Less than a week to go to the first race of the 2010 season. The pre-season testing (Valencia, Jerez and Barcelona) is done and dusted. Unlike the start of last season, there were no major surprises, or hastily lodged complaints by any of the teams!

This season promises to be a 'cracker'. With the return of Michael Schumacher there are no less than FOUR world champions on the grid; Schumacher (7 titles), Alonso (2005), Hamilton (2008) and Button (2009). The last two are competing against each other out of the same stable, McLaren-Mercedes, and there already appears to be a bit of friction!

To balance all these 'chiefs' they've even got an Indian, Karun Chandhok, driving for the newly formed and hastily-badged HRT team. He is only the second Indian to have ever driven in Formula One. Along with Chandhok there are several new faces (Schumacher is not a new face), but one of my favourites, the hard-drinking-cigar-smoking Finn, Kimi Räikkönen, has left for pastures new. I shall miss his monosyllabic and monotonous post-race interviews, but I won't miss having to look up his name each time I wanted to write it.

HRT is not the only new team to make an appearance this year. Lotus, a name that conjures up past motor racing excitement, is also there. Richard Branson, after investing masses of money with Brawn-Mercedes last year, only to see it sold to the Germans, has decided to put out his very own team. They are called 'Virgin': you expected something else?

The FIA continues to tinker with the rules (remember my rants last season?). This time I am hoping they have got it right, but only time will tell. The most important change is going to be the elimination of the refuelling stops. In other words, they will have to have enough fuel aboard to complete the race from the get-go. It also means the drivers will not only have to race each other on the track, they will need to watch their fuel consumption, and nurse their tyres from start to finish. Can't see this rule, being applied to the modern racing car, lasting the season. Rest assured, if I am right in my assessment I shall take the opportunity to crow loudly from these pages!

The current weather conditions in Melbourne are abysmal. Plenty of rain, so much so that they are suffering major floods. What has that to do with F1? Well, if you had to ask the question, you are not an aficionado! Any long-term followers of the sport know that it is traditional to kick off the season in that 4-seasons city 'down-under'. The serendipitous choice of starting THIS season in Bahrain must have been a conscious decision taken in committee. They are off to a good start; one can only hope that it continues.

I shall be watching from my armchair to see that they don't screw-up along the way ...

Wednesday is usually my day to entertain myself with the 'Funny Half-Hour' on television, otherwise known as PMQ's (Prime Minister's Questions). It is staged in that wonderfully quaint vaudeville venue called 'The House' (of Commons).

Last Wednesday, the usual suspects were there, and the line of questioning almost scripted itself considering the disclosures about Gordon Brown's alleged bullying tactics within 10 Downing Street AND the Sky interview that the Chancellor, Alistair Darling gave on the Tuesday before, in which he coined the phrase, "[Number 10] released the dogs of Hell," when discussing the cabinet reshuffle that almost ousted him from his job a few months earlier!

Now, I expect 'The Chancellor of the Exchequer' to be able to take care of himself, or what the hell is he doing in that job handling my money? My short-lived sympathy was for those precious individuals called 'Civil (Snivel) Servants' who apparently were so troubled by being bawled out that they resorted to contacting a 'Bullying Help-Line'! Is it any wonder the country is in the mess it is if we are being led, and supported by, such shrinking violets?

But I digress. The topic that provoked this outburst was the little discussed publication of the 'Government Spending Forecast' for 2010. As you would expect, it is filled with numbers, graphs, footnotes and endnotes, and any sane person should end up with a glazed look working their way through it long before coming to the end. I suspect that is precisely what the money-pundits rely on when they choose to 'hide' some facts that they find difficult to explain. Like this ...

Ermmmm..., excuse me, what does 'OTHER SPENDING' consist of that isn't already covered by the other headings?

Excuse me, again, while I trot off to look up the term 'slush fundslush fund

A colloquial term which has come to mean an auxiliary monetary account or a reserve fund. However, the term has special meaning within a context of corrupt (including but not limited to) political dealings by governments, large corporations or other bodies and individuals.

The term 'slush fund' is also used in accounting to refer to a general ledger account in which all manner of transactions can be posted to commingled funds and 'loose' monies by debits and credits cancelling each other out.

Originally a nautical term; the slush referred to the fat or grease that was obtained by boiling salted meat, the sale of which could then be used to provide the crew with special luxuries. The money obtained from this sale was placed into the so-called 'slush-fund'.

Thank you, Wikipedia.

'!

If 84 billion is a number that is beyond your comprehension, as it is mine, let me fall back on a simplistic table of my own to try and put it into perspective. If we approach it as a pseudo-mathematical problem, where you have borrowed a vast amount of money and you are required to pay it back at a pound (insert your own currency here) a second, how long will it take you to repay:

1. 1,000,000 (one million) pounds?
2. 1,000,000,000 (one billion) pounds?

Don't fret. I know the 'problem' is unrealistic, but I have done the calculations using that scenario to make a point ...

Staggering, or what?

And these guys talk glibly of owing many billions of pounds, sometimes even mentioning the awful 'T' word - trillions.

I won't even go there ...

Clearing out one of my websites of material I no longer wish to have eating up masses of disk space, I came across this excerpt I carried a little while ago. It hasn't dated much, and the fact that it came from a Portuguese newspaper means that few will have read the original.

It looks like 'humour' is universal; even more so when you consider that this bit of satire originated in a mainly catholic country!

I have taken the trouble to have the headlines and text translated for you, and inserted an explanatory popup for a parochial reference (look for the faint dotted line under the word) ...

POPE ACCUSES THE BUDDHA OF PROMOTING OBESITY

Buddhists challenge the Pope to a lunch

After the controversial statement linking Islam to violence, His Holiness, Benedict XVI turned against Buddhism and accused Buddha of, "... inciting its followers to the sin of gluttony in the consumption of large amounts of soya-rolls."

The Pope even aroused suspicions that, "Buddha has a secret pact with McDonalds."

The accusations were immediately rejected by the Buddhist Community who threatened to retaliate by spreading aphrodisiac incense around the Vatican. "We will make the Cardinals so crazy, that the nuns will run for the hills!", said Edward Calory, Buddhist Ambassador at the 'Tough-Trunk Restaurant'.

Next week the Pope will speak on the subject of Judaism, and it is feared that he may accuse Israel of supporting Hezbollah, or worse! According to the Italian Cardinal Emanuel Sinistrus, "The Jews eat pitas", and that is not acceptable. The Cardinal says that Israeli pitas are, "... a giant-sized communion wafer, especially created to diminish Christianity."

The Vatican is therefore studying the possibility of creating "communion wafers de-lópào-de-ló

Portuguese Sponge Cake. This cake is normally served plain, but may be served with powdered sugar and fruit.

The cake can be made high like the one in the pic below, or as a thin sponge cake (jelly roll) with a chocolate or quince jam filling.

Pào-de-ló
(Portuguese Sponge Cake).

", substantially larger than the ones used presently.

Maria is a bitch; the Tramp is just a tramp. Maria is infested with fleas and so, I suspect, is the Tramp.

Before I go any further, and before I get myself into deep, deep trouble, allow me to explain. The Tramp is something of a local celebrity in as much as he is always 'there'. Stroll around our local area and you will almost certainly bump into the Tramp. And his female dog, Maria.

The reason I have gone to such pains to offer an explanation is that my soul-mate also bears the name Maria, as you would expect of any good Portuguese catholic girl. There the similarity ends!

Bill Owen as 'Compo'

The easiest way to describe the Tramp is for me to make the comparison between him and 'Compo' of the delightful sitcom, "Last of the Summer Wine", even down to the woollen beanie-hat and rope belt. If that is too parochial a reference, click on the link to get a feeling for the longevity of this BBC comedy stalwart.

The Tramp and I have something in common. I am retired and spend my day at the computer or walking the local area with my dog. He has probably never worked a day in his life and also spends his time walking the neighbourhood with his dog. We tend to gravitate towards each other for a few minutes of conversation at various times of the day. ThysonSpelled correctly.

The dog has a longer pedigree than I have, but when we tried to register him with the Portuguese Kennel Club with the original spelling of the name it was not acceptable as it was already taken, and we were offered 'Tyson97' as an alternative.

How unoriginal! So we inserted an 'H' where you wouldn't expect one.

, my brute of a boxer, gets on well with Maria, and when we meet up they invariably throw themselves into uncontrollable fits of leaping and greeting that pleases both owners.

The Tramp is well-spoken and has a good command of the English language. He is also very critical of my inability to speak Portuguese, and takes every opportunity to remind me that it can only be my laziness that is stopping me from doing so. I always agree with his assessment, and that is usually enough to pacify him, encouraging him to continue our conversation in the language of my choice!

Three or four months ago he and his dog disappeared from the locality and nobody seemed to have any idea where he had gone. It wasn't immediately obvious to me that the pair had vanished into thin air as I don't always make it as far as his pitch. But it was on one fine afternoon during the summer that I noticed that his tent, that was usually pitched outside the back gates of the cemetery, had gone.

This didn't come as a total surprise as a similar occurrence several months earlier had also seen the Tramp, Maria and the tent disappear from the cemetery gates. But on that occasion they had only moved a couple of hundred metres to the building closest to the cemetery, in which the tramp had been provided with 'social housing'.

I have never been able to establish the precise reason for that earlier move. Had the residents of neighbouring buildings complained about his impromptu domicile outside the cemetery gates? Had the car-driving visitors to the cemetery complained that they had been robbed of a parking space? Had the local council, against all known council dictum, decided to take care of a 'homeless person'? Whatever the reason, it didn't last more than three months. He was back outside the gates, and apparently as content as ever. He did express his appreciation of the local council for attempting to (re)house him, but lamented their short-sightedness in not taking into consideration that he was not in a position to pay the low monthly rental. And so, in a typical bureaucratic bungle, they gave him a home - and then snatched it away!

Now it appeared that, yet again, some well-meaning council busybody had decided to rehabilitate the Tramp, but this time to a location outside our area. He certainly wasn't appearing on anybody's local radar. Life moves on, and as the weeks turned into months, I was convinced that this time the Tramp had been encouraged to live life as the rest of us are forced to. A little box and a 'loss' of freedom was probably a price worth paying for a smidgen of permanence.

A few days before Christmas (2008) I was walking Thyson across the green when I noticed a loose dog galloping in our direction from about 200 metres away. My immediate thoughts were, "Bummer! Loose dog. No owner in sight." There was bound to be a fracas. Thyson is not a sociable animal. So I pulled him in from his extended-6-metre-lead distance and resigned myself to controlling the situation the best way I could. Much to our delight the loose dog turned out to be that flea-bag Maria. She greeted us profusely, pranced and pirouetted, and crawled in for a pat and a cuddle. I looked for the Tramp, and sure enough I spotted him about 250 metres away, walking in the opposite direction. No chance of attracting his attention this time, but I was certain our paths would soon cross again.

And they have.

The same reasons I've mentioned previously apply to his 'second coming'. He has pitched his tent in the same place outside the back gates of the cemetery. It obviously irritates the sanctimonious fat-cats who find they have one less parking space for their vroom-vroom-go-faster cars when they drive up to the back gates to pay their condolences to their dear departed.

But it doesn't phase the Tramp in the least.

His view is that the dead already have their space, and he only wants to occupy a slightly larger bit of turf outside the gates until it is time for him to take up permanent residency on the other side of the wall. He also reasons that it won't require a hearse to get him there.

Sad!

For me it is more significant that it takes the presence of this man, who lives a totally transient life, to give me a feeling of permanence!

Bizarre ...

Wootton Bassett is a sleepy little Market Town situated a few miles south of Swindon. It is also a 'dormitory' town that serves RAF Lyneham, and which served RAF Wroughton when the hospital there was a functioning entity. During my RAF career I have had spells at RAF Lyneham, CIO (Careers Information Office) Swindon, and had occasion to use the medical facilities at RAF Wroughton. To say I know the town well would be an understatement!

So it is with mixed feelings, much of it tinged with sadness, that I watch the repatriation of our military personnel through the quiet streets of the little hamlet, and marvel at the genuine outpourings of grief and tributes of respect proffered to the funeral corteges each time this sad event takes place.

The processions through the streets, and the crowds that gather to pay their respects, have no political agenda. They gather to pay homage to fallen heroes, and to the members of their families for whom this must be the hardest, the most final act of affirmation.

Imagine my sense of outrage when a dick-head called Anjem Choudary announced that his group, Islam4UK, intended to hold a 'protest' march through the streets of Wootton Bassett in which fake coffins would be carried representing the civilian casualties in Afghanistan.

Let me establish Choudary's background. He is 43 years old, born in Welling, England. He was a medical student at Southampton University, but switched to commercial law. On graduation he became a solicitor and then chairman of the Society of Muslim Lawyers. He later met Omar Bakri Muhammad, the 'Tottenham Ayotollah' who has subsequently been banned from the UK. They formed the Islamist organisation al-Muhajiroun, which has also been banned by the British government. He then helped form Al Ghurabaa, also banned by the government. He is now the spokesman for Islam4UK. He has openly praised the terrorists involved in 9/11 and the London 7/7 bombings. He has also called for the implementation of Sharia Law throughout the UK.

In fairness to other Muslims, Choudary has received little support from the mainstream UK Muslim population. But I have to wonder why he is tolerated at all. We can't 'send him back', because he was born in the UK. Surely there are laws of incitement that can be brought to bear?

And here's the rub.

The former Mayor of Wootton Bassett although, "... appalled at the suggestion of such a march," goes on to say, "If this man has any decency about him he will not hold his march through Wootton Bassett."

The Prime Minister, Gormless Gordon, called plans for the march, "... offensive and disgusting."

The Home Secretary, Alan Johnson, said he would back any request from police or local government to ban the march.

And - wait for it - the president of the Association of Chief Police Officers, Sir Hugh Orde, a former chief constable in Northern Ireland said, "People have the right to march. Others might not like it, but that's it."

Have we gone completely MAD?

Winnie must be squirming in his grave!

So, what are my credentials for getting on my high horse? Simple, really.

• I was NOT born in the UK. I was born in India.
• I adopted the UK as my home and accepted its laws and customs as my own when I arrived as an immigrant.
• I have never wanted it to be anything different.
• I served Queen and Country for 36 years in the Royal Air Force.

It is inconceivable to me that anybody born and bred in the UK would wish for it to be anything other than British; English, Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish by extension, but nevertheless British.

Not so very long ago I saw somebody wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo "Enoch was right". I no longer wonder whether his prophesy in the "Rivers of Blood" speech could have been mere mischief-making.

Allow me to quote the line from the speech that has subsequently been used to label it:

As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see the River Tiber foaming with much blood.

Me too, Enoch. Me too ...

Update:

Breaking news on Sky states that the Home Secretary, Alan Johnson, has moved to ban the organisation called Islam4UK. Considering the massive backlash from the general public towards these morons, I would have expected nothing less.

It also occurs to me that his action in banning this bunch is a bit of a Pyrrhic victory. He has banned the same lot masquerading under different names before, and as sure as Allah made little apples, they will re-emerge under some other equally despicable guise.

Ah, well ...

A recent blog discovery for me has been that of 'Chairman Bill' of The Thoughts of Chairman Bill. His banner headline warns that his blog, "May contain traces of satire, irony and sarcasm." Add to that a large dose of irreverence and you begin to realise that almost every one of his superbly written posts will make your hair stand on end.

Your reasons for bristling may be very different to mine, but I can promise that you won't be bored. I am particularly enamoured of the way he uses the English language, and his vast vocabulary.

Reading his latest offering, 'The Chairman's Sunday Sermon', I was reminded of the joke article that has done the rounds of the internet for some time, the one about whether Hell can be considered 'exothermic' or 'endothermic'. If you missed it, I reproduce it for you below. Interestingly enough, the outcome is easily changed, and I have chosen to repeat only one scenario.

The following is an actual question given on a University of Washington chemistry mid term. The answer by one student was so "profound" that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well:

 

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

 

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today.

Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially.

Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.

This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you," and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over.

The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct ... leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting "Oh my God!"

 

If you assume Teresa is still holding out, you can change the outcome to suit yourself.

Be happy ...

I had noticed the grey haired old lady at the local Cafetaria for some time now. She seemed to be a regular customer and I hadn't given her much thought other than to observe that she invariably arrived after we did, and that she was always on her own. Sunday was slightly different. She had managed to get in earlier than we did for our Sunday afternoon break, and was sitting at a table that was laid for her, or so it appeared.

Unusually for that time of the day, around 3 p.m., several people wandered in and started to occupy the free places. That was about when I observed a subtle change in customer behaviour. The old lady jumped up with her plate of soup and stepped up to the bar. The bar, as are most in this country, is about chest high to a person of normal height. She is short and slight, which meant that only her upper shoulders and head were above bar level. But she managed to get the plate and bread roll and spoon onto the bar, then turned around to retrieve her plastic bags that she had placed by the seat that she had been recently occupying.

The drama continued to unfold. The owner-brother that was serving customers (the other owner-brother was tending bar) grabbed her plate and roll and spoon from off the bar and placed it all firmly back on the table that she had vacated only a few moments before. He then wrested the plastic bags out of her hand and placed them, equally firmly, by the chair that he was pointing to fiercely indicating that she sit down. All this while castigating her openly and volubly!

I am not well-versed in the Portuguese language, certainly not familiar enough with it to follow the machine-gun rapidity of the exchanges, so I did what I usually do and turned to Maria for an explanation. I noticed she had a whimsical half-smile on her face, not the expression I expected from somebody observing an altercation of such apparent magnitude. The explanation was not what I expected either, but it all made sense.

The old lady, somebody's grandmother, mother, sister, is a lonely old lady who lives on her own in the neighbourhood. She visits the Cafetaria daily, usually after the lunch-hour rush is over and the place has emptied. She is served a bowl of soup and a bread roll which usually has a slice of cheese inserted into it. She eats this gratefully, gathers up her bags, thanks everybody profusely, bids good afternoon to any customers present, and leaves in a dignified manner.

No mention of payment ever arises!

I wondered for how long this had been going on. "Forever!" was the noncommittal reply from her that sits by my side. The owners of the Cafetaria are also local residents and are aware of her circumstances. They do not find it an imposition to serve her a bowl of soup each day, nor do they find their actions unusual in any way. Neither brother would even consider accepting a congratulatory comment, and would probably be offended if their actions were considered a 'charitable' act.

It is just something they do!

What was the commotion about? It appears she felt that she was unnecessarily occupying a perfectly good seat in the establishment that had suddenly, and unexpectedly filled up. To ease the seating problem she decided to move to the bar, finish her little repast, and take her leave as quietly as she had arrived. But Jorge (pronounced George), the younger brother, was having none of it. He insisted loudly, for all the customers to hear, that she was as valued a diner as anybody else, and that she was going to finish her meal at the table at which he had served her. So, there!

Her meal over, I observed her carefully wrap half the bread roll in a diffidently retrieved paper napkin, gather up her belongings and with a nod and a beatific smile to all, take her leave.

Kindness manifests itself in so many ways.

I think I should let Martin Luther King Jr. have the last word. He once said, "Life's most urgent question is, what are you doing for others?"

P.S. I am in the process of closing down several of my websites and thought it was worth rescuing some of the posts from other 'blogs' I've run in the past..

This post is one of them.

My sincere apologies to those who have already read it. 

(click for larger image) 

The image above is from a series of "2010 Wallpapers" by a group of talented graphic artists. They are all free and if you are interested you can pick up one, or two, or ALL of them by visiting shareordie.in

For Auld Lang Syne ...

The Copenhagen gab-fest has ended. Not surprisingly, OUR leaders didn't really reach any agreement. They agreed to agree on a compromise by reaching an 'Accord', but shied away from actually agreeing on a legally binding 'Treaty'. I don't wish to make light of it because the problem is frustratingly complex. But it could also be a simple one to solve. It all depends on whether, as a leader, you are willing to accept that your people are intelligent enough to understand that you, and they, may have to give up a few of the 'good' things of life. I suppose it all depends on where you're sitting, and how comfortable you've become with your luxuries.

President Obama was the last to arrive as he has his own battle to fight with the Senate. I gather he has been successful (Senator Ben Nelson, Democrat, Nebraska, became the pivotal 60th vote on Saturday). Obama knocked a few heads together in Copenhagen, obviously made some promises (and no doubt a few threats), and managed to get China, India, Brazil and South Africa to join him in the Accord. This has now been ratified by the UN, with indecent haste, much to the displeasure of the majority of the other 187 attending countries. There is even one called Tuvalu. Do you know where it is? Look it up; I had to. Can you imagine that 192 countries were represented at the Summit, and that each of those countries sent a team from all corners of the globe? And then try to imagine the carbon footprint they left, getting there and back!

There was high class entertainment too. The internationally famous comedians Chavez (Venezuela) and Mugabe (Zimbabwe) grabbed their chance to address the delegates, and ranted and raved at their sworn enemies, the USA (Chavez) and the UK (Mugabe). Never once did these two clowns mention the subject of the meeting, 'climate change' and 'global warming'! You really have to wonder whether "knocking their heads together" ought to be introduced as an Olympic sport for 2012.

Do they know it's Christmas?

I very much doubt it.

And I doubt if they care ...

At precisely 01:37:46 on Thursday morning, December 17, 2009, Maria and I, almost simultaneously, castigated the dog loudly for scratching himself with such abandon that it was causing the bed and furniture in the room to shake.

The dog lifted his doleful eyes to us, from where he was lying at the foot of the bed, as if to demand we take back our verbal assault. He was right to do so!

The cause of the furniture dancing around the room, the computers doing a fandango, and the most unpleasant rippling effect running through us, was a shift of the earth's tectonic plates about 165 miles (265 kilometres) SSW of our location in Lisbon, that seemed to last for an eternity.

In reality it probably only lasted for 30 seconds. But take my word for it - it sure as hell felt like an eternity!

The USGS data map. 

The USGS map states the location as being 'WEST OF GIBRALTAR'. Well, that is certainly geographically correct, but it would have been more helpful if they had described it as being, 'SOUTH OF PORTUGAL'. I am sure that some people on 'The Rock' may have felt the slightest of tremors, but it sure as hell shook us up on the west coast of Portugal!

I am happy to report that there have been no reports of casualties or structural damage.

However, this 'little' incident has once again brought the dormant fear of earthquakes once more to the surface. It certainly makes one rush to an on-line source to re-read information on the 'big one' that struck Lisbon in 1755. That is one I need to blog about because there were some excellent lessons learned and some of the 'forward-thinking' of the men of the day is worth commenting on.

In the meanwhile I shall review our 'plans' should we suffer a major hit. There are simple things to try to remember, which I am sure will completely desert us under stress, so it may well be of value to scribble things down in a prioritised order of action.

Can it wait until after Christmas? Probably.

Could it be required before Christmas? Hmmmm..., hope not!

Sleep tight ...