Chocolate

Intriguing bar of chocolate on sale at Sainsburys. The Chocolate Society is based in Elizabeth Street in London, but some of their products may be made in France. The chocolate had a dry, brittle composition, and it was like eating chocolate chalk (this doesn't sound appetising, but actually it was very good).



Since the Kraft takeover of Cadbury the largest British chocolate company is now Thorntons. Their chocolate is expensive but delectable and very sweet. The Viennese truffles are also good.



What is to be done about globalised companies that move jobs around the world regardless of the devastating impact this might have on individuals and communities? People like Todd Stitzer and that woman who heads up Kraft are indifferent to the suffering they cause. If the workers being made redundant were to physically attack Stitzer and the Kraft woman they would probably be justified (and were I in a jury that was trying the case, I do not think I would convict the assailants).

Martin Sorrell, displaying all of Orwell's "vulgar fat opulence of wealth", lolled around on Andrew Neil's sofa on This Week last night, saying Europe had to become as "competitive" as China. By competitive he means workers should be crammed into migrant hostels, have no welfare support, and get beaten up by the paramilitary police if they strike or demonstrate. If ever someone needs a good kicking it is Martin Sorrell.

Twitter and the anatomy of “Cool”

Two weeks back I thought I would give Twitter a go. As a media channel it has passed the “early adopter” phase and is now mainstream (even middle-aged teachers are writing about it in Education Guardian). Other people I knew had started using the site, so it seemed a good time to try it out.

Anyway I set up my Twitter account and started posting. But for various reasons I couldn’t get the hang of it. The 140 words was too constricting for me, and changed the meaning of most things I wanted to say. I never got round to updating by text from my mobile phone (which would have added an extempore quality). I was unsure about the frequency. The overall example of Stephen Fry seemed too intimidating.

After about a week my Twitter site was a burden to me. It was like a mouth that needed constant feeding. So I just deleted it.

But it has been on my mind ever since. Perhaps I had blotted out my site too hastily? Perhaps I should have another go?

It also occurred to me that rather than just write whatever rubbish came into my head I should give my new Twitter facility a theme.

And in one of those “ping” moments, the idea came into my head to use Twitter as a notebook for a project I am working on.

The Ice Cold Project

Several weeks ago Yvette (my boss, a tremendous woman in every sense of the word) gave out assignments to each of us, designed to build new selling points for the agency. She wanted us to offer things no other agency could offer. Most of these “added value” attributes were intangibles.

The intangible quality I was asked to work on was “Cool”.

Initially this caused me to panic. I am one of the last people to know “what’s hip, what’s happening, what’s now”. Still less would I know how to take the quality of “coolness” and build it into a customer’s brand.

But one cannot say “no” to Yvette.

So I approached it as I would any other research project. I set parameters. I defined criteria. I identified methodologies. I recorded perceptions, and graded those perceptions according to demographics (age, gender, geographical location etc). I asked the same question two or three times, with slightly different wording, to ensure consistency. I began to look for patterns (but without jumping to conclusions).

It has turned out to be one of the most fascinating exercises I have ever attempted.

It has also been a lot easier to research than I thought.

All I do is ask the question: Who is the coolest person you know? (with the secondary question: and why?).

I also needed a system of classification, and have decided to use the names of Greek city states of the classical period – mainly because it is a short-hand I can easily remember, and is more coherent (for me) than numerics.

I have set up my Twitter account (called Anatomy of Cool in homage to Robert Burton) and I am hoping complete strangers will contribute to the list. Please remember that the coolness of any individual rests entirely in the perception of others and the reasons they give. No endorsement (or otherwise) is intended.

As well as cool people, I am also going to list “facilitators” since society is not a vacuum – cultural facilitators, economic facilitators, political facilitators.

Anyway, I have listed some thoughts below. They are not finished ideas by any means, and I anticipate this project taking me another year at least. But somewhere in there I think will be “the answer” (which I am also hoping might be worth some money, so I am holding a few things back).

Caveat – I am aware that many people have written on this subject before, and although I have looked at some of this, I have decided to start completely fresh. I am not really looking at what style gurus call cool. I am interested in what ordinary people consider cool and why.

Aspects that seem to define a cool person:

1 A cool person is someone who changes their immediate environment (and in certain circumstances wider environments, including occasionally global environments).

2 Generally cool people are not influenced by what other people think.

3 A cool person has a strong internal commentary and generally believes other people think the same way as he/she does.

4 Cool people do not depend on acquired knowledge, they need to think things through for themselves (even though their thinking may not be very deep).

5 Cool people do not trust the judgment of others, they MUST reach their own conclusions, whether on choice of music, choice of political party, fashion, moral behaviour, attitudes towards others, issues of expression etc.

6 All cool people are brave – this is a fundamental quality.

7 Cool people are not ambitious, generally they accept the surroundings they find themselves in, the people they meet, the things that happen to them.

8 You cannot be self-consciously cool – this is a fundamental quality.

9 Cool people are progressive in the sense that they have to make order out of the chaotic circumstances they find themselves in.

10 On the whole cool people have rational minds and can justify the choices they make.

11 Facial expressions of cool people convey a “look” that either subdues or impresses others (need to do more analysis on this).

12 Coolness has different qualities according to age. The coolness of children is different from that of teenagers, which in turn is different from fully adult people. Elderly people generally are not cool (but there are exceptions). Cool people make their age group “enviable” and endow their generation with an effortless attractiveness. Currently unclear whether cool people can pass from being cool in youth to being cool in a later age group. A lot more work needs to be done on age groups.

13 Cool people are irresistible – even if you have misgivings about their character you find it difficult to resist them.

14 Cool people are agreeably stimulating and agreeably provocative – this is a fundamental quality.

15 Cool people have the power of pleasing or entertaining people (“charm” although this is a very imprecise description).

16 Cool people break rules – this is a fundamental quality.

17 If cool people conform with a particular aspect of society they do this because they have internally decided that they want to conform.

18 It is hard work being cool as they have to think out everything for themselves, and then integrate it into their world view.

19 Cool people do not care about the opinions of others, all that they are bothered about is their integrated view (it is this integrated view that drives them to behave in a particular way).

20 Cool people are unpredictable – this is a fundamental quality.

21 Cool people have huge powers of resistance to the way the world enforces conformity.

22 A cool person has a character that is absolutely integrated, and they never contradict themselves (possibly this is why younger people are cooler, because they have not made so many compromises with the world).

23 Cool people seem to be symmetrical – I need to do more work on this idea.

24 Cool people have a top down immediacy in which you can see them for what they are, rather than people you build up their image and reputation action by action.

25 In a sense cool people are pointillist – individual actions in themselves are not so cool, but the total picture when seen at a little distance is overwhelmingly cool. Therefore can we say coolness has a tipping point at which it is achieved?

26 Cool people are interested only in the future.

27 Cool people are formative people in any sub-section of society, and are the people who appeal to the collective imagination of that sub-section.

28 Great people do not become cool, cool people become recognized as great (unproven – I’m not sure how valid this is and need more data).

29 Cool individuals create an impact through being copied.

30 A creative society is made up of cool people being cool.

31 Cool people are spontaneous.

32 Cool people rely on instinct.

33 Cool people have a perfection that never lapses - this has great power over others.

34 Coolness has a perpetuating quality – those who become cool gain ever greater strength to remain cool.

35 You cannot be indifferent to coolness – if you are not cool yourself you are affected by the presence of cool people.

36 The presence of cool people enhances non-cool people, and thus they become very popular and celebrated (but coolness is not popularity nor is it celebrity).

37 Can coolness be generated (or self-generated)? This is a key question. I am beginning to see how it might be faked.

38 There are no more cool people in the world now than there ever were. Coolness has always existed as a given percentage of a society’s population. As cool people emerge in new sectors, so other people become uncool in others.

39 Coolness is not without its cost. Cool people suffer, they have blocks put on them, they are despised.

Skater

Walking through Bloomsbury, suddenly this pack of rollerbladers came past (if you click on the picture it enlarges so you can see more detail).

I knew more and more people were taking this up as a sport, but this was the first time I had seen it happening in public.

Probably Jamie Stenner is the most influential "skater" in the United Kingdom (apparently you are not supposed to call them rollerbladers). Influential in terms of personal style. Guy Crawford is long gone.

Rediscovering Traces of Memory, Jewish Book Week

Above: left to right, Kate Craddy (Director of the Galicia Jewish Museum in Krakow), Janusz Makuch (founder of the Jewish Cultural Festival in Krakow) and Professor Jonathan Webber (author of Memory and Revival).

Yesterday I went to the talk Rediscovering Traces of Memory. The talk was held in the ballroom of the Royal National Hotel in Bedford Way. It was one of the events surrounding Jewish Book Week.

It was a really interesting talk, not just if you are interested in Jewish history, but also if you are interested in wider historical themes.

The general view is that little remains of the thousand-year Jewish culture in Poland. Janusz Makuch, who is not Jewish but may qualify as one of Ruth Gruber’s “virtual Jews” began to take an interest in the fragments of the former Jewish presence that survived. The more he looked, the more he saw:

“I used to spend weeks of the summer vacations traveling from village to village, from market town to market town, and everywhere I would meet people who would show me things…”

Professor Webber described Janusz Makuch as a “culture broker”. Poland as a centre of Jewish culture was compared to Babylon during the Captivity and early medieval Spain. The Jewish Cultural Festival in Krakow now comprises two hundred events over nine days.

Most importantly, there was for me a “eureka moment” when a throwaway remark by Janusz Makuch illuminated an intellectual issue I have been struggling with for some time (entirely unrelated to the Jewish history of Krakow).

Very enjoyable afternoon – hearing about books, looking at books, being among other people who like books.

Afterwards I browsed the several hundred new Jewish books on display, and despite my previous resolution (no more books, absolutely no more books) purchased two. Then kosher sandwiches and a cup of tea in the café. And then out into the cold Sunday afternoon street.

Repercussions - the past week at work

Monday

I felt tired when I got up, which is always a bad sign. The bedroom was extremely cold. The bathroom was also cold, so that getting washed and dressed became an exercise in bravery.

At the agency Andrea (fellow account executive) arrived gasping with shock after the cold of the street.

Yvette (agency head) arrived with hair-raising stories of how a manic driver had tried to ram her off the motorway ("she is such an aggressive driver she probably deserved it" Andrea told me later).

It was a busy morning - so busy I felt swamped with work. This sudden rush of income put Yvette in a good mood for the mammoth agency meeting she held (for two and a half hours!). Chocolate-cream biscuits and coffees made by Eleanor (admin assistant) but always when I am in one of Yvette's meetings I get indigestion, probably as a result of stress.

When we came out of the meeting it was a rush to catch up on everything. Despite pending deadlines I went out at lunchtime and collected some books I had ordered. It seemed old-fashioned to do this rather than have them posted by Amazon.

Andrea often talked about the educational charity we both do voluntary work for. She complained about the bickering and politics of the committee. Also how she was continually being snubbed.

"You should have been on the committee when Gerson and Valerie were joint-Chairmen" I told her.

"Why, were they nice?"

"No, they were far worse."

Just as I was about to leave in the evening Yvette talked to me about how the new accounts are to be allocated (we were the last people left in the office). I listened politely but I don't really care who gets the new work. All I wanted to do was go home.

Freezing fog surrounded the house.

Tuesday

As soon as I stepped outside the house the cold hit me like a blow.

Most of the morning in the agency I was on my own. Andrea was supposed to be at the dentist, but I knew she was attending a second interview for another job. The fact that she didn't come in at all today made me think she might have got it (but I found out later that she had gone to meet Paul de Lion her lover, in Slough of all places).

When Yvette came in she announced that Eleanor is to be promoted to account executive from the end of this week, and is to "understudy" all the clients held by Andrea and myself. This seemed a shrewd move by Yvette, considering the open rumours that Andrea is leaving. We had to send out letters to each of our clients introducing Eleanor.

In the evening it felt as if the weather was becoming milder.

Wednesday

Andrea arrived this morning and told me she had already written her resignation letter and was planning to hand it in just as soon as she had heard that her references had been accepted. Separately Yvette called me into her office and told me she suspected Andrea was about to leave (I had to feign surprise). Yvette told me that Andrea's work was substandard and that she had been thinking of sacking her anyway.

In the afternoon I accompanied Yvette to see a prospective client in west London (another company she had handled at her last agency). Suddenly she asked if I wanted to see her horse. We drove to Chiswick and a small livery stables (modern construction on the edge of a big park, mud everywhere). The horse was called Iver, and was seventeen and a half hands. We gave him some carrots and took him for a walk around the yard in the cold winter sunshine. Yvette appeared vulnerable and almost girlish, resting her head on the horse's neck as if communing with him.

In the evening Yvette, Andrea, Terry (our MD) and myself drove in Terry's Jag to Docklands for a reception by a publication (we place a lot of ads with them). Despite the recession the luxury of this event was astonishing (a continual supply of champagne, expensive food, a high ratio of waiting staff to guests). We were in a hospitality suite high up in one of the towers, and I looked out of the windows and thought about my family's humble origins in the East End.

Thursday

As it was almost 3am by the time I got to bed I was extremely tired when the alarm went off at 6. I wondered how I would get thorough the day. Half an hour late getting to the office.

Most of the morning I spent working on the campaign for our toy client. I was glad that all the problems seemed to resolve themselves without my having to do anything. More European countries added to the schedule, which was very good news.

An agonised call from Andrea at 10. Her references for the new job had not been acceptable (one of the referees had rang up the new employer and told them how untrustworthy she was). She was fighting to hold onto the job offer and get new references, and begged me to cover for her and handle any work that came in from her clients.

Lunchtime I went to the bank.

In the afternoon Yvette brought everyone cream cakes. Things became quiet. At 3pm Yvette called me into her office and told me I would receive a payrise of about ten per cent from April (presumably she wants to make sure that if Andrea goes no-one follows her).

At the end of the working day Rachel, one of the PR execs upstairs, used one of our offices to get changed as she was going out straight from work (upstairs is just open-plan, with no privacy).

"What shall I do with my face?" Rachel said rhetorically, rushing into the woman's loo.

"If I were you I'd take it back and ask for a refund" said Neil (graphic designer).

Friday

Frost heavy on the landscape as I drove to the station.

At the agency I was the first in, and no-one else appeared until mid-morning.

Yvette and Eleanor came back from visiting a food client, bringing some samples with them (breakfast cereals I had never heard of before - they were not very nice).

Andrea came in at 11, very subdued. She asked me to help her with some copywriting, and we went into the quiet room (a cubby hole well away from Yvette's office). She told me the job offer had been withdrawn and consequently she was staying on at the agency.

Repercussions from her almost-resignation continued however. Julie, Yvette's assistant at her last agency, came for an interview and was immediately appointed to Eleanor's old job of admin assistant. Eleanor is now poised to compete with Andrea (or indeed myself) for control of the clients.

First Time Voters Question Time on BBC3

On Wednesday I watched First Time Voters Question Time on BBC3

The programme was chaired by Dermot O’Leary, and included a panel of three celebrities and three politicians, with an audience of about one hundred – all presumably first time voters.

First time voters are given prominence because of the cultural idea (most famously belted out by George Benson and later Whitney Houston) that “the children are our future”. This is a flawed premise because “the children” will never actually inherit the future - as soon as they stop being children they will be immediately forced to acknowledge that a new tranche of children are the future. These in turn will be told they are “the future” until the moment they are forced to realise they are not.

Thus politicians are able to justify all kinds of shaky policies on the grounds that they are doing it “for our children”.

Anyway, the programme followed the usual Question Time format. Various questions were asked and answered. Nothing controversial was raised.

The most interesting aspect of the programme was the chairing by Dermot O’Leary. Slightly overlarge head, heavy jaw, smart suit but with the cuffs riding up. He is able to project a likeable personality, mainly through the use of his voice and facial expressions (although if you look into his biography, he is not an obviously likeable person, and some elements I would consider unlikeable).

At one point a panel member (I think it was David Lammy MP but it might have been one of the others) referred to Dermot O’Leary reverentially as “a celebrity” – but what exactly is he celebrated for, and who is celebrating him?

David Lammy also spoke disparagingly about “old white men in suits” then immediately made the exception “not you Dermot” (despite Dermot O’Leary’s qualification for the term).

Dermot O’Leary often referred to himself during the show (“I watch Question Time every week”) which is something David Dimbleby would never do. He scowled when he wanted to appear serious and sucked his lower lip quasi-adolescently whenever looking towards the singer Jamelia. He complemented David Lammy on use of the expression “mash-up” (although teenage argot is a minefield for anyone over the age of twenty).

I don’t mean to be negative but on the whole I felt the programme was a bit like Dr Johnson’s dog walking on hind legs – when you’ve seen it once you don’t particularly want to see it again.

Peacocks

Recently I've been thinking about the cultural impact of peacocks.



Above: The appearance of the peacock is impressive, particularly the train which opens like a fan behind its head. The feathers contain tones of green, gold, purple and blue. The birds can fly short distances, and like to be high up.

The cry is melancholy and unforgettable.



Above: I saw these peacock feathers in a church. The bird is a religious symbol of rebirth and regeneration. The Old Testament mentions King Solomon obtaining peacocks from the coast of India: “once every three years came the navy of Tarshish, bringing gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks”.



Above: peacocks were probably brought to England by the Romans and have remained here ever since. In the 14th centiury Chaucer used the peacock as a metaphor for pride. I saw this peacock in a garden centre, just walking around nonchalantly.



Above: I was walking along the Regents Canal where it goes through London Zoo and I saw this magnificent sight. Everyone on the tow path stopped to look. It was amazing.



Above: stuffed peacock in a window display. Aubrey Beardsley used peacock motifs in the 1894 illustrations for Oscar Wilde's play Salomé. The department store Liberty is famous for its peacock printed fabrics.



Above: another window display. As a visual image the peacock achieves instant recognition. Peacock images were used by the designer William Morris (his work is currently undergoing a revival of interest).



Above: the peacock pub (has some very attractive engraved glass windows). The pub was named after a 19th century publican called peacock. The family name Peacock indicates an ancestor who was a showy dresser.



Above: German tapestry design. Peacocks also have a decadant and slightly sinister aspect. The feathers are, in some cultures, seen as representing the "evil eye" (jealousy).



Above: The Summer of the White Peacock is a classic 1980s novel (describing a few weeks in the life of an intensely narcissistic clothes-obsessed minor actor). The White Peacock is also the title of a novel by DH Lawrence (one of his best). Literary references to peacocks have been made by Aristophanes, Keats and George Eliot.

St David's Day

Today is St David’s Day, the Welsh national day.

I used to go to north Wales almost every summer, staying just outside the town of Dollgelau. Wales has a déjà vu quality for me. I can go to places that I know I have never been before, and yet they feel absolutely familiar.

Strange and familiar at the same time.

Chivalry, the cult of knighthood

A medieval town that has dwindled into a village. In the centre fragments of a hilltop Roman fort, the encircling walls later used to protect a Saxon church. Inside the church I was shown a whip – an elderly sacristan explained the whip would be cracked three times in the church porch between readings.

Recumbent effigies lined the south wall, including this 14th century figure of a knight. There seems to be a circlet of gold around the helmet, which indicates he had a noble rank. The armour is plain and workmanlike.

Sparse information about who he was, but reading Froissart or Chastellain or le Marche gives you an idea of what his life would have been like.

We think of modern times as being obsessed with youth, but the later middle ages was a time when most people were genuinely young. If you lived to 50 you would be considered ancient. It was a world where most adults were in their twenties, thirties and forties.

It was also a time when most people were fit and healthy. Generally if you fell ill or became disabled you would not survive long. Also diets were healthier, and people were more active.

However, the fourteenth century was a period of plague. Not just the Black Death (which killed a third of the population) but recurrent plagues and famines. This created a general mood of melancholy, but also a society that anticipated a golden age about to begin.

The pessimism created by a century of plague and famine caused a retreat into a fantasy world centred on chivalry, the cult of knighthood.

All classes participated in chivalric culture. Obviously the knights were the key players, but everyone else (all classes) would know how the cult functioned, would attend tournaments as spectators, and would have opinions on who lived up to the chivalric standard. Knowledge about this ideal society was disseminated through popular stories about heroic chivalric figures (legendary ones such as Parsifal, historic ones such as Roland, collaborative enterprises such as the first crusade etc).

Maurice Keen has done a lot of research about the chivalric lifestyle but much more still needs to be done. The cult of knighthood incorporated a veneration of physical strength and fitness, a manic attitude towards the collection of “honours”, an extreme sexual obsession that masqueraded as courtly love, a codified system of conduct and behaviour, a complex idea of “protection” and a legitimized indulgence of violence.

All the ingredients of modern society were created in this time.

“Thank you for getting me out of that room” - the past week at work

Monday

Drowsy and wrapped up warm I went out to my car this morning. Foggy landscape. Cold train.

I briefed Neil (graphics designer) on the campaign for our construction client.

Work was slack in the agency, so I was able to take a long lunch. It was a change not to have to work incessantly. Visits to various shops, and then sandwiches and pastries sitting on my own in the window of Patisserie Valerie.

In the afternoon I talked to Yvette (agency head) about developing our agency selling points. It occurred to me that we had never really had a conversation before. She almost treated me as an equal.

Tuesday

Another quiet day. Yvette seemed curiously subdued, which was very uncharacteristic. Have the false promises made by Terry (our ultimate boss) finally broken her?

A vast bouquet of flowers arrived for Andrea (fellow account executive). By vast I mean it was really HUGE, almost as tall as I am, presented in a sort of sheaf of cellophane with a card that only mentioned the florist’s address and phone number. A waste-paper bucket had to be filled with water for the flowers to go into (every kind of long-stemmed flower you can think of). Andrea was very coy about who they had come from, smiling infuriatingly and refusing to say anything. When she went out to a client Eleanor (admin assistant) rang up the florist to see who had sent them. When she heard the news she bent over double in laughter, eventually gasping to us “Paul de Lion” (one of the PR consultants in the office upstairs, and a candidate for the title: creepiest person in the entire world).

Eleanor told Yvette, and Yvette mocked Andrea when she came back. During the course of the day it was revealed that Andrea is having an affair with Paul de Lion. I was shocked (not by the sexual congress, but by the selection of such an odious partner).

In the afternoon I opened a woman’s magazine (we get lots of voucher copies) and saw a double-page full-colour ad for one of our clients that we had not placed. Ringing our rep at IPC I found out that it had been placed thorough another agency. When I showed it to Yvette she almost crumpled.

Gradually rumours filtered out that there had been a major clash last night between Yvette and the cleaners, who are now threatening to leave (good riddance to them was my reaction).

Towards the end of the day I talked to Katherine, Terry’s PA. She is very committed to animal welfare and is a vegetarian. Quiet and reserved, she seems to live her life in a kind of limbo (as I suppose I do).

Wednesday

Sleepy and in a slight daze when I woke up, but the morning routine seems to have a momentum of its own that gets me washed and dressed and out of the door without my having to do any independent thinking.

I borrowed Yvette’s car and drove westward to see our construction client. People complain about driving in London but I find it no problem (the worst bit is getting the car in and out of the mews at the back, especially the mechanized security gate). I showed Peter B the new designs and the media discounts we have negotiated.

Returning to the agency, a meeting with Rhoda who is the new marketing manager at our toy client. She is related to the toy client’s MD, and obviously knows very little about advertising. I showed her round the agency, then used Terry’s office (while he was out) to talk her through the media schedule and creative proposals.

Terry came back and the three of us went to lunch at the Italian restaurant. Conversation was a bore. I realised I had been to the restaurant so many times I had tried everything on the menu.

In the afternoon I started to use Twitter for the first time. My main concern is that having started it, I shouldn’t let it drop (as I did with Facebook). Also, I need to decide what I want to use it for (I suppose I am trained to think in terms of campaign plans and creative rationale).

In the afternoon Andrea made received so many personal phone calls on her mobile that Yvette became very angry with her).

A great rush to prepare the Greenway presentation.

Thursday

I woke early, hearing the dog on the half-landing and my brother getting up to let her out. Then I slept again. Then I woke with the alarm and laid in bed thinking about how cold the room would be when I finally got up.

In the agency the Greenway presentation work continued. Also Greenway placed a number of ads with us, presumably as a test to see if we could handle them. No clear yet whether Andrea or myself will be handling them.

Andrea near the end of her tether with Yvette, and talking to me about leaving. She told me Yvette has a bad reputation among media reps, and was unable to keep staff on her team at the last agency she worked at. Unworthy thought, but I couldn’t help thinking that if Andrea did leave which of her clients I would be able to take over.

A lot of cost per thousand calculations in the afternoon.

Everyone working on the Greenway presentation, Yvette going through it stage by stage and complaining about almost everything. Often we were all called into her office to talk though various sections, Yvette firing hostile questions at each of us. During one particularly difficult onslaught Neil came to my rescue by suggesting we looked for some extra data (“Thank you for getting me out of that room” I said to him when we were out of earshot).

Eleanor made everyone a cup of coffee with whipped cream (Yvette’s favourite drink).

Friday

News that Duncan has gone (left last night after being called up to Terry’s office).

“I think he was advised to resign” said Eleanor.

“He had his chance and didn’t make the most of it” said Andrea.

“His going takes some pressure off the amount of income we have to generate” said Chris (part time Accounts).

All of the morning occupied by hectic work putting together the Greenway report. Andrea was editing this, and she grew more and more ratty as Yvette sent back pages with amendments scrawled over them. At one stage I thought Andrea was becoming hysterical.

John Wdwd arrived and we all gathered in the Boardroom upstairs for the presentation (leaving Eleanor to answer the phone). Despite Yvette’s opening speech about “personal chemistry” being a cornerstone of the agency’s client liaison, it soon became clear that she and John Wdwd were antagonistic towards each other. The presentation came to an end and Andrea saw John Wdwd out the door.

I felt I had to get out of the agency for a while, and went to the bank and bought the Times Literary Supplement.

The usual last-minute Friday afternoon rush of ads began, and I was grateful for Eleanor’s help – she is quick-witted and her work is accurate.

The Day the Immigrants Left

Last night I watched a documentary on BBC1 entitled The Day the Immigrants Left, examining some of the issues around migration. It was presented by Evan Davis, someone I generally mistrust (he is a member of the British-American Project for a Successor Generation). When I listen to Evan Davis I always get the feeling he is following an agenda of his own not immediately discernable.

The documentary examined the impact uncontrolled immigration has had on the small town of Wisbech in Cambridgeshire (a place that is known locally as Wisbekistan because of the recent population changes). The documentary replaced a number of immigrants with long-term local unemployed people in what was presented as being a scientific study of whether local people could do the jobs performed by immigrants. It quickly became apparent that the programme was dishonest, biased and unfair.

Experienced and fully trained immigrants in a succession of employment venues (an asparagus farm, a packing factory, an Indian restaurant etc) are replaced by untrained individuals straight off the dole queue. We then see them mostly fail to keep up / work to the same standard / show the same level of motivation. A smug fruity-voiced fat farmer chuckles at the pathetic productivity of the locals. A gobby young woman in a fluorescent safety waistcoat bullies the local team packing potatos (she didn’t actually use a cattle-prod, but she might as well have). A cliquey team of Indian cooks snap at the rookie waiter when he fails to understand their dialect. At the end a pontificating Evan Davis concluded (on our behalf) that local unemployed people were not capable of doing the jobs carried out by immigrants.

This is obviously not true – you only have to compare the productivity of pre-1989 Eastern Europe with the productivity of the United Kingdom at the same time and you can see there are no grounds for saying Eastern European people are “harder working” than British people.

What is obvious is that if you terrorize, brutalize and starve a population for sixty years (as the Polish population was) when they are finally released they will suffer any privation and exploitation rather than go back to their former state.

All that has happened is that the post-terrorized, post-brutalized and post-starved condition has become the accepted norm against which the C2, D and E population of Wisbech is being judged.

Great play was made of the sickness rate of the local unemployed people. Ignoring the fact that “sickies” are a HUGE problem throughout industry, and the public sector in particular. I would like to use this blog post to call for an inquiry into the sickness rate in Surrey Police.

Very sloppy standards of journalism were exhibited in the programme. Evan Davis went to a local infant school and blithely accepted the assurances from the head that everything in the school was fine. Despite being an economist, Evan Davis seemed unable to question the wage structures to any real depth (why are the wages of farm labourers increasing at a vastly slower rate than those of farm owners for instance).

No attempt was made to calculate the true cost of the extra population in terms of congested roads, competition for rental accommodation, social disintegration of local communities etc.

What came over very strongly was the powerlessness of the local unemployed and their inability to defend themselves.

Most telling of all, it was obvious from interviews in the programme that the importation of migrants had no mandate from the population of Wisbech. It really boils down to the question: who does the town of Wisbech belong to? The local people on the electoral roll, or the local land-owners and companies?

The dispossession of the lowest sectors of society and their replacement with foreign migrants is comparable with the clearances of the Highlands in the 19th century and the replacement of the Highland population with “more productive” sheep. It represents a crime against humanity (I hope I am not exaggerating here – I am doing my best to be dispassionate). Historians need to make a list of politicians and local officials who have exceeded their authority in creating this situation, with the objective of eventually making them account for their actions.

Seeds of Change

Continuing my chocolate research, I came across this Seeds of Change bar in Sainsburys. Looking at the wrapping, it had a Lincolnshire address on it, which made me think it had been produced in the United Kingdom. My first reaction was: good old Sainsbury, supporting small local manfacturers.



Eating this chocolate was a very positive experience. Normally I don't like dark chocolate, but this bar had a luxurious melting texture which, combined with the seeds, made it (for me) unique. Sweet and delicate cocoa perfume; intense chocolate taste that did not have even the slightest sickly kickback.

Using the inside of the wrapper, the company had worked hard to counter post-purchase dissonance by offering an attractive narrative that talked about organic Turkish apricots, Black Sea hazlenuts, and Persian walnuts grown on one specific farm in France.

This chocolate bar seemed too good to be true.

And it was.

Searching for Seeds of Change on Google, the company is AMERICAN, and it appears the products are shipped half-way across the world to get to the British market. Worse, their website carries (in tiny text) the trademark of Mars Incorporated, a mega monster. I felt tricked.

So ten out of ten for a product experience, but ZERO out of ten for pretending to be something it isn't. Seeds of Change made me feel a fool for thinking they were small and local. I am going to punish them for this by NEVER BUYING THEIR PRODUCTS AGAIN.

Different ways of experiencing travel

Recently I read three books in succession about cruises. I started with An Inquisitive Eye edited by Robert White, then read The Cruise of the Vanadis by Edith Wharton, and finally read Beyond the Mexique Bay by Aldous Huxley. I planned this sequence because I am interested in different ways of experiencing travel, especially in replacing air travel (less journeys per lifetime, but experiencing more in the course of a journey).

Air travel is an homogenised experience. There are variations in airlines, but you basically get the same sort of hurtling disorientation, de-humanised processing, and plastic environment. This sense of going somewhere and finding yourself where you began is not a TS Eliott metaphor but a reflection of how “samey” the world is becoming – enhanced if after your plastic journey you stay at a plastic hotel no different from a Premier Inn or a Travelodge.

So at the moment I am interested in people who travel on the surface and see new things…

Inquisitive Eye is the journal of Sybil Hall, an elderly rich American woman who travels with her husband around the world in 1935 (Pacific islands, New Zealand, Australia, Africa and Europe). She is not a literary writer, but is able to construct sentences that convey her interest in the things she was seeing. Although obviously able to afford first class wherever she went, it was surprising how much of the time first class wasn’t available, and they had to make the best of things.

The book amazed me with the accounts of how a very complex system of international travel and trade operated without much of the mechanization and computerization we take for granted. Huge numbers of people were employed making the world work. Things appeared to be much more sustainable and in balance.

Also it was interesting to see a world described where America was not yet a global superpower. Australia in the 1930s was very rough and ready, Africa mysterious, Europe ridiculously over-civilised. A fascinating book.

There is a picture in the book of the author and her husband and daughter standing outside the Burlinghame Country Club in California in 1956. There is a lot of information in this picture if you look hard enough. These people (as wealth-holders, as consumers, as voters, as opinion-formers, as nay-sayers, as self-obsessives) are representative of the class that by 1956 had changed the world, and subsequently stood close to the apex of human society (where, generally, they still stand).

Cruise of the Vanadis is a journal of Edith Wharton’s travels through the Mediterranean in a private yacht in 1888. The journey is supposed to have provided material for her novel The House of Mirth. Edith Wharton’s style is superlative, even in an unpublished and apparently private work such as this, and it is easy to see why she is the best writer America has ever produced.

Edith Wharton displays great classical learning in this journal, but she is not a specialist – just someone who was very well educated. She knew how the Mediterranean countries fit together and how their cultures relate one to another. Her journey through the Greek islands reminded me of Cavafy’s Ithaca.

Last and best was Aldous Huxley’s Beyond the Mexique Bay, a journey he made in 1933. Tatty old paperback – I forget where I picked it up. But so full of insights and ideas it had me scribbling in the margins and turning down corners.

Interesting that they had a problem with celebrity culture in the 1930s – Huxley calls these “front-page people” and mocks their infantile behaviour. In his study of the Copan ruins he mentions a sculptured head and torso of the a maize god which is held by the British Museum, so that I immediately resolved to go and see it. He also writes so favourably about Guatemalan coffee that I have been trying to find it (without success) in the supermarkets.

Intensity

Yesterday's expedition into the past has made me think about what relevance the medieval world has to marketing today.   As DAL Morgan (one of the greatest medievalists) has advised us:  all the origins of modern culture can be found in the medieival period.    One of the noticeable features of the middle ages was the intensity with which life was lived.  Every stage of life was ritualised and formalised.  The result was that even ordinary everyday occurances became significant.   Huizinga points out that a soft bed, a good meal, a warm fire - all were appreciated through ritual benedictions, formulas, and ceremonies.   This is the reverse of the throwaway culture we have today.   It suggests that the more we can build ritual into branding, the more impact the brand will have.   It also suggests that the more people are enabled (through ritual) to appreciate what they have, the less will be the gnawing desire they have for "more".

Private war

Above: at first sight the church was disappointing, apparently eighteenth-century. However a medieval building stood on the site until about 1750 when the present structure replaced it. The village is tiny, just a few large farmhouses and a massive Victorian hall of such hideous construction that I swerved my car looking back for a second glance.



Above: although the sun was going down there was enough light to enable me to look around. The interior was small. I left the west door open a tiny crack... just in case.



Above: I was very pleased to see this monument, which had the familiar heraldic device of gold and black checks. It is very satisfying to read about a community and then, in the course of field research, to find traces they have left behind. I like the restraint of the design - cool marble shades, with just the shield coloured in (emblazoned).



Above: and looking over the altar rails I found the 13th century effigy I had come to see. Worn and chipped, holding his shield. His brow furrowed as if still pondering the long-gone events of le moyen age.

The area experienced a tumultuous time in the late middle ages, due to a fued between two knightly families. It is not clear what sparked the conflict, although it was probably some form of honour dispute. Local lords were petty monarchs and recruited retinues of liveried followers (one party in this dispute wore checkered hoods, which makes me think they must have looked like modern hoodies wearing Burberry).

This private war simmered on for two decades, with various attempts by outsiders to mediate a truce.

Eventually an itinerant preacher (probably a Friar, but the printed source is unclear) delivered a Lenton sermon at the village cross from 5am in the morning until 9pm in the evening, calling on the two sides to abandon their fight. One of the lords attended in person, the other sent a page riding on a horse covered with blue velvet. The village spent the night in the church praying.

The next day a peace agreement was reached, possibly involving reparations (the transcription is very ambiguous). A relic was taken from the church (or possibly it had been brought by the preacher) and the villagers followed it barefoot in a procession (from where to where? - the vagueness is infuriating). The church bells were rung continuously from morning until nightfall.

As a tokan of good faith both sides in the dispute shaved their heads - this symbolic hair cropping included the two lords and their retinues which probably consisted of a few professional knights supplemented by tenant farmers and yeomen.

Mock exclamations of joy - the past week at work

Monday

When everyone had arrived this morning Yvette (Head of the agency) stood in the middle of the general office and said she didn’t want anyone going home until all their work was finished for the day.

Most of the morning was spent in what I have come to think of as the intricate web of the mundane - chasing proofs for various deadlines. Intricate because there are so many stages to everything. Mundane because the process is so boring.

There was an odd occasion when the ad for our financial client appeared in a newspaper with the wrong phone number (John Wdwd, our contact, had written the copy, and the phone number he had put in was that of a rival finance company where he used to work). John Wdwd was mortified when he rang me up to stop the ad appearing in other publications. When I told Yvette she did a little dance of delight (she doesn’t like John Wdwd).

No Andrea today, and somehow a rumour circulated that she had left the agency (I couldn’t find out how this rumour started). Yvette was very grim over Andrea’s non-appearance, and began to line up someone to take her place (she wants to poach this person from her former agency). Not for the first time I thought how ruthless advertising could be.

We all worked late, but just before 6pm Terry, our ultimate MD, attempted some amateur electrical work and fused the lights in half the agency. Deadlines had to be met however, and we were working in the Operations Room in the half-light from the street (“Working in the dark is very symbolic of the way we do things” said admin assistant Eleanor). The elaborate and ornate Tiffany lamp from Terry’s office was brought down to cast light on our work.

The telephones also failed, just when a caller I had been avoiding finally managed to get through to me (she will never believe I did not simply cut her off).

I left at 7pm, having more or less cleared my desk, saying goodbye to everyone else working late.

Tuesday

Andrea appeared this morning and sat down at her desk as if nothing had happened.

Yvette treated her shamefully, stirring up a ferocious rush over processes that were not really important. At one point Andrea threw an armful of papers onto the floor in a rage. The two of them then went off to a client meeting.

Free of Yvette for the rest of the day, I could work at my own pace.

Income today was low, unlike the large amounts of money the agency has been making for the past couple of weeks.

I was pleased at the way media negotiations for our toy client have been going. It was a risk to do this ourselves rather than use a media buyer, but it will mean more profits. Duncan has been very helpful with this media buying, and at last there seems to be something he is good at.

Eleanor brought round chocolate crepes at lunchtime, but they were not the same as pancakes.

I was able to leave on time, carefully hiding any work-in-progress in case Yvette nosed around my desk when she came back.

Wednesday

A day off. Ash Wednesday. A solemn day.

Thursday

Mock exclamations of joy from Andrea when she closed some job bags and was able to see the surface of her desk for the first time this week. But income has slumped, and news circulated that we had lost the Dewey presentation (would have brought in substantial amounts of money). I sat in the studio chatting to Neil (graphic designer) while Yvette and Andrea were out.

In the afternoon I borrowed Yvette’s car, a top of the range sports coupe, to visit our construction client. The vehicle is very low on the ground and the seat set so far back I felt I was almost lying down. Yvette had left her shoes (the ones she drives in) lying on the floor, which interrupted my use of the pedals.

It took ages to get out of London. I had never driven to the construction client on my own before, so I was pleased that I managed to get there without becoming lost. I was with the client barely thirty minutes – he rejected the designs Neil had done and asked for something new.

Back to the agency where preparations raged (not an exaggerated term) for the breakfast cereal presentation. Yvette had a mental block writing copy and asked for some suggestions. Although I was not part of the team working on this presentation I wrote a complete draft for the ads, and the copy was much better than Yvette’s efforts.

Duncan, who is nominally the agency’s copywriter, had made such a hash of things developing the presentation report that Yvette had thrown him off the team. He slouched about the offices, not having anything to do but not wanting to go home while everyone else was still working manically. Yvette complained in a nasty sarcastic tone about his work and I might have felt sorry for him were he not such a cocksure braggart.

Having “saved” the presentation I felt I could go home at 7pm, leaving everyone else still slaving away.

The educational charity I do voluntary work for was holding a reception for Sri Lankan students this evening, but at the last minute I felt too tired to go.

Friday

An extremely quiet day, with no ads coming in. Duncan was not in, and we wondered where he was (he was certainly not at the breakfast cereal account as he had been thrown off the presentation team). Most of the morning I spent in the studio with Neil, talking and swapping jokes.

Yvette and Andrea came back from the breakfast cereal presentation. Yvette was in an ecstatic mood, having been drawn to one side by the Finance Director and told she had got the account. To reward everyone she distributed red boxes of Lindor chocolates throughout the agency (news of this got out and staff came down from the PR division upstairs to help themselves).

So a happy end to the week.

Green & Black's - an alternative to Cadbury's

Above: having made a decision not to put money into the pockets of Kraft shareholders (who launched a piratical raid on the British chocolate industry) I have begun to realise how ubiquitous Cadbury's products are in the United Kingdom. If you go into any sweet shop or newsagents you see row after row of Cadbury's products. Flakes, Crunchies, Creme Eggs etc



Above: it is, however, possible to find independent chocolate makers. Green & Black's was started in London's Portobello Road in 1991 and have since grown into an international company. Their products are organic, which is an additional reason to buy them.



Above: tactile blue outer wrapper, inner foil of pale gold lined with white paper. Little squares slightly indented with a leaf logo. Slight scent of vanilla, even texture, smooth buttery-chocolate taste.

Sweet but not over-sweet. Very satisfying. Satisfaction lasted just over half an hour.

Apocalypto

Above: the scene at the start of the chase where the prisoners are released into an arena for archery practice by the city-dwellers (apparently the blue paint is authentic and not a repeat of the Braveheart woad howler).

On Sunday I watched the 2006 film Apocalypto. It was on BBC2 from 11pm. I had been looking forward to the film, which I missed when it was in the cinema, but it was a disappointment.

The film is directed by Mel Gibson and written by Mel Gibson "working with" Farhad Safinia.

The movie shows the primeval forest-dwelling existence of a Mayan tribe in the year 1500. This tribe is savagely overwhelmed by city-dwelling Maya who live in a hierarchical and exploitative society and practice a blood-thirsty religion based on human sacrifice. One of the forest-dwelling Maya escapes from the city and after an extended chase sequence escapes his pursuers because they are stunned into inaction by the arrival of Europeans.

Subliminally the themes can be represented as: forest dwelling is good and city-dwelling is bad; life is a race which only the strongest and swiftest will survive; the ancient Maya were an evil society that needed to be curbed by the Europeans.

Mel Gibson's ubermensch ideology in this film is grossly offensive on a number of levels. Although his earlier film Braveheart can be dismissed as comical trash, Apocalypto represents a more sinister agenda. It is a celebration of the idea of natural selection applied to humanity.

The noble savages of the forest are shown as animals - eating offal raw, procreating children, asserting their ancestral rights to hunt the forest.

The evil savages of the city are shown as monsters - no attempt is made to understand the complex Mayan religion. In an obviously invented scene the chief monster-priest makes a Mussolini-style speech from the top of a pyramid (there is no evidence speeches were ever made in this way). In a farcical scene that could have been lifted from an Enid Blyton novel the city savages are cowed by a sudden eclipse (ignoring the fact that Mayan astronomers would have been able to predict eclipses well in advance).



On the evidence of the lingering sequences in this film, Mel Gibson enjoys scenes of sado-masochism, and has an obsession with male gluteal muscles.

The photography is poor (actually blurred in many places) and the music is bad.

Ash Wednesday

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. It is a time for "giving up" things - mainly as a way of creating space for the serious study and prayers that lead up to Easter. Very effective Thought For The Day on Radio 4 this morning.

Fasting has been secularised, commodified and made into a retail "experience" in the post-war period, and is now marketed under the generic branding of "detox" (I know "generic branding" is a contradiction in terms, but I am writing this in a hurry). It is another example of the way consumerism has corrupted and supplanted the religious impulse. You pay more (vastly more) and you get far less.

Shrove Tuesday

Yes, I know this is cheating, but my efforts at cooking pancakes are not universally appreciated.

John Taylor writes about pancakes on Shrove Tuesday in Jack a Lent (1625), the Jack a Lent being a traditional custom of the day.

More: http://www.jstor.org/pss/4174383

Ian Jack in Saturday's Guardian

Ian Jack wrote yesterday about demographic changes in the United Kingdom as a result of inward migration since 1997. I have to admit to a feeling of panic when I read the line "in 2008 nearly a quarter of all births in England and Wales were to foreign-born mothers..." For me this is completely unacceptable. The social problems and communal violence this is going to cause will be immense. And whatever the economic arguments, I am not prepared to live as a minority in my own country. Who is Andrew Neather anyway? Note: I originally thought this article had appeared in Sunday's Observer, but actually it had been in Saturday's Guardian (which is why I couldn't find Analysis on Radio 4 - I was a day late). The mistake occured because I threw the newspapers out as normal, but Ian Jack's article bothered me so much that I went to the wheelie bin on Monday morning and sorted round in the mess until I found it and ripped it out. I should have looked to check what newspaper it was from.

Analysis: http://news.bbc.co.uk/nol/shared/spl/hi/programmes/analysis/transcripts/08_02_10.txt

Valentine's Day

I have been collecting traditional recipes, particularly ones that relate to the chief festivals of the ritual year. This was all I have found so far that relates to Valentine's Day. Why are cinnamon, ginger and mace associated with a celebration of love?

Other than a curiosity about the anthropological and ethnographical impact of the Feast of St Valentine, the day has had no significance for myself. This has not always been the case. Occasionally I wonder whether I should do something about the detached nature of my life, but then I think: why start all that up again.

"They gave us some nice coffee" - the past week at work

Monday

There were times in the agency today that I felt I was making progress, and that things were going to be fine. At other times I was fed up with it all and felt I should move on. And inbetween come the moments of indecision.

A characteristic of the new regime is being called into Yvette's office and harangued about how little money the agency is making. Both Andrea (fellow account handler) and myself were subjected to another of these sessions this morning. We both made encouraging comments about our client lists, but there is no avoiding the fact that the meetings are humiliating.

When we came out into the general office Eleanor (admin assistant) was complaining about her back trouble.

"A nagging pain can be terrible" Eleanor said.

"Don't talk about Yvette like that" said Andrea.

Later when we were alone in our shared office Andrea told me she was thinking of leaving. She looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to protest. I said nothing.

It was a cold day, and I stayed in the office at lunchtime and worked.

Most of the afternoon was spent on ads for the new Belgian client. This became rather a debacle, due to problems and delays in the studio. Yvette began to intervene, and this made things much worse, especially as deadlines began to near.

When the adds had gone off to the publications Neil (graphic designer and studio head) and I were called into Yvette's office and told lots of elementary things we already knew.

Tuesday

During an impromptu meeting in Yvette's office this morning the big woman suddenly took off her shoe and pounded to death a large spider running across her desk.

"You're obviously not an environmentalist" I said.

Lunchtime became a two-hour "creative" meeting in Yvette's office where she went over in minute detail the ads designed over the last few months. Often Neil was sent scurrying out to the studio to look for rejected designs. Lasagna was sent in from the Italian restaurant.

Because this meeting went on so long, by the time we emerged lots of other work had fallen behind schedule. I had to ring various publications to extend the deadlines. The rest of the afternoon was spent chasing Neil for artwork.

Katharine, the new PA upstairs, came round with a card for Patricia (Terry's old PA, who is leaving). I wrote on the card Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. I don't know why I did this and regretted it later, it is none of my business that Patricia is unmarried in her late thirties, far too shy and awkward with people, and has a beauty that is already beginning to fade.

I asked Duncan to do some media research for our toy client, then changed my mind and decided to do the work myself. This is such a profitable client that it might be wiser to maintain a monopoly over the contacts. I gave Duncan some copywriting to do (which I know he will make a mess of).

Wednesday

Yvette rang up saying she would be late because she had laddered her tights. Eleanor revealed she was actually having breakfast with her boyfriend. We are all keen to see what this person must be like.

Most of the day Yvette was out with Andrea visiting clients. When they came back Yvette told me (in the general office) that she was transfering one of Andrea's clients to me. She then went into her office and the usual stream of sarky remarks and impetuous demands began.

Thursday

The Thames was a muddy grey when I got off at Embankment and walked over the footbridge (I was early for a meeting).

Today Yvette turned her attention to my client list and accompanied me on visits to the major ones. The construction client went well (they are very steady). Yvette asked Peter B what the company did and he told her "We are ripping out the things we put in ten years ago, and putting in new things".

We took him to lunch, and went to a nearby restaurant. The food was excellent. When Peter B's plate was cleared away there was a dreadful mess on the tablecloth.

The afternoon was spent going to see a client on the Bath Road (Yvette drove). Although we had arranged to go on the spur of the moment the client was glad to see us and gave us a quite prestigious campaign in Italian media. In the car returning to the agency Yvette was exultant at the way the meeting had gone.

When we got back to the office Eleanor asked how the meeting had gone.

"They gave us some nice coffee" I told her.

I met friends after work.

Friday

Because the copywriting done by Duncan was unusable I had to quickly rewrite it myself this morning. Yvette then insisted on hacking it about, putting in lots of cliches and sending it off under my name. Later the client rejected the copy saying it was banal, and Yvette then posed as if she was correcting my copy, taking out all the garbage she had originally put in.

Patricia's last day. We all went upstairs to see her given presents - flowers, some scent, and Terry gave her a broach. I didn't have time to go to her leaving drinks.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gather_Ye_Rosebuds_While_Ye_May_(Waterhouse_painting_1909)

The absurdity of the House of Lords

Above: Joseph Chamberlain stands in isolation above the desk in the Upper Waiting Hall.



Above: The worthies on the staircase wait expectantly, but no-one comes.



Above: The Committee Room corridors are utterly deserted and silent.

Parliament has voted itself ten days holiday, on top of all the other time off they get.

I’m very interested in the research that indicates the people who put themselves forward for elected office seem to share the same personality profile as serial killers.

You can read more: http://www.examiner.com/examiner/x-2684-Law-Enforcement-Examiner~y2009m6d12-Serial-killers-and-politicians-share-traits

And as I walked through the empty (almost) Palace of Westminster, taking photographs (which is strictly forbidden but which I got away with possibly because I am so completely unimportant), I began thinking about the absurdity of the House of Lords. It scarcely seems possible that in the twenty-first century one of the world’s major democracies still has hereditary peers sitting in the legislature. As a way of choosing our representatives it appears to be a crazy anachronism.

Except that everybody says it works.

Which made me ask: why does it work?

And that made me think about the research by Jim Kouri. If the majority of people who put themselves forward for elected office have the personalities of psychopaths, surely it is an advantage to have a balancing chamber chosen by the accident of heredity. Over the years this would produce a complete cross-section of personality types – introverted-types, neurotic-types, genius-types, compassionate-types, idiot-fool-types, cautious-types, emotional-types, curious-types, irritable-types etc.

The House of Lords is often accused of lack of diversity, but in terms of personality-types the accident of heredity delivers far more diversity than the party political system.

Cafe Fred, Argyle Street

How much of my life have I spent waiting in cafes for something to happen?  Someone to arrive, something to start, something (usually a conversation) to end.  And all I want to do is go home.

Cadburys

Can you imagine the outcry if a foreign company were to buy up Hershey’s and start to close down plants in America. Or Mars was snapped up using leveraged money, and “efficiency savings” were then made to pay off the purchase loans. And yet that is what has happened with Cadbury’s.

Difficult to know what to do. Business Secretary Lord Mandelson is not bothered (probably he is intensely relaxed again). A boycott of Cadburys products would only hurt the workers.

But certainly we can celebrate small independent chocolate manufacturers. It is surprising how many of these there are in the United Kingdom. Who knows, with enough interest and support these little companies can grow to challenge Cadburys.

So I intend to commence a research campaign of little-known chocolate products and publish the findings here. I will also try to include a company profile. It’s a project I am looking forward to.

The cheapest of cheap market stalls

Elderly pensioner finding it difficult to afford food at even the cheapest of cheap market stalls. This is the state we are in. No sign here of "quantitative easing" - the huge inflationary boosts to the money supply are being siphoned off as asset prices are inflated (I am thinking particularly of the current behaviour of corporate bonds).

All that has happened is that a MASSIVE (capitals means I am shouting) increase in the money supply has led to inflation. We are seeing it first in assets and soon it must spread to prices. This has been entirely predictable.

When the inevitable inflation resulting from quantitative easing starts to affect retail prices the main burden will fall upon the poor and the pensioners.

This is a shameful state of affairs. It makes me feel very angry. And all the while at Westminster the politicians talk about how to shift attention from their expenses, and how to gerrymander the voting system, and how that rough Andrew Marr made Alistair Campbell cry.

Censorious old bag

The bullying of former England captain John Terry continued over the weekend.

One of the features of this episode has been the re-emergence in English life of the censorious old bag, a type that had become almost extinct. Carole Malone in the News of the World, Melanie Phillips on Question Time (a particularly self-indulgent performance), and yesterday Kathryn Flett in The Observer. Frustrated old crones have formed a perennial commentariat throughout most of English history, particularly voicing opinions on the sexual behaviour of younger generations, but were thought to have largely died out in the 1970s.

Kathryn Flett’s piece yesterday accused John Terry of sleaziness, venality, duplicitousness, narcissism, stupidity and callousness.

One could turn this list against Kathryn Flett herself. Is it not sleazy of her to plagiarize a tabloid story that has not been substantiated in any concrete way? Do we not detect venality (in the sense of prostituting her talents) in the way she seeks to make money out of this unhappy story? Did it not occur to her that her article, with its extended auto-biographical paragraphs, was itself narcissistic (a word that could also be applied to her unnatural air-brushed face, although her rougher hands give a clue to her real age). Is it not stupid of her to trash her reputation (and that of The Observer) by writing a page of celebrity tittle-tattle? Did she not stop to think how callous she was being in publicly ridiculing someone else’s marriage?

Is the world not already full of cruelty without Kathryn Flett adding to it?

Also in her article she compared John Terry unfavourably with Roger Federer. But she omitted to mention that while Federer had a comfortable middle-class upbringing in wealthy Switzerland John Terry came from a working-class family in the East End. And this I suspect is the real reason he is being vilified and judged by hypocritical standards.