A dose of common sense

Like most people, I'm sceptical of Big Pharma, commercial scientific organisations and the like (how's the Malaria cure coming on boys? Coming up after yet another treatment for 'erectile dysfunction' or halitosis?) because let's face it, their motivation is profit and that, you'll be amazed to hear, distorts their priorities. 

However, I am fascinated by scientific research - and horrified by supposedly intelligent people who put their faith in quacks (who are also naked capitalists). So I thought I'd point you to two great science communicators, both linked to from my blog list. Ben Goldacre is the acerbic nerd who writes Bad Science in the Guardian every Saturday, patiently explaining to us how and why dodgy corporations, rip-off merchants and the media conspire, through greed, malice or incompetence, to mislead us about pretty much every science story which reaches us. Buy his book.

The other author I'd like to direct you towards is someone whose blog I discovered only recently. Pharyngula is a practising scientist who has a great gift for direct, outspoken communication and the great joy of living in a country seemingly run by obscurantist medievalist cranks, on whom he practises his scorn - like this:

I wrote about the Kara Neumann case last year — it was the tragic story of an 11 year old girl in Wisconsin who died of treatable juvenile diabetes because her parents were faith-healing morons. Morons who still claim they did no wrong by neglecting their daughter when she lapsed into unconsciousness, choosing to call on the congregation of their wackaloon church to pray harder, instead of calling a doctor.

The parents are finally going to trial this spring, and it could be an interesting case. They are clearly and self-admittedly guilty of lethal negligence, but Wisconsin law actually has an exemption for people who choose to treat their children with prayer. It's an evil law, but it is on the books, and that makes this a case where justice and reason are on one side, and narrow legalism and superstition are on the other. I'm not betting on which side will win out, not in America

All hail P Z Myers.

Tyburn Tree's too good for them

Cynical Ben, like me, opposes the use of capital punishment in the judicial process, but proposes death to anyone referring to the BBC as 'auntie'. I agree, but have a few more candidates for the list:

apostrophe offenders, people who oppose the licence fee but pay loads more to get 800 bum-achingly awful channels on Sky, Tories, Green Lantern doubters, climate-change deniers, mobile-phone bullies, 'Blue Badge Abusers' (as Half Man Half Biscuit have it), plagiarists, litterers, Jools Holland (I think it's posh-cool for Julian), people who think that they have the right to bore you at parties because they've taken some drugs, pheasant-kickers, 4x4 drivers, those who say 'bless', fashion magazines, DIY and house-sale programmes, fake doctor Gillian McKeith, Edward Stourton, soi-disant arts types who proudly profess their ignorance of science, the RCP and the Manifesto Club, repeaters of TV catchphrases, management, the cyclist who told me to fuck myself for walking on the pavement in front of him (he then knocked over a toddler), the Any Questions contributors, anybody concerned with the production, narration and consumption of police-propaganda 'reality' TV, local news scriptwriters, the Daily Mail, MELVYN BRAGG… and intolerant people.

Feel free to add your own offenders to the list. I know I will.

The Plashing Vole to the Rescue

The Green Lantern t-shirt is already working. Pausing only to remove my disguise, I leapt into action to help a young lady who fell heavily from her bicycle this morning, aided by my trusty sidekick, The Green Cruiser. Tomorrow: Plashing Vole picks up some litter and the world is saved.

Slight return

Cynical Ben has pointed out in the comments to the previous entry that I was overly negative about Obama's speech, which you can read here, and that Obama stressed the importance of science, mentioned atheists and critiqued the oil companies. OK, you're right. I'm grumpy from marking, but then again - these things wouldn't be remarkable in a lot of countries. Why we don't subcontract our governance to Norway, I can't fathom. I will say that Obama is a brilliant speaker. He's an intelligent man, has a powerful voice and seems to be determined to stamp his authority on events. Just what America needs at this point. The KKK must be furious - an African-American and a Catholic in charge. I hope there's a Jew and a Muslim near the top too!

Also, Ben, I was being sarcastic about the poem - it's hard to convey in text. It was painfully bad. I don't think ceremonial poetry ever works. 

Dick Cheney attended the ceremony in a wheelchair after doing his back in moving into his new house (surely cell?). This means of course that Bush was there as a lame duck and Cheney was his lame fuck.

My friend Jim Hiam was there - having wangled a ticket from a Senator who's a friend of his American family. Lucky guy. He must be freezing…

Inauguration blues

Obama's just finished his speech. Obviously it contained all the usual stuff about the greatest nation on earth, and all his brilliant trademarks, but what really struck me was the seriousness of tone. Quoting Washington's address from the darkest moments of the Independence War was stunning - he really does appear to feel that the US is endangered by the financial, moral and environmental challenges ahead. 

He promised, of course, to spread democracy around the globe. So did Blair and Bush. What they, and I suspect, Obama meant, is capitalism for all and democracy for the unimportant or annoying. Hamas are elected, and that didn't help. The Saudis and Burmese (and the North Koreans) compete for the title of worst government, but nobody's planning to ask them when the elections are. As long as the oil etc. keeps flowing, we won't ask any awkward questions. 

Aretha Franklin was embarrassingly awful, Yo-Yo Ma and Co. were tunefully bland, and the poet (missed her name) is rather good - applause from the crowd distinctly muted. 

What if?

At 11.30 a.m. (US time), Joe Biden takes the oath of office as vice-president. So at least Cheney's out of the way, but Bush is still President. So if Bush has a heart-attack (out of sheer Texan fury) before Obama is sworn in, does Biden become President? Does Biden have any authority as VP while Bush is still President or is it only activated when Obama's sworn-in at 12.00? What if Obama has a heart-attack (or gets shot) between Biden's oath and his own? Who's in charge?

Brave satirical warriors

Like most people, I'm overjoyed to see the back of GWB (roll on the experience of being disappointed by someone meant to be on our side - like 1997 all over again), but I'm getting bored with spiteful digs at little Bush by institutions who've only just discovered their spines. I can understand the Guardian publishing its special insert on the Bush years because most of its writers were antiwar, but Radio 4's satirical condensed history of the presidency is a) not very funny and b) not especially brave, being broadcast on Radio Middle Class less than 48 hours before he leaves (I wonder how it fits into the BBC's 'balance' doctrine). It's an even more cowardly version of Israel's Bush going-away party, the one with all the fireworks and Palestinians sleeping it off in the streets. 

An argument isn't bold unless there's a possibility of disagreement. That's why American (and British) political speeches are so vacuous. 'I believe Insert Country Here is the greatest nation on earth' Wow. Radical stance. 

I shall take this opportunity to say a few words

This was my acceptance speech on being made a 0.5 lecturer in Media Studies:

"Fellow-citizens, being fully invested with that high office to which the partiality of my countrymen has called me, I now take an affectionate leave of you. You will bear with you to your homes the remembrance of the pledge I have this day given to discharge all the high duties of my exalted station according to the best of my ability, and I shall enter upon their performance with entire confidence in the support of a just and generous people." 

Actually, it wasn't. These are the closing lines of William Harrison's Presidential Inauguration Speech in 1841. He spoke for two hours in a snowstorm, without a coat on, and died a month later. Yahoo News has a feature on the worst inaugural speeches. Can anyone remember Bush's? Not me. Something about God, Texas, compassionate conservatism no doubt. It was probably better than Blair's 'A new age has dawned, has it not?' Or was it 'A new day has dawned'? Whenever people say he was a great orator or connector I want to hurl - I doubt he has the histrionic skills to say 'good morning' sincerely. How he asks with a straight face for his massive cheques after the speeches he gives the University of Dead Dog Arizona or wherever, I just don't know.

My secret identity revealed

I am now complete. The long walk to the post room was worth it: I am now the proud owner of a Green Lantern t-shirt. It's not quite like the leotard-style one above.

"In brightest day... in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight! Let those who worship evil's might beware my power--Green Lantern's light!"

Even more excitingly, it's the first Medium t-shirt I've bought in years! I'm not going to be mistaken for Comic-Book Guy!

Health Solutions

I'm still gutted by Stoke's 94th-minute defeat by Chelsea the other day - I doubt we'd ever get those extra minutes from a referee should we need them. But it's put me in a sporting frame of mind. Neal thinks that Monkey Tennis should be an Olympic Sport. Perhaps. But my money's on the Obesity Olympics. I'd make participation compulsory for anyone seeking medical help for weight-related health problems, unless it's genuinely a genetic disease. I'd televise it, and the medals would carry with them enough medication for a fixed period. 

I'd also ban the obese from car ownership and short trips on public transport. I'd repeal all laws covering abusive behaviour so that you could hurl epithets at plus-sized citizens (of which I am, shamefully, one, though in remission). I will also gradually ban luxury accessories on private vehicles. I'd start with stereos, DVD players, air-conditioning, tinted windows, then move on to heaters, cushioned seats, seatbelts, ABS, lights and windows, doors and key-ignition. Eventually, if you own a car, you'll be sitting on a board and pedalling it along. 

Academic top tips for students

Students: when copying and pasting from Wikipedia and other webpages, take the time to change the font to the same one you're using in the rest of the essay. Removing the hyperlinks is also a good idea when trying to make me think that you wrote the paragraphs in question. Otherwise there's no challenge or fun playing these games of mental chess…

Emma from Limerick suggests that instead of handing plagiarised essays in, you could send me the URL of whatever site you plan to plunder. Then I could mark you on your choice of source and no paper is wasted, thus saving the environment.

The world's worst newspaper in another triumph

An informant tells me that the Daily Nazi has an article screaming about a doctor who earns £290,000 and 'hundreds' earning £190,000. The greedy life-saving bastards. 

Now I know some medics very well indeed. Some of them are indeed Freemasons, Tory-voting, golf-playing, privately-educated gits who would undoubtedly read the Daily Mail if they weren't slightly better-educated. However, even this wing of the medical profession is worth £300,000. 

'The consultant in question is a breast surgeon' according to the report, on a 'basic salary of £120,000', plus £90,000 for 'clinical excellence', being 'highly productive' and he receives another £40,000 for doing 'overtime' and having an 'onerous on-call commitment'. What an evil parasite. He spends all day undertaking serious, radical surgery to remove cancers, takes on a lot of overtime and has to spend a lot of time in a less-than-salubrious hospital on call, and then receives a decent wage. Fair enough. I'd rather he lived in the lap of luxury and turned up to work full of the joys of life, rested, steady-handed and equable, than have him moonlight doing cosmetic surgery or a paper round. I wonder if this story is covertly based on suspicion that this surgeon is of a foreign persuasion… they come over here, saving our lives… I wouldn't be surprised, given the Mail's track record.

We pay for their training and they save lives. If we have to pay any sector of society a lot of money, it should be them (and the nurses, who are often far more down-to-earth and informative). We don't see articles in the Mail whinging about lawyers earning multiples of this amount of money. Man City are about to offer Kaka £24 million per year for being good at ball games. 

The editor of the Daily Mail earns £1.62 million. It is unclear how many lives he has saved this year. 

Meanwhile, the owners of the Daily Mail, presumably the most concentrated bunch of racists outside the BNP given the output of their papers, are selling the Evening Standard to a Russian billionaire who used to be a KGB agent in London. Funny how principles dissolve when money's around.

All hail John McDonnell

He's the hard left Labour MP who has been suspended from Parliament for a few days after picking up the Mace in protest over the government's decision to authorise a third runway for Heathrow (the turncoat, hypocritical arseholes) despite claiming to be green and despite the obvious fact that Britain's already in breach of EU pollution laws with only 2 runways.  

OK, you might say, why should a bit of theatre in a Victorian fantasy building be so praiseworthy? He's hardly loaded an anti-aircraft missile in Terminal 5. However, John is the MP for Heathrow, and a dyed in the wool socialist. He understands and represents the working classes. He knows the importance of jobs for all. BAA and its tame ex-socialists like Clive Soley have corralled the unions under the banner of '3rd runway or nobody will ever work again' because the unions think that greens are toff trustafarians out to close down every industry going: socialism or environmentalism. But they can't use that argument with people like McDonnell because he knows that environmentalism will provide huge numbers of jobs as we re-engineer the entire country. He's that rare thing, a forward-looking socialist - and being the MP for Heathrow is a delicious extra. 

Picture this

A couple of pictures. One of the aftermath of all our Map Twats days out. The other is of a postcard I bought recently from Left on the Shelf, my favourite leftwing book and memorabilia shop. It seems strangely up to date, leaving aside the design of the old job centres. I also bought a Wapping-era 'boycott The Sun, News of the World and The Times' mug for using in the Media office. 

This time it's personal

After five years, my old mobile phone is defunct and I've replaced it. Not, you might think, earth-shatteringly interesting or notable even in the life described to you so lovingly day-by-day. 

However, it's a big thing for me. At last, I can have my revenge. I'm tormented on the street, on trains and on buses by selfish, arrogant, noise-polluting gits who play music through those rubbish little speakers on their mobiles. It's a form of bullying, an announcement that their pleasure is more important than the comfort of the many people around them. When I'm in charge, there will be a special camp for them, with Penderecki's Threnody piped into the cells 24 hours a day.

In the meantime, my new phone will suffice. It's a cheap, boring phone, but it has a radio, a speaker and a 'record radio' function. I shall abuse these features mightily. I intend to record Veg Talk, You and Yours, Moneybox or even a specially bad episode of The Archers, one of the ones with Linda Snell or Jack Woolley in, and use them as weapons of retaliation. The next time some selfish bastard poisons the air with Akon, or Pussycat Dolls or some godforsaken emo, I shall blast them with the very worst of Radio 4 until they go away. Or stab me.

Thanks Kate

I also received a birthday present today - a mere 6 months after (and before) my birthday to the day! So thanks to Kate for a beautifully-selected pile of CDs and DVD.

Blah blah blah

Not much to post today. Between swimming this morning, marking fora this afternoon and going over to Shrewsbury for fencing this evening, I haven't time to find things on the web to rant about (and that's what blogging is for, isn't it?). 

I did finally get through the Anne of Green Gables marathon (the main eight novels, not the side-projects). I thought they'd be a quick canter but one can only take so much sentiment at a time. Some patches were spectacularly good, others were spectacularly bad. The tendency to introduce Poochie-style new characters when the old ones got dull or their lives became too adult to entertain the target audience was a little wearing. Children may be adorable, but not so many of them. 

The last volume, Rilla of Ingleside, though it had touching moments, was by far the worst. It's a female Bildungsroman set against the backdrop of World War One, but rapidly degenerates into propaganda with very little room for nuance: dying brothers, declarations that the Kaiser needs a spanking, authorially-approved violence towards pacifist deacons. Worst of all, everybody agrees that Canada's bright future can only come about by a blood sacrifice in advance - remind anybody of a certain other nation and political movement?

In memoriam

Today marks the deaths of two authors intimately connected to Ireland: Joyce and Spenser. What links them, I suppose, is their hatred of the place, though Joyce's relationship to Ireland was of course much more complex. Spenser went there as a murdering imperialist, then propagandised his and others' activities as the beginning of the British Empire. Joyce's best work is a love song to urban, shiftless, modern Ireland, even though the dominant anti-intellectual, illiberal, backwoods strand of Irish culture ensured that he soon went into exile to create an Ireland of the mind. 

Close encounters of the ovine kind

I've previously posted pictures of the Map Twats with dead sheep on two successive walks. Just to prove that there's no sinister, ongoing narrative, here's one of me with a live sheep, taken on Kinder Scout last summer. The sheep is believed to be alive and well.

To whom it may concern

My esteemed linguistics colleague wonders about the origins of 'Plashing Vole'. I posted it several months ago so it's buried in the archive. Briefly, in Evelyn Waugh's Scoop, William Boot is the hapless nature diary author on The Beast (not The Daily Beast as Tina Brown and - shamefully - the author of the synopsis on the back of the new Penguin Classics edition, seem to think). He is sent to cover an African war because Lord Copper, the proprietor, confuses him with Boot the star reporter. Until then, Boot's breathless literary prose mainly consists of tracking the activities of the vole as it plashes through the fens (correction, quests through the plashy fens: thanks Debbie). He's allegedly based on the legendary Bill Deedes of the Telegraph. 

I chose him because we're both amateur writers who've ended up out of our depth in the media (as anyone who knows my PhD subject) is well aware.

The death of journalism

'Joe the Plumber', the spectacularly uninformed McCain supporter and tax-delinquent who turned out not to be called Joe nor to be a qualified plumber, has become… a reporter. More specifically, Pajamas Media, an outfit set up by the usual range of skill-free, dyspeptic American who in earlier times would be parading round in pointy masks, voting for Senator Bilbo or shouting 'Ham and Eggs' but now have the keyboard skills to shout down all reasoned opinion, have sent him to Israel to add the world's stock of dispassionate and disinterested knowledge.

In a stunning debut, 'Joe' has berated the Israeli media for … er … not being patriotic enough. Joe, you're not Israeli. Israelis aren't American. You can't read Hebrew (unless that's what you picked up instead of plumbing certificates). You're not a journalist, or even an informed citizen. You're simply a symptom of mid-America's decision that they'd rather listen to an uninformed bozo they agree with than an informed one from a different class who might (though given the state of the American media, might not) actually know a little about the subject. Cognitive dissonance anybody?

More to the point: even the 'liberal' papers like Ha'aretz are supporting this war, stopping only to point out that shelling schools packed with refugee children isn't necessarily a top tactic in winning the peace. Never mind though. Tabloid journalism operates on the basis of never letting the facts get in the way of a good story. Web journalism of the kind practised by Pajamas Media tends to ignore the story (current score: 900+ dead Palestinians to 13 Israelis) altogether and grind out political points. That's my job: I'm not a journalist and 3 people read this. There is a place for citizen journalism, but drowning out professional investigation and howling down anyone you disagree with isn't what it should be for. 

Senator Bilbo might be a useful touchstone for the Blagojevich scandal: while a state senator in Mississippi he took a bribe to change sides in a vote on whom to send to the US Senate. Despite being impeached and described as 'unfit to serve' by his fellow senators, this was only the start of his career. While Lt. Governor he hid in a barn to evade a sub-poena, and removed the references to his unfitness from the record. He also opposed sending the National Guard to prevent a lynching on the basis that black people didn't merit protection, and won the state for Smith by claiming that Herbert Hoover had once danced with a black man. There's a great Pete Seeger song, 'Listen Mr. Bilbo' that skewers him good.

This just in: Israel bans Arab parties from contesting the election. So much for the claim that it's a democratic oasis in the desert.

Queen Caroline

Katha Pollitt, the brilliant Nation author, has written a stunningly sarcastic piece on the putative Senatorial career of Caroline Kennedy. If all you know about Kennedy is that the surname rings a bell in American political terms, that pretty much sums up her application form. Nobody knows what her politics actually are ('Democrat' ranges from rightwing Labour to rightwing Tory), and she has no public visibility. Just because Bush is going (8 days and counting) doesn't mean that our cousins have dumped the hereditary principle. Perhaps it was just George III personally they objected to…

A Cold Sheep Was My Table

The Map Twats had a glorious day in Shropshire on Saturday. The wind was biting, the snow still lay round about deep and crisp and even, and the beer was good. Typically, the spot we chose to shelter for our lunch turned out to be the last resting place of a sheep - Dan noticed the ribcage sticking up, and John turned out to have been sitting on its skull. A dead-sheep theme is starting to emerge on our walks. Lots of photos here, including some of the natural ice-sculpture we found.

To top off a great weekend, Stoke drew with Liverpool, and we could have beaten them. If we'd scored a goal, that is. I wonder what Diego Maradona made of his first (I presume) visit to Stoke…

Oh Salopia!

The Map Twats and John are off to the Stiperstones tomorrow - a long, steep ridge of Stiperstones Quartzite packed with prehistoric sites, geological curiosities and other fun stuff. Picture by Sabine

War's bad…

While Ronaldo is driving recklessly in his Ferrari, Freddie Kanouté celebrates his goal by revealing a shirt proclaiming solidarity with Palestine: brave political stance or celebrity indulgence? I'm going with mostly political stance on this one. The link's from goal.com - they appear to think that 'words in Arabic' constitutes decent investigative journalism. 

Lines on the closure of Dell in Limerick, a great disaster

Dell were based in Limerick until they scuttled off, so here goes… (apologies to Euterpe, the Muse of Poetry)

There was a PC maker called Dell

Who decided paying wages was Hell

So they went off to Poland

Where they were given a hand

In setting up a low wage factory and their taxes fell

How capitalism works pt. 324

Dell Computers have decided to pull out of Ireland and build their PCs in Poland. Fair enough, you might think. They've taken an economic decision to relocate in a cheaper country. 

Except that the Irish government subsidised these carpetbaggers, and got suckered into basing their economy on bigger and bigger payouts for mobile industries who could then push off to an even cheaper country at the drop of a massive cheque. Dell, according to Slugger, have accepted a Polish offer of €52 million to leave Ireland in the lurch. Off goes another multinational, having been paid to open up, forgiven the taxes due by local companies… The Poles know that Dell won't stay once they actually have to invest in the factory - no doubt they'll end up in Burkina Faso, Somalia or Haiti if they can find a skilled workforce which will work for food. The Irish government knew the score too - but considered that a good photo-op and headlines about major corporations coming to Ireland more than made up politically for the hit to the exchequer. 

What really annoys me is that Ireland and Poland are seriously pro-capitalist states, doing business with dyed-in-the-wool capitalist companies, but they're all happy to operate socialist economies with regards to corporate entities at the same time as rejecting socialist solutions for the actual citizens.

A new era dawns

Web 2.0 is going to transform our lives. We'll all be empowered, efficient and informed. A new era of democracy will dawn. 

Of course it will. 

Meanwhile, here's the Twitter feed for the new Star Trek film. Apparently some toys are on sale, you can play your part in fixing a poll (sorry, participate in a democratic consultation) and see some pictures. Doesn't that make everybody warm and fuzzy inside, empowered and informed? What do you mean, all new technologies are appropriated for the purpose of extending capitalist hegemony?

I, for one, welcome our Vulcan overlords. Actually, I am looking forward to the film. 

Keep it up!

Despite being a sordid pornographer, Larry Flynt plays a useful role as America's court jester. What with announcing the release of 'Who's Nailin' Palin'' during the election, his part in various freedom of speech court actions and his wicked sense of humour, he's played his part in pricking the pomposity of the ruling classes (perhaps because he's simply an honest capitalist). In this vein, his latest PR stunt is genius. On the eve of some porn-industry event, he's applied to Congress for $5bn dollars of the bailout money available, to revive the flagging industry. On hard (sorry) economic grounds, who could refuse him? Or does America's turn away from capitalism also include a morality clause?

Will the last journalist on the Daily Mail please switch off the lights?

Normally, I treat the Daily Mail like flatulence at a bridge night: if nobody mentions it, it doesn't exist. But seeing the front page in the newsagents today reminded me what a squalid rag it is. The headline is: 

The Great Lightbulb Revolt: Robbed of their Right to buy Traditional Lightbulbs, Millions are Clearing Shelves of Last Supplies.

Obviously, there's no actual, y'know, evidence that 'millions' of people are 'clearing the shelves', though I'm prepared to accept that some people are taking the opportunity to buy bulbs for odd fittings which may not be compatible with non-wasteful, less-polluting bulbs (and in any case, they may be all that's left in Woolworths). What I really object to is the idea that some 'they' has 'robbed' decent honest English folk of the right to buy 'traditional' bulbs. They've only been around for 100 years or so. What's the qualification for traditional now? Is a tradition simply something that's been around for a while? Or is there some kind of whites-only dance associated with the installation of 'traditional' bulbs? And 'robbed' clearly means simply 'phased out for the public good by an elected government in concert with other elected governments on the basis that they're useless, outdated and damaging'. 

Hang on, I think I understand why the Daily Mail might be feeling threatened.

PS. According to Radio 4 just now, the bulbs aren't even being withdrawn by law: it's a voluntary initiative by retailers. Fascists!

Buffage

Thanks, I think, to Gabi, who has just presented me with a big bag of Buffy spin-off books discarded by her sons. Up goes my nerd quotient, down goes my IQ…

Black Wednesday: the fallout

I ran out of juice halfway through the questions. The general feeling amongst the staff is suspicion that the new 20-credit (instead of 15) system is an attempt to reduce staffing and educational provision for the same qualification - supported by the total absence of any prior discussion, consultation or justification. People are worried about important, small subjects, and about workload. 

As for me: my English .5 expires in September and it looks unlikely that it will be extended or replaced by hourly-paid teaching. There's a chill wind blowing inside and out - but at least it's snowing outside. Big Issue, anyone?

Black Wednesday 6 - questions.

Have subject closures been discussed?

'We clearly have to look at the viability of subjects but our situation is that small subjects can be viable if their modules contribute to other subjects…' Can't keep up. Repeats 'may remain viable' several times. Joint degrees may save some smaller subjects. 

Black Wednesday 5 - questions.

How is the curriculum refocussing related to the cuts? Why run them together? The curriculum changes are going to be costly in themselves?

-- 'They are connected' but independent! Very informative.

-- Divisions reduce modules by 30% to allow for more CPD activity, skills development etc. Recruitment expected to drop for demographic reasons anyway.

Short, fat modules or long thin ones? 

-- They don't know and will invite input. Other schools will mix short and long modules. 

Black Wednesday 4 - questions

20-credit scheme starts Sept 2010. Questioner points out the total lack of consultation / pedagogical justification. Will it be phased in or applied across all levels? Response: 'it has been announced'. Well, that's good enough for me! 'Big Bang' implementation. Suggests that consultation on the 'shape' of the system may occur. It's a 'policy' change rather than an educational one and apparently happening in other universities. Someone else says it follows a funding decision to tie money to successful completion of 20-credit modules. So if we fail someone, it will hit our budget. There won't be any pressure to mark more generously at all then…

Unclear what mechanisms exist to maintain students' access to additional language programs etc. 

Will 10-credit sub-modules run?

How is HLSS performing? A: budget of c. £12m. We're £200,000 in deficit, perhaps less: minimal as there aren't many schools. Our deficit has come down from well over a million.

Why wasn't 20-credit idea raised for discussion? Reduces modules to 6 per student per year. Will there be voluntary redundancies? Response: each module might involve 4 hrs contact time and thus no less teaching. Sounds rather shaky. VR: executive hasn't announced VR nor has any procedure been initiated. Current savings plan wouldn't cover the whole £5m though - so something else is coming.

Lots of extra work and hassle involved in this at best, horrendous at worst. Distortion of modules, undermining of teaching. Actual question unclear (as management point out). Has Executive arsed it up, and how are they going to share the burden? 

-- Silence from stage, giggles from us.

Black Wednesday 3

Each school has to cut 2% off the budget - despite no breakdown in school-level finances - to cover the pay rise. 2% = £240,000. 

Freeze 'selectively new and replacement posts'. 

'Rationalise portfolios and implement a 20-credit based curriculum'. E.g. worse education with fewer staff and less choice. 

New section:

decrease in VL spending - bad news for moi. Reduced capital spending (printing etc.). Review of all appointments. 

Consultation on 20-credit scheme starts after the decision is made - genius. Inquiry into staffing levels - I can only see one result for that report, whatever the actual situation is. 

Big marketing push and search for external £££.

'Continued focus on retention and progression' = pupils mean pounds!

Black Wednesday 2

Surprise, surprise, we're starting with money. Deficit of £5.6 million across the uni and an expected decrease in student numbers. Our pay rise (which brings us to parity with kindergarten attendants) is high up the list. The V-C's famous £12,000 pay rise doesn't appear.

HEFCE have clawed back £3m too. So much for widening participation.

The executive arsed up their inflation predictions, and apparently our colleagues are living too long on their pensions. He slips in something about the 'costs of pay moderation exercise', which I suspect is a way of glossing over consultancies. Would love to know how much that cost.

Black Wednesday

A minute to go before we hear on whom the axe will fall… if you listen to the doom-mongers. 

The 'School Senior Management Team' are looking grey and forbidding. All the other schools are hosting simultaneous meetings. 

Of course, there's a bloody Powerpoint presentation.

Cravat Twats

The Map Twats went indoors yesterday, for a performance by the National Youth Orchestra at Birmingham Symphony Hall. Before that, we went to The Wellington, a fine real ale pub in central Brum which encourages customers to bring their own cheese. Dan did the honours, providing some fine Brie, and Oxford Blue, some goats' cheese, good bread, Greek olives and onion marmalade. I turned up with Italian salami and game pie. The other customers seemed to be divided between admiration and contempt for our effete picnic. 

The concert was partly aimed at getting under-25s into classical music. Musically, it was a great success, but demographically it was an utter failure. The thin crowd consisted of players' relatives, very old people and the Map Twats (average age 33). The 12-year old behind me loftily informed his mother that the NYO are 'copying the NCO and aren't nearly as good this year as they were last year'. I moved seats. Unfortunately, the man next to me was no improvement. He poked me every time the Berio and Strauss pieces quoted from Mahler, recommended Bruckner's Fourth because 'Hitler played it after supper every evening' and then poked into my shopping bag. I'd bought a new shirt from Lewin, reduced from £85 to £25: he told me that when he worked in the city, Lewin used to make 'good' shirts but now they might come from anywhere…

Anyway, audience aside, the concert was stunning. The Berio was complex, fun and compelling, the Wiegold piece they started with was a nice piece of lightweight contemporary theatre, and the Strauss (Richard) was, well, German. Huge orchestra, kitchen sink, post-Romantic but impressive in its way. 

Today, it's the university's Black Wednesday meeting - I'll be live-blogging my last day in employment.

Cutting back on the luxuries

I watched David Cameron's speech about the economy yesterday and agreed with his main point: that 'spend spend spend' is not the way to get out of a recession partially caused by rampant consumerism. Inspired by his message of hair-shirt self-denial, I invite you all to join me in promising to never again indulge in high-end accessories and decor, particularly those retailed by Smythson of Bond Street (director: one Samantha Cameron - gifts available under £100) and Osborne and Little, the source of Gideon 'George' Osborne's wealth. 

Unless, of course, you think that Mr. Cameron's point is that government should stop spend spend spending money on poor people (public transport, infrastructure, the environment) so that the rich can pay even less tax, and so that Cameron's gloriously retro monetarist/small government/Friedmanite plans can be implemented. Naomi Klein's latest, The Shock Doctrine, points out that disasters are merely opportunities for these bastards to seize power. If you don't believe me, watch Niall Ferguson's appalling recent documentary, The Ascent of Money. Sponsored by a tax haven (!), he praised the Pinochet dictatorship for its embrace of monetarism, repeatedly referred to Allende's 'communist' 'regime' (e.g. its democratically-elected socialist government), but couldn't find enough time to discuss the thousands of deaths, torture chambers etc. etc. etc.

I'm such a middle-class w*nker

How gloriously bourgeois: I'm marking essays while listening to a Belle and Sebastian live album. Ben would hate it. James would secretly like it but is too cool to admit it. Jo, I feel, would approve.

Culcha

New year's resolution: actually do more cultural stuff than buying Crumb CDs and listening to them in my room. As a good start, the Map Twats are having a rare foray inside, to hear the National Youth Orchestra playing Strauss (yuck), Berio and something new by Wiegold. All for £5: it's tomorrow so you can still make it.

Nerd heaven

Twas bliss to be alive… when Amazon delivers the complete Buffy and the first three series of Star Trek and there's a new Star Trek movie coming out (though it does look like The O. C. in space). Forget books: I'm watching TV from now on. 

Competitive bird-seeing

My chums are getting competitive about their birdwatching - degenerating into spotting really. Cynical Ben is especially pleased that he's seen fringilla montifringilla (depicted above courtesy of the RSPB who love birds except for pheasants). Seen one finch, seen them all, I say. He's overjoyed that Dan didn't because he got the wrong bus in Wigan. If you have to go to Wigan to see a bird, it's not worth it. Orwell didn't give up his wanderings there for no reason, you know. Even Stoke didn't make him turn round. 

Dan's response is, of course, masterly. He quietly pointed out that Ben hasn't yet seen 'the rather more common pied wagtail'. Stick that in your binoculars!

Free the Tarnac 9

Well, after that bracing holiday, I'm back and raring to lacerate someone with mildly barbed commentary. First up, the French.

No, not on the usual lines (garlic, surrender, strikes, arrogance). I like those aspects of that country. When de Gaulle despaired of being able to govern a country with 300+ cheeses, I thought he was mad - why would you not want to? I like French bloody-mindedness, their concern for food and quality of life (lunch with red wine or an e. coli sandwich at your desk?)  and their love of an old-fashioned, all-in demonstration or riot. 

Which is what brings me to whinge about our cousins now. In the past, they've had a healthy hard left shading into revolutionary factions. They even gave sanctuary to various Italians who'd had, shall we say, an interesting 1970s. But now, the party est finie. The freelance left may be coming back but the French government has decided that under the guise of 'extremism', they can nick everybody who doesn't want to go to Disneyworld Paris - even the inoffensive anarchists of Tarnac who allegedly delayed a train and may (or may not) have had a hand in writing 'The Coming Insurrection', a rather sweet neoTrotskyist tract which shares some values with my mother's terrorist sect, the Women's Institute. 

What the Tarnac 9 seem to have done is lived The Good Life - gone to a depopulated area of France (Limousin) and joined the remaining locals in making their village viable again - which seems rather in keeping with the new spirit of the times, given that globalisation has allowed the stupidity of a tiny élite of financiers to push the entire global economy into recession. In return, the police judiciaire swooped in full anti-terrorist gear and kidnapped nine of them: the Swiss sitcom actor, the clarinettist, the archaeologist, the student nurse and the grocer amongst them… dangerous criminals all. I bet their veg boxes were packed with loads of subversively-shaped goodies. Perhaps even a sausage hiding the Fallen Madonna with the Big Boobies…

However, Sarko is determined to prove that he's a forward-thinking rightwing global capitalist like… er… Tony Blair just in time for the New 1930s. Hélas

Some of the Tarnac 9, plotting another fiendish outrage

A Tribute to Harold Pinter

So. Harold Pinter's ……………

Dead.

He's ………… had his cornflakes .………… at last.

It's all Blair's fucking fault.

(E. J. Thribb, 17.5… second pause).

We are not alone

Yes, someone else has used the phrase "map twats". Admittedly, in a string of code designed to fiddle with speech bubbles, but still…

agent.Speak("Those Chapman brothers? What a pair of \\map=\"twats\"=\"c*nts\"\\")

The only other comprehensible use is on a Spanish language news aggregator which has clearly been spammed:

Teens tasteless shoplife video lapsed rubin black xxx. Big map twats teens hush black with fixed-rate. About black teens books. Gore teens bowmen

Kind of poetic…

Setting about the toffs

A young friend of mine, whom the Daily Telegraph described as a 'teenage guitar wunderkind', attended his first seminar at university recently. Confronted by some arrogant toff who announced that proles debased literature, said chum stood up, pointed and uttered, as his first words in a university setting, 'You… are a fucking c**t'. I've only asterisked the word because it's so revolting, but I can't help admiring his forthrightness and essential accuracy. If only my students got that wound up and passionate. 

Needless to say, he hasn't attended many more seminars. 

Bovril

Cynical Ben  recommended the Bovril website. He was right, it's wonderful. You do need sound though.

Oh, and while we're here, I foresee terrible things happening in Spring 2020. In particular, a pandemic virus called COVID-19, and a skull-featured Tory spinner breaking all the rules, then lying about it at a press conference, then editing his 'blog' (yes, they'll still be the coolest medium of the decade) to make it look like he predicted said pandemic.

Honestly, I scare myself with this level of precision foresight sometimes.

Thanks Laura

For my 'Carry on Jeeves' teatowel - brilliant.

Map Twats redux

Almost all of us managed to go for a walk near Littleborough (above Watergrove) this Sunday - all except Daniel, who had conjugal duties. Nevertheless, we off-roaded and ate effete food and found skulls. I took lots of photos of said skulls, lichen and twats. 

Amongst the many glorious gifts (a fascinating food book from Dan, goggles and a nose clip from Neal) Jo and Ben gave me a spork. I've always wanted one. Say goodbye to two-handed scoffing misery!

Educashun Educashun Educashun

My university canteen was playing 'Another Brick in the Wall' over the tannoy today. Somebody has a well-developed sense of irony… I doubt it's the students.

'Inspired' by the past

A few weeks ago I visited London to see my old chum Adam (who as a financial software creator, essentially caused the credit crunch), but who finally has found that special other to wield his second lightsabre (a few photos here). 

While there, I dragged him round the V+A's Cold War Modern: Design 1945-1970 exhibition. Lots of it was predictable, but it did evoke a sense of awe, that people saw industrial design and city planning as our friends - science as our saviour from lives of agricultural drudgery. Some visions have worn better than others. The vertical cities designed to protect us from the polluted (irradiated?) Earth are stunningly beautiful but nostalgically futuristic, whereas Dieter Rams' designs have clearly inspired modern industrial products (yes, I mean you, Apple).

Educate, Inform and Entertain

The Daily Star featured Gary Glitter on its front page the other day - something like PAEDO HORROR GLITTER TAKES BUS (really - apparently cab drivers won't take him). Over a few beers, we wondered how Chris Morris would update his famous (infamous?) paedophilia episode. Here's what we came up with:

The Paedo-Files - not sure what the show would be, but it's a good pun.

I'm a Celebrity Paedo Get Me Out Of Here - celebrity paedos appealing for your early release vote.

Celebrity Paedo Big Brother: a 7 year old (some kind of Romanian orphan or one in the 'care' of Haringey Social Services, ie somebody nobody will miss) sits in the centre of the CPBB house, surrounded by CCTV cameras, watching Gary Glitter, Chris Langham and a selection of other internationally-famous pop stars and film directors who've been acquitted or never charged solve puzzles which get them further round the maze leading to said orphan's room. C4 are no doubt filming it now.

Coming soon: Paedo! Which closely-modelled-on-a-celebrity character committed unspeakable acts, with what implements, in which room? Family fun for all the family (not for under 18s).

Kids' stuff?

In a break from the L. M. Montgomery marathon, I read Terry Pratchett's Nation yesterday. People can be snobby about Pratchett, but who else is writing consistently good, funny, socially-engaged books which tackle the big issues. Nation propounds the joys of liberal humanism and atheism in a thoughtful and sensitive way, amongst other things. Pullman does the same thing in a more dramatic fashion, but TP quietly explores them in this book. We'll miss him when his Alzheimer's takes over. Curiously, the author photograph is the only hint of Pratchett's condition. Instead of a full-frontal one, his face is turned away from the camera, making him unknowable. Given that he has a white beard and always wears a black hat and clothes, the effect is one of darkness - very poignant. 

On the theme of children's fantasy, I saw Inkheart yesterday. I'm a fan of the books (they're about the power of reading), and grew to like the film. They give away the central conceit in the first line of the voice-over which is ridiculous, and Brendan Fraser is the worst actor I've ever seen. Keanu Reeves would have put more primal energy into the role. 

Nobody's business but the Turks'

I also went to the Byzantium exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art - totally recommended. Despite it's reputation for inbreeding, plotting and internecine warfare, Byzantium/Constantinople/Istanbul produced some of the world's greatest artwork and preserved an awful lot of the ancient world, because it existed on borders between so many interesting cultures. 

Spin me right round

I've been gone so long that I've missed several rants on Cynical Ben's blog, but I've been having lots of fun. I went to see Tindersticks at the Union Chapel in Islington and it was amazing in so many ways (thanks to Gigantic.com for sorting out the ticket so kindly - 10% of the booking fee goes to Oxfam, and thanks too to my sister Hilary and her fiancé Dominic). The venue is an octagonal neo-Gothic Victorian Congregationalist church which doubles up as a gig venue. I saw the BBC footage of an Arcade Fire gig there last year and was impressed, but being there was amazing. It really lends itself to the intensity of cult bands - of which number Tindersticks are definitely counted. They're a 7-piece not afraid of Jim Reeves-style crooning, cellos and feedback. 

The first records I ever bought were 10" vinyl. One was Tindersticks' Sweet Kathleen and the other was Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's Patio LP, purchased from my most favourite but ruinous shop in the world, Recordiau'r Cob in Bangor, North Wales. All I owned before I rolled up at Bangor Uni was a cassette tape of Automatic for the People (a present) and a love of Slayer. Why I chose GZM and Tindersticks I can't remember, but they were great buys - I'm still a sucker for lo-fi, cellos, side-projects and vinyl. 

Those gits at Cob made a fortune from me. They were all in Welsh-language bands like Ectogram and would stuff my pre-order bags with their own stuff and any old shit that nobody else would buy. I wouldn't have minded, except that they handed over all this stuff while keeping up a continuous running commentary on the all-round awfulness of everything I'd actually chosen to buy. For five years. I miss that kind of dedication - there's no record shop in Wolverhampton. 

The other reason I enjoyed Tindersticks was that it reminded me that there's a delightful, slightly self-satisfied but adorable world of bourgeois enjoyment out there. The crowd looked like extras in a St. Etienne video - cool, liberal, relaxed geography teachers. Most 'cool' people belong in a camp. They spend too much money on hairstyles and designer glasses, while solipsistically ignoring the world's woes (most of which they've caused). Tindersticks fans (and Belle and Sebastian fans, despite Cynical Ben's outpouring of faux-proletarian hate) are kind, warm, sophisticated people and there aren't any of them in Wolverhampton. 

I wandered past a nasty pub today. It annoyed me, as it always does, because it's called 'The Moon Under the Water', which is the name Orwell gave his imagined perfect pub in one of his essays (I'm a lazy man and can't be bothered to find the reference for one reader). It isn't the perfect pub, it's a run-down Wetherspoon's. I wouldn't begrudge this theft if the chain made the effort to follow GO's prescription, but it's horrible, although the beer is very good. 

Anyway, outside this pub was a smoking Goth. Or rather, a Goth, smoking. I like Goths, having lived with some gentle, vegetarian Goths in Bangor. This one annoyed me because smoking was clearly a part of his rebellious image. I know Goths have, like all subcultures as Hebdige pointed out, been appropriated and diluted for marketing purposes, but they think they're rebellious. I wanted to point out that in a corporate world, smoking is the ultimate act of non-rebellion. Sure, governments tell us not to smoke, but they're far less important than corporations as far as our daily lives go. Governments should be far more intrusive but they've been captured by corporate interests. Deliberately shortening your life and reducing your physical strength (and financial power) by smoking just make you a slave. I have more respect for kerb-crawlers: at least both sides are getting something out of that transaction. 

Must control murderous urges

My friends Ben and Dan are twitchers - birdwatchers. I like birds, and generally admire whatever they've spotted when we're out walking as the Map Twats. Yet I had a most satisfying dream the other night. Every time they pointed out something rare, I produced a gun and blasted it out of the sky, each time gaining an enormous sense of well-being. I don't hunt, or even like hunting (though I can see the justification for shooting your dinner), so why was it so enjoyable? Perhaps it's the transgression. I'm a quiet and well-behaved cove most of the time, and rarely do anything outrageous, so mayhap the old subconscious is hinting that there's a pressure-cooker of rage that needs release before I go on some sort of festive killing spree.

Still, seeing Tindersticks tomorrow so that should help.

Kids today, eh?

A while back I read some sour comment in the Guardian by a vicar, of all people, whinging about children all being violent delinquents and it pissed me off at the time. This weekend I was refereeing and chaperoning at the Junior Winton Cup, an inter-regions fencing competition. There were 200+ kids from all sorts of places and backgrounds, and nobody was stabbed (except on piste under controlled conditions) or robbed or anything untoward. Nobody got drunk, lost or pregnant (I think) and all the teams mixed well, whatever the rivalries in the hall. Most people are like this, and those who aren't can become so. But I suppose this isn't the stuff of headlines in the bloody Daily Mail. 

The Kindness of Strangers

A couple of years ago, I joined my first social network, Librarything, which links readers and allows them to browse each others' libraries, comment on them, join discussion groups and share ideas as well as books. It's completely addictive.

Shortly afterwards, I was contacted by a student who needed a particular issue of Poetry Wales, a great magazine now run by a fantastic publisher, Seren Books. I duly scanned in the issue, sent it off, and thought no more about it after 'Brunhilde' thanked me. 

Then today, opening the daily pile of books delivered to my office, I found a card and Clancy's translation of Kate Roberts's short stories, along with the news that she'd taken a first class degree and thought I deserved a present. It was one of those occasions when a total surprise reaffirms my sense that most people are essentially good. I recommend Kate Roberts, by the way - if she'd written in English (here's a Welsh appreciation), she'd be at least as valued as Mansfield, Woolf or Chekhov. 

Newsmap

For the ultimate news junky, go here: it's a stunning site which presumably draws on RSS feeds to track the biggest stories across the globe (hat-tip to Slugger O'Toole)

When armageddon comes…

This is where I want to move to - though Norway and the Faroe Islands appeal too...

Culinary experimentation

My continental housemates and neighbours asked me to cook a traditional British Christmas dinner for them yesterday. Although we started with a Polish Borscht with ravioli-like parcels as a donation from some of them, the rest was standard fare. The results were intriguing - everybody liked turkey, some were amazed by sprouts (!), pleased with parsnips, impressed by my cranberry-and-burgundy sauce, and everybody absolutely hated Christmas Pudding, which shocked me to my marrow. 

Then they all trooped off to the West Midlands' worst nightclub, Oceana, while I went to bed, exhausted and old. 

Day of Remembrance

For lefty types like me, it's a special day. Firstly, Oliver Postgate died today - grandson of George Lansbury the Labour Party Leader, cousin of Angela Lansbury, the creative brain behind Bagpuss, Ivor the Engine, The Clangers and many more. I've never seen Bagpuss and don't give a flying one for childhood TV nostalgia, the last redoubt of rugger-shirt wearing students, but I know enough of Postgate's work to understand that like Terry Pratchett and Philip Pullman, they're responsible for the generations of enthusiastic, open-minded, imaginative and thoughtful cultural socialists we have: liberation socialists, we could call them. There might not be many of them, but they're out there.

UPDATE: Zoe Williams makes my points much more eloquently - but then she's a professional journalist. Channel 4 News last night also claimed that Ivor the Engine was set in Wales because Postgate was a huge fan of Dylan Thomas - and there is a (gentler) ring of Llareggub about the cartoon. Also, Professor Yaffle was inspired by meeting Bertrand Russell. Everything I learn about the man makes me sadder that he didn't run the country rather than make cartoons in a cowshed.

Which brings me on to Milton - not forgotten at all, as the Today programme's grumpy slot claimed. I teach Milton in an ex-Poly, and some of my colleagues specialise in his work. I'm not an unalloyed fan of JM - the mouthpiece of a genocidal regime as far as Ireland's concerned - and as Ackroyd's Milton in America suggests, he could so easily have become an Ayatollah figure, but he was also a Republican in body and spirit, and a force for rationality and liberation in so many ways. Here's Philip Pullman reading Milton and here's Terry Eagleton's summary of Milton's greatness (the poetry's pretty good too).

Waugh … huh … what is it good for?

How I love puns. Surprisingly, the answer isn't 'absolutely nothing'. I read Brideshead Revisited again recently and realised how unlike the revolting, Tory, snobbish, arrogant ITV drama the book is. I'm a cradle Catholic, violently socialist malcontent (and if your kids don't pass their A-levels, I'll be brainwas sorry teaching them), yet Brideshead does evoke not just the fading of a class but satirises a class desperately searching for meaning. Remember - the Marchmains have only been Catholic for one generation, and none too successfully. There's little joy in their faith. 

I went to Evensong at Worcester Cathedral a couple of weeks ago, and felt like nothing but a tourist. As Cordelia says (that name is following me about at the moment), to the faithless a church is simply 'an oddly-decorated room'. The question is whether the experience is spiritually worthless. 

Miss Piggy

I'm trying to avoid any porcine-related double-entendres about the Great Irish Pig Scandal, because my sister is immortalised in the world's worst newspaper (actually, I can confidently make that the worlds' worst newspaper - even given the mathematical calculation that there must be several billion inhabited planets out there, surely none is so unfortunate as to have the Daily Mail), gazing hungrily at the empty shelves of an Irish supermarket. The Mail loves these scares - they've of course managed to reduce the complex interaction of organic chemistry to 'cancer causing dioxins' (no hyphens for them) and only just managed to resist tying it to house prices. If the Mail's shallow and offensive approach to science makes you sicker than a hamburger-scoffing Irishman, head over to Bad Science for the antidote.

Still, she seems to be wearing most of an Argentine cattle ranch, so the BSE should make up for the absence of swill dioxins.

Update: The 'Irish' version doesn't even have a website which isn't very impressive, and none of the comment sections are ever written for the Hibernian audience (as Roy Greenslade points out)

Cynical Ben will hate this

My twee, Sarah- and Postcard-loving soul thrills to the delivery today of the Belle and Sebastian BBC sessions. John Peel liked them too, so you can all sod off.

Where have all the great record companies gone? I used to collect Fierce Panda stuff, until they decided to become a super-indie rather than a launch pad for all sorts of weirdoes. Ankst used to be fun but their moment's gone. Bella Union are reliably brilliant, as are 555.

I see that my friends The Nightingales are no. 14 in the Dandelion Radio Festive 50 for last year - and they're getting better and better, mostly because we bought Alan a theremin.

PGCE again

I presented my critical incident report today - conceptualising and reflecting on disruptive students, so at least I was finally talking about something I know about. It went rather well - supportive and useful feedback grounded in practical advice. 

Kamp Krusty lives!

A 'Lapland' Christmas wonderland in Dorset has closed after 2000 complaints, mostly because the place was a cross between a B+Q shed depot and a jumble sale. 

Their site has already died, but here's the rather bitter and disingenuous statement from the organisers. They blame 'organised crowd manipulation and event sabotage' and 'unscrupulous and inaccurate negative bias media broadcasts' (though it seems unlikely that they'd have thanked the press for 'positive bias' if the thing had gone well).

However, the Kamp Krusty, Eddie Grundy or Father Ted-ness really comes out in this comment:

'a "tunnel of light" turned out to be a line of trees with a few strings of fairy lights'

and

'One child allegedly found [Santa] smoking a cigarette behind the grotto'.

UPDATE: a similar wonderland was meant to open at Essington, a few short miles from here by sleigh - but was closed down when Trading Standards unsportingly pointed out that the car-boot sale venue operation was, well, a bit rubbish. It would have been a wonderfully British day out. Jonathan Meades would have loved it. 

A very Canadian coup

The Canadians had an election recently, as did the New Zealanders. In both cases, the Conservatives won despite succeeding decent liberal governments. Thankfully, the Liberals in Canada have got together to form a coalition, throw out Stephen Harper's no-good Tories in a confidence vote and save the world. (Poor Anne would hate it - she's a die-hard Tory but only because Matthew Cuthbert was). 

So what have the sneaky low-down Canuck Conservatives done, eh? Just gone running to the Queen like the Aussies in 1975, when the viceroy (sorry, Governor-General) dismissed Gough Whitlam's government even though he had a majority. Harper's asked the Queen to suspend parliament to avoid losing the vote - the coward. His whips should be bribing and threatening and dragging in the sick-bed vote like most mature democracies would.

No way!

Our esteemed leader has informed us that American software to mark essays is nearing completion - so clearly I should feck off and retrain at McDonald's because there's no need for actual learning, experience, ambiguity, creativity in either the teaching or studying process. This guy isn't worried - he clearly thinks it's a brilliant idea. I seem to remember Huxley's Brave New World positing a similar educational system.

The application I've found discussed on the web works on 'semantic similarity' - so that doctor/operate is linked by the computer to an answer which contains 'surgeon/scalpel'. Hmmm

Bush redux

Over at The Huffington Post, those good liberals are enjoying the implosion of the Republican Party. The front-runners for the 2012 nomination are Palin, Jindal and Jeb Bush. The mark of the true mess those bastards are in is encapsulated by this:

How screwed are the Republicans right now? Put it this way: the sanest contender in the above list is named "Bush".

I'm wiing myself

Jab, one of my PGCE colleagues, has tipped me off about Johnny Chung Lee, who has turned a £20 Wiimote (Wii remote control) into a cheap interactive whiteboard, constructed 3D interfaces, and got a Minority Report interface going - all for under £30. 

For shame, professionals

At last, an illuminating and informed exposition of assessment statistics and practices - by one my fellow students - puts the professional educationalists in the shade.

Nixon: we were right

According to today's Guardian, Richard Nixon really was a lying, paranoid, devious bastard,as revealed on the tapes. In particular, he had it in for the press and for academia:

the professors are the enemy, the professors are the enemy. Write that on a blackboard 100 times.

He's right - or should be. I've had the joy of working with a bunch of ageing radical for the past ten years, though there are always some rotten Tory apples in there. It's time for a purge…

Essential teaching skills

So far, the tasks covered this morning are: putting post-its on the wall and honing my Google skills. 

Still ill…

I'm not, but this morning I can empathise fully with Mozzer's comments. Up at 6 to be totally disappointed by a lack of snow, which means I had to take an early train to a Telford industrial estate for a PGCE day - which I'll be live blogging to stave off murderous urges.

And if you must go to work tomorrow

Well if I were you I really wouldn't bother

For there are brighter sides to life

And I should know, because I've seen them

But not very often…

The Smiths, Still Ill.

Congratulations Alex

One of my favourite books, Alex Ross's The Rest is Noise, has won an award from my favourite newspaper, The Guardian (though it now calls itself theguardian because it has an inferiority complex about the web). Ross's book is a guide to modern classical music - it's informed, witty, educational and passionate, and it certainly made me go back to some music I'd overlooked and listen to some I'd previously dismissed. There are blank spots, such as British composers (though he rates Britten) but it's a great read. 

More than that, Ross is one of the few who have genuinely grasped the possibilities of blogging. The book and his site go together, allowing him to post extracts of pieces of music he writes about.

Twits…

Apparently, @tonybenn who has been Twittering all week isn't really Tony Benn. As if anybody could seriously think that the great man would fall for such inconsequential nonsense. Benn is (as the video clip demonstrates) is a fan of Youtube and web journalism as ways of 'speaking truth to power', but the idea that someone who has sat down with tea, pipe and tape recorder for fifty years would suddenly decide that SMS-length updates is appropriate is laughable. Though he does have his own very outdated website.

To me, Twitter is the triumph of medium over message - the fetishisation of technology. Does anybody remember Alan Johnson's Labour deputy leadership campaign Twittering? Never was a noun so apt. Tony Benn, love him or loathe him, is a thinker - and few things in life are so simple that they can be reduced to a text-message (perhaps 'I love you' or 'You're dumped'). What you get when people like Johnson Twitter is 'Visited primary school. Proves triumph of socialism. Had rice pudding' (I exaggerate slightly). Perhaps a few skilled poets can distil meaning into few words, but most people expose the superficiality of their thoughts… and that's what blogging is for!

Indeterminate Creatures

I've just been to a reading by Alan Apperley from his novel, Indeterminate Creatures, to be published by Tindal Street Press in January 2010. The title derives from an Elizabeth Goudge novel (she was a bourgeois, regional and religious novelist, completely unlike Alan) and the novel traces the simultaneous growth of creativity in a fecund and artistic sense during a young couple's first pregnancy (though it's much more profound than this summary makes it appear - and Hitler's in it too).

The reading was fun. Although an experienced lecturer and performer in other fields, he was clearly nervous and more comfortable talking about the novel than reading it - even though it went down very well in front of a crowd of lecturers, students and fellow novelists. I'd read the book in draft form a couple of times, and it was fascinating to hear how characters and settings were transformed into 'real' people and places simply by reading out loud. 

Thanksgiving be to God

Last weekend I went to my American friends' house for a Thanksgiving feast with all the trimmings. I still don't know why Canadians celebrate a different date… 

We had the driest martinis known to man (3 drops of vermouth in several inches of gin), leading to an outbreak of unconsciousness later, delayed only by glorious turkey, roast sweet potatoes and homemade pies of pecan and pumpkin, while being regaled by tales of NYPD wit. Photos will be forthcoming. 

On Sunday, we went to Evensong at Worcester Cathedral. An atheist Catholic, a fairly lapsed Anglican and a non-observant Jew. There probably is a God: Evensong was off the menu and instead of glorious, resonant music rolling round that great space, a couple of pompous toffs droned unintelligibly for half an hour, using colons like sledgehammers…

Institutional cynicism

Another week, another pile of marking, moderation and all the stuff that comes with teaching. I've also got a PGCE day on Thursday - a whole day of institutional cynicism. The response to one of my sessions plans was that it left space for students to cheat - a professional educator seemed to be suggesting that all students are cheats and that it's my job to design assessments which preclude the possibility. I know some of my students do cheat, but most don't, and I'd rather not be a teacher than spend my time erecting barbed wire. Anyone who takes that view shouldn't be in a classroom at all (but then again, they're educationalists, so they're only inflicted on people like me).

Book 6 of Anne of Green Gables. Despite having 6 children in 9 years, Anne feels that Gilbert doesn't love her any more. I'd think she'd be grateful for the time off…