Fluffy

Against all our best hopes, it seems that in Fukushima, things are getting worse. Fortunately it doesn't look like it's another Chernobyl, but if as suspected at least one if not more of the reactors has gone into meltdown then problem is not going to go away anytime soon. In my head I have a vision of a glowing lump of molten goo slowly burning its way through to the earth's core. Of course, that's nonsense, but it does show what happens when mankind starts playing with things it can't really control. There's also talk of the evacuation zone being extended...which is all very well, but I'd have thought that common sense would have meant that an earlier evacuation would have been better...even recognising the quarter of a million people already displaced by the combined earthquake and tsunami. I am pretty sure that when history is told, this will be the more significant event when compared our rather sad and dishonest attempts to dislodge a petty dictator in Libya.

Back in my own little world, last night we went to see Legally Blonde...one of the most popular shows in the West End this year. I've not seen the film, but all the reviews have been excellent and Sheridan Smith has been lauded for her efforts in the lead role. I wasn't sure it was something I would like, but one of The Boy's teachers saw it with his family a little while ago, and as I respect his opinion, I thought I was being narrow-minded. So off we went.

Oh my oh my oh my. Where do I start? It's so lightweight it makes candyfloss feel like concrete. Vacuous plot, vacuous songs, vacuous acting and vacuous singing all makes for a hideous concoction of total (pink) crap. Unless of course, you're a fourteen year old girl in which case it's brilliant. The auditorium was full of those, so there were cheers, whoops and screams throughout. Not surprising as the lead character is modeled on Barbie. I wanted to punch the character that referenced Shakespeare...something close to sacrilege. Anyhoo. Not quite my cup of tea....apologies to The Cat who occasionally reads this. She's 16, not 14.

I wouldn't want you to think I don't like fluffy. I do. I can eat a whole packet of marshmallows in one go. And regularly do. It's probably the marshmallow in it that makes Pfish Food my favourite ice cream.

And talking of Fish, I've been using their deodorant as it works well, smells nice and comes in a nice piece of packaging. Except, that the last two cans have stopped working after a week. I'm not that sweaty and smelly. Really I'm not. I dropped a note to their customer care line and was pleased to get a response...they asked me to let them know which brand as KMI Brands evidently owns lots of them. So I let them know. Absolutely no response whatsoever. So from that I can only conclude they have lots of problems and don't want to deal with them because it's a crap product. So if you see a shiny blue can of Fish deodorant in Boots. Save your money and buy marshmallows instead because Fish stink.

Hair today gone tomorrow

Well by some remarkable coincidence, The Gallery this week is about Hare. Which is brilliant because The Cat's Mother collects hares. Yes, sculptures, painting, jewelery, 'objets'...so long as it's got a hare on she has it. Some people would call it an obsession. That's unfair. It's just a hobby. It's just that you can't turn a hair in the house without there being a hare turning its own beady eye at you. If I put up pictures of all the hares in the house and garden, you'd be here all day, so here is a picture I took. I bought the ring for The Cat's Mother for Christmas against the advice of her best friend and sister...evidently she's a 'gold' person not a 'silver' person. But I liked it, really liked it. And she is polite enough to say she likes it too...I think she really does. Through the ring you can see one of the garden hare sculptures...in fact it's a pair of boxing hares. For the technical, it didn't matter what aperture I put the camera on, or the distance/zoom I used, I just couldn't get everything in focus.



mmm someone has just tapped me on the shoulder and told me the actual theme is 'hair' which is slightly annoying. I can't think why you would want a theme like that. But anyway, here's a picture of the one and only time I cut The Boy's hair...it had grown too long at the back, but was fine on the sides and top, so I did my Vidal Sassoon bit. He's never asked me to do it again.

From this:



To this:

The Lawnmower Man

It's pretty damned hard to get a job at the moment. Not that I need one; I'm lucky. But I know more than a few who would like to get paid for their endeavours. 'Work experience' is all the rage if you're school age. If you've got a degree, then it's often a full forty hours a week for the honour of being able to show a company how good you are even without the incentive of a few pennies in your pocket.

"I remember when I were a lad", pretty much anyone who wanted to could get a Saturday job. Not these days...there's probably a week long residential course just to see if you're suited to stacking shelves. Such is life under the economic cosh.

The Boy and The Cat have occasional baby-sitting duties amongst friends and family to help them afford the little luxuries that they can't scrounge off me or The Cat's Mother. They get paid handsomely for their troubles, but still they come cap in hand.

For UP's 50th birthday, The Boy and I got him a lawnmower. Silence to all those who say it's the equivalent of getting a woman a blender for her anniversary present. What's wrong with that? He needed one and very fine it is too. It came with a little addition. The Boy. Now, for a small sum every fortnight, The Boy gets to mow UP's lawn. He started on Saturday, and made not a bad job of reducing the jungle to something that would only make the groundsman at Wimbledon blush only slightly.

I felt the need to photograph this momentous event. After all, mowing a lawn is something that every man should be able to do. What I can't figure out though, is why he felt the need to do it hopping.



If only we'd had Tom Jones to help us out

Going up, coming down

The lift in our office building speaks with the voice of a Russian prostitute. Or perhaps one of those unfeasibly beautiful Russian spies in a James Bond movie. As I'm not familiar with either, it's just a guess on my part. Anyway, I can't tell you just how excited I get when she says, "Going down".

Oh I just have.

It was fascinating to see the pro-democracy pro economic revivalists rioting/marching at the weekend. It was no surprise to see the forces of government oppression moved in using controversial techniques such as kettling to prevent a quarter of a million people give voice to their feelings. I wonder if the Libyans will be imposing a no fly zone? There are reports today that some members of the Government feel the protests should be more firmly controlled....is it really time for water canons on our streets? I don't think so. We need radical change at Government and economic level, not in policing methods.

I'm not against cuts...we need them, but I suspect that that many of them are being made in the wrong place, and the structure of the civil sector will survive largely intact at the senior end, making it uncomfortably top heavy. It is a measure of the profligacy of Government that the world's sixth largest economy is unable to support itself....that is deeply shaming. Beyond the cuts, the tax burden is being carried unfairly by the likes of you and me...the shallow threats by the financial community and oil companies to up sticks needs to be dealt with...the financiers in particular are once again rolling in hay, ignoring the shit that the rest of us are covered in. It would take international agreement to put them in their place, but then radical measures are called for.

The situation in Libya gets ever-more bizarre. The UK is now suggesting it may arm the rebels. Many of whom are firmly linked to Al Qaeda...and we know where they stand on matters western. Are our politicians absolutely fucking mad? Is the blood-thirsty revenge sought by America and Britain for the Lockerbie outrage and international embarrassment of releasing Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi so blind that we will get into bed with the same people that next year will be plotting another terrorist outrage?

Hope you all filled in your census form (unless you're reading this outside the UK, in which case I hope you didn't). I don't know what you thought, but there was no way we could accurately reflect how we spend our working days, because for both The Cat's Mother and I, the traditional structured working environment no longer exists...and that is also the case for many of our friends and contacts. It asked us about how many cars we have, but didn't ask about motorcycles...surely if it's about planning the transport network, they should have been included? And what about bicycles, surely if we're supposed to be getting more environmental, don't they want to know about that? There were numerous other anomalies that make me think that this is a document designed to maintain the status quo rather than plan for the future.



I'm grumpy. It must be Monday morning. I'm going to step back into the lift.

Dazed and Confused

Have you ever been to Bangaluru? No. Well I'm surprised to hear that. Evidently I have. Last night travelling on the tube to Stratford I noticed that my new watch had stopped. I was mighty hacked off...you don't expect that these days; even a £5 watch from a market stall will keep good time...that's the wonder of modern technology isn't it? But then I noticed my mobile was telling me that it was five to midnight. A bit unfortunate as the event I was going to started at 6.45. But worse than that, it told me I was in Bangaluru. At least it was sunny and the temperature up at a very pleasing 26 degrees. I had to Google to find Bangaluru...it's the middle of India, and may be better known as Bangalore.

So the question is, what had happened? An unexpected power surge? A magnetic wave? I've no idea, but that doesn't stop me wondering about the trains which haul spent nuclear fuel through our soon to be beloved Olympic site at Stratford. I have just the tiniest inkling of what it must be like in Fukushima, wondering if they are being slowly, silently poisoned by radioactivity from the stricken plant. That must be horrendous....and perhaps worse than for the brave rescue workers who've been dowsing the damaged reactors almost certain that they will be receiving fatal doses.

Anyway, as it turns out I hadn't missed the performance of Frankenstein we had gone to see. It's this year's hottest theatre ticket and we hadn't been able to get any. Fortunately, the National Theatre is now showing some live performance at cinemas around the country. In fact around the world, although I'm not sure about Bangaluru. I really would wholeheartedly recommend you try the experience...we did the same with London Assurance last year (although we'd already seen it on stage too). It's a great way to experience some of the best theatre available, but without the expense of paying West End prices. I won't pretend that it's quite the same as sitting in the theatre. Bit it's close, and you can stuff your face with popcorn, which is always a bonus. Check out NT Live

As for Frankenstein itself. Well it's directed by Danny Boyle and the production is overwhelming..fantastically good. And Johnny Lee Miller as Frankenstein's Monster is a real tour de force. There were some oddities in the script, such as when The Monster is about to rape Frankenstein's bride, she says "We won't be having any of that in here". Not having been in that situation myself, it's hard for me to judge, but I doubt that's how it goes. And oddest of all, Benedict Cumberbatch as Frankenstein had a black father. Now I don't mind one way or the other, but that's a real leap of faith and quite confusing when you're working out who is who. If the justification was that he is a great actor, that would be fine, but he was easily the worst performer on the stage. By a mile. So why do this? Especially as the whole thing is set in 19th Century Switzerland. Completely confused.

Another thing that confuses me is Fitch, Standard and Poors, and Moody's. They are the credit rating agencies that effectively decide how much it costs sovereign nations to borrow money. They are powerful enough to bring countries to their knees as we have seen in Greece, Ireland and now Portugal. It seems an extraordinary that these organisations are given such influence. Particularly as they have blood on their hands with the collapse of the banking system. It was them, after all, that decided that those unrecoverable property loans that were the catalyst to the crisis were credit worthy. How have they got away with it? I don't know. But if it was me, I would close them down with no compensation and give the job to an international organisation funded and run by governments, but independent of them.

Have a lovely weekend.

Here's some music to get you going

Groping in the dark

There seems to be a lot of that around at the moment doesn't there?

In Libya, we're happy supporting the rebellion in Libya because Gadaffi is a first class bastard, even if we don't know who we are fighting for. There's a rumour that many of the rebels are Al Qaeida. Well that wouldn't be the first time we've slept with the enemy...Bin Laden was once a close ally before he started blowing up twin towers and the like. It would be an ugly irony if we ended up with Frankenstein's monster from all this.

In Japan, (isn't it interesting how the earthquake/tsunami has got pushed off the front pages even before the missing 21,000 have been found, let alone buried), they're still trying to turn the lights on at Fukushima. Even when they do, they're not sure whether the cooling systems will work. My best guess is that they won't, so we'll have the firemen spraying the reactors with their hoses for a very long time. At least until they glow in the dark.

Meanwhile George 'Gideon' Osbourne was announcing his budget yesterday. It's certainly good for business, unless you're in the oil business, and may help a few of the less well off, but it's not going to make a significant difference for the majority of us. And more importantly, will it get us out of this moribund economic state we find ourselves in. Who knows? I suspect Gideon doesn't, he's just groping around in the dark.

Last night we were literally groping in the dark as we went to 'Dans le noir' a restaurant where you literally eat in the dark. By dark I don't mean they switch the lights out, I mean a deep, all embracing darkness that you'll rarely experience. It's amazing how oppressive that is. All the waiting staff are 'blinded' (I thought the word was blind, but they insist on the word 'blinded'...I hope that doesn't mean they poke their eyes out when they apply for a job there). The idea is that by depriving you of your sense of sight, you will get an enhanced sense of the flavour, smell and texture of the food. It's an excellent theory. In practice though, the darkness completely dominates the experience so actually distracts you from the food itself. Actually getting your food on the fork was tricky, and the only way to know you'd finished was to check out the plate with your fingers. Pouring wine was achieved by tilting the bottle gently and putting your finger in the glass so you knew when you'd filled it up. One of our group couldn't really join in the conversation because he found the lack of faces off putting, and The Cat's Mother couldn't eat...after all would you put something in your mouth if you didn't know what it was? I enjoyed myself, not least because I achieved a life long ambition.
I picked up my plate and licked it clean. Yep right in the middle of a restaurant in trendy Clerkenwell. I felt very naughty.

Bitch

The dogs of war are going at it like a pack of wild canines in North Africa. The Arab League may well have been naive to think that by supporting a UK and US led resolution in the UN, all that would happen is that the west would point their weapons at Gadaffi and hope he would stop. Even I knew that to impose an air exclusion zone would mean taking out any number of ground installations. No doubt causing any number of innocent deaths along the way. Precision weapons are not quite as precise as you might think, especially if you're not 100% sure of where the target is. Anyway, it's a bit late to put the attack dogs back on the leash. It would be good if they could sort out who is the alpha dog, otherwise they're going to end up running round chasing their tails like puppies.

Judging by some of the footage being broadcast it would be fair to assume that peace will not naturally follow...there's an awful lot of weaponry floating around. As we discovered in Iraq and Afghanistan, it may be easier to win the war than win the peace.

If you were a dog, what kind of dog would you be?

No, its not one of those pesky memes (which I love doing), but something I was actually contemplating this morning.

The Boy is without question a springer spaniel. Absolutely full of boundless energy, he's as happy as Larry (except when he isn't), bounces around, and fills the room with his energy and demands for attention.

The Cat, I'd say is more of an Afghan Hound..graceful and elegant...never rushed and rarely in a flap.

The Cat's Mother a Golden Retriever...beautifully presented, the most even of temperaments, plenty of energy, always happy and pleased to see you. Mind you even Golden Retrievers can bark, as did The Cat's Mother at the Halifax over the weekend. Now The Cat is 16 she needs to give them her NI number so they can tax her (yep George Osborne really is that hard up). The Cat's Mother tried to give it to them, but they refused 'Data protection' was their reason. So The Cat tried to do it, but failed as she didn't know what her balance is (there's so little in it, the book hasn't been updated since 2007). And now the account is blocked. So The Cat's Mother tore into them...no one was trying to take money out, no one was trying to do anything other than give them a number which they have to check anyway. So WTF. The Cat's Mother can growl and she can bark...she may even bite.

I realise I shall be trouble for suggesting those, but hell why not. It's my blog and I'll say what I want.

As for me, much as I would like to be a Great Dane (I'm not big enough), or a Bulldog (hardly a symbol of national pride), I'm going to have to admit to being a Jack Russell Terrier. It's probably fortunate that Grandma in Cyprus has a pair of them. She'll understand. I'm a scrapper. I can sniff out trouble and don't hesitate to get into a tussle. Inspite of my size (a perfectly average 5'8"), I'll take on anyone and anything. And rarely, if ever, do I come away with more than a scratch. In fact ninety nine times out of a hundred; no one hundred times out of a hundred, I come out on top. I've been doing this for 37 years. That's a Nota Bene years, as opposed to dog years or human years. And once I start, there's no stopping me. I can't help feeling that sometimes it would be nice not to get into these dog fights..after all if I'm right, as I always am, I shouldn't need to. It can be quite wearing. So sometimes I need to roll over, have my tummy tickled before I get up and start running around again.

You may have guessed from my last post that I'm currently in the ring with Lloyds TSB. If only they knew. I do know sooner or later I'm going to get a sound hiding, but I don't think it'll be this time. I sure as hell hope not.

In another battle, I've been fighting the Managing Agent for one of my properties who for a decade haven't produced any accounts. So I took them to the LVT the year before last. And won - they said I didn't have to pay for any period where there were no accounts. That didn't stop them sending me a bill for £11,000 in February. This morning I got another letter, crediting me more than £8,000. Pretty much game set and match. Again. Woof woof.

Of course some dogs are pussycats. Take this one. The new office dog who is too scared to tread on the wood floor, so sits or stands outside. Miaow, miaow.

Moving swiftly on

Here's something I found the other day. It seems immeasurably useful to have a list of e-mails for CEOs of businesses you're likely to fall out with. You can find it here

I've always found that going to the top is far more effective than starting with the Customer Relations department. Customer Relations is never about improving the relationship with the customer, it's always about protecting the company, so invariably, 'It's not company policy' to do whatever you want or need them to do. Like put right your legitimate grievance.

If you do ever come to need it, do check it's up to date...you know it is just embarrassing to be complaining to someone who recently left with an enormous pay off, which is quite likely if it's a bank. If there is a new person, it's easy enough to work out their address as soon as you can see how they do other e-mail addresses. In the case of Lloyds TSB go for Helen Weir as the head of retail operations. It says something about the bank that she has an entire department given over to media and executive complaints. Their salaries are paid for by the extravagant, nay extortionate bank charges they levy.

Meanwhile, it must have been a slightly awkward moment when our military and political leaders marched left, right, left right into Downing Street to sign off the battle plan for Libya, only to find Colonel Gadaffi had declared a ceasefire. There must have been a group sigh of relief when they realised he wasn't actually a man of his word and continued pounding the rebels with everything he's got.

As it happens, and you'll know if you've read more than one of my posts, that I don't think we should be there in the first place. A view I share with a military surgeon who I was chatting to today. Evidently, she's already kept busy enough trying to put back together the broken and burnt bodies of soldiers being shipped back from Afghanistan.

But less of that, most concerning is that they've put the French in charge. Have you ever Googled 'French military victories'. It takes you here from where you can click through to here

Enough said.

A bit of give and take

It's widely reported how the banks brought us to our knees and are continuing to keep us there. It's much less widely reported that I hold particularly vehement views on the matter. Although by writing about it regularly at least some people may well have picked up on my feelings. One of the things the banks are failing to do is offer the lending that will start the economy moving. Well why should they - by hoarding all that taxpayers money, and trading with implicit Government guarantees they can continue to feather their nests whilst the real people wonder how to make ends meet, and ponder the realities of having to visit the job centre. The mind set of not giving has permeated well beyond just handing out loans. Yesterday I popped in to my local branch of Lloyds TSB to pay in a cheque.

Lloyds TSB as I'm sure you know are one of the key sponsors of the 2012 Olympics. Their name is plastered all over the ticketing brochures that were neatly stacked in a very impressive display unit ready for the likes of you and me to grab to go and book our tickets. Actually, looking at the prices, I'm not sure how many will really be booking tickets, but that's beside the point. The point is that this fabulous display was positioned neatly BEHIND the cashiers. Out of reach unless you're a bank robber. Even when I asked for a copy, I there was a reluctance to give me one. Why is that? I can only think it's because the concept of anything going out of the bank and into the hands of real people is now beyond them. Morons.

Anyway, it's good to see that NATO is to launch air attacks on Saudi Arabia for its actions in quelling the pro-democracy protesters in Bahrain. This is shortly to be followed by strikes against North Korea and then Burma. Zimbabwe is on the to do list sources have told me. I'm glad to see that it has carefully considered its position with regards Libya, and decided that as it is a sovereign nation in which one Libyan is fighting another, we should leave well alone. I'm a little concerned that the UK has been given three months to reform its voting system to ensure that its Government fairly reflects the will of the people, but I'm sure the country will bow to international pressure and do the right thing.

The UK's position on Gadaffi shows just how corrupt Blair's bunch were. They brought the Libyan regime in from the cold. Blair still defends this position. He would have been long gone if Britain and the international community had done the right thing decades ago. Expect dirty little secrets come tumbling out into the open in the coming months.

It's a terrible thing when the innocent are killed, and in this case by their own government, but it sets a dangerous precedent when the international community starts taking sides and getting involved. The Russians and Chinese have worried about this (partly because there are plenty of potential rebellions in their own borders), but abstained in the UN vote because the case against Gadaffi is overwhelming. The question is will that decision come back to bite them in the proverbial arse?

Slug etiquette

The elderly city gent swayed onto the tube train as it stopped at Bank station. By elderly I mean he was cruising through to retirement, and sensibly should have gone and enjoyed his twilight years rather than sweat away in a city office. I'll say he was a gent because he was smartly dressed, not too smartly, but just and well presented. He sat down and the few glasses of alcohol - I'll bet gin and tonics - that he'd enjoyed that evening sent him quickly asleep. Some stops down the line, it became apparent there was a slug on the seat next to him - easily mistaken for a piece of chewing gum, it was betrayed by its desperate dash from one side of the cushion to the other. It then became a question of etiquette. Should the party of four middle agers, middle classers sitting opposite wake him up and warn him of his impending intimate companion. And if so how. The looks of surprise turned into smiles of puzzlement and then an elevated giggle broke out between them It had to be done, and a hand reached out and shook the City Gent gently. At first he didn't stir. The power of alcohol. But after the shakes became more vigorous with an added level of urgency as the slimy creature got closer to his jacket, he opened his eyes. "Sorry to disturb you, but there's a slug on the seat next to you and it's getting closer" said The Shaker. The City Gent looked across uncomprehending. So The Shaker repeated himself to the same response. It became necessary to say it again and again before The City Gent replied, "I'm sorry I have no idea what you are saying". At which point all four of the middle agers, middle classers chimed and pointed in unison, "There's a slug on the seat next to you and it's getting closer." That did the trick, and The Gent looked down. His faced gained an element of surprise. "Well what do I do?" he questioned. "Move down a few seats" was the suggestion from The Four. But The Gent was wiser and never one to shirk a challenge. From his suit he took his wallet and extracted his City Business Card. "You don't need to give him your business card" joked one of the four; a comment which was met with a look that was half-comprehending, half wondering about its seriousness. The gent put the card down in front of the slug and encouraged it on with a few kind words. The slug, not encouraged at all by the words, slid forwards. A cheer went up from The Four.

Meanwhile,further down the carriage, a young man with modern music blasting into his ears looked on misunderstanding all. He chose his moment. Red faced he stood up, paused and said, "What are you doing. We all like a drink. Leave him alone." The Four turned as one and spoke as four. Amongst the babble somewhere was the fair and true explanation about the adventures of the slug. The Red Faced Man was a disbeliever but didn't quite have the words he wanted. there was more babbling, so he slumped down again, but not in such a way that he couldn't leap up and make his verbal aggression turn to the physical.

At this point The Gent became the Samaritan, turned towards the Red Faced Man to say, "What's your problem." It was a statement not a question. Silence from the far end of the carriage until The Red Faced Man rescued himself by commenting, "I could eat it if you like."

For a few further minutes an uneasy peace held whilst the slug continued to do circuits of The City Gents business card oblivious to the bother it had caused until it was time for Red Faced Man, The City Gent and his friendly slug to leave at the next station. The only trace of the incident of slug in the night were the slimy trails on the seat cushions.

By comparison, meeting Fergal Sharkey at the bar of the HMV Apollo a couple of hours earlier was much less surreal. Lovely, polite, friendly fellow and still afeared of his mother. I'd recommend you go and see The Decemberists who put on a very fine show indeed.

Anyway, any excuse to put on some Fergal Sharkey.



And not to miss out on The Decemberists

Growing on trees

Wednesday's gallery from Tara is themed with the word trees. I have a lot of pictures of trees, but I had hoped to get something spectacular from my trip to Norfolk, only to discover trees are not big in East Anglia. Hedges, yes, they stop the cold wind blowing across the flatlands,but really trees seem to be an unnecessary luxury up there.



I took this one when we visited Lebanon. Sorry it's not a cedar.



Boys and trees. I lost count a long time ago of the number of shirts, jackets, jeans that were ruined by tree climbing antics



Not my photo...but isn't it gorgeous? It's a police station there. Under cover cops? Thank you Becca.



Just from a walk in Hereford

The Falling Man

Natural disasters lead to enormous numbers of dead...so large that the people become just that...numbers. Did you ever see the picture, or indeed the video of The Falling Man? As one of the Twin Towers burnt on 9/11, someone photographed a man falling from near the top. It's an iconic image of the human shape with the steel and glass of the tower behind him. In one picture, the whole terrible disaster was humanised. In the same way, watching the footage of the Japanese tsunami shows many unwitting 'Falling Men'...people being swept away by the advancing waters, people driving cars, vans and trucks oblivious to the fast approaching blackened and rubble filled wave. All these people...mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, sisters and brothers. Each with their own story abruptly and unexpectedly curtailed. It will be a some time before the 'numbers' come in, but when they do it's worth just thinking of The Falling Man.



It is difficult to judge how the impact of the impending disaster at Fukushima will have on the Japanese psyche. As the only country ever to have had nuclear weapons dropped on it in anger, nuclear has always cast a dark shadow on the land. A large scale explosion leading to fallout across the country, region, globe will have a dramatic effect. As a country with few natural resources, nuclear power has been an enormous benefit...but whatever the outcome in Fukushima, expect the Japanese to turn themselves to finding alternative sources. They're not great inventors, but they are brilliant at taking an invention and making it work brilliantly - look what they've done with cars...making them reliable in a way that the Europeans and Americans are still playing catch up with, look what they've done with consumer electronics. This could be a turning point, and the silver lining to these events.

I learnt a while ago that people (that's you and me and everyone else) can only really cope with one 'event' at a time. So if you look back you'll see that Britain's love affair with food chain problems has been one thing after another rather than all together...salmonella in eggs, BSE, foot and mouth, etc, etc. In the same way, the problems in Libya and the rest of the Middle East have been consigned to small paragraphs tucked away mid-newspaper. So you may have not noticed that the 'rebels' in Libya are on the run, and likely to be squashed with or without the much-discussed 'no-fly-zone. Given the strength of Gadaffi's forces and the disorganised nature of the opposition, this was always likely to be the outcome...however sad that might be.

Of more significance, I think, is that the Saudis have sent troops to Bahrain to quell the rioting there. Royal families have always stuck together, and so it's no surprise that the troops have arrived following a 'request'. The last thing the Saudi's can afford is to see a Royal house begin to crumble because they would be next. I read yesterday on Sheik saying that people weren't really interested in democracy, the problems are rooted in standards of living. He's right, but whether the wealth can be better distributed whilst the current regimes are in place seems unlikely. And at some stage the oil generated wealth will ebb away, at which point there will be an almighty conflagration. But as there will be no oil to worry about, we won't care will we?

The Boy is doing his German oral today...or is it aural? He both talks and listens so I just don't know. Anyway, I'm hoping t goes well. Home matters are always the most important things aren't they?

Blowing in the wind

It seems the land of the rising sun may be come the land of the rising mushroom cloud. I'm taking my iodine tablets just in case there's a wind blowing from the east.

Nuclear power, which was being dismissed as the future of power twenty years ago, had its come back moment when first-world countries realised that the golden age of oil wouldn't last for ever. I'm still not sure what we're doing with all that nuclear waste,but I guess we could give it all to Trafigura or Chevron which are evidently skilled in these matters. )Please Google them if you don't know.) That pesky natural power from the sun, sea and wind was just something that those hairy-armpitted greens wanted and was technically too difficult to develop. Of course it's much more difficult to get a blade to turn in the wind, to get a paddle to go up and down in the sea or use a mirrors to convert sunlight into steam generation than it is to split the atom. Obviously. Whilst I hope the Fukushima Daiichi plant doesn't go bang. Or even bang, bang, bang as there are three reactors there. I do hope it provokes a rethink on how much we are investing in eco-power research. As we live on a breezy island, it's beyond me why the sea and wind isn't providing all the power we need. Just think if we led the world in eco-power, we could export it and replace the defence industry which will sell a piece of weaponry to any dictator willing to pay...yep that may be Libya I'm thinking about amongst many, many others.

Bloggertropolis' Friday blog had a great take on the Olympic logo. I can't link directly for some reason, but here is the url for his blog. I can't watch The Simpsons ever again. He also rather stole my thunder as I wanted to do an Olympic blog, but as ever his take was witty and clever and my efforts stolid by comparison. The Iranian Government had announced that the 2012 logo read Zion, so they wanted the Olympic Committee to force it to be changed. I can't say I've noticed how 2012 translates into Zion...perhaps they are dyslexic. But, as ever, I find myself in complete agreement with the Iranians...the logo should be changed. It is rubbish...enough has been written about that by plenty of better qualified people than me. What I really wanted to say was David Cameron revealed himself in his true colours when his comment was, "If the Iranians don't want to come, don't come - we won't miss you." Well Mr Cameron, we will miss them. The Olympics is about the celebration of sports, and every country's sports men and women should be welcome regardless of what their government is saying or thinking. His comment was churlish, undiplomatic and thoughtless. Petty even. I shall be cheering on the Iranian team.

On matters at home, the two offspring were left home alone at the weekend. They didn't burn the place down which is a positive. They ate a cottage pie. Evidently vegetables was beyond them. Thank heavens we're back to feed them properly.

Don't panic. RTFM

Whilst Japan was disappearing under a tsunami following the earthquake, we headed up to Norfolk this weekend. I realise that this is an enormous prejudice on my heart, but I've been confused that in the last few months that Australia has been hit by floods, New Zealand has been hit by an earthquake, and now Japan. I always thought these things happened in third world countries. I may need to rethink.

The weekend in Norfolk had been planned for...oh I don't know how long, I just got told that we were going. Eight of us in a cottage in Norfolk, with seven of the group having known each other for thirty years. As one was The Cat's Mother's brother, UP, and I was at school with him it could be argued that I had at least known one of the party for thirty five years. But as we don't remember being in the same classroom, it didn't help. Anyway, without name dropping, the person whose cottage it is, does interior design work for the Sultan of Brunei. Well someone has to don't they?!

I guess it started going wrong when the phone rang earlier in the week at about half past ten at night. "Oh, Paul" said the voice at the other end of the line. Paul's not my name. That's the name of The Cat's Mother's ex. I decided to take umbrage. And I hold a grudge well.

It carried on when I discovered that I had to leave work early on Friday so we could get there at a reasonable time, when I was the only one there manning the fort that day.

As it happened, on Friday, I managed to spend three hours on the phone to my bank having one of those conversations when I'm speaking one language and clearly they're speaking another. Suffice to say, there will shortly be a missive to the ombudsman. Naturally this meant that all the work that needed to be done in the morning got crammed into an hour over lunch, and I was late leaving.

So I arrived home late, and forgot to pick up half the things I should have done.

We had two ways of getting there. Following the very scientific and very precise satnav, or following the directions of the person whose cottage it is. Naturally, the satnav was silenced. Anyway, I can tell you that Norfolk, all of Norfolk, is a lovely place at night. We would have carried on enjoying the scenic tour had it not been for me saying "Sussex Farm?" to which The Cat's Mother said, "No we're looking for Stewards Cottage. Oh. Erm Sussex Farm". Fortunately diesel's not that expensive at the moment is it?

Anyway, the cottage was lovely, and the people great. Apart from one who kept dripping the juice from the olives in my wine, and then kept pinching my glass as soon I put it down, and another who kept on referring to The Cat's Mother by her married name, which she changed by deed poll five years ago.

Anyway, I'd absolutely recommend a trip to Wells Next The Sea...it's a beautiful beach albeit a long walk from the town, with no beach cafe to get refreshments for some very tired legs. Actually I hadn't realised just how beautiful Norfolk could be....it really is stunning.

After a meal out we came back to play the name game. You may know it by a different name...it's the one where you write names on bits of paper, they go into a hat and everyone has to guess who it is. I can't stand it. I don't know why. I just don't enjoy it. I can't imagine that it's been played for thirty years, but it is a thirty-year old tradition and I joined in. You have to make these sacrifices.

The next morning, one of our number decided to put the dishwasher on, but in a 'brain fart' moment put in Fairy Liquid. The washing up liquid, not Fairy Liquid dishwasher tablets. I'd say no more than a couple of hours were spent scooping the foam out whilst exploring the internet for helpful suggestions, and Reading The Fucking Manual. In general scooping out the foam seems to be the way to go...certainly better than adding vinegar, or adding soap as suggested by some. It was largely fixed by the time we left.

Don't get the wrong idea, it was a lovely weekend. But very hard work indeed.

And the phrase of the weekend?

"Are you saying I disagree with my own opinion?"

You can work that one out yourself.



Dishwashers don't like washing up liquid