Mrs Lear has popped down south to have a day or two with a chum, and visit her Godson, who is expecting his first child ( at least his wife is).
She has also taken the Dog, so I am truly on my own.
This means many things, all the way from the obvious ( I can leave the loo seat up) to the weird (the breakfast tray has disappeared).
I am well able to cook myself a meal ( last night was seafood with couscous, and a rather nice beetroot, apple and celery salad), although usually at odd times.
So what of the entertainment? Dancing girls? Cocaine parties? Lashings of booze?
Sadly, no. Larkrise to Candleford. Making a couple of phone calls.
And reading until 2am.
Much better for you.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
The Bilko moment
This is weird.
Many years ago, in one of the Sergeant Bilko episodes, Bilko & his cohorts decided to set up a base radio station, to get the money from advertising. The problem ( as ever) was they couldn't let anyone else know what they were doing and ended up having to leave a microphone ON in the Colonel's house. Needless to say, there were great rows about the whole thing, but everyone loved overhearing what the Colonel and his wife said.
My email has been up and down for some days, but it appears to be back to normal now.
Except in one particular respect.
I appear to be getting emails from a chap who is conducting an affair - or at least trying to. There's no " From" or "To" in the address slot at the top, or even a " Subject" ( I think we can take it that this is supposed to be " Sex" - with a capital "S".
I've only had a couple so far, but I shall keep you posted. We do all love to eavesdrop, don't we?
A sample from the first email:
"Darling one, I did so enjoy our time together yesterday. The quick lunch that turned into three-and-a half hours as we talked our hearts out. I will always think of that Bistro as " our" restaurant. I felt your pain and confusion, as I'm sure you felt mine.Touching your hand sent a shock through me...."
That's enough of that for now. It's too soppy to continue.
But I'll let you know how they get on.
Many years ago, in one of the Sergeant Bilko episodes, Bilko & his cohorts decided to set up a base radio station, to get the money from advertising. The problem ( as ever) was they couldn't let anyone else know what they were doing and ended up having to leave a microphone ON in the Colonel's house. Needless to say, there were great rows about the whole thing, but everyone loved overhearing what the Colonel and his wife said.
My email has been up and down for some days, but it appears to be back to normal now.
Except in one particular respect.
I appear to be getting emails from a chap who is conducting an affair - or at least trying to. There's no " From" or "To" in the address slot at the top, or even a " Subject" ( I think we can take it that this is supposed to be " Sex" - with a capital "S".
I've only had a couple so far, but I shall keep you posted. We do all love to eavesdrop, don't we?
A sample from the first email:
"Darling one, I did so enjoy our time together yesterday. The quick lunch that turned into three-and-a half hours as we talked our hearts out. I will always think of that Bistro as " our" restaurant. I felt your pain and confusion, as I'm sure you felt mine.Touching your hand sent a shock through me...."
That's enough of that for now. It's too soppy to continue.
But I'll let you know how they get on.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Gone
The last member of the last generation of my family died during the week.
She, too, had made it past 90, which worries me considerably. I'm not sure I can stand living to 102.
She led a marvellous life, interspersed with disaster and travail, as nearly all lives are. She was my mother's younger sister. In their young days, my mother would frequently prey upon her baby sister, one time putting her onto the luggage rack on a train and leaving her there.
Later in life, they were inseparable friends.
I spent many half-terms with she and her husband, as my parents were frequently abroad, and my fondest memories of her were the delicious chocolate cakes she sent regularly to school. As you can imagine, for a small boy with a sweet tooth, this was nirvana.
She remained a good looking woman all her life., with a streak of vanity and pride in her appearance, which one day prompted her to ask her husband if she was as beautiful as when he had married her.
" Of course you are my darling" he replied " It just takes you a little longer"
RIP.
She, too, had made it past 90, which worries me considerably. I'm not sure I can stand living to 102.
She led a marvellous life, interspersed with disaster and travail, as nearly all lives are. She was my mother's younger sister. In their young days, my mother would frequently prey upon her baby sister, one time putting her onto the luggage rack on a train and leaving her there.
Later in life, they were inseparable friends.
I spent many half-terms with she and her husband, as my parents were frequently abroad, and my fondest memories of her were the delicious chocolate cakes she sent regularly to school. As you can imagine, for a small boy with a sweet tooth, this was nirvana.
She remained a good looking woman all her life., with a streak of vanity and pride in her appearance, which one day prompted her to ask her husband if she was as beautiful as when he had married her.
" Of course you are my darling" he replied " It just takes you a little longer"
RIP.
Out for dinner
We were out for dinner last night, and I heard rather a nice story of policing in the past.
'Twas the night of the Great Train Robbery, and the host at last night's dinner was returning from a week's sailing up the West Coast of Scotland - no papers, no mobiles, no nothing, as it used to be ( I know younger readers won't believe this, but still).
He returned home late at night with three extremely large trunks/boxes , and, it being a horrible rainy night ( It's Glasgow) threw them rapidly into his garage and locked it, leaving the car outside.
Come 9am, there was a knock on the door, and there stood two policemen, who enquired who he was. He told them. They then said they were investigating the Great Train Robbery. At which point he thought it was a wind-up and slammed the door on them ( he was quite tired from his time at sea).
Needless to say, within about a nano second, the door was hammered again. Once opened, my friend was staring down the barrel of a revolver, and realised that, just possibly, this was no joke.
Fortunately, he had a perfect alibi, but the point was the policemen told him they were following up several thousand leads from the public. OK it was a huge event, but even minor crimes in those days were reported and followed up. I question whether the same could be said of virtually any crime apart from murder nowadays.
'Twas the night of the Great Train Robbery, and the host at last night's dinner was returning from a week's sailing up the West Coast of Scotland - no papers, no mobiles, no nothing, as it used to be ( I know younger readers won't believe this, but still).
He returned home late at night with three extremely large trunks/boxes , and, it being a horrible rainy night ( It's Glasgow) threw them rapidly into his garage and locked it, leaving the car outside.
Come 9am, there was a knock on the door, and there stood two policemen, who enquired who he was. He told them. They then said they were investigating the Great Train Robbery. At which point he thought it was a wind-up and slammed the door on them ( he was quite tired from his time at sea).
Needless to say, within about a nano second, the door was hammered again. Once opened, my friend was staring down the barrel of a revolver, and realised that, just possibly, this was no joke.
Fortunately, he had a perfect alibi, but the point was the policemen told him they were following up several thousand leads from the public. OK it was a huge event, but even minor crimes in those days were reported and followed up. I question whether the same could be said of virtually any crime apart from murder nowadays.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Soc. Gen.
So they lost a few quid. No wonder the ECB has been pushing as much money as possible into the system.
Not really a surprise though - if the trader had been right he would have made fortunes for his bosses and we would only have heard how wwwwwwonderful they all were.
As it is, we had to hear how well they closed out the trades ( except it looks as if everyone spotted what was going on and dropped every price they could which doubled the loss on the day). When everything goes up it's easy to look good. As soon as the reverse ratchet sets in it gets harder and harder to hide it.
But Banks in general have to destroy huge chunks of value every few years, otherwise they feel unloved. Remember sovereign debt? LTCM? And every other debacle over the years?
This is only bigger and better.
We will have to hear about how " prudent" they are being now.
I hate prudence. From many years ago, when there was a huge slump in shipping rates and every fjord, sea-loch and inlet was stuffed with idle ships, there were two main sets of owners - the Norwegians and the Greeks.
Every bank who had lent to the Norwegians told us how secure they were, how prudent, how sober,how carefully managed. The Greeks on the other hand were a feckless lot, gamblers, leading an exuberant lifestyle ( read drunken orgies).
So... have a guess who went bust? Well, it wasn't only the Norwegian shipping companies. Most of the banks who lent to them went bust as well.
And the Greeks?
Well, the one thing a REAL gambler knows about is quitting. The Greeks were - and are - masters of diving for cover when something goes aglae.
They survived.
And bought up the bankrupt Norwegian ships.
At 10 cents on the Dollar.
Who's clever now?
Not really a surprise though - if the trader had been right he would have made fortunes for his bosses and we would only have heard how wwwwwwonderful they all were.
As it is, we had to hear how well they closed out the trades ( except it looks as if everyone spotted what was going on and dropped every price they could which doubled the loss on the day). When everything goes up it's easy to look good. As soon as the reverse ratchet sets in it gets harder and harder to hide it.
But Banks in general have to destroy huge chunks of value every few years, otherwise they feel unloved. Remember sovereign debt? LTCM? And every other debacle over the years?
This is only bigger and better.
We will have to hear about how " prudent" they are being now.
I hate prudence. From many years ago, when there was a huge slump in shipping rates and every fjord, sea-loch and inlet was stuffed with idle ships, there were two main sets of owners - the Norwegians and the Greeks.
Every bank who had lent to the Norwegians told us how secure they were, how prudent, how sober,how carefully managed. The Greeks on the other hand were a feckless lot, gamblers, leading an exuberant lifestyle ( read drunken orgies).
So... have a guess who went bust? Well, it wasn't only the Norwegian shipping companies. Most of the banks who lent to them went bust as well.
And the Greeks?
Well, the one thing a REAL gambler knows about is quitting. The Greeks were - and are - masters of diving for cover when something goes aglae.
They survived.
And bought up the bankrupt Norwegian ships.
At 10 cents on the Dollar.
Who's clever now?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Northern Wreck
The Times Anatole Kaletsky has an excellent article about the ex-bank.
As he says, there's no new money - it's all out of the taxpayers pocket. It's a bit like when your bank manager phones you up and asks if you are paying in today, and you say yes - from my credit card account.
The crunch rolls on. I take no pleasure in being proved right - 15-20% down in UK and even more in the East and Europe - is not something to be happy about.
I remain optimistic though. The ECB has pumped another $1billion in over the last week, and will surely change rates soon - even if it will eventually lead to the Euro's demise. Italy, Spain and Ireland ( and France to a lesser extent) are all at their wits end with the " strong" Euro, and Spain's entire economy could easily implode as the house sales dry up. Don't forget in America it's only their own people who aren't buying many houses. In Spain, it's everyone, including the Spanish.
The US will drop rates sharply, pump money in AND give tax cuts.
And in the UK? I expect a 20% in real terms decline over 3 years for domestic property. That's roughly what commercial has done already in 6 months.
Remember, you read it here first ( as long as you didn't read it 3 years ago as written by Roger Bootle)
As he says, there's no new money - it's all out of the taxpayers pocket. It's a bit like when your bank manager phones you up and asks if you are paying in today, and you say yes - from my credit card account.
The crunch rolls on. I take no pleasure in being proved right - 15-20% down in UK and even more in the East and Europe - is not something to be happy about.
I remain optimistic though. The ECB has pumped another $1billion in over the last week, and will surely change rates soon - even if it will eventually lead to the Euro's demise. Italy, Spain and Ireland ( and France to a lesser extent) are all at their wits end with the " strong" Euro, and Spain's entire economy could easily implode as the house sales dry up. Don't forget in America it's only their own people who aren't buying many houses. In Spain, it's everyone, including the Spanish.
The US will drop rates sharply, pump money in AND give tax cuts.
And in the UK? I expect a 20% in real terms decline over 3 years for domestic property. That's roughly what commercial has done already in 6 months.
Remember, you read it here first ( as long as you didn't read it 3 years ago as written by Roger Bootle)
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Unexpectedly....
If I hadn't seen this with my own eyes I would not have believed it...
http://www.astrologicalmagazine.com
http://www.astrologicalmagazine.com
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Table talk
We had friends for dinner tonight ( a rather excellent Bouillabaisse even if I say so myself), and two snippets of the conversation bear repetition.
The first was about class. We were talking about how our political masters these days " lacked class" and didn't know how to behave properly.
As one of the guests put it, " Class is not having to think about it," which I regard as the best definition of class there is. Properly brought up, you don't have to think about it - it's natural.
The other was the story of an old lady on one of the islands being visited by a passing yacht, and there being many pictures on the side-board of various young men.
" Ah," said the visitor," Old family members?"
"No no," says the old lady " Those two are my sons."
" Goodness!" Exclaims the visitor. " I had no idea you were married."
" I'm not, " she replied " But I never said I was unattended."
The first was about class. We were talking about how our political masters these days " lacked class" and didn't know how to behave properly.
As one of the guests put it, " Class is not having to think about it," which I regard as the best definition of class there is. Properly brought up, you don't have to think about it - it's natural.
The other was the story of an old lady on one of the islands being visited by a passing yacht, and there being many pictures on the side-board of various young men.
" Ah," said the visitor," Old family members?"
"No no," says the old lady " Those two are my sons."
" Goodness!" Exclaims the visitor. " I had no idea you were married."
" I'm not, " she replied " But I never said I was unattended."
Last longer! Thicker! Longer! More satisfying!
I'm sure like most of you I get masses of spam which is largely connected with a certain part of my anatomy. Apart from the fact that I disdain pills and medicines, in my own case, I can't help but feel further improvement is unnecessary ( you can take that in any way you like).
But as I get older there is one part of me I wouldn't mind being thicker,longer, more satisfying and even last longer.
It is, of course, my hair.
But as I get older there is one part of me I wouldn't mind being thicker,longer, more satisfying and even last longer.
It is, of course, my hair.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Afternoon delight
I spent the afternoon in The Golden Jubilee hospital in Glasgow with a friend who was swallowing cameras and things.
The Golden Jubilee was originally built to do heart ops on rich Arabs, and the idea was that their retinue would stay in the hotel ( The Beardmore) beside it. Unfortunately, it never quite made it and ended up being sold to the NHS, where now it resides as a beacon of excellence and is in use as the " Ok send them to Jubilee and that'll get the waiting lists down" on a range of ills.
But my delight was in reading some of the magazines in the waiting room. Not just OK! and Hello! but things called Closer and Yours!
They were full of people of whom I had never heard. I'm beginning to understand those Judges who ask " What are the Beatles?"
One of them had a section entitled " Psychic counselling" which had me in stitches, although it was deeply sad in many ways.
The first letter was from a woman in Hounslow ( you'd need counselling right there) whose letter read: " My first marriage was one of convenience. The second broke up because he was an alcoholic. The third one said he would rather be drunk all day than be with me. Now I have met someone on the internet who I really like, but he is unsure of me. Do the stars predict happiness for me?" This from Claire, 32.
My friend decided that the best thing would be to leave the poor chap alone, but the " Psychic Counsellor" was able to say " Go with your feelings. But if he starts drinking, I think you should both go for counselling"
And at the bottom there were a variety of messages in reply to undisclosed letters.
" To Davie from Falkirk - Your Mum says she's sent the cat to you with a message."
The mind boggles.
PS. My friend was fine.
The Golden Jubilee was originally built to do heart ops on rich Arabs, and the idea was that their retinue would stay in the hotel ( The Beardmore) beside it. Unfortunately, it never quite made it and ended up being sold to the NHS, where now it resides as a beacon of excellence and is in use as the " Ok send them to Jubilee and that'll get the waiting lists down" on a range of ills.
But my delight was in reading some of the magazines in the waiting room. Not just OK! and Hello! but things called Closer and Yours!
They were full of people of whom I had never heard. I'm beginning to understand those Judges who ask " What are the Beatles?"
One of them had a section entitled " Psychic counselling" which had me in stitches, although it was deeply sad in many ways.
The first letter was from a woman in Hounslow ( you'd need counselling right there) whose letter read: " My first marriage was one of convenience. The second broke up because he was an alcoholic. The third one said he would rather be drunk all day than be with me. Now I have met someone on the internet who I really like, but he is unsure of me. Do the stars predict happiness for me?" This from Claire, 32.
My friend decided that the best thing would be to leave the poor chap alone, but the " Psychic Counsellor" was able to say " Go with your feelings. But if he starts drinking, I think you should both go for counselling"
And at the bottom there were a variety of messages in reply to undisclosed letters.
" To Davie from Falkirk - Your Mum says she's sent the cat to you with a message."
The mind boggles.
PS. My friend was fine.
Fat finger syndrome
I was typing in www.google.co.uk and missed the second "g" As a result my computer attempted to reach www.goole.co.uk
An immediate error message sprang up " Danger! This is a potentially dangerous area"
Goole has no Conservative councillors, but 8 Labour , 5 LibDems and 4 Independant.
Definitely a dangerous area.
An immediate error message sprang up " Danger! This is a potentially dangerous area"
Goole has no Conservative councillors, but 8 Labour , 5 LibDems and 4 Independant.
Definitely a dangerous area.
DVLA advertisement
There's a DVLA advertisement running to get people to buy new tax discs.
Whilst in no way condoning the non-purchase of these, I was somewhat taken aback by the advertisement.
My immediate " say the first word that comes into your mind " was " Stalinist".
But then, I suppose that should be no surprise from Damp Squib - this is the opposite of Flash that I thought was a good name for Broon.
Insidentally,Private Eye is running a very good cartoon strip of " The Broons" the famous DCThomson creation, which features " Jockshire Brewery" and " Jockshire Daily Record" "Jockshire Evening Times" and " Jockshire Herald".
Jockshire.com has some lovely quotes from the Scottish Parliament - I particularly liked Peter Peacock's " In this debate I stand on the side of the fish".
I always knew politicians thought of themselves as godlike, but surely walking on water is a bit excessive.
Whilst in no way condoning the non-purchase of these, I was somewhat taken aback by the advertisement.
My immediate " say the first word that comes into your mind " was " Stalinist".
But then, I suppose that should be no surprise from Damp Squib - this is the opposite of Flash that I thought was a good name for Broon.
Insidentally,Private Eye is running a very good cartoon strip of " The Broons" the famous DCThomson creation, which features " Jockshire Brewery" and " Jockshire Daily Record" "Jockshire Evening Times" and " Jockshire Herald".
Jockshire.com has some lovely quotes from the Scottish Parliament - I particularly liked Peter Peacock's " In this debate I stand on the side of the fish".
I always knew politicians thought of themselves as godlike, but surely walking on water is a bit excessive.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
On Classic FM...
... they have an ad running for their new "6 babies" internet radio programmes. Amongst others, Ronnie Corbett is extolling the possibilities, and comes to the conclusion, if you like Baroque music, you need only listen to it and nothing else. As he says " You could have a BAROQUEORAMA"
The other presenter ( Honor Blackman) says " Isn't that an American Presidential Candidate?"
BOOM BOOM!
The other presenter ( Honor Blackman) says " Isn't that an American Presidential Candidate?"
BOOM BOOM!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
At the Funeral
I always quite enjoy funerals. You meet up with lots of people you haven't seen for ages and you can compare a) how well you are and look compared to them b) how well your brain is compared to theirs and c) commiserate about their grandchildren. Whilst waiting for the service to begin I observed to the person on my right that there were a large number of people in wheelchairs and crutches as well as a plethora of walking sticks.
" Yes" she said " I think a trip to Lourdes could be quite productive"
The deceased was a very handsome man who bore more than a passing resemblance to David Niven, complete with pencil mustache. During the 30's he had been what was known then as " A gay blade" - I hate to think what that might mean now, but then it signified a dashing character who had great success with the ladies.
As his eulogist put it:
" Not to be let loose with any good labrador bitches."
The only slight fly in the ointment was when a very elderly doddery man asked me how long I had been retired for. When I replied that I was still working, he replied.
" Good God - at your age?"
I am clearly not as well preserved as I think.
Update: Another elderly gentleman wanted a whisky, but there was only wine free.
" Ah" he said " In that case I'll have a bottle of white wine."
" You mean a glass."
" No, I mean a bottle."
" Yes" she said " I think a trip to Lourdes could be quite productive"
The deceased was a very handsome man who bore more than a passing resemblance to David Niven, complete with pencil mustache. During the 30's he had been what was known then as " A gay blade" - I hate to think what that might mean now, but then it signified a dashing character who had great success with the ladies.
As his eulogist put it:
" Not to be let loose with any good labrador bitches."
The only slight fly in the ointment was when a very elderly doddery man asked me how long I had been retired for. When I replied that I was still working, he replied.
" Good God - at your age?"
I am clearly not as well preserved as I think.
Update: Another elderly gentleman wanted a whisky, but there was only wine free.
" Ah" he said " In that case I'll have a bottle of white wine."
" You mean a glass."
" No, I mean a bottle."
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Rusty
A friend sent me a text today - we have a thing going about Smooth Radio which plays all the old songs from my mis-spent youth. Rusty Springboard was mentioned - for those of you of tender years this was the nickname of the magnificent Dusty Springfield. " I only wanna be with you" was playing, which, if memory serves me right, was her solo breakthrough song.
I accept I may be extremely naive, but I remember being devastated to hear she was gay. The other major disappointment in my life was to hear that Michael Flatley - he of the original River Dance - was actually American. And after me watching the video all those times of the performance in Dublin with the lovely Jean Butler. Strangely, she is related to another friend of mine.
He tells the story of her growing up winning prizes for the soft shoe dancing as opposed to the clickety-clack of the hard shoes, at which, apparently, she never really excelled. When she went for the audition she was asked to do both - and to start with the hard shoes. After a few moments she said " I'll be doing the soft shoes first " and apparently blew everyone away to such an extent they never bothered to ask her for the other discipline.
They hired her on the spot.
And gave her extra lessons.
I accept I may be extremely naive, but I remember being devastated to hear she was gay. The other major disappointment in my life was to hear that Michael Flatley - he of the original River Dance - was actually American. And after me watching the video all those times of the performance in Dublin with the lovely Jean Butler. Strangely, she is related to another friend of mine.
He tells the story of her growing up winning prizes for the soft shoe dancing as opposed to the clickety-clack of the hard shoes, at which, apparently, she never really excelled. When she went for the audition she was asked to do both - and to start with the hard shoes. After a few moments she said " I'll be doing the soft shoes first " and apparently blew everyone away to such an extent they never bothered to ask her for the other discipline.
They hired her on the spot.
And gave her extra lessons.
£1.01 up!
You may recall I reached 50p recently of picked-up money. A further 2p today has created the madnificent total you see above. And yes, its a deliberate spelling mistake.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Sense & Sensibility..
.. finished yesterday, and a great sadness to me it is too. I spent from 4:10 yesterday indulging in what our lodger refers to as " men in frilly shirts". Then on to Larkrise and finally the last of S & S - definitely not S & M.
I always feel that Brandon is SUCH an excellent man he is probably a wife beater behind closed doors. Morissey played him quite differently from Alan Rickman, but none the worse for that. Ferrars was a remake of Hugh Grant in the same role - as somebody said to me, he is a weak character who would have married the awful Miss Steele. By the way, once she had transferred her affections to the equally awful Mr. Robert, did Mrs. Ferrars change back the inheritance? I think we should be told...
But the scene which I liked best was Elinor confronting Willoughby at the end. He had realised his life was a sham and knew he had blown it all - repentance and humility were his lot. The contrast with today could hardly be greater. A quick shag and away would be the form ( not even a wham bang thank you ma'am) but I must say we have lost so much by this. Romance is what makes the world go round, despite Fanny Bowles monetary assertion, and love definitely makes life worth living.
Even Timothy Spall had it right in " All or Nothing" - " Life ain't werf nuffink without luv"
I always feel that Brandon is SUCH an excellent man he is probably a wife beater behind closed doors. Morissey played him quite differently from Alan Rickman, but none the worse for that. Ferrars was a remake of Hugh Grant in the same role - as somebody said to me, he is a weak character who would have married the awful Miss Steele. By the way, once she had transferred her affections to the equally awful Mr. Robert, did Mrs. Ferrars change back the inheritance? I think we should be told...
But the scene which I liked best was Elinor confronting Willoughby at the end. He had realised his life was a sham and knew he had blown it all - repentance and humility were his lot. The contrast with today could hardly be greater. A quick shag and away would be the form ( not even a wham bang thank you ma'am) but I must say we have lost so much by this. Romance is what makes the world go round, despite Fanny Bowles monetary assertion, and love definitely makes life worth living.
Even Timothy Spall had it right in " All or Nothing" - " Life ain't werf nuffink without luv"
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Pets Sounds...
.... by The Beach Boys turns out to be one of the must have CDs of all time. Really pleased about that.
DC on AM
I tend to watch the AM show on BBC1 for the review of the papers. Sometimes the people are quite good ( Jane Moore today was) and sometimes they are a bit stuffy ( Dominic Lawson was).
But today's main interview was with David Cameron.
If you saw it, you just might have been disgusted with the difference between Marr's fawning Brown interview ( never interupted once or even asked a mildly difficult question) and the rottweiler approach taken with Cameron today.
Cameron has clearly grown into his job, rode the questions well, made his points, refused to be put off, and came across as a person who was a thoroughly decent bloke without pretensions. Brown the other week displayed all the false humility and arrogance which we now expect from Labour.
Marr did his utmost to make something of the George Osborne allegations and DC shot him down - especially his final riposte which was " We asked the commissioner and have an email from him saying what we did was perfectly correct. The point is we asked - something Mr. Hain has not done" Marr promptly shut up and tried something else where he got equally short shrift.
Anyway, I daresay the Labour press will make it a "destruction" of Cameron story.
But today's main interview was with David Cameron.
If you saw it, you just might have been disgusted with the difference between Marr's fawning Brown interview ( never interupted once or even asked a mildly difficult question) and the rottweiler approach taken with Cameron today.
Cameron has clearly grown into his job, rode the questions well, made his points, refused to be put off, and came across as a person who was a thoroughly decent bloke without pretensions. Brown the other week displayed all the false humility and arrogance which we now expect from Labour.
Marr did his utmost to make something of the George Osborne allegations and DC shot him down - especially his final riposte which was " We asked the commissioner and have an email from him saying what we did was perfectly correct. The point is we asked - something Mr. Hain has not done" Marr promptly shut up and tried something else where he got equally short shrift.
Anyway, I daresay the Labour press will make it a "destruction" of Cameron story.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The credit crunch part 2347
You may recall I mentioned that I thought the crunch was beginning to recede a bit. There's more evidence of this today.
Firstly, Northern Wreck has sold a part of it's mortage book at a premium.
Second, Bank of America looks as if it going to get the bargain of the century by picking up Countrywide ( it's a bank in the States) for a song.
Thirdly, the BofE has said it will reduce the reserve fluctuation band shortly - they wouldn't do it unless they were reasonably sure it will stick.
And finally, Midshires has stared writing BTL mortgages again within the last week.
Now that really IS things getting back to normal.
Firstly, Northern Wreck has sold a part of it's mortage book at a premium.
Second, Bank of America looks as if it going to get the bargain of the century by picking up Countrywide ( it's a bank in the States) for a song.
Thirdly, the BofE has said it will reduce the reserve fluctuation band shortly - they wouldn't do it unless they were reasonably sure it will stick.
And finally, Midshires has stared writing BTL mortgages again within the last week.
Now that really IS things getting back to normal.
What is the difference between Tony Blair and a Mafia Boss?
According to a reader who sent this to Iain Dale:
One (a) portrays himself as a man of the people and guardian of the community, but extorts large amounts of money from businesses and individuals under the guise of protecting them against future perils whilst actually accumulating vast wealth for himself and his family, (b) is indirectly implicated in the deaths of many people to promote his interests although he is never present at the killings, and (c) assuages his conscience with a superficial adherence to the Catholic church.
The other is an Italian thug.
I think this understates it,frankly, as I know a few Mafia Thugs who are considerably nicer and definitely more truthful and honest than Mr. Bliar.
One (a) portrays himself as a man of the people and guardian of the community, but extorts large amounts of money from businesses and individuals under the guise of protecting them against future perils whilst actually accumulating vast wealth for himself and his family, (b) is indirectly implicated in the deaths of many people to promote his interests although he is never present at the killings, and (c) assuages his conscience with a superficial adherence to the Catholic church.
The other is an Italian thug.
I think this understates it,frankly, as I know a few Mafia Thugs who are considerably nicer and definitely more truthful and honest than Mr. Bliar.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The REAL difference between Tone and Gord
If you have been paying attention to the front pages of the newspapers today, there is a mug-shot of Broon with his hands in typical strangle mode. This is his signature hand gesture - it looks as if he has terrible arthritis in his hands as he strangles the air between them.
Bliar, on the other hand, always used either an open palm ( like Dave) or a proper fist.
So the real difference is, as every exponent of body-language will tell you, between an open-hearted engaging person and a complete control freak. Broon is trying to subdue everything in his grasp. OK he's not making much of a go of it, but that's his game plan.
The ludicrous announcement today of " everyone can have a check-up" is complete nonsense - you can have that already. As Dizzy points out today, you will get a letter, which, in the vast majority of cases, will go straight in the bin. BUT, of course, it will cost money and will require people to administer it.
Ah, now I get it. It's another of his non-job job creation schemes.
Bliar, on the other hand, always used either an open palm ( like Dave) or a proper fist.
So the real difference is, as every exponent of body-language will tell you, between an open-hearted engaging person and a complete control freak. Broon is trying to subdue everything in his grasp. OK he's not making much of a go of it, but that's his game plan.
The ludicrous announcement today of " everyone can have a check-up" is complete nonsense - you can have that already. As Dizzy points out today, you will get a letter, which, in the vast majority of cases, will go straight in the bin. BUT, of course, it will cost money and will require people to administer it.
Ah, now I get it. It's another of his non-job job creation schemes.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
The Poo Comittee
I'm sure you think you have never heard of this committee, but I'm willing to bet you have.
There are thousands of them up and down the country, but they all go under different names. It could be Dogwalkers Anonymous. Or Net Curtain Twitchers United. Or anything really.
They are made up of concerned locals, usually on a one issue matter. It could be the local hospital, or park, or joyriders, or almost anything, but they are the equivalent of the Vigilantes that the Police in particular are so against. They care about something and are willing to fight about it - quite often amongst themselves.
What they do do is make sure that issues don't just get ignored. They appear to be a largely Anglo-Saxon phenomenon. In Europe generally, issues are regularly co-opted by the local Mayor. If you have an issue, you can approach him/her and talk about it. Because he/she is elected, he/she has to listen. Here, the local Councils, whilst elected, are relatively emasculated. Even when a million people march against the War, or the banning of hunting with dogs, they are ignored. This latter, of course, is such a ridiculous piece of legislation that there is now more of it going on with more followers than there was before. It was always just a cynical ploy to divert attention from other problems.
But our local Poo Committee ( so nicknamed because it is trying to clean up our local park) is actually having a moderately successful time of it. The park is looking tidier and more welcoming. And with less dog poo lying about.
So this post is really a thank you to the people who have brought this about. Long may the improvement last.
There are thousands of them up and down the country, but they all go under different names. It could be Dogwalkers Anonymous. Or Net Curtain Twitchers United. Or anything really.
They are made up of concerned locals, usually on a one issue matter. It could be the local hospital, or park, or joyriders, or almost anything, but they are the equivalent of the Vigilantes that the Police in particular are so against. They care about something and are willing to fight about it - quite often amongst themselves.
What they do do is make sure that issues don't just get ignored. They appear to be a largely Anglo-Saxon phenomenon. In Europe generally, issues are regularly co-opted by the local Mayor. If you have an issue, you can approach him/her and talk about it. Because he/she is elected, he/she has to listen. Here, the local Councils, whilst elected, are relatively emasculated. Even when a million people march against the War, or the banning of hunting with dogs, they are ignored. This latter, of course, is such a ridiculous piece of legislation that there is now more of it going on with more followers than there was before. It was always just a cynical ploy to divert attention from other problems.
But our local Poo Committee ( so nicknamed because it is trying to clean up our local park) is actually having a moderately successful time of it. The park is looking tidier and more welcoming. And with less dog poo lying about.
So this post is really a thank you to the people who have brought this about. Long may the improvement last.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Checking out
I received not unexpected news tonight that an old sort-of relative was dying. He has lasted 90 odd years, and until very recently in extraordinary good health and totally compos mentis. Stopped by his 70 year old wife from driving too much, he would sneak away in his souped up Citroen, and drive over the back roads at more than a ton. He had driven all sorts of fast machines in his day and still loved the thrill.
He was a founder member of the Scottish Ski Club, one of the first skiers in Scotland, and won the Inferno race at Murren.
He liked to tell the story of buying skis in the thirties, screwing on the bindings himself, and taking off for the hills. Finding a suitable snowy slope, down he went, stopped at the bottom and suddenly found himself falling. He had skied onto a flock of sheep, who promptly scattered when he arrived.
He was definitely old school, but rejoiced in serving during the war with other ranks. He had an innate sense of right and wrong and of politeness and rectitude.
At the age of 70, he took up with the lady who is now his wife.He approached me and asked me to convey his sentiments to the lady's children and step-children, that he would have waited to be married before moving in with her, except he felt they would only have a limited time.
" I don't want anyone to think I am taking advantage of her", he said. I assured him that, even twenty odd years ago, such thoughts were unlikely.
But my fondest memory of him will be his wonderful fruity voice, which, when he read, made one dream of life and love and chivalry - and a bygone , better age.
He was a founder member of the Scottish Ski Club, one of the first skiers in Scotland, and won the Inferno race at Murren.
He liked to tell the story of buying skis in the thirties, screwing on the bindings himself, and taking off for the hills. Finding a suitable snowy slope, down he went, stopped at the bottom and suddenly found himself falling. He had skied onto a flock of sheep, who promptly scattered when he arrived.
He was definitely old school, but rejoiced in serving during the war with other ranks. He had an innate sense of right and wrong and of politeness and rectitude.
At the age of 70, he took up with the lady who is now his wife.He approached me and asked me to convey his sentiments to the lady's children and step-children, that he would have waited to be married before moving in with her, except he felt they would only have a limited time.
" I don't want anyone to think I am taking advantage of her", he said. I assured him that, even twenty odd years ago, such thoughts were unlikely.
But my fondest memory of him will be his wonderful fruity voice, which, when he read, made one dream of life and love and chivalry - and a bygone , better age.
Why do I bother....
.. to try to work before 7th January? Noone has any interest in anything, and those that might are off with colds, flu and a nasty sick-making virus.
Which means I can get around very easily, get into shops, warehouses or whatever with no hastle, and generally do a days work in a morning.
Except I can't.
Which means I can get around very easily, get into shops, warehouses or whatever with no hastle, and generally do a days work in a morning.
Except I can't.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
... and a wonderful hangover
I'm referring of course to the gloom and doom in the finacial papers over the last few days. Yes there's a huge hangover. Yes there are credit market problems ( serious ones). Yes there will be a lot of pain, especially in the City and across the country. Yes rail fares are hugely up - yes the electricity and gas prices are hugely up.
But I wonder. Being contrarian by nature ( Mrs. Lear says I am just plain contrary) I had a smell today that because it is looking so gloomy and everyone says so, maybe - just maybe - this could be the point at which the Banks, the Governments etc etc etc wake up and start to do something useful.
I got a smell today, because a friend of mine, who has been struggling with his bank since August, suddenly got the money he has been asking for - no strings attached ( well, not more than usual).
It was sent out on 31st December. Noone - NOONE - sends out offer letters on 31st December.
So maybe the Banks have been told - a la USA in the 60s - if someone is asking for money, give it to them.
I'm not saying I necessarily condone it.
But it just might allow the Banks enough time to rebuild their tier 1 capital, take the full write offs that are required - and continue to make money,whilst helping their clients to remain solvent.
And overall, that has to be good for the economy.
But I wonder. Being contrarian by nature ( Mrs. Lear says I am just plain contrary) I had a smell today that because it is looking so gloomy and everyone says so, maybe - just maybe - this could be the point at which the Banks, the Governments etc etc etc wake up and start to do something useful.
I got a smell today, because a friend of mine, who has been struggling with his bank since August, suddenly got the money he has been asking for - no strings attached ( well, not more than usual).
It was sent out on 31st December. Noone - NOONE - sends out offer letters on 31st December.
So maybe the Banks have been told - a la USA in the 60s - if someone is asking for money, give it to them.
I'm not saying I necessarily condone it.
But it just might allow the Banks enough time to rebuild their tier 1 capital, take the full write offs that are required - and continue to make money,whilst helping their clients to remain solvent.
And overall, that has to be good for the economy.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
An excellent New Year
Some time ago Mrs. Lear and I were invited to Geneva for " the Bells" as we call them in Scotland. I had been unsure whether we would really go, for a variety of reasons, but when I checked Easyjets prices last week, the prices via Belfast were just too good to resist.
So we spent two nights there - with everyone coughing and spluttering and generally making it impossible to feel safe.
Still the weather was lovely and - because I turn brown very easily - an hour's walk brought out a healthy looking tan.
The bells theselves were brought in as I watched a Bavarian programme with huge jollity, Lederhosen, Drndls, Ompa bands and lots of coloured paper. As it was a Tcherman programme, midnight was properly counted down and everyone knew exactly when it was. Instead of Auld Lang Syne, however, they broke into the birdy song, which slightly confused me ( being overseas I had drink taken).
I was reminded of my favourite New Year of long ago, when the BBC invariably did it from Aviemore. On this particular occassion, Chick Murray was supposed to appear at the stroke of midnight and do a worthy recitation. Of course, what the BBC had not realised was that the vast majority of those present would have been drinking since lunchtime, and as a result come midnight had no interest in listening to any more drivel. They went wild. Chick appeared at the top of the stairs, looked about, mouthed " F*** me" and went backstage.
" AHAAAA!" gabbled the Commentator." Chick is always so amusing!!"
He appeared about half an hour later having presumably drunk non-stop since his first appearance, uttered the first line, and promptly fell down the stairs amidst rapturous applause.
They don't make 'em like that any more.
So we spent two nights there - with everyone coughing and spluttering and generally making it impossible to feel safe.
Still the weather was lovely and - because I turn brown very easily - an hour's walk brought out a healthy looking tan.
The bells theselves were brought in as I watched a Bavarian programme with huge jollity, Lederhosen, Drndls, Ompa bands and lots of coloured paper. As it was a Tcherman programme, midnight was properly counted down and everyone knew exactly when it was. Instead of Auld Lang Syne, however, they broke into the birdy song, which slightly confused me ( being overseas I had drink taken).
I was reminded of my favourite New Year of long ago, when the BBC invariably did it from Aviemore. On this particular occassion, Chick Murray was supposed to appear at the stroke of midnight and do a worthy recitation. Of course, what the BBC had not realised was that the vast majority of those present would have been drinking since lunchtime, and as a result come midnight had no interest in listening to any more drivel. They went wild. Chick appeared at the top of the stairs, looked about, mouthed " F*** me" and went backstage.
" AHAAAA!" gabbled the Commentator." Chick is always so amusing!!"
He appeared about half an hour later having presumably drunk non-stop since his first appearance, uttered the first line, and promptly fell down the stairs amidst rapturous applause.
They don't make 'em like that any more.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Listening...
I was remined the other day of one of the great "turn-ons" that people regularly cite. Having someone listen to you properly is a wonderful experience, and something most people never learn.
From my own experience, Mrs. Lear maintains I pay no attention to what people are saying, being too eager to jump in with my own ( usually incorrect) opinions. The most interesting thing to happen to me in 2007 has been the requirement to listen properly in Romania - I have to listen to it in Romanian, then English, and then vice-versa for the reply.
What this "splitting" does is mean I have time to observe people properly as they speak, without having to concentrate on what I am saying - the most interesting nuances get picked up this way.
In complaints, it's usually the aggrieved party wanting their point of view listened to and accepted that makes it go away - or at least cheaper to settle.The real problems occur when the other side won't listen at all - the most dangerous people are those who have closed minds.
So my New Year's resolution will be to listen more. Apparently it gives one an aura of wisdom, what with the nodding sagely and gravely as each point is made.
The only problem is Nature abhors a vacuum, and silences extend.
ps. A friend says I should mention what I am listening to whilst writing. As I tend to listen to one cd for months at a time, this would probably be very boring, but this morning ( and for the last week or two) I have been listening to Kathryn Tickell's Air Dancing. Lovely.
From my own experience, Mrs. Lear maintains I pay no attention to what people are saying, being too eager to jump in with my own ( usually incorrect) opinions. The most interesting thing to happen to me in 2007 has been the requirement to listen properly in Romania - I have to listen to it in Romanian, then English, and then vice-versa for the reply.
What this "splitting" does is mean I have time to observe people properly as they speak, without having to concentrate on what I am saying - the most interesting nuances get picked up this way.
In complaints, it's usually the aggrieved party wanting their point of view listened to and accepted that makes it go away - or at least cheaper to settle.The real problems occur when the other side won't listen at all - the most dangerous people are those who have closed minds.
So my New Year's resolution will be to listen more. Apparently it gives one an aura of wisdom, what with the nodding sagely and gravely as each point is made.
The only problem is Nature abhors a vacuum, and silences extend.
ps. A friend says I should mention what I am listening to whilst writing. As I tend to listen to one cd for months at a time, this would probably be very boring, but this morning ( and for the last week or two) I have been listening to Kathryn Tickell's Air Dancing. Lovely.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Crotch your speed
This is a message displayed as graffiti near Glasgow Harbour.
I'm probably too old to understand what it means, but it certainly sounds painful.
I'm probably too old to understand what it means, but it certainly sounds painful.
Friday, December 28, 2007
How to make a fortune...
1) Buy a piece of derelict land for very little.
2) Hold it for a few years.
3) Apply for a multi-use development.
4) Argue the case to designate the area as in need of special status ( or give someone a handkerchief**)
5) Get it cited as an area for urban renewal.
6) Put in an application for a HUGE development worth millions.
7) Find the area has been designated as the centre of the area for 2014 commonwealth games.
8) Hold onto it, claiming you are being done out of " millions" by the Council offering you several million for it.
9) Er, eventually, graciously, sell it for a profit of ooh, anything you like really.
** " Give someone a handkerchief" - Glasgow vernacular for stuffing a silk handkerchief in someone's top pocket with money folded inside it.
2) Hold it for a few years.
3) Apply for a multi-use development.
4) Argue the case to designate the area as in need of special status ( or give someone a handkerchief**)
5) Get it cited as an area for urban renewal.
6) Put in an application for a HUGE development worth millions.
7) Find the area has been designated as the centre of the area for 2014 commonwealth games.
8) Hold onto it, claiming you are being done out of " millions" by the Council offering you several million for it.
9) Er, eventually, graciously, sell it for a profit of ooh, anything you like really.
** " Give someone a handkerchief" - Glasgow vernacular for stuffing a silk handkerchief in someone's top pocket with money folded inside it.
Monday, December 24, 2007
A bitter-sweet tale of the future.
There was once a Lady who fought her way up the ladder in her village. She made money, she married well, had children, and continued to grow in respect and wealth. She owned the bakery, the dairy, one of the shops, land and much more.
Her children grew up. The daughter married well and moved overseas.
The son was a clever boy who worked hard.
Then one day disaster struck.
His car was smashed into by a lorry on his way to the town. It was touch and go, but he survived, just.
He was irreprably damaged, with the mental age of 12. His body healed after a fashion, but not his mind. The doctors said he would probably only live another 5 years or so.His mother was heartbroken, but could do nothing.
After a year, she noticed that he spent more and more time in the local town. She made enquiries and discovered he was doing his best to be in the company of an attractive and lively girl.
So the Lady made a point of visiting her and made her a proposition.
" Marry my son. He will only live a short time. But if you have children I will leave everything to them. You will receive a pension for life."
The Girl was somewhat taken aback by such a blunt proposal, but she knew the Lady was very rich, and that she would be able to lead a life of her own within a few years.
So the deal was struck - no lawyers, just mutual trust.
The Son was amazed when the Girl agreed to go out with him - and even more amazed when she proposed to him quite soon thereafter.
It was a quiet wedding - the Lady was criticised for it being so small, but the Son was very excited. The Girl's family were reserved about the whole thing, but, as she was an only daughter, she had never been refused anything.
In due course two children were born - but the Son declined, and was dead not very long thereafter.
The Lady stuck to her bargain. But the Girl refused to take anything more from her.
" But why?" asked the Lady." We had a deal"
" I know. But I wanted to prove to you that money cannot buy everything. I loved your Son and always will."
Her children grew up. The daughter married well and moved overseas.
The son was a clever boy who worked hard.
Then one day disaster struck.
His car was smashed into by a lorry on his way to the town. It was touch and go, but he survived, just.
He was irreprably damaged, with the mental age of 12. His body healed after a fashion, but not his mind. The doctors said he would probably only live another 5 years or so.His mother was heartbroken, but could do nothing.
After a year, she noticed that he spent more and more time in the local town. She made enquiries and discovered he was doing his best to be in the company of an attractive and lively girl.
So the Lady made a point of visiting her and made her a proposition.
" Marry my son. He will only live a short time. But if you have children I will leave everything to them. You will receive a pension for life."
The Girl was somewhat taken aback by such a blunt proposal, but she knew the Lady was very rich, and that she would be able to lead a life of her own within a few years.
So the deal was struck - no lawyers, just mutual trust.
The Son was amazed when the Girl agreed to go out with him - and even more amazed when she proposed to him quite soon thereafter.
It was a quiet wedding - the Lady was criticised for it being so small, but the Son was very excited. The Girl's family were reserved about the whole thing, but, as she was an only daughter, she had never been refused anything.
In due course two children were born - but the Son declined, and was dead not very long thereafter.
The Lady stuck to her bargain. But the Girl refused to take anything more from her.
" But why?" asked the Lady." We had a deal"
" I know. But I wanted to prove to you that money cannot buy everything. I loved your Son and always will."
What would it be like to be married for 50 years?
You might think that I already know the answer as Mr and Mrs Lear have made it past 34 years, so at a guess the next 16 or so won't be all that different to the last few.
But whilst I was in Romania, one of their local traditions made me think a bit about it.
All couples that have been married for 50 years get given about £20 at Christmas time. This year, there were 22 couples in Mosna who were due to get this. The envelopes are handed out at the Old Folks Lunch. The problem is, what's the definition of " married for 50 years".
I've related before the story of The Last Communist who has certainly been with her " man" for more than 50 years, but they didn't marry so that they would not get one of their apartments taken from them. The Mayor has decided it HAS to be proper marriage as we would understand it. Unfortunately, there are lots of people who disagree with this purist attitude, and when the golden wedding-ites came up, there were over 50 looking for the handout.
So he made the following announcement. " Would all couples who cannot produce a marriage certificate please go back to their seats." Certain amount of muttering, but there were still about 40 couples.
" OK," he said," Would anyone who is not on this list I am going to read out please sit down." This left 22 couples - and one old woman.
" Was you name on the list?" he asked.
" No, but I have been married for 50 years and I have the certificate with me." The Mayor took the paper proferred and conferred with other Town Councillors.
" Madame, it would appear you are correct. I must apologise. Where is your husband?"
" Oh well he died twenty years ago, but it certainly felt like 50 years with the old bastard"
Whereupon the whole place erupted in hysterical, thigh slapping, cackling laughter.
The OAP's had set it up as a joke.
But whilst I was in Romania, one of their local traditions made me think a bit about it.
All couples that have been married for 50 years get given about £20 at Christmas time. This year, there were 22 couples in Mosna who were due to get this. The envelopes are handed out at the Old Folks Lunch. The problem is, what's the definition of " married for 50 years".
I've related before the story of The Last Communist who has certainly been with her " man" for more than 50 years, but they didn't marry so that they would not get one of their apartments taken from them. The Mayor has decided it HAS to be proper marriage as we would understand it. Unfortunately, there are lots of people who disagree with this purist attitude, and when the golden wedding-ites came up, there were over 50 looking for the handout.
So he made the following announcement. " Would all couples who cannot produce a marriage certificate please go back to their seats." Certain amount of muttering, but there were still about 40 couples.
" OK," he said," Would anyone who is not on this list I am going to read out please sit down." This left 22 couples - and one old woman.
" Was you name on the list?" he asked.
" No, but I have been married for 50 years and I have the certificate with me." The Mayor took the paper proferred and conferred with other Town Councillors.
" Madame, it would appear you are correct. I must apologise. Where is your husband?"
" Oh well he died twenty years ago, but it certainly felt like 50 years with the old bastard"
Whereupon the whole place erupted in hysterical, thigh slapping, cackling laughter.
The OAP's had set it up as a joke.
Friday, December 21, 2007
It is mandatory to sing...
I'm back in Romania for a couple of days for the Old Folks Christmas Dinner. I'll come back to that shortly.
I came in through Budapest, having sworn I wouldn't do the train trip again. As it was the only way I could get back to to the UK before Christmas, I did it with a certain amount of ill-grace.
This time, the train left in day light so I had nearly six hours of travelling through a Dr. Zhivago-like land with brilliant sun, dashing horse-drawn sleighs , curling smoke and sparkling rivers. It was a delight and a pleasure.
I had to change in a place called Teius in Romania, which is literally in the middle of nowhere. It was about 9pm their time. The first thing I went in search of was a loo. For 20p I went to the station "superloo". On my way in I was solemnly handed two pieces of loopaper. This seems like a good idea to me - no longer reams of paper strewn all over the place and clogging up loos and urinals. And the loo was utterly spotless.
So I returned to the main part of the station - again a scene like the platform in Zhivago with people sleeping everywhere, huddled against the cold. In the waiting room, which was heated by the most enormous wood-burning fire I have ever seen, there was hardly an inch of space - to lie down, never mind sit. As I stood at the door, wondering what to do, three policemen pushed past me and started shouting and pushing their way towards a small row of seats. After a moment or two, a fourth policeman - with lots of gold braid - came up behind me, and started gesturing after his men. Gingerly, I began walking towards the seats. My suitcase was taken by the Chief of Police, and I was politely pushed into the first seat. The people who had been removed, huddled out of harms way without a murmur, and the policemen stood around.
"Multumesc" I said ( Thank you). The policeman made a simple gesture.
"Is nothing. You are genuine traveller - I can see from case"
We began to talk and it emerged that he allowed the local down and outs to sleep in the train station in the winter ( but not in the summer) - except he insisted that if a genuine traveller wanted a seat they had to shift.
After about twenty minutes it was time to catch my train so I thanked him again. The people were perfectly happy. I noticed one boot near the door. As I passed it, the Chief said to me " We have many cripples. I am helping where I can"
As ever, my time here is taken up with checking that the land we are buying is actually owned by the person trying to sell it, that he doesn't owe any taxes on it, that it is capable of registration and so on. But I came across a new one this time. A piece of land that finished one part of a jigsaw we agreed to buy for about GBP140, did not have any taxes due on it. As we were leaving the tax office, the lady in charge said, " Of course, he owes for the sheep"
Apparently, a farmer pays a small amount of tax on the land, but also a per head tax on his livestock. Normally, they pay the tax on the animals ( they, after all, are easy to seize) but not on the land - it's too much like hard work for the authorities to enforce payment. So we agreed to pay the tax and deduct from the purchase price.
But what of the title above? Well, every ( that's every as in every single one) teacher in Romania has to be able to sing and lead his/her class in Carols and the National Anthem. We were treated to what I would describe as proper Christmas Nativity plays, Carols, and traditional dancing - not PC perhaps, but most enjoyable. The children were full of enthusiasm, did it all with enormous good grace and happy smiley faces.
And what of the Old Folk's Christmas Lunch? Mrs. Lear was not pleased that I should be disappearing just before Christmas, but I explained it was political.
The Old Folks Associations comprise the largest number of voters in the villages. As a result, if you want to be elected, you need to be on their good side. And, because they are older, they own most of the land. So if you want the Town Council ( who owe their jobs to them) to support what you are doing, and you want them to sell you some land, you better be nice to the Old Folks Association.
One final observation.
When I logged into the Internet my first night here, the address bar had not been cleared from the day before.
There, in all it's glory, was the web-site for Coventry City FC.
So in Romania, Coventry has at least one fan.
I came in through Budapest, having sworn I wouldn't do the train trip again. As it was the only way I could get back to to the UK before Christmas, I did it with a certain amount of ill-grace.
This time, the train left in day light so I had nearly six hours of travelling through a Dr. Zhivago-like land with brilliant sun, dashing horse-drawn sleighs , curling smoke and sparkling rivers. It was a delight and a pleasure.
I had to change in a place called Teius in Romania, which is literally in the middle of nowhere. It was about 9pm their time. The first thing I went in search of was a loo. For 20p I went to the station "superloo". On my way in I was solemnly handed two pieces of loopaper. This seems like a good idea to me - no longer reams of paper strewn all over the place and clogging up loos and urinals. And the loo was utterly spotless.
So I returned to the main part of the station - again a scene like the platform in Zhivago with people sleeping everywhere, huddled against the cold. In the waiting room, which was heated by the most enormous wood-burning fire I have ever seen, there was hardly an inch of space - to lie down, never mind sit. As I stood at the door, wondering what to do, three policemen pushed past me and started shouting and pushing their way towards a small row of seats. After a moment or two, a fourth policeman - with lots of gold braid - came up behind me, and started gesturing after his men. Gingerly, I began walking towards the seats. My suitcase was taken by the Chief of Police, and I was politely pushed into the first seat. The people who had been removed, huddled out of harms way without a murmur, and the policemen stood around.
"Multumesc" I said ( Thank you). The policeman made a simple gesture.
"Is nothing. You are genuine traveller - I can see from case"
We began to talk and it emerged that he allowed the local down and outs to sleep in the train station in the winter ( but not in the summer) - except he insisted that if a genuine traveller wanted a seat they had to shift.
After about twenty minutes it was time to catch my train so I thanked him again. The people were perfectly happy. I noticed one boot near the door. As I passed it, the Chief said to me " We have many cripples. I am helping where I can"
As ever, my time here is taken up with checking that the land we are buying is actually owned by the person trying to sell it, that he doesn't owe any taxes on it, that it is capable of registration and so on. But I came across a new one this time. A piece of land that finished one part of a jigsaw we agreed to buy for about GBP140, did not have any taxes due on it. As we were leaving the tax office, the lady in charge said, " Of course, he owes for the sheep"
Apparently, a farmer pays a small amount of tax on the land, but also a per head tax on his livestock. Normally, they pay the tax on the animals ( they, after all, are easy to seize) but not on the land - it's too much like hard work for the authorities to enforce payment. So we agreed to pay the tax and deduct from the purchase price.
But what of the title above? Well, every ( that's every as in every single one) teacher in Romania has to be able to sing and lead his/her class in Carols and the National Anthem. We were treated to what I would describe as proper Christmas Nativity plays, Carols, and traditional dancing - not PC perhaps, but most enjoyable. The children were full of enthusiasm, did it all with enormous good grace and happy smiley faces.
And what of the Old Folk's Christmas Lunch? Mrs. Lear was not pleased that I should be disappearing just before Christmas, but I explained it was political.
The Old Folks Associations comprise the largest number of voters in the villages. As a result, if you want to be elected, you need to be on their good side. And, because they are older, they own most of the land. So if you want the Town Council ( who owe their jobs to them) to support what you are doing, and you want them to sell you some land, you better be nice to the Old Folks Association.
One final observation.
When I logged into the Internet my first night here, the address bar had not been cleared from the day before.
There, in all it's glory, was the web-site for Coventry City FC.
So in Romania, Coventry has at least one fan.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The politics of Germany
A friend has just shown me from his Mary Poppins like box a pamphlet of the FDP - a political party - in South West Germany.
Now, what are their " strap-lines?"
The first is:
"How you organise your future, that's your responsibility.
That you have the freedom to do so, is ours."
And as far as work goes, they want to reform taxes,workers' rights and social security.They also want to create more jobs by shrinking the state.
Gosh I wish DC said this LOUD and CLEAR.
Now, what are their " strap-lines?"
The first is:
"How you organise your future, that's your responsibility.
That you have the freedom to do so, is ours."
And as far as work goes, they want to reform taxes,workers' rights and social security.They also want to create more jobs by shrinking the state.
Gosh I wish DC said this LOUD and CLEAR.
The character and manners of a lovely woman...
... are the same everywhere, whether beside Broadway, the Thames, the Seine or the Danube.
I cannot ( being old and senile) remember who said this, but I think what he meant was that lovely women all have certain expectation in life - no matter the humbleness of their origins.
It is surely a sexist remark, but I also think it understates the cleverness of women. The most beautiful woman in the world will eventually become old and wrinkled, and then what? Perhaps all women everywhere should take heart from Pamela Churchill/Harriman etc, who, although time took it's toll, became, if anything, more important and beloved as she became older. A lesson for all of today's beauties to cultivate enduring success and fortune, not the one night shag of a foo'baller.
I was reminded of women's cleverness the other day - and also of another side.
Quite a senior manager in one of Scotland's erstwhile independent grocery chains, met, fell in love with, and married one of the check-out girls.
Nothing too extraordinary in that you might think, but he was quite senior when this happened, and had been earmarked for exalted positions.
Now quite a lot of women of such a lesser position, education and wealth in such a situation would have gone about upgrading their cars, their clothes their jewelery, their houses - and done nothing about themselves, with the result that at some point the manager would likely have been embarrassed by his wife's lack of something. If it continued, she could have ended up on the scrapheap, as so many women do. It does seem to me that men come out of these things better than women in many ways, especially where HE is still moving up.
So with great foresight, she set about improving herself. Elocution. Deportment.Clothes-sense. Cooking ( she had never done it before). Entertaining. And reading - books, newspapers, magazines.
Her husband at the start kept telling her not to be so silly - he would always love her ( she was very beautiful) - but after two years, he was promoted again, and offered a fantastic job down south. The only thing was, he was expected to host a dinner for about 50 business colleagues & their wives before leaving - something he would be very much into in his new position ( after a certain point in business, it's the entertaining that counts).
The day dawned with the husband virtually a nervous wreck.
His wife, although suffering somewhat from butterflies, had readied everything at the venue - menus, flowers, drinks - and had bought herself an extremely chic outfit, which would not be too much for the most senior wives, but would clearly place a stamp of taste on herself.
Noone at the do had met her before, and were astonished at her coolness and grace as they came in. Twice she whispered in her husband's ear as he was about to commit a faux-pas, smiled at everyone, made conversation at all levels, and bid everyone good night with a smile that made them feel that they had been not only welcome but had made a contribution as well.
The Directors noticed it, as did their wives.
The couple duly travelled south, and within six months the husband was placed immediately below the board, and when one of that august body retired, he was immediately co-opted.
Now the moral of this story is not that what she did was remarkable, although it definitely helped her husband. It's what happened when he died shortly after becoming a Director.
She was naturally heartbroken. Her grief was assuaged, however, when the Chairman approached her and asked her to take over her husband's position on the Board, with special responsibility for corporate events and entertaining, a post she held for many years.
But she never forgot where she came from and continued to spend time in the Glasgow area she grew up in. You may ask why?
Because her parents refused to be moved out.
And that was because, although they adored and approved of what she had done, they were determined she would remember her roots.She was able to show these to her children and subsequently grandchildren, who, as a result, had a seriousness and grounding that too many lack nowadays.
RIP.
I cannot ( being old and senile) remember who said this, but I think what he meant was that lovely women all have certain expectation in life - no matter the humbleness of their origins.
It is surely a sexist remark, but I also think it understates the cleverness of women. The most beautiful woman in the world will eventually become old and wrinkled, and then what? Perhaps all women everywhere should take heart from Pamela Churchill/Harriman etc, who, although time took it's toll, became, if anything, more important and beloved as she became older. A lesson for all of today's beauties to cultivate enduring success and fortune, not the one night shag of a foo'baller.
I was reminded of women's cleverness the other day - and also of another side.
Quite a senior manager in one of Scotland's erstwhile independent grocery chains, met, fell in love with, and married one of the check-out girls.
Nothing too extraordinary in that you might think, but he was quite senior when this happened, and had been earmarked for exalted positions.
Now quite a lot of women of such a lesser position, education and wealth in such a situation would have gone about upgrading their cars, their clothes their jewelery, their houses - and done nothing about themselves, with the result that at some point the manager would likely have been embarrassed by his wife's lack of something. If it continued, she could have ended up on the scrapheap, as so many women do. It does seem to me that men come out of these things better than women in many ways, especially where HE is still moving up.
So with great foresight, she set about improving herself. Elocution. Deportment.Clothes-sense. Cooking ( she had never done it before). Entertaining. And reading - books, newspapers, magazines.
Her husband at the start kept telling her not to be so silly - he would always love her ( she was very beautiful) - but after two years, he was promoted again, and offered a fantastic job down south. The only thing was, he was expected to host a dinner for about 50 business colleagues & their wives before leaving - something he would be very much into in his new position ( after a certain point in business, it's the entertaining that counts).
The day dawned with the husband virtually a nervous wreck.
His wife, although suffering somewhat from butterflies, had readied everything at the venue - menus, flowers, drinks - and had bought herself an extremely chic outfit, which would not be too much for the most senior wives, but would clearly place a stamp of taste on herself.
Noone at the do had met her before, and were astonished at her coolness and grace as they came in. Twice she whispered in her husband's ear as he was about to commit a faux-pas, smiled at everyone, made conversation at all levels, and bid everyone good night with a smile that made them feel that they had been not only welcome but had made a contribution as well.
The Directors noticed it, as did their wives.
The couple duly travelled south, and within six months the husband was placed immediately below the board, and when one of that august body retired, he was immediately co-opted.
Now the moral of this story is not that what she did was remarkable, although it definitely helped her husband. It's what happened when he died shortly after becoming a Director.
She was naturally heartbroken. Her grief was assuaged, however, when the Chairman approached her and asked her to take over her husband's position on the Board, with special responsibility for corporate events and entertaining, a post she held for many years.
But she never forgot where she came from and continued to spend time in the Glasgow area she grew up in. You may ask why?
Because her parents refused to be moved out.
And that was because, although they adored and approved of what she had done, they were determined she would remember her roots.She was able to show these to her children and subsequently grandchildren, who, as a result, had a seriousness and grounding that too many lack nowadays.
RIP.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Collecting in Dalkeith
I popped over to Edinburgh to help collect for the Gurkha Welfare Trust outside Tesco in Dalkeith.
I was a little early so I nipped across to Portobello Cemetery where Old King and Mrs. Lear are buried, as well as numerous of Old Mrs. Lear's forebears. It's a lovely spot, looking out over the hills and fields of East Lothian, and certainly the kind of place where I would be happy to spend eternity.
Then to Tesco.
As ever, lots of tales of people liking and respecting the best friends the UK has ever had. The finale today was a very elderly lady being guided around the store by her 20-something granddaughter.
She stood in front of me and emptied the entire contents of her purse - including notes - into my tin.
" Ah," she sighed, stuffing cash into the little slots," I was in love with a Gurkha Officer for over 30 years."
" I never knew Grandad was in the Gurkhas, Granny".
The elderly lady looked at me, smiling and twinkling.
" Quite right dear. He never was, " and went on her way, chuckling to herself.
I was a little early so I nipped across to Portobello Cemetery where Old King and Mrs. Lear are buried, as well as numerous of Old Mrs. Lear's forebears. It's a lovely spot, looking out over the hills and fields of East Lothian, and certainly the kind of place where I would be happy to spend eternity.
Then to Tesco.
As ever, lots of tales of people liking and respecting the best friends the UK has ever had. The finale today was a very elderly lady being guided around the store by her 20-something granddaughter.
She stood in front of me and emptied the entire contents of her purse - including notes - into my tin.
" Ah," she sighed, stuffing cash into the little slots," I was in love with a Gurkha Officer for over 30 years."
" I never knew Grandad was in the Gurkhas, Granny".
The elderly lady looked at me, smiling and twinkling.
" Quite right dear. He never was, " and went on her way, chuckling to herself.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
P-P-P-Penguins
There are lots of pretty pictures of various different species of penguins, both in the papers and on the TV today.
Apparently, their lives are being threatened by a) melting ice and hence b) fewer krill for them to eat.
I have to say I have always believed that the Earth sorted out these problems ( Less food = fewer predators, so more food next season = more predators) but I suppose I must doff my cap to those who say we have global warming.That said, I've been told it's all bolloks - see here.
Anyway, I have always been very fond of penguins, ever since as a little boy my granny used to take me to Edinburgh Zoo, famous for its penguins and also on the TV today.
I'm also reasonably keen on the chocolate bar, hence the title of this post ( " Pick up a P-P-P-Penguin")
But my undying adoration of them was forged one winter whilst skiing in Switzerland. As I was forced to play games rather than getting bluttered ( ladies present), I opted for Trivial Pursuit.
Now I've never been that keen on the actual game - too fiddly - but I quite enjoy just answering the questions.
One of the questions that night was : " How often do penguins have sex in a year?"
The questionmaster followed this up with "And it's as often as Kinglear"
This meant I instantly knew the answer.
" Ah, that'll be just the once then," which naturally caused insane laughter all round, and much amusement on the slopes for the rest of the holiday as people immitated penguins when in my vicinity.
But you know what? I bet they really REALLY enjoy it.
Apparently, their lives are being threatened by a) melting ice and hence b) fewer krill for them to eat.
I have to say I have always believed that the Earth sorted out these problems ( Less food = fewer predators, so more food next season = more predators) but I suppose I must doff my cap to those who say we have global warming.That said, I've been told it's all bolloks - see here.
Anyway, I have always been very fond of penguins, ever since as a little boy my granny used to take me to Edinburgh Zoo, famous for its penguins and also on the TV today.
I'm also reasonably keen on the chocolate bar, hence the title of this post ( " Pick up a P-P-P-Penguin")
But my undying adoration of them was forged one winter whilst skiing in Switzerland. As I was forced to play games rather than getting bluttered ( ladies present), I opted for Trivial Pursuit.
Now I've never been that keen on the actual game - too fiddly - but I quite enjoy just answering the questions.
One of the questions that night was : " How often do penguins have sex in a year?"
The questionmaster followed this up with "And it's as often as Kinglear"
This meant I instantly knew the answer.
" Ah, that'll be just the once then," which naturally caused insane laughter all round, and much amusement on the slopes for the rest of the holiday as people immitated penguins when in my vicinity.
But you know what? I bet they really REALLY enjoy it.
2014 Commonwealth Games - again
I am much taken with an article in the Herald this morning which mentioned the new underground line expected to service the area where the 2014 Commonwealth Games will be held.
In truth the cost of the line will not be that great - there are apparently lots of tunnels under Glasgow which can be used with a bit of TLC.
I rather like the idea that our forebears had the whole infrastucture in place several generations ago, and we - profligate lot - stopped using them and have only now realised the truism that infrastucture is growth and progress. The Victorians knew this instinctively. Quite apart from their genius at engineering, they had a belief in progress and education.
We have largely lost that. We are beset by doubts about what we are doing and even as to whether progress per se is good at all. We have grand projects which will have no legacy ( if you believe this government about the Olympic Games you are seriously intellectually challenged) as opposed to projects which benefit people.
The new railway line will help the whole East End of Glasgow to revive.
Forget the 2014 Commonwealth Games. Look what Ryanair has done for eg Charleroi, perhaps the most depressed area of Northern Europe.
It's only a train without railway lines, delivering people to an area.
And it has done more for the area than 40 years of Belgian Government interference.
If you can say " Belgian " and " Government" in the same sentence
In truth the cost of the line will not be that great - there are apparently lots of tunnels under Glasgow which can be used with a bit of TLC.
I rather like the idea that our forebears had the whole infrastucture in place several generations ago, and we - profligate lot - stopped using them and have only now realised the truism that infrastucture is growth and progress. The Victorians knew this instinctively. Quite apart from their genius at engineering, they had a belief in progress and education.
We have largely lost that. We are beset by doubts about what we are doing and even as to whether progress per se is good at all. We have grand projects which will have no legacy ( if you believe this government about the Olympic Games you are seriously intellectually challenged) as opposed to projects which benefit people.
The new railway line will help the whole East End of Glasgow to revive.
Forget the 2014 Commonwealth Games. Look what Ryanair has done for eg Charleroi, perhaps the most depressed area of Northern Europe.
It's only a train without railway lines, delivering people to an area.
And it has done more for the area than 40 years of Belgian Government interference.
If you can say " Belgian " and " Government" in the same sentence
Monday, December 10, 2007
Romance
I don't know if you have been following Cranford, but if not, let me just tell you the production, acting and basic story far outstrips anything else on television at the moment.
I won't bore you with lots of detail, but there is a point I want to make about how we used to live.
Miss Matty had an affection for a young man, who was considered unsuitable by her family. He reappeared 30 years later and they had a very proper and shortlived romance, culminating in him getting pneumonia and dying.
But what was so delightful was when Miss Matty was ordering a new bonnet. She asked for it to be made in two parts.
Now Miss Matty was unmarried and of a certain age.
" But," said the milliner, " that would be a widows cap!"
" Yes" said Miss Matty.
Nowadays, of course, romance would appear to depend on the setting, on extravagant gestures and on a quick shag afterwards. I was reminded recently of the old joke about the girl who couldn't get her tights off in time, and therefore found her toes curling.
I would much prefer politeness and civility and romantic notions.
I won't bore you with lots of detail, but there is a point I want to make about how we used to live.
Miss Matty had an affection for a young man, who was considered unsuitable by her family. He reappeared 30 years later and they had a very proper and shortlived romance, culminating in him getting pneumonia and dying.
But what was so delightful was when Miss Matty was ordering a new bonnet. She asked for it to be made in two parts.
Now Miss Matty was unmarried and of a certain age.
" But," said the milliner, " that would be a widows cap!"
" Yes" said Miss Matty.
Nowadays, of course, romance would appear to depend on the setting, on extravagant gestures and on a quick shag afterwards. I was reminded recently of the old joke about the girl who couldn't get her tights off in time, and therefore found her toes curling.
I would much prefer politeness and civility and romantic notions.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Even more dead brilliant!
If you'd asked me at lunchtime how the day was going I would have said dull. Five hours later I would have been doing an impression of Tom Cruise on Letterman ( I think) when asked what he felt about Katie Holmes.
The day started with the usual housekeeping - bank,lawyer, petrol station - and proceeded to the big meeting I am actually here for. I am a vice president of the association that is trying to get money from the EU for various local projects, like proper sewerage, and other civic improvements. Not enough people turned up to start with, so, Madame Elena was deputed to vote for herself and the Gypsy community. Lucian the Animator was deputed to vote for 2 other mayors who phoned in to say they would support whatever I suggested. That still meant we needed one more person ( this at a meeting where nearlty 50 people were present but only 14 had a vote ( actually only 12) and we needed one more. It was decided I should vote twice - once as myself, once as the representative of my company and oh yes, that'll be 4 votes you have with the two mayors. They then wanted me to be voted the Chancellor of the group. I refused. They voted me in anyway, with me voting 4 against. I declined and proposed another member. Immediately all the votes were cast in her favour.
That settled, we got down to the serious business. Which went on forever, as these things do, punctuated with votes about various matters. Afterwards, The Old Folks Association tapped me for a donation of Ron 100 ( about GBP20) followed by the Children's Association, The Mothers Association, the Historical Association and the Association for the Advancement of Cultural Heritage. As far as I know all of them are largely devoted to getting together and having a bloody good knees-up, but then, as someone said to me, " What you want? They are normal peoples"
When I finally got out of the hall, the local Mayor grabbed me " I have surprise!"
The principal teacher, the local police chief, the under mayor, the chief engineer, the treasurer and the man from Bucharest who is supposed to make sure the Government funds are properly spent, got into several cars and raced ( because the Mayor only has one speed) into the gathering gloom.
Into a field.
Up the hill, wheels spinning, hoots of laughter, slipping and sliding until we got to the top. We crested the ridge - and slid to a halt.
There, under the trees, was the most enormous bonfire.
Shouts, laughter, bonhommie - and they all looked at me.
Now I actually still had no idea what was going on. For all I knew I was about to become Edward Woodward in the Whicker Man ( the good one that is).
Fortunately, I spotted someone near the fire with what looked like potatoes being put into a pot.
" Fantasic - perfect! "I said. This was clearly the right thing as gales of cheers and back slapping ensued.
What was being prepared was the most delicious lamb stew I have ever tasted. It was accompanied by potatoes deep fried over the fire and polenta. It all had the most amazing smokey taste ( as you would expect) but was of such a flavour that I have never before tasted anything like it.
Chunks of bacon fat were sweated and toast was dripped onto as a starter. It may sound disgusting but the crispiness of the fat was such that it tasted more like nectar of the gods. Local wine was drunk. The fire sparked and spat. Shoulders were hugged and truths spoken. Foresters came out of the woods to join us, with their dogs, all of whom were fed too.
The chief of police was especially interesting. He gave a speech in praise of the Mayor, but suggested a new pair of boots should be paid for.
The chief engineer gave a speech where he said he wanted a new road roller. The Mayor opined the boots were OK, but the roller would have to wait a while.
As we ate, the stars came out, and the fire added to the sparkle of the night.
More wine was drunk. The food was finished, so the singing began - Christmas Carols we would have called them, but with a sweetness and pathos that our endlessly repeated songs cannot match.
I regret I had to leave - I had another meeting at 9pm 40 kms away - but not before a hug and a kiss on both cheeks from all present, gladly given back.
I said to Alin as we left " That was too good for words"
" You see, Mr. King, they are knowing how to make their lives colourfuls."
Absolutely.
The day started with the usual housekeeping - bank,lawyer, petrol station - and proceeded to the big meeting I am actually here for. I am a vice president of the association that is trying to get money from the EU for various local projects, like proper sewerage, and other civic improvements. Not enough people turned up to start with, so, Madame Elena was deputed to vote for herself and the Gypsy community. Lucian the Animator was deputed to vote for 2 other mayors who phoned in to say they would support whatever I suggested. That still meant we needed one more person ( this at a meeting where nearlty 50 people were present but only 14 had a vote ( actually only 12) and we needed one more. It was decided I should vote twice - once as myself, once as the representative of my company and oh yes, that'll be 4 votes you have with the two mayors. They then wanted me to be voted the Chancellor of the group. I refused. They voted me in anyway, with me voting 4 against. I declined and proposed another member. Immediately all the votes were cast in her favour.
That settled, we got down to the serious business. Which went on forever, as these things do, punctuated with votes about various matters. Afterwards, The Old Folks Association tapped me for a donation of Ron 100 ( about GBP20) followed by the Children's Association, The Mothers Association, the Historical Association and the Association for the Advancement of Cultural Heritage. As far as I know all of them are largely devoted to getting together and having a bloody good knees-up, but then, as someone said to me, " What you want? They are normal peoples"
When I finally got out of the hall, the local Mayor grabbed me " I have surprise!"
The principal teacher, the local police chief, the under mayor, the chief engineer, the treasurer and the man from Bucharest who is supposed to make sure the Government funds are properly spent, got into several cars and raced ( because the Mayor only has one speed) into the gathering gloom.
Into a field.
Up the hill, wheels spinning, hoots of laughter, slipping and sliding until we got to the top. We crested the ridge - and slid to a halt.
There, under the trees, was the most enormous bonfire.
Shouts, laughter, bonhommie - and they all looked at me.
Now I actually still had no idea what was going on. For all I knew I was about to become Edward Woodward in the Whicker Man ( the good one that is).
Fortunately, I spotted someone near the fire with what looked like potatoes being put into a pot.
" Fantasic - perfect! "I said. This was clearly the right thing as gales of cheers and back slapping ensued.
What was being prepared was the most delicious lamb stew I have ever tasted. It was accompanied by potatoes deep fried over the fire and polenta. It all had the most amazing smokey taste ( as you would expect) but was of such a flavour that I have never before tasted anything like it.
Chunks of bacon fat were sweated and toast was dripped onto as a starter. It may sound disgusting but the crispiness of the fat was such that it tasted more like nectar of the gods. Local wine was drunk. The fire sparked and spat. Shoulders were hugged and truths spoken. Foresters came out of the woods to join us, with their dogs, all of whom were fed too.
The chief of police was especially interesting. He gave a speech in praise of the Mayor, but suggested a new pair of boots should be paid for.
The chief engineer gave a speech where he said he wanted a new road roller. The Mayor opined the boots were OK, but the roller would have to wait a while.
As we ate, the stars came out, and the fire added to the sparkle of the night.
More wine was drunk. The food was finished, so the singing began - Christmas Carols we would have called them, but with a sweetness and pathos that our endlessly repeated songs cannot match.
I regret I had to leave - I had another meeting at 9pm 40 kms away - but not before a hug and a kiss on both cheeks from all present, gladly given back.
I said to Alin as we left " That was too good for words"
" You see, Mr. King, they are knowing how to make their lives colourfuls."
Absolutely.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Pure Dead Brilliant!
I'm back in Romania, and the snow has arrived. In truth it arrived a while ago, and then went, but has now come back.
So I arrived ready for cold and misery, as reported by Alin my faithful driver.
Naturally, the minute I stepped onto the tarmac in Transylvania, the sun broke through, and has been shining to such an extent that I am now sporting a very healthy sun-tan.
And the hills! EVERYTHING is covered in the most magical pure white carpet. Not the grubby stuff we see in the UK. This is fluffy, virgin powder, full of sparkling lights and rainbows, and, when it hits your face from a branch springing back, is like a hydrating balm for tired, taut skin.
I've spent two days walking the hills with maps and sticks to be pushed it for reference points, with locals giving us names and delineating areas to buy. Yesterday I landed at 10:45, and was walking by noon. We eventually trudged back into Nemsa after the lights came on, but needed no torch to light our way. Deer, foxes, game birds, field mice, birds of prey, rabbits, hares,magpies - all whirled around us, deer coming within 20 or 30 feet, unafraid of our alien bulk. It was an utterly magical day, enlivened by fantastic vistas and and the sharpest air I've breathed for months.
As a result, lunch was about 6pm, and punctuated by a stream of the vendors haggling about areas and prices - this one complaining that they have had a health problem for 30 years so we should pay them more, that one that the geometrical surveyors had done them out of areas, so we should pay them more, or even just we should pay them more. But Alin is very good and ignores all pleas - we agree a price before and that's it. Sometimes he argues with the people and says to them to go away - if they want to come back, that's all right, but we might reduce the price ( we don't, but they don't know that).
So the day ended about midnight with some progress, and it all started again at 9am today. The fields were if anything even more magical, but the haggling afterwards never really changes.
We managed to finish relatively early, so made our way back to Sighisoara for lunch, which was an amazingly early 4:45 pm.
We went to the restaurant famous for its sarmale ( stuffed cabbage leaves) and found it locked.
In the garden area at the side there was clearly a party going on, so we peeked over the fence to see all the staff having a barbecue. Someone spotted Alin, and the cry went up " Alin's here! Alin's here" ( in Romanian of course) and nothing would do but we should join their feast. This is the season that the pigs are killed, and the sausages and other delicacies are made, and a barbeque is put on for the helpers.
The fresh killed pork, roasted on proper charcoal in the open air, was simply mouth-watering. The skin had crisped to perfection, and the baked potatoes, cabbage salads and tomatoes were of a quality and taste that puts every UK supermarket to shame. The home made wine flowed, and the chatter pierced the night as time went on.
Business was forgotten - except the owner of the restaurant told me he was getting rid of the tables and chairs and replacing them shortly.
" What are you going to do with the old ones?"
" Ow, I shall just throw them on the rubbish dump"
" In that case I'll take them ". Alin looked at me with horror.
" Mr. King , what you goin to do wid dem?"
" I don't know."
" Really? You are sure?"
" Sure."
" You are not having too much wine and schnapps?"
"No - I'm fine. It's fine"
" You are sure? " said the owner.
" Absolutely. And I will bring you a bottle of whisky from Scotland when I come back." At which point he spat on his palm, as I did, and the resounding smack sealed the deal.
And the stars sparkled in the black sky, and made it perfect.
So I arrived ready for cold and misery, as reported by Alin my faithful driver.
Naturally, the minute I stepped onto the tarmac in Transylvania, the sun broke through, and has been shining to such an extent that I am now sporting a very healthy sun-tan.
And the hills! EVERYTHING is covered in the most magical pure white carpet. Not the grubby stuff we see in the UK. This is fluffy, virgin powder, full of sparkling lights and rainbows, and, when it hits your face from a branch springing back, is like a hydrating balm for tired, taut skin.
I've spent two days walking the hills with maps and sticks to be pushed it for reference points, with locals giving us names and delineating areas to buy. Yesterday I landed at 10:45, and was walking by noon. We eventually trudged back into Nemsa after the lights came on, but needed no torch to light our way. Deer, foxes, game birds, field mice, birds of prey, rabbits, hares,magpies - all whirled around us, deer coming within 20 or 30 feet, unafraid of our alien bulk. It was an utterly magical day, enlivened by fantastic vistas and and the sharpest air I've breathed for months.
As a result, lunch was about 6pm, and punctuated by a stream of the vendors haggling about areas and prices - this one complaining that they have had a health problem for 30 years so we should pay them more, that one that the geometrical surveyors had done them out of areas, so we should pay them more, or even just we should pay them more. But Alin is very good and ignores all pleas - we agree a price before and that's it. Sometimes he argues with the people and says to them to go away - if they want to come back, that's all right, but we might reduce the price ( we don't, but they don't know that).
So the day ended about midnight with some progress, and it all started again at 9am today. The fields were if anything even more magical, but the haggling afterwards never really changes.
We managed to finish relatively early, so made our way back to Sighisoara for lunch, which was an amazingly early 4:45 pm.
We went to the restaurant famous for its sarmale ( stuffed cabbage leaves) and found it locked.
In the garden area at the side there was clearly a party going on, so we peeked over the fence to see all the staff having a barbecue. Someone spotted Alin, and the cry went up " Alin's here! Alin's here" ( in Romanian of course) and nothing would do but we should join their feast. This is the season that the pigs are killed, and the sausages and other delicacies are made, and a barbeque is put on for the helpers.
The fresh killed pork, roasted on proper charcoal in the open air, was simply mouth-watering. The skin had crisped to perfection, and the baked potatoes, cabbage salads and tomatoes were of a quality and taste that puts every UK supermarket to shame. The home made wine flowed, and the chatter pierced the night as time went on.
Business was forgotten - except the owner of the restaurant told me he was getting rid of the tables and chairs and replacing them shortly.
" What are you going to do with the old ones?"
" Ow, I shall just throw them on the rubbish dump"
" In that case I'll take them ". Alin looked at me with horror.
" Mr. King , what you goin to do wid dem?"
" I don't know."
" Really? You are sure?"
" Sure."
" You are not having too much wine and schnapps?"
"No - I'm fine. It's fine"
" You are sure? " said the owner.
" Absolutely. And I will bring you a bottle of whisky from Scotland when I come back." At which point he spat on his palm, as I did, and the resounding smack sealed the deal.
And the stars sparkled in the black sky, and made it perfect.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Naval manoeuvres
I was out for dinner last night locally, where a certain famous Island Scot was regalling us with tales of yesteryear.
Whilst in the Navy in the 50s for his National Service, he had served on a ship as an officer which was stationed in Malta. With leave owing he decided to take a trip to Rome, and was making plans when the ship's Catholic priest stopped him and asked if he would make up the numbers for a visit to the Pope ( then Pius XII). Apparently this particular priest had a slot booked every year but needed to produce a certain number to maintain it, and he was short a few bodies that particular year.
Despite being firmly Calvinist, the Islander agreed, as it would mean a free trip and visit to St. Peter's.
He duly attended, kissed the ring and received a medallion, which he has used ever after to gain advantage when the chance arose. He mentioned particularly the Maltese jollyboat sailors, who would wait for him ignoring Admirals and the like.
However, when he got back to his ship, he was promptly arrested and hauled before a Board of Enquiry full of gentlemen sporting acres of scrambled egg.
An officious little tit ( the Islander's words) had reported him for meeting a Head of State in incorrect dress. At the time ( and to this day for all I know) Naval Officers, when meeting Heads of State MUST wear their full dress uniforms. The Islander, of course, was wearing his kilt, as you do. It's truly amazing the offers you get and the general bonhommie this engenders - you only need to ask the Tartan Army.
The Admiral in charge asked the Islander how he wanted to plead. " Guilty with extentuating circumstances". The Admiral eyed him speculatively. " I don't know that I want to hear this... but (sigh) I suppose I must."
"Well, Sir, as I am not a Catholic I decided the Pope would look more favourably on me in a kilt. And, Sir, it was a very hot day, so I wanted to let my tadger..." " ENOUGH," said the Admiral." Case dismissed"
One of his shipmates was a mere AB, but from a very very grand Scottish family. The AB was offered a commission, but much preferred to have no responsibility. Unfortunately, his father died during this posting, and the AB was obliged to make arrangements to return his father's Order of the Thistle to the Queen.
He made an appointment with the Captain.
" Yes AB, what do you want"
" Please Sir, permission to visit the Queen." The Captain opined he had thirty seconds to explain himself and it better be good.
The AB explained as rapidly as possible.
" Hm" said the Captain." So what do I have to call you now?"
" Your Grace, Sir"
Whilst in the Navy in the 50s for his National Service, he had served on a ship as an officer which was stationed in Malta. With leave owing he decided to take a trip to Rome, and was making plans when the ship's Catholic priest stopped him and asked if he would make up the numbers for a visit to the Pope ( then Pius XII). Apparently this particular priest had a slot booked every year but needed to produce a certain number to maintain it, and he was short a few bodies that particular year.
Despite being firmly Calvinist, the Islander agreed, as it would mean a free trip and visit to St. Peter's.
He duly attended, kissed the ring and received a medallion, which he has used ever after to gain advantage when the chance arose. He mentioned particularly the Maltese jollyboat sailors, who would wait for him ignoring Admirals and the like.
However, when he got back to his ship, he was promptly arrested and hauled before a Board of Enquiry full of gentlemen sporting acres of scrambled egg.
An officious little tit ( the Islander's words) had reported him for meeting a Head of State in incorrect dress. At the time ( and to this day for all I know) Naval Officers, when meeting Heads of State MUST wear their full dress uniforms. The Islander, of course, was wearing his kilt, as you do. It's truly amazing the offers you get and the general bonhommie this engenders - you only need to ask the Tartan Army.
The Admiral in charge asked the Islander how he wanted to plead. " Guilty with extentuating circumstances". The Admiral eyed him speculatively. " I don't know that I want to hear this... but (sigh) I suppose I must."
"Well, Sir, as I am not a Catholic I decided the Pope would look more favourably on me in a kilt. And, Sir, it was a very hot day, so I wanted to let my tadger..." " ENOUGH," said the Admiral." Case dismissed"
One of his shipmates was a mere AB, but from a very very grand Scottish family. The AB was offered a commission, but much preferred to have no responsibility. Unfortunately, his father died during this posting, and the AB was obliged to make arrangements to return his father's Order of the Thistle to the Queen.
He made an appointment with the Captain.
" Yes AB, what do you want"
" Please Sir, permission to visit the Queen." The Captain opined he had thirty seconds to explain himself and it better be good.
The AB explained as rapidly as possible.
" Hm" said the Captain." So what do I have to call you now?"
" Your Grace, Sir"
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Credit crunch and tax receipts
The one thing noone has so far mentioned is the lack of tax that every bank and financial institution will be paying over the next 12 months.
Collectively, the Banks in the UK pay about 25% of all company taxes. On present form, much of this will be wiped out by the CDOs, SIVs and God knows what else that has been bundled out of sight. This has to happen every now and again so the banks can have massive rights issues ( question: if they are doing well, what do they need more money for?) and so that they can then report growing profits for several years until the next disaster they think of. Even the bonuses that drive quite significant parts of the UK economy will be short this year - less tax again and less free cash spilling about.
If - as is reported today - RBS really does write off £12BILLION, Mr. Darling ( or whoever it is next year) might even have to pay them money back.
And where would the shortfall come from?
I don't really need to answer that, do I?
Collectively, the Banks in the UK pay about 25% of all company taxes. On present form, much of this will be wiped out by the CDOs, SIVs and God knows what else that has been bundled out of sight. This has to happen every now and again so the banks can have massive rights issues ( question: if they are doing well, what do they need more money for?) and so that they can then report growing profits for several years until the next disaster they think of. Even the bonuses that drive quite significant parts of the UK economy will be short this year - less tax again and less free cash spilling about.
If - as is reported today - RBS really does write off £12BILLION, Mr. Darling ( or whoever it is next year) might even have to pay them money back.
And where would the shortfall come from?
I don't really need to answer that, do I?
2014 Commonwealth Games
Mr.Jock has a nice joke about the games.
"As you all know, Glasgow was chosen, ooh, ages ago, to hold the 2014 Commonwealth Games, but it’s taken today until I received the first e-mail about it:
“In a competition between a major cosmopolitan city and a dangerous slum in a third world country, how much did the Glaswegians have to bribe the officials to stop the major cosmpolitan city getting it?”
OOOh, catty.
"As you all know, Glasgow was chosen, ooh, ages ago, to hold the 2014 Commonwealth Games, but it’s taken today until I received the first e-mail about it:
“In a competition between a major cosmopolitan city and a dangerous slum in a third world country, how much did the Glaswegians have to bribe the officials to stop the major cosmpolitan city getting it?”
OOOh, catty.
You're happier once you get past your 41st Birthday
S & M has a very nice piece today about how men are apparently happier after turning 41. Noone is totally sure why this should be, but perhaps it's to do with men maturing later than ladies. They remain little boys until they become 40 odd, then grow up and accept life rather than being petulant about it.
Cavalier King Charles's for example don't have any brain cells until they are more than 5 years old - roughly equivalent to 40 in human terms. Maybe men are the same.
Whilst I was reading the post I was reminded of a tale on one of the talking book tapes that were endlessly listened to in the car on long journeys when the Ms. Lears were small.
It concerned Neville Toogood. He was so good he started to grow wings and a halo, and to turn into a little angel. Unsurprisingly, he didn't fancy that so started to behave very badly until they wore off - and then discovered he really really enjoyed being naughty, so continued to put frogs in beds and call his teacher a " silly old boot".
Well, Neville woke up one morning to find two little humps starting on his forehead, and the beginnings of a little tail. Oh no! Neville was turning into a little devil!
So he apologised to his teacher, removed the frogs and the lumps went away. And he remained good. Except, to be on the safe side, he sometimes brushed his teeth the wrong way.
I'm a bit like that with alcohol. I don't drink in this country.
But to be on the safe side, and avoid a halo, I drink when I'm abroad.
Cavalier King Charles's for example don't have any brain cells until they are more than 5 years old - roughly equivalent to 40 in human terms. Maybe men are the same.
Whilst I was reading the post I was reminded of a tale on one of the talking book tapes that were endlessly listened to in the car on long journeys when the Ms. Lears were small.
It concerned Neville Toogood. He was so good he started to grow wings and a halo, and to turn into a little angel. Unsurprisingly, he didn't fancy that so started to behave very badly until they wore off - and then discovered he really really enjoyed being naughty, so continued to put frogs in beds and call his teacher a " silly old boot".
Well, Neville woke up one morning to find two little humps starting on his forehead, and the beginnings of a little tail. Oh no! Neville was turning into a little devil!
So he apologised to his teacher, removed the frogs and the lumps went away. And he remained good. Except, to be on the safe side, he sometimes brushed his teeth the wrong way.
I'm a bit like that with alcohol. I don't drink in this country.
But to be on the safe side, and avoid a halo, I drink when I'm abroad.
From Money Week
"Prize for funniest letter of the week has to go to Meg Hillier MP, who writes indignantly in this morning's FT, responding to an editorial on ID cards: Sir, I was bemused by your call for the National Identity Scheme to be abandoned. Among other things, her letter notes that "the rising threat of identity fraud cannot go unchallenged."
Has she been asleep for the past week? Or perhaps on a jaunt to the Antarctic? Because of course, anyone who was actually aware of the fact that the government has just lost half the population's intimate financial details, could never have the audacity or the arrogance to complain about press scepticism over ID cards. "
Oh dear me, no.
Has she been asleep for the past week? Or perhaps on a jaunt to the Antarctic? Because of course, anyone who was actually aware of the fact that the government has just lost half the population's intimate financial details, could never have the audacity or the arrogance to complain about press scepticism over ID cards. "
Oh dear me, no.
From Money Week - delayed
"Prize for funniest letter of the week has to go to Meg Hillier MP, who writes indignantly in this morning's FT, responding to an editorial on ID cards: Sir, I was bemused by your call for the National Identity Scheme to be abandoned. Among other things, her letter notes that "the rising threat of identity fraud cannot go unchallenged."
Has she been asleep for the past week? Or perhaps on a jaunt to the Antarctic? Because of course, anyone who was actually aware of the fact that the government has just lost half the population's intimate financial details, could never have the audacity or the arrogance to complain about press scepticism over ID cards. "
Oh dear me, no.
Has she been asleep for the past week? Or perhaps on a jaunt to the Antarctic? Because of course, anyone who was actually aware of the fact that the government has just lost half the population's intimate financial details, could never have the audacity or the arrogance to complain about press scepticism over ID cards. "
Oh dear me, no.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Usefulness
We spend much of our lives trying to be useful - at least I do. I have no illusions about how useLESS I am at eg DIY. I'm not a bad cook, though, and, although not useful about the house ( called out the washine machine engineer once - he fixed it by turning on the electricity) I like to feel useful. I'm not bad at turning off lights. I'm quite good at recycling. I offer to nip down the road to get whatever is missing from the recipe - and I'm sure there are many other things, of greater or lesser moment, for which I am useful.
One likes to think that others regard one as " useful" - as in, " He's a useful chap to know". I daresay David Abrahams/Martin thought of himself similarly.
But I have few illusions about myself, and so it was with some trepidation that I set out to list my usefulness to Mrs. Lear.
Was it the cooking that came top of the list? No.
Or taking the dog for a walk at the weekends? No.
Perhaps being affable to people that I dislike? Unfortunately, not one of my attributes.
My final conclusion was that my greatest usefulness was related to my Virgoan obsessive nature.
Mrs. Lear is not very good with toothpaste. She leaves the top off ( grounds for divorce in some households) and bits hanging out the end. And lumps in the sink. And a squidgy tube, squeezed with no regard to order, so that the paste is usually at the wrong end as it has all been taken from the top.
So every morning I carefully clean up the top of the tube, put the top back on, squeeze the paste to the top, then perfectly fold over the end to produce a perfectly filled, but somewhat shorter, toothpaste tube. As with all usefulness, this is not done for praise or plaudit, merely for the satisfaction of being useful. I retire from the bathroom unobtrusively, a faint smile of satisfaction playing around my mouth.
Or perhaps I am just an obsessive, pernickity freak.
Bit like Gordon Brown, Really.
One likes to think that others regard one as " useful" - as in, " He's a useful chap to know". I daresay David Abrahams/Martin thought of himself similarly.
But I have few illusions about myself, and so it was with some trepidation that I set out to list my usefulness to Mrs. Lear.
Was it the cooking that came top of the list? No.
Or taking the dog for a walk at the weekends? No.
Perhaps being affable to people that I dislike? Unfortunately, not one of my attributes.
My final conclusion was that my greatest usefulness was related to my Virgoan obsessive nature.
Mrs. Lear is not very good with toothpaste. She leaves the top off ( grounds for divorce in some households) and bits hanging out the end. And lumps in the sink. And a squidgy tube, squeezed with no regard to order, so that the paste is usually at the wrong end as it has all been taken from the top.
So every morning I carefully clean up the top of the tube, put the top back on, squeeze the paste to the top, then perfectly fold over the end to produce a perfectly filled, but somewhat shorter, toothpaste tube. As with all usefulness, this is not done for praise or plaudit, merely for the satisfaction of being useful. I retire from the bathroom unobtrusively, a faint smile of satisfaction playing around my mouth.
Or perhaps I am just an obsessive, pernickity freak.
Bit like Gordon Brown, Really.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Cranford
I love Cranford. It has many delightful moments, but none more so than the cow that need to be clothed. Her owner bought yards of grey flannel - and made her the most enormous part of pyjamas - with outsize buttons. Wonderful.
A miracle...
Something quite extraordinary happened the other day. I would go so far as to say it was a miracle. Not a major one, just a small one - perhaps performed by one of the smaller gods of Discworld.
Actually, perhaps miracles are just chance as defined by chaos theory - remember the monkeys typing Shakespeare? Well, why shouldn't a miracle just be all the things that need to happen falling into line in the right order. That's probably how we got here in the first place - pure chance.
The one thing I DO know about miracles. The moment you start analysing them, they are no longer miracles. If you ask why or how or what, the miracle is gone.
So if something happens, accept it.
You never know, it might be a miracle.
Actually, perhaps miracles are just chance as defined by chaos theory - remember the monkeys typing Shakespeare? Well, why shouldn't a miracle just be all the things that need to happen falling into line in the right order. That's probably how we got here in the first place - pure chance.
The one thing I DO know about miracles. The moment you start analysing them, they are no longer miracles. If you ask why or how or what, the miracle is gone.
So if something happens, accept it.
You never know, it might be a miracle.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday..
.. was rather a pleasant day. We set off early to go to Lower Largo in Fife, to visit some friends who were holidaying there. We had a walk along the beach and then repaired to a restaurant at St.Monans that wins rosettes every year and has come 6th in the UK for fish restaurants.
I was a touch disappointed I have to say, but had the price been about half, I probably would not have been.
Lower Largo is the village where Alexander Selkitk, the model for Robinson Crusoe, was born, and there is a suitably Victorian statue of him in the main street. The local Minister, in full black regalia, walked towards us as we made for home, mocking our non-attendance at the Kirk.
Before going to the restaurant, I used our friend's loo, and was interested in the positioning of the loopaper.
You, dear reader, will remember the Little Endians and the Big Endians of Gulliver's Travels. They were the two political parties in that land. In many ways, that would seem to me to be an adequate differentiation, but loopaper is even more contentious. Do you mount the loopaper with the unrolling towards the wall, so you have to scramble at the wall and jerk it with potentially disatrous consequences, or over the front of the roll - when an easy pull and a gentle tear works wonders? You might gather I am in the latter Political party.
Anyway, after lunch, we hot-footed it towards Edinburgh, where there was a viewing of pictures to be sold there on Wednesday.
I am particularly fond of a dead Scottish artist called Donald Bain. He painted with J D Ferguson, one of the acknowledged masters of Scottish painting, and spent much time in France. Unfortunately, as with so many Scots of talent, the drink got him, and he died at a young age over 20 years ago. His best paintings and drawings are wonderful explosions of colour and joie de vivre.
There are three for sale in this particular auction. One is rather traditional, but has lots of problems with cracking paint. One is quite nice - saying which instantly condemns it.
The third is a fantastic painting of Montmartre in Paris, which from a distance is utterly compelling. Closer to, it lacks a bit of precision and form.
As a result, I am in two minds about bidding for it.
If it does well, my existing paintings are worth more. If it doesn't I should buy it.
BUT - and here's the but - that is not the right way to buy a painting. You should buy it with a piece of yourself, with love. You should have to go without to reinforce that passion, whether it be money or the regard of others. Our lives have become incredibly bland and risk-averted by the ubiquitous ElfnSafety. Passion and commitment have lip-service paid to them, but in reality, you are regarded as a bit of a loose cannon if you display either.
I'll get back to you on that.
PS Today's anagram - DEBIT CARD = BAD CREDIT
I was a touch disappointed I have to say, but had the price been about half, I probably would not have been.
Lower Largo is the village where Alexander Selkitk, the model for Robinson Crusoe, was born, and there is a suitably Victorian statue of him in the main street. The local Minister, in full black regalia, walked towards us as we made for home, mocking our non-attendance at the Kirk.
Before going to the restaurant, I used our friend's loo, and was interested in the positioning of the loopaper.
You, dear reader, will remember the Little Endians and the Big Endians of Gulliver's Travels. They were the two political parties in that land. In many ways, that would seem to me to be an adequate differentiation, but loopaper is even more contentious. Do you mount the loopaper with the unrolling towards the wall, so you have to scramble at the wall and jerk it with potentially disatrous consequences, or over the front of the roll - when an easy pull and a gentle tear works wonders? You might gather I am in the latter Political party.
Anyway, after lunch, we hot-footed it towards Edinburgh, where there was a viewing of pictures to be sold there on Wednesday.
I am particularly fond of a dead Scottish artist called Donald Bain. He painted with J D Ferguson, one of the acknowledged masters of Scottish painting, and spent much time in France. Unfortunately, as with so many Scots of talent, the drink got him, and he died at a young age over 20 years ago. His best paintings and drawings are wonderful explosions of colour and joie de vivre.
There are three for sale in this particular auction. One is rather traditional, but has lots of problems with cracking paint. One is quite nice - saying which instantly condemns it.
The third is a fantastic painting of Montmartre in Paris, which from a distance is utterly compelling. Closer to, it lacks a bit of precision and form.
As a result, I am in two minds about bidding for it.
If it does well, my existing paintings are worth more. If it doesn't I should buy it.
BUT - and here's the but - that is not the right way to buy a painting. You should buy it with a piece of yourself, with love. You should have to go without to reinforce that passion, whether it be money or the regard of others. Our lives have become incredibly bland and risk-averted by the ubiquitous ElfnSafety. Passion and commitment have lip-service paid to them, but in reality, you are regarded as a bit of a loose cannon if you display either.
I'll get back to you on that.
PS Today's anagram - DEBIT CARD = BAD CREDIT
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Climate change? Pip has it sorted....
... in the Archers. Now that Pip has taken up the cudgels, swathes of middle England will start putting in low-energy light bulbs, recycling their waste and stop flying to....well I was going to say Benidorm, but I don't think middle England goes there anymore.
But seriously, this programme sets the agenda for life in the UK now. Not the Government - the Archers.
Why do I say that?
Because David Archer promoted killing badgers because of TB long before it was fashionable - maybe he made it fashionable.
Because... oh there's too much to mention.
But now, Pip is seriously worried and good old David has given farmers the lead they need
" We have fields down to clover, which reduces the fertilisers we need to import and put down ( Tick) We keep the cattle out on the fields longer so that's less manufactured feed ( Tick)... " Anyway, farmers all over the country will be rushing off to plant hedgerows and clover and goodness knows all what, because ITS THE RIGHT THING TO DO - David Archer says so.
And it'll please Pip.
But seriously, this programme sets the agenda for life in the UK now. Not the Government - the Archers.
Why do I say that?
Because David Archer promoted killing badgers because of TB long before it was fashionable - maybe he made it fashionable.
Because... oh there's too much to mention.
But now, Pip is seriously worried and good old David has given farmers the lead they need
" We have fields down to clover, which reduces the fertilisers we need to import and put down ( Tick) We keep the cattle out on the fields longer so that's less manufactured feed ( Tick)... " Anyway, farmers all over the country will be rushing off to plant hedgerows and clover and goodness knows all what, because ITS THE RIGHT THING TO DO - David Archer says so.
And it'll please Pip.
Today's anagram
I always like an apposite anagram - it somehow shows that there IS order in the world rather than the chaos that appears to be engulfing everything.
So just so you know, the anagram of ANXIETY is ANY EXIT.
Makes you think, doen't it?
So just so you know, the anagram of ANXIETY is ANY EXIT.
Makes you think, doen't it?
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Online security
Mrs. Lear is somewhat exercised about the new security procedures she has to go through for her online banking.
Quite apart from mother's maiden name, post code and other stuff like that, there are now subjective questions.
The one most vexing her is " What is your favourite colour?"
Now this will show you Mrs. Lear's excellence. A bloke ( ok me) would say " Blue"
" But" said Mrs.Lear to me last night " how do you know it will still be blue in two or three months time?"
Now I had never thought about this. My favourite colour is blue. It always has been. I'm a boy - it's blue. It always will be.
But Mrs. Lear makes the valid point that if a woman's favourite colour never changed, there would be no fashion industry, and we would never have had the endless avocado bathroom suites all those years ago.
There would be no autumn colours for ladies to adopt, or spring, or summer.
So I suggested that she could put in whatever the present colour was and thereafter change it when the mood took her.
Except there wasn't a way of doing that on the form. You could change addresses, phone numbers and all sorts of stuff - but not your favourite colour.
" So how am I supposed to remember my favourite colour?" I suggested she put it in her mobile phone under Coulour ( last name) Other Colour ( first name) and then a fictitious number.
"I'll just write it down" Which she did.
Unfortunately, the next question was " Favourite book". Sigh.
It's going to take a very long time to fill in this form I can see.
Quite apart from mother's maiden name, post code and other stuff like that, there are now subjective questions.
The one most vexing her is " What is your favourite colour?"
Now this will show you Mrs. Lear's excellence. A bloke ( ok me) would say " Blue"
" But" said Mrs.Lear to me last night " how do you know it will still be blue in two or three months time?"
Now I had never thought about this. My favourite colour is blue. It always has been. I'm a boy - it's blue. It always will be.
But Mrs. Lear makes the valid point that if a woman's favourite colour never changed, there would be no fashion industry, and we would never have had the endless avocado bathroom suites all those years ago.
There would be no autumn colours for ladies to adopt, or spring, or summer.
So I suggested that she could put in whatever the present colour was and thereafter change it when the mood took her.
Except there wasn't a way of doing that on the form. You could change addresses, phone numbers and all sorts of stuff - but not your favourite colour.
" So how am I supposed to remember my favourite colour?" I suggested she put it in her mobile phone under Coulour ( last name) Other Colour ( first name) and then a fictitious number.
"I'll just write it down" Which she did.
Unfortunately, the next question was " Favourite book". Sigh.
It's going to take a very long time to fill in this form I can see.
What do you remember about being in Love?
Perhaps this heading is misleading - I really mean Being in love for the first time.
I only ask because a colleague asked me the other day if I could remember that time ( Cheek)
Anyway, as all the rage is memes, here are 5 things I remember about being in love for the first time.
1) It was almost impossible to hang up the phone. " You hang up first" " No you" " Goodnight darling" " Goodnight darling - you hang up" " No you hang up first."
2) You walk around with a dull ache in the pit of your stomache all day, and when you finally meet up with your beloved, the ache does a somersault and kicks you hard.
3) You suddenly smile for no apparent reason.
4) You no longer go out with the boys, and even go out in COUPLES - or just the two of you.
5) You suddenly feel life has a point and a purpose.
I don't know if anyone else has similar memories. Mine are of course from very long ago, and young people may have completely different views.
What I do think is nice is that - apart from hanging up the phone without a problem - being in love would seem to me to still consist of at least numbers 3,4 & 5 throughout life.
But at my age, number 2 is usually something you ate.
I only ask because a colleague asked me the other day if I could remember that time ( Cheek)
Anyway, as all the rage is memes, here are 5 things I remember about being in love for the first time.
1) It was almost impossible to hang up the phone. " You hang up first" " No you" " Goodnight darling" " Goodnight darling - you hang up" " No you hang up first."
2) You walk around with a dull ache in the pit of your stomache all day, and when you finally meet up with your beloved, the ache does a somersault and kicks you hard.
3) You suddenly smile for no apparent reason.
4) You no longer go out with the boys, and even go out in COUPLES - or just the two of you.
5) You suddenly feel life has a point and a purpose.
I don't know if anyone else has similar memories. Mine are of course from very long ago, and young people may have completely different views.
What I do think is nice is that - apart from hanging up the phone without a problem - being in love would seem to me to still consist of at least numbers 3,4 & 5 throughout life.
But at my age, number 2 is usually something you ate.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
ID cards a must
Oh really? And will the security be as good as the 15 million records that have disappeared - and noone knows where they are? Oh, and the other 30 odd thousand that were lost in transit last week.
And as it's been known about for more than two weeks, it wouldn't be being mentioned now to divert attention from Northern Rock, would it?
How I despise this government.
And as it's been known about for more than two weeks, it wouldn't be being mentioned now to divert attention from Northern Rock, would it?
How I despise this government.
Sickening
I was in the Glasgow Royal College of Surgeons last night for a talk given by Doug Scott, the climber, who was certainly the 50th person to climb Eversest and possibly the first Englishman. The first Scotsman was definitely Dougal Haston, who was with him and was the 51st up there.
The talk was about a subsequent trip to climb the Ogre, and all the problems they encountered. Basically, as they came down, one had two broken legs and the other no ribcage left. Oh, and no food either.
Quite apart from the interest and the amazing pictures, Doug now does his lectures for his charity which is trying to help with education and doctoring in Nepal, and the proceeds of the talk were being split between his charity and Surgery in Nepal ( another charity).
Now you can argue that one shouldn't leave money lying about anywhere. But in the RCS, with security doors and a doorman, it should be reasonably safe. Especially hidden.
It wasn't.
All the money paid by those who paid at the door was stolen during the talk. Fortunately, it was probably only £100 or so but the fact remains it was lifted.
Sickening.
The talk was about a subsequent trip to climb the Ogre, and all the problems they encountered. Basically, as they came down, one had two broken legs and the other no ribcage left. Oh, and no food either.
Quite apart from the interest and the amazing pictures, Doug now does his lectures for his charity which is trying to help with education and doctoring in Nepal, and the proceeds of the talk were being split between his charity and Surgery in Nepal ( another charity).
Now you can argue that one shouldn't leave money lying about anywhere. But in the RCS, with security doors and a doorman, it should be reasonably safe. Especially hidden.
It wasn't.
All the money paid by those who paid at the door was stolen during the talk. Fortunately, it was probably only £100 or so but the fact remains it was lifted.
Sickening.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Lunnun Tahn
I'm always astonished at the Big Smoke. There are always things going on or complete seizure, and I love the contra indications all over the place. Like the beggar sleeping in the arcade at the Ritz. Did he tell his mates he slept at the Ritz?
Then there's the tin of beans being confiscated at Luton. Why? Clearly a bomb.
Serious teas in serious hotels are a joy - most places you have to reserve nowadays. In the past, THE place was the Basil - best value meal in town, and in such an eccentric surrounding. Sadly no longer with us.
But the greatest joy was our somewhat recherche hotel-type establishment - now entirely run by delightful Polish girls - and one young man who could be anything except British. He's probably Polish.
Anyway,having stayed there a time or two we are reasonably well known. Unfortunately, as I am a clumsy old git, I managed to knock the ceramic pot off the shelf in the bathroom onto the top of the cistern, and broke the corner off it. That's the corner of the cistern. And a big crack across the rest of it.
Sighing to myself, I made my way to reception and opened with: "I have a sin to confess". Miss Poland's cheery grin disappeared and her brow's knitted. I explained what had happened. Her face cleared, and the smile came back." Is that all? I was thinking you didn't love us any more. As long as you love us then everything is OK."
And the breakage wasn't even on the bill.
Then there's the tin of beans being confiscated at Luton. Why? Clearly a bomb.
Serious teas in serious hotels are a joy - most places you have to reserve nowadays. In the past, THE place was the Basil - best value meal in town, and in such an eccentric surrounding. Sadly no longer with us.
But the greatest joy was our somewhat recherche hotel-type establishment - now entirely run by delightful Polish girls - and one young man who could be anything except British. He's probably Polish.
Anyway,having stayed there a time or two we are reasonably well known. Unfortunately, as I am a clumsy old git, I managed to knock the ceramic pot off the shelf in the bathroom onto the top of the cistern, and broke the corner off it. That's the corner of the cistern. And a big crack across the rest of it.
Sighing to myself, I made my way to reception and opened with: "I have a sin to confess". Miss Poland's cheery grin disappeared and her brow's knitted. I explained what had happened. Her face cleared, and the smile came back." Is that all? I was thinking you didn't love us any more. As long as you love us then everything is OK."
And the breakage wasn't even on the bill.
Friday, November 16, 2007
50p.
Today marks a remarkable milestone.
Over the last month or two, for reasons beyond my understanding, I have been coming across coins on escalators and travelators.
You probably know if you drop a coin on these things they get carried to the end, and the forks there pick them up, just onto the fixed bit.
The trick is to kick them forward - not always easy - but having done so it is then not a problem to pick them up.
So over the last few months, up to today, I had collected 48p. Mostly 1ps and 2ps but the odd 5p, and once, even a 10p. The saddest thing of all, of course, is that I have been adding them up.
So imagine my joy today when, as I came up the Euston escalator, I spied a 2p. nestling on the forks. A swift kick, stoop, and it was mine. 50p.!
The problem with all milestones is there is always another one.
But that's seriously SERIOUSLY too sad.
Over the last month or two, for reasons beyond my understanding, I have been coming across coins on escalators and travelators.
You probably know if you drop a coin on these things they get carried to the end, and the forks there pick them up, just onto the fixed bit.
The trick is to kick them forward - not always easy - but having done so it is then not a problem to pick them up.
So over the last few months, up to today, I had collected 48p. Mostly 1ps and 2ps but the odd 5p, and once, even a 10p. The saddest thing of all, of course, is that I have been adding them up.
So imagine my joy today when, as I came up the Euston escalator, I spied a 2p. nestling on the forks. A swift kick, stoop, and it was mine. 50p.!
The problem with all milestones is there is always another one.
But that's seriously SERIOUSLY too sad.
Or Anywhere.
Whilst on the Piccadilly line today, the train stopped for a long period. Finally a voice crackled.
" Problem at Holborn - will keep you advised". About ten minutes later:
" Ladees end Gennelmen - Oim delighted to siy the problem has been sawted. This train will shortly depart. " Pause." It will shortly depart for all stations all the way ." Pause" All the way to er, wherever"
And I thought the tubes only went along one line.
" Problem at Holborn - will keep you advised". About ten minutes later:
" Ladees end Gennelmen - Oim delighted to siy the problem has been sawted. This train will shortly depart. " Pause." It will shortly depart for all stations all the way ." Pause" All the way to er, wherever"
And I thought the tubes only went along one line.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Twinkly Little Stars
As I was making my way around London town this morning, I was able to see the top of the London Eye.
I couldn't actually see the wheel, but I could see the sun glinting diamond-white on it's pods. It was truly magical and lifted my spirits.
As I was getting off the tube, there was a double crocodile of small children and their minders waiting to get on. Their grins and suppressed ( barely) excitement was infectious. I turned to watch them getting on the tube. They whooped with glee as they jumped across the gap, all holding best friends hands, huddled together in the centre of the carriage and looked upwards at their minders as instructions were given. It was clearly a big adventure.
I wish we grumpy oldies still had that excitement.
I couldn't actually see the wheel, but I could see the sun glinting diamond-white on it's pods. It was truly magical and lifted my spirits.
As I was getting off the tube, there was a double crocodile of small children and their minders waiting to get on. Their grins and suppressed ( barely) excitement was infectious. I turned to watch them getting on the tube. They whooped with glee as they jumped across the gap, all holding best friends hands, huddled together in the centre of the carriage and looked upwards at their minders as instructions were given. It was clearly a big adventure.
I wish we grumpy oldies still had that excitement.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Making money
I'm reading Terry Pratchett's latest called " Making money". I know it's not as high-brow as what you, dear reader, scan on a daily basis, but every now and again he has an insight that makes me laugh out-loud - much to the annoyance of Mrs. Lear.
Anyway, the premise of this particular book is that a conman controls a bank on Ankh-Morpork and how he turns it into an engine for growth in the community.
My point today is that Banking - ALL Banking - is founded only on trust. When it goes, no bank is safe. You only need to think of Northern Rock, and more recently the problems RBS and Barclays are having.
In the book, the conman tries to get traders to accept his new paper money. He doesn't have a problem with this. The difficulty he has is persuading them that the gold ( known as specie) and coins are no longer needed. The following exchange takes place:
" But you don't need the gold as long as you all accept the paper!"
" Absolutely, sir. Just so long as the gold is somewhere"
There lies the rub. As long as people know and believe the gold is there, there's no problem. As soon as they think it's gone, they panic.
All banks started out issuing their own bits of paper. In Scotland, the RBS, in ancient times, used to take in lots of notes of the Bank of Scotland, then demand specie for them. Of course, BOS did the same thing to RBS, and eventually they reached an understanding. Of course, it's more profitable to fleece the customers than to do each other down. Never let it be said that Bankers are not greedy.
Anyway, the trust is still there. At the moment. Battered. Shaken. Having lots of meetings and soothing words.
But if there's another lurch, head for the hills.
Because the Trust will be gone.
Anyway, the premise of this particular book is that a conman controls a bank on Ankh-Morpork and how he turns it into an engine for growth in the community.
My point today is that Banking - ALL Banking - is founded only on trust. When it goes, no bank is safe. You only need to think of Northern Rock, and more recently the problems RBS and Barclays are having.
In the book, the conman tries to get traders to accept his new paper money. He doesn't have a problem with this. The difficulty he has is persuading them that the gold ( known as specie) and coins are no longer needed. The following exchange takes place:
" But you don't need the gold as long as you all accept the paper!"
" Absolutely, sir. Just so long as the gold is somewhere"
There lies the rub. As long as people know and believe the gold is there, there's no problem. As soon as they think it's gone, they panic.
All banks started out issuing their own bits of paper. In Scotland, the RBS, in ancient times, used to take in lots of notes of the Bank of Scotland, then demand specie for them. Of course, BOS did the same thing to RBS, and eventually they reached an understanding. Of course, it's more profitable to fleece the customers than to do each other down. Never let it be said that Bankers are not greedy.
Anyway, the trust is still there. At the moment. Battered. Shaken. Having lots of meetings and soothing words.
But if there's another lurch, head for the hills.
Because the Trust will be gone.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Credit Crunch
In case you haven't noticed, the credit crunch that was supposed to be not a problem, is rapidly turning into a problem that just might not get solved.
The difficulty is no-one has the first clue as to a) how much is involved b) who is actually holding the toxic waste and c) er, should we write it down 25% or 55% or er.....
I'm also pretty certain that those who are holding it don't even know how much of a problem they have got. My bet is that over the next few years we will see a leaching-out of the odd billion here, the odd billion there, just as we did with the sovereign debt crisis, the secondary banking crisis, the LTCM crisis, etc etc. Banks always get it wrong. That's what they are there for. And the central banks will keep their eyes averted until it starts to pick up again.
There's one little titbit of information that might interest you.
Ordinary businesses that either make or do things can't afford beautiful new " statement" offices and buildings. Only Banks, Insurance Companies and food retailers can.
It's how they waste money whilst they are getting up a head of steam to blow another $100 billion or so.
To be fair, the food retailers are rather better at not blowing it.
Mervyn may be holding out and so may the ECB - but you can bet, given the excuse, the Fed is delighted.
Remember the twin deficits of the US current account and the Federal Budget? Well, in case you haven't noticed, the first is down 20% this year already. America is effectively exporting it's problems to the rest of us - and forget about China taking up the slack. The key to American wealth is it's flexibility and the love affair that the world has with being in America. China within the next 20 years will stop growing. And who wants to migrate there?
So the printing presses aren't stopping just yet.
Just remember, the danger to your lifestyle is not being poor.
It's not being able to borrow.
The difficulty is no-one has the first clue as to a) how much is involved b) who is actually holding the toxic waste and c) er, should we write it down 25% or 55% or er.....
I'm also pretty certain that those who are holding it don't even know how much of a problem they have got. My bet is that over the next few years we will see a leaching-out of the odd billion here, the odd billion there, just as we did with the sovereign debt crisis, the secondary banking crisis, the LTCM crisis, etc etc. Banks always get it wrong. That's what they are there for. And the central banks will keep their eyes averted until it starts to pick up again.
There's one little titbit of information that might interest you.
Ordinary businesses that either make or do things can't afford beautiful new " statement" offices and buildings. Only Banks, Insurance Companies and food retailers can.
It's how they waste money whilst they are getting up a head of steam to blow another $100 billion or so.
To be fair, the food retailers are rather better at not blowing it.
Mervyn may be holding out and so may the ECB - but you can bet, given the excuse, the Fed is delighted.
Remember the twin deficits of the US current account and the Federal Budget? Well, in case you haven't noticed, the first is down 20% this year already. America is effectively exporting it's problems to the rest of us - and forget about China taking up the slack. The key to American wealth is it's flexibility and the love affair that the world has with being in America. China within the next 20 years will stop growing. And who wants to migrate there?
So the printing presses aren't stopping just yet.
Just remember, the danger to your lifestyle is not being poor.
It's not being able to borrow.
Rumi
I was introduced recently to Rumi, born in 1207 in Afghanistan, by a friend of mine who, having done an Open University course in English some years ago, likes to find "new" books to test me.
Rumi's life was most interesting, but the most important thing about him was his " poetry".
Mostly, it's not poetry, strictly speaking, in the way we think of it, but it has a poetic quality and insight into life which is far beyond what one would expect of a mystic living 800 years ago.
The thing that struck me was that despite all our advances, the human spirit and condition has not changed that much. We are still beset by love and anguish. We need to be loved and to love, and if we are not, we are massively diminished.
I was talking to someone a while ago who told me he had " fallen out of love" about 10 years ago, and had lived with, as he put it, a lump of ice in his heart until recently. Outwardly, I could see no difference in him, but he assured me that inside he was a completely different person - generally more emollient and better able to cope with modern life.
As Rumi had it:
"When you see the lovers
don't pass them by,
sit with them.
The fire of Love warms the world,
but even fire dies
in the company of ashes."
Remember that next time you want to make a harsh retort to your lover.
Rumi's life was most interesting, but the most important thing about him was his " poetry".
Mostly, it's not poetry, strictly speaking, in the way we think of it, but it has a poetic quality and insight into life which is far beyond what one would expect of a mystic living 800 years ago.
The thing that struck me was that despite all our advances, the human spirit and condition has not changed that much. We are still beset by love and anguish. We need to be loved and to love, and if we are not, we are massively diminished.
I was talking to someone a while ago who told me he had " fallen out of love" about 10 years ago, and had lived with, as he put it, a lump of ice in his heart until recently. Outwardly, I could see no difference in him, but he assured me that inside he was a completely different person - generally more emollient and better able to cope with modern life.
As Rumi had it:
"When you see the lovers
don't pass them by,
sit with them.
The fire of Love warms the world,
but even fire dies
in the company of ashes."
Remember that next time you want to make a harsh retort to your lover.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Raising money for a good cause.
By chance I have had an eighteen hour stint of raising money for the Gurkha Welfare Trust.
I had to step in at a late stage for a speech at a fundraiser in Cupar, about 2hrs drive from Glasgow last night.
My speech was somewhat overshadowed by all the people coming in who clearly thought it started at 8pm as oppose to the 7:45 advertised, but in general it went down quite well.
Then we had two hours of the Woodlands Dance Orchestra, which was completely fantastic. They played tunes and sang songs from the 40s and 50s, which, towards the end of the evening, had even the OAPs present literally dancing in the aisles.
Their charge for 18 musicians plus a sound roadie was miniscule - I'm not sure if it was just because it was a charity do, but at that price I would have them at my house most weeks for an evening's entertainment. Tea or coffee and chockie bickies was 50p. and the seats were £6 - and they raised a huge sum. It was a thoroughly good evening.
Drove home to Glasgow and found the whole house fast asleep about 12:45am, and was up again at 7 to drive to Edinburgh for a 9am start at Sainsbury at Cameron Toll, shaking cans.
On these occassions, the nicest thing is the tales people tell you as they shove money at you.
One lady had nursed Gurkhas in India during the war. Another's uncle had served with Alan Bates ( the Actor) in the 9th Rifles. One said he always supported the Gurkhas because he had met two during the last war who had rescued him from getting a battering - and they were immaculately dressed even although not on parade.
But the nicest tale was from an elderly man who said his fondest memory was serving with Gurkhas in Korea. The whole unit was under heavy pressure, and the radio message to retreat had been crackly.Listening to the order, the senior Gurkha NCO kicked the radio, which finally killed it, and said," Radio not working. We attack!"
Which they did.
The Gurkha motto is " Better to die than live a coward".
They're not too good at defence, I suppose, but by God, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a charge.
I had to step in at a late stage for a speech at a fundraiser in Cupar, about 2hrs drive from Glasgow last night.
My speech was somewhat overshadowed by all the people coming in who clearly thought it started at 8pm as oppose to the 7:45 advertised, but in general it went down quite well.
Then we had two hours of the Woodlands Dance Orchestra, which was completely fantastic. They played tunes and sang songs from the 40s and 50s, which, towards the end of the evening, had even the OAPs present literally dancing in the aisles.
Their charge for 18 musicians plus a sound roadie was miniscule - I'm not sure if it was just because it was a charity do, but at that price I would have them at my house most weeks for an evening's entertainment. Tea or coffee and chockie bickies was 50p. and the seats were £6 - and they raised a huge sum. It was a thoroughly good evening.
Drove home to Glasgow and found the whole house fast asleep about 12:45am, and was up again at 7 to drive to Edinburgh for a 9am start at Sainsbury at Cameron Toll, shaking cans.
On these occassions, the nicest thing is the tales people tell you as they shove money at you.
One lady had nursed Gurkhas in India during the war. Another's uncle had served with Alan Bates ( the Actor) in the 9th Rifles. One said he always supported the Gurkhas because he had met two during the last war who had rescued him from getting a battering - and they were immaculately dressed even although not on parade.
But the nicest tale was from an elderly man who said his fondest memory was serving with Gurkhas in Korea. The whole unit was under heavy pressure, and the radio message to retreat had been crackly.Listening to the order, the senior Gurkha NCO kicked the radio, which finally killed it, and said," Radio not working. We attack!"
Which they did.
The Gurkha motto is " Better to die than live a coward".
They're not too good at defence, I suppose, but by God, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a charge.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Sigh
I regret to say I am back in Glasgow, even although the weather is quite pleasant today. I flew back into Luton on an inaugural flight from Tirgu Mores ( pronounced Toga Moresh) and then a super fast transfer to Milton Keynes and train to Glasgow. If it worked like this every time I would save about 4 hrs each way.
The first problem is that, although it was an inaugural flight, they are shifting it next week to fly into Cluj, which is an hour and 15 minutes further from Sighisoara. Down to approx. 2 hrs 45 mins saved.
Secondly, I caught the bus to MK from Luton Airport the moment I walked towards it. Probably on average another half hour lost.
Thirdly, I bought my ticket at MK and instantly got on the train ( probably 45mins to an hour) - so we're down to 1hr and 20 minutes saved. And the trains were the Pendolinos, which do the trip just under an hour quicker than the Voyagers. Down to 35 minutes
Finally,the train was 20 minutes early.
So with a bit of luck I will be able to do it 15 minutes quicker!
Sigh.
The first problem is that, although it was an inaugural flight, they are shifting it next week to fly into Cluj, which is an hour and 15 minutes further from Sighisoara. Down to approx. 2 hrs 45 mins saved.
Secondly, I caught the bus to MK from Luton Airport the moment I walked towards it. Probably on average another half hour lost.
Thirdly, I bought my ticket at MK and instantly got on the train ( probably 45mins to an hour) - so we're down to 1hr and 20 minutes saved. And the trains were the Pendolinos, which do the trip just under an hour quicker than the Voyagers. Down to 35 minutes
Finally,the train was 20 minutes early.
So with a bit of luck I will be able to do it 15 minutes quicker!
Sigh.
Monday, November 05, 2007
A compliment
Just because I am here and go to all sorts of functions, I am continually being paid compliments,along the lines of `` It is an honour for us to have you here``. I invariably reply it is an honour to be here, but sometimes more is needed. Then I roll out the phrase `` we are all people here together in friendship and amity``, the emphasis being on the fact that we are all just people, whether a minister or teacher or mayor or president..
At the wedding, as I was being introduced to various people, the stock phrases were being trotted out, and I was finally introduced to a middle aged man with a wonderful mustache and dark yet piercing eyes. He was the local King of the Gypsys, whose word in his own community was law.
Now gypsys in Romania are very much second class citizens, although they generally work very hard and have an intelligence and guile beyond many of the Romanian locals. His compliment was slightly different.
`` it is an honour to have one of elevated rank amongst we poor people``
I was somewhat taken aback but replied `` We are all just people``
He look astonished then smiled.
`` We will be friends. Too few realise the truth of your words``
At the wedding, as I was being introduced to various people, the stock phrases were being trotted out, and I was finally introduced to a middle aged man with a wonderful mustache and dark yet piercing eyes. He was the local King of the Gypsys, whose word in his own community was law.
Now gypsys in Romania are very much second class citizens, although they generally work very hard and have an intelligence and guile beyond many of the Romanian locals. His compliment was slightly different.
`` it is an honour to have one of elevated rank amongst we poor people``
I was somewhat taken aback but replied `` We are all just people``
He look astonished then smiled.
`` We will be friends. Too few realise the truth of your words``
Sunday, November 04, 2007
On Budapest and the fate of the Euro
Coming to Romania this time I took the oportunity of a cheapo flight from Prestwick to Budapest, with the rest of the journey being a near-10 hour train ride.
It was a beautiful day and I quickly made my way to the Keleti station. Hungary is clearly some way ahead of Romania, but the people did not seem to me to be either as happy or welcoming.
I had some time to wait in the queue for international tickets, largely because there was an earnest young American trying to sort out what seemed to be a round the world train ticket starting from somewhere else. He was travelling with what I assume was his girl-friend, but if so, they were the most serious lovers I have ever come across.
I finally got to buy my ticket. A single and a return were the same price - about GBP 40.
I had time to kill and was delighted to see a row of chess sets with people playing for money.
I used to be quite good. The games could be for any amount, but Eur 1 was a standard bet. After I won two games the person I was playing ( who clearly felt hard done by) refused to play any more. So I gave him his Eur 2 back and added two more. With a big grin he indicated I should play another player. This other was clearly a much better chessplayer, but I managed to win one and draw one before losing one. But they were really good games and all the other boards stopped and watched, and broke into applause at the draw - even if I hate to say so, it was quite an interesting stratagem that my opponent pulled.
There was much back slapping and hand-shakes and I indicated I needed to catch my train.
The trip was fine, but I doubt I will bother to go this way again. It is a long way and not very interesting. Watching the sun go down over the Hungarian plain was fine, as was the moonlight glinting on the Danube later on, and the meal was excellent, but oh dear, it was a long trip.
The most exciting part was when we stopped for the border crossing. Seats were removed in my compartment and lights shone through heating ducts, and I saw odd people being taken off in handcuffs, and barking police dogs take down an escapee. All great fun as long as you were not on the receiving end.
I finally got to Sighisoara about 4am, and my excellent Alin, despite being told not to, was there to pick me up and take me to the flat. By the time I got to sleep it was time to get up and set off for the usual round of meetings.
But the most interesting thing of all was the need to change money into Forints. I was instantly reminded of the old days when travelling through France to Switzerland entailed endless changing of money and the final insult was always the shrapnel of various currencies one had left.
All that has changed with the Euro across most of Europe. We have been very lucky not to be in it, but for the ordinary traveller it has been a boon.
Where things have been different, and why the Euro block is suffering stresses and strains is because of the difference in attitude of the participants.
The Germans were always going to react with discipline and correctness, and stick to the rules they had insisted on as the price for giving up the D-mark. The French, however, regard it with a disdain bred of their belief in their own total superiority. The Italians, of course, paid absolutely no attention to anything and completely ignored what they were supposed to do. The Irish did what they do at every opportunity - opened an Irish Pub everywhere and had a massive party. The Spanish used the cheap money they had never had before to build build build, having no understanding of what this meant.
As a result, I would not be surprised if some or most of the existing participants drop out - politically it will be impossible for the Italians and Irish to impose restraint, which in both cases would lead to a huge downturn.
I would be sad to see a return to the old ways of carrying various currencies as one traipsed around Europe.
Perhaps the Romanian system is best. Everything is quoted in Euros, and if necessary paid for in Euros, but then gets settled in Lei at the prevailing rate of exchange.
Definitely the best of both worlds.
It was a beautiful day and I quickly made my way to the Keleti station. Hungary is clearly some way ahead of Romania, but the people did not seem to me to be either as happy or welcoming.
I had some time to wait in the queue for international tickets, largely because there was an earnest young American trying to sort out what seemed to be a round the world train ticket starting from somewhere else. He was travelling with what I assume was his girl-friend, but if so, they were the most serious lovers I have ever come across.
I finally got to buy my ticket. A single and a return were the same price - about GBP 40.
I had time to kill and was delighted to see a row of chess sets with people playing for money.
I used to be quite good. The games could be for any amount, but Eur 1 was a standard bet. After I won two games the person I was playing ( who clearly felt hard done by) refused to play any more. So I gave him his Eur 2 back and added two more. With a big grin he indicated I should play another player. This other was clearly a much better chessplayer, but I managed to win one and draw one before losing one. But they were really good games and all the other boards stopped and watched, and broke into applause at the draw - even if I hate to say so, it was quite an interesting stratagem that my opponent pulled.
There was much back slapping and hand-shakes and I indicated I needed to catch my train.
The trip was fine, but I doubt I will bother to go this way again. It is a long way and not very interesting. Watching the sun go down over the Hungarian plain was fine, as was the moonlight glinting on the Danube later on, and the meal was excellent, but oh dear, it was a long trip.
The most exciting part was when we stopped for the border crossing. Seats were removed in my compartment and lights shone through heating ducts, and I saw odd people being taken off in handcuffs, and barking police dogs take down an escapee. All great fun as long as you were not on the receiving end.
I finally got to Sighisoara about 4am, and my excellent Alin, despite being told not to, was there to pick me up and take me to the flat. By the time I got to sleep it was time to get up and set off for the usual round of meetings.
But the most interesting thing of all was the need to change money into Forints. I was instantly reminded of the old days when travelling through France to Switzerland entailed endless changing of money and the final insult was always the shrapnel of various currencies one had left.
All that has changed with the Euro across most of Europe. We have been very lucky not to be in it, but for the ordinary traveller it has been a boon.
Where things have been different, and why the Euro block is suffering stresses and strains is because of the difference in attitude of the participants.
The Germans were always going to react with discipline and correctness, and stick to the rules they had insisted on as the price for giving up the D-mark. The French, however, regard it with a disdain bred of their belief in their own total superiority. The Italians, of course, paid absolutely no attention to anything and completely ignored what they were supposed to do. The Irish did what they do at every opportunity - opened an Irish Pub everywhere and had a massive party. The Spanish used the cheap money they had never had before to build build build, having no understanding of what this meant.
As a result, I would not be surprised if some or most of the existing participants drop out - politically it will be impossible for the Italians and Irish to impose restraint, which in both cases would lead to a huge downturn.
I would be sad to see a return to the old ways of carrying various currencies as one traipsed around Europe.
Perhaps the Romanian system is best. Everything is quoted in Euros, and if necessary paid for in Euros, but then gets settled in Lei at the prevailing rate of exchange.
Definitely the best of both worlds.
The wedding
I had a wonderful day yesterday. The daylight hours were spent walking the hills and valleys around Nemsa ( that's Romania if you have not been paying attention). It was cold but the sun shone and there were still some flowers and butterflies around, so it was a wonderfully uplifting experience.
But oh dear. During the course of the afternoon one of the locals came galloping up ( literally) to our little group . The Mayor's best friend's daughter was getting married that evening and Alin and I were invited. I carefully explained I had nothing to wear that was suitable, but nothing would do but we were to be there for 6pm.
True to form we were about an hour and a half late. But then so was everyone else. About 200 of us sat down to an excellent meal and the serious drinking started.
About 10pm - I suppose as an effort on these occassions to bring a semblance of order and sobriety - we were served soup - think chicken noodle soup.
I'm told that Romanian weddings can go on all night and most of the next day. On last night's evidence I can well believe it. At one point the bride is kidnapped and she has to be ransomed. They have a very good system here which is that although the initial costs are borne by the parents of bride AND groom, everyone gives an envelope during the course of the evening. Each couple ( ordinary guests) gives about GBP60. The best man about GBP 100. The net result is that there is usually a reasonable amount left over for the happy couple.
The whole atmosphere was crackling with testosterone on the part of the young men there. Clearly Romania works on the Italian principle that the men stick together and get drunk and the women stick together and dance. Very occasionally, one of the sharply dressed young men would formally ask the girl if his choice to dance with him as opposed to her friends. This led to much nudging and pointing and nodding of older heads - the poor couple were clearly already married, having children and in their dotage before a few minutes conversation were up. Their parentage and lineage was discussed. Where they a suitable match? Would the children be well behaved?
On that point, there were large numbers of younger children there, all behaving impeccably. They operated on the same principle as their elders - the boys talked to each other and the girls discussed the boys.
And overall, the noise of the disco was so high that when we finally left around 1am neither Alin nor I could do anything other than croak.
Some time ago I had given one of my copper bracelets ( for rheumatism) to Madame Elena, who runs the local pensione. It had clearly worked for her and she had extolled it's virtue to her friend the Mayor's wife. Sigh. So naturally nothing would do but that SHE would have one as well, so as of now I am minus two bracelets. In future I shall bring a supply with me.
I finally got to bed about 2:30 having drunk copious quantities of water.
But my abiding memory was of a very old lady with a wonderful wrinkled face and careworn hands. She sat at the end of our table. During the course of the evening, people were coming up to her at regular intervals. Finally the bride and groom came to her. They both kissed her on each cheek, and then she placed her hands on their heads and blessed them.
It transpired she was the oldest female person present. By tradition she blesses the union, and gives the happy couple a little homily. The respect shown to her was marvellous to see.
We could learn about that in our own society.
But oh dear. During the course of the afternoon one of the locals came galloping up ( literally) to our little group . The Mayor's best friend's daughter was getting married that evening and Alin and I were invited. I carefully explained I had nothing to wear that was suitable, but nothing would do but we were to be there for 6pm.
True to form we were about an hour and a half late. But then so was everyone else. About 200 of us sat down to an excellent meal and the serious drinking started.
About 10pm - I suppose as an effort on these occassions to bring a semblance of order and sobriety - we were served soup - think chicken noodle soup.
I'm told that Romanian weddings can go on all night and most of the next day. On last night's evidence I can well believe it. At one point the bride is kidnapped and she has to be ransomed. They have a very good system here which is that although the initial costs are borne by the parents of bride AND groom, everyone gives an envelope during the course of the evening. Each couple ( ordinary guests) gives about GBP60. The best man about GBP 100. The net result is that there is usually a reasonable amount left over for the happy couple.
The whole atmosphere was crackling with testosterone on the part of the young men there. Clearly Romania works on the Italian principle that the men stick together and get drunk and the women stick together and dance. Very occasionally, one of the sharply dressed young men would formally ask the girl if his choice to dance with him as opposed to her friends. This led to much nudging and pointing and nodding of older heads - the poor couple were clearly already married, having children and in their dotage before a few minutes conversation were up. Their parentage and lineage was discussed. Where they a suitable match? Would the children be well behaved?
On that point, there were large numbers of younger children there, all behaving impeccably. They operated on the same principle as their elders - the boys talked to each other and the girls discussed the boys.
And overall, the noise of the disco was so high that when we finally left around 1am neither Alin nor I could do anything other than croak.
Some time ago I had given one of my copper bracelets ( for rheumatism) to Madame Elena, who runs the local pensione. It had clearly worked for her and she had extolled it's virtue to her friend the Mayor's wife. Sigh. So naturally nothing would do but that SHE would have one as well, so as of now I am minus two bracelets. In future I shall bring a supply with me.
I finally got to bed about 2:30 having drunk copious quantities of water.
But my abiding memory was of a very old lady with a wonderful wrinkled face and careworn hands. She sat at the end of our table. During the course of the evening, people were coming up to her at regular intervals. Finally the bride and groom came to her. They both kissed her on each cheek, and then she placed her hands on their heads and blessed them.
It transpired she was the oldest female person present. By tradition she blesses the union, and gives the happy couple a little homily. The respect shown to her was marvellous to see.
We could learn about that in our own society.
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