Poll-Axed!!

Looks like England's World Cup referee, Graham Poll, will be coming home before the team. After what can only be described as a shocker, Poll will most likely be told that he is surplus to requirements.

What is interesting in this fiasco are the reactions of FIFA President, Sepp Blatter and Sunday Times stand-in columnist, Rod Liddle. Neither one is even close to the mark.

"Silly Sepp", quoted in the EDP, thinks that referees are human and will always make mistakes, but Poll's errors were inexcusable. For those who may have missed the match, "Our Graham", who throughout the World Cup (in an astonishing act of parochialism) has been touted by the English press as "The best referee in the World" and a shoo-in to referee the final if England are not in it; gave three yellow cards to one Croatian, missed an Australian player being rugby tackled in the penalty area and a more than a few obvious handballs. Not a good day at the office.

What is more interesting than Poll's shortcomings as a match official is Blatter's comments regarding what Graham should have done. He said, "We have had four officials and what is not understandable is that nobody intervened." He is referring to the referee's assistants and the fourth official in the stands. He goes on, "I can't understand it. There are people there and one of them should have intervened and run on to the field and said, STOP, STOP!"

Right. Now this is exactly what is so exasperating about football and Mr Blatter. He is the world football chief and he is echoing what I've been saying for years and years. I blogged about this only a few days ago! Perhaps Sepp has been reading my blog. Stop the game, run on to the field and tell the referee that he has made a mistake and get it right. That's what Sepp is saying. Are you listening all you who masquerade as football purists?

Just for icing on the cake, FIFA communications director Marcus Siegler admitted that had Australia lost they would have had grounds to request a replay! Fantastic! This is the premier football tournament in the world?

In the Sunday Times, Ron Liddle is standing in for Hugh McIlvanney. Shame really - I like Hugh's style and wonder what take he would have on this woeful situation. Ron tried the humorous/exasperated/bemused and befuddled approach. Conveniently forgetting how the media have shamelessly built up Poll, he blames most of this fiasco on FIFA's instructions to referees. Ron thinks that FIFA are trying to take the physical aspects out of the game. Was he watching the same game? It was precisely because both sets of players were playing a version of a well-known computer game, Street Violence, instead of football that the problems occurred! Graham's problem was that the players were not playing the game. He could have easily sent off six or seven. He would have been crucified. This was a no-win situation if ever there was one.

Just to confirm that Ron is out of touch he then goes on to echo my sentiments regarding club v. country. Stopping short of advocating central contracts (the only sensible conclusion) he does, at least, acknowledge that players who are picked for England should be taken completely out of the club's control. His adjunct that if you don't want your players injured or unavailable for club selection because of national commitments you should stop signing international players is likely to be met with a shrug of the shoulders by managers who realise that the fans wouldn't permit it. That's how thick they are. The fans - not necessarily the club officials, I mean.

Crazy, Crazy

Stercus accidit, indentidem

Some misguided souls still wonder why not everyone gets excited by the World Cup. The France versus South Korea match was an excellent example.

After running themselves to death in the stifling heat and getting nowhere, much less threatening the French goal, the causal observer could be forgiven for thinking that the Koreans were just making up the numbers in their recent match against the Gallic former World Cup winners.

That is until the idiotic way in which the game is played conspired to rob the French of a victory. In the most prestigious tournament in the football world, something as simple as making sure that when a goal is scored the referee and his assistants are informed (if, for some reason they should happen to miss it?) would seem fairly elementary. Not so in the crazy world of FIFA (Famously Idiotic Fatuous Ass*****). There was, apparently, a move to micro-chip the ball to alert the referee when it crossed the line, but FIFA decided that it was too complicated/sensible/fair.

So, whilst the rest of the world are able to watch the video replay - which clearly shows the ball well over the line before the Korean goalkeeper pushes it out - the referee and his assistants are blithely unaware of this important happening and simply carry on. This really was one of the most buttock-clenching moments in World Cup history. Rather like the cricketers who don't appeal because it is so obvious that the ball, which has flown to second slip, has come off the outside edge, only to be bemused and befuddled as the umpire calmly walks off to square leg; the sight of the French players wandering around thinking about appealing for the goal to be given is one not easily forgotten.

Just for good measure, some Sunday papers have been castigating Messrs Lineker, Wright, Hansen and the rest of the BBC World Cup broadcasting team for their inane comments and lacklustre performance. Think I'll join in. This was their golden chance. They could have taken on the establishment and made a real case for using technology, where appropriate, to make the game fairer. Instead, they reverted to type - concentrating on the pressure the French coach is now under (wow, I'd love to read his report on the referee and his assistants!) and the failure of the French team to win the game. Ironic. They did win the game! 200 million people saw it. Only the idiots who organise football could possibly overlook an important feature of the game, namely a goal.

Is it any wonder that some people, St. John-like crying in the wilderness, are questioning the very basis of the game? Football is inherently a silly game. It was designed to be played by 19th century British schoolboys and gob-smackingly stupid, fatuous amateurs. Yet, if you suggest that the rules of the game need to be brought up-to-date folk look at you as if you are Tim Nice but Dim's educational advisor. This is rather ironic considering the intellectual achievements of David (I can string a sentence together and I am a gay icon) Beckham and Wayne (I think Chav is a compliment and my girlfriend is only marginally fatter than I am) Rooney.

Technology should be used to ensure that when a goal is scored the referee is informed. It's not exactly rocket science! Remember the furore when technology was introduced to Wimbledon to adjudge line calls? Now it is not an issue. So should it be in football. Not an issue. But, let's not stop there.

Football could be a much better game. Let's make the 18 yard box only 15 yards. For heaven's sake, the sky will not fall down and the "additional" three yards will make for more goals and more excitement. While we're there, let's make the goals themselves 30 cm higher and one metre wider. Move with the times! They were designed for lads in long pants and leather boots that (when caked with the mud of the British winter) weighed five pounds a piece! The sky will not fall!

Problem is FIFA is even more bureaucratic than the UN or the IOC. There is more chance of the EU voting to become the 51st state than FIFA actually managing to manage the game. I'm just waiting for England to be knocked out by a "goal" that isn't, or by "scoring" a perfectly good one that escapes the notice of the referee.

Actually, now that I think about it, this wouldn't make much difference. If it was a French referee, the Sun would run a campaign to boycott French goods, under the headline, "Frogs Spawn Agincourt Revenge!" and then retreat to the usual pap they publish. The morons who inhabit the stadia would, of course, miss the point completely. It would be left to the England captain to hammer in the final nail and announce (in his best Estuary English), "We was robbed! Even though the lads done brilliant."

I'd laugh myself silly.

World Cup Woes

The World Cup is upon us and, lo and behold, it has already impinged on the cricket season. Writing in the EDP, the secretary of the Norfolk Cricket League bemoaned the fact that some players preferred to watch the England v Paraguay game rather than turn out for their club side. He is, of course, absolutely correct.

Now, I'm not a great football fan. Of course, were England to reach the latter stages of the competition some accommodation will have to be made to ensure that cricket matches are played. But, to sit at home and watch a fairly meaningless first round match whilst the rest of your cricket team attempt to make up for your absence is selfishness in the extreme. It's not even good for football. Those cricketers who feel let down are hardly likely to view an England win with the customary enthusiasm. Some might even be hoping for an early exit for the England team so that cricket can go ahead uninterrupted!

The World Cup only serves to highlight the impingement of the football season into every other sporting event in the country. In this World Cup year, you can count on the fingers of both hands the number of weeks in the year when football is not being played. Norwich City FC, I believe, begin their pre-season training on Aug 13! That's about 10 days after the World Cup ends. Nonsense.

It's not even good for the players who are currently sweltering in the blazing sunshine of a German heat wave and trying to play a game that is designed for the cooler months. Praise be to FIFA who have decreed that the referees must allow players to take fluid on board during a match. God help them when our TV screens are awash with pictures of a stricken player being removed from the pitch by ambulance and gruesome photos his subsequent death from heat exhaustion and dehydration.

Why is this so? Football has long since passed the baton of healthy competition to the bean counters. Maximising the income is now the holy grail - not looking after the welfare of the players. The result? Local papers are awash with summer five-a-side tournaments for players as young as 10. Nonsense! Ten year olds have no business running themselves to death in the summer heat! The FA should ban football (including training) for U18's during the months of June, July and August. Matches and training in April and September should only go ahead when the temperature is under 20 degrees. So simple. Chances? None. The FA have become the bean counters.

Players at my club have already been told that if they cry off cricket to watch a "meaningless" football match - they will not play for the club again this season. At the same time, we will work closely with other clubs and the league to adjust start times or playing conditions to allow cricketers to watch important England matches and still participate in their chosen summer sport. With some modicum of common sense, this should ensure that everyone is kept happy. If "cricketers" would really rather sit in the pub, drink lots of beer and chant obscene slogans at hapless refugees from Buenos Aires, then they are probably involved in the wrong sport. We'd be well rid of them.

Caravans

Recent loses of British troops in Helmand province, Afghanistan reminded me of a book by James Michener, Caravans (1963).

As a piece of literature, it is somewhat flawed. The characters are not entirely believable, and the situations they find themselves in are contrived to the point of incredulity. Only recently did I learn that it had been made into a movie, which suffered greatly at the box office due to the increasing strains developing between Iran and the U.S.A. at the time of its release. Not much of a surprise there.

Still, I thoroughly recommend it to Ol' Dubba and his mate Tone. Perhaps if they had read it - or learned a little about this troubled part of the world - we might not now be contemplating further troop losses in pursuit of what must be described as a failed policy.

No-one (including the Russians who had a go in the 80's) has ever successfully waged war against the Afghans. This includes the British - in the guise of The Bengal Lancers and Kim. The "Great Game" has been played out in Afghanistan for more that a few centuries - and the western powers have not yet come to terms with their inability to "persuade" the Pathans (or Pashtoons, if you prefer) to abandon their traditional war-like life and settle down and watch some TV. Not very likely.

Tradition has it that some of these folk may be part of the lost tribes of Israel - though supporters of the Taliban and Oozama Bin-Liner may be horrified to think of it. They could be the lost tribe! What is not in contention is that they view war as an on-going, fairly traditional occupation. In other words, they like it. They are unlikely to change their minds just because we would like them to.

Now, the Taliban have had a bad press. Though they were active in Pakistan, they are chiefly know as the crazy guys who ran Afghanistan for a while and were hostile to western way and western interests. Religious nuts. Problem is: when you look at the situation for a neutral point of view, the picture is somewhat different than the one the media paint. Mostly they came to power as a result of the corruption of the previous regime, and they enjoyed some measure of popular support. They were, from many accounts, a nationalistic organisation opposed to Western influence on the culture of Afghanistan. Perhaps, to you and me, their political programs may seem anti-progressive and anti-westerner. To the Afghan people it is likely that they seem the usual bunch of folks who have run Afghanistan for a very long time and are likely to do so for a very long time after we have left. You are not going to wear these people down. They are experts at guerilla warfare. It's part of their life style and culture.

What have we to oppose them. Modern weapons. We out-gun them. They, however, have the support of the people. Sound familiar? It ought to. It's what we call a no-win situation. The puppet regime in Kabul will fall (just like in Vietnam). The Taliban will return to power (just like the Viet Minh). In twenty years Afghanistan will be the British people's choice for a cheap holiday. Remember, you heard it here first.

Unfortunately, some American and British boys will not be there to enjoy the sunshine.

Closer Than Ever Before?

Even blogs can come back and bite you. On 19 May I wrote convincingly in response to Andrew Sullivan's article in the Sunday Times explaining how Britain and America are really quite close in many areas. If a week is a long time in politics, then two weeks in an eternity in blogging.

Recent changes in the law in the UK to allow same sex "marriage", or civil partnerships as they are better known, have passed without so much as a ripple in the fabric of society. In any local paper couples of the same sex happily share the wedding page with joyously heterosexual couples. Announcements of upcoming same-sex unions regularly appear in the press. When famous gay couples "unite" it is a photo opportunity for the popular media. This could not be further from the American experience - unless the U.S. should suddenly changes dramatically and swiftly into a left wing dictatorship of the proletariat. Not very likely.

What has changed the tenor of the debate about gay marriage in America is the intervention of that good old boy from Texas (home of queers and steers if you are to believe its many detractors!), G. Dubbya Bush.

What Dubbya said, "On a matter of such importance, the voice of the people must be heard. Activist courts have left the people with one recourse. If we are to prevent the meaning of marriage from being changed forever, our nation must enact a constitutional amendment to protect marriage in America. Decisive and democratic action is needed, because attempts to redefine marriage in a single state or city could have serious consequences throughout the country."

Whatever the merits of Dubbya's proposals, his insistence that a Constitutional Amendment is required serves to highlight a very basic difference in the political traditions of the two countries. Or, one country and one kingdom if you prefer. In America the Constitution takes its place at the head of the table reserved for the monarch in Britain. To change it is no light matter. No American politician will last long unless he or she adheres closely to its basic precepts. In over 200 years it has only been amended 27 times, 17 if you discount the first ten amendments, The Bill of Rights, which were "promised" by constitutional supporters in order to get it accepted in 1781. Other than these ten, few of amendments have been proposed and passed that work primarily on the citizen - instead of the structure of government institutions. The anti-slavery amendments, 13, 14, and 15; the 16th (Income Tax); and the19th (Votes for Women) are among the slender number which prescribe directly what the citizen can or cannot do. This is what the Founding Fathers wanted. They got it.

In Britain today, the political arrangements are essentially the same that were in place in the 1770's - when American Revolution severed the "ties that bind". What, in America, was seen then as the arbitrary rule of a tyrant king, George III (though the real argument was with Parliament) is essentially the same system the British are governed by today. Whereas in America sovereignty is vested in the people; in Britain the Queen in Parliament holds sovereignty for the people. Or, if you prefer, the cumbersome process required to amend the Constitution; a two-thirds majority in both the House of Representatives and the Senate; then three-fourths of the states ratifying is replaced by a simple majority of Parliament and the sovereign's assent. The Queen in Parliament is the highest authority in the land. There is no theoretical limit on what Parliament can do. Not many British people realise this.

So, were the next Parliament decide to outlaw same-sex unions, they could.

Likewise, Dubbya's grandstanding on this issue is more likely to be a sop to his conservative supporters than a real rallying call to the States for an amendment. There is little chance it could ever get the necessary majority. The Constitution remains the bulwark of American freedom and the guardian against arbitrary popular government. This is what the Founding Fathers so wisely chose. Long may it continue.

The Monthly Roundup

Time to round-up the month. Stories that caught my eye or imagination or both included: Myleen in go-cart accident; American dream for brave Tomlinson; IBM staff could turn into teachers; Orwell named Hepburn as Soviet supporter; and, Losing Charlie.

"Losing Charlie" reminded us that the tragedy of Charlotte Thompson and her friend, Olivia Bazlington at the railway crossing in Essex was a very human one. The scandal that is the responsibility of Network Rail has not gone away and the public are still at risk. The Sunday Times in printing the diary of Charlotte's father as he tries to come to grips with the loss of his daughter has done a real service to the community. By keeping this tragedy in the news, there is more chance that something, eventually, will be done to ensure that no more innocents are killed simply crossing platforms at stations to get the correct train.

The author of 1984, George Orwell, even though he was an Old Etonian, was a committed socialist. Warning of what he saw as the corruption of the socialist ideal by the communists in Russia in Animal Farm, he went on, in the last years of his life, to write the definitive inditement of totalitarianism, 1984. By the way, now-a-days children think that this is just a popular (and inane) television programme. It was, then, somewhat disturbing to find that he sent a blacklist of crypto-communists and fellow-travellers to the Foreign Office. Perhaps in the very few months left to him - he died shortly after he sent the list - Orwell came to regret his actions. I hope so.

The news that the government might be seeking to experiment with the educational system (now there's a shocker!) by offering to increase the pensions of IBM employees who would go into classrooms to ease the shortage of maths and science teachers beggars the imagination. An expert on teacher recruitment assures the Sunday Times that there is a shortage of about 3,000 qualified maths teachers in our schools. So, what's new. There has been a shortage of maths teachers for as long as anyone can remember. Whilst I'm sure there are a number of "extra fine" people currently employed by IBM who would make excellent teachers, I'm also sure that the number is very small. The nonsensical idea that a life time spent in industry dealing with real problems requiring mathematical understanding is adequate preparation for teaching a class of 13 year olds is just too silly to comment on!

Perennial cancer sufferer Jane Tomlinson is off to cycle across America. For anyone not in the know, Jane was given six months to live six years ago and has spent most of the time in between raising money for cancer research. She must be commended for this. But, I am at a loss to explain her ability to overcome a serious disease and run marathons, enter "iron-man" competitions, cycle all over Europe and many other physically strenuous activities. And, why aren't her doctors more interested in finding out how this woman can survive years after their terminal diagnosis? This we are never told. She starts her Ride Across America on June 29. I wish her well, but I wonder how many cancer sufferers have been debilitated by their inability to match her seemingly endless physical feats?

Finally, the month would not be complete without a Myleen moment. This time she crashed a go-cart whilst engaged in a celebrity go-cart race. This is news?? Myleen's only claim to fame is that she was once "a bit famous" as a member of a pop group. Owing to the sycophantic nature of our local press (please Archant, don't cancel my blog!), every week of so we are treated to a photo of Myleen, an article about Myleen or, if we're really lucky, an interview with Myleen. Why is this? Simple. Myleen is a local girl. Thankfully Myleen's publicist assured the readers that she didn't break her leg - only pulled a muscle. Thank God for small mercies!! Personally, if I never read another Myleen article (non-article really) I will consider myself lucky.

Metatarsals, Club v. Country and Central Contracts

Since every time you turn on the television all you can watch is an up-date on the injured metatarsal of Mr Wayne (The Chief Chav) Rooney, I suppose I am entitled to comment on the goings-on at Team England.

No-one, of course, will pay any attention to common sense. After all, we're talking about football.

Notwithstanding the fact that we have yet to hear the medical update, the Press have already lined up Mr Alec Ferguson (Scots football manager and, presumably, Scots football supporter) as the chief villain in this saga. Mr Rooney (All ears, no brain) has today been seen by the doctor, but we are not to be privy to what the state of his foot is until he sees his club doctor and then the club doctor will let the England team doctor and management know the outcome of the scan. Sounds a convoluted sentence? So is the process!

A Godsend for the press, of course. They can ignore the real issues and concentrate on a bit of Scots bashing instead. Good-O!

The facts are: Manchester United (Northern team that has more "supporters" per head of population in Devon than in Manchester) pay Mr Rooney's wages and, therefore, are not all that keen to have his career jeopardised by an early return to the rigours of international World Cup football; nor are they disposed to let the England medical staff make the ultimate decision as to whether or not his is fit to play. Right-O! Since they pay his exorbitant wages - what do you expect!

Cricket used to have the same problems. Star players would get injured playing for their Counties and then be unavailable for England. Solution: central contracts. Rugby: same-o, same-o.

Of course, football being what it is - a non-nonsensical game played by idiots and watched by morons, no-one will take this proposal seriously. After all, just because it works well in other sports and was instrumental in enabling England to win the rugby World Cup and the Ashes, it would never work in football. One thing is for sure. It is unlikely to be tried.

Unless, as is most likely, England fail to get out of the Group stage because (as the fans may perceive) Roon the Toon is not fit to play. Perhaps the calls for success might drown out the pea-brains from the FA. Not to mention the Nimfy's (not in my football yard) who may, after this humiliation, be persuaded to see sense.

We live in hope.

Personally, I hope the little fat man plays so that we don't have to suffer four years of "if only Rooney had been fit, we would have won" nonsense.

Liverpool Street Station

Interesting article recently in the Sunday Times from Andrew Sullivan, one of their regular columnists. His thesis: Britain and America have a lot more in common than we like to think about, particularly since old Dubbya is so unpopular this side of the Atlantic. Actually, he's getting that way over there as well.

A recent visit by friends from Independence brought this to my attention in a big way. Having travelled around Scotland and done the tourist trail in London, one lady friend expressed her positive amazement at the pristine condition of the public conveniences here in the U.K.

Got me thinking and agreeing with Andrew Sullivan. He contends that despite the antipathy of Britons to the present American administration the two countries are closer than they have ever been. Andrew feels that Britain is far more like America now than it was two decades ago. I agree.

Strolling through the capital with American friends I was struck by how like an American city it really is now-a-days. Starbucks are everywhere, followed closely by the ubiquitous McDonalds and Burger King. Tourists are catered for extensively - with special signs pointing to historical places you used to have to find for yourself. Bar staff are mostly immigrants. Low paid jobs are becoming the province of the black, the brown and the yellow. This is pretty much the America of the 1970's.

And, the toilets are clean.

Liverpool Street Station is a shadow of its former grimy self. Swank shops and arcades cater for the weary traveller. What ever happened to the proverbial greasy spoon? Where are the soot-encrusted bricks, bygones from an age of steam, that used to positively ooze Old World charm? Instead, armed police wander about rousting homeless drunks and their dogs from the dry and insisting they are causing a nuisance by just sitting in the station. Can't get more American than that.

Now, I know this is what passes for progress in Blair's conservative brand of socialism, but, really, shouldn't Britain retain some of the "old world" charm before the tourists dry up and say to each other, "Gosh Mabel, this looks just like Des Moines." When this country was dirty, cheap and somewhat backwards you at least had the feeling that you were in a foreign country. I know the language gives it away - but at least if you imagined that the people weren't speaking English you could transport yourself to a world of Andy Capps, King Arthurs, Shakespeares and Robin Hoods.

Actually, in those days many people did not speak English as they do now. Regional accents abounded. Now they seem all to have been swallowed into Estuary English and imitators of American pop culture and language. There used to be a real feeling that England was a foreign place to American tourists. I'm not sure that applies now, and I regret it.

Planning??

Nothing is better designed to get people angry and upset than the local government planning regime. On the surface this seems to be an integral part of our society - allowing local people to plan carefully for the development of their neighbourhoods and the concurrent services we all depend on.

Here in Wroxham we are blessed with some of the craziest planners in Christendom. I conclude this from the kinds of decisions they have reached over the years.

Cast your mind back to the infamous Wroxham by-pass. Some bright spark had it in his mind that it would be a good idea to by-pass the centre of Wroxham and greatly improve the road structure in this part of Norfolk. Good idea.

Here is the logical solution: where the main road crosses the railway on the Norwich side of Wroxham; instead of taking a sharp right turn into the main village, go left and across the River Bure, through uninhabited areas, and rejoin the main carriageway on the other side of the village. Unfortunately, there is nothing logical about planning.

Problem - this route would go through a site of special scientific interest. This route is out.

So, bright sparks at the planning authority decided to: go right at the railway bridge, build a two mile viaduct over Wroxham Broad (costing God knows how many millions) and eventually rejoin the road on the other side of the village. Cost? Astronomical. Feasibility? None. Nevertheless, they press on - for a while at least.

Just as an addendum, this route would have passed within 200 yards of some of the most expensive properties in Wroxham - The Avenues. Not surprisingly, the residents of these properties were not overly enthused. As soon as the plan was announced the value of these expensive properties plummeted. One poor chap lost hundred of thousands. Eventually, after many investigations, he got some back when the government agreed that the planners had got it completely wrong! The scheme was dropped. Wasted money? Lots. Accountability? None.

Not content with that 25 year fiasco the planners start all over, this time to move the football club. The ground of Wroxham F.C. is called Trafford Park. The land is leased from the local "squire", Mr Trafford. Before the lease runs out they would rather like to move to somewhere more suitable and improve their facilities. Mr Trafford would rather like to build some houses on the football ground, so he would gladly sell the club new space elsewhere. Sounds a good plan. Everybody wins. Enter the planners.

No chance. It's not in the local development plan. Petitions later, still no chance. It's likely that someone in planning doesn't like Mr Trafford, or houses, or football clubs or Uncle Tom Cobley and all. These are the same folks who allow Network Rail to run stations without safe places to cross to the opposite platforms and fuel depots to be sited in the middle of an industrial estate - close to houses. Remember the The Buncefield Oil Depot in Hemel Hempstead? Great planning guys. You have managed to engineer the largest explosion in Western Europe since the end of World War II - quite close to houses and business premises. My hat is off to the planners. Keep up the good work.

Disgrace

Tum podem extulit horridulum

Again we are forced to confront our worst demons in an article in the Sunday Times reprising the tragic death of Olivia Bazlington and her friend, Charlotte Thompson - two young girls killed whist running to catch a train.

This tragedy, back in December, forced me to write to the EDP protesting the lack of proper pedestrian crossings at so many stations. In response, the paper printed comments from Network Rail:

Network Rail General Manager Phil Heath said: "I find it unbelievable that people are behaving so irresponsibly at railway crossings. By running across when the light is red they are risking their lives, seemingly just to catch a train."

In my original blog, I was upset by Phil's insensitivity. Now I'm outraged. I pray that Phil is a Sunday Times reader or that someone cuts out the article and pins it to his door.

Charlotte's father, Reg, kept a diary chronicling how the family coped with the loss of Charlotte. As Shakespeare's Mark Antony so eloquently said, "If you have tears, prepare to shed them now." Reg's account of every parent's worst nightmare is truly a fitting tribute to his daughter's memory and an inditement of the callous Network Rail officials who are partly responsible for Charlotte's death. By not providing safe places to cross tracks, they are as guilty as any drunk driver who smashes into an innocent pedestrian.

Yet, they have the gall to attempt to blame the pedestrians for running to catch trains.

In her Sunday Times article Ann McFerran lets the bereaved father do the talking - to great effect. His diary, written on the family's computer, speaks volumes for those who can no longer speak for themselves, namely the two young girls killed that day. When he writes, "I have decided that I might sue the railway company. The station must be made safe. Trust me on this one. I won't give up, not ever." - I want to rush out and find the person(s) responsible for this atrocity and make them read this father's anguish to their own children as a bed-time story. Maybe then they would listen.

I am hoping that Reg will not give up in his fight to make rail stations safe for all. I am hoping that this story will not be buried by the "bean counters" who run Network Rail and most of our public services. I am hoping that these two innocent girls will not have died in vain. I'm hoping.

I am also hoping that the journalist who wrote the article for the Sunday Times will continue to research this story.

End of the World?

Press reports have surfaced concerning strange electrical phenomena at Hellesdon in Norwich. Apparently, concerned residents have been reporting strange goings on with their electrical appliances for some time.

Car remote controls have mysteriously stopped working. Car alarms are going off without any apparent reason. Garage doors don't open, or can't be closed. Residents are baffled.

All very interesting in a human interest kind of way. Just the sort of story the newspapers like: very mysterious, but no real substance.

Or, is there?

Residents, at first, thought that it might be something to do with Norwich Airport, which is not very far away. Airport says, "Nothing to do with us, Guv!" Evening News contacts local electrical engineers - no explanations. Spokesman for Norfolk Constabulary says, "Nothing to do with us, and we have had no reports of problems."

End of story: or, is it?

Electricity has only been around for about 100 years in it's present form - we'll discount lightning for the purposes of this discussion - Edison demonstrated the light bulb in 1879. Not much happened before 1900 and then the "electricity" age really got going. In just the last 40- 50 years we have seen an explosion in the use of electricity so that our modern society cannot survive without it. We are surrounded every day by an electromagnetic field - generated to service our lifestyle - this was inconceivable to our grandparent's generation. Who knows what the long term affects may be?

Some facts: a substantial fraction (roughly 30%) of 19-20 yr old men in Denmark have sperm densities so low as to likely impair fertility. Further, there has been a steady decline in sperm quality in Denmark underway for several decades. The researchers in Denmark conclude that the decline in the quality of Danish sperm is not due to any social factors - but is real.

Some more facts: "after an extensive review of data from 61 published studies, three California researchers have concluded that a decline in average sperm density reported in the U.S. and other Western countries may be even greater than previously estimated. Their analysis of data collected from 1938 to 1990 indicates that sperm densities in the United States have exhibited an average annual decrease of 1.5 million sperm per millilitre of collected sample, or about 1.5 percent per year, while those in European countries have declined at about twice that rate (3.1 percent per year)."

Finally: "it's well known to physicians who deal with male infertility that the vast majority of male infertility is due to low sperm counts and/or poor sperm quality. What isn't as well known is that multiple studies have shown that in highly industrialized countries(my italics), sperm counts and sperm quality has been decreasing during the past 40 to 50 years. One of the most widely publicized studies showing a decline in sperm quality was published in the prestigious British Medical Journal in 1992 by Carlsen et al.5 The study was a meta-analysis of 61 studies done between 1938 and 1991 that examined sperm counts and sperm quality in men without a history of infertility. The results were startling: both sperm counts and sperm density showed significant declines between 1938 and 1991. ( I would submit that the increase in electro-magnetic radiation was pronounced for the first time in this era )This led the authors of the study to conclude that "as male fertility is to some extent correlated with sperm count, the results may reflect an overall reduction in male fertility."

Ok, Ok - I can hear some of you echoing Dawn French in the Vicar of Dibley, "Ok, we're on the outskirts of Looney Land, next stop city centre!" All I'm saying is: wouldn't it be diabolically ironic if the modern world and it's electricity-based culture was the cause of the eventual demise of man! And, we never got near the innings of the dinosaurs. Wait a minute, this could, however, be a boon for the last man with motive sperm. Form an orderly queue, please ladies. Talk about The Handmaid's Tale in reverse - I sure hope it's me!

Wee Jockey

Off next week to Scotland. Some friends are coming over from America so I am doing my famous three day tour of the Scottish highlights. Day One: travel to Edinburgh by train – see as much as possible in just 4-5 hours. To include the Royal Mile, Holyrood House and all sights in between. Day Two: St. Andrew's to see the Old Course then drive to Inverness – stopping along the way to view suitable sights. Stay in Inverness Day Three: The Highlands via the Great Glen and Loch Ness – stay in Ft. William. Day Four: drive to Glasgow via Loch Lomond. There you go. Done it. Seen it. Got the T shirt.

Of course, you cannot really do a whole country justice in just three days - but this is as close as you are likely to get.

I like Scotland. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but I like it. Mind you, I have only ever been there in the summer and it's only April. I have forewarned the thin-blooded folks from Missouri to bring plenty of warm clothes. There will be plenty of snow on the hills and it will probably rain for the whole of our trip. Nevertheless, I like Scotland. I've no time for the weather, but I like it just the same. Both my grandparents on my mother's side of the family were from Glasgow. I'm really one quarter Scots – by birth.

Scots are fine people even though they talk funny. More oddly rather than actually humorously. It will be interesting to see if the home folks are able to communicate with them. It will depend on the calibre of Scot we encounter. Educated Scottish yuppies from Edinburgh should be fine. Working class scum from the Gorbals may be problematical in the extreme.

One of my favourite TV programs about Scots is Rab C. Nesbitt. I used it in English lessons as an example of dialect. Put on the video of Rab swapping places and life-styles with a Tory MP and the contrast could not be more pronounced. Also, it's one of the funniest programmes you are ever likely to see. Kids, of course, seldom get it without a translation. Then, they find it very funny. Get the video if possible. It's hard to understand, but you get a real appreciation of how difficult it is to communicate with an un-educated Scotsman.

I taught one of those as well. Name: Kevin MacFarlane. AKA: Jockey McFarlane. For some unknown reason his parents sent him to our school – hoping, perhaps, that he might learn English. He said to me one day in an English lesson, “How am I supposed to do this work? I'm no even English.” Jockey was an unintentional Scots nationalist.

He had only been at the school for a few days when I happened to discuss him with some of my colleagues at lunch. We all agreed that he was not coping too well with the idea of doing school work. It must have been an alien concept where he came from. As luck would have it, two fellow-teachers and I happened to stumble across Jockey on the way out of the lunch room. So, the three of us surrounded him and (very gently) began to question him about his apparent lack of interest/effort and progress. He stood very still – listening – for all of a minute. Then, he turned red in the face and before storming off berated all three of us in no uncertain terms by shouting, “I'm no even f***** having this!” He was a character. Hope he turned out Ok, but I wouldn't like to bet on it. He wasn't with us very long.

Mooned

Schools Part Deux

As promised, some solutions to the problems besetting our schools. But first - a disturbing anecdote. Whilst the BBC's Newsnight was reporting on the teachers' conference season, they recruited a Teacher of the Year to commentate. The reporter told us how one teacher had been “mooned” in class - a la Bart Simpson. Teacher of the Year's comment: he thought it was fairly funny! Well, in my book, that just about sums up the worth of the Teacher of the Year Awards.

Teaching is hard work. Very hard work. On a day when it was reported that GP's are making 100,000 a year, teaching looks less and less an attractive career to graduates. Unlike most professions, teaching has actually become more difficult as the years roll by. Exhausted, over-age teachers are (quite rightly) queueing up for early retirement. Why should this be so?

Sociology - in one word – and demographics – a bit. The world had changed beyond recognition, sociologically, since my generation was at school. Since the 1960's parents have been able to regulate their reproduction in a way never thought possible by their parents. In the 40's and 50's family size was governed by the vagarities of human reproduction. Invariably families were larger.

What effect did this have on schools? Children arrived at school from the late 60's, 70's, 80's and onwards with a completely different idea of their position within the family and society. Because there were fewer children per family; children became, by definition, a much more precious commodity. Of course, all children are precious. But, this is a recent phenomenon. Previous generations did not become so “attached” to their children for the simple reason that they knew that most of they would die before they reached the age of five. I'm not talking about the Middle Ages! Before WWII and the advent of mass produced antibiotics children died by the millions from diseases now thought to be just an inconvenience. When a child dies of measles today - it's a tragedy. Millions died from measles, influenza, whooping cough, polio, and mumps only 90 years ago and it was an accepted part of the human condition. Children died from blood poisoning after falling down and scratching their knee.

In those circumstances it is not uncaring or reprehensible to contemplate parents who simply could not afford to become too attached to their children. It was not abuse or neglect - simple survival skills. Grief-stricken parents make poor providers for the rest of their offspring.

Teaching the children who did survive in school was, by comparison, an easier task; for they had no real concept of their “importance”. They did not think of themselves as particularly special or unique. They were much more likely to view adults as “law-givers” rather than as objects to be mooned.

Society viewed the children of the 30's, 40's and 50's as raw material to be shaped by the teachers into useful members of the community. After the 60's parents began look on their offspring as unique and a reflection of their own worth. In this new regime teachers were on a loser. Criticising children became synonymous with criticising their parents. Whilst parents could afford to have a few “also-rans” in the family success stakes this was not a problem. But, as soon as children became fewer and more precious, criticism was out. If there was a problem, it was the teacher's fault. Teachers lost their most valuable asset in the classroom - the parents.

I promised solutions. Here's a simple one: put CCTV cameras in every classroom and hold pupils and parents responsible for what the camera discloses about pupil behaviour. Following agreed guidelines and procedures expel permanently pupils who can not meet a minimum of sociability – and do not provide any alternative educational provision. Might get the parents back on board!

Foxes and Hedgehogs

An enduring constant running through all sport is the role of the pundit – or “expert” as he is sometimes known. These are the chaps who will not only tell you what is going on in your team's camp, but also provide you with in-depth analysis of the reasons why it is happening. Witness today's commentary on the betting habits of one Wayne (the Munchkin masquerading as a Bash Street Kid) Rooney. Apparently our World Cup hope is in hot water with Sven the Swede because he loses money to the bookies faster than Swen can chat up an FA Assistant. Fortunately we have the pundits of the press and television to keep us informed about these crucial developments. Football commentators are, by and large, foxes.

Unlike football, Cricket is uniquely and fortunately endowed with experts. Cricket coverage on either TV or radio features a plethora of ex-players who are ready to analyse and comment on every aspect of the game. And, they will do it in such a pleasant way as to make the commentators seem part of the game itself. Listening to their comments and explanations becomes as important as the game itself. Who could ever forget the great John Arlott? I'm sure his commentary on the grass growing would have kept the audience on the edge of their seats. Peter Aliss performs the same function for golf. For football? John Motson? Never in the same stadia – never mind the same league. Andy Gray – or, as he is better known, Scottish refugee from the boot room. Remember The Boot Room with Andy? Sky started this with its football coverage. Two hours of Andy Gray talking about football and drawing diagrams on a whiteboard could send you comatose. Lucky for the viewers they included a segment where Andy moved little Subuteo footballers around a green sheet to simulate tactics. Riveting stuff – if you are functionally brain dead. Good thing The Boot Room only lasted a season or so and no-one, I mean no-one, ever mentions it. At all. Ever.

Cricket commentators are, by contrast, almost universally admired and respected. Partly this is to with their position in the hierarchy of the game. Almost all are past players who had very successful careers. So, when they give expert opinion – the viewers are disposed to believe that they know what they are talking about. And, they are so cosmopolitan, like the game itself. Watching an England game involves the opinions of English commentators, the other teams commentators and some neutral commentators. Very cosmo and very commendable. Imagine doing this with football. About the only foreign commentary heard about a football match is that inane footage of some South American nutters screaming, very loudly, a long (and I mean long) drawn out scream that eventually ends in “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLL!” Gormless or what?

By now, the more observant reader will be asking, “What has this to do with foxes and hedgehogs?”

Well, for some unknown reason, I ran across this saying from an obscure, ancient, Greek philosopher and decided to blog about it.

The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.

Archilochus (7th-century b.c.e.)

Can you spot the connection between Archilochus and the modern pundit? Hope so, or I have been wasting my time.

Public Inquiries

Monstra mihi pecuniam

One of the most enduring, and annoying, aspects of modern life is the iniquitous and omnipresent call for a public inquiry whenever something goes wrong. Incidentally, either spelling - “inquiry” or “enquiry” are correct in general usage. Whenever there is a problem – perceived or real – you can bet someone, somewhere will be calling for a public inquiry. These calls are seldom granted. Why?

Mostly because the government or powers that be are not all that keen to spend lots of money on something that is likely to be critical of them and take a long time; thereby keeping the “problem” in the public eye for far longer than usual. There is some justification for this position as it is the taxpayer who eventually has to foot the bill. Thank the government for saving our money. Really, I mean it – thanks a lot.

There are times when the call for a public inquiry is justified and should be granted. For example, rail safety. After crashes at Ladbroke Grove and Southall, public inquiries were held and recommendations were made. How scandalous is it then that no such scrutiny into the deaths of rail passengers, whose only “fault” is crossing the tracks in an effort to reach their train, has ever been held? This is where our money could be usefully spent in exposing the monumental complacency, bordering (in my opinion) on criminality, of Network Rail. A public enquiry might shed light on how much it would really cost to ensure that there were safe crossing places at every station. Until then, we're stuck with the ridiculous estimated of the cost involved given out by Network Rail to disguise their incompetence. Let's have a public enquiry.

Another prime candidate for public inquiry status is the deaths of trainee soldiers at Deep Cut barracks. Briefly, four recruits were found dead at Deepcut between 1995 and 2002. Army investigators said suicide. This is in spite of the fact that one of the soldiers was shot twice in the head (hard to do you'd think?) and another was shot twice in the chest with a shotgun. Yeah, right! This is a classic of its type. The government will not order a public inquiry because it's just possible that a) ministers may be found responsible for a cover-up and b) it could cost lots of money. It's a monumental scandal. Let's have a public inquiry.

While I'm badgering, hectoring mode, let's return (only figuratively) to the Thickthorne roundabout. Roundabout lovers in or near Norwich know this one well. Thickthorne is the most expensive roundabout in English road-building history (I bet I can prove this if tackled – anyone want to bet?). It has gobbled up more money and provided fewer ecstatic driving experiences than any other bit of road engineering in the world. Why can't we have a public inquiry into the waste of money at Thickthorne and, just for fun, throw in the lack of motorway links out of the county of Norfolk. This would be money well spent. Let's have a public inquiry.

Finally, We desperately need to find out where the news footage of coppers charging through a locked door comes from? You know the scenario. News comes on. Item reported about a drug raid/raid on a prostitution ring/Mr Big arrested/God knows what. Film clip shows many large coppers with helmets and visors charging through a door and up a flight of stairs. Come on. You've all seen it. And, the coppers are always immaculately dressed and poised for action. Now. Here's the question. Where do they get the large, metal battering ram that they use to smash the door down? Is there a company that makes these things? If so, what is it called? Rams R Us? Batter My Door Down? Wack-Um & Smack-Um? I want to know. Let's have a public inquiry.

Wheelchairs, Car Parks and PFI's

Monstra mihi pecuniam – motto of the N & N car park.

Big story of the day: hospital car parks are costing patients and visitors lots of money. Some hospitals are making a lot of money from car parking charges. Why?

I have practical experience of this problem. When my father-in-law was ill in the Norfolk & Norwich, it car parking fees were paid to visit him or take him for out-patient appointments. Why? Because, after the hospital moved to its new, purpose-built site, it was no longer possible to avoid the car park charges. There simply is no other place to park, despite the fact that the new hospital is two to three miles from the city centre. The old hospital did provide free parking on the street – if you were willing to look for it and walk for a distance. New hospital – new regime. Everybody pays. There simply is no parking anywhere nearby.

This was brought painfully to my attention when I took the old chap to the Norfolk & Norwich for an out-patient appointment. Into the car park – charges incurred. OK, I was expecting that. Leaving him in the car, I went into the hospital to get a wheelchair. Absolutely essential for a man in his 90's recovering from a hernia operation. Anyone care to quibble?

No wheelchairs appeared to be available. I asked the receptionist where I could get one. I was told to go and look for one. So. I did. No luck. Nice new hospital. No wheelchairs. Call me picky, but I would have thought that in a hospital you might find a few wheelchairs. Seems like essential kit. Not as important as a MRI scanner perhaps but nevertheless essential. Not at the N & N – nice new hospital – no wheelchairs - other than a few old ones they brought from the old hospital.

I went to the ward where the old boy was to be treated. No chairs. No advice. The impression was given (not very subtlety) that it was my problem. I wandered about, racking up car park charges, until eventually I managed to find a chair – way up on a different ward. I felt a bit guilty. Perhaps, the person who was using it only left it to go to the loo? I took it anyway.

Meanwhile, father-in-law had been sitting in the car park in 90 degree heat for about 30 minutes. Now that's what I call customer care - never mind health care. Finally I delivered him to the ward and, with little else to do whilst he was treated, I started chatting to the nurses about the lack of wheelchairs. My point was: why not use some of the money from the car park to purchase more wheelchairs? They were horrified. Firstly, and conspiratorially, they confided to me that the reason they were so short of wheelchairs was (wait for it) people pinch them. I was shocked. Why? It appeared that people, like me for example, who had elderly, immobile relatives to transport home simply wheeled the old folks out to the car, loaded them up, with the hospital's wheelchair, and drove off. Why, said I? No idea said they.

Do you suppose, just for argument's sake, I said, that perhaps they might need a wheelchair when they got home to transport their old-uns from the car to the door? Rather like they needed one to transport from ward to car? Come on, what do you think? My attempt at subtle humour was wasted.

Not to seem completely flummoxed I went home and wrote to the hospital, asking, politely, why they couldn't buy some more (actually many more is what I suggested!) wheelchairs with the car park money. Seemed logical to me. People arrive in cars, pay car park charges, need wheelchairs. Solution, use car park money to buy wheelchairs. OK, not exactly rocket science, I admit it.

Eventually I did get a nice letter back, explaining simply, as if both I and my scheme were a bit simple actually, that the car park was not owned by the hospital but was part of the PFI initiative – for which, as a local community needing a hospital, we should be extremely grateful. The fact that this is complete nonsense seems never to have occurred to them. I leave it up to you.

Money, Money Everywhere

What I find most frustrating is the inability, or unwillingness, of the media to follow a story to its proper conclusion.

In the early 1970's I saw a brilliant news item on TV. Apparently some clever clogs down in London had come up with a superb way of paying no tax or national insurance on their wages. What they did, with their employer's (perhaps his name was Del Boy?) collusion, was take their pay in gold sovereigns. These small coins, with a nominal value of one pound, were, and still are, legal tender in the U.K. So, they took their pay at say two pounds a week – in gold sovereigns. Wages, so low that they were not obliged to pay tax or national insurance. But, of course, the gold sovereign itself was worth a lot more. Just take it to a goldsmiths and exchange it for a large portion of cash. Very neat. Lubbly, jubbly as Del Boy would say.

Perfectly legal as the news item pointed out. And, very clever. Just the sort of human interest story that deserves the occasional outing on the news. Problem was - that was the last I ever heard of it! These were, of course, the days long before the Internet and easy research tools. Although I can't prove it, I believe the government stepped in (somehow) to stop this clever scam before the whole nation went back on the gold standard and no-one paid any tax! The media were, and still are, silent on this subject.

Point is – it's happening all over again. Remember the 54 million the crooks walked off with from the Kent storage depot? Well, surprisingly, the story has disappeared! It was exactly a month ago that I wrote about the efforts of the police to bag the crooks who had nabbed a large sum and then left lots of it laying about. Found some in Kent. Found some in Bexleyheath. Found some in Croydon (my favourite)! Woman walks into a building society branch and tries to deposit five thou still wrapped in the paper bands it had on when the robbers lifted it. A few people have been taken into custody in this case. Mostly on suspicion of handling stolen goods. Some 20 odd million is still missing.

What is the media doing? Not much. Today they finally, after a month of silence, reported another arrest. Another small fry apparently. In the intervening month – nothing – the story has just disappeared. If someone could explain this to me, I'd be very grateful.

Vanishing Vistas

Monstra mihi pecuniam – this should be the Microsoft motto!

According to newspaper reports, Microsoft will not release the latest version of its new Windows operating system until January 2007, after previously saying it hoped to release the software later this year. Windows Vista is Microsoft's first major update of its flagship operating system since Windows XP was released in late 2001.

Let's be fair. Bill Gates is not an easy person to warm to. He does not come across as a personable chap. Mostly, I suspect, because he has more money than a Middle Eastern oil sheik. And, people being as they are, it's more comforting to imagine that he is heartless, miserly, arm-twisting pilloch. However, how he came by all this loot is actually quite an interesting story. Back in the early 70's he was a nerd. A big nerd. A seriously big nerd. Maybe he's better now? Serious wealth may improve people. I'm ready to volunteer for an experiment to test this. Call me. Any time! I digress. Bill, whilst still at school - and later at university – dabbled in the computer business – writing programs for early computers and honing his skills in the business world. He has been monumentally successful. That much is not in doubt.

Not a lot of people know this (as Michael Caine might say) – but the foundation of his “empire” came about almost by accident. Way back in the 70's, IBM made just about the first PC, and they were not at all sure what to do with it. So, as the apocryphal story goes, Bill convinced them to let him write the DOS (disk operating system) for the first IBM PC's. His real genius was in realising that other manufacturers would need a DOS as well, and he already had one. By hook or crook he managed to convince IBM that the DOS he wrote for them (PC-DOS) didn't really belong to them. Nice one, Bill. Therefore, he could legitimately sell it (MS-DOS) to others. And he did. By the bucketful! Soon Microsoft branched out into commercial application software like Microsoft Word 1. Yes, that's Word 1 – and I remember it. Also Windows version 1.1 – it was revolutionary. It was also a long, long time ago.

Bill has made Microsoft one of he best known and most successful companies ever. He must have done, and still be doing something right. Vast numbers of PC's use Microsoft operating systems. And they all pay. Most people have some Microsoft application software as well – and, being honest citizens, they pay for that as well. As computer hardware comes down in price, the software still costs (by comparison) a lot. Some many hundreds of pounds flows into the Microsoft coffers per computer and, wait for it, most of it is unnecessary. There are lots of alternatives and they are mostly free.

I admit this may seem strange. Why would anyone wish to produce software for free? I suspect most of these people are real serious geeks, but so what? Geeks have rights too! Fact is they write software for nothing – and most of it is much better than Microsoft's – and (here comes the key point) much safer. Because most of the world is locked into Microsoft software, the hackers and virus-makers only write stuff to infiltrate MS products. Choose an open source alternative and you have a much better chance of being missed off the hackers' target list.

Leaving aside the operating system alternatives like Linux, you can still find excellent software that works in Windows and costs nothing. All you have to do is look and do a bit of downloading. So, why don't more people or (this is more to the point) companies use open source software? They could save lots. I mean millions! What about schools, hospitals and government departments? Millions to be saved, and it's all our money. Prejudice or stupidity – all the other possible explanations have to with sinister conspiracy theories. Let's not go there.

Instead, just log on to http://www.msboycott.com/thealt/and http://osswin.sourceforge.net/ and see what's on offer. You might be surprised and, after all, Bill can afford to lose a few customers. The big boys will, no doubt, continue to use Microsoft products so they can pass the costs on to the consumer and “feel” they must have a superior product for no other reason than they paid for it. There's naught queerer than folk.

Everybody Talks – Nobody Does

Monstra mihi pecuniam

Probably the most enduring of all quotations regarding what should be nothing more or less than a meteorological phenomenon is: Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it. Charles D. Warner

In England this is invariably true. English people talk incessantly about the weather – mostly incorrectly. In England there is no weather really. What there is is climate. Despite the fact that we are inundated with statistics “proving” that we are at the mercy of global warming or the imminent (and humongously disastrous) shut-down of the Gulf Stream, the average Briton can barely remember a time when the weather was more “average” and boringly predictable. It was only last autumn when the various “forecasters” were queuing up to predict the worst winter in living memory. Conveniently, they no longer seem to be available for interview.

What is slightly worrying is the noticeable variation in climate and the consequent lack of rainfall. Statistically it has been dry. Very dry. Three of the largest water companies in Southern England announced their plans to deal with this dry interlude only this week. It's hosepipe ban time. “The companies are imposing the restrictions after a prolonged period of below-average rainfall which has left groundwater sources depleted,” informs the Telegraph. This is the next “big thing”. There will be no hoses for washing your car or watering your plants! You have been warned.

Strangely enough I remember fondly the last great drought. It was 1976. A blazing summer with high pressure ensconced over the North Sea from May until October, effectively blocking any weather systems from reaching us. I remember it so well because I was the idiot who laid new turf in my front garden in late April. Turned an interesting shade of off-white before it died completely about mid-July – despite the fact that I spent most of the summer lugging bath water (used) out front in a vain effort to save it. Waste of time – either we didn't take enough baths or there was just not enough water. For the record that was, now, 30 years ago.

Having failed miserably to convince us that their will be ice-bergs in the Thames this year, the media (particularly the newspapers - who have a lot of column inches to fill every day) have wound themselves up for one of their favourite “tizzies” – predicting impending doom.

Our friends at the Telegraph blithely announce that:

“The Environment Agency and eight South East water companies will unveil a website - beatthedrought.com - which advises people how they can conserve water in the face of shortages.

The new website encourages people to take simple steps such as repairing leaking taps and turning off the tap while brushing their teeth to cut the amount of water they use.”

This is really interesting stuff! You have to turn the water off when you are brushing your teeth. You have to put a brick or two in your toilet. No, no, stop laughing! A building brick or two placed in the cistern will displace an equivalent amount of water and save a bundle. Apparently. Remember your Archimedes? Shower instead of bathe. Saves a lot of water. Shower with a friend – no, sorry, I made that one up – but you get the idea.

If Britain should run out of water – then I might have to agree that there is something seriously amiss. After all, this is the home of wet, drizzly, damp, mingy, crappy weather. Honest. Always has been. I'm sure that's why the Romans left. Just too damn cold and wet. And, no-one had invented pizza yet either.

The Great 70 Hi Cattle Round-Up

I am genuinely fond of Bill Bryson - as a writer of course, though I imagine him to be a very entertaining person in real life. And, he's a neighbour of mine. He lives, now-a-days, in Wymondham, Norfolk – about 20 miles from here. Being a successful writer he can live fairly well where he likes. The boy from Des Moines must like England because he chooses to live here instead of Iowa. Not a difficult choice if you've ever been to Iowa. In any event I had the good fortune to re-read his account of hiking along the Appalachian Trail, A Walk in the Woods, recently and it was as entertaining as it was years ago. I particularly liked his account of a visit to Waynesboro. He and his walking companion, Katz, managed to make it as far as this outpost of civilisation and Bill went off to find a K-Mart – in order to replenish their meagre hiking supplies. No car. They had only just left the trail. So, there's Bill merrily dodging cars, climbing fences, dragging himself through undergrowth and sloshing through streams in order to reach the promised land of cheap consumer shopping. It's very funny. Being Bill Bryson of course, he's really trying to make a point about the Great American Shopper, and he does it very well and very entertainingly. Get the book and read it – you'll laugh a lot and learn some interesting things about America at the same time.

What really struck a chord with me was his description of rampaging through the undergrowth quite close to a major highway and not being noticed by all and sundry. I've been there. And, I'll tell you how and when.

More than 40 years ago I went to work. I became the greatest hamburger cook in America - which, for all intents and purposes, is the world when it comes to cooking hamburgers. When I say cooking hamburgers, I mean really cooking hamburgers – not the ubiquitous Big Mac way – but the old-fashioned, really-cooking way. 70 Hi Drive-In restaurant was a great place. At the age of 16 you really felt that you were responsible for something. Even hamburgers are something.

During the slower months of October, November, December and January the work rota was one night on and one night off. When I was off, Ronnie was on. Out front was Betty – taking the orders, making the drinks, etc. In charge was the owner, Sam – but he usually went home about 6 leaving Betty in charge, ably assisted by Ronnie or me. It might be a bit busy from 5 til 8 – but then fairly quiet until closing at 11. Some evenings when I had nothing much to do except homework, I might check out 70 Hi and have a chat with Ronnie or a free hamburger and Dr Pepper.

One fine evening in early October I propitiously decided to walk up to 70 Hi and see how the workers were getting on. Up the road, almost as if they were following me, came two very large, very healthy and very stupid steers. Aberdeen Angus steers. I ran on to 70 Hi and told Betty and Ronnie what was going on outside. Betty was marginally impressed. Ronnie was ecstatic. Like a man possessed. There were no customers at 70 Hi at that precise moment. While we were speculating on how these valuable animals happened to be slowly meandering up a fairly busy road in the gathering dusk, a man in a battered pick-up truck swung into the car park and enlisted our support in catching the beasts. At first I thought he was the owner of these cows, but no. He merely wanted to catch them and a) claim a substantial reward from the grateful farmer; or b) sell them for beaucoup bucks! Would we help for a share? Do lions eat meat? I said yes. Ronnie said yes.

“Wait a minute,” says I. “Ronnie you are supposed to be working at 70 Hi – you better get back in there before any orders for hamburgers come in and Betty comes looking for you!”

“Naw,naw - come on! We can catch the cows in a minute and she'll never miss me.”

I was not convinced – but I was also not my fellow worker's keeper. Off we three prospective cattle drovers went. Lacking experience in herding cattle all we succeeded in doing was scaring the steers into a mini-stampede into the undergrowth. We followed. Ronnie should have returned to work. He didn't.

South of 70 Hi for at least a mile there was nothing except a primitive building site that would one day be Interstate 70. At that early stage in construction it consisted of some heavy machinery strewn about and some stakes and tape in the wilderness. I remembered that there was a small creek at the bottom of the hill. It got dark. Very dark, very quickly. We followed the cows, mostly we followed the sound of them crashing through the undergrowth. Ronnie ran full pelt into a barbed wire fence. Good thing he had a thick jacket on or it would have cut him to pieces. Ronnie fell in the creek. I got my feet wet. Our companion swore a lot. Eventually we cornered the offending critters near Wild Woody's. Wild Woody's was the original bargain basement – sort of a poor man's K-Mart.

With no rope to tie them up we were somewhat scuppered. To our rescue came a friendly Wild Woody's security guard who allowed us to corral the steers in a part of their car park - surrounded by a high chain link fence. We were profoundly happy. Ronnie suddenly remembered 70 Hi.

We walked back. I wanted to see what would happen. Like a moth to a flame I couldn't resist, even though I was in the clear, I somehow felt responsible. I should have stopped Ronnie from being so irresponsible. Anyway, I wanted to see Betty kill him in case I was called upon to give evidence at her trial. I was fairly sure she would get off – justifiable homicide.

We must have been gone for at least an hour, maybe more. It was unlikely that there had been no customers during that time. Unlikely, but possible. Clutching at straws. Ronnie was good at that. I'll never forget the look on Betty's face when we sloped in the back door. I don't think that I have ever seen anyone so angry. Customers were seemingly everywhere. Things were cooking (loosely) on the grill, Betty was running between the back and the front, french fries were merrily burning in the deep fat fryer, half prepared burgers of all sizes, shapes and descriptions lay everywhere: it was painful to watch. She did not say a thing. I pitched in to help Ronnie make some order from the chaos. I was sure Ronnie would be fired, possibly me as well. In the circumstances Betty must have called Sam and we expected him to walk in at any moment. He never turned up. Betty had (somehow) kept stumm. It was (and still is) inexplicable. After half an hour, Ronnie tried talking to her, but she just glared at him so he shut up. I went home.

Next day must have been a Saturday for I met Ronnie in the morning and we raced to Wild Woody's to inspect our livestock. They were gone. No sign of them. Too late we remembered that we were just fairly stupid kids. We had forgotten to take the name of the friendly, foul-mouthed pick-up driver. We neglected to ask the security guard his name. Needless to say, we did not get a receipt for two items of expensive lost fauna. Everyone we asked at Woody's looked at us like we were demented.

We went home. No-body got fired. Thanks Betty – you deserved better.

I hope somebody choked on those steaks. Hopefully it was a security guard and a pick-up driver. Don't think there was mad cow disease then, but one can hope.