Monday, June 09, 2008

No End In Site

Very few things on this blog can be considered regular. One of the few consistent elements is my award for Stupidest Political Quote Of The Year, a prize which normally does a good job of being won before the summer recess. But even that isn't especially successful, particularly as it's not the snappiest title in the world and the acronym, SPQOTY, isn't much cop either.


So I've been wondering about a suitable name for it. Eponymisation is clearly a non-starter as the going rate for something like that is one charitable foundation and a councillor's allowance doesn't quite stretch to that. First winners are normally a fairly safe bet, except in this case it was Ed Balls and that might make the inevitable future trophy somewhat difficult (or at the very least family-unfriendly). And then there's the easy way out, which is to call it the Scunner Broon Award and have done with it; after all, he's said enough stupid things this year to win it ten times over.


That however has its own problems. For starters, there's the question of whether the rules should allow for the SPQOTY for 2008 to be something said in 2007. I mean, for all that;


“We could have fought an election on the issue of competence”


Was flaming daft last October, it's positively ten feet over Neptune now; rarely has a political epitaph been so comprehensively and rapidly produced.


More importantly, however, I have to ask myself whether it actually meets the criteria for the award; insanely stupid though it was, the present Government's competence (or more accurately their utter lack thereof) is no laughing matter for millions of people.


For all the calamity, however, I've rarely believed for a second that any of it might lead to the Supreme Leader's departure from Downing Street. As they proved with the Blair debacle, the Labour Party just isn't psychologically cut out for the idea that a member of the Party could perform badly enough to overcome the bonds of collective loyalty; heck, in a party so deluded that some members of its student wing believe that Alan Johnson (yes, the same Alan Johnson who pushed through top-up fees) is the saviour of the Party's left-wing ideals, anything is possible.


I mention all this because, despite all this, I'm starting to wonder whether Gordon can actually beat the odds and get himself kicked out. Discounting all the standard extreme possibilities (generally the ones that feature animals and/or bondage equipment), there are things he could do that even a Labour backbencher's self-interest would struggle to avoid.


The largest category of these is probably the “Don't Vote For Us If...”s. Perhaps understandably, elected politicians can throw away thousands of votes without worrying each other, so long as those votes are statistical; it's only when the discarded votes are directly identifiable that things go wrong.


Which is why I was surprised that Gordon chose this juncture to announce that he favours the use of new sites for the construction of nuclear power stations. The government's new-found commitment to new nuclear build has as yet posed little threat to anything, largely because no-one in Whitehall seems to have grasped that in order for it to happen they have to reach beyond the warm words and actually, you know... do something about it. But at least until now the “threat” has been to existing power station sites, where local opposition will be limited thanks to community experience of the existing facilities.


Don't get me wrong, I agree with the policy; if we want to move from looking for a low-carbon economy to a zero-carbon economy, we will need more nuclear than we have at the moment and that will mean exploring new sites. Nevertheless, as a piece of politics it's a calamitous announcement; without any qualification as to specific sites that are or aren't being considered... well, put simply, “Nowhere Is Safe From Gordon's Nuclear Nightmare”.


Is Brown's departure likely? Not especially. But if he continues to show a propensity to employ shovels while already well below ground level, particularly when the material being removed is great clumps of voters, he may have one last shot at being a history-making Prime Minister, if not necessarily in the way he might desire...


Thursday, May 29, 2008

What... Is The Air Speed Velocity Of An Unladen Swallow?

Regular readers (by which I mean Sid and Doris) may be wondering what I'm doing blogging at half one in the morning. And indeed normally I would save it for a time when, well, anyone was going to read it. But in this case, it's apt to raise the issue during the event that inspired it.


To explain, I'm rather fond of hidden social indicators, the little things in life that demonstrate a wider truth. For years my favourite has been the correlation between the power of the hand dryers at a particular venue and the people you will find therein; for instance, the strongest hand dryers I've ever encountered were in Glasgow Queen Street station, while the weakest were in an independent school in Taunton (and for the record, the ones in Cardiff City Hall are fairly lame...)


In a similar vein, I'm presently watching Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Finals, something that leads me inexorably to Channel Five. As a fan of all the big American sports, many a night over the last ten years has been spent with Jonny and Josh, Nat and Mike, Russ and Nick and Mark and Andre; indeed, I am one of those rare people who actually saw the opening night of Channel Five back in 1997.


Massively fond of it as I am, I must nevertheless admit that in those early days Five's market was, well... a little restricted. Nowhere was this better reflected than in the advertising, which ranged all the way from chat lines to, erm, more chat lines. Quite seriously, it was not at all unusual at that early stage to have an entire ad break filled with nothing other than entreaties to call hot women in your area.


Mind you, things changed pretty soon; it wasn't long before you were being asked to call hot men too. Around the turn of the millennium it became something of a game, watching the breaks intently waiting for the holy grail, an ad break containing only gay chat lines. It never happened, but there were a few “I've got the first two balls in the lottery” moments...


I mention all this because it occurs to me tonight that we're approaching another such moment of advertising saturation; I've just had three commercials in a row for price comparison sites. I'm not sure what the great cultural significance of this is, but as I've never felt compelled to compare any prices at all, I know it's not working...


Monday, May 19, 2008

Missing Off The Score Of The East German Judge

I suppose that one of the advantages of blogging intermittently is that it makes it quite easy to temporarily drop out of the blogosphere if such is necessary. Nevertheless there is a point at which you have to come back (or otherwise you’re missing, as Jack Dee would have it) and so it’s time for me to break cover, as it were, to let you know what’s been going on (as if you couldn’t guess half of it…)


Then again, it’s difficult to know what to say or how much to say, so I figure that for safety’s sake I should just let the numbers speak for themselves…


Llandaff Ward, Cardiff Council, 2004


Gregory Owens

Labour

1356

John Sheppard

Labour

1335

Heather Douglas

Conservative

1255

Stephen Gardener

Conservative

1103

Hilary Borrow

Liberal Democrat

524

Erik Williams

Liberal Democrat

502

Ann Miles

Plaid Cymru

458


Llandaff Ward, Cardiff Council, 2008


Kirsty Davies

Liberal Democrat



1273

Gareth Aubrey

Liberal Democrat



1173

Craig Williams*

Conservative



1109

Clare Bath

Conservative



1104

John Sheppard

Labour



1019

Gill Green

Labour



825

Gillian Green

Plaid Cymru



454


* Assembly Candidate, Cardiff West, 2007
** Labour Group Leader,
Cardiff Council


“Normal” blogging service will be resumed in due course, for now I’ll just thank everyone who came from all four corners of our nations to help us achieve this fantastic result.

Friday, April 04, 2008

I'm Chevy Chase And You're Not

For fear of doing a non-political entry (and, indeed, for fear of tilting at windmills), I find myself ensconced in a little saga I call, "Why I'm A Researcher And You're Not"...

With FA Cup semi-final weekend upcoming, everybody here in Cardiff is trying to get a piece of the "first time in 81 years" buzz. So it was entirely unsurprising to see the National Library of Wales joining in, with the release of what they claim is a cine film of the 1927 FA Cup winning Cardiff City side parading the cup in Rhayader, Powys.

Lo and behold, we do indeed find a film of a man on a flatbed lorry displaying no less than two trophies;


Followed by a nice close-up of the larger trophy;


All of which is fine, except that as the 35th ranked quizzer in the country and a sports specialist, I know full well that the current trophy of the FA Cup was designed in 1911 by Messrs Fattorini and Sons, Bradford and has been used ever since, for example in this photo of the 1927 Cardiff City team after their victory (courtesy of Cardiff Central Library);

Spotted the problem yet? Now, it is possible that the smaller trophy on the left in the film is the original design, but that trophy was last used in 1910 and then presented to FA President, Lord Kinnaird.

So you have to ask yourself; if the film-maker's recollection is correct and this is the 1927 team, why on Earth would they be in possession of a trophy that hadn't been used for 17 years, and it his recollection isn't correct, why on Earth did no-one at the National Library check that the trophy in the film was actually the one they were claiming it was?

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

No Metaphors To Declare

It takes a peculiarly British sense of humour to make April Fools Day the day on which most major changes to government services come into effect. This year's main event is of course the "National" Travel Pass for elderly and disabled passengers in England, something that has kicked up something of a storm on this side of...

Well, what exactly? Offa's Dyke is the traditional metaphor, but recently our politicians have been trialling something a little more Churchillian. Not that they don't have a point, mind you; between restricted commissioning of specialist health services and failure of joined-up thinking along the border, the raising of the drawbridge has loomed large in the policy of successive governments.

But what to call this thin red line from Shotton, on the Dee, to Chepstow, on the Wye? Darren Millar took the first shot from the Conservative benches, calling it a "slate curtain" in the Assembly. Today Kirsty Williams returns fire for us with a
"daffodil curtain" for bus users.

I'm sure there are more variants to be found, but I must admit to rather liking the daffodil idea; after all, West Gloucestershire is famed for its daffodil production and, as a man of Gloucester, I know that ancient law says that any man approaching the city from the west on a market day is presumed to be Welsh and may be shot with impunity...