Inquiring Into An Inquiry

Recently, I had the opportunity to enjoy some time with a very good friend of mine. We had dinner at The Manor; my chef, Henri, made an excellent Coquilles St Jacques, accompanied with -- but I begin to digress. Suffice it to say that dinner was a wonderful thing, as was the Chablis that accompanied it.

My friend, who I do not name for reasons that will soon become obvious, was a senior officer in the RCMP, and she used our get- together to do some necessary venting.

What irritated her was the strident call for an inquiry into the tragedy of the missing and murdered aboriginal women in Canada.

 Now a public Inquiry, while an expensive use of taxpayer dollars, can be a useful thing, particularly in getting at issues that were to this point hidden, and unearthing who precisely was responsible. The point is to remedy the situation so that it does not occur again, and mete out justice to the perpetrators.

NONE OF THIS APPLIES TO AN INQUIRY INTO THE FATE OF THESE ABORIGINAL WOMEN.

We know, for instance, all too well what the issues and perpetrators are are, and hence the call for an Inquiry falls, not into determining the facts, but into political theatre.* As to what we do know, here my RCMP friend provided the following information, all of which has been made public, and duly ignored by those pressing for an Inquiry.

As of  June, 2013, there are 6,420 missing persons on Canada, of whom 1455 are women. Of those, 164 are aboriginal. And out of those, 105 are missing in unknown or suspicious circumstances. Further, 88% of the murders of aboriginal women have been solved by police. -- almost identical to the 89% of murders of non-aboriginal women.

Moreover my RCMP informant indicated that of these aboriginal victims, 30% were murdered by their husbands, 23% by another family member, and 30% were murdered by an acquaintance. Only 8% were murdered by strangers.

It gets worse. Of the aboriginal family members and acquaintances who kill aboriginal women, 44% are drunk, compares to 15% of murderers of non-aboriginal women. Also, 74% of the murderers of aboriginal women are unemployed and 71% of the murderers of aboriginal women had a criminal record, 53% had been convicted before of a violent crime, and 62% had a history of violence with the murder victim herself.

If you are going to have an Inquiry, try focussing on those statistics. I for one, would look forward to hearing whatever response will come from a number of very well paid band chiefs.

I'm done with this.



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* Justin Trudeau may not know these statistics -- he tends to wander lonely as a cloud -- but Mulcair certainly does, and keeps silent. For shame. I am also appalled to see the Premiers being roped into an issue best addressed by the professional "carers" such as Neil Young, David Suzuki and (this just in) Leonardo DiCaprio.

A Vicious Little Sandwich

It may be apocryphal, but I believe it was Dr. William Osler who once said, "To hell with modern medicine. Half of the pills developed today should be thrown out the window, except it would be bad for the birds." Maybe so, but I got the right half, and my irritating bronchial cough is fast disappearing.

Which brings me to another statement, and the issue I want to address in this post. Dr. Norman Davies, in his magnificent historical account entitled Europe, writes the following: "The first recorded strike was organized by the weavers of Douai in 1245"* Professor Davies does not give the result, but this doesn't detract from the point I want to make -- unions have been with us for some time, and so has their right to strike.

I have no quarrel with that. A union wants better wages and living conditions, management balks, a strike ensues, and one of the parties concedes the position of the other. In most instances, there is compromise on both sides. The process is not called 'collective bargaining' for nothing.

And in earlier times, a strike was often the only weapon workers had to enable them to achieve a reasonable standard of life. A quick read of Orwell's Down The Mine, or a look at Galsworthy's play Strife will bring the point home brutally but effectively.

For most of its history, collective bargaining involved only two entities -- management and the union. Recently, however, a third party has entered the process, and here things go very wrong indeed. This is the 'vicious sandwich' referred to in the title.

The third element, the 'meat' in the sandwich if you will, is the public, and this aspect of the bargaining process only occurs where a public service union is concerned. The public is truly an innocent party in the process, caught between management (the government) and the union.

It is true that certain public services have been denied the right to strike, and use a binding arbitration process instead. Police officers, firefighters, and EMT personnel come to mind. This is done for reasons of public safety. 

What I am arguing for is a moral rationale that would bring an arbitration process for ALL public service unions. The public is not the reason for the strike, that would be government policy that is viewed by the union as strike worthy. But it is the public that suffers, and that in the final analysis is immoral.

This vicious sandwich becomes a moral horror story when a teachers' union decides to strike, thereby harming the students that they, acting in loco parentis as the Education Act puts it, have agreed to care for, nurture and teach.

The late and highly respected Dr R.W. Jackson, former head of the Ontario Institute of Education, would be appalled. After all, it was he who once wrote, "Never lose sight of the fact that the child as learner is not only the centre of the education system, but the very reason for its existence."**

The child.

Not a teachers' union.

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* N. Davies, Europe, O.U.P. (Oxford,1996) p. 370

** Ontario Ministry of Education, Issues and Directions, June, 1980, p. 1

A Wee Lacuna

As Lady Simone's editor, I regret to inform readers that there will be no post this week. She unfortunately fell into the clutches of a minor bronchial cough, and wanted to rest to stop it turning into something more major.

This was a pity, for I noticed the following scribble on her notepad, that might have been the subject to be explored in the post. It was short, but to the point: 'Sheep cloned in a laboratory. The answer to Blake's question, "Little lamb, who made thee?"'

Well, maybe next week.

-- The Editor.

A (Somewhat) Brighter Future For Television

"Television? No good will come of it. The word is half Greek and half Latin."

So wrote C.P. Snow, former editor of the Manchester Guardian. He has a point, given the nonsense that tends to be put out over the airways these days. What with reality shows, endless clusters of celebrities discussing issues with an ignorance that often astonishes, or news broadcasts that tend to sum up all that one needs to know concerning a knotty geopolitical issue in about ten seconds -- perhaps Snow had it right.

Or perhaps not.

I should like to put forward that things are not necessarily as bleak as they appear. The Public Broadcast system continues to soldier on, with its fine documentaries, excellent concerts, and that favourite of many -- The Antique Road Show.*

Moreover, in terms of broadcast television, live sports broadcasts can often be exciting to watch. To be sure, the days that advertisers would underwrite and support a show such as All In The Family are long gone. Some "Interest Group" would be offended by the antics of Archie Bunker, scream to the high heavens, and at that point the advertisers would beat a hasty retreat and cancel the show. Just ask comedian Bill Maher -- he knows all about that sort of behaviour.

Yet certain players in the television world, combining with technological invention, discovered a way around the stifling atmosphere that was choking any ounce of dramatic (and yes, sexual) creativity to death.

Enter, stage right, cable and pay for view, along with the glories of HBO with its Boardwalk Empire, Deadwood and the magnificent Game of Thrones. Advertisers, terrified that someone would be upset (bet on it) would flee these shows in a heartbeat. Yet even they, watching, must be filled with remorse as they realize just how many eyeballs they have forsaken.

Now I well realize that I have barely scraped the surface of this topic. Where, you might well ask, are my comments on such popular TV offerings as Downton Abbey, The Big Bang Theory, or Grey's Anatomy. A fair question, but I believe I have gone far enough to rest my case. Television, once thought dead, has arisen rather effectively.

That, is, as well, the theme behind HBO's True Blood, a coincidence that sums things up rather nicely.

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* The Roadshow can be a delight. Not only does it showcase the average person's interest in the past, it also allows a forum for those who actually know what they are talking about, always a Good Thing.

Martyrs Misapplied

Today's news, particularly from the Middle East, is filled with the brave actions of martyrs belonging to Al-Qaeda, ISIS, Hamas, Hezbollah, or a myriad of sub-sects connected in some way with the Muslim religion.

This denoting of such personnel as "martyrs" is rubbish.

It would be akin to celebrating the soldiers landing in Normandy on D-Day, or those who died at Ypres, as martyrs. Brave, yes. Patriotic, yes. Afraid, yes. Skilled, yes. But martyrs they were not.

My reasoning here begins with a definition, in this case from Merriam Webster's Free Dictionary: A martyr is "A person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing and refusing to renounce a religion."

Some examples come to mind. Various saints of the Catholic Church, such as Peter or Andrew would qualify, as would Thomas a Becket, Thomas More, or (although a number of Papal hurdles had to be crossed that took some time) Joan of Arc. And not to be forgotten are the deaths in Canada of Fathers Lalement and Brebeuf.

Indeed, the Catholic Church can be said to have originated the word "martyr." Yet in no case did such martyrs launch themselves into such a state. They endured passively; it was their persecutors that acted.

This point is key. There can certainly be Muslim martyrs, but not if you are wearing a suicide vest with an aim to create as much carnage as possible. That is not passivity, that is acting to purposefully harm; that is not martyrdom, it is murder.

And if you look carefully at my list of Catholic martyrs, all were adults, well aware of what they were doing, and why. The children that are often used as Muslim "martyrs" have barely lived, and are totally under the control of an Imam or Mullah who "is commanded by Allah."  And such Imams or Mullahs tend not to be near any incident that might suddenly turn explosive. I mean, they might be at risk. Can't have that.

Ghastly people. I suspect Dante, were he alive and writing The Inferno, would fire them all into the Ninth Circle. Couldn't happen soon enough.

Being Careful With Time

It was, I believe, Napoleon Bonaparte who once stated, "One always has a chance of recovering lost ground, but lost time --  never." It is for this reason that I, at some cost, employ a person skilled in the art and science of information technology.

Some have questioned the not inconsiderable expense of such an approach, but I stand firm. My reasons are as follows.

When I wish to write something electronically, and to communicate whatever was written to another, that is time well spent. Mind you, the written piece should be worth reading, but as a devoted reader of this weekly report, I'm sure there are no qualms in that regard. What would not be time well spent is thrashing about trying to get ta faulty communication device -- computer, laptop, or whatever -- to work effectively.

Too often I have seen others grappling with such an issue, and wasting a goodly amount of time being frustrated as this or that attempt fails. Worse, when dealing with that modern avatar of Satan, the Indian Help Desk located somewhere in Uttar Pradesh, the whole already too lengthy process can now, if allowed, extend to infinity.

Not a good use of time. Not at all. I want my time to serve my priorities, priorities which are some distance away from technical arcana.

Such time-wasting is not a mistake we make when we write a letter. When the mail sometimes goes amiss, a phone call to the post office will quickly clear up the situation. Could be a statuary holiday, or the union happily exercising its abundance of sick days,* or whatever. But rarely does such a conversation go beyond five minutes, if that.

Compare that use of time to your latest rumble in the jungle of technology, an area where it doesn't do to bungle. And there, methinks, lies the crux of the problem. Technology, and the newness of it all.

Therefore, my answer is to fight fire with fire, and employ a technical expert who can hold his (actually, her) ground with the best that Dell, Microsoft, IBM and others have to offer in the field of complicated technical advice. And I must add that my expert enjoys grappling with all the new advances that seem to occur daily.

After all, it was not that long ago that people thought semiconductors were part-time orchestra leaders and microchips were very, very small snack foods.

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* Now, now -- a titch of bias showing there. -- Ed.

The Perigee of Vladimir Putin

It was in my mind to write something quite different than that which follows, but events overtook.

I was expecting Rachel Levi, my IT specialist, to return from Kiev, whereupon I could get her thoughts on the whole Israeli / Hamas mess. However, when that Malaysian commercial airliner got shot out of the sky over Eastern Ukraine, she agreed to assist the Ukrainian authorities (the elected ones) on determining just who had done what, to whom, and why.

Here is her report.

In her opinion, after listening to various intercepts (she is understandably vague here) the incident boils down to the actions one of Putin's minions, a certain Igor Girkin, AKA Igor Strelkov. Rachel knew he was a former GRU operative, and recently was prominent in or around the eastern Ukrainian town of Donetsk. Indeed, Igor had recently proclaimed himself the Minister of Defence for the Donetsk Peoples' Republic.

Apparently he had taken credit for the missile hit, but then denied this. Rachel suspected he had heard from a furious Vladimir Putin.
She even forwarded a rather garbled recording in Russian when the incident occurred, as follows:

Voice: "We hit it! We hit it! The bomber is no more."

Strelkov: "I don't think it was a bomber, you idiot."

Voice: "What?"

Strelkov:"It was, I think, an civilian airliner."

Voice: "Shit!"

Admittedly the recordings were somewhat indistinct, and my Russian is a bit rusty, but the gist is there. The blowback on Putin would be severe, and justly deserved. Perhaps the words of Lord Macaulay were in his mind, although somewhat in reverse.

Macaulay had written, "Moderation in war is imbecility." What Putin could well be thinking is, "In war, imbecility can lose you everything."

A Technical Hiatus

I write this in hope that it actually sees the light of day -- or at least the light of a computer monitor. To alter an adage, "The spirit is willing, but the Wi-Fi is weak." You write a lovely sentence, and it disappears and is replaced with the dreaded "THIS PAGE CANNOT BE DISPLAYED."

Now it might be OK for Hiawatha to have an excellent wrestling match with the Corn God, but I have better things to do then wrestle with the Imps of Techdom. My IT support, Rachel Levi, is somewhere in Kiev right now doing something that apparently will
irritate Putin no end, but is expected back in two days. So I will take a break, and return next week.

These things happen.

The Surround Sound of Negativity

One of the causes I support is the work of the Canadian Taxpayer's Federation. (CTF). In this regard I attended a meeting where the suggestion was put forward that Ontario's fiscal situation, given its horrendous deficit position, was headed for trouble.

The CTF spokesman, however, went on to state that there were remedies, and things, yes, were bleak, but not irretrievable. A politician with a penchant for honesty and a deep respect for the taxpayer dollar could work wonders. Yes, this would take an iron will as "nice" programs were cut back severely, while leaving "needed" programs alone. Good news, this.

The press report after the meeting began, "A CTF spokesman said limply that..."

Why the word "limply?" Is it against media nature to report possible good news?

Now while I was born in Italy, I have become a Canadian citizen, and have become well- versed in northern pessimism. I can remember  someone quoting the following anecdote:

"Imagine if Moses had been a Canadian. He would have gladly received the Ten Commandments, taken time to review them, then looked skyward and in a rather petulant voice said, 'O Lord, the Commandments are fine. But....but what about funding?'"

Marshall McLuhan had the answer to such pessimism and negativity constantly finding its way into the media.*He indicated that the media concentrated on "bad news" that would contrast nicely with the "good news" surrounding the products advertised in the publication or program, and from which such media drew revenue.

Of course, this aspect of the media is not confined to Canada, although our glass half empty approach to life makes us perhaps more accepting. On the other hand, there is an upside. If you are constantly viewing things in a negative manner, there will always be, from time to time, a rather un-Canadian pleasant surprise.

Or so I am told.

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* This insight first surfaced in McLuhan's The Mechanical Bride, and was later elaborated in his seminal work, Understanding Media. -- Ed.

Meeting Her Kurds, And Away *

Matilda Hatt, my colleague from the C.I.A., dropped in unexpectedly the other day, all full of thoughts and ideas about Kurds. Apparently she had been providing security for some sort of clandestine mission undertaken by....well, she didn't say. Good little soldier Tilly always was.

Anyway, she came away impressed. The major city of Kirkuk was now in their capable hands, along with various and sundry oil fields. The populace was in full support of the leadership, all felt they were being well looked after, schools were flourishing, and their Sunni Islam religion, while important to them, was confined to the mosque rather than the Kurdish legislature.

Most important of all, in Tilly's opinion, was the Kurdish militia, the well-respected Peshmerga. This was a fearsome force, battle-hardened against a long struggle with the Turks. This conflict appeared to be drawing to an end, she informed me, given Turkey's alarm over the twin horror stories that are the carnage in Iraq and the surge of refugees from Syria. An alliance could well be in the offing.

"I wonder Tilly," I broke in at this point, "if the Peshmerga are ready to take on those superstitious maniacs known as the Islamic State of Iraq and al Sham, or its weird acronym, ISIS?"**

Tilly replied, "I thing the word here would be "salivate". The Peshmerga see ISIS as a total betrayal of Islamic values, and lump it together with such lovely groups as Boko Haram and al-Shabaab. They would look forward to an attack, but think it unlikely.

"Why is that?"

Because ISIS is really a group of warriors, They would be actually facing a disciplined and competent militia, and in such cases, "warriors" go down the tubes. Look at Culloden. Look at Caesar's campaign in Gaul. Then there's the Battle of the Boyne --"

"All right" I interjected. "Point made. And I am now well au fait with the situation, for which, my thanks. And things can, in little, be seen to be looking up."

"Not surprising," countered Tilly, "When you begin flat on your back."

Any further comment here would, I thought, be very unwise, and we went in search of martinis.

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*Dragging Little Miss Muffet into all this I thought somewhat unfair. -- Ed.

** The use of ISIS. It annoys me greatly that this scruffy lot has usurped the name of a very respected and powerful Egyptian goddess. Shame on whoever formed the acronym. -- L.S.S.

The Voice of the Turtle

In re-reading the last few missives, I am struck by their rather pessimistic tone. Of course, this is quintessentially Canadian. As I believe Margaret Atwood once opined, "If Moby Dick had been written by a Canadian, it would have been told from the whale's point of view."

So let's be a bit more optimistic. For this I turn to the Song Of Solomon, (2:12) and the words, "The flowers appear on the earth. the time of singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land."* In other words, everything's going to be just fine.

Using this philosophy, one can now begin to assess the world's trouble spots in a somewhat different light. Admittedly, there is no scarcity of these, but nevertheless I will zero in on one such spot -- Iraq.

A solution to the ills of this tragic country immediately becomes obvious. Obvious, mind you, if you are familiar with Julius Caesar and his account of his Gallic campaigns, Commentarii De Bello Gallico. There he posited that all Gaul was divided into three parts,** and it is this thinking that could be applied to Iraq.

In essence, Iraq is comprised of three groups, currently at each other's throats. The horror of this is compounded by the fact that all three groups have dragged their imaginary and all-powerful friends into the mess; that is, Allah and Mohammed. But enough of this aspect, a topic for another day. Suffice it to say that achieving an Iraqi solution would be made far easier if a little geography could be brought to bear.

This of course would mean dividing Iraq in to three parts, like the aforementioned Gaul. One part would be Sunni; one part would be Shia and the third be controlled by the Kurds. Each part would select a leader, and the resulting triumvirate would deal with issues common to all three. And at that point the voice of the turtle would truly begin to be heard throughout the land.

This would take great imagination and great will, and of course entails great risks. But it is A Way.

And as the adage goes, "Behold the turtle. It makes progress only when it sticks its neck out."

Selah.

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*Rather than a turtle, I believe the King James version of the Bible   assumed that the term would be interpreted as a turtledove (As referred to in the Twelve Days of Christmas Song.) The Lady tends to leave some things unexplained now and then. -- Ed.

** Gaul at this time was actually five parts. But this is a quibble. --Ed.

Words On A Grecian Turn

Well, apparently it's not just 'unionized' lemmings (see last week's report) that have a suicidal urge, but a majority of the Ontario electorate. The party with an iron grip on a tax and spend approach to governance, the Liberals, have obtained a majority. I believe this has come about because a goodly portion of that electorate have made the startling discovery that they can vote themselves considerable largesse out of the public treasury.

Hence the reference to Greece in the title. This country awarded many of its citizens,  particularly those in public service unions, a veritable ton of such largesse, and increased union membership considerably. All was wonderful, although this increase in employment was restricted to the public sector, who in essence took resources from the economy, rather than adding to it.

And then the money ran out, and the rest is history (and a sad one at that).

This could well be the fate of Ontario, in that those who wish to question such a profligate approach to fiscal management will be silenced whenever and wherever they attempt to raise such concerns. It is a majority government now, remember. No more on e-health fraud, Ornge helicopters, gas plants, or any other scandal. All will now fall under the rubric "Nothing to see here. Move along."

The press and opposition will fume and sputter, but that will be all. Alexis De Tocqueville in Democracy In America states this issue well:

"The majority has enclosed thought within a formidable fence. One is free within that area, but woe to the man who goes beyond it, not that he stands in fear of an inquisition, but he must face all kinds of unpleasantness in everyday persecution."

Indeed. And how did such a situation arise in the first place? How did those who knew the above, who were well aware of the Grecian example, not speak out loudly and with force?

My answer? They did, but forgot their Schiller, who wrote simply and clearly, "With stupidity, the gods themselves struggle in vain."

Enough, or too much.

Learning From Lemmings

One thing television does rather well is nature programs, and the other day I stumbled into a film essay on the little rodent called the lemming. This little guy is found here and there in the tundra region of the Arctic, and survives quite well on grasses, small grains, grubs and whatnot. This, in spite of being hunted relentlessly by owls, falcons, stoats and the like.

Of course, being highly prolific helps, and it is this survival mechanism that has led to the myth of lemmings committing mass suicide when numbers grow too great for the environment to support them. As the show pointed out, this was not so much a mass suicide venture as it was migratory behaviour initiated by an instinct that the land could no longer sustain the majority of them.

So off a goodly portion went.

The suicide aspect came about when tales of lemmings jumping off cliffs or drowning in mass numbers in a lake became local, then national, lore.* This was nonsense, and the program stressed that such occurrences were mistakes on the part of the migrating lemmings -- the lake was larger than they were able to swim across, or an unforeseen chasm was seen too late to be avoided.

Here a thought occurred to me along the lines of the following.

The lemming's instinct was honed to its capability to survive. When, for instance, it realizes that further demands on the environment would result in it not being able to support the growing numbers of lemmings, starvation and eventual extinction would loom.

My thought -- Why cannot public service unions see what is obvious to lemmings, but not to themselves? A continually increasing membership wanting greater and greater wages and benefits to be drawn from a workers' tax base that grows smaller and smaller can result in the situation being presently faced in Greece, and to a lesser extent, Spain and Portugal. Such action puts a stress on a government that sooner or later will be unable to meet the demand.

An aside: Private sector unions are a different kettle of fish. Any negotiation is a tug of war between union and management, with no third party involved. If the negotiation fails and a strike is called, the company goes under, or the union collapses, or, more rarely, the union takes over management from the company. Unlike a public union strike, their is no innocent third party such as the public itself (or, worse, children, when there is a job action on the part of teachers). This aspect of the discussion, however, takes us away from the main thrust of the argument.

Now I am not suggesting that a large number of such union members fling themselves over cliffs or undertake a swim that they could not complete, but I am suggesting that the members give due consideration to lemmings, who see the need to alter their behaviour in order that all may succeed, and make the sacrificial decisions that result in this coming about. Otherwise.....well, it won't be pleasant.

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* The Disney Academy Award winning film, White Wilderness, showed lemmings (imported from Calgary) jumping off a cliff to certain death. In a later CBC documentary, Cruel Camera, found that the lemmings DID NOT jump off the cliff, but were launched off a turntable. The Award still stands. -- Ed.

Hands Off My Ukrainian Sugar Beets

I have received a number of queries regarding my sugar beet plantation in Ukraine, given the upheaval that country is experiencing. I can tell you that all is fine.

There are a number of reasons for this.

My manager, Bohdan, is skilled in keeping relations with both Kiev and Moscow warm and friendly, no easy task given the acrimony between the two. Secondly, Russia is a big market for my product. In fact, I am its only source for sugar beets, something that the powers that be in Russia (to wit: Vladimir Putin) are very conscious of. Orders have been given to leave the plantation alone.

These orders stemmed from an intercepted communication initiated in the Kremlin to an outfit called the Russian Orthodox Army. This was interesting, in that Russia had said publicly that this lot was comprised of home-grown patriots with no connection to Russia. How, then could orders.........oh, never mind.

Moreover, the plantation is well into the Western part of Ukraine, and there is no pulsating desire from the population in that area to  be enfolded in the loving embrace of the Russian bear. Finally, Bohdan doesn't skimp on hiring expert personnel when it comes to security, and four of the Orthodox Army guys, feeling us out as it were, are now in a Moscow hospital recovering from a number of unfortunate happenstances involving cracked bones and some other ailments best described, as they do in sports lingo, as "lower body injuries."

So all is well.

That said, I have some sympathy for the Russian point of view. After all, if I am reading my history correctly, it was at Kiev that the Rus (as they were first named) got their start, and successfully fought off the invading Mongols. This was no mean feat, and ever since, Ukraine has occupied a special place in the Russian heart.

But that was then, and this is now, and given the result of the recent and surprisingly very fair election, Ukraine has chosen to belong to, well, Ukrainians.

So to Russia I say, "Now Vladimir, nothing to see or do here. Time to move on."

Dancing With Iranian Stars

The Internet is turning out to be some kind of massive electronic vacuum cleaner, scooping up everything in its sight, from the trivial (cats being cute) to the inane (anything involving the Kardashians) to the truly interesting (a sound analysis of Bell's Theorem and Alain Aspect's proof).*

Then there is the unusual.

One of the sources drawn upon by the Internet is You Tube, and there we find a short film of three girls dancing with happiness. Nothing outré there, but then we discover that these girls are Iranian, and are cavorting gaily about sans niquab or hijab. Very touching. Very honest. Not that they rival Isadora Duncan or Anna Pavlova, but that's not the point. They were having FUN, and expressing happiness.

This activity, of course, drew the attention of the mullahs who arbitrate such goings on, and the three were quickly arrested and imprisoned. The speed at which this occurred gives a new meaning to the term "flashdance".

Now it gets interesting. The President of Iran, Hassan Rouhani, reviewed all this, and focussed particularly on the girls' motivation. They indicated they were not trying to overthrow the state, nor to disparage Islam; rather they wanted to express happiness by dancing, and this was easier done when not hampered by overly restrictive clothing.

Rouhani ordered their release, making the point that Islam has no quarrel with attempts to be happy. This infuriated the mullahs, who in their bleak lives find happiness to be a total stranger. As well, they saw the action as an attack on the Islamic "new order" of the glorious state of Iran.

Upon reading this, I immediately sent to the Chief Mullah the words inscribed on the Franklin Roosevelt Memorial:

They who seek to establish systems of government based on the regimentation of all human beings by a handful of individual rulers....call this a new order. It is not new, and it is not order.

So there. And good on Hassan Rouhani.

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* The Lady tends to think everyone has read what she has, something not the case.What Bell and Aspect are on about is what Einstein referred to as "Spooky action at a distance." Check it out. -- Ed.



 

Honesty and Politics: An Odd Mixture

When Winston Churchill first became Prime Minister at the beginning of the Second World War, he did a strange thing. He was honest with the British public, stating he had nothing to offer in the short term but "blood, sweat, toil and tears." The effect galvanized Britons as they united to face a sworn and vicious enemy.

Those words are one of the few examples I have come across of politicians speaking honestly to their electorates. Another would be Abraham Lincoln's stirring phrase, "A nation divided against itself cannot stand."* In both cases no rosy promises are made, and no references made to how wonderful life will be if I am elected.

Such statements are extremely rare, so imagine my surprise when just such a statement was uttered during the course of the present provincial election in Ontario. The Liberal and the NDP stress the Frank Capra approach, telling all and sundry that it is, or will be, a wonderful life if my party is elected, with no tax raises and lots and lots of heart-warming programs.

How all this would be paid for is skipped over very quickly, and the whole approach is about as far from honesty as you can get.

Enter the Tories, promoting the view that the province is in real fiscal trouble, and must cut back drastically in order to have any hope at all of future job creation. Moreover, the view zeroed in on the public service sector, where job creation abounds, but is accompanied by negative fiscal impact that the province can no longer afford. Tim Hudak, the Tory leader, indicated that a figure of 100,000 public service positions may disappear, and there is talk of privatization in some areas.

What is interesting is the reaction of the head of the Ontario Public Service Employees Union, Warren Thomas, who stated, "I don't really like it, but at least he's honest in saying he's going to do it."

It would appear, then, that Mr. Thomas is at least dimly aware that without some severe action in the public service sector, Ontario could be heading towards a Grecian fate. Whether the honesty behind this approach will be received by the electorate positively or negatively remains to be seen.

At this point I remembered a scene from the BBC Series "Yes, Minister" that argues for caution. It goes as follows:

Sir Humphrey: "That's a wonderful proposal, Minister. Very bold. But......"

The Minister: "But...?"

Sir Humphrey: "It's way too early for the truth."

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* If the present divide in the United States between the Democrats and the Republican widens much further, Lincoln's words may come back to haunt an entire nation. -- LSS.

The Elephant in the Room

I try not to get involved in things political; it is the poor man's Theatre of the Absurd, and if I want that, I will find it on the stage, not in a hall at an all-candidates meeting in view of the upcoming provincial election. (I use the word 'upcoming' advisedly)

That said, I nevertheless found myself at exactly such a meeting. I was collecting a bet (see previous post) and if I wanted my winnings, this was the venue at which they were being offered. So I came, I saw, and I collected, much to the chagrin of my two opponents in this endeavour, who thought that such attendance would be a bridge too far.

Once there, my desire to escape as quickly as possible surfaced, but I became intrigued at what was being discussed by the candidates.

Or rather, what was NOT being discussed.

Here we have a province, Ontario, that for most of its history was the economic engine of Canada, a "have" province that helped out those weaker provinces owing to geography or priorities other than economic ones.* And the books were always balanced, save for a brief period where the NDP stumbled into power.

After a decade under the Liberals, however, Ontario is no longer a "have" province, and the deficit has become monumental, complete with billion dollar level interest payments. True, the American laxity in terms of banking regulations allowed sub-prime mortgages to flourish, and when all came tumbling down,  the world was severely caught out, Ontario included.

Canada, given its stronger bank regulations, survived better than most, and under the leadership of the Prime Minister and a shrewd finance Minister, things began to right themselves, and a balanced ledger is in sight for 2015. Heroic efforts are also underway in other provinces, to the extent possible.*

Under Ontario 'leadership" however,, the deficit has increased, and while a balanced budget is promised by 2017, this statement belongs in the same category as one promising the flight of pigs.

So, from pigs to elephants in the room. What astounded me was that none of this financial concern was spoken about by the candidates. The Liberals and NDP promised more funding of programs for this and that, while the Conservatives promised more job creation by the private sector, while at the same time savaging jobs in the public service. This latter comment was akin to a matador coming to a full stop, baring his breast to the charging bull, and saying "Here. Gore me right here."

Bah. Humbug.

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* The Lady in both these instances went on a Jeremiad concerning la belle province and its cultural and language issues. I stashed all this stuff in my 'Grist for Future Articles' folder, for it was not really germane to the point she was making. -- Ed. 


 

Winning A Wager

I was feeling rather pleased with myself when I entered The Three Q's pub.* I ordered a pint of Double Diamond at the bar, and drink in hand, sauntered over to where my good friends had procured a table. I sat sat down, and said, "Well?"

My lawyer, Gina Favola (whom we call 'The Bean')  leaned forward and stated, "It's not official yet, Simone."

Well she would say that, wouldn't she.? I mean, she's a lawyer, after all. But both Gina and the my other friend in attendance, Rachel Levi, found themselves out $200 apiece, and were obviously not going down without a fight.

"Now Bean," I replied, "the leader of the NDP has stated she would not vote for the budget, and the Tories certainly won't.Therefore the Liberal Government will fall. And, I might add, not a moment too soon, or the name Ontario will quickly become 'Greece'. This was the bet, and you both stated that the Liberals would do anything to stay in power. Didn't work, did it?"

Rachel Levi interjected, "But the Bean has a point -- "

"What point?" Really and truly, these are some of my closest friends, but when it comes to paying up on a losing bet......

Rachel continued. "The point is that the leader of the Liberals can still alter the budget and make it even more favourable to the NDP. So, speaking in idiomatic terms, the fat lady hasn't yet sung. The bet is still running. And you know how desperately the Liberal leader wants to cling to power, and she also is well aware that most of the electorate is appalled at the spendthrift actions of her party."

"I don't deny the last point, but, mark my words, there will be an election. Probably in early June."

"And," The Bean put in, "when that election is announced, we will gladly pay up. But, Simone, in the words of 'Enry 'Iggins, "Just you wait."

So I will. With, unfortunately, a little less confidence than I had when I entered the pub. The liberal leader couldn't give her NDP rival anything more, could she? Liberal ethics would weigh against such a concession.

On the other hand, the phrase 'Liberal ethics' is an oxymoron.

I want another pint.

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* In a previous missive, asked and answered. To save readers the trip back, the three Q's are Quips, Quibbles and Quaffs. -- Ed.

Shafts Of Sunlight That Pierce Global Gloom

What with all that is going on in the world, the Ukrainian mess, the tragedy of the capsized Korean ferry, large jets that disappear into thin air, plus seeing measles and tuberculosis making comebacks owing to anti-vaccination action on those afflicted by superstition, well, it's all too much.

Nothing to do but to head for the Mall.

Accompanied by my minder, Irving, (three execution fatwas call for some discretion) we sallied forth, and were soon cheered by the bright lights and people of all sorts and sizes happily enjoying the fruits of capitalism. Not that these folks were entirely unaware of the darker side to such getting and spending, for I spotted one Tee shirt on a portly gentleman containing the words "Capitalism without bankruptcy is like Christianity without hell."

Encouraged by this, I went on a type of Tee shirt scavenger hunt, and came up with the following.

On a tee worn by a lass, likely a student by the books she was carrying, I read, "If you try to fail, and succeed, what have you done?"

One can only hope she intends to major in philosophy.

Then I encountered an elderly gentleman whose Tee read "I don't believe in superstitions. They're bad luck."

Well, you can't win them all.

Next I came across a rather vivacious twenty something, in a purse section of an upscale emporium, having difficulty choosing between a Louis Vuitton or a Fendi. Poor thing, but her Tee script caused me to revise my opinion. Somewhat. The Tee read, "Sex on television can't hurt, unless you fall off."

Enough, or too much. But it was good to see that, at least on some level, the general public was well aware of life's little ironies, an awareness that tends to escape politicians completely.

Of course, I also felt I should participate, and succumbed to purchasing a bright yellow Tee and, in homage to the film Jurassic Park, had the following words put on: "The objects in this sweater are larger than they appear."

To quote the Comte de Rienville when he first saw the garment, "Cheri, c'est merveilleux. C'est aussi vrai."

He really is a wonderful man.

Whose Money Is It Really?

A friend of mine, Carlita Diaz, is an accountant in the U.S. Federal Reserve. She was in town to attend the funeral of Jim Flaherty, Canada's former Minister of Finance, and I had invited her back to the Manor after the ceremony.

We were sipping Cosmos in the conservatory.

Carlita had been somewhat taken aback at what she had witnessed. "This," she stated "would not have occurred anywhere else that I can think of. Amazing, really."

"Well," I said, "the service was well done, yet I can recall --"

"I'm not talking about the service, Simone, although that was impressive. No, I mean all the people lining the streets and clustered around the front of the cathedral. My God, the man was a Minister of Finance! I have seen other funerals of such officials being hissed at, with public anger all too evident, but there was none of that. They were paying homage, even honouring him. Our lot at the Fed respected his financial acumen, but this was something different. What gives?"

I thought carefully before responding.

"What gives," I began, "is the public's awareness of Jim Flaherty's respect for their tax dollars. For instance, the man never said, in announcing a policy, that government money was involved. He always said that the monies belonged to the electorate, that the Ministry of Finance had a stewardship role, and that the program being discussed was intended for public benefit. The final aim, of course, was to make every effort to achieve a balanced budget year after year."

"Hmm", said Carlita, "that didn't seem to go too well. As I recall, Canada went deep into debt. Only recently does it look like the country will be able to balance its books."

"Now Carlita," I suggested, "a great many countries went down the tubes financially, including one just south of the border. Stimulus funds were absolutely necessary to ward off a depression. So yes, Flaherty proved he could spend when he had to. But he also has proved that he could tackle the deficit, and he has done it. Now in the U.S. -- "

"I'd rather not talk about that. Instead, let's talk about this Province, and look at Ontario's -- "

"Now I'd rather not talk about that. So let me refresh our Cosmos, and how about a discussion,...oh, I don't know...."

"You see the last installment of Game of Thrones?"

And we were off.

When Comes Such Another?

I was just beginning to write of something bordering on legal nonsense when an event occurred that forced a change of topic. What I had intended was giving information on three Canadian residents who are not yet citizens. This trio desires to sue in order to avoid having to swear an oath of allegiance to the Queen.*

They, however, have no problem swearing an oath of allegiance to Canada, a country they readily admit they admire. Thus we have a nonsense.

Canada is a constitutional monarchy, and hence,  by swearing allegiance to Canada they automatically swear allegiance to the reigning monarch, in this case Her Majesty Elizabeth II. Legally, this is a case of mutatis mutandis, and that should be the end of the matter.  Judges reviewing the case should have no difficulty in ruling against these three, unless the aforesaid judges missed a class in Grade Eleven English, or barely scraped through the bar exam. 

But enough of this. It was in the middle of such ruminations that I learned of the passing of the Honourable Jim Flaherty, Canada's Minister of Finance until recently. This was a shock, for Mr. Flaherty was one of those rare politicians who always kept the welfare of Canadians first and foremost. Moreover, he knew well that the monies he dealt with as Minister of Finance were not his, nor even the Government's, but belonged to Canadian taxpayers. This was an insight that very few Ministers of Finance have. Or, indeed, few other politicians.

Mr. Flaherty knew when to spend, and did so during the economic downturn caused by a number of banks making fools of themselves and causing havoc among American and European citizens. Actions by him as well as the Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, kept Canadian banks away from the more egregious fiscal nonsense seen in American and European banks and investment houses. This spending also enabled jobs to be kept and infrastructure projects to be started.

Spending -- that was the easy part.

Much more difficult was reigning in that spending, after the crisis began to abate. It is in this area that most Ministers of Finance come to grief, finding it simply too politically tough to do. Here Mr. Flaherty shone, and given the support of his Prime Minister, put in policies that aim to balance the budget by 2015.

Such a policy is critical to achieve, as Jim Flaherty knew. Why on earth would he want to assign children and grandchildren to a life of penury?

Why indeed, and so I write:

When comes such another?

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*It is unclear at this time of writing just who this lot wants to sue. It also may not be possible: the matter is not a legal one but a constitutional one, and hence more in Parliament's court than in a court of law. -- Ed.

Ukraine Shuffles The Deck

To Kiev, where my plantation manager, Bohdan, had arranged a number of meetings with Ukrainian officials. My object was to ensure that my sugar beet operation could continue as before, although I was not averse to a slight rise in corporation taxes. Putin would be putting the screws to Ukraine, and they would need all the capital they could get.

I first met with the Prime Minister, Arseniy Yatsenyuk, who was fresh from a meeting with Canada's Prime Minister and was rapidly becoming a big fan of Canada. It helped that (a) he spoke good English, that (b) he really liked sugar beets and that (c) he was a big hockey fan.

Things proceeded well, and the meeting went a great deal more smoothly that my encounters with the previous Prime Minister, Viktor Yanukovych. I also invited him to the Manor should he travel to Canada in the future, something I would never have offered Viktor. I honour people, not puppets.

My next meeting was a bit unexpected.

In the corridor just outside Mr. Yatsenyuk' office I was buttonholed by Yulia Tymoshenko. Now while I was glad that she had escaped the clutches of Yanukovych, I nevertheless would have preferred not to get involved with the woman, given her rather chequered history. Corruption and Yulia were no strangers.

I decided to take the bull by the horns. I am, as I knew she was, fluent in Russian, so language would be no barrier. After minimal pleasantries, I stated, "So I understand you would be supporting others in the upcoming election. This, Yulia, is wise on your part, and the Ukrainian public will be grateful. You'll be a kind of heroine -- "

She interrupted me at his point. "Oh no, Simone, I intend to run. I still have much to offer."

And much to take, I thought.

"Oh, well, just my advice to you. I always find it better to be thought well of, than have to suffer the vicious slings and arrows of politics."

"What are 'slings and arrows'?" she asked. Shakespeare was not her strong suit.

I saw this was going nowhere fast, wished her well, and said goodbye. I will give her this, however. She had removed that irritating peasant braid from her head, a wise move. Yulia Tymoshenko was about as far away from a peasant as you could get. It would be like saying John of Gaunt was actually some kind of serf.* Not on, but even braidless, I doubt Yulia will succeed.

After all, one's past is, in a certain context, one's future.

Isn't it?

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* The Lady's reference here recalls that excellent text, 1066 And All That, and the "exam" question, "What makes you picture John of Gaunt as a rather emaciated grandee?" Priceless, that. -- Ed.

To Lead Or Not To Lead

"You might be interested in this, Simone."

I put down my book, Jo Nesbo's Police, and turned my mind from the adventures of Harry Hole to the concerns of Rachel Levi. Rachel is my I.T. specialist, and she is very, very good. So good, in fact, that she found booking in at the Manor not only pleasant, but also life-saving, given that she was on at least three hit lists from certain intelligence agencies. Her act of interruption was so unusual that I was immediately intrigued.

"Well?"

Rachel plumped herself down, all six feet of her, and said "There's some very interesting chatter coming out of the National Security Agency that you might be interested in. Concerns your Prime Minister, in fact."

I snorted. "Stephen Harper? Interesting stuff? Hard to believe. He tends in terms of action to resemble a Galapagos turtle, making slow and almost imperceptible movements when he thinks no one is looking."

"Not this time. According to a number of people in the N.S.A. he is attracting all kinds of attention, most of it favourable. He's met with the Ukraine leadership, offering aid and support, as well as bucking up the European Union. At present, he is getting along famously with Angela Merkel, not the easiest thing to do. All this has led Putin to lose his temper, and a note was intercepted  where he savaged Harper, stating that Canada was a frozen wasteland that had accomplished nothing in 300 years of history."

"He has yet to get over a certain hockey game," I put in.
 
"Be that as it may, the NSA analysts were quick to summarize the various leaders in terms of historical or literary figures. They see Harper as a kind of Coriolanus, acting with will and dispatch. Obama they blame as having a "to be or not to be" approach to almost everything. They bemoan as well that their President cannot even make up his mind on a pipeline, let alone what to do with Ukraine and Crimea. As one of the more perceptive analysts put it, they thought they had elected Marcus Aurelius. Instead, they got Hamlet."

And just how did they portray Putin?" I asked.

Rachel smiled. "Oh, that was a a toss-up between Caligula and Nero."

Couldn't argue with her on that.

Puting It To Putin. Not.

This post will be a tad shorter than usual -- the world is, in Wordsworthian terms, way too much with me. So let's get to it.

Readers may recall that from time to time I use poetry to highlight and illuminate a given situation or person. The last example I believe was using Auden's The Average to get at the essence of Ontario's former Premier, Dalton McGuinty. The key lines were, "The silence roared displeasure / He saw the shadow of an average man attempting the exceptional / And ran."

Still on the run, as I believe.

Now we come to Vladimir Putin and the situation in the Crimea. The poem that in my opinion best encapsulates this situation in Maurice Ogden's The Hangman. It is somewhat lengthy, but I recommend Googling the piece -- it sums up the Crimean takeover brilliantly. The line that most nails the issue under discussion is the following: "I did no more than you let me do."

Food for thought. Now I must off; something about a lost airplane. But there was another who commented (sort of) on the latest example of Russian irredentism, and here I turn to the singer Julie London, and her signature song  "Crimea River."

And sometimes that's all one can do.

Being Frivolous With The Feds

The meeting was scheduled at the Manor for 9:00 a.m., an unearthly hour to be up, but needs must. Apparently I am going to be charged with some weird form of copyright infringement. Hence the meeting.

At precisely nine o'clock, Irving, my butler and sometime minder, showed a gentleman into the study. The man was young, tall, balding and thin as a rake. I had the feeling that if he came too close to one of the cracks in the wood flooring, he would disappear forever. 

"Mr. Wishope", Irving announced. "From the Bureau of Indian Affairs." 

"Do come in, Mr. Wishope," I said, and gestured to one of the Chippendales. "Let us see if we can satisfy your wishes and give you hope."

The man looked puzzled, and I quickly came to the conclusion that some plodding was going to ensue.

He then cleared his throat, and the plodding began. I'll give the man this -- he came right to the point.

"It has come to our attention that you may be in contravention of the federal Indian Act, and we would like to rectify the situation as quickly as possible. To avoid any awkward charges, you see." A note of smugness had crept into his raspy voice.

"Goodness," I agreed. "Can't have any of those. Just what seems to be the problem?"

(I knew damn well what the 'problem' was, but one doesn't hand out goodies to opposing troops -- unless your Laura Secord.) What the Band Councils and Ottawa bureaucrats hated was the growing success of the Foundation in freeing young tribal members from the reservation strictures and giving them start-up funds to educate themselves and to enter business or a profession. Jobs in Ottawa were being affected, as well as calling into question the leadership qualities of certain Band Council Chiefs. All of which was legal. Why, then, was Mr. Wishope here at all?

Mr. Wishope explained.The problem, Dr. Strunsky, is your  'White Cloud' Foundation. The name has been challenged by a certain Band Council, who also have what is called a White Cloud meeting once a month. The name derives from a noted Huron warrior."

"Ah, but my derivation, Mr. Wishope, is quite different. It also stems from a certain tribal member of famous repute. I have actually registered all this with the U.N. Human Rights Committee, who have given full approval. (Cost me an arm and a leg, but as I stated at the start, needs must.)

"And just who might this member be?" Wishope said in a more cautious tone. The mention of the U.N. had definitely had an effect.

"Have you not heard of Little White Cloud That Cried?"*

"No."

"He's the son of Big Chief Rain-In-The-Face. I'm surprised you did not know of him."

Wishope was silent for a bit. Then, summoning his courage, said "You're making all this up."

"Possibly," I replied, "but the U.N. had no objections, and, indeed, commended the Foundation for its positive impact upon First Nations peoples. I don't think you want to enter into a disagreement with the U.N. on the issue. How would you put it? Oh, yes, bad optics. You agree?

Wishope nodded. The young man was coming round nicely. "I will inform the Chief who had made the challenge that a legal suit would not succeed."

"Appreciate that. Now, have you some time for some first-rate Brazilian coffee, scones, and juice freshly squeezed from Israeli oranges? It's all been prepared in the adjoining room."

"I have a feeling, " Wishope said, "That I better not refuse that offer."

I smiled. There was definitely hope for the lad. First task -- getting him out of Ottawa. Next task.....but I forget, brevity is the soul of wit.

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* A song from 1951, sung by Johnny Ray. Had to look that one up -- way before my time. How the Lady knew of this, well, a mystery. -- Ed.

To Split Or Not To Split

To my favourite pub, The Three Q'S, for some excellent bitters and some interesting discussions with two visiting friends from Italy. (The Q's -- Quips, Quibbles and Quaffs; that is, a pub devoted to good discussions and fine fare, with no cacophony of modern "music" allowed to intrude.) So I and my companions, Gianni and Anita, sat down to enjoy the evening. I had known them when growing up in Naples, and it was good to re-new the friendship.

I was rather pleased with myself, having noted that a position outlined in a previous report had been taken up by the two Davids* in the International Policy publication. They argue for the splitting of Ukraine into an eastern component and a western component, citing numerous successful precedents, among them Northern Ireland and Ireland, and Slovakia and the Czech Republic.

Gianni at that point mentioned some less successful splits, referring to the Koreas and the former East Germany and West Germany. I countered with splits that came about through brute force were not in the same league as those that were thoughtfully negotiated.

"Of course", added Anita, "If Italy were to follow this route, it would be chaos. Can you imagine fifty-three countries all jostled together?"

"Fifty four," put in Gianni. "You forgot The Vatican."

From there we began an in-depth exploration of Italian reunification, with due regard for the efforts of Mazzini, Cavour, and Garibaldi. This was of interest to us, but not necessarily to the readers of this missive, who hadn't signed on for a course in Italian history.

At one point, however, Gianni asked me about Vladimir Putin, knowing I had had some past business arrangements with the man.

"Apparently," I said, "he has gone into a great sulk. Ukraine was to be an easy acquisition in terms of being influenced by Russia, and Yanukovich blew it."

"So what is he doing now?"

"I am told he spends a great part of each waking day watching re-runs of the Sochi Olympics."

And then it was time for another round.

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* David Kilgour and David T. Jones -- Ed.

Winter Revels

WINTER IS COMING. So goes a major leitmotif in the HBO series Game of Thrones. Well here, in Canada, I can inform readers that WINTER IS HERE. In spades. And the question arises, 'What to do?'

My answer was to join three close friends and enjoy some days at The Emp's cottage in the north (vague on the location, for reasons of national security) and cavort in the snow. Or at least look out at the snow from a distance, while savouring the warmth from The Emp's fireplace. It was, after all, well below zero (C) during the entire three days we were there. The Emp's hospitality was, as usual, exemplary and much appreciated.

Returned just yesterday, and so this report is a bit late. These things happen.

Also in attendance was Sir Peter Crapp, glad to be taking some vacation time from an assignment he was not keen on, the shepherding of a bevy of bureaucrats around  Sevastopol in the Crimea examining the effect of global warming on an ocean port. Owing to a wee tussle that had broken out in Ukraine, the chances of getting their asses shot off were rising daily, and Sir Peter was glad that the powers that be finally realized that such a mission was ridiculous, and pulled the plug.

My sugar beet manager in Ukraine, Bohdan, was also in attendance. He had determined that my plantation, about an hour's drive away from Kyiv, was not in harm's way. This did not surprise, for I supply not only the Ukrainian market, but also the Russian. Such a split works, although I feel I must credit this approach to its proper creator, the Hopi Indian tribe in the American southwest. They traded with everyone, and were rarely attacked.

While certain of our discussions over the three day period must remain undisclosed -- national security again -- I can relay the following.

I have said that the weather was brutally cold. This was expected, at least by me. What was not expected was the type of snowmobile ride over to The Emp's island. Thawing and freezing can do nasty things to surfaces that would otherwise be flat, and the trip over was akin to participating in Olympic trials for mogul racing. The slamming up and down has given me a greater respect for the athletes that engage in such a sport.

The Emp and Bohdan continued their constant wrangles over culinary matters, but these discussions get so arcane -- the marked difference and use of corn, olive and Mazola oil -- well, you get the idea.

Something new, however, had an effect on these and other discussions. Sir Peter had brought along a very high tech PDA * and could consult it whenever an argument broke out. Such an activity recalls the adage that nothing will end a conversation faster than a person who actually knows what they're talking about.

Before leaving this missive, I must relate a very odd occurrence. A certain song came over the radio, and I immediately identified it as the Beatles Eleanor Rigby. Keeping this little tidbit of memorabilia to myself, I asked the Emp if he could recall the name of the song being played. He thrashed about a bit, got some of the lyrics, but the title escaped him. Sir Peter stayed silent, but I was pretty sure he knew the exact title.

Bohdan, however, got quite excited, and shouted "Aha! That's Martha Mackenzie!" Which was not the answer but did have a link to the lyrics. Not wishing to prolong suspense over such a trifle, I relayed the true title.

As for the Martha Mackenzie reference, a quick consultation with Sir Peter's PDA indicated it was not Martha, but Father Mackenzie that was being referred to, he who was"writing the words to a sermon that no one would hear."

Which left Sir Peter, The Emp and myself with a deep conundrum to work on in the weeks to come. The name Martha Mackenzie that had so exercised Bohdan had undoubtedly come from deep in his psyche. Who was she really, and how had she so influenced him?

Questions to be asked.

................................................................................

* For those who have totally rejected electronic technology that is becoming more and more invasive, PDA is a personal digital assistant. -- Ed.

A Week That Was Bad. For Vlad.

I had been in touch with Bohdan, the manager of my sugar beet plantation in Ukraine, checking to see that all was copacetic, given the rioting that had broken out in Kyiv and other western Ukrainian cities. All was fine, Bohdan said. Viktor Yanukovych was far too occupied with his very survival to spend time harassing my holdings.

He made the following observations, and given their insight, I pass their gist on to you.

It all looked so promising for Putin. The world in awe of the Olympic venues in Sochi. The Russian athletes, particularly the hockey players, having enormous success. Gold medals in abundance. Of course, Vladimir himself would be very much centre stage, hoping to bask in the plaudits that were sure to come.

On the world stage, similar hopes. A sweetheart deal for Ukraine involving a ton of money and gallons of gas was on offer, to ensure that Ukraine stayed well away from anything to do with Europe. Yanukovych assured Vladimir that while there would be some minor grumbling, all would be well. And Vlad would also usurp what used to be Canada's role as "honest broker" and bring about a workable solution to the Syrian horror story. One could almost hear Vlad snarling, "Take that, Obama!"

Then everything started to come apart. The press reporting that 51 billion dollars gets you some fine buildings, to be sure. Yet there was a host of incomplete projects, a great deal of faulty plumbing, and athlete's quarters that resembled army barracks done on the cheap. And what was with those twin toilets?

Then the games themselves, and all went well until the Russian hockey team met Finland, and was eliminated from contention. Moreover, the predicted shower of golden medals didn't occur, with Russia trailing Norway, Germany and (horror of horrors) the U.S.A.

Moreover, the Ukrainian strategy backfired big time. Severe rioting broke out, and is still continuing at this time of writing. As written before, Ukraine is really two countries. The East is content to be aligned with Russia; the West is definitely not. You can be sure that Vlad is not happy with Viktor.

As for Vlad the Peacemaker, Syria continues to be a charnel house.

And, grasshoppers, what do we learn from all this? Where Vlad is concerned, the words of W.S. Gilbert in The Mikado come to mind:

"I can trace my ancestry back to a protoplasmal primordial atomic globule. Consequently, my family pride is something in-conceivable. I can't help it. I was born sneering."

Too bad for Vlad.