I went to London last week to stay with friends and to visit some galleries and museums.
At the Royal Academy I bought a ticket for the Wild Thing exhibition (Jacob Epstein, Henri Gaudier-Brzeska, Eric Gill) but stumbled accidentally into the first room of the Anish Kapoor show - which I didn't realise was on.
I found myself in the room containing the piece called Shooting into the Corner but which might equally appropriately be titled: Meat Gun. My initial reaction was something like my mother's response on seeing Antony Gormley's sculpture of a lone, abandoned foetus in an empty room, namely: 'Oh dear'.
But I didn't have a ticket and was politely directed to the Wild Thing exhibition which was good but - on reflection - pretty tame.
And then last night I watched a TV program about Anish Kapoor's Royal Academy show (Imagine, Winter 2009: The Year of Anish Kapoor, BBC1 Tuesday, 17 November) and - it's clear - I'm going to have to go back to London again and see it for real.
But I'm not beating myself up about it. After all, a lot of Modern Art is pretty hard to take seriously - and especially so when endlessly talked about, analysed etc. It was pretty much the same last night as I watched Alan Yentob appreciating some of Anish Kapoor's earlier sculptures from the comfort of my sofa. "It's quite disorienting in a rather interesting way", said Alan and I thought 'Here we go again - another disorientation opportunity. I just can't get enough of them.'
But then, about halfway through the program I did start to get interested and to recognise something of substance, something capable of stirring up the sediment and bringing the machinery back to life. And this is what I thought and what I now want to go and check out on the spot.
I found myself intrigued by all of Anish Kapoor's work (as experienced on the TV screen) but some of them, like the huge concrete wormcasts set on wooden pallets, invoked strong, somewhat disturbing feelings but no words.
The pieces that led me to a sense of discovery were the highly-finished ones - smooth, curved objects, either mirrored or painted in high-gloss. Like all sculptures they are physical objects but I sensed that they are intended to be perfect - or as close to perfection as a real physical object can be. And the point of this perfection is to enable us to see, not the sculpture itself, but something else - either the world reflected (in the case of the mirrored objects) or an abstraction - a void, hole or tunnel, an idea.
Anish Kapoor made a huge mirrored sculpture in Chicago called Cloud Gate (popularly known as the Bean). People love to touch it and are encouraged to. It is polished afresh every day.
It's good to be surprised.
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Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
OCOS
(Reproduced, with minor modifications, from the April 2007 edition of Horsley's Over the Wall magazine)
I’ve been reading in the papers about this carbon offsetting business.
It works like this. Say you want to fly to New Zealand for your summer holiday, then on top of your air fare, you pay someone to plant about 15,000 trees. Over the next 50 years the trees will patiently soak up the carbon dioxide you are about to squander on your antipodean adventure, with the result that you can enjoy your holiday in the reassuring knowledge that you are ‘on the side of the planet’.
Apparently this is big business all of a sudden.
So not to be left behind when it comes to cutting-edge ideas, we at the Omnivorist Institute have been giving the matter serious thought and, after a number of tough meetings with business types, venture capitalists and the like, we are proud to announce: the Omnivorist Carbon Offsetting Scheme.
And the good news is this: there is no need to change your lifestyle; no need to put on the hairshirt of environmental contrition, nor the heavy woollen stockings of ecological correctness.
No. Leave it to us; we at OCOS are experts at this sort of thing.
For a small fee, we will compensate for the wasteful and embarrassing excesses of your own lifestyle with carefully matched periods of indolence or discomfort undertaken by our team of professional associates.
By way of example: a cheap return flight to Lanzarote is offset, at our end, by 4 hours dozing in a hammock; for which the fee will be £50 – enabling you to come home, not just stress-free and with an impressive tan, but confident in the assurance that you are ‘carbon neutral’.
That summer evening barbecue, which might otherwise have been marred by torments of guilt, can be enjoyed with a completely clear conscience, safe in the knowledge that, for a modest outlay of £15, we have people willing to spend an uncomfortable night in the open, in a state bordering on hibernation.
So go ahead, turn up that patio heater – we have it covered.
I’ve been reading in the papers about this carbon offsetting business.
It works like this. Say you want to fly to New Zealand for your summer holiday, then on top of your air fare, you pay someone to plant about 15,000 trees. Over the next 50 years the trees will patiently soak up the carbon dioxide you are about to squander on your antipodean adventure, with the result that you can enjoy your holiday in the reassuring knowledge that you are ‘on the side of the planet’.
Apparently this is big business all of a sudden.
So not to be left behind when it comes to cutting-edge ideas, we at the Omnivorist Institute have been giving the matter serious thought and, after a number of tough meetings with business types, venture capitalists and the like, we are proud to announce: the Omnivorist Carbon Offsetting Scheme.
And the good news is this: there is no need to change your lifestyle; no need to put on the hairshirt of environmental contrition, nor the heavy woollen stockings of ecological correctness.
No. Leave it to us; we at OCOS are experts at this sort of thing.
For a small fee, we will compensate for the wasteful and embarrassing excesses of your own lifestyle with carefully matched periods of indolence or discomfort undertaken by our team of professional associates.
By way of example: a cheap return flight to Lanzarote is offset, at our end, by 4 hours dozing in a hammock; for which the fee will be £50 – enabling you to come home, not just stress-free and with an impressive tan, but confident in the assurance that you are ‘carbon neutral’.
That summer evening barbecue, which might otherwise have been marred by torments of guilt, can be enjoyed with a completely clear conscience, safe in the knowledge that, for a modest outlay of £15, we have people willing to spend an uncomfortable night in the open, in a state bordering on hibernation.
So go ahead, turn up that patio heater – we have it covered.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Science and religion
The recent case of the man who successfully argued at an employment tribunal that his commitment to green issues has the status of a philosophical belief as opposed to being based on mere scientific fact, prompted this wonderful piece of wit from David Mitchell (The News Quiz: Radio 4 06/11/09).
"I like the idea that his sincerely held beliefs in the environment are accorded some respect. What's annoying is that the way something gets more respect is to make it more like a religion; that people's essentially delusional beliefs in omnipotent beings is something you've really got to respect and not sack them for, but that an opinion based on science you can ignore. That seems to be the wrong way round."
"I like the idea that his sincerely held beliefs in the environment are accorded some respect. What's annoying is that the way something gets more respect is to make it more like a religion; that people's essentially delusional beliefs in omnipotent beings is something you've really got to respect and not sack them for, but that an opinion based on science you can ignore. That seems to be the wrong way round."
Friday, November 06, 2009
Carbon Trading
It seems carbon trading is in the news again; it's a rum business to be sure.
For starters there's the Clean Development Mechanism (CDM). It provides a way for rich countries to fund projects in poor countries in exchange for carbon credits, provided that the projects wouldn't have happened anyway.
This last bit is known as the additionality criterion and it's fraught with opportunities for abuse.
In China for example it appears that companies producing refrigerant gases can earn more money from selling the carbon credits associated with cleaning up their own pollution than they can from selling their main product - leading to a perverse incentive to build extra refrigerant plants whose sole purpose is the creation of a valuable cleanup opportunity.
If we're going to have additionality, it seems only reasonable to include the complementary principle - what one might term abstentionality. This would be a way of earning carbon credits by agreeing to stop doing something really bad that otherwise you might carry on with.
Since the way these mechanisms work is by first establishing a baseline defining normal behaviour, perhaps we should all go mad buying massive, inefficient cars and de-insulating our homes on the grounds that the more outrageous our behaviour now, the better the deal we will be able to reach later for agreeing to improve it.
Anyway, if this is the way things are headed, I want in. After all, I'm capable of emitting a bit of carbon dioxide and I think it's only fair that I should be allowed to choose what I do with it.
It's given me an idea. Watch this space.
For starters there's the Clean Development Mechanism (CDM). It provides a way for rich countries to fund projects in poor countries in exchange for carbon credits, provided that the projects wouldn't have happened anyway.
This last bit is known as the additionality criterion and it's fraught with opportunities for abuse.
In China for example it appears that companies producing refrigerant gases can earn more money from selling the carbon credits associated with cleaning up their own pollution than they can from selling their main product - leading to a perverse incentive to build extra refrigerant plants whose sole purpose is the creation of a valuable cleanup opportunity.
If we're going to have additionality, it seems only reasonable to include the complementary principle - what one might term abstentionality. This would be a way of earning carbon credits by agreeing to stop doing something really bad that otherwise you might carry on with.
Since the way these mechanisms work is by first establishing a baseline defining normal behaviour, perhaps we should all go mad buying massive, inefficient cars and de-insulating our homes on the grounds that the more outrageous our behaviour now, the better the deal we will be able to reach later for agreeing to improve it.
Anyway, if this is the way things are headed, I want in. After all, I'm capable of emitting a bit of carbon dioxide and I think it's only fair that I should be allowed to choose what I do with it.
It's given me an idea. Watch this space.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Spooky digital clocks
These days it seems that every time I look at a digital clock it's either 4:44, 22:22 or some other time where the digits are all identical.
I don't mean every single time of course - that would be seriously creepy. No, I mean like once a day. Certainly more often than you'd expect.
Let's do the sums:
In the case of a 12-hour clock the number of distinct time displays is 12 times 60 - or 720. Of these, the ones with identical digits are 1:11, 2:22, 3:33, 4:44, 5:55 and 11:11. So in a 12 hour period you expect to see one of these 6 single-digit patterns 6 times for every 720 looks at the clock (or 1 in 120). For a 24-hour clock, we can add 0:00 and 22:22 but the other numbers only come up once, so we have 8 cases out of 1440 (or 1 in 180).
In either case it means that to see one or more of these patterns every day suggests that I look at the clock more than 120 times in a 24 hour period. Not counting the time I am asleep that works out about once every 8 minutes.
Surely I can't be doing that!
Perhaps you'll understand now why I find it all a bit spooky.
In fact it has given me a really good idea for a low-budget horror movie:
Scene 1: Man rolls over in bed. Sleepily notes the time (2:22) on bedside clock.
Scene 2: Alarm clock rings (5:55) on the display. Daylight filters through the curtains. Radio announces tragic motorway accident.
Scene 3: Man driving through city, stuck in slow-moving traffic. Clock on car radio shows 3:33. Suddenly a panic-stricken man claws frantically at the car door - face pressed to the glass etc.
Scene 4: Man driving along motorway, lost in thought. Clock says 4:44. He doesn't seem to notice.
Scene 5: Motorway. Man peers through windscreen. Strange lights ahead. Clock says 6:66 !!! Cue Psycho music. Man's mouth formed into silent scream. Screeching of car brakes, rending of tortured metal.
Cut to credits against background of flashing blue lights etc etc.
If you've read this far, it's probably too late; you're going to start waking up and noticing it's 4:44. Aaagghhh !
Sorry.
I don't mean every single time of course - that would be seriously creepy. No, I mean like once a day. Certainly more often than you'd expect.
Let's do the sums:
In the case of a 12-hour clock the number of distinct time displays is 12 times 60 - or 720. Of these, the ones with identical digits are 1:11, 2:22, 3:33, 4:44, 5:55 and 11:11. So in a 12 hour period you expect to see one of these 6 single-digit patterns 6 times for every 720 looks at the clock (or 1 in 120). For a 24-hour clock, we can add 0:00 and 22:22 but the other numbers only come up once, so we have 8 cases out of 1440 (or 1 in 180).
In either case it means that to see one or more of these patterns every day suggests that I look at the clock more than 120 times in a 24 hour period. Not counting the time I am asleep that works out about once every 8 minutes.
Surely I can't be doing that!
Perhaps you'll understand now why I find it all a bit spooky.
In fact it has given me a really good idea for a low-budget horror movie:
Scene 1: Man rolls over in bed. Sleepily notes the time (2:22) on bedside clock.
Scene 2: Alarm clock rings (5:55) on the display. Daylight filters through the curtains. Radio announces tragic motorway accident.
Scene 3: Man driving through city, stuck in slow-moving traffic. Clock on car radio shows 3:33. Suddenly a panic-stricken man claws frantically at the car door - face pressed to the glass etc.
Scene 4: Man driving along motorway, lost in thought. Clock says 4:44. He doesn't seem to notice.
Scene 5: Motorway. Man peers through windscreen. Strange lights ahead. Clock says 6:66 !!! Cue Psycho music. Man's mouth formed into silent scream. Screeching of car brakes, rending of tortured metal.
Cut to credits against background of flashing blue lights etc etc.
If you've read this far, it's probably too late; you're going to start waking up and noticing it's 4:44. Aaagghhh !
Sorry.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Social mobility
Guardian letters - 04 August 2009
For centuries this country has drawn on the ranks of the privileged when recruiting to top positions – only casting the net more widely when the demands of either empire or industry could not be met from the favoured source. Thus the increase in social mobility following the second world war was a direct consequence of post-war industrialisation, the technical demands of the cold war, the emergence of IT and so on.
Though social mobility appears to have been on the wane for 25 years or so, we seem only recently to have woken up to the fact. Could it be that there is some sort of link with the widespread loss of confidence in financial services, together with a growing awareness that, in responding to climate change, we face a scientific and engineering challenge of enormous magnitude?
I think we might see social mobility increase again, but I don't think it will owe much to Alan Milburn's report, however well-intentioned.
For centuries this country has drawn on the ranks of the privileged when recruiting to top positions – only casting the net more widely when the demands of either empire or industry could not be met from the favoured source. Thus the increase in social mobility following the second world war was a direct consequence of post-war industrialisation, the technical demands of the cold war, the emergence of IT and so on.
Though social mobility appears to have been on the wane for 25 years or so, we seem only recently to have woken up to the fact. Could it be that there is some sort of link with the widespread loss of confidence in financial services, together with a growing awareness that, in responding to climate change, we face a scientific and engineering challenge of enormous magnitude?
I think we might see social mobility increase again, but I don't think it will owe much to Alan Milburn's report, however well-intentioned.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Natural gardening
(The latest Wormwood column from Horsley's Over the Wall magazine)
As far as the garden is concerned, Mrs Wormwood and I are keen proponents of what is known as the Natural Look.
Let me stress right away however that the creation of a truly natural garden entails hours of research, planning and execution. Not everyone will have the time or interest to explore this highly-specialised activity.
Take the lawn for example. While most people content themselves with a flat, tightly-cropped surface comprising a single species such as a fine-bladed fescue, we opted instead for a more sophisticated, distressed finish in which a rich diversity of grasses and small flowering plants are interspersed with patches of bare earth. Starting with a conventional lawn, that in essence served as our blank canvas, transformation to the present mature state called for patient attention over a period of several years.
A similar degree of care has been lavished on the boundary wall of our property which is just nearing completion and in which we have explored a different set of ideas. Here the underlying theme is a crumbling stone wall over which a delicate filigree of ivy, brambles and goosegrass has been skillfully woven into a single rich mat. The effect we were striving for and which, without undue modesty, I believe we can claim some success in achieving, is reminiscent of the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites and in particular that great masterpiece of William Holman Hunt: Our English Coasts.
As far as the beds are concerned, we really let ourselves go here - playing with the idea of paired plants, in which individuals of one variety are set-off against a denser companion serving as a backdrop. Thus: foxgloves in a sea of nettles, comfrey bedded in ground elder and rose bay willow herb swaying gracefully over a cushion of chickweed.
As is the case with so many other areas of life, goals that are worth attaining don't come for free. To become a natural gardening expert calls for clarity of purpose and a willingness to let go of cherished patterns of behaviour.
'I think the idea sounds great' I hear you say, 'but I don't know how to take the first step.'
Well I've got great news for you and thousands of others like you: the Wormwood Wildgarden Workshop (www.www.com) - an intensive, hands-on tutorial that will teach you all you need to know about converting your own garden to the Natural Look.
Cost £50, Chairs provided. Bring a bottle.
As far as the garden is concerned, Mrs Wormwood and I are keen proponents of what is known as the Natural Look.
Let me stress right away however that the creation of a truly natural garden entails hours of research, planning and execution. Not everyone will have the time or interest to explore this highly-specialised activity.
Take the lawn for example. While most people content themselves with a flat, tightly-cropped surface comprising a single species such as a fine-bladed fescue, we opted instead for a more sophisticated, distressed finish in which a rich diversity of grasses and small flowering plants are interspersed with patches of bare earth. Starting with a conventional lawn, that in essence served as our blank canvas, transformation to the present mature state called for patient attention over a period of several years.
A similar degree of care has been lavished on the boundary wall of our property which is just nearing completion and in which we have explored a different set of ideas. Here the underlying theme is a crumbling stone wall over which a delicate filigree of ivy, brambles and goosegrass has been skillfully woven into a single rich mat. The effect we were striving for and which, without undue modesty, I believe we can claim some success in achieving, is reminiscent of the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites and in particular that great masterpiece of William Holman Hunt: Our English Coasts.
As far as the beds are concerned, we really let ourselves go here - playing with the idea of paired plants, in which individuals of one variety are set-off against a denser companion serving as a backdrop. Thus: foxgloves in a sea of nettles, comfrey bedded in ground elder and rose bay willow herb swaying gracefully over a cushion of chickweed.
As is the case with so many other areas of life, goals that are worth attaining don't come for free. To become a natural gardening expert calls for clarity of purpose and a willingness to let go of cherished patterns of behaviour.
'I think the idea sounds great' I hear you say, 'but I don't know how to take the first step.'
Well I've got great news for you and thousands of others like you: the Wormwood Wildgarden Workshop (www.www.com) - an intensive, hands-on tutorial that will teach you all you need to know about converting your own garden to the Natural Look.
Cost £50, Chairs provided. Bring a bottle.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Why I joined Greenpeace
These days, when buying coffee, I always reach for the Fairtrade brands. On an individual level, it's a ridiculously easy gesture. My hand wanders over the various labels; the prices aren't all that different and, as far as taste goes, well frankly I'm not sure I'm able to tell one brand of coffee from the next. So I choose the Fairtrade and notch myself up a tiny bit of moral credit. Multiplied a few million times however, small gestures can add up to a powerful economic force, encouraging sustainable agriculture and fairer rewards for growers - at least that's the idea. To be honest, I know very little about Fairtrade accreditation and how it's integrity is protected. I simply take it on trust. It's a similar story with the Soil Association, the Forestry Stewardship Council, the Marine Stewardship Council and so on.
And so this morning, I found myself putting my name to a standardised, pre-written email from Greenpeace urging shoe manufacturers to stop using leather sourced from Amazonian cattle farms. One part of me considered this a bit pathetic. After all, until this morning, I hadn't given the matter much thought and anyway, who's going to pay much attention to a thousand identical emails, each sent at the mere click of a mouse ?
My misgivings arose partly from conceit, from the thought that an educated person like myself should be capable of a more significant initiative, something along the lines of a finely-crafted letter that, through a combination of dazzling argument and heart-rending descriptive prose, would result in an immediate change of heart on the part of the recipient shoe manufacturing company (tears of repentance in the boardroom etc etc).
But that's to miss the point entirely.
Viewed in isolation, the decision to put one's name to an email (standardised or otherwise) is somewhat meaningless. Meaningless, that is, unless accompanied by an equally easy, yet highly meaningful commitment to exercise judgement in deciding which products we buy.
For collective action to be effective it must be focussed with laser-like intensity. Continue to do such and such and we won't buy your products; do so and so and we will. It is in orchestrating such collective behaviour by consumers, that campaigning organisations like Greenpeace appear to be most effective.
So I have joined Greenpeace and I'm content to put conceits to one side and to act with others in putting my name to their campaigns - well most of them, I imagine. That occupation of the Brent Spar oil rig, back in 1995, was a bit of a mistake I reckon. If sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic, as Shell originally proposed, it would have made a great artificial reef and wildlife sanctuary.
But then, I don't intend to surrender my personal judgement entirely.
And so this morning, I found myself putting my name to a standardised, pre-written email from Greenpeace urging shoe manufacturers to stop using leather sourced from Amazonian cattle farms. One part of me considered this a bit pathetic. After all, until this morning, I hadn't given the matter much thought and anyway, who's going to pay much attention to a thousand identical emails, each sent at the mere click of a mouse ?
My misgivings arose partly from conceit, from the thought that an educated person like myself should be capable of a more significant initiative, something along the lines of a finely-crafted letter that, through a combination of dazzling argument and heart-rending descriptive prose, would result in an immediate change of heart on the part of the recipient shoe manufacturing company (tears of repentance in the boardroom etc etc).
But that's to miss the point entirely.
Viewed in isolation, the decision to put one's name to an email (standardised or otherwise) is somewhat meaningless. Meaningless, that is, unless accompanied by an equally easy, yet highly meaningful commitment to exercise judgement in deciding which products we buy.
For collective action to be effective it must be focussed with laser-like intensity. Continue to do such and such and we won't buy your products; do so and so and we will. It is in orchestrating such collective behaviour by consumers, that campaigning organisations like Greenpeace appear to be most effective.
So I have joined Greenpeace and I'm content to put conceits to one side and to act with others in putting my name to their campaigns - well most of them, I imagine. That occupation of the Brent Spar oil rig, back in 1995, was a bit of a mistake I reckon. If sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic, as Shell originally proposed, it would have made a great artificial reef and wildlife sanctuary.
But then, I don't intend to surrender my personal judgement entirely.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Faith in natural justice restored (somewhat)
I promised myself I would leave off writing about Sir Fred Goodwin and his pension windfall. It tends to get boring after a time - a factor that has undoubtedly played a part in Sir Fred's own resolve to maintain an unbreakable clutch on the money.
All the same, on hearing recently that paparazzi are being offered large sums for photographs of Sir Fred enjoying his millions my interest was rekindled. What a wonderfully apt (if somewhat mild) form of retribution.
Go for it guys!
As for the public interest argument: I consider it entirely reasonable to see how our money is being spent.
All the same, on hearing recently that paparazzi are being offered large sums for photographs of Sir Fred enjoying his millions my interest was rekindled. What a wonderfully apt (if somewhat mild) form of retribution.
Go for it guys!
As for the public interest argument: I consider it entirely reasonable to see how our money is being spent.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Football
(Another piece from Horsley's Over the Wall magazine)
As far as football is concerned, everything began to go wrong for me around the age of nine.
We had just started playing football at school and had to provide our own boots. While my friends all turned up in flashy black and white footwear, newly available in the shops and known as Continentals, my mum decided to buy me a good, solid pair of brown leather boots of a style resembling a miner's boot with leather studs nailed to the bottom.
It was not long at all before I became aware that my boots had a name. My boots – as my friends were quick to point out – were of a type known as Old English. Just the job for kicking over dustbins, but distinctly limited when fancy footwork was called for.
For a while I was tolerated in the team for the knack I had of crippling the opposition. One nifty kick to the shins with my Old English was sufficient to bring the first-aid box out. But there was no getting away from it; from the day my mum bought me those boots my footballing days were doomed.
And worse than that: I failed somehow to develop into a normal, healthy football supporter.
Ask the football enthusiast to explain the meaning of life and you'll get a clear, concise and direct answer. Ask me the same question and I'd be forced to admit to you that I'm not absolutely sure. Shameful, I know - but true.
Many's the time I have envied my football-supporting friends. They live on an exhilarating rollercoaster of emotional extremes. For them, every winter Saturday culminates in either ecstatic happiness or bleak despair – whereas for me, one Saturday is very much like the next.
No, there's no escaping it: the person who is indifferent to football is a figure to be pitied.
So mums (and dads), when you take your child to buy their first pair of football boots, buy them the Mizuna Morelia - hand-stitched from genuine kangaroo leather and endorsed by some of the world's top goal-scorers. They may cost as much as a weekend for two in Paris but it's a small price to pay for your child's psychological wellbeing.
As far as football is concerned, everything began to go wrong for me around the age of nine.
We had just started playing football at school and had to provide our own boots. While my friends all turned up in flashy black and white footwear, newly available in the shops and known as Continentals, my mum decided to buy me a good, solid pair of brown leather boots of a style resembling a miner's boot with leather studs nailed to the bottom.
It was not long at all before I became aware that my boots had a name. My boots – as my friends were quick to point out – were of a type known as Old English. Just the job for kicking over dustbins, but distinctly limited when fancy footwork was called for.
For a while I was tolerated in the team for the knack I had of crippling the opposition. One nifty kick to the shins with my Old English was sufficient to bring the first-aid box out. But there was no getting away from it; from the day my mum bought me those boots my footballing days were doomed.
And worse than that: I failed somehow to develop into a normal, healthy football supporter.
Ask the football enthusiast to explain the meaning of life and you'll get a clear, concise and direct answer. Ask me the same question and I'd be forced to admit to you that I'm not absolutely sure. Shameful, I know - but true.
Many's the time I have envied my football-supporting friends. They live on an exhilarating rollercoaster of emotional extremes. For them, every winter Saturday culminates in either ecstatic happiness or bleak despair – whereas for me, one Saturday is very much like the next.
No, there's no escaping it: the person who is indifferent to football is a figure to be pitied.
So mums (and dads), when you take your child to buy their first pair of football boots, buy them the Mizuna Morelia - hand-stitched from genuine kangaroo leather and endorsed by some of the world's top goal-scorers. They may cost as much as a weekend for two in Paris but it's a small price to pay for your child's psychological wellbeing.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Bottomless pit
There were a lot of abandoned mineshafts around where I grew up in the north of England - chilling vertical holes, lined with millstone grit and quite often completely unprotected by the usual fences and skull and crossbones signs.
Being of a somewhat philosophical frame of mind, I found it difficult to resist peering cautiously down into the inky depths while terrifying myself with the thought of how very easy it would be to pitch myself in. Far better to lob down a sizeable rock and count the seconds before it hit the bottom with echoes either of deep water or the sharp crack of shattered stone. The depth of the shaft was then readily calculated by means of the familiar formula: depth (in feet) equals 16 times the delay (in seconds) squared.
Except that occasionally there was no sound from the bottom but only a succession of ever feinter scrapes as the plunging rock grazed the shaft walls. The inescapable conclusion was that these were bottomless pits and it was a good idea to move on and, above all, to resist any further thoughts of having a second look down.
Come to think of it, bottomless pits seemed to feature quite strongly in my boyish imagination. Of course, the real explanation was that the stone had simply thudded softly and inaudibly into the pile of dead sheep and old mattresses at the bottom of the hole.
Anyone who's tried writing a blog will immediately know what I'm talking about ...
Being of a somewhat philosophical frame of mind, I found it difficult to resist peering cautiously down into the inky depths while terrifying myself with the thought of how very easy it would be to pitch myself in. Far better to lob down a sizeable rock and count the seconds before it hit the bottom with echoes either of deep water or the sharp crack of shattered stone. The depth of the shaft was then readily calculated by means of the familiar formula: depth (in feet) equals 16 times the delay (in seconds) squared.
Except that occasionally there was no sound from the bottom but only a succession of ever feinter scrapes as the plunging rock grazed the shaft walls. The inescapable conclusion was that these were bottomless pits and it was a good idea to move on and, above all, to resist any further thoughts of having a second look down.
Come to think of it, bottomless pits seemed to feature quite strongly in my boyish imagination. Of course, the real explanation was that the stone had simply thudded softly and inaudibly into the pile of dead sheep and old mattresses at the bottom of the hole.
Anyone who's tried writing a blog will immediately know what I'm talking about ...
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Seeds of corruption
It is commonly accepted that society works largely by consent. Though we have laws to regulate how we treat one another, the myriad of transactions that people engage in on a daily basis are conducted, for the most part, in a spirit of trust. It's not that dificult to imagine the state we'd be in if everyone acted with unrestrained selfishness and suspicion. Mercifully, as it turns out, most people are prepared to work conscientously in exchange for reasonable rewards and to treat other people much as they'd like to be treated themselves.
This is what is so damaging about the news of Sir Fred Goodwin's £650,000 annual pension: it is an injustice so flagrant, an insult of such obscene proportions that it has the capacity to serve as the definitive outrage for hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of ordinary people.
To argue daintily about contractual obligations and so on is - frankly - to miss the point, as the core issue is the glaring discrepancy between the simple facts as they have been revealed and any sort of rational and just basis for human society.
This has become a big story now and one that I believe the government should take very seriously. The true, long-term cost of this scandal is likely to dwarf Sir Fred's pension pot (£16,000,000) which - let's admit it anyway - is peanuts compared with the losses (£24,000,000,000) incurred by RBS under Sir Fred's stewardship.
If I were a car-worker threatened with redundancy, a postal-worker about about to be privatised on the brink of an economic depression or someone trying to steer a small business through a cash-flow crisis, I'd be tempted to view the whole Fred Goodwin debacle as giving me carte-blanche to do whatever I consider would best serve my own selfish interests - and God help us all, if that should come to be the common view.
This is what is so damaging about the news of Sir Fred Goodwin's £650,000 annual pension: it is an injustice so flagrant, an insult of such obscene proportions that it has the capacity to serve as the definitive outrage for hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of ordinary people.
To argue daintily about contractual obligations and so on is - frankly - to miss the point, as the core issue is the glaring discrepancy between the simple facts as they have been revealed and any sort of rational and just basis for human society.
This has become a big story now and one that I believe the government should take very seriously. The true, long-term cost of this scandal is likely to dwarf Sir Fred's pension pot (£16,000,000) which - let's admit it anyway - is peanuts compared with the losses (£24,000,000,000) incurred by RBS under Sir Fred's stewardship.
If I were a car-worker threatened with redundancy, a postal-worker about about to be privatised on the brink of an economic depression or someone trying to steer a small business through a cash-flow crisis, I'd be tempted to view the whole Fred Goodwin debacle as giving me carte-blanche to do whatever I consider would best serve my own selfish interests - and God help us all, if that should come to be the common view.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
SuperDrugs
Clearly the Home Office is in something of a dilemma when it comes to the classification of ecstasy. Downgrade it to class B - as the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs recommends - and they'll be accused of sending the wrong message to the semi-moronic underclass they clearly think makes up the younger portion of the electorate. Leave it in class A, alongside heroine and crack cocaine and they'll end up looking like some sort of hysterical supernanny.
Allow me to make a suggestion: leave ecstasy in in Class A but move all the other substances currently in class A into a brand new class - class A-star or triple-A+ or whatever. (They understand this kind of thing in India incidentally, where hotel lobbies etc routinely designate certain areas as reserved for VVIPs; or in Spinal Tap with the amplifiers that turn up to 11 - for that EXTRA li'l bit - know wha' a mean?).
Keep making everything more and more evil - that's the right message; that's the sort of language people understand.
Allow me to make a suggestion: leave ecstasy in in Class A but move all the other substances currently in class A into a brand new class - class A-star or triple-A+ or whatever. (They understand this kind of thing in India incidentally, where hotel lobbies etc routinely designate certain areas as reserved for VVIPs; or in Spinal Tap with the amplifiers that turn up to 11 - for that EXTRA li'l bit - know wha' a mean?).
Keep making everything more and more evil - that's the right message; that's the sort of language people understand.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Why bankers need bonuses
At today's meeting of the Treasury Committee former Royal Bank of Scotland chief executive, Sir Fred Goodwin said (in defence of bonuses) that if bankers felt they were not paid enough, they would leave.
Yes ... ? So .... ?
Yes ... ? So .... ?
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Respect the Geek
Though I don't exactly consider myself a geek, I have to confess to certain tendencies in that direction.
I don't believe I could have spent the last 25 years of my life writing computer programs AND considered it fun for more than 50% of the time AND chosen to use this sort of language to register these facts, were it not for the likelihood that, when it comes to my place on the autistic spectrum, I turn out to be somewhere near the blue end.
All the same, when it comes to geeks, I'm nothing special. It's true, I enjoy mathematical puzzles, I have a small stamp collection and read tool catalogues but I also like paintings and other forms of art and have been known, at times, to hold strong political views. Being only a minor geek; being merely ... geekish, I think of myself as a kind of channel between the two worlds: the geek world - the world of knowledge, of delight in detail, discipline (in the monkish sense) and uncomplicated friendships and the other one, the world that most people seem to want to belong to - the world of flamboyance, fluffiness, studied-incompetence and clumsily-constructed explanations.
Of course, it's common knowledge that geeks score very highly when it comes to complicated technical matters. Such things could be said to constitute their principle source of pleasure - which is fortunate for the rest of us, as it should be clear by now that it's the geeks who are keeping the whole show on the road. You only have to think for a short while about what keeps the electricity on, your mobile phone working, about having at television AT ALL, to realise that neither you, nor anyone else you know has the faintest inkling about how it all fits together.
You might expect the geek to demand a very high level of reward for carrying out these critically important functions, but you'd be mistaken. A liberal dress-code, freedom from petty distractions and a plentiful supply of pizzas are generally sufficient to keep things ticking along. And while honours and public acclaim might seem entirely reasonable expectations - to the geek sensibility, simple acknowledgment of the true state of things would be recognition enough.
Sadly, even the most modest level of respect is rarely forthcoming. It's as if awareness of the fact that our daily existence rests in the hands of train-spotters and dungeon-quest experts is too much to take on board - with the consequence that geeks are all to often the object of derision; their harmless enthusiasms riculed, their awkwardness in social situations mercilessly mocked.
This would all be terribly sad were it not for the fact that geeks have a characteristically geekish way of getting their own back. It draws on a shared, esoteric knowledge of a geek sacred text - Douglas Adams: A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Amongst other tales, the book recounts how the inhabitants of the planet Golgafrincham, on resolving to rid themselves of a third of their population they consider completely useless, concoct a story that the planet is shortly to be destroyed in a great catastrophe. They persuade all the hairdressers, insurance salesmen, personnel officers, management consultants, telephone sanitisers and hedge-fund managers to board the B-Ark - one of three giant Ark spaceships - and promise them that everyone else will follow shortly in the other two.
And so it was that in the various offices and research centres where I spent a good slice of my life engaged in geekish pursuits, the unwelcome interference of opinionated, self-important people would be met by a knowing exchange of glances and by the quiet intonation of the simple mantra ..... B-Ark.
I don't believe I could have spent the last 25 years of my life writing computer programs AND considered it fun for more than 50% of the time AND chosen to use this sort of language to register these facts, were it not for the likelihood that, when it comes to my place on the autistic spectrum, I turn out to be somewhere near the blue end.
All the same, when it comes to geeks, I'm nothing special. It's true, I enjoy mathematical puzzles, I have a small stamp collection and read tool catalogues but I also like paintings and other forms of art and have been known, at times, to hold strong political views. Being only a minor geek; being merely ... geekish, I think of myself as a kind of channel between the two worlds: the geek world - the world of knowledge, of delight in detail, discipline (in the monkish sense) and uncomplicated friendships and the other one, the world that most people seem to want to belong to - the world of flamboyance, fluffiness, studied-incompetence and clumsily-constructed explanations.
Of course, it's common knowledge that geeks score very highly when it comes to complicated technical matters. Such things could be said to constitute their principle source of pleasure - which is fortunate for the rest of us, as it should be clear by now that it's the geeks who are keeping the whole show on the road. You only have to think for a short while about what keeps the electricity on, your mobile phone working, about having at television AT ALL, to realise that neither you, nor anyone else you know has the faintest inkling about how it all fits together.
You might expect the geek to demand a very high level of reward for carrying out these critically important functions, but you'd be mistaken. A liberal dress-code, freedom from petty distractions and a plentiful supply of pizzas are generally sufficient to keep things ticking along. And while honours and public acclaim might seem entirely reasonable expectations - to the geek sensibility, simple acknowledgment of the true state of things would be recognition enough.
Sadly, even the most modest level of respect is rarely forthcoming. It's as if awareness of the fact that our daily existence rests in the hands of train-spotters and dungeon-quest experts is too much to take on board - with the consequence that geeks are all to often the object of derision; their harmless enthusiasms riculed, their awkwardness in social situations mercilessly mocked.
This would all be terribly sad were it not for the fact that geeks have a characteristically geekish way of getting their own back. It draws on a shared, esoteric knowledge of a geek sacred text - Douglas Adams: A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Amongst other tales, the book recounts how the inhabitants of the planet Golgafrincham, on resolving to rid themselves of a third of their population they consider completely useless, concoct a story that the planet is shortly to be destroyed in a great catastrophe. They persuade all the hairdressers, insurance salesmen, personnel officers, management consultants, telephone sanitisers and hedge-fund managers to board the B-Ark - one of three giant Ark spaceships - and promise them that everyone else will follow shortly in the other two.
And so it was that in the various offices and research centres where I spent a good slice of my life engaged in geekish pursuits, the unwelcome interference of opinionated, self-important people would be met by a knowing exchange of glances and by the quiet intonation of the simple mantra ..... B-Ark.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Obscene bonuses
As far as the payment of bonuses to bankers is concerned, I am a lot less bothered by the thought of someone being able to afford themselves a private ski lodge in Aspen, Colorado than I am by the principle of rewarding failure. The thought that the money I have recently paid in taxes might contribute to paying an ill-deserved bonus to someone whose only noteworthy qualities are in the self-esteem department is a real annoyance. However, the really pernicious thing about city bonuses is that they have incentivised destructive behaviour - behaviour that under a more rational assessment would be considered perverse and ill-judged.
For the heart of the financial system to have been compromised to the extent that is has been over the past two decades almost beggars belief. To argue that to continue to reward failure is somehow justifiable on the grounds that it is necessary to retain and motivate the best people would be laughable if it weren't simultaneously reckless.
There's nothing inherently wrong with paying large rewards - but banks should be absolutely clear as to exactly what it is they are rewarding.
For the heart of the financial system to have been compromised to the extent that is has been over the past two decades almost beggars belief. To argue that to continue to reward failure is somehow justifiable on the grounds that it is necessary to retain and motivate the best people would be laughable if it weren't simultaneously reckless.
There's nothing inherently wrong with paying large rewards - but banks should be absolutely clear as to exactly what it is they are rewarding.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Luxury Trends
I was shocked yesterday to read of the decline in sales of luxury handbags.
We might be going through a bit of a sticky patch at the moment, but when all is said and done, we're talking about handbags for goodness sake - not luxury yachts. You can't tell me that the sort of person who was prepared to pay £11,000 for a Burberry handbag last year is any poorer today - or at least not in any way that makes sense to the rest of us.
No - there's something else going on here. I suspect the reason for the decline - and it's not just handbags. Apparently the blight extends to watches, haute couture, lamborghinis and so on - is that it's no longer quite 'cool' to be seen flaunting this kind of stuff. On a more day-to-day level - who hasn't glanced at the suddenly ridiculous 4x4 in the supermarket car park - all smoked-glass and bull-bars - and quietly thought: 'Loser!'
Incidentally, while researching this piece, I came across the web page of something called The Luxury Institute - www.luxuryinstitute.com
(motto: The Knowledge of Luxury, the Luxury of Knowledge)
to read that: 'As the luxury industry enters 2009, some luxury executives look like deer caught in the headlights.' Lovely touch that - how, even in metaphor the luxury executive feels compelled to enlist the help of a superior animal. Rabbits in the headlights might be good enough for the rest of us but for the luxury executive only the finest deer will suffice.
I can't resist just one further quote from this priceless web site:
'... we now also expect many discredited Wall Street executives to turn a new leaf in an effort to save family legacies and reputations and get into the high-end philanthropy game (my emphasis). It's not much fun for kids to have the wealthiest parents in private school when everyone knows they made their money in a Ponzi scheme that brought the world economy to its knees.'
Quite. I couldn't agree more; it must be absolutely frightful for them.
So brace yourselves for photo shoots of celebrities, dressed in the latest recycled clothing, doing a stint on the soup kitchen:
'In times like these, we must all share the pain, blah blah.'
That should serve to set the overall tone. The wannabes will follow.
We might be going through a bit of a sticky patch at the moment, but when all is said and done, we're talking about handbags for goodness sake - not luxury yachts. You can't tell me that the sort of person who was prepared to pay £11,000 for a Burberry handbag last year is any poorer today - or at least not in any way that makes sense to the rest of us.
No - there's something else going on here. I suspect the reason for the decline - and it's not just handbags. Apparently the blight extends to watches, haute couture, lamborghinis and so on - is that it's no longer quite 'cool' to be seen flaunting this kind of stuff. On a more day-to-day level - who hasn't glanced at the suddenly ridiculous 4x4 in the supermarket car park - all smoked-glass and bull-bars - and quietly thought: 'Loser!'
Incidentally, while researching this piece, I came across the web page of something called The Luxury Institute - www.luxuryinstitute.com
(motto: The Knowledge of Luxury, the Luxury of Knowledge)
to read that: 'As the luxury industry enters 2009, some luxury executives look like deer caught in the headlights.' Lovely touch that - how, even in metaphor the luxury executive feels compelled to enlist the help of a superior animal. Rabbits in the headlights might be good enough for the rest of us but for the luxury executive only the finest deer will suffice.
I can't resist just one further quote from this priceless web site:
'... we now also expect many discredited Wall Street executives to turn a new leaf in an effort to save family legacies and reputations and get into the high-end philanthropy game (my emphasis). It's not much fun for kids to have the wealthiest parents in private school when everyone knows they made their money in a Ponzi scheme that brought the world economy to its knees.'
Quite. I couldn't agree more; it must be absolutely frightful for them.
So brace yourselves for photo shoots of celebrities, dressed in the latest recycled clothing, doing a stint on the soup kitchen:
'In times like these, we must all share the pain, blah blah.'
That should serve to set the overall tone. The wannabes will follow.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Pin-striped pair of heels
I have to sympathise with BA's Director of Operations, Gareth Kirkwood. As the man responsible for the current chaos at Terminal 5, he has some serious explaining to do. At best he faces a serious dressing-down from his boss. At worst - and it hardly bears thinking about - he might see his annual bonus reduced. Though, come to think of it, this might be interpreted as an acknowledgement that he is in some way responsible for the fiasco - a course of action that might spiral completely out of control.
No - Gareth's bonus is probably safe. I imagine it was probably the check-in staff and baggage handlers who screwed up.
No - Gareth's bonus is probably safe. I imagine it was probably the check-in staff and baggage handlers who screwed up.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Binge drinking and the price of alcohol
The thing that most persuades me of the link between binge drinking and the price of alcohol is the fact that the drinks industry is so consistent and vociferous in denying any such link exists.
To quote Paul Walsh, CEO of Diageo, speaking on the Radio4 Today programme (14 Feb 2008):
"... there's no evidence in our sector that higher prices dampen consumption."
The facts could not be further from the truth; study after study suggests a very clear and direct link. What's more, sensitivity to price increases tends to be greatest amongst young people.
For specific details of the research, take a look at New Scientist magazine, 21 August, 2004.
The reaction of the drinks industry to this growing mountain of evidence is perhaps best described as one of 'brazen denial' - and it doesn't take a great deal of imagination to grasp the chain of reasoning: increasing taxes on alcohol is very likely to result in both reduced consumption - and profits.
All the same, it's a little more difficult to understand why the government consistently chooses to sing from the same songsheet as the drinks industry. These are our children, whose lives are being destroyed and it's time we called our elected representatives to account.
To quote Paul Walsh, CEO of Diageo, speaking on the Radio4 Today programme (14 Feb 2008):
"... there's no evidence in our sector that higher prices dampen consumption."
The facts could not be further from the truth; study after study suggests a very clear and direct link. What's more, sensitivity to price increases tends to be greatest amongst young people.
For specific details of the research, take a look at New Scientist magazine, 21 August, 2004.
The reaction of the drinks industry to this growing mountain of evidence is perhaps best described as one of 'brazen denial' - and it doesn't take a great deal of imagination to grasp the chain of reasoning: increasing taxes on alcohol is very likely to result in both reduced consumption - and profits.
All the same, it's a little more difficult to understand why the government consistently chooses to sing from the same songsheet as the drinks industry. These are our children, whose lives are being destroyed and it's time we called our elected representatives to account.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
More from Over the Wall
In response to massive and insistent popular demand I have been persuaded to release a further piece from Horsley's popular Over The Wall magazine. This one dates from July, 2006: (names have been changed to protect identities)
Nowadays it seems that just about everyone has 'a great idea for a web site'.
It's pathetic. I mean to say - who do they think they're fooling?
Now Omnivorist - on the other hand - has a truly great idea for a web site.
Brace yourselves, fellow villagers, to be the first to hear about:
www.itsthethoughtthatcounts.com
As a client of this bold and truly unique enterprise, you simply register (for a small fee) the names, addresses and dates of birth of your dearest friends and relatives, together with a short psychological profile of each. And, having done that, you just sit back and leave everything else to us.
We will commit to sending greeting cards and gifts, on your behalf, to all registered individuals at appropriate times throughout the year.
No more worries about missing the birthdays of obscure nephews. Banished: the purgatory of the Christmas card list. Gone: the fear of waking up in a cold sweat with the realisation that you have overlooked your own 10th wedding anniversary.
We at www.itsthethoughtthatcounts.com will look after everything.
All cards will bear a personal message written in a hand indistinguishable from your own. Gifts will be selected to delight or dismay the recipient, in accordance with your confidential wishes. We'll even forward you a picture of the ghastly tie you have just 'sent' to Uncle Norman.
When it comes to Christmas cards, why not surprise your friends with that 'hand-made' ("Oh my God, how do they find the time?") look. Courtesy of our affiliates in the Philippines, we offer two separate styles at very reasonable rates:
Option 1: Infant school 'pathetic'. Glued pasta and glitter.
Option 2: 'Sensitive, enigmatic'. Frayed linen, dried leaves, etc.
A modest additional monthly charge will bring you the benefits of our five-star service, including:
Flowers seemingly personally delivered (inexpertly wrapped, left on doorstep in the rain)
Other people's wedding anniversaries (clients will be required to undergo a short counselling session prior to selecting this option)
Gifts incorporating references to shared experiences (e.g. "How well I recall the wonderful spring we spent together in Budapest!")
Valentine cards with authentic 'tell-tale' postmark.
Easter bunny service.
Of course, it might all come horribly unstuck - but hopefully, by that time, I will be well away.
Nowadays it seems that just about everyone has 'a great idea for a web site'.
It's pathetic. I mean to say - who do they think they're fooling?
Now Omnivorist - on the other hand - has a truly great idea for a web site.
Brace yourselves, fellow villagers, to be the first to hear about:
www.itsthethoughtthatcounts.com
As a client of this bold and truly unique enterprise, you simply register (for a small fee) the names, addresses and dates of birth of your dearest friends and relatives, together with a short psychological profile of each. And, having done that, you just sit back and leave everything else to us.
We will commit to sending greeting cards and gifts, on your behalf, to all registered individuals at appropriate times throughout the year.
No more worries about missing the birthdays of obscure nephews. Banished: the purgatory of the Christmas card list. Gone: the fear of waking up in a cold sweat with the realisation that you have overlooked your own 10th wedding anniversary.
We at www.itsthethoughtthatcounts.com will look after everything.
All cards will bear a personal message written in a hand indistinguishable from your own. Gifts will be selected to delight or dismay the recipient, in accordance with your confidential wishes. We'll even forward you a picture of the ghastly tie you have just 'sent' to Uncle Norman.
When it comes to Christmas cards, why not surprise your friends with that 'hand-made' ("Oh my God, how do they find the time?") look. Courtesy of our affiliates in the Philippines, we offer two separate styles at very reasonable rates:
Option 1: Infant school 'pathetic'. Glued pasta and glitter.
Option 2: 'Sensitive, enigmatic'. Frayed linen, dried leaves, etc.
A modest additional monthly charge will bring you the benefits of our five-star service, including:
Flowers seemingly personally delivered (inexpertly wrapped, left on doorstep in the rain)
Other people's wedding anniversaries (clients will be required to undergo a short counselling session prior to selecting this option)
Gifts incorporating references to shared experiences (e.g. "How well I recall the wonderful spring we spent together in Budapest!")
Valentine cards with authentic 'tell-tale' postmark.
Easter bunny service.
Of course, it might all come horribly unstuck - but hopefully, by that time, I will be well away.
Local politics
It's election time here in Horsley and it seems the Green party candidate has a real chance of being elected to the local council - having come within a whisker of taking the seat from the Conservative the last time round.
There's only one small problem - a good proportion of people who might have been relied upon to vote Green are off on holiday at their second homes in Tuscany and Provence.
Maybe ultimately it doesn't matter too much. The wealthy and privileged sectors of society (within which I place myself, I should add) have never been very good at initiating massive social and technological change. And if we are to survive the imminent change in climate with anything like our present way of life, enormous adaptations will surely be necessary.
No, I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that, whatever the Guardian weekend might say on the matter - when it comes to living a green lifestyle, limited resources and a general lack of opportunity both make for a pretty good starting point.
There's only one small problem - a good proportion of people who might have been relied upon to vote Green are off on holiday at their second homes in Tuscany and Provence.
Maybe ultimately it doesn't matter too much. The wealthy and privileged sectors of society (within which I place myself, I should add) have never been very good at initiating massive social and technological change. And if we are to survive the imminent change in climate with anything like our present way of life, enormous adaptations will surely be necessary.
No, I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that, whatever the Guardian weekend might say on the matter - when it comes to living a green lifestyle, limited resources and a general lack of opportunity both make for a pretty good starting point.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Ian McMillan
Just watched (a recording of) the South Bank Show on the Bard of Barnsley (Ian McMillan).
I'm grateful to him for reminding me of the miner's strike.
In my lunchbreak from my computer job I went down and gave money to the relief fund. Not on-line of course - but in person.
All the same, I remember thinking at the time that when all was said and done, maybe the old ways were at an end; that despite all those arguments about the competitiveness of the coal industry, it was all over and we better get used to the idea. To that extent, I was complicit in the outcome.
Now, looking back, I see things differently - or let's say, I view things more broadly. While recognising the way the 'tide of history was running', I find myself picturing the generations of miners who toiled underground to fuel the building of the empire; powering the blast furnaces and filling the coal bunkers of the dreadnoughts.
Their immense contribution to the wealth of this country is rarely acknowledged.
They've been set aside.
Of their lives and the rich communities they created only the faintest echoes remain.
I'm grateful to him for reminding me of the miner's strike.
In my lunchbreak from my computer job I went down and gave money to the relief fund. Not on-line of course - but in person.
All the same, I remember thinking at the time that when all was said and done, maybe the old ways were at an end; that despite all those arguments about the competitiveness of the coal industry, it was all over and we better get used to the idea. To that extent, I was complicit in the outcome.
Now, looking back, I see things differently - or let's say, I view things more broadly. While recognising the way the 'tide of history was running', I find myself picturing the generations of miners who toiled underground to fuel the building of the empire; powering the blast furnaces and filling the coal bunkers of the dreadnoughts.
Their immense contribution to the wealth of this country is rarely acknowledged.
They've been set aside.
Of their lives and the rich communities they created only the faintest echoes remain.
Bowsers
I had no idea what a bowser was until last weekend.
I've just been watching TV pictures of people queuing
for water - most of them appeared fairly disadvantaged
to me. I know this might seem cruel or patronising but
I couldn't avoid the impression.
In Stroud (my local town) there was a report of young
toffs come down from the higher ground to ride jet skis
around the flooded streets, while people were fighting
to barricade their homes against the flood water.
Surely this can't be true. Tell me it's an urban myth.
I've just been watching TV pictures of people queuing
for water - most of them appeared fairly disadvantaged
to me. I know this might seem cruel or patronising but
I couldn't avoid the impression.
In Stroud (my local town) there was a report of young
toffs come down from the higher ground to ride jet skis
around the flooded streets, while people were fighting
to barricade their homes against the flood water.
Surely this can't be true. Tell me it's an urban myth.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Building on flood plains
If we have to build houses on flood plains - and it appears there are persuasive arguments for doing so - we should at least make them capable of 'riding-out' the sort of regular flooding expected over the coming years.
If houses were designed to stand clear of flood water, we might learn to see flooding as an inconvenience, rather than the disaster we are currently enduring.
If houses were designed to stand clear of flood water, we might learn to see flooding as an inconvenience, rather than the disaster we are currently enduring.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Housing crisis
There is a lot of talk about the crisis in housing but very little discussion of what must surely be a major factor - namely the price of land.
Let's just imagine that the government were to introduce a 2007 Town and Country Planning Act in which, at the stroke of a legislative pen, they made an enormous amount of land available for housing development. Wouldn't this be a relatively straightforward matter? Aren't there many areas of land that are unsuited to agricultural development that could be made available for building homes?
Of course, an increase in the availability of land such as I envisage would undoubtedly lead to a dramatic fall in land values and there are many powerful interests who would oppose this. All the same, it seems to me that to attempt to address the problem faced by so many people today - namely the impossibility of creating a home of their own - without confronting the factors that support the current astronomical price of land, is to ignore the fundamental issue.
Or am I missing something here?
Let's just imagine that the government were to introduce a 2007 Town and Country Planning Act in which, at the stroke of a legislative pen, they made an enormous amount of land available for housing development. Wouldn't this be a relatively straightforward matter? Aren't there many areas of land that are unsuited to agricultural development that could be made available for building homes?
Of course, an increase in the availability of land such as I envisage would undoubtedly lead to a dramatic fall in land values and there are many powerful interests who would oppose this. All the same, it seems to me that to attempt to address the problem faced by so many people today - namely the impossibility of creating a home of their own - without confronting the factors that support the current astronomical price of land, is to ignore the fundamental issue.
Or am I missing something here?
Saturday, May 12, 2007
The Cambridge University Underwater Exploration Group
A letter landed on the mat this morning inviting me to the 50th anniversary reunion of the Cambridge University Underwater Exploration Group and I found my thoughts drifting back across the years to the days when I was briefly numbered amongst its members.
Not for us the modern buoyancy compensator, balanced-piston regulator, or semi-closed rebreather. No - a pair of waxed canvas trousers, lead boots and an inflated sheeps bladder was all we needed to explore the watery domain.
But joking aside, I vividly recall my first (and nearly last) open-water dive with the CUUEG. Dropping off the edge of an inflatable dinghy, off Mousehole in Cornwall, I sank like a stone to a depth of 30 metres. After crawling around in the kelp for a while, we came up again - which I remember enjoying on account of the feeling of floating in a bright void.
Later in the week one of our instructors had the opportunity to spend a couple of days inside a naval recompression chamber. I later discovered that his status as an instructor amounted to the fact that he had survived the previous year's trip AND that he had decided to repeat the experience.
I didn't dive again for 25 years.
Though I won't be attending the 50th anniversary celebrations, I extend my heartfelt greetings to fellow survivors.
I'm sure it's all very different nowadays.
Not for us the modern buoyancy compensator, balanced-piston regulator, or semi-closed rebreather. No - a pair of waxed canvas trousers, lead boots and an inflated sheeps bladder was all we needed to explore the watery domain.
But joking aside, I vividly recall my first (and nearly last) open-water dive with the CUUEG. Dropping off the edge of an inflatable dinghy, off Mousehole in Cornwall, I sank like a stone to a depth of 30 metres. After crawling around in the kelp for a while, we came up again - which I remember enjoying on account of the feeling of floating in a bright void.
Later in the week one of our instructors had the opportunity to spend a couple of days inside a naval recompression chamber. I later discovered that his status as an instructor amounted to the fact that he had survived the previous year's trip AND that he had decided to repeat the experience.
I didn't dive again for 25 years.
Though I won't be attending the 50th anniversary celebrations, I extend my heartfelt greetings to fellow survivors.
I'm sure it's all very different nowadays.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Blogger's block
OK - so let's try again.
This time - instead of attempting to write minor pieces of literature, witticisms etc. on which I might be judged in this life (or by posterity) - I'll simply record stuff that occurs to me day to day. I guess that's what a blog is meant to be about, after all.
Don't go away.
This time - instead of attempting to write minor pieces of literature, witticisms etc. on which I might be judged in this life (or by posterity) - I'll simply record stuff that occurs to me day to day. I guess that's what a blog is meant to be about, after all.
Don't go away.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Idea #2: Slugs - a fortune at our feet
Never one to pass up the prospect of fame and fortune, Omnivorist has been investigating an unlikely source of nature's bounty - slugs and snails.
I hear shouts of "Why not include puppy dogs' tails, while you're at it?"
To which I can only reply, "Don't be ridiculous. If you're not going to take this seriously I'll stop right now."
No - the first inkling of this vast untapped economic resource first occurred to me while walking in the mountains of Northern Spain. At a certain point in my route, while passing through a sheltered valley, I noticed the path was alive with enormous slugs - the colour and size of bananas.
"If one were to harvest these", I thought. "You could slice them thinly and flash fry them in olive oil. They'd make a delicious, organic alternative to crisps."
What to call them - that was the main problem. Slug Slices had the virtue of accuracy but seemed - in some indefinable way - to be not quite right. It was when a friend ventured the suggestion: Nature Bites that we knew we were onto a winner.
But fate was to snatch good fortune from my grasp; I could never find my way back to that valley. Despite wandering the mountain passes for months on end, my quest was to prove hopeless.
Back home once again, I found myself pondering the potential of our common or garden slug, but it was no use, however hard I tried to persuade myself, they were too small to make the kind of snack I had in mind.
I had been toying absentmindedly with 2 or 3 larger specimens and was washing my hands when the thought struck me:
"This stuff must be more slippery than just about anything else in the world and what's more - it takes some getting off."
What better illustration of how, in the presence of genius, the dull commonplace can be transformed - as if by magic - into shining inspiration.
Slug slime is the perfect lubricant.
Initial trials have proved extremely promising and I even have a name for the final product - Glide.
It should only be a matter of weeks before you see it in your local pharmacy.
(This piece was first published in the Horsley Village magazine - Over the Wall)
I hear shouts of "Why not include puppy dogs' tails, while you're at it?"
To which I can only reply, "Don't be ridiculous. If you're not going to take this seriously I'll stop right now."
No - the first inkling of this vast untapped economic resource first occurred to me while walking in the mountains of Northern Spain. At a certain point in my route, while passing through a sheltered valley, I noticed the path was alive with enormous slugs - the colour and size of bananas.
"If one were to harvest these", I thought. "You could slice them thinly and flash fry them in olive oil. They'd make a delicious, organic alternative to crisps."
What to call them - that was the main problem. Slug Slices had the virtue of accuracy but seemed - in some indefinable way - to be not quite right. It was when a friend ventured the suggestion: Nature Bites that we knew we were onto a winner.
But fate was to snatch good fortune from my grasp; I could never find my way back to that valley. Despite wandering the mountain passes for months on end, my quest was to prove hopeless.
Back home once again, I found myself pondering the potential of our common or garden slug, but it was no use, however hard I tried to persuade myself, they were too small to make the kind of snack I had in mind.
I had been toying absentmindedly with 2 or 3 larger specimens and was washing my hands when the thought struck me:
"This stuff must be more slippery than just about anything else in the world and what's more - it takes some getting off."
What better illustration of how, in the presence of genius, the dull commonplace can be transformed - as if by magic - into shining inspiration.
Slug slime is the perfect lubricant.
Initial trials have proved extremely promising and I even have a name for the final product - Glide.
It should only be a matter of weeks before you see it in your local pharmacy.
(This piece was first published in the Horsley Village magazine - Over the Wall)
Friday, June 30, 2006
Idea #1: Get-Up Grenade
This is an idea for a simple gadget designed to appeal to parents of teenage children. The get-up grenade is the size and shape of a small ball and can be charged either by connecting to a transformer or by winding-up an internal spring. Once armed in this way it is triggered by pressing a small button flush with the surface
When the time comes to get ready for school, the busy parent simply opens the teenager's bedroom door and tosses in a get-up grenade - preferably rolling it under the bed or similar, awkward location. After a short delay (5 seconds seems about right) the grenade goes off with a loud, high-pitched sound which can be stopped by a second press of the button.
For parents with several children, we envisage the product being offered as a set of five, together with an attractive, purpose-made bandolier.
This idea may be freely exploited without restriction (see earlier posting)
When the time comes to get ready for school, the busy parent simply opens the teenager's bedroom door and tosses in a get-up grenade - preferably rolling it under the bed or similar, awkward location. After a short delay (5 seconds seems about right) the grenade goes off with a loud, high-pitched sound which can be stopped by a second press of the button.
For parents with several children, we envisage the product being offered as a set of five, together with an attractive, purpose-made bandolier.
This idea may be freely exploited without restriction (see earlier posting)
Monday, June 26, 2006
Intellectual Property 1
Intellectual property - it's an appealing concept. You have a brilliant idea for an invention, you patent it, to protect it from being stolen and then try to persuade others - backers and investors - to lend you the money to bring it to market. After that, it's a matter of waiting for the millions to roll in.
Except, of course, it's not quite as easy as that. Even if you have the resources and persistence to patent your invention, it does not prevent it from being exploited by determined competitors. And unless you are willing to devote your entire time to seeing your invention brought to realisation and defending it against infringement, the patent itself will prove to be of little value.
For large corporations it is a different matter, of course. With the resources to hire armies of skilled patent agents and lawyers, companies - and technology companies in particular - commonly patent everything in sight. The principle of intellectual property has become a weapon in big wars fought for very high stakes.
But there's a twist. A patent cannot be granted if the idea has been disclosed prior to the application. If you - as the originator of an invention - place details in the public domain, it renders the invention unpatentable. (I am not a lawyer, and I can imagine there are those of you who will want to dispute this point). Nevertheless, this is my current belief - that, by openly disclosing your idea, you not only forgo the right to patent it yourself but also prevent others from doing so.
But why would anyone want to do such a thing when it seems unlikely to bring them any benefit? In response, I suggest you only have to look at the case of the free software phenomenon.
In this information-saturated culture the simple ability to attract attention has become a valuable asset in itself. And what better way to generate attention than to develop a reputation for freely distributing interesting and potentially valuable ideas, open to anyone to take and exploit?
Such a project holds out the more distant prospect of encouraging a truly free ideas domain - in contrast to the stultifying ambitions of large corporations.
In order to back my words with actions, I intend to publish some of my own ideas in future posts. These are things I have been sitting on for some time and which - it is suddenly clear - I will never get round to exploiting by other means.
Of course, for the Source of Ideas (tm) (only joking) to take off in a big way, it will be necessary to nurture a wide community of contributors. And in this context, I am happy to announce that the Omnivorist Institute is willing to devote it's modest resources to this end - provided, of course, that someone doesn't exploit this idea first.
Except, of course, it's not quite as easy as that. Even if you have the resources and persistence to patent your invention, it does not prevent it from being exploited by determined competitors. And unless you are willing to devote your entire time to seeing your invention brought to realisation and defending it against infringement, the patent itself will prove to be of little value.
For large corporations it is a different matter, of course. With the resources to hire armies of skilled patent agents and lawyers, companies - and technology companies in particular - commonly patent everything in sight. The principle of intellectual property has become a weapon in big wars fought for very high stakes.
But there's a twist. A patent cannot be granted if the idea has been disclosed prior to the application. If you - as the originator of an invention - place details in the public domain, it renders the invention unpatentable. (I am not a lawyer, and I can imagine there are those of you who will want to dispute this point). Nevertheless, this is my current belief - that, by openly disclosing your idea, you not only forgo the right to patent it yourself but also prevent others from doing so.
But why would anyone want to do such a thing when it seems unlikely to bring them any benefit? In response, I suggest you only have to look at the case of the free software phenomenon.
In this information-saturated culture the simple ability to attract attention has become a valuable asset in itself. And what better way to generate attention than to develop a reputation for freely distributing interesting and potentially valuable ideas, open to anyone to take and exploit?
Such a project holds out the more distant prospect of encouraging a truly free ideas domain - in contrast to the stultifying ambitions of large corporations.
In order to back my words with actions, I intend to publish some of my own ideas in future posts. These are things I have been sitting on for some time and which - it is suddenly clear - I will never get round to exploiting by other means.
Of course, for the Source of Ideas (tm) (only joking) to take off in a big way, it will be necessary to nurture a wide community of contributors. And in this context, I am happy to announce that the Omnivorist Institute is willing to devote it's modest resources to this end - provided, of course, that someone doesn't exploit this idea first.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Tate St Ives
Despite having visited the Tate gallery in St Ives at least 5 times, it is only recently that I have come to the conclusion that it is a really poor piece of architecture.
It is a conclusion reached with some reluctance as it is clear that this is a building one is meant to like and admire. What is admirable is the vision to locate an important gallery at the furthest extremity of the British Isles, the homage paid to the freshness and vitality of the St Ives artistic tradition and the boldness in siting the building in one of the town's most sensitive and beautiful locations.
In recognition of these successes, thousands of visitors take time off from the beaches and gift-shops to spend an hour or two in wondering and reverential comtemplation of Art. One has to ask oneself however: just how well are they served by this building?
Tate St Ives is not a building that is content to step modestly aside and let the art take the limelight. Quite the opposite seems the case. After passing through the grand entrance loggia, ticket office, mall and rotunda, the Art appears, if anything, further away than ever. It is only after having ascended two storeys (passing the shop and various invitations to 'interact') that one arrives at the somewhat disappointing series of small galleries. Here the Architecture is forced -somewhat reluctantly - to concede a corner or two to the lesser arts.
On every one of my visits I have been overtaken, at this point, by a profound sense of disorientation. I never quite seem to know where the sea is anymore. Is it over in that direction - or exactly opposite?
It is as if (but surely this can't have been the architects' intention), in order to prepare the Mind for Art, it is necessary to effect a complete disassociation from the world outside. The only gallery to contradict this impression - and the clear favourite of photographers - is gallery 2, with its spectacular view of Porthmeor beach.
The cafeteria terrace is unhabitable. Dazzingly bright in the sun and unprotected from the rain, people have abandoned it and surrendered it to the seagulls - who use it as a toilet.
I suppose its only to be expected that - given the high profile of the place - it should win commendations from the Royal Fine Art Commission and English Heritage. Open-minded visitors will make up their own minds.
Here was a unique and wonderful opportunity lost. It is a great pity.
It is a conclusion reached with some reluctance as it is clear that this is a building one is meant to like and admire. What is admirable is the vision to locate an important gallery at the furthest extremity of the British Isles, the homage paid to the freshness and vitality of the St Ives artistic tradition and the boldness in siting the building in one of the town's most sensitive and beautiful locations.
In recognition of these successes, thousands of visitors take time off from the beaches and gift-shops to spend an hour or two in wondering and reverential comtemplation of Art. One has to ask oneself however: just how well are they served by this building?
Tate St Ives is not a building that is content to step modestly aside and let the art take the limelight. Quite the opposite seems the case. After passing through the grand entrance loggia, ticket office, mall and rotunda, the Art appears, if anything, further away than ever. It is only after having ascended two storeys (passing the shop and various invitations to 'interact') that one arrives at the somewhat disappointing series of small galleries. Here the Architecture is forced -somewhat reluctantly - to concede a corner or two to the lesser arts.
On every one of my visits I have been overtaken, at this point, by a profound sense of disorientation. I never quite seem to know where the sea is anymore. Is it over in that direction - or exactly opposite?
It is as if (but surely this can't have been the architects' intention), in order to prepare the Mind for Art, it is necessary to effect a complete disassociation from the world outside. The only gallery to contradict this impression - and the clear favourite of photographers - is gallery 2, with its spectacular view of Porthmeor beach.
The cafeteria terrace is unhabitable. Dazzingly bright in the sun and unprotected from the rain, people have abandoned it and surrendered it to the seagulls - who use it as a toilet.
I suppose its only to be expected that - given the high profile of the place - it should win commendations from the Royal Fine Art Commission and English Heritage. Open-minded visitors will make up their own minds.
Here was a unique and wonderful opportunity lost. It is a great pity.
Friday, June 23, 2006
What's all this omnivorist stuff ?
omni'vorist n. one who subscribes to the practice of omni'vorism.
omni'vorism n. An enthusiasm for pattern, nature and invention with only secondary regard to their practical utility, significance or potential for profit.
A delight in things for themselves.
A fascination for soap bubbles, wood-joints, the properties of slime, systems of taxonony, the geometry of clouds, number theory, pigments, styles of rigging, paper-folding, automata, Tibetan mandalas, flotsam, packaging, maps of cities, modes of failure, insect flight, hearing in birds, journeys, systems of jurisprudence, mechanical linkages, the categorisation of snowflakes, barnacles, burrs ......... or none of the above.
omni'vorism n. An enthusiasm for pattern, nature and invention with only secondary regard to their practical utility, significance or potential for profit.
A delight in things for themselves.
A fascination for soap bubbles, wood-joints, the properties of slime, systems of taxonony, the geometry of clouds, number theory, pigments, styles of rigging, paper-folding, automata, Tibetan mandalas, flotsam, packaging, maps of cities, modes of failure, insect flight, hearing in birds, journeys, systems of jurisprudence, mechanical linkages, the categorisation of snowflakes, barnacles, burrs ......... or none of the above.
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