La Hain

Peter Hain can't blame the South African security services for this misdemeanour. It is entirely of his own making. Oh fisshaw, the rules are too complicated. How can one overlook a little over a hundred thousand pounds? The veteran anti-apartheid campaigner may have managed to prove that he had been set up in the 1970s by BOSS for armed robbery, but he may find this harder to explain to the police, now his case has been referred to the Met. I heard the breaking news that the electoral commission had called in the Yard at 12.20pm and I thought, well, they said if this happened he would have to resign, so if came as no surprise that within ten minutes, Hain had announced his depature from the Cabinet.
It is farcical to think that he outspent all the other contenders for deputy leadership and he still finished fifth out of sixth. Even finishing first would not have saved him though, as can be seen by the recent troubles of the harridan Harriet Harman. His "act of incompetence" (an incredibly slovenly use of language by Gordon Brown) may not cause disaffection among the youth of Paris, but it just adds to the image that the Labour Party is a little too addicted to money. They hobnobbed with unabashed multi-millionaires and felt they wanted a cut of that as well.
Still, if it cuts out comments about "working-class traitors" when the less well-off vote Tory, then this double resignation (Work and Pensions and Wales) may have been worthwhile. In a true democracy, everyone should be a floating voter, alighting on a party whose manifesto promises they feel in tune with; that is the recipe for a class society rather than Hain's entrenching of the status quo. Strange you hear nothing about middle-class traitors or upper-class traitors voting Labour (maybe because it's harder to patronise them). You get the feeling that the harder class warriors rage against the injustice of the system, the more they actually need it to continue to sustain their philosophical existence.

The new Bond film has a title, Quantum of Solace. Um, right. So, there was Quantum Leap and there is quantum physics and er... It sounds like the translation of the title of an Italian art house film. If it wasn't part of the Bond franchise I think it would find it exceedingly difficult to get cinemas to stock it, beside a few high-minded institutions. So what does quantum mean? A discrete quantity of energy proportional in magnitude to a particular frequency of radiation and corresponding e.g. to a single photon or to a transition between energy states of Solace? An analogous unit amount of Solace? A total amount, especially an amount of money legally payable in damages of Solace? Or, at root bottom, a share of Solace? This last meaning could be what they are trying to get that. So they didn't they just say that?!? A Share of Solace is an infinitely more engaging title. Even Bond-22 is catchier. A Bond title should be disposable but directly relating to an aspect of the film. Actually, going with the Quantum Leap thing, I think A Dimension of Solace is far better, but as James Bond is now more hard-bitten as a result of his experiences in Casino Royale, is he really the one to be doing the comforting or consoling? Since the Ian Fleming titles were effectively exhausted, the best ones have been GoldenEye, which is the satellite weapon in the film as well as a sly nod to Fleming's Jamaican retreat and Die Another Day, which takes note of a plot devlopment (and is play on the phrase 'live to fight another day'). This title may come from a Fleming short story but it may be that this is the only suitable place for it - short and sweet and over before you know it. The producers were no doubt trying to be high-minded, but it's way over the heads of most people. The writing may be of a high standard for the forthcoming film, but they should get someone else to pick the titles in future.

Three in one

Well, I'm relating what happened last weekend when I killed three birds with one stone (how good am I). I managed to catch up with three different branches of friends. This was despite the rail service to London being diverted to the slow route via Dartford (Network Rail = Network Shit), and then when getting to London finding half the Underground down, with the Central Line stopping abruptly at Liverpool Street, tiresomely requiring a bus when I needed to go to and from Bethnal Green.
First of all, I saw Jon Williams. We were off to see Fulham versus Arsenal as the latter usually ensure decent entertainment. In reality, the match rarely thrilled since Fulham never turned up. The Gunners were 2-0 up at the break. I whispered in Jon's ear "Game over?" (since we were in the home end) and he agreed. I posited then that Arsenal would score another goal and take it easy, which they did. A keepy-uppy between Arsenal's bench during half-time provided more fun than when Newcastle played Fulham last December. Apparently, during this playabout, I missed it but Jon saw one of the players slap Lehman who thereupon promptly blasted the ball at his attacker (that I did see) - an ominous sign of what was to come yesterday as Arsenal players fought each other. That 5-1 to Spurs in the second-leg of the League Cup semi-final is a repeat of their victory over Chelsea in 2002 in the same stage of the tournament and has added piquancy in that Chelsea then, like Arsenal now, had not been beaten by Spurs for years.
Well, back to Fulham. We were in the Johnny Haynes Stand, but unlike my experience on the other side of the Stand in December in plastic seats, these were old-school wooden flip ones. The more vocal elements of the fans voiced their discontent at the home players. I remember in 2002, Gerard Houllier pronouncing that Danny Murphy would become one of the best midfielders in the world and here he is now, struggling at Fulham and falling over the ball.
After the match finished, we went to get some money out and look for a bar showing Newcastle's Return of the King against Bolton. Some nil-nils are scintillating; this wasn't one of them. Keegan seemed so worried of defeat in his comeback game that he opted for a very conservative 4-1-3-2, with Rozenhal pushed forward as defensive midfielder. It made Newcastle hard to beat, but made the team narrow as well - unhelpful when at home against visitors keen to pull nine men behind the ball.
As the match progressed (and I use that word in a strictly literal sense) we got onto the subject of the new Batman movie and how Heath Ledger, star of Bonkback Mountain, really looked like his face had taken an acid bath, which was bold for a man so often portrayed as a hearthrob. It was a duanting task to step into the shoes of Jack Nicholson, not to mention Cesar Romero, but with the rectification of the dissonance between the end of Batman Begins and the start of Tim Burton's Batman, someone had to do it and was keenly looking forward to it. So my shock at learning of Heath Ledger's death last night was palpable. One radio commentator compared it in recent times to that of River Phoenix. Ledger was a likeable, young man, with some good performances to his name, who was on the threshold of greatness. How sad that he will never be able to fulfill it now.
After the game finished, I went to meet up with another set of uni friends. We were to meet 'near' Oxford Circus. I got there before everyone else. Eventually, Simon Savory turned up, in his new Amy Winehouse blonde dye look and he was just as befuddled as to where the Phoenix pub was (maybe because he had gone blond). So the two of us went to the Cock pub instead (it was a bird at least), sharing a pint, by which time more people had got to the orginal destination and we walked off along Bond Street, finding it swiftly. After drinks there, Simon, Lynsey, Tom, Claire and me ended up waiting for a bus outside Liverpool Street to take us to Bethnal Green. While waiting Simon saw a discarded ham and cheese subway sandwich on the floor and started pecking at it like a pigeon. Then it started getting thrown about. Simon sowed the wind so he reaped the whirlwind with the ham and cheese being deposited down his back. I can also remember intimidating Claire with a piece of ham in this food fight. Ridiculous times.
After getting to BG, Tom and Lynny headed home, while I, Simon and Claire popped off to this nearby swing club. The bouncers said coming at 1.15am we were quarter of an hour too late to get in, though the club closed at two. But then three people came out and the bouncers showed they were more than jobsworths, but actually quite decent people and let us in. We didn't even pay an entry fee. We didn't get too drunk inside, especially as Claire "didn't want to be propped up by anyone this time" (she had read my New Year's blog report. After some crazy dancing, we left at 2am and, bidding farewell to Claire, we bought a kebab each from the White Horse. It was only a small one, but quite substantial in spite of that and Simon got his weekly vegetable intake with the lettuce and onions.
Lynsey and Tom had kindly set up a bed and sleeping materials for me and Simon back at their place. In the morning, Lynsey woke us up at 10am, so I could go to church with her and Tom. After church, the three of us went to Baker Street and another Wetherspoons (after the one on New Year's Day). Here we met up with Mark and the others. Mel had a big suitcase of vegetables with her from the market, but with her outfit, she looked like an air hostess. Following lunch, the others made their way to a coffee shop, but I was going to make my rendevous with a third branch of uni friends.
I met Harry Hin Lai Ching at Covent Garden tube station. We went to a cheap, good Chinese restaurant he knew, since he was famished. I had some soft, pork fried noodles, while he ate some more substantial yellow stuff (something marine) that arrived after I had devoured my meal. We then went on to Picadilly Circus and near to Green Park, we went up White Horse Avenue and relaxed in the well-upholstered and welcoming King's Arms, where we caught up some more. I left Harry at 7.15pm at Green Park. It was to take another four hours before I finally arrived back in Gillingham. The first hour was spent getting back to Lynny's, collecting my stuff and having a bit of a chinwag with her and Tom. The scond hour was spent waiting for a bus from Bethnal Green and then staying on it all the way to Victoria, given all the tube complications. The next forty-five minutes was spent waiting in Victoria yrain station for the only train of the hour and then another hour and twenty on the train. To top it all, I got back home to find one of the cats had been sick in my room. Four hours of travel at night is not so pleasant but at least I was not short of reading material on me, which is something. Apart from that, it was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend.

Back in black (and white)

The king is back - long live the king. Kevin Keegan has returned to Newcastle. It can't be summed up any better than by that much travelled over the last 24 hours cliche "it has captured the imagination." Many are talking of the Yorkshireman's managerail second coming with plenty of blasphemous bandying about of the m-word. But he did save Newcastle United on his past two times, first as player and then even more critically as manager. It still is a surprise since I saw that interview he gave to Gabby Logan where he said, never say never, but he could not see himself going back into management and that he hasn't seen live (presumably meaning not attended) football match since his last match in charge of Manchester City.
It is certainly a better choice than Harry Redknapp who would have been under pressure from the first minute. Paul Kemsley, fresh from making Tottenham Hotspur a laughing stock over the bungled transition of Jol to Ramos, seemed intent, on behalf of his close friend Magpies owner Mike Ashley, to want to do the same on Tyneside. Apparently, he browbeats into submission previously assured candidates on The Apprentice. The actual niggles of recruitment itself seem beyond him though. I know what Sir Alan Sugar would say: "You're fired!"
Keegan has a few black marks against his name, walking out on Newcastle almost eleven years ago to the day, allegedly in a fit of pique over denial of transfer money because the flotation was happening at that point. Doing the same with England and Manchester City embellishes the precedent. Also, he loaded Man City with tons of debt that was hard to service until last summer's takeover in exchange for average players. In a very prescient point while at Man City, he said that it became harder to work in the Premiership with every passing year, saying it would be much harder now for a promoted team to do what Newcastle did in 1993-94. So how much has the Premiership evolved since he took himself out of it? All in all though, his return bodes for interesting times on the pitch rather than off it. Newcastle still may not win anything, but at least we can enjoy what's being served up.
Big mention to Conference South team Havant and Waterlooville who not only beat League Two leaders Swansea but did it 4-2, being 3-0 up at one point, with Hav & Wat's goalkeeper saving a penalty. Now it's to Anfield and Liverpool, who are roughly 100 league positions above them. A real case of the haves and the Havants (thanks to Phil in Dorset for his text on a BBC radio phone-in). I bet though H & W would have been rather put out had Luton put Liverpool out meaning H & W would have to travel to Kenilworth Road instead. H & W will have to postpone that match against Weston-Super-Mare which clashes with the Liverpool game.
Also, well done to Steven Lee coming back from 5-2 down to win the remaining four frames of the match. His opponent, Graeme Dott, had a great chance to finish it with the frames levelled at 5-5, but one little slip, then another and it was all over as Lee cleaned up.

Crime and punishment

Last night, Michael Portillo on the programme Horizon conducted an investigation to test whether there was any genuinely humane way to kill someone. Once upon a time, there were plenty of people who wanted to do that to him, humanely or otherwise. He, though, was referring to the death penalty, in which he believed that if it was applied, then it should be applied in a painless way for the condemned person. Lethal injection required the use of doctors for proper administration of the chemicals, but doctors, according to their Hippocratic oath to preserve life, don't go anywhere near the procedure, hence technicians have to do it and they can be sloppy, being not fully trained in medicine. Plus, there were questions over some of the chemicals used. Then the noose came under examination. But it was unreliable, unless it took off the head entirely, which is a bit gory. Then the electric chair, which was horrific. Finally, the last method of execution used (in the USA) was suffocation in a gas chamber, but that too was painful. The guillotine strangely was not mentioned. So Portillo turned to aeronautics - g-force and depressurisation, the latter which made him feel euphoric, even as he edged before death before being pulled back. He found an economical way of implementing that, from prior use on pigs.
He presented his findings to the leading advocate of the death penalty in the USA, who was massively unimpressed. He told Portillo that the death penalty must involve pain because the victim (assumed murder victim) would have felt pain. For the prisoner to feel euphoric as he passed away would insult the victim's memory. The advocate used the idea of a person being killed with a hammer to the head (because like, duh, all murders are like that) to show that the victim suffered gruesome pain (because like, duh, all murders involve hideous pain). Portillo's argument that the state should not emulate the murderer because then where is the difference did not wash with advocate, who was hostile from the outset. The advocate's rationality was clouded by vengeance. Vengeance should be absent from judicial procedure. What would the advocate made of a person's (or family member's) ability to forgive?
Dostoevsky said, from the viewpoint of one who had spent many years in a Siberian prison camp, you can measure how civilised a society is by how it treats its prisoners. Inmates have every detail of their lives under control, so how does society want them treated? I think Dostoevsky was airing a false hope. There will always be people who support the death penalty (with pain), just as their will always be people who oppose it, no matter how far society evolves, because it is in their character. Vengeance is a powerful motivator to seek the death of others and some people are more vengeful than others. It's perhaps amazing that the death penalty is abolished in the EU and Russia, just as much as it is still in force in Japan and most of the USA, given the essential characteristics of people.
I favour the denial of liberty over the seizure of life because I believe that, though not everyone can be rehabilitated, some should be given the chance. Those who cannot be trusted back in society should be prohibited from it and remain in prison. The number of executions in the USA are negligible compared to the size of the prison system - killing convicts won't free up prison spaces. Prison serves three purposes - punishment through denial of liberty, the protection of society from the criminals and the rehabilitation of criminals so that they can re-enter society and not reoffend. The brutalising of prisoners inside, the 'prison works' beloved of right-wingers, is counter-productive, is not meant to be part of the punishment, because since society allows it to happen, the prisoner feels they have no stake in such a society and on release (since most prison terms have an expiry date), they are more likely to commit a crime in society because they have no investment in that society. Therefore, if brutalism occurs, prison doesn't work, it fails. It explains why Britain has some of the highest recidivist rates in the western world.

As for cruelty, it seems the Japanese sent their whaling fleet to the south seas after all and hoped no-one would notice. Some green groups did and managed to board one of the whalers, though two protesters were captured and thrown in the brig. For the Japanese government, howver, to use the language of terrorism to describe the green campaigners is dishonourable and inaccurate and will no doubt be received with derision amongst its peers. The boarders may be eco-pirates (whether they had pitiful amounts of acid on them or not), but terrorists? It's as ridiculous as claiming these whaling missions are for scientific purposes.

Allardyce iced

It wasn't nearly as acrimonious a departure as I thought it would be, but then Allardyce wasn't nearly the success I thought he would be. At the start of the season, with Big Sam's reputation and the squad we had, seventh place seemed sewn up and we could possibly aim for higher. With more than half the season gone, we would seem to be heading for 12th or 13th, barely better than Roeder. I'm not happy to see another Newcastle manager sacked and I thought he would last the season, but last night before I heard the news, I was thinking to myself how BSA was not just changing the team, he was dismantling it and it's questionable to assume anything would be erected in its place. BSA said he needed four to five years to achieve what he wanted at Newcastle, something that sounded horrific the way Newcastle were playing, to have to endure another half decade of that. It made me feel that it would take a further four to five years to deprogramme thse players after BSA left.
Ultimately, BSA's recent mantra "I'm in the results business," to illustrate that he knew what he was facing, did for him. Newcastle weren't just getting bad results, they were playing bad football and the players seemed uninterested. For twelve consecutive games, United have played awful stuff. The only thing making relagation unlikely is the cushion of points from a bright start to the season. BSA was the stereotypical defender-as-manager, with emphasis on defence, yet we couldn't even keep out goals. To say publicly that he didn't want his future decided by these players and that he was stopped from having a clearout because of African Nations Cup departures, did have a ring of the last days of Souness, when the latter said he couldn't motivate the players anymore, they were beyond him. Yet Allardyce stumbled on for a bit more, mid-table mediocrity easing the sense of genuine crisis. There was largely unseen good stuff done off the field, but the results on the pitch send the club in the wrong direction, then it is irrelevant.
His buys struggled to adapt in a way that Manchester City's did not. It's amazing to think that Allardyce was initially believed to be heading to the City of Manchester Stadium and that Sven-Goran Eriksson would wind up at St. James' Park. The expectations for the predicted success was just as wide of the mark - Eriksson having a flying start with sustained quality.
As for Allardyce's crew, it's all fine to not want your future in the players' hands but you bought a lot of them in the first place. Viduka and possibly Cacapa are the only worthwhile ones and the former was always going to move for the right wages. Geremi began well then faded. Joey Barton completely imploded off the pitch and seldom reached the heights on it. Jose Enrique has taken so long to adapt to the Premiership that's he's barely played. David Rozenhal seems a light touch for a centre-half. Abdoulaye Faye and Habib Beye have been quite average. And making Alan Smith captain beggars belief. He seems to have misheard Polonius' advice to Laertes as "neither a midfielder nor a striker be." He falls between two stools and only contribution to each match seems to be to pick up a yellow card. Every five games, I heave a sigh of relief that we have one game free of him. the only thing he's done in a blac-and-white shirt after pre-season has been to win the penalty that won it for us against Fulham. Because of BSA's style of play, Nobby Solano, a loyal servant, felt compelled to leave, robbing us of one playmaker and Belozoglu Emre was limited to cameos. Even when Viduka didn't play, his natural understudy Shola Ameobi was frozen out and due to be sold had BSA not gone first. I'm happy that we are keeping our "Nigerian Geordie" - he may never be a sheetmetal worker's son from Gosforth, but he could be handy when called upon (though not always). Nicky Butt, meanwhile, has been deteriorating in his passing, yet still is one of the better performers.
The decision to axe Allardyce was finally taken after the FA Cup draw for the fourth round, in which we, if Stoke had been overcome, had to play Arsenal at Arsenal (earlier in the same stage of the Carling Cup which he had to do so too and lost 2-0). The season therefore looked over and Mike Ashley and Chris Mort decided to act to stop the rot and try and improve the league position. For the forty-eight hours between the draw and sacking Allardyce, they must have been examining possible replacements before they acted.
BSA, hitherto the second highest paid manager in the Premiership after Sir Alex Ferguson (Jose Mourinho's departure raising him to second), will walk away with a £10 million pay-off because he was on a three-year contract worth £4 million per annum. Interesting to see that he left "by mutal consent", the same statement Chelsea released when relieving their coach of his duties. It just means that the club will pay up the rest of the contract, avoiding a costly legal tussle. Manchester United away is up next. It would have been interesting to see if Allardyce could have repeated his Bolton trick of winning at Old Trafford, but the way circumstances were, that was unlikely.
So to successors. Mark Hughes is mentioned, but his star is waning at Blackburn and the last time we went for a fading Blackburn manager we ended up with Souness. Harry Redknapp is touted, but I don't think he would leave since he's described Portsmouth as his spirtual home. Alan Shearer could gee up the players, but he may need a preliminary coaching role, possibly as a trainer for strikers, before he could feasibly step up successfully. The word out is that the club are looking for a British manager, but this could simply mean Premiership-proven. Only once since 1992 has the club had a non-British manager, the ill-fated Gullit, so why not a foreign change. Jol is available, albeit with a slightly damaged reputation. If prepared to splash 10 million smackers on ridding Newcastle of Allardyce, why not pay up Mourinho's terms of departure for not playing in the Premiership. Lippi is looking for a job, but might be seen to be getting on a bit to adapt. Houllier is in the frame, but he was famed for defensive football, one of the reasons why BSA had to quit. The way he played also led to Owen leaving Liverpool, but Owen was always going to leave Newcastle at the end of the season (despite having missed 99 potential games). Also, the last Lyon manager to try his luck in Britain, le Guen, came a cropper in Glasgow, while Portsmouth failure Perrin is doing very well now at Olimpique Lyonnais. At the time, BSA was seen as the best appointment possible to make. I think Newcastle have to do the same and appoint Jol. He's not the best there is, but he's decent and he likes playing attractive football.

Ad adsurdum

It's been out a while, but I keeping forgetting Dustin Hoffman's forgettable new film. Forgettable that is, apart from the title - Mr Majoriam's Wonder Emporium. It's a ridiculous title, one that I thought Hollywood would find for the bin rather than the green light, just by looking at it. Oh sure, it may have elements of Christmas on 34th Street, yadda, yadda, but compared to say, Die Hard 4.0, it's mellifluous wordiness might not instantly connect with the general public. It reminds me of that Simpsons' episode A Fish Called Selma where washed-up actor Troy McClure uses Marge's sister to get more publicity. Then, this achieved, he turns down the supporting lead role in 'McBain 4: Fatal Discharge' for 'The Contrabulous Fabtraption of Professor Horatio Hufnagel'. The implication on the commentary of the news item is that it will plunge him straight back into obscurity. How many more hits (in the painful sense) can Hoffman take?

Talking of silliness, whenever I hear (usually via the radio) that boxer Joe Calzaghe is gearing up for another bruising fight, always for the first few seconds, I think high-pitched, sqeaky comedian Joe Pasquale is making a surprise career move to step in to the ring, rather than the Welsh Dragon. Pasquale may have won 'I'm a piece of celery, get me out of here!' but pugilism? And then it dawns.

Potty at the Potteries

Last night, I obviously watched Newcastle United take on Stoke City in the FA Cup on BBC1. A 0-0 draw away is something to have cheer about, especially the clean sheet, but it was against lower league opposition. Under Sir Bobby Robson, the complaint went that Newcastle switched off after 80 minutes, but here and in the past few matches they go to sleep on 35 minutes.
Mind you, I was even less impressed by the punditry afterwards. Incisive analysis can be somewhat lacking at the BBC nowadays, but I wasn't prepared for that. Alan Shearer's take on matches can be a bit hit and miss between banality ("oh they had a good game, but the other team weren't bad either," for example) and approaching interest ("you've got to have a defender in this shaded box otherwise the striker's got a free shot), but his idea of impartiality is to be partial to Newcastle's opponents. Of course, everyone knows he supports Newcastle, but over-compensating to counter that is not giving a balanced view. His assertion on Stoke City on this occasion was that they deserved to win. No they didn't. Newcastle had more chances on goal and each side had one gilt-edged chance, no to mention possession being 59%-41% in Newcastle's favour. Then again, if you're the BBC and you just show all the Stoke chances and then when that's over you say you've run out of time, of course Stoke deserved to win, because according to the BBC, Newcastle's chances have been erased from history in some Orwellian way. Garth Crooks, former Stoke city player, allowed a rare foray into the pundits' box, was utterly biased and admitted as much, but Alan Shearer wasn't allowed to be. Come on. I know it is fun to support the underdog, and having Blackburn Rover and Everton dumped so spectacularly out of the Cup by Coventry City and Oldham Athletic respectively does lift the spirits as does Liverpool stumbling to a draw against Luton Town. So of course there is going to be more sympathy for the likes of Stoke, but let's not try to rewrite what actually happened.

The idiot

On Broadcasting House this morning on BBC Radio 4, one of the guests to discuss the newspapers was Jeff Randall, the man who claims he left the BBC because it wasn't right-wing enough for him (despite still having a FiveLive slot). And he just proved why he is still as nutty as ever. The first guest to be asked for his pick, he chose the Sunday Times - since as business editor at large of the Telegraph group, he said he felt obliged not to discuss it, though he did in the end, anyway - and this morsel was how the Russell Group of universities - the elite in other words - were going to deselect 'light' subjects such as dance and leisure study from their academic considerations for candidates.
Now, Randall was wholeheartedly in favour of this because as he admitted - through his words, if not through his intention - he is a snob. First he mocked how a dance student could ever become an engineer. The chairman of the show moderated this by saying such subjects, in the opinion of the Russell Group 'lacked academic rigour', but Randall continued his scorn - and ignorance - for the 'light' subjects. As one person emailed in afterwards they were an A-level drama teacher and one of their students did further maths and economics, illustrating why Randall is a fool, a man who lacks academic rigour, since schools make their pupils have many syllabi. An A-level pupil doesn't just do dance or just do leisure study and should therefore be irrevocably excluded from university, even though many polytechnics are universities now. They have a multitude of subjects and just because dance is one of them, doesn't automatcially exclude from taking more scholarly lessons as well and they could well be an engineer.
But then we were moved on to another criticism. Randall ranted on about how the government pressures universities to have a greater intake of comprehensive pupils. He said, high-mindedly, that grammar and private schools don't do these 'light' subjects - and when was the last time he was at school; he certainly never went to a comprehensive himself obviously. Oh, how gracious he was in saying there was nothing wrong in taking vocational subjects - yes, all fine for the lower-classes was his implication - but the universities shouldn't be made to attempt "social engineering" as if they were being told to institute a communist paradise. And he keeped referring to univeristies as a whole rather than the Russell Group, either through lack of preparation or intellect, I can't decide which.
Furthermore, I don't know what universities were like in the stone age when he was at them, but, apart from the Oxbridge set, now irrespective of whatever you do in the first year, you can change it wholsesale for what you choose to follow as your degree proper, if you wanted. The first year is solely for aptitude, to test your academic rigour. Just because a subject seems incongruous with another doesn't actually prevent you from taking it. Therefore, deriding 'light' subjects as not being compatible for high-flown degree subjects rather than focusing on the state of their 'academic rigour' is irrelevant.
Randall managed to throw in another right-wing hot issue. He said that many foreigners were taking these light subjects. No evidence for this brought forward about an education area from a business editor and it wasn't brought up again. No, it was just a sneaky way to attack foreigners because he is a xenophobe, not surprising from a man in the Telegraph group. The Daily Telegraph and its Sunday sister are newspapers in broadsheet format with tabloid presentation.
And what about that greatest light subject of them all, media studies? That was often a bete noire for 'traditionalists'. But now, media studies is seen as an important subject and probably many interns at the Telegraph group have that qualification, so Randall steered clear of that one.
The topic then moved to the US primaries in the upcoming New Hampshire caucus polls. Randall with his tuppence-worth gloried not in the victory for Barrack Obama in Iowa but in the 'defeat' (coming 3rd) for Hillary Clinton. He warmly talked of how 'the wheels had come off' and her 'robotic persona' and 'phoniness'. But before Iowa people were saying how it was essential for Obama or John Edwards to win Iowa simply for them to have a chance in the rest of the race. Even if Clinton loses New Hampshire, she is senator for New York, which carries many times over the combined delegate number of Iowa and New Hampshire. Yes, winning the early ones gives you momentum, but by no means wins you the nomination. Bill Clinton lost Iowa. He did win New Hampshire, but he needed to because he was far less well-known than his wife is now. Randall did manage a good joke of Bill Clinton using up all teflon for the Clinton family though of course is based on partiality and how badly one assesses Bill Clinton did. So Randall is counting his chickens before they're hatched, perhaps apt for someone involved in the business world - isn't this how the credit crunch from the sub-prime fallout began - false and over-confident projections?
Finally, Randall broke his promise not to talk about articles in the Sunday Telegraph, but referred to the business section and seemed to talk sense for the first time. Who knows if it was sense? As Irwin Steltzer quipped, economic forecasters were created to make weather forecasters look good. But overall Randall did a good job of convincing me that the BBC would be well shot of him altogether - the Telegraph group can keep him, the best place to hole him up in.

Hillary hits a roadblock but not near Bristol

So the first caucus circus - and, as one chat show host put it, the one day in the year people care what Iowa thinks - is over. I had a feeling this morning that Barrack Obama would triumph though it was a shock to find that Hillary Clinton had spun out to third. Mind you, John Edwards will regard second place as the bare minimum to be accrued from spending the past year living and canvassing in Iowa. It will be interesting to see if his momentum holds up. I also suspected that Mike Huckabee's folksy style woul lead the Baptist preacher to victory in Iowa. His message of less taxes, more guns, more Chuck Norris was simple and effective and was more than a match for his better funded rivals. From my point of view, it would be great to see either a black man or a woman in the White House, but Hillary and Barrack probably won't be on the same ticket, since that would push too many liberal hot buttons as to prove incendiary to soft Republicans, even though it would be the best thing for the USA in my opinion.

Hillary may have got stopped in Iowa, but at least there wasn't an altercation with the police as there was with a motorist driving too slow on the motorway near Bristol. Tootling along at 10mph and straddling the dual carriageway, before being escorted onto the hard shoulder by police cars, saw the unfortunate woman served with a seven day driving ban and forced to take a new test. I thought it interesting the BBC interviewed her behind the wheel of her stationary car. It reminds me of the OAP who was driving at 20mph on the motorway and, when refusing to heed police warnings to pull over, was faced with a police blockade. His response - to mount the grassy verge to try and evade them! It didn't work and how on earth did he think it would. At least Hillary isn't caught up in such absurdity.

Into 2008

The first blog of 2008 for me starts with my recount of how 2007 ended. Having worked in the morning of New Year's Eve, I permitted myself a nap in the afternoon so I wouldn't be bushed come the striking of midnight. Mel Leigh phoned me at 2.30pm just before I drifted off, reaffirming her earlier message that her party to which I was going was kicking off in more than good time before the chimes of Big Ben resonated. The time had been set for 8pm and for a New Year's Party, I thought that was more than enough time. I woke up at around half five, had my dinner and went off.
t was all pretty smooth until exiting Canada Water, south of the Thames near Docklands. The numerous complexes and estates often ended in cul-de-sacs which didn't appear on my seven-year old London A-Z, but eventually I made it to Rotherhithe Street, where Mel's place was. Trouble is, the street is very long and unwittingly I had come out at the opposite end to where Melly is situated. I walked up and down this far end until I received directions, basically to keep walking in one direction. Then Simon Savory called me and asked me where I was. I said I was near a pub and he replied "I'm raising my hand, can you see me." Of course, he was near another pub and I passed four, I think, on my odyssey. this farrago was repeated five minutes later, but with bus stops the props. Eventually, Simon and I coincided and I got to the party after 45 minutes of trudging around the area, at 9pm.
Most of the party people had been drinking since 4pm so I was initially too sober to fully communicate on a level with the others. Then Lyns, Miriam, Claire and Bex deigned to join us at half ten. Simon had already proved at least once that there was enough room to swing a fully grown woman around and now there were four more potential victims at his disposal. Elsewhere, some women swung off a door as a party piece, but not before they had put a teatowel on top of the door so as not to muck up their hands.
I announced individually at a time that Altaa and I were planning to get married and there was a flurry of profuse congratulations that a little overwhelmed me. The punch that Simon had made went down well (even next morning it still smelt good to the lucid nose). And then we abandoned the apartment in stages for the midnight gongs.
Outside, the rain was steadily blanketing us, but the Canary Wharf area looked pretty. I had first seen it that night on the approach down Rotherhithe Street, which at first threw Simon, thinking I was on the other side of the river. As we congregated on the Thames with the group diffused, a riverside flat had their telly on and we missed the countdown, hearing the bongs of Big Ben from the flat's television broadcast. Then our group fully reunited. In contrast to the Westminster extravaganza, there were four fireworks in our location and that was it, since not many choose to see in the New Year in Docklands. But at least we can say we were there.
It was back to the flat, people taking it in turns to prop up Claire who was barely awake from intoxication. We had a little after-party and around 3am, party-goers finally left, but not before Miriam had tried to play the guitar in Mel's room and Claire threw out all the shoes from under Mel's bed looking for her heels (they were recovered in the morning daylight), Lynsey continually chivvying her charges to leave.
I finally fell asleep at 4am. I woke up at 9am and spent most of the following hour talking to Mel. Mel, Simon and myself met up with some of Simon's friends and Lynsey, Claire, Bex and Miriam in Liverpool Street for the Wetherspoon's there. Miriam came up with the best line since December 2nd, when Mel, on learning that there were three prisons on the Isle of Sheppey, asked "Aren't there any humans there?" Deriding the manner of preparation and tardiness in arrival expected of Wetherspoon's as we reflected on how late Miriam's vegetable chilli was, some chorused that all the pub staff needed to do was bung the chilli in a microwave, to which Miriam quipped in lamentation "But they only have so many microwaves."
Simon and his friends departed at 4pm to see the scene of Jack the Ripper's first murder, apparently still in pristine Victorian condition. At 4.30pm, we decided to head off and outside I left the girls to their trek back to Bethnal Green. On the Tube, I almost came a cropper as heading down the stairs I found to my horror that my rucksack was still open from when I had opened it to get out my camera to show pictures of the party. Luckily, my possessions were still in situ, but it gave me a scare. Overall, it had been a decent entree to the new year.