Living within your means

Have you ever asked yourself why the reporting of costs these days is always in the billions of pounds rather than millions which was common a number of years ago.
Monetary inflation, largely the result of Quantitative Easing, the Central Banks pumping money into the system, effectively devalue currencies and leads to an erosion in value across the board.

Harold Wilson famously described it as "the pound in your pocket" after his devaluation in 1967 by which he meant what you could buy much the same with your pound. Remember, in the 1960s the purchases by the man in the street were relatively simple and largely home produced, and therefore it hadn't devalued across the board and life was relatively unaffected. Of course it was a con since imports went up but for most of us, it didn't matter.
With this phenomenon of QE being practised by most economies across the globe, the trade advantages, of having a cheaper currency to exploit overseas markets is lost or evened out as devaluation is much the same across all sophisticated societies.
Billionaires become more and more common as they exploit the currency fluctuations whilst we at the other end of the economic spectrum  stay, if we are lucky, virtually static.
Coming off the pre war gold standard and falling under the fixed convertibility of $35 to the ounce agreed at Bretten Woods after the war was a currency bench mark but when Nixon stopped the convertibility and allowed the dollar to float, the gloves were off and the speculators were given free reign.
Today's currency hardly relates to anything. The debt mountain is now many multiples of the total assets in the world and so a book of accounts resemble a bankruptcy of unimaginable proportions. It's all silly money played in a casino with no one accountable for the house. 

One day it will come crashing down as it nearly did in 2004. 

The banks on whom we place our trust are in the hands of shareholders who demand growing returns. Short-termism is the only game in town and one wonders, as the banks fail and close their doors,how we the people will survive without our credit. Perhaps Barter will be the currency. Grow your crops and learn to weave as you hunker down and re-learn how to live within your means !!!

Perhaps we will rediscover ourselves, discover our true strength of character working with the little we have and not dreaming what credit can buy. 

We will join the billions of others who have no bank account, no financial gizmo to provide the "codology" which we were fed in the early 60s when the money we earned was not paid directly into our own hands, as it had been at the end of a working week, but had to be deposited into a bank account, a financial deceit if ever there was one. Your money became their money. They used your money to trade and lend on substantial rates of interest, whilst paying you nothing for the privilege. 
They issued you with credit  cards and other incentives to spend and charged you on each purchase or on the use of the card which had been thrust upon you irrespective of your wishes.

They incentivised the banking system by drawing us all into its clutches and you and I have been their fodder ever since.

Making the distiction

Making the distinction.

There is always a distinction to be made. Another view point which has been formulated in a different environment with different touch stones, different values.

We were talking about Uber. The American on line taxi ordering service which is sweeping the world. 

As an idea it's terrific. Since we are all connected through the Internet in one way or another we, the seller or the buyer are constantly  at each other's service. 

Services are generally constrained by regulation designed to protect the buyer from exploration since it is assumed the buyer is the more passive and vulnerable party and probably hasn't considered the full implications of what he is buying.

As I wrote that line the image of Lloyd Blankfein came into my mind. His smug, arrogant face as he testified in front of the American Congressional Hearing regarding why the Banks had got themselves into such a financially precarious place in 2004. He was justifying how some of the tools his traders used to make money were not immoral but in his famous analysis " the trade was between two functioning adults and therefore if the one person was selling the other a package of rubbish it was up to the buyer to detect it". This in a sentence summed up the business of modern financial investment. There can be no rules or protection, during the sale, other than the "common sense" of the buyer. 

It turned on its head the age old concept of having to verify what's under the bonnet !

Verifying what's under the bonnet is such a fag. Providing rigorous training or such old fashioned concepts as holiday and sick pay is out of date. Seeking to uphold safety and hygiene are all an unnecessary overhead and distort the bottom line. 

To the person I was speaking to this was all irrelevant since the "opportunity to make money" was the criteria and, to his credit he posted the idea that it did allow ordinary low skilled people the opportunity to work. 

Of course he was right the Internet has allowed us to buy medicines from China, bypassing the doctor or the caution of pharmaceutical registration. It introduces porn into our children's bed-rooms and gambling into the lounge. It is both ugly and beautiful and, as was said this morning, it cuts away the red tape of convention where work skills burnished through experience are cut out of the loop in the never ending desire to reduce things to the bone, where everything is judged on price and not on value.

Pucker accent

I suppose one has to be a political anorak to find interest in watching old re-runs of general elections but then growing up in a northern, socialist household with my dad having experienced the hardships of the 1920s, 1930s, indelibly marking him for life and demanding change in a country defined by class and birth right.
He was one of those people who was ideologically drawn to events in Russia (he went so far as learning Russian) where the proletariat  had overthrown the Establishment for communism and there was a new dawn in civilised relations where people would be equal or at least treated fairly.
Of course it was all high jacked by Stalin but the ideal lived on and the sanitised socialist party in Britain began to make progress.


The program I was watching was the 1966 election. Harold Wilson, my hero had been elected in the 1964 election on a small majority and he had called this election to give himself a more governable majority.
I had left the UK in 1961 and having spent a few months living in Holland and, via South Africa arrived in Australia my vision of life was very different to that of living in a grimy northern city.
Never the less I followed the journey of the Labour Party after the defeat of MacMillan with interest and watching the re-run of the election, the mention of all those household names from all three parties, not to mention the media people who were beginning to ingrain  themselves in our psyche.
The old black and white pictures. The rudimentary charts and graphs to display the voting patterns through the night. We felt that we were part of the event, people were taking the trouble to explain tomorrow's result and bit by bit the political jigsaw was coming together.
There was much more trust in the leadership those days even deference as we naively believed that they had our best interests at heart.
Cliff Michelmore, Robert McKenzie,  all pucker BBC types.  Jacket and tie, posh accents and impeccable manners. No wonder we grew up so well trained !!

Boris Johnson

I don't suppose there are many of you who watched Boris Johnson appear before the Parliamentary Select Committee to argue the case for pulling out of the EU.

Other than those who live in the UK, Boris is the Mayor of London. An old Etonian running, in his second term, a city which is predominantly Labour. 

He is a man who I can not fathom his popularity with the voting public since every time I see and hear him I am left with the impression that he is a clown. His overall demeanour is a joke, with his unkept hair and that imbecilic smirk. His inability to answer a question without turning the question into some sort of comedy script, leaves me wondering and fearing for my own sanity. But for many it's "good old Boris" as the 'leader writers' and the 'political hacks' make him out to be a leader of the country in waiting. 

I suppose the Romans had Nero and we have Boris, the comedy act to finally put us out of our misery when the curtain descends on  the last act in this nations fall from grace.

The appearance before his fellow parliamentarians in the committee was excruciating. 

He bumbled along, playing his normal part of the absent minded joker. He read from a document which purported to have current facts and figures only to have it pointed out by the chairman that the document was dated 2014. He has no views that you can pin down as original, only generalities delivered as if he were addressing an after-dinner gathering of his old school alma mater. Wink wink nudge nudge.

And yet the media continue to carry the message that this man is to be the next Prime Minister.

Where's the catch. How can seasoned hacks be so in thrall with this man. I know we the voting public are susceptible to being softened up by the 4th Estate but this is ridiculous and very scary. 

Even South Africa's President Zuma begins to look ministerial when compared to this blond monkey, this "jackanapes" !!!

The Boat Race

Today is the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race day, an event in my emotional calendar alongside the traditional FA cup as it used to be, before the money people began to dictate, at 3 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. My memories of the massed band and back in the 50s, "Abide With Me" the singing led by a man in a white suite. I remember attending a wedding which was still going on as 3pm approached and the vicar saying, "off you go they haven't started yet".

The excitement of the race today as it always is, was increased by the conditions. The free board on these boats  (the space between the water and the top of the boat) is minimal and as the camera showed the waves and the spray mounting up and the free board getting less and less as the boats sank lower in the water. The scene resembled one of those dramatic sea dramas aa Oxfords boat made for the shelter of the bank as the waves got higher and the conditions were definitely not, boat race conditions.

This was the woman's race and one had tremendous respect for these "Amazons" who had spent the year thrashing their bodies in training whilst finding the time to continue their study at these prestigious universities, trading blows with the river which was in no mood to comply with the occasion.

Would Cambridge make it to the end. The umpire boat appealed to them to make for the shore but these plucky girls were having nothing of it and huddling closer to the shore they made it to the finishing line. 

The men's race is next and ones mind is taken back to the 50s and John Snagge commentating in what was typical 'BBC speak' counting the stroke pattern, all very sotto voce, all very British.

"I can't see who's in the lead but it's either Oxford or Cambridge".

Oxford sank in front of our eyes in 1951. I was watching with my Dad on the 'black and white' television, intrigued,  perhaps a little mystified, from our Yorkshire home, at this elitist event, men who were academic gods living in a world we could only dream about. 

I always favoured Cambridge (the Engineers University) which in recent years has been a hard furrow, with Oxford winning most years these days.

The cox barking his/her directions to the powerhouse in front of him, "pull" one two, "pull" one two motivating the men and setting the rhythm for the race.

His job today made more difficult by having to seek better water, closer to the bank where the shelter was. It didn't seem as bumpy for the men as for the women but as the line is reached and the boats slow to a stop, each boat shows what it means to win and loose. In the adrenaline pumped moment of a win all is worth it, the pain and the agony forgotten. In the losers boat its a very different scene, the pain is all too evident as you crash emotionally and the realisation that a year of effort has been in vain.

One thing which always concerns me is the game, "spot the Pom". In the men's boat, most of the rowers seem to come from all parts of the world and it seems fewer and fewer from the British Isles.  This year the Americans (in the Cambridge boat) predominate. The women's boat was largely British and whilst there is no substantial importance to where the crews come from since its a "University Challenge" and not an individual one but in such a traditional event it would be nice to think we can find 8 rowers for each boat but like, in so many other endeavours, we continue to dilute our heritage

Care not to throw the first stone

The retaking of Palmera has been a publicity success for Russia. The driving out and retaking of land held by ISIS is perhaps a turning point in the war but given the nature of this war it still has a long way to go.

Effectively the war is in three parts. Initially the uprising against Assad created the conditions for a civil war. Then a coalition of nations decided to oust Assad purportedly because of his brutality towards sections of his own population, from whom the bulk of the opposition came. And finally the attempted implementation of a Caliphate in that section of Syria which had become outside the control of the Assad national force.
Listening to the arguments one is struck by the short term memory of those who wish to pick a side with or against Assad in the fight with ISIL.
Assad's tribal/religious background, is the Alawites,  themselves an Islamic sect, representing 12% of the Syrian population, a group who have been persecuted by the Sunni Muslims.
They a line themselves as an offshoot of the Shiite sect and in the fratricide which goes on within the Muslim family and all too evident in their history, is it any wonder that the bombing and killing which we see on our screens, is not the manufacture of one madman but a mindset which has run for century's and has at its root, religious intolerance.
ISIL are nothing more than an extreme example of what Religious Belief can spawn. It is no worse than the megalomania and inhumanity displayed by Hitler, Stalin or Mao but it is no better.
Man has, within him a deep deceit when unbridled power is placed in his hands. His word becomes law and his magnanimity for others is lost in his omnipotence.
We should beware soothsayers and all who have an answer for all !!
We should be understanding of the whys and the wherefores before rushing to judgement.
And as always we should, to use a religious tome, be careful not to throw the first stone.

A day with the ducks

Is the price we pay too high ?
Can we ever expect to find a way to deal with the volatility of another human being when all we need is a quiet, uncomplicated life ?
Does the lack of taking on the argument and always attempting to find compromise show a weakness or a strength.
Is finding compromise irrelevant to finding a solution.

Given my current situation, that of a semi monastic, I find great pleasure with my own company. Being on ones own allows you to do things at your own pace or of course, if you so desire not to do them at all. 

One of the drivers and the thing which gets you out and about is someone else's interests. Yesterday I was taken to a bird sanctuary (ducks, geese,) and had a thoroughly pleasant time wandering around the wetlands and ponds in the sanctuary, marvelling at the colours and the friendly habits of these members of the Anatidae family.

Geese are of the same family but stouter with longer elongated necks.

Ducks find their way into cartoons (Daffy and Donald) whilst Geese are mythological and favour mention in Ancient Greece, in numerous stories. 

Finally it is only the "female" duck which "quacks" the Drakes keep quiet !!! 

All this on a trip around a place I hadn't anticipated ever going to. 

The sense of stepping out of the trammelled path of our everyday life into a different environment alters ones perspective and mentally slows and re-jigs the helter skelter pace of our lives into one in which you are more inclined to watch and wait, no longer the centre of your contrived self centred universe.

The sky was cloudless, just a hint of wind blowing in from the north kept the temperature pleasant. People were taking their time, the children sensing their parents enjoyment had filed away their boisterousness and were keen to watch and learn. Children seem to cotton on to the link between them and the wildlife around quickly and it seems such a shame that we place fear in them by parading the dangers of farm animals rather than the natural common sense we all have, even when young, for animals that are larger than us but have no aggressive instinct other than when their young are around.

The men with their cameras long bulky lenses creating that moment when the bird was preening itself or hurtling across the surface of the pond chasing another duck in a territorial display of pond real estate.

It was such a good day we promised to come back a "do" the other half of this extensive exhibition of man's protective caring. A symbol of what we can do which is positive amongst all the wreckage of our other endeavours