[thought for the day] sunday evening

It was one of those chilly and empty afternoons in early winter, when the daylight is silver rather than gold and pewter rather than silver. [GK Chesterton]

If the winter solstice is midwinter, then one might be forgiven for thinking of December 1st as the genuine start. The bite of the air, the beauty of the lengthening shadows, the stark silhouettes of leafless trees, the pale glow of a setting sun, mid-afternoon - all these allow one to turn one's thoughts inwards.

I think of my mother and father out there in the bleak and bitter night, when once was a warm fire and good cheer indoors. I think of it now, all gone, as are good friends, close friends, loves in my life, now scattered across the world.

It's a time of quiet and calm solitude, a time to put one's hands in one pockets, muffle up and set ones' face against the icy wind. It's a time of cold feet and hands and somehow it suits the mood.

It's a time of memories, of better days, when it wasn't necessary to think of whether you could afford the following week's food, when you'd be called in for mulled wine and pies, when the soothing lightness of a fall of snow would fill the streets and the yellow sodium lamps would shine dimly through, when there weren't so many cares as people have today.

Winter focuses the mind wonderfully on the long distance journey ahead, down the fading years. It throws regrets into sharp relief but it has its pluses too. Hot food, filling food, e-mailed messages from friends who don't wish you ill, hot cocoa, the warmth of the duvey and the calm - always the calm.

It's December 1st tomorrow.

[odd one out] spot the odd pollie

As usual, who is the odd one out and why? Answer is here.

[blogfocus] a sunday scan

1. John Swift thinks President Bush Should Pardon the Wal-Mart Shoppers

Police in Valley Stream, New York, are reviewing videotapes to attempt to identify exuberant Black Friday shoppers who trampled to death a Wal-Mart worker who made the tragic mistake of getting between them and some very remarkable bargains.

2. Eurodogtraining wonders what to do when you buy a rare breed of dog, only to discover that it had stripes painted on?

3. L'Ombre, on the topic of Proposal 8, has much to say, including:

There are a boatload of reasons why marriage has been linked to procreation, such as lack of contraceptives and the significant amount of time it takes for humans to mature, and not all of these reasons have magically disappeared in the last few decades.

4. It's not often that Richard Havers savages someone so vehemently but he is here:

He gives the impression of somehow taking the whole thing as a bit of a joke. Then again he has it made. The man is a shyster, a fiddler and worst of all he's arrogant in the extreme.

Whom could Richard be referring to?

5. Martin Kelly, on Mumbai, says:

"It seems to be Edward Gibbon's day today."

Have a lovely remainder of your Sunday.

[pandora's box] the raymond green phenomenon

There's a mate I have who doesn't blog but he does have a computer and follows my blog from time to time. Usually, when we talk about some issue, which is pretty well all the time, he comes out with an idea which I nick and develop in a post. The royalties will be coming you're way, sir, once the idea sells.

This one is no different. Speaking about the device in Terminator 3, which Arnie removes and throws onto the road, what if every household could have one?

I imagined it a bit like the platinum box above and able to fit into any pocket. It would be configured according to its power, using a new unit, say a megazyne and you could purchase a 100 mz unit for powering up a city grid, a 50, a 20 and a 10, for all household power and then a 1 mz unit for personal use, where once batteries would have been used.

Naturally, Raymond Green, the owner, kept it completely shtum whilst he was developing a working model and he was himself a model, as an employer. Everyone who worked on the project had shares and a percentage cut in any profits in perpetuity. This staggeringly philanthropic boss could afford such largesse.

Year Zero

At first, he sells to the cogniscenti and ultra-rich businessmen who naturally try to analyse and duplicate the idea but the trouble is, it is a sealed box, almost self-sustainable and with a shelf life in the region of 50 years. If it is ever opened, it explodes and any parts now corrode to dust, on exposure to air. Thus he protects his idea. Attractively priced at around $U.S.10 000 per megazyne, the Pandoras sell like hotcakes, by word of mouth until, equally naturally, those who wish to suppress the idea make their move.

He's protected himself, in that the devices only work if he sends a code every so often, at irregular and predetermined intervals but he has no idea when and which code. He never developed those codes, which came from 1001 sources worldwide, all of whom are now dead and the device only works when all the untraceable auto-emits are algorithmically combined. There is a money back plus 10% guarantee should any device fail.

One year later

He's been supplying the device to governments, councils and so on for a nominal amount, without restriction, playing no favourites and refusing no enemies.

After three years

Now rich beyond his wildest dreams, he suddenly releases the product to the average citizen, from his offshore base, for 10 U.S. cents per megazyne, with two trillion 1 mz and 10 mz devices ready for shipping, which now power complete home environments, so that the average householder grows all his own produce and has Pandora powered guns for personal home protection [also developed by Pandora Industries], Pandora home perimeter defences, moisture harnessing and conversion devices, solar power enhanced medical ex-plants which strap on to the wrist and so on and so on.

After four years

Attracting the brightest and best scientists and dramatically upping the ante with his own personal security, wave after wave of life-enhancing inventions now pour out and the one year old Pandora philosophy of helping the householder and small businessman, to the exclusion of the monolithic and monopolistic has now produced GK Chesterton's ideal of the three acres and a cow. People are once again town and country based, government and taxation have now fallen into disuse, along with armies, wars and other nasties and what cannot be home grown is bartered for.

Raymond Green holds no public office, he has no desire to run the world or control it, except in removing the necessity for controls and he happily spends the rest of his days on his island, tilling the soil and coming up with new ideas in the evenings.

Warning: This post is most certainly going to be added to, as and when ideas come in, practical objections aired and considered and new thinking on it arises. It is an ongoing work.

[the metal tub test] who would survive

There is a storm in the South Pacific and a cruise ship goes down. You rush to the kitchen to grab food to stuff in your pockets and you suddenly see two metal tubs, each capable of supporting the weight of either a man or a woman and baby. You take them and rush up on deck. To your horror, only two people are left there, so you throw one of the tubs to them.

Time is running out but you see a crying baby. You also see a dead officer and he has a gun. Thinking quickly, you put his gun in your belt then, scooping up the baby, you clamber into the tub, it slides into the water and you quickly find yourself and the baby a short distance from the ship.

You see the two people left on the deck fighting over who will take the tub and you know you can use the gun to ensure the more worthy of them gets to escape in that metal tub.

Who do you save if the two people were:

1. Gordon Brown and a little child;

2. Jonathan Ross and a BBC producer;

3. A banker and a lawyer;

4. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton;

5. Polly Toynbee and a garbage collector;

6. A war veteran and Paris Hilton;

7. Posh Beckham and a lap dancer.

[strange saturday] gorillas in the mist

It’s one thing to blog on Britain from Russia and another from Sicily but today I think I came up to speed on the real Britain again – some of it was nostalgically great and some was fairly ordinary.

About eleven we went to the forest and wandered about, avoiding hurtling dogs and getting half lost off the beaten track. There was a thickish fog off the sea and it made the forest look spooky and Tolkien-like.

My friend had his kid with him and she lost her doll somewhere along the way so we had to backtrack and after I put in a little prayer, guess what? Yep – there it was, to the side of the track, lying face down in the mud.

So, everyone happy, we went and had a bite to eat, then I asked if he gets Sky 2. No. Not to worry. At 2:25, it was across the road at the forest pub and an interesting conversation took place.

Barboy [18 or so]: Wot you having, mate?

Me [glancing at the big screen and noticing a minor football game on]: That depends – you running the England game today?

Barboy: When’s it on?

Me: Five minutes. I’ll have a Carlings if you’re running the game.

Barboy: Well, it’s rugby like, i’n it?

Me: No, it’s England. You know. You remember the country?

Barboy: Yeah right. OK, I’ll put it on but if anyone objects, like ...”

Me: Right.

So it began, the anthems, the haka and so on. England really took it up to them but were let down by sheer indiscipline. I don’t remember an English team with less discipline and they gave away penalty after penalty but at least, for a while, Dan Carter’s [NZ] kicking boot was letting him down too.

Looked a bit moist down on the pitch and hard going. England were showing a ton of grit and were harrying the All Blacks into errors all over the place and then, just before half time, they let loose with a massive assault but … you guessed it … indisciplined errors again.

In the second half, the All Blacks racked up the pressure a notch and scored but their second try was just extraordinary. To their credit, England stuck in there and had one or two chances but you know – they never looked dangerous once. Grit is excellent but brooding danger is what it’s all about and these gentlemen lacked it.

What was happening though was that they were being sent off to the sin bin too many times. Even at the end of the grim affair, NZ was still attacking. I went for an absorbing game, a stirring affair and by and large – we got it. Anyway, I left the pub in the dark and some girl started chatting about it being chilly and I’d best do up my jacket. It was chilly, too.

Hands in pockets and muffled up, I headed back to the hosue, reflecting on the Stepford Drinkers and wondering if everyone was so robotic these days. Er ... people? Did anyone see any national pride anywhere? Funny - must have lost it under a rock.

On the road proper, it was dead still, the yellow street lamps emitted their diffused light through the gloom and I realized I was back in Britain. Strange day, nice in a way, apart from the result, of course.