The Julian Assange Affair

Here's my two pennorth on the Julian Assange debate raging at the moment, written hastily so apologies for any errors.

Whereas the recent odious utterances of that supreme self-publicist George Galloway are a replay of previous intemperate comments, I was surprised that Tony Benn has waded in with his opinion. He has said that the allegations are that “it was a non-consensual relationship…. well that’s very different from rape”. Now I don’t know all the facts or the legal nuances but, from what I have read, Assange had gone to bed with one of the women in question and had consensual sex with her, then had woken up and had sex with her without a condom, despite her protestations. That sounds like rape to me.

The thing that’s muddying the waters here is that many believe the charges have been trumped up and/or that the women have been coerced into pressing charges in order to serve the political interests of those in power who find Wikileaks, and therefore Assange, dangerous and/or a threat. And it's a positon that Assange has done nothing to discourage as it serves his interests to conflate the two. This has led to a conflict amongst those who like freedom of speech (as evidenced by Wikileaks) but don’t like rape. Defending the former means making the latter more palatable, hence the comments of George and Tony along the lines of ‘non consensual sex is not the same as rape’. Comments clearly designed to minimise the act and make it more acceptable: comments I find to be intellectually dishonest.  Several writers have pointed out that their stance is reminiscent of Whoppi Goldberg’s comments a few years ago that when film director Roman Polanski gave drugs to and sodomised a 13 year old girl (which he admitted to) it wasn’t ‘rape rape’. Hey, she did look older and he is really good at films, after all…

I take a very simple position on this: non consensual sex is the same as rape. If you’re unsure if someone wants sex, it’s best to ask them. If you’re mature enough to have sex, you’re mature enough to talk about it.

Whether Assange is being pursued for political reasons and the charges are false is a completely different debate. and one which definitely needs to be had. But the debate isn’t whether penetrating somebody who clearly doesn’t want you to is rape or not. That can be answered easily: it is. So please, George Galloway and the rest of you, stop redefining and trivialising rape. Concentrate on the injustices you believe Assange is suffering by all means, but keep the two things separate.

The Great British Public and TV Shows

When I’m pottering around the house, my normal background companion is BBC Radio 4. Rarely will I watch daytime TV and when I do I find that its general vacuuity quickly renders me comatose.

Almost inevitably, sooner or later whichever channel (Dave? Yesterday? Braindead TV?) is providing my subconscious snooze-a-thon will air a rerun of a “classic” game show. The usual favourites are Wheel of Fortune, Family Fortunes, Countdown and, that old chestnut, Catchphrase. It wasn’t until recently, however, that I made the mistake of actually watching a sizable chunk of an episode of Family Fortunes over lunchtime (My excuse? It was on, I was too lazy to move as I was engrossed in my sandwich and, let's face it, sometimes pressing the remote control is just too much effort). As I watched I became entranced, nay hypnotised, by the spectacle unfolding before my eyes and I began to wonder… where on earth do they find these people?

I remember one of the questions that came up on that fateful show (this is not a joke – this is the real question and the real answers). Les Dennis was the unfortunate individual having to interact with the cretinous contestants, and he had to go along the line of family members and get a suggested answer from each of them. Here’s how it went:

Question: Name a phrase which people often use to mean "stop talking".
Answer A: "Stop shouting".
Answer B: "Stop talking".
Answer C: "Stop talking".
Answer D: "Stop shouting".

Even poor old Les was momentarily speechless after these responses.
I already have a fairly low opinion of the general public (oooh really?), but it mystifies me which particular rocks they have to search under to find people so utterly lacking in either intelligence or imagination. You might have noticed if you watch any kind of game show on British TV that all the contestants are pretty much evenly matched. Can you imagine what would happen if they got this wrong? Think of the chaos that would ensue if a Mastermind contestant somehow managed to get onto a show like Catchphrase? I reckon that there must be some kind of behind-the-scenes filtering process which sorts potential contestants into shows appropriate to their level of intellect. I imagine something along these lines:

Question: Where would you normally find a campanologist?
Answer A: In a bell tower.
Answer B: On a campsite.
Answer C: In a gay bar.
Answer D: That's not really a word. You've just made it up!

And here is where I suspect picking each of these answers would lead you:
Answer A: Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.
Answer B: Family Fortunes.
Answer C: Catchphrase.
Answer D: Big Brother.

One thing is for sure; no matter whether it's Family Fortunes, Catchphrase or Big Brother, the Great British Public will never cease to amaze, perplex and entertain me with their seemingly limitless capacity for self-induced ritual humiliation. Gold medals to all!

RIP: Doris Laws

Yesterday we travelled to South Wales for the funeral of my mother-in-law, Doris Laws. In all essentials it was exactly the same routine we followed when her husband, Harry, died in April earlier this year. I blogged about this at the time.

As far as mother-in-laws go, mine was as far removed as it was possible to be from the harridans parodied by Les Dawson and his ilk. She treated me like a son and I will always value that.

She was someone who had found her role in life as a wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, aunty, friend etc. More than that, she was someone who was very comfortable and content with her role and she was very good at it. She was someone who took joy in the simple pleasures of life and loved nothing more than being with her family and friends. She will missed but remembered fondly by all who knew her - and those memories will endure.

But most of all, she was a wife. Her death certificate says that she suffered a cerebrovascular event. But those of us who had been with her over the past few months know that is not true. She never recovered from the loss of her beloved Harry in April and, quite simply, she died of a broken heart but that's not something that can be put on a death certificate.

She and Harry would have been married 67 years in June of this year: they died almost equally either side  of this milestone. Tragically romantic but desparately sad.

What's in a name?

For some reason, a writer on the BBC website has focussed on 'Derek' as a topic of interest this week. In a feature entitled 'In search of a baby called Derek', he questions whether people will ever call their babies Derek (or one of its variants) ever again. Apparently only 22 babies born in the UK last year were named Derek and it's 1,158th on the baby name list, equal with Ace, Kofi and Om. Actually I'm quite proud of being a Derrick and couldn't care a toss if it's popular or not. In fact, being 1,158th in the list is just fine with me. I thumb my nose to the 1,157 above. Ya, boo, sucks to the lot of them!

The feature has generated a lot of correspondence from 'Proud Dereks: Readers lumbered with unfashionable names' and, from what they write, it's obvious that Dereks are witty, wise, handsome and self-effacing. Who am I to disagree?

(I could only identify 8 in the rogue's gallery of Dereks shown by the BBC).

Look behind you, Mo.

Don't you just love the imagination of some people? And don't you just love the joys of Photoshop? Simple pleasures! Taken from this website, which is being updated on a regular basis as it gets more widely known.

And I thought I was alone!

But I'm not. Hoorahs and laurel leaves to Peter Wilkinson of CNN for penning the following. It always great to read something from a fellow curmudgeon. We may be in a minority but that doesn't make us wrong!

"What has happened to my country? This last fortnight has made me feel like a foreigner in my own home as a collective wave of happy-clappy goodwill descended on this once curmudgeonly isle. Where has our natural suspicion of organized fun gone, our disdain for overt displays of emotion, our celebration of hapless failures.

It was bad enough in 1997, following the death of Princess Diana, when a similar wave of hysteria overtook Britain. Then, complete strangers cried together and hugged each other in the street, as they mourned a pampered princess whom they had never met. Commentators opined on page after page that Britain had entered a new era in which adults were able to discuss the hitherto taboo issue of emotions in public. Many of us hoped they were wrong. But this time it's far, far worse.

Not only are we all supposed to rejoice that £9 billion of taxpayers' money has been spent tarting up part of east London that I have never visited and now have even less reason to go there, we must all celebrate and cry uncontrollably when sports men and women win events that I have never even heard of. Coxless fours? Taekwondo? Handball? I wouldn't have minded if there were real sports in the Olympics -- crazy golf, kite-flying, staring contests to name just three of my favorites -- but many of the events that really took place are just crazy.

 

Before the Games, I was quite hopeful that something would go marvelously wrong in the British tradition. We'd got the dates wrong, and it's actually taking place next year. The swimming pool would spring a leak. The medals hadn't been made. But oh no, everything went to plan -- IT DIDN'T EVEN RAIN -- and suddenly we're a "nation at ease with itself."

But before you board your flight home and hail Britain's flawless organization skills, spare a thought for curmudgeons like me. And now you've had your fun, please make sure you clear up all your mess, and turn out the lights. The show's over! Normal service can resume".

Dartmoor walk: Drizzlecombe

A much needed airing on Dartmoor for my IWC and me this afternoon. Starting off at Nattor, we walked to Didsworthy Warren and passed what was the old warreners' house, now used by the army for exercises. An isolated house with interesting dog kennels set into the stone walls that enclosed the property.

Dartmoor has been the site of a number of commercial rabbit warrens for centuries and Didsworthy Warren was one of the oldest, probably originating in mediaeval times. These warrens covered large areas and produced many thousands of animals for food and pelts each year. They were placed on the moor for two main reasons. Firstly, to keep them away from edible crops. Secondly, to make it relatively easy to contain them. The land used was not 'rabbit friendly' in the sense that it was rocky and not the easiest of places for the rabbits to build their burrows. So, to get over this, the warreners built raised mounds of earth for the rabbits to use and this encouraged them to stay in the vicinity rather than run off. These artificial mounds ranged from quite small pillow mounds to very large earth banks, as in the photograph. These must be at least 1/2 mile lon - and that equates to a lot of bunnies.

From there we followed the Plym for a short while until we came to the Drizzlecombe stone rows. These date from 4000-5000 BC and, as their exact function is not known, their purpose is generally described as 'religious and ceremonial'.  At one time these particular rows were thought to be unique and of great importance but subsequently more have been discovered elsewhere on the moor. The Drizzlecombe stones have been described as "think parish church, rather than cathedral" and this probably puts them in their proper context.

From there, it was 'up and over', back to the car and off to Prince Hall Hotel for a civilised later afternoon snack. Is there is a better way of spending an afternoon?

Nigel Farrage: where are you?

When the final tally is available, it strikes me that the UK will have more medals than any country in the Euro zone.  Where is Nigel Farrage? Why isn't he telling us that this is just one more reason why we should not go in with the Euro?

RIP: Jane Henderson

Sad news posted on the BBC website today, although we were told about it soon after it happened. We knew Jane from way back and shared a table with Tom and herself at a charity 'do' for Shelterbox earlier this year. She was telling us then about their plans to slow down and pass the baton on to others. Sadly the personal plans they had will not come to fruition. Her legacy will be the success of Shelterbox.

ShelterBox founder's wife Jane Henderson dies

The wife of the founder of the Cornish-based charity ShelterBox has died.

The charity said 59-year-old Jane Henderson suffered a suspected heart attack and died on Friday. ShelterBox, which delivers survival equipment in a big green box to disaster areas around the world, was the brain child of Tom Henderson OBE.

In 2010 Mrs Henderson, who also worked for the charity, gave the Duchess of Cornwall a tour of the ShelterBox headquarters in Helston. As well as working in the warehouse loading the boxes with equipment such as sleeping bags, tent, cooking utensils, etc, Mrs Henderson also helped to raise awareness of the charity's work. Her husband was recognised in the Queen's New Year Honours in 2010 for services to humanitarian aid.

John Leach, ShelterBox's chief executive, said the headquarters was closed for two days to allow staff to deal with the sudden loss of a woman described as "kind, generous and much loved".

Who needs TV and computer games?

Especially when there's Dingle's Fairground Museum close to hand? That's where I went yesterday with my IBC and our two grand-daughters. Dodgems, Ghost Train, Waltzer, Distorting Mirrors, Hook-a-Duck and other old-fashioned fairground attractions, followed by a picnic of enormous proportions. A good day was had by young and adults alike.

Thankfully everything there is as it was with no over-burdening restrictions caused by modern Health and Safety regulations. Not that the rides were unsafe, they just had that edge of uncertainty that made them more exciting. They are completely different to anything that the modern child routinely encounters and our two loved them. Long may Dingle's continue!

Happy 70th Birthday: Garrison Keillor

Who he? I would guess that few people in the UK would readily identify Garrison Keillor as an American author of some rather whimsical books about a fictional place called Lake Wobegone. Fewer still would know that he's been the presenter of a radio programme, The Prairie Home Companion, for many years. I used to enjoy listening to it when I travelled to the USA on a regular basis and now I often dip into a show via the internet. Why do I like it? It's witty, literate, urbane and describes an unfamiliar world. There's nothing quite like it on UK radio. Long may he continue broadcasting. Happy birthday, GK. 

Synchronised jargon?

A footnote in the Guardian today reads "The Eggbeater: a way of treading water that keeps the body high out of the water and lets the synchronised swimmer perform with her arms". Curiosity piqued, I needed to know more and trusty Google did not disappoint.

I was lead to a paper entitled The Technique of the Eggbeater Kick, written by Dr Marion Taylor and Ms Carolyn Taylor. It's wonderful and goes into the nitty gritty of the technique in a level of detail way beyond the wildest imaginations of my febrile mind. Consider the following paragraph:

"It is likely that propulsion in the Eggbeater is from a combination of both lift and drag components, as well as other possibilities such as Archimedes’ screw, a simple mechanical device believed to have been invented by Archimedes in the 3rd century B.C. It consists of a cylinder inside of which a continuous screw, extending the length of the cylinder, forms a spiral chamber. By placing the lower end in water and revolving the screw, water is raised to the top. The legs in the eggbeater kick resemble the rotational motion of Archimedes’ screw, and this motion may cause the water around the athlete to move upward in a circular pathway and provide some lift force to the swimmer as a result".

And I always thought that synchronised swimming was dull. Now I find that a PhD in Physics is an entry requirement. I think I might just take it up as a hobby as I really fancy a trip to Rio in 2016. But, to be realistic, perhaps I should be aiming for the Asynchronous Swimming Team to stand any chance of bringing home the Gold?

In the steps of forebears?

Today a walk around Caradon Hill with my IWC*.  Just under 5 miles and, hooray, in between showers. Caradon Hill is on the southern edge of Bodmin Moor and, during the 1800s, was the centre of enormous mining (copper and tin mainly) and granite quarrying  activities. Several thousand people were directly involved and many others must have depended upon the revenue flowing from the ground for their livings. The map I've included gives an idea of what went on there but it needs to be seen 'on the ground' to get a true idea of the scale. Red indicates a mining activity, green shows the quarrying, thin red lines are the leats (water courses) and thicker lines in red and black are the tramways and railways. The dotted blue line gives our route. It's a fascinating area to explore, particularly if you go armed with a little knowledge of the processes once followed. Engine houses, buddles, chimney stacks, mine shafts, dressing floors, spoil heaps, adits: all there if you know what to look for.

In the steps of forebears? That refers to the fact that some ancestors of my IWC came from the area and many of them would have worked in the various mines on and around Caradon Hill. Sadly, but not unusual for the times, we know that some of them were as young as seven when they started their toil. From a number of census returns, we 've got an idea of some of the places where they lived and we drove around the lanes to see if we could find them. We were in luck with one - Newton farmhouse - where my IWC's 4x great grandparents, Charles and Dorothy Jay, were living in 1841. I think we were both very impressed with how grand the garden entrance looked. The date carved into the granite was 1661. It would be nice to know more of the history of Charles and Dorothy as, by 1851, they had gone down in the world and were living as agricultural labourers in a cottage nearby. Perhaps we'll find out one day after a little more rooting around some old documents.

(* IWC = Ideal Walking Companion).

An ode to rain

It has been raining a lot recently and if I was waxing poetical I could say that when I hear the rain I think of:
*  Tiny tap dancers dancing on the petals of a blue flowers,
*  Wet grass and the slugs having a disco in the damp,
*  Raindrops racing down windows,
*  Big splashy puddles full of rainbows by the side of the road,
*  Someone playing bongo drums on the slates of our roof. 

But to be completely honest, when I hear the rain nowadays I think "when is it going to stop?".

A couple of flowertastic facts

Dontcha just love the origin of words? Here are a couple I came across today.

DAISY comes from the saying the day's eye. Like most flowers the daisy closes up at night and then opens up in the morning when the sun comes out. Our forebears thought that when it opened up it looked like an eye, an eye that signalled the start of a new day. That's how we get the day's eye/daisy!  The DANDELION gets its name from the French dent de lion which means lion's teeth. Over the years this got changed to dandy lion then to dandelion. Flowertastic or wot! So much more interesting than the boring Latin names. 


By the way, a dandelion is not a weed. A weed is just a flower in the wrong place so in a cabbage patch a rose would be a weed! It's just how you look at tings innit!!

Money makes the UK go around......

The more complicated aspects of high finance leave me cold and I confess to being largely ignorant of the details of our national bank statement. So I did find the following information on UK Government income and spending at the right level for me. Although the income and expenditure figures do not match as they are taken from two overlapping time periods, they do give a good idea of where the money comes from and where it goes!

Where does the money come from? HMG will have raised £562Bn in the 2011/12 financial year and that represents £12000 per adult. As I've never given these figures much thought, I have no objective basis for commenting on the relative amounts raised. In the notes that accompanied this table were the following facts:   1% of taxpayers (300,000 people) pay 27% of all income tax and national insurance, 10% of taxpayers pay 53% of all tax and 90% of tax payers pay 47%. The number of taxpayers paying the top rates of tax (50% and 40%) has trebled in 30 years because tax bands have not increased in line with earnings.

Where does the money go? Apparently 80% of us believe that our National Insurance Contributions go directly towards the NHS or Pensions. Wrong! We don't go in for hypothecated taxes in the UK (dedication of the revenue from a specific tax for a particular expenditure) and all taxes raised go into a single pot for distribution as our government sees fit. £86Bn of the pensions spend is for State Pensions and £34Bn for Sickness and Disability Pensions. By comparison, £4.1Bn is spent on roads. 12% of the budget goes on Defence and Protection, which is slightly more than the Welfare allocation. I'd be interested to know how much is spent collecting some of the smaller revenue generators, such as Stamp Duty and Inheritance Tax. But not that interested that I'm going to probe further.

Are these allocations in the right proportions? Apart from the vast sums on Defence and Protection, they look reasonable to me but I will say that I'm glad that I don't have to balance the books! Aren't we lucky that George Osbourne is doing such a good job for us - allegedly.