Last Orders?

First we came for the witches...

Just before Christmas, the Devil highlighted some worrying statistics concerning the health of the licenced trade in England in recent months. The Christmas period has, in a limited way, allowed me to witness this first hand in two very different parts of the country.

In the Village, the pubs and bars, with very few exceptions, were like those of a ghost town compared to years past in the couple of weeks leading up to Christmas. Usually anything bar Monday evening would see the level of custom somewhere between heavy and heaving.

It should be said that according to a contact in the pub trade that the Village is somewhat notable for strange seasonal swings in business out of line with generally accepted patterns, but the same could never be said of my old home town in the heart of the Yorkshire beer belt?

Yet here again the pattern was similar, with the rather nice pub that was my local from before legal drinking age until I started my long drift south was closed down, apparently having run into financial difficulties despite a fine location and, the last time I was there, a solid customer base. According to more expert opinion on West Yorkshire hostelries, in the form of my father, this was not an isolated problem, with his typically pessimistic prognosis being that the pub "was on its way out".

It would, of course, be easy to lay the blame directly at the door of the most significant act of national government apropos the premises in question, in the form of the smoking ban, but this, I'm sure is simplistic and, while doubtless significant, not the whole story. There are changes in lifestyle that may play a part and many may applaud, and there is the fact that visiting the pub is becoming an increasingly expensive pastime.

If there is any truth in the imminence of the £4 pint, reported widely before Christmas, due to the rise in world grain prices, the future does not exactly look rosy, especially for those without the strength that the numbers of the large chains can bring.

With the risk of sounding like Jim Hacker having watched my dad's entire boxed set of 'Yes Minister' over the last few days, the Pub is a real British institution; except, of course, to those in the government who believe that great British Institutions are things like ID cards. It does seem to be an institution though that is under some threat at the moment and as an Industry that has shown itself very capable of moving successfully with times and fashions it is hard to conclude anything other than that much of the current threat must come from some of the extraordinary external factors, most of which in some form stems from Government actions.

In this context, even a raise in excise duty in line with the RPI next time around can only be interpreted as an overtly hostile act. True, it's a racing certainty that there will be some sort of concession for the likes of the Scotch Whisky industry, considering the Prime Minister and Chancellor's personal political needs, but if anything I would have thought that the impact of a rise in the cost of raw materials would be less for such a product than in the case of a simple pint of beer.

HMCE revenue from wine, beer, cider and spirit duties is forecast to cross the £8 billion mark in 2007-08, just under 5% of HMCE revenues, even before you take into account VAT receipts. It's a healthy enough take already and it's about time the government realises that they have their knife at the throat of the golden goose.

The problem is that it is easy to present it as a 'moral' tax on health grounds, but it should be noted that the reported fall in pub trade has not been accompanied with any similar statistics on falls in the problems associated with the down side of alcohol consumption. Freed from the constraints of providing a high staffing ratio, a convivial premises or, for that matter, a quality product you can still buy loopy strength lager from the supermarket for about 70p a can, so why should there be any such change?

Incidentally if I buy a pint at Base Camp, I am guess I am paying around 46p in VAT to the Treasury, buy the cheap supermarket alternative and the figure drops to around 13p, so perhaps the puritanical element that still holds such sway over our hopeless government should not take unalloyed pleasure over the sight of the damage they have caused.

It's time to give the licensed trade a break. Even if it's beyond the wit of ministers to understand the concept that less tax doesn't always mean less revenue, surely they can find some way to make the burden fall more heavily on the sales of cheap and nasty booze that can more easily find its way into the hands of those under age to consume it, without further damaging a sector that, while not without its faults, is still fundamentally an asset to the country. This is also, to any intelligent person, not the time for the government to once again satiate it's nanny fetish with further smoking restrictions, such as exclusion zones near the pub door; were only there any signs that the current government was composed of intelligent people.

Perhaps also they may choose to reflect on the nature of those areas which will resent the loss of local pubs, and those parts of society where the pub plays has the highest significance in local social life.

Some day the time will come when those in Labour's heartland will realise that Labour only represents them to the same extent that other parties such as the Lib Dems at one extreme and, sadly, the scum of the BNP do at the other, and in terms true empathy with their day-to-day lives, the metropolitan elite that is the bedrock of the NuLab project comes a poor third.

Labour's agenda of clumsy paternalist puritanism can only hasten this time.

Ho Bloody Ho

Another year, another war zone

I have to admit, this is not my favourite time of year. Other than the traditional Boxing Day Leeds Rhinos fixture, a rare opportunity to go and watch the other code and escape overheating and overeating, there is little in the festive season that fills me with cheer and goodwill towards my fellow man.

In particular there comes that annual series of amateur drinking fixtures, known as the office party. Down at the Base Camp there is one such display of second rate booze handling in progress as I write this, and judging by the faces of the normally cheerful staff, even Doktor Doob, it is living down to the reputation of such events.

The main problem is the number if inexperienced players in the typical side, many of whom will doubtlessly be heading in my direction to fall off the taller bar stools shortly. All will be of perfectly legal drinking age, and few will be teetotallers, however at many of these occasions it's a bit like letting seventeen year olds drive HGVs on their provisional moped licence.

I'm too much of a libertarian to want anything in particular to be done about it; it's just bloody annoying. As it happens I was more impressed with Antony Worrall Thompson's sensible suggestions on the Daily Politics, of limited, and situationally appropriate, additional opportunities for teenagers to learn how to handle alcohol in a responsible way, rather than a big-bang, off the leash at eighteen approach. It was a thoughtful piece, that considered the mindset of the teenagers he was thinking of, but it didn't involve a crackdown or ban so I don't think anyone in Gordon's policy unit will be interested.

Bah humbug to one and all.

The Road to Adulthood

The Scowling Marathon

The weekend has not been a pleasant one in the Village. It would appear that the high street is playing host to the winter games of the XVIIth Chavolympiad.

All bus stops and most shop doorways are occupied. It seems that the bus stop near the Base Camp is playing host to the boys under 15 getting mullered on a single bottle of Budweiser finals, while doorway of the florists down the road is hosting a round of the teenage girls screeching contest.

I don't like to sound too old-gittish about it, but it's hard not to look back and think 'was I ever like that?' and realise that I'm pretty sure I was not, and nor for that matter was anyone in the town in which grew up, a far less well heeled area than that were I live today. There are a hundred and one explanations tossed around for the growth of what tends to get lumped over the term 'anti-social behaviour' but to be honest few of the ones I've heard seem to me to get to the heart of the problem and consequently most of the solutions seem way off the mark too.

The Labour government, of course, with its incredibly stunted imagination believes the solution lies in bans, crack-downs and restrictive legislation; the merit of each initiative is assessed in it's potential for hogging newspaper space to displace the daily diet of tales of government failings.

Cameron's vision of National Community Service or whatever it was at least showed some originality of thought even if it is, as I've said before, a vision that can probably only be preached to the converted. There is, and I think always has been, an instinctive distrust from teenagers of activities organised by them by the adult world for their greater good. To a large extent I actually think that there is a actually something perversely healthy in this scepticism.

I can't help wondering, with my Conservative leanings, why the market has not provided a solution. After all, there is a clear large demographic group which in many parts of the country, surveys tell us, relatively cash rich. When I look at the plethora of identikit coffee shops up and down the high street I wonder why one doesn't try providing the same kind of social environment as some of the more popular bars in town, with everything bar the alcohol. With the relative proportion of the increasingly similar drinks prices extorted by the government in the two types of establishment differing so wildly it's hard to imagine it being an unprofitable venture to offer evening opening and a teen friendly environment that they would actively choose.

Of course, it might just be that my own view of organised yoof activities is a little bit jaundiced by my own limited experience of it. It was decided, at I think about thirteen that I should be packed off to the local scout troop every Wednesday evening. As it happens it was quite good fun, but perhaps not quite in the way that Baden-Powell may have hoped.

On the plus side it gave an early introduction to democracy, in that we were allowed to elect our own patrol leaders. We exercised our choice wisely, selecting the most mature both in attitude and appearance. The latter consideration may seem a bit superficial, but in fact it was the key criteria in determining their chances of buying beer and cigarettes for those who were still too youthful to bring their own provisions for the post meeting festivities.

Getting into the Spirit

Blogging has been a little bit light of late due to paying work commitments and a bit of the general miasma that seems to have struck a couple of the authors of other blogs I enjoy. Now, refreshed by an invigorating couple of weeks of almost daily bad news for a rotten government I feel ready to spout forth my usual drivel again.

I'm a bit loathed to start with a Christmas tale, being very much a fully paid up member of the 'Christmas starts too bloody early' brigade and somewhat of a bah-humbug even when it does come in its proper time. That said I was quite amused to see the transformation at my local purveyor of tobacco products in the Village.

My local off-licence has recently been taken over by a group of, I believe Sikh, gentlemen who have improved the place immeasurably, not only in terms of the merchandise on offer, but also a genuine old-school welcoming attitude to their customers.

It is always 'service with a smile', but perhaps never more so than tonight as they were in stitches putting up their Christmas decorations, and very proud of their dressing of the cigarette display.

Little scenes like this, along with the selection of unhealthy but tasty range of Polish food the same shop stocks, is the positive side of multiculturalism if one exists, enjoying the positives in a festival that you do not celebrate, but are happy to join in the spirit of. It's a stark contrast to the po faced multiculturalism of the left, where all that makes us different must be suppressed, at least if it is from the more entrenched part of the indigenous culture, for fear of an offence that is never intended and very rarely taken.

I do believe this is a lesson that has, in the greater part, been learned, but I still hold out little hope that I will get to the New Year without hearing of ridiculous act of stupidity from one of the last remaining bastions of dogmatic, counter-intuitive, irrational leftism.

I don't believe, so I won't be shocked or offended, and even if I did I would not be. In either case though, I will be, or would be, saddened to see such ridiculous behaviour.

Up in Smoke

In need of an update

Bonfire night hasn't ever had the same appeal since my father bought a dodgy batch of fireworks that fell of the back of a lorry a few years ago. Once you've seen an oversized rocket doing a mid air U-turn a couple of seconds after lift off and somehow fitting through the narrowest of re-entry windows (in this case a patio door opened only to a ventilation setting) and explode in the family lounge nothing else will quite match the excitement.

It's that whiff of gunpowder and controlled danger that I've always liked and I desperately hope the health and safety zealots fail in their annual whining for yet more draconian restrictions. They don't seem to publicise the annual injury toll on TV news outlets anymore, which is probably a sign that the numbers are becoming fairly small and un-newsworthy, but if true that would not deflect the zero risk brigade from their crusade.

There have also been the usual questions raised about the appropriateness of an annual celebration of Catholic burning from the usual suspects of political correctness as well as from more considered sources. I've got no particular views on Catholicism one way of the other, but I am inclined to believe that it is one area where perhaps we could include a little more diversity. A pub conversation last night covered some potential candidates to replace the historical Guido Fawkes, so I have now come up with my considered top 10. I've tried to stick to just a single victim from any given sphere or institution, otherwise I'd have just been able to cut and paste from a list of members of the current cabinet.

So here goes then…my top 10 for the bonfire kindled, of course with the entire print run (if that is sufficient) of The Independent, in effigy:

10 - Jonathan Davies
Davies is a fine rugby player in both codes of the codes, with an encyclopaedic knowledge of both games. That said, the Welsh accent can be a beautiful thing, but his isn't. If some digibox offers a 'mute Davies commentary' feature I will be out to buy one in a second.

9 - Jose Manuel Barroso
I was tempted to include two people from the commission so that, in EU style, it would be possible to satisfy the sensitivities of those both in Brussels and Strasbourg. In my opinion the more common hate figures of the Eurosceptic movement, such as Santer and Delors at least had a degree of honesty of what their ultimate goal was, even if they were not so open about how they were achieving it. Some may say that Barroso is just the EU village idiot and unworthy of the accolade, but I'd love to see him go up in his Napoleonic bicorn hat.

8 - The Poison Dwarf
Ok, a bit parochial. Those outside the Village will just have to trust me when I say that never before in the field of pub bores has so little knowledge been expounded so long and inaccurately to so many.

7 - Kate Moss
OK, it wouldn't add much to the blaze, but the Kate Moss effigy is there as a symbolic representation of British Tabloid culture at its worst. The mention of her name in the broadcast media used to be a cue that all the serious news had come to an end and you could switch off and go and do something else, now it's likely to somewhere up in the top three stories at some point in any given week.

6 - Quentin Davies MP
We have far too large a legislature for a country of our size so the back benchers must take their share of the cuts as well as the cabinet. Not only would Davies' oily bulk make up for Moss, but as people at least since the days of Dante have known, there is a special circle in hell reserved for traitorous scum. I suspect there are still plenty of his newfound colleagues that would help me drag his heavy effigy to the top of the bonfire.

5 - Richard Corbett MEP
The smug grin that the deputy leader of the Labour MEPs has worn since his wish to have the desires of the British People extinguished seems to have been granted is truly revolting. The stupefying dishonesty of his attempts to justify the most politically dishonest act of my lifetime are offensive in the extreme. His fervent hope that the gradual stripping away of real democratic control from the general public will continue is reason enough to give him a portent of what generally happens when self selecting elites scorn the people, in seeing his effigy meet the same kind of sticky end that ultimately befell many of his political forebears.

4 - Robert Mugabe
It's a rare person who can unite a vast swathe of the political spectrum in universal loathing. There are others whose leadership has turned their country into a complete mess, but so often it can be attributed to an obsession with failed and discredited ideologies. With Mugabe I'm not sure I could even credit a plea of insanity; I believe he knows what he is doing is wrong and where he is leading his nation but these issues are small beer to him in comparison to his desire for unfettered power and wealth for his friends and himself.

3 - Lord "I'll never accept a peerage" Kinnock
Kinnock becomes the peer for the pyre on many counts. At least seeing the Kinnock effigy burn would be a more upbeat experience than some of the others where the frustration that in a civilised society we cannot really burn the person depicted would be a bit of dampener. Just as traditional bonfire festivities celebrate, to an extent, an event that never came to pass, so too would the roasting of this trough pig's effigy be a celebration that he never actually became Prime Minister.

2 - Sir Ian Blair
Had this particular Blair done a job that had inspired confidence in anybody outside left wing political circles then I would have been defending him to the hilt over the recent ridiculous Health and Safety conviction for the Met. In truth though he has being doing an important job badly for several years now with an astonishing disregard to the damage he is doing to the image of his forceservice.

1 - Gordon Brown
Well, it had to be, didn't it? If I'm only going to burn one member of the cabinet in effigy it has to be the top man. I understand he has another in his series of books on courage about to hit the shelves. It's the only way he will ever see his name on the cover of a book on that subject. Utterly worthless.

I know there are so many other worthy candidates but it's a start and we do have to consider our carbon footprint.

Measures of Success

Something else to ponder?

Oddly enough I was out and about in the Village a lot of the weekend. In amongst the boozed-up rugby watching there was actually a degree of serious political debate until we found out that Brown had wussed out.

I say serious, but I soon understood why politics and religion are subjects allegedly best kept out of the pub, when a friend who up to this point I had always assumed to be an intelligent person, declared that Neil Kinnock was, and I quote, "the best Prime Minister this country never had". So much for in vino veritas.

Inevitably predictions were called for on the likely outcome of a snap election. While I wished it were different, the best outcome I could back with any reasonable level of hope of it coming to pass was a very substantially reduced, but probably just about workable, Labour overall majority.

It's, all academic now, but it was interesting to consider what a 'workable majority' for Gordon Brown would have been. Conventionally figures of around 15-20 get bandied about, but I feel his target, even regardless of image problems, would have been much higher. For one simple reason; Scotland.

I've got absolutely no issue with Gordon Brown being Scottish whatsoever. The imbalances in public spending do not concern be greatly, reflecting as they do in the most part, real issues of need. The West Lothian Question is a more significant issue, being as it is at heart, one of fairness.

With the Conservatives securing a plurality of the vote in England in 2005, the prospects of this turning into a plurality, at least, of seats in England must have been a very real risk. Add in the fact that for all the best of SNP efforts that Brown would still have retained a significant portion of his 39 Scottish seats, Labour voting being at least as tribal north of the border as it is south of it, life could have got very difficult for Brown.

Blair managed, more or less, to avoid genuinely needing Scottish votes to secure the passage of English, or English and Welsh only measures. The few times this may have statistically have seemed to be the case it was possible to show that it would have been possible to whip it though without these votes being necessary.

To be seen to be passing such legislation on nearly every occasion with the votes of Scottish MPs whose constituents were unaffected by it would create an outcry, and on each occasion it happened the same clunking fist of political reality would land fair and square in the middle of Brown's ugly face.

With the effect of boundary changes, and a general improvement in Tory fortunes, it's actually very difficult to see how a Brown government would be able to function with much less of a majority than their current 68 were the Conservatives to make any further progress in England whatsoever.

It might seem strange to post on something that is now somewhat of a counter-factual effort, but I think it underlines how badly Brown has played his hand recently. There have just been a few short weeks when the polls suggested a similar or enhanced Labour majority, and without this level of support, a Labour government could end up in a self-destructive nightmare of it's own making.

If the Conservatives manage to avoid another bout of infighting then I've got a feeling that it's still going to be a tough decision for Brown even if he does put it off until 2009.

I've got a feeling the events of the last week or two will weigh very heavily on Brown long after the media have finally moved on.

Timing is Everything

Timezones apt to confuse

Writing my last post left me feeling the need to do a bit of a mea culpa over an earlier Australian general election.

With Australia's compulsory voting rules I managed to cause panic in the Village, by reminding the Australian contingent of the day at the Mother Ship that polling day was upon them, causing hasty travel plans to Australia's busiest polling station, at Australia House in the Strand, to be arranged. I guess I could have pointed out that other Aussies had told me that the Federal Government didn't waste too much time chasing people overseas. I certainly should have pointed out that due to the vagaries of time zones the poll had, erm, actually already closed.

Me bad.

If they had happened to be American I might have felt less guilty, in view of the number of work related telephone conferences I've ended up participating in, in bed, usually at around 1AM. You'd think in a country with several internal time zones that the idea of this trend continuing across the Atlantic wouldn't be too much of an intellectual leap.

Let Battle Commence

Argentina v France KO 20:00BST

In just over half an hour, the 2007 Rugby World Cup begins. I shall shortly be heading out into the Village, where I shall be favouring Base Camp with my first World Cup drinking of the tournament.

This will be in no small part down to the establishment's fine Zimbabwean assistant manager, who has managed for England's opening game against the USA tomorrow, to relegate the England Association Football World Cup qualifier versus Israel to the poky little TV in the back near the kitchen.

It is the way he did it that deserves particular praise. He alleged that the technically feasible way to show both games was to show the Sky TV coverage on the big screens, with the terrestrial BBC soccer coverage on the small TV. The kevballers have reluctantly accepted this. It says something for their collective wit that they seem completely unaware that the Rugby World Cup coverage tonight is on, erm, ITV3, another terrestrial channel, not Sky at all.

The tournament opens with the hosts, France, facing the ever improving Argentinians. I shall, despite my French friends, be supporting France. This is not a classic case of the British supporting the underdog. It's simply a feeling of solidarity that many rugby supporters feel for the Pumas. The reluctance by the countries of the Six Nations and Tri-Nations tournaments to find some way to accommodate a team like Argentina that is as good as, if not better than some of these self-appointed elites is a scandal.

Argentina is currently ranked sixth in the world and deserves regular top flight competition to allow it to grow further, for the greater good of the sport.

Groundhog Week

Another Friday, same old story

It seems pretty certain that if it wasn't fairly pointless repetition I could probably continue my rather depressing posting of a few days ago pretty much indefinitely.

There's such a sad familiarity with some of the stories that you have to read them carefully to make sure that it really is a completely new act of random violence that is being reported upon.

Thursday brought this, courtesy of the BBC:

Police have begun searching for a group of youths seen running away from where a 17-year-old boy was stabbed to death.

...

The victim has not been identified because police are still trying to trace his family.

A post-mortem examination is to be held on Saturday. Two 16-year-old youths have been arrested in connection with the death.

Source: BBC News

Friday saw yet another mindless violent assault back in the Village at the same Pub where the previous week's violence still looks to be heading towards an attempted murder charge.

As yet the predicted 'eye-catching but pointless' policy proposals from the Government have yet to emerge, as the senior members of the government have preferred to concentrate on accusing anyone who has the temerity to suggest that there is a problem of 'scaremongering'.

For what it's worth I am prepare to accept the figures for some classes of violent crime are down. What is perfectly clear though is that this is not the perception of the public at large, and I'm not convinced that we in the general public are wrong in this perception.

Faced with this apparent contradiction, my personal belief that it is explained by the increasing randomness of some of the violence. There was a time when much violent behaviour could often be clearly associated with particular areas, or particular activities, such as football's thankfully largely eliminated problems of decades past. If you avoided these areas and these activities your chance of becoming an innocent victim of violent crime was pretty minuscule.

Today you cannot say the same with such confidence. A substantial part of the violence has its roots in segments of society that exist in every part of the country, such as younger, poorly educated men who seem to have scant regard for boundaries of acceptable behaviour that were once at least partially respected.

Perhaps some of the criticism of David Cameron's comments on 'Anarchy in the UK' are partially justified, but only insofar as he was perhaps guilty of a bit of hyperbole. What is not justified is the complacent reaction of Association of Chief Police Officers president Ken Jones when he...

...told BBC News violent crime was "at the lowest it has been since the mid-1990s".

...

He said he was therefore "baffled" by comments relating to high crime levels.

Source: BBC News

He went on to accuse 'people', by who he clearly must mean Cameron and his team of "distorting the figures for their own ends". I didn't actually notice any figures being distorted, and certainly Mr Jones gave no examples. David Cameron was just reflecting the concerns of the British people about this subject, and that is part of the job of the leader of the opposition.

As it happens, it should also be part of the job of Mr Jones and the members he represents.

That Was the Week that Was

All but one of these stories will be familiar to almost anyone, after seven days of sickening headlines.

Wednesday:

"The mother of 11-year-old Rhys Jones cradled her dying son in her arms after he was shot on his way home from football practice, a friend has said."

...

"Witnesses said a youth on a BMX bicycle, who had his face covered with a hood, rode up to the car park and fired three shots."

Source: BBC News

Thursday:

"Three people, including two teenagers, have been charged with murder after a man with learning difficulties was attacked by a gang.

Brent Martin, 23, died in hospital after being found injured in Town End Farm estate in Sunderland on Thursday."

Source: BBC News

Friday:

Even the Village, a quiet, affluent London suburb was not immune. On Friday night a man was beaten to unconsciousness at one of the local pubs in an assault that involved broken glass wounds and repeated striking of the victim's head with a heavy bar stool.

The police are reported to be treating the incident as attempted murder.

Source: Personal Account

Saturday:

"A teenager has appeared in court charged with killing a man who died following a street attack on Tyneside. Thomas Fellows, 51, suffered fatal head injuries in the incident in Wallsend, early on Saturday."

...

"Jeffrey Gosling, 18, of Hazelwood Terrace, Wallsend was initially charged with assault, but was re-arrested and charged with manslaughter[sic]."

Source: BBC News

Sunday:

"Three men are appearing in court today charged with murdering a man just hours after his 21st birthday.

David Haynes was knifed outside a kebab shop in Wellingborough, Northamptonshire, in the early hours of Sunday."

...

"Two, aged 26 and 24, come from Wellingborough - the third, a 22-year-old, is from Northampton."

Source: Sky News

Monday:

"Five male youths have been arrested after the sudden death of a 95-year-old man in Wiltshire.

Three of the youths being questioned are aged 17, and the other two are aged 15."

Source: BBC News

Tuesday:

"Police are investigating two shootings, one involving a 14-year-old boy, at the Notting Hill Carnival.

The youngster was injured on Monday night, at the junction of Portnall Road and Harrow Road in Kensal Town.

Earlier, a 17-year-old was taken to hospital with a shoulder wound after shots were fired. A man in his 20s was injured in a stabbing."

Source: BBC News

H/T Dizzy Thinks

It doesn't make for very pretty reading. At the moment we are hearing very little from the government other than the usual messages of regret well intended as they may be, and some complacent references to gun-crime statistics, aided and abetted by a piece of weak analysis by the BBC as highlighted by the Croydonian and Dizzy Thinks.

I'm sure that we will soon be faced with an eye catching initiative or two, the need to be seen to be doing something becoming almost overwhelming. The roots of the problem are very complex, and not easily curable with the type of headline grabbing initiatives that the government tends to prefer. I do expect them though to stay true to type. You can't tax illegal activities, pretty much halving their preferred options, so expect something to be banned.

I might have some sympathy with further restrictions on replica weapons, though if they do act in this regard I suspect it will be typically clumsy and authoritarian NuLab fare. I really can't believe that it's beyond the wit of man to produce a replica or deactivated weapon that is to all intents and purposes impossible to convert into a functional firearm, but I have a sneaking suspicion that a blanket ban would be more typical NuLab fare, impacting most greatly on people pursuing a perfectly legal hobby.

Another option may be an airgun ban, especially as it would relieve a pressure point with relations with the Scottish Parliament. A Very British Dude has just written a fine post highlighting the inanity of most of NuLab's firearm legislation, but even when you consider his thoroughly sensible arguments and the fact that none of the incidents of the last week or so have involved airguns, the desire of the government to be seen to be taking decisive action, even if it is wholly pointless action, should not be underestimated.

The real problems are much harder to address, and even the mother of Rhys Jones, to whom, along with the family and friends of all of the victims of the last week or so all our sympathy must go, seemed to acknowledge this fact when she questioned the role of the parents of those who may be involved in her son's death.

There are no easy solutions out there, certainly no quick 'tax it or ban it' ones. There are deeper issues in sections of society that need to be examined, and tackled with a longer term perspective. There are attitudes that have become ingrained in parts of the public's psyche that need to be challenged, and even more so those in the minds of policy makers whose presumptions and theories seem so patently to be failing.

The Lingering Death of Common Sense

If only I had the artistic talent to replace
Uncle Sam with a moronic health minister

It's three days into the smoking ban already and in terms of the target which is its raison d'être, its impact seems to be limited at least as far as I am concerned. The same people are smoking, just outside in clumps round the doors and I've never thought having large numbers of people out on the street with glasses of alcohol is an especially brilliant idea. Everywhere looks like one pub that's renowned for being the Village's only underage drinking age hotspot, where sundry junior pikeys linger in scowling groups just far enough from the pub door to give plausible deniability over where they sourced their lurid coloured bottles of assorted alcopops, while they abuse passer-bys.

Never mind, I'm sure this practise will soon be banned too - this is what the current muppets occupying the corridors of power see as 'joined up government'. If one policy has unforeseen, if entirely foreseeable, consequences then just introduce further illiberal legislation rather than looking at the faults in the original policy.

I think it has cut down a little on the amount I smoke while I am in the pub but, just as when various places I've worked went no-smoking, the law of conservation of nicotine intake seems to remain unchallenged. In the absence of any other change, and given the fact that I seem to get through exactly the same number of cigarettes in any given 24 hour period, it can only mean I'm smoking more at home. The idea that this would happen was ridiculed by various ministers and I must admit I had my doubts, but albeit on a very small scale there does seem to be some evidence that the legislation may have a very significant downside. At least I see drinking primarily as a social exercise and so I haven't gone, and probably will never go so far to start drinking at home, the one missing vice that stops me becoming a fully-fledged alcoholic; I'm not convinced that there will not be people who won't be so lucky.

The only thing I've found utterly ridiculous though is the plastering of the compulsory 'No Smoking' signs on almost every shop door in the Village. There are a few that still do not sport one, but I'm sure before long some council jobsworth will be pouncing on them, bringing a little joy to their sad and meaningless little lives.

It made me stop to think when I last saw someone smoking inside a business establishment other than somewhere serving food and drink, or offices with a smoking room. It was a real struggle. I couldn't think of a single instance since I've lived in the south of England, but if I really, really strain, I can just about remember one old fashioned DIY shop back in Leeds where a few tradesmen would light up while chatting with the manager. The shop was not just as big as a church, it actually was a converted former chapel with a ceiling so high and a volume of air so large nobody really noticed anyway.

It's not just forcing churches to display the signs that is pointless visual vandalism, it's equally stupid for any business where there never was a culture of smoking within its four walls and for decades now that has been almost every establishment. It's just another little symptom of the dumbed-down Britain that seems to be the goal of every NuLab initiative, though given that that they seem intent on producing a generation of dumbed-down Britons, presumably because they will be grateful for the actions of their (relatively) more intelligent masters, there may be at least the merit of consistency in their actions.

Update, Just before Posting: I was listening to the rerun of Blogger TV on 18DS as I finished this off and heard someone, I think the ever enthusiastic Caroline Hunt, laying into the same moronic attitudes in reference to a missal from his Grace the Archbishop Cranmer. Go and watch it in the archive, or see the original post here

Update, Thursday: Zorba and his performing black bear have arrived at the Mother Ship and are distinctly displeased at having to smoke outside.

Today is Pet Hate Day

Chavjuice

Or so it seems to me today. I should have seen it coming after being woken to the decidedly non-dulcet tones of Margaret Beckett spouting unconvincing drivel on the EU treaty negotiations. Usually I wake up feeling nauseous for completely different reasons. There were other irritations on the political front all day, but to avoid swamping the statistics I will count the whole of NuLab as pet hate number one.

Wheeled W**ker

Number two came along on the way to the station as I narrowly avoided a collision with a Day-Glo clad Cyclotosser careering down the pavement faster than the traffic was proceeding along the relatively empty, and perfectly safe to cycle on, high street. I went through every road safety initiative of the day at school but was never taught to look left, look right before leaving every shop doorway in case some pig-ignorant accountant on a mountain bike is claiming exclusive use of the pavement beyond. I've never been hit by a car, or hit anyone in a car; this would have been my third pavement traffic accident with a cyclist.

I was expecting the third; it was a time of day when the train was bound to be full of kids, teenagers and twenty-somethings all suffering from Lock-knee. I should not mock the afflicted whose terrible ailment forces them to sit in contorted uncomfortable positions so they can get their feet onto the seat opposite to compensate for their inability to flex their knee. Medical science seems to have no answer to this condition, which I would assume to be some relative of gout were it not for the fact that it appears either to be highly infectious amongst certain age groups. I guess an epidemiologist may be able to suggest an alternate aetiology; I do wonder about a link to Alcopop consumption, also common among Lock-Knee sufferers.

Hi-Fi, Kingston Style

It was also a racing certainty that amongst them there would be a Nokia DJ, my fourth pet hate of the day, or rather hour. I've listened to a few mobile phone MP3 players on headphones and while not quite up to the standard of a made-for-purpose player, they are not too bad at all. Played through the tinny little speaker at maximum volume it's so appalling that the urge to give the ignorant little fucker a flying head butt becomes almost unbearable. Even the fact that it stops being able to tell whether it's the usual music for the hard of thinking or not doesn't dim the primitive drive.

Changing trains at Raynes Park, almost worthy of being a pet hate in of itself, I ran straight into a row of Train Door Mannequins, who, liberated from rational thought think the quickest way for them to get on to the train is to stand dopily in front of the open door making impossible for anyone wanting to get off to get through. At least it's not as bad as at Waterloo where it can be a bit like getting through the All Black's defensive line.

That was five; the sixth took a little longer to arrive, about an hour in fact as the first connecting train was cancelled and the following one was running fifteen minutes late, which meant I had about an hour sat on the god forsaken platform. When the train finally arrived it soon became clear that South West Trains sensitivity to customer mood was up to its normal levels as they had picked this particular service to have a full ticket inspection. I always buy a ticket and don't object to the principle, however as with most such jobs the roles are filled by a collection of Brain Dead Jobsworths.

There were actually a lot of irritations at the office, but I'm far too sensible to mention them here. Let's just say the count went from six to ten. I won't mention specifics to protect the guilty, and my livelihood. Let me just throw in a few words and phrases like Change Control Officer, Accounts Payable, Marketing Having 'Good' Ideas, and People Who Stick the High Priority Flag on Every Fucking E-Mail.

Not all prejudice is irrational

The return trip followed much of the pattern of the outbound journey however this time it was a group of Pram pushing mothers trundling three abreast that pushed me off a different section of pavement that was to bring up number eleven. I suppose I should be grateful that the young people were still in the pram and had not yet developed into full blown Feral Toddlers running around, screaming and generally pissing everyone off to the active delight of their parents. I haven't run into any of these yet today, but the night is yet young and parents don't have the decency to get their offspring out of the way at a decent hour any more so that the grown-ups can have a bit of fun too.

The round dozen was self inflicted as I popped into Marks and Spencers for some food during a particular bad Supermarket Zombie infestation. I've never quite understood why I seem to be the only person in there who actually makes an effort not to walk blindly into everyone else or park my trolley in away to deny access to as many shelves as possible to everyone else. Perhaps on the former irritation it explains why I've never understood those statistics about how many relationships start in the supermarket aisles. Actually it does make some sort of sense, after all I did have one friend at school whose parents met when his father skateboarded into his mother and breaking her arm; maybe inconsiderate behaviour does have an up side after all.

Estate Agencies
A waste of good bar space

Unlucky thirteen is a fine shop front that I have to walk past every day that has now become an Estate Agents. I hate them, not the people, the offices. The high street is crammed with them. Even those not online tend to grab one or more of the free property pages these days to browse through at their leisure rather than gazing into the windows of an oversized office. What is the point of them hogging so much of the high street after all? It's not exactly an impulse buy.

"Honey did you get the milk?"

"Yes, oh and I popped into that nice new estate agents next door and picked up a new house while I was at it."

"That's nice dear"

I suppose it could have been worse, it could have become a Coffee Shop. I don't like those either. Some of it is a rational dislike of the way they take up every other space on the high street, and the fact, while I love the smell of coffee, I've never understood why people toss themselves off over drinking ever more elaborate concoctions of the foul tasting brew. There is a bit of an irrational side to this dislike too I must admit, partly related to the long ago trauma of seeing a favoured pub close one day and reopen the following week as one of these god forsaken outlets and the rest connected to a former colleague who was not only an Accountant but could also so say 'Starbucks' in such a Boston screech it drove me up the wall.

I reckon so far I've encountered nearly half of my pet bugbears already today, and I've still got a few hours in the Village to go tonight. The way it's going I'm have expecting to bump in to someone like Zorba, one of the last people I know that will stick to bitter all night, knocking back the Bacardi Breezers at the Mother Ship, that HQ will be hosting a Lib Dem MEP convention, and Patricia Hewitt and Caroline Flint will be promoting the upcoming smoking ban at Base Camp. I blame Blair, or rather the Blair Witch; I'm sure this run of bad luck started soon after I ended up sitting next to her in a pub I used to like until a few weeks ago.

Live from the Village

Pa Doob on the campaign
trail back in Canberra

Sorry to be parochial, but for those who know the code to the various pseudonyms on this blog there has been double good news from Base Camp this week, so a brief update on news from
the Village.

Firstly, Doktor Doob has resolved his little local difficulty with the immigration authorities and so will not be deserting us for the sunnier climes of Queensland just yet. His troubles stemmed from straying on the wrong side of the wrong side of the law once too often in crimes of what could kindly be called 'youthful exuberance' whilst sticking strictly to the law on such matters as paying taxes, leading to a threat of a one-way ticket home. The Doktor was clearly foolish. Any idiot knows that if you are going to come to work in the UK and ignore the latter class of responsibility you get virtual carte blanche on the latter. After all, why should the immigration authorities waste time tracking down wholly illegal workers when there are easier, and as they are often as not, white commonwealth citizens, less politically sensitive targets to aim at.

Doktor Doob isn't the first such case that has crossed my path, far from it. The previous one was on a flight out of Heathrow, where I ended up sat next to a South African web designer who received his passport back from the Home Office, via the stewardess, once we were back in international airspace. Ok, he had overstayed his visa by five years or so, but it was clearly an oversight - he'd found the time to get married here, set up a home and been promoted to an important position within a successful company. It would take him a few weeks to sort out the paperwork but I'm sure he's back with his family in Kent now.

Let me say I have not the slightest problem with immigration, asylum, or even economic migration. What does concern me is that yes, people should play the rules, but also the authorities should be even handed in the tolerance they show to those who fall foul of them. We hear many stories we hear of the Home Office's difficulties in deporting those who never had a legitimate claim to stay, as various lobby groups weigh in their behalf. I do wonder if some of the bald figures for improvements in the number of deportations that are quoted enthusiastically quoted by Ministers are underpinned by going for the low-hanging fruit, whose basically productive, lawful lifestyle makes them easy to track down.

Only last week a story appeared on a couple of major American news sites about an 80 year old Detroit-born 'American' woman who returned to Scotland with her Scottish mother at the age of two, and later married and settled down without completing some of the paperwork. 78 years later, some po-faced bureaucrat out of the goodness of his heart has kindly decided to charge her the best part of £1000 for a temporary visa, rather than see her returned to a country where never had any roots and which for her wasn't even a distant memory, while her claim to remain in the UK was considered. It didn't cause a ripple here, after all as an 'American' (boo hiss) she could hardly expect the various immigrants' rights lobbies to wade in on her behalf.

I'm not really accusing the Home Office, or anyone else, of some kind of reverse discrimination. I do wonder though if they are falling into the 'speed camera trap' where the fact that something pops up effortlessly out of a computer and is easily prosecutable places it unnaturally high up the priority list, regardless of the real importance of action on the case in hand. Not all bad driving is related to speeding, and wartime brides and antipodeans overstretching the bounds of their young persons visas are a pretty minor issue in the immigration issue.

Oh, and the second bit of good news. Base Camp has extended Thursday night opening until midnight. The Village has generally seen good and responsible use made of the new licensing arrangements. Ok, there was a major ruck** here a week ago, but it was all over well before eleven and it was a real exception in what is a well run pub especially considering the very mixed clientele, usually self policing is the order of the day or you're out. The extra hour places brings it on a par with the Mother Ship*, which means there is another day of the week where I can avoid its ever diminishing charms and the very variable ones of its manager in favour of somewhere with a bit more life and less of a Toxic Dwarf infestation.

Ten minutes down there to use their free Wi-Fi there to attach a couple of images to, and post this while necking off a half of Guinness is the best they will get out of me tonight. For now it's off to HQ which suffers from none of the defects of the Mother Ship or Base Camp, but unfortunately serves nothing I like to drink to a lot of people I like to drink with.

Update, just after posting:

*I should be fair to the Mother Ship, there is always World of Pikeys, Junior Pikeyland, the Holiday Inn Lobby Bar and the Tappas-free Tappas Emporium, but I have the sense not go to these places, so it does still sit at the bottom of my personal pub ratings at the moment.

**Doktor Doob, the tales of your heroism during this battle are developing a bit of a fisherman's tale smell to them.

French Comings and Goings

I've got a lot of time for France and the French. You have to where I live since the Village is knee deep in them. Perhaps it's the fact that the ones I meet every day are likely to be the more entrepreneurial type, given that they are in London, not France, but I don't think there really is the great a gulf between the English and the French that the tabloids would have us believe.

There is though a distinct bilateral distrust by both people and government of each of the government of the other, which is often well justified, especially in the EU state. Hopefully the inauguration of M. Sarkozy as 23rd President of France might put some of this to rest, even if his little jaunt to see Frau Merkel does raise worries about a right Royal shafting over EU constitutional arrangements.

It was quite interesting listening to Sarko on TF1. I got a reasonable 'A' level in French and worked in Paris for a while. It was however, a traditional English 'A' level in languages and the Paris office was pretty cosmopolitan so of course everyone spoke English, which means my ability to actually speak the language is pretty minimal and my understanding of spoken French not too much better. The only time the French 'A' level has been useful while in France was one conversation when I could explain (in English) why Molière was not in the same league as Shakespeare, and catching the odd snide remark from my French colleagues when they thought the use of their native tongue would offer a sufficient level of encryption to disguise it from English ears.

What I realised was just how powerful some skills in political oratory can be. When I listened to Sarko I didn't just get the gist of it, I'm pretty sure I got every word, every sentiment and every nuance in what he said. I'm not even sure I was understanding it via an English translation, an experience I've never had before except when I've drunk several bottles of red when my assessment of my language skills may have been suspect. OK, he would obviously be speaking clearly and more slowly than he would in general conversation, but I've listened to other speeches by French politicians and never become quite so immersed in the same way. Ségolène may have been easy on the eye, but was a damn sight harder on the ear on several levels.

So a cautious welcome for a new French arrival, but there have been a couple of sad French departures recently too.

Firstly, the (Mercurial) Thomas Castaignède, great servant of French and Saracens rugby. He'll be missed by all the supporters as a fantastic player and an all-round great bloke. His last game was probably the worst he had for the club, but that will be soon forgotten and only the many, many good games will remain. All the best for his retirement once he gets the little matter of the next world cup out of the way.

Secondly, closer to home Josquin, waiter and barman extraordinaire, first at the Mother Ship then later at Base Camp in the Village leaves for pastures new today. After extended leaving drinks last night he couldn't remember the name of his new venture, but if you live in Eastbourne and a new French Restaurant is opening near you soon, give it ago. I don't know the chef, but I know their new front of house man knows his stuff, he's a great bloke, and I doubt it any establishment he's fronting up would let you down.