Give me Liberty

We visited Liberty in Regent Street on Saturday so that Jane could pick up some haberdashery supplies.

Ben was rather taken with a camel saddle that he and I came across on the third floor as we were killing time while his mum was loooking at ribbons. He remembers photos of her riding a camel in the Dubai desert, so he insisted that she came to see it when she had finished her shopping.

The saddle is in the carpet department, and I imagine it is intended to add to the exotic, Eastern ambience that comes from a profusion of hand made rugs hung from the ceiling, pinned to the walls and piled sky high in every available space.

After admiring the saddle, Jane was rather taken with a carpet that she had noticed on top of a pile of similar rugs. I'd say that the carpet was about twelve feet by four, and there were about twenty five rugs laid on top of each other.




I asked a nearby member of staff how much it would cost. "Thirty five thousand pounds," came the deadpan reply. I looked more closely. There were in fact price tags on the rugs. The second one in the pile was a comparative bargain at �28,000.

At this point I became acutely aware that my four year old, possibly with his nose unwiped, was in close proximity.

"So this pile of rugs is worth hundreds of thousands?"

"Yes, the carpet that you are interested in was made in central Persia around 1890. There are probably only a dozen similar in the world. An example came up in Sotheby's recently, but it was more worn, not of this quality."

"Is it a pre Islamic design?" I asked. (All that I knew about Persian carpets - gleaned from Dan Cruickshank's estimable Around the World in Eighty Treasures on the TV the other week - was that the designs were regional and could be traced back to a time before the Moslem conversion, but I thought I might as well chance my arm.)

"Not really," he said and went on to describe a famous mosque inlaid with a very similar pattern.

I wondered out loud if it was symmetrical.

"It is that sort of design, " he said, "but obviously a handmade item can never be perfectly symmetrical.

"In fact Persian weavers have a strong belief that only God is perfect in all that He does. Therefore a rug made by a human must have an imperfection because the belief is that only God can craft something that is flawless, and it would be arrogant for man to seek and aspire to the same.

"A perfect carpet would offend God, therefore the imperfection symbolizes man's imperfection in this world. The finer the pattern, and the more perfect its execution, the greater the need to insert a purposeful flaw of one sort or another."

I told him that with regard to inserting a purposeful flaw into a perfect accomplishment of mine, I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

We chatted away for a while longer. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of knowledge about the weft, the weave, the silk and the thread. It was all fascinating but finally I had - shame faced - to admit that I didn't have thirty five grand to blow on a carpet that afternoon. He couldn't have been more gracious.

I have looked up the Liberty website since we have been back. This is what it says.

The third floor is a must for any Liberty customer, absolutely nothing in here has been mass-produced. Everything is handmade with a label on the back denoting country of origin. No brands, no companies just a country � Iran, Persia, Pakistan, Afghanistan. We have friends there who make the best carpets in the world in a way that no machine can replicate. If you want to know the story behind any carpet you are buying � ask any member of staff and they�ll be happy to help and of course Bruce is usually on hand. He�s our buyer and always willing to share a tale or two. He bought every one of those carpets and he (and the team) know exactly who made them and how they did it. He is an education and if you had no interest in carpets when you arrived you can guarantee you will be fluent in �carpet� by the time you leave.

It is all true.

Bankside

I went out for something of a pub crawl in London's Bankside on Friday night.

Deriving its name from one of the medieval causeways built to hold back the Thames, the early history of Bankside owes much to its riverside location. Beyond the jurisdiction of the City of London, but only a short ferry-ride away, Bankside became home to a number of boisterous establishments that could not be located within the City bounds as they were considered too cheap, too unsavoury or were simply illegal. The main entertainments that drew crowds to Bankside were the 'stewhouses' (brothels), animal-baiting pits and public theatres, sometimes all at once, as prostitutes would trawl the playhouses, which doubled as bear-baiting arenas. The Rose, the Swan, the Globe and the Hope were the four Bankside playhouses of the Tudor era, and some of the first ever in London (the very first theatre was in Shoreditch and was dismantled to built the original Globe playhouse).

That made it sound like I would fit right in, so I took the tube up to London Bridge.

We kicked off in the The Barrowboy and Banker (6-8, Borough High Street, London, SE1 9QQ) and then had one the The Old Thameside Inn (Pickfords Wharf, Clink St, London, SE1 9DG).

Then we checked out Vinopolis and had a glass of red in their bar, The Wine Wharf (Stoney Street, Borough Market, London SE1 9AD).

After that we slipped round to Borough Market for a swift one in The Wheatsheaf (6 Stoney Street, London, SE1 9AA), and then walked around to the Hop Cellars (24 Southwark Street, London, SE1 1TY) for another glass of wine.

Decided to finish off with dinner (not stew) at The Peoples Palace Restaurant (Royal Festival Hall complex London SE1 8XX), but were tempted into The Founders Arms en route (52 Hopton St, London SE1 9JH) for a stiffener on the way.

Thence home on the tune from Waterloo, tired but happy, and with many valuable hostelry addresses for me to play with as I try and get my ideas on geoblogging straight.

Phil Blood's Leap

After yesterday, here is another character forming piece remembered from my youth.

'Phil Blood's Leap' by Robert Buchanan

There's some think Injins poison, and others count 'em scum,
And night and day they are melting away, clean into Kingdom Come;
But don't you go and make mistakes, like many dern'd fools I've known,
For dirt is dirt, and snakes is snakes, but an Injin's flesh and bone!

We were seeking gold in the Texan hold, and we'd had a blaze of luck,
More rich and rare the stuff ran there at every foot we struck ;
Like men gone wild we tiled and tiled, and never seemed to tire ;
The hot sun beamed, and our faces streamed with the sweat of a mad desire.

I was Captain then of the mining men, and I had a precious life,
For a wilder set I never met at derringer and knife;
Nigh every day there was some new fray, a bullet in some one's brain,
And the cussedest brute to stab and to shoot was an imp of sin from Maine.

Phil Blood. Well, he was six foot three, with a squint to make you skeer'd,
Sour as the drink in Bitter Chink, with carroty hair and beard.
With pick and spade in sun and shade he labour'd like darnation,
But when his spell was over... well, he was fond of his recreation!
And being a crusty kind of cuss, the only sport he had,
When work was over, seemed to us a bit too rough and bad;
For to put some lead in a comrade's head was the greatest fun in life,
And the sharpest joke he was known to poke was the point of his precious knife.
But game to the bone was Phil, I'll own, and he always fought most fair,
With as good a will to be killed as kill, true grit as any there.
But his eddication, to his ruination, had not been over nice,
And his stupid skull was choking full of vulgar prejudice ;
With anything white he'd drink, or he'd fight in fair and open fray ;
But to murder and kill was his wicked will, if an Injin came his way!
A sarpent's hide has pison inside, and an Injin's heart's the same,
If he seems your friend for to gain his end, look out for the sarpent's game;
Of the snakes that crawl, the worst of all is the snake in a skin of red,
A spotted Snake, and no mistake!' that's what he always said.
Well, we'd jest struck our bit of luck, and were wild as raving men,
When who should stray to our camp one day, but Black Panther, the Cheyenne;
Drest like a Christian, all agrin, the redskin joins our band,
But tho' the rest look'd black as sin, I shakes him by the hand.
Now, the Injin's cuss was known to us, and I knew that he was true,
I'd have trusted him with life and limb as soon as I'd trust you;
For tho' his wit was gone a bit, and he drank like any fish,
His heart was kind, he was well-inclined, as even a white could wish.
Food had got low, for we didn't know the run of the hunting-ground,
And our hunters were sick, when, just in the nick, the friend in need was found;
For he knew the place like his mother's face (or better, a heap, you'd say,
Since she was a squaw of the roaming race, and himself a castaway).
So I took the Panther into camp, and the critter was well content,
And off with him, on the hunting-tramp, next day our hunters went,
And I reckon that day and the next we didn't want for food,
And only one in the camp looked vext... that imp of sin, Phil Blood.
Nothing would please his contrairy idees! an Injin made him rile!
He didn't speak, but I saw on his cheek a kind of an ugly smile;
And I knew his skin was hatching sin, so I kept the Panther apart,
For the Injin he was too blind to see the depth of a white man's heart.

Well, one fine day, we a-resting lay at noon-tide by the creek,
The red sun blazed, and we lay half-dazed, too tired to stir or speak;
I lay and dozed with eyes half-closed, and felt like a three-year child,
And, a plantain blade on his brow for shade, even Phil Blood looked mild.
Well, back, jest then, came our hunting men, with the Panther at their head,
Full of his fun was every one, and the Panther's eyes were red,
And he skipt about with grin and shout, for he'd had a drop that day,
And he twisted and twirled, and squeal'd and skirl'd, in the foolish Injin way.
To the waist all bare Phil Blood lay there, with only his knife in his belt,
And I saw his blood-shot eye-balls stare, and I knew how fierce he felt
When the Injin dances with grinning glances around Phil as he lies,
With his painted skin and his monkey grin... and leers into his eyes!
Then before I knew what I should do Phil Blood was on his feet,
And the Injin could trace the hate in his face, and his heart began to beat,
And, 'Git out o' the way,' he heard them say, ' for he means to hey your life!'
But before he could fly at the warning cry, he saw the flash of the knife.
'Run, Panther, run!' cried every one, and the Panther turned his back;
With a wicked glare, like a wounded bear, Phil Blood sprang on his track.
Up the side so steep of the canon deep the frighted Injin sped,
And after him ran the devil's limb, till they faded over head.

Now, the spot of ground where our luck was found was a queerish place, you'll mark,
Just under the jags of the mountain crags and the precipices dark ;
Far up on high, close to the sky, the two crags leant together,
Leaving a gap, like an open trap, with a gleam of golden weather.
If a man should pop in at that trap on the top he'd never rest arm or leg,
Till neck and crop to the bottom he'd drop, and smash on the stones like an egg.
A pathway led from the beck's dark bed up to the crags on high,
And along that path the Injin fled, fast as a man could fly.
Some shots were fired, for I desired to keep the white cuss back;
But I missed my man, and away he ran on the flying Injin's track.
'Come back, you cuss! come back to us! and let the Injin be!'
I called aloud, while the men in a crowd stood gazing at them and me...
But up they went, and my shots were spent, and at last they disappeared
One minute more, and we gave a roar, for the Iniin had leapt... and cleared

A leap for a deer, not a man, to clear... and the bloodiest grave below
But the Injin was smart and mad with fear, and he went like a bolt from a bow!
Close after him came the devil's limb, with his eyes as dark as death,
But when he came to the gulch's brim, I reckon he paused for breath.
For breath at the brink! but-a white man shrink, when a red had passed so neat?
I knew Phil Blood too well to think he'd turn his back dead beat!
He takes one run, leaps up in the sun, and bounds from the slippery ledge,
And he clears the hole, but Heaven help his soul! just touches the tother edge!
The edge he touches, then sinks, and clutches the rock... our eyes grow dim
I turn away... what's that they say?... he's hanging on to the brim!
On the very brink of the fatal clink a ragged shrub there grew,
And to that he clung, and in silence swung betwixt us and the blue,
And as soon as a man could run, I ran the way I'd seen them flee,
And I came mad-eyed to the chasm's side, and what do you think I see?
All up?... Not quite. Still hanging? Right!... But he'd torn away the shrub;
With lolling tongue he clutch'd and swung-to what? ay, that's the rub!
I saw him glare and dangle in air... for the empty hole he trod
Held by a pair of hands up there!... The Injin's! Yes, by God!

Now, boys, look here! for many a year I've roam'd in this here land,
And many a sight both day and night I've seen that I think grand;
Over the whole wide world I've been, and I know both things and men,
But the biggest sight I've ever seen was the sight I saw jest then.
I held my breath... so nigh to death Phil Blood swung hand and limb,
And it seem'd to us all that down he'll fall, with the Panther after him,
But the Injin at length put out his strength and another minute past,
Then safe and sound to the solid ground he drew Phil Blood, at last!
Saved? True for you! By an Injin, too!... and the man he meant to kill!
There all alone, on the brink of stone, I see them standing still ;
Phil Blood gone white, with the struggle and fright, like a great mad bull at bay,
And the Injin meanwhile, with a half-skeer'd smile, ready to spring away.

"What did Phil do? Well, I watched the two, and I saw Phil Blood turn back,
Bend over the brink, and take a blink right down the chasm black,
Then stooping low for a moment or so, he drew his bowie bright,
And chucked it down the gulf with a frown; then whistled, and slunk from sight!
And after that day Phil changed his play, and kept a civiller tongue,
And whenever an Injin came that way, his contrairy head he hung;
But whenever he heard the lying word, "It's a LIE!" Phil Blood would groan,
"A Snake is a Snake, make no mistake! but an Injin's flesh and bone!"

Jim Bludso of the Prairie Belle

One of the functions of a commonplace book is to organise and reinforce memory. This weekend I�m going to add some verse here that my Dad used to read to me when I was a little boy.

The first is �Jim Bludso of the Prairie Belle� by John Hay (1838�1905). It was easy to find in the age of Google because I remembered Jim�s immortal cry, �I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank till the last galoot 's ashore."

Wall, no! I can't tell what he lives,
Becase he don't live, you see;
Leastways, he's got out of the habit
Of livin'like you and me.
Whar have you been for the last three year
That you haven't heard folks tell
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks
The night of the Prairie Belle?

He warn't no saint, - them engineers
Is all pretty much alike, -
One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill
And another one here, in Pike;
A keerless man in his talk was Jim,
And an awkward hand in a row,
But he never flunked, and he never lied, -
I reckon he never knowed how.

And this was all the religion he had:
To treat his engine well;
Never be passed on the river;
To mind the pilot's bell;
And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,
A thousand times he swore,
He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last soul got ashore.

All boats has their day on the Mississip,
And her day come at last,
The Movastar was a better boat,
But the Belle she wouldn't be passed.
And so she came tearin' along that night -
The oldest craft on the line -
With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,
And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.

The fire bust out as she clar'd the bar,
And burnt a hole in the night,
And quick as a flash she turned and made
For that willer-bank on the right.
Thar was runnin' and cussin', but Jim yelled out,
Over all the infernal roar,
'I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last galoot's ashore.'

Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat
Jim Bludso's voice was heard,
And they all had trust in his cussedness,
And knowed he would keep his word.
And, sure 's you 're born, they all got off
Afore the smokestacks fell,�
And Bludso's ghost went up alone
In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.

He were n't no saint,�but at jedgment
I 'd run my chance with Jim,
'Longside of some pious gentlemen
That would n't shook hands with him.
He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,�
And went for it thar and then;
And Christ ain't a going to be too hard
On a man that died for men.

The Hoody Menace

Yesterday, even as it �emerged� that his government has created 1,018 new criminal offences since 1997, Prime Minister Tony Blair found time � while outlining a 'bold' legislative programme for reform and renewal of public services in his third term in office � to join the war on the 'hoody' gangs which are terrorising the public.

According to the Daily Mail, he said people were 'rightly fed up' with yobbish behaviour and backed the Bluewater shopping centre in Kent which has banned youths wearing hooded tracksuit tops from its premises.



The menace is real. I remember that nice Anakin Skywalker as a kind, selfless child. How can he have grown into the hoody clad ruffian pictured above? If this can happen to child born of prophecy, possibly conceived by the will of the Force itself, how are our children to be saved?

We�ve ignored warning about youth, garments and respect before and paid a terrible price. It�s just over 40 years since the national newspapers reported that, on the 9th April 1965, the headmaster, Mr. E. H. Roberts, of the 1,000 pupil Grove Park Grammar School at Wrexham attacked those parents who allowed their children to wear Rolling Stones 'corduroy' trousers. 'It was a disservice to the young if adults interpreted freedom as a complete disregard for the rules' he said.

As we all now know, Mr. Roberts� brave call to action was ignored. An entire generation � personified perhaps by the eleven year old Master A. Blair � was lost to taste and tailoring. The result is plain in the photo below which was taken in 1975 of the then 21 year old lead singer of Ugly Rumours. It is as a horrible warning from history. It must never happen again.



More seriously, this "policy" is utterly witless and vacuous pandering. I think I will get a hoody tomorrow in protest and I buy clothes so seldom that I often wonder why I am not nude. I agree with Tom Paine, the "Me generation", which is surely the most pampered, spoiled, self important, and selfish in British history is aging in an ugly way "increasingly afraid of its youth (most of whom are perfectly decent people) and far too inclined to repress superficial and irrelevant behaviours".

I wonder if I can get Hugh MacLoed to bring out hoody versions of his t-shirts.

A company called Indigo can produce custom hoodies for us, but we have to buy at least 8. Anyone got any ideas?

for the want of a shoe

I was at the Thames Valley Police HQ last night presenting to the Police and to Horsewatch on how they might use Virtual Bumblebee to alleviate thefts of horse tack as Sussex Police have done with Operation Saddle.

As can easily be imagined, all of the Thames Valley force's resources are currently bent on bringing the creatures responsible for the torture and murder of 16-year-old Mary-Ann Leneghan to justice.

Saddles, bridles, blankets and weblogs seem very insignificant compared to that task, but I was struck yet again by an intuition that the Police in general are missing a trick by not using Blogs and RSS to:

• communicate with the public about investigations
• channel intelligence that the public can give them
• keep long running investigations in the public eye.

I wrote about this before back in March, when Surrey Police thought that they may have made a breakthrough in the murder of 13 year old Milly Dowler who was abducted nearly three years ago. On that occasion the local Runnymede & Weybridge Labour Party picked up the picture of the car that the Police were trying to trace from my weblog/RSS feed and republished it on their own site. All of this is grist to the mill and I do not think that it would have taken much effort for the Police to take have distributed their own appeal through new media channel that is the blogosphere.

(After the Police made their appeal, I created a "Milly Dowler" watchlist on Technorati so that I could see if people were commenting on it. Quite a while later, this search picked up an entry posted to an MSN Spaces blog written by a school friend of Milly's describing how badly bewildered and disturbed she still was several years after the disappearance. I don't want to link to that because I felt as if I was intruding somehow when I read it even though it was available publicly. I want to mention it though because, for me, it was yet another indication of what a significant social phenomenon this new type of writing and publishing is.)

What haunts me I think about the importance of these appeals and the need to put and keep them before the public is something that I learned from a Sussex policeman about the Sarah Payne tragedy. Sarah Payne was a little girl who disappeared from her grandparents house in summer 2000. She was murdered and her body was found a few weeks later.

That case was cracked largely because a member of the public who was aware of the investigation found one of Sarah's shoes when out walking. The Forensic Science Service managed to link fibres on the shoe to a red sweatshirt belonging to one Roy Whiting who was subsequently jailed for life for her murder.

It seems so amazingly fortuitous that someone would see a single small black shoe in a hedgerow and wonder if it belonged to a missing little girl that it makes you brood on how many other cases did not get that stroke of luck because someone blithely and in all innocence passed by some crucial evidence.

Jacko used chimps as cleaners

Michael Jackson used his pet chimpanzees to clean Neverland ranch, his trial heard yesterday.

The creatures would help the star by dusting, cleaning windows and brushing the toilets, the jury heard.

In a clip of outtakes from Martin Bashir's ITV1 documentary Living With Michael Jackson, the singer described how he got his animals to help with household chores.

'They are very smart. Their DNA is identical to humans when you look under a microscope,' he said.

ThisisLondon

GJs

I have been playing about with Google's new mapping and local information services and I have been interested to see that they seem to return information from this weblog. You can see the result of searching for "A Welsh born icon" around the postcode of the office here.

Funnily enough, the overwhelming majority of the results are local pubs that I have written about. Empirically, it seems that the posts are picked up whenever I include a full address in the post.

A lot goes on at GJ's (62 High St, Colliers Wood, London SW19 2BY) so I am writing this post to let me test what Google map and local searches will return a link to it based on my text over the next couple of weeks or so.

GJs - bizarrely - is Colliers Wood's own ski bar, run along with its sister pub in Wandsworth by people who cut their teeth during 8 years runnng the reportedly legendary original GJs of Val d'Isere in the French Alps.

All through May, chalet girls will be flocking to SW19 to see the cream of the bands who have entertained them in the Alps over the last few winters playing live. You have missed Superfly aka The Feeling who played last Friday, but you can still catch Mowgli this Friday and Mullit on Saturday.

On Friday 20 May 20 May - The Noize will be playing for the Ski Workers Reunited and Natives 6th Birthday.

(No, I have never heard of any of them either.)

On Sunday evenings, GJs plays host to BB's Blues Club. The eponymous BB is Bob Brunning who was a founder member of Fleetwood Mac, and went on to join Savoy Brown. I try and get along to "enjoy the best British and American blues bands around" as often as I can, and I have always had a great time.

On the second and last Thursday of every month there is a stand up comedy at GJs. Roar with Laughter entertain with some well known and up and coming acts. I seldom go because whenever I ever encounter some self righteous clown performing edgy and provocative material they inevitably succeed in in provoking me to thoughts of violence. Mark Thomas is playing there tomorrow. "You wanna talk about cutting edge comedy? In the real world it begins and ends with this man. He's prepared to make people uncomfortable about things that really matter". On his website you can vote on what you would like him to do next. I have voted that he "shut his big mouth up". I suggest you do the same. Let's just leave it at that.

Quotations Strung Together

It has apparently been said in jest of Hamlet that it is "nothing but a bunch of quotations strung together". That is the way I've thought for many years of 1977's Annie Hall.

---

Alvy addresses a pair of strangers on the street
Alvy Singer: Here, you look like a very happy couple, um, are you?
Female street stranger: Yeah.
Alvy Singer: Yeah? So, so, how do you account for it?
Female street stranger: Uh, I'm very shallow and empty and I have no ideas and nothing interesting to say.
Male street stranger: And I'm exactly the same way.
Alvy Singer: I see. Wow. That's very interesting. So you've managed to work out something?

---

Alvy Singer: In 1942 I had already discovered women.
[Young Alvy kisses girl in school]
Alvy's Classmate: Yecch. He kissed me, he kissed me. Yecch.
Miss Reed: That's the second time this month. Step up here.
Alvy at 9: What'd I do?
Miss Reed: Step up here.
Alvy at 9: What did I do?
Miss Reed: You should be ashamed of yourself.
Alvy Singer: Why? I was just expressing a healthy sexual curiosity.
Miss Reed: Six year old boys don't have girls on their minds.
Alvy Singer: I did.
Alvy's Classmate: For God's sake, Alvy, even Freud speaks of a latency period.
Alvy Singer: Well, I never had a latency period. I can't help it.

---

Alvy at 9: The universe is expanding.
Doctor in Brooklyn: The universe is expanding?
Alvy at 9: Well, the universe is everything, and if it's expanding, someday it will break apart and that would be the end of everything!
Alvy's Mom: What is that your business?
[she turns back to the doctor]
Alvy's Mom: He stopped doing his homework!
Alvy at 9: What's the point?

---

Pandora's cushion

Mooching around near Tooting Railway station on Saturday we passed Coppin Bros butchers and I was reminded me that some years ago, this family-run South London establishment reintroduced the 'Pandora's Cushion' from a recipe which had survived from the current proprietor's grandfather.

Better know as a 'Victorian Stuffed Goose' this rare dish consists of a boned Goose stuffed with a boned chicken stuffed with a boned pheasant with a boned quail at the centre. Each bird is separated with a thin layer of homemade forcemeat and then the whole thing is then hand stitched back into the size and shape of the original goose

We had a 'cushion' at Christmas one year. It is quite an experience to cook and eat it.

Now, if only I could get them to stuff one of these into a sheep and then a camel ....

---

We also popped in to a West Indian cafe called Lighthouse Cafe Kook 2000, and had some fried dumplings with plantain. I will definitely be going back there for something more substantial some time soon.

Broke another duck by going into the pawn shop on the corner to look at silver jewelry. I'd never been in one before. I was surprised to see that there are cubicles where the real clients can go about their transactions. These little private boxes were, for me at least, curiously reminiscent of confessionals.

State of Grace

I have signed on the dotted line for membership of the new Merton Abbey Virgin Active health club.

Is there any greater tonic than joining a gym before it opens?

I can sit round all day imagining how fit I am going to get come June, but I don't have to do anything about it yet.

Saturday Thought

Every dog has his day, but those with short thin tails have weak ends.

Dinner with Microsoft

I went to my first London Geek Dinner last night and I will certainly be going again.

I learned about the bash from Microsoft's Sean Alexander, who I think was instrumental in putting it together as he was passing through London on the way to Greece with his wife. There were quite a few Microsofties from the UK Media Center team there as well.

It was held in the Nakon Thai, and - of the unassimilated - I was sitting opposite Ian Forrester and next to Julian Guppy.

It was good to get a chance to natter away about my Tosh Qosmio G10 with people who might possibly understand what I was talking about, and to see - and fondle - a selection of the new media knick knacks that are in the pipeline.

I also got some hints that IE7 will be RSS aware. That will be a huge boon. Everyone was tight lipped about Longhorn though.

I was surprised and delighted at the end of the evening when Microsoft picked up the tab. Although this morning - having learned what a hit it is chez Alexander - I have splashed out �33.05 on a Microsoft Fingerprint Readerso maybe we are just about even on the deal.

Old Labour

So Blair and co. are returned for a third successive term. I watched the coverage deep into the night after I got back home at just after eleven. My God it was dull. I found myself yearning for MPs more like George Brown, the deputy leader of the Labour Party during the 1960s.

A noted drinker, George's finest - though very likely apocryphal - hour came at a London diplomatic reception. As the band struck up the first number, he approached a potential conquest in a long, red velvet dress and asked, "Beautiful lady in scarlet, may I have the next dance?"

"Certainly not!" came the reply.

"Why not?" asked George.

"In the first place you are drunk. "In the second, this is not actually a waltz but the Hungarian national anthem; and, thirdly, I am not a beautiful lady in scarlet, I am, in fact, the papal nuncio Archbishop Mancini."

Boy finds snake in cereal packet

A five-year-old Shropshire boy discovered a live two-foot snake in his box of breakfast cereal.

Jordan Willett, from Dawley, found the corn snake inside the packet of Golden Puffs on Bank Holiday Monday.

His mother Theresa, 23, said he was still in shock and not eating.

Ms Willett, who was eating breakfast with her son at the time, said she first thought the snake was a free gift.

BBC

Election

I cast my vote in the UK election this morning on the way to the office. I didn't do it with any great enthusiasm and found myself thinking fondly of the Russian ballot option 'against all', but done it I have.

I was convinced that it was important that I should vote by my memory of the Iraqi lady that I met earlier this year who was so thrilled to have had the chance to vote in her own country's election.


I live in the Mitcham and Morden constituency. In the last election in 2001, Labour got 60.4% of the vote, the conservatives got 24.1%, the Liberal Democrats got 10.1%, and others got 5.4%.

I have voted for Labour for two reasons:

1. I think it was right for the UK to support the US regarding Iraq.
2. The sitting MP Siobhan McDonagh, who was born and has lived most of her life in the constituency, seems to be a conscientious local representative.

I am very uneasy about this however as I am completely disillusioned with Labour's performance in running the country.

My particular b�te noire is the government's propensity to introduce ludicrous, incompetent legislation. I have written about the proposal to make a crime of incitement to religious hatred here, and about the hate crime law in general here and here.

This is an administration that can't remember why it repealed the 1795 Treason Act! And I - God help us - have voted to have them back again because I can't see any credible alternative.

The Song Against Grocers

Peter of the Massive Pub Co who have just acquired a local of ours called the Victory has been complimentary about this site, and further to my post this morning I have been brooding on the perfidy of a supermarket plonking down a huge Temple of Mammon on top of a Scheduled Ancient Monument.

G.K. Chesterton's Song Against Grocers, which is also a salute to the "righteous minds of innkeepers", covers both bases.

God made the wicked Grocer
For a mystery and a sign,
That men might shun the awful shops
And go to inns to dine;
Where the bacon's on the rafter
And the wine is in the wood,
And God that made good laughter
Has seen that they are good.

The evil-hearted Grocer
Would call his mother "Ma'am,"
And bow at her and bob at her,
Her aged soul to damn,
And rub his horrid hands and ask
What article was next
Though MORTIS IN ARTICULO
Should be her proper text.

His props are not his children,
But pert lads underpaid,
Who call out "Cash!" and bang about
To work his wicked trade;
He keeps a lady in a cage
Most cruelly all day,
And makes her count and calls her "Miss"
Until she fades away.

The righteous minds of innkeepers
Induce them now and then
To crack a bottle with a friend
Or treat unmoneyed men,
But who hath seen the Grocer
Treat housemaids to his teas
Or crack a bottle of fish sauce
Or stand a man a cheese?

He sells us sands of Araby
As sugar for cash down;
He sweeps his shop and sells the dust
The purest salt in town,
He crams with cans of poisoned meat
Poor subjects of the King,
And when they die by thousands
Why, he laughs like anything.

The wicked Grocer groces
In spirits and in wine,
Not frankly and in fellowship
As men in inns do dine;
But packed with soap and sardines
And carried off by grooms,
For to be snatched by Duchesses
And drunk in dressing-rooms.

The hell-instructed Grocer
Has a temple made of tin,
And the ruin of good innkeepers
Is loudly urged therein;
But now the sands are running out
From sugar of a sort,
The Grocer trembles; for his time,
Just like his weight, is short.

Higher Mind

I've written before (here and here) about the long vanished Merton Priory in whose grounds our offices would have stood.

It turns out that it was consecrated on May 3, 1117, so I just missed its 888th anniversary yesterday. I always find it strange as I am walking to work to imagine that there was once a church as big as Westminster Abbey on the same site as , and of approximately the same dimensions, as the enormous Sainsbury's SavaCentre that has been thrown up there now.

Henry VIII's men demolished it in 1538 as part of the dissolution of the monasteries. When you consider that Henry VIII was pretty much a contemporary of Michelangelo it really is sickening to imagine how much of our heritage was lost in the Reformation.

The Taliban's dynamiting of the Bamiyan Buddhas seems to me to be a modern desecration on the same sort of scale as what once happened in the view from my window.

---

P.S. Googling around for something fun to write about the numerology of the 888th anniversary of the consecration I have come across an embarrassment of riches.

In the Greek mysteries, the number 888 represented the "Higher Mind." The Greek variation of "Jesus," "Iesous," equals 888. The number 666 represented the "Mortal Mind." In the New Testament, 666 is called the number of "the Beast."

Which is at least vaguely diverting, but how about the following for any techies out there:

Http = 8 + 400 + 400 + 80 = 888, the number of Christ. Messiah = 888 in ancient Hebrew/Mesopotamian numerology. The internet is a false Christ. The world wide web confirms this, as www = 666.

You can read the whole batty thing at http://www.wizardofeyez.com/666.html.

I am off to record myself saying Tim Berners Lee and then play it backwards.

Robot jockeys to ride Gulf camels

The United Arab Emirates says it will use robots as jockeys for camel races from next season.

The move comes after widespread international criticism of the use of young children to ride camels during the long and often hazardous races.

Officials say a prototype of the robot was successfully tested on Saturday.

BBC

Welsh Born Bedouin Icon

As Bedouin Feasts have been on my mind, I have remembered Hugh Griffith's Oscar winning turn as Sheik Ilderim in Ben Hur. The great man - centre above - was born in Anglesey in Wales in 1912. At least he looked like he might be able to eat a camel stuffed with a sheep.

Although he got the nod from the Academy for Ben Hur, I think his real claim to immortality is his portrayal of Caradog Lloyd-Evans in the BBC Wales 197os play Grand Slam. Unfortunately I don't have time to do any more than mention that grand achievement today.

Bedouin Feasts

According to my brother John;

Bedouins have made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for creating the largest item on any menu. This mammoth item is stuffed camel. Chickens are stuffed with rice and hard-boiled eggs, then a lamb is stuffed with the chickens. The skinned, cleaned camel is then stuffed with the lamb, broiled over a charcoal pit and decorated with nuts. Legend has it that this dish (serving 80-100 people) was served at Bedouin wedding feasts.
Nobody is quite sure of the veracity of this story, despite its entrance into the record books.

My guess would be that to be authentic, the chickens should be stuffed with gerbils, which in turn should be stuffed with locusts.

Gulf Cooking

I've been in the habit for quite a few years now of buying a cookbook as a souvenir of any new country I visit. I couldn't find anything at all in Dubai, though and one of the guides who took us round told us that there was no local cuisine at all, and until the Fifties people got by on dried fish and dates.

Although I did come home empty handed, I have ordered Cooking of the Gulf: Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates from Amazon to fill the gap in my library, but I have also been looking at Alan Davidson's magisterial The Oxford Companion to Food.

Davidson has got significant entries on Arab Cuisine, Arabian Food, and Bedouin Food. In the Oxford Companion, Arab Cuisine refers to the rich and varied food of the entire Arab world; Arabian Food refers to the fare of Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates and Oman; and Bedouin Food is the stuff eaten by the nomadic herdsmen who lived in the deserts.

Although the Bedouin are legendary for their hospitality, their grub does indeed sound quite forbidding. The routine fare seems to have been a fairly monotonous diet of milk, bread and dates; and small game was simply thrown in the fire to cook in its fur and was eaten in its entirety. Locusts were prepared by roasting over the fire. If not consumed immediately the dried flesh could be ground up into a meal and stored in a skin to be added to stews at a later date.

On the coasts however influences from, and trade with the Ottoman Empire to the North, the Horn of Africa to the West, and India and Iran to the East made the food a lot more varied.

Hopefully the book I have ordered will focus more on this tradition than the old school Bedouin recipes. I am not sure that powdered locust is available even in Tooting market never mind Tesco or Sainsbury's.

(When we were in Dubai, I noticed a poster advertising skiing holidays in Iran. That skewered a few preconceptions although I knew that were strong links between the countries.)

Constitutional Matters

On the plane to and from Dubai I read Niall Ferguson's Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World. It is a book - as the title suggests - with an intriguing premise, and I found it convincing. I think the last 35 pages or so are remarkable, but what I want to note here is one of the quotations that preface chapter 5.

"[T]ake Constitution Jesuits if obtainable and insert English Empire for Roman Catholic Religion."

Cecil Rhodes, outlining the original concept of the Rhodes Scholarships to Lord Rothschild, 1888.

This made me laugh because - as I have written before - it is exactly how Chris Howell and I created the constitution of the Swansea University Jazz Society from the constitution of the African Society in 1980. I wish now that I had thought of using the constitution of the crack troops of the Counter Reformation as a basis for our efforts.

Nothing new under the sun I suppose.

Gold and Frankincense

When we were in Dubai we did actually buy gold in the gold souk, and frankincense in the spice souk. What a pity we didn't pick up any myrhh.

Looking at the word frankincense, I wondered if its etymology was from the Crusades as both Muslims and Christians referred to the Crusaders as "Franks", but apparently the name refers to its preeminence as the �true� or �frank� incense. It is also known as olibanum, which is derived from the Arabic al-lub�n (�the milk�), a reference to the milky sap tapped from the frankincense tree.

I haven't burnt any of it yet. I wonder if I will recognise the smell from my days as an altar boy.

Brand Awareness

Writing yesterday about President Bush's sporting youth, before he swapped the oval ball for the Oval Office, reminded me of a misapprehension of mine that shows how much the world has changed.

A couple of years ago driving through Twickenham of Richmond I remember seeing an advert for the London Pride Sevens and assuming it was some sort of Pride in the Park gay rugby extravaganza before I realised it was simply sponsored by Fullers.

Strange Creatures

In a 1996 poll of political attitudes commissioned by Boris Yeltsin, three categories ended in a tie: democrats, Communist revanchists, and apoliticals. But one category beat them all: nihilists. Historically, Russia is the only country in which nihilism became an actual popular movement, and now, 150 years later, it has returned: Russian ballots feature the option 'Against all.' In a March presidential poll, it placed second.
The Claremont Institute

Alcohol makes your brain grow

Drinking alcohol boosts the growth of new nerve cells in the brain, research suggests.
BBC

I should have a "brain the size of a planet" then, tipping my hat to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Presidential Rugby

I was doing a little research on George W. Bush this morning, and was astonished to find that he played Rugby Union as well as baseball when he was at Yale. I thought only the Welsh played baseball and rugby. I seem to remember, for example, that David Bishop - among others - is a double international having been capped for Wales at both sports.

The photo above is apparently from a 1960's Yale handbook, and I would also note that as well as appearing to throw a "gratifying right hook", the future President is also performing an illegal but gratifying high tackle.

Back from Huntington

On the train back from Huntington to Kings Cross you pass the site where Arsenal's new Emirates stadium is being constructed very soon after the Finsbury Park mosque.

It is very cheering to see a football stadium sponsored by an Arab airline just after the former HQ of the notorious Sheikh Abu Hamza. It would be funny if Emirates has sponsored Tottenham Hotspur's stadium though as it probably wouldn't sit too well with the nickname the yids.

Which reminds me, when I was researching the Qibla after finding one in our Dubai hotel room I discovered that there is one exception to the direction is which a Muslim faces when praying.

Prayer is always offered towards the Ka'aba in Mecca which is the holiest place in Islam. It is a large granite building in the shape of a cube, but if the supplicant is inside the Ka'ba itself, prayer is directed towards its outer walls. Obvious really.

Anthology of Huntingdonshire Cabmen

I am off to a meeting with Cambridgeshire Constabulary this morning. Much to my delight, their headquarters is in Huntingdon, which brings to mind Beachcombers immortal "Anthology of Huntingdonshire Cabmen".

It can hardly be claimed for the newly published Anthology of Huntingdonshire Cabmen that it is, in the words of an over-enthusiastic critic, 'a masterpiece of imaginative literature'. The Anthology consists of the more striking names (with initials) from each of the three volumes. It is a factual and unemphatic work, and the compiler has skinned the cream from the lists. Here are such old favourites as Whackfast, E.W., Fodge, S., and Nurthers, P.L. The index is accurate, and the introduction by Cabman Skinner is brief and workmanlike.

I was introduced to the teeming world of Captain Foulenough, Dr Strabismus, and Thunderbolt Footle etc. in Richard Ingrams' Beachcomber: The Works of J.B.Morton. I can't seem to find it now, which is odd because I distinctly remember buying every single copy for peanuts from a shop in Cardiff when the book was remaindered back in the late Seventies or early Eighties. I wonder if any of the friends that I pressed the book on have managed to keep hold of it. I'd love to read it again.

Back From Dubai

We re back from Dubai with a thousand impressions that I should try and record. I will just note one tonight. I had never been to a Islamic country before and I was surprised to see that the table in our hotel room (see photo above) had an arrow showing the direction to the Kaaba in Mecca so that a Muslim could easily tell the way to face when praying.

It doesn't matter

One piece of good news is that arts journalism is being transformed before our eyes by the rise of Web-based new media�and just in the nick of time. The old mass media were and are zero-sum operations, as advocates of literary fiction have been discovering to their dismay in recent years. Allocate more space (or air time) to one topic and you have that much less space available for all other topics: novels compete with memoirs, classical music with jazz, theater with film, indie flicks with special-effects extravaganzas. Now that most of us live in one-newspaper towns, and now that newspapers themselves are struggling for survival, that�s turned into an iron law.

The Web is different: it permits you to publish a "newspaper" or "magazine" of your very own without having to pay for ink, paper, bricks, and mortar - much less a graduate degree in journalism. What it doesn't guarantee, however, is that such "newspapers" will ever be read by millions of people, or that their publishers will be able to give up their day jobs.

Terry Teachout on why it doesn't matter how big an audience is.

Souls can only be changed one by one, and each one is as supremely important as the next. Hence there are no small audiences, only small-souled artists.

So its still valuable if you are your own audience of one I conclude.

Pearls

As long ago as 1580, an Italian traveller reported that Dubai was a prosperous pearl-diving and fishing community. It was still much the same at the beginning of the 20th century, when over 300 pearl-diving dhows were stationed in Dubai�s creek.

Pearl divers risked life and limb to gather oysters from the sea bed, often diving for more than two minutes at a time, with little more than a nose-clip and a heavy stone to weight them down.

Such was the renown of Dubai's pearls, that pearling continued to be the mainstay of the city's prosperity, until the development of the cultured pearl in the 1940s led to the collapse in demand for the natural variety.

Number 1

We are in Dubai to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of 25 April. So whatever single tops the chart tonight will be added to the series below. It is sure a long way from Sir Cliff's "Congratulations" to Eamon's "F**k It"!

2004 Eamon F**k It (I Don't Want You Back)
2003 Room 5 featuring Oliver Cheatham Make Luv
2002 Oasis Hindu Times
2001 Destiny's Child Survivor
2000 Fragma TOCA'S MIRACLE
1999 Westlife SWEAR IT AGAIN
1998 RUN DMC vs Jason NEVINS Its Like That
1997 R Kelly I BELIEVE I CAN FLY
1996 Mark Morrison RETURN OF THE MACK
1995 Take That Back for Good
1994 Prince The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
1993 George Michael, Queen and Lisa Stasfield Five Live EP
1992 Right Said Fred Deeply Dippy
1991 Chesney Hawkes The One and Only
1990 Madonna Vogue
1989 Bangles Eternal Flame
1988 S Express Theme form S-Express
1987 Madonna La Isla Bonita
1986 George Michael A different corner
1985 USA for Africa We are the World
1984 Lionel Richie Hello
1983 Spandau Ballet True
1982 Paul mccartney and Stevie Wonder Ebony and Ivory
1981 Bucks Fizz Making Your Mind Up
1980 Blondie Call Me
1979 Art Garunkel Bright Eyes
1978 Bee Gees Night Fever
1977 Abba Knowing Me, Knowing You
1976 Brotherhood of Man Save Your Kisses for Me
1975 Bye Bye Baby Bay City Rollers
1974 Terry Jacks Seasons in the Sun
1973 Dawn Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree
1972 ROYAL SCOTS DRAGOON GUARDS Amazing Grace
1971 Dave and Ansil COLLINS Double Barrell
1970 Dana All Kinds of Everything
1969 Beatles with Billy Preston Get Back
1968 Cliff Richard Congratulations
1967 Sandie Shaw Puppet on a String
1966 Dusty Springfield You don�t have to say you love me
1965 Beatles Ticket To Ride

The Souks

�Souk� is the Arabic word for market, and Dubai is littered with them. They are a legacy of Dubai�s status as a thriving port, dating back to the 19th century, when traders and smugglers docked by the banks of the Creek to do business. The city�s souks remain beside the famous waterway.

The most acclaimed is the Gold Souk, on the Deira side of town near the mouth of the Creek. It�s an impressive sight. Rows upon rows of windows filled with elaborate 24-carat gold necklaces, with throngs of Arab and Indian women clamouring for a better view.

This is no tourist trap. People come to stock up on the yellow metal, mainly from India, the world�s largest gold market. Dubai�s bullion market has tailed off since 1999, when India liberalised gold imports, but jewellery is still thriving.

The Spice Souk is the most popular among tourists, thanks to its picturesque narrow streets and pungent smells. But not all of Dubai�s souks are so appealing. The electronics souk in Bur Dubai is a network of shabby, 1970s shopping arcades, where Russian, Iranian and Sudanese �shopping tourists� come to stock up on cheap mobile phones and stereos. The fish souk in nearby Karama is simply a grotty indoor market full of fishmongers; ideal if you need to buy hammour, a local fish, or the magnificent Gulf prawns, but not one for the �must-see� visitors list.

Friday Brunch

Friday brunch is an institution in Dubai. The city's convoluted weekend system means no one seems to be off work at the same time, but this is an exception. Whether it is families out for a pleasant feed, or young expats recovering after Thursday night's excesses, Friday brunch is one of the few pursuits that straddles cultural barriers. Even some of the locals - few though they are - might line up in between their five trips to the mosque.

Stubs

A long time ago I worked as a Corporate Development Executive at George Wimpey PLC. At that time Wimpey was a large international construction group - it has since shrunk but that is another story. One of my jobs there was to follow what the construction analysts in the big stock brokers were saying about us.

At first I was a bit intimidated by these apparently giant brains and their predictions, but after a while I hit on the plan of reading what they had been saying a year ago before reading their current prophecies. The old stuff was invariably rubbish in retrospect, plausible as it had been at the time.

Since then I often like to look back a year to put things in perspective. As we are going to Dubai until the middle of next week, I will probably not be able to update this log, until we get back, so I have decided to put up stub posts in advance covering those days so that there will be year old posts next April.

On Wikipedia, a stub is a short article. When writers begin a new article, they use the word stub to mean that it is still very short and that people can add a lot more useful information.

I may come back to the stubs if I have time, but I may leave them.

The Conner

William Shakespeare's father was an ale-tester or 'conner'. The 'conner' tested the ale by pouring some upon a bench and sitting on it while drinking the rest. If there was sugar in the ale, or it was impure, their leather breeches would stick after sitting for half an hour or so.
History of Beer

Where do babies come from?

"Pop star Britney Spears has confirmed she is pregnant with her first child, following weeks of intense speculation" reports the BBC.

Speculation is one word for it I suppose.

When you think that the same organisation recently told us that "Parliament must debate whether terminally ill patients should be given the right to die as early as possible after the expected election", it does make you wonder if the budget extends to a sub-editor at BBC online.

Serendipity II

Just after posting about the Banana leaf, I have found that Google Maps for the UK has just been launched. Coming on the heels of BlogMap I think that Geo coding RSS feeds could be very significant for our work never mind my personal blogging.

Anyway, if you are hungry and in the neighbourhood, you can find the Banana Leaf here, courtesy of the associated Google Local service with directions from our office.

Serendip SW17

The word serendipity, which means the making of happy and unexpected discoveries by accident or when looking for something else, was first committed to paper by Horace Walpole in a letter he wrote on January 28, 1754 in the library of his gothic mansion Strawberry Hill in Twickenham. In the letter he says that he formed the word from the title of the fairy-tale `The Three Princes of Serendip', the heroes of which `were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of'.

Serendip is an old name for Ceylon which in turn is an old name for Sri Lanka, and a serendipitously discovered advantage of living and working within walking distance of Colliers Wood tube is access to a great range of South Indian and especially Sri Lankan restaurants.

Yesterday's lunch was masala dosai - served on a banana leaf, along with chicken biryani prepared with curry leaves and green chillis, and egg masala at the aptly named Banana Leaf, for about the same as it would cost us to go to Burger King.

We need to count the pennies as we will be eating at Verre, Gordon Ramsay's restaurant in Dubai on Monday. As Derek Smalls and David St. Hubbins of Spinal Tap have noted, "people should envy us.... I envy us.... yeah I envy us too".

Wikipedia: Merton Priory

Wikipedia is a Web-based, free-content encyclopedia, which is written collaboratively by volunteers. It consists of 195 independent language editions sponsored by the non-profit Wikimedia Foundation. Its purpose is to create and distribute, worldwide, a free encyclopedia in as many languages as possible. Wikipedia is one of the most popular reference sites on the Web receiving around 50 million hits per day.

Wikipedia contains approximately 1.5 million articles, more than 500,000 of which are in its English language edition.

After being surprised to find a Wikipedia entry for Colliers Wood last week that mentioned Merton Priory I decided to create an entry for the Abbey. (I assume that the Abbey and the Prioiry are one and the same thing).

My new entry is at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merton_Priory. Creating it was piece of cake.

I put a paragraph or so in that included internal links to Adrian IV etc. and edited the Colliers Wood entry to include a link to my new page. Since I did that someone else has come along and added the categories Merton and Abbeys in England.

All in all Wikipedia is very impressive. I must find out more about it.

It will be interesting to see if anyone else takes it upon themselves to improve the page I added. We have arranged to visit the Chapter House on Wednesday lunchtime so I may be able to update it myself after that.

Browsing the connections from Saint Thomas � Becket to the Priory to Walter de Merton to Merton College Oxford to T. S. Eliot, makes me think it would be fun to see Murder in the Cathedral in the Colour House Theatre on the site here.

Church Going by Philip Larkin

A poem for Sunday.

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence.

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new -
Cleaned, or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches will fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognisable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for which was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

Colliers Wood - Wikipedia

Blimey, there's a Wikipedia entry for Colliers Wood! All that ever comes up on Google News is the football team.

Would you Adam and Eve it?

(Thanks to Simon Brunning.)

Random Vin Diesel Fact Generator

Did you know that Vin Diesel's long-time friendship with H. P. Lovecraft was the inspiration for the Beatles' "White Album? Or that before he came to this planet, Earth didn't spin? Or that he invented the spoon but then was so enraged by it that he invented both the fork and the spork to destroy all spoons?

Log on to this site, and abandon any thought of doing any work for the next half hour or so. Refresh it for new facts to add to:

The Shroud of Turin is actually the remains of the arena that Jesus indian-wrestled Vin Diesel in. The imprint is the result of Vin Diesel's 'Flamboyant Piledriver' move.

Vin Diesel created Earth as an expansion pack to Command & Conquer.

Vin Diesel was originally cast as the main character in the film, �Searching for Bobby Fischer.� He was deemed unusable halfway into shooting for two reasons. 1) Legally he was Bobby Fischer. And 2) in a pivotal scene where the main character�s rival makes a move and says �Trick or Treat,� Vin Diesel jumped over the table and murdered the kid.

Hat tip to Empire

Samuel Johnson's Dictionary

I noticed on the Wikipedia home page today that it is the 250th anniversary of the publication of Samuel Johnson's dictionary. (I also saw that it is 20 years since Marvin Hagler beat Tommy Hearns in one of the greatest fights in history. That makes me feel old.)

Some quotations from the dictionary courtesy of http://www.samueljohnson.com/:

Dull: Not exhilaterating (sic); not delightful; as, to make dictionaries is dull work.
Excise: A hateful tax levied upon commodities, and adjudged not by the common judges of property, but wretches hired by those to whom excise is paid.
Far-fetch: A deep stratagem. A ludicrous word.
Jobbernowl: Loggerhead; blockhead.
Kickshaw: A dish so changed by the cookery that it can scarcely be known.
Lexicographer: A writer of dictionaries; a harmless drudge that busies himself in tracing the original, and detailing the signification of words.
Oats: A grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland appears to support the people.
Patron: One who countenances, supports or protects. Commonly a wretch who supports with insolence, and is paid with flattery.
Pension: An allowance made to any one without an equivalent. In England it is generally understood to mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his country.
Politician: 1. One versed in the arts of government; one skilled in politicks. 2. A man of artifice; one of deep contrivance.
To worm: To deprive a dog of something, nobody knows what, under his tongue, which is said to prevent him, nobody knows why, from running mad.

I must be a bit of a jobbernowl myself as I have never heard of kickshaw. I wonder where I can get a recipe.

Geocoding Investigations

I have a strong feeling that services like Blog Map, which seems to be based on Microsoft technology, and Google Maps, could be very useful for Police investigations.

I wrote a paper, "RSS at the Tipping Point" in 2003, where I talked about the idea of Public Facing Investigation Blogs.

What I said then was

RSS feeds are often associated with Weblogs. Weblogs are online chronological journals that are used for a variety of personal and professional purposes. They are a hugely popular Internet phenomenon.

A Weblog could be a very useful tool for distributing information to the public and the media for ongoing investigations.

The Surrey Police Miller Dowler page on http://www.surrey.police.uk/news_milly.asp?artid=2157 looks very like a Weblog.

Associating an RSS feed with this page would enable journalists and interested members of the public to follow the case. The likelihood that local Webloggers would link back to the page (a practice called Blogrolling) would also increase the visibility of the information.

I noted last month that, after all this time, the Police may have made a break through in the Milly Dowler case and were looking for information about a car that was at the scene of the probable abduction three years ago.

Blog Map lets you:

• Geo-code a blog feed
• Browse blogs by location
• Search for local blogs
• Find blogs in your neighborhood
• Get local BlogRoll in OPML format

Wouldn't that be tremendously useful for maintaining public attention on a long running investigation with its own weblog and feed?

Two Way Traffic

It has been reported that 20th Century Fox is to remake a blockbuster Bollywood movie, "Munnabhai", about a thug, played by Sanjay Dutt, who enrolls in medical school to win back the confidence of his father. This is apparently the first time a Hollywood studio has bought the rights to an Indian film, although there has been a lot of traffic the other way.

I particularly love "Kaante" which delivers value for money by remaking "Reservoir Dogs", "Heat" and "The Usual Suspects" all in one. It is interesting when you think of Reservoir Dogs' debt to Ringo Lam's Hong Kong action film "City on Fire" to trace the influences as Kaante, 'Dogs and City on Fire all lead up to a Mexican standoff in a warehouse and the unmasking of an undercover cop.

I think that the first Bollywood DVD that we saw at home was Lagaan. In those days I didn't realise that Indian movies usually weigh in at over three hours so we would stop them late at night and catch up with the second half the next day.

I remember watching the end of Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham one Sunday morning, with tears streaming down my face and realising, after about 20 minutes, that I hadn't turned the English subtitles on. That surely must be great film making if I could follow the story in Hindi, but then again KG3, like about three quarters of Bollywood films does follow the formula of a headstrong son clashing with and then ultimately being reconciled with a stubborn father, so joining the dots in the third reel seldom overtaxes the old noggin.

The English Pope

Our offices in Merton Abbey Mills are on a site where a knight called Gilbert (who was granted the estate by Henry I in 1114) founded an Augustinian priory in 1117 at the point where the old Roman road crossed the River Wandle.

The stories of the Priory and the site are fascinating. One of the Abbey's many claims to fame is that it was the alma mater of Nicholas Brakespeare, who is known to history as Adrian IV, the only English man ever to become Pope.

Adrian's most controversial act was a bull that allowed Henry II of England to annex Ireland to his kingdom. "...[S]trive to imbue that people with good morals, and bring it to pass, as well through yourself as through those whom you know from their faith, doctrine, and course of life to be fit for such a work, that the church may there be adorned, the Christian religion planted and made to grow, and the things which pertain to the honor of God and to salvation be so ordered that you may merit to obtain an abundant and lasting reward from God, and on earth a name glorious throughout the ages," he wrote the king. ........ The pope based his authority on the Donation of Constantine, which was later shown to be a forgery. Although a few scholars deny that Adrian issued the troubling bull, the evidence is convincing that he did.

Strange how actions reverberate through history. The "Donation of Ireland" was around 1155 and 850 years later the dispute is still going strong.

A Nice Knock Down Argument

The Stephen Lawrence Inquiry DEFINITION OF RACIST INCIDENT 12. That the definition should be: 'A racist incident is any incident which is perceived to be racist by the victim or any other person'. 13. That the term 'racist incident' must be understood to include crimes and non-crimes in policing terms. Both must be reported, recorded and investigated with equal commitment. 14. That this definition should be universally adopted by the Police, local Government and other relevant agencies.

Lewis Carroll THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 'But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument',' Alice objected. 'When I use a word,' Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean -- neither more nor less.' 'The question is,' said Alice, 'whether you can make words mean so many different things.' 'The question is,' said Humpty Dumpty, 'which is to be master -- that's all.'

Time for me to jump on my soapbox again. The recommendations of the 1999 MacPherson report have been adopted. Read through the left hand column again and imagine that you are a UK Police Officer dealing with, for example, name calling by children; a non-crime in policing terms, that you must report, record and investigate as if it was a crime if it is perceived to be racist by the victim or any other person. Imagine the paperwork required for you to be able to demonstrate that you have discharged your duty in this respect. Imagine your reaction next time you hear the Home Secretary promising to reduce bureaucracy in the force.

Web Performance Tip

When generating hyperlinks, always include a trailing slash if possible. For instance, navigating to http://msdn.microsoft.com/ie takes one more roundtrip than http://msdn.microsoft.com/ie/. When the browser navigates to the /ie url, the server merely sends down a 301 to the /ie/ url. Both links work, but the second version is faster.
IEBlog

The Sin Eater

There is an old Welsh tradition of the SIN-EATER, a man who for trifling payment was believed to take upon himself, by means of food and drink, the sins of a deceased person.

Usually each village had its official sin-eater to whom notice was given as soon as a death occurred. He at once went to the house, and there, a stool being brought, he sat down in front of the door. A groat, a crust of bread and a bowl of ale were handed him, and after he had eaten and drunk he rose and pronounced the ease and rest of the dead person, for whom he thus pawned his own soul.

Catharsis by my Window

A little way into a conversation this weekend it emerged that I thought we were talking about Auden,

while Jane thought we were talking about Jordan.


I think Jane's imagined conversation was the more interesting one.

The Sage of Fresno

I have been reading a lot of Victor Hanson - farmer and classicist - lately.

Here is a profile by Jonthan Kay that was originally published in the Weekly Standard.

"Multiculturalism, in preference to a multiracial embrace of Western culture, has become what pulp was in the 1950s," he tells me as he navigates the truck between a rotting sofa and a bed frame. "Plato told us this was inevitable: The more you embrace a state-mandated egalitarianism for its own sake and radical democracy, . . . the more you will be driven to the common denominator of a therapeutic, happy-go-lucky culture, simple stories, lowbrow entertainment, minimal expectations--rather than the hard work of using education to uplift the majority."

I love that line, "as he navigates the truck between a rotting sofa and a bed frame".

I am also pleased to note that his grandfather was Welsh.

The Jeweller's Shop

Reading about the John Paul II over the last week or so I have started to learn a little from George Weigel and Michael Valpy of his ideas on how culture far more than political ideology or economics shapes humanity's path through history.

I don't know enough about them to comment yet, so I just thought I would lighten the tone on a sad funereal day, by taking a moment to celebrate the fact that he put his money where his mouth was by the delightfully unlikely achievement of writing a play that became a Burt Lancaster film, and having "Writer - filmography" credits on his Internet Move Database entry.

The Farce will be with you, always

Star Wars fans have started queuing seven weeks early for the opening of the final movie - but appear to have camped outside the wrong cinema.

Dedicated fans are lining up outside the famous Grauman's Chinese Theatre in Hollywood but have been told it will open on 19 May at a cinema a mile away.

Producers opted to open the film at the ArcLight cinema, making it unlikely other cinemas in the area will show it.

But the fans are refusing to move, believing the news to be false.

BBC

The Machine Stops

I have come across an eerily prescient short story by E.M. Forster from 1909 about a dystopia in which Vashti - the protagonist - is initially content with her life, which is spent alone in her room generating second-hand 'ideas' and communicating them to others via "the machine".

Let me think, of whom am I reminded?

Imagine, if you can, a small room, hexagonal in shape, like the cell of a bee. It is lighted neither by window nor by lamp, yet it is filled with a soft radiance. There are no apertures for ventilation, yet the air is fresh. There are no musical instruments, and yet, at the moment that my meditation opens, this room is throbbing with melodious sounds. An armchair is in the centre ........ read on......

Bill Kill

I am delighted to learn that Lady Scotland has announced in the Lords that the proposals to outlaw incitement to religious hatred were dropped from the Serious Organised Crime and Police Bill yesterday because opposition in the Upper House meant they could not be passed before Parliament is dissolved.

On the radio last night, I heard a petulant Peter Hain attempting use this to provoke discord in religious communities. I can't find a transcript yet but the Scotsman reports:

Earlier Commons Leader Peter Hain had told MPs the Opposition bore full responsibility for blocking the measure and Muslim communities across Britain would take very careful note of that.

HE should be deeply ashamed of that blatant attempt to inflame Moslem people.

I also remember him attempting to make the utterly ludicrous point that the proposals would have extended the protection already available to Sikhs to Christians. This is so irrelevant to the day to day concerns of the British that it beggars belief.

By way of contrast, something I have long quietly admired about Catholic public life in the UK, is that there is very little bitching and moaning about the issue of royal succession even though - as the Telegraph observed recently:

Imagine a religion that was once considered so abhorrent that a country's head of state is still forbidden not only to belong to it, but also to marry anyone who does. Moreover, even his or her distant relations become ineligible to become head of state if they marry someone who adheres to this faith.

The country is modern Britain; the religion in question is not a sect of hooded satanists, but the world's largest Christian Church. The legislation barring "anyone who should profess the Popish religion or marry a Papist" is the Act of Settlement of 1701, which was intended to be - and remains - profoundly offensive to Roman Catholics.

Now I don't think Catholics particularly care about this in general, never mind being profoundly offended and I believe that this reveals a mature political sensibility. It is understand that all things being equal, it should be repealed but its not the most urgent priority, and in the meantime we can even laugh that:

Prince William or, for that matter, Zenouska Mowatt (37th in line to the throne) may wed a Zoroastrian or Scientologist without losing the right of succession, but not a member of a Church to which five million Britons belong.

It is wrong to encourage everyone in the country to define themselves by identifying with groups that are sanctified by victimhood. And it is unhealthy to be over sensitive to any percieved slights.

I am not anyone's victim thank you very much, and for the Leader of the House of Commons to try and persuade me that I am discriminated against with regard to Sikhs is beyond preposterous.

American Torturing Jobs Outsourced

WASHINGTON, DC-AFL-CIO vice president Linda Chavez-Thompson, representing the American Federation of Interrogation Torturers, released a statement Monday deriding the CIA's 'extraordinary rendition' program, under which American torturing jobs are outsourced to foreign markets. 'Outsourcing the task of interrogating terror suspects to countries like Egypt, Syria, and Saudi Arabia is having a crippling effect on the Americans who make a living by stripping detainees nude, shackling them to the floor, and beating the living shit out of them,' Chavez-Thompson said. 'And specialists within the field - corrosive-material chemists, ocular surgeons, and testicular electricians - are lucky to find any jobs at all. How are they supposed to feed their families?' Attorney General Alberto Gonzales defended extraordinary rendition, saying the program will create jobs in the long run by fostering a global climate of torture tolerance.

More genius from The Onion

Dying after the election

According to the BBC, "Parliament must debate whether terminally ill patients should be given the right to die as early as possible after the expected election, peers say."

I think it is possible that there are some terminally ill patients who may wish to live as long as possible regardless of the election or indeed the election result.

Update: April 5, 6:30 am Just as Norman Geras predicted , the BBC have improved the first paragraph of their report to "Parliament must debate as early as possible after the expected election whether terminally ill patients should be given the right to die, peers say." I wonder if this was an internal process or if they picked up the blogosphere comment. Very interesting if it is the latter.

Mea Culpa

The world is saturated with coverage of the life and death of the Pope today, but I haven't seen any comment on one of the most important themes of John Paul II's pontificate, repentance for the sins of the Church.

A few years ago an Italian journalist wrote a book in which he calculated that John Paul II had publicly admitted Church culpability 94 times, on topics ranging from the inquisition to the treatment of women.





This does seem to be in profound contrast to the authoritarian Papal image with which we are so often presented.

I remember being amazed and impressed myself when, in 1992, 359 years after the Galileo trial, John Paul II issued an apology, lifting the edict of Inquisition against Galileo, which said:

"Galileo sensed in his scientific research the presence of the Creator who, stirring in the depths of his spirit, stimulated him, anticipating and assisting his intuitions."

After the release of this report, the Pope said further that "... Galileo, a sincere believer, showed himself to be more perceptive in this regard [the relation of scientific and Biblical truths] than the theologians who opposed him".

How's that for the Long Now?

(The Long Now Foundation is a fascinating organisation set up to promote "slower/better" thinking. I must write something about them and their marvelous clock one of these days.)

The Galileo affair also appears to have provided the Pope with material for jokes. In 1994, after fracturing his thigh in a bathtub fall, he hobbled slowly to his presiding chair in a roomful of bishops in the Vatican, lowered himself with great difficulty into his seat and muttered to the assembly: Eppur, si muove � "And yet, it moves," Galileo's defiant declaration to his Inquisition judges in 1633 after they had sentenced him to life imprisonment for declaring Earth orbits the sun, not the other way around as implied in Scripture.

Welsh Wealth

RICH LIST - WELSH TOP 10
1 (New entry) Michael Moritz, finance �1,350m
2 (1) Sir Terry Matthews, telecommunications �1,300m
3 (2) Albert Gubay, property and fitness clubs �650m
4 (3) David Sullivan, media �575m
5 (5) Stanley and Peter Thomas, property �250m
6 (4) Lord Heseltine, publishing �241m
7 (6) Tom Jones, music �175m
8 (7) Catherine Zeta Jones, films �170m
9 (8) Sir Chris Evans, biotechnology �158m
10 (New entry) Henry Engelhardt, motor insurance �145m

I'd never heard of Michael Moritz before I read this BBC NEWS report. He's from Penylan in Cardiff originally. Like what I am as Ernie Wise would say.

The old cropped photo in the report seems to imply that he is some sort of Howard Hughes recluse.

I googled him however and found his page on the sequoia capital website. That's got an up to date photo and his email address. How difficult could it be for the BBC to find that?

Loss and Fate

I am still brooding about loss and fate after yesterday, so here is Yeat's extraordinary existential stoic "An Irish Airman foresees his Death".

I KNOW that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan�s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

Rage Against the Dying of the Light

As the Pope receives the last rights, Terri Schiavo dies in Florida, and I am on my way to a funeral of someone who died selflessly too young, Dylan Thomas' words take on new meanings.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.