Intrigue

Monday dawned another beautiful day with, in theory, time for a rest. Of course, it didn't turn out like that, as no sooner had we settled on going to look over some other land than Alin's phone was ringing with requirements for our presence.
The most intriguing was from Toader.
Toader's mother owns a piece of land right in the middle of parcels we already own. Unfortunately she has been taken ill, and Toader now has a power of attorney.
So far so good.
Also unfortunately, Toader's son is a bit of a tearaway. He got riotously drunk about a month ago and went into the woods to cut firewood. Technically this is illegal, but, of course, it is where everybody's firewood comes from.
Even more unfortunately, Toader's son saw a rather good looking tree that didn't have any branches on it and chopped it down.
Only it was carrying the main electricity cable between Mosna and Nemsa, and Nemsa was without power for 24 hours.
Even worse, the son had tried to chop away all the pesky wires attached to the felled tree which resulted in him blowing up the chain saw and knocking himself out to such an extent that when Erne the policeman arrived Toader's son was still groggy.
In theory there is bail in Romania, but it's not for the likes of young tearaways, so the son has been in Medias jail since then.
Now there are a whole range of crimes with which he could be charged, but in view of the fact everyone regarded the whole episode as really funny ( so drunk he didn't know it wasn't a tree!) the charge brought was damage to Electricity Company property - which is civil rather than criminal.
Except it costs money to pay the fine/reimburse the Company.
So Toader wanted money to help with this.
We were very loathe to help, because, even though we wanted the land, we felt the mother should at least be consulted. Toader was going to take her money for his own use rather than hers.
We told him so.
Which is when he put an intriguing proposition to us.
If we would buy the land, he would do all our ploughing ( or plugging as Alin refers to it) and planting for the same money as his mother was due from the land, and we could pay it direct to her - or at least to the chemist shop supplying her drugs..
Which seemed fair enough.
So Toader's son got out of jail ( his father promptly got him to start plugging)
Toader's mother got a complete supply of the drugs she needed.
And we got a parcel of land we wanted.
Even the Mayor of Clochemerle would have been pleased.

A day of rest...

Sunday was a slow start, but by 9:30 (!) we had breakfasted and were heading for the first meeting of the day.
I wanted the Ex-banker to see a negotiation and understand how the land registration system worked. He was taken aback by the welcome we received in the little house, which included juice and cakes.
" These people can hardly afford to do this" he whispered.
" Yes but they have their pride and to refuse would give offence."
The second house was even poorer but by around noon we had managed to sort out the problems, the actual areas and the prices to be paid.
As regards the areas of land, every single time we talk about buying some land, we are assured, categorically, that the .50 hectares that the titles say is theirs is actually, e.g. 1.4 hectares and it was only the corrupt lying officials who put the sizes down lower because they were a poor family.
So far, the only mistakes we have found have been made by lawyers....
We popped into Elena's, and promptly had plates of cabbage pie put in from of us.
This sounds revolting but like the cabbage salad, is delicious. It's also the local equivalent of Barr's Irn Bru, that well known Scottish hangover cure. The Ex-b had been saying he didn't suppose it was avalaible in Romania, but in view of the amount of alcohol drunk here he would speak to Robin Barr about it.
I wanted the Ex-b to see Richis and Biertan, and to meet my friend the painter, Ion Constantinescu of Biertan. The idea was to meet the Mayor for lunch at the Unglerus in Biertan about 6pm.
Ion had guests when we arrived, but would hear nothing but that we should come in and have a glass or two. He showed me his newest works, which I'm glad to say were wood carving prints, and which were using more than one colour. They were excellent, and he had already sold some to Italy, as well as having them accepted for the all Romania travelling exhibition, the equivalent of being an RA, but rather better, as there were a maximum of 25 pictures taken round the country. Some years there were less.
Lunch passed off well, and then we made our way back to Sighisoara to put the Ex-b on the train back to Budapest.
" Well, Mr.King," said Alin," I think we show your friend how we are doing good here in Transylvania."
" Indeed. And if he can just remember even some of it, then we will have had a successful time."

Up yer kilt

You will have gathered that Saturday night was quite raucous, and of course with 2 Scots in the immediate vicinity the question of what is worn (or not) under the kilt quickly came up. People talk of questions or problems that are Elephants in the room, and this particular question is endlessly fascinating to other nationalities.
The Ex-banker, a true Scot to the core, told a rather nice story.
At what one could only describe as a society wedding, the extremely grand lady photographer left one of her cameras on a table for a few minutes.
Quick as a flash, one of the young blades present stuffed it under his kilt and pressed the button. What he didn't know was it was on "continue taking snapshots until you press the button again."
So I suppose by the time his hilarity had subsided and he had put it back on the table it had taken a hundred or so below-the-belt pictures.
All would have been well, but unfortunately the lady photographer had set up an electronic pinboard to upload pictures of the wedding so everyone could enjoy them almost instantly.
It must have taken all of 10 seconds for people to twig what had happened and there was a concerted rush by some to stand in front of the offending images, whilst others were doing their best to push them out of the way.
Eventually, someone had the sense to pull the plug out, and there was a collective sigh, of relief on one hand and sadness on the other.
The party continued thereafter, but one of the bridesmaids was heard to remark that she intended to goose all the young men present until she found the one with the matching member......

How to stop worrying about the economic crisis and learn to enjoy life.

The weekend passed off peacefully enough. My friend from Hungary, the Ex-banker, arrived off the overnight train on Saturday morning.
He was immediately met with how things work here - and how economics is taking over from dogma.
I had booked him into a hotel and paid for the room a couple of days previously. The hotel had no other guests showing.
We went to check him in to be told that we would have to wait - go and have breakfast. We did, and returned to the desk.
With great regret the clerk told us the hotel was full, that the reservation wasn't in the system, and I could have my money back.He did opine that a room might become available later, but in the meantime he would book my friend into another hotel.
Somewhat miffed, I had little option but to agree, and took the Ex-b up to the office/flat for a shave and teeth clean. I set Alin on the detective trail.
He reported back that the hotel had received a request on Friday for 24 rooms ( that's what it has, one of the biggest in Sighisoara) and we weren't the only people who had been shifted - two other couples had been told they had to leave on the Saturday morning despite being there on Friday night.
Faced with having a full hotel from a continuing potential partner or a few odd residents, the hotel took the correct economic decision. It does show how Economics is, in general, not a moral science...
The Ex-b was here to look over land I had lined up as suitable for a fund he was promoting called (surprisingly) Romanian Land Company, rather along the lines of Black Earth Farming but on a very much smaller scale. He had visited the area before as a tourist but was now looking at it with the cold eye of a banker.
Fortunately, the sparkling weather had held and we were able to see rolling fields in blazing sunshine under a fantastic blue sky. Even he was moved by the baby storks demanding to be fed.
The Mayor had insisted we visit him in his office ( he likes to welcome people there surrounded by his Mayoral accoutrements - and every conceivable type of alcohol). Of course he had a purpose - there was a farm for sale and he wanted to show it to us. Naturally, we took the time to see what could only be described as a wreck. It had been a collective cattle farm, now reduced to some dilapidated buildings and 5 hectares.The asking price of Eur 200,000 dropped to 50,000 when we expressed incredulity ( No no, I get mixed up with the old money) to the owner. Iwould guess there is at least another zero to come off.
But we had done what was required, and repaired to the Mayor's house where the Government accountants were expected for a meal before starting work the next day.
You may recall Elena was looking particularly Russian doll-like, and Alin had said I would understand the attraction when I met the accountant.
He was another overstuffed Russian doll, but male. The two of them together would perfectly match. I of course got the giggles and had to hide in the loo until they wore off.
We had an excellent meal ( the chicken noodle soup was of the very highest order) with many toasts and expressions of undying friendship, even from the accountants.
The Ex-b, who I had warned to drink slowly and with lots of water, hadn't entirely believed me, but I could see his eyes glazing over as more and more food appeared with more and various different bottles of wine, tuica, liqura de padura and so on, and it became obvious we would need to get him home.
I whispered to Alin to say he had had a call from Andrea ( who is pregant) and that we would, sadly, have to leave. Alin played his part perfectly - the only slight difficulty was getting the Ex-b to his feet, but soon enough we were heading home with Ex-b happily babbling away.
I couldn't say I was that much better, but at least I was able to get into bed myself.
And we never did pay for the two breakfasts.......

Goats with attitude

I've just noticed that there is a TV programme called The Mentalist. I wonder if this is about Guido's favourite, the Prime Mentalist?
But I digress.
Today was all about my goats.
You may recall that I had thought the flock was not growing as it should, and in fact last year our six nannies produced 6 billys, with the result that we just had to sell the billys.
What I hadn't really appreciated was that the goat man, Dani, had then used the cash to buy 8 nannies = 14 Kinglear goats.
What I also hadn't appreciated was that the rent for land we let out was due on 1st May. For some reason I thought it was paid at the end of October.
Anyway, we got another 27 goats and 17 sheep. I've given up trying to keep track of the sheep because the teethy wolves need feeding and the City Hall does as well...
You may think this means I have 41 goats.
And you would be completely wrong because the original 14 have all had nannies this time, so the flock is now 56 strong.
You will have noticed this is wrong somewhere by 1. No, I don't understand it either..
The problem is that this winter we will have to provide food for this flock ( for about 5 months in total) and we have let all the land we own. You will rapidly realise I know nothing about farming, but it appears that noone around Mosna does either.There is, of course, also the EU subvention payments but that is a horse of a different colour as they say in the Wizard of Oz.
So roughly speaking we need 20 hectares more of land which will have to have the grass cut and stockpiled.
Elena, the lady who owns the pension in Nemsa said we were not to worry about this, as it would be easy to obtain pasture land - much cheaper than agricultural land - and truth to tell we picked up about 2.5 has. today for the equivalent of GBP 150 per acre. She immediately put the word out, and confidently expected that by tomorrow evening we would be roughly covered. Certainly one very drunk Nemsa resident offered us a tenth of an acre for two bottles of beer, but we declined and told him to see us tomorrow. Who knows? He might sell for only one bottle tomorrow...
We checked the areas we had been offered on foot, and concluded the deals.
In Ceaucesu's time May 1st was Labour Day and an official holiday. It is no longer one, but everyone takes it anyway, so everything is shut. Unofficially, it is the start of the barbeque season and curls of smoke are dotted all over the landscape.
The Mayor has put the visiting Government Accountants to stay in Elena's pension. Elena is quite pleased with this as the main accountant and she had hit it off famously when last they had been here, and she appeared today hair done, new clothes and looking rather like an oversize Russian doll. I asked Alin how on earth the accountant could possibly fancy her and he confided in me that when I saw the accountant I would understand the mutual attraction.
The day ended with another lady coming to sell her land ( about 1.5 acres) as she needed the money to square her old age pension. I simply don't understand how this works, but I suspect she had one final payment to make before she was 60 on Thursday next week.
We offered her the going rate ( in this case about Eur 225) - and were told she needed Eur 400.
Impasse! We can't pay more because then everyone will want more - and those that have already sold will want more too. Unfair on us I know, but pretty much what the banks are doing to their customers at the moment ( You have an agreement at 1.5% over base? We need more,you will have to pay 3% over base. Why? Because if you don't we will pull the loan...)
Elena came up with the solution.
"Well, " she said," We need to get the grass cut on the new lands. If you agree to do this one time, Mr. King will give you the extra money."
This may sound a bit unkind to a 60 year old, but in fact hay cutting is RON60 per ha. i.e. about Eur 15 , and she has two sons with wives, two daughters with husbands, and two tractors between them.
Quick as a flash, the lady asked if she could have the contract for subsequent cuts.
So now my 58 goats will have food this winter.
And no, I still don't know how there's one more either.
Er, actually two....

Watching the Wedding DVD.

Today was spent negotiating - or rather trying to negotiate - with various owners about bits of land we wanted. The day started with ten minutes in the bank that I thought was going to take an hour, followed by what I thought would be ten minutes of LAG business that ended up being 90 minutes.
By the time all that was out of the way, we were late for a meeting with the Topographer who does satellite drawings of our land. In this case, there was a dispute over about 800 sq. mtrs which can only be resolved by the land court in Sibiu. There is no real problem, we just have to get everything certified twice and then the court grants us our land - that we have already paid for. It is, of course, a hang over from the Communist days when the extent of any given piece of land was irrelevant. Now that each bit of land is owned by someone, it matters where the boundaries are and how big the bit of land is.
As far as I was concerned it meant I had about an hour to walk over some of our land and see what had been done ( and what hadn't). I suppose I could be upset about various things, but the sun was shining, the swallows were whirling around, the baby storks were peeking out of their nests, the butterflies were burgeoning, and the orchard we own was in full blossom. The scent was almost overpowering, and the noise of the bees was deafening. Incidentally, Romania doesn't seem to have any problem with bees dying. In fact, the price of honey this year is predicted to fall as they have an oversupply. Just might be to do with the fact that there are none of the particularly long-lived insecticides anywhere in Transylvania - in fact there aren't at all. People here look at you as if you have two heads when you talk of " organic" produce. Because there is nothing artificial in use, its all what we would describe as organic. As far as they are concerned its just food.
Having succesfully confirmed our land ownership, we started the round of speaking with various old ladies. They, of course, are convinced we are multi-millionaires who will pay them anything. It usually takes us three or four meetings to persuade them otherwise, but two in particular today have been ultra stubborn. We left both without agreement, but with them in no doubt our offers were final, would not be increased, and in fact, in view of the economic situation, might be reduced and/or withdrawn. As Alin said " We will see"
By the time we finished it was after 6pm (having started as all good Romanians do at 07:30 am) and as we were driving wearily home, one of Alin's mobiles rang. It drowned out the tolling Church bells.
It was the Mayor.
Why weren't we at his house? Frankly, we hadn't been invited.
Nothing would do but that we should turn round and come for a drink - which consisted of polishing off the two bottles of Neuburger ( you will be glad to hear the Mayor approves of them) a bottle of his own excellent rose wine and three quarters of a litre of his special Nemsa grape white wine.
Tina his wife produced her excellent bean and ham Ciorba, a thick tasty soup, along with my favourite sausages and the Mosna potatoes.
Now you may say this was all a bit much, but of course there was an ulterior motive.
With a great crash the gate opened and in came the Mayor's son ( also Alin) and his truly gorgeous wife Irena. You may recall I was a guest of honour at the wedding on 14th February.
With a flourish they produced the video of the wedding ( on 4 DVDs and cut down from about 15 hours to a mere 4) and the album, which had so many photos in it I could hardly lift it.
And I had to watch the video.
Luckily, Alin and Irena were in a hurry so I only had about 90 minutes of viewing. Other people's wedding films usually leave me cold, but, as I told you in February, there were lots of people there I knew - and here I was watching them all misbehaving and in some cases seriously drunk.
The Mayor myself and Tina had been the ones drinking the wine, so we found the whole thing utterly hilarious, whilst my Alin ( driving, not allowed to drink) and Alin 2 and Irena ( who hardly touch a drop between them) wondered why we thought it was all so funny.
When it came to the part where the bride is stolen and ransommed, all three of us were in such hysterics at my and the kidnapper's performances that we had to stop the DVD until we three calmed down. Tears were streaming down our cheeks and every few moments more giggles and guffaws escaped us. Eventually we got the DVD moving again, but by that time the sober members decided we were not taking it seriously enough and turned it off.
A couple of glasses later it was time to go.
As we walked out, the Mayor gripped by shoulder.
" Mr. King, when you are coming you take all my cares away. Saturday we will have a barbeque in the fields. The Government accountants are coming and we need to make a good impression. You will be there."
Looks like a party on Saturday then....

Alack or Alas?

Mike Smithson on PB has an excerpt from John Rentoul of the Independent:
""You know it is over when black is reported as white. When everything is fitted to the template of retreat, disarray and incompetence….”
Rentoul goes on to make the argument he has put before - Labour could stem the expected election losses by switching leader. His personal favourite is Alas Johnson.."
Hm... bit of a Freudian slip methinks....

A Famous Victory?

I'm sure you have seen the pictures of David Cameron, Joanna Lumley and Nick Clegg celebrating the victory for Gurkhas in the House of Commons.
It is, of course, wonderful news, and a huge slap in the face for Brown and his Bunker, but let me remind you that the Gurkha Welfare Trust is still caring for 10,600 pensioners and their dependants in Nepal.
That is the real disgrace in this situation, and it's why the GWT keeps desperately raising funds.
A fellow committee member emailed me last night:

"This afternoon's vote is merely a token victory and commits the Government to nothing if Brown's political lickspittles in the Immigration Dept decide to rough it out, which legally they are quite entitled to do. "
Brown and his minion's spite will be all the more sharp.
Please give generously at www.gwt.org.uk

In Romania

I awoke this morning very early as the sun was streaming in my window - which was open.
To we Scots, there are usually one and a half nights a year when you can sleep with the windows open, unless you want to get hypothermia, so the thought of it being the end of April and yet having the windows open is a sort of Clause 4 moment. One approaches it with trepidation and yet with excitement.
I hadn't actually been in the flat for more than 16 weeks, as the previous trip in February I was in Medias full time, and last week was very much a rush. I'd forgotten the pleasures of making the coffee, the sound of the children going to school (at 8am), the banter in the square, the lack of a TV pumping out drivel - and not having to read about the recession and the swine flu every two minutes.
Alin told me that the Mayor had bought me a lamb as an Easter present.
I said I thought that was very kind, but I already had lambs from my own burgeoning flock ( at least it would be if the teethy wolves stopped eating them - I feel a bit like the people who feed the birds in the winter, only it's wolves that I feed. )
Stupidly, I then asked if the Shepherd had been looking after it.
" No no Mr. K, it was for eating, and when you didn't come, the Mayor he say Mr.K he give us a lamb for Easter to the people in the City Hall, and they eated it.They were very happy."
Ask a silly question.....

You can fool some of the people....

According to the BBC website,
"The UK is one of the best prepared countries in the world to deal with swine flu, Gordon Brown says. "
That'll be as well prepared as we were to deal with the recession then, will it?
Plonker.

In Budapest

I'm on my way back to Romania with what I thought was a really sneaking new way. Glasgow Luton, Luton Budapest train almost immediately to Sighisoara.
In theory its almost perfect.
In practice yesterday, the first leg went perfectly, but when I got on the Wizz flight to Budapest, they announced they were having to pick up people in Venice ( Venice!) who had been stranded there by a broken down aircraft.
The result was I didn't get to Budapest until 2 am, no train, nowhere to go.
So I went to my favourite Golden Park beside Kelleti station ( because its handy for everything). The Wizz desk was still open so I complained about the diversion and they sold me a half price ticket to Tirgu Mures from Budapest for lunchtime Tuesday.The hotel gave me a a 70% discount for a room ( including their excellent breakfast) and here I am waiting for the plane.
In the middle of all this I picked up 2 bottles of Neuburger.
You may recall I have an ongoing search for the true Neuburger wine for the Mayor. He has always complained that it should have a greenish tinge, and none of the producers so far have achieved this.
This time, it does.
The other thing I liked ( apart from the sparkling weather) was some upmarket graffiti.
It read " Christianity is not dead! It is only asleep! It will awaken for the Apocalypse!"
I bet Church attendance in Mexico has gone through the roof....
Update:
The flight to Transylvania was 2 hrs late taking off. We loaded up on time then sat there waiting for them to get the engines going.
Actually, the problem was not so much that they couldn't get the engines to wrok - they couldn't get them to work on their own.
Tirgu Mures doesn't have the jumpstart leads the bigger airports do - so the aircraft has to be able to work itself. In this case, it couldn't - until the man with the screwdriver and hammer came out and did the equivalent of giving it a kick.
Worked fine after that...

Dan Hannan, Clement Attlee and Sir Winston Churchill

Dan Hannan gave yet another corker of a speech at the Tory Spring Conference today.
Whilst making the point that we are not anti-Europe but pro-Britain, not anti-federalist but pro-democracy, he told the following story.
After his 1945 victory, Clem was relieving himself in the Commons loos.
The door banged open and in stalked Winnie. Glancing at Attlee, he headed for the urinal farthest away from him
" Stand offish today Winston," remarked Attlee.
" Not at all Prime Minister," growled Winston." It's just that every time you see anything big you want to nationalise it."

Gurkha Highlander 2008.

Today was the Gurkha Welfare Trust's Gurkha Curry Lunch in Edinburgh. It's always a good occassion and this year, with 140 attendees, it had more people than ever before.
We had had to collect the Deputy Director who had flown up to attend the event. Unfortunately, her heel had broken, so our first job was to get to M&S for a pair of shoes.
The lunch went off excellently well. The people concerned with the Trust, both Committee and supporters, are all in the incredibly nice category. We support 10,600 ex Gurkhas and their dependants who get no money whatever in retirement. The £30 per month we pay them ( which because of the fall in the GBP is costing us an extra £600,000 pa) makes the difference, quite literally, between life and starvation. Do feel free to go online and donate at www.gwt.org.uk
The food was excellent, the raffle well supported.
Amazingly, the man who won three prizes last year ( he gave two back) won a further four this year ( he gave three back). I told him next year he has to bring prizes rather than win them.
One of the matters mentioned was the book that Walker John has written about the walk. It is called "Gurkha Teuchter" and will shortly be published. It's good. I had to proof read it.
If anyone is interested, leave your email addresses in the comments.All proceeds to the Gurkha Welfare Trust.
UPDATE:
The new film " Centurion" about the 9th Legion that disappeared in Scotland was mostly shot on Glenfeshie Estate. The lads had to cross it in a day.....

Only have a baby if you're planning to stay married for at least 18 years...

I couldn't possibly use the headline of this article from Takimag on my family blog before 9pm, nor would you want me to, I'm sure, but I was taken by this line:
"The scariest part of this survey however, is what it says about kids: “Children of divorced or never-married mothers are six to 30 times more likely to suffer from serious child abuse than are children raised by both biological parents in marriage". The writer ( who I have never heard of) argues that if you are going to have a baby as a young woman you need to be crazy to try to bring it up on your own. Which is why the girls go for the new "boyfriend".
How many child abuse cases have you seen recently where the biological father battered a wee mite to death?
Thought not.

How to win friends no. 94

The immigration minister, Woolas by name, has just talked tough on immigration.

So there will be fewer ne'r do wells coming into the country to sponge off us.

Er well no, actually.

There will be fewer ex -Gurkhas.

Disgusting.

It was 40 years ago today....

The Great Brian Boru is berating me for not having posted recently. There is a perfectly ordinary explanation.
After the Irish left, I was almost immediately on my way out of the country to Romania.
Just so you know I got back yesterday in time to go to a dinner party.
And I'm back to Romania on Monday.
So I've had little time for anything much.
The dinner party for the Irish went what one could only describe as swimmingly - of the eleven present, 4 including myself were not drinking, but the remaining 7 got through 14 assorted bottles of fizz,red and white.
In fact, everyone had such a good time that we could only finally get to bed about 3am on Sunday.
The contingent from Germany have already sent us pictures - everything in beautiful order before, and complete detritus after.
For some reason they have also taken photos of the enormous breakfasts that were being served up.
Let me tell you a small story about my friend from 40 odd years ago.
The Earl of Kilkenny - for it is he - wondered at some point over the weekend where we had first met. I reminded him it was at a party in a side road off Kings road.
" Ah yes" he said, " I remember now. I was living round the corner and was walking home one night. The windows of Number 57 were wide open with music blaring. A young lady asked if myself and my companion ( a senior accountant with the Irish Tourist Board at the time) would care to come in. We declined. I dropped the man off home and made my way back to the party.
Some time later there were great hammerings at the door. An elderly man in pyjamas was standing there. One of the scantily clad young ladies asked him in and gave him a drink. (I hasten to add they were scantily dressed because it was the 60s and the mini was in - as well as see through tops). Some considerable time later there were more hammerings at the door.
By this time, you and I had met and were getting on famously shouting at each other above the noise. Each floor of the house was playing different music.
Anyway, the door was opened to reveal two policemen, who were also invited in by young ladies - and had drinks pressed on them. They were there, they said because an elderly man had been kidnapped. The policemen were taken to where he was and could see the report was not true.
Some more time passed, and the door reverberated once more. There stood an elderly lady in her dressing gown.
Now it so happened that it was myself that opened the door. I had great difficulty making out what she was trying to say - it may have been the drink fuddling me somewhat.
Anyway, she really really wanted her husband back. So we went in search of him, and there he was with the two policemen, all very tipsy and dancing with several mini skirted young ladies."
He paused.
" I think his evening came to an end about then."
You may ask how he is the Earl of Kilkenny, when no such title exists? Himself talks in a very aristocratic Irish brogue, which, when combined with the title, always ensures the best table, the best ticket and the best service imaginable....

The Irish are here!

One of the nicest aspects of having our (very) old Irish friends to stay is that a proper breakfast is required.
None of your cardboard muesli and yogurt muck - its black pudding, eggs, bacon, sausages,tomatoes and kidneys. And a loaf or two.
The main reason is they hardly eat anything during the day, until tea-time, when cakes are required with the several pots of tea.
To celebrate their being here, Mrs L had arranged a dinner party for tonight. She assured me we would be 9. For some reason, almost certainly allied to my inherited Gypsy gene from old Queen Lear, I had a sneaky suspicion we had asked another couple.
And so it has proved. An email winged its way in asking if the Cocktail Warrior was still expected.
Fortunately, I had been working on the assumption that someone else would turn up, and so it has proved.
On past form, although I don't drink in this country, I shall be hung-over tomorrow. The reason, of course, is the adrenalin racing round as the banter goes back and forth as my soon-to-be-ossified brain tries to keep up.
The dog is already exhausted with the strain of the arrangements....

PC gone mad No.94

For our grand Saturday farewell extravaganza for the Irish, Mrs. Lear dispatched me to the local fish shop to acquire that most Scottish of starters, smoked salmon.
I duly purchased the required item, all beautifully sliced and vacuum packed.
The label had the following allergy advice: May contain fish.
I sincerely hope so....

Politicians?

I have some Irish friends staying at the moment, which means the tea consumption has gone through the roof, along with the cake, potato and cream.

I parked briefly behind a car to undertake a small commission, and when I returned my friend said:
" Do you think that's directed at all politicians?"
He was referring to the number plate which started L I B 1234.
Underneath, in the small space where usually there is an advert for the car selling company, the owner had had printed
" Lazy Ignorant Bastards, the lot of them!"

For those of you unable to access Guido just now...

...here's his last post before the huge surge in traffic brought his server down.

The Lobby’s Shameful Complicity in McPoison’s Reign of TerrorGuido FawkesToday, 11:11 AM

"Guido’s eyes welled up when he read Alice Miles piece in The Times this morning. For five years this blog has squarely blamed Lobby journalists for failing the people. The Fourth Estate may not have a formal constitutional role, but the role is real.Journalists are to there to “speak truth unto power”. Not trade favours for tittle tattle, not report spin as truth. From the start of this era of spin the Lobby pack have been willing accomplices. It is actually hard to name journalists who can hold their heads high. Peter Oborne - seen as an eccentric maverick, Martin Bright - hounded out of a job by Brown’s henchmen, Fraser Nelson - frozen out by Downing Street despite being Britain’s most widely read politcal columnist. Who else stood up to McPoison and revealed his text message terrorism?Cowardice and cronyism runs right through the Lobby. Fear of being taken off the teat of pre-packaged stories served to them. That is not journalism, that is copy-taking. The many stories filed this week which reveal just how horrible Brown’s cabal have been are of mere historical interest. They would have been brave if they had been written before McPoison was toppled. You all knew and said nothing. You knew and went along with it. Your revelatory articles are merely confessions of previous personal cowardice.It is not as if it was a secret, as an outsider Guido went on Newsnight and laid out his manifesto, telling the Lobby to get some backbone and stand up to the spin machine. That j’accuse was met with a ferocious counter-attack from the doyen of the Lobby system, Sir Michael White, Nick Robinson cried foul, Paxman sneered. The issue was glossed over. The Lobby felt relief. The little boy who had pointed at the naked Lobby was rebuffed. Who has ended up looking the biggest fools? As you write your reviews of the years of terror and spin, do you not feel just the slightest tinge of guilt at your complicity? Guido, too far below the salt to even be nominated for the Orwell Prize for Bloggers, remembered that speaking truth in a time of deceit was a revolutionary act, and the Lobby journalists now sleep safe in their beds tonight, because a rough blogger was prepared to do violence on Damian McBride.You knew and did nothing, you failed your readers, you failed the truth. Hang your heads in shame."

Complicated...

From the Telegraph Letters page:
Don’t skip the fandango
SIR – I read your report (April 14) that the two most-heard songs in public are A Whiter Shade of Pale and Bohemian Rhapsody and mentioned it to a friend, who immediately pointed out that both songs contain the word fandango.
Could this be the elusive secret of writing a guaranteed hit?
John Benson Harpenden, Hertfordshire
If you care to read what a fandango is, it will immediately become clear why "fandango" has become the same as a haroosh,stramash,kerfuffle and carry-on.
In any event, it would be completely beyond my ( lacking) terpsichorean skills.
Even the light fandango

Spin, lies and manipulation

Middle Ms. Lear is a member of an association that holds awards every year. This year she is on the judging panel, and has been underwhelmed by how it works.
In essence people nominate themselves ( and the organisers nominate a few) and lo and behold those who have been trained by the organisers end up on the short list.
Ms. Lear is of course having none of it. The people put forward should be judged on their model and how well it is implemented, not on whether or not they took a course.
It does beg the question though of how things are now organised in this country.
Dizzy has another attack on Labour's "consultation" exercises, which, bullied and cajolled, deliver the predetermined result.
Or if they don't they are simply ignored. The regional assembly debacle is a case in point.
Clearly in NuBritain we are all left with manipulation as the only way forward.
I have long said that Labour has no principles and hence no guide as to what it should do - beyond the Stalinist tendency to force more and and more stifling legislation down our throats. This is amply demonstrated by the fact that there is virtually no legislative programme for MPs to debate. That, of course, is partly because Brown has effectively bypassed Parliament as where laws are made - orders in council account for something like 70 times more legislation than Parliament.
It's time a little boy stood up and said " The Emperor has no clothes".

See Glasgow?

All over our local news today is the statement that Glasgow has the fastest growing unemployed population in Britain.
I could have told you that some time ago as about 25% of our tenants have effectively gone bust and a couple that were due to replace them have decided not to proceed.
What can they do? One of our better tenants, who was forging ahead with a new business, in which he had already invested £30,000, had his £20,000 overdraft revoked on Friday. Why? No one will tell him, but I'm willing to bet it's because the Bank ( RBS by the way) want a bigger fee and higher margin.
Glasgow humour will, I'm sure, find a way through. On a hoarding around what was supposed to be yet another "superb, outstanding, exceptional" slum-in-the-making someone has stuck in letters a foot high:
" IT'LL BE AULD CLAES AND CAULD PURRIDGE THE NOO"
which almost certainly means it was a highly educated person who did it.
Shame the revolting Brown never thought about it.

Smeargate

Amidst all the continuing spin and lies around "Smeargate", I was struck how Draper continues to lie and lie again. Calling the emails juvenile is the spin word trying to deflect from the baseness of their content. Saying his private emails were hacked ( Guido insists they weren't and Dizzy says the way they were sent was the electronic equivalent of a postcard) is trying to deflect from his own position in it all. Saying they were never meant to be published is given the lie by his saying they were brilliant and he would speak to Andrew about timing and technology and run with them asap. Saying they were done in McBride's own time is trying to deflect the fact that McBride was a civil servant paid for by you and me who shouldn't be doing anything for a political party.
And finally - although I fully expect further revelations and resignations - for now, as Iain Dale has pointed out, Draper lied about the Dale Racism row.
No wonder they have no time to sort the economic mess they created.
Further revelations:
Both Draper and McBride have publicly stated that the smears " were never intended to see the light of day".
In that case, why is Nadine Dorries all over the BBC, GMTV and Sky saying she was contacted some months ago about the allegations regarding herself? See Iain Dale...
PS
Youngest Ms Lear insists McBride was not a civil servant. He may have been once but as a Spad he is not. Civil servants ( proper ones) send back stuff that has political implications.
The problem is clearly some people are less honourable than others....

I want to be alone.....

As you know Mrs. Lear is working towards her new job as a Parkie for Glasgow City Council - at least I think that's what she's doing.
However, she returned home the other day fulminating about how Quangos and other do-gooders get involved and mess up the countryside. I assume this is as opposed to the farmers ( who kill things that attack their sheep) the huntin' shootin' fishin' lot ( who kill things) and the non-locals ( who kill things in their 4 x 4s). By the way, have you ever noticed that this last group always insist having these vehicles makes absolute sense - for them?
Anyway, the gist of her fury was that the Black Grouse, which has been in decline for many years, is probably reaching a critical point. There have been umpteen committees, groups, studies and what not to try to reverse this. Every single one of these groups and studies requires the poor birds to be counted. At a guess, over the last 5 years, every Black Grouse will have been counted about 20 times. The amount of money spent on this would enable every bird to have its own mansion.
Now the number one thing that Black Grouse really really dislike is being disturbed when they are on a thing called a lek. In essence, this means the male bird trying to get his leg over. Male readers think of a knock at the door at a critical moment, a mobile going off, or your inamorata spotting a man through the window with a pair of binoculars.
It ain't going to happen after that is it?
Well, that's pretty much the male Black Grouse's view too.
I'm sure all the watchers and counters are well trained and careful, but a Black Grouse is a pretty wily bird - much more so than pheasants or even Red Grouse.
So the efforts of all these do-gooders are rather counter productive. There's a trail of frustrated birdies hopping about, and extremely worried that the next time they get the missus in the right frame of mind,another twenty pairs of binoculars will be trained on him.
However, there is hope.
There is one area where no counting, ogling or spying goes on - and, surprise surprise, the Black Grouse population here is growing wonderfully well - despite the older birds being culled. Not one penny has been spent on any study beyond the keepers having a general look at the hillside every now and again.
It's Balmoral Estate. Her Majesty won't allow those do-gooders onto her land.....

Anagrams

I've written before about how anagrams fall largely into 4 categories ( sort of apt, opposites, weird) and loved this one.
R.MUGABE.
Have a guess.....

That Irish Austerity Package..

Well, someones done it at last. Actually CUT wages, pensions, programmes, and INCREASED taxes.
And quite right too. It's what we need to do but with the numbers roughly 10 times as big. Think about it.
I watched a programme last night about the 1929 crash. The similarities with today are startling. Increase in borrowing. Speculation. And the one I particularly liked was that on October 23rd, generally regarded as the day before it all got really nasty, there was a crash in Automotive stocks ( cars to you and me) which would appear to have been the catalyst for the greater crash to follow. US car manufacturers are actually considering bankruptcy at the moment.
Thinking about it, that makes sense. Cars account for a huge percentage of our GDP ( think of repairs, new tyres,petrol, insurance etc etc), and if their sales are falling, so is everything else.
Alex Salmond has referred to the Celtic Tiger Arc of Ecomonic growth. This was Iceland, Ireland and Scotland.
Looking a bit motheaten and Tiggerish, methinks.

You know its a recession when...

You know its a recession when your friends start getting fired.
Unfortunately, I'm now at an age when it's my friends children that get fired.
I heard today of a very bright chap who hasn't worked since September. He is married with two children and living in what most people would regard as a big house.
He is so hard up for money he asked his father for £200 to pay for groceries. His father ( who recently bought( rented?) a new Mercedes and lives in another, bigger house) told him he couldn't spare it. The wife went to her mother and borrowed £300. The school fees are two months behind. There's effectively no equity in the house.
Where is it all going to end? It can only be in mass bankruptcy.

Gimme gimme gimme...

I had a most edifying meeting with a lady from Glasgow District Council yesterday, whose sole task was to make sure I was claiming all I was entitled to, now that I am over 60.
I pointed out to her that actually I didn't claim anything, but she said her job was to make sure I did, and also what I would be entitled to from age 65.
The point she was making was that nearly £3 billion of benefits for the elderly go unclaimed every year, and in general terms, they have paid for it through their taxes over the years. The problem was the more elderly were very averse to claiming - and apart from anything else the forms they have to fill in are so obtuse and lengthy that most of them fall asleep half way through. So her job was to contact the "younger" element and get them hooked into the system as early as possible.
She told me that her method of getting people in was to talk about Council Tax. This was the most hated element of what people spent money on. As she said, once she got them fulminating about that, she could get them to sign up to pretty much anything.
What did strike me though was that this is another example of Liebore extending its tied estate - gerrymandering in truth. After all, if you are getting a few hundred quid from someone you tend not to vote against them - or at least think twice where there's a chance the other side might take it away.
So next time you think about claiming a benefit, just remember who gave it to you - and then vote for a change from the present government.
PS
And before you ask, my own bet would be that the visit will cost me money rather than giving it back to me...

You couldn't make it up no.94

Middle Ms. Lear has been having some problems in her " close" as tenement flats in Glasgow are called with water somehow spilling from the attic down through 3 flats - fortunately not hers.
However, the problem is so severe - and apparently unfixable - that the water has been turned off for the whole close.
Enter Environmental health - they are closely allied with elfnsafety.
The only thing is the gentleman concerned was a Mr. Flood....
Update:
Mr. Flood sent out a plumber whose name was Pipe...

Anarchy! Protest!Time for a nap!

Silversprite up in the Hebrides has a lovely picture of the G20 protests which you can see here. As an OAP I can relate to it absolutely....

STRIKE! PICKET! HYDRATE!

Driving through town just now I came across a couple of demonstrations by Glasgow City employees ( it's Friday after all and the weather's most pleasant).
They were picketing the building that houses the planning department and the City assessors ( I'm with them all the way on this one).
What amused me was that, though the picketers were clearly sons of the soil,grimy shipyard salt of the earth.. no hang about, that's not true they sit behind computers and answer phones saying the computer system's down...anyway, there they were ready for a siege.
They had their thermos flasks of Lattes, their wraps for lunch... and dozens of bottles of mineral water. Not even in plastic bottles - in GLASS bottles.
Not like when I was a flying picket.....
Update:
It seems there was a bit of a do because the Police said they couldn't have the glass bottles - elfnsafety dontcha know....
PS
The youngest Ms. Lear has pointed out I am a Capitalist Pig and was never a flying picket. She is quite correct. I took the bus....

Tickets please...

I spent yesterday in London and would have to say that the only protesters I saw were outside the Chinese Embassy - I think protesting about the Falung Gong. I was only in one taxi as I was late, but otherwise travelled on buses which all got me where I wanted to go for 90p and on time.
The taxi driver ( natch) had a view on the G20, which was mostly that it was doing nothing for the man in the street HERE. All the stimulus ( if it really is such) looks to benefit other countries, unless, of course, we ask the IMF for some dosh. Just on that point, the $750billion to do with the IMF is actually nothing of the sort - its the amount the IMF wants to be able to lend, and which has to be subscribed by the various countries at the conference. I think that means we will have to find more billions to come out of taxpayers pockets here. In general, his view was that everything the government had done was merely headline stuff - he saw no evidence of people being less ground down - forget better off. His view would be entirely in tune with Brown's answer to a question posed by a journalist: What would be success for the G20? Brown's answer is very revealing; " It'll be a success if you ( ie the media ) say it is". No mention of actually doing something for anyone.
But I digress.
On the Train back, there was some problem which mean the buffet/shop had no power. So no hot anything, but more importantly no credit card machine working.
Which meant that a good 75% of the people who wanted a cold sandwich couldn't pay for it. They literally had no cash at all on them. Being old fashioned, I always carry enough cash to deal with any emergency - if you have cash, you can have what you want.
I was sitting right beside the train manager's office, which is about half way up the train, equipped with computers and CCTV cameras.
I've always thought they had little to do, but was surprised at how much was required of them. Apart from announcements about stations, times etc, all the problems were his to deal with as well. Last night, these included a drunk, a child that was throwing up all over the place ( it was a Pendolino train) and some poor woman who, despite having a reserved seat, found it occupied by an extremely belligerent elderly woman who simply refused point blank to move. I am glad to say the train manager ( or guard as they used to be known) put the poor woman into first class.
Our guard was in constant communication with the driver, because with lower power it took longer for the train to accelerate up to speed - making a significant difference to timings between stations.
" Aye," says,the guard," This train's right keech" He referred to the driver as " Big man". I've mentioned this before - it doesn't refer to height but to intellectual capacity. A train driver is clearly superior to a guard in the Virgin hierarchy....
But our manager was also caring about we ordinary passengers - because of the low power, he put out an announcement saying that unless the various gadgets we had plugged in had surge protectors, we should work on battery, as if the power came back on fully, the surge would destroy them. As it happens, it did come back about Carlisle, and as far as I know, everyone was safe.
So next time you're on a train, spare a thought for your Manager. He/she has a much worse job than you might think.

Whisky Galore

I was fascinated to read that there is a project on the go to "dehydrate" whisky.
It would save fortunes in bottles,transport and storage costs. Basically, they flash-freeze the whisky which forms tiny crystals, which are then dehydrated and packed in a small box. You don't even need to rehydrate it all at once - and the amount of water added determines the strength too.
They are also doing a very nice line in water from the streams where the whisky is made, so you can get the whole experience.
NB apparently it doesn't work with whiskey - which comes from Ireland.

Is it a bird...???

Nice line from Kevin Maguire on Breakfast this morning. Bill Turnbull referred to Gordon Brown as being in saving the world mode, and Maguire said " Yes he's thinking of himself as Superman, but unfortunately when he comes out of the telephone booth he's still dressed as Clark Kent"
Like it

You couldn't make it up

"This month consumer confidence jumped quite significantly to levels not seen since May last year,' said Rachael Joy of the consumer confidence team at survey compiler GfK/NOP. "

Fascinatingly ugly

This may sound unkind, but if I was married to Jacqui Smith, I would definitely need porno films to get it up too. My flabber was so ghasted, you could have knocked me over with
a Jack Rabbit.
One of my aunts, long deceased, used to say that certain women were " fascinatingly ugly".
Jacqui Smith somehow misses.

Don't mention the War ( unless you want an outbreak of happiness)

A sort of courtesy aunt whose funeral I recently attended shows how differently people (and events) can be viewed.
I thought of her as a determined spinster - an amusing card of my acquaintance described her as a package returned unopened.I liked that and it fitted my view of her precisely.
I was taken aback at the funeral to meet an extremely elderly man, who no one knew. For reasons I can never fathom, as ever, I was detailed to find out his reason for being there.
I introduced myself and asked what his connection with the deceased was.
" I was one of her lovers during the war." I must have looked shocked, because the elderly gentleman went on, " I wasn't the only one of course."
It turned out her nickname had been the Faslane ******; delicacy forbids using the word on a family blog.
By all accounts she had a wonderful war and fully deserved the nickname.
" But then, " said my informant " We all did. It was the best time any of us have ever had. I used to travel up from Pompey ( he had been a sailor) when I landed taking more than 24 hours to get here, spend a couple of hours with her and then 24 hours back again."
" And was it worth it?"
He grinned at me.
" It was a bloody sight better than a bar of chocolate and a pint of weak beer."
And off he wandered straighter of back and jauntier of step and with a silly grin on his face.

The force is with her...

Mrs. Lear has an electric finger.
I'm sure if she tried she could get sparks and lightning bolts to come out of it.
Her computer is continually having heart failure and her Internet connection - which is the same as mine - only works if I get her online first.
Her finger, however, has not precluded her from passing all her computer skills modules. It's taken some time, but she could now get a job.
Over the years, her finger has done amazing things to phones, mobile and fixed line, televisions, radios,electric blankets and photocopiers. This is not to mention the central heating and the lights in the house. The Bluetooth in her car is a martyr to shouted commands, with one particular gentleman having to answer his phone several times a day.
Last night she excelled herself. She was downstairs watching a programme. I was upstairs, waiting for it to finish, and as soon as it did I changed the channel on the bleepy to the programme I wanted.
All she had to do was switch off the downstairs telly.
You probably know that bleepys have a way of reminding you when there is a programme you want to watch.
Rather than the usual hiatus when one of the TVs is turned off, I saw onscreen firstly a reminder for a Dutch radio programme. Then a horror film. Then News at Ten. Then BBC News at Ten. In quick succession there were a further 4 programmes scattered about the universe.
The one thing I have learned in life is not to interfere with the upstairs bleepy when the downstairs one is in use. The last time we lost signal completely for a day whilst the Sky box people untangled their wires.
So I placidly let it be, and as each reminder came up over the next hour or so I simply deleted it.
Only to discover I was immediately taken to the reminder programme, and I couldn't then get back to the programme I was watching.
I do wish she would try the " SHAZZAAAM!" thing...

NOT getting off..

Hattip to The Herald Diary.
A smarmy young man is trying to get off with an attractive young lady.
Eventually she gets fed up and says:
" Look, the only way we are going to exchange bodily fluids is if I spit on you."
Love it.

How to get into Heaven

Not everyone will appreciate this but it made me howl with laughter.

Four young men arrive at the Pearly Gates, and Peter says, " Ah, hello, you just need to answer a question and you'll be in."

So he asks the first one " Whats 2 and 2?"

" Hm, is it three -no -7 -no 6 - no could be 5- ah yes, its 4"

" Very good" says Peter " In you go" and asks the second young man the same question.

" Simple, its the square root of 16, or its cube root, depending on how you look at it"

" Well done, " says Peter as the young man enters the gates, and asks the third man the same question again.

" Hm well lets try 3, no so go for 5, and then we'll go for the middle - 4!"

" Super," says Peter, " Off you go", and he starts to ask the fourth young man the same question.

" Oh, forget all that old chap, no need to go into details, where's the party?"as he barges past Peter and through the gates.

" Ah fine fine," says a benign Peter complacently.

Michael had been watching this and said " Oy, what's all that about?"

" Well, " says Peter," That was 4 young men blown up in a snatch Landrover in Afghanistan, and I wanted to know what their divisions were."

" So how does asking them what 2 and 2 are help?"

" That's easy. The first one is infantry - takes them time to get there but get there they do -eventually. The second one's a sapper, too much information and largely irrelevant. The third's clearly a gunner ( brackets the answer and then gets spot on)"

" And what about the last one?"

" Oh well, he's clearly Cavalry. They're just such great fun."

It reminded me of when I was a small boy in Germany, and the Brits held ( and still hold) a Keil Week race.
The only slight draw back was that the boat that was detailed from an illustrious Cavalry regiment was on the wrong side of the Keil Canal, and would have to come through to take part in the race.
The Bonn Military Attache of the day was a great friend of my father's, as was Judge Bennett, who had been one of the Judges at Nuremburg. The news had circulated of the Cavalry's petit probleme.
The BMA and the Judge appeared at our rented-for-the-week house one day, both with shining eyes, and waggled their eyes whilst saying " We need you to come with us ." Wink wink, waggle waggle.
My father, never one to ask questions said was it all right if I came along.
" Not much for the boy to do, but I'm sure it'll be fine."
So off we set for the other end of the canal.
When we got there, a few yachts were jockeying for position to enter.
" Watch this" said the BMA.
There was a resounding crash, and one of the yachts ( which looked rather low in the water) came to a juddering halt. The BMA and the Judge were by now rubbing their hands and capering about, in a most un-judicious or military way.
There was a deal of hilarity on the yacht, which eventually turned round and came towards the jetty we were standing on.
It was the Cavalry yacht. They threw a line, which we secured.
" Well this is a fine kettle of fish" said the rather smart young man on the tiller.
" Looks like you've too much draught for the canal," said the BMA with glee.
" Damned shame. We'll have to lighten the boat."
At which point they started unloading crate after crate of champagne.
Once it was all off, the young officer took a leadership decision. "Well, its too late to go through now, we better settle here for the night. Fancy a glass?"
All agreed with alacrity, along with everyone else who happened by over the next few hours. I eventually went back to the car and slept, returning about 7am to a silent scene of devastation. The older members were still snoring, strewn about.The smart young officer of the day before, looking distinctly less smart, waved and said." Cast off old boy. Got another party to go to tonight on the other side..!"
And away they went.
Such great fun.

It might be he needs a rescue of his own....

I'm sure the dog story helped Barack Obama become President Obama.
It's uplifting, it shows a caring parent and man.
It shows a man who can be trusted to deliberate.
Or does it? The above is certainly the way it played, but acting as Devil's advocate, I wonder?
For a start, it depended on his getting to be President. Aspiration is a good thing, but the time it's taking to get the dog rather gives the lie to any enthusiasm he has for it.
Secondly, his list of " musts" ( supposedly reached by family consensus - yeah right) include it being either a Labradoodle or a Portuguese Water Spaniel, both of which have non-allergenic coats.
But the other requirement is for it to be a rescue dog,
I 'm pretty sure that's the code for it ain't going to happen. People are very unlikely to dump what would need to be a pedigree dog on an animal shelter. I suppose it's possible one could get lost, but from my long experience of such dog owners they would rather cut off both their arms than lose their dog.
So over all, I have the feeling that this is the story of what his Presidency will be: Long on hope, high in aspiration,lofty in ideal but totally lacking in performance and result.....

Inflation/deflation

For all the very best reasons i watched the whole of the BBC " Pride and Prejudice" yesterday afternoon.
You may say what a waste of an afternoon, but I had little else to do, and found myself sucked in again by the performances , the humour, the plot and the passion that it exudes.
So what is Mr. Bingley worth at £5000 a year? Well, very roughly, about £500,000 in today's money. And Darcy? about £3,000,000pa. And the £100pa that Lydia and her husband end up with? About £10,000 pa.
That set me thinking about my lifetime. Born in 1948, £1 then is worth about £21 or so now. That bald figure, though, hides an uncomfortable truth.
Very roughly, the first 30 years to 1978, mean that £1 became about £3.50. The next 30 years the £3.50 becomes about £23 ( or £1 = £6.60).
Unless you are exceedingly innumerate, you will see that over the second 30 years, inflation roughly doubled.
So the potential for deflation should be seen in that context.
It might be uncomfortable, but the longer the present crisis continues, the more I tend to think we need the lost years of the Japanese 1990s worldwide to return to some kind of stability. After all, who says the falls in industrial production in the East and Germany will ever be made up? Maybe we are all heading for a slower, less productive world.

I have in my hand a piece of paper.....

The gorgeous Winchester Whisperer has a piece today about what a shambles the Treasury made over Northern Rock.
This is hardly surprising as HMT has never had to meet a payroll, make a profit, or even negotiate a price. In this case, they clearly didn't even try - or realised they were supposed to..
Be that as it may, I was reminded of the old soldier's trick ( highlighted in Black Watch) of walking about with a bit of paper in your hand. When questioned, it's only necessary to wave the paper to be told to be on your way, and be quick about it.
This, of course, is pretty much what this government has done all along - it's just got more frenetic and pointless as we descend ever further down the recession slope.
Quite rightly, other members of the G20 are saying there is no point announcing yet more measures - it takes time for things to work through, and, quite frankly, no one has the least idea of what is going on at the moment, or what's working, or if it is.....

OAP Larceny

In these days of PCness, and non- fur wearing, I'm sure the following cannot even be contemplated without shudders running down your back, dear reader.
This morning, on the John and Shaz show on Smooth Radio, the question was asked what horror stories did we, the listeners,have to do with weddings.
There were the usual brides not turning up,even a groom not turning up, but these are almost perennial favourites.
I was reminded of the occasion when my mother, Old Queen Lear, manged to embarrass me even as a grown up, having done it mightily when I was a child. I'm sure your own parents embarrassed you too when you were younger.
We were at a wedding that required full fig, and as a result I was wearing full morning rig. Mrs. Lear ( can't quite remember what she was wearing, but would certainly have been totally a la mode) was dressed to the nines, and Old Queen Lear had on her fur coat.
Most of the older ladies present also had their fur coats getting an airing.There was a deal of "My skins are all female of course, sooo much softer," and a general stroking of pelts. I seem to recall the cat we had at the time was particularly fond of lying on mink.
Anyway, as we had a long drive back, we left relatively early, and that was fine.
Until next day I got a phone call from Northern Constabulary.
" Is that Mr. Lear? Do you have a Queen Lear with you?"
Of course I did. " Could you just confirm she will be there for the next half hour?"
My immediate reaction was to put her on the first flight out, but within the allotted time, our local village copper appeared.
Niceties were exchanged, and then he asked to see the coat.
Queen Lear was delighted to show him her super soft mink coat.
Now Queen Lear suffered from failing eyesight, and being a vain old bird never wore her glasses in company. There had been a spectacular failure.
" How do you know this is your coat?" asked the Bobby.
" It's got my initials inside," said my mother, opening the coat and showing the silken embroidered letters.
Except they weren't QL. They were completely different.
Fortunately, those were the days when policemen had both discretion and commonsense. He took the offending coat away and asked us to call the next day to collect the correct one.
As you can imagine, my mother's face was more than red.

Eat in your carry out

It would appear that France has won a victory over the EU by getting restaurant meals' VAT reduced from 19.6% to just 5.5% That's a huge drop which would really make a difference to restaurants here.
Presumbaly, as the precedent has been set, it should be a doddle to get the same concession here.
Want to bet on it?

Labour still isn't working

According to Iain Dale:Fact of the Day: Did you know that every single Labour government in history has left office with unemployment higher than when it started. Looks like they're not going to buck the trend this time, doesn't it?
And don't forget they are the party of the working man.
Yeah, right.

Unintended consequences.

The one thing that has become abundantly clear over the last couple of weeks is that not only does this government have no idea what it is doing, it has no idea what effects it is having by what it is doing.
For example, the implication of a three times salary cap on mortgages implies a further huge drop in house prices. This, in turn, will lead to further huge losses at the banks - which means they won't be able to lend to start the economy.
Perhaps this further collapse in house prices is A Good Thing - in some ways it is - but it's also condemning millions to abject poverty.
It really has all got completely out of hand.
I had lunch yesterday with, amongst others, a CA long retired and the Treasurer of the Gurkha Welfare Trust.
He had banked from the days he first had an account with Bank of Scotland - as had his father and his father before him. His practice had banked with BofS. His wife and children banked there too.
Then one morning late last year he woke up and suddenly felt " My money's not safe in that Bank".
He says it was the most shattering day of his life. He had never never contemplated that cash in a bank was at risk.
His view is that the bankers - and the present government - will never ever be forgiven.

Old shirts for new.

I noted today with sadness the death of James Henderson, Scotland's oldest Rugby international. He played in the 30's, and was a great supporter of the game and the Baa Baas ( The Barbarians) in particular.
My long dead uncle, Jock Wemyss, knew him well - and he had been an internationalist before the First World War, and briefly after it. The extraordinary thing was that a bullet hit his nose and excised his right eye perfectly during that particular bagarre, but this didn't stop him being a great player and kicker afterwards.
He used to tell the story of playing in 1913 and 1914, but then there being no further internationals until the winter of 1918.
In those days there was little or no preparation for such events, probably just a get together the morning of the match. Most of the players would have arrived by bus.
So my uncle turned up on the appointed day in 1918, had a bit of a team talk, they ate lunch together, and then repaired to the changing rooms, where he assumed all the kit would be (he'd brought his own boots, jock strap and shorts).
There was nothing. No socks, no shirts. Being the elder statesman, the rest of the team deputed Uncle Jock to search out the SRFU chairman and ask where the kit was.
" Mr. Chairman, we're a bit short on shirts and socks."
The Chairman looked at him in horror.
" You mean you didn't bring the ones you had before?"
My uncle mentioned that his particular shirt had been ripped to shreds at the match ( no extra ones then).
" What, and you never thought to have it mended? We're not made of money, you know"
I think they borrowed some from some supporters.

NOT stoopid

Chris Dillow has a nice piece on old people being stoopider ( I wrote on this recently).
I'm not at all convinced this is true. Older people tend to " reason" more about things, whilst younger ones tend to " go for it" which I'm sure has an effect. It's well known that one's first instinct tends to be right more often than not.
I'm more convinced by the thought that most of the time we older ones just can't be bothered - and it's quite handy to appear less able to lull others into a sense of false security.....

Glorious mud

I can't help but think that writing one's blog is a bit like telling a story at a dinner party. Unless you are a total bore, you need someone to say something that reminds you of something which you then tell as an anecdote. In the same way, something has to happen to trigger writing the blog. It's one of the reasons I have great respect for people who write professionally - if they didn't keep at it we might get a lot more of the " Nothing much happened today" genre of writing.
So yesterday the pond in the Park was down about a foot, and I thought " Oh, they've found the plug again" ( actually there was a bit missing so they had to get another bit made)
This morning, it's at least 3 feet down on it's usual level.
Pools are being isolated and all the ducks have decided somewhere else is better. The swans look rather forlorn and the mountains of leaves that have never been cleaned out for years are all there to be seen. Along with the traffic cones, old bicycles, deflated balls, bags of rubbish and piles of wood that people have thrown in.
The fish are swimming round in small circles wondering where to go next, and the valiant Glasgow Parks Department were there this morning starting the job of clearing. I don't think it will ever be crystal clear, but at least the "good" bacteria will be able to flourish again.
Unless, of course, they haven't deliberately pulled the plug and something has gone wrong....

Save save save.

Peter Schiff does it again on Takimag.com
I know if we all start saving money things will get worse - but Schiff makes the important point that it is the leverage on capital that makes possible lending. So £1 saved is - say - £10 lent.
The present problem is that that £1 isn't there. Arguably, all the money thrown at the banks is to replace that £1, because the trillions they used to borrow on the interbank market has gone - and has had to be replaced by their own tier 1 capital and actual deposits. And, of course, all those taxpayer squillions.
So the answer? Save like hell and/or pay down debt as fast as possible.
The quicker you do it, the faster we will get back to a sort of normality.

No price.

You will have noticed that I haven't been to Romania a lot recently, but that will shortly have to be rectified. The reason is there has been just too much here to deal with, what with the Crunch and all, but after last year when we had so many deaths in the first part of the year, I thought it might be wise to remain available.
I've spent much more time on the phone to Alin, which is always interesting, because for some reason his English deteriorates. I spent some time discussing the " plugging" he was ordering on a field. I didn't wish to show my ignorance by saying I had no idea what this was. Fortunately, as the conversation went on, a light flashed on and I was able to discuss the " ploughing" with some understanding.
The other thing he insists on discussing are the " inheritage" issues some of the land vendors have, which usually involve a trip to Sibiu to the Land Court to get yet another stamp.And unlike English, where the plural of sheep is sheep, in Romania, the plural of sheep is " sheeps". I am particularly fond of the " little baby sheeps" that are presently being born, especially when the "shepherding man" has had to protect them from the " teeth-eating wolfies". Strange diet for a wolf if you ask me. Apart from anything else, I'm sure the " wolfies" are just there so the shepherd can keep a few of the baby sheeps for himself ( " So terrible Mr.K, the wolfies are teeth-eating them." Hmmm)
Today's particular conversation revolved around what we would describe as a gap site in the village of Alma Vii. It's a complete house site, probably about three-quarters of a hectare, with overgrown but previously impressive gardens and vegetable plots. Some time ago, the local Mayor asked if we would be interested in it, as it belonged to the City Hall. As always I replied yes, depends on the price, and that was the last I heard, until, whilst going through some notes, I came across mention of it. I had asked Alin at the start of the week if the Mayor had come up with a price yet. This morning's conversation ran:
" An' when I am asking the Mayor about that land there, he is saying to me, of course it's Mr. K's"
" Ok, but what's the price?"
" No price"
" No Alin, I don't want to commit to it until I know the price."
" No no Mr. K, there is no price." Slight pause.
" Alin, I'm not buying it if I don't know the price."
" Mr. K, there is no price. He gives it to you." Long pause.
" Ok, he gives it to me - but for how much?"
" No price." Longer pause.
" Do you mean he is giving me that piece of land for nothing?"
" Yes yes, definitely."
" Nothing? Free?"
" Yes yes, no price"
" But what about the City Council?"
" No the Mayor he say Mr. K want that land and they all vote to give it to you for free."
Not too sure what this will actually cost in the long run - at the very least quite a few extremely expensive meals ( for Romania anyway). And some pretty sore heads too.

Alma Mater

I've been somewhat closeted in the office today between people dropping in and catching up with Romania, so I have spent rather longer with middle Ms. Lear than normal.
We were discussing her schooling, which was partly at Oxenfoord outside Edinburgh, where both her mother, the present Mrs. Lear, and Grandmother, the mad Goatherd's daughter, went.
We were actually discussing class, and she made the point that even in this august establishment, the emphasis in her day was on getting on with people, not looking down on them and generally regarding the cleaning ladies as worthy.
As she said, " Well, they taught you to make a ball gown and smoked salmon mousse, so it was pretty basic really."

I don't think she quite has the same idea about egalitarianism as I do....

Teaching Granny to suck eggs.

As I get older I am continually torn by two opposing thought processes. One says I am older, therefore deafer, stupider,slower, more of a liability, and I admit I play on that sometimes.
The other side says I am in full possession of my faculties and capable of trouncing any of these young whippersnappers - obviously not physically, but definitely mentally or in guile.
So I'm particularly pleased when a frail old granny knocks seven bells out of some youth - whose invariable response is " Not fair!" and they run away because our youth in general are cowards ( OK its a sweeping statement but it's meant to be.)
And it's why I always have a chuckle at the Herald Diary as they stick very definitely to the " old folk are stoopid line" - and nothing could be further from the truth.
Today's gem was that a young girl was visiting her granny in Glasgow, and pulled out her laptop - presumably to see if her Facebook entry confirmed she existed.
Granny grabbed the laptop and shook it violently, and said " Draw something nice dear. I remember your mother was very good at it when she was a child"
Granny thought it was an Etch-a-Sketch.

Down and Out on Stevenson Beach

As you know, Mrs. Lear is doing a course at Auchencruive in eco-land management.
Amongst other things, she and her group have to do a project and the choice fell to Stevenson Beach, which has been designated a Site of Special Interest. Of course, it isn't really as it's mostly used by quad bikers and drunks. The locals managed to get it made an SSI so they could ban the quad bikers - but a Scottish drunk is made of sterner stuff. There are always lots of empty cans and Eldorado and Lanliq bottles lying about.
So Mrs. Lear, dressed for the dreadful weather today including a beany hat, and her group were staggering about, and, as you do, she started collecting some of the empties to put them in in a bin. Her cohort fell over and she leaned over to give him a hand up.
" Are you all right down there?" said a very twee voice from above them. Looking up, there were two Ayrshire ladies with their smart dogs.
" Come away, Agnes, it's just a couple of drunks",
As they walked away, Mrs. Lear heard one say to the other "It's disgusting. That woman is pure dead drunk at 11 in the morning.. "
" Yes," says the other, "And just imagine what she's up to with that man."
" Quite dreadful.."

Higher Debt?

I received a letter today from the taxman, telling me I owed them £511 and a further £351.
I'm by no means convinced I do ( nor is my accountant) but what I did rather like was that the letter was signed ( yes with a pen) by a person who has as their title " Higher Debt Manager"
If £862 really is a higher debt at the moment, we really are all screwed.

The eight hour day

Amongst other aniversaries, today is the day we celebrate the introduction of the eight hour day.
Not, I hasten to add, in the UK, but in Australia it's a big deal.
For it was there on this day in 1856 that masons and building workers downed tools and made their way through the town, advocating a day based on 8 hours work, 8 hours sleep and 8 hours recreation.
Nowadays, of course, lots of us spend 2-3 hours commuting, 6 hours sleep,6 hours working and 9 - 10 hours recreation.
And yes I know that's more than 24 hours, but it takes in all the time we are at work, but not actually working.
PS
Recent time motion study discovered:In a typical working day, staff spend 55 minutes gossiping, 16 minutes flirting, 14 minutes surfing...Aren't u lucky you use a virtual assistant?!

How not to lose money

I was at a 21st Birthday party on Saturday night with a 20's theme which was great fun if you like that sort of thing.
In view of the present crisis, the talk amongst the older people was all of the crunch, but the younger ones, nicely padded by their parents, didn't seem too bothered.
I was sitting beside an accountant who was fulminating about RBS and HBOS in particular, and the banks in general.
It's a story we have all heard time and again, but he recalled when he was an articled clerk in his early days, earning £65 per annum and damned lucky to get it too. He used to pop into the famous Horseshoe Bar where various other youngsters, including trainee stockbrokers, sometimes gathered. I rather fancy at the time these particular young men had to pay to get trained.
One evening one of the stockbrokers said to the trainee accountant that XYZ Rubber Company was an absolute certainty to go up dramatically, and he should definitely buy shares. Not having any money, he popped into his local Bank of Scotland at 110 St.Vincent Street in Glasgow and asked to speak to the manager. You could still do that in those days. It became a pub,but has now reverted....
Of course, he didn't actually get to THE Manager, but to one of his underling deputies - who were all probably at least 50 and had been with the bank since they were 16.
It was a bit like Oliver asking for more.
" Please sir can I have £50 please?"
I can see the picture - the greying sagacious banker would look over his spectacles with a light frown.
" And what, pray, is this money for?"
" Well sir, one of my friends is a stockbroker and he has given me a tip on XYZ Rubber."
There would be a pause.
" Young man, we are the Bank of Scotland. We have a fiduciary duty to our depositors first and foremost to lend their money to worthwhile and profitable enterprises. It is NOT our job to lend money to worthless young men for inappropriate speculation. Good day,sir!"
Shame they forgot that.

Free Matt Crawford, the Ambridge One!

Having listened to the re-run today of Matt's arrest, I'm still not sure why he's in trouble. If his main company is solvent and he continues to pay the Bank I can't see that he has a problem. I may have missed something along the line, as in Chalkie has disappeared with the money, or he has,when there would be a problem. As I say, I may have missed some of the crucial evidence.
Anyway, what I really liked was Lillian's comment: " If you were a country, Matt, you would be Iceland".
We are a country. We are Iceland - only bigger.

From GfK...

Fun poll

If there was an election tomorrow, which way would you vote?
(3414 votes)
19%
Labour
41%
Conservative
16%
Liberal Democrats
24%
Other.
Interesting, don't you think? "Other" is bigger than Labour or LibDems.
Shows how disenchanted people are with politicians in general.

What believing can do for you...

Matthew Parris as ever has an excellent article in the Times.
He makes the point forcefully that practically all the world's politicians are running around like headless chickens, because in general they are reacting to situations rather than looking at them broadly or through their principles. What principles you may ask - but read on...
"Did Gladstone, did Churchill, did Attlee, did Thatcher follow blueprints for their problems? Did they moan that the course was uncharted? When the challenge is unfamiliar, that's when you need politics; that's when you need philosophy, ideology, faith, hunch and the talent to link particular snarl-ups to a general view not only of how to manage traffic, but what cars are for. And you need the moral and intellectual confidence to follow your compass."
All these people had it. They had beliefs. They had principles. So when tested, they had the principles to guide them.
Not, as we have now, a party in power and a man in charge ( I use the term loosely) whose only idea is to do the opposition down, and extend state control.
George Osborne gave a speech yesterday to the Birmingham Chamber of Commerce. Don't forget it was one of the scions of Birmingham politics, a Chamberlain, who used the same event many years ago for a similar purpose - the redirection of his party. Many appear at the moment to think GO is a light weight, a tainted drink,not a helpful person in getting the Tories back into power. No one, however, has a greater thirst to put his policies into practice, nor the will and focus to achieve it. And before you ask what those policies are, they are the usual Conservative ones of sound money, value for money, an honest day's pay for an honest day's work - pretty much all of which have been destroyed by the present government.
Parris has this to say:"The Shadow Chancellor had stepped back, asked what at root he and David Cameron believed in, what at root they thought was wrong, followed this through to its consequences for policy, taken a deep breath - and said it in plain language. In a nutshell, that the banking bubble was part cause but also part symptom of our having lived beyond our means; that payback time is coming; and that in future we must cease rigging personal, business and national finances in favour of borrowing.
Right or wrong in its particulars, wise or ill-considered in its general sweep, Mr Osborne's speech stands as an example of what politics should be for: taking a view, a view of the whole, a view of your own; finding your explanation of the world; and navigating by that star. Deciding. And leaving managers to manage. That's what politics is for. "
Great stuff.Go for it.

Signs of the times: No.94

Our newspaper shop has not opened today......
Pubs are changing hands, where they are changing hands, at about 40% of the value ascribed to them a year ago.
And John Redwood has a nice sound-bite regarding Quantitative Easing:
"The government has not merely divorced Prudence but is holding a drink and drugs party on her grave. "
So they not only divorced her, they murdered her as well....

Mad or what?

There has been a property forum happening in Edinburgh which, amongst other things, has opined that commercial property has declined in value by 40% in the past year . Then they say it represents a minus 12% return. Actually, compared to the markets that's quite good, but these two figures are incompatible.
Prime property was yielding about 5%. If it has delivered minus 12% then it has fallen 17%, not 40%.
I suspect, however, that the pundits are referring to the yield having fallen 40%. In the perverse and arcane way that property is valued this means e.g. a 5% yield is now a 7% yield - which actually looks quite tempting.
As my ex-banker advisor says anything yielding above 6% is a steal at the moment. The risk, of course, is of tenants going bust. In that regard, we've had one that is going to leave us. Not exactly gone bust, but as good as. He had a small overdraft of £10,000, pretty much unsecured on his business. It came up for renewal at the end of January, and he somewhat cavalierly rang to say he assumed he could rely on the bank's support for another year.
Not a bit of it. Despite banking with them for over 30 years, and therefore they had all his business transactions for that period, they asked him for a business plan and cash flow. He expressed incredulity, especially as he only ever used a small part of the overdraft and had never over-overdrawn.
Not only did they require the aforementioned, they also needed security, and a £1000 fee, and 7% over base.
Now the latter is hardly relevant, but the fee, as I've said before, means they would be earning a very tasty 18% on their money, if he drew it all down. As he might only draw say £2000, it means the bank would be earning 58% - or much more if he was only overdrawn say half the time. That would be 108%.
The banks "investment/own account" earnings are all gone and are seriously minus. They are going to make that up from people like our tenant.
To cut a long story short, he decided to give up, and I don't blame him.
But I digress.
According to the pundits, in the last wee while RBS and HBOS have accounted for 75% of all property funding in Scotland - and 50% across the whole of the UK.
With that gone, is it any wonder the market's knackered?
PS
A sign of the times. Nationwide will impose charges on overseas card transactions from next month. As Brian Boru has rightly pointed out, not in Europe.

A Dividend?

BBC.co.uk has a story about Eurotunnel paying its first dividend.
Right in the middle is a highlighted: "WHAT IS A DIVIDEND? ."
Something you have never seen if you are a Eurotunnel shareholder, and which you may not see much of over the next year or two from anywhere.

"Humiliated.Hopeless. Paralysed"

Peter Hoskin on Coffee House has a telling remark from a Labour Minister. It comes originally from Alice Miles in today's Times, but says:
"'Gordon doesn't start from a position of conviction, he just wants to create dividing lines with the Conservatives".
Can't help but say " I told you so."

The dangers of Quantitave Easing

Quantitative Easing has come to the Lear household.
Mrs. Lear eats a banana every morning for breakfast. If its green, yellow or black, it makes no difference to her. Myself, there are about 25 seconds in the life cycle of a banana when it is yellow without a brown spot when I can eat it.
Generally, Mrs. Lear buys a hand of 6 bananas - one for each morning for her and one for me when its perfect.
So imagine my horror when I discovered that this week there are 7 in the hand. The price is the same ( 99p) as the previous week's 6, but I will have to eat 2.
Deflation has set in. QE is rampant. I will have to ease my belt...
My waistline will expand...

Give your money to a failing business...

I had lunch yesterday with - amongst others - the CEO of a FTSE 350 company.
They effectively have no debt debt and an overdraft of about £40 million committed until 2015.
So you would think he was feeling pretty happy.
Not a bit of it.
£10 million of that comes up for renewal in October this year, but only from the point of view of what the interest he has to pay on it it. As he says, they could effectively give it back if they had to but who knows what the rest of the year might bring.
They have three divisions, one of which supplies to the high street, and that has fallen a little. The danger is that as mergers and bankruptcies proceed, his customer base disappears.
Now you might think that the bank might be happy with their account.
Yes and no. They have already been asked to give back the £10million tranche so that the bank can give it to some of their failing customers.
And that's really the rub. All the people who have done well, saw a bit of what was coming, hoarded cash, cut expenses and so on are the ones who are getting no help - quite the contrary. As my old pal Warren Buffett said in his letter to shareholders, Berkshire is Gibraltar - one of only 7 US companies with triple A credit rating - but he would have been much better to pile all their cash into a heap, set fire to it and ask the US Government for a bailout.
It's the old saying writ large - bad money drives out good.
At the moment, as far as I can see, there's no good money around at all.