A Heartfelt Plea to Android App Developers

I have to say, I'm a bit miffed with Android app developers.  I'm an Android fan.  I like Android apps.  I appreciate the effort the developers put in.  I also love my Samsung GT-S5830.  But - I'm not happy.

The problem with apps is they keep on being improved.  Nothing wrong with that but they also keep on growing in size.  All those incremental improvements take up a little more space.  Your app may grow by only a small amount but all the other developers are making improvements at the same time as you.  All those little bits of extra memory taken together mean my phone runs out of space.

I think part of the problem lies in the phone; it could do with more on-board memory.  I have oodles of room on the SD card but I am fighting a constant battle with shortness of space.  All the apps that can work from the SD card are stored there but I seem unable to do an update these days without running out of main memory.  The only way I can then get my phone working properly again is to delete an app.  One of these days, it may have to be your app that goes...

Even deleting apps from the SD card can free on-board memory, so they must be starting services just in case.  Bad developer!  Start the services only when I run the app, please.  Another thing: please don't add permissions your application doesn't actually, really, genuinely need.  And do your very best to reduce the size of your app when you next 'improve' it.  Please!  Maybe you could remove a not-very-useful feature or two...

Harry's 'Game'

Much has been made in the news in recent days of Prince Harry's remarks about his time in Afghanistan as a gunner in an Army helicopter.  He has admitted to killing Taliban fighters, and you could hear raised eyebrows in the news reader's tone even if the actual facial expression was successfully suppressed.

Some of Harry's remarks have been seen as glib, if not actually offensive; 'Take a life to save a life,' for example, or '...taking [the enemy] out of the game.'  I really wonder what's wrong with people.

Whatever the rights or wrongs of our troops being deployed in Afghanistan, the fact is they are there.  Not only are they there, they are being attacked by the Taliban with the unmitigated intent to kill as many of them as possible.  What are our troops supposed to do, if not defend themselves?

My grandfather fought in the First World War.  On one of the rare occasions he talked about it, I asked if he had killed any Germans.  He admitted (not confessed) he had in hand-to-hand combat, not just with his Lewis gun from a safe distance.  His explanation was that if he and his comrades had not killed the Germans, the Germans would have killed them; 'It was them or us.'

So, Prince Harry has killed Taliban fighters.  I am sure this young man does not take pleasure in the taking of life.  I deplore war and its consequences but the equation is an easy one to understand: if he did not fire his machine gun at the enemy and 'take them out of the game', you can be sure that the Taliban would be taking the Prince's comrades out of the game.  The killing of the Prince himself would be seen by them as an illustrious triumph.  It is either British troops who die or Taliban fighters; it is British mothers who must grieve or those of the Taliban.  Would it were neither but fanatics such as the Taliban are not in the least offended by the death of their enemies.

Nor should we take offence at the expression 'taking them out of the game.'  This is not a sign that our Prince is a jingoistic warmonger.  I think of World War Two fighter pilots who talked of fallen comrades as having 'Gone for a Burton' (Burton's being a brewery).  These men were not being facetious in the face of tragedy, they were putting a psychological distance between themselves and the horror of their losses and what must have seemed, for some of them at least, their own inevitable demise.  I wonder how closely those who are critical of Harry would hold the realities of war were they in his shoes . . .

Prince Harry is a soldier.  He is doing a dangerous job in a dangerous place.  Many of our front line troops have killed Taliban fighters; in that respect, Harry is but one of the many.  How many people would complain if Harry had not done his job and allowed British troops to be killed?

Prince Harry is a soldier.  What do you expect him to do?  Really?

'Harry's Game', by the way, is the title of a Gerald Seymour novel: an excellent read — but then, most of his novels are.

On Foaming Toilet Blocks

No one likes to find skid marks in the toilet. Even worse is the discovery of something floating (or sunk), and worse still of something that was floating (or sunk) but is now thoroughly disintegrated.

Everyone likes to find a toilet devoid of any evidence of prior use and in a sanitised condition. To this end, mankind has developed a number of means to render our WC bowls acceptable in both appearance and odour.

There are various devices for hanging disinfecting blocks from the rim. There are disinfecting blocks that can be dropped into the cistern, where they slowly dissolve rendering the water in your pan after flushing a pleasing blue. Then there is, of course, the all-important bog-brush.

The humble bog-brush is the single most important artifact for preserving WC etiquette. Its usefulness in removing offensive marks from the bowl is inestimable. It is also invaluable for persuading stubbornly bouyant or excessively dense objects to venture into the zone beyond the bend from whence they can be carried away by the ensuing flush—essential to guarantee no reappearances.

Of all the inventions of man, the worst, on a par with income tax and thermonuclear war, is the foaming toilet block. Its dual purposes are, of course, to disinfect your bowl and to leave it with a pleasant appearance ready for the next visitor. It may well achieve the former of these functions better than other long-acting devices. The latter however it most certainly fails abysmally and entirely to do.

After the flush, all you can see is foam. True, skid-marks, floaters and sinkers are obscured from view but this fact holds no comfort for the seasoned user, who is only too aware of what may lurk unseen beneath all those shiny bubbles. This creates a dilemma for those about to vacate the smallest room ...

One could be tempted to deploy the bog-brush just to make sure that nothing comes to light once the bubbles have burst but it is difficult to clean away what cannot be seen. And, if something more than mere evidence of transit is present, the wielder of the brush could be overcome with deep pangs of regret on withdrawing it from the suds...

The foaming toilet block is a dastardly device that should be removed from the shelves of shops throughout the universe.

What is to be done if you find yourself confronted with the dilemma of the satanic suds? To brush or not to brush? That is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outraged loved ones or to take up brush against a sea of bubbles and, by opposing, end them ... or make them worse.

My strategy has been to suffer the slings and arrows, and to point out the short-comings of the foaming toilet block, especially when the offence was not caused by me...

I suspect that, once the current foaming toilet block has expired, alternative sanitisation devices may appear.

Public Sector Pensions Crisis

I am sick of hearing some private sector workers bleating on about how their taxes are being used to pay public sector pensions.  It is true that state pension is paid from taxes and all of us who pay tax, whether in the private or public sector, are therefore funding state pension.  That means that I, a public sector worker, am playing my part in supporting retired private sector workers just as much as anyone else is.

It is a myth that private sector workers pay public sector pensions through their taxes.

Let me point out that for the last 34 years I have been paying income tax, just as private sector workers have.  For the whole of that time I have been paying into a pension scheme (unlike some in the private sector) and so it is I who have made provision for the pension I will eventually receive.

Down the years, government has taken my pension contribution and promised, through a contractual agreement, benefit in retirement through the NHS Pension Scheme.  Government has not, however, taken my contributions and invested them in order to generate those benefits.  No.  My contributions go into the treasury and government uses the money as it sees fit.

You could consider that government uses the contributions of working public sector employees to pay the pensions of retired public sector workers.

The unions have suggested to government that a proper investment scheme be set up using public employees' contributions so that public sector pensions are self-sustaining and clearly independent of the tax system.  This is, of course, unpalatable to government because it would no longer have access to a very large amount of money to mismanage.

What is truly tragic is the failure of government to ensure that private sector workers are signed up to a decent, properly regulated and ring-fenced pension scheme, that people like Robert Maxwell cannot make off with the pension funds of those who are, and that companies are not allowed to take pension fund holidays so they can pay bigger dividends to their shareholders.

Private sector workers should be up in arms to make sure they are treated well rather than trying to see that the public sector gets done down.  Instead of moaning, 'Why should they have that?' they should be demanding, 'Why can't we have it too?'  As far as I am concerned, everyone should be able to look forward to financial security in their declining years.  There are no free hand-outs to be had, however.  Future security means giving up otherwise disposable income now in contribution to the fund.

I pay my way in society through my taxes and make a contribution to society through my work.  I am paying for my pension.  I am not a parasite!

On Growing Old and the Ignorance of Youth

A couple of weekends ago, we were far from home celebrating my Beloved's mother's birthday; about 365 miles away, in fact.

For all of you who are now green with envy at my being so far from the 'outlaws', let me say immediately that this vast distance is a big problem for us. I actually like my in-laws and wish they were closer to hand, particularly as they get older and more infirm. My own father and step-mum live 200 miles away, and the same sentiment applies.

My Beloved's father is not, to put it mildly, a well man. In respect for the squeamish among you, I will not catalogue his impressive collection of surgical procedures. Suffice it to say that his heart is not likely to be made available for transplant ...

On the Monday after the festivities, we convinced him to see the doctor about an acute problem he was having. The doctor, on seeing how breathless he was, checked his blood pressure and pulse and promptly sent him to hospital where he was admitted.

I find myself thinking more and more about the ravages of age—perhaps because I am in my late fifties and beloved members of the generation before mine provide a salutary warning of what could lie ahead of me ... I reflect on how active and vital my father-in-law used to be—he did 20-mile walks easily when I first met him, and was involved in all manner of activities—and how much he struggles now. I see his frustration at the diminishing of his powers, and contemplate the inevitability that lies not far enough ahead of us ...

As a younger man, I hardly ever thought of ageing, let alone being old. We seem unable to grasp that the old were once the young, and that, one day, we will become the old, should we be lucky enough to live so long.  This seems to produce a disconnect in us that impacts forcefully on the way we treat the old.  We talk to them as though they are infants rather than possessors of hard-won experience; we see them as inconveniences to be stuck away in homes instead of people who spent themselves to give us a good start in life. For the young who are prepared to listen, the old are a source of wisdom and good advice; they have seen it all before, been there, done that, suffered and survived harder times than any we have seen.

I am disgusted by the contempt that certain elements of the young seem to display for the old.  Then again, they seem to be the sort of ignorant fools who show contempt for anything and anyone they perceive to be vulnerable; the sort of scum that torments puppies and terrorises old ladies.  One day, they may get a taste of their own medicine ...

I know there are old people who are bitter and obnoxious—I have met a few—who expect respect but give none.  Some of them have been that way all their lives and see no reason to change, some have become that way because of the way they have been treated. Nevertheless, in general, we should cherish our old folks, especially our parents and grandparents, particularly those who have helped us to find our way in life.

My father-in-law came out of hospital last Friday, much improved, much less breathless, but on additional medication. We are grateful for every second of his life.

On the Benefits of being Ill

The experience of the last week or so has been an interesting gastro-socio-philosophico-literary ride.  As I write, I am on sick leave having been smitten by a particularly nasty bug (I won't go into the gruesome detail but, if that kind of thing interests you, google campylobacter).

The Philosophico- Part

I've had a couple of nasty bugs before, of which one almost finished me and another took 14 weeks to get over.  The latest pestilence had me feeling almost as bad as I have ever felt in my life and fearing another long journey back to health.  For the first two days I slept, being physically capable of only the short, frequent and necessary excursions from my bed, and mentally almost lacking the will to make them.  I ate nothing, mainly to starve the invader, partly from lack of interest.

In the midst of all that, I thought of a friend of my Beloved's who was about to undergo drastic surgery and whose prognosis was far worse than mine.  At least I knew I would recover; she faced she knew not what.  It's not that there's 'always someone worse off' to think about.  Feeling how I felt, it was much easier to empathise with her in her plight.  We all-too-often merely sympathise with the afflicted without ever sharing in (or really caring about) their suffering.  We distance ourselves from their hopelessness; it's less disturbing that way.

The Socio- Part

A few days later, and having the benefit of a downstairs toilet, and feeling a little improved, I took to watching daytime TV.  Yes, that's how bad I felt.  Actually, some of it was interesting; much more was mindless.  There are programmes about people trying to raise cash for trivial escapades by auctioning the junk in their homes, or buying dilapidated houses at auction and trying to make fat cash from the investment of a few licks of magnolia.  And the adverts: so long; so boring; so repetitive; so many.

Then I thought of the audience.  What kind of people watch this stuff?  Obviously, people like me who are laid up for a while.  The housebound, who have no escape.  Judging by the adverts, people who are up to their eyes in so much debt they can only just afford the satellite subscription.  Or who have some pretext on which to enter litigation.  People who are easy prey for parasitic organisations that charge for services that are free, like reclaiming your payment protection insurance premiums.  Whoever we are, we still have brains and need stimulation instead of the mesmeric tripe churned out by even the BBC.

For the afternoons, I sought out SciFi programmes.  I have finally had my fill of Stargate SG-1 and the various Star Trek series, certainly I had one episode too many of Voyager (The Week of Hell, in two parts).  Crass, mind-numbing pap.  I think they have all run out of ideas. 

The Literary Part

A couple more days and I was well enough to be bored.  I was no longer prepared to put up with daytime TV and resorted to a much more stimulating medium: the printed page.  Actually, I found a couple of books that my Beloved had acquired long ago and that I had not read.  I was pleasantly surprised.  Skin and Bones by Tom Bale I found slow at first (although that may have been an effect of my then under-nourished brain) but it soon became a gripping read.  Very well written, too.  Now I'm reading Winter in Madrid, by CJ Sansom, which is proving to be one of the best reads I've had in a long while.  The imagery in books truly is better than on TV. 

A bit More Socio- Stuff

In these days when Government is imposing cuts, we are in danger of losing such valuable services as lending libraries.  It's tragic to think that the value of these institutions may have been undermined because of the convenience of daytime TV.  We should be promoting libraries, not closing them.  Yes, I know there's a lot of crap on bookshelves too but you don't have to read it.  Daytime TV is to reading what the naso-gastric tube is to the knife and fork.  The latter allows you engagement and variety.  You can only get emulsified slop through the former.

The Gastro- Part

At the beginning, abstinence from food was surprisingly easy.  The reintroduction of food had to be a careful process.  I had to take only bland food at first so as not to upset my delicate and sometimes painful gut.  As someone used to eating curry and stir-fry, and a lover of chocolate, I was delighted to rediscover the flavour of basic foods cooked simply.  Rice and steamed vegetables were delicious: it was as though my taste buds revelled in their very existence.  Strangely, my first glass of wine and my first square of chocolate last night were disappointingly offensive to my palate.  I'm hoping to recover very soon from that problem.  After all, I lost over a stone in a week and have to put at least some of it back on so I am well enough to return to work and normal life.


Being ill is never fun.  It has however been interesting, providing a change of pace and time to reflect on the things we take for granted. 

And now I am well enough to write again.  Too bad, you may say.  Well you didn't have to read this.

The Battleground of the Used Car Showroom

I hate buying cars.  I cannot express how much I hate buying cars.  Actually, it's not so much the buying of cars that I hate; it's the inevitable feeling that I've been ripped off.  This is the consequence of the high-pressure sales tactics used by car salesmen.  Let's face it, whatever they say, they are after taking you for every penny they can.

When buying the car we are about to replace, I think I was taken for a mug, at least on the sale price of the car.  Actually, it's the best car I've ever owned and my way of getting my own back on Car Salesmen everywhere has been to run the car until it is almost falling apart, thereby depriving them of further income for twelve years.  Serves them right for selling me something so good. 

Where I scored on that deal was on the finance of the purchase.  I was in the fortunate position of being able to play the dealer off against a high street bank which was keen to encourage borrowing (remember those days?).  The car dealer's finance package was more expensive than I could get from the bank.  So, immediately, they offered me a better rate.  I went back to the bank who did likewise.  Back I went to the car dealer and they offered me a lower rate still.  If this is not evidence of greed, I don't know what is.  They were keen to sell me the finance, even at the rate least favourable to them.  They were more than willing to hide those less favourable rates from me.

We began our current quest and had our first run-in with a car salesman last Sunday.  Now, he seemed like a nice guy, and he may well be, but you have to remember that the affable nature of the car salesman is part of his toolkit: he is trying to build rapport, to make you feel that he is your friend, to induce obligation in you.  He is not your friend, he is a predator. 

We had hardly set foot on the lot and begun looking at a car that was of interest when our friendly salesman accosted us.  He was very helpful, doing as much as he could to show off the features of the car, get the engine running, get us into it for a test drive.  This is all part of the obligation building: I have bent over backwards for you, now you do something for me.  Actually, the battery was flat so he had to go away a couple of times, which gave me chance to look around the car and pick up on a few things that caused me concern.  I suspected it had been in an accident, although later he assured me that no car that had been would be on the lot.

Prior to the test drive, he coaxed us into the office.  He explained how he was there to agree a sale that was mutually acceptable to us both of us.  He took down our personal details, address and contact numbers and such, found out what we were trading in.  After the drive, he sent us off for a free cup of tea while he talked to his boss.  Then he turned up with the first offer, including all the extras that would enhance our purchase and boost its resale value. 

Somehow, he had begun to reel us in, even though this was the first car we had looked at and we were not really ready to buy, being not entirely sure what we wanted.  We declined all the extras, vacillated over the part-exchange offer, and generally looked like we weren't going to buy.  He left us to think while we drank more free tea, and he went to see his boss again.

Back he came with the next offer.  What amazes me is that I knew exactly what was coming but still felt hooked in.  A much improved part-exchange deal, extras thrown in, a more manageable final price.  But the deal was only if we signed up today, and they were about to close.  The offer hit me like a sledge-hammer.  Could I afford to pass this up?  Can't I have time to think about it?

This is a well-documented ploy and it is crap.  'Look, we are doing you a favour...'  No they are not.  If they were happy to sell it at that price today, they would be just as happy with it tomorrow.  Whoever came in the next day and showed interest in that car probably had exactly the same offer thrown at them.  Next time I hear this, if I am genuinely interested in buying the car, I will come back with a lower, counter-offer that I will not extend to the following day...

There are other ploys that we weren't subjected to: 'I only need one more sale to achieve my target and get my bonus,' for example, meaning, 'Look, we're friends now; you can do me a favour.'  Not my problem; I'm buying a car, and your personal financial arrangements with your employer are no concern of mine.  And you're not my friend, I don't know you from Adam.

We walked away.  We didn't want that car anyway.  At least the experience served to clarify in our minds that we don't know what we want.  And that it is a buyers' market.

Blimey! I've got a Bonus!

This week, I was awarded a bonus of £100-worth of vouchers to spend any way I like in honour of my 25 years of loyal public service with the same employer.  I really appreciate the gesture, meaning I will be able to afford the iPod Touch I want.  Seriously, it is good to mark the occasion in this way.

It kind of takes the sting out of the £1.45 million pounds the leader of my bank is getting for this year alone.

More Money Wasted on a Banker

It seems that the Lloyds Banking Group has at least two million pounds more than it needs.

Just think what good could be done with that.  Four hundred thousand mosquito nets to protect children in Africa, perhaps.  That's just one idea.  I'm sure the money could be put to good use in Haiti, for another.

The bank has come up with a much better idea: let's give it to someone who has absolutely no need of it. What can possibly justify a bonus of TWO MILLION POUNDS?  Is this not an immoral waste?  Even if the banks don't want to do some positive good, what about them clearing up the mess they made instead of leaving us, the British taxpayers, to pay off the deficit caused by shoddy banking?  We even own a huge part of Lloyds, for goodness sake.  Don't they owe us some reparation?

What is the bonus for?  Doing a good job? Didn't Mr Daniels buy HBOS and get Lloyds into debt in the first place?  If he's done a good job in recovering his failure, give him a couple of grand and do something useful with the rest of the money.  £2k is a much bigger bonus than I'll get - £2k bigger, in fact.

Our government has shirked facing the issue, of course, telling us, 'Bankers may move to overseas banks if we don't let them have their bonuses.'  I have two things to say to that:

1. How dare the bankers hold us to ransom?
2. Given the mess they've made, who would want the spoilt brats?

Of course, we have no idea what Mr Daniels intends to do with the money.  He may give it away to worthy causes.  Good for him if he does.  I'm not holding my breath.

Mis-fuelling Scam Exposed!

On Tuesday, a the end of a tedious day, feeling unwell, frustrated and tired, I filled up the tank of my car with £53 pounds-worth of unleaded petrol.  The only problem is, my car has a diesel engine.  Not realising my mistake, I drove my car at speed the twelve miles from the fuel station to home.  The loss of power only became apparent as I descended the long hill into the village and then over the short one to where we live.  I parked up and went indoors, worried about what was wrong with the car and if it would work several hours later when I had to go to the airport to collect my Beloved who had been away to visit her parents.

I need not have worried because it's failing to work was a certainty, confirmed by the billowing smoke and fumes that resulted from my later attempts to start the engine.  Fortunately, we have a second car.  Unfortunately for my Beloved, it is a two-seater with little room for luggage.  We managed.

Still unaware of my mistake, and concerned that the head gasket had blown, when we got back home I took a torch out to the car and searched for evidence of oil running down the cylinder block but found none.  Then I checked the fuel receipt and realised the full horror of what I had done...

Interestingly enough, my Beloved had bought a renowned car magazine on her journey and had read that very night an article about the mis-fuelling of cars.  Apparently this problem is so common that recovery services have vehicles especially set up for siphoning, flushing and re-fuelling, and charge about £250 for the job.  Under no account, the article informed us, should you attempt to start a mis-fuelled car.  To do so damages the entire fuel delivery system and requires its replacement at the possible cost of thousands of pounds... 

Sleep did not come easily that night.

On Wednesday, I went to my usual garage as, by coincidence, the MX5 was due its annual service.  I explained the disaster to the proprietor and expected to hear that ominous sucking-of-teeth sound.  'That's OK,' he said, 'It's not as big a problem as everyone makes out.  I've done it myself.'  His confession, and his ensuing description of the much greater abuse heaped on his wrongly-fuelled engine for a whole weekend made me feel much better.  He just cleaned out the tank and flushed the system through and his car ran without problems for many years after.  He did tell me of another client who mis-fuelled his leased car and had no option but to pay the leasing company £4000 for a new fuel system.  I felt even better still when my friendly mechanic explained that the most that would need replacing was a fuel filter.  I arranged for Green Flag to recover my car to the garage for remedial work.

Apparently, the story goes that steel parts in the diesel's fuel pump break down after being soaked in petrol and then the resulting particles pass through the the rest of the system, wrecking it as they go.  However, it is normal for exactly the same pump to be used in both diesel and petrol engines, so damage from petrol is hardly likely, and the fuel line has a filter after the pump that would remove any fragments before they have chance to reach the injection system anyway.  Furthermore, diesel used to have petrol added to it to stop waxing in the cold extremes of the winter months: as much as 60%!

A colleague at work told me of a friend's garage where they see two or three mis-fuellings a week and charge a mere £90 for sorting out the problem.  The recovered fuel goes in a big tank where it separates into two fractions, petrol over diesel.  It then gets used in the garage's vehicles appropriately.  Win-win, you might say.

On Thursday, I got my car back in working order.  It goes like a rocket, having been cleaned out with a good soaking in petrol.  The cost?  Only £90.50, including £20 for diesel fuel (plus the £53 I lost on the petrol, of course). 

It seems to me that there is a massive con going on, with unscrupulous people making a fortune out of the mistakes and ignorance of others.  Obviously there is nothing wrong with using your knowledge to personal advantage - we all do that to make an honest living.  Using your knowledge to the deliberate disadvantage and abuse of others is entirely reprehensible.  If it is not actually criminal, it should be; it is certainly despicable.  Thank goodness I have a long-standing relationship with a reliable garage!

So, if you do what I did, don't panic, don't lose sleep, and don't believe the mechanic who tells you you need to re-mortgage your home: find a new mechanic.  If this has already happened to you, and you got ripped off, find a new mechanic.

General Election 2010 - Heaven Help Us!

So the General Election has been set.  Now what are we going to do?

Seriously, I think the British public faces an incredibly enormous problem.  Our politicians have shot themselves in the foot, to put it mildly, over recent months.  The expenses scandal, as a result of which several MPs are being prosecuted, and the 'Taxi for Hire' scandal have all but demolished any confidence we had in our elected representatives.  The simpering manner in which the government has handed great wads of taxpayers money to bankers so they can continue living in luxury and claim fat bonuses while the rest of us wrestle with the hardships of the recession, if it does not make us vomit, gives us serious indigestion.  We can be forgiven for thinking that our MPs are a bunch of self-seeking charlatans who seek office for their own ends and have little, if any, interest in the common man.  Why on earth do they think we would want to re-elect them to govern us?

In my view, there could not be a worse time to have an election.  Goodness knows we need one.  Something has to change but do any of the parties have the wherewithal to get our great United Kingdom back on its feet?  What are we looking for?

• We want to be able to place genuine confidence and trust in honest government.
• We want our elected representatives to represent us, not their ideologies.
• We want them to be committed to the issues that concern us, not to lining their own pockets.
• We want them to achieve results, not just make promises.  
• We want them to understand that they are our servants not we theirs.

There are specific issues that bother us, and which never seem to get sorted out properly; things like (illegal) immigration, education and health.  Those of us who pay our way in life do not want to find ourselves penalised in our final years compared with those who have lived on hand-outs all their lives.  There are other issues, of course, which unfortunately do not press themselves upon us but which need stamping out: sex-trafficking, climate change and global poverty, for example.  We would also like to know that our leaders are competent at dealing with weightier matters of state like foreign policy: we don't want to be puppets of the USA, Mr Blair, or walked all over by the great hob-nailed boots of the European Union.  While we value enormously those who dedicate themselves to serve our country in its defence, we don't really want them sent to foreign lands to die for want of adequate equipment.

The problem with elections is that we are not really given chance to say what we want.  We are given at best the choice of what politicians want to give us, at worst the chance to decide the outcome of a popularity contest.  Labour wants us to believe they are the best party to lead us out of recession and, since they presided over the slide into the mess we are in, perhaps they are the ones who best understand it.  The Conservatives are going on about a stronger society; it sounds different, at least, perhaps even hopeful, but wasn't it Margaret Thatcher who said there was no such thing as society?  The Lib Dems go on sounding sensible, if a little wishy-washy, but no-one believes they have the experience to run the country; look at those who do have the experience and ask if it helped...  Well, they all have a month to impress and convince us, and, boy, do they have their work cut out.  I, for one, have no confidence in any of them, and seriously wonder whom to vote for and if it's worth bothering. 

Some warn that a hung parliament may result from a poor turn-out in the election and that this is a bad thing for the UK.  Is it really a bad thing?  Parties would have to work together to get things done, and what they do would have to be balanced and reasonable.  Plenty of coalition governments exist in Europe and seem to work without too much difficulty.  Is it not much more dangerous to give one party an insurmountable majority?

Whichever of them wins, they had better come up with the goods...

Man Go Shops, Feel Bad

My Beloved took me shopping on Saturday, an event that always fills me with dread.  Don't get me wrong, I don't mind shopping per se - as long as it's for electrical gadgets or shiny discs with music or games on, and as long as it fits the male shopping model (stalk your prey, make the kill, go home).  It's shopping for clothes that I hate, specifically clothes for me.  Shopping with my Beloved for clothes for me can be especially stressful.

There are two problems.  The first is that the shopping agenda is kept hidden and gets revealed in stages only as the event is in progress.  The second is that I have only a stunted and malformed dress-sense.  Let me explain what I mean.

I think we are going shopping for, say, a pair of new trousers.  I feel peace and harmony all around once the selection has been made and the agony is presumably over.  The coffee shop is in view, and the expedition has been a success.  My Beloved restores the gloom with one sentence, or even the initial fragment of it, 'While I've got you here, you need...'

On one occasion, searching for a new top coat, I tried on a shop-full until we found one that I didn't look completely stupid in.  There was not one in my size but there were other shops that stocked the same brand.  'Good,' I thought, 'at least we've narrowed the field.'  In the next shop, I found that the whole project had been rewound to the start because not only did the shop stock coats of the type we had settled on but also a whole range of other brands we had not yet seen.  O Joy!

As for dress-sense, well I grew up in the 50s and 60s, the son of a car-worker.  Whilst we were not exactly poverty-stricken, there was not a great deal of spare cash around.  As far as I remember, I had one school uniform, one set of best clothes, and one pair of jeans and a couple of tee-shirts for playing in.  I had one pair of good shoes and one pair of pumps (a cheap and unimpressive precursor to the trainer).  As for underwear and socks, I don't remember how many sets I had except that there were not enough for one a day.  Consequently, I developed a very utilitarian view of clothing.  Not only that, because of my less-than-hunky figure, things that I think look good on the hanger always look ridiculous on me.  I am Mr Average.  You'd think shopping would be easy....

Fashion has never made its mark on me.  Looking around the store on Saturday, I can only say that is not an entirely bad thing.  I saw racks of brand new jeans on sale for £65 and in a state that I would describe as ready for throwing out, having already been relegated to gardening or working under the car in.  Sixty-five pounds!  Would anyone like to buy my old jeans?  They are 36-regular and have genuine, authentic holes and stains, not your artificial, Designer ones.  One not-so-careful owner.  Make me an offer.

My Beloved however, has excellent dress-sense.  She is always well-coordinated and often complemented on her appearance (sometimes by me, when I notice).  This in itself is a good thing because I can count on her buying me good stuff.  It's also a bad thing because most things that I point out whilst shopping meet with disdain.

Anyway, on Saturday, we adopted a new approach.  I asked her to declare up front what we were going to buy so that I could set myself up for the campaign and not lose heart at an unforeseen extension of hostilities.  We also started with coffee and a doughnut.  Then we stuck to the plan, and bought a pair of Designer jeans that looked as though they had just been made from recently-woven material, and a pair of shoes that even I think look great and actually fit (don't get me started on shoes!). 

We did go into one unplanned shop to review a few ideas about decor (which I didn't mind because no decision was necessary and my Beloved is also superb with interior decoration).  Then we went home to watch the Six Nations rugby.  Result.  Win-win, even.  Although not for England.

Election Lottery

So, who on Earth do we vote for in the forthcoming election?  We're all sick of labour but is there a real alternative?  What are the choices?

• Labour - led by Gordon Brown, for me the least convincing Prime Minister of any persuasion I have known in my almost 56 years (including John Major).
• Conservative - led by David Cameron.  In my opinion, he is a 'Sound Bite' and I have yet to discern any substance in his party.
• Liberal Democrat - led by ... who?
• UKIP - what do they stand for?
• Green Party - green in anything other than green issues.
• BNP - Fur Sie, ist der Krieg vorbei!
• Monster Raving Loony Party - they're having a laugh.

All-in-all, not much choice.  They tell us we are electing representatives of the people.  In reality, we a forced to choose between political ideologies that do not represent our views, needs and aspirations.

I bet we have a low turn out and end up with a hung parliament.  That would be a massive victory for 'None of the Above'.

All About Everything

Well, I haven't blogged for a while, mainly due to lack of inspiration. It's not that there's been nothing to comment on; quite the opposite, in fact. I've just been unmotivated, having been drained by demands in the real world.

Lions

I almost wrote something about the eye-gouging affair in the recent British & Irish Lions tour. I was going to vent my spleen on the South African player concerned but research showed me that he had appealed against the sentence and had been absolved of the serious charge of deliberately sticking fingers in an opponent's eyes only an hour before I put fingers to keyboard. Such is life. I still think the South African coach's statement appearing to imply that foul play was acceptable was outrageous, despite his subsequent 'clarification'.

While we're on the subject of the Lions tour, didn't they do well? Five minutes more in the first game and we could have won. One stupid error less in the second game (resulting in an impressive kick for three points) and we would have drawn at least, leaving the series open. The emphatic thumping in the third and final game ought to have shown the South Africans how lucky they were to have got away with a series win.

Swine Flu

Then, of course, there's swine flu still doing the rounds. Is it serious or isn't it? I suppose it is if it kills you but it appears to be no worse than the normal seasonal flu - except those who have died are not in the traditional vulnerable demographic, the frail and elderly. Despite this, panic appears to be setting in. I don't know with any certainty anyone who has had it, although my neighbour has been confined to barracks with suspected swine flu. The woman in my garage's office was so absolutely loaded and debilitated with cold last week that she was my best candidate. She should have stayed at home instead of coughing on her left hand, picking up my keys with the same hand, coughing on her right hand, transferring my keys to her newly-splattered appendage, and then passing my keys to me. I'm sure real flu would have overcome even her exemplary dedication to duty. I've had a cold this week. That's good enough for me. Flu? Don't want it.

High Finance

Hasn't it gone quiet on the Parliamentary expenses scandal? Are the police still investigating? Will we see heads roll, or will it all quietly go away because there are more serious things in the news to hide it with? Bankers are back in the news again. Making money. Will we ever learn?

Afghanistan

The death-toll in Afghanistan continues to rise. Whatever the rights and wrongs of our military involvement in that country, it is completely unacceptable that our troops are sent out with less than sufficient and inappropriate equipment. Even General Dannatt, the head of the British Army, has taken an unusual political stance and is making clear that our soldiers do not have all they need. Despite this, Mr Brown is insisting that the troops are properly equipped; what would he know?

Our soldiers are out there laying their lives on the line for a cause none of us is entirely clear about. The recent offensive has resulted in higher fatalities, some of which could have been avoided if the army had access to better and sufficient equipment. Come on, Mr Brown. If you are going to fight a war, you have to be committed to it, one hundred percent. After all, the 186 British service men and woman to date who have lost their lives have given their all. The 186 families of those men and woman have given far more than they care to. If you want our troops out there in harm's way, then equip them properly. If you are not prepared to equip them properly, then bring them home, now.

I want to express my appreciation to the people of Wootton Bassett for the respect they continue to show for our returned dead and their families.

EU Rules, OK?

I have encountered another seemingly pointless example of what I can only imagine to be the result of legislation dreamt up by a bunch of unelected, nameless (and, it would seem, brainless) European Union bureaucrats. Before I tell you about it, let me tell you about another.

Last autumn, we were visited by representatives of BT OpenReach who informed us that our telephone line was attached too low on our house and had to be moved higher. This, so they told us, was because the line passed over a road (albeit a private, or unadopted, one) and EU regulations stipulated a minimum height for such occurrences. The workmen, of course, had to do their job but agreed with me that it was rather a stupid task since the power lines to our house cross the same road (we live in a rural area) very much lower than the telephone line. Interestingly, after they completed the job, the line looked no higher at all. Is someone coming to move the power lines? Perhaps not, because there seems to be an alternative solution to that problem.

My recent encounter was with two new signs that appeared last week at either end of a dirt-track giving vehicular access to the local allotments. It warns people about the danger presented by overhead power lines which, incidentally, are at least twice as high as those attached to our house and which have been there for decades. The sign instructs us not to carry or raise long objects in this vicinity. If I could be bothered to investigate this, I would probably discover that over the last many decades there has been an astonishing number of deaths from electrocution by these power lines; I suspect this astonishing number to be zero. What a waste of time, money and materials. Who in their right mind would carry with them a pole long enough to reach the power lines, never mind attempt to touch them? Interestingly, the power lines are off towards the side of the track over trees (non-conducting ones?) but actually pass over an open area just beyond the now-restricted zone. Presumably, the power lines are not at all dangerous there...

I wonder when a sign will be erected on our road to warn of our overhead cables? I wonder how long it will be before some innocent passing cyclist kills or maims himself by riding into it?

Have you encountered similar pointless stuff?

Above Their Stations

There are two groups of public servants in the headlines at the moment: members of parliament and the police. Worthy as these two groups are (at least in principle) neither is in the limelight for worthy reasons.

Police

I have great respect for the police. I think they do a difficult job, for the most part very well. As custodians of the law, they keep our society relatively safe from those who see no value in the common good, as far as their limited resources allow. However, the recent G20 summit saw police behaviour on the streets that would be totally unacceptable were it perpetrated by an ordinary member of the public. I am talking, of course, about the assault on and subsequent death of Mr Tomlinson. We have all seen the video recordings of this man, whilst trying to make his way home, and unassociated with any demonstration, being brutally pushed to the ground for no apparent reason.

I would not wish to pre-judge the outcome of the independent enquiry that is being conducted (after all, a third post-mortem is being done in an attempt finally to establish cause of death) but what could have provoked such a vicious attack? We have no idea what verbal interchange may have taken place between the police and Mr Tomlinson but, even had he launched the most heinous torrent of verbal abuse at the thin blue line, would it have warranted being struck down so? I think not; being arrested for behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace and later being let off with an unofficial warning may have been a more measured response...

No reasonable person would say that policing events such as the G20 demonstrations is easy: the police have to second-guess everything, and have to be ready for the worst even though it may not happen. Having riot police waiting in vans around the corner is a reasonable contingency, not evidence of police brutality. Unreasonable and unnecessary use of force, as appears to have been the case in this incident, is nothing but thuggery and totally unacceptable in my view, even taking into account the heightened tension of such events; our police have been trained to deal with these things, after all.

I have no problem with the police using force when necessary but it should be in the terms prescribed for them: reasonable and in proportion; preferably in response to a situation getting out of hand, or possibly even beginning to get out of hand, but not pre-emptively unless there is clear intelligence of intended mischief and for the protection of the public of whom the police are servants.

If MI5 is reading this and marking my card, there is no need. As I said, I am not anti-police. I merely think that, as guardians of society, their behaviour should project a good image of the kind of society we want to live in.

As usual, the sterling efforts of the many are negated by the bad behaviour of the few. Bear that in mind. The majority of our police are doing a great job: I would not want to live in our society without them.

Politicians

All I have to say about this crew is that we do not elect them to abuse our trust. They get paid well in reflection of the great responsibility they carry. No reasonable person would deny them reasonable expenses but we are extremely peeved, to say the least, when we hear about them taking advantage by claiming salaries for family members who do nothing or for porn film rentals. It is, quite simply, unacceptable.

Any who set out to abuse the system are not worthy of public office and should be sacked, and possibly even prosecuted, as I might be were I caught fiddling my expenses at work. After all, benefit fraudsters are (rightly) being pursued and prosecuted. If Members of Parliament pass off some private scam as a legitimate expense and make us tax payers foot the bill, is that not fraud? Why should they be immune from the law?

Come on, you politicians, what kind of society do you want to live in? You should be squeaky-clean in your use of public funds.

Yet again, the sterling efforts of the many are negated by the bad behaviour of the few. It is in the interests of those who are doing a good job to be seen to be circumspect in all they do and to rid our noble House of any who use their high office for ill-gotten gains.

Bonuses for Bankers? It's Bonkers!

There is, understandably, a public outcry at the news that bankers may receive large bonuses - or any bonus at all, come to think of it.

I am amazed that bankers, whose mismanagement has at least contributed to the current financial crisis that we all face, could even contemplate the possibility of bonuses for their efforts. Taxpayers' money has been fed in to help revive the system on which we all appear to depend. This tax payer cannot agree that the money should be used to line the pockets of bankers.

Even if the bonus is in respect of performance in previous periods, I cannot countenance the payment: those previous periods, don't forget, paved the way to our current predicament and I see no reason why they should be rewarded for that. Goodness knows they don't actually need it, their salary before bonuses being more than the vast majority of us could even dream of.

Interestingly, if I do well at my job, I do not get a bonus. I just get paid for doing my job.

In my view, the payment of any bonus would be callous at least, if not actually immoral. It would give us all a boost if the boards of all the banks announced that all bonuses were suspended until the present crisis is over and their banks are free of public ownership.

So, that's what I think. What do you think?

Cameron Blames Recession on Labour

I could not believe my ears as I listened to David Cameron on Radio 4 today. He actually said, '... this Labour Recession ...' Now, I'm what's called a floating voter so I have no political axe to grind. Has Mr Cameron not noticed that the whole western world is in recession? Is the Labour party's influence really so universal? If the blame can be laid anywhere is it not at the feet of financiers who in their greed have encouraged us to borrow more than is good for us? Are they not largely Conservative voters?

Credibility will be very important in the run-up to the next General Election, Mr Cameron.

A Rant to Make Jeremy Clarkson Smile

Driving habits. We all have them. Some of you have particularly annoying ones. I, of course, also have them but none of them annoy me.

I am not talking about the illegal and absolutely downright stupid ones, such as conversing on a hand-held 'phone whilst actually driving (sending text messages is even more stupid). Why people think that the law does not apply to them, or even that their ability to drive safely is not in any way diminished by such behaviour, I will never understand. If you are one of those people, the law does apply to you and it certainly does affect your ability to drive safely. In evidence, I cite the example of the waved apology from a driver who, through inattention, had pulled out in front of me at a junction whilst simultaneously changing gear and holding his 'phone to his ear. Where he got all the hands from I do not know; I only hope he had a couple of spare ones for the steering wheel. Of course, if you normally drive like a moron, driving whilst on the ‘phone probably won’t affect your driving ability… I digress.

No, I am not talking about the illegal and absolutely downright stupid habits, just the ones that seem to make no sense. Here are some examples of what I mean.

Drivers Who Miss the Boat
I am sitting at a roundabout with one car in front of me and a bus alongside. The bus pulls off and enters the roundabout. The person in front of me waits until the bus has gone just to be sure that nothing is coming. She has yet to realise that anything already on the roundabout has to pass through an enormous, solid vehicle before it has any chance of hitting her car. Had she realised that the bus was, in effect, an almost impenetrable shield against all except fully-laden quarry trucks and Exocet missiles, she and I and possibly the driver behind could have been on our way. Instead she spends her time, and mine, preening her hair.

Space Invaders
Now, I like to leave a decent safe distance between my car and the one in front. I am the first to admit that it is not the Highway Code's-worth of stopping distance but it is a good deal more than some drivers leave between themselves and the back of my car, and is easily expandable by paying attention and responding to everything in front of you and not just the car you are following. After all, the stopping distance in the Highway Code (if 'Top Gear' demonstrations are to be believed) is designed with a stationary stack of cardboard boxes in mind, not the moving target that is the traffic in front. Rarely would the car in front of me stop instantaneously (unless it hits a steel-reinforced concrete wall, and, as I am paying attention, I would have spotted the wall long before the unfortunate driver in front did). Why do some drivers think that my 'safe space' is their 'pulling-in space'? It isn't. If you pull in, I have to drop back so that you don't have to glare at me in your mirror because you think I'm too close. I have to judge very carefully what I think is the minimum safe distance with the lowest risk of my being dispossessed of it. Otherwise, particularly on busy roads, I may just as well drive in reverse...

Space Creators
In these days of escalating fuel prices, it makes very good sense (seriously) to drive less aggressively. There is no point in roaring away from one traffic light and screeching to a halt at the end of the queue for the next. Gentle acceleration uses much less fuel and, certainly in rush-hour traffic, loses you no time at all. So, when I see someone keeping up with but hanging back in a slowly-moving, single line of vehicles I understand what they are doing and even commend them for their responsible attitude to the environment. I can even appreciate that such an approach is much less wearing on the nerves, and that one arrives at one's destination far less jaded as a result. What I do not understand is the reason to maintain the same generous gap when approaching a green traffic light. In that circumstance, the right approach is to close the gap with a little more, although still gentle, acceleration so that you maximise your chances, and possibly those of the person behind you, of getting through the light before it changes from green. At the speeds involved, if the light changes to amber, you will still have time to stop. If you hang back however, you (or worse, I) will almost certainly have to stop and to waste the world's precious oil resources on pumping greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere whilst achieving no forward progress at all. Of course, in double lines of traffic, one man's 'slack space' becomes someone else's 'pulling-in' space and so, for the sake of the mental stability of every consequently stationary driver behind you, keep up, there's a good chap.

Time Bandits
Then there are the people who seem to be in absolutely no hurry at all. They tootle along at twenty-five miles an hour, as if the two-mile tail-back behind them did not exist, and revel in the joys of the open road before them. (Here's an interesting fact: if you drive along with your speedo-needle on thirty, you are probably doing only about twenty-seven; so if you like to sit 'just under thirty', just to keep on the safe side of lurking speed-traps, you are actually doing about twenty-five – which is irritatingly safe. If you want to be on the safe side, drive with the needle bang on thirty. Check it out next time you approach one of those roadside speed-measuring displays.) I have no problem with people going along at their own pace, only with the time of day that they do it. If you are in no hurry, why not do your journey off-peak so that people who are in a hurry can get to where they need to be? Why didn't they leave more time, you repost... Because, before they left for work, they had to feed the kids, walk the dog, get the cat out of a tree, and scoop their adventure-seeking goldfish back into its bowl, that's why.

Lane Hoggers
Picture a three-lane motorway with nothing in front of you for as far as the eye can see except for one car. That car is in the middle lane. Why? Fifty miles further on, that car is still in the middle lane and has never moved over, either to the right or the left. Why? Several vehicles approach from behind, all travelling faster than the lane-hogger. Still she (and it’s usually but not always a she) stays in the middle lane. Why? Now all the faster-moving traffic has to wait in turn to get past the moron in the middle. Some drivers, in their total and understandable frustration, resort to passing on the left – actually not as dangerous as you might think because the lane-hogger has no concept of moving over and has completely failed to notice the less-than-subtle hints from other drivers (such as coming right up behind in the left lane, indicating right and moving right across the back of her car and into the overtaking lane, pulling swiftly past her, and then indicating left and moving quickly across her front and back into the left-hand lane). No. Unless a police car with blues-and-twos in full performance draws alongside and the officer in the passenger seat bellows at her with a loud-hailer on full volume, never will she vacate her beloved middle lane. There she sits, oblivious of the frustration, anger and mayhem in her wake. In a phenomenon known as ‘bunching’, the traffic slows down and only gradually works its way past her and the pink, fluffy dice hanging from her rear-view mirror. Sometimes, and much further back, the traffic density builds up so much that it actually stops! Have you ever wondered about those apparently causeless motorway queues? Now you know. People who hog the middle lane are a menace and a danger.

Anxious Right-turners
The anxious right-turner is a variant of the lane-hogger. This is the person who gets into the right hand lane of a dual carriageway because she intends to turn right (sorry ladies, but it’s usually either a woman or a man in a white van). What’s wrong with that? Well, nothing if you are actually nearing the junction at which you intend to turn right, but if said junction is twenty-five miles down the road… Here’s a suggestion for those of you who live in fear of missing your turn: put your right indicator on, then we can legally pass you on the left. What’s more, we will still have plenty of time to move over and turn right at your intended junction long before you arrive.

The Offside Rear Wing-man
Another variant of the lane-hogger, the Offside Rear Wing-man sits for mile-upon-mile in the overtaking lane travelling at the same speed as me and just about overlapping with me, effectively blocking any opportunity I may have to pull into the overtaking lane and thus avoid piling into the lorry at the far end of the rapidly-shortening gap in front of me. I have two options: I can brake, allowing the ORW to pass and then pull out behind him, all the while hoping that the driver of the car behind, whose front wheels are all but on my boot, is awake and paying attention (of course, there will not be any space behind the ORW because someone who wants to do 95 is trying to push him out of the way); or I can accelerate into what is left of my ‘safe space’ and get in front of the ORW hoping not to give him a heart attack in the process. Why would he have a heart attack? Because I have appeared suddenly out of nowhere! The lorry in front of me is not in his lane so he has not seen it. I am not in his lane and so he has not seen me. He most certainly has failed to realise that, at the speed we are travelling, I will very soon need to overtake the lorry but cannot because he is in the way. No. I’m afraid I have to do the thinking for both of us and indicate my intentions long before the need to pull out arises and just hope that the insistent blinking of my side repeater manages to penetrate his consciousness without causing too much trauma… and that his response is not to accelerate and box me in completely…

There! I'm glad I got all that off my chest. So am I qualified to rant like this because my driving is perfect? Not as perfect as my Beloved’s, whose driving is truly better than that of most men, including mine. She regularly points out my small and insignificant inconsistencies. I never point hers out unless I am likely to be in sudden need of a change of underpants…

And Jeremy, if you have been reading this, I hope it made you smile… especially the bit about mobile ‘phones…