More Great Deception than Great Society

Now that 24 hours have passed since Tony blair definitively ceased being British prime minister, I would like to offer a little retrospective.
At the outset of his reign, Tony Blair said "we will be whiter than white. We will govern as New Labour." Most people at the time thought it would usher in a new period of sleaze-free government even if some sceptics thought it idealistic (and were right). But Blair wasn't talking of the Augean task of washing out the corrupt halls of power with Daz Automatic. He had actually committed a mental aberration, indeed without realising it himself initially. Having been listening to Jonathan Ross on the radio earlier, his subconscious adopted Woss' best known characteristic, substantively changing his speech. He had intended to say "we will be righter than right. We will govern as New Labour." It all makes sense now. This was before the time when Blair could admit he was wrong, ever, and so he let it stand.
In another soundbite, he promised to do what works." There would be no ideological dogma interfering with good governance. A course of the third way (remember that) would be steered. Of course, for Blair doing what was right really was right. A series of keystone policy proposals in health, education, crime and transport were all of a right-wing nature and usually not value for money of the public funds poured into them to make them work. The increase of wasteful Public-Private Partnerships on health and the London Underground railway; city academies which are an offshoot of Tory plans; the belief in prison and punitive measures which were constantly advocated despite a soaring crime rate, a soaring prison population in overcrowded prisons that means we have more prisoners than France, Germany and Italy put together and a rising recidivist rate. And there's the war in Iraq which clearly is an example of doing things that do not work. Market-driven dogmas had captured Blair's (and Brown's) mind and hence because Blair believed them, the government deemed them to be right. The Labour Parliamentary Party followed along for after 18 traumatic years of opposition they thought this would get the voters to trust them. All the while that Blair pretended to be the inheritor of the Labour tradition because people would not have voted for him if he labelled himself a Tory. He performed a trick on the electorate. The nouveau riche liked him and saw him for what he was, but the Labour heartlands largely kept on voting him in because he called himself a (New) Labour man.
And then there was at the start another phrase. "We may live our entire lives without going to war." This from a guy who would take Britain into more wars than any other prime minister in British history.
It is written that people would cross the road to hear him speak, something that could not be said of some recent prime ministers. But I would cross away not to hear his turgid tripe. It would be delivered masterfully by the ex-lawyer but still be turgid tripe. And the detail of his words are more offensive than the general thrust of his argument. No, I would not willingly listen to this man who gave us a great deception rather than a Great Society (more an okay society).

Au revoir Altaa

Altaa left on tour this morning for nine days. She'll return with her tourists on 4th July from a trip through central Mongolia and the Gobi. Soon her little brother will off on a tour arranged by the company that employs him. I'll be left home alone and to make my meals by myself. Great.

I know most thinking people have done this to death but today occurred a quite exceptional example of placing national interest first in the news. On BBC World it reported its headline - the floods in England where so far three people have died and it followed straight after with its second-order headline the massive floods in Pakistan and India where hundreds have died. It's understandable that a British home report would have as its focus the home nation but this is BBC World unless the British in BBC signifies its position ahead of the World.

It's Tony Blair's last full day in office as Prime Minister. He meets Arnold Schwarznegger. Surely, there should have at the joint news conference the pun "Hasta la vista, Tony."
And Blair will be replaced by one-eyed Gord. It sounds like a mythical wineskin, but courtesy of the BBC I learnt that Gordon Brown has only sight in one eye as a result of a sporting accident. Brown wants to make some striking statements in his first few weeks in office - how about wearing an eyepatch - that would certainly get world recognition with a swashbuckling romantic reputation (and increaed poll numbers) guaranteed.

Shrek the Last

The main cinema of Ulaanbaatar, Tengis, pulled off something of a coup by getting their hands on Shrek 3 before the likes of British cinemas, probably enabled by the film's digital format. Usually, a Western film is screened at Tengis five months or so after its initial release. In February, Snakes on a Plane landed in Mongolia while Bond got his licence to kill in March with Casino Royale. Spiderman 3, heavily trailed at Tengis, has yet to arrive. So pleased were the management at the capture of Shrek 3, that they have made their staff continuously wear bright green shirts and silly little green ears on headbands for the past week and more.
Shrek 3 was good but it wasn't of the same depth as the first two. The computer imagery has massively advanced since the first film - the texture of surfaces really stands out - but there is a lack of emotional development. Shrek's uncomfortability with fatherhood is explored with little jabs here and there but only superficially since his desire not to be king is to the fore. Moreover, some plot aspects did not aspect (if you can break out of prison why wait until you are unexpectedly reunited with your friends) and neither was there the same urgency in the plot as was present in the first two, maybe a result of slack direction. The 'crowning' (ker-ching) message was a rehash mish-mash of the first film's 'beauty is not always on the outside'. Rising above your station to escape your destiny through willpower and confidence no matter what you look like or have done is laudatory, but essentially an extrapolation of the first film.
There were some pleasant touches such as like young Arthur with Merlin and the slight Oedipal connections with Charming if not exactly Cagney White Heat-flavour, plus some wonderfully absurd outbursts of humour reminiscent of its predecessors. Interestingly, a sense of the epic is prominent, with some very striking moments, as if to compensate for the dilution of much of the humour, though still effective. On a curious note, I was thinking of the Saint-Saens piece in the climatic scene earlier in the evening albeit via Jonathan Creek.
Other interest was more personal. One wondered as to the level of copyright Disney, the unavowed bete noir of Dreamworks, had over representation of fairytale characters as Dreamworks had apparently purloined very similar features and attributes for some of its damsels in this movie. Also, while the rest of the audience was baffled, I enjoyed the idioms that could not be translated.
The overall impression is of this series running out of puff. Really, they've exhausted the themes and it's hard to see where they can go from here, especially as the whole of villainhood has been 'pardoned' (although they may dig up more mythical characters). Enjoyable though it was Shrek the Third should be Shrek the Last.

In Ulaanbaatar, it's like there has been an explosion in a prolific pillow-stuffing factory or someone has blown a million dandelions across UB. This is because there is myriad blossom suffusing the place. It gets everywhere - along the streets, through open windows, up the nose, in the eye. When it collects in the gutters with water it looks like so much frog spawn. Hopefully it will soon be over.

End of the ancien regime

After some time to reflect and await developments it is now appropriate to make comment on all that is unfolding at St. James Park. First the manager. So Freddy Shepherd thought as he appointed the new guy, that he saw in Big Sam Allardyce a latter-day version of Joe Harvey, presumably meaning as manager material. Does he then expect BSA, on three million pounds a year, to win only the UEFA Cup and lose in the FA Cup Final at Wembley? Crucially, Harvey was the last manager to put a trophy in the cabinet (the Intertoto triumph was presented as a plaque), but surely such wages as are being paid to BSA justify more? It maybe too much to expect an immediate final league position commensurate with his pay ranking (behind only Sir Alex Ferguson and Jose Mourinho) for next season, but surely something like that has to be achieved in a relatively short-order of time, despite the understandable protestations of BSA. Newcastle United have lost too much time to rivals, failing to take advantage of Arsenal's stumbling transition, while Spurs consolidate and Liverpool, Everton and maybe soon Manchester City strengthen. Interestingly, Joe Harvey's successor was the last manager before BSA appointed with a full summer to plan, instead of being parachuted in with the season already underway. Also, if BSA stays at St. James Park for as long as Harvey, then United will pay him 39 million pounds! As it is, if he sees out his current contract he'll be paid 12 million, but then, with some of Newcastle's player purchases in that region (and money not always well spent), perhaps that's bargain. He is esteemed by the bookies who some reckon he is evens on to achieve UEFA Cup qualification conventionally which should go some way to erasing the notion that he once played and managed in a certain other team, that he turned down Shepherd at least once, perhaps twice and the gob-stopping thought of his vast wages. Nemesis though he may be to Arsene Wenger, their utilisation of science marks them out as in the vanguard of managers. A bit of a change from previous holders of the post at Newcastle United.
For Big Sam Allardyce to make Newcastle United a big club, he needs a sprinkling of big players to complement the squad players and Big Mark should be a suitable short-term replacement for Big Al. I think BSA did not want to manage NUFC while Alan Shearer was still a dominant personality in the dressing room, hence his rejection after Sir Bobby's sacking and maybe after Souness' not-so premature departure. Now BSA can stamp his ideas on the players without possible complaints from the influential Shearer. Mark Viduka has been a bit wayward in the past with motivation, but he is big if not in footballing stature then size.
And then there's the takeover at board level. The Halls were the first to sell out to Buckinghamshire-based Mike Ashley - so much for Sir John Hall's Geordie Nation rhetoric; he's a businessman at heart. Freddy Shepherd realised the game was up and knew it was in the interests of the club to resolve the boardroom contention before the new season began. Hall will be life president, Shepherd will remain as titular chairman, but the new power will be someone who is a lot more private and so less prone to gaffes than has been the case before at the top. The mantra is that no-one is bigger than the club and so if the chief executive keeps out of the limelight and lets the manager and players get on with the job that can only be for the best.
So, like the beat, the transition goes on.

Down but not out in the Gobi

I returned this morning from an experience I most definitely do not want to repeat, but will look back on with amusement. I left Wednesday afternoon to get my visa repeated again by popping over the border to China - simple one might think and if all should go according to plan I would be back on Friday morning. I came back Sunday a little before midday and nothing went to plan. I did not eat a proper meal between Wednesday lunch and Sunday lunch.

The first sign was the melting of chocolate bars I had taken with me on the train to Zamyn-Uud in the far south, Gobi Desert territory. The Mars Bar was heavily perspiring but still solid, but the Snickers had to be left until the morning to reconstitute itself. The train journey passed off uneventfully and the film was a Polish movie (helpfully dubbed into Mongolian) of pre-Christian Poland with shades of Macbeth. It was hard to know what to make of it, on all levels.
In Zamyn-Uud, I made a beeline for the bus that would transport me across the border (no walking allowed). At the Mongolian side, the Mongolian aversion to queuing was evident, even from vehicles. In supermarkets, they chivvy you along, by pushing your goods down faster than the conveyor belt works, even if they only have a stick of celery. The bus driver behind us left no space between his bus' forward-projecting arm of a side mirror and our rear so when our bus driver tried to reverse, the arm of the bus behind on the second attempt went straight through our rear window, luckily not shattering the whole. I was one on the back seat.

This brush with destruction over, I thought we would sweep into China via Zamyn-Uud's counterpart, Ereen. It was not to be. The Ereen (Erlian in Chinese) border post suffered a powercut. For eight hours we waited in temperatures exceeding 35 Celsius and the savage sun, not obscured by a cloud in sight, lowered over all. The border at Ereen sports some large iron-wrought constructions of rainbows and, as time wore on, entering Ereen seemed as mythical as the fabled pot of gold at the end of the refracted light phenomenon but there were certainly men in green clothes causing annoyance. Though there were upwards of 5,000 people backed up, the Chinese border guards had no intention of relieving the backlogue early by doing things the old-fashioned way. When the electricity was restored, not everything was working, but the duty-free shop was. Carlsberg don't do customs officials, but if they did they'd probably be the best customs officials in the world. Even if they really did, they would not be found at Ereen. So unhelpful were they, that I took to harassing them (at one point being confronted by five of them) and then mocking them, before deciding it was wise not to give them too much grief should they later punitively detain me. The border guards also seemed to derive pleasure from driving people out of spaces offering shadows.

One cannot fully appreciate the value of water until one is severely dehydrated under an unrelenting fiery orb. It was so hot that what was left of my lypsyl melted. I met some American missionaries from Texas who were suffering too. The only book I saw with them was about Narnia so they maybe they are Mother Teresa 'actions, not words' stylers. They were an ecumenical bunch as well with Russians in their band and believers of Protestantism, Roman Catholicism and Orthodox all together. Kimberly and Dodds (I think that's how you spell the cheerful 'Dards') I talked with most; Jim, who was also in their particular jeep, was suffering, having only eaten (until I gave him a cake roll) salted peanuts!

I had budgeted for just one day in Ereen, not expecting to stay the night. Hence I could have stayed in a cheap, decent hotel, but that would have sabotaged getting back across the border by eating into the jeep fee I would have to pay. So thirsty hombre that I was, I opted to buy 5.5 litres of juice and some light food in a supermarket and then found a patch to sleep rough in. Yes, I slept rough in the Gobi. Not advised. I dumped my comestibles in a park-cum-allotment that I had penetrated through a gap in the fence and set off with valuables in hand toward the border to try and get a mobile phone signal to contact Altaa (but no joy). Returning to my stash I hunkered down on the cold, sandy ground among the bushes and short trees, out of sight to the outside world though I had a good view of the nearby local communist party headquarters.
I got about an hour 45 mins sleep in total (on top of the four hours the night before) and woke up for the final time at 4.09am, my teeth chattering away like a machine gun, despite wearing all of my spare clothes all at once. At 4.3oam the dawn stole up. At 5.50am I was sat down in a building site on an office step, writing some of this up, when the foreman unexpectedly came out of his office (having entered via another way). I bet I was a sight he doesn't see every day. Around half nine, my passport temporarily handed over to the Mongolian consulate, I was roiling in my long-sleeved shirt having removed my other layers, sweat coruscating down me. I took the time to explore Ereen with my camera to the fore.
So, in the jeep, the guy was a friendly Mongolian who kept his ("bad Chinese") vegetables in the engine compartment. He picked up some other people, but after various delays I was the only one who saw the Mongolian side with him. I went to the Zamyn-Uud train station to try and get a locomotive leaving that day, but it was all sold out (and my original booked in advance ticket invalid from the day before).
I stumbled into the local hotel and rejoiced in a mattress and sheets. The room had TV and precious little else. CNN Asia is hilariously stilted, sounding like government press releases stitched together and, when the news story narrative is long, they run out of images and repeat them sometimes four or more times. Animal Planet channel was informative but the host was grating in his tiresome slapstick.
I booked the 10pm train on the Saturday as that was the only one offering a bed for the overnight journey. So, I pottered around Zamyn-Uud, keeping out of the noon-day sun till 4.30pm by staying mostly in the hotel lobby. On my last trip south, I had noticed the sale of J. Sainsbury's shopping bags in an Ereen shopping arcade. Now, when I bought some food in a shop near the station in Zamyn-Uud, my purchases were put in a Morrison's bag. Bizarre. Mongolian money was becoming an issue as I had no bank cards with me and most of it went on juice and water. The train pulled into Ulaanbaatar almost two hours late at 11.50am on the Sunday and thus ended my ordeal. A wash was of paramount importance when I got home and my body reacted to a full soak since it was as dry as my throat. Next time, I'll catch the international train - there should be no hitches with that otherwise Ereen/Erlian will hear from Beijing. This was a long post, but it was longer living it I can tell you.