Musing over the recent death of Ted Kennedy, the last of the Kennedy brothers of that ‘Camelot’ era, it got me thinking that not that death stalks them in a tragic way, but often in a positive way. The only true tragedy was Booby Kennedy’s senseless assassination by a Palestinian no-mark. JFK’s administrative drive had stalled by November 1963, even with the political capital he acquired for facing down the Soviet Union over the Cuban Missile Crisis. He was idling into what would be Bill Clinton mode decades later. His murder gave Lyndon Johnson, a politician’s politician, the impetus to launch the Great Society and advance civil rights. When a drunken Ted Kennedy abandoned Mary Jo Kopechne after driving into the river at Chappaquiddick, he lost the chance to become president, but by being stuck in the Senate, there was national, rather than personal gain. If he had become president, he might have achieved four or eight years pushing a progressive agenda. But being in the Senate, for 47 years, he gave to the USA far more. He was the second-longest serving senator in US history. “Second again,” his brothers might greet him after his failed presidential nomination bid in 1980, but his contributions mark him out as one of the greatest of legislators.

Last week’s news that the controversial comedic cartoon Family Guy was to invite right-wing ideologues to appear as themselves in the news series was greeted with outrage by many fans. As the creator Seth MacFarlane said, the show was liberal because it was written by liberals. As a result, he and his team wanted to hear the other side – tsk, typical liberal thinking, giving all sides a fair crack of the whip (the use of which might be defended by the dubious guests on CIA detainees). If they wanted to have an illiberal attitude on this show for balance they should have banned all right-wingers from ever coming near it (aside from all the funding they get from a Republican propaganda channel), while continuing to promote a ‘liberal’ agenda. The perfect philosophical compromise. Now, on Internet forums dedicated to Family Guy, MacFarlane and his people are being called “monsters” and worse by so-called liberals, when it could all have been avoided had they courted hypocrisy while maintaining a liberal stance. Think of it as a double negative. Family Guy being contentious? Perish the thought! Come off it.

Yesterday afternoon, while walking through Gillingham High Street, I saw a three-year-old child standing in the doorway of a cafe staring at me, without any guardian inn close attendance. We locked eyes since she continued her curious look at me and as I did so, she inquired "Daddy?" Now, when an unknown child asks after you as 'Daddy' it mines a deep seam of male psychological fear, even though rationally I knew that it was impossible for this little girl to be my hitherto hidden offspring. I said "no," not breaking my stride as I passed. Just the idea still gives me a chill.

Well done boys for winning the Ashes back. Gordon Brown should call an election now to capitalise on the good feeling. He'd still be defeated but lose fewer seats than he will next May. Bur ah, glorious cricket. England may not be world-beaters but they're Australia-beaters and that's what matters.

Went to South London for a league match between Crystal Palace and Newcastle United yesterday. Via Bromley South and Peckham Rye, I arrived at Thornton Heath at almost exactly the 1.45pm I had agreed with Ben. Two more of Ben’s friends, Eddy and Matt, showed up in short order, but we had to wait another half hour at the station entrance for Jon, cutting into valuable drinking time. He had miscalculated, with parts of the Victoria Line out, how long it would take. Incidentally, both Jon and I left at 12.30pm (though that’s when my train departed; I made off from my house 15 minutes prior), but he took an extra half an hour just to cross the city from Crouch End and go south of the river. We still had time for one pint though before the game.
This was first visit to Selhurst Park and it was quite old school in my stand, with the wooden seats reminding me of section at Fulham’s Craven Cottage and the television gantry looking decidedly unsafe on scaffolding. The Magpies got off to a superb start, neat passing leading to a goal within five minutes. Freddie Sears, on loan from West Ham United, was the Eagles’ liveliest player, displaying another level of class from his team mates with penetrating runs and diligent tracking back. Leaving aside the competent goalkeeper, Palace needed ten Freddie Sears out there. Neil Warnock, the Eagles’ manager, was frequently furious on the touchline opposite where we were. Magpie defending was nothing special and often harum scarum, pretty much illustrating, even with summer departures, why they were in this division, though the Eagles could not capitalise with the paucity of quality in their own ranks, bar Sears. However, Newcastle’s ball possession skills (eliciting cries of olé from the travelling support when seven or eight passes were strung together) and forward play sometimes left Palace for dust and, sure enough, another goal followed.
In the second half, the quality markedly depreciated as United sat on their lead and Palace pressed in vain as they squandered opportunities. Usually, when watching United play my heart is racing, much faster than normal, but Newcastle were never in any real danger here and I could watch with equanimity - useful given I was among Palace supporters.
After the match all the pubs were shut so we bade farewell to Ben, Eddy and Matt and Jon and I journeyed north of the river, first to see Ed, Laura and Jamie in their office at Old Street where Jon had left some shopping and then on to Crouch End, where I supped some Bulmers’ cider with Jon and shot the breeze, until 9.30pm when it was really time to go. No rush this Saturday and I got to Victoria in good time for the 10.45 service.

The past two weekends I have been journeying up to London to see Jamie, Ed, Ben and, last Saturday, Jon. On Sunday 9th August, Ed and Jamie, with their respective halves Laura and Keiko, had a barbecue party on their spacious balcony. Unlike most barbecues, this food was well-cooked throughout, overseen by Ed’s eagle eye.
This was my first time in their new abode, almost a stone’s throw away from the old one they used to share with Jon, before Arabia became his new land. I did like their old place, but this had a wonderful mezzanine kitchen with the living room inhabiting literally a higher plane. From the balcony, one can see acres and acres of green tree canopy, with Alexandra Gardens on the near horizon.
It was billed as Keiko’s deportation party as her visa was soon to expire and she would have to return to Tokyo before she could be in Britain again. It was very pleasant socialising in this relaxed atmosphere.
As the night drew in and people took their leave, a self-selected few remained. Keiko wished to play Articulate, but Ed wielded his veto, feeling that he knew the game back-to-front. Instead, we pondered a question of logic, at which I worked out the rationale for a double negative, before figuring out the phraseology, but that’s only because I had seen a variation of it demonstrated in an art-house film. Unfortunately, what I most remembered was the Master of Logic’s scorn for deduction by observation, rather than how to solve the riddle using logic, so I had to come up with that myself. Then Laura purloined Ed’s laptop to get new brain-teasers. After some more of these, I made my exit and after some public transport ease for once, arrived back in Gillingham by midnight.
Last Saturday, I met Jon in the flesh for the first time in more than a year. When in May 2008, he said he was going to be back in August, I though he meant August 2008, not 2009. On this sojourn, he was in Britain for a mere ten days, though he claimed he missed the place and even the weather.
Altaa and I met him in Brick Lane, with his half-brother Dave, Ed, Wodjti and Wodjti’s friend Steven. They had just finished their dinner and we moved on further along Brick Lane to a pub with the lights on low. We were joined later by Ben, who had just seen his beloved Crystal Palace lose at Bristol after having a legitimate goal ruled out because it bounced out the net too fast when the score was 0-0. On discussing what is today’s visit of Newcastle United to Selhurst Park, Jon didn’t believe me and thought we were going up to see Crystal Palace in Toon. I thought he was joking with me, which was a whole round of farce. We had some lovely raspberry beer and good catching up chat.
I looked at my watch at 10.45pm and decided that now was the time to go if we were to be at Victoria for the last train out of there. But Brick Lane to Liverpool Street station is a long way, especially with Altaa being in heels. We got onto the Underground at about 11.15 to miss out Circle Line train by seconds, partly because Altaa was negotiating the stairs in her heels against an onrush of people going the other way and partly because this man was standing at the bottom of the stairs blocking it with total thoughtlessness. Two Metropolitan Line trains and a Hammersmith and City Line train pulled in and out again, but no Circle Line train heading west. The digital board was unhelpful to say the least, only signifying a train moments before it pulled alongside the platform. At 11.30, having counted how many stations there were, I cut my losses and with Altaa headed for the Central Line on another level, having calculated their were only a few extra stops if we caught the Central, then the Northern and finally the District Line. It would be tight though. The Central Line was far more busier than the level we had left, but as we journeyed on the Northern, I gave serious thought to going to Waterloo and catching the very slow train that terminates at Gillingham almost at 2am. If we missed the train at Victoria, we might not have enough time to get to Waterloo afterwards. I decided to gamble and we switched at Embankment for the District. As we waited, there were two rowdy Chelsea fans celebrating their opening day victory. The train whizzed in, with a man strumming a guitar in one carriage as it passed by. We tried to get in a different section to the noisy drunken Blues, but that didn’t work, though at least we were at opposite ends of the wagon. They serenaded a captive audience with their chant “we’re bastards when we lose,” (though some would widen the criteria), rounded off with a victorious, self-parodying coda of “we never lose.” Then they went into a song of “Stand up if love Chelsea,” as the train reached another stop. My watched ticked agonisingly closer to the final time of the train. 00.03 and it was 11.59, with two more stops. Almost to affront these two fans, virtually no-one got up to leave the train at this juncture. Then just as the doors were sliding shut, in jumped that guitar hero I had seen earlier, who was a Johnny Cash impersonator. Immediately he launched into a rendition of Ring of Fire, in a duel to vocally outlast the two fans. In the end, even they were singling along to the Cash classic. We all applauded at Victoria and then Altaa, I and a fair few other people ran as fast as we could. I speeded up onto the concourse, making sure Altaa could see me and as I looked up at the departure board, I skittled by accident an empty pint glass left on the ground with my near airborne feet. We had made it with barely 90 seconds to go. Altaa caught up with me and we got on the train with just a minute left and, to cap it all, we got seats as well. It was all right on the night and exhilarating too.

Yesterday, the Justice Secretary of the Scottish Executive decided that the only perosn convicted of the Lockerbie bombing was to go free on compassionate grounds. His reasoning was stupid, that compassion had to be shown to a dying man - even if the man was a part in killing 270 people and had shown no compassion for them. The real reason Mackaskill released al-Megrahi was because he believed the conviction was unsafe, but that al-Megrahi would die still in prison before the appeal concluded. But for legal reasons, he could not say so for the Executive meddling in the law would have gravely undermined the Scottish judiciary. At least Scottish nationalsim won't be so favourably viewed in the USA from now on.
The anger of British and Americans alike is reasonable and London can't escape censure since it kept quiet, washing its hands of the case, to get contracts with oil- and gas-rich Great Libyan People's Socialist Arab Jamariyah (Libya) and let the Scottish Executive carry the can, with the SNP Justic Secretary. However, Americans also say their own governemnt isn't off the hook, not 'proesting' enough. Huh? Obama and Democrats have always said al-Megrahi should die in prison. What we hear are right-wing Republican-leaning people who want to dmaage Obama, such as the man who has an interesting way of differentiating between US presidents. When he referred to Bush 41, I was thinking what does that mean as neither were 41 during their presidencies and then it occurred to me that he was referring sequentially, such as Clinton would be 42. This man said that previously when America said something "things happened." Well, I'm glad that Obama has chosen to honour the sovereignty of other countries, instead of throwing its weight around like an arrogant shit. If the release of al-Megrahi is the price of at least judicial independence, so be it. We do not like being treated as an oupost of the USA, like an East Atlantic Puerto Rico. The USA wins respect by treating its friends with respect and that means not interfering in the domestic affairs of others, even if Americans died in the respective case. Strongly worded diplomatic criticism is the mark of a civilised nation. If the Scottish Justice Secretary makes a bizarre decision, that is the Secretary's decision to make.

Taking the Flak drew to a close last night. It won't be remembered as a classic sitcom, but it did simmer along nicely. The rest of the series could not live up tot he first episode which was rather front-loaded with the best gags, as well as being the shock of the new, but it have a few choice jokes in some other episodes, such as the local African fixer praising his former schoolteacher, saying "he always let me do the Bible reading in science class." Some may criticise the bodily fluid parts of the narrative, but,as I can attest, when living in less developed countries they become an important consideration. From personal experience, I can well understand the life of a BBC scribe in a distant land. the things. I also recognise the stereotype of the dippy posh girl, who is doing something exotic on daddy's money before gambolling back to Sloane Square or Surrey. I don't see much scope for a second series, since most of the character's situations were resolved last night, but it was fun while it lasted.

The head of state of Liechtenstein, Prince Hans-Adam III, after angering German Jews and Germany as a whole by dragging up the past to defend current financial practices in the micro-state, went further to claim that banking secrecy helped people persecuted by communist governments, adding that it can still help those who want to shelter their savings from “Third World countries run by bloodthirsty dictators.” Wouldn’t banking discretion be most valued by those self-same dictators, running a slush fund? Moreover, the prince elucidates how the Russian oligarchs could emerge so rapidly from the ruins of the native communism. And that’s before even touching on the issue of the wealthy in developed countries being engaged in tax evasion. Yet another argument against inbreeding.

So, they’ve found the Arctic Sea, the ship that literally dropped off the radar as soon as it hit the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. It has certainly generated enough rumours to fill a cheap airport novel. Drugs or guns smuggled in during repairs at Kaliningrad, a hijacking in the Baltic Sea, the massive Russian response prompting the Finns to test the port for radioactivity, ransom demands, commercial disputes... The real reason for the satellite tracking transponder being switched off is probably not just that the Russian crew fancied an unauthorised trip to the Cape Verde Islands. What interests me is that the high seas boarding by masked men in Swedish waters. It’s not surprising, even though this is unprecedented in European waters of today, as the Swedes elected to the European parliament a representative of the Pirate Party. Now, free music downloads are not the same as free timber taking or whatever else, but it can only inspire such actions.

I haven't updated in nigh on two weeks because, frankly, I haven't felt like it. Not that interesting things have failed to happen, but since these are primarily the recollections I choose to share, I need to push myself sometimes to place a blog. I was never nromally one for diaries.
On Thursday week gone by (6th August), we celebrated my grandfather's 80th birthday (and my mother's 54th). For this occasion, we all decamped to Surrey, to one of those hotels that high-powered comapny or BBC executives often have brain-storming weekends away at. Alexander House (for that was its name) even had a helipad in the grounds. Near East Grinstead - the terminus from which Uncle Paul, accompanied by son Joseph, transported in his car to the location - the area was described as the source of the River Medway, where some boggy ground began the long descent. The coincidences were piling up.
Almost the entire family had gathered and this caused plenty of the men to be angling for names to fish out of conversations with distant, related acquaintances, ntoably with regard to children. Jospeh, 12, was roughly the same age that I had last seen Alan - now a full-grown man with a course in marine engineering under his belt.
After some chit-chat and delivery of presents, we engaged in mass photo shoots before heading inside to be served a sumptuous set two-course lunch revolving around a chicken and potato mash dish for main and lemon tart (which was very tart but still tasty) for dessert. Uncle Paul took to hawking his pudding around the tables since he found it far too rich. After the late lunch (coming at around 2pm), we again went outside to enjoy the hottest day of the year to that date. Uncle Paul was being Competitve Dad with his son, Joe, over croquet even stooping to cheating and he still lost! Mind, playing croquet on a slope didn't seem ideal for any player. Then we returned inside for some cake and speeches of reminisces.
The presents from Altaa and I were plum jam (from the Plumbs) bought from the Whitstable festival and a framed photo of us when we were in Monfolia. That was for Grandad Bryan and for Mum (who we see more often) we got a Debenhams gift voucher. It was a lovely outing. Once back at East Grinstead, the weather finally gave in to the humidity and light rain was the outcome, so we had also pitched the right time to leave the party. Despite the protestations of the electronic board, the train back to London Victoria (to go back out of again home) was on the same platform as we had arrived on and only the driver leaning out of a window informed us that the train was just being put into reverse.
It was good that so many of us were gathered there that day because two days later Great-uncle Geoffrey died two days later, aged 76. He had been unwell for a long time, but at least we all got to see him in good spirits just before he went.

On Sunday, there was a musical medley of a concert in Gillingham Park. I didn't need to go to know since I could hear it from inside my house. This was fine when they were playing some folksy English music, reminding me of bands in Simple Simon's pub in Canterbury. It was when they got onto some rapid-fire rap that seemed without rhyme or reason that I was glad not to live next to the park at least. In snatches it could have passed for an overexcited racehorse commentator or a whipsnap auctioneer - those are more an artform that what was like being hammered into submission. Some rap is witty and well-paced, but blabbering at 100mph as if your entire set is the longest word in the world is frankly not pleasurable to my ears. They returned thankfully to some more genteel stuff that one could relax in the countryside (or one's garden), chewing on a long straw of grass, after a few hours. It was a tonic to what had gone before.