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.