Full force of the law

This is the phrase that politicians (or the great and the good, never the twain shall meet - ed), use when some individuals do things that upset, "Da Government" (tm), or arguably when people do things that make the front page of The Daily Mail/Express/Times etc (papers bought by people who are likely to vote at the next election - political ed) and so whose opinions matter.

Now, I don't get this at all (what don't you get? - ed)

Well surely, the law should and must be applied to each and every law breaker in a fair and just manner. It is not up to politicians, and particularly one in such an office as Prime Minister, to try and sway the judiciary in this overt and voter garnering way (How close to the Eastleigh by-election did he say this - political ed).

As a short aside, I live in the UK, not the USA (sorry Ralph the Alaskan, popping up for a visit for some bear hot tubbing is just a tad too far for me. What I still don't understand is why the bear would want to be in a hot tub with us, surely they want to be in a cold river, catching salmon - ed) - and there is nothing like the separation of powers that you would think. After all, if we had a written constitution, rather than an unwritten one, with a large history of precedent, where would that get us!

For me, the idea of making someone a scapegoat, to, "Send a signal", or to, "Make them think twice", smacks of rank (surely smells of rank - literary ed) unfairness.

Now I heard the above phrase, spouted out of the mouth of our beloved leader (Kim Jong-un? - political ed), no, no, not that beloved leader, the one with the mandate, the one that the voters of Witney (Oxfordshire, UK - geography ed) foisted upon us, the one chosen by the Conservative Party to be their leader, the one who managed to fail to clearly defeat, "the man in the bunker" (not Adolph Hitler, but Gordon Brown - political history ed). 

You know, the one that all those voters out there thought they were voting for (rather than their actual constituency MP), as he is, "Such a nice looking you man". The man who said, "Calm down dear", to an honourable member of parliament (MP) just for the laughs it would get him on the back benches (for overseas readers, the back benches are where all the naughty MPs sit when they have upset the Prime Minister so much that he has taken away all their toys - i.e. Cabinet Seats. Those that laugh loudest and longest get put to the top of roster for a seat on the front bench - political ed)

Now, this phrase came out, as part of the ongoing horse meat scandal (which is turning into a European wide hunt for a culprit. The more time goes on, my initial thought that it would be the labelling at fault appears to becoming true - pre-punditing ed). 

People have been arrested, documents have been gathered, (computers have been impounded - ed) meat has been sent to laboratories to be analyzed, men and women in white coats holding pippets have been raking in the overtime. Company after company have been clearing shelves of potentially horsey products. Frozen "beef" products sales have slumped. Fish and vegetarian dishes sales have soared. The national press point fingers at various European countries, the further East (obviously the more foreign - ed) the better. It is worth noting that three and only three people have so far been arrested in the UK.

So who is going to get the blame, who will bear the full force of the law. No idea. But what each and everyone from this country who gets charged with any wrong doing in this saga should get is:

"A fair and just application of the law",

Headlines in papers, outbursts from Prime Ministers, talking heads on TV can protest, lament, gnash their teeth and pull out their hair but in a mature democracy, we should expect the law to  be applied in a fair and consistent manner. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Flinty retrospective of Ashes to Ashes

I have had some lovely feedback on the original post, but sadly not via the comment box at the bottom of the post (Comments will get a reply - promptness not guaranteed, but they will each get a personal response - feedback ed). 

What has been a welcome surprise, was a real live discussion (with voices and everything - the phone is a wonderful instrument - technology ed), with my Australian reader, the most charmingly named Esmerelda Blenkinsop. Now Esmerelda, who I have to say has a lovely voice, with perhaps just a twang of the Oz about it, mentioned the post Ashes to Ashes and our discussion led to another analogy forming, which I attempt lay out for you below.

But, before I do, I would like to give a warm welcome to my growing band of international readers in Sweden, Ukraine, Bulgaria and Indonesia (Google stats for the blog are a wonderful thing - circulation ed)

So analogy time....

Let's take the initial pain and hurt that comes with the death of someone that you love, as being like the feeling in your finger as you rub it accidentally across the sharp edge of a piece of flint (type of stone used by people in the Stone Age for cutting before some bright spark worked out how to extract metals from ore and blacksmiths were invented - history ed)).

Initially this leads to a cut right through the skin of the finger, that somewhat surprisingly you do not feel. Then, moments later, there is the welling of blood, followed almost immediately by pain as your mind is flooded by a torrent of nerve signals, all  shouting, "Pain, Pain, Pain". You rapidly withdraw your fingers, and you sop up the blood for a time (maybe with a tissue, maybe under a cold tap - ed) and after a few minutes the bleeding stops. Your body has protection mechanisms that come into play, staunching the blood, scabbing and thickening the damaged skin and the pain then becomes a dull ache, that leaps into sharp pain as you catch your finger from time to time during the day.

The next day you wake (mourning  - ed),  and as you reach into that pocket containing the flint (not really - ed), this piece of flint which is still as sharp as a razor bites through your skin again, exactly the same piece of skin and  you bleed and suffer yet more pain and hurt. Again, you withdraw you hand  and deal with it (possibly with some ointment and a plaster - medical ed)

Somewhat surprisingly you learn from this, and so you become more careful, and some days you do not find this piece of flint in your pocket. In fact, you make a point of not putting your hand in yout pocket at all. These days (named, "the keep your finger out of that painful pocket", kind of days - ed) give your finger time to recover, harden and so protect itself.

Days and weeks pass, and the flint is still there, but now it is no longer as sharp as a razor, its edge has been blunted slowly and painfully by each touch of your finger. The skin on your finger has now thickened and is tougher (callused anyone - literary ed), so that the flint finds it harder to get through and cause pain and blood.

The weeks turn slowly into months, and the edge of the flint wears. The now, callused (thanks - literary ed) finger, is blunting the flint more quickly and very few of your touches, if any, bring blood and pain.

Months pass, the flint is now well worn and your callused finger can now explore the flint without any chance of pain and begins to work at all the remaining rough edges of the flint to make them all safe to touch.

As the years turn, the flint is safe to touch and can be picked up, turned over, looked at and caressed from all angles. It is still there but it is no longer dangerous. The once callused finger has now fully recovered and the skin has once more softened. What is left is a scar.

So, we have been through a process, that may have taken some considerable time, where we can now think of our loved one without that instant pain and hurt. The pain and blood have been shed (grieving - ed)  but the loss is still there (the blunt flint - ed) and can be at times uncomfortable but no longer draws instant blood and pain.

Afterthought
Thanks again to Esmerelda for helping me formulate the above.

Eastleigh By-Election Shock Headlines

Headlines you won't see the following morning:

"All but one of the candidates lose Eastleigh by-election!",

"Conservatives in shock win!",

"UKIP win Eastleigh by a landslide!",

"Libs Dems hold Eastleigh! Clegg taken to hospital after severe shock",

"Monster Raving Loony Party save deposit and spend it on throwing a decent party!",

"Eastleigh shows that voters want Labour back in power!",

"Eastleigh low turnout: A slap in the face for democracy?",

"'None of the above' shock win in Eastleigh by-election",

"The voters have spoken and they just don't have a clue do they",

"Berlusconi calls for creation of Bunga Bunga Party to liven up UK democracy",

"The [Labour|Conservative|Lib Dem]* party [won|lost]* this by-election due to the parties [failed|successful]*policies" [* delete as appropriate]

"Labour candidate thanks Ed Balls for help in historic win by staying away from Eastleigh",

"Beastly Eastleigh: Death blow for the Lib Dems?"

"One down 649 to go, revolution by by-election fraud"

Afterthought
Thought I would get in ahead of the crowd with this one. Why do we need the result to work out what the different parties will say. What is sad, is that the same old tired phrases will be trundled out by each of the candidates parties to give their spin on the result. Unfortunately for us, 1 out of 650 is unlikely to have much affect on what happens in this country.

It would be interesting to create video (sadly it would not even have to be a spoof one) of the post by-election comments, using previous by-election comments/interviews footage, because at the end of the day they alwasy seem to end up going through the same old tired phrases that have been used for the last 30 or 40 years as strong reasons for winning or losing. It is all just time wasting spin (who put you on a downer - medical ed)

Alton Pub Series Part One - The Eight Bells

Alton has a rich history in hop growing industry and follwing on from that, brewing. The growing of hops and their fine quality led to it having a large brewing industry at one time. However, this industry has now sadly declined to the extent that the town has only one large foreign owned multi-national brewery, Molson Coors, left.(but that means jobs - economics ed)

Related to the brewery, (and keeping you off the point of the post I'll have you know - ed) I have been caught behind Kuehne Nagel (personally call them the Steam Beer Company lorries - ed) articulated trucks that carry the output from the brewery all over the country and are to be regularly seen wending their way slowly from Alton to Basingstoke and back on the A339, during both the morning and evening rush hours (sigh, move over why don't you, I've got places to go and people to see, can't be stuck behind this truck the whole way - motoring ed).

The A339 is one of those rural roads that has few, safe, overtaking points and so in the morning and evening, generally just before peak time, a long queue can easily develop behind these delivery lorries causing the less cautious drivers to do incredibly dumb (dumb in the sense of .. what the f*** are they doing trying to overtake 3 cars and the truck at this point - road safety ed) overtaking manoeuvers. I have seen a few very, adrenalin rush filled (and that's just me - ed)  close shaves, and naturally there is the occasional fatality due to this kind of recknlessness.

What is abundantly clear, however, is that the majority of the dangerous overtakes are done by owners of BMWs and the occasional Audi. Now, having read the legendary book, "The Missing BMW Owners Manual", after half-inching a copy from an unnamed University specialist book section (the name of the University is not mentioned to protect the author from, what now must be, a late payment fee equating to the  GDP of a medium sized South American country, e.g. Bolivia. Extracts from this manual will be the seeds of further posts - ed) this is the behaviour that is to be expected.

The thing that I really don't get (think about it some more - ed), nope, still don't get it,  is that given the distance between Alton and Basingstoke on the A339 (12.6 miles - ed) and the absolute certainty that there is another slow moving vehicle ahead of the slow moving Steam Beer Company vehicle and even if the road is clear, the best you can do is only pick up a minute or so of time! Why do people do this (read the upcoming post on The Missing BMW Owners Manual - circulation ed)? Quite frankly, my readers, they don't give a damn.

Anyhow, what I am meant to be doing is telling you about Alton pubs that I frequent (well pass by for a quiet pint or two). To be fair, there is a good selection of pubs in Alton but there are only a few that I visit with any kind of regularity and that I can then fairly comment on. So let me introduce you to The Eight Bells.

The Eight Bells, Alton, Hampshire, UK

The Eight Bells, pictured (left at present it may move - layout ed) serves extremely well looked after beer.

It has a warm atmosphere (fug factor 4 on a busy night - ed) and a well lived in decor.

It contains an interesting selection of mature adults enjoying a quiet (or not so quiet - hearing ed) chat and a pint, what you can undoubtedly call a real local pub.

It is certainly not a place to go if you want electronic entertainment, there is a TV but it is rarely on. There is not much in the way of food, generally some randomly filled buns, but there are assorted crisps (four flavours) and nuts, if you feel so inclined to investigate its culinary options especially necessary as the number of empty glasses mount (they are good at keeping your table clear of empty glasses, perhaps as a hint to either go, or buy more beer - ed)

It usually has four real ales on the go (the order of, "One of each of your finest ales Landlord", is occasionally heard for those wishing to reduce the number of trips to the bar - useful tip ed) and it also serves other weird kinds of alcoholic beverages like lager, wine and even spirits. To be honest with you, this other alcoholic drinks fetish bemuses me, I mean to say why would you; why would you want to drink something other than beer when there is decent beer to drink? (He's almost lost control again - medical ed)

There is a mild warning to follow, which I feel obliged to tell you; both for your safety and the protection of the waistline of an elderly dog. It is, whatever you do, I really mean whatever you do, (even if you order a white wine - ed) do not feed Toby the dog, as he, at the opening of a packet of nuts or crisps, even when the pub is going full throttle, will arrive beside your table and look at you with those ever so endearing and pleading eyes of his. Don't feed him. Feeding the dog will get you reproachful looks from all of the regulars. You have been warned. It is worth noting, being seen to feed the dog is, not quite like the scene from American Werewolf in London, where the two USA backpackers enter the pub on the moors and everything goes quiet and all eyes are turned on them. As I said, it is not quite like that, but not far off.

On a more historical note, the name of the pub is allegedly linked to the eight bells of St Lawrence Church, directly opposite the pub. The idea of a quick Sunday Service followed by a few beer chasers to mellow out the afternoon must be almost impossible to resist (another wistful sigh - entertainment ed).

Howerver, as far as I am concerned, the reason for liking the pub, is not just the beer or the atmosphere but its location, barely 300 yards from the front door. (wistful sigh - entertainment ed).

Not forgetting, for the dog lovers out there, dogs do appear to be very welcome, though they will need to be vetted by Toby first. The ground rules are very clear, food on the floor is his and his alone.

To finish off this post, as I am sure there is something, Very Important, that I should be doing, I should note that there is a small paved garden out the back containing wooden tables with fixed seats, and some even undercover. It used to be the area that I frequented before the smoking ban simply for the fresh air. However, since the fresh air act, oops, sorry, implementaion of the Smoking Ban, roles have been reversed and it is now the smokers who inhabit this area, come rain or shine, whilst the rest of us enjoy the warm fugginess of the insides of an old fashioned English local pub (was that another wistful sigh that I heard - ed)

Afterthought
Please note in the interest of fairness that there are other pubs in Alton, and I will get around to posting about some of them real soon now, but only about ones that I have been to more than half a dozen times or so, to be able to give them a fair hearing.

Please do note that all words used in this post have been checked using the highly acclaimed international standard of, "No Beer Whilst Writing Rules". The author agreed to be tested before and after the writing of this article and was given a certificate to prove it was written without any beer in his system (another even longer wistful sigh - ed)

Other Credits
This post was addled together using excerpts from, and with kind permission of the publishers, the soon to be published book, "'Mine's a pint: Beer Drinking in English Hostelries in the 21st Century", by S. F. Adams.

Italian Election Shock Result

A party led by a comedian won 25% of the vote! Silvio Berlusconi says he was very happy with the backing received by his party. He is reported by the BBC as saying, "Italy must be governed", which a one of his best gags ever, given that Italy has been ungovernable since the Second World War. That'll keep 'em rolling in the aisles Silvio.

Mr. Berlusconni (billionaire, playboy, owner of most of the Italian media) then went on to say, "That everyone must make sacrifices". But what the reporter failed to hear was Mr. Berlusconi saying, "I am prepared to halve the number of bunga bunga parties that I hold, to show that I to am prepared to make sacrifices". What a corker.

However, there are rumoured to be ructions at The Daily Mail,  as if Mr Berlusconi carries through with this made up quote, and it was a big if (sigh - visual gag ed), will have less need than normal to show photos of semi-clad beauties telling stories about Mr. Berlusconi's bedroom antics.

To, all you Italian voters, I say, vote for the party with the comedian leading it, and keep The Daily Mail afloat!

Afterthought

The above text is almost wholly fiction, apart from the facts,  and mostly resembles the output of a deranged mind. The author reserves the right to attend Bunga Bunga parties, if so invited, but will attend only to ascertain the facts and check out the full figures (sigh - innuendo ed).

Self Congratulation

I always make a determined attempt to miss all of the awards ceremonies that seem to permeate the ether (TV, Radio - ed)  and also not to read any coverage in the printed world, sadly this pap even gets into the serious papers in the UK, grrr.

It was particularly difficult this morning. BBC Breakfast was broadcasting poor old Tim Muffet, who had the dubious privilege to be on the red carpet at the Vanity Fair after Oscars party, where he was visibly shoulder to shoulder with other news reporters vying to get a word from random numbers of so called celebrities who were walking by behind him.

Why bother? What is the point? Snippets of comment from people who are famous giving their views on other famous people performances in various films - it is so pointless. Is real life so lacking in actual uplifting news that the entire media industry has no option but to provide this, this, this utter self-congratulatory drivel to fill the air-waves and column inches.

Why is this deemed to be news? It is simply just empty mind filler for those with empty minds. It simply panders to people who like famous people, so called celebrities, many of who are simply famous because they were temporarily partnered to some other temporarily famous person.


There has been award ceremony after award ceremony since the turn of the year. Each of them where all of those involved in film and TV congratulate each other in such a revolting sycophantic manner. Just stop it the lot of you!


What have these people done to make the world a better place? Have they brought food, water and medicine to people whose lives are at risk from famine, disease or living in dangerous parts of the world, no they haven't. They have appeared in some film or other that other people who are involved in film vote for as being good to some degree or other. No money and politics involved in any of this at all.

So who gives two hoots (twit twoo - ornithology ed) about this. Give me some real news, not more self congratulatory nonsense. I am looking forward to the day when I can set a filter on all data (internet, TV, radio) coming into the house; no more than that, what I actually want is a reality filter to stop all this utter twaddle getting anywhere near any of my senses.

Walking through a newsagent over the coming week or so is going to be absolute hell for me, all of those magazines with garishly bright pictures of beautiful people in their beautiful garb at the summit of this years award ceremonies, The Oscars. Just give me a break from it.

So to finish, some of you (particularly Ralph, from near Anchorage Alaska reader, thanks for the contact, Great photo of you in the lumberjack shirt, but you really should wear a little more than just that - (blood) circulation ed) might think that I don't like all this celebration of celebrity.... you would be entirely right.

(The author wanders off muttering quietly to himself and disappears into the near distance - ed)

Sweet Fanny Adams

Gravestone of Fanny Adams, Alton Cemetery Hampshire, UK 

For those that do not know. Fanny Adams lived in Alton for 8 short years before her murder in 1867.

Why am I mentioning this? Only because I live in Alton and I saw her gravestone the other day, and took the picture to the left.

For those that do not know, the phrase, "Sweet Fanny Adams", or "Sweet FA" is synonymous with her.

She lived in Tanhouse Lane. The ranks of (probably rank as well - historical ed) of Victorian cottages, next to the River Wey, one of where she lived her all too short life, have long since been demolished.

If I recollect, the Curtis Museum houses some information on this unfortunate event.

If you simply aren't interest in poor young Ms Adams, then simply visit the museum. It is a Tardis, in that it is much much bigger on the inside, than on the outside. What is more, it is absolutely free to visit, and no-one even harangues you to drop money in a collection box on entry or exit. In fact, the people manning the counter are incredibly helpful, knowledgeable and pleasant. Well done to the Curtis Museum staff!

Now, I have lived in Alton for over 5 year, and the Curtis Museum has been one of those places that I have walked past on many, many occasions and thought,

"I must pop in one day to see what it is like",

and then immediately forget about it. Then the next time, the same thought and the same inaction.

However, back in Autumn 2012, rather than simply walking past I popped in.

Now, you might think, that popping in suggests a brief moments, you know, a few minutes at the most. However, I was completely entranced and an indeterminate time later I came out and the whole world (well my view of Alton's history at least - ed) had changed. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.

Wandering through the museum had been like being in a scene from the 1960's film, the Time Machine, where Rod Taylor is sitting in his time machine, racing forward through time and watching the displays of the store opposite change with time as the years flew past.

My experience in the museum had been similar. I had been transported back into a geological epoch and in a few brief hours (aha so you were in there hours were you - timekeeping ed) through thousands of years of history, finally returning to modern days as I stepped out of the museum.

It was wonderful, I would finish reading information on one exhibit, walk around the corner and then be overwhelmed with the next time period, (it is worth nothing that you did linger on certain exhibits more than others - Alton involvement in the brewing of beer - historical accuracy ed)

So, if you are in the area, simply pop into the Curtis Museum and be transported in time (the author has no pecuniary interest in visitors to Alton, the Curtis Museums, or the many and varied food and beverage establishments that make up the vibrant heart of this glorious historical Hampshire market town - promotional ed).

Afterthought

If you are interested in beer, Alton still has one brewery, currently under the name of (not Saunders - literary ed) Coors. There are also a surprising number of smaller breweries in the surrounding area, well from the history of Alton, hops were a major industry over hundreds of years, and like many parts of the country, smaller breweries are making a determined comeback, well done to all of them.

So cheers to Tripple fff Brewing Company, in Four Marks; Hogsback Brewery in Tongham; Ballards Brewery in Petersfield; Andwell Brewing Company in Hook and the Longdog Brewery in Basingstoke (so there is something positive to be said for Basingstoke after all - beer ed)

Ashes To Ashes

This post has been bubbling under for a while now, as it is a difficult subject to talk about, but I will give it a shot and see how it turns out.

My Mum passed away the year before last, late November 2011. It wasn't a sudden death by any stretch of the imagination, as she had been quite ill, (Type II diabetes plus a seemingly never ending series of complications - medical ed) for at least six years, prior to her eventual passing.

Mum had had a number of close calls over the years, with many a journey to the RUH (Royal United Hospital) in Bath by ambulance. If she had been getting a stamp on her NHS card for each journey, she would have easily got a couple of free trips. (For my Alaskan reader, we don't pay directly for our National Health Service, but indirectly so it is free at the point of use - economics ed).

The day that she went into hospital, for what turned in retrospect to be the final time, I had turned up at Mum & Dad's house to find my Dad heading out of the door as I arrived. It was a prearranged visit, but obviously Dad had forgotten that I was due in the rush. However, given that Mum wasn't there, we ended up driving to the RUH together and entering the A&E Department  (Accident and Emergency - medical ed) to find out what was happening with Mum.

On her many previous forays into the RUH I had never been there at her entry to A&E. I know that I was more than little worried by it all, however, it was by no means Dad's first time and he seemed to be taking it all in his stride and calmly, certainly on the surface at least; I did my level best to follow suit (stiff upper lip and all that, after all we are British - ed).

Thankfully Mum had been successfully admitted (meaning she wasn't on a trolley in a corridor - ed) and was now surrounded by both staff and a mass of electronic equipment to which she was attached  (it was kind of odd, in a way, as she hated cables and wires - ed ). Luckily for us, she was aware enough to know that we were there, but all we could give her at that time was support in the form of our presence and a brief hand clasp. So, after those brief moments with her, we left her in the hands of the staff, to allow them to do their jobs and we moved to some seats a short distance away.

From my perspective being in A&E brought me into contact with the highest concentration of doctors and nurses I can remember (have you forgotten about that party back in the early 80's? - entertainments ed). Not sure that humour is the best medicine but it does sometimes help.

After what seemed like an eternity, but it wasn't, the immediate danger passed and Mum was moved up onto a coronary care ward in a high dependency bed. She was there until her death less than a week later. The last time I saw her alive, was the night before she passed away.

Now, not sure about you, but it was the closest I had been to anyone who had died. My Mum & Dad's parents had all passed away long ago, and it wouldn't be unfair to say that I was not involved very much with their final days. So when I use the word closest, I am not talking about physically, but it was my Mum, I had known her my entire life and I loved her, so that kind of close.

Being a chap, especially an British one, it has been a bit of an eye (emotion?) opener for me to see how I have dealt with all of this. Not particularly well, would be my open and honest view. As I said this was not an easy post to write, but hang in there with me, I am getting to the grist of it.

Now, I have read all of the Harry Potter books and seen all of the films, so what? There is a scene at the start of the term after Harry has seen Cedric Diggory killed by Lord Voldemort. He is heading from the Hogwarts Express to the carts, which he had thought until then were powered by invisible magic means. What he saw instead were the animals that were really pulling the carts, Thestrals.

Harry was stopped in his tracks and became very confused especially when his friends Hermione and Ron could not see the Thestrals at all. Then Luna Lovegood passes by and tells him that they can only be seen by those who have witnessed death. So his closest friends just don't see it at all, they cannot see what he can see, they simply cannot understand what he is on about when he tells them about the Thestrals, they are simply blind to it all.

That is it, our mental state alters, from a before, when your loved one is alive, to a new state, a state where one you loved is no longer there. It is so mind numbingly final, dead and gone but not forgotten.

Here is another stab at explaining it. So bear with me, it might be worth the effort.

Imagine this, you are walking down your local high street and there are all these people walking, talking, laughing, getting on with their lives, and they simply have no inkling, no thought, no idea whatsoever that your Mum is dead, how can they be so callous. You rage on the inside and want to shout at them,

"How can you be so hurtful, so unconcerned, so thoughtless, don't you realise that my Mum is dead!",

But you don't shout at them, you just push the grief (for that is what it is - medical ed), a raw, black, bilious feeling, back down deep inside of you, that stiff upper lip must not buckle. However, I am frequently told (you know I'm right and keep taking the pills - medical ed) that you should let it out, it will get better, this is normal, you have to grieve, keeping it all in will do you no good (easy for them to say - ed).

Now you can try and let it out but therein lies a danger. I have tried, my how I have tried. I always seem to end up being overwhelmed with a tsunami of raw acid tears, chest aching and heaving under the pressure of getting breath into my lungs as powerful painful sobs force their way out, then, there is the wailing and I have lost control. That hurts, that loss of control hurts, but I am told by professionals that this is emotion and that it is a good thing.

So, here I am, a British man with his stiff upper lip shot to pieces, an upper lip now quivering like a lump of raspberry jelly (much prefer strawberry - ed), and I am told expressing of this emotion is a good thing. I, for one, remain to be convinced

Afterthought

The post is titled as it is, because my Mum was cremated back in December 2011, and I, like my siblings were each given a pot containing some of my Mum's ashes by our Dad. It has taken me from them until now to deal with them. Mum loved bluebells, and so her ashes now reside under a lovely spot next to our apple tree, under all the bluebell bulbs. The bluebells are now starting to shoot and we can be expect them to flower in the coming weeks. I will put a photo up in a week or two to show you all.

So Mum is now with the bluebells she loved during life. She might be physically gone, but she is still firmly entrenched in my mind, still loved, still missed and never ever ever forgotten, and my how it hurts.

After Picture (Here be the spot)

When the flowers bloom, I will put another picture up.

Where did Wednesday go?

I am frequently struck by this thought (ouch - it is particularly painful when Wednesday comes in the shape of a sharp metallic instrument - A&E ed). It seems whole days can pass and by the end of the week you end up thinking what did I actually achieve this week?

Wednesday was a non-post day? Why? Failed with extended prevarication it seems. Had some tasks to do that could finally be no longer put off. So I guess, there is something positive to take from that, they're done!. But then reality comes into with a nasty real life update and soon there is another set of unpleasant tasks that need to be sorted!

It seems as fast as you empty the unpleasant task jar, someone is pouring more unpleasant tasks at the top of it (who are they, whey are they doing it and how can I make them stop it - ed).

Hmm, there must be another way of putting that. Let's see, maybe you could think of it in terms of a sewage works, a lot of effluent (and there was I thinking that you were going to use s*** - literary ed) comes in, it is cleaned up and sent on its way, but as soon as you have finished processing one job (tee hee - viz smut ed), yet more effluent arrives.

Is that what life is supposed to be about,? We are just more or less efficient effluent processors?

The aphorism that comes to mind is, "Life is a bitch, and then you die".

At least those with faith can go through life with the thought that if they live a 'Good Life' (goodbye Richard Briers and thanks for all the laughs - TV ed) then they will be rewarded with a wonderful 'afterlife'. Sad thing about that is, that if they really believe this and then fail the good life test, then they will go to whichever hell that their omnipotent one decides on. Now that doesn't seem something you would look forward to is it? So you would expect those with faith to be far and away the best  (in the sense of good) people on the planet. Why isn't that the case?

My view on this life issue is much much less constrained; we are here, we live for a time and then we die. I, for one, have no fear of death as it is appears to be simply a release from the endless job in the sewage works. We could argue that it would be a relief, but given the finality of death, and as the dead no longer see, hear, feel, think then there would be no relief, or remorse, as such, as life has stopped. What appears to be the case is that death is hardest on those left living. You have to agree that this seems more than a little unfair!

Spy under the bonnet [thoughtlet]

How soon will it be before the first driver is prosecuted for breaking the law using data the car itself has collected? A Most Peculiar Test Drive | Blog | Tesla Motors

Suggested post length by use of thoughtlet in post title?

I think (therefore I am - literary ed) that I am going to have a go at using my new word, thoughtlet in post titles, why I hear you ask; yes, you are asking that, your memory is going, you know. I have to mention that sometimes the stampeding thoughts of my loyal Alaskan reader intrude into my unreality and just have to be dealt with. This was one of those events and given the time difference, what is he/she doing browsing the web at this time of the morning.

Anyhow, back to this concurrent thread of thought, to answer you as succinctly as possible (not a chance - word counting ed), so that you are given some clue as to the length of the post that you might read. See post Thoughtlets.
-
However, as you might imagine, not every post can be or indeed should a be thoughtlet. So given the wandering of this post it is very clear that this post, even though discussing the usage of thoughlet in its title, cannot as of itself be considered to be a thoughtlet.

Why, oh why would I want to embed information about the length of the content of a post in the title of the post? (Are you still with him, lost me a couple of paragraphs ago - ed)

The reason, my dear, dear, loyal reader is this. It seems fair. Fairness is fundamental part of me. You, my reader, are giving my post moments of your time and I feel great guilt if I do not give you fair warning of its snakelike length.

"But, Mr. AViewWithARoom,  we can stop reading in a fraction of a second and browse away."

You are so, so naive. Try it, go on and try it.

[Time passes]

Are you back yet. See, you couldn't stay away, you just had to get to the end of these what may seem inane ramblings...

So, let's get it straight, I want to ensure that, by reading my musings, you  are not caught up in my stream of unconsciousness (definite future post title - pending confirmation of contents by legal team - ed) and without knowing it suddenly find whole minutes of your life are lost to you.

What is worse, as you age and fail to become a fine red wine (and end up possibly corked - oeonphile ed), you find that minutes pale into insignificance as years fly by with a steadily increasing velocity. There is a good reason for this - but really does stand up on its hind legs and begs to be a thoughtlet to be posted right now in a few moments time [Short amount of time later, and it is done].

So where am I heading with this get to, well as you may have noticed,

"Are you paying attention at the back?",  I haven't posted anything for a couple of days. (Those weekends are sneaky critters, get ya' when you're least expecting it - plain speaking western ed). 

Weekends are the time when, "Things need to be done", we are talking gardening, doing the accounts, hoovering, ironing, answering emails, answering official letters, going to the recycling centre (dump/tip more colloquially - recycling ed), getting out of the house for a walk to get some fresh air (as sometimes pressing your face against the window and taking a deep lung filling breath at the ventilation slot just won't do - health ed), going shopping, visiting obscure relatives, tidying up, putting things away, putting things into the attic, taking things out of the attic, occasionally tidying up the attic, did I mention ironing.

So, given all of that how do you expect me to have any time to do a new post....

Years Increasing Velocity [Thoughtlet]

Years do go faster as you age. Plainly as each year passes, it is a smaller proportion of the number of the years under your belt. For example: small children scream when you mention they have to wait until tomorrow as it is a long time away and old timers are quite happy to say, "See you this time next year", like it is no time at all.

Thoughtlets

Definition: Thoughtlet - a small but significant thought.  First known example Thoughtlets a post by blogger, aviewwithsomeroom on Blogger.

Hold your horses

Where is the next post? It has been hours since the last one. Just get a move on, why don't you.

Sorry folk(s) (still no comment from my reader in Alaska - guess it was just a piece of software after all, sigh  - ed), that is not how it works.

Let me just state this, in my humble (you humble - rhymes with crumble - and that was and still is a great apple crumble Bridget, trying and failing to cover the St. Valentine's lack of flowers - ed) opinion that:

"You cannot rush a good thing! Think nine pregnant women trying to produce a baby in a month, it just ain't going to happen."

So, for all of you software project managers out there who think throwing more people at a software project is going bring it in on time, you're wrong. Can I suggest reading the classic software book The Mythical Man Month and Other Essays on Software  by Fred Brooks. If you are involved in the software business (and I would argue with many other businesses too - business ed) you really should have read this. It was written a long time ago, but then so were many other useful books...

Is there a point to this, yes, well, I woke at 1 a.m. (just what is it with these early morning wake ups - health ed) this morning and proceeded to knock out a number of post titles with thoughtlets about what they would cover. I had thought that there wrere only about seven, but just checking my draft posts here in Blogger land  I have discovered what appears to be seventeen (17! Trusting the draft post counter are we - software ed).

So, if you are waiting for the next full edifying installment (of various random thoughts - ed), you are going to have to wait for a little while. Apologies in advance, however, if you are reading this in the future, when these are all posted,  simply ignore this bit of text.

Afterthought

Some of the pending post titles, to whet your appetite (ooh, crumble for pud this evening as well - food ed) are:

• Ashes to Ashes (death and grief )
• Freelance Contractors (potted history of contractors, IR35 and related subjects)
• Angels On My Shoulders (good and evil inner voices)
• Oxford's Underground Cathedral (Collins clan fables)
• Thoughtlets (about thinking small thoughts)
• Full force of the law ('Da Government' and the 'Horsemeat or Horse meat Scandal', David Cameron, application of the law)
• Stream of Unconsciousness (thought processes and a how to embed them symbolically in a post)
• Politicians Uh (What are they good for...) (politics, democracy)
• Barbados (about a honeymoon holiday - with colour photos!)
• Black Dog (depression and in passing Winston Churchill)
• Your lying eyes (why what we see isn't actually there)
• Wish you were here (words that strike a chord deep within us)
• It's One O'Clock (busy dreams, nightmares etc)
• Spending matters (Government expenditure - maybe with some colourful charts)
• Emotion (control or lack thereof of emotion and consequences of its repression)

Well that was the list this morning, hohum, seems like I have a lot to get through.

BTW Painting

I do have a date with destiny (nice girl - ed), to do another painting. I cannot give you the status of the painting mentioned in the previous post, "Charlie the dog"', which is provisionally titled , "Charlie, I'm keeping an eye on you".  However, when it is all done and dusted I will post a photo of the original dog and the steps in my attempt at dog portraiture. Early indications is that all is going well with it.

St. Valentine's Day ... j'accuse

I am not a fan of this day, no, not at all. Why, I hear you squawk in disbelief? Because...I accuse you (j'accuse it is French - how romantic - ed) all of you in conniving to make this day more meaningful that it really is.

I accuse you, the reader, of allowing yourself to be high jacked by retailers desperate to make money in a period that is generally quiet after the post Christmas sales.

I accuse you, the reader, of thinking that this one day is the only day that matters when showing your love and affection to your partner.

I accuse you, the reader, in thinking that an act on this one day is enough to set to rights all of those failures to show affection throughout the rest of the year!

I accuse you, the retailer, of using this Saint's alleged romantic connotations, to cajole the guilt ridden, romantically disinclined public into buying flowers, champagne, chocolates, gifts and treats for their partners.

I accuse you, the retailer, of hiking prices, putting fancy wrapping around objects that for the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year (365 on leap years - pedantic ed) are a fraction of the price.

I accuse you, the retailer, of using something as beautiful, deep and meaningful as love in this cheap (it is not cheap, that bouquet of flowers was nearly £13 - ed) and tawdry fashion.

I accuse you, the media, in all of its garish forms, from TV, newspapers, magazines into using this day to boost your sales and ratings with soppy romantic stories and bizarre marriage proposals.

I accuse you, the media, of tarnishing all that is great and good about love with the lowest forms of drivel in your columns and on your shows.

Have I finished yet, no, but let's move on in a less impassioned, less emotional and more balanced way. If you look up St Valentine on wikipedia you find that not much is actually known about St. Valentine apart from he died on this day.

So, I hear you cry, (or was it sew, a needle pulling thread - they sound so similar - ed), "You haven't got a romantic bone in your body". This is not so, not at all (Dodgy terrain here, so step carefully - ed).

I believe that flowers, champagne, chocolates, gifts and treats should be given on days of our own choosing, and that it should be done on a whim and a fancy and as part of the continual affirmation of feelings between partners  (taking note of this are you Bridget - marriage counsellor ed).

So what has got my goat (and will those that have borrowed it please return it - farming ed)? Well I popped out, to do a couple of errands around noon on Alton High Street (it was high noon and nobody was there apart from usual nefarious suspects - ed). After dodging a large number of teenagers (thought it was half term and they would be off the streets - so much for that theory).

I entered (via the front door this time, getting a bit dodgy to keeping popping in through the back door when they aren't looking, they are beginning to get just a little suspicious) into our local Fruit and Veg shop (yes, Alton does still have one on the High St. - retailing ed) and I was offered a single red rose at a cost of £1.50.

Now I wasn't either in the market for a red rose especially one at that kind of price. What I was in the market for, were the four leeks and the large red bell pepper clenched tightly in my hands. These had, for some reason that escapes me, leaped from the shelves into my hands. (When vegetables throw themselves at you from the shelves - you know something is not quite right with the world - parapsychology ed), and demanded of me that they be bought!

"What about some flowers for your lovely wife", the seller didn't say, and I failed to come back with the age old rejoinder, "Well you haven't met her then, have you! Boom, boom", Les Dawson would have been proud of me.

But, being a man of many talents (and when you find just one, will you let us know - employment ed), I had a retort ready on my lips, as all of you that know me know that I am well known for both the speed and wit of my rejoinders (really - truth ed), "I buy flowers for my wife all year round not just on this so called special day".

The female (failed) flower seller sighed wistfully and said, "I wish my boyfriend were like that, it's so romantic", the male member of staff (there is something off color in there if you try hard - viz smut ed) turned away - and it looked to me that he was putting fingers down his throat, I am still wondering what that means? Maybe he had swallowed something poisonous and was urgently trying to cleanse his system before the poison took hold? (You are so dumb at times - ed).

Anyhow, with four leeks and a red bell pepper in hand, and unusually paid for, I strode manfully from the shop and felt proud of myself. Proud, not just of  being English, but for once, being damn well British and even more surprisingly proud of being a citizen of the European Union. The clouds pulled back and a beam of light fell upon my brow and warmed me through.

Strangely enough, I could have sworn that the failed flower seller said something along the lines of, "What a cheap skate, flowers all year round, my a***", but I am sure that cannot have been the case.

Afterthought

Even though I don't buy especially expensive flowers on St. Valentine's Day, I do buy a card, and unsurprisingly it is not a special Valentine's Day card. It is simply a card with something I like on the front, you know a yacht, a sleek sports car, something a girl can really appreciate.

All the words inside it are all my own of course, hand crafted and lovingly engraved. This year's words contain some wonderfully meaningful and downright heart tugging phrases. I particularly liked the, "Will there be apple crumble tonight?"

Lost his mind...

No, no, Nanette, not me, I mean the guy on the left, yet another David, a much more interesting one than me.

Took this photo a couple of years ago when in Florence. Reckon it was late November 2009 (not late December back in '63? - music ed). A flight had been booked to attend a wedding in Siena, and the nearest airport was, and still is, though that last Italian earthquake might have moved it a little, Florence, or as the Italians more romantically call it Aeroporto Di Firenze. Sounds so much better than the English version.

Makes you wonder if Luton Airport (or London Luton Airport as it is known to many - international transport ed) would sound better in Italian, somehow I think changing the language just wouldn't help it (how dare you, how dare you denigrate Luton airport in such a cavalier fashion - resident of Luton ed).

Anyhow back to the point, due to paperwork issues the wedding was postponed, a little late in the day, to February 2010, and the plane tickets were non-refundable. Oh my word, I hear you cry (that is your Alaskan reader, really, someone from Alaska appears to be reading this blog... wonder if they will comment sometime or drop me an email? - ed) So in a situation like that what do you do, naturally go to Florence anyway.

Now the Aeroporto Di Firenze is a number of miles (kilometers anyone? - metric ed) outside of the city, and you have to take a bus into the city proper. This was very straightforward, as neither of us is particularly fluent in Italian. This worked swimmingly well, and before long we were dropped out in the centre of Florence.

Surprisingly, the weather wasn't too bad. It didn't rain and the temperature was that of a pleasantly warm southern UK autumnal day (early Septemberish if you were wondering - 12-14C). We (Bridget and I) ended up wandering around a gloriously autumnal Florence when there were many fewer tourists then is usual, which made it so much pleasanter. But the strangest thing was that we didn't need to go inside any of the buildings (well apart from the hotel, bars, restaurants, buses, trains etc - pedant ed). We even sat outside for lunch on a couple of times, which worked as long as we were in direct sunlight.

It being our first visit to not only Florence, but Italy, we were just astounded (how low did your jaws go - ed) at how much could be seen by just wandering the streets. I would like to say that we didn't pay a single Euro (whatever happened to, dear old Lira - it got an ice pick that made its ears burn  - music ed), to see anything, but we did pay to go into the Boboli Gardens where Bridget assures me this status resides.

So why is the post named, lost his mind? Well you look at the statue and spot what is missing?

Afterthought

I do have quite a large number of photos of Florence (and he does take some mean photos, much like his largesse at the bar - ed), which if you write a comment stalwart reader, I might, just might, put up a link to. This will be done without further ado, if my Alaskan reader would be so kind as to post a comment. A simple, 'Florence photos, please', will be enough to prove to me that you are human and not some bit of software (they will most certainly be wetware - technology ed).

Most, if not all, of my photos of everything, but not the kitchen sink (that is easily rectified - photography ed), are on dropbox, so are easily made visible if I get a link to them.

Code Killers

When I were a lad (imagine the old Hovis ad music playing in the background and with the voices of the Monty Python team playing oneupmanship as Northerners, that should help - history ed) it was really time consuming to change code, we are talking about programming/coding computers here for any neophytes wondering what code is.

We are talking the late 70's and early 80's when Unix (tm) was starting to make inroads into (UK) companies and 'C' was the new kid on the block (great name for a boy band - music ed)

Editors (newspaper editors? - ed), that is applications that you use to compose/write/hack code with, were fairly basic. Vi and Emacs ruled the roost in most of the Unix (tm) world and Eclipse et al weren't even a speck on the blue event horizon.

To change the name of a single function or alter its parameters was not at all easy and  generally involved the use of a plethora (great word - literary ed) of command line tools like find, grep and sed to track down all the places where the function was found to be lurking and then manually alter them. Expertise with sed  and general shell commands meant you could write scripts to facilitate this process to a certain degree, but not completely by any means.

This was a time of small monitors (actually large steam driven monstrosities with green or orange characters vying with each other to be the one true colour). It was a time when you used to print out code, tens of thousands of lines on huge 132 column band printers hidden away in computer rooms which were serviced by an interesting band of folks called computer operators.

Moving on to a new project involved reading through hundreds of printed pages, real physical pages, fan-folded with holes punched in them, pages that had to be put into folders to manage them or you'd be overwhelmed with wave upon wave of paper on your desk; if the pages were not controlled in this manner you might find them early one morning playing slinky between your desktop and the floor. Generally this slinky'ing would occur Friday afternoons post lunchtime for reasons that escape me (are you sure about that - truthfulness ed)

Actual hand written edits would be applied to the printouts to save printing out dozens of pages of brand new listings. Those were the days when you had to learn to write with pencil and paper. These were the days when talk of the paperless office was summarily dismissed as foolish nonsense and small groups of developers would gather in dark corners and whisper about what the future might hold.

Aye, when I were a lad... (Whoa there Tex! What happened to the 'Code Killers' you put as the post title? - ed).

What I was trying to do, I will have you know, was set the scene of yesteryear (you were doing a great job - motivational ed). So, assuming you are still with me; programmers were cautious about changing function names, parameters etc. as they resultant edits could be incredibly time consuming and it was hell if it was the compiler that found you out, or heaven forbid code failed at run-time. So we used to think and think hard about the name of a function and its parameters as the consequence of getting it wrong would involve a lot of mind-numbing editing.

It is not like that today, I can tell you. We have multiple (well in the best of companies - technology ed) enormous, thin (size 0 - fashion ed), elegant, sexy, svelte monitors, with large swathes of multi-coloured (swap shop anyone - historical tv ed) real estate and incredibly powerful editors where you can change the name of a function/method with such consumate (very proud of your use of interesting words - literary ed) ease, in fact dozens of times before you finish even one cup of coffee. In fact I can't remember the time I last printed out any code at all. (David pauses to think ... and no he cannot remember - ed)

My point, what is my point? It is that today, any fool can join a team and take over the code; code that you have lovingly crafted, code that you have brought up to be fine, upstanding, useful, elegant, smart and sophisticated code; code to make you proud and stand tall among the great coders of the world; and ruin it in moments.

Why would people do this, because they can and they know best!

In most professions, and I do count writing software as a  profession (though not the oldest - viz advisory ed), you need to pass tests, get a licence, be mentored to prove you understand what you are doing and practice, practice, practice possibly for years before you are allowed to do anything real. For instance:

• cutting up people (surgeons),
• prescribing medicines (doctors), 
• flying airplanes (pilots)
• and so forth and so on... 

But with writing code, anyone can do it, even with the most basic of experience, like three years at University. We all know that after that three years studying at some glamorous campus, where the only admiring glances you get are from the other guys/gals in your class when you show off your latest piece of sleek computing kit; or maybe when you show them how you have used the newest language to hit the streets to perform something just simply astounding. 

You just know that you are ("King of the world" again? - ed) the bees knees, top dog, undoubtedly one of the highest of the highest percentile of programmers (top 1%, like all of the rest of us), that you know absolutely everything about everything and can't wait to get out there and prove to the world how good you really. You are chomping at the bit to put those old timers down as the dribbling fools that they are.

Pause, for thought, that wasn't the rant I was looking for, so moving along...and getting back on track...

What do I want? What I want is for new programmers to think just a little, a tad, a smidgeon (a little bit), a moment, to ponder, to take a look at the existing code, to see its shape, see the way it flows, sense its grand sweeping vista, maybe and I hesitate to use this word, to understand it, before they lay into and cause wholesale slaughter of that so, so innocent code. 

Remember that this code has been through a painful gestation period, where the programmers have built (if you could get the word "construct" in here somewhere I would be happy  - literary ed) a potentially beautiful construct. These programmers will have spent hundreds, maybe thousands of hours building this edifice (top marks for that - literary ed), they will have used every pattern in the book. They will have fought, what appears in retrospect, to be battle after battle with business analysts, project managers, testers (of all flavours) and even (shock horror) end users and eventually worn them down to accepting that what they are asking for is simply not possible, but then having to done it anyway because they don't call the shots.

Sigh. Talk about waxing lyrical (thought we'd lost you there at one point - safety ed). 

The point that I am trying to make, is that one person can, with a modern editor, destroy a piece of work in a number of short thoughtless bloody moments. Has this happened to you? It has happened to me, and what is worse, on more than one occasion (you are doing a great job of holding it together - dr ed) 

How to fix this? What I am proposing is that programmers, or coders if you prefer, who do this kind of wholesale slaughter should be taken before the General Programming Council (GPC). These violators  need to be forced to justify their actions before this grand old body. The GPC contains the great and good of the coding world, as well as cohorts of your coding peers. The suspect (oops), programmer, should, suffer consequences if and only if, they fail to convince this hallowed assembly of the rightfulness of their changes. The programmer, when found guilty, should then be struck off, not only off the General Register of Programming Practitioners (GRoPP), but and I hesitate to suggest it, also have their licence to code revoked! This may seem like some to be harsh, but we all know that this is very  necessary.

So to ensure that this doesn't happen to you, I would humbly suggest, ask, prompt, even cajole you to take some time to look at the existing code before you change it. Maybe even talk to the people who wrote it (though getting coders to talk can sometimes be a bit of a chore in its own right, as many lack social skills), if you can find them. Find out why they did what they did (for Maria - music ed; thinking about it I did have a project manager called Maria once - ed), as they didn't do it to wind you up, they did it for a good reason, it made sense at the time! These coders would, given the chance, do it differently if they had to do it again. You must remember hindsight is so, so much easier than foresight. So to sum and and bring the title back into focus.

The editor in front of you is a 'code killer', so be very, very careful how you use it.

Afterthought

This post was started around 4 am in the morning (UK time), as sometimes, when you wake up full of pressing ideas, it is wise to write them down somewhere. I used the Blogger app on my mobile (until it ran out of juice, beeped loudly and woke Bridget up; can't say she was best pleased about that. What is worse is that I then put mobile on to charge next to the bed, and hours later when it was fully charged beeped loudly and woke her again! Talk about being in the dog house.), then I finished this post off later on the laptop. Funny that the Blogger app on the phone is still not doing the white space correctly. I really must investigate and find that configuration option. No not really, not that urgent

Minor updates

Couple of minor typographical errors sorted, 'like social skills' vs 'lack social skills' - but I might argue that they would 'like social skills' but that is not what I meant.

BTW I have had some strong feedback from a major authority that I was not in the doghouse this morning. Phew!

Change of theme

Well had a bit of a Spring clean on the blog. Altered the theme a little as, after looking at the blog via my mobile phone,  I realised that I couldn't easily read it! (where was the system tester - ed ).
So as well as that, decided to do my first post from a phone.

Up On The Roof
Just been outside, whilst it was neither raining nor snowing (need to make the most of these rare opportunities this Winter - weather ed) and up on the roof (what a great title for a song - music ed) to clear the guttering at the back of the house.

Luckily the roof for the extension is flat (like your cap - fashion ed). So after struggling to get up onto the roof as the foldable ladder just wasn't long enough. Then being passed the ladder by Bridget, as once on the roof I  couldn't reach the ladder to pull it up after me (doh! - ed).

Was careful to walk across the roof finding roof beams and treading as close to the wall as possible (well done - hse ed).

Once at the guttering i.e. on top of the ladder on top of the flat roof (and failing the urge to shout "I'm the King of the world" - film ed)  cleaning the guttering was a breeze as it was like a lawn, lifted one end and rolled it up in one go, just like.lifting a thin piece of turf.

You might rightly think, on reading that, that the guttering hadn't been cleared in some time and you'd be right! Better late than never is my motto (no it isn't - legal ed)

Afterthought
Funnily enough, Titanic is one film I have never seen, well that and ET. Not quite sure why, possibly it is because I tend to react badly to the "must see" film meme when it does the rounds.

UK Winter Weather Bah

It was lucky I went up on the roof when I did lunchtime - as it is now snowing... definitely a "Dye The Fish" or "Seize The Day" moment of inspiration. (Do you really think anyone will get that - literary ed)

BTW

Seems I had to reformat this post, as what I posted from the phone came out all in one blob, whereas I do like a little whitespace here and there, ooh and over there, and just behind there, perfect.

Horsemeat

Looking into the spelling of this - it appears that horsemeat is preferred to horse meat in the UK. But the spell checker isn't happy with it as all one word - must be a configuration option somewhere to choose this.. will investigate.

Pope has pacemaker

The Beeb are doing a fine job of tickling me today. So the Pope has a pacemaker. You can see the scene, the Pope and his cardinals lined up on the starting line, ready for the race. The race organisers have thoughtfully brought in a South American pacemaker to try and see if they can break the Papal World Record for the shortest time it takes to choose the next pope.

Seems that a job for life just ain't what it used to be, Queen Beatrice of the Netherlands one week and then the next week it's the Pope. Wonder who will be next? Surely not, she wouldn't would she, she takes is so so seriously (that'll be HRH QE II - ed).

Afterthought

A spokesman for Gerry and the Pacemakers declined to comment on the BBC's allegation.

BBC declares Government Horsemeat Meet

The BBC website has got a cracking headline "Government to hold horsemeat summit". I wonder who the runners and riders will be.

Will I be first past the post with this post in finding this funny? (Think you fell at the first hurdle - ed).

Given that we have a Food Standards Agency, a Health and Safety Executive and a plethora of laws and regulations regarding food handling, preparation, safety, packaging, ingredients, use by dates, use before dates etc, it does make you wonder why 'Da Government' need to get involved at all?

I know, they need to be seen to be doing something. But you can see what the outcome of this will be.  The problem will be that it is the ingredients list that is at fault, presumably if it had listed horse meat - all would be well (being a little cynical here - literary ed).

I do wonder if any ones head will roll for this? Makes you wonder what are all these organisations,  soaking up our tax pounds, doing? Can I presume that they are underpaid, under staffed and not fit for consumption?

Commentary (use the voice of Sir Peter O'Sullevan if it helps)

[Starters gun goes off in the background]
"And their off",
"Coming to the first hurdle it's neck and neck, with the 'Environment Secretary' ridden by  Owen Paterson leading the way",
"In a close second there is the Not Fit For Purpose (ridden by FS Aye), closely followed by 'It's The Way I Fill 'Em' ridden by Tess Co and 'Lasagne Delight' ridden by Finn Duss, with Al Di trailing the pack riding 'Special Spaghetti' ",
".. and their over, their all clear",
"Oh no,  there is a faller,' Not Fit For Purpose' ridden by FS Aye is down, and appears to have been trampled by the following runners. I really wouldn't want to be in his shoes"
"They're moving on quickly now to the second hurdle, with 'Environment Secretary' still leading the way",
"He really has got a firm grasp on this race",
"So they're coming to the second and it's still Environment Secretary leading the way, now by a length",
"The rest are trailing behind as 'Environment Secretary' clears the second. Very neat jump",
"Oh my, oh my, there has been a terrible pile up at the second hurdle, with all the other runners down",
"It's a massacre out there, horses falling to the left of me and horse falling to the right of me",
"Let's hope listeners, that none of the runners are hurt otherwise it will be the knackers yard for them"
"So here we are, the only horse left is coming in to the final straight, and its 'Environment Secretary' past the post"
"So I guess he really knew his way around this course"
"So I'm now handing you back to the studio, whilst I go for my well earned lunch"
"Wonder what will be on offer today?"

Final Thought

This whole episode adds a whole new meaning to the phrase, "I am off to curry the horse", (yuk - ed).

Taxing matters...

Not wishing to harangue readers too much on my thoughts on UK taxation (hang on - thought that was the whole point of writing a blog - ed), - well I want to show some pretty pictures that show where the government takes our money from and after that where they spend it. There is a point to this, but you are going to have to wait for it (tick tock - ed).

So even if these pictures are quite lovely I need to remind you to pay attention to what I write as well (well worth reminding your one reader from South America, 'Hi Rafael' - ed) ( Hold it! According to the stats there is no-one from South America reading this blog - social media ed)

Strange thing going on here. This post was started before the previous four posts, as I wended off chasing this and that and ended up having to split the others out - so even though this was first with respect to taxing matters, it is now later than the others.

So having split off some of the tax sub-topics (if it were sub-tropics might be more interesting to the reader as you could have inveigled some attractive girls in a beach shot - ed) into different posts, I am now, back on track (sigh - if only Network Rail were - transport ed)

I tried yesterday to find a source for government tax receipts by tax. This turned out to be harder than I initially thought. Ended up in a morass of different government web sites including the OBR and HMRC neither which obviously game the figures. Time passed and suddenly it was today!

Today I found it quite easily. If you are interested it can be found at the Office for Budget Responsibility (OBR) - the almost brand spanking (careful now - ed) organisation that Georgie Boy created to try  "to provide independent and authoritative analysis of the UK’s public finances" and so give the figures more credence (clearwater revival. I did like that scene in Die Hard 4 where Bruce Willis turns it up to annoy Matthew Farrell  - music ed), as no-one trusts HMRC's figures any more!

Anyhow, I hear you asking, where is that pretty picture. Well I was trying to find one for the last financial year, but the nearest I could get was one from wikipedia (please donate here), which was slightly out of date. as it is for 2008/9. But that doesn't particularly matter, it is the ratios that are interesting (that word again - ed)

What is not clear from the figure is that when you add all of this up - it  turns out to be a very large number indeed.....£541 billion!

Note: This is an estimate from the March 2008 Budget and it actually turned out to be substantially lower than this i.e. £508 billion (that will be when the deficit started to increase significantly won't it - economics ed), followed by a further major decrease, 2009/10  to £477 billion, 2010/11 up to £528.9 billion and 2011/12 an estimated £550.6 billion.

The Guardian keeps an up to date page of UK Government Tax Receipts (not by individual tax) which shows just how much the taxation figures keep on rising.

So the game is, how few of the above tax do you NOT pay?

Well have reached this point in the post and I just have to stop, so I will put the expenditure into a different post called "Spending Matters" (or something similar - ed).

Shock Horror UK not in the Eurozone

This is beginning to bug me, the number of people out there in the real world (as opposed to the fantasy world that you live in - ed), who think that we are in the Eurozone seems to be increasing. We aren't. We still use the £ (GBP) and as much as it pains me to say it, this is the one subject that I agree with old Gordy on (what about the change to late payments to small businesses? - economics ed), that is staying well out of the Euro and keeping the Pound.

Just for your information, we are in the European Union (EU), since 1993, formerly known as the European Community (EC), formerly known  European Economic Community (EEC) or 'Common Market' , formerly known as European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC).

The Eurozone is the set of countries who use the Euro, which accounts for 17 of the 27 countries in the EU and we are one of the non-members. Do I make myself quite clear here (calm down, calm down love - ed).

Problem Solving Real Slow

Whoa there boy, what are you talking about - surely you want to solve a problem right now now now (no more  caffeine for you today - medical ed).

What I have found is that, "If you are confronted with what appears to be an insurmountable problem today and you are getting nowhere, simply stop thinking about it and instead move on to something else. Look at the problem again first thing the next morning and suddenly the solution will just pop out at you."

I have lost count of the number of times (> 0x32 ;-) - ed) I have solved what one day appears to be an insurmountable problem (mostly chasing down coding bugs, or coming up with an elegant solution to a coding problem) by doing just this; but I would imagine that it works for most problems. Reckon mulling over something is a long forgotten talent in this 24x7 (is that like a 4x4 - ed) world.

What would be really handy would be able to take a "N-Minute Unconsciousness Nap - But Really Not a Power Nap" (tm)- to let your brains unconscious work it all out for you and then wake up lively and alert (really - ed) with the answer on the tip of your tongue. However, waiting until next day works fairly well for me. Good thing I am not working in banking, as a "Sell, sell, sell" order that I pondered and left to decide upon tomorrow may well cause my manager to "Fire, fire, fire"  me.

There are some interesting books on the subject of think - the one that readily springs to mind and I quite like is "Hare Brain, Tortoise Mind: Why Intelligence Increases When You Think Less".

Anyhow, this is a slight aside post as I was trying to get to the end of the "Taxing Matters" post that has now been delayed even further (sigh - deadline ed)

Tobacco taxation and smuggling

I am having a field day with this IFS report 'A Survey of the UK tax system'  and am now moving on to tobacco taxation and smuggling.

Is there a link? My gut feel (no - that feeling is a need for food and another cup of tea - ed), is that there should be... the higher taxes go up on tobacco products - the more smuggling is bound to occur. As an aside I would argue that as the price goes up legal consumption will  go down as people give up due to the expense (price signals - economics ed).

Research shows that tobacco smuggling accounts for approx 46% of all hand rolled tobacco and approx 10% of all cigarettes consumed in the UK - see page 1 of this report by ASH. Just wonder how accurate their figures are  (You can see the ASH investigators targetting smokers with free tobacco products if they agree to take part in an anonymous survey - ed)  What ASH conclude is that £1.1-3 bn is lost per year to the Chancellor over recent years due to smuggling.

This figure appears to be in the right arena, as numbers given by the Tobacco Manufacturers Association (TMA) here show. What is very noticeable is that the value of total smuggled tobacco, i.e. potential revenue lost to HMRC, according to the TMA, has been going down in value terms since their figures began in the 2000-1 time frame (or there estimate of the illegal trade is off the mark? - ed)

Wonderful (no - ed) report by the ONS for 2008-9 here gives a thorough investigation into smoking, who, what, why etc and another more wide ranging one covering general household expenditure including smoking here.


However, the TMA is very worried about the rise of smuggling as is shown by these slides discussed at the Anti-Illicit Trade Summit of 2011 and also in this talk. The TMA's beef (horse meat - ed) may, to my mind, be more that a large proportion of the smuggled goods are counterfeit, up to 13% according to their latest estimate. Which they don't make any money from and will damage their brands!

I was hoping to nail the fact that as the price goes up, so does smuggling, but I cannot find any figures that satisfy that hypothesis. All I can say is that hand-rolled tobacco consumption has increased significantly as cigarette consumption has gone down. 

More Facts and Figures

The real increase in taxes on cigarettes over the past 30 years is enormous over 250%.

The tax take on tobacco related products is in the region of £11bn and makes up around 78% of the price of  a packet of 20 cigarettes in 2012.

Legalization and Taxation of Currently Illicit Drugs

So now I wonder if illicit drugs, class A, B and C drugs, were both legalized and taxed, what that would the tax take be? Currently, all of these are effectively tax free, not exactly something 'Da Government' (tm) would want to advertise I would think.

There is quite an interesting (it's that word again - ed), report by the Home Office, 'Seizure of Drugs in England and Wales in 2010/11' shows statistics for the number of seizures by the police and the Border Agency not only over 2010/11 but over the last 10 years, unfortunately doesn't give the value of the seizures, the so-called 'street value', so a little more research is required (pause for research - ed)

Another Home Office sponsored report, 'Illicit Drug Trade in the United Kingdom'  gives a value of  £4-6.6 bn based on 2003-4 figures. Which means if the price of illicit drugs went up with general price inflation, using HMT GDP deflator to calculate it, would today (2013 - ed) be worth between £4.6-6.9 bn.

Now assuming (quite a few things -ed) that they would be sold for the same price and this is a big if and that the taxation rate was the same as cigarettes, (assuming Da Government' (tm) would want to discourage it and so would tax it in the same manner) and assuming that consumers would not pay any more for it (i.e the cost of the finished product pre-tax would drop substantially, say to be on a par with tobacco). With a large finger in the air, and it waving wildly, it could  potentially be worth £3.7-5.55 bn  a year in forgone taxes. (This seems a little on the high side, as fingers in the air estimates go - ed)

Given that 'Da Government' (tm) raised approx £11bn last year on the taxation of tobacco products, it seems that legalizing and taxing drugs could bring a significant tax revenue and free up large numbers of police and border staff to do other things?

Given that 'Da Government' treat both tobacco and alcohol as health issues (and BTW raise large amounts of money from us), why are they not doing so with illicit drugs? (it's the politics - ed).

UK Tax System and the Beer Duty Escalator

For those of you who don't have a clue about the UK Tax System (including most of the occupants of these Sceptered Isles) see here, there is a report by the IFS (Institute for Fiscal Studies - ed)  that has some interesting graphs (when he writes the word 'interesting' - it is worth noting that this not necessarily the word others might use for the piece of information that he is about to purvey - ed)  and is a good read if you want to get a grasp about how 'Da Government' (tm) tax us.

One graph (of the many - ed) that stands out for me, is the one that refers to the 'Excise Duties' on page 53. This shows a graph of total indirect taxation (VAT and excise duty) as percentage of the retail price (beer, wine, spirits, cigarettes (Sin Taxes), also on petrol and diesel.

Now I was under the impression that the Chancellor with his beer duty escalator was ramping up beer taxation but it is not obvious from this first graph. However, looking at Figure 5 on page 54 makes it quite clear that it has been going up more than inflation i.e. in 'real terms' in recent years. So all you beer lovers, sign up for the Stop The Beer Duty Escalator e-petition on the No. 10 website.(You could argue that it is still lower than it was in 1988 - ed)

It is noteworthy (really - ed), that the tax on fuel is made up of a fuel duty (tax) to which is then applied VAT (tax)! So a tax is applied to a tax! Nice graph showing that this is so.

Our Tax Pounds

I like the way that citizens of the USA and their politicians talk about 'your tax dollars', whereas we here in the UK seem to think that the money that the 'Da Government' (tm) takes from all and sundry is their money or 'public spending', as it is more colloquially known,  is theirs to do as they see fit.

However, as annoying as this might seem, we have given 'Da Government' (tm) a mandate for this confiscation. We generously give them mandate by means of a 'General Election'. What do we get in return for this mandate (for state sponsored confiscation), an MP.

This MP, who may or may not be in a party that we support (or dislike the least - ed), and who may or may not represent our views on one or in fact many subjects, will represent us in the House of Commons. Now, given that there are some 650 of the blighters, at least until the next election when it will be reduced, what chance do we have that 'our' MP will be able to affect any kind of spending by 'Da Government', well if the MP is:

• not a member of the ruling party
• not on the front benches
• not on one of the standing committees
• spending all the time fiddling expenses

I would hazard a guess at, none whatsoever.

Wonderful isn't it [cf Winston Churchill quote - ".. democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time" - ed)  - I reckon someone should take MPs to the Trading Standards saying that we are being 'sold' something that it is fit for purpose.

The other point to note here is we get this vote only around once every 5 years. You would think that given today's technology that there might be a bit of a better way to have a real say in how our money is spent? Really do wonder why there is a none of the above option on the ballot paper (come up with a better system them - ed) and if that wins a majority of seats we should have a rethink on how our democracy works?


Let's start a petition to force politicians to use 'your tax pounds' rather than 'public spending' as it more accurately reflects where the money comes from.



On a more topical note, maybe we think we are ordering steak (beef - ed) and seem to always end up with horse meat!

Charlie the Dog

I promised one of my Sister-in-Laws, that is my brother Paul's wife, Heather, that I would paint a picture of her dog Charlie, for her Birthday this year (2013 - ed). You might remember that I did an oil painting of Paul's Birthday cat Loki oops I meant this picture and that went down well in the Didcot family household last November.

So after a bit of chivvying (hurrying up - ed), as I had not received any photos,  I was emailed a couple of photos of Charlie. Now Charlie is a King Charles Spaniel (possibly a Cavalier (but not a Roundhead - ed)), so I have been told. For those of you who do not get the Cavalier/Roundhead mention see English Civil War.

However, as far as I am concerned there are five types of dog, to whit:

• rat on a rope/string (i.e. very small, will appear from out of a hand bag for instance - just for effect, possibly seen with Beautiful People in Beautiful Settings. Would need a stepping stool to bite you in the ankle)
• small (has to jump to bite you in the calf)
• medium (can bite you in the vitals without moving its neck much if at all)
• large (has to bend down to bite your hand)
• Shetland pony (i.e. very large - can stand on back legs with feet on your shoulders and give you a close whiff of dog breath)

I am someone who is not particularly bothered by actual breeds of dog, but mainly by size and by how vocal they are, that is how much they bark, and naturally there are a number of types of bark, which include both frequency and depth of bark:

• yap (large numbers usually associated with a high frequency - really annoying, makes you want to say to the dog - go on is that the best bark you can do? Associated with smaller dogs who have a Bonapartean chip on their shoulders because they are so small. )
• ruff (one or two of these as a reminder that the dog exists and could bark if he/she really wanted to but really cannot be bothered.)
• whine (hurt, makes you want to help as the sounds tugs at your heart strings (twang)- be careful - they do bite if you go to help)
• growl (beware usually a deepish tone and a definite warning that something is amiss - you getting too close for instance)
• yip (happy dog, generally frequent and high pitched - dog might go round in circles at the same time causing red-shift, this is why Red Setters appear to be red (not at all true - ed )
• woof (inquisitive dog asking if it is time for walkies or another bowl of really meaty chunks)
• bark (large dogs, usually for warning, or because there is another dog in the vicinity, or the arrival of the postman is imminent, or the someone was walked passed the house in a threatening manner, or they sky is looking too blue today - in fact for no reason at all)
• howl (lonely dog, letting the world know how lonely he/she really is - owners have left dog by itself - again)

There is an aside here, if a dog barks in an empty house, does it make a noise? Answer - yes especially if the neighbours are about (cf tree falling in a forest - ed) and answer no if the owners are challenged about it. Strange world in which we live where the people who experience the barking are dismissed as the owners 'know' that their dog doesn't bark unless there is a good reason! 

Back to Charlie 

Now given I am a life long member of the Collins clan (Enrolled for Life Membership at birth it appears), it means that somehow I (once it is finished) have to get the picture to Heather when she is least expecting it so that it is a surprise. Not sure how I am going to do this, but it will involve  subterfuge (what a lovely word - ed).

For those who are interested (yawn - ed) some of the membership criteria to be in the Collins clan are: 

• the hiding of the hazelnut, 
• adult discussions, 
• just missing seeing Fred Nerk, 
• sneaking up and jumping out on people, 
• bizarre sense of humour i.e. telling blatant truths in a manner as such to make people not believe you, 
• telling blatant falsehoods in straight manner so as to fool people, 
• queuing up and making a conga behind someone pushing a shopping trolley whilst in the shop

Postscript

Not everything written above is wholly true or wholly false. remember I am Spartacus.