Seeing red: an act of vandalism

This week's gallery is 'colour'. Again I'm late to the party, and I'd like to think this is a grand entrance...but may be not! It gives me the chance to show my favourite artist...Anish Kapoor...I discovered him when I was in Madrid a million years ago, and have been an avid fan ever since. He used a deep blue pigment that was just compelling...if you stood close enough you lost all sense of where you were, seemingly disappearing into the work itself...unsettling and invigorating at the same time.

It gave me enormous pleasure, therefore, when he was chosen as the artistic director of the Brighton Festival in 2009. Here are some of his works in an abandoned building revived for the festival. That red is astounding.






"The Rotherhithe Tunnel is a road tunnel crossing beneath the River Thames in East London. which was formally opened in 1908 by George Prince of Wales (later King George V), and Richard Robinson, Chairman of the London County Council. It was originally designed to serve foot and horse-drawn traffic passing between the docks on either side of the river. Its route includes sharp, nearly right-angled bends at the points where the tunnel goes under the river bed. These served two purposes: avoiding the local docks on each side of the river, and preventing horses from seeing daylight at the end of the tunnel too early which might make them bolt for the exit.

It consists of a single bore, 1,481 m long, carrying a two-lane carriageway 14.5 m below the high-water level of the Thames, with a maximum depth of 23 m below the surface. Four shafts were sunk alongside the tunnel to aid construction and to serve later as ventilation and entrance shafts. The two riverside shafts, built in red brick with stone dressings, were fitted with beautiful wrought-iron spiral staircases to serve as pedestrian entrances. They are now closed to the public." (shortened from the entry in Wikipedia)

Every time I cycle to work, I cycle down and through it...along the pavement to avoid holding up the traffic which otherwise would not be able to overtake me. I've not yet run over a pedestrian, but I'm prepared to open a book on that one. It is with immense satisfaction I can report that since I got my road bike, I now go through the tunnel faster than the cars...especially as the average speed cameras restrict them to 20mph. It is known (by me at least) as the graveyard of wing mirrors - the road being so narrow that passing cars and vans are like jousting knights, and the entire length of the tunnel is littered with broken mirrors.

The wrought iron staircases are beautiful and mysterious, disappearing up into the darkness of the shafts. I'd love to ascend into that darkness.

Apart from the sharp bends, the one other feature of the tunnel are the white tiles which line the walls. They are functional, effective and I believe have been up since the building of the tunnel. In addition, they are filthy...like everything else. Not surprising given the number of smelly cars and vans that go through the tunnel everyday. I've often thought it wouldn't be too difficult to wash them all clean...the shape of the tunnel means a giant loo brush with water sprayed through it would do the trick.

And this leads me to the vandalism. Over the last few weeks, the night time maintenance workers have been systematically removing the tiles. I guess about half the tiles are gone now, and the rest will disappear over the coming nights and weeks. I don't know what they're going to be replaced with...I've not been able to find out, but I suspect it will be the large panels omnipresent on most modern tunnels. It's a shame. It's an architectural tragedy. It's the sort of thing that happened all over Britain in the post modern world. Yet another piece of our architectural heritage taken away from our children. Another element of character that gives us our historical perspective gone.

Stubborn as a mule

I think I've become quite a fan of David Starkey - he was recently severely criticised for his comments about the summer riots when he said that "the problem is that the whites have become black".

In context what he said was that white youth had taken on board gangster rap culture...with all its negative connotations. If you listen to the street talk on the streets of London, you'll know this to be true. As reported by the Daily Telegraph and First Post Mr Starkey says, " "The question we were supposed to be answering was whether the riots were testimony to some sort of major cultural change in Britain. And I tried to answer that question. Nothing that I said on air could conceivably be construed as racist, but there is this hysteria about race. We have this situation in which we can't talk about it rationally or sensibly." Starkey also rounded on those who attacked him in August, among them Labour leader Ed Miliband and Tory MP Lousie Mensch, saying: "You know yourself by your enemies, and I'm quite happy with mine. Isn't it wonderful that I was attacked by Piers Moron, Louise Mensch and Ed Millipede?"

He's right...there are a whole raft of issues we cannot discuss because this country has become so PC that if you raise them you become an 'ist' It's a shame that I have to quote the convicted pedophile film director Roman Polanski who says on the BBC, "I cannot abide political correctness, which only hides the ugliness in all of us under a veneer,"

At the weekend we got to see the new production of South Pacific at the Barbican, which we were all very excited about - it was a birthday treat for The Cat. It was very enjoyable, but lacked some of the oomph it needed to make it brilliant. Fortunately the grumpy old man and the miserable old woman sitting behind us were making so much noise moaning, groaning and coughing and spluttering that they didn't hear me singing along. It's quite a period piece now, and the racist attitude that is portrayed is very much of its time...and something that the teenagers didn't reallly get - yes once upon a time it would truly have been shocking for a white man to marry a Polynesian and father two children by her. Times have changed.

We also watched Barefoot in the Park on DVD - I love this film of the Neil Simon play. It too is of its time - you can see that from the trailer alone. Simpler times, and very funny even after the umpteenth time of viewing



Back home I have lost a pair of Merrell Mules. They were at the bottom of the stairs, and then mysteriously disappeared. Tidied away by 'That Bloody Woman' to somewhere, and no amount of searching has uncovered them. No she doesn't know where they are..that may be because she doesn't really speak English so my attempts at describing them were met with a pretty blank stare. My hopes aren't that high - two framed photos of us all were tidied away before Christmas, and still haven't been uncovered. I know they'll materialise before the turn of the century, but I'd quite like to wear them now...I might like to watch Barefoot in eth Park, I don't want to experience it.

Lucky days

Do you ever have any lucky days?

I don't mean the one's when you win the lottery, get a big promotion, or meet the woman (or man of your dreams)...not that those days are to be sneezed at, no I mean the ones when you something happens and you know you've been lucky.

Take yesterday, for instance, I turned left at a junction on my motorbike to find a taxi half way over my side of the road. My wing mirror got knocked, and my right knee brushed all the way along the side of the cab. But not a scratch on either me or the bike. Another inch closer and I'd have lost a leg. That's really lucky isn't it? I didn't look back, just carried on really happy at that.

Fish finger pizza

It's the Cat's birthday today...she's no longer sweet sixteen, but instead can now claim to be stupendously seventeen. To celebrate we are having the traditional 'Sausage Supper'. No, don't ask. I don't understand either!

There's a reason why women are generally in charge of the home and cooking. Not all the time, of course. Sometimes they should be making whoopy in the bedroom. But in any case, men are really quite incapable so shouldn't even try. so it was with a wry smile that I received a press release (you may have it too) which read "We have teamed up with daddy blogger ‘My Daddy Cooks’ to create our brand new children’s menu. The new menu has a lot of exciting dishes for Kids including a fish finger pizza!" Fish Finger pizza can only be regarded as a crime against humanity...worse even than ham and pineapple. Really boys, leave the recipes to the girls....

I've been meaning to do this for a while, and thought that if I don't leap in now I never will. When I first started blogging it was a bit like first year at Uni...in a mad rush to make friends you start reading and commenting on all sorts of blogs, and then after a while you realise that most aren't the sort you want to spend time with. Foolishly I once decided to follow the top ten interior design blogs...it was a mad moment, and as they each post about a hundred times a day I got suffocated under a ton of chinty curtains and Philippe Stark tables.

After a little while longer you end up with a group of blogs that feel like friends...the ones I follow I just love...for all sorts of reasons. Some I just read, and have nothing more to add, some I comment on all the time. There's no rhyme or reason to it. But it's a little easy to get a little too comfortable, and never go and find out what else is going on out there. So I thought I would go on blogging safari. I would simply start with one blog and then choose one that they follow to visit, go there and choose one that they follow, etc, etc. You get the picture, the only rule I have is that I must just follow a link until I can go no further.

Here are the results of my first little blog safari trip....

I started with Scarlet Blue

before moving to

Pearl

And from there to Delusions of adequacy

And then on to Germany and Friko's World

Before travelling by Where's My Effing Pony?

to see Grumpy Old Ken

Before returning here

I quite enjoyed that...hope you did too...I might try it again and see where else I end up....

Goldman Sachs rules the world

It seems my post yesterday was a little premature...a whole history of my home...so if you're a follower/fan of Tara's Gallery, please have a read here.


Otherwise, did you see this:



It's caused such a stir, leaving even seasoned BBC commentators with their jaws hanging that I suspect that Alessio Rastani may be on someone's hit list; may be even Goldman Sachs. In it he extols the virtues of recession for lining his pockets, and makes clear that governments are no longer in control...it's the banks. There has been some speculation that he is a hoaxer from an organisation called the Yes Men...they pretend to represent organisations and hold viewpoints designed to embarrass them. But it doesn't really matter whether he is a hoaxer or not...because there is a terrible truth in what he says. It doesn't matter about sovereign states, it doesn't matter about the Euro, it doesn't matter about millions being thrown out of work, it doesn't matter about the misery and despair of good honest workers - his job is to make money, and he can do that whether there is a recession or a boom. If this was his approach alone it wouldn't matter, but it isn't...there are traders across the globe crucifying millions all so they can drink more champagne. Capitalism is intrinsically unstable, and that is why it needs close regulation and control...the modern way of doing things which allows profit to be made where it shouldn't is dangerous, destructive and immoral. May these pompous, conceited asses burn in hell.

"There's no crown that comes with it you know"

I don't know what happened on September 11th. It must have been significant. Whether good or bad, I just don't know. But it has caused an enormous impact.

Don't be daft. I'm not talking about THAT thing which happened on 9/11, I'm talking about the enormous spike I had in the number of people visiting here. I haven't looked at my site meter for months...I used to be obsessed with it, but then I remembered, and kept telling myself that the reason I do this is for the joy of it, rather than anything else, so I stopped looking. Then over the last few days I've had a few messages suggesting that my readership was growing, so that prompted me to take a look. And I was staggered to see that on the 11th September I had over 700 visits...wow that's a lot. But it's a spike, and I'm glad to say that I'm back to my normal numbers...yes one or two visitors a week. Life has returned to normality...but I do wonder what caused the spike, especially as I didn't actually post anything that day. Peculiar.

I've done my bit for the recognition of Palestine. I've signed up to the right organisations. I've put my name on the petition. And I've even put a fluttering Palestine Flag on my mobile. My glass half empty side says this is all in vain, but I live in hope. I'm delighted, truly delighted, to see rumours about Tony Blair and an Israeli heiress. I hope they are true, and that his demonstrable hypocrisy is exposed even at a personal level.

Mr Obama meanwhile seems to have been selling the sort of bombs to Israel that even George Bush wouldn't countenance. What can be said, other than he seems a mirror image of TB, and is taking the world into an even more dangerous place than it is already. What's worse is that his fine words, no action may well let in the Tea Party come the next Presidential elections. For those that don't know, most of them make the Nazis look like a Women's Institute AGM.

Back in Europe, the word is going out that we're going to let the Greeks sink in their very leaky boat. It's evidently the least worst option. The Greeks were always going to struggle because there seemed very little connection between what the Government was raising as revenue and what it was spending...but given the nature of the markets, there seems little doubt that once the Greeks go down, it won't be long before the pressure is put on elsewhere...Ireland, Portugal, Spain, Italy anyone?

And just to remind myself of how we got in this sorry state, this is the simplified history - lax government regulation allowed unrestrained greed by bankers and other financiers to do pretty much what they wanted to. And like a tightrope walker who's been getting high on drink, they reached a point where they sobered up and realised that they couldn't do it anymore. The banks had worthless investments and would go bust. So the governments reached out to save them, turning bank debt into sovereign debt. Taking the problem away from rich private and corporate investors and saddling the rest of us with the problem. Implicit government backing then allowed the bankers to jump on a new merry go-round making quidzillions again, whilst governments sank under the weight of the new debt burden. The politicians let the bankers get away with it in the vain hope that they'll pull a rabbit out of the hat and prosperity will return. It won't. So that's why you're feeling poor.

Very soon I shall become the longest resident at our building in Brighton. The previous 'oldest' is selling up and heading to Devon....her family once owned the whole building, but she nows owns just the ground floor flat. I first bought there in 1988, and then bought again seven or eight years later to expand it into a maisonette. In the meantime we all bought a share of the freehold and created a company to manage the building. I am now to assume the role of company secretary. At least for a while. My new official and unofficial role seems quite a burden. I don't know why...there's not a lot for a company secretary to do other than file the right bits of paper at the right time. Is should be able to manage that. But being the oldest resident feels a bit like being the oldest person in the world...a title I've never wanted. As we said goodbye, she said, "There's no crown that comes with it you know".

But in any case, it seems fitting to reprint a history of where we live...it was only on reading this that I realised it was once a hospital...for the weary?

"The land occupied by the Crescent and Square was originally part of the Wick Estate, the property of the Stapley family for 150 years until 1701.

Anthony Stapley, a staunch Puritan who had succeeded to the estate at the age of fifteen, was distinguished by having been one of the judges at the trial of Charles the First, and a signatory to his death warrant of 29th January 1649, the day before the King's execution. He was active in the affairs of Sussex, Governor of Chichester from 1643 to 1645, and a Justice of the Peace until his death in 1655. By contrast, his son was a Royalist, and it was for this reason that the estate was intact at the Restoration in 1660.

The estate was sold in 1701 for £,1600 to John Scutt of Brighthelmstone, whose grandson built Wick House, and whose great grandson, the Rev.Thomas Scutt, sold the estate to Sir Isaac Lyon Goldsmid in 1830. Five years previously to this, the architect of Kemp Town, Thomas Read Kemp, had entered into an agreement with Thomas Scutt, in the hope of building a Kemp Town West on the land to the west of Brunswick Town, but owing to lack of money this scheme was never realised.

Sir Isaac Lyon Goldsmid planned to build a new estate of houses, and asked permission of William the Fourth to name the crescent after Queen Adelaide. The architect Decimus Burton was appointed, and work began in 1830. The original scheme was for a single semi-circular crescent, similar to Royal Crescent but much larger, and the first three houses facing the sea, and seven facing the Crescent, were either fully or partially completed by 1832. The style was the then fashionable Italianate, with pleasing proportions and careful classical detailing. The central double-fronted house facing the sea was given an impressive entablature and pediment. Individual balustered balconies were provided to the first floor windows of the three houses facing south, and one facing the Crescent. Eight of the ten houses were given unusual second floor windows formed between the large corbels of the cornice, and thus giving the visual impression of a smaller scale house, though many of these have now been lowered, spoiling the effect.

Due to a general recession in the speculative housing market work stopped in 1832, and was not resumed until 1850, by which time the plan for a single crescent had been abandoned, and that of a square leading out of a crescent adopted. The style was changed and simplified, and the scale increased to produce the much larger houses from No 10 onwards. Work on the Crescent was completed in 1860.

Between 1832 and 1833 a most unusual building was erected on ground now occupied by the top of the Square. It was known as the Antheum (from the Greek anthos-flower), designed by Amon Henry Wilds, the architect of Brunswick Town, built with funds provided by Isaac Lyon Goldsmid, and supported by the botanist Henry Philips. The design was a large glazed dome conservatory, on a frame of cast iron ribs and girders, with an estimated 40,000 panes of glass. It was then the largest dome in the world, with a ground diameter of 160 feet, a height of 64 feet, and a circumference of 492 feet. The iron sections were brought to the harbour at Shoreham, and then dragged by teams of horses to the site. The interior was laid out as an exotic garden, with gravel walks, arbours and recesses amongst the cedars, palms and other rare trees, besides tropical and oriental shrubs, and flowers of all kinds. There was romantic rock scenery, a lake with fish and aquatic plants, birds flying amongst the trees, and seating for 800. It was heated using coke supplied by the Brighton gasworks. The opening was scheduled for 1st September 1833, with a band of the Lancers to attend. Admission was to be one shilling, or two guineas for an annual season ticket.

To support the weight of this dome, a central pillar fastened with purlins and diagonal braces was an essential part of the design. Against Wilds' advice, the management unwisely decided to do away with this main structural support. On 30th August, everything being finished, the builder removed the temporary shoring, and the following day the entire structure collapsed. The only person inside, the head gardener Mr Wyatt, narrowly escaped. For over twenty years the tangled wreckage of iron lay where it had fallen, and was visited in 1850 by the architect Joseph Paxton, looking for ideas for his new Crystal Palace.

A map of 1844 shows the Crescent laid out with the first eight houses in place, a gravel pit in the centre of the Square, a piggery on the east side, the ruins of the Antheum, and Ken Nye's cricket ground on the north-east corner by Holland Road.

In 1851 the whole area was included under an Act of Parliament extending the boundary of the Brunswick Square Commissioners to St Johns Road. This body regulated the municipal affairs of the new town, and arranged policing and fire services, administered from the Town Hall in Brunswick Street West. The Hove Improvement Act of 1858 incorporated Brunswick Town into the rest of the new Borough.

St John's Church was completed in 1854, for the use of the new estate, on land given by Sir Isaac Lyon Goldsmid.

In 1853 work began on the Square. The remains of the Antheum were cleared away, and the heavy Italianate houses constructed, with 'palace fronting' to each of the two ranges. The Doric and Tuscan ordering of the columned porches, the grouping of the upper windows and rusticated detailing were typical of the period, and repeated endlessly across the rapidly spreading estates of west London. By 1862 most of the houses on the west side were occupied, and the work was completed by 1870. The Square was named Palmeira after the title of Baron da Palmeira, conferred on Sir Isaac Lyon Goldsmid by the Queen of Portugal.

The houses in the Square and Crescent were mostly let by the Wick Estate, administered from the Estate Office at 16 Palmeira Square. Such houses were commonly rented by the large middle and upper class families of the time, sometimes only for the summer season, and needed several permanent indoor staff to maintain the house and family. The servants worked in the basement and lived at the top, with over 100 stairs in between.

A record survives of the servants' wages at 16 Adelaide Crescent between 1864 and 1929. In the early years these ranged from £,9 to ,£25 per year depending on status, and had risen to only £,17 to ,£42 by 1927, sixty years later. Margaret Powell, who wrote Below Stairs in 1968, started work as a kitchen maid at 8 Adelaide Crescent in 1922, at £,24 per year, with a full uniform to buy costing £,2.

Particularly after the First War, families found it increasingly difficult to maintain a large domestic staff, and the market for such rentals declined. The Wick Estate addressed this problem by taking several empty houses together and creating large lateral mansion style flats, and continued with this throughout the period between the Wars, until a significant percentage of the houses in the Square in particular had been thus converted. Many of these large flats survive to this day. The inevitable process of conversion of all but now two houses in the Crescent has resulted in 72 houses becoming 400 separate addresses, and forming part of Brunswick and Adelaide, the most densely populated Ward in Great Britain.

Distinguished residents have included the Duchess of Marlborough at 35 Adelaide Crescent, the Duchess of Cambridge at 36 Adelaide Crescent, the Earl of Munster at 23 Palmeira Square, and Lord George Nevill at 22 Palmeira Square. 24 Palmeira Square was for a time the Lady Nevill Hospital. From 1875 to 1925 a family with the singularly appropriate surname of Bythesea lived at 36 Adelaide Crescent.

During the years after the Second War, towns throughout Britain were suffering major losses of architectural heritage through demolition for 'New Age' developments. In 1945 Hove Council actually passed a plan to demolish Brunswick Terrace and Adelaide Crescent, for replacement with blocks of flats, and as recently as 1966 a plan was considered to remove the Adelaide ramps for road widening along Kingsway. Fortunately, public outcry prevented both.

During the Second War, the post and finial railings surrounding the gardens in the Crescent and Square, which were then for the private use of the residents, were removed for the war effort. Stories abound as to the fate of these railings, one being that they were stored on the quay at Shoreham ready for transport, but having been found to be too low in carbon content were dumped in the harbour. It is certainly true that most such removed railings were found to be unsuitable, but as an exercise in the general war effort it was thought to be unsuitable to make this fact public.

After the War, the Council undertook a poll of the residents to establish if they wished to retain the gardens as private or hand over the maintenance. Unlike Sussex Square and Lewes Crescent, where the residents chose to retain their privacy, general apathy here decided the Council to include the Crescent and Square within their Hove Corporation Act of 1947, and took over the maintenance. A plan of the gardens in 1874, and photographs taken in 1890 and 1938, show splendidly planted and maintained gardens surrounded by dense shrubbery and mature trees. Since then, both gardens have deteriorated, whilst those of Sussex Square and Lewes Crescent retain most of their former glory.

The Floral Clock garden was originally for the private use for the residents of Palmeira Mansions, and enclosed by railings in the same manner as the Square. This too was included in the Act, and the Floral Clock was unveiled by the Mayor of Hove on Coronation Day 1953.

Both gardens, and the Floral Clock garden, were originally perimeter planted with elm trees, noted for their resistance to salt winds, and used extensively elsewhere in Hove and other coastal towns. Unfortunately, Dutch Elm Disease and the 1987 and 1991 hurricanes have wreaked havoc to these trees, and only a very few of the originals now remain. Coastal wind patterns have changed in recent years, and subsequent tree planting schemes have proved unsuccessful.

The front entrance of 3 Adelaide Crescent was for many years graced by the presence of a marble statue on a plinth. A replica of Canova's Dancing Girl, it had stood in the entrance to the old Hove Town Hall until rescued from the fire of 1966."

Dingle Dangle

It was inevitable I guess. You come across a great looking guy, with a terrific line and a smooth voice, and you end up in bed with them on Sunday morning. It was a real pleasure. Of course we weren't alone and at various stages were joined by Lady Gaga, Amy Winehouse, Norah Jones...and Willie Nelson. We did indeed spend Sunday morning lying in bed in Brighton listening to Tony Bennett's latest duets album whilst the sun shone in through the venetian blinds. Sublime. It made me think of my childhood, listening to Family Favourites on the radio. The perfect way to start any Sunday.

It was distressing, therefore later on that very same day to catch The Cat's Mother with a naked man. Yes there he was lying there stark bollock naked. Suntanned from top to bottom...and todger too. Naturally it was quite upsetting. Especially as by then we were on the beach at Birling Gap...a place owned by the National Trust. Underneath the cliffs were two men with their bits on display and a couple, legs akimbo so you got the gynecological view. I can't deny there was a degree of morbid fascination. The Cat's Mother desperately tried to ring her friend in Berlin where they do that sort of thing all the time in all sorts of places. I'm quite chilled about these things. But really. On National Trust property. I don't think so.


(You may have to click on the picture to see the naked man at the back)

I had two brushes with celebrity this weekend. On Saturday night we were down in Brighton watching The Kings Speech, which is just good second time round as it was the first. I still think Geoffrey Rush was cheated out of an award...his performance is sublime. As the credits rolled, the name of one of the people who shares my office came up. I guess it shouldn't have been exciting, given that the film is based in London, and he's a location man. But it caused a squeal of delight from us both...not bad given that it was at that time when the red wine had begun toi take its toll. This morning I cycled past Baldrick...my route takes me past a film a TV studio, so again seeing a celebrity shouldn't have been a enormous surprise. I didn't squeal as that would have been inappropriate, and he was in a very earnest conversation with another man as they surveyed the canal.

Still it feels like a good start to the week.

Who's Who

Families are not what they used to be. Once upon a time there was a mummy, a daddy and two and a half children. I know that. I was taught it at school. But these days there are all sorts of permutations as no one seems able to stay married for more than five minutes. I include myself in that. But not in the category of people who seem to think that getting married is a hobby and should be done as often as possible. I guess practice makes perfect.

Nursemyra pointed out that I've not been very good at explaining the relationships in our extended family, so here is a little word of explanation:

The Boy is my son with his mother who had a daughter (The Sister) from her first marriage to The Ogre. When The Boy's Mother died, he came to live with me and she went to live with The Ogre. We weren't close, so my contact over the years has been sporadic. It was The Sister - also known as Handbag who graduated this week...and what a lovely lass she has become - I'm very pleased at her success. The Boy and The Sister tend to meet up at his mother's mother known as Grandma in Wales (or affectionately - if you've seen the musical Wicked you'll understand - The Wicked Witch of The West). Also in Wales is The Boy's Uncle who I haven't yet thought of a name for, because his usual nickname includes his name. Its hard being creative you know!

His other Grandma is Grandma in Cyprus...who for sometime was known as Grandma in Cyprus Not in Cyprus due to the difficulties of actually moving out there. Grandma is married to Grandad in Cyprus, and has been for more years than I care to count. Grandad in Cyprus is my stepfather. My father died a few years ago. I also have a brother, The Boy's uncle, who makes occasional appearances, particularly when he has a heart attack. On that basis, the less he appears, the better. If you see what I mean.

The Boy was best friends with The Cat, and that is how I met The Cat's Mother. They are still best friends, but regularly squabble like brother and sister at which point I say "I don't care who started it, I'll finish it." We all live together in leafy Epping Forest, sometimes blinded by the bling and orange tans as we stroll down Loughton High Street. Loughton forms one corner of the area known as either the Golden Triangle or WAG's Triangle in recognition of the large numbers of footballers who live in the area. Flash cash is the name of the game. I should also mention The Cat's Father who I may refer to as 'Only for emergencies' or ELBA for reasons I cannot reveal for fear of The Cat's claws. He's unlikely to appear.

The Cat's Mother has a brother who I was at school with (though we don't remember each other) and he is known as UP, she has another brother who henceforth will be referred to as The Conductor. Then there are The Muffins - The Cat's Mother's sister's family of one husband and two girls.

Finally there is The Cat's Mother's parents who have yet to appear so don't have a name....suggestions on a postcard please. Of particular interest is that The Cat's Grandmother is married to the brother of the man married to her sister.

Now that should all be clear so don't say I haven't told you so.

Me'n'Brad

It's deeply disconcerting to see one of my former classmates who is now a Captain of Industry being quoted in the press because his organisation is moving all its funds out of Europe. He and his fellow officers are clearly just waiting for one country to fall (let's assume Greece) and then presumably we will see a domino effect. The 2008 Lehman debacle will seem like a picnic in the park if this does happen. It makes me both sad and angry to see this going on. The crux of the problem has been the behaviour of the banks who transferred all the responsibilities to sovereign nations, and now the financiers are preparing to do the unthinkable...bring the whole system crashing down our ears. Political, social, economic. It really doesn't bare thinking about.

Back in Palestine, the crowds are gathering, ready to have the folly of US policy paraded in front of them. In the words of one commentator, they will once more be consigned to the 'treadmill of doom'. Obama has shown his absolute ineptitude again. If Cameron votes against Palestinian statehood, I'll be digging out my 'Not in my name' T-shirt again.

OK. I know when it is. I know where it is. For once I know something you don't. I am privy to the most secretest information. And for a very large bribe I am prepared to reveal where you can go and stalk Brad as he makes his new film World War Zombie. My imagination has no bounds. No limits. So the bribe will have to be a fantastic one. But I'm prepared to sacrifice all my moral scruples for the right amount of wonga or other prized treasure. Don't let me down will you!

Siblings

The Boy is taking a day off school tomorrow. He's off to Plymouth to see his sister graduate. I'm very pleased for her...she will soon embark on a teacher training course and so will begin her life in the really big, bad world. I'm even more pleased that he is going down to see this celebration.

Before their mother died they were as close as any brother and sister could be...fighting, squabbling, laughing, playing. After the divorce, I hadn't had the chance to see them together for a long time - as the 'ex' I saw The Boy, rarely The Sister and never them together. But I have an abiding memory of when I took them off by aeroplane to Ireland where their mother had collapsed suddenly with a brain hemorrhage whilst on a business trip. They chatted, they laughed, they were just fantastic together. It was beautiful to see. It was that journey that made me determined that whatever happened they would continue to have that relationship. It was such a shame then that time and circumstance meant that didn't happen, certainly not as I would have liked. The Boy lived with me, and The Sister moved to the south coast to be with her father. A big distance when you're young and not in control of your own social arrangements. Their grandmother worked hard, very hard to keep the contact up, and get them together whenever she could. And as they have got older they seem to have found their own way with their relationship, and that's a fabulous thing - she came over to our place for his sixteenth birthday this year, and now he's off to see her graduation. I don't know if she will pursue a teacher career but whatever she chooses to do I'm sure she'll be a great success.

Film'n'theatre

"Leo Max Frank (April 17, 1884 – August 17, 1915) was a Jewish-American businessman whose lynching in 1915 by a party of prominent citizens in Marietta, Georgia drew attention to antisemitism in the United States and led to the founding of the Anti-Defamation League.

The superintendent of the National Pencil Company in Atlanta, Leo Max Frank, was convicted on August 26, 1913 of the murder of one of the factory workers, 13-year-old Mary Phagan. She had been strangled on April 26, and was found dead in the factory cellar the next day. Frank was the last person known to have seen her alive, and there were allegations that he had flirted with her in the past. His trial became the focus of powerful class and political interests. Raised in New York, he was cast as a representative of Yankee capitalism, a rich northern Jew lording it over vulnerable working women, as the historian Albert Lindemann put it. Former U.S. Representative Thomas E. Watson used the sensational coverage of the case in his own newspapers to push for a revival of the Ku Klux Klan, calling Frank a member of the Jewish aristocracy who had pursued "Our Little Girl" to a hideous death. Frank and his lawyers resorted to stereotypes too, accusing another suspect—Jim Conley, a black factory worker who testified against Frank—of being especially disposed to lying and murdering because of his race.

There was jubilation in the streets when Frank was found guilty and sentenced to death. By June 1915 his appeals had failed, but Governor John M. Slaton believed there had been a miscarriage of justice, and commuted the sentence to life imprisonment—to great local outrage, in part because Slaton was a partner in the law firm that had defended Frank. A crowd of 5,000 marched on Slaton's home in protest, and two months later Frank was kidnapped from prison by a mob of 25 armed men—the "Knights of Mary Phagan"—who drove him 150 miles to Frey's Mill, near Phagan's home in Marietta, and hanged him. A crowd gathered after the hanging; one man repeatedly stamped on Frank's face, while others took photographs, pieces of his nightshirt, and bits of the rope to sell as souvenirs.

On March 11, 1986, the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles granted Frank a pardon, citing the state's failure to protect him or prosecute his killers, though they stopped short of exonerating him. The names of the lynchers, though well known locally, were not made public until January 2000, when Stephen Goldfarb, an Atlanta librarian and former history professor, published a list on his website. The Washington Post writes that it includes several prominent citizens—a former governor, the son of a senator, a Methodist minister, a state legislator, and a former state Superior Court judge—their names matching those on Marietta's street signs, office buildings, shopping centers, and law offices today." So says Wikipedia.

You may think the lynching of a Jew would make a strange source for a musical, and indeed so would I, but we went to see 'Parade' this weekend. Parade is based on the terrible true story of Leo Frank. Oddly, the performance was remarkable, and the musical numbers only added to the pathos of the whole thing. We saw it at the Southwark Playhouse under the arches of London Bridge station. Recommended. It'll make you think. It'll make you wonder whether even today's American justice system is all that it should be.

On the other hand, Shrek The Musical, is a jolly old thing which we went to see with just about all The Cat's Mother's family on Sunday. But it doesn't really hit the highs of the original movie. It wasn't helped by the theatre being only half full, but most of the performers didn't really put much effort in. Particularly Richard Blackwood as Donkey...he was a very dull ass indeed. It's a shame that the actors don't just let themselves go, or perhaps the whole thing could be re-scripted as a pantomime...otherwise I can see it shutting up shop before the New Year.

I'd love to tell you all about the twists and turns in the filming of Brad Pitt's new film World War Z, as I've been privy to all sorts of stuff. It almost hurts keeping a secret, but I must. Perhaps if I'm a good boy Angelina will drop round to massage my ego.

The Firsts went down 3-6 on the rugby field on Saturday, and he was rather more han disappointed. And so he should have been. I could only stay for the first half, but really I could see they could and should have won. But to be a winning team you need attention to detail, determination and a twist of luck. I'll be cheering him on next week.

Good things come in threes

Last night we all went to the cinema to see 'One Man, Two Guvnors' starring James Corden. Of course, this is not a film, but a play that's on at the National Theatre and has been selling out faster than Nick Clegg. We saw it earlier this year, and it was just the funniest thing ever. Really. No really. So we took the opportunity of seeing it again, this time at the cinema when it was live broadcast by National Theatre Live. It was a one night showing. And second time round it was just as funny, may be even funnier. It's going on tour, so if you get the chance, do go and see it. Travel if you have to. I promise you won't have a better evening out this year....even if you're not a theatre fan.

It's not ever that I write about work...I like to keep business and play apart. No chasing secretaries round desks at the office for me. I don't know about you, but I mostly find working a bit of a chore. A bit of a drag. Something that gets in the way of me having a good time. That's even though I run my own business and have been doing so for the last fifteen years. I do love it, but boy can it be a real slog. And not surprisingly it can be somewhat repetitive. It's hard to find something that really stimulates me. The business is called Mandarin, and I often get asked why...is it after the orange, the duck, or the senior government official? No I say, it's because Mandarin is the language spoken by more people than any other...and that's entirely appropriate to my business. So I love the name, and actually I would not rather have done anything else over the last decade and a half. But this week I did something I've never done before, and it amused me immensely. I sent out a press release in Chinese. That's right Mandarin sent out a release in Mandarin. Here's a snippet....actually, unless you're interested in customs and border control in Australia, it's not very exciting. But it IS in Mandarin.

CCD Design and Ergonomics Limited （CCD 设计和人机工程学有限公司）与澳大利亚海关及边境保护局 (Australian Customs and Border Protection Service) 携手合作，重新为该局许多重要的港口与机场设计闭路电视控制室。这些采用最先进技术的新设施可以为该局一线员工提供最优质的技术、桌面、室内环境和控制界面。

澳大利亚海关及边境保护局的科技与实施能力全国代理经理 Nicola Viney 说，这些新设施将协助该局员工开展重要的边境保护工作。

Viney 女士说：“这些新设施确保了本局员工拥有任何时候高效完成工作任务所需要的劳动工具。”

“我们知道，业务的成功与否取决于员工与设施及设备的互动情况，因此，我们邀请 CCD 与我们携手开发本项目。”

为了设计既满足该局员工的需求，又能支持控制室中开展的复杂监视、跟踪和通信活动的设施，CCD 在既有控制室中开展了人的因素和行为研究。


The other thing that has put a spring in my step, but should have you weeping into your collective pillows, is that today I received an invite to audition as a performer in the 2012 Olympics opening ceremony. Now as anyone who has heard me sing, or seen me Dad dancing at weddings, bar mitvahs and funerals will know that should I succeed all the efforts of the London Olympics Organising team will have been in vain. Humiliation for the country will be complete. My left leg will be swinging sideways as everyone else is swirling gracefully to the right, I will be singing Lalalas when everyone else will be humming oooohs, they will be clapping whilst I'm waving. I'll be frowning whilst the rest of the ensemble has a fixed smile on their faces, and no doubt I'll be tripping over my shoe laces as everyone else marches forwards as one synchronised unit. The nay sayers will be triumphing about how right they were...it is true that Britain can't organise a major international event. For the rest, abject humiliation, that their dreams of a return to being proud of being British have been dashed by my foolishness.

Of course they may spot my ineptitude before then, in which case I feel there may be a collective sigh of relief.

'twas ever thus

I walked into the devil's cauldron on Tuesday evening. A birthday celebration for the Muffin Dad was held at a restaurant in the middle of Canary Wharf, so there was no getting away from the Bankers. I tried to scuttle through from the tube station to the restaurant, but losing my nerve as I got close, I checked on the satnav on my mobile phone to see whether I was heading in the right direction. It told me I needed to turn 180 degrees. As I was late already, this was annoying. So I turned around, then turned right, followed the path, turned left, followed the path until I was told to turn left and a little way further on turn left again. Yes twenty minutes after I'd checked the satnav I was indeed back where I started...with a little message coming up saying "Your destination is not located at this point". In fact it was just a little further on. If only I'd had the courage of my own convictions in the first place. A lovely evening spent consuming haggis, whiskey, venison and steak, wine and whiskey was had by all. Even if Wednesday was a little hazy.

The Vickers Report has been published, and so the future reform of the banking sector has been set. After lots of bleating from men in the finest cashmere suits, the reforms won't actually come into effect until 2018. Now even with my basic grade 'A' at 'O' Level I can work out that is a full decade after the great crash. Wow. That's impressive. Even after all the pain and misery the financial sector has caused, the politicians still can't help but suck up to them, whilst the vast majority of the electorate see massive falls in living standards and complete job insecurity. That I regard as breath taking arrogance on the part of the axis of evil. I don't really know whether the changes now proposed would have stopped the nonsense that was going on, because it seems that it was hyper levels of arrogance and stupidity that got us in the mess in the first place...the selling-on of worthless pieces of paper at inflated prices, based on opinions from the Credit Ratings agencies, who have got away Scott free whilst they continue to turn the screws. It seems little has been done, is being done or will be done to stop this happening again. And that impacts on the futures of all our children.

On a very positive note for me, the Palestinians are in the process of applying for statehood at the UN. I have long been a fervent supporter of their cause, and believe that a Palestinian State is reward for all the injustices they have suffered over the last century. The Europeans are divided on the issue, whilst the Americans are scrabbling around trying to prevent this very historic event - not surprisingly really. The US has never been even-handed in their dealings in the middle-east, and it has always felt to me that this policy has created enormous instability in the region. Worse still, it has fed the anger and misguided ideology of organisations such as Al Qaeda. And we all understand the consequences of that. I have signed the petition at Avaaz supporting Palestinian statehood, and I would urge you to as well.

Should I mention the kids? No. They're doing fine. Back at school, getting to grips with their 'A' level work, and peace and harmony reigns supreme. Marvelous. I'm putting notches in the bannister to see how long this lasts.

A tyring weekend

Oh oh oh. Can you imagine it? 19 middle-aged Essex women on a Greek Island for an extended (four day) Mama Mia themed party.

Yes, this is what The Cat's Mother abandoned me home alone with the teenagers for last week. I feel I got the better end of the bargain. Hopefully she feels that she got the better deal. Sometimes it's good to disagree.

I haven't posted my usual selection of photos this month. Not on First Friday, not Second Saturday, nor even Second Sunday. It wasn't that I forgot, it wasn't even that I couldn't be arsed. It's just that in August my ability abandoned me. I have a fine fine collection of snapshots which hold brilliant memories, but frankly and bluntly nothing worth posting up. Not even the man playing sax on the banks of the Seine, not even night time at Somerset House, nor the dozens of pieces of street art, or a boat trip on the River Lee. Hopefully, normal service will be resumed in September, although we're half way through and it's not looking good.

Saturday I had to get new tyres for the motorbike and at the same time watch The Boy play his debut match for the First team this season. I dropped him off at the ground at 8.45, drove home, picked up The Cat, dropped her for kick off at 10.00 ( how loyal, she volunteered to come and watch and cheer...I explained some of the rules) and watched the opening minutes of the game before rushing off to the garage. It may have been a wise move as the Firsts didn't manage a crushing victory, so came away deflated. The tyres on the bike were inflated, unlike my wallet which was some £316 lighter! I think these are more expensive than the car tyres which are four times the size. I came away a little flat.

After a four and a half hour long cycle ride street-art spotting on Saturday afternoon, it was perhaps a little rash of me to commit to cycling in with the The Muffin Dad on Monday morning. But I did. He's a decade younger than me, fitter and of a more sporting bent. Plus he leaves at between 6.30 and 7, and I leave at 8. So whilst he was pootling along admiring the scenery, I was huffing and puffing, wiping the sweat from my sleepy eyes as we battled the hurricane force headwind. He comes in on a route that I need to know as the canals are not a good idea during the mid winter. I'm amazed he's still alive as the route is a treacherous one on a very, very busy main road into London, and he does it every day. Even the new blue cycle highway is designed to kill you...peppered with bus stops as it is, so you have to swing out into the traffic which largely seems to consist of white van drivers....some of them actually driving white vans. Still we managed to avoid getting splattered...although every traffic light was against us. Anyway, he was very gracious (and sporting) about it all.

After we parted ways, I continued to hit a red light at every junction...so much so that the guy cycling next to me felt the need to pass comment in a heavy South African accent (or was it New Zealand?) "You're just bad luck mate". And indeed it was the case as a little way later, my back tyre went flat, still some 5 km shot of my destination. As I didn't have a repair kit and wasn't allowed on the tube or the bus, there was no choice to throw it on my back and walk the remaining distance. Nothing like a brisk walk in the morning is there? A Chinese tourist (actually he may have been Korean) felt the need to video me as I crossed Tower Bridge. That may well be my fifteen minutes of fame.