Progress ?

Back from a few days looking after my parents. They’re in their 80’s now and recently old age seems to have suddenly caught up with them. Mum is pretty much confined to a wheel chair and Dad, who looks after her, had to have a cataract operation which took him out of commission for a few days - so I had to step in to the role of carer.

On the upside I got to spend more time with them than I had for years and we got on well. On the downside there’s no getting away from the fact that it is humiliating for them and embarrassing for me to have reached the stage when a parent is being looked after by their offspring.

Whilst I’m with them the TV is full of the 60th birthday of the National Health Service. My Dad in particular regards the '45 Labour Government as this country’s finest hour and the NHS as the jewel in the crown with Nye Bevan as the hero of his generation.

He’s guilty and ashamed to have gone private to have his cataract operation - but he just can’t afford to wait the time required by the health service. And meanwhile my Mum is still waiting to get an appointment for the pain management clinic…

This is where the Old / New Labour divide really makes itself felt:

My parents are long standing Labour members, ex-local councillors – their idea of 'socialism' means trying to make things fairer and better. For most of their lifetimes this seemed to be pretty much the direction that things were moving. They grew up in wartime and the achievements of the 45 Labour government seemed like the logical conclusion to the ‘People’s War’ - you could call it progress.

Instead as they are getting older it now seems that these achievements are being unpicked and that the clock is being turned back. We spoke about this - they felt that they should apologise to future generations for ever allowing themselves to be hood-winked into going along with the Blair project. And letting New Labour un-do everything that their generation had built. At this point I should have had something reassuring to say to them - but I came up empty.

Sloane-central

F.Scott Fitzgerald was in awe of the rich. When he told his friend Earnest Hemmingway ‘the rich are not like you and I’ Hemmingway's response was a bit less deferential; ‘no – they have more money’.

I took a bus ride down the Kings Road this afternoon, primarily to visit Warrs Harley Davidson, but it was also an opportunity to observe the rich in their natural habitat.

At Sloane Square a couple of bright young things got on and surrounded me as I sat in the rear corner seat. Very blonde, ridiculously tall, painfully thin and wearing strappy dresses and huge sunglasses on their heads. They were models on their way to a casting. One of them had eaten a Cornish Pasty yesterday and was worried that it would give her spots. The other one had moved to London without any clothes because she had previously lived on a farm and so had nothing suitable to wear. Her boyfriend had brought all her current clothes. He loved doing so. He was on his gap year. I know all this, along with the rest of the bus, because they spoke, to each other and on their mobile phones. Loudly. They spoke with the accents of the very posh - clipped and slurred at the same time. Almost South African.

They got off and were replaced with an older woman. Elegantly dressed but also wearing huge sunglasses, and clutching a small dog. I think it was a dog but it could have been a ferret although that seems unlikely. She was not talkative but looked at me with an undisguised distaste that couldn’t have been greater if my space had been occupied by a steaming shit from her dog-like creature.

Then she got off and was replaced with a yummy-mummy and her infant brood. She was a ten years older version of the models. Wearing Birkenstocks and pushing some sort of all terrain pushchair. Her tossled haired brats also spoke loudly and with a lack of inhibition. They were asking which house they were going to at the weekend. They thought they spotted their previous au-pair walking along the pavement. Mummy pointed out that she had had to go back to Italy. Mummy explained about Italy – it was were they had gone all skiing last year.

At this point I had to get off and can’t report any more. But I’d heard enough. Fitzgerald was right. The rich are not like you and I.

And vice-versa. Thank fuck for that.

Christianity & gay rights

I’m watching with relish as the angst-ridden Church Of England ties itself into knots over the latest gay marriage of clergy-crisis, possibly as a prelude to imploding altogether.

Instinctively I feel some sort of empathy with the liberals: Equal rights for women, tolerance for homosexuality etc – surely these things are only fair and rational ? Well yes of course they are – the only problem is that Christianity isn’t.

So actually the conservative bigots who are getting so worked up over Rowan Williams toleration of gay clergy are, sadly, in the right. At least on the basis of scripture it’s pretty clear that the Christian God regards homosexuality as an abomination - as He also does eating shell-fish, cutting your beard, tattoos, disabled people, mixing linen and woollens, menstruation - and that’s just for starters. But it’s not all negative and judgmental though – He's pretty tolerant of incest, slavery, genocide.

(Admittedly my evidence is based on nothing more than some random googling of bible quotes but then again that methodology is at least as scientific as most courses in theology).

Which means that if you a liberal Protestant who believes that scripture is divine revelation (including all the obviously mental and/or evil bits) - you have a problem. Likewise if you are a liberal Muslim or liberal Jew.

You just can’t have your cake and eat it: You’re either a well adjusted and rational being with compassion and tolerance for your fellow humans. Or you’re a follower of a primitive and barbaric belief system(s) adopted in specific historical circumstances two thousand years ago by a particular group of desert dwellers.

Good news for liberal Catholics though. Your not encumbered by a belief system that relies only divine scripture – you’ve got the teachings of the One Holy Apostolic Church to reveal the truth as well. (Of course this may stand on their head things that have been held to be immutable for centuries - but hey God’s only just decided that lowly mortals can now be trusted with the real truth. And it turns out quite a lot of priests were gay all along - whoops don't even go there).

I’m sure that a lot of decent tolerant believers will be offended by all this. Tough – you can’t have it both ways.

Solstice time

Forget Christmas and Easter and all that new fangled Christian bollocks. Take a moment to reflect on that most universal and fundamental of all festivals – the Summer Solstice.

There’s a reason that we now talk about Seasonally Affected Disorder – take a walk around any modern city and see how it’s always a better place to be in the Summer. The feel of the sun on your skin is life affirming - no wonder it’s the basis of just about every religion (whether they acknowledge it or not)– why else talk about ‘the light of the world’ ?

Just for a short interlude it seems appropriate to put aside our modern rationalist-atheist selves and respect the ancient rites of our ancestors. Maybe sacrifice at dawn isn’t acceptable these days - so we’ll just settle for the more recent traditions of Hawkwind, cider and skunk.

The unacceptable face of 'value'

Purveyors of ultra-cheap fashion-tat to the masses - Primark - have sacked three suppliers in India after they were exposed as employing child labour.

Given that one of the companies has been working for Primark for over twelve years you’ve got to question how much of a surprise this really was.

Not long ago I wrote about being fucked-over at work by one of our big corporate clients. To the extent that we are now in the process of lying people off here. When I told the terribly polite people at the big corporate client that this is what we were doing, there was a look of horror on their faces: In their world when it’s time to 'let people go', they usually just pick up the phone to get someone from HR to do the distasteful task. But in small businesses we get to look someone in the eye and say ‘I’m really sorry but you’re fucked’.

The people at the big corporate client are perfectly nice and well-meaning, they may well be liberal too for all I know. But they are in denial. This enables them to dissociate themselves from the consequences of their actions. And that really pisses me off: I’m not too proud of some of the stuff I have to do these days – like making people redundant – but at least I’m honest about it to them and myself.

A lack of honesty and a cowardice in taking responsibility for your actions is the worst sort of Pontius Pilate-ism that makes possible all kinds of bigger horrors.

If you were in Germany in the 30s it might be not bothering to ask why all the Jewish shops and businesses were disappearing. Nowadays it manifests itself as not worrying where your T-Shirt for under a £1 comes from.

The natural order

For a moment I was all confused:

When David Davis resigned his seat to force a by-election on the issue of opposition to the 42-Day detention proposal I was momentarily placed in the very troubling position of having a passing feeling of respect for a swarmy Tory git taking a principled stand.

Then my other half pointed out that he was actually in one of the safest Tory seats in the country and that a chimp wearing a blue rosette would always be elected there regardless of its support for civil liberties or conversely for restoring capital punishment.

Suddenly his gesture sounded reassuringly more like simple old fashioned opportunism: A really principled stand at some risk to his career would have meant standing against Ruth Kelly at the next general election.

Then I heard that arch-arsehole, former Sun-editor and darling of bigots everywhere Kelvin McKenzie is considering standing against Davis and in defence of 42-Day detention. With the backing of his old boss Rupert Murdoch he is going to strike a blow against the perceived threat to western –values.

So the natural order has been restored - and I can go back again to hating all Tories whether they’re civil libertarians or authoritarian xenophobes.

How To Get Ahead

Ten top tips for success in Modern Britain:

It isn’t about your talent it’s about desire – you must want it 1000% (at least).

It doesn’t matter if you lie to get a job or make a deal. It shows 'desire'.

This job must be more important to you than anything else. Your family. Your happiness. Their happiness. Saving the planet. Feeding the world.

Business is about sales. Don’t worry about making stuff. Sell something. Anything

Management is about sales. Just get other people to sell.

Leadership means repeating whatever your boss tells you until everyone else stops arguing.

Education is just wank - what matters is the ‘real world’

If you believe it enough you are a winner. You truly will be.

Professionalism means wearing a suit at all times. Expresss your individuality with some hair gel and an open-necked shirt.

Aspirational is good. As long as it’s aspiring to a Lexus or a new-build home in the shires. Not aspiring to an understanding of contemporary literature.

Short memories

Last Sunday I drove with the family through Runnymede. Typically, because I am a self-confessed history bore, I took the opportunity to tell my kids about Magna Carta and its importance .

Ironic with the news this week that the judicial and security establishment is queuing up to tell the government that they don’t want the 42 day detention of terrorist suspects.

Of course it shows precious little confidence in the security services that they supposedly need six weeks before they can gather enough evidence, not to convict, but to merely bring charges against suspects.

It also shows little knowledge of recent history to forget that the single thing that did most to propel ordinary Catholics into the arms of the IRA was detention without trial.

Or from our more distant past, the lesson that freedom from arbitary detention or arbitary government was gained by long and bloody struggle. And lost not overnight but in subtle increments.

But hey - the economy’s going down the tubes, we’re bogged down in un-winnable wars in Iraq and Afghanistan - New Labour needs to demonstrate that they’re ‘tough’ on terrorism. So bollocks to Magna Carta.

Maybe it's time to hold Brown hostage and make him sign a Bill Of Rights. There's a precedent.

Grown Ups

Sometimes, in fact particularly at the moment when the shit I currently have to shovel at work reminds me that I am supposed to be an authority figure, I hanker after the days of being young and irresponsible.

On Friday night I got the chance. I went along for the first leg of an old friend’s marathon stag weekend. We met up in Camden where I found that the rest of the party must have had a good four hours head start in the drinking stakes. The old friend is about the same age as me but most of his mates seemed to be at least ten years younger. That should have been a sign.

They were bouncing around like a bunch of very pissed Labrador puppies and being generally fucking obnoxious. You can forgive pissed people quite a lot, but I’ve always had an overly developed sense of personal space and it was as much as I could do not to kill the mood by giving one of them a much deserved-slap.

The night deteriorated from there. We moved on to another bar with a supposed cult status and a back room which serves as a music venue. The band were a generic punk-metal effort – although they looked a bit old to be convincing in this genre. Sadly they reminded me of the bands who would sometimes played the school gym at lunchtimes, only rather less talented, and this lot didn't look like they would know Silver Machine.

Avoiding the moshing twats I saw the old friend slumped unconscious in the corner and decided that it was time to make my excuses and leave. In the company of the only other old friend present we retreated to a nearby over-priced designer curry house.

Sitting in the minimalist zen décor (whatever happened to flock wallpaper?), over the ludicrous over-sized square plates we agreed that maybe being grown up wasn’t quite so bad after all.

Southern Chopper

Despite being a Brit, I’ve always had a bit of a fascination for the American Civil War. Without a doubt my true sympathies are will the radical abolitionists but there’s something undeniably romantic about the lost cause of the rebels. (Although I doubt very much there was any romance involved if you happened to be black and living south of the Mason-Dixon line in those days).

But the South has always had the coolest music, the best food, and I’m a sucker for pick up trucks and shotguns ….

For several years I’ve been addicted to the ‘reality’ bike shows that are repeated endlessly on cable tv. I’ve long suffered the ridiculous antics of the Teutul family in upstate New York – the formula: build a hideous over-the-top theme bike; Paul Snr and Paul Jnr exchange tantrums; Mickey goofs around; the bike gets built just in time; everyone agrees that its totally awesome and sick.

I’ve only just recently discovered its lesser known Confederate cousin – Southern Chopper. In their workshop in Lynchburg Virginia nothing seems to be a problem, everyone moves and speaks slowly and every technical hitch and delay is greeted with a barrage of cackling and chortling.

It’s seems to be true that good ‘ole boys have more fun.

Broooooce

I love the Bruce Springsteen of Nebraska and The Ghost Of Tom Joad. And I’d love to see him play a bar or club. But that’s not likely to happen. So I had to settle for seeing him at the Emirates Stadium on Friday.

Despite the best efforts of Islington council and not-in-my-backyard local residents to fuck with the sound system, the muffled sound although irritating did not diminish the gig. What’s the matter with these miserable bastards ? – If I lived next door to the Emirates I’d ask them to turn it up to 11.

I don’t think there is any other performer – let alone a 58 year old one - who could work an audience for three solid hours as Bruce does. And so obviously enjoy ever minute of it.

Of course here’s the contradiction about Bruce – in many ways he is the consummate stadium performer, but in another sense, in his lyrics and in the passion shared with the crowd, he is the anti-star, an everyman.

A fantastic evening marred only by the heavy handedness of the fuck-wit boys in blue who decided that because the gig was in a football stadium, we should be treated like a football crowd after the concert. Thanks to being corralled around North London by the police, our twenty minute journey home became an hour and a half.

Swimming with sharks

It’s only business. And bizarre though it may seem to me, I am supposed to be a business man.

But I can’t see it that way. Not when a large corporate client, that we have regularly turned ourselves inside-out for over the past twelve years, suddenly sacks us out of the blue.

Without criticising our performance in any way, but because they are ‘rationalising their supplier base’ in favour of a bigger company. And without giving us the opportunity to put in a counter proposal.

We are expected to take the news stoically and bow to the compelling argument of the client's decision. Apparently that's called 'professionalism'.

But I just can’t help but take it personally. Very personally. As a betrayal of goodwill. As will the dozen or so guys here that now face redundancy, none of who can understand how the fuck it is possible that they have sweated their bollocks off over the years only to end up like this.

Intellectually I know that capitalism is a jungle and that when you work with big business the only rules that apply are those of the markets. But emotionally I'm a simple soul - and I can't shake of the idea that if you graft and produce good work you'll have success.

Most of the time it's actually not a bad management philosophy. But when something like this happens I realise that I'm not really a business man at all and I'm out of depth with the corporate sharks.

Euro-shit

Back to work after an extended bank holiday (Whitsun ?).

Over the weekend we were subjected to the full horror of the Eurovision Song contest. Fucking Hell.

It's a celebration of a genre of music that I'm pretty sure doesn't actually even exist outside of the annual contest. And a chance to reenact the kind of national alliances that we haven't seen in real life since before the First World War.

Except, unlike in 1914, this time it's very clear that the UK doesn't have any allies in Continental Europe. Only the Republic of Ireland and sometimes Malta.

Why this appalling shit continues so long after its sell by date puzzles me.

The only explanation I can come up with is that it's secretly funded and organised by the CIA as a subliminal attempt to turn us in the UK away from any kind of pan-Europeanism and towards the Atlantic alliance.

Schools and the military

Stopping short of suggesting the return of National Service, the government is promoting cadet units in schools as the answer to the problems of Britain's youth. Unlikely though it now seems, I was once, between the ages of 13 and 15 a corporal in the Air Training Corps. This was before I before discovered Heavy Metal, long hair, teenage rebellion and CND.

I had quite a lot of fun. I learnt about aircraft, radio, field-craft and how to shoot and strip down a rifle. I also learnt how to march, polish boots and crisply iron a shirt. There just wasn't any comparison with Sea Scouts, which I had been in for about six months - we had proper (free) equipment and when it came to anything dangerous, our instructors were professionals not well intentioned amateurs.

But there was also no getting round the fact that it was all a glorified recruitment exercise for the RAF. The ATC’s origins were in the second world war when the intention was to shave some time off the basic training of school boy recruits. And it's still really all about recruitment today; unsurprisingly given the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq the services face a manpower problem.

Of course it’s also argued that experience in the cadets promotes ‘self-discipline’ and ‘values’ amongst young people. To a certain extent it does. But so does being in the Scouts, being a member of a sports team, or pretty much any other activity outside school that isn’t criminal and doesn’t involve sitting in front of a TV or games console.

So why the emphasis on uniforms and the military stuff ? Significantly the government’s proposals focuses on the Combined Cadet Force, the tri-service organisation that is based on schools – and until now predominately independent schools. Not the Army Cadets, Sea Cadets or ATC which are organised in local units and who, as far as I can remember, regarded the school-based CCF as a bit crap and poncey and altogether too school-like.

The CCF actually fits very well with an independent school's ethos. Attendance can be made compulsory, misbehaviour in class can be punished with extra duties in the evening with ‘the corps’, and there are ready-made officers amongst the teachers. Stuff that just doesn't really belong or work in a modern state school.

Apart from the sly recruiting of young people to fight in questionable wars, I regard this particular linking of cadets with schools schools as very suspect. It represents a distinct militarization of education. No doubt some would see this as a good thing, but it scares the hell out of me.

Ink & 'spirituality' (really)

My latest tattoo installment on Saturday: This time the stylised head of a beast, described variously as horse, dog, lion or otter, taken from a piece of 7th century Pictish silver found at Norrie Law in Fife.

Why? Well here’s one answer.

As an atheist I have absolutely no idea what religious people mean when they talk about ‘spirituality’. Nor I suspect do they. I could take the obvious cheap shot and say that their spirituality is nothing more than a kind of narcotic-like experience induced by singing, fasting, incense, being silent etc. Or any other stimuli depending on your particular brand of mumbo-jumbo on offer. If I were being more charitable I might say that spirituality is a sense of being part of something bigger or outside of yourself. Although passionate football fans could probably make the same claim.

Some atheists manage to take a kind of pseudo-spirituality from cosmology. For them contemplating the sheer scope of the universe puts the individual in perspective. Personally, to quote the classic line from Spinal Tap, for me that’s ‘a bit too much fucking perspective’.

Instead, I’ll settle for archaeology and tattoos to get my ‘spirituality’: I find the idea of wearing something on my arm that an ancestor carved 1,400 years ago gives me the same kick that others would get staring down a telescope at the stars. A simultaneous sense of connection and my place in the scheme of things.

Oh yeah and it looks the bollocks too. (Well I think so).

1968 & all that

Went to a meeting last night to mark the anniversary of the 1968 movement in France.

I’d like to say that it re-ignited the spirit of ’68 in a new generation, but to be honest the meeting was full of the usual suspects that come to these things. Despite a rousing singing of the Internationale at the end, I have to say that whilst ’68 may have been the defining moment for a generation of the left, I fear that moment has now passed.

Certainly in this country much of the then student left have reverted to the safe middle class lives from whence they came. One particular sub-species, especially prevalent in academic circles, is the ‘New Left intellectual’ – for career enhancing purposes they had to define themselves as Marxist in the 70’s when it was fashionable. Now they can’t shake it off but having revised their revisionism so often, they have fully disappeared up their own arses. And are barely socialist any more let alone Marxist.

But bucking this trend was the main speaker – a dowdy little Frenchwoman who spoke through a translator. Still an activist today, in ’68 she had been in the thick of it. She described carrying paving stones in her shopping bags, roof top battles with the ‘flics’ and organising discussion groups at the local Renault factory. Today, if you passed her in the street she could pass as a member of the Women’s Institute (if there is such a thing in France). I found that strangely moving.

When the abused becomes the abuser ..

Sixty years ago the sinister euphemism of ‘ethnic cleansing’ wasn’t known to the world.

But today it is exactly how we would have described the bulldozing in 1948 of Palestinian villages and the displacement of 700,000 refugees to secure Israeli settlement of the region. And many more have been driven from their homes since then.

It’s a cliché that nationalism when suppressed is romantic, whilst nationalism in power is obscene. But never was it more poignantly true than when it comes to the history of Israel-Palestine

As far as Palestinians are concerned, Zionism crossed that line with the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948. Maybe liberal Israelis could point to 1967 and the Six Day War as the defining moment when Zionism lost it’s innocence.

As a neutral observer, it didn’t come home to me until I saw on the news in 1982 the horror of Israeli forces facilitating and colluding with Lebanese Fascist militias in the massacres of Palestinians at the Shatila and Sabra refugee camps.

Today Bush is visiting the Kniset to cheer-lead Israel’s 60th birthday celebrations, describing the USA and Israel as ‘the ardent defenders of liberty’ in the Middle East. Meanwhile Palestinians describe the 15th May simply as al-Naka or ‘The Catastrophe’.

To many of us who watch in safety it is perhaps the most depressing injustice of our generation; and in a sense the fate of the Palestinian people has become a symbol of all injustice. How ironic that the fate of the Jewish people was the same symbol for a previous generation.

SATs and stats.

This week my youngest daughter, in her final year at primary school, is doing her SATs. A whole week (more or less)of tests is inevitably stressful – inevitably she thinks it’s a big deal because for most of this school year they have been preparing for them and little else.

Except it isn’t - we know from experience with my eldest daughter that the secondary school will test the kids all over again. But it is a very big deal for the school because the performance of the pupils will be a major factor in how the school is rated. So we have a system which replicates the stress of the old 11+ system without even the carrot of getting a place at a grammar school.

Last week I went to parents’ evening at my eldest daughter’s secondary school. I was half way through a meeting with one of the teachers talking about ‘learning outcomes’ and projecting levels of attainment for the end of the year, before I realised that we were talking about Cookery for fucks sake !

And this is a good school – in fact it’s officially ‘outstanding’; a rare thing, an inner city comprehensive with all the usual
problems that actually out performs the national averages.

But I’m suspicious what all these rankings mean.

They seem very much like the tick-box collecting that we have to do at work to win contracts these days – and I know that they have sod all to do with quality in any meaningful sense. On the contrary they make a fetish of the mediocre.

There are a small number of inspirational teachers; the ones that you remember for the rest of your life, whose lessons often spin off at all sorts of tangents as the kids' interests take them. That is genuine education. I can’t imagine that all those averages and targets leave very much room for them these days.

Double standards

The level of class deference in this country never ceases to amaze me.

When a nutter starts shooting at his neighbours through their windows and is subsequently killed in a drunken gun battle with the police just off the Kings Road in Chelsea, it is reported as a tragic end to a glittering career.

As of course it is when any 32 year old suffering from substance-abuse and other emotional problems flips and ends up dead.

But Mark Saunders wasn't just anybody: He was a barrister tipped to become a QC. A graduate of Corpus Christi College Oxford and a part-time soldier in the poshest regiment in the territorial army, the Honourable Artillery Company. He lived in one of London's most fashionable and exclusive areas. And apparently he also had a drink problem and kept a shotgun at home.

Now imagine just for a moment that the shooting had happened in Brixton or Tottenham. And that Marks Saunders was a black man on crack cocaine, and a graduate of North London Polytechnic who worked in IT.

The papers would be talking about how gun crime and drugs were a blight on a community with a growing culture of violence. No doubt social services, political correctness and rap music would be held responsible.

Maybe the Metropolitan Police will now be setting up a special squad to tackle 'toff-on-toff' crime as a counterpart to Operation Trident. But I doubt it.

Austria needs a make-over ?

Austria’s having a bit of a bad press at the moment.

Obviously the paedophile incest in the cellar horror was never going to be good for the tourist trade. The Austrian government is trying to re-establish the country’s good name – you can just imagine the PR brief ‘emphasise the Sound Of Music and Mozart thing but play down the whole Hitler and child molesters angle’.

In this country the red-tops are carrying pictures of the small town of the Amstetten at the time of the anschluss. Unsurprisingly pictures from the time have surfaced of townspeople and members of Fritzl’s family giving Nazi salutes. The implication is something along the lines of 'see they’re all Nazis really with a genetic disposition to do evil'.

Naturally any sane person regards this kind of inherited collective guilt as absolute bollocks. Otherwise we’d be blaming all the serial killers in the USA on that country’s shameful near-genocide of its indigenous peoples and an inherited predisposition to callous violence. Truth is, no nation is any more predisposed to these horrors than any other. But when small town values predominate it doesn’t half help in keeping every thing hushed up.

And here is the serious and valid point: Culturally Austria is an affluent and conservative country with a strong Catholic influence. Attitudes that Hemmingway, in a different context, called ‘wide lawns and narrow minds’.

The sort of place we are told where neighbours address each other by their surnames and respect each others’ privacy. Where the word of the ‘head of the family’ is respected when he is asked where his children have gone. Not the sort of place where liberal nosy-parker do-gooders from social services stick their noses in.

In fact it sounds suspiciously like the Conservative vision of ‘family values’. Come to think of it - a bit like our own island of Jersey.

Almost summer music

A ride on an (almost) Summer’s evening over to the Hammersmith Apollo on Saturday. Although it’ll always be the Hammersmith Odeon to me – the venue in which I saw my first every gig – Thin Lizzy in 1978 or thereabouts.

A very different night on Saturday though; to see the Buena Vista Social Club. With 14 band members on stage I would guess that the average age was well over 70. The bass player literally had to be led off at the end – he’d just about shuffled away when the rest of the band came back for the encore.

It may be a terrible cliché to say so, but the old boys visibly seemed to come to life as they played. In true Anglo-Saxon manner I tend to show my approval at concerts by sitting with my arms folded and with the odd nod of the head. After a couple of numbers even I found a few involuntary dance-like moves overtaking me.

It hadn’t been my idea to get the tickets – my other half is big on world music – and I’ve got an inkling towards jazz - so we kind of meet in the middle when it comes to Cuban music. But I have to say that this was one of the best gigs of any sort that I can remember for a long time. And it proved that cool is definitely not age-related.

Nooooo !

I love London. Dirty and impoverished though it may be (at least the bit where I live is) - I don't think anywhere else has the same diversity, history and vibrancy.

SO WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

How did this city get a racist, elitist, over-privilidged Tory buffon as its mayor?

I'm still pondering it - so far I can think of three things:

Like The Sun in 1992 - it was The Evening Standard 'wot won it' - the voice of Middle England inside the capital has been running a vendetta against Ken since the 1980's and it has finally paid off.

The 10p tax fuck-up - the fiasco of a Labour government tinkering with the tax system to ease the burden on the middle classes by shifting it to the lowest paid. Whether it was a policy decision or whether someone hit the wrong button on their calculator it is unforgivable and try as he might Brown can't take it back.

Morons with short memories who didn't think of the horror of bringing the Tories back in. Make a protest vote against Ken by all means but the whole point of the transferable vote system is that in doing so, you don't have to cut your nose off to spite your face. Any Lib Dem, Green or Left List first preference voters who didn't transfer to Ken frankly need their heads examined.

Possibly there's a silver lining and people need to experience again an ascendent Tory party, particularly one run by Old Etonians, to re-discover what politics is all about and get radicalised. But I fear that it doesn't work like that and that the shameful turning point of the fascists winning their first seat in the London Assembly may be a taste of things to come ....

Keep Boris Out !

I have fond memories of going to anti-racist gigs in the 80’s in the Jubilee Gardens with my mates from school ( – did Aswad really play every one of those benefits?).

It may give my age away but I can remember the days before we had a Mayor’s Office in London – those glory days of the old GLC. When Ken Livingston was the council leader. In those dark Thatcher years, the GLC was a local beacon of defiance, and naturally the Tory press demonised them and him in particular as the loony left.

Admittedly with hindsight some of the community groups and campaigns the GLC supported were pretty daft, and undeniably played in to the hands of their opponents. And probably laid the basis for the cronyism and corruption allegations that are haunting Ken to this day. But I firmly believe that the GLC was a GOOD THING – and this of course is why a vindictive Tory government went on to abolish it.

Ken has come a long way since his antecedents as a fellow-traveller of the obscure Trotskyist entrist Socialist Action sect. These days he doesn’t even talk about socialism – he’s an unashamed radical-populist. Which is why he's just about tolerated by the party leadership as New Labour’s prodigal son.

But he has one vital thing going for him. He’s not ludicrous racist Tory toff Boris Johnson. And no amount of stupid bendy buses, lies about the cost of the Olympics, or dodgy dealings with Lee Jasper can outweigh this.

So, in the absence of a proper socialist candidate (sorry but the front organisations of the Socialist Workers Party, or of the Communist Party of Britain, or Galloway's Islamo-apologists just don’t cut it) - I will be holding my nose and voting Ken for mayor tomorrow.

Fuel and penions

With a petrol tank on my bike the size of a thimble I have my own mini fuel crisis quite regularly. So I filled up a jerry can at the local petrol station for my own emergency supply ‘just in case’.

I then felt kind of guilty about it – like I was a victim of the hysteria that seems to take grip at the mention of ‘fuel strikes’. Contrary to the predictions we haven’t yet seen the breakdown of western civilisation because of the two-day strike of oil workers at the Grangemouth refinery.

This hysteria seems to blind many people to the perfectly reasonable position of the Ineos workers. Think of the issues at stake:

• Big companies expected to take care of their former employees after a lifetime of service with a full salary pension? Outrageous and outdated.

• Thinking that a company making profits in excess of £50million per day, with a chief executive worth £1.3 billion, should be able to afford such a scheme? Ludicrous and unreasonable.

• Workers who work 12hour shifts 365 days a year having a basic wage of £30k pa – rising with overtime to £40k? Over-privileged and outrageous.

• Unions taking limited strike action after prolonged negotiations have broken down? Selfish and irresponsible.

The pension issue is a time bomb for most of us. A whole generation now faces insecurity at the end of their working lives that was unkown to our parents and grandparents. Many have had to come to terms with this and suffer the lesser of two evils with private pensions. Some of us who work in the small business sector have always had to accept it. In the oil industry there is a group of workers who may just be able to use their industrial clout to defend what so many others have lost.

Good luck to them, even if it does mean a bit of inconvenience for motorists (and bikers).

Support the teachers

You couldn’t pay me enough to be a teacher.

And I’m not adverse to the sound of my voice, and I get quick a kick out of ‘teaching’ whether it’s doing presentations or trying to help instruct martial arts. But the thought of being part social worker, part security guard, part mentor and the responsibility for shaping young minds that goes with being a school teacher, frankly scares me shitless.

Which is why I think they deserve more pay and support their strike today.

I’m not totally soppy about this. With two children in inner London schools and a partner who is a school governor, I know that there are some crap teachers, and it’s still too difficult to get rid of them. But then there are weak individuals in every industry or profession.

However the arguments behind the strike today are really about the status of teaching itself . A lot of people in the private sector - actually most of the people I work with - are totally misinformed about teachers pay (the quoted £35k is at the top level not the average) and the hours (the unpaid overtime and out of hours working is conveniently forgotten).

But even if they weren’t mis-informed, even if teaching really was a cushy over-privileged profession; why shouldn’t it be?

Graduate trainees in city financial institutions regularly start at £35k – who do we really need most? Maybe if we go these priorities right we’d have a more civilised society.

Administrative Professionals

Apparently today is International Administrative Professionals’ Day.

It used to be called Secretary’s Day but it’s been re-branded. It started in the 50’s and I think the idea was a kind of be nice to your secretary day. Fair enough I suppose, secretaries were a pretty hard done by group of workers.

But nowadays they have gone the same way as the hand-loom weavers. It’s difficult to conceive of a time when junior and middle managers were not capable of typing their own letters or answering their own phones.

Actually I’m pretty sure these skills were easy enough to acquire - but having someone else do these things for you was a status symbol. Laptop, email voicemail and open plan offices have thankfully made much of this corporate petty bollocks obsolete.

In fact I don’t know anybody who has a secretary. Of course there are some executives who live in the management stratosphere who have PA’s. (People like Sur-alun-sugar the nation’s favourite fat cat bastard). I guess PA’s can fill some kind of practical function in being gatekeepers for their bosses – managing access and running the appointment diary - they get to know all the corporate skeletons in the cupboards. But they’re not really secretaries at all, they're a kind of middle manager - and possibly a backdoor way by which women have been able to by-pass the corporate glass ceiling.

So who is an ‘Administrative Professional’ these days ? The only people who would use that title are probably jobs-worth petty bureaucrats who think that they aren’t working class because they get to wear a polyester tie, and have a BTEC in business studies.

Although actually Generation X-ers in clerical McJobs are the real equivalent of the down-trodden secretaries of the past. So rather than 'Sending a bunches of flowers to your secretary-day' it might be more appropriate to have 'Mourn the loss of proper jobs in manufacturing-day'.

Humourless

‘It’s political correctness gone mad’ tends to be a clarion call for the small minded whenever their bigotry is challenged.

But it does seem apt when train drivers’ union ASLEF picket the premier of black comedy ‘Three And Out’. The storyline is apparently about a tube driver who having two suicides throw themselves under his train seeks out a third to get the compensation and compassionate leave.

I’ve not seen it so I can’t vouch for whether it’s funny or not. Mackenzie Cook was superb as Gareth in The Office, rather less so in ‘Sex Lives Of The Potato Men’. Ultimately as a black comedy, the funniness criteria is the only one that really matters.

Picketing the film because it touches your own sensitivities tends to make you look like a humourless twat. Maybe the shop workers union USDAW should have picketed ‘Are You Being Served’, or the bus workers could have done the same for ‘On The Buses’. But the only real offensive aspects of these series were that they were complete shit.

With local elections in London where public transport features as a massive issue, and when tube workers are demonized as the enemy within, it’s probably rather bad tactics too.

Teenage kicks

Channel 4’s Skins finished last night, with all the characters if not killed off, certainly dispersed for ever. I know I’m not the demographic that’s supposed to be watching it, but I think it’s genius – ridiculous and poignant at the same time.

I’m also pretty sure that a lot of the cultural references are wasted on me. But substitute Special Brew for the pills, 80’s metal for the trance, and obviously all the fashion, and essentially it’s me and my friends aged 18.

It captures that brief window when everything seems possible, it’s all still to be discovered and the whole world centres around your friends – a kind of intensity that will never come again. The human tragedy is probably that we forget so quickly how it is to feel that way - and lose something in the process.

Which is why it should be compulsory viewing for every 40-something, especially if they are a parent. And it’s bloody funny too.

Trade unions - initials & names

My trade union (Unite) has spoken out about bullying in the workplace – of clergymen by their parishioners. I’m a bit taken aback by this. As an ex-Catholic I can’t really think of clergymen as a part of the labour movement. And I was amazed to find that I am now in the same union as them.

I joined the print industry in the days of the closed shop and of jealousy and rivalry between the unions. In my naïve enthusiasm I initially joined the wrong union - SOGAT (Society Of Graphic Allied Trades). Trying to move to the correct one for my actual area of work, the NGA (National Graphical Association) was ludicrously difficult and achieved with only slightly less hassle than re-partition after a civil war.

But even when this was done I found that we didn’t really consider ourselves part of the NGA at all. We had merged only a few years before and still thought of ourselves as SLADE (the gloriously named Society of Lithographic Artists, Engravers & Process Workers). Not to be confused with the ex-ASLP (Amalgamated Society of Lithographic Printers) and definitely not with ex-NATSOPA (National Society of Operative Printers & Assistants).

All of which convinced me that craft unions were basically bollocks. Whilst everyone was arguing about differentials and giving archaic craft designations to new technologies, employers like Murdoch were busting the unions. And a new generation of people were coming in to the industry from design and IT backgrounds who the craft unions wouldn’t let in and who didn’t see the point of joining anyway.

For a too short time we had what had always made sense; a single (more or less) union for the printing / graphics industry - the GPMU (Graphic Paper & Media Union). But it was too late and financial pressures meant that we got swallowed up in a series of mergers with super-unions. Accordingly we traded initials and acronyms for vague and silly names – firstly Amicus and now Unite. Meanwhile fewer and fewer people see the relevance of being in a union – in fact the main benefits of memberships are cited as legal support, insurance and financial services.

I’m pretty sure I’d be hard pressed to find a fellow member of Unite any more who had a clue what my job was or what companies like mine do. That’s a pretty good acid test. Industry based unions made sense but I’m not sure that super-unions do – there seem to inevitably become lobbying groups rather than workplace-based.

And I wish the clergymen would just bugger off and form their own ARSE (Association of Religious & Spiritual Employees).

Ink & Iron

With a taste of Spring in the air I fancied a ride up to Birmingham on Sunday to the annual Ink & Iron show at the NEC. Custom bikes, tattoos and a ride in (short spells) of sun – what’s not to like?

So I was thoroughly pissed-off to find that the show has been canceled at short notice. Apparently the West Midlands police have advised that they couldn’t guarantee public safety. This of course is in the context of the supposed escalation of the ‘biker war’ between the Hells Angels MC and the Outlaws MC. Allegedly.

With the murder of Gerry Tobin last August, and the attack at Birmingham airport in January there is clearly some serious shit brewing. But I have no insights into these events to offer - and neither I suspect does anybody else outside the two clubs, whatever the self-appointed experts are saying in the tabloids.

The clubs are effectively a closed world that has nothing at all to do with ordinary bikers. And whatever you might think about their antics, no outsiders have been involved in any of these incidents – the general biking public are not at risk.

What this is about is a massive over reaction on the police’s part, fueled by media hysteria. Remember we are not talking about suicide bombers walking into the NEC – a small but visible police presence at the event would be enough to assure that any business the clubs might want to conduct is done elsewhere. But obviously a simple stewarding operation at an event that merely affects a minority sub-culture is not a priority.

Imagine the outcry if a football match was canceled on similar grounds.

Put that light out

I was surprised to learn that like so much of the Olympics, the whole torch carrying thing was a modern intervention. Apparently it was first used at the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Fantastic, you really couldn't make this stuff up ...

I'm a bit slow off the blocks on this one - but just how marvelous were those scenes from London and Paris as the Olympic torch was assailed by demonstrators ?

It's not often that protesters face a win-win situation. But here it is for once. If the torch is extinguished it's a propaganda coup and if the authorities crack the protesters' heads - then the image that goes around the world is that of the repression of legitimate protest.

Hopefully by the time the torch eventually gets to Beijing the the credibility of the Chinese government will have taken a bit more of a battering at each city it passes through.

Bike DIY

Motorcycle Storehouse, the mail order supplier of all things custom and performance for Harleys has a slogan: 'A biker's work is never done'. It certainly isn't when you are a complusive tinkereer like me.

I've experienced what is euphemistically known as the oil blow-by phenomenon. This is a peverse peculiarity of Harley Evolution engines that vent the oil breather into the air filter. The idea is that oil is sucked into the carb and burnt off. Only it doesn't work - there's more oil mist than the carb can handle so it just collects in the oil filter and then drops onto the engine casing or your boot and scares the shit out of you that you have an oil leak. It gets worse if you have a performance air filter. And worse again if you have the 1200cc re-bore. I've got both - so I thought I'd better do something about it.

So I picked up an oil breather kit from Ebay. This weekend I'd thought I would fit it.Last night I took the air filter off. Or tried to, but I stopped as I realised that I was fast rounding off the original recessed breather bolts that held it on. A quick trip to Halfords before it shut to see if I could get a better socket was a non-starter. Asking for an imperial rather than a metric tool is guaranteed to get a blank stare. Trying to explain that I wanted a six point rather than a twelve point socket (that's what had done the damage) was even more so. Next morning I took the tube to Buck & Ryan the mecca of obscure tools in Holborn, and got the 9/16" deep walled six point socket I wanted. Except it still couldn't get a grip on the fucking bolts.

I took a deep breath and phoned the nice man at the local bike shop. He took one of his own sockets and put it onto a lathe to get rid of the lip at the end so as to get better purchase on the damaged bolts. Happily this worked. I returned home expecting to now finish the job in about half an hour. But instead I found that the breather kit wouldn't actually fit with the air filter. The plastic backing plate required drilling new mounting holes, sealing up old mounting holes, and recutting away some of the moulding. Thankfully my other half's jewellery making Dremell came to the rescue for that. The coast should have been clear to now fit the bloody thing - except the bolts supplied were too big and wouldn't fit the new mounting arrangement. So back to Halfords for some smaller (metric but sod it) bolts to hold it all together. Finally I got the fucking thing on - the best part of 24 hours after starting an half hour job.

The oil breather kit was only about £35. The new socket was £5 (plus as I'm a tool fetishist I also brought several other sockets also at £5 just in case). I gave the nice man at the bike shop £20 for his trouble and ruining one of his sockets. The new bolts from Halfords came in some ridiculous multi-part blister that cost £10. And the tube fare was another £5 or so. In total about £50 worth of buggering about in addition to the cost of the original part.

From long experinece that's a fairly typical bit of bike DIY.

Stupid but smug

To protect our kids apparently anyone with an e.mail address such as a.nonce@pedophiles.com will find themselves banished forever from social networking sites.

That’s pretty much the drift of the governments’ proposals to tackle convicted predatory abusers who contact children online. Oh yes - and if they give a false email address when they register with the police on their release, then they face five years imprisonment.

Have the fuck-wits who came up with this ever actually used the internet – do they have the slightest idea how easy it is to get an email address ?

It’s the same kind of thinking behind the debate about taking cannabis up to Class B status. People living in some kind of unworldly cocoon can feel sanctimonious and smug in making glib and hollow proposals that will have no impact on real problems, to the applause of an ignorant baying mob.

Welcome to dumbed down Britain.

Finest Hour ?

It’s the 90th birthday of the Royal Air Force.

Inevitably there will be talk of ‘the few’ and of Spitfires and Hurricanes. Rightly so - the achievement of the Battle of Britain pilots was a heroic and vital contribution to the war against Nazism.

But it’s worth remembering that the origins of the RAF do not lie in its ‘finest hour.’In fact they're downright ugly, and chillingly close to the new world order.

The emergence of a separate air force, as opposed to the Flying Corps of the army or the Air Service of the navy, lay in the theories of a new type of warfare that emerged at the end of the First World War. The Italian theorist Douhet and the visionary HG Wells predicted a form of strategic bombing that would target cities and civilian populations. Wars would end swiftly and decisively, rather than in the attritional slog of the trenches.

The theories were adopted by Trenchard, the founder of the RAF and were summed up with the slogan ‘the bomber will always get through’. Inter-service politics played a part too – if the RAF was to concentrate purely on battlefield ground targets, reconnaissance and dominance of the airspace over the trenches, it might just as well stay a part of the army.

After the First World War the British armed services reverted to their peacetime role of policing the empire. Ironically two of the trouble spots were Mesopotamia (Iraq) and the North West Frontier (Afghanistan). And the newly formed RAF formed a cost effective alternative to traditional troops on the ground. In the 1920’s it was estimated that it would take 105,000 British and Indian troops to conventionally police the revolt in Iraq. With the presence of the RAF it was actually achieved with a force of only 14,000. This was made possible by a campaign of terror bombing – the punitive incendiary bombing of villages that harboured insurgents and the use of chemical weapons – mustard gas was dropped on Kurdish and Shia rebels.

Arthur “Bomber’ Harris the architect of Dresden and Hamburg’s destruction was a squadron leader in Iraq. And Winston Churchill was an early advocate of these new efficient methods:“I am strongly in favour of using poison gas against uncivilised tribes to spread a lively terror”.

None of this need diminish the memory of aircrew, including some of my own family, who gave their lives in 1939-45. But in these times it does seem appropriate to remember exactly how we got to have an air force.

Cool or pseud ?

There’s a row going on over at The Guardian on-line about one of their columnists singing the praise of the Moleskine notebook. Of course the Guardian’s art, design and architecture blog is a pretty easy target if you want to take the piss out of people who wear black roll-necks (I have several by the way). Fair enough up to a point.

But I like Moleskine diaries. I also like Converse Chuck T’s. And Apple Macs. And Harley Dvaidsons. And Jack Daniels. Maybe this just makes me a sad wanker because, as comments on the blog make clear, there are always cheaper, better 'value', utilitarian versions available of just about any iconic item you can think of. Usually from Tesco.

But the trouble with that argument is that if you take it to its logical conclusion you deny the existence of quality. (Quality that is in the abstract sense of the word as Pirsig uses it in ‘Zen & The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance'). A world without it would be a totally grey dis-utopia. With no design or art.

Of course it’s highly personal and we all apply a concept of quality only to those things that matter to us personally. So for me, yes when it comes to bikes it’s a Harley, a BMW, a Guzzi or a Triumph rather than a better performing or better value Japanese clone. But when it comes to clothes – who gives a shit ? – it’s £10 M&S jeans rather than £100 on the designer equivalent. Go figure. It’s a matter of taste.