Tuesday 11 December 2012

Drug Laws

David Cameron has rejected the call for a Royal Commission on the UK's drugs laws. This request did not come from a bleary-eyed,  teen stoner sporting a T-shirt that with an alien head and the logo 'Take Me to Your Dealer', which might explain his refusal. No, this proposal came from a House of Commons select committee on home affairs, none of whose members wore T-shirts saying 'Adihash', 'Coke Is It' or 'Marijuana - Millions stoned' in the style of the McDonald's logo. One MP was wearing a T-shirt under his business shirt with a picture of a small fat-faced dog with a diagonal red line through it, strapline 'Say No Pugs'. What that proves is anyone's guess, perhaps that this MP genuinely thinks comedy tees are funny or that he failed to do the washing and had to substitute this weak dog joke top for a vest.

Whatever the select committee may or may not have been wearing, under or over their business dress, did not apparently influence Dave's decision to dismiss this plea out of hand. He gave three reasons in a short interview. As he was pressed for time, I have helpfully filled in what he was trying to express.

1. 'We have a policy and it's working, drug use is coming down'

What I meant to say was the government has a policy of ignoring its own scientific advice and that of  senior police officers. We prefer instead to stick with prohibition because we are terrified of hostile articles by the likes of Melanie Philips or Richard Littlejohn in the tabloids. Strangely despite my obsession with opinion polls, in the case of drugs' laws, I prefer to ignore the views of over 70% of the population.

Drug usage has come down a little bit,  so I will pretend that there's some connection between our policy and the outcome. Quite why it's taken 30 years for the identical policies to have effect I won't bother to explain and if drug use were to go up again, I will be very quick to deny any link between consumption and policy. As I have conveniently avoided discussing the counterfactual, you don't have a chance to compare what might have happened in the UK with different policies. I won't do this, because the example of Portugal in recent years disproves my original point.

2. 'We need to do more to keep drugs out of our prisons'

Rather than answer your question about the need for a Royal Commission, I  have instead mentioned an different issue which is the systemic smuggling perpetrated by our prison officers. This relates to drugs prohibition in exactly the opposite way I'm suggesting, as were drugs decriminalised, no prison warder need smuggle the substances inside nor would there be any inflated profits by virtue of their illegality.

Not letting facts or logic upset my polemic, I have instead used the simple, yet effective, trick of saying certain words close to each other. This creates an entirely artificial and fallacious choice in your mind thanks to verbal proximity: support for a Royal Commission equates with supporting more drugs in prisons. This is absolute nonsense, but as I've said it with the sort of serious face usually reserved for the death of an elderly family pet you might just buy it. To be honest, the only kind of person who would actually support the crazy idea of more drugs in prisons would be a prison officer. He's hoping to save enough to buy that static caravan he's always dreamed of the Pembrokeshire coast.

3. 'We need to focus on [the above] than a very long term Royal Commission'.

I'm going to stick with the same basic formula for point 1 and 2, which is to say things one after another   which have no connection in the belief that most people are too stupid to spot logical flaws. This is pretty much what passes for serious debate in this country about drug policy.

You might have thought that as a rightwing free-market advocate running a Coalition that desperately needs to raise runds the pure economics of legalisation might appeal to me. Nope. I would much rather be consistently and hopelessly wrong that embrace any hint of the complexity such issues present in the real world.

And I won't trouble myself with the inconvenient fact that if the UK drug laws were as rigorously enforced on rich white males as they are on poor black males, yours truly along with many of his cabinet colleagues and associates would have a criminal record.

Now if you'll excuse me George Osborne and I are rather busy at the moment trying to do more damage to the UK economy than any other individual in the last 100 years. We are currently joint 3rd with Goering.






Friday 16 November 2012

BBC Bashing

BBC bashing is a favoured activity by certain sectors of the media in recent days: the Murdoch press enjoying a chance to switch the focus away from the criminal phone-hacking to a cover-up. The Daily Mail, of course, never loses an opportunity to work itself into a frothy, semi-rabid rage about the moral decline of Britain caused by the metrosexual liberals at the Beeb, whilst constantly refreshing the sideboard of their website with pictures of scantily clad women or girls who have only just passed the age of consent. It all started with the ITV Saville documentary, or did it start with Andrew Gilligan accusing Tony Blair of lying to the House of Commons on live radio or should we go back in time to the first BBC executive who gave Jimmy Saville a job?

Now I should express a vested interest here, I'm not an impartial when it comes to the BBC: they hired me as a junior producer, they did not fire me as a junior producer when I was said lots of things I shouldn't an internet message board. It all happened one Friday afternoon and I remain very sorry, not necessarily as sorry as George Monbiot, Sally Bercow and the former editor of Newsnight are at the moment, but still very sorry. My gratitude to the organisation goes further than simply not sacking me; from that initial trainee producer job I went onto to produce many radio comedy shows, children's TV comedy and when they weren't supervising me too closely I even got to produce a little of bit of proper telly (a BBC 3 sitcom pilot - so sort of proper). So my experience of my nine years there was generally very positive, it offered me unique opportunities that no other broadcasting organisation or company could have done. Outside the BBC, it remains fiendishly difficult to gain experience in TV or radio as you stay trapped in the permanent Catch 22 loop that you can't produce or direct a show until you have the experience of producing or directing shows.

But... and there's always a but, in my narrow window into this vast organisation , the dysfunctional management that we have witnessed in recent days seems fairly typical. George Orwell described the BBC as a cross between a lunatic asylum and a girls's boarding school, oddly enough that sixty year old metaphor holds true today. The strangest thing is that you could take an excellent producer, promote them to head of department and they would then spend most of them time dealing with mind-numbing bureaucracy that had nothing to do with the making of programmes. In hindsight, the best boss I worked for was one who came from the independent sector, took one look at the list of silly meetings he was expected to attend and never bothered. Under his regime of benign neglect, the department had a golden era of award winning shows and fantastic creativity, none of this seemed to matter to the more senior managers who made sure that his successor did attend these meetings and do the paperwork. I watched this other boss slowly lose the will to live until he escaped the role at the earliest opportunity.

Great shows are made by the BBC and there are many talented people working there; too often that excellent programme making occurs in spite of the system rather than because of itt. In my area of expertise such as comedy, it's fascinating to see how many commissioners and channel controllers claim credit for hit shows they either rejected first time or said during their run that the programmes were not working. A couple of personal highlights of Beeb management  are being told we had to make radio more accessible for the deaf or attending a seminar on the future of broadcasting where some consultant put a slide on the wall that was one of the most complex things I have ever seen, including an article on particle physics in The New Scientist. To this day, I have no idea what that consultant was taking about, I remember there being mentions of gatekeepers and platforms and wondering if we were taking about role playing games. My guess is she had no idea what she was taking about either. Let's keep it those two examples, suitably vague and distant, as I may still want to produce a show, if the chance comes my way.

As someone who greatly values the BBC not as institution but as a source of creative output, here's three simple suggestions to get out of their current funk  that do not involve endless navel gazing and self-criticism:

1. Sack 25% of the staff using a simple test.

Go round every BBC building, grab each employee in turn, put them in headlock (whilst observing correct health and safety protocols). Ask them what their job is. Anyone who cannot give you a simple answer e.g. producer, engineer, researcher, head of department etc. is fired on the spot. At stroke you remove about 1 in 4 non-jobs that add no value. So goodbye to Client Solutions Executive, Head of Audiences and Change Management Lead. Spend every £1 saved on new programmes immediately.

(the above suggestion is thanks to Jeff Randall).

2. Adopt William Goldman's quotation as the sole BBC value.

'Nobody knows anything' said the brilliant Goldman of the film business. The same holds true for broadcasting. In the past decade hits have come the most unexpected of places, whether its Strictly Come Dancing, Miranda, The Thick of It and Springwatch. The glorious wonder of the creative industry is that is the precise opposite of normal business, you really cannot predict where the next genius show will come from. All you can do as an organisation is stay open to ideas, remain ready to go against the flow and remind yourself that nobody knows anything. A bit like the slave whispering in the Roman general's ear as he parades through Rome, reminding him that all this world is ashes and dust, keep that motto in mind and you maximise your chances of success. (Okay maybe not the ashes and dust bit).

3. Copy HBO

They make some of the finest television ever seen, copy their approach. Empower your creative heads and let them take risks. The Americans do it better, do what they do. Simples.

It would be a terrible tragedy if the vile sociopath Saville managed to cause mayhem beyond the grave. Whatever mistakes were made in the 70s or were made in recent months, don't let the bastard screw it up for everyone else. No matter how bad the BBC faults might be, the alternatives are worse, just watch Italian TV if you don't believe me.

Oh and one final thought... if you find that your selection of senior managers means that Tim Davie, a Pepsi marketing executive who has never made a programme, ends up temporary Director-General then  maybe, just maybe, you're promoting the wrong people.






Thursday 1 November 2012

Street Photography

Yesterday a friend of mine took  a picture of a derelict house in Finsbury Square in the City, when a security guard tried to prevent him from doing so. This guard was employed by UBS, that Swiss bank fined $740 million for a tax fraud in the States. They are set to shed 10,000 jobs by 2015, as it turns out their ability to make real profits when not involved in a massive criminal conspiracy that would make Tony Soprano blush was illusory. Presumably the guard was trying to preserve his job by showing his zeal in stopping rogue photography. Unfortunately, he has committed the cardinal sin of being born not-white and not from public school so his efforts are mostly likely in vain.

The high-vis jobsworth's behaviour does highlight a worrying trend in modern Britain, where someone taking a picture in a public place which they have an absolute legal right to do may be prevented by any  number of martinets in day-glo yellow ranging from security guards, community support officers (or plastic filth as da yoof round my way terms them) and genuine not plastic, bona fide police officers.

In any debate about civil liberties, the temptation is to refer to slippery slopes and Nazi Germany, conjuring up images of Gestapo officers whizzing down waterslides (at least that's what it does in my head). I've already given in you see, by referencing Nazis in the previous sentence; sadly I have all the self-control of a dog caught short on a bowling green so it was bound to happen.

Interfering with street photography is  a rare occasion when the slippery slope cliche applies.  We are all entitled to take photos in a public place and letting self-appointed control freaks who do not know the law intimidate us means we lose a small but important freedom. Blame the 'war on terror' or rather blame the mindset that comes with such a stupid and self-defeating concept. Before the Trade Centre attacks and the July bombings on the tube, no one bothered about who was taking a photo of what. Why? Because trying to prevent a terrorist attack by stopping people taking pictures of landmarks or buildings is about as sensible as building a dam made of Disprin.

One way of preventing terror attacks is specific intelligence of radical groups. Another way of preventing atrocities is this: when a man arrives at the UK borders with hooks for hands, who preaches the destruction of Western civilisation, do not let him in the country. Simple really. Sadly common sense and government were last seen together under a bridge, where government was witnessed brutally shoeing common sense in a sickening re-creation of the underpass scene in A Clockwork Orange.

We are not powerless though and the only cure for this attempt to remove of our freedom by stealth is to take as many photos as possible of everything. Don't take pictures of serving police officers because thanks to Section 76 of the Counter Terrorism Act, that actually is an offence and I suppose if I encourage you, I could be guilty of some kind of terrorist conspiracy. Everything else is fine, especially if it's got a security guard in the frame and even better if its a bank recently found guilty of criminal activities (which is all of them isn't it?).

Let's hear those digital cameras make the simulated sound of a shutter releasing.

Thursday 25 October 2012

European Separation

In the digital age, a Dear John letter is most likely an email or a text, ending a failing relationship. With Britain and Europe drifting apart economically and politically, we should do the decent thing and send that message. It might read as follows:

Dear Europe,

I think it's best you and go our separate ways, as this is just not working any more.

When we first got together in the 1970s, there was a real spark. You were sophisticated and exotic, you took naps in the afternoon, ate dinner late made from strange products like squid or sausages with actual meat in them. All I had was strikes, Heinz hoops and fried Spam served at 5 p.m. Without your influence, I would never have discovered the joys of sex with the lights on or driving cars that could make it out of the factory gate without breaking down.

In recent years, though, we have grown apart. You have become very controlling, trying to dictate whether I am allowed to deport terrorists for fear of breaching their human rights, banning the WI from selling home-made jam as a breach of health and safety laws or even mandating what tax rates my government may charge. I did not sign up to this Fifty Shades-inspired slave contract, to have every aspect of my national life be dictated by your mother-in-law, Germany. 

All of this might not matter so much if I felt you respected or valued me. Every year 100,00s of your inhabitants head to my shores to seek opportunities they are unable to find at home, yet you treat me like some kind of  pirate lurking on your coastline ready to undo your good works.   

What a pity you do not want to learn from my political and cultural heritage. At the risk of picking at old wounds, the recent histories of your member states include (to name but a few) one genocidal dictatorship, five fascist states, two military juntas, three Nazi collaborators and two nations who stayed neutral in the greatest conflict in human history.

My background, in contrast, is a stable government under the rule of the law, where the rights of the individual were advanced and the role of free enterprise cherished. Of course we have made mistakes and are far from perfect. At least we take responsibility for our affairs rather than imagining an unelected bureaucracy might be the solution to our chronic corruption, cultural torpor and serial incompetence. You may learn a thing or two about civil society from me if you once listened. 

I did warn you about the Euro and you branded me xenophobic. It is possible to value and respect European cultures and nation states without signing up to a masochistic, wealth-destroying currency union that benefits no one save the Bundesbank. 

A divorce would be best for us both, custody of the children (Scotland  and Wales)  is perhaps best left to them to decide. Alex Salmond you are welcome to keep.

Love

Great Britain


Monday 1 October 2012

Buying Newspapers


When was the last time you paid to read a newspaper? If you live in London, remember the Metro and The Evening Standard are both free and contain remarkably little that could be called journalism. What their readers are really doing is redistributing copies from stalls at tube stations to the interiors of bus and train carriages, where cleaners then put them into rubbish bins. These days I like to be efficient so I just put the newspaper straight into the bin, unread.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with The Evening Standard, with the balance being around ninety percent towards hate. When I used to work near Oxford Circus and took the tube home, from time to time I was foolish enough to buy a copy for 35 pence, thinking surely a newspaper that was as thick as a sandwich would last me journey home. Wrong. By about Paddington, I would be into the property section, where the Standard saw its role as cheerleader in chief for over-priced, nasty new build in areas devoid of transport links, character or even a recognised place name. Their other long-running campaign was a stream of misleading, mendacious articles about the congestion charge, driven solely by the fact that some senior journalists and the editor resented paying the toll on their way to work. These days, Alexander Lebedev has turned it into a free sheet and even then, it feels like a rip off.

By my reckoning, the last time I paid for newspaper content was nine months ago, when I bought a Sunday Times and almost immediately regretted the purchase. Like all Sunday papers, it has bloated to such a flabby, over-puffed size that the main challenge is to work out which bits to read and which bits to discard at once. Twenty frustrating minutes later, when I failed to commit to a viable reading strategy, my conscience came to rescue, reminding me that it was a Murdoch rag. The inky stains it leaves on your fingers, it leaves those on your immortal soul, the angel of my better nature whispered. Into the wheelie bin it went.

My wife had a subscription to Time Out and we both valued it as a comprehensive listings magazine, with excellent reviews of every conceivable cultural activity in the capital. It seemed cheap at the price as you could always find something interesting to do from its pages. But Time Out has mutated into a free sheet also and much like the Metro is worth as much as its cover price. I'm sure there was a powerful commercial logic to their decision, but I for one will not be reading it again. Not out of spite, but it's now just a collection of PR pieces and is woefully short on reviews and content, without proper listings. If I'm going to waste my life reading drivel, might as well do it on the Mail Online crack bar where the truth about Harry's night in Vegas is finally revealed.

Maybe the era of newsprint is dead. The Guardian loses money at a frightening rate, £40 million plus per annum, The Times bleeds cash as does The Telegraph.  The problem with modern newspapers is that they have embraced opinion pieces and editorialised content with gusto, to distinguish themselves from generic news content online. Unfortunately this has the potential to antagonise as many readers as it endears. For example, I might be reading The Guardian, appreciating their varied news coverage and championing of the underdog, all is well. Then entirely by accident I read an article by Polly Toynbee of such breathtaking self-righteousness and pomposity (especially when you consider her left wing credentials did not extend to educating her children in a state school) that it makes me want to buy a rifle and spend the afternoon shooting defenceless animals whilst wearing one of those T-shirts you can buy in Camden that says 'Hitler: European Tour 1939 -45'.

On the other side of the spectrum, I could be reading The Telegraph, enjoying their parliamentary pieces or cricket journalism and a gust of wind blows the pages over and my eyes alight on article by Christopher Booker about climate change. This piece is so filled with lies, distortions and deliberate falsehoods that in any other walk of life, the perpetrator would face criminal charges. Booker is in fairness merely a paid lackey of the tax-dodging Barclay brothers, owners of The Telegraph, who lurk like anthrax on the island of Sark. So to right this shameless abuse of journalist principles, I have to row a boat all the way that Channel Island and set fire to their castle.

Newspapers have created a zero sum game with the prevalence of opinion pieces. For every reader that enjoys Jeremy Clarkson ranting about speed cameras, there's another who wants to see him run over by a Prius Camper Van, ideally driven by a black lesbian in a wheelchair. The above is written by a recovering news junkie by the way, who used to watch C4 news, the news at 10 and then Newsnight all in the same day, to see the subtle differences in reporting. And I still won't pay for newspapers. Yes, I know The Guardian broke the phone-hacking scandal and The Telegraph the MPs expenses one, but I didn't buy a copy of either paper. Sorry.











Tuesday 18 September 2012

Charitable Status

This blog is about private schools in the UK, which confusingly are called public schools, when they are by definition the opposite of being available to the public. Regents Park, though a high class green space, does not require to you to remortgage your house to avail yourself of its amenities, unlike the fees charged at 'public schools'.

I must declare a vested interest in this matter, as your humble blog scribe is a product of such an education system, a well-known London private school whose old boys run all the bits of Britain the Etonians didn't want. In my defence, I would like to stress that I have never owned a polo pony, attended a school-chum's birthday where there were waiting staff in black tie or tried to snog the daughter of an Earl. For the prosecution, I did know someone at school who had an actual Picasso in their London home and another boy who had a lift inside his house. Yes, inside, it's that bit which elevates you (pun-intended) from council tower block to extreme privilege.

Okay, it was a posh school, but my parents were ridiculous lefties if that makes any difference. Our Nicaraguan coffee was served in Nelson Mandela mugs; the bookshelves were filled with worthy Fabian writings. Of course my paternal and maternal comrades were not such ideological zealots that they would inflict genuine public education on their children. We grew up in the People's Republic of Islington in the 1980s, where state schools blended Dave Spart with a dash of Assault on Precinct 13.

 Between us my brother and I had seen all of Shakespeare's history plays before the age of thirteen (yes even Henry VI) and that doesn't earn you kudos in the playground. It's a season ticket on the Train of Pain all the way to Hurt Station. Anyway, stepping off the Digression Express at Get to the F**king Point Junction, I did not go to the comprehensive down the road.

Therefore I think it does give me a perspective on an important issue: do private schools deserve their current charitable status? And the answer these days is without a doubt...no. Perhaps when I was young, when you could still buy comics in the newsagent and the internet was just a glint in a spotty computer geek's palm, it was just about possible to claim they performed some kind of charitable function. There were assisted places, where those children unlucky enough to be born into poverty might fully understand the extent of their misfortune. At my more tolerant school, they were only made to sit at the poor table for lunch while the whole school chanted 'Eat povos eat'. In other more traditional institutions, they worked as domestic staff and catamites for the governors. But conservative or progressive, private school fees twenty years ago, though high, were in the realm of the plausible for those without Swiss bank accounts.

Whilst I can't plead true hardship, both my brother and I were scholarship boys and that made all the difference between being able to serve ciabatta as opposed Safeway's value loaf. Believe or not, for two years in a row, we took a summer holiday in Britain. This was well before the concept of staycation, so going on holiday in August in the UK was neither retro cool or environmentally aware, it was just cheap(er) and rubbish. People who watched ITV took holidays in Britain, there I said it.

But, class envy aside, there was a social mix of sorts in private schools back then. As a student, I gained  an excellent education in the arts, let no one let you that a knowledge of the gerund is useless, that information having been drummed into my head, I have not forgot (present prefect). My love of drama was such that every year I volunteered for the school play. Strictly speaking this was only for the cast parties, which were heavy-petting orgies. One of my fondest memories is the tongue fest that was the cast bash after the performing The Caucasian Chalk Circle. One of my least favourite memories second only to a nasty motorbike crash, is the actual play The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Berlolt Brecht should haven been tried for crimes against theatre, The Resistable Rise of Artuo Ui doesn't negate the awfulness of the rest of his writing.

So I spent time learning about Suetonius, debating the meaning of Measure for Measure (it was just a bad play, even Shakespeare had his off days - discussion over), when all I really wanted to do was undress certain girls from a nearby school. Hardy on a par with Medicin Sans Frontiers, I admit even then. These days private school's status is indefensible and you don't have to take it from me, ask anyone who works in the sector what has happened in the last twenty years. Only financiers, the landed gentry and the children of foreign oligarchs or petro princes can now afford the fees; their doors are closed to all save the parasite elite. Gone is the mixture of arts and sciences, they focus primarily on science and maths, so that the likes of Abramovich's children can dream of even more elaborate ways not to pay tax in their chosen host nation. Here the word 'host' has nothing to do with concepts of hospitality or manners, it is the larger mass on which the parasite class attaches itself.

Like everything in Britain these days, everything is for sale and if all private schools really offer is forcing houses for the children of the vampire super-rich then let's not give them the cloak of respectability of charitable status. If you want to segregate your child with the super-rich, do so, but pay  in full for the privilege.

It's not about the politics of envy, who would envy the international elite?They are the most miserable, petulant breed on the planet, forever in a huff that their heli-skiing holiday didn't give them the perfect powder snow, their third guest house bath fittings are not exactly as instructed or their yacht is slightly smaller than the Sultan of Brunei's. They belong in a secure, walled community like Monaco, where they they can mix exclusively with other toxic individuals, like a giant open prison or mental institution with decent food.

Charities are a force for good, if anyone working in private education now can explain their positive benefits today, fee free to leave a comment below. Sadly their primary contribution in recent years seems to be a  flow of Osborne types, steeped in Hayek and Rand, who having floated up on a wave of money and privilege, then lecture the rest of us about 'merit', 'free enterprise' and 'welfare dependency'. In keeping with their own nihilist philosophy, private schools don't deserve a tax break from the state nor should they want one.




Friday 24 August 2012

Business Rates

Time to blog once more, now the Olympic buzz has worn off. I don't know how long you managed to keep that warm, fuzzy glow of British brilliance. If you had the misfortune to watch Olympic's closing ceremony then my guess is the time it took for George Michael to sing his new track. It might have worked if he'd really stuck to his new direction and crashed a sparkly taxi into one of the Spice Girls whilst smoking a joint so powerful its smoke trail can stone people in different postcodes. Seeing the set list, I decided to preserve my happy memories of the Olympic opening ceremony, the bright smiling faces of those winning Olympians - in particular Jade Jones and Laura Trott. Since when did sportswomen get so foxy ?

My post Games high lasted almost until the end of the week until I read an article which quoted leaked excerpts from a new book from the political right. Called 'Britain Unchained',  it's the work of five young Tory MPs who have apparently concluded that the recession was caused by Britons's laziness and lack of productivity. The irony of being lectured on productivity by a quintet of politicians none of whom have ever worked in business, but instead come from those models of value-added industry like the law, academia and financial analysis is no doubt lost on them. I should add that the subtitle is 'Global Lessons for Growth and Prosperity',' which I'm assuming will focus on how we need to scrap those pesky health and safety laws that hold back British business from achieving its potential, like BP did in the Gulf of Mexico. Or something.

There's me thinking the recession might possibly have had something to do with financial deregulation and a dysfunctional banking system. But they're probably right, the recession was almost certainly caused by too many people looking at Facebook during work time. (On that note, what happens if you work for Facebook and during your working day you spend hours on your own personal Facebook page. Would you get a formal warning? No, it would probably be an Unlike).

You'll notice that we are more than halfway through the blog and I still haven't mentioned business rates. That's the problem with any form of taxation, as soon as you mention it, people's eyes glaze over or if you're Jimmy Carr, you make a hurried public apology. Start a conversation about local tax rates and you will be most likely be greeted by a pained expression, much like my wife assumes when I try to explain to her strictly speaking the human and cylons'  battles should be silent as sound cannot travel in the vacuum of deep space.  Yet those cluster of Tory tosspots writing about a subject of which they have no direct experience, business, were trying at least to ask a useful question, how do we get the economy growing again?

Perhaps the first thing we could do is create a tax system that doesn't actively penalise small businesses. I'm fortunate enough to be running a growing enterprise that has now reached the point where we need proper commercial premises. So there's a risk involved with taking on lease, staff and our reward for this is that we get to pay Islington council about £10k. For which, in return we get absolutely nothing, seriously, you have to pay extra to get your bins taken away. Unlike Jimmy Carr, I believe it's a moral obligation to pay tax so it's the not principle of paying tax I mind, this is just  the way it works. This is not a tax on profits or turnover, it's a tax on taking on the liability of a lease. If you wanted to create a process that actively discourages people from growing their business, then short of dumping a container load of dead dogs in their office every Monday, I can't think of a better way of killing off entrepreneurial drive. (Expect of course if you ran a niche business reselling dog carcasses).

This is not a sob story, incidentally, we're doing fine. I am simply gobsmacked at how self-defeating and idiotic business rates are in practise. There that's my Olympic Games happiness sorted out once and for all. Back to being a whinging Pom.

And if anyone from Islington council does read this, what exactly do we get for our 10K?


Thursday 26 July 2012

Two Letters

When George Osborne arrived at the Treasury, he found a Post-It note written by his predecessor. It said 'Sorry, all the money's gone. Letters included for emergency use only.' Underneath were two plain envelopes, numbered one and two. 


Six months ago, with British economy failing to respond to his austerity medicine, £300 billion of quantitive easing and countless initiatives to boost growth, George opened the first envelope. In the middle of the page were two words: 'Blame Me'.

Today as he digests the full awfulness of the recent economic data, Mr Osborne opens the second envelope. There he reads: 'Now sit down and write two letters.'


Thursday 19 July 2012

Fibre Optic

This post is aimed at anyone living in London, anyone frustrated by perpetual roadworks and anyone who doesn't like to see large amounts of money shoved in a hole and burned. About a month ago, I made a call. Here is is, more or less verbatim, plus a few extra jokes for me, writer's privilege.

SALESPERSON: Thank you for calling Virgin Media. How we can help?

JK: I'm interested in getting fibre optic broadband.

He checked my postcode, only to say... 

SALESPERSON: I'm sorry but we don't offer broadband in your area. 

JK: Why not?

SALESPERSON: It's too expensive to put the cables in. 

JK: Really, that seems odd.  I live in Westminster, on a well-off street with a population density about the same as Hong Kong. 

SALESPERSON: Sorry, there's no plans for your street. 

JK:  Come on. People round here will pay £5 for a tiny portion of cake from rip-off merchants Baker & Spice. There's one shop where they charge £150 for a cushion. You could charge them whatever you liked for a fibre optic connection, especially if you said it was organic.

SALESPERSON: It just don't make sense for us. 

JK: What about when they dug the street up for two years to replace the water mains, why didn't you put the cables in then? We had total traffic chaos, at least you could have taken advantage. 

SALESPERSON: Yeah, maybe someone should have thought of that. 

'Maybe someone should have thought of that'. Those seven words say it all. Yes, maybe one of the overpaid executives at BT, Talk Talk, Virgin Media to name but a few, should have thought of that. Maybe a council leader could have thought have that; maybe Boris Johnson should have thought of that.

'Maybe someone should have thought of that'. That's the UK's motto for 2012. 


Wednesday 4 July 2012

Wealth Creators

Nothing will now surprise me about the behaviour of British banks. I fully expect to discover that Bob Diamond and the entire Barclays Board subsist only on fresh human blood, harvested from a giant facility stocked with nubile virgins located in the wilds of East Anglia. (Keeping it secret is a lot easier than keeping it fully stocked with chaste maidens in that region).

What will it take for our politicians and the commentariat to understand that Diamond and his parasite breed are not, repeat not, wealth creators.  You have to run the counter case, imagine all of this turbo finance never happened, what would the national balance sheet look like then? The answer is that nearly everyone would be better off, except bankers. No £1.2 trillion liabilities for the Treasury, house prices in the South East might bear some vague relationship with rationality, clever and intelligent people might have been encouraged to use their talents for the  common good, rather than inventing ingenious ways to rip off everyone else. Modern banking subtracts value from the wider economy, simples.

I'll give you an example of true wealth creation and how back to front our value system really is. Rockstar Games is a UK based software company who rose to global fame with the game Grand Theft Auto. You may remember how morons with column inches lambasted them for encouraging violence and generally debasing the youth. Of course they couldn't present any evidence, they just asserted that if you watched the something on a screen most people couldn't help copying what they saw like psychotic suggestible sheep, with guns. In fairness, right after watching Gladiator  I did stab two swords into a waiter's chest when he brought me the wrong starter, so maybe they have point. 

I should mention that the two chief games developers went my school and have featured on Time's most influential people of the century. So what is my point, other than I'm never going to be able to top that. Why does it take a US magazine to celebrate British entrepreneurial and creative success? And why do we continue to brownose talentless, grasping thieves from the financial industry who have got away with the greatest fraud in human history, rather than praise our software sector which creates wealth without landing the general public with vast debts, so colossal you need a scientific calculator to type in all the zeroes?

Repeat after me, modern bankers are wealth extractors not creators. They are to free enterprise what Tony Soprano is to the construction industry. And once the British public finally wakes up to the scale of the scam, I would strongly advise that Diamond and his ilk leave this country, perhaps for some ghastly rich ghetto like Monaco. 

The wonderful thing is we would all be better off. Except of course bankers.

Hey, you, wanna buy a CDS?


Friday 22 June 2012

Julian Assange

There's an old proverb 'my enemy's enemy is my friend', unless he's called Julian Assange, in which case he will skip bail and hide in the Ecuadorean embassy. He claims the allegations of rape and sexual assault in Sweden are faked,  a cunning ruse to extradite him to United States, where he might face the gas chamber. On a pedantic, technical point, neither the Federal Government nor the States use the gas chamber as their primary method of execution. So ignoring for a moment the tortuous, paranoid logic where Assange ends up on Death Row via Sweden, once he's there, he can relax, it's most likely to  be a lethal injection. (Given he's an internet geek, you really think he could have checked that for himself).

Now there's probably a few of his former supporters wishing they could administer him a fatal jab or at the very least a sharp uppercut, after Assange broke his bail conditions and left them liable for £240,000. Before indulging in wild conspiracy theories, let's start with the facts. The Swedish police wish to question him about claims of sexual assault  by two different women, this is the real Swedish police mind, not the ones from the Stieg Larsson books, and they are doing their job.

Seems to be that too many Wikileaks supporters have trouble distinguishing fact from fiction. Assange is not a real life Lisbeth Salander and the Swedish authorities are not the pocket of American neo-cons. If you based your opinion of the inhabitants of Copenhagen on the The Killing, you would conclude that every one of them was sex-crazed, pathological liar with short term memory issues that never turn a light on indoors. Maybe they are all like that; I'll report back after my long weekend hanging about in disused warehouses in Vestamager.


When your hero ends up hiding in Ecuadorean Embassy claiming asylum for sex crime accusations from Sweden, one of the most liberal, open and fair societies on the planet, it is time to doubt your hero's credentials. Especially if in the  same year, he started presenting a TV show on Vladimir Putin's propaganda channel, asking the head of Hezbollah difficult and searching questions like 'Israel is an illegal state isn't it?' Assange claims to speak truth to power, but only of the power in his sights is the US government.  If there is one country that would benefit from a Wikileaks expose, it is Russia; a murderous, corrupt gangster state. Yet Assange is curiously silent about their litany of human rights abuses, probably a clause in his contract. Keep silent about Putin's murders and you need not worry about the other kind of contract he might issue. 


Sometimes your enemy's enemy is not your friend, he's a narcissist who cares only about himself. 




Thursday 14 June 2012

Irish Times

I'm back from a blogging absence, with a little story told to me by a British actor, which gives an insight into the Irish economy and its government. Every month he travels from London to Galway with two other British actors, also based in London to record four episodes of a children's cartoon series. Except the Irish government can't afford to keep Galway airport open, so they all have to fly to Shannon and then take a taxi ride that lasts 90 mins.

These three British actors then voice the cartoon, which is shown on Irish TV, as well as Australia and other countries. No Irish actors are employed in the production, so the voice over sessions could be recorded in a London location. As indeed they were originally, at a studio in the West End, neatly avoiding the five hour journey from London to Galway.

Now the funding came with conditions, that the production had to take place in Ireland, even though as you note, no Irish actors were used (couldn't do American accents apparently). True, an Irish sound engineer gets a day's work and the Holiday Inn Galway gets three new bookings, so that's probably worth it for the £1,000s in extra expenses, flying the actors over once a month for the last few years. Not.

This money, of course, doesn't originate from the Irish government, who are apparently closing down parts of Ireland in order to save cash. It was an EU grant, which given that every country save Germany is running a deficit, means the money was borrowed, which is another way of saying they took it off you, me and everyone else in the European Union.

Maybe this is a special case and Ireland reformed its ways. Although Shane Filan's Westlife has been declared bankrupt with debts of £18 million, following a failed property venture for 90 houses. No I can't work out how you can lose so much money, especially as they only built half the houses.  Perhaps they burned it in braziers to keep the builders warm.

And this cartoon, which involves the scenic tour of West Ireland for three actors, it's not even that good.







Sunday 29 April 2012

David Cameron

What is the point of David Cameron? There must be a purpose for the leader of the Coalition, otherwise that expensive Eton education and Bullingdon Club initiation were all for nothing. (Poor Dave couldn't walk straight for weeks). Wasps, for example, are often demonised by angry picnickers and beach-goers as being utterly pointless pests that ruin humans' leisure activities. Yet without wasps no fig tree could reproduce and we would be overrun by spiders. So, does David Cameron play a vital role in the pollination of a fruiting tree? No. Does he lay eggs inside spiders, keeping their numbers in check? There's no mention of it in the leaked emails about the BSkyB takeover.

So what he is for? As the allegations swarm around both Cameron and Osborne like flies around the proverbial, there must be something in mitigation. Don't worry that he picked Andy Coulson as his communications chief, a choice only marginally less wise than Myra Hindley, don't concern yourself about those dinners with Rebekah Brooks, she of paediatrician witch hunt fame, don't fret about deals done on mobiles between James Murdoch and Jeremy Hunt, because at least the Tories have got the economy going again. They might be corrupt but they get the job done...oh...whoops. Why isn't the world working the way Hayek said it would?

Cameron considers himself born to rule; sadly he doesn't know why. On reaching the highest office in the land, no one, neither David nor the electorate, know what he's there for.  Perhaps that explains the lousy election result. Tories spin doctors call that win, in the manner of an England sports team (take your pick they are all equally pitiful) explaining why going nil-nil to the Christmas Islands was a decent result under the circumstances. In the depth of the deepest recession of all time and the worst banking crisis in centuries, facing a Labour leader who may actually have gone insane, Cameron blew it. Short of Gordon Brown being caught on camera interferring with one of the Queen's corgis, the Conservative Party leader could not have asked for a more favourable pre-election scenario.

Finding Cameron leading the country is an experience similar to anyone who used to order products from the Innovations catalogue. On the page, he looked useful, a moderate Conservative who had rebranded the Tories with an oak tree. Then he arrived, you got him out the packaging and realised he was totally useless. I had a similar experience when I ordered a de-ionsier, to purify the air in my bedroom. No one wants ions floating around in the air, do they? Take it from me, you'll get more value out of the cardboard box it came in. The Tories might well have fared better if they followed their rebranding to its logical conclusion and run with an actual oak tree as leader. Everyone, from squirrels to citizens, likes an oak: it has a solid, dependable, English reputation with a touch of the Robin Hood about it and you never need to worry about it saying the wrong thing.

But then it occurred to me, David Cameron does have a point or purpose in life. His role is to make us feel better about ourselves and our own judgement.  He came to power after a banking meltdown that devastated the UK economy and has potentially bankrupted us for generations. Any normal, average intelligence person in his position would think the first  priority of government was a wholescale reform of the banking industry. Not Dave, he didn't want to rush into things. For a man who believes in his own destiny, he should take more care about the judgement of history. Cometh the man, misseth his moment.

So in these troubled times, remember this heartwarming thought: you probably would have done a better job than this empty vessel.

Saturday 7 April 2012

Village People

Recently I posted a parcel to a most unusual address in London, a strange and magical place known as 'Wandsworth Village.' If you check Google Maps, the Post Office or Wandsworth council websites' you will find no trace of this mystical hamlet. Although I can recommend the council's handy interactive maps which allow you to locate your nearest grit salt bin. If there is another overnight freeze or your street is invaded by giant flesh-eating slugs neither black ice nor carnivorous gastropods need worry you again.

There are some hints of this so-called village of Wandsworth: local businesses that call themselves bizarre affectations such as 'Cafe du Village Wandsworth', an eaterie that has recently closed. No doubt it fell victim to the crippling contradiction of giving your restaurant a fake Gallic name that includes a letter, 'W', that is not found in the French language.

So other than linguistically-challenged cafe owners, why had the my parcel's recipient insisted on this odd address, when normal folk would use the simple borough and postcode combination. Technically you don't need to use the borough at all, postcode and house or flat number are all that you require, but it seems alien to have only alpha-numerics designate our homes as if we were all robots or drug controlled slaves in the dystopia of THX 1138. So let's stick to boroughs.

But my parcelee had not stuck to boroughs when he emailed his address; nope he was freestyling his location. It's most baffling when the city in question is London, which in my totally unbiased opinion as  Londoner born and bred who has lived here his whole life, is without a doubt the greatest city in the world. (And yes I've been to most of the other contenders. Sydney, for example, is wonderful city sadly filled with Australians. Paris is crammed with French people, alas).

It's as if living in one of the greatest cities on the planet is not enough and these lovers of the village suffix have to carve out their own little corner, signally to the world that they are not like the rest of us vulgar city dwellers. To an estate agent, the word 'village' tacked on the end of an area means a bump on the sale price, because it is also a code. It's a way of white middle-class, educated people telling others like themselves that there is a part of town where you are likely to find a second hand book shop, overpriced organic cakes, brand new furniture for sale that looks battered and broken on purpose and nightlife revolving around cheese tastings or mandolin recitals. There is also a one in two chance of a decent theatre.

As we have all been thinking about the dappy, delusional dame Samantha Brick last week, one phrase springs to mind: get over yourself. Cities are exciting and interesting places to live, precisely because they are not exclusively filled with rich, white folk who left to their own devices create environments so mind-numbingly dull you end up secretly craving a higher crime rate just to liven things up. If you want to live in a village populated with people exactly like you, go and live in the Home Counties; if you live in a big city, celebrate the fact. To quote Groove Armada, 'if everybody looked the same, we'd get tired of looking at each other.'

Large cosmopolitan cities such as London are one of humanity's greatest inventions, alongside Wikipedia and enormous but affordable flat screen TVs. To all those villagers, be  glad you're part of something bigger than yourself and drop the village people act.


Friday 23 March 2012

Troll Feeding

It's an old motto of internet intercourse: 'Do not feed the troll'. By old, I mean net old, in other words cast your minds back to the era of dial-up and 'waiting for page to load' warnings; by troll I refer to that foul breed of human that lurks on message boards, discussion groups and comment areas. The idea behind not feeding or not responding was  that trolls are attention seeking, malcontents who post deliberately provocative and contrarian comments to incite arguments and enjoy disputing ad infinitum.

Don't engage, then the troll will go away and find some other harmless public discussion area to spoil. If we all followed that sensible advice, then many trolls might have reverted to other asocial activities, like exposing themselves in the park  or frotting which hopefully leads to prison and/or psychiatric care.

Unfortunately newspapers thought that a way to stay relevant and current was to open up their web pages to comments from their readers. Much like the cool teacher at school, this is an exercise is self-delusion. Those pupils did not respect you, they flicked the V when your back was turned and spat in your tea when you weren't looking. We never dared do that with the disciplinarians.

So these aging newspapers, with their dwindling circulations think that comment pages keep them fresh and relevant. Suddenly the troll whose mind garbage was dumped only a humble special interest message board which a readership of hundreds, could spew their drivel on a website viewed by millions. Those trendy teachers fed the trolls, they poured water on The Gremlins and look what monsters emerged.

Go now to the web version of the following newspapers: The Telegraph, The Guardian, The Daily Mail or the current affairs magazines The Spectator, The News Statesman. You will find the comment sections underneath certain articles are infested with trolls; so badly that the columnists often complain about what is written underneath their copy, desperately trying to disassociate themselves from the misanthropic poison that lurks below.

Trollus Fuckwitticus
The political persuasion of the majority of the trolls is easy to deduce, as they cluster, like rotten fruit under particular headlines: Israel, banking, immigration, EU, crime etc. Spend even a short while in the lower reaches of these online mental wards and you'll find misogyny, homophobia, violent fantasies of retribution against criminals, all wrapped in a general dislike of anyone who isn't white, male and English speaking. To top it all, you'll find many trolls aren't even UK based as there are many posts from Steves of Gibraltar ranting on about why they left Britain, typically so they could avoid all those foreigners...

In the freaks gallery of trolls, the US breed stands out as being particularly vile, using Confederate flags or blood splatters as their avatars, with names such as Truthseeker, Patriot and other puerile bilge. Their speciality is Good Ole Boy invectives against 'libruls' and 'libtards'. See, bloody foreign racists coming over onto our comment is free sections, taking webspace from traditional English racists.

News sites should insist on is real names and genuine photos, like the troll hunter from the excellent Norwegian film, shine a light on these creatures and they will turn to stone. Free speech does not mean you have to give the oxygen of publicity to extremists and freaks who otherwise would be reduced to handing out badly photocopied leaflets in the streets.

Send them back to their troll caves.

Saturday 17 March 2012

Kony 2012

By the time I type this, 80 million people and counting will have watched the Kony 2012 video; its director Jason Russell has been arrested for public drunkeness and public masturbation on Pacific Beach San Diego. Sadly the only video of the incident is a fifteen second clip of a naked man (presumably Russell) assaulting a shrub. According to a spokesperson, Jason Russell was emotionally exhausted and dehydrated, hence the breakdown. So do make sure to drink plenty of water when stressed or you'll end up attacking ornamental plants and wanking on the seafront.

I started watching Kony 2012, then stopped after a few minutes because like all net junkies I have the attention span of an ADHD goldfish on crack. There was no way I could spend 30 precious minutes watching a worthy film when there were so many videos of cute baby sloths and Russian brides losing their dresses to view in the same time frame. Those last sentences contained several exaggerations and falsehoods, much like the film itself.

After only five minutes of Russell's film, I clicked off. It was pure propaganda, apparently to highlight a human tragedy, but propaganda nonetheless. Opposing Joseph Kony's child soldiers in Uganda is surely a given, like the UK group, Mothers Against Murder, you should assume we are on your side.  It's hard to think many mums would support a pro-homicide policy, unless it included people who play music through their mobiles on public transport.

Maybe you can change the world for the better by sharing a video, maybe solving the world's problems is possible through social media, maybe if we all send enough tweets then all the bad things in the world will end. Remember all those email petitions to save the rainforest, a much needed campaign with the one tiny flaw that no matter how many people signed up, whoever you send it to can always just hit delete.

Invisible Children, the organisation behind Kony 2012, could have good intentions, but as they say, that's how the road to hell is paved. I've become more skeptical about the ability of best intentions to produce positive results; Iraq and Afghanistan spring to mind as ghastly examples of the mismatch of aims and outcomes. Turns out the West is good at blowing things up, drone strikes and shooting people; nation building is a lot harder, especially when the peoples and nations in question hate you, mostly because you keep blowing up their homes and killing their relatives.

If this episode proves anything, it's that our first responsibility is to get the facts straight, before sending on a video link. And in case this all seems very uncharitable, watch this piece by Charlie Brooker to put you straight.

A bit of background on that video





Friday 24 February 2012

Climate Change

As we bask in the sun's rays in mid-February, many of us are wondering if it's warm enough to sunbathe and exactly how much of our flabby, winter physique we wish to bare to the elements. By this time of year, most Caucasians who haven't spent two weeks Costa Rica have developed a complexion the colour of a corpse dragged from The Thames and a body shape with all the tone and firmness of raw sausage meat in a bin bag. But perhaps our thoughts should turn away from tanning to climate change, because the weather in the past decade as been increasingly odd. Moreover, the strangest development of all is that as the evidence for man-made climate change becomes ever more convincing, the number of people who believe that humans are changing the climate has fallen.

Witness then the publication of James Delingpole's new book Watermelons: The Green Movement's True Colours. I imagine he's terribly pleased with the title because the implication is that 'greens' are actually 'reds' on the inside. For those of you not in throes of Cold War style paranoia, the likes of Delingpole believe that Western civilisation is under assault from militant eco-socialists who hate freedom, the West and posh white men like James in particular. To serve their evil ends these 'eco-Nazis' have concocted global warming as a scam to enslave us in lesbian-run cycle-powered collective farms, where we must all pedal for our daily ration of tofu.

Now I'll share with you a little tip for spotting bullshit arguments, which is how quickly the person uses the words 'Hitler', 'Nazi' or 'slippery slope', because that's shorthand for saying I can't present any convincing logic arguments so I'll mention the greatest evil in human history next to the thing I don't approve of,  you are gullible and stupid, the two things are close together, you'll assume they are one and the same. So put 'eco' next to 'Nazi', job done.  I am actually making Delingpole's thinking sound a lot more coherent than it is; he writes frequently on the subject of climate change whilst admitting he has no scientific training nor does he have time to read peer-reviewed journals. It's the written equivalent of being cornered by a belligerent, drunken toff in the pub.

Instruments of oppression
Hardly a week goes by without a new piece of data pointing towards human-produced carbon dioxide warming the earth, acidifying the oceans and producing freak weather; yet less people believe in climate change than a decade ago. Now despite the best efforts of X-Factor and Britain's Got Talent,  I don't think the population has got noticeably stupider in the last ten years; cannabis consumption has stayed broadly stable so we can discount drug-induced psychosis and Britons only drink themselves senseless on the weekends. Yet an increased segment of the population think that climate change is a 'con', roughly forty percent at the last count.

This belief is so irrational and so delusional that to engage with its claims gives it a legitimacy they do not deserve. Explaining why witches do not exist gives the witch hunters false respectability. So in the case of Delingpole, engaging with him on the science is pointless as he will revert back to his magical thinking; you would be better discussing your favourite dunking ponds with the witch hunters. And  if you are in any doubt at all, ask yourself this question: is it even remotely plausible that the scientific community, together with the BBC  and our  political establishment would engage in a systematic intellectual fraud, the like of which has never been seen in human history and if discovered would lead to the destruction of their careers, reputations and the very institutions they serve, just so they can build wind turbines?

Bonkers isn't it? But why would a large number of people prefer to believe something patently absurd than engage with reality. I think the answer is that many would rather be consistent than correct; so  deniers cannot concede that pressure groups from the political left might be  right therefore climate change must be a fabrication. It is comforting, like all magical thinking, it is reassuring, but like magic, much as we would like it to be real is an illusion. Witches don't exist, they aren't fairies at the bottom of the garden and no matter how much you like Harry Potter there is no platform nine and three quarters (the novelty sign doesn't count.) So sadly, all of us, including the refuseniks, will have to deal with the reality of climate change. Still at least it's mild for this time of year!

Attractive woman + coal mine = coal is sexy, let's keep burning it 

Saturday 18 February 2012

Sunday Sun

Rupert Murdoch is planning to launch a Sunday Sun 'very soon.' I don't know about you but I'm looking forward to that about as much as an anthrax salad with Ebola dressing and cholera croutons. It's hard to know what is more depressing, the fact that Murdoch is amoral or that the British political class has kowtowed to him for thirty years, like a mafia captains paying homage to the capo di capos. One after another they knelt and kissed the ring, by which I don't mean the one on his finger (do you see what I did there).

Naively I thought that the bribing of police, phone hacking and lying to the parliamentary select committee by News International staff might possibly, just possibly, mean that Rupert Murdoch would not be allowed to open another newspaper.  Apparently he wants to build on the Sun's proud heritage, I'm guessing he doesn't mean Page 3, the kiss and tells or gypsy-baiting, perhaps the football coverage, who knows? Charlie Brooker has done the definitive summary of the Sun's 'heritage', check out this excellent remix of his 10 O'Clock Show live rant:

Charlie Brooker's genius rant

But rather than whinge about it, let's not allow the old vampire to feed on the body politic once more. Even though Labour and Conservative politicians alike feared the wrath of The Sun or the NOTW, there is no evidence that endorsement by the Murdoch press won elections, even with that very special tribe of swing voters. Yes, I know Labour needs an excuse for its dismal performance in the 80s, but try reading its 1983 manifesto, it really is the 'longest suicide note in history.' It was not the Sun wot won it.

Surely the warlock's spell is broken now and even Cameron can see he doesn't need his support. So that begs the question, how earth is he being allowed to open another newspaper?

Time to get some self-respect. 


Friday 27 January 2012

Kick Start

As the country slides back into a recession, now is probably the time to ask ourselves how to return the economy to growth because no one on either side of the political spectrum has the slightest idea. On the right, the only prescription is cutting public spending which will magically kick start the private sector. I've been on the receiving end of several lectures on free enterprise and the evils of big government by wealthy white men, privately-educated who bought their homes with  a sizeable deposit from their parents most of whom work as consultants or city financiers. Being mercifully free of self-doubt or their own lack of real world knowledge, they will happily pontificate on business and enterprise whilst having no direct experience of either. They honestly believe that moving money round in a bubble market was the same as being an entrepreneur, a notion that would be amusing if it wasn't so damaging.

Don't look for any more insight or wisdom on the left of politics, as they are drawn from same social strata, that is predominantly privately-educated white people from the same geographical area of North and West London, the only difference being they work exclusively for the state or as lawyers. Their remedy for Britain's ills is more deficit spending, more regulation of business and no job cuts in the public sector; then equally magically the economy grows again. This ideology is no less self-serving that the right winger who wants to cut public spending to retain more of his income in tax. Turkeys, to date, have not voted for Christmas. (Mind you, I'm not sure they have ever been asked or whether we would have any reliable means of interpreting their wishes if they did vote, but the point still stands, more or less). The thinking, if you can call it that on the left, is in essence jobs for the boys and girls, either directly through state spending on public sector job creation or regulation which acts as job-creation for lawyers.

If you look at the backgrounds and life experience of the current political class, left or right, what is notable is the complete absence of business experience at the sharp end. True, some have worked in the private sector, typically in large corporations and a long way removed from the messy business of managing cashflow or chasing payment; some have worked as a consultants, which whatever they might try to tell you has as much to do with real business as paintballing does to a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Not forgetting the former lawyers, the union officials and the public sector workers, all of which have their uses (except lawyers) but are not going to be engine of future growth, unless we decide that every single person in the country is going to work for the government or do the legal paperwork. Not even the North Koreans are mad enough to do that; and they are madder than a box of schizophrenic frogs on LCD.

Up until a few years ago, I had a similarly blinkered world view, never having a run a small business. Having run someone's else's firm, sold it and then started my own which is thriving, my opinions have shifted about the problems of the UK economy, particularly for the smaller enterprises. At this micro-level, the little stuff matters a great deal to your business prospects. Take for example the client who has moved their accounts department to India, which means they pay four months after invoicing. Consequently you don't get paid, your creditors don't get paid and you can't make that investment you were planning. But hey, remember those savings to shareholders. Or discover the great deals available for invoicing financing, where the bank will take 10% off 30K of invoices, even if your order book is 150K for the next three months. Let's not forget the local council, who mission as far as I can tell is not dissimilar to a LA porn actress going for the gang bang record, which is to screw as many people in the shortest time possible. Finally, if you are foolish enough to consider taking on employee, look forward to doing their tax for them, paying for sick leave, holidays and the whole carousel of benefits the government has gifted to the staff member, regardless of cost. After careful consideration, my conclusion is that only upside to the business is they are contractually obliged to turn up for work, unless of course they feel unwell. And you can only pray they don't have a child or there goes half your yearly profits in maternity leave.

Whilst George Osborne might be scratching his head wondering why the world doesn't work like Hayek claimed it did, no one running a small business is remotely surprised. Small enterprises create jobs faster and with less turnover than large concerns, yet there has been precious little debate from any party on how to help them in the current crisis. Lib Dems might talk about raising tax thresholds to £10,000 but that won't create a single job if the obstacles to growth remain unchallenged. Trying making the burden of taking on employees less onerous to employers,  make councils business friendly and force banks to lend to small enterprises on reasonable terms, then you might see some activity. Otherwise, expect nothing and be disappointed.

Tuesday 17 January 2012

Devo Max

It's only three weeks into 2012 and already we'e got a new phrase coined - 'Devo Max', which you think would be a cold remedy, drain cleaner or the stage name of a male stripper, but in fact relates to the referendum on Scottish independence. Finally the Tory party has realised that they are about as welcome in Scotland as rabies, so Osborne and Cameron see political gain in fast tracking a referendum, ideally on a full split from the UK. 'Devo Max' is short for maximum devolution, why they had to swap it round is beyond me, unless they were worried about confusion with Max Payne, a successful computer game franchise. In Max Devo,  instead of gunning down bad guys with hot lead, the lead character bores them to death with debates on local income tax and government grants.

You see that is the problem with Scottish politics; it is unbelievably  boring and dull, even to the people elected to the Scottish parliament. Check this assertion by reviewing coverage of their sessions. Recovering heroin addicts, correction heroin addicts who have just jacked up, would have more get up and go that the average parliamentarian and might give better speeches. Tedium has served Alex Salmond, leader of the SNP, well  as under the cover of boredom he has been able to advance a set of claims and proposals that ought to provoke outrage amongst every non-Scottish citizen, except that none of us care.

We should listen and pay attention, because for too long Caledonian politics has existed as a parasitical enterprise, with all the self-control of banker's wife with her husband's black Amex who has just discovered his mistress. Thanks to Barnett formula, each year Scottish citizens receive at least £1,000 per capita more than English citizens, an annual transfer of £4.5 billion. Scottish nationalists might cite North Sea oil revenues; there is the small matter of the bank bail outs for RBS and HBOS, with liabilities the size of the UK GDP or perhaps the £100 millions a year spent on Scotrail. North of Hadrian's wall, it would be cheaper to provide chauffer-driven limos to every passenger that it would be to continue with this subsidy devouring money pit. If you live in the South East, think of that as you cram yourself onto the tube or the commuter lines so crowded it would be illegal to transport animals in such fashion; think of the net outflow of billions in tax revenue and spending from London to....Scotland.

Whatever way you slice the respective revenues, the case for further devolution rests not fiscal fairness alone but on remedying the democratic deficit. Scottish MPs sit in the UK parliament and vote on laws that affect England; yet English MPs may not vote on Scottish legislation passed in the Scottish parliament even though the revenues come from the UK Treasury. Known as the West Lothian question, most people might think the answer is where is West Lothian and aren't they a football team (near Edinburgh and no in case you needed to know).

The answer to the West Lothian question surely has to be 'devo max' or independence, the Scots should raise and spend their own taxes as far as is practical. Spending money without the responsibility of raising it is a recipe for immaturity and irresponsibility; ask any parent foolish enough to give their teenage offspring a credit card what happens next.

Time for Scottish politics to grow up. If the Scots want to waive tuition fees, then they must pay for it and their politicians must find a new guiding philosophy rather than endlessly asking the English if they can spare any change.

Saturday 7 January 2012

Identity Theft

Welcome to 2012. If this was a movie franchise, 2011 was the first Matrix film with a cool 'everything you know is wrong' vibe.  Financial armageddon looms, the poor get poorer, the rich get richer, even the weather went weird but then a ray of hope shines out. The people rise up and overthrow the fascist tyrant that had held his people in slavery for decades...yes Rupert Murdoch's hold on British political life was broken. And ding dong the witch stands a chance of criminal prosecution, that's Rebecca Brooks incidentally, in case you were following this analogy which to be honest I'm not any more.

Suffice to say that 2012, the sequel to the original Matrix 2011, will be more of the same only rubbish and incomprehensible. If anyone meets the Wachowski Brothers, please tell them from me, I want the two hours and £10 I spent watching the Matrix sequel back, same goes for George Lucas and that shameless cash-in and rape of my childhood dreams film known as the 'first' Star Wars film.

So what better way to usher in this sorry excuse of a year than to tell you about a heartwarming personal story of crime and credit, for I have been a victim of identity theft. At first, I had a little surge of pride to think that of all the identities out there, mine was worth stealing; then you realise you're just one of many marks, a drop in the ocean of impersonation. Imagine if you had a stalker and he started following other people; you would feel cheap and used.

Identity theft gave me a brief insight into crime prevention techniques in this country, as on the same day I discovered a new mobile phone contract taken out in my name along with a store card, my actual, legal credit card was stopped for purchasing £150 of goods online. Never fear I thought, if the fraud detection software is so finely tuned it activates on a handful of legit purchases, there is no way that any business would be so incompetent or negligent as to dole out a £500 phone contract with no security checks or a store card with a £1000 credit limit without proof of identity.

Relax, your identity is secure, because whoever impersonated me had to pass a tough test, they had a letter with my address on the top and they knew my birthday. Yet a piece of this puzzle is missing and you don't have to be a super-detective hybrid of Columbo crossed with Sherlock and a dash of Miss Marple to solve this case. (Sorry I've just got a weird image in my head of Benedict Cumberbatch wearing a floral hat, rain mac and smoking a cigar). Where were we? Yes, solving the mystery is pretty straightforward and does not involve Professor Moriarty or gathering all in the suspects on one room for a bizarrely convoluted exposition at the end of the show. It was the postman stealing my mail, somewhere between the sorting office and my flat, using his thieving, pickpockety hands. Or it could have been a female postal delivery agent, whatever the gender, somebody's been dipping into my post, which trust me is dull beyond belief.

When you call Royal Mail  to say that the police and the credit card fraud prevention team believe your post has been intercepted, they don't have to tell you what happens as a result of their investigation or indeed tell you anything. Although the woman on the phone was perfectly polite, the postal service's customer care ethos can be summarised as: go away and leave us alone, we're busy listening to Five Live and drop kicking your special delivery package across the sorting room floor. Then, when the supervisor's not looking, pinching your post.

But I did get a phone call from the Metropolitan Police, explaining that even though someone had impersonated me to take out a store card and a mobile phone, I was not a victim of crime, it was the mobile company and the bank who were the victims. It is, incredibly, not an offence to steal someone's identity to take out contracts in their name. Quite how the Labour party failed to pass a law against this, given that egg tampering justified its own statute, is one of those strange unanswered questions of life like Ed Milliband.

In spite of all these shenanigans, part of me remains flattered that the thieving postie and his accomplices chose me, which I realise is tragic, but with 2012 already limbering up to be as much fun as root canal work without anaesthesia,  I'll take what I can get.


PS - I feel the word 'shenanigans', like 'tomfoolery' ought to be employed more often in every day speech.  Don't over do it though, as if you're not careful some branding consultant will set up a chain of themed Irish fun pubs, called Shenanigans, with a leprechaun logo and bits of old farm machinery painted neon-green decorating every outlet.