Every Little Bit Corrupts Absolutely.

Or conceivably, "Absolute Power Helps." But definitely not, "Every little helps," because it most certainly doesn't.

Not when, there's also that extra 'little' volume of nefarious surplus packaging or litter, plastering the local streets and pavements, clustering about the local vegetation, or simply blowing in the wind, uncertain as to which area of the local 'community' to 'best' blight.  There's that extra empty, boarded-up space in the high street, where once smaller, non-Tesco, shops existed. There's that extra 'little' volume of congestion upon the adjacent roads, as drivers hone in upon the area's solitary 'free'- but also timezone-massive- car-park. And there's that extra 'little' all-consuming desire to control absolutely everything in the retail markets. Incidentally, it's in my will, I refuse to be buried by Tesco. I'd rather just be dumped in the recycling bin.

Precisely, David Basanta

When John Emerich Edward Dalberg-Acton made his famous remark, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely," he would, thankfully, have had a far lesser insight into the prophetic truth of his own words than would have been the case were he alive today. Such corruption as we might daily, here in Big Society Britain, have to endure might even be regarded as a form of power-corrupted madness. But obviously not a form of madness that is deserving of any form of pity. More so contempt!

'My' town, you will by now have gathered, is just one of the many that has been almost completely subsumed by the blight that is Tesco. So, having watched the hugely disadvantaged competition quickly go to the wall, one might be forgiven for assuming that the damage, now 'complete,' stops here.

If you are ever surprised at the depths of dishonesty and subterfuge, to which 'mighty' business interests might stoop you shouldn't be. Remember that your one regularly-disillusioned mind is just that, 'one mind,' whereas the multinationals, in these cashing-in-times-of-austerity, will employ a veritable truckload of corruptibles in order to outflank the competition, and grab evermore of the goodies. I think Thatcher referred to these faceless would-otherwise-be-Nazis as, 'a think-tank.'

Should Julie Walters- the voiceover Julie Walters- ever happen to stray far from her cherished local delicatessen, perhaps in order to pick up another sizeable cheque, in the event of, say, a postal strike, she might, should a tiny section of her discerning soul remain intact, wonder at the ever-diminishing choice of produce, available upon the shelves of her nearest Tesco. She might care to note that Tesco, far from content with the seeming-total-obliteration of any fair competition, have taken to removing favourite brands and replacing them with Tesco's own brands, cheapening the ingredients as well as reducing the contents, but not necessarily the prices. Maybe she'll give one of her cheeky winks and, in a suitably sing-song voice, utter the 'immortal' words, "Every Little Helps," and the digits in her current account might adjust accordingly.

Unlike JW, George Osborne is never likely to attract the same sort of contempt, when he deals in subterfuge and dishonesty for personal gain; and just to clarify, this is exactly what so much advertising is. Obviously with George, if he's speaking then he's lying, or evading, or misdirecting; at absolutely no time in his public life have we been given cause to expect anything other than subterfuge from Georgie Boy. Presently, he's continuing to lie us into an unprecedented triple-dip recession that is showing no signs of relenting, despite having endured for some eighteen months longer than the former Great Recession of the 1930's, just so that his millionaire-mates (not really 'mates', George doesn't have these) can continue subdividing the nation's wealth.

And a Nightingale sang...
arellis49

When one sees George smiling- is it even technically a smile?- if one is even remotely aware, one is likely to revert instantly to panic mode, or to be reduced to uncontrollable bouts of sobbing, or to be overwhelmed by an all-consuming sinking feeling of utter dread. Thus, when he did just that ('smile') the other day, during the BBC's Breakfast news programme, I was instantly enveloped within a pulsating toxic plume of nausea. Daring, against my better judgement, to raise the TV's volume I soon learned that George, Dave and maybe Nick, if he continues to wear Dave's rectum as some sort of necktie, are on the verge of filling their families' pockets for generations to come. All hail the HS2! £32 billion, and already bracing itself for its mega-inflation to God-only-knows-what over the next twenty-years-and-counting. For those 'on the inside' decades of banquet-feasting development.

And for the rest of us? Community Charges might just need to sustain a tad of political fiddling. Democracy, it doesn't work if you don't participate, but if you do...

The scar that will tear the heart out of so much of what is left of the English countryside has been deemed so immense that even some of 'our' politicians are up in arms; invariably those who stand to lose half of their back garden, or conservatory, or who maybe don't have major share-holdings in one of the to-be-appointed-and-underwritten-by-the-tax-payer construction companies. I think George was so excited that he may have left a small damp patch upon the BBC's guest couch.

For the rest of us it's not even much consolation to have deduced that many of the feasting piggies will be dead before the monstrosity is complete. Whole government and construction company departments will, even now, be setting up misinformation centres, full of would-otherwise-be-Nazis, as we are left at leisure to contemplate the scale of such wholesale destruction.

Developing nicely, Greenpeace Finland

Fair East Anglia will, of course, be spared much of this agony. Our far, far smaller scale plundering takes the form of, 'the duelling of the A11.' With an 'estimated' cost to 'benefit' ratio of 20:1, and having, "escaped the cut in the government's Comprehensive Spending Review'" one should make the obvious conclusion; that big business and 'purchasable' politicians are yet again on the take. At a current cost of £134 million that means that 'we' stand to make £2.7 billion; that is until the formulated-working-delays-inflation eats away the entirety of this 'benefit'. To be underwritten as ever by the ever-gullible tax payer. One can but merely speculate as to exactly who might eventually stand to benefit most from this sort of thing.

Obediently ready to tow the line, the BBC reported- in order to fully allay any concerns by interfering conservationists, you understand- that all 'due' measures were already being undertaken. Badgers and newts, worry you, not! No more 'reputable' a body than The Highways Agency itself has everything 'nicely' in hand. It is currently endeavouring to ensure that, "Newt Fencing will remain in place, allowing captured newts and other smaller reptiles to be relocated to an area of safety, away from future construction activities."What a relief, we of the conservation-minded will be thinking...

Or maybe not! "To be relocated to an area of safety," non specified?

Perfect, Terry Freedman

So, if it's an area, "of safety," suitable for these newts how come there aren't already newts there? I mean, if it's that suitable then nature will naturally have worked her wonders and populated the area with the appropriate numbers of newts, won't she? And, if she already has- as common sense would seem to suggest- factoring in all of the variables affecting the size and potential growth of the current population, won't the resident population already have expanded to the optimum size for the area of suitable habitat?

No worries, The Highways Agency already has all bases covered. The Highways Agency? Really? Either that or one of those misinformation centres is already up and running like clockwork.

The Highways Agency, "Every little helps," but who's it helping and at who's expense? What do you think, Julie? Something to ponder, "For the journey."

Pin The Tale On The Donkey

Have you ever played that rather quaint children's game, 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey?' Perhaps it's no longer one of the current party games of choice; perhaps the little mites just plug themselves in to the nearest computer terminus and, 'Hey Presto!' festivities sorted... until feeding time. What do I know? The question, however, so far as this blog is concerned, still stands; have you?

If you haven't, please allow me to elucidate. It's a game whereby blindfolded children take turns at attempting to pin a mocked-up tail upon a large picture of a donkey. The idea, quite obviously, is to get the tail as close as possible to its correct location. It's a simple and almost self-explanatory game that would serve well at any party where several of the children might communicate primarily in different first-languages. The game really is that simple!

Presumably one could easily adapt the game, should a party theme dictate; maybe 'Pin the Tail on the Elephant,' or 'Pin the Tail on the Aardvark,' or 'The Alien,' anyway, you get the drift. As long as the creature in question possesses the requisite tail the rules are entirely the same, always remembering, please, that the original form of the game was very much a donkey based affair.


Much thanks to The Prime Minister's Office

So, why the poor donkey? Clearly, there's the possible 'link' to the writings of the great AA Milne. There's even a chapter, in Milne's first book about Pooh, where Eeyore loses his tail. The chapter in question is the fourth in the volume, 'Winnie the Pooh,' and is helpfully subtitled, 'In which Eeyore loses a tail and Pooh finds one.' My respect for the talent of AA Milne prevents me from further elaboration. If you have not already done so I suggest that you take the time to read the section. It's only about ten pages long and the dilemma is beautifully resolved, in words that most us can only ever dream of committing to paper. Whilst you're at it make time for the whole book and then find the time for 'The House at Pooh Corner.' What better way to spend a few hours? Incidentally, there is evidence out there to suggest that the game actually predates the writings of AA Milne.

I'm not the only person to have wondered as to the origins of the aforementioned game; I've mustered a cursory search and have unearthed a few interesting sites that you might care to peruse, should curiosity endure. What I was unable to unearth however, yet had half expected so to do, was some sort of reference to the donkey's implied- but clearly undeserved- lack of intellect, some sort of reference to a requisite level of stupidity that might be required in order for the creature to have lost its tail in the first place.

And thanks, also to bagsgroove

But, alas not! Which is a tad unhelpful with regards to the somewhat tenuous link that I'm about to make.

Maybe the children's game is every bit as popular as ever it was. Introduce any basic sort of challenge- especially one whereby all of the children feel that they might have a half-reasonable chance at success- and I'm confident that they'd be more than happy to give it a go. The 'donkey' doesn't even need to be unduly realistic, just large enough for the watching-waiting children to see how well their friends and competitors are fairing. And what's really great is that the winning is almost an irrelevance.

But then there's, 'Pin the Tale on the Donkey'. At first glance it's somewhat similar and indeed the rules, once recognised, are not much more difficult to comprehend. But, otherwise, short of the one obvious similarity in the title, all other comparisons may not be immediately obvious.

Thank you bedrocan

I was witness to just such a 'game' the other night, during a news item on 'BBC Look East' (10th January 2013) and, whilst there wasn't actually a donkey involved there was a particularly stupid or, perhaps more accurately, sinister creature serving in its stead; one upon which 'the tale' had already duly been very precisely pinned. Once one recognises the nature of this particular variant of 'Pin the Tale on the Donkey,' one is, I have found, inclined to notice similar 'games' cropping up almost everywhere.

Allow me, once again, to elaborate. For this 'game' the donkey will definitely no longer suffice; the substituted creature needs to be able to talk, to 'communicate' (or mis-communicate), thus limiting the choices immediately to something human(ish). For example, on the BBC's 'Look East Dr Tim Wreghitt very 'sportingly' stepped up to the mark; he played the role of the donkey, or intellectually challenged pinnee. The pinner in this variant needs to remain, superficially at least, anonymous. Although, all too often, and with very little practice, I have found that one is invariably able to take a reasonable stab at exactly who might have done the 'pinning.' In case you haven't already worked it out the tale, in this instance, is not actually pinned onto the pinnee, rather it is handed to him or her, in the form of a statement, to be delivered to the wider public. The 'game', if game it can be considered, involves us, the wider public, attempting to decipher the statement. Our role is in teasing out the subterfuge from the reality. Ever the case, isn't it, with anything even remotely political?


Thanks again to The Prime Minister's Office

In brief, Dr Tim Wreghitt was the donkey charged by JC, The Health secretary, with the task of 'justifying' a further depletion of the teetering shell of the NHS, by yet further undermining the care  provided by Southend Hospital. In this instance he was required to 'defend' a decision to close the hospital's phlebotomy department, 'explaining' that a far more 'efficient service' could be provided by Bedford Hospital, almost on the doorstep, at just two hours- traffic permitting- drive away. Incidentally this is a blood testing system that neither JC nor Dr Tim will be required to rely upon. Dr Tim went on to waffle around the issue of lost jobs, one of which will not, of course, be his. So quite a tale indeed.

Honestly, this 'game's' nowhere near as much fun as its predecessor. But then, in this unfortunate 21st Century version of the 'game', the winning has entirely overridden all those other considerations.

Understanding the 'game's' basic premise, saunter back a while with me, to the recent NRA response to having just witnessed twenty-seven of its Connecticut citizens slaughtered at the barrel of a Bushmaster AR-15 automatic. The NRA very quickly managed to find an absolute donkey, upon which to pin their jaw-dropping tale. CEO Wayne LaPierre 'sportingly' played the part of the ass, sorry donkey, whilst the tale swished and flicked and spat poisonously at all onlookers in the form of the claim that, "The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun." Wayne, seemingly unaware of the ass's ears sprouting ever more prominently from the sides of his vacuous skull, went on to advocate the arming of all schools. Thanks for that Wayne. What could possibly go wrong? 

Me, I was slightly unclear as to exactly where the 'fine line' between "good guy" and "bad guy" should be drawn. I was sort of assuming that there might have been a time when young Adam Lanza was roundly thought of as a "good guy."

Obviously the "good guy" label had most definitely been applied to Malik Mumtaz Hussein Qadri, the elite body guard of Pakistan's Punjab Province's Salman Taseer. And this label was still thought relevant, right up to the moment that he wavered and shot Salman Taseer twenty-six times.

Was this man not selected entirely for his "good guy" credentials, before he suddenly became a "bad guy" and turned the gun on his charge? I thought NRA Wayne was more than a tad unclear on this point. Exactly how does one detect the precise moment when the "good guy" reverts? And will there always be an un-reverted "good guy" at hand to swiftly dispatch the now "bad guy", before any harm is done? And who will be watching him, the just-having-saved-the-hour "good guy", just in case he should begin to waver?

Thank you ILMO JOE

My God, Wayne LePierre is right! We're going to have to start arming the kids as well, just in case you understand... In the face of this sort of 'logic' we might even find ourselves, albeit temporarily, in the same camp as Piers Morgan- heaven forbid!

To clarify, via the previous YouTube link- and you really should watch it- Piers (criminal phone hacker, insider trader, friendless vacuum and noxious specialist) miraculously and confusingly finds himself cast upon the higher ground. In the referenced (shall we call it) interview, the moral low ground is angrily, almost to the point of violence, dominated by one Alex Jones, another 'proud' NRA supporter. Watch him 'rationally debate' the issue, with a real sense of 'decorum' and a great deal of 'gravitas,' and consider; a "good guy" with a gun or a "bad guy' with an undoubted stockpile of deadly weapons? What do we think?

Alex Jones, pushing the US gun debate very much into the red zone!

And then, far more sedately British yet curiously with equally destructive intent, there's the Coalition Mid-term Report. Can you separate the donkey from the pinner of the tale? Of course you can. Now let's get down to the more serious business of analysing the tale, separating all of that subterfuge, the disingenuous and the outright lies, from the facts?

Happy New Year, everyone! Coffee?

The Current Drug of Choice.

I can still well recall when cafe coffee was deemed by most to be something of an abomination, something probably bought partially concealed within a cumbersome glass jar. It was something that was, I'd learned to presume, more to be endured than enjoyed. 'Twas curiously granular in texture, produced to resemble nowt more appealing than crumbled sun-baked earth. The odour that would then have been liberated, upon a swift twist of the lid and consequent puncturing of a foil seal- was there a seal way back then?- seemed selected entirely in order to repel those of a curious bent. Either that or else to firmly consolidate a mistrust amongst the more discerning consumer. Adding boiling water simply intensified its repellant qualities, to the point of inducing mild nausea. It therefore ushered the vast majority of then-beverage-seekers into the far greater camp of tea-drinkers. Not that tea, with its meagre dribble of milk- and frequently stewed to the colour of discarded engine oil- faired a great deal better.

Instant coffee, back in the day, was consequently deemed to be very much a no-go zone. Tea, even at its slicky worst, was marginally the more prudent choice, from within that extremely limited market. Should one have been preparing the beverage of choice at home, where milk might not have issued forth as if still rationed, tea was invariably a run-away winner! As for those mysteriously still opting for the 'lesser' preference of coffee, one would naturally have presumed a severely compromised pallet, perhaps brought about through the misadventures of smoking. 

Thanks to max_thinks_sees

It wasn't until many years later, having finally fledged the nest, that I was even made aware of the concept of 'real coffee', a fallback term that I still occasionally use today. Any first, and highly tentative tastings would have been undertaken entirely with minimal expectations, perhaps more through accepted youthful challenge than with any genuine hope of reward. Perhaps I had then been seduced by other new-to-the-pallet and more exotic flavours, perhaps the task had been approached as if through the illusory veil of an alcoholic stupor. I can no longer rightfully recall, but I suspect that some form of curry would have featured in the proceedings. Either way it was undoubtedly the case that the British menu was teetering very much upon the cusp of a new dawn. And, thank Christ for that one would have been fully justified in concluding!

Who could resist such temptations? I certainly couldn't. 

Several decades later we find ourselves with very different expectations, regarding both the far wider selection of global foods and the often mind-boggling variety of available beverages. For those of us who now partake of the occasional coffee it is probably fair to write that a seriously rank cup is almost unheard of, perhaps with the notable exception of that served at certain service stations. Cafe coffee these days, invariably, widely reflects the tastes of a far more discerning clientele.  

This written, it would be only just to point out that coffee supped in comfort and the right atmosphere might illicit a far more favourable reaction than that supped in less sumptuous environs. But, in so far as this blog entry is judging- and it sort of is- it is the coffee that ultimately counts and outweighs all other considerations. Coffee, as many of us now know, possesses such alchemic qualities as to justify such outrageous claims.

So it befalls me to comment upon my encounters with the delicacy that is coffee, as undertaken in my cycling exploits on and around the North Norfolk Coast. Please note that it is not here my intention to damn any cafe or other establishment, rather to highlight one or two particularly outstanding providers. If it is below mentioned then I would claim it is worthy of your patronage, especially if you happen to be cycling, perhaps even worthy of a minor adjustment to your route. 

It goes without saying (or typing) that coffee chains have actively been avoided, unless you count any National Trust outlet. Thankfully the big names (Starbucks, Costa, Cafe Nero) don't seem to feature, outside of Kings Lynn or Norwich. 
   

Thanks also to antwerpenR            

Titchwell RSPB Visitors' Centre Tearoom. Should the weather be kind enough you may wish to sit outside and watch wild birds massing at the feeders provided. For the bird enthusiast this is more rewarding during the winter, what with the occasional Brambling dropping in. The preference of the non-birder might well be to sup inside. *** 

The Victoria, Holham. Staff may well claim that this establishment offers the best cup of coffee on the North Coast and it is rather good, but is it really the best? ****

Wells Deli. There are just a few, quite cramped seats inside, squashed up against the window, that look out onto the harbour. But often supping outside might be the better preference anyway. ****

Blakeney Seafront Caravan (at the edge of the car park). I'm not actually sure what this place calls itself, indeed it may occasionally change hands, but the coffee remains reliably consistent. I don't think this establishment is open right through the winter, maybe because there really is no alternative to sitting outside. Two points to note are that:
1. The wonderful collection of exotic wildfowl that used to provide much interest, whilst partaking of one's coffee, had all but been removed(?) the last time I was there.
2. Blakeney Parish Council, in the interests of no-one whatsoever, seems intent on pretending to serve the local community, by occasionally putting this plot out to tender. Hence, there may be, an unexpected change of face, making it all the more difficult for the souls in charge of this outlet to establish a reputation. *** 

Wiveton Hall Cafe (fruit farm), Blakeney. Easily missed! It is signposted but it's far enough away from the main road to be tucked out of sight. This, of course, is part of its charm and appeal. The food is also excellent, if a touch on the expensive side. Sadly not open through the winter months. ***** Competing strongly, during the summer, for the best cup of coffee on the north coast. The second image is of my elbow beside a cup of Wiveton Hall Coffee.

Picnic Fayre (Delicatessen), Cley. This place will certainly seduce you with its wonderful selection of foodstuffs. It serves, possibly, the smallest cup of coffee along the coast. Not always what you might have hoped for, when you might be gagging for a cup. **

Cley Marshes NWT Visitor Centre. Offers a fantastic panorama across the marshes. You may even get to sup your coffee from behind one of the telescopes set up for bird-watching enthusiasts. ****

The Cafe Racer, Salthouse. Coffee is provided from the back of a small van, often (but not always) parked almost on the beach at Salthouse. Obviously this coffee will have to be consumed in the open air. ***

I couldn't resist this mug either.

Byfords, Holt. Another delicatessen that will absolutely seduce you with its offerings, not least of which are its huge and wonderful coffees. Perhaps the largest coffees along, or relatively close to, the coast. *****

Wiveton Bell. A good option if you also fancy a plate of chips. Coffeewise it has the awkward challenge of being sandwiched between Wiveton Hall Cafe and The Art Cafe at Glandford, both of which are within easy cycling distance (but neither offers chips). ***

The Art Cafe, Glandford. Definitely not to be cycled past without due consideration, as I had mistakenly done far too many times before I chanced upon this establishment. A delightful place, with quite possibly the best coffee in the region of the north coast. *****

The Red Lion, Drayton. Strictly speaking, nowhere near the north coast, but I've ended up here on several occasions and its conveniently situated along The Marriot's Way, thus enabling one to cycle there without undue exposure to heavy traffic, always a major bonus. ****

The Old Reading Room, Tea Room and Gallery. Such a mouthful, don't you think? I've  only ended up here once, but I'd certainly stop again. Unusually, they don't provide lattes or cappuccinos but will attempt an approximation of the former with "a milky coffee." **

The Village Store, Weybourne. Outside seating is fairly adjacent to the road, but the road's never that busy. I think there may be just a few seats inside, along the window. Certainly one of the coast's best coffees, that I've yet encountered. One can also avail oneself of a loyalty card, thus every ninth coffee will be 'free.' *****

Clementines Cafe, West Runton. This friendly family unit will go out of their way to accommodate all manner of dietary requirements. They even serve gluten-free fish and chips once a week, but this may require ringing and thus planning ahead. ***

The Turret Tearoom, Felbrigg Hall. This is the one National trust stop that I have visited. Being National Trust the traffic is never going to impinge upon your coffee moment. ***

Poppylands Tearooms, Horsey. Hugely generous portions of food and a massive panoramic window, from which you might conceivably be lucky enough to see Common Cranes. I haven't, yet! I also think this establishment closes, except for at weekends, during the winter months. ****

Horsey Shop and Tea Room. This is the wooden hut-type place, beside Horsey Windmill. Sometimes there is no alternative to sitting outside and, again, I'm not sure whether it's open through the winter. From this place I have seen Common Cranes, albeit somewhat distantly. ***

Winterton-on-Sea Beach Cafe. This cafe is situated at the edge of the overpriced- aren't they all?- beach car park. Much like its rival, Poppylands, this establishment closes, except for weekends, during the winter. Strictly speaking, we're drifting round to the East Coast now. ***

Obviously I realise that I've missed out more than a few alternatives, but one cannot be expected to comment upon places that one has not visited, it just wouldn't be fair! And not a chain outlet in sight! 

The best of coffees might even deter the rant...

Cheers!

Well, I've seen them... we've all seen them; probably seen, heard and more than likely smelt them. So we know what he's talking about, don't we? And, much as we'd hate to ever find ourselves on the same side of that vast, vast divide as Camoron and his cronies, we can sort of see where he's coming from. Or, as I find is increasingly the case, where he pretends to be coming from. 

Thing is, though, I can also fairly vividly recall having actually been one of them, admittedly not for more than a good few years now. The argument's not that dissimilar to the one that split the nation's loyalties, regarding smoking; that is to contend that, if it weren't for the socially inept behaviour of the confrontational, vociferous (and offending) minority, we all might well be able to carry on much as before.

Thanks to Thiophene_Guy

But this particular minority are particularly loud, particularly unpleasant, frequently inconsiderate and occasionally (but increasingly) given to acts of violence. For my own part I can honestly claim never, in my day, to have sought out such confrontation, most certainly never acts of violence, never to have indulged in acts of senseless destruction, and always to have been able to find my own way home, even if it wasn't later entirely clear as to how I might have achieved this. Such were my early encounters with the topical drug that is alcohol. 

As a student, whole hours were occasionally lost. Perhaps, way back then, the early part of the evenings had seemed to be going well enough, but then things occasionally became rather hazy and, by the following day vast chunks of the festivities seemed to have been mysteriously espunged from my memories. Just the hangover remained, that and the curious mixture of sympathy and accusation that often prevailed at that time.

Thanks to roeyahram

Please be clear, that I don't wish to paint myself as some sort of public liability, although I'm guessing that there were those who might rightfully have been less than thrilled at any consequent antics. In my defence, I think that I can honestly write that these miscalculations- because that's what they invariably were- can be numbered upon the fingers of two hands. I can also claim never to have taken a single 'sickie,' as a consequence of such overindulgence; that is to say that I always, but always, turned up for work the next day. Whether I was functioning at brim-full capacity I seriously doubt, but I was always there, in deflated body if not always entirely in shining spirit. 

If Camoron and his buddies from the Bullingdon Club were ever to drift onto those foreign shores, where honesty still prevails, they might also, themselves, be more prepared to confess to far more in the manner of self-indulgent moments of drunken abandon. Instead, they choose to continue to judge and malign the vast working majority- alcohol consumption has become merely the latest subject in a long, long line- from way up in their ivory towers of superiority, mind-blowing privilege and entirely unaffected luxury.

I should confess that now I'm of a different generation things do seem to have moved on at pace. I recognise that an abscess of drunken younger males might well be something to avoid, that even certain well-practised individuals might be driven to chance their arm, should any excuse for confrontation present itself, that screamed abuse and the sounds of something or someone under duress are no longer things that one should necessarily opt to investigate alone, at say eleven-thirty of an evening. The British Nation has moved on, to distressingly accurately reflect the social values, or lack thereof, that the nation actually espouses. And, lest I haven't made myself clear on this point, that is to say that, ' individuals, even certain entire neighbourhoods, might be deemed irrelevant in the drive to maximise shareholder profits.'

Thanks to Lee Carson

Perhaps, in part due to wealthy Uncle Tony's covert deals with the drinks industry, some of 'our' city streets now possess designated no-go-zones, that will mysteriously assume precedence later into the evenings. Often, it would appear, it is the curious alchemy of football and alcohol that seem, 'most efficiently', to fuel the worst excesses.

Either way, as a consequence of this unfortunate growing trend, several of us may have welcomed any form of parliamentary investigation into some sort of solution to the escalating mayhem. But really we should have known better than to expect anything short of yet another excuse to hike the profits. One might well be forgiven for wondering how much Camoron's tax hike is going to affect the price of a nice bottle of Krug or Dom Perignon, a bottle of one of the top vintage ports(?) Should the breeze shift round to the south-east I believe that I can already detect the faint whiff of more illicitly distilled alcohol, drifting across the rooftops. I wonder where I might be able to purchase this more affordable brand? 

So, just a thought, Mr Camoron, how about an alternative approach to this one-of-oh-so-many of the nation's current ills? How about giving those not at the dizzying top of society, those not drunk upon celebrity status, a tiny stake in the 'society' that they are being constantly harangued for not contributing more fully towards? How about not force-feeding the un-empowered a highly restrictive diet of the latest social-engineering thoughts of some entirely-cushioned multi-millionaire?

How about not regurgitating to the nation only the latest thoughts upon how these multi-millionaires would like 'best' to restructure 'our' country, to best suit the tiny minority of mega-haves? How about spending a little more time listening to some alternative views to those who seek entirely to richly incentivise only those already drunk upon wealth and privilege, whilst always tightening the belts of the apparently not-hard-working-enough ordinary citizen? How about not attempting to organise every last molecule of the UK, according to what best suits the profit, profit, profit (and yet again) share holders?

And, whilst we're on the subject, how about aspiring towards a really free press, rather than waffling on about, "the integrity of the," not really, "free press"? Maybe working towards the goal of a media that might best avail the population of some economic and other pertinent facts, that might best enable them to more fully engage in the (currently bankrupt) 'democratic' process? Thus enabling the disaffected to begin establishing a tiny stake in 'our' society. A press that might, counter to the wishes of its current millionaire owners, actually inform the population? Whatever next?

Thanks to tomylees

So finally, returning to the initial subject of alcohol, attempting to tortuously complete another lengthy circuit, I would claim seldom to drink beyond lightly these days- my appraisal, not that of the GP- but when I was fully employed within the public sector I was frequently driven to consume alcohol with something of a vengeance, invariably in order to help to numb the constant blame and sniping criticisms from a long line of 'almost perfect' appointed government-here-today-gone-tomorrow-secretaries of state. And, lest this should ever have been deemed insufficient to the causes of 'driving up standards', the resultant full-and-damning weight of the 'free' press, seeping, in due course, poisonously into the daily observations of one's family and friends- "integrity of the free press" indeed? The numbed years seemed curiously preferable to opening a vein and, as I have already made clear, never but a day lost to the ravages of my ambrosia of choice. 

Now merely an outsider- t'was never really otherwise- I would suggest that, if Camoron's attacks upon the blameless public sector are to continue to rain down with such unchecked ferocity, alcohol be made available on prescription. 

Alternatively, 'we' might continue with the current tools of choice; that would be lies upon lies upon lies upon lies... It's almost like a sentence that Uncle Maurits Escher might have written.        

Priceless Piping.

Priceless, brilliant, perfect, irreplaceable, fantastic, sublime, exquisite, a gem, the best ever!

Given the frequency of such terms, spewing daily into the world, care of 'our' media network, my contention is that the superlative and many of its closer cousins are vastly overused. This being almost to the point of redundancy or abuse even. I've typed 'contention' but really, given that the most likely recipient for such unworthy praise is invariably a Premier League footballer or someone randomly selected from a spiralling list of (so termed) celebrities, it's really far more than a contention, it's a fact, albeit an extremely sad one.

Incidentally, for those who might still be harbouring any residual doubt, for 'Premier League', try substituting the more scientifically accurate title of 'First Division'. Because that's what 'Premier League' actually means. Of course it does, as in 'at the front' or 'top' or 'fastest', 'not behind another', first! How can 'first' possibly also apply as a label for third? Whatever next?

My current cycling qualifies for none of the above. Perhaps 'better', when current efforts are compared to earlier outings, but even such vagaries as 'better' might only apply in this very specific instance. I claim nothing, in terms of competitive comparisons for my cycling, except that I do invariably get to where I'm aiming.

Priceless, by Sergey Yeliseev

During 2012 I've cycled somewhere in the region of 1,600 miles. Not a fantastic distance when you average it out over the entire year. Still, it keeps me happy(ish).

Having not been out on the bike for a month or so, almost entirely as a consequence of falling temperatures and the various forms of precipitation available to those of us living in the UK, I was eager to reconnect with this interest, as soon as I'd acquired a pair of gloves capable of combatting the occupational hazards of frostbite. And somewhat limited road testing would seen to suggest that this modest goal has finally been achieved.

So, 1,600 miles, mostly devoted to trundling along back lanes in the general region of North Norfolk. Lots of rain, a bit of sunshine, much wind, more than enough mud for a lifetime, and a fair selection of interesting regional wildlife. For example, on balance, I'd guess that the Common Buzzard features on more trips than not. Probably the largest kettle of such would be a helical tower of seven, seen around late September, early October; always well worth pausing to marvel at. There can be more to cycling than simply getting from A to B in the shortest possible duration.

Thus far, and excepting specific coffee stops, Monday the 10th December would probably have to feature as the most notable wildlife-worthy day to date. More, I'd be prepared to argue that several of the terms eagerly dismissed at the start of this passage realistically do still apply here. Certainly 'priceless,' 'sublime,' 'exquisite' and most definitely 'irreplaceable.' Neither would I be alone in describing Monday's observations as absolute 'gems.'  

Perhaps something meteorological may have transpired, to cause such a proliferation during my short cycling absence, something to which I am not yet privy. Either way, I strongly feel these observations to be, at the very least, highly noteworthy. A total of sixteen observed Bullfinches, at thirteen separate sites! And, should this not mean a great deal to you, allow me to place these sightings into some sort of context. At least sixteen Bullfinches in a solitary day (approximately 40 miles) would almost seem to tally with the number seen during the entirety of the rest of 2012 (approximately 1,560 miles).

A real gem, care of Sergey Yeliseev

Further more, for those amongst you who do not know of the charming Bullfinch, a relatively small British bird, about the size of a House Sparrow, I should mention that, during the winter months this bird tends towards gregarious. That is to say that, like other members of the finch family, it tends to seek out others of its kind- 'birds of a feather...' and all that stuff. So observations made from a moving bike, invariably alerted by the bird's rather plaintive piping call, or the uncommon sight of a white rump in retreating flight, might not always reveal precisely how many birds there are present.

Even during the more territorial spring or summer months Bullfinch sightings tend to be of pairs or small family groups. In the winter months parties of five or six are still not uncommon, except to put this into the context that Bullfinches generally in the UK are fast becoming almost a rarity. So I am reporting that, in a single day, during a forty mile cycle I have encountered upwards of sixteen Bullfinches, of which only six were observed to be with another, so an estimate of conceivably as many as forty birds would not be that outrageous. Of Bullfinches, that's a lot!

And again, exquisite, by Sergey Yeliseev

Beautiful and relatively easy to identify, once seen not that easy to mistake for another bird. Males in particular present as one of the most delightful birds that one might still be fortunate enough to encounter in a UK garden, but only if (and maybe) one lives adjacent to areas of suitable habitat. The male is almost unmistakable, with its deep pink and copious breast and jet black cap, the female being somewhat more muted. But both possess the really obvious white rump that may almost instantly allow one to discount nearly all other smallish birds.

Perched upon a bike, as I was, wheeling along relatively quiet country lanes, it was frequently the surprisingly far carrying and plaintive piping that first alerted my attentions. Thus I am able to also report that despite the remarkable swell in (my) recent Bullfinch sightings I have, so far this year, yet to encounter any of the larger and more nasal-sounding northern race of this bird.

And yes, they really are priceless. Once gone science will instantly confirm that they are also irreplaceable. Isn't it refreshing to read of such a notable swell in the numbers of Bullfinches? Long may this slight apparent recovery last.

Isn't it also refreshing to see such terms as, irreplaceable, a gem and priceless used in their correct context?

Children in Need

Children in Need? Of course they are- some of them- how could they not be, what with all of this austerity malarky? In fact there is much to support the contention that many of those most in need have, in effect and/or by default, been specifically targeted to shoulder far more than their 'fair share' of the current political austerity cuts. That is to say that they are thus far more likely to be in need as a direct consequence of current government policies. Enter, stage right, cuddly Terry Wogan!

It really doesn't take a genius to deduce that the more deeply divided a 'society' the more manoeuvrability there will be, at the bottom end, for all sorts of exploitation, from the driving down of the minimum wage in the resultant burgeoning black market economy, right through to various forms of child abuse for financial gain. Honestly, this resultant situation really isn't open to serious contention. If the truth be told, it's actually the free-market's usual response to tougher times.

Thanks to BabyBare11

Just as the ruling elite's response to any reportage of such might be to play down the significance of these issues, or to attempt to somehow undermine the credibility or scale of the problem. Much as George Osborne might continue to refer to the tax-avoiding wealthy as, "those hard working families," whom he doesn't want to, "penalise," with the nation's tax arrangements, just before he finds yet another means by which to overtax the rest of us.

There are those, more observant amongst us, who might even regard the current austerity measures, far far more worryingly, as a convenient subterfuge for the ushering in of a very much more corporate state. That would be the privatisation of huge sections of the NHS, creeping corporate sponsorship of education, the pandemic sweep of the multinational companies, the subtle undermining of all manner of employment or disability rights, that sort of thing, just in case you hadn't yet picked up on the signs.

Thank you University of Exeter

So yes, of course there will be children in need, just as there are elderly residents in need, just as there are seriously ill patients in need, just as there are supposedly 'fully employed' and 'legitimately' tax-paying families still, and increasingly, in need. One might never actually hear the words spoken, "It's the price worth paying, for the changes we wish to pursue," but current actions on the part of 'our' coalition government cannot possibly have completely obscured this begging-to-be-addressed issue.    

Thus it's well done again to Children in Need, is it? Something approaching £27 million raised at the last count, and who amongst us can deny that much of this might indeed enable all manner of much-needed work in the cause to ensue? But then, rather less popularly voiced, is it not also possible that all of that fun and fanfare of the big day is perhaps also masking several hugely-urgent but curiously never seen-to-be-asked questions? For example, 'Do all of those famous faces, all of those humorous sketches, does all of that marketable music, all of that glitz in any way exacerbate the problems that the whole affair attempts or purports to address?'

Thanks also to yksin

My contention is that a vastly divided state is a sure-fire way of creating many of the problems that Children in Need professes to be attempting solve. And we are very much a divided state, accelerating as I write ever further in that divided direction. No longer are we the 'aspiring to achieve better' state, more the 'aspiring to have absolutely everything' conglomerate of corporations and, again, it doesn't take a genius to surmise that if some of 'us' are aspiring to have absolutely everything then most of us will be left with vastly less.

Following this trail of thought for a while longer, allow me to draw to your attention the vast wealth that many of those most vociferously supporting Children in Need have accrued in this finite world. In Sir Terry Wogan's case some of that wealth-accruing has even been achieved care of Children in Need. Although it is not clear (to me) whether this is still the case, for many years, in the cause of hosting this worthy-charitable cause, Sir Terry was the beneficiary of a not insubstantial fee of around £10,000 per annual event.

Thank you University of Exeter

Supporting my contention that he has insidiously over-accrued, Sir Terry, I believe, upon first being confronted with this long-and-conveniently-obscured fact, claimed not to have spotted the change to his current bank balance. Easily done Tezz, easily done! Just the other day I found myself the unexpected beneficiary of several grand. It's happened to most of us at some time or other, I shouldn't wonder.

I believe that the iconic Gary Barlow also put in an appearance on the big day, although I have to admit that I was otherwise engaged at the time, so was unable to witness the grand spectacle. In Gary's case- or is it Sir Gary, I forget?- no fee was involved and I don't suppose he gave a moment's thought to the incidental publicity that his seldom-seen face received. Time given freely in the cause! But, another thought occurs, did the actual time given cancel out the taxes avoided; those avoided taxes that have, contra-aspirationally driven yet another small wedge between the have-a-lots and the have-rather-lesses?

Having not watched the night's charity fundraising I'm perhaps not in the best position to scatter such thoughts but, 'Were we operating in a fair and progressive tax society, just how much of that £27 million might have been raised, more appropriately and quietly, by those performing so publicly for the cause?'

I'm guessing that various PR teams would have been strongly advising against such blatant hypocrisy, so I'll assume that at no point during the evening did any important bod from Starbucks, Amazon, Google, or perhaps some mysterious tory donor, appear with one of those big cardboard cheques, for a seemingly large sum of money. You know, one of those self-publicity cheques that are always going to be (stage) wowed and applauded, yet are also always going to be worth immensely less than the accrued benefits of living/operating in such an unequally-taxed society.

Finally, thanks to prawnpie

So, go on, tell me that I'm wrong, or that I've missed the point. Better still, tell me that we have to continue to pursue these vastly divided 'society' policies, in order to prevent the multinational crooks from taking their businesses elsewhere.

Much better all round if we just bow down and accept the fact that we're going to have to increasingly compete with the third world, in so far as working market practices go.

At least that way we can all look forward to many more years of Children in Need, catering as a bizarre result for a growing number of children in need, brought about as a direct cause of the growing unequal division of wealth. The perfect example of a self-fulfilling prophesy!

Geometry

The circle, such a perfect shape, don't you think? Admittedly it doesn't tesselate, but then maybe that's because it's such a stand-alone shape. Try and tesselate the circle and you'll still end up with an aesthetically very pleasing pattern. Gaze up into that endless and remorseless vacuum that is our universe and almost everything that you're likely to see appears as a circle- the two-dimensional representation of the sphere- and anything that isn't yet will be eventually. The laws of physics have decreed it to be so. The sun, the moon...

We should count ourselves fortunate indeed, then, that it is the 'perfect' Circle that is now charged with bringing certain other forces to bear, upon our NHS. Circle! Who wouldn't want to think of the NHS in such perfect terms?

Type "Circle" into your choice of search engine and you might expect, at the very least, to find images that strive towards such perfect symmetry, sites that allude to something magnificently aspirational.

Beautiful! Thanks Esparta

Alas, the very first site that my search has revealed unashamedly uses the word "corporate" upon its home page. Now my head is corrupted with terms like, "square the circle." Read on and the subterfuge and consequent slide, swiftly away from perfection, will send your head spinning too. Spinning, contradictorily, further from the perfect circle. "Circle" and "corporate" do not sit comfortably together!

Circle have been charged with the 'safe-handling' and 'care' of Hinchingbrooke Hospital in Cambridgeshire. They are aiming to make £300,000,000 in savings during the ten years of their tenure. And if they don't, or should they happen to run up an 'unexpected' overdraft, it's important, isn't it, that nobody 'at the top' should be left out of pocket. 'Happily' there will still be at least a choice few at Hinchingbrooke Hospital who won't yet be needing to watch their backs, or their salaries.

CEO Ali Parsa claims that Circle will be able to break even by 2013. That would be the same Ali Parsa who was Executive Director of Goldman Sachs's European Banking Investment Team.  And that would be the same Goldman Sachs that, last year, paid only £4.1 million in corporate (that ugly word again) taxes, on pre-tax profits of £1.92 billion.

Let's just place those two figures side by side, shall we? Just so that we can better compare the two:
£4,100,000      
£1,920,000,000
That's just over 0.2% in taxes. Yes please! I would imagine that most of us would be happy to sign up to that sort of deal.

Also exquisite, Fillmore Photography

So- still thematically- just to round things off for you, Ali Parsa pocketed £169,000 in 2011; Lord alone knows by just how much this sum will have rocketed in 2012, CEOs generally tending to have developed a convenient immunity to the usual restraints of austerity. Presumably most of this somewhat overgenerous sum will have found its way into the man's overly-copious pockets, via the tax payers. Hinchingbrooke's savings will have to be carefully targeted, so as not to impinge upon Mr Ali's cut.

'Care' of Circle, Hinchingbrooke Hospital is now operating upon something akin to corporate business lines. One can only wonder as to the tax affairs of such a place and those of its board of directors. Will Ali again be able to sort it so that the top brass are to be taxed at 0.2%?

A logo with a circular theme is surely just aching to materialise. Something to do with "cutting corners with the nation's health," I should imagine. Any ideas?