Spend, spend, spend

How stupid are our politicians?  I don't suppose that ours are any worse than any others, but that doesn't excuse them.  Tonight I'm at the House of Commons for a drinks reception...I feel like I'm walking into the lions den.

George (henceforth known as Jeffrey) Osborne tweeted out a picture of him eating a burger whilst getting the Spending Statement ready.  Nothing wrong with that, except it was a bit of contrived nonsense to show he was 'with the people' by eating a burger.  Worse still, it was a £10 burger from Byron.  Very nice I can tell you...I've had one.  But I don't claim to understand what it's like trying to feed five kids on benefits because I'm an unmarried mother who's not had a job for a decade.  I would never, ever pretend to be something I'm not but our politicos can't help themselves.  They'd be much better off coming out and saying, "Yes I've had a privileged upbringing, I've been very fortunate in life and I shall use the experience I've gained to help people less fortunate than me."  Who knows, they might even be able to say it in a less patronising way.  Anyway Jeffrey, enjoy the burger, hope you don't choke on it.

In case you think there may be some political bias here.  This is a quote from scandal rag Popbitch,

"While Chancellor George Osborne ate his mid-market Byron burger last night, Shadow Chancellor Ed Balls was sat in Rotary Bar, Shoreditch, enjoying a nice pack of crisps. And, as befits a politician sitting by Silicon Roundabout, it wasn't a packet of Frazzles. He was tucking into Leighton Brown sweet potato, cheese and jalapeno crisps. Like to see him burnish his man- of-the-people cred on Twitter with that."

When gas and oil were found in the North Sea, the Norwegians did something very clever.  They put some of their new found wealth into a fund.  It's something that your granny might have taught you to do....save for a rainy day.  The result is that Norway is a wealthy country with a large social resource.  What happened in the UK?  We spent it.  We didn't save a penny of it.  There was no grand plan.  The treasury took what they could in tax revenues and spent it.  Some would say not very wisely.  I couldn't possibly comment.  I know that's a somewhat simplistic way of looking at it, but it's true enough.

The question today is, now that UK shale gas reserves are thought to be double the size previously thought, will the government tuck the extra revenue away for a future generation?  After Jeffrey has a plan to ensure our nation's finances are balanced, so extra revenue isn't something we need to spend is it?

Answers on the back of a postcard please.

If they don't we may find the whole country will one day end up like Wales

Amen

There was a story that the Beckham's first born was called Brooklyn because that is where he was conceived.  At the time many eyebrows were raised because it all seemed a bit tacky, so in her biography, Mrs Beckham explained she liked the name Brooke and it made her think of Brooklyn.  All a bit far fetched if you ask me.  In Loughton, where we live, David's sister runs a hairdressing salon.  This is situated in Brooklyn Court.  Poirot has suggested this is more likely the true origins of the lad's name.  Just thought you'd like to know.

Last week we went off to see The Amen Corner at The National, a three-act play wit singing (of course) about Sister Margaret and her Harlem Church.  Except, Rufus Norris has turned it into a two-act play...which for me at least, meant a very long first half.  As ever with The National, the production was beyond compare...great staging that certainly helped enliven a tale of hypocrisy, betrayal and change.  It was well-acted, with a particularly strong performance by Marianne Jean-Baptiste and Lucian Msamati as her wayward husband.  I wasn't quite as spellbound as our companions, or as the reviews would have me believe I should have been, but it is an excellent show....and provides a platform for a slightly broader audience make up than you normally see at The National.

I enjoy a good Martini...it's always my aperitif of choice when given the chance, and we have them regularly enough at home to keep the vodka industry profitable.  Mr and Mrs Muffin had invited us out to Dukes Bar and Hotel in Mayfair on Saturday night...the choice of venue being dictated by it being Ian Fleming's cocktail bar of choice, and by rumour where the phrase 'shaken no stirred' came into being.  They have a long list of Martinis to try, and I selected a 'Vesper'.  Not only does it include vermouth, it also incorporates both gin and vodka as well as a dash of Angostura bitters and some orange oil which may itself have contained alcohol.  It may have been a mistake.  It was certainly delicious.  And no matter how much I poured it down my throat, there always seemed to be more in my glass.  We staggered downstairs to the restaurant where I believe I had a more than passable meal.  I believe we entertained everyone as we were the only people talking above a whisper.  In fact we may have been typically Essex.  Sorry.  I was reminded on Sunday that I'd finished off with a cognac.  In actuality I got up Sunday morning, not early, and realised I was not hung over.  I was in fact still drunk.  Not tipsy.  Not a little the worse for wear.  I was completely inebriated.  I had to return to bed to sleep it off.  Anyway, thank you Mr and Mrs Muffin, I had a lovely night

There is no more school.  Friday was prize day, and the Boy and the Cat waltzed off with their share.
Today their books have been returned.  It is the end...and very sad too.  There is now a period of uncertainty and contemplation.  Exam results are awaited.  The Cat was due to head off to uni in September, but has the possible opportunity of a dream internship, so we're not quite sure; The Boy is due to head off for a ski season, but that won't be confirmed until September.  And for the parents there's the uncertainty of whether we will start our time as empty-nesters or remain as the people who nag, moan, prod and prompt.

Magic moments

I remember when The Boy was young and we had gone skiing in Austria.  We had a bit of an argument, over what I can't remember.  Obviously it was soon forgotten about. But as I packed at the end of our trip, I found a note that he had written in the heat of the moment; it went:

Dear Dad,

I hate you.  I have decided to leave and find my fortune as a street magician

Lots of Love
The Boy x

I kept the note for years as it touched me deeply, and was quite sad it got lost when we moved.

Last night we went to a magic show.  Yes, our cultural adventures are nothing but, well, adventurous. The conjurer in question is in fact an old friend of one of ours....he trained in accountancy before deciding that a different sort of life beckoned.  The tricks were good, and his particular patter is about the tricks that Charles Dickens performed whilst performing as a magician and conjurer. Now you're probably thinking that Charles Dickens is an author without compare, a daring hero who came to people's aid during a terrible rail accident, and 201 years old.  That is indeed true, but he was known to turn a trick too.  No I don't mean that.  He did perform magical tricks in front of an audience, and thought himself as very accomplished.  So Ian Keable has taken this little known part of Dickens' life and turned it into an evening of entertainment. Magic with a bit of comedy as well.  All very pleasant it was too, especially after we dined at a pub I hadn't been too for twenty or so years.  Magic may not be the popular entertainment it was in the days of Tommy Cooper, but it makes for an innocent and fun evening.

Remarkably we solved our insurance dilemma in a way that was totally unexpected.  Having rung round more insurance companies than we knew existed, we went to The Cat's Mother's insurance company, and simply asked if we could add The Boy to the insurance.  "Yes" they said.  "How much we said?".  "Nothing they said".  We nearly bit their arm off...and in fact thought they'd made a mistake, so we waited until the documentation arrived.  The Cat's Mother remains the main driver...it's her car, and she needs it to buzz around the neighbourhood, and she's not insured to drive mine (she says she has no desire to drive something that's bigger than a Chieftan tank) so that's totally legitimate, I'm a named driver as I use it occasionally and the teenagers are also named drivers.  It seems too good to be true, but we're completely above board with everything so it must be a all OK  Result.

Of course, that meant I went out for a drive with The Boy.  Naturally the first trip was down to the local kebab shop...well there's more than one way to die.  I was surprisingly relaxed, even with a slight deviation onto the wrong side of the road and stopping at a green traffic light...anyway, practice will make perfect.  The Cat is improving too.  They both are commenting how many dreadful, aggressive drivers there are out there...and I'm waiting for the "I've never had an accident, but I've seen plenty" comments to come rolling in.

I regularly have to remind The Cat's Mother that many thousands of hours were spent designing the air conditioning system on her little Toyota Yaris.  It's incredibly sophisticated, unlike the one on my Jeep that was knocked together by a couple of rednecks whilst shooting rattlesnakes.  On the Yaris, you dial the temperature and press the auto button.  That means in the winter it quickly warms you up by blowing hot air, and in the summer, it cools you down by blowing out cold air.  Once set you never need to touch it again.  But nobody listens to me (not just on this, but on many, many other matters too).  If it's a hot day, the air conditioning gets turned on full blast until you sit there with your teeth chattering, and on a cold day, the heating gets turned up so far that I have to strip down to my bikini.  I've been nice about this, I've been calm, I've been patient.  And I've ranted and I've raved, but all to no avail.  Of course, The Cat's Mother is not alone is determinedly not wanting to grasp the essentials of a car's heating system.  How many times do I see cars being driven along completely steamed up because, the owners haven't turned the fan on, or don't understand how the thing works...a steady throughput of air keeps the car fresh, and the driver awake, and the windows clear of condensation....and at the right temperature.  Small rant, but really it's this sort of thing that keeps my mind sharp and active.

Rubbish/not rubbish

Are you old enough to remember the miseries of the three day week...power cuts just when you wanted to watch the next episode of Crossroads, rubbish piling up and up and up, and the mortuaries so full that bodies were left here there and everywhere, like some zombie movie.  Obviously I'm too young to remember that, but you might.

Down in Brighton, it's a bit like that now.  Apart from the power cuts and the mortuaries.  Although there are zombies...remarkably having been associated with the city for a quarter of a century, I hadn't known until recently that every year there is a zombie gathering - the annual Beach of the Dead walk.  Watch out for the zombie banana in the video below...about nineteen minutes 50 seconds in.



Something else that seems to be an annual problem in Brighton is rubbish collection.  I swear they have more strikes than the rest of the country put together.  The unions are claiming the council is cutting the pay of the rubbish men by 40%.  If that's true, it's rubbish...who (apart from a banker) could afford to take a 40% cut? You've got to feel sorry for the town's traders who have two successive poor summers, and now have this to drive the tourists away.  Anyway, courtesy of the BBC, here's a picture of the rubbish piling up.

Only the seagulls will be happy...they're pretty aggressive these days, and tend to peck the rubbish bags open to provide themselves with a gourmet meal.

Any way Ted has told me not to come and visit because the city is a tip.  Ted is the ever so nice photographer who took a picture of The Cat's Mother and I during the Open House during May.  We were so pleased with it that we bought two copies - one for the house in Loughton and one for the flat in Brighton.  He's been kind enough to send us a copy for the digital photo frame too.  Anyway, by way of recommendation, if you would like a splendid portrait, or indeed, any other good photography,Ted's your man.  You can find him here  And you can find our picture here:

Last Holy Communion

It's interesting watching other people's family tensions like a fly on the wall.  I remember well when my own family imploded, and I stropped off not talking to either of my parents for some years.  The whole episode was a disaster for everyone, and very damaging.  With nearly two decade's hind-sight I realise that everyone behaved badly, and didn't think through the consequences of their actions.  It's good that it's distant history.  And in a strange way, I do wonder if that explosive event ultimately proved beneficial for most of us in the long term.

I'm really interested to see the outcome of the Iranian elections...a 'moderate' has been elected President.  In most western countries he would be branded anything but, but by Iranian standards, and certainly those of his colourful predecessor, President Iminadinnerjacket, he's someone 'we can do business with'.  So I may well breath a sigh of relief because it at least delays, and hopefully ends the prospect of the Israelis blowing the hell out of the country and setting off an uncontrollable middle eastern conflict.  Thank heavens for democracy.  But I do wonder what the country would be like if we hadn't stuck our noses in during the 1950s...rather more settled and developed I would guess, and most of the radical Islamic fervour that has swept the region would have been buried before birth.  There may be a lesson there.

We watched Argo at the weekend.  What a terrific film.  I was so disappointed to have missed it at the cinema...as it was on my list of 'must sees' last year.  None the less, the video was an excellent substitute.  We were on the edge of our seats from the beginning, and the tension was there right until the very end.  Excellent.  Afterwards though I did feel the need to find out the real Argo story, knowing the film was only loosely based on the facts.  And there I found that like all good American films, this one had completely ignored many of the basic facts, and the involvement of the British, minimising the efforts of the Canadians as well.  Does this matter?  Well on one level absolutely not...it was a terrific piece of entertainment...but on another level yes it does matter because it distorts history...and Americans being Americans I rather suspect they tend to get their knowledge from films rather than text books (sorry, that's just my experience).  Still great film.

Meanwhile over in Syria, it's all a little tricky.  The Right Unhonourable Hague now says, that it's a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils, as the choices are quite unpalatable.  I suggest we JUST STAY OUT of it, and let a sovereign country settle its' own internal differences.  It may be difficult to watch people being slaughtered in a bloody civil war, but every time we've stuck our noses in, the long-term outcome has never been good.  And if we stick our noses into this one, will we feel it necessary to get stuck in to Turkey at some stage?

There was another First Holy Communion this weekend...The Cat's Mother's nephew..son of The Maestro. There's been a lot of family gatherings recently.  The church service was at 10.30, with the celebratory lunch three hours later at 1.30.  The Cat's Mother left early for the service, whilst I drove down later to arrive in time for the meal...well I've never been known to turn down a free lunch.  Everyone was on good form and we all had a splendid time.

Anyway, I'm off home now to half throttle The Cat's Mother...obviously it's just a playful tiff and I always find grabbing a woman round the neck and squeezing the best way of winning an argument, so don't worry too much about it....Charles Saatchi obviously doesn't

Never too early for a gin and tonic

Following my little piece on the education system last week, I was interested to see this Facebook update from one of the teachers at The Boy's school: "Deplorable Edexcel C3 paper today. Usually a paper has one or two 'dodgy' questions, but this had loads. Allegedly 15 candidates in tears IN the exam room..."

The whole shambles was reported on the BBC here

Another year, another shambles it seems....any way I  that may be what happens when you farm these things out to private companies...

Yesterday was Father's Day, so I was delighted to have my breakfast brought to me in bed...I don't suppose that is going to happen too much in the future...in fact this may be the last time, as he'll soon be flying the nest in one way or another.  I even got gifts..a very splendid tie, and a 'Dad' mug.  Anyway, back to the breakfast...it was an egg and bacon weave open toasted sandwich.  I was too busy scoffing it to take a picture...but here's one he did earlier.  That is indeed eight rashers of bacon interwoven and then grilled.  Delicious...

In the afternoon, we went off to Three Mills...best known to me as the pace where we auditioned and rehearsed for the Olympic Opening Ceremony.  There were drummers and working men and women from the Ceremony performing for everyone's entertainment, but this time I was strictly a watcher having said a big hello to all my friends.  We went on a guided tour of the Mill itself which is evidently the world's largest tidal mill.  More importantly, at some stage it stopped grinding wheat for bread, and started doing it for gin instead.  What a marvellous idea.

You're thick

I'm not sure whether it was teenage bravado, or a feeling of social responsibility, but The Boy and his mates went off to have give a pint of blood this week. Actually, the NHS has gone metric, so they gave half a litre each. Good for them I say, whatever their motivation...I'm very pleased and proud they did it, and hope they will again. It was one of those things in The Boy's 'Now you're 18 you can' box...I never have, and a morbid fear of needles means that I probably never will - I carry a donor card, but that's not the same as giving and giving...I was standing next to a couple of women on the bus this week, and couldn't help overhearing their conversation. The one was telling the other that she was being stalked. There's a man that gets on the same train as her and they get off at the same station where their paths take them in the same direction. He has smiled at her on more than one occasion, and has been known to sit in 'her' seat on the train. Sometimes she's taken to catching a different train, but he is sometimes there too. She's worried because he knows where she works as they both walk in the same direction. She has reported him to the police, and they will visit her to get the full facts. I can only report what I heard, but on the basis of that it seems that she may be over-reacting a tad....or am I being insensitive?
This morning I think I saw a drug exchange in the local park...two men with their bikes were in a corner where there's a hedge and one of them reached under the bush to grab a small plastic bag of something. The one gave it to the other who then cycled off. Am I imagining something malevolent when it was all perfectly innocent? I don't know. Perhaps I should have reported it to the police.

Education Minister Elizabeth Truss said: "We do need to start competing against those top performing countries in the world, because for too long we've pretended that students results are getting better, when all that's been happening is the exams have been getting easier.

"It's been a race to the bottom between the exam boards and we need to stop that happening now."

There's two things that successive generations have treated as a political football....the NHS, and the education system. So far as the NHS is concerned, it's the envy of the world. It may not be perfect, but there's always room for improvement...and it's an easy target for easy criticism. I remember my jaw nearly hitting the car steering wheel when driving through Bristol once. A local (NHS) hospital was advertising its services and claiming 'the lowest infection rates' in the area. I just want a hospital to fix me when I'm broken or ailing, I don't want them advertising, and I just want them all trying to be as good as they possibly can. The politicians should keep their noses out, as I don't want my health to be dependent on Conservative or Labour dogma.

Anyway, I'm keeping The Boy away from all news at the moment...how is he going to feel if he, and millions of other kids read that they've been educated badly, down to a level just above ignorant. The GCSE exams may need reform, but to belittle the achievements of a generation of kids is crass and ignorant.

I have been looking at some of the work that The Boy and The Cat have done for their 'A' Levels, and it is quite mind blowing...I doubt I could ever have put something like their essays together. I assume that they couldn't have done this if their GCSE's were a waste of space.

The reforms will take away the element of continuous assessment. We never had that when I was doing 'O' levels, but I can see it has real value...there are some kids who are great crammers, and get good exam results, even if they haven't done the work which will seat the knowledge for the future. there are some kids who are just rubbish at exams...even if they do retain the knowledge they just can't put it down in an exam room. Once hey're out at work, most knowledge will e gained on a continuous assessment basis, so why not start early?

What does appear to be the problem is the way school's success is measured. Living in the inner-city, as we did, we were given quite an insight into the mind set it creates amongst school management. The challenge for them was to make sure the weakest performers got up to a basic standard...the best performers were ignored, so significantly under-achieved. I assume (but correct me if I'm wrong) this happens at all ages of education. That may be where a government should focus its efforts.

I'm fortunate enough to mix with plenty of people from overseas, and their consistent comment has been that the British system of education is better than their own. I can't say one way or the other because I don't know..but it is interesting that is the message I hear time after time after time.  And as this shows...it's people's attitudes to education - a cultural matter that's key to educational success.

Anyway Elizabeth Truss...if you really think that come and say it face to face with The Boy and The Cat

Scotch Eggs

Dear John, when you're next down in London, it will be my pleasure to treat you to a meal at this restaurant in Bermondsey Street:

Anyway, what the feck does Tom Stoppard know about the theatre?  Last night we were at the National watching what promised to be an amusing play by Gorky called Children of the Sun.  The write ups have been excellent, it's three-quarters of the way through its run, and there's never anything wrong with a bit of Gorky.  By half time, The Cat's Mother was ready to leave, and I was suffering the fidgets.  Essentially, the play is about the middle-class fiddling whilst Romeski burns and the greediness of the working classes.  We think the heart of the problem was a poor translation - not that my Russian is great - and then made worse by some pretty bland acting of characters that you really couldn't care less about if you tried.  Not to worry, the set was marvellous, and the ending included some pyrotechnics, the like of which you're unlikely to see on stage again...an enormous explosion and flames that sent glass flying across the stage.  At the interval, we happened to be standing in the foyer, and found ourselves adjacent to Tom Stoppard, his friends and some theatre staff who were discussing the performance.  He said it was very good.  Either he is the politest man in the world or he knows nothing about the theatre.

I can't think of a title for this one

On the one hand there's a tremendous naivety about the furore caused by the US (and UK) governments looking through everyone's personal data...after all they can only do that because we hand it over willy nilly to any old company that wants it, so why shouldn't the government take a sneak peek.  I suspect in most cases it's so tedious that all those James Bonds stuck in GCHQ are permanently asleep.  Incidentally, a friend of mine who lives in Cheltenham told me that parties there can be incredibly boring...you can never meet someone and as an opening gambit say "what do you do for a living?", because the chance are the reply will be "I'm a civil servant"...in other words they work at GCHQ and can't/won't talk about their job. Or perhaps talking about your job is boring anyway.

I see Thames Water is the next company to be nailed for not paying corporation tax.  They reason is that they have 'deferred' on the basis that they are investing in the infra structure.  In fact, I saw that they'd deferred to the tune of £1 billion.  It sits on their balance sheet.  OMFG (one for you Steve), every year I try and defer my tax to the tune of a few hundred quid, and the Inland Revenue go ape.  Perhaps this year, I'll explain that I'm deferring because the plumbing needs fixing....

I don't have much time for Thames Water.  In our last office, I merrily paid my annual water bill for half a dozen years before I spotted that in fact our water was part of the building service charge.  There was a common water supply for the building and the cost was paid by the landlord with the bill divided between the tenants.  When  I contacted Thames Water they promised to look into it...and over several months didn't.  I stopped paying them...obviously.  They started sending me threatening letters, ignoring the fact that I shouldn't be paying them and kept telling them that.  Eventually they started legal proceedings...I was tempted to let them go through with it, but ended up referring them to OFWAT...who managed to persuade them of their stupidity...a few weeks alter an engineer came round, confirmed we shouldn't be paying water rates.  It took a little longer to get my money back.  Anyway, another battle won.

I see it's all hotted up in Istanbul, with riot police ripping through the protesters in Taksim Square.  It would be easy to look at the actions of the authorities there, and pass judgement, but I hesitate.  You may remember Brian Haw...the peace protester who devoted a decade of his life to camping out in Parliament Square.  Yes, our police didn't use tear gas to move him on but our 'democratically elected' leaders saw fit to pass the Serious Crime and Police Act of 2005 in attempt to remove him.  I'm glad they failed, because it doesn't feel that in a 'free' country politicians should behave like that.

The Boy is relaxing without too many cares about him.  The Cat has another couple of weeks before she can do likewise.  What a truly fabulous time to have...I suspect they won't appreciate it as much as they should...it's only when you get old and croaky like me, that you realise how precious time without responsibility can be.

We're trying without too much luck to sort out car insurance for The Boy.  He passed his test a little while ago, but hasn't been able to drive since.  We all know how hideously expensive it is for young people, so that's a challenge in itself, but what is making it worse is that he will be away for most of July, and a good deal of August, and if he is lucky will be off for a ski season starting in November as an instructor.  So what we need is short-term or pay as you go insurance, and I'm truly struggling to find anything at all.  If any one has any suggestions, they would be more than gratefully received.  My own car insurance provided a little gem yesterday - the renewal cost was quoted as £600, and I thought I ought to check out if there was anything cheaper on compare the meerkat.  Indeed there was...the same insurance from the same insurance company for just £270.  Who ever said insurance is a con?

Filling a vacuum

I think of myself as pretty fit...I cycle a reasonable distance pretty often, and manage that without too much hardship.  On that basis I decided to enter the National Lottery Anniversary Run  - a five mile run round the Olympic Park finishing in the stadium itself!  And I get two tickets for family to cheer me on.

Not that I'm over-confident about anything, ever, but I thought I would simply put on my running shorts on the day and sprint the distance without breaking into a sweat.  To make sure I would do it in style, I bought myself a new pair of running shoes. Yesterday, I thought I would try them  out.  What I hadn't factored in was that I haven't actually run for thirty years.  By the time I'd reached the end of the drive (it's no longer than yours), I was out of breath...and my little practice was a half mile out and back another back.  Oh my word.  Oh my word, I thought I was going to die.  No two ways about it, it was gruesome.  I remembered now why I don't run.  I don't like it.  My legs weigh a ton each, and struggle to go one in front of the other.  The rest of my body is a lead weight...and these days, my stomach bounces up and down threatening to poke my eye out.  So there's nothing for it...I must practice...and I've only got until the 21st of July to get it sorted.  It's going to be grim.

Talking of grim...we headed off to Secret Cinema last week...rather than central London, it was being held in West Croydon, which has a number of downside...it's a bloody long way for a night out, it's a grim suburb and the trains stop running at 11.20.  That would have been fine if the event itself was good, but it wasn't.  Held over thirteen floors of a deserted office building, the production was just spread too thin...so you felt that you were wandering round a deserted office building rather than being immersed in the the film 'Brazil' by Terry Gilliam.  In the end, we left at about 9.15, somewhat disappointed.  From what I heard, the full film wasn't shown, although there was a theatrical climax...I assume a terrorist attack.  As the tickets are nearly £50 each...and then you add food and drink on top, it's an expensive evening that needs to work hard.  We may skip the next one.  Shame really, as I think Brazil is a terrific film.



There was also a Muffin birthday this weekend, the smallest one hitting the grand old age of eight.  We started off in Delauney's Cafe, moved on to the sweet shop, before going  to see the new production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is playing previews now.  Oh dear, oh dear oh dear.  Methinks the famous Sam Mendes has invested too much time and effort getting the technical effects right, completely forgetting that the show needs pizazz and oomph.  The first half is way, way too long...full of tedious songs and lacking any sort of humanity or spirit.  There were an awful lot of fidgety little bums, so it was a relief to get to the interval.  With the second half set in the factory, it was obviously brighter, livelier and more interesting....although it would be hard to say that fun crept into the equation very much.  The show opens 'properly' on 24th June, so they've got a fortnight to sort it out, but I'm not sure how they will make a first half devoted to the dreary Buckets more entertaining.  Good luck Sam...you'll need it.

To round off the weekend we went to see Eddie Izzard.  The evening didn't promise much for me...I don't like the yawning aircraft hangar that is The O2 for performances, and I struggle to laugh at stand up comedy. So it's a credit to Mr Izzard, that he did bring a smile to my face...more for the clever, intellectual parts of his surreal act which appealed.  I wasn't rolling on the floor laughing, but then nor was anyone else either.  Like Charlie and the chocolate factory, the second half  was considerably better than the first, but it was not a bad evening out.

The biggest amusement for me, though, was The Cat's Mother's god son who was with us.  He's 26, just in case you thought we were taking nippers out for a late night.  He's eccentric to say the least.  At the interview for his new job, he was shown into a room, and realised that there was a ticking clock on the wall.  He was climbing on a chair to remove the battery 'because it's too loud' just as the interviewers arrived.  He doesn't start the job (yes, he actually got it) until July, so has spent his time reading the Koran.  And why not?  Last week, he needed to replace his vacuum cleaner so headed to John Lewis, where he engaged the sales man in a discussion about the merits of the new Siemens for AN HOUR.  Finally, the sales man had to say, "You know, it's just a vacuum cleaner.  It's not going to change your life."

Trubble in't mill

Tonight is another Secret Cinema outing...The Cat's Mother is getting a bit grumpy about these things...they're quite convoluted, and booking and finding out where to go, what to wear, what to bring is quite stressful.  And she gets stressed quite easily.

One of the pleasures of Secret Cinema is working out what you're going to see...sometimes we manage, but usually not.  Today, someone in the office let the cat out the bag and told me what it is.  Grrr that is really, really irritating.  I like a surprise.  It's fortunate that I like the film very much, and it's a while since I've seen it.

I managed to upset one of the women in the office the other day...I was a bit clumsy in trying to be helpful.  She was proudly showing everyone her new leggings, and I started talking about how proper safety wear is a good idea when she's riding her Vespa scooter.  Whatever the weather, I'm never without an armoured jacket and trousers...and I was able to quote the label which says 'Helps prevent muscle stripping' and that I'd read that if you come off at 30 mph it's less than half a second before the road will remove all the flesh down to the bone.  Yes, very ungracious of me, but I do have a bit of a bee in  my bonnet about motor bike safety...

Time clock of the heart

Some things confuse me, some things confuse other people.  Time for example.

On The Cat's Mother's side of the family, time is a mystery which will never be understood.  Her sister, Mrs Muffin, has never knowingly been anything less than half an hour late for anything (except this weekend when I was forced, arm twisted to sit through yet another viewing of The Lord Of The Rings...this time for the benefit of the young Muffins - they arrived two minutes early, whilst I was still working).

The Cat is always late by varying degrees, and when The Boy and I who are both sticklers for time get tetchy because we're being made late, gets really irritated.  I've lost count of the time we've heard her say something along the lines of "Oh, so when you said we had to be there by seven, you didn't mean we were leaving at 7?"  Fortunately the school journey never needs to be made again.  When we lived almost next door to the school The Boy, who could walk there, would leave home at 7.45 in the morning.  Since we started living some miles away, and a car was required to get them there, the journey generally starts some twenty minutes later.  There have been tears.  I'm glad it's all over.

The Cat's Mother, is generally pretty good at getting ready on time, but then will go and spoil it all by finding half a dozen things that can be done before we leave to go anywhere for any reason.  If we're having a meal before we go to the theatre or cinema, all will go well until an extra pudding, an extra coffee, a trip to the loo is thrown in....we have been known to be running down the aisle as the curtains are going up.

So there's an irreconcilable difference in our understanding of time.

I had an e-mail from Southwark Playhouse today that started "Southwark Playhouse mk. III is officially open! Our new bar is easy to find and open from 11am to 12pm Monday to Saturday."

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean it is open for precisely one hour?  Eleven in the morning until midday.  I realise that there is some debate about this, but one minute past midday is 12.01pm, so logically 12pm is midday.  Now you may say I'm just being picky, and deliberately obtuse, but now the sun has come out, I don't want to turn up at lunchtime and find the doors locked. Please don't ever accuse me of picking a fight for the sake of picking a fight....

Doing time is another matter.

I never forget how lucky I am to be working in the middle of London, and actually one of the most diverse and dynamic parts of central London.  It's a mix of the ancient and the modern; the rich and the poor.  If I wanted to (and I wish I had the time to) I could spend hours exploring...but usually I just wander out, grab a sandwich and then head back to my desk.  It's a bad habit.  Today, though was slightly different.  As I wandered, I went past Southwark Crown Court...there was a large crowd, and loads of TV cameras and photographers.  I paused just long enough to see Rebecca Brooks come out.  She looked pretty pleased with herself, which is strange because the consensus in the crowd seemed to be that she should be doing time.  I took a picture, but I was a little way away...

Elsewhere, the BBC seems a little confused.  Here are the opening two paragraphs of a story I read on the news site

Al-Rahma Islamic Centre destroyed in 'racist attack'

An Islamic centre in north London has been destroyed by a fire in an apparent racially motivated attack.

It is not yet known whether the Al-Rahma Islamic Centre, which is listed as a mosque, was set alight deliberately in the early hours.

I'd say that was a somewhat inflammatory headline...

Turkish delight

I'm so glad we have the BBC.  It's not just the TV programmes, it's not just the radio shows, it's not even the BBC website.  What I am most in awe of the BBC for today is that they have finally unravelled the bare bear mystery for me.  No I don't mean naked dancing grizzlies, I mean how to use the words when you're not talking about bears or birthday suits.  The mystery was solved because of the terrible flooding that's going on in central Europe at the moment.  Specifically, the BBC headline which says, 'Flood waters from Czech dams bear down on Prague'.  My money would have been on 'bare' as the right word....I know I've tried to use Google in the past to find out how to bear arms, but to no avail, but at least I no longer have to bear this burden.

So Labour is going to restrict 'winter fuel payments' to the wealthy elderly.  Quite right too...why should those rich feckers get a penny.  Some might disingenuously argue 'because they've contributed more'.  Of course that is ridiculous; how could any one feel that the people who have put most into the system should get anything back.  The chances are, these people have paid for and not used the education system, nor the National Health service either as they've sent their kids to private school and filled the coffers of BUPA too.  I'm not going to dwell on the absolutes of the discussion too much, as I think the major policy announcement is merely the vocalisation of how much the politicians are missing the point.  Tinkering with winter fuel payments will make a difference of a few million at best....it will make no impact whatsoever on the country's financial position.  It does nothing, it says nothing. The truth is, root and branch reform of every aspect of the UK's fiscal system is the only way to solve the problems UK plc faces.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again and again.  It would be churlish, of course, to point out that ensuring the international businesses that squirrel away billions out of reach of HMRC pay a proper level of tax would reap unimaginable billions.  I don't even think re-writing tax legislation so that the effective location of business deals is the point of taxation would be beyond the wit and wisdom of any tax lawyer.  Starbucks wouldn't leave the UK now, nor would Google, Amazon or Apple...let alone EDF.  I rather like the idea mentioned by someone the other day, that companies are taxed, just like you and I, on income rather than profit.

The Cat's Mother and I are contemplating a trip to Turkey.  Nay, that is an understatement.  We are definitely booked on a trip to Istanbul later this year.  Well, bugger me, why is it that whenever we decide to go somewhere, the populace start rioting.  They did in Jordan last year, and a couple of years before that The Cat's Mother went off to Syria, and even Lebanon the year before last had seen some trouble.  I've not yet got my head around the Ottoman Problem, but it is unlikely that I won't have a read around to see what the SP is.  In the meantime, if anyone there happens to be reading this...please just cool it until we've been and gone.

It's a short life

I love shorts.

Yes, when the sun comes out, my marble white legs are exposed to all in the hope of turning them a dusky brown.  Hopefully that will happen at least once this year.

But the shorts I love most are short movies.  It must be the nature of the format that means all the creativity which normally gets spread amongst two hours of a full-length movie, gets squashed into a much tighter space to create something which is much more powerful and exciting.  Next Floor is one of my favourites



On a lighter note is this one



But my absolute favourite is this one (WARNING ADULT CONTENT)...Danse Macabre by Pedro Pires. It is very moving indeed.



Having seen it originally at Secret Cinema, I downloaded it from iTunes to watch at my leisure.  But sadly, the version that's available has been significantly edited...the 'danse' where the body is moved around has been edited out.  Odd, as this is a key part of the thing.  I don't understand.  Very disappointing.

This weekend we sat down to watch Django on BluRay.  It was a film The Cat's Mother and I enjoyed very much at the cinema...although, being Tarrantino, there were some parts where she hid behind the seats.  It was with great angst I realised, not too far in, that the watch at home, no holds barred version has been edited.  Having only seen the film once at the cinema, it's hard to say what all the edits are, but one that was particularly noticeable - because it's on the soundtrack - is where Django and Schultz ride into town, and they discuss what would happen if they sat down together in the saloon.  It was a nice little bit...not critical to the film, but certainly worth having.  So why has it gone?  Why do that?  If it was good enough for the cinema, what makes it not good enough for the sofa?  There were other bits that my fuzzy memory said were not right either.  It somewhat tainted an otherwise enjoyable evening....



P.S. I see YouTube is working much harder to 'monetise' their investment...so sorry for all the ads