I know! How did that happen exactly? Seems the Uruguayan press and indeed Latin America en masse are blaming our press for whipping up a frenzy of revenge against the dentate one among the FIFA committee that decided his fate. Like the British media has any clout in that august body. Wasn't it only a couple of weeks ago they dismissed the Sunday Times reports on corruption at the highest level in FIFA, on the pretext of "racism"? Nice. Not that we should have been surprised. If it had gone the other way. The guilty ones would have had to give all that Qatari money back, and they've probably already blown it buying mansions in Chelsea or Caribbean islands. So instead, the African nations, some of whom had promised their vote to us in the 2018 bid cry racism, keep their cash and the whole thing gets kicked into touch.
To be fair, the World Cup thus far has been a brilliant diversion from our own little domestic failures- "the worst performance by England since 1958"according to the BBC, though that ignores the fact that since then we have failed even to qualify for the finals on several occasions, which is surely even worse. But what if we'd had Gareth Bale playing for a UK side? he's believed by some to be the world's third best player after Messi and Ronaldo, and boy, could we ever have done with a really useful striker last week, huh?
Thing is, we complain about the current hegemony of FIFA and its boss Sepp Blatter, but in the post-war years we dominated the administration of the world game just as thoroughly through its British president, Sir Stanley Rous. It was him and others who had such power they enabled the little provinces of Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland to field their own teams on the biggest stage in football. Maybe it's time to re-think this policy. Because with all the leading premiership sides cherry-picking the best talent from around the world and largely ignoring our home-grown talent, it's hard to see how we're ever going to produce a world-beating team. Think on...
Saturday, 28 June 2014
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
Journalism: a criminal offence
In the heady, intoxicating atmosphere of the Arab Spring, we witnessed some wonderful scenes of "people power". In particular we saw the amazing drama of Tahria Square in Cairo, where the police and army refused to clear the streets of protesters rising up against the rule of then president Mubarak. I was not alone in hoping this marked a new phase in Middle East politics where at last there might be a bit more government by the people, and a little less government of the people. And I remember deploring the cynical remarks of a commentator at the time on British television warning that within a couple of years the situation would reverse itself, in a sort of "change the names but the game remains the same" scenario.
Well, dammit if he wasn't completely right. First a free and fair election was held, which brought the Muslim Brotherhood into power, only for it to be brought down by an army (always the power behind the throne in Egypt). Now its leader Mohammed Morsi faces a death sentence, and even three journalists who simply reported the unpalatable facts have been consigned to jail for seven years.
Any state that behaves in this way is politically and morally moribund and should rightly be condemned by free countries the world over. Government by the people is a messy, awkward business, but it's the only way a world can move forward to a better place. And right now, in this observer's opinion, the world is racing headlong backwards into a dark, terrible place that bodes ill for everyone living in it, except of course the rich and powerful. They, of course, are doing fine.
Well, dammit if he wasn't completely right. First a free and fair election was held, which brought the Muslim Brotherhood into power, only for it to be brought down by an army (always the power behind the throne in Egypt). Now its leader Mohammed Morsi faces a death sentence, and even three journalists who simply reported the unpalatable facts have been consigned to jail for seven years.
Any state that behaves in this way is politically and morally moribund and should rightly be condemned by free countries the world over. Government by the people is a messy, awkward business, but it's the only way a world can move forward to a better place. And right now, in this observer's opinion, the world is racing headlong backwards into a dark, terrible place that bodes ill for everyone living in it, except of course the rich and powerful. They, of course, are doing fine.
Friday, 20 June 2014
How long do you want to live?
"Oh, a hundred at least" is probably your answer. 110 maybe. For ever? Why not? With modern advances in genetic science, almost anything is possible, if not for us, then for our children and grandchildren. Someone born today stands a 1 in 4 chance of living to 100, whereas for people born before 1939 the odds were 1 in 30,000.
When I qualified in medicine in 1974 the average life expectancy at age 100 was one week. Today that figure has increased to nearly five months. To me that says it all about the incredible transformation in life expectancy we have seen in the last thirty years. So maybe you will indeed get your wish.
But let me return to my opening question: how long do you want to live? A friend recently had a pop at me for continuing to smoke. When we talked about it again she confessed it was because she wanted me to live to 90, like my sainted mum, who achieved that magnificent age only yesterday. It's a lovely sentiment and I appreciated it. But then the conversation turned to a survey I came across recently asking people how badly they wanted to live to a great age. Interestingly, doctors asked the question were noticeably less enthusiastic about the idea than all other social or professional groups, and this is, I believe, because doctors are regularly confronted by the messy end of life's journey and perhaps understandably do not relish undergoing the process themselves.
When we are young, our bodies fizz with vigour and life force. We almost seem invincible. But as age ensues we are less able to withstand the second law of thermodynamics, which states that all systems proceed to a state of increased entropy. Hence unweeded gardens go to seed, untended buildings crumble and collapse, even mountains will gradually erode flat in time. And bodies? their joints seize up, their arteries clog, their brains (like my mum's, bless her) turn to mush and their immune systems no longer have the energy to seek out cancer cells before they form tumours. That's where we're going and it ain't a pretty prospect. So I'm in that camp of people who don't really care about living to 100; not if it means all that horrible entropy. Sure I'd like to live to a vast age and retain all my faculties, then fade painlessly away in my sleep. And what are odds of that? Less than 1 in a hundred, unfortunately. Bugger!
When I qualified in medicine in 1974 the average life expectancy at age 100 was one week. Today that figure has increased to nearly five months. To me that says it all about the incredible transformation in life expectancy we have seen in the last thirty years. So maybe you will indeed get your wish.
But let me return to my opening question: how long do you want to live? A friend recently had a pop at me for continuing to smoke. When we talked about it again she confessed it was because she wanted me to live to 90, like my sainted mum, who achieved that magnificent age only yesterday. It's a lovely sentiment and I appreciated it. But then the conversation turned to a survey I came across recently asking people how badly they wanted to live to a great age. Interestingly, doctors asked the question were noticeably less enthusiastic about the idea than all other social or professional groups, and this is, I believe, because doctors are regularly confronted by the messy end of life's journey and perhaps understandably do not relish undergoing the process themselves.
When we are young, our bodies fizz with vigour and life force. We almost seem invincible. But as age ensues we are less able to withstand the second law of thermodynamics, which states that all systems proceed to a state of increased entropy. Hence unweeded gardens go to seed, untended buildings crumble and collapse, even mountains will gradually erode flat in time. And bodies? their joints seize up, their arteries clog, their brains (like my mum's, bless her) turn to mush and their immune systems no longer have the energy to seek out cancer cells before they form tumours. That's where we're going and it ain't a pretty prospect. So I'm in that camp of people who don't really care about living to 100; not if it means all that horrible entropy. Sure I'd like to live to a vast age and retain all my faculties, then fade painlessly away in my sleep. And what are odds of that? Less than 1 in a hundred, unfortunately. Bugger!
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
Bring back our boys
Last week three teenagers were abducted from their homes in an Israeli settlement on the West Bank. Israel has been quick to blame Hamas for this outrage, but it is not their style. They usually admit responsibility immediately for their kidnappings and quickly move to negotiate with the Israeli authorities, usually for the release of their own people from Israeli jails. That has not happened this time, which makes some observers to wonder exactly what is going on. Some have even suggested that elements in the Israeli far-right might be responsible, in a tactic to ensure the so called "peace talks" never get off the ground. I wouldn't put it past them...
In response the IDF (Israeli Defence Force) have set up a facebook page cleverly entitled "Bring back our Boys", but it has been subverted by an equally clever counter-campaign from the Palestinians, who have been flooding the site with entries like "How about bringing back our boys?". This refers to the fact that hundreds, perhaps thousands of Palestinian youths, mainly boys, are at this moment languishing in Israeli prisons, many under trumped-up charges like stone throwing. Many spend years in jail before their cases ever come to court; some are simply released without charge after lengthy spells inside with no apology and certainly no chance of compensation. This is happening right now: forty young men were arrested yesterday as the IDF roiled through the refugee camps on the West Bank in their search for their own missing boys, and many more will doubtless be taken in over the next few days and weeks.
This is how it works when one nation has dominion over another: rule by decree, divide and rule, deprive and exploit. It's been this way ever since Jews began landing in their "homeland" in 1948 and pushed the existing occupants aside to establish their brave new Jewish state. And it's getting worse every day.
In response the IDF (Israeli Defence Force) have set up a facebook page cleverly entitled "Bring back our Boys", but it has been subverted by an equally clever counter-campaign from the Palestinians, who have been flooding the site with entries like "How about bringing back our boys?". This refers to the fact that hundreds, perhaps thousands of Palestinian youths, mainly boys, are at this moment languishing in Israeli prisons, many under trumped-up charges like stone throwing. Many spend years in jail before their cases ever come to court; some are simply released without charge after lengthy spells inside with no apology and certainly no chance of compensation. This is happening right now: forty young men were arrested yesterday as the IDF roiled through the refugee camps on the West Bank in their search for their own missing boys, and many more will doubtless be taken in over the next few days and weeks.
This is how it works when one nation has dominion over another: rule by decree, divide and rule, deprive and exploit. It's been this way ever since Jews began landing in their "homeland" in 1948 and pushed the existing occupants aside to establish their brave new Jewish state. And it's getting worse every day.
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Sicily dispatch part due
Home again safely last night after a journey that involved five different modes of transport: pick-up truck, hydrofoil, mini-bus, jet plane and Audi A3.
We have been on the Aeolian island of Salina, a green oasis in a sparkling sea, which remained almost millpond calm throughout our stay. On Friday night we watched the moonrise over the adjacent island of Lipari in a state of wonder. According to our sources, this was the "Honey Moon" of legend, occurring at the time of its perigee (the Moon's closest approach to Earth); this coming close to the summer solstice apparently gives it an unusually orange-yellow hue, a sign the ancients used as the optimal time to harvest their fruit, and offering bees their best opportunity to create honey, hence its name. It was certainly an amazing sight. Close to the horizon it appeared as red as a setting sun, a phenomenon I have never seen before. I tired to capture the image with my camera, but the Moon is very hard to photograph without expensive equipment. However, I was able to record some sort of impression of its extraordinary colour.
As planned long ago, we climbed to its highest point, 963 metres above sea level, an epic scramble on badly neglected paths (to be fair workmen were labouring to repair it that very day) in temperatures around 32 degrees Celsius. We got our water supply right and I made it without mishap other than a few scrapes and bruises from my numerous slips and slides, especially on the downward part of the trek, always the most hazardous phase, as any walker will tell you. On returning to the hotel after nearly six hours in the sun (we both plastered ourselves with factor 50 sun cream) we slept for three hours straight.
Sicily is a beautiful place: a blend of rugged and gentle scenery, arid and lush conditions, all of which are gradually coming under threat as development and the rush for profit consumes the island. Please God they can hold on to some of its native beauty before it is all gone, concreted over by theme parks and apartment complexes. We are planning on one more visit there: to Palermo and Agrigento which lie 300 kilometres westwards from Syracuse, and one more Aeolian island: the still volcanically active island of Vulcano (Salina hasn't shown any activity these past ten thousand years, hence its lush, green aspect). Let's hope it's all still there in all its unique glory. We love you Sicily- don't change too much!
We have been on the Aeolian island of Salina, a green oasis in a sparkling sea, which remained almost millpond calm throughout our stay. On Friday night we watched the moonrise over the adjacent island of Lipari in a state of wonder. According to our sources, this was the "Honey Moon" of legend, occurring at the time of its perigee (the Moon's closest approach to Earth); this coming close to the summer solstice apparently gives it an unusually orange-yellow hue, a sign the ancients used as the optimal time to harvest their fruit, and offering bees their best opportunity to create honey, hence its name. It was certainly an amazing sight. Close to the horizon it appeared as red as a setting sun, a phenomenon I have never seen before. I tired to capture the image with my camera, but the Moon is very hard to photograph without expensive equipment. However, I was able to record some sort of impression of its extraordinary colour.
As planned long ago, we climbed to its highest point, 963 metres above sea level, an epic scramble on badly neglected paths (to be fair workmen were labouring to repair it that very day) in temperatures around 32 degrees Celsius. We got our water supply right and I made it without mishap other than a few scrapes and bruises from my numerous slips and slides, especially on the downward part of the trek, always the most hazardous phase, as any walker will tell you. On returning to the hotel after nearly six hours in the sun (we both plastered ourselves with factor 50 sun cream) we slept for three hours straight.
Sicily is a beautiful place: a blend of rugged and gentle scenery, arid and lush conditions, all of which are gradually coming under threat as development and the rush for profit consumes the island. Please God they can hold on to some of its native beauty before it is all gone, concreted over by theme parks and apartment complexes. We are planning on one more visit there: to Palermo and Agrigento which lie 300 kilometres westwards from Syracuse, and one more Aeolian island: the still volcanically active island of Vulcano (Salina hasn't shown any activity these past ten thousand years, hence its lush, green aspect). Let's hope it's all still there in all its unique glory. We love you Sicily- don't change too much!
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Sicily dispatch part uno
We are in Sicily this week; in the ancient port of Syracuse down in the south east of the island. Specifically we are in Ortigia, the tiny island home to the rulers of Syracuse since before the Greeks arrived. You can see their influence everywhere: even the great duomo is built partly with the Doric columns from the temple of Athena, fourteen of which can still be seen lining the aisles.
There are Roman remains too, but most of the city today dates from the seventeenth century, when a massive earthquake caused the city to be rebuilt in the unique "Sicilian Baroque" style. Down to the genius of a Catalonian architect brought in to bring about the city's rebirth, it gives the place an extraordinary atmosphere. Tourists abound at this peak time of the year: our hotel feels like an outpost of America in the Old World, but Germans and Frenchies like the place too. It hasn't come up on the Chinese/Japanese radar yet, but look out when they realise it isn't that hard to get here from Rome...
Today we drove into the interior to a limestone gorge where thousands of tombs, dating from 1000 BCE have been carved into the cliffs- an amazing place, full of lush vegetation and babbling streams- both rare elsewhere in this otherwise parched island. I saw three species of large dragonfly, and several different varieties of lizard.
Driving in Sicily is tricky: the roads are narrow and tortuous in the mountains, and drivers are on the impatient side. Our car-hire contract had a 50 euro excess for damage, but we "spent" that in the first few miles when a truck nearly forced us off the road and I had to leap for cover against a stone bank. Funny thing, knowing I've already scratched it and lost my excess has actually made me relax a bit...
Tomorrow we go north to stay on the Aeolian island of Salina for 3 days: watch this space...
There are Roman remains too, but most of the city today dates from the seventeenth century, when a massive earthquake caused the city to be rebuilt in the unique "Sicilian Baroque" style. Down to the genius of a Catalonian architect brought in to bring about the city's rebirth, it gives the place an extraordinary atmosphere. Tourists abound at this peak time of the year: our hotel feels like an outpost of America in the Old World, but Germans and Frenchies like the place too. It hasn't come up on the Chinese/Japanese radar yet, but look out when they realise it isn't that hard to get here from Rome...
Today we drove into the interior to a limestone gorge where thousands of tombs, dating from 1000 BCE have been carved into the cliffs- an amazing place, full of lush vegetation and babbling streams- both rare elsewhere in this otherwise parched island. I saw three species of large dragonfly, and several different varieties of lizard.
Driving in Sicily is tricky: the roads are narrow and tortuous in the mountains, and drivers are on the impatient side. Our car-hire contract had a 50 euro excess for damage, but we "spent" that in the first few miles when a truck nearly forced us off the road and I had to leap for cover against a stone bank. Funny thing, knowing I've already scratched it and lost my excess has actually made me relax a bit...
Tomorrow we go north to stay on the Aeolian island of Salina for 3 days: watch this space...
Thursday, 5 June 2014
How to win an election
Imagine you're David Cameron and you call a General Election. But you only hold it in the shire counties of England, your traditional power base. Then, as opposition, you nominate two of your own minor cabinet ministers to stand against you.
I think you're going to win, right? This is exactly what President Assad recently did in Syria, where he was returned to power with an 87.5% majority. I'm surprised it was that low. In the 1950s President Nasser of Egypt held elections where he was returned with a 100% majority- now that's what I call fixing an election. Come on Assad! You can do better than that.
Recently the rebel city of Homs surrendered to Assad's army. They had been bombed and shelled almost to extinction: perhaps 50,000 people were killed. Aleppo in the north faces the same fate. You may have seen footage of what that great Byzantine city looks like after Assad's attentions: it resembles Berlin in 1945, hardly a building left undamaged.
I understand it is a serious crime to go to Syria to fight against Assad- you go to prison for it. I have my problems with that. I am aware the volunteers may be fighting alongside Al Qaida, but don't people have a right to fight in what they consider to be a moral mission? Was it illegal to oppose fascism in the Spanish Civil War? Thousands of socialists from Britain did just that, and now they are thought of as heroes. So it may feel odd to have British born men going to fight in Syria, but is it wrong? I don't think so.
I think you're going to win, right? This is exactly what President Assad recently did in Syria, where he was returned to power with an 87.5% majority. I'm surprised it was that low. In the 1950s President Nasser of Egypt held elections where he was returned with a 100% majority- now that's what I call fixing an election. Come on Assad! You can do better than that.
Recently the rebel city of Homs surrendered to Assad's army. They had been bombed and shelled almost to extinction: perhaps 50,000 people were killed. Aleppo in the north faces the same fate. You may have seen footage of what that great Byzantine city looks like after Assad's attentions: it resembles Berlin in 1945, hardly a building left undamaged.
I understand it is a serious crime to go to Syria to fight against Assad- you go to prison for it. I have my problems with that. I am aware the volunteers may be fighting alongside Al Qaida, but don't people have a right to fight in what they consider to be a moral mission? Was it illegal to oppose fascism in the Spanish Civil War? Thousands of socialists from Britain did just that, and now they are thought of as heroes. So it may feel odd to have British born men going to fight in Syria, but is it wrong? I don't think so.
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
Glass Wars
My car was attacked in the street. Again. Back in 2007 I had my side windows put in no less than four times in six months and I finally gave up and began to park in my garage. You might be thinking, why doesn't he always do that? but you underestimate the socio-political minefield that is the back lane. Time and again it would be blocked by someone fixing their car, and that someone would not be anxious to move their car in any hurry. Add to that the persistent fly-tippers who leave garden refuse all over the lane, and the low-lives who use the lane for smoking heroin- often right outside the entrance to my garage. Sometimes they would overdo it and leave vomit and/or diarrhoea just where my car had to go to gain access.
I became convinced back then that it was one guy, one horrible little scumbag who knew me; maybe I had seen him in surgery and upset him in some way. My wife disagreed, accusing me of paranoia; whatever, it was four years before I plucked up the courage to risk parking it on the street again, in 2011. Then followed a quiet period, which was broken on Sunday night. Now I am waiting for the Autoglass man to come, and he will find my car safe in the garage, where it will stay until further notice. Speaking of them, what a profitable business they must run! Every time I visited them I waited in a long queue of miserables who had been likewise afflicted. I almost got to thinking they must have a team of undercover window shatterers to drum up the customers. They certainly run a very well oiled machine.
What of poor old me? I don't want to park in my garage for ever. Maybe there's someone round here who just doesn't like smartly turned out Masda MX5s, even if they are ten years old now. So should I change my car for something less "flash" (not that I consider my little roadster to be "flash", but someone presumably disagrees). In which case what should I get? An ageing Citroen Saxo, perhaps, or a Vauxhall Astra? Thing is, I love my little Mazda: it's the most fun car I've ever had, and among the most reliable. The only thing that's gone on it is the cigarette lighter, which probably says more about my disgusting habits than the car's accessories.
Meanwhile, I wait for the glass guy. "Between 3 and 7" they said. So come on then!
I became convinced back then that it was one guy, one horrible little scumbag who knew me; maybe I had seen him in surgery and upset him in some way. My wife disagreed, accusing me of paranoia; whatever, it was four years before I plucked up the courage to risk parking it on the street again, in 2011. Then followed a quiet period, which was broken on Sunday night. Now I am waiting for the Autoglass man to come, and he will find my car safe in the garage, where it will stay until further notice. Speaking of them, what a profitable business they must run! Every time I visited them I waited in a long queue of miserables who had been likewise afflicted. I almost got to thinking they must have a team of undercover window shatterers to drum up the customers. They certainly run a very well oiled machine.
What of poor old me? I don't want to park in my garage for ever. Maybe there's someone round here who just doesn't like smartly turned out Masda MX5s, even if they are ten years old now. So should I change my car for something less "flash" (not that I consider my little roadster to be "flash", but someone presumably disagrees). In which case what should I get? An ageing Citroen Saxo, perhaps, or a Vauxhall Astra? Thing is, I love my little Mazda: it's the most fun car I've ever had, and among the most reliable. The only thing that's gone on it is the cigarette lighter, which probably says more about my disgusting habits than the car's accessories.
Meanwhile, I wait for the glass guy. "Between 3 and 7" they said. So come on then!
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