Only a day late to the party

No, not THAT party...as a staunch republican I'm torn between my deeply held views and the joyous pleasure of knowing I can get a long lie in tomorrow morning...

I mean Tara's Gallery of course...it was yesterday, but hey ho, as I said these short weeks confuse me immeasurably. The theme is green. And what a lot of green photos I have. Green grass, green trees, The Boy's green bike and so on. But I've chosen this picture of a green frog. I took this with my phone as the frog climbed up the wall of Grandma in Cyprus' house. He had his eye on a juicy fat stick insect (mmm, is that a contradiction in terms?), but I think we messed up his plans. It's always a pleasure seeing the wildlife in Cyprus, and I love going there to see my mum and 'Grandad in Cyprus'. I'm really looking forward to going back later on this year, although how we fit it in with all the commitments the offspring have I just don't know; but I'm sure we'll manage!

Do not not read this

We seem to be living in a strange void at the moment. A four day weekend last weekend, and another coming up. I wouldn't want you to think that I think this is a bad thing. I don't. I like it. I really do. I've long been an advocate of three day weekends, so logically a four day weekend must be 33% better. After all life is for living not for grinding ourselves into an early grave sweating away in an office. Or a factory. Or down a mine. Or wherever you do your thing. But it gets me confused, and today is Wednesday yet it's only my second day in the office this week, so it should be Tuesday. And tomorrow is my last day in the office, so today should be Thursday. I'm most confused.

Talking of being confused...a year or so I wrote about how The Cat's Mother had bought me the DVD of Ingloriouus Bastards, which we settled down to watch. And wait for Brad Pitt to appear, which he didn't. It took The Boy to point out that we had indeed been watching the original Inglorious Bastards, and NOT Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds. No wonder it was such a great parody of a cliche-ridden B Movie. We did eventually get to watch the real thing.

The opening shows a Gestapo officer searching for Jews. He's a Nazi in all senses of the word. So it was quite fun when The Boy showed me this parody last week:



The opening exchange about double negatives was a beautiful reflection of a letter that I've received from the Inland Revenue. As The Boy is heading to sweet sixteen, they wrote because his child allowance comes to an end unless he goes onto further education. I read it and put it to one side because I didn't need to do anything I thought. It took The Cat's Mother to point out that I had misread it and I do need to respond. The crucial phrase was:

Do not fill in this form or contact us if The Boy is not going to do any of the above

I'm not suggesting that the Inland Revenue are Nazis. You may think that. But I couldn't possibly comment.

A row of tents

NOT an Easter Egg...but usually given at Easter. I'm not expecting one.



Well we're cruising through to Easter quite nicely. Not religious by nature, I can't deny that the treat of having Hot Cross buns tomorrow and a big chocolate egg on Sunday is something to look forward to. As is a four-day weekend. With The Boy and The Cat returning after their long yomp in the Brecon Beacons, it promises to be a lively few days. Especially as, I hope, that thoughts of impending exams can be banished for a few days. There are some things that need to be given up AFTER Lent, not For Lent.


At the same time, the balance of who decides what will change too. The Cat's Mother and I when left to our own devices just muddle along, gently taking decisions because they suit....with the return of the offspring again, we will have to start thinking about their needs. That's democracy for you.

In the wider world. democracy is not all that it seems. You probably think you live in a democracy here in the UK, but there is democracy and there is democracy. An interesting piece of news yesterday was a report from the Constitution Unit at University College London that said the House of Lords is overly full. Indeed, that's not surprising given that David Cameron has taken it upon himself to create 117 Peers of the Realm since he took power, bringing the total to 792. That's 792 men and women who have not been elected yet are taking decisions about our lives on a daily basis. Worse still, of the 117 new peers, a large proportion are former MPs. Yes, that'll be people that we, the electorate, have decided we do not want to represent us, but are still part of the Parliamentary system. To my mind, that stinks of a 'ruling class' completely disregarding the desires of the voters...the people they are supposed to be representing. It's certainly not democracy in my books. David Cameron is the current villain, but it was Tony Blair's bunch who started parliamentary reform, but did it in such a half-hearted, half-arsed way that we're left with a whole house of parliament which is appointed. I don't think it's been that bad for 500 years.

The political system was much in mind yesterday, as we went off to London's last music hall (and best secret venue), Wilton's Music Hall to see Gilbert and Sullivan's Iolanthe. Apart from Wiltons being such a special venue (have a look here), the production was equally special...the cast is entirely male. So there was a whole troop of male fairies. Judging by the audience, it was fairies playing fairies. And very splendid they were too. Sometimes 'camp' is wrong, but here they played it to the full and very fun it was too. In case you're not familiar with G&S (and I can't say I've seen more than a couple in my life), the story mixes true love and politics...involving fairies, Lords, an Arcadian shepherd, a Lord Chancellor and the beautiful Phyllis in a tangled-web of love and betrayal. There is conflict between the Peers and the Fairies and the as a punishment the fairy queen installs the lowly shepherd in the House of Lords, and he makes any decisions he likes because the other peers are charmed to support him. Naturally it's a happy ending and you can read the full plot here. But it's quite a smart political commentary.

So all in all we managed to travel full circle yesterday. Politics in the news, politics on the stage, camping in the Brecon Beacons and camping it up on the stage. Isn't symmetry nice?

NOT Gilbert and Sullivan:

No comment

Today is gallery day, so normally I'd be putting up a picture. The theme this week is 'My Blog' which is a tricky one...but there's nothing like a challenge is there? I'd decided exactly what I wanted to put up - a picture of the person that inspired me to start 'Don't panic RTFM'. She writes for a living, we worked together for a while, and now she lives in the States with hubby and offspring. It was her encouragement that got me going...but I've hunted high and low and just can't find a picture of her. So instead, here's the link to Nappy Valley's blog.

The Boy popped home the other night in between Adventurous training and going off on Silver Duke of Edinburgh Award in Wales. As ever it was an exhausting experience. That's not to say it wasn't fun...it certainly was...how could it not be? He makes what would otherwise be a pretty gentle, quiet, even refined household a vortex of fun, noise and oooomph. He is like a cuckoo in the nest.

Although he was back for just a few short hours, one of his tasks was to start putting back in his room all the things that had been moved out whilst it was decorated. And it was a very, very telling time. Here is a picture of his bathroom cabinet. Can you count the number of face washes and deodorants he had previously hidden around the place.



Is it any wonder that my automatic response to any thing he asks for is 'No' on the basis that I know he doesn't need it. He is in truth more like a magpie....

I once had a letter published in The Times. Somewhere in the dark, dusty cob-web strewn loft the newspaper is waiting to be thrown away. I wish I could remember what it was about, but I can't really. It was quite a palaver. I wrote the thing; no I had crafted it and then faxed (!) it off to them. A while later, I had a call from them to ask whether it had been published elsewhere. When I said no, they asked me not to send it anywhere else. It felt like quite an honour, and I was pleased as punch when I bought a copy of the paper the next day. I showed it to all my friends and colleagues before carefully storing it for posterity. I have a feeling this was pre-Murdoch days, when The Times could still claim to be The Thunderer.

These days it's all a bit different isn't it? Sure there are letters pages, but most interaction with the press is by comment at the end of an article. But instead of carefully nurtured thoughts crafted into well-drafted pieces all we get to see are torrents of abuse and vitriol. A long comment is "This is shit. You are a moron" and that's after it's been moderated. I do feel that whilst the ability to express views and opinions is a basic human right and fundamental to a successful, functioning democracy, the ability to do it instantly in the interweb is just plain destructive. Once the preserve of drunken pub conversations, abusive commentary has become the mainstream. Perhaps it is the case that it is only the aggressive, uneducated, the Saturday night louts that have the time and adrenalin to put their fighting talk on line. It is absolutely the case that hurling abuse at your fellow man and womankind does not make for a happy, harmonious environment just one where the poison of negativity aggressiveness that permeates the very fabric of the society we live in.

The unholy trinity

As I road to work today I could see as the traffic slowed ahead a large red and white mess which was blocking the centre lane. At first I thought it must be a sheep, but given that this is an elevated section of a busy dual carriageway, even I realised this was unlikely. As it turned out, I rode past the dismembered remains of a swan...I've never seen that before. Plenty of road kill, but a swan is something different. I can't think how it happened, but would undoubtedly have left a very big dent on whatever hit it. Such a shame. Still that's one less for the Queen to count.

Cuba is one of those places that I, like many others, would love to visit. I'm a great admirer of what Castro tried to achieve, even if the reality is that he failed. He wouldn't have failed quite so badly if the US had not adopted a policy designed to bring down the communists, and doggedly sticks with it in its complete absurdity. Changing US policy to Cuba is one thing Obama could have done relatively easily, but as with all things has largely ducked the issue, as he has in the Middle East. So it is interesting that the younger Castro is now bringing about reforms that could bring Cuba into the twenty-first century...the promise of limiting leadership terms and probably most importantly to start allowing the buying and selling of property...although recent US and European experience may suggest that keeping a very tight reign on the whole thing is the only way to survive. Let's hope that the gradual reforms are enough to make this a peaceful process before the current leadership expires...history tells us that is unlikely, but then Cuba has done a lot to change history.

I may have mentioned my thoughts on the bankings sector before. Have I? I may even have mentioned my thoughts on the credit rating agencies - Moody's, Standard and Poors and Fitch's. This glorious bunch of criminals are the ones that decide how financially worthy an organisation, a financial product, a sovereign state is. They're also the ones that merrily gave first class ratings to the bundles of mortgages that were never going to be repaid and precipitated the current financial crisis. With their failings laid bare before us, it has staggered me that any one pays any attention to them. It wasn't just incompetence on their part, many would argue that it was a criminal conspiracy. After all, their clients are the banks - the very ones that gain from any changes in credit ratings...after all they charge more in interest to the less credit-worthy.

Last week, Moody's decided to downgrade the Irish Republic...in the face of very positive reports from both the EU and the IMF. And this week they followed this by downgrading further the Irish Banks to 'junk status'. This makes it more expensive for the Irish to raise money...increasing the likelihood of failure. Perverse on all levels, apart from the money markets who must be rubbing their hands with glee. The impact goes beyond the Irish borders,as once more the vultures are circling around Greece, and all the work of shoring up the Euro is being seriously undermined by these cowboys. Portugal could well be back in the firing line. Be sure that if one domino falls, the rest will follow suit...and we will be directly in the line of fire. That will mean crippling interest rates destroying any prospect of economic recovery and millions more unemployed.

And just to underline how these people operate, yesterday they issued a warning about the US, for its lack of a deficit plan, sending shares spiraling down around the globe. Potentially, that could devastate the global economy.

The question is why do we allow these people to have more power than Governments? Why do we give these private corporations which have been demonstrably incompetent, and perhaps criminally corrupt the power to devastate the lives of billions of people? Without question, they should be dissolved and replaced by an international body that doesn't have a conflict of interest, or commercial considerations, to do this job. Before it's too late.

Have a read about it on the BBC here

And here is an advert in memory of another fallen swan

A balanced view

Given the chaos that is The Middle East and Northern Africa at the moment, it may well have escaped your attention that Burkina Faso is also in the midst of some unrest, with soldiers rampaging on the streets. This follows a fevered February when it was the students' turn to protest against the Government. Burkino Faso is one of those countries that has no military, economic or political significance, rating just 161 out of 169 on the UN's list of national development, and most of us don't even know where it is (I had to check). So events there don't reach the front pages of our newspapers. I read about it on France 24 and Al Jazeera, which only goes to prove that need to get your news from one place to get a balanced picture of what's going on in the world. I'm not holding my breath that the UN will come and sort this one out, but the French may be on a roll, so don't be surprised if they send some assistance...although to which side I just don't know.

The Boy is back from Adventurous training in the Lake District, later on, but it'll be far from a return to normal as both he and The Cat are off on Silver Duke of Edinburgh tomorrow morning....six o'clock in the morning to be precise. I'm not sure what it is about the school that they feel the need to inflict such early rising punishment on the parents. So the prospects for tonight are a whirlwind of The Boy talking ten to the dozen (what does that mean?) as he washes and dries his clothes for the next couple of weeks...we'll be exhausted. The Cat's Dad has offered to pick them both up and take them to the school which is an interesting dilema...it seems churlish to say no, even though The Boy (humourously I think) refers to him as El Bastardo in a heavy South American accent. But as I haven't seen The Boy much this holiday I quite fancy the early rise.

Talking of things South American, we went to see Rio this weekend. Inspite of the hype, it's really quite a disappointment. One of the great things about being a parent is being able to see those films that you would be seen dead at as a teenager, but as the years advance you know would be fun to watch, so it's a double disappointment when the film is not up to standard. We had to kidnap the Muffins to give us reason to go. Anyway, the two lead human characters are hopeless...completely dorky which is fine when they save the day at the end of the film, but they were just as dorky at the end as they were at the beginning. I can't even say the animal/bird characterisation was much better, and the 'Angry Birds' placement added nothing to the film. So save your money on that one.

On a happy note at the ned, Nigeria appears to have held reasonably free and fair elections, and it looks like the incumbent will win. His name is Goodluck Jonathan. So in the hope that some degree of democracy has been achieved in Nigeria, goodluck Jonathan.

History is bunk

It's depressing to see The World's Oldest Man has died. The thing is, he seems to die every month. As does The World's Oldest Woman. I never read beyond the headline, but it does seem strange to me that they keep on popping off like that. It's a title I hope I never get to inherit. I'm not even sure how you apply for it, perhaps it's just an honourary thing.

It's been an odd week without The Boy. The house is a lot quieter, so we're all looking forward to him coming back to us from his week away doing 'Adventurous Training'. I don't normally keep in touch with him whilst he's away, but on this occasion we've swapped a few texts, although no doubt not as many as he's swapped with his girlfriend, and in any case, they dried up altogether on Thursday...no doubt because of poor mobile reception in the Lake District where he's been yomping up hills and down valleys. Evidently its 'bloody freezing' and so wet that they had to do the rock climbing indoors. That must have been a very big building. It should help him in his preparations for Silver Duke of Edinburgh Award, and it won't do any harm in his CCF progression - evidently he's best in his year, so maybe he'll earn a new stripe soon.

Hopefully he will be pleased to see us; I'm sure he'll be pleased to see his room which has been painted, and fitted with new wardrobes, shelves, desk and carpet. It looks quite splendid....even if the picture is pretty rubbish.



Doing The Boy's room has meant that we;ve been going through (yet another) cycle of chucking stuff away. It's supposed to be therapeutic, but after all the efforts to create some breathing space in Brighton it's beginning to feel that isn't the case.

At the same time, I've been clearing out the office. We've been running for fifteen years, and almost a quarter of the space was being taken up with old press coverage. It was an impressive pile of stuff, and the product of many hours, days, weeks, months, years of effort. But at the end of the day was it ever going to be looked at again? No it wasn't. So it had to go. And it was hard. I was ruthless...not looking at what was going, simply chucking it out. But it's provoked a thought train which may yet be a bit of a pandora's box. If I'd been an architect, the fruit of my labours would be there for all to see for years and years. A monument to my skill. I'd have left a mark. The same must be true for many others. It is certainly what drove (obsessed) Tony Blair in his final months...his legacy. In the same way, actors and actresses leave a fantastic legacy if they're on film or TV...for ever alive for people to see and watch.

I guess then, that unless I change careers, this blog will be my legacy. I'd better sharpen up my act then!

Herbie rides again

I once had a scheme which involved buying train tickets just before the prices went up, so that I could profit from the difference. It never made me a fortune. I had a similar scheme for stamps. I did make a small fortune - about twenty four pence. I count that a success. Last week, I mentioned that I'd had deodorant problems...the spray stopped spraying leaving me a sweaty undeodorised man. Not good on the tube. The manufacturer didn't help when I contacted them, but those lovely people at Boots sent me a giftcard for my troubles. And normally that would be it. All done. All sorted. But in a moment of deodorant rage yesterday I sent an e-mail to the CEO, Herbie. Getting a phone call from him half an hour later caught me only slightly off guard. He's on the case, and has promised me a package next week. I assume it won't be ticking. I'll be back using Soho Fish Dry Deodorant. And I'll be in profit again. At this rate, I'll be in The Times Rich List before you know it. I promise not to forget you all my plantation slaves.

Someone else who is rich is Arianna Huffington. She was rich before she sold the Huffington Post for £315 million. Actually she probably got dollars, but is certainly a good deal richer than she was before. And good luck to her. Except, she started off by telling everyone she was setting up a site as an alternative to right-wing leaning networks. So bloggers have contributed quality content to establish it as a leading global publishing platform that makes $30 million a year. And that would probably have been fine, except she decided to sell to one of those networks. So the blogging contributors have started a class action to get their share of the winnings - claiming they've been treated like plantation slaves. My view is that this isn't the first time that someone has made a fortune of the backs of other people's sweated labour and it won't be the last. So she's probably morally bankrupt, but otherwise doing nothing wrong. Let's face it there are a lot of morally bankrupt people around these days. The bloggers themselves have gained a lot of kudos by contributing...but I guess that doesn't help pay the bills. If I was AOL though, I'd begin to wonder about the sustainability of a model that relies on free contributions to generate editorial.

Someone else who must get paid well is Daisy Waugh who writes a piece in The Sunday Times Magazine every week. I don't read it often, but I did this weekend. It was something about not being able to organise a piss up in a brewery, or at least a dinner party at home. It was an OK piece nothing special...and certainly nothing better than I get to read here in the blogosphere. The Sunday magazines are littered with columns like hers. So it got me wondering why she gets paid and others don't. Why doesn't The Sunday Times simply adopt the Huffington model? They'd get better copy wouldn't they. Of course, poor old Daisy would be out of a job and would have to sell her children into plantation slavery. But it's a tough world isn't it?

I've a friend who's been a very active Facebooker, but has come to realise that 140 characters is not enough, so has asked for some tips on starting a blog. I haven't got a clue. I just jumped in and have been swimming ever since...so if you've got any tips for her they would be muchly appreciated. But I'm not paying you for them.

The BBC adopted a rather arrogant tone yesterday when it asked, 'Can ordinary people make good interviewers?' Implying to my narrow chip on the shoulder mind that they regard themselves as something extra-ordinary. I'm generally a great supporter of the Beeb, but here I think we have a reporter getting out of line. They should start reading some blogs and realise that just because you choose to do something as a profession doesn't make you any better than people who do the same thing but for fun. professional arrogance should be left to the bankers and plantation owners.

PS does anyone know what's happened to the wonderful Tom Foolery?

Tomorrow never comes

So celebrations all round in the Nota Bene household.

On top of The Cat's success in the acting world, The Boy is also top of his year in the CCF. My joy is only tempered by the encouragement it gives him in things military. But that doesn't stop me being immensely proud of him, and The Cat.

In addition, The Seagulls (that's Brighton and Hove Albion) have won automatic promotion to The Championship...they're sixteen points clear, there's still loads of matches to play, but they have enough points to see them through even if they lose the rest of the games this season...which they won't. I should point out I'm not a football fan, but I'm cockahoop nonetheless. And hopefully we'll go and watch hem in their new stadium next year. Just for the experience.

Topping off the the list of wey hey heys, is the French victory in the Ivory Coast. Not that I support one side or the other there. It's just good to see the French break their duck and win a war.

Tara's gallery theme this week is tomorrow...which is one of those clever ones that's intensely irritating because it makes you think a bit. For the first time in a while, I actually took some photos for the gallery. They're not great. In fact they're pretty horrible really. So much that The Cat and The Cat's Mother didn't want to look at them. Using my phone I took pictures of us and then used some software to show what we will look like tomorrow. Well not tomorrow itself, but a tomorrow some way down the road. It's a mighty depressing line up of old croaks we have here.






Thank heavens tomorrow never comes

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...