Stephen Lawrence Murder Re-trial

This week, two people were convicted and sentenced for the murder of Stephen Lawrence.  Lawrence was a black teenager, murdered in a racially motivated attack in London in 1993.  At the time, suspects were arrested, but later released without charge.  There were charges that the Metropolitan Police had not handled this well, and in 1999, the Macpherson Report found the police force was “Institutionally Racist”, and also recommend that the law on double jeopardy, which prevents someone from being tried twice for the same crime, be changed to allow re-trial in certain circumstances – and this was done in 2005.

This report had profoundly affected the attitude of police forces to racism and racist crime.  Although perhaps the conclusion of MacPherson came as a surprise to very few people, the open admission of inequality, and the subsequent efforts to change the culture of the police has led to a more equal and open culture in forces throughout the country.  Allegations of racial prejudice are investigated rather than dismissed, and racial comments or jibes are viewed with public outrage in today’s society (even if, for many, racism still exists at an instinctive level). 

It would be fair to say that justice has at last been done.  The crime, the poorly handled investigation, the private law-suits brought by Lawrence’s family, various inquiries, investigations, allegations of corruption, and quashing of appeals made most of us feel uneasy – that somehow a murder had gone unpunished, and this because of the colour of the victim.  I myself felt most alarmed at the repealing of double jeopardy, which I saw, and still see, as a vital human right in the exercise of justice.  However, re-tried in the light of new and pressing evidence, especially including DNA evidence not available at the time of the original investigation, two of the killers (and there may be more) have at last been called upon to pay for their crimes.  That this has happened 19 years too late is a tragedy for justice.  It has all but destroyed the Lawrence family, who have fought, at enormous financial and personal cost, for 19 long years.  Many of us have been alarmed at the racism, corruption, and unfairness apparent at so many stages of the process.  Had the killers been convicted originally, they would have served their sentences now, and could, perhaps, be living as rehabilitated members of society.

But for me, there is one shocking element in all this.  In 1997, following an inquest which found the five suspects guilty of Lawrence’s murder, the Daily Mail released with their names and pictures, under the headline “The Mail accuses these five men of killing.  If we are wrong, let them sue us.”  This was an illegal act, and the Daily Mail certainly opened itself to accusation and law suit.  However, they were not sued.  Public opinion was stirred up by this, and it is fair to say that this was one of the decisive developments that led to the final conviction.  I can quote the editor, Paul Dacre, speaking after the conviction this week: “I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that if it hadn't been for the Mail's headline in 1997 – 'Murderers: The Mail accuses these men of killing' – and our years of campaigning, none of this would have happened. Britain's police might not have undergone the huge internal reform that was so necessary. Race relations might not have taken the significant step forward that they have. And an 18-year-old A-Level student who dreamed of being an architect would have been denied justice. The Daily Mail took a monumental risk with that headline. In many ways, it was an outrageous, unprecedented step.”

Make no mistake about it – I think the Daily Mail (or Daily Hate Mail as I usually call it) has been responsible for a lot of scaremongering, xenophobia, homophobia, Islamophobia, and general spreading of fear and right-wing small-mindedness.   But here, it has done good, and in the name of racial equality and justice.  Almost nothing is completely bad, or completely good, and it is only just to recognise good, wherever it originates.  As my friend Tony said, on the hallowed pages of Farcebook:   “the Mail does represent a lot of values I don't agree with, but it raises a number of issues about freedom of the press and freedom of speech. The Mail consistently opposed the Iraq war from the word go, it speaks up for Middle England (who have a right to representation), it speaks up for older members of society (who are ignored appallingly by our youth-worshiping world)...”

Quite!

Toilet Humour

Here are some notices I have seen in toilets lately:

1.        Toilet paper only should be put down this toilet.  I read this a bit too late.

2.       Maximum load: 20kg.  As I weigh more than 20kg, and most other people do, there is only one rather alarming conclusion as to what this means.  Let me just say, that if you find yourself breaking this rule, please eat more fibre.

3.       No more than five persons in this cubicle at any time.  I had struggled to get in and close the door, so narrow was this bookshop toilet cubicle.

4.       Cold drinks may not be consumed in this toilet.  But, I guess, one can take a latte in there.

5.       Please do not put sanitary towels on the toilet roll holder.  Again, rather alarming.  More so as this was not even a unisex toilet, but a gents in a department store.

Happy sitting.

The cost of food

While we have all been in a credit crunch for some years,  but this is the first year that I really began to notice this myself, despite the constant flow of bad news, the excellence of the PM programme Upshares, Downshares and, of course, the new doom and gloom inflicted on us by a banker-preserving government.  There are some reasons for this – it is only in the last eighteen months I have been a householder.  I don’t have a mortgage.  I am not a rich person who has savings.  But most of all, I did not used to do food shopping.

Food does not really constitute a huge part of one’s budget, but the increasing cost of food, coming at a time when money is short, and when luxuries have been cut, is really beginning to pinch.  The first thing that struck me when starting to shop again, was just how expensive some of the basics are – milk, bread, eggs.  Conversely,  plain local vegetables are cheaper – potatoes, carrots, onions.  The pack of long life milk I buy was £3 in June 2010.  Now it is £4.20 – a rise of 40%.  Food over all, according to this article has risen by 7.5% in 2011.  But, as the article highlights, coffee has increased by 21%, wine 14%, butter 20%.  Some items have clearly frozen, or even gone down.  Others have increased enormously. 

This, of course, has made life that little bit harder.  I by cheaper brands, and eat less meat and dairy than before, instead having more carbo-hydrate, and more vegetables – probably all a good thing.  I do not spend hours checking prices, but if something I regularly use is buy one get one free, then I will.  The supermarkets are all at war, and checking each other’s prices.  Today, being at home, I took the Mother to Sainsbury, and they gave me a nasty little printed slip with my receipt, informing me my shopping would be cheaper at Tesco (which does not surprise me, I thought their prices were high).  A money off coupon for the difference was on it, but, of course, I am sure they hold their prices higher so they can do this.  The average shopper, coming out with a coupon, feels happy.  I am not the average shopper and would rather have not paid more in the first place, nor be given a coupon so I have to visit again.

So, with wage rises cancelled out by rent and food increases, we all need to be a bit more careful.  I shall give you some tips on how I have managed to cut costs – although I guess one is Good Food Does Not Cost Less at Sainsbury’s.

The 56 Rejected Monarchs

In 1714, Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, became, on the death of Queen Anne, King of Great Britain. Yet 56 others were in the line to inherit before him – Catholics disinherited due to the Act of Settlement. Here are the ones who came before him:

 1. James Stuart, called the Old Pretender 1688-1766. He was the son of James II, whose birth (following a long string of miscarriages and short-lived children) secured the Catholic succession and thus prompted the Glorious Revolution which ousted his father. James remained in Exile, and married Maria Sobieska, a Polish princess, and fathered Charles (Bonny Prince Charlie) and Cardinal Henry Stuart, who was the last remaining male member of the house of Stuart. Had James inherited after the death of his father, James II, he would have reigned for 65 years.
 2. Anne Marie of Orleans, Duchess of Savoy and Queen of Sardinia 1669-1728, daughter of Henrietta Anne, daughter of Charles I, who had married Philippe I, Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis XIVof France and her first cousin. She married Vittorio Amedeo II, Duke of Savoy and King of Sardinia.
 3. Vittorio Amedeo, prince of Savoy and Sardinia 1699-1715 (son of No 2).
 4. Carlo Emmanuele III, later duke of Savoy and King of Sardinia 1701-1773, son of No 2. He married firstly, Anna, Princess Palatinal of Sulzbach, then Polyxena of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, and finally Elisabeth Theresia of Lorraine (number 20). Through his descendants comes the current Jacobite claimant, the de jure King of Bavaria.
 5. Louis, prince of France, later Louis XV King of France, 1710-1774. He was the son of the late Marie Adelaide of Savoy, daughter of number 2, who had married Louis, grandson of Louis XIV of France. Louis married Maria Lesczynska, a Polish princess.
 6. Luis of Spain, later Luis I, King of Spain 1707-1724. He was the son of the late Maria Luisa of Savoy, daughter of number 2, who had married Felipe V, King of Spain. He later married Louise Elisabeth of Orleans (number 15).
 7. Felipe of Spain, his brother 1712-1719.
 8. Fernando of Spain, his brother, later Fernando VI, King of Spain, 1713-1759. He married Mara Magdalena of Portugal.
 9. Elisabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate, daughter of Karl I Elector Palatine (who had married Charlotte of Hesse-Cassel), the son of Elizabeth, daughter of James I, who had married Friedrich V, Elector Palatine, and King of Bavaria. Elisabeth lived from 1652-1722 and married Philippe I, Duke of Orleans, who had previously married Henrietta Anne, daughter of Charles I, and who was the father of number 2.
 10. Philippe II, later Duke of Orleans 1674-1723, son of number 9. He married his cousin, Francoise de Blois, illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV.
 11. Louis I, later Duke of Orleans 1703-1752. He married Augusta Maria of Baden Baden and was the great-grandfather of Louis Philippe, King of the French, from whom the current French claimant descends.
 12. Marie Louise of Orleans, Duchess of Berry 1695-1719, his daughter. She married her cousin, Charles, Duc of Berry.
 13. Marie Louise Adelaide of Orleans, her sister 1698-1743.
 14. Charlotte Aglae of Orleans 1700-1761, her sister. She married Francesco III Maria of Este, Duke of Modena, number 49.
 15. Louise Elisabeth of Orleans 1709-42, her sister. She married her cousin Luis I King of Spain (number 7)
16. Elisabeth Charlotte of Orleans, Duchess of Lorraine 1676-1744, daughter of No 9. She married Leopold, Duke of Lorraine.
 17. Leopold, prince of Lorraine 1707-1723, her son.
 18. Franz, prince of Lorraine, 1708-1765, his brother. He later married Maria Theresia of Austria, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, and was elected Holy Roman Emperor (and was the father of the famed Queen Marie Antoinette).
 19. Carl, prince of Lorraine, his brother, 1712-1780. He married Maria Anna of Austria.
 20. Elisabeth Theresia of Lorraine, his sister, 1711-1741. She married number 4.
 21. Anne Charlotte of Lorraine, her sister, 1714-1773.
 22. Ludwig Otto, Prince of Salm 1674-1738. He was the son of Carl Theodor of Salm, who had married Luise Maria of the Palatinate, daughter of Eduard of the Palatine and Anna Gonzaga. Eduard was son of Elisabeth, daughter of James I. Ludwig Otto married Albertine of Nassau-Hadamar.
 23. Dorothea of Salm, his daughter, 1702-1751. She married Nikolaus of Salm-Salm, and had nineteen children.
 24. Elisabeth of Salm, her sister, 1704-1739. She married Claude Lamoral II de Ligne.
 25. Christina Anna of Salm, her sister, 1707-1777. She married firstly Joseph of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, and secondly, Nikolaus of Salm-Salm (husband of her sister, number 23).
 26. Eleonore Christine of Salm, sister 22, 1678-1757. She married Conrad d’Ursel.
 27. Anna Henriette of the Palatinate, aunt of 22, and daughter of Eduard of the Palatinate, son of Elizabeth, daughter of James I, 1648-1723. She married Henri III, Duke of Bourbon-Conde.
 28. Louis of Bourbon- Conde, later Duke Louis IV of Bourbon-Conde 1692-1740. He was the son of Louis III of Bourbon-Conde (son of No 27) and Louise Francoise de Bourbon, illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV of France. He married firstly, Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conti, number 40, then secondly, Carolina of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, then thirdly, Armande de La Porte-Mazarin. 29. Charles of Bourbon-Conde, his brother 1700-1760.
 30. Louis of Bourbon-Conde, his brother, 1709-1771.
 31. Louise Charlotte of Bourbon-Conde, his sister, 1700-1754. She married Nicolas Etienne de Changy
 32. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1690-1760.
 33. Louise Elisabeth of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1693-1775. She married Louis Armand II of Bourbon-Conte, number 39.
 34. Louise Anne of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1695-1758.
 35. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1697-1741. She married Louis de Melun.
 36. Henriette Marie of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1703-1772.
 37. Elisabeth Alexandrine of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1705-1765. 
38. Marie Therese of Bourbon-Conde, daughter of 27, 1666-1732. She married Francois Louis of Bourbon-Conti.
 39. Louis Armand II of Bourbon-Conti, her son, 1695-1727. He married number 33.
 40. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conti, his sister, 1689-1720. She married number 28.
 41. Louise-Adelaide of Bourbon-Conti, her sister, 1696-1750.
 42. Anna Louise of Bourbon-Conde, sister of 38, 1676-1753. She married Louis of Bourbon, illegitimate son of Louis XIV of France.
 43. Louis Auguste of Bourbon, her son, 1700-1755.
 44. Louis Charles of Bourbon, his brother, 1701-1775.
 45. Louise Francoise of Bourbon, his sister, 1707-1743.
 46. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conde, sister of 42, 1678-1718. She married Louis II of Bourbon-Vendome.
 47. Benedikta of the Palatinate, sister of 27, 1652-1730. She married Johann Friedrich of Brunswick-Calenberg.
 48. Charlotte Felizitas of Brunswick-Calenberg, her daughter, 1671-1710. She married Rinaldo II d’Este, Duke of Modena. 
49. Francesco Maria Este, her son, later Francesco III Maria, Duke of Modena, 1698-1780. He married No 14.
 50. Giovanni of Este, his brother, 1700-1727.
 51. Benedicta of Este, his sister, 1697-1777.
 52. Anna Amalia of Este, her sister, 1699-1778.
 53. Henrietta Maria of Este, her sister. She married firstly Antonio Farnese of Parma, and secondly Leopold of Hesse-Darmstadt.
 54. Wilhelmina of Brunswick-Calenberg, sister of 48, 1673-1742. She married Holy Roman Emperor Joseph I.
 55. Maria Josefa of Austria, her daughter, 1699-1757. She married Friedrich II, Elector of Saxony and King of Poland.
 56. Maria Amalia of Austria, her sister, 1701-1756. She married Holy Roman Emperor Karl VII, Elector of Bavaria. He was the main candidate against Franz I (no 18) in the War of the Austrian Succession.
 57. Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, son of Ernst Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, and Sophia of the Palatinate, daughter of Elizabeth, daughter of James I.

 To put this into perspective, the current 57th person in the line of succession according to http://www.britroyals.com/succession.htm is Maximilian Lascelles, one of the numerous descendants of Mary, Princess Royal, the daughter of George V. He is actually the last of the descendants of George V, and, after him, the line continues to the descendants of the daughters of Edward VII. The King of Norway is Number 65 now. The heiress of the King of Rumania (himself banned by marrying a Catholic) is No 88.

What is your story?

One of the things I love to do is to talk with people, and hear their story. Everyone has a story to tell. Sometimes it is the general narration of someone you have just met. Sometimes it is a deeply personal account from a close friend. Triumph, tragedy, interesting anecdote, mutual experience, heart-warming, or tear jerking, the story can feature some or all of these things. By sharing the stories of our lives with each other, we get to know one another more, and we can find common ground as we realise interests and experiences have been shared, we can have the assurance that others have been on a similar journey, and we can share tips and advice one with another. This can be particularly powerful when speaking of the deeper things in life - matters of faith, of love, of life and death.

This weekend, I went to a meeting where someone told his story. I shall not name him; his identity is not relevant here. But at that meeting, I was again reminded of the truths of the preceding paragraph. I came to the meeting expecting to hear from a man of whom I had heard something, but knew little. I left thinking about the experiences of someone who I knew more, but, more importantly, who I felt I understood, who was indeed a sibling in my human existence. I was flushed with the beauty of such commonality, and took something away to meditate on, to act on, and to shape future thinking.

The man who spoke was not someone with whom I can agree one hundred per cent. Differences in outlook were highlighted. But, as I saw his human side, these became, somehow less important. And here, I think is the true benefit of all this. For meeting people and talking with them is not just about nice feelings and the Banbury Man waffling on again telling us to be nice to each other. It strikes me that xenophobia, homophobia, Islamophobia, anti-Semitism, and other form of discrimination become much more difficult to practise when one knows the object of one’s prejudice. It is all very well to read the worse excesses of the press and believe immigrants to be a thoroughly bad lot. It is harder to believe this when one meets an immigrant and hears their story.

So, be it for the sake of friendship, personal interest, warm feeling, or even world peace, take the time out to hear someone’s especially if you know it is a person with whom you do not always agree. You might even learn something about yourself!

Remembrance: what we have forgotten

Today in the UK it is Remembrance Sunday. In towns throughtout the land, wreathes of poppies will be laid at memorials. The Queen will lay hers at the Cenotaph in London, remembering those who gave their lives in the two world wars, and other conflicts, defending the liberties we enjoy today. Last Friday, the actual anniversary of the Armistice on 11th November 1918, many paused at 11am for two minutes silence to remember the dead. It is a good and right thing to do.

The First World War, or Great War as it was first called, claimed the life of a young man from nearly every family in the UK. A whole traumatised generation, bereft of much of its men, full of women who would never find husbands, took solace in national annual acts of remembrance which had a bitter personal twist. Later came the Second World War, a more deadly global conflict, but not one so costly in terms of young British life. This was a conflict more of ideals, seen as a battle against an evil ideology in the form of Nazism. Other conflicts have occurred since, some without justice, but all with loss.

I find it hard to know how to respond to Remembrance Day. I have no problem remembering the fallen in the wars, no problem being grateful that I am in a nation that is largely free, such freedom often bought with the blood of soldiers. But Remembrance Day has sometimes had a slight tang of glorifying war about it - more so twenty years ago than today. I think it is not a British day, and nor should it be. On Remembrance Day, I remember all the fallen in the wars. Is a German life worth any less than a British one? Does a German mother grieve less for her son? And what of the civilian who have died in wars? What of the Jews/disabled/homosexuals/gypsies who all perished in death camps during World War Two? What of the thousands who have perished in Iraq to satisfy Western demands for military hegemony?

I remember all the dead on the Remembrance Day. Only then can I be filled with a horror of war, and truly desire peace. Because of this, I do not wear a poppy. I have no problems with those that do, even though it is becoming a necessity to be seen displaying it from the end of October onwards, and anyone daring to appear on television without one is immediately seen as a heartless pacifist. The moment wearing a poppy becomes a duty, we lose some of the freedom that previous men have died for. With, or without a poppy, I remember.

Ropey Soap!

Yesterday I dropped my soap in the shower. Notwithstanding the fact that dropping soap in the shower is a staple of prison dramas, and, no doubt, various questionable entertainments also, I find nothing at all entertaining about dropping my soap in the shower.

Firstly, you have to bend down in a small space to pick it up. My shower cubicle is not large. It is large enough for me to comfortable shower; I do not find myself feeling cramped, or getting tangled up in the shower hose, despite my traditionally proportioned figure. However, it is not large. It is quite impossible for me to bend over without my body touching the sides. And when a wet body touches cold tiles, it is not a pleasant thing.

Add to this the difficulty of picking up soap in a shower. Hot water rains down on you as you bend over, trying not to slip. At last, having transferred most of your body heat to the walls of the shower, you finally reach out for the soap. And it slips. Usually between your feet and just behind you. You turn around and repeat the painful process, again, with the shock of cold tiles, and hardly able to breathe as hot water runs down your nose, and blood rushes to your head.

After five grabs, the soap is finally obtained. How wonderful it would be if soap were not slippery. You would never drop it. But then, it would not be soapy. Soap is supposed to be slippery. It gets wet, and then it slips. That is what it does. How wonderful it would be if soap were in non-slip shapes. But then all soap ends up the same shape once you have used it a bit. Again, not a triumph. Then I had the brainwave....

What if soap came with some sort of string or rope handle, so you could fasten it to your hand, and lather away without fear of dropping it. I dried myself (a major task) and warmed (literally) to the idea. Then, later on that day, I mentioned it to a friend
"Oh yes, like soap on a rope Yes, of course - everyone used to get that for Christmas.

Frustrated by my lack of orginal thought, and horrified by the memory of foul festive cosmetics, kept in wrapping paper for months, until given to the church for jumble sales or tombola prizes, I returned to the shower this morning and soaped myself somewhat more carefully.

Westfield Stratford

Westfield has gone east, and opened a new shopping centre in Stratford, between the station (or regional station as we should say) and the new Olympic site. Intrepid as ever, the Banbury Man went to investigate, and see if a new hideout could be added to my London files.

Westfield Stratford is supposed to be the biggest centre in the EU, taking into account the inside and outside portions. It is a crescent shaped (just wait for the Christian Institute and the Daily Mail to hear about that) building with three levels. Outside there are further shops, squaring up the whole arrangement. There is a nice walkway from the regional station, and it is close to Stratford International (where no international trains call).

I do not normally care very much for large shopping centres, but do find them convenient, and a suitable place to shop on cold days. Brent Cross is conveniently near, and, although dour and in the worst seventies style, is a handy place to visit when the local shops of Finchley do not suffice. Westfield Shepherds Bush is a nice shopping centre – airy, well-spaced, a pleasant place to wander, caffeinate, and eat – in short, everything that Westfield Stratford is not. The new building is too dark, too cramped, and rather claustrophobic. There are few escalators, laughably small toilets, and very loud eighties music stifling conversation. It was not particularly busy when I was there, but felt it. Some escalators have vending stalls at the bottom, causing little bottle-necks. There is no large central space, and even the food venues seem pushed out of the way. Outside, a minimalistic black and white setting, replete with lurid begoniae, and, disturbingly, some strange blue and purple glass lights flickering on and off, with speakers reproducing the tinny sound of running water (when not drowned out by Hot Chocolate or Bros).

Perhaps this was not to my taste. Perhaps I had expected something more like Shepherds Bush. But I found this not to be a restful place, and possessed of little architectural or aesthetic charm. This is an opportunity missed, and I shall keep away – even once the shops have all opened. Something nicer near the Olympic site would have been better – perhaps it was designed by the same mind that created the disastrous Olympic logo – I am not sure the 1980’s design of it is retro enough to avoid appearing dated. Best go west!

An Indian Summer

Whenever there is a warm spell in September or October, everyone starts talking about an Indian summer. This year, in the UK, there has been a particularly hot spell at the end of September, and beginning of October with the warmest ever October day recorded in the UK on 1st October at 29C (85F). As a child, I would hear of Indian summers, and thought it had something to do with the Indian subcontinent, but it is actually a (rather politically-incorrect) term from USA, where it refers to a warm spell after the first initial frosts of autumn. As such, the current spell in UK is not therefore an Indian summer.

All this notwithstanding, the current warm weather is a welcome respite before the damp dark days of autumn. We are possessed of very short memories with reference to the weather. Everyone in the UK is complaining about our dreadful summer, but only August was cooler than usual, and the spring was exceptionally warm. If there is an exceptionally hot or cold day, we instantly blame global warming, rather than the fact that unusual weather can occur at anytime. This is the glory of British weather. Extremes are rare; the climate is drier than most people expect (being much drier than most parts of the USA) but the weather is always famously unpredictable, so that rain, or sunshine, can occur at anytime of the year. I love this climate, and refuse to join those who carp and complain.

So then, a warm spell, with hot nights, humid afternoons, and copious drinks is a suitable farewell to summer. The oddest thing was walking in a hot Holland Park on Saturday evening at around 6pm; it was hot, but leaves were falling and it was getting dark: a strange mix of the seasons. Nicest of all was being able to wear shorts for a few days. Today might be the last day in 2011 I do so, much to the relief of some, and the sorrow of others. Farewell summer!

Why does everyone keep squeezing by me?

What a good question, madam. Why does everyone keep squeezing by you?

Maybe it is because people don't notice you. You are wearing blue, and the chairs on the bus are blue.

Maybe it is because people don't like you. You do look a bit odd, and that is a big frown on your place.

Maybe it is because people are just inconsiderate. No-one has any respect today. If we brought back National Service, and stopped paying benefits to the poor and needy, and introduced compulsory sterilisation for all council house tenants, people would be more respectful.

Maybe it is because you are blocking the aisle, instead of moving down through the bus where there are seats, and more place to stand. As you have your head in a book and refuse to move, it is difficult for people to squeeze by.

Maybe it is none of these. Maybe it is all of these. I did not stop to discuss it with you, and examine the available evidence. I would have, but you seem a bit angry, and I don't really care. I just want to sit down out of the way instead of blocking the entrance. Maybe everyone else does too.

Salade Canadienne

As everyone knows, any recipe has to have a French name in order to be taken seriously, and sound suitably poncy and pretentious. Back in Boog days, the in-hall dining experience at RHBNC, sausages would have fried onions put with them, and become sausages lyonnaise, and even cauliflower would be ennobled as cauliflower polonaise, although the sharpest eyes in Athlone Hall could not find anything other than boiled cauli in this dish.

I have therefore named this salad dish Salade Canadienne after the Canadian pal that prepared it in my kitchen when he came to visit. Canadians are an agreeable breed, possessing none of the jingoism of their smaller neighbour to the south, but still appearing exotic and foreign and monstrously demonstrative to English people. Sensibly, they tend, on the whole, to spell things correctly, and succumb to fewer outlandish names for things.

It came as some surprise, therefore, that that rocket (sometimes roquette) is called arugula in Canada, and I cannot begin to imitate the curious emphasis in the way it is pronounced (think oregano). However, odd names notwithstanding, this fiery leaf salad makes a superb starter or light meal, and, with several variations, I have enjoyed it quite a few times since my friend's visit.

Ingredients
A good large helping of rocket/roquette/arugula leaves
Pecan nuts, lightly toasted in a frying pan with a little sugar to caramelise.
A crumbly goats cheese, crumbled into small pieces.
A soft pear, diced.
Dressing

Method
Mix.
Eat.
Enjoy.

Variations
I have eaten this without pear, with feta instead, with walnuts, with raisins. The dressing needs to be a slightly sweet afair, but with some acid - a nice balsamic and pomegranate (Canadian pomegranate) one did the job for me - bought, I am sorry to say.

Let us all hope for more salad days!

Concert Review - Yaniv d'Or

It has been a long time since I blogged, and one of the reasons is that I have been busy doing things. One of the things I have done was attend a concert by countertenor Yaniv d'Or at the splendid Wigmore Hall, arranged by a Canadian pal who was visiting the Mother Country.

I have always liked the countertenor voice, and hoped that this would be a further feast of favourites, but it was not the usual concert of Handel and Bach operatic and oratorio arias. Berg, Schubert, Wolf featured on the programme. d'Or has a typically pure voice, with a slightly aetherial quality, well-suited to the Berg. I awaited Schubert with some trepidation, thinking that alto lieder should be attempted only by busty contralto hausfraus but it worked so well that I was forced to look at the songs in a new light.

Altogether, I mused smugly during the interval, as I sipped a bottle of water, this was a pleasant discovery. But the second half had more in store, for here, d'Or paired up with the Ensemble NAYA. This is a group formed of viola da gamba, the ridiculously long-necked theorbo, percussion, mandolin, and oud. This unlikely combination accompanied d'Or on Monteverdi, and some traditional Sephardic and Yiddish pieces. For a group so recently formed, they worked well together, and the times of improvisation on solo instrument, accompaniment, and movement between pieces were quite beautiful.
The spiritual pieces were sung with an intensity and sincerity that had the Hall holding its breath and listening in rapt attention. Even the stoniest of hearts was moved by laments of such longing and desolation. In all, I had never heard anything quite like it. d'Or is a name we shall hear more of. I hope we also hear more of Ensemble NAYA - this unusual group, and this talented singer made for a concert that was not just enjoyable, but somehow spiritual. I was, and remain, quite moved.

Privacy

There has been much talk in the press lately about injunctions, most notably in the case of Ryan Giggs who was eventually named in Parliament by an opportunistic back-bencher. It appears he has been having an affair and had an injunction against the media from reporting it.

There are several things to note here. Firstly, if one is put in the spotlight as a celebrity, for whatever cause, one has to expect that details from one’s private life will become known to many, perhaps to the nation. It is only to be expected. Indeed, many celebrities court the media, and so they must expect to burn their fingers while they play with fire.

However, when should something remain private? Does the fact that Ryan Giggs was having an affair relate at all to his playing of football? I think not. It is, quite simply, irrelevant. I was quite surprised at the venom showed to Tiger Woods after details of his numerous liaisons came out – the media and population as a whole can be very self-righteous. Now, if there are allegations of corruption or bribery attached to an affair, it can be different. At the time John Major, Prime Minister of the day, was putting forward an agenda of “back to basics” and a return to traditional family values, he was committing adultery with a married member of his cabinet. That too is a public matter, I would suggest. However, the sex lives of celebrities, football players, actors/actresses and even politicians, should, I believe, remain private – irrespective of whether I personally agree or disagree with their lifestyle. It simply does not matter. So a football player has an affair. So what? Can he play football? That is the question.

Osama bin Laden

I have not blogged much lately, and one or two matters of import have occurred about which, naturally, I have an opinion. So, out of time or no, I shall have my say here...

By now, the news is old that Bin Laden was captured and killed in Pakistan. At the time, there were mixed reactions. Some celebrated the fact that he was dead – even rejoicing, although they were the first to criticise those who rejoiced in the 11/9 atrocities at the World Trade Centre and elsewhere. Others felt there were sinister movements afoot, and that he had not been killed, and this was encouraged by the botched attempts of the American military to downplay their gun-ho approach. Yet others quoted Martin Luther King, and then spent time arguing about whether the quote given had been wrongly attributed.

There is not much for me to say. For all Bin Laden did, and his involvement in many deaths and much hatred around the world, he was a human being, and I regret the typically heavy-handed tactics of the US army. Only one man ever brought good by his death. I mourn the death of yet another person in these wars of hatred in which we find ourselves. To have brought Bin Laden to justice through an international court, although not without its dangers, would have been far more satisfactory. That said, I cannot but be relieved that he is no longer alive to vent his hatred, although I suspect others will place him.

Not a win-win situation for anyone it appears. I want peace. More deaths do not bring it.

A mathematical problem

When I lived in Banbury, if I had to wait less than 20 minutes for a bus or a train, I counted myself lucky. Living in London, if I wait more than five minutes for either, I start wondering what is going on, and if there is a problem on the line. One of the glories, and the irritations of my local tubeline, the Northern Line, is that there are two branches. This means that you very often have to wait for the second, or even the third train, to get you where you are going. About a year ago, I commented to a friend that it always seemed to be the second train I had to catch, and rarely the first. Moreover, I declared that my branch (High Barnet branch) of the line seemed to have more trains going via Bank, than via Charing Cross. My friend pointed out, not unreasonably, that I was more likely to remember a frustrated five minute wait for a second train, than I was to remember walking onto the first train that arrived.

The gauntlet was thrown. In order to prove the truth of what I said, I purposed to make a note, each time I caught a southbound train from Finchley Central, of which train came first. This would not only help, I thought, to prove me right once again, but also to give me an opportunity to get the truth out there, and also demonstrate I am not totally opposed to mathematics and statistics, soulless though those sciences undoubtedly are. Here are my findings:

I recorded 100 journeys from Finchley Central. 68 of those journeys I wished to go via Bank. Of the Bank journeys, on 20 occasions I caught the first train, and 48 occasions I caught the second train.

32 journeys were made via Charing Cross. Five times I caught the first train, 21 times I caught the second train, and on six occasions, it was the third train I caught.

Therefore, out of the hundred journeys, on only 25 occasions did I join the first train that came along – a nice and tidy one in four. I was three times more likely to get the train first time for the Bank branch, and it seems obvious that there are more Bank trains therefore – which is good, as two thirds of my journey prefer that branch.

What I cannot understand, however, is why I managed to get the first train so few times. I cannot pin down a regular time for me to catch a train, nor can is there a pattern as to when I like to travel to each branch. Is there a mathematical reason for this? I think a sample of 100 journeys seems to be enough to show a pattern. Or is this just a statistical blip? Either way, it all seems a bit beyond my CSE maths. Any answers anyone?

Heading off to Banburyshire

Today I am on a train to Banbury. I love living in London; it is my home now, I work there, have friends there, go to church there. But there is something special about coming to Banbury. It is my homeland.

Yes or No

Rarely for me has a political decision been reached with such difficulty. The referendum on the voting system takes place today, and I have wrangled with the arguments for some weeks.

Firstly, I need to tell Christians that this is not about the AV. Apparently, thousands of change-phobic Christians have been campaigning yes to AV in the belief that the King James version of the bible will be restored to their churches. Quite apart from the anomaly that such people are actually saying yes to anything, they are unwittingly campaigning to change our voting system.

I will not go into how First Past the Post (FPTP), Alternative Voting (AV), or Proportional Representation (PR) work. There are leaflets and you-tube videos ad nauseam about this. What I will do is state why I have come to the conclusion I have.

My conclusion is that a no vote is the best way forward. This kind of goes against the grain, especially as the Conservatives are also campaigning no, but I cannot let a hatred of Conservatism guide what I should do.

Here are my reasons, in no particular order:

1. AV means that some people get their vote counted more than once, some get their counted only once.
2. AV often leads to anomalies, such as that in Australia where the party that came third in the election is in power.
3. AV has only been adopted by 4 countries. 32 have rejected it in referenda.
4. AV will only affect about 15% of constituencies and will little change the outcome in the rest.
5. A change to AV now will put to bed electoral reform for years to come, meaning better systems (like PR) will not be adopted.
6. The referendum has been arranged at fairly short notice, without a commission being set up to investigate, and only as a condition of the LibCon/ConDem coalition.
7. The referendum also seems to be change for the sake of change, particularly following the expenses scandal.
8. The complications of AV will actually make fewer people understand our electoral system, and make fewer people feel their vote counts. AV has led to a drop in voter turnout in all countries where it has been adopted. In my view, poor voter turnout is the biggest problem in UK politics.

I do not say there are no benefits. But I believe these disadvantages far outweigh them. Please, if you have not voted, think hard.

Blue Peter Tea Bread Recipe

This is one of my favourite recipes, and I got it off Blue Peter in the mide 1980's. It is so simple, and very good. The result is a firm cake/bread that is fat free. The cup used is not a typical kitchen measuring cup, but is a teacup (not mug) size.

Ingredients

2 cups raisins
1 cup sugar (soft brown is best, but you can use normal granulated sugar)
1 cup of hot strong black tea
2 cups self-raising flour
1 egg

Put the sugar and raisins in a bowl. Pour over the hot tea, and soak for 15 minutes.
Stir in the flour. Beat in the egg. Pour into a greased two pound loaf tin and bake in a preheated oven at 190C (or equivalent) until a skewer comes out clean - about 50 minutes.

Lovely sliced with butter. Try adding mixed spice, or using earl grey tea for an alternative.

Lovely :-)

Consort Queens of England Quiz

Here a list of facts about the queen consorts of England since 1066. I have tried to find facts that unique to each – although a couple of questions will have more than one right answer. However, there is one way to successfully tick all the queens off the list.

– never once set foot in England.
– a famous kleptomaniac who stole ornaments and jewellery from every house she stayed in.
– persuaded her husband to start a war that cost him his head.
– born Edith, daughter of a saint, brought up by a nun.
– brought Calais to the English crown.
– the first queen to be previously married to a prince of Wales. He was not the husband she became queen by.
– the second queen to be previously married to a prince of Wales. He was not the husband she became queen by.
– Queen consort for 57 years.
– daughter of the King of Naples and Jerusalem.
– turned down a proposal from her husband who turned up to church, dragged her out, left her in the gutter, and purportedly left with her heart.
– imprisoned for witchcraft.
– did not consummate her marriage to the king.
– a wife but not queen, she bore her first child at twelve.
– another wife but not queen, she never came to England. Her husband divorced and imprisoned her for 32 years for adultery.
– another wife but not queen, she produced eight children in eight years for her husband, and persuade him to convert to Catholicism.
– had a palace named after her.
– daughter of a previous king.
– queen for a thousand days, her sister had previously been mistress to her king.
– niece of her predecessor. Took an active part in murdering her husband.
– had a brother called King Wenceslas.
- jilted her fiancée at the age of twelve to marry the king. Married her fiancee’s son sixteen years later.
– queen at five, widowed at ten, married again, died at twenty.
– was unable to walk until she was nine years old
– famously the first queen to live for 100 years.
– brought Bombay as her dowry, England’s first possession in India.
– brought the largest English inheritance to the crown.
– forty-three years younger than her husband.
– married to the king in secret; he only owned up to his councillors when she became pregnant.
– her life in danger in childbirth, her husband was asked to save either her life or her child. He chose the child.
– a grandmother at thirty-six, she famously pleaded for the life of six burghers of Calais.
– married in proxy, with her husband’s illegitimate son escorting her to England.
– sister of a previous queen. After being widowed, she secretly married her groom and founded a dynasty.
– married at eighteen, she was cousin to a predecessor and shared her fate.
- married to provide her husband with an heir. Married to him for fourteen years with no children, then remarried and produced seven children.
– only Italian queen of England.
– slept with her husband once on her wedding night and produced a daughter nine months later. He had the doors of Westminster Abbey shut in her face at his coronation.
– married four times, the king in question being her third husband.
- one of four daughters who were all queens.
– married firstly to the king of France, and she owned more of France than he did.
– had seventeen children and has a London railway terminus named after her.
– brought up in the court of her stepfather who tried to poison her.

Here is a list of consort queens of England. You get a point for marrying them to the right king, and an extra point for matching her up to the right fact:

Matilda of Flanders
Matilda of Scotland
Adelicia of Louvain
Matilda of Boulogne
Eleanor of Provence
Berengaria of Navarre
Avisa of Gloucester
Isabella of Angouleme
Eleanor of Provence
Eleanor of Castile
Margaret of France
Isabella of France
Philippa of Hainault
Anne of Bohemia
Isabella of Valois
Mary de Bohun
Joanna of Navarre
Katherine of Valois
Margaret of Anjou
Elizabeth Woodville
Anne Neville
Elizabeth of York
Katherine of Aragon
Anne Boleyn
Jane Seymour
Anne of Cleves
Katherine Howard
Katherine Parr
Anne of Denmark
Henrietta Maria of France
Katherine of Braganza
Anne Hyde
Mary of Modena
Sophia Dorothea of Celle
Caroline of Ansbach
Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz
Caroline of Brunswick
Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen
Alexandra of Denmark
Mary of Teck
Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon

Answers will be posted in a few days.

Lambing 2011 - day 10, the last day

Day 10 was the last day. I had got up in the night and carried out an uneventful three am check, and therefore emerged at about ten am, to find nothing of note occurring, and indeed, the sheep were all sweetness and light, enjoying their newer quarters still, and giving very little cause for concern (except Inky, who was looking down in the mouth, but otherwise unsuspicious). It was therefore time to pack, reflect upon the stay, and get ready to catch the 17.39 to London (the last train to London) which was a six hour marathon journey away.

Only seven out of thirteen ewes lambed while I was there – meaning I left them almost two weeks overdue. This was unusual and made me feel I had not done much to earn my keep. That said, sheep and lambs had needed feeding and moving, and I had carried out some late night checks, so I guess I had been of some use. The trip was, as ever, a good chance to catch up with the Farming Family who I had known for about seventeen years. It is a good time of the year to take a break – there are not hordes of tourists around, it is a warm and fresh break at a gloomy time of year, and it is so utterly different from my usual existence. It would be mistaken to say I could always live in the country – I have a healthy fear of spiders, and get exhausted much more quickly than my rural brethren when heaving around is required but I enjoy the time, and it reminds me of a different way of life that we have forgotten as we purchase our wrapped items from sterile supermarkets. Someone, somewhere, is growing veg and fruit, and nursing animals to fill our plates. We all rely on farming. It was good to see where some of my food comes from.

An announcement is made

As the train begins to pull out of Penzance:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 17.39 service to London Paddington. This train calls at St Erth for St Ives, Hayle, Camborne, Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the steward speaking. I would like to inform all customers that the Express Cafe is open for the duration of tonight’s journey and offers a selection of hot and cold meals and snacks, confectionary, tea, coffee, hot and cold drinks, beers and other items. The Express Cafe is situated between standard and first class accommodation in coach F. Please note that as we do not have an oven on board tonight, we are not offering meals or hot snacks.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the train manager speaking. We shall shortly be arriving into St Erth. St Erth is our next station stop. Please change at St Erth for stations to St Ives. Please note that this station is formed of short platforms. Customers in coaches A, B, and C should make their way to coach D to alight. When leaving the train, please ensure that you have all your belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western. We wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 17.49 service to London Paddington. This train calls at Hayle, Camborne, Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the train manager speaking. We shall shortly be arriving into Hayle. Hayle is our next station stop. Please note that this station is formed of short platforms. Customers in coaches G and H should make their way to coach F to alight. When leaving the train, please ensure that you have all your belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western. We wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 17.53 service to London Paddington. This train calls at Camborne, Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the steward speaking. I would like to inform all customers that the Express Cafe is open for the duration of tonight’s journey and offers a selection of hot and cold meals and snacks, confectionary, tea, coffee, hot and cold drinks, beers and other items. The Express Cafe is situated between standard and first class accommodation in coach F. Please note that as we do not have an oven on board tonight, we are not offering meals or hot snacks.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the train manager speaking. We shall shortly be arriving into Camborne. Camborne is our next station stop. Please note that this station is formed of short platforms. Customers in coaches G and H should make their way to coach F to alight. When leaving the train, please ensure that you have all your belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western. We wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.

Two minutes later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 18.02 service to London Paddington. This train calls at Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later, I decide that with six hours and eighteen more intermediate stations before I reach London Paddington, to ignore the announcements, unless the command to “brace, brace, brace” is given.

Lambing 2011 - day 9

Day 9 was a lovely sunny and bright day. Nothing was happening with the sheep who were very happy in their pre-natal quarters. We moved them into the upper pre-natal ward which was smaller and more suitable for their diminished numbers. We hoped the resulting fuss and jockeying for position in the new ward might result in a labour or two. The larger middle labour ward was now ready to be emptied out of about eight inches of straw/manure and then strawed up for mothers and lambs from the post-natal ward. However, before this could be done, the manure pit needed to be emptied out onto the garden for the summer, to make room for this new batch, so Assistant Shepherd and Co-Lamber got on with this task. Shamefully, I had forgotten to set my alarm and did not wake up until 11am. At this point, everyone was in the post-natal ward, tagging and tailing sheep.

Every sheep born on the farm has a lot of numbers. Some of these are requirements of legislation, and have to be tattooed inside the ear. Some, although part of this, are local to the farm for identification purposes. Each year, starting with the letter a, the lambs are numbered in the order of their birth. Then a colour is assigned for each year, beginning with the requisite letter. When I first started lambing, we were at the letter I – Indigo. Each lamb would have a colour tag fitted eventually in the main primary colour and with the number. We journeyed through jade, khaki, and lemon, and, finally, in the last few years, we had gone back through the alphabet to sweep up unused letters, resulting in Quartz, aZure, and Xanthic (yellow). The idea is to start the letters again.

When lambs are part of a multiple birth (which most will be), the first lamb born has a dab of blue sprayed on its head, with red for the second and green for the third. Orange is used for quads, but, generally, with quads, it is rare for all to be alive. Triplets themselves are a bit of a disaster, as one at least will need to be fed to prevent one weakening due to lack of milk. So, once in the post-natal ward, the lambs have their numbers sprayed on their backs in blue, and the lambs’ numbers are sprayed on the mothers too. This helps to identify everyone easily.

At this point, tails are also castrated. If this is not done, sheep would generally have a tail that reaches well below their knees. Such a long tail soon gets soiled and tatty. By fitting a tight plastic ring to the tail in the first week of life (which sounds painful but is not), the tail is shorted as the last bit dies and falls off. There are rules about when this should be done (first week of life) and the length a tail can be shorted to is determined by sex and breed. The newer Portland breed has longer tails prescribed than the older Texel breed that was previously the mainstay of the farm.

Tagging and tailing is also a good opportunity to look out for common disorders in the lambs and their mothers. At one time, many of the lambs suffered from entropion, where the eyelashes turn inwards, and this can result in cloudy eyes and eventually blindness if not immediately treated. Luckily, this has been bred out on the farm. If a lamb (typically a single lamb) feeds and grows very fast, it can become gangly due to a selenium deficiency. Again, this has not happened in recent years, particularly with the smaller Portland breed. Dirty bottoms, uneaten concentrates, and indifferent mothers can all be spotted and observed at this stage too. Happily, most lambs, within three or four days of birth, are becoming increasingly curious and saucy, and start springing around and looking much larger than their younger brethren.

Satisfied that no one was in labour, we took a trip to the nearby Trengwainton national trust property and enjoyed a walk around some rather more impressive gardens and a lovely sit in a very warm sun. Later that evening, one ewe did go into labour, and, once ensconced in the labour ward, duly produced a large ewe lamb with no difficulties whatsoever. This is a Good Thing.

The Ginsters Christian

Cornish pasties are a wonderful food. Great slabs of pastry, crimped along the side with a knot at one end, cover over piles of swede, potato, and steak. These are meals in themselves, and, when eaten hot but not piping, are a heart-warming repast for a hungry worker. Of course, all sorts of things are called Cornish pasty. It is possible to buy globs of cat-food sealed in a pastry case that is crimped along the top. In fact the tradition in eastern Cornwall and Devon is to crimp the pasty on the top. Ginsters is probably the most famous widely available brand, and do indeed seem to contain the right ingredients, although not in the least resembling the real thing in taste or texture.

In the news this week came tidings that the Cornish pasty has been given a protected status, much in the way that champagne, Brie, crème-fraiche d’Isigny and Melton Mowbray pies have. All pasties called Cornish now have to be crimped on the side, contain the key ingredients, and be made in Cornwall. Ginsters have cleverly placed their factory just over the border in Cornwall, so, amazingly, their product is entitled to be called Cornish pasty.

I went to church with the Farming Family this week, which was also a useful opportunity to check up on the progress of my two godsons. This was a new church to me, and I was very impressed with the set up, the faithfulness of proceedings, the obvious energy and commitment, and a passion for outreach that shames most churches. The sermon concerned the Ginsters Christian, and focussed on the importance of authenticity in the Christian’s life. The news of the week about pasties fell into the preacher’s lap, and he asked us if we are real of if we are Ginsters (which no Cornishman would ever regard as real, European rulings notwithstanding) Christians, and providing useful illustrations from the call of Peter and his cronies. I found it all distinctly uncomfortable and not a little pointed, which is, of course, a Good Thing. Are you Ginsters or the real thing?

Lmabing 2011 - day 8

Lambing today was a much quieter affair. All three sheep were lamb-napped into the post-natal ward, and we cleaned out the pens in the labour ward ready for the new patients. Apart from this, the sun began to shine in strength, so we took a trip into Penzance, and visited Morrab Gardens. As I am usually in Cornwall for the lambing season, I rarely get to make trips anywhere – we are usually dependent on the sheep and there is usually too much to do, and too much rain to make any sort of outing possible. Morrab Gardens, in the centre of Penzance, is a free park, billing itself as sub-tropical, and it certainly is that. Much of the south west of England boasts palm trees, and, the south west tip of Cornwall very rarely gets a frost in the winter – although the record-breaking -10 (16F) temperatures of last winter had taken their toll. There were camellia and magnolia in bud and slight bloom, ferns, palms, mulberry bamboo and a little pond with huge clusters of frog and toad spawn, some of which was about to hatch out. It was a very pleasant walk through the park – and nice to feel some sun on one’s face. But with regard to sheep, this was a very quiet day.

Lambing 2011 - day 7

At 5am, I rose and went to check the goings on. I bottle-fed the lamb (actually, alas, in my drowsy state, the wrong one), and went to the labour ward to check on Faker. We had been a little concerned about her showing all the signs of labour but not progressing. This was perhaps more than just annoying – a previous sheep who had done this was found to have interlocking triplets, that had been dead for some time and were putrescent – not an outcome any of us relished.

However, Faker had lived well and truly up to her name, and was in her labour ward with two lovely well-licked and contented lambs, and moreover had delivered her afterbirth, so there was clearly no need to check for further lambs. Although we would have wanted to be there and also spray the navel (this is done one birth, with a purple spray, to prevent infection), this was a Good Result.

Alas, I spent the rest of the day feeling most tired after a two hour night! I was rather pleased that no further lambing occurred after such a busy night.

Lambing 2011 - day 6

This was a much more typical day. In the morning, we fed the sheep, who were all cheery, with the suspicious exception, and checked everyone out and an easy morning followed. Just at lunchtime, one of the sheep began to show signs of being in labour – she was lying on the ground, pushing her foot out and clearly having contractions. Although no sign of membranes was forthcoming, we decided to move her across due to the frequency of these contractions. She did Not Want to go, and went with some heaving and pushing.

Once safely in the labour ward, her heaving and pushing stopped, and she bellowed angrily at the indignity inflicted upon her. This does sometimes happen, due to the upset, so we left her and hurried in for some lunch. At feeding time, at 4pm, she still was not progressing very much but was labouring on so we left her and fed the sheep, noting that Faker was not eating much.

I got on with preparing some dinner while Chief Shepherd went to fetch Tall Friend from the station. As soon as we had dinner, we then moved Faker into the labour ward. She too did not want to come but did nonetheless get moved over, and, as I write, is there having a glaring match with the other occupant of the labour ward. Meanwhile, the ante-natal ward seems to have been disturbed by all these goings on and needs to be left to rest and gossip. So, with a spot of lamb-napping to make free another bed in the labour ward, we retired to tell stories of Albanian royalty in the lounge.

At 11pm, I performed the night check to find one sheep pushing out a large bag, with a head and only one foot in it, and Faker faking as ever. I hastily awoke and summoned Chief Shepherd and we arrive at the labour ward just in time to see a lamb springing forth – one foot back but safe nonetheless. The mother was a very good one, and immediately began to lick her lamb – this removes the birth fluids from it, warms it up, stimulates the breathing, and aids to bond mother to the lamb. However, within fifteen minutes, mother began to be distracted and it was clear another lamb was on the way. Eventually, Chief Shepherd inspected and found a lamb presenting upside down and with its head back. Once this was altered, the lamb was soon delivered at five to midnight. Mother had difficulty multi-tasking with two bleating lambs, but, with a little towelling assistance, soon had them dry and happy.

Meanwhile, Faker continued to labour in a most unconvincing way, but nonetheless distinctly pushing and panting. As it was nearly one am, we decided that everyone could be left until I got up for the three am shift, which we moved to five am. So, tired, and succoured by a ginger drink, I retired, and promptly fell asleep without fitting my mask (a Bad Thing).

Lambing 2011 - day 5

During the night, another sheep lambed in the pre-natal ward, producing a large ram lamb, and then was led to the labour ward, where a little ewe lamb was delivered with some assistance. This all happened at three am, which is not how it should be. This particular sheep has an enormously enlarged udder, which, unfortunately, was only giving milk on one side, so these two lambs need supplementary feeding every few hours. If she had had one lamb it would have been ok, but two lambs fighting over one teat is not suitable.

I was, happily, sleeping through all this, and spent the day going to church, and eating, which is how things are on Sunday in west Cornwall. Altogether, a lovely day, although I did nothing with the sheep other than check the pre-natal ward a few times.

Lambing 2011 - day 4

Day 4 was the first sunny day of the lambing season. It was nice to move around the farm and be able to see across the valley. I had been on the 11pm watch the night before, and I will explain what this involves. Throughout the day and night, someone needs to check the pre-natal pen to see if any of the sheep are in labour, and, if they are, to transfer them across to the labour ward, where they can be under closer supervision and give birth in cleaner circumstances. Sometimes you find a ewe with a membrane bag dangling, or lying on the ground pushing hard. But often it is less obvious. They might be off their food at feeding time. They may have demanded and obtained a corner of the pen, even if they are relatively low in the pecking order. Eyes might be a little wider and staring, cud will not be chewed, and they may lift their upper lip or grind their teeth. Some sheep are far less obvious, and so, at my 11pm watch, I stood and watched them for some fifteen minutes as Faker, who likes to imitate the upper lip movement, was playing up, but she began to fall asleep, so I could do the same too. I went up to bed, hoping the 3am watch would be quiet for the Young Miss.

In the morning, we lamb-napped the ewes from the labour ward over the tractor shed. The lambing shed has five pens, and is warm, and kept relatively clean and sterile. Once the lambs are dry, suckling happily, and mother is used to them, which generally takes the best part of the day, they are moved over to individual pens in the tractor shed, to continue bonding with the mother. The lambs are carried over to the shed, bottoms held aloft, and at mother eye level. The mothers generally bellow and follow, full of indignation that this atrocity, thought to be scaremongering from the older ewes, is indeed perpetrated.

After sheep are transferred, the beds in the labour ward need preparing for the next patient. Dirty straw is sacked up, buckets of disinfectant water are poured over the walls and floor, and all is scrubbed ready for the next patient. This done, I took an afternoon nap, peeled 15lb of potatoes, and helped prepare sausage and mash for supper before acts of beer in front of Zoolander.

Lambing 2011 - day 3

Day 3 began with the discovery of general chaos as a lamb which had naughtily been born in the main barn, wandered up and down the pathway there, unable to get back into the main pen, much to the distress of its bellowing mother, and annoyance of the other ewes, who consider this a disgrace at 7am, and want to return to sitting around feeling fat, thank you very much.

Chief Shepherd hastily picked up the lamb, put his bottom under the nose of mother (which is the way sheep identify their lambs, by sniffing their bottoms), and she followed her into the lambing shed. The rest of the pre-natal ward settled down, protesting about such noise at such an hour. I was summoned and came and held the sheep while her second lamb was sorted out. As I have said, lambs should come with their head and two feet first. This one was coming the right way round, but with the head back. It therefore had to be pushed back in (against powerful contractions pushing it out), corrected, and, due to its size and the longer labour, ropes were tied around the feet to bring it out. It did not respond at all when being repulsed (they usually suckle on a finger) so we had supposed it was dead, but it came to life, and was another fine boy – 10 and 8 pounds. The mother was a particularly sensible and matter of fact ewe who pushed well, licked her lambs well (this drys and warms them, stimulates them to breathe, and bonds the mother and lamb) and was most attentive. Not very straightforward but not too disastrous.

The rest of the day was spent in reading, writing, and generally chastising the occupants of the pre-natal pen, who, while occasionally acting slightly suspiciously, generally sat around getting fatter, dirtying the pen, and showing no sign of getting on with it and producing lambs!

Silly Statements

Here are some silly things I have seen and heard lately:

“More fun, less emissions” – written ad nauseam on various adverts for the latest Fiat confection. Less, or fewer?

“We serve alcohol only between 10am and 8pm” -written in Sainsburys at Paddington station. It is a good job I had gone in for my sandwich before 10am!

“The cold plunge at saunas should only ever be attempted by persons who have successfully plunged before without ill effect” – instructions at the local swimming baths, for a dying breed of plungers.

“Vote Liberal Democrat” – seen in many places. I have no explanation for this one.

“Prayer meeting at 9pm. All are warmly welcome” – various church notices on a newssheet. Warmly welcome? Will be warmly welcomed?

“Please note that this is the Paignton train, not the Bristol train as per the platform screens. If you want the Bristol train, please leave and proceed to platform four.” – an announcement on my train to Cornwall as it was pulling out of Reading station.

“The seven o’clock news follows this programme at seven o’clock tonight on Channel 4.” A helpful announcement.

“This train is being held at a red signal. We are expecting this signal to change”. We passengers breathed a sigh of relief at this glimmer of hope.

Lambing 2011 - Day 2

Day two of lambing, and, with some excitement, things began to get underway. In the evening, one of the sheep, one wearing a pessary due to a previous prolapsed, showed signs of being in labour. Due to the pessary, she needed to be moved to the lambing shed quickly. A pen was duly made ready, and we all dressed up, excited by the possibility of something to do at last. However, as we hurried into the barn, it became clear that all that was really up was a touch of constipation, and the potential mother was busy settling into a corner and eating hay, casting a sweet but mocking glance at us.

A peaceful and uneventful night followed, as did feeding in the morning. I sat inside massacring some Handel on the piano, and Chief Shepherd went out to check on the mothers, and shimmy them along. Alarmingly, she discovered a ewe with a breech lamb protruding. This is pretty disastrous. Lambs need to come out with their forelegs and heads first. Any other position is in danger of not being delivered at all. If the lamb is a breech, with the back legs coming first, then the lamb, which needs to breathe as soon as it passes through the pelvis. If it is not born immediately, it has a very good chance of dying – especially as it is usually in distress due to a long labour. Miraculously, the lamb was pulled out, and was alive, and soon recovered. However, the ewe then pushed out her afterbirth and uterus. This is nothing much short of a calamity. I was hastily summoned to hold the sheep while attempts were made to pull the afterbirth away, and push the uterus back in. The Young Miss called the vet, and I held the uterus in while Chief Shepherd attached a pessary (it looks like a plastic coathanger) and attempted it to tie around the sheep.

Two lady vets duly turned up, gave her an epidural, stitched her up, and praised the efforts of Chief Shepherd. The ewe, a first time mother, was utterly bewildered by the whole affair, and later, had to be shown how to suckle her lamb, a fine large girl of ten pounds. This does seem to be a bit of a happy ending to a rather calamitous birth – not the best way to start the lambing season

Lambing 2011 - Day 1

Lambing season is here again, and, as I have often done, the Banbury Man has journeyed down to Cornwall to stay with some friends on their farm, and help out a little. Cornwall is always an exciting journey, and, carless as I am, this was a journey undertaken by train. I travelled in some comfort on an express from London Paddington to Exeter, but then on a two-coach rattly thing all the way from Exeter to Penzance. Really, First Great Western, three hours on such a tiny train is not good enough. People were standing all the way until Truro, and then from Camborne onwards. Cornwall is not a branch line!

Anyway, I am now safely at the farm, being subjected to lovely home cooking, acts of beer, the Cocktail Hour, and generally feeding, strawing, and haying the pregnant ewes, who enjoy the service, and, despite being a few days overdue, have decided to stay on the pre-natal ward, and wait a bit to produce their lambs. I have duly had strict words with them, and threatened all manner of withholding of treats, and also told them about the super new roof and extra comfort in the labour ward, but, as yet, to no avail. So it is back to blogging, reading, playing the piano, and being terrorised by two of my godsons. More lambing news will follow, I hope.

Salt or mothballs?

Christians are called to be salt. This does not mean, or course, that they must transform themselves into white crystals, and go around raising the blood pressure of those they come into contact with, but it is rather the qualities of salt that they must imitate.

Salt preserves. It stops things going off. It halts infection, corruption, and putrefaction. In the days before refrigeration, it was a valuable and vital commodity. It bought food to the table that would simply not have been available. So Christians should preserve too. They should help to stop that which rots and decays. When society is in danger of infection, they can help prevent or slow down. They can preserve and protect that which is good. They do this by following the teaching and example of Christ, by confronting ignorance, hypocrisy, selfishness and hatred, and preventing these things from spoiling all that is around then. They do this by seeking after the good things – faith, hope, love, peace, human kindness, and seeing to preserve them.

Salt flavours. It enhances the taste of things, without drawing attention to itself. A pinch of salt in a recipe can bring out the flavour or the good things present, without making them taste salty. It enhances. Christians should do this. By bring present in the good things of this world, and by exercising them, they can make them “taste better”. A little kindness goes a long way in life. The love of Christ demonstrated in words and actions can improve the recipe of daily living an awful lot. A few good things can enhance the whole.

Mothballs preserve. Their purpose is to prohibit the moth from destroying. Fur coats, woollens, tweeds and natural fibre clothing, hung up and locked away in wardrobes needs mothballs to keep away the hungry creature which would create holes and spoil. Mothballs do not enhance the clothes. They are not there for the sake of the clothes. They are there to prevent the moth. They are there to preserve and hide away clothes that are never worn. They smell, and make clothes unwearable. They are old fashioned and increasingly unnecessary. Clothes that are worn regularly (which is the purpose of clothes after all) do not need mothballs. Clothes protected by mothballs are dowdy museum pieces, and of little use today.

Some Christians are mothballs. They seek to preserve “historic values”. Their purpose is to prohibit the moths of society from destroying. Tweeded Christians are locked up in churches to keep away the ravages of society that would bring change and the end of the great old values held fast to. Mothball Christian do not enhance society. They are not here for the sake of society. They are here to prevent change. Like their ancestors the Pharisees, they are here to preserve the Christian who is never exercised in society. Like mothballs, they leave a nasty smell and taste in society. They are old fashioned and completely unnecessary. They cast off the teachings of Jesus for the traditions of the church. They demand the right to smack their children, to harangue Moslems, to withhold services from homosexuals, and hearken back to a supposed golden age of Christianity, demanding legal rights, and having a right wing vocal minority that spews hatred, not love. Mothballs Christians are not seen in society and do nothing to spread the message of Jesus (which is one of the purposes of Christians after all). Mothball Christians are dowdy museum pieces, and of little use today.

What flavour are you?

Uncle Mike

As a child, on Saturday mornings, we used to go Down Town. Whereas now, with the family all grown up, and reproducing prolifically, we might meet at one of the many coffee shops in Banbury, and chat over a latte, in those days, there were only four places to have a coffee in Banbury – Littlewoods cafe (pronounced caff), Wimpy, the bus station caff, and Auntie Jean’s. So it would be off to Auntie Jean and Uncle Mike’s house, where we children could sit and watch the bubbles rising through the demijohns of home made wine, the patterns made by the smoke from Uncle Mike’s pipe, and express our terror or delight as the cats, Tiger (fierce) and Kipper (friendly) made their home on our laps. There was a ridiculously large fire in the grate in the winter, and a passage through to the cool garden in the summer. If you dared, you could use the toilet, complete with its poster of someone flushing themself down. Those feet emerging from the toilet, and the hand reaching up to pull the chain were the subject of many a childhood terror. A noisy parrot sat on his perch and terrorised all children. Through all this, Uncle Mike sat in the corner, puffing on his pipe, shelling crayfish, or chopping wood, or burying cob nuts. He collected all manner of old things – Victorian postcards, marble stopped bottles, toby jugs, and a collection of ancient and weird musical instruments, including great-grampy Stone’s cornet of ancient and sacred provenance.

He always had a story to tell, and often with a wicked twist. His fascinating tales of Victorian life (he was only born in the 1930’s), hunting for hazelnuts near Brackley, life at Banbury Buildings, and the enormous spiders that lived in Gran’s garden shed and which would bit small children thrilled, fascinated, and terrified us. Once in a while, he would get his brushes together and sweep Gran’s chimney, always telling me it was a good job I was too fat to fit up the chimney or I would be sent up it to make sure all the soot had gone, as he had done in his time. He made alarmingly hot pork vindaloo curries, and his wine was legend – being only eight when I sipped some, I thought it was horrid. Best of all, there was something not quite adult about him – rather than busily shushing noisy children, and getting on with adult things, he had time for children, and a sense of almost subversive mischief. I remember at my niece’s wedding in 2006, that he turned to Jean, his wife of 46 years, and said “we must get married one day, my duck”. The last time I saw him was at a surprise party at my cousin’s, thrown for his golden wedding anniversary. He sat drinking beer in the garden, sucking the juice out of crayfish from a huge bucket, and joking and jesting as normal. It is a nice way to remember him.

Hot, Wild, and Free

Hot, Wild, and Free is a magazine being launched by a friend of mine. True to its name, it aims to be hot, by being relevant and up to date, wild, by voicing opinion that cares not for convention, and free – free to the user and free of corporate control. As an anarchistic liberal minded man who is deeply concerned with social justice for all, you can well imagine that this appeals to the Banbury Man’s sensibilities. I therefore eagerly went along to an evening of entertainment aimed at publicising the new magazine, but also at celebrating its spirit through independent artists singing, speaking, and generally entertaining the good gathering there – pictures are on the above link.

Live music and entertainment has an immediacy and rawness not available to those who tune in to polished performances on dvd or cd. It was great to hear two different guys sing songs they themselves had written and two different styles served to take us along with them in songs that spoke of journeys and human experience. One song, about the perils of dating, raised the biggest laugh of the evening. Live comedy also took place, and a gang of students took it in turns to entertain us. I must be honest here, and say that they were not especially funny in my opinion, but I think I am probably too old to have appreciated many of the references.

In short, with good company mixed in, a fermenting bottle of tomato ketchup (I will tell more if you ask), and a nice cold drink, it was a great evening. I look forward to more each month, and to reading more of this magazine, especially as it makes Human Trafficking one of its themes this year. This liberal thinker anticipates...

Transport for London Weekday Engineering Update

The following services are subject to change during Monday to Friday of this week:

Jubilee Line
A bus replacement rail service will run between Stanmore and Stratford. Trains will replace buses throughout the entire line. Passengers wishing to travel should make their way to the nearest tube station to continue their journey. Special staff will be available at bus stops to give directions to confused travellers.

Circle and Hammersmith and City Lines
The entire lines will open. Delays may occur as our train drivers learn to drive along the entire route. Travel from the east end to the city will be restricted to three eastenders per carriage to prevent an outbreak of crime in the west end.

Overground
The overground lines will remain closed as TfL officials seek to understand the operation and routes of these lines. As these lines serve economically disadvantaged areas, no disruption will occur.

Northern Line
The Edgware Branch will be closed from Camden Town to Edgware. No works will be taking place on this line, but it is time these stations were closed as well.

Waterloo and City
Trains will not call at Bank station all week.

Bank Station
Due to continuing escalator work, access between the Central and Circle Lines will be via a subway running through Liverpool Street station via Epping.

Arsenal Station
Arsenal will be closed as no-one likes you. Travellers should avoid this area.

A local celebrity

Every day on my way home from work, I go past an estate agent. It is on the corner of a road, and so I can see in the side. Typically, there is an older man at the back desk doing some work. At the front, there is a young woman with long black hair and a power suit, who invariably is texting on her 'phone and looking board. At the side, there is a young man who has been given hair-straighteners for Christmas and has used straightened (and scruffed) his hair so he looks like he has been pulled through a hedge backwards, but without the natural look this would give.

To my surprise, when putting on Mary Portas I was amazed to see this man's spikes jabbing her in the face. She was reporting on that hated breed, the estate agent, and aiming to introduce an element of customer service to proceedings. This young man seemed to represent everything we all dislike about agents, but did appear to take on some of her advice, and start treating people with respect, and eschewing jargon.

Of course, such jargon was the main target of Portas, but it was, as ever, an entertaining watch. I have to say, she seemed to lose sight of the fact that the vendor, not the buyer, is the customer of the estate agent, but it was refreshing to see a little more honesty and genuine customer service. I hope it continues!

Old Friends

There is something rather interesting about meeting old friends. You wonder if they will look just the same. You wonder if you will both be able to pick up the friendship and talk to one another. You wonder if there might be long uncomfortable silences as you both realise you do not really have anything in common anymore. Even if you have maintained contact via email or even Facebook, there is still that element of uncertainty when you meet.

This weekend, among other things, I met up with an old friend who I have not seen for about 12 years, and not regularly seen for 18. I sensed that we would continue to get on and chat well, and this proved to be the case. In fact, as we sat at an Indian restaurant, musing over the menu and picking at poppodums (is the plural poppoda?), chatting away, I felt exactly like I had just called in on him on my way back from work (something I used to do). The greatest friendships are surely those where you pick up exactly where you left – as if you had seen each other the week before. Although there were many events, good and bad, to catch up on, we instantly felt safe and comfortable with one another. A precious thing indeed.

Working with the enemy

Politics in the UK continues unabated as the ConDem coalition seeks to govern amidst mounting dismay and criticism, particularly of the Liberal Democrats, as they find themselves pushing a regressive agenda of protection of the rich at the expense of the majority. Nowhere has the venom seemed more toxic than in the arena of student finance and tuition fees. The Lib Dems had been the only party that had a truly progressive approach to access to university education, and now they are part of a government passing measures to impede access to university for working class would-be students. This bubbled over in demonstrations that became violent in London, reflecting the strength of feeling. Certainly, the more progressive members of the Lib Dem party have been noticeably quiet, even while their leader seeks to squirm his way out of every promise ever made. Being a Lib Dem cannot be comfortable at this current time, and it seems certain that electoral obliteration will ensue.

However, it occurs to me that things might not be as black and white as they would seem. We do have a conservative right wing administration. They are, as one might expect, pursuing their own agenda in government. However, they are doing so in coalition with a centre left party. This must mean that their policies are being diluted. Even as dismay hits the country with news of more cuts in public services, and further concession for high earners, perhaps things would be different without the Lib Dems in power with the Tories. Perhaps being in power, even with a party one opposes, means that one can influence policy, and do some good – more good than being in opposition. Perhaps it is not as self-serving as it would appear.

In conclusion, perhaps it is best for the Lib Dems to take this chance at power. Maybe they do feel they are doing the right thing. I feel that, as a progressive party, their natural partners ought to be the other progressive party, Labour, but I understand that a Labour-led government would have been unpopular, as they were not the largest party. My biggest hope is that the coalition falls apart soon, and that an election follows, with a Lib Lab coalition ruling (if Labour cannot achieve outright victory). Either way, I am given much food for thought, and need to continue to chew.