London scrum

Charlie Brooker once again delivers an exquisite analogy sumptuously summing up a situation. One of my recent favourites was that making love to a skinny woman was like being attacked by a deckchair. In his last utterances, he was pontificating on the London mayoral race.
He rightly chastised the propaganda of the Evening Standard, so lurid and obvious it would have made Pravda blush, against the incumbent Ken Livingstone, while simpering around Boris Johnson. But he reserved his real venom for Johnson himself. His very relevant criticisms were all bound up in this swipe - "If butterfingers Johnson gets in, it'll clearly be a laugh riot from beginning to end, like a series of Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em in which Frank Spencer becomes mayor by mistake." Ooh, Betty!
It would be a bad joke if Boris was the man who attended the closing ceremony of the Beijing Olympics to pick up the torch as mayor of the next host city. In front of a televised audience of a billion or more, imagine the potential for calamitous monologues, given his track record of describing Liverpudlians and black people in general. A Prince Phillip-esque comment about 'slitty eyes' would probably be the best one could hope for if Boris was there. Prince Charles may have described the Chinese leadership during the Hong Kong handover as 'ghastly, old waxworks' but he did that in the privacy of his own diary, that was then stolen and published in bad faith by a paid-up member of the gutter press. But butter-brained Boris' intellectual faculties are inclined to melt under the heat of TV studio lamps, so imagine the pressure to keep his mouth shut in Beijing; he might explode altogether! He was torn to pieces by Jeremy Paxman in a Newsnight mayoral debate, at one point prompting Paxo to exclaim loudly (and rhetorically) "I despair!" No wonder Paxo scattered the next day's newspapers across the studio floor at the end.
Not that Ken's all that great, but I'd rather see him collect the Olympic torch than the blonde buffoon. Couldn't the Tories have found anyone more competent? In reality, few could attain such nincompoop levels (on public matters, that is, for when it comes to the classics - or dead white men - Johnson is par excellence) as Boris the blusterer. One light-hearted magazine described him as "Bonking Boris." Irrespective of his romantic exploits, it says it all really.

Excursions

On Friday, I saw the film shamelessly plugged on the BBC one o'clock bulletin (while masquerading as news), Leatherheads. While not exactly swayed by the puff piece for the George Clooney vehicle, it was a reminder of a film that might be worth watching, as evinced by the trailers (in the cinema, not on the BBC News). Leatherheads obviously wanted to be a screwball comedy in the manner of the 1930s and 40s, but, while a few jokes spilled in, there was never a full rush of mirth-making. Well photographed, but more than a little inconsequential, especially for a non-American audience, given the core was about the devlopment of American football in the 1920s. It would be like selling a film about English Association Football in the inter-war period to the USA, notably where the climatic plot device is well sign-posted. The repartee between Clooney and Renee Zellweger never quite caught fire, despite occasional sightings of smouldering, while Jonathan Pryce turned in another class performance and acted everyone else off the screen. It's hard to tell what was less worthwhile - the hypermania of the Coen Brothers' movie Intolerable Cruelty where Clooney squared off against Catherine Zeta-Jones or the lily-gilding present here. Arguably, the former had more zest. Leatherheads has a few interesting curios of the 1920s and Pryce, which though admirable is not exactly compensation enough. 2/5

On the Saturday, I finally got to see the most recent Coen Brothers' movie, winner of Best Picture and Best Director(s) Oscars, No Country for Old Men. It was a cut above what I had seen the day before, but I'm not entirely sure of its credentials for Best Movie of the Oscar year. It had exquisite cinematography and avoided easy, down-pat conclusions, with a striking narrative trick that makes you give a double-take to the whole movie (maybe car afficionados would have spotted it, mind), but Crash the previous year was more satisfying (if also more manipulative) as a Best Picture Oscar-winner. I find it interesting that much of the carnage seen in the film stems from an act of intended kindness and although, not being a comedy, it had as many humourous scenes as Leatherheads. I also appreciated the homages - Woody Harrelson's gumshoe on the stairs evokes Psycho, though the P. I.'s death occurs in his own room; and also the kids on their bikes reminds me of E.T, especially when one considers the narrative trick towards the end. I'm sure there are others. Of the main actors - Tommy Lee Jones, Josh Brolin, Javier Bardem and Woody Harrelson - Jones was largely wasted and Harrelson's appearance seemed like the Coen Brothers mooning at scriptwriter schools everywhere. There was also a key point where the transponder in the money was found and I was thinking, "just throw it out the window," but that never happens and though not totally a plot hole, it is somewhat inexplicable. The film was intended to be disturbing and jarring, but it's hard to see where it was going or what it was saying, other than preaching the randomness of life. Fargo, another big-time critical success of the Coens (though not one I'm overly enamoured by) was despite a guy being fed into a woodpulper, less violent, but crucially more a piece. It told a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. No Country for Old Men had no beginning, nor an end with the middle being wrapped up in a conclusion of sorts - another way of reflecting life maybe, but it did leave a sour taste in the mouth. For me, very good, though not one of the Coens' best. 4/5.

I saw that the last film in Odeon Covent Garden, which is actually quite a distance from Covent Garden. There were the usual bizarre London sights. Going down the stairs at CG tube station, I saw a black kid on crutches going up them! That takes stamina! It's bad enough being able-bodied walking up 193 steps, though it has to be done for the experience, but on cructches?!?! Inside King's Cross tube station as I made a connection crossing from Piccadilly Line to Hammersmith and City there was a naked guy wearing only his spectacles. His clothes were in a pile beside him and he was being, ahem, attended to by a tube member of staff (no smuttiness!). Can't see why he would want to waggle his pale, pink, skinny body around - as Mel Leigh commented as I told her, he was more of a grower than a show-er. I could understand such an undesirable sight directly outside King's Cross, but inside and past the barriers at that?
I was catching the H & C line to get to Aldgate East from whence I would convey myself to Brick Lane to see Mel and, as it turned out, Clare, for a bit of a chit-chat and a drink. We met at 1001. In its toilet was an attendant who was singing what seemed pro-Mugabe songs and ryhming couplets about soap usage (no fears, I used it) whilst lyricising his appreciation that i had pulled the flush. Back at the table, I had cider and red wine, though not at the same time. At around nine we called it a night and I made my way back to Victoria on a surprisingly efficient District Line train. At Victoria, I decided to have for the first time since 2005, proper junk fast food, a Burger King. I got on the train, only to find that the staff had left out the drink from my meal. So with minutes before the train departed, I hurried back and asked them about. I got a new drink, which was just as well since I had previously chosen Coca-Cola before seeing they had Fanta (and I'd already had a Pepsi cola earlier). Armed with Fanta I made my way back to the train with a minute or so to spare and as I went back to a spot I had bagged on the train, I saw a two pound coin on the floor. Literally, quids in! I wouldn't have seen that if I hadn't of had to go back and get a drink from the Burger King staff. The meal was typically fulfilling yet unfilling, but I was most of all pleased by the money discovery and a smooth train ride home.

The passage of the Olympic torch has caused controversy wherever it goes, but it has its grassroot supporters too. Obviously, the protestors draw the most attention because they are seeking the most attention, but there are plenty of expat Chinese who are trying to shield the torch from disruption. This led to farce in San Fran when the civic leaders changed the route at the last moment, inconveniencing protestors and wellwishers alike. When the Chinese expats are canvassed, they are broadly supportive of their government's actions in Tibet, even if a few people do die as a result. Sa Dingding, in the UK to promote her album, is of the same mind (though she has to consider Communist Party reprisals against her music should she rebel against the official line). She says she has been to Tibet four times and people should go there for themselves before they judge - easier said than done when the People's Libertaion Army have locked-down the province.
This wide support among oridnary Chinese reminds me of accounts of the Indian Mutiny in 1856-7. Then the average British person was most acquiescent in the army's actions in suppressing the revolt, especially after a garrison and the families with it were wiped out by angry Indians. These days, however, to read such comments as were made at the time is to be horrified. It all goes to show that the Chinese still possess an imperial mindset that the British lost a while back.

As for this judgement on the closing of the Serious Fraud Office inquiry into illegal slush funds by British Aerospace to the Saudi royal family, it is the final nail in the coffin of Tony Blair's claim that "I think I'm a pretty honest kinda guy." Blair and his attorney-general rolled over with ease at a verbal warning imperilling security co-operation because they found that the easiest political route out of it. To condone corruption is to be corrupt yourself. Ethical foreign policy. Pah!
On Newsnight yesterday, no government spokesman, Labour backbencher or civil servant was shame-faced enough to appear on Newsnight, so the BBC wheeled in the former foreign secretary, Malcolm Rifkind, to defend Blair's decision. He made some rather specious comments on national defence, citing Northern Ireland, as to why everything should be kept hush-hush. All very well, but that wasn't a situation where the foreigners in question were not blackmailing Britain. Moreover, at the time, Britain had not signed a treaty expressly forbidding collusion in corruption. Blair's government, furthermore, trumpeted their signing of the treaty.
Now the government has prepared a plan where judicial review can no longer impinge on a matter of national security, which not only is a sweeping increase of powers of the executive over the judges (who as the third arm of government are supposed to oversee government probity), but could be applied in any tricky situation for the executive. Thus, the Chagossians seeking a right of return to their homeland in the Indian Ocean after being evicted by the British so a US airbase could be built there, would never have got a fair hearing. This is a government who taking the American path of chewing up civil liberties in favour of a national security issue that allows them to avoid politically difficult consquences. Blair was always very much in favour when in office of letting history (rather than democracy) judge him. Well, history will look very unkindly on this; that is, if national security, doesn't forbid such writings at all.
Amazingly, Rifkind said we should not have followed up the murder of Alexander Litvinenko because it worsened relations with Russia. First of all, British relations with Russia were already on the rocks beforehand, literally since the Russians claimed that we put spy cameras in rocks around Russian government offices. And a murder is one thing, but to do it with a radioactive isotope in a capital city of eight million people and then leave a geiger-crazy trail of slime around London is a serious breach of any protocol. And Rifkind said it all should have been suppressed, as if the press would have taken no interest in it whatsoever. Usually, Rifkind is a quite lucid interviewee, but he was positively barking last night.
Thinking of the Saudis themselves, they do seem an odd lot. Their defence minister, who benefitted most from the illegal bribes, possibly to the tune of 1 billion pounds, Prince Bandar, sounds like a character out of Star Wars. As Blair might say, 'May the Eurofighters be with you'. But Prince Bandar is no sleek sheikh or elegant emir, more of a Jabba the Hut. He looks like he weighs a billion pounds! But then when you can gorge yourself and uttering a few words about national security cooperation is all in a day's work and is all the day's work, then perhaps it's no wonder.

TV ga-ga

Yesterday, ITN really confirmed that, if the BBC is the televisual equivalent of The Times and Channel 4 News that of The Guardian, it is one of a tabloid (and barely mid-market at that). I say this because it focused almost exclusively on the Princess Diana inquest verdict, leaving space for a five-minute piece on the latest Shannon Matthews development and just passing references to the Tibet protests to the Olympic torch in Paris and the removal of the 10p basic rate of tax, the latter affecting millions of people. Sensationalist was its modus operandi, criminally feeding conspiracy theories by saying, that despite the definitive inquest, "there are some questions that may never be answered." What editor let that pass unhindered? ITN obviously doesn't consider itself a serious news organisation.
And who assigned Keir Simmons any job at all. This idiot journalist did part of his reporting on the Shannon Matthews case while driving a car. To do so, he had to keep taking his eyes off the road to look into the camera mounted in the back of his car. It is a most curious way to explain such a story, especially when he continues his report (in a cut-away scene) on foot outside house in Dewsbury. Okay, so maybe he was running short of time to file his piece, but if to use one's mobile whilst driving is a criminal act of negligence, punishable with a jail sentence, what is repeatedly turning back to talk into a camera while in control of a vehicle? At least most attempts at this have the camera mounted side on to the driver.

The Chinese government said it wanted the Olympic Games to show the true face of China around the world. Well, with the passage of the Olympic torch - guarded by thugs in blue (who incidentally have no executive power and should therefore be arrested when they attack protestors) - the world certainly is seeing what China is really like. As China is doing nothing to ameliorate its actions (though it said it would be more tolerant and open), in either Tibet, jailing dissidents or Darfur, then the Chinese leadership deserve all the humiliation they get. And then there's Jacques Rogge, head of the IOC, saying he is unhappy about the occasional irruptions (it's not 'violence', apart from that coming from the Chinese guards) among the protests, but Chinese soldiers and police beating and killing Tibetans must be just fine for him and the IOC, given that he makes no mention of what was the key spark for the protests. Ostriches, heads and sand are words that seem appropriate for the IOC. You don't have to boycott the Olympics to show your disapproval of what China is doing or just keep silent altogether - there is a medium between those two extremes.

Snow, glorious snow

It was quite joyous weather today as the snow fell heavily and settled for the first time this year. And coming so late, it created beautiful juxtapositions such as cherry blossom trees being apparelled by the white flakes - Spring mixed with Winter. It was also pleasing to hear the "crump" of snow underfoot as I walked through the large field near our house that crests the hill. It may be cold but it is wonderful too.

So 'Moses' is dead. Charlton Heston was a versatile actor with many memorable films to his name. His "get your hands off me, you stinking ape," is oft-quoted, but for me the film line of his that sticks most in the mind is his cameo in Michael Moore's anti-gun documentary Bowling for Columbine, where Moore shows clips of Heston, the chairman of the National Rifle Association, that most malign of organisations, at a rally held in a town that recently had a mass-shooting. On the stage, a lectern in front of him, he lifts a rifle aloft and roars "from my cold, dead hands," and the assembled delegates whoop like hyenas. That in many ways is more striking than Moore's goading of him at the end of the movie. It draws one response, as offered by an alien in the film Men in Black to a redneck farmer who has uttered the same words regarding relinquishing his rifle "This request is acceptable," before making it a reality. Now Heston is gone, the gun really can be wrenched from his "cold, dead hands." His movie career can be admired, but you have to stop there if you really want to appreciate the man.

I think it's great that the FA Cup is so unpredictable. The semi-finals were potentially more interesting than the Champions League quarter-finals because the line-up was so unusual - three second-tier teams and a mid-table Premiership one. This just confirms what slimeballs the executives at Sky are then, by scheduling Premiership matches in direct competition with the FA Cup. On Sunday it is bit troublesome to avoid the late afternoon kick-off for the second semi-final, but the first on Saturday kicked off at 12.15pm. Half an hour later, Arsenal played Liverpool which might have produced a result that affected the Premiership title race. Of course, the teams have little say over when their matches are played since TV money dominates, but I noticed no teams were playing at 5.15pm, another usual kick-off time on a Saturday. Arsenal could easily have played Liverpool then, but Sky wanted to try and hurt the FA Cup. It is nothing new from an American corporation trying to do down a British institution though. As it goes, out of 180 minutes of both semi-finals the only pleasurable part was the last twenty minutes of West Bromwich Albion versus Portsmouth, when West Brom frantically looked for an equaliser. According to the radio commentary, the Barnsley-Cardiff City match was dire. But I still stand by my claim that these semi-finals hold more charm than the Champions League quarters, despite the huge gulf in quality and that is because those four teams represent a once-in-a-lifetime event, that they (or others of their ilk) should all be there.

Was there a boat race?

Last Saturday, I voyaged up to London to join up with Simon Savory and Ronny Rogers to see the Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race and voyage is the correct word. 2 & 1/2 hours it took to reach Putney Bridge and for once it wasn't the fault of the District Line. It was a weekend service, the kind usually associated with Sundays. I had to get a bus from Gillingham to Strood, wait on a windy station for 2o minutes (because they can't have a train waiting for the buses can they?), then get on an interminably trundling train that crawled into Victoria eventually. Luckily Private Eye preserved my sanity.
Danni and Henrietta were there too, along with countless associates of either Ronny or Simon. We moseyed on down to the Thames at around 4pm. It was raining and so we hoped that would thin the crowds out lining the banks of the Thames. It did, but those who were attending brought golf umbrellas, providing a very effective screen for anyone standing beside them. Even if the Thames had been packed out on a dry day, I would have had a better view standing on tiptoe, but not with this panoply before me. So we enjoyed ourselves with an impromptu serving bar on the top of an enclosed bin. After seeing less than ten seconds of boat race, we frequented several pubs and fast food outlets before I called it a day and went home at quarter past nine, knowing of the journey that awaited me.
A good weekend improved massively when Newcastle beat Spurs 4-1 on the latter's own turf. That's a double league double over the cockerels, part of a consecutive winning run over these opponents stretching to five games. Can we play you every week is a chant most appropriate. The other interesting point was Arsene Wenger at his most irritating. If we follow the Wenger method of discipline then Abou Diaby should never play again for his dangerous tackle; that he didn't break the leg of his victim a sign of his luck compared to Martin Taylor's. It was clearly similar to Taylor's tackle on Eduardo and it the roles of Taylor and diaby were reversed what would Wenger have to say? Just weeks after saying these kind of tackles must be eradicated from the game, Wenger is defending his player, totally undermining any authority he has to speak on the matter. That Arsenal have picked up an average of seven red cards a season every season Wenger has been in charge proves that Arsenal are just as dirty as the teams they berate. But it didn't stick in the craw as sometimes it does when Wenger speaks in such a blinkered way because it was so pathetic that he should do so.
There was interesting media yesterday. One of the topics on Woman's Hour (they released a factoid today saying 42% of their audience is male though I only listen occasionally) for thursday was "Why does a man look good - to a woman - in a (military) uniform," using as an excuse for this puff piece the Russian army's revamping of their military dress to go for ultra-retro Tsarist-style. Interviewing several youngish officers, they had a bizarre choice of background music tacked on. First, it was "Macho, Macho Man," followed by "In The Navy," both expressly gay songs. So, the first interviewee told of how he went into town in his uniform. Of one shop he went into, he was stalked by two women working there. He assumed they believed him to be shoplifting. After two weeks, one of the women stopped him and he fully expected to have to turn out his pockets (to prove his innocence), when in fact she asked him whether he wanted o go out with her friend, the other woman. Rounding off, he said "You do get a lot more attention from people, especially the female fraternity." What? Minor alliteration yes, but this is most disturbing - surely it should be female sorority. Suddenly the music made a lot more sense. The answer to why a man looks good in a military uniform is because the uniform is associated with heroism, strength and bravery and is designed for masculinity (but is therefore ill-fitting on women).
Also on the media, it was amusing to see Kirsty Wark struggling with a sore throat and possibly cold on Newsnight. Presenters of this programme must present an image of implacability and invincibility, but Wark shattered the illusion. These are moments that catch the eye of witty analysts and when they write about them, you can say "I saw that live!"