Crash

I was saddened to read of the death of a young school student in the Lanark Coach crash.
The crash took place about 40 miles away. Yesterday I was moaning about the weather, and my journey to the airport. I got home safely, but it seems that not everyone did.

One of Mrs Weasel's school chums died in a continental coach crash 25 years ago. She would have probably been married and had kids by now. She might have been happy or not, but she never had the chance. She is remembered as a young girl, and even today, there are teachers still at the school who remember the tragedy. I am sorry and sad. What else can one say?

Goldie

I read that the Boston May Fair, an event granted by Royal Charter for 450 years, was in jeopardy last year because the local council would not pay for the extra policing required. The cost of the extra police presence was under £15,000. Nobody seems to have factored in the extra revenue the fair garners, or the effect it has on maintaining the special identity of this curious market town or indeed, the fact that the Council's own web site features this as a reason to visit. You see, it is all down to elf and safety. In years gone by, I looked forward to this spectacle, and then, being given One Shilling per day (until the great visit) I could enjoy an evening in the balmy May air and have at least two rides - usually the Speedway (known in the Trade as an "Ark"), or the Waltzer. I remember my sister being interested in goldfish; they hung by the score in little plastic bags, waiting to be won somehow. Or not at all, as was mostly the case. Nobody paid much attention to these creatures, for their well-being because, for goodness' sake, they were fish. On any day in Boston except Sunday and Monday, you could buy freshly caught North Sea fish from a selection available at not one, but three adjacent shops, smack in the centre of the town. Almost every single one of these fish died of asphyxiation or worse, boiling, or crushing, in order to sate an endless demand for this food. They still do.

Every year, thousands of Chickens are bred in cramped conditions, pumped with God knows what chemicals and growth hormones; unable to exercise, unable to exhibit their natural behaviours and made to exist claw deep in their own shit.

I am not aware that Bernard Matthews or anybody else has been fined or imprisoned for this cruelty, this deliberate mass cruelty and I am not aware that the country's fishermen have been fined for cruelty to fish.

And so it has been something of a surprise to me that, as a result of an elaborate and costly sting operation, a woman, a grandmother who has owned a pet shop for over 25 years, has been punitively treated for selling a gold fish to an un-accompanied 14-year old boy.

Pet shop owner Joan Higgins, aged 66, has been fined £1000 and made to wear an electronic tag.

According to an article in the Daily Mail:

Defending the goldfish case, Iain Veitch, head of public protection at Trafford Council, said: 'The evidence presented for this conviction clearly demonstrates that it is irresponsible to sell animals to those who are not old enough to look after them.
'Let this conviction send out a message that we will not tolerate those who cause unnecessary suffering to animals.

Of course, there may be other issues here. Perhaps this owner had it coming; she certainly had a very poorly cockatiel in her shop when the raid took place. I don't know.

The thing that worries me is the inconsistency and the arbitrary nature of the law.

At stake here was the well-being of a gold-fish. I wonder if the use of council resources, and the law and the effect of being criminalised this way is worth it? If it is, then why are animals for human consumption being treated far, far worse, with the consent, the connivance and the financial support of the Government?

Can anybody explain to me why you can fine a 66 year-old woman for merely selling a goldfish to a 14 year old, when hundreds of concentration camp chicken farmers get away with murder?

Bed and Breakfast

I drove back from the airport tonight in weather that, in 55 years of being on this planet, I have not knowingly encountered. Torrential rain and snow; ice forming on the windscreen (until I turned up the fan and the heat to full) and lakes appearing on major dual carriageways. Nearer home, a car stuck in the middle of the road in a flooded hollow, with its hazards flashing, was one of many I saw. Stupidly I set off without a phone. Had I been caught in this mayhem, there was no way I could have phoned home to let Mrs Weasel know what was going on. I have no idea what my phone numbers are. Even my recovery service is on my phone, but apart from that, if the car had stalled in the atrocious weather, I would have been stuffed.
Of course, my two passengers had to wait for a much delayed plane. It seems to be a regular thing now, but mostly because of the weather. Young Master Weasel appeared a few days ago with a friend, and then promptly needed hospitalization and a general anaesthetic. A lot of tooing and frowing ensued, not to say a bit of worry. We are cautiously optimistic that he will make a full recovery, and was just about able to fly, despite being in pain from a bit being cut out of him. During the "ordeal", a very high up army chap told him his pre-op condition "looked like a gunshot wound".
I have barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone read the news or think of this blog. And now, the next lot of visitors have arrived and they will be here, with nowhere to go due to the stinking weather, for another five days. Then, there is a lull, and then Mrs Weasel jets off to a week of sunshine in lake Como, and on the day she returns, so does Ms Weasel and Ms Weasel's friend - making two round trips to the airport in one day.

All of this is to say, sorry that blogging has been non-existent, but sometimes, real life looms large. Food does not cook itself, nor do beds get changed and my face aches from smiling and being amenable.

Vince Cable & The Hotwires

As some of you will know, I have been involved with musicians a bit and the other day I met up with a guy who was around the York music scene in the Sixties. He told me that Vince Cable - the Lib Dem, yes that one, was in a band.

I am not sure if it is possible to confirm this, but the guy is called Ray, and he tells me that Vince had a band called Vince Cable and the Hotwires, which was primarily a skiffle band, although he was also in a band called The Ousebeats when one of the regular players was unavailable. The Hotwires didn't last very long, but did some gigs in and around York at clubs like The Mandrake, The Beat Cellar and the Wild Man pub.

Ray sent me a photo, which he says features Vince on Banjo in 1960 or 1961. Vince later met up with other people on the Skiffle circuit, such as Jimmy Marks, who he met at the 2 I's Coffee Bar. Marks was recording a demo at the time and needed a banjo player. Cable was happy to oblige.

Any information would be interesting.

budget schmudget

More taxation. The death of a thousand cuts. A Kafkaesque engine that tortures you until you are dead or don't care anymore.

I noticed that Alistair Darling did not increase the tax on fags very much, for you cannot bite the hand that feeds you, but all those who enjoy a bit of Diamond White or Scrumpy Jack may decide to vote Conservative.

I know my punters rather well now. Most of us will be thinking that our standing still money is going to increase, and our incomes will shrink.

This was not a budget to change the world. This was a budget to steal yet more from the honest working classes.

Weasel will not be blogging so much in the next few weeks. Weasel Hall will be full of visitors for the foreseeable future, (weeks and weeks) and while those who are coming are my wonderful friends and family, it will be hard work.

Both cars need work doing on them. My local garage is very good, and they have a waiting list. The owner, specialises in abject misery. At least they seem honest, and in an emergency they always come good. There is no money for fun at the moment.

The eBay test

So, you think you are famous? You have a legacy? Something that will keep you in memorium eternal?

Then get your nearest and dearest to sell your stuff on eBay. Or, if you are posh, Bonhams or Sotheby's. 

If you are a big fan of Gordon Brown, there is good news. You can have your very own signed brochure of Number Ten Downing Street. What price the Prime Minister's autograph? Well at the time of writing, eBay has a copy available for £2.40, having risen to that stratospheric price after 2 bids.

Mrs Thatcher does not do much better; you can get her autograph for as little as £3.21, though a signed photo may set you back £35.

Getting this into some kind of perspective, a typewritten letter from Hitler recently went under the hammer for £8000.

The Beatles can be had for a little under £14,000

These all pale into insignificance when you find out about one William Travis. William Who?

William Travis was the commander of the battle of the Alamo. It was an IOU for six cows bought to feed the besieged troops of the Alamo. It sold for £176,000.

C4 Politicians for Hire

I am just about half-way through watching Channel Four's excellent Dispatches programme, which covertly discovers just what our politicians are prepared to do for money, in relation to lobbying.

Frankly, I cannot be bothered. Am I shocked? Of course I am not shocked, and neither are you, that those who are charged with the great offices of state are basically, venal, self-serving dolts who are now hiring themselves out by the day in an attempt to cash in on former glory.

The reason I shall not watch any more is not that the programme is no good - it is very good indeed - but that these people are so fucking dull. This terrifies me. MPs used to have a bit of colour about them. Many had talents, such as painting, or just spent a lot of time bagging Munros. Some enjoyed being crapped on by rent boys, but hey, at least it showed they had outside interests. The people shown in this documentary are revealed to be the sort of people you would walk away from at a party after about two minutes, in order to go and watch some grass growing.

“I was like, ‘I’m not going to go to prom and pretend I’m not gay.”

You have no idea, dear reader, how close this story is to my heart. An 18 year-old lesbian student has had her prom night ruined because of Southern American bigotry. She was not allowed to accompany her female partner "as a date" at the Prom. You can read the full story HERE.

Of course, I am outraged, I genuinely am outraged that people can be so mean. What kind of signals of rejection is this sending out, to someone at the beginning of their adult life? I don't buy into the gay martyrdom schtick as a rule, but this is about somebody who was brave enough to be true to themselves whilst surrounded by breathtaking insensitivity and ignorance.

(But I wish that young people would not say "And I was like.." It irritates me to death.)

Did I mention that I was a magician?

I became interested in magic when I was still in single figures; an age ago. I started, like all kids, with a magic set, bought in a shop. This usually consisted of the cups and balls, a card trick, the spotty paddles and one or two others that were never that convincing. Then, somebody turned up one day with some real magician's equipment, sans instructions. Not only that, certain essential bits were missing, so it proved to be a little frustrating. After that, it was off to Hamley's, who had and still do have, a magic counter. It was there that I first saw and bought the "disappearing hanky", made popular these days by Miss Ursula Martinez. (See below). However, I did lack the one bit of equipment to enact the climax of the trick, a la Martinez, so my rendition was fairly average.

I then progressed to the semi-professional level. By the age of 15, I was performing magic shows and getting paid to do so. Massive amounts of money in those days. I forget how much, but one show would net me the kind of money it took a week to earn in a proper job.

I used to make regular trips up to London to visit the people who made and sold professional magical apparatus. People like Ken Brooke, Harry Stanley, Davenports and several others. Apart from Davenports, the names will be meaningless to the general public, but to magicians they are very well known. I also made a bit of money by inventing tricks and having them published. I was about sixteen at the time and I remember meeting one of the publishers at a convention and he was a little surprised at my youthfulness.

I did a lot of kid's shows. I don't do that anymore. There is too much negativity surrounding the idea of old men doing magic shows for eight-year-olds. It's a pity, but we live in a very superstitious and hysterical era, more akin to Salem in the Seventeenth Century than the 21st Century.

I still entertain for friends, very occasionally. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone could still do a party piece?

The Sheik of Araby

People have begun to speculate on what will happen to Gordon Brown when he finally becomes a bog standard MP again. No longer will the powerful machine that is Number Ten be able to shield him from civilians. Brown will have to be in the real world with real people and he may well be confused and disoriented when they do not clap and cheer wildly as he passes. Brown currently has dozens of people to do his bidding. This includes making sure that the interface between Brown and the real world is under very strict control. This is the first element of what is now known as spin. I shall never forget, on election night, in 1997, Mandelson being seen on TV, consulting his pager (no doubt being paged to tell him he was on TV). The media was locked down from that day onward, with journalists being carrotted and sticked to make sure the flow of information garbage was consistent with the line.

Occasionally there were cock-ups. Once in a while an email got out that exposed what was really going on and that pulled the rug from under the smooth operators that ministers liked to be seen as. One such occasion was Jo Moor's infamous "Good day to bury bad news" email on 9/11. Moore of course, worked for Stephen Byers. Byers quickly moved to distance himself from the comment and Moore took the bullet.

Not so now. The hapless Byers is so, in reality, credulous and stupid, that he cannot apparently spot a sting operation that would not bear the light of day if even a tiny bit of investigation had been done. In the old days, Byers would never have been exposed to the raw reality of the real world - his minders would have been paid to make sure that all encounters with the media were legit and friendly. Even the BBC's Question Time producer makes sure that those they answer to are given an easy ride.

Several Labour MPs have been caught, touting themselves like prozzies, claiming a hotline a to God and Tony Blair, in order to cash in on their dubious "status" and inside contacts. At the least, this is tawdry, at worst fraudulent.

What you now see is politicians in the raw, stripped of their minders, gullible and venal. The Sheik of Araby -  without his pants on.

WARNING! This is incredibly rude.

This is Ursula Martinez. She does a "speciality" magic act. You have to see it. Salman Rushdie had her perform this at his stage night, and John Mortimer watched the act on his 81st Birthday. I am a magician, by the way, and I know how it is done. If you know how it is done, please do not tell.
WARNING! This is incredibly rude - the hanky disappears and is discovered somewhere very naughty. You have been warned.

Ursula Martinez - Best Magic Show Yet

Addendum: What makes this funny to magicians is the method Ms Martinez uses. It is instantly recognizable to those who know, and it is amusing to see how many times she uses it. I dare say people are too busy looking in the wrong area.

Taxation and the Boiling Frog Theory

I suppose there are people, somewhere in Government, whose job it is to see how much more revenue can be squeezed from the public. They must sit around wondering how much they can get away with, though I doubt if they consider public disorder on a mass scale being a result of the kind of rises they envisage.  This is the story of how one bit of tax came to be.

Taxation is a stealth activity. You start cold and slow, and then build up the heat. First, you introduce a new Tax; let's say the Air Passenger Duty and you make it sound fairly innocuous. Ken Clarke introduced this for the Tories in their 1993 budget and it came into force the following year. The cost then was £5 on domestic and European destinations and £10 on the rest. I suppose we all thought, "Oh, what's a fiver anyway", sighed and paid up. The rationale behind this is interesting because it reveals the way Chancellors and their advisors make decisions about taxation. Clarke believed that Air Travel was "under taxed". It appears, then, to have been a given that, if it moves, tax it. An assumption is made that everything is a target for taxation. An assumption is made that you constantly tax upward as a percentage. So, why not put VAT on Air Travel? It is currently VAT free and so is aviation fuel. EU rules prevent extending the scope of VAT unilaterally, so Chancellor Clarke had to invent a new one. What Clarke did not do was to pretend that this tax was anything other than a means of raising revenue - an estimated £330 million every year. A slight drop in passenger volume was anticipated as a result of the rise in ticket price, but never occurred. The Travel trade was on the whole inclined to be thankful it did not pay VAT, the APD being a small price to pay. Of course, before too long, temptation got the better of Ken Clarke and in 1996, the Tories proposed to double the tax.

When Labour got into power, they did double it. Just like that, and of course they could blame the Tories. 

This tax was altered slightly - Gordon Brown using his favourite word, "fairer" claiming, in his Pre-Budget statement  of November 1999 that at a cost to the Treasury of £80 million, the price of European flights would be halved, and in the case of the Highlands and Islands, abolished altogether. A briefing from the Treasury at the time said it would be revenue neutral. 

Gordon Brown's Pre-budget statement of November 1999 was at variance with official HM Treasury briefing of the same month.

The tax was frozen for five years until 2006 when Gordon Brown doubled it again from 2007. Further increases were introduced in 2009, only this time the reason given was to "help the Government achieve its environmental goals." Quite how this tax rise was going to do this was never explained, and unless anyone has information to the contrary, there is no evidence that the additional revenue was being spent on environmental issues. It is interesting to me that at the outset, no pretense was made about the introduction of APD, it was purely done to raise revenue. We are now in an age of lies and spin and it seems we have to be fed garbage about the environment in order to accept more taxation. Even Alistair Darling was touting the "environmental" ticket, when signaling further increases, without any indication about what the extra revenue was to be spent on.

So already you see the kind of escalation that occurs when a new tax is introduced. The first bite is merely an inoculation. That is the trick of taxation. Make it seem really tiny, and once everyone accepts it, you can double it, and double it again. Well, you can if you are Gordon Brown. If you are Gordon Brown, you can claim you are giving tax breaks away, even if the Treasury says you are not.

The moral of the story is, you increase taxes in the same way you boil a frog - or so they say: Start cold, and turn up the heat slowly and the frog will not jump out of the pan for it will not react strongly to a gradual change.

Sources: 

http://www.hm-treasury.gov.uk/pbr_pn_ce3.htm

http://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&q=cache:Duuci7AmWGYJ:www.parliament.uk/commons/lib/research/briefings/snbt-00413.pdf+%22Air+passenger+duty%22&hl=en&gl=uk&pid=bl&srcid=ADGEESj0VTUqZnPmaFlxdc8cKf32x4pVXUFwXDZVwJUBKoOCA7sjXEQaddsuqx2Bvc5ieBa6n3kucC59YO8LQFMiAIIDRGd-ZG2QjPXDJty5a7riLY-azlyKT_TtSIyoo0CxLjt2LBp2&sig=AHIEtbTVDBHe4XE5d7YvwapSKOQOh5QTEA


NB
According to the Daily Telegraph, the tax burden has doubled under Labour:

These show that HMRC took £69bn out of salaries and pay packets in 1997, but expects to raise £134bn in 2010. National Insurance contributions (NICs) – a tax on income by another name – took less than £47bn out of pay 13 years ago, but will exceed £98bn in 2010, according to calculations by accountants Grant Thornton. Other taxes – such as stamp duty, council tax and capital gains tax (CGT) – have risen by even more.

And on Wine:

Research carried out for The Sunday Telegraph shows that while the price of a bottle of wine has increased by 25pc since Labour came to power in 1997, the duty on it has increased by 53.3pc.

And on Fuel:

In December, 2008, a permanent increase in fuel tax was introduced to offset the temporary reduction in VAT. This increase remains in place, despite the increase in VAT. In effect, it was a stealth tax, designed to be hidden and forgotten.

What brought you here?

I am mostly depressed about the kind of search terms that bring people here: Eddie Stobart, Wicked Weasel, Sarah Wilmshurst, etc. They are the decent ones. Why on earth should "How to say ur gay in Mandarin" be a regular search term, I do not know. The biggest searchers for tits and bums seem to come from Finland and India. Go figure.
I just feel the world wide web was made for better things, that's all.

Meanwhile, how do you have sex with a Coati Mundi or make biscuits out of edible panties?

Essential Cool - Part Five: Art

Cools love art. If you see somebody in an art gallery, they are probably cool. Wankers do not go to art galleries, and it is a fact of life that if you want to spend a day wank free, then go to a good ol' fashioned art gallery. Art Galleries are free, and free things are cool. Avoid Private Views, though. Wankers do infiltrate, and can be heard braying about some piece of total crap and looking around to see who else is there.

I went to Art College. That is sort of cool, because so did Bryan Ferry, and Bryan Ferry is virtually Sub-Zero Cool. Ferry does not travel like most people. He sort of floats. That is, unless he is going to Zanzibar when a maniac tries to take over the controls of the plane, but even then, while women are screaming and relieving themselves involuntarily, and men are puking and telling their wives and sweethearts they love them, Bryan is sitting reading Narziss and Goldmund and making annotations in the margin.

But I digress. Art is cool. Don't get me wrong, stuff that masquerades as art, such as anything by Damien Hirst or Tracy Emin, is not cool, or art. It is just crap; toss from the Deutsche Bank of Grossespunk und Tosserwanken.

Cools own works of art, but always because they have a personal reason for having them. Anybody who buys art to "invest" is not cool. The value of art is in its artistry.
There are a lot of cool British artists. Edward Burra (see left) - very underrated but collected by those who know, such as George Melly. Stanley Spencer - again underrated but so natural and so sincere. Anthony Gormley is cool. His work is far more than the sum total of its parts. Grayson Perry is cool.

I love watercolours. They are cheap to buy and very collectible. I have several, my favourite being a dyptich of English landscape that I bought for £1. An original, perfectly rendered work of original art for a quid! Come up and see my etchings sometime. I have a very intimate one by a Scottish artist called A J Hartrick, called "Midsummer's Night" See above right (detail)

Art is all around. You can create it by arranging fruit in a bowl or with a slice of lemon in a Gin and Tonic.

WW's Weekend Window on the World

I wonder if the proposed series of strikes is going to impact on the election. I have been reading some of the strange theories about these strikes, along the lines that this is all a big Labour plot, manufactured to make Gordon look good as he saves the day at the last moment.

Considering the fact that these Unions are planning to take over the Labour Party, just as Militant attempted to do in the 70's there cannot be any credence in this. They are not out to make Gordon look good, they are out to take over the reigns of power from a weak and corrupt administration, by replacing it with a strong and corrupt administration. A power divided against itself cannot stand. Somebody called "Lucius Malfoy" submitted this to The Times, in a comment section:

"Now is the spring of our discontent
Made gridlock summer by this son of the manse;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the recession made worse."

I am serious about the issue of this Government's criminality. I believe their actions are nothing short of Treason. You have to take some time to consider how this can have come about, but it is no different to the way it always happens. Enough people find it in their interests to stay quiet, support the status quo, or actively collaborate. Expanding the public sector from One to Five Million workers in the lifetime of this Government is one factor, the BBC is another, and the culture of bullying and spin is another. It's the Nazis without death camps, but it is fascist methodology by any other name.

What do we have to look forward to? Well, the Eurovision song contest for a start. Last year I hardly watched it at all, after being a lifelong fan, stretching back almost to Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson. The highlight of my Eurovision punditry was correctly predicting Lordi as the winners in 2006. I am not sure even Eurovision can be saved. It has gone from a noble effort to forge links with our European friends, to dreck, to parody, and then, beyond parody to an abuse of aural rights and a sentimental musical re-enactment of the Cold War.

Moment of the week? I want to know yours, but my moment of the week was seeing David Cameron holding his own in a meeting of young at Lewisham College. I reproduce it here in case you did not see it. Cameron may not be my cup of tea, but just see how he deals with real people and hecklers. As somebody who can take a bit of negative, he is in a different league to Brown.



As the temperature heads for double figures over the weekend - a sweltering 10 degrees centigrade, I might get to do a bit of maintenance out of doors although we have had quite strong Westerly winds for the last two or three days. Today I prepared two meals in order to give myself time to do other things; a beef casserole and some lasagne mixture. They are presently cooking in the fridge. I found some more interesting music, which I will share here:

It's Nothing But the Truth, by Procol Harum. Despite critical acclaim, this track never raised its head above the parapet. Procol did some remarkable work after A Whiter Shade of Pale, including A Salty Dog, for me their best album, and one that gets played a lot in the Weasel household.

Just to remind some of you how I started, here are some sketches from a while ago, captured from many, many nights at my local pub during a folk night.

and another

Clowns at the Spectator

I have had a feeling for a while now that The Spectator is not as committed to their regular commenters at the Coffee House as they sometimes seem. Not only does the moderation of comments take hours sometimes, today this was let through, which tends to suggest that nobody is really reading them. ( I have removed some personal details such as names, addresses and phone numbers, which may be real)

Spiritual war Fair Scotland Yard Rope Murders
To pave number to plug and play mark XXXris ns XXX90c out
suspend which was put in machine XXXXXXris must peddle stall under the funeral mask and put on the hub And 24/7 Shadow him as we
look at 7XXXXXXX 1jz we see zip from nipple gum rays he has come full algrame the shells that enable S/Y to bring him to host
Tina tooth finger nails Book brook cook Westminster Sandwich on this. When
will his mind be his own as he has come full Knock the third way Bee Mac .when Scotland Yard quarter And spaced off alastair Campbell with
a cookie mask he was left in a state tell me that I will live We need shut down as the program has a disturbed chain on it. Scotland Yard
took David Cameron son so they could have his cup as they took hisclothes through there hub wardrobe of shadows of fraud as Scotland
Yard oppend up there airports they took him for a spin ( deports ) Sue XXXX controls the buss 77 45 clive XXXX With there red eyes
Scotland yard said must be hooded on the house crystal palace David Cameron son must peddle stall under the funeral keep quite on the
Germany murder to keep up the 911 pull. The green belt in IBM We have ad the five yesâ™s from david tooth we have had the five noâ™s from Gordon brown on the locker bee mac murders As they use the trailer
and rig 45 tons tyre pressure 44 pounds Scotland Yard says 43. August 23
2009 green green grass tv Only fools and horses algrames matthew XXXX with no name flew on head now DEAD please phone please help 07XXXXXX2
Scotland Yard rape
AXX TXX SXXr and a child at XX RXXX Road South XXX XX5 XXXXXbus mate president as they use there electric long arm under hat if this hits the street they will turn off screen shop they use and abused danny baker with their bottle of wine with pear in it whith pear car boot sale .
Scotland Yard pin eared samantha in here cot and rape her and killed here farther in gardening levers on summerset real police doctor said no arm it was sue e side take the dead body to biggin hill police dogs as we have a lead. christmas pay out at the shops good time to berry good money as tme goes buy colin stagg air lock as they machine where it was not fair. As they cloak there fraud shadow eye with chain for a get away but it when wrong so they air lock the lottery so they can carry on with there hunts. mo mowlam soap as they use there macbeth treason pass to pull her down and pin bubble her with there hats ....

How they can let this sort of randomly generated drivel is beyond me. The Speccie has to sort out its comment moderation. It was posted at 3.45pm and is still there!
Update: they have removed it in the last ten minutes, just after 5pm, and that is probably because I reported it to them.

I admit, I am a raving leftie

You must see The Bootleg Beatles. You will be amazed. They sound better than the real Beatles probably did. There is a snag though. "Paul" plays his Hofner Violin Bass right-handed. It does not spoil the show, but you notice it, especially if you are a raving leftie like me - left-handed, that is.

There is an interesting piece in The Times about being left handed, and the role it plays in learning and development.

How does it affect me? The most noticeable thing is walking down the street; you bump into people because they always walk to their left to avoid you. A leftie would naturally walk to the right. I have long learned to work at this, but occasionally I forget, and a near collision occurs. Doors are also designed for right-handers. Skating rinks and race tracks are a problem, for the leftie naturally wants to go anti-clockwise.

Otherwise, I have no idea how different I am. I am generally aware that I tend to think impressionistic, rather than linear thoughts. I am crap at everyday narrative. If someone says, "What's going on?" my answer would entail a summation of the mood, rather than a news report. I am also, tragically left handed. If I lost my right arm I would not miss it.

Mrs Weasel is also left-handed. We are both a bit strange.

Treason and Impeachment?

The last time any major figure in the West was impeached, it was President Clinton, over the Monica Lewinsky case, and he was acquitted. Nixon came within a gnat's whisker of being impeached but was pardoned. Others have withstood half-hearted attempts, but most, like dear Silvio Berlusconi, had the sense to make sure the rules were changed in his favour before it became an issue. Oh, wait a minute..changing the rules in order to avoid justice? Surely that could not happen here, Baroness Uddin and Lord Paul?

As you may know, there was an attempt to impeach Tony Blair for conducting an illegal war, being in effect, charged with "high crimes and misdemeanours"

Let's first though, remind ourselves what the process is and what it involves.

Under this ancient procedure, all persons, whether peers or commoners, may be
prosecuted and tried by the two Houses for any crimes whatever. The House of
Commons determines when an impeachment should be instituted. A member, in his
place, first charges the accused of high treason, or of certain crimes and
misdemeanours. After supporting his charge with proofs the member moves for
impeachment. If the accusation is found on examination by the House to have
sufficient grounds to justify further proceedings, the motion is put to the House. If
agreed, a member (or members) are ordered by the House to go to the bar of the
House of Lords. There, in the name of the House of Commons and of all the
commons of the United Kingdom, the member impeaches the accused person. A
Commons committee is then appointed to draw up articles of impeachment which are
debated. When agreed they are ingrossed and delivered to the Lords. The Lords
obtain written answers from the accused which are communicated to the Commons.
The Commons may then communicate a reply to the Lords. If the accused is a peer,
he is attached by order of that House. If a commoner, he is arrested by the Commons
and delivered to Black Rod. The Lords may release the accused on bail. The
Commons appoints ‘managers’ for the trial to prepare the evidence; but it is the Lords
that summons witnesses. The accused may have summonses issued for the attendance
of witnesses on his behalf, and is entitled to defence by counsel. When the case,
including examination and re-examination, is concluded, the Lord High Steward puts
to each peer, (beginning with the junior baron) the question on the first of the charges:
then to each peer the question on the second charge and so on. If found guilty,
judgment is not pronounced unless and until demanded by the Commons (which may,
at this stage, pardon the accused). An impeachment may continue from session to
session, or over a dissolution. Under the Act of Settlement the sovereign has no right
of pardon.1
It rests, therefore, with the House of Commons to determine when an impeachment
should be instituted.

(souce: http://www.parliament.uk/commons/lib/research/briefings/snpc-02666.pdf)

 Turkeys voting for Christmas? I think not. Given that the whole Parliamentary system is now crooked through and through it is unlikely that anybody will ever come to justice this way.

Of course, despite support from within and without Parliament, the campaign to impeach Tony Blair never stood a chance. All the powers of hell would have been let loose in order to make sure it fell before it had any chance of being enacted. The process is described well by Dan Plesch, HERE, but even he concedes it would have fallen, given that the terms of reference would be almost certainly set by a Parliamentary Committee, and therefore emasculated long before it was brought to the Commons.

So what of Treason? According to a recent report by the BBC; There is in fact a fascinating debate at the top levels of law and politics in Britain and beyond - about using treason law.
This was in the context of an article about using such a law against Islamic Extremists. Personally, it is not Islamic Extremists I worry about, it is the very heart of our Government and those in power over us that I worry about.

So what is it? "Treason's like an elephant on the doorstep. You recognise it when you see it", said Lord Rooker, former Minister of State for Asylum and Immigration.

The BBC piece concludes: There is, for many, still a sense of a line not to be crossed, a betrayal too far in undermining your country.

I ask you, can you, with hand on heart, deny that Treason has anything to do with Labour's conduct of the last 12 years?

Would you, dear visitor, be prepared to put your name to a campaign for the renewal and re-assertion of the laws of Treason, with a view to prosecuting Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, Michael Martin and others under such a law? Please, please, this time, let me know.

UPDATE 1: It would seem that a prosecution for Treason against all or any member of the Government would not happen, because the Government itself is the only body which can bring such a prosecution. The only way this might happen would be if the entire Government was replaced with a body which was committed to bringing people to justice. We would then have a situation similar to Nuremberg, where an international ad hoc court was convened to prosecute Nazi Leaders, most of whom refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of the court.

 It seems to me there are two, possibly three alternatives: the first is to see if international law can be invoked, the second is a revolutionary council or coup of some kind, and the third is a private prosecution. I'll leave that for the legal types to think about. I wonder if any of them are thinking what I am thinking?

As for the substance of such an action, I can think of many, but the chief ones being, pursuing an  illegal war, compromising sovereignty, lying to Parliament, allowing MPs to be arrested for political reasons, destroying the financial infrastructure, undermining the social fabric by covertly allowing mass immigration, undermining democracy and the rule of law. The list, as they say, is endless. Far fetched? Did you see Ceaucescu? he was totally confused; he thought the people loved him. What about Karadic? What about Nixon? He only got away with it because of a deal with President Ford. These people behave like "Statesmen" until they are brought, blinking, into the cold light of moral reality and justice. The time has come. This is the "Elephant on the doorstep". It's treason, undertaken for a political ideology which has been misrepresented to the public and gerrymandered by massive public spending.

Great Expectations - The Movie (1946)

Great Expectations is for me, one of Dickens' best. It is not what you might call an easy read, but it rewards patience and cooperation in the reader. It is always a double-edged sword when you come to read the movie adaptation of a book like this. Sometimes, they disappoint, as if the author had planted a literary bomb or some other kind of sabotage device to make it impossible to adapt satisfactorily. I am sure all of us can think of travesties, and yet, David Lean's film of the book is not a travesty, it is a triumph.

The script is written with humour and economy. The actors, all of them, are given plenty of opportunity to act, and though occasionally they overdo it for today's tastes, they are such good players that it matters not. Of course, it is mostly all fluff. Finlay Curry, as Magwitch cannot disguise his sonorous cultured voice, and is not scary at all. Francis L Sullivan is remarkable as Jaggers, and possibly the most believable of all the characters. Martita Hunt as Miss Havisham is far too beautiful, with a noble soul beaming from her face and yet, her portrayal of an embittered old maid, living in the past is an anchor in the pretense that this is all real. Valerie Hobson is a worthy progeny; as Estella, too aware of her own human failings, yet too proud to accept Pip as a suitor. John Mills is a competant Pip. I would put it no higher than that. I think, in the end, the weight of carrying the lead was too much. He seems to be eclipsed in every scene, especially in a two hander with Alec Guinness as Herbert Pocket. Mills never really excelled in male leads, and was never edgy enough for my liking, and was always better as a second or third, or a character part, and indeed, his only Oscar was "Best Actor in a supporting role" for Ryan's Daughter, another Lean film.

My real life touched a little on this, and still does in one small way. My step-uncle was a key worker with David Lean, with an association spanning two decades. I interviewed Valerie Hobson once at one of her many charity events and in my small collection of autographed photos, there sits Johnny Mills, complete with absurd dicky bow, which rather sums him up.

The film stands up today despite its age. Worth a look just to remember how films once relied on character and plot, rather than special effects and celebrities.

Time Machine

Turn on:

I wonder what you would do, where you would go, if you had one crack at a time-machine? I would not try anything fancy, in case I damaged the fabric of time itself, so I would go back to London, in 1967, just as the Capital was bursting with artistic energy which, like a black hole, sucked in creativity from all over the world and spewed it out again with people like Jimi Hendrix or David Hockney or Peter Blake or of course, The Beatles. To walk through the streets of London in the 1960's was to feel the kind of energy you get when being mildly electrocuted. Habitat had opened a store in the Fulham Road. All of a sudden, you could buy things you did not really need. (This was a novelty back then). But you could also create style and statements.

My uncle's flat in Chelsea bristled with modern lighting and a Braun radiogram that went on to become a design classic. Harrods was about to open the Way In, a very groovy boutique, on the top floor. You could go to Carnaby Street and buy T shirts with purple swirls on them. (You have to remember...not wearing a tie was regarded as bad form in most formal and semi formal situations.)

If the 1960's got one thing right, it broke a lot of conventions. You could be born on a lousy council estate in Rotherham, go to London and become a star. This was the first time this happened to any great extent. Suddenly, the young were important and visible. There was a sense of mutability and dynamism that affected the Arts and the way we live our lives. Compared to 2010, it was liberated, free-thinking and exciting.

Petrol and Diesel

63% of the cost of each litre of fuel for your vehicle goes to Gordon Brown. On a standard fill of say, 40 litres, about £30 goes to the Exchequer. Of course, you are taxed not once, but three times on your petrol or diesel. First, you pay income tax. Then you pay fuel duty. Then you pay VAT on the fuel duty.

Do you remember, in the old days, you could save a bit by buying a diesel car? They soon caught onto that. Now diesel costs more at the forecourt than petrol. This is the only country in Europe where diesel fuel costs more than petrol. In some countries the differences are huge; Denmark has nearly a 20p difference, Norway 10p, Germany 20 pence and Holland, a staggering 30 pence. All these countries pay this amount less for Diesel.

Some say, vehicle fuel is a luxury, a choice. I say it is a necessity. In fact it is a tax on life. Even if you don't drive yourself, you are utterly dependent upon those who do, people who deliver everything you need. If you use a car to travel to work, you are being taxed to work. If you then have to pay to park at your place of work, an increasing phenomenon, especially in PFI funded workplaces, you have the pleasure of being taxed four times in order to work, to pay your taxes...

Graphic courtesy of http://www.whatprice.co.uk/petrol-prices/cost-litre-breakdown.html

European price comparisons: http://www.theaa.com/motoring_advice/fuel/

Essential Cool - Part Four: Clothes

Can black ever be uncool? I doubt it. Even a black tank top has attitude. The number one rule, of course, is to take time with clothes and what you wear, but to make the result look effortless. good Jeans, T-Shirts, cashmere sweaters and Bass Weejuns or Desert Boots, are as cool as need be. Timberlands or non-descript brown boat shoes, (the kind I wear, day in, day out), don't make it.(As Frank Zappa would say).

Good shirts maketh man. You can spot a good shirt a mile away. It can be worn in almost any situation without fear of embarrassment. If you have never felt the crisp efficiency of two-fold cotton poplin, or sea-island cotton, of a Jermyn Street shirt, you must, before you die. These days, I have two suits. I wear neither, except to weddings and funerals: a light grey DB and a dark navy SB. I am not convinced it is cool to wear a suit with anything other than a tie, a good shirt and a pair of black Oxford lace-ups. Do you really want to look as if you are going to a Miami Vice revival show?

No Cool's wardrobe is complete without a leather jacket, black of course. Make sure it is not one that looks like it has been worn by Peter Sutcliffe. I find the Maquis look works for me, which I sometimes underpin with a black french beret. (you have to be there - some can get away with this, others not.) As for thickness of leather, it should be able to withstand a slug from a Walther PPK at short range, especially if you are meeting Earnest Hemingway in a bar.

Jeans are de rigueur for the cool clothes-horse. Black cords can be worn instead if you are going somewhere that has an ideological aversion to indigo.

And now the rub. It is not possible to look cool in the British climate. Cools can only really look uber cool in California or Southern Europe. In Britain, we have to wear too many clothes for most of the year, so tend to look like Nanook of Nantwich.

Rules:

1 Black is cool.

2 Unless you are an athlete, wearing anything to do with sports, is about as uncool as you can get. Leave jogging pants to the chavs on the estate.

3 Never wear anything with a designer label on it. You are a dick if you do this. Sorry, no compromise there. Quality and style does not need to spell itself out.

4 For God's sake, change your sock collection once in a while. Why bother with the rest if it looks as if you have borrowed your socks from a bloke who sits by the subway entrance with a dog on a bit of string?

Libraries - an "ethos in search of a function"

Among the gay charivari of Newsnacht, a piece by David Grossman caught my eye. He did a report on Libraries the other night and at the outset asked the above question: are they "an ethos in search of a function?", in other words, merely a sentimental prop from the past, like Ovaltine and the Light Programme - an under-used throwback to a long passed age.


Libraries, like red phone boxes and belisha beacons and bobbies on bicycles are disappearing. In 1998, there were 3,066. Now there are 2,870. Just under half a million books were borrowed in the year ending 1998, in the year ending 2007, this had reduced to some 314,000.

Neither are punters going to libraries for other reasons, e.g. to keep warm or wee on the seats. Visits are down too. But a local council representative said on the Grossman piece, "We are determined to maintain the service".

Clearly the arguments for and against are obvious and tend to fall into the category of cash versus culture. But, what do you think? I use a library, but then again, I read a lot and don't want my home filled with books I shall never need again. But for me, it is an added extra. I can afford to buy any book I want. I don't need the library. The argument that poor people need them is not a strong argument. Poor people who understand and can uses libraries are quite capable of getting books in other ways, such as in charity shops or by borrowing from friends, or nicking them.

I must have more books left with friends, that are now circulating the world, than I actually have in my home. That is because nobody ever gives books back. Worse thing is, I only lend stuff I can recommend, so I end up buying the same book over and over.

But I digress. Are libraries doomed, like Post Offices, to become a thing of the past?

Let's get liminal

Liminal. It's a liminal week, in which things will change; not necessarily visibly, but in the swirling miasma of undercurrent and perception.

At the BBC, there appears to have been a last gasp of partisan bias, to Labour of course, with their silly radio programmes designed to humiliate Tories, and there equally silly Question Time shows with all women audiences and their piss-poor handling of what should have been a stage managed outing of the Fuhrer among the civilians. If I was DC, who has had a good week, I would be on to the BBC saying, "If you carry on like this, we shall cut your fucking balls off". Of course, he is too nice to say "balls". At least not in public. The fact remains, the BBC are in retreat. All those poofy, coke-smeared pre-pubic producers who specialise in being economical with the truth, now know the gravy train is coming off the rails. It's liminal.

David Cameron has had a good week, no doubt about that. He managed to get the better of a load of yobs, including a Labour plant who read out his heckle.

Gordon Brown has had a bad start to the week. Now that the facts have come out about how much he is in thrall to Unite, and Charlie Whelan in particular, and now that it is apparent that Whelan and Balls are staging a bid to take control of Labour, I say Rejoice! Rejoice, because its the Trots all over again; big bad Labour, redolent of Red Robbo, Arthur Scargill and Michael Foot. For Labour, its back to the past, to the days of strikes, yobs and slobs. Only a total idiot, or somebody under 30 would seriously consider returning to the days when Labour brought the country to a standstill.

Danny Finkelstein made me smile. He mentioned Terry Duffy, who was a powerful Union Leader back in the days when Mrs Thatcher buttonholed yours truly for a chat and some advice. Mickey Mouse, Danny recalled, had a Terry Duffy watch. Exactly. I interviewed Duffy at his home during the worst of it. Actually he was quite nice, but of course, totally deluded.

We are still reeling from the breadth of mendacity exemplified by the expenses scandal. We have yet to hear the full story of Steven Purcell and the way that Labour in Glasgow had "cronyism" tattooed on its rent boy arse.

What is happening now is the natural shifting of the tectonic plates. DC has not peaked too soon, petrol will reach £1.20 a litre and Gordon will look increasingly weak. If none of this this does not change the minds of those who still, inexplicably vote Labour, nothing will.

Peers Expenses - You have been f*cked

Baroness Uddin and Lord Paul (the lowest common denominators of public morality in Government) have been able to defraud the taxpayer of hundreds of thousands of pounds, by claiming empty properties as their "main home", and now the rest of the House of Lords have not only secretly changed the rules so that they cannot be prosecuted, they have blocked the release of a memo that reveals their reasons for doing so. This is happening in this country, now, today. This is your money. They should be jailed, relieved of their assets and upon their release should be deported to their country of origin. Instead, they enjoy and will continue to enjoy all the privileges of their inflated positions, for life, and prop up the most corrupt Government in British History.

This is what The Times had to report:

THE HOUSE of Lords has used parliamentary privilege to hide the details of a ruling that caused the collapse of criminal inquiries into the expenses claims of two Labour peers.
Officials blocked the release of a secret memo outlining the reasons for the changes in expenses rules that made it impossible to prosecute Baroness Uddin and Lord Paul.
The memo, written by Michael Pownall, clerk of the parliaments, proposed a peer’s main home could be somewhere they visited as little as once a month. His proposal was passed in January by the leaders of the Lords on the house committee.
However, when The Sunday Times used freedom of information rules to discover the reasons for the new definition, Pownall signed a privacy certificate blocking disclosure of his memo. On Friday Keir Starmer, the director of public prosecutions, said Pownall’s new definition was the reason for the collapse of the Uddin case.

I could not have imagined, even 20 years ago, that the great offices of state would be reduced to those of a banana republic.

Essential Cool - Part Three: Food

Restaurant Cool. You really want a well done steak, but you daren't ask for one so you settle for a "medium". Everyone knows you really want it well done. Such terrible times we live in, that even ordering a piece of dead cow is fraught with social dangers. Cools don't worry about intimidating waiters. If the waiter looks at all as if he is there to teach you a lesson, ask politely to see his finger nails. They may pass muster, but you have established the rules of the game, from which he cannot escape, which are that you are in charge, not him.

I once had the misfortune to be in a North African country. We went down a small alley in the town and discovered a cafe that had a griddle outside in the street. At the counter were various fish, mostly covered in flies and behind the counter was a nervous looking extra from "Casablanca" who could not understand why Westerners should want to eat in a shit hole like his. We pointed at something in the fly cabinet that resembled mullet, and he chucked them on the griddle. It turned out to be very good indeed and we did not die. Our later experiences in "westernized" restaurants were disappointing.

Cool Cooks. Elizabeth David was the coolest ever cook. If in doubt, just read her books and see how literary and Pavlovian they are. Recipe books are good, but really, you should, as a cool cook, be able to go to the fridge and make a masterpiece from the bits you have lying around. Cools eat less, rather than more. Some cools may have a little samphire with hollandaise or vinagrette, and call it the meal of the day. Consomme, or onion soup is cool, as is tomato soup made with tomatoes from your own garden. Good bread is the must have for the Cool Cook. Make it yourself or travel four miles to the Konditorei for your genuine Mohnkuchen. Cheese is cool. So if you have bread and cheese and maybe a home made pickle or two, you are practically sub-zero cool. My favourite pasta dish of the moment, and remember that pasta is a tricky issue, is to get some penne or those little bows, dried of course, for texture and set them to boil. Then roughly chop some semi-dried tomatoes and capers that have been marinated in olive oil. When the pasta is cooked, chuck the tomatoes and capers in the pan along with some ground pepper and perhaps a spoonful of tomato puree. Serve with freshly grated parmesan and more pepper. This of course is a veggie dish. Veggie dishes are cool, as long as you are a meat eater. If you are a veggie, you should not be reading this blog and you should bugger off and hug a melting ice-cap. Fish is probably the coolest single type of food. Chefs love it because it is impervious to abuse. Anything from a fish stew, made with mussels, monkfish, raw prawns, and squid, to a few mussels finished with cream and stilton or sardines on toast, are quintessentially cool. Keep is simple, keep it cool!

Uncool Food. Any food that is smaller than it should be. e.g, baby carrots, baby elephants, etc. Any food in a box that has a picture of the food in a bowl, with a sprig of parsley bearing the caption "serving suggestion". Any food with the words "For One" on it. Lonely and sadder, you cannot get. Any food with a picture of the farmer on the packet. (Why should they do that? Why should they put a photo of the bloke who reared the lamb chops on the packet? My shoes don't have a picture of a seven-year old Vietnamese kid on them) Any food sponsored by somebody on the telly, such as Ainsley Harriot. Indeed, any food that has a TV chef on the packet should be avoided. Indeed, unless you are buying your food in brown paper bags or greaseproof paper, you should be thinking about changing your buying habits. Any food flown in from another continent. Any meat that has been reared intensively.

Cool Food. If you have grown it yourself, it is cool. Chips are cool. Fish and Chips are cool. Boxes of organic vegetables, delivered to your door are cool. Cheese on Toast is cool. Olives are cool.  Heinz baked beans are cool. Crisps are not cool, but if you are like me, you cannot do without crisps, even if they are supposedly "hand" cooked. Most fish is cool. Personally, I don't like or eat oysters. If someone sneezed in an oyster shell and served it from the fridge, really, would you know the difference?

Starvation is not cool. Whatever your views on the world at large, starvation is something we should all be ashamed of. People who take part in American eating competitions should take a trip to Africa now and again. Sermon over, but it needed to be said.

Nuisance photographs

You know it's coming: that couple over there are going to ask you to take a snap of them. Ever felt tempted to run off with their camera?

These two didn't see it coming.

Prada Prada

There is a bit in the Brecht/Weill piece, Mahagonny, where one of the characters is sentenced to death for the crime of having no money. I suppose this is to make a point about the way things were going in a world where superiority of all kinds was being touted.

Far fetched? Maybe, but recently, I noticed that the chiefs at Prada, the Italian clothing empire, had demanded that "Ugly" staff be sacked.

So it's a crime, punishable by loss of the right to work, if you are with blemish. Who cares? But one thing is sure, in tests, people chose good lookers. Ever wondered why your boss was a good-looking bitch?

I'll make it easy for wavering voters

A message to Labour voters.

Ok, so you can't make your mind up who to vote for?  You have always voted Labour. Your dad voted Labour, so you will. Your Dad voted Conservative, and you hate your dad, so you will vote Labour, just to piss him off. You are on benefits, so why should you vote anything other than Labour, who will coddle you from cradle to grave?

Well, just consider, for a moment, how it is possible for you to be protected from this cruel world, where some people have to work for a living. People who work, pay taxes, and in doing so, make it possible for you not to. Now, (are you still with me?). If not enough people work, there will be no money, and no money means you will still get benefits, but your fags and booze and Sky and betting tax will go up, never mind the cost of a few "chicken" nuggets for the kids. So it is important that at least some people work. Got it?

Now, this maybe a shock, but most of the people who pay your benefits are very ordinary and do not sit in the Groucho club (a club for Charlies), drinking Cristal (a type of expensive wine). Most of working people drive clapped out cars and earn just enough to eat, such as the staff at British Airways, who are currently being encouraged to destroy their livelihoods by a Union whose self-interest is to say the least, of sinister proportions. You may be surprised to hear that Unite, the union at the centre of the dispute, bankrolls Daddy Warbucks, aka the Labour Party, and so you were not, until recently going to get any criticism of this proposed strike from the Labour Government. Until now. Gordon Brown, who is such a weak leader that he has lost control of his government, has had to respond, at last to criticism of the strike by Lord Adonis, his Transport Minister who described the action as "deplorable".

Well, then, it sounds as if this Unite lot are helping the workers, and that Gordon Brown is being disingenuous. (I know you did not say "disingenuous", you would say, taking the piss) Of course, what Gordon Brown actually does say is anybody's guess.

Unite is not helping the workers. Unite is encouraging BA staff to believe they are entitled to far more than anybody else gets in the the flying industry. The profit-making firms such as Easy Jet and Ryanair make a... profit, unlike BA that does not, and contrary to what you may have heard, staff on these carriers are very happy and secure, thank you, because they have a realistic notion of their market value.

So what does this have to do with voting Labour? Well, it may sound funny, but Labour governments attract industrial strife. Under Labour, in the 1970's, there were more strikes than the previous 30 years. Why? because they could not control a group of people on whom they depended for their existence. Then, the Unions could run Labour by having the majority of votes in the Party. When that was abolished, they found other ways. Today, it is money. The Unions make it possible for Labour to exist as a political party. Even you, dear Labour voter, can see that this does not make for good governance. It means, in effect, that when you vote Labour, you are not voting for that nice Mr Darling, or poor Gordon, who only has one eye, you are voting for a toff called Charlie Whelan. "Who the fuck is Charlie Whelan?", I hear you cry, "I never heard of Charlie Whelan". You will, dear boy, you will. When British Airways finally collapses, and all those people are unemployed and unable to buy your Lambert and Butler's and your Sky boxes for you, you might start to wonder how little old you got caught up in all of this.

A kiss is just a kiss

It is an absolute rule with me that, wherever you go in the world, you should observe the local mores and customs and the laws. And so it is with not much sympathy that I relay the news that, yet another randy Brit is facing jail in an Arab State..for kissing in a restaurant.

26 year-old Charlotte Adams says it was "just a peck on the cheek". (Somehow I doubt that. I could not resist, at the very least, an exchange of bodily fluids, could you?) Adams was arrested, with the kissee, after a 38 year-old local woman reported her. It is important you see a picture of Charlotte, for she is a babe. Had she been like the wizened old prune who ratted on her, who is probably so ugly she has to have a bag over her head, there may have been less fuss.

Muslim women who refuse to do their jobs in the UK, such as refusing to serve Alcohol, or dispense medicines, or those who refuse to go through body scanners at airports, should either, a. remember we are not under Sharia Law in Britain, and b. if they don't like it, they can fuck off. The rule is, you do what the locals do. And it works both ways. This is a country of tolerance and liberality. You cannot opt out and then exact your particular brand of nauseating fanaticism on those who extend that hospitality and understanding towards you.

Oh, and here is a reminder of what you can look forward to in Great Britain if you vote for a party that pursues a policy of appeasement and "cultural sensitivity";

Essential Cool - Part Two: Cars

Every Cool must have a cool car or no car at all. Not having things, such as not having a TV, is cool. But if you have a car, the line,  "it gets me from A to B" is an admission that you tuck your shirt into your underpants and smell of Lenor.

Car deaths are cool. James Dean, Albert Camus, Mike Hawthorn, Falco, Eddie Cochran, Linda Lovelace, Jackson Pollock, Denis Brain, Grace Kelly, Isadora Duncan, Marc Bolan, Bessie Smith and a host of other cools died in auto accidents. Death is not cool as such, but you have to go sometime, and you may as well go in style. Having your cold, dead, corpse extricated from a Nissan Micra - a car any Cool would not be seen dead in, is an admission of failure in life. Being extracted from a Prius, which, moments before had a stuck accelerator pedal, is perhaps best left unmentioned. You are better off, in that case, being remembered for your endearing ability to fart La Marseillaise.

You do not have to be rich to have a cool car. Any twat can have a Ferrari if they can kick a ball straight enough. Cool cars are partly, who drives it, and partly, soul. Soul can be built into a car. Soul can acrue. The Italians used to build soul in a car, but then forgot about reliability. The last affordable cool car built by Italians was the Alfa Romeo Spider Type 4. Obviously not to drive, because it would have fallen to bits, but it was a looker.

The Swedes have always made cool cars. Saabs (I have had three) and the Volvo P1800 always defined driver independence. The French used to be sub-zero cool when it came to cars: Traction Avant, so beloved of the Gestapo, The DS, perfect for your French President and the little 2CV or the lesser known Bijou were all suitable for chilled transportation. The Germans have also made cool cars, but I would have to cite the Messerschmitt Kabinenroller as being possibly the coolest car on the planet, because it looks like a prop from Lost in Space, which is how the future was supposed to look way back in 1955. You pay up to Twenty Grand for a good KR 200, so cool like this does not come cheap.

Here in the UK we have a problem. Peter Mandelson is in charge of encouraging the British Car industry, which is a bit like Arthur Mullard being chief buyer for Victoria's Secret. Consequently, there is not a lot to talk about.

A lot of old British cars are cool. Here is a partial list:

Rolls Royce

Bentley

The original Mini Cooper

Lotus Elan

Lotus 7s

Jags

Land Rovers

Jensen Interceptor

Triumph Herald Coupe

MG

Bristol403s

Not surprisingly, these Bristols looked like an aircraft cockpit inside and were definite bird pullers.

I won't say much about uncool cars, in case you have one, but I am afraid, if you have a Rover, (apart from an MGF) better just give up trying to be cool.

I shall stick my neck out here; I have a Volkswagen and a 12 year-old MGF vvc in British Racing Green, from the days when BMW were in charge. Perhaps not the coolest cars you can buy, but they get me from A to B.

F1 Bahrain Grand Prix

Is it my eyesight or does the Bahrain race really look like a badly rendered Playstation Game?
I didn't see the whole race, and missed the pre-race chat and the start, but I saw three-quarters of it.

I was glad to see that Massa has made a very good comeback after last year's terrible accident. I thought he had been reduced to smiling vacantly and having his catheter emptied at one point last year. Louis Hamilton seemed to have a good race and was there, on the pedal, when Vettel scuttered to a dawdle with engine trouble. Ferrari are back! You cannot take away from Alonso's win. In the end you have to get the car over the line. All in all, a fair start to the season, but predictably, not exactly a buttock-clenching one.

another boring book review

- I've read it, so you won't have to.

NIXON AND KISSINGER by ROBERT DALLEK

If you watch a lot of political interviews on TV, between British journalists and American politicians, you will have noticed what you might call a deference gap. American elites are not used to being hectored the way British leaders are, and consequently they can get quite prickly. I remember watching one with Colin Powell. Powell got very upset at this jumped up Limey asking him questions he did not want to answer, not because he was being necessarily evasive, but he did not enjoy the assumed intimacy.

And so it is no surprise that this comprehensive, painfully forensic and closely observed narrative shies away from the kind of blunt criticism we are used to. Although it leaves the blame for Vietnam and Watergate where you would expect the blame to lie, it does it with a slow fuse, not an Exocet. You have to read it all, word by word, to get the drift. Essentially, Dallek concludes that the Vietnam war could have ended four years earlier, saving thousands of lives, and cites the reasons for this as being entirely political and mostly self-serving to the protagonists, Nixon and Kissinger. Nixon is accused of delaying peace talks before his election, to take any big coup from the Democrats, and he and Kissinger are described as getting nowhere in four years of negotiations with North and South Vietnam, due mostly to not really having a clue what to do. The resultant settlement in Vietnam being a sham that nobody expected would include anything other than the eventual conquest of the South, by the North. Kissinger's main gambit seems to be to go to the table prepared to do the kind of "deal" that is more like swapping cigarette cards than diplomacy; "you can have X country if you give us Y" - more the action of a cheap huckster than somebody dealing with real lives in millions. Not surprisingly the North Vietnamese reeled away from this kind of dealing, leaving the United States caught without what they desperately wanted; an "honorable" face-saving withdrawal.

If you are looking for a concise narrative of Watergate, this is not the book. Watergate weaves in and out of the last year of the Nixon Presidency, but the main thrust of the book is America's conduct of foreign policy. Watergate is discussed in the context of its impact on foreign relations, just as Gordon Brown's perceived weakness abroad impacts upon our global financial status.

So, where is the fun part? A strange question to ask of such a scholarly work, but I am also of low character and like a bit of spice. I suppose the spice is the not very astounding news that American Foreign Policy is conducted by protagonists Nixon and Kissinger, much in the way that two shrill and not very manly men would discuss how they are going to impress their friends and shaft their enemies.

Dallek underscores the insecurities of the two, the ego of Kissinger and the low self-esteem of Nixon. Indeed it is as a result of this trait in the latter that Nixon was finally nailed to Watergate, not the least because Nixon commanded tape recordings to be made of his conversations in order to back himself up in the event of a dispute over who said what to who. A culture of covert wire tapping developed, not out of a desire to find out what the Democrats were doing, but originally to find out who was saying what to who in their own administration. Those who blabbed to the press were dealt IRS investigations or summary transfer to the wilds in a shrewish act of vengeance.

Nixon's rages, his paranoia and his capacity for deceit and self-delusion runs through the story. There may be modern parallels. When you read this book, you cannot help get the feeling that this scenario is being played out at Number Ten Downing Street.

Nixon and Kissinger: Parters in Power, by Robert Dallek, is published by Allen Lane.