The law I do is concerned with blood splatter patterns, bodily fluids and firearms residues as opposed to the more esoteric (and lucrative) commercial stuff. I am also a published novelist ('twentytwelve' published by Adonis and Abbey in 2006) which you should all order immediately in support of my desperate attempt to get its amazon.co.uk rating below half a million!
This story has been running for a couple of days but still merits comment. Preppy Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg had the brilliant idea (or more likely some moron in his office/party headquarters did but he clearly went along with it) that what the great British public would love above all was a cold call recorded message from him. A lucky 250,000 copped his automated message. There was apparently an opportunity after our hero's two minute peroration to provide feedback. An option starting with 'why don't you' and ending in 'off my line' Was presumably not among the options for feedback.
Helpful explanation for Mr Clegg: people hate cold calls and hate automated cold calls most of all. Hate probably understates it. Loathe may be getting warmer. Imagine the happy scene, there you are cooking dinner/putting the baby to bed/transfixed in front of Emmerdale when you are interrupted by the phone ringing. You drop whatever you were doing (preferably not literally dropping the baby) and hurry to the phone. 'Hello this is an automated message from Nick Clegg who would like to talk down to you for a couple of minutes' How many nanoseconds before the slamdown and stream of invective from irate voter in marginal constituency?
How stupid can the political class be? It has to be a sign of their disengagement from reality that they apparently imagine anyone would be remotely pleased to receive such a call or interested in the contents. And they seriously imagine this sort of stuff is going to make the great British public more likely to vote for them? Send for the men in white coats...
Still far too busy for proper blogging at the moment but a quick peep at Mike's blog (link to left as per usual) reveals that he has been to Las Vegas. Put me in mind of the Gram Pasons song of the same name...
Have the words too..
ooh, Las Vegas, ain't no place for a poor boy like me,
ooh, Las Vegas, ain't no place for a poor boy like me
Far too busy with all sorts of stuff to do any serious blogging at the moment so have a little reggae...
First clip is Toots Hibbert in his Toots and the Maytals manifestation with 54-46 Was My Number from way back. Don't ask me what the title means. Prison number? Some wag commenting on YouTube comment 'bump up the volume if you not rocking your dead'. Happily, empirical researches reveal that I am still alive ;)
Second clip is Buju Banton - the connection is that he recorded a fine version of 54-46 in duet with Tots Hibbert but annoyingly it's not on YouTube so have his Destiny instead. There ya go...
I don’t usually do memes but an invitation from Charon QC has to be complied with. Charon does a law blog (link to left) and asks for 5 favourite non-law blogs to be nominated. He tagged me among others. I think that the good news is that the nominees don’t have to do anything. This is the end of the line. It’s a bit invidious and indeed arbitrary. How do you choose 5 blogs over the rest? Will the bloggers not chosen take offence? Please don’t – all the blogs linked to WR have considerable merit in my opinion – that’s why they’re there. I haven’t nominated Mr Bastard and Never Mind the Bollix because Charon already did. I say this in an attempt to avoid a middle of the night visit to the foot of my bed by distinctly displeased Glaswegian gentlemen.
At its best, blogging creates links between people in different places with different backgrounds, interests and world views. Not only that but the personalities and narratives of people you have never met – and almost certainly never will – can come over. Provided that you don’t treat the virtual world as a substitute for the real one, some sort of faux panacea for actual discontents, then this is a good thing. Okay, on with the nominations…
1. Bug Eyed Blog
Some bloggers put up profile or other pics of themselves but most I wouldn't recognise if I bumped into them in the street. Earl would be most easily recognised by the back of his right calf (above). I confess I'd like to have a beer with Earl one day should I ever find myself in New York. He likes his beer. He also likes movies, applying his mordant wit to a range of topics and his beloved Gia. Total top bloke...
2. Daisy's Dead Air
Daisy is the ultimate ageing hippie (no offence Daisy!). She's a serious Deadhead, a herbalist, a feminist and a polemicist of gale force 9 proportions. She blogs on politics, music and religion mostly. She regularlly confuses the US religious right - which has to be a good thing - they don't get her at all. One e-mailed her plaintively...
'I can't figure out what kind of Christian you are.You claim to be Catholic and then you quote Buddhists and Hindus. You talk about the saints and then you welcome people with gender confusion and affirm their psychosis. You casually use the F-word. What kind of Christian are you, anyway?'
'The fun kind' she replied.
3 Renegade Eye
Renegade is that most rare and exotic of creatures - an American Trotskyist. He also likes movies, tango, flamenco and jazz. What I like about him is that he has created an open blog with a range of commenters, many of whom disagree with him strongly on pretty much everything. This is not the political equivalent of the narrow sect of the saved talking to itself - it's a heterodox free forum. I like that.
4. The Corridor (A Cricket Blog)
I'm an unashamed cricket anorak and here I can indulge my addiction with fellow sufferers. Oh, and the site meter currently shows 1,206,810. Eat your hearts out! Doubleoh, and at the risk of causing transatlantic offence, a quote I came across today: 'there is a limit to what Americans can understand. That lmit is cricket'.
5. Ron Knee
This is the blogger in full on rant mode. I've an immense soft spot for Ronald, even if he does occasionally make me wince. Mainly because he's so bloody funny - and despite outbursts that would make a Tourette's sufferer blush - he obviously has a good heart. Not to mention his revenge against a certain Troll - one of the great moments in blog history - some of you know what I mean ;)
It occurred to me that I haven't done a Yer Rock and Roll in ages - plenty of clips but not a yer Rock and Roll. It was inevitable that I would get round to Bob Dylan sooner or later and so here is the elderly gent. I only ever saw him live once - at Brixton Academy in the mid-1990s - the conventional wisdom is that he either turns up ready and willing to perform or he - well - just turns up and goes through the motions grumpily. Fortunately, the time I saw him he was willing and able and a fine concert it was too. I'm not going to all the stuff about Dylan's merit or lack of it as a poet etc so straight into the songs - two (very) oldies.
The first is Subterranean Homesick Blues. The clip is well-known - it must be the original promotional video. Watch at the end when our man get completely out of synch as regarding discarding the cards in time to the music...
The second is Highway 61 Revisited. I said I wouldn't launch off about Dylan as poet but the lyrics are very fine. The artwork is by an Italian guy called Giovanni Rabuffetti.
Things aren't looking too bright on the economic front, are they? The media is full of tales of gloom and doom. Inevitably, I start with house prices - the national obsession - now the picture no doubt variies from region to region but the general scenario seems to be that they are going south at a startling rate of knots. Further and faster than the headline figures suggest, I rather think. I talked recently to someone I know who is in banking in a serious way - 'down 35-40% over the next two to three years' she said. This has causes and consequences. The cause is well-known: the huge losses made by the banks with the collapse of the sub-prime market. Consequently, banks don't trust each other - let alone the punters - and the supply of mortgage finance dries up. I heard on the radio the other day that a couple with a 5% deposit wanting to make a first time purchase had onlly a year ago a choice of literally hundreds of mortgage products. Now they have two - and both are apparently bum deals. So the pool of people able to buy diminishes rapidly. So people having to sell drop the price and drop the price but still can''t sell. When they eventually do the discounted price sets a new benchmark.
Of course, even if not buying or selling, the property crash still impacts on people's perceptions. London in particular is full of people who have for years lived on the feelgood factor of having literally hundreds of thousands of pounds of equity simply by being an owner-occupier (subject to monstrous mortgage). The financial security blanket contracts or even disappears at a rate of knots. Feelgood turns into feelbad,
There are a couple more goodies in the pipeline: Firstly, in October the Government guarantees to the banks runs out if not renewed. Tax revenues must be plummeting and government finances under severe strain. Secondly, you will all have noticed the building sites with banners outside 'a development of 32 (or whatever) luxury apartmments by Spivco'. I always look at them and think 'I bet you wish you so hadn't bothered!' No doubt they do and many have been mothballed but a lot are beyond the point of no return and no doubt there will come a point when the developers cut their losses and dump the huge collection of identical two bedroomed apartments on the market. Watch this space (as it were)...
And apart from that, how is the wider economy? Well, 'apart from that' doesn't come into it. The whole thing is interlinked but the economy, while heading for recession, is also highly inflationary - petrol, fuel and food prices all rocketing. The Bank of England can't reduce interest rates because its primary duty is the control of inflation and the Banks wouldn't take much notice if it did. Sales of top of the range cars are through the floor as are sales of organic 9and therefore expensive) food. Personal savings have halved and a million people have dropped out of personal pension schemes (not that I blame them - they are a load of old rubbish). The only people who are doing well are apparently the discount supermarkets of the Lidl variety.
It's the Chinese curse - may you live in interesting times.
Someone said to me - why not nationalise the banks? Well that's so not going to happen but his argument was that we all need finance - we have a money and not a barter economy - so it's a kind of social service. Except it isn't a service and the only people who make money out of it are the clowns who award themselves stupefying sums of money by way of salary and bonuses for getting it about as wrong as can be possible.
Come the revolution, they'll be first up against the wall.
Okay, time to lighten up. Whatshername Palin has an unfortunate fringe known in the hairdressing trade as an Adolf Hitler. Like the late unlamented Fuehrer, she also has brown hair. With hat tip to Jailhouse Lawyer, imagine my shock at seeing this. Such disrespect!
I haven't raided the consistently excellent Beau Bo D'Or (link to left) in a good while but he's saved me the trouble with a rolled-up 'rough animation' of some of his best-known images, complete with seriously bizarre music. Just sit back and - erm - enjoy!
I play the lottery on and off. I know it's a waste of money but I do. I've won the odd tenner but that's it. The lottery is generally a bad thing - a device for getting poor people to voluntarily pay extra tax. I rather liked the description of it as 'the desperation tax'. But that isn't the point I wanted to make. Last night I pottered into the living room just as the lottery results came up. The result was another example of the phoenomenon I call 'bunching'. There were three consecutive numbers, 33, 34 and 35 among the six balls drawn. This seems to happen fairly regularly - not necessarily consecutive numbers but sequences of two or three closely linked numbers. Conclusion: that the devices for juggling the balls before the draw are inefficient or the juggling is too short. Discuss...
Historical anecdote: after the Bill for the abolition of slavery was passed with an overwhelming majority William Wilberforce asked sidekick Henry Thornton “Well, Henry! What shall we abolish now?” Thornton replied, “The Lottery, I think.”
They did as well.
Random Thought: After Bill Clinton's performance at the DNC yesterday the question came to mind: why does he always remind me of the saying 'Sincerity! That's the thing! If you can fake that, you've got it made'.
You would have to be a pretty serious newshound to follow this one. There has been an israeli naval blockade of Gaza - a glorified holding pen - since Hamas inconveniently won the Palestinian elections. The resultant hardship includes - but it is not limited to severe shortages of medical materials.
The California based Free Gaza movement decided to try and break the blockade with two boats - checked by international monitors to make sure there were no armaments or dangerous materials on board - and a symbolic cargo of hearing aids and balloons (for the children). There were 47 crew members in the two boats, including an 81 year old nun and our very own Lauren Booth - but only one Israeli (I'll come back to that one). The boats set out from Cyprus - about a 30 hour journey.
Cue much Israeli huffing and puffing. 'A provocation' they whined. They were in a dilemma as to what to do. The military wanted to stop the boats by force and seize, interrogate and generally give a rotten time to the crew. This of course would attract huge international publicity and be public relations poison for the Israelis. So in the end they let the boats through and they arrived in Gaza to a rapturous welcome. Smart move by the Israelis, though. The story dropped off the radar. They made clear that this was a one off. The naval blockade remained and it ought not to be assumed that future boats would be let through.
A modest proposal: keep doing it and doing it with two refinements. Firstly, take actual as opposed to symbolic cargoes of medical etc supplies. Secondly, the preponderance of western activists in the crew makes it easy for the Israelis to dismiss the project as the usual western pro-Palestinians at it again. Maybe next time crew the boats with Israelis and Palestinians.
The rabbit has been quiet of late - part of the reason is that I have been tearing about the Midlands plying my trade in assorted courts. Commuting is stupefyingly expensive on the early trains as well as exhausting (never an enthusiastic driver, I have sold my car - no regrets - and don't really do long distance hauls anyway). So, on an economy drive, I get the cheaper off peak trains and stay overnight in -erm - inexpensive hotels and B&B's (bed and breakfast accomodation for any overseas reader mystified by this acronym). I can tax deduct travel and hotel expenses but still have to find them upfront. I'm becoming some sort of expert on the cheaper end of the accommodation industry. Some thoughts...
The picture is very varied. Some cheap B&B's etc are actually fine - the odd one is very good value. The horrors are - well - horrific.
Let's call it the Fleapit Hotel, Stoke. I'd come up on the Sunday night and stayed in a very nice place a few minutes from the court at weekend rates. For weekdays the rate went up sharply so, remembering the economy drive, I rang the Fleapit Hotel for the Monday night when it became clear that my trial would go into Tuesday. They had vacancies - why am I not surprised? The Fleapit was at least secure. The front door key I was issued engaged in a battle with the lock just about every time. The interior was gloomy with the usual collection of rubbishy 'ornaments' on every available surface and fussy patterned carpets everywhere. The carpets had plainly seen better days and were apparently in the later stages of death by vacuuming. At least my room was clean and had plain white walls. Both room and bed were small but it was passable for one night. One particularly classy touch was the plastic mug supplied for in room tea/coffee. Presumably they didn't trust me not to break/steal a porcelain one.
I got talking to a guy who was also staying there. He was - I would guess - in his mid sixties.
'I've been put here by the council' He said. He'd just suffered relationship breakdown and had left his council place in Chesterfield and, coming from Stoke, had headed back there like an elderly homing pigeon.
'They're showing me a bungalow tomorrow. It's in a nice area. I'm going to take it. I've hit rock bottom. The only way is up for me after today'.
My heart really went out to him. He had no children and was a cancer survivor. I hope things worked out for him. It became clear that several of the residents had been put there by the council. Obviously this is done because the place is cheap but this seemingly guaranteed income stream provides whatever miscreant owns the place no incentive to improve it. One of the homeless persons was a friendly soul. I met him briefly in the evening and again at breakfast. He got up after eating his meal.
'One more beer and then I'll go to bed' he announced cheerily. It was about 8.30 in the morning. Another resident, a young man, looked as if he was in withdrawal.
I should say something about the surrounding area. Almost directly across the road from the Fleapit Hotel was a boarded up pub. They seem to do boarded up bigtime in Stoke with commercial and shop premises in various states of dereliction left, right and centre. I noted that 'Adult Shop' and 'Bargain Booze' seem to have survived this commercial holocaust as had a halal takeaway shop just down the road from the Fleapit. I had shish kofte and chips from there for dinner. It wasn't at all bad.
'See you later' said the duty staff bloke when I left in the morning.
'No you wont' I thought.
I moved on with much relief to Stafford and the Spittal Brook Inn - I've blogged on the Spittal Brook before and love the place and its gloriously crazy landlord to bits...
After a weekend back in London, it was Wolverhampton on Monday and a nice little earner. So up on off-peak train on Sunday night and, the economy drive still being on, a night in - let's call it - the Dog Hotel. I've looked at it online and comments by former guests are venomous. I copy and paste from the hotel website: 'All of our thirty-three bedrooms are en-suite, tastefully decorated and maintained to a high standard of cleanliness'. Erm, really??? A traveller review paints a somewhat different picture: 'Absolutely disgusting. Tiny, dirty and dangerous room. Stairway littered with broken plant pots, soil and dead plants (still there the morning we left). Reception area strewn with broken furniture and dirty bedding: an obvious health hazard and fire-hazard. 'Non-Smoking' room stank of smoke and had an ashtray near the bed. This was a week AFTER the smoking ban came into force, so clearly illegal. This hotel needs to be closed down before there is a serious accident there'.
Oh lighten up! Okay, the Dog is a dump but it is so awful it is pure comedy, unlike the Fleapit, which is just oppressive in its dreadfulness. I arrived to meet a very nice guy who seemed to be in sole overnight charge. The carpet in the foyer was waterlogged.
'We've had a flood' he explained.
'What caused it?' I asked.
'Just rain' he replied.
Righty... My room had a number of interesting features such as the wall mounted light which wasn't wall mounted any more but hung from the wall by its electrical cable. The en-suite had an interesting collection of cracked tiles. I thought at one point in the middle of the night that my bed was going to collapse. I wasn't doing anything energetic, just turning over. Usual nasty patterned flowery wallpaper and swirly threadbare carpet. Though as I say, the guy in charge was very affable and brought a late night beer to my room. Tuesday night, I stayed in a B&B in Leicester for pretty much the same price as the Dog Hotel. It was very nice indeed. Better than many hotels. I'm learning rapidly where to stay and where not to.
Parting shot - JoJo (again link to left) commented that Throwing Stones would be a more appropriate Dead song than Eyes of the World to go with my posting on Georgia. Here it is, then, complete with gnomes...
The rabbit has been very much out of the loop lately. It seems that while everybody else is on holiday, the rabbit is being run ragged workwise and has just returned from a week out of town hopping from criminal court to the next criminal court and back to the first. Hat Tip is due to Ron Knee for the above image, taken at a motorway service station. Ronald was less than impressed by the service as was apparently someone else who took the opportunity to arrange the pen holder display so as to send out a message.
To the main business: I go away for a few days and a new cold war starts! Like the enormous majority of westerners, I knew next to nothing about Georgia but was suspicious of the news spin that seemed to portray Georgia as a latter day 'gallant little Belgium' of World War I fame. Fortunately, a friend who is a university lecturer and Russia specialist came to dinner last night. This is mostly his take on recent events.
Russia: the Russians have a overwhelming sense of national humiliation as regards the post cold war settlement of the 1990s (echoes of Versailles). They have some grounds for complaint as regards broken treaty commitments etc. They also have a deeply held belief that they are being encircled, particularly by NATO. The very pro US Poland in particular drives them crazy, principally as regards the possibility of US missiles being located in Poland. There have even been mutterings about placing Russian missiles in Cuba if this is done. They are seriously pissed off and intend to put themselves about, in particular in former satellite countries. Many of these countries have sizeable Russian minorities.
Abkhazia/South Ossetia: Stalin 'gave' these regions to Georgia in one of those arbitrary imperial line drawing exercises that has caused so much trouble subsequently when mutually hostile peoples with different and incompatible cultures/languages/religions/aspirations find themselves within the same borders. The South Ossetians for example are a tribal Muslim mountain people. They have nothing in common with the Christian Georgians and hate their guts. The general consensus is that if these regions were given a fully free and fair vote on their constitutional arrangements, Abkhazia would vote for independence with some form of association with Russia and South Ossetia would vote to become a part of Russia (and thus be reunited with North Ossetia, which is in Russia). The ceasefire following the uprisings in these regions in the early 1990s (involving Russian peacekeepers) held pretty well until Thursday before last.
Georgia: The Georgian President, Mikhail Saakashvili is incompetent, unpopular and hardly the paragon of democratic virtue he has been portrayed as in the west. He decided to boost his popularity with a military adventure to reassert Georgian authority over the dissident provinces. This has backfired badly on him as the unsuing disaster has made him even more unpopular than before.
What happened goes something like this...
1. 7 August - Georgian troops enter South Ossetia. This is entirely gratuitous and disturbs a status quo that had kept the peace.They meet resistance from the Ossetians and trash the Ossetian capital with rocket fire. They also attack lightly armed Russian peacekeepers. The timing is clever - the eyes of the world are on Beijing.
2. The Russians are predictably enraged and Putin hot foots it back from Beijing. A successful counter invasion is mounted. My expert informant expresses the view that if the Russians had confined their activities to occupying South Ossetia, driving the Georgians out and restoring the status quo, then he wouldn't have criticised them. But they didn't...
3. The Russians set about teaching the Georgians a lesson. Russian troops penetrate deep into Georgia proper. the objective - apart from punishment - appears to be to disable the Georgian military. Atrocities follow.
4. The unreconstructed cold warriors in the west (and particularly the US) think Christmas has come early. Much huffing and puffing from the State Department. There is talk about fast tracking Georgia into NATO and even the EU. The EU is split as to how to respond between Atlanticists on the one hand and the very worried Germans and French (and Italians - a little surprisingly) on the other. Ceasefires are eventually cobbled together. At least for now...
My friend pronounces himself deeply worried. Incidentally, he is an American and an Obama supporter. He thinks these discontents may play into McCain's hands as he hangs tough and plays on his military background and experience. We shall see...
I use he phrase 'eyes of the world' above. So as a parting shot and to lighten the mood, here are the Dead with Eyes of the World...
Quiet in blogworld at the moment, I notice. It's a seasonal thing. Real life interrupted blogging for the rabbit last week and will do so next, but this story is irresistible. Mention Joyce McKinney to a British male of a certain age and a gigglefit will ensue. For the unintiated, here is the story. We go back to 1977.
Joyce McKinney was a former cheerleader and beauty queen from - why am I not surprised - North Carolina. She had also been, despite her claimed virginity - a topic the great British public heard much of - a soft porn actress and images of her as such can be found on the web (wholly unsuitable for a family blog, of course!). She conceived a passion for a 19 year old Mormon missionary called Kirk Anderson and when he set off to England to do missionary things, our heroine cashed in her life savings and set off in hot pursuit. So far so passing odd, then it gets seriously weird.
Arrived in Britain, McKinney recruited a stooge called Keith May and kidnapped Anderson at gunpoint (okay it was an imitation firearm but bear with me), drugged him with chloroform and drove him to a rented cottage in Devon. What happened then was that Anderson - another virgin apparently - was chained, spreadeagled, to a bed, with several pairs of mink-lined handcuffs (nice touch, the mink lining), and over the next few days he was repeatedly required to have sex with McKinney. She later helpfully explained that she had been anxious to bear his child. By way of further explanation, she added that the handcuffing had been necessary as Anderson had a dominant mother and thus such aids were necessary for him to attain - erm - satisfaction.
Anderson managed to escape and McKinney and May were arrested. Court proceedings ensued. the great British public found the case the most hilarious news story in years - it just pushed so many British buttons. The tabloid press were drooling. Sympathy for Anderson: zero. There was only one court appearance, an old-style committal with evidence. McKinney unburdened herself in those proceedings of the following immortal line: "I loved him so much that I would ski naked down Mount Everest in the nude with a carnation up my nose if he asked me to." Quite so. At least she said nose. Her counsel summed up the national mood with the equally immortal line "methinks the Mormon do protest too much".
Unfortunately, the fun was spoiled when the dynamic duo were granted bail and took the opportunity to abscond to Canada disguised as mime artists. Don't ask, I don't know why mime artists either. End of story? Not quite.
Earlier this week someone called Bernann McKinney was in the news. She denied being Joyce McKinney but she obviously is. Her pet pit bull - erm - Booger has been successfully cloned by a team of South Korean scientists. I have no idea why this needed to be done but our heroine seems very happy with her collection of little Booger clones. Thus located, in theory, she could be extradited to stand trial for kidnapping. I don't suppose she will, though. A Scotland Yard spokeswoman commented when contacted by the press "I'm sorry. I haven't a clue what you're talking about." That was then. This is now...
A couple of updates on recent postings on this blog. The Israeli Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the rubber bullet shooting of his prisoner in Nil'in (postings 21/25 July) has been 'reassigned' and charged with 'unworthy conduct', a minor offence not carrying a custodial penalty. The sergeant who pulled the trigger has been demoted to private and faces the same charge. Apparently, penalties would be much more severe if they had been caught smoking a joint. Other events in Nil'in: a 10 year old and an 18 year old have been shot dead by the Israeli army (headshots as usual) and one person at least is in custody - the father of the girl who took the film footage that busted the shooting incident. He is under house arrest charged with something not very serious. Injustice prevails as usual.
One good news story: Majid Ahmed, the straight A student who was refused a place to study medicine at Imperial College because of an isolated and spent conviction for burglary when he was 15 (posting 3 July) has secured a place at Manchester University instead and can hopefully realise his ambition to become a doctor..
I suppose I had better start explanations with Noddy. There may be readers with so sheltered an upbringing in some remote corner of the world as to have been untouched by the dead hand of Enid Blyton, She was a prolific children's author over several decades and a gruesome old bat in real life (free legal advice - you can't defame the dead). One of her most ubiquitous and annoying creations was Noddy, a wooden toy who lived - unimaginatively enough - in Toytown. He drove a taxi, was big mates with some sort of gnome called Big Ears and was constantly in various low level trouble with the local constabulary in the form of PC Plod. That's about all you need to know.
I'm not sure how well-known Ian Dury is in foreign climes - it's not just that he was very English - it's more specific than that, he was very London. He led a rock and roll band, Ian Dury and the Blockheads but he was far from just a rock and roller. His lyrics are unique for their wit, verve, whimsy and imagination. He was a one off and one of those people you will never read a bad word about from anyone who met him. He suffered from the effects of childhood polio and managed to get his song - Spasticus Autisticus - written for the International Year of Disabled Persons banned by the BBC despite his credentials in this area. The above clip, Fuck Off Noddy, is one of his little pieces of whimsy and delicious revenge on behalf of anyone who had their childhood blighted by suchlike twee rubbish. Dury died in 1998 after struggling with one of those horrendous cancers that just recur all over the place.
Changing subject, I read that 20% of claims by women to the Child Support Agency for - well obviously - child support, are made against men who turn out not to be the father. I merely raise an eyebrow.
Changing subject again, not many days before the Beijing Olympics,does anyone acually give a stuff about the Olympics as a sporting event? Pretty much all coverage so far has (rightly) been about Tibet, broken promises as regards human rights and non-censorship of websites, the polluted state of the Beijing air and social cleansing of the occupiers of unprepossessing looking homes or business premises around the Olympic stadium. Usually the Olympics is simply an overblown nationalistic crap sport feeding frenzy (I except the athletics, which is okay, from the crap sport category) but this time around the story isn't the sports at all - it's the Chinese regime. They must be spitting nails. Serves them right...
Back to Ian Dury and a song from him in rock and roll mode - Sweet Gene Vincent. Bear with it for the ballady one and a half minute intro. It's worth the wait. If unfamiliar with him, have a little rummage about on YouTube for such gems as There Ain't Half Been Some Clever Bastards (whimsy) and Plaistow Patricia (famous - or perhaps infamous - for its opening barrage of very rude words indeed).
The rabbit has returned from a short break to notice a bizarre story as regards the Yorkshire flag (above). For overseas readers, Yorkshire is the largest English county and the population are - erm - a singular lot (I can say this as a Yorkshireman) and have local pride coming out of their ears. A local patriot by the name of Andrew Wainwright took to flying the white rose flag. The result: a summons by Ryedale District Council. The 'reason' was that the flag supposedly constituted advertising (advertising of what remains obscure) and was thus subject to a planning charge. The result was general uproar, ridicule and the mass ordering of Yorkshire flags by Mr Wainwright's fellow villagers. THere has been a happy ending, however. The summons was withdrawn in the face of general derision and the Flag Institute (a body I confess I had never heard of before) has registered the Yorkshire flag as an official emblem and thus exempt from planning permission. The newly officially sanctioned flag is to be carried in triumph on foot from Hull to York to arrive in time for Yorkshire Day - 1st August.
A victory over jobsworths with apparently nothing better to do.
On a more sombre note, I return to Texas Death Row - I have been forwarded an online petition for a new trial for a Texas Death Row prisoner named Reginald Blanton - I would ask all bloggers of goodwill to sign the petition and pass it on. The link also gives some information about the case including the bizarre, and apparently uniquely Texan, 'jury shuffle'.
Finally, and for no particular reason other than the song came to mind the other day, here from the beginning of time is a grainy clip of the late Clarence White of Byrds fame (killed by a drunk driver) with Truck Stop Girl. All together now (well those of you of a certain age anyway)
But he was so young/and on a ten city run/in love with the Truck Stop Girl...
A strange story from New Zealand - a 9 year old girl is in court guardianship there so that her name can be changed. The name her parents gave her? - Talula Does The Hula from Hawaii. At this point I pause to beat my head against the wall. The judge gave other examples of bizarre names in his ruling including Fish and Chips, Stallion, Sex Fruit and - erm - Violence. Now my general rule on officials telling people what to do is I'm against it. Here I make an exception. Being a child/adolescent is difficult enough without having to drag baggage like that around. As for the parents? Moderate words fail me.
Another tiresome example of the professions joining in with officialdom in mindless bossiness has surfaced. The British Medical Journal pronounces that bigger families are as environmentally dubious as patio heaters or gas guzzlers. Oh get lost you arses! This kind of medical pontificating is not confined to the printed word. I heard a mother of 6 on the radio saying that after the birth of one of her children she was gratuitously asked by some medical professional what she was going to do to prevent the next one. She told the medical professional where to get off. Quite right too. There is apparently 1.91 children per woman in the UK. If the rate fell to 1.7, the population would halve in six generations. Hardly an overpopulation crisis. Affluent people tend to have small families. If you are in a poor country and children are your social security system cum pension policy and infant mortality rates are high, you have lots. Remarkably, this state of affairs continues despite the strictures of the British Medical Journal. The rabbit is a father of 2 for the record.
Strange goings on as regards the clip posted on Monday. First the clip was taken down by YouTube and then Memphis Steve (link to left) reports that the link to the clip is blocked at his place of work. What is going on here? the clip is at least still up on the B'tselem website - http://www.btselem.org/english/Firearms/20080721_Nilin_Shooting.asp - A modest proposal: could all bloggers of goodwill copy, paste and stick the link up on your blog. It seems the only answer to the deleters and blockers.
I'm off for a break in rural Bucks so no new postings for a few days but a random parting shot: why are there so many blokes wandering about in Argentina rugby shirts these days? Is it some sort of ironic statement or are we being stealthily invaded? just asking...
I try to avoid blogging on the Middle East - it brings the crazies out to play but this clip from the occupied West Bank should have the widest dissemination possible. Comment is superfluous - but feel free to comment!
I did wonder about putting up something to the effect that some people may find this clip disturbing - but that's exactly why it should be seen.
Top blogger Earl (link to left) confesses to being a beer snob. Well if it's confession time - me too! Here are five particular faves:
1. Hobgoblin (Wychwood) - my current fave. A rich ruby ale. The Wychwood brewery's marketing/PR is amazingly good with the 'afraid you might taste something lagerboy?' poster being a modern classic.
2. Old Peculier (Theakstons) I've been drinking this since I was a teenager and had a bottle last night. A strong, dark sweetish beer.
3. Old Speckled Hen (Morland) Nice name - nice beer.
4. Dragon Stout (Red Stripe) - a very strong (7.5%) very sweet stout imported from Jamaica. It used to be very hard to get hold of now it's all over everywhere like a rash.
5. Stinger (Hall & Woodhouse) - an organic beer with tie in to all round good thing Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.
And with one exception, that's all English stuff. I said in a comment to Earl that Europe was the place for beer. One good thing about Belgium is the beers (he wrote resisting the obvious jibes about Belgium) - wonderful stuff, many coming from a monastic brewing tradition. Honourable mention is also due to the German beer purity law - the Reinheitsgebot (1516 and the oldest food quality regulation in the world - those clever Bavarians again!) - water, barley and hops and that's it. No mucking about! The Reinheitsgebot was repealed in 1987 but is observed voluntarily by the great majority of German breweries.
Moving on, to my embarrassment I neglected to mention in last Thursday's posting the role of my line editor in the crime novel. Damn, she's good! Deadly in fact and the book would be much worse without her input. Should have said so in the first place.
A strange story via Jailhouse Lawyer (again link to left). The local Amish are in a spot of bother with the State of Kentucky. They refuse to display flashing lights and an orange triangle on the rear of their horse drawn vehicle as required by state law (this sort of ostentation contravenes their religious beliefs and they use reflective tape and lanterns instead). Seven Amish are facing criminal charges, three other are appealing convictions for the same thing and the American Civil Liberties Union has sprung to their defence. Now, like 99.9999999% of humanity, this belief strikes me as bizarre but they are them and that's how they feel on the subject. There is a general point here - the right to believe whatever you like and put it into practice if you do no harm. There is no suggestion that the Amish have done any harm by their alternative safety measures. Maybe the State of Kentucky could let just them be?
Strange newspaper headline of the day from the sports section: "Wenger wary of 'killing' youngsters". I should hope so too...
Strange sporting event of the week: the selection by England of total unknown Darren Pattinson. Huh?
Grumpy Old Man type enquiry: why does no-one take any notice of 'no junk mail' stickers on letterboxes these days?
Jilted John had better be explained for overseas and younger readers. He (real name Graham Fellows) was a one hit wonder in 1978 with a quirky byproduct of the punk era. The one hit was also called Jilted John - a tirade against his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend Gordon. One line stuck in everybody's heads: 'Gordon is a moron'. It got to number 4 in the UK charts to general bemusement. It sounds like it was recorded by a teenager in his garage - I wouldn't bet against it having been. So matters rested for decades.
Then we acquired a Prime Minister, first name Gordon. The satirical possibilities of Jilted John were realised. This clip is by the improbably named Herr Kamel. It also looks like it was produced in a teenager's garage and I was tutting disapprovingly at the spelling mistakes. It has its moments though - Clare Short and John Reid appearing to give varying manual demonstrations of the dimensions of the Prime Ministerial appendage. Near the end, there is the announcement 'Andrew Neil was not harmed during the making of this film'.
Why not?
Completely different topics now. The long promised update on the crime novel. I have completed the edits. The cliche is true: the writing is in the re-writing. My tendency to get a word or phrase in my head and repeat it (I think - or at least hope - this is pretty universal) is truly alarming. In particular, I discover I have a fixation with the word 'eventually'. The editing has resulted in a huge cull of eventuallys. A few were spared but not many. Spotting sentences that add nothing to the narrative flow but rather interrupt it has been a necessary task. Conversely, I have got carried away with myself here and there and added detail. Anyway, that's my best shot for now and the agent has been e-mailed. Experience tells that agents invariably demand further re-writes. It's as if they feel they aren't doing their job if they don't. I'll report on progress or lack of it.
I haven't done an Old Bailey Chronicles in a good while. Yesterday's featured case, a murder trial from 1742, is far too long to copy and paste. But take a look - it makes a fascinating read - http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?div=t17420909-37.
As a parting shot and for no reason other than to improve the musical quality after Jilted John, here are Sly and Robbie with Shine Eye Dub.
Lots of serious stuff in the news of late, so naturally something not very serious. No less distinguished a body than the Fabian Society wants the word 'chav' banned. The use of the word "chav" should be banned by the media and individuals with left-of-centre politics because it betrays a "deep and revealing level of class hatred' they pronounce.
For overseas readers, the nearest US equivalent to this peculiarly English word - now passed from slang into the mainstream - would be 'trailer trash'. The origins of the word are a matter for debate but the most accepted theory is that is derives from the Romany word 'chavi', which simply means child. The characteristics of chavdom are low socio-economic class, appalling dress sense and a tendency to criminality. Female chavs are sometimes described as 'pramface' - a refererence to their precocious reproductive habits.
Is there a serious point here? Ermmmmm.....
Social contempt is hardly new. the term 'oik', now only used ironically, was the equivalent to chav for previous generations. Snobbery is a deeply unattractive trait and those with wealth, power and position sneering at those with none of these is an unedifying sight. Getting political for a moment, the Labour Party has long ago abandoned its working class roots and the white working class has in return a sense of - well - abandonment. Those not wholly alienated from the political process (understandably - what's in it for them?) are easy prey for the likes of the BNP, who have cleverly tapped into this sense of alienation and abandonment. The problem is hugely bigger than smartass remarks at middle class dinner parties.
Does banning chav from the public discourse help? I don't think so. I'm reflexively against banning things - there's far too much of that sort of thing about. Maybe the Fabian Society would be better occupied applying its mind to more serious issues of social fracture and alienation.
This story has been running for a couple of days but still merits comment. Preppy Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg had the brilliant idea (or more likely some moron in his office/party headquarters did but he clearly went along with it) that what the great British public would love above all was a cold call recorded message from him. A lucky 250,000 copped his automated message. There was apparently an opportunity after our hero's two minute peroration to provide feedback. An option starting with 'why don't you' and ending in 'off my line' Was presumably not among the options for feedback. 
