DUFF & NONSENSE!

Sorry, sorry, and sorry again!

I do realise that many of you are kind enough to check inhere regularly for the latest bit of Duff & Nonsense which is why I try to warn you of possible absences by me.  I returned from Cornwall on Saturday but, honestly, I haven't stopped since then!  I really don't know why God, in His wisdom, saw fit to allow weeds to grow - particularly in my miniscule garden - but they do and they are, or at least, they were because now I have got rid of most of them.  In addition, of course, and under strict supervision from 'you know who' there have been sundry garden centre visits to choose bedding plants - with the customary dogfights over which ones to choose - why I, as a man whose knowledge of flowers is limited to daffodils and daisies whilst not always being totally certain as to which is which, should even have an opinion, I do not know - at least, that was roughly what the 'Memsahib' said!  They then have to be planted and as usual in these irritating times the bloody garden centres provide all the information on planting distances and likely growth size in Euro-babble metric nonsense which I cannot understand.

On top of all that, because we went away again quite quickly after our France trip, and because Last week I had to carry out the equivalent of cutting down an entire savannah of grassland in my neighborouring churchyard, I never actually managed to do any of the ironing.  In this house, I do the ironing on account of the fact that it was the only thing the army ever taught me to do quite well - apart, that is, from killing people!  Anyway, even as I slave away in this blistering sunshine - come back April, I never meant it! -  I am aware of huge piles of clean laundery requiring my attention.

So, sorry again for the lack of proper posts which irritates me as much as you because I have much to tell you . . .  hang on . . . really, I've saved up some fascinating opinion pieces . . . where are you going . . .  you'll love them, honestly . . .  come back  . . .

 Oh well. later on today, I hope!

 

STOP PRESS: The former 'todger-dodger' goes down for a 1/4 of a mil!

This distinguished blog is, of course, a repository for all the really important news of the day, as opposed to the sort of lightweight chitter-chatter you will read on other blogs.  Thus, despite the imminent departure of the proprietor (see below) we have opened up again especially to bring you this deeply significant story courtesy of the BBC News site:

MP Chris Huhne's partner Carina Trimingham has lost her privacy and harassment case at the High Court against Associated Newspapers.

The PR adviser sued for compensation over Daily Mail articles she described as "highly unpleasant and hurtful".

But the judge said Ms Trimingham, 44, was "not the purely private figure she had claimed to be" and ordered her to pay £250,000 costs.

The 'Lesbian-Straightener', Mr. Chris Huhne, famed throughout every public bar in Britian for his er, upright efforts to cure Ms. Trimingham of her former 'muff-diving' proclivities, will need every bit of his tender, loving care to sooth Ms. Trimingham's shattered feelings as she watches her hitherto dearly beloved £2.5 mil abondon her and go off in the sunset to The Daily Mail.  Oh, the horror, the horror!

She's appealing!  No, no, I didn't mean it that way, she's a hideous old boot, I meant that she was appealing the court decision.  Anyway, here they all are, with the former 'todger-dodger' on the left and the first Mrs. Huhne on the right looking, one has to say, exceedingly happy for a lady who was supplanted by another lady.

Actually, the more I look at them, frankly, the more attractive smuggy-smirky Huhne becomes!  Oh God, get me out of here - quick!  I'm off to Cornwall for some clean sea air!

 

Enjoy your well-deserved R&R

I'm away - yes, again - but this time only as far as the River Tamar area to visit the 'Memsahib's cousin and family.  Only two nights, so back on Saturday afternoon.

PLEASE NOTE:  During my absence I have re-instated the 'CAPCHA' code words  to cut down on the unsolicited spam.

A Great America Hero - but do I love him or hate him?

Ladies and Gentlemen, please bow your heads to the memory of a truly great American  - I give you the late Mr. Eugene Polley.

Who?  Eugene Polly?  Never 'eard of 'im, I hear you mumble.  Such ignorance and only this blog, with a little help from its friends, in this case I Hate The Media, can drag you blinking into the sunlight of knowledge.

Eugene Polly was the inventor of the 'do-flicker-thingie'!

Need I say more?  Waddya mean, you don't know what a 'do-flicker-thingie' is?  It's that bloody 'thing' with buttons which always, but always, goes missing when you are desperate to switch channels on your 'telly' because the big match is about to start!  You end up with the wife screeching at you to hurry up as sofa cushions are thrown into the centre of the room in  your desperate search.  Time is ticking away as you strain your back lifting the furniture to find the wretched thing.  Finally the wife huffs off to the kitchen to make tea because she can't stand your filfthy language and then shouts through that it was in the kitchen where you inadvertantly left it on your last visit!

But even then your troubles have not ended.  Rushing back from the kitchen with the 'do-flicker-thingie' firmly in hand you hurl yourself into your armchair and - start pressing buttons!  Because you see, you never ever quite got the hang of the 'do-flicker-thingie', did you?  Despite insisting to the wife that you were to be in charge of it lest she flicked over to one of those soppy soaps.  Anyway with increasing desperation you keep pressing buttons which takes you through children's programmes, Indian radio stations and - natch! - inadvertantly landing you on a porn site just as the wife returns from the kitchen - and, equally natch! - it's a homosexual one!

Well, there is a tendency always to remember when the 'do-flicker-thingie' went missing or failed to behave and so we forget the zillion times it was there on the arm of your chair and no doubt some 14-year-old nerd is already working out exactly how many manhours were saved by this excellent device.

So here's to you, Eugene Polly, and I just hope no-one misplaces your urn the way I constantly do your 'do-flicker-thingie' .

 

And is there really a pot of gold for me at the end of the rainbow, Prime Minister?

I am enormously obliged to my e-pal, Malcolm Pollack, who in a comment further down pointed me in the direction of a short article byThomas Sowell on the subject of political lying liars.  Co-incidentally, it also led me to being offered the very latest essay by MDA (My Darling Ann - Coulter, that is) by e-mail each week.  You, too, might take up this offer if you click on the Sowell piece but just remember, MDA is mine, all mine, I tell you!!!

Obviously, my previous lamentation over the almost total absence of truth in any speech by any politician touched Malcolm deeply and it was kind of him to forward Sowell's concise analysis of this infuriating habit.  Needless to say, I was particularly pleased that he agreed with me (er, without knowing it, of course!) in pointing out that we get the politiciains we deserve:

The fact that so many successful politicians are such shameless liars is not only a reflection on them, it is also a reflection on us. When the people want the impossible, only liars can satisfy them, and only in the short run.

It takes one to know one, I suppose, but my experience in the second-hand car trade is somewhat similar to that of your average detective sergeant who listens patiently to someone he is interviewing, as I used to listen to punters trying to tell me about their 'superb' part-exchanges, but inwardly wonders why this man is lying to me!  A bigger question, of course, is why we believe these lies?

Among the biggest lies of the welfare states on both sides of the Atlantic is the notion that the government can supply the people with things they want but cannot afford. Since the government gets its resources from the people, if the people as a whole cannot afford something, neither can the government.

Quite so, but would you vote for a man who told you that blunt truth?  I doubt it, and so do they and that is one reason why they lie:

Nothing is easier for a politician than promising government benefits that cannot be delivered. Pensions such as Social Security are perfect for this role. The promises that are made are for money to be paid many years from now -- and somebody else will be in power then, left with the job of figuring out what to say and do when the money runs out and the riots start.

Step forward Brown & Balls, the Brokers Men, who fit that description perfectly.  And yet the poisonous little Balls is still lisping and blinking his way from TV studio to radio station telling us that he, and only he, can place a pot of gold on every breakfast table in the land.

My question is quite simple: why don't we hang the porky little rat pour encourager les autres!

 ADDITIONAL:  No sooner had I dotted the 'i's and crossed the 't's in the brilliant - sorry, what was that? - post above than I clicked onto Anna Raccoon's site to read an excellent example of Brown & Balls spending at work, well, not exactly 'work' but in action, shall we say.  Read it and weep!

 

China: sort of similar but different!

I have been reading some more of Paul Cheng's (Zheng Mingxun's) book On Equal Terms in which he attempts, and I think succeeds, in explaining modern China to western readers.  Certainly, if you wish to begin to understand the Chinese political and social psyche this book is essential reading.  What strikes me about about Mr. Cheng's description is not so much the differences between 'us and them' but the (sort of) similarities.  China is a one-party state but the Party itself is far from monolithic.  It contains within it, in broad terms, a Left and Right wing.  There are those who yearn for a return to purist Mao-ism and those who are eager to seize the advantages, as they see it, of capitalism, albeit, capitalism guided by the Party:

Today, the country has a hybrid economy, neither fully communist nor fully capitalist, run by a government that has evolved away from genuine top-down control yet is not subject to the kind of constitutional checks and balances associated with Western democracies.  Integrating the private sector into the country's socialist market economy continues to be a huge and complex transition. 

You might think that one-party rule is very foreign to our system - but think about it again!  Would it really make a Chinese noodle's worth of difference if 'Edenoidal Ed' was running the country as opposed to 'Dim Dave'?  We now have a political class running our country.  Take away the extreme fringe and you have a soft, wobbly centre whose only real interest is ensuring they remain part of the political class and a system which almost guarantees them their "brief hour upon the stage".  To their regret and irritation, they remain subjected to the unremitting laws of economics which, if breached too often or too carelessly, will wreak havoc on them.  Also, if national affairs lead to sustained and stormy times, even the people might demand their revenge, as our European neighbours are beginning to find out.

However, a large difference between 'us and them' lies in the nature of the political class.  Ours is almost entirely ill-educated, inefficient and unintelligent.  I'm not suggesting that the Chinese have somehow abolished these universal weaknesses but they have a very strict system for weeding out some of them:

Here it is worth looking at the process of becoming a government employee, which is very rigorous in China. Officials in public institutions are trained and retrained through approximately three thousand party schools before they are eligible for promotion.  Any misconduct is first investigated by the party before being turned over to the civilan justice system.  The tentacles of the state and thus the party go well beyond the government. 

Of course, whilst Mr. Cheng doesn't mention it, we all know, or can guess, that the purity of the sytem is not virgo intacto!  Human nature being what it is, there is bound to be cronyism at best and outright corruption at worst, but even so, at least officialdom is trained for the job on the basis fo some rigorous examinations and tests which is in direct contrast to the mandarins of Whitehall with their 2nd class degrees in social studies from Cleckheaton Poly-versity!

Alas, I must return to the Churchyard now, having failed yesterday to complete the cutting of the grass in the south-east corner.  I will return later with some thoughts on possibly the greatest menace to the stability of the world as this new, giant, Chinese cuckoo grows in the global nest - American politicians!

 

Globalisation has even taken over the scam industry

I'm not sure if our experiences here are mirrored elsewhere in the English-speaking world but it became a standing joke during the '80s/'90s to receive letters from various Nigerian 'princes' promising huge winnings on (non-existing) lotteries, or, a massive commission if you would allow 'His Highness' to use your bank account so that he could repatriate his savings from Nigeria.  In both cases, of course, it was necessary to entrust all your bank details to the 'prince' who had a string of titles nearly as long as Her Maj.  Gradually these scams have faded as their criminality became clear.

However, today I have been assured by e-mail from the Rev. Joe Watkins that I have just won $1 million on the 'Yahoo-Thailand On-line Lottery', no less!  They point out with scrupulous legality that:

Remember, all prize money must be claimed not later than 30 days of receiving this notification. Any claim not made by this date will be returned to HIS MAJESTY DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY.

Apparently, no-one has told them that these days we have a queen not a king!  They request a host of personal details but not, surprisingly, any bank details.  My guess is that that will follow should I be daft or drunk enough to reply.  Incidentally, I googled 'Rev. Joe Watkins' whose name, I suspect has been taken in vain because he is a respectable commentator on MSNBC and also a pastor.

Anyway, I'm sorry to tell you that the million dollars not being forthcoming, such that I might tell you all to get stuffed as I head for Monte Carlo, you will just have to continue putting up with this blog for a bit longer!

 

This, that and the other

It's 8.45 as I write this and I am grimly aware of a long list of outstanding jobs to be done - beginning with my strip of grass in the Churchyard which, because of all that 'global warming' coming down as solid rain, I have not cut for over a month!  It is now "as high as an elephant's eye" and I just know it's going to be a long and tiring job .  Then there is the post-holiday car to be cleaned, followed by the garage to be cleared out and rubbish taken to the tip, and the garden, titchy though it be, has produced some of the most exotic weeds I have ever seen.  I may never go away again!

In my preceding post I moaned about the murder of language at the hands of politicians who say 'black' when they mean 'white' and vice versa.  This morning I heard extracts from various pols at the NATO meeting explaining how and why they had achieved absolute agreement on future planning for Afghanistan, no doubt about it, not a single dissenting voice, honestly, cross my heart and wish to die, no, really  . . . !  It was ever thus but how one longs for, say, the 18th century where you didn't have to watch and listen to the lying liars.  I found myself muttering , "Peace in our time, then, is it?"

My Spanish e-pal, Ortega, responded to the poke in the ribs I gave him during my piece on white asparagus.  He came up with a novel suggestion for cooking the stuff.  You peel it and then seal it in a bag which you place in  boiling water.  Apparently, that conserves the flavour but the drawback is that the water is of no use for making soup afterwards.  I have spoken to the 'Memsahib' about cooking details.  Apparently you must peel from about an inch down from the base of the 'flower' to the end of the stalk.  Boil the water and add some salt, then chuck the peeled asparagus in for about ten minutes.  I could not pin her down to an exact time, she just said, in that irritating way that women have, 'until it's cooked'!  My favourite way to eat it is with new potatoes and pork schnitzels plus, of course, a large dollop of hollandaise sauce.

Sometimes sport reaches the parts other entertainments cannot.  I am not a dedicated 'footie' fan, in fact, I am the very worst sort of fan, the dilletante type who only bothers to watch if it is, so to speak, a 'celebrity' match.  Thus, I did watch Chelsea play Bayern Munich on Saturday and like all the very best sporting events the team that 'deserved' to win - lost!  I write 'deserved' because Bayern had far more chances during their almost non-stop attacks than Chelsea but the aim of the game, so to speak, is to put the ball in the net and that they failed to do despite several opportunities, so it went to the lottery of penalties.  Mind you, there was some delicious Schadenfreude to be enjoyed at the expense of the German goalkeeper who had the sort of tall, blonde, arrogant look of the sort of German one normally expects to see sticking out of the turret of a Mk. III Panzer demanding to know the way to Warsaw! 

Very unfair, I know, because he's probably a very nice chap.  Still, it was good to see him picking the ball out of the back of his own net, particularly as it was situated at the Bayern end of the stadium right in front of the massed ranks of their fans.  Shame!

Well, I can't put it off any longer - the Churchyard calls!

 

I'm so sick of the lying!

I don't expect politicians to be entirely truthful.  Some times they have to lie for raison d'État, and all too frequently they have to lie for reasons of personal ambition and/or reputation.  But sometimes, just sometimes, the lying reaches such pitch of obvious unreality that it begins seriously to insult one's intelligence.

For example, if I hear one more politician lying through their rotten, stinking teeth about "austerity" as opposed to "growth", or "growth" as opposed to "austerity", I may be tempted to 'Prescott' them with a good right hook!  The only austerity operating at the moment is the attack - I choose the word carefully - on private people and private business.  There is virtually no austerity visited upon the public sector which continues to spend more money year on year than ever before.  All that has changed, and that only slightly, is that the increase in spending is marginally lower than before.  In other words, this government, like the one before it and almost certainly the one that will follow it (perhaps sooner than we think) is taking the easy way out by taxing private people and enterprises (the VAT hike, fuel duties, etc) and borrowing as much as possible whilst the going is easier for us on account of the innumerable basket-cases shaking their begging bowls at the userer's door to stave off bankruptcy. 

So spend, spend, spend is the motto and we'll worry about the IOUs after the next election.  In the meantime, keep printing shedloads of money which will cause inflation but, hey, that's OK because it makes the government debt that much less.  Of course, in the end the music will stop playing as the record player grinds to a halt because no-one can pay the electricity bill but, hey - again, that's all in the future, and all the pols are worried about is the election in 2 or 3 years time.  As for growth, there is only one source for real growth and that is from private enterprise which government taxes, European rules and regulations and an increasingly impoverished citizenry is slowly but surely strangling to death.

The only honourable course for this utterly dishonourable prime minister and his useless chancellor is to really cut government spending - and I don't mean just slowing the increase, I mean something like planning for ten years in which the government will not spend more than it earns.  Along with that they should cut taxes, especially VAT, then, and only then, will there be a chance of some soundly based growth.

And, no, thank you for asking, I am not holding my breath!

Win (the right) friends and influence people!

Some wise advice today from Charles Moore in The Daily Telegraph to 'Dim Dave' who needs all the wise advice he can lay his hands on!  Moore begins by re-iterating not just the help the Americans gave us before and during the Falklands war but the nature of it.  These reminiscences are provoked by a commemorative dinner to be held this week in Portsmouth by the Navy Museum.  The main guest is John Lehman, the Sec. of Defence at the time, who describes the 'bottom up' nature of the assistance provided:

Mr Lehman will explain how, contrary to current historical orthodoxy, the Americans helped Britain instinctively, secretly and right from the start of the Falklands war. He should know, because he did it.

Mr Lehman’s key point is that this help came from the bottom up. So great were what were called “the customary patterns of cooperation” between Britain and the US that they could provide the cover for a huge operation. Weeks before the US announced its public policy “tilt” to Britain on April 30, 1982, there was, as Mr Lehman puts it, “already water flowing through the pipes”. President Reagan felt benign towards Britain, and particularly towards Mrs Thatcher, his friend since both were in opposition, but it was not necessary for him to approve anything for help to start.

The point Mr. Lehman stresses is that the very many mutal links up and down the chain of command between American and British armed forces made the donation of aid in its myriad forms from weapons to intelligence not only easier but in reality perfectly natural:

US and British personnel, already in place before the Falklands war, worked together at the headquarters at Northwood in Britain and at Norfolk, Virginia. Mr Lehman and his boss, the defence secretary Caspar Weinberger, made sure Britain was helped with fuel, logistics, intelligence, use of a base on Ascension Island and of a naval missile test range in Puerto Rico, and Stinger surface-to-air missiles. They achieved this without informing the more wobbly State Department, and often without making Britain pay. Later, the US supplied Sidewinder missiles and 200 Mk-46 torpedoes. Lehman was even authorised to prepare the helicopter carrier USS Iwo Jima in case one of the two British aircraft carriers should be lost.

Far from being a mere phrase in polite diplomatic speeches, the “special relationship” in the Falklands war was what Mr Lehman calls a “functional reality”. The ties of history, culture, kit, intelligence, men and know-how were all there, all ready, all working. They won the day.

But "the times they are a-changin'"!  Whilst it is necessary for 'Dim Dave' to cuddle up close to President Obama despite, or perhaps, particularly given his incipient anti-British feelings, it would be a colossal error to shun Mitt Romney.  'Dim Dave' should ignore the mandarins in the 'Ministry for Foreigners' who regularly illustrate their complete ignorance of the reality behind this or that foreign ruler.  A prime example was given just recently when the FO, presumably, advised 'Dave' to continue the love-in with Sarkozy and snub Hollande even when it became increasingly clear that Hollande was likely to win.  As regular readers of this blog will know, not least because I keep reminding them, I have been telling you all that Obama is 'dead man walking'.  Even after the train crash mutilations which the Republicans inflicted upon themselves during the endless months of their nomination primaries, Mitt Romney, the badly bruised winner, is still ahead of Obama in some of the polls.  It would be a crass mistake by 'Dim Dave' to refuse to hold out a hand to Romney, a fellow conservative, even if Obama has a hissy fit over it.

Alas, given his obvious dimness, 'Dave' is quite likely to do exactly that!

 

I bring you glad tidings of great joy!

Some time ago a German friend introduced me to white asparagus.  Of course, in England, the green variety has been around for years and, by and large, I find it to be pretty boring.  However, the white variety is altogether different!  I gather from the 'Memsahib' that it is very necessary to peel it before cooking it.  Also, the water you boil it in makes the basis of an excellent soup so it should not be thrown away!  The 'Memsahib' is rather busy at the moment because 'SoD' is descending on us for the weekend with his 'Bouncing Czech' but next week I will get her to explain exactly how you cook the stuff - my job, as you all know, is strictly confined to the eating, chewing and swallowing end of the business.

Well, that was all very boring even by my standards so you may be wondering why I gave it such an exciting title.  The reason is simple.  Hitherto, we have relied totally on our German friend to supply the white asparagus but now she lives in England - disaster!  Well, it would have been but for our timely visit to France and the chance to ransack Boulogne market and relieve it of several kilos of white asparagus.  We returned triumphant, handing out bundles of the delicious things and modestly accepting the grateful thanks of our friends. Imagine, then, the mixture of irritation and joy when we entered our local Morrisons Supermarket yesterday to see ... yes, you guessed ... bundles of white asparagus!  And now, I gather, M&S are offering it.  Anyway, HURRY - HURRY - HURRY while stocks last because it is a very short growing season.

Incidentally, a lot of it is grown in Spain, the home of my e-pal, Ortega, who has been strangely absent from these columns for some time.  I hope all is well and if so perhaps he can give us a Spanish recipe.

'The Kraut' warns: watch Israel!

Going away is such a disruptive business.  It's not just the days of absence away from familiar things like my computer, the internet, The Spectator, Sky and Fox News, but the general busy-ness of packing and unpacking, sorting, laundering, shopping and so on ad nauseum!  All of which is by way of apology for failing to keep up with what is going on in the nooks and crannies of world affairs.  Happily (if that is quite the word) 'The Kraut' (aka: Charles Krauthammer, the distinguished and highly intelligent columnist for The WaPo) has brought me up to date with a bang even if his report is seven days old!

I vaguely remember hearing a report that, first, Netanyahu had called an election and then, second, that he had called it off.  Odd, I thought, but had no time to investigate.  Now 'The Kraut' clears up the mystery writing in The WaPo.  Apparently, by foregoing the chance of an election, Netanyahu has risked the almost dead certainty of another four years of government.  Instead, he has invited the main opposition party to form a coalition.  This has not happened since 1967 and if you don't know what happened then, look it up or read 'The Kraut' in full because the omens are ominous:

On June 5, Israel launched a preemptive strike on the Egyptian air force, then proceeded to lightning victories on three fronts. The Six-Day War is legend, but less remembered is that, four days earlier, the nationalist opposition (Mena­chem Begin’s Likud precursor) was for the first time ever brought into the government, creating an emergency national-unity coalition.

Everyone understood why. You do not undertake a supremely risky preemptive war without the full participation of a broad coalition representing a national consensus.

'The Kraut', like the Israelis, has a long memory and/or an excellent knowledge of 20th century history:

Why did the high-flying Netanyahu call off elections he was sure to win?  Because for Israelis today, it is May ’67. The dread is not quite as acute: The mood is not despair, just foreboding. Time is running out, but not quite as fast. War is not four days away, but it looms. Israelis today face the greatest threat to their existence — nuclear weapons in the hands of apocalyptic mullahs publicly pledged to Israel’s annihilation — since May ’67. The world is again telling Israelis to do nothing as it looks for a way out. But if such a way is not found — as in ’67 — Israelis know that they will once again have to defend themselves, by themselves.

Such a fateful decision demands a national consensus. By creating the largest coalition in nearly three decades, Netanyahu is establishing the political premise for a preemptive strike, should it come to that. The new government commands an astonishing 94 Knesset seats out of 120, described by one Israeli columnist as a “hundred tons of solid concrete.”

The other items I remember reading and wondering about are also explained by 'The Kraut'.  It concerns the warnings issued by two top officers in MOSSAD against any attack on Iran, and the general speculation in the MSM to the effect that Israel was badly split over the pros and cons of attacking Iran:

So much for the recent media hype about some great domestic resistance to Netanyahu’s hard line on Iran. Two notable retired intelligence figures were widely covered here for coming out against him. Little noted was that one had been passed over by Netanyahu to be the head of Mossad, while the other had been fired by Netanyahu as Mossad chief (hence the job opening). For centrist Kadima (it pulled Israel out of Gaza) to join a Likud-led coalition whose defense minister is a former Labor prime minister (who once offered half of Jerusalem to Yasser Arafat) is the very definition of national unity — and refutes the popular “Israel is divided” meme. “Everyone is saying the same thing,” explained one Knesset member, “though there may be a difference of tone.”

You think the demise of the euro is bad news?  You ain't seen nuttin' yet!

 

I have returned!

I have returned from La Belle France safe and well despite the efforts of sundry sous-chefs to break my British spirit with an onslaught of every conceivable type of fish craftily disguised in creamy sauces guaranteed to stop an average heart at 20 paces, and, entrecôte steaks, bleeding from every pore and smothered - smothered, I tell you! - in rich sauce béarnaise.  Then, as a final effort to break my determined resistance, they offered me tarts - no, no, not that sort, do behave! - I mean apple tarts, peach tarts, chocolate tarts and, I confess, for a moment my British pluck wavered, but then, I remembered, this year is Her Majesty's 60th anniversary and surely now my knighthood will be announced, and so, instantly I fixed bayonets, er, forks and spoons and set to with a will!

My doctor assures me that I will be out of intensive care tomorrow in time to write some more of my drivel, er, my shrewd insights into the ways of this wicked world.

Hurrah - it's 'seau et bêche' time again!

For the benefit of all you ignoramuses with no knowledge of French - or no access to Google Translate! - let me tell you that seau et bêche time means bucket and spade time because the Duffs are off on a short - alas, very short - break holiday to La Belle France.  We have to visit friends in East Sussex tomorrow and checking the map I was reminded that Dover is only a couple of hours further and so being the man of action and instant decision-making that I pretend to be, I booked a ferry and a hotel just outside Boulogne for three nights.  I asked the 'Memsahib' if she had any objections and needless to say there were none!  I might even have earned a Brownie point.  Of course, I have no intention of going anywhere near a beach and so the bucket is only required for holding the several litres of wine I intend to drink and the spade will help me in shovelling down the mass of food that the hotel's Michelin star restaurant is already preparing for me!

Anyway, this blog will be taking a rest for a few days - sorry, didn't quite catch that  - but I return home late Thursday - my birthday as it happens - and if I'm in a fit state I will continue to Bore for Britain on Friday.  In the meantime, here is a list of some of the blogs I usually visit which might appeal to you.  Needless to say, I do not always, or even ever, agree with some of them:

http://artcontrarian.blogspot.co.uk/

http://www.bobpiper.co.uk/

http://scienceblogs.com/deltoid/

http://wattsupwiththat.com/

http://newgatenews.blogspot.co.uk/

http://www.godammit.com/

http://cafehayek.com/

They'll keep you going until I return!

 

Oh, no - I'm in love again!

MDR (My Darling Rebekah) is now fighting for my affections along with MDA and MDS, and if you don't know who they are you must be a very recent reader of this distinguished blog and are, therefore, unworthy of explanation!  But, I have to ask myself, why is it that I keep falling for these strong, dominant, intelligent women?  No doubt the Freudian frauds would have a suitably daft theory.  It can't be any incipient masochism on my part because I have a pain threshold in minus figures and burst into tears at the slightest bruise.  Nor, as this blog probably gives away, am I someone who is easily dominated. 

Anyway, enough introspection, I watched part of Rebekah Brooks's evidence at the Leveson enquiry and apart from being DDG (Drop Dead Gorgeous) she was also immensely impressive as a personality.  Calm, collected and obviously highly intelligent.  After Andy Coulsen's effort yesterday (see previous post) I'm beginning to wonder if 'my mate Rupe' and his senior editors wouldn't actually run the country a lot better than the psychopaths, misfits and social cripples who creep and crawl around the Westminster village.  If they dare to jail MDR then I for one will be sending her a cake with a file hidden in it!

In the meantime, what a waste of oxygen this entire Leveson enquiry is proving to be!  I can only assume that the little squirt asking the useless questions is on an hourly rate because he spins the whole thing out with endlessly futile questions about absolute trivia.  Anyone would think he was doubling up as 'sleb' journo looking for juicy titbits for the late editions!  As for Leveson, himself, what a prize 'Cocklecarrot' he has turned out to be.  Ponderous, nit-picking and with a fatal tendency to restate the bleedin' obvious at great sanctimonious lengths.  Has the man never read any of the great political novels or histories?  There has been absolutely nothing revealed so far that indicates the slightest change in the relationship between Westminster and Grub Street which has existed since newspapers were first invented.  Pols and hacks are bound together by mutual needs and mutual dislike.  They are, and always have been, the perfect example of the mythical frog and its passenger scorpion.

 

China 101 - and a half!

Sorry, sorry, but this is but the first of several lessons on China, the facts of which emanate from Mr. Paul Cheng's book On Equal Terms, and I stress that the half-arsed opinions are mine!  Happily, this is mostly fact and requires little in the way of my opinion.  It is a description of exactly how the Chinese government is made up.  Apart from my vague notion that they have a president and a prime minister, I had no idea what constitutes the remainder of the government.

Of course, as we all know, China is a one-party state under the rule of the Communist Party of China (CPP).  Needless to say, the intelligent amongst you will know that just because there is only one party it should not be construed that differences of opinion, philosophy, policy and personalities does not thrive!  However, it is part of the Chinese psyche, at least, amongst the ruling classes, to strive mightily to keep such differences private within the caucus.  Anyway, at the very top of the power mountain is the Standing Committee (of the Politbureau).  Today, this consists of nine members but later this year it is due for a major shake-up.  All Politbureau members  must retire at the age of 68 and by chance that means that 7 of the Standing Committee members will be standing down.  I read elsewhere that there was talk of reducing the Standing Committee to only 7 members this year but I have not seen it confirmed.  You may remember that Bo Xilai, the rising star who fell to earth with a crash following the death of a British businessman in a Chinese hotel, was destined to be a new member of the Committee.  Obviously, the president and the prime minister are automatically members of the Committee but both these gentlemen are due to retire and the character and personality of the newcomers will be of critical importance.  As Mr. Cheng puts it with almost British understatement:

This is why there is currently a considerable amount of political juggling between factions within the Party to fill these slots.

 This Standing Committee and the wider Politbureau itself answers every five years to the Party Congress:

The Party Congress is convened primarily to determine changes in the Party's leadership.  In addition, it reviews and makes changes, where necessary, to the Party's constitution.  It also selects the Party's Central Committee of some 370 members.  The Central Committee does not exercise authority as a corporate body in the same way that a legislature would.  It is, however, important in that its membership is composed of leading figures of the party, the state, and the military.  The Party Congress tends to be ceremonial, whereas the Central Committee meetings have often been arenas for real debate and discussions on Party policy.

There is also another organisation, the National People's Congress (as opposed to the Party Congress) which meets every year.  In theory, 3,000 strong, this stands above all others but:

. . . in the past it has been more of a symbolic organization endorsing proposals previously ironed out by the Communist Party leadership.

I have run out of time now but I will try and finish this off tomorrow because there are a few more organisations, not least the military, whose function needs to be explained.

 

They didn't lay a glove on him!

I watched most of the Leverson inquisition of Andy Coulsen and it has forced me to change my mind in one respect, at least.  I confess to automatically assuming that any editor of the 'Screws of the World' would be a low-life who had grunt-snuffled his way up the journalistic ladder by trying desperately to brush the dandruff off his shoulders and remembering to clean his shoes more than once a quarter.  In this, of course, I was allowing my prejudice to rule my brain - mea culpa - not, mind you, that such a caricature means that I despise your average hack, quite the contrary, I love and admire them and desperately want them to continue to rifle through the dustbins of the Great and the Good - so called until they are found out! - and tell us what they find.

Well, Mr. Coulsen exceeded my prejudice by some distance.  He was quiet, cool, contained and obviously highly intelligent.  How they must be groaning at 'The Graun' at the fact that the oleaginous creep asking the loaded questions - a 'Graun' reader, I'll bet - made absolutely no headway and failed dismally to uncover any sort of a Shlock-Horror story.  At the time I thought it was dangerous for 'Dim Dave' to hire the editor of 'The Screws' as his personal communications chief but having watched and listened the man I can see his attractions.  Assuming he gets through the 'phone hacking strife unscathed I hope 'Dave' re-employs him - or better still, gives him a safe seat!

 

Running tree rings round the 'warmers'

I confess that Steve McIntyre's long-running - well, actually, 'long-running' hardly begins to describe his years and years of dedicated determination to seek the truth - campaign to prize the original facts and figures from Keith Briffa's 'research' into tree ring history which is supposed to indicate previous eras of warmth or coolness left me more than somewhat confused.  It is a highly specialised area of climate research and the story is not easy to follow.  In essence, Briffa, a member of the Climate Research Unit (CRU) of the University of East Anglia (UEA - yes, that lot!) published some research papers based on a set of trees in the Yamal area (no, me neither!) which absolutely and definitely - no, really and truly - confirmed Michael Mann's infamous 'Hockey Stick' graph which shows a huge upsurge in global temperatures in the 20th century and which has now become the logo of the 'United Church of Warmers'!

But despite McIntyre's best and constant efforts Briffa ducked and dived and in the end refused to release his original data and he was supported in this by the UEA.  Finally, after years of persistence McIntyre achieved success via the Freedom of Information Act when an appeals tribunal upheld his claim and insisted that some information must be handed over.  The appeal over further information is pending but given the first drafts McIntyre has been able to discern the jiggery-pokery that was used in Briffa's determined efforts to back up Mann's ridiculous 'Hockey Stick' graph. 

You can read McIntyre's conclusions but they are of a technical nature and, to be honest, he is a much better scientist than he is a writer!  However, m' Lord Bishop Hill, bless his cassocks, has written up the story in plain man's English  on his blog, and he is also offering a Kindle version for just over a quid.  It is an easy read and well worth the effort because it offers a lesson in the moral corruption that ensues when science mixes with political fervour.

It can be summed up in this graph which shows in green what the original figures actually showed, and in black, Briffa's interpretation of them:

 

Only in America?

There now follows two examples of total lunacy emanating from the United States but please note the question mark at the end of my title because such idiocy is universal!

First, let me introduce Heap Big Sqwaw, Elizabeth Warren, of the 'Loadahokey' tribe, oops, sorry, the Cherokee tribe:

No, alright, I know, she doesn't look too Indian but slap a bit of warpaint on her and a feather in her hair and she might just about . . . oh, alright then, she still wouldn't look any more Indian than Barack Obama.  But according to this delusionist who is standing for the Democrat Senate seat in Massachusetts (natch!) her "high cheekbones" prove her claim, and also, that via the good orifices of her great-great-great-grandmother who was once listed on an application for a marriage licence as being Cherokee in 1896, she is definitely 1/32nd Cherokee, assuming that the copy of this ancient piece of paper is accurate.  I think red-skin speak with forked tongue!  Mark Steyn, in a superb example of his most acidic wit, calls her "Fauxcahontas".  I can't compete with Steyn, even at his worst let alone his best, so pay him a visit and enjoy a quite chuckle.

ADDITIONAL:  MDA (My Darling Ann) has just scalped poor 'HiaWathaLie' Warren which at least emphasises her high 'Indian' cheekbones!  Worth a read.

Then cast your eyes upon this little lovely:

He just took 41% of the vote in the North Carolina Democratic presidential primary - the other contestant being, of course, good ol' 'hope 'n' change' Barack Obama.  (Perhaps that should be 'anyone got any change' Obama!)  Anyway, this cheeky chappie won 10 counties in the contest and thus gave 'The One' a bit of a headache.

His name, by the way, is Keith Judd and his number, er, that's his prison number, I mean, is 11593-051 because, you see, Mr. Judd is serving a 210-month sentence in a Texas jail, according to the Christian Science Monitor:

Mr. Judd is incarcerated at the Federal Correctional Institution in Texarkana, Texas, where he is serving a 210-month sentence for extortion, according to The Charleston Gazette. Judd had paid the $2,500 filing fee and submitted a notarized “certificate of announcement” to appear on the ballot.

He is even qualified to have a delegate at the Democratic National Convention, because he won at least 15 percent of vote.

I wonder how much Mr. Judd might be able to extort from the Obama re-election team to stop him offering himself in other primaries? 

Like I say, only in America?

Another glimpse through the bamboo curtain

My 'Sino-source' arrived safely in the UK and we enjoyed a Sunday lunch, well, I enjoyed it but he, poor fellow, was subjected to an interrogation by me on current aspects of China so perhaps he wished he had stayed in Hong Kong!  By the way, I should make clear that any conclusions I come to concerning China are my own, my 'Sino-source' may or, more likely, may not, agree with them!

Anyway, the first excellent thing he produced was some copies of the Caixin magazine.  From 1st of May this will be a monthly magazine but they run a website called English Caixin which is worth bookmarking.  It is mainly concerned with business but also comments on internal and external political and social affairs.  If, like me, you wish to gain some sort of insight into the mystery that is China then you could not start better than with Caixin.

The second excellent item he produced for me was a book called On Equal Terms: Redefining China's Relationship with America and the West by Zheng Mingxun (Paul Cheng to his western friends!)  I have only just finished the Introduction but already I admire Mr. Cheng enormously.  He is typical of that new(-ish) breed of Chinese-Americans not, I hasten to say, through any mixture of blood but simply by a life lived on the two continents.  In this book, Mr. Cheng seeks to explain each side to the other in order to avoid or at least alleviate future disputes and misunderstandings.  Already it is confirming my gloomy suspicion that there are probably many educated and sophisticated Chinese, like Mr. Cheng, who are capable of seeing both sides but I fear that such mutuality is a rarity amongst the American political class of both Right and Left.  When I have finished the book, I will write further.

In the meantime, the invaluable NightWatch bulletin (you see, my spies are everywhere!) informs me that the dispute between China and the Philipinnes over "the Scarborough Shoal (the Chinese name is Huangyan Island)" is continuing.  It was news to me but apparently in 2005 the Chinese government, that is, the Chinese Comunist Party, passed an Anti-Seccession Act which bars any future government from surrendering any sovereignty over land considered by the Chinese government to be Chinese!  This, of course, ties the hands of the current (and future) leadership from attempting any sort of negotiated deal other than complete surrender by the Philipinnes.  It also bodes ill for future trouble spots.

 

Old 'King' Kohl was a total arsehole!

Apologies for the somewhat crude headline based on an old English song but my grumpiness is well-founded, as you will see if you read on.  First of all my thanks to 'SoD' for pointing me to this article in Spiegel yesterday which, due the pressure of "events, dear boy events" , I might have missed.  If, like me, you find yourself raging against the imbecilic follies of the Euro-fanatics then this is a MUST READ article.  However, if you have blood pressure problems then better you stick to this synopsis.

At last, and I don't quite know how, a whole raft of government documents have been released by the German government covering the period from about 1990 up to the introduction of the euro in 1998.  They show, without a shadow of a doubt, that Chancellor Kohl was made fully aware, indeed, he was warned over and over again, that Italy was lying and cheating on its economic data in order to gain entry to the proposed new euro currency. Kohl, whose stupidity had already been demonstrated by his inept economic handling of German re-unification which placed enormous strains on the West Germans, was the main driving force behind the idea of a monetary union which must include the 'founding six' nations including Italy (my emphases throughout):

In response to a request by SPIEGEL, the German government has, for the first time, released hundreds of pages of documents from 1994 to 1998 on the introduction of the euro and the inclusion of Italy in the euro zone. They include reports from the German embassy in Rome, internal government memos and letters, and hand-written minutes of the chancellor's meetings.

The documents prove what was only assumed until now: Italy should never have been accepted into the common currency zone. The decision to invite Rome to join was based almost exclusively on political considerations at the expense of economic criteria. It also created a precedent for a much bigger mistake two years later, namely Greece's acceptance into the euro zone.

To be fair to Kohl, which I am not inclined to be, much of his motivation appeared to be a fervent wish for Germany to appease for past wrongs and to be seen as a team player for 'Europe United'!  For me personally, when it comes to politicians, give me a Machiavellian realist over a dreamy idealist any day of the week:

Instead of waiting until the economic requirements for a common currency were met, Kohl wanted to demonstrate that Germany, even after its reunification, remained profoundly European in its orientation. He even referred to the new currency as a "bit of a peace guarantee."

Of course, financial data doesn't play much of a role when it comes to war and peace. Italy became a perfect example of the steadfast belief of politicians that economic development would eventually conform to the visions of national leaders.

To which one can only reply with the age-old question, when will they ever learn? There is no excuse for Kohl's wilful stupidity because everybody and his uncle was telling him that Italy was nowhere near ready to comply with the financial criteria required of entrants to the new monetary union.  Even the Dutch government sent two representatives to Germany to state quite baldly that Italy was unfit to join and that the Dutch would not agree to it.  Needless to say , they had their arms twisted up their backs ("Ve haf veys of making you agree!") and they swallowed their objections.  Almost every single senior politican and economic expert in Germany knew that Italy was cheating and said so in private but when it came to the vote only one man had the guts to say "Nein".  He was Kurt Biedenkopf and he deserves a big statue in every German town:

Kurt Biedenkopf, a member of the center-right Christian Democratic Union (CDU), predicted the dilemma in which the monetary union finds itself today even before the introduction of the euro. At the time, Biedenkopf was governor of the eastern state of Saxony -- and was the only German governor to vote against the monetary union in the Bundesrat, the legislative body that represents the German states. "Europe wasn't ready for that epochal step," says Biedenkopf today, noting that the individual countries differed too widely in terms of economic performance. "Most politicians in Germany thought that the euro would function even without common institutions and without financial transfers. That was naïve."

Now, of course, our European leaders are learning the hard way never to shit in a wind tunnel but their probable course of action will be the worst of all choices:

The euro is now in its 14th year, and after two years of ongoing crisis, there is a growing realization in Berlin and other capitals that the status quo cannot continue. All reform efforts still resemble small steps to nowhere, and yet politicians are beginning to think in terms of broader categories as they cope with the crisis. The new fiscal pact is not providing a quick solution yet, and as a result European politicians are developing new visions while old taboos are falling.

While the southern countries and France are coming to terms with a debt brake based on the German model, the German government no longer has any objections to an economic government within the euro zone, a French idea to which Germany was once staunchly opposed. Finance Minister Wolfgang Schäuble, for his part, is considering upgrading the EU finance commissioner to a kind of European finance minister, who would monitor the budgets of euro-zone member states and would also have the power to intervene, if necessary.

All of these measures boil down to individual countries relinquishing more authority and the central government in Brussels acquiring more power in return.

About 15 years ago I began to write a play based on a 'tragic hero' figure who was the commander of a European Union interrogation centre, part of the security apparat run by the EU which was struggling to deal with an extreme nationalist anti-EU terrorist organisation executing atrocities all across Europe.  I never finished it but I think I might revisit it and perhaps turn it into a book.  Then, after I'm dead and it all comes 'true' everyone will remember my prescient genius instead of my boring blog!

I urge you all to read the Spiegel article.

 

Keeping you abreast of the latest news!

I am very grateful to my regular commenter, JK, for providing me with a link to a book review on tits lady's breasts.  It was a very well-rounded and pointed essay (Enough with the tit jokes, already, get on with it - Ed!) written by a lady who begins by widening my lexicon on the subject:

Fun bags - boobsters - chumawumbas (eh?) -  dingle bobbers - dairy pillows (I bet that comes from Arkansas) - jellybonkers - nim nums (eh, again?)

Somehow I can't visualise the 'Memsahib' reacting too well were I to ask if I might give her 'jellybonkers' a quick squeeze?  Mind you, I can't see her reacting too well however I phrased it!  The author of the book, Ms. Florence Williams, in typical female fashion, begins by getting me rather excited, or at least, what passes for excitement these days, before turning on the metaphorical cold shower.  Apparently, she describes breasts enticingly as being able "to feed us, nurture us and excite us" - yes, yes, YES! - but then adds "they can also kill us" because "they are made up of fat and estrogen receptors (no, me neither!) so they soak up pollution like a pair of soft sponges".  Oh God, don't tell me they cause global warming, too!  Still, there's good news, as well.  According to Ms. Williams's research - oh, how I could have helped her if only she had asked! - breasts are getting bigger and today the average breast weighs just over a pound!  I'm sorry but at this point I must go and lie down - just click on the link and read it for yourself.  Thanks JK.

 

Oh, no, dinosaur farts caused global warming!

And there was me blaming cows, and the 'Memsahib' blaming me, but all the time the real culprits who caused global warming were 'Dan and Doris', the dinosaurs!  I kid you not, it says so in The Daily Telegraph:

Scientists believe that, just as in cows, methane-producing bacteria aided the digestion of sauropods by fermenting their plant food.

''A simple mathematical model suggests that the microbes living in sauropod dinosaurs may have produced enough methane to have an important effect on the Mesozoic climate,'' said study leader Dr Dave Wilkinson, from Liverpool John Moores University.

Yes, yes, I know it's from Liverpool polyversity but please show some respect:

''Indeed, our calculations suggest that these dinosaurs could have produced more methane than all modern sources - both natural and man-made - put together.''

I'm not going to ask her but I just know that the 'Memsahib' might give the good Doctor an argument over that one!  Moving on quickly:

The key factor is the total mass of the animal.

Medium-sized sauropods weighed about 20 tonnes and lived in herds of up to a few tens of individuals per square kilometre.

Global methane emissions from the animals would have amounted to around 472 million tonnes per year, the scientists calculated.

The figure is comparable to total natural and man-made methane emissions today. Before the start of the industrial age, about 150 years ago, methane emissions were around 181 million tonnes per year.

Only 472 million tons of methane!  Just give me six pints of Butcombe bitter and a really good, oily fish and chip supper and I could blow those dinosaurs back to the stone age!

My thanks to 'SoD' (Son of Duff) for pointing me to this, er, important story.

 

Beware the Curley effect!

Once again I must express my thanks to Cafe Hayek for pointing me towards a post on the econlib.org site by David Henderson.  In it, Mr. Henderson tells of the activities of James Michael Curley, a four-times elected mayor of Boston.  Apparently this 'worthy', by means of taxation and redistribution, maintained a stream of cash towards his impoverished Irish immigrant constitutents and an equally constant stream of vindictive abuse aimed at the wealthier citizens, thus helping them to decide to move on somewhere else.  The result is that he 'shaped' his city electorate and thus ensured for himself a long cycle of re-elections.  Mr. Henderson suggests that much the same is now going on in California.

Here, I would suggest, our domestic political poltroons conduct a sort of counter-Curley campaign with exactly the same result.  As Brown & Balls, the broker's men, demonstrated in large swathes of the north of England, it was only necessary to redirect rivers of government money into large local or national government quango organisations with huge payrolls and furnish them with enormous budgets of their own to disburse in their areas and, hey presto, you have a solid Labour electorate that will 'withstand the slings and arrows of outrageous' Tory efforts.  Even those, like local businessmen, who might normally be inclined to vote Tory will think twice when they realise that all local wealth and jobs depends on the largess of these giant quangos on their doorsteps.

The result can be seen in this rather neat illustration from The Coffee House:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fraser Nelson describes it as "Tricolour Britain" and suggests that the great divides are strengthening.

 

Un message de M. Shakespeare au Président Hollonde

Hence shall we see, / If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

And, yes, thank you for pointing it out, I have used that quote once or twice  several times constantly but it is so absolutely spot on when considering these 'scurvy politicians' it's impossible to resist.  However, in considering the almost certainly 'scurvy' M. Hollonde I do wish to begin by offering him my fervent thanks for removing that dreadful little Hungarian dwarf from the scene.  Thus, M. Hollonde begins his term of office in the warm glow of my gratitude for which, I am quite certain, he is enormously pleased and relieved.  However, he will remain under very close surveillance.  Not from me, of course, I wouldn't read a French newspaper even if I could!  No, no, President Hollonde has some powerful enemies who will be watching his every move and any attempt by him to actually carry out what he promised to the  French suckers people will result in instant retaliation by those dreadful oiks with no feelings of respect for him, for La France, or for anyone else, come to that.  I mean of course, the international bond dealers - spivs and rotters, the lot of them - bless their smelly socks!

Hollande has promised to renegotiate the so-called 'austerity pact' with the 'Kaiserin' but she, too, faces an election next year and I cannot see das deutsche Volk doing jolly little dances in their jolly little lederhosen at the news that she has agreed to let the Mediterraneans spend again at their expense!  As so often in this never-ending European fandango it will be yet another collision between immovable object and irresistible force.  The resulting bulletin will be as obscure as a fog in the channel!  Happily, those wretched spivs have radar so we will soon know what was agreed by watching the price of French bonds.

As for his idée fixe (that's enough foreign lingo: Ed!) to tax the rich until their pips squeak, well, I'm sure I speak for the estate agents and the 'purveyers of horseless carriages to the gentry' of London in saying merci beaucoup, Monsieur le Président (sorry, sorry ...).  Come to think of it, if we really wish to express our gratitude to President Hollonde for sending us all those fearfully rich French people perhaps we could give him our Chancellor in return because he's another one who thinks raising taxes is the best way out of a recession.  Cher ami, we could throw in a Prime Minister, too, if you like!

 

Consider the atom!

Oh, go on, give it a try!  I know it's Sunday morning and you're sitting slumped there regreting opening that extra bottle last night, but try it, just think about atoms.  Pesky little critters, ain't they?  So simple and yet so unbelievably complex.  I am moved to these ruminations because, yet again, I have fallen foul of that little imp - coincidence.

Yesterday I was re-reading Michael Frayn's superb play Copenhagen because there is just a tiny chance that I may be able to direct it next year.  The play concerns the 1941 meeting which took place between Neils Bohr, the Danish-Jewish 'Godfather' of quantum physics, and his favourite 'pupil' and supreme genius in his own right, Werner Heisenberg.  The play takes place in the spirit world because the particpants, including Bohr's wife, Margrethe, are all dead.  They meet to try and agree on the nature of the meeting which took place at such an ominous moment in history.  Ominous for both Bohr living as a Jew in occupied Denmark, and for Heisenberg who worked under the baleful eye of the German authorities who could not forgive him for having taught 'Jewish science' at university.  Ominous for the rest of us because 1941 saw the first moves in the race to develop the atom bomb - and Heisenberg was the team leader on the Nazi side investigating atomic possibilities.  Frayn is far too intelligent not to enjoy the irony that the participants of this meeting are unable to agree on what was actually said because they are all beset with uncertainty!  An excellent play and worth reading even if reading play scripts is not your usual litarary fare.

The other half of my 'atomic coincidence' was re-reading part of David Bergamini's WWII history book Japan's Imperial Conspiracy in order to prepare my talk on "How Japan Lost WWII in the First Six Months" which I am thinking of recording for those of you having difficulty in sleeping at night!  It reminded me of the little known fact that the two bombs employed used totally different mechanisms for splitting the uranium-235.  In the first bomb, small particles of uranium were held at one end and at the due moment were fired down the 'tube' to a larger piece of uranium at the other end thus setting off the chain re-action.  Hence its nickname of "Thin Boy".  The Nagasaki bomb, on the other hand, employed a different means in which the large piece of uranium was surrounded by smaller pieces which were driven inwards by explosive force to set the chain re-action going.  Hence its nick name of "Fat Boy".  This is the sort of totally useless information for which this blog is famous the length and breadth of my attic!

The other little-known fact of which I was reminded concerned the A-bombing of Nagasaki.  Not too many people know that Nagasaki was not the original target, that was to be the intended fate of Kokura, which lay in a conglomoration of industrial towns in the southern-most island of Japan, Kyushu.  It is a delicious irony that will be completely missed by any 'Greenies' that the thing that saved Kokura was pollution!  President Truman had laid down strict instructions that the A-bombs were to be dropped under visual rather than radar observation in order to avoid mistakes.  The smoke from all the factories around Kokura hid the specific aiming point for 'Fat Boy' and after several efforts it was decided to go for the secondary target of Nagasaki.  Bergamini reckons that if Kokura had been hit the death toll would have been at least 300,000 of the 600,000 who lived in and around the area.  As it was, the plane turned for Nagasaki and at this point yet more 'atomic uncertainty' enters the picture!

As the crew approached Nagasaki they saw considerable cloud formations and an argument began as to whether or not to disregard orders and use radar to identify the target - they were running low on fuel and time was of the essence.  Reluctantly permission was granted but suddenly Bombadier Beahan sighted a distinctive stadium through a gap in the clouds and he shouted to the pilot that he would take the plane in.  He asked for a slight alteration in course and then, at 10.58 am he released 'Fat Boy'.  But, Bombadier Beahan made a mistake and dropped his bomb more than two miles off target!  Directly beneath the bomb the destruction was total but because of the geography of the surrounding hills large parts of the city were shielded and only - only? - 40,000 perished, perhaps half of what might have been.  Yet more uncertainty arises as to whether or not Bombardier Beahan deliberately made his 'mistake' or whether perhaps he had been given a nod and a wink from higher up the chain of command.

Werner Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle seems to apply to history as much as it does to sub-atomic particles.

 

So what's wrong with bimbling along in the middle?

This particular "tedious tale" follows on directly from my previous post in which I repeated the fact that 68% of eligible voters couldn't be bothered to exercise their 'cherished'(?) democratic right to vote.  Cue: sundry media wiseacres tugging their beards and muttering, "Shockin', shockin', I tell you!"  But is it?

To tell the truth, I am not sure either way and part of my reason in writing this is to clarify my own mind.  It seems to me that the politicians are right when they sense that the political waistline of the electorate has grown enormously since the 'Days of Thatch'.  You can safely ignore Left-wing rhetoric to the effect that 'The Thatch' ruined Britain.  Just the opposite, she made it very, very comfortable, thank you very much, even if a dim and uncomprehending mass in the middle waistline of the population cannot bring itself to recognise the fact.  This central mass which far exceeeds the extremities, now acts like a drag anchor on the ship of state.  Blair was shrewd enough to spot this and ensured that the Labour party remained anchored firmly in the middle even if he was unable, or unwilling to clamp down entirely on the megalomaniac actions of his Chancellor.  Today, Cameron is attempting to do the same and I suspect that no matter how much the Right-wing of his party squeal he will not allow himself to be budged from the centre.  That, in a nutshell, is why he likes a coalition arrangement with the Lib-Dems.

This inertia on the part of the bulky centre of politics will remain until such time as a real emergency arises.  It is then, and only then, that the British turn to 'extremist' politicians; like Margaret Thatcher in 1979 when the country was brought to its financial and industrial knees; and Winston Churchil, the maverick's maverick, in 1940.  Until then, they are more or less happy to let the wretched politicians squabble over the minutae of this or that policy whilst they, The People, just get on with their lives.

Again, I'm not sure that their instinct isn't sound.  Quite apart from one's friends, whose political views are mostly at kindergarten level, a brief stroll round 'Blogdom' will reveal a range of political opinions that, were you to know the bloggers concerned, might lead you to call for nursie!  So at least I can comfort myself with the belief? hope? that the ignorant, slothful, uninvolved middle will keep the crazies at bay.  Also, I can comfort myself with yet another thought, that if the chances of the emminently suitable John Redwood becoming our prime minister are equal to the mythical snowball in hell, then so too are the chances of a political huckster like George Galloway.

Here is a final thought.  I referred earlier to my friends, most of whom are 'well educated' (whatever that means) as having political opinions of a kindergarten level.  Rather sneery, even for me, but it is a fact.  (I should add in all fairness that their views of my politics are usually indicated by open-mouths and/or snorts of derision!) Politics is a devilish complex business, a bit like three dimensional chess.  Like warfare it is comprised of two levels, the tactical and the strategic.  To formulate the strategic you need to have studied widely and deeply and come to some firmly based conclusions on your fundamental philosophy.  Having done that, you need to have a deep understanding of the political milieu in which you operate in order to achieve your desired aims.  This will require considerable skill in lying, cheating and breaking promises which is yet another reason why the broad mass of the population will avoid you like the plague (unless they want something!)

So I suppose that, on the whole, I am happy that my fellow subjects have the political inertia of a lump of lead, but I just hope and pray that when the warning signals become deafening they will awake in good time.

 

The great yawn

This morning I gritted my teeth and took the bracing cold shower which is my metaphor for visiting Dr. North at his EU Referendum site.  (He does have a tendency to shower you with streams of ice-cold, unpleasant and uncomfortable facts which, frankly, if you are a paid up member of the softy class, like me, you would rather avoid!) Today he allowed Brendan O'Neill at The Telegraph to spell out the facts but happily the pain they contained was mainly aimed at the politicians:

If you needed any further proof that the political class inhabits a different moral universe to normal human beings, look no further than this morning's analyses of yesterday's elections. "It was a good night for Labour," chirp Ed Miliband's delusional cheerleaders. "It shows that Cameron must re-engage with traditionalists," say Tory desperadoes. "It confirms the British public's rejection of the mayoral system," intone deathly dull political studies lecturers. All of these yawn-inducing attempts to decipher what message the British electorate was trying to send to the political class yesterday overlooks what the majority of us chose to say to them: absolutely nothing. Zilch. Diddly squat. [My emphasis]

Well, it's obvious that the vast majority of us had absolutely nothing to say to the ratbags and rascals of the political class because - by a huge majority, we failed to vote!  This in itself is a worrying tendency because politics, like nature, abhors a vacuum.  However, let Mr. O'Neill spell it out:

Sixty-eight per cent of eligible voters did not vote in the elections, a bloc of people so big it could be described as "the vast majority", or certainly "most people". Most people chose not to take part in these elections, and in doing so they implicitly rejected the political class in its entirety; its ideas, its policy proposals, its representatives – all were very publicly and humiliatingly cold-shouldered. What we witnessed yesterday was a silent, withering rebellion against the political elites of this country. A good night for Labour? Are you kidding me? Labour got roughly 39 per cent of the vote on an estimated turnout of 32 per cent. This means around 12 per cent of the eligible electorate voted Labour. To put it another way, 88 per cent of us – the heaving mass of society – did not vote Labour. If that's a good night for Labour, I'd hate to see a bad one.

I agree with his analysis of what happened on Thursday and he goes on to describe the chasm that divides the 'great unwashed' from the political class.  He obviously thinks that it is, in Sellars & Yeatman terms, "A Bad Thing" but there is, I think, an argument to be made which would uphold the view that it is "A Good Thing" and I will try to sort out my thoughts on it when I have more time later today.  In the meantime, here is some of the rest of his article for you to chew upon: 

People are already starting to wring their hands over the "apathy" of the electorate. What an insult, to be branded "apathetic". Apathy, coming from the Greek apathes, means "without feeling, without sensation". It means cold, indifferent, phlegmatic, "indolence of mind, indifference to what should excite". This is how the political class now views the mob: as a sensation-less bunch of no-marks who can't be arsed to peel their eyes away from Jeremy Kyle for five minutes once every few years to go out and vote. But it isn't the public's "indifference to what should excite" that explains plummeting voter turnout levels – it is the failure of politics to excite us, to enthral us, to engage us, and I mean engage us on a properly cerebral level, not through one of those focus groups that asks questions like "do you feel queasy on bendy buses?" or "would you vote for a politician who wears a beard?"

There’s nothing peculiar about the majority's refusal to vote. It’s perfectly logical. At a time when the political class is fantastically disconnected from everyday people, when mainstream political debate has been almost wholly colonised by suits and PR people and media darlings, it makes sense for people to deduce: “This has nothing to do with me.” Just look at some of the allegedly burning political issues of our time: gay marriage, media ownership, the Educational Maintenance Allowance, the question of whether the Lords should be stuffed with old farts from the Shires or right-on blokes who play tennis with Tony Blair. These are not real issues. They’re the myopic obsessions of political and media types who know a great deal more about their own navels than they do about the real world. Even worse, when they do make an effort to engage with “ordinary people” it’s always at the level of trying to save them a bit of money, as with Ken loudly promising to cut Tube fares in London. Because that’s all that “ordinary people” think about, isn’t it? Not democracy or the future or war or progress; just how to avoid having to spend £3.50 to go from Uxbridge to Piccadilly.

 

People say the government stinks - so no news, then!

As usual the MSM are all getting very excited about the local elections the results of which, as I write this, are not yet complete.  As far as I can see the whole thing can be summed as: Tories smacked, Lib-Dems punched and kicked, Labour does enough but no more, and no huge breakthrough from fringe parties.  The only two things that strike me as being significant are, first, the turnout was abysmally low indicating a feeling of total tedium from most voters, and, secondly, 'Dim Dave' now has a real rival inside the Tory party in the form of 'Bonking Boris' to keep him fretting at nights.

At this point, I will be bold and make a prediction.  In my view the coalition will not last for a full parliament.  The centrifugal forces pulling the Tories and Lib-Dems away from each other and back to their natural supporters will tear them apart.  And, of course, the dark, menacing cloud that continues to hang over everything is the approaching apocalypse in Europe.  Fasten your seat belts . . .

 

Too soon to say - but what the hell!

The Chen imbroglio currently entangling Sino-American diplomatic relations is a real litmus test for both nations.  Alas, the results of the test will not be known for some considerable time but, as regulars here at D&N will know, lack of information never stops us having an opinion!

The latest information I have is that the Chinese government have let it be known that if Mr. Chen applies in the normal way for permission to 'study abroad' it is minded to grant that permission. That, of course, would be an ideal solution saving face all round.   No-one seems to know for sure exactly what happened and what was said and agreed during Mr. Chen's stay in the American embassy and if Mr. Chen has any sense he will keep it to himself until such time as he has succeeded in gaining American citizenship.  On the other side, the Chinese government at its highest level is obviously having difficulty coping with the lower stratas of their bureaucracy, particularly their security departments, who seem to be stupid enough to believe, in this digital age, that power grows out the end of a police truncheon!  Equally, on the American side, the Republicans confirm - again - their reputation as the 'Stoopid Party' by allowing Romney to bellow ridiculous attacks on Obama without, so far, the slightest evidence that he has mishandled this highly delicate diplomatic minuet.  Note to Romney: when the Chinese shoot Chen and all his family, then is the time to start raising the roof but not before!

I repeat, no-one has the full picture on this devilish tricky little incident that neither side anticipated or wanted.  Eventually the history books will tell all, or at least most, of what went on, and then we will be able to judge the wisdom, or lack there-of, applied by both governments.  I really do hope that at the highest level both governments discover, albeit gingerly, that in a crisis they both possess cool minds that can see through to longer and more important aims and objectives.  The future of Sino-American relations contains a long list of potential disagreements of a truly catastrophic nature so the need for a mutually sophisticated relationship is crucial.

 

One picture worth a thousand raindrops!

On this occasion, need I say more except thanks to Watts Up With That via I Hate The Media.

 

Photo by Delemere Lafferty

 

What would you give?

I'm not sure if this is the version that sold at Sotheby's yesterday for - wait for it  - $120 million!  Edvard Munch painted four versions of it.  Assuming a $100 million was neither here nor there to you, would you pay that much to own it?

 

Well, I would!  Irrespective of any other consideration I think it is a great image, one that I could look at for the rest of my life.  There is a tendency with such iconic images  to overload them with meaning that was almost certainly not in the artist's mind at the time.  For Munch, according to his own words quoted on the BBC News site, it was an entirely personal experience that he captured:

"I was walking along a path with two friends - the sun was setting - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence - there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city.

"My friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature."

With one very brief exception I am unfamiliar with psychotic feelings.  Even so, that one event which lasted no more than a few minutes is vividly etched in my memory so that I can still remember when and where it happened and what I was doing when suddenly, with no warning and for no reason that I could think of, I plunged into a deep, deep depression almost like a physical blow and I felt myself sag under the pressure.  I can remember telling 'it' to fuck off and leave me alone and fortunately it did. But the experience really shook me.  That is why I read the blog of my e-pal, Louise, with enormous sympathy which is only exceeded by my admiration for her guts.

Returning to Munch and his painting, it might only have been a deep and visceral inward feeling that he captured in that image but we, in retrospect, can set it in a time and place and 'see' it as a harbinger of things to come.  And nor does it stand alone.  The deeply subversive plays of Ibsen were already begining to eat like acid into the public consciousness of the late Victorian age.  In music, the stately 'oom-pah-pahs' of Elgar's tribute to empire were about to be blown away by Stravinsky's score for Rite of Spring.  Thus art preceded politics but eventually the guns of the western front blew away the remnants of the British empire, the world would never be the same and this tired, battered old globe of ours took yet another new turn.

So, yes, I would pay zillions, if I had them, to own that picture.  It would hang alongside another anxiety-inducing painting, a reproduction of which is in my sitting room, to the constant irritation of the 'Memsahib' who, along with all of our visitors, cannot abide it!  Needless to say, the more they bridle at it, the more it confirms my opinion that the artist, Paul Klee, succeeded beyond his hopes:

Who said art was supposed to be comfortortable?

 

Is this man fit to run a whelk stall?

In considering this less than momentous question I suppose one must take into account the fact that Mr. Tom Watson MP once reached the dizzy heights of being the President of the Students' Union at, er, Hull University - yeeeees, quite!  Not content with that, this mover and shaker (well, he has put on a bit of weight since those halcyon days) he went on to become National Political Officer of the AEEU trade union - and, no, I have no idea what 'AEEU' stands for but I would guess it it is one of those blagging outfits pretending to operate on behalf of 'the workers' but, of course, only those particular suckers 'workers' who pay their dues to the AEEU - the rest of the 'workers' can get stuffed! 

Eventually this particularly fat 'grease monkey' managed to oil his way up the political pole and become an MP.  If you want to know where some of your tax money went you can see a lot of it round Mr. Watson's waist because in one year he claimed the maximum possible food allowance of £4,800.  Thus you can understand why he was subsequently described as a Gordon Brown 'heavy'!

As far as I can see from Watson's bio he has never run anything on a profit or loss basis, has never had to meet a payroll or a VAT return and has never created a single worthwhile job. And yet . . . and yet . . . this honking, hooting, loudmouthed bully-boy hiding behind the privileges of parliament has the gall to insult a man who by his own efforts, no doubt ruthless in many cases, has built up a huge international conglomoration of businesses which has created wealth and jobs and has added immeasurably to the crucial task of keeping the public informed.  I am happy to bet the deeds of my house on the certainty that had the Murdoch press continued its support for Labour at the last election his attack on Murdoch would never have happened and Watson would have continued with Gordon Brown's creepy, lickspittle policy of crawling to every News Corps editor in the country.

This apology of a 'politican' makes toadying political creeps of all parties look not too bad after all!

 

"The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd"

Well that's it!  I had about 18 lines and I delivered, I think, about 10 of 'em.  God, I had forgotten what a nerve-wracking business the acting lark can be!  Mind you, it must be nearly 20 years since I last performed so the whole thing was a trip down memory lane.  I wonder if there will be any other calls for me to return to past horrors.  Perhaps my school inviting me to re-sit my maths exam which must have been the cause of huge hilarity amongst the examiners of the day.  Or the Parachute Regiment inviting me back for a memorial flight and then suddenly, at a 1,000 feet, opening the door at the back and beckoning me forth.  Or one of my previous customers driving up in an old Cortina to discuss the fact that the front of the car no longer quite matches the rear.  Never go back!  That's my motto and from now on I'm sticking to it.

I'm a bit busy today because the 'Memsahib' has built up a long list of 'to do or else' jobs, plus, tonight we are entertaining an old pal and one of my best 'Sino-sources' who has just flown in from Singapore.  Thus, my next post on Chinese affairs might have a veneer of expertise.

 

Tonight's the night!

Keep well out of the Twickenham area tonight, darlings, the crowds, the fans, the 'slebs', the media - it must be the All Blacks vs. England, you will think but you will be wrong.  C'est moi!  Tonight I give the definitive performance as Abhorson the executioner.  As the direcor said to me after the dress rehearsal, "Jesus!  I've never seen it played like that before", at least, that's what I think he said because he had his head in his hands at the time, obviously overcome with the emotional power of my performance.

Anyway, as I shall be away all day I thought it overdue for me to pick a few of my favourite blogs for you to go and visit.  If you are made of stern stuff, start with Julia's Ambush Predator.  She does 'Sardonic' in italics with a capital 'S' and how she maintains her good humour as she trawls through stories of such utter stupidity by those who rule over us is amazing to me.  If a cool, intelligent and judicious look at the global warming scam is of interest to you then you could do no better than visit m' Lord Bishop Hill.  And talking of cool intelligence, then John Redwood applies it in bucketfuls on his daily diary.  But not everyone wants yet more politics so for a much wider scope try my e-pal A. K. Haart.  He's a bit like me, poor chap, in that he meanders over anything that catches his fancy, except that he does it with some knowledge and learning, where-as I rely on bullshit baffles brains!

Enjoy!  And don't forget to switch those taps off - there's a drought on, you know!

 

The Sunday Rumble 29:4:12

Jock prelate spouts BLX:  I'm feeling a tad grumpy this morning.  First of all my swimming pool is closed for the day so I missed my morning swim, and second, I awoke to the keening whine of some Jock prelate spouting 'A1 blx' as he accused Cameron of "immorality" because he wasn't stealing enough from the rich to give to the 'poor'.  Have matters deteriorated to such an extent that even Cardinals nowadays sound like spotty 'stoodents' in a demo?  Why do we not hear them thundering from their pulpits on the subject of real immorality of the simple, straightforward type that Jesus Christ would have understood?  Truly, the Pharisees have taken over the temples of the Lord!

Gutless Cameron missed his chance:  You may enjoy all sort of vices as a political leader but the one you must avoid at all costs is cowardice.  Cameron lost his nerve before the election and failed to go for a strong, unambivalent Right-wing set of policies which, in my opinion, would have given the Tory party an over-all majority.  Instead he has the dreadful 'il-Lib-non-Dems' hung round his neck like a dead albatross.  I suspect that to begin with he was fairly happy because it shielded him from, using what I suspect to be his words, ' those dreadful Right-wing oiks' in his own party.  At the end of last year Europe was a total shambles and there were more than enough disagreements of real substance between 'us and them', and between Tories and Lib-Dems, for him to have backed Clegg into a corner forcing him to break the coalition and thus engender an election earlier this year.  Now his chance has gone and all the sins of omission and commission have caught up with him and his useless gaggle of ministers.  For the past week the MSM, of all colours, have been writing his political obituary.  The quicker he goes the better but God only knows who will take his place. 

"Oh what a tangled web we weave ...":  When first we practice picking and choosing which nice, cuddly, furry or feathered things to preserve!  Thus, the State of Oregon is in a bugger's muddle because some-one talked the Government into protecting sea lions who promptly grunted something in 'Sea-Lionese' to the effect of, "Thanks, buddy, now where're all those salmon?" before they lumbered off to kill and eat zillions of them.  This forced the authorities to rescind the Federal protection law and the sea lions learned the hard way never to trust what governments say because thousands of them were shot!  Now it is the turn of the double-breasted cormorants.  They, apparently, have grown so fat on baby salmon trying desperately to reach the ocean that they can barely fly!  Hitherto a protected species they are now set for one last dive!  My thanks to Drudge.

Total incompetence knows no barriers:  It is a sort of relief to know that the Chinese, who we all credit with being "damned clever little devils, don'cha know" are, in reality, as clod-hoppingly useless as us!  Apparently, a blind - repeat blind - political dissident who was under house arrest and 24-hour surveillance which included dozens of not-so-secret policemen and the use of searchlights on his house at night, managed to escape with his immediate family and reach sanctuary at the American consulate.  This raises a fascinating question - do Chinese blush?  Aha, I bet you never thought of that one before!

Now I know the real reason:  The old friend and fellow thesp who pleaded an absolute and unbreakable prior appointment which prevented him from playing Abhorson the executioner on Monday night, and which resulted in me being dragged reluctantly, darlings, back onto the stage for (yet another) final farewell performance, has been found out!  On Monday night United are playing City to decide who wins the Premier League.  I have just spoken to him and hoped that his conscience pricks him as he sits in his armchair watching the match whilst  I suffer for his art!  He denies it all, of course.

"Oh, the horror, the horror!":  I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and as ususal Sky News was running on the 'telly'.  It was a newspaper round-up programme and I took one look, and then another to be certain, and seeing that I was right - the panelists were the "fat, black clown" and Max 'spank me quick' Mosley - I fled upstairs unable to face it.  Where do they find these people?  And even more pertinent, why don't they ever ask me?

Are Europeans imitating Lear?  According to Roger Kimball at PJMedia they are beginning to sound like him:

“No, no, no, no!”  Thus quoth Lear to Cordelia near the end of the grimmest play Shakespeare wrote.

As my friend John Allison observes,  Europe is acting a lot like Lear on his way to prison.

“No” said the Italians on November 12, 2011. They sent away Silvio Berlusconi who served on and off for a cumulative 10 years from 1994 through 2011 and was Italy’s longest-serving Prime Minister ever.

“No” said the Spanish on November 20, 2011 to the Spanish Socialist Worker’s Party of Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, two-term Prime Minister from 2004-2011, replacing him with the conservative People’s Party led by Mariano Rajoy.

“No” said Geert Wilders, Party for Freedom leader on April 21, 2012 to his coalition partner, Prime Minister Mark Rutte of the Liberal Party, sending Holland to a likely caretaker government and election on September 12.

Ditto the French and the Greeks. And this procession of negatives means —what? [My emphasis]

Our rulers would answer with another Shakespearean quote: "A question not to be asked"!

Must I go to night school to order a coffee?  This is a late addition but I need to go and make a coffee and it reminded me of my increasing irritation - oh, alright then, grumpiness - over the problem of ordering a coffee these days.  "Black coffee, please", I say to the Polish/Latvian/Czech/Estonian girl behind the counter.  She then reels off a list of names - in perfect English, I should make clear - none of which mean a thing to me.  My polite good humour vanishes and I lean across the counter placing my nose a few inches from hers (poor thing) and snarl, "Just give me a strong, black coffee!"  Well-trained and inherently courteous she smiles and asks, "Large, medium or small?" Cue: snapping, snarling, grumpy, old sod jumping up and down with mouth opening and closing, fists clenching and unclenching and  . . . a highly intellectual and philosophical discussion on the essential Platonic meaning of 'large' and 'small' does not ensue!