October 14th - October 20th 2002
Sunday Hawkeyed
Saturday Sniping
Friday ADSbloodyL
Thursday Fired up
Wednesday Tolls
Tuesday Out and about
Monday Queer Tories
Sunday 20th October 2002
Conversation at the office: an ongoing series
A: "It says here that 'senior hawks are questioning the right of Colin Powell to make concessions at the United Nations."
B: "And your point is?"
A: "Does that mean..there are..Junior Hawks?"
C: "Lower in the pecking order, presumably."
(Coda to a previous office conversation about what might replace the current Iraqi regime: there are apparently serious suggestions that Iraq should be given to Israel, thus allowing the chosen people to finally take over the whole of their Biblical inheritance. I guess that might at least get Sharon off the Palestinian's back for a while...)
Saturday 19th October 2002
A friend of mine lives in Washington and has written to me about how nervous the The Sniper makes him. My friend is not only extremely intelligent, but extremely well-read too - so I imagine he's already seen the recent Economist article on The logic of irrational fear but perhaps others may find it reassuring.
Of course, one explanation for the recent horrific news from Washington is that some lone maniac, armed, paranoid, and increasingly deaf to the pleas of saner voices, has convinced himself that the forces of evil are out to get him and is determined to pick them off, one by one, in a series of pre-emptive attacks.
That doesn't explain the sniper, however...
Friday 18th October 2002
The good news is that I've finally joined the 21st century and got myself a working broadband connection.
The bad news is that:
Demon posted the ASDL modem to the wrong address
The Post Ofice therefore posted the 'sorry you weren't at home when we tried to deliver' postcard through the wrong letterbox
The modem for which I have been patiently waiting has therefore been sitting all alone at the local sorting office for a fortnight
The modem, once retrieved, turns out to have a manual with detailed instructions on how to amend your Internet settings based on System X software. And I'm still running System 9
When I rang tech support to confirm that a series of 'Authentication failed' messages meant that my password had been changed, they agreed and referred me to the letter of confirmation they had sent - to the wrong address.
Now that I've finally got things working, it's quicker but.. it's not that much quicker
And I can't use my webcam at the same time as I use my modem (apparently I need a powered USB hub, whatever one of those is)
So much for the 21st century.
Thursday 17th October 2002
I've written before about my ambivalent attitude to fireworks - caused, in no small part, by the coincidence of my birthday falling on Guy Fawkes Night.
Ever since I've been living in this part of East London, it's proved impossible to ignore the impending festivities - the canyons of public housing that surround me reverberate with motley bangs and whimpers from as early as the first week of October.
I used to put this down to Diwali, a festival about which I knew fuck all except that it predated Guy Fawkes by a week or two. This year, I've done my research and, not for the first time, underlined my ignorance.
Diwali (aka Deepavali, Dipavali and The Festival of Lights) turns out to be the Hindu New Year, a period marked by diverse customs celebrated for a variety of reasons, but with an emphasis on the arrival of Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth and prosperity (hence the lights, to light her way home).
As with many non-Western New Years, the date is variable, being based on the new moon; this year it falls on November 4th - so much for that theory then.
Speaking of fireworks, this is also the time of year when the provincial papers fill up with horror stories of childish pranks gone wrong (optimistic interpretation) and/or feral children attacking innocent bystanders (tabloid version).
Stand-out stories so far this year include a rocket attack on a twelve year old boy, a dog killed when it mistook a lit firework for a stick that it was meant to retrieve and, worst of all, a 72 year old widow who had to evacuate her 10th floor flat after a firework burst through the window and set fire to her carpet.
The sale of fireworks is currently controlled by the Fireworks (Safety) Regulations 1997 and the Explosives Acts of 1875 and 1923 - manifestly outdated legislation which Downing Street proposes to update with various lame measures, including a pilot project from the Home Office which punishes the throwing of fireworks in the street with a £40 fine - for offenders over 18. (Doh.)
One of the reasons for the rise in firework-related injuries in the last few years is, apparently, that the voluntary agreement by which firework manufacturers restricted sales to a short period in November was blown apart by the massive sales associated with the celebration of the Millenium.
Sounds to me like a pretty good reason to move New Year celebrations back a couple of months to me. That way, more cultures could come together in joint celebration of what is, after all, a major annual landmark: my bloody birthday.
Wednesday 16th October 2002
Cold-hearted statisticians with a media studies bent may care to compare and contrast the news coverage recently given to:
More than 200 people killed when a terrorist bomb exploded in Bali, and
More than 1000 people killed when an overcrowded ferry capsised off the coast of Senegal.
One has dominated the front pages for several days in a row, the other garnered a couple of paragraphs on inside pages. One is a cold-blooded terrorist attack, the other a clumsy accident. One gives headline writers the (fairly flimsy) opportunity to use Al Qaeda in its headlines, the other doesn't. One involves large numbers of white middle-class youths, the other doesn't.
(Death tolls page now updated to include both unfortunate events.)
Tuesday 15th October 2002
Although Eight in 10 plastic surgeons 'offer needless treatment' ran it a close second, this month's prize for the most unsurprising headline goes to (..opens envelope..) Dale Winton Comes Out
This confirms The Orange One as the perfect choice to host a new tv show first mooted on the front page of this week's Sunday's Mirror: Sir Alex Ferguson Sex Quiz
Other bloggers have already treated you to their views on the first 'Faking It' which followed a meaty matelot's transformation into a spangled drag queen called (do I really have to type this?) Britney Ferry.
I don't recall any of them revealing the considerable part played in the programme by "BJ's" aka The White Swan so, hot for an exclusive, I was particularly pissed off to find myself working late on Friday night when, rumour had it, Britney Ferry was due there to perform a return engagement.
I needn't have worried though; sources close to the White Swan's landlord tell me that Britney was a no-show: "Dave Lynn's keen for 'er to do it again, but I don't think 'e will - not got the bottle."
Never mind, here's a fairly gay-friendly review of the programme from The Mirror:
And instead of the laddish Mustang Sally, the song he should have sung was obvious: In The Navy.
He cried like a big queen though.
Monday 14th October 2002
I find myself warming to the idea that new quasi-planetary objects be christened in honour of the deities of extinct tribes: Quaoar - the frozen lump discovered beyond Pluto and otherwise known as 2002 LM60 - is named after "the creation force of the Tongva tribe of the Los Angeles basin".
Following the same principle, if some gallant Brit astronomer (we do have some, presumably) stumbles across some new planet, he or she could name it: Thatcher.
Speaking of which extinct tribe, you can't have failed to notice the wave of recent press stories selflessly trawling through the 'novels' of Edwina Currie for more buried clues as to what was Actually Happening.
Lovers of snide irony - and why else would you read Blogadoon? - may care to flip back to a review of Currie's This Honourable House (say it quickly) by no less an authority than Douglas Hurd, part-time novelist and Cabinet colleague of John Mayor:
Her Chancellor of the Exchequer is a lonely homosexual. The most popular politician in the country is a less lonely homosexual - indeed he is exposed wrestling almost naked in the gym with his cousin, and ending the bout with a kiss.
By contrast, most of the politicians in different parties with whom I worked were honourable, intelligent and happily married. The incidents of sleaze, rape and the rest of it are pretty rare.
The title of Hurd's review? Edwina is no Trollope.
Speaking of gay Tories, Matthew Parris - the MP turned journalist who 'accidentally' outed Michael Portillo on Newsnight - has a new autobiography in the shops.
(Declaration of interest: a mutual friend introduced me to Matthew Parris in the White Swan one evening, and we ended the evening drinking champagne in his riverside flat; I liked him but he was far more interested in getting the remaining clothes off the drunken youth who'd passed out in his hammock than he was in discussing politics with me.)Naturally enough one turns to the Telegraph to see whom they've chosen to review the new book. And finds, pleasant surprise, a warm piece by none other than Boris Johnson - editor of The Spectator and the man widely tipped to replace Charles Moore as Telegraph editor come the revolution.
He is summoned to the Whips' office. An enormous whisky is poured. Being gay, he is told, is one of those things you do not blab about - like, um, not believing in God. The job offer is withdrawn. Grasp that episode, an incontestable piece of discrimination, and you probably understand a large part of this book's purpose.
Even on casual acquintance, Boris comes across as, shall we say, a little light in the loafer department; reassuring to find he talks the talk as well as he walks the walk.
I know, I know, there's only so much queer Conservatism one can take without thwowing up.
But I can't resist one final quiz question: which Tory leader did no less an authority than Cecil Beaton confide to his diary that he found not only a man of "strength" and "courage", but also exuding "a certain sex appeal"?
Thatcher? No, earlier than that. Churchill? Eden? Macmillan? More likely, but its later than that. Douglas Hume?! Heath?! Major?!! The answer will surprise you.
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