That was the week that was

1. I went to the seaside.  I met some wonks.

2. I got a better blog.

3. We returned to 1929.

4. My mortgage got buggered.

MS Woes

1. MS Narrator is rubbish.

2. Speech Recognition is amazing.

The old Amiga used to make a fair stab at speaking, so why can't my 2008 kit do a decent job of reading my work back to me to help with proofing?  On the other hand, the seemingly impossible task of recognizing my mutterings seems perfectly possible, and from now on I can lie in bed and dictate.  My ex-wife could barely understand me, but my little Dell seems to make a decent fist of it.

3. Went for a walk around Camden, sussing out just how gentrified west of the high street is.  Was on a caffeine high, and managed to snub the friendly American checkout guy in Fresh and Wild.  He's been there since 2004, according to his badge.  Walked back via the canal.  It's emo central at the last stop before the bridge.

4.  I watched Basquiat on DVD.  Had that mid-90s feel. Bowie good, and clearly enjoying himself, with a British accent for Warhol. Made the 80s seem a long time ago, and didn't really tell you much you didn't know.  Parker P. was on good form.

5. A great tiger prawn curry.

Not much posting

Seems like it's been a busy week, although not much actually done, and feel rather tired.

Text panels, mostly, sent off, and caught a film.  Found out that a friend got the temporary job they needed, and spent too much time on Londonfgss. 

New issue of Monocle arrived, in a white plastic jiffy bag.  Perhaps the perfect Brulism in this weekend's FT:

Me: “It would be great to get back to Tokyo that little bit earlier, no?”

Plus, my Adobe Lightroom 2 trial has expired.  May have to move over to Picasa.

Losing It

One of those days when it all seems a little too much.  Delighted to receive some yummy Belgian waffles from flatmate yesterday, but started the day with a meeting that was very fraught - with people's professional competencies being called into question and people not really listening.  Then ploughed on with organizing the dread colloquium.  Email seems to bring out some people's inner prig, I have discovered.  Then another go at editing, realizing that we don't have enough time. Plus a 8:30 meeting tomorrow.

On the other hand, new Montane Event Quickfire arrived, and I'm warming to it.  Plus may get to the cinema tomorrow.  And I got a decent amount of editing done.

Regret watching a damn fool sex education show on C4.  All 'why don't we just all talk about it' and lots of talk about 'pants' and 'bits'.

Realize this time last year I was camping on a mountain in the Pyrenees.  Wish I could have got away this summer/autumn.

Tour of Britain

1. Now happily watching the Tour again on ITV4. 

I am, however, fortunate not to be in a cell, as I almost got into an argument with a copper.  Saw a bunch of policemen talking, I thought, to some of the anti-Eon global warming protesters.  Right behind them was the Millennium Wheel.  A great shot. I snap.  I adjust the exposure.

"What are you doing?" demands a copper.

"Taking a photograph"

"Why?"

"Because it looks good with the Dome, sorry Wheel, behind them...".

Elbow grabbed, warned I am obstructing a police officer.  Told to move on.  I see red, inner rage almost comes out, "I know my rights, what's your number officer, etc. etc.", but I slink off instead.  Prick.  And that's just me.

2. They cycle very fast.

3.  Last night was very enjoyable. Bring up my Athens scheme, and it is deemed not creepy. No F., who seems to be under a bit of stress.

Genesis

Bradi popped by today, so I rustled up some mussels, and we made out way through the white wine in my booze cruise selection. 

Checked out the potential flat, and concluded it is potentially fab.  Worried about deposit.  Pops recommends touching up grandad, which I'm not sure about.

Nice pint at the Assembly Rooms, too.

Also saw Somers Town, which was heart warming, if a little bit Eurostarpromotion.  Who knew such heartening humanity was going on behind the library.  And the old thing, like Hot Fuzz, of people walking in odd ways to get places in filmland.

Now waiting for Montane eVent Quick Fire to arrive.

What a ?

 

I now have two of these, thanks to LFGSS.   Bamboo is nice.

 

Other news: more deliberations at work, and suspect we may be on our own for the completion of The Thing.  Fair enough.

Also realized that I'm annoyed at house being in the hands of a nominations committee.  No call from the finance people today, which is probably a bad sign.  And missed lunch with F., due to domestic emergency.  Now, need to try and work, although being distracted by program about biodynamic wine production.  Biodynamic sounds like a load of New Age bollocks.

1/2 Day

Scarper from work at 11:20 and head to Ealing Broadway.  Why? Because I have been told I am shortlisted for one of the flats in a shared ownership scheme in Camden.  Of course, the papers are full of the government's tinkering with the financial mess, and full of advice not to buy, but rent. Still, that's what you mostly do with shared ownership.

Arrive in good time, so after digesting a subway I go through the administrative process.  Some small talk on libraries being made redundant by the internet, and discover I have just cleared one of the hurdles (and reading between the lines) am probably making up the numbers.  If all is fair, then I have 40% odds of making it to the next stage.  Not bad, but not quite what I had in mind.

Back to Simon for a haircut.  We talked a bit about the above.  He said he and his partner were thinking of the same, but that neither hairdressers nor my esteemed profession are considered key workers.  After the process, I resemble a Yeti, until I shake off all the hair clippings.  Costs a bloody fortune, but the intangibles of a friendly place to get it cut, someone who really cares about his work, and a good end result make it worth it.  Hurrah for Karines.

Then decide I should head home and edit some chapters.  But no, damn it.  Decide to make use of my RSA fellowship and head for their library (why didn't I kill 45 mins. there earlier?).  Full of the usual suspects, all wonks and Will Hutton Wannabes, and was that Shirley Williams?  Great place to work and kick the heels for a bit, though.  Look at what looks like the new blog and take out some books on the Bill of Rights, and suchlike.

Then back on the Brompton (Condor given a rest because of multi-modal excursion).  Coming up Charing Cross Road, the traffic is held up (and remember I went to cycle training last night), so I overtake on the right.  Mostly looking at the bus lane, then I notice too figures in front

"Look out," shouts I.

Crash.  Down he goes.

"Are you ok? Sorry?" goes the woman with the man.

We are all a bit startled.  Brompton came to a graceful halt, but only after brain makes the decision that I have to shoulder check the guy who is stepping into the traffic without looking both ways.  We make it to the pavement.  Time speeds up again, and they've gone.  All I could think was 'please don't hit your head'.  Commandeer a London Lite and get my chain back on, then make it home, via a bit of a rest in PC World in a Bluetooth mouse hunt.  A bit shaken, but no real harm done, I think (leg still sore, though). Apart from not overtaking (and why not?), fitting caliper brakes on the B, or going slightly slower, not sure what else I could have done.  Swerve? For some reason, the brain discounted this.  Suspect I would have taken them out sideways and gone down with them.  Half wonder if they were in my frontal blind spot that Richard Dawkins has told me about.

Now, must edit.

City Hall

The light at the end of the tunnel?  The Thing at work looks closer to being done, or at least can imagine it being done.  However, a restructuring looms into view, so Bad Things could happen.

Otherwise, I have been to a training session for the Freewheel in a couple of Sundays time.  The small crowd of volunteers felt a bit like an episode of Dear John.  Creamed it coming home on the Condor.  Suspect I don't have the chipper personality to be a good marshal, but want to donate at least some of my time to something, rather than just work and editing.

Google Chrome is now running on the desktop. It was one of the moments when you think, this changes everything when it started up.  If I was Microsoft, I'd be pissing myself.  Suddenly desktop apps. look completely natural.  That said, it's just still a beta, so it may take a bit of settling down.

Last Day of August

Was marked by a bunch of thunderstorms and rainfalls.  Did some washing, got irritated in Sainsbury's and lifted a bunch of words from previous drafts.  A bit of tinkering and it might be okay.  Possibly.

Finding the Good Stuff

More good stuff from The Obvious.  Plus, I have a half-baked theory that hyperlinks aren't what they used to be, and so without all this blog-referring, Google would grind to a halt.

Last Weekend of Summer

1. Saturday seemed to have lots of things on offer, not the least of which was a pedalo tournament that the fixed-gear hipsters were putting on. I realised I should probably spend time with people I actually know, rather than hanging around. Later reports revealed what looked to be a blast, Team Zissou outfits, and altercations with the cops and pedalo police. Bright Times, as they would say.

2. Instead, I met up with John at Ferdandez & Wells. Fernandez, or possibly Wells, seem to think that we were together. Sat in the sun, talked bikes ate out Spanish cheese and ham sandwiches with ginger beer. Then a coffee at the Nordic Bakery round the corner, although sadly no cinnamon buns. Talk of why Vista isn't so bad, followed by a quick Brompton ride to Victoria Station.

3. Whitstable. Spent the first half of the journey listening to a 28-year old Irish woman discussing her last night out, how she got high, and was flirted with by some friends, one of whom did it in that teasing manner. She was off to see two "little gay friends" in W. As this suggests, she talked loudly. Still, joie de vivre. Whitstable was warm, slightly boho, slightly smug, slightly East End. Missed the barbeque, but sat around and went for a walk on the Street, which stretches out into the sea at low tide. It was slippery, had the tang of salt, and was covered in tasty looking green seaweed and tiny white and brown crabs. Mike had some friends over, and it was amusing to see him being teased by them.

4. Back. Listened to the Boo Radley's albums in sequence, post Wake Up!. Always guaranteed to make a slightly emotional but enjoyable journey, especially if you put the nostalgia, age-related stuff on one side. Each one is so focused, and so committed, exploring a couple of themes, such as where to live, relationships, not settling for average, remembering childhood. Nothing that is said is particularly new, and I'm told they happily reworked tunes, but still a fantastic series of albums. Most of which got a 10 from the NME. Odd how they are largely forgotten, it seems, and relegated to the heavy drinking, joking around at festivals, wacky side of things, when, along with Spiritualized, they made the best set of albums bar none in the 1990s.

5. Today, however, is wet. This is a good thing, as I really have to try and get some re-writing done. Although it's really writing. I just can't seem to get this thing done.

iTunes is Rubbish

It really is.  So I'm heading to the sea.

What's new

1. "The government is listening"
2. Ryan Adams lashes out.
3. McCain goes for opposites.
4. I get an email from Boston.

tits

left wallet at work. At least I hope I did. Roll on tomorrow...

Excitement of the evening: Obama's speech and Gray's Anatomy. I must get out more.

August passes

1. A trip back to Somerset. Highlights included some waterpistols, and a descent of Cheddar (80km).
2. Exhibition continues to be a lot of work: editing, re-editing, discussing what panels go where.
3. Enjoyed the final Olympics ceremony, not least Boris not dropping the flat, and Chris Hoy on a Brompton.

Red Bull

1. I went to the bike polo tournament in Shoreditch afterall. And took a lot of photos. And drank two cans of red bull. And helped a unicyclist climb a big rock. Really. And today there was a radio show about couriers, with Nhatt and Buffalo Bill. Not that I have a real clue who these people are, but red bull messes with your head.

2. This was a bit of a twist. When the national library has it in for you, what's left? And, ironically, I'm a big Gordon fan. The Telegraph is such a rag these days.

Weekend

1. I woke up early, so joined a couple of work colleagues for a cycle ride. Notched up 77 miles, a pint at the Spaniards, and a trip around Hertford.

2. Nap and a shower. Then some noodles and a film with F. Went to the Prince Charles, perhaps the best cinema in London, and saw In Bruge, which wasn't really dark or comedic enough; rather Film 4 in production values, but definately one of the better recent releases.

3. Am tempted by bike polo tomorrow, but suspect I won't go.

4. I have a new laptop. A Dell M1330, which seems very indulgent. Still getting used to the keyboard and warm palm rest, as well as Vista's quirks, but its a revelation to have a modern PC that runs at a decent speed, has a DVD drive, connects fairly well to the internet, etc.

On reflection, the last couple of days would probably have impressed me ten years ago.

On a lighter note

The pub over the road seems to have been adopted by some wannabe hipster couriers, except they look like damaged ex-punks. Lots of one-legged trouser rolls, road bikes, and self-conscious oiling of chains.

Eager to Please

This is, I suspect, one of my many faults. Today, I realised I messed up reading Outlook's calendar (which is pretty easy to do, given how slow it is at populating months with appointments) and booked a day off to catch up with the chapter that's due for Friday, and wait in for a parcel that was supposed to arrive on Monday (otherwise it will be sent back). Plus I spent all of Sat. and most of Sunday working, so could do with a break.

I email an apology for the meeting I decided I could reluctantly miss (prob. the second in two years on this project), but am clearly coming across as rude and incompetent, when in reality I am not particularly needed, and the person most concerned will be there.

But, I know this is a little rude, and my fault, so now I feel shitty and will have this evening and tomorrow ruined. I know I shouldn't really care, and just say Fuck You, but I clearly have no balls.

On the plus side, a reminder of how difficult it is to co-ordinate things with a lot of people, esp. when you're not really in charge, and can only go through the motions of approving things, when in reality it all happens in meetings off-stage. Lesson 2: always phone to cancel meetings, rather than a chicken email.

Unpleasant

I popped back home for any early lunch, in hopes of being in for a parcel delivery (which I missed, of course. One of the things that I miss about Dolphin Square).

On the cycle path up Royal College Street, which I have written to Camden about (no response), I saw the same Condor as mine, under a black car, which had clearly just turned across the cycle route. The cyclist was being attended to by paramedics, and was on oxygen. He looked unconscious. I couldn't do anything, so just had to cycle by slowly (so as not to cause trouble). Worryingly, they were all still there on my way back. Hope he's okay. Not reflecting on the dangers of it, given this is just one statistic, but may reassess using that cycle path again. Nearly every day you see someone almost getting hit.

Ploughed on with the Exhibition book editing, which is much improved, and the rather ropey interactive. Worked till 8; must push on.

Supplies

I have managed to go to the supermarket. I think everyone was in a slight daze, although Sainsbury's was not as manic as it can be.

So, I get my stuff, basically, something citrus looking, something green, and bunch of cereals, some fish, duck and pork, and head to the counter. The person in front of me needs a pen to sign something, so I hand over my Mitsubishi that knocks around in my Chrome bag (this is sounding very Bateman-esque entry). They leave, and I start to have my stuff scanned. The counter guy says he's seen me around the store before with the bag, and chats about saving the planet, etc. I don't have a store-card, and he tells me it's probably for the best as they spy on you. What with that and him complaining about the cost of food, I suspect The Management would be unhappy. On the other hand, the whole checkout experience becomes much more human, and I leave with a warmer feeling than I would otherwise.

One salmon and dolcelatte bagel later (not the best combo), I am preparing to get some writing done. Outside, it is miserable - windy and wet. Inside, I am doing some washing. Not really Sunday activity. Looking at the Facebook feeds, I think I currently know more people who are physically in Boston than I do in London.

Friday Night

I am listening to Any Questions on Radio 4, which is coming from Somerset. Paddy Ashdown seems to be enjoying himself. I am not (even though it's not a bad show this evening). Why? Well, my fingers and toes are tingling like crazy, so I'm imagining all kinds of dreadful diseases, I have a cold, a headache, a flatmate's house guest (which is actually fine, but I'll throw it into the mix), still waiting for laptop to arrive, so expect this to crash any moment, and have the prospect of a wet Saturday and a day in the office tomorrow. This is basically warm up for trying to edit a chapter for a volume that is due on the 15th, and which I am not at all happy. The day was spent on labels and worringly about the gizmo for The Exhibition.

I think I have a sense of what I want to say (which is something about sentimentality and images of the popular classes), but feel little reason to say it, except as some some of simulacrum of scholarly work. Although rather cheeringly, I sat down with a second-hand copy of Sorel on Napoleon, which was once owned by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, the jay-walking global historian (picked up at the bargain price on Charing Cross Road). Sorel is quite lively as a writer, and FF-A's comments (some in French) are spritely, too. What is cheering, though, is that quite clearly he started well, and ran out of steam about page 46.

The Olympics have also begun. Rather sadly, I am sort of looking forward to watching the fireworks on the TV (or YouTube, as I must have missed it). I rather enjoyed the Australian ones.

Blue Screen of Death

My computer hasn't had one of these for a while, but last night it decided to crash twice, losing most of the evening's work. Annoying.

Spent this morning in a darkened room, learning more about the CMS. Spent most of the time wondering how the program worked, what -1 means in Pearl or Java (infinity, basically), and how the program could be better. In theory, it makes sense, but it's far to complicated, unautomated, and the interface is terrible in the post Web 2.0 world.

Attempted to write labels in the afternoon, but read up on the philosophy of law instead. I suspect this is anglocentric, but I wonder what accounts for the importance of Hobbes, Locke, Bentham, Austin? I suspect a primer written elsewhere would emphasize others. Am happier, however, with one of the definitions of natural law, which is the rule of God worked out on earth, by rational beings (and then Grotius broke the link between the moral law and a supreme being).

Bump

Down to earth with a.

Feeling rather tired, and not a little glum, now that the trip to Edinburgh is over. Spent the day being told about the new Content Management System, which is super clunky, and is abbreviated to CMS, which made me think of the Centre for Medieval Studies. Blue Screen of Death stopped me getting on with some writing, this evening so have been distracted with R4, and a pot of yoghurt, as well as wondering what the guy over the road is doing with a specialized carbon bike. He looks like the messenger out of Spaced, just a bit older. I also hear a whiskey whispering my name...

I have been reading Scarlett Thomas's The End of Mr. Y., which was lent to me. Recommendations usually stop me reading something, but I persisted with this one. It's pretty good, rather fun, with a bit of a resemblance (at least in terms of heroine with rather ropey back-story) to Ian Bank's Whit. And a bit of The Ring meets a Catherine Fox novel. However, it irritated me with its belief in c19th dust-jackets (or was this a device to undermine the narrator's trustworthiness) and a misunderstanding about the location of "My Documents" on networked university PCs (ditto; both rather geeky points and hence should be ruled out of literary crit. court). The author has spent too long in a library. Interestingly, one of the National Express staff chatted with me a little about the book as she refilled my coffee (thank you, First Advance), saying she'd heard it was good, and was thinking of reading it. (Clearly, takes the opposite view of recommendations to me, and warily approaches texts.) I predict a film.

I am also about to be in print, wittering on about The Exhibition, in a journal aimed, it seems, at foreign tourists. I display a remarkable knowledge of Hollywood starlets (filled in for me by the journalist), and a silly story about Germaine Greer. Oddly, the best thing about it is the photograph. Got some more hints from the designers as well: the logo reminds me of Funny Feet ice-lollies that I used to enjoy as a child.

More grumpiness: I seem to have been afflicted by a minor cold, which has led to also sorts of crazy speculations, such as the need for a kettle with a torch on the spout for dark-kitchen tea making expeditions.

Edinburgh

I am in Edinburgh, visiting my sister and her rock star husband. She kindly arranged a bunch of tickets for the Fringe (the main purpose was to get away, not hang out with drama students or ambitious stand-ups, but made sense to catch some of it). So, as the Replacements play on Martin's magnificent stereo, and it pisses down outside, here's the review so far. (Teenage Fanclub, and an argument between Alan McGee and Tony Blair over whether Norman or Gerard were the best songwriter made a nostalgic story in the paper on the way up).

1. Despite instructions to avoid any comics who are likely to pick on their audience, that is exactly what happened at the first gig - David O'Doherty: Let's Comedy, at the Stand Comedy Club. This turned out to be at the Police Association's social club, which made for a good opening, with obvious jokes about the Boys in Blue's fondness for the Irish (actually, most of the skits were well-ploughed ground - yes, more about the silliness of text templates, viz. conversation on the train to the Hop Farm Festival - but D O'D's affable, intelligent, slightly spiky, presentation more than made up for this). For some reason, I was talking about Daniel's badger attack on the way there, and then the subject of badger attacks came up in the show. Coincidence? I don't think so. So I laughed, and then was accused of romaticising the beastly brock a la Wind in the Willows. I may be too defensive here... E=MC2 joke (Marie Curie and Einstein) I've heard before, too. Still a good one. Liked at the tech joke stuff (mac owners and their bongs... ), and the toothbrush story has the makings of a classic. Three and a Half Highland Springs out of Five.

2. What Would Ferris Do. A rather feeble show buried in the bottom of the Espionage Club. Think my website is better, and at least questions Bueller in some way. Surely, the guy is a dick, while also being very cool? A series of bar-end skits, embarrassing interaction with a 15-year old in the audience, and a teenage revellry in rude jokes and swearing was tiring. Worst of all was the sense of seize the day, even if that meant giving up a job as a computer programmer and eeking out what looked like a not very successful stand-up comedy career. Harsh? Well, Ferris would have told it like it was, and he knew he was going to sell out and work in the city. Sure, kick back and look around once in a while, but you can't beat The Man. That was John Hughe's reactionary, if probably realistic, message. But a good point, why was Ferris a 15? And a nice badge given out at the end (during sneaky whip round). One HS/5

3. Spiegeltent. Much amusement at smeagaltent, etc. Would rather be at the South Sea Seaport, where Laura Cantrell is set to play at said US tent. Speaking off, discovered some old Strode pals via friend on FB. One of whom is in Manhattan with child, the other seems obsessed with US history. Not sure what he would make of my grubbing around the detritus of UK constitutional history at TNA. (Reminds me, must add Sarah and John Austin to list of future blog posts, i.e., what's not in).

4. Swedish Pastries. Clearly, Edinburgh has its own yuppie media types, who need their own Nordic Bakery. Cardamon buns and poppie cakes to be recommended, as is the coffee, people watching, classical guitar in the distance, and the friendly, leggy american waitress.

5. Dell Outlet. Seems like their own website and servers are not to be trusted. Nonetheless, an XPS should be on its way to me. I have come up with Shaw's Law, which states that one's own computer will appear impossibly slow which each passing year, even if no new software is added.

6. The Crags. The best thing on the fringe of Edinburgh.

7. Neologising. My favourite new pastime: gok, vb., to dress someone up, e.g 'You need gokking'. Neologize, vb., the game of inventing words. Esp. verbs.

8. Foto. Avant-garde photography in central europe. I had problems with this, and may post about it later.

End of July

1. I have been to Upper Street. This means the Porchetta restaurant. Which is fine.
2. I also went to the PRO, which goes by the name of The National Archives. Or TNA, or rather the TNA. A bit like the Hoi Polloi. Makes me feel rather young fogeyish to be irritated by this relatively novel nomencalture. Rooted around in some historical stuff, and made some subsequent requests for the The Exhibition. A bit like supermaket sweep, with Lux and Lumen and Membranes thrown in, along with the British Constitution and MSS. What happend to Dale Winton?
3. Almost went to the film Mamma Mia, which is supposed to be joyful, despite itself. However, thanks to Orange Wednesdays, turns out it was sold out. Hence Upper Street. And a weird link to brother's brother-in-law Brian. Who works hard, it transpires. Natch.
4. Spotted a fab Condor on the way home, following bike route a pied. Delighted to find out that it takes 40 mins - esp. as this confirms a c18th diary I once catalogued, and recorded an evening stroll from Islington to Spaniard's Inn, Hampstead. Was doubtful, but now sure it was an easy treck.
5. Very warm. No-one is muttering about bad weather now. How long will it last? And why won't the people opposite draw their curtains? My pc faces the window, so it looks like I'm a voyeur, unless I draw mine, but then overheat. Plus, my clothes are on.
6. Exhibition. Snapped at last, and took it out on the one sane person.
7. Planning to head to Edinburgh at weekend. Looking forward to it, not least because feel the need for a break, but missing bunch of stuff, not least getting up to someting with F.

What the WTO?

I tried to blog a little back in 2000/2001, which now seems a long time ago. In those pre-9/11 days, the biggest story was globalisation. Naomi Klein, Noam Chomsky, Doha, people dressed in clowns, Anthony Giddens, Seattle, even GM foods seemed to be mixed up. It all seemed rather exciting, if a little trendy, and not a little to do with an irrational dislike of Nike and Starbucks. I wonder now how much it was mixed up with the Millennium and a search for optimism, and perhaps youth, plus low airfares for all the protesters to turn up.

Then I learnt a little more about TRIPS and got a sense of how the BRIC countries' economies were growing, with a certain amount of protectionism. And even McDonalds kind of changed its image. And globalisation seemed even more of a vague term, let alone the alternatives (esp. when you learned more about fair trade and how it could arguably cripple development - and, yes, there are several sides to this). And the environment seemed to attract the latest in protest movements (yes, they are linked, of course).

However, all this is a preamble to the news today that the latest round of the World Trade talks have collapsed. Most of the news bulletins have relegated this to third or worse fiddle in their running order. Mixed in with mortage glumness, commodity prices, oil shock, etc., it seems to be just another example of how the global economy in general, and Mr Brown's Britain in particular, are on the road to ruin, or a repeat of 1929. I don't recall anyone mentioning it (not that I've had much time for chatting recently), and it seems a bit of a dull story. But, I think this will be seen as An Important Moment.

Why? Well, the economy needs a bubble. The developing world is the likely place to do it, and this will stop that. Great for the factories there in the short term, but not a year or two down the line. And it's hard to argue that free trade is not good for global growth (if not local industry or wages or short-term quality of life for the majority). Instead, it's another choker on trade, just when there's a lack of liquidity in the west. And, finally, its more of a sympton of the global stage, and the freeze in international relations. There are no global statesmen, no international will to reach international agreements, no sense of urgency; rather a malaise, leading to who knows what.

Is anyone blogging about the WTO? I doubt it, except a few policy wonks and NGO types.

And all because the talks broke down over the trade in bananas.

End of Pier

The pier at Weston-Super-Mare has burnt down. This may sound somewhat cruel, but it reminds me a little of David Cameron losing his bike, which was very amusing for many, and temporarily added to the gaiety of the nation. The difference is that it seems unlikely that a 'community leader' will find a spare pier dumped around the corner by a couple of the local lads. Another difference is, of course, that not many local jobs depend on the two-wheeled Dave-mobile. Schadenfreude, of a kind (with more than a dash of dislike thrown in). The similarity, for me anyway, is the long-standing antipathy W-S-M has in a corner of my psyche, and which I didn't realise until the news of the seaside inferno reached the Today programme.

Weston-Super-Mud, as it was affectionately known, was the glamour destination of choice during my youth. I think that there was an indoor ice-skating rink there, not to mention the Trocadero, which was our equivalent of Disneyland. I may be muddling it up with Bristol, but I don't think so. Infamous visits included two Stratton's newspaperboy trips, several birthday parties, and, I think, the remains of the Brean Down washout. The Trocadero was always cold or shut, the sea somewhere in the distance, beyond the mud, and towards Wales, and the grey of the run-down Victorian mansions invariably matched the sky. It seemed to be where people went to die, or get off drugs. Or, invariably, both (and yes, I know I've used invariably twice in two adjacent sentences). The best bit was undoubtedly the pier. Which either let you look down at the sea, watch people shuffling by, eat chips, or wander underneath. I think my first or second roll of 35mm film was of shots of the pier (I think I half had in mind the scene with Andrew McCarthy in Catholic Boys).

This view appears to be rather out of date. As Gordon's recent Southwold jaunt, and countless newspaper features tell us, staying on the British coast is very now. (Another thing that Julie Birchill was right about.) I gather that T4 has great adventures every summer on the beach at Weston, and the pier had just received a several million pound makeover. (Although does this mean that mutterings of arson and insurance may be heard? Or perhaps the grudge of an ex-employee. On my fire awareness at work we were solemnly informed that this is the no. 1 cause of conflagrations. Those in the know seem to be pointing at the less TV-detective friendly chip pan fire. A suitable end for a Blackpool Pier, surely).

The moral? None that I can make out, except we all have odd grudges, you shouldn't leave your bike locked to a bollard (twat) , and that places change. Oh, and turn that chip pan off.