It’s Been A Right Sunny Week For Labour

Unless you’ve been on another planet or, in another country, you can’t fail to been aware that Labour were having their annual conference this past week. I follow UK politics quite closely and these conferences are all stage-managed circuses, totally devoid of anybody with any character or anybody with anything worthwhile to say, and before you think I’m biased, this usually applies to all three main political parties.

Of course, this was Gordon Brown’s big week, the week when he would resurrect himself. He’d come out of the bunker fighting. He’d tell the people of all the great things he was going to do for them – if only they’d give him another five years in which to do it, but despite all the hype and no doubt the meticulous preparation, it did not start well, with Andrew Marr asking the Prime Minister on Sunday if he was popping pills to keep going. The usual sickly smile told us that when he said he was not taking pills, he probably was. Was he telling the truth ? Well he opened his mouth to answer the question and we’ve all come to recognize that he rarely opens his mouth without lying!

Moving to Bournemouth for the conference, his big speech came on Tuesday and despite the fact that he spouted the usual list of Labour’s achievements (most of which stretch the facts to breaking point), I actually thought he gave a more impassioned speech than he has for many a day, but unfortunately, it was all to end in tears. That night, the UK’s biggest selling newspaper, (The Sun), moved its allegiance to the Conservatives and the following morning all the papers were carrying the ‘Sun story, with nothing much about his speech.

Apparently, Brown and his henchmen were furious, not necessarily because the Sun had switched sides but because of the timing of the announcement. His fury prevailed until the following morning when Brown was ‘signed-up’ for a series of interviews, during which he wasn’t asked about the policy announcements in his speech - probably because none of them will ever happen – but about the Sun’s defection. He clearly became irritated, walking off set at one stage and forgetting to take his mike off but the funniest moment was captured by Guido’s blog. See the clip at the URL below and watch for Kate Burley’s reaction when the editor returns the picture to the studio.

http://order-order.com/2009/09/30/psycho-gordon/

The French Are Revolting

I thought that would get your attention but I hasten to add that this is not another tirade against my host country – well, ok – maybe it is.

The whole nation, it appears, is aghast at the detention of Roman Polanski by the Swiss authorities who have acted on the 30 year US arrest warrant still out for him. The (I'd love to be a celebrity) President (good old Sarko), the establishment in general and the French performance industry in particular (an oxymoron if ever there was one!), is railing against Polanski being detained, presumably fearing that extradition back to the US is on the cards.

I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to his crime, and I don’t use the words ‘alleged crime’ because he pleaded guilty when he was originally arrested in the US, but for the French nation to try to excuse – no – the word is ignore, what he did because he is some sort of national celebrity is completely bonkers. Just because he fled to France after he did a runner from LA and settled here just shows that the French will grab anybody who has any semblance of talent and call them one of their own. They point to the fact that the sex was apparently consensual and that the lady in question has forgiven him and no longer wants him prosecuted – but so what?

The guy took advantage of a minor, irrespective of what her behavioral patterns were all about at the time and in most countries of the world, he would do time, and quite a bit of it.

I noticed that Kitty expressed a huge audible gasp last night when they read out his misdemeanor of drugging and having sex with a 13 year old girl - Kitty’s just turned 13. I waited for the inevitable and difficult to answer questions but there were none – not even about why the French wanted the case dropped. I bet right now, across France there are hundreds of cases similar to Polanski and all these people will be banged up for years, as they should be. Indeed, the Mayor of Vence, our nearest town, is currently incarcerated for abusing his own grandson so it’s not as if there’s an acceptance of this sort of crime in France. It's simply because the guy is a celebrity and France don’t have too many of those left, if indeed, they ever had any in the first place!

Well – I’ve Gone And Done It

Forever known as the guy with short arms and deep pockets, I’ve gone and done it. I’ve splashed out. I’ve ordered an iPhone.

The trigger came when my trusty and long serving Motorola Razr finally decided that charging its battery was a complete waste of time. I’m lucky if the charge lasts for more than one call and given that a new battery was likely to cost almost as much as a new phone (I exaggerate possibly), I decided to replace the whole thing. Once consigned to the ‘old techie bag’, it’ll join another 10 or so, perfectly workable mobile phones in there, all waiting for a trip to a developing nation where ‘old’ phones are prized and much sought after.

Of course, J and Guy have both had an iTouch since our trip to the US last April and I’ve looked on with a combination of envy and fear at the technology with which they strut about the house, picking up their e-mails in the kitchen, reading my Blog in the bathroom (best place for it some would say), surfing the net beside the pool – you get the picture.

So why have I waited so long before splashing the cash? Well, I have a philosophy of letting technology ‘settle down’. I don’t want to be the guy who is first in the line to get one and then be last in the line when there’s a queue outside the shop to take them back because they’re faulty. OK – maybe this wait was a trifle long but I wasn’t convinced I needed one but with the new iPhone 3GS offering significantly better internet connections and the bewildering multiplicity of applications available for it, I thought my time had come.

Another thing – I never buy myself anything. I cannot think of the last thing of any value I bought for myself – maybe my laptop in the US last year, so I was due a little extravagance.

Despite that however, I detected a significant amount of jealousy last night when I was ordering it on-line from the SFR (Vodaphone) web site. ‘Guy – what does this mean – I don’t want to order the wrong options’. ‘Aw Thomas – can’t you see I’m watching Suzy Perry on the Gadget Show – can’t you do it yourself?’ And then I suppose he remembered I’ll be paying out a significant amount of cash to have his scooter serviced tomorrow so he reluctantly took his gaze off Suzy Perry’s legs and helped me configure my contract. I’ve no real idea what options I’ve got and what the final monthly payment will be but I reckon in a few weeks when I’m sitting in the Midi with my new toy and I connect to the stock market and buy, buy, buy or sell, sell, sell, the real cost will be forgotten – unlike Suzy Perry’s legs!

An Indian Summer ?

Well, what a surprise and a welcome one at that. After the deluge of rain and the cold weather we had 10 days ago, the sun is back and boy, it’s hot again. Low 80s or high 20s, depending on your preferred currency, is very welcome. O.K – it’s been very pleasant before at this time of year and I vaguely remember my sons sunbathing on Boxing Day in the dim and distant past, but being an old git I can usually only remember, with any degree of certainty, one year back and this time last year we had a log fire and the central heating on.

Given the cold wet snap we’ve just had, I’d already washed, ironed and consigned my shorts to the ‘summer’ clothes drawers. I’d put the duvets on the beds and had even looked out the electric blanket which I hide each spring (otherwise J would have it on in July !). We’d stopped eating outside and Shadow started sleeping inside at night.

Now – I’m back riding my scooter in a t-shirt and go about sockless like an ageing hippy. The terraces at the two brasseries in the village are so popular with sun worshipers I have to go before noon to get a table which just means I have to drink more rosé, which is never a bad thing and to be still drinking that light refreshing wine at this time of year is definitely a bonus as far as I am concerned. And the old guys who would normally be clogging up the warmest corner of the bars playing some sort of cribbage are playing pétanque again in the village square, shooing away the dogs who think it’s just the most wonderful place to do their business – all that freshly raked gravel – wow! Or should it be bow-wow?

Most of the tourists have crawled back north leaving our village nice and quiet. Leaving us locals spaces in the car park and allowing me to go into the newsagents and still find a Daily Mail on sale at noon.

So, this nice warm weather is a real bonus. I just hope it hangs around for an old friend I’ve got coming out next week. It’s so much more sociable to eat and have drinks outside on the terrace and to travel around in light summer clothes with the top down on the car and, of course, the villages look stunning at this time of year with the summer flowers still blooming.

And finally, I usually I feel guilty writing about our good weather when my Brit friends are shivering their way to work and back and have to huddle for the whole weekend in front of the nearest radiator, but not this time. The good weather looks like it’s Europe wide – so everybody is happy.

The picture is of my favourite place - The Midi, taken today in the sunshine. I could have included one of the village flowers or the sun shining on the Tricolour fluttering above the Town Hall or even me on my scooter with t-shirt and no socks – but to me, The Midi symbolizes all that is good with French life. An unpretentious little bar which is the life and soul of the village.

Did They Call Esther ?

Esther Rantzen that is. The sort of celebrity. You know - the Childline charity lady who’s done such a great job giving children in distress a number to call and a friendly voice to listen to when they plea for help.

You see – J has gone back to Manchester for a week to help sort out her mum’s affairs. It’s now accepted that neither Kath nor Fred will be returning to their home, so J and her sisters will be clearing out 80 years of momentos and memories and readying the property for sale. It’s all seems to be happening with unseemly haste but with the government insisting that if you have more than £14,000 of assets, you have to contribute to your care, and if you have little in the way of cash savings, there’s no other solution than to sell the family home. Sad but true.

Anyway, back to Childline. When J disappears off back to the UK (as she’s doing quite regularly at the moment), the kids are left under my sole custody and as I’m not their biological father (DNA test maybe ?) there’s all sorts of risks that it could all blow up and world war three breaks out. But – and this astonishes everybody who has heard the screams of outrage from Kitty, the stomping tantrums of Guy and the 200 decibel bawling from yours truly when we’re all at home, that when J is away, peace – absolute peace reigns.

Take last Thursday, our first day. J went off in the morning and so I had to pick the kids up from the bus stop on the scooter in the afternoon – one at a time of course. Normally, there are howls of protest from one or other of them as I try and remember who was first to be ferried home the last time, but not yesterday. Kitty climbed onto the pillion seat and there was not a sound of dissent from Guy. Once in the house, they mooched around for something to eat stating that when J is away, I always prepare some hot little snacks for them after school but I couldn’t yesterday as I was in hall painting mode. But again – no protest. No slamming of doors. No kicking the dog or slamming the cats’ tails in the patio doors as a way of showing their displeasure with life Chez Brin d’Olivier. They just fixed something for themselves and let me get on with my jobs.

There was no fighting over the remote control for the TV, and when dinner was ready, there were no arguments about who should lay the table, fill up the water jug or who should clear the dishes afterwards. They even said dinner was nice!

And, having been awake at 4.30am that morning, by the time 8.30pm came, I was flagging. I think my eyelids fluttered closed for a few seconds which prompted some words of concern from Guy about my state of tiredness. Thereupon I announced that at 9pm we’d all be going to bed. Not a protest. No screaming. Am I dreaming it? But then, after they’d gone downstairs, I noticed the phone had gone with them. Maybe they phoned Esther?

PS - this morning, first school day of the week and usually when war breaks out at breakfast, they were amazingly well behaved. No arguing with Kitty about going to school looking like Kate Moss on a night out. No arguing with Guy at all about anything. I'm concerned !