The kids are alright

I'm kinda expecting to see a hooded figure walking down the street soon, and I know for sure and certain that there will be a man carrying one of those banners proclaiming 'The end of the world is nigh'. Everywhere we turn there's a problem. It must be the busiest year for death, destruction, misery and misfortune for decades. If I was God fearing, I'd be cowering in the corner.

Mr David Cameron is doing his utmost to catch up with Mr Tony Blair in the spin stakes. He rounded on Oxford University this week, because, in his words, in 2009 they took only one person of Black Caribbean origin as an undergraduate. He described that as disgraceful. Now, by any measure Oxford is not, and never will be, a bastion of equality, and technically Mr Cameron is right. But he has ignored all other ethnic groups, including Black Africans, American Africans, etc, etc. If you include those, the true figure is 22% of the intake was 'ethnic minority'. I may be wrong but I don't think that 22% of the UK's population has ethnic origins. By profession, David Cameron is a Doctor of Spin, but spouting shit like that does no one any favours.

The headlines in the papers yesterday that retail banks need protection nearly made me fall off my seat and break my neck. My experience, and that of anyone I know, is that the retail banks are as predatory as they can be, without a concern for their customers and don't in anyway appreciate the charity that we, through the Government have given them. They're certainly not grateful for it. Instead the Banks in both retail and investment forms think that just because they are banging away with handsome profits we should be impressed with their business acumen even though the rest of the world's economy lies in tatters even now. Like locusts they have caused utter devastation, stealing the food from people's mouths, leaving people's working and family lives in ruins. It's all very well for Mr Gordon Brown to say he made a mistake (as he did yesterday) as he and his cohorts didn't realise how interwoven the world's banks are. Well admitting a mistake is fine, but it doesn't fix the problem. The banks should be made to pay for their cavalier, casino approach rather than passing their spoils on to a tiny minority who get to enjoy the high life at the expense of billions of people around the world.

Japan is now on the highest possible nuclear alert...that's about as scary as it gets...although the authorities say its not a Chernobyl type problem. But the highest alert does mean a significant impact on a wide area. That will mean, figuratively if not physically, there will be little green monsters with three heads, one arm and fearsome teeth glowing in the dark running around in abject misery. Do watch this recent video:

Chernokids (english subtitles) from Les Chernokids on Vimeo.

As the former Libya Foreign Policy spokesman for Libya says, there is a danger of that country becoming the new Somalia. Let's hope not. Africa and the Middle East are unstable enough as it is.

It's enough to make you depressed.

A little while ago my opinion was asked, along with a number of others by someone whose girlfriend was beginning to want children. He was less than sure and opened. I sat on the fence. But with all this NEWS happening at the moment, I realise that the one thing that can giving you an underlying hope for the future is children. As the older generation fades away, it is their offspring that have the potential to resolve the problems created by generation after generation after generation. Admittedly history isn't on their side, but if you look into the bright eyes of a kid, whether they're two, ten or nineteen, then you can see a bright sparkle, an innate positiveness that wears away in later life.

The Cat has won herself a place on a National Youth Theatre summer course against some very very fierce competition. How fantastic is that? It's everything she wants, and will be a truly amazing experience for her. We're all truly excited at this achievement....hopefully it will help her in the future.

Getting on with it

As I rode my bike this morning I saw a single, solitary school boy walking along the pavement. I wondered if someone had forgotten to tell him that school has broken up for Easter and he was going to arrive with gates padlocked shut, and him left standing until one of his parents turned up to rescue him.

Someone else who migt need rescuing is Nick Clegg as he becomes ever more Tory....did you hear his comments as he left that press conference last week? I'd been horrified that he criticised middle class parents for fulfilling their parental responsibilities by helping their kids, when he had enjoyed that benefit himself. But I ended up rolling around on the floor when it transpired that some senior Labour politicians were spouting the same hypocrisy. Why open your mouth if you haven't got anything sensible to say?

The Arab Spring seems to be heating up - despotic rulers waking up to the realisation that if they don't clamp down hard, they will be out of a job. And probably a life. In Egypt, the protestors are being hit hard by the army, in Syria, protestors are being shot left, right and centre, and in the Yemen protester is fighting protester. Nothing is being said about Bahrain. In Libya, one suspects that the proposal of the African Union will preserve Gadaffi's dignity and probably his position...it has a history of supporting dictators. Still who can blame them for thumbing their collective noses at former colonial powers? If it does, The West's African adventure will be a mighty embarrassment. Gadaffi is the one leader that said 'No' and then stood his ground. If he survives, you can bet your bottom dollar that the rest of the Arab world will see his wisdom and the feint flicker of democracy will be snuffed out.

I was mighty angry with David Cameron last week for rolling into Pakistan and claiming that many of the world's problems are our fault whilst he handed over a massive aid cheque. What a bizarre world role we are carving out when on the one hand we stick our nose into Libya in some latter-day colonial folly whilst at the same time acknowledging that past colonial activity was wrong. I'm a great believer in judging people's and countries actions by the standards of the time. So by that measure, we should know now not to be mucking around in other countries' internal affairs...even if we did it a couple of hundred years ago.

The Cat and The Boy returned from their skiing antics on Saturday night. Well Sunday morning actually...1 o'clock in the morning. I'm not sure what it says about the school's ability to organise, but they'd left a week before at 4 in the morning. Perhaps the teachers are all night owls, but those times don't work for me....or The Cat's Mother. The whole trip sound far more Inbetweeners than respectable public school to me...drinking, vomiting, drinking, pole dancing, drinking, erm toilet incidents, drinking, water skiing (yes they were in the French Alps), drinking, concussion, drinking. I'm sure it wasn't like that in my day. No doubt we'll find out more as the days wear on and further secrets are revealed. There doesn't seem to be much to say about the skiing, other than it was hot, the snow had all turned to slush by 11 in the morning and water by midday. Oh yes, and The Boy won the race. Again. He's good. Very good indeed.

The Cat is home for the duration, and will bury her head in books as she revises dawn to dusk ready for GCSEs. At least she won't be being distracted by Facebook as she's given it up for Lent. God will be grateful.

The Boy on the other hand has gone off for a week's adventurous training in the Lake District with the CCF. He will love it, and hopefully the mild weather will persist for him as he yomps around. No doubt he'll do some last minute cramming when he returns.

Anyway, I should be working...it's Monday morning, and the last five day week for a little while!

The meaning of life

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It's all about me

If it's good enough for Nick Clegg, it's good enough for me. This week I've a work experience lad in the office. He's studying 'media' and needed a week's work. He's the son of one of The Cat's Mother's oldest friends so I said yes. I had no choice. And a jolly nice lad he is too. So aside from making the coffee, doing the photocopying, taking my dry cleaning to the laundry I'm a bit stuck for things for him to do. Any suggestions gratefully received.

Equally, come the sumer holidays The Boy needs a week in a job for experiential purposes. It's a struggle finding anything, so if you've got any contacts who might need a handsome, enthusiastic lad to run around for a week, I know the perfect candidate.

Well doesn't time fly when you're enjoying yourself? It must be fun in the Presidential Residence of Laurent Gbagbo this morning. I can't help feeling that the Ivorian political situation has been seen so many times over the last fifty years that we should all be questioning why so many African states can't escape the vicious cycle of failed democracy, corruption and endless economic stagnation or decline. Thank heavens the UN and The French have decided to take their lead from Mr Tony Blair and stick their collective noses in wherever and whenever they can.

I realise that its now a couple of weeks since Auntie Gwen tagged me to do a meme...she'll think I'm ignoring her which is just not true. Anyway, to save me the trouble of tagging three more people...can you just please use your initiative and give it a whirl?!

Here we go:

Three names I go by: Dad (you guessed that), Nota Bene (you know that), Nick (you didn't know that). But NEVER, EVER Keith...I even had it removed from my passport

Three places I’ve lived: Brighton (Hove actually), London (all over), and Epping Forest. But NEVER, EVER Essex...I don't have a pair of stilettos. The only way is not Essex

Three places I’ve worked: Oh I've had so many jobs....nearly all in PR (sadly). I started in Coventry (when there was a company called Rover in existence), before working in Worthing (yay, by the coast, boo, everyone there is ready to die, even if they're only 25) and I'm glad I've spent so long working in London...but I can't wait until I don't have to

Three things I love to watch: Films....not quite any film, but I'm very liberal in my tastes. The sea...especially when it's windy and the waves are as tall as houses...I never tire of it; kitesurfing...fascinating. Rarely, if ever, television...it just doesn't seem to be part of my life

Three places I have been & love: Brighton...I have to include my favourite city. Oberjoch...it's in the Bavarian Alps, and I spent a summer working there as a student. The Boy and I went back a couple of years ago, and it's just as brilliant now as it was then. Iceland...have been there twice. It is just beautiful. But I wouldn't want to live there

Three people that email me regularly: Mr and Mrs Spam..yep I get loads and loads and loads. Admittedly some of it is newsletters I signed up for years ago, but there still seems a lot that I don't want. An ex-fiance (no I don't have a collection, I should say THE ex-fiance)...we keep in regular contact. I generally get on well with my ex's, but I'm always glad they are ex's. Olive, a distant relative, who sends those witty jokes that make us all roll around on the floor laughing. Actually I don't get enough friendly e-mails, so please fell free to e-mail me regularly

Three things I love to eat: marshmallows - I can eat a whole bag in one sitting; buffalo or was it bison? I had it once and can still taste it; American Hot with extra olives from Pizza Express - I've been eating it for twenty five years and see no reason to stop. But never, ever tripe - Grandma in Cyprus used to feed raw tripe to the dogs when I was young and I can still smell it thirty five years later

Three things I am looking forward to: Christmas. I had a rubbish Christmas last year, stuck in bed with nasty flu, missing out on all the celebrations. I love the Christmas holiday...the least stressful part of my year. It can't come round soon enough. Going to Cyprus to visit Grandma in Cyprus...it's been a real shame that we couldn't do it this week, especially as she's not on top form at the moment. A special treat I've organised for The Cat's Mother. I can't tell you what it is; it would spoil the surprise. But definitely NOT my next birthday. It's a biggie. And everyone is more excited than me.

Holiday head

Have you ever had that feeling that someone is shitting on you from a great height? I've spent most of my life thinking that, even though it's entirely unreasonable bearing in mind that by many people's standards I've done quite well, and if you compare my lot to most of the world's population, then I've had a very good life indeed. But as you know, I don't like to be proved wrong...indeed I revel in being right. Indeed I have been proved right. Walking along the North Laine in Brighton this week, there was shit on my head dropped from a great height.



I know it's supposed to be lucky, but really, HOW?

Saturday morning, four o'clock in the morning The Cat and The Boy went off skiing with the school, so The Cat's Mother and I took a few days in Brighton to enjoy the see air. The drive down was glorious as the sun rose behind us as we arrived at the sea. There are some things that just make life worth living and that is one of them.

We had planned to go abroad and soak yup the sun, but our destination was always going to be middle-eastern (so we could drop in on Grandma in Cyprus on the way), but the more we thought about it, the less sensible it seemed. And with things hotting up in Libya, Gadaffi's response is likely to get less and less reasonable...and don't forget he's been known to blow a passenger plane out of the sky on Lockerbie...so we thought flying across the Mediterranean was not the sensible option. Not that there's anything wrong with Brighton anyway, it's just that it would have been nice to get to Cyprus. Later in the year.

In the meantime, most of the snow seems to have melted in France. That hasn't stopped The Teens enjoying themselves. They haven't reported back about the skiing, but we have been updated about some of the evening revelries (not sure how much supervision the teachers are doing...).

A text from The Boy said, "Oh. The Kat wasn't feeling well. Dehydrated, headache, stomach. Unrelated to last night's happy hour;)"

A wee while later, The Kat texted, "I just felt really sick. Woke up at 2 and the nausea didn't go away till 3.30 :( It came back when I woke up. I don't think I'll drink tonight. The wine is cheap and disgusting anyway. I think it was too much sun yesterday."

Yes, we all think it was too much sun yesterday...don't we...

First Friday Photos(hop)

Well it's really getting quite surreal in Libya now. If it wasn't already. In 2009 Silvio Berlusconi presented Gadaffi with the gift of a white lion called Romulus. His brother, called Remus was transported to Berlusconi's estate (the one where he held his infamous 'bunga bunga' parties). Gadaffi feels slighted by the Italians so threatened to release Romulus into the wild and in a move yet to be sanctioned by the UN, the Italians sent in a crack team of soldiers to rescue it in the early hours of this morning. Barking mad. Absolutely. No it's not an April Fool.

Anyway, it is April 1st and it is a Friday, so I've dug out some photos I've taken this month. If you double click on them you can see them full size

These two were actually taken in January 2009, but I was playing with Photoshop, and realised just how easy it is to completely change the nature of a picture. The first one has been altered - a late autumn on parched soil. As opposed to the second picture, the original, which was taken on a misty, snowy, cold winter's morning. Surreal. Some of the other pictures have been 'enhanced' as well...I wonder if you can guess which ones?







This is a piece of work by Ben Eine...we walked around the East End with some friends. Art or graffiti? I think it's very pleasing.



In Norfolk, I came across this tumbledown outhouse...really atmospheric



A shop in Shoreditch...ful of kitsch...the sort of thing you'll find this restaurant is decorated with. I love it.



More decay in Norfolk...an enormous abandoned house



Same place



More Roa - an indoors installation...you had to walk all round it and peer inside to see all the work. Fascinating



I'm not a Royalist...these teabags were given to us by The Boy's German exchange student...they are a lot of fun, and we'll be re-using them on THAT wedding day



Lovely beach huts in Norfolk



Roa...absolutely my favourite street artist



I was just taking a picture of the child's footprint, when the dog came along and stuck his nose in



I asked this lady if I could take a picture of her and her dog...



Really pleased with this shot of geese



And finally more beach huts...nothing quite as quintessentially English as a beach hut

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.