Thoughts on the inauguration?

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Maybe you, too, are behind on work. But with me, the suspension of activity at the start of this week, which has put everybody at ADCO behind, was piled on top of two full weeks out of action.

So it is that, since coming back to work Wednesday morning, I’ve not had time to stop and pay attention to anything going on that I might have blogged about. That includes the inaugural activities yesterday for governor, constitutional officers and other officials. LAST time around, I was all over it on the old blog (as in years past, I just mention last time because that was the first inaugural when I had a blog). Back then, I had this post and this one and this one and this one, and probably more. THIS time, I not only didn’t get out to any of the events, I haven’t even had time to read any of the coverage of it. I mean, I glanced at The State this morning during a hurried breakfast (and didn’t see much worth commenting on), but was then in solid, back-to-back meetings from 9 until 5:30 today.

So… do any of y’all have thoughts on yesterday’s events — what was said or what was done? If you need fodder, here’s a story that was in The State, and here’s the text of Nikki’s speech, and here’s some reaction to it.

Maybe something y’all will say will inspire me to say something.

I leave the country for a few days, and look what happens

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This morning, when I went for a Grande Verona at the 5 Points Starbucks, I had the pleasure of flashing one of my favorite souvenirs from our trip to England: My official London Starbucks card. (Yes, it’s touristy, but I don’t care. I tend to like almost anything with a Union Jack on it.)

The effect was everything I could have hoped for. The barista was impressed, noting that he’d never before seen one like it. I basked in my elevated status… a Thorstein Veblen moment!

I bought it at a Starbucks in The City, one of two or three of the chain’s stores to which I gave my custom in London. The visits were generally satisfactory, which I took time to communicate to Mr. Darcy — that is to say, Darcy Willson-Rymer, the managing director of Starbucks in the UK and Ireland. He’s one of my followers on Twitter, you know — a fact which I could have mentioned to the baristas in England if I’d wanted to impress them, but one doesn’t want to top it the nob too much. Besides, it was unnecessary; the service was generally up to the usual high Starbucks standard. (Darcy was kind enough to write back to me, saying “Welcome to the UK. I hope we look after you. let me know how you get on.” I got on fine, as it happened.)

There were differences — for instance, they always ask you whether you want to drink your coffee on-premises or take away, which took me aback at first. (Or was that at the Caffe Nero shops I went to when Starbucks wasn’t handy? No, I think it was at both.) Also, some of the stores were huge, with far more seating capacity than I’m used to. Which was nice.

But now that I return home, I find all is not well in Starbucks land.

They’re changing the logo. I didn’t like the sound of that when I first saw the headline of the release a colleague had shared. Now that I’ve seen the new logo, I like it less.

How does it strike you? I think it looks naked. The poor siren is suspended in space, unanchored. She looks insecure. And now that it’s monochromatic, now that the “siren” is green and there’s no black to offset it, the whole lacks contrast, definition and character. Also, removing the words suggests a surrender to a post-literate world — and while I may have this wrong, I would have said that Starbucks’ constituency would tend to be more literate than the general population.

Moreover, it’s an unnecessary break with tradition, which on principle I abhor. (I’m not much on show tunes, but to the extent that I have a favorite, it’s “Tradition” from “Fiddler on the Roof.” The rest of the play, in which Tevye is forced to accept successively more jarring breaks with tradition, I like less.) It’s insupportable, as the original Darcy would have said. And then, when I read the reasoning — that it’s intended “to move the Seattle, Washington-based company beyond coffee” — I was nothing short of appalled. Beyond coffee? That’s like the church moving “beyond God” (which you might say some churches have done, but let’s not get off on a theological digression).

You ask me, I say if you must change, go back to the original brown logo (except that it had “and Tea,” which also distracted from the point). But, well, they didn’t ask me…

Dick Winters is gone, and I never did shake his hand…

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Dick Winters has died. “Captain Winters,” I think of him as, from the time when he commanded Easy Company of the 506th PIR,101st Airborne Division — although on D-Day, the day on which his actions should have earned the Congressional Medal of Honor, he was still a lieutenant, and by the time the company had captured Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest he was a major, and battalion commander.

Yes, the guy who was the main character in “Band of Brothers.”

He was a peaceful, modest man who, when war was thrust upon him and the rest of the world, discovered talents and personal resources that would otherwise likely have gone unsuspected. The video clips above and below, with actor Damien Lewis in the role of Winters, perfectly illustrates the qualities that Stephen Ambrose described in the book that inspired the series: Mainly, an uncanny coolness under fire, and certain, unhesitating knowledge of exactly what to do in a given situation — knowledge which he quickly and effectively communicated to his men in real time, with a minimum of fuss. The video clips show how Winters led a tiny remnant of Easy Company (of which he was only acting commander, since the CO was missing, later found to be dead) to take several well-defended, entrenched guns trained on Utah Beach — saving untold numbers of GIs — with only a couple of casualties among his own men. This was on his very first day in combat. The action is used today at West Point as an illustration of how to take a fixed position.

This guy has long been associated in my mind with the definition of the word, “hero.”

In later years, when he was interviewed in old age about the things that happened in 1944-45, you could still see the manner of man he was. His manner was that of a man you’d be confident to follow, a man you’d want to follow if you had to go to war, while at the same time being perfectly modest and soft-spoken about it. And on this link you’ll see what some of his men thought of him.

As I wrote about him last year:

Over the last few years I had occasion to visit central Pennsylvania multiple times, while my daughter was attending a ballet school up there. Almost every time I went there, I thought about going over to Hershey to try to talk to Dick Winters, the legendary commander of Easy Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment in the 101st Airborne Division during World War II. He was the leader — one of several leaders, but the one everyone remembers as the best — of the company immortalized in Stephen Ambrose’s book Band of Brothers, and the HBO series of the same name (the best series ever made for television).

But I never did. As much as I wanted just to meet him, to shake his hand once, I never did. And there’s a reason for that. A little while ago, I was reminded of that reason. The History Channel showed a special about D-Day, and one of the narrators was Winters, speaking on camera about 60 years after the events. He spoke in that calm, understated way he’s always had about his heroics that day — he should have received the Medal of Honor for taking out those 105mm pieces aimed at Utah Beach, but an arbitrary cap of one per division had been place on them, so he “only” received the Distinguished Service Cross.

Then, he got a little choked up about what he did that night, having been up for two days, and fighting since midnight. He got down on his knees and thanked God for getting him through that day. Then he promised that, if only he could get home again, he would find a quiet place to live, and live out the rest of his life in peace.

I figure a guy who’s done what he did — that day and during the months after, through the fighting around Bastogne and beyond into Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest itself — deserved to get his wish. He should be left in peace, and not bothered by me or anyone else.

So I’ve never tried to interview him.

Well, I never did impose upon him to get that handshake, even though I’ve been to his general neighborhood again since I wrote that. And that causes me now a mixture of satisfaction and regret.

Douglas Adams lives!

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Once at a cocktail party in Columbia, I met an editor from a British publication (The Times, I want to say) and I asked him: “Why is it that British newspapers are so much better written than American ones?” He said he rather thought it was because in the UK, they write with readers in mind, rather than for other journalists.

I think he was right. It sort of speaks to that thing that John Parish was on about, when he explained to me his disdain for journalism prizes back in 1978.

Anyway, I’m very much enjoying the great wealth of British newspapers while I’m here. My favorite bit today, from a magazine included in The Times:

IN THEORY

The big ideas, with a little twist

01 DARWINISM

In the distant past there were lumbering, old-fashioned beasts who survived for an unaccountably long time before departing the stage, like a dinosaurian Ann Widdecombe. Then they all died because they were stupid and a smart monkey came down from the trees in Africa, moved to Surrey, put on a frock coat and invented the British Empire, which was clearly the pinnacle of existence and pretty much the point of having life begin at all.

02 DETERMINISM

Watson and  Crick discovered CSI in a London pub, beating Rosalind Franklin, who had two X chromosomes and therefore was ineligible to be clever. A scientist patented his own DNA and sued his offspring for breach of copyright. Gay men had a gay gene that responded under ultraviolet light to musicals, women had one that caused them to swoon in the presence of unsuitable men with two-tone shoes, and the rich had a gene that meant their children were rich, although that was later attributed to tax avoidance. A whole new series of medical treatments was predicted by those with three copies of the optimism gene.

01 SEXISM

Sex was invented because cells got sick o talking to exact copies of themselves at parties, like accountant. It split the world into halves: women are from Venus and men are from some planet where bowel movements are considered a leisure activity. Sex is not essential (qv Widdecombe, above) but does give a chance for unsuitable men with two-tone shoes to wee in the shallow end of the gene pool. It’s energy-intensive, distracting, dangerous and so humiliating that evolution has  to give humans jolts of pleasure on the level of a three-rock crack hit to make them do it….

You get the idea. If Douglas Adams were still alive, he could sue for theft of style. In fact, that “got sick of talking to exact copies of themselves at parties, like accountants” is VERY like a gag of Adams’ to the effect of “Many respectable physicists said that they weren’t going to stand for that sort of thing, partly because it was a debasement of science, but mostly because they didn’t get invited to those sorts of parties” — or at least it reminded ME of it.

The terrible, awful, horrible day that the VAT went up

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So maybe you didn’t feel it where you are, but today was the day — and they’ve been building up to it for the whole week that we’ve been in the UK, with sales urging people to come out and buy before it happened — that the VAT went up from 17.5 percent to 20 percent.

Guess what — I didn’t feel it, either.

There are several things that it’s taken some time to get used to here in the UK:

  • People driving on the left. This is maddening when you’re riding in a bus. And I’ve almost been hit from behind by buses several times walking along a road too close to the curb, with the road on my right (you expect to see traffic oncoming, but it sneaks up behind you — and is really close, because the lanes are so narrow).
  • The fact that tips aren’t expected. We made friends with a barman from Sri Lanka in Greenwich (a really nice guy), and he explained that they don’t get tips. We left him one anyway. But it’s really weird to leave, say, 15 quid for a bill of 12 pounds 52 pence, and have the server chase you out of the place trying to give you change. It happens time and again.
  • The fact that you NEVER feel the tax, no matter how high it is. That’s because it’s built into the price of the things you buy. If something is listed as 99p, and you give the clerk a pound coin (and why is it we haven’t had a dollar coin, or two or three dollar coin, catch on in this country? they’re so convenient), you get back a penny.
  • The fact that I’m in a country where the conservative party is raising taxes (OK, technically it’s a coalition government), and the dominant party of the left (Labour) is griping about what a terrible burden taxes are on ordinary families.

But both The Times and The Guardian are going on about this big, monstrous, huge increase. To which I say, who crosses the street to get a 2.5 percent discount on anything? I mean, really? This increase would amount to 25 p on 10 pounds. Or say you spend a thousand pounds on something — which is a lot more than a thousand dollars, mind — what’s the increase in tax? Twenty-five pounds. Like you’re going to worry about that if you can afford a thousand. (Oh, and by the way — that 600 pounds a family The Times predicts is on families that make 70,000 pounds or more. The burden is much less on median incomes.)

All that aside, the most amazing thing, the thing hardest to get used to, is that I’m in a country where the government has decided to deal with the deficit by — now get this — cutting spending and raising taxes. Of course, back home, the recent huge compromise between President Obama and the Republicans was to raise spending and lower taxes. That’s how we deal with deficits in the U.S. of A.

Riding through London on the magnificent Tube — which as far as I’m concerned is one of the marvels of the world, a testament to the ingenuity of Man — and asking directions from the helpful bobbies (“just 200 metres more on your roight, mate”), reading the extremely clear directions on where the buses that come every few minutes go, or going to the fantastic museums and paying nothing (except a few pounds voluntary contribution now and then), I personally feel that the tax I’m paying is one of the great bargains of all time.

And I’m wondering how well I’ll adjust when I get back home to a place where folks don’t want the gummint doing anything, ever, if it’s going to cost a penny more…

No, folks, I’m not a convert to socialism. I worry about the burdens of the welfare state, and I know that increasing taxes too much can have a nasty cooling effect on growth. But I have enjoyed some amenities here that seem more than worth the taxes I’ve paid here. All I’m saying.

I read the leader today, oh boy…

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All right, so it wasn’t properly a leader, but a column. I just wanted to add some British idiom to my allusion…

Thought y’all might be interested in this item in The Guardian today (over breakfast at our B&B in Oxford, my wife was reading The Times and I had The Guardian — which I had run next door to the off-licence to get — but she never gave up The Times).

We never got around to visiting the Abbey Road crossing in London, even though it wasn’t far from where we were staying. I sort of lost interest after reading that the local council had moved the zebra crossing so that it wasn’t the real one. But I’ve been bemused at how they do go on about The Beatles here. I had sort of thought they had faded from memory here, rather the way one never saw much about Elvis in Memphis until after he died (I know, I lived there then).

That’s mostly because there have been two recent news items. The first was that the Abbey Road crossing was recently given Grade II historic status — even though it’s the wrong place. The second was that a Tory minister wants to protect Ringo Starr’s birthplace in Liverpool from demolition.

So today’s columnist wrote a piece headlined, “I am a Beatles obsessive. But let’s cut the Fabs-worship.” And quite right he is, even though I love the Beatles. As he wrote,

Such, anyway, is yet another episode in a story that has long since ballooned into absurdity: the transformation of the Beatles into a national religion – arguably bigger than Jesus, as John Lennon infamously put it. X Factor contestants must, by law, deliver warblesome readings of Let It Be and The Long and Winding Road; each time Sir Paul McCartney ventures out to hack out his versions of the hits, the public is encouraged to think something miraculous is afoot; Yoko Ono, bless her, keeps the posthumous Lennon machine grinding on.

In Liverpool, meanwhile, delusions of post-industrialism have reached their apogee in the idea that Beatledom can be a substitute for a lost mercantile past. It’s all there: John Lennon international airport, the Hard Day’s Night Hotel, the “Magical Mystery Tour” that wends around the city, even a Fabs-themed Starbucks — though judging by the forlorn atmosphere of too many of the surrounding streets, Beatles-driven regeneration really isn’t working. Funny, that.

Yes, isn’t it? He goes on to note that not ALL Beatles music is iconic:

Moreover, the idea of the Beatles as all-dominating titans had yet to take root: well away from their legacy, music developed on its own terms. These days, by contrast, they use up so much of the cultural air that we seem little able to breathe. There must be more to life than nodding-dog piano ballads of the Hey Jude variety, but there are times when they seem to define a good 50% of the mainstream. For all their inventive wonderment, one would imagine that I Am the Walrus, Happiness Is a Warm Gun and Helter Skelter left at least some of rock’s more creative possibilities unexplored, though listening to the bulk of even supposedly cutting-edge music, you’d never know.

Indeed. Then, he ends,

In 1970, John Lennon said this: “It’s just a rock group that split up, it’s nothing important – you can have all the records if you want to reminisce.” The words crumble next to his group’s myth, but they also speak an undeniable truth — which is why the 72% of local people who are reportedly OK with the Madryn Street demolition ought to have their wishes respected, and life should go on. And one other thing: Ringo was the drummer, remember.

I’m not sure what he meant by that last bit. As “Paul’s grandfather,” the clean old man, observed in “A Hard Day’s Night,” where would they be without his steady beat. But I thought the piece was food for thought.

Pint of best bitter, please — or stout, ale, or whatever you’ve got

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Sharp's Doom Bar at the Golden Lion.

When we were on the way into town from Heathrow the other day, my granddaughter mentioned that she had forgotten to pack her best glitter. I couldn’t resist that opening, and immediately said, “We’ll just go into a pub and order a pint of best glitter!” She and my wife both looked at me blankly. Sigh. It went over as well as one of Jack Aubrey’s puns. But I was just as proud of it as he ever was…

So I’ve ordered a pint of bitter, and occasionally stout or lager, at various places in London, Greenwich and Oxford now. Also had some Peroni and Beck in restaurants without taps, but that doesn’t count.

I’ve had Spitfire (twice) and Samuel Smith Sovereign Bitter and some Samuel Smith stout as well (Samuel Smith was all they served at the Swiss Cottage pub near us in London). My very first pub was The Golden Lion in central London, where I had Sharp’s Doom Bar. (I had to walk ’round and see the tap myself, because the barmaid had a heavy foreign accent. It was THE best bitter I’ve had so far.) Sort of a posh clientele — I suspect some of those chaps of working at Christie’s, right across the road.

The most recent place we visited was The Turf in Oxford. It’s only been a pub since the 13th century, and I like to give these new places a try. Didn’t actually have a pint there (I was still drinking a coffee from down the road) — but J had a mulled wine.

I will continue to investigate this aspect of this lovely country, and report back to you, my readers. Someone has to do it.

I intend to carry on in spite of the fact that the new tax rates are going into effect within hours. More about that later.

Taking nasty pleasure in the King’s English

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Being at the source of our beloved language, I particularly enjoy this e-mail that Samuel Tenenbaum passed on. I’d read some of these offerings from some of the cleverer practitioners on both sides of the pond, but not all:

When Insults Had Class


These glorious insults are from an era before the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words.


The exchange between Churchill & Lady Astor:
She said, “If you were my husband I’d give you poison.”
He said, “If you were my wife, I’d drink it.”

A member of Parliament to Disraeli: “Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease.”

“That depends, Sir,” said Disraeli, “whether I embrace your policies or your mistress.”


“He had delusions of adequacy.” – Walter Kerr

“He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.” – Winston Churchill

“I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.”  Clarence Darrow

“He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.” – William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).

“Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I’ll waste no time reading it.” – Moses Hadas

“I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.” – Mark Twain

“He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends..” – Oscar Wilde

“I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend…. if you have one.” – George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill
“Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second…. if there is one.” –  Winston Churchill, in response..

“I feel so miserable without you; it’s almost like having you here.” – Stephen Bishop

“He is a self-made man and worships his creator.” – John Bright

“I’ve just learned about his illness. Let’s hope it’s nothing trivial.” – Irvin S. Cobb

“He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others.” – Samuel Johnson

“He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up.” – Paul Keating

“In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily.” – Charles, Count Talleyrand

“He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.” – Forrest Tucker

“Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?” – Mark Twain

“His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.” – Mae West

“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go..” – Oscar Wilde

“He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts.. . for support rather than illumination. ” – Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

“He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.” – Billy Wilder

“I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it.” – Groucho Marx

I haven’t heard anyone say anything that clever since I’ve been here, but I am enjoying the accents.

I found “Championship Vinyl” (and you can’t prove I didn’t)

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See where it says "shop to let"? And do you see any window-shoppers?

Well, I told you I would find the former site of “Championship Vinyl,” the record shop in High Fidelity, and I did. And no one (except maybe Nick Hornby) can tell me I’m wrong.

It satisfies the criteria:

  1. It’s in Holloway.
  2. It’s just off the Seven Sisters Road.
  3. It’s in a location that guarantees the “minimum of window-shoppers” — in other words, the only customers are those geeky young males who go out of their way to seek the place out.
  4. I was looking for a vacant space, on the theory that since the book was published 15 years ago, and since Rob was trending toward changing his life for the better toward the end, that he would have moved on from running the store, or moved it to a better location, or something by now. I mean, he and Laura would have some kids by now. Any road, this is a good theory for me to have to explain that it’s not actually there, since, you know, it never really existed.

I made up that last criterion, but the first three are in the book.

So, you ladies are wondering — just how patient is my wife, to go along to places like this? Well, she didn’t. This was the one thing I did

Unfortunately, the souvenir shop wasn't open. I had wanted one of those scarves...

on my own. Today was the day we were leaving London for Oxford, and she just wanted to get up and get ready. So I got up before she did, hopped the Jubilee line down to Green Park and got on the Picadilly way out to Islington, to Holloway Road, and hiked over to Seven Sisters.

Then, after “finding” Championship Vinyl (it was the first street off Seven Sisters with some actual commercial fronts off the main road) on Hornsey Road, I walked back east until I got to Arsenal Stadium, the scene of other Hornby tales. At Arsenal, at least, I wasn’t the only geek taking pictures of the stadium — but the others were English football fans. One guy was having his wife take his picture there while she tried to keep the kids in order.

After I found the Arsenal Tube station (this required asking directions four times, twice from people who did not speak English), I rode back to our stop, and left Swiss Cottage station with sadness. I really, really love the Underground. (There’s no other way I could have gone all the way to Islington in a city this crowded and done all that walking about and gotten back in less than two hours.)

When I got back, J had packed for both of us, and we took a taxi to Victoria Coach Station for the ride to Oxford. Come to think of it, she really is enormously patient with me…

Oh, and if you wonder why I would want to do this… well, you just have to read High Fidelity. The movie was great, but the novel was much better.

Or maybe THIS is it, a couple of doors down. I can see how experts could in good faith disagree...

The UFOs of Primrose Hill (Happy 2011!)

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Sorry about the poor quality; I only had my Blackberry. Still, you can see a bunch of our UFOs, rising away from Primrose Hill toward central London. And down on the horizon, among other things, you can see the Eye of London.

J and I had this brilliant idea. We would avoid the madness of Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve, but still experience it, quietly and privately, by walking up to Primrose Hill, which we had heard afforded a great view of London.

So, after a wonderful meal at a fine Indian restaurant near our hotel in Swiss Cottage, we set out walking. I had assured her I could find the park from having glanced at Google Maps, and I hoped I was right.

Along the way, we saw some young guys on the sidewalk outside a house where a party was going on, and they seemed to be trying to make an upside-down luminaria take off like a hot-air balloon using a cigarette lighter. They were laughing like mad, and the people inside the party were watching out the bay window with great interest, and we just assumed they were half-cut, or more. As we walked past I did say, “Well, the principle is sound…”

Then, as I we walked on and I started to wonder whether I had lost my way after all, we noticed down south, over the city, some reddish lights hovering in the sky. They looked very strange. The way they acted, they couldn’t be aircraft. My guess was that someone had fired parachute flares, but they were so high that seemed unlikely.

As I was about to despair of finding Primrose Hill Road, I saw a fairly busy road ahead of us… and lots of people walking along it. Since they were walking in the direction of a church, my wife came up with a Catholic answer — they were going to a midnight Mass. But that’s not where they were going. We found ourselves part of a pilgrimage of perhaps a couple of thousand, all of whom had had the same idea — climb Primrose Hill to watch the fireworks down around Trafalgar.

There were all sorts. Most seemed 20ish, and most had bottles. But there were older folks, and parents with small kids. Most were English, but I heard German and Spanish nearby.

Everyone had a blast, and it was fun to be among them. But the most remarkable thing was that, from here and there in the crowd, these big bags with little fiery things dangling from them kept drifting up. At one time, about 25 of these UFOs could be seen, drifting high toward the Thames. It was wonderful to watch (and so quiet, by comparison to fireworks).

Then came a ragged, spontaneous countdown, and bam! The fireworks went off over Trafalgar, to the delight of all.

It was wonderful. The weather was cool and damp, but not uncomfortably cold (just as it’s been since we’ve been here, which I love — I would have been so disappointed had it been sunny).

So that’s what we did for New Year’s. What did you do? Oh, wait — you haven’t done it yet. Well, whenever midnight does reach you, have a wonderful time, and be safe and careful.

And have a wonderful 2011. I plan to.

Then came the

Ruining my “typical” English breakfast with The Guardian

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What is THE very most obnoxiously touristy thing I could do on my first day in London? Yes, you guessed right -- here, my granddaughter and I harass one of the Horse Guards.

First, an apology for not blogging more. Had major trouble connecting to the wi-fi at the hotel again. After working on it for about an hour and harassing the Polish night clerk for half that time, back in my room I finally got on. My wife asked me what I did differently. I explained that I entered the username and password with my left hand that time. True, there were other things I did as well. But the only one I remember was entering the login info with my left hand. So… there could be trouble again tomorrow.

Now, to report on a bit of my day… the very first bit… I’ll write about how The Guardian did its best to spoil the typical “English breakfast” that I had this morning. OK, modified English breakfast. First, I was eating it at an Italian bistro near the hotel (but they advertised it as a typical English breakfast). Then, I asked them to leave out the eggs and the toast (because of my allergies), and to substitute chips. Other than that, quite typical — bacon (OK, it was like bacon in the Great White North, but that’s what they called it), sausage (or should I say “banger”?), fried tomato, mushrooms, and baked beans (with a bit of HP sauce on it). And a couple of espressos. (But don’t call it espresso. I made the mistake of saying “another espresso” to the waitress — I was going by the foam — and she corrected me saying it was “black coffee.” No, black coffee was what I had at Starbucks later in the day. Whatever.)

It really fortified me for walking about all day in typical English weather (something like 45-50 degrees, totally overcast, occasional mist — which I’m loving; I’d be so disappointed if it were sunny). And I enjoyed it thoroughly.

But it was very nearly ruined by reading The Guardian, which someone had left in the restaurant. Actually, as it turned out, it was a two-day-old Guardian. But I didn’t realize that until later.

I guess you could call this post my British version of my Virtual Front Page, which I haven’t done in awhile. So enjoy.

The biggest news today, by the way, has been England winning the Ashes in Melbourne. This, apparently, is huge, since they haven’t done it in 24 years. But just try understanding the coverage of it. For instance, try diagramming the two sentences in this paragraph:

England had arrived knowing that they required four more wickets, but notionally three for the crippled Ryan Harris was never going to bat: no tail-ender in a surgical boot has ever batted out more than five sessions to secure a draw and they were not about to find out. Eventual victory did not come easily however and Andrew Strauss and his men had to wait until 40 minutes before lunch before Matt Prior swooped on to an inside edge from Ben Hilfenhaus, a fourth wicket for Tim Bresnan, and the entire team, along with a corner of a very large foreign field that was England, were able to erupt in their collective euphoria.

I don’t think understanding the jargon would help; I’m pretty sure those sentences are nongrammatical. Maybe it’s the punctuation. Anyway, we move on.

In the Monday paper, I read about Elton John having purchased a child in California. But that didn’t make much of an impression. Then, I read truly shocking news: David Cameron has called off a free vote on lifting the ban on hunting with dogs. I especially enjoyed this quote from Cameron:

Cameron, a self-confessed “shire Tory”, has said he is a country man at heart and favours hunting, but he recognises it is a highly divisive issue and would play to negative stereotypes around his party.

Bloody do-gooders. Bloody leftist rag I’m reading about it on. I mean, what’s the use of having a Tory government (or a coalition government in which the Tories dominate), if you can’t restore riding to the hounds? I mean, is this England? I wonder if Cameron was so mealy-mouthed in The Times. Harrumph.

But seriously, folks, that’s not what upset me. What upset me was this story:

The government is to follow the lead of The X Factor television programme and allow the public to decide on legislation to be put before MPs.

In an attempt to reduce what is seen as a disconnection between the public and parliament, ministers will ensure that the most popular petition on the government website Direct.gov.uk will be drafted as a bill. It is also planning to guarantee that petitions which reach a fixed level of support – most likely 100,000 signatures – will be guaranteed a Commons debate.

Ministerial sources acknowledge that the proposals have the potential to cause headaches for the coalition because populist causes célèbres – such as a return of capital punishment or withdrawal from the European Union – could come top of the list.

The leader of the Commons, Sir George Young, has signalled he wants to press ahead with government by petition in the new year.

There would be no guarantee that the government would support the most popular proposals but, subject to discussions, there would be an agreement that the issues would be converted by parliamentary draftsmen into a bill…

My God, direct democracy? Worse, reality-TV-style direct democracy. In Britain? I got here too late.

And I thought American politicians were the kings of pandering. Obviously not. I suppose this is what they mean when they say travel is broadening.

As you see, I didn't let The Guardian upset me SO much that I didn't finish the breakfast. Oh, as for the 15 quid on the tray -- that's not just for me; that's for three breakfasts, plus tip. And yes, I know The Shop Tart shows you her meals BEFORE she eats them, but I'm not The Shop Tart, am I? I'm more avant-guarde...

OK, we’re here — more later

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Got to London, but…

  • The plug adapter I spent $20 bucks on at Radio Shack only has two holes on the American side, and I need three. I just bought it Sunday and threw it in the suitcase. I’m down to 14 percent battery power.
  • The Internet connection at the hotel is fitful. I finally connected after working with the guy at the front desk for about half an hour. They tell me that tomorrow, I’ll need a whole new password.
  • Oh, yes, the lift is out of order, and we’re on the third floor. So, a dilemma — after I carried half the EXTREMELY HEAVY suitcases up to the third floor and the bellhop carried the rest, should I tip him extra, or not at all, as I stand there huffing and puffing? I gave him three pounds, as it happens.

More when I have power…

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Tourist

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Sitting in the Detroit airport, thinking about our eventual destination…

Maybe I’m not, as friends and family seem to think, Jethro. But I am an … idiosyncratic sort of tourist.

Sure, I want to see the usual things in and around London – the Tower, the Bridge, maybe Stonehenge when we get out of town. My granddaughter wants to see Mme. Tussaud’s. I will also reluctantly accompany her onto The Eye, even though the smallest carnival Ferris Wheels give me the fantods.

But I hope she and my wife will indulge me on a few somewhat more oblique digressions.

My notion of what to see Over There is heavily influenced by fiction. This means that I want to see places where people who never actually existed didn’t actually do the things that I read about. That means some of these sights aren’t much to look at, while some are entirely imaginary. But I want to see where they would be if they did exist. Hard to explain.

I’m not entirely alone in this. Some of the more esoteric (I thought) sights have been sought out by other fiction geeks ahead of me – which will save me time in “finding” them. Others are a bit more problematic.

Some examples:

  • The one that causes the most eyebrow-raising when I mention it (so I’ve stopped mentioning it) is Championship Vinyl. You know, the record shop in High Fidelity. Yes, I know it’s not real. But I want to find where it would be if it did exist. Fortunately, Nick Hornby supplies some good clues (“We’re in a quiet street in Holloway, carefully placed to attract the b are minimum of window-shoppers…” near Seven Sisters Road…). When I find the perfect location, I suspect it will be a vacant storefront or some such. Nevertheless, I’ll take a picture to prove I “found” it. And if I don’t find a likely location, I’ll console myself by heading over a few blocks to Arsenal Stadium (Fever Pitch).
  • I had thought no one else would ever think of this one, but I was wrong (link): I want to see the path in Hampstead Heath (just a few blocks from our hotel) where Gen. Vladimir was assassinated by Karla’s people at the start of Smiley’s People. Maybe I could even find the fork in the tree where George found the tattered packet of Gauloises with the crucial negative in it. If so, I’ll get a picture of that, too.
  • Of course, there’s always Smiley’s flat, and I know the actual address.
  • I’ll go see the new MI6 HQ, which le Carre called “the River House” in The Night Manager. But what I really want to see is The Circus. Fortunately, others have identified it as being this building. And it’s near some great book shops, so my wife might not mind this detour too much.
  • The Islington highway exit where Arthur Dent was dropped off when he returned to Earth at the start of So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish.
  • Tea at Fortnum’s. OK so this is a typical tourist thing. But here’s my reason for wanting to do it: When Percy Alleline confronts Peter Guillam in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, accusing him of consorting with “defector” Rikki Tarr, a long stream of things run through Guillam’s head in an instant (one of the best passages of that sort I’ve read outside Dostoevsky). But what he says is, “Sure, Chief. Rikki and I have tea at Fortnum’s every afternoon.” Like a couple of scalphunter tough guys would do that. His facetiousness saves him. Anyway, that’s what got me interested in having tea at Fortnum’s: I want to do something that two people who never existed didn’t even do in fiction. Also, I think my wife will enjoy it.
  • Finally, I’d really love to find some landmarks for the Aubrey/Maturin novels, but I know that after all this time it will be hard to find places that look just as they did in the early 19th century. For instance, can I find anything that looks like the Grapes, in the liberties of the Savoy? Or, is the old Admiralty building still in use, where Jack and other officers paced the First Lord’s waiting room, hoping for a ship? We’ll see…

So you see, I’ll be busy.

But you know what I want to do the most? Find and experience things I never even thought of, things I didn’t plan. The places and things I’ll just run across and be delighted by – those are the greatest rewards of travel, I find.

Don’t you?

See you — I’m off to England

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Or not. They just announced a “maintenance problem” on our aircraft. To be fixed in a “coupla minutes.” We’ll see. But it just gives me time to dash off this note.

So I think we’re ready. Some last observations before leaving:

  • One reason I didn’t post yesterday was that I had some last-minute shopping to do, such as for a carry-on bag that will also hold my laptop. And I have this question:  What happened to the day after Christmas, which is supposed to be one of the biggest shopping days of the year? I went to WalMart and out to Harbison, and did not run into crowds anywhere. WalMart had several registers given over to “returns,” but there was no one lined up at them. And the “crowd” in the store might have been a midyear weekday. And after they pushed so hard to get rid of the blue law. Harbison was practically deserted — I got around MUCH more easily than on a typical weekend. So what happened? Did that uptick in consumer spending just crash, or were they waiting until today? Surely it wasn’t that little bit of snow, none of which was on the roads…
  • Speaking of Boxing Day — here’s hoping the London Tube workers got their little strike out of their system yesterday. What worries me is that the Boxing Day holiday is actually on Tuesday this year. Here’s hoping some of the workers didn’t think that was the day, since that’s the day I arrive. If I have trouble getting around London because of labour unrest, I’m voting Tory next time. Strikes? That’s SO Old Labour. It’s like they never heard of Tony Blair or something…
  • By the way, I’m totally set for thoroughly embarrassing my wife on this trip. When she saw me last night proudly showing off my new travel vest with all the pockets stuffed, she laughed uncontrollably. Then she seized control of my bulging wallet and forced me to give up most of the cards that I “wouldn’t need,’ in her opinion. She did let me keep the one with the Our Father in Spanish on it. Good thing she’s Catholic….
  • Speaking of embarrassing my wife — in spite of Kathryn Fenner’s urging, I’ve decided NOT to put on phony British accents wherever I go. After all, I’d probably use the wrong one in the wrong place — go all posh in a working-class pub or something — and get into trouble. No, I have a better plan: I’ll pass myself off as Irish…
  • It’s totally amazing that we didn’t have any trouble checking in at CAE, the way those things were stuffed. But I did have a spot of passport trouble. It wouldn’t scan, so they had to handle in manually. Here’s hoping I don’t have that trouble everywhere. Maybe I should have brought one of the others from the safe deposit box. The Bourne one, maybe…

I will check in with y’all as soon as I’m settled at the hotel. Assuming the laptop works there.

Moderation in the pursuit of reason is no vice

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Back on a thread yesterday, reader CW offered this:

Brad,
Did you read Dana Beach’s recent [column] in the Post and Courier? He was lamenting Kathleen Parker’s label of Bob Inglis as a centrist. He saw Inglis more as someone who makes decisions based on his own judgment and that compromising shouldn’t be a virtue above all else. Good editorial and I’d like to hear your thoughts on it.

Well, now I have read it, and here are my thoughts…

There’s merit in what Dana says, but there are weaknesses as well.

He’s right that Kathleen’s use of language is inadequate, on a number of levels. For one thing, Bob Inglis’ problem is not moderation. He’s a very conservative guy who just doesn’t happen to hew to anyone else’s orthodoxy. Which means national commentators have trouble talking about him coherently, because they think in the binary terms of left-right. Kathleen at least is capable of breaking out of that.

And I understand what Kathleen is saying. “Moderate” has become shorthand (which Dana may call lazy if he likes) for people who refuse to play the absolutist right-left game in Washington. As imperfect as the term is, I’m just glad that anyone who writes from inside the Beltway (and yes, she lives in Camden, but she writes for Washington) even HAS a term for people who go their own way.

What Inglis is is INDEPENDENT.

As am I. I hold many views that are not moderate (one of the most vicious canards in our collective political consciousness is that independents are people who can’t make up their minds; on the contrary, we are people who DO make up our minds rather than buying prefab values off the shelf), but on the whole I’m not insulted when someone calls me that, because it means they know I’m not a ranting ideologue. And I take exception to Dana’s assertion that “The history of “moderation” in American politics is signified by moral cowardice and political irrelevance.” On the contrary, those of us who refuse to go along with either of the dominant ideological strains show considerable courage by charting an independent course. Frankly, I view most adherents of strong ideological leaning as sheep.

And his evocation of Chamberlain is entirely unfair, and lazy. History is replete with moderates who stood courageously against the ravages of absolutism or of “progress.” St. Thomas More, a most moderate man, comes to mind. So does Dwight Eisenhower. So does John Adams, a man with a distaste for ideology who did far more for the American cause than did his firebrand cousin Samuel. Abraham Lincoln was not some ideological extremist; his goal was to hold the Union together. And I’ve always regarded Goldwater’s famous dictum with some distaste: “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.” Really? Let me introduce you to the Tea Party. “Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.” How do you figure? A belief in the moderate concept of rule of law is essential to justice; otherwise we are in a Hobbesian state.

So to my mind, the piece has good points and bad points.

By the way, here’s what I wrote on this topic back in my original UnParty column:

What a relief when “David” spoke for me by writing, “I am always intrigued by this argument that moderates aren’t passionate about anything…. I take every issue on its own merits and when I make up my mind, I am as passionate and diehard about that position as any conservative or liberal could ever be.”
Exactly. Why is it so hard for partisans and ideologues to understand that we might hold our own values and positions even more passionately than they hold theirs, for the simple fact that they are ours. We didn’t do what they did, which was to buy an entire set of attitudes off the rack, preselected and packaged by someone else, and chosen based on nothing deeper than brand name.
Is there anything wishy-washy about the stands taken by such “moderates” as John McCain and our own Lindsey Graham? Was Joe Lieberman being a fence-sitter when he helped push through the Iraq Liberation Act, which way back in 1998 made the overthrow of Saddam Hussein the official policy of this country?
These are the people who take the independent risks that make things happen, from campaign finance reform to banning torture. Without them as pivots, giving ideas credibility by virtue of their own independence, we’d be forever in a state of stalemate, unable to settle any difficult issue.
And those of us who support their like are the ones who decide elections — not the partisans, who can be taken for granted.

Oh, and by the way: Should Bob Inglis decide to stage a comeback, I’d be glad to see him try to do it on the UnParty ticket.

SantaLeaks, via the New Yorker

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This from The New Yorker:

An analysis of more than a hundred thousand documents recently leaked by a disgruntled elf has revealed several surprising facts about the North Pole’s most famous citizen.

· Santa and several top elves colluded to circumvent a ban on Chinese-made toys, despite pressure from the North Pole community to deliver only toys made locally….

· Senior North Pole officials were astonished when an elf in Santa’s cabinet proposed halting a long-standing program monitoring pouting and crying. “For years, we’ve been telling people that they’d better not do this,” one said in a confidential cable, “and now we’re removing all restrictions? What’s next? Decriminalizing the failure to watch out?”…

· Santa doesn’t enjoy going to certain St. Louis suburbs. “They just give me the creeps,” he told one top elf….
· Just this year, Santa accepted a payment of twelve million dollars to keep Charlie Sheen on the “nice” list….
· Contrary to popular belief, Santa cannot really tell when you’re sleeping or when you’re awake, but he will fly into a rage if his ability to do so is questioned.
You may not take this seriously, but I wonder:

What does The New Yorker mean by offering a forum like this to amplify anti-Santa propaganda? When does freedom of the press become perverted into antisocial activism?

Read that again about the disgruntled elf. Then look at pictures of the strange visage of Julian Assange. I’m seeing a connection here, and it’s creepy. How tall is he, anyway?

Sorry, but commies don’t get to DO holy war

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Especially not extremely backward, stone-age commies led by a guy who looks and acts like an alien (a reference to my favorite Economist cover ever, below)

Did you see or hear the latest?

NKorea threatens ‘sacred’ nuclear war if attacked

By FOSTER KLUG and HYUNG-JIN KIM – Associated Press
POCHEON, South Korea — North and South Korea beat the drums of war Thursday, with each threatening the other with immediate retaliation if attacked.
Seoul has staged days of military drills in a show of force meant to deter North Korea, including live-fire exercises earlier this week on a front-line island shelled by the North last month. Angered by the exercises, North Korea threatened Thursday it would launch a “sacred” nuclear war if Seoul hit it and warned that even the smallest intrusion on its territory would bring a devastating response.
The two sides are still technically at war because their 1950-53 conflict ended in a truce not a peace treaty, and a U.S. governor who recently made an unofficial diplomatic mission to the North has said the situation on the peninsula is a “tinderbox” and the worst he had ever seen it.
Still, the latest rhetoric seemed likely to be just that, words aimed at stirring pride at home and keeping the rival at bay.
Defense chief Kim Yong Chun said North Korea is “fully prepared to launch a sacred war” and would use its nuclear capabilities, calling Monday’s drills a “grave military provocation” that indicated South Korea and the U.S. are plotting to invade the North.
Kim told a national meeting in Pyongyang that the North’s military will deal “more devastating physical blows” to its enemies if they cross into the North’s territory even slightly. He also threatened to “wipe out” South Korea and the U.S. if they start a war, the official Korean Central News Agency said in a dispatch….

Here’s an interesting side topic for consideration by you lovers of language: Why is it that hyperbole seems to translate so badly from culture to culture? Or is it just a dictator thing? We’re all still having fun with Saddam Hussein’s “mother of all battles” — to which, after it was over, we could well have taunted “Maybe next time you ought to send the DADDY of all battles,” were George H.W. Bush given to trash talk. I certainly had a lot of fun with it back at the time — sending out memos to the newsroom, in connection with coordinating our war coverage, couched in Saddam style (I ran across one of those recently, and meant to post it — now I don’t know where I put it).

And now this — which frankly, I don’t think anybody’s going to be quoting 19 years from now. I mean, it just doesn’t work. Sorry, Kim, but you don’t get to have a “sacred war.” You’re a godless commie. Did you forget, or what? Stalin would have never slipped up like this. And another thing, Poindexter: If Stalin had threatened “devastating physical blows” — well, first of all, he would never have used a pantywaist construction like that, but if he said something LIKE it — you knew he’d have backed it up. You, not so much.

It’s just … embarrassing…

When you see this sign, drive fast. Drive very, very fast…

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The lt. gov. with his mother and sister at the dedication ceremony Dec. 21.

How did I miss this? Earlier this week, the humongous interchange where I-77 runs into I-26 was named the “Lt. Governor-Senator André Bauer Interchange.” Which is a mouthful. Not sure I’ve ever seen that construction — “Lt. Governor-Senator.” Kind of like “singer/songwriter,” I guess…

I suppose this was the best parting gift Jake and them could think up, but it really seems like it would have been more appropriate to give André, I don’t know, a plaque, or a toaster, or a pair of socks.

Anything but a public road, seeing as how he is so famous for tearing up such roads. We’re talking about the guy who:

  • When stopped speeding down Assembly Street, charged so aggressively at the cop that he felt threatened enough to draw his weapon.
  • When driving 101 mph on a wet highway, got on the police radio frequency to tell the patrolman pursuing him that “SC2” was “passing through,” and when he was stopped anyway, asked, “Did you not hear me on the radio?”
  • Lied to reporters about that incident, then said he “forgot” about it when confronted with the evidence.

Actually, Obama just thinks the U.S. is “special”

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When Twitter brought this question to my attention — “Poll: Does Obama think U.S. is exceptional?” — I thought it odd: Here’s more:

Washington (CNN) – The vast majority of Americans see the United States as exceptional, according to a new national poll. But a Gallup poll released Wednesday also indicates that nearly four in ten say they believe President Barack Obama doesn’t hold this same view.

Eight out of ten people questioned in the survey say that based on the country’s history and constitution, the U.S. has a unique character that makes it the greatest country in the world. The poll suggests there’s no partisan divide on the question, with 73 percent of Democrats, 77 percent of independents and 91 percent of Republicans in agreement.

According to the poll, 58 percent say Obama believes that the U.S. is exceptional, with 37 percent saying they disagree. But the survey indicates Americans are less likely to believe Obama holds this view than they are to think the same about Ronald Reagan (86 percent), Bill Clinton (77 percent), and George W. Bush (74 percent).

The poll does suggest Democrats and Republicans don’t see eye to eye, with 83 percent of Democrats and 34 percent of Republicans questioned saying Obama believes the country is exceptional….

First of all, why do a poll? If you want to know what Barack Obama thinks about America, ask Obama. He’ll tell you.

But of course, that’s not what this is about. This is about how the American people feel about how Obama feels about America. And you know how I feel about how Gallup feels about how voters feel about how, etc.? Well, I’ll tell ya — I’m getting pretty sick and tired of all politics in America, from the Beltway to the SC election for governor down to county council, being about how people feel about Obama.

This is beyond ridiculous.

Of course, it may be true: Maybe the president doesn’t think we’re exceptional. Maybe he just thinks we’re “special.” And who could blame him?

I’m really counting on British pluck here…

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Here we are, five days from when I’m supposed to leave U.S. airspace, and I’m hearing a bunch of stuff I don’t want to hear:

Heathrow airport could remain in a state of partial paralysis beyond Christmas, its owner admitted yesterday, spelling misery for the tens of thousands of passengers who face the prospect of being stranded over the festive period.

BAA said two-thirds of flights into and out of Britain’s largest airport would be cancelled until at least Wednesday morning because it has the resources to keep only one of its two runways open.

Of course, that’s from those lefty alarmists at The Guardian, but even more sensible, conservative newspapers are saying distressing things. Even
The Times, if you’re willing to pay a quid to read it.

This morning, I was hearing that everything should be cleared up by Friday. Now we’re hearing the ominous “beyond Christmas,” which, after months of planning and years of anticipation, could potentially put a crimp in our plans.

My wife’s been reading cheery notices from the British rail system about all the salt they’ve bought, and how energetically they’re applying themselves to the problem.

And that’s what I’m counting on, you see. British pluck. Nothing like it. Go to it with a will, lads. I’ve all the faith in the world in you. Make this your finest hour, and clean up this mess. And don’t fear; I’m on the way…