Eng v USA

I quietly disappear from a party last night to ensure the kids home and in bed at a somewhat reasonable hour since Eitan and I up at 6:15AM for his swim practice. It is Sunday, mind you (picture post-workout, pre-comb). Last night I drop the kids off at Joe's house so they can watch the World Cup (England v America!) while I surround myself with English fans and drink Pimms on a beautiful London sunset which stretches into the night. I rarely think about the differences in appearance between our cultures but, boy, the English squad looks, well, like English and the Americans like.. me and us. How strange. My friends blend into the same kaleidoscope and no longer look either or. Despite a thrilling start behind a powerful Stevie Gee goal inside four minutes, England takes a draw after a first-half goalie error: pity Robert Green, the most reviled man in England at now. This morning's trade rags and talkies are endless grief. No doubt every player commits hundreds of small mistakes during a match but the Goalie, well, he is not allowed even one. It takes a special dude to take that heat. God bless Robert Green.

Michigan

It is hard to keep up with Katie these days. Here she is in Lansing, Michigan, where she gives a keynote to 700 people at the ProgressMichigan Summit. Her photo with the Exec Director David Holtz. ProgressMichigan's main interest is, well, Michigan, and focuses on re-energising the state, tackling budget reform, job creation and energy independence. Making a difference every day, America.

Moe attended Michigan Law School in the early 1960s, something I was vaguely proud of as a youngster- bragging rights at primary school, I suppose. I had no idea what law school actually was, mind you, but it sounded impressive somehow and Michigan Law always compared to Berkeley or Yale or other equally prestigious institutions so it had to be good. More importantly, I knew from the earliest age my father was a winner. I had complete confidence in him and never doubted once his capability, work ethic or integrity which, I hope, I have captured even a small fraction of. I recall one lazy Sunday reading comics in my bedroom, probably about age 12 or 13, and he entered to tell me he was leaving his law firm to form another one. I wanted to read my comics. Moe's firm, Schacter, Kristoff, Orenstein & Berkowitz grew into one of the largest labour management practices on the West Coast and I had no doubt: of course it would. With some perspective and kids of my own, this was a huge moment for my father and, to Moe's credit, I never once thought it might be a concern of mine.

One thing is for sure - I did embrace my father's love for college football and Michigan a powerhouse franchise. Now if only Cal could capture some of that. Deep down, my Dad remains a Wolverines fan unless we are talking baseball, then it is the St Louis Cardinals. One forms one's sports allegiances early, dude, and while we may have moved to the north Berkeley hills to be near the Berkeley campus and Memorial stadium, I grew up with the Bears while Moe adopted the team. Unlucky me since the last Rose Bowl in '58 which causes some anxiety. I think Eitan has the same relationship to England football - I can root for the three lions but the boy lives it. So last night's World Cup opener against the U.S. disappointing despite a 1-1 tie. England should have clobbered the Americans. Man-for-man, this is one of the top-three teams in the tournament final. The country's last WC title in '66 so I hope Eitan has a better chance than me and my Bears.

Rebound ?

Given the hyperbole surrounding a U.S. recovery, I wanted to see some facts and one good indicator is our exports - pictured. Outbound container traffic from Los Angeles and Long Beach (about 40% of US container traffic) reflects a rebound in US goods exports. This has occurred despite the dollar's appreciation against the Euro and other currencies following Greece making U.S. goods more expensive. Indeed, outbound containers shipped from LA in May were only a few thousand shy of their level of May '08, almost a complete recovery (container traffic is not seasonally adjusted) from the global trade collapse of late 2008. Strong export activity is not only good for U.S. growth, it also reflects health of the economies of our trading partners.

Allegro

It is hard to believe that once, Britain was the world's greatest car manufacturer. Following WWII, there was little competition from Europe while demand for new cars in America and Australia outpaced Detroit's ability to supply them. In 1937, Britain made 15% of the world's cars; by 1950, a year in which 75% of British car production and 60% of its commercial vehicle production was exported, Britain provided 52% of the world's market. Well things went pear-shaped from '55 onward as our engineering unable to compete on production cost and design simplicity or elegance. The world wanted Herbie and 22,529,464 Love Bugs rolled off the assembly line (source: Wikipedia)

And this brings us to the Austin Allegro, pictured, which was profiled on Radio 4 this morning as the worst car ever made in Britain (Richard Porter notes in his book, Crap Cars, "the only bit of the Allegro they got even vaguely right was the rust-proofing.") The Allegra was Britain's attempt in 1973 to create a design "for the 1980s and beyond" while providing a small family car. It was manufactured by British Leyland until 1983. From the start the Allegro was plagued with problems and a commonly-given example of the the car's poor design that it was more aerodynamic when going backwards. Apparently, the car had a difficult time actually going backwards and the salesman would try to avoid this procedure at all costs during a test-drive. Back in the '60s, according to the radio, people bought British because, well, they were British and 642,350 Allegros sold during its ten-year production life. There are only a few Allegros left which makes me feel a bit more safe on the A3.

My first car BTW a yellow VW Hatchback which was shared equally with Katie when she got her driving license a year later. The car was a blessing since I was commuting 90 minutes each way between Berkeley and Walnut Creek for swimming. It also gave us freedom on the week ends - a remarkable gift from our parents, really. I recall driving to Redding for a swim meet with Doug seeing if the hatchback could break 100 mph - I don't know if we hit the target but the cop who overhauled our asses was going pretty damn fast and, without one friendly word, wrote a fat ticket+points on the license. Doug was driving. That same week end we slept in the back of the car at a Red Lion not wishing to shell out thirty bucks for a room. We tried to sleep, that is, until some drunk dude threatened to beat his naked girlfriend who had fled the hotel and locked into the car next to ours. We got out of there pretty fast.

Summer Chores

Ok, here is my morning: Up at 7AM for Madeleine, who is picked up at swimming. I race Eitan to football practice to be home in time for Madeleine's return, then bolt out the door (snack to hand) for her performance class. I have a scant few moments to get Eitan then together, we visit the dump, gas up the car and hit the Home Depot before home. Phew. Eitan's good mood falls like BP's market cap when he hears those dreaded words: backyard chores. He slumps around until I get irritated and tell him he is getting close to a yellow card, which means losing a World Cup game. "What's a red card?" he inquires. That's easy, miss an England match. He stiffens and suddenly I realise what an easy month this is going to be.

Eitan: "I love the name of the player who scored for South Africa yesterday."

Me: "What was it?"

Eitan: "Shaba-laba."

Me: "Get out, that's excellent."

Eitan: "You spell it t-s-h-a-b-a-l-a-b-a. "

PM On BP

Madeleine and I hang out at the Victoria early morning after dropping Eitan off at choir practice. I think I am goofing for the photo but maybe not. Madeleine likes it any way.

PM Cameron in the press for not standing up to anti-British sentiment following BP so today he defends the oil company, which is not easy to do given BP has, like, destroyed the Gulf of Mexico. I listen to Deepwater Horizon survivor Mike Williams on 60 Minutes. Williams was the chief electronics technician in charge of the rig's computers and electrical system; seven months before, he had helped the crew drill the deepest oil well in history at 35,000 feet (his story miraculous in itself - he jumped 200 feet from the inflamed platform into darkness and the burning water). The guy is alive to testify that BP failed to observe safety procedures against profits, despite making $5.6 billion in the first quarter of this year. Williams notes that faster well development, pushed by BP, caused the bottom of the Deepwater well to split open, swallowing tools and the drilling fluid called "mud," which is a man made drilling fluid that's pumped down the well and back up the sides in continuous circulation. The sheer weight of the fluid keeps the oil and gas down and under control: "we actually got stuck. And we got stuck so bad we had to send tools down into the drill pipe and sever the pipe" says Williams. The well was abandoned and Deepwater Horizon had to drill a new route causing weeks and millions to BP. The next hole, well, we know the rest of that story so far. Will we rid ourselves of carbons or ourselves from the planet first?

The World Cup begins today: South Africa and Mexico draw 1-1. Here we go.

Run Around

The kids have their annual 'sports day' and the upper classes organised into four groups by colour with ours in red (again). Interestingly, Eitan and Madeleine on the same team and I observe .. that they get along and even (gasp) support each other. We like this. Events include team relays, long-jump, push-ups, co-ordination games and the like. Us parents shuffle from place to place following the action while the younger classes replace balls and jump ropes, mark times and generally make themselves useful. Hero warship is about age difference more than anything else at this stage of life. Were it always so. The reds are runner's up and everyone a winner says the head master though Eitan does not agree.

With Sonnet in Colorado, we have made it through the week in one piece, more or less. Sure, a permission slip for a field trip missed and today the kids went to school without their packed lunches. The school secretary gives me a knowing look: "mom's away" which somehow does not make me feel better or anything. OK, expectations are low for any dad left with his kids for a week but I do fancy myself above average: they're getting at least two squares a day. Maybe a bath. Anyway, we enjoy ourselves together and, chores aside, have had an agreeable time. Maybe even fun. I have.

Eitan: "When does mom come home?"

Me: "Monday."

Eitan: "It's been a bit rough without mom this week."

Me:

Eitan: "She is part of the team."

Me: "Yes, we all play an important role in our family."

Eitan: "Well, hers is more important."

Tommy Encore

I know - I know - all hamsters the same but there is something special about Tommy. He really is darn cute and Madeleine shows him off whenever we have a guest, grabbing the creature by the mid-section and thrusting him forward like a Popsicle. The poor nocturnal yanked from a cozy sleep at least three times a day and on the week end, maybe twice that. Still, he is a friendly soul. Sure, there was that time when he sank his long teeth into Madeleine's fleshy middle finger requiring her to shake him free. Well, that was traumatising but she soon forgot and Tommy became used to us, well, part of the family even. Unfortunately, Tommy a poor substitute for a dog, which is what Madeleine dreams of. We did an investigation last year including visits to the kennel but Sonnet and I concluded a puppy with two working parents not feasible. Madeleine, though, persists and has done her research: neighborhood dog comparisons and dog magazines and books from the library. She is 24/7 on the subject, dear reader. So maybe we shall revisit. Maybe.

Richmond Park, 10:30AM

England has a couple of good months every year that allows us to forget the rest and we are now in the sweet spot: warm, lazy afternoons and sunsets after 9PM; Wimbledon around the corner and August hols to look forward to. This year, we have the extra added bonus of the World Cup and our lads may have a chance of .. winning the trophy. We are seeded fourth, in a relatively easy group and, player-for-player, field a world class squad. This is a time to dream big, baby. For my part, I would love to be in this country if the Cup came home. When England won the Ashes in 2005, defeating Australia for the first time since'87 in five Tests with the final result 2-1, the country went mad. Throughout, the nation glued to its radio, watching the weather and guessing tea-time. And, when we finally pulled it off following some dodgy wickets, Britain did what it does best: drink. England's captain Michael Vaughan met the Queen 24 hours later unshaven and hung-over, possibly still drunk. The rest of the squad doused with alcohol. And we cheered and boozed with them. I can only imagine what the celebration would be like for a WC victory. This country lives and dies by the sport, afterall. I get a tingle imagining the first kick-off, which is five days away, vs. USA. After fourteen years here I can say: come on, England!

Got Wheels

Madeleine peddles in front of our house- her bike allows her some freedom, which I can appreciate. I have been riding her pretty hard lately - this evening, for instance, she does not listen to me on some point and - bam - she sweeps the front yard which normally is her week-end chore. Our neighbors, I am sure, find it amusing to see her bagging leaves at 8PM well past most kids bed-times on a school night. We do a repeat later this evening over some matter trivial and, boom, she does all the dishes. Eitan is smart - he hangs low. I ask him the other day if we are too strict or not enough and he ponders my question a moment: "somewhere in between" he says cautiously. Wise kid. I ask if we punish him enough? "Yes." And Madeleine? "No. You could punish her more."

I arrive home to find a new carpet in our living room. Finally. The kids squeal with happiness and tear off their shoes and socks: "oooh, that's nice" they coo in unison, scrunching their feet. Eitan gets out the old football before I can stop him and Sonnet will soon scream at him for the marks on the newly painted walls.

Me: "What do you think of the living room?"

Madeleine: "It smells like a hotel."

Me: "Is that good or bad?"

Madeleine: "We don't have a pool."

Me: "Do you like our house?"

Eitan: "It would be Ok if we had grass in the backyard."

Me: "When we moved into Gracie and Moe's house, all I wanted was a place to play basketball (our house in the Berkeley hills). The compromise was Hillside Park, which had several courts and close by. You have a number of parks nearby."

Eitan: "Yeah, but it would still be nice if our house had a football pitch."

What - Me worry?

Le Park

Here we are, finally, in Richmond Park which is only a short walk from our house. For those in the know, during King Edward's reign (1272-1307) the area was known as the Manor of Sheen - hence, we live in East Sheen but otherwise there is no Sheen. The name changed to Richmond during Henry VII's rein. In 1625 Charles I brought his court to Richmond Palace to escape the plague in London and turned it into a park for red and fallow deer. His decision, in 1637, to enclose the land was not popular with the local residents, but he did. graciously, allow pedestrians the right of way. To this day the walls remain while Richmond remains London's largest Royal Park and the UK's smallest National Park. For scale, it is about 3X the size of Central Park. On a clear day, one can see St Paul's ten miles away. In fact this is a protected view and no building may come between King Henry's Mound,. the highest point of the park, and the cathedral.

Prime Minister (I have to say that again) Prime Minister David Cameron comes out swinging this morning by noting that the budget crisis much worse than expected - about £250B vs. £160B - and the cheerful 3% growth forecast supplied by de-throned Labour will be cut in half. The PM prepares us for the slash-and-burn suggesting, as an aside, that the British way of life might come to an end. Yawn. What we observe here, folks, is politics 101: prepare everybody for the worst, blame one's predecessor for the mess, loudly denounce a few unions then business-as-usual. I sure hope I am wrong as Greece offers the reality-show which could be coming to a UK station. I discussed this with some smart financial dudes the other day who note: It has not hurt Iceland. Sure, they cannot go on vacation outside of Iceland, poor guys, but everybody is eating. What's the big deal? And the US? Fellas buying more greenbacks thanks to the Euro's recent collapse. Despite $12T of national debt, Uncle Sam the safest bet in town. Yes, Reagan's wonderful legacy: deficits? What, me worry? Well, the Big Hurt is coming, one way or the other.

Me, sternly: "Stop comparing everything to your brother."

Madeleine: "You would never say that to Eitan!"

Trumps

Sonnet in Colorado and I get the Shakespeares to myself. This makes for a rough morning - 'inset' day, no school - when the kids do not wish to leave the house. Especially to go for a walk in Richmond Park. Here we are, 9:35AM.

Eitan: "I found out that the two heaviest England players are Emile Heskey and John Terry who both weigh 88 kilograms."

Me: "Is that a fact?"

Eitan: "Yeah, I got it from my Top Trumps."

Me: "What are 'Top Trumps'"?

Eitan: "They are cards. With football information."

Me:

Trophies Galore

Our serious lad brings home two KPR trophies for 'Most Goals Scored' (18 out of 79) and 'Player's Player,' chosen by his team-mates. This on top of the team trophy the boys earned for winning their division. Eitan bashful about the attention, one of his charms, but the boy knows he has done something special. The club hosts a BBQ at the pitch complete with 'jumpy castles' and scratch games with local refs. The dads drink beer and and enjoy the sunshine - same as it ever was. The World Cup on everybody's mind especially since my mates are from Italy, the Netherlands, England, Germany.... The level of detail, dear reader, borders obsession and we chew on various match-ups, formations, players, conditions, injuries and etc. I am out of my league, oh boy. The only person not having fun is Madeleine, poor kid, who does not know anybody nor thrilled to play footie with her older brother and his friends. Yes, she is bored and I get a quick view into the fast approaching teens. I make a point of sitting with her to play 'scissors-rocks-paper' or 'paddy cake.' We also engage in 'tag' and I think: what to do when she needs more?

Eitan: "Are you sure swimming is 7AM tomorrow?"

Me: "Positive."

Eitan: "How do you know?"

Me: "Two weeks ago I had the time tattooed on the inside of my arm."

Madeleine: "Can I see?"

Madeleine: "At last I have learned how to use the remote control.'

Madeleine, talking to Moe: "The frogs are very comfortable with us now."

Match Attack

It is fair to note that we, Eitan, has football on his mind. Today we go to the store to get St. Georges's for the car (that would be England's flag) while the boy tucks into the latest issue of some sports mag to read up on the players, games, statistics and, of course, gossip (he: "you know, Dad, losing Rio Ferdinand is not the end of the world... but I can''t think of much worse."). We discuss various defensive formations without Rio, the England captain, who is out of the tournament following a freak accident on the first-day-of-training in South Africa. Christian notes it would not be England football without drama, before the team crash out. I still have my hopes - wouldn't it be grand to be in this country, where the beautiful game created, when the World Cup came home? It would be a two week celebration.

Sonnet packs her bag and is off to America to see her family and say good-bye to Ray, who passed away earlier this year. Before she leaves, Sonnet types a daily schedule for me and the kids which is taped to the fridge (snap, snap!). Sonnet also books after-school play-dates and baby-sitters so I can work late or do whatever I do. Fabulous Aggie, for instance, will arrive 6:30AM tomorrow, Sunday, so I can take Eitan to swim practice. It is going to be a rough week without mom but usually I am at my best when solo - I can get into the Shakespeare's little heads and find out what is really going on. I like doing this.

Madeleine drops a pickle onto the kitchen floor: "Oh, Jesus."

Boiling Point

Our living room has dragged and Sonnet notes: "it pays to take a zen like approach" which, I concur, a philosophy to be applied to every situation. Take today: our carpet supposed to arrive several weeks ago and we cannot do the final wiring until in place. Next week, we are told, maybe. The electrician, meanwhile, in hospital so there goes the lights. Stay cool. At work, my notebook crashes and will require a reload of the operating system which I learn moments before being abruptly disconnected from Sony Support at 35p a minute. Breathe deeply. My office voice mail kicks into an unknown directory after 5:30PM and, most unusually, my unused Yahoo email shows up on my blackberry jamming me with spam, porn and travel offers. The Gulf oil spill continues. Some dude in Cumbria kills 12 innocent people. There are many joys to being one's own boss but days like today I wanna choke the living s*** out of someone. Like Sony. Microsoft, Vodafone or BP would do. My mood dampens further upon learning that England captain Rio Ferdinand suffers a knee injury his first day of team practice for the World Cup. No wonder kids watch cartoons.

The boiling point, dear reader, is when an element or substance is the temperature at which the vapor pressure of the liquid equals the environmental pressure surrounding the liquid (David Goldberg, 1988, "3,000 Solved Problems in Chemistry," McGraw Hill). A liquid in a vacuum environment has a lower boiling point than when at atmospheric pressure. A liquid in a high pressure environment has a higher boiling that when at atmospheric pressure. In other words, the boiling point of liquids varies with and depends upon the surrounding environmental pressure (which tends to vary with elevation). Different liquids (at a given pressure) boil at different temperatures. Ergo, my day.

In Nature

Like my little tadpoles that are growing legs and tadpole arms, mine are also growing up - here they are, in nature, reading. Shhhh. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of Eitan.... yes, he has a book: "Horrid Henry" which, he says, is about "a horrid boy who always gets into trouble. He, um, has the same hair as me. And he has a perfect brother who never gets into trouble and he really hates him and he tries to get him into trouble. And he has two parents that he hates. And he tries to get them into trouble." Well, they are reading anyway. Eitan also thumbs "Number The Stars" for his school's Battle Of The Books competition: "eight people from year-four (Eitan's class) come together in June and there is a battle with lots of drama. Whoever gets the highest score gets... well, I don't know what you get. I don't know the rules either." And yes, that is ... Madeleine, camouflaged in her natural habit, with "Champion Of The World." Let us see if we can learn more.. no.. she declines when asked to describe her story. Me, I read a prospectus for the Cedar Capital Hotels Fund which, amongst other things, suggests now is a good time to buy luxury hotels in key gateway cities inside Western Europe. You know, "buy low sell high." Not quite as good as "Horrid Henry" but I do find it useful.

Eitan watches England vs. Argentina in a TV repeat of the 2002 World Cup Finals.

Eitan: "I am sweating even though it is eight years old."

Me: "Why?"

Eitan: "Because I am nervous about England winning."

Me: "Well, we know England did not win the trophy so who cares?"

Eitan: "Because I am just in the moment."

Me: "These things mean a lot to you, don't they?"

Eitan: "Yeah."

Watering

Sonnet takes the half-term Shakespeares to Richmond Park for breakfast (Eitan makes scones) then Madeleine gets her hair cut and finally swim practice - for both - this evening. Me, I concentrate on work and my afternoon spent in The City by the Royal Exchange across from the from the Bank of England. The dude I meet, Richard, a bit unusual for fund investing - for starters, he has side burns while his purple tie falls above his belly-button. Faux pas, dear reader, any seasoned private equity professional would thumb his nose at. In this industry, the dogs sniff. Yes, Richard different and I am pleased to learn that he, before University, spent two years working in a mortuary responsible for, like, dead bodies. On one occasion, Richard stuck in a traffic-jam caused by a jumper who, the next day, he buried. Or the funeral where the bereaved mother stabbed the bereaved father who Richard lowered two weeks later. Another tickler: once Richard fell asleep at a cemetery to awake and see .. a circus including acrobats, clowns and weird animals. The deceased, you see, being honoured according to his last wishes. From that to fund investments. No wonder I like this guy.

Lembit

In one of the more improbable pairings of the 'naughties, ex-MP Lembit Opik lost his mind, divorced his wife, and proposed to pop star Gabriela Irmia, famous for her hit 'Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum)' which became, during the summer of '02, the anthem for the liberated, inebriated, live-at-home career girl every Friday night "in town." The song spent four consecutive weeks on the top of the UK Singles charts. Britain has produced better exports. So, any way, with Cheeky's flash-in-the-pan career coming to an end, she needed a Sugar Daddy. And Lembit - just look at the guy - was desperate for a piece of Cheeky's bum. Well, all that is in the past as sadly, unsurprisingly perhaps, the nuptials never happened and Lembit tossed with the rest of Labour in last month's general election. Like Cheeky, he needs a make-over. And so, now, to retain his place in the British subconscious, Lembit has become .. a stand-up comedian. Who opens tonight BTW at the Backstage Comedy Club in Leicester Square, London. Gabriela, too, has re-surfaced begging Lembit not to make jokes about their relationship noting: "So many things have happened in Lembit's life that he can make fun of, but what I do not want him to do is make fun of our relationship." What more can one add?

Photo from The Sun.

"Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys

I never ever ask where do you go
I never ever ask what do you do
I never ever ask what’s in your mind
I never ever ask if you’ll be mine
Come and smile don’t be shy
Touch my bum this is life."

--Cheeky Girls

"I've been having butterflies for the last few days, but there's no turning back now."

--Lembit Opik

Soho

We park the car on Soho Square and walk several blocks south to Chinatown where we meet Ferdie and Lizzie and their children for lunch. Sonnet and Lizzie once worked together at the V and A in the textiles and dress department before Lizzie departed to write her PhD dissertation on dress at Medici Court in Renaissance Italy. Both her parents are Oxford professors, surprise, surprise. Ferdi is responsible for risk at a major European bank and we discuss where the world is heading (to hell in a hand basket, we agree). Tomorrow is back to work and for me that means a plane: this time, to Dublin with my friend Ramsey who raises some dough to buy luxury hotels in Western European capital cities. Ramsey spent nine years doing the same for Pince Al-Walid ben Talal of the Kingdom creating several billions of net asset value. Before professionally, we got to know Ramsey and his wife Jennifer, from Michigan, socially. He has put together a strong team including principals from the Four Season, Savoy Group and Blackstone, the investment firm.

Sonnet notes that the white flowers in my prior blog are not Jasmine, which are smaller and fragrant. If you know, let me know.

Eitan: "Dad, when I am a professional footballer, I will give you 1% of what I make."
Me: "1%? How about 90% ..."
Eitan: "Are you mad? When I am making £90,000 a week that will be £900 to you. For doing nothing."
Me: "Doing nothing? You are, like, so much hard work."
Madeleine: "Do you give Gracie and Moe money?"
Me: "No, but as a parent, all we want is to see you kids launched."
Eitan: "Well, I am not giving you anything more than 1%."

Jasmine

These friendly white flowers, which I think are Jasmine, cheer up our backyard. With a little sunshine and plenty of light (dawn and dusk at 4AM and 10PM, respectively) this island a completely different place. Like, one would want to live here. Just in time for Wimbledon, too.

We have two families for lunch yesterday which, for the lads, turns into a boozy sun-kissed afternoon. The great Sunday roast. The kids run amok but redeem themselves by clearing the table and doing the dishes. Gold star - I am beginning to think they are useful for something (Madeleine and I sweep the front and she actually seems to enjoy herself). It does not hurt, I suppose, having a three-day week end followed by one week no-school thanks to half-term. Nothing planned for us this time, dear reader, while Sonnet organises play-dates and &c. to keep the kids fully occupied. Back in the day I recall that we kids kept ourselves busy- street ball, go-carts, tree climbing. The occasional shop-lifting. There was never a strict summer schedule nor constant parental oversight which seems to be the norm nowadays. Yes, being in a Big City causes primal anxiety while the media's addiction to child abductions freaks most of us out. Yet I do not think the world somehow less safe for youngsters compared to yester-year: same traffic, same electrical sockets, same household poisons and unguarded appliances. Same Bogyman.

Me: "May I have my blackberry back?"

Eitan: "Dad, check it out: 8,130 points on Bricker!"

Me:

Eitan: Oh my gosh! It is almost impossible for me to get by the silver things! I have never been on this high a level!"

Me: "Blackberry?"

Eitan: "Level 14! I am just cruising here!"

Me: "Umm"

Eitan: "Level 15, dad."

Me:

Eitan: "I think I am going to score more than 10,000. Way more than you."

On Behaviour - Robert Frank

A BP add from 1999, if you have not seen it already. This company should crash and burn.

Frank Robert, below, strikes a chord consistent with the best class I took at Columbia Business School: Bruce Greenwald's "The Economics Of Human Behaviour," which explored ways to frame, and exploit, a business situation utilising human biases and inconsistencies. There is no reason why the same tactics cannot be applied to politics - in fact, politics far more fertile territory it would seem to me. Just ask Sarah and the Republicans.

The Impact of the Irrelevant on Decision-Making, by Robert H. Frank, Commentary, NY Times: Textbook economic models assume that people are well informed about all the options they’re considering. It’s an absurd claim... Even so, when people confront opportunities to improve their position, they’re generally quick to seize them. ... So most economists are content with a slightly weaker assumption: that people respond in approximately rational ways to the information available to them.

But behavioral research now challenges even that more limited claim. For example, even patently false or irrelevant information often affects choices in significant ways. ...

An intriguing example ... comes from a 1974 ... experiment by the psychologists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky. In the experiment, subjects first spun a wheel that supposedly would stop at random on any number between 1 and 100. Then they were asked what percentage of African countries belongs to the United Nations. For one group of subjects, the wheel was rigged to stop on 10; for a second group, on 65. On average, the first group guessed that 25 percent belong to the United Nations, but the second group guessed 45 percent.

All subjects would have insisted, correctly, that the number on the wheel bore no relation to the correct answer to the question. Yet, obviously,... demonstrably false or irrelevant information can influence judgments, which in turn influence decisions. In such cases, Professors Tversky and Kahneman wrote in 1981, “the adoption of a decision frame is an ethically significant act.”

Policy makers have long recognized the potential danger of false statements by advertisers. ... But what about merely irrelevant statements, or only implicitly misleading ones? ... Such ads make no explicitly false claims, but that doesn’t make them less misleading, even for informed consumers. ... [P]oliticians employ patently false statements to shift the terms of important public debates. Of course, politicians of both parties have long taken liberties with the truth. But ... Republicans have lately been far more aggressive in stretching traditional boundaries. ...

Can anything be done? For a variety of practical reasons, legal sanctions promise little protection against blatantly false statements. It is helpful, to be sure, when journalists call out politicians who stray too far from the truth. But merely knowing that a statement is false doesn’t nullify its impact. To be effective, a remedy must ... discourage people from making false statements in the first place.

Economists have long recognized that social sanctions are often an effective alternative to legal and regulatory remedies. ... People who know they’ll be ridiculed for telling untruths are more likely to show restraint. ... In recent years, the most conspicuous public falsehoods have been ridiculed by independent bloggers and Comedy Central’s faux news hosts. But television and Internet audiences are highly segmented. Many of Jon Stewart’s targets may never hear his riffs about them, or may even view them as badges of honor.

That’s why it’s important for the circle of critics to widen — and why we need to remember that framing a discussion appropriately is “an ethically significant act.”

Mr Bee

I once thought, half-heartedly perhaps, of keeping bees in the open area outside of Eitan's bedroom (I still consider a green roof but that may be a retirement project). Chillingly, bees are disappearing - in some areas of the UK honeybee numbers have dropped by as much as 80 per cent, while bumblebees across the country have declined by 60 per cent since 1970, according to the the Bumblebee Conservation Trust. In both cases this is largely due to loss of wild habitats, intensive farming and overuse of pesticides and herbicides. The simple truth is that bees need flowers, and there are very few flowers in the farmed countryside. It is not only the UK: In the US, Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD) - where whole colonies disappear or die - has caused a devastating loss of honeybees. Since it broke out last autumn, declines of between 30 per cent and 90 per cent of honeybee populations in at least 27 states have been recorded. There have also been reports of CCD in Germany, Switzerland, Spain, Portugal, Italy and Greece.

But let us not dwell in more misery. Our backyard gets these unusually fat bees, pictured, who end up trapped in the house making a friendly racket. No way would Madeleine allow them to be harmed. Also buzzing about are the usual brown and black guys who I recall from our backyard in Berkeley. They always seem so cheerful. Their work effort makes the marathoner pause: a bee's wing beat covers a small, flapping approximately 230 times per second (it took Caltech engineers with the help of high-speed cinematography and a giant robotic mock-up of a bee wing, to reveal that sufficient lift was generated by "the unconventional combination of short, choppy wing strokes, a rapid rotation of the wing as it flops over and reverses direction, and a very fast wing-beat frequency"). Let us not forget that our food supply would crash out without this humble servant.

Eitan reflects on the bank holiday weekend: "Aw, man, it is raining."

Me: "What did you expect?"

Eitan: "I am wearing three layers right now. A fleece, a jumper and my pajama tops."

Flower Show

I am getting to know our backyard which, before we arrived, was clearly loved by somebody. We are amazed by the colour and change in bloom - new flowers replace old on a nearly weekly basis. I recognise hibiscus "Blue Bird," blue iris, lavender, abutilon vitolium, calla lily bulbs, chrysanthemum, fuschia and white clematis. Here we have a simple rose.

This a nice lead for the Chelsea Flower Show held in May by the Royal Horticultural Society in the grounds of the Royal Hospital in Chelsea, London. It is by far the most famous show in gardening-mad England and may be the most celebrated in the world - can you think of any other? The event has been a staple for the British social and cultural scene for 150 and years and features exotic plants from around the world and 'plots' designed by celebrities and other notables - being selected to display the height of one's gardening celebrity, dear reader (do note that the BBC's Gardner's World gets over two-million avid listeners each and every Sunday, winter or summer, spring or fall). 157,000 people attend the Chelsea show, which is limited by the grounds-space of about 11 acres. The Royals get a first pre-view (of course) and the BBC broadcasts much of the event for those unable to secure tickets. The flower show was cancelled for several years during WWII and re-opened in 1947 though crops and supplies were limited; it became a symbol of the country's determination to rebuild so goes deep into the nation's psyche lest one thinks it is all daffodils and frivolity. It also sets the year's horticultural trends and watched closely by retailers and others with commercial interest (the UK's gardening products market £9 billion in 2006 according to British Gardens). Her Majesty caught smiling - smiling - on the grounds last week. Go figure.

Friday Night

Well, slowly but surely, our living room comes together. The TV is hooked up, anyway, and Eitan watches the 2006 World Cup final between Italy and France while I blog. He earns the privilege by doing the dishes. Madeleine upset when she learns football and not cartoons but I tell her she can choose tomorrow's program or she can do some chores herself if she wants something tonight. She slinks upstairs to play with her hamster. The kids' half-term break next week+bank holiday week-end so I figure the Shakespeares can stay up as late as they wish and watch television or do whatever. In fact, they are now old enough to put themselves to bed. Just like that - our evening sorted.

Me: "Got anything funny to say for my blog?"

Eitan: "Naa."

Me: "You must have something?"

Eitan: "No."

Me: "Say something clever."

Eitan: "Uhhh. . Ok, here's a riddle. I have keys, but no locks. Um. I crash but don't move. What am I?"

Me: "I have no clue."

Eitan: "A computer."

Me: "Did you make that up?"

Eitan: "I don't know. I'm watching TV."

'Sup?

Well, here we are - Friday again and this time heading into another bank holiday week end. Rain expected - do not doubt it. Still, I cannot complain about my lazy Friday afternoon as London slowly shuts down and prepares to party up. The Mayfair pubs spill into the street and I side-step afternoon boozers who occupy my sidewalk. New York outlawed this liability way back when but here - despite 7,000 CCTVs in London - we still have our freedoms, damn it. Oddly for the week end, we have no plans excluding a few neighborhood friends for Monday holiday brunch. Swimming, football and performance class cancelled which means .. chores! Kids will most certainly be doing them. Oh, and Madeleine is getting a fish.

Last night we went to Yauatacha with Christine and Todd, American friends, who will sadly return to New York at summer's end (recently we celebrated their daughter's bot mitzvah). Todd was graduated two years before me at Brown though we met at an alumni thingy in London in '01 when he was training for the London marathon. He is now a partner and the COO of investment firm KKR while Christine a mover-and-shaker in the non-profit world Chairing Women-For-Women International UK, which provides assistance to women in war torn regions of the world. Todd and Christine wish to raise their four children in the US before they are .. British. Being an ex-pat seductive - how neat to be surrounded by interesting people from the US and everywhere and in a foreign country! - but it comes at a price: at some point, we fear, our lives between here and there. At Diane's wedding, I met the guy who opened Lehman Bros. European offices (RIP) who was in Paris with my Aunt and Uncle. He noted that following eight years he would have happily stayed in Paris forever but was called back to NY. Now, surrounded by family and friends, he is grateful to be home in Westchester county. An ex-pat, he says, never really belongs while giving up his heritage and roots. Another American friend, who has lived in London longer than us, once remarked that the transition permanent from seven years. He was very specific. Hmm. We still struggle with this conundrum though, for the last few years, we have given it a blessed rest.

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas any more."

--Dorothy in the 'Wizard of Oz"