Self Portrait VI

I watch Chelsea robbed in last night's Champions League semi-final, which nets a draw with Barcelona 1-1 at Stamford Bridge. Because the blues failed to score an away goal at Barcelona in their prior qualification match, they had to win outright to advance to the final against .. you guessed it .. Manchester United. The Norwegian ref blew three calls that would have netted a penalty-kick, the most glaring an open hand ball inside the penalty box. Barca's goal came at two minutes into injury time or 92 minutes, so particularly devastating for Chelsea. Afterwards, the referee escorted from the pitch surrounded by four security guards and I thought Drogba to take a crack at him. He then taunted the BBC and us, before being wrestled away by his colleagues. I have never seen that before. In truth, I think the ManU v. Barcelona final in Rome next week more compelling - these the best two clubs in Europe and really, the world - nowhere else do you find the global stars and the Big Bucks. Chelsea lost last year's EUFA championship to Manchester United on penalty kicks and more recently again 3-nil in the Premiere League (Eitan reminds me). Eitan sent to bed at half-time and grumbles on his way upstairs: "life is so unfair. You just don''t understand me .. " and so on. I find him later curled around his transistor radio, sound asleep.

Sonnet up early for a morning run and what starts out with brilliant sunshine now grey and overcast - all inside an hour. How we love our weather here. I ask Eitan what is on his mind; says he first: "Nothing." Come on, I prod. So further: "ManU v. Chelsea. And Nike boots." Madeleine stumbles into the dining room with a bowl of cereal and hair a rat's nest looking blinkered. Eitan and I both look at her for a moment. She's sleep-deprived, you see, thanks to the football which has kept the kids up until 10PM these past several nights. Across the table she notes:"I am eating Special K. It is my favorite." When I ask why, she replies: "I don't know?"

Madeleine: "can I get a bird for my first pet? The gold-fish don't count."

Smart Car

Check out what I saw in Richmond this afternoon - pictured. Yes, the future of observation is with us. The Smart Car mounted with CCTV, which roams the streets looking mainly for parking violations but also other "incidents" of lesser rule-breaking. I know this because I spoke to the two chaps driving the thing, which was parked on a back-street as they filled out paper work (neither took kindly to a photo -so I pinched this one from the web). By coincidence, today a first-trial of the long-debated national ID card, which takes place in Manchester. Eventually, Super Gee would like all of us to have one - for faster identification, you see, since a passport apparently not enough. The total-cost initially tallied to £40 billion, but more likely way more once implementation in swing (who can trust govt costing figures after the Millenium Dome fiasco?). And who pays? Me, directly - about £60 initially - and the rest by the tax-payer in, you know, a win-win situation. The ID first raised four years ago following 7-7, which killed 52 people and injured another 700. In 2005 we had more money for such a scheme, or it felt that way cr-unch. Eventually, the card will access a central database with our travel (scanned at Heathrow or where-ever), health, credit and so on and so forth. What a terrifying thought - private information in one centralised database accessible by me and my Big Brother. Boy, now I am feeling unsafe and inconvenienced+out of pocket. For a country that relishes its freedoms, we seem to choke on the hairball.

A-I-G

AIG now says its paid-out bonuses of $454 million in 2008, or 4X greater than initially reported. This a shrewed calculation I think - get the bonus thing into the public domain then, once the tides recede, raise the amounts. Smart. Still, it is small beer compared to the amount AIG has received in federa aid, which now >$170 billion - an unimaginable number, really - think education. Or infrastrurture. Public works or the arts. Oh, well. Most people by now generally sick of Wall Street and hearing about the ongoing mess. Part of the reason, of course, the complexity and its relentless nature. Who can really understand TARP or quantitative easing (though boy do we know a bunk bonus scheme when we see it). I had dinner with two friends last night who are at the cutting edge of our salvation. Eric works for consulting firm McKinsey & Co. where he was co-head of global strategy before consutling governement; he has written a tomb The Origin of Wealth: Evolution, Complexity, and the Radical Remaking of Economics. His book describes how advances in fields ranging from evolutionary theory, to physics, biology, computer science and cognitive sciences are changing the way economists view the workings of the economy. David, who we were with several weeks ago in Bath, ran Morgan Stanley's hedge-fund business and early-on concerned about the bank's massive, uncontrolled nor wholly understood balance-sheet exposure. David now a Special Senior Advisor to David Miliband. The general mood, unfortunately, gloomy and they question why Obama has not used his early political capital to wipe out failed-bank shareholders, instead giving them a free pass with $trillions of our bail-out money. Geithner and we prey that the private-sector will fill the capital-vacuum but until Treasury marks assets realistically (which they won't, given their propped up insolvency) investors remain shy. Our Yellow-Brick-Road paved by Japan, whose fits and starts netted a "lost generation" and rather than diverge from that experience, we follow them to Kansas. Or in today's world - Pakistan, which crumbles under the external financial stresses with their nukes and extremism+a hair's breath from civil chaos.

London noticeably quiet last night as I drive to dinner in Mayfair.. what could it be? Oh, right - football and a huge game: Manchester United vs. Arsenal at Highbury. Eitan has five lads over to scream and cheer and there is plenty to be grateful for as the Red Devils defeat arch rival 3-1 in the FA Cup semi-final. Ronaldo nails a 41 yard free kick at 10 minutes - holy mackerel! - then another for lights-out. The famed Arsenal coach Arsen Wenger calls it "the worst night of my career." For six little kids in Richmond, it is exactly the opposite.

From Ronaldo, pictured, is it too obvious to point out who sponsors Manchester United, the most valuable franchise in the world? You and me, baby. You and me.

Silvio's Girls

Here is another Berlusconi candidate for the upcoming European Parliamentary elections. Angela Sozio, pictured, is an aspiring "politician" who hopes to be one of Italy's 72 MEPs. She is well known to the Italian public through the reality television show "Big Brother" (Grande Fratello) where she demonstrated her full potential remaining until the very end. And while I was not able to find any further qualifications on the Internets, in 2007 she was photographed by paparazzi holding hands with Berlusconi and "carousing" with him along with four other young women at his luxury Sardinian villa. This demonstrates her political networks and people-pleasing capabilities necessary for vote-gathering. I have no doubt she will hold the post.

Going through old papers, I find a green Valentine's Day card from Eitan to us which I like. Underneath a pop-out red heart:
"I may be a riddle.
I may be a rhyme.
I am of the colour of red wine.
Today is the day of Valentine."

Madeleine: "How long are we going on holiday?"
Me: "I don't know - about 14 days."
Madeleine: "That's good, Dad. A goldfish can survive for 14 days without being fed."

Eitan and his football, indoors at breakfast: tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
Me: "Can you stop?"
Eitan: Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
Me: "Enough! Next time it goes in the garbage."
Eitan: .. tap... tap .. tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
Me: "That's it! No Manchester United vs. Arsenal tonight."
Eitan: "Dad, you are so unfair! You just don't know what a kid likes!"

"I want young faces, new faces, to give People of Freedom a fresh image in Europe."
Silvio Berlusconi

The Pru, Some Debt and Number One

Here is my departing shot of Boston, taken on the way to the Logan airport (Don't worry Dad- Eric driving). The Prudential building front and center. I like Boston's skyline - it does not beat the crap out of you like New York or Hong Kong. Modest in scale yet enough oomph to be anticipated. Maybe like San Francisco. Or Frankfurt.

Gordon Brown is really on the down-sling (next general election: June '10 or before). The UK economy over the barrel registering GDP contraction of 1.9% in Q1 while the IMF forecasts -4.1% for '09. Thanks to then Chancellor Super Gee's boom-time "thrift," we will see public sector deficits of >12% GDP for the next several years - figures associated in peacetime with developing countries or emerging markets en route to an IMF programme (read: bail-out). Remember Gordon's "golden rule" of no borrowing to cover ongoings? Large deficits will persist into the second half of the next decade. Not counting the cost of the banking sector rescue, which will likely approach £1 trillion, public debt will hit 80% of GDP two years from now - with the moribund economy, public debt of 100% or more becomes a likely possibility - even if we do not add the capitalised value of Britain's unfunded public sector pension commitments (which are binding obligations, at least in theory). This, my friends, is bankruptcy. And so what? you may ask - well, given Britain's need to issue £200 billion worth of gilts to keep running, we are beholden to the financial market's confidences. '78 re-visited, we may be forced to consider the IMF but: A) we don't really qualify for a loan and B) with £175-200 billion of annual borrowing, the IMF's stockpile of $240 billion doesn't stand up. This why Chancellor Darling raised the upper-tax to 50% last week and is limiting further discretionary stimulus to a paltry 0.5% of GDP (Super Gee don't like this). Further tax hikes inevitable and govt programs to be cut back for sure; say good-bye to restoring British infrastructure to levels achieved in the 19th century - an often stated goal of New Labour. Education and health care will suffer too. Incredibly, this mess not from war but rather a massive systemic peacetime failure with a large domestic component. There will be no political surprise come 2010.

Meanwhile, Italy pursues a strategy-of-diversion: below, Silvio Berlusconi's Barbara Matera proposed for the European Parliament elections.

Garrison Ave.

Eric (and I) toss a few bikes, a mattress, several old PC peripherals, a rat cage (large) and some old furniture - pictured - onto the street for Monday morning removal. We could do more, but Eric notes this may offend the rubbish collectors. Otherwise, inside, his office filled with cabling, academic books, multiple computers, a rubber band pile, some bones, post cards and other things that his intellect fancies. This quite the opposite from me, where I have scanned all my office docs then thrown them out- nothing but a picture or two of the kids to distract my concentration. Eric spends his time writing code for an ingenious calculus training tool and crafting problem sets for his maths class. It all fits together. This morning we go for a four-hour walk towards Lexington and hit the Blue Ribbon BBQ in Newton on the return - it is the best I have had since Sonnet and I stopped outside Kansas City whilst driving across the United States. I tell the large chef, who looks at me blandly then cracks a smile (thinking, I'm sure, "white boy knows bbq"). I love walking and during my recovery from the Internet go-go I often joined Sonnet to work picking up a strong coffee on the way. Our then path began from Maida Vale, crossed Bayswater and climaxed in Hyde Park where we tipped our hat to Albert at his memorial. Sonnet continued to the V&A and I usually ended up at the British Library reading something or other - probably the "Master and Commander" series. Any way, walking frees the tongue and there is nobody I would rather goof with then Eric.

My flight from Logan Int'l to Heathrow without incident. I manage to sleep and now at home, writing on a 'Bank Holiday Monday.' And - surprise! - it is not raining. [Correction: it is raining]

Eitan: "Hey, Dad, guess what? Nicholas Anelkha played for five teams before Chelsea."

Ben

Ben shows me his stellated icosahedron on the back porch - pictured. A icosahedron is any polyhedron having 20 faces while stellated refers to "stars"; Ben has prepared his by hand using origami paper. He intends to make 50 of these formations and a floating-mobile. Ben is an exceptional kid who is educated at the Sudbury Valley School, which I saw on '60 Minutes' ten years ago for its unique approach to education. Ben and his mates arrive on site any time between 8AM and noon where they must spend at least five hours doing .. whatever they wish. There is otherwise no structure nor grades and to attend, one must spend a week determining "a fit." I observe children from four or five to 19 cooking, doing art and playing Dungeons and Dragons or reading on a lumpy pillow bed beneath enormous windows .. they can play video games or watch movies, surf the Internet .. whatever strikes their fancy. The grounds are immaculate, located in the Massachusetts countryside. It is, no doubt, an alternative approach to learning and for Ben it makes a lot of sense as it allows him to explore his genius without worrying about a syllabus, national testing and the ever present thumb-on-forehead which is our national school system whose quality, sadly, has deteriorated along with many things US these past eight years (or more). I wonder if Sudbury kids go to college - and it appears most do not. Following five years, they receive a 360-degree evaluation from colleagues and adults who determine a readiness to enter society (without grades or other forms of standard review, I am not sure what a college application would look like). Sudbury could not be more different from my Berkeley education and London for Eitan and Madeleine - while I and my kids seem to thrive in a structured and organised environment, I fully appreciate that others thrive in just the opposite.

I give Ben a dollar for this picture.

Bad News Bears

Eric and Gorham coach the Somerville soccer team which Eric calls "the Somerville Thunder." The Thunder have come far from their first season when the squad lost every game played. Indeed, today's result 5-1 against but the outcome longer the norm: last season broke even "representing ourselves proud" says Eric. The youngsters have been together at least three years and enjoy themselves and each other and for many, this their shot at organised sports and they go for it. I quietly observe the ball-skills and note the Somervilles have yet to master the wide-field and mostly bunch together in clusters shuffling back-and-forth, back-and-forth, between opportunities. They make up for strategy with brute force outweighing the opposition by several stone. There are a number of violent take-downs. The sidelines like anywhere - parents pitched in foldable chairs or standing anxiously, yelling encouragement: "spread out! Open space! Not in the middle! Not in the middle! Not in the middle!" The ref a nice kid who, it turns out, applying to college and wait-listed at Brown (accepted to Harvard and UPenn). On today, Eric says: "the team played with a lot of heart but not a lot of brain" (player and son Jonah rolls his eyes). Eric adds: "they [the Thunder] cracked the code of the other team's offense and put a stop to their heretofore effortless scoring." Amen; I am happy to be a witness.

Back in London, Sonnet takes the kids to meet Britain's new poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy at the British Library. She is the first women to hold the post. Madeleine entranced by Duffy's reading while Eitan openly miserable because he is misses the Manchester United game. He tells me on the phone: "bor-ing."

Eric on my business: "Racking people to get them to invest in your little schemes."

Sever Hall

Eric in 214, shortly following his class. Otherwise, there are 45 students in the roster who are all eager to learn maths, God bless them. Eric's style "avuncular yet chilling" (his description) and he emphasizes concepts with wonderful illustrations like people free-falling from balloons (terminal velocity) and salt content in a golden-pond (rates of change). I've not had calculus since Freshmen year, when I was taught by Prof. Thomas Banchoff who was also my academic advisor. Banchoff on the cover of Time Magazine two weeks before I met him and my already weak mathematical foundation made worse by a certain anxiety around Banchoff bordering panic. He was a kindly, elderly man with coke-bottled glasses and white beard who smoked a pipe; unfortunately my public school training gave me little in common, at least about his favorite subject which was the fourth-dimension whose expression he famously visualised "in a fractional moment of inspiration" he once told me. So back to Eric: his class lively with lots of hands popping up and questions throughout, handled by him efficiently. He works from a textbook that he co-authored and his orientation with the students - them against the publishers. I love his quirky style, which would have been useful for me post-graduation pre-banking. Oi!

Maths

I'm with Eric, arriving in Boston yesterday afternoon and arrive in time to see him in the classroom. He teaches a group of continuing ed students differential equations and here, he performs a simple integration using terminal velocity to provide context for introducing separation of variables. Eric is a natural. His students clearly love him - and it is a joy to see him move around the chalk board. I do note that Eric, not a slave to fashion, brings his own unique style to Harvard - he notes "homeless chic" which might not be too far off; at least it is consistent with the grunge look I see around me otherwise on campus. I am reminded how extraordinary the Harvard community - I overhear conversations in French, Arabic (I think) and Japanese while picking up on young peoples conversation (jet lag makes my senses hyper-sensitive). A group of students discuss abortion; hippies Obama. Forums cover Israel and the Middle East and market-regulation post recession where I recognise the speakers, if by name only. Extension classes offer everything to anyone who has the time and inclination. Spring campus at its best preparing for graduation and alum who, presumably, are potential doners - Harvard has the largest endowment of any school at >$40 billion, though who knows what it is today. (Eric now paces to get at his computer)


Eric: "the most basic type of integral equation is a Fredholm equation of the first type:

The notation follows Arfken. Here φ is an unknown function, f is a known function, and K is another known function of two variables, often called the kernal function. Note that the limits of integration are constant; this is what characterizes a Fredholm equation."

Trans Am

Who would have ever thought that our largest industry - autos - would be on its death-bed inside half a generation? The largest, General Motors, recently announced that it would discontinue its Pontiac line including this '82 Trans Am, pictured (photo from thirdgen.org). 

And what an ugly car - no wonder the company restructuring to 38,000 employees down from 350,000 at its peak in 1970. This is deeply sad for the workers who only want to work and provide for their families. Management should be hung out to dry for being caught-out by energy prices. Building an industry around a depletable resource and not preparing for energy-price increases despite A) rising populations, B) global economic growth; and C) political instability in oil-producing regions tom-foolery. 

The Big Three famously built SUVs, city-trucks and hummers while other countries like Korea and Japan prepared themselves for hydrogens and electrics. Of course, dumb-ass non-caring Americans bought the giants during the leverage-years and what me worry? while Congress, influenced by lobbyist, maintained laughingly low fuel efficiency standards; sadly Detroit preferred to sue states rather then raise standards to local MPH mandated levels. China, meanwhile, forces manufacturers to adhere to mileage rates nearly three-times the USA. Their cars reflect this and will soon sell everywhere- not just the local market. 

 Well, we are all guilty and now it doesn't matter so much but as I say - feel sorry for the worker.

The PTA convenes last night and all I can say is: boy, can these women drink. Following several hours of mish-mash concentrating on school-safety, new jungle-gym &c., we end up at the Victoria for a few more drinks. Not that I am complaining, mind you - despite moving rather slowly this morning. This afterall how the community bonds and power shifts. The PTA budget over several hundred thousand pounds thanks to fund-raisings including the Summer Fair. We are somewhat depleted due to the school's new kitchen, which is brilliant and serves 80% of our children (the remainder bring bag-lunches). We are catered by a local organic and the quality of food has a big impact on education, not least because the kids love their meals and eat 'em.

Me to Madeleine: "Has Ms. X (teacher) ever yelled at you?"
Madeleine, gravely. "Yes. Five times."
Me: "And what for?"
Madeleine: "Number one for moving when I should not have. Number two for talking. Number three I don't remember. Number four for not listening. And number five for being there."

The BBC reports, as I write, that 48% Americans think our country heading in the right direction, up 30% since the election. To Bush: good riddance and may you remain gone.

Heidi Ho

After all the excitement this week end, no surprise to see the Shakespeares looking a bit stoned in front of .. you guessed it .. the TV - this time at Claridges BB. Boy have I grown used to this blank stare. I'm hobbling about since Sunday and taking ice baths to reduce any swelling. Miserable. I hope to start jogging in the next few days but we shall see, oh boy. Today the stairs remain a challenge. A quick glance at the papers shows swine flu and this chestnut from the Daily Mail: "Lessons about the gays will be compulsory." Now that's a headline that catches my eye. Pupils "as young as 11" will be taught about homosexuality and civil partnerships in compulsory sex education classes. Sigh. Eitan, for his turn, will learn about sex this year, though not gay sex, because this love is different from other love. I will preview the G-rated film to be shown in his year-three classroom as part of the sciences curricula. Do not doubt for a moment Eitan's capacity for disgust on the subject - holding hands with a girl nets a shriek of resistance while the boy covers his eye at kissing on the Big Screen, TV or between me and Sonnet. He simply does not care to know beyond the basic concept of boy-meets-girl-puts-baby-in-stomach. I already see his internal conflict: remain tops-in-class or ignore a science/ teacher disapproval? There will be an outcome however it may go.

Madeleine joke: "Doctor, doctor - I feel like a pair of curtains." Doctor: "Well why don't you pull yourself together."
Me: "Isn't that Eitan's joke?"
Madeleine: "Yes, but he won't care." (yeah, right)

Eitan to Sonnet: "Can I watch Chelsea vs. Barcelona?"
Sonnet: "No. You have watched enough TV this week."
Eitan: "Well, I'm going to ask Dad, and he's the master while you are the co-pilot."

Front Runners

Update correction: the above photographs taken by Madeleine (not Sonnet) and I promise Madeleine to inform you so here it is.

Sonnet takes photographs at nine-miles, including the eventual winners of the wheel-chair race and the men's elite, which is won by 22 year-old Kenyon Sammy Wanjiru whose 2:05:10 breaks the course record though not the world record he seeks - that's 2:03:59 set by the great Haile Gebrselassie of Ethopia on the Berlin course last year. Yes, that will be my next marathon in September enshala. It is simply unimaginable the pace these guys hold for 26.2 miles - many under 4:30 per mile. Wanjiru discovered when running 10 kilometers to school and back - a Japanese coach recruited him for the Prince Takamatsu Cup Nishinippon Round-Kyushu Ekiden, which begins in Nagasaki and continues for 1064 kilometers, or just less than the KKH which took me and Sonnet a month to complete. Many of my friends from Brown competed in the Kyushu Eiden during and post-college, on strictest invitation. Wanjiru, in 2002, moved to Japan and went to Sendai Ikuei Gakuen High School in Sendai, where he graduated in 2005 and joined the Toyota Kyushu athletics team. He won the '08 Olympics Gold, his second marathon. His preparation? At 17, he ran 5,000 meters in 13:12.4 which would easily win the NCAA any year; at 18, he broke the world half-marathon record at 59.17 minutes and then 58.53. What makes Wanjiru unusual is his yuf - usually, the longer distances reserved for post-track, mature athletes with confidence and aerobic abilities maintained into their middle-years. Ok, thirties - but late 30s. Wanjiru is 22. Holy cow- this kid is going to be with us for a while yet. David Weir won the wheelchair in dramatic fashion in a sprint over the last 50 meters before the cheering crowds at Buckingham Palace. Sonnet sees his family at nine, who are in tears when he passes them by.

Me to Madeleine: "what did you learn today?"
Madeleine: "nothing."
Me: "you realise that a day without learning is like a day without bread?"
Madeleine, contemplating a moment: "well, I did eat some bread."

Marathon Sunday

As I write, all I can say is: "thank God it is done." Silly me to think I could somehow sneak through 26 miles and enjoy myself- which, really, was my goal - you know, to have fun. And in fact, the first half brilliant - gorgeous weather with interesting, giant clouds to look at; supremo organisation and the most amazing positive vibe. Initially I had indicated running a fast time so I am placed in a starting pen with .. fast runners. They look at me suspiciously given my attire. "What is he hiding?" I can see them wonder. Pictured with me are Pete, in middle, and Andrew who has been gearing up to break three-hours, which he does by ten seconds. Natalie runs 3:45 smashing her four-hour goal. Bravo! So any way - I start out walking then enter an easy shuffle watching the sea of humanity. Never have I seen so many people jammed together and moving ensemble towards a finish; on display are body-types, colours and costumes; runners tap me on the shoulder: "good one, mate" and "don't let the banana beat you." The spectators are the best: hoots and hollers follow me like the "wave" at a football game. Mooooo is always over my shoulder+the wonderful East London accents hollering: "got any milk for us t'day, luv?" I make a point of connecting with kids, who stare dumb-founded before breaking into huge smiles: cow! And it is true: when you see a cow, the word pops into your head. Cow. Try it. So first half fun while the last six miles decidedly not fun as I drop out at 25 miles with tummy upset. I end up at a medical station until my blood pressure returns and I am able to drink but this in no-way interrupts a beautiful day - London at its best. I also feel good about supporting a charity, raising over £3,000 for the Prison Advice and Care Trust. Thank you!

At restaurant, the kids try to create a secret language not to be understood by adults. It includes hand shuffles and variations of sign-language and they spend a good 20-minutes trying to perfect an outcome much to my and Sonnet's eventual irritation. Says me: "do you really think you can do this while your mother and I watch?" Madeleine: "well, we don't care since it us that will be using it. In school."

Joy!

Madeleine jumps for it. It is hard being a kid - especially like yesterday when I wear my cow suit to the school-drop. Eitan disconsolate and I am ready to take it off until he gets snippy ("all you want to do is embarrass me!" he wails) and I decide to prove a point. More wailing and I threaten (dare, really) Eitan to stay home if he's embarrassed. Madeleine watches transfixed, scoring so many points on sooo many levels without having to raise a finger. So there I am, on the playground, surrounded by children and feeling like the pied-piper - and you know what? It was totally fun, and I loved the attention... which is why it hurt at bedtime when Eitan tells me: "all you want is attention for yourself" and I had not thought of it that way. Yes, I need to treat these kids like.. little dudes, and not inside my own personal vacuum.

Madeleine joins Friday-night-fives which takes place in next-door Barnes and something from Mad Max - 12 miniature, astro-turf'd pitches, surrounded by 12 foot, meshed ring-fences containing the football action while friends, parents and siblings hang from the outside screaming bloody murder. Madeleine's school team first time together and a year-younger than their competition, who cream them 16-0. My heart goes to her, Jackson and little Mattie and the two others I don't know who play valiantly and are beet red after the forty-minutes of "play." From pitch, we go pool - where Madeleine and Eitan have moved to the next level of development. For Madeleine, this means proper training and equipment - kick board, pull-buoy and flippers. Eitan swims sets. We drive home afterwards exhausted - me included, feeling their happy fatigue+Friday - and everyone in a good mood chattering away. We listen to The Virgins in the car CD who at one point use the "F" word, which gets an immediate reaction - both, in unison: "he's not allowed to say that!" then, slight delay: "Snap! - got you! Snap! Snap! Jinx! Double-jinx! I said jinx first!" The loser, of course, not being allowed to speak until named by the other. Just like I used to do with Katie in second grade. But tonight, there are no losers as we head alongside the Thames at dusk, greeted eventually by Sonnet who is home early when she was otherwise to catch-up from jury duty. Life is good.

Eitan and I discuss body-types for sport - distance runners slight, basketball players tall &c. On swimmers, Eitan notes: "swimmers need a small head so it doesn't get in the way." He's half-right, too, but glazes over when I discuss the concept of drag.

Madeleine wonders if somebody can sleep on the wing of a plane?
Eitan: "You would most certainly fall off. If it was moving."
Madeleine: "You could use super glue."
Eitan: "Super glue can rip your skin off if you pull too hard."
Madeleine: "Cannot!"
Eitan: "Too!"
Madeleine: "You think you know everything, Eitan!"
Eitan: "Well that's because I do."
Madeleine: "Dad, tell Eitan super glue would stick me to the wing and that he doesn't know everything!"
Eitan: "well, Dad doesn't know everything and he certainly doesn't know anything about super glue."

Madeleine observes me writing notes on their conversation: "You sure can right fast Dad!"
Eitan, matter-of-factly: "Of course he can - he is an adult."