There are some really interesting developments at the moment in the area of microfinance, IT software and equipment.

The Cambridge Ndiyo project ndiyo.org has been working with partners in Bangladesh and I imagine a whole raft of applications will come out of that.One that seems to be working is the putative 'Grameem Internet' built on the back of the GrameenPhone.

Having heard, ad nauseam, about one laptop per child, I much prefer the more realistic and co-operative idea of

one-mouse-per-child

Anyway! I found the story below interesting and a small glow for me at the end of the year if mince pies and mulled wine are not enough; they may not be.

http://www.prweb.com/releases/2006/11/prweb477752.htm

My thanks to John Naughton and the Ndiyo blog for setting me off on this one!

The Green Isle of the Great Deep

An article by George Monbiot this week points out the cruelty and barbarity which we seem to be capable of. I was reminded of the discussion at the beginning of The Green Isle of the Great Deep published, I think, in 1944 by Neil M Gunn. Such horrors were very close then and this was Gunn's response to them. A pdf by his nephew sets this in some context and can be downloaded from www.scotiareview.org/files/downloads/DairmidGunn.pdf.

I read this book as a result of a strange encounter, in the 1970's, in the middle of Sandwood Bay with a man, who claimed to be Sandy McRory and carried a large quantity of home brew in a dried milk tin. We were staying in the bothy, Sandwood Cottage, which had a roof then. The bay provided lots of driftwood and Sandy became a fixture at our evening fires in the bothy and he generously accepted our hospitality, fags and whisky. However, I am grateful to him for the introduction and went on to read and enjoy The Silver Darlings by Gunn.

I hope that humane and active protest against such evils continues. We must not let these beggars get away with it.

On a Lighter Note:- Hairy Pumpkins!

A was gardening the other day. This activity, for those that are not rural or conversant, involves putting nose 6 inches away from soil and doing things. Out of the corner of her ear and through a hedge much depleted in its folliage by the late onset of autumn came a curious sight with following dialogue.

Short sturdy man, hat firmly fixed on head, was scuttling his way along the path that joins church and mill in our pueblo. He was followed by a woman without hat but with stick, hurpelling along, trying to keep up. Man says words to the effect of - Come on you hairy pumpkin; try and keep up!

A was shocked, raised nose from soil, and stretching to her full height was about to view the bounder in full sight, possibly even clear her throat. The patriarchal caravanserai passed and at that point A noticed both figures had hairy little pumpkins in tow. Obviously the fierce, proud and faithful West Suffolk Sugar Beet Hound; not a breed recognised by the Kennel Club but equally not one to be triffelled with. It is a small part of the story of how the Hun was finally defeated. I can say no more.

The image kept us in fits.

Memento homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris

So, then, General Pinochle! Keith's mum said that you have finally bitten the dust!
A came into my room yesterday evening with the news. It is hard to celebrate the death of another human being even when he had such evil to his name. Perhaps it is the fact that I am only too concious existence is but a febrile heartbeat away from oblivion. However, I did go into the kitchen and finding a glass of Spanish red unaccountably in my hand, looked A straight in the eye and without saying anything clinked glasses! It was a small tribute to those who suffered, to those that survived and good old Baltazar who made his life legally and justifiably hell(ish) for a few months.

Gracias a la vida que me he dado tanto.

Politics 2.0

I was interested in this on line petition. An attempt to join the race after the favourite has romped home? I know the interweb and the e-waves are a great way to do nothing! However, we live in hope after having lived in Hackney for over 20 years. You have until Feb. 2007 to make your voices heard and of course the real purpose is to allow the usual suspects to collect your emails and addresses; as if they didn't have them already.

I am also interested in the growth of the number of e-signatures and may, in between mince pies and sherry, try to plot the plot, as it were, over the holiday period.

So click on the link and drive those figures, exponentially!

Enough!