Well connected

I used to cycle to the office twice, sometimes even three times a week. A round trip of around 32 miles, but for some reason, the extra two miles added by moving to Loughton made the journey just too exhausting. It may have been the two enormous hills that were added to the route. Or perhaps I didn't have the incentive any more. So at best now, I do it once a week...splitting the journey so that I cycle in one day and cycle back he next - in between I catch the tube.

On my route, which takes me alongside the London canals for most of the way, (I still can't believe you can get to the middle of London without seeing a high rise office block or getting squashed by a big red bus) I go past what was the old Matchbox toy cars factory. Last year they knocked it down, and this year they're putting up a residential development. Developers like to give their creations names which conjure up an image which relates to the locality, or the history of the place. So it's pretty logical to call this Matchbox Wharf. But, who would want to live in a Matchbox reasoned the developers. We'll call it something else. They could have called it Lesney Wharf after the manufacturer, but no, we'll call it Matchmaker Wharf they decided. Matchmaker! Presumably this means this is a place where singletons can buy a flat and then get it together with their next door neighbour. Or if they're already married, perhaps they can shag the housekeeper a la Schwarzenegger. Or perhaps it implies that once upon a time matches were made here. They weren't. So at the whim of some two-bit developer (Telford Homes....do look at their website), the entire historical context of the area has been given the 1984 treatment. A piece of British industrial history just whitewashed for the sake of a piece of marketing splurge. That's a shame. I always thought history was important.

And talking of important just how important do you think you are? On my desk is a book a bout the most powerful people in my industry (I'm not mentioned), and I guess most people have heard of the Times Rich list. And now Rupert Murdoch's lot have started The Social List. Not the list of the people who are movers and shakers in 'social circles', but the most important and influential users of social media. Any one can put their hat in the ring and see where they pop up. I did it and I'm in at 2121. Which is a nice number. But utterly meaningless. I have included my Facebook page, my LinkedIn profile and my business Twitter account. I haven't included (because it won't let me) this blog, nor the associated Twitter feed (because you can register only one Twitter feed). My betting is that if I could, that would make a big difference...it's where I spend most of my social media time. And I'm not an important blogger by any stretch of the imagination. The chances are that The Sunday Times Social Media List will become de facto the measure of social mediaites, and that's worrying because it's fundamentally flawed, and engineered to support the marketing of News International and its marketing agency. I suspect that in full flow, we will find that the most influential are scrawny fifteen year olds who can't hold a proper conversation unless it's about the newest Playstation game, or social media geeks who are entirely out of touch with the real world.

But more importantly.....WHO CARES? Why does it matter? Why must we measure everything? And why have we all become so obsessed with our place in this world? It's of no consequence to me whether I'm up top or down bottom (inspite of rumours to the contrary). The lists out there of who is better, richer, more powerful, and so are endless. I would hope that just being happy and content with our lives is more important than whether we are a step above or below our neighbours. Perhaps it is this endless pursuit of success, and ambition to achieve which has got the western world into the pickle that it's in. I went for a job interview about twenty years ago, and I was asked what my ambition was to which I replied 'I want to retire'...and never is that more true than now.

No doubt a more cheerful post tomorrow. Now just let me get on with tweeting this. And Facebooking it. And putting it on LinkedIn.

Even more embarrassment

Now this is embarrassing. And it's doubly embarrassing given that I wrote about being embarrassed only yesterday.

Last week I mentioned that George Foreman personally contacted me about National Grilling Week and wanted me to adopt a healthier way of eating. As a favour to an old friend, I agreed, and in return he has sent me one of his grills. Not only that, he also sent me some food to cook on it...plus some recipes.

Now the thing is, the ever-efficient Sainsbury's delivery service arrived with the food on Saturday morning, but the grill itself wasn't delivered until Tuesday afternoon. And as you all know we are a household of two teenagers. And if you have any experience of teenagers, you'll also know that food doesn't stay in the fridge for more than a few minutes. So the net result is that we have a shiny new grill and no food. Oops. George won't be pleased. At least, the steak was grilled, and the peppers roasted. But I suspect that George wants me to say how wonderful his grill is for cooking steak and peppers.

So I shall make a trip to Sainsbury's tonight to get some more food so that the teenagers can stuff their faces in a healthy way.

The Boy seized the grill when it was delivered, ripping open the packaging so he could see the wondrous gadget inside and spent some long time dancing round the house with it. I have a very strong suspicion that as far as he is concerned, it is his and his alone, so he will be finding all sorts of things to cook on it. So that's no bad thing. But no doubt I'll be left to clean it - George tells me its as easy as easy can be. And at least I won't have to worry when he goes off to university in a couple of year's time...I don't doubt it will go with him.

George is feeling generous enough that he says I can give one of these shiny new grills away in a competition too. I'm quite rubbish at thinking of competitions, so either send me an e-mail (bradstockboys@hotmail.com) or leave a comment below suggesting a great competition idea, then you may just win it. That's the competition. Genius eh?

Oh and if you have a 'pod' (that's an ever-expanding stomach) like I have you can find out at the Q&A with Ian Marber, the Food Doctor tomorrow between 11-12- he’s going to be answering questions relating to diet and health from the George Foreman twitter handle @georgegrillsuk. All you need to do to submit a question is include #getgrilling somewhere in your tweet.

There we go, enough shameless commercialism for another day. I feel embarrassed.

Red in the face

It's started. And in the same way the Phoney War must have dragged on, so it has been in the Nota Bene household. But now hostilities have broken out and it is the end of waiting for the exams to start. Yesterday they had a tough English exam, and a tough French exam. I hope that's helpful in focusing their minds on the coming weeks and getting the results they've worked so hard for. Both seem to be in good spirits and will get every little bit of encouragement from us as we can muster.

Well it was my most embarrassing moment for a while. I've had plenty of embarrassing moments in my life. Some mentionable, some not. Generally I've a pretty thick skin...well you need it in my business. But here I was cruising up to the traffic lights on my bicycle in the middle of the rush hour forgetting until the last moment that my feet were clipped into the pedals. And when I tried to unclip, all I did was make myself topple over. Gracefully I'll admit. But there I was falling in slow motion in front of four very long lines of traffic on to the pavement. It didn't hurt, but I lost my dignity.

Not, of course in the same way that Max Moseley lost his dignity. He says that being awarded £60,000 is not enough to restore his dignity when his sexual predilections were exposed to everyone and anyone including his family. Many would argue, that he lost his dignity when he decided to cavort with prostitutes wearing military uniforms, rather than when his antics were exposed. It was probably right that the European court decided that newspapers don't have to contact someone before they write any salacious details of their private lives to enable them to get an injunction. On the other hand, I'm not sure why we should all be able to read about what legally goes on behind closed doors. It's a dilemma isn't it?

The latest reasons for superinjunctions being a useful legal tool is that they prevent blackmail. Evidently, that's all these floosies are doing...trying to extort money from famous married men. So I'm not sure where that leaves us in this privacy muddle. I guess, and I'm no expert, that it means that 'kiss and tell' stories will go on to feed the readership of the News of the World providing the newspaper doesn't contact the celebrity in question first. I'm sure they'll make doubly sure they get their facts checked and double checked. But I doubt they'll do it by tapping people's mobile phones.

So expect plenty of celebrity embarrassment. It must be embarrassing for Dominique Strauss-Kahn whose antics - alleged and true - are now being exposed in every newspaper across the world. Who knows what the truth is? The conspiracy theories have gained ground pretty fast, even in our household. So we will have to wait a while for his trial to find out the truth.

Fortunately The Boy and The Cat's trial by exam will be over by July.

Through the looking glass

Once upon a time not so long ago I used to go to plenty of gigs...too many in fact I think because in the last year of so, there's been hardly any. The Boy and I had really loved live music, his first gig being Turin Brakes at Somerset House...a memorable start for him. But I'd got into the habit of just going for the sake of it, so there were a few erm, err, not so fun ones. Poor Auntie Gwen was witness to some of the worst..the rump of Deacon Blue was one, the event most memorable for meeting my ex-fiance and her boyfriend who I had surprising met before. Just once. At The Boy's Mother's funeral. Another was Echo and the Bunnymen who sadly were a band best remembered rather than experienced. Many were envious when we got tickets for Kings of Leon last year, but really they shouldn't have been as I think it takes the crown for worst gig ever. So it was a little bit with trepidation that The Cat's Mother and I went off to see Everything Everything in Shepherds Bush on Thursday. It was my choice as they were the one band that seemed to be played incessantly when we went off to Iceland last year. And there's no doubt they played very well indeed...better than the critics had suggested. It's just that we didn't see them....we were crushed at the back surrounded by giants less than half our age. They played a short set befitting anyone who has only released one album, and very good they were too...I just wish we'd actually seen them. Did I say we didn't see them?

Meanwhile on Friday night we were sitting outside having dinner with 254 other people on a pontoon in the lake of someones very fabulous house and I felt something crawling up and around my leg. For a while at least I convinced myself it was just the fabric of my trousers being blown by the wind, but eventually I had to face facts and accept that there was indeed a beast on my calf. I reached down in the hope of somehow knocking it off and felt it was quite a large beast, and rather than brushing it away I started being rather more vigorous. In fact I looked like an idiot as my efforts got more extravagant and at the same time I started giggling hysterically. Eventually the beast fell from the bottom of my trouser leg...it was a large moth so wouldn't have harmed me; if only I had known. In the background the proper entertainment was almost as entertaining...on stage three queens, a king, a duchess, one half of a pair of twins, a hatter who was as mad as a March hare and a white rabbit. Not to mention a young girl called Alice...in fact there were five Alices. We were doing a round trip of 200 miles to Dine with Alice - an event which is hard to describe but did indeed involve dining with Alice whilst surrounded by the characters from Wonderland. Each course was served at a table in the gardens of Elsing Hall. There were 256 tables - we know because for he first course we were taken by turbaned waiters to a table where we ate the first course...Mock Turtle Soup...alone before being taken to a new table for the second course...and so on. Eventually The Cat's Mother and I met up again whilst the characters continued to squabble in glorious tones around us. Over desert, where the moth made its unwelcome appearance we were serenaded by some wonderful Victorian music hall entertainment. My description of it does it no justice...it was a magical evening put on by Artichoke...the same folks who did the Sultans Elephant a few years back. if you ever get the chance, grab it with both hands!



It seems extravagant to do a 200 mile round trip to have dinner, but it was a great gig.

Chillin'

So today, I'm chilling not grilling as I was yesterday. Wednesday has come around and with it Tara's gallery.

We've been visited by a cat in the office who seemed to enjoy himself here whilst the rest of us got down to hard work. As ever with cats, it was all about finding the best place to lie down and sleep. I wish I led a cat's life....



Sometimes we have a dog in the office; but I feel it would be unwise to have the cat and the dog in the office at the same time.

Getting grilled

Bob Crow.

That's a name that should send shivers down your spine. He is the last bastion of old school unionism and probably responsible for bringing more people out on more strikes than anyone else in recent years. My heart sank when I see he has sorted out a deal with National Rail to keep the trains moving during the Olympics. Except the deal doesn't actually prevent Crow and his cronies from calling a strike if it suits them. Plus they're getting a fat pay rise, with no one to be sacked during the world's greatest festival of sport...but shock horror gasp, they can be suspended on full pay. It appears that after months of negotiation, Network Rail chief executive David Higgins has pulled his trousers down, bent over and allowed the unions to shaft him until he has a rectal prolapse, but insists on smiling about it. At RMT headquarters they'll be celebrating with the finest champagne for years to come. The inevitable consequence of this deal will be an ever more confident union willing to bring its members out at the drop of a hat (even the image of Crow getting his member out when someone drops their hat makes me squirm) knowing they hold the reigns. Pay increases like this are greedy and little better than the selfishness which we expect from City bankers. The only people who will suffer are rail travellers who have to fork out more and more from their reduced wallets. I'd like to give Crow a grilling about why he thinks this selfish greed is right when it harms many of the people who declare themselves 'working class'. But as it's been pointed out to me, you can't deny the man does his job very well. If only someone who's got a spine would stand up to him....before the next round of tube strikes.

And talking of grilling....

I'm a great fan of grilled food...The Cat's Mother prefers to fry the sausages and bake the fish in a sauce, but The Boy and I have grown up grilling our food. The Cat's Mother's response is always, "Well if you don't like it, then cook for yourself." And that seems a little unfair, as clearly my role is culinery strategy and hers is tactics. Its the division of labour and accepting your responsibilities I say....

As it happens, and in a shameless nod towards commercialism, I'd like you all to note that next week is National Get Grilling Week. I'd love to believe that this is a tradition firmly grounded in the ancient rite of boar hunting as practiced by our ancestors, but I suspect that isn't the case. It may be, but I'm not holding my breath. So the people that make George Foreman are sending us a grill, some food and some recipes for us to try next week. I used to have an electric grill, but in the clearing out of the kitchen in Brighton it joined the electric pancake maker in the skip. So it will be good to have a replacement...I used to cook all sorts of things on it; I wonder if I'll be able to cook an omelette on it liked I did the last one? I will report back on how much we've managed to turn into charcoal, which is no bad thing because in the fine weather we're having I like a good BBQ too.

Anyway, normal BBC-like service resumed tomorrow

Stars of stage and screen

It seems that for the next 15-20 years nuclear power will remain the cheapest way of generating electricity, so that's where the government will be investing its (our) money. Wind, wave and solar power are better for the world, our children and our children's children, but because of economic constraints we'll be investing in nuclear which generates dangerous waste that will remain dangerous for thousands of years. That seems completely perverse to me. Let's not forget Fukushima eh?

It's been a cultural week for us.

On Tuesday we searched high and low to find a cinema that was showing Pina, Wim Wender's feature-length dance film in 3D with the ensemble of the Tanztheater Wuppertal about Pina Bausch. Now even I will admit this is pretty specialised stuff. A dance film. In German. With subtitles. About a choreographer that few people know about. But it was good. Really, really good. Perhaps a few too many face to camera comments, but the dancing was amazing...and worked extremely well in 3D too. My only disappointment? Not one single piece of Dad-dancing for me to copy.




Then on Thursday we were off to Secret Cinema...The Cat came; The Boy lingered at home feeling unwell. And we went from the sublime to the ridiculous. On walking into Leake St near Waterloo (sometimes known as Banksy's tunnel) we entered a recreated Algeria in the 1950's. We hadn't guessed the film by then, and didn't guess it then. We wondered about Cassablanca, even though it was wrong country, wrong time. There were French soldiers every where treating us badly, pushing us around shouting at us in a language we didn't understand. When it was time for the film itself to start, we were ushered through the tunnels and along narrow passageways before climbing through a wall to watch......

...a black and white film, in French, with subtitles about the Algerian revolt against 130 years of French rule. Battle for Algiers evidently won numerous awards when it was released in the mid-1960's, and was a quite incredibly even-handed narrative of events given that it was free Algeria's first feature-length film. It may not have been my first choice of film, but it couldn't have been more pertinent to the current world situation. It would have been hard to watch if it wasn't for all the theatre that comes with Secret Cinema.






Friday night and we headed for the south coast...Brighton Festival is the second largest cultural festival in the UK. It'll be the largest if the Scotties vote for independence in a couple years time as Alex Salmond hopes (or is he just hoping that southern money will continue heading across the border in ever increasing amounts?) And one of the highlights for us is to stand in an old church that's been converted into a gallery surrounded by forty loudspeakers to listen to err err errm Spem in Alium - Forty Part Motet sung by the Purcell Singers. One speaker for each chorister. And in between each part (one part for each of Elizabeth 1's 40 years), they didn't turn off the recording equipment so you can listen to coughing and spluttering, the chitter and chatter...the gossip. Pretty moving stuff. Find it here

And finally, it was Open Art House weekend in Brighton, so we took it as an opportunity to poke our noses into other people's homes in the neighbourhood. Isn't that what what 'Open House' means? Anyway, we found a treasure of a lift...it looks like an original, and judging by the fire place was put in what was the living room:



And we did buy some little bronze figurines....



This is Mrs Beaton



And a gaggle of kids in a soup ladel...and further along the row, a child reading in a spaghetti spoon

Nothing like a bit of kulcher is there?

Fair enough*

I may have mentioned. In fact I did mention, that last year we had the kitchen 'done'. Not in the same way that cats and dogs get 'done', but nonetheless, done it was. Just to refresh your memory, here's a picture. In fact several.






Please note the lovely kitchen appliances. Even though most of them are hidden behind frosted glass doors.

As you can tell I'm very proud of it...and them...especially the induction hob which a year or so later I still can't work out how to use properly. I may have to reading the instruction manual.

I may have mentioned. In fact I did mention, that a couple of weeks ago we went to see Iolanthe...the Gilbert and Sullivan opera at Wilton's Music Hall. The performance was full of fairies, not surprisingly because it was a fairytale. Albeit one with a bit of bite. And all the fairies were boys. Now I've always thought of fairies as being girls, but in this performance they were definitely boys. Some even had hairy chests. It was a delightful performance, and not the first I've seen where the boys have come out. Last year we went to see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, where everyone is a boy.

So my life is full of fairies. Although I'm not sure the Tooth Fairy exists.

Anyway in amongst the confusion of whether there really are fairies and whether they're boys or girls, I've been visited by a fairy. The Fairy Hobmother**. And as HE says, he not a fairy in that sense. He gets paid to be one. Now I may be a bit prim and proper (when it suits), but I think there's a law against getting paid for it.

But anyway, in return for a vast and enormous sprinkling of fairy dust on my bank account (erm, an Amazon voucher), I've promised to mention Appliances Online, and in particular their vast array of washing machines here

Which is odd, really, because when we got the kitchen sorted, the only thing we didn't replace was the washing machine...it was almost new anyway. But the rest of the appliances did by some remarkable coincidence come from Appliances Online.

So there we have it.

* Fair enough... "Hello, I'm a fairy, Fairy Nuff"

** If you leave a comment, the Fairy may come and visit you too

A month in pictures

Well normally, once a month I put up some pictures that I've taken the previous month. It's usually the First Friday of the month, but as Tara's Gallery theme this week is April, I thought I'd do it today. So here's First Thursday Photos...it nearly works! Not a vintage month...




Evidently a 'at shop in 'ackney...I liked the name



The evening sun whilst we sat in the very delicious Brawn Restaurant



No, not tulips in Amsterdam, Tulips in Brighton



Roa strikes again



The roof at St Pancras whilst we sat supping champagne at the Champagne Bar...well what else would you do?



At the Nota Bene house, the vote was split on the Royal Wedding.

And talking of voting...hope you're going to put your cross in the Yes for AV box today...

Learning something new

I tend to giggle when I find out that I've lived for years not knowing something pretty basic in life. Today I discovered that duck tape is in fact duct tape. It's obvious really isn't it? After all why would you be taping ducks together, unless you are some sort of weird sicko.

Not that it's going to make any difference. Duck tape it has always been and duck tape it always will be.

I may be wrong, but I don't remember a year when there was so much news. Obviously it's not that 'stuff' has started happening in 2011, it's just that there seems to be a lot of 'big' things going on. The up side is that it gives me a very positive feeling that 'things' are changing, and with so many wrongs, that can only be for the good. On the downside, it means that some news that would otherwise get noticed, quickly passes by and is forgotten long before it should be. Henry Cooper passed away this weekend. Some of us remember him more for Brut 33 than for his boxing, but there was always a feeling that he was a true Brit hero...ever the underdog; never quite making it, but plucky, determined and 'nice'.

Last week I wrote a piece on superinjunctions, but didn't get a moment to post it...I may have missed my moment, so it'll stay there in the drafts gathering literary cobwebs. But do have a look on Twitter under the #superinjunction hash tag and see which names pop up.

I only remember waking up once before feeling the world had changed. That was when Tony Blair was elected. It was a sunny, warm day, the sky was blue with white clouds and the air tasted different. There was a feeling of hope, a positive buzz in the air....and things would be different.

And so it was on again this weekend. I came downstairs early after a restless night, switching on the computer as the newspaper hadn't yet been delivered. I almost couldn't believe my eyes at the news of Osama Bin Laden's death. Outside, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and when I opened the conservatory door, the air tasted different. I am sure that with the death of Bin Laden the world has changed.

There's so much chat about this, that I doubt I can add much if anything to what's been said already. So for my own sake as much as anyone else's, here's what I think. As a symbolic leader, his passing will take some of the wind out of the sails of the extremists...although I, like pretty much everyone else, expect there to be some fall out in the short term. Blood will be spilt. Should the Americans be celebrating, should we all be celebrating? Many are pointing out that it's wrong to celebrate the death of a human being. But a celebration, particularly by Americans is inevitable given the enormous impact on their psyche that 9/11 had. Equally, I hope we are in fact celebrating one less piece of evil in the world rather than an individual. And this was a battle victory...something that humans have celebrated since time began. Should he have been buried at sea? Yes absolutely it was necessary to stop there ever being a shrine. And it had to be done quickly before any debate developed to muddy the waters.

For me, though, the real question is, what does this mean for The Cat, The Boy and us as a family. Of course, only time will tell, but if this particular victory gives the West the confidence, the courage and the conviction to engage with the Muslim world in a more positive way, then we will benefit as extremism will be talked out of existence. Already, the Arab Spring is undermining the despotic rulers whose existence and our support of them helped feed the extremists in the first place. It's a smaller step than the Americans might think, but it is certainly a step towards a safer future. Let's hope the opportunity is seized with both hands.

The wind of change is blowing, let's hope it's for the good.

And talking of change, please vote FOR AV...it may not be the best system, but it's certainly much better than the one we've got at the moment.

A right royal weekend

Phew that was quite a weekend.

Friday morning we invited a few friends round in the morning - not all the Family could make it so we invited some Essex Royalty:



Just to get us really going it was a 21st Birthday celebration on Friday night...we'd have danced all night, but The Boy and The Cat were along with us, and we're being right Royal stick in the muds. So come half past-eleven as I was getting into full Dad dancing mode, a taxi was summoned and off we went. The 21 year-old is the daughter of one of The Cat's Mother's oldest friends, so it was a shame, especially as it was being held in their garden in a beautiful marquee. Admittedly the DJ didn't have a clue about how to move from one song to the next without a jarring crash, but that didn't stop anyone from 5 to 95 strutting their stuff.

Saturday, and we had the Welsh Contingent trooping their colours. With The Boy turning sweet sixteen, they drove from Wales for their first visit here. And Grandma in Wales brought The Uncle and The Boy's sister...plus we had Unexpected Friend and The Nanny too. As the sun was out, we spent most of the day supping and snacking in the garden, apart from a regal lunch in the dining room.



Sunday was The Boy's celebration proper, so he was crowned Birthday Boy for the duration. Some fifteen of his friends were round for a bbq, which naturally I was in charge of whilst the boys played rugby and the girls looked on. At the same time My Brother and his girlfriend arrived and he gave us his expert opinion on why all our yuccas and palms had died...too much winter cold in December. The Boy was delighted to have him here, I was delighted to have him here...we always have a lot to catch up on.



The only casualties were a stone wall which collapsed when lent on during the table tennis match, and a sore eye from an over-zealous rugby tackle.

We'd have been flagging by Sunday, but maintained a regal dignity as we headed to Loch Fyne Restaurant for another gathering. Fifteen of us took the chance to continue The Boy's birthday celebrations, it was just a shame that they served only fourteen meals and then poured a very hot latte over The Cat. She was a scalded Cat, and I'd have said off with their heads, but it wasn't the time to spoil the celebrations.

So back to work tomorrow for some RnR...well we deserve it don't we? Anyway, thank heavens there was nothing else of any note going on this weekend. I need a cup of tea...

.

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: