It's been a rather hectic couple of weeks. Long hours, late nights and leftovers. So it was nice to chill out this afternoon with some fresh pasta salad and watch "The Colour of Magic" on DVD.
In combining the two books: "The Colour of Magic" and "The Light Fantastic" into a single production, emerging British media company the Mob has come up with another winner.

Almost all the casting was pretty damn good, but some actors were uncannily well fitted into their character roles. Witness Jeremy Irons as the Asthetic, dour and somewhat sinister Patrican, David Jason as the luckless, hapless Rincewind the 'wizZard', David Bradley as the aging (like teak!) Cohen the Barbarian, the Discworld's most famous hero. These guys almost seem born to play these respective roles.

Other roles were initially a little surprising; I never would have thought of Sean Astin as a logical choice for Twoflower the tourist, but he really brings the character to life and the rapport between Astin and Jason is classic.

After the film had finished, Su and I started talking about what actors and actresses would be ideal for other Discworld characters.

Here's what we've come up with so far:-

Who would be on YOUR list?

I am not one of nature's shoppers.

True, I tend to pop into town around once a week, but it's mostly to pick up some single essential item, do some banking, get something repaired or swing by a bakery.

I've had the same watch for fifteen years and the same mobile phone for five. I don't own an iPlod, Blackberry or any other similar hand-held gadget. I drive a 14-year old Ford and my TV is still a clanky old tube-job with a roughly square screen. I do confess a weakness for cheap second-hand books, CDs and DVDs in good condition (which makes me popular in the charity shops) and sometimes, I'll pop into Waterstones to see what's on offer, but that's about it.

It's particularly rare for me to voluntarily shop for clothing. I don't enjoy any aspect of the experience and I avoid it wherever possible. When I am forced into it, I tend to approach it as a kind of military excercise (get in quick, get what you need and get out fast) - much the same as most blokes I'm sure. The idea of clothes shopping for pleasure just isn't in my world and anyone within physical reach who dares to use the phrase "retail therapy" can expect to get thumped.

So when the only pair of boots I owned developed large cracks in both soles and were soaking up water to the point that I squelched when I walked, I reluctantly headed into town in order to find a replacement pair.

In these tighter economic times, I walked past all the brand-shops and headed straight to the nearest budget shoe shop and in true commando-style, I emerged 20 minutes later (and 20 quid lighter), with a new pair of boots. Result!

Or so I thought.

A week later, I had wet feet again!

And this got me thinking about the Sam Vimes theory of socioeconomic unfairness.

The reason the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.

Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in the city on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.

But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.

It was a useful reminder that even in the middle of a credit crunch, the trick is to shop smarter, not cheaper. What we should all be looking for is best value for money.

So the following week, I returned to town in a rather disgruntled mood, popped into Millets and parted with a larger amount of cash for a decent pair of Berghaus walking boots.

And my feet are dry and warm

In the last few weeks, life has been crazy busy, especially in relation to work; both the work I'm currently doing and the volume of work being offered to me. I recently pontificated about this to a degree, but since then I've received two offers of RedDot work, both based in London and paying a rate that makes me salivate even now.

And I turned them both down.

At first they both sounded great; the agents both waxed lyrical about how the respective contracts were only just over an hour's commute each way between Basingstoke and London, paying a superb hourly rate, offering 6-month contracts with strong possibility of renewal etc etc.

And then after putting down the phone, I started thinking about my current role. Only a 20-minute commute from home, paying less than the London roles to be sure, but still a competitive rate and offering a number of other features that the London roles couldn't match.

Chief among these features was was the chance to work at one of the most beautiful estates in this green and pleasant land. I've taken a number of photos throughout this year to try and capture some of this beauty. A handful of the better ones are available in the Photo Gallery if you fancy a look. They don't really do the place justice of course, but they are the best I seem to have managed.

When I talk to other staff, they all express the same appreciation and sometimes-sense of ambivalence; they often feel over-worked and stressed-out within their respective roles, but they all have an appreciation for the beautiful place they feel privileged to work at.

When the workload gets too much for me, I take a brief stroll around the estate (and I often see others doing the same). I admire the views, look and listen for the wildlife, breathe in the fresh, unfetid air and listen to the relative silence, absorbing it all like a sponge. 10 minutes later, I'm back at my desk feeling refreshed and ready to crack on.

No amount of cash can compensate for this uplifting feeling. And I reckon that even though the commute for the London jobs was only an hour each way, I suspect it would still get very old, very quickly and I'd find I'd traded a chunk of what little peace of mind I can still find, for what is tantamount to 30 extra pieces of silver.

F*ck that!

So I phoned both agents and said "no thanks" - and then took my camera and went for a stroll...

Now available: New photo gallery from our recent visit to the Living Rainforest, near Hampstead Norreys in Berkshire.

Enjoy.

I miss you

Jeez! The old saying about it never rains, it pours is true. Just lately, there seems to be so much that needs to be doing and proportionally little time to do it all in.

Which was why it was incredibly good to catch up with Andy, Tri and the boys for the first time in many months. Looking at their calendar, it seems that they are even busier than we are. Dunno where they find the energy...

We had a great lunch and a long chat well into the evening. Orrin demonstrated his growing guitar skills (at age 7 he already has the rock-star poise down pat!) and he seemed to enjoy our little jam. He's doing well, but as his teacher says repeatedly in his homework book:

Must concentrate more

But what the hell - he's enjoying it an that's what's most important.

With long hours and winter closing in, the cold season has arrived and both Su and I have been laid low with the annual lurgy (thanks Nick!) - on the mend a little now though.

I keep telling myself that as soon as the workload eases off a little, we should take a break and head off somewhere for a few days, but as Su warned me, it's a dangerous mindset; the trouble is that there is always something that needs to be done.

Perhaps I need to think about the words of a certain Mr Todd Snyder...

Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink.
The years go by, as quickly as a wink.
Enjoy yourself, Enjoy yourself,
It's later than you think.

You work and work
For years and years
You're always on the go.
You never take a minute off,
Too busy making dough.
Someday, you say, you'll have your fun
When you're a millioniare.
Imagine all the fun you'll have
In some old rocking-chair.

You're gonna take that ocean trip
No matter come what may.
You got your reservations
But you just can't get away.
Next year, for sure, you'll see the world,
You'll really get around;
But how far can you travel
When you're six feet underground?

You worry when the weather's cold,
You worry when it's hot.
You worry when you're doing well,
You worry when you're doing not.
It's worry, worry all of the time,
You don't know how to laugh.
They'll think of something funny
When they write your epitaph.

Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink.
The years go by, as quickly as wink.
Enjoy yourself, Enjoy yourself
It's later than you think.

Food for thought

News today that the last of the Kennedy brothers, Teddy Kennedy has died after a long battle with a brain tumour.

Despite living in the shadows of his more famous martyred siblings John and Robert for much of his life (and with the ghost of his brother Joseph who was killed in WWII - Teddy was the only one of the four brothers to die of natural causes), Teddy Kennedy was a highly influential figure in US politics for decades.

He was also a figure that courted much controversy for a variety of reasons;

His hard drinking and womanising was legendary, but almost cost him his career in 1969, when he drove a car off a bridge at Chappaquiddick near his home, killing his female passenger Mary Jo Kopechne, a former campaign worker for his brother Robert.

He was an outspoken supporter of Irish Republicanism for many years, which didn't make him many friends in the UK, but he later became instrumental in the negotiations between the British government, The Ulster paramilitaries and Sinn Fein which largely brought an end to the 30 years of violence, still ironically referred to as "the Troubles".

In the US, Teddy was a dominant force in liberal politics for decades; in 1962 he became the country's youngest senator and as a senator in Massachusetts, he was re-elected 7 times. He championed healthcare and education reform, was an outspoken opponent of the Bush regime, the Iraq war and prisoner abuse scandals, and was a valued supporter of President Obama.

Perhaps now he is reunited with his brothers

...and if he is, I bet he's buying the first round.

BBC video of the moment

Yay!

There's been a spate of stories in the press recently, where various industry pundits are heralding the end of the recession. In true pundit style, the sources are covering their arses by throwing in the "but let's not get overconfident just yet" caveats, but the jist of it all, is that things are less crap than they were not so long ago.

And I reckon that's at least partly because of me.

I have the worst success record in any form of financial investment that you can imagine. Stocks, shares, commodities, foreign exchange...you name it and I've lost money on it. I seem to have an unerring knack of buying just when the market peaks and then selling just after it bottoms out and recovers. When I go away on holiday and need to get any form of foreign currency, you can just bet that the exchange rate is about as far from being in my favour as it's possible to be. When I return from holiday the exchange rate has turned around completely so any FX I still have is all but worthless when converted back into quids.

Not long after credit crunch really started to bite, I took a look at my modest savings (almost choking on the pitiful interest now being earned) and examined my small stock portfolio (with dividends cut to zero and prices falling through the floor, it was also earning squat). Even my mutual fund pension was running at a loss and worth about 15% less than what I had paid into it, for over 20 years (thanks to being taken over by a bunch of carpet-bagging arseholes who invested heavily in a long list of high-risk property ventures that failed). As I gazed sadly at the state of it all, I pondered what I should do to try and stop what little I still had, from being quietly flushed around the investment u-bend of life.

The one item which seemed to be steadily increasing in value was gold and although it had risen to a record high, it looked like it was going to continue it's unparalleled rise for some time to come.

With my lousy investment track record, I was reluctant to buy any gold initially, but as I sat on my hands watching the price steadily climb in the following weeks (and taking a big jump when the Madoff investment scandal broke) I figured it was worth a crack.

I sold off my dying shares (for a fair few quid less than I paid for them) and likewise close out my meagre savings account, before making the necessary arrangements for a small purchase, and storing the paperwork safely in the vaults of my solicitor.

In the first couple of weeks after the purchase, the troy ounce price rose a little...and then proceeded to take a fairly significant dive. And about this time, I first started seeing the "Recession is over" stories appearing in the press.

Bollocks!

My investment track record is so uniformly bad, that it has been suggested to me that I should use it to my advantage; to get back at all the companies that have pissed me off over the years. Just think of the damage I might be able to do, to companies like Microsoft and Google, merely by purchasing a small number of shares and then sitting back and watching their value plummet.

Maybe my luck won't so bad after all.

It was great to receive an invitation to Kev and Carrie's annual BBQ at their farm cottage just outside Basingstoke. Last year's gig was unfortunately cancelled for various reasons and when I heard it was back on this year, I was chuffed.

By the time I arrived around 2pm there were already a dozen or nmore tents pitched in the back yard and FuZeD were just tuning up and by the time I had popped the top of a cold beer and greeted a few pals, they were off and rockin!

Subsequent performances by "Old Dogs, New Tricks", FuZeD and others were excellent and included old favourites such as the Pretender's "Brass in Pocket", Steely Dan's "Reelin' in the years", Free's "All right now" and the Rolling Stone's "Honky Tonk Woman" to name but a few.

As the bands played and the BBQ sizzled, a few dark clouds gathered overhead and then the rain fell...but only for about 20 minutes (long enough for us to throw a tarp over the bonfire). Then the sun came out and an hour later things were bone dry again.

Around 11pm, the amps were switched off, the bonfire was roaring and we were settled down for an unplugged set which finally wound up around 4am.

Another great gig...and thanks to Kevin and Carrie for all their hard work and effort.

Gonna miss it next year...

Video clips now available

Well - it's offical. I'm back at the NPIA again...and it look's like I'll be with them for a little while...

As always, I had to hit the ground running and already I'm looking at some tight deadlines for a couple of key website launches. Still, it's nice to be back at the old familiar places and see the old familiar faces.

Looks like I'll be based in London for at least a week (probably 2) before I return to my old desk at Bramshill. That should work out OK as 2 weeks in London is about all I can handle at any one time.

Interesting that there seems to be real demand for RedDot work, since the OpenText takeover - in the last month I have been approached about no less than 5 contract roles; all paying very well and most the agents seem desparate to fill the requirements.

It's been kinda nice to be in demand again, after years of putting up with the normal levels of agency bullshit that most contractors experience (not returning calls, screwing up the contracts, lying about the requirements, stuffing up payments etc). It was also very pleasing to be able to dispense with the most useless agencies and focus on the few that employ staff with brains larger than a grape.

Anyhoo, it looks like it's going to be a busy few months.

Better get a drink or two under my belt before I get back into it...

Check out the Hyde Park 2009 Photo Gallery
...and don't forget to check out the Neil Young Video clip

The annual Hard Rock Callin' gig in Hyde Park is always a good one and this year featured two classic headliners; Neil Young on the Saturday and Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street band on the Sunday.

Unfortunately, this year tickets were snapped up at an unbelievable rate; so fast in fact that all I could manage to get hold of was a one-day pass for the Saturday. Disappointing, but certainly better than no ticket at all.

And so on a gloriously warm summer afternoon, I headed into London on the train, sweated buckets on the tube due to the inevitable signal failures on the Picadilly line and finally emerged at Green Park (after the tube came to a more permanent halt and we were all kicked off the train). A casual stroll down a shady walkway and across Green park followed and 10 minutes later, I was walking past the touts and through the archway that is the Hyde Park entrance.

Once through the gates, I headed over to the shady south-eastern corner to stand in the blissfully cool mist of the cooling tent, drank a litre of water and then grabbed a beer before heading over to the main stage in time to catch the second half of the Pretenders. A classic set of tracks included Don't Get Me Wrong, Brass in Pocket and Back on the Chain Gang. A very nice start to the day.

This was followed by a terrific Texas blues set by Seasick Steve and interesting sets by both Ben Harper and the Relentless 7 and the Fleet Foxes. One trick that the organisers seemed to miss this year was the lack of any kind of MC and I hunted high and low for a lineup list without success.

Just as the Fleet Foxes completed their set, the thunderheads that had been gathering on the horizon most of the afternoon, clubbed together and began heading towards the park, with distant flashes of lightning and deep rumbles of thunder giving an ominous feeling. Within a few minutes the first large drops of rain were spattering across the dry dusty paths of the park and then the showers began in earnest.

The more prepared among the crowd popped up umbrellas or donned plastic raincoats (one or two Blue Peter badge holders made use of large black plastic bin liners as makeshift ponchos) while the rest of us rather stupidly clustered under the Oak and Chestnut trees that ringed the grounds. Nobody's spirits were dampened and everyone laughed and joked together as the rain fell hard and fast. 20 minutes later the rain abruptly stopped and people dispersed in good natured anticipation of the headline act.

Promptly at 8pm, Neil Young walked unannounced onto the main stage to the roar of the crowd and before the roar had even begun to subside, he kicked off with Hey hey, my my. Awesome start! This was followed by Mansion On The Hill, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and old classics including Cinnamon Girl, Needle And The Damage Done, Comes a time, Heart of Gold and Old Man. Classic numbers all.

Having got the crowd in the palm of his hand, Young played an extended version of Rockin' In The Free World as his finale. For an encore, Young had a real surprise; a version of the Beatles: A Day In The Life...complete with special guest Paul McCartney! Nice encore and the crowd appreciated it, but it was a little disappointing that other classic tracks such as Powderfinger and Like a Hurricane were not on the list.

On the whole, it was a pretty good gig and well worth the ticket price, but as I was heading home, I couldn't help comparing the gig to previous Hyde Park concerts and thinking that I'd seen better.

... but not much better

Check out the Hyde Park 2009 Photo Gallery
...and don't forget to check out the Neil Young Video clip

I've been up to London today to see about some work with an old and valued client (that will make 'em laugh, back in the trenches!) and left London with me fingers crossed...

Also had a couple of calls for other contracts in my line of work; one in Helsinki and the other in London. Both interesting roles, but carrying a significantly higher inconvenience factor (iFactor). You know the story...more time, cost and effort getting to and from the jobs.

I'm getting a bit long in the tooth now and these days, the iFactor has to be compensated properly, before I'll jump on board. Of course, in a recession that's not always the best approach to take, but I still believe enough in my own skills and expertise, to know I'll find a way through...It'll just take longer and be bumpier than it has to be. But hey - sometimes that's more bloody interesting.

Oops. I digress...

In a recent e-mail I sent to an old pal of mine back in NZ, I quoted one of my "21 Rules for Contractors" which was:-

Contractor's Rule #4: No deal is complete until the ink is dry on the paperwork.

After I sent him the e-mail, I got to thinking that somewhere, some trusty IT geek with too much time on his hands, must have made a list of rules for IT Contractors, but a Google Search didn't return much. Sounds like I'm just the nerd for the job...

And so, as the rallying cries fade into the distance, I suck in my gut, stick out my chest, square my jaw and utter my most famous catchphrase...

Aw shit! not again!

Anyways...here's my cardinal rules for IT contractors everywhere. All suggestions welcome - actually make that...most suggestions welcome. You know who you are

Phil's 21 Rules and Tips for Contractors

• Rule #1: As a contractor, I am here to help where I can. You are paying me by the hour. Try and get the best value you can, wherever possible.
• Rule #2: The Invoice is ALWAYS plus VAT. Please pay promptly.
• Rule #3: As a contractor, I will do my best in an interview to address as many of the client's concerns as possible. Knowing full well that it's probably all about to change anyway.
• Rule #4: No deal is final, until the ink is dry on the contract. But once the deal is struck, it should be honoured by all parties.
• Rule #5: You can expect to be treated as politely and respectfully as you treat me.
• Rule #6: Just try to be realistic in your self-assessment (and I'll do the same).
• Rule #7: I can give you fast, cheap or good. Pick any two.
• Rule #8: TIP: Always be polite to the cleaning and security staff for they have the power to deny your re-entry on a whim.
• Rule #9: TIP: If you have a bright idea, check the IPR clause in your contract, before you open your mouth.
• Rule #10: TIP: Try not to swear too much at the red-tape dimwits, clueless lawmakers and other upper management weasels and remember how much more damaging they are when they are in the productive flow.
• Rule #11: TIP: Get yourself a hobby that has as little as possible to do with technology. Seriously! We all need a break now and then. Music is good.
• Rule #12: TIP: Go easy on the "jargon" whenever possible.
• Rule #13: I believe in the motto: Share the knowledge and screw job security. If you want a secure life, forget contracting.
• Rule #14: Oh and you permie staff - please stop mumbling about how good contractors have it! If it's such a walk in the park, how come you aren't doing it?
• Rule #15: Please document properly. Please?
• Rule #16: TIP: Coffee is always needed. And did you say free food?
• Rule #17: No meetings longer than an hour. Please. I really mean this.
• Rule #18: If a meeting must continue after one hour, it should be continued in a nearby pub wherever possible. It's just more constructive. Honest.
• Rule #19: Sometimes, shit happens. Especially where bloody computers are involved.
• Rule #20: TIP: Remember to be creative where you can, but don't be surprised to see your best ideas shot down in flames. Tomorrow's another day and hell - you may get a better idea.
• Rule #21: When your full set of relevant skills and expertise won't fit into the three pages of your CV no matter how much you trim them, it is time to consider retirement.

Check out the GwenGary website.

In the nearly-19 years that I have lived outside my native New Zealand (and in all my travels around our little blue-green planet), I've seen some pretty impressive sights, had some high times, met some terrific people and marveled at a fair number of wonderful things.

But during a recent trip back to New Zealand, I realised that I've been particularly blessed in one area of life; one that wasn't fully appreciated at the time and one which has only been better appreciated recently.

I'm talking about the place I grew up in.

Because I've never found anywhere else in the world, that I'd rather have spent my most (according to Freud) formative years.

In 1973, my folks decided to depart the suburbs of Auckland and moved their young family to a block of farmland in the Northern Bay of Plenty. It was a pretty bold move to swap the relative security of wage-packet suburbia for the ups and downs of rural self-employment; to be at the mercies of both markets and meteorology. But they wanted a life less ordinary for their family and so they were determined to make it work.

Our new family home on a plot of pasture land was certainly different. For a start it had no house or basic amenities other than water. We initially spent 8 weeks living in a tiny caravan while Dad built the house pretty much from scratch. We heated water on a stove, used an outhouse loo and ran lights on a battery. A very organic existence that has only become popular in more recent years (at the time we simply regarded it as a temporary inconvenience).

They named their little slice of heaven: GwenGary; a pun on their names and our family's Scottish lineage.

When I think back to that time, I mostly remember feeling like I was on some extended form of camp-out, just one that also involved school. It was great!

Once we had a more solid roof overhead, my folks turned their attention to the land itself and in the years that followed, grew one form of citrus fruit or another (mostly tangelos ). Citrus takes a good few years to come into production so cash crops like tamarillos and water melons were grown to pay the bills.

Some of my strongest childhood memories are related to the harvest. Coming home from school, chucking our school bags, books et all into the laundry room just inside the back door before heading out to help with the picking, or into the packing shed, taking our place on the factory floor where we were needed. My folks both expected us to do at least an hour after school each day and a full day on the weekend, reasoning that it was a family business and we were in the family. This was followed by chores, homework, dinner and ablutions (in no particular order).

But it wasn't all work either. Dad's family is fairly large and we often had extended family swinging by to see us. Most of our cousins are male and like all boys we delighted running or riding our bikes everywhere, climbing every large tree on the place or swimming in the pool that my folks put together in later years.

My dad got hold of an old plywood car crate and built us a great a-framed hut on stilts under one of the biggest walnut trees down at the rear of the place. It had it's own bunk bed and even an old crank-handle telephone which ran on batteries and was connected to the house by a wire strung along the top of a fair length of fence. In later years the hut became a sort of toolshed but in it's heyday, it was the coolest place to be an 8-year old boy. At night in the summer we would camp out in the hut, scrump a few apples from next door, tell ghost stories and fall asleep with the window open, listening to the lonely hoot of the Moreporks in the Macracarpa trees.

In later years, the citrus was replaced with kiwifruit. By then I had left home and was living firstly in Wellington and then in Auckland, before heading over to the other side of our big, water-covered rock, in 1990.

This year, while home on a visit, I was able to take part in the kiwifruit harvest for the first time ever. It was very different from the citrus harvests that I remember; all very streamlined, better mechanised, arguably more efficient and certainly faster. But after the harvest was done, the last truck had rolled out and the dust had settled, the land still had the same quiet charm I recall in my memories of a childhood home...

I remember parties and fishing trips, cricket games and tennis matches. I remember bonfires and BBQ's, storms, sunsets and star-filled skies, the first time I swam over 200 lengths of the pool and the time I flew over the handle bars of my bike when a wheel bearing locked up (ouch!).

I remember squeezing fresh tangelo juice and helping make a huge pot of blackberry jam after we stumbled on an enormous bramble patch during an abandoned fishing trip. I remember summer salads of smoked stingray with fresh seasonal veges and winter leg-of-lamb roasts and casseroles. I remember cutting firewood and riding on the tractor mowing lawns, the smell of fresh coffee and the taste of home-made wine.

I remember my first day of college and the last day of many harvests (often followed by a party). The winter frosts and the occasional summer storms. I remember the smell of wet walnut wood and green things growing. And the taste of honeycomb taken straight from one of several hives, once a year.

It was a great place to grow up. And now it's up for sale.

I just hope that whoever buys it, has kids that will love it as much as I should have.

Check out the GwenGary website.

Two weeks ago today, in the wee hours of Wednesday the 13th of May, my plane touched down in Heathrow and I set foot back on the soil of Blighty for the first time in almost 6 weeks.

It's interesting watching how news and current affairs play out around the world. In Bangkok, the news was all about the political unrest and the riots (it's rather disconcerting to catch a glimpse of the hotel you have just left, between rioters on one side throwing molotov cocktails and armed soldiers on the other firing rubber bullets. In New Zealand the headline stories were about a group of students quarantined with possible swine flu (they all eventually tested negative) and the David Bain murder re-trial. In Hong Kong the news was divided roughly between swine flu concerns and the anniversary of the terrible 2008 Sichuan earthquake.

And what was the lead item in Blighty? Sleazy politicans and their dodgy expense claims.

All things considered I guess we are pretty lucky, though having said that, you don't have to dig very deep to realise that the Westminster oinkers have been taking the proverbial Gypsy's to a fairly monumental degree. Witness the huge range of indefensible claims from claims for cleaning moats to travel expenses exceeding £10,000 per annum. At the current HM Customs and Excise mileage rate of 40p for the first 10,000 miles and 25p for every mile therafter, the worm in question (MP Janet Anderson) would have had to cover 41,000 miles - when the hell did she ever find time for sessions in the house or MP surgeries?

Jan was not alone of course; thieving scumbag-itus seems to have infected most of the commons. The largest expense claims come from from Falkirk MP Eric Joyce, who by his own admission appears to have "overcharged £160,000"!

If you want to see a summary, check out the expenses summary page on the BBC website.

If these bastards were in the private sector, not only would they have been drop-kicked out the door without pay, they would have to answer some rather sticky questions by both HM Customs & excise and the Serious Fraud Office. One or two of them would undoubtedly become very familiar with the phrase: "I have no recollection of that event yer honor".

But they arent in the private sector and they are not subject to the same rules as the rest of us. Which is why a few of them have even had the gall to whine and grizzle about being busted with their snouts in the trough.

...and they wonder why we all despise politicans...

Jaysus!

Hong Kong 2009 Photos now available.

Another day comes to an end.

Last night's visit to the Temple St Night Market was a good one. After leaving the Pacific Coffee House, I wandered down to the Market's edge and found a good seat at my favourite roadside restaurant. The place doesn't look like much and the cheap plastic tables and stools don't necessarily get your taste buds into overtime, but the owners cook the best sliced beef and vegetable satay, this side of the Pacific.

I sat in the warm humid afterglow of the afternoon, happily munching on this spicy dish and washing it down with a large chilled bottle of the local Tsing Tsao beer, watching life go by and the stall owners finish setting up for the evening. An hour later I was strolling through the markets, haggling for all I was worth with the stallholders and having a great time into the bargain (no pun intended).

At the end of Temple St, I watched the many fortune tellers plying their trade and as always, it was interesting to see the range of clientele; from wizened little old Haklo boat ladies to young business executives in their tailor-made silk suits, everyone wanted to know what the future held in store for them. Just around the bend is a place I affectionately refer to as: Karaoke corner. Here, the wannabe stars of "Hong Kong's got talent" sing their little selves hoarse, while a couple of volunteers do the panhandling. Chinese singers are not high on my list of musical favourites, but they get full marks for effort.

By around 10pm, I'd had enough and I dragged my tired ass and aching back down onto the MTR and returned to the hotel. After a long soak in a hot tub, I passed out on the bed and the next thing I knew it was 9am and the maid was knocking on the door!

Out and about again today - this time over to the Market st temple, where I burned a stick of incense and said a short prayer to any Gods that might happen to be listening. I'm somewhere between an athiest and an agnostic in matters of religion and belief, but something someone said to me once has stuck with me; just because we don't believe in the Gods, doesn't mean they don't believe in us.

After a quick lunch of Dim Sum at CMOT's stall on Peking Rd, I hopped back on the MTR and headed out to Tung Chung, right out on the end of the line. This was in order to visit the village of Ngong Ping via a spectacular 25-minute ride on the Ngong Ping cable car. Ngong Ping is home to both the Po Lin Monastery and the famous Tian Tan Buddha and every previous time I have come to Hong Kong, I have somehow run out of time and failed to get over to see both places. This time that wasn't going to happen...

After climbing the 250-step "path to enlightenment" in front of the Buddha (*puff* - *pant*) I was presented with fantastic panoramic views which none of my photos do justice to. The collection of Buddhist relics was a bit interesting, but not very well displayed. Visitors who pay for access to the collection at a cost of $HK23 are funnelled through the interior where all filming is prohibited and suddenly find themselves back outside with the exit door closing behind them. Still, the fee does include a bottle of water and an ice cream...

Back down in Ngong Ping, I grab a free "wish card" from the gift shop and after writing my wish, I tie it to the "Wish Shrine" in the village centre, before strolling back to the Cable car in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

By the time I reach Tsim Sha Tsui, the sun has set and Hong Kong once again comes into it's element as people surge out of their homes and offices into the cooler evening air.

Think I'll join them...

See ya.

Did you read Part 1 yet?

Hong Kong 2009 Photos now available.

Anyone who reads this blog (or the Bandanna Club website) - even occasionally - will know that I've made a number of visits to Hong Kong. Certainly it's my favourite stopover whenever I head back down under and I don't generally miss the chance to stroll down it's streets and sample the wares of it's markets. This time my stop-over was for 3 days and as always, it was a chance to indulge my touristy leanings a little, after a fairly busy month in NZ, helping my folks out with a few little jobs and catching up with some old friends.

The flight from NZ was fairly uneventful, except for a minor sense-of humour failure in Sydney, where a smug security guard clocked my accent and informed me that the Aussies had beaten the Kiwis in a Rugby League game the night before. I responded by suggesting that their success was probably due to the Aussie team having more time to practice in the prison yard, while our lads had to work. This resulted in being pulled into a booth for an explosives residue test (my Dad apparently experienced something similar, the last time he was in Sydney; when asked by the immigration officer: "Do you have a criminal record?", he replied: "I didn't realise you still needed one". My mother assured me that a similar stoney silence followed). To add a minor insult to injury, the Aussies gave me a seat reassignment, which left me with less free foot space than you would find on Imelda Marcos's wardrobe floor and it was with some relief that I disembarked in Hong kong some 10 hours later.

Being a reasonably frugal chap I had on previous visits shunned taxis etc in favour of the hotel shuttle bus, but on the last visit I ended up stuck at the airport for an hour and a half until the bus arrived and then had another hour on the bus as it stopped into every hotel before it reached mine. This time I was planning to do it in style and had arranged with the Hotel to be picked up in their "limo" - a late model Mercedes Benz S class with all the extras. What a nice thing it is to fly through immigration, grab your bags (which remarkably were the first to appear on the carrousel), clear customs and then see a uniformed chauffeur bearing a sign reading: "Mr. Mickenzee" as you walk into the arrivals lounge. Minutes later, we were on the road and I was watching the sun set through tinted glass, in air conditioned comfort with all the foot space my tired feet could wish for.

On almost all previous visits, I had stayed at the Kimberley hotel. It's a nice hotel, within easy walking distance from Nathan Road and the Golden Mile. It's slightly expensive but has an excellent in-house tailors' shop, from which I have purchased most of my more formal wardrobe. This time I decided to have a little change and booked myself into the Regal Oriental Hotel, which looked just as nice as the Kimberley with the added bonus of being a bit cheaper. Check-in was swift and efficient and I soon found myself settled into a very nice room on the 10th floor. As is mostly the case in all but the most prestigious hotels in Hong Kong, the view from my window was far from desirable, being that it overlooked a series of rather squalid and grubby-looking apartment blocks, all merrily waving the national flags of Hong Kong (i.e. the tennant's laundry/washing) from stained and rusty windows. Still, I never come here to look out the window, so who cares.

After settling in, I did my usual recon of the surrounding area and discovered something a little disturbing...I didn't recognise much of the area around the hotel at all. The following morning, my suspicions were confirmed when I looked at a map supplied by the concierge and discovered I was quite a way north of where I thought I would be, when I made the booking.

Bugger!

I shall take a moment now to make an observation about Hong Kong, which I should have mentioned in at least one of my previous musings about one of my favourite cities:-

A good cartographer could have a lifetime's worth of work, creating useable, readable maps for the Hong Kong Tourist board. The maps supplied by all the hotels absolutely suck!

Moving on...

The next morning, I rose early and headed out to get my bearings and work out just how far I was from where I thought I would be. Within about an hour, I returned to the hotel in considerable pain, thanks to my crocs rubbing the instep of both feet raw. Still, it wasn't all bad; I had located the Kowloon City Walled Park and the dramatic Wong Tai Sin temple along the way, although I had completely failed to find the Lok Fu MTR station, where my *@*!*$* map indicated it was supposed to be. However, once my feet were strapped with sticking plasters, I headed out again and this time I found it.

The Mass Transit Railway (or MTR) is a shining example of what a public transport system should be and a fantastic way to get around Hong Kong. A tourist day pass (equivalent to the one-day travel card in the UK) costs only HK$55 (about £4.60) and is good for as many journeys as you want in a day, from one end of the network to the other. The system is clean, efficient, well organised and safe. All signs and all on-board announcements are in both English and Cantonese and the on-board maps even have little LED's showing what station you are at, which direction the train is heading and what station is the next destination. The whole system is properly air-conditioned. By comparison, the London Underground is a shitty, third-world setup and Britain could learn a LOT from Hong Kong that's for sure.

Back in Nathan Rd, I spent a couple of hours shopping for a little of Su's favourite perfume and negotiating the purchase of a telephoto lens for my digital camera, before heading down to Peking Road for a quick lunch comprising a couple of kebab sticks of delicious mystery meat that would put CMOT Dibbler to shame, along with a cup of freshly squeezed mango juice, both served to me by an old lady who kept smiling at me. Slightly disconcerting, but what the hell right?

Once the inner tourist was satisfied, it was time to visit the Hong Kong Cultural Centre, which I have meant to do on every previous occasion. Among it's other attractions, the centre features a very good Space Museum and I spent an enjoyable couple of hours browsing around it's exhibits. With an entry fee of only HK$10 it is well worth a visit. The centre itself is an impressive building which also has great views of the Hong Kong Harbour and is quite picturesque in places, with tropical Orchids and Jasmine dotted around the place.

Back into the Golden Mile and I took the opportunity to duck over to the Harbour City Shopping Centre in Canton Road, which is home of most of the world's best known designer brands. It was interesting to see that virtually all the posh-brand shops were empty, save for a number of bored-looking staff, milling about in groups and surreptitiously looking at their watches every few minutes. Meanwhile, the little one-man shops tucked into most of the surrounding alleys on Haiphong road are still doing a good trade. People appear to be a little more dollar-conscious than style-obsessed even here in Hong Kong these days...

The copy watch and tailor touts are still very much in evidence, but since the Chinese takeover, their approach is a little more subtle. Gone are the pocket-sized flip charts showing all available styles that they used to wave under your nose as you passed. Possession of one will apparently earn it's owner a swift ding on the head and a night in the slammer as the Authorities attempt to show the world that they take copyright fraud seriously. Still, the banter is much the same ("Copy watch mister? I do cheap" or "Good tailor sir. You buy"). However, on my way back down Nathan Road, one of the more imaginative touts walked up to me and said: "Sir, you are a lucky man". In one of those rare moments of coming up with an off-the-cuff reply (the ones you generally think of two hours later), I responded with: "Yes I know, but thanks for confirming it" and caught his open-mouthed expression out of the corner of my eye as I walked on. Result!

Time to visit Pacific Coffee on Nathan Rd - which always serves up a great cuppa and is apparently the only Internet cafe around for a mile or two. Two large cups of Sumatran cappuccino later and I'm suitably refreshed and ready to head down to the Temple street markets for a bit to eat, followed by a little hard-bargaining at the night markets....

Catch you later...

On to Part 2 ...

It's been more than 20 years since I helped with a fruit harvest on my folks' orchard. Back in those days, when the orchard primarily grew citrus fruit, my folks would hire a handful of staff to help them pick the crop and we would work at a steady pace for weeks, filling bin after bin. I can remember some harvests taking as long as 6-8 weeks to complete.

How times have changed. These days, most of the citrus has been replaced with kiwifruit. The picking has also been contracted out to a local packhouse (one of several in the area) who supply the staff and equipment and run a factory-like operation.

Normally, the kiwifruit harvest takes place in May, but a Brix test confirmed that the sugar levels were already very high. Over the last week, further tests have been conducted, which seemed to mostly involve blokes on quad bikes suddenly appearing around the place and then just as suddenly leaving, in a cloud of dust, clutching a labelled testing bag containing 90 fruit.

The weather held things up as well. We had a week of showers and little squalls which didn't help. Every day, the Rep from the packhouse was on the phone to give my Dad an update ("Sorry mate. Looks like it might be a day or two later"). Dad and I used the time to do some of the prep work; swapping out the mower and forklift units on two tractors and replacing them with cross-bars, ready to tow trailers. Diesel was purchased in fairly large volumes and both tractors filled, checked and OK'ed.

Finally, word came down the line on Thursday, that we would be picking tomorrow. Mum headed into the local supermarket and returned with a ton of food to feed the pickers. Dad went over all the bits and pieces he had to do, including explaining to me what my job would involve as his second tractor driver. We watched the weather reports with some trepidation, but it all looked good (in fact, we were in the only place in the whole country that looked like it would be dry!) My head hit the pillow on Thursday night, knowing that Friday would be a busy day...

Before 8am, the phone rang again and the Rep informed Dad that the crews would be here between 9:30 and 10am as they needed to finish up at the orchard they were currently working on first. After a hasty breakfast and a strong coffee, heavily laced with large spoonfuls of sugar, I strapped on my boots, grabbed my sunglasses and cap and headed out with Dad to direct the picking crews into parking as they arrived in a convoy of cars and vans. Two additional tractors followed, both towing trailers and then a pair of ute's each towing another trailer, all loaded with picking bins.

Tractors and trailers were hitched up and a row of 3 empty picking bins were loaded onto each trailer by forklift. Hands were shaken and arrangements made for the incoming truck, full of empty picking bins to be directed past an obstacle or two ("tell him to watch out for the bloody power cables running to the big shed mate; their a bit low eh.")

We had two picking gangs, comprising a total of about 20 men and women. They came from many far-flung places; China, Malaysia, Bangladesh, Somalia. They were mostly quite young and some spoke only limited English. When the gangmasters left the foremen and headed over, they lifted their padded picking bags onto their shoulders and headed into the block, ahead of the tractors and trailers that brought up the rear.

As one of four tractor drivers and the least experienced (I haven't been on a tractor for quite a few years and never in a kiwifruit harvest), I wasn't sure quite what to expect, despite the dry-run that my dad had taken me through the previous day. I knew I needed to be careful with the fruit, but speed was also of the essence so it was with not a few butterflies in my stomach that I followed my Dad between the first rows of vines with one of the two gangs, while the other two tractors continued to the far end of the vineyard with the other gang.

Both gangs immediately swung into action behind the first tractor/trailer and began picking furiously. I had a few minutes of quiet time (enough to snap a few pictures), before Dad's 3 bins were full and I moved forward to take his place as he headed back up to the waiting truck.

Kiwifruit picking gangs are paid by volume, not by the hour and as a result there is no mucking about. Our crew picked swiftly and efficiently under the watchful eye of a middle aged Chinese woman who seemed the most experienced. Every now and then she would chastise one of the younger pickers in Cantonese or impatiently wave at me to move the tractor forward in the imperious style of Amahs throughout the course of history. Before I knew it, my bins were full and Dad was back, pulling into the row behind me, as I leveled off my 3 bins and swung out of the rows, heading back to base.

On my first trip, I crawled along a bit, concerned about bruising the fruit by bumping the trailer over uneven ground and trying to remember all the things Dad had told me. Fortunately, one of the drivers from the other crew raced in ahead of me (not too difficult at my speed!) and I was able to watch exactly what he did and then duplicate it. Result!

Back and forth a couple of times and the bins started to stack up. Our friendly forklift driver had his work cut out, loading the truck with full bins and loading our now-empty trailers with fresh bins. The process slowed and I returned to find the scowling faces of pickers with full picking bags and no empty bins ("where the hell ya been?"). Oops! Mental note: Kick the forklift driver in the arse if empty bins are not rapidly forthcoming!.

A little over three hours, 64½ bins and 20 tonnes of fruit later, it was all over. The now-full trucks headed out and the gangs congregated on our patio as Mum brought forth a slap-up feed of freshly cooked asparagus and sausage rolls, garlic bread and freshly baked scones with plum jam and fresh cream. Choice! The hungry crews made short work of the mountain of food, washed down with fresh apple juice or a steaming mug of tea, with grateful smiles all round (not many of the orchards still do a feed for the picking gangs anymore so it was a pleasant surprise for them all).

Half an hour later, the convoy was on it's way out, with smiles and waves, as they headed for the next orchard. More handshakes and a couple of dozen beers for after the days work was done were passed over to the foreman and moments later all that was left was dust (and a tractor left by the crews overnight!)

Zzzzzzz...

Check out the Harvest 2009 Photos - now available

Being away from my normal patch (on the other side of the big pond) catching up with uncles, aunts and cousins in a long-overdue reunion has been terrific. Over a fairly sunny weekend, we ate, drank and laughed together, catching up on the news and each others' lives, in between a couple of games of Pétanque (French Bowls) and a jam session or six with one of my cousins who is learning to play guitar (left handed) and who has made impressive progress in a very short time.

As always when you get more that a couple of McKenzie blokes in a room at once, the views and opinions we hold about politics, religion, the environment and current events get expressed in a fairly forthright manner and a lively discussion is always sure to follow. Surprisingly, it never gets nasty or personal; there's never been an incident which ended in an outraged party storming out of the house or anyone inviting anyone else to step outside and settle any debate in a more physical manner. We are all grown up enough to understand that everyone is entitled to hold whatever opinions they like on whatever issue and as a result, the discussions and debates are often lively and interesting (albeit it a bit loud! )

But during our recent get-together, a story which ran in a number of local papers (and also picked up by a few UK broadsheets including the Telegraph) had us all shaking our heads in disbelief.

The article described how, during a recent visit by reps from Tescos to one of its largest suppliers in New Zealand, Silver Fern Farms in Fairton, the buyers were "upset" at seeing the dogs "running riot", according to a spokesman for the supermarket colossus, who then added:-

"We don't have a problem with sheep dogs, but we need to make sure they move the sheep in a considerate manner, so they don't stress the sheep out,"

WTF?

Firstly, how exactly do sheepdogs under the control of a good shepherd "run riot"? What were they doing...waving placards, throwing empty beer bottles at the abbatoir walls and setting fire to the tractor? And secondly, how exactly can sheepdogs be trained to muster sheep in a more "considerate manner"? Perhaps the Tesco's numpties can see a "glorious" future where sheepdogs, dressed in olive green tweeds (with leather patches at the elbows), smoking briar pipes and carrying clipboards can be trained to offer counselling to the sheep as they enter the killing pens.

"Crucifiction? Good. Out the door. Line on the left. One cross each."

From the sounds of things, the reps that Tescos sent out to NZ have probably never seen working dogs before. Every country has its little quirks and one of Britains' is to take an overly protective and softly-softly approach with both animals and children. While both need a certain degree of protection and support, the city and suburban-dwelling PC British middle classes (who have often only seen the country through the windows of their air-conditioned Chelsea tractors) have in recent times, developed a rather weird Beatrix Potter view of nature and rural life. The result is often as damaging as it is farcical and unrealistic. Want to see the evidence? Simply take a look at the fat, miserable, spoiled and lazy little members of many families up and down Britain (and the kids are even worse!)

New Zealand farmers treat their sheepdogs extremely well; not out of some misplaced sense of politically correct dogma, but out of practical necessity. An out-of-condition working dog is a liability, not an asset. Working dogs are therefore worked hard, but fed well and looked after properly.

The same is true of the sheep. They are grazed on rich fertile pasturelands, comparatively free of pesticides and fertilisers. They are also moved regularly by the working dogs which keeps them in good condition, fit and healthy. And when their time comes, unlike the British environment where sheep must be trucked live to a handful of abbatoirs left in the UK (a process which in itself is likely to cause far more stress than a sheepdog ever could), many farms have small abbatoirs close by or within a short mustering distance. This means that they arrive at the abbatoir in conditions that the peabrained humane-treatment hypocrites in Britain could never comprehend. The net result of this approach is what produces the finest lamb and mutton in the world.

Only the muppets at Tesco's don't seem able to see it.

The problem is also compounded by the fact that Tesco's is used to being the big boy on the block. The spoiled fat one with all the best toys who expects everyone else to play his games his way and who has a little temper tantrum if anyone else dares to question or contradict him.

My advice to Silver Fern Farms is to tell Tesco's to get f**ked go (complicated pictogram) themselves. Then get the dogs to see their fat, ill-informed, santimonious asses off the property at high speed. Even in tougher economic times, there is no shortage of other markets for top-quality meat and wool and there are plenty of other buyers (starting with all Tesco's rivals in the UK). It's about bloody time the seller had a bit more of a say anyway...

Perhaps a little time in the doghouse will do them good!

Well here I am, sitting in a Bangkok internet cafe, on the last morning of a flying visit to Thailand, sipping a freshly brewed cup of Jasmine tea and collecting my thoughts...

I arrived yesterday afternoon into a typical late Thai summer day of 40°C with 99% humidity. The roads from Suvarnabhumi Airport to my hotel (the Royal Princess Larn Luang in the old part of the city) were choked with traffic (thank all the Gods for airport limos with air conditioning) and it took about an hour and a half to get to the hotel. It was also a public holiday (Chakri Memorial Day) and most of the surrounding area was closed, but that didn't bother me too much as I was fairly knackered from the 12-hour flight and not really looking to party. After a short recon of the immediate area and a visit to the nearest 7-11 for a 6-pack of Singha Beer and a couple of packets of nuts, I retired to my room, ordered room service, sunk a couple of beers and fell into a semi doze for the rest of the evening.

At around 6am the following day, I rolled out of bed to the sound of the morning rush hour traffic (jeez they must start work early around here!) and after a quick shower and light breakfast, I headed out into an already hot and humid day and boarded a mini-bus bound for the Grand Palace.

Awesome! That's the only adjective I can think of to describe the palace and grounds. The architechure is just stunning; both in terms of it's scale and the incredible level of fine detail. The same is true of the Wat Pho temples, home of the vast golden statue of the reclining Buddha and the birthplace of traditional Thai massage. The sheer level of artistry and craftsmanship is testament to the Buddhist virtues of beauty and patience.

Back at the hotel around 3pm and after a quick shower, the jet lag caught up with me a little bit and I decided to take a short nap before heading out again. Around 6pm I was awoken by what sounded like a huge explosion, but was in fact a tropical storm which was hammering the city. My hotel window looked like it had been repositioned under a waterfall during my slumber and ball lightning crackled overhead. The streets below quickly turned into fast flowing rivers as torrents of water gushed from the rooftops of the buildings. Quite a sight!

By 8pm the storm had passed and the waters receded, so I headed on out to the Patpong Night Markets - the most touristy of the Bangkok markets...but also the only night market open during the week. Between the go-go bars blaring out their boom-boom beats are nestled a mish-mash of stalls offering the obligatory tourist tat, t-shirts and nick-naks, there are also some interesting curios, some good food stalls and other unusual bits and pieces. It was a bit disturbing to see how many of the stalls sold pretty much every kind of non-firearm weapon you could think of; from throwing stars and nunchakus to samurai swords, flick knives, switchblades and tasers, you could find it all there! Remind me never to pick a fight with anyone in Bangkok - half the population must be tooled up!

After a few hours of browsing the markets, politely declining offers from scores of touts to view the "Pussy ping pong" shows and a few solicitations from the working girls ("400 Baht cheap cheap"), I settled down to a good meal at a roadside stall (at 30 Baht the cheapest thing I found in the market by a long way!) and then boarded a tuk-tuk driven by a young bloke with dreams of breaking the tuk-tuk land/speed record.

We roared through the back streets at breakneck speed, the driver weaving through the traffic and the occasional group of startled pedestrians, while I hung on for dear life. Ten minutes later we pulled a handbrake turn into the hotel parking lot. The driver was 200 Baht better off and sped off into the night looking for his next hapless victim and I shakily retired to the hotel bar for a shot of two of Thai Whisky to calm my nerves.

Wicked!

Well - almost time to head back to the airport.

Cheers Bangkok...it's been fun - and I'll certainly be back!

Check out the Bangkok Photo gallery.

An article on the Beeb's website entitled: Life: A medical condition has addressed the growing trend of psychoanalysts wanting to categorise all aspects of human behaviour as some form of abnormality.

New "disorders" (which in that annoyingly american style always seem to have a 3-letter acronym) are being "identified" on a daily basis by the pyschobabble brigade, all of whom are keen to make their mark in the American Psychiatric Association 'bible' and then reap the material rewards from the book deals, lecture circuit tours, overpriced consulting and other pseudo-academic bollocks that invariably follows.

And of course, every new disorder has to have it's own drug, because America has been conditioned to believe that all of life's problems can be solved with a pill. The pharma multinationals are keen to oblige which probably explains why an estimated 10% of US children take Ritalin to combat behaviour problems. Here in jolly old blighty, home of the stiff upper lip we are doing almost as badly: ten percent of British kids are now regarded as having a clinically recognisable mental disorder and 34 million prescriptions for anti-depressants were written in the UK alone in 2007.

If you listen carefully, you can hear the cash registers ringing...

But ironically, at the same time as drug companies who hold the patents for Ritalin, Prosac and other such medications are making a fortune, plans to make a polypill available to all men aged over 50 and women aged over 60 in order to drastically reduce instances of heart attacks and strokes have been met with almost total indifference by the pharma industry.

The polypill (rather badly dubbed the "magic bullet" by the press pundits) is a simple cocktail of:-

• 100mg Asprin
• 20mg Simvastatin: statin to lower cholesterol
• 12.5 mg Hydrochlorothiazide: diuretic to remove excess water from tissues
• 5mg Ramipril: relaxes arterial muscles
• 50mg Atenolol: beta blocker to regulate the heartbeat

All the ingredients are freely available and therefore very cheap to produce (because the patents have all expired). There is a wealth of scientific evidence proving their benefits as individual components. As a single compound, the evidence from initial human trials is very positive, with positive benefits (including sharply reducing cholesterol and blood pressure levels). Researchers say the the pill has the potential to "halve cardiovascular events in average middle-aged individuals".

And yet not one western drug company has expressed an interest in handling the manufacture and distribution of the Polypill.

At least any lingering doubt about where the true loyalty of the drug industry lies is now resolved.

In a slight departure from our normal style and content, and especially for my fellow RedDot CMS sufferers, I modestly offer my first white paper, submitted to Markus Giesen's Unofficial RedDot CMS blog. Markus has turned it into a proper article and made it available to download as well. Hope you find it useful...

To our non-technical audience, I submit my most profound apologies. There's nothing more annoying than too much techie talk in a blog that is not especially targeted at the techies in question. It starts with a little bit of techie stuff and before you know it the content has all suddenly changed to reference Star Wars, Dr.Who and other such Sci-fi bollocks. Well that is not going to happen here!

We will all just have to agree that the only Sci-Fi series worth a damn was Firefly and be done with it!

Now that we've settled that and in order to keep you amused, I have enclosed a link to a cool little website below, which lets you write on Einstein's blackboard...and save the image.

Albert sure took a great photo (and weirdly my Landlord looks just like him!).

Yesterday, I was telling a couple of my work colleagues about what follows, which I received in an e-mail some time ago.

By some weird serindipity, my Dad e-mailed me a copy last night and it struck me as too much of a coincidence to ignore. So here it is...

Congratulations to all the kids who were born in the 1920's, 30's 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's!

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us and lived in houses made of asbestos. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.

Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright coloured lead-based paints. We had no child-proof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets or shoes, not to mention, the risks some of us took hitchhiking.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a Ute on a warm day was always a special treat. We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle. Takeaway food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Subway or Burger King.

Even though all the shops closed at 6pm and didn't open on the weekends, somehow we didn't starve to death!

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and no-one actually died from this.

We could collect old drink bottles and cash them in at the corner store and buy Fruit Tingles and some fire crackers to blow up frogs and lizards with. We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with sugar in it, but we weren't overweight because...

We were always outside playing!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K. We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. We built tree houses and cubby houses and played in creek beds with matchbox cars.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no videogames at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape or DVD movies, no surround sound, no mobile phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms............we had friends and we went outside and found them.

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits or health and safety regulations that arose from these accidents. We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever. You could only buy Easter Eggs and Hot Cross buns at Easter time.......no really!

We were given BB guns and sling shots for our 10th birthdays, we rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them! Mum didn't have to go to work to help dad make ends meet! Footy had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment.

Our teachers used to belt us with big sticks and leather straps and bully's always ruled the playground at school. The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

Our parents didn't invent stupid names for their kids like 'Kiora' and 'Blade'

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever. The past 70 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas. We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all!

And you are one of them!

CONGRATULATIONS!

You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good. And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn't it?

I really love some of the things that StumbleUpon throws up every now and again.

Last night, I stumbled upon quite a cool little web form, which allows you to design your own hell. You simply select categories of the condemned (or a few notorious individuals), organise them accordingly into the various circles of your hell and push the button. Hey presto! out pops an HTML snippet containing the 9 circles of hell and their special guest stars as selected by you.

The version I found was a bit Americanised so I've updated mine to give it a flavour more in keeping with the British, but which I'm sure will get a few nods from readers in other countries too.

I wondered if the punishments should also be updated to be more relevant to the new Millenium as well (for example the idea of freezing George Bush in ice is far less appealing than forcing him to watch Michael Moore films for all eternity. Or making Bill Gates use the only Windows PC in a totally open-source / Mac-OS environment with the CTRL+ALT+D keys disabled...WHILE being immersed in excrement has real appeal).

Who should be added and how should they be punished? We want to hear your comments and suggestions!

I think Dante would've approved...

As St Paddy's day rolled around, I found myself working out the London office for a change.

This worked out to be very handy, because there was a half-decent Irish pub just round the corner. As always on St Paddy's day, they were handing out the silly hats and glow sticks whenever large quantities of Guinness were purchased. As it was the 250th anniversary of Guinness, the lads and I of course obliged and by the time we finished up some 6 hours later, we had amassed a pretty fair collection of both hats and glowsticks as you can see from the Photos.

Eventually, I staggered off into the darkness, wearing a hat covered in glow sticks. I had wisely elected to leave the car at home and I slept comfortably on the train all the way back to Basingstoke. As I stumbled over the doorstep and carefully swayed into the kitchen, I was asked "How many pints?".

All I could say was "Count the glowsticks. I'm off to bed".

*Hic*

I recently read that Ryanair is considering the idea of charging passengers to use the toilet, on Ryanair flights.

What I want to know is...what exactly are they going to do if someone needs to use the bog and cant or wont pay? I don't imagine that passengers will be very pleased when some hapless victim of this ludicrous policy is forced to relieve themselves on their own seat.

And I bet they dont mention THAT in their ads.

Meanwhile, perhaps this is next on the: "things-we-can-use-to-screw-money-out-of-the-feckin-eijits" list that is allegedly required reading for all Ryanair execs:-

The recent news of the murder of a policeman and two soldiers in Northern Ireland in quick succession by rogue elements of the IRA was a worrying story, reminding us all of the bad old days of the troubles which we all thought had finally been resolved with the truce a little over 10 years ago.

But those responsible for these unprovoked attacks must have been a bit surprised with the results.

First off was the universal condemnation of their actions from all parts of the political spectrum, including Sinn Fein who went as far as urging anyone with information to contact the police; a previously unprecedented move, in view of the history of collusion between elements of the now defunct RUC and Loyalist Paramilitaries.

More important was the public display of outrage against those responsible for the killings as thousands of silent protesters from both sides of the divide joined rallies that took place in Belfast, Lisburn, Newry, Downpatrick and Londonderry.

With the overwhelming majority of both the Orange and Green preferring the path of peace and diplomacy, it is difficult to see any political legitimacy in the dissident movement as they clearly do not act on behalf of any significant proportion of the population of Northern Ireland. Without any political mandate, the dissidents are reduced to the level of common thugs and criminals, even as they make increasingly desperate attempts to continue perpetuating the cycle of violence.

Those responsible will be caught...and soon.

...Because there's nowhere to run to or hide anymore.

After a long bout of illness and general malaise, thanks to a particularly persistant bug, (combined with a general case of the blues bought on by all the crap news and weather), I thought it was about time I lightened up a bit...by making a list of some of the things that make me smile (in no particular order).

30 things that make me smile

• Clear blue skies and sunshine on my face or shoulders.
• A full moon in a starry sky.
• The sound of waves breaking on a beach.
• The taste of the first pint at the pub with your mates when you feel one of those nights coming on.
• The smell of a bonfire and the sound of a guitar being tuned up.
• A reliable car, a full tank of gas, an open road and no schedule.
• The smell of earth in a forest just after the rain stops.
• The sound of laughter coming from a friend's house, just before you knock on the door.
• The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you get being in an aircraft as it takes off.
• Watching any wild animal go about it's business when it's unaware of your presence.
• The sound of crickets through an open window on a summer night.
• The smell of bacon and eggs frying on a Saturday morning.
• Sunrises and / or Sunsets over any large body of water.
• The feeling of stepping out onto the street in a strange country for the first time.
• Funny one-liners and rapier-sharp retorts.
• Any form of jammin' - especially after a 'J'.
• The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the taste of the first bite of a freshly baked sticky bun.
• The tingle down your spine when you hear a piece of music that really moves you.
• The smell of Jasmine and Wisteria in full bloom.
• An unexpected phone call from a pal you haven't heard from in awhile, who just phoned to see how you are doing.
• The heat of hot water on your back during a shower on a cold morning.
• Finding a fiver in your pocket when you thought you were broke.
• Diving into the sea for the first time on a summer holiday.
• Walking through the gates on the first day of an open-air festival (especially with your mates).
• The sound of a cat purring while it's asleep on your lap.
• Playing a newly learned song note-perfect for the first time.
• The smell of a barbeque being fired up.
• The sound and smell of kicking your way through piles of autumn leaves.
• Drinking Irish coffee and watching snow through a window (especially when you don't have to drive anywhere).
• Doing something to make someone special to you smile as well.

What's on your list?

Not much more to add to this, except that as the current economic crisis is global, this probably applies just about anywhere.

Unbelievable!

Despite the fact that their selfishness and greed has dropped us all into the worst financial crisis for decades, RBS, Northern Rock and HBOS bankers are still planning to pay themselves bonuses!.

And like the bunch of muppets that they are, there appears to be a strong possibility that the government might let them do it!

It became abundantly clear yesterday that bankers have completely lost touch with the real world. At the same time that new unemployment figures were released (showing an increase to 1.97 million) and a handful of senior bankers faced a "grilling" by a toothless Select Committee, some bankers still had the unmitigated gall to claim entitlement to bonuses!

One "total banker" interviewed on radio yesterday, even made the extraordinary claim that he should get his bonus because:-

"I only earn 90,000 a year"

Is this arsehole out of touch or what?

Frankly, I'm astounded that any bank employee should expect any form of bonus. And those working for the banks that have been bailed out by the taxpayer should consider themselves bloody lucky that they still have jobs! Just before Christmas, some 30,000 employees at companies such as Woolworths were not so lucky...

Mid-level bank managers and other pointless pundits have issued dire warnings: if bonuses are not paid then many banks may lose their key people.

But where exactly are these "key" people going to go?

Certainly not to other banks; none of them are hiring! And most other industries in the finance sector (insurance companies, investment houses etc) already have their full quota of unproductive, useless, thieving, greedy bastards...which they are looking to jettison in the near future.

To my way of thinking, the biggest potential danger is letting some of these greedy fantasyland figues loose in other industries. But since most other industries only pay bonuses based on positive results (if they pay a bonus at all), I don't think we have much to worry about in that direction...

So here's a message to all bankers from those of us still living on Planet earth:

When you have helped dig us all out of this huge hole and truly learned the meaning of Accountability, then we can talk about bonuses...MAYBE

Until then...

Today's news story about President Obama admitting that he "screwed up" over his handling of a controversy that led two politicians to decline posts in his administration, is - I think - a welcome breath of fresh air.

One of the things that politics has increasingly suffered from in recent years (and this is particularly true of US politics) is an ever-growing tendency by Joe public to view the top dogs as infallible. If they make any kind of mistake (even comparatively small and relatively honest ones), they get crucified by the press.

This tends to create an environment where politicians do one or more of the following, whenever they "screw up":-

1. Spin their way out of trouble with a bunch of weasel wording double-talk.
2. Pass the buck to some hapless scapegoat down the chain of command.
3. Blatantly lie their arses off.

All of these approaches have problems;

• They leave the politician more vulnerable to further attacks (witness the Bill Clinton / Lewinsky thing - what really got him was not the fact that he poked an intern, but the fact that he lied about it)
• They leave the electorate unsatisfied and further increase cynicism of politics by the general public.
• None of them addresses whatever the particular issue at hand is. This means there is no culpability and therefore no accountability. And if there's no accountability, then no-one learns from their mistakes. And the same shit happens again!

Personally, I think the approach taken by Obama is the only sensible one; He has admitted that the buck stops with him (thus taking ultimate responsibility), he has apologised and has taken the necessary steps to try and avoid a repeat of this situation.

I don't think you can say fairer than that.

Regardless of political ideology, leanings or preferences, most people - be they conservative or liberal, left-wing, centerist or right-wing - value two things above all in their leaders.

The first thing that the public really want from their leaders is for them to lead by example. Nothing turns the voting public against a politician quicker than listening to him or her publicly endorse or criticise one thing and then do exactly the opposite. That's called hyprocisy and it pisses everyone off!

The second thing that that the public really want from their leaders is something that most politicians seem to have forgotten (or have been conned by their advisors and spin doctors into believing no longer exists); at the end of the day (especially in hard times) what the voting public really want from their elected leaders is a healthy measure of honesty.

And politicians mess with that at their peril.

We might not like it when the occasional honest politician lays the truth on us, but we still appreciate it. Truly effective politics is much more to do with what is right, rather than what is popular...and it looks like we finally have a president who understands this.

Perhaps if we start seeing genuine accountability and honest undertakings by our leaders to avoid the repeat of earlier mistakes, we will start cutting them a little slack (at least when the mistake is an honest one and the apology is genuine).

Maybe then we might start seeing them as a bit more human.

Apology accepted Mr President.

Now let's get back to work!

Now available:Bramshill Feb 2009 - Photo Gallery

Last night's heavy snowfall (at least by British standards) has predictably caused the usual commuter chaos today. Large sections of the rail network have shutdown completely, London buses, trains and even the tube have largely ground to a halt and the roads are, by all accounts jam-packed.

And all for less than 6 inches of snow.

Why is that?

OK, so Britain does have one of the busier commuter networks in Western Europe. In fact, I believe Clapham Junction is offically the busiest station (by train numbers) in both Britain and Europe. But isn't that all the more reason to have effective contingency plans for unusual little weather patches like this?

And likewise, Transport for London, the quango that oversees and manages large portions of London's transport infrastructure seems equally unable to cope, despite it's £40 billion budget. How can they not have some kind of contingency fund / plan for these circumstances?

And of course, thanks to the Whitehall worms, we have already used up what little spare capacity on the road network that we had left, so that's the roads buggered.

Do other countries in western Europe suffer from the same level of commuter chaos after a 6-inch snow flurry? The only story I could find in a quick Google search about traffic chaos in Europe caused by bad weather is a BBC article from 2004 and included at least one photo of cars in a 2 foot bank of snow. Apparently it's a long time since the rest of Europe's transport infrastructure ground to a halt from such a relatively minor weather event.

So, the lack of any spare transport infrastructure capacity, contingency planning and foresight all appear to be partial culprits in our lineup of usual inefficiency suspects. And then of course we need to take one more factor into account.

The average British "worker" is a terminally lazy bastard who will skive off at the earliest opportunity, for as long as (s)he can get away with it.

...and suddenly, it all makes a lot more sense!

Lest we forget...

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I was not a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.

- Martin Niemöller

References

• US Holocaust Memorial Museum
• Holocaust Memorial Day Trust
• BBC (in Pictures)

I'm a long time fan of Scott Adams Dilbert Comic strip, as are millions of cubicle farm workers in the ranks of the oppressed and downtrodden. But I've always taken note of Adams' willingness to shamelessly exploit his creation to make a few trainloads of cash in the vast world of merchandising and his apparent willingness to play both sides of the employee/employer war against each other, if there was a buck in it for him.

And that's cool. I've even bought the odd Dilbert item or two myself and been given the occassional desktop calendar or book as a gift. And when I visit the Dilbert website, I expect to see a fairly hefty amount of advertising...even for non-dilbert products. Adams' motto certainly seems to be: I'll flog it, if you pay me.

And that's fair enough too. After all, if he's developed a brand that brings in hordes of gullible punters into the shearing pens where they can be swiftly and painlessly separated from their hard-earned wonga, in a style that would make the pointy haired boss proud, then fair play to him.

But the latest storyline in the daily dilbert series has taken the Dilbert advertising monolith one step further...by building advertising directly into the strip itself.

A while ago, Adams announced the launch of a new file sharing service called dilbertfiles.com, designed to allow subscribers to send and share large files over the web.

And suddenly, a few weeks later, the latest story lines are featuring Dilbert creating the service and incurring the wrath of the Boss,Catbert et all in the process.

All I can read into this, is that the service is not perhaps doing as well as predicted - why else would Adams have to stoop to this level, in order to flog it?

And what's next? Alice and Wally wearing sandwich boards advertising gawd knows what, as they move from meeting to meeting? The pointy haired boss having a banner hanging over his desk, advertising gawd knows what else? Dogbert doing monologues on the shopping channel?

It's a pity really, because I used to enjoy my daily dose of Dilbert. But I don't think I'll bother visiting again for awhile...

The long awaited day has finally arrived.

An estimated crowd of over 2 million people has turned out to witness Barrack Obama's inauguration and (hopefully) welcome in a new era of relative political honesty, integrity and accountability.

Many people were also there to do the honourable thing: which is of course to hurl abuse at George Bush and his outgoing entourage. Ahhhhh.....Few sights in the last eight years have made my happy heart do a little Pulp Fiction dance more than the sight of hundreds of people pointing at Bush and chanting: "na na na na, na na na na, hey hey, Good BYE!". Bliss!

In a brilliant related story, a Shoe manufacturing plant in Turkey has seen a huge upturn in demand for the same shoes that were hurled at Bush a couple of weeks back. And you can even play the video game.

Watching the inauguration, I spotted one rather depressed (and seriously overweight) looking Bush fan, bravely waving a Texas flag:-

...when I suddenly had a small epiphany.

Look closely at the Texas flag - for all intents and purposes, it's a highly simplified, "big picture" version of the US flag. If it was a book, it would be a story about a dog called ben, have 5 cardboard pages (with lift-up flaps) and come with a guarantee that it was waterproof and chewable.

Suddenly, the last eight years makes more sense!

Still, as the Rolling Stones once said: "but, it's all over now". So welcome to the real world President Obama. Nice to have you with us.

After 3 days of battling a particularly nasty flu virus, I reluctantly emerged bleary-eyed and bunged up, from a mountain of sweaty bed linen, tissues and nasal spray bottles, after my fever broke (and the hot water bottle sprung a leak).

After cursing the second-rate nature of all British domestic goods, I managed to drag my carcass downstairs and park it on the couch. Su was watching some episodes of the original 1967 series of Mission: Impossible so I tried to take my mind off my spiralling temperature and wet socks (the hot water bottle was across my feet when it leaked) and tried to tune in to the episode plots.

And a number of questions popped into my mind...

1. Why does the IMF team leader Jim Phelps not seem to understand the concept of security? He goes to all the trouble of driving bloody miles to pick up a dossier and listen to a taped message (which then self-destructs), only to return home and browse through an operatives dossier which is forever lying open on his coffee table?
2. On a related point, why does he need to browse the dossier of IMF members at all? He picks the same ones every week!
3. Why are the soldiers and police in every eastern-bloc country dressed like SS officers with red insignia?
4. Why does all eastern European architechure look like shots from a Bavarian tourist brochure?
5. Why are all the road and signs in english with funny foreign accents? (e.g. a warehouse in east Germany was signposted "Warehouz". The same Warehouse in a south American country was signposted: "el Warehouso")
6. Where did the producers find so many blue-eyed Arabs?
7. Why does Jim Phelps - a supposed master of disguise - think that a brown goatee beard (which clashes violently with his grey/silver hair) makes him unrecognisable?

and while I was pondering these, I also thought:-

• Does Barney the technical guy ever get tired of being stuffed into cramped, sweaty, airless craw spaces, in order to work some technical magic in totally unreasonable timescales?
• How come the bodybuilding dude can fool the villians by simply changing costume (e.g. from soldier to telephone engineer) and nobody notices?

...which led me to the big one:-

How do the IMF team manage to avoid life's X-factor?

In their world the roads are always clear of traffic, the phone is always manned (and answered after the 1st ring), the bar is always open and the chef is always in the kitchen. No-one gets an unexpected cold or dose of the flu, or gets food poisoning. They never get radio signal interference or run out of gas. Barney never drops the critical piece of glass he's pulled off the wall in order to drill holes or install something clever. The Femme Fatale never forgets where she left her knickers the night before.

If anyone out there can figure these out, I'd sure like to hear from ya...

Recently, my girlfriend's parents very kindly gave us a board-game version of the World of Warcraft. It looked interesting and we decided to give it a go over the Christmas break.

Jaysus! It took us almost 2 hours to set the damn thing up and an hour or so later, I was mightily relieved to be eliminated from the game as my last hero bit the dust. I'm the first to admit that I'm hardly Mr Patient and the game is obviously complex, which means that it takes a while to get used to, but even so...

WoW is no doubt a great computer game, but I've resolved never to go near the board game version again if I can possibly avoid it!

On the plus side...

Thanks to StumbleUpon, I found a great website called www.xkcd.com, which has a brilliant collection of weird and surreal comic strips...and this one reminded me of the WoW board game.

There are plenty of other laugh-out-loud strips (and not a few: "eh?" strips too). Why not check it out for yourself and post a few links to your favs.

Well, that's 2008 finished. For many folks it's not been a good one and I suspect that they are glad to put it behind them.

Beyond the impact of the credit crunch, the Russians and Georgians scrapping and the inevitable Christmas kickoff between Israel and Hamas, 2008 did have a few highlights. The election of Barrack Obama heralded the end of the Bush era and there's not many of us outside the US who are sorry to see THAT happen. Closer to home, the UK olympic team performed amazingly well at the Beijing olympics and Terry Pratchett was knighted in the honours list.

For me, 2008 has had a few memorable highlights; The Hyde Park gig in July was pretty good and an off-the-cuff trip to the Hawk Conservancy proved to be a grand day out. I also managed to get away for a long weekend with my two best pals; a few beers and lots of laughs is always a prescription for happiness. It's also been a pretty good year for work and for the first time in a few years, I've found my skills to be in unusually high demand.

I'm not sure what 2009 will bring us, and I get the feeling it will be a landmark year for many people, myself included.

Here's hoping it will prove to be memorable for all the right reasons...