Dan Quayle or George W Bush?

You decide:

"I believe we are on an irreversible trend toward more freedom and democracy - but that could change."

"Republicans understand the importance of bondage between a mother and child."

"What a terrible thing to have lost one's mind. Or not to have a mind at all. How true that is."

"People that are really very weird can get into sensitive positions and have a tremendous impact on history."

"The future will be better tomorrow."

"[It's] time for the human race to enter the solar system."

"Illegitimacy is something we should talk about in terms of not having it."

"If we do not succeed, then we run the risk of failure."

"Lookit, I've done it their way this far and now it's my turn. I'm my own handler. Any questions? Ask me ... There's not going to be any more handler stories because I'm the handler ... I'm Doctor Spin."

"Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things."

"We'll let the sunshine in and shine on us, because today we're happy and tomorrow we'll be even happier."

"We're going to have the best-educated American people in the world."

"Don't forget about the importance of the family. It begins with the family. We're not going to redefine the family. Everybody knows the definition of the family. [Meaningful pause] A child. [Meaningful pause] A mother. [Meaningful pause] A father. There are other arrangements of the family, but that is a family and family values."


All quotes from Dan Quayle

Bonus! Bonus:

St. Louis, MO --(UPI)-- Vice President Dan Quayle today visited St. Louis, MO, which bears a heavy population descended from German immigrants. In order to show support for the newly-unified country of Germany, fatherland of many in the audience, he repeated John F. Kennedy's words of support 30 years earlier, but this time in English, "I am a Jelly Doughnut!" Political commentators agreed that something was lost in the translation. Dan Quayle explained his remark by saying that he had been told that those who lived in central America enjoyed jelly doughnuts.

Led Zeppelin

This morning, driving to swim practice, I introduce Eitan to The Greatest Rock And Roll Song Ever: "Stairway To Heaven." We cruise across an early morning Richmond Park at full blast and the boy takes in his legacy including the trip ("There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold - and she's buying a stairway to heaven"), its mystery ("In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees - and the voices of those who stand looking"), the pondered questions answered ("If there's a bustle in your hedgerow - Don't be alarmed now - It's just a spring clean for the May Queen"), life's choices ("Yes there are two paths you can go by but in the long run - There's still time to change the road you're on") and above all, the optimism ("And when she gets there she knows if the stores are closed - With a word she can get what she came for.") 'Nuff said.

George Bush takes one from Dan Quayle:
“Removing Saddam Hussein was the right decision early in my presidency, it is the right decision now, and it will be the right decision ever."
El Presidente - yesterday

“Happy campers you are, happy campers you have been and, as far as I am concerned, happy campers you will always be.”
Dan Quayle - 1990

Kew

Madeleine in the botanical greenhouse. Meanwhile at the Tate Modern, artist Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster has been commissioned to fill the Turbine Hall after Doris Salcedo's subterranean crack. Gonzalez-Foerster's works have included "performing shadows" and she is known for her "visitor participation, atmospheric" stuff. She will be the ninth artist to occupy the hall when her work is unveiled to us in October. Can't wait.

After pizza dinner, the kids go disco nuts and dance around the house until they are mindless. It is a joy to watch their energy which is endless, especially Madeleine whose today was swim team, football and performance class.

I ask Eitan, breathing over my shoulder, what he would do with a computer: Says he: "Play a few C-BB's (some game), write down notes. Make a blog." Anything else? "No."

Fit

Sonnet and I have a raucous dinner with the CIO of the Carnegie Foundation at The Ivy (no celeb spottings this time). Kim is in town for several of her funds and we are honored to have her to ourselves. Not surprisingly we discuss the wacko that is Elliot Spitzer and agree: WTF ? Kim notes that the risk assessment of being caught, however calculated by male, is quite simple for her: 100% busted. 100% I'm gone. We've experienced a number of divorces in our group from a reckless dick and when kids are involved there is no forgiving the mistake, if that indeed is what it was. People are just plain mean to each other and this is about as low a blow as one can strike - life is too hard anyway to fuck it up so terribly.

Madeleine is up-and-at-'em today, in swimming suit and almost out the door when Sonnet and I roll our eyes heavenwards and ask for ten more minutes of sleep. Last night Sonnet was at our school's "field of dreams" auction fund raiser, which brings in $20 grand I learn. Her contribution was a tour of the V&A's fashion gallery, which went for $500. The tops was a full-catered dinner for six by Eitan's teacher who, by-the-by, is quite "fit." Hers went for $700. Sonnet's plan to run the Fleet half-marathon Sunday in jeopardy as she has a nagging side injury - with a month to go before the London marathon, no taking chances.

Eitan, Madeleine and I dance some early-morning disco to Hot Chip, trying out a few new disco-moves. I show them the "wave" to their delight and Sonnet's bemusement. The beauty of your kids is you can be one.

El Presidente explains yesterday the mortgage crisis to the ROW:
“You know, these mortgages can be pretty frightening to people. I mean, there’s a lot of tiny print."

OP

Here is Steve on the Ocean Pacific. Steve is a child-school friend, fellow swimmer way-back-when and photographer par excellence who now resides in Dallas where he goes to Cowboys games when not with his daughter and family. Or maybe with them. Sonnet this evening attends the New York Ballet performing at London's ENO for the first time in 25-years - a real treat. She is with Dana and Tabitha for a gals night on the town (Dear Reader, ballet is not particularly my thing as my wonderful in-laws, who so graciously took me to the New York Ballet in '96, know from their experience). This morning I take the kiddies to early morning yoga then sit in Madeleine's class to help the "coconuts" table alphabetise their objects. Fun stuff for them and me.

Some more British slang used by the yoof:
Scabby - lucky
Snog - to make out, aggressive kissing
Take the piss (out of) - To mock. "Are you taking the piss?"
Fag end - the last part of a period of time. "Fag end of the show"
Scrote - Jackass
Slapper - slut (a personal favorite)
Nutter - crazy person
Git, twat - incompetent, stupid. "You little git"
Fit - good looking

Balls Up

England survives a bona fide hurricane that rolls across our island last night - these Brits twitter about their weather, a favorite subject no matter the calamity. On calamity, tomorrow Alistair Darling releases his first budget and we anticipate the so-called non-dom-tax which could cost some of us thirty-grand a year to live here. A real fall-out is the departure of friends and talent plus the message Britain sends to the world's young and motivated: "we don't want you fuck off." While this has always been the quiet attitude, the trade-off has netted jobs and increased living standards - recall England had to borrow from the IMF as recently as 1981. Before us ex-pats in the '90s England was on her knees; with the Americans and others, standards for professional services became world class leaving many of the lunchtime-pint drinking-blue bloods in the dust (so long BZW, Kleinworts, Natwest.. . .). Any case, it is clear London changes from tomorrow.

Here are some favorite often-used words:
balls-up - error, mistake
bog standard - plain vanilla, completely average, no distinguishing feature
butty - a buttered sandwich, often with chips, eaten at breakfast
gobsmacked - utterly astonished, openmouthed
manky - feeling ill, rough, out of sorts; filthy, dirty, rotten
nosy parker - a busybody
paki - Pakistan

You Look'n At Me?

I check in with Taxi Driver, a remarkable film from '76 and known for its shocking violence. Scorcese says that he, writer Paul Schrader and De Niro were in a bad place when the filming began in New York during the post-Viet Nam era - a time when the city was generally coming apart from crime, violence and racial tension (racism is an ugly theme explored in Taxi Driver). Schrader debates whether film blood begets street violence arguing socio-paths exist regardless of the art, "which explores and reflects culture and not the other way." Taxi Driver works on many levels but the realism catches one off guard - from the strange film work catching Travis Bickle's moods (alka seltzer, rear-view mirror, overhead shots &c.) to the concluding tour de force which almost netted an "X" rating. Scorcese believed he was making a niche film with little outside appeal and was "surprised" by Taxi Driver's acceptance and Oscar nominations. And is Travis somehow cured following his bloody heroics and media fame? Absolutely not - he will kill again...

... and in England this past month alone we have sentenced the Suffolk Strangler Steve Wright who murdered at least five women in Ipswitch; Mark Dixie who knifed repeatedly then raped the corpse of teenager Sally Ann Bowman; and Levi Bellfield who stalked young women bludgeoning them with a hammer.

"All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. I go all over. I take people to the Bronx, Brooklyn, I take 'em to Harlem. I don't care. Don't make no difference to me. It does to some. Some won't even take spooks. Don't make no difference to me. "
Travis Bickle

Pizza

Eitan has a "football party" celebrating Sasha's seventh at the Bank of England club. During, I take Madeleine to her choice - Pizza Express - where I tell her a Spider Man story (her request) and we discuss school, friends and love mano-a-chica. My fund BlueRun Ventures leads Zivity's $7 million series "a" round with Founders Fund, the creators of PayPal and Facebook. Zivity is, ahem, an adult website that provides "a community powered showcase promoting female beauty." In other words, a sure-fire winner. Speaking of the flesh, Eitan - who watches Football Italiano - Milano v. Empou - shouts: "they're watching naked dad! Those people do not have any clothes on!" How Mediterranean.

Katie tells me her beachside photo taken in the Dominican Republic - "on the other side of the island" and presumably without tourists. She is surfing

Keep Off The . . .

The kids watch cartoons ("Johny Test") and Sonnet runs - her London Marathon is five weeks.

Our government, dear reader, intends to roll-out a camera that sees through clothing at 80-feet and meant to detect weapons, drugs and explosives. The maker, ThruVision, already offers a smaller device that scans clothing at 30-feet and used at Canary Wharf to target terrorists. Not surprisingly, the police expect ThruVision to be in shopping centres, on high streets and in airports or wherever without consultation with we, the people. No doubt ThruVision will also help police recruiting - line up, lads! - and welcome to our surveillance society.

Feets

Katie sends me her feet from the beach.

After swim practice today, the boys discuss Saturday's football results including loses by ManU and Chelsea to lower-division teams in the FA Cup knock-out round. I'm impressed by The Knowledge, from minute detail ("Joe Cole was definitely fouled inside the box"; "Drogba, Lambard, Ashley Cole and Michalaelie injured and out for Chelsea") to the strategy (Barnsely played six guys up front"). I have to hustle Eitan otherwise he would be content for the morning.

Finn

I return from Finland yesterday (in unison: "Dad, did you get me a present?") where I have a meeting and some free time. It sprinkled snow and the Finns worry about the winter (Finland is equally effected by changes in the jet stream, which keep the UK warm and moist). This is my third time to Helsinki in '08 which is no bother. The city's architecture is famous for its Art Nouveau from the early 1900s and more recently Alvar Aalto's "functionalism." Helsinki is often used as a Hollywood backdrop for the Soviet Union in many Cold War Hollywood movies like Reds and Gorky Park. The Finnish government, I'm told, secretly briefed its white-collar workers to make producing these, often clearly Soviet-negative, films in Helsinki as hard as possible due to diplomatic pressure from Moscow !

What's the most important thing in the world (asked over cereal)?
Eitan: My match attacks, Pokoman cards, Teddy and family
Madeleine: Family and doggy

Manchester United is eliminated from the FA Cup by Portsmouth. Eitan sheds a tear of frustration, becoming further irritated when I mention it is only a game.

Orange

Katie sends me her orange dress, which we all agree is pretty. Darn. Cool.

I'm enjoying London at the now while spring has arrived early with daffodils. Still nippy, the season is in the air and large white clouds pass overhead during mid-day run in Richmond Park. I pass aside a herd of antlered bucks who barely pay me a glance despite my being feet from their grazing. King Georg I's hunting lodge never looks as lovely as mid-week when the rest of the world is working away and I'm goofing off. Yesterday Sonnet and I visit Eitan and Madeleine's teachers for a brief update on their classroom progress and I am delighted to report that both children are exactly as they should be.

Rum, Romanism and Rebellion

Here is a photograph of Sonnet's Great Grandmother Blaine. Stan tells me that both the grandparents were teachers and had four daughters and Grandfather Blaine was the Superintendent Of Schools in Glenwood Springs and was Supt in Longmont, CO when he died in the mid 1930s. The Blaines descended from James G. Blaine the corrupt U.S. Senator from Maine who almost became President. This last bit of treasure is too good to be left hanging so I spend some time today digging online.

Grandpa G. Blaine was born in West Brownsville, Washington County, Pennsylvania near Pittsburgh. He was the great-grandson of Col. Ephraim Blaine (1741-1804), who during the American War of Independence served in the American army from 1778 to 1782 as commissary-general of the Northern Department.

After graduating Washington and Jefferson College, Blaine settled in Augusta, Maine, in 1854, becoming editor of the Kennebec Journal, and subsequently on the Portland Advertiser.

Editorial work was soon abandoned for a more active public career. Blaine served as a member in the Maine House of Representatives from 1859 to 1862, serving the last two years as Speaker of the House. He also became chairman of the Republican state committee in 1859 and for more than 20 years personally directed every campaign of his party. Among his adoring admirers, he was known as the "Plumed Knight." Blaine was the unsuccessful Republican nominee for President in 1884; he was the only nonincumbent Republican nominee to lose a presidential race between 1860 and 1912, and only the second Republican Presidential nominee to lose at all. Republican reformers, called "Mugwumps" supported Cleveland because of Blaine's reputation for corruption. After heated canvassing, during which he made a series of brilliant speeches, he was beaten by a narrow margin in New York. Many, including Blaine himself, attributed his defeat to the effect of a phrase, "Rum, Romanism and Rebellion", used by a Protestant clergyman, the Rev. Samuel Burachrd, on October 29, 1884, in Blaine's presence, to characterize what, in his opinion, the Democrats stood for. "Rum" meant the liquor interest; "Romanism" meant Catholics; "Rebellion" meant Confederates in 1861.

Blained refused to be a presidential candidate again in 1888 instead becoming Secretary of State in the Cabinet of President Benjamin Harrison fromm 1889 to 1892.

His service at State was distinguished by several notable steps. In order to promote the friendly understanding and cooperation of the nations on the American continents he projected a Pan-American Congress, which, after being arranged for and led by Blaine as its first president, was frustrated by his retirement. (Its most important conclusions were the need for reciprocity in trade, a continental railway and compulsory arbitration in international complications.) Shaping the tariff legislation for this policy, Blaine negotiated a large number of reciprocity treaties which augmented the commerce of his country.

He upheld American rights in Samoa, pursued a vigorous diplomacy with Italy over the lynching of 11 Italians accused of being Mafiosi who murdered the police chief in New Orleans in 1891, held a firm attitude during the strained relations between the United States and Chile over a deadly barroom brawl involving sailors from the USS Baltimore; and carried on with Britain a controversy over the seal fisheries of Bering Sea—a difference afterward settled by arbitration. Blaine sought to secure a modification of the Clayton-Bulwer, and in an extended correspondence with the British government strongly asserted the policy of an exclusive American control of any isthmian canal which might be built to connect the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

Blaine resigned on June 4, 1892, on the eve of the meeting of the Republican National Convention. His name, when once again submitted for consideration by the delegates, drew little support.

Daffodils

After swimming we go to Kew Gardens to see the daffodils which flower a month early. We then goof by the river, pictured, and Madeleine shows her bouquet which, dear reader, was fallen from the stem before picked by her. The gardens remain a favorite place and with Richmond Park, the perfect fall-back should we not have weekend plans. Today we head to Kew to escape Madeleine's new toy "Noisy Putty" which simulates a "bronx cheer" (what a great name for a fart). The box says: "plunge fingers into the gunge to produce repulsive lavatorial sounds!" and of course Madeleine has been hooked and non-stop. We sing Hot Chip in the car: "Do it do it do it do it do it now! Show me show me show me show me show me how!"

"One swallow does not make a spring, nor does one fine day."
Aristotle

Blood & Gore

Here is Friday's concert, pictured. We're pretty close to the action and it is a rowdy crowd - at least for us old-timers. Last night we sleep by 8PM and Sonnet kicks me awake to take the boy to swim-team. Ug. Listening to Hot Chip in the car, Eitan refines his career plan to include a rock & roll band, which he names "Bloodhawks." I tell him great name but a bit gorey which nets a conversation about blood and guts. He doesn't come off his idea though - good lad. Madeleine asks if a fella would live without his guts: "will he dad? wil he?"

Hot Chip

Sonnet and I meet in Brixton to see Hot Chip, pictured, at the Academy. Beforehand, we have dinner at a family-style Portuguese restaurant complete with an old television showing Italian football and, surprisingly, Portuguese people. There's a real hustle-bustle with children running around the bar, a few tables with young couples smooching and the old timers drinking their whatevers watching the scene contentedly. Perfect. As for Hot Chip, the show goes on at 1130PM and is well worth a lost night's sleep (oh I suffer now). Hot Chip is from south London and plays techno-pop disco with quirky addictive songs using strange instruments and computer monotones. The lead singer is slight and nerdy, which ads to their geekiness. The sold-out crowd loves the vibe, as do we, and the noise from them and us is deafening. Sonnet prefers opera and again proves a trooper for humoring me - our last gig together was the Chemical Brothers when she told me flat that I had better find a music buddy. Christian, who introduced me to the Artic Monkeys and Hot Chip, is that guy but in California. Most dads in our neighborhood would never consider a live act and too bad for them.

Sports

Eitan realises the value of reading - here he is in the sports section and Manchester United.

Meanwhile, I have to threaten Madeleine with a consequence last night for her to bed. I realise that the Hand Of God is always on her forehead, the poor kid, and so I ask her how she feels: "like I'm in prison, Dad" she tells me. "I want to be a Bird or a butterfly. They can do what they want. We had a butterfly in class, who I named "Butty," that got its leg caught in the cocoon. He died." And, I might add, did not enjoy his freedom.

Sonnet and I are gearing up for Hot Chip tonight at the Brixton Academy. They are scheduled for 11PM and since it is a bit disco, I'm planning my outfit: something green and loud, I think. No pictures to be posted, I promise. Renata is babysitting, which earns a squeel of happiness from the peanut gallery.

Modigliani

Today I visit the Courdault Gallery where Renoir's "La Loge" is on display. These paintings, from 1874, are considered to be a master work of the impressionist movement and display the theatre boxes of Paris's cultural houses. The paintings present the social classes in various states from sexually beguiling to just plane board. Fan-taby-tosa, as Madeleine would say. Modigliani's female nude, pictured, reminds me of my wife.

I'm near Sommerset House (location of the Courdault) following lunch at nearby Christopher's, a cocktail-and-media haunt with my friend Matthew who is at the Economist. For the last four years we have engaged in a bet where the loser buys lunch. Bets have ranged from the fall (or not) of Google's stock price to David Montgomery going to prison (Dear Reader, I worked with David on a buyout several years ago and found him most unsavory). Next year the wager is on the non-dom tax and how many of us will leave. Matthew thinks small number while I think more than 18%. Stay tuned. A gentleman's side bet is Facebook losing 20% of its audience.

Catching up from Sunday: I return from Helsinki greeted at the door by the usual post-trip query spoken in urgency: "did you bring us any presents? Did you?" Ah, yes - familiarity. I'm in Nordea meeting with several investors and pursuing a secondary deal or two. Sonnet, the road-runner, recovers meanwhile from a half-marathon in Tonbridge Wells where she completes the hilly race in one-hour and 52-minutes. Bravo! This is the course I finished in 1:16.30 in 1998 while preparing for the London Marathon. I imagine I won't be going that fast again but oh well, I'm happy to be alive. Sonnet gives a press interview where she discusses feathers in fashion. Apparently they are making a come-back.

Coal Mine

Big Pit's winching mechanism - pictured - once dropped miners, horses and equipment into the coal beds, hauling out their efforts upon return. Today, we wear a plastic hard hat and ‘safety lamp’ and clip our re-breather emergency supply which, in an emergency, will filter foul air for approximately one hour giving us a chance for survival and escape. Contraband like my camera and blackberry are surrendered as anything containing a dry cell battery, which could spark, is prohibited. The dangers of the mine are real - the safety posters on the stages of Carbon Monoxide poisoning serve as museum pieces and reminders of the dangers of underground. Automatic gas monitoring systems are discreetly positioned around the tunnels as are emergency telephones. No wonder Madeleine freaks out.

Stan points out that my guess at Sonnet's age is off by a decade. It is more likely 1985, or perhaps highschool graduation in '86.

"To cure the British disease with socialism was like trying to cure leukaemia with leeches."
Margaret Thatcher

Big Pit

We stop at Big Pit, a coal mine in Blaenovon, south-west Wales. Since 1983, it has been open to the public and designated a National Heritage Site. The pit was first worked in 1860, called "Big Pit" because it was the first shaft in Wales large enough to allow two tram-ways. In the late 1870s the shaft was deepened to 293 feet. By 1908, Big Pit provided employment for 1,122 people, but this number gradually decreased until 1970 the workforce numbered 494. It closed on February 2, 1980. We learn that the mines were worked 365 days a year in two twelve hour shifts. Until the late 19th century, children as young as six were used underground and a miner typically worked with his teenage son. Our guide tells us the comradery was special and generally the men could do whatever they pleased "but don't go bend'n over for your soap" he says (ar ar). Until electrics, welsh horses (small in size) were used for hauling carts and kept in the mines 50 weeks of the year, never seeing sunlight or green pasture. Safety was never an owner's priority and it was not until the early 20th century that the workers received government protections and unionised. As for us today pictured - we go down 400 feet - Eitan loses his safety belt - Madeleine hates it - I try to keep us up with the group having no desire to be left behind on this one.

Water

Yes, the spa has a pool and Eitan is excited. Friday we swim two-hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon. They. .. never . ... grow . . . tired . . . . Both show me their racing dives which amount to a jump (Madeleine) or belly-flop (Eitan). They goof with kick-boards and other floaties while I have fun tossing them about or carrying each on my shoulders. Pruny fingers and boredom (me) drag us away. Finally.

On to football: Eitan is transfixed by Manchester United, whose win today closes the gap with Arsenal who draw with Birmingham City. As we glossy readers know, United's star striker Wayne Rooney will marry grade-school sweetheart Coleen, who is planning the wedding and, surprise shocker, Wayne's family - not invited! Coleen has learned her lesson: her eighteenth birthday saw both sides of the family in a fist fight (Wayne's family are amateur boxers); her 21st found Wayne's cousin Natalie famously out of her dress (weeks later, Natalie underwent a boob job, upping herself from 34C to a more media friendly 34FF, noting "I'll be getting them out all over the place"). Wayne's cousin Stephen is on record wearing knickers ("If Coleen wants me as a bridesmaid then she won't be let down. I've been hitting all the shops"). Egad. Worse, Eitan sees David Beckham wearing an Armani bikini on the back of some mag. For the boy, it remains somehow about the football. Me, I just want a World Cup.

Wales

I've only been to Wales several times, including a memorable trip with friend Rhys in '98 then climbing Snowdownia, the highest peak in the country and second highest on Britain after Ben Nevis where we spent Eitan's first birthday (another story). Phew. Wales is not particularly inspiring by my experience and the towns are pretty dreadful - we visit Newport, at the mouth of the River Usk, on our way and boy is it dreary. Never mind that the Usk is tidal so we see mudflats. There just ain't much to the city other than a depressing high-street, idle teenagers and old-age pensioners hanging out at the British Home Shop (BHS) department store where we have lunch (kids happy with a greasy fry-up). Yes, I'm glad to fly through here. I think of Pennsylvania or some other rust belt place which perhaps appropriate as the Welsh economy was in large part based on coal until Maggie famously cracked the unions in the mid-80s. Today Wales struggles to find its place and there is plenty of subsidised construction, at least in Newport, suggesting a revival attempt: architectural bridges, brand-new road ways, condo developments. Now if it would only stop raining.

The kids watch The Incredibles and post-movie we discuss the best action hero. Eitan goes for testosterone: Ben 10! The Hulk! Mr Incredible! Madeleine: "Definitely Mrs. Incredible. She's super cool." We argue who would win a fight: Ben 10 v. Spider Man or The Hulk v. Mr Incredible. We all have an opinion and I use The Hulk as a segway to temper management - who says the Super Hero's don't teach life-lessons for the adults?

Brecon

Solo, I take the kids to thee Brecon Beacons (Welsh: Bannau Brycheiniog) as Sonnet is saving her holidays for summer plus preparing for a Sunday half-marathon. The Beacons, I learn, are a mountain range in south-east Wales belonging to that country's largest national park. We stay at the Nant Ddu Lodge and Spa which is tucked away in the hills next to a mountain stream and open fields stuffed with sheep. The Brecon Beacons range, properly speaking, consists of the mountains to the south of Brecon, a mid-evil trading village. The highest of these is Pen y Fan (886-meters and pictured through the fog- barely) then Corn Du (873-meters), Cribyn (795) and Fan y Big (719). It is popular hiking no doubt but rest assured, Dear Reader, that the cold, misty clime and lack of proper gear, ie, non-trainers, keep us in the car. The mere suggestion of a stroll - let alone a hike - nets a tremendous push-back from the little ramblers. So I take some snaps, kids in car, and a local caf tells me the Beacons are named after the ancient practice of lighting signal fires (beacons) on the mountains to warn of attacks by the English. Now it is done to commemorate public and national events such as coronations or the millennium.

Wales has castles aplenty and we find a lovely not far from the main road. Further angry protest from the back-seat results in a forced march but we are eventually rewarded with splendid views of the Tretower castle, which was built in the 12th century. Way cool.

Rock Don Ron Is A Non-Dom

Northern Rock chief Ron Sandler enjoys privileged non-domicile tax status, it emerged last night (The Sun provides my title). For those not following the melt-down that is British Chancellor Alistair Darling, Northern Rock was nationalised Monday following a bona fide run on the bank last year. We tax payers find ourselves on the hook for £100 billion after the government failed to sell the mortgage lender despite several offers including Richard Branson. Furthering Alistair's misery today, he blatantly stole an ill-conceived Tory suggestion to levy a £30,000 annual charge for UK residents who don't declare foreign income (so-called "non-doms"). This is us and about every other American in London. The intention is to penalize the Russians and the other in-your-face rich but instead may net an exodus of talent from London's financial centre, perhaps the sole world class asset this country enjoys and a driver of the UK economy. Us ex-pats pay in over £2 billion per year in taxes, excluding what we spend on the high street or invest from abroad. While Darling rescinded several of his more onerous positions including tax on foreign trust and asset registration, the nut remains in place and we shall see the outcome.

Photo of Sonnet from 1975, I would guess. Perhaps Stan can give me the year? Tonight Halley joins us for the night and we are having drinks with her and other non-dom friends at The Lanesborough.

This Chick Can Fly

Another world Record falls in Missouri, this time by Cal alum Natalie Coughlin who clocks a 59.21 in the 100-meter backstroke yesterday (photo of Coughlin from mariasphoto.com). She breaks her prior time by .23 seconds and remarkably is .4 seconds off-pace at the 50-meter mark in the race (this is about a half-body length). In 2007 she became the first woman under one minute in the event. Natalie is from Concord, California, which is not too far from Berkeley beyond Oakland's Caldecott Tunnel and next door to Walnut Creek where I trained with the weirdly named Aqua Bears. She's 15 years younger so I've not seen her swim but I do keep track of her progress - several years ago she was profiled in the New Yorker magazine, for instance. Also on Sunday, Katie Hoff set her second American record in as many days as she took the women's 200 meters freestyle in one minute 56.08 seconds to defeat Coughlin for the second time in two days. The women's team appears ready for Beijing

England has focused its attention on the wild cat - apparently the creature's population dwindles and is seldom seen these days. In response and with earnest concern, an all-hands request has gone across Britain to report wild cat sightings. The wild cat was once prevalent in Britain - as ubiquitous as the red fox or wily stout - but today its populations is estimated to be 16,000. What is unusual about the wild cat is that, unusually, it looks just like a house cat. Same size. Same coloring. No wild temper nor sharp fangs like a U.S. bob-cat. So I must wonder: does this really merit a slot on the BBC's prime-time news or front page of many Fleet Street newspapers? To a countryside rambler, it is a cause célèbre and a contrast to the US's Paris Hilton or Britney Spears.

World Pace

19-year old Katie Hoff breaks the U.S. 400-meter freestyle record in Columbia, Missouri, finishing in 4:03.20 (picture from U.S. Swimming). The record, until yesterday, was held by Janet Evans and the oldest on the American record books dating to the '88 Seoul Olympics. In the next lane, Kirsty Coventry topped the 17-year world record in the 200-meter backstroke, finishing in 2:06.39 nearly three-tenths of a second faster than the record. In Sydney, 22 year-old Eamon Sullivan set the world mark in the 50-meter freestyle with his time of 21.56, eclipsing the great Russian Alexander Popov's 2000 time of 21.64. I recall Dano Halsall, who I trained with in '84 and Geneve Natation, during my high school junior year, setting the record of 22.52 in 1985 (four months later it was surpassed by American Tom Jager). In 23 years, the race has improved 4.3%. Dano lives in Switzerland and owns a small sports chain.

Madeleine, unable to sleep last night, draws a mural on her bedroom wall. Boy, we've been here before but not for several years. Yes, she is testing our boundaries and Sonnet and I put on a stern face while chuckling behind her back. For the record: the drawings are actually pretty good and her threatened punishment, should she not clean things up, is no holiday this week (we will go to the Brecon Beacon in Wales). This gets her attention.

Dizzee Rascal

Paul, Erik and I join an all-white audience to see Dizzie Rascal at the Shepard's Bush Empire last night. It's an intense show that gets people moving and pointing in unison to the beats - Dizzie raps and high-fives the adoring front row. His pants are baggy and crotch at the knees; his kicks are new and his confidence huge. I first became aware of him several years ago while driving HW 101 in California when he was profiled on the BBC World Radio. As for the musician, Dylan Mills was born in 1985 and grew up in London's East End in the South Bow council estate. As a teenager, he was detained for stealing cars and robbing a pizza deliveryman, and expelled from four secondary schools. A sympathetic music teacher introduced him to music production on a school computer. And the rest, as they say, is history. Dizzie Rascal began MCing on pirate radio and at raves at fifteen, but since his mainstream success he has distanced himself from the fledgling scene. He used to be a member of the Roll Deep crew, until a conflict with former friend Wiley, another rapper.

His music is an eclectic mixture of garage and hip-hop beats with broad influences, ranging from metal guitars to found sounds, drill and bass synth lines, eclectic samples and even Japanese court music. His vocal performance is also distinctive, he uses a fast style of rapping which blends elements from garage MCing, conventional rap, grime and ragga. It is fresh. Photo from Matador Records.

"You could be a dappa you could be a don but i dont watch your face i dont care where your from"
Dizzee Rascal

Taco Salad

Madeleine at morning swim practice, which would be Saturday 8AM. Sharp. Otherwise yesterday is filled with usual family stuff and not much to write home about (or put into this blog). Moving to the mundane and with regrets, Dear Reader, I take Eitan for a haircut at the Turks then make taco salad for dinner - a recipe from Houston, Texas, via Roger whose mother Genie passed along this classic. Back in the day, Roger and I would go running or whatever in San Francisco then flop down for an afternoon of eating and dozing in front of the T.V. - this before business school and around the time I met Sonnet so circa 1993. Russian dressing is involved and since the Brits don't know such a thing, Sonnet creates the it from her Better Homes and Gardens cookbook ("America's favorite cookbook" since 1958) - who would have guessed the key ingredient is ketchup? With the Russian, multiple prepared ingredients are chucked into a garbage bag with tortilla crisps then crushed about and served. The kids watch bug eyed as I do this then get into the spirit squealng delight. Madeleine crushing away: "This is the best dinner ever!"

Howard

Steve Gerber died today at age 60. He's famous for many things but for comic fans it was Howard the Duck in the mid-1970s that caught our attention. Howard was a bit too weird for my tastes as I liked my super heroes manly: Spider Man and the Hulk remain, air sealed, in my parents basement neatly stacked and presumably appreciating in value every day. Can you feel the wealth?

As for Howard, over 27 issues he's firstly abducted from his native world and dropped into the Florida Everglades by the demonic Thog of Overmaster of the dread realm Sominus. Eventually he ends up in Cleveland, Ohio, battling various super villians along the way including Garko the Man-Frog and vampire cow, Bessie the Hellcow. In his journey, Howard meets the sexy Beverly Switzer and a bizarre series of encounters followed. He battles Pro-Rata, and then Spider Man. He also fights Turnip-Man and the Kidney Lady. He then learns Quak Fu, encounters the Winky Man, becomes a wrestler, and fights an animated Gingerbread Man. After a short time in Cleveland, Howard and Beverly take to the road for New York City, where Howard is nominated for U.S. president by the All-Night Party (pictured) but a doctored-photo scandal leads him to Canada, and the defeat of a supervillain, Le Beaver, who falls to his death. Howard then suffers a nervous breakdown. And so it goes.

"trapped in a world he never made!"
Signature for Howard The Duck comic

Loot

I take Madeleine to swimming and we goof around before the pool doors open - pictured. Meanwhile, Eitan on being famous: "It is when you have done something that is really good like painting a picture or writing music." Eitan lost a tooth this week and is now loaded with Tooth Ferry cash - to be spent on football cards for sure. He rubs his hands together anticipating a Joe Cole or Peter Crouch "Man Of The Match." I roll my eyes as this is all he talks about - comparing card values, players and teams. He knows every guy on England and awaits next month's friendly with France: "how many days until the game?" he begs. Our nanny Natasha, not a football fan, will see Chelsea today and I tell Eitan: "she has just gotten a lot more interesting to you." He shrugs in reply "Well besides they're behind Manchester United" which, of course Dear Reader, is his club. And there you have it.

Update: Eitan's savings of £11.52, carried in a sock, are dumped on the counter of the local news agent and 32 packs of trading cards are purchased. He's giddy and actually skips down the block. We bump into a bunch of his school chums on the high street and he shows off his loot to "ooos" and "ahhhhs." At six cards per pack, this should keep him busy for a day or so.

Cross The Line

Here we are around the corner on the school run. Eitan is grumpy because his football trading cards are left home - after he cannot get his s*** together to leave the house on-time. Madeleine hates to see her brother cry so she tries to relieve the tension: "Will you take away the T.V. dad? Will you?" His bad vibe continues until I threaten him with no school. He smells a bluff and turns homeward - "fine!" Momentarily flustered, I up the anti handing him the house keys and bidding him good-morning: "keep the place clean for Natasha" I say. This works and Fear Returns. Katie yesterday mentions that she thought I would be a more severe father (assumption: I'm not). The proof positive will be the 'morrow and whether the ship leaves the dock on time. Then we shall see if the battle has been won or temporarily delayed.

D.C.

Dan, pictured front, is a Columbia Business School pal who retired last year from a $5B hedge fund that he helped build in Minneapolis St-Paul. Now, as far as I can tell from his blog, all he does is bicycle. Er - bike, I mean to say. Dan has always been an intense fellow and now his secret athlete is unleashed. From what I can tell, he has a number of wheelers equipped for each season including today when the temps fall below -20 and the roads icy or closed. He's now working a MN CX 2008, even in February, and chides: "anybody who hates the CX does so because they are slow." Or a loser. Or fat. What would he say about my old Cannondale? I shudder. Dan races all year, sun or snow or worse and I spot a number of trophies and medals across his weblog. Happily he has created a community of wackos who share his passion, compare bike parts and tour the country or Europe. Oh boy, It is a good thing that his wife is interesting. Photo from Dan's blog.

Veggie Valentine

You may not "carrot" all for me the way I care for you.
You may "turnip" your nose
When I plead with you
But if your "heart" should "beet" with mine
Forever "lettuce" hope
There is no reason in the world
Why we two "Cantaloupe."

Sent to me by Katie (photo from the WWW)

My Valentine

Well, after the school drop I go to The Victoria for a dry cappuccino and to read my book. Sonnet joins me on her way home from an appointment - pictured - and we sit around talking kids and &c. We used to make a frequent breakfast at Mayfair favorite The Wolsely but these days I try not to go into town unless necessary. We now miss our fun dates which allowed us to talk outside of the daily routine (has anyone seen Bill Murray's "Groundhog Day"?). Yes, it's an effort to have adult reunions and this morning is a nice way to greet Valentines.

Madeleine has a nightmare and Sonnet lets her sleep on my side of the bed, forcing me eventually to the couch. When I ask her to describe the dream, she breathlessly tells me: "Shark, dad. With a red eye. Coming out of the Thames to grab me. And I couldn't run!" So last night I break the rules and allow Eitan to sleep in her room, which makes both happy (These camp-outs are limited to the week-end). Sonnet disapproves - another sign I've been rolled.

This morning Madeleine lies on the floor reading. I ask if she looks forward to being a teen-ager and she replies positive: "then I can have a pet" she says matter of factly. "But not a goldfish." She is no doubt counting her days and wishes for a pup or a cat.

Christmas Past

Here I am with Katie on her Upper West Side some time who-knows-when. This time of year I keep my eyes open for discarded Christmas trees - the thought of some poor bugger holding on to the holiday spirit months past the sell-by date is morbidly fascinating. I spotted a brown, dried-out fir in Notting Hill yesterday resting curbside (I sms'd Sonent). The record is late March. It is the same in New York BTW. Perhaps this is a Big City thing: people hiding away not wishing to face the New Year and its stress. Who knows? but it makes me anxious.

The kids have yoga this morning and I enjoy sitting through their class before the morning school bell. I use the time to read and am half way through Lord Jim ("You shall judge of a man by his foes as well as by his friends . . . "). Sonnet has her Fashion Week and complains when she cannot get a seat at the popular shows. I mean, really. She's home late paying witness to the Next Big Thing and I plan to watch "The Haunting" and not the silly remake with Nicole Kidman, mind you (Sonnet refuses to watch anything with even the most mild tension). The '63 film from Shirley Jackson's book remains a horror classic and has scared the bee-Jesus out of a generation of movie fans. It is a rough life indeed.

Good Bye, Roy

Roy Schieder, who died yesterday of a rare blood cancer, became famous thanks to the shark - a movie BTW I was not allowed to see in '75 though it was rated "PG" (in 1976 I was allowed to see "Orca," a killer-whale rip-off of Jaws. We were on summer holiday in Ohio). Schieder was a short tough-guy who always seemed genuine. He starred in several favorite films including Klute, The French Connection (which I watched last month) and The Marathon Man.

Appropriate to this photo, Madeleine had a "pool party" Saturday celebrating birthday number six. In attendance are 20 screaming kids who strip into their swim suits and kick and scratch (me) for an hour. And this before the drug surge from chocolate cake laced with bon bon decorations. We survive and Madeleine has a lovely afternoon. Eitan feels dejected but he works it out with hugs from me and mum.

I listen on the radio that we Brits will be charged for our water usage. Is nothing left sacred?

Madeleine happily exclaims: "Fan-tabby-tosa!"

"You're gonna need a bigger boat."
Roy Schieder in Jaws

Richmond

After morning swimming, we meet Paul and Camilla and Lars and the twins for a walk in Richmond Park than lunch riverside in Richmond. It is a beautiful, spring-like day in London and the masses fill our borough with their cars - the good with the bad. Lars retired last month at the ripe old age of 37 having founded a hedge fund Holte Capital four years ago. He and his family will spend several months "in the largest RV I can get my hands on" touring the United States beginning in the Deep South - a trip I have yet to do - lucky bastard. Lars's wife Puk is in Copenhagen for Fashion Week so he is solo with Anna and Sophia - both mischievous and two steps ahead of us adults, who are usually pre-occupied with whatever until some near catastrophe ("Eitan! Get down from that roof!"). After lunch we take in the sun on Richmond Common while the kids eat gelato and Paul, Lars and I exchange real estate pornography. Just your typical lazy Sunday, Oh, God bless England.

This old photo of the Kingston Bridge not far from us today. There is evidence that a wooden bridge has existed at Kingston since the 13th century. Until a wooden bridge was built at Putney in 1729, Kingston Bridge was the only bridge on the Thames between London Bridge and Staines Bridge. This contributed greatly to Kingston's success as a medieval market town (today I shop Gap, John Lewis and &c.)

The first masonry bridge was built in 1828 of Portland stone at a charge of £26,800 - the first stone was laid in 1825 and opened for tranport ion 1828. It became free from tolls in 1870 ending 650 years of charges (!) Celebrations including a fireworks show were followed a few days later with the burning of the toll-gates on Hampton Green, as one does. The most recent work was finished in 2000 to allow bicycle lanes, larger pavements and a bus lane. Photo from the National Archive and shows the first tram crossing.

From Russia

Here is the author whistl'n dixie at the end of a week. I meet new friend Brad from North Carolina this morning at the Royal Academy to see the Russians - a wonderful collection of paintings from the late 19th century to the mid 20th. The exhibit explores the interaction between Russian and French art during a period of profound social upheaval and political revolution, the program tells us. Works include many of the great pioneers of modern art from Realism and Impressionism to the abstract movements of Suprematism and Constructivism: Renoir, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Matisse together with Kandinsky, Tatlin and Malevich. The paintings are from four Russian Museums and opens with "Tolstoy In Bare Feet." Fantastic. The show almost did not arrive thanks to tense Russia-UK relations - Moscow demanded protection from descendants of former owners who have attempted to have the works impounded in recent past. In the end, the Ruskies are satisfied somehow and below is Matisse's The Dance, a centre piece of the show (image from the Matisse Archives):

Football UK

I and the kids watch England versus Switzerland last night in a "friendly", which we win 2-1. Joe Cole, pictured, sets up Jermaine Jenas for the first strike: Cole's footwork was masterful. When not with England, he plays with Chelsea - Eitan has his football card which notes: "Joe started his career playing for West Ham from an early age. He now plays fpr Chelsea as a high class midfielder. He made his debut for England in May 2001 playing against Mexico. Joe looks to be set to play for England for many years to come." The card trades pretty well at the schoolyard cards market (Eitan tells me).

The kids eventually go to sleep around 10PM and this morning is a drag getting them out of bed. Sonnet does the school run and runs ten minutes late (Eitan threatens not to go until I drop The Fury Of God on him).

Pre Fab Comes To London

While visiting the Tate Modern Sunday, I note a strange thing going up on the concourse. I now know it is the Maison Tropicale, designed by French architect Jean Prouvee (d. 1984) and purchased by hotelier Andre Balasz - it now stands proud on the Thames's south side, pictured. Maison is one of three designed by Prouve in pursuit of a demountable and remountable house. Ours was made in France and shipped by air to the Congo in 1951. If only houses could be made in factories like cars, Prouvee thought, then assembled in days, sitting lightly on the ground until moved elsewhere. How perfect for our mobile and unencumbered youthful world. His vision influenced Norman Foster and Richard Rogers and while Prouvee's dream remains unfulfilled, it has been revived in recent times by IKEA. In this line,Sonnet and I visited Le Corbusier's Villa Savoye at Poissy-sur-Seine in France pre-kids. It was equally groovy.

6 !

Madeleine turns a year and receives morning presents: "this is the best birthday ever!" she exclaims with her new watch, stuffed toys (thank you, Stan and Silver, for the cat) and pop up and other books and toys (this before the sun cracks the horizon). She marches out the door with two sacks full of Kit Kats for her class room and Sonnet observes the loving attention she gets from Mrs Reynolds who is no doubt equally excited by 25 kids on chocolate.

The Democratic primary has reached London and last night celebrates at the Porchester Hall with flags &c. for those who participated with a view. I can only image the coverage in the US but here the Obama-Clinton battle has received some considerable attention - a friend asks me why I would ever want a British passport given the sheer entertainment of the American presidency.

The older the fiddler, the sweeter the tune.
English Proverb

Ballach

Here is Adam in Southern California where he moved recently and bought a surf board. Adam and I have a lot of history going back to the seventh grade at King Junior High School. He introduced me to the cool crowd, then dubbed "the Benchies" and we have remained friends ever since. In 1995 when I returned to New York for business school, Adam crimped a room before Sonnet joined me with her cat. With Christian, Blake (at Columbia Law) and down-town artist Sarah all transplaced from the Bay Area, drinking martinis or having dinner parties was never more stylish. Even better was Katie nearby becoming a writer.

Cleavage

Here's another one from the Tate Sunday - The Kids Investigate. I'm excited by Super Duper Tuesday, which is getting its fair share of press in the UK. The British are entranced by the Democratic front-runners: a black man or a woman. Anyone in doubt of the the Great American Experiment have only to tune in today and November. The thing that irritates me though are the silly interviews with voters - I mean, do I really need to know what Sally, 32 and working at TJ's, really thinks? Or Fred, a paralegal in Memphis, who offers this: "after six years (!) of Bush, we want a motherly figure to lead us." Now there is some insight shared across Britain. Of better interest, the Demo party has united in London and there is a Obama celebration this evening in Notting Hill, U.S. passport required. Our friend Eric, who we saw for dinner Saturday, is advising Barack regarding the economy - Eric is a partner at McKinsey. He is also involved with the Obama campaign here in London and he has invited me to meet Michelle Obama during her fund raising visits.

"You know, my faith is one that admits some doubt. "
Barack Obama