John's Dimly Lit Corner

Back again...

2012-01-29T18:44:00.000-08:00

I'm really sorry that this blog has sort of lapsed. It wasn't a conscious thing; I used to use this blog as a vehicle for ideas and feeling that meant a lot to me. Perhaps I don't feel things quite so strongly these days. Perhaps I don't have any feelings.

Anyway, enough of the talking utter bollocks. Let's get on with the blog.

My feet hurt. My fault. Brand new shoes plus good long walk equals blistered heels. So far so obvious. What does surprise me is how different the blistered areas are. On my left foot I have a region of pulped flesh directly outside my Achilles tendon. On my right foot it is lower, to the left and augmented by a blister on the side of my big toe.

Now, this is odd. I don't walk that asymmetrically. My feet are not that dissimilar. The shoes are enantiomorphs. Very odd indeed. If anyone has any suggestions I am happy to hear them.

The Sky

2011-02-17T15:10:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid, I used to paint pictures. Grass was green. Sky was blue.

Now I am older and if I was asked if the sky was blue I would stop, hesitate, then prevaricate.

It is, I suppose, blue if you create the limits for that blueness. No clouds, Sun well above the horizon. Yes, blue. Different shades. Milky blue when dust-laden. Dark blue when the Arctic air spills down to these latitudes. At night, of course, it is anything but blue. Black. With sparks of light, several thousand the last time I counted, ranging from the husky red of Betelgeuse to the icy blue of Rigel and all colours in between. At dusk the sky shifts through all the reds and oranges that exist before the inky wash of the night submerges the colours. They have not really gone, it is fair to say, simply moved on. They will return in more or less reverse order at dawn.

Then there are the clouds. White, I used to paint them. They are seldom as simple as that. There is a lot of grey in that mix. Yellows too. Sometimes both. From the wispy cirrus to the gunmetal, towering cumulonimbus. So many shades of grey.

So, is the sky blue? Certainly not. Anything but. Um. Er. So, let’s try to be adult, complicated and negative here. It sure isn’t green! I’m sure the sky isn’t green.

Through the window is the black, nearly midnight sky. There were solar storms a few days ago and the northern sky has the dancing aurora borealis adding to the mix of colours. It is green. That part of the sky is green.

Childhood was wasted on me.

The Crossing Point

2011-02-17T14:43:00.000-08:00

The father of her people, the nomad Bakhytar, came from the southern mountains and, over time, his people prospered. Every year they cross many high mountains and many dangerous rivers. Now, her tribe of Bakhtiari, one of a dozen or so families that wander this trail, are returning to the most dangerous crossing point and here they know they will say farewell so some of their own, both goats and kin.

Inna stands by the water’s edge. The Bazuft River is swollen with spring meltwater that has turned the normally placid watercourse into an angry torrent. Two years ago she was only barely able to get across and was exhausted when she did. Last year she nearly drowned here and was only rescued when God sent the fallen tree to help her. The main task is to get the herd across. Without the herd they will all die, not just the old and infirm.

The men are loading the goats on to their shoulders. The women are making fast the bindings that will hold their children to them. The young boys and girls judged strong enough to cross by themselves have bundles: tents, cooking pots, a few possessions. They have fear in their eyes. All of them.

For fifty-four years Inna has crossed this river every spring. She can remember being a terrified three-year-old tied to her mother. She can remember carrying her own children. She remembers the mixed feelings on reaching the other side where the exhilaration is replaced with exhaustion, the fear is replaced with relief and the old are replaced by the surviving young. Today, another woman will replace her as Grandmother to the whole tribe. She knows that. She knows that there is no-one left or able to save her when the river claims her.

Should she try to cross and be drowned? Is it better to stay and, eventually, to starve? She does not want to repeat the fear of the previous two years. Better to starve. She stands back from the uneven join between water and pebbles. Her people understand.

Then, the crossing begins. The men are shouting and some of the children cry in terror as the water batters the breath from their lungs. To stumble is to die. To hesitate is to die. To carry even the smallest amount of ill-luck is to die. Only minutes later, at the other side, the first and strongest men are clambering out. Then the most resolute women with that fierce protection afforded to their infants follow them. But Inna can hear the crying. Not everyone has reached the far bank.

Her son waves a goodbye to her across the surging river. Then he turns away and walks off. She will never know that he had tears streaming down his face as he did so. Likewise the rest of her tribe, her family, her friends. Ten minutes earlier she was part of a fearful throng. Now she is alone with only a single, distant gesture to mark the change.

She has nowhere to go now. The Bakhtiari follow trails; they do not own land. Their kingdom is a thin thread across the landscape. It has no width apart from the odd wandering of a hungry goat, who will soon return to the herd. She has nothing but the clothes she stands in and no sound except the growling river.

Then she sees him.

Some way up the steep valley side he is sitting. Her need to talk to someone, anyone, is greater than her shyness and she walks over to him. She knows this man. They met as children and again later. He is from another tribe. Every once in a while the various Bakhtiari tribes will meet another.

He stands to greet her and bows slightly as he does. He is about her age, maybe a year or so older. His face is craggy and lined. He beckons her to share the tattered rug that he is seated upon. Demurely, she does so. He offers her water, gratefully accepted, and some dried meat, equally so. His meagre rations were handed to him as a final gesture of farewell by his daughter earlier that morning. He was also, this year, too old to cross the river.

With nowhere to go, they go nowhere. Their people are long gone and high up in these mountains where the Bazuft River hurls itself through the valley below they have no future. Miles from here, on the other side of the crossing point, their families will be making camp for the night. Warm fires, hot food and blankets to stave off the sub-zero temperatures.

As nightfall swept across the landscape, he and Inna shared their memories and the remnants of his food. With the sputtering fire to keep them awake they relived their separate, but achingly similar experiences. Eventually, sleep overcame them and, peacefully for them both, his hands holding hers, death.

Dawkins to Die Out: Official

2011-01-14T18:28:00.000-08:00

Great news for theists and, grudgingly, agnostics! Atheists are (and I love this!) dying out because of evolution. So my favourite hate figure and his breed of godless heathens will be wiped out by the very "god" they trumpet so loud and long: genetics.

It works like this...

On average, believers have 2.7 children per couple*. The atheists have only 1.7, which is nowhere near enough to last more than a few generations. If Dawkins is right (God forbid) and we are merely genetic material with horribly selfish tendencies then there must be a "Believe in God Gene" being passed down the generations. If this - as it appears to be - is tied to the "Have quite a few Kids Gene" then believers will increasingly outstrip the non-believers and their "We don't believe in God and don't have many Kids Gene". Excellent.

Me?

I really don't know. Sometimes I think I do but that just turns out to be the effects of Guinness. Sometimes I think I don't but that comes to all Middlesbrough FC supporters. I think believing might be the better path. It gives you someone to talk to in Church and when you are saying your nightly prayers.

* Technically it needs to be only 2.7 per woman but - from what I remember - the male of the species has something to do with this. Either way, it is a lot more than the 2.2 (-ish) needed to keep the human race going.

The Folk Club

2011-01-10T23:59:00.000-08:00

I love folk clubs. I spend most of my late teens and early 20's in folk clubs. Rather hoping to regenerate that interest, I went to one such last night. A quick caricature would be "three Aran sweaters siging The Wild Rover". Indeed, nearly every song sung contained the word "rover" in the lyrics and - I listened carefully - at no time was "rover" preceded by "land" or "my dog".
Don't get me wrong; I have no problem with traditional folk but this was a bit OTT.
Kate Rusby, where were you when I needed you?

ITV

2010-12-19T14:29:00.000-08:00

Good film on ITV tonight

"Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix"

Honest.

X-Factor

2010-12-05T15:56:00.000-08:00

I got it all wrong!

Only one (Tesco Mary) got binned!

The real sadness was that Tesco Mary was infinitely better than Cher Lllllloyd who - as per bloody usual - dissolved into tears. Not one of the judges came out with the line "I have to base my decision on what I've just heard..." because Mary was sooooooooooo much better. Hypocrites.

Still, Rebecca and Matt are through. Cher will be binned first up. One Direction will go next. Then Matt to give Rebecca the crown.

Obviously.

X-Factor

2010-12-04T15:55:00.001-08:00

Isn't it getting exciting?

The only real talent (Rebecca) is still there. Matt struggled through tonight. Tesco Mary was her usual clubland self. One Direction were, as ever, one-dimensional and Cher Lloyd again demonstrated that she was a one-trick pony. Two go out tomorrow.

Please, God, let four be kicked out to cut short the misery.

Qatar

2010-12-04T15:50:00.000-08:00

I have nothing against the people of Qatar. I teach several Qatari students, sponsored by Qatar Oil. They are, without exception, lovely people and good students.

But why Qatar for the FIFA World Cup?

No stadium worth its salt, temperatures totally unsuitable for football (even at night), no history of the game there, no fan base, no football infrastructure at all. Nothing. Rien.

My guess is that the nation of Qatar is quite a bit poorer this weekend and certain gentlemen belonging to various levels in FIFA might be a fair bit richer.

Only a guess.

British Summer Time

2010-11-07T08:47:00.000-08:00

I firmly believe in Greenwich Mean Time. That we tinker on with "our" time every Spring and Autumn is, I feel, abominable. I hold dear to my heart the idea that the day should be divided by noon and there should be as much daylight before noon as after. That we have the situation that, in "Summer Time" days, the afternoon/evening is much longer than the dawn/morning is, I believe, spiritually wrong.

A colleague was rejoicing in the extra hour in bed that we "gained" by putting our clocks back to GMT last weekend. I have spent hours this week finding and putting back clocks. There are clocks, it seems, in everything we have. Not just the fake carriage clock on the bookcase but computers, microwave, video, TV, DVD, oven, toaster, kettle...... Everything has clocks.

I have gained nothing. Clock-changing takes time. Lots of time. I remember that I wasted the same length of time around the Vernal Equinox putting my clocks forward (and thereby losing an hour into the bargain). This horological time-wasting must be costing the country millions of pounds.

The Anglo-Saxons (as per usual) had it right. The Sun rose at 6, crossed the southern meridian at noon, set at 6 and was as far "set" as it was going to be at midnight. In summer the daylight "hours" were longer than the night-time hours. In winter the positions were reversed. Only at the equinoxes (equi=equal nox=night) were day and night the same. Good old Anglo-Saxons.

How I wish it was still the Dark Ages.

Love it!

2010-10-25T02:56:00.000-07:00

What if there are no hypothetical questions?
(Heard on the radio; can't claim originality. Damn)

Higher Education Rip-Off

2010-10-09T12:02:00.000-07:00

I know I go on a bit about our Universities, but they really do deserve it.

A colleague's daughter is in the third year of a Business Management degree. She has four hours on her timetable. Three on Monday, one on Tuesday. That's it. That's what she pays her fees for, that's why she has taken out the loan (to be repaid until hell freezes over), that's it. Four hours. Three former students came to see me this week. I asked how it was going. Lectures? Over 450 students packed into a lecture theatre designed for 50 fewer, a lecturer who emerged at the front at 5 past the hour and mumbled for the next 50 minutes. No microphone used. Nothing either heard nor understood. Seminars? Between 70 and 100 students in a seminar. Ridiculous. What kind of "interaction" is that? That is not a seminar; it is still a lecture. Every student I talk to has the same opinion of their University staff: they couldn't care less.

“A university is what a college becomes when the faculty loses interest in students.”

John Ciardi

The United Kingdom

2010-10-07T07:14:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I am going to teach a class of Chinese students all about what we might loosely call "Britain".

The individual nations are OK. England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales. Ah but. Northern Ireland is a province and Wales is a principality. England and Scotland are nations though. With a monarch. The same monarch. A United Kingdom. Our Elizabeth II is, of course, Elizabeth I of Scotland. I know they will ask "What is the United Kingdom?" I'll stutter out England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Then they'll ask "...and the British Isles?" and I will chuck in The Irish Republic and probably the Isle of Man. But what about the Channel Islands? I think they are called Bailiwicks. Not sure. Part of the UK? Not sure. Back to the Isle of Man. Not sure. They'll ask what is the difference between Britain and Great Britain. Again, not sure. Does the UK include Northern Ireland? Not sure. How are the Channel Islands part of the EU? Not sure. How come they can be tax havens. Got me. Not sure.

I'm in for a great lesson where, ultimately, they will know exactly what I know. I know that I don't know.

Did Berwick ever make it up with Russia?

Cheryl Loses It: Shock Horror

2010-10-04T03:16:00.000-07:00

I normally rate Cheryl Cole. True, she is a bit of a professional Geordie, but relatively sweet and harmless. Then she loses all reason.
Two of her three choices for X-Factor were a joke. One couldn't sing and couldn't sing (tonsilitis) and another couldn't sing and couldn't sing (nerves). I can't recall their names. One will be eliminated in Week 1, the other in Week 2.
Gamu Nhengu. That's who should have gone into the last 12. I hope someone spots her and signs her quickish.

University League Tables

2010-09-24T07:10:00.000-07:00

Ah! There we are. Damn. Delft University of Technology is above us!

There are just over 17000 universities in the world. The THES recently published a booklet detailing all sorts of league tables for universities but, of course, the "overall" table is the one that everyone looks at. Just like in football. We could have a Goals For league table to highlight the strong attacks or a Goals Against league table to highlight the strong defences. But we don't. We look at the overall points that these teams, with their strong bits and weak bits have managed....er...overall.

The universities that really intrigue me are those in the lower reaches. Who is 17000th? We aren't told. God! What a hell-hole that must be! Degree shops, lectures cancelled or lecturers late, exorbitant fees for an inferior product, courses cut for lack of funding, poorly qualified staff teaching vast numbers of increasingly poorly qualified students, crumbling buildings apart from the Business School and the Vice-Chancellor's new admin block with marketing dominating everything. Medium over message every time.

I'm glad I don't work somewhere like that.

Emails

2010-09-24T03:50:00.000-07:00

I get emails (all the time!) that end with...

The information in this email is confidential and may be legally privileged. It is intended solely for the addressee. Access to this email by anyone else is unauthorised. If you are not the intended recipient, any disclosure, copying, distribution or any other action taken in reliance on it, is prohibited and may be unlawful. If you believe that you have received this email in error, please contact the sender. Etc. etc etc etc.

Globally, this legalese must be having a major impact on bandwidth. Truth is, we never have enough bandwidth so adding this to nearly every effing email must come at a hell of a cost worldwide.

Why can't we just add in a hyperlink to a page that gives all this guff? There would not really be a page there; no-one would ever go there.

Oops

2010-09-22T01:58:00.000-07:00

BBC again.

Ewan McGregor and his brother Colin did a very good retrospective on the Battle of Britain a few nights ago. They both ended up flying around in a truly ugly two-seat Spitfire (which the RAF never used) but, overall, it wasn't bad.

Ewan (or his script writer, let's be fair) did make one horrible gaffe.

He was describing the tensions in the upper ranks of Fighter Command as the Battle got more and more desparate and highlighted the feud between Keith Park (OC 11 Group) and "Douglas Bader who commanded 12 Group".

Wrong.

During the Battle of Britain, Douglas Bader was a Squadron Leader commanding 242 Squadron based at Duxford and a small part of 12 Group. Air Vice-Marshall Leigh-Mallory - not Bader - was Park's opposite (in more ways than one) in charge of 12 Group based north of London. As it turned out, most of Bader's theories were simply wrong. Thank God we had AVM Keith Park in charge of 11 Group (in whose skies most of the Battle took place) and not Leigh-Mallory or (worse!) Bader.

The outcome might have been very different.

PS: Park also "won" the other crucial defensive air action of the war - the Battle of Malta.

Dieting

2010-09-22T01:31:00.000-07:00

Having been "on a diet" for the past thirty five years and largely failed (cunning use of "largely" there) I think I have come up with a clever way of losing weight.

Cat poo, as you will certainly know, is considered a delicacy by dogs. This is because cats are quite inefficient when it comes to digesting food and what comes out is (yum!) still "food" in the broadest sense. Then there are tapeworms. These bad buggers grow right the way along our intestines using our partially digested food as their own. Let's combine the two ideas...

Insert into the intestine a tube running the whole length from stomach to bowel that takes a goodly proportion of the slop we pump out of our stomachs. Say 25%. Anything that goes down this "tube within a tube"* will not be absorbed into the bloodstream via the intestinal wall and - like cat poo - our faeces will have 25% undigested stuff. I'm not suggesting you then feed it to your dog, but you would certainly lose weight pretty quickly. In my egotistical style I'm calling this the Timworm^®.

You know where you heard it first.

*It would need to be held clear of the intestinal wall by projections of some sort. I would think that PTFE might be a good material.

Prize Giving

2010-09-17T16:10:00.000-07:00

Last night I was in the audience for the Newcastle upon Tyne Church High School Annual Prize Giving at The Sage, Gateshead. My six years at this school as a teacher were the happiest in my career and it always brings a lump to my throat when I go back to events like this.

The purpose of these few lines is not, however, to laud the independent education system (although I do) or to congratulate the staff and students of this fine school for another great year (again, I do).

I write simply to note how much I am in awe of my wife's organisational abilities. Whoever reads this (hello, again) keep this in mind. If ever you need a really big, complex, costly, involved, time-critical and important event staged, then call my wife.

Amazing woman.

Gareth Malone: Hero

2010-09-17T16:03:00.000-07:00

I watched Gareth Malone's Extraordinary School for Boys with a great deal of enjoyment. I often bash on here about the whole hunter/gatherer differences thing betwixt men and women. Gareth rammed this home beautifully. He made the boys into hunters and competitors. He activated tribalistic sub-memories by getting their Dads involved. He had them outdoors burning up energy. He did everything that a little hunter would love to do. The really clever thing was that he based it all around reading. Hero.

Needless to say, it worked.

It just goes to show that when our safety-obsessed, risk-averse, competition-free, namby-bloody-pamby education system is run for boys as well as girls, boys flourish.

Go Gareth!

Richard Dawkins

2010-09-17T14:33:00.001-07:00

Richard Dawkins.

He might be a nice bloke, but I can't stand him.

I read "The Selfish Gene" recently and I have rarely read such self-serving crap in my life. He twists and distorts any science he wants to fit his own rather strange idea of the modus operandi of genes. I'm a scientist myself (and a bloody good one in my day, even if I say so myself) and I was so angered by his arrogance that I had real trouble not burning "The Selfish Gene".

His "The God Delusion" is very similar in its cant. He is messianic in his refutation of God. He makes it an article of faith to believe him. He sets himself up as a martyr for his cause. You can see where I'm going with this, I'm sure.

The thing that sticks in my throat MOST about Dawkins is that he believes that we, civilisation, now, in 2010, have the answers; that our "science" is right, factual and true. Utter bollocks. In 500 years they will laugh heartily at what we believe now, just as we do about those flat-earthers and geocentrists of five centuries ago. His arrogance knows no bounds. I bloody well hope that I don't come across him in Heaven, although the likelihood (since I will be there - I hope - for the rest of eternity) is pretty high.

Damn!

The Reformation

2010-09-17T14:24:00.000-07:00

I'm having another go at the BBC here. Sorry about that.

It is the reporting of the Pope's visit that has me vexed.

The BBC made a big thing of Pope Benedict shaking hands with a female clergywoman in public. So what. She was properly ordained in the Church of England. The last time I checked, the Pope was not a member of that particular branch of Christianity. Of course he shook hands with her!

Then there was the blindingly obvious statement that there are "major doctrinal differences" between the Catholic Church and the Anglican Church. Well, yes. There would be. Otherwise we wouldn't need to use any words in front of the word "Church". I'm glad these differences exist. It gives us a choice. I'm sure that major differences exist between Waitrose and Tesco (and the like).

They will be telling us that Islam and Christianity (of whatever flavour) have major doctrinal differences next.

Spitfire Women

2010-09-15T12:43:00.000-07:00

Readers of my blog (hello!) will know that I am very keen on the RAF being remembered correctly for what Fighter Command did in 1940 (viz. saved civilisation) and what Bomber Command did in 1940-44 (viz. provided a bloody Second Front to aid our Soviet allies).

Imagine my interest then when a programme is currently being advertised on the telly all about the "Spitfire Women" (based on the book of the same name). In the trailer it claims that the Battle of Britain could not have been won without these women delivering fighters to the front-line squadrons.

Now why did they have to spoil it?

I am a huge admirer of the ATA (Air Transport Auxiliary) and of the women who delivered all manner of aircraft from factories and repair facilities to RAF bases throughout the war. However, to say that the Battle of Britain could not have been won without them is to do their efforts a major disservice.

The efforts of the ATA were heroic. Nearly 90% of the ATA pilots were men (shock!) and they delivered the vast majority of the aircraft. They were mainly ex-BOAC pilots (and the like) too old to fly modern combat aircraft. The very small number of female pilots were glamorised in the Press because they were so few in number. The beautiful Diana Barnato - one of the first women into the ATA - didn't deliver her first Spitfire until mid-1942. The first front-line fighter (a Hurricane, incidentally) delivered by a woman was in mid-1941. The "Spitfire Women" did not fly Spitfires to the hard-pressed RAF in the summer of 1940 and thus turn the tide in the Battle of Britain.

So why come out with this tripe?

I have the utmost respect for all of that small band of women who resupplied the RAF with fresh fighters and bombers. I couldn't have a higher regard for them. So why does some idiot on the BBC think it right to tell lies about them? Why, also, are the efforts of the rest of the ATA (i.e. the men) largely ignored. Do we so have to rewrite history to "big up" the part that womankind played in our survival between 1939 and 1945 that we overlook the men? Women played their part in the Second World War in a myriad of different ways. But they didn't man (pardon that atrociously sexist word) the submarines and destroyers fighting the Battle of the Atlantic, the Lancasters and Halifaxes being massacred over Germany, the trenches, tanks and guns in Europe, North Africa and Burma.

The BBC besmirches the memory of them all, women and men.

General Guidance for my Generation

2010-09-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

If you're too open minded, your brains will fall out.

Age is a very high price to pay for maturity.

Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried before.

Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.

It is easier to get forgiveness than permission.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program.

If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.

Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of cheques.

A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good.

Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.

Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.

No husband has ever been shot while doing the dishes.

A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand.

Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places.

Opportunities always look bigger going than coming.

Junk is something you've kept for years and throw away three weeks before you need it.

There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.

Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.

By the time you can make ends meet, they move the ends.

You should not weigh more than your refrigerator.

Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world.

Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves for they shall never cease to be amused.

Not original. Thanks to several contributors.

Burning the Koran

2010-09-11T12:56:00.000-07:00

Don't.

Just don't.

Muppet.

Binning Cats

2010-09-04T03:06:00.000-07:00

Just back from holiday and the story that hits you is Mary Bale dropping a cat into a bin.

So many things were wrong here it is difficult to begin.

First off, why would anyone have a CCTV aimed at their wheelie bin? Madness. This kind of kit is quite costly and it seems bizarre to spend that kind of money on the off chance of catching a cat-binner.

Then there's the bin itself. Mary (who is not colour-blind, I am assured by reliable sources) dropped the cat into a green bin. Oh my God! Where was the brown bin (for organic waste) or the blue bin (for recyclables. See "101 Things to do with a Dead Cat" for inspiration). The woman clearly has issues about the council's approach to recycling.

Then there was the "backlash". Mary is - according to many - "worse than Hitler". Let's look at the evidence: Woman drops cat into bin; Man masterminds global war and organised genocide. Yes; I can see where they are coming from here. Evil Mary!

Finally, I think it was wrong of her to drop a cat into a bin.

There. I've said it.

Astronomers

2010-08-13T04:20:00.001-07:00

A friend and colleague is an astronomer. A very good one too, by all accounts.

Last night (August 12-13) he drove (with some like-minded friends) to deepest, blackest Northumberland to watch the annual display of the Perseid meteors. (As a way of comparing enthusiasm, I looked out of my bedroom window a couple of times and thought "sod it; cloudy").

He was sorely disappointed, seeing only four meteors when - literally - hundreds will have been flashing across the sky above the cloud tops.

It does leave me to wonder at the human species. A highly intelligent man (plus friends) are prepared to travel many a mile and sit there in the pouring rain waiting for a break in the clouds so that they can see the occasional grain of sand left behind a comet's wake flash across the sky as it is atomised by our atmosphere.

I find that quite wonderful. Inspiring. Insane.

Astronomers: optimistic enthusiasts all.

The Ass is a Law

2010-07-23T07:31:00.000-07:00

Can't quite get my head around these two when put next to each other.

A man has been ordered to pay more than £1500 after he admitted drowning a grey squirrel, the RSPCA said today. Raymond Elliot, 58, of Burton-upon-Trent, Staffordshire, was also handed a six-month conditional discharge after he pleaded guilty to causing unnecessary suffering to an animal. He was ordered to pay the RSPCA's prosecution costs of £1,547 at Burton-upon-Trent Magistrates' Court last Friday.

A police officer who was filmed pushing a man to the ground during the G20 protests will not face charges over his death. Ian Tomlinson, 47, died after being caught up in the clashes on 1 April 2009 in the City of London. Director of Public Prosecutions Keir Starmer said there was no prospect of conviction because experts could not agree on how Mr Tomlinson died.

Thank God the copper didn't kill a squirrel. Justice would NEVER have been done.
This is a crazy country.

Fractions

2010-07-20T05:38:00.000-07:00

The news today, read by the ever-lovely Susanna Reid, told us that only 11% of the Police Force were actually "front-line". That, she said, was "one in ten".
Ouch.
It is actually 1 in 9 (= 11.1%).
Just for future reference...
1 in 10 = 10%, 1 in 9 = 11.1%, 1 in 8 = 12.5%, 1 in 7 = 14.3%, 1 in 6 = 16.7%, 1 in 5 = 20%
You know the rest.

July Weather

2010-07-20T05:30:00.000-07:00

I have a very low opinion of meteorologists. From what I have to suffer on TV (four times per hour on BBC 24) it is obvious that they would have trouble getting yesterday's weather right never mind tomorrow's. I rate them well below astrologers and only slightly higher than rune-casters.

This prejudice was amply confirmed this morning whilst watching the local weather "forecaster" telling us that, in Cumbria, the hosepipe ban is still in force and there are several flood warnings for the region.

Eh?

Working like a Trojan

2010-07-14T08:23:00.000-07:00

The other day, someone commented that I worked like a Trojan. I took objection to this. As far as my memory serves, the Trojans were the smug bastards who lounged around within the walls of Troy, only to be winkled out by the ever-industrious Athenians and their hollow horse (MTGG for short).

Maybe the person delivering the compliment thought I was a smug bastard.

This is beginning to make sense...

Snoring

2010-07-08T00:30:00.000-07:00

I snore.
Like a wounded hippo gasping its last strangulated bellow, I snore.
This happens as soon as I am asleep; often just before (which wakes me up).
I have tried sprays and little sticky clips on my nose. Useless.
I have also tried a thingy that goes in my nose and makes me look like Va'aiga Tuigamala. I sleep better (more air) but just as noisily.
I now have a gumshield thingy that brings my lower teeth forward about 10mm and stops my flobbly airways thingies resonating when I breath. I combine this with the thingy in my nose.
This works, but I have a tendency for it to drop out. I think I need some sort of over-the-head device to keep my mouth closed at the same time.
I am, in summary, turning into Darth Vader.

Here come the girls...(not)

2010-07-04T05:01:00.000-07:00

Please don't take this as a tirade against womankind.

I am seized by a sense of profound disappointment here.

In 1988 we changed from overtly boy-friendly O-Levels to equally overtly girl-friendly GCSEs. Out with terminal exams, in with coursework and modularity. As expected (oh come on!) girls have done really well in education since then and have outstripped boys on results day for many years now. The gap is ever-widening and will never close whilst the system is so repeatedly and unfairly skewed towards girls. I know, I know; boys had it their own way for ages. That's not my point.

Our universities are extraordinarily girl-heavy. Girl:Boy ratios of 60:40 or worse are quite common. I think there is something of an embargo on giving the true figures much air time. It would shock the Y-chromosome bearing part of the population, I'm sure.

So, since 1988, we've had a girl-friendly system and those 16 year-olds who took their GCSEs then are now 38. They got their degrees (the bulk of them) in 1993 and have been in employment since then. They should have made their mark by now. They haven't. What's happened? What have these girls* done with all this educational supremacy?

There are women now at every level of government, commerce, the professions, the law and industry; far more than there used to be, all riding the GCSE/GCE wave. What do we - society - see from this dramatic shift towards female-dominated intellectualism.

In my view, nothing.

Nothing is better. Government isn't better (there were plenty of female snouts in the trough labelled MP's Expenses. Hazel Blears for one.). It is almost certainly worse. Commerce isn't better (unless banks crashing and deep recessions count as "better"). Society is not a kinder, more considerate entity. Women as lawmakers have been a significant part of the Blair/Brown kakistocracy that gave use nearly 4000 new "offences" in ten years. Idiots!

After 22 years it seems a little facile to yet again bleat that it is "mens' fault". It can't be. There are more women with influence, education and an inside track on the infrastructures of power than ever before.

When is all this influence going to count?

* I use "girls" here with no offence whatsoever intended. It saves me writing "girls/women" each time. I don't like using "females"; I find that quite derogatory. If you are still offended, go read another blog.

Football

2010-06-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

Germany 4 England 1

The dashed hopes of a nation are encapsulated in that line.

These hopes were ALWAYS going to be unrealised. We are, let's face it, shite at football.

The results speak volumes. USA 1-1 England, Algeria 0-0 England. We should have massacred both of these teams. With Bozo the Keeper and a toothless strikeforce the USA result is easily explained. Algeria? OMG. What a dull game. Duller than old lead.

Then - rejoice in the streets - we beat Slovenia 1-0. Slovenia? Those two million nice people just t'other side of Austria. Since when did Slovenia become a footballing nation that we were proud to beat? Again; we should have taken them apart.

So - second in the group behind USA - we limp to the second round.

Germany. The first decent team we've met after being in the easiest of groups.

0-1 (aargh) 0-2 (more aargh) 1-2 (oh. hope) 2-2 (rejoice!) 1-2 (again) 1-3 (gloom) 1-4 (despair)

I just hope the "Lampard-goal-that-wasn't" makes up a little bit for 1966.

It won't, I suspect.

Cut or Tax?

2010-06-07T12:23:00.000-07:00

So, HM Govt is faced with the biggie. Cut or tax?

Every year of my life I have watched wasters getting away with it.

Every second of the Labour Government I watched special interest groups and uber-Quangos soaking up my money. I watched an economy become dependant upon taxes.

Cut, Dave; CUT!

Becoming Old and Confused

2010-06-02T10:37:00.000-07:00

Things beginning with i- are starting to puzzle me. I was happy enough with my i-Pod although the advantages it holds over the old minidisk system are, in my view, vastly overrated. I can scrape by with the i-Player, especially when linked to Auntie through my Wii. How cool is that?

Now, i-Phone. Don't have one. Probably never will. Daughter number 1 has such kit and loves it. Presumably she bought the "Make me love this phone" app (or is it ap?).

Now we have the i-Pad.

No.

I think not.

A piece of hardware looking for a niche, I think.

What next? Let's use up those vowels...

i-Pod, i-Pad, i-Ped, i-Pid, i-Pud

We have the first two. The i-Ped, I'm guessing, would be something to do with walking. A small device to send electric current down one's legs (a la Galvani and the frog) to help one walk. The i-Pid (pronounced eye-peed) would be good for my generation as our sphincters fail. Keep those urges to urinate under control with an i-Pid.

The i-Pud?

Apple crumble.

Stable Government

2010-05-11T08:40:00.000-07:00

So. Here we are on Tuesday. We had the election last...when was it now...Thursday. So that's Fri, Sat, Sun, Mon without any discernable government whatsoever. Hang on! I thought we needed a stable government. I'm looking around my beloved UK and I'm not seeing troops tear-gassing rioters in the streets. A latter day Kristallnacht has not happened. The FTSE had a good day yesterday, I believe. I need to look harder to find the terror and panic.

Found it!

Etched into the faces of every self-serving stuffed-shirt MP are the same lines of anguish. They are all mouthing the same mantra of "strong stable government" and they are all terrified that we find out the "thing" that must not - ever - be revealed.

We don't actually need them.

The Election

2010-05-10T00:19:00.000-07:00

As a lifelong Liberal (the Democrat bit was added later and I've never been that fussed) I confess to being cheered and saddened by the election. Cheered by the Parliament being hung; saddened that the Lib Dems didn't make bigger inroads into the Commons.

The only really obvious thing to come out of the election is that some sort of proportional representation is long overdue. The number of voters it takes to secure a seat is quite illuminating.

The DUP come out best. Although we had the fun of watching Robinson lose his seat (...and here's to you Mrs Robinson) they do best of all. Every seat "cost" only 21027 voters. The Labour Party come in second. Every one of their 258 MPs cost 33350 voters. Compare this to the 34989 voters it took to elect each Conservative MP and you can see why Cameron was so cheesed off. If he had had to pay (in voters) what Labour paid for their seats he would have has 321 - very close to the magical 326.

Plaid Cymru and the SNP deserve a mention here. Each Plaid seat cost 55131 voters; each SNP seat 81898. Using Labour as a "voters per seat" benchmark, Plaid should have had 5 seats, the SNP a whopping 15.

Then we come to the Lib Dems. My favourite bridesmaids. Every Lib Dem seat cost 119788 voters. If they had been Labour voters they could have expected 204 seats with that many voters.

A lot of voters don't vote Lib Dem because they don't like wasting their vote. You can see why.

I also feel really sorry for the Greens. They would have had 9 seats under the same "voters per seat" as Labour.

If we went for simple proportional representation, with every vote contributing to a big "pot" from where MPs would be drawn we would have ended up with a parliament that looked like this:

Con 252
Lab 203
Lib 161
Oth 34

The supposed massive downside that sticks to this type of vote is that it ignores "local interest". Not so, as it turns out. The parties from norn'ir'n would stull have approximately the same nomber of seats (do you like my Ulster accent?). Similarly, Plaid and the SNP do pretty well out of this method.

MPs then get assigned to constituencies. That would be fun - to see who we would get. Of course, what we would always get is a hung parliament. Good. Let's see a bit of concensus and compromise rather than the antagonistic, hostile way that things are done now.

Dream on.

Birthdays

2010-04-27T14:47:00.000-07:00

I turned 55 today. So I'm closer to 60 than 50. Bugger. There is so much I want to do.

That said, the "so much I want to do" is more suited to who I am now than who (if ever) I was.

I want to finish my novel. I want to work out the vibrational force fields of metal dinitrogen species. I want to see a lot more of the world.

I now have a fedora.

I can do stuff in a fedora.

Defence from Air Attack

2010-04-23T00:28:00.000-07:00

The recent events in Iceland have me thinking. I regularly feel sorry for the poor sods huddled out in the rain having a fag (in the British sense). Society hates them. I'm sure they hate each other. And themselves. Now, we can put all that hatred into defending our airports from the dreaded (and largely mythical) Al Qaeda. I noted - with mounting excitement - that the RAF was suspending its flights around the UK with its much-vaunted Typhoon fighter until the volcanic ash has settled. Ash. Ash? Ash! The penny dropped.

At each airport in the country I would build strategically located smoking areas atop huge fans. The ashtrays would never be emptied in these areas, allowing for a good build-up of ash and butts (in the British sense) within days. At the merest whiff of Nasty Al attacking we would turn the fans on. Ash et al as far as the ionosphere! Admittedly my "Strategic Ash Initiative" would paralyse air transport across the globe but - hey - the smokers would feel good about themselves and everyone would smell like they do.

General Elections

2010-04-10T14:43:00.000-07:00

Are you enjoying it so far? I am. I just love watching people lie through their teeth in the name of democracy. Watching Brown smile, watching Cameron try to appear cool, watching Clegg trying to make himself visible; it is all great fun.

My greatest joy will be election night. I will lie in bed with some uber-strong coffee on tap and watch the results come in. The anguish, the triumph, the predictions, the explanations for why the predictions were so bad; I love it. I love it all!

My darling wife, who has far more sense than me will be asleep.

Prof S J Bell Burnell

2010-04-08T06:15:00.000-07:00

I watched a very interesting programme last night about Prof Dame Jocelyn Bell Burnell. In 1967 she discovered pulsars. When I first "met her" I was an undergraduate (she is 12 years older than me) and she was NOT receiving a Nobel Prize. Neither was I, so we had that in common. She, however, should have been crowned Nobel Laureate. Instead, her PhD supervisor, Tony Hewish and the group head, Martin Ryle took all the plaudits. Cheeky buggers! Tony Hewish had the neck, last night, to point out that there are "captains and crew" in these things. Even after all these years, I still think the lass were robbed.

How different my own experience. When I used to come up with "stuff" as a graduate student, my supervisor (Prof Jim Turner FRS) and the other academics in the group (Prof Martyn Poliakoff and the late Prof Jeremy Burdett) used to argue black was white to find the cracks in what I was doing. When they were convinced it was OK we wrote papers and got them published. Jim and I are the senior authors on my first publication. I published my second paper with me as the sole author. Thank God I didn't work for Ryle and Hewish! Thank God I had the enormous honour and joy of working with Turner and Poliakoff.

Hunters and Gatherers

2010-04-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

I was amused to read that "man flu" might have some basis in fact. Presumably a load of blokes were asked how they felt when they had a cold and the median value was "really shite". For women the mid-point was "shite" so - QED - men suffer from a different "intensity" of flu-like symptoms.

I am always intrigued by studies like this. They all have a unique way of stating the totally bloody obvious. Men and women are different. When it comes to behaviour, most of it - I feel - can be traced back to our hunter-gatherer roots. Men hunt, women gather. Boys play with guns, girls play with dolls. Not always, not exclusively; obviously. But on average, true. Nearly every difference in behaviour that I have ever discerned between men and women can, I think, be traced back to one of us being a hunter and the other being a gatherer. It explains virtually all of our physical differences and - I think - our sociological differences too.

So the next time some ethno-socio-bio-psycho-anthropologist comes out with some utterly banal bilge that yet again proves that women have bumpy jumpers and men don't like asking for directions just remember: Hunters and Gatherers.

Spring

2010-04-01T11:45:00.000-07:00

I like Spring. I like the name. I like the idea. I like that Robert Hooke has a Law about it. I like the fact that supposedly unthinking organisms have a pretty good idea of when it starts (viz. snowdrops) and ends (viz. tulips). I love the fact that on the Equinox the Sun is directly over the Equator. I know this happens in late September too, but the Sun is heading south then and it merely signals the coming of Winter. That said, I like Autumn too. I'm always a bit surprised that we have only four seasons. I believe the late-mediaeval Dutch used to have six. They were probably smoking something.

Run that by me again...

2010-02-25T13:27:00.001-08:00

Let's see if I've got this straight.
We (taxpayers) own nearly all of the Royal Bank of Scotland.

They made £4000000000 loss last year.
They are paying out over £1000000000 in bonuses.
These bonuses are to retain their "talented staff" who would otherwise leave.
Am I missing something here. Let's do that again.

They made £4000000000 loss last year.
They are paying out over £1000000000 in bonuses.
These bonuses are to retain their "talented staff" who would otherwise leave.
Nope. Still not got it.
Run that by me again...

A Chorus for Corus

2010-02-21T05:28:00.000-08:00

"Ring of Iron"

I know of no other songs about Middlesbrough and its surrounding steelworks

Chorus:
It's all around the town, all around the town
It's all around the town, this hard ring of iron.

There's smoke up in the sky; Smoke up in the sky
There's smoke that's black and chimney stacks; As far as the eye can see

There's shipyards to the north; Chemicals to the south
Factories, stills and rolling mills; Right down to the river's mouth.

So it's out of town I'm bound; Out of town I'm bound
It's out of town I'm bound; And I'll break this ring of iron.

Join the BNP!

2010-02-20T07:52:00.000-08:00

Great news; anyone can join the BNP. So let's do it. Every fair-minded black and asian citizen in the UK should now be filling in their application forms. The BNP is no size. Decent non-racists could completely flood it very easily. Then change it. Change it for good.
Then disband it.

Happy New Year/Lent/Easter and Two Birthdays

2010-02-19T07:28:00.000-08:00

Goodness. February. Late February.
Where did December go? And January?
I blinked and missed wishing you all (assuming that it isn't JUST me who reads this) a merry Christmas, Happy New Year, [insert jovial adjective] Hanukah, Happy Birthday to two, Pig out Pancake Tuesday, Don't Eat Meat Ash Wednesday and probably quite a few more.
Anyway.
I'm back.

Animal Farm

2009-12-08T08:12:00.001-08:00

At the end of Animal Farm the animals are fearfully looking through the window unable to distinguish between the pigs and the men. The people of Redcar and the workers at Corus must be thinking the same. As Brown, Darling and Mandelson sit idly by a 170-year tradition of steelmaking on Teesside is about to die. In 1980, Thatcher and her minions did exactly the same as the Consett steelworks were obliterated by a harsh world economy. A price worth paying? Just rip the heart out of a northern town. Thatcher or Brown? You couldn't get a fag paper between them. But there is a difference. Thatcher was a hard-line marketeer. She couldn't give a toss about the North, making steel, people, traditions or history. And now it turns out that our beloved PM, the conviction politician, is no better.
We might have known.
Orwell; genius.

The Luck of the Irish

2009-11-22T23:45:00.000-08:00

Thierry Henry's "hand of God" was observed by nearly 6,000,000,000 people on Earth and more than half of the satellites we have in orbit. The referee, however, missed it. Not to worry. Ireland miss the World Cup, France get to go. It's only a game. Anyway, if the dozy Irish forwards had put away their chances it would have been 4-1 easily.

But good luck follows bad. It all evens out. Well, yes.

John and Edward have been kicked out of X-Factor. God be praised. Gone. History. Toast.

The interesting question posed by Danni Minogue (upon whom all judgement fell last night) was: Is this a singing competition? Others pretended not to understand her question but she was quite right. Is X-Factor about the talent or the entertainment? John and Edward were certainly entertaining but they couldn't sing to save their lives.

Now they can't even sing "Come on Ireland" at the aptly named Croke Park.

Bummer.

Getting it Wrong (3)

2009-11-16T06:49:00.000-08:00

I've just read that Josie Lawrence is going to leave Eastenders. I am shocked! I didn't even know she was in Eastenders. When did that happen? Was that about the time when the richly talented Miss Lawrence disappeared from my radar. Must have been. Let's hope she resurfaces soon in something worthy of the gifts she has been given. I've always been a fan and finding out that she has been in a tawdry soap was quite disappointing.
Come on Josie. You are so much better than that trash.

Getting it Wrong (2)

2009-11-16T06:44:00.000-08:00

Simon Cowell. Love him or hate him - and I do both - you have to wonder what the hell he was up to by saving Deadward in the X-Factor. These erstwhile Children of the Damned have no talent whatsoever. To be saved by Cowell (who knows full well that they are utterly useless) by casting lovely Lucie back to the obscurity from whence she came was the worst decision since Diana Vickers was binned on last year's show.
My word, I do bear grudges well!

Getting it Wrong (1)

2009-11-16T06:37:00.000-08:00

Kevin Rudd (Aussie PM) was in front of a mike recently fulminating about those scientists who are slowing the inexorable progress of the climate change changers (or "coolers" for short). He says it will be them to blame if the planet isn't saved by the "coolers". As one who is not in the least convinced that carbon dioxide is causing atmospheric warming I take exception to his arrogance. Don't get me wrong; I like Kevin Rudd. I wish he was my PM. But to assume that everything we are being fed by climatologists is right is very dicey ground indeed. What if they are wrong. We will be plunged into another Ice Age by their efforts. Great.

Understanding Things

2009-10-14T00:04:00.000-07:00

When you start to explain Quantum Theory to people - I find, anyway - they (usually) glaze over and stop trying to understand. It would appear that there is a genuine barrier between the concept and the understanding of the concept.
The same thing appears to be true with MPs and their expenses. They just don't get it. They REALLY just don't get it. Every other person in the UK thinks they are a pack of vultures dragging their rotten bits of flesh of the decaying carcass that is our "democratic" system. They think it is OK.
Shoot them.
Shoot them all.

Paying for University

2009-09-22T01:14:00.000-07:00

I love it when those who had their degrees completely paid for by the taxpayer via the state pontificate about students paying more for their degrees. The CBI see nothing wrong, apparently, with saddling our 20-somethings with up to £20000 debt as they leave academe to try their luck in a jobs market ravaged by (amongst others) the CBI. Hypocrisy at many levels.

I know it has been said before, but if we really must recoup the money that we are spending on higher education, why not tax graduates when they are earning a decent salary and continue to do so throughout their working lives. This mess all comes, of course, from taking too many into university; from having universities grow too big; to over-reliance on student numbers and thus being hostage to fortune as demographics change.

I despair.

Poor bloody kids.

Dowding Park

2009-09-16T14:36:00.000-07:00

The title of this entry sounds like a leafy glade in Essex. They are, of course, the unpunctuated names of the two men who marshalled the RAF against the Luftwaffe in the Battle of Britain.
I always get a little misty-eyed around this time of year. The 15th September comes and goes without any recognition now. It was Battle of Britain Day when I was a boy.
Hugh Dowding and Keith Park (a New Zealander, incidentally) were in charge of Fighter Command and 11 Group (which did most of the fighting) throughout the Battle of Britain. They did not "win" the Battle of Britain by themselves. Fighter Command was a formidable "team" in every sense. Had they lost, our history would have been very different.
Yet nobody knows them now. A scant 70 years on and nobody knows them.
Scandalous.

Anthem to Spared Youth

2009-09-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

Sixty-nine years ago today we were reading the day-old news of the crushing victory by the RAF over the Luftwaffe. It was the day that - without histrionics - saved our civilisation. From 15th September 1940 onwards, Britain was not going to be knocked out of the war. It was not the day that the war was won. It was the day it wasn't lost.
The youthful faces who won that battle are nearly all dead now. Over five hundred died in the Battle of Britain. The grim reaper took a lot more throughout the rest of the war. Age is fast catching up on the remaining few of The Few.
Their counterparts today are getting ready to go to University or are part-way through their degrees. They will not be asked to make the sacrifices of 1940. They have the same cocky exuberance; the same jokes; the same Devil-may-care attitudes. However much we decry the youth of today - any "today" you want to mention - I remain convinced that these lads on the streets would be the equal of their grandfathers and great-uncles. These are the same lads who stood with Harold, died at Balaclava and Trafalgar, drowned in the mud of Flanders in 1917 and a million other times and places in British history.
There was nothing particularly special about the Class of 1940.
They were just given the chance to shine.

Acronyms

2009-09-09T08:47:00.000-07:00

Interesting piece on today's breakfast news. Climate change (for a change). The first person interviewed was from the Campaign Against Climate Change (CACC) and the follow-up person was from the Committee on Climate Change (COCC). You couldn't make it up. Someone talking CACC, the other COCC.

Again. What?!

2009-09-04T01:00:00.000-07:00

I was watching the Breakfast news on BBC1 this morning and a woman was on speaking about some major social issue of the day and she was billed as an "independent social worker". If that isn't a euphemism for "interfering busybody" I don't know what is. Quite frankly, I don't want my social workers being independent. I want them thoroughly locked into a rigid set of working procedures. Independent? Pah!

While we are on the subject of people I don't want in this life of mine: I don't want people who "fight fire with fire" to be firemen, I don't want those who look before they leap to be paratroops, I don't want neurosurgeons with strong Brummie accents, I don't want footballers who fall over in anything higher than 2 on the Beaufort Scale, I don't want money to make the world go round - angular momentum is fine, I don't want qualified people I want competent people.

There are many others...

Multi-Tasking

2009-09-01T13:50:00.000-07:00

I hate it when women go on about multi-tasking. They wave the multi-tasking card in our faces as though it is taken for granted that doing several things badly at once is better than doing one thing well. I beg to differ with the current female opinion on this. I would rather do one thing right at a time than run the risk of making a bollocks of several things at once. I simply don't buy into the notion that multi-tasking is the better idea.
And then...
I was let down by - of all people - a bloke in a bog in a pub.
I stood at my urinal steadfastly not multi-tasking. My mind/body combination was doing but one thing. The guy next to me was also doing this one thing but he was also doing another thing. He was texting on his phone. Bastard! A brilliant example of multi-tasking.

A-Level Results

2009-09-01T13:41:00.000-07:00

With 97.5% of the nation's kids passing A-Level you don't need an A-Level to see why the whole system has become devalued. Here's a simple suggestion to regain some equilibrium into the situation. Stop giving grades; give percentages. Instead of the six grades ABCDEU we would have the 101 grades 100...0. Universities could then ask for realistic "levels" of entry.

So simple it won't be done.
Regardless of that: Congratulations to all those students who did so well at A-Level, AS-Level (an examination I abhor by the way) and GCSE. No-one may rate your qualifications but that is hardly your fault. The idiots in charge have screwed up, not you. Well done to you all.

I'll Drink to That

2009-09-01T13:33:00.000-07:00

So, we have a new ASBO. This one is for getting pissed and behaving badly. Presumably 35 million of us will have one by the end of the year. This new ASBO (which sounds more like a Scout's badge) means that you can't go into any pub in the city where you were asboed (I asbo, you asbo, he she or it asboes...) or, indeed, licenced premises. So that's Morrison's & Tesco's out too. Blimey; I only wanted toothpaste m'lud.
So how is this legalistic heap of crap going to be policed? Will all publicans in a city have a list of who can/can't drink there? Will Sainsbury's require proof that you don't have an ASBO before letting you get food for the cat? Of course not. Like so much produced by this pathetic, puritan kakistocracy, it is completely pointless, completely unworkable and will wither and die.
Incidentally, if we are now so worried about binge drinking, why did we get rid of opening hours? Oh yes, it was Brown and his Merry Men tinkering again.
Ye gods.

Best Before Dates

2009-08-12T23:59:00.000-07:00

Am I hearing things? A Government minister contradicting "sell by" and "best before" dates? Surely not. These are the sacred cows of consumerism! But it appears so: Hilary Benn says we need to re-think these cursed dates to keep our food supplies "secure". Is the nanny state actually saying that we might trust our own senses to decide on something so serious as whether our bacon is "off"? I need a stiff drink.

Having put up with use-by and sell-by for decades we might - finally - start relying on our senses to tell us whether our food has gone bad. Staying with bacon, it is pretty obvious that it has "gone". It looks, smells and tastes terrible. For other things it hardly matters. I never mind cutting a piece of mouldy cheese off a block and scoffing the rest. I don't like the black pulp that bananas turn into, but I don't like them under-ripe either. Now here's strange: I can tell what a banana looks like when it is edible. [Gasp] Oh yes. Gather round and learn.

I hope that the British consumer will now stop racing downstairs each morning to see which cans and packets are out of date; which eggs are still edible; cornflakes, milk, butter... What do we junk today? Quick, before it explodes!

Have you noticed that bottles of wine do not carry a best before date? The French, probably.

"Rent" and the youth of today

2009-08-10T00:08:00.000-07:00

The Edinburgh Fringe, you will already know, finds venues and support for some great shows every year. I saw "Rent" on Saturday (8th August) at the Merchant's Hall. It was astonishing. The good bits are too many to mention; the bad bits are too few to remember. It ended, quite rightly, with a standing ovation. Complete sell-out. All week. Awesome.

Then step back for a moment. The cast are aged between 18 and (I guess) 22. They can portray joy, sadness, love, hate, laughter and tears with consummate ease. The songs were sung with style, gusto, tenderness and passion as required. The musical support was superb. Most of the time you would believe that you were listening to a karaoke CD.

But hang on...

Aren't these kids part of the useless generation that roam our streets picking up ASBOs? The lazy students with devalued GCSEs and equally worthless A-Levels? The no-hopers who blow their student loans in bars and Pizza Hut? The sea anchor of our struggling society? Our millstone?

It would, from what I've seen (and not just in "Rent"), appear not to be the case.

Well done Team Rent. Loved it.

Man on the Moon

2009-07-21T01:34:00.000-07:00

40 years ago yesterday and today* I was a 14 year old geek, glued to a B&W TV set watching grainy pictures of Neil and Buzz on the Moon. I also remember feeling profoundly sorry for Michael Collins (yes, I remember the names) orbiting the scene in the command module being more or less forgotten. I remember Armstrong and Aldrin landing the Eagle manually when the automatic systems failed. I remember the tears in my eyes when the words "Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed" skipped across the intervening 250,000 miles in just over a second.

As a geeky science-nut, I loved the whole US space programme. Mercury to Gemini to Apollo. I remember going to church to pray for the brave guys of Apollo 1 (Grissom, White and Chaffee) who died fighting the flames inside their capsule. I held my breath for days with Apollo 13 (Lovell, Swigert and Haise). I was in church again on their safe return.

Apollo was certainly "one small step for man" but the "giant leap for mankind" became a kind of cul-de-sac road to nowhere. As a now aged geeky science-nut, I hope they/us/somebody has the vision and expanse of ambition to get us moving again in space.

Let's go to Mars.

* I was in Australia at the time and although the landing was made on 20th July in US time, it was already the 21st in Australia. This is why I get this question wrong playing Trivial Pursuit.

Holiday Reading

2009-07-20T00:14:00.000-07:00

I thought I might let you know what I have read this past fortnight. At present I am reading The Cloudspotter's Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney. It is much more whimsical than meteorological and contains much that is (as one might expect) nebulous and hazy. Not a bad read though.

Unlike The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins. I like to read "science classics" and my reading of this was long overdue. Dawkins is enormously fond of himself and tramples the painstaking work of others under his heavy boots with ne'er a care. All the number games he plays to show how genes are selfish are interesting but, frankly, bollocks. He dismisses incest very lightly and yet this is the obvious way for selfish genes to maintain their presence. I know that that leads to deformities etc. etc. but the genes don't know that. An irritating read.

Lastly, The Incredible Human Journey by Alice Roberts. Brilliant. Couldn't put it down. Cover to cover in two days and getting ready to do it all again. Not enough on the whole mitochondrial DNA thing for me but beautifully written in a really engaging style.

The Flight to (and from) Egypt

2009-07-17T01:24:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in any journey where you think "This is dragging on a bit..."

On a low-cost airline, I think this point comes (for me, anyway) exactly 2hrs 7min into the flight. With a posh carrier (I recently did Newcastle to Hong Kong on Emirates, for example) this point is beyond the length of the journey; it never comes.

With Jet2.com from Manchester to Taba (Egypt) I was wishing my life away at exactly 2hrs 7min. The problem was that I had slightly under 3 hours to go. On the return flight (which took 45 minutes longer than the 5hrs out) I hit the 2hrs 7min point even harder in the knowledge that Manchester was 3hrs 38min away. I had refused my "meal" (airline food: oxymoron). I needed to remain sober so that I could drive home when we landed. My 1.5 litre bottle of water (with the unfortunate name, for water, of Siwa) was draining quickly. Life ebbed away. Mine.

Still; mustn't grumble...

The Flight to Egypt

2009-07-17T01:09:00.000-07:00

To avoid the massacre of the innocents, the Gospels tell us that Joseph, Mary and Jesus nipped off into Egypt for a while then returned to Nazareth by another way, suggested by an angel.

Having just returned from the Sinai one is tempted to say: WHAT?!

Walking twenty paces from our air-conditioned room to the pool was hellish. A full-blown journey across Sinai must have been dreadful. The Sinai peninsula is like the moon. The daytime heat was astonishing. Nothing grows there. Everything dies there.

I think we can learn several things from the Gospel story.

Firstly, God is not a great planner. Putting his infant son in danger by (a) allowing the massacre of the innocents and (b) having Joe and Mary trudge across Sinai was not the hallmark of a forward thinker. Secondly, angels; surely they have more power than to act like a biblical streetmap.co.uk? Give them a hand for God's sake! She's just had a baby!

Thirdly, and I think most importantly, we should seriously consider canonising their donkey. That poor little beast took them all the way from Nazareth to Bethlehem, then to Egypt, then back home again (by a different route). Awesome.

St Donkey, patron saint of SatNav.

The Inverse Square Law

2009-06-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

Lots of things obey an inverse square law. That is, the effect goes down (inverse) with the square (square) of the distance; OK?! (law). Gravity is a real biggy. Gravitational force (F) between two objects is given by:
F = Gm₁m₂/d²
G is the "Gravitational Constant", m₁ and m₂ are the masses of the bodies and d is their distance apart.
Now, here's a funny one. Matter (the m₁ and m₂ stuff) distorts space. It distorts linear dimensions (so d will be altered by matter) and it distorts areas too (so d² will be affected).
Which all adds up to the inverse square law being well dodgy for large masses.
This means that a lot of stuff to do with the universe could be wrong.
Tell your friends.

Antibiotic Letters - Update #1

2009-06-26T01:00:00.000-07:00

Our previous communique released news of our first antibiotic letter: r. We have since refined the lexicochemistry of r so that it now neatly tucks in behind the first letter or diphthong. This gets away from the "fruck"/"furck" problem and also avoids "shirt" being produced. It produces "shrit" every time. The "bastard" problem is also resolved. It becomes "brastard" with 100% efficiency. This new verbicillin^© is being called r⁺, with a certain lack of imagination.
We are hoping to release new verbicillins soon, but we need to iron out one small flaw with r⁺. It tends to react with the word "cap" with unfortunate consequences. Having people "doff their crap" or put "a crap on their head" seriously tampers with a story line.

Antibiotic Letters

2009-06-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

As you will know, antibiotics often work by attaching themselves to bacterial cell walls and rupturing them so that the internal gubbins leak out and the germ dies.

A lot of people are put off reading when there is a lot of swearing.

Let's put those two thoughts together.

I have been experimenting with certain letters on the more odious swearwords words in our language and I am proud to release my first antibiotic letter: r
I am sure that r is just the first of a whole range of verbicillins^© that we can use to clean up our language. When r is added to a paragraph of assorted words it can be programmed (using macros) to bind preferentially to conventional swearwords, rendering them harmless. Then, having neutralised these offensive words, the timorous reader can progress in safety. One assumes that finding fruck (or furck), crunt, shrit (or shirt - a potential problem) or twart will not offend at all. The word "bastard" is a little more resistant. We have found that the r inserts at position 3, making "barstard". A lot of people think it is spelled that way already. Witness 132000 entries in Google.

We're working on it.

Land's End to John O'Groats

2009-06-15T12:33:00.000-07:00

The caffeine tablets have worn off now. All eighteen of them. Washed down with Pepsi Max (the one with added caffeine). I have a chest infection and I'm coughing up phlegmy ash. My wrist joints are sore. My knees are wrecked. And I feel over the moon.
You see, I've done it. Far beyond what I thought I could do, I've done. In one day, on my trusty Triumph Bonneville, I've ridden from Land's End to John O'Groats.
I know it has all been done before. But not by me. Doing it on foot (a la Ian Botham) is awesome. On a pushbike, awesome. But only in a car or atop a motorbike could it be done in one day. In a car would be simply pathetic. It has to be the motorbike.
Meet my travelling companions. Boro lads all: Chris Bell (Belly), Barry Corbyn (Baz), Andy Harrison (Harry), Ben Timney (Ben, my 19-years-younger brother). We have a motley collection of bikes. Belly is on a Kawasaki Versys, Baz is on a Honda VTR, Harry on a Honda CBR, Ben on a Honda Hornet and me on the Bonnie.
At 00:00:01 on 13th June 2009 we gunned our engines at a deserted Land's End and headed north. At 18:25 we turned our engines off atop the "mound" at John O'Groats. 850 miles later. Knackered. Running on instincts only.
We had ridden south from Teesside on the Friday, starting at 04:00 and bedding down at the Commercial Hotel, St Just (5 miles north of Land's End) at 18:30. No mishaps. Just before bed we had rammed in a meal from the chippie. I was straight asleep, so was Ben. The others took longer to drop off, but I think I was up first.
So, with between 2 and 4 hours sleep under our belts (and about the same the previous night) we tore through a silent Cornwall and Devon. We stopped in Exeter to refuel (Baz and Ben were both short of tank range - 120 miles or so from full to fumes). We transferred to the M5 and headed north past Bristol and then parallel to the Welsh border. Sunrise was welcome. Warmth beating off hypothermia. You forget how cold it gets on a bike. Asleep riding a motorbike. Not to be recommended.
Breakfast was just north of Manchester. Then to Carlisle, across Scotland heading for Edinburgh but turning north before that to reach Perth by lunchtime. From Perth to Inverness was a slog through the most beautiful of countries (high praise from an Englishman). After Inverness we crossed Cromarty Firth and refuelled again. The weather, kind so far, was turning. Some 50 miles south of Wick, it turned. Fog. Rain. Driving hail. Almost-zero visibility. Twisty, turning roads where one mistake gets you a bunch of roses tied to some railings. In atrocious conditions we finally rolled into Wick. Refuel. Last 16 miles. In driving rain and freezing fog we released our pink balloons, just as we had at Land's End.
Why the pink balloons? Well, this was all for a reason. Sure, there were the laddish "can we do it?" reasons. But there were deeper reasons too. In 2007, Harry's daughter Jessica succumbed to cancer after a long, painful fight. Harry raises money for a charity set up in Jessica's name to help families in a similar situation. If you are reading this and you have a few quid you could add to the meagre support I am able to give please send it in to me.
My life has a lot of ticked boxes. I can now tick the "Land's End to John O'Groats by Motorbike" box.

Any support you can afford would be appreciated. Cheques to "The Jessica Jewel Trust", cash - you'll have to trust me. Post them to Dr John A Timney, INTO Newcastle University, Old Library Building, Newcastle University NE1 7RU. Thanks in anticipation.

Pork Scratchings

2009-06-08T00:04:00.000-07:00

They might be the most un-Kosher food on the planet*, but Pork Scratchings have an extraordinarily useful characteristic. Let me explain.

Firstly, let's make some... Get a pig. Kill it. Flay it. Carve up all the edibles. Turn everything else into sausages (inc. Black Pudding). You are left with the skin. Chop it up into little pieces and deep fry, with a few added spices and salt. Result. Edible gravel.

This is where the genius of Pork Scratchings comes in.

If you eat normal gravel you generate a huge amount of noise in your mouth (obliterating every other noise) but you smash all your teeth. With Pork Scratchings (although they do advise having strong healthy teeth) you get all the noise but none of the dental damage.

So, next time some drivel-sprouting politician appears on the old box, pop in some Pork Scratchings and crunch. You will hear nothing.

Awesome.

* Actually, Black Pudding might hold this title.

Bad Day at the Office

2009-06-03T23:50:00.000-07:00

Who would be Gordon Brown? Apart from the 300 or so MPs who wouldn't mind having a crack at the big chair and 60,000,000 UK citizens who know they could do a better job, nobody.

I fear that Mr Brown might be in for a bad day today. European elections; who cares, but he is going to get hammered there. Local elections; we will probably see Labour obliterated from all councils today. Half an hour ago I cast (lovely word) my vote. Mr Brown wouldn't find much to cheer about on my ballot paper.

Representative democracy is a really blunt instrument most of the time. In constituencies like Salford they could stick a red rosette on a gibbering ginger garden gnome and the punters would still vote Labour. They did, you say?

Yet today, throughout yet another bad day at the office for Mr Brown, I have the feeling that the British people are going to send out a ridiculously clear message to the Puritan Kakistocracy that we call a government.

Go.

Britain's Got Talent - The Final

2009-06-02T02:24:00.000-07:00

I'm glad Diversity won. I'm glad Susan Boyle came second. The glare of publicity had already wilted her; being the winner would have killed her. I'm glad that Julian Smith came third. He was such a nice bloke and played his sax beautifully. Hopefully, he will get a career out of BGT.
A year from now, after their 15 minutes of fame, we will remember none of them.
Sad, really.

Britain's Got Talent

2009-05-29T16:22:00.000-07:00

I love "Britain's Got Talent". Love it. Nothing on television even gets close to BGT when it comes to showing how little talent we actually have.
Look at tonight's shambles. A crap dance trio, three thousand badly synchronised dancers, a male soprano with genuine talent who completely cocked up his song, a little girl in tears, a superb dancer [who - thank God - won], a juggler who should never have left his back garden, a "singer" and "guitarist" who were, unfortunately, the same person and a latter day family sounds-like-Von-Crap. Oh yes; little girl in tears again. She clinched second place on the pity vote and is going to be popping beta-blockers and Valium^® all night.
There were thousands auditioned and the "judges" (and OMG I use that term loosely apart from the incomparable Simon Cowell) picked out the forty best. Best? Best!
Let's face it. There is very little talent on display in "Britain's Got Talent".
I can't wait for the final.

Lines of Best Fit

2009-05-25T05:28:00.000-07:00

When finding a "best fit" straight line I use a cunningly simple method that I have not seen used elsewhere. It gives, to my mind, a better "best fit" than the famous "Least Squares" method that assumes no errors in the independent variable.
My method is this:
Plot all your points, as normal.
Work out the mean x value (x_m) and the mean y value (y_m)
From all your points, work out the standard deviation in the x values (s_x) and the standard deviation in the y values (s_y).
The best "best fit" straight line goes through the points [x_m,y_m] and [x_m+s_x, y_m+s_y]. The gradient of the line is s_y/s_x (but watch for the sign of the gradient).
Easy or what!
Remember where you saw it first.

Symmetry

2009-05-25T05:16:00.000-07:00

I recall musing recently on the duplication of snowflakes. Those thoughts have come back to haunt me. Quite clearly, there are huge differences in snowflakes. The bit that has me utterly stumped is why they exhibit six-fold symmetry.
I fully understand how crystals form. A course in crystallography at university took care of that. What I don't understand is how the growing tips of snowflake crystals all know how to be exactly alike. The molecules joining the crystal seem to know exactly where to go and are supported in this, like synchronised swimmers, by five other molecules doing exactly the same thing. That I don't understand or even begin to understand.
It is not like growing salt crystals. Whereas every snowflake is different, every salt crystal is absolutely identical. The only thing different is the size of the crystal. Snow is a completely different deal. So, while each snowflake may be different, I think it should also be true that each "branch" of the snowflake should also be different.
But it isn't!

Have you noticed...

2009-05-23T15:16:00.000-07:00

Remember those "threatverts" on the telly?

BENEFIT FRAUD
WE'RE CLOSING IN...

Don't see them that much at the mo.
Wonder why?

A Benchmark for Fraud

2009-05-22T14:31:00.000-07:00

There is a lot of hand-wringing about how we will decide who should and shouldn't resign from Parliament. My brother has come up with a startlingly simple method.
Derek Conway (see a few blogs ago) was dumped out of his job for quasi-fraudulently claiming about eight grand, if memory serves me well enough. So all we need do is divide any particular robber-baron MPs fraudulently obtained loot by 8000 to give us their value in "conways".
Any MP with a conway-value of over 1.0 should be sacked (like poor old Derek). Over 2.0 conways, they should be imprisoned. Some of our MPs are rated, by my reckoning, at about 23.7 conways. Off with their bloody heads.
Actually "conways" is rather a bulky unit title. Just like "newtons" becomes N is physics, I would propose that "conways" becomes Con as a benchmark for MP crookedness. So we could say: "anyone under 1.0 Con is probably safe." There. Much neater.
It works on many levels, does "Con".
Even French.

O-Order, O-Order

2009-05-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

So.
Mr Speaker resigns.
First time since 1695.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha he he ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha he he ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha he he he ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ho ho ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
He he.

Fattening Pigs

2009-05-18T12:13:00.000-07:00

For the n^th time (where n is a large integer) in my 30 years in education I am facing an inspection.
I have box files full of paperwork, meetings to attend, feedback sessions and all the usual pandemonium generated by such events. The cost in man-hours is gigantic. The cost is equally massive in paper.
Now here comes the bit I don't get.
No lessons are being observed.
It is an old aphorism that you can't fatten a pig by weighing it.
Oink!

Poor Old Derek

2009-05-18T12:03:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or is everyone feeling just a bit sorry for Derek Conway?

As I remember it, he was "guilty" of doing far less than, currently, about 600 other MPs. Like them, he was completely "within the rules" and was pilloried and hounded out. I genuinely feel sorry for the bloke. All he was was the first one caught. The sight of him trudging through the rain to get a bollocking from the Chief Whip (Walnut's younger sister) and then off to get his epaulettes ripped off by Cameron was really, really sad. All he was doing was siphoning money towards his own family. It's not like he was buying porn or having his moat cleaned, purchasing Hob Nobs or getting mock Tudor beams fitted. He should be reinstated.

Derek, if you read this, I think you were hard done by.
It is just me, isn't it.

Articles of Lapsed Faith

2009-05-17T08:58:00.000-07:00

http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/
The UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
I fear that we are moving away from this on a daily basis and I will, I know, devote more than one entry to this.
Article 7: All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law.
This doesn't apply to MPs (obviously!) who are miles above the laws that you and I have to obey. Where I would be looking at a lengthy prison term, they are able to write their sins off as poor accountancy skills. Great.
Article 20: Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association.
This is simply not true in Britain today. We have no right to assemble peacefully. We have a Police force that infiltrates demonstrations with its own agitators and then uses "kettling" to ensure that the demonstration is anything but peaceful. That same Police force turn up looking like the extras from Star Wars and batter the crap out of demonstrators who were - until their arrival - quite peaceful in intent and action.
Anon.

Melting the Crystal Ball

2009-05-13T14:44:00.000-07:00

Scientists (and I use the term loosely) are very worried that the Arctic Sea will probably be free of ice (during summer) within 20 years. This is much faster than they have hitherto predicted.
Let's just run that again.
Scientists are predicting that, in 20 years, the ice in the Arctic will be gone after having recently predicted that it will not be gone.
All this tells us is that their predictions are utterly worthless.
Climatologists are basically long-range weather forecasters. As you know, I wouldn't trust a meteorologist to get yesterday's weather right, never mind tomorrow's. So how in God's name, with all the uncertainties in the system do they honestly expect us to even twitch an eyelid when they predict one thing and then come back - with no more real information or insight - with the "no, it will be much worse" argument. Which prediction is right? First or second? We'll find out in 20 years.
Personally, I trust Nostradamus more than this lot and he doesn't mention ice caps melting.

Animal Farm

2009-05-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

As a teenager I read Orwell's "Animal Farm" in one sitting one day. Easily done. I was quite happy with the tale as it stood or with the parallels drawn between the farm and the USSR. Jolly good read. I've just read it again, only this time with our beloved PM cast as Napoleon and the other members of the Puritan Kakistocracy cast in other pig-like roles. It works just as well. Sadly. When Blair (Orwell's real name, incidentally) took over from the famously corrupt Tories in 1997 we all looked towards the brightening skies of our collective future. Twelve increasingly corrupt years later we are in a frighteningly worse position. Pigs with noses in the trough. Begone! The lot of you!

Stephen Fry, a chap I admire enormously, was on the Beeb today claiming that all this expenses stuff was completely unimportant and we should let it drop. For once, he is talking total bollocks. The actions of virtually all our MPs have disgraced our democratic system. While the rest of us tighten our belts yet again, watch our savings wither away, see our pensions collapse, and watch the decay of our schools, roads, hospitals and much more besides, our "honourable members" are pigging themselves.
Stephen: it is important; dont be a prat.

Middlesbrough

2009-05-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

My spelling mistake of a home town is just about to drop out of the Premier League. Being on the wrong end of a 3-1 scoreline at St James' Park last night just about did it. Having supported Boro (usually from afar) all my life, it does hurt to see them drop into the Championship but the fight to avoid relegation has been fascinating this year. It still isn't decided. Even Tony Mowbray (one of Boro's favourite sons) is still defiant with his WBA team on the brink. Newcastle aren't safe yet. Hull may scramble clear. Much more interesting than the top of the table where the "big four" are in their usual places and it is obvious again that Man Utd are home and dry.
What I like about the "wrong end" of the table is that the games mean something. There is still something to play for rather than just the money. Proper football.

Guilty-ish: The New Innocent

2009-05-11T07:20:00.000-07:00

So here's the scenario. I do absolutely nothing wrong, but I get wrongly arrested for something. I get DNA tested. Then I am released. Can I now get on with my life as normal? No. My DNA data will be stored for 6 years (minimum).

So - let's get this right - being completely innocent gets your data stored alongside the bad guys and, subsequently, the Police have access to information about you that they have absolutely no right to have. In effect, we have had an alternative to innocent rammed down our throats. We are now, all of us, either guilty or potentially guilty. I am not sure that there is a word for "guilty-ish" but there needs to be. It is the new innocent.

The first sniff of "guilty-ish" came with re-trials. Once upon a time you were - at your one and only trial - declared innocent or guilty. Being guilty meant that your guilt was proven beyond reasonable doubt. Juries who now "can not reach a verdict" trigger a re-trial. Surely "can not reach a verdict" is exactly the same as "not proven beyond reasonable doubt"; viz. "innocent".

We are sleepwalking into a fascist state. Indefinite detention. Show trials. Political trials.

Coming soon to a Britain near you.

On Offer

2009-05-10T04:44:00.000-07:00

If David Cameron or Nick Clegg are looking for someone to stand as an MP for the next election, tell them I'm interested. I don't know what contacts you people have out there but since all of us on the planet are connected via three people (i.e. your friend of a friend of a friend knows every person on earth), I'm sure you can get the message back.
I'm sure I could do a good job although I have none of the qualities we have come to demand from our Honourable Members.
I am, for example, honest.

On My Planet

2009-05-10T04:27:00.000-07:00

MPs' expenses; you couldn't make it up.
I have to say, I would love simply to collect all my receipts for the week and drop them into the Fees Office to be reimbursed but it just doesn't happen like that in my world. The way it works on my planet is that I work (just one job incidentally) for an employer who pays for this work with something called a salary. From this salary I lose income tax, national insurance (another tax) and a chunk of money for a pension (because the government has so mis-managed things that my generation will all need private pensions). When I go out to buy things I sometimes pay a lot more tax (e.g. petrol, gin) or just more tax (e.g. 15% VAT). Either way, in any one year, I have to work from January 1st to mid-July to pay my taxes. From then on, the money is mine.
This money, ripped from my salary, my hand and my pocket, goes to fund spurious second homes, hubby's porn, most of what John Lewis sells in a year and a million sundry items that should actually be bought from MPs' salaries. And they wonder why we are disenchanted with politics.
I feel like a Dalek at the foot of a flight of stairs; murderous and frustrated.

Help! Is there a biochemist in the house?

2009-05-04T15:47:00.000-07:00

After years and years of thinking I did, it turns out that I don't understand DNA. The bases in DNA come in pairs, A with T, C with G. So on one helix you might have AAGCGCTTAGC and this would be matched by TTCGCAATCG. Fine. Happy with that.
Then, I'm told, the DNA is used to make RNA. OK. Which helix? If I use my AAGCGCTTAGC bit I will get a totally different RNA to my TTCGCAATCG bit. I'm also a bit worried because making RNA looks like the DNA has to uncoil. I've tried doing this on models. It doesn't work. You try it with two pieces of wire braided together. It knots up.
Then there's mitochondrial DNA. This is in a circle. No chance of unwinding there. So how does it make RNA? Does it make RNA? How does it make enzymes?
If there are any biochemists out there reading this, I would appreciate an hour of your time. Coffee would be involved.
And perhaps a cheese scone.

Pandemics (again)

2009-05-02T14:47:00.000-07:00

So here we are again. Swine flu. Initially, I thought that this was just the past tense of "Pigs might fly" but it appears to be MUCH more serious. This M1N1 virus is like ordinary flu but much, much...well...less potent. You feel crap for a day or two and then you feel OK. You might get a bit of diarrhoea (or "dire rear") as well.
I am so impressed that Max Clifford was brought in to do the PR for the first people to catch it. As soon as I heard about it I was looking for Mexicans to socialise with in a snot-sharing way but no luck.
Don't get me wrong, I'm really sorry if this "pandemic" has caused the deaths of 19 people across the world; I'm really impressed that we can mobilise millions of tons of drugs when threatened; I'm in awe of the speedy identification and analysis offered by the epidemiologists.
But - for God's sake - can we please stop crying "wolf" over these things.
And stop kissing pigs! All right?

Gurkhas

2009-04-30T00:18:00.000-07:00

The Gurkhas. As a regiment within the British Army they have been absolutely superlative. Having - for generations - fought and died alongside our own troops, these doughty warriors have never, ever let us down. In WW2 they buried 32000 of their dead out of 250000 who served. They were awarded 2734 bravery awards from 1939 to 1945. They have been the loyalest of our loyal friends. They deserve our respect and gratitude in full measure.

Now, in a country where illegal immigration is rife, a paltry 4000 Gurkha ex-servicemen would like to settle here. In a country that is more or less open to more or less anybody these 4000 would represent a drop in the multi-cultural ocean.

Our Government say no.

If honour was measurable our Government would score zero.

Although I loathed Margaret Thatcher*, she did, at least, understand Britain's place within the history of our planet. Brown and his minions have not got a clue.

They will lose this one.

Ayo Gorkhali

* I live in the North-East. I am a teacher. Of course I loathe Thatcher.

Another Enemy Within

2009-04-26T14:21:00.000-07:00

Like many in the UK, I have been shocked at the tactics of our Police in recent weeks and months. It is nothing new, of course. Blair Peach, Jimmy Kelly & Liddel Towers come to mind from a generation ago. Jean Charles de Menezes is a more recent addition, but the memory is fading. Ian Tomlinson is the latest.
I have the utmost respect for our Police. I think that 99% of them do a wonderful job.
Unfortunately, 99% is nowhere near good enough.
The problem is that the police see us, the public, as the enemy. In the recent demonstations the protestors were not seen by the Police as enemies of the state, not voices raised in protest but their actual enemy. That really is scary. If the Police see us as their enemy then we are being forced to see them as our enemy.
That is certainly not what I want.
But it might be what the Police want.

That was wonderful Darling...

2009-04-23T05:06:00.000-07:00

Well done Darling (as the actress...).
If Cameron & Co. can't get elected after that budget and the crescendo of catastrophe that is daily engulfing the Puritan Kakistocracy then they don't deserve House room*.
Darling & Brown have made Labour (Old Labour as it turns out) completely unelectable.
Like every other Labour government we have ever had, they will leave us absolutely bankrupt.
Bring on the General Election.
Quickly.

* Or even second house room

What if?

2009-04-21T00:17:00.000-07:00

My previous rant might have given the impression that I am not a die-hard supporter of our Prime Minister. Good. I'm not. I was, however, much more of a Blair fan and I often tumble "what if?" scenarios around my head about his days in No.10.

What if, for example, he had had a more public-acceptable wife. Cherie was a cross to bear and so much of his time and energy was diverted in managing the damage that surrounded her.

Then there's the big "what if?". Brown and his gang. For years they whinged away in the background claiming that nasty Tony had told them that they could have the nice house soon. For the last two years of Blair's time in office all we heard was Blair-Brown-Rift. It was pointless, damaging, divisive and created massive uncertainty. Blair made his mistakes and had several blind spots but I am left wondering what he would have been like, and how we would remember him, if Brown had not been stabbing him in the back on a daily basis. In a cruel application of symmetry, Brown's premiership has been - from the word go - pointless, damaging, divisive and it has created massive uncertainty.

C'est la vie.

Saying Sorry

2009-04-20T23:58:00.000-07:00

Gordon Brown is famously reluctant to say "sorry". What seems to be the hardest word comes from the Old English "sarig" meaning "distressed; full of sorrow". So it all becomes clear. GB (great initials for a PM of the UK I always think) isn't actually distressed or full of sorrow. My guess is that he will not be any more additionally sorry when his darling Darling reads out his budget this week. Brown has a "moral compass", he claims. This guides him towards right; away from wrong. His "moral compass" is severely affected by moral magnetic storms at present. Our entire democratic system stinks, from PM to MP. He has allowed those we laughingly call "honourable members" to wreck the trust we once had in our parliament. His government is mired in fiddles, fraud, spin, rumour, lies and deceit. Everyone else is to blame, you may have noticed. Never him. Sadly, although this worked with Blair, it doesn't with Brown. He will, I am sure, resort to diffusing the impact of Darling's budget by spreading the blame around as usual. Global situation and Tory legacy (wearing thin after 12 long years). You can guarantee that none of the blame for any of the mess we are in will be due to anything he has done. That's why he doesn't say sorry.

He isn't.

Castles

2009-04-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

I have just spent a wonderful day looking around two of Northumberland's finest castles: Warkworth and Dunstanburgh. We also took time to stand outside and ogle Bamburgh and Alnwick castles. Warkworth nestles within a pretty village and is a compact example of mediaeval engineering. Dustanburgh dominates a piece of high ground a mile north of Craster. Both are breathtaking in so many ways: the scenery, their longevity, their scale and their history. If I had to pick a favourite it would be Dunstanburgh. Although heavily ruined, the location is peerless and the size is impressive. Warkworth would fit into a small corner. Bamburgh? My least favourite. The best thing about it is the nearby beach. Alnwick? Still the home of the Duke of Northumberland and run by him for as a commercial venture. Tawdry.
Completely coincidentally, I was a staff member of Dunstanburgh House in my last school.
Biased? Surely not.

Heirs to the Throne

2009-04-08T08:08:00.000-07:00

I know it is all being done to take our minds off the mess we are in, but the whole problem of "who becomes monarch" is so farcical that it is funny.
We are led to believe that it will remove discrimination if the eldest prince or princess becomes monarch rather than the eldest male heir. What utter tripe. It does nothing to stop the discrimination against those who are not the eldest (male or female). What if the second in line was a complete star, but the heir was a complete wassock? I think a much better plan would be to have an elected King/Queen. When the reigning monarch dies we should have a speedy referendum to elect the next monarch. Just the "first-rankers"; children of the deceased monarch. So, when QE2 dies (which will never happen, trust me), all of us Brit Cits get a ballot paper saying, effectively, Charles? Anne? Andrew? Edward?
This gets round all the discrimination issues and we end up with a popular monarch.
Not a bad idea for a republican, I think.

Richard Timney

2009-04-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

Our famously incorruptible Home Secretary (my tongue has just burst through my cheek) apparently pays for her husband's porn with taxpayers' money. Richard Timney; that's hubby's name.
Quite honestly, I'm on his side all the way.
Firstly, he is married (or "partnered" at least) to Jacqui Smith. I haven't seen her on mingers.com but that is surely an oversight. The man needs something to take his mind of his predicament. Imagine waking up in the morning next to her. Cruel; that's what it is.
Secondly (and my major reason for being such a fan of his) the great British public can now spell Timney. As a member of this expatriate Irish clan I have spent all my life spelling my name only to have it misspelled anyway. It has been written in a hundred different variants. I have tried spelling slowly: t.i.m.n.e.y. I have tried Tango India Mike November Echo Yankee. I have tried "it's an anagram of ENMITY" to people who were seriously getting up my nose. All have failed.
But no more. Richard, the onanistic husband of one of our greatest national treasures has ensured that Timney is spelled correctly.
Richard Timney: with my free right hand I salute you.