Link: TED | TEDBlog: The bad news about the news: Alisa Miller on TED.com.
This TED Talk makes interesting viewing and Alisa Miller's use of graphics is great. I wonder what a map of the world would look like if you applied the same methodology to UK news broadcasts?
As my maternal grandmother was from Nantwich and my grandfather from Crewe, the upcoming by-election
is in familiar territory. The media is setting the Conservatives up for
a fall by talking up their chances. Unless the world has changed more
than I think, they are not great.
The two towns are very different. I still remember my grandmother's distaste at the constituencies being merged in 1983. She (a piece worker in a textile factory and as proletarian as any class warrior could wish) thought Crewe rather "common." Granddad, a worker in the (then) Rolls-Royce (now Bentley) factory at Crewe could not be bothered to demur from that view, at least openly. I distinctly remember that my grandmother was sufficiently fooled by Gwyneth Dunwoody's personal spin to think her "common" too.
In its short life as a separate parliamentary constituency, Nantwich was always Conservative. It has changed a lot since, but if it were once more a constituency in its own right, I could conceive of the Tories winning. Taken as a whole, however, the current constituency is very much English "rust belt" with a depressive (and depressing) tendency to the Left. Unless the substantial population of Polish immigrants in Crewe chooses to register and vote (as economic migrants they will be energetic with an instinctive distaste for native welfare addicts; as socially-conservative Catholics, they have cause to dislike Labour and as post-communists they will find Dunwoody the Younger's rhetoric disturbing) I can't conceive of the result that some polls are predicting.
My grandmother would never admit for whom she voted, though her distaste for Dunwoody the Elder may have been a clue. My grandfather (a proud participant in the News of the World Individual Darts Championship, who carried his quarter-finalist's medal with him until he died) belonged to whichever of the Liberal, Conservative or Labour Clubs had the strongest darts team at the time. I therefore have no idea for which outcome they would be rooting if still with us. I am sure they would have enjoyed the attention the by-election is bringing to the two towns where (Granddad's wartime service in what is now Israel apart) they spent their whole lives.
I have blogged little for a while. I have been driving around Europe in my new car, taking the opportunity of being based in England for a couple of weeks to do by land what I would otherwise do (boringly) by air. Vittoria and I have now journeyed 4,000 miles together. I drove her from the North of England to the IMD Business School in Lausanne, where I had a work meeting. While there, I had the pleasure of taking carefully selected colleagues for a spin around Lac Leman to one of my favourite places to eat.
Then I drove from Lausanne to Nice, via the Grand St Bernard pass. Up until this point I was alone, but I picked Mrs Paine up at Nice airport so we could spend a weekend together in Provence. We took the opportunity to stay at the place we have booked for our Summer holidays in August (with a view to changing our plans if we didn't like it). It was great and we also discovered (rare now for us) a great new restaurant. As of a few hours ago, I am back in London. I will head up North tomorrow, return on Saturday to take in a day of the Test Match at Lords and then fly back to Moscow (and workaday reality) on Sunday.
All kinds of political excitements have happened in my absence. I have been following them assiduously, but not posting. It's hard not to enjoy the painful public humiliation of Gordon Brown but equally hard to be optimistic as to a future Conservative administration. I was disappointed that Boris's first public act as Mayor of London was to ban alcohol on Tube trains.
It does not matter to me if a government is left or right. If its instinct is to treat citizens like children, then I am going to hate it. I feel cheated of my rightful pleasure at the long-awaited collapse of the NuLab fraud.
I am deeply indebted to NHS Blog Doctor for having found on YouTube a film that I did not know existed of Peter Cook performing his "Judge/Miner Monologue". Apropos of nothing in particular, here it is.
Link: Tony Blair to buy John Gielgud's former home - Telegraph.
Finally Tony Blair and I have something in common; we both own something that used to to belong to the great actor John Gielgud. In Blair's case, it's the great man's house. In mine, it's his long-case regulator clock which used to stand there. I bought it at the auction sale of the great man's effects, with the proceeds going to charity. I also bid by telephone for his BAFTA, but bowed out after what seemed like a long, exciting head-t0-head with "Dickie" Attenborough. I have a weakness for auctions and become terribly competitive. The BAFTA duly went back to the Academy. At least I ran him up a bit and it was for a good cause.
I was a great admirer of Gielgud; perhaps rather more (unusually for an actor) than he was himself. How he must have regretted his characteristically warm gesture in presenting (if I remember the story correctly) Edmund Kean's sword to Olivier. The sword had come to Sir John, via his aunt Ellen Terry. It was supposed to have been used on stage in a play under Shakespeare's personal direction. The tradition had been to present it to the finest Shakespearian actor of each generation. Gielgud honoured that by presenting it to Olivier backstage after "Larry" gave his Hamlet (although many thought Gielgud's finer). When he died (though Gielgud survived him) Olivier left instructions that, as there was no living actor worthy of it, it should be buried with him. I defer to no-one in my admiration for Olivier's acting, but he was no great human.
I have no sources for this story, by the way, so treat is as "internet fact". I was told it with great authority by someone who seemed to know, but theatricals are famously loose with facts. True or not, it illustrates the stupidity of our modern cult of celebrity. A man (Wagner, Olivier) may be a genius, but have opinions of very little value. We should honour the talents and ignore the man, except for the rare cases - such as another man I greatly admire - where his character was his talent. Generally, it's ridiculous to give credence to the opinions of people with a single (and often questionable) skill that happens to place them in the public eye.
I switched over to Sky News last night to wait for Boris's acceptance speech. I noticed they were reporting 300 Conservative gains in the local elections, rather than the lower BBC figure I had watched build until Auntie lost interest as the voters misbehaved. I checked the final figures this morning and the discrepancy is huge (see screen shots, click to enlarge). Which figures are correct?
Link: BBC NEWS | Politics | Johnson wins London mayoral race.
Congratulations, Boris. What a shame that the House of Commons will lose one of its few principled and intelligent members to a largely ceremonial post. It's probably worth it, to save Londoners the embarrassment of having a Mayor prepared to befriend totalitarian scum.
Does this mean Ken Livingstone will now have to get a real job? The shock may kill him. Boris, in his acceptance speech, was far too gracious about a disgraceful, despicable man.
Link: YouTube - Littlejohn bitchslaps Toynbee.
I know this video is everywhere in the blogosphere (as it should be) but forgive me for posting it again. The look on Toynbee's smug, insufferable face as Littlejohn delivered a retort so obvious that only she, in her self-righteousness, could have failed to expect it is just too delicious. If she feels it's unfair, let's all say in chorus with Littlejohn "You started it, pet!"
Every little girl and boy that's born into the world alive
Is either a little Liberal or else a little Conservative
For most of my life I called myself conservative. Yet what is it that I want to conserve about today's Britain? Her welfare dependency? Her dumbed-down culture? Her lethal health service? Her chaotic and ineffectual schools? Her cowardly obsession with "health and safety?" Her cultural cringe?
Do I support the laws of the land? No, I think that more than 90% of them should be repealed. Do I support the institutions of the State? Hardly, since I would close most of them. What about "the boys in blue?" Every conservative loves them, surely? Well then I am no conservative, since I regard them (pace the good souls still in their midst) as the IRA to New Labour's Sinn Fein.
They may not always hold office, but in public life the victory of the Labour Party has been total. Save for isolated pockets of comically ineffectual resistance, its thinking now commands academia, the media, the educational establishment and indeed all the public services (including those formerly known as "forces"). If David Cameron were elected tomorrow, that would not change at all. The pace of Britain's destruction might slow, but the trend would be the same.
Since he would conserve far more in our country than I would, Gordon Brown is more properly called a conservative than am I. Conservatives (the clue is in the name) favour the status quo in a broad sense; socially, economically and politically. And in such a broad sense, Britain's society, her economy and her political structures are all now Labour. It is the Labour barons who feel at home in our country. It is the intellectuals of the Left who swagger, unchallenged, amid our dreaming spires.
How can I call myself a Conservative when it would now take far more change to make a Britain of which I could approve than to convert her to a Communist or Fascist state? In the original sense of the word, I am now a radical since I desire root and branch reform. I am one of the alienated few who believe that - 999 times out of a 1,000 - free individuals making their own life choices with the informal support of family and community will do better for themselves and each other than will even the best-directed State.
Such people used to be called "conservatives". What should we call ourselves now?
Link: Iain Dale's Diary: Vote in the April Political Performance Index.
One of the most interesting initiatives in the blogosphere at present is Iain Dale's monthly "Politiical Performance Index." Why not head over there (follow the link above) to vote?
1,600 miles later, Vittoria and I are back in the North of England. Normal blogging service will return soon (after a long-anticipated family party, which I am hosting tonight). In the meantime, here are a few pictures of the trip (click to enlarge).
L-R: Vittoria in the Assynt, the Scottish Crannog Centre, my silhouette on the loading ramp of the Islay Ferry, the mash house at the Bruichladdich distillery on Islay, David our guide at the Laphroaig Distillery shows the size of the peat that got away, Laphroaig's wonderful seaside location, a short stout, flat-bottomed Laphroaig still with its upward-sloping lyne arm in the act of producing my favourite tipple, Jonathan Livingstone (showing my age again) over Bowmore Harbour (where the Harbour Inn produces a very decent lunch) and finally New Lanark, which I visited on the run South.
Yesterday, I spent hours navigating single track roads to get to the CalMac terminal at Kennacraig to catch the last ferry of the day to Islay. After some nervous moments watching lorries bounce up and down the boarding ramps I gingerly embarked Vittoria without grounding as I feared. One fellow passenger was a young man about the age I was when the sight of a Ferrari Dino made it essential for me to make a real effort in life. His enthusiasm reminded me of that day. I hope Vittoria inspires him to aspire as that Dino did me.
She has inspired words of admiration wherever we have been so far. Every male service station cashier, every male hotel employee has admonished me "enjoy your car" I am not one to respond well to the imperative voice, but I fully intend to comply.
The roads on Islay are built on the peat that flavours the local whiskies and in consequence rise and fall alarmingly. Given Vittoria's low ground clearance, and the locals' better knowledge of their terrain, I was cautious enough to have the humiliation of being overtaken by a landrover towing a trailer. I must finally be growing up, because I saw the joke. I hope the local farmer enjoyed telling the tale.
After a superb late dinner, I tore myself away from the live music in the Port Charlotte Hotel so as not to keep up mine host at the B&B where I was to lay my head. He was genial enough about my late arrival to offer a "dram" as a nightcap, over which we exchanged as much data as men will in such circumstances. Now, well rested and well breakfasted, I am off to tour the distilleries of Bruichladdich and Laphroaig, with lunch in the cafe at Ardbeg in between. This programme will not be much affected by the fine, soft rain that is making Scotland look like herself, rather than the strange sunny paradise of recent days. Slainte!
It is not normally my destiny, gentle reader, to comment on what a superb gift life is. I focus too much, perhaps, on the perfidies of our "leaders." To hell with them all, I say. Life is good. Scotland always makes me a better, kinder man (let us charitably turn away from the question of why She has no such effect on her natives).
Today we journeyed, nay glided, from Lochinver to Blairgowrie. I stopped at Kenmore to visit a reconstruction of a "Scottish Crannog". Of course it was no such thing. Crannogs were built by my ancestors, the Celts, before the Scots ever arrived. Like the Scots, I arrived late. Unlike them I made a financial contribution (to thank the team for their kindness in rearranging things so I could take the tour despite my tardiness). I loved it. I then headed to my somewhat snooty hotel (good, but not as good as it thinks) and had an unequivocally excellent meal accompanied by two superb wines.
Yes, dear dear reader, life is good. And tomorrow, Islay.
At last, an hotel with internet access. Free wifi for guests in the lobby area, no less! Congratulations to the Inver Lodge Hotel for being the hippest hotel in the Highlands (although I am afraid it does give the impression - as do all Scottish interiors - that my granny was the designer). Perhaps the rugged beauty outside creates a need for contrasting banality indoors?
I won't bore my serious-minded readership with my adventures, save to say that Roger Thornhill's mention of Lochinver in comments to the previous thread inspired me to head over here today. The four-hour journey from the Trotternish Peninsula on Skye (where I read his comment last night via iPhone) was amazing. The coastal road through Wester Ross provided ample opportunity for Vittoria (pictured here on a Highland road) to show her awesome mettle as I sang along to "Little Deuce Coupe" on the on-board jukebox.
Then I drove many slower miles on single track roads with occasional passing places. At some points I had to slow to a crawl as I passed between carrosserie-threatening stone walls on one side and rough rocks on the other. Glorious variety. I stopped for a rest and a drink of diet Irn-Bru (an innovation since my last trip?); gazed out over magnificent landscape and pondered why the Scots are such a plague in Westminster when they could stay home and enjoy all this. I had a wonderful day.
Scotland is as beautiful as I remember from my last trip five years ago, but looks rather more prosperous. Everywhere that should be is neatly clipped; the inhabitants -even in supposedly poor highland areas- look rather better dressed than I remember. It's nice to know that the proceeds of Gordon Brown's rieving of the English Treasury have at least been put to good use.
Still the abiding impressions are of the gentle courtesy of the Highlanders (not one of whom has failed to compliment Vittoria) and the glorious natural beauty of their home. Even Gordon Brown (God rot him) can't taint my pleasure in that. Here are some more photos for anyone who is still interested (L-R: The Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge, Dunvegan Castle on Skye, a view of Skye over Vittoria's dashboard and Flodigarry Island from my hotel window last night).
I don't think I have ever been in Scotland so long without visiting a distillery. Perhaps tomorrow...
I am currently en route to England to pick up Vittoria from the dealer in Manchester. I shall be driving her to Scotland tomorrow for a "get to know you" tour of Highland roads. I have no hotels booked (except for the first night in Fort William - email tom.paine@mac.com if you are in those parts and fancy a whisky tomorrow night). Otherwise, in an escape from a life regimented by Microsoft Outlook, I shall just make things up as I go along. Sadly, there is no guarantee of internet access (other than, perhaps, via my iPhone) in Highland & Island accommodation.
If I can keep you informed of our progress, I shall. But propose to forget our tyrannous government for a week and focus on life's pleasures. I hope to rediscover the nice (if rather naive) young chap I was before Labour's assault on our liberties made me so embittered. If a mere car can achieve that (with the assistance of Scotland's natural beauty) then she will be well worthy of her portentous name.
+rant mode OFF+
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