I long ago gave up posting blogs at a weekend as, believe it or not, some of my more cerebral articles take quite a bit of research, but after yesterday’s post which was quite depressing to write (I suppose it might even have been more depressing to read) today is a totally different ball game. What a weekend I have in store. So this is to keep J up-to-date with what's happening at Le Brin during her travels.

Totally different to yesterday, when I opened the curtains this morning the sun was blasting everything in sight. What a difference a day makes.

A quick bit of work next door and then get ready for lunch in the village. A table outside in the scorching sun, a few glasses of wine and good company and the world seems a whole different place.

My little contre-temps with Kitty is over and she loves me again. Guy is being a model son and I just adore watching him grow up to be a man. They still tease me mercilessly but who else do they have to humiliate?

We’re back from lunch now and I’m trying to expand their horizons by playing ZZ Top’s Greatest Hits at full blast. At the moment there’s not too much in the way of protests, in fact, like a previous CD of mine, they may eventually get to the point where they insist it’s played every time we get into the car.

My darling wife returns on Sunday from a soul-searching visit to the slums of Kenya and I know the trip will have changed her life forever. I can’t read her e-mails without getting tearful eyes, not necessarily for the children, but more for my wife’s frustration and inability to ‘hoover’ up every orphan out there and change their lives. The tales of poverty, brutality and injustice are bad enough but when I think of what she must be feeling knowing that she’ll be leaving those kids behind, my heart goes out to her. No doubt our lives in Tourrettes will also change – just how they will change is to be determined but I’m sure they will.

Incidentally, my youngest son, Timothy (now 29) had also been reading J’s posts from Kenya and had made a comment on Facebook to which J replied that ‘Timmy’ had been her first ‘lost boy’ (see picture with his hedgehog birthday cake made by J). I remember the weeks well – there’s a whole story behind this, but suffice to say, my eyes welled up again – it’s been an emotional few days.

It’s also been an expensive weekend as Guy and Kitty have finally negotiated their weekly pocket money (at 13 and 15, I thought I’d escaped but it seems not!) but it appears that they want paid in advance which could be a problem. I reckon more of our disposable income will be heading to the Isaiah Trust and I therefore expect G&K to follow their parent’s example and donate a little bit to help the Shadracks, Michaels and Ruths of this worlds (see Julie’s posts from Kenya if you don’t know who they are). Kitty is desperate to accompany Julie next year and I think that would terrific, but enough of Kenya.

I’m now singing ‘Viva Las Vegas’ (a la ZZ Top) at the top of my voice and the cats have done a runner. Shadow has his paws over his ears and I’m lucky that I don’t have any close neighbours or there might be complaints. I’m contemplating doing some more work next door but on the other hand I might not. Tan and Angie are back on Tuesday so I’ve got a bit of leeway. Yesterday it was too cold and wet to work, today it’s too hot! C’est la vie.

And finally, it’s a great weekend for sport. The Augusta Masters (golf) over the next couple of days, the FA Cup Semi-Finals and what is being billed as the match of the decade – Real Madrid Vs Barcelona on Saturday night.

And finally, finally, an amazing and truly disturbing story from The Masters Golf Tournament. A Sky Sports reporter parked his car in the car park and noticed a super-charged V12 Mercedes car parked next to his with nobody in it – but the engine was running. When he mentioned this to a car park attendant he was informed that the owner of the car had gone to the golf (for eight hours) and had deliberately left his engine running ‘so that the inside of the car would be cool when he returned in the evening’. I have nothing to say!

A Depressing Day

I opened the curtains and it was raining. Worse than that it was cold. I switched on the telly and got back underneath the duvet and there she was – the morning weather girl telling everybody that the weather in the UK was going to be ‘stupendous’ – 18 degrees celsius she chirped. It was not what I wanted to hear. I’m selfish enough that if it’s cold and wet here I don’t want my ‘old country’ to be basking in sunshine.

Wandering through the lounge it was cold enough for me to have to light the fire and only last week I thought I’d finished for the season. Luckily I hadn’t even thought of doing the final (and big) fireplace clean of the year, so that was, at least, some consolation.

There was nothing else for it - It was a day for house chores (thankfully only 4 more to go) but as I’ll have to have the place spick and span for ‘the African Queen’ when she returns, I did the absolute minimum.

After an hour or so of ironing (yes – more), sweeping and hoovering (or is it vacuuming now – why don’t we say Dysoning following the demise of Hoover, that once great institution?), I was just returning to some semblance of normality (for me) when I opened the papers on the internet to find that New York was ‘sweltering’ in 92 degrees (32 celsius I think). People were lying on the grass underneath Brooklyn Bridge soaking up the sun. This was going to be my blog photo but looking at it would have just depressed me even more!

Lunch – that was it. When you’re depressed – eat. Everybody does it and I’m no exception. Got a couple of strange looking things out of the freezer and threw them in a pan (well two pans actually) and let them bubble away to see what they were. Some sort of pasta with ham and cheese and an old chile. The chile tasted a bit iffy but ‘sandwiched’ in some pitta bread I was sure the kids would be happy with it.

‘OK kids – chile for lunch.’ ‘What else is there?’ ‘Well there’s pasta but you won’t want that will you?’ ‘Ooooh yes Thomas – we’ll have the pasta’. And so I was left with the iffy tasting chile and pitta bread which wasn’t too bad after all until I spotted the ‘sell-by date’ on the pitta bread. February 2010 !

Then a bit of lunchtime TV – Doctors – my one and only soap. And what was the storyline? A guy going mental and cleaning his flat convinced that there were bacteria everywhere. It was a bit too close for comfort – especially today.

I looked at the stock market. It was down for the 2^nd day in a row. Time to be a raging capitalist again so I jumped in with both feet and then the US market opened lower and my shares went down ever further!

Then a blazing row with Kitty who was hogging the internet connection thinking that incessantly watching YouTube, whilst listening to web-based music meant she wasn’t ‘downloading’ data. Guy and I put her right. (OK – I know technically it isn’t downloading but it screws the line for the rest of us). It didn’t help that I’d eaten the last bit of her Easter egg!

Then a moment of weakness – I’ll brave the wintery conditions and have a cigarette and a glass of wine on the terrace. What greeted me was a thick coating of yellow dust - everywhere. It comes from the pine trees and covers absolutely everything; tables, chairs, pool and even Shadow if he’s in one of his sleepy moods. And of course, with my allergy it goes right up my nose and I can’t stop sneezing.

PS - that's the outside table on the terrace in the picture and one day's dust!

What a day!

Think Your Pay Is OK ?

After the poverty in Kenya – the obscene largesse of the West ……

No wonder the guy in the photo is looking pleased with himself – he earned $4 billion dollars last year. Let me repeat that – he earned $4,000 million!

His name is David Tepper and is founder of a fund management company called Appaloosa Management. Needless to say, his pay packet has smashed pay records, even amongst those highly paid US hedge fund managers.

Quite a few years ago I was astonished that the head of Disney Corp, Eisner I think his name was, earned over $300million for a year’s work which I thought was obscene, but $4 billion! Can you imagine that amount appearing on your pay slip although he probably paid a bit of tax!

A quick aside - when I was a poorly paid sales guy in IBM it came to year end when I was due a small bonus (probably a couple of thousand pounds) and nearly died when I looked at my pay slip and couldn’t believe that they’d paid me a £64,000 bonus. I quickly established that it was a ‘clerical error’ and was advised by the payroll department not to spend it and that they’d get the bank to send it back (to IBM). I waited a couple of weeks and checked my bank account and would you believe it, they’d paid me a second amount of £64,000! Needless to say, it was all sorted out, unfortunately, within a week or two but in those first few days I probably felt like Mr. Eisner did.

But back to that incredibly rich fund manager. Tepper earned the sum after buying bank shares early last year when most other investors were dumping financial stock. The shares subsequently rose sharply, helping his main fund to grow by 130 per cent after fees. Appaloosa manages about $13 billion.

Another aside – this makes the £127.36 I earned recently by investing in Lloyds Bank shares look positively paltry!

Anyway, getting back to the numbers above – if Tepper has $13 billion under management and he earned $4 billion, either his fees are exorbitant (about 25% of the upside) or, he put his own money where his mouth was and had quite a bit of cash invested himself.

However, not is all rosy in Mr Tepper’s garden. Appaloosa, based in New Jersey, said last week that the Securities and Exchange Commission was examining some of Tepper’s trades.

Nuff said – I can see a witch hunt starting by those SEC bods who are soooo jealous of Mr Tepper and his $4 billion payday.

Second Update From Julie in Kenya

"...share your food with the hungry, provide the poor wanderer with shelter, when you see the naked, clothe him, and don't turn away from your own flesh and blood" Isaiah 58:7

Wednesday 31^st March - I was very tempted on Wednesday to take the day off. Not only had the three house dogs kept me awake all night barking, but once awake, it was difficult not to think about all the hardship that I had witnessed over the last few days. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep but I woke relatively early and decided to shower before the rest of the house rose. Taking a deep breath I even washed my hair! Cold water is all that is available at Covenant House. At 9:00 am we piled into our battered jeep.

Today, we were going to visit two schools and then drive 3 hours to see another two of the Trust's boys who were found on the streets of Kisumu but had been repatriated to a boarding school relatively near to their own villages.

In the first school, we were introduced to seven boys and two girls each sponsored by the Isaiah Trust. Ruth was a very articulate and intelligent girl. When asked what she wanted to do when she left school, she said that she wanted to be a lawyer. She was a serious girl and looking at her report card it was obvious that she could easily achieve this dream. Being the last to speak, Moses asked her to tell us a little bit about her life. Ruth hesitantly told us that she was the eldest of 7 girls, the youngest being 3 years old. Gently Moses prompted her to tell us her story. Her father was rarely with the family as he worked nights so the children were left on their own frequently. Ruth then began to tell us of her mother's illness, how they had to take her out of hospital because they couldn't afford the fees. Ruth attended to her through the next couple of nights until she died in her sleep. By this stage of the story Ruth became overcome with emotion - me too. Here was a young girl who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. I hugged her until we both managed to stop crying.

Later, she posed for photographs with me and showed me around her dormitory. In the washing area, us girls asked her what she needed. Hesitantly she asked for some soap and sanitary towels.

I left with Ruth still in my heart, with a promise to find out who her sisters were and what I could do to help.

Thursday 1^st April - Only two more schools to visit today before they close for Easter!

Yesterday afternoon, we visited the last of the boys’ secondary boarding schools. Their schedule is gruelling by our standards. They are woken at 5:00 am

Today, we visited two more primary schools in Kisumu. I was delighted to meet three of Ruth's sisters - twins Margaret and Susan and 13 year old Kezia. When I met Ruth, it was not apparent that her sisters were in school. Were they not, they would be prime targets for prostitution, hence the relief at seeing them all together!

Good Friday - Today we are going to visit Violet, Alex and Zablon but first we needed to do some shopping. I struggled a bit with 'presents'. Tim picked up salt, cooking fat, sugar, bread, gravy powder and tea. I chose sanitary pads, toothpaste and brushes and soap.

We drove to Violet's house which was off the beaten track and in a slum district. Mud houses with tin roofs squeezed together - hardly any room to pass at all. Barefoot children trying to climb on the car as we manoeveured through the narrow passage ways. Every few houses we would go past a 'shop' or someone with a blanket on the floor selling tomatoes or a single cabbage.

It felt too intrusive to take any photographs from the car and for the first time, I felt fear at being a westerner in the middle of an African slum. We had to stop the car as we couldn't get any further and the heavens opened. Rain's a blessing! As we continued on foot slipping and sliding, I desperately tried not to notice the open sewers on either side of us. Eventually, John led us to the house Violet shared with her father and 6 siblings.

Easter Saturday - Today we are taking the boys out to the ‘Car Wash’ - this is an area where they do - guess what! Wash cars! It is all very amusing as they drive trucks, cars and school buses into the lake and valet them.

The atmosphere there is very lively as there is much activity but we were heading to the fish shacks by the lake which are tin hutted corrugated shacks. It is impossible to get to the lake unless you walk through one of them.

The heat is the first thing you notice from the charcoal fires situated near the entrance, on which the 'mamas' are boiling oil to fry the fish. In another corner, someone with a giant wooden spoon is pouring maize flour into boiling water - this is the Kenyan staple dish - Ugal. If I was going to be unkind then I would say it tastes like wallpaper paste (but without the taste). Next you pass the Tilapi neatly lined up, side by side and on top of each other. These are the ugliest fish you are ever going to find! Their mouths in death are a distinct ‘oh’ shape as if caught out by surprise.

Eventually we managed to find chairs/tables and benches to seat all 40 of us. I had to hug all 30 boys (twice) before sitting down so you can guess that took a while.

No menu - just fish and ugali and some green stuff (sorry I'm not good on names). After about an hour, the huge plates were passed down the table. The English amongst us were somewhat surprised to see the whole fish on the plate (head tail etc) but I was all ready to filet mine! But where was the cutlery??

The lady with the hand wash and bowl came round and the ritual began. Find the soap in the water, soap thoroughly, then wait whilst she pours clean water from a jug over your hands to rinse, then you drip dry.

The boys gave us a lesson in eating the fish – using their fingers. The green stuff was mixed in with bits of tomatoes and was salty and delicious. Plunging my fingers into the ugali and taking a small piece, you roll it in the palm of your hand until it becomes the consistency of dough, make a thumb print into it and fill that with the sauce.

Everyone ate until they were completely full. I have to say that the fish was meaty and extremely tasty. I ate everything in between the tail and the gills ... Then watched Shadrack who was sitting next to me demolish all except the tail.

The boys so love this meal - they probably do this only once each year - they ate until every morsel, on everyone's plate was finished.

See pictures at the following link:

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/tom.cupples/Kenya2#

It Was A Kid’s Day Yesterday

I was up quite early yesterday. It was sunny and warm and perfect for getting all those outside jobs done which I’ve been putting off until we had a couple of days of dry, warm weather.

The stock market had risen again which didn’t really interest me as I’ve sold everything in the run-up to the election so with no financial distractions, off I went to clear up my wood store and do some planting next door.

It was 11 when I remembered that Kitty had a special day and as it started at 12 and she was quite clearly still in the land of nod, I thought I’d better wake her up. I suppose Guy and Kitty are like lots of other kids – they would sleep until their stomachs wake them up, but as Kitty’s day was centred around food, I was sure she’d be awake – nope, not a chance!

“C’mon get up – you’ve got lunch at 12”, I said. It was 2 minutes to eleven o’clock. ‘Ooooohhhh it’s not eleven yet’, was the reply and the head didn’t even surface!

You see, her friend Maeve had won a ‘lunch for two’ in a tombola and the lunch just happened to be at the best restaurant in town – the Auberge du Tourrettes. Two thirteen year old kids were about to have lunch with the WAGs (wives and girlfriends)of the village and Kitty was not about to let me forget it.

‘Don’t think you’re taking me to the village in that manky old scooter’, she said. ‘I want you to get the Alfa out of its winter wrapping, get the top down and take me to the village in that.’ And with that she disappeared into her bedroom to get ready.

Thirty minutes later she appeared in the Armani tailored jacket she’d been given by Linda at our lunch on Monday and she looked a treat. Hair straightened and looking every inch a WAG, she reluctantly climbed onto the back of my scooter and 10 minutes later I dropped her off at the Auberge. ‘Remember – no wine’, I said and left her. I could say I zoomed off but it was more like a putt-putt off!

Just what the Auberge, who normally expect a couple of luncheon diners to spend about 100 euros will do when two 13 year olds ask for a table is anybody’s guess? See Kitty’s latest montage photo of herself above. It’s bad enough that’s she’s precocious – I don’t know how I’ll cope if she’s talented as well!

Then it was back to Guy who, poor thing, has a rotten cold. His scooter has been acting up so we stripped all the farings off of it and looked at all the performance related items. It was great – man and boy, working together on a machine, with me trying to tell him things such as, ‘you’ve got to make sure you put the spark plug in straight’, and him saying, ‘Thomas – I know that.’

Anyway, having cleaned, scrubbed, reset and tightened various bits and pieces, we built it back up and he pressed the start button. Miraculously, in Guy’s opinion and quite expected in mine, it burst into life on the first turn of the starter motor. ‘It’s never done that before Thomas’, was the statement from a boy who obviously had no faith in my engineering abilities.

It’s now 5.50pm and still there’s no sign of the 13 year old WAG. Maybe her and her pal have gone to McDonalds for a Big Mac to end the afternoon’s culinary extravaganza?

Now Nigel’s been in trouble again in New York – find out what he’s been up to at the following URL and watch out for the bad language:

http://monaconigel.blogspot.com/

The UK's Caring Hospitals

There’s a story doing the rounds just now about a hospital switchboard getting a call asking about the health of a patient – a Mrs Jones. ‘Are you a relative?’ asked the operator. ‘Oh yes, we’re very ,very close’, said the caller who was then put through to the ward where the patient was being treated. Once the ward nurse had again established that the caller was a relative (how can they tell?), she proceeded to give the caller a full account of the patient’s treatment and finished with a positive prognosis saying that Mrs Jones would make a full recovery. ‘Thank goodness for that’, said the caller. ‘Can I ask who’s calling so I can pass on a message’ asked the nurse. ‘Oh it’s Mrs Jones in Room 11 of your ward – no bugger has been telling me anything but now I’ve found out – thanks for the information.’

Think it’s a joke? Not on your life. The following report was in the news last week:

“A nurse has been sacked after a dying patient was forced to phone the switchboard of the hospital he was in to beg for water, it has been claimed. Derek Sauter, 60, was left unmonitored for 11 hours at a hospital in Sidcup and used his mobile phone to call for help. The grandfather, who had a chest infection, died eight hours later of pneumonia.”

I know that the UK health service gets a bad press but that latter story is a real indictment of the lack of care some patients receive.

Fortunately, I have not been in a UK hospital since I was a boy but several episodes recently have led me to believe that all is not well, if you’ll forgive the pun.

Firstly, my mate Alan went into hospital a few years ago for a simple hernia operation. He did not survive. Word was that the surgeon nicked his bowel and Alan died of septicemia.

Much more recently we’ve witnessed, or rather J has, the treatment given to her mother and stepfather, both who were very ill and neither of whom survived.

Firstly her mother who suffered from diabetes went into hospital with a complaint and initially the staff treated her very well but as time passed, the treatment deteriorated to the point where J and her sister had to check up that Kath was getting her medication and her meals on a daily basis. Leaving her food and medication just out of reach for a woman who could hardly move was a common complaint and leaving her in soiled sheets was another unforgiveable sin on the part of the nursing staff.

A few months later, Freddi, J’s stepfather who was 92, also entered hospital with a series of complaints (basically his body was giving out) and although, on the face of it, his treatment was ok, when he returned to his nursing home the staff discovered his body covered in bed sores – a clear indication of a lack of nursing care. Just as the home were discussing with the family about making a formal complaint to the hospital, poor Freddi died.

Now I know that we’ve all got stories about the UK Health Service (oxymoron ???), but to have three close relatives/friends enter hospital and suffer what appears to be very poor care just seems a bit too indicative (of lack of care) to be a coincidence.

As some of you may know, my close mate Brian, who was in a serious car accident a few months ago, is still in hospital and it looks like he’ll be there for another couple of months at least. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that he’ll get better care. It seems to me, and this is a good sign for Brian, that if you’re young enough to understand what’s going on and can complain then you’ll be ok. If you’re old and infirm, you’re in the hands of God, sometimes literally!

Playing on the Beach At Antibes Whilst Billions Were Lost

Let me first of all introduce the characters.

Roman Obramovich – the Russian owner of Chelsea Football Club and worth somewhere between £7 billion and £12 billion. A frequent visitor to these parts where he moors his enormous yachts.

Boris Berezovsky – a fellow oligarch (pictured) who claims he once owned businesses in Russia worth several billion pounds and who has a villa not far away in Antibes.

Arina Berezovsky – Boris’s daughter and Kitty Evans – my step-daughter.

A few years ago, Kitty returned from a sailing lesson having made a new friend. What was strange she said, was that as her new friend sailed her Laser off Cannes, a couple of dark suited men in sunglasses tracked her in a motor boat. At the end of the sailing season, Kitty exchanged e-mail addresses with the little girl and an on-line friendship started, which continues to this day. Frequent invitations for the girl to visit our house were declined and no offers to visit her house in Antibes were forthcoming.

When she returned to the UK, the girl, now known as Arina, would send e-mails innocently giving clues to her lifestyle which was dominated by bodyguards, CCTV cameras and high fences round their Berkshire home.

Intrigued, I spent a few hours on the internet and came to the conclusion (correct as it turned out) that Arina was Boris Berezovsky’s daughter.

Let me re-introduce her father Boris. Self-imposed exile in the UK after ‘falling out’ with Vladimir Putin who he is trying to overthrow. His lawyer/accountant killed in a mysterious helicopter crash and his friend Alexander Litvinenko, murdered with a radioactive poison in London, a couple of assassination attempts on his life and several countries after him for alleged money-laundering and various other misdemeanours. He already has a 6 year jail sentence hanging over him for supposed ‘crimes’ in Russia.

And now the latest twist in his feverishly complicated life:

In December 2000, two of Russia’s most powerful businessmen met at a villa at Cap d’Antibes on the French Riviera. Once friends and business partners, Boris Berezovsky, who owned the villa, and Roman Abramovich, were about to begin a lasting and bitter rivalry that would end up being played out years later in the British courts.

According to Berezovsky’s account, Mr Abramovich was there to deliver a message from the Kremlin: surrender your business interests in Russia or they will be seized.

It was the first of several meetings at which Berezovsky claims he was coerced to hand over shares in some of Russia’s most valuable companies to Abramovich at a substantial discount to their value. He is now suing Abramovich in the High Court in London for more than £2 billion.

At one stage, Berezovsky had political power, playing a central role in helping Boris Yeltsin to retain power against the resurgent Communists in 1995.

Then Mr Berezovsky’s fortunes changed. He fled Russia in 2000 after falling out with Vladimir Putin, Mr Yeltsin’s successor, and became an exile. By contrast, Mr Abramovich, his former protégé, enjoyed close ties to the Kremlin and was on his way to becoming one of the richest men in the world. In 2009, The Sunday TimesRich List estimated Mr Abramovich’s wealth at £7 billion, while years in exile had cut Mr Berezovsky’s to £450 million.

Mr Berezovsky’s mistake had been turning against Vladimir Putin soon after he came to power in July 2000.

In Mr Berezovsky’s account, he claims that he was told to surrender his holdings to the state or “end up like Vladimir Gusinsky”, a Russian businessman who had been imprisoned on fraud charges several months earlier. Mr Berezovsky claims that the threats were repeated by Mr Putin himself at a meeting the following day where he was told to hand his Russian TV assets to the state for $175 million or they would be expropriated and a friend of his who was imprisoned in Russia would not be released. There was also the small matter where Berezovsky alleges that Abramovich coerced him into selling his stake in Sibneft, the Russian oil company, for $1.3 billion — far less than he believed it was worth. Mr Berezovsky argues that he had no choice but to sell his shares or they would be expropriated by the Russian Government. Stephen Curtis, a London lawyer/accountant, well-known for acting for Russian businessmen, handled the transaction. Mr Curtis died in a helicopter crash near Bournemouth shortly afterwards .

Mr Abramovich disputes Mr Berezovsky’s account. He denies that Mr Berezovsky ever had an interest in Sibneft and later sold the company to the Russian state for precisely 10 times what Berezovsky sold it for.

And so the whole affair, despite being entirely Russian in context will be played out in London’s Civil Courts where Berezovsky will try to recoup his ‘lost’ billions. Last week, Abramovich’s attempt to have the case thrown out was rejected and the case will be heard late next year.

In the meantime, Boris wanders around London with an entourage of bodyguards which would make a small army seem inadequate - the occasional invites for Kitty to stay at Arina’s house in London are being politely declined!

Postscript - Boris lost his High Court case and shortly afterwards died in an apparent suicide but which has been declared an Open case by the coroner.