Looking after Number One

Thanks to Neal and Ewar, who watched Prime Minister's Question Time (probably in bed) while I was teaching.

Greedy Paul (Uppal) managed to ooze a question in towards the end, after all the intelligent MPs had got one in (about 28 minutes in)

Did Paul ask what would happen to fine institutions like The Hegemon once students face debts of £80,000? No. Did he ask about the impact of child benefit and other benefit cuts on people made unemployed by a desperately deep recession? No, he didn't.

Did he ask the Prime Minister to cut taxes on empty commercial property?

Yes, he did.

Did he mention that he owns £8-10 million worth of commercial property?

Don't be silly. Apparently, he thinks that letting landlords of tax on properties they'd rather keep empty than drop rents on will somehow 'regenerate' the West Midlands.

His selfish quest knows no limits. Still his masters will be well pleased.

How does the British Property Federation see democracy? Apparently, as one more commodity to be bought and sold, and the public as a hindrance: They're not keen on the environment either:

The BPF survived the conference season unscathed having found the Conservatives happy, Labour in shock, and the Liberal Democrats surprisingly chipper, staring down the barrel of possible electoral annihilation with a smile beneath their beardy faces, and gently bemused at the reversal of fortunes that saw Labour protesters turn up at their conference this year, rather than the other way around.

In Birmingham, we hosted a select, medium to swanky dinner at the Conservative conference attended by councillors from London and Kent, the new chair of the All Party Urban Development Group Paul Uppal MP, and some esteemed members. It was a useful opportunity to get inside the minds of local authority leaders (it’s less scary than you might imagine) and will prove valuable as we work out how to adapt to localism.

One welcome clarification was that, planning authorities will not be dictated to by sub-local authority “communities” when drawing up local plans. Community plans will in effect be suggestions and councils will have the responsibility to knit them all together into a hopefully coherent whole.

This was useful, as the definition of “community” had been somewhat confused at the Lib Dem conference in Liverpool, with CLG minister Andrew Stunell floating the idea that “communities” did not even have to tally with geographic areas, for example how about a plan drawn up by the Muslim community? Or by those who like cheese?

They're not keen on the environment either:

And Eric Pickles repeated that where no up-to-date plan was in place, there would be a presumption in favour of sustainable development, although the definition of the words “presumption”, “favour”, “sustainable” and “development” is presumably still up for grabs. “In” and “of” we feel fairly comfortable about.

Delightful. What a great few years we have to look forward to.

Eh? What

Now, we all know that Paul Uppal MP will never be a Nobel laureate, an FRS or even a Mastermind competitor, but this gnomic statement baffles me.

Does he agree that the contribution made by graduates is not only economic and that it relates to social capital? They provide positive role models in society and make a contribution back into the community. The way we will achieve that is through the Finance (No. 2) Bill.

It seems meaningless on the surface, and after a moment's thought, it turns out to be plain balls.

There's no argument there. How do graduates contribute social capital? Do non-graduates not do this? Plenty of evil people are graduates, and therefore not role models. Take Rich Paul for instance. He claims to have a degree, yet he's spent his life enriching himself, and now actually damages the fabric of society by voting to load £60-80,000 debts on to students, making it less likely that they'll contribute to society in other ways. They'll be too tired from working hard to pay their debts. Is Paul a role model? I think not.

Then there's the leap of logic which he crosses with some style. Finance (No. 2) beggars all graduates and makes low-paying graduate jobs fundamentally unattractive (teachers, social workers etc). It works against social capital.

I can't help thinking - and you may agree - that Lazy Paul's statement, at heart, means little more than 'I'm here. Acknowledge my existence' rather than presenting any reasoned argument. I'm not alone: his colleague Vince Cable, minister in charge of destroying education, couldn't work out what the hell Uppal was on about either:

I think, if I understand the question correctly, that the hon. Gentleman is making the point that there are high social as well as private returns from higher education. That is one of the reasons why the Government continue to support it.

Remember, dear readers, Uppal won the election by 600 votes, and there are an awful lot of students, academics and parents in his constituency. It won't take many of us to consign him to history. In the meantime, don't expect too much from him.

ha ha ha ha ha

OK, Ireland only managed a draw with Slovakia, but England not managing even a goal against Montenegro? That's pretty miserable.

Northern Ireland drawing with the Faeroes seems fair enough - though it implies that Italy will manage the same result too - Wales got their usual drubbing, and Scotland should be fairly pleased to narrowly lose to the World Cup holders. At least the match wasn't called off, like Serbia-Italy…

What a weird footballing night it was.

I'm going back in time

Last night, Emma and I went to see Back to the Future on the big screen. It was kind of weird - seeing a film about time travel which took us back to our youths: paradoxical in a sense. Marty goes back to 1955 so that we can go back to 1985. I was ten. Emma - well, a gentleman doesn't tell.

The cinema was packed. With air. There were two other people in the audience, both of whom were wearing the same Whitesnake t-shirts they wore to the original screening, somewhat strained these days.

Was it worth seeing? Oh yes. As well as a hymn to being young and Californian in 1985, there's a quiet social satire going on. Yes, success is calculated by whether you have a Toyota 4x4 and your families wear suits to work, but the set design implies a deep nervousness about the direction in which American society is going. For instance, the cinema on the town square: in the 1950s it's showing a Reagan/Stanwyck classic: by the 1980s, it's a porn cinema. Similarly the shops change, from independent outlets to charity shops or boarded-up shells. Litter appears, and 1985 features homeless people. This isn't simple nostalgia for a mythical golden age - there's a social critique going on.

Problems with the film? Huey Lewis and the News, and the fashions, all of which have returned with a vengeance. Worse than that, the climactic scene - the Enchantment Under the Sea dance features white boy Marty McFly teaching black musicians the blues. Dubious.

You missed a treat.

Nick Clegg lying to your face

Hope he dreams about this every night:



Meanwhile, I'm off. I've been reading John Stuart Mill's On Liberty all day, and need to escape (boom, tish). It's Back to the Future at the cinema tonight!

Samuel Smiles, alive and well

Smiles wrote such an influential book that it became the name of a whole genre, Self Help. It's still in print. It said that to be a worthy and moral person, you should look after Number One.

I know someone who's taken that to heart. He's a multimillionaire property speculator (not that he mentioned that to the electorate) who realised that the way to make more money was to make laws and hobnob with the other rich and powerful, by getting elected to Parliament.

His name's Paul Uppal. I may have mentioned him in passing already, in connection with telling lies to Parliament, not answering communications from constituents, and generally not giving a damn for the rest of us. Don't bother protesting about student fees or anything else: he votes the party line for everything, and only speaks when publicity or profit appear before his greedy piggy eyes.

He's popped up again: another droning little speech about his favourite subject: himself, and ways to make more money for himself. In a debate about REITS (property investments which help speculators and developers avoid paying a decent amount of tax), his self-interest came bursting out:

I share my hon. Friend's interest in real estate investment trusts. Commercial property is a success story. UK commercial property is one of the most coveted assets globally and brings in a great deal of revenue to the Exchequer. I echo my hon. Friend's eloquently put sentiments. If we look at the restrictions on the creation of real estate investment trusts, there could be a win-win situation for the UK. We should particularly look at a policy of incorporating that for private property companies as well.

The truth is, commercial property has dived massively, especially in London, thanks to greed and speculation. It's in Uppal's interest to talk up the market and find easy ways to avoid tax and increase property values because, well, he owns a lot of commercial property, and most of it's in London.

He's all right Jack. As for the rest of us - who cares?

Meanwhile, the Register of Members' Interests is up. Uppal claims to have a shareholding in Pinehurst Securities, and nothing else. No donations, no Ashcroft money, nothing. Interesting… we'll have to wait until the Tories cough up their election accounts in November.

And finally…

A few more pictures (rest here). Click to expand.

Got to love pollution when it gives you sunsets like this

The Magistrates' Court

I wanted to get the letters, with no hint of the building

Deliberately out of focus - I think it works.

Shame the 'newspaper' is such a reactionary racist piece of filth.

While taking this shot, I realised that the guy who asked me if I was 'alright' actually meant 'please stop taking photos while I deal crack unless you want to buy some yourself'. 

More camera trickery to make The Dark Place look inhabitable

More here, click on the images for embiggening (trying to avoid 'enhance').

Sunset in the ghetto

I went out with my camera again last night, just to play with it and see how the demolition's going. Some decent results, though I really need my monopod if I'm to get good car lamp pictures - these were all handheld, though pretty enough. More here, or click on these ones to make them larger.

Liberal…with the truth

Well, well well. Who'd have thought the Lib Dems would learn the Dark Arts of grown-up politics so quickly? We really should commend them for their speed-learning.

It seems only 6 months ago that every single Liberal Democrat MP and candidate publicly signed big pledge cards promising to vote against increasing university fees, and to seek ways to abolish them completely. Not just the odd ones - all of them. Someone called Nick Clegg, who turned out to be their leader, even called potential fee increases 'a disaster'.

Nick Clegg signing a statement reading 'I pledge to vote against any increase in fees…'

Well, it was a long time ago. Now the government's adviser, Lord Browne (the massively rich BP chairman who had to resign because he'd committed perjury) has recommended unlimited fee increases and loans charged at commercial rates - that'll get people flocking to teaching, nursing and social work.

Of course, the coalition will find some way to soften the blow: they'll use Browne as a fear-inducing option before doing whatever it was they already wanted to do, but the bottom line is that these Lib Dem MPs will find themselves voting to increase fees, making liars of them and fools of us all.

This is no surprise to me of course. The Liberal Democrats were founded in treason: the SDP consisted of Labour MPs who decided they could no longer stay in the room with smelly proletarian types with their working-class fixations, and bailed out to campaign for better coffee and plusher sandals. Then they merged with the remains of the old Liberal Party, and the rest was bullshit history, right up to the 2010 election, when they appealed directly to students to vote for them to stop Labour and Tory fee increases.

There's a simple lesson. The Tories are honest scum. They'll stab you in the front so they can see your face. The Lib Dems have built a political machine on stabbing people in the back. They can't stop now.

Friend or fan

Yesterday morning, it was all so simple. I was going to spend Saturday walking to Mitchell's Fold (a Bronze Age stone circle on the Shropshire Hills), then go to the Monteverdi concert on Sunday with my mother.

Not any more. Film Four are having a Star Trek Marathon. All ten films, with introductions and discussions. Oh my. Even the rubbish films (III, parts of IV - which was nominated for four Oscars - all the Next Generation ones) are sorely tempting.

Hm. Daddy or chips?

Your thoughts? Or abuse…

All in the best possible taste…

The (American) National Organization of Gay and Lesbian Science and Technical Professionals is holding a series of events to celebrate the role of GLBT people in the sciences, and to highlight the potential difficulties of coming out in that world.

Good. Sciences have, of course, different subcultures and these will impact even on sexual orientation and behaviour. So it seems like a good cause to me.

But. But, but, but. What an appalling name. I mean, really. Can't they find a better way to summarised their purpose while referencing popular culture.

I propose (drum roll):

QUEERED SCIENCE!

Thankyewverymuchladiesngennlemen, I'm here all week.

Your contributions also welcome.

Voices from another age

Duff Cooper continues to enthral and repel in equal measure:

I had to present the OBE this morning to a young woman, Mlle. de Veye, who had shown great heroism tending the wounded under fire. It is remarkable how very plain heroines usually are. I suppose they have less to lose.

What a charmer. He's not keen on decadent eating habits either:

I went to the Royal Empire Society at 1 o'clock, where I had an unpleasant experience called a 'sandwich lunch' which lasted only half an hour.…I was glad when it was over.

Not a Pret kind of guy, Duff. Luncheon for him consisted of several Dukes and a couple of mistresses tucking into foie gras, caviar, larks' tongues and otters' noses, all washed down with gallons of Pol Roger and Pétrus.

Talking of Tory Scum drinking Pétrus, despite the party conference delegates being told to quaff nothing posher than Vimto, given that the majr announcement of the week was snatching child benefits from the middle classes and most benefits from the poor, they still managed to have a Pétrus party - bottles costing somewhere between £1000-3000 per bottle.

In the media uproar over benefit cuts the tiny headline that must have caused Team Cameron most heartburn was "Forget the crisis, open the Petrus". In fewer than 100 words the Telegraph told party activists Cameron had attended an "election thank you" dinner at Simpsons, a fancy Birmingham restaurant. Hosted by the über-rich outgoing party treasurer Michael Spencer, it was attended by just 40 people. But one them blabbed a fatal detail. The leadership, which this week raised the price of white cider and clobbered £45k families, quaffed heroic quantities of Chateau Petrus, one of the great Bordeaux reds.

• Avoiding triumphalist gaffes like this is what street-smart tabloid ruffians like Andy Coulson and Alastair Campbell are hired to do. That's why champagne receptions have been banned in Brum. Recession-hit voters may never have heard of Petrus, but they do realise that at £1,000 a bottle (the Torygraph's estimate) it's not white cider. The Mail, which also got the story (so it was definitely a malicious leak), puts the mark-up at £1,800. Wine buffs say a vintage 2000 Petrus actually costs £3,000, plus duty and carriage – unless billionaire Spencer or the restaurant were stiffed by Petrus fraudsters (they do exist). Either way it is a Marie Antoinette moment that Ed Miliband, himself a half-of-bitter puritan, will be eager to make famous.

No information yet on whether Uppal attended. As a secret multimillionaire, he could certainly afford to.

"Inadequate, pimpled and single"

Andrew Marr, lightweight writer and political journalist (he used to have a Telegraph column supposedly written by his hamster) doesn't think much of bloggers.

He calls blogging

the "spewings and rantings of very drunk people late at night"

and suggests that

"Most citizen journalism strikes me as nothing to do with journalism at all.

"A lot of bloggers seem to be socially inadequate, pimpled, single, slightly seedy, bald, cauliflower-nosed young men sitting in their mother's basements and ranting. They are very angry people," he told the Cheltenham Literary Festival. "OK – the country is full of very angry people. Many of us are angry people at times. Some of us are angry and drunk".

which suggests he's missing the point rather. I hate to disagree with the great man, but most bloggers aren't trying to be reporters - they're more like comment-piece journalists, only without the expensive training (private school, Cambridge, BBC) and multibillion-pound resources of a news organisation. Bloggers tend to have jobs, and to be expert in a narrow field. I am indeed often angry and drunk (has he ever read the Daily Mail?), but that doesn't make my opinions about The Klaxons, Paul Uppal Tory Scum and The Hegemon less valid. Does it?

Perhaps he doesn't like the fact that it's easier to serve a super-injunction on his fellow Big Media, whereas bloggers - who may indeed be angry and nasty - are harder to silence (read the comments, though it's not something I care about one way or the other).

Oh, and Marr seems not to understand the differences between blogging, news/politics blogging (most of us want to talk about books, music and in Ewar's case, mediocre tennis starlets) and anonymously commenting on news websites. If you want real pointless angry stupidity, try the comments section on any George Monbiot piece - such as this one.

Capitalism: appropriating resistance since 1583

Hilarious. Banksy ('outsider' graffiti 'artist') takes corporate money and teases the corporation's business practice - and they show it, to prove what good sports they are.



Satire's dead anyway: if had any bite, it wouldn't get shown. We all know Simpsons toys are made by Chinese slaves. Laughing about it neutralises the anger.

Anti-corporatism: as Bill Hicks would say, that's a good dollar.

Shall we move on from football?

Seriously, perhaps it's time to collectively decide to support an different game.

Most of the top players are repellent creatures, jumping from prostitute to prostitute in between greedy deals with dubious agents. Occasionally they break off from negotiations to record tasteless and grasping advertisements. Every so often they might play a game of football if their media appearances allow.

The club owners, when they aren't porn barons, are evil corporate entities with no interest in the game or the communities which founded and nurtured the clubs for generations.

Ticket prices are becoming ridiculous, and watching on pay-TV is prohibitively expensive too. Being a supporter is now little more than acting as a piggy bank, one with no right to express an opinion and no respect from clubs, players or the media.

Managers are becoming monsters, yet are afforded slavish respect by people posing as journalists on more and more pages of the newspapers. TV commentating is reserved for the partisan, the boring and the smug.

Most of the clubs are effectively, or nearly, bankrupt. They're operating on the same economic model as all the investment banks which have recently destroyed our economies. Some of them (Liverpool, Manchester and others) are in debt because they owe their owners the money said owners borrowed to buy said club. Eh?

FIFA is corrupt from top to bottom: both the individuals running the game and the organisation itself (World Cup profit $1.7bn, tax free: money spent on developing football in Africa: $70m: new FIFA offices: $200m).

So - to which sport shall we turn? I'm quite keen on fencing, but if it's violent, fast outside sport you want, how about (Gaelic) football, Hurling (both massive in Ireland and still amateur), or Aussie Rules?







In sum, the game's rotten to the core, especially at the top level.

More lookalikes

This charismatic chap - John Healey MP -  is Shadow Secretary of State for Health.



He's had a previous career in showbusiness:

Lookalikes

Apparently, according to friends and complete strangers, I look like this chap:

But I also look like this one:

And this one:

Cameron contemplates the menu

Hmmm. OK, I have slightly goggly eyes and more than the usual complement of chins, but I still don't see the Miliband and Cameron resemblances. Still, I could develop a comedy routine based on all three characters…

The return of the revenge of the Friday conundrum

I hate fish. I really, really hate the smell of it, the fishy taste, the bones, the skin, everything about the whole thing.

Which is unfortunate, because it was served for dinner every Friday at home, because we were good Catholics. Only once I went to university was I allowed to do myself a fried egg or something instead. Before that, if I didn't eat it over the course of the entire evening, it was served for breakfast and subsequent meals ad infinitum. I would cover it in tomato ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, anything to make it less fishy, and I'd still gag. At some point, we got a cat, which was bright enough to sit under my chair on Friday evenings. I seem to recall sneaking the offending substance into a drawer in the dining table prior to my feline friend appearing, but it wasn't a long-term solution.

How would you persuade me that fish isn't poisonous muck? And what foods make you retch?

In the interests of full disclosure, only fish makes me feel like this - I adore prawns, mussels, scallops etc., and I merely dislike rhubarb, gooseberries and raspberries - all things my mother grows in abundance.

1858 and all's well

I came across the August 3rd 1858 copy of The Times I have in the office - it was used to wrap a second-hand book I bought. A few adverts caught my eye:

SWAINE and ADENY, whip manufacturers to Her Majesty and H. R. H. the Prince Consort, and Royal Family, inform the public that they have no other establishment that at 185, Piccadilly, opposite Burlington House, W. A handsome assortment of all kinds of whips including prize whips and whips for presents, parasol and fan whips, patent seamless handle whips, chowries for the East Indies, Rhinoceros horn whips, and other novelties always on hand ; also stock whips for Australia and New Zealand. N. B. Merchants and shippers liberally dealt with. References required. 

So there you have it: whips for royal fun, slaves and animals. Swaine and Adeny are still around, though they've moved to St. James. I've a wallet by them (a present I can't afford to replace with the same) and I'd love their most famous product: the Indiana Jones hat.

Copy-writing bullshit hasn't changed much: try this cattle-feed ad.

THORLEY's FOOD for CATTLE.– It is only a short time since this singularly efficacious article of animal diet first made its appearance ; and already its celebrity is world-wide. It has been a subject of wonder and has puzzled many a brain to explain how this has been brought about. Yet when we are acquainted with a few facts concerning the food our wonder will cease. A few days since a gentleman wrote, stating that he had a horse which was a "perfect bag of bones". He tried all kinds of things to get the animal into condition, but in vain : he then bought some of Thorley's food, and he says the effect was wonderful : the horse rapidly grew fat, and in the course of a few weeks had gained no less than 12 stone. Again, we find at the late Agricultural Shows at Birmingham, Cardiff, &c., the animals which carreid off the highest prizes had been partly fed with Thorley's food for cattle. Such facts speak for themselves, and we are forced to the conclusion that its celebrity arises solely from its own intrinsic merits and the great demand for it can proceed alone for the good opinion and testimony of those who have tried it. All parties interested in horses and cattle will do well to apply at 77, Newgate-street, London for a pamphlet, which is sent post free. 

I particularly like the 'we are forced to the conclusion'.

Still going in 1910

But I don't want to feed cattle, I want a new job. What's the market like?

WANTED, a YOUNG MAN, or Youth, who can write well–if acquainted with the cheesemongery and poultry business would be preferred. Apply at 9, Jonson–place, Harrow–road, Paddington. 

Mmmm, cheese. And there's a pub at No. 13, The Ben Jonson. On the other hand, the cheesemonger at No. 15 went bankrupt only a few years later: did he expand too fast?

Perhaps I'll enter domestic service.

WANTED, in a small family, a GENERAL SERVANT : one from the country preferred. A good character indispensable. Apply personally, at 29, Clifton-road east, St. John's–wood. Irish objected to.

Oh dear. That's me out. Oh well. 29 Clifton Road is now a nasty Tesco outlet, so serve him right.

SCHOLASTIC.–WANTED, in a boarding school, an ASSISTANT MASTER, to teach middle classics and junior English. A comfortable home and the duties light. Salary £30 per annum. Address X. Y., post office, Ross. Herefordshire.

Ideal. I could be the next Wackford Squeers. Or I could become a speculator:

TO CAPITALISTS.–Any person, having at his immediate disposal the sum of £10,000 to £20,000, may more than double that sum during the present year (1858), and that without the slightest risk or relinquishing for one moment the control of his capital. No agent need apply. Address J. G., 32, Sloane-street, S. W.

And if you believe that, I've got some Lehman Brothers shares to sell you. Your £20,000 is the equivalent of £1.54 millions in purchasing power now, or £13.6 millions calculating by average earnings.

Why we're all going to die

almost 20 percent of electricity consumption in U.S. homes goes to AC -- that's as much electricity as the entire continent of Africa uses for all purposes.

Basically, large parts of the US would be uninhabitable were it not for air-conditioning. The same goes for Saudi Arabia and several other places.

It has allowed us to put cities in very fragile ecological zones like the desert area where Phoenix is, or the fringes of the Everglades, or actually out into the Everglades now in South Florida. We build up these big Sun Belt cities on the assumption of air-conditioning, so there's limited green space. The heat island effect becomes pretty overwhelming -- all the asphalt, concrete, and steel are trapping heat that's then released throughout the night. In Phoenix you can easily have a lot of nights where the temperature never drops below 90, while in the normal desert climate you get a big drop in temperature.

Until we get sensible and abandon Texas, we'll just have to accept that the Western lifestyle will sink islands and drown poor brown people. We're too selfish to do anything about it, like change our way of life or adopt clean technology. Changing costs money. The status quo only costs lives. Other people's lives, which appear not to count.

Duffer!

I'm still enjoying and hating Duff Cooper's diaries. He has an unfortunate habit of abandoning it for the most important years - such as 1939-1944, when he's a minister in the wartime cabinet. To his credit, he resigned from government in 38-38 in protest against Chamberlain's appeasement.

To his debit, he's a cold and snobbish individual. I particularly appreciated this laconic entry:

There are continual distractions. We went to Breccles for the weekend. Just before luncheon the butler blew his brains out which was rather depressing. We came back to London in the afternoon. 

Autumn in the hood 2

The rest are here, or click on these for bigger versions.

Autumn in the hood

I had a wander round with my camera earlier, capturing the changing of the season and the ongoing demolition of the building across the road. More here, or click on these for embiggening.

What's wrong with this shadow?

Vote for Who The Fudge Is Benjamin Judge

Despite his crusade to belittle everything I like/believe in, he's a decent chap and a good writer, so please vote for him at the Manchester Blog Awards. If you see the pictures on the front page, hover over them with your mouse. I took them all, and some of them have cheeky comments (also by me) which pop up.

Jobsworths

I've been coming to work every day for 10 years (yes, I'm unemployable elsewhere), even during the holidays when nobody else is around. Every day, I say hello to the security guards. I know their names, they (mostly) know mine.

Only one of them demands to see my ID every time I walk through the doors. Even more ridiculously, I show him my card. The card which has a photograph of somebody else on it. David Mitchell, in fact. Every time he looks at it, he lets me through.

It's becoming a weird experience.

That'll show them

My miserable, selfish and untrustworthy Member of Parliament isn't the only victim of my fast typing.

I contacted the Department for Foreign Affairs (the Irish equivalent of the Foreign Office) last year to ask what they were doing about the Israelis forging Irish passports to use in assassinations.

Turns out, not a lot. They've told the Israelis that they're very naughty boys, and asked one diplomat to leave. Not even expelled.

Given the strong circumstantial evidence identified by the British investigation into the use of its passports in the same incident, which implicated the Israeli security services, the strong likelihood is that the counterfeit Irish passports concerned were manufactured or acquired by an agency of the State of Israel.

As the misuse of Irish passports by a State with which Ireland enjoys friendly, if sometimes, frank bilateral relations, is clearly unacceptable, a firm response was required. To this end, the Government decided that, by way of protest at its unacceptable action, that Israel be requested to withdraw a designated member of staff of its Embassy in Dublin. This demand has been acceded to by the Israeli government.    

Bet Mossad are quaking in their boots. They won't cross the Irish again. Oh no.

The minister also says that the biometric passports are perfectly secure. Oh yeah, and really?

All hail the Manchester Blog Awards

I went along to the Manchester Blog Awards last year, to support Cynical Ben, who is now Who The Fudge Is Benjamin Judge? and a load of other sites of which I've lost track, because life's too short, although they're all very good. I was a little bit snarky at the expense of some of the crowd.

He didn't win, which was a shame, but some good blogs did. And some not very good ones. He's nominated again this year and I've a feeling it's his year. He's added lots of his literary work to the site, as well as the old favourites like winding me up. Surely that's a winning combination?

Perhaps it's time to start the Dark Place Bloggies?

Thursday conundrum

News that Weezer have been offered $10 million to split up by their own fans prompts me to ask: which of your favourite musicians/TV shows/artists etc. would you pay to slip quietly away? Who's done fantastic work, but subsequently spoiled it with an unending stream of mediocrity?

Despite my huge respect for them, and even though their latest album was really pretty good, I'd nominate REM as suffering from the law of diminishing returns. Ditto The Charlatans. Paul Auster and Don Delillo have gone off the boil rather in the literary world.

The Charlatans' problem is that even though most of their albums have featured beautiful, compelling tracks, their second single (1990) was such a smash that it's overshadowed everything else they've done.

If I should get cancer, carry me to a meeting

I've just been to a committee meeting. It took 90 minutes to get through 40 minutes' worth of largely inconsequential meandering. If I had a terminal disease, I'd appreciate how slowly the time passed. I haven't, and I didn't.

Back by popular demand

A colleague put this in my pigeonhole and a friend mailed it to me, so it must be culturally significant.

The Metro isn't referring to the Tory government, nor to the Tory Party conference in the neighbouring city: it's simply a wrap-around advert on a free newspaper, but it's so relevant.

Can't get enough of that wonderful Duff!

My reading at the moment is swapping between Green Lantern and Duff Cooper's diaries. They read like a parody of aristocratic life in the early twentieth century, or like this guy:

A typical day would be something like 'got up at 12, strolled into the Foreign Office, lunched with the Duchess of Wherever, loved her in the pantry, played tennis with the King of Portugal, loved his wife in the car, put in another hour at the FO, chatted to Winston [Churchill] about who hates the poor most, dined with the Crown Prince of Serbia who made a pass at my wife, the bounder, had his servant in the hallway, wrote a sonnet about my wife who I love very much, remembered all my friends were dead in the war, ordered more suits while drinking a '78 Pommery'.

Names are dropped like clocks tick. He knew everybody and, while not being overburdened with brains, he had a certain ratlike cunning and will to succeed which led him to the highest offices. His entire class seem to have spent their time shooting birds, having sex with each other's wives and husbands, and losing money in the casinos. They all have very silly names too: 'Kakoo' springs to mind.

In their spare time, they ran the country. Badly.

I'm having a very highbrow day: teaching King Lear for two hours, then straight into another couple of hours on Kantian ethics. 

A public service announcement

Do you remember Channel 4 when it was good? When it made actual, interesting programmes rather than simply endlessly repeated American sit-coms?

If not, I'm sorry. To make up for it, here's a snatch of Garth Marenghi's Darkplace. Every second of it was a befuddling, exhilarating and terrifying experience.

Joining the dots

• The Tory Scum are cutting child benefit (but not nuclear weapons) to reduce the deficit (Cameron says he's 'sorry' he forgot to mention this massive vote-losing idea during the election. Oops).
• But married couples are going to get a tax cut to make up the difference, because the children of married people need to eat more, or something.
• According to the Daily Mail, Ed Miliband isn't married and we should hate him.

Hmm. Could the Tories be that petty? Yes, yes they could.

Oh, and what happens when the 'Big Society' (i.e. Tory activists) disagrees with what the Tories are doing? The meetings get cancelled. What a surprise.

Oh the irony

A few weeks after closing down the club and selling all its equipment, The Hegemon is hosting a prestigious fencing competition (and I'm not invited to help out, despite working at this very institution).

I could weep. They've clearly got a highly developed sense of irony.

The most expensive 23 words in history?

When the Pope turned up for a visit last month, it cost the British taxpayer £10m, which annoyed a lot of people, though I'm not particularly bothered - lots of other heads of state with blood on their hands are wined and dined at our expense: Ceaucescu even got a medal, and Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath from the Queen (1989: Mugabe got one too), while the French gave him the Legion d'Honneur: the conservative press didn't even murmur a complaint.

However, the government didn't pay the £10m out of a single account: it was split between various departments according to relevance. The environment and energy ministry had to cough up £3.7m, money which could have been spent on solar panels, a turbine or any number of insulation projects.

What did the Pope say about environmentalism?

"The Holy See also looks forward to exploring with the United Kingdom new ways to promote environmental responsibility, to the benefit of all."

At £160,856.56 per word, that's money well spent. "Greenest government ever", according to Cameron.

Knee-jerk politics

Forget the pointless briefing and sniping which passes for political rivalry in the UK. We need Bolivian-style political retribution.

More specifically, the Bolivian President, Evo Morales, was playing a football match against a team of political rivals. When one lunged in with a late tackle and gashed his leg, Evo retaliated with a knee to the groin.

Morales, 50, a former Aymara llama herder and coca farmer, is not known for indulging critics, let alone people who foul him. He walked up to Cartagena, indicated his wound, then kneed him in the groin. The player collapsed, prompting audible whistles from spectators.The match swiftly deteriorated into a bad-tempered, foul-filled contest which arguably mirrored the Andean country's combative politics. By the end, the match drawn at 4-4, two players from each side had been sent off, including Cartagena and one of the president's bodyguards.

Makes me nostalgic for the Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott Knock-out (which I thought was well deserved). Evo would thrive in the Stoke City or Arsenal teams.

Mmmmechanically recovered meat

Ever wondered what cut of the chicken goes to make 'nuggets', or what goes into chicken pies, soups and all the other industrial meat products?

This does. This is the paste you get when you process the carcass to recover the scraps. It looks rather fun to me - like strawberry ice-cream.

This is what we have to look forward to

In Cameron's Brave New World, we're going back to the days of Small Government - about 1780, I reckon. Back then, taxes covered the military and the King's gambling debts, and that was about it. Everything else was a matter of private arrangement, such as the fire protection plaques still sometimes glimpsed on old houses.

The system still operates in the US - and it won't be long until it returns here.

Homeowners in the region outside the town limits of South Fulton, TN, have to pay $75 to come under the protection of the town's firefighters. Late in September, the house of Gene Cranick, who had not paid his $75 for the year, caught fire. When the fire department arrived, they announced that since Cranick had not paid his fees, his house would be allowed to burn to the ground. Cranick offered to pay the $75, but the firefighters weren't having any of it. They eventually acted to put out the fire when it spread to the home of a neighbor who had previously paid. As the mayor said, " if homeowners don't pay, they're out of luck."

Donald's ducked

An amusing tour round the extremist - but extremely popular - world of American talk radio, as experienced by Donald Duck.

For sale

I accidentally ordered 2 copies of the same book, at huge expense.

So if anyone would like to buy Eisenstein's The Printing Press as an Agent of Change in the single-volume edition, let me know and we'll do a deal. The used copy cost me £27 and the new one £47. Damn it.

To make me feel better, I also got a reprint of Green Lantern, Green Arrow vol. 1 (from the 1970s Silver Age rebirth), Berry's Shakespeare and Social Class, and Dominic Sandbrook's new one, State of Emergency, The Way We Were: Britain, 1970-1974, which is the year before I was born. There seems to be a huge vogue for 1970s histories at the moment - looking back to an earlier period of cultural and economic decay. Hope it's up to the standards of Francis Wheen's masterpiece.

This new media thingy's a breeze

Anyone can Tweet suavely and convincingly.

Take this Twitter account, which includes gems like:

Bloody papal visit! U can smell the peodo stink from their clothing! Bastards!

6:03 PM Sep 16th via TwitBird

Why am I watching a kids program about thumb sucking! Jesus

9:08 AM Sep 20th via TwitBird

Labour were arse b4 they lost the election. They will b triple arses now they r being led by an arse!!

8:56 AM Sep 27th via TwitBird

my personal favourite: 

Taking all things into consideration . I really do hate journalists.

5:00 PM Sep 23rd via TwitBird

Magnificent. Such calm, collected and closely argued aperçus. Clearly the c. £60-80,000 we're paying him to be Director of Communications at The Hegemon is money well spent!

A snatch of Uppal news

He's featured in the local Uppal-loving hard-right racist 'newspaper', flogging his deeply dubious claims of suffering electoral fraud - he's clearly on a mission to discredit the decent former MP, Rob Marris.

My readers won't be surprised to hear that Uppal's peddling the same farrago of untruths and distortions, or that the Depress and Scar hasn't bothered to do any checking themselves. If they had, they'd discover that the Electoral Commission isn't investigating any fraud claims, despite what Uppal untruthfully said to Parliament.

It does say, however, that the police isn't investigating: a grudging line coming after several paragraphs devoted to smearing an honest man with innuendo.

I shouldn't be surprised by Uppal or the Express and Swastika - Tory Scum both.

Sheffield Snaps

I took a few photographs of the competition on the first day, once my refereeing had finished. They're really not very good at all. Flash is banned in the hall (rightfully), and the finals hall consisted of dark blue floor, dark blue and grey walls with blue curtains, and a blue ceiling, light by pools of fluorescent light.

My skills, and my camera, were basically defeated by this - it's really hard to get sharp images of fast-moving people in very low light. If you have any advice, let me know. I was shooting at 1600ISO with an aperture ranging from 25-125, F5.6 (I think - it seems so long ago).

Here are a few of the slightly better ones (click on them to enlarge): the rest are here.

Yawn

Hello all. What a day it's been - no time for anything, let alone blogging, and there's a busy afternoon's teaching coming up. I'm so tired, and I've lost my voice, as is traditional after a refereeing weekend.

I was refereeing a big fencing competition this weekend. I've learned a few things.

1. Rotherham is a horrible dump.
I was supposed to be in a Sheffield city centre hotel, so I went up early, planning to roam round with my camera for a bit of architectural fun. They hadn't heard of me, thanks to the morons in head office. One expensive taxi ride later, I was no longer in the sophisticated bustle of Sheffield, but in a Holiday Inn on an industrial estate (with 'Europe's largest Sexy Superstore' nearby) a couple of miles outside Rotherham, with the rain pouring down.

After half an hour of afternoon TV, the deluge beckoned and I trudged into Rotherham, hoping for excitement, adventure and really wild things. I was disappointed. The town has been closed, apparently for some time. Even the regeneration projects of 2008 have subsequently gone bust. Perhaps the low point of my life so far was eating a soggy sausage roll in the rain, being circled by feral children eyeing every bite through hooded eyes. Imagine somewhere like Crewe or the worst bits of Stoke, abandoned due to some plague, marinaded in rain and despair. It's that bad.

By now soaked to the skin and with ruined shoes, I gave up and plodded back to the prison camp, where Sky News made me angry until other fencing people turned up.

The actual fencing was fine - no difficult decisions and most of the parents and coaches behaved themselves. Refereeing epée can be boring though - when the first fight of the weekend ended 2-0 at the end of time, my heart sank. Still, I saw a lot of people I knew, some of whom I like.

Note to Rotherham Holiday Inn: The Sun is not an adequate alternative to the Guardian. They don't even look similar, for feck's sake, and their editorial lines diverge slightly.