Doomed

As Frazier from Dad's Army Would Say, “We're Doomed”

My assessment of the 2011 Chiefs chances focussed on the QB, the offence in general and the defense's ability to chip in.

They have all gone to hell in an handcart.

Two demoralizing losses to what are perceived as average teams have highlighted the inadequacies in both the performances and the planning.

Remember: I commended the Chiefs for drafting a top receiver. He has not been seen so far in somewhat suspicious circumstances. Baldwin appear to be Baldlost.

Remember: I predicted that as Matt Cassell goes, so go the Chiefs. He has only gone to the toilet so far and has found it as difficult finding an empty cubicle as finding an open receiver.

Remember: I reminded all that if you can run the football you can win a lot of games. The Chiefs promptly lost Jamal Charles to an ever-lengthening injury list and have no real replacement in line.

Remember: I predicted that with an adequate defence a cracker-jack offense could make up the difference. 80 odd points have been conceded in two games.

Is the season over?

Yes, probably.

With San Diego coming up on Sunday, the prospect of 0-3 looms large.

It would take a miracle to win out on the coast.

If a week's a long time in politics – it must seem an eternity to the Chief's players, coach and management as they try to prepare for what could be a ritual slaughter.

Has Todd Haley had it?

Maybe, but unlikely. He shoulders some of the blame, but the real tragedy is that the steady progression plan ( ala Pioli) appears shot.

It's going to be a long season.

Hope Springs Eternal for Chiefs

Play offs or Goof Offs

It's now more than 40 years since the Chiefs Super Bowl win.

Could this be time to do it again? Is there ever a bad time!!

Reality check – The tribe won last year's AFL west title mostly because everyone else was worst than they were. Tough – but true. They finished 10-6 (coming off a 4-12 season) and lost their first play-off game since pigs stopped flying. Not exactly cause for organising a premature Super Bowl party!

But, things are looking up.

It appears the management have a plan and are sticking to it.

The Chiefs will run the ball and that's generally how you win football games. They drafted a top receiver in the first round and this will finally give Matt Cassel some weapons on offence. The defence look ok and this is the worry.

With an average offence and cracker-jack defence you can win a Super Bowl. The other way around and you'd have to get lucky.

So, as this year's defence goes, so go the Chiefs chances of a deep run into the play-offs of a shot at the big one.

How are they shaping up?

Coaches are expecting a second and third year burst from many players, particularly on defence. The secondary looks strong – very strong at the corners and safety. This is essential. The D-line is less secure and will have to play big to bring results. Chiefs have moved to strengthen the line in free agency. Good move.

Line backers are a worry. Almost to a man they are still learning the 3-4 and how they improve this season will probably decide how the Chiefs progress.

Then we have QB. This is the season for Matt Cassel to join the the premier league of quarterbacks. If he does then the Tomahawkers are sitting pretty – if not the tomahawks may be out for his scalp!

In the end, as Cassel goes, so goes the Chiefs!

Retirement

49 Years, Some Days and a Wake Up

You may have read my Grandad's diary. I put it on-line some time ago. ( http://www.beltoncricket.co.uk/Downloads/fletch.html ). The most frustrating part of the transcription is the technical terms he uses which must be specific to the cloth trade. It's often difficult to make out what he's talking about. He didn't have the internet, but I do - so I'm determined not to make the same mistake.

We are popularly told that this present generation will have far less job security and will have to work until they drop because the pension system is so screwed up (many thanks Bankers!).

This may be so, and if it is, I'm truly sorry; but I've done my bit, and I retire in a very short time without any compunction.

As part of the process, I decided to note all the different jobs I have had and briefly describe the how, why and where.

This may be a salutatory message for the generation to come, or the last ravings of an overworked retiree and loon.

Here goes.

I started working on the old man's milk route when I was about 11. That would be in about 1957. I know this because by then I was old enough to be of some use and stupid enough to think it was a kind of treat to be able to help on the milk route. In a very short time, I was dissuaded from both innocent ideas.

A milk route is really quite hard work. You start early. In the early days, I only helped on Saturdays (it was a six day operation) and gradually this expanded to working also during the school vacations. It worked like this: you went to Myers Dairy on Dodgion (I have a photo which clearly shows the old loading dock) and after the Old Man messed about filing out paper work and getting the order organised you loaded up the truck with the day's dairy goods and set off. In a day you travelled at least 100 miles – stopping and starting and knocking on doors with milk in your hands. The OM was famous for quipping (after you had left the truck and taken a few steps) - “watch out for a dog up there”. I was bit once and nearly was more than a few times.

Early routes included Ruskin Heights in South KC where a tornado smashed through on 20 May 1957. OM and I were among the first to see the damage as we were allowed in to deliver milk supplies. I also distinctly remember seeing the swath of damage on South Noland Road (south of 40 Hi-Way) where the same tornado cut a passage through trees either side of the road. This bare swatch was visible for many years afterwards.

I'm sure I couldn't count this as paid work for Social Security purposes, but the old man would buy you a cup of coffee and a sweet roll and sometimes, particularly when I got older, give you 50 cents for helping. Getting older was a two pronged fork. You always got the 50 cents but you also had to do six days a week in the summer. It's not easy getting up at 4:30 when you are barely a teenager.

My next foray into work was doing my cousins paper round for two weeks whilst he was on vacation. I'm not really counting that.

The best way out of this (I figured) was to get a real job, so the day I turned 16 I both passed my driving test and went to work as a fry cook at 70 Hi Drive-In on 39^th and Noland Road, Independence, Missouri. We were living on 39^th street terrace at the time. I could walk to work. We worked a shift system - Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday evenings (maybe 5 till 11) one week and Tuesday, Thursday Saturday nights in the next week. Or, did we do lunchtimes at the weekend? I think maybe we did and the system was more complicated that I have described. Sorry, it was a long time ago.

Sam Lerner was the owner and I was paid the princely sum of 75 cents an hour. After training in the gentle art of cooking hamburgers I got 90 cents an hour. The first week I worked I made $18.75. I remember that because I had to use the money to buy some new trousers for school. We really were quite poor. Over the years most of the people I knew as close friends ended up working for Sam. Larry Stoner was my bun boy for a while. I taught Bosco Cox how to cook hamburgers.

Sam was an old man then and now must be long dead, but he was a first class boss and a first class human being. He gave us “kids” real responsibility and thought nothing of going away for the weekend ( his passion was horse racing – for which you had to go to Omaha, Nebraska to indulge in )and leaving me more or less in charge when I was barely 17. He taught me a lot about the world of work. He taught me a lot about growing up.

We moved to 28 Berry Lane and Bobby Lawless lived a short walk away. The OM was in his racing stage and so I was in it too. Bobby was quite successful in ¼ midgets, and I won lots of trophies in my go-cart. Bobby and I hand-built a motorcycle and rode it around the neighbourhood. It was hairy. It had no throttle so he would sit front and steer and I would give it the gas with a cable direct to the carb whilst riding pillion. We didn't kill ourselves, but I don't know how.

Anyway, Bobby worked at the Kansas City Booth Manufacturing Co ( http://www.kcbooth.com/ ) - they are still in business! He got me a job there, but I can't remember the chronology? It was an education! It must have just been for the summer cause I wasn't there long. I think I'd have been about 17 or 18 and must have left 70 Hi (at least temporarily).

Anyway, the KC Booth Manufacturing Co was in North KC and was populated by a crew of Mexicans who did the real work. There is quite a large Latino population in KC and they must all have relatives who worked at KC Booth. I swept the floor and generally tidied up. They did all the skilled jobs. They made beautiful booths for posh restaurants and the quality was superb. They also taught me Spanish – of a sort. Mostly how to swear. It was an education.

I was 18 and at Central Missouri State Residence Center in Independence – right behind the Harry Truman Library. I had no money. I had to borrow some from my Grandad and Aunt Jane to get started. Borrowing money from my Grandad is one of the supreme accomplishments of my life. I temporarily had no job.

My sister, Ruthanne was waitressing at an Italian Restaurant on 71 Bypass just south of 39^th, or it could have been further north? She got me a job as the dishwasher. I joined the Honorable Company of Pearl Divers. Washing dishes in the Italian Restaurant may be the worst job I ever had. What my sister didn't tell me was that there was no dishwasher at lunch-times. So, when I got there at (say) 5 p.m. all the dishes from lunch were waiting for me. It took two hours to catch up – just in time for the evening's dishes to arrive. Trying to remove caked-on Italian sauces from a large pot requires a hammer and chisel. I kid you not. At one stage I thought that Tootie did this to me on purpose, but that was being uncharitable.

I was there only for a few months when I made it up with Sam and returned to 70 Hi. I had only left because I wanted a raise to $1.25 an hour and he wouldn't agree. He let it be known that I could come back and have the raise. I took it. Gladly.

Eventually, I ran out of money good and proper – as in stony broke – as in no pot to pee in and no window to throw it out of. I'd exhausted all the available avenues and had to drop out of school and get a real job. By real, I mean 40-ish hours a week and wages that put you in the paying income tax bracket. I went to work for 7 Eleven. My first and last foray into the retail trade.

I knew soon I was not cut out for it, but I needed the money and it was steady work. Not withstanding getting robbed - (http://malkauffman.blogspot.com/2011/06/raytown-bulls.html ) - it wasn't all that bad. Fortunately for us humans - as the years fade we forget lots of the bad things and only remember the good. It was boring and dealing with the public is a pain in the bum.

Whilst waiting to get drafted, my sister Ruthanne and her husband Alan managed to get me on at the Western Electric factory in Lee's Summit, Missouri ( http://www.thinkkc.com/sitelocation/realestate/section/summittechcampus.php ). I did the night shift ( 15:00 to 23:30) and like all factories it was boring but it paid reasonably well. I was back to sweeping up with a little light production work as well. I stayed there until I got drafted, St Valentine's Day 1968, and I returned there after I completed my time in the U.S. Army.

I suppose the United States Army qualifies as a job, but it sure didn't feel like one. A whole blog should be devoted to my time serving Uncle Sam. Mayhaps I will get back to this one day, but not now – it would simply take too long and take up too much space. I will say this – I did have some interesting experiences and met some very interesting people.

Returning to civilian life also meant a return to Western Electric. Even though the country was going through a mini-recession they had to take me back. It's part of how the government looks after its veterans. So, I spent a week on days more or less doing nothing and then they found a spot for me in the packing department. Obviously, if you make things they have to be packaged up and sent somewhere before they can be used. We packed. We packed everything that was made in the factory and sent it places. I was back on the night shift (good thing because I had resumed my glittering academic career at CMSU) and the packing department was no picnic. First thing at 3 o'clock I had to move all the packing stuff from one side of the bench to the other – to accommodate my left-handed outlook on work. Many times I was told that I could not do a particular job at Western Electric because of my left-handedness. I ignored them and after a few minutes studying the task, re-arranged the work space and got on with it. It was tedious work and my work mates were uninspiring. I can't think that I made anything like a friend among fellow workers in the packing department.

I wasn't there for long. I got moved to transistors and back to the designation “floor hand”. Glorified cleaner and odd-job person is what it was. We arrived. We got our floor sweepers. No brooms – too much dust would be whipped up. We wandered about for two or three hours sweeping and chatting to the ladies who did the actual work. We killed time. We did some production work on the “dirty room”. Some manufacturing processes produced dust and grime so an enclosed space within the department housed the “dirty” processes, even to the extent that the air pressure was lower inside so when the door opened the air came in – not out. I worked with Danny Ray Grimm, what a character. Danny Ray was once was arrested for drink driving whilst sitting amidst a pile of empty beer cans that completely obscured the floor of the car he was driving at the time! He, somehow, talked his way of that one! He was a character. He used to come by my house on South Lynn and we would ride motorcycles to work in the summer. He had a Honda 400 cc and my 350 cc Yamaha would really shift!

I worked at Western Electric all the time I was at Warrensburgh finishing my degree. So, I got up early, drove 50 odd miles to Warrensburgh, went to class, drove 50 odd miles to Lees Summit, worked until midnight and drove 10 miles home. Easy when you are in your 20's. Wouldn't want to try it today. I used to “hide” in the dirty room and do my required reading.

Summer of 1974 we moved to England. Even though I was on a visitor's visa at the time, I went to the labour exchange and got a job at Klingers Gasket Factory in Foots Cray. Their headquarters are now in Bradford, and the Foots Cray site seems not to be in existence any more. This was quite an introduction to the world of work in England.

First of all this was pre-Maggie Thatcher; therefore, everyone had a job. Well, everyone went into a place of work, even if they didn't do much of a job when they got there. That was definitely the system at Klingers. We had breakfast in the subsidised staff canteen. We did a bit (actually it was quite like the Western Electric packing department – we had a trolley and we went and found the gasket material for the order then we packed it up for shipment).

We had a long lunch. We did next to nothing after lunch. Jimmy and Taffy, my work-mates were big into horse-racing so they had fixed up a rest area, made out of old packing crates, complete with tea pot and radio. My job, being young and fit, was to take the bets to the bookies.

Good thing was the number 52 bus ran almost to the factory door from Welling and it was convenient to get to work. It was certainly an eye-opener! Meanwhile I was trying to get my first job in teaching.

I had already figured out that the best weather in England is in East Anglia. It's the warmest and driest part of the country – statistically speaking.

So, when I saw an advert for a job near Gt. Yarmouth, I applied, and I got it. I started my teaching career at Duncan Hall and was there for 12 years. I learned was humility among many other things.

There was a little lad named Toby – only about six. One day as they lined up for afternoon lessons he looked up at me and said, “I like you Mr Kauffman.” I was about to say something appreciative when he continued, “Mind you, a lot of people don't.” A real definition of deflation.

One of my ex-pupils works at Roys of Wroxham and I see him often. Occasionally, I hear news of one or other “Old Boys” and it never fails to make it all seem worthwhile.

While I was there as a struggling, ill-paid teacher, I always had a job in the summer holidays. I scrubbed toilets and took care of the swimming pool at a Caister holiday camp. I delivered papers for Menzies, the wholesale newsagents. I refuelled helicopters and checked bags at North Denes airfield.

In order to make ends meet, I cycled from Winterton to Yarmouth every morning at about four to do the papers. I drove the van and Jimmy worked in the back sorting out the bundles. Jimmy had been a prisoner of the Japanese during the war and really hated them. Even in the 1970's if he saw an oriental-looking person he would go mental.

I'm glad I was young when I had to cycle miles to work for about £10 a week. I'd hate to try it now! I was delivering papers when they tracked me down to attend the birth of son number two.

Duncan Hall closed in 1986 and I was temporarily unemployed. I did some supply teaching at Feltwell. Uncle Sam had a High School there for children of Air Force personnel at Lakenheath and Mildenhall. I needed a steady income and a return to teaching, but I found myself, instead, working as a security guard for Dardan Security at the gas terminal near Bacton, Norfolk. It was local, and it was steady work - if uninspiring. Night shifts were interminable. I was only there a few months when an opportunity came up at Finborough School near Stowmarket. I knew many of the teachers there from my time at Duncan Hall and was appointed third in the English Department with a little Science teaching thrown in for fun.

I was at Finborough from 1987 until I took early retirement in 2004. I did my best work at Finborough. There developed over the years an excellent staff, and I made some friends who will stay with me until we are all too old to care!

After some lazing about I got a job on the “bank staff” register at the Norfolk County Council. My first appointment was to edit the gibberish produced by a Social Worker who insisted she was severely dyslexic. She couldn't write for toffee and that's a fact. So, I would take her notes and bits of paper and produce statements for the courts. Some of them were just sad, as when grandparents (who just happened to be heroin addicts) wanted access to their grand children. Others were hair-raising, involving some shocking cases of child abuse here in tranquil Norfolk. It was an education. I did some work for the careers service in Yarmouth, mostly creating a database of service users and amenable local companies who might employ them to improve their chances of getting a real job. All in all it was very part-time and not very lucrative.

I saw an advert in the Eastern Daily Press. It looked interesting, so I logged on to the NHS web site and applied for the job of Housekeeper at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital. Next thing you know I got an interview and – sure enough – I got the job. I was just over two years from retirement.

Working in a hospital is really interesting. Especially on the Acute Medical Unit. People die at a steady rate, pretty much one or two a week – sometimes a day! I gained a new and enthusiastic appreciation for the work of the nurses. The doctors are good, but generally they live in a world of their own and often seem either lost or just about to be lost. The ancillary staff without a doubt are excellent.

At the N&N there are some superb people who will look after me when I am so aged that it becomes my final stop-over before the grave. There are a lot of worse places to end your days.

Unfortunately, that's where most oldies in Norfolk go to die. The scenario: GP is called out to oldies house and, despite knowing that they are coming to the end of their life, feels Hypocratically bound to call an ambulance and have them taken to AMU. They are put in a bed and kept comfortable but they will not leave the hospital except to go the the morgue. Far better to die at home. Unfortunately, in this litigious society the doctors don't have much choice. They should, perhaps, say to the relatives that Granny is dying so just let her die in peace at home. But, they daren't.

So that's it. Nearly 50 years of work. No wonder I'm tired sometimes.

Defining Characteristic

Why we are what we are.

Endless learned literature, endless speculation, endless theories attempt to define the human condition. We are, rightly, fascinated by who we are, how we got here and where are we going.

We see ourselves as special in so many ways. To the religious we are God's chosen. To the secular we are the pinnacle of a vast web of genetic mutations which, without pre-ordained purpose, lead eventually to us.

Whichever is your view, we can agree that we are unique. Well, almost. Elephants have great memories and appear to grieve when another elephant dies. Dolphins famously once said, “Goodbye and thanks for all the fish.” (Douglas Adams – Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). Very human indeed. Chimps can plan an attack and work out that only co-operation between individuals will bring success. This is one, but not the most important one of being human.

I often illustrated the defining human characteristic to children by using lions as a prompt. We have all seen wildlife programmes and are intrigued by how lions will work together to bring down their prey. This is very human-like. They have a plan – though it does not involve much communication between pride members - mostly instinct. We seldom focus on the poor gazelles.

They graze, head down. They look up to see where danger lies. Nature has provided them with excellent vision at spotting moving lions. In the long grass and still (and down wind) the lions creep closer and closer.

Eventually the lions charge. All the gazelles run and run very fast. One lion trips a gazelle and it's down. A quick bite to the throat and it's dinner time for lions. Darwin's survival of the fittest in action.

What about the other gazelles? Do they stop to see what has happened? Do they remonstrate with each other at their compadre's ill-fortune? Does one gazelle cry, “Ouch, that's gotta hurt!”

No.

They are unable to summon up that most defining of human qualities – empathy.

We are able to put ourselves in other's shoes and imagine what they feel like. We can vicariously live the life of a lion or a gazelle or another human being and learn. No other creature can do this.

This is our greatest strength. The gazelles are much faster. The lions are much stronger, but we overcome them by empathising with each other, feeling each other's pain, imagining each other's suffering and co-operating with each other to defeat the much stronger foe. We alone can do this.

It is when we lose this ability – either through illness, stress or pain that we are most vulnerable. We can no longer see the “bit picture”. We are unable to plan effectively to overcome our difficulties. We are at the mercy of what Freud called the Id – the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends that in times of stress can override our rational thought processes. The Id may save us when confronted with a hungry lion, but is no help in a modern society with it's pressures that nature hasn't prepared us for.

For that, we have to nurture and regain our sense of empathy.

Raytown Bulls

Magic days when you are young and stupid!

I have been remiss. I thought I had made a good effort to recount most of the really interesting things that happened to me in the early years. I did not. I forgot about the Raytown Bulls. How could I do that?

Having spend many years as a fry cook at 70 Hi Drive-In, I found myself out of money and with little prospect of being able to carry on at Central Missouri State. I needed a job. And, a job that actually paid full-time wages.

Therefore, I went to work for the Southland Corp – 7 Eleven to you and I.

I soon learned that I was not actually cut out for the retail trade. A valuable lesson, since I have never tried it since, and I'm now retirement age.

Nevertheless I did my best and increased my income dramatically. After training and whilst waiting for a full-time permanent job at a store, I did some shifts all over as relief for folks who were on vacation or sick or whatever. That's how I came to be at the 7 Eleven at 87^th and Raytown Road.

Raytown is a really interesting place. It's sort of south of Independence and north of Lee's Summit and east of Kansas City. Although surrounded by these other conurbations, Raytown is a entity in itself with its own government, fire and police service: rather like a boil on your bum – it's just there.

The 7 Eleven at 87^th and Raytown Road was a small one and not very busy. I was down for the afternoon and evening shift, as I recall, from about 3 till 11 – closing time. When I got there, I met the manager, who was there on his own (I told you it wasn't very busy), and he showed me around, though almost all 7 Eleven's are exactly the same. Before he left he gave me his home phone in case I needed anything – a fact which will become important later. I settled into the evening shift, waiting on customers and re-stocking as required.

7 Eleven are big on security. Every 7 Eleven has a safe. It's one of those hole in the floor safes in two parts. There is the main part, which you open with the combination and a slot at the side which you can push bills down into the bottom. The manager told me I did not need the combination to the safe as I would only put money in when required. Company policy was not to keep cash in any quantity in the cash register (till to British readers) but to push it periodically down the slot and into the bottom of the safe where it could only be retrieved with the combination. Sound procedure. But, in this case, one that caused me some difficulties.

Getting close to closing time and there was no-one about, so I decided to grab a few extra minutes and lock the doors early – only about 3 minutes - lest they try to track me down after all these years and claim back the 20 cents they might think I owe them. After I locked the doors, I went into the cold store to stock up the Coke and milk for the morning. The manager would be impressed!

From the inside of the cold store I heard a knocking, so (very stupidly) I came out to investigate. Someone was knocking on the door. I went to the door. A guy was standing outside coughing into his handkerchief. Through the cough he asked if I had change for five dollars. Very, very stupidly I opened the door to explain that all the money was locked up in the safe. Bad move.

He produced a gun (looked like a .38 from where I was standing) and told me to get down on the floor. I did.

He told me to crawl to the middle of the store and behind the serving station, where the safe and cash register were located. I did.

He told me to take my shirt off ( a rather swank little number complete with 7 Eleven badge) – this will become important later.

Whilst I was lying on the floor face down I could see little of what he was up to. Eventually the subject of the safe came up, as in “open the safe”. I distinctly remember saying, “I know you're not going to believe this, but I don't know the combination”. And, I explained why.

Thinking fast, I said that I could phone the manager and ask him if he would give me the combination. We went to the phone (pay phone) and dialled the number – then he sensed that this was not going to work and told me to hang up. Back we went to the serving station. Back on the floor, face down. He found the money order machine which was attached to the counter by a wire. He undid the wire and used it to loosely tie my hands behind my back. He took a roll of nickels from the till, a whole 5 dollars worth of five cent pieces – that's all the money that was left in there. He took my wallet – maybe a couple of bucks. He picked up what he thought were money orders (money orders are like postal orders) and, after admonishing me not to move for five minutes, he left with the money order machine and the money order receipts and my five dollars.

I stayed still for maybe a minute as I had heard the door close and could see no reason why he would try to trick me (how trusting are the young)!!

It took me about 10 seconds to get rid of the wire around my wrists. I got up. He was gone. I went to the phone to ring the police. I was lucky, somehow he had left a dime in the till. I simply said that the 7 Eleven at 87^th and Raytown Road has been robbed – come quick.

Now, the Raytown Bulls were not, and for all I know, are not known for their subtle arts of persuasion. I decided that the best place to be when they arrived would be outside in plain view. I went to the cooler and got a Dr Pepper. I went outside and stood leaning on the outside Coke machine in front of the store. I distinctly heard the Bull's sirens in the distance.

I looked up and my assailant appeared from around the side of the building. He said something like, “You called the cops!”

I said, “No, no – I called the manager and I don't know what he did” (sound of sirens in the distance).

He shouted, “Get back in the store!” I needed little persuasion.

Back I went on the floor and behind the counter. I noticed that he had put on my 7 Eleven shirt. ( I believe that what really happened was that after he left he realised that he had only the money order receipts – not worth a jot – and a $5 roll of nickels and decided – very stupidly to come back and have another go at the safe. )

The scene: I'm in my T-shirt and lying on the floor – he's standing by the till with my 7 Eleven shirt on. The bulls came charging in – I could hear them.

First cop shouts, “Which way did he go?”

Crook replies, “That way!” And he points.

Cop leaves.

I'm dumbfounded – but realise that he's got my shirt on and I'm not visible from where the cop was.

I stay put.

Eventually another cop arrives and is not so easily put off. I can see a bit of what transpires by lifting my head slightly and turning my head very slightly. The cop ( confused as only flat-foots can be ) keeps coming forward questioning the crook. As they draw even Crook grabs the cop and tries to get cop's gun from its holster.

Ever wonder why the cops have those straps on their holsters? This is why. Crook had the cop by the neck trying to get the gun from the holster which is strapped down. Cop is still as the crook still has his own gun at the cops's neck. More bulls arrive. There is a scuffle ( out of my sight ) and noise. I hear the door open and close. I stay still. Seemed a damn good idea to me.

Some time passes. I stay put.

Curiosity overcomes me. I get up and look. A cop shouts at me, “Get down and put your hands behind your back!” I do.

He cuffs me. I protest.

“I'm the guy who called you, I work here!”

Though not entirely convinced he lets me up and removes the cuffs. Another cop arrives and informs me that they saw me but thought that I was dead! Magic.

I go outside where the bulls are cuffing the bad guy and sticking him in the back of a Raytown police car.

I'm relieved.

Off they go leaving me behind. No such thing as crisis counselling in those days. I go home and recount my adventures to all and sundry. I'm probably in shock but am too stupid to realise.

I remember that the crook has my wallet. I call the Raytown police. They explain that it is evidence for the trial.

I never got it back.

Wards in Jarndyce

Terrace Tribulations

People will know that I am no fan of Dickens. I have only ever read Dickens under sufferance and with great distress. I'm not even much in favour of TV adaptations or films based on his books.

Nevertheless, I confess to having watched Bleak House when it was on the BBC in 2005. I watched. I even became mildly interested. I even got the book from the library and read a bit of it. It did not elicit any lasting appreciation of Dickens writing.

Fortunately, Dickens is not really the subject of this rant.

It's football.

So, where's the connection? Easy – so much gloup is written about football that it resembles nothing so much as the fixation with the Wards in Jarndyce - the glue which holds the Bleak House narrative structure together for Dickens.

Recent events bear this out. Let's focus on just two.

The Glasgow Celtic – Glasgow Rangers is, some people decry, a special case. The excuses for poor behaviour amongst supporters is mired in sectarian prejudice and violence. Somehow this is used to “excuse” the excesses and simplify the situation.

Now we have the Celtic manager, Mr Lennon, being sent letter bombs along with other prominent supporters. The killer for me was a responsible police spokesman describing the situation as “nothing to do with football” Therein lies the mistake.

It is everything to do with football. In a era when sectarian conflict has almost been eradicated in Northern Ireland, how is it that responsible journalists and others can pretend that football has no role in perpetuating the problem.

Ask yourself: would the mindless prejudice and violence continue if there was no Rangers – Celtic match to provide the focus? I think not. The bigots would still exist, true. Perhaps they might migrate to Murrayfield and start a riot when Scotland play Ireland? Seems more that unlikely. Why?

The fact is the pea-brained bigots who perpetrate the violence just would not get the idea of a sporting rivalry – one that recognises that both teams are trying to win and are worthy of respect for their endeavours. Likewise the fans. Fans of the opposing team are not degenerate sub-humans but genuine supporters who want to see their team do well but recognise that the other team may win if they play better.

No, football, uniquely, has the capacity to engender mindless optimism and even more mindless degeneracy.

Personally, I'm fed up with people who, whilst seemingly stable and reasonable, insist on believing that that opponents and their fans are “scum” - which seems to be the only term of abuse they know. Comment on that mental capacity if you will.

It's even worse in East Anglia. Normal, responsible, educated and personable friends lose all mental perspective when a Norwich – Ipswich game approaches. The try to outdo each other in their vitriol towards their neighbours. Their version of trying to wish their team well and support the player's efforts consists of name-calling and foul abuse. This is not supporting their team – it's simply showing how loutish and vile they have become.

My suggestion: Rangers and Celtic should be relegated – one to the Highland League and one to the League of Ireland. They should not be allowed tickets to away games at all. They should have to stay their for a minimum of 3 seasons and if any trouble ensues – extend their exile to five years for each occasion. Even the troglodytes on the terraces should be able to understand this.

As for the East Anglian brethren, simply require anyone who really, truly believes that the team down the road is vile and their supporters are epsilon minus morons ( which may, or may not be accurate ) is deported to their city focus of hate and made to go to every home game and cheer their rivals on.

Maybe deport them.

Thinking Outside the Box

England's World Cup disaster.

England's recent showing in the World Cup deserves some comment.

First, to make the quarter-finals was probably a good showing. What was disappointing was the way they were embarrassed by Sri Lanka when they got there.

The loonies who thought up the winter schedule for the England cricket team should be organising the bombing of Libya – Gadaffi would be in power forever. Asking the players to perform at the end of an endless round of important matches was just a non-starter; therefore, any criticism must be tempered by realism. They really were expected to go a bridge too far.

Then we have the injuries to key players. Pietersen is a key player, regardless of my opinion that he is greatly over-rated. Stuart Broad is a genuine key player and his injuries smack of “burn out” - much to the detriment of the England set-up for many years to come. Simon Jones syndrome springs to mind. Poor old Paul Collingwood has just had it – though why England chose to jettison

him in the later stages when all the injuries hit is hard to figure. Add Ajmal Shahzad to the list and you have a packet of injury owes – enough to fill a Land Rover.

Still, divorcing the early winter triumphs in Australia and at the 20-20 World Cup, England have under-performed on the Sub-continent. Why? It's too easy to blame the injuries or the scheduling.

Facts are they just weren't good enough.

This the supporters can accept. What I found difficult to accept was the crazy hype-spice added to the mix my the Sky Sports commentators and pundits.

Just take the quarter final against Sri Lanka for an example. Foolish though I was, I listened to England crawl to what I thought was a poor score, only for the commentators to explain that it was probably quite competitive. How did they work this out? They assured us that the dew would affect the ball, the pitch would get painfully slow and the England spinners would turn the ball a mile.

What tosh!

The Sri Lankan batsmen stroked the ball about with aplomb and the England bowling would not have looked out of place in a Sunday Friendly. Swann, who is supposed to be one of the best bowlers in the world, was ordinary in the extreme. The pace bowlers were innocuous. The fielding was amateurish.

To be fair, Sri Lanka have done the same to New Zealand – just not quite so comprehensively.

What was so disappointing was the lack of ideas in the England v. Sri Lanka match. I just can't relate to the way they played – seemingly without any idea of how to win the match.

So, what lessons are to be learned?

First: don't expect England or any non-Asian side to do well in the sub-continent.

Second: don't burden the players with a schedule that is simply impossible.

Third: let's have realistic expectations particularly from the so-called expert commentators.

England will be back with a chance when the tournament is either in England, Australia or New Zealand.

Failing Schools or Failing Teachers

Which is it - schools or teachers?

Lots of stories in the media recently about failing schools and failing teachers – or is that the same thing?

Having been in teaching for over 30 years, I ought to have something to say. Something sensible. Something helpful. Something cogent.

It's tough.

Why is it so tough? It's because the truth about schools is rarely told and neither politicians or parents are really interested enough in the truth to listen to it.

Katherine Birbalsingh http://katharinebirbalsingh.com/ is the teacher who caused uproar at the Tory party conference when she “exposed the failings of state schools”. She is certainly an articulate lady and has some interesting and well thought out ideas about schools. She is not a radical. She has exposed part of the problem. She does have some interesting anecdotes to relate about inner London schools. She does not really tackle the real problems. She is, if you believe the rumours, about to take up a senior position at one of the new academy schools. I wish her well.

Why, then, is she not a radical? Because she sees the problem in terms of school organisation, teaching expectations, parental short-comings, teacher short-comings, administrators in denial and an inspection system that is really just a joke. These are all real problems. But, they are not the root cause.

What is?

The Education Act of 1944 has a lot to say about the organisation of schooling in England but precious little about how children are to be taught. Consequently, successive governments have seen this as carte blanche to mess with it as they see fit – often for political rather than educational reasons. In doing so they miss the essential point. Schools are not there primarily to educate children.

Before you switch off and assume that the old boy has finally lost his senses, just consider these points:

If schools were there to educate children, why would they organise the school year to ensure that pupils are not in school for about 100 days? (The reason is somewhat historical. The school year traditionally was set so pupils could help with the harvest. It carries on not to suit the schools or good educational practice, but so that parents can take a holiday in the warm summer months – we could save a fortune in heating bills alone if schools were open in the summer and closed in the winter!)

If schools were there to educate children, why would they continually cater for pupils who do not want to be there? (Pupils are forced to go to school. Many are there only because they have to be – not because they want to be.)

If schools were there to educate children, why would they teach subjects which have no relevance in the real world? (The fact is there are only a handful of geographers, artists or musicians who make a living at it – so why teach these subjects so enthusiastically at secondary level?)

Any sensible analysis must conclude that schools are not there to educate children.

Therefore, I have a real suggestion that would improve schools immediately. Only allow children who are willing to co-operate with the teachers into classrooms. Those who don't – remove them and only let them back when their parents bring them back and promise to make sure they sit down, shut up and do their best. Oh yes, and it's three strikes and you're out. And it goes all the way down to primary schools.

I confidently predict that such a plan would do wonders for the educational system. I also confidently predict that the chances of it being implemented are nil.

Why?

Because schools are primarily there to provide cheap, state-sponsored, child care. That's the fact.

Twitterings

Start with a classic:

Why is there only one monopolies commission?

When the swallows come back to Capistrano – where have they been?

Is Cameron's Big Society just a big cock-up?

Will the bankers be first up against the wall when the Revolution starts? Followed closely by the accountants and mathematicians?

Did Fermat give the solution to his Last Theorem to the missus who promptly threw it away thinking it was an old shopping list?

Aegyptus Capta – but by whom or what?

How many failures will the England cricket team have to endure before they realise that Pietersen is fraud who only has one shot and rarely scores big – despite his inflated average on easy wickets against rubbish attacks? I see they now have a new plan – let him open! What a disaster!

Why is football only played at Upton Park and will it move with the Hammers to the Olympic Stadium?

Why is it on a weekend where there is a full programme of rugby internationals the Aviva Premiership has a full programme of club matches? Better yet – why doesn't football do the same thing? If you don't want to lose players for internationals, don't sign them in the first place. Simples.

Did you know that the British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons can be changed into the acronym Baaps?

Why do the media insist that people who have been shot are “seriously ill” in hospital? They're not ill – they're wounded!!

My plan to make football a real spectacle – an hour before the match both teams are required to complete a ten mile run in under 20 minutes – then have a 10 minute rest – then start the game. Since all the excitement and most of the goals occur in the last 15 minutes when the players are getting knackered, why not wear them out first and avoid the boring 65 minutes at the start of the game? Makes sense to me!

With trouble in Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Libya, etc. are we in for a “summer of discontent”?

Chiefs EOS report

Very good - in parts

I was amazed to read the KC Star's evaluation of the Chiefs performance in the play-off game against Baltimore. I know we got beat by a healthy margin, but overall I thought the result flattered the Ravens and did not reflect the Chiefs contribution to the game.

I watched the first part live and after Charles had busted a long run against a seemingly impregnable Ravens defence to give the Chiefs a 7-3 lead I was very pleased. We could run the ball. They were not too good in the Red Zone.

Then things went wrong. Fumbles. Interceptions. We lost.

However, it's a game of inches. Too often the Chiefs missed what should have been a first down with a poor play call or execution. With errors, they forced themselves into obvious passing situations and away from their running game. The defence played well for two downs. Third down looked too easy for Baltimore and they converted too many of them too easily.

EOS report – offence

QB Matt Cassell is still not a shoe-in to be the Chiefs long-term QB. He had a good season operating behind the league's leading running attack. It's not clear if he's capable of leading a team when plan one fails. Juries out.

RB Jamal Charles is (barring injuries) in the team forever. A diamond.

O-line – a solid unit that can both run block and pass block. Can still be strengthened.

Receivers – one area the Chiefs are lacking. Bowe was good, until he came up against a quality defence that was able to double-team him all day. He needs help. I expect the Chiefs to focus on this area in free-agency and draft choices.

EOS report – defence

Three down men are not dominant enough either in stopping the run or getting pressure. Changes needed. I'd draft the top monster nose tackle available.

LB's are not good enough. Baltimore exposed them ruthlessly.

Secondary is the bright spot. We need a top safety. Berry was very good for a rookie and will only get better with help.

Special teams – very good throughout the season.

Overall the Chiefs can look forward with some optimism. Next year's schedule is tougher. This is good, for only against better teams can you measure progress.

Worryingly, the Chiefs won only 2 games against division opponents. This must be addressed. At five and one in the division KC would have been 13-3 in the regular season and one of the top play-off seeds. That's the goal for next season.

Hope the “sophomore jinx” doesn't hit!

Smells Like Winning to Me

or How I learned to Love Cherry Pies, Again

I'm enamoured with the great bit in Apocalypse Now when Robert Duvall, playing a seriously deranged unit commander named Kilgore, turns, stares at the sky and says,

“Smell that? You smell that?
Lance: What?
Kilgore: Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
[kneels]
Kilgore: I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like -
[sniffing, pondering] Victory.

I had just the same experience the other day, simply by accident. I was reading A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. Lots of really interesting stuff – if you are into esoterica.

I particularly liked the section where Hawking explains that the mathematical ideas involved in his speculations on Space/Time are so complex that only a very few specialists in the field could (or do) actually understand them. Great, sounds like the kind of maths I love!

To be more precise, it sounds like the kind of maths which got us into the present economic difficulties – for which the bankers are forever being blamed. They deserve it: that's true. But, perversely; the mathematicians, who provided the foundations for their folly, seemingly get off scot free.

Why? Because the bankers, if you care to believe them, protest that they were just following the mathematical models that they were given. The mathematicians, wisely, keep shtum. Good move!

But, I digress – back to Hawking. The idea that floored me is on page 149. Hawking is explaining some special numbers, called imaginary. Let him do it: “If we take any ordinary (or real) number and multiply it by itself, the result is a positive number. (For example, 2 times 2 is four, but so is -2 times -2) There are, however, special numbers (called imaginary) that give negative numbers when multiplied by themselves. (The one called i, when multiplied by itself, gives -1, 2i multiplied by itself gives -4 and so on.)”

Stephen, you are a genius. (This is not news – most folks accept this) You are now, in addition to all your other accolades the real founder of Cherry Pie Maths! (And I always thought it was me!!)

What he is saying, philosophically, is that if you require a particular system in order to produce a particular mathematical answer – go for it! So, if you can get a Hawking system to produce negative numbers when multiplied by itself – it's a short step to “imagining” numbers that produce positive sequences in the same scenario.

Thanks Stevie – I've been arguing this point for years! In my system, as you all know, when you multiply ½ times ½ you get one. If Steve says you can use imaginary numbers, then it's ok by me. Call it what you want.

I'm sticking to my system.

Just don't pull out some pseudo-math crapola – pick up the phone and call Steve.

Not my problem!

He's on my team!!

More Than Rough Justice

Skidmore style.

I am a law-abiding citizen. Always have been – mostly. Better get that one out of the way first.

This case raises some interesting scenarios.

“A father whose daughter was knocked down and killed by a failed Iraqi asylum seeker slammed British justice today after the asylum seeker was allowed to permanently stay in the UK.

Banned driver Aso Mohammed Ibrahim, 33, left Amy Houston, 12, to die under the wheels of his Rover car and fled the scene following the accident.

But the Iraqi Kurd was today told he can stay in Britain after judges said deporting the dad of two would breach HIS human rights following a seven-year legal battle.

They ruled that as Ibrahim has married an English woman and had two children since the 2003 accident, his right to family life under the Human Rights Act meant he must stay in the UK — despite having a string of criminal convictions.

Today Amy's furious dad Paul slammed the decision as "perverse" and a "joke".

Engineer Paul, 41, from Darwen, Lancs, said: "What do you have to do to be deported? For seven years he has fought it and used every trick in the book to stay in the UK.

I'm really furious. I don't understand how he can be allowed to stay here after killing my daughter. He shouldn't be allowed to stay.

It shows what a sad state of affairs the country is in.

I've been battling for justice on my own for years now and what for? It has been for nothing. This is a perversity of our society. The whole country should be disgusted.

Basically what the judges are saying is that it doesn't matter how you act when you come here. You can kill, break the laws of the land but so long as you have a child when in the UK you can stay.

I work hard, play by the rules, pay my taxes and this is how I get treated. What does that say about politicians, our leaders and the legal system? It's a joke."

Judges sitting at the Upper Tribunal of the Immigration and Asylum Chamber in Manchester rejected a final appeal by the UK Border Agency to have Ibrahim deported.

Ibrahim, who has convictions for drugs possession, burglary, harassment, criminal damage and theft along with a string of driving convictions, killed Amy in November 2003 after running off from the scene of the accident while she was stuck under the wheels of his car.

She was rushed to hospital but her dad was forced to turn off her life support machine after doctors told him she would never recover.

Since then Paul has campaigned for Ibrahim to be kicked out the country and begged judges at a recent deportation hearing to bring "my seven years of hell to an end" by sending the monster back to Iraq.

He added: "All he is is a criminal. He was before he killed Amy and he will continue to be one.

The Human Rights Act is for everybody, not just asylum seekers and terrorists. It just seems to be used to allow people to get what they want.

He says if he was deported he would be deprived of his right to a family life?

The only person deprived of a family life is me. Amy was my only family. He took that from me."

In a final plea to two senior immigration judges, Paul, who is divorced from Amy's mother, wrote: "Amy was my only child... due to medical reasons I am unable to have any more children.

Amy was and is my family, so my point is, it is my right to a family life that has been deprived and not Mr Ibrahim's.”

"Mr Ibrahim claims to be a family man but if it's your actions that define who you are and not your words, then offences for possession of drugs, burglary, harassment, damage to property and theft as well as driving convictions and my daughter's death, you could argue that Mr Ibrahim is a negative influence as a role model as a father.

"I cannot understand by letting Mr Ibrahim remain in the UK what benefits he could bring to society.

"Had he shown some real remorse for what he had done and not committed any more crimes, I could accept that this was just an accident.

"On the evening of November 23 2003 Mr Ibrahim struck Amy, he didn't kill her outright, she was still conscious.

"She was fully aware what was happening around her even though she had the full weight of the engine block of the car on top of her, she was crying because she was frightened and in a lot of pain ... he could have at least tried to help.

"Amy suffered for six hours before the doctors advised me to switch off the life support machine ... it was highly unlikely she would survive and if she was to live would be a 'cabbage'.

"The image of Amy taking her final breath, dying a foot away from me as I sat by her bedside holding her hand praying for a miracle will stay with me till the day I die.

"If the Human Rights Act is about fairness, then it must have balance. What about Amy's right to life under the act?

"Today you have the power to bring my seven years of hell to an end; you can bring closure and justice.

"You can stop Mr Ibrahim from destroying anybody else's life as he destroyed mine but most of all you can bring balance to the Human Rights Act.

"You can show the world that this act is not just for criminals, failed asylum seekers and terrorists but for everybody in society because without balance there is no justice."

Lawyers for Ibrahim argued that his human rights would be impinged if he was sent back to Iraq.”

On the surface, it is very difficult not to be sympathetic with the family of this little girl. I am sympathetic. But, things are not as easy or as straight-forward in this case – as in life.

My first reaction was to consider this famous case:

http://www.lewrockwell.com/anderson/anderson6.html

Human nature being what it is, the idea of revenge against someone who has decimated your family is understandable. Sympathy for the victims of crime is understandable. Amy's Dad's frustrations and anger is understandable. His desire for some sort of retribution is understandable.

Crucially, these two scenarios, whist seemingly parallel, are not. On the one hand a foolish, irresponsible, negligent driver has run over a little girl. This is a human tragedy – made seemingly worse by his subsequent attempts to evade responsibility by failing to stop at the scene. This is deplorable. But, is it criminal? Yes. Is it murder, as in the Skidmore case? No, it is not.

Our sympathies for Amy's family should not extend to retribution simply because the perpetrator is an Iraqi asylum-seeker. Depriving his family of their husband/father is not going to bring Amy back. Dad's call for punishment does not, on examination, fit the crime.

However, should Ibrahim's situation change then the law should look at the changes in circumstances and act accordingly – to the point of throwing him out if that is warranted.

In Missouri, justice is sometimes easier to judge. There but for the grace go I. I think I might have cheerfully joined in with the Skidmore vigilantes. I would be very tempted to tell the media that despite rulings otherwise I would definitely kill anyone who did such to any of mine.

It's a fine line.

Parachute Payments

Wierdo MP's are the norm when parachuted into safe seats.

There is with regularity entertainment to be had in the media when they document the various affairs of elected representatives. For sheer entertainment value it's had to beat.

When Joe Public learns that his local MP is variously a serial womaniser, a Russian spy, a bi-sexual adulterer or just plain odd in the head, should they be surprised? I think not for the system is designed to produce just the sort of folk who think any of the above afflictions is really par for the course.

The examples from the last 20 to 30 years are legendary. I distinctly remember that dope who unseated Michael Portillo ( not my favourite guy, but certainly a serious politician ) standing on the platform looking completely bewildered when the result was announced. Not surprising as even he was amazed that he won. After all I'm sure the party only put him forward as a candidate to annoy some local politician who should have got the nod but was blocked because he was simply too safe and sane. The look on this guys face ( Stephen Twigg was his name and he is still an MP I was amazed to learn ) was incredulity bordering on insanity. Priceless.

Why does this happen so often. Are the electorate so stupid as to vote for any ass the party might put up? Actually, pretty much the answer is yes.

The other answer is that the system is designed to produce the most unctuous toady possible and rewards the loser with the most stamina.

How do I know this?

Experience.

My prime example is Michael Carttiss. Wikipedia tell us “Michael Reginald Harry Carttiss (born 11 March 1938) is a British Conservative Party politician. He was Member of Parliament (MP) for Great Yarmouth from 1983 until his defeat in 1997 by Labour's Anthony Wright.

Carttiss was born and brought up in his future constituency and worked as a teacher in a local secondary school. He was the full time agent for Anthony Fell from 1969, and was elected to Norfolk County Council in 1966. In 1973 Carttiss was elected to Great Yarmouth Borough Council and became its Leader from 1980 to 1982.

In Parliament Carttiss allied with the right and was a loyal supporter of Margaret Thatcher. During the debate on a motion of no confidence a few hours after Thatcher had announced her resignation as Prime Minister on 22 November 1990, his loud shout of encouragement to her to cancel her decision because "You can wipe the floor with these people!" was clearly audible and is recorded in Hansard. Indeed, immediately after the remark, on television, Thatcher is seen to acknowledge him by looking back at him and bowing.

However, Carttiss found life under her successor John Major less easy. He was a strong eurosceptic and disliked the provisions of the Maastricht Treaty, voting against them frequently in early 1993. When he voted against the European Communities (Finance) Bill in November 1994, he was one of eight Conservative MPs to have the Conservative whip withdrawn. It was restored in April 1995.

Following his defeat Carttiss went back onto Norfolk County Council from 2001, and was made Vice-Chairman of the Council in 2006. He represents the West Flegg division.”

What this fails to mention is that: 1) he was the worst teacher in the world according to anyone who knew him during his time at the Oriel High School in Gorleston - 2) that he spent his formative parliamentary years as Conservative agent for Sir Anthony Fell – and 3) that he was a complete pain to the Conservatives after the demise of Maggie Thatcher by becoming an arch-rebel.

What Wikipedia doesn't mention is that Carttiss spent 20 odd years “stalking” the Yarmouth seat, has no real experience of real life and is still ponceing around as a local politician. And whilst he is no doubt not the worst parliamentarian ever he is a classic role model for anyone who aspires to a political career and is fairly much divorced from real life.

He is, in short, the very quintessential politician.

There is no doubt that in the higher echelons of Parliament there are some excellent and fairly normal fellows. The other 4 or 5 hundred are mostly Michael Carttiss behave-a-likes. That is what the system is designed to produce.

Odd.

Royal Weddings

Cameron Smacks Lips!

A real cynic (me included) could hardly contain themselves - as David Cameron could hardly contain himself when announcing the forth-coming royal nuptials.

He must have thought all his Christmases had come, and come very early!

A real cynic might even have wondered if their wasn't some Prime-Ministerial connivance with the interested parties? After all, this joyous occasion could not only bury any bad news the government wishes, but also provide a much needed kick start to the economy and a rise in the feel-good factor by a factor of mucho!

Nobody does it better. When it comes to a royal occasion England just can't be beaten. And, the sequence is getting more and more interesting and crowded. Summer 2011, Royal Wedding, Summer 2012, London Olympics. Summer 2012, Queen's Diamond Jubilee. Bonanza for whoever is in government at the time. Cammi-knickers must be licking his lips at the prospect – remember what a fine job the Falklands War did of securing a Conservative majority for beyond a decade. All that's missing is a resurgent NUM for the Tories to persecute and it just could not get better!

Bookies

I'm not one for indiscriminate betting, but the bookies may have taken a pasting on the date – it's in April whereas they had August as the favourite.

Dress

Everybody and their uncle will be trying to find out the details. And, the bookies will take a bet on anything!

Clergy

One bishop has already resigned for suggesting the marriage won't last. My bets on the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Supporters

Prince Harry is a certainty – even though he is the spiting image of Hewitt.

Cost

News is that the Middletons are involved in the cost – I expect they will provide the dress (perhaps with a donation from Wills.

Babies

Odds on a nine-month pregnancy and a baby in January 2012 must be very short – get your bets down now. I expect the Queen's gyno will have already certified the ladies fitness for child-bearing, though expecting her to be a virgin is definitely out.

King Wills?

Not a starter. Despite all the polls saying he'd be better than Charlie, it is not something even remotely possible – barring an early Alzheimers onset for the old Prince of Wales.

Overall Verdict

A cracker. We may all need cheering up as the cuts bite hard. Excellent timing for the Government.

Cracker.

Blastula

Not long ago, ah, if I could measure time in my present condition,

I was meandering along with millions of other incomplete incubi

Pretty much looking for romance

And not finding it.

I found the other half and tried tantalisingly to get in

But with little success

For the competition was fierce

And there was no way to sort the wheat from the chaff

It was all a bit of a lottery

Darwin's crap about survival of the fittest

Just doesn't work down at this level

Where a chance encounter with an egg is all that matters

The window is small in time and space

The reward seems infinite and immortal

To the winner a life well worth living

To the loser a quick wipe followed by a flush to oblivion

A lot of trouble to make a chromosome

South of Thickthorn - again

South of Thickthorn – the end is nigh – or is it?

The most entertaining anecdote in Bill Bryson's Notes from a Small Island occurs when he discusses the English preoccupation with roads and their preoccupation with the best way to get from one place to another. For anyone who has ever been regaled by the locals encyclopedic knowledge of the road network this is a must read. It reminds me of the apocryphal Irish story of the local Paddy who when asked how to get to Carrickfergus replied, “Sure, I wouldn't start from here.”

In a self-congratulatory wave of over optimistic balderdash, the EDP announced that the government had at last agreed that despite the desperate economic times, the remaining stretch of the A11 south of Thickthorn would be dualled; thereby finally linking Norwich with the rest of the world. Whiskey, foxtrot, zulu!

Let us leave for a moment the drip drip drip of irony so thick it makes molasses in January seem positively runny and rejoice!

Wait a minute – let's not crack the champagne quite just yet.

With considerably less fanfare and with a complete lack of journalistic integrity, the EDP soon announces that the construction work is unlikely to start before 2012-13. Ministers, when quizzed, confirm that the money to dual is definitely committed, but not quite so committed that it is actually available. Confused? You ought not be. Governments are very good at dissembling information with enough caveats to make the average football manager seem positively erudite and the epitome of linguistic elegance.

Amidst all the balderdash has anyone actually noticed that this “battle” was lost over 30 years ago when some eejit decided that the M11 should go from London to Cambridge – despite the fact that the A11 goes from London to Norwich. With a stroke of the bureaucratic pen, Norwich was condemned to sit on the side lines and wait for a government hand out in order to get a descent road link. Hello – we're still waiting!! To add insult to injury Look East reports on a new link road to provide fast access from a Cambridge business park to the M11!! Where are the reporters asking how money can be found for this, yet the A11 will have to wait? Call themselves journalists?

I can see Rivers of Blood as the A11 money (yes, it's definitely committed says the Minister over and over again and again) is pushed further and further into the future – perhaps till after the next general election when, low and behold, certain facts will have come to light which were not available when the original decision was taken and must be investigated thoroughly with another public inquiry which can not possibly report until 2014-15 – but the money is definitely committed, says the Minister. Ad nauseum.

So, where do we go from here?

Probably nowhere, slowly.

Suggest you get Bill Bryson's book and have a good read.

Winning isn't everything - it's the only thing!

Chiefs must get offence untracked soon!!

Chiefs 3-0 – and ugly. And probably lucky as well. Defence excellent – special teams awesome – offence almost non-existent.

Rookie tight-end Tony Moeaki is the leading receiver. Running game is very good to excellent.

So, where's the problem?

Simple – one word (actually two) QB. Unless the Chiefs can get the passing game untracked, their good start will be for nought! You can't win in the NFL unless you can pass the football - unless you are the Baltimore Ravens and your QB is Trent Dilfer.

Where do we go from here?

It's unpopular, but it's probably more to due with the coaches than the players. Chiefs QB, Matt Cassell, is not making plays – that's for sure. But, what plays are being sent in? Is he failing to execute, or is he just not getting the right calls from the side-lines? Reading his comments on the Chiefs web site you'd be excused for thinking he's putting up all-pro numbers. He's all smiles and all enthusiastic. What he needs now is a good game with big numbers.

So, after all the gloom the Chiefs run into the Colts and actually do quite well, but they lose. Why? See above. With the defence making Manning look almost ordinary and the running game operating well it only took some spark from Cassell and a famous victory would have been there for the taking.

So, what went wrong? Cassell. Cassell. Cassell. Although he didn't get much help from his receivers (surely they can't keep dropping easy catches forever, can they?), the truth is commentators are already questioning his ability to be an NFL quarterback. The Brodie Croyle mob will be unpacking their knives and sharpening them in the garage soon.

Cassell has a few more chances – but only a few – starting today at Houston. If the rest of the team fires as it has been and he can't move the offence, then his time is running out faster than a pig with diarrhoea!

Roof Roof

Brave New World

I can't get into the lifts at the Norfolk and Norwich without saying silently to myself, “Roof, Roof.”

Sometimes I say it aloud if there is no-one with me and the doors are closed.

I'm remembering the phrase in Huxley's Brave New World where the lift reaches the top and the Epsilon minus Sub Moron opens the door and says in awe, “Roof, Roof” and the last “Roof” is measured in ecstasy.

Now-a-days we have canned voices instead of Epsilon minus Sub Morons, but the effect is the same. When the metallic voice says, “Going up” it is mimicking Huxley and commenting, no matter how incapable of thought, on the futility of man and his machines. Huxley would surely approve.

Lifts, or elevators, can be funny things. At the N&N we have two lifts side by side just outside the ward. Strangely, they don't act the same, as you might expect from inanimate objects. They have, instead, minds of their own. The one on the right (as you face them) is much quicker than the other one. It even responds to the buttons on the control panel. You can get in, hit the door close button and the floor required, and it speeds off in the correct direction – without so much as a “Roof, Roof”.

The one on the left, by contrast does none of these things. You press the buttons and it just sits there as if it is saying, “Sod off, I ain't ready!” Eventually it goes, when it gets good and ready. It also makes mistakes. These can be quite disconcerting.

You get in. You press the button for floor three. It eventually goes, but (and I have heard and seen this, honest) when it gets to the third floor, the voices says, “Second Floor!”

Honest.

I didn't like the lifts at the Sears Tower in Chicago. They have an express lift that takes you to the 88th floor in about 30 seconds. And, there is no real sense of acceleration. I'm thinking Twilight Zone.

Oh, Brave New World!