Oh God!

I nearly died when I read that in a poll by the Metro newspaper, 70% of Londoners had voted Leona Lewis the most influential Londoner of the last century. WTF? Two days later I still haven't got over it. I know the Metro is published by the same people as the Daily Mail, but that doesn't excuse it does it? The poll was to celebrate international women's day. All I can say to all those 10,000 loyal Leona Lewis fans is..."You shot yourself in the foot there didn't you?". Maggie Thatcher came a distant second with 5%. I should point out it was about being 'influential' rather than good or bad so I guess she should be right up there...her influence is still shaping our lives and will for some considerable time into the future.

I'm not a religious man, although I have been known to head to the church on Christmas Eve and when I was young I was an occasional alter boy (I struggled to get up for the early morning service). In general I'm of the opinion that organised religion is at the root of all evil, but that doesn't mean I don't think God is a good thing.

I'm not fussed which brand of religion it is when I head to the church doors, just so long as there's a rousing sermon and a good sing song. I'm sure that God by whatever name would agree. But last night we went to a debate and discussion about the King James Bible. It's four hundred years old you know. Well you would if you listened to Radio 4. I don't but I guess The Cat's Mother does. Or at least knows someone that does. Q radio for me.


Anyway, the importance of the KJB (as we in the know say) is that it, alongside Shakespeare, invented the very words we speak and write. So in a sense this blog is the bastard offspring of a very worthy work.

Anyway, it amused me that it was chaired by someone who almost certainly wasn't Christian. I may be wrong and I apologise if I am. There were were two academics. One Canadian working in America, and one who was at least 50% American but a professor in Oxford. I'm not sure why we couldn't have found an English Don for this. It is our language after all, although those compute companies keep making me to download En(US) versions. There was a playwright. And a vicar.

So the Canadian American, knowing that the event was sponsored by the RSC, put on a performance and a half. Completely unintelligible. But it was a performance worthy of any Shakespearean stage. The 50/50 Prof explained the basics to the idiots in the audience. That helped me a lot. The playwright must have said something of note, but I can't remember what. And the Rev (actually he was a Cannon Dr or a Doctor Cannon...no one seemed sure and is deputy head honcho at St Paul's) noted he didn't much care for it, preferring the William Tyndale version, which was mainly burnt in St Paul's Cathedral, and which he read under the duvet with a torch. He also looked as though he was going to top himself if he had to listen to anymore of the Canadian's rantings.

What I did learn is that it was mostly writing by committee - how devastating that our finest text was written by a bunch of bureaucrats, and all the best bits were actually filched from earlier versions. Most importantly, the French are at fault yet again. It was they that came up with the idea of numbered chapters and verses so now any extremist can take a line or two out of context, wave it around and then claim to be quoting God's word. As I said organised religion is the root of all evil. Or may be it's the French.



Stationers Hall...the scene of last night's event and also where the KJB was written. At least in part.

One word - Tara's gallery

It's Wednesday and Tara's been setting a new photo challenge. For this week, the theme is one word. And lo this is the word. It's scary.

Easy going man

I am known amongst my friends as a kind generous, easy going magnanimous man. And indeed they are perceptive, clever people who understand the real me. The me that can sometimes be hidden, shrouded in a dark thick cloak of irritation, vindictiveness and venom.

That is why, ladies and gentlemen, I must remind you all that today is Shrove Tuesday. Pancake Day. So we all deserve pancakes. Once upon a time, The Boy and I always had pancakes on pancake day. Sprinkled with lemon and sugar, having been carefully made on our electric Pancake Maker. I'd had the Pancake Maker a long time, bought from a catalogue of kitchen gadgets. Unlike other kitchen gadgets like the sandwich maker, the blender, the fizzy drink maker, it didn't linger forgotten and unloved in the back of a cupboard. Well, actually it did, but came out once a year. Shrove Tuesday. That is until September 2009. I remember that sunny month well. It was the month when The Cat's Mother decreed we had so much shit in the Brighton flat that a skip should be summoned and said shit should be deposited in it. Whilst I defended my corner well, eventually I was ground down, and The Pancake Maker was discarded. Of all the things that were abandoned to the ravages of the rubbish tip, it was The Pancake Maker that has continued to irk. Nearly two years later. I loved that pancake maker. You just dipped it's smooth dome-shaped heated surface in a bowl of pancake mix to get perfect pancakes. Unbeatable. And The Cat's Mother made me throw it away. I loved that Pancake Maker. Irreplaceable. (I know because I've looked on e-bay and have scoured the world with the great God Google).

In a 'Where's Wally?' kind of a way, here is a picture and somewhere in there is The Pancake Maker. Everything in our kitchen had been put in the games room whilst the kitchen itself was modernised; not everything returned:



This is the games room now - as you can see there's a telephone and a kettle but no Pancake Maker. The Cat's Mother made me throw it away.



We'd better get pancakes tonight. Or else. Pancake maker or not.

Many people are quite vindictive about Phil Collins. I don't know why; I quite like him. I know he ruined Genesis and wrote some pretty awful rubbish as well as the good stuff. But overall I like him. Even if he dumped his wife by fax. Well we've all made mistakes haven't we? I bought a Phil Collins album at Christmas. And very good it is too. Although I have only listened to it once. But I like the man and I like his music. So it's sad that he's announced he's not going to make any more music, saying in FHM magazine "I don’t think anyone’s going to miss me. I’m much happier just to write myself out of the script entirely.”

He thinks everyone hates him, “I know that when I did interviews it came across like I could do everything, but I’ve never actually felt like that. I went through all my own VHS stuff recently and found mountains of old interviews with me and it was very, very hard to watch. I barely recognised the person I saw from that time. I’m a very different person now. I saw some of this show of mine from 1985 and I was on-stage and I never stopped running, never stopped talking.”

It is of course everyone else's fault: “The fact that people got so sick of me wasn’t really my fault. Yes there was a lot of me to dish out – there was me, me and Earth, Wind & Fire’s Phil Bailey, me and Genesis, me and that movie I was in, Buster – there was a lot of stuff. But I only made those records once.”

It was success that brought him down: “Around the time that the music was being played so incessantly people wanted to strangle me. It’s hardly surprising that people grew to hate me. I’m sorry that it was all so successful. I honestly didn’t mean it to happen like that!”

It's a shame because one of the very first gigs I went to was to see Phil Collins. Well not him per se. Brand X. Brand X made fantastic music. I still listen to the albums regularly and would whole-heartedly recommend you find an album and listen to it. Especially topical seems Moroccan Roll.

C'mon Phil don't go. Let's have some more Brand X. But no more Buster.

Revolution!

I was sad to see that Alberto Granado had passed away. I didn't know him personally but he was a renowned doctor. Early in his career he worked at Cabo Blanco leprosarium in Maiquetía, and in 1961 became professor of biochemistry at the School of Medicine of the University of Havana. Later that year, he was one of the founders of the Institute for Basic and Pre-Clinical Sciences. In 1962, he founded the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Santiago serving as senior professor there. Between 1986 and 1990, he took part in the creation of the Cuban Genetics Society and was appointed its president. He was without doubt responsible for saving many lives, and inspiring others. What a great man.

As the newspapers report, though, he was best known as Che Guevara's travelling companion during the famous Motorcycle journey that turned Che into a revolutionary. The film of this journey, The Motorcycle Diaries was truly inspirational some thirty years after the event. The Boy enjoyed it immensely, and we've watched it dozens of times. What I'm hoping The Boy has taken from it is the value of travel and seeing how the world really is. With Guavera, it was the extremes of wealth and poverty of freedom and virtual enslavement that drove him, and I hope The Boy sees that whilst difference is fundamental to making the world go round, extremes of any sort are damaging and dangerous.



It's disappointing to see William Hague has heaped humiliation on Britain's finest by sending them into turbulent Libya in the hope they could find rebel leaders to make contact with. The situation is very 'fluid', the outcome very uncertain, and the thought of a group of eight Brits knocking on doors (OK, I'm sure they weren't quite doing that) asking for rebel leaders does seem ridiculous. The Libyans have said it, and it is only common sense, that for this revolt to succeed it must do so without foreign interference which will taint and undermine it. UK politicians may be nervous about the outcome, but really at this stage sending anyone there is a primary school mistake. Reputations and jobs have already been lost here in the UK over the Libyan affair, but muddying the waters will only make things worse.

First Friday Photos

Well, I'm sitting here a bit glum having failed to get The Boy tickets for V Festival...we went camping there three years ago, and it was a ball, even if the state of the toilets remains ingrained in my memory even now. This was going to be just for the Saturday, but it just didn't matter how many times I clicked, I just couldn't get them. Frustratingly, the site told me it had sold out as I was entering my card details. Hummmmmph.

Any way its TGIF, so a few photos from the last month to put up. I'm afraid there's a bit of a snow and mountain theme...



That cloud is coming off the Matterhorn and seems to be holding the sun



Beach huts in Brighton



Southwark Tube station...I waited ages for the couple to come into shot



Streetperformers in the rush hour in Southwark



Just us



Three-quarters of The Muffins



Behind the words...the Matterhorn



Very nearly, almost a real bird in the sky



The Cats Mother collects hares and got very excited to see this cloud



Evening time...the Matterhorn looks magnificent

Getting it all in proportion

Only Waitrose could possibly conceive that Parmesan cheese is one of life's essentials. Much as I like it, I don't think I would be traumatised without it. It all depends on what side of the tracks you're from I guess.

The Cat's Mother and I went to see Diva, which was a special showing at the ENO's Coliseum this week. It's a film I love and could watch time and time again. The Cat's Mother, who hadn't seen it before merely commented that it was very much a French film of its time. She may have been one of the ones laughing inappropriately in the wrong places.



Proportionality is a big thing in the house at the moment. Of course an adult view of what is proportionate is different to a teenager's, and generally based on years of valuable experience. So it's more likely to be right. But that doesn't mean that I've forgotten the emotions of thirty odd years ago. Anyway, it's not made for an easy week, but what do I know, I'm just a Dad.

On the subject of proportionality, I see we have a referendum to decide the best way of electing our corrupt representatives to the House of Inequity. Now voting is something I do know a little bit about. I spent three years studying it at one of the universities that is now planning to charge anyone who plans to follow my footsteps £9000 for the privilege - if you look at the end results you may not feel that is good value for money. Anyway the nay sayers have always rejected any change on the basis that it leads to ineffective coalition governments. Right at the moment they don't have much of an argument there do they? I seem to remember that Italy had achieved something like 40 different governments since the second world war by the 1980's which seems to re-inforce the NO argument (they use a form of proportional voting). But, remarkably they had very consistent policies throughout the period, and at one stage a larger economy by value than the UK. I'm so overwhelmed by Mr Berulsconi, I can't quite see policies for bunga bunga parties, but they're still not doing too badly. Anyway, the main thrust of the No campaign is that the cost of running an election will be such that we won't be able to give our soldiers bullet proof jackets. Wasn't that the problem under Blair and Brown?

So I can see no reason not to vote yes. AV is far from being perfect, and I think would have made little difference to the ultimate result in the last election, and there are many far better (albeit more complicated) systems, but it is fairer and does give a value to each and every vote. The current system means that the result is actually decided by just a few tens of thousands of votes. We need a much wider ranging reform of politics, including the democratisation of the House of Lords, but in the meantime I'll take what I can get.

So in this referendum I shall put my one non-transferable vote into the yes box, whilst recognising that ultimately we get the politicians we deserve. We must be a terrible bunch. Hopefully when The Boy is old enough to vote, he'll see the benefit of getting everything in proportion.

Burning bridges

I may have mentioned there was a big change coming, but it's been a bit tricky getting to. A few innocent words have provoked a fever of speculation. Naturally, what's important to me may mean nothing to you.

Of course, I'm not alone in that. Our revered Spin Doctor in Chief, David Cameron, has been hinting about intervention in Libya, or possibly unilaterally declaring a no fly zone, forgetting that to do that you have to take out the ground radar and surface to air missiles first. Hmmmm. That's not good is it? Fortunately the Arab League has told everyone to keep their noses and guns out. This is an Arab affair and nobody else's business. And so it is. That hasn't stopped our fevered media gunning for an all out conflict to throw out yet another despot. Well it's worked so well in Iraq hasn't it?

Gadaffi falls into the category of 'bad dictator' so why we've been doing business with him I don't know. Anyone remember Tony Blair's ethical foreign policy. Some may say you need a moral compass before you can have an ethical policy of any sort. I hope the rebels win, and Gadaffi goes, but it is indeed a Libyan affair and any interference by the UK, or indeed other former colonial power will only make matters worse on a broader canvas. I'm using Twitter to keep up with the latest goings on from the ground, but it's any body's guess at this stage at the outcome. A couple of weeks ago Libya ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT CHANGE ITS LEADERSHIP. So who knows.

This is our cottage in Buckhurst Hill.



We bought it without too much thought. It was near the school The Boy was moving to at the age of 11. In fact that was the only criteria. It was the only property we looked at one weekend. It then took nigh on six months to complete, which meant our target of moving in before he changed school was missed. The poor lad had to commute first from Borough High St (London Bridge) and then Finsbury Park to Woodford Green for a month. But in we moved. Then I realised we had no furniture (the previous place had been rented out furnished). So for another six weeks we sat on the floor.

The first thing that had to change was the dark blue that oppressed the living room. We put down lovely wood, and on the advice of a friend who writes for Wallpaper magazine, left the York Stone fireplace. I hated it, but freely admit to being a fashion victim. Anyway, then it looked like this:



It had a lovely garden if you don't like gardening. We had some fabulous barbecues in it. Indeed, the summer of 2008 must have been a good one because we seemed to eat outside every night.



We did three more things. We removed the artex from the walls of the stairway and upper hall, put down oatmeal (that's beige to you and me) carpets and replaced the back door with a stable-style door. It was complete just as The Boy was getting bigger than me, and frankly it was getting a bit cramped for us both. But we loved it.

Then last year, we effectively abandoned it. We moved to Loughton to share a home with The Cat's Mother and The Cat. Our cottage was left and almost forgotten, but was always somewhere for us to retreat to if it all went wrong.

Well it hasn't all gone wrong, and at the turn of the year we decided to rent it out rather than let it go to rack and ruin. So we've had a few traumatic weeks of emptying it. Do you know how difficult it is to give away stuff like furniture you don't want? Nigh on impossible. But just before we went on holiday it was empty and ready for new tenants. I hope they love it as much as we did. For us there's no going back.

Lies, damn lies and statistics

Back in the real world, we bumped into Liam Gallagher last night...almost literally as he was chased into a pub by the paparazzi. To be honest, I initially thought it was Ronnie Wood, but was confused by how much bigger he looked in real life...fortunately a picture in the Metro this morning put me straight. The Cat's Mother is disappointed I failed to correctly identify him at the time as he's on her list of five. She says she would have screamed. I said he might have screamed.

I'm not that good with celebrity spotting...it was The Boy that saw Jeremy Clarkson on holiday, and I completely missed David Bradley who plays Filch in Harry Potter when we arrived back at Stansted Airport. The likelihood of me ever meeting my list of five (which consists entirely of Monica Bellucci) seems ever more remote.

Kellogsville wrote recently about equality, and why women are paid less than men. And how topical is that, given that the European Court has announced the insurance industry can no longer differentiate (discriminate?) between men and women. Yippee because my car and bike insurance will be cheaper. Boohoo because my annual pension will be smaller. Yippee because The Boy will not have to pay an outrageous amount more than The Cat for his first car insurance.

So is this really the march of equality taking a big leap forwards? No, I don't think so. You can prove statistically that women have fewer accidents than men so logically should pay less. You can prove statistically that women live longer than men, so the annual payment out of their pension pot should be smaller. Political correctness has triumphed over the laws of biology. That's not really very clever or impressive is it?

Men and women are different. That doesn't mean they are not equal, in the sense of one man/woman one vote, and equal pay for equal work, but you cannot deny the basic differences. There are some things that are different...and legislation should recognise that. Or the judiciary should keep its nose out all together. I've never understood why men retire later than women when they die younger...except of course I do - historically men were the breadwinners and had to provide for their family. It's not like that now. I see there is some talk of forcing companies to have equal representation of men and women on their management board. It's not something I agree with, in the same way I don't agree with any form of positive discrimination....because effectively it discriminates against the people who are not part of the positive discrimination...and more importantly it doesn't deal with the underlying causes...just the symptoms.

I work in an industry that is dominated by women, yet women still tend to earn less than men. That suggests to me, at least, that discrimination is based on more than historical prejudice.

So what's needed is a root and branch look at where there is unreasonable discrimination, and that should be put right. It's difficult to summarise such a complex topic in so few lines, but I hope that as The Cat and The Boy grow up into the commercial world they are given an equal chance to achieve what they want. And they both pay a reasonable sum for their car insurance.

True Grit

Whilst standing in passport control at Stansted Airport, The Boy and I were musing over the last time we traveled back there from Germany. The shuttle monorail hadn't been working properly and in consequence an enormous number of people had accumulated on the platform. One couple who were near the back decided to push to the front. We had noticed them previously on the aeroplane because they had paid for two extra seats to put their luggage on. When they got to the front of the platform, they exclaimed they couldn't get on. At which point I loudly started suggesting to them that was no surprise as we were unlikely to be standing on the platform for fun. I am known to speak my mind in such situations. Back at Stansted and in the passport queue, The Boy and I had finished our little muse, when a woman next to us said, "I wish there were more people like you".

At the cinema (Cineworld in Enfield if you must) last night, I was assigned the job of getting the refreshments. We like coffee. But as with every time we've been to the pictures in the last year there was a coffee problem. In this instance they had run out of milk. I explained my frustration to the person who wasn't serving the coffee. He shrugged his shoulders. So the manager was summoned. I explained that we simply wanted coffee, and that whenever we went to this cinema it wasn't available. The manager dispatched someone to find milk. And lo and behold milk was acquired. I believe it was the projectionist's personal supply...at least it came from the projection room. There may be bigger battles to fight, but I have to say that coffee did taste good.

On the screen itself, the film was excellent. I'm somewhat confused that Hailee Steinfeld was nominated as Best Supporting Actress. After all the film was her story and she had the most lines. I guess she just doesn't have the same fame as Matt Damon and Jeff Bridges. A good film. A very good film indeed. Very stylised. But excellent entertainment. But I'd never have picked it as an Oscar winner (that's easy to say this morning), and I'm glad Colin Firth got his just rewards. If only Geoffrey Rush had.

I'm a little confused by Libya, and outraged by The Bastard Blair on the front page of The Times saying he had been right to bring Gadaffi 'back into the fold'. But then I am outraged every time TBB takes a breath. There are no doubt some Arab leaders who privately feel that however bad Gadaffi is, they would prefer him to stay, as his departure will show that no despotic leader is safe. He is certainly showing True Grit in hanging on in there.

And I'm interested to note some 29,000 Chinese have been evacuated. That's a lot of influence.

Room 101

For our trip to Zermatt, we were allocated rooms 206, 107 and 101. It is with a certain sense of irony, that The Cat's Mother and I didn't get Room 101. We are the ones who had our Room 101 moments.

We've been watching Top Gear for as long as I can remember, of course we have - it's a boy's favourite. The Cat's Mother is a recent fan...not so much of the weekly show, but of the 'Specials' - driving across South America, driving to the North Pole, driving to the Holy Land. A regular quote, erm quoted here, is 'Poo is coming out' when something goes wrong. As we all know this was Jeremy Clarkson when driving the Road of Death. Many people object to Mr Clarkson for his outrageous views and outspoken-ness. He can be really quite offensive. But I've always felt this was his TV personality, and the real Mr Clarkson was a different beast. My chance to find out was at a bar half way up the slopes where we happened to bump into the man. Much to the embarrassment of the Teens, I went up and said hello, "Excuse me Mr Clarkson, would it be very rude to ask to have a picture taken with you?". "To be honest I've got the worst migraine I've had for years and I'd rather not", he said. "I hope you've got something for it" "I've just taken two pills and vommed them up", he replied. So we left him in peace. Clearly he was suffering his own private Room 101.

The Cat's Mother's Room 101 is simply skiing. She takes no pleasure from it at all. In fact it strikes terror into her, so on her second skiing trip, which this was, she hasn't made it out of the nursery. Simple terror that she will slide down the mountain and nothing will stop her. Completely irrational, but that's what makes it her Room 101.

Mine is more rational. It is just getting communications from home.
And this holiday was the worst ever:
Saturday - new tenants needing a key which they hadn't been supplied with
Sunday - other tenants' boiler going wrong
Monday - letting agent wanting to renegotiate a tenancy
Tuesday - The French Girl off sick, leaving the office empty
Wednesday - other tenants "Hi hope you're having a good holiday. I don't want to disturb you, but...."
Thursday - new tenants at 8 o'clock in the evening: "Hope you're enjoying Switzerland. Can we install Sky?"

So yes, for my holiday, I got Friday free from interruption.

Getting those texts were my Room 101.

Apart from that, the holiday was fantastic. Zermatt is great, the journey there was fab, and we all had a wonderful time. And I managed to keep an eye on my favourite hobby...middle-eastern chaos.

All come together

It's time for a slight pause. A little leave of absence. Because it is.....
.....SKIING time!

Instead of The Cat's Mother's impeccable organisational skills, the whole shambles has been put in my hands. So first The Boy chose the destination...Zermatt...on the basis he'd been there before and loved it. Then around Christmas time we went on the interweb to find a hotel...not surprisingly most places were booked, but we found one. The Hotel Bristol. It turns out to be directly opposite a noisy bar we have just discovered. But I think we're at the back of the hotel...no Matterhorn view, but blissful silence. Then some weeks later we thought it would be a good idea to find some way of getting there. Normally you fly to Zurich and take a 3 hour train journey. The flights were full. Dantes Hell (otherwise known as Geneva) beckoned until a little angel found us a flight to a place called Sion. As it turns out this is the best route, and the train journey is just an hour. Plus we get to fly at civilised times. Then we had to book ski lessons. For half term week. There are 8 of us with varying degrees of expertise including two little children. We thought we would be teaching ourselves, until the magic wand was waved again, and a highly rated school could take us, pretty much at the times we want. Ski hire is booked, the taxis are booked. We're ready for the off. So in traditional fashion, all has perfectly come together at the last minute. That's not to say it hasn't been stressful for The Cat's Mother. It has. But we're still talking. And not even just.

At home, there's been something else I've been sorting out. A big step, and it should all come together tomorrow. But it's a big step, and I daren't say, just in case. I shall turn my mobile off so I won't know until I get back.

Meanwhile I will be keeping an eye of the middle east. It looks as if it's not going to settle down, and we could be seeing a fundamental shift in the region. Bahrain is getting violent, but the government there is quite harsh. It could turn into a Sunni vs Shia fight. And that has pretty significant implications. Rioting in Libya? Yes, but rumour has it that Gaddaffi will join in the protests against the government...the man's a genius! And else where too protests and demands for change. It will make a fascinating study...five years from here.

And that's it. Have fun. Think of me. Send me a postcard. I'll be thinking of you all.



Oh yes, just before I go...I was sent this. Seems like a really good idea to me, so unusually I'm just pasting it up...please pass it on:

"I know this may appear slightly irrelevant to your blog but I was wondering if your readers might be interested in car donation as a way of getting rid of old cars quickly, simply and environmentally. I know that car disposal is not an obvious problem for parents but I suspect it’s wider than would be expected.

I'm emailing from a UK company called Giveacar (http://www.giveacar.co.uk), a not-for-profit organisation which organises the collection and recycling of unwanted cars, with the proceeds of each vehicle going to charity.

We work with over 250 charities and have raised over £200,000 in the past year through car donation, and work with scrapyards and salvage operators to ensure cars are sold for their maximum value – thus providing the maximum donation to charity.

We are an environmentally friendly operation, recommended by Keep Britain Tidy and recently covered by the Ecologist: http://www.theecologist.org/green_green_living/out_and_about/687787/recycle_your_car_dont_scrap_it.html

We want to make sure that as many people as possible are aware of the environmental benefits of car donation, and would really appreciate your help!"

I love Maggie Thatcher

OK, OK, OK I'm only joking. I know I shouldn't joke about these things. It's Meryl Streep I've got a soft spot for. So it was a shame that yesterday whilst they were filming The Iron Lady, Meryl wasn't actually there. Meryl as Thatcher has been plastered all over the national press this week, so I hope you know what I'm talking about. This was a scene about her younger life in the grocery shop in Grantham. It was all very exciting, and as far as I can work out it went on all night....they were still clearing up as I arrived for work this morning. I didn't get to speak to the Lady herself, but I got a few of the girls to pose for me, and they were very obliging as they were just about to skip down the street. Why Bermondsey St was chosen to represent Grantham I'll never know. A shop that's been deserted for as long as I remember was transformed over the last few days into a very passable grocers. Maggie was sweeping up outside. Or was it Maggie's mum?















We seem stuck in a late 1940's warp, as that was the theme of Secret Cinema...but I can say no more

As for the Iron Lady herself, history will be her judge. Even now, the 'Maggie experience' seems too fresh in people's minds. To my mind, she succeeded in dragging Britain into the modern world able to compete as an economic force again. But at a terrible social cost. Many would argue, that's exactly what Stalin did, but I think comparisons like that may be a little harsh. Her legacy is certainly the selfish exploitative capitalism that we see operating today (back to those bankers again) and a raft of the population who have such a pathological hatred of the Conservatives that they will never vote Tory and have complete contempt for anything Conservative - regardless of what policies they pursue.

Together?

Over night, I had a message from Facebook to say that someone had tried to access my account from an unusual location...so I had visions of the account having been hacked, my friends deleted, and all sorts of unusual past times added. The Boy calls it Frape. Isn't it strange how the young have used a very emotive term for an online activity. His crowd seem to do it all the time and think it's very funny. To prove that I am who I claim to be, I had to identify friends from 'tags' in their or other people's photos. I'm not sure why, but Facebook seemed to choose the most difficult, small photos and not my closest friends. Damn it was hard. I must wear my glasses. I got through, but could just as easily have been locked out. No more on line togetherness for me.

I had to I've skipped the last couple of galleries from Tara - just sometimes, I've got nothing to contribute. But this week, I thought I would join in the scrum (well it's Six Nations time) with the theme being togetherness. Here's the photo:



Technically its a pants photo, but as ever it's what it says that counts. So here's The Boy with a big grin, and The Cat looking on indulgently. It totally sums up their sibling-like relationship which has made an enormous leap from their original friendship. The Boy is always quite a handful...he bounces around like Tigger...and has a vibrant energy. The Cat is more considered, thoughtful. They both have a lot to put up with. They joke together, they squabble together, they play together. I'm glad they're together.

The Gallery is here.

Of course I could have chosen this one....the sandwich is a regular occurence...and always just as manic

Over inflated

The Boy is completely deflated, just a couple of weeks after fighting off yet another cold,he's gone down again. Not enough exercise I hear you cry! Yes indeed, he should be forced out into the cold to stretch a few muscles and build himself up again. After all, a young man consigned to his bed with a snotty nose is not a happy lad. So it's a good job, we're off to the slopes of Switzerland on Saturday. If that tingling is anything to go by, I may well be sneezing for the duration. I'm taking pre-emptive Lemsip and whisky.

We went off to see Brighton Rock in Brighton on Sunday. And two hours of unadulterated menace it was too. A very effective update of the original, although as a 'local' I couldn't help be disappointed that most of it was filmed in Eastbourne...but then many people do go to die there anyway. On the way home, the weather was suitably blustery and wet, so we went via the arches in Madeira Drive to see where the first slashing takes place. It was a rounded experience.



And in line with my need for a full experience, we're off to 'Secret Cinema' again. Don't know what they're showing, or where, but it's an exciting prospect. In a nod to the 'late 40's' clues I'm wearing a hat. I assume they mean the 1940's rather than a reference to my age.

And in a few weeks time we're seeing Diva at the ENO, with an operatic performance before hand. The flea pit was never like this.



I've been hauled over the coals for some of my Egyptian commentary, so just to set the record straight. I'm sure they will sort out their own affairs by themselves. Egypt is a big, proud nation with an established political system that is going through massive change. But once that change has happened, as a pivotal nation in the Middle East, foreign countries will seek influence, whether we like it or not. It would be impossible to sum up the situation in a few short lines, so just think of this as me skimming the surface like a stone, before sinking into oblivion!

And now you've got me going, here's a thought about inflation and interest rates. As I studied politics and economics at Uni, I think I'm not entirely unqualified to stick my oar in. Or at least raise a few questions. But I'm happy for anyone to put me in my little box. Inflation is up again, and there's much talk of raising interest rates. A traditional cure for roaring inflation. But I've always argued that there is more than one type of inflation. There's the sort that comes from a run away economy and is driven by rising consumer demand. And then there is another type. The type caused by rising demand elsewhere, pushing commodity prices up here. And that is what we are seeing at the moment, fuelled by the monopoly money printing that the Bank of England indulged in last year. Here in Blighty demand is pretty low, confidence is pretty low. As an example, petrol and diesel prices are sky-high...yet UK consumption is way down. We're avoiding driving because we can't afford it. And if you increase interest rates, the only impact will be to drive down demand, crush confidence and reduce economic activity further. The solution would be to reduce interest rates. Except we can't. So just leave well alone. err I think.