Why, Oh Why...do I still watch the Apprentice? (No 8 in this long dead and suddenly revived series)

 I haven't had a "Why, oh why" moment for ages. In fact the last one was ten years ago [and jolly good it was too: Ed] but nothing ever vanishes completely here at Ramblings, they just hibernate in the big filing cabinet which I really must get around to dusting some time. 

Last night BBC1 screened episode 10 of the 19th series of The Apprentice. Mrs C. and I have watched it since the beginning. It might have been episode one of the very first series. Almost nothing has changed. Yes, the prize is now an investment in one's business rather than a "job" with Lord Sugar, yes the "trusted advisors" have changed and there is a far greater emphasis on designing, branding and pitching to "industry professionals", rather than tasks that engage directly with the public, but we still have a handful of people doing utterly unrealistic things that can only be done because a TV company is paying for them, all under huge pressure so that they will inevitably make mistakes, Lord Sugar can routinely insult them and dismiss one of them for anything that takes his fancy. 

"You were disruptive"
"You were too quiet"
"You should have overruled the project manager"
"You should have supported the project manager"
"You didn't sell"
"I haven't seen very much of you" and if he has no real reason, but has to fire someone
"I've got an instinct we won't get on"

The latest task was as meaningless as the rest - create a "fashion house" by sketching out designs for three garments, concoct a name and logo and play a ridiculous game with real buyers for "how many units" of these non-existent brands they will "buy". Yes, I know I am using up an unsustainable amount of quotation marks but only in proportion to the ridiculousness [Sigh:Ed] of this method to assess whether the candidate is someone whose business warrants an investment.

Every episode features exactly the same elements:

• The candidates, who sleep jammed in a couple of rooms even though they have a twelve bedroom mansion at their disposal, are woken stupidly early in the morning by a phone call. The phone is not placed helpfully on the landing where they sleep. One of them has to go downstairs (filmed all the while, of course) to answer it. It is a different person each episode. Then, having been told where they are about to be taken and that the cars will be outside in 20 minutes (or maybe 40 minutes if they are having a lie-in), they must rush upstairs shouting "Guys, guys, wake up, we're going to Shoeburyness " (or whatever).
• There follows a minute of clips of young people washing, dressing and grooming before marching out of the house to climb into the four black taxis waiting outside. I have always assumed that they would wash, dress and groom anyway but the producers obviously feel this bit is terribly important and so they always show it.
• There follows some utterly pointless speculation about why they are going to Shoeburyness. 
• They arrive, line up, face the grim faced Baroness Brady and the impassive Tim Campbell and await either the entrance of Sugar or his appearance on a TV screen.
• "Well, you might be wondering why you are here on the old winkle-picking pier at Shoeburyness" his lordship will say "Shoes are a very important part of the economy, we all wear them, the market is worth £500 billion  and today you are going to design your own range of footwear, from sandals to slip-ons, from walking shoes to high-fashion dress shoes, plus Wellington boots, mountain climbing boots and football boots. Oh, and kids' shoes suitable both for school and the playground. You must then brand them, make a video and pitch it to industry experts and I'll see you back in the boardoom tonight where someone in the losing team will be fired" [A bit of exaggeration in this bit for heightened comic effect: Ed]
•  The teams then choose a project manager and a subteam leader, discuss their assignment vaguely and then march back to the cars to begin a hectic schedule of designing, filming and pitching. The two parts of each team are kept separated and only permitted one short contact, via a phone call in which it is customary for each to despair at the other's interpretation of the brief. The phone must be held horizontal to the ground and not, as intended by mobile phone designers, to the ear where it works most efficiently.
• The tasks finish to the accompaniment (on-screen) of a musical soundtrack with an increasingly urgent tempo and are edited to make it impossible for the viewers to understand which team is doing better.
• The teams file into the "boardroom", where there are insufficient chairs so that some must stand awkwardly behind those who sit.
• Lord Sugar emerges and always begins his opening remarks with "Well". "Well, today's task was about selling guns to insurgents in central Africa" or "Well, I laid on for you to run a whelk stall in Scunthorpe"
• When he asks his trusted advisors to reveal the financial results, he starts with Baroness Brady who always replies "Erm, well, Alan". Sugar then always says "Tim, the same question to you"
• We know, from what past candidates have said, that the boardroom sessions last several hours and involve very close questioning of how the tasks were managed. But very little of this is shown in the programme. Instead we must endure Sugar's weak puns which he delivers as though he was the third understudy in a failing pantomime who has spent the last five minutes frantically trying to learn them backstage.

There is one episode each series which breaks out of this stifling mould. The 11th is always the interview stage and here, with the candidates finally forced to explain what their businesses are about and why they want Sugar's cash, in front of four very able and determined appraisers. Most fans will relish Claude Littner's "It's a bloody disgrace" demolition of Solomon Akhtar in 2014 as the pinnacle of the art, but my favourite moment was in 2022 when Mike Soutar asked Kathryn Burn about the web site that was a key part of her business, and if she owned it. The candidate was not sure. Mike was. He had bought it himself when his investigation showed that the candidate had failed to register it.

I'm not going to bother discussing the final. If Sugar hasn't already decided which candidate and plan he likes best after the preceding 11 episodes, then clearly it doesn't matter which he chooses. And if he has decided, then the final is a sham. Either way, it is for me the least interesting part of the process. 

Is it worth sticking with the preceding 10 episodes to enjoy the demolition of the interviews? That is what we must ask ourselves. And each year I decide it is not but somehow, each year, I end up watching them anyway.

 

 

Thule is now Roman: Casca

Senator Casca, the close associate of Roman Imperator Senator Cassius, departed from Ostia this morning at the head of a fleet of galleys bound for Ultima Thule, writes our correspondent who just can't get the taste of garum out of his mouth. Speaking to a small crowd of dock workers and slaves, the Senator said he was going to wrest control of Thule from the Thulians and bring it under Roman control.  Pouring a libation to Neptune (and tasting most of it himself), he proclaimed that nothing could stop him. With banners flying, and to the triumphant sound of many trumpets, the fleet departed.

Two hours later the galleys returned and Senator Casca made a short address to a gathering of a few fish wives and donkey drivers. "We made excellent progress" he announced "but unfortunately nobody knows where Thule is, so we return to seek the guidance of the gods". He then sought out the leading importer of Greek wines for "important talks".

It is believed messengers rode swiftly to Rome and returned within the hour. People loitering outside the wine shop claim to have heard raised voices and the phrase "Cassius says get back out there or it will be your turn to get a dagger up the toga".

Shortly afterwards the Senator emerged on the dock, declared that Mars had shown him the way, drank several libations intended for Neptune and made his unsteady way up the gangplank to his flagship. The fleet then departed, under the Senator's comand of "Left hand down a bit" and a couple of bugle calls.

Towards the middle of the afternoon the galleys returned. Sen. Casca was assisted ashore on the arms of two Nubian slaves and stood weaving a little on an empty dockside (save for your correspondent) before proclaiming that Thule was conquered, Senator Cassius was now worshipped there as a god, and that he, Casca, was going to spend some private time on his estates. He then rode away to an unspecified destination.

Parthia: Not concerned about Thule

Reports from traders arriving from the East say that the Parthian authorities are "relaxed" about Rome's claim to Ultima Thule. Comments include "They can do what they want there", "Hopefully they will all drown at the ocean's edge" and "We'll take Syria, let them have Thule, Britannia and any other waste land they like".

Cassius: Massive leak of entire war plans "Not a problem"

 Imperator Cassius has dealt swiftly with those accusing his administration of "incompetence beyond even the Batavians", following the disclosure that a complete set of scrolls containing the entire Roman order of battle, plans for the invasion of Parthia and conquest of China, as well as the occupation of Ultima Thule, were handed over to the Parthian ambassador two weeks ago writes our correspondent, who is still trying to find someone to launder his toga. Senator Cassius, speaking in the Senate yesterday said "I don't know what the fuss is about. Those Parthians can't even read. They won't have the faintest idea what to do with the scrolls. Sure, there are details about how the XIV Legio will march east from Aleppo whilst the XII Legio with auxiliaries strike north up from Damascus but the gods will surely protect our troops who even now are assuredly scattering the enemy and laying waste their cities".

Asked if this meant Rome was now at war with Parthia, the Imperator said "I am dedicated to peace and will never break a treaty sworn solemnly before Jupiter. Those troops are simply there for our security and to prevent Parthians from illegally crossing the border".

Questioned by Senator Cicero as to how Parthians could illegally cross a border when Rome and Parthia did not in fact have a common border, the Imperator took some time to consult with a scribe, then accused the Senator of being a "bottom-dwelling scum of a journalist" and refused to answer further questions. 

---------Breaking News---------

According to sailors newly arrived from Antioch, the XIV legio has been wiped out by an ambush on the Aleppo road, the XII legio is surrounded by an army that "came out of nowhere" and the auxiliaries have mysteriously all resigned and gone back to being farmers. 

Pythons in Space

Customer: Good Morning, I wish to register a complaint.
Shopman: Sorry, we're just closing down for good, Space X down the road might be able to help you.
Customer: Never mind that, my lad, I want to complain about this spacecraft.
Shopman. Oh yes, the Athena lander.What's er, what's wrong with it?
Customer: I'll tell you what's what wrong with it. It's dead, that's what's wrong with it. And when we launched it not two days ago from this very spacedrome, you assured me that its total lack of responsiveness was due to "Solar storms, unstable neutron patterns, a disturbance in the Force and the batteries running a bit low".
Shopman: No...it's just resting.
Customer: Resting? It's toppled over and has gone dead.
Shopman: The Athena works better on its side. Look at the beautiful lattice work in the upper control module.
etc etc

Welcome Home, Vowels

Here's a funny thing. In August 2021 the giant investment group Aberdeen Standard Life ditched nearly all of its name and presented a glittering, down-with-the-kids, cool, resonant and exhilarating new name - abrdn. That's right, out went the much respected Standard Life bit, the vowels were stripped away from the rest and they saved thousands of caps lock keys from jamming by binning the capital letter as well. 

This attracted much contumely from around the financial world but, most notably, in these very columns. The company became a laughing stock. My warnings went unheeded and the outcome all too predictable - employees of the unpronounceable enterprise found themselves publicly sneered at in the streets of the City, cat-called in coffee bars and satirised in the squash courts.  Matters reached breaking strain when the Chief Investment Officer declared that the risibility and jeers were "Corporate bullying". But he failed to draw the obvious conclusion and just doubled-down on the original, stupid, renaming decision.

All has changed. Today in a stunning U-turn, the company has gone rummaging through its waste bins, retrieved those long-lost 'Es' and resinstated them in their rightful place.

Source: AJ Bell

 

Should we let the church bells ring out and pop the corks in celebration of a victory for the English language? Perhaps. They omitted to find the capital 'A' and are stuck with the lower case. However they have added the word "group" to the name. Now this is going to increase the cost of typing and wear out more letters on their word processing keyboards [Do they still use those? Ed] and I would expect the markets to mark their shares down quite heftily once the implications sink in. Should I risk the Ramblings Retirement Fund on a quick flutter by selling their shares short, or should I leave it safely in the big blue-and-white striped jug on the mantlepiece?

That's What I Call History

 "Daddy, daddy, today in school we learned all about Queen Victoria"

"And what did you learn, my dear?"

"She was played by Judy Dench in a film called Mrs Brown or something, showing her joyfully regaining her humanity after her husband died, and also by Anna Neagle in 1937 in a little known film called Victoria the Great. And there was a depiction of her as a young woman by Emily Blunt, which was jolly good"

"Very good. That new history teacher certainly knows her stuff".

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Well, what else are we to make of this ludicrous story featuring a man, the delightfully-named Barton Bendish, who unearthed some Roman silver coins recently.

source: BBC

 

Actually the story is not at all ludicrous. It is the strapline to the picture that commands our attention and deserves all the derision that we may summon up this chilly night in March.  For someone, hopefully for the sake of her career not the reporter Ms Katy Prickett of BBC Norfolk, but an anonymous droid deep in the bowels of Broadcasting House, has determined that nobody looking at the picture could possibly have a clue who Marcus Aurelius was unless he had been depicted in a film by an actor sufficiently well-known that no further bio details were needed. We learn that Richard Harris (Camelot, A Man Called Horse, Harry Potter) played Marcus in Gladiator and now we know all we need to know.

Had a bit-part extra taken the role in some obscure film, then the strapline would perhaps have been something like this:

Four of the coins date to the reign of Marcus Aurelius, who was played by Carrington Crankshaft in the long-forgotten 1953 Ealing comedy "Gor Blimey, Mr Caesar", starring Sid James, Margaret Lockwood, Bob Monkhouse and AE Matthews, with Sam Kydd as Cassius; Crankshaft also featured as First Corpse in Murder in Mayfair (1959), man in bus queue in Any More Fares, Please (1961) and man in football crowd in Everton vs West Ham, Match of the Day (1967), with the earliest dating from AD166.

 I have not seen Gladiator, apart from the "Are you not entertained?" clip and I have never been sure if Marcus, played by Harris, was or not. Perhaps the link is that he threw Spartacus or whoever he was [played by Mel Gibson: Ed] a bag of silver denarii and it was those very coins that were safely squirreled away in far-away Britannia. Could he ever have imagined that Barton Bendish (played by unknown child-star B. Bendish in A Xmas Video for Grandma, 1995, private distribution only) would unearth them nearly 2,000 years later. I imagine not.

Meanwhile, at the Large Mammal Collider...

 I have long been fascinated by physics. The concepts of quarks and gluons, quantum entanglement, photons streaking across the universe for billions of years, time going backwards...it's great fun even though I don't really understand it and can't follow the maths. It's even more fun when scientists try to explain what they are doing, using easy-to-understand similes that boggle the mind even more than the original ideas. 

 And, if it's mind boggling you are after (and why not, it's perfectly legal and you don't need to spend a penny to enjoy it) then cast your mince pies over this beautiful specimen:

source: Interesting Engineering

 

 Scientists have long known that a seriously big force holds protons together, because they have spent about 100 years trying to break them apart. Indeed, so hugely massive is this power that it is known as the Strong Nuclear Force (distinct from its wimpy, little, bespectacled cousin the Weak Nuclear Force). The force holds three quarks inside each proton and it needs to be bloody enormous because these things are basically compressed energy formed during the very start of the Big Bang.

But just how bloody enormous, I am sure you will be thinking [I certainly was: Ed].  Up till now we had no obvious way to make sense of it. Not any more. We use Olympic sized swimming pools to measure bodies of water, Wales to measure land masses and a piece of string always comes in handy for most other things. I can now present to you the gold standard in measurement - the compressed elephant. 

One is not enough, though, for the proton. It takes ten of them. Okay, I get that. But so many questions inevitably follow. Top of the list has to be - how did the compressed elephants get in here in the first place?, closely followed by African or Indian?, and where would a woolly mammoth fit in on this scale? I hope we are talking adults here, by the way, because the thought of some endearing baby, still scampering around its mother as the herd progress majestically across the savannah, being taken away by cruel men in white coats who then ...no, I can't go on. Compressing an adult at the end of its life when the hyenas are licking their lips and the lions polishing up the cutlery, yes, fine, it's doing them a service really, they can die knowing they have lived a long and useful life demolishing vegetation and wallowing in mud and are now enriching scientific knowledge. Let's hope it stops there. I do not want to read about someone establishing that the pion [a light elementary particle composed of two quarks:Ed] is the mass of three compressed baby elephants, that would really put me off my morning muesli and yoghurt.

But to return to the main question. I suppose there is only one way to find out ...

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Scene: A lab somewhere below ground with loads of whizzy high-tech machines whirring away. Enter Dr. A. Einstein (no relation) and Dr. J.C. Maxwell (also no relation), who, fresh from proving that aliens are definitely here, honest, it's just that they are really, really good at hiding, have inexplicably been loose at CERN.

Einstein: I'm really worried, JC. That damn proton - it's sitting in that atom-smashing machine laughing at us. Just laughing. We put on a weight. Nothing. We put on a lot of weights. Zilch. I put a couple of old textbooks on top, just in case. Waste of time. I don't know where we go from here, and that research grant will run out in a couple of day.

Maxwell: I know, I know. I've been trying to find something heavier, but everything is so bulky. Just falls off the top of the machine. We have to get something bigger but yet smaller. It's a paradox.

Einstein: A bloody impossibility, if you ask me. Let's get back to aliens. You know where you are with aliens. You don't have to keep doing stupid experiments and writing down findings and all that peer-review business, it does my head in, you know? You just say that you did a thought experiment and everyone applauds.

Maxwell: Don't give up, Al. We need to look at this another way. Listen, call me crazy but suppose we get something pretty damn heavy and ...somehow make it shrink. 

Einstein: Can't be done. My shirts shrink. My bank account shrinks. Heavy stuff stays big and heavy, we all know that. 

Maxwell: But if we compressed it. Get it smaller. Denser. Then it would fit on top of the machine and we could put something on top. Maybe several heavy but compressed things. You see? There is a way!

Einstein. Yes, yes, but this is a proton we are dealing with. You know the sort of energy in that thing - it must be as big as ...as big as...

Maxwell: An elephant?

Einstein: Don't be so ridic...ok, let me think about that. An elephant...No, still not enough. Only about a tenth of the energy.

Maxwell: So ten elephants?

Einstein: Mein Gott! Ten elephants! Of course. But yet - so big.  So big and floppy and lumbering and those huge tusks .. we could never get them in the building, JC. You're a smart man but you know, a little bit crazy perhaps

Maxwell: But ten compressed elephants?

pause

Einstein picks up the phone  Hallo, yes, put me through to the zoo!

 

 

 

Brands, Out With The Old, In With The Same

source: ABC Australia

 Regular readers [Huh?: Ed] will know of my deep and undying respect for those who deploy the noble arts of advertising and public relations. They never let me down when I am scratching my head searching for inspiration for one of these little whimsies. I think this is the first one from Down Under to catch my attention and, judging by the standard, not only of the change in the brand  but the conviction behind the justification for it from the PR people, I need to pay more attention to goings-on Ozwise than has hitherto been the case.

 Australia has long been a major sporting nation but clearly their weakness has been their athletes, always falling short of greatness. Let an athlete pick up a javelin and they would drop it on their foot, with the lacklustre old "Athletics Australia" weakening their grip. High jumpers wobbled on the take-off, baffled by their inability to grasp the nature of the organisation that managed them; runners dropped off the pace, gasping for breath while sprinters from countries with better brands and meaner slogans forged ahead; the hurdlers would have done better trying to vault over a few salt-water crocs with their mouths open [the crocs' mouths, not the hurdlers: Ed ] compared to the depressing effect of the millstone from the past.

No more of that! Australian athletes can rejoice that at last they have a bold, new identity that connects to its storied legacy and sets its sights on an exciting future. No more must they put up with hackneyed, boring old initials"AA". Now they can pin the brand new "AA" plates on their shirts with pride. If anyone should ask what it stands for, it is going to be so easy in future. "AA, mate?" They will shrug nonchalantly "That's Australian Athletics. So much better than that old logo, fair dinkum to the chief executive, they've certainly kicked off a golden era"

I suppose a quick, mozzie-on-the-wall flashback visit to the offices of Bozo and Dunny, Practioners in PR, Sydney is in order....

Scene: A few months ago.  A backroom on the fourth floor. The blinds are drawn. Whiteboards covered in scrawls at one end, a table seating a few sweating executives  at the other. Enter Taz¹, a pommy intern who has somehow landed himself an internship though nobody knows how.

Taz: Sorry to interupt,  but Athletics Australia have phoned about whether we've got the new name yet.

 Rupert: No worries, mate, but damn, they've gotta cut us a bit more slack here. Jeez, you drongos, five hours and we still haven't got a name. They're counting on us. We've got to get away from boring old Athletics Australia.

Kylie: Taz, why dontcha read us out some of those suggestions. Might stir up some brain cells.

Taz: Oh, yes, gosh, er here goes. Athlete Australia. Athletes Australia. Athletes in Australia. Athletes Oz. Athletes Ozzy. Athletes'R'Aussies.

Rupert: Is that it? Stone the wallabies. Let's have a few tinnies and really focus on this, people.

Bazza: Athletics...Australia...it's so close. Australia..Athletics...Australia...

Kylie: Hold it, hold it. I think I may have something.  Rupert, can the budget stretch an extra letter?

Rupert: Dunno, maybe, but you're pushing way over the edge here. 

Bazza : Australia's Athletics? 

Rupert: Close, so damn close. Anything else?

Kylie: Australian Athletics?

Pause

Bazza: I think it's good. It is good. I like it!

Rupert: Good? That is effing brilliant! That is the answer! Well done, team. 

Kylie: Jeez, finally. And it was so simple, so bloody simple, we just couldn't see it.

Rupert: Taz, why don't you fill in the copy. Chuck in a few standard phrases from our blurb handbook. "Forward looking", "bold", "venture", "exciting", that sort of crap.

Taz: Something about "identity"?

Bazza: Yup. And "legacy"

Kylie: Make that "Storied legacy ", they'll lap that up. Worth another million on the fee. What do we think, guys? Five million?

Bazza: Been at it a whole morning. I say maybe six. 

Rupert: With that extra letter? I reckon they'll swallow seven point five. Invoice that, would you, Tazza.

Taz: Shall I round it up to ten?

Pause. Sharp intakes of breath. Smiles break out.

Rupert: You're a natural, kid. There's a place for you in this firm. You have the true instinct of a great PR man.

Footnote

1. Yes, it's our old friend, last spotted in these columns here

Going into Details

 

I do not live in Wales nor am I female nor am I a regular shopper at Marks & Spencer; however Google has seen fit to feature this blurb in the background page on my tablet (if you swipe right on the desktop). I doubt if a real person wrote this (clue: "It sees shoppers can save ..." is gibberish). As there is no actual content other than the price drop on a dress, the fact gets repeated and regurgitated in such a way that the entire article appears to be about nothing else. I did not bother to click on it to find out more but let my imagination fill in some of the rest (and if you are reading, "Branwen Jones", you can have them entirely for free for your next scoop.

• The saving on this dress is more than twice £12.50
• The price has been reduced by 43%, that's nearly half and a lot more than a third
• The mysterious difference between the £30 drop in the headline and the £28 saving mentioned in the copy is, no doubt, due to the machinations of a sinister force
• Shoppers who buy two dresses can save £56, nearly enough for another dress at the old price
• The dress sold for £65 before the cut, that's 75% more.
• If the dress had been on sale for £250 then shoppers could have saved £213. But it wasn't.
• Clothes often are sold at reduced prices during a clearance sale, savings of at least £28 on elegant yet practical clothing may be experienced, it sees.
• Is anybody really reading this stuff?
• No, didn't think so, I'm off to watch Wales getting thrashed at rugby again.
  

The Gospel According To Donald

 3.8... and as they were walking, Jesus pointed to a family of Moabites, dressed in rags and struggling to cross the river and he said "Observest thou these refugees. They have nought but the clothes on their backs and are in sore need. Now, what shall we do in such a matter as this?" His disciples looked at one another. Simon Peter said "Shall we not succour them in their hour of great need?

3.9 And they all nodded and murmered to one another in approval of his words. But Jesus gently shook his head, saying " This is not the way. Gather ye stones, and stout staves, and send these illegal immigrants back from whence they came, for such losers have no place in my kingdom. And let there be erected a strong fence so that we may not encounter such again".
...

5.1 It came to pass that Jesus began preaching to the people of Shiloh, and a large crowd pressed upon him, eager to hear his teaching. And his disciples tried to push them back, that he might be heard by all.

5.2 Bartholomew and Thaddeus did stand close to him, to guard his person, lest any should seek to touch him. But Jesus said to them "Those of good family, who are well-dressed and hath shekels to shew, these shall you admit to my person. And those with naught to shew, these shall not be admitted, my father hath no time for them, they count for nothing, let them depart"
...

8.14 As they stood at the shores of the sea, so Jesus turned his eyes northwards and observed the mighty cedars that crowned the hills. And he said "Is that not the place where doth begin the ancient kingdom of Lebanon, which cleaves unto itself and holds clasped to its bosom much treasure?"
Simon the Zealot, seeing his purpose said "It is, Lord, and some hold it should belong to us, e'en though that they are friends and bound to us by many sworn oaths of alliance".

8.15 Jesus grasped his hand and said " You are right, my son, it is a matter of national security and we must strive to seize that land, whether they will it or no, and there will be bountiful rewards for those who bring this thing about". But James, son of Zebedee, frowned saying "This seemeth a betrayal of those who are friends with us, and should we do such a thing to gain for us gold?"

8.16. And Jesus sighed deeply, saying "Have you learned nothing in my presence that you do cling, as do the limpets of the sea, to old and abhorrent ideas?"
James, who was stubborn, said "Surely those who follow the pursuit of money and the sword will never attain the kingdom of heaven?". Jesus shook his head, saying in lowered tones to the others "There's always one, isn't there?"

Some Frites With Your Branch, M'sieur?

 

   source: The Independent

  

 Let's make the most of this one

-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-

 The chief surgeon at Bruges General Hospital shook his head wearily as he replaced the phone. To his waiting staff he said " Ward Three is full. Two more with twigs stuck in their throats. There's an ambulance arriving with a man who tried to eat two glass ornaments. Doctor Berckmans says he has an entire household who thought branches were fine if coated with chocolate.  We're going to need more stomach pumps".

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The well-dressed couple were shown to their reserved table at Brussels' newest restaurant sensation, Zuza. They took note of the strip of twinkling lights festooned around the ceiling, the huge photographs of out-of-focus gifts wrapped in colourful boxes and paper on the walls and the waiters, each sporting a Christmas hat and robe. The maitre d' handed them a menu 

"Tonight the chef has prepared a nine course tasting menu, M'sieur et Madame, together with a wine selection that perfectly mirrors the refinement of his conceptions. Voila - we have an amuse-bouche of little twigs. Then there is a bough on tinsel, a glitterball souffle, a branch steak served very rare, a fake-snow sorbet, a veloute of crackers, complete with mottos, paper hat and pointless plastic toy, inside a wrapping paper nest, a pithivier made from streamers and sticky-backed plastic and two exquisite desserts made from needles and wreaths. For the wines, we have sweet sherry, Blue Nun, a sickeningly-sweet chocolate cream liqueur and something from Hong Kong that the chef's uncle brought back and which nobody has dared to touch until today."

As he swept away to the kitchen, the man looked at his companion. "This is better than I had thought. I can see us awarding them two stars at least"

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"I just don't get it, Poirot". Hastings threw up his hands in bafflement "I mean, how could you possibly know that, out of fourteen house guests, one was an imposter?"

"I used the little grey cells, my friend" smiled the detective, twirling one of his impeccable moustaches "All of them claimed to be British, n'est ce pas? But yet someone had taken a bite out of the Christmas tree in the drawing room. 'A shame about that branch' you yourself said yesterday, observing the damage. But I looked more closely, saw the tooth marks and this afternoon, when you were all playing charades, I checked each bathroom. When I found the little pieces of wood that someone had cleaned from their teeth, then... then I knew. Only one of my fellow Belgians would do such a thing. Yes, Jean-Claude Artois, alias 'Colonel Thoroughgood', will not be enjoying his Christmas after all"

Key Ally of Sen. Cassius in Foreign Policy Upset

From our correspondent in Rome who has just about got over the Saturnalia celebrations

Newly installed Imperator Senator Cassius' key supporter, the richest man in Rome, M. Croesus Muscus, has beome embroiled in the relationship with the province of Britannia. Muscus has hitherto promoted the claims of the tribal chief of the Reformatio, Faragactacus the Unruly, saying that he was divinely appointed to be a staunch ally of Rome and that he should be made King of the Britons without delay, even if that meant slaughtering the four fifths of the population who were against him. Muscus has let it be known in proclamations, mysteriously headed "10" that have been nailed up in the Forum, that he has the ear of Sen. Cassius in such matters. 

However, in fresh proclamations read out at the Temple of Venus, Muscus now says that Faragactacus is a foul traitor, in league with Parthia and a follower of barbaric practices such as beer-drinking. "I curse his name" it goes on "and call on upon all true-hearted Britons to choose as their leader, er, some other person as shall be acceptable to me the gods and whose identity will be vouchsafed in due course, probably"

It is not clear which of these views is currently held by Muscus or, indeed, by the Imperator who is said by soothsayers to be distracted with a plan to purchase Ultima Thule. Nobody knows why this matters or where Ultima Thule is to be found. 

The ambassador of the Britons was said to have rolled his eyes to the heavens, clutched despairingly at his beard and shaken his head when informed of the proclamations. Reminded by his advisors that he was in public, he turned his face away for a moment and then smiled, inscrutably.

A Quick Taste of Winter

 There was some highly interesting weather over the UK this past weekend. A great chunk of freezing air sat over the north and a warm, wet front rolled in from the south. Where they collided heavy snow and torrential rain followed. 

This might have been purely of academic interest to me, but fate decreed otherwise. For Mrs C and I were having a few days away, staying in the unexpectedly delightful Llandudno and the weather bomb struck the night before we planned to depart homewards. Amidst increasingly dire warnings on the media, I made various contingency plans. If all the roads were blocked, with reports of airlifted supplies being dropped onto those trapped in their cars - we would stay put in our hotel. If it was possible to leave but treacherous conditions might be encountered en route - find a welcoming cafe and indulge in a really long lunch. Otherwise charge up the mobile phones, stock some food and water and drive on in hope.

We woke on Sunday morning to find the town under snow but rain was now in charge and there was a few cm of slush on the ground, neither the deep snow nor the glassy and deadly ice that I had feared. With nothing worse than wet trainers, I was able to drive out of the town and though the worst hazards were fog on the A5, coupled with idiots who insisted on driving in the middle lanes of the motorways despite the empty inner lanes up which I was bearing down on them, we made it home. 

We planned to go shopping on Monday morning. That one failed pretty fast because the rain kept up all night and all the roads into our little village were flooded. Environment agency live monitoring of the River Alne showed it to be close to a record high for the past 20 years. 

We were lucky. Had we planned to begin our trip on Sunday, we would have had to abort. Had the bad weather hit a few hours earlier we might have got to within a half mile of home but been unable to go further. As it was, I think we got away with it.