Untoward Ideology

Over the years, I have developed a high regard for a number of people, and delight in their company every now and then. (Over a similar number of years, I have developed a disdain for a number of idiots, but why dwell on the inane?)

I was, therefore, happy to share a luncheon at the Manor with a good friend , Cecil George, who had spent most of his career in the provincial civil service. He was now retired, and  described his time in government as going from total oblivion to relative obscurity. This was a tad too twee -- Cecil had made a major contribution in the areas of education and economics, and had received a number of plaudits from various Ministers of the Crown.

He had taken early retirement, but not without regret. I wondered about this, but will let him speak as to why.

"Time was, my Lady, that the work of the civil servant consisted in giving a particular Minister the best advice you could. The Minister didn't have to take that advice, of course, and this was as it should be. Ministers are publicly accountable, and you are not. For a long time, even when the advice was not to a Minister's liking, you did get credit for pointing out sundry pitfalls and traps that might occur in pushing forward a given policy.

"Then everything changed.

"Suddenly, you were being asked to support a given policy, even to the extent of writing speeches outlining  how brilliant that policy was. Ideology was corrupting what should have been a critique of a proposed policy. This extended to all political parties. It was as if the government Ministers could no longer tolerate any criticism of their thinking, and only sought support. Time to get out."

Cecil's point was a good one. Politicians driven by ideology forget that not all of the electorate voted for them, and indeed, in a first past- the- post system, there are often more votes cast against the winning candidate in term of percentages. This would be acceptable if the successful candidate was aware of this, and came to the common sense conclusion that he or she represented ALL votes cast.

Sadly, this is not the case. Wrapped in ideology, whether right or left, all too many politicians seem unable to break free and look at the whole, rather than just a part. The result is a kind of disenfranchisement, where one side only gets to romp in the sun, while any other point of view remains in outer darkness.

And when ideology is really pernicious, a ghastly deadlock can ensue. The best example here is perhaps the U.S. Congress, as the long suffering American people know well. They have rated Congress below cockroaches, root canals and colonostomies, and it is difficult to argue with that perception.

A good poring over Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics is called for on the part of today's politicians, but I suspect that is a call made in vain.

At which point Cecil and I opened a second Veuve Clicquot.

Of China and St. Valentine

A bit late with this, due to an unexpected trip to Ottawa and an extremely interesting session at the Chinese Embassy. Lasted two days, an unusually long time, and an indication that the issue under discussion was Important.

You see, from time to time, the Chinese and I have been known to share, well, let's just say, 'diplomatic pleasantries' that have proved useful to both sides. To say more would be telling, although what I can say is that the Socialist Paradise of North Korea is becoming a Problem. Indeed, China has moved beyond just feeling 'edgy' about the situation to something verging on alarm. All this because the current Kim likes to play with nuclear toys -- a far more dangerous habit than that of his father, who restricted himself, for the most part, to Barbie Dolls.

China finds it cannot pin this nuclear tinkering on America or Japan, its usual 'default' nations when things go awry.* It might even have to take some form of, wait for it, ACTION. Hence the extended meeting.

I made some suggestions. They commented. We will see what happens.

One cannot, however, dwell forever in the world of realpolitik -- unless you are Henry Kissinger. I am not he, and in that the Chinese dialogue occurred mostly on February 14th, I think it only fitting that I at least pay some homage to that day's patron -- St. Valentine.

As far as I can tell from some cursory research, there were two such saints.

One surfaces in Rome, where he devoted his time and energy to assisting Christians to not go to prison.  For this, in due course, he himself was imprisoned. While thus incarcerated, he apparently restored the sight of his jailor's daughter, but in 270 AD was clubbed to death. (It is unclear if the two events are related).

The other St. Valentine was the Bishop of Terni, was martyred a few years later.

Surprisingly, neither saint has anything to do with choosing Valentines to confess regard for another. This custom originates in the Roman Lupercalia, where gifts were given to celebrate the coming of Spring and associated with the mating of birds. Those gifts have now been reduced to cards containing some of the worst poetry ever written.

Happy Valentine's Day to all.

* In this 'default' arena, the leader by far is Israel. All Arab nations will automatically blame Israel for any and all things that occur that are not to their liking, ranging from droughts to floods, any outbreak of disease, any death that is somewhat suspicious, up to and including being responsible for the attack on the World Trade Center. Where is the Old Testament God when we need him?

Of Twitter, Tweets and Twits

I was only fourteen years old when I first encountered the word "tweet". By this time I had left my home (such as it was, in a backstreet in Naples) to go to England.. The move was made possible by winning a bountiful scholarship from the Manzoni Foundation for an essay on Alessandro's Manzoni's seminal novel, I Promessi Sposi* which apparently unearthed a new insight that no one else had spotted -- the fractured relationship between Griso and Fra Cristoforo. But I digress.

In any event, the word "tweet' swam into my ken through cartoons featuring a small chick with a lisp who was convinced he had seen a pussy cat. (I later realized that the word "chick" could have quite another meaning, but that's neither here nor there). Here, however, we are concerned with the word tweet, and a meaning some distance removed from -- Hah! I just remembered! -- an entity called Tweety Bird.

Today, the word is part and parcel of something called Twitter, a communication network that allows instant messaging between various electronic mobile devices. One plus is that these messages, or 'tweets', are restricted to 140 characters, definitely a Good Thing, and supported by the phrase, found in Hamlet: "brevity is the soul of wit."

In reading various tweets, however,one quickly discovers that wit is sadly lacking, and all manner of embarrassing situations have come to light, much to the chagrin of a number of politicians and celebrities, two types that exhibit just how damaging ego can be when it is out of control. In other words, twits.

Yet, to draw on Matthew Arnold for a moment, one must "see life steadily and see it whole." Hence this instant messaging has had a powerful impact on those societies that have made strenuous efforts to pretend that their citizens are mushrooms and always kept in the dark, usually by religious or political ideologues. The 'Arab Spring' would not have erupted so quickly without such communication, and China's leaders are continually being forced to address injustices brought to light and circulated to millions. And the latest and widely circulated outcry in India about an absolutely heinous gang rape has stirred an entire country to action.

Perhaps.

I say "perhaps" because of the inordinate difficulty of penetrating religious or cultural biases. These are firmly rooted, and those in charge are loathe to give up power. Indeed, some jurisdictions go to extreme length to curtail the use of communication mechanisms such as Twitter. Step forward, North Korea. Step forward, the tribal areas of Waziristan. Step forward any area dominated by the Taliban.

Yet I have hope, for things are progressing rapidly. As I believe Geraldine Ferraro in her run for the U.S. Vice-Presidency once stated: "It was not that long ago that people thought semiconductors were part-time orchestra conductors and that microchips were very small snack foods."

So let us progress, keeping in mind the adage, 'everyone is in favour of progress, it's the changes they don't like.'

* "The Betrothed", although I suspect most readers had figured this out. The work is regarded as the Great Italian Novel, and is found in any Italian school curriculum worthy of the name. --Ed.

Of Arms And The U.S. Senate

To Washington, accompanied by Sir Peter Crapp, to take in the Senate hearing on gun control.

The previous evening Sir Peter and I had attended  the Canadian Opera Company's presentation of Wagner's Tristan Und Isolde. It was, in a word, stupendous. I had the opportunity to compliment the Director, Peter Sellers on a brilliant imagining of the piece and it was in my mind to devote this entry to a review that would brim with intelligence and remarkable insight. Time, however, does not permit.*

So to the Senate Hearing, and the pleas of many who were appalled at the availability of handguns and assault rifles that could be purchased by just about anyone swanning about in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Now I am very familiar with guns, being in The Trade, and am well aware of just how dangerous they can be, and how scarce their availability should be.

The session included many pleas to the Senators to take action on curtailing gun availability and ensuring deep background checks on prospective purchasers. The hearing also included a halting speech by Gabrielle Giffords,  the Arizona State 8th District Representative who had been shot in the face by an unhinged male. It was painful to watch, and if one did not know better, you would think that this was a discourse given by a ten-year-old.

Surely the impact would be telling, but no such luck -- gun control remains firmly embraced by the National Rifle Association (NRA) and under the aegis of the (wrongly interpreted) Second Amendment, something I have occasionally written about in past entries.** The "august" Senators won't, or cannot, get free of the lobby funds shunted their way by the NRA, and live in fear of being excoriated if they break ranks. All very sad.

Yet it is not easy to break free of violence. All nations are afflicted, and the reason has been well described by anthropologist Walter Burkert in his seminal text, Homo Necans.*** Thus Burkert writes:

"Man can virtually be defined as the 'hunting ape'....This statement leads to a second indisputable fact, that the age of the hunter, the Paleolithic,  comprises by far the the largest part of human history. No matter that estimates range between 95 and 99 percent: it is clear that man's biological evolution was accomplished during this time. By comparison, the period since the invention of agriculture -- 10,000 years, at most -- is a drop in the bucket. From this perspective, then, we can understand man's terrifying violence as deriving from the behaviour of the predatory animal, whose characteristics he came to acquire in the course of becoming man."

Knowing this, you would think that we could at least limit the availability of death-dealing weapons, as most civilized countries do.

Not in the opinion of the NRA, and as the New York Times reports, on the same day Gabrielle Giffords was testifying, the NRA was promoting a magazine for children entitled  "Junior Shooters". The stated aim is to get children involved in the recreational use of firearms, and one of the illustrations shows a smiling 15 year old girl clutching a semi-automatic rifle. The caption? "Who knows? Maybe you'll find a Bushmaster AR-15 under your tree some frosty Christmas morning!"

At this point I took a leaf from the "Beyond The Fringe Revue", headed for the toilet, and suddenly, and very violently, vomited..

* For which readers should be grateful -- Ed.

** Actually, ad nauseum. -- Ed..

*** For those not fluent in The Imperial Tongue, "Man The Killer."

A Thousand Shades Of Grey

From time to time I like to explore a word or concept in some depth, and then throw the concept out for further discussion. This is one of those times.

There is a word that modern media tosses around with something approaching gay abandon. You read or hear that a person, movement or an action is truly 'evil', the implication being that the situation borders on the hopeless, and one must immediately take up arms and oppose.

Rubbish.

I can think of nothing in reality that is 100% evil. Rather, things seem to be a thousand shades of grey. And I hasten to add that this is not a reference to that very badly-written and banal book, Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James. After three pages, I stopped reading. After all, when you have given a dissertation at Oxford on De Sade's Justine, or lectured on Pauline Reage's Story Of O at the Sorbonne, getting involved with the James' text would be akin to saying "After you've seen Paree, why would you want to visit Don Mills?"

In truth, I can think of only one person that exhibits total evil, and that reference comes from literature, to wit: Shakespeare's portrait of Iago in Othello. Even Iago himself has trouble determining just why he acts the way he does, and his attempt to find a rationale has been brilliantly described by Coleridge as "The motive hunting of a motiveless malignity."

All others, whether in the arts or life, appear (at least to me) to fall into a 'more or less' category. A few examples come to mind.

One nominee for pure evil would be Satan in Milton's Paradise Lost. But hold on a minute. Satan was, in Milton's view, one of God's favourites, but was overcome by an overweening ambition and made the decision that it was better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. Unlike Iago, there is a cause for the action.

So also with many other fictional examples deemed 'pure evil'. The idea of the serial killer is all too prominent in books, TV and movies, yet in all cases there are references to a ghastly upbringing or some early traumatic event. Again, a cause.

Of course, in real life serial killers also exist, but I believe my argument holds -- there always exists an underlying cause. But what of the likes of Pol Pot, Hitler? Osama bin Laden? Or even that model for Dracula, Vlad the Impaler? Well, let's have a look.

In the cases of Hitler and Pol Pot, I would posit that both were consumed by ideology, the former by Fascism compounded by Anti-Semitism,  the latter by Communism. As for Osama bin Laden, his belief in a lunatic version of Islam is all too evident. Evil men, to be sure, but not exemplars of 'pure' evil -- the causes are too prominent.

As for old Vlad (whose deeds appalled Europe in the 15th century, which took some doing, given the age) we should remember that as a young boy he was sent as hostage to the court of the Ottoman Sultan, Murad II, who delighted in elaborate cruelty and vicious child abuse.

Mind you, the examples given above are definitely into the dark side of the 'evil' spectrum, but not of the 100%  Iago type. As for the rest of us, we fall somewhere on that spectrum -- a thousand shades of grey.

Against this spectrum, we can but throw ethics, and must guard against attacks that stem from a variety of causes, including laws themselves. As John Frederick Gibson has noted in his fine little book, A Small And Charming Place, "In the course of time, legislation and regulation become more important than ethics, and at that point we are lost."

Definitely stuff for discussion here.

Coming Of Age

To the Carisma restaurant, for the best ravioli in Toronto. There I was to meet my CIA colleague in The Trade, Matilda Hatt. I had ordered two martinis, and had just taken my first sip when Tilly stormed in,  her face contorted in fury. She plunked herself down, grabbed the martini in front of her, and swallowed the whole thing in a gulp.

Whatever was bothering her, it was serious.

"I," she announced dramatically, "have been re-assigned. To a desk job! Me! The best field operative they've got. This is unbelievable.!"

After ordering her another martini, I heard her tale of woe, and the words Giuseppe di Lamedusa wrote in his fine novel The Leopard flashed into my mind: "If we want things to stay the way they are, things will have to change."

It turns out that Tilly had been promoted to head up field operations emanating from the UK, and was to liaise with Sir Harry to boot. This irritated her no end.

"The man's an outright curmudgeon," she stated. "Once called me a shrieking banshee! I mean, really."

"A shrieking Banshee?" I responded. "Well, I can certainly agree that Sir Harry is guilty of redundancy."

"I don't know what you mean. And look. They want me to wear this kind of an outfit from now on. It is all too much."

What Tilly was wearing was a dark blue woolen A-line dress, and I know an Armani when I see one. Truth be told, she looked smashing. Admittedly, this was a far cry from Tilly's usual apparel, which tended to be jeans that had seen better days, and a tattered sweater that resembled something that might have been worn on Mao's Long March. (This was not totally improbable -- Tilly had spent a great deal of time in China, meeting any number of Politburo members.)

At this point,  I decided that a greater perspective was needed, and over the course of a (very fine) lunch proceeded to unload a few truths, truths which applied to me as well as to her. Physically, we were still in good working order, but -- and here's the thing I explained -- not what we once were. Secondly, I got her to admit that on the shooting range her groupings were not as tight as they should be, nor was she as fast in reloading. Thirdly, what her superiors had recognized via the new appointment was an ability not determined by age -- her knack of imaginative planning and tactics.

"I mean," I said, "just look at how we got out of Libya with that physicist. I still don't know how you arranged that boat."

""Yeah," she stated, "but that got you shot in the ass. The whole thing could have gone better."

I shot back, "Nonsense. Just took one for the team. Doesn't take away from my point, that as we age, our abilities alter, and we have to adjust. So Matilda Hatt should also adjust. Think of it as a coming of age."

"I'll think about it. Don't have to like it, though."

"To my knowledge, no one does. But so it goes."

So there we left it.

Now a final word on a situation I have been harping on recently, the First Nations 'Idle No More'* movement. It amazes me that no commentator has drawn a parallel with Sophocles Oedipus Rex. In the play, Oedipus, King of a plague-ridden Thebes, tries to ascertain the cause of the plague, without realizing that the cause is he himself.

Admittedly, the parallel is not perfect; Oedipus truly doesn't know what his precise sin encompasses -- the murder of his father and marriage to his mother -- until it is revealed. In the case of the Idle No More thingy, a number of chiefs, and certainly Chief Theresa Spence,** know exactly the sins they have committed, condemning the band members under their charge to poverty, alcoholism, drugs, and ghastly living conditions. Their followers, however, may be truly wearing the shoes of Oedipus in not being aware that the solution lies within themselves. Let us hope that at some point awareness will dawn.

* The 'Idle No More' title seems oddly ill-suited to the initiative. It implies that prior to this, all First Nations were idlers, something history attests was certainly not the case. Now if all the protesters were to take a year off and do some reading....

** Theresa Spence. Idol no more.

Two Women

No, not a critique of the well-crafted Vittorio De Sica film, nor an account of the face-off between Mary, Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I*, rather a behavioural review of two women currently in the news. What intrigued me was the staggering difference between the two. I turn now to the first lady, who really was a First Lady.

Hillary Rodham Clinton

After a very hard fought campaign for the American presidency, Hillary lost to Barack Obama. If she had at that point turned her back on America, and gone into a Great Sulk, people would not have applauded such an action, but they would have understood it. Hillary did nothing of the kind, graciously acceding defeat, and offering to help the new President in any capacity that he sought fit. Obama  (to the surprise of many) offered her the position of Secretary of State, a post which she accepted.

In this position, Hillary was enormously successful, and became respected by all of the world's leaders, or at least those who count. She logged a gazillion miles, kept a ferocious working schedule, yet still found time to support her colleagues at Foggy Bottom -- something not always done. She followed Obama's direction to the letter, and supported his policy positions with cogent arguments and convincing details. At the end of her time at State, she was regarded in polls as the most popular American politician in either party.

Well done, Hillary. Well done indeed.  And now I turn to the reverse of the medal

Theresa Spence

I have a great degree of admiration for certain Native North Americans. Here I think of the perseverance of Sitting Bull, the tactical brilliance of Tecumseh, or the leadership of Chief Dan George.

I do not think of Theresa Spence in these terms.

Spence is the Band Chief at the northern Attawapiskat Reserve, and to my mind is a poster child for all that can go wrong on a reserve. Millions of dollars have come her way, in order to provide adequate housing, education, and sound infrastructure for her band members. The monies arrived, but then disappeared, as determined by a recent Federal audit. No receipts, no paper trail, and certainly no evidence that these monies went to meet the priorities cited above.

Chief Spence lives well, making a six figure salary, and managing to achieve a stock market holding of some $200,000. Her house, unlike many on the reserve, is well equipped, up to and including a flat screen TV. Her cronies also do well, and her partner and "consultant", Clayton Kennedy, is on the payroll and garners $850 a day.

All of which apparently is not enough, so the Chief embarked on a "hunger strike"** which would only stop when a meeting with the Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, could be arranged. This occurred, at which point Chief Spence withdrew the request, stating that the Governor General had to be at the meeting as well, representing the Queen. I believe at this point the whole thing degenerated into farce, with one of her assistants firing off a letter to Buckingham Palace.

A number of chiefs support her, probably because they exhibit similar fiscal chicanery, but not all do. In fact, there are an equal number who doubt the efficacy Spence's approach. Shawn Atleo, the national chief of the Assembly of First Nations, is one, and while he is conscious of the serious problems on many reserves, is willing to work with the Prime Minister to resolve them, up to and including a hard look at the Indian Act itself. One can only hope.

As for Theresa Spence, and thinking of the band members she has kept in penury, these words from the last act in Macbeth well sum up what could await her:: "And that which should accompany old age, as honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have. In their stead, curses, not loud but deep, mouth honour, breath which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not."

Says it all, really.

* Not so much a 'face-off' as a 'head-off''

** This may be the only recorded hunger strike where the perpetrator gains, rather than loses, weight. I suspect more than a few Big Macs were smuggled in.

I, Like MacArthur, Have Returned

Back from cavorting with the family in the South Pacific, tired, but still in one piece. A good time was had by all, well, sort of.

There were, I must report, one broken toe on the part of my son Mark, the result of an over-energetic beach volleyball game, and two screaming matches involving my daughters. Indeed, Victoria and Isolde are currently not speaking to one another. This wont last -- they are polar opposites and need each other as sounding boards. Isolde has always thought Vicky's film roles to, as she put it, "supporting female victim hood in a way that bordered on the pornographic." Vicky returned with the observation that Isolde was just jealous that she didn't have a part in the TV series, "The Game of Thrones". On the other hand, I suspect Vicky herself was envious of Isolde's remarkable ability with the violin, and underlined this with her Christmas gift, bequeathing her a kazoo.

But it is not my purpose to go into details of the internecine warfare families often exhibit. For this, readers are directed to stuff written by Tennessee Williams, Harold Pinter, Anton Chekhov, or that patron saint of Wingham, Alice Munro.

The Compte de Rienville was also present (hurrah!) and added immeasurably to my enjoyment. Sadly he had to leave abruptly, however, muttering something about more Hollandaise sauce, but before he did, we had a most interesting encounter at the hotel bar with one Henry Threadneedle.

I would have thought, with that surname, that Henry was a banker, and indeed the man was a fount of information on finance. In actual fact, however, he was a first rate mathematician who had been in charge of the balance sheet at a Vegas casino. Apparently some monies had gone astray -- not Henry's fault -- and despairing of ever being given the chance to explain what he thought had occurred, decided to take flight before getting his head blown off by whatever Mafia outfit was running things.

He was also the thinnest man I'd ever encountered, and at times, when turning sideways, you'd think he disappeared. This prompted the Compte to venture the opinion that he thought there was a good chance that Henry Threadneedle had been raised by eels. In my opinion, this toying with invisibility would be a real asset in The Trade, and made a mental note to mention this to Sir Harry.

Henry's most interesting comments, however, focused on the current fiscal mess confronting much of the world, a condition he described as a very simple, very complex, problem. Simple, because the answer was patently obvious: a country, as well as an individual, should always ensure that if  obligations are undertaken, you should have the wherewithal to pay for them. Complex, because when the fiscal situation is severely out of whack, there are really only two means of addressing the imbalance -- raising taxes and curtailing spending. The former, politicians find to be easy; the latter, extraordinarily difficult, in that what the citizenry have come to expect in terms of entitlements will be reduced, or, in some cases, taken away entirely. This can result in a sure loss in the next election, lots of pots and pans on the street, and given an America armed to the teeth courtesy of the National Rifle Association, maybe something more ominous in the streets than kitchenware. Obama has his work cut out.

But let us not end on a sour note. I am happy to inform you that, in London, Ontario, Canada has won gold on the ice! Not our junior team (we wont go there) but our under 19 girls, who have captured the gold medal by defeating, and thereby dethroning, Finland by a score of 6 --2.

In Ringette.

So there.

Kidnapped!

From The Editor:

The good Lady had just returned to the Manor, having enjoyed what she termed a spectacular Christmas lunch with the Emp, Bohdan and her CFO, WDM. No fights, no carping (well, a little) and all parted in a sea of serenity. Then she disappeared.

I learned shortly thereafter that her progeny, or, as she is wont to term them, "her brats", had bundled her into a car, headed for the airport, and linked up with the Compte de Rienville and his private jet. The kids had apparently decided to give the Lady a break from hosting Christmas, enlisted the Compte's willing assistance, and took off. Not completely sure of the destination, but I do know that the Compte has holdings in the South Pacific -- Papeete to be exact.

A little note from the eldest child, Isolde, indicated a return in early January, along with the Lady's sincere wishes to her readers for a fun-filled and merry Christmas. I am happy to second such a motion.

Where We Went Wrong

I was delighted by a surprise visit by the Compte de Rienville, who dropped in to the Manor all upset, and stating a need for comfort and understanding. Providing the comfort was not a problem -- I needed some myself -- but the understanding took a bit longer.

To wit:

The Compte had actually left France in a huff, having had a number of his ideas on addressing France's fiscal problems shot down and smothered in what he termed Hollandaise sauce.

"Hollandaise sauce? Oh, that's droll." (Francois Hollande is the President of France).

But the Compte was not seeking praise. "It can't go on", he stated. "There are just too many living off an ever declining tax base. Mon Dieu, are we Greece? And the President, who acknowledges the problem, is taking caution into a kind of art form, where little if any action is forthcoming."

"Well," I put in, "M. Hollande is putting in a tax of 75% on the rich --'

"Which is, or will, cause a mass exodus, and therefore any tax revenues raised will be paltry. And the public sector unions, instead of grappling with the problem, are asking for more. As Jean val Jean states in Les Miserables, "Comment faire?"*

"I believe," I said, "that you have put your finger on the problem. The public sector unions."

Thus began a long discussion, the gist of which is as follows.

Remembering some thoughts on this subject from the late Lord Strunsky, I told the Compte that at an earlier point of time, joining the public service involved a trade-off. You agreed to a lower pay scale than that offered by the private sector, in return for stability and job security. Hence, if you lusted to be the next Bill Gates or Warren Buffett, the public service was not for you. This approach had the advantage of providing a sound, but not dramatic, public service -- a Good Thing. You don't want buccaneers with access to the public purse, while also allowing some brakes to be put on the wilder schemes of politicians that surfaced from time to time.

When, however, public servants became unionists, things changed, and not for the better, as members strove to match or exceed private sector salaries while still holding out for iron-clad job security.

 An even uglier side to this question is noted in the New York Times in an article by James Sherk: "When government unions strike, they strike against taxpayers. Franklin Delano Roosevelt (of all people) considered this 'unthinkable and intolerable'".

I mean, it is one thing to strike against the ACME Widget Corporation where, unless it is a company town, few are affected and even fewer notice. (The Compte interjected here that those with a widget fetish would certainly notice, but let's not go there). Yet when public service workers go on strike,  innocent taxpayers are held to ransom. Even schoolteachers have abandoned what was an honourable and esteemed profession, joined a union,  and now use children as hostages to fortune (theirs).

All I have to say is that when the Scots sent Edward of England back "to think again", it is high time to do something similar to public service unions.

* The Compte, of course, quotes from the original French version, literally, "What to do?" The English phrase is quite different -- "Who am I?" -- but it all works. -- Ed.

Marijuana Mystery

Of late, I have been perhaps too engrossed in the idiocy that marks municipal politics, and a mayor who, while attempting to balance the books, too often resembled a bull in a china shop. Although it must be noted that the china artifacts he smashed were Spode tea cups and Royal Doulton figurines that were made in China.

Time to take a broader view, and look at what's been going on in the world at large.

Not much better. Personal debt in Canada is still too high. The economy of Greece is still an issue, and the Euro appears on life support, with the IV drip being supplied by Germany. (Leads to the observation that what was beyond the capability of the Wehrmacht is not beyond the capability of German fiscal policy). China -- well, see comment above -- and as for the U.S., a 'fiscal cliff' looms. So all is not well, although the answer to the American cliff thingy lies in the amended Liberty Bond Act of 1917. To explore the impact of that legislation, however, would take some time, and is best left for another day.

It is not rocket science to acknowledge that the answer to the problems listed above involve a combination of higher tax revenues and less government spending on entitlements. Yet a third strategy could, I think, be profitably explored, that would go some distance to alleviating these financial conundrums.

Marijuana. Or at least, its legalization and subsequent taxation.

This is not as bizarre as it sounds. A number of American states have legalized the drug for medicinal purposes, and the state of Washington has allowed it for recreational use. If you put marijuana side by side with alcohol, the comparison is startling. Alcohol is an extremely dangerous drug, as a myriad of road deaths illustrate, to say nothing of crimes and personal violence committed while under its influence. It was, in fact prohibited for a time in America, under the Volstead Act in 1919. This didn't work --the steady growth of organized crime, with no taxes coming in whatsoever, led to its repeal in 1933.

Marijuana, however, has quite a different effect on human behaviour, producing feelings of happiness and calmness, and which might produce a more congenial and grateful electorate. And another thing. Unlike heroin or cocaine, NO ONE TO MY KNOWLEDGE HAS EVER DIED FROM AN OVERDOSE OF MARIJUANA. 

Now I know that law enforcement has a huge investment in personnel and resources involved in the so-called 'War on Drugs', but the hard drugs are still there, along with crystal meth and, for that matter, Oxycontin. So there is still a great deal of work for the cops.

What baffles me is why government is so loathe to legalize marijuana. Goodness knows the revenue is needed, and the present grow-ops and gangs currently involved in its growth and manufacture could quickly become business enterprises (also subject to taxation) and bring forward a number of interesting Initial Public Offerings, doing wonders for a number of stock exchanges as well as benefiting shareholders.

I mean, where's the down side in all this?

Mayors Behaving Badly

The number of mayors in the last two weeks that have crashed and burned astounds. What is it about political power that, Circe-like, leads such men to Bad Ends? (No women mayors seem so afflicted).

Here is a brief re-cap:

City:       Montreal.
Mayor: Gerard Tremblay
Issue:   Graft and corruption
Result:   Dismissal, public enquiry, criminal charges possibly pending
Cost to taxpayers: $Millions

City:   Laval
Mayor: Gilles Vaillancourt
Issue:  Bribery,
Result: Dismissal, criminal charges possibly pending.
Cost to taxpayers: $Thousands

City: London*
Mayor: Joe Fontana
Issue: Taxpayer dollars used to fund son's wedding
Result: Mayor hanging on, but barely.
Cost to taxpayers: $15,000.

City: Toronto
Mayor: Rob Ford
Issue: Improper legal procedure with respect to conflict of interest.
Result: Dismissal pending
Cost to taxpayers: $Zero

Yes, a sorry tale. The first three can rightly be accused of squandering a ton of taxpayer dollars. As for the forth, we are more in the arena of bull-headed stupidity than graft and corruption. All Mayor Ford had to do was recuse himself when Council was determining if the Mayor should pay back funds solicited on official letterhead for an economically-disadvantaged football team.** The amount was some $3150.00, none of which came from the City budget. Indeed, Council, by a significant majority, decided in favour of the Mayor and there the matter would have rested. Indeed, should have rested -- the optics alone would have been severe enough.

Enter The Left.

Furrier Paul Magdar, with lawyer Clayton Ruby in tow, launched a conflict of interest lawsuit against Ford, calling for his dismissal. The suit was successful, delighting the left wing of Council. On the other hand, the action did prompt this comment from, of all newspapers, Quebec's La Presse, in which columnist Yves Boisvert writes on November 27: "Great minds in the Toronto media, too happy to get rid of this right-wing firebrand, seem to have easily forgotten a principle of universal justice: The punishment needs to fit the crime. In the Toronto mayor's case, we are applying a professional death penalty for a minor breach."

Says it all, really, and now Toronto faces a very real possibility of the Left taking control, and bringing back the fiscal madness that had bedevilled Toronto during the previous administration. Mayor Ford had tried, and was succeeding, in correcting this fiscal imbalance. Now, however, a death spiral looms as the Left looks to Greece as its fiscal model.

Poor Toronto.

*For my UK readers, I refer to London, Ontario, not London, England. Boris Johnson seems to be doing just fine.

** Don Bosco, a Catholic secondary school. Goodness, if some funds were needed, you would think the Vatican could sell a painting or two.

Believe It Or Not

No, this is not a discussion on the work of Robert Ripley, but rather an examination of a philosophical  phrase that startled me, as did the identity of the author. Now where philosophy is concerned, I tend to the classics, drawing on such works as Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics, Plato's Republic, or even The Biblical Ten Commandments, which all by themselves outline an ethical path. (the rest is commentary).

The phrase in question? "Seeing is believing puts the horse before the cart."* The author? Stephen King, of all people, he who writes all that hairy stuff about worlds that lie just beyond our present veil of existence. Great for escapism, and therefore I was surprised to be confronted with a truth that has nothing to do with fantasy but everything to do with day-to-day reality.

Certainly King would not leap to the mind as a deep-thinking philosopher, or at least not to my mind. Yet his horse-cart analogy bears some looking into.

The argument here is the proposition that what we see is determined by what we believe. In classical times, belief held that the world was flat, and  maps from that era indicate this, along with fuzzy edges that are highlighted by the phrase "Here Be Dragons." Yes, Thales of Miletus sometime around 620 BCE predicted an eclipse, but then, there have always been outliers, who had a different belief than the belief currently in vogue. Think Galileo. Think Copernicus. Think Einstein. Think Heisenberg. Or Rachel Carson and her Silent Spring. (I was determined to get a woman 'outlier' in there somewhere). All these departed from the prevailing belief and hence put forward another way to view the world and, indeed, the cosmos.

Thus it does no harm, before putting forward a point of view, to seek out the underlying belief that structures that point of view. Much of organized religion falls under such a rubric, and a great deal of nationalism, the twin causes of reprehensible actions that are all too evident in today's world. The belief that a certain way of viewing the world is the ONLY way to view the world is horribly counter-productive, particularly when that belief is juiced up to allow for killing anyone that does not succumb to that belief. All of which would indicate that the belief in question deserves a close, very close, examination, and if the belief is found wanting, alter it to one that allows for progression rather than stasis. So William Blake: "The cut worm forgives the plow."

Ample food for thought here.

* Stephen King, Duma Key, 'How to Draw a Picture' (VII)

A Seedy Tale

I was dealing with one problem when, out of the blue, another surfaced. The initial problem, in response to a request by Sir Harry, was to somehow to come to grips with the Hamas attack upon Israel -- in particular, the viciousness of locating their rocket launchers in close proximity to schools and hospitals -- and to develop an appropriate response strategy. For  Hamas, this was a nasty step forward and deeper into the Dark Side, and I suspected that the purveyors of said rocket launchers (Iran) lurked at the bottom of it all.

Then came the second problem.

Bohdan, who manages my sugar beet plantation in Ukraine, called, alerting me to a serious attack on my holdings. Through some reliable sources, Bohdan had learned that Viktor Yanukovych, the President of Ukraine and no friend of mine, had seen fit to lease an adjoining property to Monsanto. The aim here would be to genetically modify sugar beets, and plant them so that the wind-borne seeds would then contaminate my own crop. This would spark two actions: Monsanto would sue, stating that I had contaminated their crop. And secondly, any European sales would be at risk, Europe being very risk averse when it came to genetically-altered produce. Germany, of course, would be aghast at having their beloved Zuckerruben-Sirup so infected. Monsanto really is evil, and in pursuing such a course, showed themselves to be a true member of the Dark Side.

What to do?

I was well aware that Monsanto had tried similar cases in court, and had won.* Pursuing a strictly legal solution would, then, be unsuccessful, case law being what it is. So another measure was called for.

Now I also have friends on the Dark Side, and placed a call to Don Guido.

"Bella! Always good to hear from you. And you will be pleased to know that I have purchased your figlia's CD featuring the Sibelius Violin Concerto. The fair Victoria does a superb job. You must be proud."

"I am. I will let her know you approve." Don Guido was especially fond of Victoria, and I knew for a fact that he watched over her as she trundled around the globe. Don Guido beats travel insurance every time.

We continued briefly this little exchange of pleasantries, but I soon came to the heart of the matter.

"Don Guido, I don't suppose you have any contacts in Ukraine?"

"Not many, but enough to buttress a small but profitable enterprise. Why do you ask?"

I then explained my problem, indicating that Yanukovych was behind it all. I needed to persuade him that the Monsanto purchase was a non-starter, and that perhaps (to use a trite phrase) an offer could be made that Yanukovych could not refuse.

"This isn't your campaign to get that woman, Julie or Julia, out of prison, is it? Can't do anything there. The action stems from Putin himself, and I'd rather not irritate the man right now. Appears to be going through some kind of mid-life crisis, and hence any annoyance...well...could be bad for business."

"No, Yuliya Tymoshenko isn't at issue here, more's the pity. It's the deal Yanukovych has struck with Monsanto. If that could be, er, annulled in some way...."

Don Guido thhought for a moment, then said, "I understand that our Viktor is very fond of chinchillas. Keeps a sizeable pen of them, in fact. Perhaps if he awoke one morning and found in his bed six or seven slaughtered -- "

"I don't need the details. What is this going to cost me?"

"You have two coastal properties in Greece, Lots 107665 and 107666. I would like to purchase Lot 107666."

Now Lot 107665 I have designs on for a possible seaside resort, but Lot 107666?

"I am agreeable" I told Don Guido. "But the lot you requested  has a shoreline comprised of nothing but a path leading through a sheer rock face. In order to get one lot, I had to take them both. Why would you want -- "

"But that lot has an excellent and deep harbour. Is it a deal?"

"It is. I will have the necessary papers drawn up." I decided not to enquire about Don Guido's reasons for wanting a harbour in Greece. It is one reason why we get along so well.

Shortly after, I learned from Bohdan that Monsanto had withdrawn its offer to purchase the adjoining acreage. I also felt it  incumbent to make a hefty donation to the World Wildlife Foundation, to be directed to the preservation of the habitat of the Andean chinchillan population. After all, when one incurs a debt, it is only fair that one pays.

*Cf. Monsanto Canada v. Schmeiser, Docket T.1593 -- 98. This case went all the way to Canada's Supreme Court, where Monsanto prevailed in a 5-4 decision. It is unfortunate that not enough of the Justices could see the obvious solution, as sung by Bob Dylan: "The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind."

A House Divided

Well, there you have it. The American Presidential Election finally occurred -- some 5 billion dollars spent to achieve the same congressional gridlock that previously existed. Not exactly a harbinger of hope, if things remain as they were.

Here I will go out on a limb, and state that there will be change.

One change immediately noticeable is the disappearance of references to the Deity in Republican comments on the election result. Not surprising, given that to the Tea Party evangelicals Mitt Romney was chosen by God to lead the U.S.A. out of the financial wilderness. This didn't work out so well: God apparently overlooked the role of the 'swing states' upon the Electoral College.

Of course, this is not the first time there has been some Republican religious backsliding. I recall, early in the Presidency of George W. Bush, that he would be guided by the precept,  'What would Jesus do?' This was hastily forgotten shortly after, it being highly improbable that Jesus would have authorized the invasion of Iraq. I remember calling Laura on the matter, suggesting that George look more to the Old Testament for models, where, to use a phrase, 'there's a whole lotta smiting goin' on' (apologies to Jerry Lee Lewis here).

There is, however, a change in tone from the Republicans -- or at least from the Leader of the House, John Boehner. He is still averse to raising taxes, but is willing to discuss other ways and means whereby cooperation might be achieved. This does not surprise, given the necessity of some clever mountaineering on the 'fiscal cliff' that must be dealt with prior to January 1, 2013.

This is no small matter. If there is no congressional action, the following occurs. The combination of higher taxes and spending cuts would reduce the deficit by an estimated 560 billion, roughly cutting it in half. The Congressional Budget Office estimates that gross domestic product (GDP) would be go down by four percentage points in 2013, sending the economy into recession. Unemployment would rise by close to a full percentage point, involving the loss of some 2 million jobs. The word 'unacceptable' doesn't begin to cover the effect.

Congress, however, does have two other options. Some or all of the scheduled tax cuts and spending cuts can be cancelled, ensuring that the debt will continue to grow. Step forward, Greece. Or a middle course can be adopted, one that would address the budget issues to a limited extent, but also would have a more modest effect on growth.

So over to you, Congress, but keep in mind Lincoln's words upon accepting the Senate nomination from the Illinois Republican Party in 1858: "A House divided against itself cannot stand." And let's not forget hope, and here I turn to -- who else? -- the Rolling Stones: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try, sometimes you get what you need."

Try, people.

Act of God

The storm known as 'Sandy' tore through Toronto yesterday, and did some damage, although nothing to compare to what occurred at the Jersey Shore (wonder if Snooki remained safe?) and inundated New York City. That phrase 'some damage' included a tree falling on the roof of a colleague's house, barely missing Code Barry and his wife, who were asleep at the time. I am informed that the insurance company will step up to the plate under the 'Act of God' rubric. Good on them -- this is not always the case, and even cursory research into this type of tort indicates that assured coverage is by no means a sure thing.*

I ruminated a bit on the phrase 'Act of God'.

In paleolithic times, the words made sense. Earthquakes, tornadoes, floods, volcanic eruptions -- all were attributed to various gods and goddesses. (If nothing else, the Stone Age at least supported a kind of gender equality.) Later, lightning bolts were hurled by Zeus; a typhoon or tsunami was Poseidon feeling a bit testy; an overwhelming passion was the fault of Aphrodite and a raging forest fire was Loki losing it. Out of all this sprang organized religion, and my own research points to the entire Judaic edifice springing from a minor desert storm god.

These 'divine' figures were given very human attributes, and one was never entirely sure which side they were on or just who would be supported. This was captured well by Shakespeare (are we surprised?) in King Lear when Gloucester states, "As flies to wanton boys are we to th'gods / They kill us for their sport." Again, this made a sort of sense; the world was fraught with the unknown, and having a number of supernatural deities to blame for misfortune, or to credit when one's lot improved, made an existence bearable, particularly when that existence, to use Thomas Hobbes' phrase, was "nasty, brutish and short."

As science advanced, however, gods came into question. Tidal waves, tsunamis and earthquakes owed their formation, not to the actions of a god, but to the clash of the earth's tectonic plates. Lightning caused forest fires, and a violent thunderstorm was the result of hot and cold air masses coming together in a manner far removed from a tender embrace.

All these advances, of course, were fought tooth and nail by those with an interest (and prosperous livelihood) in maintaining their status as guardians of God -- priests, bishops, imams, mullahs -- the list goes on and on. Eventually, of course, the whole hoax will come crashing down. I mean, one can but hope. Perhaps this would be the finest, and final, Act of God.

As for my own belief, it is simply this: GOD IS A PLACEHOLDER FOR WHAT WE DON'T AS YET UNDERSTAND.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

*In fact, it is a mess. Insurance companies hate the phrase 'Act of God', and much prefer dealing with terms such as 'perils' and 'exclusions from these perils'. No doubt.

Three Times A Charm

To London, and my suite at the Dorchester. I was looking forward to a dinner at The Grill and their excellent Cornish scallops, but my dinner companion was Sir Harry, and his presence was more likely to lead to indigestion rather than a fine dining experience.

My feelings were mis-placed. Sir Harry was, for him, in a state of elation. I knew this because every so often a trace of a smile flitted across his face, something completely out of character. What had exercised him was the success of what he termed "blow back". Apparently, in Afghanistan, when the Ungodly fires three mortar shells at a British army encampment, this action provides enough time to track the trajectory of the hostile round and fire a retaliatory shot to precisely the spot where the original shells were fired. Poof! No more mortar fire, and those doing the firing were sent post haste into their Islamic Paradise, 72 virgins et al. (Question for self: why 72? I will look into this and report at some future date.)

So....an enjoyable dinner. We even waxed philosophical for a time, exploring the nature of the number three, with the 'three' acting as a kind of lynch pin countering the action of the previous 'two'. In folk tales, for instance, the third sister is all-important. Think Cinderella. Shakespeare himself draws on this tradition as well in King Lear (Cordelia) and The Merchant of Venice (the third casket containing lead and Portia's portrait).

Baseball has its three strike rule, and, in a completely inappropriate adaptation of the 'rule of three', the state of California has (via an ill-thought out referendum) enacted a three strike rule in terms of prison sentencing. If it's your third court appearance, and the verdict is guilty, you are gone for ten years, even if the charge is a relatively minor one. I guess this pleases some people, but in my mind's eye all I can conjure up is  Les Miserables and Inspector Javert.

Sir Harry made the point that in many cases involving three of whatever, competition of some sort is at the fore. He went on to state, quoting Lord knows whom,* that "neither the devil nor God wants competition. That's why we humans end up in our lonely no-man's-land." I couldn't quite follow his argument, other than The Trade often hurls you into a no-mans-land, but the statement certainly prompts thought. I also noticed that this particular insight had restored Sir Harry to his usual state of gruffness, and it was time to bring this somewhat odd meeting to an end. Unless the man would spring for dessert.

He wouldn't.

*From Henning Mankell's brilliant and disturbing novel, Kennedy's Brain -- Ed.

Indian Love Call --- Not.

I should state right at the outset that I admire a number of First Nations leaders, such as Sitting Bull, Cochise, Tecumseh, or, more recently, Chief Dan George. Then there are former chiefs Terry Nelson and Dennis Pashe, and admiration is about the last thing I would give these two.

My interest in them was piqued by an item on the website of the Canadian Broadcasting System, (CBC) something that surprised. The article was not laudatory, as the CBC usually treats First Nations, but was a condemnation, The article was of course quickly removed, but not before it had appeared in the Canadian version of the Huffington Post, and from there trickled into (where else?) The Toronto Sun. The situation borders upon disbelief, and I thought it wise to give my sources prior to relating what is a very sorry tale.

It appears that Nelson, former chief of Manitoba's Roseau River Anishinabe, and Pashe, former chief of the Dakota Tipi First Nation in Manitoba, had hared off to another country to air their human rights grievances against Canada. That country?

That bastion of human rights, Iran.

In fact, Nelson and Pashe were on Iranian Press TV in Tehran on Sunday, October 7, describing First Nations reservations and stating unequivocally that "The reservations were originally more or less concentration camps." He also drew a parallel with Iran, saying that First Nations peoples were also subject to "economic sanctions".  Pashe went even further, stating "It's part of the ongoing effort by the Canadian government to exterminate us."

It was at this point that I recalled Dana Carvey's portrayal of the Church Lady on Saturday Night Live and her acid observation: "Well, isn't that precious!"

Now a word about chief Terry Nelson. An independent audit of the Roseau River Reserve found that between 2003 through to 2005, while being administered by a federal manager, the band was in surplus. When Nelson took over, however, from 2006 to 2008, the Reserve managed to accumulate a deficit of $!.5 million. Moreover, as Lorne Gunter of The Toronto Sun Reports,* "The auditor had also questioned about $567,000 in loans and advances made to six current and former employees that were not recorded in the financial statements, including money that went allegedly to Nelson's daughter for a gas station she operated on the reserve."

In 2011, he was removed as chief by his band's council, by a 9 - 1 vote. As Council spokeswoman Linda Roberts put it, the Council was concerned about Nelson's "failure to accept requests to update the Council on finances, activities, and other band governance issues."

I'll bet they were concerned. And to think that the Canadian Federal Government gives every man, woman and child upon reserves some $35,000 to $45,000 per year, as well as monies to be devoted to infrastructure, schools and housing. Where does all the money go to? Not to the women and children, that's for sure.

Mind you, those two clowns Nelson and Pashe were right about one thing -- the reserves for the most part are a total mess,** particularly in the North. They really should go, along with the Indian Act itself. To go into just how this might be accomplished is beyond the scope of this particular post, although allowing property rights would be a good start.

And one final observation. How did these two get to Iran? In that Iran itself is enduring heavy economic sanctions, I cannot see the lunatic religious leaders presently in power paying to bring infidels to come and visit. I strongly suspect that once again Federal dollars have been used to make the trip possible.

As readers will know, I am not of a religious bent, but here I sum up my feelings with the shortest verse in the Bible, John 11:35:

"Jesus wept."

*The Toronto Sun, October 12, 2012, p. 21

** Not all reserves fail. The Gibson Reserve in Muskoka, for instance, serves its populace well through their cranberry franchise. Less healthy, perhaps, but still economically viable, is the casino on the Rama reserve.

Real Terror

The Compte de Rienville was staying at the Manor for a few days, and in between bouts of ...well, never mind...we had some good conversations. One in particular stands out.

After an excellent dinner, we were enjoying some warmed Brie on Henri's fantastic home-baked crackers while sipping a forty-year-old Port brought from the Compte's cellar in his Chateau. For some reason, we were discussing what really terrifies people. I, for instance, am frightened of people with 'Causes'; I mean, if you argue with a reformer, you are always wrong. The Compte confessed to a fear of a world without electricity, and he has a point. Were the global grid to collapse suddenly, well, just imagine, and a marketable skill in such a world would be how good you were with a bow and arrow.

This was proving an interesting subject, and we thought of a number of groups, and just what they would be most frightened of. At some point, I mentioned the Taliban, and we both realized that one thing that terrified that ghastly lot were fourteen-year-old schoolgirls such as Pakistan's Malala Yousafzai. She had been shot by a member of the Taliban, and was, at the time of this writing, in critical condition in a hospital in Peshawar. The Compte put forward a thesis as to why the Taliban had acted so savagely.

In his view, the Taliban were adamant that no girls should receive any education other than a home reading of the Qu'ran, and then only appropriate suras. Girls are, after all, chattel, and what's the point of teaching chattel? It would like training a goat to sing. It can't be done, and more importantly, it would annoy the goat.* Girls are there to serve the patriarchy, and follow the precepts of vani.

"The what?" I asked at this point.

"Vani. This is the custom by which girls are handed over as child brides to settle blood feuds. In fact, just last month in Pakistan's Balochistan province 13 girls aged 4 to 16 were so used by a tribal council to settle a conflict between two clans of a major tribe over the murder of a man."

"How the hell did you know that?"

"I was there. So was your colleague Matilda Hatt. We got three of the girls out, not one of our more successful missions. Difficult to work in that area. But you would know that."

I nodded. The Compte went on to explain that a girl, once even partially educated, became extremely difficult to manage, and in at least a few incidents, had either killed their husbands -- or, as the girls state, their owners -- or killed themselves. Education of girls, then, has to be nipped in the bud. Hence that attack on the unfortunate Malala.

The Compte said, "There is, however, a bright spot in all this. For perhaps the first time, there were nationwide protests across Pakistan, denouncing the barbarity of the act. Admittedly, these were held by women. The men seem to only protest silly film footage or Danish cartoons. But it is a start."

All this was getting pretty heavy, and a change of topic was in order. So we both helped ourselves to more Brie, crackers and Port, and began to discuss who REALLY got married at the Biblical feast of Cana.

* De Rienville is, I think, referring to a remark once made by NFL quarterback Ken Stabler, who referenced a pig in this regard. The Compte well realized that a goat would be a better exemplar than a pig -- a observant Muslim wouldn't go near such a creature. --ed.

The Annual Transportation of Wood

Very late with this posting, but this sort of thing happens when you go off to the Emp's estate on a Haliburton lake. A fine group gathered to aid in the transportation of firewood from the mainland to the island, an annual and much looked forward annual event. All present contributed in various ways -- I commemorate the event in poetry -- and the job was done.

The group is an eclectic one. Bohdan, the manager of my sugar beet holdings, was there, and was looking well even if his job was a constant struggle against various and sundry bureaucratic attacks against my plantation launched by that fuckwit Viktor Yanukovych. (I refuse to talk to him until he releases Yuliya Tymoshenko from prison. Asshole). Also attending was Sir Peter Crapp, who indicated that his boss (and mine), Sir Harry of MI6, was trying to get in touch with me about a (very quiet) deal I had made with Bibi Netanyahu involving a number of Syrian farmers who had fled to Israel and, at my suggestion, assumed the identity of displaced American tourists. I will tell Sir Harry that when a thing is working well, it's best not to fix it.

Also attending was the Earl of Murphy, whose geographic knowledge of the world is considerable. Indeed, his nickname is 'World'. A later arrival was my Chief Financial Officer, WDM, who ensures that the financial gains from both the late Lord Strunsky's estate and the sugar beet enterprise do not go amiss. And they don't, although he does comment that my donations to the atheistic nuns, the Little Sisters of Poverty and Pain, are a bit of a drag on profits. I counter with the fact that the money is well spent, particularly in the number of women rescued from domestic abuse, and certainly those from Muslim or Hindu homes that are fundamentalist in nature. Which may account for the large number of fatwas against yours truly, but if you walk in the woods, you must feed mosquitoes.

So the logs all found a home on the island, and the mission was completed. The Emp was pleased, and all were glad. His hospitality was a wonderment, with superb food, fine wine, and sparkling conversation. Also, the Emp's ability to find chinks in one's psychological armour (he is very good at this) was much less evident, a kinder, gentler approach if you will. Not completely, mind you; one always had to be on guard for an unexpected verbal jab or poke. But this is part of the Emp's charm.

A culmination of sorts was an impressive bonfire in the fire pit, something dear to the heart of WDM. Yes, he is a brilliant financier, but underneath that exterior lurks a pyromaniac. (I hasten to add that the fire danger in the area was low). I acted as supervisor, an acknowledgement of my delicate and fragile condition,* and scanned the skies seeking out any water bombers from the Ministry of Natural Resources that might suddenly appear.

The only lacuna in the whole thing was a somewhat unaccountable lack of reference to the fair sex. I mean, all are getting on, but still.....As Marvell put it in his poem, 'To His Coy Mistress', "The grave's a fine and private place / But none I think do there embrace."

Too true, and it is a very good thing the Compte de Rienvelle is shortly expected at the Manor. Can't happen soon enough.

All for now.

*This is rubbish. It was not that long ago when Simone had a wee tussle with an Al Qaeda operative on the north face of the Eiger. Later, the body was found in a deep crevasse. This was initially thought to be a mountain climbing accident until the bullet hole in the forehead came into view, setting off an Interpol investigation in three Alpine countries, and gave Sir Harry a severe headache.. Delicate and fragile? As I said, rubbish. --Ed. 

Dealing With Deutschland

The German ambassador had gotten in touch, and requested a short meeting. I suspected this was to forward thanks from Angela Merkel for a small gift I had sent her. I had done the German Republic a small favour, and Dr. Merkel had sent me two tickets for next year's Ring at Bayreuth. Since these tickets are scarcer than hen's teeth, I was grateful, and in return, knowing her background in physics, had forwarded a photo, never released to the press, of the Higgs Bosun. It does pay dividends to have a son working at CERN.

I was partly right.

I had prepared for the meeting with some care. The ambassador had been invited to tea, and I had ensured that all was in order -- the tea brewed, the scones freshly made (my cook Henri excels at this sort of thing) and plenty of wild raspberry jam available. I had also taken care with my appearance, aware that the ambassador was somewhat of a connoisseur in the area of feminine pulchritude. Hence I had selected a white silk blouse to go with a smashing beige hemp jumper designed by my son Sebastian. I then slipped on a Gianfranco Ferre belt, complete with gold buckle. And since the ambassador was on the short side, I stayed away from my stilettos and went with the Roger Vivier sandals.

Yes, I was taking care, but I also wanted a favour from the ambassador.

He arrived, and was duly appreciative of both the tea and scones as well as overlong glances at yours truly from time to time. I knew the man was happily married, but I also knew that his wife didn't much care where he got his appetite, as long as he ate at home.

We then got down to business.

"First," began the ambassador, "I must commend your command of German. Excellent."

"Danke schoen" I replied.

"Of course, the time you spent in the DDR, and that incident with the Stasi --"

"Perhaps best forgotten --"

"All forgotten of course. Secondly, Dr. Merkel was delighted with the photograph from CERN. A truly spectacular discovery. She also has a small request."

Here it comes, I thought.

"Apparently," the ambassador continued, "the libation we make from your sugar beets is proving very popular, and demand has begun to exceed supply. We would like to negotiate for more."

"You're talking about Zuckerruben-Sirup."

"Yes. Many have come to think that it prolongs life."

"Well," I said, "I would certainly love to supply more, but we are at capacity now. However, I do hold certain rights for land expansion, but cannot exercise them. If I could, I would be able to increase supply with no difficulty."

"What is the problem?"

"The rights were negotiated with Yuliya Tymoshenko, who, having lost an election to that twit, Viktor Yanukovych, was immediately hurled into prison. In my attempts to expand, he blocks me at every turn. If he could be brought to see reason...."

"What are you suggesting?"

"It is possible that Dr. Merkel could play a small role here. I understand she has a good relationship with Vladimir Putin."

"That is so," replied the ambassador.

"A word, then, in Putin's tinted ear on the matter might carry some weight. He then could 'persuade' Yanukovych to release that land, and we would be off to the races. An added bonus would be to release Yuliya herself, but that might be asking too much. He really is a bastard."

"I will take the matter under advisement, and see what can be done."

After that the meeting was mostly pleasantries, although I did press the ambassador somewhat on the 'long life' aspect of Zuckerruben-Sirop. He at that point mentioned a news item he had seen out of China, involving a man who had lived 122 years. When asked how he had accomplished this, he said that he had stayed away from tobacco, women and alcohol. Shortly after, he died, and his last words were telling: "I think I've made a huge mistake."

You think?

Islamic Straw Dogs

Here we go again. An ill-made rather pathetic little video is released that is unkind to the Prophet Mohammad, and the Middle East erupts in an orgy of burning and killing. The West sucks it up and proffers apologies. Even Hillary Clinton, who should know better, felt the need to denounce the video. (I suspect she was pressured into the stance.) In any event, these actions did not stop the carnage, which is still going on as I write these words.

It is, of course, nonsense.

In 1979, Saudi fanatics (and that's saying something) attacked the Ka'aba in Mecca. The result? A retaliatory attack was immediately launched against the American Embassy in Islamabad, an action that gives an entirely new meaning to the term 'non-seqitur'. A new strategy begins to surface --  any slur against Muslims is to be laid at the door of the West, and particularly Israel and the United States.

Sometimes, of course, given the deranged activities that jihadists get up to, this is not possible, and, amazingly, Muslims are not offended. Fourteen thousand dead and disappeared youth in Pakistan-occupied Baluchistan, and not a murmur. 500,000 Muslim Darfuris killed by the Arab janjaweed, well, these things happen. The blowing up of the Bamiyan Buddha statues by the Taliban shrugged off without any protest whatsoever, other than thinking, "boys will be boys". And 20,000 dead Syrians you would think would cause an attack on Iran's Embassy. You would be wrong, and yet.... and here comes the crunch: a minor, mediocre video causes all hell to break loose, and an American ambassador killed. This almost, I say almost, creates a wish for the return of George W. Bush.

You see, to borrow from T.S. Eliot's Tradition and the Individual Talent, the objective correlatives are all wrong. The real causes of all the mayhem have little to do with silly films, and everything to do with the power struggle between fundamentalist and moderate Islam. Illiterate youth are urged to focus on America, and under this aegis create the mayhem that allows sundry self-appointed imams, mullahs and ayatollahs to obtain power. It worked in Iran. Why not elsewhere?

Once in power, of course, the leaders immediately clamp down on any form of protest save one that focuses on the horror of Israel or the U.S.A. The leaders are there to 'protect' the populace, not unlike Oliver Cromwell's actions during his dictatorship. Indeed, Cromwell himself was termed "a Lord Protector" and this brought to mind a line from a book on English royalty whose title escapes me*: "Lord, protect us from Lord Protectors".

Devoutly to be wished.

*Didn't escape me. The book Lady S. refers to is an excellent work entitled Kings and Queens, by E. Farjeon and H. Farjeon. It has pride of place on my library shelf, next to Sellar and Yeatman's brilliant 1066 And All That. --Ed.

He Ran, She Ran, We All Ran From I...Ran

On the world stage, Canada traditionally plays a cautionary role, a kind of Galapagos turtle, given to making small, almost imperceptible movements when it thinks no one is looking.

Every now and then, however, Canada startles. Think the discovery of insulin. Think the Avro Arrow.* Think (although here I push things a bit) Justin Bieber. And this brings me to the closing of the Canadian Embassy in Iran, and the subsequent booting out of all Iranian diplomats from their Canadian Embassy.

Now such actions are never taken without a great deal of thought, resembling if you will the burning of bridges a la Cortez in Mexico. A line has been drawn, and a point made crystal clear.

What on earth prompted such an action?

The Canadian Minister for Foreign Affairs, John Baird, trotted out the usual reasons. Iran was a rogue state, determined to drive Israel into the sea, and determined as well to possess nuclear power. Moreover, the country was ruled by unhinged maniacs who have torn to pieces what once was a reasonable religion -- if, indeed, any religion can be termed 'reasonable'. Finally, both the American and the British embassies had previously come under attack, and readers will no doubt remember Canada's role in rescuing American diplomats from becoming hostages.

All true, but all known, and this begs a question, what was different this time?

This intrigued me, and I called in some markers by colleagues in The Trade. I knew that the Canadian Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, attending an Asian Conference in Vladivostok, had extensive meetings with Vladimir Putin of Russia, Ju Jintao of China, and Hillary Clinton of the U.S.A. My sources also indicated a lengthy telephone conversation with Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel. In terms of what was released to the public, there was the usual references to trade, the ghastly situation in Syria, and the parlous state of the world economy. Nothing new there, and there was nothing untoward to be found in cyberspace. (After the Julian Assange fiasco, really hot information is now almost totally verbal.)

Yet it was directly after after these meetings that Baird made his announcement with respect to the closure of the Embassies. And, folks, you can be sure that Baird did not make such an announcement on his own. This had to have been ordered by Harper, who runs a very tight ship indeed.

Further investigation led to a certain conclusion. After a check with Sir Harry, my superior in MI 6, I was told in no uncertain terms to shut up. All I can tell you, dear reader, is that October will be a very, very interesting month.

Interesting in the Chinese sense of the term.

* With the Avro Arrow, Canada had the temerity to create a jet fighter miles ahead of any other at the time. This startled the world. It also startled the United States, and  the President,John Kennedy, immediately made the Prime Minister, John Diefenbaker an offer he couldn't refuse. The Arrow was then scrapped. An uptick here was the fact that a goodly number of the aeronautical engineers at De Havilland, who had developed the plane, were hired to work at Cape Canaveral with that All- American scientist, Werner Von Braun, and became instrumental in paving America's way to place Neil Armstrong on the moon. So it goes.

To Comment: Send to Editor at bill071@rogers.com

Putting It To Putin

What on earth is going on with Vladimir Putin?

I ask this upon learning from my sources (very reliable) within Moscow who inform me that his latest venture involves dressing as a Siberian Red crane and, piloting a glider, attempting to teach these cranes how to reach winter nesting areas. This from a man who throws any opposition politician into prison at a moment's notice, or has it in for female rockers who upset the Russian Orthodox Church. This, of course, begs another question: when did such an avowed atheist become a good son of the Church? Finally, his actions encourage others, and so Viktor Yanukovych of Ukraine can take heart and throw his own opposition leader into prison. Poor Yuliya Tymoshenko, she who helped Putin secure a very favourable gas contract. It really is true -- no good deed goes unpunished.

I mean, could you imagine Stephen Harper dressing as a Canada Goose and leading the flock to God knows where.* Or Angela Merkel donning the habit of a crow and leading the flock out of Germany?** I think not.

Putin, of course, is the President of Russia. Now in a normal country, the role of President is largely ceremonial. The person offered this position by a Prime Minister is usually of the Great and the Good, and is appointed to bring stature, stability and a certain amount of gravitas to the whole legislative edifice.  In this regard, the best example would be that of constitutional monarchy, and Queen Elizabeth II of the U.K. would be the perfect exemplar. In terms of ceremonial Presidents, Germany and Austria come to mind. Putin, however, has iron control of the reins of power, and hence the Prime Minister -- in this case Dmitri Medvedev -- is very much cabin'd, cribb'd and confin'd by such a mis-use of the Presidency.

(An aside. The U.S. President operates under an entirely different arrangement, with an emphasis on the separation of powers among the legislative, executive and judicial branches. As can be seen, this can lead to gridlock, but what did you expect? The whole kit and caboodle was developed in large part by the political philosopher the Baron de Montesquieu, who was French. Enough said.)

Perhaps Putin is simply bored, and needs to hunt grey whales, to explore the depths in scuba gear, and to face down tigers. I have no problem with that, but not if he is to be an effective President. So I have fired off a letter, urging him to seriously consider retirement, when he could fly cranes ALL THE TIME.

But he is Russian, and I conclude with this observation from The Economist: '"if only Russia were different, it could be a wonderful country' is a lament the country's greatest writers have been proclaiming  for two centuries -- and in better prose."

Rimshot.

* Possibly to Quebec. They can be a nuisance there.

** Lady S. had originally used the proper term for a group of crows, a 'murder'. In that the term is not that well known, and that Dr. Merkel might take offence, I altered it, although not without thinking that were she to actually lead the crows, she would undoubtedly aim straight for Greece. --ed.

An Unconventional Convention

I was looking forward to watching the Berlin Philharmonic and my daughter Isolde in a performance of Sibelius' violin concerto, scheduled on the Public Television Network. (Commercial TV does not carry this stuff.) I was, then, mightily upset when I found out that the performance had been pre-empted by the Republican National Convention. This was akin to expecting a filet Mignon steak and getting hamburger helper.

Worse, I got hooked for a bit in listening to some of the speakers at the convention, amazed at their ability to hold two ideas directly opposite to each other, and somehow bring them forward as a unified whole. Let me explain.

Now I well realize that to hold two conflicting ideas at the same time is possible -- religious leaders do it all the time, as they acknowledge (begrudgingly) scientific reason while maintaining the validity of their particular superstition. Yet politics is supposed to be the art of the possible, and I was flabbergasted to hear speaker after speaker hold forth on two such opposing ideas.

The first idea propounded by the speakers was that government is far too large, and must be cut back severely, almost to the point of emasculation. The second idea was that leadership of this government was all-important, and that Mitt Romney would be the one to lead such a renewal. But to lead...what?  The government being proposed was to be a shell of its former self, and surely the hallmark of  leadership is to strengthen, not to weaken, forces at his command. Or hers, but it will be some before Republicans go down this particular road again. Step forward, Sarah Palin.

This awkward dichotomy extended to the audience, where two delegates sat side by side. One hoisted a sign from time to time that stated "WE NEED LESS GOVERNMENT PROGRAMS!" The other raised a sign exclaiming "DON'T YOU TAKE MY MEDICARE!" But Medicare is a government program, and hence.....oh, forget it. Finally, there was an unrelenting attack on taxes, with frequent reference to the 'fact" that this was God's will, and that such tax cutting would lead to some sort of fiscal heaven. My comment here is that Republicans appear very keen on the 'what', but not so hot on the 'how'.

I had had enough. Yet I was still in the mood for some TV, and then a happy thought occurred. There was a show that I always PVR, and turn to when I want to hear people who really know what they're talking about.

I refer, of course, to The Antique Road Show.

May all have a lovely week.

Critiquing Criticism

My eldest daughter, Isolde, called me from St Petersburg in a rage. She is a top-ranked violinist, and had just read a scathing review of her work in some state-owned press organ.

"Mum, the reviewer thought I was playing Brahms. It was a Bartok concerto, for God's sake! You'd think the clown would have at least read the program!"

How did the audience receive it?"

"I...er...got a standing ovation", she stated in a more subdued voice.

"Then that's your critical review. Now stop whining and move on."

She did so, but I was curious. Russians can be incompetent at many things -- legal transparency comes to mind, along with throwing female rockers into prison for praying to the Virgin Mary -- but they do know their music. What was this all about? After a few strategic phone calls to some friends in St Petersburg I had met over the years, the picture became clear. Apparently a crony of Putin, who previously had managed an extensive pig farm, was getting on in years. A sinecure was found for him at a St. Petersburg state-owned paper, and it seemed the only position vacant was one of music critic. Enough said.

Still, the whole incident got me thinking about critics and criticism, and evolving one iron clad rule: KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. Northrup Frye, in his Anatomy of Criticism, makes this point well when he writes: "When a critic meets St. George the Redcross Knight in Spenser, bearing a red cross on a white ground, he has some idea what to do with this figure. When he meets a female in Henry James' The Other House called Rose Arminger with a white dress and a red parasol, he is, in the current slang, clueless."

Now I have a background in English Literature, and Frye's comment is spot on. The reverse of the medal would be me criticizing an economic proposal to deal with stabilizing the European bond market. My take on economics is a simple one: always ensure there's more money coming in than is going out. Yet things are a great deal more complicated than that, what with collateralized debt options, derivatives, swaps, and the complexity of futures trading. To say nothing of the LIBOR mess. For this area, I turn to my financial advisor, WDM, who does know what he's talking about. It's something I (and my sugar beets) have never regretted.

Now I well realize that there is a key difference between formal criticism and the expressing of an opinion. Just imagine a dinner party under the conversational stricture of knowing what you are talking about. The silence would be deafening. It is for this reason that the weather is such a popular topic. No one really understands it, and meteorologists have been known to throw up their hands when a hurricane unexpectedly veers into an area where no one thought it would go, or a normal little rainfall turns into a raging flood, with people screaming, "Why weren't we told!" To this end, weather predictors turn for help to a Latino and a Latina ocean current,  El Nino and El Nina respectively. As Marshall McLuhan well knew, naming is numbing, and everyone feels better. Mind you, this bringing forth of figures that ease one's mind doesn't always help, as the writings of Joseph Smith and a semi-insane Arab merchant well attest. But I digress.

It is, of course, not easy being a critic. But if you know your stuff, you can elucidate and even illuminate the piece being criticized so that greater understanding emerges. In film, for example, critics such as Pauline Kael, Jason Alexander and Roger Ebert do their job well, and in literature, well, it's hard to top old Northrop. Of course, few accolades are ever tossed a critic's way, and I conclude with these words from the composer Jean Sibelius: "Always remember, there is no city in the world which has created a statue to a critic."

Lauding The Laconic

My daughter Victoria was spending a few days with me at the Manor. She needed time to recover from receiving a number of bumps and bruises from her various roles as a 'stunt victim' in a number of films and TV shows. She is also a first rate historian, but this is not a highly paid profession, and she does like her Guccis and Louis Vuittons. Hence the (considerable) supplementary income.

One of the bruises, on her left forearm, was particularly nasty.

"And that one," I said, pointing to her arm, "just how --"

"Oh, that happened on a cool British show called 'Strike Back'. It was a mistake."

"No kidding."

"Really," Victoria replied, and took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"You see," she began, "I was tied to a chair for an interrogation, the thumbscrews were ready, when one of the soldiers -- real SAS guys helping out -- accidentally tipped the chair over. I fell on my arm, it hurt like blazes, and I screamed bloody blue murder. Everyone was apologetic as hell, and the director immediately offered a $10,000 bonus. Said it was one of the best shots he had ever filmed. And the soldier felt so bad he took me to dinner that night at the Savoy. It was a great night out -- who's Bella Abzug?"

Victoria had noticed an article I had been reading.

"Bella Abzug," I explained, "was a fine New York Congresswoman who expressed herself in very brief but incisive manner, in a laconic way, if you will. She also had a way with hats, maybe not quite the paragon that the late Queen Mum was, but not bad at all."

Victoria ignored the comment about hats, but was curious about my use of the words 'brief' and 'incisive'.

"I'll give you an example," I said. "Ms Abzug had no use for the term 'housewife'."

"Why ever not?"

"Because she said it implies that there's another wife or wives somewhere else."

"Hmmm. Pretty laconic," said Victoria. "And somewhat coincidental."

"How so?"

"Turns out that I am currently co-authoring a paper on Sparta's role in the Peloponnisian Wars. Another name for Sparta was Lakedaemon, and their use of terse, to the point writing gives us the word 'laconic'. So we have the memorial at Thermopolae where Xerxes' Persians were held up long enough that Greece could get its act together. All it states is 'Go stranger and to Lakedaemon tell, / That here, obeying her behest, we fell.'"

"Your point is made," I stated. Girl did know her history.

"Oh, I can do better than that," said Victoria. I remember reading somewhere** that Phillip of Macedon sent a threatening letter to the city officials, the ephors, of Sparta, which stated 'If I enter Lakedaemon, I shall raze it.' The ephors sent a one word reply, an 'if'." Can't beat that, Mum."

No you can't.

** Victoria really must have been bounced around a bit. She usually is very accurate in naming her sources. The "if" example is cited in Norman Davies' fine text Europe, Oxford University Press, (London, 1996) p. 133. -- ed.

Of This And That

Last night saw the arrival of the Compte de Rienville, who had had quite enough of overseeing French security at the London Olympics. After a fine dinner a small party occurred, involving the Compte, my minder Irving, his computer whiz colleague Rachel, and yours truly. For some reason, all felt like a sing-song, so nothing would do but gather round the piano and let loose with a number of oldies and goldies from the Spanish Civil War.

This choice had come about with the Compte's observation that corruption still was too much in evidence at the Olympics. I made the point that it was at least better that when old Juan Samaranch was in charge, the man who insisted on being called "His Excellency". I mean, really. And this was the guy who was Education Minister under Franco -- hence the draw of the Spanish Civil War.

Later in the evening, the Compte having noticed that I was somewhat subdued, I admitted that my two daughters weren't on good terms with me at present. Both Victoria and Isolde had somehow obtained tickets to various Olympic events. Earlier in the day they had called me, expressing outrage about some goings on at a soccer match, and an insane (their term) result of a boxing bout. They sought my opinion, looking for support.

They didn't get it.

I explained that I don't watch any event that involves interpretation on the part of judges or referees. I also avoid like the plague anything that has the word 'synchronization' in it. I stick to timed events, and am quite content watching swimming races (but not diving) and all activities related to track and field. These allow an athlete to compete as themselves, without some incompetent (or worse, corrupt) official throwing a spanner into the works. Yes, timed events have supervisors, but these people are there to ensure fairness-- starts, sticking to the prescribed lane, or measuring the distance of a throw or jump. In other words, such officials ensure a level playing field. Referees and judges too often tilt the field itself.

The girls did not accept my stance on this issue, wanting me to join them in some heartfelt wailing and bemoaning at whatever injustice had affected them. This to me was getting close to whining, something that I will not countenance under any circumstances. The call then ended abruptly, and I was left feeling not a little remorse.

Irving had listened to all this, and was spurred to remark, "You know, Simone, this will happen again and again."

"Well, that's comforting," I responded gloomily. "And just how do you know this?"

"The Talmud."

"Oh, of course. The Talmud. And just how does that ancient text speak to this issue?

"Very well," replied Irving. "Quite simply, it states, 'Do not attempt to understand your children. They were born in a different time.'"

I will have to ponder that for a bit, but it was in a way.......comforting.

Olympic Oddities

I didn't expect to be writing on the 2012 London Olympics -- why add to what amounts to a verbal torrent of prose --  but then certain things stood out that irritated me enough to  alter my purpose. These are as follows:

The Shameful. Aside from the Opening Ceremonies, where the main stadium was packed, all venues, including the main stadium, featured large gaps where no one was seated.  Those who wanted a ticket were told that all were sold out. Turns out that these huge 'seating gaps' were reserved for and had been distributed to, Olympic VIP's (read: Various Idiotic Prats). Obviously, such VIPs had much more important things to attend to then actually watch an Olympic event. As I say, shameful.

The Bizarre. We go now to fencing, where a young South Korean girl was in a close match. As the clock wound down, she scored a go-ahead point, but with one second remaining, THE TIMER STOPPED. No big deal, you might say. I mean, all the girl had to do was back up on the ramp (or piste, as it is termed) and she would advance. Hell, even a non-fencer would succeed in such a case. But, oh no. The officials hemmed and hawed over the machine, a process that took some 25 minutes, with a now crying athlete forced to stay on the piste when all this was occurring. Finally, these paragons of athletic justice made their decision. The timer was re-set, and the match began all over again. Needless to say, the South Korean girl, now an emotional wreck, lost the match. This, then, a lovely example of common sense being trumped by bureaucratic paranoia.

The Gutsy. The bone-jarring, sinew-straining sport of badminton now comes to our attention. Owing to a somewhat insane of match grouping, it can and did result in teams finding it more profitable to lose a match, in order to face a weaker opponent later on. Badminton itself is wildly popular in South-East Asia, where most of the officials come from. As two matches of this ilk took place, the crowds in attendance (minus, of course, those VIPs referred to earlier) rained down their disapproval. I fully expected their displeasure to be ignored. After all, the teams, from China, South Korea, and Indonesia were from the "home" area, as it were. Lo and behold, however, badminton officials, as did Lady Macbeth, "put their courage to the sticking place" and turfed the teams right out of the competition. As well, they vowed that from this point on, there would be blind cross matches to ensure that such a thing never happens again. Well bowled, guys!

The Ridiculous. I will give the Saudis some credit for allowing two women to participate in the Games (although not without some severe arm-twisting by Olympic chief Jacques Rogge). I will give them no credit at all for insisting that one of the women, entered in the Judo competition, wear her hijab. At no point, of course, did we hear her views on the matter. When the appropriate Judo officials indicated wearing a hijab was forbidden for safety reasons, something the Saudis would have known in advance, they objected, and threatened to withdraw their women from the Games. Unlike the badminton officials referred to above, these officials caved, and the woman was allowed to wear a 'specially-designed' covering. Now I know from experience that Judo is a fabric-gripping sport, and wearing any kind of fabric around the head or neck make strangulation a very real possibility. This appeared to worry the Saudis not at all. I mean, we are talking about a woman here......

The Petty. Some of the VIPs have let it be known that the opening ceremonies went on too long. All those countries joyously marching in and all. You'd think that the athletes were the most important aspect of the Games. Silly thought.

The Awkward. The Olympic motto is citius, altius, fortius -- fastest, highest, strongest. There seems, however, to be a recent addition to these three: the prettiest. In some events, it is not just that you have performed an athletic feat, but how good you looked while doing it. Synchronized swimming is perhaps the best example, but gymnastics and platform diving also fall under this rubric. Thus we move from a performance per se to an interpretation of that performance. I wonder what Baron de Coubertin would have thought about all this?

So there. And I will now make myself a martini, a drink that, in a certain competition some years ago, I received my very own gold medal from the bartenders at the old Gollywog Lounge at New York's Taft Hotel. Have a nice weekend.