Parting the Waves

 One of the minor joys of the past couple of years has been following the YouTube videos put up by a handful of camera operators based at Rufford Ford, Nottinghamshire. The ford is where a minor road crosses an old mill stream, (the mill is now a heritage centre), and is normally easy to cross. But sometimes after heavy rain it rises to two or three feet deep and should not be crossed by normal vehicles. This message seems to have eluded the good folk of Nottingham. Although the ford only cuts off a few miles from perfectly good roads on either side, many seem determined to hurtle through it no matter how deep the water. And the YouTubers are there to catch the huge waves that break over a delighted crowd of onlookers, and better still (for us), the moments when the engines cough and die, the electrics fail and the hapless drivers remove their shoes and wade out to seek help.

Confidently in...

 

... And assisted out

Pics courtesy of Tom Sunderland

These videos have been a huge success and seem to have made running the gauntlet of the ford a challenge for every hard lad in the vicinity. The road is actually a residential, 30mph street and often there are signs warning of closure, but the presence of the cameras seems to be a greater incentive and they hit the waters at maximum speed. Whether they think this helps or they are just maddened by the anticipating crowds, who knows? The joke is that many vehicles that have successfully made it to the other side leave little souvenirs behind, smashed off by the force of the waters - number plates, bumpers, sections of engine housing - all of which are gleefully gathered up and dumped in a pile at the side of the road.

Sometimes the police lie in wait to file a few tasty charges - speeding, dangerous driving, not being in full control of a vehicle, being a total berk - but the council have had enough. Much to the chagrin of the crowds and the YouTubers, and very much to the financial detriment of every recovery garage for miles around, they have closed the road.  

Warnings that that the road was closed due to flooding have not deterred morons from driving into it in the past. I wonder if they will continue to brave the waters, like some sort of ancient coming-of-age ceremonial test of manhood, come what may? In which case we can look forward to more encounters such as this one, where a gentlemen in a small car took one look at the watermark showing three feet of water and put his foot down, only to float gently downstream.

Bow wave over the engine? No worries.

Prepare to abandon ship

 Pics courtesy of Tom Sunderland

World Cup 2022 - Read it here, read it first!

 It's that magic time of year, when the thrill of anticipation makes your blood tingle and your heart beat just a little faster. The laughter and merriment of children - the twinkling smiles of the old folk - the cheerful lights beating back the gloom of the late autumn evenings. Join us as we celebrate the wonderful world of - The World Cup in Catarrh  [Does this look right to you? Ed]

We've always been ahead of the game when it comes to English football. You marvelled at the accuracy of our forecasts for the World Cup in Brazil in 2014, you gawped in disbelief as we nailed it yet again for the 2016 Euros in France and you were speechless beyond belief when we unveiled our take on the World Cup in Russia in 2018. We were the first to pick England as the winners, or losers, against Germany in the Euros 2021 And now it is time to let your brains boggle into hyperspace as we invite a star panel of some of the finest contributors to this column to bring us -  

The Ramblings Exclusive Predictions for World Cup 2022

First, let's meet the panel.

*Fresh from a series of work-placements at some of the most dynamic, forward-thinking and exciting businesses ever to use more than one font for a PowerPoint presentation, it is the Young Intern of the Year (failed), Taz¹.

*Acclaimed for his ability to drink coffee whilst dismissing objections in all directions,  be upstanding for American judge and all-round cliché dispenser, Judge D. Crockett².

*Our intrepid correspondent (name withheld to protect him, his family and his entire neighbourhood) who covered the astonishing rise and decline of the supreme head of the Mongol Hordes, President Khan, and who has finally stopped shaking enough to hold a pen³

*And the man holding the ring and steering the ship - it's our very own Ed ⁴.

 

Match 1 - England v Iran, Sheikitallabout Stadium, Nov 21st

Taz: Ah, gosh, spotlight on me then, as it were, oh dear, I don't have a lot of time for football, merely being in the same office as a business executive makes me weak at the knees. Ermm, I go for 86 for 4 in the third chukka.
Crockett: Gonna be plenty of ass kicked in that ballgame, yes sirree
Correspondent: The latest rumours circulating amongst the water-sellers at the Dung Gate are that one team is certain to win, unless it is a draw.
Ed: That seems pretty unanimous then, we back England. Or the other team. God speed to both of them.

Match 2 England vs USA, AbdulsProstheticHands Arena Nov 25th

Crockett: US of A every time feller, ol' Uncle Sam'll be doing the whopping of asses in this one, we'll knock them out of left field. Those redcoats ain't gonna know what hit them and let me tell you this, boy, if I don't get me some cawfee and donuts real soon, I may just have to go out and get them myself, you hear what I'm saying?
Taz: Oh dear, honestly, I do hope it's a jolly good match and not too many get out for a duck, I think England by a short head and that young Mickey Rooney, I hear he's a jolly good player, they ought to get him on with that other chap, Hurri Cane is it?
Correspondent: I'm afraid the last match I saw was the Mongol Horde vs the Moghul Allstars at polo and I had to leave when they kicked the ball into the river and asked if anyone with a particularly large, round head wished to participate.
Ed: I think it looks like rain. Blast, I left my umbrella at my aunt's. 

Match 3 England vs Wales Doha-diddydiddydumdiddydo Park Nov 29th

Correspondent: Ah, a civil war situation. Had a few of those back in my time. President Khan started most of them by arguing with his supporters about the best way to execute his enemies.
Crockett: Yup, we know all about the war between the states, young feller. Them damn Yankees and those yelling Rebs, gosh darn it, some people got themselves hurt real bad, can you believe that?
Taz: Oh yes, um, don't really want to have to pick a side here, bit sensitive, there's a girl in the office called Myfanwy, rather sweet really, hoping to take her out for a coffee one day, better not rock the boat if you know what I mean.
Ed: I'm going to go out on a limb here. England to win 5 -0. There, I said it. And by God, I'd do it again if I had to.

There it is. England to win the stages, unless they fail to. Success in the later rounds absolutely guaranteed although a shock knockout in the round of 16, the quarter-finals or the semi-finals is always likely. As to the final - we shall have to wait and see.

 

+&+&+&+&+&+&

Footnotes

1. After his debut at Channel 4, Taz featured with Easyjet, Coca-Cola and TV host Carol Azam (probably)

2. He presided over Pumpernickel vs Pumpernickel, Trump's Lying Lawyer vs The Truth and The Case of the Rude Waiter

3. Our reporter first went to Karakorum to cover the surprise election of President Khan in 2016 and continued to file increasingly erratic, if not downright peculiar, stories until the shock moment when Pres. Khan finally had to put his scimitar away

4. No introduction needed, not that it would be given even if it was.

The Return of the King

Chapter One

This time it was going to be alright. The nation might be in chaos, the leadership divided, the grassroots confused and voters losing confidence, but waiting calmly overseas was the one man who could save Britain. 

He had retreated when previous defeats seemed overwhelming but he knew, with a profound wisdom borne of many battles, that he was not utterly vanquished. There still might be some overlooked hope, some unexpected twist, that would bring him back triumphant, his enemies cowed and fleeing in disorder, his people shaking off the spells that bound them to those who had betrayed them, his very own great nation rising as one to usher him back into the power that he so richly deserved.

And so it was that as his aircraft bore him back into British airspace and the duty-frees were placed lovingly into the discreet briefcase that never left his side, he smiled; a wry but warm smile that he was returning to his own people and to the acclamation of his party ......

Stop press: 

Pic: BBC Website

 Chapter Two

And so it was that the King left once more for his warm retreat in the South American sunshine. [Another couple of thousand words here, please. Ed]

 

Call for Carroll

 As we seem to be living in some mad inverted version of reality, with chancellors being fired for carrying out the agreed policy, and home secretaries finding a flimsy excuse to resign, and prime ministers going nowhere one day and resigning the next, there is only one man to whom we may reliably turn for assistance in getting some sort of grasp, however feeble, on what the hell is going on.

The LizTruss and the Chancellor
were walking down the Mall
"With taxes cut there must be growth"
The LizTruss told her pal
"And as for those who tell us 'no'
I say let's sack 'em all".

"Perhaps the Bank of England might..."
The Chancellor began.
"God rot them all" the LizTruss said
"They're useless, every man.
Let's waste no time in cracking on
We have the perfect plan".

"Oh markets, come and join with us"
The LizTruss did beseech
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk
And I have much to preach"
"She's always right" The Chancellor said
"Keep quiet and let her teach".

The LizTruss and the Chancellor
Continued down their road.
But one by one the moneymen
remained in their abode.
"She's sowing doom" their faces said
"The markets will implode".

"The time has come" the LizTruss said
"To talk of many things
Of budgets, debt and fuel costs
Of reckless spending flings
And why the rich will save us all
And whether pigs have wings".

"But wait a bit" the markets cried
"Before you choose this path.
It doesn't seem to work at all
Has no-one done the math?"
"Keep quiet" snarled the Chancellor
"Or else you'll feel my wrath"

The LizTruss and the Chancellor
Discovered, to their cost
That people need to understand
And not feel double-crossed
The pressure grew, the storm it blew
And both were media-tossed.

And as the waves engulfed their boat
The Chancellor was caught
Discharged into the foaming waves
Their recklessness had bought
And now alone the LizTruss stood
Though all had come to naught.

The LizTruss and the Chancellor
No longer can be seen
Now others try to hide the tracks
Of where their steps had been
And scratch their chins and try to learn
Whatever did it mean?

All about U

It has been a turbulent few days with major swings in market confidence, falls in the value of the pound and shares, and increases in interest rates, combined with intense pressure on the government to appear to look at least vaguely competent. Readers may be confused about the latest proposals for managing the British economy, and the rapid changes taking place at the top, and the least we can do is to offer a simple guide.

The latest government U-turn overturns the planned reduction in the increase in tax, which was scheduled to be cut to no less than a phased-in increase, itself deferred a year and phased out under the U-turn which raised the rate it could be increased to the lower of the amount projected before the budgeted increase that was held over from the targeted reduction, itself reduced on a sliding scale proposed in the policy reversed by the U-turn that increased the maximum reduction to an increase of what had been previously reduced, and the maximum of the reduced increases of the forecast change based on a rolling forecast of turnouts from turn-ups for the book.

 A government spokesman said the government now intends to go away and lie down in a darkened room, although the amount of darkness may be reduced by the incremental increase in daylight consequent upon a phasing out of the twilight allowance, as projected previously but now tapered off and subject to any U-turns that may be ahead. Or have already happened.

 The ex-chancellor, who found himself summoned back to London from Washington so swiftly he would barely have a chance to stock up on duty-frees, turned into Downing Street, was turned out of office and turned back to a career on the back benches. The prime minister, who announced staunchly only yesterday that there would be no U-turn, reaffirmed today that all her previous statements were inoperative and now onwards, NOW ONWARDS, there would be no more U-turns, unless forced on her by the “markets” or by the raw fear gripping vulnerable Tory MPs, or if there was a jolly good reason to, and not just because of rash decisions taken on the back of ludicrous promises to gullible members of her party who were voting for her as leader, that is right out and not going to happen, we have her solemn and binding promise, read her lips, no U-turns. Unless….

-%-%-%-%-%-

 Meanwhile a dilemma for lovers of poetry. Lines on the departure of Mr Kwarteng or welcoming the arrival of the man whose surname is so easy to match with suitable rhymes? I had made the obvious start this morning:

And so farewell to Kwazi
His job gone down the khazi

And that is as far as I got. I didn't really want to put something in about "arrested by the Stasi".  Anyway Jeremy H. is back and let us see how big a Hunt he can be this time.

Crisis, What Crisis?

 Bettany Hughes, OBE is a distinguished historian and teacher. She has published many books on classical history and made many television programmes bringing that history to life. One might have thought that all this erudition would have caused second thoughts at the commissioning of her latest TV series, which came to my attention tonight.

Source: Freeview website

We are still dealing with the after-effects of the covid pandemic. The war in Ukraine is creating massive international tensions and the soaring costs of fuel have led to unprecedented spending plans from the incoming Truss government which in turn have unsettled financial markets and caused the pound to fall to a seriously low level. For most people surviving this winter, without succumbing to infection or hypothermia, is the top priority. 

Does this crisis bother Ms Hughes? Not a bit. Far from embarking on another scholarly examination of, say, funeral practices in ancient Egypt or the cultural impact of Roman expansionism in the Middle East, she is gaily gallivanting across France and Italy, all expenses paid, to find out if travelling to some of the most agreeable destinations in the world and stuffing oneself daily at the finest restaurants can enrich one's life.

Let us pause a while, practice deep breathing and stare at something soothing. The basis of this show is that someone needs to discover if living well, living exceptionally well it may appear, is better than living the normal lifestyle to which all of us who are not TV presenters are accustomed. The subtext is this is some sort of unanswered question, something so basic and yet so baffling, that a top academic and a full TV crew must undergo the suffering that only those torn between the 7 course and the 8 course tasting menus, at a 3 Michelin star restaurant perched high above the glistening Mediterranean, will ever know. As to the agony of having to choose the most exotic aperitifs, the choicest of wines and, finally, how many petit fours to complete the feast, I shudder to think.

For this show to work there needs to be a counter-argument. I am no Hegelian but if the idea is that travel, arts, culture, boozing, fine dining and their ilk enrich, then there must be a contrasting viewpoint that these things detract and should be shunned.Otherwise it is merely a statement of the bleedin' obvious and can be settled within the first five minutes. So I really hope that in the first few episodes we see Hughes fasting, living in a barrel, drinking nothing more than water, reading nothing but sacred texts and otherwise staring at a brick wall, whilst perhaps indulging in a little light flagellation now and then  (it is on Channel 5, after all). Then, when she throws off the shackles, gleefully picks up the corkscrew, jumps into the Ferrari and roars off to Tuscany, she can truly claim to have discovered that living well is better than living with privations.

Once the enrichment begins, how will we know just how jolly well enriched Hughes has become? What this show needs is some sort of enrichment monitor, like the swingometer that gave us so much joy during general elections in the days before computer graphics, to measure the levels of enrichment each tantalising view and sumptuous dish provides. I visualise Hughes closing her eyes in ecstasy as she handles another Leonardo notebook or swallows another lobster, and then a man in a brown coat deftly nudges the pointer round another notch. "Yes, that's the 60% barrier broken" gushes the voice-over "And now I think she's going for the full-on 'My word, that's incredible' moment as she quaffs champagne on the sun-deck of a 200' luxury yacht cruising to Monte. This is very exciting, we haven't seen such a level of enrichment since Rob Brydon had his second free cruise in exchange for 20 seconds of footage of him smiling about it".

I don't need to see the last programme in the series. I have no doubt it will feature a somewhat plumper Hughes opening the windows of the Imperial Suite at her five star hotel in Rome, looking out on the sun-dappled forum and musing thoughtfully "This is so much more enriching than Mrs Irons' BnB in Lowestoft, I'm so glad now that I turned that down".  In fact, I don't need to see any of the programmes. I discovered many years ago that arts, culture, travel (this is the Ruislip Commuter blog after all) and a bloody good nosh-up were way better than their alternatives (whatever they may be) and I really don't need a TV presenter to confirm it.

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

TV commissioning editors: If you feel there is room in the schedules for another "Let's go somewhere nice and then make a programme about how nice it is" show, and are looking for an acerbic, wryly amusing yet always sympathetic and really camera-friendly sort of guy to front it, I happen to have a window in my otherwise busy schedule. Actually quite a big window. More a sort of Versailles Hall of Mirrors size window, if you catch my drift. So anytime that suits you, really. Do call. Mrs C has been demanding more enrichment in her life for a while and the market for witticisms about commuting has been a flat lately, to tell you the truth.

The Santiago Connection

 I think this must be the most far-flung piece of spam I have ever received. All the way from sunny Chile (or possibly, very wet and cold Chile, depending on where they are based), I have been sent this pleasant message offering a plethora of motoring services

I did use to own a Hyundai car. I sold it four years ago. I do not, and have never, lived in Chile. In fact, I have never visited any part of South America. So, being told by the biggest service company in that country (if my rusty Spanish is any good), that they are eagerly seeking my business in looking after a vehicle I do not own, does seem rather bizarre.

I'm not sure if data protection rules have been broken.They have written to an email address that I never used when corresponding with the dealer from whom I bought the car. So it is probably not a case of them getting the details from some sort of worldwide database of ex-owners.  I did however, once, mention the word Hyundai on this very blog. Maybe a rather stupid bot tried to put two and two together. Or maybe they bought an email list from a rather dodgy vendor.

Anyway, it's good to know that there are some trusty amigos some 7,200 miles away and I shall file their details just in case, oh, I don't know, Hyundai make me their ambassador to Chile (I'm still waiting for Johnny Walker to get back to me), fly me over there, hand over a brand new 4x4 and say "Ahí tienes, amigo, ve a donde quieras, todo está en nosotros", and then as I burn my way down the B451 in search of a tea-room, there is a nasty rattle from the engine, and I pull over and think "What now? Oh, I know!!!"

The Queen

 My most recent piece mentioned the Queen, in the context of her appointing the 15th prime minister of a long reign. That seems now to refer to a different epoch. 

The pictures of that meeting showed the Queen looking distinctly smaller and frailer than before, with a livid black bruise at the back of one hand. Yet she was on her feet and fully lucid as she invited Liz Truss to form a government.

Two days later, without warning, the BBC interrupted their normal lunchtime coverage to commence a rolling news broadcast in which they had but two slim facts to report on: - The Queen was "under medical supervision and was comfortable", and that her family was gathering at Balmoral. No further medical reports were issued during the afternoon, and the media incessantly interviewed anyone at all who either knew the Queen, or knew something about her, or who had once been to Scotland on holiday and very nearly got to Balmoral, only the coach broke down, but if it hadn't they would definitely have seen, with their own eyes, a policeman on duty outside.

Nonetheless Mrs C and I watched because it was clear that this was not a minor illness, and at the age of 96, pretty well anything is serious. There was also a story about notes being passed to senior Ministers and Opposition members of the House of Commons in the middle of  a debate. We saw footage of aircraft arriving at Aberdeen bearing members of the royal family and there were endless shots of vehicles going in and out of the, now heavily guarded, entrance to Balmoral.

Soon after 6:30pm the media was cleared to bring us the announcement that we dreaded and the nation plunged at once into mourning. 

I am not a monarchist. Reliance on the hereditary principle has at times brought this country into a perilous state - the most recent being the near-fatal influence upon the weak Edward VIII by the Nazis. But the Queen, and her father before her, have undeniably served the best interests of the country and her passing is a source of deep sorrow. Charles, so often seeming a little gawky and out of place, has neatly slipped into his new role. His heir seems to be a thoroughly good egg. If we are to continue with the monarchy then we can do so with a fair amount of confidence.

I am pretty confident that many of the overseas "realms", such as Canada, Australia, Jamaica, Belize, Papua New Guinea and New Zealand, will move towards becoming republics, free to do so in the knowledge that they are not distressing the Queen. This will not diminish Charles; it will correct a huge historical anomaly. 

The many tributes the world over have been touching and trigger unexpected emotions. I think the funeral of the Queen will be similarly cathartic. Afterwards I look forward to a "slimmed down" monarchy and, perhaps, a debate about the nature of the British state.

 

Liz, meet Liz

 It seems a long time ago that I commented on the inevitable collapse of the shapeless government led by one B. Johnson, classical scholar, bon viveur and part-time MP for my constituency of Uxbridge and South Ruislip. After an interminable summer of electioneering, the results of the vote for his successor were revealed yesterday. The ex-Foreign Secretary, of whom I know very little, Liz Truss, is the one going up to Balmoral today to have a cup of tea with HM and then move into No. 10, to face a daunting in-tray of problems. 

Whatever may befall, the simple pleasure of having a leader with a surname that rhymes harmoniously with many other words cannot be denied. Almost without having to pause for a refreshing cup of tea, I managed to jot down the following:

 A voice from the back of the bus
Enquired the cause of the fuss
"It's goodbye to Boris
That expert on Horace"
"Replaced by?" "A lady called Truss"

I am sure other and better ideas will flow in the weeks to come.

 

The Punch-up - really, really up

 

source: BBC website

 

What the BBC do not know is that we have secured access to the black box.

Relevant part of recording begins:

Female voice "Encore un café, messieurs?"
Male, identified as Captain Dubois "Merci, Charlene. Tu est très sexy aujordhui"
Charlene "Merci"
Male, identified as First Officer Blanchet "Hein, Dubois, Charlene est avec moi ce soir"
Dubois "Vous pensez, huh?"
ATC "Flight AF 32, turn right 275 and ascend to twenty two thousand feet, take flight path VH to Lyons Outer"
Blanchet "Turn right 275 and ascend to twenty thousand"
Dubois "He said twenty two. What are you, deaf this morning?"
Blanchet "I said twenty two. And you asked for 30, 000. Tell him you want 30, 000, or are you too scared?
Dubois "You tell him yourself, it's time you did some work around here instead of ogling the cabin crew"
ATC "AF 32 please confirm route guidance"
Dubois "He's made a mistake but he won't admit it"
Blanchet "If I wasn't choking on the pong of your cheap pomade, maybe I could think more clearly"
Dubois "At least I don't reek of a Montmartre whore's boudoir"
Blanchet "Then move your wife out of Montmartre"
ATC "AF 32 urgent, confirm your route"
Blanchet "Alors, mon 'capitaine'"
Dubois "It's not my turn"
Blanchet "It certainly is not mine. You tell him
ATC "I'm not getting involved. Sort it out"
Dubois "Oooh, hark at him. As if I could 'sort" anything with this ape
Blanchet "ATC, Capitaine Dubois est un cochon grand, n'est-ces pas?
Dubois "You take that back"
Blanchet "Who is going to make me? You and whose grande armée?
Dubois "Moi. Seul"
Blanchet "Oui? Viens ici si tu penses que tu es assez dur

the recording becomes too indistinct after this

On Top

 It won't last. It can't last. Nobody assumes for a second that we will even be in the top 10 at the end of the season. But right now, after five games played, Wealdstone FC are top of the National League.

I am putting this magic moment on to the internet to be preserved for as long as my good friends at Google maintain the Blogger website. Further down the table are heavyweights like Chesterfield, Notts County and Wrexham. But what of them? No Stones fan tonight could give a toss.

For the record, the Stones beat Bromley, lost to Eastleigh (on the hottest day of the year), then demolished Oldham, Halifax and today Gateshead. They have the smallest playing budget in the league and are the only team to be part-time.

The last time this club were in a similar position was in 1985 when they won the predecessor to the National League, the Alliance. But the National is a very different league. Then, all the teams were part-time. All had only experienced non-league football. Today, with automatic promotion / relegation for two teams each season, at least half of the league have experience of the Football League, and have grounds, facilities and budgets to match. In reality, this is the best position that Wealdstone have ever been in their 120 year history. So you may forgive me a little bit of gloating. 

Rain, Glorious Rain

 As promised in my piece last time, here is an update on the heatwave / drought / flash flood situation. There was decent rain last night for the first time in many weeks and we stood at the front door and marvelled at the sight of water running down the street, and soaked up the smells suddenly released from the parched ground.

Today however it got serious. A major front moved north from France bringing lightning and, in parts of the UK, torrential rain that caused flooding. Here, in beautiful Ruislip, all was quiet until mid afternoon, despite an ominous build up of black cloud, and Mrs C and I even dared to pop out to a furniture warehouse. No sooner inside than a fierce drumming on the roof heralded the arrival of the storm.  Here is how it was at the start:

That red dot is us. The storm moved over our heads and then stayed there for about three hours, giving us some 20mm of rain. We had driven down a fairly placid A40 on the outward journey but coming back everything was at a near-standstill with pools of water at the side of the road and huge gouts of spray from the trucks. HS2 roadworks at Ruislip Gardens gave us another ten minutes of gridlock. 

I'm not complaining. We have desperately needed it. Some of our normally green and vibrant plants are bleached almost white, and the "lawn" at the front of our house looks like a desert scrubland. Let us see if the cacti bloom.

Back to Normal?

 Sorry for all the weather-related stuff recently. An entire week of unpleasantness is coming to a close with temperatures having topped 30c every day and no rain, not even cloud cover until this afternoon. It may or may not rain a bit in the next few days, but we need a great deal to top up the reservoirs, fill the rivers and percolate into the topsoil.  

It has been worse in Europe. Photographs of the River Loire show it dry - a staggering prospect in the one of the loveliest valleys of France.  They - and we - are facing a drought.

Mrs C and I volunteer at our local heritage centre, Manor Farm. We were there today but after 90 minutes with precisely no visitors and nobody bothering to look round the site - usually bustling and a haven of peaceful green space in the heart of old Ruislip - we packed it in. 

Supposedly temperatures will begin returning to normal this week. There will of course be updates on this channel. Historians looking back from the far future can have a laugh about it.

That Big, Yellow Thing is Back

 Just for the record, I present the BBC's forecast of the weather for the next few days.

The odd day of really hot sunshine we can take. But day after day of it is not what our houses or towns were designed for. I think we will be bunkering down with the curtains drawn and fans running, doing as little as possible. Summer used to be the time for getting out and about and revelling in decent weather. Or looking up at grey skies and ensuring that an umbrella was at hand. 

Looking back through my own musings on this topic, it seems that July was the month for the temperature-topping days and August much more temperate, as this typical post suggests.Oh well, let us hope for a traditional Bank Holiday end to this unwanted taste of the Sahara.

Ready and Waiting

 Sky Sports, who have for some years secured the rights to broadcast football matches, have put up posters to publicise this well-worn tit-bit of useless information. Useless, because if you are the sort of person who pays to watch sports broadcasts then you already know, and if not, you don't care. But be that as it may, they have clearly fired their Head of Creative Thinking and appointed some bloke that the personnel manager met down the pub. For the slogan on the poster is

"We're ready. Are you?"

Call me a mad, wild-eyed, clutcher at straws if you must (and I know some of you are keen to have the chance) but I had assumed that a company that has spent many millions of pounds in securing its exclusive deals and which has huge experience in broadcasting and streaming sports content, would actually be ready for the start of a new football season. This is what they do. This is how they earn their money. Several weeks ago their planners would have opened up their diaries and carefully pencilled in the dates of the first matches. Then they would have written them on to the big wall-chart hanging up at the back of the office, next to the flyer about the annual outing to Canvey Island and the note begging people to kindly not take the last of the milk without replacing it, thank you very much.  Then they would have compiled a list of things to remember:

1. Cameras
2. Warm clothes in case it gets cold at night
3. Spare batteries for lights
4. Thermos flask
5. Notebook to write down names of scorers and people sent off
6. Return rail ticket
7. 500m of high-duty 600w power cable
8. Folding canvas chair
9. Sandwiches

and with that, they could go out for a long lunch in the knowledge of a job well done.  They were ready!

 That completes the first half, as it were. After the break we shall be back for all the action as we examine the second part of the slogan. Stay with us!

-&-&-&-&-&

We're back with all the action in what should be a blistering second half of excoriating invective. The question that must be faced is our state of preparation. They are ready. Are we?

I dunno. I mean, it's not really anything to do with me. Every year the football season begins more or less at this time. One has gotten used to it. But am I ready for Sky Sports being ready? No. I shall never be ready. I don't even know what they mean in this context. If I were not ready, what would be different? They will broadcast matches. I, being a non-subscriber, will not watch them and will do so in the blissful knowledge that I wouldn't watch them even if they were free. I don't want to watch their content. 

However, they have posed the question so do they expect an answer? Should I phone them, wait for the inevitable recorded message about going on their website and how important my call is etc etc before some salesperson answers:

Salesperson: "Hello, sorry to keep you waiting, how can I help

Me: Gasping a little, a catch in my throat "I'm not ready. I'm so sorry. I meant to be. I tried. But I am not. You are, you told me so, you went to the trouble of putting up a poster by the station where I had to see it. I feel I've let you down, let everybody down, I'm so miserable and I just want to kick the cat, only I haven't got one, you see how unprepared I am, help me, help me please"

Salesperson: Can I interest you in 240 channels of unspeakable tat for just £250 plus VAT a month and only £600 to pay if we are unable to provide the service and you cancel?

No, I can't go through with it. I shall remain unready. Ethelred didn't pay to watch the Northumbrians beating the hell out of the Picts and I shall follow his example.

Special Selection

 Posters advertising Coca-Cola have appeared in the streets of beautiful (and once more, extremely warm) Ruislip. Rather than extol the thirst-quenching values of this beverage, assuming there are any, they feature a large photo of a radiant Kate Moss¹ and some strap-line about a competition featuring 000's of prizes selected by Ms Moss herself.

It's hard to believe that a wealthy lady, whose partner is one Nikolai von Bismarck², would be arsed to visit the offices of the Coca-Cola company (even though they are in Uxbridge, just a few short stops on the Met from Ruislip), rather than loll about on the terrace of her chateau, watching her soul-mate drawing lines on a map of Europe and pondering alliances, but there it is. We are now forced to imagine the scene.

Scene: The marketing department at Coca-Cola HQ, Uxbridge. A manager is dusting off the flipchart and practising buzz-phrases.

Manager to herself: 'Imaginate the unperplexible'. 'Ground-breaking enterprise paradigm-shift'. 'Pro-active synergistic customer-facing synergy'. Oh, God, that last one's wrong. Think, Nigella, think. What the hell is is it? '

Door opens. A radiant Ms Moss is ushered in by an overwhelmed intern

Taz³: In here, Ms Moss. Gosh, may I say how much I loved your heroin chic look, I'm definitely going to do heroin just as soon as I've earned enough to buy a box

Moss: Awfully sweet of you, young man.

Manager: Kate, lovely to see you

Moss: Wonderful to see you darling thinks 'Who is she again?'

They air kiss, several times.

Manager: Can I offer you a drink?

Moss: Cor, I could murder a cuppa tea and a custard cream.

Manager: Ah, not one of our ice-cold, super refreshing, real thing, carbonated and made with a secret recipe that definitely does not include cocaine, not any more, any way, tins? 

Moss: Do me a favour

Manager: Cup of tea for Ms Moss, Taz

Taz: Right away. I'll nip down to the cafe by the station. Shouldn't take more than about ten minutes. exits

Manager: Now we won't keep you long, I know you're leaving to do a tour of the Maginot Line with Nicky. It's just a matter of your personal selection of the prizes.

Moss: I've given it a lot of thought in the last two minutes. You say I need to select 000's?"

Manager: Not really. There'll be 500 of each. So just four selections will satisfy the Advertising Standards people. 

Moss: Jolly good. One yellow mug, one green one, one blue one and one red one.

Manager: Thank you so much Ms Moss and the cheque's in the post.

Moss: Bleedin' better be, darling.

Footnote

1. Ms Moss, b 1974, is a model who, according to Google, rose to fame in the 1990s as part of the "heroin chic" fashion trend. Speaking as one who was once famed for being part of the "aspirin ponce" fashion trend, I recognise her as one of my peers.

2. Yes, really, if Google is to be believed.

3.  He certainly gets around.

Patronising Tweet Of The Day #2

 I really thought my go at Mastercard recently would put an end to this sort of thing, but no, it's summer, the real admen are all on holiday and the apprentices have taken over the laboratory. Today another financial institution, who really should know better, decided to serve me this in my Twitter feed:

 

 

This is the same NatWest who, having occupied a prominent position on Ruislip High Street for some 100 years, (I include their ancestors, such as Westminster Bank), have announced that the branch is to close. The nearest branch will be at Uxbridge, not far but anyone going from Ruislip will have to allow a minimum of 30 minutes for the round trip.

"Never stop starting". I thought this was a reference to a vintage car where the choke was left out on a cold day. I recall driving my family's Ford Anglia in such a way, the car jerking forward and then spasmodically stopping before a fresh push on the throttle (being careful not to flood the engine) kicked it back into life. Cars don't do that any more. They can indeed be accurately described as "never stop starting".

I don't suppose this was what NatWest had in mind. It must be a kindly exhortation from them to the rest of us - "Hey you lazy lot, stop slacking and get on with it. Never, I repeat NEVER stop starting! If we catch any member of the public not starting we shall confiscate their paying-in books!"

Sod that. I shall stop starting as much as I like. I shall wake up on a fine sunny day and think "Today is the day to do a bit of starting. Not right away, let's have breakfast and a leisurely sit-around first, then maybe a nice cup of coffee but definitely before lunch, or at least very soon after it, if it's not clouding over by then and there's no test match to listen to, okay, maybe in the late afternoon, no, it's too late, the moment has passed. Tomorrow. That's it. Tomorrow I shall start. I shall not stop. I shall not fail in the eyes of NatWest. I will never stop starting again. Unless it rains."

You might have thought that having dreamed up this stupid slogan, the admen (or the interns) would put their feet up with a sigh of content and get back to gambling billions of our money on derivatives (whatever they are). But no. No patronising tweet is complete without a hashtag slogan. And what a slogan it is. Einstein, Weinberg, Hawking, Smolin, Rovelli¹- your boys took a hell of a beating. The boffins at NatWest have got there first. Time is not just relative - it has been collapsed entirely. Tomorrow begins Today! There is no future because you are already living it. 

This must make office life rather tricky down at the bank. 

"Withers, I'd like to see you tomorrow to review the Arkwright files"

"You mean later today sir. Tomorrow begins today"

"Ah. Yes. Damn, have to slot you around 11pm due to all the other things I had scheduled for tomorrow that are of course happening today. By the way, you're dressed a bit casually, aren't you?

"I'm off to the golf course for the tournament"

"But that's not till the day after tomorrow"

"Exactly sir. But as tomorrow begins today, then the day after tomorrow must be tomorrow but tomorrow begins today. Bye, sir"

Finally, in the interests of transparency, I should point out that I do not bank with NatWest and am unlikely to do so in the future (assuming the future exists). I shall be even less likely now that they have removed the nearest branch to me. Or <cue sinister music> can it be that tomorrow actually started yesterday and I have already opened an account with them? <fade out sinister music, replace with continuity announcer> "Tune in next week, whenever that is, to find out".

Note

1. The first few physicists specialising in time, relativity and cosmology, I could think of.

Heatwave Update #3

 Wildfires have broken out across southern Europe, forcing the evacuation of towns, campsites and holiday resorts. There have been casualties, including firefighters.

Not to be outdone, we had our own heat-driven apocalypse in NW Middlesex this afternoon. Fires on the parched fields at Hatch End forced rail cancellations. There was a report of a fire in Wembley. And closer to home, the normally marshy low-lying land near RAF Northolt went up in smoke, closing the A40  for several hours. 

Photo: Adam Crts on Ruislip Community Group, Facebook

It was supposed to rain this evening as the heat at last recedes, but as usual we got nothing bar a thick grey cloud cover and increased humidity. Or so I thought until, whilst writing the preceding line, Mrs C pointed out of the window to some real wet-type stuff falling from the sky. It was the briefest of showers but right now we will gladly take anything. 

Heatwave Update #2

The hot air remaining overnight contributed to a rapid rise in temperatures this morning. UK records began to fall and at 1:00pm a new high of 40c was measured at Heathrow, uncomfortably close to us here in what used to be beautiful Ruislip. It is, however, much breezier than yesterday, a hint that the weather system that has been locked over Europe for a week is shifting.

 There is almost no other topic on the news, although Conservative MPs continue to ballot for someone to succeed B. Johnson who, having been hailed as the greatest human in history not so long ago, is now still our prime minister without power or honour. 

Mrs C and I took a brief stroll round the block last night. It was like a Mediterranean holiday in the balmy air with people coming out after hiding in their shuttered homes all day. Except that the lively bars and cafes were missing and only a crowd outside the pub contributed to that southern European feel.

Heatwave update #1

As predicted, it was 37c this afternoon in the scorched, baking plains of what they used to call beautiful Ruislip. The news was dominated by reports across the country showing cars melting, Rutland Water evaporating and mile-long queues to buy ice-creams. [Some slight but permissible exaggeration here:Ed] We remained steadfastly indoors. It was warm but comfortable in the living room with curtains closed and a fan on. Tonight may be less pleasant as massive amounts of stored heat burst out of the brickwork and converge on the bedroom. A local weather station is optimistically predicting some precipitation (rain, in other words) but all too often, in these situations, we see the clouds waft overhead without giving us some blessed relief, so I am not getting any hopes up.

We're Heading For A Heatwave

 The title of a long-forgotten pop song from the late 1960s seems peculiarly suitable right now. All of Western Europe is roasting in an unprecedented heatwave. Temperatures above 40c are being experienced from Spain to the Balkans. In Britain, having had a couple of days at around 30c we are bracing ourselves for a possible 40c in the next couple of days.

Fortunately the Commuter household no longer has to commute and can bunker down at home with a supply of cold drinks, damp towels and darkened rooms to ease the discomfort. 

I shall update this topic in due course

No Place On The Sofa

Here is an update to my recent posting about the approach to discuss my published work on "SkyTV". This message came in today:

 

 Hi Anthony, thanks for your interest. Pls this come with a small fee, please have a look at the offer available and come back to me and we can talk, thanks; https://www.myeverywomantv.com/booksandauthorstv

Oh, a small fee. Well, I don't mind receiving a small fee, all contributions gratefully received in these difficult times, just stick it in a plain brown envelope and slide it casually into my jacket when nobody's looking, used notes preferred.

I checked the website. 

Ah. I am supposed to PAY them a small fee. £59 to have one shot on their TV channel or a chunk more to do a series.  

After I collected my senses, sipped a restorative brandy-and-water and allowed my manservant to apply cold towels to my throbbing forehead, I managed to gather sufficient strength for one final reply:

I don't think I see much point in paying you to advertise a book that has been out-of-print for 40 years. In fact, I don't see any point at all, really.

Really that should be the end of the matter. But then a series of video call requests began coming through. God, don't these people know it's a blisteringly hot Sunday and the correct thing to do today is rest, enjoy the Tour de France (or the Wimbledon men's final, if you must) and put off work until the morrow?  

Chat Show Fame, Here We Come

 I received the following missive on the horrible direct messaging system that Facebook employs, Messenger. It is from somebody I don't know (and I thought only Friends could send dms) but anyway this is what it said:

Dear Author AnthonyG¹,   would you like to come on SKY TV  to talk about yourself and your book/read a review or an excerpts, or what you prefer. My name is Carol Azams, myself with Award winning Author David P. Perlmutter are starting Books & Authors TV  to support authors by promoting their books on Sky Television.  Pls reply for if interested for more details. Thanks
Today at 12:13
 

 Gosh, "Author AnthonyG". How flattering. And how odd. For though am I indeed a published author, as my reply below confirms, I find it impossible to believe that I could have been deliberately selected from the vast number of more popular authors who actually have books in print/digital rather than me with my academic effort from 45 years ago. 

There is a real Carol Azams who presents a TV channel, and a real David P Perlmutter, an author who lives not too far from me. I assume the message is genuine, albeit perhaps sent out as part of a huge batch by an intern (Yes, once again, and why not) and that they will sift out the most interesting and photogenic respondents to come round for a cosy session on the sofa and a nice cup of tea and biscuit in the green room afterwards. There is no way I would be chosen out of this process.

I must admit the idea of being whisked off in a stretch limo, to be flattered under the studio lights while a rapt audience struggled to hold back waves of applause did, for one infinitesimal moment, hurtle through my cortex before an gang of neurons from the "Don't be so bloody stupid" department laid into it. And then with common sense prevailing I submitted this reply

Dear Carol, what a wonderful invitation. The only book I have actually had published was "Financial Accounting", Hodder & Stoughton, 1978 and I know the chapter on inventory valuations under current cost accounting is one that people still argue fiercely about in pubs even to this day. Alas, a planned C4 documentary on "Great undiscovered accountants of Middlesex" fell through quite recently but I am confident that the ratings for any show with me in it will be off the scale. Depending on how big the scale is, of course and whether it goes under 0.

At this point, because I was typing on a real keyboard, I hit the space-bar to insert a paragraph. Bloody Messenger interprets this as the Send Message instruction so I had to add a coda
 

Sorry for pressing the enter key too quickly, I really hate using Messenger. All the best, Anthony.

And there the matter rests. Ms Azams (or Taz) has yet to reply, which does seem to make the use of a direct messaging system pointless. I am rather hoping to be invited to join them as one of the chat show hosts, perhaps doing the Cyril Fletcher role as seen on the much-loved BBC show That's Life. Cyril, as I recall, lolled about in a comfy chair and inserted short and pungent witticisms after Rantzen and Co had routinely blasted the Gas Board, or British Rail or BL or other reviled British enterprises for failings in their dealings with the public. Certainly beats actually trying to write another blasted book.

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

Other chat show presenters! If you wish to join the bidding war for my services, now is the time to contact us at the usual address and submit your plain brown envelopes complete with tasty contents. Terms and Conditions apply and are fully covered in my latest trilogy Terms and Conditions: The Beginning, Terms and Conditions: The Editor Strikes Back and Terms and Conditions: The Reckoning (complete with itemised bill, VAT and non-discretionary Service Charge).

Footnote

1. My real name was used but I've redacted it to match my blog id

So Long, Boris, Part the Second

 Six years ago we witnessed as neat an act of political assassination as we might have wished to see. Michael "the Slithy Tove" Gove wielding the stiletto into the disbelieving back of our local MP and arch-opportunist B Johnson. The Tove's disavowal of his old chum forced Johnson to back off from his attempt to win the leadership of the Conservative Party.

That was a long time ago (politically speaking) but Johnson bided his time, bringing Gove back into government when he pushed out the hapless Theresa May. 

Yesterday the two antagonists had a grand showdown. Johnson's government has spectacularly exploded in the last two days, following the resignations of his Chancellor and Health Secretary, and then more than 50 other ministers and political appointees. Last night a delegation of them went to Downing Street to tell the incumbent to start packing his bags. Johnson resisted. Gove, who was one of the rebels but who had not resigned, was then sacked. Astonishingly, the newly appointed Chancellor has also expressed no confidence in his Prime Minister but remains in post. More astonishing still, this morning on the radio the Attorney General not only said he should go but that she was putting herself forward to succeed him. Oh, and she remains in post.

Even as I write these words, the news media are reporting that Johnson (who yesterday was going to fight on because he had a "mandate") will stand down but remain until the autumn. Or something.

It is impossible not to gloat over the downfall. The lies about Brexit and the cynicism  about the Northern Ireland protocol are shameful enough but the colossal waste of public money during the covid pandemic, the "partygate" scandal and the cover-up, the knee-jerk defence of any corrupt behaviour by a fellow Tory and the final straw - trying to defend the appointment of a drunken groper as a deputy whip and the the constant  whining "We've apologised so now let's all forget about it and move on"- these add up to an unanswerable indictment.

I believe that Johnson has seriously jeopardised the future of Britain. The SNP are now pushing for a second independence referendum and are much more likely to win it this time. The tensions in Ireland might undermine the Good Friday agreement. Putin's horrific invasion of Ukraine that began in February may, in part, have been launched because he saw the continuing divisions in the West as working in his favour. Britain, once a beacon for freedom, is now a country where migrants, who have made the long and extremely hazardous journey to reach our shores, may be deported to Rwanda.

Johnson did at least prevent the election of Jeremy Corbyn as prime minister, a man whose worship of anyone who wears a balaclava and brandishes a gun was genuinely terrifying. What else of his legacy will be regarded as worthwhile remains to be seen.

Patronising Tweet of the Day

 This little gem appeared on my Twitter feed the other day

How awfully kind of those nice chaps and lady chaps at Mastercard (an organisation with which I currently do no business whatsoever). Let us examine the two elements of this, thankfully short, exhortation.

 However you spend each day with Debit Mastercard - what a delightfully laissez-faire, mellow and friendly attitude. We don't care what you do with our card, they seem to be saying, you can stuff it in your pocket or use it to sculpt pottery¹. Perhaps grip it tightly between two knuckles to add extra bite to your forehand jab when street-fighting, or try flicking it sideways and see if you can decapitate a pigeon, Oddjob-style.   It's entirely up to you. 

Note the intrusion of the word "day". I mean, I have credit cards and use them now and then but I don't exactly spend the day with them. I have my life to lead and doubtless they do their own, plastic², thing, perhaps being condescending to my loyalty cards whilst having a mutually respectful relationship with my driving licence. I don't wake up and think "It's a lovely day, how shall I make best of it?, I know, I'll go out with the cards, it'll be such fun". If I need a credit or debit card, I extract it grudgingly from my wallet, plonk it on the reader and then put it away before it starts having ideas about the two of us going for a drink and having a really deep and stimulating conversation.

Anyway, the "however" makes the first phrase somewhat otiose anyway, because clearly it doesn't matter what I and the cards actually get up to. So onto the meat of the gist.

"Spend it doing what matters most to you".  Yes. Sure. I wasn't going to. I thought I would do a few things that really are utterly repugnant, then some irrelevant stuff and finally maybe ask around on social media for ideas about what matters most to others. But Mastercard have cut clear through the fog and put a glaring searchlight on the crux. I should do what matters to me.

I really don't know what the people³ who compose these homilies do all day. They obviously don't inhabit the world that you and I do. They must actually think that, unless they give some instruction in how to live, we would make a hash of it. I have news for them. I shall do what matters most to me and and I shall do it whether they tell me or not. Not only that, I shall do it without spending a single instant of my day with my Debit Mastercard, because I don't have one and I am certainly not going to apply for one, because then I would be doing something that doesn't matter most to me.

The end result of this tweet has been to irritate me and to antagonise me against the brand of Mastercard. Well done, guys. You only had one job and you blew it.

 -&-&-&-&-&-&-

 Footnotes

1. This is a real thing, I went on a pottery course years ago and cards were highly recommended for moulding wet clay.

2. I so wanted to use the word "plasticky" here but it doesn't seem to exist.

3. I assume our old friend Taz has got himself another summer internship

The One-Day Heatwave

 A plume of Saharan air brought temperatures of 32c in the south-east yesterday and left us with a fairly stifling night. Normally one might expect several days of heat but today a thick band of cloud kept it cool all day and as I write, at 7:00pm, it is actually below 13c. 

The desert air left its mark on my car, sadly. We had some thin rain this afternoon and now it is covered in dust. I'm not happy. I took it to the car wash a couple of weeks ago (actually included as part of my annual car service because the garage seems to have contracted out its traditional valeting) and it looks like I shall have to get the old bucket and sponge out.

The Met Comes Good

 Here's something not seen that often. The RMT union has called a strike today and most of the stations in central London are shut. Every one of the traditional tube lines has either no service or a "special" service (meaning very long gaps between trains). Except one. The good old Met appears to be running normally. Which, given that I need to travel on it fairly shortly between beautiful Ruislip and Finchley Road, is rather nice.

Tube status at 11:00am

Back To The Crush

 I had to attend the funeral of a friend today. The ceremony was in West Norwood, a delightful cemetery amidst lushly planted grounds but of course there was the little problem of getting there. I hate driving into London and naturally chose to go by public transport, using the tube to reach Victoria and then the novelty of a trip on Southern railways.

Southern was splendid. The train was clean and comfortable, with sensible announcements (including saying which carriage one was in, useful info for the short-length stations where some carriages do not open their doors), it left on time and arrived on time.

The journey on the tube was less convivial. Though I began my journey shortly before 10:00 from beautiful Ruislip, the Met was fairly busy when it arrived and damn near full by Harrow. Being too close to people in confined spaces still makes me nervous - the country has become used to the covid pandemic but I still want to minimise any chance of catching it. I did not expect the train to be so well-used at that sort of time.

The plan was to transfer to the Jubbly at Finchley Road. We arrived to find an empty one waiting for us. I should have realised... as I and many others swiftly crossed the platform in search of a seat, we were told that due to a person under a train at Green Park, the train was going nowhere. So about-face and back to the still-waiting Met only now my seat had been taken. 

Oh well, I stood in the crowded carriage to Baker Street and transferred to the Bakerloo. Though it was now well after ten, still the platforms were thick with people and it was a push just to get into the train. At Oxford Circus I made the easy crossing to the Victoria Line and blow me, that was also jam-packed, though at least quite a few left at Green Park.

Coming back, around 16:30, was fairly similar, although the Jubbly was now running again but it was still standing room on the Viccy, the Jubbly and the Met (until Wembley Park.)

The Elizabeth Line (aka Crossrail) finally opened for business last week. It was built to relieve the enormous pressure on the Central Line for east-west travel. Seems like a new one rotated at 90° would be handy as well.

Dr. Commuter advises ... Aspiring NATO Members

 Dr. Commuter writes:  Everyone likes to feel wanted and part of a group. This is as just as true for entire nations as for individuals. These days NATO is very popular and more countries are thinking about joining all the time.  The BBC have even been forced to consider how one goes about this.

BBC Website 12 May 2022

Well, it turns out that it is really quite straightforward. You just need to fill out the application form, mail it off with your first year's subscription ($1 billion for larger countries, $400 million if population is under 30 million) and, if you pass the scrutiny of the Membership Committee, you should be in the club in no time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NATO APPLICATION FORM

Name of country................................................................................
Previous names if former colony or has recently declared independence
................................................................................................
Size of army.................... (in divisions)
Size of navy ................... (in ships; do not include rowing boats, pedalos or any vessel called Something McSomethingFace)
Size of air force.................(in planes)
 

Are you happy to have cruise missiles on your territory -     underline your answer from one of the following:
    Yes, if we have to / Of course, the more the merrier  / Already got some but don't mind a few more
 

Do your armed forces have a really fashionable and cool uniform and, if so, is it all right if other members borrow the style?
 

Are you currently invading anyone? - If yes, please give details in covering letter
 

Are you ruled by a mad dictator / revolutionary committee of people's justice / divinely-appointed monarch / infallible Prophet? If any of these apply, we will send you a few further questions later.
 

How do you feel about the borders of your country and those nearby? Tick one answer

• They are okay
• Some minor revisions would be helpful, you know, just to tidy up some scruffy bits, but no major changes are envisaged
• Historical anomalies must be corrected and those who have subverted the sacred soil of the Motherland be consigned to the lower circles of hell
• The glorious cause of our people knows no boundaries and all countries must, one day, be included within the bounds of our ever-growing empire

Do you accept the Terms and Conditions of NATO membership (see 658 page appendix)?    

Please remember to include a working email address and a telephone number where we may contact you. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Commuter is also available to advise any country that would like to join the EU, Eurovision, UEFA or Interpol.

The Swans Fly Off

 I wrote a few weeks back about the peculiar problems surrounding Staines Town FC, who play their football in tier 4 of the non-league pyramid. Denied access to their ground by the owner, they were desperate to complete the season, even though they face relegation, rather than suffer the ignominy of having all their results expunged. Through friendly contacts, they managed to secure their final league match at Wealdstone's (my home team, let me remind you) ground, and so it was that yesterday, with the Stones playing miles away at Altrincham, I toddled along in the warm sunshine to watch them take on another local side, Northwood.

Alas, the Swans were hopelessly outclassed and lost 8-1, their rather ponderous (and distinctly short) defence having little answer to the Woods' relentless attacking and excellent corner-kicking.

This will almost certainly be the last match played by this club - they may or may not return via a "phoenix" club set up by supporters under a similar name but in a much lower league; a sad demise for a club formed at exactly the same time as the Stones and who we have encountered many times over recent years.

Dr. Commuter assists ... Manchester United

 

 

Dr. Commuter writes:  I gather that English Premier League football team Manchester United are currently doing less well than they or their fans would wish, and that they are seeking aid from kindly souls such as Mr Ferdinand (pictured above).

I can save a whole point from the list, whatever it may contain, and thereby allow United more time to pack in extra football action. Here is my exclusive five-point plan for Mr ten Hag or anyone else to exploit as they wish.

1. Get a decent goalie. Goalies can help prevent the opposition from scoring goals
2. Get a decent defence. Defenders not only prevent goals from being scored against but can link up with the midfield (see below)
3. Get a decent midfield. Midfielders can link up with the defence (see above) and the forwards (see below) to help control the game and enable their side to score more goals than the others do
4. Get some decent forwards. Forwards can score goals and force the opposition to commit resources to defending, thereby relieving the pressure on the midfield (see above) and defence (see further above). 
5. Er, that's it. Just do all the above and you can save a further valuable point.

We seem to have ended up with a four-point plan and it may be possible to reduce it still further by judiciously inserting the word "player". Thus we may restate the entire plan in one succinct statement.

1. Get some decent players.

I think that will do for now.

 

-&-&-&-&-&-

If you are a sporting manager in need of advice, do please contact Dr. Commuter at the usual address. Offers of free season tickets and attendance at prestige sporting events will not be rejected.

To Update Or Not To Update, That Is Not Actually The Question

 Ebay, with whom I have occasionally done a little business, sent me a plaintive email this morning and as it is utterly pointless, I hereby share it with you.

Yes, it has indeed been a year since I updated my personal info. Many years, in fact. And why is that, you may well ask? Because it has not changed in that time. It is not possibly for me to update any of it because, assuming that by "update" we mean "change", there is nothing to change. 

If Ebay had been intelligent enough to suggest that I login to confirm that all was well, that would be fair enough, though irritating. Cleverer still would be to have a reply link in the email with the one word "Yes", in much the same way that one replies to emails that are sent to one confirming that one's email address is valid.

Like that folksy "Sounds like a good idea?". No, it is not a good idea. It is an utter waste of my time. I know that my personal info is correct because, as I have already told the court, Your Honour, it has not changed for ages and during that time I have done things on Ebay which could not have happened had my personal info been incorrect.

And that final phrase - "If you have updated your personal info recently..." Don't they know? Do the clerks who check all the personal info updates and place a tick in green ink at the side of the ledger not talk to the people ( I always assume it is unpaid interns) who draft the customer-facing emails?  How hard is it to have a "last updated" date field in the personal info database and for the email program to read that before sending out the emails? I'll answer that one myself. Not in the least bit. A doddle. Not only could I do it, I bleedin' well have done it or similar in various database applications I have built.

Anyway, I shall certainly take full cognisance of the final bit of their email. I will ignore the reminder.

Rats in cyberspace

 Many years ago I posed the question "Where have all the scammers gone?" At that time most scams were worked through email or phone calls but the frequency of both seemed to be diminishing. I now realise that the attention of these parasites has been shifting to text messages sent to mobile phones and to the manipulation of social media. My first-hand experience of scammers on both media is almost zero.

Today's scammer sends a text (sometimes an email) to a victim (that is to say, many texts to random numbers, hoping one or two will take the bait). Here are some of the variations:

• It promises huge returns if they will only send some money to an untraceable account, usually a cryptocurrency. This may be linked to a stolen social media account as outlined below.
  
  
• It breathlessly begs for help, an emergency code is needed, please receive it on behalf of the sender. The catch being that this will be the reset code for the recipient's own account with Instagram or some other site, and the scammer is using the reset password technique to take control of it. Often the scammer has already got control of another Instagram site and is using that site's contacts. A victim who receives a message apparently from someone they follow is more likely to fall for the scam. The scammer will then seek to monetise their corrupted accounts by inviting their contacts to send them money through some subterfuge such as "I am making huge profits on crypto, you can too, just send me your startup investment".
  
  
• The scammer pretends they were trying to contact a friend or business contact, apologises for making a mistake and then tries to start a conversation anyway. The endgame here is to lure the victim into "investing" in cryptocurrency though a website that the scammer has set up. Or perhaps to start a longer term "friendship" which will sooner or later result in a plea for financial help. Charmingly, this is known as the "pig-butchering" scam, an expression of Chinese origin.
  
  
•  It just has a weblink, often in an obscured form which makes it hard to see where it is really going. This may lead directly to an attempt to download malware to the victim's phone or to do identify theft by asking for a login and other personal details. And yes, there are people who click on links even though they haven't the faintest idea of what they are.
  
  
• It pretends to be from a bank, or Amazon or similar and says a payment has been blocked and the account must be verified by clicking on a link, which will then harvest as much personal detail as the victim is stupid enough to supply. The giveaway in all these cases is that the text will not address the victim by name and account number and will come from a phone number or email address that is obviously not from the institution that it claims to be.
  

What is frightening is the huge number of people who fall for them. I regularly read the r/scams forum on Reddit where these exploits are publicised and discussed. Although the public opinion on scam victims is that they are usually the out-of-touch elderly, it is clear that naive young people are as likely to be taken in. Some will respond at once to any message, even if sent in the middle of the night when they are groggy with sleep. Some just click first on any link then worry about it afterwards. Some will look at an obvious scam (such as "This is the president of the World Bank, I have $50million hidden away and need your help to get it") and then make a plaintive posting asking "Is this a scam?". 

Then there are the willing victims, driven by either greed or lust. The greedy fall for adverts promising stupidly high financial returns on "investments"; almost always these are for cryptocurrencies. The websites that lure them in may look convincing and may even provide regular updates, once they have made an "investment" showing increases in value. But requests for withdrawals will be met either with the blocking of the account or a claim that taxes or other fees have to be paid first so please send some more cash (needless to say nothing will ever be repaid).

A separate group of willing victims are those who go to internet dating sites, contact a "girl" and swap nude pictures. The victim supplies photos showing their faces and giving real personal details. The "girl" supplies pictures stolen from the net and has an entirely fake profile. Then the "girl" blackmails the victim saying they will send the nudes to their family and friends unless a payment is made. Or they contact the victim, using a different profile and claiming to be the husband or father of the"girl", and threatening exposure and violence. Of course, the scammers do not know who the family and friends of the victim are and are unlikely to do anything at all, other than make empty threats. But that does not stop large numbers of frightened young men making payments to buy them off and then receiving more demands for cash.

Living quietly as I do in retirement, it now becomes plain why so many of these scams have passed me by.

Mayhem Off The Pitch

 Staines Town FC play in the 8th tier of English football. A few years ago they were in the same league as my side, Wealdstone, but have fallen on hard times. However, nothing could have prepared the world of non-league fandom for the announcement made today by the club's management. They have alleged that the owners of their ground are guilty of serious crimes, including money laundering, child slavery, sanctions-busting ... and murder.  And consequently the club is refusing to play any more matches.

 

That astonishing statement in full

 

Staines are currently bottom of their league, the Isthmian South-Central, and already relegated to the depths of county league football. So they would have been kicked out of the league in any case. It is not clear why the club is refusing to play, unless it be that they refuse to pay any more rent to the ground owners. Going by the fans'  unofficial forum, there is no confidence in the club's owners but it is not clear if there is a connection between them and the ground owners. Hopefully some fans can keep the show going and maybe reform next season, albeit at a much lower level. 

The club have written an open letter to the Home Secretary making the same allegations as in the statement so it will be interesting to see if, given the serious nature of the alleged crimes, the police are involved. Although the news has reached the "Trending" level on Twitter, there is, of course, no reaction so far from the Isthmian League or the FA.

Remove This Filth Now!

 The following ad keeps popping up in my Facebook feed. 

No, Joby, I do no wish to create sick digital content. There is far too much of this already on the Internet. And it is a mark of our degraded sense of morals that you continue to promote decadence and dissolution. [That's the standard of alliteration that you are justly famed for: Ed]

You may think it a little savage that I should choose to blast what could be a simple typing mistake with all the firepower of this well-respected blog. But I did give them fair warning. FB allows for comments on ads and I have previously drawn their attention to it. Did they bother to change the wording? Did they have the courtesy to acknowledge my contribution with grateful thanks and a voucher for one of their useful products? What do you think?