So, Bastille Day - it commemorates the 1790 Fête de la Fédération, held on the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille on 14 July, 1789; the storming of the Bastille fortress-prison seen as a symbol of the uprising of the modern nation and the reconciliation of all the French inside the constitutional monarchy which preceded the First Republic, during the French Revolution. Le President used to give an interview to members of the press discussing, well, France like recent events and projects and stuff. Nice things. Nicolas Sarkozy has chosen not to give it. Article 17 of the Constitution of France gives the President the authority to pardon criminals and, since 1991, the President has pardoned many petty offenders (mainly traffic offices) on 14 July. President Sarkozy has declined to do so. No wonder he is unpopular.
Sonnet appropriately attired for bowling Saturday night. She is a bit concerned by her exposed midriff but I sure love looking at it. Justin BTW turns 4-0 in style, surrounded by family and friends, making sure each of us feels special. This is one of his many exceptional qualities.
Sonnet last night at the bowling lanes.
I catch this dude watching the street as a train passes by. It is about 8:30PM, hot, and noisy. I am reminded of my first apartment in New York on 6th Avenue and Waverly Street. A fire escape allowed us to sit above the pedestrians and watch the scene; in one direction we had a clear view of the World Trade Towers and the other, nondescript sky-scrapers. This was Greenwich Village and there were always hordes of people going .. somewhere. In July and August, the fire escape our only relief. We would sit out there on the summer nights and drink beer talking about ourselves or careers or relationships. The transition from college not easy and that first year seemed like a lot of make-believe. Or maybe it was practice for our so-called "adult life." I wish I could say that period was more fun but First Boston was more than I was prepared for.
We are on Brick Lane last night and wow, what a scene. Recall this in the London borough of Tower Hamlets and is the heart of the city's Bangladeshi-Sylheti community; it also known as Banglatown - there is a super-market with this name. The street is narrow and populated with curry shops whose proprietors streetside, cajoling: "please come in. Best in London." We stroll by the Great Mosque, once known as the London Jamme Masjid, which serves the largest concentration of Bangladeshi Muslims in the country. The mosque was under investigation some years ago for radicalising young men who, this evening, in shawar kamise, watch the bustle with half interest. Brick Lane once an oddity where one might go for a late dinner or the 24 hour Beigal Bakery whose salt beef sandwiches perfect for post-clubbing -- so good, in fact, the Sunday morning queues begin from 4AM. Today Brick Lane remarkably shifts into an uber cool ghetto as young gay couples and artists colonised this part of London from the late '90s. The vibe amazing - young people search for restaurants and clubs and bars, which spill into the street. Cars stall and honk away to no effect. The brick a Victorian turd brown which further defines the scene somehow. An enormous smokestack points into the sky. It is dense, man. Many of the inhabitants pierced with dyed hair and sometimes tattoos. The boys clean wearing skinny jeans+tees+brown topsiders. Tres vogue. Girls show too much t & a for their age (I will fight that battle with Madeleine when the time comes). We park on a side road in midst of council housing - concrete - massive - gruesome. But then it is relative - compared to Dhaka this might be heaven. We hide anything that might tempt fate. What a scene.
The house falls asleep late given the July heat. This does not stop Sonnet from up-early to run a loop of Richmond Park with Stephanie. She laments afterwards: too hot. I sleep until 9AM which gets a couple of curious looks from the kids who poke their head in to see the lazy lunker that I am. Sometimes it must be done. This otherwise is a quiet week end - no football for Eitan and Madeleine leaves her swim suit at school. Smart kid.
Here we are the other day at the school pick-up. Sonnet and Ms. L may be talking about Madeleine's maths, which has improved considerably this year, or her reading - top marks. It could also be a discussion about Madeleine's friends -- all boys -- who want to play with .. other boys. Eitan went through this stage last year when girls were the enemy, so I can understand how this effects our dear, committed Tom Boy. Not easy. We keep a watchful eye including Eitan, who looks out for his sister on the playground.
Madeleine and I before our classroom story; she says: "I have snakes in my tummy". I am dressed as an accountant (an interpretation, any way). The kids seem to enjoy themselves -- especially as I do my shuffle dance to "If I Were A Rich Man." Nothing else I do today will be better, though Sonnet comes pretty close by bringing a picnic lunch which we share in a park nearby my office.
Madeleine reads "The King of Capri," which I will use in tomorrow's class to describe .. money. The story about a gluttonous king whose worldly possessions swept away by a storm, landing in a poor laundry lady's backyard. The poor king and she eventually meet, fall in love, and everybody learns a lesson. Madeleine and I decide to leave the love part out of the story since the class "might not be ready for it" she says. I have to draw this out for 40 minutes, mind you, in front of 25 children. I plan to dress as an accountant with a bow tie and Madeleine has her costume laid out next to the bed. Fiddler On The Roof seems about the right music to settle the children down beforehand.Wish me luck.
I swam with Dano Halsall, pictured here at the '92 Barcelona Olympics, during my year in Switzerland (photo from Facebook). Dano is arguably the best swimmer Switzerland has ever produced despite not winning an Olympic medal (that honour went to Etienne Dagon, another team-mate on Geneve Natation 1885, who took bronze in the 200 meter breast-stroke at the '84 Los Angeles games, becoming Switzerland's first medal earner in the sport). Dano was Swiss-Caribbean and his reflexes lightening; in truth, he may have been a better runner where his athletic expression less encumbered by technique. I recall like yesterday watching him set the 100 meter freestyle World Record in a short-course (25 meter) pool in 1984. His time of 48.91 was the first under 49 seconds and he had the small, crowded venue on its feet screaming. Wow. (Matt Biondi clocked a 48.95 for the 100 meter freestyle to become the first under 49 seconds in a long-course or 50 meter pool with two fewer flip-turns. He did this at the August 6, 1985, USA summer Nationals)(Unfortunately, short-course World Records maintained from 1993 so I do not have the progression of Dano's record.)
American independence means something a little different for these Brits and, I assure you, ours the only house with the stars and stripes. I do miss the BBQ, corn and beer and softball+long week end, which is what we would be doing somewhere if in the United States, may God bless her. We might be in the Sierras, for instance, which is where my parents are now. Or New Yawk with Katie sitting on her roof deck or jogging around Central Park. Or maybe Bronxville with Aunt Marcia. All nice possibilities. Instead, Sonnet returns from a school camping over-night where Madeleine suffers hay-fever keeping her and Sonnet up all-night. They return exhausted and the poor dears sleep all afternoon despite the pristine weather. Otherwise I have had the boy to myself which means we sit around watching the World Cup and eating desert in the living which we otherwise are not allowed to do under punishment of death. Eitan up two or three hours past his bedtime and so what? It's summer. This morning we have chocolate cake for breakfast. In truth, we enjoy being mano-a-mano and the gals early return, well, an encroachment on our space.
For one month of the year Londoners, oddly, shed their inhibitions and strip to the bare minimum. Men show their man boobs and pale white skin; women hike their skirt and present their bra with the aim of bronzing themselves. All this in the smart part of town. During lunch hour. In the middle of the work week.
Mind you, these same people spend the rest of year trying to conceal their wobbly bits and otherwise seem embarrassed by their bodies. Britain missed Jane Fonda and aerobics and all that and when I arrived in '97 gym memberships a rarity let alone bottled water (I reviewed a consumer water investment for Botts which I rejected; after my departure the firm waded into the industry and lost its shirt).
In most European countries, Ireland excluded thank goodness, exposure taken for granted and, well, considered part of being European. Topless beaches the norm; women seem comfortable with themselves. So why different here? Well, firstly, the weather mostly pretty bad then the world's best by Wimbledon.
The extremes stimulate a certain desire for display: no sun then sun burn. The media plays its role to, of course - programs like "How To Look Good Naked" teach us to loath what we have and then flaunt it when we can. Advertising. Madeleine announces the other week that she is fat.
I teach Eitan a game I played in grade school - table football. The objective is to scoot the paper 'football' across the table getting a piece over the edge - seven points. If the 'ball' goes over the side, the opponent gets a crack at a field goal - 3 points. A field goal scored through the opponents upheld fingers (goal posts) while the 'kick' a flick of the middle finger. In fifth and sixth grade we spent hours doing this instead of .. school. Could this explain something? Another popular game was 'pencil' where the objective to break the other's instrument. This was done by 'cocking' the wood, held in one hand and pulled back the other, then bringing it down with a loud crack upon contact. Every pencil a different challenge: a No. 2 the bread-and-butter of the game but then there was "the chubby" (an over-sized wood surprisingly weak given its size) and the No. 2.5 (stronger lead and a bit firmer in the center). We broke hundreds of pencils on the bus ride to school or on the playground or back of the class. The teachers hated it of course - but what could they do? Destructive little dudes were we.
My favorite time of the week is Friday, 8:15PM to 9PM when Eitan finishes swim practice. I drop the boy off at the Putney pool then go for a run on the Thames towpath crossing the river at the Hammersmith Bridge then scooting along the north side including my favorite quarter-mile bend at Fulham where old maples provide cover over the embankment. I thread my way through several council estates and luxury condos, by pubs, a tennis grounds and grassy parks; I pass the River Cafe, one of London's finest restaurants, and the Fulham football stadium. Putney is home to several rowing clubs and a downward slope offers water access- this is where the Oxford-Cambridge race begins. While there are always people - joggers, cyclists, couples or gossiping teenagers smoking fags on a park bench - there are also long stretches of serenity. The late sunset allows me to finish well before dark and afterwards I watch Eitan lap away. I bring an extra Lacoste and towel+my blackberry so I can read the gossips or write emails. Then home, a drink, and late dinner with Sonnet.
And somehow we are into the second half of the year. An examination so far feeds back a rather dull time - there are some good highlights like California and the last two weeks with CW, Mike and Andrea or Eitan's football season and Madeleine's trumpet. Sonnet's work sabbatical of course. Our garden. On the flip side, there is not much business as private equity fund-raising down 70% in Europe and probably same or worse in the United States. I keep myself occupied with Industry Ventures and the occasional secondary transaction: when times are tough, investors want liquidity which is what a secondary firm provides. The secondary pricing volatility interesting though: last year, nobody wanted to own private equity because of the leverage. Now, the secondary buyers are back but, since so much money raised by secondary funds, they compete and drive prices to levels where it becomes difficult to make a decent return. Once a secondary a clever trade but now anybody selling a position over $15 or $20 million will use a broker who puts together a book. Not great for the buyer. Industry Ventures does well because they concentrate on venture and do smaller positions. Few have their expertise nor wish to spend time on deals less than $5, the firm's bread and butter transaction. Given the ten-year life (plus two-year extensions) there is still plenty to buy from '00, or the worst VC vintage on record.
The last time Mike and Andrea and our families together was in Provence. Only that was before we had a family - Eitan and Madeleine yet a blink in the mind's eye. Their oldest, Oscar, was two and I still recall what a cute kid he was - fascinated by a toy red double-decker bus which I brought him as a gift: it is forevermore is "the crazy bus." Now Oscar is 12 and would probably die to see his name in my blog. Mike and I went to Berkeley High together then college on the East Coast, where he met, and courted, Andrea - Sonnet and I at their wedding in '94, for sure dude. Today Mike practices law with Tyler. Despite our history, we got to know each other as adults on the Norcal trails - Mike completed the '93 San Francisco marathon with Adam, Christian and Chip, who is no longer with us. The race notable for many reasons but especially Bill Vaughan, the co-creator of PowerBar - Bill was founding his next product, the sports gel GU, in the basement of his house where it was mixed in the sink by the washing machine. Probably not approved by the FDA then. The day before the marathon Bill loaded up the guinea pigs with GU and sent them on their merry way or, in this case, to the Golden Gate Bridge for the start (GU is now a multi-million dollar operation and beloved by endurance athletes around the world). Of course nobody can out-clever 26-miles and our lads may have been a tad thrown off by a new supplement the day of the race. I recall Mike and Adam struggling on the back-half while Adam's berry flavor looked surprisingly like blood when splattered down his shirt and leg. As for the rest: results mixed though everybody finished one way or the other. The race's conclusion, a lap around the old Kaiser Stadium track, a nice touch.
Here's a quick shot from Center Court featuring Maria Sharapova and Serena Williams, who wins in straight sets; I also watch Roger Federer and Andy Murray take out Jurger Melzer and Sam Querrey, respectively, in straight sets. Federer does not break a sweat. In short, this a great day with lovely breezes keeping us cool despite the cloudless sky and summer temperatures. I am the guest of Barry, who I have invested with in several funds.
What they're doing here is putting you and your electronics inside a big electric field. Maybe a little bit analogous with those wires they bury in the asphalt at intersections to detect when cars are stopped at the lights, or your electric toothbrush which charges when you put it in the stand. I'm surprised they can get enough energy into the little receiver to charge a phone. Maybe over a long period of time you can charge it.
We're not talking about a lot of energy to run a phone (as evidenced by the tiny battery).
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England crashes out 4-1 against Germany, breaking the country's heart. The team never comes together despite its talent scoring three goals in six hours on the pitch. We debate why the national team is so disappointing given the quality of the Premier League, which is the most funded in the world. Players earn £90,000 a week so one argument is that they don't give a hoot beyond their club teams. Or perhaps the best players like Beckham and Rooney and Gerard and Lampard are stars on their team but do not know how to play together- there can be only one prima donna per squad. Me, I think it runs more deeply: England's expectations are so high that they can only disappoint. The players and all involved know this and deliver.
We sit around the television anxiously watching England vs. Germany in the first moments of the knock-out round. Eitan: "The tension is unbearable," which become our mantra.
Christian has been with us this past week, which has been a joy. Yesterday we are joined by Mike and Andrea and their three kids including Oscar, who I first met in Provence when he was two years old. That was nearly ten years ago. Now he is almost a teen-ager and a baker with a specialty, he tells me, of chocolate muffins. Here we prepare for the USA vs. Ghana match, which the Americans end up losing in extra-time 2-1. Meanwhile is anybody aware that David Cameron announced his first budget? He calls for an increase in taxes and slashing of public services in an attempt to reduce the national deficit by £128 billion. Yep, an age of austerity. Britain's approach the opposite of the US, which spends into Already the unions are lining up for battle - we anticipate strikes at best, civil unrest at worst. Look at Greece.
I ask Eitan to step outside for a moment to take a photo for this blog while Spain plays Chile. He notes seriously "I will kill you if there is a goal" and, sure enough, as soon as he is outside the view of the television - gooooaaalll to Spain ! The hand of God, dude. We re-create the moment, pictured.
We have Louise and her boyfriend Izzy over to dinner with Christian and Sonnet's friend and work colleague Oriel. I met Louise, via Duane, in February at her fashion show in Covent Garden and we have talked a few times about ways to commercialise her runway success beyond Top Shop. In short, fashion design is a tough business. She tells me when 16 and considering university, it was going into knits or physics. Izzy, meanwhile, is a big-bearded dude from Croatia who splits his time between New York and London managing a handful of up-and-coming or established 'head-banger' bands; he does this in partnership with Sony and knows his way around the music business. We have a few references in common from the summer I spent at EMI Music while at Columbia Business. In 1996 nobody talking about the Internet. Life was good. Life was great! Back then it was a good business to be in since the record labels vertically integrated. By the late 1980s there were tens of hundreds of platinum records (500,000 sold per year). Say good-bye to all that, boy. In 2009, there were nine platinum albums. When Napster and free-downloading arrived, music fans could give a rat's ass about the legality of piracy. Most young people have never paid for a record. There's the future of the industry, dude. The model remains muddled while live performance ever more important - which is Izzy's business.
Who can forget a hot day and the backyard hose? We used to have water fights with our neighbors, the Prices, when we lived on San Ramon.
