Gertsamtkunstwerk

Bizarre sightings

Last night, as I briefly Twittered, I was at the Odeon Covent Garden for a live screening of Simon Boccanegra from Milan. I didn't Twitter much about it because a) my phone battery was running low* and b) I figured that it was pointless to tweet during the Leaders' Debate^†

There was an interval after Act 1, so, being me, I slipped out the front door of the cinema to have a quick smoke break in the street. There were quite a few people outside, including a group of munchkins holding clipboards.

I suppose it's cruel to say 'munchkins' but these were a remarkable group of men. Not excessively short - I think they were all taller than me. But all of them seemed to have exceptionally short legs, making their rotund bodies seem disproportionately long. They all wore the same 'NHS' specs with bottle lenses and they moved in unison as if choreographed.

Two taxis drew up; they moved like a shoal of fish to the first one, realised it was the wrong one, and moved to the second one. A strangely dressed man got out, and he slipped to the side of the pavement; my friend informed me he was Kim Newman. The munchkins gathered round the other man, to have their photos taken and to get his autograph on pieces of paper attached to their clipboards. By perusal of posters in the cinema foyer, my friend deduced this other man to be Joe Dante - it seemed there was some event connected with the London Independent Film Festival.

I shouldn't really mock,  because I don't see any problem with people having niche interests and I certainly don't see a problem with celebrity-worshipping someone who has an impressive list of achievements on his CV; surely better than celebrity-worshipping on the instructions of the tabloidese. The sort of person that trainspotters would sneer at for being geeks and dorks is far too easy a target to mock.

Hypocritical, too, because even as I write this, I'm engaged in a dialogue on Twitter, part of a bigger campaign I'm waging about how the mainstream media marginalises and mocks older people and non-glamorous women, with the tacit acceptance of otherwise liberal younger people (especially but not exclusively male) in a way that would not be acceptable if the marginalisation and mocking was aimed at gay and BME people (of course I know there are many racist and/or homophobic attacks from the illiberal media, but that's not my point). And in any case, an auditor mocking Aspies is on very shaky ground.

Later in the evening I was on the Tube. Looking around, about half the people in my carriage were using a phone (interesting considering the absence of a signal!). All sorts of shapes and makes and models, all used un-self-consciously and unostentatiously. Except for one man, who gave me the creeps even though there was nothing inherently creepy about him. His particular gadget was a touch-screen one. He stood in the space between the doors in an overtly masculine pose, even thrusting his groin out, as he looked around to make sure everyone could see how cool he was.

He jabbed and jabbed his touchscreen gadget and simultaneously checked that we were all looking on admiringly. A woman opposite me caught my eye and smirked, which set me off, which set her off. He saw us, his shoulders slumped, his gadget went in his pocket, his legs closed, his posture shrunk, his face fell and he shrivelled up in a proverbial corner.

It was just so funny because you simply wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't been behaving like such a pratt. He looked ordinary and nondescript in the same way as most people do. But he was so determined to show off that he had chosen to spend his disposable income differently from the rest of us - presumably lesser beings -  it was just so funny!

* it has been suggested to me that these batteries only last about six months: ie can't cope with an entire day's data download on one charge**
** I can recharge it at work, but the sockets are well underneath the desk; I'm bored of crawling around on the floor with H&S implications; I do leave it charged in halfway across the office, but then it's not next to me and not mobile!
^† The previous two weeks showed that Twitter was entirely devoted to the Leaders' Debate: people not interested in the debate would tune out of Twitter; for people interested in the debate, their Twitter stream is moving so fast on debate posts, any extraneous material would just complicate matters

Lies, damn lies and newspaper statistics

I find the statistics of elections endlessly fascinating.

I have found a story on the internet. I was alerted to it by a satirically fake David Cameron on Twitter, and have seen no other references to it, so I assume that everybody else is ignoring it with the derision it deserves. Except for Witney LibDems, who, without a hint of shame, blazen it on their website as:

Oxford Mail poll puts Lib Dems in lead for Witney

I voted in the poll, merely to access the results for the sake of this blog. At 1440 on 26 April, the 'results' read as:

Conservative     12%
Green                29%
Labour                3%
LibDems            52%
Other                  5%

The obviously not-very-bright LibDem candidate says:

Seeing this poll is a huge boost to the campaign

(although in fairness, she also says she's not planning to hand in her resignation at work any time soon)

If David Cameron were to be unseated next week, there would be huge glee nationwide, not least in some sections of the Tory party, but it's simply not going to happen. Or, in the unlikely event that it does, there is no way that the Oxford Mail can claim to have predicted this.

The simple fact that it allowed to me vote is enough totally to discredit it. I'm not registered to vote in Witney, I haven't even been there! It hasn't allowed me to vote a second time, probably because of cookies, but it would, I assume, allow me to vote from a different machine.

Although it gives the latest picture in terms of percentage, it does not say how many people, registered in Witney or not, have voted. Is it tens of thousands or just a few dozen?

Any such poll or survey which invites people to participate is susceptible to manipulation. Over the years I lose track of the number of times I have been contacted by someone organising a mass-vote in any number of 'polls' from the frivolous to the very serious. They tend to demonstrate who is the most organised partisan.

It is more likely to attract people who regularly interact online. Approximately half the electorate is over 50 and about a quarter of the adult population is of retirement age. A rural Home-Counties constituency such as Witney is probably older on average than, say, where I live, urban Streatham (unless RAF Brize Norton provides an unusual counter to the general rule).

Although I don't have statistics to hand, I think we all know that internet use is much less amongst older people; I'm not sure whether they are more or less likely than younger people to access the local paper proportionate to internet usage. Again, everybody knows older people are much more likely to vote. I would hazard a guess that Witney Conservative Association is very organised at ferrying their elderly supporters to poll**

The only poll that actually matters is the one on 6 May. But, obviously, there are lots of Opinion Polls around that attempt to predict the outcome.

There is a Code of Conduct governing these. Furthermore, they are conducted on the basis of what they believe to be a statistically valid sample. Typically the sample size is about 1,000, and I have problems with this, even though I understand perfectly that this is absolutely valid (+/- 3%) if the sample is random.

Often, they try and get a stratified sample, attempting to reflect the demographic make-up of society.  I find it difficult to believe that, considering how much more diverse society has become even since I first studied this subject,let alone since 1945.

I just cannot accept that a sample size of about 1,000 is equally accurate for a larger electorate, with a wider age span, that is generally much better educated, that has so much more ethnic diversity, in a society where women are (generally) less likely to vote as their husband instructs them to, where people are less likely to vote the same way as their parents for that reason, where there is greater access to news, which has faster reaction/ turn-around times, where people's community is less local and more widespread, be it online or with fellow workers who live miles away, and where people are less deferential.

Although I do recognise that irrespective of the population size and individual characteristics, everyone can be grouped into one of a very small group of options - but even then, the options are more numerous than ever before - some commentators proclaiming the move from a two to a three party system fail to see that we are close to a multi-party system: the London Assembly has members from 5 parties, the European Parliament has 8 from Britain, including SNP and Plaid Cymru but excluding Northern Ireland

I can see that a newspaper runs an online poll, hoping that it will attract and keep readers by being interactive and user-driven although I think it.

I realise that I am in danger of disappearing up my own geekiness in this election. A stranger reading this should challenge me to cite sources. I am not writing as an academic; I'm not even writing as a  political activist*. I just know this stuff, to me it's common sense and self-evident (but that's because I have specialised over the years, not putting down people whose expert knowledge lies elsewhere)

* I was very active in the Labour Party between 1984 and 2004, was a Labour Councillor in Lambeth 1994-2002, remain a Labour Party member and (small) donor, and have given some time to Streatham CLP in this election

** My partner's late father and my colleague's elderly mother, both Labour voters, habitually got/get lifts to polling stations from Tory workers

Touching too much fruit or veg in the supermarket

I have read the Liberal Democrat manifesto and I bet they are kicking themselves that they haven't pledged to end the 'carrying of small dogs when they can clearly walk' or 'clapping when the plane lands'

There's nothing in the manifesto to make my blood boil; I can't really see that overall it would make anyone's blood boil, although inevitably there are bound to be things that any individual tends to disagree with.

I've even found I was mistaken on the one policy that I found attractive. I admit that this is down to my own stupidity and naivety. I thought that their pledge not to renew Trident was in fact a pledge to move towards unilateral nuclear disarmament. It turns out it's just a technicality; they do want Britain to continue having a supposed 'independent' nuclear deterrent. I don't. It matters to me, but isn't an issue that in itself would determine my voting behaviour. But I did ask myself - can I in all conscience not support a unilateralist party? Is there any issue that is so big that it trumps that in itself it trumps the overall balance of the Big Picture?

Problem over, the LibDems aren't planning on Ban The Bomb. I think even the Tories are multilateralists nowadays. The LibDems oppose the like-for-like replacement, but they word it suitably ambiguously to kid you into thinking that they would actually divert the nuclear budget to conventional weapons and equipment and civilian purposes - that's what I would do.But, it seems, not what they want.

Most other pledges cause a so-what reaction. It seems to be a disjointed reaction to a variety of unconnected grumbles, some of it blatant opportunism.

They pledge to make airlines reveal the actual full cost of tickets (rather than the base figure plus so-called 'optional extras' such as making the payment!). We all know it annoying, but for heaven's sake, we do have the opportunity to review the actual total before you click 'Pay' ; surely, by now everyone knows what the deal is.  It doesn't stop us grumbling, but is this really the role of government? In any case, I'm sure Michael O'Leary would find a way - such as being based in a different sovereign nation, Ireland  - to circumvent this. There are numerous other pledges of this nature, including some which I won't talk about for obvious reasons, where the reaction is - so what!

Many of the things they propose are already being done or at least in development, again, some in areas where I dare not speak. It seems pretty easy to promise to deliver something that is halfway complete. I fail to understand the point of some of their pledges. For example, to 'regulate CCTV' - what does this actually mean? CCTV is already regulated under the Data Protection Act. If they propose further measures, such as setting up a body to license all operators, or some appeal process, or what - it doesn't spell it out.

Some of their proposals are to scrap things - such as Home Improvement Packs - which I know little about, but were introduced to meet a recognised problem. There is nothing in there that proposes how they will address that pre-existing problem. It's not an area that interests me: I haven't moved house for years and have no intention of doing so in the foreseeable future, but it seems to be a headline-grabbing proposal with no substance.

I don't see any big picture or vision in this manifesto. It seems to be a lot of clutching at disparate 'good ideas', each of which could achieve a broad consensus. I suppose they wrote this in a frame of mind of being the ultimate pressure group, and good luck to them, but it's not really a manifesto for government!

A large number of people have flagged up the contrast between the promises made by the LibDems locally and their performance in local councils. I know certainly in Lambeth, their record in coalition with the Tories between 2002 and 2006, that the people of Lambeth voted for a majority Labour Council against the trend of national voting where there was a massive anti-Labour swing - some of it opposition to the Iraq War, which isn't a local government responsibility. I have read that Social Care for the Elderly is in dire straits in Sheffield. I know that locally the LibDems opposed new secondary schools for Brixton; indeed, have a tendency to oppose anything that spells progress. There us a rumour that they are planning again for coalition with the Tories and intend to close the Sure Start Children's Centres*.

There are a few things said by leading Liberal Democrat politicians recently. One is this stupid slogan Clegg keeps using of not being an 'old party'. One can split hairs and point out that the actual legal entity of the Liberal Democrats was formed in 1988; this was as the Social and Liberal Democrats,  a merger of the previously allied Social Democratic Party and Liberal Party. The Liberal Party came about after the Great Reform Act out of the Whigs and Radicals. So it's disingenuous verging on the dishonest to persist with this.

Similarly dishonest is the attempt to portray Clegg as some political outsider who had an ordinary normal job before he went into politics. I rushed to his biography to read about his days down the mine followed by his nights as a trawlerman and his sabbatical as a teacher of special needs. But no, it turns out he did a political wonk job and worked for a lobbying company. He did also work as a journalist, and I will concede not one dependent on the Westminster rumour mill. But, really, I don't think the majority of people would really consider that as being a 'normal'. And if the normal jobs include his gap year jobs, then that's really pathetic.

What has annoyed me profoundly is the suggestion that the last 65 years of British history has been a failure. That is outrageous. My life is very different now than if I had been born in 1903, and thus my current age in 1945. I wouldn't have gone to University, probably wouldn't have been able to pursue a career, would certainly not be able to get a mortgage to buy a house in my own name. I am very proud of the National Health Service. I am proud that life expectancy has risen and neo-natal and maternal mortality has fallen.

I am proud that in the last 65 years we have abolished judicial murder and legalised homosexual acts, to the point where discrimination against lesbian women, gay men, bisexuals (and also transgendered people who tend to get lumped in with LGB) is illegal, as is sexual and racial discrimination and that based on disability. I can think of few areas of British life that, however flawed it is now, isn't a massive improvement on how it was in 1945. A lot of this is down to Labour Governments, much of it is merely in keeping with similar developments throughout the Western world, and some of it did happen as a result of action under the Conservatives, too (it's kind of like naming ten famous Belgians, if you screw your eyes up and think hard you can probably name ten decent Tory initiatives).

I am also incredibly bored of the bandwagon-jumping commentarati repeatedly portraying the Liberal Democrats as 'left of centre'. I suppose it all boils down to whether you consider Ken Clarke, say, to be centrist. The official LibDem national/Parliamentary policy ticks all the right boxes on any number of touchstone issues. My concern is more about the 'Orange Book' economic liberals and their support for free market economics.

*That having been said, I don't think that the 'competence' of often bumbling amateurs (of any party) is an indicator of the competence of full-time national politicians; I also think that with the LibDems, who have a track record of saying anything they think will get them elected, specific policies in any given area are no guide to what they'd do elsewhere

Cutting waste

This appears to be the mantra of this Election. Surely, no one can disagree with the imperative of cutting waste - unless, perhaps you take the Keynesian view that it is better to pay a man (or woman) to dig a hole in the road and fill it in again than for them to languish in idleness.

You could say 'cutting waste' is a subject close to my heart, being that it has been a major part of my job for twenty years. Obviously, I am not going to talk directly about the specifics of my job or how my employer arranges things.

Whoever is charged with making economies must understand what waste is, what they are doing and what its consequences are. I shall follow with a few illustrations which spell caution!

Every year, there is a series of questions in Parliament asking how much has been spent on taxis, which is followed by an outcry in the tabloids as it is revealed that Civil Servants spend several millions on taxis*. Throughout twenty years with several employers in the public and private sector, I have often used taxis for the final leg of a journey otherwise travelled by train. I travelled many times to Llandrindod Wells as a passenger, either in someone's private car or in a hire car, and, of course, I never claimed anything for doing so. On other occasions I have travelled by train to rural town councils and ports which are 2 - 10 miles from the nearest station and have finished off the journey by car. If there was a blanket ban on public servants using taxis, there would be a rise in the cost of private and hire cars; often, taxi and train (especially a cheap advance ticket) is cheaper than hire car (or allows there and back in one day, thus saving on a hotel bill.

It seems to make sense that if you want to make savings, you cut 'unnecessary' admin jobs rather than direct front line service providers. It depends to some extent what you call admin: as I quipped on Twitter, I have seen NHS positions such as hospital porters and 999 call-takers described as 'admin', and even in some instances occupational therapists, physiotherapists and phlebotomists. 

Even without this silliness, it's still important to understand what the admin person does. Many years ago I was on a Social Services Appeal Panel. One of the witnesses observed that some time before that, a round of spending cuts had led to all the filing clerks being made redundant with the expectation that social worker do their own, despite costing two or three times more and already snowed under with caseload. The result  - many 'Serious Case Reviews' highlight the poor quality of record-keeping.

Other frontline public services are attacked because expensive highly trained professionals are forced to do paperwork rather than being out at the chalkface doing what they do. Ironically, of course, when steps are taken to bring in cheaper admin staff to take over some duties, that also gets attacked as a watering down of public services.

Incidentally, many years ago I was in the pub with someone who I think was then the chair of Lambeth School Governors. He was of the opinion that the fixation on class-sizes might prove an irrelevance - that it was far more important to maintain a high ratio between trained adults and children. I understand that nowadays many classrooms have several adults in them, not just the class teacher but assistants for various SEN children, and assistants to prepare materials and support the teacher.

Another thing to be cautious of when 'cutting waste' is to be aware that all accounting is double-entry. I saw something recently, and I can't for the life of me think what and if it was at work I wouldn't tell you anyway, but it referred to a saving made in a fee to another branch of Government. Indeed, if savings are to be made by abandoning or not-renewing contracts with private sector suppliers, or by re-negotiating more stringent terms, it isn't a pure economic win. Nor is making staff redundant (or ceasing to recruit). It will look good in the books of the individual body that does it, and monitoring and controlling public expenditure would be impossible if there weren't sub-divisions created for convenience. Every saving made, unless it is reinvested directly into services, means that someone loses their job or stays unemployed, collecting benefits and not buying goods and services or paying taxes. It might mean a supplier going bust: it's good practice not to place a contract if it would make up more than 25% of the contractor's turnover. But it wouldn't entirely surprise me if, now, there are firms entirely dependent upon contracts from just two or three government departments.

I think Inspectorate and Audit, like every other function needs to be reviewed from time to time, with a few basic questions: Does it do what it's supposed to do (outcomes, not inputs)? Do we want it to do this? Is there another (better or cheaper) way to achieve the same outcome? Are there perverse or unintended consequences that negate the (assumed) benefits? The trend in local government is to adopt a shared service approach, and I have to admit to being shocked that it has taken small district councils in particular so long to do so. It is self-evident that there are savings to be made in Shared Services; there are also dangers that they can become big self-perpetuating bureaucracies in themselves. Ironically, the early years of my career witnessed the disbanding of Property Services Agency; I am sure there used to be a Government Department devoted to buying supplies for other government departments, which, I guess, aimed to achieve economies of scale but eventually imploded.

But Inspectorates are just too easy a target. I am sure people could write whole Ph.D theories on the danger of managing solely to meet targets and ignoring that which isn't scrutinised. At their best, Inspectorates act as a conduit of Best Practice and enable organisations to be transparent. Where organisations are failing to serve their public, the Inspectorate regime exposes this; failure to improve has further consequences, rather than a laissez-faire which allows inadequate councils, prisons, schools and other public sector organisations to bumble along in incompetency and failure.

So, all I'm saying, if someone knocks on your door promising to cut waste, ask them what they mean by this. Hope that the journalists will ask the politicians the same question. Try and work out if the politicians even understand what they are talking about, or are they just promising this because they know that every reasonable and intelligent person abhors waste.

* Like the recent outcry in the tabloids at the news that council employees use corporate credit cards in toy shops - it's not like any council has any responsibility for looking after or educating children, is it!

Clapham Common

We went there for a picnic yesterday. I don't work Fridays, and Jimmy is free between 3 and 8 so we try and do something together most weeks. We were determined to enjoy the sunshine and hit on the splendid idea of a picnic. Clapham Common was chosen because Jimmy would spend less time getting there (and back) from work, because it's handy for shops from which to buy picnic food, and because there are plenty of bars and coffee shops handy for when the temperature drops.

It has its disadvantages, too. Chiefly that being flat and surrounded by a network of busy roads, without boundary trees, it's impossible to feel you've escaped from the urban jungle. But we knew that, and adjusted our expectations accordingly.

We sat down on a bench on the edge of large open field and began to eat our 'starter'. People passed by and there was a constant hum of traffic from the roads; we were barely aware of them. We looked out across a field and laughed hilariously as a dog chased after a child's football and pushed the child (aged about 8) to the ground. Our laughter turned to "What!" when we realised that the dog was no relation to the child, but happened to be passing him as he played with a teenager, perhaps an older brother, and just randomly forced him to the ground.

As it happens, the child didn't seem very bothered; nor for that matter did the dog's owner. Didn't seem to check whether the child was all right, and didn't put the dog on a lead. They continued on their walk, approaching in our direction, but I assumed the angle they were taking would take them well out of our way. Until the dog bounded over to where we were sitting, threw itself at Jimmy and then stuck its nose into the empty prawn tray he had carefully placed on the ground to separate rubbish out from from good stuff*. The owner followed and laughing said

"Oh, she eats anything she sees..."

I think this was our cue to say "Oh gagaga itchywitchy cudgie coo what a darling dog, can I please please pretty please lick her cutey wutey stomach". We didn't.

The owner tried again mouthing some platitude which didn't include the word 'sorry'. Sharply, Jimmy told her to take it away whilst I sat motionless glaring at her (I was rewarded with the sight of her shrinking and slinking away, cowed by my fearsome glare).

When we finished our starter we walked to another field on the Common, this much closer to Northside. We chose our spot carefully. Sufficiently far away from the two men focused on their ball skills as they quietly and unostentatiously kicked a football between them; and  sufficiently far away from two other parties lying down or picnicking in the glorious afternoon sun. We weren't encroaching on anyone and no one was encroaching on us. Ideal. Well, apart from the police helicopter that hovered and circled for about 15 minutes; again, in theory an irritation, in practice something you accept as an inevitability of urban life.

Until PoodleWoman came along. I wasn't best chuffed when said Poodle took a dump barely ten feet from where we were sitting. I was even less chuffed when it immediately ran over to us and stuck its nose in our food bag. Followed by Poodle Woman herself in no great rush to extricate her dog. Indeed she stood there waiting for us to say "Oodle doodle be my baby gagagagaga ickle cuteywootey." We didn't.

Jimmy told her to take it away. She started saying something resentfully, so I told her to keep her dog under control. Scornfully, she said "I'm supposed to control where the dog goes to the toilet?" I'm sorry I didn't ask her why she wasn't scooping it up - there are bins for that purpose on the Common. Today, someone was probably playing a ball game or letting their child run around in that dog poo (by the way, dogs don't 'go to the toilet'). 

What I did say was that it had stuck its nose in our food bag. She retorted that she had every right. I told her to keep her dog on the lead. As she walked away I said "That's probably what counts for hygiene in her household, letting the dog shit anywhere even when she's preparing food. That's really disgusting. Dirty woman." I did have the satisfaction of watching her shoulders slump as she slinked away; hopefully she felt shame.

Dog poo is disgusting. Indeed any poo from any meat-eating mammal is disgusting. I don't mind horse manure and accept sheep droppings as an inevitable part of the countryside. But dog poo. Eugh. Of course dog owners have the right to exercise their dogs on the Common, I don't dispute that. But rights only exist to the extent they don't interfere with other people's rights - or, to put it bluntly, my right to stick out my arm stops just before my fist hits your face. It is disgraceful when a dog attacks a child; it's disgraceful but inevitable when a dog shits in the open grass - and it's disgusting if the owner fails to pick it up. And it's utterly intolerable that, apparently, we have to put up with other people's dirty animals going through our food. 

I do stop and think - is it something I said, is it something I am doing wrong? Am I sitting in the wrong place, breaking some local unwritten custom-and-practice?

I know we all want our own way all of the time and I have been known to sulk or throw a tantrum when I don't (less so now I'm an adult). But surely, if you use your brain you must realise that it simply isn't possible and it's extremely inconsiderate. Perhaps my problem is that I am a follower of the creed of Deferred Gratification: in other words, by acting in a way that appears to be selfless, I later reap rewards. Obviously, this works best in a fairly closed group: eg if I help someone with a problem say at work, they are likely to help me when I need them maybe two years later, or, at the very least, they speak positively of me to others; that doesn't work so well in wider society. I do firmly believe that if everybody behaved in a fairly considerate way almost all of the time, we would all benefit from society being more harmonious. But that is a big IF because I am having to compete with people who want instant gratification or pursue rational selfishness.

Ironically - and  cross-refer to my post on Streatham Common  - this touches on the theory of The Tragedy of the Commons.

* when we had finished our picnic all the rubbish went in the bin

Breath-taking stupidity

"We got Rage Against the Machine to #1, we can get the Lib Dems into office!"

The Facebook Group which campaigned to get Killing in the Name to number one had 750,000 members; the record sold 500,000 copies (I'm not sure if that was in that one week or over that slightly longer period).

I know Facebook Groups are an easy target, but I this one has to win some special award for a special mix of stupidity, naivety and arrogance.

I would bet that of those 500,000 - note merely 2/3 of those who joined the group -  a significant number will either be too young to vote, not registered, or, on Election Day, too preoccupied or CBA to vote.

Another set will be already loyal (or loyal-ish) to the LibDems, and, therefore, any campaign to persuade them to vote Lib-Dem because of the RATM effect is wasted.

Another set will have strong reasons to vote for one of the other parties standing, be it a loyalty (ish) to that party, a personal connection with their local Parliamentary candidate, or a calculation of which 'least worst' party is best poised to defeat the most worst (in their opinion).

Some of them will be in Northern Ireland and thus divorced from the British electoral system.

Amongst that 500k, or 750k, will be an incalculable number who actually believe in voting for a candidate or party on the basis of the policies either laid out in the manifesto or espoused over the previous Parliament and longer.

I read that there are 46 million people registered to vote. Even allowing for duplicates and, again, removing Northern Ireland, it still means that the RATM/Facebook people are less than 2% of the electorate.

As a campaigning tactic, it's unbelievably stupid. Not just because the numbers don't compute; not just because it's political illiteracy to base one's vote on the notion of being part of a crowd (I recall John Cole on eve-of-poll 1992 commenting that many people vote like they back horses - wanting to be aligned with the favourite/predicted winner), but because it betrays an insular ignorance of the world around them.

I have this notion in my head of students believing that just because their mates, their mates' mates and even their mates' mates' mates all think the same, then it stands to reason that everybody does. Point out to them that people's attitudes change as they get older and they're likely to think about people over say 30 or 40 as irrelevant and marginal.

The median age of the UK adult population is 48. That means that nearly half of UK electorate is over 50; it's a given that turnout is much higher amongst older people than amongst the young. And of course, most people over the age of, what, don't actually give a shit what's number one, especially if a mere 500,000 sales (at 39p!) can make a Christmas number one!

Perhaps I am missing the point and this group is set up in an ironic post-modern way. But I don't think I am and I don't think it was.

Perhaps some young person, studenty type will come back wailing about how difficult it is to find out about politics, or how much it interferes with their substance abuse to get out and engage with other people, to find out what matters to them. To which I shrug, because it isn't difficult. It wasn't difficult before the internet; it ought to be even easier with it, providing you know how to use it (oh, but but but, my parents are, like, way too old, yeah, and school was, like, crap, so, like, how I'm supposed to, like, use the internet if no one shows me, like, yeah, man, cool)

For generations, young people have begged to be taken seriously. Yes, this is the way to go about it. Hmm.

Streatham Common

But despite the kids from hell - or rather the childminders from hell - we managed to get something out of our visit to Streatham Common.

I am still getting used to my new camera; also I knew straightaway that the light was never going to do me favours (both are just excuses!)

I love it when in the middle of somewhere built up you get a brief glimpse of something that could theoretically be somewhere completely different - this brief stretch of Streatham Common North could easily be in the country

This is me in the Rookery



This is a cherry tree (or so it said on the label!)

This is a bit of a view of the terraced garden, cunningly taken to disguise the skyscrapers of Croydon otherwise visible on the horizon through the blue haze

And this is the bottom end of a fallen tree which has been left to rot away

On Streatham Common

The plan today had been to picnic on Streatham Common. The weather was not in our favour, so instead we had a rather indifferent pub lunch. We decided to walk on the Common, anyway, even if just to avoid the horrendous traffic queues on the High Road and catch a bus home.

For those of you that don't know, Streatham Common is a fairly large piece of green space. It's not massive, but it's certainly not a pocket park. It's certainly plenty big enough for kids to run around, especially on a weekday more-or-less in school term

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We stopped at the café halfway up and went to drink our coffees at the outside tables. I suppose there's about a dozen tables in a fenced-in space, just enough space in between them and no space for any more.

It was fairly busy, a party of five over there, a Mum and baby there, man and dog there, Mum with two quiet sitting children, woman with a book, us, and That Lot. Specifically two women of my age and eight girls age about 7 or 8, running around, screeching, yelling at each other. Perfectly legitimate play, and of course, it's healthy for children to run around. But in totally the wrong place. I had to keep interrupting what I was saying as another brat ran past screaming down my ear-hole.

Jimmy went to the loo, as I turned round yet again to glare at the screaming kids, I realised Woman-With-A-Book was looking exasperated. She turned to me and said "Can't they shut them up, they're completely ignoring them." Emboldened I went up to the women supposedly in charge of them, and said "There's a whole great big Common, do they have run around screaming in here, when people are trying to sit down quietly?"

One of them laughed. Not quite in my face, but clearly she thought it an absolute hoot that these children she was supposedly looking after (but was in fact ignoring) were being pains. So I mimicked her laugh back in her face, and she didn't like that. However, they  decided they were going. "Than God for that!" I exclaimed in a stage whisper. "We get the message," said the other arsehole bitch. But I didn't think they had, because there was no attempt to say to the kids "This isn't the best place to be running around screaming"

In time we finished our coffees and left the café and headed for the Rookery. I love The Rookery, a delightful secret. I don't go often because it's not so close to home; sadly I didn't go often either when it was much closer.

On Been There it says:

A beautiful Victorian garden in the middle of Streatham Common. Queen Victoria visited for the now gone spa waters  Tranquil even at the height of summer, an oasis in the middle of south London.

Indeed, outside is a sign saying in big letters "This is a quiet garden" and lists the activities that aren't permitted. It doesn't actually say 'No Noisy Brats' or even 'All children should be kept on leads' but *everyone* knows that people go there to read or contemplate.

But not this lot, oh no. The ghastly women sat on a bench on the terrace and the kids ran amok screaming their heads off as they chased round, their noise echoing round the natural bowl or amphitheatre. We tried to get away from them, not entirely possible because they were so loud, and when we returned to the main drag, we saw several independent adults looking at them, in annoyance or bewilderment; something was said, and suddenly, they cleared off again. 

This makes me really angry. As I say, I do think kids should get out and run around. There's a large well-equipped children's playground, there is a large open green space, so why they hell are they doing their running around specifically in areas not designed for it.

I am sick and tired of going out to places and having what should be a relaxing walk or sit-down ruined by out-of-control, atrociously parented children. I know I am not alone in this. I only had to look at the faces of the other café customers and the body-language of the other people in the Rookery that I am very much not alone in this.

It was abundantly clear to me that the ridiculous bints supposedly in charge of these children did not have the slightest clue what the matter was. These were women who knew each other via NCT classes and were dressed very presentably in clothes from shops such as Next, M&S: almost certainly educated and seemingly fairly prosperous.

Exactly the sort of people who complain loudly at how child-unfriendly Britain is. These ghastly women have probably ended up at home moaning to their husbands (who probably don't get home until after the children have gone to bed!) at how hostile everybody is to us 'just because we've got children'.

These two women were supposed to be looking after other people's children. I am not sure whether they were doing it for pay, or as part of a reciprocal arrangement, or as a favour (perhaps the school has failed to open, unexpectedly). But they were failing in their duty. These children encouraged to behave as if the world revolves around them grow up into teenagers and then adults who retain a sense of entitlement and are utterly bewildered as the rest of the world turns against them in hostility and disgust.

I think it's extremely unfair that these people behave like this. Not surprisingly, there were several elderly people in the Rookery; don't they have as much right to their relaxation as these kids?

It's very unfair to the children whose parents do know how to parent - the two sat quietly in the  café, or the little boy walking round the gardens with his nanny. It's unfair to anybody who has gone to the Rookery specifically for its advertised 'quiet' and its reputation for tranquillity.

And, actually, it's very unfair to the children themselves. They are not being taught about boundaries, about how we co-exist in a crowded city on a small island, or about consideration for others. It's all very well being right-on and going to NCT classes, but parenting doesn't stop there. I suspect that the children get a very clear message of being marginal to the lives of the adults who couldn't care less about them, who refuse to communicate or engage with them.

 

Return of the King

Plácido Domingo returns as Simon Boccanegra. It almost seems irrelevant to surf round the worldwide web looking for critiques of the performance in many languages. The most important thing that he is back.

The news broke on 22 February that he was withdrawing from Tamerlano in London in order to have abdominal surgery and would be out for six weeks, also cancelling performances of Simon Boccanegra in Berlin and Zurich. And immediately the speculation started.

I wasn't quite sure what to think of all the speculation. I suppose I am a natural optimist and have to recognise that other people's natural pessimism is no more inherently wrong than my approach. Nevertheless, I was upset and angry to overhear conversations at the ROH and to read them on the internet from people who seemed almost to take delight in writing him off and declaring that that was his singing career over. As I say, I think some were doing it merely because it's their nature to be prophets of doom, but I think there were others who were doing so out of malice, or because they are attention-seeking, and wanted to be 'FIRST' & 'I told you so'.

You read enough of the prophets of doom and you start thinking, what do I know, anyway, maybe they're right. You read stuff such as 'malignant polyp, caught early enough' and I think, 'euw, sounds nasty, glad it was caught early enough'. Then you read words like 'cancer' and 'tumour' and the thoughts turn to "OMG, that's just awful..!"

Of course I was desperately disappointed that he had to miss Tamerlano, but I am so pleased as well, for pretty obvious reasons. And I am delighted and proud that he is back so soon. I had toyed with the idea of booking to go to Milan for Simon Boccanegra, but knowing that it would coincide with the UK General Election and because of my large expenditure for his London performances, I decided against doing so. With the volcano ash, I am so glad that I didn't and I have every sympathy for anyone who did book to go but was/will be unable to get there.

But it has rather made me realise that there will come a time when he will retire.

Domingo applauded for 14 minutes at La Scala

A beaming Placido Domingo blew a kiss at the adoring crowd after his heroic portrayal of Verdi's "Simon Boccanegra" Friday night, the Spanish tenor's first performance since cancer surgery 45 days ago.

His 131st role was something to sing about.

"It was a great evening," Domingo said backstage, after greeting the many friends who crowded to congratulate him. "It was very emotional. I was happy to be in front of an audience."

La Republicca Foto Gallery

As a PS, I refuse to link to any review that claims that Boccanegra was Doge of Venice!
 

Making a splash at the Queen Mum

There's a minor crisis in swimming local to me at the moment. It's unfortunate that pending brand new spangly swimming pools in both Clapham and Streatham, there are no public swimming pools there at present. Clapham has been demolished and Streatham is a long and complicated story. Of course, this puts pressure on Brixton, a pressure increased by the current refurbishment of the wetside changing.

So I've been procrastinating and avoiding the issue; always coming up with lame excuses for not going swimming. (If I told you the lame excuses, you'd be appalled). A possible alternative is Balham, whose website is impenetrable and doesn't seem to list the pool opening times (which are very different from the centre opening times) nor restrictions, but a telephone call tells me that basically it's not open in the evenings after work.

There's another one near Victoria Station which has a ghastly name, the Queen Mother Sports Centre, but in future I shall refer to it as the Vauxhall Bridge Road Sports Centre because I see no merit in 'honouring' a Nazi sympathiser who amassed a fortune at the expense of the British taxpayer.

Its opening hours are not much better than Balham and its website just as useless; by phone call I discovered that it closes really rather early most evenings (last admission 7pm), but on Tuesdays it does actually stay open later.

It's only 15 minutes walk from work so I decided to go there this evening. What can I say? The admission cost is half as much again as it is in Lambeth: if you went three times a week that would be an extra £20 per month. I could pay a monthly fee of £30 but I'd have to go just about every working evening when I didn't have other commitments, if it were to be worthwhile. (Being in Zone 1 also increases the cost to me).

And what do you get for that? A cramped and dirty changing room that not only makes Brixton look palatial and clean, but makes even Clapham (pre demolition, obv) look spacious and modern. 

I went into the Pool and into the Slow Lane, which was a pain. Being so crowded it was a case of swimming toe-to-tail, and, by necessity trying to maintain the pace of the fastest person (who, arguably, should have been in the middle lane, although whether middle lane people would agree is another matter). I did spot some people relaxing over the other side of the pool and it dawned on me that these were the relaxation lanes and they were nearly empty, except for a couple of people chilling at the shallow end and one man bombing up and down. As soon as I get space and can focus on technique my speed increases, so I was actually going faster than previously but felt that I was in control.

It seems very cramped in general: no windows and no sense of overhead space. The walls are plastered with adverts for junk food, resulting in information overload. There is a leisure pool with a slide but that is only open to the general public for a couple of hours on Saturday and Sunday mornings

As I say, the changing rooms are pretty cramped, and I decided not to go in the showers, because it seemed to be shoulder-to-shoulder, with more than a hint of St Trinians and no opportunity properly to warm down.  Half the number of cubicles that Brixton has (and Briton additionally has shoulder height booths which I prefer to cubicles); the remaining changing area is just a set of benches by the lockers.

I suppose I shall have to get used to it as the most logical after-work swim for at least 18 months, until Clapham re-opens and takes the pressure off Brixton. I suppose on non-work days I should cycle to Balham. Of course, on hot days,  I also have the luxury of two Lidos close to home. Ha ha ha!

But I like Brixton; it has its faults. Its customary round here to slag everything, but everything, off and Brixton Rec certainly has its faults. But given a straight choice between Brixton Rec and VBR Sports Centre (bearing in mind there as close to the rail-links as each other), I'd choose Brixton any time.

1984 Tweet

There's a silly meme I've just picked up on Twitter - tweeting as if it was 1984. I've done a few, and I could be on a roll, but I've decided to stop, in order to avoid really pissing off my followers.

• I really ought to be revising for my O-Levels
• I've just joined the Labour Party & done some leafletting for Trafford Coucnil* Elections. Solidarity with miners
• Going to watch Top of the Pops tonight. I wonder who else'll be on besides Lionel Richie

Of course it would be dead simple to go upstairs and dig out my diary from this day in 1984, but that wouldn't be as fun as writing as if I almost had a sixth sense and could almost predict the future. (And I'm not bothering too much about 140-character limits)

• Been out to take some photos; I'd love to take loads but wish there was a way to take photos without having to pay for D&P  & film
• Popped into the library to find out the latest MUFC gossip but they only had Times & Express. Frustrating...
  
• Damn, I missed TV prog last night. Even a video wd be no gd if you didn't know it was on. Wonder if they'll repeat it
• Watching Nationwide about Labour Politicians. There's these two blokes elected last year they reckon are future PMs.
• I bet there's some toff of my age at Eton who reckons he'll be next-but-one Tory PM. Prick.
• The brochure came for the Halle Proms. Never get any stars at the Proms, wish we'd get some international superstar singer
• Just been practising for my DS O-Level practical. They ought to have more cookery programmes on TV, but TV's just for blokes & blokes aren't supposed to cook. Typical of patriarchal society
• I wonder if Bryan Robson will be fit for the UEFA semi against Juventus
• I hate Liverpool, they keep winning & winning. I'd just like one Championship, please. Too much to ask?
• It's not fair, I've used the phone 'too much'. How am I supposed to contact my friends in the school holidays?
• I'm the only 'young person' in Altrincham & Sale CLP. It'd be great if I could write letters to other young activists up&down the country, like penpals
  
• Ugh!  Black-pudding, beetroot & mushy peas for tea, followed by rhubarb pie. Old fashioned English cooking, so boring. Wish we could have more lasagne and moussaka, like posh restaurants in Hale

You can see the aggregated efforts of others by clicking on #1984Tweet

* Back in 1984, my spelling was perfect. Then along came computers**
** I had actually used computers before then, but I didn't use them regularly until the 1990s

Six years later

It could be the name of a horror film featuring Zombies, but instead I'm writing about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. It's just about six years ago I was signed off for four months having attempted a come-back after a month off.

Even now, I am not sure what is wrong with me. Medical professionals and expert websites are contradictory in saying fibromyalgia and CFS are:

• separate conditions with often overlapping symptoms; 
• synonymous; or
• different, but always likely to occur together, one triggering or contributing to the other

Often, I can't describe what is wrong with me. I get incredible bursts of energy, do something, and then I feel tired, but, then, surely, doesn't everyone? Or I have pains and aches and think - I have to live with this every day. I then question, but doesn't everybody, at least by the time they get to my age (which isn't old but is certainly more than fresh-faced youth).

Then there are the knock-on effects. In the early years, doctors used to say things like 'best cure is an hour's daily exercise'. It was impossible then to do that, even a walk locally on chores would tire me out. Now, they say things like 'being overweight doesn't help'. As if I didn't know.

It peeves me that doctors only use the scale weight rather than proportion of fat - I was weighed just before I restarted swimming and bought a bike in 2008 summer, and I was weighed again early September last year, and all the doctor could say 'You've put on weight'. I pointed out how much extra exercise I'd done since the last weighing and how I'd gone down a dress size; in fairness, she acknowledged that this is normal, but it seems to me to be a poor way to measure relative health (for an unfit person I have surprisingly strong muscles especially in my back and my calves; I did have good thigh and upper arm muscles six months ago, they've gone a bit flabby since).

All that aside, it is not really that helpful to say 'being overweight makes your condition worse'. As with many other conditions - eg joints, heart/lungs, depression - the condition contributes to being overweight as much as vice versa in a vicious circle.

It annoys me that there are still people who do not take the condition seriously. 'It's all in the mind,' they say. Yeah sure. Your mind is telling you you desperately want to do something but you know the body lets you down.

Years ago, I fully endorsed the idea that if you were lucky enough to do your hobby as a living, and as long as it didn't interfere with your responsibilities to your children, for example, then do it. (Which is not the same as saying that you prove your capability at a routine job by accepting a macho culture of presenteeism).

In theory, I still believe this, but in practice, I can't see how it's possible - I no longer understand intuitively how people can push themselves for 12, 16 hours a day, 6 or 7 days a week, week upon end. (I could be cynical and say it causes burn-out, and it does for some, but not for all, or most).

I never used to be able simply to relax, to sit and vegetate, to watch TV purely as a pastime. I always had to be multi-tasking; even sitting in a pub was best when conversation was active and stimulating (still can't do small talk, idle chit chat; bores me rigid). Watching TV was justified by a paper sort or ironing, or a fact-finding/educational experience. 

Sometimes I think I am so well recovered that the future is a trajectory. It's possible to look at people who have had CFS and recovered to lead lives uncompromised by it. There are many many other people who live with it and give the impression of living normally, because they are able to manage it, hide the 'bad days' (and so many conditions have bad days), and ration how they apply themselves to tasks.

So I am slowly coming to an acceptance that there will never be a magical time when I return to normal (when 'normal' was working 9-6, followed by a Council meeting, followed by drinking in a late night bar to silly o'clock in order to get up to be in work again the next day, or work could often mean 9-9, or staying up overnight to finish a report). I wouldn't want to return to that, but I wish I could, say, work a full day, and then use the evening to go swimming or to a concert AND get some chores done AND do something constructive on the PC, without feeling there's a price to pay).

And then there's the agoraphobia. But that's a whole different story, for another day!

The house of my dreams

I'm quite into property porn. I don't watch the property porn shows on the TV but I do like browsing the 'For Sale' sites from time to time. Just a few days ago, I was planning to move into a converted barn to where I went on audit the other day, not far (but far enough!) from London Farnborough Airport.

But I've changed my mind. I have never in my life seen a house I want so much. It has so much going for it. It's just over 3 miles from my mother's house, walking distance of Altrincham town centre, close to Dunham Massey park. Close, but not too close to Manchester International Airport.

If I had £2 million (or let's be honest, the way the housing market is now, £1.75 million) I'd be onto the Estate Agent rightaway.

Probably the most daring & innovative house ever built:

The Subterranean Mansion

It has all the usual Estate Agents' guff:

 Entrance hall, cloakroom/WC, lounge, dining room, breakfast kitchen, utility room, laundry room, master bedroom with en suite bathroom, dressing room & shute to pool, 2 further bedroom suites, swimming pool, central Jacuzzi with atrium above, gym, bar area, changing room with shower & WC, plant room, garage, in all approximately 4,300 sq ft. Gardens, approximately 0.3 of an acre.

Wait on! Did I read that correctly: shute to pool? By jingo, I did

Oh my god, you have no idea how much I want this. I really really want it. (If you happen to have £2 million hanging around doing nothing, please please please, you know I deserve this).

Country Life listing - it's described as being in Cheshire, but I know it's Greater Manchester - it's hop ,skip and jump from my old school.

It has its own website, although I can't get the videos to play, but the brochure describes more, including the Architects' Philosophy:

The dialectics of architecture and landscape, light and shade, inside and outside are at their most exhaltant* in this building. They are not separate. Their limits define and celebrate each other.

In listening and enquiring to the site, it has, in its own way, guided how the design should manifest. The radial form of the building carefully and respectfully responds to the embrace of the site’s densely vegetated boundary.

Master bedroom with the entrance to the shute to the pool!

Mind you, once the novelty had worn off, you'd probably get bored of sliding out bed into the pool. But I wouldn't!

* did they mean 'exultant'? If so, it's a shoddy lack of attention to detail!

Passion

A book by Louise Bagshawe

!!!CONTAINS SPOILER!!!!

Yet another book I purchased in pursuit of 'chick lit'. She is described as a 'chick-lit' author but I do think this is an unfair and derogatory - there isn't a similar term to embrace low-rent male-oriented writers such as Dan Brown and Andy McNab.

When I bought this book I knew nothing about Louise Bagshawe except a name that I frequently see when browsing the 3-for-2s at WH Smith. I subsequently found out she is a Prospective Parliamentary Candidate for the Conservatives; I didn't wish that to prejudice my reading or review of the book.

There is a lot positive to be said for the book. It has a page-turning quality, and is well structured. I found the prose style very readable and spotted few stylistic tics, no real contradictions and no slapdash syntax. About the only annoyance on that level was repeated use of the cliche/buzzword 'is a player'. Legitimate to use in dialogue, it's lazy to use in a descriptive passage about a (fictional) Sultanate.

It's a fairly good book straining to be a very good book. A racy and complex plot, demonstrating some impressive grasp of details. But, unfortunately, there are too many holes, inconsistencies and details lacking to consider it of any great merit. A few minor errors were irritating but shouldn't detract from the overall narrative:

• the hero, Will, takes the heroine, Melissa onto the Tube, takes an Oyster card from his pocket and swipes it twice to let them both through
• Melissa is initially described as a research fellow (at an English University) but is often described subsequently as a professor;
• Will gets 'designer' suits shipped from Saville Row (if they're Saville Row, they're not 'designer'; if he gets them 'shipped' they're just off the peg)
• Melissa and her father (really a Professor, of Physics) communicated occasionally by telephone and letter - he died a year before this book was set, which references the credit crunch, the Lehman collapse, YouTube and Flickr - but no emails!
• Melissa goes from 'soft and unfit' to being able to take a running jump between two Manhattan sky-scrapers 8 feet part, within days, as a result of working out, albeit for several hours a day
• There is passing reference to the President of the USA (ie he's not integral to the plot, merely exists) as being an impotent old fool with a son - if you're writing a fiction about a US President, of course it has to be a fictional one, but I believe it' s okay to namecheck real people in fiction if they have no involvement in the plot. In my opinion, Obama is the third consecutive US president without a son, who couldn't honestly be described as old

And they kept on coming! 

The characters are unbelievably two-dimensional.

Will is described as having grown up in a Barnado's home; this is the explanation given for why Melissa's parents dislike him; there is a vague hint that his background was a motivation behind his success. But there is no further reference to this having an  effect on his character, not once is he seen to wonder about or resent his ignorance of his parents.

Melissa, despite being a research fellow in history is never once portrayed as having even a passing interest in anything historical.

Will's fiancée Olivia is described as being a rich Socialite heiress who also happens to be a doctor, specialising in Oncology. As an American,  she would have made the decision to study medicine post grad, and then decided further on what specialism, which seems entirely at odds with her portrayal as a shallow self-obsessed girl about town.

The other characters are cardboard cut-outs, which is tolerable for the narrative, but a better portrayal of the main supporting roles would have enhanced the book.

What is so stupid is the sheer lack of plausibility in the main plot-line.

!!!SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER!!!

Melissa's father has 'discovered' how solar energy can be generated to end the dependency of cars on oil. Within days of Melissa smuggling the solar cell to Israel they (Israel) are producing solar-powered cars and oil-rich states of the Middle East have collapsed.

Now I have to confess to knowing less about the science of renewable energy than Louise Bagshawe presumably found out from the internet, so I decided to take this from first principles.

I know from observation that the technology exists to generate solar electricity, at least in buildings. One of the obstacles is finding a way to store it for when the sun isn't working. I don't think it's going to take a massive breakthrough of theoretical physicists to do this; more a case of refining a process down to a practical usable level.

Supposing that this solar cell he invented has the capacity to solve this problem, there would still be work needed to develop a mechanism to transfer the energy to the car's engine. I don't think this is 'rocket science' but something that needs attention from mechanical engineers specialising in car design. I don't think this would be developed in Israel, and not just in a few days. They do have car manufacturers there, but innovative engineering design seems a lot less important than developing robust bodies.

And, even if all those arguments I present are complete tosh, even if it were possible to develop, in just a few days, vehicles with no dependence on oil, and assuming that the costs of running such a car made it an absolute no-brainer, it's still going to take several years for the worlds' car manufacturers to build capacity to meet the demand for hundreds of millions of fuel-free vehicles.

This doesn't address oil-fuelled air travel or heating/lighting fuel - either directly or to produce electricity and gas (although I suppose these could all be superseded by the solar cell!), and it doesn't consider the demand for oil to make any number of by-products.

I accept - and desire - that, in the long term, oil will be replaced by renewable energies, especially solar power. But I don't think this scenario has been properly thought through by the author and her editor.

The basic principles of producing solar energy are so widely known that it would be futile to kill the small handful of people who might know the details of Melissa's father's research. Similar research happens at numerous institutions throughout the world.

The book is predicated on the assassinations being crucial to stopping immediately and for ever the reliance on oil, whereas I contend that it could never happen immediately and that a cessation - or more likely a reduction - is going to happen eventually, anyway.

It's a shame, because the chase, the actions of the assassins and so on are entertaining reading. But the logical flaws in the plot and the lack of interesting/plausible main characters turn a potentially excellent thriller into a mediocre disposable read.

Wedlock: How Georgian Britain's Worst Husband Met his Match

by Wendy Moore

Another book I picked up by mistake in my search for shallow chick-lit. Firmly in the genre of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire and The Other Boleyn Girl, this makes shallow chick-lit look meaningless, and, surely, is crying out to be turned into a film.

I suspect this sort of book would be dismissed by the History Snobs as being about a lightweight unimportant subject. It would be ignored by the glossy mags and their airhead journalists as not being 'relevant'. It would also be dismissed by feminist academia for not containing sufficient long, made up words, interminable sentences with multiple sub clauses, and for not being hectoring enough.

It seems to be a well researched book relying heavily on primary and contemporary sources (with pages of end notes citing these sources). Unlike The Other Boleyn Girl, the author does not make any disclaimer about fictionalising, and, other than projecting thoughts and feelings, I regard it as straight account.

It is a biography of Mary Eleanor Bowes, a summary of which is available at Wikipedia. Not a new story, the 'worst husband' was the subject of Thackeray's The Luck of Barry Lyndon. Wendy Moore comments on how for three centuries, Mary Eleanor Bowes' story has been told and retold in a way to cast her in a poor light.

For example, only in 2006 a man published a book called The Trampled Wife: The Scandalous Life of Mary Eleanor Bowes; the publisher's blurb describes her as a 'termagant', a word whose meaning I had to look up.

I recognise that every good historian writes with a Point of View; nevertheless, I find this book to be revelatory and shocking historiographically. In other words, and in reference to the academic sisters, it's about time that history became herstory.

Twin and interlocking themes in the book: extreme domestic violence and the oppressive, tyrannical, thieving property and marriage laws  - not properly (if that) amended until my lifetime, that meant that the woman was the property of her husband. That was no abstract concept. This meant that a married woman had no legal personage, so could not take legal action in her own name, had no rights to any property inherited from her father, and, on separation, had no legal rights to access her children, let alone be their caregiver. Mary Eleanor Bowes was unusual in that she was able to be an exception to this. Eventually.

If you read my review of Daughters of Shame, you will recall I wrote:

I simply don't see that rape, child marriage and imprisonment are race issues. In any case, similar oppression was typical of white European Christian society until fairly recently.

I wrote that before I had even read the cover of this book, and this book appeared next in the pile serendipitously. I found the first few pages difficult because the writing style is so very different from Jasvinder Sanghera's, but I soon settled into it, and after a few slow short sessions, read most of it yesterday.

In a perfect world, I ought to be reading weighty academic tomes, but books like this are far more useful. It's 96 in the Amazon (UK) sales rank for books, perhaps assisted by it being part of the Channel 4 TV Book Club (whatever that is...). This shows there is a market for this kind of book, possibly an insatiable market.

This reaches more people than academic tomes; those who read it are by definition literate, and, probably, well educated and already aware of the issues. Being part of a book club and - eventually, I guess, - a film, will mean that the message reaches a wider audience.

No doubt, some of that wider audience will say 'Oh didn't Kiera Knightley (or whoever) look mint; fancy coming shopping; I don't see the point of feminism" but a lot more will realise that progress has to be won, is slow and is fragile. Conversely, the reader might consider "that's history, thank goodness the only thing we have to worry about now is the emo angst and body image obsessiveness of a modern Bridget Jones".

It's a generally well-written and edited* book. My main criticism of the style is repetition. You know when you watch a Channel 4 documentary and after every ad break, they recap what's gone before, tell you what they're going to say, say it, and then recap it, before telling you what they're going to tell you after the next break. It wasn't quite that bad, but it's a habit I detest on TV and I don't want it to become the norm in books.

Like Georgiana, this is a biography of an ancestor of a future monarch. I suppose there is little documented evidence of the lives of ordinary Georgian women, but it's sad that after three centuries that the same small group of people 'matter'. There is (probably) more interest in Royal Ancestors than in people whose line died out or descended into obscurity.

A couple of years back I went to both Hever Castle and Harewood House, both of them using their tenuous Royal Connections to attract paying customers to their (admittedly extensive) grounds, indifferent gardens and overpriced gift shops.

I used to wonder why so many people were monarchists despite the overwhelming logical arguments to support a republic. But I didn't understand - still don't - the quasi-feudal system which ensures so many people are dependent on the Royalist spin-offs. It would seem inimical to their interests to kill the golden goose, although I am sure many people are happy to visit homes and gardens with no obvious current royal connection, as long as they're worthwhile in themselves.

Perhaps this won't become a film - the beatings, rapes and imprisonments are so grisly that a a faithful account might not pass uncensored; a watered down version would risk trivialising a seminal legal case and its context.

* editing matters: 2 or 3 years ago I read several books that made me want to wield the red pen to eliminate padding - I read one which said something like 'I realised I found myself entering through the door into the room', an understandable first draft, or instant-publishing flaw, but in a book that costs real cash money?

This morning's top news

(Brown's team are) said to be exploring opportunities for Brown to be photographed killing a wild animal, though advisers have recommended that weather, and other considerations, mean Brown should not remove his shirt. (Guardian)

This arrangement, then, at last brings the Symphony of a Thousand down to my level. To substitute for church bells, the violist kicks a soprano in the shins ... Barker handles the bass part quite well for his age, occasional memory lapses and whimsical insertions of popular tunes like “Oops, I Did it Again” notwithstanding...There is no biographical information for the “homeless violist,” but I suppose I am unsurprised, given that this type of plight has befallen many of my violist friends. MusicWeb International