Beeb under fire

The culture and media Secretary has recently announced a review of the BBC by the Audit Office, which potentially may result in a reduction of the licence fee. Cue the predictable whining about "Tory cuts" from socialists and luvvies both within and without the Beeb, and the raising of spectres of shredded drama budgets and how we need to "protect our beloved and sacred Beeb from the wicked Tory axe."

I'd like to peer for a moment behind the curtain of party political bollocks and bring some calm rationality to the debate. Before we start I should nail my colours to the mast: I'm a firm fan of the BBC. I willingly pay my licence fee, and am happy that for the princely sum of 40p per day I get access to a load of quality, ad-free output, as well as a load of other crap I wouldn't watch, or listen to, in a million years. But hey, there are 26 million households also forking out their 40p a day and they're perfectly entitled to watch crap if they want to.

But that's not what this is about.

1. Every publicly-funded organisation, government department, local authority, or whatever is coming under financial scrutiny right now. To suggest that the BBC, which is effectively (if indirectly) funded by public money, should be exempt from this scrutiny just because it's in the "arts and entertainment" sector, is patently ridiculous. We're paying for it, we should be assured that we're getting value for our money. We can debate how that value is perceived in the BBC's dramatic or entertainment output, and I don't for one second believe the government should (or even can) impose any controls over that, but on the business side Auntie should be as well run as possible, and should be able to prove it.
2. Every large organisation embodies a proportion of waste. It's as inevitable as a thunderstorm in an English summer. Some are better than others but ALL will have some waste in them somewhere, and the longer the time that elapses between audits, the worse that waste will be. Whether it's more efficient procurement, industry standard benchmarking of costs and remuneration, better management structures, more effective administration and on, and on, every business can benefit from close scrutiny from time to time. The Beeb is no different in this respect, and a lot of the savings could, I predict, be made without impacting the core BBC business - radio and television output - at all. (Whether or not they WILL be implemented in this way depends on how much the implementers have a political axe to grind. I wouldn't, for instance, put it past some people to try to trash something like The Archers to give "the cuts" the maximum profile and impact among the listening public)
3. While we're on the subject of "core BBC business" - what is it that we actually expect from the BBC? What is the BBC FOR? Because as time goes on, simple focus on that key question can be lost, and corporations of the size of the BBC can easily fall into a mindset of "here's how much money the licence fee generates, now how can we spend it?" Which will usually lead, over time, to growth in non-core sectors of the business, leeching money from the pot and generating apparently legitimate business cases for ever-increasing licence fees. It's good every so often to take a step back and examine what direction the Beeb is moving in: what business, what outputs, what is really important? What do we - the people who pay for it - want it to be for? 
4. I hope the auditors will examine the thorny issue of "competitive salaries". No matter how much the corporation's leaders bleat about it, the BBC is not in competition with commercial media. They should exercise some discretion and play on the cachet of working for Britain's best-loved entertainment provider. The most high profile example of a hyperinflated salary deal was Jonathon Ross's £6million-a-year wedge, but he's gone now, so who's next in the firing line? Whoever it is, they don't need to be paid that much. Other recent examples of well-reported leavers - Brummie tosser Adrian Chiles and his vacuous sidekick Christine Bleakley - have been gone for a while. Do we miss them? No. Are their replacements paid as much as they were? No. Has that made a difference to the "quality" (*cough*) of The One Show? No. I rest my case. Anyone - and I use that word advisedly - anyone can present a TV programme. Assuming they can read. They are not "celebrities." They are not "stars." In a way, they're a bit like receptionists. They sit at the notional front desk of TV programmes and show people where to go. And we all know how well-valued receptionists are, don't we? TV presenters deserve similar wages. There, that's a few million lopped off the budget right there.
5. Finally - because this is turning (has turned?) into a lengthy diatribe and you'll be wanting your lunch - on the subject of licence refunds. It's been said that if and when the audit finds significant savings, these will be given back to the licence payer as a refund. No, thanks. I think I'm on pretty safe ground when I suggest that the overwhelming majority of licence payers can do without the couple of quid a year they would probably get back. Keep it. Make some good programmes with it. Don't give it to Ross, or Norton, or Wogan, or Chiles or anyone like them. Don't set up a new department. Don't buy a new manager, director, or executive. Make more programmes. Make better programmes. That's all we want from the Beeb, really. Isn't it?

Targeting targets

I listen to the Today programme on a regular basis - with one ear when I'm in the car taking Nikki to work and, after I've dropped her off and I'm on my way back home (or occasionally into the office) with both ears. And occasionally I hear something that makes my metaphorical jaw drop. Today was one such interview - some guy talking about the problems they were having with the process of getting people back to work off long-term sick leave.

They'd been set a target for this, after putting the people through the process, of 50%. That's half the people they interview have to give up their benefits and find a job. But hang on a minute. Surely people are either sick, or they're not? I mean, it's not hard to understand the concept that maybe - just maybe - there are people claim incapacity benefit when they're actually fit for work. But how can you have a TARGET that predetermines how many people that will be? I'd have thought the right approach was to decide in advance exactly HOW sick someone needs to be to qualify for benefit, taking into account what it is that's wrong with them (e.g. people with back trouble might not be able to do building work, but they can sit at a desk, or a till, or other light duties) and then run the process and accept the outcome. There's no place for targets here.

As if that wasn't silly enough, the guy actually went on to say their biggest problem was that they were actually getting 68% of people back to work, and that was TOO MANY! Hahaha. You couldn't make it up. Quite a few people who were forced back to work lodged an appeal, and 70% of the appeals were being successful (so a lot of money being wasted there for one thing, but even more importantly...) but the main problem was that appeals can take up to six months, during which time these poor folk get no benefit (so a lot of personal misery, heartache and pain being caused there then).

No wonder the system's in a mess. Another disaster left behind by the NuLab tossers.

Farewell to the Bottler

True "statesmanlike" behaviour is seen when the right thing is done without pause, and because it's the right thing to do, not when it's delayed until it is the only option left and comes after a period of unseemly scrabbling to hang on to the reins of power at any cost.

Whenever Gordon Brown said he would do something for the good of the country, you knew that he really meant "for the good of Gordon Brown." Well, now he's gone and good riddance. His party had fired the starting pistol on their race to elect a new leader days before he'd even resigned. A more apt metaphor may be the opening of sluice gates to let flow the pent-up vitriol, repressed indignation and hidden ambition that has been building up ever since his unopposed  "coronation" as leader. Unopposed, yes. But also unelected. And that's how he will now remain.

Suddenly everyone's a fan of PR

I'm finding the sight of so many ministers tripping over themselves to declare themselves lifelong supporters of electoral reform and proportional representation in the wake of yesterday's poll quite sickening. Realising their only hope of clinging to power lies with a resurrected Lib-Lab pact, and the price of that will be a referendum on PR, they are all busy wooing Nick Clegg.

An extended Today programme on Radio 4 included an interview with Neil Kinnock, who said something along the lines of time being up for a system where a massive Commons majority could be gained for only 40% of the vote. Evan Davis gleefully pointed out that Kinnochio had never been heard to complain about this state of affairs when his own party were the beneficiaries. This prompted the indignant response that Kinnock had been a long-term supporter of electoral reform but "knew he couldn't promote it in those days because the papers would have made a meal of the implicit admission that Labour couldn't win on their own." (I paraphrase).

That single sentence crystallised for me everything that is amiss with politics. What Kinnock was effectively saying is that he couldn't support what he truly believed in because he was afraid of how the media would spin it. Are we supposed to believe him? Or are we led to the conclusion that this is yet another example of him - along with all the rest of them - saying what he thinks we want to hear rather than what he truly believes. One thing is certain. Either he is lying now, or he was lying then. And if he was lying then, why should we trust him now? Trust - or the lack of it - is the single biggest reason for the public's disillusion with politics and politicians. None of them say what they really mean, or mean what they say. No conviction, no leadership, no honesty, no integrity and no long-term thinking which we need to solve long-term problems like transport, education, health and pensions.

No wonder the country can't make up its mind.

The absentee landlord

Three and a half years we've lived in this house, and in all that time we haven't had a single leaflet through our door from the incumbent MP. Regular news of what the Lib Dems are doing to brighten up the neighbourhood, revamp the parks, improve safety and discourage yobbishness in the parish, but from our high profile Labour MP? Nothing. Not a sausage.

Well, it's been a day or so since Gordo let slip the news about the election (which everyone had been predicting since before Christmas) and what's this I see on my doormat? A red-top leaflet prominently featuring a photograph of a smiling Gerald, a few pathetic sentences about his recent good deeds, and a plea for my vote.

Ha!

I made up my mind many, many years ago that it would take more than election-time canvassing to secure my loyalties. I don't know where Gerald has been since the last election but there's not been a single sighting in this neck of the woods since we moved in. Too late, mate. Way too late.

PS: PVR clock display on powering down after tonight's telly? 23:33. Nice.

Another month, another picket

The concentrated striking (three working days out of the last five) may be having the desired effect, as we heard over the weekend that ACAS will be getting involved this week. That's definite progress, and not before time - the financial implications of more strike days this month were beginning to give me worry lines.

With the extreme cold weather nothing but a bad memory, it was actually quite pleasant to be stood out on the picket this morning, especially since we enjoyed another glorious sunrise and a brief honking of support from a flock of passing geese. As always though, the highlight of the morning was the breakfast at the Art College. This has become such a popular event it wouldn't surprise me if several people continue to patronise their restaurant in preference to the breakfasts offered in our own canteen.

If the loss of pay is the downside to all this, the upside is very definitely getting home before 11am and having the whole of the rest of the day to please myself. I admit to being sorely tempted to carry on doodling, but I resisted and settled down to a bit of web work instead.

It'll never get better if you picket

Another Wednesday, another few hours on the picket line. Actually that's overstating my active involvement quite significantly, as I haven't attended the picket since that very first time, what with it being minus eleven and knee-deep in snow and whatnot.

But the dispute drags on and is beginning to bite financially, as I realised when I opened my pay slip this month, and to qualify for the union's additional hardship payments members have to be "actively involved," so here I am back on the picket line, freezing my toes off and wondering how long it can possibly take for the hours to tick away until it's 10am and we can pack up and pop over to the Art College for one of their wonderful breakfasts.

As it happened today's picket felt shorter than the last one, even though I arrived at the same time. A few people I knew were taking part, so conversation flowed, and one or two of the pickets were marginally more active in their behaviour - tooting on kazoos and asking drivers to stop etc - which provided some entertainment and helped the time pass more quickly.

Not sure if it's a result of experience, but the "very British" attitudes I noticed on that first picket are gradually being replaced by a willingness to mix it with those arriving for work. Especially the ones who seem to think the best way of making it across the picket line is to put their foot down and drive at full speed on to site. A site, mind you, with a mandatory 15mph speed limit. That they are wilfully ignoring. Calm down ladies and gentlemen! The most you'll suffer is the acute embarrassment of ignoring a small group of people who, on any other day, would be your colleagues but who for these few days you seem to think it's OK to treat as targets.

Thoughts from the picket line

As I mentioned yesterday, I arrived on the picket at 7.15. Things were already in full swing. They'd started picketing at 6.30. 'Full swing' is, perhaps, the wrong term to use for such a low-key event. What I mean is, there were people there. Half-a-dozen or so. I'd walked past three of them on my way to the main group. They'd been sent to cover the exit road from the campus, as a few people had been seen using this as a route to avoid the picket. We exchanged quips as we passed each other. One of them had been in my team in the old VME support days but as with so many others, we'd lost touch. Meeting up with him again in such circumstances was slightly surreal.

The first thing to strike me (pun acknowledged) as I arrived at the main entrance was the lack of a brazier. Since my experience of pickets up to this point was limited to what I'd seen on news bulletins over the years - and with the early morning temperature at the aforementioned -2° - I'd expected to arrive to find the group huddled with hands outstretched around a glowing brazier. I'd reckoned without the mighty reach of the Health & Safety regulations. Our picket captain assured me braziers were no longer allowed. It was OK for us to freeze, apparently, but we couldn't be trusted not to cause ourselves or our surroundings some lasting damage with an errant lump of burning charcoal. The air temperature never climbed above zero the whole day, and within 30 minutes of my arrival I couldn't feel my fingers. An hour later, my toes had gone as well.

My next revelation: how very British the picket was. Already aware that the law mandates "peaceful" picketing, I was still disconcerted by how laid back was the approach. Virtually horizontal. A stern look appeared to be the only intervention allowed. I'd expected at least an upraised hand to slow down any approaching car, a wound-down window and a few words of gentle persuasion. Instead we all gazed on disapprovingly as a steady stream of cars - slow at first but gradually increasing as we approached "regular" office hours - drove through our small throng. Even the cold stares were lost on most of the drivers as they studiously avoided eye contact with any of the pickets.

Pedestrian arrivals didn't get off quite so lightly - being treated to a polite "can I persuade you not to go in?" or "would you like a leaflet?" - but in the Age of the Motor Vehicle these were few and far between. Mostly they ignored us too. Only one of them was moved to mutter an edgy "no you can't" in response to the first question. We were there a total of four hours and didn't succeed in stopping a single person entering the building. I bet we made a few of them feel uncomfortable though. As I said, very British.

On a more positive note, we enjoyed a lot of support from passing motorists in the form of horn tooting. I've done this myself, from the other side, but had no idea how uplifting it can be for those on the picket. One driver memorably sounded his hooter from the moment he noticed the picket to the point he disappeared around the last bend at the other end of the site - several hundred metres - to loud cheers from everyone. The hoots weren't restricted to delivery drivers, or other overt tradespeople. Ordinary drivers in their hundreds pipped and waved their messages of solidarity during the morning, each one greeted by a return wave of hand or placard and a cheer.

Around eight o'clock someone from inside the building took pity on us and carried out a cardboard box loaded with cups of hot coffee and soup. I made a grab for a soup. Too hot to sip when I picked it up, the December air sucked the heat from it faster than I could drink it. The dregs were cold by the time I reached the bottom.

It's been a long while since I had chance to stand and watch dawn break, and even though the scene was perhaps not as idyllic as the last time I did this, still it had the same profound effect on me. Thoughts of it "always being darkest just before the dawn" and "the dawning of a new era" and suchlike skipped randomly through my mind but mostly I just stood and absorbed the quiet miracle of another new day, silhouetting the construction across the road and lighting a fire under the tail feathers of a flock of starlings who took off squawking to find their breakfast.

Breakfast! I'd heard rumours that the local college had a restaurant open to the public. This was confirmed later, around the time I'd started to wonder if I could last the final hour without "facilities," as another member of the group returned with a glowing report of their breakfast. Shortly before ten I took myself off to sample the delights of a full English. The ten-minute respite from the cold was enough to restore feeling in everything except my toes and the breakfast proved more than enough to sustain me through the final half-hour of picket duty. We packed up all the flags, placards and banners around half past ten, and bid each other farewell and Merry Christmas.

Whether it will be a Happy New Year remains to be seen!

Strike!

I was on strike today.

Go on, call me a dinosaur.
"People don't still go on strike do they?"
"Didn't even know they had unions in the computer industry."
Well believe me if you'd told me a few years ago I'd be standing on a picket line holding a placard in the dark at quarter-past-seven on a freezing (OK, you Canadians, it was "ONLY" -2°C) December morning I'd have laughed in your face. I'll have been in this industry, and working for this firm, 32 years this coming January and I too used to laugh at the idea of unions, and strikes, and the traditional "us and them" attitude.

That was before the company cancelled our bonus on a pretext, before going on to declare record profits for that year. It was before they decided, with a pay deal negotiated, agreed and signed up to by all parties, not to pay it. It was before they threatened to close our pension scheme, thereby reneging on a 32-year-old promise to look after me in my retirement (and imposing an equivalent 25% pay cut). It was before they decided they needed to declare a thousand of my colleagues redundant, not to save the company, but to protect their profit targets. Targets that were set by managers who in some cases no longer work for the company, at a time before the global economic meltdown.

Yes, that's right. My company think it's a good idea to keep aiming for boom-level profits during a bust-riddled economic period, and to shed jobs in order to achieve them.

As one of my fellow pickets said to me this morning: "If the company was in trouble and our backs were to the wall, we'd sweat blood and break our backs to dig it out of the hole [he knows how to mix a metaphor, this guy], but it's not like that. They're still on track for record profits, and taking the piss out of us at the same time."

No wonder the slogan we've adopted for this campaign is "Enough Is Enough."

That sums up exactly how I feel. They've burned through all the good will, all the long, unpaid overtime hours, the thousands of road and rail miles clocked up, the holidays missed, the stress endured, the snatched meals and missed breaks and the lonely nights in cheap hotels. Their litany used to be "our people are our greatest assets." Well, we all know what happens to assets in this modern world, don't we? They're sweated. They're leveraged for every ounce of effort and profit you can squeeze out of them. We always went the extra mile for the company, but when boot's on t'other foot, do they reciprocate? Don't make me laugh.

Yes, 32 years I've been in this company, and for 30 of those I was not a union man. It's taken me a long time to shed the blinkers but they're off now. I've seen the light. It's not pretty. But as the union are fond of saying, if they won't listen to the strength of our argument, then the only recourse is to use the argument of our strength.

Copenhagen

I've had a draft post with this title sitting in my bloglist since the Copenhagen climate summit opened. I intended to write about forlorn hopes, high ambition, good intentions and inevitable failure but to be honest, in the end, the whole thing was just too depressing and predictable.

More than a week on, and what I assumed at the start would be the inevitable end looks as though it is indeed coming to pass.

Twenty years of talking, of governments agreeing, or not agreeing, to emission limitations and then missing their targets by miles, while all the time the palm-oil industry destroys the rainforests at ever-increasing rates and every single government ignores their activities. It's hard to avoid the clichés when writing about this stuff. Vested interests driven by fat cats more interested in protecting their billion-dollar stashes and their "right" to drive across the street in a four-ton, gas-guzzling "sports" vehicle than in any notion of protecting the planet. Desperate presidents and leaders of island nations only a few inches above sea-level and hence in urgent need of, well, greater elevation at least, sharing their desperation with the world in the hope of some compassion and receiving? Not a lot.

And what would a "successful" outcome to Copenhagen look like? It's all talk anyway, so at best they'll all walk out, patting each other on their expensively-suited backs and congratulating themselves on agreeing to some vague target years in the future which no-one actually believes they'll hit and even if they did wouldn't make a blind bit of difference to anything.

Those who never wanted to restrict their emissions in the first place have dived on the emergence of what looks like evidence that some of the numbers have been... manipulated... with such shameless alacrity that you wonder they're not entering the 2012 Olympics as a new form of gymnast.

I don't claim to know whether the planet is actually in danger from CO2 or not. Quite honestly I don't trust any of them. These are all human beings with their own axes to grind and it's every bit as likely that the scientists' main interest is in protecting their research budgets so they can carry on producing their nice little graphs, or promoting expensive new technologies to "fix" the problem. On the other side of the scales sit the oil billionaires along with the other main players in the old carbon economies and we all know where their interests lie. There's an exact parallel between them and the cigarette companies, who for years denied any link between smoking and lung cancer, while all the time piling high and selling cheap death wrapped in small tubes with a filter on the end.

The world is even more addicted to oil than it is to tobacco and anyone who thinks that is likely to change any time soon is as deluded as the poor guy from the island nation who thinks any of his presidential peers is really interested in giving him a leg-up away from the encroaching ocean.

So no, I never believed Copenhagen had a hope in hell of fixing the planet. While individually human beings can exhibit intelligence and compassion in sufficient measure to solve the problem, collectively we are like lemmings heading for the cliff. See you on the other side.

Blue rinse

Well, the Tories are here this week. Party conference. The week has so far been punctuated with various friends posting on various social websites about "Tory scum" and similar pithy observations, and all week I've been building up to some erudite exposition on the subject of enlightened self-interest, public servants and realism.

But you know what? I really can't be arsed.

And on reflection, I still like the idea of fitting every politician with a tiny remote-controlled personal explosive device located somewhere essential, like adjacent to the carotid artery. Said device hooked up to a red button owned by every single person in the country. If more than, say, 60% of people are pressing their button at any one time... kaboom! Or should I say... *phlut* (because it's only a very tiny bomb).

A long way to climb

The new series of Strictly Come Dancing started last night here on UK TV, amid a huge media hoo-ha regarding the replacement of long-time judge and dance expert Arlene Phillips with 2007 winner Alesha Dixon (pictured). Were the BBC being ageist as some commenters claimed? Were they trying to redress the overwhelming whiteness of the panel and meet their ethnic quota? Or were they just after another bit of eye candy to brighten the programme up for the blokes?

There's no doubting that Dixon ticks all those boxes - young, black and attractive - but are any of these suitable credentials for joining a panel of judges whose job it is to critique a dancing competition? Judging by her performance last night, I'd have to say no. And judging by the reported reaction of the television audience, forum and chat room posts, and media critics in all their various flavours, I wouldn't be alone. Thousands of nos have been resounding up and down the country. Compared to the knowledge and experience of her fellow panel members - Craig Revel-Horwood (dancer, choreographer, theatre director), Bruno Tonioli (dancer, choreographer), and head judge Len Goodman (four times British champion Exhibition dancer, dance teacher and professional judge) - her single credential is having won the competition itself two years ago.

So having her comments restricted to knowing "how the contestants are feeling," enthusing about the way they relate to each other, and agreeing with the other judges tells us nothing more than we can see for ourselves.

Question is, will the BBC be big enough to admit their mistake, climb down, and offer Arlene her old seat back for the next series? Because for now, a lot of the sparkle seems to have gone out of Strictly, and putting more sequins on the costumes won't help.

Snouts in the trough

Politicians, eh? My dear old Dad always used to call it a dirty business, and by God he was right. Even if you accept for one minute the old chestnut trotted out on every news bulletin in the past few weeks - that people go into it in the hope they'll be able to make a difference - it's clear there's a whole bucketload of truth in the adage that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Among the miles of column inches and video footage that's poured from the media since this story broke, there are some who claim there are more important stories that should be grabbing our attention in these credit crunchy times, that the sums of money involved are relatively small (in government terms, if not in average people's salary terms) and that maybe not everyone at Westminster is to blame. A lot of this, for me, misses the point. The point is: integrity. The expectation of it, the lack of it, and its apparent replacement by hubris.

I can't say I'm happy to pay taxes. Is anyone? When I look at my pay slip each month and work out how much is taken away before I see any of it, I scratch my head and sigh. When I was younger I naively consoled myself with the thought that those responsible for spending the money we all grudgingly hand over were at least using it for the general good, to improve the lot of the community and to support the less fortunate. Years of watching them blow billions of pounds on fatuous schemes, illegal wars and town twinning put paid to that notion, leaving behind a much less attractive reality - that successive governments exhibit greater or lesser degrees of incompetence but in the end they are, all of them, incompetent to some degree.

But at least, I told (fooled) myself, they weren't benefiting personally. Were they? Well yes, of course they were. Where there's power and influence, there's money. And where there's money, there's the chance to pocket some of it. And where there's a chance, for most people, there's a temptation, a shrug, and a quiet trousering of the wad.

Credibility, my old boss used to say, is like virginity: one cock-up and it's gone forever. And throughout this sorry tale, there's been much more than one, as credibility and integrity have been shredded. Some random thoughts:

• The expenses fiddling had been going on for years. There's no evidence that anything would have changed if there'd been no leak, despite there being gross, obvious and ongoing breaches of rules, lack of correct monitoring and a general approach of grabbing whatever they could
• When it began to occur to them that we might find out, they continued to do everything possible to cover it up. Parliamentary Ombudsmen who got too close to the truth were sacked, or prevented from doing their job. Motions were passed to try to prevent the application of the FoI Act to MPs. The general impression, far from being one of gravitas and integrity, was more like the behaviour of ants when their nest is uncovered. Scrabbling around trying to hide the treasure
• Once the truth was out, suddenly everyone was a "victim of the system." I've done nothing wrong, I obeyed the rules, why didn't someone tell me I couldn't claim for decorating, moat cleaning, 17th-century mahogany hand-carved furniture, etc, etc. For people who supposedly have the intelligence and leadership qualities necessary to run a country, this was at least disingenuous. I've seen better behaviour from schoolchildren.
• It soon became clear that claiming to only have followed rules wasn't going to wash with the public, who not surprisingly expected more from their leaders. So did they come clean? No. They started looking for a scapegoat, of course. Step forward Speaker Michael Martin, who was required to fall on his sword as the man in charge of the fees office, which presumably was staffed exclusively by people who couldn't tell the difference between a legitimate expense and a fiddle. Today's Matt cartoon in the Telegraph was spot on. Two MPs are standing in the shadow of the House of Commons and one says to the other: "As soon as I saw what I'd been up to, I knew the Speaker had to go"
• Even though the solution to the problem should be very simple - it is one, after all, that every major company in the country solves on a daily basis - the arch complicator Gordon Brown as usual managed to make it sound like a problem so complex that it challenged the brightest minds in government. (*cough*) It was going to take weeks, maybe months to come up with a solution. Remember this: it takes a really intelligent, innovative and astute person to analyse a situation and come up with a simple solution. Just about anyone can think of a way of solving a problem that is long-winded, complicated, and difficult to manage.
• Finally, we had a bit of a backlash from the smarting MPs who didn't like the thought of their gravy train being derailed. One overblown ego even went so far as to claim that the whole expenses debacle was driven by jealousy, just because "I've got a very big house." I don't know about you, but I don't want the country to be run by people like that. People who think the country owes them whatever they choose to take, that privileges are theirs by right and the rest of us should keep our noses out of their business because we're clearly too thick, or too jealous, or too insignificant. Politicians serve the people, not the other way round, and servitude exhibits humility, integrity, compassion and hard work.
  

So what's the answer?

One of the things that has many people scratching their heads is the entire question of having two homes, where one of them is effectively paid for on expenses. What is that all about? There are countless thousands of people who have to work in the City, and live elsewhere. They commute. They work just as long - or longer - hours than politicians, often for much less money. If they don't commute daily, they stay in hotels and claim the cost of that on expenses. Works perfectly well for them, why not for MPs?

If there's a question of security, or for some unfathomable reason London hotels are not suitable for politicians despite being just fine for every other businessman and woman in the capital, then build somewhere, or compulsorily purchase somewhere, and fit it out for the purpose. Either way it's got to be cheaper than the current scheme. And they don't need flock wallpaper and 17th-century desks. They're supposed to be working people. Regular furniture from IKEA is good enough for us, so it's good enough for them. There's only 600-odd of the buggers, and they don't all need another London pad anyway.

And finally, and probably most surprising to the general public, is this whole business of the incompetence or downright fraudulent behaviour in the fees office. Anyone who has worked for a UK company will have had to submit expenses for travel, accommodation, or small purchases needed in the course of doing their job. The Chief Executive of McDonalds, Steve Easterbrook, made exactly this point on Question Time last week. Why is it so hard? He, or any UK business leader, could solve this broken process in a week, given chance and the will to solve it. But maybe that's just the problem? They don't really want it solved. Not by "an outsider." They want another arcane, secretive, self-monitored scheme so they can carry on with their snouts in the trough while giving the impression of reform.

I'd rather be a cunning linguist

Taro 9 (made by BBC Wales to be broadcast tonight on S4C) asks the question: Is bilingualism the way forward?

"For decades the status of the Welsh language has sharply divided opinion in Wales but in Belgium it looks like a row over language is set to tear a nation in two," says the press release, going on to describe the controversy caused by Milford Haven politician Eric Harries who dared to suggest that limited resources are being wasted by the legal requirement to publish all council documents in Welsh as well as English (you can read the rest of it here).

In Belgium, differences between the Dutch speakers in Flanders to the north of the country, and the French speakers, primarily from Wallonia in the south, are threatening to literally split the country in two, wiping Belgium clean off the map.

I'm reminded of the conversations I've had in the past with Canadian friends regarding the resentment they feel as a result of their own legal requirement, historically imposed on the entire country by the relatively small province of Quebec, to have both English and French descriptions on all packaged goods and many public signs, and to be forced to learn French in "immersion" classes. And also of recent debates in the UK about the relative merits of publishing, for instance, medical leaflets in a variety of ethnic languages (Urdu, Hindi, Arabic, etc) as opposed to insisting that settlers in this country learn to speak and read English.

We often joke about America and England being divided by a common language, but there is more uniting us (especially in our use of English) than separates us, and certainly within a single country, it seems that one of the attributes that defines a country as a country is its common tongue.

If a country like Belgium, which to once again quote from the BBC press release is referred to as being "...regarded the world over as a symbol of co-operation and European unity", can be divided by language then surely the message is clear. One country: one language.

A stain on your character

I'm thinking bloodstain. With DNA. On a database.

The European Court of Human Rights declared yesterday that it's illegal for UK police to hold on file the DNA signatures of people who have been arrested but subsequently either not charged with an offence, or acquitted. Apparently (and surprisingly, I feel) there were approaching a million of these records - out of the 4.5 million in total - of which 40,000 were for children. DNA from people who as far as the legal system is concerned are guilty of absolutely nothing at all, but whose DNA the police were hanging onto "just in case."

The case was brought by a couple of guys from Sheffield - one who was charged with an offence but where the charges were dropped a few months later, and another who was tried for attempted robbery and subsequently acquitted - who didn't fancy having their records on file for all time. And who can blame them? For me, this case raises a number of profound questions:

• It seemed fairly obvious to me, way before the verdict, that this represented a breach of human rights. Yet the case went before the House of Lords and was thrown out. So that presumably means either the Law Lords are incompetent at interpreting Human Rights legislation, or they were party to, and their judgement affected by, the government's approach to DNA fingerprinting...
• ...which appears to be the establishment by stealth of a national DNA database, populated with DNA from anyone the police don't like the look of. That may sound alarmist, but if the only criterion for storing your DNA is that you've been arrested for something, and the police can arrest anyone they like (and they can), then it's a fact. Let's be clear, I don't have a problem with holding the DNA of known (i.e. tried and convicted) criminals. With reoffending rates as high as they are, it would be madness not to. And we're not talking here about holding unmatched DNA from crime scenes. Those records will continue to be held, offering the chance of a match with someone arrested later for any offence anywhere else in the country. Such cases have already occurred. But innocent people do not deserve to be tainted by having their DNA on record when they've done nothing.
• Whether or not you believe in the benefit of a national DNA database (and I do, as it happens), its purpose must be clearly articulated, debated by parliament in the usual way, and probably, for a change as far-reaching as this, subject to a referendum. Either record everyone, or no-one. However, that said, this government (or any government come to that) has proved time and again that they simply do not have the competence to handle large volumes of sensitive data. Until they have demonstrated such competence, with data of a less personal nature, no-one should trust them with their DNA records. And that's before we get into any debate about the potential for misuse.
  
• A rather over-excited article in the Telegraph (still, what do you expect from them?) states: "Deleting the records could mean that thousands of rapists, murderers and other criminals are not caught." What utter nonsense. Despite a huge increase in the number of DNA profiles on record, crime solving rates have hardly changed. Scotland already deletes DNA records where suspects are not charged, or are acquitted. Is Scotland therefore full of "thousands" of uncaught rapists and murderers? Good grief.
  
• On a more general note, what is the point of the House of Lords when their rulings can be thrown out by a higher court? What used to be the highest legal authority in the country is now effectively reduced to the level of a magistrate's court. Only there to provide a filter for the more powerful European Court, and handle the easy cases. But this means that cases like the one I'm discussing here are subject to interminable delay. Those two Sheffield lads started this legal journey in 2001! EIGHT years they've been waiting for yesterday's result. We may as well do away with the legal responsibilities of the Lords and fund a European court that is resourced well enough to handle all the cases across the whole EU. At least we'd be assured of getting to the real, final answer a sight quicker than we do at the moment, and at a much reduced cost.

Makes me seethe (©1994 Mr. Angry)

Bankrupt stock

So the government, having contributed to the drink problem in the UK by relaxing the licensing laws (you know it's true, even if their statistics have been cooked to say otherwise), is now demanding an end to happy hours and cheap booze in supermarkets in an effort to cut the cost of policing hordes of drunken idiots in city centres.

When are we going to stop penalising the entire country for the behaviour of an antisocial minority? When are "they" going to start considering the "human rights" of the majority, like me, who enjoy going to the odd happy hour, and/or buying their bargain booze at Morrisons, and are capable of consuming it responsibly without staggering barely conscious into a city centre, puking over a copper or smashing up a bus stop? Why does the government's every reaction to a problem have to have the effect of carpet bombing, when what they need is a tactical strike?

We all have to bump (and all too often grind) our way over hundreds of speed control humps on account of a handful of overexuberant spotty erks going joyriding. A few high-profile deterrent sentences would have sorted the problem out in short order but instead local authorities go for the easy option, causing discomfort and inconvenience to everyone.

Makes me seethe (©1993 Mr. Angry).

Waking to a new world

I don't very often comment on politics, but on this day of all days maybe it's appropriate.

We woke before 5am this morning. Not because of any excitement about the result of the US election, but simply because we're in a vicious cycle of going to bed early and waking early. And waking early makes us tired, so we fall asleep by 9pm and then wonder if there's any point sitting dozing in front of the telly. So we go to bed early. And wake early.

The result, apparently, became clear at 4am UK time, and was heralded for us by such things as family messages on Facebook ("Go Obama!") and emails from friends in the right timezone. So I thought I'd pop along to the BBC News website and see what they had to say. And what they had to say was firstly that the result was a lot closer than some had predicted, but with several States left to declare Barack Obama was already past the winning post.

Then I made the mistake of reading his victory speech, which is reproduced in full on the BBC webpages. I defy all but the most battle-hardened cynics to read the full text without a tear in their eye. There's a message in there for those cynics too.

Who knows how many bloggers all around the world are recording their thoughts on the dawn of what most of us hope will be a new day, in all senses of the phrase? Mine is just one tiny, insignificant, uneducated voice in that massive melee of humanity, so I will say only this.

There is no doubting the strength and passion of Obama's oratory. Nor do I doubt his sincerity. Uniquely among politicians (for yes, where that breed are concerned, I'm just as cynical as the next guy) I believe there is a man here who says what he means and means what he says. But oratory is one thing, and achievement is another. He knows what he has to do, he knows it will be hard, and he knows he can't do it alone. Let's pray for the miracle he will need if he's to do it at all, in the face of greed, self-interest, corruption, duplicity and malice.

On this very day, 403 years ago, a man tried to change the course of history with kegs full of gunpowder. Let's hope after 400 years America has found a man who can light a metaphorical fire under their administration.

A day of quiet satisfaction

One of those days when things just feel right. It has its own slow, measured beat and whatever you do, things turn out well.

I started the day helping Natalie move out of halls. It only seems like last week since I was carrying stuff in for her and here I was carrying it out. Only - as is always the way - there was much more to bring out than there had been to take in. I can't believe she's already completed her first year at Uni. Time slips away from you when you're not watching. Another era begins in a few weeks when she gets the keys to her new digs. Somewhere - hopefully - that will be "home" for a couple of years. Alongside the two other homes she already has. Three homes is more than enough for anyone, I reckon.

By early afternoon I'd finished the design document I'd been working on. Ahead of schedule, so I could revel in one of those lazy Friday afternoons when you can savour the approach of the weekend and pretend you don't have a care in the world.

And then, as I listened to the measure tones of Carolyn Quinn on the PM show, came the best news of all. That Ireland had voted NO to the EU Lisbon Treaty (aka a Constitution By The Back Door). Well done to the Micks and Paddys. One of the few countries to actually give its populace a chance to express an opinion and they got it bang on. Brown and Blair should forever hang their heads in shame for not allowing us the referendum they promised in their manifesto pledge (going back on manifesto commitments should be a criminal offence) but in the end Ireland has done our work for us. Hopefully that'll be an end to it, although I suspect there'll be a lot of wriggling and weasel words from Brussels to get through yet. Apparently some of the institutions and procedures that the Treaty calls for have already been implemented ahead of ratification. Typical European disdain for due process - steaming ahead with it anyway because a handful of Eurocrats think they know what's best for us. These should all be dismantled now, but do you really think they will be? The French are not exactly well known for sticking to the letter of the law.

A time warp in Westminster

I travelled down to London again yesterday. At Euston, as it has been the last four or five times I've arrived there, the escalator down to the Underground was boxed off and ornamented by a sign saying that the escalator refurbishment would be going on until December, with only one escalator in operation at any time. Passengers going down are expected to walk - some of them dragging heavy suitcases behind them; some of them making heavy weather of the climb due to infirmity.

At the ticket office level, a further escalator - to the Victoria and Northern lines - is closed for routine maintenance which is, apparently, going to take six weeks.

Arriving at Westminster and walking past the seat of government, I couldn't help noticing that the alterations to the roadway immediately outside Parliament have been completed in record time. On my trip the time before last they hadn't started; last time they were in full flow, with the entire road including halfway down Millbank cordoned off and the roadway excavated; now (only a week later) the works are complete, the barriers are being removed and the road is paved in shiny new blocks.

The message is, it's important not to inconvenience those important civil servants and MPs as they hurry about their job of running the country. The average citizen can be forced to endure months of inconvenience because they don't matter.

Thought crime

When I was a lad I read a lot of science fiction. Many of the classic SF stories revolve around increased mental faculties of some description, either natural or enhanced with technology. In others the technology itself can think, or read minds.

More recently the subject was explored by Hollywood in 'Minority Report'. Like so many blockbuster movies, this is based on a short story by master of the genre Philip K. Dick written in the year of my birth and, unusually for such films, bearing the same name as the story.

Over the years I've been interested to note how often science, although naturally lagging behind science fiction, has eventually caught up. The most well-known example of this is Arthur C. Clarke's prediction of geostationary satellites upon which the world's telecomms networks (including the Internet you're using to read this) now depend. Some scientists have even predicted that a warp-drive such as that used in TV's Star Trek is not beyond the bounds of possibility.

So it was with great interest that I heard a news item some weeks ago describing how scientists have developed a brain scanner that can detect what you're thinking. By interpreting the patterns of brain waves, electrical activity and changes in blood flow, the machine can differentiate between one thought and another. Still in its infancy the machine is crude at present, but will certainly become more accurate with further development.

This opens up some possibilities for colossal social change. Civil rights groups will be sure to take against it and the potential for misuse is clearly enormous, but at a simplistic level it could allow instantaneous democracy for the first time. Problems of security and fraud have always dogged any suggestion of electronic voting, but with ubiquitous brain scanning it would be possible for the reaction of the populace to any new government initiative to be measured almost immediately. No need to sign up for the whole of a manifesto when each of its parts can be tested individually. And if a majority of the people at any given time thought they disliked the incumbent party, out they'd go!

And right there is the reason it'll never happen! Nice to dream though. Welcome to 1984, even if it is about 25 years late!