$100 A Tank Cheap

Yes, even I wonder sometimes why Sonnet married me. Still, we have fun and here is another photograph from The Globe.

Britain really must address its oil consumption now that a gallon costs $10.50 and only going up (Bush three months ago told reporters they were nuts when $4 gas was suggested in the USA). It is easy to understand why: the world uses about 87 million barrels of oil a day, a quarter of it in the US. Saudi Arabia is the only country who can pump more - and they won't despite El Presidente's recent requests. Meanwhile, China is in its industrial revolution and then India. There are four oil fields in the world which produce over one million barrels per day: Ghawar, at 4.5 million; Cantarell in Mexico, at 2 million; Burgan in Kuwait at 1 million; and Da Qing in China at 1 million. Ghawar, at 5.5% of daily production is therefore extremely important to our well being, Dear Brother, and is expected to peak inside ten years. "The big risk in Saudi Arabia is that Ghawar's rate of decline increases to an alarming point," says Ali Morteza Samsam Bakhtiari, a senior official with the National Iranian Oil Company. "That will set bells ringing all over the oil world because Ghawar underpins Saudi output and Saudi undergirds worldwide production." Further: according to the Paris-based International Energy Agency yesterday, global need will increase to 116 million barrells a day by 2030 while production might not even make 100 million. That's a supply-demand issue dude.

Everything we see, do and touch based on cheap, or basically free, energy. Those days are gone man and the transition has yet to begin. It sure will help when we get Texas out of the White House and good riddance.

I ask Madeleine what she think we adults talk about. Says she: "us children. Fancy babes." (I think she meant "foxy" but who knows?)

4-0

On a beautiful yesterday, Sonnet turns forty. I pretend not to care, or at least not care as much as the FA Cup Final in Moscow featuring ManU v Chelsea (Eitan stays up until 11PM - sudden death PKs, dude). Sonnet and I meet at Somerset House in the afternoon to see an exhibition on fashion design and architecture and how the two shall intertwine (lots of Japanese work+the expected Frank Gehry, Herzog & de Meuron+etc.)

From there I take a new route home before ending up - surprise! - in front of Oxo Tower where we have dinner on the top floor, outside, overlooking Temple from parliament to Blackfriars - how green is London this time of year. Even nicer as the sun sets. I read notes from her family, including a power point presentation from Marcus complete with youthful photos and a poem - bravo!

The kids pick out a painting by our friend Sabi which she loves. We then go The Globe, via bankside, to see A Midsummer Night's Dream with just enough breeze to keep everybody happy. Manchester United eventually wins and the day complete.

"Dear Sonnet since it's your birthday we desided (sic) we would clear up the living room hope its tidy. From Eitan, Madeleine and Natasha"
Written by Eitan on Sonnet's fortieth birthday

Testing

Here's a photo, taken at St Paul's where Eitan now swims. It returns me to panic from an otherwise remembered care-free childhood. Who can forget standardized testing? Even the name sounds Big Brotherish and unpleasant. The first time I took the SATs was at the American School in Geneve, Switzerland, during my Junior year exchange. My performance was only mediocre so I did what every kid does: Stanley Kaplan and a re-take (Kaplan BTW was miserable and not my idea of a California summer). Anyway, on SAT #2, I had flu and over-slept the alarm. I was going to bag the thing but Grace got me into the car and we drove five blocks.... then ran out of gas. It was raining. Mom races back to the house, gets another car and breaks the law I'm sure to get me to the Oakland testing center 20 minutes late. My score goes up over 100 points and I to to college. Ghastly.

Swim

Here we are at the level-crossing, listening to the Stereophonics, on our way to St Paul's for Eitan's first swim-practice with the larger age-group. He tells me "I am a bit nervous" but otherwise he holds up OK. On the pool deck there are 40 or so swimmers of various ages and skills and Eitan is teamed up with the youngest or a crew of ten. They swim laps for an hour including pulling (with pull-bouy), kicking and stroke technique. It is a big step up in seriousness from his Sunday mornings. The program includes two evening work outs from 6-7PM+Saturday mornings - our goal is make two. In addition and as a bonus, Eitan is excited to have flippers and other kit which comes with the territory. So here I find myself yet again, Dear Father, parked on a bench and reading a book (this time Philip Roth's "I Married A Communist"). We are yet some years from early-morning practices so thank God for that. I tell Eitan Bravo! for giving it a go while his heart remains with football. It is on him should he wish to continue with swimming and for now it is all good.

Sabi

We make it out the door to the Hampton Pool for two hours of play on top of Eitan's swim practice this morning. Phew - they never stop. We have a great time and then Pizza Express where the Shakespeares wolf down an adult-size pizza each (usually I plan for the left-overs but today disappointed. Moe would understand). Then we head for the Wimbledon Art Studio to visit our friend Sabi whose work is on display and for sale during the open house. It turns out to be a fabulous exposure for Madeleine, our self-proclaimed artist, who gets to meet the artists in their natural environment. She is wide eyed and respectful, commenting quietly on what she likes (Sonnet reminds me that last month Madeleine asked if we could convert our shed into a painting room). She and Eitan collect post cards which is a genius way of keeping them attuned. I will try to get Madeleine back there soon for sure. Oh, and this mobile-phone pic sent to Katie to make her laugh. Says she: "YES".

Sunday Morning

After breakfast Eitan and Madeleine get stoned before the Olsen Twins - how the average Brit kid watches 55 hours of television a week is beyond me (BBC).

Sonnet is off to work to do some catch-up and I scheme for the day: Bath? Bournemouth? The seaside? All rejected due to drive-time. We agree on the Hampton pool and after tele will head there- assuming, of course, the weather holds which dicey as I blog this. While easy to forget we live on an island the weather, straight from the ocean, reminds us daily. No wonder weather is the Number One discussion topic here - sort of like guys and baseball in the US'A.

You Can't Make This Up

Reported on the cover of Fleet Street this morning: an MI5 officer (Britain's secret service) resigned after admitting his wife a prostitute who took part in a "Nazi-style orgy" with Max Mosley, the Formula One racing chief and one of sport's most powerful figures- pictured. 

Can you imagine director-general Jonathan Evans telling the Home Secretary and Super Gee that one? Mosley BTW is a real number: 68 years old and married for 48 years, his father led the Union of Fascists in the 1930s and his mother an admirer of Hitler. 

According to the press, Mosley's five-hour sex session with five call girls took place in an underground "torture chamber" in Chelsea, where the Oxford-educated former barrister reenacted a concentration camp scene complete with fancy dress and whips- all caught on secret video sold lovingly to rag mag News Of The World. In the video Mosley stands naked as a prostitute ties him up, orders him to lie face down then screams: "Face down! Did I say move? We don't want you to be comfortable." 

People, BTW, are sick and Mosley needs help, the pervy bastard. As says Sonnet: "the news here is never dull." (I debated whether to post this and decided the story, fully covered in England, shows a dark-side of here)

More Footie!

Cold and wet this morning on the pitch - in other words, back to the England we know and love. Eitan shivers away but refuses, at first, to where his jumper (I would have done the same). Now he sits in front of the television preparing for the FA Cup Final pitting Portsmouth against Cardiff and the first time since 1992 that one of the Big Four (ManU, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool) has not played for this trophy. An announcer notes that Portsmouth was eighth in the Premiere League and Eitan corrects him: "actually" says he, "they are seventh. We discuss this a bit and Eitan corrects himself: "Portsmouth lost against Blackburn two weeks ago I think." A quick search shows that 8th is the right answer.

Madeleine meanwhile is at Performance Class following her morning of swim team and football (watched by Sonnet). In swimming she makes good progress and swims crawl and backstroke across the pool, no problemo. Her upper body will strengthen to the sport and her stroke improve - at now there are a lot of moving parts each with its own intention. I think Madeleine suited for aquatics - she is a strong kid already and expected to grow to an above-average height. Who knows what she may become?

I sing to Madeleine until Sonnet tells me to put a sock in it:

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you
Tomorrow I'll miss you
Remember I'll always be true
And then while I'm away
I'll write home every day
And I'll send all my loving to you

Bertie

Here is Bertie at footie this morning. Bertie and Eitan started together at age-three while Bertie's father David and I have endured five seasons of sun and rain, often huddled on the sidelines, freezing cold and drinking coffee to stay worm. The kids are growing, boy.

Did you know that if the Democrats used the Republicans delegate allocation, Hillary would have won the primaries weeks ago? The Demo rules mandate that every candidate with more than 15% of a state's primary vote be allocated delegates in proportion to her share of the votes cast (for Repubs, it is winner takes all). Then of course there are the Super Delegates, which each party has. For the Democrats, S-D's are former Presidents, Vice Presidents, and Distinguished Party Leaders (19 in all), Democratic members of the Senate (48) and House of Representatives (222), Democratic Governors (31) and 398 members of the party's national body and a few add-ons. The total of 796 represents 20% of all delegates to the convention and important because they may chose regardless of the popular vote. And should you wonder, Dear Brother, if the S-D can be purchased why just ask California Super Delgate Steven Ybarra who says he will vote for the candidate who stumps up $20 million for his Mexican-American voter registration scheme and will stay undecided until "someone shows me the money." Bastard.

Eitan's football becoming a house issue as the dining room wall now his backstop.

Eitan tells me his new joke: "Once there was a man sitting on the toilet with his iPod. He iPood."

Eitan: "Dad you should have seen Rinaldo's skill when he was trashing Arsenal" (Arsenal, of course, being my team)"

Hair Cut

"Mom! Look at my hair cut!" Madeleine shouts as Sonnet walks through the door just now. It has been a while since her last salon and our Angel is, like, totally excited. Natasha is with them and Eitan plays his Nintendo, ignoring my arrival. From there, I take Eitan to St Paul's to check out the swim-team - he has been promoted to an older, more serious group which requires three-workouts per week and some logistics from us should he proceed. The boy's dry-run allows him to observe what he is getting us into - fair enough - and after 45-minutes he's decided: it is a "go." On the ride home we talk about achievement and what it means. We also discuss secondary schools and what it will take to go to a good one. Oh brother. Yesterday he receives an Achievement Award "for being a superb role model in Owls class" which Miss Sw. reads to the auditorium.

Oil reaches $128 a barrel. El Presidente urges (begs) the Saudis to produce more of it. There's a solution, dude.

Fashion In Motion

Erik and I join the Ladies That Lunch in South Kensington then see "China Fashion Now" at the V&A, where I take this cool photograph with my blackberry. On display is designer Ma Ke from Shanghai who was graduated from Suzhou Institute of Silk Textile Technology in 1992 and now has her own label Exception de Mixmind. Her interest, the guide book tells me, crosses between art and fashion and last year she became the first contemporary Chinese fashion designer to show at Paris Fashion Week. Today, her clothes are modeled by young and old who stand on illuminated pillars elevated five or six feet above the audience. Each is covered in brown or black chalk highlighting the costume's exotic nature. I see Sonnet and give her a big smooch.

This morning, against my initial disinterest, I attend local neighbor Stephanie's conference "Food For Life" in Richmond. Sensing an all-mothers affair I anticipate a struggle but instead find a relevant and compelling series of guest speakers at the top an important movement: healthy food for school children. The program was conceived six or seven years ago then earned national attention when Brit pop chef Jamie Oliver embraced it as his own, freeing up £400MM from Tony Blaire. Grande Dame Thatcher ensured school meals privatized and the lowest cost provider likely won the contract delivering food that "the staff wouldn't touch" one speaker notes. Along the way, skilled cooks desert and meal-preparers open bags and microwave - serve it up! Sadly the result: Britain's obesity rate is 25% which may eventually bankrupt the NHS. We also know the link between nutrition and learning - kids that don't have it don't get it, literally. Further, 2.5 million of our children live at the government's poverty line and school may be their only "square" of the day. At home, Eitan and Madeleine really have no connection between what they eat and where it comes from: they see Waitrose and packaging. Food For Life gets the kids - and schools - and communities - back to the basics of local sourcing and preparation. Given today's huge turn-out and across the nation, it is a winner, for sure. BTW Jamie Oliver did not attend but sent a video where he awknowledged Stephanie - bravo!

"Change You Deserve"

John McCain's new logo makes him sound like a fast food restaurant. The only thing missing is the exclamation point. Good luck to him and the Republicans following losses in Louisiana, Mississippi and the Illinois district of former Republican speaker Dennis Hastert.

Sonnet has recovered it seems from Italy where she visited design houses like Gucci and Prada, who so kindly sent her an ecoutrement for her display collection (not to be worn by her, Dear Sister). A highlight was dinner with Alvise Pasigli who is the Director of a leading art house/ publising company. In the room were the Great and the Good, with a matching view of the Tuscan hills surrounding Florence. Mio Dio tali lavori Hare.

My favorite slogans, culled from the net:
"Beanz Meanz Heinz" (Heinz, 1967)
"I think, therefore IBM" (IBM, 198?)
"Just do it" (Nike,1988)
"The future's bright. The future's Orange" (Orange Mobile, 1996)
"You'll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent" (Pepsodent, 1956)

"It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken" (Perdue chickens, 1972)
"A little dab'll do ya” (Brylcreem, 1949)
“It's Miller time!” (Miller, 197?)
"Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't" (Peter Paul Mounds/ Almond Joy, 1953)
"I'd walk a mile for a Camel" (Camel cigarettes, 1921)

"Merrill Lynch is bullish on America" (Merrill Lynch, 1973)
"Give us 20 minutes and we'll give you the world" (WINS Radio, New York)
A Mars a day helps you work, rest and play" (Mars, 1965)
"Calgon, take me away" (Calgon, 1985)
"I bet he drinks Carling Black Label" (Carling Black Label, 1989)

"Does she or doesn't she?" (Clairol, 1964)

Red Button

Well, today's news on the UK economy sure ain't good. Super Gee, attempting to draw a line under the 10p fiasco (he abolished the lower tax rate benefiting the country's poorest) today borrows £2.7B for a hand-out to lower-income families. Alistair Darling is crucified on this morning's Radio 4 where he is more-or-less called a liar when he says govt has not broken the "Golden Rule" of borrowing only for investment. Despite Darling, no one can recall a "mini budget" like now and certainly never a tax change two months from the annual budget. Adding to the troubles, housing minister Caroline Flint arrived at 10 Downing St. for a cabinet yesterday with a set of briefing papers unwittingly visible and photographed by the pap: Dear Reader, government hopes for a 5-10% property price decline while indicating it could be much worse. Caroline notes: "we really have no idea." The Royal Institution of Chartered Surveyors chimes in with its most pessimistic house price survey since measurement began in 1978. Oh, and inflation: 3% in April or 1% more than the Bank of England's target. Result: don't expect fiscal stimulus from interest rate reductions and more bad news for home owners. While it is damn gloomy, net borrowing in the UK stands at 2.5% GDP and while high for most big economies (excluding the good 'ol US'A), it certainly is not near crisis level. Still in 1990 a similar hallucinatory Treasury (this time Tories), projected the books would balance by 1993-94 when the reality became an overdraft of 8% GDP. So where from today? Firstly, Gee must consider breaking his arbitrary pledge to keep public sector net debt below 40% GDP. Secondly, there must be a debate about how big government should be - just in time for the next general election, thank goodness. Image from Techzoogle.com

City Sex

Does it strike anybody as odd that "Sex and the City" premiers in London? I'm not surprised by the local but rather the juxtaposition of shopping obsessed characters and the very real credit crunch. Yet the turn-out in Leicester Square for last night's movie premier at near hysterical levels with devoted fans - mostly women - simply emoting, Dear Mother. There was laughter, tears of joy and of course nostalgia. To its credit, "Sex and the City" made it ok to discuss openly a woman's position on sex (snigger) and we have grown up a bit since the series began ten years ago with Samantha having a random - then shocking - affair in the pilot (says her randy: "I don't intend to spend the night"). It also presents women who enjoy confidence and high profile careers who also enjoy sex and, of course, gossip making them just like you and me brother. This particularly relevant in my circle given the age bracket: mid-career, pre-kids and often single, which includes many of my MBA and other female friends who must consider their professional aspirations and babies. These women may be single or married -the myth of life-time fertility and the feminist message "you can have it all" family and career- butts rudely against declining fertility. From the passenger's seat I observe that there is no perfect answer- though whatever route may indeed be perfect. I have seen this to be so in almost all cases of the people I know. Any way, "Sex and the City" despite its silly and infantile consumerism &c. does present elements of the sexual dilemma fairly or, at least, openly (glam photo from HBO.com)

And since you ask: my favorite "Sex and the City" moment: when Carrie realizes that she’s spent $40,000 on shoes but could not secure a loan on her own to buy out her share of the co-op after she breaks up with Aidan.

I sit in Madeleine's class and the kids are chirpy - no doubt the continuing spring weather raises the energy and everybody in a good mood. Madeleine in particular as she is awarded "Star Of The Day" and beams with pride as she walks to the class front to accept her sticker, looking at me always from the corner of her eye (how my heart swells, Dear Reader). From there the children learn about "connectors" ("and, but, because...") then we split into various chores and I am tasked with the "Owls" to make 3-D constructions - fun! We cut, paste, glue and discuss our objets and everybody feels the winner.

Walking to school, I ask Madeleine at what age one becomes an adult. She: "60? No, wait - 30!" (I tell her never, if she is lucky)

I comment on Eitan's (uncut) hair and note that Wayne Rooney keeps his trim. He replies instantly: "Well, look at Crouch. Or Stevie Gee- he's got long hair!" And then the kicker: "If I cut my hair short, at least I can have a mohican (I think he means mohawk) like Flabbergast." (Les Flabbergast plays for Arsenal)

On Inflation

Our little performer before school and by far the best part of my day. After the drop, I join Eitan's class to help his teacher Miss Sw. and enjoy the antics - the kids have potted beans and over the weekend squirrels raided the farm. Chaos and disappointment turns into replanting and determination. After science and during roll-call (who can forget?) the children are asked to describe their various weekends then we jump into "advertising." To explain, Miss Sw. puts three van Gough paintings on the key board and hands go up for marketing-words: "One-of-a-kind!" "Famous painter!" "Buy it for £1 only!" Yes, the kids know how to sell and Eitan gets style points offering the definition of "imperative" or a "bossy order. " hmmm.

The typical British family is spending almost £1000 a year extra on food as increase in the price of a basket of essentials surged 19.1% in May, according to the Daily Mail Cost of Living Index. The surge has been triggered by a worldwide crisis over supplies of key crops like corn, wheat and rice as the Western World thirsts for biofuels (the EU agreed this year that biofuel content of petrol and diesel should be 2.5% rising to 10% by 2020). The effect of biofuels on food prices dramatic: a litre of corn oil has doubled in a year to £1.38; fusilli pasta, made from wheat, is up 81%; a baguette by 41% and Weetabix cereal 21%. If we include further 'must-pay' bills for petrol, mortgages, power and council tax, the extra cost per household rise to £2,500. Despite the pocket pinch, the inflation rate reported by government is 2.6% - Alistair Darling yet again is smoking dope. The cost of under-reporting: the Bank of England has lowered interest rates from 5.5% to 5% attempting to maintain the housing market. But savings trumps home values or at least it has in the past: this country's rate peaked at 17% in 1979 and two years later Britain borrowed £4B from the World Bank and Thatcher arrived with her black whip cracking. Today: further pressure to raise rates is the pound, which has fallen sharply against the Euro. At the day's end, owning a variable rate mortgage coming off an entrance holiday is painful: housing repossessions are up 17% from last year. I think the worst to come yet.

"And so, we're strongly committed to corn-based ethanol produced in America. Yet you've got to recognize there are limits to how much corn can be used for ethanol. I mean, after all, we got to eat some."
El Presidente, April 25, 2006, actually prescient for once

Sunny

Another beautiful late spring day and after Eitan's swim-team I walk with the Shakespeares to the news agent for the papers. Here Madeleine poses in front of the veterinarians and tells me "I am an animal" - I thought she was doing a yoga pose. At the store, I buy Madeleine Skittles ("can I say no to you?" I ask) while Eitan buys - yes, you guessed it- football cards. Greedily ripping off the wrapper he squeals: "Woo hoo! Guess which one I got Dad!" When I give him a funny look he continues: "His name begins with a 'W' and he plays for Manchester United." Even Moe and Stan should know this one so I torture the boy making up last-names. Finally Madeleine blurts out "WAYNE ROONEY DAD!" and mission accomplished.

Eitan's today's homework is to double, or half, the amounts of a cooking recipe. Madeleine's job is to draw a room from a bird's eye view, ie, above. She also must label the equipment in a playground, which will take care of our fun afternoon.

I point out a "foxy babe" to Eitan in today's newspaper. Says Eitan: "Shoosh. It. Up."

Eitan asks: "Dad, who do you think would win a thumb wrestle- You or Hesky?" (Hesky used to play for England)

Eitan takes a well earned victory as Manchester United defeats Wigan, ensuring their top spot in the Premier League. Chelsea is second followed by Arsenal and Liverpool. We listen to the game and Eitan jumps up and down (literally) for the outcome. He is a running commentary on the players, other games and final rankings. At the end he asks me slyly: "are you going to support ManU now? I would" (little monster). Meanwhile, Madeleine strips for a hose-down in the back yard and now naps during l'excitation.

Madeleine asks if she can have a "pepperoni" with today's picnic. A pepperoni, Dear Sister, is a long salami like sausage made of who knows? what meats. But pretty damn good BTW.

Fire Sale

Eitan's footie this morning is brilliant - he has moved up, again, to an older group and still one of the top two or three on the pitch. Today's memorable occurred near me on the sideline: the boy, surrounded by four players, threads the ball and finds the one clear gap and - boom! - he nails it in a perfect pass to an open team mate who is clear for the score. It is a hot morning and both he and Madeleine are beat red from exertion (all the kids huff and puff back and forth in their heat producing scrum). Madeleine also does swim practice before football than performance class afterwards where Sonnet now picks her up. I walk Eitan home and he pleads for a match-attack "golden tin" for his cards collection. It is ten quid, apparently. I know the boy has no cash since I was with him when he purchased his £27 Manchester United tee-shirt after saving diligently for a month. When I query, he informs me matter-of-factly that he has sold books to Madeleine "just like at the library." When I tell him this is no way to make money, Eitan informs me that "Madeleine was begging me to do it." He gets that I am not pleased with the deal and smirks: "I've also sold other things in my collection." It turns out to Madeleine. Anybody familiar with John Fitzergerald's "The Great Brain" series will be familiar with this scenario. In fairness, I need to think of some chores for the kids to make spending money and not fleece each other (Eitan). Their weekly allowance stands at three-pounds. Meanwhile there will be no golden tin.

At the library I ask Madeleine to read a few pages. She: "Aw, dad! I did NOT come to the library to read books."

I ask Madeleine what she will be when she grows up. She: "Definately an artist. I want to work in a museum, just like mum. It would be surrounded by paintings. My paintings."

This photo taken just now- Eitan refuses a haircut

Why We Love/ Hate Italy

Introducing Mara Carfagna, a former topless model and beauty queen who Silvio Berlusconi appoints Equal Opportunity Minister in his cabinet as of today. Married to a working mother I can feel the outrage - and how about those women who galvanised the 70s with equal opportunity ? Berlusconi chose Carfagna as one of four women ministers - not such a bad thing given before there were none. Carfagna's place writ in stone perhaps from last year's awards dinner when Silvio told her that if he was not married he would "gladly marry her." (His wife demanded, via a national newspaper, that her husband apologise. He did). So what are Carfagna's qualifications other than some nice tits? Firstly, she earned a law degree from Salerno University and worked for Mediaset - Berlusconi's TV company. She appeared on several programmes then became MP. Sweet career path, dude! Says her on being Miss Italy: "That competition makes you as a women, it matures you" and "all that stress, that desire to win, it makes you understand who you are." Well thank goodness for her - Italy has no worries of marching forwards in time.

“If I, taking care of everyone's interests, also take care of my own, you can't talk about a conflict of interest.”
Silvio Berlusconi

2001

From July or eight months old. Time flies.

This morning I do the school drop and the Shakespeares drag their guitars, lunch boxes, water bottles, take-home satchels and music folders. It takes a miracle to get out the door but somehow every day is a.... From there I go to the next door Victoria to read a book and drink black coffee - another gorgeous morning in London. The post-drop-moms are in full-force sunning themselves on the terrace and gossiping. I inadvertently over-hear the running commentary including preferred yoga (pilates popular), summer hols (Italy, Portugal or America?) and of course absent mums (positive generally). I receive a few suspicious looks then considered part of the furniture, like everything else outside the private cosmos. Meanwhile Sonnet in Italy worries about a tomorrow's general transportation strike which could leave her stranded in Florence. Rough life but she knows she is well-missed here for sure.

On Potato Chips

It is spring - finally - and I am way under-motivated so here I blog on a potato chip. Along with English and oganising the industrial world, Britain has given us the salt and vinegar crisp - a world beater, in my opinion. One of the oldest is Seabrook who have been frying since 1945. The company was founded by Charles Brook in Bradford, Northern England where they are extremely popular - I can only find them locally at sandwich shops catering to lorry drivers and construction workers. According to one source, Seabrook used to be famous for its misuse of quotation marks like "See" what you "Buy" and Tomato Sauce "Flavour" (presumably they are more careful now and my today's bag error free). The real reason for my interest in Seabrook is their original, and still available "flavours": bacon & brown sauce, beefy, Canadian ham, cheese & onion, cheesy, chicken & stuffing, cream cheese & chives, pickled onion, prawn cocktail (yum!), roasted garlic, sea & black pepper, sea salt and vinegar, smokey bacon, spring onion, tomato ketchup, worcestor sauce and of course unsalted. Phew! (photo from snackspot.org.uk)

And how does one eat a potato chip in Britain? Delicately, Dear Reader, delicately. On many an occasion I have observed a woman using her thumb and middle finger to gently and soundlessly pluck a crisp from bag, placing it into mouth and contemplating the curious flavour for an oh-so-brief moment of guilty pleasure. This very different from Americans where it is stuff stuff stuff!

Barney

A "barney," from the cartoon Flintstones character Barney Rubble, is popular among surfers and mountain bikers who often use it disparagingly about new or aspiring participants they believe are getting in the way of ‘real’ athletes. In this case, me with Adam in Los Angeles several weeks ago. In Adam's note to me with photo, he notes rather too gleefully: "It's all about the ear flaps" - that's a surfing hat dude. Chin strap is for wipe outs.

Despite my inability to properly ride the long board, I have grown up with the Pacific and spent many an afternoon with Adam and other friends at classic breaks like Four Mile and Three Mile points - distances, respectively, from the Santa Cruz pier. To reach the surf, one parks on the HW1 then walks a mile through cabbage or lettuce fields to the cliffs shinnying down to the water (no sandy beaches here). From there it is cold and often pea soup foggy - the water 62° - and kelp reaching up from the bottomless black. It is easy to allow one's imagination to wander especially when white sea lions dart underneath: curious spectators they. The locals hate day trippers and worse if they are on a boogy board like me then. Yes, "barney" was heard and sometimes encouragement like: "you're never going to catch a fuck'n wave, dude."

Still, I've been fortunate to goof with the best including writer Dan, who wrote a minor classic "Caught Inside" about his year on the Northern California ocean. Dan introduced me to Grady, a fellow in his 50s who surfs every day and was bit by a Great White with scar tissue proving his encounter. Grady told me then: "I was on my board then struck by what felt like a bus. Then I was 15 feet under water looking eye-to-eye with a shark" which let him go allowing him to make the surface. His pals put him on a board (his chopped), somehow got him to a hospital, and he tells the story today lucky him. Grady concluded: "I was back on the water in a month."

New London mayor Boris announces today his first policy: no open alcoholic containers on buses or public transportation. Ok, a start - but isn't this blindingly obvious?

Peaches Is In Trouble!

The irrepressible "model" and daughter of Sir Bob Geldorf, Peaches, caught on camera buying £190 of coke, noting "I'm going to need Valium tomorrow after this." The video secretly-shot as part of Scotland Yard's investigation into drugs to young stars. Peaches is 19 but a star? Because this is Britain: 1. Peaches now everywhere on Fleet Street and 2. she will avoid jail time. Britain and drugs - a real problem and the last twelve months has seen some heavy partying: video footage of singer Amy Winehouse smoking crack at a party; Kate Moss on film shoveling cocaine up her nose; Pete Doherty and heroine. The fuck-up that is Peaches is made worse given her mother Paula Yates died from a heroin overdose in 2000 at 41 .

It is not just the stars either: a cover-line story in today's Daily Mail shames a British couple on holiday in Portugal who drank themselves into a stupor in front of their children. Police were called Friday night after bank manager Eamon McGuckin found passed out in a hotel reception. Mrs. McGuckin vomited in front of their crying kids and then collapsed. Notes a Mail source: "this couple are devoted to their children and would never do anything to harm them...." I mean, who are these people?

Britain, we all know, is a topped up nation and Super Gee's 24-hour liquor has - ding! ding! - increased alcohol consumption across the isle. We are now the worst binge drinkers in Europe and a nasty little trend is teenage girls, who are the fastest rising drinks consumers.

I do recall one Sunday early-morning train ride to Oxford upon arriving in England and watching a group of seven or eight boys stack pints of bitter, read porn mags and screech like monkeys - us passengers, while aghast, helpless to act. Now, ten years later, it is the ladettes causing equal trouble. I personally do not care if someone as stupid as Peaches Geldorf or Kate Moss toss it all away but I do care if my kids one day view them as role models. It also bothers me that these yobs break the drugs-laws then walk scot free. Our society pays for it somehow, no doubt there. Good God! In my older-age, am I becoming a Tory?! or worse... a Republican?!

"A video? What video? Fuck off, I don't want to know." "Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! Just fuck off!"
--Kate Moss, when asked about the video of her snorting cocaine

Zoo

I take the monkeys to the London Zoo on a lovely bank holiday - the first in like ten years. We drive northwest to our old stomping grounds Regents Park and Primrose Hill and surprise! no parking, just like old times. Undaunted we end up in nearby St John's Wood and I don't mind the walk though the kids complain - oh, sweet hardship. The zoo BTW is the world's oldest scientific zoo and was opened on in 1828. It was originally intended to be used as a collection for scientific study, I learn from a grounds person. It was opened to the public in 1847. Today it houses a collection of 704 species of animals, with 16,802 individuals, making it one of the largest collections in the U.K. (I learn from their website). Physically the zoo is a wonder nestled inside Regents Park with an underground connecting the zoo's outer perimeter to the inner otherwise separated by the Regents canal and the Outer Circle road (got that?). Our favorites are the gorillas (remarkable), giraffes (walk-up observatory), reptiles (vipers and poisons) and of course the lions, who chill out in the 70-degree weather. Just like the Ngorongoro crater, I am sure. From the zoo we go to Primrose Hill, spread a linen blanket and play footie or do nothing before home - the kids strip for the car ride. Tonight: pizza and a movie. Perfect.

In their own words:
"Is there anything that will interest me here?" Eitan asks by the Lion's den

"That one is riding on top of the other's back." Eitan by the Llamas

"Daddy it is so cute!" Madeleine on the naked, eyeless, mole rat

"I wouldn't want to be in that garden." Madeleine seeing the hissing cockroaches

"Lookit - that one has big lips." Madeleine on a sea anemone

When I tell the kids "I've had it - no ice cream" if they say it again, Eitan spells out ice cream

"I am dying for an ice cream. I've been waiting for hours!" Madeleine just won't give it up

Madeleine sees a feeder in the vulture cage: "why can't we go in there?"

In the reptiles den I ask Eitan why it might be an advantage to have cold blood. He begins: "Imagine if you were in a jacuzzi...."

Me to Madeleine: "The only thing I want is for your to be happy."
Madeleine to me: "I would be even happier if you just went away."

We make animal sounds on the car drive home

Boris

So who is this Boris Johnson, who at Midnight became London's mayor?

First of all, he is British and American, having been born there, and journalist and author formerly serving as editor of the right-wing rag The Spectator. As a media schleb, his TV appearances include car-show Top Gear and The Dream of Rome; more famously he has been on Have I got News For You as a guest-presenter and panelist- this show, Dear Reader, the pyramid's peak of savvy and savaging current humours.

From there, Boris was elected as Member of Parliament for Henley (famous for its boat races) in 2001 and was Shadow Minister for Higher Education, until his plan to run for the London mayoral election this year. He comes across as eccentric (which we love) and a bit clownish (one politician notes "Borris Johnson shortened is "bafoon") and he has survived the public airing of an extramarital affair whose existence he denied.

He has also been forced to apologies to whole cities, like Liverpool, that he offended in one way or another; and has been prone to saying things like "Voting Tory will cause your wife to have bigger breasts and increase your chances of owning a BMW M3." In other words, we like him.

As the IHT reports, Boris has developed a reputation for his fearsome but un-serious intellect and for wading into and out of embarrassing scrapes. We all remember his comment on his Tory friend David Cameron: "I'm backing David Cameron's campaign out of pure, cynical self-interest." So why did London switch horse following Red Ken's eight-years in office? Of course in part it is the national malaise and rejection of Super Gee's Labour.

Ken, a Labourite, has seemed more or less above-boards yet has surrounded himself with some notoriously shady people including his Senior Advisor Lee Jasper, who received millions of pounds in grants in return for apparently very little and now investigated by the Metropolitan Police. Ken has also had his fair share of politically incorrect scrapes including calling an Evening Standard reporter a "concentration camp guard" then refused to apologies.

In the end for Londoners, Ken's benchmarks have been every-day things like traffic, poor or failing schools and hospitals. While I support fully his wonderful Congestion Charge, London trails in almost every category: school test scores trail the UK averages, NHS wait-lists are longest in Britain, over-crowding on public transportation endemic and etc.

While every city major city faces these problems, London onerously exports £20 billion annually outside the Southeast. We London tax-payers, who account for Britain's economy, receive the worst treatment in the UK - one is punished to live here. Boris presents a new face and we hope, as he says from today, "we will work like crazy."
Photo from MP Richard Spring's blog.

Womanhood

One of the oldest symbols of the Jewish faith is the menorah, a seven-branched candelabrum used in the Temple. It has been said that the menorah is a symbol of the nation of Israel and their mission to be "a light unto the nations." (Isaiah 42:6). The sages emphasize that light is not a violent force; Israel is to accomplish its mission by setting an example, not by using force. This idea is highlighted in the vision in Zechariah 4:1-6. Zechariah sees a menorah, and G-d explains: "Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit." Any case, Sonnet and I attend Julia's Bot Mitzvah yesterday. The ceremony is at the West London Synagogue which was founded in 1840 and the first Reform Synagogue in Britain. The reception follows at the V&A. On a lovely spring evening we drink champagne cocktails in the sculpture gallery or chit-chat in the inner court-yard which is open for the occasion. Afterwards we have dinner and toasts at the entrance hall finished with disco-dancing. We are struck by Julia's poise - she appears calm during her recitals and later-evening recognitions - it strikes me that Madeleine is only seven years away from Julia, who has become an adult before us (we met her when she was Eitan's age now). We are seated at a fascinating table including Sainabe (I met her Tuesday), a women joining Gordon Brown's cabinet two months ago (oh dear), a Palestinian investment banker, an Italian home-maker with a PhD in Philosophy and Political Science... and these folks on my side of the table only.

The kids now watch Ben 10 as I blog. Sonnet jogs to her museum for some work before a trip to Italy from tomorrow to Friday. I need to motivate as Eitan and Madeleine's eyes are sauce-panned and bleary blank. Ah yes, television - no plot required, Dear Sister.

Bikini Nation

Is Halle Berry's bikini appropriate for the Imperial War Museum, which otherwise remembers Britain's wartime? Halle's bottoms are part of an exhibition of James Bond memorabilia now on display and meant to boost visitor traffic - which it does. The bigger question, Dear Brother, is whether our cultural institutions are being dumbed-down following free-entry introduced by Labour seven-years ago. There is no doubt that more Brits go to museums and galleries - up 83% since 20001 - but at what cost? Museums, including Sonnet's V&A, compete for finite government or lottery largesse divided, in part, on foot-traffic - the more visitors, the more cash. In response museums have given the people what they want: special exhibitions that draw the suburban bus-loads. Examples are dinosaurs and the inner workings of the lavatory. For its part the V&A, following last year's popular Kylie Minogue exhibition replete with shiny golden worn hot-pants, now displays dresses from the Supremes (this is NOT hosted by Sonnet's department). It seems to me that our museums should be resisting the infantilisation of British culture but alas often they seem to be leading the charge. Still, Halle Berry is hot and Moe and I used to go to Bond double-features so why me protest? I wonder.

Vote

Britain shifts underneath following this week's local elections (the equivalent of the mid-terms in the United States). Labour is trounced putting forward its worse showing in forty-years while losing at least 358 seats and 10 councils. The Conservative Party picks up 235 seats and eight councils and the whisper is their earning a majority of 138 seats at the House of Commons, should the general election be today. In the popular vote, the Tories take 45% followed by the Liberal Democrats (25%) and Labour (24%). This is the biggest transfer since John Major's crash-out opening the way for Tony. Then, the Tories had 12% of the popular vote and pundits suggested it could be the permanent end of the party. Politics, if we know anything, is never permanent - this is for sure. Gordon Brown is appropriately devastated and acknowledges the "unsatisfactory showing." Sadly for Gee, he has been a self-made hash the last twelve-months beginning with the faux general election and more recently the abolishment of the 10p tax benefiting the country's poorest. In the middle we've had flood, lost-datas, the non-dom fiasco, botched Olympics opening ceremony, Northern Rock collapse, donor scandals, stalled economy and a poor housing market. Phew! Good bye, Sweet Labour.

Here is Eitan at The Orangery. This morning he files his cards into a football "Dream Team" debating himself on every position: Is Arteta really good enough for mid-field? And Michael Owen has been injured. The obvious choices are Wayne Rooney, Rinaldo, and Stephan Gerard for Liverpool (the boys call him "Stevie G"). On football, Eitan says: "I love it. It is my favorite thing in the world." He now begs to see Stevie G's top-ten goals on google.

"The ship of state is heading towards the rocks.
Tory spokesman Ed Pickles, predicting Gordon Brown in 2010 or the latest he can hold the next general election

Kooks

Sonnet and I head for the Brixton Academey and the Kooks, the hottest band in the UK at the moment. The Kooks come from Brighton and bring two crucial things to their music: a wealth of ideas and an awareness of their place in their musical lineage. Which is why it's probably so appropriate that Inside In/Inside Out was recorded at The Kinks' Ray Davies' own studio - Kooks frontman Luke Pritchard, like Davies, seems to have a knack for churning out catchy guitar-pop nuggets. I've been following the band since their '06 debut which is smashing (their follow-up, released this week, average). The sold-out Brixton lives up to the billing from the first song "Ooh La", which sends the audience wild. Sonnet is a trooper, as usual, probably dreaming of opera or the ballet. The photo I chose conveys (at least I think) the intensity of the show. On the grand-finally call-back, lead singer Luke Pritchard's guitar is fucked and he throws the thing down and jumps into the audience - surprising everybody - while continuing to belt away "Sea The World." Classic stuff. On the way out I buy the concert T-shirt which has their UK tour stops - while places I never want to visit, it is way cool nonetheless.

"But uh oh, I love her because
She moves in her own way
But uh oh, she came to my show
Just to hear about my day"
Chorus, She Moves In Her Own Ways

That Lizard

Roger takes a photo of a lizard in each country he visits last week, including England on the bottom right (note that Madeleine wants her brother in the frame). Roger does this for his 10-year old daughter and I think he is on to something here. It is pretty damn silly and totally connects his journey - an easy blog concept that I'm sure would generate mucho interest. Roger?

I'm back from Köln where Hans and I pitch up some business and drink beer (a lot). Beforehand I allow myself a few hours to visit an old friend and Museum Ludwig which is modern art and has the largest Picasso collection in Europe. No doubt, Dear Sister, I am able to impress our afternoon meeting with my knowledge of German contemporaries. For dinner we head to Frue, a famous brewery that serves traditional fare - sausages, saurkraut, mash and studel. They only brew one type of beer. All year round, just one beer, but I am not complaining. Afterwards we go to a bona fide beer hall nearby our hotel - crowded, smokey and jammed packed with young and old. They and we drink .... beer. As Hans says: "The beer here is good." And amen.

In a further nod to Big Brother, unified traffic wardens and attendants have been renamed Civil Enforcement Officers. They give out 7.8-million penalty charge tickets in 2006, up by 169,000 the year-before. This excludes the latest development of CCTV, which adds another 2-million tickets according to Daily Mail, up from 320,000 in 1997. It is the way of the future man. Nobody cares.

Zainab Salbi - Women for Women

Tuesday evening Sonnet and I got to a black-tie fundraiser for Women for Women International. The event is held at the V&A and organised by our friend Christine. After a reception in the main entrance under the Chihuly with dance by Sadler's Wells (fabulous), we have dinner in the Raphael cartoon gallery where cool stuff like a day on Sting and Trudy's organic farm or an evening with Gordon Ramsey is auctioned for the cause. In all and by my estimate, over $300,000 is raised. As for Women for Women: humanitarian organisation that provides financial and emotional support to women survivors of war. Their programs help women achieve self-sufficiency through direct aid, rights education, job skills training and small business development. In 2005, the organization distributed $9.3 million in aid to 30,000 women. Here is their report from Sudan. The organization was co-founded by Zainab Salbi who is with us for the night and I have a chance to meet briefly (I will introduce her to Katie regarding the Op-Ed project). Salbi is an Iraqi writer and activist born in Bahgdad then to the U.S. at 19; her experience with the Iran-Iraq war sensitized her to the plight of women in war worldwide. Her honors include The Forbes Magazine Trailblazer Award; Time Magazine "innovator of the month", 2007 World Economic Forum in Devos "Young Global Leader" and in 2006 Women for Women received the Conrad N. Hilton Humanitarian award. She rocks.

Barak

Last night I am at a fund raiser for President Obama in Notting Hill at Elizabeth Murdoch's house (one forgets how groomed and toned is the American ex-pat crowd. The women aren't bad looking either). Gweneth Paltrow was the co-host but had to "dash off to America" to be on the Jay Leno Show leaving us with a note stating "Barak is great" and blah blah blah. In truth, the Senator is great - he joins to us from Indiana on the evening's later-side following a "red-line" (the cool expression for a hand-shaking and flesh-pressing) via conference call. Barak talks for 30 minutes including Q&A. He describes his campaign as a thesis (I paraphrase): "18 months ago I believed the American people to be a decent folk whose beliefs and desires today are not matched by the country's leadership over these last eight-years. I am proud to report that my views have been supported in this extraordinary campaign.... " His voice and tone are measured and direct - no worry here of a mis-quote or gaffe. Obama's speech-pattern has mini-pauses which offer natural "page-breaks" or suggest carefully chosen words. How nice to feel confidence or more in an American official - which has so not been the case since 1998. The last question posed - "what is your favorite colour?" - is batted down first: "is my daughter in your audience?" and then: "blue." Bravo. Speaking to Murdoch on the way-out, I note with some pride my Berkeley roots and we all agree that Barak brings it on. Now he needs to bring it home.

Rocky

Katie spots a wildlife during her late evening run in Central Park with comrade Stacy. She captures the sneaks on her Blackberry - they're probably fed cat food by some weirdo in a nearby high-rise. Clearly they are not afraid of passer-bys.

Rough Housing

Here is another one from yesterday. Shortly before it starts raining, I might add. Things are back to whatever normal as the kids behind in their home work and Eitan particularly grumpy feeling that everybody is against him. This is a hold-over from last night's punishment when I threatened him with exclusion from the ManU v. Barcelona re-match Tuesday after he drew in Madeleine's game book purchased by her, Dear Sister, with hard earned cash. Eitan must repay her five-quid ("squid") and to add to the measure, I take an oversized Cadbury chocolate bar until Madeleine is made whole. Anyway, the boy's homework is to draw an instructional book, describe some action and make a five-word glossary. Eitan choses The Atlas and targets Australia. He gets into the thing - "this is fun!" - and pulls words like North Pole, continent, wild life and nature. He colours in his mapping then happily skips off to school with Sonnet - task complete. Phew!

The other main activity this past weekend is our school's Fun Run or five-miles of Richmond Park. Roger and I lament: "so where's the fun?" but have a great time anyway. Both kids complete then we have a BBQ on the school grounds and in glorious - and well appreciated - sunshine.

Rogé

Roger at Kew Gardens yesterday, pictured - he gets the wise-cracker from Texas mother Geenie, God Bless Her. I have been familiar with the look since August 19, 1985 when we first met at Brown. Today, Roger is Microsoft Exchange after joining Microsoft five years ago. He manages a team of 11 and offers, I imagine, the proper balance of focus, silliness and anxiety necessary to make the $2 B unit hum at top pace. It must be a fun group with him.

Madeleine and I head to Terminal Five to pick up Roger late Friday evening and amuse ourselves watching travelers march past going who knows where? Madeleine has been looking forward to the reunion as any type of routine-change a plus. During the week's run up she calls Roger "that man" as in "when is that man coming?" and now we find her a bit shy upon his arrival. This mood passes quickly - Roger treats her and Eitan as adults, which they surely appreciate. Plus he brings sugary gifts from the continent. Driving home from the airport Madeleine keeps mum but absorbs everything - yes, Dear Sir, Roger and I keep our most treasured college memories for later.